#“they are like frightened frail children”

[loadinghellsing]

#i contribute #my art #hellsing #hellsing ultimate #vladcard #alucard #alexander anderson #small au #thirtyyearsofpurgatory #--- #this is the best thing im ever going to draw #the amount of joy this piece provides me can't be compared #just them being ridiculous children playing games #andercard #except for the third time this evening- not exactly #i just know that tag will appreciate said content #“they are like frightened frail children” #-arthur hellsing #quoting him in the tags #because i know if i were to quote him on the post its self? #i would cry #so even though that quote has been lingering in my mind since i started drawing this... #we're just gonna ignore that...... #and leave this as something wholesome and cute

[percheduphere]

LET'S TALK ABOUT MOBIUS'S HEAVY KEYS

I wrote a meta on S1 Mobius here, mostly exploring his interrogation persona and emotional trajectory toward S1E6. I also have a fun little list on all the things I love about him here.

@mitromana posted about how we should talk about Mobius's sass and even cruelty more. @wowwwmobius posted how Mobius realistically would not be doing well post-S2E6 (I wholeheartedly agree), and they and @inwantofamuse shared amazing comments. All of this inspired this meta.

Thank you @mitromana @wowwwmobius @inwantofamuse!

Mobius's interrogation scenes are him at his most cruel and ruthless. The flipside of being a highly empathetic person is that it is very VERY easy to use this skill in highly abusive, cunning, and powerful ways. This is especially true if the person armed with this skill is exceptionally intelligent and is convinced their motivations are good. At the TVA, before Loki's exposure of the truth, Mobius is both of these things. Worse, he has access to the TVA's more ethically unconscionable technology, which he does not hesitate to use.

The road to evil is paved with good intentions. Mobius strolls onto this road more than once, but he manages to not stay on it because two people curb this risk: Loki and, yes, Sylvie.

Take in Loki's words and posture in this scene. The words alone are a frail and weak comeback for a silver-tongue God of lies. They do nothing but reveal Loki is in FACT scared. His arms are crossed tightly over his abdomen, a primal protective response. He's leaned as far away from Mobius as possible. This is the best Loki can come up with in the face of a boring man in a boring suit, really?

You can see why Mobius was moved into the position of Analyst from Hunter. He may not be able to prune children, but he can literally bring a God like Loki to the ground, breathless, confused, and frightened, with nothing more than WORDS. And this is with a variant Mobius likes. Imagine what he can do to a variant he hates.

For HWR and Ravonna's purposes, Mobius is the perfect weapon to get whatever they want out of whatever variant they capture before sending them off to get pruned. How do they keep him from questioning anything?

Memory-wiping (more than once), brainwashing, propaganda, and:

A little something for Mobius's identity, something that fulfills his intrinsic need to take care of others while also gently stroking his ego.

Yes, the genocide of multiple timelines over the span of eons is horrifying. But Mobius is capable of being complicit with it as long as his environment feeds his intrinsic psychological and emotional needs. The people on the Sacred Timeline become his new children, and he will do anything ANYTHING to protect them.

There was one thing HWR and Ravonna didn't anticipate: that this man's empathy for a specific Loki would be the very thing that liberates the multiverse and his own bondage from a corrupt bureaucracy.

However...

I don't believe Mobius ever anticipated becoming emotionally compromised when he advocated on Loki's behalf. He likely genuinely believed that after centuries of studying Loki, he knew him well enough to make him useful for the TVA. But the subconscious, oh. That is a different story, and in Loki's own words, Mobius has a gift for lying to himself.

I discuss the interrogation scene and Sif loop scene in depth here, so I won't repeat myself, but I'd like to draw our attention to the 2 gifs below, framing my analysis:

Imagine where Mobius's mind must be at:

I spent centuries studying you and believing in you. I waited more centuries for your nexus event to come. I tasked every hunter to inform me of your arrival immediately, no matter what I was doing, no matter where I was. I abandoned a case. I ran to your trial. I put my job, reputation, and eons-long friendship with Ravonna on the line. I tested your theory. I brought you with me on the field. You talked to me. You challenged me. You made me proud. You made me laugh.

I gave you daggers and you stabbed me. You STABBED me. When all I wanted to give you was--

Mobius cracked hard and fast. Applaud Owen Wilson for THIS interpretation of the script and THIS delivery.

Thankfully, the very person who put Mobius in this fragile state of mind is also the person Mobius deeply wants to believe in. Even after being betrayed, Mobius still wants to believe in Loki and his capacity to be a wonderful person. And so he looks at Ravonna's TemPad, decides Loki deserves to be with whoever he wants to be with (even if that person will never be Mobius himself), frees Loki to help him save the woman he loves, and gets pruned for it.

Mobius survives thanks to plot-armor. And who is the first person he meets?

The bane of his existence.

And Sylvie wastes no time driving a knife into a very fresh wound. Mobius, however, only recently unleashed all his rage. His reservoir for compartamentalizing has refreshed, so he can take Sylvie's truth bravely, without a flinch, and acknowledge that truth with one of his own.

Mobius owns it. He doesn't deny it. He tacitly agrees with her and gives her a reason why.

We should remember how dangerous Mobius can be. He is currently sitting in a car with the variant he is most likely to hate. Sylvie is strong, clever, and resilient, but her ability to regulate her emotions is weak, especially if she is triggered. Mobius can destroy her very easily with his words.

But Mobius can't hate her. He can't. She was right and he was wrong, but most importantly Loki loves her.

He won't hurt the person Loki loves most. No. He will take her to him instead. He can stomach the pain, the disappointment. He's good at that. Loki's well-being, his happiness, comes first.

In fact, Mobius stomachs Sylvie's knife twists a second time and chooses not to defend himself. I don't doubt a large part of him agrees with her. Nevertheless, he can't help but hope Loki might stand up for him in that moment. He tries, and fails, to make light of it by rolling his eyes and turning to his friend. When Loki leaves him not explaining why, his true feelings about this interaction surfaces on his face.

Aren't you going to say anything?

The saddest thing is that this is the LAST intimate moment THIS Mobius has with Loki before Loki crosses the gangway and never returns. This is it. This is what he's left with: the thought Loki didn't care enough to defend him and Loki leaving.

HE doesn't get to hear that he's just trying to see in the dark and is doing everything he can to keep the surviving timelines alive. SYLVIE does.

HE doesn't get to hear Loki tell him he saved his life. DON does.

HE doesn't get the final goodbye and "thank you, Mobius", his PAST SELF does. And if Mobius happens to remember this moment in the present, he will know that he was the one who propelled Loki to bear this massive burden ALONE.

My worry for Mobius post-S2E6 is that he is more than talented at ignoring his own needs and addressing his own problems. He is infinitely better--a master, even--at taking care of anyone else. It's a devastating flaw, but it comes from a very raw place:

His heart, his soul, will always remember being a single parent.

Being a parent at all is hard to begin with. There are only so many hours in a day, and the majority of it is devoted to putting someone else's needs before your own. Being a single parent is even harder. You might have a few people to help you, but ultimately, there's no partner to share every high and low intimately. To be a single parent of not one but TWO children?

Game over.

Some viewers have interpreted Don ignoring his sons' phone calls at work as negligent. Honestly, I don't think that's the case. He will call them back. Don is Mobius and Mobius is Don. He will take care of them. But refusing every beck and call at work is the only personal boundary he has. He cannot have many boundaries for himself at home or anywhere else. He has to decline not one but two calls for his own sanity. Nevermind that he works Monday through Saturday, nine to five, to make enough money to keep them healthy and happy. Where is the break? There is none. This is Don's glorious purpose.

Mobius leaving the TVA is understandable for two crucial reasons: One, it is a reminder of all his horrifying acts and complicity. Two, it is a reminder Loki is no longer there. But by leaving the TVA, Mobius separates himself from his only support system. That's not good. That is decidely unhealthy. The fact that it doesn't cross B-15, Casey, or OB's minds that this is a very bad idea tells you everything you need to know about the number of genuinely close friends Mobius has.

Mobius has two. He walked away from one to be with the second, and the second walked away from him, too. TWICE.

But he still loves him anyway.

When you take a man like this and take away everything that's kept him functional: the TVA, Ravonna, Loki, and then show him a content life in which he cannot even be with his own children because another version of him already exists, what do you think will happen to him given we've seen how violently Mobius can snap?

And guess what: only one person has ever seen Mobius snap on more than one occasion. Only one person understands the triggers and how to handle them. I'll give you three guesses as to who it is.

Mobius "has a happy ending" is absolute bullshit. He is at risk.

#loki #mobius #lokius #loki series #loki season 2 #loki spoilers #loki meta #sylvie #my meta

[greenlyren12]

The Mask You Wear

Chapter I

Find Chapter II here

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

word count: 2.7k

Summary: Childhood friendship lost to time, will you still recognise the person you once knew behind the facade?

A/N: Hello,

This is Chapter I with more to come. I haven't exactly planned out how many there will be yet, but I'll see how this does and then decide. Sorry if there are any mistakes, english is not my mother tongue. This story is also posted on ao3, uner the same username.

Feedback and comments are greatly appreciated, I hope you enjoy :)

GR.

You were lingering behind your Princess who was vigorously striding across the corridors. As her utmost devoted lady-in-waiting, you were everlastingly situated by her side. Following behind her step, ready to see to whatever errand she had to attend to.

Princess Rhaenyra had always loved you as if you were one of her own. Having entered court at the tender age of 13, her Majesty promptly put you under her wing.

 Your duties were to tend to your Princess’ needs, whether it was to serve meals, clothe her or assist with baths. Your devout service belonged to her.

Thus, your Princess’ family became your own, yet it was a certain silver headed Prince who owned a piece of your heart.

It was rare you were able to see him due to your duties, but your encounters would remain with you long after their end.

Now he was scurrying through the Castle aisles, passing by you and your Princess. Pale face painted by tears, again. Your heart gnawed at you for seeing him this way, expression woeful.

It was no scarce occurrence for his cousins and brother to torment him. He was a frail boy in a cruel world and you were a little girl in his wicked Castle.

You had spent many moons ogling at the boy in pure, childish curiosity, as he would too.

The way you found each other was bittersweet. He was frightened of seeking refuge but you were more than willing to provide it. Prince Aemond was a year older than you, nonetheless you loomed a head above him.

-

The first time you spoke to each other was in these same corridors. Your Prince was hastily traversing the halls, attempting to conceal his distress. Even at the young age of 10 you had noted on his sad nature.

It was your responsibility to attend to your Royalty, however this was something else. It was your emotions which drove you, not duty.

“My Prince,” you swiftly breathed out.

Aemond stopped in his tracks.

“Could I perhaps be of any help?” you let it hang in the air.

The Prince unsurely turned around to face you. He held no desire for you to see him the way he was but he was no coward. His eyes were puffy, hair unruly. You gazed down at him.

“if it is in your capabilities to stop my cousins from being nasty, then in all your power you should do so. However, I don’t think it is, my lady.” he had a bite to his tongue.

You wouldn’t admit defeat so easily. The game he was played was well known to you. Shoving people away in the fear of being a burden. It was the same strategy you used.

“I think it is well in my capabilities to be your friend, my Prince.” A sweet smile formed on your face.

Shock was visible on the Prince’s face but quickly buried deep within. None except for his mother, would battle his bitterness with amiability. It sent a ripple through his body. Seeing his finger twitch, your two eyes bore into his violet orbs.

Aemond was unsure of how to proceed, focusing on the floor beneath his shoes, he let the silence envelop you both.

This was not encouraged, alas you couldn’t be less concerned in the moment. It was instinct calling, two small children seeking shelter in one another.

Your arm closed the gap between the two of you and hung in the air.

The Prince’s lilac gaze darted from your hand to your face. Uncertainty entangled between his fingers he grasped your palm.

Looking back down, shyly he replied.

“I would like that, my lady.”

-

The same wave of sorrow washed over you now, seeing his back to you. White hair locks dancing behind him, always in a hurry, in a hurry to hide himself. You would search for him later in the lush gardens of the Red Keep, where you recently had began to meet. After you had fulfilled your duties to your Princess.

================================================

You were seated in a secluded corner hidden by unkempt greenery, a book in your lap. A history book to be exact. The prince’s responsibilities never trailed off far behind him. it was your obligation to assist Aemond in any means possible. Moreover, if you were caught together you would have an excuse - studying.

The sound of faint steps neared and a head of white hair followed.

You flashed a smile at the Prince and he shared one if his own. Scooting over, you made space for Aemond to settle next to you.

“The afternoon is delightful, isn’t it my Prince?” you said grinning.

The time spent with your friend was the only enjoyment you got from life. You were able to be children together, to laugh and cry, free from impending responsibilities.

“It is splendid, my lady.” the boy beamed.

“What happened earlier today, little Aemond?”

It was the nickname you had for the Prince, despite his age you still towered over him. A name of those likes would usually make him feel insecure. However, you bore no ill will towards the boy, so he paid no mind.

“They said I would never have a dragon, they gave me a pig!” Aemond cried.

Averting his eyes, shame fell over him. You couldn’t bear it anymore.

Hands clasping around the boy’s face, you cupped his cheeks and made him look at you.

“You are Prince Aemond Targaryen, of House of the Dragon, face kissed by fire..” your thumb swiped over one of his freckles below his right eye, “..you will be a dragon rider.”

He had amusement written all over his features. Unexpectedly, for the both of you, the boy nuzzled his head into your shoulder. Your palms travelled down to his back and tugged at his green robe.

“..Thank you.” the Prince muttered, sound muffled by your hair. You felt a tear fall.

“Good things come to those who wait, my little Aemond.” you reassured him.

Both of you stayed in each other’s embrace for a while. Your maroon dress clashing against his viridescent attire.

Pulling back, Aemond hastily pecked where your cheekbone started and he now had the bravery to hold your gaze. A quiet giggle left your mouth in response.

“Should we get back to your studies, my Prince?” you asked while unfastening the belt over the book.

================================================

 You were busy, meticulously braiding Princess Rhaenyra’s white hair when there was a knock on the door. A maid hurriedly opened the chamber’s entrance and bowed.

Prince Aemond hesitantly entered the room and held something in his frail grasp, fingers fidgeting with it. You were taken aback by his courage, staring in awe.

The Prince’s mouth opened, then formed a tight line and finally gained the bravery to ask.

“Could I please give something to the lady, my Princess?” His stare sheepishly requested at Rhaenyra.

The woman gazed at the nervousness of both of you and let out a quiet laugh. Her locks starting to fall away from your fingers.

“My Prince-“

“Go, my dear.” Rhaenyra gave you a comforting look and a smile.

You stared at her, wide eyed.

“Thank you!” you squeezed around her neck and burrowed your face in her hair. The Princess let out a sweet chuckle and tried to embrace you back as much as her position allowed her to.

Quickly running off, you clutched Aemond’s hand and excused both of you out of the room. Now next to the door, staring at him with a gleaming smile, you were giddy.

In the darkness the halls of the Red Keep provided, he handed you something accompanied by a crooked smile. You got the item and turned it around, curiosity overtaking you.

“A book, my Prince? I could get one from the library.” You humored him.

Aemond’s face turned red and he hurried out a response

“Open it.” Hands clasped behind his back.

You unfolded the book and on the first page laid a herbarium of Clematis. The flower you most cherished in the gardens. Under the dried plant was the title of the book. Your favorite story, the one your mother always used to read to you when you were little.

Feeling tears prickling in your eyes, your let your head fall down.

Aemond’s expression quickly turned painful and in an attempt to understand what had turned sour he approached you.

Interrupting him, “I can’t express my gratitude, my Prince.” Followed by a bow.

The fact that you had to hide behind courtesies in the Castle hurt the boy, nonetheless he gave you a shy grin.

“But why, my Prince?” Genuine confusion in your tone.

Aemond shrugged, the smile never leaving his face, he honestly had no idea why he had done it either.

“As a thank you for being my friend.” He truthfully replied.

 The only love he had felt in his entire life was conditional, the always impending fear of being rejected. It was the prince’s wish to make you content, so you wouldn’t leave.

A devilish smirk crossed your face and you bit.

“I don’t require presents as payment for my friendship..little Aemond.” You whispered.

“Regardless, I am beyond thankful for your kindness, my Prince, I shall cherish this present forever.” You said conjuring up the kindest smile you could muster.

“You are always welcome, my lady.” The Prince said, bowing back to you.

================================================

The Royal family had went away to Driftmark to pay their respects to House Velaryon and to attend Laena Velaryon’s funeral. Hence your current location at the stormy island.

The air was stagnant, imminent doom loomed over the rocky shores. The sea shared the tenor of the island’s inhabitants. The atmosphere in the halls was charged with tension. Poisonous remarks kept being exchanged by family members. It seemed they were drifting apart more and more with each passing day.

The black and red in your wardrobe increased while your meetings with Aemond lessened.

It was the first time you had seen the Prince in many fortnites. His gaze ran away from your own every time you tried to smile at him. Regardless, whenever you turned your head away from him, you felt the intent of dejection sit upon your small shoulders. Two holes set ablaze in the flesh on the back of your neck.

His usual demeanor had darkened, if it were more possible.

The whole event left you feeling uneasy, the agony of losing a member of the family. Your Princess Rhaenyra looked distraught throughout the entirety of the day and the weather reflected the sentiment of your family. Dark clouds menacingly resided in the sky.

You spent most of the day alone. Everyone had greater things to take care of so you simply washed away in the eve.

You lied in bed, pondering in the dark.

“Was this the way things would be now?” You thought.

Seeing your family get lost in hatred. You were lonely, the friend you had in Aemond now seemed to be lost. Queen Alicent had advised her children against interacting with you, Jace and Luke. The corner in your heart which you had tucked away for him was now gone, a gaping hole left behind.

Starting to slip into a restless slumber you were awoken by a gut-wrenching scream.

You pulled over a dress in the quickest way your limbs allowed you to, while your feet scurried down the steps of the Castle fast as they could.

The altercation was occurring in the mass Hall.

The scene you witnessed left your mouth agape, poignant taste seeping out of it.

Queen Alicent stormed over your Princess, palms digging into her flesh. Rage in her eyes, and poison from her mouth. Staring downwards, you saw the blood which drizzled down Rhaenyra’s forearm onto the ground. Acting as physical evidence that this vicious act of violence was actually happening.

Where your eyes trailed next was a sight which you’d never forget.

Your little Aemond, sat upon a chair twice his size. A nasty gash splitting the diagonal of his fair face, impaling into his right eye. His glare, melancholic as always, drowned into the ground yet a proud smirk was stretched across his features.

You had never seen the boy in such light.

Everything became too much for you to bear. Focusing on the center of the room you stayed, trembling.

The following hours fused into an orange scene of screams and brutality. You stayed out your mind, as best as possible. If asked now, you couldn’t recall what exactly had happened.

When you seemed to regain control of your consciousness, you were laying in your chambers again. Breathes uneven, you were trying to regain composure.

The silence in your dark room seemed to have a presence of its own. It pushed onto your chest, the tears catching In your throat.

Even the moon hid itself tonight, with no light streaks flowing into your chambers.

The feeling of loneliness drowned you. You missed your Mother and your Father, and your little sister. Life itself had became one great chore, with all happiness ripped away from it.

With no Aemond in it.

A soft knock interrupted your train of thought.

If you possessed the privilege of choice, you weren’t sure if you would have opened the door.

Sitting on the bed, you tried to make yourself seem presentable. Flatting out the curves in your sleeping gown and putting your hair back, your little feet left the comfort of your bed and stepped on the cold stone ground. Tippy-toeing you got to the door and peeked it open.

One violet eye welcomed you.

Your breath hitched in your throat, opening the door wider you bowed.

“My Prince.”

“..Could I come in?” Aemond timidly asked.

Your stare bore a hole into his face, weighing your options, realizing you had only one – to obey your Prince.

Moving away from the entrance you let the boy come in.

Both of you stood still, darkness engulfing you, two eyes against one.

“I’m sorry.” He sorrowfully stated.

“Have I done something to offend you in the past, my Prince?” Your face dissolved into an expression he could not bear to look at.

As if passing the olive branch, Aemond closed the space between you two and embraced you. A yelp escaped your lips and you clung to him.

“My mother would not allow it.” He tugged at your back.

Of that much you were aware, nevertheless doubt had still poisoned your mind. Your insecurities had gotten the hold of you, maybe you were not enough.

“Who dared, my Prince?” You asked against his moonlight hair.

Pulling you back with hands never abandoning your shoulders, he held you in place.

“It does not matter, I may have lost an eye but I gained a dragon.” Aemond stated, trying to convince himself.

Numerous emotions danced across your face. He could see the smile forming on your face and the knot between your eyebrows in the dark.

“I told you, little Aemond” you whispered.

Pulling on his hand, both of you took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“How are you here, my Prince?” Confusion written all over your face.

“I am not.” A troublesome grin on his face.

The boy had seemingly become a master of escaping his chambers unnoticed. A talent he acquired early into his childhood.

“It is Vhagar.” Aemond excitedly shared with you.

A gasp escaped your lips.

“I told you!” You whispered a scream, with your hands fisting at your sides and a proud look on your face.

Fearful of causing him any pain, you stayed away from his face and clutched both of his hands in your own and shook with happiness. Your gaze never darting to his bad eye once.

It did not go unnoticed.

“Am I hard to look at?” Your name slipping out of his mouth in a mournful tone.

Where you would usually cup his right cheek you now gently stroked a piece of silver hair.  

“You are flawless, little Aemond.” A genuine smile reassuring him.

You had now began to braid a section of his white hair and the Prince leaned into your touch.

Aemond took it as an invitation to speak freely. While you tended to your Prince’s hair, he filled you in on what you had missed in his life.

Only the Gods knew this would be the last time you saw the Prince for years to come.

#prince aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #house of the dragon aemond #hotd aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #house of the dragon

[elia-nymmeros]

""A start?" said Ellaria Sand, incredulous. "Gods forbid. I would it were a finish. Tywin Lannister is dead. So are Robert Baratheon, Amory Lorch, and now Gregor Clegane, all those who had a hand in murdering Elia and her children. Even Joffrey, who was not yet born when Elia died. I saw the boy perish with mine own eyes, clawing at his throat as he tried to draw a breath. Who else is there to kill? Do Myrcella and Tommen need to die so the shades of Rhaenys and Aegon can be at rest? Where does it end?" "It ends in blood, as it began," said Lady Nym. "It ends when Casterly Rock is cracked open, so the sun can shine on the maggots and the worms within. It ends with the utter ruin of Tywin Lannister and all his works."" The Watcher, ADwD

Rereading ADwD, one of the most interesting aspects of the Dorne plot for me is that constantly, over and over again, the elder Sand Snakes mock Doran for his perceived weakness, for being slow to act, for planning and disguising and lying instead of outright fighting, claiming that he was a lesser man compared to Oberyn, and yet part of me wonders what they thought/might've thought of Elia while she lived, especially when Gregor's head was brought back to Dorne and the Sand Snakes demanded vengeance not only for Oberyn, but also for Elia and her children.

"Her sister Tyene gave answer. "What he always does," she purred. "Delay, obscure, prevaricate. Oh, no one does that half so well as our brave uncle."" The Watcher, ADwD

It's hard to know because we only have second-handed accounts, but we've been told that Elia was someone agreeable, kind, with a good heart, someone precisely like Doran and very unlike Oberyn. No account of Elia presents her as a bold, outspoken, bloodthirsty, or vengeful woman, which of course doesn't mean that she wasn't, but it means that she didn't choose to present herself as one in front of Dorne and King's Landing court; in fact, some people even remember her as "drab" and "frail". It's very poignant to see the Sand Snakes asking to spill blood and kill innocent people in the name of a woman dead some 17 years ago who, as a matter of fact, probably never wanted to see the entirety of Casterly Rock and Oldtown destroyed and slain, children and smallfolk included.

"Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit." ADwD, Daenerys IV

""We could kill him, to be sure," said Tyene, "but then we would need to kill the rest of his party too, even those sweet young squires. That would be … oh, so messy."" ADwD, The Watcher

It's interesting for me that they learned this bloodthirsty attitude from Oberyn, who of course had almost two decades of virulent resentment because the brutal rape and murder of his sister and her children went unpunished, but who was also the man who probably knew Elia the best and what ideas she held about retribution, not some idealized version of a woman who they probably don't remember. Part of me wonders if the Sand Snakes wouldn't have found Elia cowardly and weak and useless too, simply because she displayed the same ideas about politics and power than Doran, because all accounts of Elia (all three of them) shows us a genuinely gentle and easy-going person who did not murder and poison her way to power as it is common in the royal court.

"I am not blind, nor deaf. I know that you all believe me weak, frightened, feeble. Your father knew me better (...)" The Watcher, ADwD

"It must have been the madness that led Aerys to refuse Lord Tywin's daughter and take his son instead, whilst marrying his own son to a feeble Dornish princess with black eyes and a flat chest." AFfC, Cersei V

I'm not saying that Elia wouldn't have wanted The Mountain dead or that the Sand Snakes were in the wrong for wanting their family members avenged, because Tywin Lannister and his lackeys were evil men who committed several crimes against the Martells and faced no direct repercussions, but the extreme level of hatred that the Sand Snakes show towards everyone who happens to be named Lannister, their willingness to go to a war they cannot hope to win with allies they aren't sure they can trust without any kind of well-thought plan, and the constant derision they show towards Doran and his attitudes... part of me feels like Elia has already been forgotten by them, replaced by an empty figurehead who they can rally around and use to justify their cruelty, while at the same time disdaining the same attitudes that Elia herself was known for...

"Written? If you were half the man my father was—" AFfC, The Captain of Guards.

""Obara would make Oldtown our father's funeral pyre, but I am not so greedy. Four lives will suffice for me. Lord Tywin's golden twins, as payment for Elia's children. The old lion, for Elia herself. And last of all the little king, for my father." "The boy has never wronged us."" AFfC, The Captain of Guards.

Something something about letting vengeance and senseless violence consume you, about a woman dead so many years ago and yet still loved by her people and her family, about the attitudes we teach our children and how they might end up twisted without a specific contextualization in time and space...

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #elia martell #sand snakes #doran martell #a dance with dragons #adwd #valyrianscrolls #i genuinely don't think the eldest sand snakes would've liked elia personally #which ofc doesn't mean they didn't love her #oh dorne plot i love you

[sorrowfulrosebud]

KEIKO IS SO CUTE I LOVE HIM

Keiko Bakugou

Content: some more talk about Keiko bc you all love his cute little ass

Genre: there are a lot of mentions of illness and near death experiences so I’m gonna label this as angst but it’s very fluffy in places too!!

He’s just a little baby :(( sometimes Katsuki wonders when Keiko is cuddling into you if he took on more of your human traits than his wolfy traits.

He isn’t complaining in the slightest; he loves all of his children fiercely and would move mountains for them. Sometimes he just finds it hard to believe that someone as fierce and mean as him managed to create something so small, frail and sensitive :(

Keiko also has very similar traits to you though. When Katsuki tried taking Keiko hunting alone, he tried befriending the small bunny they had found instead of trying to tear it to shreds.

Keiko has the worst immune system of all of the pack, cold-ridden throughout his first winter in the cabin as his siblings all played in the snow, just watching sadly from his bedroom window as his bones shiver with cold. He can’t even sit in the porch to watch his brother and sisters play since he’s already so feverish and his nose has not stopped running.

If you were being totally honest, you were frightened that he wouldn’t survive his first winter. You knew your babies would most likely be struck with some disease during winter but you hadn’t anticipated being stuck at your son’s side as he puked up his food and panted in bed with sweat rolling down his face.

He eventually recovers and is well enough to play with his siblings once again, and that is what triggered the protective streak in Akira and Aika. They were petrified of Keiko’s state and when they saw you crying in Katsuki’s arms due to how ill their brother was, they knew that they had to keep him safe. Kokoro was still worried of course, but she tried to be a true big sister to Keiko by trying to bring him some little chew toys from their toy box. (You stopped her; you couldn’t bare it if more of your children got this dreaded disease but you did take them in yourself and told him who they were from).

Keiko is definitely your sweetest kid. He’s the first one to give you and Katsuki cuddles in the morning and tries so hard with the household chores. His favourite chore is probably dusting the high places in the cabin since it means that Katsuki has to pick him up and zoom him around so he can reach every little speck.

Keiko is just a loving little child :(((

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader fluff #hybrid bnha #hybrid bnha x reader #bakugou #papa wolf katsuki #wolf bakugou x reader #wolf Bakugou and his pack

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

Morning and Evening by Charles Spurgeon

Eventide, July 19th

"A bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking flax shall he not quench." — Matthew 12:20

What is weaker than the bruised reed or the smoking flax? A reed that groweth in the fen or marsh, let but the wild duck light upon it, and it snaps; let but the foot of man brush against it, and it is bruised and broken; every wind that flits across the river moves it to and fro. You can conceive of nothing more frail or brittle, or whose existence is more in jeopardy, than a bruised reed. Then look at the smoking flax--what is it? It has a spark within it, it is true, but it is almost smothered; an infant's breath might blow it out; nothing has a more precarious existence than its flame. Weak things are here described, yet Jesus says of them, "The smoking flax I will not quench; the bruised reed I will not break." Some of God's children are made strong to do mighty works for him; God has his Samsons here and there who can pull up Gaza's gates, and carry them to the top of the hill; he has a few mighties who are lion-like men, but the majority of his people are a timid, trembling race. They are like starlings, frightened at every passer by; a little fearful flock. If temptation comes, they are taken like birds in a snare; if trial threatens, they are ready to faint; their frail skiff is tossed up and down by every wave, they are drifted along like a sea bird on the crest of the billows--weak things, without strength, without wisdom, without foresight. Yet, weak as they are, and because they are so weak, they have this promise made specially to them. Herein is grace and graciousness! Herein is love and lovingkindness! How it opens to us the compassion of Jesus--so gentle, tender, considerate! We need never shrink back from his touch. We need never fear a harsh word from him; though he might well chide us for our weakness, he rebuketh not. Bruised reeds shall have no blows from him, and the smoking flax no damping frowns.

[ladystarksneedle]

Daella Targaryen of the Vale

The treatment of Daella Targaryen by many around her throughout her life was atrocious. Most around her treated her like there was something wrong with her just because of her shyness, because she was easily frightened, or was "soft of heart", rather than acknowledging the virtues of her tenderness and accepting and openly loving her for it.

When arranging a match for her, Alysanne tells Jaehaerys not everyone is meant to be a warrior or ride a dragon, yet both of them ended up contributing to the belittling of both her and her brother Vaegon at court simply for not confirming to the Targaryen standard of a prince/princess ( the desire to not wed each other, Daella's shyness, Vaegon's studiousness and introversion)

Alysanne and Jaehaerys were definitely good rulers. Some of the laws they introduced were visionary and phenomenal for the Realm; in terms of justice (Widow's law, the removal of the right of the first night and punishment of it as rape) and progress (building of roads, city planning, installing cisterns and wells for freshwater supply, a sewage system, holding all the women's courts etc..) However they really failed their latter children in terms of parenting. Whether this was due to the extensive burden of governance or their old age at having them and thereby not being able to devote that much time to them ( 👀 not to mention Jaehaerys continuing to get Alysanne pregnant time and again despite her pleas of being past her childbearing age)

Coming back to the point, Daella was slender and frail for her age to be wedded and bedded but both Jaehaerys and Alysanne persisted as was "custom" which resulted in her death due to complications of childbirth, the same tragedy which befell her daughter Aemma years later.

The status and treatment of women in Westeros, even those belonging to noble houses and the royal family is saddening with many of them being relegated to broodmares and not being recognised beyond that.

Daella despite suffering such a fate, partly at the hands of her parents, was lucky to find comfort in her husband Rodrick Arryn, twenty years her senior, who was kind to her ,which was more than what could be found in many marriages of her time.

#daella targaryen #fire and blood #house targaryen #asoiaf #women of awoiaf

[burnwater13]

Din Djarin, Bo-Katan Kryze, and Koska Reeves aim their blasters at the blast door protecting the bridge of Moff Gideon's ship from the Dark Troopers (out of frame). Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 8, The Rescue. Calendar from DataWorks.

Grogu had shielded the Mandalorian from the true power of the Force as much as he could. It hadn’t been easy. He always waited until the situation was dire. He waited until he was the only one who could make a difference. After all, he didn’t want to hurt Din Djarin’s feelings. Mandalorians had very deep feelings and their depth in no way mitigated their intensity. Grogu had learned that the hard way over their time together. 

So when they found themselves on the bridge of Moff Gideon’s ship, he knew he needed to let the three Mandos think that they were doing something special. That the dark troopers that were pounding that blast door into some shape that wasn’t door-like at all were not a threat he could readily handle. He had to seem sort of intimidated by them so his dad would feel needed and the other two Mandos would feel like they had contributed to something, anything.

He knew that Bo-Katan and the other Mando weren’t there to rescue him. They hadn’t even gone with his dad to find him. Nope. All they wanted to do was steal Moff Gideon’s ship. He supposed that made sense. They didn’t have a lot of resources and Bo-Katan really wanted to be Mand’alor again. This would be a step in that direction. 

Of course that hadn’t worked out for her. She decided to take over the bridge, which Grogu would have thought was something they would have left to Cara or Fennec Shand. Grogu knew that Fennec was more than capable of handling that whole thing on her own. But the two Mandos stayed with her and Cara and Din Djarin went to rescue Grogu by himself. That’s how his dad ended up with the Dark saber, Moff Gideon, and Grogu, after fighting the Dark troopers. 

Grogu was very proud of his dad and continued to pretend that he was tired out from tossing those stormtroopers around. Moff Gideon acted like he’d tricked Grogu somehow and was smug about it. But that was just a distraction. He was used to pretending to be weaker, more frail, more frightened, more childlike, than he actually was. One of the first things he’d learned at the Jedi Temple was don’t give away your skills to the enemy for as long as possible. No need to help them understand what they were really up against.

Now, as the dark troopers were pounding away, Grogu had to consider if and when he needed to take the matter into his own hands. It was a little bit of a tricky matter. Purely from an ethical perspective. The easiest thing to do would be to overload all the droids’ circuits and fuse them to the ship’s deck as powerless hulks. He liked that. It was clean and simple and he’d handle them all that way. But ethically… well… they’d be kind of trapped in the bridge and as far as he could tell there was no food or water present and that would make his companions uncomfortable. It also might make it hard for Bo-Katan to use the vessel for any other purpose. But did he owe her that? He wasn’t sure and this was not exactly the time to discuss it with his dad.

Fortunately, the Force had provided another pathway to safety. Grogu tried hard to not be smug about that. He’d called the Jedi to come to him. Now they were there. On the ship. He watched, like the rest of them did, as the cloaked figure made their way through the corridors and cargo bays, destroying the dark troopers as if they were an imitation of a battle droid meant for children to play with. The must have hurt Moff Gideon’s feelings. He’d been so certain that the dark troopers would end them all. 

Grogu sighed softly. He was impressed with the young one’s style with the lightsaber. His only concern was whether or not Force lightning would start crackling from his finger tips. He was counting on a Jedi, not a Sith. Fortunately, all that happened was an affect that caused the droids to crumple in on themselves and fail. Most Jedi were able to do that. It was akin to holding a mudhorn in the air. You were just changing gravity in a very specific way. He hadn’t wanted to worry the Mandalorians with displays like that because if you could do that to a droid there really wasn’t anything you couldn’t do that to; a ship, a speeder, them… people got very reactive when they realized the true strength and skills Jedi were able to access. Grogu didn’t want his dad to panic. That wouldn’t be good. 

Grogu coo’d to his dad as they watched the Jedi walk to the blast doors to the bridge, the last dark trooper crushed like a bit of debris from a ship wreck. 

Din Djarin understood immediately. This must be the person who Grogu had called out to on Tython. Grogu had smiled and nodded. Of course this was the person. Only a Jedi would do what this person did. A Sith would have waited until they only had to deal with Moff Gideon. They had no more love lost for Mandalorians than they did for Jedi, generally speaking.  Nope. This was a Jedi and the Mandalorians were luckier than they could have ever imagined that Grogu had been able to reach them when he needed to. 

He supposed, upon reflection, that he really was Din Djarin’s lucky charm.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin

[clintbartonswife]

i loved you like the sun

Pairings: remus lupin/sirius black Summary: remus centric fic on his history, reunification and future with sirius. Whumptober prompt #27 : scars / 'let me see' Whumptober prompt #30 : borrowed clothing Notes: descriptions of malnutrition and body mutilation (hello lycanthropy!), post-POA masterlist   || whumptober2023 || part two (coming soon)

Remus' heart clenched as he traced the ink lines of the marauder's map. If he closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of the parchment in his hands, he could almost hear James' laugh, Peter asking what was so funny as Sirius whispered sweet nothings in his ear -

He broke that line of thought with a scoff, rubbing his hands over his face. He had run out of tears long ago, instead left with a deep well of bitterness. The best part of his life had been shattered in one night. His best friends murdered, childhood stolen and love of his life arrested as their killer.

Remus had never believed he deserved good things. The marauders had taught him otherwise, surrounding him with blind acceptance and joy. Just as he finally started to believe in his worth, it had all come crumbling down. He was left alone, the way he always knew he was going to be.

Nothing lasts forever.

Movement in the grounds caught his eye. That was unusual, especially considering the late hour and school-wide curfew. Frowning, he took a closer look, blood running cold.

Without a second thought, he tugged on his coat and began running.

The whomping willow whipped around in a frenzy, freezing as Remus hit the notch with an immobulus charm. His feet followed the path that he had walked for years, remembering every dip and turn.

His legs weakened as he raced up the steps in the shack, heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He could hear voices faintly through the door, paying them no mind as he crashed into the room.

"Professor Lupin!"

The exclamations from the children flew over his head, eyes set on the crumpled man on the floor.

He was practically wasted away, swamped by black rags that made his pale skin look practically translucent. Even from his place in the doorway Remus could see his veins, entwining with each other like vines under his skin.

Sirius finally turned to him, connecting their eyes. Years of hate, regret, love and pain rushed back through him, overwhelming in their intensity. In that moment, staring into his storm-grey eyes, he knew: Sirius was innocent.

The urge to kiss him was overwhelming, but it was neither the time nor the place. Instead, he spoke.

"Looking a bit ragged, aren't we, Sirius? Finally the skin reflects the madness within."

Sirius' face, which had before looked frightened, lit up with a toothy grin. "You'd know all about the madness within, wouldn't you, Remus?"

Relief spread through him, stepping forwards and helping Sirius to his feet. He hesitated once more, before pulling him into an embrace.

The smaller man melted in to him, body sharp and frail. Remus' heart swelled, cheek against Sirius' temple as breathed words escaped him, "You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."

If only for a moment, everything was okay.

Of course, nothing in Remus' life could stay normal for long. Snape came storming in, Pettigrew escaped, his secret was revealed and Sirius was sentenced to death. He was left to once again pick up the pieces, hiding his grief from those around him.

------

He retreated; resigning from his position at Hogwarts and running away from society once more.

His cottage was his solace, surrounded by thick woods with a boundary enchanted to contain his movements during the full moon. The building was small but cosy, books lining practically every wall.

He had inherited it from his grandfather on his mother's side, located just outside of Powys in Wales. It was the perfect escape, granted to him at the height of the war.

He sighed, tugging on his jumper as he limped towards the kitchenette, fresh scars throbbing with a vengeance. Some sick part of him was glad for the pain, deigning it a punishment for letting the kids down, for letting Sirius down.

A knock on the door resounded through the cottage, Remus flinching at the sudden noise. His fist clenched around the wand in his pocket, instantly on guard.

The knock sounded again, this time followed by a voice.

"Moony, open the door I'm freezing my balls off out here."

His breath caught in his chest, rushing across the room and swinging the door wide open.

Sirius offered a sheepish smile, eyes tired. "Surprise?"

Remus' blinked. "You're here - how... how are you here?"

"Dumbledore may have mentioned a certain hidden cottage that you owned - hope you don't mind but I have brought company."

Remus finally tore his eyes from Sirius, registering the hippogriff lying on the grass behind him. "Uhh -"

"That's Buckbeak. She's a friend."

"Right. Does she... need anything?"

"Nah she's a tough girl - we're both outlaws. Running from the ministry... y'know. Tough stuff."

Remus felt a smile tugging at his lips, "Sounds very... dashing."

"What can I say. Once a rebel, always a rebel. If Minnie could see me now -"

"She still wouldn't agree to dance with you, that's for sure."

Sirius opened his mouth in mock-horror. "Now that's just low."

"Sorry, sorry." Shaking his head fondly, Remus stepped aside, gesturing for the shorter man to come into the cottage. "Welcome to my home."

He took in his surroundings, expression unreadable as the door closed firmly behind him. After what seemed like an age, a smile cracked across his face.

"It's very you."

Remus let out a laugh, "Oh really?"

"I mean - come on, Moony. It's a bookstore in here! And you got your cobblestone fireplace... it's just like..." Sirius cleared his throat, smile dropping slightly, "Like the home we talked about."

Remus dipped his head, cheeks pinkening. "It's not as big as you wanted... or near London. I tried to make the kitchen the way you wanted, but I -"

"You remember."

"So do you."

"Memories. They were all that kept me going."

Remus reached out slowly, allowing Sirius the time to move away if he wanted to. He didn't. Hand slightly trembling, he entwined their fingers, thumb rubbing over Sirius' cold hand.

The apology sat on the tip of his tongue, though he found himself unable to speak. Sirius seemed to understand, lightly squeezing his hand in response.

"So," he said, attempting to lighten the mood, "I don't know about you, but I'm sick of these robes - got anything I can borrow?"

Snapping out of it, Remus finally met his eyes, "Of course. You can have your pick. I doubt you'd be here for more than a day without stealing all my jumpers anyway."

Sirius grinned, walking deeper into the house, "They look better on me."

"Yes they do." Remus breathed, before raising his voice. "The bedroom's other way!"

"I knew that!"

-----

The two of them fell into a routine, comfortable enough, but the tension of unspoken words still hung heavily in the space between them.

Sirius was slowly getting better, regaining more and more of his old spark every day. There were still times when he would get very quiet, sitting in the corner of the front room and staring out of the window, eyes glazed over with memories. Remus would simply brew him a cup of tea, setting it down on the table beside him and gently coaxing him back to the real world with careful touches and hesitant smiles.

He would return the favour by helping Remus on the days when his joints were agitated, brewing simple drafts to help with the pain.

Some nights, when Sirius woke up in a cold sweat, he would curl up at the end of Remus' bed in his dog form. It didn't take long for this to become the norm, the sofa-bed disassembled and Sirius' few items moved into the spare drawers in the bedroom.

It didn't take long for Sirius to catch him half-dressed, eyes silently tracking the new array of scars that covered his torso.

"Let me see." He had said, voice hoarse.

Remus simply let his arms fall to his sides, closing his eyes as hesitant fingers traced over irritated skin.

The moment was suffocatingly intimate, an echo of nights long gone by. It was over far too soon, Sirius letting out an unhappy noise and retreating, transforming into Padfoot and waiting for Remus to get into bed.

"They're just scars," Remus had murmured, blinking sleepily as he finally tugged his tshirt over his head. "Nothing new."

Padfoot huffed.

-----

Writing letters to Harry seemed to help. Sirius would light up every time he received a response, reading them aloud with glee, feet resting on Remus' lap. If he tried hard enough, as he listened he could imagine that everything was normal. That Harry was writing from his bedroom in Godric's Hollow, asking when Uncle Pads and Moony were next visiting as James and Lily laughed downstairs.

The dream always quickly dissipated, replaced with the ever-present weight in his chest.

"I'm glad he's doing okay," Remus said, "Well... as well as you can be when staying with the Dursley's."

"Right?" Sirius exploded, "Petunia was always walking around as if she owned the Earth."

"Her husband's not any better. Do you remember that summer when we helped Lily move out of her parent's house and he called James a slur?"

"I would've punched him if Lily hadn't got to him first." Sirius paused for a moment, shaking his head as the anger built within him. "Miserable bastards didn't even come to their wedding, why the fuck were they given Harry?"

Remus felt a hot poker of shame shoved down his throat. "They wouldn't - You were his godfather, so I thought.. but I was ruled unable to take care of him."

"Rem -"

Shoulders hunching, he wiggled out from underneath Sirius' legs, retreating to the kitchen. The other man followed him.

"Everyone was either dead or gone. Mary... she wanted to be left alone, and I was too tired to even fight their decision. They - they made valid points."

"Moony -"

"They said I was a danger to him."

"You would never hurt Harry -"

"But I almost did! If you weren't there that night, I could've killed them."

Sirius grabbed Remus by the chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You are not the wolf. You are Remus. My Remus. One of the most loving, caring people I've ever known. A good man."

His next words were all but punched out of him. "Time changes everything."

Sirius' face hardened. "Not us. Not in any way that matters."

Remus let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, and desperately searched the stormy eyes in front of him. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes."

Remus stepped closer to Sirius, hands coming to rest on his hips and thumbs hooking through his belt hoops. "Are you sure?"

Sirius' next response was breathier, his eyes focusing on Remus' lips with the desperation of a parched man staring into a stream. "Yes."

Permission granted, Remus leant in, lips slotting together like puzzle pieces. It felt like coming home, time apart meaningless as their bodies fell back in to the ease of melding together. Sirius' hands moved up into the taller man's hair, pulling a pleased groan from him as their bodies pressed together.

Sirius broke away from the embrace, resting his forehead against Remus' chest as tears wetted the grey t-shirt. The taller man instantly moved to calm him, stroking through his hair as he murmured reassuring words against the soft flesh of his temple.

"I missed you so much."

The whisper was almost unheard, a mournful admission spoken from the heart. All Remus could do was hold him tighter, as if he could protect him from the horrors of the world, and reassure him over and over again that no matter what happened he would never leave his side again.

The problem with promises of that magnitude is that they are incredibly hard to keep.

#whumptober 2023 #sirius black x remus lupin #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #whump #fanfiction #spot the httyd reference lmao #fluff #domestic wolfstar #padfoot #moony

[inkblot22]

He Begs Not For Petulance

GN!Reader x Rook Hunt

I didn't really know what to title this lol, but I hope this fits

TW for: captivity, kidnapping, infantilization and feminization if you squint, allusions to past victims, yandere, mention of nonconsensual kissing, Rook (because he frightens me and I'm certain I'm not the only one,) stalking, slight blood, being hunted, rusty French.

It was unclear if his presence was something to take solace in. On one hand, they knew where he was, but on the other hand, he was right there. He was right there, and watching, bright, unsettling green eyes tracking each and every little move as he sat in his chair at the small table in the cabin.

They hated his eyes, they hated the way he’d stare at them. 

They swore up and down that he had a notebook or something equally violating on them somewhere, but they just hadn’t managed to find it, yet. All they’d found were several dresses, some skirts, plenty of shirts, and a few pairs of nice slacks. They didn’t want to know where they had come from. There were too many possibilities and only a few were good. 

As it was, they were trying not to drop the ingredients for dinner as he stared at them. He probably knew how creepy that was, but ever since he had declared them too frail to leave, regardless of how untrue that was, they decided he probably didn’t care anymore. 

“What do you want?” They sounded more sad than angry, but it was worth it. 

“Ah, so you do notice when I am gazing upon your most beautiful visage.”

That was another thing. He spoke like he was in a play or something, often lapsing into monologues as though they were soliloquies, his private thoughts on display in the form of ridiculous, nonsensical poetry.

They hated his poetry, how he’d read it to them, only waiting for their horror when they realised who the subject was.

“Okay,” They responded, finally, chopping squash with that silly safety knife he insisted they use, not like they had a choice. He’d replaced all the utensils and cutlery with children’s cooking tools. 

It was almost as if he knew how much they disliked him, how angry they were that he had kept them here in this stupid little cabin in the woods. The table rattled on the rickety wooden floor as he stood, hands coming to cup their elbows.

“Please, mon ange, one would assume you had a vendetta against the cutting board. What’s the matter?” He wasn’t smiling as he bent to look them in the eyes.

“I,” they chopped hard, the cutting board echoing with the harsh end of each word, “Want,” another thunk, the bit of gourd trembling with the force of the knife, “To go home, Rook!”

“Well, don’t be foolish.” He straightened, smiling, “This is your new home.”

“No!” They tossed the knife into the sink and scraped the squash into the pot with their hand, “No, it isn’t, don’t say it is! I’m a prisoner.”

“My love, you’re being ridiculous. I am not a warden, to keep you here against your will. I-”

“Are you crazy? That’s literally what you’ve done!”

He paused, then a smile crept along his face, eyes squinting a little as he grinned, “Ah… I see. Tu veux sortir. You want to go outside and be among the wildflowers and trees. Alas…” He summoned tears to his eyes, his knuckles delicately pressed to his brow, “I am a cruel warden indeed, to not notice how tired you are of being held within this most homely of cages…”

He was so obnoxious. They hated how often he would do this, voice echoing off the wooden roof of the cabin as he waxed poetic about some bullshit. 

They hated his voice, how he’d look as he spoke to see their reactions.

“Mon ange, don’t glare at me so. I’ll let you out, and perhaps you will become more lively.”

They decided not to say anything, either a “thank you” or a “shut the hell up.” Instead, they stirred the soup and glanced at the door. It was chilly out, but the sky was slightly cloudy and the breeze was probably nice. It was hot and stuffy in the cabin, and everything smelled like Rook, which is to say it smelled like his natural scent, like cucumber, like musk. 

They hated his smell too, how he’d maintain eye contact as he bathed when he knew they were glancing to see if he was still there. 

He laughed as their brow furrowed further, opening the door, “Come, let’s go outside. The soup can wait.”

Stepping outside for the first time in however long they’d been stuck inside was ethereal. As soon as they ducked out from under Rook’s arm, they took off running, well aware he’d want them back later, but with no intention of following his wishes. The grass was cool on their bare feet, and were they a little less sane, they’d likely bend to kiss the ground. Climbing a tree, they relaxed a bit into the bark and scanned the horizon.

They’d come to him for help in the late autumn. They’d fallen off of a caravan, bleeding into the snow and frightened by the howls and worsening blizzard. How were they to know that that sweetened smile and blond hair hid a madman? He invited them in, politely drawn them a bath, given them a hot meal, but in the morning, refused to let them go until their wounds were healed. 

One morning turned into a full week, and a full week became a month, full of disturbing discoveries and strange advances. The first time he kissed them was during a fight on whether or not they could go home, and ever since then, they’d demanded he sleep in the cellar, to which he acquiesced as long as they made dinner, but they could tell he was growing impatient. He went on and on about how true and pure their love was, but they weren’t in love, and they had no clue how many other poor souls had heard the same rhetoric. Unfortunately, every time they tried to leave when he was home, he’d stop them, his grip growing stronger and stronger each time. When he’d leave, to go hunting or for groceries, he’d place a spell on the door to keep it locked. 

They stared at the sunset for a moment, then looked down and noticed something they hadn’t seen before. On the night they came to his cabin, they had simply been running aimlessly, but there was, in fact, a path. Paths usually meant other people, and other people meant they could finally get away from Rook. They scrambled down the tree, then began walking along the path. 

The cool air was like nectar to their lungs. They’d never see him again if this went how they wanted. They’d never go near cucumber, and they’d never eat squash again. He’d be nothing but a bad memory. 

As they came to a crossroads, they jumped as an arrow lodged itself into the signpost. They spun around but saw nothing, and kept walking to the left, haste in their steps. They broke into a run after a few paces, panic speeding their breaths. Another arrow hit a tree trunk and they ran faster. They couldn’t go back, not now, but when a bolt of ice froze the ground before them, they were forced to turn off into the woods and keep running.

The arrows stopped, since he probably paused to collect them. The twigs stabbed their bare feet like glass, but they kept running, panting like an animal. Something grabbed their arm and yanked them back, throwing them into a tree trunk.

“I must be honest, mon ange. I expected this of you, but I did not think your endurance was so wonderful.” 

They wheezed against the tree, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, my. If you do not understand, then who am I to break the illusion?” He knelt before them, tilting their head up, “Ever petulant, aren’t we?”

As he dragged them back to the cabin, all they could think of was how close they’d gotten, but it was unlikely they’d get another chance. 

He was always watching them, anyway, and that’s what they hated most about him.

Part Two: He Begs For Uniformity

#tw: yandere #tw: dark content #tw: dark themes #twst rook #twisted wonderland #tw captivity #tw: rook hunt #tw: stalking #tw: assault #tw: injury #disney twst #rook x reader #bad french #rook hunt #i'm not sure if i'm doing well with this original posting thing #but thank you for reading

[talldarkandroguesome]

14th of Second Seed, Tirdas

Sildras' nameday was so lovely. Mother managed to hold her tongue. She was far more restrained than usual. She let Father take the lead on celebratory speeches and conversation.

Father looks so much more frail than he once had been. There was a thinness to his face that frightened me on first seeing it.

I did not mention anything about it to him, though. I wanted to keep spirits high for Sildras' sake.

Some of his peers in his art and riding classes were invited. All he invited were in attendance. I think it was something that many of the parents of the invited would not miss. Many of them were lesser nobles who had status to gain from being seen to be invited to our home.

Sildras was so happy to run about with his peers and show off his games and books. I do not know how much the other children were able to appreciate his particular interests or not. It is so hard to know when there are those of lower status, when they show appreciation if it is genuine or if they are trying to be on your good side. Do they want to your favor regardless? Are they appreciating what things you have without understanding the significance of the items to you? And how do you ever know?

Perhaps these are just my own lifetime of fears. I held my tongue and just let Sildras enjoy himself for the day. I will provide more guidance in such matters at a later date. Perhaps I shall have Avon bring it to him. After all, Avon has been on the other side and may have more clear guidance on how to tell.

Gifts were received from dawn to dusk. A good day to be a courier. Actually, there were still parcels being received this morning.

Sildras was very pleased to have something from Tel. Yet by far his favorite gifts were the ones from his sisters. Nabine did not allow them to attend, but I am so grateful that she allowed them to send along something. Kuna used a pelt from her hunt to make a pouch. She stamped into the leather of the inside a rough shape of the Indoril crest. Cariel made a doll of herself for Sildras and said she made one of Sildras that she kept with her, so that it was like they were always together.

He slept in today, very unusual for him. I think he was tired for being up so late last night to read the new books that Plays-With-Fire had gifted him.

If he feels up to it, I have promised him that we will go out and forage for some alchemy reagents. He only asked for me to teach him more alchemy for his nameday and I told him we would.

I am blessed that the Council, as a reaction to our awful weather, has taken a short hiatus to check in on the impact of the weather upon the lands both within the city limits and in our House's lands stretching from Deshaan to Stonefalls.

As such, I have been granted my prayers of having time to plan out my next lessons for the Nest. Maybe more important than that, I have the time to spend with my son. I know Sildras has shown his displeasure with how little time we have spent together lately. It is the least I can do to make up for all that has happened to him.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #elder scrolls online #the elder scrolls

[fervency-if]

What did the ROs look like as children? ^^

The Physician often looked somewhat older than she was - not by a lot, but slightly, especially after her growth spurt when she started to get tall - she was tall even for her age, beginning when she was nine or ten or so. She often wore her hair in either one or two braids.

Aubrey didn't look very different in a sense - him as an adult looks just the way one would expect child-Aubrey to grow up to look. Small and slim, and somewhat frail. I don't think he wore spectacles back then, though, as a very young child; I believe his eyesight worsened enough for that when he was a teenager or so.

Vesa wore her hair long. Her parents wanted her to tie it up, but she always removed the ribbons, letting it flow free. It often got a bit tangled. She had a few freckles back then, and was very tan when it was summer, because she was out in the sun a lot.

Narciso was small and scrawny - he certainly had a growth spurt eventually. He was that skinny because he didn't eat well - he was often frightened, nervous, or sad, and food simply didn't taste well, and made him nauseated or gave him a stomachache. (He eventually started to enjoy food a lot, but he was always an extremely slow eater.) He looked a bit unkempt before the age of ten, and after the age of ten, he always looked absolutely pristine. He always let his hair hang into his face, obscuring it a bit, though.

Roswhen was very thin, with short hair, and clothes that were very worn. Their cheeks were a tad sunken, but they didn't look sickly per se - they looked so happy that it shone through a lot. They were of average height for their age, and had a very healthy complexion.

Elan was tall and sturdy. He looked rather strong back then, too, albeit in a different manner than now. He was a bit bothered by his height back then - he didn't like getting any comments on the way he looked. His clothes were always wrinkled, because he had a habit of wringing the fabric with his hands when he was uncomfortable or nervous.

#fervency ros

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school

[hidras-tiny-cave]

Journal Of A Human Failure

Part four: winter comes when the flowers bloom.

I’ve seen how you look at me now. It’s barely different but I can tell, you think that was gross.

Despite accepting (and enjoying) my situation, I do know how immoral it might seem to you all.

You must also think, that to enjoy such treatment, I must’ve had a traumatic past, or bad social bonds. Well far from it! I was loved all my life, before now.

I was forgiven easily. The other children loved me dearly. Truly, they did.

I remember I had a best friend even. Let us call him “Lennan”.

Lennan was sweet, kind, a good boy one would say.

I believe there wasn't more naive and frail then a good natured boy like Lennan.

As simple kids, we did simple things.

We played, held hands while running around, laughed and it felt as if the world couldn’t be better.

Lennan was kind, too kind. Others would surely “stain” him. They would use him, abuse him, ruin him.

Kill him.

They would kill him. Slowly, painfully. And he wouldn't notice.

I pulled him out of the darkness that awaited him. I grabbed his arm and opened his eyes.

Suddenly, other children did not look at us the same way. They looked afraid.

They did not understand.

Lennan looked the same to me. Sometimes he would cry and try to run away, but those tantrums stopped quickly.

Overtime, I saw myself in him more and more.

He looked like me more and more.

As if he was going trough a physical change, his blonde hair darkened, his star filled eyes turned to a bland brown in wich only the moon could reflect.

His sun-kissed skin got paler and he lost his poutty cheeks.

As winter came, he got colder.

He wore a red scarf made of wool. Too big for him as it belonged to his father.

He was definitely like me at this point. There wasn’t anything else to do. No one could hurt him anymore.

Until one day.

We got into an argument, a silly one. I had tried to take his scarf away.

“objects with emotional value will do nothing but make him vulnerable” I thought.

I believe I was right. Lennan did not let go, he opposed himself to me.

He tried to get away again. This time, I felt disappointed

In the end, no progress was made.

All that was left to do was erase my mistakes.

I pushed him to the ground. I sat above his stomach.

Thin, so thin. So small.

I did struggle, as the gloves I wore were getting in the way.

But the fragility of his neck made it easier to choke him out.

He looked frightened, but somehow, it felt as if he knew what was going to happen.

He knew that day, the 4th day of winter, was the one in which he’d die.

#bad main character #writing #writers on tumblr #begginer writer #journal of a human failure #doomed by the narrative #dead best friend #im silly #writers and poets #writerscommunity

[bluiex]

Ok idea of an adoption AU

After many attempts with no success, Scar and Grian go to a doctor, to which they find out that unfortunately Grian is infertile, so he won’t ever be able to have biological child/children.

Scar and Grian are of course quiet very up set about the news, especially Grian, it was always a dream of his to have a huge family.

By the time they got home, it was night. Grian heads upstairs to the bedroom, not saying a word. So Scar decides to make Grian favorite for food. When he’s done heads up, to where he finds Grian bet down on the bed praying, with Jellie beside him.

Scar and Grian weren’t at all religious people, they both had some form of religious trauma, and so they never wanted to bring religion into their lives.

But at this moment, Scar could understand why. He goes to him, sets the food plate on a desk, and begins to massage his shoulders, telling everything will be alright and they’ll get through this together.

Suddenly there’s a shattering noise that comes from downstairs. Scar and Grian are quickly alert, hearts begin racing. Scar grabs a pistol they have in the bed-side table. They both head down cautiously.

There’s a noise coming from the kitchen. They carefully, they don’t see anyone, which means they might be crouched down behind the counter. So they make their way quietly as they can. When they turn to see what was behind, they were shocked.

Three small children, not looking older then 8, sitting on the tile floor, eating tortilla chips. The three children didn’t even seem to notice that they were there.

One of had split color, albinism white and jet black. He also seem to have heterochromia eyes, one green the other a crimson reddish-brown. They also seem to have vertigo. They wear a white dress shirt with a black vest, black pants and socks, no shoes.

The second was a brunette like Scar, however instead of it being straight, it was quiet fluffy looking. Dark brown eyes and just a few freckles. He seem to be the smallest one. He was wear a green button up shirt, and brown shorts.

The last one was a blonde, sky blue eyes, and frail body. He was wearing a white-red sleeve t-shirt and beige pants.

The two stared at these three children in disbelief, and were both completely frozen. They might have gotten in three the window, which was basically half way opened. They left it open for Jellie, but it had never accord to them that other creatures or in this case children could get in.

Finally, one of the children notices them, it was the blonde one. He seemed startled which alerted the other two to turn in their direction. They were frightened.

Scar finally snapped out of it, then remembered he was still pointing to pistol at them, he quickly lowers it and sets it on the counter.

“Hello there” he says as friendly sounding as he could.

The children didn’t respond, besides the split colored haired one giving a little wave.

“We’re going to hurt, we just want to know, why you are in our house”

“…W-we we’re hungry, and you left a window open so we just” brunette spoke.

“Yeah and we didn’t think anyone was home” the blonde followed with.

“Well it isn’t really nice to sneak into other people’s house, and steal their food” Grian finally said.

“We don’t have any other choice in the matter, stealing is our only option, it’s either that, or we starve” the split colored one explained.

This made both and Grian pause.

“You three don’t have a home” Scar asked.

“Would you think we would be stealing food if we did” the blonde responded.

There was a long pause, then Scar spoke.

“Ok how about we introduce ourselves and get this settled with. I’m Scar, and this is my husband Grian”

“I’m Tommy, the brunette is Tubbo, and split colored one is Ranboo” the blonde spoke.

“Well Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, why don’t we get you three something proper to eat” Grian explained.

“Can it be spaghetti” Ranboo asked excitedly, almost shouting.

The other two seem to role their eyes.

“As you probably guess, Ranboo loves spaghetti” said Tubbo.

“Well that good, because that’s what we have for left overs” Scar grinned.

Scar sets up three plates, preheat the spaghetti, before giving it to them, that were now sitting at the table, sense there only two chairs, Ranboo chose to sit on a high stool.

To say they are the meal quick, was an understatement, they ate like if ate any slower, some force was going to take it from. Which now that Scar and Grian thought about, for them being looking 8, they were all pretty under weight.

“May I ask, when the last time you three ate” Scar said.

“4-5 days” Tubbo responded.

Grian and Scar looked at each other, really concerned, they know Ranboo had said that neither of them had home, which got them wondering, how long have they been homeless.

“How long have you three been alone” Scar asked.

“Don’t know, I think for 8-9 months” Ranboo responded.

“It was 9, Ranboo doesn’t have the best memory” Tommy said.

“You three have been alone for 9 months, did no adult help” Grian asked, how very concerned.

“Well not alone, we had each other, and no, no one ever thought to stop to help us” Ranboo explained.

“Well then, how about for now, you three stay with us, we have plenty of room, and more than enough money to support you three” Scar said.

“Really, you’d take us in, even after we broke into your house” Tommy asked.

“We gave you three food didn’t we, if we’d have it any other way, we’d probably have to call police” Grian explained.

The three of them nodded.

“Last two questions, one how old are you three, I’m was assuming eight, but now that I know you three haven’t eaten in days, and are clearly malnourished, I could be wrong” Scar said.

“Well you’re not to far off, I’m 11, and Ranboo and Tubbo are twelve” Tommy said.

Scar only gave a single nod.

“Ok second, do you guess mind animals, we have a cat named Jellie, she’s very sweet, but I want to know if you three like them, or have allergies towards them” Scar explained.

Ranboo immediately perked up.

“You have a cat, I love cats” Ranboo said joyfully.

“As for us two, we also love animals, and no we’re not allergic” Tubbo said.

“Good, I’m sure Jellie would absolutely adore you three” Scar smiled.

“Now look, now that you three are done eating, you guys could use a bath and shampoo, we don’t have that will fit you, so we’ll have to wash and iron the clothes that guys already have” Grian explained.

“Speaking of which, when was the last time you three had a bath” Scar asked.

“3 weeks ago” Ranboo answered.

Scar sets up the bath, making sure the temperature was perfect. When asked who would like to go first, Tommy responded that they usually bathed together, and it was usually in their boxers. Unfortunately the tub wasn’t big enough for that so Ranboo went first, the water immediately turn a yellowish brown, it took three drains and refills for each one them, until that water stayed clear.

Grian was busy putting their clothes in the wash, he hadn’t realized how much dirt, mud, and grass stains were on them until he had a better look, which made found out that they were fleas. Once they were done, they looked almost brand new, if you don’t count the small tears and holes. He irons them, and then sets them in the guest bedroom.

Once all that was done, Tommy asked if they could sleep together in the guest bedroom, for they didn’t like sleeping apart, to which Scar and Grian of course agreed.

Once they were asleep, Scar and Grian head back to their bedroom, to talk about what they should do next.

“I want to adopt them” Grian immediately stated.

“I was thinking the same thing” Scar responded.

“They’re so sweet, I love them already” Grian explained.

“As do I, but we’ll have to ask them first, see if they’re ok with it” Scar followed.

“I know, I just hope they say yes” Grian replied.

(With the three)

“Sss, Tommy, Tubbo, are you two still awak” Ranboo whispered.

Both groaned be for shifting to turn towards him.

“Yes we’re awake Boo, now what is it” Tubbo asked.

“Do you guys think they’ll adopt us, I mean they seem so nice, and I’d really like to stay here” they explained.

“I don’t know but, I do too, they’re so friendly, and they weren’t mad that we basically broke into their house” Tommy responded.

“I don’t know, I mean, I’d love to stay here, if you guys do, but don’t know if I truly trust them yet, this could be all an act” Tubbo explained.

“Well if it is, then they’re pretty good actors, and they’ve gay me and Ranboo fooled” Tommy said jokingly.

Tubbo chuckled

“I guess you’re right, but I’ll need time to trust them” Tubbo said

“We understand, take your time, you don’t have to trust them right away” Ranboo responded.

“Thanks for understanding” Tubbo replied.

“You’re welcome” Tommy and Ranboo answered.

YEEEAH BENCH TRIO ADOPTED BY SCARIAN MY BELOVEDS

#long post #hc x dsmp #scarian hcxdsmp

[hollers-and-holmes]

What is weaker than the bruised reed or the smoldering wick? A reed that grows in the marshland—let a wild duck land on it, and it snaps; let but the foot of man brush against it, and it is bruised and broken; every wind that flits across the river moves it to and fro. You can conceive of nothing more frail or brittle or whose existence is more in jeopardy than a bruised reed. Then look at the smoldering wick—what is it? It has a spark within it, it is true, but it is almost smothered; an infant’s breath might blow it out; nothing has a more precarious existence than its flame.

Weak things are here described; yet Jesus says of them, “The smoldering wick I will not quench; the bruised reed I will not break.” Some of God’s children are made strong to do mighty works for Him; God has His Samsons here and there who can pull up Gaza’s gates and carry them to the top of the hill. He has a few mighties who are lionlike men, but the majority of His people are a timid, trembling race. They are like starlings, frightened at every passerby, a little fearful flock. If temptation comes, they are taken like birds in a snare; if trial threatens, they are ready to faint. Their frail craft is tossed up and down by every wave; they drift along like a seabird on the crest of the billows—weak things, without strength, without wisdom, without foresight. Yet, weak as they are, and because they are so weak, they have this promise made especially to them.

Herein is grace and graciousness! Herein is love and loving-kindness! How it opens to us the compassion of Jesus—so gentle, tender, considerate! We need never shrink back from His touch. We need never fear a harsh word from Him; though He might well chide us for our weakness, He rebukes not. Bruised reeds shall have no blows from Him, and the smoldering wick no damping frowns.

-Spurgeon

[moondancer71]

A collaboration fic with @arielchelby​

AN: We are nearly done with this chapter, so we thought it would be fun to share a sneak peek. Jon meets some new friends 🤭👀. 

Jon emerged from the flames at the entrance of the Cave of the Three-Eyed Raven. Located beyond the Wall, the Fates domain resided below a towering weirwood concealed by magic, its existence known only to the Children of the Forest and the Lord of the Dead. The cave was a labyrinth, consisting of smaller caves and tunnels which interconnect and lead back to the main cavern.  

Though the cave lied outside of Castle Black’s borders, no natural light streamed through. With a wave of his hand, Jon created a blue fire ball in his palm to illuminate the path to the main cave. The withered bones of ravens and Children of the Forest that litter the tunnel grounds crunched beneath Jon’s feet as he made toward the cave. The roots of the weirwood clung to the walls in twisted webs, slender fingers reaching toward their master, trapped in a cage of his own making.  

At the cave's entrance, he could see the smattering of torches lining the tunnel and he extinguished his blue flame. The torchlight created macabre shadows of the giant skulls embedded within the walls.  

The three Fates resided at the center of the cave. Brynden Rivers, or Bloodraven as he was now called, Maggy the Frog and the Ghost of High Heart. Encased in his throne of weirwood roots, Bloodraven appeared more tree than man. A murder of ravens are perched on the bone white bark. His milk-white skin and blood red eyes seemingly glow in the darkness and his long-white hair hangs loose, covering the wineskin birthmark on the right side of his face. 

“Good evening, Your Grace. You received our raven?” Bloodraven smirked. 

Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. I hope it’s important. As you well know, I have many duties to attend to.”

The Ghost of High Heart was a small, old woman and similar to Bloodraven she has long white hair, pale skin, and red eyes. “Your Grace, you should be kinder to my dear friend, Jenny. She is haunted by the grief and sorrows of Summerhall, as am I, yet you punish her for it,” she said, her frail hands gripping the handle of her black cane. 

Jon scoffed. “I’d like to send her to her final resting place along with the monsters haunting my castle. If you can tell me how, I’d gladly free her of this torment.” 

“Monsters are your territory, Your Grace,” Maggy laughed, a wicked gleam in her charcoal rimmed eyes. Unlike Bloodraven and the Ghost of High Heart, Maggy was youthful, her honey-brown hair cascading down her shoulders, her brown dress forming to her curves.  

He felt ire rise. “Is this why I’ve been summoned? You intend to scold me for banishing a singing maiden?!” 

“Careful, Your Grace,” the Ghost of High Heart warned. “You forget where you are and to whom you are speaking to.” 

Jon bowed his head. “Apologies.” The Fates’ powers were tied to the King of the Underworld, their greensight permitting them to guide the past, present, and future of the mortal realm. Careful, fool, their knowledge of magic and death far exceeds your own. 

“Enough,” Bloodraven bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls causing the ravens to scatter their caws reverberating through the space. “The Queen is still mortal,” Bloodraven continued. “She has not eaten from the pomegranate.” 

Jon studied the floor. “It’s more complicated than I imagined,” Jon lamented. “She’s frightened and I cannot force her to eat the fruit.”

“She will eat the fruit,” the Ghost of High Heart intoned. “The Old Gods have not let me rest. I dream of two unhappy sons and a cruel father who’s time should have long since passed. I see a cloud looming over the land, one that grows darker with each year that passes. The Old Gods demand payment. They want their Bride of Fire.” 

“Yes,” Bloodraven said, leaning forward, his fingers curling over his handrests. “We gave you the pomegranate for King Aerys as you promised us a bride for the Underworld. Men forget the promises they make, but the trees remember.” 

“I’ve not forgotten. The debt will be paid. I just need more time,” Jon pleaded. 

“You shall have it, Your Grace,” Bloodraven replied, leaning back into his chair. “However, bear in mind that though we Fates control the threads of time, our patience is not endless. Time is fleeting for mortals, just like the winter snows that I can see your sister chasing after your brothers in.”  

Jon’s heart dropped at the mention of his siblings, but he pressed forward, unwilling to show the Fates his fear.  “I understand. Am I free to leave?” 

Bloodraven laughed. “None of us are free, Your Grace. We serve the Gods and we are bound to our duty to maintain the balance between life and death. But you may leave.” 

“Your Grace,” Maggy called, halting Jon’s steps. “I can tell you your future and that of your Queen’s.” She slunk over to him, dark eyes full of mischief. 

Jon hesitated. Despite the immense power he wields, the mage's dark magic makes him weary. Yet, after Daenerys refused to eat the fruit last night, he’s afraid that this might all be for naught and that he’s subjected them both to a life of misery. “Fine,” he relented. “Tell me what will become of Daenerys and me.”

#jonerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerys fanfiction #moon and ariel write #lure me to hell #fic teaser #also its REALLY hard to write a scene with more than 2 people 😅🤣

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube