#currently i think there is no god in a traditional sense

[dromaeotrash]

.

[volucerrubidus]

what is your true role in the story?

the supporter

oh gentle comrade, you know what it takes to make others shine. you live your life assisting others to reach their goals, but many say you are lackluster and unnecessary. but alas, do we need the stars any less for their dim light helps the moon glow brighter! you are warm inside and out, perhaps made of sunshine one might ask? but I can see you are as weary and worn as the hero you so desperately cling to. your purpose is to serve? Is it not? it's those moments of undying loyalty that make your bones ring true with honor. "I am right beside you," you whisper, for unlike the ones who lie through their teeth you will be with your ally through joy, through heart ache, through death. it is a difficult thing to gain your trust back if one has shattered it though, you are forgiving yes? you give many chances, but alas, one can only look away from a wrong doing so long. you can't exactly turn your other cheek as once wrings a blade through your middle. you are made of a steadfast heartbeat and a tired, knowing smile. you bring solace to the aching, and comfort to the wronged. but what happens when your protagonist loses? what happens when your valiant heroes fail you? will you pick up a sword and vanquish their enemy or will you wait patiently for yet another savior to appear and save the day? one must live long enough to see their heroes die. but are you brave enough to take their place? the only strings that bind you to your oaths of subservience are your own doubts. "am I good enough?" they whisper in your ears. you answer that yourself love. for the only difference between the paladin and the stable boy are mettle. it is not the question of can you be a hero. it is simply, will you be?

Tagged by: @dxsertsuns​ Tagging: YOU! Steal it and tag me! <3

[auras-moonstone]

ursula!! i have a request if you’re up for it:

what if the reader is a singer, let’s say she’s successful like taylor swift and the whole friendship bracelet thing was invented by her and her fans. what if jack made a bracelet with his number on it and gave it to her at her concert, like travis did to taylor? i think that’d be soooo cute!

how was your concert? i hope u had fun!

omfg i love this request!!!!! taylor and travis are so fucking cute, i love them so much. and the shows were amazing, thank you for asking! the energy was incredible and i was so happy with the surprise songs 🥺

friendship bracelets — jack champion

word count: 1,688

pairing: jack champion x singer!fem!reader

summary: jack goes to y/n's concert and hands her team a friendship bracelet with his number, but she doesn't reach out until she sees a clip of him from an interview where he confesses what he did.

warnings: none!

Y/N’S SINGING CAREER HAD BEEN SUCCESSFUL SINCE THE VERY BEGINNING. At only 19 years of age, she was on the peak of her career and currently doing a world tour with sold out stadiums. She was not only praised because of her versatile discography, but also for her lyricism and the unique bond she had with her fans.

Jack loved her music, so he was really excited when the sponsors of the stadium reached out to offer him tickets for the show. Alongside his friends, Jack made friendship bracelets—a cute tradition within the fandom—, and he had the idea of making one with his number on it.

“Do you seriously think you will be able to give her that?” Romeo, his friend, asked in disbelief as they walked towards their seats.

“A guy can dream” Jack simply said.

“I don’t think she sees anyone after the show. The girl performs for three hours.” Willa told him, not wanting him to get his hopes too high.

“Maybe I could give it to someone of her team.”

“She’s a hot, successful singer, J. She probably gets handed so many phone numbers.” his friend said.

Jack sighed. “Okay, I get it. Jesus. Have you two ever heard of the term ‘positivity’?” he asked bitterly.

“Have you ever heard of the term ‘delusional’?” Romeo asked. Jack rolled his eyes and changed the topic.

It wasn’t that crazy, right?

TURNS OUT ‘DELUSIONAL’ WAS THE RIGHT WORD. After the amazing show, Jack managed to give the bracelet to one of Y/N’s security guards and the boy was optimistic about it. But then, after one week of radio silence, he came in terms with reality—she was untouchable. He was an actor in the rising and she was a global superstar, what gave him the idea that she was going to reach out? His friends were right, he was indeed delusional.

“I saw you exchanging friendship bracelets at Y/N’s show! How was it? Are you a fan?” his interviewer asked him.

Jack smiled like a little kid at the question. “Yes, it was incredible. Is there anything that girl can’t do? Everything was mind blowing—her outfits, the visuals, her voice, her performance. It was honestly the best concert I’ve ever been to.” he said in pure awe. “And yes, I’m a big fan.”

“Did you make friendship bracelets or did you just receive them?”

“Both! I made a lot. It was a very therapeutic experience, to be honest” the young actor laughed. “I actually made one for Y/N, with my phone number on it.” he admitted shyly.

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope” he laughed awkwardly.

“Did she get it?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t reached out, but she receives lots of gifts so maybe she hasn’t seen it yet, or maybe she doesn’t text strangers, which makes a lot of sense.”

“Oh my god” the interviewer said in excitement. “That is so adorable! Hope this gets to her! I’m sure the fans will sent her this clip.”

“Oh- please don’t bombard her, guys! I don’t want to make her uncomfortable! It was a silly thing to do.” Jack blushed, instantly regretting having shared the anecdote.

Obviously, his fans didn’t hesitate to do everything in their power to get the video viral. And, as lots of his fans were also fans of hers, the clip appeared on Y/N’s timeline in no time.

She was familiar with Jack. Even though he hadn’t starred in a lot of movies, he was a part of two huge franchises which Y/N, of course, knew about. And he was also one of—if not the—prettiest guys she had ever seen, so she remembered his face. She could not pass this opportunity up.

code red sabrina!!! come to my house asap

WHAT IS WRONG WHAT HAPPENED

this VERY CUTE actor went to my concert last week and put his number on a friendship bracelet and i just found out

okay???? why do you need me?

i have like a thousand fb, i need your help to find it

um… why don’t you just slide into his dms?

that would be easier, but he made that fb and i want it. pretty please? 🥺

fineeee, omw

“I GOT IT.” Sabrina screamed after hours of going through mountains of friendship bracelets.

“OH MY GOD.” Y/N screamed back, grabbing the bracelet and saving the contact on her phone. “Okay, I’m texting him.”

hey jack, what’s your favorite scary movie? 👀🔪🩸

um… i don’t like this, i’m out

“You’re so lame.” Sabrina laughed.

no wait, i’m sorry i was trying to be cool

it’s y/n y/l/n

very funny 🙄 is this you mason?

no, for real. it’s y/n

i saw your clip from the interview and i literally spent the whole day looking for that fucking friendship bracelet and here i am now :)

i’m sorry i didn’t see it before, i feel awful

is this really y/n?

i’m facetiming you

“Hi!” Y/N said cheerfully when Jack answered. His mouth was agape as he started at his celebrity crush. “Do you believe me now?”

“Holy shit! I wasn’t that delusional after all.” Jack said, making her frown. “Oh, my friends called me delusional for expecting you to text me. They were right for like a week.”

“You should’ve just sent me a dm, you’re verified.” Y/N laughed. “But I actually really liked the bracelet. It was original, and thoughtful and beyond adorable.”

“Thank you.” he blushed. “I’m sorry if my fans were harassing you with that clip, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No! I’m glad you did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known about you trying to get me your number.” she smiled. “I really liked you in avatar and scream, by the way! Wish I’ve known you were at my concert, would’ve liked to meet you.”

“It’s not late.” he found himself saying. “I mean, we can meet up, if you want.”

“Like a date?” Y/N asked nervously.

“Yes… only if you’d like it to be a date.”

“I would love to, Jack!”

Y/N AND JACK HAD THEIR FIRST DATE ONE WEEK AFTER THEIR FIRST CONVERSATION. Jack went to the singer’s house, for more privacy. They were aware that if they went to a restaurant, it would be all over the media and they preferred to keep quiet at least until they knew things between them were going to be serious.

After a couple of dates and weeks of talking, they both knew something good and real had formed between them. Y/N felt completely normal around Jack. He wasn’t like other boys she had dated, who always wanted to go out and make sure the reporters saw them or tried to seduce her with their expensive cars and luxurious mansions. Jack was grounded, kind, sweet and funny. He wasn’t intimidated by her success and her fame. Quite the contrary, Jack admired her and was in awe every time he saw her writing down lyrics on her journal or played songs on the guitar for him. Y/N was sure he was the one, and she wanted to call him hers.

“I have something for you.” Y/N said as they were laying on her bed. Jack was on his back, while the girl was sprawled on top of him.

“What?” he asked curiously.

Y/N got off him to grab something from the drawer. “I wanted to ask you something, but I thought this was the right way considering how it all started.”

Jack laughed in confusion. “You’re not making any sense.” Y/N handed him the thing she was hiding on her palm and Jack fell silent.

The blood rushed into his cheeks, and a smile broke into his face. His heart was beating so fast he was surprised they weren’t able to hear it. His eyes lifted up to find her anxious ones. Y/N was biting her lip nervously, and her hands played with the hem of her skirt as she waited for the boy to say something.

“You’re so cute.” he finally said, holding tightly onto the friendship bracelet that read ‘Be my boyfriend?’. “Yes, I’d love to be your boyfriend, Y/N.” Jack grabbed her wrist and brought her back into his chest, and then captured her lips with his. “I can’t believe this is happening. Feels like a dream.”

Y/N laughed “I know, I can’t believe you’re mine.“ she pecked his lips. “There’s one more thing. I have a show in two days.”

“Yeah, I know.” he furrowed his eyebrows, not knowing where the conversation was headed.

“Would you like to go? Like, be on the VIP tent” she said, and then added in a shy tone. “As my boyfriend.”

Jack widened his eyes. “Are you sure? I have no rush to make this public.”

“I know, and I adore you for not pushing me, but I want this. I really do.”

The boy’s smile shone brighter than the sun. “I’d love to, babe.”

So, two days later, Jack stood on the vip tent, watching his mesmerising girlfriend perform. He blushed through the entire show, because the singer couldn’t stop looking at him—especially when singing love songs.

Y/N was also having the time of her life. Seeing Jack singing along to her songs, dancing and recording everything with a huge smile like a proud boyfriend was one of the most heartwarming sights in the world. Her favourite part, though, was running straight into his arms at the end of the show. Despite being covered in sweat, Jack kissed her all over her face as he muttered how amazing she was.

“Look at your arms!” Y/N laughed as she looked at the friendship bracelets that were practically covering all of his arms.

“They’re killing my blood circulation but they’re so cute” Jack laughed. “One girl called my king of manifestation.”

Y/N bursted out laughing. “I should write a song about it.”

“You better.” he kissed her temple. “Let’s go home, you need to rest.”

“I’m so happy.” Y/N said as they climbed inside the van. She rested her head on Jack’s chest as he played with her hair.

He looked down at and smiled before pressing a kiss on her forehead. “Me too. Never been happier.”

[blood-starved-beast]

But seriously, your posts actually made me realize that oh, the reason Nem reads as so rude (aside from the fact that the overwhelming majority of the ways she chooses to word her grievances ARE, objectively, very hurtful and rude) is that she's the only one actively acknowledging that hey, this is??? kinda fucked up actually? Why is Mel the one expected to do what is, by any currently understood metric, an impossible task with no assistance beyond Thoughts and Prayers from Olympians and a "go get 'em, tiger" from the assorted parental figures in camp? Most of whom then tell her that actually no, I'm not your real parent, your real parents are in time prison and I only took care of you so that you're strong enough to break them out of time prison one day.

Nemesis is the only one pointing at Mel like "you ruined a perfectly good goddess is what you did, Hecate. Look at it! It's got anxiety and imposter syndrome!"

Nemesis isn't the only one to show this concern! The only other person actively trying to do something about Melinoe's maladaptive and self-destructive behaviors is...Eris. Eris who is trying to loosen Mel up in the only way she knows how - doing the House of Hades tradition of trying to bond with someone by fighting to the Death. Unfortunately, Eris is so smarmy in the way she explains that it also comes off as insincere. The sisters are actually quite similar in this respect. It's also giving very strong "Nyx fires Dusa to force her to not overwork herself to the bone". Which is, likely where they both inherited that perspective from actually. Like Nem, Eris is like "why do you care about these people?" even.

I do think Hecate does care about Melinoe genuinely. But as I've hypothesized before, I think Titans being another step removed from humans cannot rationalize emotions and connections the same way gods or even mortals can. That's a thing that's discussed even in one of the nectar convos with Hecate. She mentions not understanding mortal the gods gestures and customs like this, though is quick to assure Melinoe that she appreciates it nonetheless. Interestingly, Nemesis mentions in her fishing(?) convo and another how she understands the mortal concept of justice, evil, etc. and those things is something setting her apart from her family. Which I think is part of the conflict between her and Hecate.

Odysseus is so interesting to me. He's an uncle/brother figure (per what Mel tells him) and he clearly cares but you can feel the sense that he keeps his distance. And that's his baggage with goddesses speaking there I think. He's a mortal interacting with gods and gods have their own perspectives on things and they have the power to Hurt You if things line up wrong. Which is part of some of the themes of this game of mortals vs gods vs titans.

Anyways you are correct and I'm just elaborating more here.

[nordickies]

what's your headcanon human names for all 5 of them? :0

I think the Nordics have used various names throughout history! But they're probably all just variations of the same "base name," which has just changed with culture and current trends to keep up with the times.

Denmark: Magnus / Magni, Mange, Magne Magnus ("great") is a latinised version of the Old Norse name Magni ("mighty"). Various Scandinavian kings have been named Magnus, so the name has long been associated with the region. Mange is a Swedish nickname for Magnus, and Magne could be Denmark's alternative alias if he needs one Sweden: Björn / Bernwald Björn ("bear") is an Old Norse name still popular in Sweden. Perhaps in the Middle Ages, he may have used the name Bernwald ("bear" + "ruler") to fit in better with the German-speaking estates of society and have more of an international reach. Because his name means "bear," he can be teasingly referred to as Nalle, Bamse, or Baddi, all meaning "teddy bear" Norway: Sigurd / Sigurðr, Siward, Sjur Sigurd is a younger form of the Old Norse name Sigurðr ("victory"+ "guardian"), perhaps most notably associated with the Germanic legend of the dragon slayer. Siward is the English equivalent of the name. Sjur is the shortened form of the name Sigurd, so it may be his alternative alias Finland: Timo / Väinö, Väinämö Timo is a Finnish version of the name Timotheos ("honoring God") and perhaps a name he had to pick for himself after the introduction of Christianity. I like the idea of Väinö ("calmly flowing river") being his former first name and present middle name since it has the same origin as his canon surname Iceland: Eiríkur / Eiríkr, Erik Eiríkur is an Icelandic name, the younger form of the Old Norse name Eiríkr ("forever rich/powerful"). When in contact with outsiders, his name probably got simplified as Erik

Their surnames are not set in stone, and I rarely find myself needing them anyway. I don't think the Nordics would feel quite as attached to their surnames, as surnames in Nordic countries have traditionally been patronyms (and these guys don't have families in the traditional sense). Perhaps back in the olden days, the "surnames" they introduced themselves with were based on what was the most fitting and useful in a given situation - making up family associations, basing it off of their profession, or picking a surname based on where they lived (southern farm, northern bay, etc). But nowadays, they probably have preferred surnames they use for symbolic reasons; like Iceland going by "Ingólfsson" (based on Ingólfur Arnarson, the assumed first permanent settler of Iceland) or Denmark preferring the name "Andersen" to be associated with the most famous Danish author

Plus, I feel like their country names are actually more like honorary titles, and they don't really use them between each other (unless it's a nickname, like Sve, etc.). It's very much their culture. Nordic people tend to call their bosses, teachers, doctors, etc., by their first names, too. It's probably based on the cultural belief that this makes people more equal and cancels social hierarchy (Jante Law effect), so I have a hard time seeing the Nordic using honorary titles between friends and family

[alatismeni-theitsa]

https://www.tumblr.com/cardassiangoodreads/722229585723424768/im-just-going-to-say-right-now-that-i-dont-think?source=share

Just curious about your thoughts

The post and the tags because this person has blocked me preemptively - and they're lucky cause I wouldn't shat all over them. This person is a USAmerican very removed from Italian culture.

My Answer:

Ooooo coloniser rhetoric in the 21st century! That's a sight for sore eyes! (Which became sore cause they see such takes all the time).

Funny how this person talks about how objects belonging to Greece right after saying that our heritage figures (like our gods and heroes) don't belong to us. If Greek culture is a global culture why can't foreigners keep the objects? Hmmm I wonder…. They still put the "Greek" or "Roman" to characterise the stories but the moment Greeks and Italians speak up, then all of a sudden "the stories akksuually have no culture, they belong to all of us!" 😂😂😂

I wonder if this person understands what the term "heritage" means, because gods and heroes are definitely part of one's heritage and we never stopped preserving the texts that spoke about them, and they are still part of our living culture.

I'm all for listening to the members of the diaspora but when we are at the point when one of them is regurgitating imperialist points, not only there's a big divide with current opinions in Italy, but I also cannot leave such points unanswered. Also, many Italians, like Greeks, are sick of how their myths are treated but this person didn't even check, they just spoke over them. Because they didn't bother to ask people, obviously.

Ancient Greek heroes and gods still mean a lot to us. They always meant. They were born from visions, dreams, and other sacred methods, or oral traditions from our ancestors, reflecting specifically the ancient Greek culture. It's good that foreigners can access them and relate to a degree but divorcing any folk story from its origin is always negative. Especially when this culture is still ongoing.

Our Christianity is revamped ancient Greek religion, I wonder, does this person know that? Our temples have the same parts. We still have home altars, and divinities presiding over domains. Our hagiography is how we used to paint our gods and creatures. We still have almost the same nature creatures. The customs have remained and have persisted, and I won't have someone who clearly ignores this say "They gave the religion up". Ftou.

Also when it comes to our gods and their symbols (and yes btw we call them "our" gods lots of times), we can deduce things from our local tradition and environment, whereas an Anglophone who worships the gods or is interested in them but doesn't know stuff about the country of origin of those gods has no idea about our history, methods and environment. Example: Foreigner refuses to accept that there's a pine cone on Dionysos' thyrsos (although it looks like a pinecone) because "it doesn't make sense" and very excitedly suggests another plant instead. Greek lets them know that it is actually a pine cone not only because it looks like a pinecone but because the pinecone has been used in our winemaking process forever, and Dionysos also presided over this process. Guess Greece and its environment and it's people are still relevant to the religion, and it also turns out that the symbols of the gods derived from the Greek reality. Who knew!

Now onto another point. Op says that the Greek stories became "global culture" because they got shared everywhere. Them being shared is not a bad thing! However just studying them and be taught about them is not culture. By this logic, and since Egyptians "gave their old religion up", ancient Egyptian gods are now MY ancient gods because I can find books about ancient Egypt at my local bookstore. woww 😂 What about this? Almost every Greek knows 100 and 1 nights. We have made it into a play also. SOO... these are our cultural stories now, right? West Asians and Arabs in general shouldn't speak if they ever see us and other nations being ridiculous about the stories, and stereotypes and changing the characters a lot but still claim we are doing great, right? Got it.

The way this post is written it's like Germans and Brits kept the ancient Greek myths alive since ancient years or something. Greeks themselves never stopped preserving their own ancient texts, and they escaped with them in Europe after the fall of Constantinople, so NW Europeans REDISCOVERED them 1500 years later. They had lost interest by then.

Funny they mention different nations that were Hellenized or became Roman territories because people living in these nations are exactly those who don't speak about Greek and Roman culture as "a global culture". It's always North Westerners who start these discussions, I wonder why…..

People from the aforementioned nations already interact healthily with their ancient heritage - which is not Greek or Roman culture but always a local version with Greek or Roman elements, and that's great too. I haven't heard a Pakistani say "Theseus is our hero too!" or a Tunisian say "Zeus is our local ancient father of the gods!" Because they know exactly how the mix happened and what their national identity is. And I'm getting more and more tired of seeing Westerners erase these experiences too, and just make assumptions for other nations.

I swear I mostly see USians getting butthurt about other people getting conquered 2.000 years ago. The nations themselves don't give a shiiit. Guys, I know our antiquities are the only interesting thing about us in your eyes but Please Make An Effort to understand people from ancient cultures and how we don't give a shit about these conquests cause they happened Two Thousand Years Ago, and we had other tragic stuff in the meantime. Thanks

Also, as I said, these conquests are not why Greek myths are popular today. The conquests were so incredibly old that the average person in these countries (Balkans, the Mediterranean, West Asia) - and Greece - had no idea who built the ancient ruins they saw around! Does this person think Greek myths were handed down from Moroccan grandma to Moroccan grandchild from 300 BCE to 2024 continuously or something?

Greek myths are very popular in most parts of the world today because the West (meaning not Greece, especially at the time when we were "cattle") popularized them non-stop the last few centuries. And they did a shitty job, at that. In fact, Greeks abroad have been cringing about this treatment of our myths since the 15th century but, as usual, we were not being heard.

And what does "global culture" even mean?? As if you see any culture to how the US (because OP focuses on the US and the retellings there, from the looks of it) interacts with our stories. As if they care about the meaning of the story. (There are a few notable exceptions ofc but they remain FEW) People with such arguments just want to feel guilt-free when using our myths out of context. That's why Western academic cycles often run in circles about "what the myths mean" while Greeks have told you exactly what they mean.

The US audience is still not free of the coloniser WASP approach. They see our myths STILL as a product of modern White Supremacy instead of an ancient Greek product, and they often condemn the myths and "better" them by completely pushing them into USian lens to the point they don't look or feel like the original myths anymore. (All the above you don't dare to do with cultural stories and figures from nations you want to respect, by the way.) Is this the cultural "exchange" they're talking about?

I'm done hearing in the international spaces that my culture is "boring" because USians have seen horrible adaptation after horrible adaptation. I'm tired of USians making wild assumptions about how "horrible" our gods are because whoever told them the myths didn't give a simple explanation about our ancient societies. (Don't start crap about accessibility, there are very accessible ways to talk to kids, teens, and adults about other cultures and teach them age-appropriate tales) I'm tired of my heritage being commercialized to that degree. All Greeks roll their eyes in USAmerican movies about our culture and we call them Amerikaniés. And don't worry, I'm getting to the real stuff.

How our ancient culture is treated and how we are sidelined has real consequences on our lives abroad AND inside our culture, on how we are perceived, on how our surnames are perceived, on how we "don't look like Greeks", on how our Greek myth retellings don't get published abroad! They speak in front of us about our own words as if they are magical and mythical and strange! The opinions and perspectives of Greeks are not sought abroad, and you are a masterclass on why this happens. We make y'all uncomfortable. You feel better if you forget about us.

Another exhibit: All the hurtful comments of foreigners who centered the HUGE milestone of same-sex marriage in Greece because all they could imagine - while queer Greeks suffered a lot these last few months - was their wedding in Gay Mykonos and Lesbian Lesbos. This was their first reaction. They didn't possibly think that Greeks were seeing that because we are far away and irrelevant, right?

Obviously culture-mixing is not bad but the West didn't mix our culture with theirs. They just took it for entertainment and their popular culture never saw the depth or the meaning of it. OP speaks about how our stories were spread while actively avoiding speaking in depth about the problematic elements of that spread. They recognize to a small degree how Greeks feel about the matter but they dismiss most of our concerns in such a nonchalant way that all that comes to my mind is "privilege".

And speaking of power… Greeks have less systemic power than the countries of the West. We are the US' puppet, are you kidding me?? Our armies get deployed wherever the US wants. Our politicians don't even fart without a telephone from the US. We are the whores of the German, Belgian and French governments. Greeks abroad still face discrimination for their customs and how they look, and how their food smells, and how our religion is and how our hymns sound, and other ridiculous stuff. Our infrastructure is slowly being bought out by Germans and USians to various degrees. There are different scales to exploitation and bigotry, I agree, but that doesn't mean that only the roughest bigotry cases are worth discussing.

"We could also talk about the additional level of exploitation in how imperial powers used Greek mythology as an argument for the "superiority of the West," while at the same time plundering Greece's resources and treating it like it exists only as a tourist site" They are SO close to getting it, and yet their post says otherwise.

Fetishism of a culture makes the members of the actual culture feel alienated and hurt. As a person of Italian ancestry you should know how this specific "global culture" argument has been used to strip Greeks and Italians of any claims, so the "dirty Greeks" can be separated from the "pure WASP" USian upper class of the time who deemed themselves more suitable to engage with the material.

"Greeks spreading their culture through military force all over (eventually) most of Europe" what the hell?? Sorry, guys, (side-eyes the other Greeks) we conquered Romania??? wow!

Plus, this person doesn't know the difference between the Greek colonisation of Italy and Sicily and the recent European colonisation, and - to say it very politely - they should open a book.

By The Way

You can still interact with the Greek culture without having a colonial attitude! Nobody is barring you! I want to make this abundantly clear!

Most importantly, you don't have to make arguments for "global culture" when it's simple to place the myths inside their original context while interacting with them! You just have to read a bit more books that are on the internet and your library for free! Recognising that a foreign culture is not yours, and that you engage with it because it's just popular, doesn't stop anyone from interacting with it. You simply refuse to interact with them at the proper, deeper level, because you always want to center them around yourself. You want to interact with foreign stories just how the colonisers did it. Congrats.

I'm talking about the majority of cases. Of course people in the US can take all sorts of inspiration from foreign myths and adapt them to their reality. And it's a good result when they're being respectful and have studied the stories beforehand.

All we ask is to engage with the material in context so you can understand what our ancestors wanted to express. If your only view of Greek myths has come from other Americans and NW Europeans then you see them through coloniser lens. That's non-negotiable. I had people from other countries recite to me USAmerican viewpoints about the Greek gods, as if they were fact. Cause it's the only exposure that's happening worldwide right now.

You can interact with Greco-Roman myths whether Greece and Rome touched your country or not, we don't care. But please don't get your source from the pop US culture. These people think that it makes sense for nymphs to look like trees (that's an Anglo-Saxon and Celtic nature creature depiction. Ancient Greece was very anthropomorphic). It's not a crime if you change some stuff in a retelling but why willingly ignore the original depictions and what they have to show you for the ancient people who created them?

Pfff... Thank you anon for bringing this trash to me. I needed to - metaphorically - throw something in the trash. It took me a few hours to answer this but well... I do write a lot and this post was full of shit I had to shovel.

[ofcowardiceandkings]

companion piece of young Link

AAHH i finally finished something :'D

i've uh had some very specific Thoughts about Zelda's childhood for a while now so its about time i put them to paper - this is actually round TWO since the original doodles are lost to ... somewhere ... i like these second editions better though so alls well that ends well

we're looking at ages around 4, 7 and 10 years old here touchin bugs in the dirt, archery practice, and playing a lyre ;w;

more detailed Thoughts under the cut 💙

iiitssss customary ranting about my BotW/TotK opinions tiiiimeeee welcome my darlingsss jfkdjfkd 💙

i had a much more solid idea about where i was going with Zelda than with Link but some of it is kinda abstract or weird lol

we know a fair amount about her upbringing in general, or can infer as much from Zelda's interactions with her father and what they and people around them wrote. she was clearly a smart and vivacious kid with a strong personality from the start, no matter how much you sort of squash that shit for the public face, repression etc. so yknow, her mother's death when she was 6, awful. her father's change in attitude especially in her teens, awful. being under public scrutiny her whole life, awful. restrictive structure of royal life, dull (i bet it bored Zelda to death at times no matter how strongly duty-oriented she is). having said that though, she got by and just by looking at her study, she clearly got stuff done to herself - you can take the kid away from the science but the science stays with the kid !!!

additionally, forgive me for mentioning ... timelines ... but in my humble onion, BotW/TotK serve as a Dragon-Break scenario which are SO far in the future from other entries that ALL timelines will inevitably converge and lead to that point, so it doesnt matter any more (i dont like extended Timeline theory, Nindooty doesnt like extended Timeline theory, the current writing team seem to want shot of it, let me be). being a history guy i also subscribe to leaning on the LEGEND aspect of 100 and 1000 year games of telephone, it makes things spicy. tradition is a strange thing, we do things we dont have much of a context for anymore, we're still living with the cultural hangovers of people living when mammoths were around and no thats not hyperbole lol its WILD. ive typed around the point enough lets get going

she was a bugs girl !!!! she still IS a bugs girl lmao but if our 16 year old girlie is gonna pounce on frogs apropos of nothing, that 4 year old girlie is gonna go catch bugs in the Royal Gardens and freak out her maids or escorts with them, good for her 💅

the other two are where my timeline thing comes in; the triforce is never mentioned by name, its just there in symbolism ?? something about the blood of the goddess ?? divine sealing powers ??? no one knows in the same vein, i like to think that its traditional for Hylian Princesses to learn archery and play a lyre or harp ... but no one remembers quite WHY ?? so Zelda does. the Priestess-Princess* role means the public is aware that Zelda had formal singing training, but its not really common knowledge outside of the Castle that the Royal Girls do THIS (no one knows why that part is important either, but it stays in the Castle). she might be a little out of practice now, but give that muscle memory enough time and she might be able to really surprise people.

*this is part of the Japanese translation, at least in Kass' final song Zelda is referred to as an term roughly meaning Priestess-Princess - which makes total sense to me

ohhh my god i talked a lot okay i just love my gorl fhjdkfjdk

actual footage of me explaining my shit and going way long

[ino-tamukas-baggy-sweater]

A Second Chance, A Father's Curse - Part 3 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

I'm trying so hard not to burn myself out on writing because I've written and posted so much the past few weeks. which is a really short amount of time for me, also I'm going away for about a week which means I won't be able to write, so hopefully by the time I come back I'll be refreshed and ready to write more! In the meantime enjoy part 3 :)

Part 2 here

Warnings: sukuna is a volatile lil shit, possibly incorrect descriptions of disabilities? i did do a bit of research but also it's a lot of heavy headcanoning

Word count: 3.6k

“Have you seen the news?” “Prince Ryomen L/n…” “Why do you think he changed his last name?” “He’s part of Iqoria now, whether he meant it or not,” “Surely there’s an explanation for it,” “There must be, but he’s here now and he’ll be a great asset if he knows what he’s doing,” “That is true, I suppose we should just trust the King, if he trusts him with Princess L/n then we should too,”

There have been no shortage of murmurings in the streets about the sudden and unexpected marriage and arrival of the newlywed Ryomen L/n. It’s only been a couple of days, the people will adjust. You’re making sure that you take the time to walk him around the castle and actually get to know him before you take up the traditional clan tattoos that will bind the pair of you to Iqoria, of which he holds a curious fascination.

“What are the origins of your clan tattoos?” He asks on the second morning. A lovely warm day, you’ve chosen a light dress and a parasol to accompany you on your walk through the gardens. You look over to him beside you, the pair of you hidden amongst the bushes as you sit together on a shaded bench, “There are a few different opinions and accounts, but I believe the most popular stems back to an ancient era of the kingdom where curses were much more abundant than they are currently."

"One of my female ancestors centuries ago used ink to disguise herself and played pretend as a fierce and strong curse, almost acting as a god, and she led great numbers of them to their destruction to protect her village. Adenfast is said to be named after that village, but the original location is unknown,” You explain.

“Have they changed much over the years?” He has taken your hand and is tracing his thumb over the lines on your wrist, “Not as far as I know, I know a few lines here and there that came from specific people from my family tree because of things they achieved, but it’s mostly stayed the same,” You point to your wrists, the two thick black bands there prominent, “These were added by my great great grandmother, as protection for the young children in the family, two lines done at age ten and then renewed after marriage,”

He smirks, but it’s softer than it has been, “Interesting…” He murmurs. “How will you be incorporating your clans tattoos into mine?” You ask quietly, because ultimately it’s his decision, and you’re already fearing his answer. He just shrugs, “Not sure,” He looks away, still holding your hand, “It all doesn’t feel real,” He murmurs. “Freedom?” You squeeze his hand gently.

He nods, his gaze traveling around the quiet gardens as you take in the moment. He’s been skittish, he flinched when your father raised his voice at dinner the night before and you’d made sure to scold your father afterwards. You can always sense the storm within him, he can’t easily suppress his energy and you’ve had to deal with one other outburst than the one on the journey here.

He’d been here only a day, his sleep was restless and this you knew because you spent that night in the same bed together in lieu of the wasted night spent in a carriage. Nothing happened between the two of you, but he jolted the both of you awake in the early hours of the morning after a nightmare. The sun hadn’t risen, his face was barely visible in the dim starlight creeping through the window, but you could feel his sadness. He wouldn’t tell you what it was, he didn’t say a word, just allowed you to pull him against you and hide his face in your chest. His outburst later that day was aimed at Geto, who’d foolishly commented on his younger brothers.

“Does your father not see your younger brothers the way he sees his precious eldest heirs?” He’d said during one of your tutelage sessions with Gojo in which Ryomen was watching from the sidelines, and you knew he was deliberately stepping over a line. You thought Geto was better than that, but after this happened you weren’t sure you could trust him in the same way you always had.

You felt Ryomen coming up behind you and stepped to put yourself between them with a glare in your eyes before Ryomen could even think about throwing a punch, “Suguru Geto, you know better than that, do I have to tell my father about this?!” You had shouted. His eyes had widened and he’d dropped to a knee, immediately apologising. He clearly hadn’t expected you to support your husband. You suppose he held a grudge against the man for his actions towards you on the journey to Iqoria and thought you would share these reservations, but you refused to stand for it. “You fucking bastard, never speak of my brothers again, do you hear me?!” Ryomen spat over your shoulder, “My brothers are better men than you will ever be, I can fucking smell the hatred that you exude,”

You also didn’t appreciate the accusation that came from Ryomen but you let it slide, you’d seen his last interaction with his brothers and knew it still rubbed him raw to even think about them. “We’re done here, Geto I will speak with you at a later time,” You turned and herded Ryomen out of the room. His eyes held that familiar tint of red at the edges of his irises and his energy had flared to such a level that you’d taken him out to the rear of the castle, where the guards trained, and he had destroyed a wooden dummy halfway across the courtyard beyond recognition within mere seconds of arrival.

He was breathing heavily when he finally looked back at you, and you refused to look away or show you were afraid. He was in pain, and you needed to let him work through it and seek help only where he wanted it. “Let’s not tell anyone about that,” You nodded vaguely in the direction of where the dummy used to be as he returned to your side, his breath ragged and sweat dripping down his face and neck.

He nodded in response, swallowing thickly, “I’m sorry,” He mutters, “You shouldn’t have to see me like this,” “Is that your technique?” You asked, gaze flitting to the pieces of the dummy. He looked away and you didn’t question him further, you just took his hand and lead him into the castle to force him into a bath.

Back in the present as you’re reminded of the fear in his eyes, you look back to him, “Are you… afraid of yourself?” You murmur. He looks like a kicked puppy when he turns to you and your eyes widen, “Sorry! Sorry, I take it back, you don’t have to answer that,” He clutches your hand just a little tighter, his knuckles going white and his lips set in a thin line, “Yes,” He states, his voice shaky, “I am afraid of myself,”

“I’m afraid of what I might do to you if I’m left unchecked,” He continues, “I’m afraid of hurting you and lashing out at the people around me because I still feel like a caged wolf even though the reality of my situation has changed,” “I hope you can one day see me as home,” You say, putting your parasol down to reach your hand up to his cheek, “I know it will be hard, and I promise I will know you down to your core one day, but there is no rush,” He nudges his nose against your palm for a moment, “I am first and foremost your new friend, and I want only to be your strongest ally,”

He nods, “Thank you,” He whispers softly. “Princess Y/n!” The shout of your name shatters the small bubble of peace around the two of you. You drop your hand from his face but keep your fingers intertwined as you stand. A young maid around your age that you grew up with, Belinda, comes racing around a dense rosebush and comes to a skidding halt when she spots you. She bows for a moment, “Your father has requested your presence for the application of the L/n clan tattoos,” She informs you and you hand your parasol to her, “Thank you for letting me know, take this to my closet and we will make our way to the throne room,”

She darts off with the parasol in hand and you link arms with Ryomen as he stands again, leading you back into the castle. Once in the throne room, you’re greeted by the pair of artists responsible for both your and your brother’s tattoos, “Ah Princess Y/n, and Prince Ryomen, an honour it is,” The couple bow as your father stands and opens his arms, “My children, it is time,” He smiles widely, “See to this duty with dignity,” You curtsey to the tattoo artists before they lead the two of you to a room dimly lit with candles.

“As you aren’t the Crown Prince and Princess, this isn’t considered an extravagantly formal affair,” The woman assures you, “You may speak freely with one another while we work, there are a few rituals we will conduct during and after the inking process, but nothing remarkable,” The tattoo artists are specially chosen for their artistic abilities and their knowledge of cursed energy, as a reverse cursed technique is needed for royal family tattoos which are expected to appear to the public within the first twenty four hours of application.

“If you please,” The other artist, the man who gave you your wristbands when you were ten, gestures to the outline of a person on a poster you didn’t even notice at first on the wall. It’s not quite life size, just smaller than you, but it shows you the complete map of tattoos that you will be getting for the L/n clan including a back view just beside it.

Bands on your upper arms and around your shoulders as well as a large spot on your shoulders, two sharp parallel streaks down your abdomen with matching lines reflected on the small of your back, two broken lines that wrap over your shoulders like overall straps and veer up and then down again just below your collarbone on your breasts. You’d always known about the facial tattoos, the lines that follow the jaw bone, the emblem in the centre of the forehead that was said to represent wisdom, and the line over the nose, but you’d always seem then as quite delicate and symbolic of the fragility of life.

The tattoos hidden beneath the clothing were thick and strong, reminiscent of the ones on your wrists that were there for protection. These were the tattoos of fierce and noble protectors. Those who would risk their lives to keep the weak safe. Your family was strong, a fact perhaps forgotten in times of peace, and this reminder gives you a boost of confidence as you begin stripping down to just your bottom half undergarments. There are no tattoos below the waist save for a pair of thick ankle bands and the symbol on your forehead copied on both hips.

“How would you like to incorporate the Itadori clan tattoos?” The man asks Ryomen behind you. You hear the shuffle of clothing and then his hand on your bare upper back. Having to get really comfortable really fast with one another, you rip the bandage off and turn to him with your arms crossed over your chest, hugging yourself, “I don’t think I will,�� He grins as he looks you up and down, his gaze flicking between you and the poster on the wall a couple of times. The artists exchange glances but you just nod, “Make it so,” “Your majesties, this isn’t a wise decision diplomatically speaking,” The woman speaks softly, her head bowed.

 “This marriage wasn’t for the sake of diplomacy so why the fuck should I care what my father thinks?” Ryomen snaps. You grab his hand, still keeping one arm tight over your bare chest, “Ryomen,” You say softly, “Ryomen, it’s okay, they’re allowed to be worried for their kingdom, this has never happened before, are you sure you don’t want to add anything? Even if it isn’t from your clan?” He looks into your eyes for a fleeting moment and then looks to the map again, frowning as he breathes deeply. “Can you tattoo a pair of fake closed eyelids just above the edge of where the lines will end on my cheeks?” He gestures on his face just below his real eyes.

You look confused for a moment but he clarifies, “My second eyes, Yuji always used to tell me I had an extra pair of eyes reserved for my brothers,” The artists seem to relax only slightly and the woman asks you if you’ll be getting that modification to which you reply, after confirmation from Ryomen that he is comfortable, that yes you will. The entire process is long and tedious, difficult, you spend more time squeezing Ryomen’s hand than actually talking because the pain gets to you after a while. He’s antsy the whole time, he reaches up and fidgets with your fingers and plays with your hair after his arms and shoulders are done while you’re sat up getting your back done.

“Tell me about your brothers,” You ask softly once the man starts work on his back, the woman in between the two of you tattooing atop your breasts and collarbones. “My brothers? What would you like to know?” You shrug, “Anything you want to tell me,” He looks up for a moment, “Well, Yuji and I were always the closest, since Choso is the Crown Prince he spent a lot of time in studies and learning how to be king. Eso and Kechizu are five and eight years younger than me, fifteen and twelve, both born with disabilities that prevent them from leading normal lives,”

There is an intense sadness in his eyes and you squeeze his hand gently, “Eso significantly lacks in his movement and coordination ability, the doctors would never tell us exactly what it was but we knew he couldn’t play the same way we used to as children, so we never played rough. Kechizu is hard to explain, because he was born with significant tunnel vision and a high sensitivity to light, and so hasn’t bothered opening his eyes most of his life, but also has problems with his blood. He bleeds heavily if he gets hurt, he bruises extremely easily, so then we learned we had to be gentle with both boys,” You’re sure your sadness is palpable at this point, but he seems to be perking up slightly just talking about them with someone.

“Despite the limitations in their abilities, they were always so lively and never wanted to be left behind if we went out to train, Eso spent his time describing in exaggerated detail the three of us as we trained to Kechizu, and I just remember them being so happy when my father wasn’t around-“ He cuts himself off, his lips returning to a thin line as his eyes sparkle slightly in the candlelight. You know he doesn’t want to cry in front of the artists, so you instead begin to tell him stories of your childhood, your brother and Geto, the young maids who grew up alongside you and now serve you, the kindness of the Iqorian people and the events and festivals you’ve attended all your life.

“That all sounds lovely,” He murmurs as he cups your cheek, tracing a thumb over the new tattoo just below your eyes and letting his energy flow through you to heal the raw skin left there. The gesture warms your heart, healing his addition to your clan tattoos, and you uncover your chest shyly to place your own hands over the newly healed tattoos on his collarbone, tracing the edges of the thick lines gently. “You know, now that it’s happening, I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else,” He says, his voice thick with emotion.

You blush softly, “You really do have a way with words sometimes, I think you could have been a poet in another life,” He steps into your space, half attempting to hide your exposed skin from the artists, “I think I’d very much like to be reborn as a songbird,” He whispers, his large hands still gently holding your cheeks as the artists begin their final rituals, leaning his forehead down and resting it against yours. “Then I could sing you songs of every kind of love every morning when you wake,” A soft glow surrounds the pair of you as you look into his eyes, the tattoos emitting the glow as the artists murmur softly.

You’re unsure of what exactly they’re doing but you know this is a moment you won’t ever forget, stood in the center of a dark room with the man you saved within mere hours of meeting him. Your new husband, perhaps the most dangerous man alive if Satoru Gojo’s Six Eyes are to be believed. But he’s here, he’s right in front of you holding you like a butterfly, bearing your last name and the marks of your clan because of the ignorance of his father.

The artists have left the room by the time you come back to one another, the glow slowly dimming with every second, but his hands never leave your body. He traces his hands over everything he can see, and everything he can’t, in an effort to familiarise himself with you and seek comfort in your warmth. It doesn’t occur to you that this is a little scandalous, you simply allow him to softly caress your skin, nothing but a hint of innocent desperation in the air. He needs this. He needs you to step into the role Yuji had tried his best to fill, his main protector and advocate, and if Ryomen needs to know you inside and out to allow himself to trust you then you’ll do whatever it takes.

“We have a people to address,” You murmur, still looking up into his half-lidded eyes. He nods gently, sitting back down on the table and breaking the trance, allowing you to search for the robes and bring them back to him. Simple white clothing, symbolising purity, adorned with green stitching, symbolising new beginnings. Both outfits are sleeveless, the straps thin and the neckline plunging deep on both your front and back to expose the main shoulder to collar tattoos to the air. Nothing can be done about the tattoos on your stomach and lower back, but the sleeveless nature allows for the arm and shoulders to be fully exposed.

“Allow me,” He murmurs, reaching for the simple dress and then helping you step into it, clasping it at your hips and just below the middle of your back to secure it. It’s oddly comfortable, it had looked itchy and uncomfortable on your sister-in-law but you suppose she just didn’t like the stares of the people. When you turn back to him he’s already pulled the loose pants on and you watch his muscles flex and relax as he slips into the shirt.

“You look good,” You murmur softly, clasping your hands at your stomach, “Are you alright?” He looks up, fixing his hair slightly. His soft smile sends a shot of warmth through your body as he reaches for you, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I can say with full confidence,” He starts, holding you to his chest and hiding you against him as the door opens again, revealing your parents, “That I’ve never been better than I am right now,” He whispers for only your ears, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes as you nuzzle against him.

“It is time,” Your father announces, “For you to address the people as husband and wife,” You steel yourself as you pull away, noticing a hint of red in Ryomen’s eyes as he looked down at you, but feeling nothing but strength from his aura as opposed to rage. You look to your father and nod, “We’re ready,” Time had seemed to stand still while the two of you were in that room, but the moment you stepped out you saw the day had ticked over and it was now the morning again. The rituals performed by the artists had prevented you from becoming weary or hungry, you felt refreshed if anything, and the two of you walk hand in hand with your parents in tow to the main castle entrance.

Geto is there at the open doorway, and past him you can see the courtyard and the steps up to the entrance are flooded with the Iqorian people. This is it, the first step into the public eye, with your husband by your side. News travels fast, you’re sure the Itadori clan will hear of his tattoos before the sun has set, but a small part of you holds no remorse. “Are you prepared for the consequences?” Ryomen murmurs into your ear, “There’s no backing down now,”

You squeeze his hand and then tug him out into the growing sunlight, walking forwards until you’re at the edge of the steps. The reactions you can see are mixed, but there is an overwhelming amount of positive energy flowing up at you. Your emotions get the best of you, tears slip down your cheeks, you tuck yourself closer to Ryomen as he lifts an arm to wave. “Live in the feeling,” He whispers, seemingly to himself, “Savour the moment,”

You decide to do just that. Peace washes over you, and you find yourself once again thinking to the future, the countless possibilities and unknowns. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it with Ryomen L/n unapologetically by your side.

Might start putting a 'fanart of the day' at the end where i link a fanart of the character in question (in this case sukuna) for you all to enjoy if you haven't seen it already lol

Part 4 here

[notthesomefather]

Modern Heathenry 101

Hi folks! I've updated my blog to include a heathenry 101 tag. I also worked on summarizing how I view modern heathenry from a US-based, progressive perspective:

Who is allowed to practice heathenry?

Everyone!  Heathenry is not a closed practice.  Regardless of your gender, age, orientation, race, cultural background, physical or mental abilities, or any other factor–you are welcome, appreciated, and loved by the gods.

What is heathenry?

Heathenry is an animistic belief system where we honor our ancestors, gods within the Norse pantheon, and the elemental spirits all around us.  There is no one centralized heathen faith, and traditions will vary largely depending on community, region, and era.  There are no sacred texts, though many heathens read the Poetic Edda and Prose Edda to get an introduction to our gods (as they are depicted in myths and sagas).

Who do you worship?

Details vary based on the individual or community, but generally speaking heathens honor gods within the Norse pantheon. 

This pantheon includes: Odin, Frigg/Freyja, Freyr, Thor, Tyr, Njord, Loki, Hel, and many more.  Each of these figures is dynamic and cannot be boiled down to a simple “god of ___” label.  Some heathens exclusively worship patron deities to whom they feel a special connection and sense of dedication, while other heathens maintain relationships with numerous deities.

Ancestor work can be general or highly specific.  Heathens may offer prayers to the Disir, female spirits of the family who help carry traditions, memories, and connections alive throughout the generations.  Heathens may also opt to honor individual ancestors with whom they share a strong connection.  In any instance, it is love not blood which constitutes ancestry.  Many heathens feel drawn to honor “cultural” ancestors rather than blood-relatives (example: a heathen who is Black or LGBTQIA+ may feel drawn towards honoring a deceased activist or fellow community member).

What are some things which constitute a modern practice?

Many heathens practice group ritual while others are solitary.  Every group will follow different traditions but common ones include:

holiday rituals

symbels (opportunities to toast one another and our accomplishments)

blots (specialized rituals dedicated to a specific deity)

ceremonies (weddings, funerals, and things of that nature)

In their day-to-day lives heathens will often wear a Mjolnir pendant as a reminder of the gods’ most prized gift and the source of their protector’s strength (Thor’s hammer).

Heathens will typically have at least one altar space in their homes.  This can be used to honor deities, ancestors, or other figures.  Altars vary dramatically in terms of appearance–some are minimalist and simple while others are lavishly decorated.  This depends largely on personal preference, budget, availability of materials, and personal security (unfortunately, some heathens cannot safely set up an altar in their current living situation).  Another option is the use of a pocket-altar, sometimes called a travel-altar.

What holidays do you observe?

Holidays historically varied depending on location.  Typically these holidays relate to concepts of growth, gratitude, and reflection. There is not one set list of holidays which all heathens celebrate, but there do tend to be commonalities:

Holidays that take place in spring will tend to honor gods who represent youth, new beginnings, and hope. 

Holidays in summer tend to celebrate growth, hard work, and fertility. 

Holidays in the autumn are typically opportunities to celebrate the accomplishments we’ve made throughout the year as well as to prepare for the darker, colder times ahead. 

Holidays in the winter tend to relate to reflection and thinking about things we can shed or invite as the new year begins.

Holidays can be celebrated individually or as part of a group. Here are some of the holidays my group observes.

What are some common symbols or visuals related to heathenry?

Many heathens view Mjolnir (Thor’s hammer) as the main symbol signifying their faith.  This is typically worn as a necklace, though heathens may wear one in a myriad of different ways or not at all. 

Elder futhark runes are also common symbols associated with heathenry.  The futhark are representative of the sacred runes our god Odin learned during a journey of self-sacrifice and searching for spiritual wisdom.  Many heathens use these runes for divination purposes or to receive messages from our gods and ancestors, while others do not interact with the runes in a spiritual sense.

There are other symbols associated with heathenry that have been appropriated by white supremacists.  These include the runes Othala, Sowilo, and Elhaz; the Valknut; and sometimes even Mjolnir itself.  These images are not inherently harmful, and many heathens feel it is our duty to combat this appropriation by showing these symbols in their proper, progressive contexts.

What are some books I can read to learn more?

Here are a few books about the Norse myths I recommend:

The Poetic Edda by Jackson Crawford

The Prose Edda by Snorri Sturluson

The Wanderer’s Havamal by Jackson Crawford

The Havamal by The Asatru Community

Essential Asatru by Diana Paxson

Norse Myths by Kevin Crossley-Holland

The Viking Spirit by Daniel McCoy

Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman

And here are some books about runes I recommend:

The Way of Fire and Ice: the Living Tradition of Norse Paganism, by Ryan Smith

Rudiments of Runelore, by Stephen Pollington

North Sea Rune Poems, by N. Solheim-Davidson

Norwegian Runes and Runic Inscriptions, by Terje Spurkland

Taking Up the Runes, by Diana L. Paxson

[15-lizards]

I’ve always wanted to ask someone this and I think you’re the best. Music styles for each kingdom? It’s out there for sure but I think you’d come up with some awesome stuff!!!!!!!!!

God I have been WAITING for a question like this thank u anon kisses mwah

Riverlands is traditional Celtic (particularly the upper Celtic nations, mostly Ireland) like just listen to the material. Theres almost an air of mysticism and otherworldliness, which I just think works so well for a place frozen in time bc the song themselves are timeless

The Stormlands are the other Celtic nations like Wales, Scotland, and Brittany bc the stormlands are heavily inspired by the welsh (and I couldn’t let the riverlands have all the good Celtic music). These songs are less “mystical” and instead are more upbeat and firm if that makes any sense , which is more fitting for Stormlander culture

The North is Scandinavian and norther European music (instead of the Iron Islands sorry). A lot of their songs stem from the music of the first men, when it was used in worship of the old gods, and can thus seem eerie and macabre at certain points. Songs are often sung during many traditional ceremonies as another religious thing, thus singing, if it’s not a tongue-in-cheek drinking song, is really intense

The Westerlands are actually sooo medieval French. This is because they were inspired in most terms of culture by the Reach (at least in my head) who are currently on Renaissance levels of music. Music is harmonious, operatic, and very orderly. Unlike northern music, the West’s songs are more methodically structured.

The Reach has grown past medieval music and gone on to the French/Italian Renaissance era of artistic exploration. Songs are often delicate, genteel, and more convoluted, with increasingly complex instruments being used. Different types of music are invented, with choir-like religious music and lively dancing music and gentle lounging music etc etc

And of course the Crowlands are Medieval English. Fitting for not only their vibe but also their culture, which is a mix of whatever influences from the rest of the country have infiltrated. Usually this means Western and Reach music styles, with wind and string instrumentals, religious and social songs, and harmonies

And the Dornish are a mix of Egyptian and some other traditional middle eastern styles. Unlike the other regions, there is more of a recognizable rhythm. The instruments are a mix of strings, flutes, and drums, and the singer often fluctuates, warbles, keens, wails, or otherwise changes their voice during a held note

[blushweddinggowns]

Part 2 Part 3

They had been talking for hours in bed, about anything and everything, the two of them politely ignoring the late hour. If Eddie had to guess, it was maybe three or four a.m., and both of them had work in the morning, not that it mattered. They were too wrapped up in each other to care, lost in exchanging the silliest questions and answers, just because they could. 

It was his favorite kind of night, even if they always led to his least favorite kind of mornings. But that was future Eddie’s problem. Current Eddie was too busy debating about the Princess Bride, “All I’m saying is Inigo Montoya should have been the main character, and the whole Wesley and Buttercup thing should have been the side plot.”

Eddie couldn’t see it, but he knew Steve was rolling his eyes in the dark, “You’re missing the whole point of the movie. It’s a love story, not a revenge story.”

“But it’s an unrealistic love story! Avenging your father is so much more relatable.”

“You want to talk realism in a movie with human sized rats? Babe, you’re reaching. It’s perfect the way it is. The only thing that would make it better was if we got to see their wedding at the end.”

They were face to face, only a few inches between them, but suddenly it felt like too much. Eddie reached for him, pulling him against his chest as he laughed, “Of course you’d say that. You’re such a babygirl, it’s not even funny.”

“I’m your babygirl, thank you very much. You’re the one who pulled it out of me,” He was using his pouting voice now, and Eddie had to fight the urge to turn on the light so he could see that face in it’s full glory. 

“Mmhm, my perfect, wonderful babygirl. With bad movie opinions.”

“Insult my movie takes again and I’ll bite you. I swear to God.”

“That’s not much of  a threat baby-fuck ow!” The words were barely out of Eddie’s mouth before Steve was nipping at his collarbone. Which, honestly, yeah he deserved it, so he couldn’t even complain at his boyfriend gnawing at him.

“Okay, okay! You win!” Eddie laughed, “I guess violence was the answer this time around.”

“Thank you.” He could feel Steve smiling against his skin, trying and failing to hide his giggling. 

They fell into a comfortable silence, tangling their limbs together as they cuddled. Eddie was on  the edge of falling asleep when he heard it, a tiny whisper against his neck, "I wish we could get married." 

Eddie grinned, voice tired but intrigued at the idea, “You would be an amazing house husband.”

Steve pinched at Eddie’s hip, laughing despite himself, “You’re such an ass.”

They settled back into the comforting quiet, but suddenly, Eddie didn’t feel very tired anymore. It was quite the thought, marrying Steve. Before they met Eddie had always been staunchly against the whole idea. He used to think of it as a lame, patriarchal tradition, perpetuated by the shitty American establishment for optimum baby-making. Something that he would, thankfully, be able to avoid ever doing because of the whole gay thing. 

But now…the idea of a life-long commitment was pretty appealing. At least in his head, that was already the plan. He fully intended to hang onto Steve for the rest of their days. And the thought of a pretty ring on his finger, a tell-tale sign to the whole world that he was taken, that was something Eddie could get behind. 

Eddie licked his lips, a little nervous despite himself, “Y’know…we could. If we wanted.”

Steve shifted to look up at him, curious, “What do you mean?”

“We could get married. Maybe not in the traditional sense. But we could do something like it.”

“But it wouldn’t be…” Steve struggled to find the words, “Real?”

Eddie paused, thinking of every milk-toast bullshit straight marriage he had seen in Hawkins. Maybe it was an egotistical thought, but he knew that what he had with Steve was a thousand times stronger than ninety percent of marriages in that town. 

Fuck it, ninety percent of marriages in the country. 

He shrugged, a plan already forming in his head, “But we could get close though, couldn’t we? Think about it, A name change, some wills, medical power of attorney, we can get some legal stuff going here. Besides, who's to say that the Wheelers ‘love’ is more legitimate than ours?”

Steve was quiet, and was pulling away from him. For a second, Eddie thought he played the whole thing all wrong, that he was being too pushy with a stupid idea that  was about to be shot down to hell. 

But then Steve was leaning over him and switching on the bedside lamp. The panic that was brewing immediately disappeared, all from one look at his handsome beaming face, “Eddie Munson, are you asking me to marry you?”

An excerpt from the unpublished last chapter of this fic

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

By Your Side

Okay so this was *supposed* to be a funny "Agi gets high and is silly with Astarion" fic but it turned out a little bit more serious with added Whatever the Fuck Sorcery Agi does lol. Mostly SFW.

“How are you doing, darling?” Astarion cooed at his well, we’re not lovers in the traditional sense perhaps…companion? Yes, my companion! He looked at Agnetha with such fondness that if he saw it in anyone else, he’d scoff. But not with her and I. No, I am that fond of her. I love her so dearly.

After taking up Halsin on his offer to give her herbs to help her relax (my poor sweet deals with so much) and smoking them, she was currently staring at Astarion, her brown eyes wide but definitely glazed over. “I am fine and dandy, love. Everything is so nice, you know?”

“It is, sweetness, especially with you.” One of his pale hands tapped her thighs, and he smiled. She’s so soft and warm. Perfect. I always need to touch her…

“Ughhhhhhhh, you silly bitch, you don’t have to use your lines on me anymore. You got me!”

Did she just…?!? He laughed, squeezing her softness. “I’m a what, darling?”

She snorted. “Silly bitch. Because you are. But it’s okay obviously!!!” Good gods, she’s giving those puppy dog eyes. “Because I love you.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she placed a finger on his lips. “I know you won’t say it to me. I know. It’s okay. I know you will someday.”

“I…” He struggled to find the words, any word, to express both the relief of her reassurance and sadness. She deserves someone better than me. Someone who will tell her every moment of every day for the rest of her life that she is loved. Someone who will make love to her whenever she wishes. For as long as she desires. Someone who isn’t me. “You know I do, right? You know how I feel?” Wait, she’s high as fuck and I’m asking her about knowing how much I love her? Idiot.

Agnetha nodded, smiling happily. “’Course I do. You say it all the time without actually saying it.” She thought for a moment and then grinned. “Like when you always watch my ass in fights.” I won’t lie I do in fact do that, but I believe she meant watching her back. “You make sure I’m okay. You never let anything near me.” Not if I can help it, no. I will slaughter anyone who tries to hurt you. “You’re always trying to touch me in some way. Don’t think I don’t notice!” She just tapped her finger on her nose. Now she’s giggling like a mad woman. Agnetha undid her ponytail and twirled a few of her long, red curls between her fingers. “You brush my hair every day. You love to bathe with me. You patch up my clothes and even…you know…” Let them out as much as I’m able. We never find anything that truly fits her, poor dear. If we manage to kill Cazador, I’ll make her whatever she wants. Everything she wants. “Help me with them…I know you love me. It’s in everything you do for me. Though,” her gaze returned to his. “There is something I need to know, okay? Just one thing.”

“A-alright. What is it?” Every muscle in his body tensed, afraid of what she was going to ask.

“Will you be there when I’m old? I could understand if that’s not what you want—oh!”

Always. He hugged so hard and so quickly that she toppled backwards, her head hitting a pillow. “I will be by your side for as long as you’ll have me. I promise.” Resting his head on her ample chest, he felt her rubbing his hair.

She let out an adorable little gasp. “Forever then, Star?”

Always. “If that’s what you want, darling, then yes. Forever it is.” It won’t be forever though. She’s a human---her life will end in the blink of an eye. She’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone…alone…all alone… Blinking back tears, he nearly began to sob when she began to rub his back.

“It’s okay. I’ll think of something. I will. Just you wait and see, love…” She whispered softly, rocking them both gently. “It’s okay. I’ll do some magic shit and make it alright.”

He shook his head, a small laugh escaping him. Oh my darling girl, not everything can be solved with you thinking very hard and making magic happen. Though if anyone can, it’s you. “Will you now?”

“Yep.”

Well, that’s definitive.

***

Ten years after their marriage, Astarion was astounded to learn that his wife did indeed “do some magic shit” to make eternity less painful for him. With spells she composed herself (using that beautiful tempest swirling inside her and…feelings, I suppose), she managed to accomplish three things: 1) that her body would remain the same with every reincarnation; 2) that she and Astarion were soul bound to each other; and 3) that they would find each other after her twenty-first nameday. “Because of the binding, we’ll be drawn to each other, seek the other out.” She took one of his hands in hers, her brown eyes full of joy. “You won’t wait too long, love.”

He leaned to her, a hand cupping her cheek. As his lips touched hers (perfect every time), he smiled. “And how will you know that I’m your husband?”

Agnetha chuckled softly. “Just trust me that I’ll know. It’s all up here,” she tapped her head. “And here.” She then tapped her chest over her heart. “After all, I haven’t failed you yet, my naughty little bat.”

Astarion kissed her again, this time with a little more passion, hands sneaking around her much thicker and more delicious waist. “The most popular tailor shop in Baldur’s Gate and seven children. I’d say you haven’t failed me yet, no.” He teased. His fangs scraped lightly over her lips, which never fails to turn her on. “Not that you could anyways, dear.”

She wrinkled her nose and giggled. “Flatterer.” The human placed an affectionate kiss on his nose and cupped his face. “Now we’ll be together forever. Just not in the way that either of us imagined.”

He knew what she meant. The ritual. I had it all planned, you see. I’d complete the ritual, become the Vampire Ascendant, and convince Agi to let me make her into a vampire spawn. There---problem solved. What a fool I was! I would not trade our lives together and the lives we created for anything. “But it is so delightfully us, isn’t it? Full of love and adoration and only slightly mad.”

“Only slightly.” She teased, pressing several kisses to his lips. Gods, I cannot get enough of her. Not now. Not ever. “My mad husband who wants a dozen little dhampirs…”

Two at play at this game, madam. He clicked his tongue as one of the hands on her waist squeezed. “My equally mad wife who wants a dozen little dhampirs and lets me spoil her rotten—”

“Daddy? Mummy?”

Someone didn’t lock the door, Agi.

With one last peck, Agnetha looked at the toddler in their doorway. Pale ginger curls framed the boy’s round face, and ruby eyes glanced between his parents. “What’s the matter, my little love?” She beckoned him over, and he scurried to his mother and soon settled in her arms. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He nodded. “Scary…”

“My poor little Sylven! You can stay with us tonight, darling.” Astarion cooed as he ruffled his son’s hair. The toddler snuggled against his mother, a sight that before his capture by the mindflayers would have disgusted him. But not anymore. Not when I have them. Emilia, Ariane, Sophie, Nessa, Helene, Thora, and Sylven.

And my darling girl.

Before long, the small boy fell asleep cuddled against his mother while his adoring father rubbed circles into his back. “Did I tell what happened earlier?”

He rolled his eyes. “Sweetness, that could be anything.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Fine. Anyways, I asked Sylven when he was playing with the blocks what he wanted to be when he grew up.”

“The suspense is killing me, dear.” Astarion deadpanned, kissing Sylven’s curls.

The look in her eyes turned dreamy. “Daddy. He said Daddy. He wants to be you, love. That was the sweetest damn thing.” She turned her head to face him. “And you thought he wouldn’t love you.” His wife teased, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.

The second we saw that he was a boy I panicked. With the girls it’s so easy for me. I make them the prettiest outfits in Baldur’s Gate, make matching ones for their favorite dolls…have so many tea parties where we gossip like spinster aunts. But a boy. The girls are learning archery so he can too, I suppose. What was I to do with him? I was terrified. And as always, my infinitely wiser wife was correct: “Just go with the flow and listen to him.” Going with the flow has turned out to be excellent advice because he is glued to me, especially when we’re in the shop. He wants to watch me work and pretend he’s sewing too. My little boy wants to be…me. Me. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded before giving her another kiss. “Happy to be proven wrong, darling.”

“I see! Well, I’ll note that for future reference.” She noted rather too smugly. Has she been learning this from me? Because I’m so flattered, dearest. For the next several minutes, they settled in a comfortable if exceedingly sleepy silence. Agnetha’s breathing became slower and deeper, and her eyes fluttered open and closed.

“Silly goose. Go to sleep.” Astarion chided his wife gently, now laying on his side. Rest. You need rest. Between the children, the shop, and ensuring I’m fed every day, you need to rest, darling. “Don’t stay awake for me. I’ll trance in a while.”

A small smile tugged on her pretty lips. “Forever…it isn’t what either of us thought but…we’ll be together…forever…” Eyes full of sleep, she held Sylven closer to her. “Love you, my shining star…”

“As I love you, my darling girl. Have the sweetest dreams for us…”

Always.

Forever.

[moralina]

Family reunion | Eddie Munson

Summary: Eddie atends your annual family gathering, and for no ones surprise, he fits right in.

A/N: am i allowed to post a christmas fic a month after christmas? anyway trying to write again for eddie. not sure if i really captured his personality. anyway last time i wrote for him it was a flop, hope this is better

warnings: none, just fluff and reader's family loving eddie. Fem!reader. My english (it's been a while since ive done anything in english).

There was a light breeze flowing around you, coming from the slightly open window to your left. The cold weather of December made itself present in every joint of your body, making it impossible for you to work on your current task.

The sound of the oven clicking brought you back to your senses, your eyes moving from your frozen hands to the - hopefully -  appetizing lasagna, ready to be set on the table and enjoyed by your whole family.

As clockwork, you heard a weak knock at your front door, a smile making itself present on your features as you knew exactly who was at the door.

"I got it!" you screamed at whoever was there to listen - your family was all in the living room enjoying the nice warmth of the fireplace while you were left to freeze in the kitchen.

There was a tradition done every year one week before Christmas. Every member of your family would get together at someone's house, a game would take place, and the loser was assigned to the main course of the night in the following year. It would be a weekend event, and it was just a big excuse for everyone to see each other. Every year, you'd be excited for this one weekend, happy to taste every food on the table and every dessert your body would allow you to eat.

This year, though, you wanted to jump inside the oven and stay there with the lasagna. It was too cold, and you were extremely tired from all the events of the previous week.

One of your colleagues at work chose to quit in one of the most tumultuous weeks of the month so far. You were dreading the days before Christmas, already knowing people would go on a last-hour shopping spree. Every single thing that needed to be done at the store was thrown your way.

"Welcome to my humble abode, young gentleman." You bowed down after opening the door. As you expected, Eddie was standing - rather awkwardly - on the front steps of your house. He looked terrified - and cute, as always.

"Hi, baby. Hi." His voice soft, as if he was scared to speak any louder.

"Where's my kiss?" you asked after a long, silent 30 seconds of just staring at each other. Your voice calm, and smile gentle, trying to give him as much comfort as you could.

"Sorry." He mumbled, a breathy chuckle left his lips before he closed the distance between the two of you. "So?" he asked, arms open while he did a little dance to show off his clothes, "how do I look?"

"Pretty." You kissed his nose, "like you always do, Eds." Your hand grabbed his, pushing him closer to you. Before closing the door, your eyes traveled to the dark sky above you; heavy gray clouds adorned its splendor. "I think it's going to snow." You mumbled more to yourself, but Eddie heard you. With a shine to his eyes and hands going around your figure, he rested his chin on your shoulder before whispering in your ear.

"You do? Maybe we can build a snowman later."

You sighed, your hot breath creating clouds when coming into contact with the chilling weather. Despite his chattering teeth - due to the night’s cool temperature cutting through his clothes, - his heart was warm against his chest. Never in a million years did Eddie Munson think he'd feel so... domestic with someone. So safe and belonging.

"Oh my god, Y/n. Let the boy inside, he's freezing!" your aunt urged you both inside "c'mon honey, we have some hot chocolate waiting for you." She ended her sentence by dragging Eddie to the living room, his eyes wide. Before disappearing into the corner, he looked your way, and you sent him a teasing smirk. You could see his face relax a little, but his big brown eyes were still as wide, as if they were gonna pop out of their sockets. You couldn’t help the amused chuckle that left your mouth.

"Are you coming to our Easter treasure hunt, honey?" You could hear your aunt ask him as you approached the living room, her voice so sweet and tender. Eddie had never felt so welcomed before, especially by adults, - they usually considered him a bad influence on their kids - and these people barely knew him and still, were treating him as a part of their family.

it all felt so weird but so good at the same time.

"um" he didn't really know what to say. You haven’t invited him, and he didn’t want to intrude on your family’s activities. Being here tonight already felt like too much, so in his head, it was better not to overstep. He didn’t want to ruin everything with you by being too clingy. He settled with "I’m not sure." and a shake of his shoulders.

"Oh, don't be silly!" she rolled her eyes at him and waved her hand. "You're definitely invited; maybe with your help, Y/n will be able to win."

"Hey!" you exclaimed, hand on your heart, "I won in ‘82."

"Yes, indeed." she slowly nodded her head. You knew she had more to say. "Because you cheated."

"I didn't cheat!"

"oh! as if i wouldn’t know. You’re the worst liar in the family!" you huffed and crossed your arms in front of your chest like a grumpy child. Eddie could see the small twitch of your lips, definitely holding a smirk back. At that, he had to laugh, and it was quite loud, making everyone turn their attention from you to him. He coughed, trying to hide it as if no one had just heard him.

"Well," she spoke again, "if y/n thinks she’s too good for a partner on the hunt, you can be mine." she stated simply.

"you’d love that wouldn’t you?" you huffed a laugh.

Before sitting down, you glanced at Eddie. His lips turned upward, and he eyed every member of your family with admiration and curiosity. You nodded towards the comfy sofa, and after gripping his hand, you pushed him down to sit with you.

"Sorry for her, she’s a lot sometimes." you whispered to him after your family settled back into their previous conversation.

"Are you kidding me? She's great!" he exclaimed, bright, dark eyes looking at you adoringly.

Like you knew he would, Eddie fitted just perfectly with your family, and after his initial shyness went away, he was able to be himself, his dramatic way of storytelling amusing your relatives, who listened intently to him while he told them about the time you almost hit an old lady while he tried to teach you how to drive.

It was not a funny story to you

"That did not happen like that."

"it definitely did!"

"I’m sure Eddie is telling the truth." your aunt spoke again, making you glare at her while the whole family nodded their heads in agreement. Your younger cousins holding their laughs, but failing miserably.

"you’re all traitors!" you exclaimed, making Tyler, an 8-year-old little devil, smirk and say

"You know, Eddie, i like you" he squinted at you and nodded his head, as if satisfied with his conclusion, "maybe we can trade you for him."

"ha ha, very funny." You stuck your tongue out at him, but before he could respond, your eyes widened, and you stood up abruptly, "Oh my god, the lasagna!" your voice faded as you made your run to the kitchen.

"she’ll definitely not be in charge of the dinner next year."

"Remember me again," your aunt sighed, "why did we let the kid in charge this year?"

A/n: Yeah, idk 😭😭😭

If you enjoyed please consider leaving a like and rebloging, it helps a lot 🤍🤍

[prickly-paprikash]

I know it's a long-shot but I think there should be one final book series for Percy Jackson after Nico and Will. A trilogy.

From the beginning, after every Riordan series, the tone gradually shifts to something more mature. Or at the very least, slightly angrier and cynical. As Percy grows up, the world around him just grows more oppressive. The mistakes of the gods, piling up and chipping away at Percy's already broken mental fortitude—I genuinely believe that if Rick Riordan decided to push Percy just that bit further, we could get a fitting end not just for the Riordan series as a whole, but a proper end for Greco-Roman Mythology itself within the plot.

It's become obvious that Percy has grown to be just like Luke Castellan, with the only difference being Percy's support group in Annabeth, Sally, Estelle, Grover, Rachel and the remaining Seven. But Percy is every bit as angry and skeptical of the Olympians as Luke was at that age, but now that rage resides in a young man who's made several Olympians, both major and minor, shit themselves. And I'm not trying to make an edgy Percy.

But a progression that just seems natural. We see a boy, barely a teenager, who already possesses an anger that is hard to process. A boy ready to kill his abusive step-father for his mom. A boy, who at the age of twelve, struck fear in the War God himself. And those anger issues have not gotten better—Percy's just become more and more tired. It's no secret that Percy Jackson, while not outright looking for it, would not mind dying one bit. He's lost so many people. Believes he's failed many more.

We can pinpoint the exact source of Percy's problems, and the problems of the rest of the Demigods, both Greek and Roman.

I want the end of this series as a proper Break the Cycle story. Where Percy and the others just snap—dead demigods, dead families, scorched homes. Enough is enough. That maybe Luke was right—the problem was that he was throwing one authority away to put in place a worse alternative of authority.

This theme also fits in our current decade. Gen Z's have grown up with more distrust in authority than most before them. Where the institutions 'created to protect' them has failed in every conceivable manner. And this isn't just an American Gen Z thing.

All around the world, thanks in-part to social media, more teenagers and young adults have grown furious and exhausted of the economy and governance. Refusing to work. Leaving behind tradition. Abandoning their so called duties to their countries. More children comfortable opening up about their sexuality and orientation, and their friends and families (the lucky ones at least) willing to commit violence to protect their identities.

Percy could do what that coward Rowling could never do with Harry. Like Katniss, who actually fights for a change in the status quo.

With the trend of a lot of games and media nowadays, it'd make perfect sense.

Percy Jackson should kill the Olympian Gods. But without taking their place—let their thrones decay and their power diminish. For every friend Percy's ever lost.

Jason. Zoe. Bianca. Charles. Silena. Bob.

He has it in him. The cruelty he buries deep inside was exposed in Tartarus and in a final series, it could come to a head. He's manipulative. Vengeful. Monstrous. Willing to burn the world for his friends and family.

Why does that have to be the mortal world? Why not let Olympus burn in the name of those Percy loves?

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 10th of March 2024

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 10th of March, 2024

Question: What does King Charles think of the Commonwealth of Nations?

Interpretation: He sees it as something to which he is chained and he would like to be free of it

Card One: The King of Pentacles

This is the card for the sign of Taurus. Here it is coming across as the late Queen, who was a sun sign Taurus.

The energy of this card is of tradition and legacy. The King is very aware that the Commonwealth of Nations was formed under the guidance of his mother, and that is was something that she viewed as important and something into which she put a fair bit of her time and energy, especially in the beginning. The energy is of the King seeing his role in the Commonwealth as carrying on his mother's legacy and of following in her footsteps.

Card Two: The Queen of Pentacles

We've had the King, now we have the Queen. This is King Charles in his role as successor to Queen Elizabeth - she was the first, the King, and he is the second, the Queen to her King.

The energy of this card tells me two things: First, the King feels that he is overshone by his mother. He feels that he is in her shadow and that he is failing to follow in her footsteps (this is in respect to his position as the Head of the Commonwealth of Nations).

Second, that the King sees his role as a maternal one, as the Queen of Pentacles is the mother who provides for her children in practical ways. He sees his role as being caring and nurturing as well as providing business opportunities for the leaders of the Commonwealth countries. The energy is a bit paternalistic, to be honest - an energy of 'I can't leave these countries alone as they will just fight and get into trouble, I have to stay and take care of them', like a mother intervening in the squabbles of her children.

There is a sense of duty here - doing the role out of duty to his mother's legacy, not out of a great passion for the role itself. That being said, the suit of Pentacles is about status and material things, and I feel that King Charles does very much enjoy the status of being Head of the Commonwealth of Nations.

Card Three: The Eight of Cups

This is a card of walking away from something. Cups is the suit of emotions, and here we have the King's current feelings about the Commonwealth of Nations. He does not want to be there. He wants to walk away from it all. This may have been different in the past and it may change in the future, but right now he does not want to be involved with the Commonwealth of Nations. He wants to walk away and leave it all behind him.

The picture on this card shows Psyche descending into the Underworld, the place of death. I think that if the Commonwealth of Nations changed into another form and the current form died, the King would feel nothing but relief at giving up his position and his role, albeit with a pang or two for the lost status.

Underlying Energy: The Devil

This is a card of addiction. but that is not the energy coming through here. The energy of this card is one of dependency and powerlessness. It tells me that King Charles feels like one of the figures chained to the god Pan on the card. He feels like the Commonwealth of Nations is dependent upon him, and because of his mother's legacy he is powerless to leave, but it is a huge millstone around his neck and he would like nothing better than to shuck it off and walk away, free (the energy of the Devil in reverse).

Conclusion:

King Charles views the Commonwealth of Nations as part of the legacy of his mother. He likes the status of his role as Head of the Commonwealth, but he is serving in that role mainly out of duty. He feels like or is worried that he can't put his own stamp on the role, that he will be forever overshadowed by his mother and he will never be able to live up to her presence and actions.

The Commonwealth of Nations currently feels like a huge burden ot King Charles. He sees it as a group of squabbling children that he has to look after and nurture and help with business opportunities, because they wouldn't survive without him. He does not like his role and nothing would make him happier than to be able to walk away and be free of it all.

Notes

I find The King's current emotions to be very erratic, which I am putting down to his cancer treatment. It would not surprise me at all if the I read on this in a week or a month and got a totally different emotional attitude to the Commonwealth to the current "I want to walk away and leave it all behind me, it is such a burden" energy that came through this reading.

I drew cards on this question a few times, and the two cards that consistently came up no matter how long I shuffled were the Queen of Pentacles and the Eight of Cups, with the same energy as in the above reading.

[facingthenorthwind]

So while reading Halo Effect, I naturally became obsessed with the one (1) Jewish character who turns up twice, one as a brief mention and one to write a single letter. Because I am extremely normal, I am writing a fic about him. Technically I've only written the first half (the second half is Peter and Thomas meeting up with him), but it's self-contained. It's been written for literal years, so I figure I should at least post it on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it, @alex51324!! (Also I haven't Yiddishised the Hebrew yet because I only know the standard pronunciation but I'm going to get someone to do it before I post it on AO3.) Hopefully this is comprehensible to non-Jews?? Please let me know if not.

Is it breaking a mitzvah if I say mourner's kaddish for someone who might not be mourned otherwise without a minyan? At most, there's a Green who has a J on his identity disc on one of the wards, but he's currently on so much morphine I don't think he'd remember the words, Issac wrote to his father once he finally got back to his unit. Honestly, he didn't much care what his father wrote back — if God didn't like him saying kaddish for Fitz, God could come down here and tell him what alternative he had. He asked his father to send a candle so he could light it for Fitz, but crossed it out and asked him for ten candles. Fitz may have been the first, but he sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

The news of Fitz’s death had preceded Issac’s return, but nobody had touched Fitz’s belongings yet. Cruelly, the most essential things, the things that meant most to him, had gone down with him, but Rouse eventually laid out everything that was in Fitz’s rucksack so they could decide what they should send back to his family — well, his brother. Fitz had said he didn’t have any other family left. 

They decided they’d split his cigarettes between them — Scogs tried to crack a joke about how Fitz had always been so free with his cigarettes it was almost like he wasn’t gone, but he trailed off, and no one laughed. His large collection of letters went in his rucksack, of course (he seemed to get them constantly, all from different people; sometimes he had even acted as some kind of go-between, passing on information from one letter-writer to another, as if they couldn’t just write to each other themselves). The scarf he’d worn every day from Christmas until mid-April, when even he couldn’t deny it was too hot, went in as well — Issac had always thought privately that it was fairly ugly, but then again, if he tried to knit a scarf it would probably turn out much the same. 

Dawson got Fitz’s copy of Prester John out of his own pack and removed his bookmark before handing it over to Rouse. “He’s made some little notes in it,” he said. “Nothing all that interesting yet as I can see, but it doesn’t feel right to keep it.”

Rouse packed it and Scogs didn’t mention that he had been next in line to read it. One of them could write home to get another copy, probably. Issac was sure he could — he had already received several yellowbacks which he’d left in the break room once everyone had read them so they could find a new home. Fitz’s sewing kit, playing cards and the various other things he’d been sent went on top and by the time they were done there was an all-too-noticeable hole where Fitz had once slept. 

It was only then that Issac noticed Rouse had gained corporal’s stripes. It made sense — Fitz needed replacing and Rouse was an obvious choice, being the smartest of the lot of them. He congratulated him, but Rouse wasn’t offended that he didn’t quite hit the right tone and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Rouse’s didn’t, either.

When he arrived at the wards for his next shift, Captain Russell clapped him on the shoulder and gave him an extra ration of brandy. And then they just had to get on with it.

------

Fitz’s brother never replied to the letter he sent, so Issac kept saying kaddish for him past the thirty days that were traditional. He knew there were lots of reasons he might not have written — maybe it got lost, or he didn’t want to hear from Issac, or any number of perfectly innocent explanations, but as Issac watched men die day after day he couldn’t stop thinking about how if Fitz’s brother was dead, there was no one to remember Fitz as family. 

He said it for eleven months, as he would for a brother — four months longer than he’d known him. About six months in, Rouse wrote to him saying that he’d been stationed with Fitz’s brother at a CCS. He was a corporal, apparently, and Rouse said he reminded him of Fitz — that they said some of the same things, though in temperament they were pretty different. The war dragged on.

He kept a list of people in his units who died as he transferred from place to place, but it quickly became clear that he couldn't light a candle for each of them. The list just kept going, a litany of names followed by the date of their death in the Gregorian and Hebrew calendars. Jerry Scoggins, 30 September 1915/22 Tishrei 5676. Billy Dawson, 2 October 1915/25 Tishrei 5676. Fred Keighery, 4 February 1916/30 Shevat 5676... It felt like keeping track of their yahrzeits was more of a motivation to note the Hebrew date than keeping the holidays, since it wasn’t like he could, not really. Even as he tried to pray every day for whatever service he had free, the words of the festival services just made him homesick, and he didn’t have any of the things you should have: matzah or his mother’s blintzes or a lulav. 

He wrote to Moishe about studying the RAMC periodicals at Shavuot instead of Torah; it felt... oddly fitting. He knew, logically, that this war was man's fault and God didn't have anything to do with it, but that didn't provide any comfort when he was on death watch, sitting beside a man who gasped as he drowned on dry land. If the only control he had in this hell was giving two fingers to God, then he was going to take it. 

His father sent him a machzor so he could pray Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, but he got to Unetaneh Tokef and didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed when someone found him crying ten minutes later. Reciting the ways people would die in the coming year — who by water, who by fire, who by sword and who by wild beast — felt absurd when he could list just as many from who was on the wards. Who by phosgene, who by sepsis, who by bullets? And for the machzor to claim that repentance, prayer and righteousness averted the severity of the decree — that sure hadn’t fucking worked for the soldiers getting killed. It hadn’t worked for Fitz or Scoggins or Keighery or— 

By the end of 1917 he could no longer go over the top, having lost his hearing in his left ear from a shell exploding too close. The letters he received detailing how his nephew he’d never met could talk in whole sentences now and how Mr Rabinowitz had fallen and broken his leg felt like missives from a world he would never return to again; how could he, when all he knew was the war?

The Armistice meant the supply of wounded slowed, but he didn’t go home — he was stationed at a general hospital, so there were still plenty of cases coming through. Even when they offered to send him home because he wasn’t regular army and they were well aware that the other corps had mostly got the wartime recruits out… he knew it was cowardly, but he accepted the offer to stay on until the RAMC left France. He couldn’t picture how he was going to fit back into the Leylands, and perhaps if he put it off long enough he’d finally work it out.

He did not.

When he finally got off the train at Leeds, it felt a little like a fairytale — he kept being shocked that he could recognise the buildings as the train came in, and it sounded the same as it had before the war. The back of his throat began to ache, though he wasn’t sure why, but before he could focus on that his mother was calling his name and hugging him. Had she been there the whole time? She gave him a kiss on the cheek and led him to everyone else — there was Shoshie, who grinned at him and then prompted the child hiding behind her legs to greet his Feter Itzik. While the nephew he’d never met hid his face in her skirt, his father embraced him with a decidedly gruff, “Son.”

And at last there was Moishe, his smile twisted by the scarring on his face. He looked like he understood the slight bewilderment that must have shown on his face. “Glad they let you go eventually,” he said, slapping him on the back. He spoke into his right ear, probably noticing that Issac had turned so he could hear the people in front of him more clearly with it. 

“Yeah,” Issac said, not trusting himself to say anything else lest he start crying. 

“See, he’s not scary, Dovid,” Shoshie said, having coaxed his nephew out in front of her. “Say hello.”

“Hello Feter,” he said at last. “Why don’t you have a face like Feter Moishe?”

“Dovid!” Shoshie said.

Moishe shot Issac a grin. For the first time in too long, Issac laughed.