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fayeriess · 3 months

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⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ THE STORM ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: restless nights come with revelations.

warnings: 18+, tully!reader, mentions of death, descriptions of death, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, a small bit of angst, an even smaller amount of fluff, ( should be everything but if something is missing please let me know )

a/n: not much to say except a big thanks to @aemondtarqaryens for beta-reading this for me, I appreciate you friend <3 enjoy!

Soil often had centuries of stories to tell; laying dormant beneath blades of grass. Tragic tales that weaved themselves deep within valleys, grasping the roots of trees, and twirling around death to keep themselves nourished. A realm stained with maroon liquid that would seemingly rejuvenate the earth; feeding it flesh and carcass as an offering for those who had conquered, who had built on such sacred lands and birthed destruction.

In turn, erde would lap the harsh waters that sat at Blackwater Bay, raising the tides, angering the gods — old and new. It devoured those whose hearts palpitate under the scrutiny of the sweltering heat, falling victim to the ball of fire in the sky. It clawed at the remains of sanity, erasing any and every part of one’s being until flesh peels away from bone.

For the lives erde took, less was given.

The greater the loss, the greater the greed.

That was something your mother had whispered near the shell of your ear, her voice lilted and as smooth as honey — becoming equally sticky when it finally stuck itself between lumps of tissue that made up your brain.

She had told you to be cautious, for she would not be around much longer. Within the crevices of your soul, you knew that to be true, as she had sacrificed her entire being to keep you gentle, and strong — something she could not be. Though young, pale skin and sunken cheeks were what you gazed upon when the thinness of your fingers would swipe across her face in tender affection, you were always doing your absolute best to keep the tears at bay.

Sickness flourished in her lungs soon after; blooming from the inside, withering her away little by little until you had nothing else left to cling to. Her skeleton became fine flora and fauna on your ten-and-fifth name day, sprouting stems of green, budding willows and small clusters of lavender blooms.

Your bones had ached with growth as the years grew harsher, and war crept close in the form of those a part of the City Watch, donned in the finest of armor and longswords sheathed at their sides when they’d march about back within the walls of safety. Imagining the blood dripping down the sharp, curved edges of their blades came easy, as you had witnessed such brutality and heard it with your ears.

And once you were married off by your father, serenity became a craving. An itch in your gums and esophagus exceedingly stuffed with savagery so grand, the familiar taste of copper would pool in the middle of your tongue. The foreign feeling would not fade until it was acknowledged, welcomed with warm arms and an equally warm heart — somewhat naïve — just like you.

At first, it had been bearable. Starting as a tingle on the bumped expanse of the spine, inching in every way possible, a certain desperation in how quickly it spreads, how it consumes you whole in something mildly familiar. Delusion — something you’d come to realize you would happily tangle yourself in if the soles of your bare feet weren’t absorbing the vibration from woodland grounds, greenery tucked between your toes.

Moonlight descended upon your skin, trickling up the stretch of your arms in a dim warmth you were sure that none else would bring you. The lids of your eyes were screwed tightly, a dull throb forming in the sockets as you balled your fists at your sides.

If there was one place you should not be, it was here, out in the open and shaded by nothing but leaves of the weirwood tree in the Godswood, the looming towers of the Red Keep filling your veins with a sense of dread.

Misery has become you; sealed in your fate the minute you were bound to your husband — a Targaryen man with a temper as hot as coals. Though you have never been on the receiving end of his murderous wrath, you were no stranger to his sharp tongue and hasty decisions. Aemond was clouded by his loyalty to his family and the crown, and in the end, it would surely be the thing that would kill him.

A reoccurring dream would appear behind your lids on eves such as this, when the night grew colder and the violence you had grown accustomed to faded with the crickets' songs, becoming a solemn lullaby. Most nights, you’d have no qualms, resting your mind once you were cradled in the arms of your lover. But this night, sleep had yet to find you, and without Aemond’s presence looming over, scarpering was as easy as taking a breath.

A light wind swept through the air, ruffling the already creased fabric of your nightgown even further as you stared at the face carved into the tree, corners of your lips downturned in a slight frown. By now, you had committed every single piece of chipped wood to memory, eyes growing watery and skin bumpy with gooseflesh the longer you stood atop dead leaves, hearing them crunch beneath the soles of your feet as you shuffled somewhat.

Perhaps you were waiting for a beam of lighting to strike down upon you, to scorch your insides and eviscerate every single cell in your body until you become one with the earth. Either that or whisked away into the air. As of now, you had no arguments as to which one would be your fate.

Cold had nipped at the pads of your toes, a sure sign that it was time to retire to your chambers and retreat underneath the comfort of your sheets. Yet, no matter how tempting that fleeting thought was, it felt as if you were cemented to your spot, slightly swaying in place to get rid of the chill.

“What are you doing out here alone?” His voice made your spine stiffen, teeth gritting together at the low, patient tone of his voice. The clatter of his shoes reverberated throughout your ears, turning light as he joined you on the grass, shoulder nearly pressed against the left side of your back.

Aemond’s lingering presence brought you some sort of comfort, even if it was just a ghost of a touch covered by clothing, and you found yourself longing to be in his arms. Ultimately, you kept your distance, fingers numb as you tried flexing them at your sides.

“I received a raven earlier in the evening,” your murmur came quickly, lips barely moving as your gaze blurred slightly, eyes glistening with a sheen of unshed tears. Although he does not answer, you can feel his violet eye cautiously peering at the side of your face, lips slightly pointed downward.

“Grandfather is ill. Elmo will be lord soon.”

Not a crease embedded itself in the muscles of his face as he continued to stare — only for a second longer before averting his eye to the weirwood tree. “We’ll make him see reas-”

Shaking your head, you finally cocked it in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest to self-soothe as you took in the sharp angles of his face shadowed by the moon.

“He is still keeping our house banners in Riverrun. I know Elmo well enough to know he has already chosen. He’s always looked at Rhaenyra as the sole heir to the Iron Throne, and when grandfather takes his last breath, he’ll surely pledge allegiance to the Blacks.”

Your elder brother was stubborn. His skull was as thick as the fattest lords in all of Westeros, and even if it was indeed your grandfather’s dying wish to join the Greens in this war, Elmo would rather take a blade to the skin of his own throat than obey. Perhaps, that was one of the many reasons why you did not get along as well as siblings should have. Where you were meek, he was bold. Where you were sharp and quick-witted, he was dull and slow-minded. Choosing opposite sides when it came to the facet of war, of life and death, further broke a bond that was already weakly stitched together.

Deep within, you were confident your words would fall on deaf ears, and Aemond would eventually take to the skies with Vhagar, only to find himself in Riverrun and surprise Elmo Tully with an unwanted and unexpected visit. He was married to you after all. What good of a husband would he be if not to check on the wellbeing of your kin?

Aemond sighed, momentarily closing his eye before turning his body to face you, hands snaking up to circle your forearm. “You should be resting. The maester requested that you not walk much.”

Huffing, you swat him away, practically ripping your hand from his grasp before turning sharply on your heels. “I just need a minute, Aemond, please. I do all you ask of me, just grant me this.”

Salt-ridden were your tears as they cascaded down your chin, dripping onto the linen of your nightgown when you clutched your swollen belly, anxiety rumbling with your little one. A throat full of sand and a broken heart was what you carried when he nodded reluctantly, taking small steps toward you until his arms snaked around your hips, coming to rest at your stomach.

He smelled of dragon; the faint scent of rose and citrus from his earlier bath still clinging to his clothing just as you are, the back of your head pressed to his chest. You focus on the low thrum of his heart, the stiffness of his body as he hums lowly.

“He spoke to me about your dreams as well.”

Blinking, you press your lips together thinly before responding. “Now I’ll refuse to utter a word to him.”

“Hm, yes, I would rather my wife tell her husband what troubles her.”

“I am worried the babe might be suffering.”

Aemond’s chest caves below your head, crisp, night air all but knocked out of his lungs at your vague concern. However, he does not move, not even when you crane your neck to stare at his clouded eye as best you can.

“When I finally find rest, blood decorates the sheets. It all starts the same. I reach between my legs and the smell of copper sours in the air, and everything feels wrong.” You shake your head, ridding your mind of such an ugly, yet recurring thought.

There’s a fearful movement in your fingers as your nails bite into his covered arm, eyes blinking rapidly as you nonsensically continue. “Fire spreads, setting me ablaze and I watch as my flesh burns.”

Aemond says nothing, only pulls you as closely as he can manage, thumb bending to trace shapes over the clothed, stretched skin with his nail.

“It’s merely the stress, sweetling.” His dismissal has you scoffing, warm breath hitting soundless air, eyes rolling far in their sockets when he continues. “A lot has happened within the past moon, I’m positive it's taking hold.”

Your hands curl inward under his warm palm, the other moving to clasp over the fingers that itch your skin. “No, Aemond.”

Foreign to your ears is your voice, laced with annoyance and fearfulness at the darkness consuming you entirely. Even in a state of unconsciousness, you weren’t safe, and as long as this babe grew bigger inside of you, you’d never be.

Turning in his loose grasp, you clutch at the collar of his tunic, lower lip trembling as his brows furrow in concern. “Then what is it?”

In the short time you’ve come to know Aemond, you’ve always made it your goal to at least try and understand him in ways none could; whether that be through a slow blink of his eye or a quick twitch of lip, his expressions weren’t as concealed as he hoped to keep them. You could tell it peeved him to no end — having someone recognize what emotions were harbored in the center of his heart, unprotected by the rest of his shielding exterior. In truth, it would’ve been all too easy to lie and say he was quite satisfied with the way things currently were. In his mind, what little claim to the throne he had in the palm of his calloused hands amounted to nothing, especially when he had offered to seek out his brother the second word had passed that his father, King Viserys, first of his name, had succumbed to the Stranger.

It was a striking reminder that anything, and anyone he’s ever held dear in his heart, could wither away before his very eyes.

Including you.

His wife. The mother of his unborn child. Someone he had sworn his entire life to protect and cherish as if you were a part of him, a missing piece he had the pleasure of rediscovering.

Your revelation had hushed the dragon fire burning in his veins but emboldened the tragedy materializing in his psyche. Aemond Targaryen would never win, and that was something he would not swallow even if it had been poured into a chalice of wine.

“Helaena speaks in riddles, as if her tongue is twisted.” Tugging the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, you wrack the mess that is your brain of how to word your next sentence. “Death amid a storm.”

It rolls off of your tongue, malice laced between her spoken words that have yet to leave you. Helaena was peculiar — in a sort of way, one would either deem her mad with the words that left her mouth as quickly as they had come.

Her lavender eyes would fall cloudy, hazed with something unforeseen to anyone else but her, mind miles away, and never in the present.

“The sun rose and fell three times, and what has yet to leave with it, Aemond?”

The man before you can only part his lips, skin creasing in the gap spacing his brows, shaking hands now resting at either side of your waist as his sole eye scans the distress etched in your features. He knows.

He can smell previous rainfall in the air, inhales it, and lets it repose his lungs with freshness he can only compare to the feeling of your skin against his.

“The rain.”

You nod curtly. “Exactly. And with these dreams destroying my sanity, draining the blood from my very being, how can I not believe her words to ring true?”

The safety you had hoped the weirwood tree would bring, has not reached you, nor will it tonight as he pushes you toward the Red Keep, thin-lipped and jaw tight. “We’ll further discuss this in our chambers.”

Aemond clenches his teeth together; not out of vexation, but out of consternation. He hopes, and prays to the Seven, that everything you uttered was merely due to your worries of the babe’s nearing birth as he guides you up the steps toward one of the many halls.

And when his lips press against your temple, right hand coming to rest on your swollen belly once again, the clouds continue their crying.

#house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x female reader #hotd x reader #hotd aemond targaryen

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hansfallada · 3 months

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happy spatort day!! let's celebrate the day with a poll

#ich bun gespannt ob das ergebnis so klar ist wie ich vermute. denn ich habe auf jeden fall einen klaren favoriten #tatort saarbrücken #spatort

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dividedindiversity · 1 year

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Find the best EU dishes polls masterpost here

Pictures of the dishes under the read more

I welcome any suggestions for the other country polls, also as asks or under the masterpost!

Käsespätzle

Matjes mit Schwarzbrot

Rouladen

Döner Kebab

Currywurst

Flammkuchen

Maultaschen

Himmel und Erde

Weißwurst mit Breze

Bienenstich

#Best EU dishes #Germany #Poll

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finitepeace · 5 months

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november: imi reads tony fics

a bunch of tony x steve, some tony x stephen, and a few tony x bruce. favorites are marked with ✌

STONY

Of things lost in time by erde (orphan_account) | Words:16,082 | The Time Stone beckons Steve with the promise of home. He ends up in Clint's farm, reliving the same day again and again

✌ Drawn to You by jellybeanforest | Words:15,988 | In a world where what one writes on one’s own skin appears on their soulmate’s body in exactly the same place until it’s washed off or fades, no one has ever responded to Twenty-five years later, Tony Stark is born with a single phrase on his left forearm written in messy old-fashioned script. And as he grows up, the words never change:

Safe Haven by gottalovev, zappedbysnow | words: 20,686 | It's been three months since the Battle of New York. Four since Steve woke up in the future. Everything is still too fast, too bright, too glib. And then, as if it wasn't enough, Steve is dragged through a portal into an alternate universe. Other Him is happy, though, and that feels like hope.

✌ to find a secret (behind the ruins) by dapperyklutz | Words:19,555 | As is the case in Tony’s life, it starts with an accident.“This… is not the coffee pot,” he says dumbly. “Astute observation as always, sir,” JARVIS replies dryly, though there’s no mistaking the hint of astonishment in his voice. Tony blinks once more before he gapes at the hammer in his hand. Specifically, he’s holding Thor’s hammer. He has Mjölnir in his hand. Like, what even.

✌ You Can Never Get Enough (Enough Of This Stuff) by Carsonian | Words:3,554 | (A.K.A. Steve gets drunk off Asgardian liquor and broadcasts his feelings towards Tony in the most ridiculous manner. This is incredibly confusing for Tony.)

No Return, No Return by Carsonian | Words:18,231 | In many ways, Tony Stark has spent his whole life waiting to meet something real enough to test himself against. He hadn't planned on it being Steve Rogers. (A re-imagining of Steve and Tony pre-/post-Avengers (2012) with a spotlight on their relationship.)

✌ Since We've Been Together by Carsonian | Words:1,788 | "Marry me." On his life, he couldn't tell how the words came out. Whether they were loving or demanding or whispered. He only knew that once they left his lips, the following breath came as easy as his first one right after receiving the serum. (Steve proposes to Tony, right after a battle.)

The Five Stages of a Time Loop by AirlocksandAviaries | Words:40,517 | Tony Stark looks Thanos in the eye. He raises his gauntlet in defiance and states his iconic phrase. He snaps, expecting death. But death doesn't come. Instead, he's back in his basement, completed time travel model in front of him. He builds the time machine. He snaps again. Again, and again, and again. Tony can't for the life of him seem to change the outcome of this story. What does change, though, is his feelings around it.

ironstrange

Beg by lucifersfavoritechild | Words:2,310 | Tony smiled. “Knew you’d heard of me.” He took a long draw of his drink. “So what do you think? Want to be my something new for the night?” “If you think you can keep up with me.” “Cocky. I like that in a man.” “Really? The version I heard is that you like it in you.” Tony arched a brow. “Planning to join that list?” Stephen gave him a long, considering look before sliding a hand over Tony’s free one. “Mister Stark . . . you’re going to beg me to join it."

✌ One Time No One Thought Tony and Stephen's Marriage Would Work and Five Times They Were Wrong by infiniteeight | Words:10,956 | An alliance requires that Tony and Stephen get married. No one really thinks it will last. They're wrong.(aka an arranged marriage plot where instead of marriage forcing them to resolve their differences, everything works out bizarrely well right from the start)

Embers by surveycorpsjean | Words:8,274 | They’re horribly different in all the best ways.

reach out by crownsandbirds (Restricted) | Words:4,048 | "Tony's eyes focus first on the long fingers holding the glass of champagne, and then up to the blue eyes eyeing him with intent. He hopes the sharp breath of want he has just taken wasn’t too noticeable." Tony and Stephen meet, lose each other and then find each other again.

sciencebros

Mutually Assured Protection by Ophiuchus_Trails | Words:1,579 | In which the Hulk protects Tony, and he returns the favour. Because that's what friends do.

Tin Man by some1_around | words:2,120 | People tend to think that the only emotion Hulk can feel is anger. They're pretty spectacularly wrong.Or, five unpleasant emotions Hulk has felt and how Tony helped him through them, and one time Hulk returned the favor for Tony.

Common Sense by thebratqueen | Words:1,814 | “If he throws one more of those I’m going to have to have lunch with the mayor. I can’t express how much I’d rather be fighting the Doombots.”

#stevetony #stony fic rec #ironstrange #science bros #ironstrange fic #ironstrange fic rec #stony fic #science bros fic rec

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scotianostra · 2 months

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John Barbour, the early Scottish poet, died on March 13th 1395.

Barbour was born, perhaps in Aberdeenshire, early in the 14th century, approximately 1316. In a letter of safe-conduct dated 1357, allowing him to go to Oxford for study, he is described as archdeacon of Aberdeen. He is named in a similar letter in 1364 and in another in 1368 granting him permission to pass to France, probably for further study, at the university of Paris.

In 1372 he was one of the auditors of exchequer, and in 1373 a clerk of audit in the king's household. In 1375 (he gives the date, and his age as 60) he composed his best known poem The Brus, for which he received, in 1377, the payment of ten pounds, and, in 1378, a life-pension of twenty shillings.

The only biographical evidence of his closing years is his signature as a witness to sundry deeds in the "Register of Aberdeen" as late as 1392. According to the obit-book of the cathedral of Aberdeen, he died on the 13th of March 1395. The state records show that his life-pension was not paid after that date.

Because much of his other work has been lost there is considerable controversy has arisen regarding Barbour's literary work. If he be the author of the five or six long poems which have been ascribed to him by different writers, he adds to his importance as the father of Scots poetry the reputation of being one of the most voluminous writers in Middle English, certainly the most voluminous of all Scots poets.

The Brus, in twenty books, and running to over 13,500 four-accent lines, in couplets, is a narrative poem with a purpose partly historical, partly patriotic. It opens with a description of the state of Scotland at the death of Alexander III, and concludes with the death of Douglas and the burial of the Bruce's heart, a period from the years 1286, unit 1332.

While the poem covers many thing, as in any good story there is a main topic, of course in The Brus it is The Battle of Bannockburn, and as you would expect, the King is the hero of the chivalric type common in contemporary romance., in this case fighting for the freedom of his country. While very few of us have read the poem, I guarantee that the majority can quote at least one line from it “ fredome is a noble thing “ or to quote this section of the verse;

A! fredome is a noble thing!

Fredome mayss man to haiff liking;

Fredome all solace to man giffis:

He lyves at ess that frele lyvs!

Translating to;

Ah, freedeom is a noble thing!

Freedom makes man to have liking!

Freedom all solace to man gives:

He lives at ease that freely lives!

As I said earlier, much of Barbour's other work is lost, one such piece is Stewartis Oryginale, a history of the lineage of the Stewarts. The Stewart name replaced that of Bruce in the Scottish royal line when Robert II acceded to the throne after the death of David II, his uncle. Robert II was Barbour’s royal patron. It is not known how the work came to be lost.

Much of the history of Robert the Bruce is taken from the poem The Brus, I do think a lot of it was exaggerated and written to please Robert II, who must have been proud to bare his Grandfather’s name, Barbour would have written the poem to please the King.

One of the most dramatic and lines in the poem refer to the first day of The Battle of Bannockburn when the young English Knight Henry de Bohun sees The Bruce and makes a foolish, but brave attempt to kill our Scottish hero.

The hevy dusche that he him gave

That ner the heid till the harnys clave.

The hand-ax schaft fruschit in twa,

And he doune to the erd gan ga

All flatlynys for him faillyt mycht.

That wes perfornyst douchtely,

Translated roughly to;

The heavy clout he gave

So he cleaved the head to the brains

The hand-axe shaft broke in two

And he ell to the ground

Dead and devoid of all strength now

This was the first blow of the battle.

No edition of the poem written in Barbour’s own hand survives, but two early versions, transcribed in the 15th century, still exist. These are kept at the Library of St John’s College, in Cambridge, and at the National Library of Scotland, Edinburgh.

Pics are a Memorial to John Barbour, St Machar's Cathedral, one of the 15th century translations, an 18th century translation at The National Museum of Scotland, Edinburgh, and the sentiment underlying the poem, which many of you may have seen sitting at the top of the Mound, as you take the steps up to Makar’s Court.

For a translation of the greater part of The Brus check the link here https://archive.org/.../bruceofbannockbu.../page/36/mode/2up

If you’re just after snippets, like I provide, the Scots Language Centre does a grand job.

#scotland #scottish #history #makar #poet #robert the bruce

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qan-t · 6 months

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from the february 2010 newtype issue, we have the reader's award character popularity poll! i love seeing these. top ten best male characters: 1. setsuna f. seiei (mobile suit gundam 00) 2. lelouch lamperouge (code geass: lelouch of the rebellion r2) 3. kyon (the melancholy of haruhi suzumiya) 4. tieria erde (mobile suit gundam 00) 5. edward elric (fullmetal alchemist) 6. shinji ikari (rebuild of evangelion) 7. kira yamato (mobile suit gundam seed) 8. gintoki sakata (gintama) 9. kaworu nagisa (rebuild of evangelion) 10. koyomi araragi (bakemonogatari) top ten best female characters: 1. yuki nagato (the melancholy of haruhi suzumiya) 2. haruhi suzumiya (the melancholy of haruhi suzumiya) 3. sheryl nome (macross frontier) 4. rei ayanami (rebuild of evangelion) 5. mio akiyama (k-on) 6. yui hirasawa (k-on) 7. feldt grace (mobile suit gundam 00) 8. asuka shikinami langley (rebuild of evangelion) 9. lacus clyne (mobile suit gundam seed) 10. hitagi senjougahara (bakemonogatari)

#gundam 00 #newtype magazine #the bottom left is a seiyuu popularity poll #the number one winners were hiroshi kamiya and aya hirano

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hunting-songs · 1 month

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Tagged By: A little bird! Tagging: @skarletchains @bewitchingbaker @gyofukuki @uzumakiuser @jxgi @thaneirstaer @rake-rake @distortedkilling @swxpped @muddsludge @curseisms @zealctry @saiakv @huntcrpcdia ...and YOU!

Repost don’t Reblog!!

HOW TO: USING ONLY SONGS FROM ONE ARTIST, CLEVERLY ANSWER THESE NINE QUESTIONS AND THEN TAG 10 PEOPLE.

WHATS YOUR GENDER. "Henkersbraut" By Subway to Sally Kein Myrtenkranz im schwarzen Haar Kein Schleier und kein Traualtar Kein Priester für das Ritual Der Brautigam verfemt und kahl Er nennt sie leis sein kleines Weib Und mustert ihren dürren Leib Die Gasteschar im Lumpenkleid Drängt sich um sie und lacht und schreit No Flowers in her hair No veil and no weddingaltar No father for the ritual The groom is a stranger and calvous He calls her quiet (soft); his (sweet) little wife and eyes her sick body The guests in rags dance around her and laugh and scream.

DESCRIBE YOURSELF. "Wechselbalg" By ASP Das Innerste geäußert Und aufs Äußerste verinnerlicht Ein Wechselbalg Die Welt getauscht The innermost exposed and to the utmost internalized A changeling Switched the world

HOW DO YOU FEEL? "Spiel des Lebens" By Ignis Fatuui. Ein Spiel, das jeder von uns kennt, bei dem es keine Regeln gibt. Ein jeder ist hier Spielfigur und jede Runde endet nur mit einem Ziel, es ist kein Sieg. Weil jeder von uns fliegt. Es geht um Leben oder Tod, (Wo-o-o-o) bei diesem Spiel, das "unser Leben" heißt. Auf uns wartet nur der Tod. (Wo-o-o-o) Nimm diesen Tanz, als wenn es dein letzter wär.

A game everybody of us knows, without rules Everybody is the token here and every round just ends- With a finish. It's never a victory, because everyone of us drops out of the game It's about life or death (Wo-o-o-o) In this game that's called our life Only death is waiting for us (Wo-o-o-o) So take this dance as if it is your last one.

IF YOU COULD GO ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD YOU GO? "Wieder unterwegs" By Saltatio Mortis. Wir ziehen weiter, immer weiter Bis der Mond die Sonne verführt Bis der Himmel die Erde berührt Immer weiter, immer weiter Bis der Mond die Sonne verführt Zu dem Orte wo der Himmel die Erde berührt Mein Ohr vernimmt Mir unbekannte Sprachen Ergibt sich schnell Der fremden Melodie Ich singe laut Noch nie gesung'ne Lieder Im Schein des Feuers Und vergesse nie

We move on, further and further Until the moon seduces the sun Until where the sky Touches the earth On and on, on and on Until the moon seduces the sun To that place Where the sky touches the earth My ear hears Languages unknown to me Surrenders quickly to The foreign melody I sing loudly Songs never sung before In the light of the fire And never forget

DESCRIBE YOUR FAMILY. "Julia und die Räuber" By Subway to Sally. Blut, Blut Räuber saufen Blut Raub und Mord und Überfall sind gut Hoch vom Galgen klingt es, Hoch vom Galgen klingt es, Raub und Mord und Überfall sind gut Blood, blood, bandits drink blood Robbery and murder and ambushing are good High from the gallows it rings High from the gallows it rings Robbery and murder and ambushing are good

YOUR BEST FRIEND. "Orpheus" By Saltatio Mortis Sing für mich, Orpheus Wir hatten Kein Glück Du wandelst ins Leben Doch ich bleib' Zurück Und wenn deine Stimme Nie mehr für mich singt Werd' ich erfahr'n wie laut Stille klingt Sing for me, Orpheus We had no luck. You walk back into life. But I stay back here (with the dead) And when your voice Never sings for me again I will finally know how loud silence sounds. YOUR HOBBY. "Tanz auf dem Vulkan" By Subway to Sally. Du musst tanzen, in der Asche bis zum allerletzten Tanz, tanze Krater in den Boden und zertanz die Schuhe ganz! Tanze, tanze über Tiefen, denn wer tanzen kann der lebt, und du spürst die Erde, wie sie wogt und bebt. Dreh dich ewiglich, tanz und dreh dich, spring und dreh dich, beim wilden Tanz auf dem Vulkan. You must dance in the ashes until the very last dance Dance craters into the ground and completely wear out your shoes by dancing. Dance, dance over depths for who can dance, lives And you feel the earth how it undulates and shakes. Turn eternally, Dance and turn, Jump and turn as you wildly Dance on the vulcan (Speak: dance with the devil= live dangerously and on the edge)

FAVOURITE TIME OF THE DAY? "Krötenliebe" By Subway to Sally. Als wir im Tümpel lagen, Im fauligen Morast, Brach über uns die Nacht herein. Dunkle Gestalten krochen Auf unser Lager zu Und stimmten in das Lied der Liebe ein. As we lay by the pond together, in the rotting morass, Night broke down upon us. Dark figures crawled towards our bed, and joined us in our lovesong.

DESCRIBE YOUR LIFE. "Tod und Teufel" By Saltatio Mortis. An einem trüben Winterabend Kroch die Kälte in mein Haus Umfasste mich mit klammen Fingern Und zog mich in den Schnee hinaus Vor meinem Haus standen zwei Reiter Die Mäntel waren schwarz und rot In rot gekleidet ritt der Teufel Ganz in schwarz Gevatter Tod Die Sonne floh hinter die Berge Da fing der Tod zu reden an: "Dein Leben geht zur Neige Sag mir hast du's recht getan?" Der Teufel sprang von seinem Rappen In seiner Hand ein Pergament Dann trug er vor, ich sei ein Spielmann Sei ein sündhaft Element In diesem Spiel gibts kein zurück In deiner Uhr verrinnt der Sand Nimm deine Würfel in die Hand Nimm deine Würfel in die Hand Doch nach alter Spielmannssitte Ist es Recht und ist es Brauch Zu würfeln um sein Lasterleben Verwetten seinen Lebenshauch Der Teufel wirft die erste Runde Dreimal sechs wie's ihm gebührt Ich werfe bleich die Knochenwürfel Als mich des Todes Hand berührt Die Würfel harren auf der Kante Gehalten von des Todes Blick Er lächelt in des Teufels Fratze Und spricht: "Das war ein übler Trick" Da mich der Teufel wollt betrügen Bekomme ich noch etwas Zeit Den Tod zu täuschen ist ein Frevel Denn Tod heißt auch Gerechtigkeit Das Leben is ein Würfelspiel Und deine Seele ist das Pfand Die Regeln kennen brauchst du nicht Nimm deine Würfel in die Hand Nimm deine Würfel in die Hand

On a dim winter evening Coldness crept into my house Grasped me with clammy fingers And dragged me out into the snow In front of my house two riders where standing The coats where black and red Dressed in red was the devil Completely in black godfather death The sun fled to hide behind the mountains Then death started talking: "Your life is running short Tell me, have you done it right" Devil jumped off of his black horse Holding a pergament in his hand He declaimed I'd be a minstrel (I'd) be a sinful beeing But following the old custom of mistrels It's law and it's convention To gamble for ones life of vice (And to) bet ones breath of life Devil throws the first round Three times six like it's due to him Pale I'm throwing the bony dices As death's hand touches me Helt by the gaze of death He smiles into the grim mien of the devil And says: "That was a foul trick" Because the devil wanted to fool me I get a bit more time To cheat death is a sacrilege Since death also means justice Life is a game of dice And your soul is the pledge You don't need to know the rules Grab your dices with your hand RELATIONSHIP STATUS. "Spielmannsschwur" By Saltatio Mortis. Der Strick, der uns bindet, Ist noch nicht geflochten, Der Knecht, der uns mordet, Hat noch nicht gefochten. Die Frau, die uns hält, Ist noch nicht geborn, Das haben alle Spielleut' geschworn. Wir sind wie der Wind, Man sperrt uns nicht ein, Kein Knast kann uns halten, Drum schenkt nochmal ein, Wir sind geboren, um Spielmann zu sein. The Noose that will hang us, had yet not been braided, The servant that will murder us had yet not fought (with a sword). The woman that wil hold us (in her arms) is yet not born, Thats what every bard had sworn. We are like the wind, you can not catch us, No prison can hold us in, so fill our cups up again, we are born to be minstrels.

#you know what? German medieval metal upon ya!#because the time I read hxh for the first time was when I was headbanging to those bands #I mean I STILL do #Saltatio Mortis AINT RAISED A QUITTER #'desribe your family' uhhhhhhh.....theres a reason why senritsu WOULD NOT DO THAT.#also over a decade old Krötenliebe is still such a banger #for a song thats just about outdoor sex #....which...I mean I am old and thats my back speaking but looking at those lyrics realistically having a quickie in cold mud is not sexy #at all #I AM NOT KINKSHAMING THE SONGWRITERS BUT THAT STILL SOUNDS VERY UNCOMFORTABLE #hunting songs: headcanon #hunting-songs

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years

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World Food Day (No. 2)

Where would we be without food? We certainly wouldn’t be at Starbucks, grocery stores or restaurants. We wouldn’t, in fact, be anywhere for very long, because we need food to live. Food is seen as a basic human right, and yet one in nine people globally experience chronic hunger. As far back as 1945 the United Nations recognized food as not a privilege, but a right, and that’s why they created World Food Day, observed annually on October 16, in 1979. It’s a day of observance to draw attention to the plight of the hungry. So, today, join us in eradicating hunger.

How to Observe World Food Day

Give to a local food bank

Support small scale farms

Raise money to end hunger

In the United States it's estimated 1 in 7 people rely on food banks as their primary or supplemental food source—many of these are working families who suffer from underemployment and cannot afford the groceries needed to help their family live healthfully. The top requested items for food banks are healthy, non-perishable items high in protein, such as canned or dry beans, peanut butter, rolled oats, low-sodium soups and vegetables and tuna canned in water.

Ninety-eight percent of the farms in the world are family farms. They usually practice sustainable agriculture with plants that are indigenous to the area, rotating crops and limited use of pesticides. Sadly, many family farmers are unable to produce the variety of crops needed for their own survival and without support, can suffer from malnutrition themselves. On World Food Day, shop locally and support family farms.

On World Food Day there are typically a number of food drives. If you don’t know of a local food drive, organize one yourself and donate the food to a local food drive. Globally there are hunger walks, World Food Day dinners or food packaging rallies. Get involved and let’s end world hunger!

Why World Food Day is Important

It helps raise awareness

It’s a reminder hunger can be ended

It brings attention to eating mindfully

Millions of people suffer the health consequences of malnourishment, which damages growing bodies and brains. That's why it's important to draw attention to this health crisis—and by doing so, ensure food security and availability of nutritious foods to everyone on the planet.

Our planet currently produces enough food to feed every person on the planet. However, 1.3 billion tons of food is lost or wasted annually (that's roughly 20% of the food produced). World Food Day acts as an impetus to get involved, reduce food waste, and help provide sustenance for millions.

Food is a great source of pleasure and entertainment, but sometimes we can overindulge. if we return to the focus of eating mindfully we can reduce the amount food that's wasted and the number of people going to bed hungry. World Food Day serves as a reminder to refrain from overeating and to make choices that are ecologically sustainable.

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boysaints · 2 years

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THE SUMMER MY CITY BURNED, by @boysaints, published in Overheard Literary + winner of a flash fiction contest!

transcript: I learned to dance, alone in my bedroom and sweating through my stained T-shirt; the summer my city burned I fell in and out of love in the span of a week; the summer my city burned I was looking for something, anything I could hold onto, but every trail I followed ended in nothing, nothing, nothing, every time I thought I was getting closer to finding the truth it was just another red herring; the summer my city burned I couldn’t stay still or keep my mouth shut or my hands steady; the summer my city burned I knew everything I was brilliant I was on top of the fucking world; the summer my city burned I cut myself open on the operating table and found exactly what I thought I would inside, bone muscle sinew flesh, my carotid artery shining in the moonlight; the summer my city burned I emptied my wallet on every grimy street corner and never spent a penny on what I really needed; the summer my city burned I was a stranger to myself, bad friend good lover mediocre daughter; the summer my city burned I woke every morning to tear stains on my pillow; the summer my city burned I never knew the right thing to say; the summer my city burned I shouldn’t have done what I did; the summer my city burned I sat in the sun and watched the flames; the summer my city burned I was a child a girl a wingless angel struck down by some indifferent god; the summer my city burned I couldn’t tell you what I wanted if it was standing right in front of me; the summer my city burned I knew better; the summer my city burned I thought this isn’t right over and over and over but I didn’t have the guts to say anything; the summer my city burned I was just another face in the crowd, running not away but toward the fire; the summer my city burned was the best summer of my life; the summer my city burned I was doing nothing; the summer my city burned I was learning to fly—

taglist under the cut (ask to be +/-; i used my old taglist + whoever asked to be added so i mightve gotten some stuff wrong!)

@exitwound @boymagnolia @bakaree @eudaimmonia @exbi @xuanyuu @lovecorerichie @richardsiiken @franzkafkagf @sunrisegf @imaginaryboys @prettyfuckingfine @colourofinfinity @gonzobf @doublelutz @flowerwebs @raavile @boyswifes @seadazes @camifrog @loveislikeawindowinyourheart @ohpombo @spirithold @boyprophet @poetslyre @irwa @venka @brightenthecorners @compilationofletters @myownprivateawakening @chopinns @arthuriankings @literaturegf @pancakeboy @backpckt @weedexchange @burningyear @vnusplanetoflove @transcodes @like-butterflies-and-glitter @scintillatea @amaarjaan @yrsong @claryghost @dyketamine @dykepoetssociety @exbifriend @tieria-erde @ruckenfigurs @bardgender @bicarusgf @feelingofhome @kugisakigf @icarusgf @k4dhal @pinkmoon1972 @raedas @taqrir @carfuckerlynch @chnt @mosscrab @lesbianmaki @lesbianboyfriend @piratecrew @demdol @kushiro @eudaimmonia @kenasunarpe @beachhouse2006 @worldenderr @nacredear @shibirud0n @transgaygarrett @scaredofgirlsmp3 @collapsesakanade @lumiyab @migratorybird @fruitz @belovedbi @shvzl-pdf @lovesong

#leela.txt #writing #my writing #creative writing #words #q

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