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le-panda-chocovore · 3 months

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Satosugu Hurt/Comfort + Fluff

@get0suguru I said I would so here it is !

Honestly, I don't think I'll write an entire fic but I need to get the ideas out of my head. Feel free to use this for your inspiration (and send me the link please !)

This is not properly written, this was a bullet list of ideas and I just took off the bullets because the paragraph became longer and longer and it was a mess. Feel free to use this for your own inspiration (and please send me the link if you publish something) !

English isn't my first language and I'm very tired, sorry for the mistakes.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Geto Suguru & Gojo Satoru - 3rd year students

After Riko's death, Suguru slowly starts to spiral and question his role in the world, while Satoru starts training more and more alone and is sent on solo missions. The encounter with Yuki worsens Suguru's state.

Satoru notices that something's wrong and invites Suguru to eat something with him. Suguru feels a bit better when those blue eyes are looking at him. They make the habit of sharing a meal whenever they can.

They spend more and more time away from each other and Suguru's still spiraling, but every time they manage to meet, he allows himself to enjoy the life he has a little bit. Those blue eyes might be worth the pain.

Haibara dies and Suguru's hate for non-sorcerer is growing even quicker than before. He wonders why he's still there trying to protect them. He doesn't want to risk his life for them. He doesn't want to lose his friends for them.

A few days after that, Satoru finds his friend standing alone in the gymnasium. "You look like you're going to disappear." Suguru doesn't look at him when he answers "I'm so tired. I don't think I can keep going on." Satoru hugs him desperatly "Please stay with me. I'll figure things out, I'll make it easier for you, I'll give you everything. Stay for me. Please."

-Alternative to the emotional moment because Gojo won't act serious if he's not forced to (and because I don't know which dialogue I prefer)- Satoru, half-joking : "You look like a ghost, like you could disappear anytime." Suguru, not looking at him : "Maybe I can. Maybe I will. I can't find anything worth the sacrifice, I can't bring myself to be happy in this world." Satoru, rolling his eyes like the dramaking he is : "Duh, I'm here idiot ! Am I not the source of your happiness ? Am I not the best thing that happened in your life ? Am I not the one who brings a smile on your pretty face ? Don't you dare say that nothing in this world can make you happy when you're friend with me, dumbass !" Suguru is speechless, then he laughs and Satoru's proud to be right. Suguru calls him an idiot, but he agrees.

They're even closer than before now, always touching some part of their skin whenever they're together, and Satoru constantly reminds Suguru that everything will be fine as long as they stay together. He says things like "Look at me, I'm here." and "Can you stay for me ?" and "Remember that you're not alone" and "Just try to endure it a bit longer, I'm with you" every now and then. It gives Suguru the strength to keep going day by day despite his deep disgust with the jujutsu world.

Sometimes, Satoru is away for a long time, and Suguru is alone with the disgusting taste of the curses he has to swallow. He feels sick and awful, and he's so close to giving up everything. Satoru calls him when he can but he won't be back soon. He makes him promise to wait, and Suguru's not sure if he can do it. So Suguru crashes into Satoru's room and spends the entire time in the bed, which smells like Satoru. It helps.

One time they're cuddling in Suguru's bed (because Satoru decided he would sleep there that night) and Suguru grows an obsession with Satoru's small waist. Like, he can't stop touching it, it's driving him insane, he feels so high, like he just took every drug existing. Of course Satoru notices "Is that me or are you having an existential crisis over my waist ?" but of course it doesn't bother him at all. Now he uses this too as an argument to make Suguru stay at the school : "You can't live without my perfect body. Can you imagine running away and not being able to touch me anymore ?" The worst part is that it works.

Suguru saves the twins and kills the two adults who were accusing them, but he restrains himself from destroying the whole village. Instead, he calls Satoru who immediately teleports there despite being on a mission elsewhere. Satoru covers the crime scene and tells Suguru to pretend that the two non-sorcerers got killed during the fight against the curse. It's classified as collateral damage. The two of them bring Mimiko and Nanako to the school and teach them about the curses and the exorcists.

Now, Suguru has two more reasons to stay. He's still depressed and he still hates the monkeys, but he starts to believe that things would end up fine. He has people to protect now, he has people to love. He can fight for that.

When they graduate, Satoru and Suguru move out of the school with twins, and they take Megumi and Tsukimi with them.

#and they live happily ever after #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jjk #sugusato #mini fic #writing #fanfiction #stsg #satosugu #gego #gojo x geto #satoru gojo #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #goge #geto family

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pandorascripts · 10 months

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hi! i was wondering if i could make a request for a katniss x fem reader imagine to safe and sound by taylor swift

safe and sound

pairing: katniss everdeen/reader.

cw: death, angst, description of body mutilation, bombs, major character death, gale. LOL.

note: I wanted to make this a cute little fix where Katniss sings the reader to sleep and then heads off to fight Snow, but I was like fuck it let’s kill r. ALSO! MY FIRST KATNISS REQUEST! THANK U!!!

based on Safe & Sound (Taylor’s Version). some lyrics used.

—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-

As Katniss watches the explosions take lives and hope, her eyes catch something for a moment— a bright gleam in the dissipating dust.

Her feet drag her along the road, tears pricking her eyes. Dead bodies lay scattered across the ground, some missing arms or legs. Katniss stumbles upon a woman, her arms wrapped around a little girl in a yellow jacket— the girl she had seen just moments before, breathing and alive. She chokes back her sob, refusing to let herself be any more somber than she already is. Katniss has to be strong for the cameras and her so-called army. She has to show Snow he doesn’t have an affect on her.

As she walks around more; dodging bodies of all shapes and sizes— mainly smaller figures, she trips on something hard. A rough cough comes from where she had kicked and Katniss looks down. The idea of a probable survivor makes her fill with hope, but it’s quickly snatched away from her when she sees who it is.

“Hey, Kat,” you mumble out, exhaustion getting the better of you.

For a moment Katniss can only stand there, shakily breathing in horror at your fucked up state. There’s a large amount of blood coming from your torso, half of your head covered in it too. Dust sticks to your cracked lips, large, watery eyes looking up at her.

Katniss sits down, adjusting you off the floor and into her lap so she can hold you and apply pressure. She knows it won’t help, there’s too much damage, but the obvious knowledge doesn’t deter her.

“You were supposed to be farther back. Why?” she asks, taking a break every few seconds to control her shaky tone.

Your hand lifts from the ground, a hand that’s no doubt fractured or broken, and holds onto Katniss’ forearm. You give her a light squeeze, a rough cough breaking the silence.

“I wanted to—“ you hack up again, a little blood staining your lips red, “wanted to help.”

Katniss can’t say anything in the fear she’ll break down. She wants to be strong. Not for the cameras, not for Snow, not for her unwanted army— she wants to be strong for you. You’re dying, and Katniss can’t do anything about it.

“You did. You did help.”

You nod weakly in her arms, your eyes watching the sunset in front of you. You don’t wanna go, you don’t know what happens when you die. Is heaven really real? If so, did you make the requirements? What if you didn’t? Surely your sacrifice would make up for it? Maybe you’d go to Valhalla, or maybe there was just nothing. Maybe after death you were only greeted by nothingness. With that horrific thought you tighten your grip on Katniss and take a deep breath. It comes out a harsh wheeze and your lungs sting from the effort.

“Will you sing?” you ask her, a tight cough coming out after.

Katniss’ other hand has gone to stroking your hair, moving the dried-up pieces away from your sticky forehead. “Yeah.”

You eyes look back to the sunset, Katniss’ soft voice singing in the background.

“I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I’ll never let you go.”

Her soft voice starts to put you at ease, no doubt with the help of her featherlight touch. The sunset looks beautiful from where you’re laying. If you took out the immense amount of pain you’re in and the conditions of which this is happening, you could almost pretend that it was a date. Like one of those dates way back when you were just two lowly girls in district twelve— fighting and hunting for meals. You didn’t have a family, both of your parents died in the mines, but Katniss took you in. She taught you how to trap, and kill, and skin— Katniss saved you.

“Thank you, Kat—Katniss,” you spitter out, coughs becoming more violent and frequent the longer you speak.

Her singing stops and you feel a light, hesitant kiss on your head.

Katniss goes back to singing, each word getting more cracked and breathy. “Just close your eyes,” she sings, “the sun is going down.”

You eyes flicker close, Katniss’ soothing voice fading in and out.

“Come morning light, you and I will be safe and sound.”

The pain has stopped now, replaced by a peace as your body begins to shut down.

“No one can hu—“

Katniss stops abruptly, you chest no longer moving up and down. Everything that she’s been withholding shatters, than dam of tears bursting through and clogging her vision. She presses her head against yours, gasping. “Please,” she whispers, barely coherent through her chocked sobs. “No, no, no.”

Now that you’re gone, Katniss tightens her hold on you, the watery squelch buried beneath her broken sobs. Her face is puffy and red by the time the rests of the troops make it to her, each and every one of them takes off their hat. Katniss doesn’t look up to see it, her eyes shut tight as they all stoop to one knee.

Katniss continues crying for God knows how long, despair and grief filling her body more than the blood that fuels it.

Katniss doesn’t start screaming until a rebel tries to pick her up, her kicks and shouts not deterring him. Even as she bangs against his chest, is heaved onto his shoulder, she doesn’t relent. Your lifeless body starts getting farther, and father, and farther, and farther until it’s no longer in Katniss’ sight.

Her voice is raw and husky from screaming, lungs crying out to get a proper breath. Katniss is only filled with rage when she’s set down, Gale’s face blurring into view.

“You fucker!” she hollers, smacking his cheek.

He turns slightly, wiping his face from where Katniss had angrily spat, still indifferent to her behavior.

“Go get some sleep, Katniss.” He walks off, leaving her in all of her thoughts.

Katniss won’t be able to sleep tonight. In fact, she doesn’t think she would call it exaggeration if she believed she’d never sleep another night.

#katniss everdeen x reader #katniss everdeen #katniss x you #catching fire #mockingjay #the hunger games trilogy #the hunger games #jennifer lawrence #imagine #fluff #oneshots #light angst #angst #character death #pandorascript

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bagopucks · 1 year

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N. Hischier - Smile Again

✄————————————

Nico Hischier x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

She’s a long one, with a possible part 2

Warning(s): depression, talk of injury, not eating?

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Work is exhausting. That much, is apparent to me. I don’t know why it has to be so tiresome. I don’t know why I ever thought traveling would be so much fun. I enjoyed it at first. I loved it even. Being an architectural drafter was a dream I’d had since I was old enough to develop decent art skills. I grew up in a small city in Ohio, Wheeling. The buildings were known for their old exterior and design. I used to walk the streets of that city after school with my brother on the way home. I used to jerk on his arm and stop him to point out the designs and colors.

Traveling, at one point, had been my favorite part of the job. After graduating from college with a degree in my field, I found a company in New Jersey that I loved. I hadn’t been thrilled about the location, but I was willing to make sacrifices for the income and the dream of doing what I loved. I’ve only been out of the country once, and in many states aside from where I currently reside. The coasts were my favorite. But traveling quickly lost its luster when I met Nico. My brother had been in town visiting, and with the Blue Jackets playing the Devils on one of the evenings he was there, he decided to buy tickets and take me. I grew up in a sports family, and I was particularly fond of football, but hockey was never my style per se. After the Devils won, my brother insisted we go out to grab a bite to eat in the cultural district of the city. A place that had some of the most wonderful food I’ve ever eaten.

I met Nico in an Italian restaurant. A mom and pop type of location. I don’t know what possessed me to interrupt his meal, but he’d been alone, and he was beautiful under the soft warm glow of a half burnt out light bulb overhead. My brother looked horrified when I went to speak to the dark haired man, but I hadn’t realized until later that evening, that my brother hadn’t been horrified, he’d been betrayed. He had the same look on his face when I told him Nico and I had gotten together. It made Nico giggle.

Traveling was something Nico was used to. Something he had a love hate relationship with, as did I. He loved traveling to experience new cultures in the states. He loved the foods and trying to find places that reminded him of Sweden. He enjoyed finding me little gifts and postcards. His favorite routine he’d fallen into, was trying to find my name on the little necklaces and license plates that souvenir stores have. Some days he is lucky, and others he is not. But it gives us something more to look forward to when he arrives home.

With his most recent injury though, it has been me who is trying and failing again and again to find his name on anything. Nico had broken his ankle about a week ago. And in that week, I’d done my best to look after him and keep him distracted. Nothing pains him more to be away from his team and his career. But when I was informed that I would be traveling again, for a special project, my heart sank. I used to love traveling. Now I love Nico. And to leave him in a time of need.. it hurt to think about.

When I broke the news to him, he put on a brave face. He pursed his lips and nodded up at me from the couch. I could hear Adam Sandler yelling at a golf ball from the iPad on his lap while the gears in his head seemed to turn. He’d always been insistent that the huge flat screen on the wall was never close enough to enjoy each and every little detail. Sometimes I wondered if he needed glasses. In this moment, I wondered if he would need a better support system. I ended up on the couch with him that night, leaning back against the arm rest at one end, with Nico laying between my legs, his head resting against my chest while he finished his movie and picked another. By the time we slinked off to bed, I could tell the news had finally sank in. I felt too guilty to hold him. Too horrible to even ask for affection before I left. So I slept facing away from him while he stared at the back of my head and tried to find a way to ask if I could stay.

Nico never came up with anything. By the morning, I was packed, had kissed my boyfriend goodbye, and slipped out the door. Before I boarded my flight, I made sure to text Jack and remind him to check up on Nico here and there, and even offer to get him out of the house. As long as it wasn’t for hockey. Nico called the first few nights, and texted me nonstop, but eventually his attempts to reach out had dwindled. I feared that he had gotten sick of the long distance. Despite the fact that he is always the one away for work, I couldn’t shake the feeling that me being gone caused him to feel some form of neglect. I reached out to ask how he was doing a few times, but overall I gave him his space for the remainder of the week. By Saturday, today, I was shaking in my boots- trying to get him to answer the phone. What if he wasn’t okay? What if he hated me for leaving?

I only asked Jack twice over the time I’d been gone, how Nico was. And each time, the middle Hughes brother had responded with, ‘he’s doing good.’ No more, no less. I didn’t know that they hadn’t actually spent any time together. I knew I couldn’t text Jack today though, because he was at a morning skate. Instead, I focused my nerves on my bouncing knees and endless flight snacks. And Tetris. Once I landed, I had found an Uber and told the man up front my address. Usually I’d ask someone to pick me up, but my mind was hyper focused on Nico, and an Uber would get me to him faster than one of his teammates.

I tried texting one last time, hopeful that this one would warrant a response: Hey, Nix! I’m on my way home from the airport. Be there in 10.

I went the full ten minutes frantically checking my phone every time I psyched myself into feeling a buzz or hearing a ding. I never got a response.

The moment the taxi pulled over, I already had money in my hand, rushing the words ‘keep the change’ out of my mouth as I scrambled out of the car and dragged my suitcase and laptop bag with me. A wheel on my suitcase broke off when the bag nicked the curb, causing curses to fall from my lips as I spared one look at the lost piece of my unnecessarily expensive bag. One look was all it got, before I was dashing inside the apartment complex I’d known for a year. I almost took the steps before talking myself down from the adrenaline. You’d never get up to your floor before passing out. It was a trip that would have been faster for Nico and his strong legs, but not me. So I waited uncomfortably in the elevator, alongside an elderly woman who wore such a bright smile it made me want to ask her how she could be so happy in a situation like this.

“I swear, suitcases just fall apart at horrible times. Don’t they?” The woman spoke up, and I finally turned my head to look at her. She had blonde but greying hair. Shorter than me- though we’d be close to the same height if I wasn’t wearing converses with thick soles. Perhaps in her 50’s. She was wearing a smile on pink painted lips that matched her bright pink shirt. Her clothes were nothing special, but she looked like a supermodel in that outfit compared to Nico’s navy sweatpants that I wore- and the dark green crop top that was wrinkled everywhere. “There’s a place at the mall that sells great bags. A lot more durable than that piece of junk.”

I could tell she wasn’t trying to be rude, merely insulting a bag that had the audacity to lose a piece of itself when it was needed most. I didn’t realize that my boyfriend was in the same situation in a room up above. I huffed out a ‘thank you’ when the elevator doors opened, stepping out and making a sharp turn down the hall, jogging with the weight of two bags holding me down. The second I got to the apartment door, I dropped my laptop bag. Not my brightest moment.. but Nico.

I fished in my pockets for the keys to the door before finding them, my hands shaking as my anxieties bubbled over the edge of my emotional dam. After I got the door unlocked, I grabbed my laptop bag, moving it maybe a foot from outside of the door to the inside, before dropping it on the floor and setting my suitcase down. The broken wheel was long forgotten until the suitcase fell with a hard slam, the sound echoing through the eerily quiet and dark apartment. I let the door swing shut behind me, fear and hesitance filling my chest as I examined the area around me.

“Nico?” Maybe he wasn’t home. My eyes flickered toward the mat that sat beside the door frame. Nico’s favorite shoes were still there. I looked toward the living room to my left, taking notice of the way the blinds were overlapped to minimize the amount of light that came through. I made my way over to the couch, snatching up the unfolded blanket and the iPad left out. “Nico!” I called again, this time a little more forcefully. Maybe he’d rear his head if he thought I was mad.

He did not. I finally decided to face my fears, holding me back from trudging down the hall to find him. What was I so afraid of? “Baby, I’m home.” I let out a soft sigh, the blanket I held dragging the ground like a child going to find their mother in the night. I peeked into the bathroom, not a single thing out of place. I stopped by the small guest room -which we turned into a reading room of sorts- but he wasn’t in there either. I should have assumed he was in our bedroom. It was the only door in the apartment that was closed. I adopted a much quieter step as I twisted the doorknob, pushing the white barrier open, wincing at the creak.

“Nico.” I whispered this time, wondering if maybe he was asleep. But the blankets on our bed were a holy mess.. and nowhere to be found was my devil. So I left the iPad and blanket on the bed, and checked the master bathroom. Nothing. Not even a towel on the floor. Which he was guilty of leaving from time to time. As I went to close the bathroom door, I finally heard a shuffle- my head whipping as the rest of my body turned to look back into the bedroom. A pair of feet finally appeared from behind the corner of the bed. Silence followed the shuffle, and movement ceased. Relief flooded my system for a solid second before I began to wonder why he was laying on the floor. I cautiously made my way around the bed, leaning forward to see him before I even crossed the room. My heart broke.

Of all the time I’d known Nico, I’ve only ever seen him truly upset maybe a handful of times. He’s a sweet man. A caring one. A driven one. He doesn’t like to open up, and I can understand. Nobody likes to feel like a bother. But this look? A glazed over, empty, lost look.. it was not something I’d ever known his face to hold. He was curled up on the floor, wearing an old teal sweatshirt of mine that I bought in college. It was meant to be over sized on me, but on him it fit just right. He had on a pair of sweats as well, one pant leg bunched up to his knee -so it wouldn’t bother his cast- while the other was just above his ankle. I would have assumed he just took the best nap of his life, but the darkness under his eyes accompanied by red let me know that he hadn’t slept in a while.

I questioned if Nico had earbuds in, but I couldn’t see from the way the hood of my sweatshirt was pulled over his head. I carefully stepped over him, my heart clenching as I slowly knelt down, reaching out to gently pull the hood from Nico’s head. No earbuds, and completely unresponsive. “Nico, baby. What are you doing?” My words were soft, slowly sitting down as I ran my hand through his hair, grimacing momentarily at the feeling of it. My fingers caught in a few tangles, and what was once silky smooth was now greasy. His eyes seemed to reluctantly meet mine, hopeless and yet asking for answers I couldn’t provide. I realized that just as I didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t seem to either. But he wouldn’t talk to me. And then I realized-

My college roommate used to have similar behaviors. Sometimes she would get that dazed and lost look in her eyes. Like she didn’t know what she was living for. Like she had lost a piece of herself and didn’t have the strength to fight to have it back. When she opened up, she called them depressive episodes. I’d always offered to help, but she never let me into her life enough to feel comfortable asking for that assistance when she needed it.

“Okay baby.” I sat down while nodding, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I thought he would have been fine without me. I continued to run my hand through his hair, watching as his face contorted and his brows knit together. Like he was trying to solve a difficult math problem. Not exactly in pain, simply frustrated. When his eyes opened again, they were full of tears, and those thick droplets fell down his cheeks without the aid of any blinking. “Shhh,” I cooed, immediately laying down beside him, and wrapping an arm around him. I’ve never had more strength in my life than I did in that moment, hoisting my heartbroken lover onto my chest as I lay on my back, wrapping my arms around him as sobs began to wrack his body.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t cry too, but my tears were nothing compared to the wails and moans of pure agony that fell from my lover’s lips. When he began to breathe too hard, I would ease my hold on him and whisper numbers and patterns to follow until he settled. And when he cried too hard, I would squeeze him tighter and assure him he was loved, that I was there now, and that I wouldn’t leave him alone again for a really long time. I promised him hockey would return soon, and that we could even visit practices together. I tried to remind him of things he loved and emotions he felt other than what he was experiencing now. I held his head and I kissed his temples, I swear I felt his heart physically break at some point.

What was hours felt like minutes, until the pain settled to a subtle sting in both of our chests- and in our eyes. Nico still refused to speak, but I couldn’t push him. Nor would I. I continued to hold him despite the numbness in my body, feeling him shift occasionally, though he only ever moved his head from my neck to get a breath of air.

“I know you don’t want to hear this right now.. but we should try to get up, okay?” My friend in college used to tell me the hardest part was actually doing anything. I assumed that was why Nico’s hair was so gross, and why I could feel his hip bones pressed against my own, more defined than usual. I was given no response, but I knew Nico well enough to navigate him without words. “Let’s get a shower, sweetie. C’mon.” I tried to pull out from under him, only to feel Nico’s head sway from the crook of my neck and drape over my shoulder. His face was a sight to behold, but even snotty, messy, and asleep, he looked beautiful. My heart hurt for him. So much so that it made my chest hurt, and my stomach turn. “Okay.. just a short nap.”

I wasn’t getting up any time soon. I don’t know when the last time Nico slept was, and I didn’t want to chance him not sleeping again if I woke him up now. So I wrapped my arms back around him, and readjusted his head on my shoulder, supporting him physically and mentally with occasional whispers of love as he snored softly. He wasn’t okay. Far from it. But we would navigate this thing together. I’d travel to the ends of the earth to find the thing that made him happy again. And this time, I’d take him with me.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

#nico hischier #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #new jersey devils #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier imagines

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whoretan · 2 years

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The Hit List | 1

masterlist: here

Summary: The Bangtan Frat is known for its prestige reputation of top GPAs, hosting the hottest most qualified students in the country, and above all: their undefeated list of heartbreaks. What happens when one of the seven ends up drunkenly at your doorstep?

Pairing: Fuckboy!JK, introvert!Reader

Chapters: 1 | 2 |

Genre: Smut (Future), emphasize on the Angst, and Romance

Tags: jeongguk is bad at feelings.

WC: 2.7k

“Did you hear?” Your roommate, Riven, asked as she swung her bookbag onto her bed.

“Heard what?” You turned from the CAD project you’ve been aimlessly staring at the past six, or seven, or eight hours. Said project that’s due in six hours.

Riven paused in her tracks, head inching forward as her mouth flew open, “Kim Taehyung was going around campus saying Dahyun’s pussy smelled like canned tuna.”

You rolled your eyes. “Did he announce this before or after he still decided to fuck her?”

Riven tilted her head, looked at the ceiling for a solid six seconds before shrugging and pulling her iPhone out. Probably to text Taehyung and congratulate him on airing out Dahyun’s personal matters.

Your roommate Riven, much like all the other Bangtan Frat fangirls, didn’t care about whose reputation a particular Bangtan boy ruined. She’d much rather get on their fuckable list, spared reputation or not.

“Seokjin bought Rose the new Dior bag. What a lucky bitch.” Riven turned her phone toward you to reveal a photo of Kim Seokjin’s girlfriend, Rose happily smiling with a mini black handbag wrapped around her shoulder. You leaned forward, squinting to make out the blurry letters that read, ‘Thank you for the gift baby, @K.Seok’.

Apparently, Riven isn’t the only one who didn’t care for her reputation. Last week, your roommate sent you about thirty— maybe sixty texts about how her sorority sister fucked Seokjin in the stairwell of the Bangtan house. Look’s like Christian Dior must’ve been an apology.

You looked up at your starstruck roommate with pursed lips. Riven stared back, then with sudden realization, she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, he cheated on her. So what? That bag is eight-thousand dollars, that’s my fuckin’ meal plan right there.”

“Remind me again how you’re a neurology student.”

Riven’s touched her chest with an open hand with a dramatic gasp and said, “Wow. I see how it is.” She then fell onto her back with an even more dramatic fall.

You grinned.

Oh fuck.

CAD is still open and as much as you indulged in listening to whatever Bangtan was up to, you’ve completed about forty percent of your model. Your machine, an internal combustion engine had to not only be fully rigged but successfully stress analyzed by nine. You’re going to have to sacrifice dinner, yet again. This was the cost of your procrastination. Goddamnit.

“I have to finish this tonight. Do not bother me with any more of this Bangtan shit.” You turn your chair back to face the dreadful white screen and don’t bother to check if your roommate is sticking her tongue out at you or not.

Five and a half hours later you pressed the shining ‘Submit’ button on Blackboard and turned your PC off with so much ferocity the desktop nearly toppled over.

“Never doing that again,” you groaned, slumping into the chair to allow the back of your neck to press against the soft cushion.

“You literally say that every time,” Riven quipped from her side of the room.

If you had the energy, you would’ve stood up and punched her in the ass. Luckily for Riven, your eyes have drooped sixteen times within the past ten minutes. You decided your chair would replace your bed thirty minutes ago.

“How do I look? Good enough for Kim?”

Fucking hell. You brace your core and groan as you muster up enough strength to swirl your chair around to face your roommate. She did look good— real good.

Riven wore a black above-the-knee dress that had a cutout on both sides of the ribs, it paired nicely with the laced-up black heels she spent twenty minutes trying to position correctly. Whining very fucking loudly.

She’d spent the last hour of your project crying about what she was going to wear to Taehyung’s big birthday bash.

“Which one? The cheater or the pussy police?”

Her nose wrinkled, “You’re so annoying.”

Yeah, it’s definitely the pussy police.

Riven stumbled toward her drawer, rummaging through three drawers before pulling out a neon orange tiny bag. No, seriously, it had to be like two inches max. “Can you even fit anything in there?”

A wicked smile riddled her face and she opened the toy purse, pulling out a matching neon orange wrapper in between her middle and index finger. Of-fucking-course.

“I’m serious. He’s going to lay it down on me tonight.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t remind him of the tuna.”

You swore she lunged forward, ready to attack you with the mini weapon. But, her phone rang, which happened to be a far more pressing matter. The assault could wait. Riven pressed the phone to her ear with a smile, “Are you here? Yeah, I’m ready, you have the Pink Whitney? Okay. Bye.”

“I’ll get you back for that later. Bye.”

Riven leaped out of the room, neon orange bag and condom disappearing with her.

After nearly crawling your way across the room for thirty minutes, you finally made it to your bed. The problem now was getting on top of it. Your school so generously gave everyone the tallest fucking beds in existence. Tall enough that all of your belongings fit underneath it so they could make the rooms ten times smaller by doing so.

You sat on your ass, glaring at what felt like a sixteen-foot space between you and the mattress. You could, theoretically just fucking get up and with one last surge of energy jump onto it. But, the soft cotton of your fuzzy rug was suddenly hugging your back. Tucking you in, cradling you.

Fuck it, the floor isn’t even that bad. You’ve slept on much worse.

Your head lay flat on the floor, the hardwood never felt softer. Riven left hours ago and you managed to successfully knock out on your chair. That was until you jolted up, sweating out of every crevice of your body, and made eye contact with the cloud of softness. You said bye-bye to the chair and began the voyage to your bed. Clearly, that was not going as expected.

It was too late now to dwell on what could’ve been. Tomorrow, you’ll start anew. Just like every night she partied, Riven won’t be back for two or three days. You’ll have a full day to sleep on your bed without the mention of Bangtan and internal combustion engines.

You turned to your side, the fuzz tickling your chin as you nuzzled into it.

“Kristen! Baby, please open the door.”

The hairs on your arms rose and a fart you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in released into the air. Drunk fucker has the wrong door.

With a shaky breath, you nuzzled into the carpet again.

Not a second later, a bang erupted through your room. “Baby, please. I’m so sorry. I love you.”

Your heart thrashed in your chest. Could you not have one night of peace? One night of tranquility to enjoy your own company? One night to enjoy sleeping on the hard floor?

“Kristen, for fuckssake.” The asshole nearly knocked the fucking door off the wall.

First, you’re going to knock him the hell out. Then, you’ll find out who Kristen is and then knock her out, too.

“Baby, please—“

You jolted upwards and ran to the door so fast you must’ve broken a World Record. Swinging the wooden panel open like a madwoman, you yelled, “Listen asshole, I don’t know who Kristin is and I don’t give a damn. It’s late as hell and some of us actually enjoy sleeping.”

Said asshole leaned against the door frame of your room, tattooed index finger wiggling in the air until it met your lips, “Shhhhh, baby, I said I’m sorry.”

Your throat locked and you nearly laughed at the audacity. Did the fucker really not notice you weren’t his girlfriend?

Said asshole happened to also push himself off the door frame and trudge past you, right into your room as if he’d been in here a million times.

Much like you wanted to before your carpet trapped you, the stranger leaped onto your bed, stomach flopping onto the cushion of your mattress. He muttered something you couldn’t hear as he grabbed your favorite pillow and brought it close to his chest. He was snuggling your Mr. Gummy.

You were going to go to jail for manslaughter. Yeah. This was the end of your girl boss engineering career. Goodbye feminist STEM icon. Hello murderer. All those years of suffering to get into an IVY just for you to murder some tattooed frat boy.

“Babe, I don’t remember your bed smelling this good.” He’d gone into a fetal position, kicking off his— were those Balenciagas? Maybe, just maybe, you’d kill him and then sell his shoes on Poshmark. Maybe.

You rubbed your forehead with the back of your palm, picking up the sweat that had accumulated. You swung your head out of your door, left and right, and then repeat. Empty. Fuck. Fuck, and fuck.

You paced back and forth a few times, biting on the edge of your hand. You can’t pick this behemoth off your bed. One, he’s drunk as hell. Two, he’s… You gazed back at the stranger, somewhere on his voyage to your bed he tossed the black and white flannel he wore to your floor. Leaving him in a tight tank top that left nothing to the imagination.

Who needs that many back muscles? The curvature of the tattooed arm that hugged Mr. Gummy was sculpted by the Greek Gods themselves.

Holy hell. Get a fucking grip.

Okay, so you can’t drag Apollo out of your room.

Plan B it is.

You trudged into your room, taking one last look at the hallway. Should you close the door?

If someone did hypothetically walk past would they think you drugged him? He was slurring his words and hugging your favorite bear while you paced back and forth like you happened to “accidentally” slip something into his protein shake.

You closed the door.

You needed to call Riven. You could care less that she was at the beginning of her three-day rager, you weren’t going to wait till the next morning when Apollo would wake up and start accusing you of sexually assaulting him.

You slowly walked toward your desk, making sure to avoid the panels on the floor that creased every time someone stepped on them. Empty. You pushed your chair back to see if it happened to fall earlier. Empty.

The air stilled, and you shook your head. No. No. He was laying on it.

You chucked the fucking thing on your bed after deciding to finally start your project. You had to call Riven. There was no other choice but to tell someone. And given the fact that your contact list included your parents and Riven, she’s looking like the most optimal candidate.

As silently as you could, you tip-toed toward your bed and did a quick examination. Near his head? Nope. Mr. Gummy? Nope. Legs? Nope. Ass?

Yeah.

Maybe you would go to jail after all, for fucking assault.

You better get an A on that fucking project.

You took a step forward, awkwardly climbing the edge of your bed to get closer to your phone. Which was nicely tucked right under Apollo’s sculpted ass. Your camera barely peeking out as if it was taunting you.

Shit. How are you going to pull it out?

Your face contorted as you inched closer to the stranger, thumb and middle finger clutching the edges of your phone and lightly tugging backward. Apollo huffed out a groan. Dear god.

It’s not budging.

In and out. Breathe.

You tugged again.

Something thudded against the floor.

Your eyes left Apollo’s ass and gazed to the floor where your Mr. Gummy lay sacrificed to the floor demons. Uh oh.

You turned back to Apollo when your eyes locked with his. His very open eyes.

He was smiling.

“Baby I didn’t know you were into ass-play.”

You stared. Couldn’t muster enough energy to do anything else but stare. Stare at the face of the beautiful drunk idiot in front of you. Emphasize on the beautiful.

The idiot had a pretty and playful smile riddling his face. Kristen must be a lucky girl. Not lucky enough, though. How drunk did someone have to be to not recognize their girlfriend?

“C’mere,” he grabbed your arm, pulling you to your side as if you weighed nothing. A heavy hand locked around your waist and began rubbing circles on your stomach.

“Missed you, n’ I’m sorry baby,” he slurred into your ear. His voice was much lower now.

Kristen, I’m so sorry.

The words shot straight to your pussy. You hadn’t been touched in nine months. Sue me. A hot fucking guy was rubbing your lower stomach while he told you— his girlfriend he missed her.

You need your phone. Pronto.

“Listen— I” You raised a clammy hand to lift Apollo’s, attempting to wrap your fingers around his wrist to lift it.

“You’re so touchy tonight,” he intertwined your fingers.

What the fuck are you supposed to do? You inched your back further into the stranger in an attempt to shrug him off of you.

Apollo thought otherwise. Bucking his hips forward until you felt it.

FUCK.

You’ll wake up with blue balls and a warrant.

“I’m really tired,” you squirmed against the death grip around your waist.

Just pretend it’s not there. You do not feel anything. Just rock hard abs. Abs and his—

“G’to bed baby. I’ll make it up- make it up to you n’ the morning.” Apollo lifted himself to place one last slobbery kiss against your cheek.

Two minutes later Apollo’s light snores vibrated against the back of your neck, warm breath caressing your skin. You wouldn’t be able to move him off you. You have no clue where your phone is. His ass could very well have fully consumed it at this point.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, pretended there wasn’t a stranger sleeping in your bed, and prayed that you wouldn’t end up in jail before noon.

“OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL!”

Are you being robbed? Is someone being murdered? You jolted upwards to see Riven staring at you with an open mouth.

You shook your head. What’s her problem?

She pointed to your bed and you turned your body to the side. Oh.

Oh.

Apollo was rapidly blinking, brows furrowing as he was most likely realizing you were not Kristen.

You laughed nervously, hands flailing in front of you. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Why is Jeon Jeongguk in your bed?”

Jeon Jeongguk? The same Bangtan Frat Jeon Jeongguk? No way.

This Jeongguk cuddled Mr. Gummy half of the night before opting to trap you in the bed with him. There was no chance that this was the same Jeon Jeongguk that partied seven days a week and had laid about the entire student population.

Apollo— Jeongguk groaned beside you, hands rubbing his face. “Kristen’s going to kill me.” He mumbled underneath his breath.

“No, we— we didn’t. We.” You pointed to Jeongguk who tilted his head with a grin.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m sure it was the time of your life, but this was a one-time thing.”

Your eyes bulged out of their sockets. Was he serious? Did he think you two? And he was okay with it? Now, this fits the description perfectly of the narcissistic asshole Jeon Jeongguk you expected him to be.

Your face was warm. “We did not have sex. He came in here drunk off his ass screaming about his girlfriend.”

By the time the word 'girlfriend' left your mouth, Jeon Jeongguk had already jumped off your bed, picked up his flannel, and was halfway down the hallway. Probably to see the real Kristen.

What an arrogant little prick. Your muscles quivered, you were going to strangle him. That is if you ever see him again.

“How long have you and Jeongguk been seeing each other?” The empty spot beside you filled. “Is that why you hated talking about Bangtan?”

“Riven, you have five seconds to get off of my bed before I strangle you.”

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #jungkook fuckboy #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic rec #jungkook is an asshole #slow burn #jungkook college au #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook playboy au #jungkook fuckboy au #The Hit List

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pitviperofdoom · 1 year

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You know, now that it's been at least ten years since I last read this book, my understanding of morality has matured, and my most recent/current fandom was an in-depth exploration of how people trapped in inescapable traumatic situations make choices and treat each other, I do find myself sort of grudgingly sympathizing with Druwp.

Not in a "he was a woobie all along" sense, more in an "okay, fine, he's still an awful dumpster of an animal but I can see how he came to the conclusion that aligning with their captors was the only survivable option" sense.

And I can't decide if this makes it darkly funny or more tragic, but God was he bad at it. Like he tried so hard to be a good little stool pigeon, but he gained absolutely nothing from it and so did Badrang.

Okay so he did get table scraps from Skalrag for a little while, but as far as we know Skalrag never actually learned anything useful from him. And then when he went on to tell Badrang that the other slaves were hiding a stockpile of weapons, he did get a decent meal out of it... which, let's be honest, probably came right back up when Badrang came back to beat the crap out of him after they didn't find anything. His last act in the book was to sound the alarm when the slaves were escaping, but in the end Badrang was down half his slaves and Druwp was dead. And the rest of the slaves escape later anyway, so he doesn't even have that going for him, not that Badrang would have given two shits about his "sacrifice" even if they hadn't.

It's incredible how thoroughly he sabotaged himself at every turn. Barkjon told him they'd be watching him, and they were watching him, and because of that his warning about the weapons was useless. And then when the chance to actually make things better for himself comes up--it wasn't some ragtag jailbreak attempt, Felldoh brought outside help, it was an organized rescue--Druwp fucks it up for everybody but especially for himself by sounding the alarm instead of taking the opportunity to get the fuck out of there. He didn't have to stay for the subsequent battles! If he'd said "screw all of you, I'm out of here" no one would have stopped him! But no, instead he ensures not only that one of the scariest, angriest former slaves has every reason to want to kill him (and does), but that even if he hadn't, Druwp would've stayed stuck in the same shitty situation that forced him to risk his life as a traitor in the first place.

Like this poor asshole tried so hard to invoke crab bucket rules and the only one he actually kept in the bucket was himself. Great job, idiot, and now I'm old enough to conceptualize the fucked-up thought process that made you think any of that was a good idea.

#redwall #redwall reread #martin the warrior #tw slavery #just to be safe

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timevir · 4 months

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2024 - A New Timevir

This post contains some words about the loss of death.

Writing is a very fun hobby that I've done for as long as I can remember. It probably started as written exercises and fanfiction during childhood. It transformed into intricate worldbuilding as I was introduced to the hobby of tabletop roleplaying. In recent years, I've written interactive fiction, scripts, novels and sourcebooks.

But one constant caveat is that I almost never shared my work. It was an enjoyable process to convert thoughts and feelings into substantative manifestations in the physical realm. Yet despite many coworkers, friends and family members asking about them, I'd always give the same answer of "it's personal and not worth sharing".

I thought about why I was doing this, and noticed I have been living the life of an observer. I enjoy the detail of the world around me, and paying attention to things that others would consider irrelevant. I would even deliberately put myself out of my comfort zone if it meant putting myself in a location that I could see something new. If there was an interesting protest in the city I was living in, if there was a strange, dangerous event occurring in the vicinity or if there was an unusual experience or location to be discovered, I'd happily waltz in and act like that I was meant to be there. During the riskier parts of youth, it even meant a bit of trespassing, but I stopped doing that after a few dangerous close calls.

What I was not doing as an observer was manifesting that in the world. Many of my projects would be built, some even to completion, and then they'd sit in a box, frozen and inaccessible through their obscurity. Nothing I made ever felt like it was deserved observation compared to the rich tapestry of the world around me. Even in the rare moments I found pride in something, it would soon feel obsolete compared to some next logical alternative.

A lot of my life has been spent on "the grind". Work had seemingly crept its way into absorbing the free energy I had in an addictive loop. At first, it was merely a way of ensuring survival and trying to get out of school debt. It took the majority of my late 20s to get out of school debt, a feat I was able to just reach before my 30th birthday. A few more months, and I had a decent emergency fund and a "real" disposable income, assuming I wasn't going to try and buy a house (which to be honest, isn't an exciting proposition at the moment. Real estate trends caused by high demand have made housing costs extortionate, but that's a discussion for another time).

Work is of course necessary for human survival. Indeed, if we took a snapshot of lives lead across history, nearly everyone has had to contribute in some way to their communities for them to function well. The meaning of work has shifted through the various periods of history significantly, but its goals have remained the same. What is implictly understood, even if not necessarily well recorded, is that there was a whole tapestry of living that existed outside of these actions that could mean vastly more to the people that lived around them. While much of these ideas have persisted through the passing of cultural works, very rarely have we got a good snapshot of the life of any specific individual, even if they potentially had amazing tales to tell.

Identity has slipped through my fingers somewhat accidentally. It had felt much easier to sacrifice every bit of effort to accumulate knowledge, resources and a position of comfort than it took to stand for anything. At first I may have resisted the ideas of exaggerating an accomplishment, or cutting on the quality of a product to create it faster, but those values became too easy to discard when reward was on the table. But if anyone were to ask me about the morals of the situation from the outside, I'd remark a half-mealed "it depends" which really meant nothing beyond the acknowledgement strong values had merit and self-interest could get in the way.

It seemed like the intelligent thing to do because the things that were remembered across time were great accomplishments, long standing monuments and the best and worst of events moulding humanity's timeline. It was easy to mistake what was memorialized for what was important in life. It then followed that if memorialization was an ultimate goal, that the best way to do so was to accomplish some great feat was to set yourself up with as much power as could be wielded, a good proxy for which was money, before putting all that strength into ventures in the hope that something would hit and a legend would be born.

It is possible I could have remained trapped in that vicious craving for objectives if it wasn't for a life shattering event at the end of 2023. It was at this time that my younger brother died unexpectedly in his mid twenties. A whole life was potentially ahead of him, but it was cut short at almost no notice. My relatively normal family crumbled into chaos and it was shattered.

In the emotional fallout, I looked again at what I had done. Of course I did not regret unburdening myself from debt, or succeeding at a career. But in all the push for an abstract notion of success and legend, I had lost an invaluable voice that could never be replicated. My brother had lived his life to his fullest in his time on Earth. He had moved country, he had found love and friendship, and he had ideas of a future. Seeing these wither into tears, memories, and finally a grave, made me realise in the end that a memorial would not make up for the moments that would never be had again.

My new year's resolution for 2024 is to try to reestablish a voice. To truly live in the world and not merely plan a story for my death. To make sure that my friendships and bonds remain strong and not let them disappear due to the inconvenience of maintenance. To stand for something and not just exist in the pursuit of convenience.

One way I am going to test myself on this goal is to try to make sure I write something down each week. Something public. It won't necessarily be something profound, but at least it may prevent me from slipping back into forgetting about the things that really matter. Perhaps it is better to exist in the world than merely drift through it.

#new year #new year resolutions #grief

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istumpysk · 1 year

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Daenerys IV (Chapter 23)

Her cooks had prepared them a magnificent meal of honeyed lamb, fragrant with crushed mint and served with the small green figs she liked so much. Two of Dany's favorite hostages served the food and kept the cups filled—a doe-eyed little girl called Qezza and a skinny boy named Grazhar.

+.+.+

They were brother and sister, and cousins of the Green Grace, who greeted them with kisses when she swept in, and asked them if they had been good.

The Green Grace's cousins are her hostages? I'm sure Galazza Galare is totally cool with that.

+.+.+

"Perhaps your gods can help us. Ask them to send a gale and sweep the galleys from the bay."

"I shall pray and make sacrifice. Mayhaps the gods of Ghis will hear me." Galazza Galare sipped her wine, but her eyes did not leave Dany.

It's the little things.

+.+.+

"Storms rage within the walls as well as without. More freedmen died last night, or so I have been told."

"Three." Saying it left a bitter taste in her mouth. "The cowards broke in on some weavers, freedwomen who had done no harm to anyone. All they did was make beautiful things. I have a tapestry they gave me hanging over my bed. The Sons of the Harpy broke their loom and raped them before slitting their throats."

I wonder who told Galazza Galare?

I seem to remember another Green Grace cousin was ordered to buy weavers a new loom.

The noble Grazdan had once owned a slave woman who was a very fine weaver, it seemed; the fruits of her loom were greatly valued, not only in Meereen, but in New Ghis and Astapor and Qarth. When this woman had grown old, Grazdan had purchased half a dozen young girls and commanded the crone to instruct them in the secrets of her craft. The old woman was dead now. The young ones, freed, had opened a shop by the harbor wall to sell their weavings. Grazdan zo Galare asked that he be granted a portion of their earnings. "They owe their skill to me," he insisted. "I plucked them from the auction bloc and gave them to the loom."

[...]

"Let us say Elza. Here is our ruling. From the girls, you shall have nothing. It was Elza who taught them weaving, not you. From you, the girls shall have a new loom, the finest coin can buy. That is for forgetting the name of the old woman." - Daenerys I, ADWD

Unfortunately Daenerys is an idiot, and never questions whether House of Galare had anything to do with this.

Even a Lannister could connect these dots.

+.+.+

"This we have heard. And yet Your Radiance has found the courage to answer butchery with mercy. You have not harmed any of the noble children you hold as hostage."

"Not as yet, no." Dany had grown fond of her young charges. Some were shy and some were bold, some sweet and some sullen, but all were innocent. "If I kill my cupbearers, who will pour my wine and serve my supper?" she said, trying to make light of it.

The priestess did not smile.

Wow, that was a terrible joke.

If Galazza Galare is the Harpy, Daenerys just told her the children won't be harmed.

For the record, I will not be applauding Daenerys for sparing her child hostages. Talk about a low bar.

+.+.+

"The Shavepate would feed them to your dragons, it is said. A life for a life. For every Brazen Beast cut down, he would have a child die."

Dany pushed her food about her plate. She dare not glance over to where Grazhar and Qezza stood, for fear that she might cry. The Shavepate has a harder heart than mine. They had fought about the hostages half a dozen times. "The Sons of the Harpy are laughing in their pyramids," Skahaz said, just this morning. "What good are hostages if you will not take their heads?" In his eyes, she was only a weak woman. Hazzea was enough. What good is peace if it must be purchased with the blood of little children? "These murders are not their doing," Dany told the Green Grace, feebly. "I am no butcher queen."

Say her name.

The Shavepate is not making any friends in Meereen.

+.+.+

"These are grievous times. Your Radiance, might I presume to offer you my counsel?"

"You know how much I value your wisdom."

"Then heed me now and marry."

It's the Green Grace's idea that she marry. That's probably important.

+.+.+

Dany speared a chunk of lamb, took a bite from it, chewed slowly. "Tell me, can this king puff his cheeks up and blow Xaro's galleys back to Qarth? Can he clap his hands and break the siege of Astapor? Can he put food in the bellies of my children and bring peace back to my streets?"

"Can you?" the Green Grace asked. "A king is not a god, but there is still much that a strong man might do. When my people look at you, they see a conqueror from across the seas, come to murder us and make slaves of our children. A king could change that. A highborn king of pure Ghiscari blood could reconcile the city to your rule. Elsewise, I fear, your reign must end as it began, in blood and fire."

I think this is sensible advice.

If she is the Harpy, she appears to be open to negotiation.

+.+.+

"Hizdahr zo Loraq," Galazza Galare said firmly.

Dany did not trouble to feign surprise. "Why Hizdahr? Skahaz is noble born as well."

"Skahaz is Kandaq, Hizdahr Loraq. Your Radiance will forgive me, but only one who is not herself Ghiscari would not understand the difference. Oft have I heard that yours is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, Jaehaerys the Wise, and Daeron the Dragon. The noble Hizdahr is of the blood of Mazdhan the Magnificent, Hazrak the Handsome, and Zharaq the Liberator."

Laying the foundation for a Kandaq vs. Loraq feud.

If you're unfamiliar with the Meereenese Knot essays, it's been theorized that the Shavepate attempted to poison Daenerys and frame Hizdahr to destroy the peace.

+.+.+

"His forebears are as dead as mine. Will Hizdahr raise their shades to defend Meereen against its enemies? I need a man with ships and swords. You offer me ancestors."

YOU WANT A HUSBAND WITH SHIPS?

+.+.+

"We are an old people. Ancestors are important to us. Wed Hizdahr zo Loraq and make a son with him, a son whose father is the harpy, whose mother is the dragon. In him the prophecies shall be fulfilled, and your enemies will melt away like snow."

And your enemies will melt away, like Snow.

+.+.+

He shall be the stallion that mounts the world. Dany knew how it went with prophecies. They were made of words, and words were wind. There would be no son for Loraq, no heir to unite dragon and harpy. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. Only then would her womb quicken once again …

That stallion already rides amongst us.

Anyway, unreliable narrator Daenerys Targaryen. That's not what she said.

"When will he be as he was?" Dany demanded.

"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east," said Mirri Maz Duur. "When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before." - Daenerys IX, AGOT

Not sure what to make of that screw up, but I'm confident Daenerys won't be having any more children. Three is enough.

+.+.+

If I wed Hizdahr, will that turn Skahaz against me? She trusted Skahaz more than she trusted Hizdahr, but the Shavepate would be a disaster as a king. He was too quick to anger, too slow to forgive. She saw no gain in wedding a man as hated as herself. Hizdahr was well respected, so far as she could see.

If she trusts Skahaz more than she trusts Hizdahr, that should tell you everything you need to know.

One by one, Hizdahr removes us all. Strong Belwas lingered at the door of death in the temple, under the care of the Blue Graces … though Selmy half suspected they were finishing the job those honeyed locusts had begun. Skahaz Shavepate had been stripped of his command. - The Queensguard, ADWD

Quick to anger, too slow to forgive.

+.+.+

Hizdahr wore a plain green robe beneath a quilted vest. He bowed low when he entered, his face solemn. "Have you no smile for me?" Dany asked him. "Am I as fearful as all that?"

"I always grow solemn in the presence of such beauty."

It was a good start.

+.+.+

I can reconcile the city to your rule and put an end to this nightly slaughter in the streets.

"Can you?" Dany studied his eyes. "Why should the Sons of the Harpy lay down their knives for you? Are you one of them?"

"No."

"Would you tell me if you were?"

He laughed. "No."

Wait, let me think about this.

Galazza Galare, the Green Grace, advises Daenerys to marry Hizdahr zo Loraq.

↓

Hizdahr zo Loraq tells Daenerys if they marry he can end the bloodshed.

↓

They marry, the bloodshed stops.

+.+.+

"The Shavepate has ways of finding the truth."

"I do not doubt that Skahaz would soon have me confessing. A day with him, and I will be one of the Harpy's Sons. Two days, and I will be the Harpy. Three, and it will turn out I slew your father too, back in the Sunset Kingdoms when I was yet a boy.

The Shavepate has a talent for obtaining false confessions. Got it!

The Shavepate's voice was muffled by his mask, but Selmy could hear the anger in it. "I have the poisoner."

"Who?"

"Hizdahr's confectioner. His name would mean nothing to you. The man was just a catspaw. The Sons of the Harpy took his daughter and swore she would be returned unharmed once the queen was dead. Belwas and the dragon saved Daenerys. No one saved the girl. She was returned to her father in the black of night, in nine pieces. One for every year she lived."

[...]

"This … this confectioner, I want to question him myself. Alone."

"Is it that way?" The Shavepate crossed his arms against his chest. "Done, then. Question him as you like." - The Queensguard, ADWD

+.+.+

"Why would you want to help me? For the crown?"

"A crown would suit me well, I will not deny that. It is more than that, however. Is it so strange that I would want to protect my own people, as you protect your freedmen? Meereen cannot endure another war, Your Radiance."

That was a good answer, and an honest one.

What if - hear me out - he's being sincere? What if Galazza (Harpy?) and Hizdahr genuinely want to negotiate and make this work?

What if the peace is real?

Edit: This is not a defense of the Sons of the Harpy.

+.+.+

"You have not said you love me."

"I will, if it would please Your Radiance."

"That is not the answer of a man in love."

Jesus christ, get a dog.

+.+.+

"What is love? Desire? No man with all his parts could ever look on you and not desire you, Daenerys. That is not why I would marry you, however. Before you came Meereen was dying. Our rulers were old men with withered cocks and crones whose puckered cunts were dry as dust. They sat atop their pyramids sipping apricot wine and talking of the glories of the Old Empire whilst the centuries slipped by and the very bricks of the city crumbled all around them. Custom and caution had an iron grip upon us till you awakened us with fire and blood. A new time has come, and new things are possible. Marry me."

What if - hear me out - he's being sincere? What if Galazza (Harpy?) and Hizdahr genuinely want to negotiate and make this work?

What if the peace is real?

Edit: This is not a defense of the Sons of the Harpy.

+.+.+

"Not that way. Kiss me as if I were your wife."

Hizdahr took her by the shoulders as tenderly as if she were a baby bird. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was light and dry and quick. Dany felt no stirrings.

I lied. He's not being sincere when he pretends she's the most beautiful woman in the world.

+.+.+

On her terrace, in her bathing pool, the little fish would nibble at her legs as she soaked. Even they kissed with more fervor than Hizdahr zo Loraq. "I do not love you."

Hizdahr shrugged. "That may come, in time. It has been known to happen that way."

Not with us, she thought. Not whilst Daario is so close. It's him I want, not you.

Doomed to fail before they even get started.

I'm going to make a prediction! When this all goes to hell, it won't be Hizdahr's fault.

+.+.+

"One day I will want to return to Westeros, to claim the Seven Kingdoms that were my father's."

"One day all men must die, but it serves no good to dwell on death. I prefer to take each day as it comes."

Lol. Okay.

+.+.+

Dany folded her hands together. "Words are wind, even words like love and peace. I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms, knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon's hoard."

Trying to prove himself worthy of the fair maiden, a knight steals a crown from a dragon.

I'd love to read that story.

+.+.+

Hizdahr arched an eyebrow. "The only dragons that I know are yours, and magic swords are even scarcer. I will gladly bring you rings and crowns and chests of gold if that is your desire."

Well.

+.+.+

"Peace is my desire. You say that you can help me end the nightly slaughter in my streets. I say do it. Put an end to this shadow war, my lord. That is your quest. Give me ninety days and ninety nights without a murder, and I will know that you are worthy of a throne. Can you do that?"

He can!

What's the takeaway here? Do we know who the Harpy is? I have a guess.

+.+.+

Hizdahr looked thoughtful. "Ninety days and ninety nights without a corpse, and on the ninety-first we wed?"

"Perhaps," said Dany, with a coy look. "Though young girls have been known to be fickle. I may still want a magic sword."

Funny author.

When your dragons were small they were a wonder. Grown, they are death and devastation, a flaming sword above the world. - Daenerys III, ADWD

+.+.+

If Meereen knew that a wedding was in the offing, that alone might buy her a few nights' respite, even if Hizdahr's efforts came to naught. The Shavepate will not be happy with me, but Reznak mo Reznak will dance for joy. Dany did not know which of those concerned her more. She needed Skahaz and the Brazen Beasts, and she had come to mistrust all of Reznak's counsel. Beware the perfumed seneschal. Has Reznak made common cause with Hizdahr and the Green Grace and set some trap to snare me?

More Shavepate. Shavepate all over this chapter.

Reznak would be happy Meereen is healing, while the Shavepate would be pissed. And it's Reznak she mistrusts.

+.+.+

"It is not my place to choose your husband."

"It is not," she agreed, "but it is important to me that you should understand. My people are bleeding. Dying. A queen belongs not to herself, but to the realm. Marriage or carnage, those are my choices. A wedding or a war."

"Your Grace, may I speak frankly?"

"Always."

"There is a third choice."

"Westeros?"

He nodded. "I am sworn to serve Your Grace, and to keep you safe from harm wherever you may go. My place is by your side, whether here or in King's Landing … but your place is back in Westeros, upon the Iron Throne that was your father's. The Seven Kingdoms will never accept Hizdahr zo Loraq as king."

"No more than Meereen will accept Daenerys Targaryen as queen. The Green Grace has the right of that. I need a king beside me, a king of old Ghiscari blood. Elsewise they will always see me as the uncouth barbarian who smashed through their gates, impaled their kin on spikes, and stole their wealth."

"In Westeros you will be the lost child who returns to gladden her father's heart. Your people will cheer when you ride by, and all good men will love you."

Oh, well, if Barristan is saying it.

Her place is not in Westeros. It's here, cleaning up this mess.

I've gone from thinking Barristan Selmy is a bootlicking loser to thinking he's a massive liability that will cost her dearly.

+.+.+

"And if he does not fail? What will Your Grace do then?"

"Her duty." The word felt cold upon her tongue. "You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?"

The old knight hesitated. "Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her."

Fond, thought Dany. The word spoke volumes. I could become fond of Hizdahr zo Loraq, in time. Perhaps.

Targaryens doing their duty? Don't hold your breath.

+.+.+

Ser Barristan went on. "I saw your father and your mother wed as well. Forgive me, but there was no fondness there, and the realm paid dearly for that, my queen."

What the hell is he talking about? Since when did the realm pay dearly because Aerys married Rhaella? As if she made him go batshit crazy.

+.+.+

"Why did they wed if they did not love each other?"

"Your grandsire commanded it. A woods witch had told him that the prince was promised would be born of their line."

"A woods witch?" Dany was astonished.

"She came to court with Jenny of Oldstones. A stunted thing, grotesque to look upon. A dwarf, most people said, though dear to Lady Jenny, who always claimed that she was one of the children of the forest."

"What became of her?"

"Summerhall." The word was fraught with doom.

+.+.+

Daario. Her heart gave a flutter in her chest. "How long has … when did he …?" She could not seem to get the words out.

[...]

How could I ever hope to sleep, knowing that my captain so close? "Send him up at once. And … I will have no more need of you this evening. I shall be safe with Daario. Oh, and send Irri and Jhiqui, if you would be so good. And Missandei." I need to change, to make myself beautiful.

She said as much to her handmaids when they came. "What does Your Grace wish to wear?" asked Missandei.

Starlight and seafoam, Dany thought, a wisp of silk that leaves my left breast bare for Daario's delight. Oh, and flowers for my hair. When first they met, the captain brought her flowers every day, all the way from Yunkai to Meereen. "Bring the grey linen gown with the pearls on the bodice. Oh, and my white lion's pelt." She always felt safer wrapped in Drogo's lionskin.

It's giving 11-year-old Sansa.

+.+.+

"How many men did you lose in the fighting?"

"Nine," said Daario, "but a dozen of the Long Lances decided they would sooner be Stormcrows than corpses, so we came out three ahead. I told them they would live longer fighting with your dragons than against them, and they saw the wisdom in my words."

The more turncoats the better!

+.+.+

That made her wary. "They might be spying for Yunkai."

"They are too stupid to be spies. You do not know them."

"Neither do you. Do you trust them?"

"I trust all my men. Just as far as I can spit." He spat out a seed and smiled at her suspicions. "Shall I bring their heads to you? I will, if you command it. One is bald and two have braids and one dyes his beard four different colors. What spy would wear such a beard, I ask you? The slinger can put a stone through a gnat's eye at forty paces, and the ugly one has a way with horses, but if my queen says that they must die …"

I don't know Daario, what type of spy would dye his beard?

+.+.+

Daario tossed away the pear stem. "Qartheen have milk in their veins. Let them see your dragons, and they'll run."

Dany did not want to talk about the dragons. Farmers still came to her court with burned bones, complaining of missing sheep, though Drogon had not returned to the city. Some reported seeing him north of the river, above the grass of the Dothraki sea. Down in the pit, Viserion had snapped one of his chains; he and Rhaegal grew more savage every day.

Viserion, Breaker of Chains.

The dragons are growing more savage by the day! They're wild, they're untamed! She can't be controlled!

+.+.+

"This I knew. One of the Long Lances lived long enough to tell us that men were eating one another in the Red City. He said Meereen's turn would come soon, so I cut his tongue out and fed it to a yellow dog. No dog will eat a liar's tongue. When the yellow dog ate his, I knew he spoke the truth."

I've never been more aroused by a man.

You know who else cuts out tongues? Happy to see she wasn't instantly turned off.

+.+.+

"You are fighting shadows when you should be fighting the men who cast them," Daario went on. "Kill them all and take their treasures, I say. Whisper the command, and your Daario will make you a pile of their heads taller than this pyramid."

The next Jon chapter,

"Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall." - Jon VI, ADWD

And not long after that,

No doubt that was one reason the high priest Benerro had chosen him to bring the faith of R'hllor to Daenerys Targaryen. "Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all." - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

+.+.+

He had been so long away, Dany had almost forgotten what he was. Sellswords were treacherous by nature, she reminded herself. Fickle, faithless, brutal. He will never be more than he is. He will never be the stuff of kings.

How astute.

I'm excited to see more personal development in her chapters to come.

+.+.+

"Then winkle them out of their pyramids on some pretext. A wedding might serve. Why not? Promise your hand to Hizdahr and all the Great Masters will come to see you married. When they gather in the Temple of the Graces, turn us loose upon them."

Dany was appalled. He is a monster. A gallant monster, but a monster still.

Alright, Tywin.

A million voices in her ear, and all the wrong ones get amplified.

+.+.+

Daario shrugged. "Most queens have no purpose but to warm some king's bed and pop out sons for him. If that's the sort of queen you mean to be, best marry Hizdahr."

Her anger flashed. "Have you forgotten who I am?"

"No. Have you?"

Viserys would have his head off for that insolence. "I am the blood of the dragon. Do not presume to teach me lessons." When Dany stood, the lion pelt slipped from her shoulders and tumbled to the ground. "Leave me."

No, she hasn't.

You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words.

"Fire and Blood," Daenerys told the swaying grass. - Daenerys X, ADWD

+.+.+

"I want them gone. Let them scout the Yunkish hinterlands and give protection to any caravans coming over the Khyzai Pass. Henceforth Daario shall make his reports to you. Give him every honor that is due him and see that his men are well paid, but on no account admit him to my presence."

Super impressed with her maturity here.

I can't wait to read her next few chapters and witness more growth.

+.+.+

That night she could not sleep but turned and twisted restlessly in her bed. She even went so far as to summon Irri, hoping her caresses might help ease her way to rest, but after a short while she pushed the Dothraki girl away. Irri was sweet and soft and willing, but she was not Daario.

When Tyrion and Daenerys meet and it gets awkward, maybe they can discuss their shared interest in bed slaves.

+.+.+

What have I done? she thought, huddled in her empty bed. I have waited so long for him to come back, and I send him away. "He would make a monster of me," she whispered, "a butcher queen." But then she thought of Drogon far away, and the dragons in the pit. There is blood on my hands too, and on my heart. We are not so different, Daario and I. We are both monsters.

All the memes!

Final thoughts:

Not all girls know what it means to be bound by duty. Not all girls are meant to be queens.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #daenerys iv

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fitnesspizzainmydiet · 1 year

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NEVER SAY NO TO PIZZA AGAIN

Growing up we had pizza at least once a week. My father was born and raised in Brooklyn and man, did he love his pizza. He would call home every Thursday and ask, “did your mother cook?” to which I would always sarcastically reply “of course not, it’s pizza night!” and then he would say “call up Dickie Dees, order a large pie with extra cheese and pepperoni, well done. Tell them ‘Jimmy’ will be there in ten minutes.” Some of my favorite memories with my dad include us either ordering pizza and watching WWE, or stopping at random hole in the wall pizza joints to see what they were about.

I’ll never forget, two weeks after getting my tonsils removed my mother got called into work for an emergency meeting and my father was responsible for feeding my siblings and I dinner that night. Guess what he ordered?

A large, extra cheese and pepperoni pie, well done from Dickie Dee’s in Newark, NJ.

The problem? I couldn’t eat solid foods yet!

Did that stop me? NOPE. My father and I sat there and cut up two slices of pizza into the tiniest, bite size pieces and I chewed them up until they were soft enough to swallow. It may have taken me thirty minutes to eat two slices of pizza, but Dad didn’t raise a quitter 💪🏽

When I decided to start losing weight as an adult, I knew I would never be successful if my meals were limited to baked chicken and broccoli or boring Cesar salads.

That’s when I learned about flexible dieting and calories in VS calories out.

For years, the media has glorified weight pills, surgeries, or overly restrictive diets for weight loss. I’m living proof that you can lose weight without giving up your favorite foods (or getting surgeries that restrict your diet for the rest of your life anyways).

I’ve been counting calories for the last two years, and I’m watching the pounds shed off week by week. I recommend everyone try this method at least once and try to do it for three months to give yourself time to see results.

The first thing you need to do is calculate how many calories you should be consuming. I recommend using this website to do that. These are going to be your maintenance calories. In order to lose weight, you need to be in a calorie deficit (meaning you need to eat less calories than you burn.) If you’re just starting out, I recommend a 3-400 deficit.

So let’s say your maintenance calories are 2400 calories per day. Subtract 400 from that, and you have the amount of calories you should be eating in a deficit, 2000 calories. I like to think about these calories as dollars (bare with me)

So let’s say you have $2000 (or 2000 calories). How you chose to spend those $2000 is completely up to you.

If you have a nice, low calorie breakfast and you want to go to McDonalds for lunch and order a Big Mac with large fries, a large coke and an apple pie go for it. Just remember that you still need to be within the 2000 calorie range in order to see results. So if you had that nice, low calorie breakfast, and then you ordered everything off the dollar menu at McDonalds for lunch, chances are you’re going to have to make some sacrifices and eat that boring old cesar salad for dinner.

It all comes down to calories in VS calories out.

With all that being said, there are plenty of ways you can make some of your favorite meals at home for half the calories without sacrificing flavors. One of the ways I’m able to eat pizza three times a week while losing weight is by making my own at home! As promised in my previous post, I’ll walk you through the recipe and leave the macros below!

Ingredients

1 Cup of self rising flour (this is super important!)

¾ Cup of Non-fat plain Greek yogurt

¼ cup of your favorite pizza sauce (homemade is best!)

56g of low fat or fat free mozzarella cheese

17g of turkey pepperoni (optional)

4g salt

4g garlic powder

Preheat your oven to 420 degrees Fahrenheit.

Start by adding ¾ cup of your yogurt to a bowl, along with the salt and garlic powder. You can feel free to add whatever seasonings you’d like here, but I feel like the salt and garlic give the dough that classic NYC pizza dough flavor. Add in ¼ cup of flour at a time and stir until combined. If you have a stand mixer, use your dough hook to make this part a little easier on yourself. If not, a wooden spoon is fine! I tend to use a little less than a full cup of flour, but I keep the remaining to the side to sprinkle on the counter while kneading/rolling out the dough.

Once your dough comes together and is still a little tacky, flour your work space and start rolling out that pizza dough to your designed shape and thickness. Place the dough on a nonstick oven safe pan (I got my 10” pizza pans at Big Lots on sale for ten cents!! Check your local discount stores’ sale sections!) and place in your preheated oven for ten to fifteen minutes. It is important to cook the dough before adding any sauce or toppings so it can cook evenly. Once the dough starts to rise a bit, remove from the oven and start adding your toppings.

I like to use homemade sauce because it just taste the best in my opinion, but you can use whatever you’d like! Keep in mind that the calories will differ depending on what brand you use.

Once you have your pizza assembled, place it back into the oven for an additional 10-12 minutes or until the crust is golden brown. I like to spray the crust with a little bit of cooking spray for that beautiful golden brown color!

Take the pizza out of the oven and allow to cool for 3-5 minutes before cutting. Slice your pizza into 6-8 slices and enjoy!

If you follow these instructions to the T, you will have an entire pizza that is only 620calories, 2.3g fat, 102g carbs and 48g protein!

Give this recipe a shot and let me know how you like it!

#fitness #low cal diet #flexible dieting #high protein #gains #fitspo #health and fitness #weight loss #calorie deficit diet #low calorie meals #pizza #homemade pizza #homemade recipes

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weabooweedwitch · 4 months

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we have no food because my mom won't go get groceries or do basic chores by herself and she keeps sleeping all the time and I have work so half the time I am either too physically exhausted or tired to go, or she is, despite being unemployed and, well

This is my BIRTHDAY CAKE and it's a BIG cake. I've had TWO PIECES. She's just been eating this with ice cream for literally every single meal instead of cooking or getting groceries AND SHE DOESNT EVEN THINK IT TASTES GOOD SHE LITERALLY DOESNT EVEN LIKE IT BUT KEEPS EATING IT ANYWAYS

This is why I'm so fucked up. I literally begged for no gifts, no events on my birthday, they tried to pressure me into something I said multiple times I didn't want to do, this cake is way too big for only 3 people and i didnt want to share it with them anyways actually, and it's already getting fucking dry and my birthday wasn't even a week ago. It's not even a good fucking cake and we don't even have any milk or anything else to eat it with. I just go to work and work like hell and come home to a disappearing birthday cake and a sink full of dishes and food that COULD be cooked but, oh no that would take too much time and, the unemployed mom is clearly too busy

I literally have fucking TRAUMA from my birthday because I literally beg to not be given things and I'm given SHIT GARBAGE TRASH that I don't want and is really just given to me for the sake of saying I was given something and then I'm told, oh how shitty it is I'm not more grateful for this thing I literally said I didn't want

I'm made to feel bad for shit I begged not to be given. I'm given things I do not even want or like or need but I'm supposed to be happy at the idea it was given to me EVEN WHEN I explicitly said "no, don't, i don't want it, this make me upset"

The one fucking day of the year where I'm supposed to be a little more important and i should get like a "wish" or something and I have to BEG BEG BEG BEG BEG BEG to be left alone and it still can't be done and then I'm asked why I never want to celebrate holidays

My entire childhood I had to sacrifice and put things aside for everyone else and now thst I'm an adult and I'm literally being asked "hey do you want something special done for this one day that's supposed to be for you" I'm literally to fucking ignore me and it still turns into something for someone else. Yeah gee thanks, I said I didn't want to do anything on my birthday so, "since i didnt give you any ideas" you tried to recycle an idea we had for a generic family outing and use that for, my special day, that was supposed to be about me, and my happiness, and the things I liked, and the activity was literally picked by someone else who bought tickets for it and I was told i couldn't back out

Remember guys... something is NOT always better than nothing.... Jesus christ how can I literally actually beg and scream for my birthday to not be celebrated and it still be somehow the worst one ever. I didn't even want anything. I didn't even have anything to be disappointed by. And they were gonna force me to spend time with them doing something I already said I didn't want to do and then tell them thank you for it, when it was supposed to be a gift, for me

I'm sorry it's just. It fucks me up that I've turned into someone who ligerally does not want anything done for them because I have trauma of being told I should be grateful and all these experiences with emotional abuse and I'm turning 30 in 3 years and no one will still fucking listen to me...

#having some post birthday woes

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lamesilversurfer · 4 months

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These past 6 months have been pretty much torture for me

It started the day my mom had her hand surgery and cooked one final meal and washed one final load of laundry before she wouldn’t be able to use her hand anymore

Before this day, I had ups and downs, focused mostly on how to get over my fiancé. It’s not the first time I fell in love and thought I would marry a woman and spend the rest of my life with her. That seems to happen every few years. But this was the first time I had a child.

I was sad everyday that the center of my world for the last 2 years had disappeared. I really was in serious danger of myself. My emotions were all over the place. The only thing that kept me stable was the fact that, as always, there was only 1 path available to me.

My son was healed, and healthy and all the sacrifice that I had to do to ensure that, was worth it.

How would I look, with a moderate to severely deformed child, but just a wonderful relationship full of love and sex.

Like a fucking fool.

So anyways…

I got over it.

But the second half of this year, really threw me for a loop. Let’s see if I can count all the ways that the game was straight up tilted.

Contact allergies from mom’s laundry now spread all over the couch, where I would sit and keep her company in the evenings when her arthritis started up.

Food allergies begining with that final meal my mom cooked before her surgery. These food allergies became persistent with every meal in the house after that

Contact allergies from the hair salon

My blower blew out

My starter blew out

An animal got into my car and ate my insulation and peed on my passenger seat

I sprained my big toe(maybe shouldn’t be included because it’s just a regular sports injury, but let’s just say everything just in case)

Severe unidentified allergy right before family reunion( this took several weeks/months to heal from)

While healing and unable to go outside, special care food costs . Basically hospice care that I had to give to myself

Doctors visits for X-rays and prosthesis

Car repair costs , car cleaning costs, car rental costs resulting from rodent damage to my car

Hot water heater was dying but functional first half of the year, it finally died on me so no hot water

Ac died on me soon after hot water was fixed

Power went out and I was charged whatever fee for reconnecting it after it came back on

Ac went out again, this time it never came back on

Physical therapy for my injured toe, I did end up going more often than usual when trying to heal the injury, so we can count that cost

I had to basically break up with my girlfriend while all of this was going on, so now I’m essentially paying to date, every time I want to get out the house

Icing on the cake, racist neighbors.

Instead of talking to my girlfriend every night about how much life we want to experience, and making moves in our careers, and saving money to go on vacation and visit family. Basically all the conversations that I desperately wanted to have with my fiance and the rest of my family, I had these conversations with my girlfriend and fantasized that the relationship would be something more than temporary.

This was replaced with a daily affirmation from my neighbors right around golden hour of a particularly soulful rendition of “ Fucking Niggers” .

So that was how the last 6 months of my life have gone.

And I haven’t even mentioned my job. Work felt like work for the first time in a long time, despite pleasant coworkers.

The grand total effect being that I’m in 5 figures of debt, my physical and mental health are still not back up to the levels they were 6 months ago. I might not get the big raise I wanted, and I might have to pay taxes this year instead of getting a return.

Fml

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riverdamien · 5 months

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The Cross Without Compromise!

First Week of Celtic Advent! Memorial of the Presentation of the Virgin Mary

Reading 1 2 Mc 6:18-31

Eleazar, one of the foremost scribes, a man of advanced age and noble appearance, was being forced to open his mouth to eat pork. But preferring a glorious death to a life of defilement, he spat out the meat, and went forward of his own accord to the instrument of torture, as people ought to do who have the courage to reject the food which it is unlawful to taste even for love of life. Those in charge of that unlawful ritual meal took the man aside privately, because of their long acquaintance with him, and urged him to bring meat of his own providing, such as he could legitimately eat, and to pretend to be eating some of the meat of the sacrifice prescribed by the king; in this way he would escape the death penalty, and be treated kindly because of their old friendship with him. But Eleazar made up his mind in a noble manner, worthy of his years, the dignity of his advanced age, the merited distinction of his gray hair, and of the admirable life he had lived from childhood; and so he declared that above all he would be loyal to the holy laws given by God. He told them to send him at once to the abode of the dead, explaining: "At our age it would be unbecoming to make such a pretense; many young people would think the ninety-year-old Eleazar had gone over to an alien religion. Should I thus pretend for the sake of a brief moment of life, they would be led astray by me, while I would bring shame and dishonor on my old age. Even if, for the time being, I avoid the punishment of men, I shall never, whether alive or dead, escape the hands of the Almighty. Therefore, by manfully giving up my life now, I will prove myself worthy of my old age, and I will leave to the young a noble example of how to die willingly and generously for the revered and holy laws." Eleazar spoke thus, and went immediately to the instrument of torture. Those who shortly before had been kindly disposed, now became hostile toward him because what he had said seemed to them utter madness. When he was about to die under the blows, he groaned and said: "The Lord in his holy knowledge knows full well that, although I could have escaped death, I am not only enduring terrible pain in my body from this scourging, but also suffering it with joy in my soul because of my devotion to him." This is how he died, leaving in his death a model of courage and an unforgettable example of virtue not only for the young but for the whole nation.

Responsorial Psalm PS 3:2-3, 4-5, 6-7

R. (6b) The Lord upholds me. O LORD, how many are my adversaries! Many rise up against me! Many are saying of me, "There is no salvation for him in God." R. The Lord upholds me. But you, O LORD, are my shield; my glory, you lift up my head! When I call out to the LORD, he answers me from his holy mountain. R. The Lord upholds me. When I lie down in sleep, I wake again, for the LORD sustains me. I fear not the myriads of people arrayed against me on every side. R. The Lord upholds me.

Alleluia 1 Jn 4:10b

R. Alleluia, alleluia. God loved us, and sent his Son as expiation for our sins. R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Lk 19:1-10

At that time Jesus came to Jericho and intended to pass through the town. Now a man there named Zacchaeus, who was a chief tax collector and also a wealthy man, was seeking to see who Jesus was; but he could not see him because of the crowd, for he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree in order to see Jesus, who was about to pass that way. When he reached the place, Jesus looked up and said, "Zacchaeus, come down quickly, for today I must stay at your house." And he came down quickly and received him with joy. When they saw this, they began to grumble, saying, "He has gone to stay at the house of a sinner." But Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, "Behold, half of my possessions, Lord, I shall give to the poor, and if I have extorted anything from anyone I shall repay it four times over." And Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house because this man too is a descendant of Abraham. For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save what was lost."

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

The heroic tale of Eleazar's resistance under extreme pressure indeed is "a model of courage and an unforgettable example of virtue." While few of us face circumstances quite as stark, giving one's life to God is never easy.

Our deepest callings from God are put on the line when we choose between good, bad, and the thing that God really wants.

Jesus summons us to the Greater Good when he tells us to "Love our neighbor as yourselves". . ."Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

Yesterday was "Transgender Awareness Day," calling us to be aware of our Transgender brothers and sisters.

I think of the pain, rejection, and fear they and all queers have experience and experience; I think of the pain, and fear, I have experienced through the years and now for being queer; for being a priest who calls out that we should drop all of our conceptions of race, creed, sexual orientation, and "love one another," which leads to the elimination of poverty by sharing. The only creed of Jesus was to "Love one another.

I am sitting here under my newly decorated Christmas tree in the dark at 5:00 in the morning, remembering the love I have experienced at past holidays; and also the hate and evil I have seen towards me and towards the people on the street I walk with, and remember the green pine symbolizes life, ever lasting life, and that through time we all can grow to find ultimately that love is the answer. We all can grow and know that in our pain all we are called to do is to "love one another." We do not have to "like" one another, but we are called to care for each other.

With courage, and humility, While we are desperately seeking to see God in the midst of trials God is also seeking us.God brings us through these dark valleys.

Like Zacchaeus determined to overcome his height limitation by climbing a tree, we place ourselves where we are most likely to see Jesus and--lo!--all of a sudden, he looks up and sees us, and invites himself into our house.

In the photo above, where my friends were all joined together at a Vegan gathering, I saw Jesus in their happiness.

And where Jesus comes, redemption follows!

"Nothing is better or more necessary than love.

God is pleased with nothing but love.

One act of pure love is more precious in the eyes of God

and of the soul, and more profitable to the Church,

than all the good works together,

though it may seem as nothing.”

- St. John of the Cross

Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!

----------------------------------------

"Giving Tuesday, November 28, 2023

"Giving Tuesday, 2023"

"Do What You Can,

With What You Have"

Where You Are!"

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

Fr.River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T.

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

415-305-2124

Let Love Ache

Father, give me the courage to keep on loving.

when others keep on hurting.

help me to live an achy love, a gritty,

persistent and emptying love;

a love that’s not afraid to flow toward the other

who has little left to offer in return.

And may I tread faithfully with heaven

through the unfinished work that surrounds me.

Today is Monday First Week in the Celtic Advent and we are asked to : "Smile at a person you see, whether you know them or not, and enjoy their smile.

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catolinewsdailyreadings · 5 months

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Tuesday of the Thirty-third Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of Tuesday, November 21, 2023

Reading 1

2 MC 6:18-31

He told them to send him at once to the abode of the dead, explaining: “At our age it would be unbecoming to make such a pretense; many young people would think the ninety-year-old Eleazar had gone over to an alien religion. Should I thus pretend for the sake of a brief moment of life, they would be led astray by me, while I would bring shame and dishonor on my old age. Even if, for the time being, I avoid the punishment of men, I shall never, whether alive or dead, escape the hands of the Almighty. Therefore, by manfully giving up my life now, I will prove myself worthy of my old age, and I will leave to the young a noble example of how to die willingly and generously for the revered and holy laws.”

Eleazar spoke thus, and went immediately to the instrument of torture. Those who shortly before had been kindly disposed, now became hostile toward him because what he had said seemed to them utter madness. When he was about to die under the blows, he groaned and said: “The Lord in his holy knowledge knows full well that, although I could have escaped death, I am not only enduring terrible pain in my body from this scourging, but also suffering it with joy in my soul because of my devotion to him.” This is how he died, leaving in his death a model of courage and an unforgettable example of virtue not only for the young but for the whole nation.

Responsorial Psalm

PS 3:2-3, 4-5, 6-7

R./ The Lord upholds me.

O LORD, how many are my adversaries! Many rise up against me! Many are saying of me, “There is no salvation for him in God.” R./ The Lord upholds me.

But you, O LORD, are my shield; my glory, you lift up my head! When I call out to the LORD, he answers me from his holy mountain. R./ The Lord upholds me.

When I lie down in sleep, I wake again, for the LORD sustains me. I fear not the myriads of people arrayed against me on every side. R./ The Lord upholds me.

Gospel

LK 19:1-10

At that time Jesus came to Jericho and intended to pass through the town. Now a man there named Zacchaeus, who was a chief tax collector and also a wealthy man, was seeking to see who Jesus was; but he could not see him because of the crowd, for he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree in order to see Jesus, who was about to pass that way. When he reached the place, Jesus looked up and said, “Zacchaeus, come down quickly, for today I must stay at your house.” And he came down quickly and received him with joy. When they saw this, they began to grumble, saying, “He has gone to stay at the house of a sinner.” But Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Behold, half of my possessions, Lord, I shall give to the poor, and if I have extorted anything from anyone I shall repay it four times over.” And Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house because this man too is a descendant of Abraham. For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save what was lost.”

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coredelavie · 6 months

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Tuna Lemon Risotto

What is it about Risotto that is so comforting? I don’t know, and I’m yet to know why. Maybe being half asian, the close resemblance to congee gives me the feels and reminds me of my childhood.

I used to get super intimidated by the thought of making Italian cuisines other than pasta and ready made sauces. Despite the fact being told over and over, that Italian food is meant to be simple and humble, I was always very apprehensive about making anything other than Spaghetti Bolognaise. But, that quickly changed when I realised that Italian food, when cooked with love, will always become any family’s favourite. Granted, if you make any changes, you best be doing it at home and not letting any of your Italian friends know about it (otherwise they might get very angry about it).

So it was 4PM. We were broke, and had barely any fresh produce in our kitchen and pantry. I was sick; so was my son and my husband. I desperately wanted a meal that would soothe my throat, and also nutritious, without having to sacrifice an unborn child to the goat God of Woolies and Coles. So i checked what was available, did a bit of research and whipped up my own version of Tuna Lemon Risotto.

At first I was like “uh, i’m not sure if this will work”. But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt over years of self-taught cooking, it’s this: Tuna + Colby = Yummy combo. Be it in a casserole, pasta, whatever it is. You can never go wrong with Tuna and Colby. I also didn’t use any wine in this recipe purely because I didn’t have it, however if you do have it, feel free to incorporate it. I switched the cheese from Parmesan to Colby because we had no $$$ and had to use what was available in our kitchen. It doesn’t have the same umami profile, so if you find this is the case and it bothers you, you can either add a tiny bit of vegemite or a sprinkle of MSG to give it a little kick.

So without further ado, here’s my homemade recipe for our family’s Tuna Lemon Recipe.

Note: This recipe is part of my Zillenial Meals Series.

Serves 4 // Prep: 10m // Time: 40m // Price per portion: A$2.60

Ingredients:

400g can of tuna in spring water

1.5 cups of arborio rice

125g of shredded colby cheese

4 cups of chicken stock (if you don’t have any, you can dilute chicken stock cubes in hot water and it’ll do fine)

1 medium brown onion

35g salted butter

1 tsp olive oil

1 tsp garlic mince

1/2 tsp basil

1/2 tsp thyme

Lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste

Method

Start by shredding the cheese and dicing the onions. Set aside.

On a non-stick pan, melt the butter on medium heat, and sauté the diced onions. Stir as needed.

Boil chicken stock in a saucepan. If you don’t have chicken stock, boil water and add the chicken stock cubes. Turn off the heat.

Once the onions on the pan start smelling a bit fragrant, add the minced garlic and stir as needed. Turn the heat down. Make sure the garlic is not burnt.

Stir in the arborio rice. Keep it at a low level heat. Keep stirring for 2 minutes.

Slowly add in the chicken stock with a soup ladle. Stir the risotto every 30 seconds.

After 10 or so minutes, the rice will start swelling a bit. Keep stirring. This time, you can increase the heat to a medium level to help release the starch. Keep adding the stock one ladleful at a time.

The risotto will start to thicken after a while. Once you reach a slightly runny yet thick consistency, turn off the heat for a bit while you open the can of tuna and use a strainer to get rid of the water.

Mix in the tuna, turn on the stove again but keep it on a low heat.

Add lemon juice, thyme, basil, salt and pepper. Adjust as needed.

Once it resembles a thick congee-like consistency, turn off the stove and add in the shredded cheese. Stir one last time.

Serve hot.

Please note that risottos, like any other type of rice, don’t do well in freezers. You can keep it in the fridge up to 3 days, covered in a container. Before you put it away, make sure it’s not hot anymore and is very cool. To reheat, simply chuck it in the microwave for 30 seconds. If it’s still cold in the middle, stir and chuck it again for another 20 seconds.

#zillenialmeals #budget meals #recipes #recipe #risotto #italian cooking #foodie #foodgasm

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ancestorsofjudah · 7 months

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1 Kings 13: 6-10. "Intercession."

6 Then the king said to the man of God, “Intercede with the Lord your God and pray for me that my hand may be restored.” So the man of God interceded with the Lord, and the king’s hand was restored and became as it was before.

7 The king said to the man of God, “Come home with me for a meal, and I will give you a gift.”

8 But the man of God answered the king, “Even if you were to give me half your possessions, I would not go with you, nor would I eat bread or drink water here.

9 For I was commanded by the word of the Lord: ‘You must not eat bread or drink water or return by the way you came.’”

10 So he took another road and did not return by the way he had come to Bethel.

When a priest intercedes and says "there, there now, old boy," He does not mean things will go back to the way they were before. He can restore the Hand, the Yod, to a fellow pilgrim and resume instruction in the Tanakh, but there are always consequences.

The section above is almost all Gemtria, so we have to decipher that first in order to understand the full implications.

Men of God are the Ordinances in the Torah. Do this, do not do that. We are the children, the Torah is the parent. Men of God have every right to approach all of us and hold us accountable for the statues named in the Torah.

Kings are persons who are trying to master the Sefirot. It is not enough to mind the boundaries, the Religion says we must be possessed of a superior emotional level. This requires full substantiation of the authority of the Crown over the rest of the subjects, which burn like emotional torches in a poorly lit underground corridor through which all of life's decisions pass.

Mastery of the Crown cannot take place through intercession or even the study of the Torah. This requires what is called Kabbalah, "rehearsal" of the various Sefirot. Kings therefore are well-rehearsed emotional beings.

Restoring a hand that shriveled and turned to ash= 518-2, האח, "the brother", האחב, "I love"= Cain, the brother of Abel, whom God sent on to create history's first NYC, Enosh, after he murdered his vain twin.

The king said to the man of God, “Come home with me for a meal, and I will give you a gift.”=duhz, "The gathering of the wolf parent and the sheep."

The parent of the situation was a certain Pharaoh in Egypt who gave Jeroboam refuge when he fled from Solomon's court. We might want to take it for granted that Jeroboam repented, performed a sacrifice on the altar and got his hand restored in the process, but as we learned, leaving the food in Egypt behind was the biggest problem for the Israelites who fled from there after their slavery ended.

see Numbers 11: 4-6:

"We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlick: but now our soul is dried away: there is nothing at all, beside this manna, before our eyes."

Slavery, laziness, in government, they are the same. And the real parent of the situation was actually supposed to be Levi.

"The verb לוה (lawa) means to join or to connect things; it's a verb of building and it's also the verb that lies at the heart of intelligence, cognition and logical deduction."

Recall how Jeroboam did not employ Levite Priests in his incense offerings and that is when all the trouble started.

Verse 8: the Gematria is 12752, אבזהב‎, gold. The Hebrew word for gold is zahav: meaning Jeroboam's corruption had to be sacrificed 100%; it had no value in any of its proportions and could not be refined Gold, however, is always pure, and always retains 100% of its value and qualities:

"Gold items were valuable but gold also held an enormous value to the wisdom tradition. Very long ago observers noted that gold is the only substance known to man that doesn't transmute into something else. And since everything else, sooner or later, changes into something else, gold was seen as the ultimate result of all change: perfection, in one word.

Gold held that status until the Word of the Lord came along (or rather: descended from where it had always existed) and surpassed the extent of natural evolution."

Verse 9: 9132, טאג‎ב, tagab, "the supreme tag" or "the mark of the crown of the wise", ie, back to Cain again, "do not go back to Egypt, go forward."

Verse 10: 3759, גזהט‎, gazette, "the writing". According to the Law, the "man of God" follows "good reports" alone to Bethel, the "institute of tribal knowledge."

The Intercession is therefore more of an intersection, as most of life almost always is. In the previous section, Jeroboam was split in half, exposing the errors of his ways which were apparently hidden from him.

God gives him another chance, telling him not to eat the same things, but to change just about everything about himself, and tells him how to do it. "Move on!" He says to the man.

Even still, alas, the story, unlike Cain's does not have a happy ending.

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