#iron cow shell | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dead-end-draws · 3 months

Text

Tribe Banner concept art:

Folks seemed to enjoy my WOF WIPS, so here’s more concept art for y’all! My favorite thing about WOF is the potential for world building. I thought it’d be cool to see a tribe emblem represented on a banner/flag of sorts:

Read below for some of the thought process / headcannons behind the design choices: 👇

Skywing Banner:

Skywings pride themselves on 3 things; treasure, fire, & their enormous, soaring wingspan which steals the sky.

As such, portrayed on the banner, the fabric (often made with dyed cow or goat leathers) resembles draped dragon wings. Two Skywings embrace a goblet, which is spewing golden fire.

The banner is often held aloft with iron or gold poles, signifying to other tribes their wealth and pride.

Mudwing banner:

These banners are fashioned with leather hides from cow or crocodile skin, held aloft with bamboo, and painted with a Talon-print & Reed crest.

The talonprint symbolizes community and the strength of Mudwing sibling bonds. The reed border unifies all Mudwings regardless of their relationship to home; the swamp. Bigwings are often seen carrying these into battle, signifing their status and making it easier for a sib to locate them in the flurry of a fight.

Sandwing Banner:

Sandwing flags are made with camel skins and dyed cactus leather.

A crest shows a Sandwing coiled around a beaming sun, a reminder that despite the revered 3 moons, Sandwings are born to thrive in sunlight.

The fabric is cut in a way to mimic the swooping dunes of Sandwing territory. And the poles of the flags are equally intricate, with scorpion tails and golden ropes which frame the banner.

These flags make prominent appearances in parades, festivals, and markets, and even miniature version are often displayed in homes or as tapestries/carpets.

Seawing banner:

These banners are often seen displayed in royal quarters or councils, or above land to mark territory.

A nautilus shell crest on front echoes the swirl-pattern associated with royal Seawings: The banner’s borders resemble waves and a dragon swimming beneath their surface.

These are crafted with rich materials, strung with seashells, pearls, silver dollars, and deep oceanic color fabric. There is severe penalty for Seawings found plucking treasure from the banners, as they are a direct symbol of royalty.

Nightwing Banner:

These banners emphasize the Nightwings’ relationship to the moon, their source of power and praise. The material, a contrast of white stitching against purple velvet showcases moonlight and night, black scales against stars, magic and mystery.

They are seen decorated with 3 moons at the top and a centered dragon reaching up into the night sky.

These banners were often used during the war as secret code by spies to deliver to other tribes. Prophecy scrolls often came attached, delivering cryptic messages or secrets in the night. These banners all helped add to the secrecy of the Dragonet Prophecy, and kept tribes on their toes around Nightwings.

Rainwing banner:

Rainwing banners are not used for battle purposes like other tribes, most are mere decoration, location indicators, and have no unified design.

However, It is said back when Rainwings left the rainforest to trade pre-war, this particular banner design was often raised above Rainwing merchant tables, and showcases the coiled tail of a Rainwing with leaves, vines, and other sights from the rainforest adorning a bamboo pole. Bright color combinations accentuated the flag to entice curious customers.

Now, only one tattered version of the original Rainwing banner remains, displayed proudly in Queen Glory’s quarters, a reminder that building the Rainwings’ community is their most important goal.

Icewing Banner:

These banners reflect the same standards Icewings hold themselves to.

Like a visual of the rankings themselves, each banner is cut perfectly from an Icewing’s trained, serrated claws to resemble icicles, and crafted with fine blue stitching.

Flags are often held aloft with perfectly polished narwhal horn or bone, and can be inlaid with sapphires or diamond.

Icewing soldiers are often gifted these during ceremonies, and perform training exercises with the flags to test their stance/attentiveness. The crest showcases the swift sharpness of ice through a flying dragon, and a snowflake toward the bottom reminding Icewings that even minuscule snowflakes, small things, should be perfect in form.

2K notes · View notes

cryptidclaw · 1 year

Text

Cryptidclaw's WC Prefixes List!

Yall said you were interested in seeing it so here it is!

This is a collection of mostly Flora, Fauna, Rocks, and other such things that can be found in Britain since that’s where the books take place!

I also have other Prefixes that have to do with pelt colors and patterns as well!

Here’s a link to the doc if you dont want to expand a 650 word list on your Tumblr feed lol! the doc is also in my drive linked in my pined post!

below is the actual list! If there are any names you think I should add plz tell me!

EDIT: I will update the doc with new names as I come up with them or have them suggested to me, but I wont update the list on this post! Plz visit my doc for a more updated version!

Animals

Mammal

Badger

Bat

Bear

Beaver

Bison

Boar

Buck

Calf

Cow

Deer

Elk

Fawn

Ferret

Fox

Goat

Hare

Horse

Lamb

Lynx

Marten

Mole

Mouse

Otter

Rabbit

Rat

Seal

Sheep

Shrew

Squirrel

Stoat

Vole

Weasel

Wolf

Wolverine

Amphibians

Frog

Newt

Toad

Reptiles

Scale

Adder

Lizard

Snake

Turtle

Shell

Birds

Bird

Down

Feather

Albatross

Bittern

Buzzard

Chaffinch

Chick

Chicken

Coot

Cormorant

Corvid

Crane

Crow

Curlew

Dove

Duck

Dunlin

Eagle

Egret

Falcon

Finch

Gannet

Goose

Grouse

Gull

Hawk

Hen

Heron

Ibis

Jackdaw

Jay

Kestrel

Kite

Lark

Magpie

Mallard

Merlin

Mockingbird

Murrelet

Nightingale

Osprey

Owl

Partridge

Pelican

Peregrine

Petrel

Pheasant

Pigeon

Plover

Puffin

Quail

Raven

Robin

Rook

Rooster

Ruff

Shrike

Snipe

Sparrow

Starling

Stork

Swallow

Swan

Swift

Tern

Thrasher

Thrush

Vulture

Warbler

Whimbrel

Wren

Freshwater Fish

Fish

Bass

Bream

Carp

Dace

Eel

Lamprey

Loach

Minnow

Perch

Pike

Rudd

Salmon

Sterlet

Tench

Trout

Roach

Saltwater fish and other Sea creatures (would cats be able to find some of these? Probably not, I don't care tho)

Alge

Barnacle

Bass (Saltwater version)

Bream (Saltwater version)

Brill

Clam

Cod

Crab

Dolphin

Eel (Saltwater version)

Flounder

Garfish

Halibut

Kelp

Lobster

Mackerel

Mollusk

Orca

Prawn

Ray

Seal

Shark

Shrimp

Starfish

Sting

Urchin

Whale

Insects and Arachnids

Honey

Insect

Web

Ant

Bee

Beetle

Bug

Butterfly

Caterpillar

Cricket

Damselfly

Dragonfly

Fly

Grasshopper

Grub

Hornet

Maggot

Moth

Spider

Wasp

Worm

Trees

Acorn

Bark

Branch

Forest

Hollow

Log

Root

Stump

Timber

Tree

Twig

Wood

Alder

Apple

Ash

Aspen

Beech

Birch

Cedar

Cherry

Chestnut

Cypress

Elm

Fir

Hawthorn

Hazel

Hemlock

Linden

Maple

Oak

Pear

Poplar

Rowan

Redwood

Spruce

Willow

Yew

Flowers, Shrubs and Other plants

Berry

Blossom

Briar

Field

Flower

Leaf

Meadow

Needle

Petal

Shrub

Stem

Thicket

Thorn

Vine

Anemone

Apricot

Barley

Bellflower

Bluebell

Borage

Bracken

Bramble

Briar

Burnet

Buttercup

Campion

Chamomile

Chanterelle

Chicory

Clover

Cornflower

Daffodil

Daisy

Dandelion

Dogwood

Fallow

Fennel

Fern

Flax

Foxglove

Furze

Garlic

Ginger

Gorse

Grass

Hay

Heather

Holly

Honeysuckle

Hop

Hyacinth

Iris

Ivy

Juniper

Lavender

Lichen

Lilac

Lilly

Mallow

Marigold

Mint

Mistletoe

Moss

Mushroom

Nettle

Nightshade

Oat

Olive

Orchid

Parsley

Periwinkle

Pine

Poppy

Primrose

Privet

Raspberry

Reed

Reedmace

Rose

Rush

Rye

Saffron

Sage

Sedge

Seed

Snowdrop

Spindle

Strawberry

Tangerine

Tansy

Teasel

Thistle

Thrift

Thyme

Violet

Weed

Wheat

Woodruff

Yarrow

Rocks and earth

Agate

Amber

Amethyst

Arch

Basalt

Bounder

Cave

Chalk

Coal

Copper

Dirt

Dust

Flint

Garnet

Gold

Granite

Hill

Iron

Jagged

Jet

Mountain

Mud

Peak

Pebble

Pinnacle

Pit

Quartz

Ridge

Rock

Rubble

Ruby

Rust(y)

Sand

Sapphire

Sediment

Silt

Silver

Slate

Soil

Spire

Stone

Trench

Zircon

Water Formations

Bay

Cove

Creek

Delta

Lake

Marsh

Ocean

Pool

Puddle

River

Sea

Water

Weather and such

Autumn

Avalanche

Balmy

Blaze

Blizzard

Breeze

Burnt

Chill

Cinder

Cloud

Cold

Dew

Drift

Drizzle

Drought

Dry

Ember

Fall

Fire

Flame

Flood

Fog

Freeze

Frost

Frozen

Gale

Gust

Hail

Ice

Icicle

Lightening

Mist

Muggy

Rain

Scorch

Singe

Sky

Sleet

Sloe

Smoke

Snow

Snowflake

Soot

Sorrel

Spark

Spring

Steam

Storm

Summer

Sun

Thunder

Water

Wave

Wet

Wind

Winter

Celestial??

Comet

Dawn

Dusk

Evening

Midnight

Moon

Morning

Night

Noon

Twilight

Cat Features, Traits, and Misc.

Azure

Beige

Big

Black

Blonde

Blotch(ed)

Blue

Bounce

Bright

Brindle

Broken

Bronze

Brown

Bumble

Burgundy

Call

Carmine

Claw

Cobalt

Cream

Crimson

Cry

Curl(y)

Dapple

Dark

Dot(ted)

Dusky

Ebony

Echo

Fallen

Fleck(ed)

Fluffy

Freckle

Ginger

Golden

Gray

Green

Heavy

Kink

Knot(ted)

Light

Little

Lost

Loud

Marbled

Mew

Milk

Mottle

Mumble

Ochre

Odd

One

Orange

Pale

Patch(ed)

Pounce

Prickle

Ragged

Red

Ripple

Rough

Rugged

Russet

Scarlet

Shade

Shaggy

Sharp

Shimmer

Shining

Small

Smudge

Soft

Song

Speckle

Spike

Splash

Spot(ted)

Streak

Stripe(d)

Strong

Stump(y)

Sweet

Tall

Talon

Tangle

Tatter(ed)

Tawny

Tiny

Tough

Tumble

Twist

Violet

Whisker

Whisper

White

Wild

Wooly

Yellow

#cryptidclaw's warriors au #?#Im tempted to use these in the au #some characters deserve some more fun names hehe #rise of change #warrior cats #warrior cats design #warriors #warriors names #warriors naming #warriors prefixes

542 notes · View notes

sylvienerevarine · 23 days

Text

Man is Not Made for Defeat (An Oblivion Short)

Hello, my dumplings. Recently I've been replaying Oblivion and realized that I've never properly written any Oblivion-specific fanfic, except like one very short thing from last year. Anyway, here's a wee thing featuring my trashy lesbian HoK Sacha, and her soon-to-be adopted son Ben, the Adoring Fan. (In the Sylvieverse he's named Ben. Don't worry about it)

---

“By Azura, ma’am, this is such an honor!”

Sacha Llervu–known variously as the Hero of Kvatch, Iron Maiden of the Arena, and “that’s her, officer”–glanced up from her bloodstained sword in annoyance. She was slumped on a bench in the Arena District park, trying to will her exhausted limbs to carry her to the nearest pub, and wasn’t precisely in the mood for conversation. Especially not with a twig of a Bosmer boy with a daft spike of yellow hair, gazing at her like she was Saint Veloth.

“What do you want?” The question came out wearily, not as the growl she’d intended, and the boy didn’t appear cowed.

“Well, Iron Maiden, ma’am, you’re the Grand Champion now,” he said, as though she hadn’t noticed. “A celebrity. You’ll be wanting an assistant now, of course–someone to carry your bags, shine your shoes, keep away troublemakers. You needn’t pay me, or anything, it would be an honor to work for you…”

“No,” Sacha interrupted. The boy’s lower lip wobbled, and she sighed. “Look, you seem like a good kid. Stay away from me, I’m no champion.” Her eyes, humiliatingly, felt damp. She hadn’t cried when she’d been tossed in prison or seen the Emperor killed three feet in front of her, but now the tears came?

“Ma’am? Is something wrong?”

“I killed a good man today,” she said thickly. “And I didn’t do it honorably. Honestly, I killed him the day I showed him that bloody diary–the Agronak I took down today was just a shell.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “I knew something was off. His reflexes seemed slower than usual, and he barely lifted his shield–it was like he wanted you to win.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Sacha agreed. “He hired me to find information on his father, a while back, and I found out dear old Dad was a vampire. Agronak wanted the truth, so I told him, and you could say it shook him.” That was an understatement. She’d never forget how Agronak’s blunt, cheerful features had gone ashen at the contents of his father’s diary. Being half-vampire didn’t seem like such a tragedy to Sacha, but for someone who’d built his identity around some idea of lost nobility, maybe it could be.

“You gave him a noble death, ma’am,” the boy said quietly. “Mister Agronak’s old mum dropped by once, you know, and told me a bit about life in the strongholds. Apparently some of the elderly Orc folk go out into the wilderness in search of a good death in battle. Maybe the Gray Prince’s defeat isn’t what you wanted, but it’s what he wanted.”

Sacha looked up in surprise. She wouldn’t have expected a youngster with such a ridiculous hairstyle to be so wise. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Ben…ah, Benethir,” the boy stammered. “You can call me Ben, of course, or anything you want really.”

“Ben will do. How old are you? Got family in town?” Somehow she knew his second answer would be no. If there was anyone to look after the lad, he’d probably be in school, not spending all day watching idiots hack each other to pieces.

“Seventeen-ish, I think.” Ben cast her an anxious look, as though worried this would be too young for Sacha’s approval. “My parents died a few years ago, so I’ve been on my own–I mean, independent ever since.”

Annoyingly, Sacha felt her heart soften a bit. She’d been this kid, twenty-odd years ago; a scared urchin fleeing that horrendous Indoril plantation. Within a few years she’d been running scams in every backwater Deshaan village, before the Legion had finally tossed her in prison. Her strength and stubbornness had kept her alive in that pit, but a pup like this Ben wouldn’t last a month.

She’d never been one for charity or hangers-on, but perhaps it was time to make an exception.

“Right.” She stood, brushing off her trousers. “You good at hauling luggage and sweeping and that sort of thing?”

Ben’s eyes lit up. “I certainly can be, ma’am.”

“Smashing. I’ve got a house in Anvil that I frequently need to leave on missions that are none of your business, and it needs looking after while I’m away. Don’t worry, you’ll still have time to waste at the Arena, and a bit of pocket-money as well.” Sacha held out one hand, and the awed boy shook it. “Don’t make me regret this, kid.”

As Ben sputtered in gratitude, Sacha rolled her eyes, already picturing what Marty would say when she told him. Something like I always knew you’d be the maternal type, deep down. Smug bastard.

#tes #my writing #oblivion #oc: sacha #adoring fan #agronak

15 notes · View notes

lunamagicablu · 1 month

Text

This is what the Buddha's awakening experience was: after seven years of asceticism taken to extremes (fasting, lying on beds of nails, sleeping on sharp stones and so on), having carried out all these practices to break egocentrism, to acquire detachment and to destroy his desire for life, he realized the futility of it all. One day, Gautama stopped his practice and accepted a bowl of milk from a little girl who was grooming the cows. And suddenly, feeling a keen sense of tranquility, he went and sat under a tree and realized that everything he had done up to that moment was following the wrong path. You can't get blood from a turnip. No effort will ever be enough to make a person who believes he is an individual self become truly altruistic. As long as you believe and feel that you are encased in a shell of skin – and that is all – there is absolutely no possibility of behaving altruistically. Of course, altruism can be imitated. You can practice many refined forms of altruism, but you are still bound to the wheel of becoming by the golden chains of good deeds, just as unquestionably bad people are bound to it by the iron chains of their bad deeds. This manifests itself in many ways: from people burdened with spiritual pride who believe they possess the one true teaching, to those who claim to be the most tolerant, inclusive and welcoming, which is just a game called being more tolerant, inclusive and more welcoming than anyone else. A self-centered being is always a victim of his own trap. The Buddha saw that all his yoga practices and forms of asceticism had represented only a way to try to escape the trap to save his own skin, to find inner peace. He realized that that was an impossible undertaking, because the motivation behind it all invalidated the project itself. The Buddha discovered that there was no trap to escape except himself: the trap and the trapped are one. And when you understand this, there is no longer any trap. So, based on this experience, he formulated what he called dharma, his method. Alan Watts art by Lim Chung Hee

10 notes · View notes

thekimspoblog · 5 months

Text

Women's rights are more important than democracy.

If I am locked in a room with 99 guys. And we take a vote on whether it would be ok to rape me. It wouldn't matter if there was a 99% majority consensus. All that would mean is that I would need to kill 99 men so that the consensus matches what's in my best interest.

Thankfully, it hasn't come to that: abortion rights are what the majority of Americans want, and supporting a democracy furthers the pro-choice agenda. But just keep this thought experiment in mind, because it's not just about abortion.

Democracy is not some sacred cow, not something you can simply stamp as "the best system of governance" and end the lesson there. Democracy is - at the end of the day - a dilution mechanism. A system of checks and balances is a somewhat effective means to slow a tyrant's ability to do whatever tyrannical things they wished to do. But there is a flipside to that; maybe if an intelligent and idealistic older woman was plucked from the very bottom of the card deck and given absolute power to rule as she saw fit, she would quickly resolve a lot of the crises currently threatening our world. Because she would have empathy and first-hand experience that a lot of the incumbent powers don't. After all, it is not actually absolute power which corrupts, but the pursuit of power. Power corrupts, because no matter the good intentions a politician may have when entering a democratic system, the plutocrats who have already staked their claim are extremely savvy about playing the shell-game with her causes; they know they can force the idealist to compromise her values on one progressive issue, in order to get their permission to advance another aspect of the progressive agenda. So by the time the politician reaches any noteworthy rank in office, she has been so turned around that she has forgotten her original purpose.

What's more, no matter how liberal a democracy, there's one thing you must remember: dead men cast no votes! A system which hears everyone's voice is still only able to respond to those still alive enough to voice their concerns. The plutocrats understand this and have integrated it into the shell game. So our democracy has never been an alternative to violence, because the system we have still rewards direct and indirect violence as a tactic to silence dissent and force a specific desired outcome. On some level, we all know this: it's common sense, and yet still we preach that democracy is some sort of alternative to anarchy and violence. It's not! The parameters of what sorts of questions are up for debate, and who gets to debate them, are still drawn in blood.

And so, my platform is simple: abortion is not up for vote. Abortion is not up for debate. Pro-choice is the only acceptable position for the world to hold, and anything that threatens that conclusion must be crushed with an iron fist. Free speech be damned, misogyny must be intimidated into submission, until our sons never even think to question whether a life-saving medical procedure should be banned. If promoting majority-rule is the fastest way to ensure this future, I will promote democracy. If installing a feminist authoritarian from a minority group in a life-long position of unilateral power starts to look like a faster or more certain way of creating that future, I will do that instead.

Women have the right to defend themselves against exploitation; nothing we do, no matter how violent or short-sighted, will leave us as the villains of history when we have been backed into a corner like this.

#feminism #leftism #critical authoritarianism #alt-left #anarchism #critical authoritarianism = when you agree with anarchocommunist goals but don't have enough faith in humanity

12 notes · View notes

recurring-polynya · 11 months

Note

I love Temeraire! What did you think of it?

Oh, I love the Temeraire novels a lot! For starters, I read them originally as they were coming out. I was in my mid-twenties, and it was one of two extremely formative media periods for me (I also read the Abhorsen series and watched Bleach and Fullmetal Alchemist for the first time in this general time period). I even got to hear Naomi Novik do a reading at a local Barnes and Noble. She was wonderful, and she signed my copy of His Majesty's Dragon. I also ended up lending my copies to my dad. He enjoys Star Trek and other occasional mainstream sci fi and fantasy, but is not the sort to read a book about dragons. He does love aircraft and War and an excess of details, tho, so he loved them. I made it about five books into the series--they get real depressing in the middle, and I had to wait a year or two between books and it was the time period where I was getting married and moving houses. That's probably about when we dropped Bleach, too.

Anyway, I have since very much enjoyed Novik's standalone novels Spinning Silver and Uprooted, and I decided I wanted to do a full Temeraire re-read-to-completion (my dad actually loaned the later books in the series back to me). I started last November, and then Mr. P decided he wanted to re-read them, too, so he's been a book or two behind me throughout, but it's been a blast to talk about our favorite parts. Anyway, they are wonderful novels if you love worldbuilding and details. Couriers! Supply lines! Philosophical disagreements! I non-ironically love that they don't have a particularly strong plot structure, they play out more like episodes of a prestige television series. They'll get on a boat, and by God, Naomi Novik will tell you about spending four months on a boat. The stories have a good balance of Thrilling Battles of Global Importance and, y'know, shitting around, like I like. Traveling. Training. Gong Su's amazing improv cooking (love you, king!). Half of one book is about Temeraire working through some grief by starting a beef with the breeding ground equivalent of a homeowner's association. The cast is a sprawling collection of delightful weirdoes, human and dragon alike. There's a good balance of the side characters having interesting backstories or personal motivations that enrichens, rather than distracts from the main action. The dragon personalities are amazing, both as individuals and in broad strokes--my favorite aspect of this is that whenever there's an egg, they're all "💖 Egg! 💖 ~precious baby~ I would die for u 🥺" and the second it's out of the shell, it's like "Fuck you. Why do you eat so much? Don't touch my cow. I'll see you in Hell." This happens, like eight times.

The one single complaint I have is that Laurence is explicitly heterosexual, which I just choose to ignore, because dating both Jane Rowland and Tenzing Tharkay at the same time is the bisexual dream.

#temeraire #books #thought about making a list of my favorite characters but it was just everyone

28 notes · View notes

androgynealienfemme · 8 months

Text

"Not all my concerns, however, were earth shattering. For one thing, I was curious about the appearance of my vagina. I'd never seen one- and now I had my own. In fact, I had a brand-new one! I'd bought the darn thing sight unseen. I wanted to see exactly what it looked like.

The day after surgery, I asked for a hand mirror and tenderly positioned myself for my first peek at a vagina.

"Good God!" I shrieked, "what have they done to me? This looks like something you'd hang in your smokehouse... after a hog killing."

I'd never seen anything so gross. It was swollen, red, and wrinkled. The wrinkles looked at though they'd been left behind... deliberately. This thing needed to be ironed. Over eleven hours of surgery, pure agony as an aftermath, and I had to be left with a wrinkled vagina? Swelling was expected. I might even accepted that it would look a bit beat-up and trampled-on - but not like this! This was a disaster! This was no little pink rosebud! This was no delicate scalloped shell from the seashore. This was a red, wrinkled Venus fly-trap! I started to cry, which only made matters worse.

Mother rang for the nurse. "You're perfectly normal," they both assured me. "That's how you're supposed to look." Who did they think they were fooling? I was having none of it. "Like this?" I keened. I'd seen my share of nude female statutory. I hadn't been totally lacking in pubescent curiosity. I even had a fair idea of a vagina's function. This wrinkled thing wasn't going to make it on any countenance. I wanted a neat little split. Something that would translate well in Italian marble, or perhaps, alabaster. I wanted something aesthetically pleasing. This thing had folds! I was suddenly reminded of that unattractive rear view as I herded home the cows.

I was truly upset. "We'll show you," my mother volunteered.

My mother and Westlake Clinic's charge nurse both lifted their skirts, presenting me a view of not one but two naturally born vaginas. By golly, they did have folds. There were four outer labial folds on each vagina. Satisfied that I was normal, I drifted off to sleep."

“The Woman I Was Not Born To Be” by Aleshia Brevard (2001)

#the woman I was not born to be #transgender #Aleshia Brevard #trans woman #trans lit #transfemme lit #trans woman lit #lgbtq+#lgbt

7 notes · View notes

asamiontop · 2 years

Text

“Lena, you can’t.”

Lena stopped. Her whole body went eerily still as tension coiled out of sight in her shoulders, her neck, her back. Even her ponytail seemed to tighten as the words echoed in her head, Kara’s normally gentle, indulgent voice taking on that glint of steel that Lena, until recently, had associated exclusively with a completely different person.

She whirled and took two threateningly sharp steps towards the reporter. Her pursed lips, the twitch of a perfectly manicured brow, the subtle flexing of her jaw… it landed perfectly. Lena’s expression of barely concealed ire was a blade honed to perfection, designed to make men wither before the look alone lest she unleash something far more terrifying. Kara shrank beneath it like everybody else. Maybe more.

“What do you mean, I can’t?” Lena spat. Most people who had ever insinuated that Lena Luthor could not do something wound up finding themselves frighteningly wrong, frighteningly quickly. Kara knew that.

“It’s just—it’s dangerous.” Kara entreated, sufficiently cowed by the wrath radiating off of Lena in waves.

“I’m perfectly aware of the risks associated with the misdeeds of my own family, Supergirl,” Lena stated coolly, her voice snagging on the name that contrasted so nauseatingly with the nondescript cardigan and slacks and glasses standing in front of her. “It has never stopped me before. This time is no different. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She spun on the ball of one stiletto and made to stride towards the door. A hand caught her around the wrist. Warm, dry, careful, even as it caged her as unmovably as iron.

“Lena, please.”

Once more, Lena turned to face her intruder, or guest or whatever. She knew fury was alight in her eyes, knew she couldn’t hide it from the gently beseeching blue that met her. So she let it simmer and dared Kara to look, to face it directly.

“Please,” Kara repeated, just above a whisper. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

In a most un-Luthor-like show of weakness, Lena snorted. She glared at the place where Kara’s fingertips seared like brands on her skin, setting her veins aflame with equal parts rage and longing. She had a facade of loathing to maintain, so she allowed poison to spill from her lips. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Kara should have released her. Lena had meant for the comment to burn, to make Kara feel the touch the same way she did. But Kara merely followed her gaze, forlorn and regretful. Then she loosened her grip and shifted it with a slow, devastating slide to rest neatly around Lena’s hand. On the way, the pads of fingers traced featherlight paths of fire down the inside of her wrist, tripped over the tendons at the base of her palm, and lingered on her rapidly heightening pulse.

Mortifyingly, all Lena could do was struggle to keep breathing and control the traitorous sigh that wanted to jump from her mouth to land encouragingly against the shell of Kara’s ear. Just as she was about to succeed in wrangling her body’s inconvenient reactions, Kara mirrored the motion with her other hand, reaching for the wrist that had been free from her grasp.

Lena swallowed hard, kept her throat from whimpering and her knees from wobbling, and raised her chin defiantly.

“Lena…” Kara’s eyes were so stupidly, frustratingly earnest. All misty and clear and pointedly difficult to ignore. “I never want to see you hurt. I never wanted to hurt you. I know that I did and I know that it’s unforgivable, but that doesn’t mean you should throw yourself into danger now.”

“Like I said, Kara,” Lena pretended to struggle against the Super’s grip, a little white lie to convince herself she’d put up a fight as Kara besieged her defenses with nothing but gentleness. “I’ve been walking into danger for years now. Because of you and despite you. This is no differ—”

“It is different!” Kara’s volume rose on a cry and her fingertips tightened around Lena’s hands. The Luthor could do nothing but blink at the crystalline fire blazing back at her, the fingertips pressing desperately into her palms.

Kara turned her face away, viciously worrying her bottom lip, sucking in watery breaths and blinking so hard that those crocodile tears Lena had sworn to hate tumbled haphazardly down her cheeks. Lena’s chest shuddered painfully and she watched mutely as Kara fought to regain control after her outburst.

When she turned back, her eyes were red-rimmed and bluer, somehow. Lashes wet, her eternally light mascara just barely smudged. “It’s different, now,” Kara admitted feebly, staring at their semi-joined hands. “Everything is different.”

“Yes, well,” Lena sniffed haughtily, prepared to deliver a dark ‘who’s fault is that,’ and yet her unruly mouth changed course at the last second and she muttered instead, “things may be different between us, but the threats we have to face have not changed. Neither can we.”

She’d sounded much more placating than she’d meant to. Much kinder, as well. It was embarrassingly damning but, miracle of miracles, the kink in her armor seemed to have gotten through to the Kryptonian. Kara looked back up at her, an endearingly persistent tear dangling from her eyelashes. Lena’s fingers twitched with the urge to wipe it away and she almost snatched one of her hands out of Kara’s grip so she could smack it across the back of her own offending digits.

“I can’t,” Kara blinked mournfully and the tear dropped away. She shook her head, pitiful as Lena had ever seen her. “I can’t.”

Well. At least it was a better tune than you can’t.

“You can,” Lena urged, exceedingly gently. She lured Kara’s eyes to hers with the pretense of kindness, pinned her with an almost tender gaze for a fleeting second—a manipulation, Lena reminded herself, not an indulgence—then let her eyes harden. “You can and you will.”

With that demand she jerked her hands in the direction Kara was pulling her, an old self-defense trick, and then away. Some self-assured part of her knew the Kryptonian would release her before ever physically causing any pain. (The cognitive dissonance of that certainty with the barbs she’d thrown at Kara and the heartbreak she’d experienced by her hand was something Lena had become practiced at ignoring.)

But Kara didn’t let go. She followed Lena’s movements to minimize the forcefulness of her decision, but kept her in an iron grip. For a nanosecond, Lena experienced something akin to fear. Kara hadn’t even flinched. It had taken her more conscious effort to make sure Lena wasn’t harmed than to keep her rooted in place.

It was extra embarrassing then, that after the spike of cold dread that shot down her spine, a soft swipe of Kara’s thumbs across the back of Lena’s hands was all it took to soothe her. Even more mortifying that when Kara’s voice lowered and she declared, gravelly and rough, “I won’t,” that Lena felt the assurance somewhere distinctly inappropriate and south of her stomach. “I won’t let you go, Lena.”

Indignant, exhausted, and now decidedly late to her engagement with her villainous brother, Lena lost her patience. “And why the hell not?”

“Be-because…” Kara faltered. Her brow crinkled and her mouth opened and closed blankly and she bit her lip again, turned it vibrantly pinker. “Because it’s different no—”

“Yes, yes, Kara.” Lena’s eyes rolled. She was beginning to lose her grip on the finer points of her Luthor upbringing but what the hell, Lillian wasn’t here to see it. “We’ve established that things are ‘different’ as you say.”

Lena leaned forward into Kara’s space, glaring up at her too-blue eyes and spun gold hair and offensively perfect face. “But let me make something very clear. Nothing has changed for you.” She paused to let Kara choke on that for a second, resumed just as the Kryptonian was about to protest.

“You’ve known who I am this entire time. Known more about me than most, I might add. You knew, every time I stepped in to help Supergirl and the DEO, exactly who it was that was standing in the line of fire to save your sorry ass. And all of this time it never bothered you, not once, that I was putting myself in danger.”

Kara pursed her lips, her eyes wide and panicked, and swallowed dramatically.

“What is different,” Lena continued, willing herself to stay cold, “is that now I know who you are.” She imagined herself stabbing an accusatory finger in the center of Kara’s chest. “I know now that the person who went behind my back, who mistrusted me for no other reason than my name, who enlisted the people I cared about to betray me was also the person who once made me feel the safest I’d ever felt.”

Hm. That wasn’t supposed to have slipped out that vulnerably. Lena shouldered past it.

“I know now that the person who believed in me, who I’d grown to care for, to lo—” she halted abruptly. Evidently this was the time many of her little boxes decided to eagerly try to slam themselves open. Lena needed to get a hold of herself. She cleared her throat. “The person I loved as a dear friend, was the same one that Reign almost killed. The same one that risks her own life day in and day out for the people of this city.”

If anything, Kara only looked more confused now. Lena was, admittedly, confusing herself a little bit, letting unmoored and unresolved feelings get the best of her. She had to haul her small tirade back into control.

“Surprisingly, that was one of the most difficult parts of your little revelation,” she sneered, “realizing that someone I lo—” damnit Luthor, get a grip, “that someone important to me, had been on the brink of death so many times and I hadn’t even known. I hadn’t even been given the chance to care.”

Lena shook her head, shrugged as if that fact hadn’t gutted her repeatedly and left her in a drunken stupor for days. “What really helped me overcome that hiccup was you,” she added, sickeningly sweet. “When I realized that you, Kara, were watching me do the same without batting an eye. Without caring at all.” Lena snarled, refused to let Kara eke out her adamant refusal. “I figured, if Kara can do it, then so can I. Why should I care when she doesn’t?”

Lena chuckled darkly. “You see, Supergirl… you—as the ultimate role model for how indifferently you and I should treat one another—have absolutely no excuse to flutter in here and tell me what I can and cannot do. Nothing has changed for you.”

She made to pull her hands away once more, with measured, deliberate finality. This time, Kara allowed her to slip through her fingers. One inch, two… a few more and Lena would be free to go handle the latest crisis and then hide away in the bottom of a bottle after this soul-crushing conversation.

At the very last second, Kara latched back on. She closed her hands around Lena’s fingertips and, with barely any pressure, froze her to her spot.

“That’s not true,” Kara argued weakly. “It’s… it’s not true. I always cared Lena.”

“Well,” the young Luthor huffed, “regardless of whether or not I believe you. If you cared then and you claim to care now, still nothing has changed. Let me go.”

“No,” Kara persisted. “It’s a trap, Lena. You’re going to get hurt. Or worse, he’ll take you or, or, kill you—”

“And why do you care?!” Lena finally broke. Her voice cracked on her yell and her eyes began to burn. “You never stopped me before, never hesitated to come ask me to intervene or—”

“Because I didn’t know what it was like to lose you!” Kara snapped back and Lena’s mouth snapped shut. Kara blinked intently at her for a few moments, shocked into silence at her own admission, long enough for it to settle heavily over them both.

When she spoke again her voice was soft, broken. “I… I was awful. And selfish. And a lot of things I will regret for the rest of my life. And I told myself it was all for the best, because I was scared of losing you. There was this vague idea in my head of how horrible it would be to not… to not be a part of your life anymore.”

Lena scoffed. She’d heard this before. Kara only squeezed her fingertips entreatingly and continued.

“But then… then you found out and we fought and I… Lena, I had no idea. I had no idea how much—how much it could hurt. When Mon-El left Earth I… I was sad but I wasn’t devastated. Losing you, hurting you, broke me in a way I’ve never felt before.”

Lena tensed all over, bracing herself against the confession. Her jaw went tight, her nostrils flared, her chest shook but her heart, traitor that it was, slammed hard against her ribcage trying, against her best efforts, to get to Kara.

“I can’t begin to imagine what I would do if I lost you for good,” Kara added miserably. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself… or the world… if I lost you before I got the chance to… to try to fix this.” She stepped forward and looked imploringly into Lena’s eyes.

“I want to fix this, Lena. Us. Whatever it takes.” Kara’s hands grew bolder, wriggled up to fully envelop Lena’s once more. “I’ve never felt this way about another person. And maybe that’s why it took me so long to recognize it. Maybe that’s why it took losing you for me to really understand how much you mean to me.”

Shakily, Kara released one of Lena’s hands. Then, achingly slowly, she raised her fingertips—up, up, up until they hovered a breath away from Lena’s jaw. She paused, giving Lena a chance to retreat from the touch. Hopeless as she was, Lena didn’t budge.

Hopeless as she was, Lena leaned weakly into the cradle of Kara’s palm when it curled delicately around her cheek.

Kara’s thumb traced a wet arc over her cheekbone and Lena’s eyes fluttered closed. She felt the gentle, damp press of its pad at the quivering corner of her mouth. Still, she didn’t recoil. Still, all her heart screamed for was more.

Kara puffed out a breath cracked with relief and disbelief. “I love you, Lena.”

Piece by piece, Lena crumbled. The kinks in her armor became chips, became fissures and rent her into pieces. She had so much vitriol stored up to launch at Kara in response to that confession. So much hurt, turbulent and vengeful, roiling in her gut and so much anger, lack of understanding, disbelief.

But all she could muster was a defeated “damnit, Kara” and a watery sob before collapsing into the safety of the blonde’s arms. Because what’s a soul to do when it hears the siren call it’s been yearning for from the person who unwittingly brought it to life?

Kara caught Lena against her chest, shifted to ease the blow and enveloped her instantly. She cupped the back of Lena’s head, tucked her other arm around her shoulders and held as tight as she probably dared.

As she stained Kara’s cardigan dark with her breakdown, Lena became aware of a cheek pressed into her temple, tender fingers stroking her hair, and a gentle shuddering of Kara’s shoulders as the reporter, too, lost her composure.

Lena lost track of how long they stayed that way, how long it took for the feeling of imprisonment to fade beside the blinding relief she felt within Kara’s embrace. She cried and cried and wrinkled Kara’s clothes in her fists and, damn everything, felt like she’d come home.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” she hiccuped.

“I know,” Kara murmured into her hair.

“‘I love you’ doesn’t fix anything,” Lena insisted, still indignant.

“I know, I know,” Kara keened mournfully, “and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for saying it, I’m sorry for not saying it, I’m sorry for everything, Lena. I love you so much. I want to stop hurting you. I want to put the pieces back together, however you’ll let me. Please, Lena. Please let me.”

Kara was sobbing now, begging and pleading into Lena’s hair and for all intents and purposes, on her knees for the young Luthor.

And Lena could cite Kara’s weakness, her prostrating herself at Lena’s mercy, for what she did next. She could cite it, but she’d be lying. Because it was the confession that dislodged something jagged and bleeding from Lena’s heart. Three basic, overused words that cut through all the gnarled twists and turns of her and bared the knotted, aching, nerve that held the truth of it all.

“I love you too, Kara,” Lena mumbled near inaudibly into the soft wool. Near inaudible was plenty audible for a Kryptonian.

Kara reared back, wild-eyed and stunned. She stared at Lena intently, shocked and speechless and heartbreakingly hopeful. Her mouth twitched silently around a ‘what’ of impossibility, so Lena beat her to the punch.

“I love you, too,” Lena repeated, watching the blue of Kara’s eyes illuminate with the words. She opened one of her hands and set it to rest over the thundering in Kara’s chest with a faint, blooming smile. “‘I love you’ doesn’t fix anything, but it’s a start.”

#and then they kiss #so help me idk how to make a cut on mobile I am truly sorry for all the scrolling byeeee #supercorp #idk what happened #I opened my phone and this thing just sort of unraveled #now it’s midnight and I still don’t know what happened #any grammar wrongs in here belong to yours truly #ficlet #angst. it me.

98 notes · View notes

nyxirrationalstories · 1 year

Text

Oh, little Asier

Summaries: Continuation of the story to request mythology scenarios. It's something I already had written, but I added more things to it so that it doesn't only focus on the lore of a secondary character.

You can say that it has to do with the headcanons of yandere Atenea and the future ones about Ares (and other non greek gods).

I hope you enjoy the songfic. PD: Almost in the end, there is a little bit of Loki x Reader (fem, but if you ask can be male).

Leaves of the vine Falling so slowly Like fragile little shells Drifting in the foam

Life… What really is life? No one knows concretely as each person has a unique concept of what life is whether it is fantasy or realistic. Ironically, one only tends to talk about these subjects when one feels lost, when one loses someone or at the end of it, more often in the second and third situation.

Little soldier boy Come marching home Brave little soldier Come march home

Athena stared petrified at the letter that Ennius was reading aloud while Ares exploded in anger, smashing things with unimaginable force, tears of sadness and pain in his eyes. They had no body and now they had no soul for their rites:

Ares had the Thracian funeral rite that lasted three days, with exposure of the corpse, while it was mourned by relatives and friends. During the first day animal sacrifices were performed; the second day was for different competitions and on the third day a ritual meal was offered for the family and participants of the funeral rite. At the moment of burying the deceased, jokes were told to remember the deceased with some joy.

Athena had some funeral rites quite long and with more phases: in the pre-depositional part the Prothesis and the Ekphora were performed; then in the depositional part, at the moment of pouring the earth, libations were made on the coffin if it was a burial and on the urn if it was a cremation. In this second case, wine was used to extinguish the last embers. Then, one of the relatives put the ashes in an urn. Finally, in both cases, the trousseau was placed next to the mortal remains. And in the last post-depositional phase, a perideipnon was made so that thirty days later the triakostia was performed.

As one rite was too short and the other too long, both gods agreed to make the Spartan funeral rite: it lasted eleven days, the twelfth day was relieved after having made a sacrifice to a cow: it was forbidden to mourn publicly for the deceased but not to wear as a sign of mourning mourning mournful costumes.

But the body never arrived

Ashes in the snow Falling so slowly Like fragile broken hearts with nowhere to go

For Ares, losing a son was common but it hurt in the same way and with the same intensity as if he had been the first son to die. Depending on the cause of death, the god seemed to deal with the loss differently. In the case of Argenis was no exception but the anger he felt was more intense; he refused to "let go" of one of his sons without having said goodbye properly.

In the case of Athena, this pain was something new: it is true that she had cried with the death of Pallas but losing a child was a sensation that was so painful, a tightness in the chest and a choking in the throat that for a moment she wished to feel the punishment of Styx which is pain that had no words to describe.

Losing your partner makes you a widower Losing your parents makes you an orphan but losing your children? There is no word that can contain such pain

Little soldier boy Taken from home Forced to fight in a war That wasn't his own

A few hours until Tyr showed up, the day for Argenis had a somewhat gloomy air, feeling that something bad was going to happen causing him to behave in a distant and somewhat cold way at breakfast time. This atypical behavior of his did not go unnoticed by those who knew him and they began to question him if he was well, causing him to become somewhat evasive, and if insisted on too much he became aggressive. At one point his left arm began to burn a little, when he put his eyes on where it hurt he saw the rune of Tyr illuminating; at the time the young man thought it would be Loki with some of his orders but fate had prepared a bad trick for him.

Athena did not remember how the discussion had started, not even that they had argued, but when for some reason Argenis asked in pain "Mother, don't you love me?" the goddess only answered "I think I can love you" the young man's face expressed a pain as deep as if he had been pierced by an arrow in the chest. In a cold way he withdrew from the room, holding his pain and crying to release it in solitude. Athena regretted her words but let Argenis have some time to unburden himself and apologize to each other.

But… that would be the last time they crossed words.

When Tyr arrived, the first one he crossed paths with was Ares; both greeted each other until the Hellenic/Tracian god questioned his appearance. Tyr told him that he came for the young man who was from time to time in the service of Loki as he had his rune "tattooed" and as they were looking to expand in the territory that belonged to the Tuatha Dé Danann for which every warrior served him.

Ares was going to protest against it but Argenis appeared, having heard everything, and agreed to go. He told his father that he wanted to prove his worth as a warrior and that he would return home with riches and the enemy's sword to make them proud of him. Ares knew that this was a promise that was not easily kept but his son had convinced him to let him go right then and there.

The truth was that the runes Loki had placed on his arm were a call he could not refuse. Argenis remembered the time he refused to answer the call of the runes causing him the worst suffering, he even cried and vomited in pain until he finally appeared before Loki. Dying but in the end he did what he had to do, when the god of deception saw him he was quite surprised by the punishment imposed by the runes.

Loki could be quite strange but he was a good guy when he wanted to be.

When Argenis heard what Tyr said, he knew that his destiny was to go to that war, yes or yes.

Little soldier boy Cold and alone Brave little soldier Never made it home

Argenis fought fiercely as he had been taught but he also kept his wits about him in battle, never succumbing to hubris and always fighting with honor. He was also not very comfortable destroying homes and kidnapping people to the point that he let children, old people and women live, making sure no one saw what he was doing.

But there was a time when a maiden had given him a necklace with a pendant with a strange symbol but what he remembered most was that the redhead had given him a kiss as a thank you leaving him somewhat astonished and spellbound by her at the same time.

Although their allies were strong, the enemy knew their lands quite well so every time they faced each other the "berserkers" lost but left heavy casualties to the enemy. It was in one of these battles that he lost his life, three battles before the "Norsemen" decided not to continue with this war.

When the young Hellenic was dying leaning on a stone, who received a strong and grotesque axe in the right shoulder by one of his own because he saw that he let a maiden escape, he only waited for the Furies to pick up his soul. The good thing was that he no longer needed coin for the deal he had made with Hades but he felt sad that his body would not be buried. He closed his eyes for a moment but when he opened them again, instead of seeing the Furies, in front of him was a lady of warlike appearance and black hair.

Her name was Morrigan and since he was in her territory she would be the one to take his soul, but the goddess told him that since he had saved Aine she had asked her to be merciful to him. The Celtic goddess saw the necklace that the maiden, Argenis supposed it was Aine, had given him; Morrigan observed it carefully and with a snap of her fingers, Argenis breathed his last breath and bled to death.

Leaves of the vine Changing so slowly Like empty fallen souls Searching for a home The little soldier Thought he could fly Brave little soldier Fallen in the war

With the only thing they could recover was the shield and sword that were now displayed in their respective temples: Athena the sword and Ares the shield.

Argenis was not warlike but he knew how to defend himself as if he were of that nature; he liked to explore and discover new things, he had the dream of traveling beyond Greece… a dream he made but with a disastrous destiny.

The saddest thing of all is that Argenis would be remembered by few, only his family and his few friends could not say that he was their son. He would be publicly denied, just another name in a common pile.

Although some of his objects would be preserved, they would slowly fade and vanish, leaving only ghosts of what once was, but never would be.

Dreams, aspirations, desires, pain, anger, sadness, happiness, mistakes, successes, problems and solutions… life that will never return, life that I was not lucky enough to fully express.

Argenis did not return, the only thing that came back was his sword and shield, and he will not return.

My little soldier boy I need you at home Brave little soldier Come march home

The greatest sadness for these gods is that they were never able to say goodbye to their son properly, always with the promise that he would return.

Athena regretting her last words to someone she loved.

Ares regretting that his vigor for war had blinded him to let his son "prove" his worth, even though Argenis was valuable to them.

A little soldier who should not have left A little soldier who will never come back.

Lugh watched in amazement as the white swan with the black beak handed him a small creature, sleeping peacefully among the cloths. The god held the baby gently and watched as the swan transformed, as he suspected, into a fairy and disappeared to leave the man and the little one alone.

---And where did they steal you from? --- asked the great Samildanach, uncovering the little one a little, as he did so he saw that on his chest lay a triquet revealing the nature of the baby ---Ah, I see. I wonder what god took pity on you so much or that you pleased enough to give you the gift of life again---he covered the little one again, remembering with brevity his son Setanta (Cú Chulainn) making his paternal instinct arise again--- Mmm, in that case I will make sure that your second chance will be pleasant… your name will be Arawn…. Arawn Mac Lugh (or Arawn O' Lugh since it means the same thing), you will be a great craftsman like me, your father --- he said, walking away from the lake to go with the little soldier boy to his house, to his home.

And finally, Asier woke up. His eyes were wet and red, his cheeks were still wet because the tears had not stopped.

--- In what life will it be when the gods get bored of me and let me die in peace? --- he cried in frustration, wiping away the bitter tears of a restless soul.

--- Hey Asier… oh, are you okay? A nightmare? --- the boy looked at the young lady, trying to hold back his tears for her. There were times when you could be weak, there were times when you were allowed to cry; but, when people depended on you, sometimes it was better to keep it private.

--- It's just… I thought you were leaving. I didn't mean to disturb you.

--- You don't bother me, you're like my little brother. You can trust me, is something wrong?

To tell her, or not to tell her, the question that will lead to madness or mockery. He couldn't say anything as an annoying red-haired man approached them.

--- Oh, he's awake at last, I'm glad. I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to my little friend --- commented the man as he stroked the little boy's head.

--- loðbrók --- barked Asier with such genuine irritation that it seemed that at any moment he would hit him hard.

The red-haired man just smiled, and with a wave of his hand he dropped an object from another room.

--- I'll be right back, I'm going to see what that was. Please behave with Asier, he is a very nice boy… and sarcastic if he gets annoyed. --- said the nanny before leaving them alone.

--- Underpants- Hairy your mother, Argenis, so many lives and you have already become insolent at such a young age. --- commented the yellow-eyed one as he crossed his arms.

--- Don't tell me what I am and what I am not, Loki, because for another one of your imprudences you are going to cause another Ragnarok and this time not only within the Nordic pantheon --- Asier reproached him in a serious tone, but his childish body made him see all this in a comical way. --- Leave her alone! and leave me alone. And, of all the gods I've known, I had to see you again, in every one of my damned lives.

--- Oh, Argenis-

--- Asier, my name is Asier.

--- The girl is adorable in her innocence, and you are my best warrior. My great comrade, my good messenger bird and apparently a good watchdog. --- Loki scoffed, squeezing the boy's cheeks --- you sure do make these games fun. I mean, I heard the other day that Hades got caught seeing the human thanks to you. I also heard that the rice Inari gave the human ended up being eaten by other people and don't get me started on the tantrum Tlaloc threw just because a kid made himself throw up so his nanny would take him home.

--- I hate you

--- I know, and for that, I love you

#mythology x reader #norse mythology x reader #loki x reader #yandere loki x reader #yandere loki #athena x ares #greek mythology x reader #yandere greek mythology #fem!reader #original character #celtic mythology x reader

7 notes · View notes

taylorrama · 7 months

Text

The Locked Tomb + mewithoutYou pt. 10/17

Was he a violent man? Well, he had his genocidal moments... Or penned by fiction’s hand? To whom could that phrase not apply?

Song: Red Cow Album: Pale Horses

youtube

Something something, cows have complex social relationships. Naturally, I had to see if this song has any interesting images for TLT purposes.

Much of this song is about false idol worship as seen in the Old Testament, but highly recontextualized. This alone is very interesting if we want to read Jod as a false idol, and I think that's a valid reading that he himself might even agree with.

The first chorus.

Behold the snake of brass, the wind was blowing backwards Behold a golden calf, blighted leaves of Law O for the land we knew before the frogs withdrew In the fragrant pomegranate blooms where the tender locust flew

The golden calf is a pretty well-known Bible story about the Israelites crafting various gods while they were stranded in the desert after the Exodus, so that's what's invoked here. What's also invoked is this sense of longing for the place they'd left. What does this have to do with TLT? If Jod is a false idol, and if there is any wide-spread in-world realization of how this universe came to be, then suddenly this sentiment hits very, very hard. There could be longing for a world either before Jod nuked and resurrected everyone, OR for a world before this truth became known, where it was easier to believe in the gentle King Undying.

We get a reference to "milk white tombs" in the second verse, but the only connection there is "hey look, the word 'tomb.'"

The second chorus, though, gives us another interesting idea.

In the wells of livestock vans with shells and garden sands Iron mixed with oxygen as per the laws of chemistry and chance A shape was roughly human, it was only roughly human Apparition eyes apparition eyes Knock Apparition Knock eyes apparition eyes

These lines are about seeing religious/spiritual figures in otherwise random, mundane objects, and believing there's some great meaning behind it. Even if the image is "only roughly human," we might still perceive this as a spiritual experience. In TLT, anything being "roughly human" is much more literal, whether it be constructs, nearly-immortal Lyctors, Jod, necromancers formed of all the dead children of the Ninth House, or cavs reanimated into bodies with speed holes.

Finally, the last part of the song gives quite a kick.

Was he a violent man? Well, he had his genocidal moments... Or penned by fiction’s hand? To whom could that phrase not apply? How much are even lifeless sounds responsive to our listening ear! What Pharoah now, what Paroah now, or Jew or picture holds us here?

The tone of this first line is basically the tone of Jod's entire backstory. It's honestly a line that could easily appear in the books. The next line makes it even funnier and more meta because yes, Jod was, in fact, penned by fiction's hand. And the third line digs at this tendency to find meaning in things that don't actually have life–a huge callout for literally all fans of anything anywhere, including myself writing these silly posts about a weird band and a lesbian space nun book series.

Before cringing at the last line, know that Aaron Weiss, the song-writer, had a Jewish father and grew up in a very eclectic religious environment. Since this song incorporates imagery of Moses and the Red Sea, the reference could be a call back to him, or it could be a more personal reference to the faith of Aaron's father. The idea in general is to question the hold or authority that these powerful figures of have over religious understanding, and that question becomes extremely easy to ask when, in TLT, we learn that God is just some guy.

---

TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 1; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 2; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 3; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 4; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 5; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 6; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 7; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 8; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 9

#the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb spoilers #tlt spoilers #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #mewithoutyou #Youtube

1 note · View note

silly-critters · 2 months

Text

Iron Cow Shell

They used to walk around the surface before they were bought into the mines to move the carts around until workers noticed they were starting to eat the iron ores and even the carts themselves, now their shell is made of iron and they started hiding in the Grub Moles holes, now they are still docile but will fight back.

Drops:

Rock (Common)

Monster Meat (Common)

Broken Pickaxe (Uncommon)

Iron Ore (Uncommon)

Iron Shell (Rare)

Monster Fur (Rare)

Iron Cow Shell Card (Very Rare)

#iron cow shell #cow shell #monster #rare #color grey

1 note · View note

lacunasbalustrade · 1 year

Text

APHRODITE. laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO. glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a tinder account.

ARES. armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS. keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, dishevelled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA. discerning gaze, unreadable face, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes.

DEMETER. soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, can lift you and your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

HEPHAESTUS. the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles.

HERA. resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold.

HERMES. devil-may-care smile, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road space trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON. storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, stroking the soft fur of a cat , their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS. thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease, expensive watch.

#aesthetics #dash games

2 notes · View notes

arunparia · 1 year

Text

Tamarind Tree

Those were the impeccable times.

Thatched roof home, cow-dung veneered verandah stretched from the shallow pond to the phani manasa shrub.

Grandmother appearing. Two brinjals in hand. Two khadus on two wrists. Jingling. Ironly cuffs.

Said, "These are yours now — two young cows, you Badua! Take them to the grazing field. Protect them from Pashupati the bull. Collect dung in an iron pail.

We will not cut anymore this year a tamarind tree.

Only dry coconut shells, chaffs, cow dung cakes to boil cauldrons of paddy.”

The two brinjals were burnt the same night on the embers of a two-mouth chuli. Their violet skins peeled off, revealing mouth watering meat.

The same year, my grandmother peed on the verandah. On the mud it had made she slid, to break her forehead against her iron arm.

The vaidya prescribed a Chandrayan.

"Scant virtue, woman, too much phlegm! Yet, your silly heart beats!" He roared kindly.

Crooked lips — red eyes — three aunts circled in from their in-laws’ by noon —

At nightfall, we downed a tamarind tree.

Glossary:

Phani Manasa: Indian prickly pear tree, Opuntia ficus-indica. Khadus: Thick bangles. Badua: The head of a village (affectionately used). Chuli: An oven made by digging a hole in the ground. Vaidya: An ayurvedic doctor. Chandrayan: A Hindu ritual to wash off the sins of one who is soon to be deceased.

(The poem was first published in the Sahitya Akademi's ‘Indian Literature’ #326 in December, 2022)

#Poem #Potery #Childhood Memories #Fuel #Memories of My Grandmother #Poverty #Rural Bengal Life #Tamarind Tree #What burns and with what do you burn it?

2 notes · View notes

ajuiisms · 2 years

Text

OLYMPIAN AESTHETICS.

APHRODITE. laughter loving. sweet smiles. dressed in silk and satin. flower in their hair. sees the world as a runway. unapologetically sexual. the sea washing their ankles. in love with love. stirrer of passion. cunning concealed by painted lips. secret daggers. doves. revolution in their kiss. delighting in the waves. flirtatious winks. strolling along the beach. staring wistfully from a balcony. this is how to be a heartbreaker. wants to be adored. gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO. glitz and glamour. art galleries. turning the volume up. being made of gold. neatly organised music sheets. notebooks filled with poetry. bathing in the sunlight. the powerful urge to create. collecting vinyl records. beautiful cover of wonderwall. playing multiple instruments. tasting like sunshine. healing touch. speaking in prophecies. smile mingled with wrath. shunning lies. sporting shades. hanging out at music festivals with their friends. sleeps naked. arrow to the heart. paintbrushes. probably has a tinder account.

ARES. armed for battle. wants to raise a dog with their significant other. soft spot for children. gives piggyback rides. scarred body. blood on their hands and face. willing to fight the world for the ones they love. fights against injustice. warm hugs. well worn combat boots. boxing gloves. bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles. fist raised in protest. ignites revolutions. fear is a prison. more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think. exhausted. damaged goods. force to be reckoned with. red roses. curses under their breath.

ATHENA. discerning gaze. unreadable face. quiet museums. owl perched on their finger. armour that intimidates. eye for architecture. plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses. studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid. big fan of logic. loves brain teasers. ancient buildings. sweaters in neutrals and cool colours. hair done up. can kill you with their brain. heads to the library often to research. sharpened pencils. abs that can cut steel. stoic statues. pottery classes.

DEMETER. soil-covered hands. smile that can bloom flowers. skin loved by the sun. being the mom friend. can lift you and your friends. flowers kept in the pockets of overalls. takes pride in their beautiful garden. speaks to their plants. leaves rustling in the wind. stalks of wheat. picking fruit. greenhouses. heart as strong as a mountain. values simplicity. daisies dotted across a collarbone. curls crowned with flowers. folded pile of sweaters in warm hues. pulling fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

ARTEMIS. keen sense of a hunter. freckles like constellations on their skin. piercing eyes. dishevelled braid. moonlight peeking through the shadows. the calm of the forest at night. lying on the grass and staring at the stars. mother doe and her fawn. protecting their kin. the moon shimmering on a still lake. quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree. running with wolves. bonding while circled around a campfire. not being much of a people person. arrow hitting a target. popping egos. patience on 3%. touches heaven and returns howling.

HEPHAESTUS. the calloused hands of someone who knows labor. sweaty brow. flame burning in their eyes. inventive mind. broad shoulders. steampunk goggles. nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes. ashes. striking a match. blueprints for future projects. fixing up a busted-up car and giving it cool upgrades. wrestles with bitterness. work boots have seen better years. wrinkled plaid shirts. iron melted in blazing fire. huge jackets. crafting masterpieces. greased stained overalls. fascination with robotics. pain is fuel. stack of weaponry. even their muscles have muscles.

HERA. resting bitch face. dressed to the nines. cows grazing on a pasture. cool rain. loving and hating fiercely. hand clutching a string of pearls. large chandelier with glittering crystals. plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims. romance to realism. pictures of the sky while flying on a plane. files that under fuck it. downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix. like their selfie or you’re grounded. knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man. dark eyes that penetrate your soul. marble and gold.

DIONYSUS. drunk shitposter. on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second. seductive smirks. untamed curls. rich fabrics on dark skin. sleek furred panthers. theatre masks. stage productions. receiving a standing ovation. rose caught between their teeth. being the baby of the bunch. wild parties that last from sundown to sunup. creeping vines. inspiring loyalty. grand opera houses. masquerade balls. rolls of film. shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine spilled floor. pouring champagne into flutes. lives for the applause.

HERMES. devil - may - care smile. always up - to - date on the latest technology. will steal your french fries. does it for the vine. shitposter. puts googly eyes on everything. meme hoarder. long drives on the highway. ma and pop diners. spontaneous road trips. folded maps. fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop. shooting hoops on the basketball court. chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations. goes jogging in the morning. mixes redbull with coffee. menace on april fool’s. hoodies and sneakers.

HADES. walking home alone in the early morning. back alleys. drinking alone in a graveyard. crippling loneliness hidden by sarcasm and cynicism. crows picking a carcass. untended dead flowers. the black sheep of the family. black coffee. money can’t buy you happiness. murder mystery dinner parties. blood on your shirt collar. dust illuminated by sunlight. classical music. dogs are better than people. a quiet wrath. shady business deals. taking what you are owed. paint it black. seasonal affective disorder. popping the suit collar. grey rain on a cityscape.

POSEIDON. storm with skin. colorful coral reefs. waves crashing against the shore. stroking the soft fur of a cat. their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop. tousled locks. clothes smeared with paint. owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more. leather jackets. fondness for diy projects. handwriting that flows across the page. nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin. velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams. mood as ever - changing as the sea. the roar of a motorcycle. compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS. thunder in their heart. running on coffee. flash of lightning. unnatural charisma. eloquence. badass in a nice suit. aficionado of history. force of nature. lennyface. nightmare - filled nights. proud arm around their lover’s waist. high - rise buildings. planes soaring through a cloudless sky. technician on the piano. maintains order. strong handshake. juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease. expensive watch.

#≼ ɪᴍ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇɢɢɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ɪɴʙᴏx ⋮ MEMES ⋟#≼ ᴘʏʀʀʜᴀ ɴɪᴋᴏs ⋮ ISMS ⋟

3 notes · View notes