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cyb3rtarot · 2 months

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Pick a Pile: Nature Messages

Disclaimer: In this PAP I'm reading my homemade nature-based oracle with tarot and other oracle decks. There’s general messages and advice. Readings are not replacements for professional advice! Take what confirms you and leave what confuses you.

pile 1 ❀.ೃ࿔ pile 2 pile 3 ❀.ೃ࿔ pile 4

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Pile 1:

Rushing Water

[Healing (King of Emotion), Receptivity (Queen of Emotion), Uncertainty]

Hi pile 1! This pile has gone through a major healing period, or you might be in the tail-end of it. This could have been intense or fast—like a whirlwind of purged emotions and memories. Mental energy that was stagnant for a long time was suddenly swept away, and not painlessly. Now you’re a clean slate. You understood the importance of exfoliating these old mindsets, and there’s an inner child ready to look at everything with wonder again. Roles you have been forced to play dissipate. You can decide who you are instead of only reacting to an idea of yourself. There’s a sense of starting again and freshly taking in the world.

Beauty

[Experiencing, You Can’t Go Back to Yesterday, Ordinariness]

You have opportunities to appreciate the moment. You might be leaving a door open for things from the past, or you feel anxious about where to start with your new self. Be in the present! The beauty of life is coming through the routine and mundane—appreciating existence even when nothing big is happening. Finding joy in just being and the small things can help rebuild yourself. Appreciation will help you feel more connected and aware in the grand scheme of things. But, it’s harder to be open to this beauty if you’re still holding old expectations over yourself. Physical activities rather than mental ones may be especially helpful at this time, such as walking or gardening.

Cactus

[The Tower rx, Impossible Things rx, Achievement (Sun in Capricorn, 10th house)]

Your defenses are up. Many of you have constant worry as a backdrop to everything. You’re waiting for something big to happen or to blow up in your face. Some are waiting for a dead situation to revive and putting your defenses up to everything else. Part of healing is trusting yourself to manage even when you don’t have all the facts. Waiting for something to happen can function as a way to ignore your present life or procrastinate, and you might end up ignoring lovely things. There’s irony here, having skepticism about good possibilities but not being skeptical about the worst possibilities. Not every day can be a tower moment. Many days are regular and will slip into time, which is why the opportunity to experience and steer it now can be a gift. Remembering this will create a strong foundation for later.

Advice—Bonfire

[Consciousness (Ace of Mind), Nothingness, 7 of cups]

The only mental suit in your reading is in your advice, and it emphasizes not overthinking. Awareness is needed to find yourself underneath your stressors, otherwise you may treat those as inherent parts of your character and life. This awareness can be found in joys of the mundane, letting your inner child out, and celebrating. Do things that bring you out of your head and into the physical. Or, activities that join reflection with sensory experience, such as meditating with candles & incense. Don’t waste your new self seeking those who can only accept past versions of you. If being present means taking more time with just yourself, that’s okay. Purposeful alone time is very helpful right now, especially during night if you can make time. You have a vast abundance of potential in and around you that can sprout anything, but you won’t truly understand or appreciate the extent of this if you don’t live it. Slow down and appreciate the warmth that’s already available. Also, don’t beat yourself up for progressing slower.

Extra Details: coastal areas (coves or hills, golden sand), the beach at night, yellow stars (star shaped lamp?), working with friends/partner (especially if you left), The Office, gratitude practices (affirmations, journaling, etc), greatly increased intuition, or increased feelings of connection to Source/God/Higher Self/etc—you felt the connection was strained before? There’s awareness of something bigger than yourself, even your emotions or soul. xxxHolic, healing heart & throat energies, blue, water Sun & Moon, water N. Node (especially Cancer), Venus dominant, Venus-Moon natal aspect, heavy Cancer placements, feeling hopeful about career/finances or taking steps in that area (even slowly), trees/tree-hugging, taking care of plants, feeling like you’re given or gifted things & opportunities (but maybe you don’t care for whatever these are lol), shooting stars/meteor showers, comets, making a wish (or you feel very hopeful at this time), starting a new solo project or career, waiting for an ex (partner or friend), deer in headlights, lotus, feeling alone especially at night (you may want to try setting aside peaceful time if you’re usually busy at night or do something to purposefully wind down). If you were already drawn to pile 3 it may resonate

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Pile 2:

Hope

[Innocence, Nothingness, Awareness]

Hello pile 2! There's a very new and wonder-filled energy. An old version of yourself is dying so to speak, and you’re entering a different headspace. You might feel like a kid again, or life is prompting you to give your inner child power. Some of you are worried that means making bad decisions or indulging in things you shouldn’t? But this is about the innocence in your inner child’s perspective—and you still have knowledge and experience to express this part of yourself wisely.

With Nothingness + Awareness, I feel you’re already embodying this, but some of you have anxiety that’s stopping your enjoyment and hope. There may be shame with past relationships. Like how you may have gotten used, or you’re angry at yourself for things you didn’t notice. This is a good time to revisit activities and places you loved in your childhood. They can help integrate the experience you gained with your inner child. Time alone with yourself and nostalgia, becoming reacquainted with yourself & life (finding healthy ways to engage with nostalgia is important for you). Things that were blinding you have passed and you've been made anew. Lay down the last self-judgements so you can be fully aware of life’s present potential. If you already felt drawn to pile one, this “clean-slate” vibe and huge energy of potential is very similar. Or, you might have friends that embody the energy of pile one.

Organization

[Friendliness, Manipulation (Jupiter in Scorpio, 8th house), All in the Golden Afternoon]

In terms of divine timing, there's a time and place for everything. What doesn’t make sense now may be a key piece of a puzzle later or an important shift. Many of you are having a faith or emotional crisis. You may feel strained with the grand scheme of things or a higher power, wondering why things happen the way they do. This is linked to that clean-slate energy, as this transformation of self/beliefs is having a profound impact on your inner world. These strong emotions (especially if you’re angry or indignant) can fuel your investigation of life, your new beliefs, and in creating.

You could be experiencing things emotionally & spiritually you never have before, especially in relation to a major loss in the last 6-9 months. Some of you got some blessing or achievement related to this time and you may feel conflicted about it. Regardless, balancing socializing with alone time is important for you. Interacting with others will help you make sense of the world, can inspire you, and can also help you work through grief both of you may be experiencing. The phrase “checking in” comes to mind; both you and your loved ones can benefit from being more there for each other. This doesn’t extend to people who no longer have a healthy space in your life. Some of you are punishing yourself or caging yourself in loneliness by not seeking healthy social interaction. Intentional alone time is good, but not as a way to punish yourself.

Underwater

[Clinging to the Past, Keep Your Temper, Discovery (Mercury in Sagittarius, 9th house)]

Positive outlets for emotions and restlessness are very important. Strong emotions have come out twice. You may feel like you’re drowning in feelings or confusion. You could have an explosive or blinding temper right now that you’re suppressing. There’s anxiety & fear about how fast or strangely things are moving in your life—especially if any kind of intuition, spiritual practice, or similar things have developed. But the fear you feel is not reflective of your abilities. Loss, change, and learning curves ARE scary. I keep getting this self-punishment or self-“inflammatory” (?) vibe. Like when too much emotion or confusion builds up, you become your own target (especially in anger). Your emotional capacity is not the enemy. Always seek professional emotional help or stress management if you need it; don’t take it out on yourself when life is hard. Your emotions are powerful when directed into something non-destructive. That’s easier said than done, but the bottom row of your reading really emphasizes self-discoveries, creative ideas, and new perspectives your emotions can lead you to. Healthy ways to manage your explosive side will help you tap into this. For example, travel keeps coming up. Going somewhere to clear your head and get away from stifling energy could help, especially if you can travel somewhere special to you. Even going to a new place locally can shift energy. A lot of you are experiencing this because of grief or because rapid changes are pushing you to the familiarity of the past. You may look at past people with rose-tinted glasses or long for innocent times. This can be another form of self-punishment—making yourself obsess over what once was (or never was) instead of loving present you. You are braver than you let yourself feel.

Advice—Decay

[Impulsiveness (Mars in Aries, 1st house), the Lovers rx, Page of Swords rx]

There’s an important ending; this could be part of the grief mentioned if you’re now trying to feel alive again. You’re clinging to something that’s gone or leaving, and this is fanning the flames of emotion. All things naturally reach endings, and there's more on the other side of the transformation. What steps can you take that signify a new mindset? It can be as simple as trying a new activity.

I am picking up a lot about communication with another. Maybe a relationship is coming to a close or not on good terms, or you’ve been thinking about communicating with someone from the past. Maintain a wide and objective perspective; very high emotions may cloud your communication skills. It’s not so much about regret, but you may not be satisfied if you speak while upset. For those that resonated with this, you may also resonate with the message below (I channeled it before I wrote this part).

Specific message: please be careful of overindulging, especially drinking! This message is so important, it came through in my dream before I pulled your cards. Your guides or whatever forces you believe in are really, really wanting me to stress about not overdoing it in this department, especially if you tend to think you’re more sober than you are, or go from 0 to 100? Be very aware of your pacing because there’s something about easily going overboard without realizing, and potential communication in regards to that such as drunk confessions. This is 200% so if you’re hosting or going to a party/get-together, or socially drinking. If you’ve been drinking more this is fueling your past regrets and nostalgia.

Extra Details: restless/excited energy (& anticipation/anxiety), transitory period, anxiety in your chest, blocked heart/throat/third eye energy (may feel an imagination block; journaling can help). Great Red Spot, starfish, suddenly feeling very intuitive, confused about spiritual/religious beliefs, Jupiter as an important natal planet, Sagittarius + Scorpio placements, fire Moon and Mars, water & fire as dominant elements in inner planets & Jupiter, death of someone that changed your life but you weren’t close or on good terms (already happened), rehab, wanting to host a party/get-together, angry or confused with God/universe, putting on an "okay" attitude for others’ sake, nostalgic dreams, feeling stagnant, questioning or leaving a music career (singing, gospel/spiritual music?), veggie tales?, gardening (maybe in childhood), wanting to break no communication or text an ex/new crush, finding online communities, “Are We Moving Too Fast?” by Malibu 92, feeling like you’re in a dream/ infatuated with a dream version of someone, love songs, Kyoukai no Kanata

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Pile 3:

Changing of the Seasons

[The Lovers, Abundance (King of Material), Sharing (Queen of Action)]

Hi pile 3! You guys are embodying a new energy much like the other piles. Your cards show having so much to be shared. With the King of the physical suit, this is likely material blessings. Some of you have been struggling with past regret/vendettas, and deciding to move on has shifted the energy. Or, some of you are starting a new faith? This is a very fulfilling time and it reminds me of Summer, with all the abundance and “sunshine-y” energy (maybe a significant season for you). Wholeheartedly embrace however this manifests; matching the effort from the Universe/higher power/etc will increase your success (I also heard “manifold;” there could be many things happening at once).

Let go of lack, scarcity, and insecure mindsets; there’s enough to go around. This Lovers card speaks of how people mirror each other and how love evolves into compassion. Embracing compassion—and trusting that it’s okay to feel safety and joy—will allow abundance to overflow. This can even just be uplifting yourself and those around you with positivity. This extends into your community, uplifting the “village”. It goes the other way too. If people would like to support you in a healthy way, let them! Don’t be afraid of people expressing their love to you as assistance. Effort from you OR those in union with you will help increase good things that are already going (like how the land grows fruit regardless, but farmers can multiply it drastically). Seasons come and go so make the most of a fruitful one!

If your success/wellbeing is heavily tied to someone close, this could be a great time for both of you. The increases one of you experiences will be very positively mirrored or appreciated by the other, especially for happily married people. You may want to share more, help & be helped more by the other at this time.

Resourcefulness

[Ace of wands, 10 of wands sideways, Publicity (Jupiter in Leo, 5th house)]

Get your hands into the new opportunities life is throwing your way. Have a direct experience with life. This pile might use manifestation methods where you mostly sit back and allow it to come to you. Or there’s a similar approach of watching + waiting, not really getting into things too much as you wait for what’s meant for you to present itself. You might also always keep manifesting something, like even as your manifestations appear, you go after something else instead of interacting with it. You’re highly encouraged to get INTO whatever life has to offer right now, to actively co-create and experience the world. I heard “recognition;” that may be what’s in store if you exert effort. How can you make the most of the present, the fertile ground? Idk why there’s so many farming metaphors but they represent your situation, how the “land”/life is there for you to work and multiply the natural blessings. Even in a shared blessing, you can make it work especially for you—if you’re willing to get your hands dirty (metaphorically, not promoting corruption or shady behavior lol). This could be work but it feels more like creativity, passion, faith.

There’s also something about working too hard with the 10 of wands sideways. Maybe you’re used to working and grinding hard all the time. These opportunities prompt you to view “hard” work more creatively and openly. Especially if you've struggled materially—and maybe that’s why some of you have passive manifesting styles. Adapt—as all nature must to make the most of the situation—don’t bring old approaches forward that don’t serve the present. What helps you survive Winter may not be beneficial in Spring.

Faction

[3 of wands, Justice rx, Belong to Your Own Dream]

This seems like energy from someone around you rather than you. What I’m getting is a group or partnership of people that’s so heavily tied, something happening to one affects all. Someone around you has gone through a transformation that’s changing the dynamic of a group. I heard “undercurrents” and “hidden,” so I think this isn’t apparent yet. Not everybody knows about whatever this is, but it’s a shift that affects you. This could be you too since this is a group reading, but for most here I think not.

What I picked up is someone coming to terms with an identity or self-expression. I also picked up on power dynamic changes, so this could be someone getting materially blessed and it having a ripple effect. Below in the details, I picked up on a baptism which may be related. There’s literal baptisms, but it could also be someone feeling initiated into a new group, organization, or identity. Regardless, being heavily tied to others has responsibilities and consequences beyond our control. We sacrifice some freedom to share our compassion, ups and downs, the blessings too. Some people and blessings will ONLY be in our lives for a season, and some people are only a certain version of themselves for a season. Make the most of the present because the future is changing & moving, and staying in the past sacrifices what you currently have.

Advice—Abundant Harvest

[Power (Moon in Scorpio, 8th house), Impossible Things, Exaltation (Moon in Taurus, 2nd house)]

Idk what to tell you because the whole reading really, really emphasizes that there’s so much good stuff here to “reap the rewards” of 😭. I know we talked about this all along but it came out again. Idk if you guys are very hesitant to accept good things or make the most of them and maybe this is why it’s being emphasized so much lol. I channeled a food forest that feeds the whole community for free, that may describe this energy for you and your people. Or, may describe your role soon.

There’s a message about having gone through a profound inner transformation, having “repositioned” yourself in the world. For example, some of you always viewed yourself as a servant and now you’ve shed that? You may still do it, but you’re not only this one thing, and it’s in a way that empowers you. There’s something about relating to the world as yourself in a different, unique way, and this having a huge change on power dynamics. You may not outwardly appear this way, maybe others don't understand, but you’ve empowered yourself greatly somehow, & if not this is a change to embody so you can reap the most of the blessings. I keep wanting to say reap—there’s energy of good things already fruited, especially with this Moon exalted in Taurus. So much security + comfort is laid in your path right now, please tune into the version of yourself that can multiply BUT ALSO enjoy this!

Extra Details: nature as significant in your faith, promotion for someone in a duo/close group, forgiveness, homemaking (recently switched to/out of it because of changes in finances or beliefs), worship of a masculine + feminine deity (or recognizing feminine + masculine qualities in a gendered deity, or yourself), Cave In- Owl City, getting into nature + water, caves/coves, orange, beach towns, hopeful, end of a dark night of the soul, weddings/unions, Christianity, finding someone/ community with similar beliefs, baptisms, moving up in an organization, new clothing or style, shift in power/money in relationship, parable of the sower (the actual parable). Scrying, divining signs, charm casting. Coming out, changes to beliefs about gender expression & roles. Healing the relationship with a specific part of yourself. Going back to school or studying a new topic (astrology) (some of you want to go to a religious university?), legal situation ending (divorce, suing, etc). Dragging out your words. No longer thinking you need someone to survive or complete you, Single Ladies- Beyonce, moving on from toxicity into new partnership or friends. If you were already drawn to pile 1 or 4 they may resonate

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Pile 4:

Underground

[6 of cups, The Creator (King of Action), the Hanged Man rx]

Hi pile four! The first thing I heard is “sharing is productive, sharing is compassion.” A lot of you have been doing your own thing, developing yourselves or a project behind the scenes. There’s something about your life or inner landscape others are not privy to. Expressing yourself—or sharing this part of yourself where appropriate—will be “productive,” I hear. You can also be an example of whatever it is. Maybe there’s some knowledge, beliefs, or world perspective that could be a positive influence to those around you? You could feel like you have a mission to bring these ideas or something else to your community, but you’re not sure how to start. Showing people who you are through your self-expression, ideals, words, mannerisms, and how you interact with others can be just as impactful as explaining something. Your style may also have an impact if you’ve changed it recently or if it’s different from those around you. It’s important to do all this from a place of compassion for the best impact (I heard “best outcome” & “best product;” some of you are part of a project or group goal where this is relevant?). You are no longer only preaching at people or trying to get end results when you move with compassion & understanding. It also allows you to remain grounded when disagreements occur. Compassion is the point.

Nurturing

[the Fool sideways, I Want to Be a Queen rx, Judgement]:

You may have transformed very quickly or changed some fundamental beliefs, and now I hear you feel you’re on a different “momentum” and “speed” than those who’ve been in your life, especially those who’ve been around for a long time. Maybe you feel you’re outgrowing them. You could have lost interest in a project or relationship you invested in, or could be moving away. There’s conflicted feelings about a new lifestyle at the cost of the things left behind. This could refer to a childhood/past dream you’re unsure about pursuing.

It’s not about picking the “right” thing, it’s about if you’re willing to nurture the energy and accept those consequences. Staying with the past, doing something new, being in the middle—each has its own set of consequences you must face. There’s an emphasis on that with the judgment card next to the Hanged Man rx—whatever you invest your energy + thoughts in, you’ll experience what follows that choice. Some of you feel like you’re hiding from life by not moving forward or postponing something, but that's also a choice.

Old and new are inherently neither good nor bad; what are you willing and able to do to nurture the life you choose? Can you do this with compassion and discernment? Your life is your choice. That decision is only one part of a much larger picture: the life you continuously create (and what you choose to associate with). When you act with wisdom and discernment, you learn more about yourself, what’s really calling for you and not an illusion. You can be honest with yourself, not only about what you want but what is right and good for you. Compassion allows you to create with love (including self love). It reinforces your ability to live honestly, in the moment—and not only do things for results.

Friends

[Two of wands rx, Going with the Flow (ace of emotions), You Are Rare and Free]

I know “friends” is not necessarily nature-based, but it’s what came out. "Going with the flow” talks about allowing yourself to be moved with life instead of fighting against it or staying stagnant. Again, many of you are holding onto something familiar or ignoring something to avoid change. This card talks about detaching from ego-based ideas and expectations. So many of your cards throughout the reading speak of looking back or nostalgia—6 of cups, 2 of wands rx, Hanged Man rx, even the Fool is not fully upright, but yet you have Judgment too. Judgment is a reminder that reckoning comes for everyone and everything; life continues even when we cling. Contemplate what you want and what action this entails. This pile is taking paths of most resistance; something you’re doing or thinking is making things complicated. It seems related to friends or family. Caring about them a lot is making the decision harder, or you might have some kind of investment/entanglement with them. Remember who YOU are and stick with that. You can enjoy and share with other people without it being at the expense of yourself. You aren’t necessarily a people-pleaser, but you may hold yourself to what old versions of you wanted or thought. It’s okay to change, it’s unavoidable. Fighting a change in yourself may feel easier than dealing with the effects, but is it really? You may avoid facing others, but you’ll always have to face yourself.

You might really try to hold onto control (especially for timing) as a substitute for trusting yourself. Decisions and change feel so monumental because you don’t know if you can make it through what comes afterwards. Build trust in yourself and applaud your skills that help you make it through day to day.

Advice—Practices

[Defense (Mars in Taurus, 2nd house), Follow the White Rabbit rx, the Chariot rx, 8 of swords rx]

Set up little actions and routines that will help you make steps towards what's on your mind. Your cards suggest the goal, move, or decision you’re interested in might not see forward movement right now. You might feel like you meet resistance, but this might just be because you need to build a routine, discipline, or set of steps before you can see progress. This period is needed for the discord to clear in your mind. This’ll be a time of mental transformations more than physical ones, but this is the foundation of the tangible changes later. This doesn’t have to all be boring. I keep hearing “reverence;” blending spirituality with your goals will be very helpful. Or, anything that adds fun & peace to productivity. Example, time in nature (being outside at all) can be uplifting as well as brainstorming time.

Extra Details: freelancer, work that doesn’t feel like a job (because you like it or it’s not traditional), thinking about life goals (large/collective ones like helping humanity), supervisor or manager (or similar group leader role), taking responsibility for power and influence you wield with others, fashion scene or niche artistic local community like DJing, culinary, food service, cooking shows, “the time will pass anyway,” choosing between a childhood dream/community and a new one, unsure about medicine or another lucrative field. Walks or solo activities where you can sort your thoughts are very beneficial. Guilt about an ill/injured loved one (wanting to do something where you won’t be able to see them?), divination routine, There's a lot of emphasis on food as a passion or because you need to eat lots of fruits and veggies, tea (dandelion tea?), Kate Bush. If you already felt drawn to pile 1 it may resonate. If you already felt drawn to pile 3, the resourcefulness and faction sections specifically may resonate.

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revrover · 1 year

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The Stranger - Pt. 2

Part One: The Stranger

Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 8k (lol whoops)

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Language, PLOT

Summary: Namor isn’t the only one who has been searching for his general. Thanks to you, Namora’s life was saved -- but when your connection to the two strangers brings you face to face with a hostile group of government agents, you find yourself in the crossfire of a much bigger conflict.

A/N: OMG first and foremost thank you for being here, thank your for coming back, and thank you for reading. This has taken me a bit longer to post because I’ve been pouring over it every day for a month, trying to get it just right. Comments, feedback and reblogs mean THE WORLD to me, so feel free to show some love and as always please be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

There is a growing unrest inside you.

Days have passed since your encounter with Namor after saving the life of his general, Namora. Two mysterious strangers who have left your mind reeling with questions, unrelenting and unquenchable as a flame that dares to spread like wildfire, consuming your thoughts entirely.

You repeatedly play the memory over in your head with no rational way to explain what you witnessed; her blue skin, his superhuman strength; the curious metal that outfitted both of their armor; how they disappeared into the vast open ocean.

"Something on your mind?" A fruit vendor asks, snapping you back to reality. You stand in the middle of the bustling village marketplace, doing your best to orient yourself quickly.

“Your head is — how you say…? — in the clouds, yes?” The vendor asks in her best English, smiling politely at you as she stands next to her cart, eager for you to buy something.

"Is it that obvious?" You joke with a tired laugh. "Two, please."

You scoop up a pair of fresh mangos and hand the woman some change from your pocket. She kindly accepts it with a nod of appreciation. Carefully sliding the fruit into your bag, you return a nod of your own.

You continue to walk through the market, the damp air carrying an aroma of local cuisine and sweat fills your lungs. Weaving your way in and out of aisles created by vendor carts, you feel a sense of calm as you watch the locals interacting with one another. There's beauty to be found in their sense of community.

Typically, you would gather your needed food and supplies and then be on your way back home, but today as your mind wanders, so do your feet.

Meandering down another aisle, your thoughts drift back to Namor, specifically the morning you found him on your front porch. You can practically feel the warmth of that sunrise as you imagine its light illuminating his dark eyes. You picture the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when you asked him if he would come back, a moment you hold onto tightly. The memory gives you optimism that you will see him again someday and hopefully have the opportunity to ask him more questions.

Lost in thought, you hardly notice a small crate sticking out a few inches further than other accompanying carts in the aisle. Tripping your foot as you walk by, it nearly tumbles you to the ground. You manage to catch your balance and your breath before face-planting into the dirt. Immediately turning to apologize, you find an elderly man seated behind the crate, his back leaning against the wagon behind him and his eyes shut.

The man is slender and his head bald, save for a few wisps of hair above his ears. Most of his body is covered by a knitted green poncho, well-worn and fraying along the hem. To both your relief and surprise, he seems completely undisturbed by your clumsy collision with his crate of goods. Unsure if he’s even awake, you reach down to help reset any items on the crate you may have displaced.

Your jaw drops slightly as you see the contents on display. Spread out on a velvet brown tablecloth sits a small assortment of beautiful books, scrolls, and other documents. Admiring them, you reach out and push back one of the scrolls, revealing a gorgeous hand-sketched portrait of the island.

“Did you draw this?” You ask, impressed by the skill of it.

“Mmm,” He hums, shaking his head, "But I made very good trade with the man who did.”

You find his answer odd, though slightly amusing, considering he never opened his eyes to see which piece you were referring to. As you browse the rest of the items, a particular book stands out to you. It’s different from the rest of the collection — small and bound in leather, although the leather itself is worn and brittle-looking. You pick it up and inspect it closer. The binding is loose, the pages aged and tattered.

“Careful with that one. Very old.” The elderly man says, his eyes remaining shut. “Nearly 400 years. Got it in a trade with a visiting merchant from our southeastern sister islands."

How does he even do that? You wonder as you start delicately flipping through the pages of the book. You make it about midway through when you open to a particular page that makes you freeze, your heart nearly jumping out of your throat. Your eyes widen as you bring the page closer to your face.

It’s a crude drawing — basic, two-dimensional, and very old like the man said, but the likeness is undeniable. Depicted is the figure of a man. He dawns a grand snake-like headpiece and is grasping a spear. His body is adorned with jade and other metals. Sharp ears. Winged ankles.

"Excuse me!” you ask the elderly man with an exasperated breath, practically jumping over the crate as you lean forward and shout, “These!" You flip the book around to show him the open page, pointing excessively at the picture and the glyphs below it. "What do these say?!"

Your voice is eager and desperate, emotions you hardly try to hide.

The man's left eye slowly squints open.

“Only few are still legible.” He says, shrugging.

“Okay, yes, but the ones you can read, what do they say?!” You plead.

He sighs, opening his other eye and leaning forward slightly to get a better look. After a moment, he leans back against the wagon and closes his eyes again.

"King. Serpent. God. Monster."

You hang on to each word he tells you. Turning the book back around, you bring it back up to your face for another closer inspection.

"How much?" You ask, ready to make a deal.

The elderly man cracks one eye open to look at you for a moment as he considers his price, then wordlessly points to your arm with a feeble finger. You follow his gaze down to the small beaded bracelet around your wrist — the last reminder of your life before coming to the island. You hold your arm up to him, making sure you understand correctly. He nods politely, and without hesitation, you untie the bracelet and toss it to him.

"Nice doing business!" He says with a wide grin as he holds up the bracelet. You are already nose-deep in the book as you turn on your heels, quickening your pace as you head home where you can study more carefully.

Maneuvering your way out of the market to the outskirts of the village, you hardly need your eyes to guide your feet home. You take advantage of the remaining daylight to examine the pages as you walk, turning page after page and scanning for any information about Namor and his people. There’s little there, the book seeming to be a very old, mingled account of island history and lore. Seeing as you are not a historian and certainly not a linguist, it’s difficult to decipher. Still, you do your best to piece together what you can from the pictures.

King. Serpent. God. Monster.

The sky begins to dim. You can hear the faint roar of waves as you near the coastline. It’s too dark to see much detail on the pages now, so you carefully tuck the book into your bag as you step over the trunks of palm trees. The path beneath your feet gradually turns from brush to sand, and soon you find yourself walking along the familiar stretch of beach that leads you home. You stare out into the darkness, listening to the rhythmic pattern of ocean waves and breathing in the salty evening air. The moon hovers above the water, burning brightly as countless stars paint the sky behind it.

You continue walking in the darkness, but there’s an uneasiness building in your gut the further you go. You should be nearing home by now, but no lanterns have come into view. You always light lanterns before heading into town. They burn for hours in your absence so, by the time you return, you have light to guide you. All you see now are shadows and silhouettes that dance against the tree line, and every sound and indiscernible movement has you on edge.

It’s not until you are nearly a stone's throw away that the bungalow materializes in the night. Your stomach twists as the wind blows by you, rustling your hair and causing the snuffed-out lanterns hanging from your porch to creak as they swing back and forth. You hear shuffling, and small beams of light sporadically shine through the cracks of lumber that make up the walls of your home.

There is someone inside.

An alarm goes off in your head, screaming at you to get out. As quietly as possible, you begin backing away. Eyes fixed on the bungalow, you take one step back. Then another. Then another. Then — thud.

Your stomach flips and your throat tightens. While you pray you’ve miscalculated and miraculously made it to the tree line in three short steps instead of thirty, you feel the unmistakable presence of a body directly behind you.

“Going somewhere?” A deep voice growls menacingly. It belongs to a man, his tone gruff, although you can’t quite make out his accent. You do, however, feel the blood drain from your face as you slowly turn your head, finding what is quite possibly the largest human being you have ever seen. Dressed in black military-grade tactical gear and armed with enough ammo and firepower to take on a small army, you know there is no fucking way you are getting away from this guy.

The man grabs your arm and forcefully drags you toward the bungalow. Once up the stairs, he pushes you inside and releases his grasp. You rub your arm and look up to find another man standing in your kitchen, his back turned away from you as he stands hunched over your table. He’s dressed in similar tactical gear and has a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. A lantern burns next to him as he seems to be pouring over some sort of map.

“Sir,” the man behind you bellows.

The man at the table straightens his posture and turns around to face you both. His hair is buzzed and his face is stubbly, with a thick prominent mustache that stretches across his upper lip. He seems a bit older, and by the ‘sir’ formality, you are fairly confident he is in charge.

“Ah, we were wondering when you would be back.” He says in a sly tone, his accent American.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” You respond in anger to the unwelcome visitor.

The man takes a sweeping look around the place, then his eyes come back to you.

“I think we can agree that “house” is a bit of a loose term.” He responds with sarcasm, a knowing look on his face. You continue to stare him down, unresponsive to his quip. The man loosens his shoulders and smiles at you. “Where are my manners? Agent Barrett.” He reaches his hand out, offering to shake yours.

You don’t move a muscle.

There is an awkward moment of silence, then Agent Barrett’s hand retreats. He turns, beginning to pace around your tiny kitchen. The room is in rougher shape than usual, clearly ransacked by whatever search was conducted before your arrival. The agent picks up a small roll of gauze from off the counter and holds it up.

“Tell me,” he says, inspecting the bandage material closely, “have you had any visitors recently?” His gaze quickly flicks over to you, an eyebrow raised.

Your pulse quickens as your blood turns to ice. Your mind immediately flashes to Namora floating wounded in the water; to Namor breaking down your door; to the two of them disappearing into the night. You put on your best poker face and shake your head.

“There’s no one around here for miles,” you explain, trying to be as convincing as possible. “You should try more inland towards the village. Most tourists, if any, stick closer to town or retreat to the far side of the island where—“

“Oh, she’s no tourist.” Agent Barrett chuckles, cutting you off. It feels insulting as if your suggestion were so preposterous it was borderline humorous.

She. He is looking for Namora.

Setting the gauze down next to the sink, Agent Barrett turns and walks over to you.

“You’re certain you haven’t seen anybody unusual around here in the past few days?”

He’s standing much closer now. Something about him makes your skin crawl. You eye the gun strapped to his hip and doubt it is for self-defense. Again, you shake your head.

Barrett sighs and gives you a disappointed smile.

“Okay.” He says softly while nodding his head. He backs away from you as the room lingers in silence. You allow yourself to take a breath, but the relief is short-lived. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

On Barrett’s cue, the large man behind you grabs your shoulder and kicks the back of your legs, dropping you hard to your knees. With his free hand, he yanks the bag off your other shoulder and tosses it to another man who emerges from the doorway to your bedroom. He catches the bag and immediately starts rummaging through it.

“Hey—HEY!” You shout, “What the hell are you—“

“A woman!” Barrett yells. “Pale blue skin. Very skilled swimmer. Four days ago, she single-handedly took down three UN-sanctioned vessels in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic! Three! Now where I’m from,” he crouches down to your level, aggressively getting in your face as he drops his voice lower, “that’s what we call an act of terrorism.”

Adrenaline overtakes your body as you feel your heart beat so intensely it threatens to break right out of your chest. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Barrett’s henchman searches your bag. He pulls out the mangos and tosses them on the floor. Then, he grabs the old leather-bound book. Turning it over in his hand, he looks at it for a moment and tucks it into his belt.

“She was wounded,” Barrett continues, calling your attention back to him, “and our intelligence indicates she washed up somewhere along this shoreline. That's where her trail goes cold. And as you said, there's no one around here for miles. No one, except you."

His implication is obvious.

“This woman, where is she?” He makes a last-ditch effort to convey a friendly tone, but you can hear his patience dwindling. "And please don't make me ask again."

You stare at him coldly, lips sealed together. You’re not telling this man a damn thing.

"Mmmm," is all he grunts, his eyes dropping to the ground. He heaves a heavy sigh as he pushes against his knees to stand up. Once on his feet, Agent Barrett stares at you for another moment before nodding his head to the agent behind you. The next thing you know, you are suddenly being pulled up by your hair, the man’s grip tight against the back of your neck as he turns and pushes you out the door.

Your hands clamor to his as you struggle against him to relieve the painful tension pulling on your scalp, attempting to release his grip on you. But the man is too strong and drags you down the stairs of your porch with ease. You make it a few meters down the shore when he shoves you down to your knees. Your legs make divots in the sand as your hands catch the rest of your body’s momentum. Hunched over, your knees and palms sting from the sand's friction.

You immediately tense up as you feel a gun press against your head, the cool metal barrel hungry to fire. Hearing footsteps approaching behind, you quickly swallow your fear to maintain composure. Agent Barrett walks past, turning to position himself directly in front of you again — only this time, he doesn’t crouch down to your level.

“Look at me.” He demands as he towers over you. His body language makes it clear who is in control. In the only act of defiance you have left in your arsenal, you keep your gaze laser-focused on the water straight ahead of you, refusing to give in to his instruction. Growing impatient, Barrett roughly grabs your chin. He clasps it tightly as he yanks your jaw upward, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“You’re going to tell me about your friend, and you’re going to tell me where she is, right now," he growls.

You stare at him, disdain in your eyes. You momentarily scan your surroundings and count nearly twenty other men on the beach now. It’s enough to make your gaze and your heart sink straight to the ground.

Even if you wanted to tell him, you don't have the answers Barrett is looking for. His face hardens as your lack of cooperation and unwillingness to talk becomes clearer and clearer. Loosening his grip and dropping your chin, Agent Barrett looks at the agent next to you.

“Do it,” he orders, leaving you without another word as he walks back up the beach toward the bungalow.

The gun presses even harder against your temple and you hear the irrefutable sound of it being cocked as a bullet rolls into the chamber. Your heart is heavy as your eyes begin to well with tears. You stare out at the ocean, the night swallowing the horizon save it for the piercing glow of the moon that cuts its way through the sky down to Earth. It’s a better view than most get in their final moments, you suppose. For that, you consider yourself lucky.

Time seems suspended as you feel the ocean breeze blow past you, pouring over your skin and filling your lungs as you deeply inhale these final moments. You savor the way the salty air envelops you like the comforting embrace of an old friend. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try fighting back the tears. Despite your best efforts, one single drop escapes, racing down your cheek as you accept your fate.

Zzzzziiinnng!

Where you expect to hear the split-second ring of a gun firing before getting your brain blasted out the side of your skull, you instead hear a high-pitched whistling through the air and the unmistakable slice of a blade penetrating flesh. The weight of the gun barrel against your head slides limply away, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground next to you.

Your eyes shoot open. You turn to see your executioner now lying dead on his back with a spear pelted through his chest. Your eyes widen in fear, then settle on the spear itself. A spear you recognize — because it’s the same one that was held to your throat only a few days earlier.

Namor.

He's here. Desperately your eyes search the ocean line, scouring the darkness for him.

"We're under attack!" Someone yells frantically from behind you. It is one of Barrett’s men.

"Open Fire! Open fire!" Another one shouts.

You immediately abandon your search for Namor, hitting the deck and covering your head as dueling bullets and spears fly over you. Hearing anguished cries from both sides, you peek out from over your arm and watch in horror as an agent a few meters away looks down at their dart-ridden chest. They drop to their knees, then fall forward onto their face.

Your head whirls around at the sound of another spear making contact with a body and dropping it to the ground. This agent is about ten meters away from you, and while your first instinct is to get the hell out of there — run as far as you can as fast as you can — you notice your little leather-bound book tucked into the belt of the lifeless body.

You tell yourself to leave it. You plead with yourself to leave it.

“Damn it,” you mutter in frustration to yourself. You are getting that book.

Before you can give it another thought, you are already army-crawling through the sand. The sound of gunfire rings in your ears as more weapons return their fire. You scramble to the body, staying low to the ground on your chest and abdomen. Once there, you reach out and grab the book, wrangling it free from the deceased man's belt. You shove it into your waistband when something behind you explodes, causing you to duck your head and shield yourself with your arms.

The battle is deafening and disorienting. The mix of adrenaline and shock threatens to override your entire system as you try to maintain your focus.

Keep moving, you tell yourself.

You lift your head, ready to run, but your breath catches and you freeze. Mere inches from your face, you find yourself staring at someone’s feet and feel the presence of their body hovering over you. You brush the stinging sand out of your eyes, pleading in your mind that this is not the end. Not now. As your vision sharpens, you feel a surge of hope. There in front of you are two winged ankles.

Your eyes shoot up. Standing above you, illuminated by the light of the moon and the rapid sparks of machine guns firing, is Namor.

He looks down at you, his stare intense as his nostrils flare and his chest rises and falls with each breath. Gripping the hilt of the spear, he effortlessly removes it from the body next to you with one pull, his eyes never leaving yours. The ongoing battle on the beach doesn’t deter his attention from you in the slightest. From behind him, a handful of armed warriors with pale blue skin come storming out of the ocean.

“Namora!” He calls, and one warrior immediately splits off from the group. While the others continue to push the team of agents to the far side of the beach, the general comes to Namor’s side and your eyes widen as you take her in. Almost unrecognizable from when you first met her, Namora is a sight to behold. Instead of weak and wounded, she now stands strong and commanding, fully outfitted in her armor of woven jade and metal. Dazzling lionfish spines adorn her head and neck, and she wears the same mesh apparatus over her nose and mouth as before. You are astounded when you squint and barely see a seam remaining where you had stitched her up.

“K'uk'ulkan.” She answers, standing at attention.

Namor’s eyes are still fixed on you. He hands the retrieved spear to Namora and then nods in your direction.

You become nervous, suddenly uncertain if the pair of them have come to you as friend or foe, watching as Namora tightens her grip around the weapon.

“Go.” Namor urges, and a wave of relief washes over you. Friend.

“Where are my goddamn reinforcements?!!” You hear someone shout into a walkie-talkie. You recognize the voice as Agent Barrett's.

“Go NOW,” Namor commands, his eyes flicking up in Barrett’s direction. The expression on his face becomes menacing as he strides past you, his muscles rigid and his pace purposeful. He pulls his own spear out of the larger agent who nearly executed you as he walks past the body, arming himself.

Without hesitation, Namora strides forward and links her arm under your shoulder, pulling you up to your feet and yanking you quickly toward the trees. Before you can reach them, however, more men dressed in black combat gear come pouring out of the thick foliage, ready to attack.

Three surround you as the others rush to provide relief further down the beach. Instead of guns, these agents come armed with batons and other blunt weapons. Namora whips you back behind her, placing herself between you and the approaching enemy. She walks toward the agents, rotating her spear in her hand. You’re surprised by how relaxed her posture is as she waits for the men, each one at least twice her size, to make the first move.

The agent to her right makes the first advance, lunging forward at Namora. She meets him with speed and ferocity, quickly sidestepping him only to grab hold of his shoulders. She uses them as an anchor to whirl herself around him, gracefully landing and her feet and then lodging her spear into his back. The man cries out in pain, but Namora quickly delivers the final blow as she twists the spear in deeper and shoves it upward toward his lungs.

No sooner does his body hit the ground when the two other men charge at her. Like a beautifully choreographed dance, Namora drops to her knees, sliding across the sand between them to duck under their attacks. As she does so, she nimbly summersaults back onto her feet and turns one hundred and eighty degrees. Back on the attack, she runs hard at them. You watch as Namora delivers a combination of charged punches to one agent, then springs back to avoid the swing of the baton from the other. To counter the move, she kicks the man above the kneecap with so much power it sends his whole leg backward and brings him to his knees. She grabs the sides of his head with both of her hands, thrusting it down hard against her knee. You feel the grisly sound of blunt broken bone deep in your core as his skull makes contact.

As the man’s head reels backward, blood pouring from his face, Namora seamlessly transitions between her two opponents, avoiding another attack from the third agent she had previously deflected with punches. Her attention back on him, she trades blows as they fight in more hand-to-hand combat. Between kicks, punches, and counter-punches, Namora strategically inches herself backward until she’s practically standing on top of the first body she dropped. Baiting her current opponent forward, she taunts him with the tilt of her head, exaggerated by her headpiece. It works like a charm. He charges at her, and swooping under him, she wraps around his chest and pulls him over the top of her, flipping him onto his back. In one calculated motion, she pulls her spear from the body of the first agent which is now easily within reaching distance, and drives it into the second.

It all plays out in front of you so quickly when the third agent with the broken nose — well, broken face, really — groans as he gets himself up, ready to have another go at Namora. She engages, but as she moves towards him you see a fourth man emerge from the trees, raising a gun to shoot.

“LOOK OUT!” You yell to warn her, but pure instinct has your feet sprinting forward to stop him.

You don’t process any thought or consider any tactic, you just hurl yourself at him. The two of you collide, crashing to the ground with all the power and momentum you can muster. You scramble for his gun and manage to knock it away, but he barrels you over him and slams your back against the ground. The impact forces the air out of your lungs, temporarily paralyzing you as you struggle for breath. The agent straddles your body, putting more pressure on your chest as he pulls a knife from his hip. With all your strength, you fight to hold his arm back. He breaks through your grasp and takes a swipe at you, but reflexively you deflect it away with your hand. The knife slices open your palm and you cry out as you try to continue pushing his arms back.

When he raises his blade again, a blur of orange lionfish spines come streaking across as Namora flies over the back of the agent and yanks him off of you. They tumble across the sand, but she quickly gains the upper hand by entangling him in a headlock. Clutching your injured hand and still struggling for oxygen, you look on as she tightens her grip around the man’s neck and then abruptly cracks it to the side.

The sound makes you sick to your stomach, but you also feel a sense of relief. And gratitude. Your chest heaves as you finally start to catch your breath, your entire body buzzing. You turn to see the dead agents Namora has so quickly disposed of, their bodies dispersed across the sand. She unwraps herself from her most recent kill and makes her way to you with haste.

As she reaches you, you hear the chaos and fighting continue further down the beach. Then, the faint sound of a helicopter approaching. Barrett’s reinforcements.

“There are too many of them,” you say in distress as you witness more agents pour out onto the sand to fight Namor’s warriors. Even if each one had Namora’s four-to-one kill ratio, they are still outnumbered. As the chopper blades get louder, Namora looks at you intensely, reaching out her hand.

“Come,” she insists.

She’s gotten you this far. You grasp her hand without hesitation and she pulls you to your feet. You edge closer to the tree line where you hope safety and concealment await you, but as you reach the lush landscape something pricks your ears. It’s not gunfire. It’s not the chopper.

Namora tugs your arm as she tries to usher you into the trees, but your focus is elsewhere. A faint, melodic breeze moves past you like a ghost, causing your mind to become hazy. As the sound grows louder, an indescribable melody rings in your ears that is both euphoric and dreadful. You don’t even notice the tension of Namora’s grip on your hand increase as your feet redirect you toward the water, compelled by its call.

“No!” Namora yells at you as she yanks your arm. The force of it snaps your attention back for a moment, and you watch as the agents who line the beach suddenly cease fighting and instead walk undeterred paths straight into the water. Terror fills you as they wade further and further out, the water coming up to their knees, then their hips, then their chests, until they are completely submerged underneath.

You shoot a glance to Namora, petrified and confused. Whatever is happening, she seems unaffected. Your thoughts and vision begin to cloud again, and you feel like someone else is controlling your body as the ocean summons you along with the others. Every part of you feels entranced by the chorus of voices in the air as their notes overwhelm your senses and leave you disoriented. Namora grabs you, practically throwing you over her shoulder as she runs into the trees. You become hard to carry, so she pulls you both into the cove of a sheltered root system at the edge of the foliage. Huddling next to you, Namora tightly wraps her arms around your head to cover your ears with her hands.

Pupils dilated, you desperately try to hold onto any shred of active consciousness before giving in entirely to the song. Your mind becomes infiltrated by it and begins to process what you see in pieces; men in the water, drowning themselves; gunfire raining down from the night sky; Namor, spear in hand, leaping into the air, taking impossible strides toward a chopper; the chopper spinning out of control.

You feel the heat against your face as the chopper crashes to the ground, exploding on impact. The last thing you remember seeing is Namor in the distance, standing on the sand. Illuminated by the raging inferno that burns behind him from the destroyed chopper, he is fierce, incredible, and terrifying.

A god. A monster.

The haunting chorus melody continues to consume your mind. Even with Namora’s help, you feel your body shift as it involuntarily attempts to get up. Namora squeezes her palms over your ears with even more strength and restrains your movements.

"No." She whispers fiercely.

You squeeze your eyes shut, covering your hands over Namora's as tightly as possible. Blood pours from your hand down hers, trickling onto your shoulder. The noise is too much, and as you feel yourself begin to scream, everything goes black.

——

Your feet drag through the cool sand.

That’s the first thing you see when you finally become conscious again. Your head hangs low in front of you, pounding as it bobs up and down. It’s still dark out, but you find your home lit up by more lanterns as you approach the pathway to your porch.

You glance to your right and left, discovering you are being assisted by two people on either side of you — Namora on your right and a much taller blue-skinned man on your left. His shoulders are wide and his head is outfitted with an armored hammerhead skull. Arms slung around both of their necks, your body is in a state of pure exhaustion as they get you up the stairs to the door.

As you start to step with your own feet, they are alerted by your recovered consciousness. Quickly, the man unhooks your arm from around him, steadying you against Namora. He retreats as you find yourself gaining feeling back in your body. Namora patiently waits for you to get your bearings, and when you do she opens the front door for you, ushering you to go inside. You follow her instruction, and there waiting for you in the bungalow is Namor.

Namor stands against your kitchen counter, the same place you stood when he first came crashing into your home. His arms are folded across his broad chest. Although his head is down, his eyes are flicked upward toward you, watching your every move. The flame of a lantern on the table glints off his irises, illuminating the dark stare that hovers just below his furrowed brow.

“Please, sit.” He says with a stern voice, his open palm gesturing toward a chair at the table.

As you sit down, you hear the front door close behind you.

Silence.

"Those men," he finally says, pushing himself away from the counter as he stands up straighter, “they were seeking information?"

You only nod, afraid to say too much.

“It’s safe to speak here. I’ve made sure of it.” He promises, sensing your reluctance to engage in conversation.

“They wanted to know about Namora." You answer cautiously.

Namor's expression grows even more serious. He subtly shifts his weight from side to side before settling back into the center of his powerful stance.

"And even with your life on the line, you said nothing."

You are unsure if he is making a statement or a question.

"Why?" He asks through a clenched jaw.

"Why?" You repeat back to him, caught off guard by the question. "Does it matter why?"

"Yes,” Namor says directly, raising his eyebrows. “Because I need to know if I put my spear through the right person.”

The seriousness of his statement hits you like a brick. Your mind flashes back to the beach, you on your knees with a gun to your head as Namor’s spear plows its way through the man next to you. How easily, you wonder, could he have changed his aim by just a few degrees if you had decided to open your mouth and spill what little information you did know to those men?

As you think about it, you also begin to ask yourself why. Why did you keep your mouth shut? Why did you help Namor and his people?

You take a deep breath as you consider your reasons, then lift your gaze to him.

“You barged into my home, broke down my door, and threatened my life. But even then, the motives behind your actions were clear — the love and concern for your people. These men,” your eyes trail away as you feel a wave of anger build up inside, "these men were driven by self-interest and self-preservation. It wasn’t hard to choose a side.”

His face is stoic as he listens to your answer.

“Plus,” you add, “I promised you I wouldn’t say anything. Twice.”

Namor looks at you the same way he did the night you met him. The look that tells you he is debating whether or not you are telling the truth. You are a witness testifying on the stand, and Namor is your judge and jury.

“Well, that is twice now you have saved my people. Again you have my gratitude." He says with a sigh, his expression softening.

You give a small smile, but it disappears when an unrelenting ache pounds inside your head, pulling you out of the moment. You reach up to rub your temple and suddenly feel a surge of pain coming from your hand, instantly reminding you of the injury you sustained from your face off against one of the agents on the beach.

“Shit,” You exclaim, pulling your cut, bloodied palm away from your face and looking at it.

"Here," Namor says, grabbing the roll of gauze off your kitchen counter as he moves in your direction. Pulling up a chair, he sits down directly in front of you so your knees are practically touching. He gestures for your hand. “May I?"

You consider his offer as you stare at the thick veins protruding from his forearm, binding themselves to his defined muscles like vines around a tree. Eyes darting back up to his, you cautiously nod your head to accept his help while simultaneously extending your arm to him.

Namor takes your injured hand gently in his own, cradling it as if it could shatter into a million pieces. Amazed by how his hand dwarfs yours, you feel a surge of energy in your chest when his thumb begins to rub along your wrist. He takes the roll of gauze and begins carefully wrapping it around your palm.

Calmly maneuvering each layer of the bandage, Namor's brow furrows ever so slightly as he slips deeper into a state of concentration. His grasp is firm but gentle, rotating your hand in tandem with the bandage and you take comfort in his touch.

Studying his face, you admire each feature and detail closely. You see the traces of salt against the rich tones of his skin, and soon your willpower gives way to a desire slowly being coaxed inside you as you allow your eyes to trail from his face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular biceps, and finally to his strong hands as they work to take care of you.

Namor begins humming softly as he continues wrapping your hand. There's a warm timbre in his voice that resonates in your ears, drawing your gaze back up to his face.

"That song..." your voice trails off as you grow more entranced by it, unable to find the words to describe its intoxicating melody. But a surge of fear runs through you as you recall another tune, the one from the beach, its haunting cadence prickling the back of your mind.

"My people have many songs," Namor says in a tone equally rich to his humming, calming you instantly. "Each one with a meaning and purpose."

"What is the purpose of that one?" You ask quietly.

Namor’s hands stop as his eyes wander up to yours.

"It's a lullaby, meant to bring the soul peace." His eyes flutter back down as he resumes wrapping the bandage around your hand. "My mother would sing it to me when I was a child."

"It's beautiful." You say reverently.

A smile spreads across Namor's face, but there's a hint of sadness in it. He leans down to your hand and you can feel your heart beat faster as his mouth hovers mere inches above your skin. The warmth of his breath rushes against your wrist, sending shivers through you. With great care, he tears the gauze with his teeth before tucking the loose end into a fold of the bandage.

"It is," he agrees, staring down at your hand which he now holds carefully between his own. "Especially in a world where peace is scarcely found."

His voice is gentle, but there is a bitterness brewing beneath the statement.

"I have spent my life ensuring peace for my people. Protecting it. Preserving it."

Namor looks back up at you, letting go of your hand as he sits up straighter in his chair. The room is quiet as his words sink in and you drop your gaze to think. As you do so, your good free hand migrates to the leather book still tucked in your waistband, your fingers fiddling with the binding.

“What is it?” Namor asks, snapping your eyes back up to his. You swallow nervously, unsure if you should share what is on your mind. Then again, you may not get another opportunity.

Slowly, you pull the book out from against your side, opening it to its marked page before pushing it across the table to him.

“You say you’ve spent your entire life protecting your people.” You preface, hesitating a moment before asking your question. “Is that... you?"

Namor stares at the book in front of him, tracing the outline of his likeness delicately on the open page with his fingertips.

"A version of me." He answers.

"How...." you rub your temple as you do the unnecessary math in your head, already knowing the hundreds of years difference between the book and the man in front of you doesn't add up. "How is that even possible? That book is centuries old, I mean," you are at a loss trying to wrap your head around it all, coming up short with any logical explanation, “who are you?"

Namor looks up at you, then his gaze descends back onto the open book. He gives a sad smirk.

“You are one of very few to ever ask who I am instead of what I am." He strokes his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "The answer to neither of which will be found in your book." He says, shutting it and sliding it back toward you. You reach for it, only he doesn’t take his hand off the leather cover right away.

"You must always be weary of your authors.” He warns. “The preservation of one's opinion over time does not make it fact, no matter how long ago it was written."

He relinquishes his hold, you finish sliding the book back to your side of the table. Namor searches your face as his eyebrows pull closer together, a rare look of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I wear the mantle of king and am the protector of my people.” He begins. “They are my responsibility by birthright, a charge I’ve dedicated my entire life to upholding.”

Namor proceeds to tell you the story of his people — how they were driven from their home by Spanish conquistadors, and how their gods provided a remedy for a foreign disease that led them to seek sanctuary in the ocean itself. He explains that his mother was among them, pregnant with Namor at the time, and how the remedy herb altered his very being in the womb. Mutant is the word he uses, the reason for his strength and abilities, as well as his slow aging. He then describes the horrors he had seen upon returning his mother’s body to the surface world after her death, and the vow he took to keep outsiders away from his people and his beloved city he calls Talokan.

"So you see," he says leaning forward as he places his forearms on his knees, his face even closer to yours now, "I am no god. Nor am I a man. What I am is a leader who loves his people. If that makes me a monster, so be it. I will see the world burn before I subject my people to its sins and savagery.”

It’s a lot to take in. You study Namor’s expression as his stare now lingers away from you, his mind somewhere in the past. You can’t even begin to comprehend all that he has seen or experienced, but you do feel a clearer understanding of why he is the way he is. Filled with compassion for him, you cautiously reach up and cradle his face with your non-bandaged hand.

"You're not a monster." You reassure him gently.

This brings Namor’s attention back to you immediately, his dark eyes searching your face earnestly as he takes a deep breath through his nose. The bristles of his scruff are rough against your palm, creating a warm friction when he leans into your touch. Namor closes his eyes and lets out a sigh so deep it's as if he's releasing a weight from his shoulders, one that he has been carrying for far too long. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it deeper against his cheek.

“K’uk’ulkan,” a voice calls from behind you. You drop your hand back down to your lap as Namor glances over your shoulder. The man with the metal hammerhead skull stands at attention in the front doorway, his body so large it consumes the space entirely. Namor nods at him, then looks back at you.

"It's time," he says, pushing himself up to his feet. “More men will be coming. Namora is outside — collect what you need quickly, she will take you to a safe place.”

The realization sets in, and your heart sinks. Your home is no longer safe and you can’t stay here.

Namor offers you his hand, helping you out of your chair and onto your feet. In doing so, he pulls you into him and tucks his hand delicately under your chin. He’s impossibly close as he tilts your face upward toward his own.

"I am sorry." He whispers, a soft and apologetic tone in his voice. He gives you a remorseful look, but all you can think about is how little space currently exists between his lips and yours. Namor’s gaze flutters down from your eyes to your mouth, but the moment is fleeting as he drops his hand from your chin and takes a step back.

“Go.” He says, encouraging you to get your things. It’s his last word before walking past you and exiting out the front door.

Left alone in the empty bungalow, you make your way over to your bag still on the floor from earlier that evening. You take it and march into your room, grabbing some clothes, your toothbrush, and other small essentials. You don't have much in terms of possessions in the first place, so it doesn’t take long for you to collect what you need.

As you exit your bedroom, you get ready to leave when you look over at the small book on your table. Namor insisted it held no answers for you, but you go to retrieve it anyway, stuffing it in your bag along with the rest of your belongings.

You take one last look around your home, once an unfamiliar broken place that over time became your haven and sanctuary. It breaks your heart to leave, but you know you must.

“Thank you,” you quietly whisper to the room, hoping in some way its energy or spirit or anything can hear you. You make your final exit, walking out to the front porch just as the dawn is starting to break over the horizon. Warm hues cast shadows of orange and red across the island, and you breathe in the early morning air. As you look out across the beach, you are surprised by what little evidence remains of the night’s events. No bodies. No fires. Just large divots in the sand and some smoke along the tree line from a few singed palms.

Namora is standing at the edge of the pathway leading to your porch, waiting for you. Descending the stairs, nerves prompt you to tighten your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag as you brace yourself for the unknown.

“I’m ready,” you say when you reach her.

Namora looks at you seriously, then nods her head. Reaching up to her face, she carefully removes the apparatus from over her nose and mouth. It is the first time you have seen her whole face, unobstructed by the peculiar covering. She’s just as striking without it, and you notice a beautiful jade ring pierced through her septum, echoing Namor’s. She turns the mask in her hand and guides it onto your face, sealing it against your skin.

“Come,” she tells you, turning toward the ocean.

You take one last look back at your home, then fall into stride behind Namora as the two of you walk into the water.

-- -- --

Tag List (I think this is how you do it? Sorry if not, still figuring this whole Tumblr-thing out): @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses

#namor #namor x reader #namor x you #namor x gen!reader #Namor x y/n #mcu namor #namor fluff #namor fanfiction #namor fanfic #namor imagine #k'uk'ulkan #black panther wakanda forever #namora #namor of talokan #Wakanda forever #fanfiction

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firstfullmoon · 1 year

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“To understand the point in life we must first understand what it is to be human. It seems to me that the common agent that binds us all together is loss, and so the point in life must be measured in relation to that loss. Our individual losses can be small or large. They can be accumulations of losses barely registered on a singular level, or full-scale cataclysms. Loss is absorbed into our bodies from the moment we are cast from the womb until we end our days, subsumed by it to become the essence of loss itself. We ultimately become the grief of the world, having collected countless losses through our lifetime. These losses are many-faceted and chronic, both monstrous and trivial. They are losses of dignity, losses of agency, losses of trust, losses of spirit, losses of direction or faith, and, of course, losses of the ones we love. They are daily, convulsive disappointments or great historical injuries that cast their shadows across the human predicament, reminding us of the stunning potential of our own loss of humanity. We are capable of the greatest atrocities and the deepest sufferings, all culminating in a vast, collective grief. This is our shared condition.

Yet happiness and joy continue to burst through this mutual condition. Life, it seems, is full of an insistent, systemic and irrepressible beauty. But these moments of happiness are not experienced alone, rather they are almost entirely relational and are dependent on a connection to the Other – be it people, or nature, or art, or God. This is where meaning establishes itself, within the connectedness, nested in our shared suffering.

I believe we are meaning-seeking creatures, and these feelings of meaning, relational and connective, are almost always located within kindness. Kindness is the force that draws us together, and this, is what I think I am trying to say – that despite our collective state of loss, and our potential for evil, there exists a great network of goodness, knitted together by countless everyday human kindnesses.

These often small, seemingly inconsequential acts of kindness, that Soviet writer Vasily Grossman calls ‘petty, thoughtless kindness’, or ‘unwitnessed kindness’ bind together to create a subterranean and vanquishing Good that counterbalances the forces of evil and prevents suffering from overwhelming the world. We reach out and find each other in the common darkness. By doing so we triumph over our collective and personal loss. Through kindness we slant, shockingly and miraculously, toward meaning. We discover, in that smallest gesture of goodwill laid at the feet of our mutual and monumental loss, ‘the point’.”

— Nick Cave, from The Red Hand Files #204

#w #letters #nick cave #without tenderness we are in hell #it astonishes me sometimes how every person i get to know lives with some profound personal sorrow

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ctitan98official · 3 months

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Anonymous: Hello! Could you maybe see how the RE8 women would react to reader speaking another foreign language? Like Arabic? I don’t see many people write about the reader speaking other languages so I wanted to see how you would write it!

Arabic is such a beautiful language. Free Palestine.

(Full disclosure, I used google translate for the Arabic in this lol.) Let’s get into it!

Alcina:

You hadn’t even meant for it to happen. You were just going to ask Alcina a question, but unknowingly switched from speaking English to Arabic. As you began, the unfamiliar sounds filled the air.

Alcina’s piercing golden eyes shifted towards you. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, curiosity evident in her eyes. She listened intently, her head tilting slightly to catch every word you spoke.

The atmosphere grew momentarily tense as the words lingered in the air.

You were confused for a moment, unsure of what had happened, but then you realized it. Your eyes widened in suspense. What was she thinking about? You couldn’t decipher her initial reaction, unsure of what to expect.

But then, Alcina’s features softened, and her lips curled into a slight smile. Her questioning expression replaced by an intrigued and captivated face. It seemed as though your words had sparked her curiosity, enticing her to unravel this new linguistic tapestry.

She leaned closer, her graceful movements echoing a mix of intrigue and respect. “Say something else, draga,” She urged.

You blushed, a bit embarrassed, but nodded.

As you continued to speak, she closed her eyes, fully immersing herself in the melodic flow of the Arabic language. It was as if she were savoring each syllable, appreciating the beauty of a new world unfolding before her.

When you finally finished speaking, Alcina’s eyes flickered open, and her smile widened. She reached out, gently brushing her fingers against your cheek. It was clear that your ability to speak another language had touched her in a profound way, resonating with her love for culture and knowledge.

“You never cease to amaze me, draga,” She whispered, her voice carrying a mixture of awe and affection. “The beauty of your words, no matter the language, is a testament to the vastness of your soul.”

In that moment, any lingering doubts or fears you had about speaking Arabic in front of Alcina vanished.

Alcina’s reaction had surpassed your expectations. She embraced your uniqueness and the opportunity to explore new facets of your life.

Donna:

You take a deep breath as you gather the courage to speak to Donna in Arabic. Although you’re uncertain of how she’ll react, you’re eager to share another part of yourself with her. As you begin speaking, your words flow gently.

Donna, sitting across from you, seems momentarily surprised. Her face is adorned with curiosity as she listens intently, her large eyes fixed on you.

You continue speaking, carefully choosing your words, hoping to convey the beauty and meaning behind them.

At first, Donna remains quiet, absorbing the unfamiliar sounds and rhythm of Arabic. Her expression softens, and you can see her fascination growing. As you speak, her eyes widen and a small smile starts to form on her lips. It’s a bit of a rare sight.

Slowly, Donna’s hand reaches out, her delicate fingers brushing against yours. It’s a subtle gesture of support, an unspoken acknowledgement of the new connection you’re forging. She might not understand every word you say, but the emotions and intentions behind them are unmistakable.

As you continue speaking, Donna nods occasionally, in understanding, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. She may not respond in the same language, but her genuine interest shines through her attentive gaze.

After a while, Donna’s smile grows wider and she surprises you by speaking a few broken words in Arabic back to you. Her pronunciation is uncertain, but the effort is endearing.

Your efforts to communicate in Arabic and share yourself have touched her heart, reinforcing the bond between you.

Miranda:

You stand before Miranda, your heart racing with both anticipation and nervousness. Today, you’ve decided to surprise her by speaking to her in Arabic. You want to know what she will think.

Taking a deep breath, you muster the courage to address her. “أنا أحبك” (I love you.) You tell her, your voice quivering slightly. You watch her closely, searching for her reaction.

Miranda’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and her composed expression momentarily falters. She seems taken aback by your unexpected use of Arabic, a language that she had no clue you knew. She had picked a bit of it up over the years as she conducted research all over the world. But now, her silver gaze lingers on you, studying your face intently. After a brief pause, her lips quirk upward in a smile, and to your astonishment, she responds right back in Arabic. “أنا أيضًا أحبك” (I love you too.) She says, her voice resonating with a mixture of warmth and surprise.

The air around you seems to shift, charged with an electric energy.

You find yourself captivated by this newfound connection, an unspoken bond formed through the exchange of words in yet another language you share. It’s as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a deeper layer of Miranda’s character, one that she has chosen to reveal to only a select few.

As the realization sinks in, you’re overwhelmed by a sense of closeness and intimacy. You have managed to breach the enigmatic walls that Miranda has built. It is a moment that solidifies the unique connection you share.

It only deepens your love for one another.

Bela:

You have been in a relationship with Bela for some time now and you’ve come to appreciate her deep love for knowledge and the humanities. Today, you plan to surprise her by speaking a few words in Arabic.

With a determined breath, you gather your courage and initiate the conversation. “اهلا ايتها الجميلة.” (Hello, beautiful.) You say softly, your eyes fixed on Bela’s mesmerizing gaze.

Bela’s eyes widen, the familiar glint of curiosity sparkling within them. She pauses for a moment, seemingly caught off guard by your unexpected display. Gradually, a gentle smile tugs at the corners of her lips, revealing a glimmer of astonishment and admiration.

“مرحبا بنفسك.” (Hello, yourself.), She replies, her pronunciation flawless.

You can’t help but feel a surge of delight within you at Bela’s reaction. You should have known with how much of an academic she is that she’s a master of different languages. It’s as if a connection has deepened between you.

Bela leans in closer, her face illuminated by a blend of fascination and affection. “لم أكن أعرف أنك تتحدثين العربية.” (I didn’t know you spoke Arabic.) She whispers softly.

The realization that you have successfully surprised her, even momentarily, fills you with a sense of accomplishment.

The sound of Bela speaking Arabic holds a captivating allure as her voice weaves the language’s nuances effortlessly. It’s a moment of profound intimacy, as if you have unlocked a hidden dimension within your relationship.

From that moment on, Bela’s curiosity for your knowledge of Arabic becomes apparent. She engages in conversations with you, both in Arabic and English, relishing the opportunity to delve deeper into linguistics. You discover that her fascination with language goes beyond mere research. It extends to a genuine appreciation.

Bela’s admiration of your ability becomes a cherished bond. With each conversation you share in Arabic, her pride in your accomplishments shines through.

Cassandra:

As you spoke to Cass in fluent Arabic, you couldn’t help but notice the distinct reaction it elicited from her. Her normally composed demeanor faltered and her golden eyes widened ever so slightly. The rich tones of your voice seemed to enthrall her, leaving her momentarily speechless. You could almost detect a rosiness creeping up her porcelain cheeks.

“Is that Arabic?” She finally managed to utter, her voice carrying a mix of surprise and curiosity.

You nodded with a warm smile, captivated by the effect your language had on her. “إنها.” (It is.) You said, reveling in the opportunity to engage her in a way that seemed to awaken something within her.

Cass’s delicate hand reached up to her chest, her fingers fiddling with her necklace. It was as if the enchanting sound of Arabic had turned her into a blushing mess. Her usually imposing stature softened, allowing a vulnerability to peek through.

“Amazing…” She murmured, barely above a whisper. Her eyes never left yours. She seemed genuinely fascinated by the unfamiliar melody of your words, her curiosity fueled by the depths of her elegant soul.

Emboldened by her reaction, you continued to speak Arabic, sharing snippets of stories, poetry, and expressions. With each phrase that escaped your lips, Cass’s excitement only grew. Her breath hitched in her throat, her ethereal beauty only magnified by her evident captivation.

As the conversation unfolded, Cass occasionally stumbled over her words, attempting to grasp the nuances of your language. But even in her faltering attempts, her determination to understand and connect with you was undeniable. This only endeared her to you further as you saw a different side of her. Someone who longed to explore the world beyond the castle’s walls.

Lost in the exchange, the two of you shared a new bond, an appreciation for the power of language and the way it could transcend barriers. Cass would forever find herself humbled and enchanted by the beauty of Arabic flowing from your lips.

Daniela:

As you sit next to Dani, your heart races. You’ve mustered up the courage to speak Arabic in front of her. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and then softly utter a few phrases.

At first, Dani’s eyes widen in surprise, her head tilting slightly as she listens to the unfamiliar words flowing from your lips. A playful smile forms on her face as she realizes you’re speaking another language. She leans closer, her eyes filled with curiosity and excitement, captivated by the melody of your words.

Though Dani doesn’t understand what you’re saying, she finds it incredibly enchanting. The soft tones of Arabic wrap around her like a delicate embrace, stirring something deep within her. She watches your lips move, the rhythmic cadence of your speech captivating her.

“What a beautiful language!” Dani gushes, her voice breathy and filled with admiration. “It sounds so romantic… So alluring. I could listen to you speak it all day.”

Her hand reaches out instinctively, brushing against your arm gently as she revels in the beauty you create. The mere sound of your voice in Arabic is enough to spark a sense of longing within her.

Dani leans in closer. “Baby, teach me!” She begs.

Her request fills your heart with joy. With a smile, you nod and take her hand, eager to share this part of your life with the woman who adores you so passionately.

Together, you embark on a journey of linguistic discovery, and as the days pass, Dani’s grasp of Arabic begins to grow. With every word she learns, her fascination deepens and she becomes enamored not just with the sound but also the meaning behind the language.

In the end, it is not just Arabic that brings you closer; it’s the willingness to embrace each other’s worlds, to celebrate the uniqueness that sets you apart, and to revel in the boundless beauty of love, transcending all barriers, linguistic or otherwise.

Masterlist

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all-hail-draculaura · 1 year

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Once Upon a Dream

Valentine’s Day oneshot whoop whoop. Hope that you like it. No summary because I wanted it to be surprise as you read. Only thing I will give is that this is a Morpheus x lucid dreamer! reader. Based off the cover that Lana Del Rey sings in Maleficent. Listen to the song as you read.

Word Count : 765

Warnings : angst

Meeting him in your dreams, and being able to connect instantly. Like the stars aligned just for the two of you to meet. An accidental meeting, when you stumbled into him when you were singing at a small festival in the village of the Dreaming when you were lucid dreaming. Meeting eye to eye, there was a spark that lit in his eyes, and you knew it was love at first sight. How his blue eyes always seemed to pierce right through you. Oh, how they shined like twin stars in the night sky, for only you to long and observe. They always seemed to glimmer in your presence, making you feel like the only girl in the world.

Spending nights in your dreams, walking the vast land of Fiddler’s Green, always getting lost with him in the beauty of his kingdom. Always singing around on these journeys, creating music and poems about him and your love for him. He made sure to read all about you and your work in his free time, your books having many tabs from his favorites and him making you sing them for him. He called you his little songbird, and praised you after you were done, encouraging you to continue and create. Being with him, you always wrote your best work, he was your muse and just wanted to please him.

It wasn’t long before you professed your love for him, and him accepting it. Making sure you know that he will always love and worship you as his lover. Constantly finding a way to touch each other and giving affections, holding hands, his hands always finding a way around your waist, how your foreheads touched when he held you close, breathing in his scent as you held him back, giving him soft, peppering kisses all over his face that made him want more, how he would make you beg for more touches, endlessly giving into whatever you wanted.

You told him all the time of your own love for him, becoming patient over his antics and bursts, in time becoming a part of his routine, becoming his rock in his life.

It wasn’t until one night that he returned from his brother’s realm, he came into the library with fury. You went to go comfort him, but he needed to release his anger, and he released it onto you. Spitting out words that torn through your heart, making you question every decision you have ever made in the relationship. Tears falling from your eyes, “My love, surely you don’t mean the words you speak? I’m your little songbird, your rogue dreamer, your love.”

“You think I felt something for you? You’ve forgotten what I am. I am Dream of the Endless, and I do not need or care for anyone.”

It was like your world crashed down all around you, “You may pretend to loathe me Morpheus, but know this, I will always love you, and I am yours eternally.” you said leaving the Dreaming, never traveling ever again.

Feeling as though life had been drained from you, a part of you now gone. Finding it hard to create again, deciding it was best to create one last song for the Dream King that was once your muse, knowing he will regret his actions, but his pride will never let him come back to you. Completing the song, with full intent of knowing that he will read it, as he will reread the myriad of songs and poems you made for him.

He did find your song, reading the lyrics, stinging his heart, hearing the words being brought to life in his head, with only the voice that only you could project out into the world.

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you, that gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

This is my first time ever writing angst, so I do apologize if it isn’t good. I honestly could have done better on this, I will probably fix it later on. If you guys have any tips, I will greatly appreciate them. Also this is for sad girlies on Valentine’s Day, like me.

Taglist : @emarich7 @chantzmar

#dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #lord morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman x y/n #morpheus x you #morpheus x lucid dreamer reader #angst

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ignitedminds27 · 11 months

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Tribeca Film Festival 2023: CATCHING DUST

BY STEPHANIE ARCHER

JUNE 12, 2023

The human emotion can be one of the most cathartically fulfilling or the most deeply heartbreaking. Watching individuals weave in and out of each other, emotions moments away from igniting, can work to create an accelerating audience experience. With Catching Dust, Stuart Gatt crafts a narrative tale around the explosive power of human emotion, constantly teetering on the point of no return. His examination of two couples in the Texas desert works like the potential combustion of chemicals that should never be mixed, leaving each character’s form of isolation broken and forever changed.

Gorgeous Isolation

Catching Dust opens on the vast mountainous landscape the film will be set within. It is as beautiful as it is empty, the desolate landscape a gorgeously ominous indication of the isolation it provides. With each new view of the surrounding area, the sun sets deeper in the sky, Catching Dust capturing the beauty in both the light and the dark. As it settles on a trailer and a small home, it is not only the first sign of life but the first mystery as a flash of light and a gunshot rips through the silence and growing darkness. It is shocking how loud the shot is in the silence of the Texan desert, instantly grabbing your attention and demanding you stay along for the ride.

Catching Dust moves quickly from its opening, introducing Geena (Erin Moriarty), a young housewife with a talent and passion for art. You can see the passion in the film’s close-up shots as she sketches on the few sheets of paper in front of her. The silence has returned, the inside of the trailer matching the tranquility outside. The film does not wait long before cutting this tranquility, Geena slowly hiding her drawings as her husband and unspoken tension, enter the trailer. Much of the relationship between Clyde (Jai Courtney) and Geena is shown through the motions and reinforced by their dialogue. There is an uneasy feeling in their interactions, one that is only further complicated with the arrival of Andy (Ryan Corr) and Amaya (Dina Shihabi). A pair of New Yorkers looking for the perfect means to get away and reset their own relationship, their arrival is met with mixed emotions as the isolation Geena and Clyde have lived in is shattered.

Geena is thrilled at their arrival, her desire and need for life outside of the desert and the trailer a sense of hope in the newcomers. For Clyde, Andy and Amaya are a threat to his way of life and the future he has planned for him and Geena. Conflicts between the two couples immediately rise, introducing a rollercoaster ride of emotional investment that will sneak up on the audience. And as you realize you are working towards the film’s opening, rather than the aftermath of it, the investment is only driven deeper.

Behind the Scenes

Catching Dust works best in its location, the isolation working to heighten the intensity and the drama between the couples. There is no one and nowhere else to bounce off of – nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. No matter how hard each couple tries to avoid each other, there is no way to maintain distance. As an audience as well, the isolation forces us to bear witness to the breakdown of each individual – for better or for worse. There is little to distract from the emotional toll each character undergoes, driving our investment and heightening our emotional connection. And as we watch emotions become the driving factor of the film’s narrative, we as an audience come to understand and even accept the power emotions have in pushing us to do things we never would have considered doing before.

Catching Dust also finds success in its ensemble cast. As strong separately as they are together, this emotionally driven narrative is grounded in its performances. Erin Moriarty gives the widest range in a slow burn progression of character growth. There is a desperation that borders on control constantly flickering in the challenges and conflicts Geena faces. Yet, there is also a sense of fear, leaving audiences to feel ambiguous about Geena as she navigates both her relationship with Clyde, as well as Andy and Amaya. She is complicated and far from easily defined, and Moriarty handles each aspect of Geena with ease.

Jai Courtney matches the ambiguity and complexity of Geena, delivering an intensely muted performance that speaks volumes. More is spoken through Clyde’s actions than words, and Courtney wields his acting arsenal well. Dina Shihabi and Ryan Corr both deliver strong supporting performances, becoming the catalysts in the turmoil between Clyde and Geena. Yet they are not without their own struggles. Both Shihabi and Corr understand their roles in fueling the fire between Geena and Clyde but harness the understanding and execution of their own character’s growth.

Catching Dust, however, is slow at times, leeching out some effect of the intensity it is attempting to build. Too often it feels as though the film is more concerned with capturing the beauty of the landscape than the drama, this critique feeling most prominent in the first half of the film. Yet, it manages to change hands well, allowing the film and the audience to focus more heavily on the two couples as their emotions build to catastrophic effect.

Conclusion

Catching Dust does risk losing the audience in the drawn-out moments between emotional interactions. Yet, as an audience, you will find yourself shocked by how invested you are in by film’s end.

Catching Dust premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival on June 11, 2023!

Watch Catching Dust

#ryan corr #erin moriarty #jai courtney #Dina shihabi #Catching dust #house of the dragon #hotd #ser harwin strong #harwin strong #ser harwin #rhaenyra x harwin #ser harwin death #aussie actor #aussie man #Aussie movie #in limbo

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amplifyme · 8 months

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In a rare fit of self-promotion, I'm going to post a few passages from a Beauty and the Beast 4th Season novel I wrote back in 2012. No apologies here. I think it's one of the best things I've ever written and it makes me sad that more people haven't read it. I guess that's the risk you take when you write fanfic for a very small subset of a now very small fandom. I won't give away any plot details because none are really necessary to read this. It's simply one of my favorite passages. But if you're at all intrigued...

@randomfoggytiger you're not allowed to read the entire novel - if you choose to - until you've made it through S3. No cheating!

The Possibility of Being - Book 5: Never Diminish

Vincent was at the table in Father's study, a book held open in his right hand. He was looking down at the words, but they might as well have been written in Aramaic, for all the sense he could make of them just now.

He'd come here with the unquestioned need to be in his father's presence. Not to talk, as he’d summarily explained upon arriving and had then apologized for, but simply because. Father had listened with attentive concern and then waved away his appeal for forgiveness, taking him at his word and resuming whatever chore the pile of papers on his desk required of him.

It was the quietest part of the afternoon and Vincent had taken the opportunity to reacquaint himself with the study in all its complexities and treasures; its odds and ends and how, by tenuous threads, he was connected to every one of them. He was certain he'd opened every book there at least once; had blown or brushed off dust from and examined every knick-knack, statue, tapestry, candelabra, instrument, picture, toy and tool there. And it had taken him the better part of his life to do it.

He found an odd reassurance in the thought. And poking around the chamber helped keep at bay his increasing awareness of a pull; a calling that urged him to a place he didn't want to go. That was half the time. The other half he found himself more than willing - simply wanting to be done with it. But not yet: he wasn't quite ready.

Cognizant of Father's occasional assessing glances as he'd moved about the chamber, Vincent sensed in him a patient waiting, and as such felt no urgent need to speak thoughts he couldn't yet form into words. If the words needed to be spoken, they'd come in their own time. Father had always allowed him sufficient room and time to think over matters weighing on his mind. It was a gift, one borne of unconditional acceptance and love. A vast and expansive thing, yet close enough to be felt as comforting, protective arms.

He'd wandered up to the balcony and poked through the dusty and precariously stacked piles of books there, pausing as his hand passed over and then grasped the book of poetry he now held. This is the one, he'd told himself, without checking the spine to be certain, and had carried it back down the spiral staircase and to the table, where he'd settled in and begun thumbing through the pages, looking for a section of a particular poem. Having found and read it twice, he'd drifted from the clarity of the written words to indistinct thoughts.

Apparently having decided enough time had passed without conversation, Father casually mentioned, "I took a small group of youngsters to the Mirror Pool last night. We had our first lesson in astronomy. The sky was particularly clear; there seemed to be no end to the number of stars to be seen. Remarkable, really. Did you happen to notice, Vincent?"

"No, Father," he admitted quietly. "I'm afraid I didn't."

"Well, there'll be other nights and other stars to gaze upon. Ursula asked me to elaborate on the meaning of infinity, of a universe that goes on forever. It seems she, and most of the children in fact, had difficulty grasping the concept. I'm afraid I didn't do a very good job of it: they seemed more confused than ever when I'd finished. How would you go about explaining it to children that age?"

Father was wearing his teacher's face, as if this were a quiz. Vincent found himself ill-prepared. Nevertheless, he closed the book over a thumb to mark his place and tried to give the question his full attention.

"I'm not certain I can conceive of it myself, let alone explain it to anyone else. It's easier to imagine, I think, of all things having an ending. That, at least, one can envision. Everyone has experienced endings… and beginnings, as well. But forever… endless…? That is something we must take on faith… and not always," he sighed, "as easily."

He raised his head to find Father's placid eyes on him, his chin cupped in a gloved hand.

"And where do you suppose that faith comes from, Vincent, hmm?"

"I'm not sure," he conceded. "I don't think I'm the best person to be asking – not now anyway."

Father thought that over for a minute and then tipped his head at the book. "What've you there?"

"Something that came to mind last evening," he answered, closing his eyes briefly to recapture the memory of waking already joined with Diana, and of the lines that'd served as his thoughts until he'd stopped thinking and had only felt. "I needed… to see the words."

"Will you share them with me?" Father inquired lightly, feigning idle curiosity that was anything but.

Vincent's initial thought was to decline. It felt like an invasion of the privacy he and Diana deserved, this request to know what he'd been thinking as they'd made love. But that was silly. Father couldn't know under what circumstances the lines had been recalled. He opened the book, found his place, and began to recite softly.

Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you. Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you. And without feet I can make my way to you, without a mouth I can swear your name.

Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you with my heart as with a hand. Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat. And if you consume my brain with fire,

I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.

"Ah, Love Poems to God," Father said after a medium silence, one just long enough to allow the words their full impact. "Well, there you have it, then: your answer."

He glanced over, puzzled, and found a contented smile on Father's face. Vincent's brow furrowed as he looked him a question.

"There is your forever, your endless," Father explained, again nodding at the book. "Do you feel those words, Vincent? Do they… resonate?"

"Very much so," he admitted.

"Then love is the infinity of which you claim you cannot conceive. And the very same which allows one the faith to believe in it. So, is it true… or don't you believe in love as something infinite?"

"Of course I do. It's what you've taught me from as far back as I can remember. And what I've learned through experience myself, over and again. 'My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,'" he finished, quoting Shakespeare - a favorite of theirs and a touchstone.

"Just so," Father heartily agreed, "but I also think the line that directly precedes those should be included, as well: 'And yet I wish but for the thing I have.' Ah, yes, and isn't that what we do, Vincent, as the flawed human beings we are? We always wish for more, not stopping to realize what we have may already be everything. As if the eternal things can measured, like so much flour in one of William's bowls."

Vincent found himself remembering saying something similar to Stosh when they'd met in Diana's loft several weeks past. And he wondered now at how easily the words had left his mouth, without the least thought of whether he truly believed them or not. Had such things become rote, especially since Catherine's death; a declaration simply mimicked instead of being certain knowledge?

But, no, that wasn't so. He knew it to be true. And yet something about the thought nudged him at an angle he hadn't expected and gave rise to other less contemplated and incomplete notions. Finding them vaguely unsettling, he put the book aside and caught Father's eye.

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"If given the chance… if you could have Margaret back, would you? If it meant giving up everything else: your life as it is now?"

Father sat back and cast an appraising, angled look his way. His cheeks puffed out and he expelled a breath through pursed lips.

"I dare not even hazard a guess at why you'd ask such a thing, Vincent." That came with an eyebrow lifted in invitation to relieve him of the task of having to speculate – which they both knew he would most certainly dare to do, despite his words to the contrary.

He hadn't told Father that he'd be returning to the prison he'd left only days ago. He'd told him very little and meant to keep it that way. Though he found the silence hard, he knew it was for the best.

Judging by how difficult Diana had found his predicament to comprehend, he feared Father's incredulity would be twice that. Vincent was also aware Diana would tell Father - if and when it became necessary, if he himself wasn't able to, for whatever reason. He readily admitted the evasion was cowardly and the height of selfishness, but he was in no state to do anything about it.

Eventually deciding he'd get no response to his invitation, Father began thinking about the question, his eyes focused upward as though his thoughts were balloons drifting about the ceiling of the chamber, and he need only pluck the right string to bring down the answer. Vincent sat patiently as he could considering that, within, he felt as though he were spinning like the animated Tasmanian Devil he and Jacob had watched on Diana's television early one Saturday morning.

"It's a difficult question," Father ultimately decided. "I loved Margaret dearly, you know that. We had such little time together, she and I; and what I grieve most I think, as I look back on my life. But had things not happened as they did," he said, his eyes sweeping the room, "just look at all I would never have had. My home… my community. My family. And you," he said, his eyes lighting on Vincent and holding there, "you, most of all.

"Would I have Margaret back at the cost of the life I've built here? No, I honestly don't think I would. Because you see, Vincent, the love we felt for each other, Margaret and I, is a part of me and always shall be. I need only close my eyes and think of her, and she is here with me. So in essence I never lost her and can lay claim to the best of both worlds. One needn't make a choice where there is none to be made."

"But what if…" Vincent paused, finding it difficult to ask what he wanted without further muddying the waters of the conversation and piquing Father's curiosity exponentially. "What if you could no longer feel the presence of her love? What then?"

"Then I should think I'm not looking in the right place or hard enough." He crooked an eyebrow, vaguely amused. "Or perhaps, conversely, looking too hard."

"What do you mean?"

Father’s features shifted to a familiar, professorial look.

"Vincent, it is only when we try to grasp and hold the larger mysteries of life that we lose our ability to comprehend them: love; compassion; hope; death. One cannot hold in a fist that which requires freedom in order to be understood. Some things do not call for our examination but only… only our faith."

"That's an odd thing for a man of science to say," he remarked. Meanwhile, he was recalling Narcissa's words to him the day before: Do you truly believe such a boundless thing can be grasped within a fist?

Father shrugged, his arms lifting high. "'I am large, I contain multitudes.'"

"You and Mr. Whitman."

"All of us, Vincent," Father rejoined warmly. "All of us."

#beauty and the beast 1987 #fanfic #the possibility of being #vincent #father #mine #4th season

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ruinedrainbowpooka · 1 year

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. ItI am such a fucking slut for details and the set dressings for Glass Onion are just Thee Best Shit.

Claire’s kitchenette that has a very Lived In look and not the neat-n-clean Company Is Here look. The kids living in their pjs. The utter lack of anyone with a mask, even among the staff with her. The lived in mess that extends to the front half of her office but doesn’t touch where she’s doing her conference. The flag in front of the bookshelf in a prominent spot that blocks off access to a small section that if it actually lived there would be obnoxious. The little fucking shudder at the mention of Miles. The signs of how toxic her marriage is (including the healing black eyes she has that you can see so fucking well in the pool scene later; Claire has so many easily missed signs of being in a dv relationship - both with Miles and her husband - that my survivor ass was just going LOOOOK at).

Lionel’s set up at his lab. he small raised bit with the beanbag chairs on a carpet. A remote on one of them. They’re grouped so tightly that it’s probably where he’s sleeping. Water cooler, cereal dispensers, microwave, toaster, pitchers, disposable plates/napkins/utensils, TV that’s above him whether he’s standing or laying down (because of social religious things, for most people, looking up causes feelings similar to praying). And then that wide shot where we see the ping pong table and the office module. And how huge and vast the area is with that spotlight, illuminating just a circle around the delivery guy (head to toe in basically hazmat gear) and only him, just screaming how utterly isolated and alone Lionel is. And then immediately contrasted with the office area and how big and close the screens for his zoom calls are, making them literally life-sized on the other end. How neatly and precisely all of his papers are set on the table, but even in here, the lighting is focused on himself and just the few spaces he knows he’ll need the most. His connections to the outside world being his literal lights in the darkness. And then the camera changes angles and we see an utter mess of fax pages; Miles is the disaster in the centre of his order.

Birdie... man just the immediate set up that Peg is the adult in the room and Birdie is a fucking toddler. This massive party around her, she’s bored, so she immediately starts crying for mommy, who then has to walk her through admitting why she’s been grounded from her phone because her friends there (fuck toys of the night?) - who have some beautiful judgmental faces while Birdie isn’t looking - are going “mommy’s mean :(” and then the reminder of how long she’s grounded for. (One of two people I want More About: the man in the vampire tux. Who are you and why are you credited as ‘ Vampire in Tuxedo’?)

Duke’s fucking Gamer room, with that massive gamer chair and massive tv. His twitch room with the two cars, motorcycle, and sports things. But no interactive sports, they’re all solo sports. And then the fucking shelving units full of protein powders. [And then Ma who is Not Putting Up With His Shit (Ma, who are you; gimme stories about Ma. And is she the ‘guy’ who put together the puzzle boxes, since she just can tell him what’s going on in it without even looking?) and demanding that he doesn’t tell her to shut up or defend his being an asshole to her. Like I’ve seen people be like “Ma is abusive and that’s why he’s like he is” but look at his body language when he’s going off on her. It’s very threatening. Like she passes off the laundry basket when his hands come up.]

All the packing boxes and tarps in Andi’s garage, the focus on Andi’s emotional, heavy breathing, the silent signs of rage before she just obliterates the box.

But then motherfucking Benoit’s bathroom. There’s at least four lotion-shaped bottles around the tub, another three bottles of hair-type things. The massive wine bottle, a decanter, and a glass of... what looks like lemonade?. That stack of like 30 books against the bathtub, a cup with a few pens in it, magazines, a couple crossword books, his rubber duck, the two laptops. His. fucking. toothbrush. (The Old Queen way he says ‘my mind is a fueled up racing car and I’ve got no where to drive it”)

The fucking DETAILS of it all.

#glass onion #long

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southwestern-witchery · 9 months

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Wandlore: Tamarix ramosissima, AKA: Tamarisk, or Salt Cedar.

The science:

The Tamarisk, also called the Salt Cedar, is a shrubby, red barked tree native to some parts of Eurasia and Northern Africa. Tamarisk is known for sapping salt up from any water source near it into the soil around it, as its one of the only plants capable of surviving and thriving under those conditions. In the spring, it blooms a magenta, almost lilac pink in many places.

The Tamarisk tree was introduced to the Colorado River Basin in the late 1800s in an effort to stop soil erosion and keep trails clean. Unfortunately, the Tamarisk tree is Rhizomous, which means it can spread underground as well as through seed, and cuttings or fallen limbs from the tree can also root themselves. Accompanied by its tendency to increase the PH of the soil it lands in, the Tamarisk tree became a rapid menace to the southwestern ecosystem.

Because of this, if you take a river raft down the Colorado you are more than likely going to see hundreds or thousands of these trees along the banks. Places where native Cottonwoods or Willows would normally be are filled to the brim with salty earth and red tamarisk trees.

Luckily, there is a small glimmer of hope. The tamarisk beetle, a small golden yellow weevil, no bigger than the head of a pin, eats exclusively tamarisk trees. Careful introduction of the tamarisk beetle to these trees has begun to curb their expanse. Unfortunately, there are still precious few plants that can survive the salty soil the trees leave in their wake, and the thousands of dead trees alongside the river feel an awful lot like walking through a Grove of ghosts.

Ethnobotany and Mythology:

The tamarisk tree has a vast and ancient set of mythological and religious symbolism behind it. In its native range, the tamarisk tree has long been connected to death and rebirth through the story of Osiris's death in Egyptian paganism. When Osiris is killed, his body is hidden inside the trunk of a massive tamarisk tree, for Isis to find and revive.

This connection to hidden things is also noteworthy, as in the Iliad, Odysseus and diomedes hide some of their spoils from the war inside a Tamarisk. In another Greek myth, a young woman or girl is turned into a Tamarisk tree, along with her siblings. However, it should be noted that many diffrent women, girls, nymphs and goddesses turn into trees, plants and shrubs in mythology, and they are often mixed with each other at one point or another.

In abrahamic religions, many characters are said to gain important knowlage under tamarisk trees ( such as the ever present abraham) or have been buried underneath them (Samuel)

In Islam, they take on a more spiteful turn, as Allah converts the gardens of the saba people to Tamarisk and bitter fruits as punishment.

In the southwest, where they have taken root, they symbolize that same sort of spite as well as a stubbornness for life.

In both their native and invasive ranges, the tamarisk tree is used for making sturdy and durable goods. Things like furniture, wagon wheels, and boxes. The wood itself is beautiful, if occasionally difficult to work with. Medicinally, the tree has been used in traditional practices to treat digestive issues, gut problems, diabetes and dental issues to varying degrees of success. It has also been used in soaking and purifying baths well into ancient times, as its mentioned that gilgamesh's mother took a bath in a Tamarisk soak before sending her son and his partner on their quest.

The magic

Taking all of these sources into account, it's safe to say that the tamarisk tree would have a very specific arcane niche to fill: stubbornness, secrets, and toxicity. The protective aspects of the tree are numerous of course, but often come in unexpected ways. Wands or other foci made with Tamarisk would likely do an average job with standard protective magics, but astonishingly well at protecting those who are already dead, or secrets that one would wish to hide for eternity. These Foci will aslo do an excellent job with purifying Charms and intense purification rituals, perhaps even exorcism if done correctly.

It should also be noted that the high salt content of the Tamarisk tree is two fold: it will aid in its protectiveness, of course, but it may also be a sign that the owner of the foci in question may drive others away in their personal lives. They will be steadfast and stubborn, and good at what they set themselves to task over, but God's forbid they form a true lasting relationship with anyone who isn't exactly like them. This may present itself as a mild sort of closed mindedness at best, or outright hatred of others at worst. They may be xenophobic, religious zealots, or even simply abrasive. This isn't to say every person who possesses a tamarisk foci is an asshole in this way, but it would be fair to say they are more likely to hold their own opinions in the highest regard before any other.

These will be the people who work very hard at what they do, but never really make any real connections. The people you meet who will gruffly get the job done, but demand solitude or like minded individuals in order to work at all.

Let it be known that these individuals, no matter how strong they appear to be, will have at least one glaring weakness to them, and they may be extremely suseptable to failure if they confront it. Due to their stubbornness, this could very well be their downfall if they refuse help.

These foci will pair best with others who have connections to Tamarisk, and will likely pair worst with those who have willow, cottonwood, fruit tree, or other stereotypically sweet or less hardy woods.

#wandlore #hp headcanon #botany #ethnobotany #mythology #tamarisk #salt cedar #saltcedar #magic headcannons #Tamarix ramosissima

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urmumsdrycooch · 2 years

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Spiritual Awakening Trip

Sam Giddings x Reader

Summary: Sam takes you on a camping trip, fluff.

Warnings: None.

It's a beautiful night. The stars shining bright, and the moon full and round. The air's crisp and cool, but not too cold. A perfect night for a campfire.

The wind lightly breezes through my hair as I stare up at the stars. They're so much bigger and brighter when you give them all your attention. It made me feel small and insignificant, yet somehow connected.

I can almost see myself among them, a speck of dust in a vast universe. I guess it humbles me a bit, but it doesn't retract that alive feeling it gives me.

I trace the outline of one of the stars with my finger, watching the tiny black dots move across the starry sky. I didn't know their names, but I know that each and every one of them had some sort of meaning.

"What're you doing?" A chuckle from behind me vibrates onto the back of my head.

I lower my hand from above me, and turn to face the blonde behind me. Her hazel eyes twinkle with humour, and her smile contagious as per usual. She's the one who forced me to come on this 'spiritual awakening' trip. As much as the bugs and hay-fever annoyed me, it makes me feel special to be apart of her little thing. "Looking up at the stars," I reply.

"See! You're spirits are becoming one with nature," She pauses, ",okay, that sounded stupid. But look, aren't you glad we're on this trip?"

"Yes, of course." I can't deny how wonderful it is being here with her. "But all these bites say otherwise." I downplay, if I were to leave it at that she'd be teasing me about it for ages.

She laughs, "You'll get used to it!" She links her hands on my chest, letting me sink into her stomach. She giggles, "And you will thank me later, when you find the fun in nature." She jokes.

I snarl playfully, "Oh yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll find out soon enough," She teases with a wink.

I link my fingers in between hers, letting them fall back onto my chest, "Where did you learn to tease like that?"

She shrugs, "That's for me to know and for you to find out." A smirk plastered on her face.

Nature has never been on my side. I'm sure every bug I've ever encountered has had some sort of personal vendetta against me. A thousand bugs could bite me right now, and I think I'd still want to be here right here, right now. Next to the girl I love, in front of a fire, enjoying the peaceful night.

There's something about being out here, away from everyone else, that feels different. Not better or worse, but just different. I don't know how to explain it. Maybe it's because it's not the same old routine every day. I can't count the number of times I've woken up in the morning, and gone straight to the kitchen to make breakfast. Same ole same ole. Since Sam became a daily part of my life it's really added a bit of spice.

I turn my body around, my stomach now resting on top of Sam's waist, "Hmm? What's wrong?"

I let my face make its way closer to Sam's, placing my chin atop her chest. "Nothing is wrong." I whisper, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

She chuckles and kisses the top of my head, "Glad to hear it." She places her hand on the back of my neck, pulling my face back to hers. We stare deep into each other's eyes, our breathing matching. I open my mouth to speak, but she stops me before I do.

Sam leans in, her lips pecking mine. I soon pull her in for another kiss, but before it get minorly intense she lets out a soft laugh, breaking the kiss. I rest my head on her chest, her lips leaving small kisses on my hair.

The fire continues to roar and the wind doesn't calm any more, "How're we going to put out the fire?" I question, the fire way too big to just chuck a bit of water over.

"That's a good question." She responds with a semi-faltered smile, not bothering to give me a straight answer, "Stamp on it?"

"Okay, and set your leg on fire?" I roll my eyes.

"What makes you think I'm doing the stamping?"

Switched it up a bit today. Replayed Until Dawn and Sam has won my heart all over again.

#until dawn #sam giddings #samantha giddings #until dawn sam #sam giddings x reader #samantha giddings x reader #until dawn x reader

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dk-wren · 1 year

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Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks....

Hello @dnana-2809-blog!

Wow, that's a great as well as tough question. I typically think of my favorite stories, which is hard enough, but favorite characters, not something I have thought too much about because I've come across so many characters I've loved. Anyways, here's my current top 10 really in no particular order:

Sabine Wren from Star Wars Rebels

Amelie Poulain from Amelie

Sean Diaz from Life is Strange 2

Alyssa Greene from The Prom

Percy Jackson from lots of Rick Riordan novels

Anya Forger from Spy x Family

Aki Hayakawa from Chainsaw Man

Sal Fisher from Sally Face

Katsuki Yuri from Yuri on Ice

Trevor Watson from The Goes Wrong Show

Sabine Wren

One of the main reasons I fell in love with Sabine is how she uses art as a form of rebellion. As someone who is involved in and generally loves the art, I loved that this aspect of fighting/speaking up was incorporated into Star Wars. Also, just the idea that art can make such a loud statement really spoke to me.

And while there were only a few moments here or there, I also loved how Sabine was not only an artist but an arts appreciator too. The beauty she saw in others works and the details and meanings behind her own was cool to see.

Additionally, while Sabine was characterized to be this very strong and determined individual, I loved the moments where she was able to open up and be vulnerable. Most of these moments happened around mid-season 3 to the beginning of season 4 when Sabine learned how to wield the Darksaber and returned to Mandalore. It's this sort of complexity how behind her strong-front, there is another, internal self that is wrestling with all these demons. Maybe not the most unique thing about her, but I think Tiya Sircar's performance really helped to elevate the emotions and difficulty Sabine has about facing her past.

Sabine being the first listed on my top 10 favorite characters may actually be true. When creating this name, Dakota Wren, Sabine was/is such a beloved and inspirational character that I wanted to incorporate her and her spirit into my name, perhaps even honor what she means to me.

Amelie Poulain

I was first introduced to the story of Amelie through its musical adaptation. I had heard about the film, but it was listening to the musical's Broadway cast recording, specifically the song "Times Are Hard for Dreamers," that I fell in love with the story and the character. I was always interested in watching the film, but it was only after I listened to the musical's West End cast recording, that I set out to watch it.

Amelie Poulain is one of my favorite characters because of how she is so motivated by kindness. After seeing the positive reaction to her first anonymous good deed, Amelie makes it her mission to carry out as many anon good deeds as possible. Even if the deeds are somewhat small or may not have a large impact on the greater world, I love this idea of just putting more kindness out into the world.

Amelie's struggle to connect with others, as well as how vast her imagination is, are other aspects of her character I connected with and loved. Seeing these traits that I feel closely define who I am in a character is why Amelie is one of my favorite characters.

Sean Diaz

I was introduced to the Life is Strange series by randomly deciding to watch a playthrough of episode 1 of Life is Strange 2 one day. I only planned to watch 15-20 minutes of a one hour video, which was only the first part of the episode, since I assumed I was not gonna be too interested and move on. However, I didn't pay attention to the time and ended up watching the whole hour video, quickly followed by the rest of episode one instead of doing my work.

Sean is one of my favorite characters because of how he immediately takes on a parental role for his little brother Daniel after a tragic accident. As they are on the run and come across different characters/people, it was really interesting to see how Sean attempts to balance being a teenager and being the sole care taker of his little brother. While Sean's relationship with Daniel is dependent on the player's choices, I really love how in one pathway, no matter how much Daniel bugs/annoys him, Sean still fiercely loves him and will go to any length to ensure his well-being.

Sean being pushed into the role of an adult, who must make many of the decisions for the two of them, while grappling with his loss of childhood and home/safety was something that instantly grabbed my attention and kept it.

I had difficulty putting into words why Sean is one of my favorite characters. Essentially though, I think it's Sean's emotional vulnerability (in expressing how he feels about his and Daniel's situation) and unwavering love that make him one of my top 10 favorite characters.

Alyssa Greene

Alyssa is a character that I feel I have a lot in common with: parental expectations to succeed in school, doing certain things not necessarily out of interest, but because it'll (hopefully) look good on a college app, trying to not let down my parents, and living in the closet.

Her song, "Alyssa Greene," which I'm gonna include, struck such an emotional chord with me. This balancing act between being one person in front of her mother and other students while another person with her girlfriend, Emma, and the conflict over which one is her authentic self, is one reason why I've included Alyssa on this list.

Alyssa eventually gains the confidence to come out to her mom, go to prom with Emma, and I guess technically gets her happy ending. So, in seeing myself so much in her, it makes me happy to see that Alyssa eventually is able to be her true self and gives me hope that I can too (oops did not mean for this to get that deep).

youtube

Percy Jackson

I got into the Percy Jackson series when I was in 4th grade and I've been a fan ever since (for some reference, I'm in college now). I had free time after finishing classwork, so I think I was supposed to read. When I went looking for a book, something about the cover for The Lightning Thief caught my eye. At the time it was one of the largest books I had read, so 1) I was proud for finishing it and 2) I couldn't wait to do it again for Sea of Monsters, then Titan's Curse, and on and on and on. I truly credit Lightning Thief and Percy Jackson and the Olympians as the book/series that started my love for reading.

This is why I kinda have to include Percy on this list since he's the narrator of this series. I think as many people have pointed out, Percy's sass and attitude is what made me fall in love with this character. Similar to other characters on this list, his loyalty and unwavering determination to protect his friends also stood out to me.

With so many novels spanning several years, it's neat getting to see his maturation from the new kid at camp to one of their finest leaders. Also, while I may not have grown up with Percy, it was also really fun getting to read when he would hit certain milestones (i.e. 16th birthday, learning how to drive, going off to college, etc.).

Anya Forger

Currently, Anya Forger is my favorite Forger family member, which was a hard decision to make since I just wanted to include one family member on this list.

A good friend of mine introduced me to Spy x Family last summer. We watched the first episode together, I was hooked, and then I proceeded to watch the first half of season 1 on my own over the next few days. After that, I very much looked forward to the second half of season 1 (literally waiting for the exact time I could watch the new episode) and began to read the manga.

Why do I bring this up? One of the reasons I instantly fell in love with Spy x Family was because of Anya, as well as her relationship/interactions with Loid, in that first episode. Like so many others, I absolutely love Anya's facial expressions and the things that come out of her mouth. Like, she's already hilarious for saying things that a four, possibly five year old would say. But when she's trying to cover for saying something that is in direct response to reading another person's thoughts, even more chaos.

Anya's love for both of her parents is also really touching. Additionally, the fact that she feels safe and protected from danger when they are around is touching too. She just wants to be loved and have a family and a nice, warm home, which she arguably gets with Loid, Yor, and Bond. It's definitely a little sad that Anya is not fully sure if her papa loves her, but it's so sweet (and shows how much this family means to her) that she loves Loid regardless.

Aki Hayakawa

I would first like to bring up two points: 1) at the point of writing this, I have yet to find the time to read the manga (so my experience with this character is limited to what's been covered in the anime, though I have seen a few manga spoilers), and 2) I didn't like Aki when he was first introduced.

Going off of this second point, I felt Aki was being unnecessarily rude and dismissive of Denji during the first few episodes of Chainsaw Man. I thought Aki was gonna just be Denji's work rival and more like a minor antagonist of the series. Boy was I wrong though and boy am I so glad to be wrong in this situation.

Therefore, seeing his growth over the first season alone, and what exactly that growth has led to, is why I have chosen to include Aki on this list. Yes, Aki is probably driven insane by Denji (and Power too), but it's moments like when he protected Denji from Kobeni while they were trapped in the hotel or attempting to fight Katana Man after Denji and Himeno were shot that made me see this character in a new light. Episode 11 and 12 have countless examples of why Aki has become one of my favorite characters, but even before these episodes, my opinion on Aki had already changed.

Two other points that do a good job of explaining why Aki is one of my top 10 favorite characters are from posts I have come across. One is how Aki is the most sane of Special Division 4, which is saying something. And two, how Aki went from believing devils should be spared no mercy when they are killed (or something of the like) in ep. 2 to looking after Denji, Power, and being unafraid to come close to Angel Devil in ep. 11.

Sal Fisher

When I think of Sal Fisher, there are many things that come to mind. Despite his appearance, Sal has a relatively calm energy. While growing up, despite everything that has happened to him during his childhood, Sal attempts to live a relatively normal life by spending time with friends, raising his cat, Gizmo, etc. (before and after moving to Addison Apartments). And, when Sal finds himself in a situation where there are no good outcomes, he must do the unthinkable.

One moment that really stood out to me is when Sal is talking with a friend, who asks why he lets people call him "Sally Face." Sal explains that when he was growing up, other kids would call him that name as an insult, so by reclaiming or owning the name, the nickname lost its power. I think this moment demonstrates Sal's true nature and how Sal had to grow up a little quicker than his peers due to events from his early childhood.

While I definitely think Sal is one of my favorite characters, the story of Sally Face as a whole stands out to me a little more. I guess what I'm trying to say is Sal Fisher and the story of Sally Face are so closely tied that I found it a little hard to fully separate why I like Sal Fisher alone or independently from the overall game.

Katsuki Yuri

I recently finished Yuri on Ice (as in last night), so this may be a character that moves or changes on/off this list after having more time to reflect on and digest this series. But at the time of writing this, Katsuki Yuri has quickly earned a place on this list. I will also add I watched the series over the span of a few days because of free time/work. However, I probably could've binged the series in a day if I had the time, which says a lot since I typically have a lot of difficulty binge watching shows.

There was something so touching about seeing Yuri grow into his skills and finding his confidence over the course of the season. Literally was tearing up during his final free skate. While only 12 episodes, Yuri's performance during that final free skate really felt like the culmination of the entire season (I think the inner dialogue helped to convey this even more, like everything in Yuri's mind has led to this moment).

Maybe a bit random, but Yuri's awareness about having a high stamina and getting nervous during competitions demonstrated that he had a good understanding of his self, it was his confidence that needed improving. Also, in the first episode, when Yuri recreates one of Victor's performances, I just loved that Yuri's passion for ice skating seemed so clearly conveyed.

I don't know if others feel this way, but there was something to me about Yuri's reactions/thoughts that felt so real and to a degree relatable. Sure, some of them were played up for comedy, but Yuri's determination to succeed, to win a gold medal, or when Victor, Yuri's idol, first arrived to Hasetsu/became his coach, and his inner panicking, that felt so based in truth or reality. I loved this about Yuri and his characterization.

Trevor Watson

Maybe not everyone's cup of tea, but if you're looking for a good laugh or comedy show, I'd highly recommend The Goes Wrong Show. Slapstick and chaos at its finest. While I enjoy each character and the various reasons their parts/scenes go wrong, Trevor, the stage manager, narrowly inches his way above the other characters as my favorite.

Him frantically trying to keep the show running and handling way too many behind the scenes roles, as well as occasionally being pulled to stand-in for an actor (when everyone else is incapacitated, which out of context I'm sure sounds concerning-I assure you it's not though), make for hilarious moments of Trevor being forced to fill in for things he did not sign up for.

Also, the way he sasses and responds to Chris, the director, is really funny. I guess in general too when being asked to do something that requires him to do more than his job description, which is often.

There's a lot of reasons why Trevor is probably my favorite TGWS character and makes it on this list. However, it's a little hard to explain when so many reasons are like really specific bits or make little sense out of context. Either way, Trevor makes it onto my top 10 favorite characters.

Thank you so much for you question!

I had a lot of fun thinking about my top 10 favorite characters from all the media I love, which spans from stage to screen to video games to books. I don't know what exactly you were looking or hoping for, but I hope my answers aren't too disappointing. These characters and the stories they come from really do a good job of representing who I am though and the evolution of what I love.

This question also made me realize how many times I stumble into a new obsession/fandom by just randomly doing something with very little thought into thinking a new interest could arise from it. So, thank you for that as well!

Love,

Dakota Wren

(Because there's a lot of characters I wish I could include, I'm also gonna do a quick honorable mentions: Kazuki Kurusu (if only choosing one character from Buddy Daddies), Holden Caulfield, Max Caulfield, Miles Edgeworth, and Miguel Rivera.

If anyone wants the reasoning behind any of those characters, just let me know.)

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