#danya writes

[danyaselmar]

This is my gift for @carlosoliveiraa for the Baldur’s Gate 3 exchange organized by her and @zevlor <3

Serenade for Three

Rating: T; no warnings (teeny-tiny bit suggestive if you squint) <1k

Her fingers expertly caressed the strings of the lute. The trusted instrument vibrated in her arms, wooden body humming in harmony with the bard’s angelic voice. 

Amity Brightwater sat comfortably on a tree trunk, enfolded by the warmth radiating off of the campfire and illuminated by its guttering glowing light. Her hair swayed in the soft evening breeze. As if the loose strands were dancing along with the tunes. 

The song she had chosen for tonight held more meaning than she pretended to know. A deeper message hidden from the grasp of her tadpole-ridden mind but just within reach of her aching soul which yearned infinitely strong to proclaim proudly how she felt. 

Her tail flicked beside her like a metronome while she sang. 

"Moonlight gently lay your might,

down on my oh bleeding heart.

Darkness will be forced away,

until we meet and dance again." 

Shadowheart caught herself tapping with her foot to the rhythm of the song. The tender melody brought her comfort and managed to ease away most traces of the bitter reality. It felt as if all her worries were a million miles away, buried on a different plane. Here, in this exact moment, she didn’t need to worry about tadpoles or the Absolute. She felt safe. And warm. Within her usually wintry heart something stirred. Stronger than ever before.

Above her the moon smiled behind a gossamer veil of clouds, silver light dripping through the carefully woven cover, pouring down chastely on the intimate moment shared between the two companions like the impalpable tears of the Dark Lady herself. 

Shadowheart allowed her mind to recall the other fateful night where wine, calmness and kisses were shared under the ever loving and undiscriminating gaze of the firmament. A memory, albeit still fresh, she cherished deeply like every fragment of her splintered remembrance. And despite the pain she felt piercing through the scar on her hand she refused to suffocate the small flame that kindled in the very center of her body. For it provided more and more warmth every day. A tiny glimmer of hope that carefully snuck around the guardians of her predetermined destiny, providing an equally tiny insight on a path she never considered before. 

A path of companionship opened up by the tiefling bard whose music always managed to touch her in the right place. 

Not far from the campfire another elven creature was haunted by similar trouble. In his tent Halsin was still lying awake on his bedroll. Too many thoughts kept him from finding much needed rest. The grove was saved thanks to the effort and bravery of the fierce leader of the group of misadventurers. Amity. The bard had impressed him on multiple occasions. Mostly through her compassion for her kin. The refugees from Elturel. 

Through the opening of his tent he could see the night sky above camp. Cloudy yet auspicious.

Besides the chirping of crickets there was another pleasant sound being carried into his tent. The voice of his savior accompanied by a melodically played lute.

"Oaks and bears protect my love,

from harm beyond the realm of nature.

Fools will try and try again,

to hold the hands of beasts within."

He rose upwards to lean on his elbows and to shoot a quick glance in the direction of the words that permeated his entire being like his druidic magic. And of course, his eyes found her form immediately, drawn to her like bees were drawn to fragrant blossoms. The bold words made his heart flutter.

Halsin envied the moon for she could always caress the bard’s skin without consequences. 

He longed to feel the softness of her chest pressed against his. He longed to feel the rough ridges where her tail met her lower back against his lips. He caught himself instinctively seeking out skin contact whenever possible. And even if it was just the mere brush of her, from years of playing the lute, calloused fingertips when she handed him a bowl of stew. He cherished every second.

Halsin envied the wind for he could always kiss her cheeks without consequences. Whenever Amity returned to camp with prominent remnants of the latest battles still on her face he wished nothing more than to wash the blood and grime off her skin, to clean her wounds and to press little kisses on the small cuts littering her cheeks. But this privilege was not yet his.

And Halsin envied Shadowheart for she could always be closest to her without consequences.

Or so it seemed.

He had observed the two women interacting. And he knew they were close. Of course he had noticed them slipping away from camp the night they celebrated their victory. And he still felt the slight sting in his heart when he remembered rejecting Amity’s sweet advances during the party.

But he had also noticed the stolen glances directed at him. The bard’s gaze would linger on him often. And whenever he saw that Shadowheart noticed as well, he could never find any traces of jealousy in her eyes. Only soft fondness directed also at him.

Halsin hoped that perhaps when the shadow curse was lifted he might be able to find time for himself again. And that perhaps the two women would welcome him with open arms. 

"A bard alone with just her song,

saw twice the hurt each night to come.

One dawn will draw bring peace within,

sweet slumber in the arms of three."

Amity poured her soul into the song hoping that the only two recipients who truly mattered would hear her. Hear her gentle proclamation of affection and yearning for them both.

[jouyato]

I have not finished the game yet (a single route takes so long!!!!) but I have brainworms abt these two so have some good old AU fanart

[blood-bones-nerves]

Liza Sivakova, Oil Study, 2020

[sissytobitch10seconds]

The Mare and The Stallion

Fandom: Grishaverse: The Grisha Trilogy and Shadow and Bone (TV) Summary: Genya still remembers those moments after she ran from the Darkling. They haunt her like a plague, screaming and tearing at her until she feels as though she might dissolve. David is always there with a solution, to pick her up and put her back together when she cannot. Warnings: Nightmares, PTSD, Genya's backstory, and mentions of war Word Count: 1,586 Ship(s): Genya Safin/David Kostyk

Archive link!

She whimpered as the memory overtook her dream, removing the pleasant strangeness of the unconscious mind with something that she tried to keep as far away from her as she could. There were times that Genya thought that if she just faced all of her memories, then she would be able to really process them and move on with her life in the way that she knew she deserved. Every time that she actually tried to test that theory, she once again felt like she was drowning in an abyss.

Before anything could progress further than it already had, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She was woken from her slumber with two brisk shakes. Her eyes flew open and she sat ramrod straight in the bed, prepared to fight off whoever had once again broken into her chambers.

It was only then that her mind caught up with her and she realized that she was in the room that she shared with her partner, and not the rooms that she had been given when she became a serving girl for the entire royal family instead of a gem in the queen’s crown. “What’s going on?” she mumbled, worried that something had happened with the students. They hadn’t been at war for a good long while, but that wasn’t the kind of thing that left a person.

“Nothing is wrong with the students, or the palace, or Nikolai. It’s just…” her awkward, sweet David paused and stared down at his hands. She had seen those hands trip and fumble over wedding rings, create the most wonderful inventions of their day and age, and teach younglings how to use their gift. His hands were his life and in many ways, they were hers as well. He tilted his dark brown doe eyes up at her and then finished, “You were having a nightmare.”

“Did I wake you?” she asked, her voice once again breathy and soft. She leaned back on the bed as her hand searched for his knee. She wasn’t going to be able to have his body pressed against her or his lips on hers, not after the dream that she had just had, but she still wanted him close.

David shifted on the bed so that he was laying beside her and his calloused palm was pressed flush to hers. “You did, but that’s okay. I don’t like it when I wake up and you’ve already been up for hours.”

“We have meetings in the morning, we should both try and get some rest. It’s not like nightmares are something abnormal for either of us,” she murmured. She wished that she had been able to change that, that she could reach with her talented fingers down into their minds and smoothe out the imperfections on their very brains. That was, unfortunately, beyond even her.

He let out an unsure noise and then scooted towards the edge of the bed. Genya sat up and tucked both of her legs underneath her body as she watched him. He shed the pants that he slept in and then dressed in the peasant roughspun he always donned underneath his kefta, despite it not being a requirement anymore. “What are you doing?” she asked as he fumbled with the latch of his belt in the dark of the night.

“Oh, oh right,” he nodded. “I was just thinking. You had a nightmare about when we had to run away from the Darkling, right?” he asked.

She could feel the blood seeping from her cheeks and leaving her as pale as the cream robes she had been forced into her entire adolescence. “Yes,” she breathed. She knew that she had been speaking in her sleep or he had somehow had the same dream as her, that was the only way that he would know what she had been thinking of.

“I was thinking of something that might help us both feel better. It always makes me feel better, at least,” he explained with a shrug.

She looked at him for a moment longer as she tried to figure out what was going on in that captivating brain of his. She had fallen in love with him for his mind, the wonderful things that he could create, first. He wasn’t what she was used to looking at since she worked with highly-curated nobles and he had barely spoken a word to her the first several months she had known him.

Genya let out a small sigh and then shimmied her way over to the edge of the bed the same way that he had. She removed her chemise and left it with his sleep clothes before she found one of her simpler gowns and pulled it on easily. She then turned to him and motioned for David to show her what he had been speaking of.

They broke out into the hall, their hands pressed against each other like they always were when they weren’t teaching or on other official business. The halls of the palace were abnormally silent. The only noise that they could pick up on was the whispers stolen from teenagers getting up to no good. They remembered wanting to do that when they were that age, so neither of them broke it up or said anything.

Genya let a small breath escape her mouth when they stepped through the gardens and she saw where they were headed. “David,” she whispered, unsure that she was going to like where it was all going.

“Just trust me, okay?” he asked. “I promise that it has a very high likelihood of making you feel better.”

That, by itself, had already made her feel more like herself than anything had in a good long while. She loved David in the way that someone did when they knew that their soul meant was specifically for one other person. She had loved others and she was sure that she would continue to love others as their life continued, but she loved him in the here and now.

They walked through the doors of the stable and then he trailed towards the end. “You’ve ridden before?” he asked as he picked a saddle up from where the hands had placed them when they had turned in for the night.

“I have,” she nodded. “I may not have trained with the other Grisha, but the queen wanted me to know how to ride so I could be beside her when she and Vasilly went out,” she explained. It hurt to bring back the memories of when she was loved like a daughter instead of scorned like a demon or cherished like a tool. She wanted to be able to feel like that again someday, but she knew that it was never going to happen. That kind of thing wasn’t reserved for girls like her.

David handed her the saddle and nodded his head towards a mare with beautiful brown dappling over her rump and an auburn main. “Are we going to get in trouble for this?” she wondered.

“Who would get us in trouble for it? We’re the bosses now,” he explained, ducking his head as he walked over to his own stallion. The horse was known amongst their students for being hard to ride if you were too cocky and often got used as a hazing tool to the newcomers.

She didn’t mention that, assuming that he knew what he was doing. He was a grown man and he led an entire school of teaching along with being one of the only surviving members of the Sun Summoner’s army, after all. They both saddled their steads and then led them from the stable so that they were standing out on the open road.

David grasped the reigns of his horse and then slung himself into place before he waited for Genya to do the same. She handed him the reigns of her own stead and then buttoned her skirt so that it was shaped into pants, which would allow her a much more comfortable ride into the wilderness. “Do you have a plan for where we’re going?” she asked once she was sitting atop her mare.

“I think we need to just run. No place, no destination, no time,” he explained with a shrug. She opened her mouth to ask him what he really meant by that but he didn’t stick around to hear her. He spurred his stallion forward and began to disappear into the night. She laughed when she noticed that his hair had fallen into his face because he hadn’t styled it when he had woken up.

Genya spurred her own horse into action and soon she had caught up with him. Both of their steads seemed to be happy to run wild in the night with riders that weren’t directing or slowing them. They cantered all the way through the vast fields where the group training took place during the day and then darted through the beginnings of the woods bordering the Little Palace. When they came across a brook, both of the horses stopped so that they could drink.

Genya only then noticed that her heart was thrumming with excitement, her nose and ears were nipped with cold, and her entire body was vibrating. She removed herself from the saddle at the same time as David before she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like mad. “I’m so lucky to have you. Thank you, David.”

[swamp-chicken]

tbh sometimes etho is big spoon but he tends to use his position for Evil (tickling the back of bdubs' neck, just generally annoying the hell out of him) while bdubs Cuddles simply for the sake of Cuddling

[rekant-2]

@jupiter3

"i saw one of your movies."

not a movie with her in it. just a horror movie, which he considers to be basically the same thing.

"i didn't really understand it."

[toshkakoshka]

recall

There’s a shock in her system that permanently stiffens her body. 

It leaves her eye wide, bottom lip quivering as the breathing escaping her mouth was turning shallow. She recalls hands pressed together, gold crossed signs and voices falling over each other. She was looking into the sky, the same way praying fingers would, trying to avoid His eyes despite being gifted with His sight. He was looking back into her, waiting for their visions to cross paths once more, because it will, because it was going to. Fire, iron and weak breaths fill her senses harshly, making her shut away the tears in her eyes, making her sob, making her agonize even further. 

“Why?” She asks, chest so riddled with holes that she wheezed it out. 

“You know why.” He answers. 

Hands pressed together. Gold crossed signs. Fallen voices that overlapped onto one another. To whom it may have concerned, she wondered if she could see him if she looked far enough into the sky. She knew one thing when it came to these rituals; the words they passed on were meant to be secrets sworn by the people, words of relief, words of pleasure, words of the blessed, thanking everyday for a gift that couldn’t be beyond that. 

Routine.

Curiosity. 

Confusion. 

That was her childhood. From the day she was born, to the bellowing screams that echoed throughout time and space, an eye that took over a quarter of her skull and a pair of wings on her head, childhood filled with dilapidated roofs, wide eyed stares, and the dark— she was made to be a gift among men. 

“The outside world isn’t a place meant for someone like you.” Her mother said, reaching to scratch under the surface of her wings before looking to the little altar they made in the corner of the room. God had a woman who watched them all the time, that part was true. She watched everything that happened in that house, bared witness to a birth of what they thought was a monster to seeing her nearly get killed. Mother Mary had a veil on her head, and when they would take their daughter out to the village she would have a veil over her face too. “It will protect you from the other angels,” her father said, “don’t let them bring you back to heaven.” 

Don’t let them bring you back to heaven. 

She didn’t really know what that meant— for it to be good, bad, or more than that, but that phrase stuck to her as they prayed to the shrines where he in the heavens heard from the farthest away. She knew what heaven was— what angels were, what the cost of going against the Lord meant, but it didn’t touch her like it did her family, the people around her. It was simply as natural as a breath, to be able to speak of someone so highly like this. They did this with the king, and they did this with her. 

She wondered if he had a face, just like the rest of them would. 

She had a talent with the sword. With every single vantage point at her disposal, her eye would catch the weak point of her opponent with ease and dig her blade straight to where she needed it— past the important parts, in order to keep the men alive. She learned how to flap her wings and take herself high enough to plunge down with a strength that terrified her men to-be. Wings spread, eye wide open, she saw the weaknesses and strengths of every opponent and soon, the palace they trained in. Prayers became training, hiding became showing off. She would fly high into the sky to scope out the location for their next raid and helped the army embrace the land in order to win over hundreds of times.

Nobody really took interest in her the same way she wasn’t interested in them. It wasn’t her who established the connections for everybody to work with one another after all; but she pretended that wasn’t something to think about. He was another, however much lower, general, unusual in his shiny dark skin and blue eyes. An immigrant from the farthest islands where no winters existed, living in a perpetual summer that traded with rich fibers from their native trees. She had no idea what the name as called— hadn’t asked to, really, but to know he was a good fighter, and that he spent many years in his teenhood here had been a cause for interest especially when he didn’t look right, just as she did. 

“You wanted to see me, general?” She asked him one day, knee pressed against the floor while the other raised to keep her balanced. Her sword was placed in front of her as she waited for his next command. 

“I know you are different.” He said, slowly walking towards her, “I know how others perceive you as a monster, despite being a gift from God Himself.”

“… Yes,” she replied, tilting her head up curiously, “what of it?”

“I think that deserves to change.”

“How?”

“I want to,” he began, drawing until he was right in front of her, “see what you are capable of.” He went down to her level, reached out to touch her shoulder and squeezed it, “General.”

She was a general at as young as 22. A leader of the army, a keeper of citizen’s lives; it was one of the greatest honors for them to bestow upon her shoulders and she carried it with her easily. Battles were won, there were many who survived, and soon they continued to build the empire and their trade routes had spread. Though, despite it all, she hadn’t spoken to many of those people between the raids. In order to keep herself company, she thought of mother, she thought of father. Sometimes, she thought of him, but never considered a conversation. To her, they’d always been divided by a window: seeing each other, but not quite. Unable to really meet paths as the glass continued to stain. Her fingers would tentatively grace their presence onto the surface, but nothing more had come toward it as she continued to look forward. 

The window would always follow her. So did his eyes. 

“May I sit with you?” He asked, approaching her as she sat alone in front of a fire. She remembered how the light of the flames reflected on his skin rather than absorbed, how there were visible, unnatural rings in his dark eyes that nearly glowed in the dark. She blinked under her veil, then shuffled in her seat on the log to make space for him to sit down next to her.

“It seems my choices went down the right path.” He commented, playing with a knife in his hand. His eyes flickered back to her. “Are you holding up alright, general?”

She exhaled, thinking for a moment, then tilted her head forward, “how could I not?”

His smile was soft. Peace-loving. “Good.”

He seemed content with the nothing their conversation was carrying. She hugged her knees towards herself, leaning her head against the tops as she faced him. The veil draped to the side. 

“Do you have anybody at home for you?” he asked. 

“I am not married, no. But I have parents who fuss about several things. And you?”

He looked at her. “Nothing for me to come home to. You seem as if you’re getting married with that thing.”

“Do I?” 

“I can imagine it.” He said, “there’s no need to hide.”

“I’d rather not have the eyes of everyone on me.”

“I’ve seen your face. You’re beautiful.”

“My, my,” She faced him, eye visible through the veil, “attempting to seduce your general?”

He chuckled. “I’m simply stating a fact.” 

For it was difference that allowed her to see such beauty. She found him beautiful too, but she was never really willing to say it— they made her a general, so she was acting like it all the way through. For years they fought alongside each other, drank together, spoke of long, deep conversations in the dark of the night where they were alone. Strangely, however, she would never find him outside of the warzone. Every instance she tried to search for him in the villages, the city, it seemed as if he disappeared without a trace. She tried using her eye, only to find nothing. 

In her return home, she was given gold and silver, enough to compensate for the lifetime of war she lived through, enough for her family to live another good decade. Her parents embraced her, Mary baring witness once more, as her mother cried out: “Our gift has blessed us yet again!”

Her eye twitched, to her own surprise. 

But in that stark realization, in blessing her own family, in blessing the military, being blessed had caused her to understand what it must have been like to be God— but perhaps that wasn’t the case. 

Perhaps she was indeed, God. 

And that’s what she told him the next time they met for another war— the military campaign against Halych.

“It makes sense, does it not?” She asked, smiling back at him as she held his hands in hers. She pulled him under the moonlight as she kept herself light on her feet. It was an exciting— an alien feeling. Something that made her heart race, the glory of the answers given to her finally making sense in her own world. She wasn’t just made to be the gift of The eye that had taken up most of her skull finally had its answers, and it was then that she realized that it belonged to God that way: that it belonged to Her, that She was the one they were worshiping all along. 

He looked at her, pursing his lips in a doubtful manner, but upon recalling it she should have known that it was a temptation to disprove her theory. 

“What are you going to make of it then?” He asked. 

“I shall continue to bless the people around me with this eye of god. I was born with it for a reason— I was born for a reason! I have to continue my purpose and that is to serve! I can't be brought back to heaven!” 

He looked at her with a small smile, then. She was happy to serve and be served; to be something that everybody else made her be rather than something she would build up for herself. 

It was disappointing.

But what good would a creation be without having to serve?

She tried it. She really did. He had to give her the benefit of it, after all, but he knew what was going to happen if she strayed down this path. 

Raising the halberd in his hand, he pierced it into the sky and she dropped like a dying bird. 

And that’s where they are now. With her men dead, her lungs pierced with several more spears, she realizes that as she sees into the sky that there was no God that was meant to be looked for. 

With the sun in His hair, the sky in his eyes, he looked down into her own eye as he began to strip from the facade of the mortal she grew to love. Her body trembled under His hold. For the first time, she was seeing God, up close and personal. 

At that moment, she knew why He had to take her. 

All she had to do was recall. 

[godsoftheshell]

Recall

There’s a shock in her system that permanently stiffens her body. 

It leaves her eye wide, bottom lip quivering as the breathing escaping her mouth was turning shallow. She recalls hands pressed together, gold crossed signs and voices falling over each other. She was looking into the sky, the same way praying fingers would, trying to avoid His eyes despite being gifted with His sight. He was looking back into her, waiting for their visions to cross paths once more, because it will, because it was going to. Fire, iron and weak breaths fill her senses harshly, making her shut away the tears in her eye, making her sob, making her agonize even further. 

“Why?” She asks, chest so riddled with holes that she wheezed it out. 

“You know why.” He answers. 

Hands pressed together. Gold crossed signs. Fallen voices that overlapped onto one another. To whom it may have concerned, she wondered if she could see him if she looked far enough into the sky. She knew one thing when it came to these rituals; the words they passed on were meant to be secrets sworn by the people, words of relief, words of pleasure, words of the blessed, thanking everyday for a gift that couldn’t be beyond that. 

Routine.

Curiosity. 

Confusion. 

That was her childhood. From the day she was born, to the bellowing screams that echoed throughout time and space, an eye that took over a quarter of her skull and a pair of wings on her head, childhood filled with dilapidated roofs, wide eyed stares, and the dark— she was made to be a gift among men. 

“The outside world isn’t a place meant for someone like you.” Her mother said, reaching to scratch under the surface of her wings before looking to the little altar they made in the corner of the room. God had a woman who watched them all the time, that part was true. She watched everything that happened in that house, bared witness to a birth of what they thought was a monster to seeing her nearly get killed. Mother Mary had a veil on her head, and when they would take their daughter out to the village she would have a veil over her face too. “It will protect you from the other angels,” her father said, “don’t let them bring you back to heaven.” 

Don’t let them bring you back to heaven. 

She didn’t really know what that meant— for it to be good, bad, or more than that, but that phrase stuck to her as they prayed to the shrines where he in the heavens heard from the farthest away. She knew what heaven was— what angels were, what the cost of going against the Lord meant, but it didn’t touch her like it did her family, the people around her. It was simply as natural as a breath, to be able to speak of someone so highly like this. They did this with the king, and they did this with her. 

She wondered if he had a face, just like the rest of them would. 

She had a talent with the sword. With every single vantage point at her disposal, her eye would catch the weak point of her opponent with ease and dig her blade straight to where she needed it— past the important parts, in order to keep the men alive. She learned how to flap her wings and take herself high enough to plunge down with a strength that terrified her men to-be. Wings spread, eye wide open, she saw the weaknesses and strengths of every opponent and soon, the palace they trained in. Prayers became training, hiding became showing off. She would fly high into the sky to scope out the location for their next raid and helped the army embrace the land in order to win over hundreds of times.

Nobody really took interest in her the same way she wasn’t interested in them. It wasn’t her who established the connections for everybody to work with one another after all; but she pretended that wasn’t something to think about. He was another, however much lower, general, unusual in his shiny dark skin and blue eyes. An immigrant from the farthest islands where no winters existed, living in a perpetual summer that traded with rich fibers from their native trees. She had no idea what the name as called— hadn’t asked to, really, but to know he was a good fighter, and that he spent many years in his teenhood here had been a cause for interest especially when he didn’t look right, just as she did. 

“You wanted to see me, general?” She asked him one day, knee pressed against the floor while the other raised to keep her balanced. Her sword was placed in front of her as she waited for his next command. 

“I know you are different.” He said, slowly walking towards her, “I know how others perceive you as a monster, despite being a gift from God Himself.”

“… Yes,” she replied, tilting her head up curiously, “what of it?”

“I think that deserves to change.”

“How?”

“I want to,” he began, drawing until he was right in front of her, “see what you are capable of.” He went down to her level, reached out to touch her shoulder and squeezed it, “General.”

She was a general at as young as 22. A leader of the army, a keeper of citizen’s lives; it was one of the greatest honors for them to bestow upon her shoulders and she carried it with her easily. Battles were won, there were many who survived, and soon they continued to build the empire and their trade routes had spread. Though, despite it all, she hadn’t spoken to many of those people between the raids. In order to keep herself company, she thought of mother, she thought of father. Sometimes, she thought of him, but never considered a conversation. To her, they’d always been divided by a window: seeing each other, but not quite. Unable to really meet paths as the glass continued to stain. Her fingers would tentatively grace their presence onto the surface, but nothing more had come toward it as she continued to look forward. 

The window would always follow her. So did his eyes. 

“May I sit with you?” He asked, approaching her as she sat alone in front of a fire. She remembered how the light of the flames reflected on his skin rather than absorbed, how there were visible, unnatural rings in his dark eyes that nearly glowed in the dark. She blinked under her veil, then shuffled in her seat on the log to make space for him to sit down next to her.

“It seems my choices went down the right path.” He commented, playing with a knife in his hand. His eyes flickered back to her. “Are you holding up alright, general?”

She exhaled, thinking for a moment, then tilted her head forward, “how could I not?”

His smile was soft. Peace-loving. “Good.”

He seemed content with the nothing their conversation was carrying. She hugged her knees towards herself, leaning her head against the tops as she faced him. The veil draped to the side. 

“Do you have anybody at home for you?” he asked. 

“I am not married, no. But I have parents who fuss about several things. And you?”

He looked at her. “Nothing for me to come home to. You seem as if you’re getting married with that thing.”

“Do I?” 

“I can imagine it.” He said, “there’s no need to hide.”

“I’d rather not have the eyes of everyone on me.”

“I’ve seen your face. You’re beautiful.”

“My, my,” She faced him, eye visible through the veil, “attempting to seduce your general?”

He chuckled. “I’m simply stating a fact.” 

For it was difference that allowed her to see such beauty. She found him beautiful too, but she was never really willing to say it— they made her a general, so she was acting like it all the way through. For years they fought alongside each other, drank together, spoke of long, deep conversations in the dark of the night where they were alone. Strangely, however, she would never find him outside of the warzone. Every instance she tried to search for him in the villages, the city, it seemed as if he disappeared without a trace. She tried using her eye, only to find nothing. 

In her return home, she was given gold and silver, enough to compensate for the lifetime of war she lived through, enough for her family to live another good decade. Her parents embraced her, Mary baring witness once more, as her mother cried out: “Our gift has blessed us yet again!”

Her eye twitched, to her own surprise. 

But in that stark realization, in blessing her own family, in blessing the military, being blessed had caused her to understand what it must have been like to be God— but perhaps that wasn’t the case. 

Perhaps she was indeed, God. 

And that’s what she told him the next time they met for another war— the military campaign against Halych.

“It makes sense, does it not?” She asked, smiling back at him as she held his hands in hers. She pulled him under the moonlight as she kept herself light on her feet. It was an exciting— an alien feeling. Something that made her heart race, the glory of the answers given to her finally making sense in her own world. She wasn’t just made to be the gift of The eye that had taken up most of her skull finally had its answers, and it was then that she realized that it belonged to God that way: that it belonged to Her, that She was the one they were worshiping all along. 

He looked at her, pursing his lips in a doubtful manner, but upon recalling it she should have known that it was a temptation to disprove her theory. 

“What are you going to make of it then?” He asked. 

“I shall continue to bless the people around me with this eye of god. I was born with it for a reason— I was born for a reason! I have to continue my purpose and that is to serve! I can't be brought back to heaven!” 

He looked at her with a small smile, then. She was happy to serve and be served; to be something that everybody else made her be rather than something she would build up for herself. 

It was disappointing.

But what good would a creation be without having to serve?

She tried it. She really did. He had to give her the benefit of it, after all, but he knew what was going to happen if she strayed down this path. 

Raising the halberd in his hand, he pierced it into the sky and she dropped like a dying bird. 

And that’s where they are now. With her men dead, her lungs pierced with several more spears, she realizes that as she sees into the sky that there was no God that was meant to be looked for. 

With the sun in His hair, the sky in his eyes, he looked down into her own eye as he began to strip from the facade of the mortal she grew to love. Her body trembled under His hold. For the first time, she was seeing God, up close and personal. 

At that moment, she knew why He had to take her. 

All she had to do was recall.

[masqueradefamous]

ive had this blog for 10 years give or take but still havent learned to make personal posts

[aronarchy]

A copy of the first reading list, if you dislike clicking on Google docs links:

The liberal news media is working overtime to silence Palestinian voices. As we sit thousands of miles away, witnessing the massacre through social media, the least we can do is educate ourselves and work to educate others. Apartheid threatens all of us, and just to reiterate, anti-Zionism ≠ antisemitism.

Academic Works, Poetry and Memoirs

The Revolution of 1936-1939 in Palestine: Background, Details, and Analysis, Ghassan Kanafani (1972)

Palestinians: From Peasants to Revolutionaries, Rosemary Sayegh (1979)

Popular Resistance in Palestine: A History of Hope and Empowerment, Mazin Qumsiyeh (2011)

My Life in the PLO: The Inside Story of the Palestinian Struggle, Shafiq al-Hout and Jean Said Makdisi (2019)

My People Shall Live, Leila Khaled (1971)

Poetry of Resistance in Occupied Palestine, translated by Sulafa Hijjawi (Baghdad, Ministry of Culture and Guidance, 1968)

On Palestine by Ilan Pappé and Noam Chomsky (2015)

Gaza in Crisis: Reflections on the US-Israeli War Against the Palestinians, Noam Chomsky and Ilan Pappé (2013)

The Politics of Dispossession: The Struggle for Palestinian Self-Determination, 1969-1994, Edward W. Said (2012)

Queer Palestine and the Empire of Critique, Sa’ed Atshan (2020)

Stone Men: The Palestinians Who Built Israel, Andrew Ross (2019)

Ten Myths About Israel, Ilan Pappé (2017)

Blaming the Victims: Spurious Scholarship and the Palestinian Question, Christopher Eric Hitchens and Edward W. Said (2001)

Palestinian Walks: Notes on a Vanishing Landscape, Raja Shehadeh (2010)

The Gun and the Olive Branch: The Roots of Violence in the Middle East, David Hirst (1977)

Gaza: An Inquest into Its Martyrdom, Norman Finkelstein (2018)

Fateful Triangle: The United States, Israel and the Palestinians, Noam Chomsky (1983)

Israel and Palestine: Reappraisals, Revisions, Refutations, Avi Shlaim (2010)

Politicide: Ariel Sharon’s War Against the Palestinians, Baruch Kimmerling (2006)

The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of Jewish Suffering, Norman G. Finkelstein (2015)

Light in Gaza: Writings Born of Fire, Jehad Abusalim (2022)

Nakba: Palestine, 1948, and the Claims of Memory, Ahmad H. Sa’di and Lila Abu-Lughod (2007)

Peace and its discontents: Essays on Palestine in the Middle East peace process, Edward W. Said (2012)

Three Poems by Yahya Hassan

Articles, Papers & Essays

“Palestinian history doesn’t start with the Nakba” by PYM (May, 2023) 

“What the Uprising Means,” Salim Tamari (1988)

“The Palestinians’ inalienable right to resist,” Louis Allday (2021)

“Liberating a Palestinian Novel from Israeli Prison,” Danya Al-Saleh and Samar Al-Saleh (2023) 

Women, War, and Peace: Reflections from the Intifada, Nahla Abdo (2002)

“A Place Without a Door” and “Uncle Give me a Cigarette”—Two Essays by Palestinian Political Prisoner, Walid Daqqah (2023)

“Live Like a Porcupine, Fight Like a Flea,” A Translation of an Article by Basel Al-Araj

Films & Video Essays

Fedayin: Georges Abdallah’s Fight (2021)

Naila and the Uprising (2017)

Off Frame AKA Revolution Until Victory (2015)

Tell Your Tale Little Bird (1993)

The Time That Remains (2009)

“The Present” (short film) (2020)

“How Palestinians were expelled from their homes”

Louis Theroux: The Ultra Zionists (2011)

Born in Gaza (2014)

5 Broken Cameras (2011)

Little Palestine: Diary of a Siege (2021)

Al-Nakba: The Palestinian catastrophe - Episode 1 | Featured Documentary

Organisations to donate to

Palestine Red Crescent Society - https://www.palestinercs.org/en

Anera - https://support.anera.org/a/palestine-emergency

Palestinian American Medical Association - https://palestinian-ama.networkforgood.com/projects/206145-gaza-medical-supplies-oct-2023

You First Gaza - https://donate.gazayoufirst.org/

MAP - Medical Aid for Palestinians - https://www.map.org.uk/donate/donate

United Nations Relief and Works Agency - https://donate.unrwa.org/-landing-page/en_EN

Palestine Children’s Relief Fund - https://www.pcrf.net/   

Doctors Without Borders - https://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/what-we-do/where-we-work/palestine

AP Fact Check

https://apnews.com/article/israel-hamas-gaza-misinformation-fact-check-e58f9ab8696309305c3ea2bfb269258e

This list is not exhaustive in any way, and is a summary of various sources on the Internet. Please engage with more ethical, unbiased sources, including Decolonize Palestine and this list compiled by the Palestinian Youth Movement.

[danyaselmar]

Horror Bang 2023

A gift for @duskwulfs as part of the horror bang exchange 2023 run by @jillvalentinesday

AN: my dear, it was a pleasure to write for your wonderful oc Genesis and I really hope I did her justice. I took the liberty to incorporate your starter piece and build up on it.

Be Kind, Rewind

“...Presley, what’s the ten day weather forecast looking like?”

Genesis hadn’t been paying attention to the Radio Shack TV until she heard her sister’s name. She turned the dial up and looked into the thirteen inch screen as if God himself was on camera. Presley’s long blonde hair was pushed back over her shoulders, and her blazer made her look like a wholly new person. Gen snorted at the presentation of it all– if only the denizens of Raccoon City knew that just this morning Presley had a breakfast that consisted of Kool-Aid Jammers and shark gummies.

“John, I wish I had better news. As you can see, this rain won’t be letting up anytime soon…”

It wasn’t the shift Presley had dreamt of. It was the nightly news when most of the old people were asleep, and anyone who had caught Presley talking was just skipping through channels for X-Files reruns. Genesis’ lips pushed into a sympathetic smile as she turned the volume all the way down. At least she could say she had seen her sister’s TV debut on Raccoon 7.

Genesis looked at the clock. RacCity Video would close in about ten minutes, and she wasn’t supposed to close up until then. Outside the rain obscured the world from her. Neon lights fell onto puddles like hot pink halos and a taxi blared its horn as it ran a red light. Genesis grabbed her keys from her hip and flicked through them as she walked to the door. The lock clicked into place as a silhouette pounded on the glass door. Genesis stumbled backwards, the key still in the door. Fear shot up her spine, hot and prickly. The nearby street light flickered and the darkness it cast obscured his face from her.

With her pulse a storm in her throat, Genesis backed away from the locked door. The way the figure swayed they were surely drunk. Genesis felt a pang of guilt pool into the pits of her stomach; it was cruel to lock someone out in a storm like that. She took a breath and steeled her nerves. When she returned to the door she reached a shaky hand towards the keys. The figure made a sound she’d never heard a person make before– it would be a long while before she would get that sound out of her head.

The keys back at her side Gen turned away from the shadow looming outside. She quickly made her way over to the counter, wanting to leave behind the grotesque encounter as fast as possible. Tonight she wasn’t keen on getting in trouble.

The day had been relatively quiet and only a few customers had strayed into the video store. A couple of rentals and a couple of returns with exactly three overdraft fees to square off. To sum it up, a boring day at work. With the visit of a regular customer in the late afternoon, the dreariness had been at least briefly interrupted. A man in his early thirties who loved to watch nature documentaries. Talking to him was nice and every time he offered an interesting fact about a strange species of bird or underwater volcanoes that he gathered from whatever documentary he had recently rented. And unlike other people, he always and without exception rewound the tapes.

Because of the low attendance today, there had been plenty of time for Genesis during her shift to get her workload done with ease. Rewinding tapes, returning them to the shelves and making sure the place was tidy in general. Her boss would be pleased. But with nothing to busy her hands, the last hour and a half had been mind-numbing. Neither staring holes in the air and listening to the rain nor twirling the ends of her two blonde braids between her fingers could make the minutes pass any faster. In a last stand against boredom, Gen even resorted to flipping through the wrinkled fashion magazine that her part-time colleague Cindy, a friendly high school student, had left in the office.

Another glance at the clock mounted to the wall and Genesis decided that she was ready to head out. Now more than ever, because the shock from just a moment ago was still palpable in her bones. Perhaps all the idleness of today had made her jumpy. Then again the unholy sound coming from the shadow outside, now playing on repeat inside her mind like a broken record, etching itself deeper into her memory, could have scared every sane person out of their hide. She hardly dared to look at the door again. And yet she risked it, peaking anxiously around a shelf stacked with family friendly video tapes. But in front of the door there was only rain. The figure had disappeared. Thank goodness.

Dutifully, she turned off the tv and the main lights and walked down the hall, past the small office to the back exit. Cold and wet air hit her face and she shivered. Bag slung over her shoulder, Genesis opened her red and white umbrella, hoping the wind wouldn't tear it apart. Stepping out into the dark alley, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The weather could easily be blamed for this reaction, but she couldn't get that eerie feeling out of her head. As if she was being watched from the darkness. Determined not to let fear get the better of her, she hurried toward the main street.

As soon as she reached the doorstep of her home a sense of relief washed over her. Keys carelessly tossed into the bowl next to the door, she took a deep breath. Presley would be home soon. So Genesis proceeded to prepare dinner for herself and her sister.

While eating the women were talking about their day. Presley reported that it had been quite pleasant chatting with her co-host John before they went on air. And even though she didn't get to work prime time yet, she was happy about her job. And Genesis was genuinely happy for her.

Taking another bite, Presley suddenly changed the subject.

“More people have been infected with rabies. The numbers are going up. The mayor even wants to release a statement tomorrow.”

“Has there ever been a rabies pandemic?“ Genesis wondered.

“Not that I've ever heard of.” Presley shrugged.

She shifted in her seat.

“There is a rumor that it’s not ordinary rabies. My source claims it is something else. But no one can confirm anything.”

“That doesn't sound good,” said Genesis.

Oh how right she was. 

The conversation over dinner felt like it happened ages ago. Currently holed up in her apartment while Raccoon City went to hell Genesis recalled how drastically things had escalated during the past couple of days. Now she was certain that the person that scared the living hell out of her the other night by prowling against the door of the video store had been in fact a zombie. A monster she’d seen on the ugly covers of cheap horror flicks, when she sorted the tapes in the adult section of the store. It still felt unreal. Yet terrifying. But with Presley out of town she was a little less worried. Luckily, her friend in California had decided to get married this week. And that Presley had left before the city went into lockdown.

Genesis tried to block out the noise from outside. The sirens and screams had become louder and louder over the course of the last hour. An emergency broadcast promised a planned evacuation. And with that she realized that she had to leave.

Raccoon City was her home. The mere thought of leaving it behind made her stomach hurt and her heart freeze. But staying any longer wasn’t an option. All she knew was that she had to get out of town asap.

Maneuvering through the streets and trying to get to the evac site turned out to be more difficult than expected. Roads were blocked by burning cars. Those monsters roamed around emitting bone-chilling groans. Seeing all this she wished nothing more than to just rewind time. Just like she had done with the countless tapes at the video store. Rewind and get back to normal. Back to boring. But also back to safety.

As she turned around a corner she found herself face to face with the barrel of a gun. A yelp escaped her mouth.

“Shit.” The owner of said gun cursed, lowering the weapon immediately.

“What are you doing out here, lady?”

Genesis eyed the man in front of her. He was clad in black and green military clothing and carried functional gear. His dark, curly hair swayed as he took a quick look around, making sure the surrounding was safe enough for the moment. Worried brown eyes landed back on her. Waiting for an answer.

“I’m trying to get out of town,” she finally spoke up.

“Why are you not with the evacuation team? They are bringing people out by bus.” A justified question.

“I’m trying, but the way to the meeting point is blocked.”

“I see.” He frowned. “My name is Carlos, I’m with the UBCS, here to rescue civilians. And you are?”

“I’m Genesis. A civilian.”

Carlos laughed. A refreshing sound that almost managed to dispel her fear.

He locked eyes with her.

“I’m going to get you out of the city, Genesis, I promise,” Carlos spoke with determination. His reassuring smile gave her strength. And she knew, everything would be alright again.

[horsegir1]

mina what are you reading? more on that what is your taste like I know it's a horrible question but! favourite book?

for pleasure, im reading idaho by emily ruskovich, and for work, im reading overdressed: the shockingly high cost of cheap fashion by elizabeth l. cline, the invention of murder by judith flanders, and a confusion of prophets: victorian and edwardian astrology by patrick curry.

my taste in fiction is biased towards realism and slow burns. anything with family dynamics and complex characters. but if the writing is good, i'll read about anything!

some favorites off the top of my head: notes on an execution by danya kukafka, pew by catherine lacey, ex-wife by ursula parrot, kindred by octavia butler, of human bondage by somerset maugham, a certain hunger by chelsea summers, pachinko by min jin lee.

[namichanth]

Everything stays (Twins AU)

Summary: There was a song that only Damian and Danyal know.

Note : This is my first one short write in English. There will be incorrect words.

..................................................................................

Damian is looking for his brother.

It's dark now, which is their bedtime.

After a few minutes of searching, he found his brother sitting and relaxing on the grass under the tree.

He was humming.

Let's go in the garden

You'll find something waiting

“What are you doing?” Damian walked up to him.

"I'm making a song"

“For what?”

“For us”

"I want a song that only we know." Danyal raised an eyebrow at his twin.

“Do you want to listen?”

“tt, don't disappoint me.” He sat down next to Danyal and shut his eyes to listen him humming.

Right there where you left it

lying upside down

“Danyal!!!”

In front of him, Danyal was lying in a pool of his own blood.

The League of Assassins came under attack. While they were fighting, Damian didn't notice that someone came behind him. He was about to be stabbed by the sword, but Danyal used himself as a shield for him. Causing him to be seriously injured.

And he didn't even have time to go check his twin's body. Because his mother took him in order to escape first.

He could only yell his twin's name. As Danyal's body gradually moved away from him.

When you finally find it,

you'll see how it's faded

It has now been two years since he moved in with his father.

He still missed Danyal.

He would softly hum a song from memory when he was alone or drawing.

Damian will sometimes be found humming and looking up at the stars from the rooftop when he patrols with one of the Batfam.

They were very surprised to see Damian doing something like this. But no one questioned him.

And tonight was another night they went on patrol.

According to the report, a meta has appeared in town. So they're going to check.

Damian now saw the figure of a boy who was supposed to be the meta they were looking for.

From behind, he had white hair and was wearing a black helmet suit.

The underside is lighter

when you turn it around

When he turned his head to him, Damian was stunned when he met Lazarus' eyes.

He has the same face as Damian.

It must be Danyal. But why did he become like this? What happened to him?

"Danya--"

Damian was about to call the boy's name, but he ran away before he could finish.

Everything stays

right where you left it

Since that night, he has been looking for him every day.

He was pretty sure that was Danyal. When he called the boy's name, he made a shocked expression when he saw him.

But Damian didn't want to hope. because he doesn't want to be disappointed.

What if that wasn't Danyal? What will he do next?

Track down that boy and bring him here for questioning? Was he a clone of him or not?

No, there is another way to verify.

Everything stays

But it still changes

Tonight is a full moon.

He sneaked out of the manor in his Robin suit.

He kept running through the rooftops. Until he again sees the boy. He hid behind a wall and watched the boy as he sat enjoying the stars.

The boy then opened his mouth and began to sing a song that only he and his twin knew.

It's really Danyal.

He came out of hiding and walked behind the boy.

Ever so slightly, daily and nightly

In little ways, when everything stays

The boy stopped singing before standing up. Then turn around and smile softly at him.

"Danyal..."

"Damian"

They stood silent for a while. before Danyal moved closer to him and gave him a light hug.

"I'm back"

He raised his hand and hugged back. He hugged Danyal tightly to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Welcome back"

He finally got his other half back.

[sgcairo]

When Danya was little, he'd write notes and hide them in Dottore's books, just because he figured it'd make his папа smile more. He then proceeded to forget about the notes soon afterward, and because he was a partially illiterate child with incomprehensible handwriting, Dottore occasionally finds random scraps of paper with scribbles on them. They don't really mean anything (one of them said "hoe" on it and Dottore has it framed on his lab bench now), but having a scrap of paper fall out of your journals every once and a while with a little red scribble from your son has a way of cheering you up, especially while he's far away.

That is, until Pantalone sees them and starts leaving his own notes, legible and typically consisting of "bastard" and "give me my money".

Dottore now plays the dangerous game of roulette with his journals: on one hand, he could have a loving little doodle of a heart, on the other, he could be exposed for his crimes.

He keeps all of the notes.

[gatheringbones]

[“Swallowing your pride and facing, again and again, the harm you have caused through carelessness, through ignorance, through problematic beliefs, through acting from places of pain and trauma and brokenness, through thinking it’ll be OK, through thinking nobody will find out, through desperation, through opportunism, through all the reasons that cause us to harm one another. Even if we didn’t mean to. Even if we didn’t know better. Even if we were being lazy, or careless, or afraid, even if we were acting out because we have all this hurt inside, or even if we don’t know why we did it. Whatever our intentions. Doing the work to cross that bridge and see, for real, the impact that we had, what it means, and what we need to learn or do, how we need to change and grow, what we need to offer of ourselves, how we can repair, what can be different. It can be different. We know that it can. You know that it can. But the only way out is through. And on that way through, you know—you have seen, here—profound healing can happen. Individual lives and relationships can be transformed.

Communities and cultures can move toward care, accountability, restoration. Institutions can do the work needed to protect the people they serve. Nations can face the truth of what they have done—even if the work is imperfect, messy, or haphazard—and can make the choice to write a new story for tomorrow. Repair is possible. Atonement is not out of reach.

What is needed—and this is, of course, a great deal—is the willingness to do the work. What is needed is the bravery to begin. On the other side of that bridge, on the other side of transformation, is another more whole, more full, more free way of being, one that we can’t fully imagine from here. A way that we must simply bring into existence, step by step. The Talmud teaches, in the name of Rabbi Hama Bar Hanina, “Great is repentance, for it brings healing to the world.”]

rabbi danya ruttenberg, from on repentance and repair: making amends in an unapologetic world, 2022

[deseretgear]

Lilith

recently I saw a post where someone was claiming that since Lilith is traditionally in Jewish mythology a demon associated with death of children, death in childbirth, etc that its wrong to do modern feminist re-imaginings of her, as if it's like a white cultural appropriation that doesn't support Jewish interpretation

And this felt off to me but since I haven't really been a religious Jew (I'm a cultural/ethnic Jew) I didn't comment. But the thing is: Jewish feminists have recognized for YEARS the subversive potential of re-interpreting Lilith. There is even a feminist Jewish magazine named after her. As a general rule, while its important to be careful of modern appropriation and interpretation of other religions, its also important that especially with Jewish religion and culture that people don't fall for the idea that there is this monoculture or single set of interpretations, or that the ability to recognize subversive or feminist or suspect aspects of a story are like uniquely modern/white/western traits. Jews have been interpreting and reinterpreting our own stories for as long as we've had them and plenty of rabbis talk about reinterpreting Lilith through a feminist and sex-positive lens.

Another very interesting aspect of the Lilith story is that Lilith originates/was codified in the medieval text the Alphabet of Ben Sirah, and seems to have been created to explain why there are 2 creation 'stories' listed in Genesis; Genesis 1:27 describes god creating humans in male and female forms, and Genesis 2 describes god again creating eve from adam's rib (or side) because he was lonely. (Again I'm mostly reporting from what Rabbis like Danya Ruttenberg and others have said). Lilith is one of those figures who is not accepted as a real part of the mythology by all Jews, and her presence in the actual Torah and writings of the prophets is mostly by 'implication' or interpretation. There is a lilith mentioned in Isaiah in a more generic way, but this lilith appears to be treated more as a generic demon if i recall. Again, there are plenty of modern scholarship that also criticizes the use of Lilith as a feminist icon, and there are good reasons for both positions! But I do want to push back against the idea that somehow Jews are not a part of our own modern midrash.