#it looks god awful on tumblr lord

[atlasofthestaars]

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .009

first part | previous part | next part

NOTE: I actually looked at my notes and went huh, I can compress the rest of the ideas into one chapter, so next chapter we’ll kinda be getting back on track with the plot!

This chapter we will be having a poll for Ashrah, and this is the last love interest poll! I’ll still do polls from time to time to have some sort of reader interactivity, but it won’t be as frequent (though next chapter DOES have a bit of a special poll though haha)

As usual, taking votes on Ashrah for a week, aka until the tumblr poll ends.

Also I never mentioned this but?? Sadly, Rain didn’t get in the love interest line up, but don’t fret! He will still be relevant to the plot in other ways :D Mileena, on the other hand, did get in! 

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO COOKS FOR OTHERS

It turns out, you enjoyed cooking far more than you realized.

“Here, I’m positive this is your favorite.”

Handing Kenshi the meal, you grinned at him, a small hint of smugness in your grin. You admired your own handiwork. You had taken the liberty to pack it in a bento box this time, to match the Japanese cuisine you had made for him.

“You’re very bold claiming that.” Kenshi commented, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you. Yet on his face was a small, amused smile. His gaze dropped to inspect the box, and a small hum left his lips as he nodded approvingly at the way it was packaged. “You even used a bento box, nice attention to detail.”

“I try.” You said playfully, laying a hand on your chest. “I’ll have you know I went out of my way to obtain one just for you.” 

“I’m honored.” Kenshi replied in a light, playful way that reflected yours. 

You watched with bated breath as he opened the bento box. With satisfaction, you watched as the expectant look on his face gave way to one of shock. You crossed your arms smugly, basking in the pride you felt at his reaction. 

“This…is actually my favorite.” Kenshi said in awe, eyes searching the bento box as he scanned all the items in front of him. His eyes glanced from you, back down to the food, back to you with surprise evident on his face. His eyebrows furrowed as he processed the situation in front of him. “How did you guess this so accurately?”

“Just because I’m not a god like Lord Liu Kang doesn’t mean I don’t have tricks of my own.” You said vaguely. It was best not to mention how you had a hazy memory of cooking this food for him in your past life. You watched as the swordsman’s eyebrows rose, but ultimately he did not question you. Still, you watched as he pursed his lips. 

“It was a lucky guess, wasn’t it?” He asked, and you let out a small chuckle.

“Nope, I just have really good intuition.” You replied, grinning at the man still. His eyes narrowed, seeming unsatisfied with your vague and ultimately illogical answer. He glanced down again, scanning the food, scrutinizing it again.

“That’s basically the same thing as luck, if you think about it.” He pointed out with a small huff. He challenged you with a long stare.

“No.” You quickly replied, a small pout on your lips now. “Luck is guessing something out of nothing.” You pointed out before gesturing to him. “I used intuition. That means I used what I knew about you to guess what your favorite food was.” You shrugged. “That’s the difference, see?”

“And you think I look like someone who enjoys this type of food?” Kenshi inquired, trying to see if he could get more information out of you. You could tell from the tone of his voice he was being playful still. You gestured to the bento box with a sly look on your face. You glanced down at it, before looking back up at him.

“Well, I made it for you, hm?” You replied, with a tone that screamed ‘isn’t it obvious?’ “And from what you told me, I got it absolutely correct.” You continued, crossing your arms as you saw him sigh.

“I guess you did.” He conceded as he nodded. Kenshi then smiled at you, something that you weren’t all too familiar with, but found charming nevertheless. “Thank you.” He said, before pausing. “This will be nice to eat. I haven’t had any Japanese food since I left the Yakuza.” 

“No problem.” You told him. Too absorbed in your glee, you put a hand on his shoulder and pat it. “If you ever want me to make you more, just let me know.” You told him, sending him a wink. “You’re the one who helped me improve my cooking so far.” You glanced at the sky. “Well, it’s time for me to go, let me know what you think of it next time.” 

You left, and Kenshi was left staring after you, watching you for a few moments. The peace and quiet lasted for a few mere moments before Johnny Cage came strolling in, looking between Kenshi and you who was walking off in the distance.

“You having a moment or something, tattoo?” Johnny asked as he glanced between you two again. He peered over Kenshi’s shoulder as he inspected the food. “Hah, teach gave you some food? Let me try.” He said, before reaching out to grab a piece of it. He let out a small ‘ow’ as his hand was quickly smacked away. 

“This isn’t yours, Cage.” Kenshi huffed, glaring at the actor. Johnny put his hands up in surrender, letting out a snicker at the protective look on the swordsman’s face. He then, before anyone else could try and get their hands on his food, grabbed a piece of the food and popped it into his mouth.

It tasted like home.

“Kung Lao is here.” 

Opening the door to the kitchen, Liu Kang peered in. The smell of wonderful, delicious food wafted his way. Even the god himself felt hungry from the scent of your cooking alone, and he even was able to resist Madam Bo’s food. There was clanging of pots and pans, and the hissing of food as it hit the hot pans. 

“Okay, give me a moment!” You called out, glancing over your shoulder. You turned off the heat, quickly dumping the finished food into a bowl on the side.You could continue your cooking endeavor later. You wiped off the sweat that had formed on your brow. You had been standing over the stove for a while now, slaving away at making a wonderful dinner to which you’d be serving later for the Lin Kuei trio.

“Alright, I’ll have him wait.” The fire god called out before he closed the door, letting you finish doing what you had been doing.

With a sigh you stepped back and leaned on the wall. The air even a few steps away from the stove felt refreshing. You stood, letting the air cool you off a bit more before you stepped out of the kitchen. You quickly made your way to your room, grabbing the package Liu Kang had given you a day ago before rushing off to the room where people usually waited when they sought out an audience with Liu Kang.

“Hi, sorry for the wait!” You greeted, still feeling a little sweaty as you briskly walked over to Kung Lao. You watched as he looked at you in surprise. You supposed it was because he had never seen you to the point of exertion like this. After all, you rarely broke a sweat during their training. He had a similar reaction when you had shown up to train them in bandages after your sparring with Bi-Han a while ago, so your assumption probably wasn’t too far off.

“It’s all fine.” Kung Lao said, waving off your apology. He rubbed his hands together in excitement as he got up. You noted his casual clothes, and it warmed your heart as it reminded you of the movie nights you all had every month or so. He approached you, and his glee was infectious as a smile nearly as bright as his appeared on your face.

“Okay, this should be the last prototype, but it’s pretty much the final product.” You told him, carefully opening the box. The result of the hat within the box was you and Kung Lao discussing how to better innovate and design a hat that suited him. Not only in terms of a weapon, but also as a fashion item since he consistently mentioned wanting to wear it everywhere.

“What’s the point of making it a hat if I can’t wear it everywhere?” The former farmhand had insisted to you many months ago, when he had pointed at the hat which had been much too heavy to wear comfortably. You had sighed but agreed. He did have a point. 

It also comforted you to know that some things never seemed to change, such as Kung Lao’s devotion to his hat.

Lifting the hat out of the box, Kung Lao held it with some reverence. His eyes sparkled with delight as he held it up. He first inspected it from all angles, marveling over the precise craftsmanship that went into creating the perfect weapon that happened to be a hat. 

You sent him a look as his finger traced the razor sharp edge. It was the same look you sent him to warn him to be careful everytime he did it. He rolled his eyes, but in a playful manner. You scoffed lightheartedly in return.

“You’re going to cut your finger on it one day, Kung Lao.” You warned lightly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“But I haven’t yet.” Kung Lao bragged cockily. He withdrew his finger from the bladed edge, cut free. He wiggled his fingers smugly to show that fact off. “See? I am already a professional around this thing.” He said with utmost confidence. You sighed and shook your head.

“If I ever hear word that you end up cutting your finger on the edge, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.” You promised as you smiled at him teasingly. You watched as his eyebrows raised before a sly grin appeared on his face. He leaned forward with a small chuckle.

“Hah! That won’t happen.” He scoffed, and you could tell that his ego was growing again. You rolled your eyes as you pushed him back lightly. Kung Lao let out a loud chuckle, amused by the banter that happened between you. This back and forth, it felt natural. For a moment, you looked at him and remembered simpler times with him and Liu Kang.

Your heart squeezed, a feeling you won’t ever be able to truly suppress no matter how many times it occurred.

“Oh really, want to put your money where your mouth is?” You propose, trying to ignore the way your heart yearned for a life you no longer had. You watched as Kung Lao’s grin grew wider. If there was one thing you had learned from training him, it was that the man from Fengjian loved to bet. It was something you caught your students doing often due to his influence.

“You’re finally making a bet with me?” Kung Lao asked, a tone of excitement in his voice. While it wasn’t often, you had a bet tossed your way here and there. You had turned them down previously, but now it was different now that you were the one proposing the bet. 

“That’s what I asked you, no?” You sassed him, raising your eyebrows. 

“Then I gladly accept a bet with you.” Kung Lao graciously accepted, tilting his head. “Just a shame that our first bet together will have a guaranteed loss on your end.” He added on. The pure confidence in your tone had you letting out a chuckle of disbelief.

“Calm down, we haven’t even set up the terms of our bet.” You reminded him, all too amused by his pride. Still, your words did not make the confident and smug look on his face waver at all. He truly believed in himself, a trait you somewhat admired.

“I’ll win either way.” Kung Lao quipped, which made you roll your eyes again. It was an action you found yourself doing often around the man, no matter how much he amused you. “How about this, you stop sending me that look you do everytime I do this…” The former farmhand traced his finger along the blade’s edge once more. Instinctively, you found yourself doing the look he was referring to. “For a week. And if I prove I don’t need that reminder to not cut my finger, then I win.”

“Do I get penalized if I accidentally send you the look?” 

“I’ll be generous and say no.” Kung Lao said, his smug look turning a tad bit more cheeky as he looked at you. “All I need to do is prove that I won’t cut my fingers on this hat.” He claimed, and you nodded, not finding anything wrong with the terms he had. “Loser has to do whatever the winner wants.” He declares.

You let out a hum, now thinking of the terms of winning the bet. You closed your eyes, recalling how prideful Kung Lao was. He would probably be his own downfall, honestly.

A small voice whispered in your head telling you he already did, reminding you of the visions of his untimely death in another life haunting you.

“Alright, I accept.” You hastily replied, trying to ignore the voice that sent chills down your back. You stuck your hand out to seal the deal. Almost instantly, he grabbed yours and shook it in a firm handshake. You smiled.

His hand was softer than you were expecting.

“I hope you’re prepared to lose.” He taunted, putting the hat back in the box with his free hand that held the hat. He seemed satisfied enough with the final product. You sighed and squeezed his hand as if challenging him.

“Don’t be so quick to think yourself victorious, Kung Lao.” You warned lightly before letting go of his hand. How his hand felt lingered in your mind a few more minutes before you saw his face turn a little sheepish as he looked down at your torso. You raised an eyebrow and looked down, completely forgetting the apron you had donned.

“Had I been interrupting something?” He inquired, an innocent tone to his voice. You let out a small laugh as you waved off his question. How unusual for him to have that tone of voice. You shook his head, and he nodded, now a curious look on his face.

“Don’t worry about it, you had just interrupted me making dinner. I’m inviting the three Lin Kuei men who had tested you. Don’t worry about being an interruption though, I was the one who asked you to drop by.” You told him, reassuring him that he had not been a bother at all.

“You…cook?” Kung Lao said, processing your words. You nodded slowly, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Yeah, Madam Bo taught me.” You watched as Kung Lao’s jaw dropped in surprise. You shrugged causally, looking at him. “Who do you think was giving Kenshi all that food?” You asked. You watched as he processed all of this, and gasped.

“You cook like Madam Bo, and didn’t give me any?” He inquired, the tone of his voice indicating you’ve committed a crime akin to a sin. You laughed at the absurdity of his reaction, he was more of a food lover than you had presumed. 

“I needed criticism to improve, Kung Lao.” You watched him pout at your excuse, probably thinking it wasn’t good enough. “I promise I’ll give you some food soon enough, okay?” You told him, placing a hand on your hip. You watched as he perked up.

“You’ll be doing that regardless, since I’m planning on making you make me a feast once I win our bet.” Kung Lao declared, and you sighed. You pat down your apron, trying to clean it before you went back into the kitchen.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when you lose, Kung Lao.” You remarked, grinning at him mischievously. You grabbed his shoulder, pushing him towards the entrance of the Fire Temple. “Now go back and rest, I have to go prepare dinner.” You told him, knowing he would delay longer to see if you could also make him a meal.

“Don’t forget your promise!” He called over his shoulder as he began to walk off, a boisterous laugh leaving his lips as he began to walk off. You nodded, reassuring him that you would as long as he stayed on your good side. You sighed as you looked up into the sky, trying to gauge how much time you had left before you had to serve the Lin Kuei brothers.

You had time.

Turning on your heel, you briskly walked back to the kitchen to work away once again.

“You were very prepared for tonight.”

“I know.” You replied, trying not to feel too smug as you led the trio of men into the dining room you had set up. It was much more fancy today than usual, seeing as you didn’t bother to try and decorate much when Liu Kang ate with you. 

All types of food were spread across the table, from entrees to side dishes. You also had desserts planned, but you had them stashed away to allow the main courses to shine. Impressively, all of it looked fresh, hot, and ready to eat. You watched the trio’s reactions, and how they varied. 

Kuai Liang seemed appreciative of the whole ordeal. A small, rare smile was spread across his lips. His eyes slowly scanned the foods you had on display, analyzing them carefully as if each were a precious art piece. Then, his eyes made their way towards yours and he nodded.

Tomas was very eager, his eyes wide and searching. They darted to and fro, as if he could not settle on what he wanted to eat first. His grin was bigger, and he leaned forward just slightly. You watched as he inhaled deeply, and let out a sigh of longing.

Bi-Han’s reaction was the most subtle. He, as usual, had his resting face on. Yet, at the same time, you could see how his eyes widened slightly, almost as if there were a gleam in his eyes. He also scanned the dishes, but once they landed on a dish you knew was his was favorite, he honed in on it. He glanced away and towards you, a small huff leaving his lips. And dare you say it, you could say the corners of his lips were upturned.

He was smiling. Maybe not the most obvious one, but it was one nevertheless.

Okay, maybe you could afford to let your ego grow a little bit. It’s not everyday you get some of the best Lin Kuei fawning over your cooking.

You made your way to your spot on the table. It was the same spot you always sat at whenever you ate with Liu Kang. You just had a sentimental attachment to it, though you would never admit it outloud. You watched as Bi-Han claimed the seat beside you, and Tomas was across from you. That left Kuai Liang sitting the farthest from you.

“Eat up!” You told them, before grabbing the foods you wanted and sliding them onto your plate. The air was filled with the clinks of dishes being moved around. Here and there there would be a request to pass a dish over.

“This is amazing!” Tomas piped up after a few minutes. On his face was one of the most delighted expressions you’ve ever seen on him. You grinned at him, a surge of pride running through you. You watched with joy as he almost greedily put more of your cooking on his plate. “I wish we had this type of cooking back at the temple.”

“I must agree.” Kuai Liang spoke, nodding. Though he was not as fast as Tomas in eating his meal, you were surprised to see that he had eaten it more quickly than you had expected. “This is delicious, I did not know you were this talented at cooking.” He commended.

Instinctively, you glanced over to Bi-Han. To your surprise, he was silently adding more onto his plate, having almost finished the initial amount he had put on. He looked up from his plate, glancing over to you. His eyes narrowed at your expectant gaze before he tore his eyes away.

“It’s good.” He began, and your jaw dropped a bit at the clear praise. “The Lin Kuei’s cooking standards should be brought up to match these.” Bi-Han continued, which greatly increased your ego. You looked away to preserve your pride by not grinning like a madman.

“Oh it’s nothing.” You said, trying to downplay how happy you felt at their compliments. “I owe it all to Madam Bo, honestly.” You told them, only to feel Bi-Han’s stare.

“Teachings can only get you so far.” Bi-Han pointed out, making your eyebrow raise. He looked away from you to take another bite of your cooking, leaving you to ponder over his words as he ate. “With skill like this, you are far more competent than what you make yourself out to be.”

“Bi-Han’s right.” Tomas spoke up, giving you an encouraging look. “You’re really good!” Kuai Liang nodded in agreement as he silently continued to eat their meal. With their compliments combined, you felt your face grow warm. You looked downwards, a bit shyly and continued to eat.

“You, Lord Liu Kang, and your students are going to Outworld for the tournament soon, correct?” Scorpion inquired, looking up at you. You nodded, taking another bite of your food. “Do you have any idea of who, out of all of your students, will be chosen to compete?”

“Hmm…” You hummed, pondering over the question as you chewed your food slowly. “I think any of them are capable of becoming champion.” You responded, shrugging. “They all show promise.” You let out another hum. “But if I had to choose, I think it would be between Kung Lao and Raiden.” 

“The two from the exam?” Bi-Han inquired, his eyebrows raising slightly. At your nod, he huffed. “I recall Kung Lao being presumptuous. I hope your teachings have burst his ego.” He mentioned, and you vaguely remember Bi-Han scoffing at him long ago.

“He’s gotten better.” You say, smiling as you reflect at the progress you have done with your students over the months you’ve been put in charge of them. “Kung Lao is still prideful though, but not too much.” You paused, letting out a small chuckle. “Most times, at least.” 

“Are you excited to go to Outworld?” Smoke asked. You nodded in response. The three were not aware of your potential connection with Outworld. Still, you had previously mentioned to them how you were eager for the chance to travel to another realm. They just simply didn’t know why or how eager you were. 

“I am. Lord Liu Kang tells me it’s a wonderful, breathtaking place.” You mentioned a small smile on your lips as you heard the small voice in your head that you might finally be able to unlock more memories. “If I find any interesting trinkets, I’ll be sure to bring them back for you guys.”

“You do not need to, but it would be appreciated.” Kuai Liang said, looking at you with eyes that glimmered with appreciation at the mere promise. “I would not want you to worry over gifts for us instead of enjoying the atmosphere.”

“Oh it’d be no issue, trust me.” You reassured him, your smile growing wider.

The rest of the night was filled with lighthearted banter, for the most part, and delicious food. It was nice, having the brothers all together. Still, a bubble of worry formed within you as you all ate. They were all playing nice now, but Kuai Liang’s words of concern echoed in your head.

Was Bi-Han really set on a self destructive path that would tear the brothers apart? 

The with closeness of the brothers right now, you didn’t want to believe it. Bi-Han may not show his love for his brothers clearly, but he still cared. Or at least, you thought so. Kuai Liang was not one to worry over such things so easily.

A fire of determination burned in your heart as you bid the trio goodnight. You watched as Bi-Han led them away, and a sigh left your lips. You stood on the bridge, soaking in the moonlight for a few moments more.

You would mend whatever rift was going to tear them apart, no matter what.

“What is all of this?”

Looking up from the little set up, you smiled at the perplexed expression on Raiden’s face. You had invited him out for one last training session before the champion exam. It was nearly a week before you all were going to go to Outworld. For all the months you’ve trained him, Raiden had been very diligent and grown much.

So instead of a training session, you decided you would reward him instead. Maybe it was a little bit biased, but the expression on his face alone right now made it all worth it.

“It’s a reward.” You said simply, standing up. You gestured to the picnic you’ve set up in the courtyard. It was nearly perfect. The stars, the moon, they were all so much prettier tonight. It was the perfect night sky for a late night picnic. “I thought instead of training you to the bone, we could celebrate tonight instead for your growth.”

“You didn’t have to do this.” Raiden said, his voice full of awe as he walked over. You sent him a look that told him not to be so humble, not now. He let out a small chuckle as he walked over. You sat down and so did he. He looked over to the spread you had lying out. “This all looks wonderful.” He marvels.

“I hope so. I made it all myself.” You bragged, watching with a bit of satisfaction as his expression turned amazed. 

“You did?” He asked, and you nodded. He looked back over to the food with more scrutiny. “I’m honored you made this all, thank you.” He said, his voice full of reverence. He reached out, his hand hovering over some food. The former farmer glanced back at you. “May I?”

“Go right ahead, I made this mostly for you.” You said, grinning as you gestured for him to dig in. You leaned over, grabbing some food for yourself. “I still will eat some too, so don’t you worry.” You let out a small hum of satisfaction as you ate it, enjoying the flavor you had created.

You and Raiden ate, savoring the flavors of the food you made. Silence passed between the both of you for a few moments, finding comfort in simply sitting near each other.

“This is really good.” Raiden complimented after swallowing his bite. His eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to think. Then, a look of recognition appeared on his face. “This cooking actually reminds me of Madam Bo’s actually.” 

“Well, I suppose the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.” You commented, grinning slyly at Raiden’s shocked expression when the realization dawned on him.

“Madam Bo taught you how to cook?” He inquired, glancing between you and the food you had created. You nodded, setting down your food for a moment to stretch. You sighed in satisfaction as you felt your joints pop. You really needed to stretch more.

“Is it really that surprising?” You inquired, a teasing tone to your voice as you looked over to Raiden. A look of shock appeared on his features, as realization settled on his features. An almost bashful look appeared on his features as he shook his head.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” Raiden quickly said, which made you laugh. You rolled your eyes playfully as you lightly nudged his shoulder.

“I’m kidding Raiden.” You told him, a small mischievous look on your lips still. “But yes, Madam Bo did teach me.” You said, a small nostalgic tone to your voice as you looked over the slowly dwindling amount of food that you were sharing. “She was very insistent that I learn from her.”

“I see.” Raiden ate a bit more food, seeming to savor it even more now. An appreciative smile appeared on his face as he indulged in the food you gave him. “I think I like this even more than Madam Bo’s cooking.” He mentioned. looking up at you with that smile of his. Letting out a surprised laugh, you playfully nudged him again.

“Hah! Don’t let Madam Bo hear that!” You teased, grinning at him. You weren’t certain if he was being polite or not. But, you were compelled to believe him with the sincere way he said those words. Raiden’s smile grew bigger.

“She’d probably stuff me full of food until I pop if I said that around her.” Raiden admitted, laughing alongside you.

Soon enough, the food was all finished, it disappearing quickly as you two conversed. It tasted even better with such lovely company. You packed things up in the small basket you brought, with Raiden helping. Even when the surprise was for him, he still found a way to try and work.

“Did you still want me to train tonight?” The man inquired, raising an eyebrow as he helped finish packing up the stuff, except for the blanket the two of you were sitting on. You sighed and shook your head, sending him an exasperated look. Even after al that, he was thinking about training?

And you thought you were the workaholic.

“We’re not training tonight, you have an important exam tomorrow.” You reminded him, sending him an amused look. You pat the space beside you, having him scoot a bit closer to you. You laid down, letting out another sigh as you stared at the stars above you.

“Let’s just observe and enjoy the beauty of the sky tonight.” You proposed, taking in the beauty of the sky. It was magnificent. The sky seemed to be particularly clear tonight, the stars above twinkling brightly. The moon was nice and full. and seemed to be even bigger, allowing for a breathtaking view.

You heard the sound of Raiden also laying down next to you, also taking a moment to lie down. Minutes passed, a comfortable silence once again settling in. It was just you and him, staring up at the stars and taking in the view.

It was times like this you remember just how lucky you are to be able to witness such a thing.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You asked, searching the stars. You spotted the constellations in the sky you remembered reading about in a few of the books lying around the Fire Temple. Raiden was sent out of his daze when you spoke. 

Raiden blinked, looking over to you. His stare lingered on you instead, admiring you instead of the galaxy above. You were too wrapped up in looking at the stars to notice the way he looked at you and how his cheeks warmed up.

There was a moment as he stared at you, realizing how fortunate he was to be by your side.

“Yes…yes they are beautiful.”

part ten

#mortal kombat x reader #kung lao x reader #liu kang x reader #reptile x reader #smoke x reader #sub zero x reader #scorpion x reader #bi han #liu kang #raiden x reader #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage #tomas vrbada #kenshi x reader #syzoth #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #fanfiction #mk1 x reader #mk x reader #shang tsung x reader #shang tsung #mileena x reader #kitana x reader #syzoth x reader #ashrah x reader #havik x reader #rain x reader

[catbountry]

One of these days I'm gonna get completely zonked and write out an entire fucking essay on why Mister Metokur sucks and I don't like him, but I feel like I could just say "he kickstarted the internet dumpster fire that was GamerGate" and have justified my position completely.

So fucking tired of orbiting communities that talk about internet weirdos/drama and seeing creators kiss the fucking ring of some guy just because he's got a voice for radio and surrounds himself with people who are stupider than he is so he can toss them aside as soon as they inevitably do some stupid bullshit that he can make fun of and feel justified in doing so, like Sargon of Akkad and Ethan Ralph, all while lamenting that internet culture has changed since the 2000's and people on the internet like furries now more than they like otaku.

Oh yeah and he's using James Somerton's suicide note as an opportunity to expose Hbomberguy for shit he did nearly two decades ago and shame him for "troll's remorse." If I didn't highly suspect that this is another ploy by James to manipulate people into feeling sorry for him, I'd probably be more disgusted, but it proves this man just operates on pure spite. Like yeah, I get it, overly-performative troll's remorse is fucking cringe, but you're on a podcast with Null making jokes about "stinkditches" and saying unambiguously racist shit while laughing (in a video conveniently deleted from YouTube from September 17th, 2022). And if it weren't for Jim's army of asskissers, I'd probably be way more open about this sort of thing. But who's even reading my Tumblr at this point anyway?

The first time I remember being alarmed by him was that video he did on that creepy pedo who looked at photos of kids in bathtubs, and he was in a call with this guy and some girl said pedo was friends with, and Jim lost his patience and called her a "hole" and to shut up. People kiss Metokur's ass over this video. I don't even know if any action, criminal or otherwise, was taken against the dude and it was just an exercise in lording not being a pedophile over some deeply disturbed guy who probably had some kind of mental disability.

I am pretty much always going to have a fixation on strange internet people, internet drama, and horrifying nightmare people given unrestricted internet access. This is a character flaw of mine. I have tried to view these people more fairly in recent years, though to be honest, there's quite a few of them that are pretty goddamn hard to feel sorry for. But I also recognize a lot of my fascination was probably, at least partially, trollshielding; if I join in with the people making fun of these people, that means I won't be a target. It was a survival strategy learned from childhood and I'm not proud of it. But I also can't do the full troll's remorse because some of those people I talked shit about really were awful people. That doesn't make it okay when I would be snarky and judgemental towards people that didn't deserve it. Trying to stop a pedophile or helping shed light on a zoosadism ring doesn't make you a good person because even bigots hate pedos and people that torture animals. Congratulations on having the faintest resemblance of a conscience, it'd be nice if you could show that same outrage on behalf of black people and trans women. But we know you ain't doin' that.

Also I swear to god if somebody refers to him as "daddy Jim" and they're not taking the piss I'm gonna give them such a pinch.

P.S. James is very likely alive, btw. Who could have seen the serial liar and manipulator telling lies and emotionally manipulating people?

#drama #oops I accidentally a whole essay

[troloxyn]

Stuck. (Jason Todd x Reader)

Lord help me I am struggling on my first tumblr post ok!

You get a new job and your boy shoots it up 'cause bad guys, thanks Jason for making us unemployed

Word count: 2,072

~~

It couldn't get worse. Right? 

It wasn’t your awful job at the law firm, spending half of your day in a room with no windows, combing through hundreds if not thousands of papers full of extensive data for the assholes you ALSO had to serve coffee. You became suspicious rather quickly of the higher up's finely trimmed, almost cocky suits and their awful attitudes, their sly and lewd remarks behind your back, but it wasn't even them that was the problem at the moment. It wasn’t the dress code, the tight skirt and see through black stockings you were wearing, or your blouse that felt too tight after lunch. It wasn’t your hair, which you tried to brush into obedience with no avail, throwing it into a claw clip and trying to call it a day, or the fact that your glasses broke and were barely hanging on by glue. No, none of that was the problem. 

You’re a Gothamite. Awful shit happens all day, every day. You’ve seen Batman scorn through the sky like a blister in moonlight; you’ve witnessed bank robberies, murders, orphans. Hell, you were lucky to have a parent alive. Sure, you’ve been robbed blind, beaten up occasionally and so forth, but who hasn’t in this city? You took all the self defense classes you could, you didn’t have the arsenal like old man Bat to protect you. In the situation you were in now, you could almost laugh thinking about Batman. 

Yes, like Batman or any of his sidekicks could help you now. You didn’t know who or why they were raiding your office, but the symphony of spraying bullets ricocheted wall to wall, causing you to drop the coffees you were holding to fall to the ground. You could almost cry, as the elevator came to a halting stop, the hoist way becoming extremely claustrophobic. You heard the loud, extensive bang of an explosion, piercing your ears and forcing you against the wall from shock. You let out a scream as metal toppled through the actual elevator, trapping you into a corner, leaving you heaving in fear. Draft from the ceiling of the elevator fell onto your hair and eyelashes like an abominable snow. You coughed up the dust that sprayed on impact. You could almost laugh. This is how you die, your job in Gotham being shot up by probable gangbanger supervillains who possessed the strength and powers of God, a God that really fucking hated you right now. Screams, gunfire, the sound of flesh being torn through, beaten, ripped. That’s all you could hear, beside the creaking of the elevator, slowly dropping to your death.

Through the hole in the elevator, now a gaping mess that you could almost squeeze through if you tried, you attempted to move through this metal that collapsed. Squeezing through tightly, if you sucked in your stomach and pushed the scraps, you could almost get through. The sounds of gunfire increased heavily, you noticed. You didn’t want to accept this fate, you were getting angry now, rapidly cycling through phases. You reached your hand up, far up, trying to touch the hole that meant your freedom. You must’ve bumped into metal too harshly, because more came crashing down onto you. You screamed again, now hot tears running down your face in pain. You managed to push it off, but a large piece tore into the back of your pencil skirt, ripping it down the back. You groaned, looking back, the tight fabric now freed from its prison, your rear end exposed. Now you just wanted to die. "Goddammit," you muttered.

The elevator, once again, came falling down with an abrupt pause, descending deeper and deeper into your sealed fate. At this point, you could look up into the now even bigger hole, dust invading your eyes and covering your glasses, that you were so far down the shaft your voice echoed. You screamed, cried, begged for someone to hear you, but gunshots rained out your voice into a gutter. The sounds of guns and death came to a stop and you started to plead again. “Please! I’m stuck! I’m gonna die down here!" Your voice drained out as it screamed back at you in echoes through the tight walls. You began to cry, and very harshly. Your glasses fogged and your claw clip was falling out. There was blood running down your leg from the cut of metal and your hands were badly bruised and red from shielding your face from falling scraps. 

“Please, don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me here to die.” 

You stared through the hole, speaking to no one. The dawning of your death hit you. You were already so far down. You began to panic, unable to hold onto your breath, your airways clogged with dust and fear. Humor couldn't save you now. Your sobs became incoherent and rambled, words unable to form through your stuttering lips. You closed your eyes, shut them tight, vertigo crippling your mind. You were having a full fledged panic attack, so far in one that you didn’t feel the light thump above your head, or the mask staring through the hole, blocking the dim light. 

“You alive down there?” You yelped in fear, looking into a deep red mask. “Thank you,” You spat, unable to move in the trap of trash. “Haven’t helped you yet. What do you do here?” “Please, sir, please help me. I’m stuck,” You looked pathetic. 

“Answer the question.” 

“I m-make coffees and, and I file paperwork downstairs. I just started a week ago. I didn't even want to work at this job-" You shut yourself up quickly. This guy didn't give a shit. Your glasses fogged in the heat of entrapment, your hair a complete mess, your blouse ripped, your hands trembling. “I'm begging you. Please help me.” The man cocked his head to the side, eyeing and judging you. “Not really in my job description,” At this point, he was just toying with you. “Too bad Batman isn’t here to save you.” All she could do was laugh between her stuttered crying. “You thought that was funny?” The masked man asked, as she continued to laugh. She was still crying, shaking through her fear, her body racked and nervous. “Maybe I’ll have to help you. Would be a shame for a sense of humor to go to waste.” 

The man moved into the elevator with a lot more swiftness and ease than she did trying to get out. She got a better look at him now that he was inside, easily moving metal away from her body. He was wearing gray tactical pants and a tightly fitted long sleeved shirt, followed by a brown leather jacket. She noticed all the guns and trinkets of war he had on him, strapped to his legs and his belt. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing tanned, scarred skin. He must’ve noticed her staring, because he made a sly remark. “Am I making you nervous?” She nodded her head and he laughed at her. She was almost cute like this but he focused on helping her. Moving another piece of scrap, they both heard a loud rip, now, it was her stockings that were cut wide open, around her upper thighs. She let out a cry of frustration.

“Well, aren’t you having a bad day?” He grabbed her by her underarms and lifted her out of what remained, but she jerked back instinctively. “You want help or not?” 

“Sorry, sir. Excuse me.” He saw tears slip down her face as she shook. “My skirt..” He looked down at her exposed flesh and instantly looked up, sighing. His face heated a little. How dumb. Wasn’t a bad view, but this was also probably the worst day of her life. He took off his jacket and slipped it around her waist. She noticed his arms immediately, how firm and strong they looked. She recognized how much bigger he was than her, massive, almost. “T-thank you-” 

“Hush,” he muttered. She definitely stayed quiet after his command. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to the top of the metal. Climbing through the now cleared hole, he grabbed both of her arms and pulled her out. For some reason, being outside of the elevator was even scarier. Her heels were missing, so her tights were the only thing protecting her from the cold metal.

 “Might wanna hold on,” he said to her. The tone of his voice was so cool and casual for the guy who probably just took out half of her work base. This thought did not leave her mind, keeping her stun locked into silence as he moved around her. She stood, hands folded in on one another, doing anything to avoid contact with him. Maybe he wasn't a bad guy if he was saving her, she thought to herself. He was glad she didn’t see it but he smirked at her awkwardness. He grabbed her by the waist, earning an awkward stifle of noise from the woman. Bringing her close to his waist, she could feel his harnesses pressed into her body. What kind of hero needed this many guns? He placed his hand on her lower back. His grip was firm and steady. She felt almost safe in his grip and it made her feel guilt. He pulled out the grappling hook, shooting it to the top of the elevator shaft. “I’m serious. Hold on. Tight.” Shyly, she wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing the rest of her body into his. His breath hitched a bit. He didn’t know why he was acting like a touch starved teenaged boy.  

“Ready?” He asked. His voice was a little different. It was a little more gentle, softer, sweeter. He cleared his voice. Like he was talking to someone he knew. Being this close to his mask she could make out the color and shape of his eyes. He must’ve realized this, looking at her maybe a little too intensely, causing her to break contact and nod her head. His grasp around her body intensified and she grabbed onto him for dear life as they ascended the elevator shaft. It made him chuckle a bit, feeling her arms stiffen, her nails digging into his body. 

They made it to the top, his arm still around her covered waist, but before he allowed her to walk into the lobby he turned her around, grabbing her shoulders. Behind her, a blood bath. Her distant coworkers, hot shot, dirty lawyers and other criminals lay dead in piles. He stared at her the way he did before, where she could make out his blueish green eyes. 

“Listen… What’s your name?”

“(Y/N),” she replied quietly. 

“I’m gonna lead you out of here. But you have to keep your eyes shut." Police sirens reared around all corners like thunder. She was scared, scared of everything around her, the smells invading her senses and the thick feeling of death in the air. If she took one peak at the massacre, she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it. She knew that everyone was gone. She nodded her head profusely, and he grabbed her hand with his gloved one. “Close them. Close your eyes.” She shut her eyes and they began to slowly walk. He noticed that she had no shoes, and blood stained the floor. She didn’t need to walk around leaving footprints of crimson. 

He lifted her up, carrying her in his arms. “Keep them closed, (Y/N).” She muttered okay as they made their way through the lobby, the sound of crunching glass underneath his combat boots. She knew why he was doing this, she wasn’t dumb. And she knew the only survivor of this massacre had to be the perpetrator, who was coaxing her in his arms and shushing her, reassuring her they were almost out. Her brain was too fogged to feel or decipher anything. The feeling of safety was enough for her. 

As soon as they were outside, police surrounded them, holding up guns. “Listen, I’m gonna need that jacket back,” He whispered to her as he put her down. “So I’ll see you soon.” 

And like that, he was gone. She had the feeling that no matter how far they chased him, it meant nothing. They’d never catch up. You didn’t even get his name. 

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #batman #fanfic #red hood #red hood x reader

[kit-williams]

Masterlist

Hi decided to actually make a masterlist because it's probably for the best.

Things to know: I will write from a mainly female pov/perspective and it will for the most part be monogamous hetro relationships (in the terms of genitals) I won't do fxf or mxm or trans because that's not how I grew up and I'm god awful at writing homosexual sex (genderbend I can do) Another no: Adultry/cheating/spouse(or partner) thievery

Asks are open

Number of asks waiting to be answered: 19

My Ao3 (I havent updated a story on there since like 2016 I'm scared to even let ya'll see it but I might post the AU on there)

So I mainly write Halo, Runescape, and Warhammer 40k but here I've only been posting my Warhammer 40k and D&D au

So expect a lot of polls because it helps focus my ADHD ass

PLACE WHERE YOU CAN ASK TO BE PUT ON TAG LIST

Poll Storage Pheromone Spray poll part 1 First kiss part 2 Pheromone Spray part 2 Husbandry lewdness poll First Kiss part 3 How to tag the lewd poll probably going with carnal bond

Warhammer 40k

The D&D AU

The Yandere Black Templar and Flesh Tearer

The Yandere Space Marine Masterlist

Story Vault until I know where to put these stories/how to categorize them

The boys and their darlings

This is not Canon mini masterlist

Come little children

Mjod wench

Pheromone Spray 1 2

Song Inspiration

First Kiss 1 2 3

Yandere Konrad, Angron, Abaddon

Minihammer

Yandere Leman, Horus, Lorgar, and Emperor

Fishing Heron: Sanguinius D&D AU

Just give me 3 days Mal

Yandere Perturabo, Lion, & Vulkan

Yandere Rogal Dorn

Warhammer Fantasy

Dangerous Druchii pending

Warhammer 40k & COD

The COD Integration mini-masterlist

Demon Prince/Bloodthirster Graves

The 40k au

How does Horangi spend the thrones? Horangi focused

Lieblings König focused

Spirit Halloween Ghost focused

Hey Kiddo Price focused

Where do babies come from reply

Hail to the King Black Templar König

Everyone is space elves

COD

The mud pit cope fic

Hot Chocolate cope fic König focused

Missing the Bairn cope fic Soap focused

Zombie cope fic Ghost focused

He scares me Nikto focused happens before the Soap one

It's a wonderful life CODHoliday2023 fic angst-comfort Ghost

Age hcs/boys ages

Random romantic thing I wrote

Tanz mit mir Regency Au songfic

Halo

Most of it is on my Ao3

Random

The eventual bringing over that one non con I wrote pending

I have to edit it

The #I wrote something for my tumblr can help too

Sentience base off of lancer but I really just like the Balor

Baby fluff

barn anon/Tales from the Barn/Space Marine Husbandry Sentience

I will rename this when I can sit and think of better titles for them

Space Marine Husbandry Sentience Mini Master List

51 more Space Marine Husbandry Sentience & Tales from the Barn

Hey Look another Space Marine Husbandry Mini Masterlist

Not a defect just a feature

Carnal Bond Death Guard

Cuddle Session: Night Lords

Lore Drop: Purring

Survivalist Anon Update

Thousand Sons guide

Hognose Snakes

Noise Marines

Video Games

Kitty Cat

What's not to love

This house is a tomb for cps and thieves

if it works for cats...

Reverse Husbandry AU

Reverse Husbandry Gabriel

Reverse Husbandry Headcanon

Reverse Husbandry Emperor

Sanguinius and Glitter

Gabriel and his sick human

Human Husbandry?

Primarchs in the reverse world

Gaius flees

Judgement from the Lord of Iron

Seeing things

Funny stuff/Fan art

Ovaries Stolen meme

Fan art by bispecsual

Blood Angel Gabriel meme

Fluffuary

Fluffuary master list

Fluffuary rules

#masterlist

[humanpurposes]

Karma is a God

Chapter 4: King’s Landing

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: Graphic descriptions of violence and death, greif/mourning, angst.

Words: 4700

A/n: Originally posted on AO3, posting to Tumblr before I get back to regular updates.

Vhagar lands on a stretch of shore along the Blackwater. He cannot say what the hour is, only that it is certainly later than he was supposed to return.

He had watched the sunset over Shipbreaker Bay and lingered longer than that. Now the sky is black and the moon shines like the sun, bathing the beach in a low and ghostly light.

Only when the dragon settles can he finally hear his breath, even through the breeze sweeping in unbroken from the sea. His gloved hands are still tight on the reins, but there’s something else bunched in his grip. Red fabric, dark and damp, soaked with seawater and rain.

He wonders if his hands are still his, numb and trembling with cold and… had he truly kept hold of it all this way?

He almost loses his grip as he climbs down from the saddle but keeps the cloak firmly in his grasp. His boots meet the sand and his knees go weak. For a moment he thinks his legs won’t take the weight, but he stands.

Vhagar has left them roughly half a mile from the Red Keep, he concludes, with consideration for the defect of his vision. The castle is little more than a darkened silhouette, so his eye is drawn to the little glimmers of candlelight glowing through the windows. It almost looks peaceful from here, and that feels like a lie. 

He looks down at his fist. Some of the fabric has fallen and trails along the sand. He had spent hours searching for a body, and this was all he could find of her.

His stomach drops and he reaches out for the ropes hanging down from the saddle to steady himself. Vhagar gives a slight grumble, likely eager to skulk off and find food. He does not move, keeping himself there as if anchored to her. 

But he cannot stay here forever. His family will be expecting news of Storm’s End.

His grandfather will be furious, his mother will never forgive him and Helaena… Helaena might never look at him again.

He begins his march along the beach, to the passageway below the castle and through the deserted halls. Every step feels wrong. His riding leathers are sodden and his eyepatch is loose from the flight, but he does nothing to adjust it. He keeps his head hung and his grip on the cloak tight, until he reaches the entrance hall.

Ser Arryk stands to meet him. “My Prince, the King awaits your arrival in the small council chamber.”

“Have the Lords also been summoned?”

“Yes, my Prince, and the Dowager Queen.”

Aemond’s gaze falls to the knight’s boots. He gives a distant hum in response. 

Aegon sits at the table with the crown of the conqueror on his head. Considering he had to be dragged from the streets of King’s Landing to be crowned, his brother has settled rather comfortably into his throne. He does not have the presence of a King, the mind nor the strength, but in a few short days he has found the pride of one.

Their mother stands over his left shoulder, and Criston Cole over his right, while Otto Hightower sits in his usual place, face as grim and grave as ever. The other Lords sit along the left, Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, and Tyland Lannister. The space once held by Lord Beesbury is still empty. 

“Brother,” Aegon says. His voice is bright but his eyes are dark. “You look awful–”

“What news of Storm’s End?” Otto interrupts.

Aemond realises he is frozen in the doorway, but he can’t convince his legs to walk any further.

Why couldn’t he have just stayed on the beach?

Why couldn’t he have just let her go?

“Lord Borros has pledged to support your claim,” he mutters, “and I in turn have agreed to marry Floris Baratheon.”

“The prettiest of the four storms, so I hear,” Aegon grins. “Baratheon blood is strong if our nephews and niece are anything to go by. I wonder, shall your brood have hair as dark as their cousins?”

Aemond does not reply and his expression does not flinch.

“We received word from the Maester at Storm’s End,” his grandfather says, “that Princess Lucerra was attempting to treat with Lord Borros on her mother’s behalf.”

Aemond furrows his brows and swallows the lump building in his throat. “Indeed, she arrived not long after I did.”

“And her efforts were unsuccessful?”

A sharp pain strikes his chest. Until this moment he’s been fooling himself, allowing himself a glimmer of hope that if he says nothing it cannot be true. His lips remain tight, his hands in fists by his side. He is stalling and every pair of eyes in the room can see it.

His mother’s gaze falls to the cloak spilling from his grip. “Aemond…” He is used to seeing this melancholic look in her eyes, but there’s a new spark of fear in her. She catches her lower lip between her teeth as she starts to pick at her nails. He wonders if she even realises she’s doing it. “Their Maester he…” 

Otto Hightower’s patience is wearing thin. “It is said you threatened the Princess.”

Aemond forces a small hum from his throat, but there are no words that follow.

He can see it all before his waking eyes, the flash of fire and Vhagar’s reins around his hands as he tried to deter her attack. As her jaws closed around Arrax’s body with an ear-splitting crunch he had tasted blood, and it is still faint on his tongue.

“Speak, boy,” the Hand demands in a tone usually reserved for Aegon, “we must know the whole truth.” 

The whole truth.

The truth is he liked having her at his mercy. 

The truth is he had felt a strange sort of elation when she entered the Round Hall. The Gods must have designed such a coincidence. His pretty little bastard niece, with a message in her hand and a blade on her hip, while the fate of the Kingdom hung in the balance.

The whole truth. 

The truth is he had felt Vhagar’s bloodlust surging through his veins, and had been powerless to stop it.

And what kind of a man does that make him?

“I killed her.”

The room was quiet before. Now it is a void of sound. The silence throbs in his ears as his eye falls to his brother. Aegon stares back, his eyes wide enough to border on mania. 

“What?”

“I pursued her as she left the castle. Vhagar tore Arrax to pieces and she fell.”

His grandfather’s voice is like gravel, low and scathing. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”

He feels everything and somehow nothing. “She owed a debt–”

“And you have taken far more than you were owed!” Otto bellows, standing from his seat. “You only lost one eye at her hand, how could you be so blind?”

“No, this is a victory!” Aegon insists. His eyes stay on Aemond and he nods. “We shall celebrate my brother’s triumph, his first taste of a true battle.” Then he turns to Otto, assured but with an understated venom to his words. “It is what you have always wanted, is it not, grandfather?”

“You fools! Rhaenyra might have accepted terms of peace, but now… now she will be out for blood.”

At the sound of a muffled sob Aemond looks to his mother. She has her head in her hands. “Mother have mercy on us all.”

When he returns to his chambers the first thing to come off is the eyepatch, then he sheds his boots and his riding leathers. He keeps Lucerra’s cloak bunched in his hands, but when he turns towards the bathtub he supposes he must part with it. He places it over an armchair by the fire to dry.

His servant assures him the water is tepid, but his skin burns and his core shivers. 

Of the Princelings and Princesses of the Red Keep, Luke had the widest smile, the most obnoxious laugh, the quickest temper and the brightest presence.

She had a habit of finding him when he didn’t want to be found, trailing him through the gardens, barging into his chambers and perching at his feet like a puppy begging for attention. On the occasions of feasts and celebrations, he would have been happy enough to fade into the background, but she would snatch his arm and drag him to the dancefloor with a smug grin on her lips.

He found no solitude in the library either. He always sat at the same desk, by a window overlooking the bay. She would not be far behind, placing her chin on his shoulder and hanging her arms over his front so he had to read through her hair.

She was so relentless with her questions. “Why did Aegon forge the Iron Throne? Why did Maegor have so many wives? Why do we have dragons?”

“It is our birthright,” he said to the latter, “as the blood of Valyria, as Targaryens.”

“But you do not have a dragon.”

“No.”

“Why?”

For that he had no answer. He had born with the title of ‘Prince’, the name ‘Targaryen’ and the silver hair and violet eyes of Old Valyria but he could not claim their greatest birthright. While she and her brothers, dark-haired and Strong, had each hatched their eggs.

She leaned in to press a small pillowy cheek against his. “When Arrax is large enough, you can ride with me.”

If only they could have been children forever.

He has not known a moment of peace since Driftmark and it is all because of her. He has felt her, with every sudden strike of pain in his head, with every whisper of “monster” and “one-eye”. Even his own reflection is a reminder of that night.

Six years he waited. And when he heard news that Rhaenyra was returning to the Red Keep to stake her son’s claim to Driftmark, he took to the skies on Vhagar, circling over the Kingswood for hours, untouchable and undistracted.

He dreamed of slashing out her eye, carving out her heart and leaving her to be found somewhere in a quiet corridor of the castle in a pool of her own blood. A drastic fantasy, one he had no intentions of fulfilling unless he wanted to lose his head. Of course, Lucerra could get away with maiming the King’s son, but his father would not be so merciful to him.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting. They had been children when they last met, and his last look of her had hardly been with much fondness.

He had spotted Jace first, his face indisputably resembling Ser Harwin Strong from brow to chin, though lacking his natural father’s build. It was hard to believe he possessed a single drop of his mother’s blood. But Lucerra, despite the dark curls falling around her shoulders and those wide brown eyes, was nothing less than Rhaenyra Targaryen’s daughter, made only more apparent with maturity. She had the same deep set eyes, the same nose, the same stern and solemn gaze. Yet her beauty was less severe than her mother’s, in the round of her cheeks, her soft jaw, the slight fullness in her lower lip.

He couldn’t stop looking, and neither could she. Perhaps it was out of guilt, or fear, but whatever it was he decided he liked it.

When Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk those years ago, he had felt nothing short of repulsed. When he had indulged a few of the Ladies of the court, he felt unimpressed and underwhelmed. For a while he thought there was something (else) wrong with him, that where his brother seemed to think of nothing but fucking whores and harassing serving girls, his mind was elsewhere.

But he felt it in her presence, as her eyes met his across the table, as he followed her from the dining hall like a shadow and held her body against the wall, the want he had been waiting for. He had expected her mouth to taste bitter, but she had tasted sweet, like a promise of victory. He didn’t understand it, the heat and exhilaration as his hands roamed her body, as she sighed breathlessly against his ear, all too eager to right her past wrongs, chasing her high under his touch.

“I do not want him to hate me,” she said. 

That’s not how it was supposed to be. 

Six years of anguish, what had it all been for? Reeling in his bed at bouts of pain that even milk of the poppy could not sedate. The humiliation of misjudging his own vision when undertaking even the most mundane of tasks. All the hours he had endured his mother’s pity as she buried her face in his hair and wept. All the stares. All the whispers. All because of a doe-eyed and vicious little Princess.

“I hate her,” he would whisper, to his pillow, to the fire, to the images of the Seven, to the skies and beyond, “I hate her. I hate her.”

Even if he tried, he knows he cannot bring himself to say those words now.

And what was it all for if he cannot hate her?

Trembling fingers absentmindedly trace his scar. It is hers as much as it is his, a mark of her cruelty, her impulsivity, just her.

He slips below the surface of the water. He holds his breath until his heart pounds in his head and his lungs burn. His body betrays him. His mouth opens for a sharp intake of water and only then does he force himself up, choking and coughing violently as his lungs dispel the intrusion.

He hardly sleeps. By the time he closes his eyes it is dawn and his servant returns with a plate of cured meats and the news that the King means to hold a feast in his honour.

He does his duty. When he goes to greet his mother she turns her head and pretends not to hear him. When he looks to Helaena her eyes are fixed on her empty plate. She mutters to herself, her usual riddles, the kind he supposes he will never decipher. So he takes his place beside his brother. He does not speak and does not touch the platters of food laid out before him.

The rest of the hall is hesitant to indulge the King’s wishes for revelry. The conversations are hushed, the music quiet, and no one dares to make a step for the dancefloor. 

Aegon leans over him and Aemond winces at the sour stench of wine on his breath. “You needn’t look so glum,” he says, “you have made a triumphant start for us.”

Having his brother’s approval feels like an insult, but he is the only person who has spoken a word to him since his return, the only member of his family who will look him in the eye.

Time doesn’t make sense anymore. Hours feel like weeks and days are mere moments as they slip by. 

It is uncertain how quickly word will spread or when the news will finally reach Dragonstone, but when it does war will follow. Their allies are few but enough to secure power. Aegon is the anointed King, his rule will not be undone so long as they hold the capital. That is all they need. An attack on King’s Landing is unlikely, not with Vhagar defending it. 

One morning he finds himself heading for Helaena’s chambers. He used to visit her and the children each morning. Now, when he goes to her, he finds he has little to say.

Their relationship has often been one of few words. Since childhood they have been happy to sit in a comfortable silence as she sews and he reads, to walk arm in arm through the gardens, to ride Vhagar and Dreamfyre side by side over the Blackwater. Other times one speaks and the other listens; she enthuses over her studies of small creatures, and he recites passages of history.

She’s pacing the room, bouncing little Maelor in her arms and the babe happily gurgles back. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are on the floor, admiring little wooden dragons painted in the image of their parents’ mounts, one gold for Synfyre, the other blue for Dreamfyre.

His presence seems to cast a shadow. Helaena pauses and turns to face him. He scarcely recognises her of late. She looks tired, her pale blue eyes duller and narrower than they should be.

“Helaena-”

“Come children,” she says with her usual sweetness, ushering the twins back to the nursery. His heart shatters at the way she clutches Maelor, turning him into herself, away from danger, away from him.

“Sister, you know I would never-”

“Never what?” She asks sharply. 

He clenches his jaw when he notices the tears falling down her face.

She looks into the fireplace as she presses her lips to Maelor’s head. The boy squirms and she gently rocks him into a settled stillness. “We might have escaped this,” she whispers, “but now…”

His sister’s despair is the heaviest burden of all. “I can protect you,” he says. “I will protect you.”

Helaena shakes her head, eyes fixed on the flames. “Bonds of blood are so easily forgotten, and yet never forgiven.” 

When he is not by Aegon’s side in meetings of the Small Council, Aemond lingers in his chambers. One night he perches on the end of his bed, glaring down at his eyepatch as he twists it around his fingers. The red cloak remains where he left it a fortnight ago.

The Blacks are mobilising. Daemon has taken Harrenhal and Jacaerys has flown North after leaving the Eyrie. Surely he has gone to Winterfell, to secure an alliance with Lord Stark. If that is true, they cannot hope to match their enemies by numbers, but he and Aegon are hardly concerned, for what is an army of unruly Northmen to the Queen of dragons?

There is little news of the would-be-Queen on Dragonstone. Rhaneyra lost the child she had been carrying the day she learned of Viserys’ death, the very same day Aegon was crowned at the Dragon Pit before the masses of King’s Landing. It is said, as she stood before the funeral pyre, a knight of the kingsguard presented her with the crown of King Jaehaerys. 

His eye drifts up to Lucerra’s cloak.

Rhaenyra must surely know by now.

He vaguely becomes aware of a distant clattering of armour before the door bursts open and Ser Criston enters unannounced. He lingers in the door, panting for breath.

The eyepatch falls to the floor as Aemond darts to his feet with an alertness he has not felt for weeks.

Cole’s skin is pale. “The Queen…”

“Which Queen?” He demands.

“You must come with me, my Prince.”

They hurry through the Holdfast, Aemond holds his breath until they walk past the corridor that would lead them to Helaena’s bedchamber. At least his sister is safe.

He follows Cole across the drawbridge, towards the Tower of the Hand. He prepares himself for an endless number of possibilities. His mother may be injured, or ill. She may be dead.

He hears a woman’s screams before they reach the door. 

A crowd has gathered outside Queen Alicent’s chambers, guards, servants, curious Lords demanding to know what has transpired within while the remaining Kingsguard attempt to maintain some order.

And then he realises, it is not his mother who is screaming.

Aemond’s heart stops. “Helaena?”

Cole places a hand on the door and pauses. His face melts into a mournful frown. “I am so sorry-”

Aemond’s patience snaps. He barges the door open and storms inside. 

The tang of death is thick in the air.

His sister is kneeling in a pool of blood on the floor, screams tearing through her throat, occasionally broken by sobs and gasps for air. She is pawing at two, small, headless bodies.

Aegon hunches over her, tears streaming down his face as he tries to pull her away. “Let them go,” he begs her, “please, Hel, just let them go.”

It does not cease her screams. She flinches at his touch and pushes him away.

Their mother stands to the side of the room, crying too, her face twisted and red. She cradles Maelor in her arms, keeping his head between her shoulder and her neck as the boy shrieks and wails for a mother who cannot hear him.

Aegon looks up to him. His face is hollow and writhing at the horror before him. Aemond has never seen his brother so broken.

His mother says there were two of them, that they came into her chambers through a passage within the walls, and bound her. They waited for Helaena and the children. They said they were debt collectors, come to claim the lives of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera for the loss of Visenya and Lucerra.

He leads the hunt for the perpetrators himself. He has to. He cannot bear the wait, cannot bear to be within the same walls while his family grieves.

They find one at the city gates with the twins’ heads in a sack. He confesses he had been heading for Harrenhal, to collect his payment from Prince Daemon. Aemond ensures he dies screaming, in all the pain he imagines his niece and nephew suffered and more.

The other, a ratcatcher, according to the other man, cannot be found, no matter how he searches, no matter who he questions, no matter how many orders he bellows to the men of the City Watch. Instead he demands that all the city’s ratcatchers be hanged.

It is not enough. The damage has been done.

Aemond stands behind his family when they burn the bodies.

In the years since their marriage, he has never known his siblings to harbour any love outside of their marital duty. Now, as they stand before the funeral pyre, Aegon has his arm over Helaena’s shoulder and she leans into him. Their mother stands on Helaena’s other side, their hands clenched tightly together. 

Even their dragons have gathered. Shrykos and Morghul have come to mourn their bound souls, while Dreamfyre watches the scene a little further away, cooing a wounded song.

At Aegon’s order, Sunfyre crawls forwards. “Dracarys.” He chokes as he says it, and the little Prince and Princess are claimed by golden flames.

The blazing heat is intense but the surface of his skin still feels cold. He had overheard his mother saying something about the twins being bound in death as they were in life. What will it matter? He thinks. They are still dead.

When he retires to his chambers he lays out on the bed. He knows sleep will bring him no comfort, so he basks in the silence, the isolation, the awareness of his breath and the pounding of his heart.

And then his mind starts to slip. He sees Luke’s eyes burning with a curious fury across the hall of Storm’s End and the stubborn pout of her lips…

Then he feels her fading into him, her hands on either side of his jaw as she kissed him, her arms around his shoulders, his lips on her skin as she whimpered his name…

He slips further. He sees a storm. He sees her cloak billowing behind her as she falls. He tastes blood. In the distance, someone cries her name…

He wakes to a rumbling in his throat and his own cries echoing through the chamber.

After that he does what he can to dispel sleep. He whispers Valyrain poetry to himself, counts every individual scale on Vhagar’s hide from memory, thinks through games of cyvasse in his head, but nothing works for long. 

He keeps slipping back to her.

There is one horror that might spare his mind from the image of Lucerra, made all the more tangible when he can hear his sister’s screams and sobs echoing through the Holdfast. 

So he lies there, drifting between consciousness and tormented sleep, tears falling effortlessly down his face. He wants it to stop. He wants to tear his other eye from his face, pull his hair out from the root, scratch at his skin until there is nothing left but blood. But he does not. 

Three lives lost because of him, and how devastatingly simple the exchange had been.

At the behest of their mother, Aemond visits his brother at the same hour each day.

He finds what he has come to expect, newly replaced furnishings slashed and upturned, glass cups and mirrors shattered to fragments, books previously untouched torn to shreds and littered about the floor. Aegon is curled into a corner with his back against the wall, his mouth stained purple and his eyes red. Blackfyre is discarded at his side.

Aemond settles beside him. He reaches for an empty pitcher of wine and stands it upright. An attempt at restoring some semblance of normalcy.

“I failed them,” his brother whispers.

“They did not die by your hand,” Aemond replies.

“I should have protected them. What kind of father does not protect his own children?”

“Brother, if there can be blame, it should be my burden alone to bear. Had I simply done what was asked of me…” but he cannot finish. It’s like he’s drowning, a coldness washing over him in unrelenting waves as his very throat works against him. 

“No,” Aegon whispers. His lips start to twist into a snarl, bearing his teeth like a feral animal. “Justice comes due. That bastard slashed out your fucking eye and our father did nothing.”

The memory is still as clear as it had been in the moment. The stitches in his wound had hardly been sewn, accusations and demands flew through the air, and through it all the King- his father, had hardly looked at him. When he finally did there were no words of comfort, no remorse, just the desperate fury of a weak, old man. 

Just like that, he had felt his childish naivety slip between his fingers like smoke. It had been a cruel realisation.

Aemond had often thought he knew why their father had never been particularly impressed with his children after Rhaenyra. Aegon, a wasteful, Helaena, a dreamer, Daeron, a squire of Oldtown, and he, broken, and dragonless before that. But then he supposed, they had not always been the way they were. They were babes once, blissfully oblivious to the darkness of the world they had been born into. 

“Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were children,” he mutters, “they did not deserve to be dragged into this war.”

“I offered Rhaenyra peace and now she has taken my heir and my only daughter. They died afraid, not knowing if-” he lets out a startled sob and holds it back as quickly as it came. He looks down at his hands, stroking a finger over a ruby set in gold, one of the endless heirlooms he had been bestowed upon Viserys’ death. “I don’t think I ever told them I loved them.”

A thousand memories flash before his eye. Aemond had been there when they babbled their first words, caught Jaehaera into his arms when she took her very first steps, carried Jaehaerys on his shoulders when he was too tired to make the walk back to the castle from the beach…

Aemond’s lips curl under his teeth to bite down at the flesh of his mouth. He has always thought of the children as being Helaena’s rather than Aegon’s. Jaehaerys, quiet and unsure, and sweet little Jaehaera, wistful and dreamy, a little more daring than her twin. 

Aegon has spent most of his life fleeing from duty, and fatherhood is no exception.

He hesitates for a few moments, and gently places a hand over his. Aegon flinches at first, but settles at the touch.

“I will never be able to make things right,” Aegon says.

A dull yet familiar pain appears in Aemond’s skull, somewhere behind the sapphire in his socket. “We might yet,” he says. “If Rhaenyra wants a war, if she wants this to fall to fire and blood, then by the gods we will grant her this.”

Tags: @randomdragonfires @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles

#dead dove do not eat #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x original female character #aemond x fem!lucerys #hotd fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x oc #my fics #karma is a god

[6-maranatha-scours-the-universe]

Loving the Angels of Kill Six Billion Demons

I'm just going to use examples from the earlier volumes of KSBD (from a limited area because I haven't read much). I can't help but love the angels in KSBD not just from the fact of the intense creativity of the artist (Tom Parkinson-Morgan) working on the webcomic but from the fact that it kind of embraces the duality of angel depictions that internet culture has been meming about for a little bit. You know what I'm talking about. The biblically accurate angels memes. (Also I'm largely unaware of the pronoun conventions of the angels in KSBD but I'll just use nonbinary pronouns for them all.)

As much as I enjoy these memes because they are funny, they actually create a pretty inaccurate image of what angels look like in the Bible because they just choose to over-represent angels like the Ophanim and Cherubim from the Book of Ezekiel.

Depiction of Ezekiel's Vision from the first chapter of the Book of Ezekiel (there are four angelic figures in the chapters but this one only shows two) by an unknown artist. But in the Bible, the majority of angelic figures other than these ones are just... dudes, I mean that in that they are non-cosmic horror-looking figures. While the majority of angels aren't particularly well described we can tell who are, and who aren't angels because of the Hebrew word Malakh which means "messenger." And it sort of makes sense that the majority of the time these messengers sent by God would generally be amiable-looking humanoids when interacting with humans as opposed to always looking like cosmic horrors inspiring nigh madness-like awe. I think a good example of an angel is the(or an) angel of the Lord who appears multiple times in the Bible at key points to relay messages from God to humans at multiple key points. For bringing Manoah's barren wife, then Manoah, (Judges 13:12-18, 13:21) that she's going to give birth to Samson and instructions as to what to do with Samson. This dude probably looked normal to them, or normalish in their context. Look this isn't trying to be professional because I just want to give some proper appreciation for KSBD for towing that line between cosmic horror and normalish looking human (or humanoid) in the context they live. The specific points in KSBD that I want to bring attention to are 82 White Chain (full name "82 White Chain Born in Emptiness Returns to Subdue Evil") and their form in the Void. With the more recognizably "biblically accurate" angels appearing as their true forms in the Void while they await reincarnation or release from their banishment.

Incarnate

In the Void

Some other angels in KSBD also at the very least have the appearance of "maybe they're just going to say hi and not kill me" in their incarnate forms (in the context of the multiversal world) of KSBD. Like 2 Michael.

Incarnate

Form in the Void 1 Metatron and 6 Juggernaut Star Scours the Universe are imo the angels that are universally the most alien (even in the context of the multiversal reality they inhabit). Juggernaut for being metal as fuck looking in all forms and Metatron for their size to be representative of their closeness to divinity

In the Void (Juggernaut)

Incarnate (Juggernaut)

Void (Metatron)

Idk. This isn't meant to be a professional examination of these characters in relation to biblical angels. Hell, the angels in KSBD aren't even directly relatable to biblical angels in a metaphysical sense because of the mix of Gnosticism and Dharmic religious theology influencing worldbuilding. Fuck it lol. It's good art..... also I stole some of Juggernaut's name for this Tumblr account name lol. Sources for the Art: https://knowyourmeme.com/editorials/guides/what-are-biblically-accurate-angels-and-why-are-they-a-meme https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/biblically-accurate-angels-be-not-afraid https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Ezekiel%27s_vision.jpg https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/wielder-of-names-1-8/ https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/ksbd-1-14/ https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/wielder-of-names-1-5/ https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/wielder-of-names-3-56/ https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/wielder-of-names-1-10/ https://orbitaldropkick.tumblr.com/post/82091686323/the-angel-called-6-juggernaut-star-scours-the https://killsixbilliondemons.com/comic/wielder-of-names-2-24-incarnate/

#kill six billion demons #art talk about stuff #religion #biblical angel

[cboffshore]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

thanks for the tag, @fabrowrites!

Tagging: @basicallyjaywalker and, uh, I'm not really sure. NWOD buddies, if you see this, you're all welcome to hop on too!

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

Twelve! One is technically a mini essay collection and one is a poem, though, so ten proper fics.

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

122,397!!! Which is.... wow!!

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Ninjago. That's it. I don't really engage with other shows enough to write fic for them, and I think writing fic for IRL bands and such is weird as hell, so I don't that at all.

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

Oh boy, let's see:

A Disappearing Act (Done Poorly) leads the race, which makes sense - she's been around the longest!

It Doesn't Take Much (To Cover Up Small Cuts) is a bit of a surprise, but so worth it.

The Splinter in the Blind Man's Eye: An Unofficial Revision . What a great group project. Too bad Tommy wandered off to work on Dreamzzz or whatever... This one is like a tombstone on my account. Or maybe a mausoleum...

Just Cross The Waters my beloved!

Coughing Up Feathers is one that I'm amazed isn't higher - kind of had a spike in activity when I updated OSSAS this year.

5. do you respond to comments

YES. I love to blabber. Please ask me questions!!

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Elegy Above Sea Level isn't a fic - it's that single poem I mentioned earlier - but it's really the only work I have that ends on a purely bitter note. I don't deal in unbalanced angst, but I like this one. Goes down like a raw spoonful of cocoa powder, honestly, and I adore it.

7. what is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oof, that's... that's a tough one. I would have to say Coughing Up Feathers purely because it's got a miniature "everyone laughs" ending that still makes me smile when I read it back.

8. do you get hate on fics?

No, and you know what? I wish I did, sort of. Maybe not outright hate, though. As much as I love opening my comments to find my readers excited for me, it does get a little repetitive sometimes. Peer review me in the comments! Find an inconsistency and make me justify it! Lord knows I've done my share of criticism (on Tumblr and Discord, though - I'm just nice enough to not do it in the comments) and I think it would be fun to get that energy back. Plus, spite fuels me! If you make me mad, you get more writing. Win-win.

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

Nope. Never. I would rather eat pillow stuffing.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

Not any more, but my very first fic from middle school was a god-awful triple hit of Star Wars (with total homebrew lore, all I kept were the lightsabers and Force tricks), Ninjago, and - get this - Lindsey Stirling. I abandoned it halfway through the Rise of the Snakes season installment.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope! That's the nice thing about focusing on an underappreciated angle - everyone else pays attention to the big, popular stuff, and only the people who would appreciate it even look twice at mine.

12. what's the longest you've spent working on a fic? and the shortest?

If I Can Think (Of Something Clever) took me about three months of on and off writing, plus LOADS of planning, so that's my longest! On the other hand, I wrote Wouldn't It Be Grand? (It Ain't Exactly What You Planned) in the span of a few hours.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! Not sure I want to, either, although maybe someday...

14. what's your all-time favorite ship? from all fandoms?

IT'S THE MISFORTUNE'S KEEP. I don't do romance, not really, although to properly answer that I will confess that I do like Jaya enough to write it now and then.

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I don't really have any WIPs in limbo right now, so I don't have an answer here? Either I finish a fic or I lay it to rest when the momentum dies. No middle ground.

16. what are your writing strengths?

I've been told that I'm very good at comedic timing and imagery! I love trying to paint the mental image of a room - sometimes I even do floor plans to help me out.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

I worry that my action writing is a little too straightforward - I write like I had to when I was a stage manager, so my actions are VERY cut and dried. It helps me visualize better, so I'm unlikely to change, but I wonder sometimes if my readers get sick of it.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've never done it, but I think it's a cool idea!

19. first fandom you wrote for?

Ninjago. I've never written fic for any other.

20. favorite fic you've written?

My favorite usually tends to be my most recent, so that honor goes to If I Can Think (Of Something Clever). It also breaks a few records - both in personal best fic length, and in the fact that it's the first fic I've ever seen that comprehensively gets to Nya's experience during e63 instead of just nodding at it during the aftermath. That entire series is fueled by that "be the fic author you want to see in the world" idea, because let's be real - there isn't a lot of Nya centric Skybound content. When there is, it's usually aftermath, but I want to see the thick of it! I'm doing my best out here.

#lila speaks #tag game

[queer-as-used-by-tolkien]

I have full executive authority to modify my text posts for another audience - to express the exact same sentiment but in words that the new audience will understand. To translate, if you will, from "broad and unknown Tumblr audience" who speak the Tumblr lingo and dialect and who could be literally anybody, to "close family with a humongous bunch of shared experience and similar language to talk about them," who share my worldview and understand what I'm saying without getting offended by a caveat I forgot to include or a specification or detail that I thought was unnecessary. (E.g. on Tumblr I might say "my friend X", but to family I'd just say "X")

Translation from one to the other, and vice versa, is necessary for both clarity and brevity. Different audiences require different approaches.

Tumblr audience might have sentences providing caveats or clarity or introduction to a concept that the family audience already knows or doesn't need. For brevity, I would cut those out, but I might also add sentences to help with transition or to aid in pacing of the ideas, concepts, or story. (This also goes for fic; is the fic for fans only or is it friendly to fandom-blind readers? Same story, told in slightly different words sometimes.)

But they are still my words and all those words remain as true as they were in the original form (assuming I didn't decide to lie to one group). In fact, if somebody had access to both versions (and understood both), they could see more of my mind, heart, and will than otherwise; for example, my willingness to even do such a thing as translating or providing two different versions. A family member who forgot my relation to X might be reassured by the label "friend" when describing her. (It might also mean a lot to the friend, if she read both accounts.) It always helps to see further caveats, examples, side notes, details, or even just different phrasing that I thought would help one group's perspective but wouldn't be too useful for the other unless they were doing a deeper study of my words, for whatever reason.

Now if I DID decide to lie, of course, you can't believe either version (or any new one I came up with), because now I'm a liar and you can't trust anything at all. But assuming I'm not a liar (and nobody has messed with my words, or it's not an outright faked screenshot or deep fake or whatever) - assuming I am truthful and you trust me (and/or my messenger), you can learn a lot from the differences of how I convey the same idea.

Between the two versions I might also do things like update typos or accidental occurrences of misgendering, clarify grammar, institute proper capitalization, and so on.

It makes me think of a post I saw once about the differences between Hunger Games books and movies; how the books tell a story of how awful war is to kids, and how awful the capitol is to make them have a love triangle to survive, and how awful it is for them to sit back and watch it as entertainment. And how the movies have us sit back and be entertained while children have a love triangle and fight each other. It seems like a classic case of "movies butchered the books," but the author was actually involved in and had quite some say in the production of the movie. Looking at them, they both together tell a more powerful story than otherwise. I'll see if I can find that post because it was a JOURNEY.

Anyway. The author has ultimate authority to translate their work to different audiences, with different emphases and details, whether the work is a Tumblr text post or an essay or verbally telling a friend what happened to me today.

Same goes for the Lord Jesus Christ, the word of God (John 1). (For one thing, translating God Himself into human form while preserving his divinity? Major translation skills there.)

The four gospels are an example of this; Matthew, for example, is addressed primarily to the Jews and includes many extra details, adding things like "BTW this was in fulfillment of XYZ prophecy" and including the genealogy through David and all like that. Luke is written by a Gentile to Gentiles, and tells similar stories but often with different details.

Only one gospel mentions that when Jesus fed the five thousand, it was at evening; only one mentions that it was a little boy who had the five loaves and two fishes; when Jesus asks a disciple what they're going to do, only one gospel mentions that Jesus said it "to try him."

John is far more focused on Jesus' divine nature, including many stories not included in the others. Different details, different emphases, different audiences, although ultimately, all four are available to us who have lived after the first century AD.

The gospels also show off another aspect of the author having final authority to translate while still being pure, truthful, and accurate: quotations from the Old Testament.

The OT was written in Hebrew. Jesus reads from a Greek translation and calls it Scripture. (I.e. equally as inspired as the original.) The apostles and writers of the New Testament often do likewise.

The same can be true of other translations as well. Translations into Latin, into German, into French, into Old English, into Early Modern English... God is the master of language. He created it, after all. Jesus is the word. All Scripture is inspired and profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for instruction in righteousness...

But only the author has that authority. If I tell my sister one thing and she tells my friend something in anything other than my own words, it may still be true; but it's slightly less true than my own words. Hopefully, usually the difference is negligible, but in a contest, anything I've ever said or written on the topic is more accurate than what somebody else said.

Hence, if there's something strange about the story my sister tells, my friend would do well to take it with a grain of salt (or more than one, if she knows I have a bad relationship with my sister.) If not, this can pass from one to another like a game of telephone until it devolves into gossip that's wholly untrue, outright malicious, etc.

I and only I retain the right to point to two different versions of my words and say both are equally true. My sister can't say "her words and mine are equal" unless she was there, and even then, any differences would be down to her own different perspective (and level of honesty), not mine.

You never know when somebody might embellish a Bible translation. I hear Satan has quite the interest in perverting God's words (just see Genesis 3). Compare your translation carefully with both itself and others.

On that note, let me share some comparisons to get you started.

One of them has to be wrong. What do you think?

#Bible #Kjv #Kjv-only #Christianity

[docileandlazy]

your relationship with ur faith is really inspiring to me. I see people on tumblr talk about their religion and It feels very different from what I see represented everywhere else. Do you have any tips for someone who has little to no experience with this kind of thing exploring a relationship with Christianity / God

What are you looking for in God ? What does God mean to you ? Why are you searching for a relationship with God ? With Faith ?

These are some of the questions I asked myself when I first began to explore my own relationship with religion. As part of that exploration, no matter the answers arrived at, I think it's important to understand that God isn't one set thing. I know who/what God is to me: I know what he represents, how I view him, and how I see my relationship with him playing out with him in the way that best suits myself and my lifestyle. God to you doesn't have to be the same thing God is to me, God isn't the same thing to me as he is to many of my friends or fellow theists I speak to. We all have such beautiful and unique relationships with him - for some of us, that means acknowledging him, praying to him, worshiping him, loving him, and for some that means having no personal relationship with him at all, or any combination of these things. There is no right way to have a relationship with God and Religion. However you do it is good and it is holy and it is beautiful.

I started exploring religion personally by looking into the saints and their stories, the devotion and love they held for the Lord were things that were really inspiring to me. Even if you don't view the saints as vessels of divinity the way we catholics do (as it is often the protestant belief that it is a sin to do so), i believe their stories of devotion and the stories of their lives are still something that can be so inspiring. So hopeful. Reading stories of the Bible (though, they don't have to be directly from the Bible - it can be an overwhelming book to start with. You can find condensed versions elsewhere) gave me Hope. To read of Judas and the kiss he granted Jesus, of the love they felt. Of the love Adam felt for Even in the Garden of Eden, a love so deep he'd go against the wishes of his creator. The separation of the sea, the love Jesus had for people of all kind, his brothers and sisters blood or no blood. These were all things that brought me hope, and it is the stories such as this within the Bible that I recommend to people first. The stories of love. Of devotion. Of hope.

I also enjoyed looking into other peoples interpretations of these stories and happenings. As silly as it sounds, tumblr did help me find my faith. So did forum websites. Youtube theology videos. Reddit, oddly enough. Catholic church websites, protestatnt church websites. Peoples personal blogs. Books from the thrift store, from the library. What drew me first to religion was the community I found within it, the love that is held there. I began to question my faith as the result of the steady decline in my physical and mental health, and it was through God that I was able to get through the mental health part of that. He helped save me, or at least my love for him did. So look for others, look into what people say, believe, think, how they live - it helps. It continues to be my favorite part of my religion. My relationship with God and religion is always changing, its always an active process.

My biggest piece of advice is this: if you do find yourself coming to faith, to religion, to God, it doesn't have to be some big, awe inspiring "oh wow" moment. It can be little things. Religion clicks for some, it doesn't for others, for some the process is fast, for others it's slow, for some it's any combination of things. It's a process that is different for everyone. Be not discouraged. In my earliest days, when I truly began to believe in God again I found myself closest to him when I was doing nothing but sitting on my bed, writing prayers, listening to music. There was no big moment, no spark. I just took a deep breath and realized that I'd found the love I was looking for, and that I'd found it in God.

#pryn #religion #ask #i dont know if this makes sense. religion is such a complex and beautiful topic to me. God is so complex and wonderful. He is made of love.

[lostfracturess]

i’ve got my work laptop out and my phone in hand to live react to this chapter 😼

omg i kneww it was the fkn student he punched. satoru’s so sweet to not want to drag her into a courtcase though.

kafka 😩🫶🏼💕 ive been on such a kafka kick lately omg (not so much reading his actual works but looking at kafka tumblr quotes 😔 i feel motivated to actually read his works now) also the way he sees her?? we’re so beautiful to him 🤭

“what a fucked up way to describe it. a child, small and defenseless against an unyielding force. where was the justice in that?”

☹️☹️☹️ ok i’m teared up. wtf.

“for all her strength and boldness, there was this fragile core to her. one that the world, am i, seemed intent on bruising.”

😩🤚🏼 i feel for reader fr she can do no wronggg in my eyes omg i can FEEL the stress of all this fkn research & trials gone wrong omg. she’s such an empath and it’s takin a toll on my girl over here

OHMYGOSHHH she saw the lawyer papers plsss higurama you had one job 😓 also i know im supposed to hate how secretive n stubborn he is but something ab his habit of shutting reader up w kisses 😩🤚🏼 i like my men toxic like that LMFAO

yaga laying innnn on him omg i love the consequences of his actions catching up to him. the forbidden romance is forbidden romancinggg. THE ETHICS COMMITTEE….hmm i mean considering the power dynamic i think satoru would def be the one to take the brunt of accusation if they were caught 🤔 i really wonder if reader would receive as heavy of a fall from grace as he would

omg the elevator stuck scene 🫣 PLS HE CONSIDERS FUCKING HER IN THE ELEVATOR!!?? IM SCREAMING. also they need to stop talking ab thisss in the elevator omg ppl might be listening or recording 😔 where is higurama w the legal counsel.

i cant tell if its my iced coffee giving me palpitations rn or if its your fucking writing (most likely latter). i looove how theyre resolved to try n keep each other tho :”) despite facing the things going on rn.

sheesh those lab results lmao that patient’s liver gotta be fucked 🤣 Oh WHAT ITS SATORU’s LIVER 😨 NOOO.

aw a signed kafka book?!? 😩🤚🏼 lord…

im on the basketball scene and ugggh first of all basketball satoru?!?! NEED. just imagining his arm muscles flexing while he’s shootin a shot 😩 also he’s sooo whipped for her oh my god. need a man who loves this deeply.

OHY MY GOD A SPARE TO HIS APARTMENT ITS SO REAL. ITS ALL FEELING SO REAL RN. SCREAMING. TRYING SO FKN HARD TO HIDE THE SMILE ON MY FACE RN.

oh god i cant ice ant i cant the hydropmorphone this sshift in energy i cant. to the bathroom for my ten min i go because i alr know imma need to scream for this 😭😭😭

NO WAAAYYY HE’s DOIN DRUGSS OFF OF HER IM ABOUT TO LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND. OH MY GOD IM CLUTCHING MY PEARLS RN. OVER SUGURU’s FUCKING DESK?!????

OH. MY. GOD. SATORU IS THE FUCKING DEVIL. HE’s THE DEVIL. I……….I JUST GOT TO THE END. I COULD DEADASS SCREAM RN. THE— THE GUMPTION. THE GALL?!?!? TO LICK HIS FUCKING FINGERS.

i…….🧍🏻‍♀️i’m literally shaking. im SHAKING like IM the one w a panic attack or withdrawal rn. you ate this chapter up. you ate this chapter ALL the way fucking up and i could cry rn. no words. pheewww AND IM SUPPOSED TO MOVE ON W MY DAY AFTER THIS?!????!

fuck.

girl you make me cry with your comments! 😭❤️ yes, satoru is such a sweetheart for dealing with the lawsuit with money that she wouldn't have to go to court, even if that means he would have to swallow that bitter pill. green flag!!

and yes, pls pls read kafka! there are a lot of short books and stories of him that are just like a four hour read but so worth it, can't recommend that enough!!

OHMYGOSHHH she saw the lawyer papers plsss higurama you had one job

higurma must have done it on purpose i'm so sure!! like i wrote it, but still am not quite convinced it was a coincidence ahhh! and him shutting her up with kisses is EVERYTHING. bit toxic okay, but EVERYTHING.

the forbidden romance is forbidden romancinggg.

yes, the forbidden romance is catching up to them, how would have thought. like satoru was not even trying to hide it that much, but now he's surprised?? he's so stupid.

PLS HE CONSIDERS FUCKING HER IN THE ELEVATOR!!?? IM SCREAMING.

yeeeessss!! he really considered it a split second as he knows that will work quite good to shut her up ahaha he's so miserable with talking and feelings. but he sure knows what he's good at and how to use that. 🌚🌚

im on the basketball scene and ugggh first of all basketball satoru?!?! NEED. just imagining his arm muscles flexing while he’s shootin a shot

yes!!! i want to rewrite this scene out of reader pov just to be able to describe a bit of how this mf handsome man looked in this scene for us to please ahhhh.

also he’s sooo whipped for her oh my god. need a man who loves this deeply.

he's down bad for her and this will be his undoing. but yes, everyone deserves a man how's on his knees for his girl!!!

NO WAAAYYY HE’s DOIN DRUGSS OFF OF HER IM ABOUT TO LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND.

he's so fkn feral omg, like he really got some nerves doing that aahhhhh. also over suguru's desk ahahah. still he could lick every drug he wants from my body at any time ngl.

I COULD DEADASS SCREAM RN. THE— THE GUMPTION. THE GALL?!?!? TO LICK HIS FUCKING FINGERS.

HE HAS NO SHAME!!! this man is so unhinged and i loved every second writing him like that. he maybe is about to lose his mind but he's still serving while going insane!!

thank you so so much for your comments on this chapter, is was so funny to see your reaction while reading!!! thank you so so much for your support and taking your time to write this (also on your rec on the story??? reposting this in a minute), wishing you nothing but the best! 🥲🫶🫶

#symptoms and causes #inbox

[fishylife]

Fishy's top movies watched in 2023

It’s that time of year again. Time for my movies roundup for the year.

This post includes movies that I watched in 2023, not movies that were released in 2023. I will rank movies based on my personal impression, so this is not an objective post. As well, I sort the movies in tiers as opposed to individual rankings.

From my ‘About’ page, you can see my movies posts from prior years as well as my Dreamwidth blog where I post writeups on movies and other media.

And on with the list!

My Favourite Movies of the Year

These were the movies that had the biggest impact on me. I think of them often.

The Last Black Man in San Francisco (2019)

This movie was about a man and his attachment to his childhood house. It was based on the experiences of one of the writers, who also played a fictionalized version of himself in the movie as one of the main characters. I thought the movie was thoughtful in its themes, about gentrification, and people's attachments to places.

Another reason why I liked this movie was because it was very beautiful. I was so in awe of some of the shots and aesthetic choices that the director had made. San Francisco is such a visually distinct city and the director definitely took advantage of that. As well, the colour palettes in this movie were so pretty. I had fun choosing a gif for this movie in my post because there were so many beautiful shots. (My custom Tumblr theme seems to be cutting off some gifs so if you are viewing this post in my custom theme, please click on the above gif to see it in full because it is pretty :3)

Definitely check out this show if you want a visual feast and a meaningful story.

Creation of the Gods I: Kingdom of Storms (封神第一部: 朝歌風雲) (2023)

I know this is more of a fun action flick but it really did move me. This movie is the first in a trilogy covering the Investiture of the Gods, a famous Chinese historical fantasy and mythology novel. The novel is a retelling of the fall of the Shang Dynasty and the rise of the Zhou Dynasty, with mythology weaved in.

This movie specifically followed the journey of Ji Fa, who would be the future King of the Zhou Dynasty (sort of a spoiler though most Chinese audiences will already know who he is). Ji Fa was a hostage son who glorified his captor, Yin Shou, the last King of the Shang Dynasty. Over the course of the movie, Yin Shou’s tyranny was revealed, and by the end of the movie, Ji Fa understood his values and decided he had a responsibility to take down the tyrant. The mythological story line had to do with the immortals seeing that Yin Shou’s rule would be bad for the common folk, and wanting to stop that from happening. It was an exciting movie about war and politics, but it was also a touching story about fathers and sons. I kept rewatching scenes between fathers and sons and brothers and feeling those moments of love for one another.

There have been comparisons between this movie and the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, and for good reason. The director, Wuershan, took much inspiration from the Lord of the Rings and consulted and hired people who had worked on the Lord of the Rings. Many behind the scenes videos outlined the extensive design process in creating the world that this story was set in. There was also a separate variety show that covered the 8-9 month training camp that all of the young actors attended to hone acting and physical ability. It’s clear that a lot of love went into this movie, and it showed in how rich the movie felt to me.

For some reason, I couldn't find any Creation of the Gods gifs using the Tumblr in-post gif finder. So instead, I looked up specific characters and found a gif from one of the most hype scenes in the movie >3

Check out this movie if you want something fun and fast-paced!

Honourable Mentions

These were also movies that I enjoyed and they made me think. They just weren’t at the top of my list.

The King of Comedy (1982)

The King of Comedy was about a man who was desperate to find fame through any means possible. There were characters in the movie who were fascinated with fame and celebrities in different ways. What was chilling was that some of these characteristics were familiar to us and I was sympathetic to them to varying degrees. I thought the different interpretations of obsession with celebrity were interesting, and relevant even to celebrity culture now.

An Elephant Sitting Still (大象席地而坐) (2018)

This was a drama film focusing on a few main characters living in a town, each with their own battles. One of the characteristics of this movie was its length, nearly 4 hours long, and yet this movie did not feel as long as other long movies I watched. The director Hu Bo naturally had a slow style but it didn’t feel slow. Rather, he captured some of the mundanity of life so instead of feeling bored, I felt that I was accompanying these characters in real time as they went about their day. As mentioned, this was a story about characters and their battles, and I did feel some parts of this story to be somewhat hard to watch. Not literally, but in the sense that I felt bad and I knew I couldn’t do anything for the characters. I know this movie definitely isn’t for everyone given its length and style, but I felt that I could get a sense of what the director was trying to express, about trying to break free of one’s chains.

Movies that were still good

I thought these movies were good and they had messages that would speak to other people.

From Up on Poppy Hill (コクリコ坂から) (2011)

This was a movie about young people, young romance, and coming of age. Our main characters were high school students. Through the course of the movie, they learned about themselves, each other, and they learned to fight for causes they believed in. As a story, it was fun. It was cute, but our characters did encounter troubles which I appreciated.

While this movie was animated by Studio Ghibli, it was directed by Miyazaki Goro, the son of Miyazaki Hayao, and there were notable differences in style. I felt that From Up on Poppy Hill was a bit faster paced, but still showed off much of the Studio Ghibli style that we appreciate, in high quality animation and pacing.

Apocalypse Now (1979)

I’m not normally drawn to war films, but I felt that the story line of this movie offered something a bit different. This movie was about a military captain who was assigned to assassinate a defector during the Vietnam War. I think this movie appealed to me because the plot was more of a personal journey of the captain as he tried to understand why the defector had decided to take the path that he did. It offered a different perspective on the horrors of war that I commonly see. I think this is one of those movies that I’ll have to re-watch several times because it was packed with interesting dialogue.

Bullhead (Rundskop) (2011)

This was a solemn drama/crime film, surrounding an illegal market where livestock were injected with hormones. From beginning to end I felt a serious sense of gravity over the main character as he went about his life, and as we discovered his past. I think the appeal of this movie was the style and the character, as opposed to the story. Not that the story was bad, but rather, I think the story was more of a vehicle to show us what life was like for the people in this movie, specifically our main character.

I Am Mother (2019)

I do love a science fiction story that asks questions and makes me think. I Am Mother was about a child who was raised by a robot. Initially, we were only privy to the nurturing of this child. As she grew older, we were shown more about the truth of the world. I liked this movie because it was simple from a story standpoint, but it did raise a lot of hypothetical questions, which is what I love about science fiction stories.

Quest for Fire (1981)

I included this movie on my list because it certainly left an impression on me. To sum up my feelings on it, I appreciated the commitment to the concept. This movie was about a group of cavemen in prehistoric times. They had had a fire, but it was put out, and so the group sent a few members to find fire again. The reason this movie left an impression was because it was very raw. This was a prehistoric time, a time before many of the social norms we were familiar with would have been common among people. Some of it was gruesome, such as violence or just eating habits that were hard to watch, but I appreciated that the movie retained this cohesive style to immerse us in the time period. I’m pretty sure this movie was not historically accurate (for reasons that I won't say because of spoilers) but I think it delivered the story it set out to deliver.

The Heroic Trio (東方三俠) (1993)

If I was 13 years old I probably would have made this movie my entire personality. This was an action-adventure movie starring three icons of Hong Kong and Chinese entertainment (Michelle Yeoh, Anita Mui, and Maggie Cheung). It was a story about solving crime mixed in with a little bit of the supernatural. It had a surprising amount of backstory, particularly relating to two members of the trio. And of course I loved seeing the women fight in cool action scenes.

Closing Remarks

I’m a little surprised myself that there were some critically acclaimed movies that didn’t make this list. This didn’t bother me in previous years but it did bother me this year. I went into some movies expecting to love them because they were what I would consider my type of movie. Perhaps it was because my expectations were too high, that the parts I didn’t like seemed to stick out more to me. I did do some thinking as to why I didn’t like those movies and I think I still stand by those opinions.

Anyway, that’s it for 2023. Have you seen any of these movies? What did you think of them? Let me know!

Wishing everyone a happy 2024!

#thinking out loud #thoughts #movies

[spirituallysunny]

Hey there.

Your previous post was amazing 🤩 How is lord lucifer's energy? Did you ever asked him how or why he choosed you ( if you're fine answering that )? Doesn't he have lady lilith as his wife? And any facts he ever told you about himself. How does your clairaudience worked? Were you shocked to experience it for the first time? Cause i was shocked when i heard someone's voice inside my head at 4 am when i was scrolling tumblr 😭. I ignored it cause i though if i gave attention to that voice it will keep on coming. It only happened once 🙂.

I'd love to hear your answer and opinion.

Hey! Aw thank you so much, I’m glad you liked it <3

Lord Lucifer’s energy is comforting and gentle, but also kind of cold and intimidating. You just feel like you’re in a presence of someone well-respected even if you don’t know them, like it’s a honor to be with them, but it’s not an arrogant vibe

Well he was kind of vague on that when I asked him years ago. He said something along the lines of how we’re meant to be together and it’s fate. Though maybe he just took pity on me due to my traumatic childhood and decided he’d protect me if no one else would and give me stability that my environment lacked. He’s been with me for most of my life after all. But this is a great question to ask now through tarot, I’ll maybe revolve this ask with a tarot spread

To be honest with you, I don’t know much about lady Lilith. There’s so many contradicting information about her and I’m not Jewish, so I never really thought to look further into her history. He never told me he had a wife and it hasn’t come up yet while working with him as actually himself. But what I believe is lady Lilith is Samael’s wife rather than Lucifer’s. Samael and Lucifer are often seen as the same entity, but I think they are different. But that may be the wrong take

Well I can’t really remember facts he told about himself, we rather grew to know each other rather than doing formal introductions lmao. Maybe some facts he told me are things he likes that I made an offering post about a couple of days ago

My clairaudience was kinda weird. I could hear his voice inside my head, but I could distinguish it from my own inner voice. And yes, I was very shocked when I first heard it. In fact I tried to ignore him for months, thinking it’d go away and it’s just intrusive thoughts or something 😭 which made him pissed, which was fair and we only started getting along when I acknowledged him as an actual person rather than just some inner thought. He was persistent

And oh god that must have been scary :0 if you aren’t used to it, it can absolutely be terrifying

#ask #Lucifer #lucifer deity

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Samwell III (Chapter 46)

Night was coming on, and it would be good to sleep beneath a roof for once. He was so tired. It seemed as though he had been walking half his life. His boots were falling to pieces, and all the blisters on his feet had burst and turned to callus, but now he had new blisters under the callus, and his toes were getting frostbitten.

But it was either walk or die, Sam knew. Gilly was still weak from childbirth and carrying the babe besides; she needed the horse more than he did. 

Aw.

+.+.+

Sam heard a rustling of rats from a dark corner, but otherwise there was nothing in any of them but old straw, old smells, and some ashes beneath the smoke hole.

I'm now programmed to include every mention of rats.

+.+.+

"Old gods, hear my prayer. The Seven were my father's gods but I said my words to you when I joined the Watch. Help us now. I fear we might be lost. We're hungry too, and so cold. I don't know what gods I believe in now, but . . . please, if you're there, help us. Gilly has a little son." That was all that he could think to say. The dusk was deepening, the leaves of the weirwood rustling softly, waving like a thousand blood-red hands. Whether Jon's gods had heard him or not he could not say.

Samwell prays three times in this chapter.

Gods don't hear prayers in this story, but someone else might.

+.+.+

Sam blushed. "I . . . I know some songs. When I was little I liked to sing. I danced too, but my lord father never liked me to. He said if I wanted to prance around I should do it in the yard with a sword in my hand."

"Could you sing some southron song? For the babe?"

"If you like." Sam thought for a moment. "There's a song our septon used to sing to me and my sisters, when we were little and it was time for us to go to sleep. 'The Song of the Seven,' it's called." He cleared his throat and softly sang:

[...]

The Seven Gods who made us all,

are listening if we should call.

So close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children,

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

I'm not going to include the entire song, because tumblr is still broken. The Maiden part is cute.

Samwell's now singing a hymn about a different set of gods. Gods don't hear hymns in this story, but I can't help but notice little children are listening.

+.+.+

Gilly gave him a puzzled look. "Did you only sing of six gods? Craster always told us you southrons had seven."

"Seven," he agreed, "but no one sings of the Stranger." The Stranger's face was the face of death. Even talking of him made Sam uncomfortable.

I bet she does.

Arya IX ->

Stranger, the Hound called him. Arya had tried to steal him once, when Clegane was taking a piss against a tree, thinking she could ride off before he could catch her. Stranger had almost bitten her face off. 

+.+.+

After they had finished, Sam begged her pardon and went out to relieve himself and look after the horse. A biting wind was blowing from the north, and the leaves in the trees rattled at him as he passed.

Can't a man get a little privacy?

+.+.+

She kept saying how she'd be his wife if he wanted, but black brothers didn't keep wives; besides, he was a Tarly of Horn Hill, he could never wed a wildling. 

[...]

His cloak was big enough to cover all three of them and keep in the warmth of their bodies.

Sam covers Gilly in his cloak almost immediately after thinking he can't wed her.

+.+.+

He liked sleeping next to her. It made him remember times long past, when he had shared a huge bed at Horn Hill with two of his sisters. 

While cuddled next to Gilly, under his cloak, Sam thinks of his sisters.

If that doesn't make you laugh, nothing will.

+.+.+

His dreams were strange that night. He was back at Horn Hill, at the castle, but his father was not there. It was Sam's castle now. Jon Snow was with him. Lord Mormont too, the Old Bear, and Grenn and Dolorous Edd and Pyp and Toad and all his other brothers from the Watch, but they wore bright colors instead of black. Sam sat at the high table and feasted them all, cutting thick slices off a roast with his father's greatsword Heartsbane. There were sweet cakes to eat and honeyed wine to drink, there was singing and dancing, and everyone was warm. When the feast was done he went up to sleep; not to the lord's bedchamber where his mother and father lived but to the room he had once shared with his sisters. Only instead of his sisters it was Gilly waiting in the huge soft bed, wearing nothing but a big shaggy fur, milk leaking from her breasts.

I know Heartsbane has to be important in the future, I just don't know how yet. The show bungled it.

More laughs: Sam finds Gilly in a state of undress, in the bedchamber he shares with his sisters.

+.+.+

Then, by the door, one of the shadows moved. A big one.

This is still a dream, Sam prayed. Oh, make it that I'm still asleep, make it a nightmare. He's dead, he's dead, I saw him die. "He's come for the babe," Gilly wept. "He smells him. A babe fresh-born stinks o' life. He's come for the life."

The huge dark shape stooped under the lintel, into the hall, and shambled toward them. In the dim light of the fire, the shadow became Small Paul.

"Go away," Sam croaked. "We don't want you here." Paul's hands were coal, his face was milk, his eyes shone a bitter blue. Hoarfrost whitened his beard, and on one shoulder hunched a raven, pecking at his cheek, eating the dead white flesh.

My first reaction was that I was happy to see Small Paul finally get a raven.

Is that Mormont's raven? That seems impossible. I'll go with no.

+.+.+

"Small Paul. Do you know me? I'm Sam, fat Sam, Sam the Scared, you saved me in the woods. You carried me when I couldn't walk another step. No one else could have done that, but you did." Sam backed away, knife in hand, sniveling. I am such a coward. "Don't hurt us, Paul. Please. Why would you want to hurt us?"

It's kind of sweet his first instinct is to reason with it. Hey, you never know, it could work in the future.

+.+.+

Across the longhall, Gilly reached the garron. Gods give me courage, Sam prayed. For once, give me a little courage. Just long enough for her to get away.

There's Sam praying to the gods one final time. Gods don't give you courage Sam, you have that all on your own.

+.+.+

He clutched the dagger with both hands to hold it steady. The wight did not seem to fear the dragonglass. Perhaps he did not know what it was. 

Yeah, I bet that's it.

+.+.+

There was no time to think or pray or be afraid. Samwell Tarly threw himself forward and plunged the dagger down into Small Paul's back. Half-turned, the wight never saw him coming. The raven gave a shriek and took to the air. "You're dead!" Sam screamed as he stabbed. "You're dead, you're dead." He stabbed and screamed, again and again, tearing huge rents in Paul's heavy black cloak. Shards of dragonglass flew everywhere as the blade shattered on the iron mail beneath the wool.

Sam's wail made a white mist in the black air. He dropped the useless hilt and took a hasty step backwards as Small Paul twisted around. 

Oops, there's that dragonglass being completely useless against wights. A fact that's well established in these books.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

The children of the forest used to give the Night's Watch 100 obsidian weapons a year. One hundred. For the White Walkers, not wights.

Now suddenly the show needs you to believe the largest army ever needs to be equipped with these useless fucking weapons to battle a wight army.

Stupid.

+.+.+

Sam wrenched himself sideways, pulling Paul with him . . . his arms flailed against the dirt floor, groping, reaching, scattering the ashes, until at last they found something hot . . . a chunk of charred wood, smouldering red and orange within the black . . . his fingers closed around it, and he smashed it into Paul's mouth, so hard he felt teeth shatter.

[...]

The wight was burning, hoarfrost dripping from his beard as the flesh beneath blackened. Sam heard the raven shriek, but Paul himself made no sound. When his mouth opened, only flames came out. 

Wights/White Walkers keep getting the dragon treatment in Samwell's chapters, and it's not subtle.

+.+.+

He ducked from the long hall. "Gilly?" he called. "Gilly, I killed it. Gil—"

She stood with her back against the weirwood, the boy in her arms. The wights were all around her. 

[...]

Sam made a whimpery sound. "It's not fair . . ."

"Fair." The raven landed on his shoulder. "Fair, far, fear."

Fair, far, fear? Help?

+.+.+

It flapped its wings, and screamed along with Gilly. The wights were almost on her. He heard the dark red leaves of the weirwood rustling, whispering to one another in a tongue he did not know. The starlight itself seemed to stir, and all around them the trees groaned and creaked. 

SAVE THEM BRAN.

Tongue he did not know? True Tongue? Wait, is it the children of the forest?

+.+.+

Sam Tarly turned the color of curdled milk, and his eyes went wide as plates. Ravens! They were in the weirwood, hundreds of them, thousands, perched on the bone-white branches, peering between the leaves. He saw their beaks open as they screamed, saw them spread their black wings. Shrieking, flapping, they descended on the wights in angry clouds. They swarmed round Chett's face and pecked at his blue eyes, they covered the Sisterman like flies, they plucked gobbets from inside Hake's shattered head. There were so many that when Sam looked up, he could not see the moon.

The gods may not answer prayers, but Bran sure does!

Or the children? Or Bloodraven?

Oh no, I'm second guessing myself.

+.+.+

"Go," said the bird on his shoulder. "Go, go, go."

There's a theory that every talking raven in the story is Bloodraven, but isn't it well established the children of the forest use ravens to communicate?

+.+.+

"But where?" Gilly hurried after him, holding her baby. "They killed our horse, how will we . . ."

"Brother!" The shout cut through the night, through the shrieks of a thousand ravens. Beneath the trees, a man muffled head to heels in mottled blacks and greys sat astride an elk. "Here," the rider called. A hood shadowed his face.

He's wearing blacks. Sam urged Gilly toward him. The elk was huge, a great elk, ten feet tall at the shoulder, with a rack of antlers near as wide. The creature sank to his knees to let them mount. "Here," the rider said, reaching down with a gloved hand to pull Gilly up behind him. Then it was Sam's turn. "My thanks," he puffed. Only when he grasped the offered hand did he realize that the rider wore no glove. His hand was black and cold, with fingers hard as stone.

Coldhands aka Not Benjen Stark, welcome to the story.

This is what's throwing me off. Coldhands will guide Bran to Bloodraven, giving me the impression he's assisting Bloodraven. So maybe Bloodraven sent Coldhands to save Samwell?

I know, I know, why would Bloodraven care about saving Samwell? Well, Coldhands instructs Samwell to bring Bran to the Black Gate, so there's that to consider.

So is it Bloodraven? Or is Coldhands helping the children? Maybe he's helping the children. The chapter seems to be pointing to the children.

Or is it Bran? Bran's been interfering for three books now.

Ughhh, my brain. Help. It's getting harder.

Final thoughts:

Many people pointed it out last Samwell chapter, but it's such a fantastic point, it's worth repeating:

If Samwell is to write A Song of Ice and Fire, all of these clashes with wights and White Walkers will have to mirrored with dragons.

Samwell's lost a lot of brothers to the White Walkers.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #asos #samwell iii

[caricature-of-a-witch]

(wrote this two semesters ago for an extra credit task for an introductory literature course at uni. the task was to "Transform a scene from Shakespeare's Hamlet into a modern setting" which I took some liberty with so I handed it in with an explanation which is here at the bottom. idk it occurred to me that Tumblr may be a good place for this and @thorin-is-a-cuddler encouraged me so here)

---

Play without a play

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

It was Marcellus who had said it, and Marcellus had been right. Oh, he had been so right, more than right, and Horatio knew that Marcellus would never understand just how right he had been. No one would. And no one would believe him if he tried to explain. But for a moment – for one brief, exhilarating, awful moment – Horatio saw what lay behind it all. Horatio understood.

By god, he wished he didn’t.

He hadn’t believed in ghosts, not really. He’d always prided himself on being a rational man, and as a rational man he knew that the dead, whether they ended up in heaven, purgatory, or somewhere unspeakable, did not return. But as a rational man he also knew to trust his own senses above anything else.

And when Hamlet told him what his father’s ghost had apparently relayed to him… what was he supposed to do? He’d seen the apparition with his own eyes. Marcellus and the others could vouch for its existence.

And, above all… he loved Hamlet too much to deny him.

When Hamlet declared his intention to feign madness to throw his uncle off his scent and avoid suspicion – Horatio didn’t question him.

When Hamlet encountered Ophelia and rejected her with words more cruel than he’d have thought his prince capable of, when he saw the spark in the girl’s eyes that seemed so unlike and yet so like the spark in Hamlet’s own – Horatio said nothing.

When Hamlet began to doubt the ghost’s authenticity and contrived a plan to expose the murderer through a play, asking Horatio to keep a close eye on the king – Horatio, ignoring his rising unease, agreed.

After all, he loved Hamlet too much to deny him – or maybe, he would wonder, when everything had gone to pieces, maybe he had not loved him enough.

Increasingly, he thought he felt eyes resting upon him, yet when he turned, no one was in sight. He thought – in mirrors, and in the corners of his vision, and behind corners he had only just turned – he thought he caught glimpses, of faces focussed in expectation, of eyes glazed and looking on intently. Sometimes, a light would blind him and he would blink and raise his arm to shield his face, only to find that it was dark, there was no light, there could be none – and he ignored all that, too. As a rational man, he knew to dismiss the figments of a fickle mind as no more than what they were, brought about, no doubt, by nerves related to Hamlet’s peculiar disposition and a lack of sleep.

He had never been close to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and upon meeting them now quickly resolved to keep it that way. If Hamlet was putting on an antic disposition, it seemed that, in creating the two of them, nature herself had put on a similar disposition, and neglected to fill them with any personality, neglected to finish their creation with a soul and instead gifted them with the malleability of a piece of clay, to adapt whatever character pleased them, and yet they never quite aligned with their surroundings. One could scarcely tell them apart from one another, although their appearances were nothing alike. Being next to them, Horatio’s skin crawled, and the curious gazes he felt upon him near constantly in Elsinore seemed, somehow, to converge on them twofold. He avoided them as much as he could.

When Hamlet, accused of the murder of the Lord Chamberlain, was sent to England, Horatio’s heart ceased in its rhythm for too many beats, and took up its work once more only reluctantly. He knew, yet knew not how, that none of the eyes followed the prince, though he wished they did. Their weight grew heavy upon his back, yet none thought to watch England, to watch Hamlet as they watched Denmark. A sense of dread hung silently within his mind at the thought of Hamlet’s journey.

Very nearly, now, he could make out the faces that seemed to appear, in brief flashes, superimposed over a wall, a mirror, an open field, for no more than the fraction of a thought. He could not help but wonder who they were. If they watched so they might avert the looming horror he felt nearing.

Ophelia died, though none would speak much of the details, and Horatio mourned in silence. The arrival of Hamlet’s letter, and the prince himself soon after, should perhaps have lifted his spirits but did no more than pound a punishing rhythm within his heart.

The sight of Hamlet, a mottled skull between his fingers and speaking of decay and death, sickened him to his core. And afterwards, the news he told that he could not include in his letter – the marrow in his bones was cold and leaden, and seemed to him to have been so for much too long without his notice. Hamlet, so far, had failed to follow through on his resolve to have revenge, but hadn’t he, Horatio, as well? Three years he’d had, to do what Hamlet, off to England, could not. Three years, in which Claudius, the king, continued to prosper, even as his death had long since been planned a done deed. But Hamlet had returned, the ceaseless watchers’ gaze once more on him, and surely, soon his heart could rest. All would be well.

When Hamlet lay dying in his arms, even with his last strength having wrestled the poison cup from Horatio’s hands, time itself slowed to a halt. Unwanted, unbidden, came a moment – a second’s fraction, stretched to last an hour – of perfect clarity. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark, oh yes, but the rot had spread and grown and encompassed all the world.

The watchers sat surrounded by darkness, in near silence, and did as they had done since the beginning. The watchers watched. A woman, there, tears glistening on her cheek. A man, his face expressionless, all but bored. A child, eyes large and sceptical, with an air of disbelief. A light, unnatural and bright, directed at him as if to illuminate him and have everyone forget all else. Now cracks a noble heart. Watching, staring, barely five paces from the corpse of a king and queen, of betrayed nobleman and beloved prince, looking on without any motion, without any attempt to avert the disaster that must have been so clear for all of them to see. There were—lights, interspersed between the faces, two or three that he could make out, small and glaringly obvious. He knew—it didn’t matter how, but he knew—they were preparing to keep these images before them. To preserve them and replay them over and over, as though they were theirs, as though his prince had died for their entertainment alone.Rows upon rows of faces gleaming in the dark, moved to tears or indifferent or quizzical or amused, as though what they saw was no more than a comedy – rows upon rows of spectators without the care to intervene.

Hamlet’s breath shuddered as it left him, and didn’t come again. Horatio’s vision blurred before his eyes, and when he had fought back the tears, the watchers were gone. In their stead, Fortinbras stood stunned.

Never again did Horatio see the watching crowd, never again did he feel their gaze rest upon his shoulders. Having had their fill of his and Hamlet’s and Ophelia’s pain, of the king’s treachery and the queen’s disloyalty, they had averted their eyes in satisfaction or disappointment.

Horatio thought of them often, and hoped they might choke on their lust for strangers’ tragedies.

---

A quick explanation: I took a sort of meta perspective here I guess and decided to transform Hamlet into a modern setting in the sense that Horatio realises, in a way, that he’s in a play, performed for a modern audience. (Very specifically the character Horatio realises this, the actor who’d have to be there has nothing to do with it.) I’m not sure how well I got that across, so in case it didn’t make sense, I hope that clears things up!

#Ash's ramblings #Ash's writing #Hamlet #Shakespeare #Hamlet/Horatio #uni stuff #Hamlet fanfic

[bard-powers-activate]

Welcome, friend. If you’re curious about one of my tags, the explanations are consolidated below.

I got the idea from following the illustrious @zoanzon, who has the most poetic, insightful, and satisfying tag system I have ever seen—though I am not nearly as consistent as them.

hello to the spouse creature reading this; you will see this one will come up a lot purely because my spouse is also on tumblr, and is a creature. They don’t really enjoy interacting and reblogging and all that jazz. This is why in my bio I say I share a brain cell with the spouse creature lurking in my notes—we DO share a brain cell, they are chronically online/have all notifications turned on for my blog, and I use this tag to indicate something in the post reminds me of them or their interests. A form of marital flirting, despite (and in addition to) the fact we live together and also do share memes in person.

Now that’s what I call gender; a reference to the old music compilation CDs that came up on commercials every year. But, you know, about things that feel Gender™️ to my soul.

humans love boxes; it is in the nature of humanity to desire a sense of structure and form—in part to understand the world around us, and in part to better communicate with each other. For example, this tag system is an act of creating boxes for the purpose of organizing my thoughts/feelings around some of the more intangible aspects of life. It’s a helpful tool our brains use to process data. However, per my next tag, every coin has a flip side…

the tools are meant to serve you (you do not serve the tools) [warning: this one is a biggie for me so skip to the end for a TLDR]; What do you define as a tool? What first comes to mind might be a hammer or other physical implement. In that case, what about the DSM? The DMV? Universities? Systems of Government? Currency? Institutions are tools. Concepts are tools. Objects are tools. Language is a tool. That which is in a state of service is a tool. We aren’t the only animals on earth to use tools, but we still mark their ideation as a sort of Dawn of Consciousness because there truly is no living as we know it without them. Once upon a time, humans took care of each other in community groups as they hunted, foraged, and survived. Now, we have hospitals. See what I mean? It’s so easy to slip into the mindset of “this is how it’s always been” but EVERYTHING, from the clothes on our backs to the words we speak, were once absent from the world and subsequently created to serve a purpose. That is the divinity within us, these acts of creation. When the tools serve us we prosper. When we serve the tools…well, pardon me while I indulge in a little armchair theology: “You shall have no other gods before Me. You shall not make for yourself a carved image—any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them nor serve them. For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate Me, but showing mercy to thousands, to those who love Me and keep My commandments.” (Exodus‬ ‭20‬:‭5‬-‭6‬ ‭NKJV‬‬) As a child, I despaired at this commandment. Why should the children experience the punishment of their ancestors? But when I look at this, the first commandment, through the lens of “the tools are meant to serve you, you do not serve the tools” it paints a portrait of generational trauma. Cycles of violence. Harmful concepts persist until a new generation rises to refute them. Think about language for a second—someone defines themselves as <blank> while another cries out that they are incorrect, they can’t use that word because THAT’S not what that word MEANS. Never mind that language is a constantly evolving construct (the words nice, silly, and awful have certainly flip-flopped definitions over time), a TOOL developed by humans for humans to facilitate community through communication. When you serve the tool, you limit yourself to its limits. Your actions, behaviors, even your thoughts are restricted and controlled. Its boundaries become law. Humans love boxes. But when you extricate yourself from its bindings, when you look upon your idols as the tools they are, the only question becomes…how does it serve you? Capitalism is a tool. Democracy is a tool. We can identify flaws, expand boundaries, improve and evolve our tools the way humans have done since that fateful Dawn of Consciousness as long as we view them as such. TLDR; When we serve the tools, our vision is narrowed. When the tools serve us, we flourish.

all flourishing is mutual (in a culture of reciprocity); this tag and all its variants are in reference to the book Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer—a book that has branded itself onto my soul for all of eternity. While the book as a whole covers many different aspects of life, history, creation, religion, and being, it is this central thesis that broke my brain the most. It’s so simple to understand and so easy to do, once one actually commits to it. A culture of reciprocity is one where we all give from our excess. Someone with five blankets and four family members to keep warm gives the extra blanket to the one who has none and is cold. It’s not about self-sacrifice or denying yourself what you need, it’s about sharing your blessings with your community because WE ALL WIN TOGETHER WHEN WE TRY TO WIN TOGETHER! This is how ecosystems function. A tree generates more energy than it needs from photosynthesis and shares that energy with fungal systems through mycelium, that in turn supply the tree with nutrients from the soil it could not access on its own. Read the chapter of The Three Sisters in Kimmerer’s book and let it all sink in. Community. Solidarity. Intersectionality. Sustainability. They aren’t ideals for idealism’s sake—they are effective tools in service of the whole. I, for one, endeavor to contribute to mutual flourishing in all aspects of my life.

meatsuits and starstuff; our bodies are made of meat. That doesn’t have to be an uncomfortable thing—we are mammals, after all. But there’s no denying a certain human obsession with the mind and the soul. As Carl Sagan so eloquently put it: “We are a way for the universe to know itself. Some part of our being knows this is where we came from. We long to return. And we can, because the cosmos is also within us. We are made of star stuff.” And yet, these three integral aspects of existence often come into conflict. Not to simplify all of philosophy and theology down to brass tacks, but…do they have to be?

“Did the tree of life divorce its body?

Seek to save the soul but hate the bark

Long for freedom from its branches?

Despise the roots that plumb the dark

Are trees ashamed of needing sunlight?

Feeling guilt for being what they are?

Why does man despise the body?

Are we just afraid of death?

Or maybe we're searching

And growing and knowing

Separating good from bad

And maybe we're just tired of hurting

Afraid of losing what we have

Did the tree of life divorce its body?

Seek to save the soul but hate the bark?

What is life without a body?

What is love without the pain?

May we keep searching

And growing and knowing

Seeing both the good and bad

And maybe we could ease the suffering

Unattached to what we had

A man can learn to love his body

Without his soul being undone

You are spirit soul and body

Beneath it all…

…the ALL is ONE.”

—Tree, by Gungor

meatsuit maintenance; our bodies are made of meat. That doesn’t have to be an uncomfortable thing—we are mammals, after all. Do not despair of your vessel, for you are fearfully and wonderfully made! I like to treat my meatsuit the way I would treat a toddler: proactively tend to its needs, provide support for the things it can’t do on its own, affectionately dote on it with treats (within reason for its health and longevity), hold space for its pain with arms wide to hold and heal, arms wide to comfort and protect…never asking for more than what it can give.

arms wide to hold and heal; this is the energy of a mental hug, the warmth of someone giving you permission to not be okay…because it’s okay to not be okay and you are allowed to BE. This is what it means to hold space.

arms wide to comfort and protect; this is the energy of a mental hug, the warmth of someone giving you permission to not be okay…while glaring daggers over your shoulder at the perpetrator responsible and positioning yourself to bear the brunt of another attack. This is what it means to have community.

steward servant shepherd (king); a tag used when I see an example of a person demonstrating what it means to be a good steward, what it means to lead, and and/or exhibits a healthy example of divine masculine/divine feminine energy while in a position of power.

and I think to myself (what a wonderful world); humming along with the beauty of it all.

the vibes and times; that hard-to-put-a-finger-on occurrence when a vibe makes you feel like you’re in a pocket dimension. When something just IS so hard you can’t help but appreciate it. Immaculate vibes. When you take a step back, and it’s just a vibe and that’s all there is to it.

and all God’s people said amen; this tag is usually split into two parts and roughly translates to mean a hearty agreement or an acknowledgement of fundamental truth. It’s a personal reclamation of sorts—I may have left the Southern Baptist Church and its toxic theology, but that doesn’t mean they get to keep all the good toys. Growing up the pastor would say the first part while the audience would respond in unison, and in doing so was an awesome, powerful energy transference. And as much as it could be used to affirm alignment with weighty truths, it was equally used to comedic effect (especially by my Dad at the supper table). Whether as a punchline or words of power, the phrase stuck with me. Here, I have retooled it for my own particular purpose.

the sacred tension; two or more things can be equally true and in complete contradiction with each other. The tension in between may spark discomfort, but it is holy ground. Remember that even the binary is itself a tool, and it is meant to serve you—NOT bind you. Honor the sacred tension between concomitant truths. This is what it means to hold space.

Here is where we begin to get into the tag series systems. Each series acts like a closet organizer for my brain—identifying and cataloging concepts to facilitate a greater depth of appreciation and understanding. My personal goal is to craft turns of phrase broad enough to encompass a wide range of concepts, precise enough to finger the point, and poetic enough to meet my own aesthetic preferences.

I consider them to be living systems (as a good tool should be) subject to evolve in search of what resonates most. Some of these systems may seem deceptively simple, however, I do challenge myself to approach them thoughtfully—in short, to catalog the intangible in a distinctly tangible way.

What it means…Well, what DOES it all mean? How do we define meaning? As the nuns said of Maria in the Sound of Music, “How do you keep a wave upon the sand?” In my personal view, through the act of poetry in motion. Existence is a constant state of being. The moment you think you have it nailed down, something WILL change. So instead of making boxes FOR meaning, this endeavor is to make boxes OUT OF meaning. Whenever I encounter something along the way that has a whiff of answering “what does it mean to…” it gets sorted into that box. Deceptively simple, no? Special attention is paid to verbs and tenses, specifically what it means to HAVE <noun> vs. what it means TO <active verb>.

What does it mean to BE? - to be HERE - where is HERE? - HERE is ME - I AM ME - i am that i am; this tag and its many variants make up my mantra for experiencing existence. Personally…I get in my own head a LOT. This mantra helps me reorient myself in the present. It also helps me address my needs without invalidating my soft little animal body, my valiant meatsuit. I am that I am. Sometimes I am hungry, and so I feed myself. Sometimes I am tired, so I go to bed early. Sometimes I am overstimulated and so I take steps to move to a quieter room, to decline the party invitation, to go on a walk outside, whatever is needed to shift my present state of being as desired. I am that I am. It do be like that sometimes. Wielding these words, I challenge you to banish invalidation to the fucking shadow realm—in the pursuit of living and breathing, it is rarely an efficient tool.

What it means to BE; see above, but a little more to the point. This tag serves to help catalog the essence of being in its myriad of shapes and forms.

What it means to have community; posts with this tag contain some aspect or example of what I believe it means to HAVE community, one of our most fundamental aspects of living and, most especially, a key to the flourishing of all. This one comes up a LOT, especially around posts that look at the way tumblr functions…it’s a funky little community, after all.

What it means to live and breathe; this box is a bit esoteric, but I believe it still to be distinct from similar tags. Before explaining further, let’s look at an example: gender-affirming surgery strikes some people as inherently wrong and they balk at the idea of allowing it at all…but that is a judgment cast from afar, safely detached from need. The people actually asking for it—desiring it despite the stress of surgery or the post-surgery maintenance or the stigma—say they need it to live. I, for one, never want to discount what helps someone stay fucking alive, don’t you? The point of this tag is that you don’t get to decide someone “isn’t living the right way.” And not just life for the sake of not dying, that’s survival-mode, but for the sake of breathing, of flourishing. So chase after what you need to live and to breathe, and stop denying people oxygen for their lifeblood. May heaven on earth be a place where all God’s divine creatures live and breathe with ease. Amen.

What it means to have joy (alt: carving out joy); joy is a noun, not a verb. It’s a thing we seek to find, a thing we carve out of existence itself to possess for ourselves, and that we can carve out for each other

What it means to birth creation; seriously, I love humans, the things we create are so fucking cooooool. Full. Stop.

What it means to be a good steward; examples of leadership, sustainability, and all the other responsibilities stewardship represents

What it means to lead; see previous tag, but hyper-focused on aspects of leadership

What it means to be present; for those moments when you detach from all the stimuli and settle into the awareness around you.

What it means to learn and grow; stretch your mind-muscles, perform meatsuit maintenance, polish up your starstuff, and keep level-grinding life

What it means to listen; shoutout to my late Grandpa’s favorite book, The Awesome Power of the Listening Ear by John Drakeford. Listening is about so much more than using the human ear. It’s a state of awareness, of willingness, and of humility. Listening is how we could heal the world.

Blessings of… “When upon life's billows you are tempest tossed, When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost, Count your many blessings, name them one by one, And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.” –Count Your Blessings, 1897 “When I'm worried and I can't sleep I count my blessings instead of sheep, And I fall asleep counting my blessings.” –Irving Berlin in White Christmas

What do you define as a blessing?

Blessings of the absurd; the universe is quite often absurd. I love when people lean into the absurd, roll around in it, twirl it around their fingers, or even spit it at each other! Aka 99.5% of tumblr.

Blessings of the blessed; attuned to precious souls sharing their gifts by just being themselves—for example, cute videos of animals and children lol.

Blessings of the beloved; similar to the previous tag, but tailored more towards marginalized communities and expanding who we name as beloved (based on an art exhibit called Naming the Beloved Community at the Donald Gallery)

Blessings of creation (let all creation sing); attuning to the natural world in all its vibrancy and worthiness, in reference to how all of creation sings of cosmic divinity

Blessings of creation (to spin a yarn and weave story threads); attuned specifically to the writing of stories and narratives

Blessings of creation (what it means to create); still workshopping this and variants like it, but the concept is to attune to works of artistic creation in its myriad of forms

#tag system #tag system methods #how to tag #how to tag poetry #hello friend

[bardic-tales]

Across a Field

Novel: Pre Cold As Ice Wordcount: 415 Warnings: wound description. blood description Premise: Wounded, Vaene Arturis is left to die in a vineyard. Things seem dire as a woman lends her aid.

One-Shot Stories Tag List

@asomeoneperson @jessica-writes22 @athenswrites @elijahrichardwriteshrichardwrites @whimsyqueen @arrthurpendragon @blind-the-winds, @fearofahumanplanet, @365runesofpassion @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @bookish-galaxy @lord-fallen @perasperaadastrawriting

If you would like to be on my tag list for notifications on any drabbles, snippets, or short stories I might post to my Tumblr, check out this post here. If you wish to be taken off this taglist, feel free to tell me!

Additional Tags: @flashfictionfridayofficial

1.

The wind wafted through the wine vineyard, blowing his wheat-colored locks along his shoulder and back. Blood spread out from the wound to his gut. The sanguine fluid wet his purple waistcoat. He tried to move, hissing as pain flared in his midsection, and hold in his ropy, grey intestines.

Vaene tried to remember how he got there, but darkness shadowed his recollection. He lifted his head and stared down the grape rows of the field. Bits of blood dried upon his lips. This was how he was going to die. All his plans for the future were futile.

A brief glimpse of a woman in white sparked hope within him. He tried to call out to her, but all he managed was a slight squeak — the sound no louder than a mouse. He throat was much too dry. Once more, he wondered how long he had been lying there as his life bled out.

His worry was for nothing. She must have saw him lying face first in the dirt, as she was upon him. It awed him that she could make out his prone form. The gods must have sent her to aid him.

“You’re injured!” she exclaimed, not quite knowing that Vaene couldn’t answer her. The woman didn’t give her his name or where she was from. She only stared at him with a gentle look. That look comforted him.

The next moments occurred in a haze for Vaene. Sweat slicked his skin beneath his tunic. If she had happened upon him a few moments later, he may have passed on. His gaze never left her emerald orbs, even when they glowed and a powdered-blue miasma swirled around her eyes and curled up to her forehead.

He would never forget the color of her eyes or her blond hair. Her angelic visage etched itself into his memory. In the future, this vision would become muddied for Vaene, but the woman would still feel familiar.

As she turned him over, she placed a slim, delicate hand upon his stomach. His blood coated his skin. This did not deter her. Warmth spread from her palm into his wound and stomach. Slowly and painfully, the wound began to pull together.

She was an angel, one of three woman who imprinted upon him. He knew that he could face the future and those who attempted to murder him with her by his side. If only he could remember why he was there in the first place.

#writeblr #flash fiction: cai #oc: vaene arturis #tw: injury #tw: blood