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muchymozzarella · 10 months

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Here's more Miguel O'Hara thots for the Miguel girlies:

The Escalation Of Rage: or why Miguel O'Hara doesn't hate Miles Morales but you feel like he does

I see a lot of people saying that Miguel hates Miles but that's not the case at all. It's more that Miguel has years of misplaced resentment, stress, terror, anxiety, and uncontrollable rage (made worse by trauma, possibly his serum, definitely all the stress he puts himself under) that he ends up putting on Miles when Miles becomes a threat to his perceived multiverse stability.

It's most likely Miguel didn't give much thought to Miles Morales after branding him The Original Anomaly and telling others to avoid him. Probably he looked in on him sometimes to see if he grew unstable but otherwise didn't have a strong opinion on him.

When they first meet you might think Miguel is mad at Miles because he throws a whole garbage can at him, but he's probably used to Spider people and their Spider sense and he's literally just having a tantrum, because he doesn't direct his anger at Miles, but at Gwen. Mostly he's probably mad at Miles for disrupting the canon event but in the same moment he acknowledges Miles couldn't have known but Gwen knew better.

Then he explains his world view to Miles. There's even a bit of banter:

"The Spider-verse"

"That's.... Stupid. It's the Arachnoid Humanoid Polymultiverse. Which is. Also. Stupid."

Gets Miles to smile. They get along for a moment.

Then Miguel reveals the Spider-person trauma that they share. Then his biggest mistake. Surely Miles will understand the stakes. Miguel is gentle, and calm, and even tries to comfort Miles.

But the moment Miles wants to go against his worldview, his fear of losing a whole universe makes him decide that capturing Miles is the best solution.

He hates what he has to do, but he has to do it.

We know that Miguel has a temper. He's so quickly frustrated and annoyed, and it's played for comedy, but it's been there since the first scene he's in. So the moment Miles is able to escape, that temper flares.

He's frustrated, annoyed, but he's not yet enraged. He moves like a predator and that makes you think he's already enraged, already hateful, already prepared to hurt Miles, but that's just a visual trick. He ALWAYS moves like that. He's scary. But he doesn't stick to things. He uses claws. He's enormous.

The movie has tricked you into thinking he's dangerous before he's dangerous. They don't tell you he doesn't stick to things, they don't tell you why he's so huge. So every move he makes feels like a predator or monster chasing down prey.

But the truth is, it's just your average Spider-Man chase.

Until it isn't.

He's not dangerous. Until he is.

Because the tone of the chase changes. Miguel doesn't use his claws on Miles despite every opportunity to, so he doesn't hurt him, not really. But then Miles asks if Miguel is really Spider-Man. It's not clear if this affects Miguel personally, but he follows that thread anyway.

Maybe he's enraged by Miles' words. Or maybe he simply wants Miles to give up. So he reveals something he kept back in the compound. He didn't tell Miles, maybe because he didn't want to hurt him, but now...

Miles fought back. Kicked him in the face, almost got him to fall off the train. No holds barred, they're now trading blows. Miles is hitting him, so he hits back, physically and verbally, hurts Miles because he's no longer dealing with a kid in that moment. He's dealing with a threat.

Miguel is at the end of his rope. All his resentment, stress, terror, trauma, all of it poured into Miles Morales.

What he says is that Miles should have never been Spider-Man.

What he doesn't say is that Miguel never would have been THIS, never been this broken, angry, terrifying version of himself if the Peter from Miles' Universe stopped the Collider.

He blames everything that's gone wrong in his life since he first took on the multiverse on the original anomaly that started from Miles' Universe, but not Miles himself. Yet Miles is here, Miles is fighting him, Miles is the one to take that blame.

And finally, Miles ends the fight by almost killing him. Not on purpose, obviously, but Miguel almost falls off that train and Miles does nothing to save him both because the point is escape but also because he trusts Miguel to catch himself.

But now Miguel is at his limit. He's enraged. He's monstrous. And when Miles is successfully able to escape in the Go-Home Machine, all Miguel can think about is everything falling apart in front of his eyes.

Again.

Because (in his mind) one person was being "selfish" (Miles. Himself) and wouldn't see the bigger picture.

Why Didn't He Listen?

Miguel O'Hara's escalation is honestly masterful. The crescendo of his anger, the way he becomes a full antagonist, and how terrifying that looks. Everyone was so convinced Miguel was a friend and ally, and he was.

Until he wasn't.

#Miguel O'Hara #Miles Morales #spider man: across the spider verse

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eleonoraw · 8 months

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hey queen! saw ur previous fic rec and i read all of em (so good!!) was wondering if u could do another bottom light fic rec? this one goes out to all my bottom light ppl! thank u in advance queen p.s. love ur fics so much abo lawlight is my fave haha 🫣❤️

Hello! ❤️ I'm glad you like my previous bottom Light fic rec list! I have some more recommendations, but I had to dig a little deeper into my history to find them, haha. I'm sure you will love these too then ;)

So here it is (titles, authors, and summaries with ratings) enjoy ;)

I'm yours (by PrismaRed) rating: mature

"You want meaningless sex? Then I have one condition," he hissed. Before L could reply, Light kissed him, savoring in the softness of L's lips and the sweetness on his tongue. "At least pretend to love me."

Light falls in love with L, but L doesn't want Light for anything more than his pretty face and body. They come to a deal of sorts, where "I love you" becomes a price to pay. DN Kink Meme fill.

Can't I top for once, L? (by yagafx) rating: not rated

Light has never topped before, L never lets him. It was no problem for Light at first, but now it started to annoy him. He wants to top too, at least for once.

Murphy's law (by yagafx) rating: mature

L and Light gets stuck in an elevator. L suggests having sex in order to get out of there because of Murphy's law.

Truth or drink (by yagafx) rating: mature

The famous couple L Lawliet and Light Yagami, known as L and Kira from the TV series called 'Death Note', was invited to play the game 'Truth or Drink' by the popular YouTube channel 'Cut'.

The couple are going to ask each other a set of random questions. They can either answer the question or take a shot.

Lipstick kisses (by Rachello344) rating: teen

In order to catch a notorious gangster, Light goes undercover--it turns out, he's the man's type. Now if only L can survive watching Light flirt with a man while he's looking... particularly attractive. He can only hope.

Fuck me (by ricehat) rating: explicit

L fucks Light what more is there to say :^)

(so basically Porn without plot :D )

Are We Going To Do This Again, Light? (by cantdoausername) rating: explicit

Yagami Light loses a bet and needs to give L his reward.

Syrup (by retroelectric) rating: explicit

Where L and B are detective brothers, Light works for them, and the brothers are interested in having Light to themselves.

(This is some L,BB, Light action ;)

vertigo (by crimesofhallowed) rating: explicit

Light finds L fascinating in the way a grade schooler might find dissecting a frog fascinating. He’s curious about what’s underneath the surface, the parts that make L tick a rhythm so off-beat even Light has to up his tempo, and how it all fits together into one, disordered, semi-cohesive whole. He wants to understand, but there’s no love there. A frog is more useful dead than alive under a scalpel.

Or: Light is certain L will be dead soon, and decides to make use of him one last time. He gets a little more out of it than he bargained for.

Seeking his hand (by magic_mind) rating: explicit

Soichiro asks: "Why do you want to marry my son?"

L stares at him for a moment, then sighs almost imperceptibly. "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. …or husband."

A historical regency-esque romance AU in which L seeks Light's hand in marriage. And that's only the beginning.

(fic is not finished, I hope the author will come back to it one day)

Lawlight Tumblr Not-Quite-Drabbles (by magic_mind) rating: explicit

A collection of prompt fills...some explicit, some fluffy, some from the SHH-verse, some not...still being updated!

#fic recs #death note #lawlight #light yagami #l lawliet #l x light #death note fanfiction #death note au #bottom!light #for all bottom Light enjoyers

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philosopher-blog · 25 days

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بمجرد أن نرفع أعيننا لننظر إلى السماء الزرقاء اللامتناهية، نشعر بالتواضع والدهشة أمام عظمة الكون وخالقه. إنه الله الذي يدير كل شيء بحكمة ورأفة، يهدي خطى المضلين وينير قلوب الضالين.

في هذا الكون الواسع المليء بالعجائب والجمال، نجد آيات تشهد بقدرة الله وعظمته. كل شيء حولنا يدل على وجوده، من نباتات صغيرة تنمو في أرض خصبة إلى جبال عملاقة تثبت قوته الخالقة. نعيش في تناغم مع كل مخلوق، وفي كل رمق نستنشقه نجد بصمة الله.

ومع كل شيء يحتاج إلى الله، من أول نبضة في قلب الجنين إلى أخر نفس يتنفسها الشيخ الكبير، تذكرنا هذه الحقيقة العظيمة بأننا بحاجة مستمرة إلى إلهنا الرحيم والحكيم. إنه الذي يقلب الليل والنهار، يصرف القلوب والأبصار بقدرته الفائقة.

في لحظات الظلمة واليأس، نجد الله يقدم لنا شعاعًا من النور ليهدينا إلى الطريق الصحيح. وعندما نشعر بالضعف والشك، يكون الله القوة التي نستند عليها والهادي الذي يرشدنا إلى الطريق الصواب.

فلننظر حولنا بعيون الإيمان والتأمل، ولنرى كيف تعبق خلق الله بالجمال والتناغم، ولنشكره على كل نعمة صغيرة وكبيرة وعلى كل فترة صعبة وسهلة. لنقلب قلوبنا نحو السماء ونقول بكل تواضع وتلقائية: "سبحانك ما عبدناك حق عبادتك!"

إن الاعتراف بعظمة الله والاستسلام لقدرته يمنحنا القوة والسلام الداخلي. فعندما نثق بأن الله هو القادر على قلب الجبال وتغيير مسار الأقدار، نجد الطمأنينة واليقين يسكن قلوبنا.

لذا دعونا نبحر في بحر الصوفية، هذه العوالم الروحية التي تعلمنا التواضع والتفكر، وتذكرنا بأننا جزء صغير من نسيج الحياة الكونية. إن نظرتنا الى الكون تتغير عندما ندرك أن كل مظهر من مظاهر الحياة يحمل بصمة الخالق، وأن كل تجربة تخفي لنا درسا ينبغي أن نتعلمه.

فلنبحر في عمق الذات ونكتشف جمال الروح بابتسامة وداعم من نور الوجود. لنجد الهدوء في صوت الصمت والسكينة في استسلام القلب لقضاء ربه. إن الصوفية تعلمنا أن كل شيء في هذا الكون متصل ومترابط، وأننا جزء من هذه الوحدة الكونية العظيمة.

في نهاية الأمر، دعونا نبقى متواضعين أمام عظمة الكون وفي طريق البحث عن الحقيقة والسعادة. لنكن كالنجوم الساطعة في السماء، تضيء بنورها دروب الظلام وتذكرنا بأن الله هو الهادي والسميع، القادر على كل شيء، ونحتسب الأجر والثواب منه وحده. سبحانه وتعالى، ما أعظمك يا الله.

As soon as we raise our eyes to look at the endless blue sky, we are humbled and amazed by the greatness of the universe and its Creator. It is God who manages everything with wisdom and compassion, guiding the steps of the misguided and illuminating the hearts of the lost.

In this vast universe full of wonders and beauty, we find verses that testify to God’s power and greatness. Everything around us indicates his presence, from small plants growing in fertile land to giant mountains proving his creative power. We live in harmony with every creature, and in every breath we inhale we find the imprint of God.

With everything in need of God, from the first heartbeat of a fetus to the last breath of an old man, this great truth reminds us that we are in constant need of our merciful and wise God. It is He who turns night and day, diverting hearts and eyes with His superior power.

In moments of darkness and despair, we find God offering us a ray of light to guide us to the right path. When we feel weak and doubtful, God is the strength we rely on and the guide who guides us to the right path.

Let us look around us with eyes of faith and contemplation, and let us see how God’s creation is filled with beauty and harmony, and let us thank Him for every blessing, small and large, and for every difficult and easy period. Let us turn our hearts towards the sky and say with all humility and spontaneity: “Glory be to You, we have not worshiped You as we should worship You!”

Acknowledging God's greatness and surrendering to His power gives us strength and inner peace. When we trust that God is capable of moving mountains and changing the course of destinies, we find reassurance and certainty residing in our hearts.

So let us sail into the sea of Sufism, these spiritual worlds that teach us humility and contemplation, and remind us that we are a small part of the fabric of universal life. Our view of the universe changes when we realize that every manifestation of life bears the imprint of the Creator, and that every experience hides a lesson for us that we must learn.

Let us delve deep into the self and discover the beauty of the soul with a smile and the support of the light of existence. Let us find calm in the sound of silence and tranquility in the surrender of the heart to the judgment of its Lord. Sufism teaches us that everything in this universe is connected and interconnected, and that we are part of this great cosmic unity.

Ultimately, let us remain humble before the greatness of the universe and in the search for truth and happiness. Let us be like the bright stars in the sky, illuminating the paths of darkness with their light and reminding us that God is the Guide and the Hearer, capable of all things, and we seek reward and reward from Him alone. Glory be to Him, how great you are, O God.

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captain--sif · 1 year

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You And Me And Buck

Rating T, 1.7k, Buddie, 911

Eddie asks Christopher about his feelings concerning his new attempt at dating. Chris' answer has him rethinking what he already has in his life.

A little episode coda for 6x14, mostly inspired by the clip of Eddie’s date that we had seen already before the episode aired. Read on AO3

"Are you going to see her again?"

Eddie would lie if he said that Chris’ question didn’t take him by surprise. He tries not to lie to his son, and he certainly didn’t outright lie about this, either, but he kind of did omit the fact that his hangout the evening before had been a date.

But Chris is old enough and well-versed enough in the intricacies of the English language by now, that Eddie knows that’s what he’s asking about. Are you going to go on another date with her?

The answer is no, he’s not, they both agreed on that, and he doesn’t mind that that’s the point they came to. He isn’t even particularly looking to start dating again, doesn’t think he will anytime in the near future, so he’s not exactly sure why he counters Chris’ question with his own.

"How would you feel about it if I did?"

Chris looks at him calculating, or, well, as calculating as a 12-year-old can look, pondering over an answer.

"I got used to Ana," he says finally, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that. It’s not an endorsement, neither of Ana, nor of Eddie dating at all, but he hasn’t specifically said that he’d hate it either. "I’ll get used to her too," he adds.

"But?" Eddie prompts him to continue, "I feel like there’s a but coming." A smile creeps onto his face when he sees Chris’ own face splitting into a grin. He feels a snarky reply coming.

"But," Chris says, enunciating clearly, grinning because there was indeed a but coming, but then quickly taking on a more serious air, making clear to Eddie that he really means it, "I prefer it when it’s just you and me and Buck."

Eddie nods because Chris has made it more than clear before, when he was dating Ana, that he didn’t like him dating, but this was much less negative than before. Eddie will take that as a win, despite the way that Chris’ "you and me and Buck" has lodged itself into the outskirts of Eddie’s brain like an ear worm, begging him to acknowledge it. He will, he thinks to himself, as soon as his brain figures out how to process it.

"Well," he says instead, "it will be just us a little while longer."

"Okay." Chris smiles a tired smile up at him and Eddie takes that as his queue to get up and leave the room.

"Good night, mijo," he says and closes the door.

"Good night, dad," Christopher replies around what is without a doubt a yawn.

They’re a family, Eddie rationalizes later, when he’s lying in his own bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The three of them make up a family, and it’s one of the truest things Eddie knows about his own life. It’s not interpretation, it’s not wishful thinking, it’s not something that Chris only believes in his still-childlike convictions. It’s one of the fundamentals of the universe. It should explain all there is to Chris’ remark, since it does, and yet: Eddie can’t help but feel like there’s something he’s missing, some dimension to the remark that’s not yet encompassed by the unshakable truth of their being a family.

He’s overthinking it, Eddie is sure of that, and at the end of the night he’s not sure if it’s into Chris’ or his own intent that he’s attributing this additional information.

"I feel like I’m a divorced dad starting to date someone new again who the child disapproves of," he voices his thoughts on his shift the next day.

"I thought you said you wouldn’t see her again?" Chimney asks, just as Bobby says: "Didn’t you already clear this up with him when you were dating Ana?"

"I’m not gonna see her again," he replies to Chimney, "that was more of a hypothetical question." He shrugs. "Just trying to figure out how he’s currently feeling about it. Besides, you never know when Tia Pepa will spring something like this on me again. So I thought it’s better to be prepared."

"Do you want to date the next person she springs on you?" Eddie can hear the lifted eyebrows in Chimney’s voice without looking.

He grimaces. "No."

"And," he restarts, well aware of Bobby’s still lingering question, "I didn’t know if he ended up being okay with me dating in general, or just with Ana."

"You said he didn’t throw a salad bowl tantrum like the last time, so to me it seems like he reacted well," Hen points out, "so what are your hold-ups?"

Eddie grimaces again. "I wasn’t actually finished," he admits. He’s really glad that Buck is riding with Ravi and some of their other teammates in the other firetruck today, since he’s not sure he could say what he does after that the way he does if he wasn’t, not before he hasn’t untangled his thoughts about it. "I feel like I’m a divorced dad starting to date someone new again," he restarts, "who the child disapproves of since they want their divorced parents to stay together."

"Shannon is dead," Hen says cautiously, "he knows that."

"Yes," Eddie says, "because in this scenario my ex-wife isn’t my actual ex-wife, or even any of the other women I dated, but it’s Buck." He moves his hands in a kind of "ta-da" gesture, expressing that he finished talking.

There’s a silence in the truck that is soothing Eddie, just knowing that they know as little what to do with it as he does.

"So what," Chimney asks finally, "now you think Christopher wants you to date Buck?"

He’s obviously trying to be funny, but Eddie stays quiet, has to think about that. Because: "I hadn’t even considered that."

He sees Chimney and Hen share a look at the quiet way he breathes these words out. Eddie thinks Chimney was probably aiming for a "No, of course not," and up until this very moment Eddie would have assumed that’s what his answer would be.

But now he thinks back to the way Chris’ comment unsettled him the night before, for a reason other than the knowledge that he doesn’t want Eddie to bring someone new into their family of three, the way he tried to evoke with this little analogy he’s been telling the team.

Of all analogies he could have chosen, he chose one where he casts himself and Buck as a divorced couple. No matter how accurate to Chris’ sentiment it might be, Eddie considers that his choice of analogy might be a tell in itself. Like his weird feeling the night before.

Sensing his oncoming panic, his team seems to have chosen a different road to approach him now.

"Has he given any other indication that that’s what he wants?", Hen asks more cautiously, softer, Chimney nodding along but staying quiet, like he’s afraid he’ll make it even worse, "what did he say exactly?"

"I don’t know," Eddie admits, because he hasn’t looked for it before, hasn’t once considered it. "He just said that he prefers it when it’s just the three of us. He hasn’t said anything about dating, but what if…" he trails off.

He kind of has the urge to laugh. It feels a little ironic now. When he was with Ana, he handled dating just fine, but the idea of forming a family with her gave him panic attacks. Now, the panic is clawing at his throat again, but he can handle Buck being a part of his family just fine. In fact, he loves it. It’s still the only thing about this that feels steady. Like an anchor that, while not being able to smooth out the waves, still keeps him in place and from falling into the deepness of the troubled waters.

Just as contradictory, he now wishes that Buck had been riding with them instead of in the other engine. Eddie can clearly hear Buck’s voice in his mind asking him if he’s panicking, and he thinks it’d help calm him down, even while knowing that had Buck been here, Eddie would not be in the situation he is now.

And maybe that should have been Eddie’s first hint (or second, technically) that something was going on with him. That he realized even while telling his analogy that he would not have told it the same way if Buck had been present. He should have seen the avoidance for what it was, but then again, Eddie had always been good at avoiding and ignoring his uncomfortable thoughts.

Repression, the doctor had called it.

"If that’s what you think Chris meant, maybe you should think about why that is," Hen suggested, just as softly.

"I will," Eddie says, partly because it is true, and partly because there’s nothing else he feels able to say. He stays quiet the rest of the ride, the cogs turning in his head, only vaguely taking note of the worried looks the team are sending towards him and each other.

He does think about it. It’s the echoes of Buck’s and Dr. Salazar’s voices in his head that are spurring him on to look at what he’s feeling, and — well, mostly to look at what he wasn’t feeling. He’s taking a big long look at all the suspicious absences. All the moments where he braced himself on the rational explanations, without looking at the feelings behind or around it. And all the ordinary feelings that he paid just as little attention to for believing their origin to be obvious.

He examines all of his interactions with Buck over the last couple of months. As well as all their interactions as a family, the three of them, him and Buck and Christopher.

The conclusion he comes to is this:

Chris will not have to worry about Eddie bringing anyone else into their family any time soon, maybe ever.

Fuck.

Drop me a little kudos on AO3

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fox #911 abc #i guess wtf #eddie diaz #eddie diaz fic #fic #sif writes #911 s6 #911 season 6

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attackfish · 1 year

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Hundred years in the past AU, please? How and when Mai and Zuko would met each other? I suspect that Zuko would immediately agree to marry her and his (unknowing) great-grandmother would be happy, but ugh... Mai's "father" probably should die first... Also everyone think that Zuko is ex-commoner and Mai is half-commoner bastard, so court may disapprove their marriage... They'll get troubles?

Universe tag: #The whole Gaang wakes up a hundred years in the past verse

Oh no no. Mai is not illegitimate. She dug up the family secret of a peasant girl that her "father" married. She is passing herself off as his legitimate child, of the same status, aside from birth order, as his other children, with their noble born mother, his late first wife. If she were a bastard, her "siblings" would not give a crap about her showing up. Powerful people have been having sex with less powerful people with various levels of consent since forever, and if he had just fucked a peasant girl, and gotten her knocked up that would be one thing, but he brought her home and married her.

Mai might be half peasant, and she is in fact half peasant, through her actual mother, the daughter of a well off merchant, because the best lies always have a hint of truth, and this one has quite a bit more than a hint of truth, but she's the legitimate daughter of a noble family, and publically acknowledged, and they can't get rid of her.

But you know, I mentioned a while back that a bunch of noble families have been sending Zuko offers for their daughters, and that he was given quite a bit of land in the Eastern Islands. That makes him Mai's family's neighbor. You know, a good match for Mai, and for Mai's family, if they can swing him. So her brother, who is actually her great grandfather, writes a letter to Zuko offering his sister's hand. If they're stuck with her they might as well put her to use.

Does he tell Mai this? No. No he does not. So of course Zuko receives this letter from a part of the country that is extremely familiar to him, offering him the hand of a girl whose name is extremely familiar to him in connection with that particular place, and he's looking at this going huh.

So he sends word back that he would like to meet her.

#The whole Gaang wakes up a hundred years in the past verse #avatar the last airbender #atla mai #Zuko #atla maiko #posts i created #do you want to ask a question it doesn't have to be a question #zuko is a dweeby little turtleduck #mai doesn't hate you

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equinoxts2 · 11 months

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15 Questions from Mutuals

@withlovefromayre tagged me and although I feel awkward singling anyone else out to tag, I’m happy to answer these questions. Ramble incoming!

Are you named after anyone? This is very embarrassing, but in 2014 I changed my name to one of the regions of a world where a then-favourite game site was set. Five years later, when I couldn’t take the high-tension, high-drama events that site did at least twice a year or the way the site’s staff encouraged the greedy, heartless attitude of most of the other community members, I turned my back on the fandom and have regretted picking that particular name ever since. Either way, I just couldn’t live with my birth name any longer - that never felt like me, to put it mildly.

When was the last time you cried? Last week, when I had two major emotional crises in two days. Sometimes I feel so out of place on 21st century Earth that I want to sue the universe for misincarnation or something.

The second time it happened last week, my mum took me for a walk round the park across the street to help me calm down. Nothing could lift me out of the depths of despair though - until we were nearly home and she picked a dandelion and gave it to me to blow the seeds off. Getting to be a kid again for a couple of seconds helped me to smile again, and pulled me back from the brink. I’m going to buy myself a piece of jewellery with a dandelion on it, so I can remember how much it helped me.

Do you have kids? No, I acknowledge that I’m not cut out to be a parent or a partner. I do consider all nine generations of sims I’ve raised so far to be my babies, though.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Sometimes, when I’m with someone I know won’t take it personally, like my mum. If I’m being completely honest, I can dish it out but I can’t take it.

What sports do you play/have you played? Truth be told, I’m a couch potato. Sixteen years of depression can do that to a person, though I am trying to get more active and healthy. However, I was very active as a child and I did once win a skipping rope race at my primary school sports day.

What is the first thing you notice about other people? Whether I feel comfortable around them or not. I’m autistic and I find it difficult meeting new people, but there are some people - including my regular support workers - who I’ve clicked with almost instantly. Others, I just get... spiky vibes or something from them.

Scary movies or happy endings? Definitely happy endings. I love musicals and Disney movies - and whatever I watch, it always helps for me to have a box of tissues handy.

Any special talents? I’ve been told I’m very insightful. I’m good at language creation, wordplay, worldbuilding and writing, with a particular flair for comic verse. I can also create and edit mods for Sims 2. One day I’d like to publish fantasy novels for children and young adults who might be going through rough times, to offer comfort and escapism and not hit too close to home by setting them in our world.

Where were you born? Whipps Cross Hospital in Walthamstowe, London. Apparently David Beckham was also born there. *shrugs* Whatever.

What are your hobbies? Mostly it’s Sims 2, reading about and creating various fantasy worlds, solo roleplaying, Plants vs. Zombies 2, and my mum and I are currently hyperfixating on another game app, Two Dots, which I discovered by accident. I also love being out in nature and have planted some wildflower seeds around the park near my home.

Do you have any pets? At the time of writing, I have an aquarium with six fish - one male and three female platies, one rummy nose tetra and one silvertip tetra who is easily the boss of the aquarium - and there’s an indeterminate number of amano shrimp in there too. It’s been nearly 18 months since we had to say goodbye to our elderly dog, Charlie, and I still miss him, it doesn’t feel right without a clueless lump of fur around.

How tall are you? 5′4″.

Fave subject in school? School was a living nightmare for me, but I did enjoy writing and art. I used to cry myself to sleep on nights before geography lessons though, because although I love learning about other cultures, I couldn’t bear hearing about wars and natural disasters.

Eye Colour: Dark brown.

#tag game #meme #ask meme #non sims #personal

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aziraphales-library · 13 days

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Hi hi!

Do we have any Jane Austen + Crowley interactions fic in this household?

Thanks and have a nice day ^^

We have a #jane austen tag, the last post on which features a couple. But here is a post dedicated to Crowley & Jane Austen fics...

Goodbye, Dear Jane by siephilde42 (T)

Aziraphale asks Crowley if he has ever gotten attached to another person, and Crowley admits that he grew quite fond of a certain author. Crowley feels guilty because he never properly said goodbye to her, so Aziraphale proposes a trip through time.

well-versed in etiquette, extraordinarily nice by laiqualaurelote (G)

Once she had said to him, hoping to probe: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” To which Mr Crowley had only responded: “What do you know of the universe, Miss Austen?” In which Jane Austen, criminal mastermind and aspiring novelist, pulls off the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery, with the help of a certain demon.

All those truths (some not so universally acknowledged) by strawberriesandtophats (E)

In which Aziraphale and Crowley meet up at a party during the Regency Period and have a great time eavesdropping on a certain famous author.

Literature and Liquor by Tossukka (T)

The year is 1809. Crowley’s friend Jane is a master smuggler of both goods and information who seems to know exactly who people are and how they act. She asks Crowley’s help with a larger robbery she has been planning, and Crowley agrees without hesitation. Meanwhile Aziraphale has been helping her friend, a brilliant author Miss Austen revise her novel manuscripts in the hopes that they could one day be published for the wider audiences. Aziraphale finds the books witty, innovative character studies of British gentry, but getting a romance novel written by a woman published in the early 1800s would take a real miracle. When Aziraphale accompanies Jane to a ball, they run into Crowley, and all three are surprised by the other two being acquainted. Although the angel and the demon are happy to not poke further into each other’s businesses with Miss Austen, Jane seems to be convinced her two friends are in the middle of a great love story like from one of her novels and need some encouragement to admit their true feelings.

'Not Enough to Tempt Me' by ZephyrOfAllTrades (T)

Aziraphale found a new friend. A budding writer who unfortunately dabbles in matchmaking. It was all fun and games until she reunited with a familiar red-headed demon.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable partners #jane austen #crowley & jane austen #aziraphale & jane austen #regency #mod d

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wisdomrays · 7 months

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THE 'ARSH (The Supreme Throne of God): Part 3

In fact, a believer is a person of fairness and justice who acknowledges in advance that there may be many things that they cannot know in addition to that which they know. Even though they believe that their heart is so vast as to be able to contain worlds, they are aware that one of the most important depths of this faculty is knowing its innate deficiencies and limits of comprehension. For this reason, the heart continuously admits its inherent impotence and poverty, never removing its eyes from the All- Knowing of all that is Unseen.

A scholar made remarkable considerations about the ‘Arsh. He wrote:

The ‘ Arsh (The Supreme Throne of God) is a combination of the Divine Names the First, the Last, the All-Outward, and the All-Inward. With respect to the Name “ the All-Outward,” Which forms one dimension of this combination, the Supreme Divine Throne is the envelope that encompasses all things and the universe is its contents. With respect to the Name “ the All- Inward,” It is like the heart of creation or the contents of the envelope, which is the universe. When viewed with respect to the Name “ the First,” the Supreme Divine Throne marks the start of the creation, which is indicated by: His Supreme Throne was upon the water (a fluid) (11:7). With respect to the Divine Name “ the Last,” It refers to the finality of existence, which is implied in the hadith: “The ceiling of Paradise is God’s Supreme Throne.” Therefore, due to its share in the manifestations of the four Names mentioned, we can view the ‘Arsh as a combination that embraces the universe from all directions.

In addition to this consideration, a scholar puts forward another view of the ‘Arsh, which is as follows:

In respect of His Lordship (creating, upbringing or raising, maintaining, and domination), God Almighty has made the earthly creatures an ‘arsh, (which can be viewed as the projection of the Supreme Divine Throne ( al-‘Arshu’l-‘A’zam and regarded as an imperial medium for His control of the universe or for the conduction of His decrees). He has made the air an ‘arsh for His commands and will, the light an ‘arsh for His knowledge and wisdom, the water an ‘arsh for His mercy and grace, and the earth an ‘arsh for His giving of life, reviving, preserving, and providence. He circulates three of these elements around earthly creatures.

If the Ka‘ba is a projection or mirror of something from the realms beyond, if humankind is the polished mirror of another thing, and the physical realms are the garden or vineyard or the green house of metaphysical ones, then it is quite natural that the elements of air, water, light, and earth are mirrors of projections of some things or truths that belong to the elevated realms.

The views of Sufis about the ‘Arsh are somewhat different. Even though they do not reject the considerations of the interpreters of the Qur’an and theologians, in addition to mentioning it with such names as the Universal Intellect, the Universal Soul, and the Divine Signs of Creation, based on the verse, His Supreme Throne was upon the water (a fluid) (11:7), they have tended to call it the Supreme Throne of Life and the Supreme Throne of Livelihood. Sufis have also given the ‘Arsh the title the Supreme Throne of the All-Merciful because it surrounds all particles, all compounds, all the heavens, the earth, and all the realms of existence, and the title the All-Supreme Throne due to its being a mirror of the truth of the Supreme Preserved Tablet. If they have also called the heart of a believer the Supreme Throne of God, they have done so because they have viewed it (the heart) as the House of God.

This approach is widespread among the Sufis. While the respected scholarbsays,

The heart is the House of God; purify it from whatever is other than Him,

So that the All-Merciful may descend into His palace at night.

another saintly friend of God speaks as follows:

The heart of a believer is the Supreme Throne of the All-Merciful;

Breaking it is a sin and transgression.

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celebmania01 · 8 months

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Unveiling the Symbolism and Imagery in Saraswati Chalisa

Saraswati Chalisa, a revered prayer dedicated to Goddess Saraswati, is not only a devotional hymn but also a rich tapestry of symbolism and imagery. Each verse of the chalisa carries profound meaning, representing various aspects of the goddess and her association with knowledge, wisdom, and creativity. In this article, we will explore the hidden symbolism and imagery within the Saraswati Chalisa while considering diverse perspectives that enrich its interpretation.

The Veena: In the Saraswati Chalisa, the goddess is often depicted holding a veena, a stringed musical instrument. The veena symbolizes melody, harmony, and creative expression. It represents the divine vibrations of knowledge and the arts. As devotees recite the chalisa, they acknowledge and seek the inspiration to nurture their own creative potential.

White Garments: Saraswati is traditionally depicted wearing white garments, symbolizing purity, clarity, and enlightenment. White represents the pristine nature of knowledge and the goddess's role in illuminating the path of learning and wisdom.

Mounting on a Swan: The swan, on which Saraswati is often depicted seated or standing, is a symbol of discernment and spiritual purity. The swan has the ability to separate milk from a mixture, representing the goddess's power to distinguish truth from falsehood and to guide seekers towards true knowledge.

The Flowing River: In several verses, Saraswati is described as a river flowing gracefully. This imagery portrays her ever-flowing nature of knowledge, constantly enriching and nourishing those who seek her blessings. The flowing river also symbolizes the continuous evolution of wisdom and the importance of adaptability and lifelong learning.

Goddess of Speech: Saraswati is reverently referred to as the goddess of speech, symbolizing her association not only with literacy and written knowledge but also with the power of communication. As devotees recite the chalisa, they invoke the goddess's blessings to eloquently express themselves, whether through written or spoken words.

These symbols and imagery within the Saraswati Chalisa hold diverse interpretations and resonate with individuals from various cultural and spiritual backgrounds. For some, the symbolism may serve as a reminder of the profound connection between knowledge and creativity. Others may see it as a representation of the goddess's divine grace and wisdom guiding them throughout their educational and creative journeys.

It's important to note that individual interpretations of the Saraswati Chalisa's symbolism can vary, and that is the beauty of its universality. The chalisa embraces a fluidity that allows each person to connect with the imagery based on their unique perspectives and experiences.

As we unravel the symbolism and imagery within Saraswati Chalisa, we deepen our understanding of the divine qualities it represents. By contemplating these symbols, devotees can cultivate a deeper connection with the goddess and seek her blessings for the pursuit of knowledge, wisdom, and creativity in their lives.

Sources:

Speaking Tree: Unveiling Symbolism in Saraswati Chalisa

HinduWebsite: Symbolism in Saraswati Chalisa

IndianChild: The Deeper Symbolism in the Chalisa

May the symbolism embedded in the Saraswati Chalisa inspire individuals to embrace knowledge, wisdom, and creativity as they walk the path of self-discovery and personal growth.

#saraswati chalisa #saraswati vaidya #goddess saraswati #navratri #devi saraswati

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bhagvadgita · 6 months

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Verse 11.38 - Vishwarupa Darshan Yoga

त्वमादिदेव: पुरुष: पुराणस्- त्वमस्य विश्वस्य परं निधानम् | वेत्तासि वेद्यं च परं च धाम त्वया ततं विश्वमनन्तरूप || 38||

You are the first of gods, the ancient person, you are the supreme refuge of this universe; You are the knower, the object of knowledge, and the supreme abode; by you is the universe pervaded, O infinite form || 38||

Arjuna praises Krishna as the original and Supreme Divinity, who is the Source and sustainer of all existence. He acknowledges that Krishna is beyond time and space, and that he is the Ultimate Goal of all seekers of Truth.

Arjuna also recognizes that Krishna is omniscient, knowing everything that can be known, and that he himself is the essence of all knowledge. He affirms that Krishna is the Supreme state of bliss and liberation, where one attains union with Him.

Arjuna further marvels at Krishna's Cosmic Form, which encompasses the entire creation. He realizes that Krishna is present in every atom and every being, and that he manifests himself in infinite ways.

Similar verses from Vedic texts are:

- Rig Veda 10.90.2:

पुरुष एवेदं सर्वं यद्भूतं यच्च भव्यम् | उतामृतत्वस्येशानो यदन्नेनातिरोहति ||

The person is this all, what has been and what will be; He is the lord of immortality, who grows beyond food.

This verse describes the person (purusha) as the universal spirit, who encompasses all that exists and transcends all limitations. He is the source of immortality and self-sustenance.

- Shvetashvatara Upanishad 3.11:

सर्वाणी रूपाणि विचित्य धीर: नामानि कृत्वाऽभिवदन् यदास्ते | धाता पुरस्ताद्‍यमुदाजहार सकृष्टमेनं स मनसा प्रबुध: ||

Having realized all forms and names as his own, he salutes them. The creator brought forth from his face this one who is awake with his mind.

This verse depicts the enlightened sage who sees everything as a manifestation of his own Self. He respects all beings as expressions of the same Reality. He also recognizes that the creator (dhata) has revealed himself through his own intellect (face).

- Yogavashishta 6.2.8:

को हि कस्मिन् कथं केन कुतो वा कुत्र चेश्वर: | सर्वं सर्वेण सर्वत्र सर्वथा समलक्षयत् ||

Who indeed in what, how, by whom, from where or where is the Lord; He sees all with all, everywhere, in every way.

This verse asserts that the Lord (ishvarah) cannot be defined or limited by any concept or category. He pervades everything and everyone, and perceives everything as Himself.

#vishwarupdarshan yoga #gita #yoga #bhagavadgita #spirituality #yogi

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retvenkos · 2 years

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venom | k.b.

Grishaverse - Kaz Brekker & Reader, angst, former relationship

Series: Like Rabbits and Poets (they’re born to be killed)

tw: death imagery, consumption imagery, mentions of death, blood, violent imagery, drowning imagery, mentions of torture, rot imagery word count: 3.8k A/N: i am so sorry for the late update, for some reason it didn’t post??? also, in case you don’t recall, after this chapter, the series is going on a mini break!

Summary: the past is digging in it’s claws, but so is the truth.

The Dining Hall at the University of Ketterdam was never entirely quiet. By virtue of its occupancy and relative centrality on campus, there were always students occupying its tables with sound enough to accompany their presence. But now, in the early morning after a storm, when the sun had not yet risen, and the world was slate grey and deathless, the Dining Hall was near empty. The silence of it buzzed in your mind.

Dirtyhands was getting impatient. The Bastard of the Barrel was crawling out of the shadows, clawing at every ghost he could find, and you could no longer keep him at bay.

Somehow, in your mind, you were still standing in that alleyway. You were staring at all those littered lines of verse, and you were scouring their surface for the answers you knew were hidden within. Dirtyhands was still behind you, gnawing at your mind and consuming what lay within, but the puzzle was sitting before you. If you found the answer, then maybe the con would be complete. If you found the truth within their poetry, perhaps the Kaelish boys wouldn't have to die.

The poetry on the wall was chanting before you, speaking its unbridled bitterness, singing its unfinished glory. You wanted to devour it whole and never come up for air. You wanted to cut your life into this brick and watch it bleed red. You wanted to find the answers, and you wanted to never touch them at all.

You yearned for a drink dark and deep enough that it could swallow the world whole.

It was then - blinking in the Dining Hall, gathering your life around your shoulders - that you saw him. And for once, he was alone.

Nanko sat in the shadows peeling a sweet orange.

"Did you find those at market?" You approached him with a saccharine smile, and your voice echoed through the aching hall more than it ought to. It reminded you of all the ways in which this was a performance - another show you were enacting before a bated-breath crowd.

Nanko looked up from the darkness sharply - at attention - his back straightened because it was trained to, his gaze keen because it was made with such a design in mind. Even in the morning stillness, his grey eyes were a self-contained tempest - cloudy and tense, churning without pause- but they cleared somewhat when they saw you. The frigid air of formality remained, but already, you had started a thaw. Familiarity was growing between you gently - in some sad way, you recognized its bloom.

You sat across from him at the table, shrugging off your coat and gloves. You set down the morning food you had brought with you - a slice of bread and a small lump of cheese. You made yourself comfortable like you were a friend. In another life, you could have been.

Nanko neither shifted nor blinked.

"One of the vendors on campus was selling them yesterday - fresh from Shu Han." He replied slowly, and he didn't pause in his methodical movements as he looked toward you and articulated his sentence. His hands continued to work while his gaze settled on you, drinking in your fascination, watching for a turn of insincerity. He needn't search so carefully. You wouldn't give him one. "Have you ever had one?"

"Not in this life." and the boy seemed amused at your truth. "They don't grow here on Kerch - the climate's too cold to sustain them I believe - and as a luxury, they've never been within my grasp."

In acknowledgement, Nanko bowed his head. The sweet orange he peeled bloomed - nine beautiful segments - vibrant and whole. He popped one in his mouth and started to work on the next orange beside him. He worked with extraordinary ease. Not a single drop of juice trickled down his fingers.

In his own way, Nanko had made the process an art. In an art form unlike any other, you let that knowledge weave a truth in your mind.

Oranges. A Kaelish boy bought oranges.

"Are they your favorite?" you asked, with a curiosity you knew you ought to kill. "I remember you mentioned them in your poetry, once - oranges, gathered abundant in a woman’s arms."

"Yes," he relented, with a quirk of his lips that was the closest you'd seen of a smile. You wanted to lean closer, to listen to his voice and see where he faltered. He enunciated his words slowly, trying to perfect the Kerch accent on his tongue. He put too much strength into it, and his Adam's apple bobbed like a glass bottle at sea. "I've loved them since I was a child - I used to have them every day. They remind me of..."

And there it was again - that longing drawing in - that sorrow drowning the earth beneath his feet. He was sinking in the water, unable to gasp for breath. There was steel flashing in his eyes - a danger that lingered in his shadows. It tasted metallic. You knew it well.

"Of summer, I imagine—" You had baited as far as you could go; now, it was time to pull him back to the shallows "—given the storm last night. The dying months in Ketterdam are volatile - one day it's warm, the next it's ice and snow. I hear it makes us worse than even Fjerda."

Nanko blinked, and it was as though he were hearing your words through glass. You pretended not to notice, but his hands had stilled, and something sticky-sweet was dripping between his fingers.

He nodded then, with the barest hint of a smile, and passed you one of his freshly peeled orange slices.

You deal in demons better than I; you bottle their venom and memorize their vows. You look them in the eye before you snap their restless necks.

There had been a joke amongst the Dregs once (you weren't sure if it survived, still, or if it had died with the friends you'd once buried) that the Slat was a Saint. Sankt Slat - patron Saint of bastards, bloodshed, and dying things. If you prayed to the Slat, it wouldn't give you anything of comfort, and it wouldn't make dying any less of an anguish, but at least you could feign at being devout.

Sometimes, the mere impression of something is enough to sustain confidence in existence. Sometimes, you can buy into the smoke and mirrors and be content with a lie.

You had granted the Slat sainthood, once, but it was nothing more than a joke, all that time ago. You had never believed much in the power of Saints, but as something-of-a-poet, you had revered the strength of their gravitas. They pulled people in. They changed them irrevocably. Saints and gods had a power to them - unforgiving and sublime.

In those days, you had still carved yourself something of a belonging at the bottom of the world, and so you had put as much of your life in Sankt Slat as you did the rest of them. You didn't believe in it, but you spoke of it like folklore. If you wanted to, you could have built the Slat into something of a god - breathed life into its sagging frame and made it a mythos and a power - a salt-stained glory.

But all those years ago, you didn't think you had.

After all, Saints and gods were dangerous. They dealt unequal hands to their devoted, and they played with lives like they were inconsequential - a game of cards. If you didn't believe in a Saint's glory, perhaps they couldn't meddle in your fate.

Maybe you were still less of a believer than the traditionally devout, but you understood one thing for certain, now, as you approached the seat of a Saint - winding through the slick and darkened streets of the Barrel:

Saints and gods exist where people pray to them. Real or fake, a facade or a hardened truth, they take it, and as long as they're fed, they can seize any string of fate and strangle any marionette they see before them . Even those who don't believe, and even those who pretend not to.

You made it to the meeting place when the night turned dark, shadows tugging at all the light it could see. For a hairbreadth of a moment, you rocked back on your heels to stare.

The Slat was before you, now, and briefly, it stood like a god - full of spines and secrets, something resolute and corrosive in its touch - a deity that had once sheltered you and then forsaken, and had since lost your zeal.

The Slat was grander than it had once been - its awnings contorted into more of a grin. It had fed on your cynicism as much as anyone's belief, and it had built itself in the image of your doubt. What had you become since you abandoned the refuge of a Saint? What would happen if you reached out to touch it now?

Sankt Slat was alive, and it was pulling you further in.

You tipped back the bottle you'd been carrying as though it were liquor, but inside was a drink no more potent than water. You had told yourself on the slow, meandering walk here that you would thank yourself for it come morning, but as of the moment, you wanted nothing more than a drink - something like bottled oblivion - strong enough to make the evening disappear entirely.

Something like amnesia to banish the thoughts of Sainthood and depravity - to offset the churning of your stomach.

But tonight, all you had was a bottle, and you'd be performing composure akin to authenticity. Tonight, you were a nightingale balancing on the wire - a performer standing over a precipice. If you blinked, you were already falling; if you stiffened your spine, you were giving in to the sway.

The bottle nearly ran dry, and when you pulled it away from your lips, the Slat was just another building. Perhaps bigger than it had once been, but no more encompassing. You scoffed and gave your false spirits a shake. They made no reply as you walked into the foyer.

The walls were painted black, like always.

"(Y/n)! I'm glad you could make it."

The voice that greeted you was like a pint of Olendaal ale during the harvest season - somehow, it carried the faint tune of music, and somehow, it left the impression of a euphoric folk dance. It was brighter than it had right to be, but you were glad something still burned in the Barrel.

For a moment, this place was home. You scoffed like summer and rolled your smiling eyes. "Somehow, I got the impression this meeting wasn't optional."

Your feet remembered this walk better than any other; four steps in, then a quarter turn to the left, and there stood your favorite sharpshooter - long limbs draped atop the banister to the stairs, his Barrel flash a mismatch of bright green trousers and a deep burgundy vest. Somehow, it suited him and made him shine. His hat sat tipped to one side, hanging low over his eyes, and a grin beamed beneath it.

"Jesper Fahey," and you let the taste of his name linger on your tongue - a warmth you'd forgotten you'd missed igniting in your chest and pulling a smile. "Miss me?"

He scoffed as though the answer were obvious and tossed you a wink. "More than you know."

Pulling himself to his full height, Jesper tapped his fingers against the stair's railing - nervous energy always pouring out somehow - his preoccupation resting not with you, but the door to his left. All his being was angled there - tethered to that doorway - the door that once led to Per Haskell's office. The door that presumably housed the Bastard of the Barrel, now.

Jesper caught your gaze. "But the real question is: are you actually glad to see me? Or is this joy another act of yours? You're scary good at them, you know."

And perhaps had it been another day, or had it been another life entirely, it wouldn't have hit you the way it did. But you were an actor on the precipice - you were a performer readying a play at authenticity. It cut, but you didn't let it show.

"I missed you, Jesper." And it was the truth of it, with none of the pain.

He smiled. "Well, I'm glad. Inej will be thrilled to see you, too."

You reckoned 'thrilled' might be too strong a word, considering where the intent of the meeting would eventually lead you, but you decided against arguing, for one night.

"I'm guessing she's already in?"

"Yeah. She and Kaz have been waiting. I thought you might want a welcome home first without all the scheming, though. Kaz has been on one ever since this job began. Besides, I haven't seen you since before the Ice Court job and Saints, a job like that changes your life entirely."

You smiled at his theatrics and plucked a strand of red hair off of his shoulder. You spun it between your fingers before letting it fall to the floor. It was nothing you didn’t already know - nothing you hadn’t already learned - drained from the throats of men who believed they were consuming naught but liquid spirits, and divulging nothing in return. "You'll have to tell me that story sometime. It's fascinating, and it's in all the whispers I hear at the Opera. It would be nice to know what they're speaking of. After all, sometimes knowledge is a little knife I can press to another's throat. Maybe knowing that job could wheedle out information easier."

Jesper blinked at you, his mouth slightly ajar, his eyes alert and searching - if you tilted it to the side, it was awe. If you took it at face value, it was something else entirely. "Scary, did I mention that?"

Jesper slipped off the stairs and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. He clocked the bottle in your hand and snagged it, taking a drink before you registered it was out of your grasp. He scowled in disappointment at the taste.

"It's fake."

Jesper raised his eyebrows, unimpressed with your deadpan humor. "I should have guessed, coming from you. Is everything you own a prop?"

"Just the valuables." And the look Jesper gave you coaxed a grin.

Jesper Fahey had always had that way about him - a talent for siphoning out the realness of someone without them noticing. He could fabricate camaraderie out of nothing but dust, and tug at the corners of your mouth until a grin came easy, and so, too, did the truth. It was something in the way he didn't admit he was doing it, at all. His secret lay in the fact that his intentions were near always pure.

You didn't doubt that Brekker knew that little habit of Jesper's. Exploitation meant knowing every marketable skill, and to Dirtyhands, manipulation was just business. For a moment, you entertained that Jesper greeting you - outside the context of the others, warming you to the Slat's near-constant chill - hadn't been his selfless idea at all. That Dirtyhands had posted Jesper right beside you for a reason. That this was his little con - his way to lower your defenses before going in for the kill.

But you were just a nightingale and there was no need to kill a songbird.

…So long as it played its part. And so long as it lied very well.

"Should we enter the belly of the beast, then?" And it was a joke, but it was the truth. That's the trouble with a play on words - they say more than they mean, and they scratch at the depths hidden beneath. But you looked at him, and Jesper's eyes were glistening with the light of the Slat, only.

And so you let him lead you in.

You have carried monsters, and you have fed demons, and you have killed them the same.

It's hard to remember, sometimes, with time being what it is, and the waters of Kerch eroding all your sedimentary past, but some things stand out in the hurricane of your memories - some moments like craggy sea stacks that wisened sailors learn to avoid.

Young years spent on the stoop of a weary general store were some of them - memories that refused to fade, a life that was once yours but couldn't be, any longer. A journey to Ketterdam with a suitcase packed of neatly folded dreams was another.

Then a further memory - darker, and more jagged than the last. Salt-stained and blood-drowned. You didn't like to remember it, and you didn’t like to approach it with the hands of a weeping beggar, but the Slat was crawling towards you, and in its slanted grasp held the truth.

It reached out and swallowed you whole.

The top-most room of the Slat was once inhabited by shadows.

Your hands were still trembling, all this time after. You held them before you, and they shook as though they were not your own. You, who could control any tremor. You, who had never once lost control.

And even though the blood on your hands had washed away, you could still see its dark, ugly stain in every other blink of your eyes.

There it was - blood, as red as roses, dripping from your hands, staining those velvet-backed seats. It had a sound, almost - something detached yet melancholic, screaming yet never heard. Like a slanted cry of a violin, like the broken keys of an organ. It dripped down your hands. It dissipated on the velvet. Red on red. Should it have stood out the way that it did?

And whose blood was it - this ruby ichor that dripped down your hands? The man before you, who had laughed with a wicked sort of death, taunting that you'd never know where the painting was, now, all before you slit his howling throat? Or the mercher who shot the pistol, who you had cornered and interrogated, never knowing it was the very thing he planned? Or perhaps was it the Crows around you - friends who had once had names, comrades who once had purpose?

Blood. And Crows. And the death of two merchers. Stains on the velvet seats at the Opera.

The Healer who had saved you said the blood was yours - from that nasty gunshot wound in your stomach - the bullet that had felt like everything and nothing at all. You heard what he had to say as his hands stitched your skin without needle, and his power sealed what had been torn from you raw, but you didn't believe his truth. It was your blood, but it wasn't. It had been your choice, but their mistake.

Dirtyhands was raging from it, now.

Your hands still seemed to be shaking, and in the poor lighting of Kaz's office, it was hard to tell if it was the movement of your fingers or the curling of the shadows.

"Do you realize what you've done?"

And does realization matter in the face of death? Or do secrets kill like a pistol, and bleeding out steal the meaning of truth?

"Do you realize what you killed? What's lost because you thought you'd play the Saint?"

A painting. Lives. A girl tortured until a mercher spat a location, and the rest faded from view.

Blood on the velvet seats of the Opera.

"You always go too far." And they were the first words you'd spoken since you'd screamed at the loss of it all. They were broken, and they were heaving, but they were building at the back of your throat to something still more raw. "You're only ever driven by profit and it makes a monster out of you and everything you touch. You were going to torture his daughter because nothing you've ever done to him in the past has mattered. You were going to torture a child and murder her father. I was saving an innocent!"

Kaz Brekker was the shadow all around you, and his darkness was seething - fire burning in his eyes. "He would have broken before I ever touched her—"

"And if he didn't?"

"Then I'd finish the job!"

You tried to scoff, but it came out a choked sob. You could taste something like poison at the back of your mouth - sharp and double-edged, bitter as the truth. Were Ketterdam and her ever-loyal servant consuming you from within? Was that the cost of morality, here in the Barrel?

"Better that than killing two of our own."

He bared his teeth, and for a moment, it almost looked like his grin.

You blinked back whatever oceans were building near your eyes. You hissed, but it was just air. "I was saving—"

"No one but yourself. You were saving the way you can look at your reflection in the mirror. You were saving the idea of righteousness, weak as it is. The girl didn't need saving, and neither did I."

You were looking into his eyes, then, and all you could see was profit and the loss of it. All that was apparent were the demons you had tried for so long to keep at bay, never realizing they were creeping into your heart inch by inch, never discerning they were masquerading as a stoic gentleman in an evening coat.

"You still have an idealistic view of the corruption inside the Barrel - the kind that makes for tempting stories you can sing in an Operahouse and sell for shiny tickets - but that isn't how Ketterdam lives. That's not how she feeds on our souls. Evil is in the hands of perspective. Do you think a mercher loses sleep when he cheats one of our own? Do you think the virtuous care when they kill one of our brothers? The merchant class is crooked, and you have to be just as ruthless to sniff out the rot and fumigate it from the city."

You stared at him in silence until all you saw were his sharpened teeth. Kaz Brekker. Dirtyhands. The Bastard of the Barrel. Love was a fantasy burning in the industrial fires of the city - attachment carved from your being with a silver butcher knife. All understanding was drowning in the seas near the harbor. Profit was the only thing that kept him. Corruption was the only thing he held dear. It was his teeth that he had been baring. It was his manipulations he'd been weaving. It was the machinations of his mind that built this ever-dying fondness in your chest, and it was you who had to dash them against the pavement, now.

You said something. You said everything. Or maybe you said nothing at all.

You don't quite remember getting up and leaving, or even gathering your sparse things. You don't recall the climb down the stairs or the parting words you left with friends. The walk back to the Opera house was hard, and the blood on the velvet seats was yet unwashed. But you slept there for the night, and soon the owner offered you a back room of your own for all your nights after.

You don't quite remember how your dream of the glory of Ketterdam died, but it went something like this:

Your hands weren't shaking when you bid the Slat farewell.

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