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amberstormblade · 3 months

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Girl Help I became possessed and wrote over 1000 words for the Viking-Piglin AU I came up with the other day. I don't know how this happened and I'm slightly scared that it will happen again. Enjoy

Part Two

It all started off so simply. Joy was trying to make a potion that would allow her to speak with piglins. She was always needing Nether materials and it would be nice to have the ability to trade again since the villagers still hadn’t forgiven her for the incident that had taken place oh so long ago. It was hopefully in its final stages, she just needed some help testing it. That’s where Legundo, the server’s resident piglin hybrid, came in. She would drink the potion, ask him to say some things in his native tongue and see if it was properly translated. Then, she would say some things and he would let her know what language he heard them in. They both decided it would be best to test this at Joy’s house to keep any mishaps contained since her more customized potions could be a bit wild. It wasn’t until they were walking up the path that Legundo noticed something strange.

“Hey hey hey! Wait a second, did you see that?” Legundo asked as they approached. “Seems you have a bit of a haunted house!” There’s a laugh in his voice as they both stop and peek through the window at what was clearly Viking, rummaging through Joy’s rather unorganized potion collection.

“Oh! Maybe he needs more fire resistance? The poor guy keeps running out. Maybe he’d be interested in testing my newest potion out with us! I’ll go ask and-”

“Wait!” Legundo stopped walking and put a hand on Joy’s shoulder. He gave her a mischievous grin. “Viking’s always scaring people by just showing up out of nowhere, right? I say we give him a taste of his own medicine! He’s got his back to us right now so as long as we stay quiet and take it slow… Oh yeah, this is gonna be great!”

The two nod at each other and carefully make their way to the door. Legundo took the lead as they snuck through into the sitting room area that had been taken over by Joy’s latest project. Surprisingly, Viking still hadn’t noticed them, too focused on all of the potions that had been haphazardly pushed to the side. Legundo took a deep breath as Joy did her best to stifle her giggling.

Just as it looked like Viking was going to turn around, Legundo screamed, “BELL NOISES!” causing Viking to jump and let out a high pitched screech, almost seeming to phase out of the physical world for a second.

Legundo and Joy shared a laugh at Viking’s shriek. They were quick to stop when they heard the shattering of glass. The shimmering red cloud that had escaped the potion bottle was instantly drawn towards the phantom, mingling with his semi corporeal form.

“Guys,” there’s a tremble in Viking’s voice, ”I don’t- Something doesn’t feel riGH- AH!” He’s suddenly clutching his chest as the potion properly takes hold. He grits his teeth, trying to keep from screaming as it suddenly feels like he’s burning from the inside out. His knees give out as tears begin streaming down his face, the only thing keeping him from bashing his head on the floor are the sudden arms around him. He’s not quite sure who caught him, but he doesn’t have it in him to care as he curls into them and screams. The noise tears its way out of his throat as he feels as his spine almost seems to twist. He vaguely thinks he hears someone mention milk and someone else say it’s too dangerous and the thought would almost be funny if his mouth hadn’t just been filled with blood as something forces its way out of his gums. There’s a weird sensation in his chest, like someone has pushed two observers together and set off a piston with them. If he wasn’t in a constant state of almost dead, he’d think it was a heartbeat and that it was dangerously high. His screams reach an impossible volume and the arms around him just hold tighter, seeming to not care how the hand that isn’t glued to his chest is practically clawing into theirs. Through the pain and confusion he thinks he can feel leather, a belt of sorts, thinks he can fit a face to the arms but then the agony crescendos and all he can think is that he’s dying again and he’d never get the answers he was looking for. He thinks someone tells him to breathe. He wants to laugh, say that he’s not needed to do that in a long time, has only been doing it lately to keep the others from freaking out more. His lungs are burning. That can’t be right though because he doesn’t have any, shouldn’t have any. In a haze he sees what he thinks is his hand but it’s not right, it’s a pale but no longer transparent with thicker, almost claw-like nails on the end and that’s not right. He’s not alive, not really so why isn’t he transparent anymore? The burning has stopped but he still feels warmer than he has since he died. That weird pounding is still going on in his chest as well. He sucks in a breath, and then another. Noise starts filtering back to him and he realizes he’d stopped screaming at some point. The chest he’s leaned against rumbles as the person speaks.

“That’s it, just like that. Keep breathing, you’re doing great.” A calm and gentle mantra, the tone almost unfamiliar when coming from Legundo. This close to him and the man almost seems to purr. They’ve started gently swaying, rocking side to side as the tears finally slow. “Hey bud, you seem to be coming back, that’s great.” His voice stays at an almost whisper and he starts rubbing circles on Viking’s back.

On first attempt to speak, all that comes out is a hoarse croak, leaving him coughing until Joy comes over with both a bottle of water and a clearly labeled healing potion. Viking alternates sips of each until he feels like trying again. “G-guys? What just happened-” a cough escapes his throat, making him wince. “What happened to me?” There’s still the weird movement in his chest but it’s slowed, he’s starting to think that it actually is a heartbeat but still doesn’t know why.

“That potion you dropped,” Joy starts, looking nervously around the room, “That was a highly experimental project I was working on. I was calling it a Nether Potion for now. It turns things into their Nether counterpart.” She nods at some crimson roots sitting in the corner. “Those used to be beetroots. It’s been two weeks since I dropped some of that potion on them and there’s been no sign of changing back. I never even thought about what it might do to a person but,” She pauses for a second, looking between him and Legundo, “It seems you two now have some things in common?” She cringes a bit at her attempt to make light of the situation.

“Wha-” before he could finish asking, Legundo cut him off.

“What she’s trying to say is that, you’re a piglin hybrid now. You’re alive again, Viking.”

#dominion smp #viking pilot #legundo #rnjoy #Viking Piglin AU #Dominion AU #I honestly don't know how this happened #I just wanted to write out a little snippet and it turned into a whole freaking chapter #am I an author now? That's too much responsibility! I'm not cool enough to be an author!

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asleepinawell · 1 year

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when you are just so extremely Normal about aglaia

#I honestly don't know how this happened #and I got the majority of those in a pretty short time window since I haven't run it more than once or twice in months #and this isn't counting the ones I traded in #really hope they have something else I can use these for eventually #it really is one of my favorite raids #not hard but very fun #ffxivmp #mp

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butters-posting · 10 months

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OH MY GOD????

#500 LIKES HOLY SHIT #i honestly don't know how this happened #thank you so much #butters stotch #south park #southpark butters #the skrunkly #south park butters #marjorine stotch

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galigay · 1 year

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BABE WAKE UP A NEW TUMBLR SEXYMAN JUST DROPPED !!

(i really hope you all understand my vision)

#into the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv spoilers #the spot #look i don't know how many of you have pointed this out #but honestly what did they expected to happen to my brain after all the holes jokes #like for real #tumblr sexyman #spiderverse

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keepontalking · 2 years

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#I honestly don't know how this happened

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help-itrappedmyself · 2 months

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Danny punches a Clown Part 7

Masterpost

Danny wakes up some time later. Red and Agent A are there waiting for him in chairs on either side of his bed.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Less tired at least.” Danny was well enough he could feel his wounds trying to heal. “Could probably use some food though.”

“I will go retrieve it for you now that you are awake.” Agent A walks out of the med area.

“You feel up to meeting a few people? They’re going to be around so you should know who they are.”

“I guess so.” Danny sits up on the bed, bringing his knees to his chest.

Red leans out past the curtain and waves some people over. When he takes his seat, a man in a blue and black suit with a mask on and someone in an all-black suit with a head covering that comes down over his eyes comes in behind him. They stay standing by the curtain.

“You met Nightwing earlier, and this is Batman.” Red introduces. Nightwing waves when Red says his name. “We all work together here.”

Danny nods.

“Hey, Danny!”Dick comes over to sit in the chair on the other side of Danny’s bed. “We have a few questions that we would like to ask you if you’re feeling up for it.”

Danny shrugs.

“Okay, well we know you haven’t been in Gotham long, where did you come from?”

Danny wonders if he tells them a different dimension if they would believe him. If they would try to send him back. “Illinois.”

Nightwing let out a short whistle. “That’s a long way Danny.”Danny snorts at that. “Did you come here by yourself?”

“Yeah.” Danny starts picking at the edges of the blankets, trying not to look anyone in the eye- not that he could, they all have some form of mask on.

“Okay. Well, we have some concerns. Don’t know if you remember what you were talking about before you went to sleep, but you said some things about being shot at a lot, by your parents and some other people.”

“What part of that is a question?” Danny leans forward and rests his cheek on his knees, watching himself pick at the blanket. He found a loose thread that he’s started twirling around his fingers.

“Can you tell us more about the people who were shooting at you? We’d like to look into them.”

Something in the tone Nightwing is using makes him sound all clinical. Like a social worker. Or a cop. It shouldn’t matter really because the people that did this to him are inaccessible unless they have some way to dimension hop.

“Doesn’t matter anymore, I’m here now.”

“What made you come here? Do you have a family member, or friends that you were meeting?”

“For real, are you a social worker? Psychologist, cop, what.” Danny looks up at him. “You brought me to a cave f and you’re all wearing masks, but you’re talking to me like I’m going to freak out or something. You can stop acting like I’m a child. I know what’s happened to me. Frankly, the fact that I’m trapped in a cave with people dressed the way you are is more concerning for me than being back on the street. So can we get on with you doing whatever you’re going to do?”

“We’re not going to do anything Danny.” Red leans towards him. “We just want to make sure you have somewhere to go.”

“I don’t.” Danny states plainly. He knows his circumstances and he can’t risk going back home for a while, shouldn’t go back at all except to grab his stuff and leave again.

The three share a few glances back and forth, having quite an in-depth silent conversation. Danny rolls his eyes and goes to stand up, they all immediately try and stop him.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Nightwing asks.

“Where are you trying to go?” Comes from Red.

“You’re injured, you should stay in bed.” Comes from Batman.

Just then, Agent A pushes aside the curtain, walking in with a tray.

“I do hope you aren’t overwhelming the patient.” He brings the tray over, Danny straightens his legs and A situates the tray in his lap. “This boy needs to eat, and to rest. You don’t need to worry about where he’s going until he is fit to be out of bed. He’s not going anywhere until he’s improved.”

“Sir, I’m sure it’ll be fine-” Danny starts.

“Nonsense. I will not stand for it. You need proper treatment or your wounds will get infected. Now, eat or your body will not have the necessary fuel to heal.”

Danny bows his head and looks at the tray in front of him. A brought him chicken noodle soup, he starts to eat as A shepherds everyone back out and closes the curtain behind them.

“Now, I know this cannot be easy for you, being injured and alone.” A comes to sit in the chair that Red vacated. “I assure you that you have a place here at least until you are better. Even if you wish to leave now, you will not be able to get better on the streets.”

“Thank you.” Danny says. “I didn’t mean to snap at them.”

“I’m sure they will forgive you for it, you are under a lot of stress right now.”

Danny nods. “Thank you for the food. It’s amazing.”

“Of course, Mister Danny. I will be making sure you are well nourished while you are with us. Please, let me know if you have any preferences.”

“Anything that’s not alive is good for me.”

Agent A just looks at him. “You did mention something about fighting your food last night. I had thought you were talking out of a bit of delirium.”

“Oh, no that used to happen. The chemicals my parents used reanimated the food sometimes. Had to fight some hot dogs. A chicken. Our kitchen was a hazard.”

“I dare say so.” A has a very scrunched up look on his face. “Rest assured nothing of the sort has ever happened in my kitchen.”

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autisticandroids · 8 months

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FAMINE: That's one deep, dark nothing you've got there, Dean.

[youtube with closed captions]

dean and his father. dean and his family. dean and how bad it is.

(via @closetoyou1970)

#spn #vid #mind the warnings on this one for real #woe! fruit of my rewatch be upon ye.#pallas calls this my 'deangirl coming out vid' which honestly. true. but those who paid attention know i've always been a deangirl.#also. after this no more deanwinchester rilo kiley amvs I Pwomise #anyway. i'm not gonna give a full commentary here but a big reason why i chose this song is that the narrator #is essentially dismissing her own problems and instead watching the problems of someone else #and i kind of wanted to play with that theme. this is the parallels show so let's do some parallels. lots of things happen to characters #that are Like Dean somehow. either in personality or circumstance. that we know or can infer happen to him. but we don't see it bc it's #not sayable. not speakable. so like for an easy one. we see meg being tortured in caged heat. she also talks about apprenticing under #alastair just like dean. so i show her being tortured [in a way that is sexualized and demon-specific] and reacting how she does #because i invite the audience to imagine or interpret that this has also happened to dean at some point. we just don't see it #so there are many dean parallels in this video. some obvious. some subtle but textual. some products of my twisted mind. but that's the way #i am using them to make my argument.#oh also: dean voice sam's eyes going black is JUST like when he used to fight with dad and wouldn't listen to me when i told him not to.#i guess also the point is that because it's unsayable. dean can't say it. dean can't even acknowledge it. and so it bleeds through #into everything in his life #that's why it's important that the song narrator doesn't take her own problems seriously. dean doesn't either.

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uncanny-tranny · 9 months

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So often, twink death is framed as a bad thing. However, the "twink death" for trans men* is frankly one of the most healing things you will bear witness to (pun intended).

#trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #ftm #nonbinary #honestly i hated being called a twink pre-t because so many people treated me like... lesser for it?#like... 'i think you are effeminate (and less of a man)... but i /guess/ you're still a man🙄! hope that helps' is how it sounded to me #and so often it seems like 'twink death' is just... fear of aging in a world that hates the realoties of the human body #i have compassion for the fear of aging however it will pretty much always be harmful to the person experiencing it...#...in that they too will age. no matter what you do to prevent aging it will still happen...#...i don't think fear is the fault of the individual - it's a systemic issue. however i think it's needless suffering...#...you certainly do not have to /like/ aging and it can truly suck at times. i just want people to think about why they fear it y'know?#anyway that's what i think motivates this apprehensive attitude about people and how they change and whatnot #though my twink death isn't me becoming a bear (in the future who knows but for now not so much)

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the-final-sif · 1 year

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So! Some good news regarding the tribal mob mod situation on the QSMP!

I got in contact with the mod's creator and against my expectations, they were actually very open to hearing feedback and didn't realize that people still saw their mobs as native stereotypes. They were upset and remorseful that the mobs were being refereed to as natives, as that wasn't their intention. Apparently, the original idea was a specific creature from Zulu mythology, that they then attempted to expand out into it's own thing without realizing how it looked to someone not approaching it from that context.

Once I explained to them what the issue was and how it was coming across to people, they saw the problem and realized that they didn't want people to think that about the their mod pack nor did they want to hurt people by invoking racist stereotypes.

We talked for awhile about the problem and various ways to fix it, and they actually really do seem to care about the problem and want to do better. They're going to work with their team to redo the mob design/mechanisms to fix the situation and will get better feedback and work to avoid doing anything like this in the future. I'm actually pretty impressed by how open they were to feedback and how willing they were to want to do better once they were told that people were being hurt by the portrayal in their mod.

Time will tell exactly what will happen there, but for now, they are aware of the issue, they're sorry, and they're going to work on fixing it. So there's that to be hopeful about.

#sif speaks #qsmp #minecraft modded #minecraft mods #honestly was shocked by how open they were to hear the issues #I literally think nobody has ever told them that current portrayal did not fix the issue #I don't know how that happened #but they were legitimately open to my feedback and did actually realize the core issue #and want to fix it even if it means scrapping something they worked hard on

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sass-squat · 1 year

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Part 3 of the Linked Universe Winged Au! As requested, this time around we got our favorite wolf man, Twilight!

<<< Previous Next >>>

Did you know that Ravens are actually oftentimes called Wolf Birds? This is because Ravens are known for their symbiotic relationship with wolves! Ravens typically help guide wolves to meals and get to eat as well in return. They are also known to "adopt" wolves and even play with them as they grow up.

Anyways, it should be pretty obvious why Twilight is a Raven in my headcanon. Mainly because of the irony of the wolf man now being a wolf bird, but also because I believe that the typical Raven behaviors and characteristics fit his character as a whole.

Throughout Twilight Princess, he is shown to be very good with children to the point where the people in Ordon Village all practically adopt him and he becomes a big brother figure for their children in return. In the Linked Universe, he often looks out for all of his fellow Links in a big brother-like fashion regardless of if they are older or younger than him. So while Twilight may or may not be able to turn into a wolf in this au, I headcanon that everyone he connects and forms bonds with become his "wolves" that he watches over just as any other Raven would.

As far as physical characteristics and flying abilities, I believe that Twilight is pretty decent! Ravens are known to be excellent acrobatic flyers and are actually deceptively fast compared to other birds. On top of that, Ravens are known for being able to fly about 100 miles a day! So while Twilight isn't as talented in the sky as well...Sky, he is still a very good flier and is definitely one of the best in the group.

Anyways, that was a short summary of Twilight's lore for this Winged Au! Kudos to those who read it all! As requested, coming up next will be our favorite little shorty, Four!

As always, let me know if you have any requests for who or what you would like to see! Thank you all for your kind words and encouragement!

#my art #winged au #LUWAU #Linked Universe: Winged Au #loz #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu twilight #loz link #I would like to personally thank Wild Kratts and Google for giving me so many fun bird facts #What would I do without them honestly #I'll be honest I'm pretty proud of this lore I came up with for Twilight #I honestly just picked raven as a joke cause I googled “wolf bird” and there was actually a result #and also cause as my friend Nightlight-jpeg would say “it fits his emo aesthetic”#but then my brain turned this joke into some deep emotional meaningful lore and I don't even know how it happened #I think the spirit of Twilight possessed me honestly that's the only explanation

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couldneverhurtusnow · 3 months

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[chemistry] it's not a word that actors [use]. but you must endeavor a little bit to try and fall in love, in whatever that capacity is. and andrew is a very easy person to fall in love with. he's kind, generous, talented. we shot the film at the perfect junction in our friendship where there was a lot we didn't know about each other, but there was mutual admiration and respect. and a similar sense of humor. (...) yeah, it felt fizzy when we were acting. especially with that first scene at the door -- it's so well-written. you feel like you're dancing through the scene, you can go in loads of different ways, and if i went one way, andrew would go another. if that's what chemistry is, i was aware it was happening.

-- paul on chemistry and whether ‘they (andrew & paul) knew instantly that their onscreen relationship was working’ in all of us strangers, screendaily.com (1/31/24)

#i just find this whole acting thing & the process actors have to go through very fascinating. how so many of them have said that your --#mind knows that it's not real; it's make-believe but your body doesn't & it gets blurred & your body gets tricked into thinking it's --#actually experiencing all of that. no wonder sometimes actors need to take some time to recover from/get over a specific role they played.#i just recently saw claire foy talk about this & how 'you're falling in love with a person you're not in love with.' and there's a --#psychological thing happening where you can either suspend belief or you can make real what's happening. and that it can get very confusing #& how when she was watching this movie her body would react -- tears & heart palpitations -- but not because of what she saw on screen --#but because she (her body) was remembering it. it's wild & i don't think i'd ever be able to do it.#reminds me of what jessica chastain said about 'scenes from a marriage' & how her & oscar's years long friendship was changed after that #idk how these people do it; honestly; especially those actors who play really dark characters & put themselves in their minds (evan peters)#paul mescal #andrew scott #all of us strangers

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cluescorner · 3 months

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I gave myself a writing challenge and I am fascinated by it

So basically I put the robins in a randomizer to give them a new order/role (because I just...kinda wanted to see what would happen + I like role-reversal AUs) and got results that are giving me a fucking brain blast.

Stephanie, the first sidekick who defines the role

Tim, the sidekick who dies and comes back wrong

Dick, the sidekick who saves Batman from himself

Damian, the sidekick who was never supposed to be a sidekick but would go on to prove everyone wrong

Jason, the youngest sidekick who is still the Kid Wonder

...So this is fucking wild. I've got some ideas and several of these fit perfectly (Dick's role is pretty similar to his one in canon), but some of these are fucking INCREDIBLE to explore (Steph being the first Robin is something I never even considered but tbh I kinda love it).

I probably won't write a fic or anything because tbh I don't like publishing my writing that much, but I might expand this into a full AU and post about it. I might randomize other stuff too (ie, stuff that I cannot change vs stuff that I cannot keep the same) but this fucking rules as a starting point.

#uhhh what am I calling this??#randomizedrobinsau #stephanie brown #oh my god I am so excited to figure out how tf to write this.#because she's my favorite of these characters and having HER be the first sidekick + the one who has a mentor/older sister relationship #with the others?? kickass. though I'll probably keep her and Tim's relationship as 'dating-then-exes' because I think it's funny #and then SHE can be the Robin who Tim got fixated on + figured out her identity?? holy fuck and then the angst of Tim later dying #Tim Drake #tbh I kinda wish he'd gotten a different position because 'sidekick who dies' Tim has kinda been done a lot with the standard #reverse robin aus. But it'll still be fun to write. Definitely going the Joker Junior route with this because Batman Beyond kicks ass #Dick Grayson #He'll honestly probably be the easiest. Like...his role has not changed much outside of being younger/not the one who defines this #But I still think it'll be good to see how well I know Dick beyond his eldest brother thing (which is my best way of relating to him)#Damian al ghul #damian wayne #oh this is gonna kick ass #Bruce does not want his son to be a sidekick but Damian just kinda forces his way into that role #and everybody doubts him because of his history with the league but he later proves himself more than capable #to the point that he can set out mostly on his own and still thrive #Jason Todd #Jason being the baby of the family is also something I have never thought about but holy shit it could kick ass #I really hope that I don't roll 'Jason must die' or 'Robin 5 must die' on the randomizer. I just kinda want Jason to live this time #But unfortunately I double-screwed him because he's on the 'must happen' wheel twice now. I did not think these prompts through #TBH I am so happy that none of them rolled their OG roles. because that would have been so fucking boring

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thegoodthebadandtheart · 5 months

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another year, still drawing people doing things to each other. you might or might not know this but i started working as a doctor this year and i'm happy/proud it hasn't kept me from still drawing my silly little fictional guys. it's not much but it's honest work.

thank you to everyone who's liking, reblogging and commenting on my art! it means everything to me <3

#yia*#a #i guess that sums up most of what happened this year already #i think everyone knows how bad the healthcare system is for workers but - it really is bad out here lol stay safe yall #so many sickly yellows in my picks for this year... what does it all mean #the doctor thing encompasses a bunch of stuff like. being a friggin doctor. doing ENT and liking it like i hoped i would. doing surgeries #earning proper money from a proper full-time job for the first time in my life. doing 24h shifts and being on call.#still haven't finished my thesis and honestly don't know how i'm supposed to with the time i have w/o killing every bit of joy in my life #but thus are the mysteries of existence #the girl with social anxiety who didn't understand starting i.v.s - she's come a long way and i rarely take the time to be proud of it.#also i'm proud of my gay fanart. equally as much i think. so here's YOUR reminder to be proud of YOU.

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queenlucythevaliant · 3 months

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Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down.

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived.

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out. “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?”

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset?

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him.

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say.

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food.

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands.

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway.

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say.

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now.

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered.

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room.

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters.

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her.

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?”

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years.

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl.

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint.

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet.

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.”

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try…

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

#inklingschallenge #theme: storge #story: complete #inklings challenge #leah stories #OKAY. SO #i spend so much time thinking about king lear. i think i've said before that it's my favorite shakespeare play. it is not close #and one of the hills i will die on is that cordelia was not in the right when she refused to flatter her dad #like. obviously he's definitely not in the right either. the love test was a screwed up way to make sure his kids loved him #he shouldn't have tied their inheritances into it. he DEFINITELY shouldn't have kicked cordelia out when she refused to play #but like. Cordelia. there is no good reason not to tell your elderly dad how much you love him #and okay obviously lear is my starting point but the same applies to the meat loves salt princess #your dad wants you to tell him you love him. there is no good reason to turn it into a riddle. you had other options #and honestly it kinda bothers me when people read cordelia/the princess as though she's perfectly virtuous #she's very human and definitely beats out the cruel sisters but she's definitely not aspirational. she's not to be emulated #at the end of the day both the fairytale and the play are about failures in storge #at happens when it's there and you can't tell. when it's not and you think it is. when you think you know someone's heart and you just don'#hey! that's a thing that happens all the time between parents and children. especially loving past each other and speaking different langua #so the challenge i set myself with this story was: can i retell the fairytale in such a way that the princess is unambiguously in the wrong #and in service of that the king has to get softened so his errors don't overshadow hers #anyway. thank you for coming to my TED talk #i've been thinking about this story since the challenge was announced but i wrote the whole thing last night after the super bowl #got it in under the wire! yay!#also! the whole 'modern setting that conflicts with the fairytale language' is supposed to be in the style of modern shakespeare adaptation #no idea if it worked but i had a lot of fun with it #pontifications and creations

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anghraine · 1 year

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I think it's interesting that when Gandalf describes Denethor's ability to "perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men," he ties it less to his wisdom or general insightfulness (though he possesses both) than to his difference from "other men of this time," his near total Númenóreanness, and as bolded here, the active exercise of his will.

Tolkien also attributes Denethor's resilience against Sauron (by contrast with Saruman) to not only his right to use the Anor-stone, but "great strength of will." He notes that Sauron had no servant with greater mental powers than Saruman or Denethor, and Gandalf remarks that Denethor was "too great" to be subdued to Sauron's will.

Denethor and Gandalf have a strange and unsettling silent confrontation, carried on by their gazes, yet it strikes Pippin as like "a line of smouldering fire" and "as if reading each other's mind." Gandalf afterwards says Pippin was stuck between two "terrible old men," lumping Denethor in with himself. Pippin also sees some kind of kinship between Denethor and Gandalf, as Sam saw between Faramir and Gandalf.

In his letters, Tolkien said that the ancient Númenóreans became barely distinguishable from Elves in appearance and in their powers of mind. In Unfinished Tales, he notes that they loved their horses, and when a Númenórean had a strong bond with a horse, it was said that the horse could be summoned "by thought alone."

In LOTR, Faramir—who has inherited Denethor's Númenóreanness/wizardliness—has a reputation for command over both animals and men. When everyone else is thrown by their horses upon being chased by five Nazgûl, he not only keeps his seat, but mysteriously gets his horse to ride back towards the Nazgûl. And during the retreat across the Pelennor, the soldiers in the city conclude that Faramir must be with the men who are managing to retreat in order, repeating Beregond's remark that he has some undefined command over both men and beasts.

Gandalf suggests that this is a result of Faramir pitting himself against the effects of the Nazgûl in some way, but his abilities (whatever they are) are outmatched. In the event, the effect of Faramir's Aura of Courage commanding abilities remains until he's shot and finally falls to the Black Breath.

Faramir also makes repeated references to perceiving or reading things in Gollum's mind. At one point, he describes Gollum's mind as dark and closed, yet unable to prevent Faramir from detecting that he's holding something back about Cirith Ungol specifically. Noticeably, this only happens when Faramir orders Gollum to look at him (which Gollum does "unwillingly"), and the light drains from his eyes as he meets Faramir's. It seems decidedly reminiscent of the later Gandalf vs Denethor duel-by-eye-contact.

Faramir's exact words about Gollum's secrecy are "That much I perceived clearly in his mind," in reference to his earlier questioning of him. He says that he can "read" previous murders in Gollum and Gollum cries out in pain when he tries to lie to him.

When Faramir gives staves to Frodo and Sam, he says that a "virtue" of finding and returning has been placed on them, with zero explanation of what he means by that. He adds a hope that the virtue will not altogether fail under Sauron's power in Mordor. He describes the people who did the woodwork but not who placed the virtues (it doesn't seem inherent to the wood itself, given his phrasing).

We do know that Dúnedain can potentially embed enchantments into items. The Barrow-daggers carried by Merry and Pippin are specifically enchanted against the Witch-king of Angmar by an unknown Dúnadan of the North, and when Merry stabs the Witch-king, the dagger breaks enough spells for Éowyn's ordinary sword to finish the job.

Meanwhile, Aragorn uses his healing powers to help the city, wishing for the presence of Elrond, because he is their eldest of their kind and more powerful. Aragorn, also, has at least some part of this ability to actively exercise his will and mental powers, perhaps an equal share, though he uses it less often.

In the book, he doesn't physically attack the Mouth of Sauron, but instead holds his gaze (again, eye contact is important!). There's another silent struggle that involves no weaponry or any other contact.

He prevails in some way over the Mouth of Sauron (not a warped creature of Sauron in the book, but a cruel Númenórean who has "learned great sorcery"). The Mouth indignantly says he has diplomatic immunity and can't be attacked like this.

But, I mean, maybe they're all just smart and perceptive, it's really unclear.

#eldritch dúnedain WHEN #because i am very aware that this could be deeply unsettling if presented just a bit differently!#but it is wild to me that tolkien can outright say 'this guy is a númenórean who learned sorcery'#and people are still like 'but can númenóreans use magic. i guess we'll never know.'#or have faramir give his whole speech about what gollum's mind looks like to him and what he can see clearly in it #fandom: idk it's just really unclear #gandalf: denethor can see what happens in other people's minds if he exercises his will #fandom: a great mystery ... maybe he's just very wise and insightful???#tolkien: the dúnadan who enchanted the daggers would be happy to know his spells worked and helped defeat the witch-king #fandom: númenórean craftmanship is /skilled/ of course but how can we make this about elves #honestly it seems like people don't /want/ númenóreans to have supernatural abilities and i'm not sure why #humans who have elvish-style powers and appearance yet can never escape their humanity is SUCH a concept #(yes i will harp on this until the end of time)#anghraine babbles #legendarium fanwank #legendarium blogging #long post #húrinionath

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