#if there is any poetic justice in the world they will get their fairy tale beauty and the fucking beast ending one day

[amythenortherner]

No because Jaime Lannister saw Brienne of Tarth naked the one time in Harranhal and memorized her curves and edges close enough to perfectly replicate her measurements to create her the perfect fitting suit of armor and like. In Harranhal, at his lowest point, he took her image in, in all its glory, and he breathed her in like a fish gasping for breath. And he probably thought about it all the way to Kings Landing. And once he knew her measurements, having created the armor for her, he probably repeated them in his head like a mantra, whenever he was afraid and tired, he repeated those numbers like a mantra until he was finally able to see her again.

#asoiaf #braime #game of thrones #jaime lannister #jaime x brienne #brienne of tarth #got #I love them #if grrm ever finishes the fucking series they will have justice one day #they have to #if there is any poetic justice in the world they will get their fairy tale beauty and the fucking beast ending one day

[knightfeared]

*TIME FOR SOME POSITIVITY! 📨 ➤   @sephyathredon ( … ) 🌵,✨, 🌼, 🌲, 🌱, 🌿, 🌙

◈ @hexcoremagician [ ; ] a canon rp blog I’m biased here for obvious reasons — but regardless? I highly recommend Mars’ portrayal to anyone who adores Viktor from Arcane & League. How they’ve built him up, fleshed him out & developed him is nothing short of AMAZING. I absolutely adore all the replies I see on dash, can clearly hear his voice & picture a scene painted perfectly well with how they write! You will not be disappointed, in fact, you’ll be beyond blown away by the true care they have for this character. They truly do him Justice! 💕

◈ @luxcruor [ ; ] a multimuse blog Though I’m slow with replies, Sailor is so insanely sweet to talk to ooc! They have this way of hyping you up for replies & character interactions & are not shy about meshing muses from other fandoms together which is something I admire greatly. They’re so friendly, very easy to plot with & chat to about the blorbos, you’ll be introduced to new muses through interactions with them, but it’s very easy to grow fond of them.

◈ @vulpesse [ ; ] a blog with beautiful writing Everything? Everything is beyond gorgeous! Bunnie is someone I’m still so shy to poke & write with but my god do I admire their creativity! They have such a way with words, making everything sound so poetic & gorgeous — I feel like I’m reading a well loved story book or fairy tale with their work. The graphics they craft & use to help in visualizing their story— it’s nothing short of beautifully inspiring. Despite how insanely gorgeous their writing is, they also go out of their way to open the door for interactions with muses no matter the fandom. Bunnie is such a genuinely sweet soul, so so talented, I highly recommend any & all of their blogs because the mun truly does put a lot of effort into building stories with people.

◈ @shimmerbeasts [ ; ] a blog with thought-provoking headcanons I gotta write together more with this lovely writer & it’s truly on me for being a chicken but I’m forever going to be blown away by how big their brain is with the lore & headcanons Miss T has developed for Zaun & their muses. Each one is so well thought out, fits seamlessly with their portrayals to help shape not only them, but build up the world itself to something that feels real, nitty & gritty but so believable. I don’t have the words to describe it, but they’re insanely skilled in worldbuilding from all I’ve seen since I’ve followed & I highly recommend them because the effort they put into their portrayals is incredible!

◈ @pitgritted / @prtector [ ; ] a blog that's always positive SUCH A SWEETHEART— I do not know them all that well but following their blogs? It sounds cheesy, but the vibes I get from both, from the mun themselves is nothing but positive— always so wholesome & talented — I admire their passion so so much because of the distinct way they capture their muses. The effort put into Taric & Sett is awe-inspiring — but so far, yeah. No — I am nudging them over onto dash & holding them up like Simba because they are such a warm, friendly, UTTERLY WHOLESOME PERSON here in the rpc— definitely! Follow!

◈ @jynxd [ ; ] a new blog They are new to me but I’m so happy I’m Mutuals with them. I’m excited to see all their Headcanons, their replies & writing on my dash — a new face but they have such a clear love for their muses, are so wholesome & cheerful to see poking others — all I can say for now is they’re worth following & taking the time to plot with cause so far from all I’ve seen, they’re a skilled writer with a lot of bubbling ideas!

◈ @hymnblood / @inexoratos / @grantsuccor [ ; ] a blog for my favorite character Sage is an og— I need to gush about their Zag cause their writing is utterly gorgeous, so beautiful it will always blow me away! I need to poke them more, & I highly encourage poking their portrayals a hell of a lot more too because the ideas they come up with for interactions, the way they bring their muses to life, give them such a distinct, memorable voice in their dialogues — the headcanons are lovingly crafted, fitting well for the muses I do know, & for muses I am unfamiliar with? They catch my eye. They carry a passion for everything they do that is very strongly felt & greatly admired. But yes— their portrayals are always top tier in my personal opinion! 🙏💕💕💕

#╰┈➤ ┊❛ answered ooc. ❜┊ #╰┈➤ ┊❛ out of medkits. / ooc. ❜┊ #╰┈➤ ┊❛ positivity. ❜ #HOH THIS IS A CHONKER BUT— god I’m mush #I’m lucky to be Mutuals with so many talented people IM SCREAMING

[limpfisted]

TWO. THE BLADE AND THE FIST. Or, WHY LOVE IS NOT ENOUGH, THE UNWANTED CHILD & THE DEVIL.

I don’t believe Ulder is a bad person. I don’t even think he was a particularly bad Father, not the whole time, at least.. He loved Wyll, desperately so. He never hit him, and only really yelled after Wyll’s Mother died when he was ten. He loved his son’s imagination, the softness in him. Hell, my Wyll is trans and Ulder didn’t give a damn, he just wanted him to be strong and brave and smart and everything he is but—oh. Not like THAT.

Ulder had a curious distaste for magic. While he loved that Wyll was imaginative and so very loving and curious-he hated when Wyll expressed any desire for himself that did nit include governmental work or The Flaming Fist—or something equally as important, and Good.

It is difficult to explain how much of a Cop Ulder is. He grew up poor, but now he serves nobility faithfully and is the most powerful person in Baldur’s Gate—but only because he protects the interests of nobles, who still look down on him for being an upstart.

Ulder worked his way up through military ranks. And while he encouraged imagination in his child—to a point. He also encouraged the DnD morality system. Goblins evil. Authority Good. Law Good. Adventure good—but first and always, Protect Baldur’s Gate, do everything for the ideals of Baldur’s gate, be a hero in the image of a generic fantasy hero who, as we all know, was a deeply twisted and uncaring person who was simply mythologized because Balduran makes a good story to tell children to get them to behave and respect Baldur’s gate, “right” from”wrong”—while you actually do shady backroom dealings with people like Stelmane and Florrick.

Don’t get me wrong. Ulder is the kind of person who IS idealistic. He sees what Baldur’s Gate can be. What it represents. People like him getting to lead it and represent the best in it. Truth, justice, etc. But didn’t Enver just want what was “best for Baldur’s Gate?” The Duke’s idea of what good was was a fairy tale he told his child, that he actually believed in even though he had to be a complex adult who acted in ways counter to that.

But Wyll never saw that side of him, even when presented with it. He describes Stelmane as beautiful, and actually had a crush on her. (She was evil as hell.) He never doubts anything his Father has ever said and recites it as gospel, not just in his personal quest, but all the time, like, randomly, lol. His Father was an icon and a hero as much as Balduran, a fairy tale, perfection in Wyll’s eyes, who could do no wrong.

The problem was…. the Duke did Some Things wrong, even before he kicked Wyll out. In essence, he tried to scare Wyll away from magic, not in a mean way, to protect him, certainly, but Wyll always had a… flirtation with the infernal, especially as he got older. (Coincidentally, after his Mother died, his Father got gruffer, meaner and more distant.) The kind of thing where a parent says in a way that scares the child- “DON’T TOUCH THAT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” in a way that scares them, makes them cry, and berates them for it afterwards. A normal human thing fora parent to do. What is Ulder supposed to do? LET Wll hang around fae and go hunting monsters at fourteen? No!!

But Wyll was always a sensitive kid, and a bit neurotic at that. He put his Father in such high esteem—made his Father his whole world, because he was in essence a lonely kid with very few friends because none of the nobles really wanted to hang out with him, nor did the Flaming Fist, and when they DID he never had the time because his Father had him studying and training near CONSTANTLY.

He never wanted to disappoint him. Not for a second.

This, paired with how The Duke could go from “nothing” and too busy to spend time with his son in their precious few shared free moments—to heaping poetic praise upon praise upon his son just for breathing, to being angry at him for being his naturally curious and magically inclineid self—

It was just a lot of emotional instability and stress at home.

Wyll saw the “opportunity” to become “The Blade.” But most of the Blade’s morals are based on that of his Father and Balduran, the black and white thinking, the way his Father taught him to hunt animals. (Wyll, not tgat he’d say this out loud, has morals that are a little more flexible.)

Still, he loved his Father, need him, his Father was his hero, his Father knew everything . Even when he turned Wyll away—Wyll didn’t blame him. Wyll made his choice.

Wyll is said to have bitter dreams of his Father in his origin, When Florrick asks him to save his Father—he inly says yes as “of course i will. he is my flesh and blood.” but not that he loves him. he needs him, hes his flesh and blood. but at a certain point, his father’s expectations became an obligation. and his father kicking him out to,d him in no uncertain terms that he could never reach them, even if he sold his own soul for balduran and his father’s ideals.

Oftentimes being kicked out of the house can lead us into an abuser’s hands. Mizora knew this, of course. The devil will always take an u wanted child.

Of course, being rejected by his Father only increased his loneliness, which increased his need for external approval. He found this approval in being the Blade—which as said previously, let him give into all kinds of magic as a hero, a sense of purpose, and external satisfaction. He couldn’t study law anymore-but while you were going to therapy to deal with your trauma? Wyll just kept studying THE BLADE!!

#hc #ooc #abuse tw

[wesleyhill]

The Voice from the Whirlwind

A homily on Job 38:1-11, preached at Trinity Cathedral, Pittsburgh, on the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost 2021

Our Old Testament reading today is taken from the book of Job. Many scholars consider Job to be a literary masterpiece and its poetry the most beautiful in the entire Hebrew Bible. In light of that, I’m going to read our text again from the King James Version, which does better than most any other version at capturing the grandeur of the language.

 Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said, 2 Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge? 3 Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me. 4 Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding. 5 Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? or who hath stretched the line upon it? 6 Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? or who laid the corner stone thereof; 7 When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy? 8 Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it brake forth, as if it had issued out of the womb? 9 When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a swaddlingband for it, 10 And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors, 11 And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?

This portion of Job comes from the very end of the book. In the thirty-seven long chapters that precede it, we have heard the story and the voice of Job, as well as the rebukes of some friends of his that have come to visit him.

Let’s recall that story so that we have the context for the portion we just heard. Job is a kind of Everyman character, a timeless figure. He does not seem to be descended from Abraham; he is not an Israelite. He is from Uz, some faraway city, and he is described as “the greatest of all the people of the east” (1:3). We might picture a wealthy sheikh with a palace and a retinue. His city and his lifestyle are meant to transport us into a sort of fairy tale setting (and remember — as C. S. Lewis and the Inklings remind us — that doesn’t mean the story is any less true! To be swept up in a good fairy tale is to be forced to grapple with something true about us).

One day, according to the story, an accusing, adversarial angelic figure makes a proposal to God in his heavenly court. He claims that Job only worships God and lives a virtuous life because it’s easy for him to do so. “But stretch out your hand now,” the adversary tells God, “and touch all that he has, and he will curse you to your face.” And God gives the adversary permission to take away Job’s family (his ten children are all killed), his wealth, and his health. And Job’s response is to continue, through it all, to worship God: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD” (1:21).

At this point in the story, three friends of Job travel from far away to see this greatest of all men reduced to sitting in an ash heap scraping his inflamed skin with a shard of pottery. For seven days they simply sit in silence with Job (as Jews to this day practice sitting shiva with the bereaved), “for they saw that his suffering was very great” (2:13).

But then, for the next thirty-five chapters of the book, Job howls out his innocence in poem after poem, speech after poetic speech, and his three friends remonstrate with him. They rebuke him for his arrogantly supposing that he can call God to account, and he retorts, “Miserable comforters are you all” (16:2). Back and forth it goes. So many words. So many “vain,” “windy words,” as the poet calls them at one point (16:3, KJV; NRSV).

And then, out of a storm that overwhelms all the words, the LORD finally speaks. Job had earlier wished that the day of his birth had been shrouded in darkness, but God turns that wish around and asks Job why he has shrouded everything with ignorant speech: “Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge?” Then the LORD declares that He intends to question Job: “Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me.”

And then comes some of the most memorable imagery in the entire book. I encourage you to open your Bible at home and read the passage again later, slowly, and pay attention to the striking imagery and metaphors. The LORD asks of Job:

You who are so full of opinions and recriminations, where were you when I was hoisting the rafters of the universe? Where were you when I was taking a plumbline to the Milky Way? Were you there, Job, when the roar of exploding galaxies sounded like a thundering choir of praise? Were you there when the ocean’s water broke, and I wrapped the sea with clouds like a mother wraps an infant in a warm blanket? If you know so much, Job, tell me, were you there? Because I was!

The LORD goes on like this for four whole chapters, giving Job a tour of all the wonders and terrors of creation.

And it’s at this point many readers have felt that the book of Job is at its least convincing. Here is Job, in psychological and bodily agony, crying out from the depths, “Why me?” And God’s answer is… to talk about oceans and stars and ostriches and crocodiles, as if merely asserting His power as the Creator were enough to put an end to honest, gut-wrenching questions, as if God were saying, “Shut up and just look at how much bigger and stronger than you I am.”

That’s a common interpretation that people have of our reading for today, but I don’t think it does justice to the text. Because God isn’t silencing Job so much as He is inviting Job to see in a new way. The LORD is not simply cataloguing His creatures for Job, as if He were curating a nature exhibit. Job has been trying to relate to the LORD as if He were a contractor; the LORD is trying to tell Job that, from the very beginning of creation, He is a covenant-maker. The LORD is reminding Job that back behind and underneath Job’s calculus of guilt and innocence; deeper than tit-for-tat human schemes that would supposedly sort out all the rational, moral reasons for why things happen in the world the way they do; beyond all this, at the heart of everything there is an unending, un-endable generosity, a light that can never be extinguished, an unfathomable source of life and goodness and wisdom. This isn’t merely some impersonal source of inspiration or fortitude that will get you safely through grief and out the other side; this ceaseless gift comes from the presence of the LORD Himself, the God who addresses Job, who speaks with Job, who seeks Job out precisely in his pain and loneliness. Beyond all deserving or undeserving, the LORD comes to Job. The LORD reveals Himself. Job is not given a platitude; he encounters a Person. The LORD is there — in majesty and mercy. And ultimately, in repentance and trust and hope, Job says to God, “I had heard You with my ear, but now my eye perceives You. Therefore, I recant and relent, being but dust and ashes” (42:5-6, NJPS). Job has not had his questions answered, but he has met the One who made him — the One who will open a future for him beyond all deserving or comprehending, the One who asks not for comprehension but for humility and trust.

Some of you may have seen Terrence Malick’s film The Tree of Life from ten years ago. It was nominated for multiple Oscars and struck a chord with many Christian viewers in particular. It opens with a blank screen and the words from our reading, the words that the LORD speaks to Job: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth… When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?” The movie follows the story of a family with young children in Waco, Texas in the 1950s. I don’t want to spoil it for you (if you haven’t seen it, I encourage you to), but I will say that tragedy of the most awful kind strikes this family, and throughout the film, the characters return to that haunting question God asks of Job, “Where were you?” — except, in the film, it is the people who say it to God, rather than God who says it to them. Where were you?

Astonishingly, the movie tries to visually depict God’s speech to Job by taking a full 18 minutes — roughly an eighth of the entire film — to show the unfolding of creation, from the big bang to the emergence of dinosaurs. It sounds bizarre, but it’s extraordinary to see. One minute you’re watching one ordinary family in Waco in the 1950s navigate ordinary human sorrow, anger, remorse, and longing, and the next minute you’re watching nebulae and planetary rings and cell divisions. At the same time that you’re seeing one particular family’s life play out in all of its quotidian drama, you’re seeing the dazzling, awe-evoking origin of all life.

Where were you? the characters ask God.

The answer to that question that the LORD gives to Job is, in essence, “I am here, and I was here before you, and I will be here ahead of you. I am here, speaking to you, addressing you, seeing you, knowing you, redeeming you. I, the Maker of heaven and earth, am the same God who draws near.”

One scene in the movie takes place at a funeral, in a church. The text for the sermon is the same one we have heard this morning. And you can hear the priest say (and by the way, in real life, the priest in the film is an Episcopal priest who helped write the words he would perform!), “Is there some fraud in the scheme of the universe? Is there nothing which is deathless? Nothing which does not pass away?”

And at that point the camera slowly pans away from the character sitting in the pew listening, who has endured and will endure so much grief in the course of the story — the camera pans up to a stained glass window where we see the LORD of Israel who spoke to Job — the LORD as a human being, the man Jesus, bound with ropes, crowned with thorns, looking out from the glass with eyes of grief and unceasing love, ready to give His life for the world He had made.

It is He whom Job meets. It is He who is alive and here with us today, who speaks to us, who feeds us with His own Body and Blood.

Amen.

[ravenya003]

Some chill, spiritual, life-affirming stories to read/watch while in self-isolation:

Kiki's Delivery Service (1989)

A witch in training goes to a seaside village and opens up a delivery service - that's it, that's the plot. It's so gentle, and the story just invites you to tag along with this cute little girl as she flies her broomstick around the place and gradually grows in confidence.

The Secret Garden (1993)

It's starts as a Gothic mystery and ends as a fairy tale - that’s the dream combination, guys. All set in an English manor house and extensive grounds, with beautiful cinematography and great child actors. Also, Maggie Smith.

Song of the Sea (2014)

This is the one I've been nagging you all to watch every time I post a gif-set from it. Not to overhype it or anything, but it's the perfect movie. Every character arc, every plot beat, every theme and motif plays out at exactly the right pace and in precisely the right way. Plus the animation is STUNNING.

Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)

Produced by Laika so you know it's good, this is a feast for the eyes and based on Japanese mythology and culture. A young boy wielding a magical shamisen, whose eye was mysterious stolen in his infancy, is now accompanied by a talking snow monkey on a quest to save his mother. Beautiful soundtrack, gorgeous visuals.

Moana (2016)

The best of the recent Disney films, it's big and beautiful but also has enough quiet moments to do the main character's spiritual arc justice. You've probably already seen it, but consider the chance to see: "I have crossed the horizon to find yooooooou..." again.

Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005 - 2008)

I know you've already seen this, but now's the time for an uninterrupted rewatch. The animation, the mythos, the spirit world, the character growth, the world's greatest redemption arc... There's also a ton of graphic novels that continue post-show.

She Ra (2018 - )

A bunch of princesses in pastel outfits use their considerable sparkly power to defeat bad guys on a beautifully rendered moon. It's amazing, and the whole thing has a strange, dreamy, future-tech quality that's oddly calming.

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of her Own Making by Catherynne Valente

Valente's imagination is a force of nature, and I promise you've never read anything like this before. It will TRANSPORT you to a place that combines the familiar fairytale tropes with wyverns and talking lanterns and green winds and herds of bicycles and girls made of soap. It’s Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan and Narnia and post-modernism and myth-punk rolled into one. And the best part is, there are four more books and a prequel short-story to keep you fed.

The Darkangel by Meredith Anne Pierce

If you know me you know I HATE "dark male gets redeemed by good, pure, kind female" stories... with ONE exception, and that's this book. It’s because the redemption is hard-won and the heroine’s life doesn’t revolve around his recuperation (there are other mitigating factors as well) but more to the point, this is a Beauty and the Beast tale that makes their story part of a much bigger good versus evil plot.

Winter Rose by Patricia McKillip

You could choose any book by this author and disappear into her poetic-prose, but this one is best suited for this particular list. It's basically a retelling of the Tam Lin story, in which two sisters fall in love with a stranger who returns to reclaim his ancestral home, only for strange occurrences to follow in his wake. It’s strange and dreamy, told with dense prose and filled with symbolism, and carries an underlying message of self-awareness and recovery.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

Our narrator returns to his home for a funeral and recalls scenes from his childhood, in which the three strange women living at Hempstock assisted him in the fight against a malevolent enemy. He captures what it was like to be a child – the wonder as well as the powerlessness, and how you deal with problems both mundane and supernatural, with plenty of his usual borrowing from fairytale traditions. (Classic Gaiman, basically).

#books #rav's reading log #stuff to do when you're stuck at home

[mywebfoot]

Cyberbullying is justice...

...and other lessons from Revenge Note (Webdrama 2017).

This is a review of a drama that I am watching currently. I got sucked in via Youtube recommendations, and it made me think, particularly in light of recent events around cyberbullying. I hope you can read through till the end. 

--

What does a member of the royal family, a member of a kpop group, and the average teenager have in common?

Cyberbullying. 

Sulli’s suicide is said to be her escape from depression, created in no small part by the endless criticism of faceless commentators. Meghan Markle recently gave an interview where she could barely hold on to her composure, talking about how she was first pregnant, then a new mother while the press tore her apart. I’ve been a new mom, and fending off criticism is practically a feature of new motherhood. My heart ached to think of her every imagined weakness and shortcoming being amplified and echoed back to her.

Some say that cyberbullying can simply be switched off. A recent article in Singapore’s Straits Times has a faceless “netizen” offering celebrities this simple exit - just don’t get onto social media if you can’t “get used to it.” That position denies three things - the celebrities’ right to promote, their right to respectful conversation, and the wrongness of being cruel with words.

Which is where this drama review begins. Revenge Note is a web-drama, starring young actors and k-pop performers. On the surface, it seems to have nothing to say. In many ways, the plot is pure wish-fulfillment. A klutzy teenaged girl begins the first year of high school. She gains the attention of her high school hottie classmate and of her brother’s best friend - who just happens to be a rising kpop-star. High school social life is not all unicorns and rainbows, and the characters in this world are from a predictable range of queens, gangsters and awful teachers.

What’s different about this high school fairy tale is that Ho Goo Hee (the first two syllables of her name, Ho Gu, sounds like the term for a pushover) has a mysterious app, called Revenge Note. She is a pushover, yielding to the people who push her around. Even her mom favors her smart elder brother over her. One day, something bad happens to her, and the app mysteriously appears on her phone. It prompts her: “Will you be a Revenge Queen?”. It’s a digital, dark fairy godmother, almost as if Maleficent were an algorithm. All she needs is a name, even if it’s an internet handle, and the app sends a message to the target. Each time she enters one, havoc is wreaked upon the person’s life, and eventually they are brought to justice. The punishment is always in a poetically similar way to the original offence. One day the target is Goo Hee’s bullies. Another, it’s an act of justice, exposing the pervert school teacher who is threatening her friend.

It seemed like more teenaged wish fulfillment to me. After all, if you find yourself in highschool, where social mores are sharpened by razor blade netizen tongues, then certainly there ought to be an app for countering that.

Yet, as the show progresses, we see that Go Hee is herself turning into judge and jury. Three times, we see her hesitate before she hits the submit button, three times, she asks herself if she should not wield her power to execute the offender. Once, she comes very close to entering the wrong name.

This is where this little web drama went from fun to smart, from comedy to commentary. In the beginning, it made you root for Go Hee - clearly, eliminating the bullies is to be lauded. Then it showed that one human being can have too much power, and his or her judgement may not reflect the truth of the matter. It clearly illustrates that the judgement of a single person is not equal to justice.

Therein lies the thoughtful message of this well-written story - the root of cyberbullying is an individual’s outraged sense of justice. It is not the deliberate pursuit of “hate” that creates cyberbullies, it is instead an emotionally volatile response to an observed offence. “Hate”, as it is often characterized, is a potent concept, but strangely too simplistic. Instead, the online commenter believes that lines were crossed.  He/she loves justice, and therefore there is no wrong in punishing the offender.

This reaction chain leaves no room for due process, no space for empathy, no ideals of mercy, no consideration of reformation. These are all things that need time, and space. On the internet, there is neither time nor space.  Responses are instant, emotionally driven, and amplified to an incredible volume. Human beings at the other end of this loudspeaker can choose to go deaf or listen and be excoriated. There is no turning it off, because one does not need to hear a sonic wave to feel the impact. The earth shakes when millions of others listen, and respond, and join the deafening chorus.

The Revenge Note is a frightening tool. It’s similar to another incarnation of the fairy godmother, the genie, who takes your wishes literally. As you say, master. It is absolute, irreversible, and vulnerable to any turn of phrase.

So what’s the lesson of Revenge Note? I am at the 9th of 12 episodes. I am not sure where it is going with the power that Go Hee now wields. I hope it ends with Go Hee discarding Revenge Note, and relying on her empathy, her friends, and her family to help her get through high school. You know, those old, slow things that seem to have little power.

--

#revenge note #kim hyang gi #cha eun woo #park solomon #webdrama #sulli #meghan markle #cyber bullies

[rowleing]

about.

FULL NAME:

Rowle, Sebastian — his parents always appreciated concision, which is a mindset he always tries to put into writing

FACE CLAIM:

Timothée Chalamet

AGE:

23 years old

GENDER & PRONOUNS:

He would certainly like to be vague about such details, not only to be interesting, but to avoid such harsh sentences, but he dances to whatever tune the society is humming, out of inertia. The norm goes — it doesn’t concern him anyway. It’s a shrugged he/him/his.

SECOND PREFERENCE:

Rita Skeeter, maybe? Though I’d really like to write an application if it comes to rejection, because otherwise I wouldn’t get to know the character before playing them.

OCCUPATION:

Unemployed; when he doesn’t write, he pretends to listen to the many people he insists to surround himself with. Money doesn’t represent an issue for his family, therefore he wouldn’t want to waste any time doing some half-hearted internship, pretending to care about becoming a journalist only because the job uses words too. It isn’t a sign of slacking off, rather than concealing energy for the pleasant and the necessary, which, for him, is (despite the term being scoffed at) art.

SEXUALITY:

He loves love. Cliches are only cliches when half-hearted, insincere and shallow. When the depth beats the popularity of a concept, it’s a classic. So it would be unnatural to write without loving love. He falls in love obsessively with concepts. History pages don’t speak about a young, beautiful, romanticized Tom Riddle, but his imagination made him up almost entirely from scratch. He seeks authenticity, tragedy, maybe even the syrup no one else can stand. An idealist’s sighs meet a rationalist’s stubborn mind, and everyone who is poetry enough steals his heart for at least a second. He pretends to fall in love because of these glimpses of beautiful sincerity in certain people. He pretends it so genuinely that it becomes true. Like a Romeo to a thousands of Juliets a day, albeit gluing his soles to the ground enough not to go insane.

AMORTENTIA:

It would firstly and most importantly be the freshly cut grass — the first sensation he could feel deeply in his lungs, the chlorine of a deep blue, endless swimming pool where he wastes his time in the best ways during summertime and the way a random room would smell when his mother painted indoors. It would change too often, adding certain perfumes, certain ways a book can smell in, but these three remain as key stimuli that make him fall in love, firstly and lastly, with life.

BOGGART:

He refuses to see one. From the shielded, privileged, cozy position he is in, it looks like he doesn’t need to ever face fear. Back in the third year, an old, ugly woman — almost the fairy tale archetype — threatened him, teeth rotten and nose crooked. Today, it would perhaps turn into something less ugly, and more dangerous, like a very close to him snake with the eyes of his father.

CURRENT POLITICAL POSITION:

There is no secret to the fact that the name Rowle still echoes like a mistake in the Wizarding World. The Azkaban that holds his father captive is a reminder that broken reputations don’t heal overnight. Yet, they’re not pariahs because Mrs. Rowle knows the art of charm like she knows her maiden name — more and more relevant every day. She likes society, a solar figure that smiles just like her son, and she never stopped inviting everyone she liked to tea. Meaningless connections she didn’t bother to keep once her husband became a stain unlike paint. But the few figures she was intrigued by, she insisted on keeping close. At first a handful of people, in ‘98. Today, an entire sitting room filled with open minds looking at this woman past a questionable reputation.

Still, Sebastian doesn’t fear the label hanging over his head like a sword. He doesn’t try to prove anyone how kind-hearted he is, how much he believes in equality and how much he hates his father. If anything, he is unsure of his feelings towards the man, but never resentful. He doesn’t mean to follow his footsteps; it’s just that someone talked about redemption and nothing sounded more beautiful. He follows out of poetic curiousness. Tomorrow, he could change sides if someone held a good enough aesthetic argument. His personal beliefs don’t rely on morality. In fact, nothing but art should ever rely on morality, according to him.

REASON FOR REDEMPTION:

Listen, he might want to have something to have to seek redemption for. It’s a noble purpose, makes for good literature and never stopped being a deep and relevant subject. Yet, he might be too capricious to ever see a fault in his own actions. On a surface level, he wants to feel that cathartic regret, that desperation to get better, but, deep down, it’s impossible for his brain to process that he might have ever done something even remotely wrong.

PERSONALITY TRAITS: (+,-)

( - ) Capricious, easily bored, moody, in need of constant change, Sebastian remains the spoiled boy from a good family, blinded by the shiny light of gold and unable to understand there are worse sights to gaze at. He can’t function in any other way, and he doesn’t want to, because he thinks there is no greater value in the world than his time. He has none of it to waste, already running against the countdown, so he becomes careless about what stops interesting him even for a minute.

( - ) When it comes to justice, he is blinded by how boring he thinks it must be to think morally. It isn’t that he is malicious, rather than lacking a filter when it comes to compassion. He has it — any person with the slightest perspective on art has compassion — but it’s isolated in fiction most of the times. When people manage to bring it out in reality, he pretends it’s yet another good book and relies on loving those people for a little bit. But he doesn’t know sorrow himself, so he doesn’t know how to separate the good from the bad. It all comes down to artistically relevant and uninteresting.

( - ) As deep as he becomes in the ways he is authentic in, he has a certain air of shallowness which could ultimately make him despise himself — aesthetically, of course. He is too vain to see fault in his own mindset, even though he doesn’t hold back when admitting to be wrong (never really believing that one). He appears to be open-minded (and there are ways in which he certainly is), but what appears is debatable when it comes to his name.

( + ) Blunt, without a censor, he genuinely thinks there is no one more sincere than him. He expresses opinions, words, moods with ease and Apollonian inner power. In certain ways, Sebastian even glows, out of this confidence that a good childhood inspired in him. He is half as genuine as he believes himself to be, which is still a virtue.

( + ) Imaginative, naturally gifted, the epitome of Romanticism ages later, Sebastian may struggle with authenticity (despite not wanting to), but he never struggles with words. It’s his first nature. Eloquence, grace, honesty all mix into the letters he pronounces, either on paper or out loud. He has the gift of thinking beautifully, even when he is utterly wrong — and perhaps that’s what everything is about.

( + ) Every bit of his personally naturally equals in charm — but it isn’t quite the schoolboy heartthrob magnetism, rather than the same effect of a prettily finished painting. He becomes inspiring, he provokes reactions in people, he always comes up with a new perspective, which is more often than not, fresh and interesting.

HEADCANONS:

I think I sprinkled plenty of details in the other sections of the application, but the best would be to elaborate, in case I wasn’t very clear.

His father, Throfinn Rowle, went to Azkaban following the Second Wizarding War. His father had rough edges, but never so sharp that Sebastian got cut in them. His father loved him, believed that he was doing the best for his family and for helping conserve the traditions of purity which are the very identity of his family, in his opinion. Sebastian doesn’t insist on talking too nicely about his father — in fact, he doesn’t speak at all about him. It’s not shame, it’s not censor, rather than an inner feeling of not needing to elaborate the rose light in which he still sees his own father. If addressed properly, he wouldn’t have any problems elaborating that out loud. He’s a pretty free-spirited, open-minded person.

His mother, Germaine Rowle, comes from a pureblooded family as well, yet her education exceeds purist norms. She studied muggle art and passed on the affinity for it to her only son as well. She is a painter and an odd creature overall. She brought color to her son’s childhood always inventing bedtime stories that would end unconventionally, yet beautifully.

He doesn’t smoke, as smoking would be the most obvious thing expected from a nature like his own. He defeats stereotypes, hating the fact that he is aware of it, therefore turning the process into a conscious, annoying vice. He speaks fluent French and hates every comma of it, although it did help, studying at Beauxbatons and having access to the paradox that is the French culture. He only drinks light drinks, like champagne or whatever is bubbly and pleasantly colored. He adopted his mother’s habit of hosting events, enjoying nothing more than a good party. He writes best in daylight, especially outside. He likes pets, but keeps losing them because he cannot really take care of them for longer than a couple of months. His mother can’t either. They’re somewhat absent-minded and would be lost if it weren’t for the two house elves keeping the manor clean and taken care of. He published a volume of poetry, “The language of peaches” and a novel, “Magenta”, out of which the latter made an impact.

#my application if you would like to browse through it:) #;some see a pen. i see a harpoon (about) #;i’m spitting up poetry as water gathers in my hollowed out ribcage (biography)

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Waltzing with the Wallflower

I give you this humble offering of a tale bought to you by a writers brain that would not let her go to sleep until a rather ungodly hour. 

A period(ish) era AU. A warlord in a mask and a Princess very much out of her element.

Masterlist

---

Waltzing with the Wallflower

The venue was a pulsating decadent display dripping in fine damask and brocade silks. The rich colours added to the overindulgent opulence of the night. This was the biggest night of the year and the most sought after one to receive an invitation for. This was a time when it didn’t matter who you were, if you didn’t know someone who could get you in, you weren’t getting past the entrance.

The high vaulted ceiling shimmered with the light reflecting from the fine crystal chandeliers and shadows danced as elegantly as the ones taking a turn on the dance floor courtesy of the many candles lit around the room for added ambience. The orchestral music harmonised with the murmurs of conversation giving way to an overtly sensual undertone being created.

Everything felt amplified tonight as people mingled hidden comfortably behind their ornate masks. Here was the one night the silent battle of the class system crumbled. Conversation flowed freely between the people gathered alongside the wine and champagne. Platers of exquisite finger foods travelled on gleaming silverware as it was transported around the room by the hired help.

As beautiful as it was and as mouth-watering as the food looked one hapless princess had found she had lost her appetite entirely. This was a far cry from her usual environment working as a maid in a governor’s house. To say it had been a shock to be handed the invitation would have been an understatement.

It had felt like a fantasy to see such intricate embossed golden filigree on the expensive cardstock displaying the venue’s address in bold calligraphy that almost send a pre-emptive warning of things to come. She was aware that her employer had a predisposition to play games and this was clearly another way for him to seek enjoyment witnessing someone struggling to tread water so clearly out of their depth. She had pushed those thoughts to the side and was determined to make the best of the night. It was after all a once in a lifetime party.

Of course, that was what she had planned. But naturally, there is a reason why there is such a saying about the plans of mice and men. Nervousness had taken its root in her stomach and even behind her ornate mask, she could feel herself crumbling under the pressure of the extreme shift in social rank. It was a concern severely lacking in foundation as for this one night she along with the other guests were all stripped of their positions and prestige. Tucked safely behind their masks for one night only they were all equal. Still, the feeling of an outsider looking in was a hard one to shift and she found herself edging more and more towards the candlelit recesses of the venue.

She was thankful to have been lucky enough to borrow a gown for the evening. The plain burnished silver bustier clung to her giving a comforting sensation of being hugged. The silver fabric travelled elegantly over her hips gathering like tumbling waterfall to one side revealing a contrasting black fabric that when it moved revealed a hidden pattern that was picked out by the changing light and movement as she walked. To be honest, everything she had on was currently on loan from the governor’s daughter. Once she had found out that her maid had received an invite to the masquerade, she began excitedly dressing her up like a giant doll.

A small sigh escaped her lips as she watched the prestige of the evening swaying to the harmonics of the string orchestra in a Venetian waltz on the dance floor. The gentlemen leading the ladies in the swirling dips and twirls as they enjoyed their night's dalliances.

“Pardon me but I believe you dropped something, my dear.” An elegant monotone voice disrupted her daydream and she turned to find a gentleman standing next to her. His crisp white formal wear accented with teal embellishments was breathtakingly striking but it was his mask that drew her attention most of all. Unlike the majority of the other guests, his seemed to be a homage to an animal spirit. Crackle glazed tones of cream and burnt gold. Highlighted in subtle shades of brown blended out in such a way that almost made you wish to touch it and see if it was real fur. Its pointed ears and elongated snout covered just enough of his face to keep all but his chiselled jaw and bowstring lips covered. A gloved hand was being extended to her and she noticed that he had hold of one of her silver hairpins.

“Oh! Yes, thank you.” She reached out only to have her own hand miss its mark. The lips of the masked man had been pulled into an alluring smile. The eyes behind the mask sparkled as they remained locked on her.

“Allow me to fix it for you. I would hate for you to lose such a fine piece again and I fear it might be too difficult for you to do so without some help.” His voice was soft and slow. It felt like a spell was being cast as her body apparently moved of its own accord and turned to allow him access to her long black hair. The briefest of touches brushed over her neck as his long fingers combed through her locks, arranging it so as to attach to the pin more securely.

“You have beautiful hair, my dear.” His voice was so close that it felt almost as if it was being dripped like honey directly into her ear. A pleasant if unexpected sensation tingled down her spine in response to him.

“Thank you, Sir. You are too kind.” Blushing slightly, she turned to him again and gave a polite bow with her head.

“Are you not dancing tonight?”

“I fear I would be too clumsy in a place such as this to do any song justice.”

“Nonsense. If anything is to be at fault this evening it would be the man who failed to showcase your beauty.” His tone was so adamant and sincere it caused her breath to catch in her throat as she looked at him. “If you are concerned with crowds perhaps a turn in the garden would help calm your nerves. It seems such a shame to cloister yourself away in the shadows when you were obviously meant to move in the light.” Once more he elegantly extended his gloved hand to her. Accepting his hand in a veritable trance-like state the pair moved to the large baroquian windows leading to the gardens.

The chilled night air caressed her skin as she was led down the stone staircase of the balcony into the beautifully manicured gardens. The scents of the nocturnal flora carried on the wind like the music from the ball, wrapping around her mind like an irresistible piece of trickery that tempted her to forget herself completely.

Stopping in an area that seemed to be planted mostly with roses and a large fountain, the gentleman released her hand. The loss of connection brought her out of her befuddlement. The light of the moon above eerily lit the area touching the flower petals around her making them look more delicate and otherworldly. Caught up in her observations she had failed to notice the gentleman until the movement of him was caught reflected in the water beside her.

“Are you feeling better my dear?” He was maintaining a respectable distance from her but somehow observing him on the surface of the mirrorlike water made her feel like he was embracing her.

“You bought me here because you were concerned for me?”

“Naturally.” His eyes behind his mask almost appeared to glow by moonlight. She had thought it was a trick of the light before but those eyes really were like finely crafted yellow glass.

“Pardon?”

“Cultivated beauty pales in comparison to natural creation. Take these roses for example.” He removed his gloves one finger at a time slowly enough that the movement of it made her swallow thickly aware of the subliminal sexual desire it stirred inside her. His bare pale hand touched the very edge of the blooming flower tilting it towards his masked face. “There is no denying their elegance and beauty but any fool can cultivate that kind of thing with enough time and money.”

“They are beautiful.” She unconsciously moved to his side gazing at the same flower sighing.

“Are you aware of the saying beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my dear?” He paused for a few moments. Her large upturned eyes moved from the rose to him the stars from the sky above them swimming in the two pools of ink. “To me, these flowers are nothing more than poor man’s delusion. The real beauty can be found beyond the confines of such a thing.” He guided her towards the garden wall brushing aside the trailing ivy and clematis to reveal a hidden window. The small hollow arch had a sprawling view of a meadow that appeared to be right out of a fairy tale. “Wildflowers are always so much more alluring to me. After all, they are the ones that fought to survive against the odds of the fates themselves. No two are alike and the uniqueness of them tells a tale that binds one’s heart.”

“That is very poetic.”

“It is but one man’s truth.” There was something painful in his tone. As he looked out at the meadow sharing the view with her, she felt as if she was observing for the first time in her life a tortured soul. “Well, my dear. Would you care to dance?”

“You wish to dance with me, Sir?” He dropped the blanket of flowers back hiding the secret window once more.

“Why are you so surprised?” His question floated in the air over the rumbling chuckle that tumbled from his lips after it.

“I fear I am not good enough to be a very good dance partner.” The nerves she had felt at the ball were back with full force except this time her heart was also thumping in her chest as if providing her with a beat to march to her own destruction.

“I told you before my dear it is the responsibility of the man to showcase his partner’s talent. You need merely to entrust your body to me and let me take the lead and let me show the world how brightly you can shine.” The imperceptible shift as his body aligned itself to hers was so smooth, she did not realise they were dancing until she felt the slight warmth of his hand in hers.

She was lost in the soft spell he appeared to have cast over her. Even the faint sound of the fountain in the garden had melted away as she handed over control of her body to him. His body kept perfect time with hers as he drew out an elegance form her that she had no idea even existed. He was holding her like she was a delicate piece of art so fragile that she might break at any moment but he was also firm and commanding enough to guide her body effortlessly around the flowerbeds in a silent waltz in the moonlight.

---

[the-ash0]

surviving paradise chapter 1

I am free.

Oh, sweet euphoria.

I might be laughing a little too loud, a little too high. The edge to it reminds me of Raditz. Pathetic, crazy bastard. I cut off the sound. Echoes reflect back at me from trees and hills at the far end of the clearing. The sharp, dangerous cackle cuts through an oppressive silence, and causes both humans and Nameks to recoil from me. Which is what a laugh should do. Still, I would prefer these creatures would not keep staring at me so. Am I the only one who gets the enormity of the joke?

“You messed up your wish,” I explain, but they simply stare at me. Nameks and Earthlings both inch away, huddling together for safety. The silly creatures cannot even comprehend their own stupidity: they got their wish, but not what they wanted.

As for me? My wish, human? Well I missed my chance. Got cheated out of it. Murdered out of it. Still, it’s fine. This is better. Way better. Do you wonder why, human?  Well, I am not sure I can explain in terms you could understand. I guess you could say I escaped the game. Or, maybe this is a new game, but this time I shall control the rules. Heh. maybe I’ll have you little humans dance for me like the puppets you are, weak and mindless fools that you are.. No, I didn't think you’d understand.

Yet I can explain to these creatures staring at me where their wish went wrong: “Don't you see? You resurrected all those killed by Frieza and his men, but I was no longer a part of the PTO when I killed those villagers.”

“So cruel!” Kakarot’s halfbreed whispers as understanding dawns on both green and Saiyan-lookalike faces, then twists to revulsion. Rightly so; we had an uneasy truce back on Namek, the humans and I. But now that all greater threats have been eliminated, I am the one they should fear. They are at my mercy, and my best approximation of that is a clean kill. A fact they had conveniently forgotten in the heat of battle, and now remember on account of these few missing Nameks.

Serves them right. It would be poetic justice if their complacency and reliance on death-cheating magic bites them on the tail this way. It’s an extra bonus if said injustice is dished out by me; someone only alive by a mistake in wording. Oh, how it must sting: to wish for those you have lost but to get the one who took their lives instead. The murderer instead of the murdered. The one you hate instead of those you love...

“That’s right.” I smirk, then bask in their reactions: shock, anger, and of course fear. Even as the surrounding wildlife returns to its soft hum, the cluster of Namek and human fighters keep their focus on me. A wise decision, and I cannot help but rub it in: “Be careful what you wish for.”

What now, human? Does it bother you that I ridicule them for it? Do my words upset you? Does it shock you that I laugh at their pain, that I find mirth in the fact that not even magic can erase their loss? Too bad, human. Life isn’t fair and relying on fairy tales to right its wrongs never got you anything.

Well, I’ll admit it did get them something: me. The Prince of Saiyans, the planet destroyer and— right now— the strongest thing on this planet. And yes, recently the one responsible for the deaths of those Namek villagers.

“Monster,” they call me, and several drop into defensive stances. Which is amusing, really. What do they want from me? An apology? That would not do. Why, these Nameks might get it into their heads that I owe them a debt. No; anything I ever owed is surely cleansed from me in death. Nothing will tie me down: no planet, no people, no warlord, and certainly not guilt. I’m free!

Besides, it is hard to regret something that proves Shenlong agrees: the villagers remain dead because when I killed them I had already escaped Frieza… No; not only have I escaped, but I have been wished back to life and gone straight to paradise.

Which, I suppose, is disagreeable to these weaklings’ sensibilities.

“And what are you going to do about it?” I ask, and turn to face them casually. Predictably my taunt incites them, their bodies shake with fury. To them, I must seem like the epitome of injustice. Good. I cannot help but draw my lips back further and grin. Will any of these fools dare the first strike? It is suicide; they must know. They are weak.

Can I take them all? It would be like ants taking down a lion. Ridiculous, until you have felt a swarm of killer ants come for you. Did you know, human, that there are worlds where thousands upon thousands of workers will throw themselves at an enemy to save their queen? Being swarmed again and again for hours on end is... not a pleasant memory.

There are not that many Nameks. Still, there are more than a few, and they are stronger than most beings. Also, the human fighters proved tenacious last time around. That was not a fond memory either: escaping in my pod battered and bloody. So I ponder this, my relaxed stance honed over the years: Nameks and Earthlings combined; could they manage to take me down?

“Tch.” I dismiss them, turn my nose up as I step back to lean back against a tree. It is only half a bluff, for their pause proved their reluctance. And, with the sky blue and the sun bright, I think I may pass on this opportunity as well. A breeze brushes softly through the trees. The sound and smells of this place call out seductively: soft clear water flowing, insects humming, sweet nectars in the air...

One by one, the warriors turn away. This is victory. I close my eyes as I revel in it, aware that no one will challenge or take it from me. And what a victory it is! I’ve won. Nobody seems to understand, to realise, I’ve won that final game in the end.

“Frieza is dead.” The words hum around the group in whispers, repeated again and again as they huddle together. Now and again, they spare me a furtive glance. As if I would take offence at this— this joyous fact. They do not realise, it seems, that I have been waiting for the monster's end since I was five...

Well, perhaps not quite that long, foolish child that I was. But still, long enough. The Super Saiyan is born to kill the monster, like the legends promised. That Kakarot is the one to pull it off does not even surprise me. The feeling of pride it gives me does. But then the Super Saiyan goes down with planet Namek. A loss, but it’s a good death.

Besides, “you can easily fix this with your magic”, I explain with a half-raised hand, suddenly eager to help. I wouldn't mind fighting that oaf of a Saiyan again, you see. It was great fun. An honest fight; refreshing. There is a poetic justice in someone so simple ending one as twisted and deceitful as Frieza. Odd perhaps that he could succeed when I failed. But there is little reason to fear that third-class. I have beaten him once, I can do it again.

Perhaps I have been playing its games for too long. Perhaps calculating and thinking were my downfalls in the end. I doubt one as addled as Kakarot ever grasped the enormity of what he was up against. He just kept going; tore down the walls that kept him from his goal and fought until he had won. It was what upset me about him on my first trip to Earth as well. An unrelenting, unbridled will to win… Is that Saiyan instinct?

Or, perhaps Kakarot simply lacks the mental capacity to know when defeat is imminent, does not have enough brain cells to know reason. Not enough smarts to stay alive, really. In any other place than this gentle little planet.

“You really are smart!” It is the blue haired woman that praises me, odd thing she is. I cock open a lazy eye as she flutters my way, and I resolve to blast her head off if she adds ‘for a monkey’ to her words. But I am left waiting for it. Perhaps she really does think I’m clever. Humans, so far, have not impressed me with their intelligence. Oh, do not take too much offense, human. Saiyans are hardly known for their brains either. The sad part is that you are also lacking in power.

She’s right though. I am smart. Smart enough to know I got lucky by not getting my wish. For a little while on Namek, I feared Frieza had decided to keep me. Even now, I cannot help but wonder. Would Frieza have tired of me if Kakarot had not come along? Or would I still have that noose-like tail around my neck as that monster laid into me just to see what it would take to get me down on my knees? Back on my knees.

“Feh.” I guess in Kakarot that monster found someone more fun to play with. Finally. Lucky me. Clever me. To let the two greatest warriors in the galaxy end each other. What a victory. Frieza is dead and all I’ve ever wanted is right in front of me.

Right here, on this opulent, soft planet. Before, I would have been disgusted at the sight. But I am different now. There is nothing to be jealous over. No rush. No orders. Nothing to do. If I wish, I could simply sit in the shadows until the sun goes down. Enjoy, bask and take of it. Yes, this planet is ripe for the taking. What was your Earth expression... having your pie and eating it too?

No...it gets better. They are giving it away! “Vegeta, you’ll need a place to stay too, won’t you?” That woman, the mental one with blue hair, walks up to me with an open, naive smile. Simply invites me into her own house. For free. I keep a straight face, but I can hardly believe my luck. Trusting little fool; she’ll be lucky to live to regret it. I follow her and her entourage of Nameks projecting pure innocence.

I did not get my wish, but I got what I wanted.

I am free.

#special thanks to me betas #vegeta #vegeta bulma #fanfiction #up on ao3 #fanfiction.net #surviving paradise

[jmlascar]

Happy New Year! 

A year ago, I rebranded this blog to make it more personal and book-focused. I didn’t do as much as I would have liked due to uni, but it definitely motivated me to read and write more, and I’m very happy about that! So, following the Top 5 2017 books I listed last year, here are my top books I discovered in 2018:

I. SIMON VS THE HOMOSAPIENS AGENDA & LEAH ON THE OFFBEAT by Becky Albertalli 

The novel that inspired the wonderful Love, Simon movie needs no introduction, but still, I cannot recommend it enough. As for Leah, the movie did not do her justice: she is a beautiful, talented, bisexual chubby drummer queen, and her novel is in an amazing wlw romance that struck a very personal chord with me, as I’m sure it will for many of you. 

II. I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS by Maya Angelou

Beyond her Still I Rise poem, I didn’t know much about Maya Angelou until I read her autobiography. I listened to the audiobook she recorded, and I have to say, listening to this incredible woman tell the tale of her childhood was close to a spiritual experience. She’s been through a lot of hardships, and she came out of them radiating with courage and talent.

III. CARRY ON by Rainbow Rowell 

Do you feel Harry Potter nostalgic, but JK Rowling’s shenanigans have ruined canon forever? Read Carry On! It has everything you love about fanfiction, Drarry, and Hogwarts, while still being an original and fully fledged book in and of itself. It is smart, it is adorable, it is magic and sarcastic and just a real fucking treat. I loved it! 

VI. THE DEVOURERS by Indra Das

A poetic, mystical novel about mythical beasts, a fierce Muslim woman, a half-werewolf with the power to weave fantastic stories, and the queer Indian historian who becomes enraptured by him. This novel is a gem, both in its beautiful prose, structure, and the way it tackles themes of gender, identity, history, and love.

V. THE CRUEL PRINCE by Holly Black

Again, a YA novel that requires no introduction on Tumblr, but it lives up to the hype! Jude is a fucking badass, and even if I'm usually not the biggest fairy fan, Holly Black’s world building completely took me in. In Leigh Bardugo’s words, q a dark jewel of a book!

Onwards 2019!

What books are you looking forward to in 2019? I can’t wait for King of Scars, the Wicked King, and Wayward Sons! I might try to write more book reviews and writing advice if I get any ideas. My main resolutions this year are to draw more backgrounds, and to finish book 2 of the Listener’s universe. 

Love,

JM

#carry on #the cruel prince #love simon #leah on the offbeat #simon versus the homosapiens agenda #maya angelou #indra das #book recs #book recommendations #bookblr

[princessofkindnessus]

A thought I have written poetic way

A realisation I have today about what happened on Thursday and how I reacted and the backlash advice I got from that I came to this realisation. That in this world as many people say people will not just adapt around u just because you have a problem you need to learn to adapt to the around the world. But in some cases that just can’t happen because that person whom I use myself as the example just cannot well not that I can’t, but there are some things I just won’t be able to do because of the illnesses I have. I know that it does not only affect me and how it affects me is different to how it’d affect another whom share this illness in common. The illness that I say is a reason why I act certain ways or I use what the illness does to you to help understand myself how to deal with myself, manage myself better. It will always be a me problem and whether I seek and get help or I do not and figure it out my self it is always will be a me problem. That illness is not physical, so it cannot be seen yet it does affect my physical reactions so that makes it harder for people to see and believe where. The illness I have is a mental one that for the most only the person with it can really know how it feels and how it affects you. People have renamed it so many times that for now, I’ll use the name I’ve now been retaught to use. which is mild autism a mental issue that affects how I learn, interact and in some cases how I speak. This illness can affect others whom have it way worse than it affects me I know that for I have seen others with it and now know I am lucky to have a mild version. Like I am happy about my other illness that even thou it may never go away it is controlled which again for others whom share the same illness which is known as epilepsy. Which is a disease which affects the brain in many ways too many for me right now to go through but for right now I go back to my main point as this is to be discussed later on.

 Mental illnesses affect everyone differently but one thing it has in common is that how the person whom has it lets it controls them the effect of that control is more memorable. Then the person in some cases. For it’s harder to look through fogged up glass than it is to look through a clear one. So, you react in ways after the incident you regret and the people around if they are not accepting or acknowledge that the issues you have is real. That you may act out because of it and you may do things that you don’t mean no way does it justice anything but at least knowing that fact could possibly save that person’s judgement on you and if that person believes in you and that you are in the right will help to try to stop the others help them understand in a way everyone can be happy. But in this world that is can be only a fairy tale people wish to live for it has such an unlikely chance to ever occur in real life for none is ever that kind if they don’t want something or if they don’t feel some sort of pity for you. Very rare is it to find someone who will help you just to be nice because they want to and not because they must. So, knowing all this and having the knowledge of the past of how reacting and behaving like this what has happened in correlation to it why do we still attack that way and not change it. Well my friends for whoever reads this it is because a person can only grow from making the same mistakes many times for practice makes perfect and for some, they can be slow, and the practice skills may need to be improved. So, they will fall into making worse mistakes than others that can be harder to over look for some but for many, it’s just an accident that in that moment can make people wish they never spoke, was heard or even were there in more ways than once.

I write this in needing to let my emotions out not in any way do I ever plan on harming myself for harming yourself does nothing but make it worse for you and if you are trying and wanting to get better than why take five steps forward but harm yourself and then take 10 steps back.

[inspiredink]

Finding the Dots

This piece, and perhaps, future pieces will not be following any logical train of thought per se. There may be some method to these seemingly scattered thoughts, but, if there is any objective at all, then it is for both the writer and the reader to enter a space of mental exploration of themes and ideas as they come with the flow of words.

Our minds as humans have gone through various evolutions. One of them being that if you are not the one wielding power, then you must not oppose those wielding power over you, that you dare not rise against those established by your environment as superior to you, that everyone suffers, and you must accept your suffering with grace if you don’t want to be crushed. From this mindset, we’ve gradually and collectively evolved to what appears to be the opposite view: question authority. Challenge superiors. Not all authority is legitimate. Among the many themes of our various human conditions, we seem to cycle between these two mindsets.

Like waves of the oceans, people rise to challenge leadership and to change it if possible, and though the road to change may be arduous, once they have achieved it, they settle in the false hope that the leadership they have chosen will address their needs only to become discontent again and rise to challenge yet another superior power they have established. This may happen within the confines of democracy, revolutions, or whatever method people use to change who wields power.

But for the very fact that changing the powers that be is difficult, and like viruses, people with power over others never really relinquish their hold, these uprisings may happen several times in our lifetimes. And during these times we will engage with those who oppose our views, those who remain ambiguous, those who prefer not to choose sides, those who just don’t care, and those seeking to take advantage of whatever movement is active at the time.  (It’s happening on twitter even as I write). A time of political, social, and economic chaos as some may call it. I call it change. The process of change.  I once declared in a conversation, that while I believe that organized religion plays a powerful role in society, I feel today’s societies will do just fine without it and the social scientist I was chatting with said I was calling for anarchy. As though chaos and anarchy are not or cannot be organized. In any case, any attempt to rid society of organized religion will only make it flourish or evolve into other forms. But I digress…

 If you happen to be clinging to any of the ideas I’ve mentioned, then the stories you tell will probably carry these themes.

 Lay-by – it gets murky

Fairy tales about queens and kings and princesses and knights and subjects, and of course, the outcasts among them: be they dragons, elves, goblins, fairies, enchanters, sorcerers, dwarves, fawns, and talking animals; the outcasts who can create magic and change the course of a character’s presumably predestined life… These exist in a world of their own with their own organized system of hierarchy. Yes, hierarchy, there must always be hierarchy it seems. Someone must sit on the shoulders of others to keep things marching in some direction. Is it possible for groups of beings and communities to self-organize without some form of hierarchy? I don’t have answers, but it helps to explore these ideas.

Lay-by- memories

Fairy tales. In addition to all the western fairy tales I imbibed while growing up, I also enjoyed hundreds of Ghanaian “fairy tales” (Anansesem) most of which follow the format of the ruler and the ruled and probed themes such as pride, bravery, and cunning. Some stories were about anthropomorphic animals, and animal kingdoms. Many of them were about Kweku Ananse the trickster (Ghana’s spider man) who outwitted kings, and gods, and wise-men.  Sometimes, the human world and the animal world crossed paths in these tales. Other stories were about magic forests, caves, trees, rivers, wells, and beautiful women or proud princesses who married the fascinating and handsome stranger who turned out to be a dangerous serpent and therefore, these women needed to be rescued by the brave clansman.

Lay-by - the murkiness returns

Short stories without the magic people. Young adult. Modern. Are these any different from fairy tales? An 18-year old or a 22-year-old may leave home, leave their parent’s house to start life on their own. Let’s call home their place of nurture. Because home can be an orphanage, a foster home, a mental facility, a caravan, a convent et cetera. They leave home to discover what they can make out of their lives.  Is it any different from the farmer’s child, the merchant’s child, the orphan (of the old fairy tales) who leaves home, or village to discover their fortune? In the fairy tales, these adventurers ended up marrying some prince or princess, or queen, or king. Eternal rescue from poverty. Or as the stories called it The Happily Ever After ; another mindset that has been challenged time and again in today’s stories where writers scrutinize the human spirit and intellect. 

Modern stories. The young person going through a coming-of-age phase, meeting all types of characters who, one way or another, enable them to examine their world view. Detective stories which allow us to consider our views on crime and justice, horror stories which grant us license to indulge in the shock factor and life’s unpredictability and ambiguity, tales of fantasy and science fiction which focus on world building and also include similar themes of power, hierarchy, love, relationships, and may or may not include magic. We could go on and let our minds wander through the evolution of poetry and poetic prose, stories written from the first person or second person narrative, surreal writing and stream of consciousness writing and so on. Where was I going with this?

Last Lay-by- I’m putting a cork in it

Of course, we also know that not all stories, whether they are the tales of old or told today follow the leave home and find fortune narrative. Every now and then, one finds among the old tales a story of an adventurer who perished or didn’t find “the good life”. Such stories have been placed under the term Tragedy. But in all these stories, you will find CONFLICT. Both internal and external. And it makes me wonder, isn’t it interesting, that without some form of conflict in a story, most people would consider it incomplete? Is it possible to tell a story without conflict? Will we be bored out of our minds if our lives had no conflict in it? War is obviously our most extreme expression of conflict where we all have a chance to exercise our various levels of power or become victims. Those who are smart seek protection from the powers that win. Whether they find it is another tale all on its own. And that’s another narrative a writer can follow. Thus, hierarchy, power, and conflict seem unavoidable in storytelling, whether we live in chaotic or organized systems.

#Writing tips #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #writers corner

[sagiow]

Northbound

I took a hiatus from my creative hiatus to write a little Mercy Street fanfic, on the occasion of @jomiddlemarch‘s birthday. A very happy, poetic, romantic birthday, I hope!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14413401 

The scenery spun by, shapes barely distinguishable in the darkness, and Jedediah Foster watched it pass, as in a daze. The day’s events had yet to make their mark, but he kept them at bay: tonight, he had one more important thing to deal with than the utter falling apart with his family, the complete collapse of whatever still held them together. Mary. He had to get to Mary.

How he had managed to get aboard without a dime, he could not recall. Yet here he was, sitting in a comfortable cabin, speeding north as the evening grew; his body growing limp from the exhaustion of travel and the rhythmic motion of the wagon on the tracks, but his mind racing on, one mantra repeating endlessly: please still be alive. Please still be alive.

He took out the much-cherished drawing from his bag, carefully smoothing the creases and wrinkles, and stared at it. In that moment, the world outside vanished, the train's roar dimmed, time stood still: all he saw was her calm beauty, floating from the white page, smiling peacefully. Was she still at peace? Did she still smile? Would she smile still at his arrival? Please still be alive.

This ghost haunted him, as she had since her departure, since Lisette had handed him the picture the next day. This serene Mary he doubted still existed, and would perhaps vanish before he could travel to Boston, or so he told himself these past weeks as he looked for excuses to stay away. As long as he had remained in Alexandria, he had lived with the regret of what could have been: their blossoming courtship, the growing affection between them, rekindled by her illness, only to be forcefully terminated by her exile and impending end. Regret was a heavy companion, but with distance and other occupation, he managed it somehow, never once resorting to the comfort of the needle, as he had feared. Every day the ghost grew fainter, the memory of her dimmed, and other preoccupations and prospects drove her further away. Every morning brought the possibility of a letter or telegram telling them her pain was passed, and some small part of him almost hoped to receive it, and let that page be turned once and for all, that chapter finished before it even began.

But the letter had never come, events had unraveled, and friends had provided the encouragement needed to put an end to the excuses and make that dreaded trip, and be confronted to her fate. And his, for he knew it now to be linked with hers, whatever it may be. He feared what awaited him, and his guilt-ridden mind conjured images of her body frail and wasted from her ordeal, her broken spirit barely twinkling through bright, fevered eyes. A ghost, indeed.

Regret at what could have been left him, and was replaced by remorse of what should have been. He remembered the dock: the curls clinging to her damp forehead, the darkness that rimmed her eyes, the shivers despite the heavy blanket: he should have brought her comfort. The confused mind, drifting so far away, already being ferried to the Underworld: he should have steered her back to herself, to him. The hand that had barely any strength to hold his, the pulse faint in her wrist: he never should have let it go. But he had. He had failed her.

Rationally, he knew that there was not much to be done that fateful night: defying orders to either steal her away somehow or jump ship to accompany her would have ended his military career, and ruined their good names. However, he could have done more through the proper channels as early as the next morning, yet he did not. Instead, he buried himself in the old comforts of work, science, and, despite his better judgement, the company of a former mistress. Thankfully, they had not revived their past affair, but had still managed to grow close enough that he was now wrecked with guilt. That he had just as much as entertained the possibility, while Mary was fighting for her life, now made him sick with disgust.

So there he was, racing through war-torn country, daring to hope for solace and forgiveness from the woman he had cravenly abandoned to a death sentence while he could not even bring himself to write a single letter. Please still be alive.

His own expectations at her welcome varied from bitter admonishment and reprisal in the best case, and quiet rejection in the worst. He had forsaken people in his life for much smaller slights, and did not envision any better reaction to his outright desertion and stubborn subsequent silence. She herself had not been so forgiving in health, turning a cold shoulder whenever their disagreement over race or patient care became apparent, and he could not imagine this utter insult would be met with any more lenience on her part.

And of course she would be more than right to do so. Whereas she had risked her position and reputation to help him, a mere colleague, through his morphine addiction and keep it their secret, he had done little more than any doctor would have done in treatment of her infection; as a pining suitor caring for his intented, or even just as a friend, his behavior had been downright unacceptable.

Jedidiah sighed. He fully deserved any treatment she deemed fit for him… if he made it on time. Please still be alive. That was all that mattered. If Life would grant him that one wish, he would pay it back a thousand-fold. He had to make amends. Help her heal from typhoid, of course, but that would not be enough. He must earn back her trust, her respect, and perhaps through this, one day, her love. Out of an impulse ingrained from wealth, he wanted to present her with a gift: something that would bring her joy, that would show her the true measure of his affection, and slowly make up for these weeks of neglect. But what?

He thought of the women he had loved before her: Nancy, his teenage sweetheart; Lisette; Eliza. Others who had come and gone, barely registering in the story of his life, barely remembered now. All the gifts he had bestowed upon them, in adoration, gratitude, or repentance. There had been many, the lavisher the greater the offence, and all these women had accepted them gladly, suddenly finding it much easier to forgive him in their newfound treasures, as he found it much easier to shower them in presents than to fully own up and repent for his mistakes.

Yet with Mary… this would never do. And even if it could just soothe a fraction of the abuse, he did not even know where to begin. All the typical presents he had resorted to seemed woefully inadequate for her. Their uncertain relationship complicated the matter further and made many simply inappropriate. Not to mention that at the moment, he was penniless, potentially nameless, and was coming to her an empty-handed beggar, both for her absolution and hospitality.

As he pondered this further, he realized with dismay that for all his admiration of her, his absolute infatuation while they worked together, and his nostalgic regret since her departure, he did not truly know her.

What did he know of her interests, passions and pastimes before the war, before social justice and nursing called her to action? What had made he care so for Emancipation? Was it Christian charity, or had religion nothing to do with it? How many slaves had she even met, up in snowy Boston? Was her journey to Alexandria her first view of the South?

And before still… what of her family, her home? Had she grown up in the city or the country? What made her laugh, in days of peace? What made her dream, in days of youth? Was she one for fairy tales, wishing for Prince Charming upon a white horse, appearing to whisk her away to a life or riches and luxury?

Or did she crave adventure? Her husband had been a foreigner. Had he spoken fondly of the Vaterland, of Old Europe? Had she yearned to cross the ocean to see it? To travel further still, to the deserts of Arabia, the jungles of India, the oriental mysteries of Edo?

Or perhaps she would have been a scholar? With her intellect, eloquence and dedication to her craft, she fit the profile. How long had she studied? In school, or with a tutor? Whic topics had she excelled at? Which bore her to tears or made her toss her book across the room in frustration?

Or had she been perfectly content, as a wife to a humble textile chemist, tending their home? Had they hoped and prayed for children to complete their family and accompany them into old age? Had they been blessed for a precious moment, but had this happiness cruelly taken away?

And what did she want now, before typhoid fever struck her down? What did she hope for herself, once war was over? Another chance at love and family? A second career as a teacher, or writer perhaps? Or to reinvent herself further still and take up another worthy cause, crusading on for Humanity's greater good?

Through all his interrogations, Jed caught himself thinking of Lisette, and missing her. Not as a lover, no; that was forevermore in the past. He missed her intuition and emotional acuity. Her lack of filter, of Puritan prudishness, that he had found so captivating in Paris, and that taught him so much in not only dealing with others, patients and patrons alike, but also with himself, and facing what it was he truly wanted. He knew that in the few hours that Lisette had spent with Mary, that she had probably understood her better than he had in months. Lisette would have known immediately what it was that her heart yearned for, and would have told her so: maybe not as bluntly as she had grown able to be with him, but tactfully, and directly, buffering the impact with a soft smile and encouragement. Had Mary ever expressed her desire for him to have her portrait? Did she even have to, or was it crystal clear to Lisette from the first side-glance, the first blush at the mention of his name?

What made her see behind their stern façades, behind the veil of decorum, to the truth they hid and guarded? Her talent was to draw what the eye saw, yet her gift was to imbue it with her subject’s soul, its inner message.

He gazed intently at Mary’s smiling face, so vulnerable and unguarded on the page, yet still proud. What is your message, my dearest? What is it you want more than anything?

And more importantly: am I the one who can give it to you?

As he looked into her soft eyes, so true to life, he finally saw that the answer was not fine silk, castles or diamonds. That it was not anything else money could buy. That it was not found in books or churches, on battlefields or overseas.

What she wanted, at the moment pencil had touched paper, was his presence: simply, honestly, without artifices or excuses. No more complications. No more hiding. Fully revealed to one another. Just as Lisette had drawn her.

Here I am, she welcomed him from the page. Where are you?

At the realization, Jed dropped his head. The shame of his delay in understanding her desire shred his soul, and he urged the train to speed up, or time to slow down. His lips uttered a prayer; not to God, but to the woman he now desperately begged for forgiveness, for another chance.

Please let it still be so. Please let me know you, and try to be who you believe me to be.

Please still be alive.

#mercy street #mercy street pbs #phoster #fanfic #a03 #jed foster #mary phinney

[possibleplatypus]

The Pay it Forward Fic Challenge

Tagged by @kimthreerings​ *fist bump*

The Challenge: If you’ve been tagged, find at least ONE FANFIC (feel free to do more) that you’d like more readers to discover and enjoy as well.  

It can be any fandom, trope, ship, rating…sky’s the limit!

@ five people to invite to take this challenge as well.

#PayItForwardFC

My Fic Recs:

HOMG I’m staring at my… 966 Viktuuri bookmarked works (what is wrong with me) and I feel like crying Okay okay so I love *~fantasy~* AU’s so here are some that I think should get more attention:

Fic Title/Link: A Tale Carved on Ice by @adorafics Rated: T Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: Complete (2656 words) Summary: “He met him in the heart of winter, when the powdered snow was still woven with magic and the ancient forest was succumbing to glair-white brilliance…” A bittersweet tale about the magic we lost and the one we found again.

– This fic is short but it gutted me. The plot, the language! If you like beautiful, bittersweet, fairytale-esque stories, this one’s for you!

Fic Title/Link: When Night Falls, I Love You Again by @yuuris-piano Rated: G Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: Complete (7100 words) Summary: Will you dance with me…one last time?“ ‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house. Not a creature was stirring, except for the magic of love and life. For you see, magic would come down the chimney and rub onto all the decorations. This magic gave the decorations a period where they could celebrate in the festive fun and cheer. And so the story begins…

– LIKE AN ARROW THROUGH THE HEART. Reminded me of Toy Story, or The Nutcracker; I would also recommend this story for those who like magical realism.

Fic Title/Link: wild mint blossoms by @selkiegirls​​ Rated: M Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: WIP (Chapters 2 out of 3 complete, 24530 words) Summary: In the land of the fae, Viktor falls in love the same way that he loses himself: with yuuri at his side and with the lingering scent of mint surrounding them both like a whisper.

– Viktor and fairy!Yuuri go on an adventure. Okay it’s way better than I make it sound; the worldbuilding is fascinating, the prose is beautiful and the story immersive WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT

Fic Title/Link: The Mark He Left Behind by @khaleeshli​​ Rated: T Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: Complete (8757 words) Summary: Viktor Nikiforov falls in love with a kitsune named Yuuri at the age of sixteen. Fate decides to pull Viktor away from Yuuri before their love can fully flourish. Viktor learns about love, Yakov interjects his opinions, and Yuuri is just pretty.

– IT HAS LITERALLY BEEN ALMOST A YEAR AND I’M STILL SCREAMING AT VIKTOR (read this and its sequel and you’ll see why)

Fic Title/Link: Your eyes could drown a city by @salanayuniasis Rated: G Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: Complete (4257 words) Summary: “Ocean, beautiful, selfish Ocean, wrap me up in foam, I am your betrothed. You who returns to the earth only the boats and the men you want to give back, give me the gold of the sumptuous sinking vessels, give me their treasures, bring in my town handsome sailors that I shall gaze upon. But, oh, don’t be jealous, I’ll give them back to you, one after the other.”

– Look I am a sucker for fairytale-esque stories with poetic prose don’t judge me also if it isn’t obvious already my reviews don’t do any of these stories justice

Fic Title/Link: will lose my desire for you (never my love) by @sinkingorswimming Rated: M Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: WIP (Chapters 1 out of 2 complete, 16146 words) Summary: Victor is ten when he leaves home to fine tune his alchemy, nineteen when he meets Katsuki Yuuri, twenty when he becomes a State Alchemist and a husband, and twenty-two when a teen named Yuri Plisetsky begins to report to him. His world changes drastically a few years later, and when Victor makes a decision that cannot be undone, he unlocks a mystery and crosses paths with a man only known as Lust. 

– I could have sworn this fic was finished… BUT I AM DEFINITELY NOT OPPOSED TO MORE. I never finished watching Fullmetal Alchemist but this AU I think really incorporates the series’ spirit.

Also I seem to just be reccing fics that made me cry omg why 

okay HERE

Fic Title/Link: I breathe for You, Only You by @narcissuspseudonarcissus​ Rated: M Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: Complete (35187 words) Summary: V’tor is a bronze dragon rider, destined to lead a weyr with his fire-breathing dragon Makkath in the age long battle against the terrifying organism they call thread. Yuuri is a dancer with a love of dragons, one of the first ballet dancers; having been able to access the newly discovered records from the colonists ancient computer system AIVAS.

– Love this Dragonriders of Pern AU! Get your dragons, romance, and adventure with none of the homophobia here

Fic Title/Link: ephemeral; by @gia-comeatme Rated: M Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: WIP (Chapters 1 out of 2 complete, 5919 words) Summary: Yuuri only wanted to get a tattoo as a reminder of how far he’d come, but instead, all it served to do was to remind him of how much he’s lost. Viktor was just supposed to be his tattoo artist, until he wasn’t, and then was again. :: The Olympics is all about stories. The only thing Viktor wants is to remember theirs, and yet all Yuuri wants is to forget.

– *flails* amazing urban fantasy with tattoo artist Viktor, figure skater Yuuri, and a really intriguing plot 8D 

Fic Title/Link: Pink Champagne on Ice by @lorienleylines   Rated: M Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: WIP (Chapters 4 out of ? complete, 20383 words) Summary: Welcome to Yu-topia Inn! Run by a darling family of bake-danuki demons, this remote Gilded Age manor is chock full of fine-polished rooms to ignore the outside world in. Yuuri Katsuki, the youngest member of the small family that runs Yu-topia, has barely seen life outside of the Inn’s walls. He spends his days caring for the guests – in more than one way. During the day, he brings them food and drinks, but during the night, he keeps watch for other demons that may come and try to hurt them. It’s a monotonous, routine life for a demon, but Yuuri isn’t complaining. Still, he can’t help but feel excited when his childhood friend, the ice-bending vampire Viktor, comes to stay. But Viktor isn’t coming as a guest this time; he has an ulterior motive, and Viktor’s decisions that may bring more adventure and drama than Yuuri ever hoped for.

– Vampire!Viktor and bake-danuki!Yuuri-- how could I resist? (I couldn’t) These two are so adorable, plus there’s the drama of Viktor’s family X3

Fic Title/Link: the voice of your heart by @maclaeroni    Rated: G Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: Complete (1751 words) Summary: The thing about having emotion as the very basis of your magic is that when something doesn’t align with your heart, it becomes painfully obvious. Viktor may not be able to use songs to create magic like Yuuri does, but even he knows that something is bothering Yuuri.

– I just really love this worldbuilding and of course Viktor and Yuuri’s relationship X3

Fic Title/Link: Keep Their Colours True by @pensversusswords Rated: M Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: WIP (Chapters 3 out of ? complete, 12947 words) Summary: Viktor Nikiforov, the Crown Prince of Pobeda, embodies everything Yuuri has heard about him; strikingly beautiful, kind, blessed with hair as silver as starlight that falls down to his waist, has a smile that could make the coldest heart tremble, and–most importantly–he is completely unattainable. Katsuki Yuuri is sworn to protect the Crown Prince with his skill, his dedication, and his life if necessary. The problem is that Viktor doesn’t seem to be content with staying out of reach. He is stubbornly determined to find a place in Yuuri’s life with his smile like sunshine, his infectious exuberance, his friendly disposition. Yuuri was just supposed to protect Viktor. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him.

– Age swap royalty fantasy AU with Yuuri as Viktor’s bodyguard. The pining! The drama! I am LIVING

Fic Title/Link: Foxfire by @awesometinyhumanbeing Rated: Not Rated Fandom/Pairing: Yuri!!! On Ice: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Status: WIP (Chapters 1 out of 2 complete, 12852 words) Summary: He's—Yuuri stops. Mine doesn't sound quite right. For me. His eyes are smarting, suddenly. He excuses himself with a mumbled apology, hurries to any place that will hide him away. Vulnerability floods through him, makes him clumsy and sensitive. He's for me, Yuuri thinks, and he's crying, crying, crying. (The forest is Yuuri's home, and the kitsune are his kin. Victor teaches him what it means to be human.)

-- an AU with Japanese folklore elements, kitsune, beautiful descriptive writing, and a tender Viktor/Yuuri romance.  

Tagging: @dreaming-fireflies, @yuuris-piano, @yoyoplisetsky, @scribeoffate, @narcissuspseudonarcissus​

#yoi #yoi fic #viktuuri #payitforwardfc #yoi au #viktor nikiforov #katsuki yuuri #fantasy #kimthreerings #am i secretly a masochist #i don't find bittersweet fics they find me #...i might have gone a little overboard #look if i recced every fantasy au i liked this post would be like 10 times longer #maybe 20 times #I should make a proper rec list one day #TUMBLR WHAT ARE YOU DOING WHY DO SOME OF THE TAGS NOT WORK #I... I think I fixed it

[teacupballerina]

I hope you don't mind me asking (and that this doesn't come off as rude), but what is it about Aku that made you a fan of him? I guess from my point-of-view, from watching Samurai Jack as a kid, I always saw Aku as a big jerk with hardly any redeeming qualities, so I was a bit surprised to find out he had a fanbase. Thanks in advance!

It’s totally fine! I really need an FAQ page lol.

Anyway this is a question deserving of a long answer, so I hope YOU don’t mind my rambling.

what is it about Aku that made you a fan of him?

I wish I had a time machine so I could ask myself. I was seven when Samurai Jack premiered and showed the first three episodes, and I distinctly remember sitting on the floor at my grandparents’ house watching it. Aku was my favorite from the moment he appeared, and I don’t know why I was drawn to him. I always had “phases” where I was totally obsessed with something, but for whatever reason I never moved on from Aku. 

Now that I’m older I can analyze and interpret Aku as a character and concept. His design, his voice (RIP Mako), his aesthetic, his role, his personality; everything about him is some next level shit to me. I don’t know what I would think of him if I just started watching the show yesterday, because I’ve grown up using him as my basis of comparison. The little bastard was involved in the formation of my own personal preferences, and I am biased in every possible way. HOWEVER!! I can somewhat explain why he has a fanbase.

He is definitely a big jerk with hardly any redeeming qualities, I agree. But he’s so much fun to watch, and definitely fun to write. He can be played straight as a terrifying, impossibly powerful monster of UNSPEAKABLE EVIL…and then he’ll get sarcastic, or playful like a kid, or unbelievably petty, or just downright silly. He’s also arguably the narrator of a series which can be presented as a collection of legends about a warrior who may or may not actually exist, who for this reason is aware of the meta of the story (episode 48), and could be considered its deuteragonist. 

Now if you really want to go somewhere stupid like I do, you could say Aku is merely a reflection of the hate and aggression that surrounds him, a self-fulfilling prophecy that proclaimed himself “Evil”, because that’s the only thing he had ever been called. “The Birth of Evil” is the best argument for this, showing us not just the physical creation of Aku, but the events that motivated him to become the personification of evil. I don’t think it was deliberate, but it’s very easy to interpret the episode that way, if you watch it from the perspective of someone who knows nothing about the show or the characters.

With this angle, it’s not a stretch to compare Aku to Frankenstein’s Monster: a tragic villain whose own creator despises him, who knows he will never be allowed to exist if he doesn’t fight to exist; who understands that he isn’t supposed to be alive yet desperately clings to dreams of changing his inevitable fate of destruction, hoping that somehow, someday, he will find someone somewhere who doesn’t have to be forced and threatened to accept him, who genuinely believes it’s okay for him to live. 

As for the fanbase, I have three things to say.

The most creative and comprehensive SJ fansite back in the early 2000s was shogunofsorrow.com, an Aku web-shrine, with a Jack-centric side for inclusiveness. It set the precedent for Aku fans likening themselves to minions.

I would not be surprised if the Aku cult in the new season playing a large role is something Genndy thought of years ago when that site was active. It would explain why the cult is, from what we’ve seen so far, girls-only. A subtle nod.

I’ve seen the rise, fall, death, and rebirth of the fandom. Aku transcends it. There are Aku fans out there who haven’t seen the show and there are Aku fans that don’t like anything else in the show. Shit’s incredible.

All of this can be summed up as follows:

Aku is one of the most quotable characters ever. When people think of or see Samurai Jack, they generally either think of Jack yelling “AKUUUU” or they think of Aku himself. Based on which Aku quote immediately comes to mind, you can determine that person’s level of Aku fan, and where they are on a scale of “Filthy Casual” to “There’s No Name for This Highly Specific Disorder Yet”.

Normie tier: 

“LONG AGO IN A DISTANT LAND”, “FOOLISH SAMURAI WARRIOR”, anything from the opening monologue. It’s the first thing anyone hears when they watch an episode.

Basic tier: 

“GREAT FLAMING EYEBROWS” as the second most quoted line from the show, after anything from the opening.

Average tier:

 “BEEF JERKEY” and anything else from Aku’s Fairy Tales, the most quoted episode in the show.

Meme tier: 

“EXTRA THICK” 

High tier: 

“How fitting indeed to be destroyed by the blade of your WORTHLESS father!” denoting an acknowledgement of Aku projecting his contempt for the Emperor onto Jack and the reason Jack is still alive (Aku wants poetic justice).

God tier: 

“You will pay for my pain in the past with your pain in the future…” understanding that it’s not simple mindless evil that drives Aku, it’s vengeance for what Samurai Jack’s father did.

Ascended tier: 

“I think….you.…owe me an apology.” Realizing this is Aku speaking through Jack in The Aku Infection and what that implies. This is Aku’s most basic consciousness manifesting itself, revealing Aku’s true nature as a snarling animal that only understands aggression, a dog that learned to bite after getting kicked; a beast possessing intelligence that has been twisted into insanity by pain and sorrow that forces him to see everything else as a threat. He feels justified in being an asshole because it’s what the world deserves. Aku is the one who decides life and death now, he is the god sent to smite humanity, but he will show mercy to those who submit and apologize to him, because it gives him the sense of control and authority he needs to keep himself from destroying everything out of existential paranoia.

Teacupballerina tier:

Aku laugh collection playing in head on repeat at all times. 

....Why am I like this? lol

#samurai jack #ask teacup #sj2017 #anonymous #aku theories #HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE I USED THAT TAG

[the-ash0]

surviving paradise chapter1

DBZDBZ

Author's notes:

Hi and welcome to my new fic.

As you may or may not have noticed I've messed with this for a while now. But I think all the complicated stuff is fixed now so it should be smooth sailing till the end now.

Well it's not the first time that I made a complicated fic, but this one seems to take the cake.

Which is why I need to take a moment to thank over8000 and maganechan720 for their awesome work beta-ing for me. Couldn't have done it without you!

So, what's up? This is a Vegeta-past AND three-year- beyond fic. It kind of puts past and present in perspective I suppose.

The way it works is you get odd chapters in the present -in first person-, and even chapters in the past tense, third person.

check up later chapter on ff net or ao3. or wait till I post.

DBZDBZ

I am free.

Oh, sweet euphoria.

I might be laughing a little too loud, a little too high. Something close to madness enters my voice so I cut off the sound. Echos reflect back at me, from trees and hills at the far end of the clearing. The cackle cuts through a sudden, oppressive silence; dangerous and sharp. As it is supposed to. Still, I would prefer these creatures would not keep staring at me so.

Am I the only one who gets the enormity of the joke? They got their wish, but not what they wanted.

They stare at me, Nameks and Earthlings both, confused and scared. Even as the surrounding wildlife decides to ignore my outburst and return to its soft hum, they keep their focus on me. A wise decision, but in lieu of my recent bit of luck I grace them with an explanation instead of death. “Don't you see? You resurrected all those killed by Frieza and his men, but I was no longer a part of the PTO when I killed those villagers.”

Understanding dawns on both green and Saiyan-lookalike faces, then twists to revulsion. Even the half-breed turns away, as if he cannot face the truth. Rightly so; we had an uneasy truce back on Namek, the human fighters and I. But now all the greater threats have been eliminated, and I am the the one they should fear. They are at my mercy, and my best approximation of that is a clean kill. A fact they had conveniently forgotten about in the heat of battle, and only now remember on account of these few missing Nameks.

Serves them right. It would be poetic justice if their complacency and reliance on death-cheating magic bites them in the tail this way. It’s another little bonus that the said injustice has been dished out by me; someone only alive by a mistake in wording. Oh, how it must sting: to wish for those you had lost, but to get the one who took their lives instead. The murderer instead of the murdered. The one you hate instead of those you love...

I smirk at their faces. Be careful what you wish for.

What now, human? Does it bother you that I ridicule them for it? Do my words upset you? Doesit shock you that I laugh at their pain, that I find mirth in the fact that not even magic can erase their loss? Too bad, human. Life isn’t fair and reverting to fairy tales to right its wrongs never got you anything.

No, actually it did. It got them a lot more than they bargained for: me. The Prince of Saiyans, the planet destroyer and — right now— the strongest thing on this planet and its entire solar system. No, the entire galaxy! And also, just recently, the one responsible for the deaths of some Namek villagers.

I suppose it was a bad choice, to continue on as I had in Frieza’s service. Especially as I had promised myself that everything would be different from the moment I threw off the yoke of oppression. I was going to think for myself, follow my own lead. I would stand, and never kneel again.

But I will not apologize, lest these Nameks get it into their heads that I owe them a debt. As far as I am concerned anything I ever owed is gone, cleansed with death and a remarkable return. Besides, I can hardly regret my actions. The villagers remaining dead only proves that even Shenlong agrees that I escaped Frieza...  Escaped, wished back to life, and gone straight to paradise.

That’s right, bitches! I am free.

“What are you going to do about it?” I ask instead. Predictably my taunt incites them, bodies shaking with fury. To them, I must seem like the epitome of injustice. I cannot help but draw my lips back further and grin. Welcome to the real world, you dumb, peace-loving Nameks.

Will any of them dare the first strike? It is suicide; they must know. They are weak. Can I take them all? It would be like ants taking down a lion. Ridiculous, until one has felt a swarm of killer ants come for him.There are worlds where hundreds upon thousands of workers will throw themselves at an enemy to save their queen. Being swarmed again and again for hours on end is... Not a pleasant memory.

However, there are not that many Nameks. Still, there are more than a few, and they are stronger than most beings. Also, the humans fighters proved tenacious last time around. That was not a fond memory either: escaping in my pod battered and bloody. So, I ponder this, my relaxed stance honed over the years. Nameks and Earthlings combined; could they manage to take me down?

I hope they have as little interest in finding out as I do. The air is blue and the sun is bright. A breeze brushes softly through the trees. The sound and smells of this place call out seductively; soft clear water flowing, insects humming, sweet nectars in the air...

It seems an awful waste to destroy it now. Before, I would have been disgusted at the sight. But I am different now. There is nothing to be jealous over. After all, if I wish I could simply sit in the shadows until the sun goes down. No rush. No orders. Nothing to do.

Frieza is dead.

The Super Saiyan was born to kill the monster, and so he does. It did not surprise me; the feeling of pride it gives me does.

Did the lizard seems as untouchable to Kakarot as it did to me? Did Kakarot feel the immeasurable gap of power as the tyrant finally did away with pretence and showed the power he had hidden? Did he feel despair at the knowledge his life would last only long enough to watch all he held dear destroyed? Surely he must have, before reaching Super Saiyan.

Although, perhaps one as addled as Kakarot never grasped the enormity of what he was up against. He just kept going; tore down the walls that kept him from his goal and simply fought until he had won. It was what upset me about him on my first trip to earth as well. An unrelenting, unbridled will to win… Is that Saiyan instinct?

No; more likely Kakarot is just missing the brain faculties needed to calculate when defeat is imminent.

I knew right away when I had lost. A life of working my way up the ranks, and still I couldn't even scratch the white shining lizard that was Lord Frieza’s final form. Once I realized this, I was happy that I did not get my wish. You see; I had promised myself that I would defeat the lizard or die trying. With my first option closed off, the second became my only way out.

For a little while, I feared Frieza had decided to keep me. And even now, I cannot help but wonder. Would Frieza have tired of me if Kakarot had not come along? Or would I still have that noose-like tail around my neck as that monster laid into me just to see what it would take to get me down on my knees? Back on my knees.

Feh.

I have not lived through what I did just to return to servitude. Let me tell you, I have seen creatures throw themselves at Lord Frieza; taunt it for a slow, torturous death. Just to get out, away from it. Not just Saiyans. Not just warriors. No; scientists and little girls and old fools. Honestly, without a chance of taking the beast down, they had the right idea.

And when I realized my gambit had failed, I too would have been content just to get away through death.

And so I died and escaped, but now I live again… What was that Earth expression.. having your pie and eating it too?

Kakarot went down with planet Namek. It is a loss, but it’s a good death. Besides they have their magic balls, although they start moaning about not being able to bring him back. Something about his body drifting in space. That seems like an easy thing to fix with magic, so I explain to them how. I wouldn't mind fighting that loaf of a Saiyan again, you see.

It was great fun.

The woman congratulates me on my cleverness. I half expect her to add ‘for a monkey’ at the end of her sentence, but I am left waiting for it. Perhaps she really does think I’m clever. Humans, so far, have not impressed me with their intelligence. Oh, do not take too much offense, human. Saiyans are hardly known for their brains either. The sad part is that you are also lacking in power.

So I did not kill the lizard. Yet Frieza is dead and all I’ve ever wanted is right in front of me, rife for the taking. No...it gets better. They are giving it away! That woman, the mental one with blue hair, offers me a place to stay. For free. I keep a straight face, but I can hardly believe my luck.

I did not get my wish, but I got what I wanted.

I am free.

#vegeta #fanfic #morally challenged #frieza #vegeta bulma #dragon ball #surviving paradise