#on north there's people who goes to look for northern lights

[seahortensia]

northern lights hunting

[atopvisenyashill]

why do you think jonsa is happening tho? jonerys is different bc they are going to be enemies, but i don’t see what jonsa does for the story

so let me first lay out roughly what i think is going to happen should jonsa become canon. I personally love going down meta and graphic spirals, so I'm including links to other people’s theories/explanations/graphics of events too - also I would like to shout out @istumpysk because half these metas and gifsets were stuff I found on their blog initially, and also was the one who really convinced me that jonsa is less of a crackship and more of a contender for an actual canon theory, and from there i really found my niche in this fandom. specifically this meta about jon being the mummer's dragon is what pulled me out of my "we're never getting twow and if we do it's just gonna be that stupid dany has jon's magical baby while tyrion watches, then they all die theory" slump and lit my brain on fire again. let's goooo:

The Ashford Tourney Theory - Something Shady goes down at the tourney Petyr has planned that requires Sansa to make a quick getaway, and likely causes her to run into Brienne while fleeing. This theory for me is about hinting at Sansa's romantic future, allies, and how she's getting the hell out of the Vale: both the dark haired, Not Targ Looking Targ Prince that is the son of A Great Prince That Never Was being her romantic endgame but also it's about Brienne (/Dunk) getting her the hell out of there and becoming Sansa's number one ally and protector (with Sansa's number two being Bronze Yohn!! But he's not fleeing with her - if he helps her get out of the Vale, it'll be to cause a distraction or a fight so Sansa can slip away unnoticed. Bronze Yohn is coming with the knights of the Vale later to help defend his girl!).

The Girl In Grey - Out of options on where to go, Sansa & Brienne makes a long, fast, and dangerous trek to the only family she knows is still alive: Jon Snow at the Wall. No, I don't think Alys Karstark is the girl in grey on a dying horse; I think she's a red herring, the same as the scene where Sweetrobin destroys the snow castle, and that the real girl in grey (who slays the savage giant) is Sansa. Melisandre says that she sees "Jon's sister" but doesn't specify more than that, or how she knows it's Jon's sister, even - why would she assume Alys is Jon's sister and not some random Northern girl? Why was she so sure that it was his sister? It's because Alys isn't the girl in grey, it's Sansa, her horse dying because she's traveled halfway across the continent with Brienne and Pod, desperately trying to keep ahead of the dozens of people hunting her down.

The Blood of Winterfell - Sansa and Jon will reclaim winterfell together. This one is similar to above; just like Alys was a red herring, the scene where Sansa rebuilds the castle has a lot of foreshadowing (imo) but that isn't the moment in the prophecy Arya hears. The Savage Giant is Littlefinger, the castle of snow is Winterfell, and Sansa is going to liberate her home alongside Jon and what's left of the Northern lords.

Stone and Snow Remains - THIS is where Sansa and Jon will fall in love while fighting for the North. This is also the part where you lose a lot of people, because they think the evidence is real weak sauce but like, I also think the Jonerys "evidence" is weak af too (and no wonder, we have at minimum 2k pages left to get through!!). There's several believed foreshadowing points to this one, bare with me for this weird ass formatting because I can't do sub bullet points on tumblr:

1. Sansa's linking of snow with love and affection - "drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks...She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams." along with her snow maiden and snow knight.

2. Bael the Bard and the Rose of Winterfell - the chapter where Sansa gets her period for the first time, Cersei refers to it as “flowering” a dozen times, linking being a maiden (a young girl, not quite of age or just barely of age) to flowers and several people refer to sex as ~plucking. Also notice the one who stole her from KL is Lord BAELish.

3. Aemon the Dragonknight & Queen Naerys - Sansa compares herself to Naerys, Joffrey to Aegon, and wishes for an Aemon, among the many similarities between her life and Naerys'. Jon not only calls himself Aemon, he has a deep connection with a different Aemon Targaryen. And if you’re thinking “Sansa isn’t Naerys, X is Naerys” I would remind you that Sansa as a character existed first, George purposefully had her compare herself to Naerys, and parallels don't belong to just one character.

4. Jenny of Oldstones and The Prince of Dragonflies - there's honestly a lot of parallels between them but like the Aemon/Naerys parallel, the Jenny/Duncan one stands out to me.

5. Janos Slynt - I mean. Iconic. This was the scene that made me first think about what their relationship could be in the future and there’s a reason Jonsas fixate on it. It’s about Sansa being desperate for a hero and the hero she dreamed about being Jon the whole time. 6. Societal Alienation - There's the bastard parallels here, the "it would be so sweet to see him again", the "Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa." It's about how Jon, through circumstances of his birth, finds himself alienated from the rest of society and reconnects with his prim and proper sister Sansa, who finds herself alienated from the rest of society as well but for vastly different reasons.

Robb’s Will - Howland is going to show up in the North, along with Maege and Galbert, with some WILD news about why Jon can’t rule Winterfell. There’s a lot of contention around this. Bran probably shows up around this time too, and Arya gets to the Riverlands to discover Lady Stoneheart and give her the gift of mercy. This is where all the inheritance stuff is going to happen and I have no idea how it's going to go down besides it's going to be messy as all fuck.

The Pact Of Ice And Fire - Jon & Sansa get secret married bc they’re in love, not siblings, & jon is the only man she trusts not to steal her claim. This isn't the only possible foreshadowing instance of a marriage either - some believe the Sandor/Sansa scene during the Battle of the Blackwater is foreshadowing as well (personally I feel that's a bit of a stretch but I wanted to include it anyway).

Jon As An Envoy - I talked about this in my "what's Jon's ending" a little but I believe Jon will act as an envoy for either Sansa or Bran to Aegon VI, essentially playing out a similar story that he does in the show with Daenerys. By which I mean, Jon is not the King because the ruler themselves do not go as an envoy, that’s stupid and dangerous, but he goes as an ambassador for Sansa or Bran, to treat with a new claimant to the Iron Throne that is gaining support - Aegon VI & Jon Connington. They will probably clash, Jon will probably have yet another identity crisis, there had BETTER be gay incest subtext, then Aegon dies, and Jon has his sixth quarter life crisis in a row.

“King” of the Gift - again, something I touched on in my Jon meta is that I think he’s going to have a hand in resettling the Gift. Personally, I think it's likely that Jon leaves to protect the claims of his siblings (see: Duncan and Jenny) and goes to the Gift to help resettle it to keep out of the way. This ending is typically referred to as the "bael the bard" ending but i like to think of it as the "brandon's gift" ending instead - though he is not physically with his family, Jon feels fulfilled having confirmed his family loves him through reclaiming Winterfell and marrying Sansa, being reunited with Arya, and being given the Gift by Bran. Sansa claims her children were fathered by a wolf.

So…what does all this do for the story?

Well, in my opinion, several things.

I think the main barrier here is that most people in the greater fandom describe Sansa's story as ~growing past childish wants~ and Jon's as ~rejecting love~ and I do not agree with either of those takes even a little bit. This is where (imo) the dividing line between Jonsas and the rest of the fandom is. I don’t think the answer to Sansa’s question “will anyone ever marry me for love” is going to be “nah" - that's not just a sad story to me (wanting to be married isn't childish! craving intimacy and understanding isn't childish! it's also not wrong for a child to be childish!), I think the idea that Sansa (or Jon) will not find another love just doesn't line up with how George approaches his story. Who Sansa's husband will be has been such a big question, and her story is so heavy into the more romantic tropes like courtly love and chivalry and the line between politics and love and identity, that the question of Sansa's hand in marriage will be plot relevant. I also think it's kinda naive of people to pretend like George isn't very interested in the sexual dynamics of the characters he writes about (yeah, sure, no woman needs a man but "needing a man" is not what this is about. look at everything this man wrote in F&B and tell me he is going to write a female character that longs for sex and desire and doesn't get it!).

After AGOT, nearly every time Sansa thinks about marriage involves her longing for love but believing she will never get it because a man will only ever love her for her claim. Giving her a man - like Jon - who not only will not steal her claim and in fact has defended it twice over already, who will love her for who she is and not what she can give him, is a really important aspect of her story in my opinion.

As for Jon, I am even more firmly against the opinion that his story is about rejecting love; Jon’s story is about wanting to be a good man, to measure up to his father ~despite~ his bastard blood. When Aemon asks if Ned would choose honor over love and Jon stubbornly says yes, Jon is wrong and it’s important to not forget that. Ned has never once in his entire life chosen honor over love; he chooses his daughter’s life over his honor, he chooses his sister & her son’s life over honor, he chooses Arya & Nymeria over honor, and on and on!!! Ned chooses love at almost turn but none of his children know that just yet - look at Robb choosing Jeyne’s honor over his own and how upset he is at the idea that Ned would be disappointed despite the fact that Ned would have understand Robb’s decision! Jon's whole arc is tied up in realizing that it is not wrong or dirty to feel and choose love, passion, and desire and if he never has another romantic arc again, I think you lose the second part of that lesson which is "you are responsible for how you act when you feel love but that doesn't mean that simply choosing love makes you a bad person."

There's also the fact that George has talked a lot about "who lives, who dies, who gets married" and yet we have not one marriage at the end of the show AND there's not a lot of guesses at what "who gets married" means besides Jon/erys (and even if Jonsa doesn't happen, I simply do not see Jon/erys happening. they are not similar enough, they will not be in the same space for long enough, and they are on wildlly different trajectories for their story, they are not getting married let alone having sex). I think Jonsa fits that bill very well.

These various theories - from Sansa being queen, Jon living in exile, The Ashford Tourney Theory, the secret marriage, every one of them - are ideas and themes that I have really been thinking about for about 12 years now. I think Jon and Sansa's relationship could fit with the themes in their stories, the overarching themes in the books, and my own personal opinions. I think it gives George a great opportunity to delve into the courtly love aspects he enjoys so much, as well as delve into inheritance, legacy, legitimacy, honor, incest (yes, that too), and above all, what George himself has said the whole series is about - love. The human heart in conflict with itself is what I think Jon and Sansa as a romantic couple does for the series.

[ravenrune]

Ahhhh. A request for an anon I had already been working on before I got their message. Thanks for the reminder, anon! Domestic stuff. Contains Carlos, Leon, Ethan and Luis. Edit: I think I fixed the issues with dark mode?

Going On Vacation With The RE Guys Headcanons

Going on vacation with Carlos will involve a lot of activities. He doesn’t like sitting around all day, so he’ll want to try out some new things with you. The destination doesn’t matter much to him, as long as there is something fun to do.

Do you want to learn how to surf? You can do that with Carlos. You want to go bungee jumping? He’s in for that sort of thing, too. Skiing, parasailing, rock climbing; he’s willing to try all of these things. 

Are the aforementioned activities a bit too extreme for you? That is completely fine. He will happily go camping and hiking with you. And if you don’t like sleeping on a shitty mattress, he’ll opt for glamping instead. Nothing wrong with a bit of comfort, right? 

He just wants to be out and about with you. And come on, you gotta admit, sleeping under the stars is pretty damn romantic.

Feel free to suggest anything you’d like to try out on vacation, because he’ll love it when you take initiative. Bonus points if you surprise him by dragging him along to do something fun without telling him what it is beforehand. 

Leon just needs peace and quiet on vacation and will absolutely drag you away to go on a cruise with him. The further away he is from his job, the better. And as a cruise ship is always on the move, Leon feels it’ll be less likely he’ll get called into work. 

He wants to go north because he’s always wanted to see the northern lights. He thinks it will be romantic, and can’t wait to share the experience with you. You’ll probably end up somewhere in northern Europe.

On the days spent at sea, he’ll want to make the most of it. Spa days, swimming at the pools, eating at the best restaurants and checking out the onboard entertainment are a must in his opinion. If you need some time away from people, he’ll happily cuddle up and watch a nice movie with you. There will be plenty of snacks, of course.

When the cruise ship docks in the countries you pass along the way, Leon will want to do some sightseeing and take a copious amount of pictures. He won’t just take pictures of the scenery, he will be taking a lot of pictures of you, too. 

Later on, when he’s back at work, he’ll be looking at them whenever he’s not feeling great. Seeing you having a good time will always put a smile on his face.

Ethan wants a normal vacation. Nothing too crazy, nothing too hectic, nothing too special. He’s in need of feeling like a regular human being, so he’ll take you to a typical tourist destination.

Ethan loves to go for walks. It doesn’t matter where. He can walk for hours, just chatting to you about everything that crosses your minds. He’ll take the occasional picture, but his main focus is on spending time with you in a place he’s never been before. A place where nobody knows who he is, and where he’s just another tourist.

He will book the most luxurious hotel room available, because he thinks you both deserve it. He goes out of his way to surprise you with the most wonderful date nights. He puts a lot of thought into them, making sure they’ll blow your mind in the right ways, but never make you feel uncomfortable. 

Ethan will get lost on occasion. Just make sure you’re in charge of how to get places, or you may accidentally end up in a whole other country if you happen to stay near the border of one.

Luis will plan the most romantic vacation you could possibly think of. He doesn’t care much for major tourist attractions, but will instead look for the more obscure spots your destination has to offer. 

He’ll drag you through the most beautiful little towns he could find on the internet, and he’s full of facts. He knows a lot about the history of the places you’re visiting, and he loves sharing this information with you. 

Luis manages to find all the best restaurants and won’t spare any expense. You can order whatever the hell you like, and he’ll happily pay for it.

He’s not too fond of splitting the bill, so if you’re the type of person who is, prepare to argue with the man on occasion. 

While his main concern is spending time with you, he would like to visit a pub now and then. Just to have a drink together. And if you’re willing to sing karaoke with him, you’ll definitely make his day. So... just do it, okay?

Tag list: @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch ... did that work?

[greetingfromthedead]

Shepherd Story 1 (God!Knives x GN!Reader)

Plot: In a world where fallen gods live among you, there is the god of winter and death who leaves behind merciless blizzards and famine wherever he goes on his eternal search for his other half he fell for many millennia ago.

Series: Shepherd. Check out Story 2 (smut) and Story 3!

Pairing: God!Knives x GN!Reader

Raiting: Teen and up (some mild sexual/intimate content, no smut)

Tags: fantasy AU, no use of "y/n", gods, feathery plant, fated love, romance, legends, nature magic, reunion, intimacy, possessive behavior, tenderness, some fluff, body worship, implied smut

Word count: 4.2k

Author's Note: This story is heavily inspired by the incredible @triplesilverstar's god AU stories A so called God on a mountain top? Well, better then freezing to death and So its a tradition? Weird. These stories are just way too good for you to not go read them. So gogogo (unless you are underage or not into smut)...

In a world much different from our own, where fallen gods live among people, there is a story that spans over many millennia. In that world, there are countless higher beings, each with their own unique powers and abilities. They guide nature in the endless cycle of creation and destruction. Among them is a man more feared and despised than the rest, known as the god of winter and death. His icy touch is said to bring misery and despair to all who encounter him. None can escape his chilling grasp, as the harsh winters can last for years on end. Children are born within his icy domain; they live and die, never knowing the warmth of summer. But only a few know the curse put on this world by the jealous gods of ancient times.

The god of winter and death roams solemnly through the lands, bringing icy winds and blizzards in his wake. The soft steps of his bare feet on grassy fields spread frost, and the lakes get covered in ice as he passes by. He doesn't bring famine and illness, but they follow him like a shadow as he moves south on his endless search. This world has never seen a winter like this before; it has lasted for fifty years and brought the northern lands to their knees. Grain stores are empty, and people are starving. Yet the god moves further and further south with each passing day, leaving death in his wake. He is still looking, searching for the one who bears the curse.

Restlessness has sunken its claws into you as of late. It's like something's tugging at your soul. You have always felt lucky that you were born quite far in the south, away from the dark shadows of the north. You are a winter child, and never in your years have you seen the bountiful summers the elders speak of. However, you haven't been plagued by winter's chill either, and for that, you are grateful. But as of late, your dreams have frozen over, set against a backdrop of white fields and icy winds. You feel it seeping into your waking hours; the breeze hasn't been gentle for weeks; instead, it cuts like knives into your flesh, leaving you shivering.

The fire roars in your little house, but its warmth can't chase away the chill in your bones. You wrap yourself tighter in blankets, trying to hold onto the last bit of heat before the darkness of night takes over. You count the herbs in your collection; you need to make sure you have as much stock as possible if winter indeed is to claim your little corner of the world too. You know you can't afford to run out; you are the herbalist that the entire nearby village relies on for healing remedies. As you put away the jars of dried leaves, you wonder if you can sleep tonight or will you be tortured again by the dangerous desire luring you into the night.

The flickering light of the fireplace seems to dim, the dancing of the light more lazy, barely reaching your feet, let alone your workbench. You shiver, feeling a chill run down your spine as the shadows in the room grow darker and more sinister. You turn around to inspect whether you need to add more logs to the dwindling fire, but your attention is grabbed by the window to your side. Icy flowers begin to form on the glass, their sharp angles glistening in the fading rays of the day.

Are these the last remnants of your blissful life? You wonder how long it will take for the cold to overtake the countryside and turn it into an icy wasteland. How many people will die, and will you ever see summer? You shake your head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts, and raise your gaze over the forming ice, as beautiful as it might be. You look at the grassy field and see glittering snow start to descend from the sky. While frost isn't all that uncommon, you've never seen it snow quite like this. The delicate flakes twirl and dance in the air, casting a magical spell over the landscape. You're in awe, and rush to the door, pulling the blanket around your shoulders tighter before stepping outside into the freezing twilight. The air is so still, not even a whisper of wind dares disturb the enchanting scene, like nature itself is holding its breath in anticipation. The soft flakes brush against your cheeks, melting on contact and leaving a cold, damp feeling on your skin. You try to imagine your home being transformed into a winter wonderland, with snow covering every surface in sight. You know you should fear that image more than anything else, but there's a strange sense of peace that comes with it.

You glance over your little yard to the edge of the forest, and there you see a figure. Your eyes are caught by his icy gaze, and you can't see anything else beside his piercing blue irises. You feel a chill run along your spine, but not from the cold, but from the kind of terror you would feel while staring down a wild wolf.

"I found you at last, my sweet darling." The nearly emotionless words of the god of winter and death carry over the silent landscape, echoing in your ears like a haunting melody. The coldness in his face softens slightly, replaced by something akin to a gentle smile.

You are too stunned to speak or move; the knowledge of who you've come across freezes you in place. But it isn't all fear that has made your legs so heavy; the restlessness of your soul is rearing its head again, calling out to the unknown like it's an old friend. You stay quiet as you look into the eyes of the god before you, feeling a sense of both terror and excitement. He turns toward you and steps closer. Your eyes are released from the shackles of his gaze. As you look at the rest of the figure, you see the mass of wings behind him. They aren't made up of feathers, but of shards of ice that reflect the light in a dazzling display. His body is clad in a flowy white robe, partially revealing his pale skin, some of it covered by the icy shards, the same as the wings. His hair and eyelashes look like they are frosted over due to the cold that emanates from his very being. He is breathtaking as he approaches you, his bare feet make no sound as he walks along the path. The blades of grass freeze in his presence, the puddle of water forms jagged crystals on its surface like razors.

"It has been too long, my dear," he whispers, his voice low and level, the sound crossing the empty space between you effortlessly to caress your ears.

His expression is tender yet filled with a cold intensity. This is not how you imagined such an infamous god to look at a mortal being like yourself. His eyes seem to pierce your very soul, making you feel both terrified and strangely alive.

With every step he takes, the surrounding air gets colder. Every inhale stings your lungs, every exhale produces a white cloud. Your fingers grip the blanket tighter. You can't shake the feeling that he knows something about you that you don't. His eyes have never left your face as he finally stops at your doorstep.

"I am sorry for being so impossibly late," he says, holding out a hand to you, palm up. His voice has a cold edge to it.

"Am I going to die?" The words slip over your lips before you even realize you've spoken them.

"One day, darling, but hopefully not any time soon. I cannot bear to lose you again." A slight smile flickers on the corners of his lips. "Take my hand."

"What do you mean? What do you want from me?" You know you should be afraid of him, but your soul tells you to place your hand in his.

"You will remember, sweet Shepherd." He waits patiently. "Take my hand."

"I'm not a shepherd; I'm a herbalist. You must have confused me with someone else." Saying a god is wrong seems like a surefire way to die, yet you do it anyway. Your reaction paints a slightly more obvious smile on his face as he looks at you through his low eyebrows with amusement. Your heart tells you to reach for his fingers.

"I will recognize you in any life, with any face. I will always find you, as your soul calls out to me. Take my hand." His piercing blue eyes look into yours, and you know that he is the source of your restless nights. You take a deep breath and finally allow yourself to surrender to your heart and soul. Your right hand lets go of the blanket and reaches out into the freezing night air to rest on his open palm. His skin feels like marble against yours, but his touch is comforting and familiar.

"Wake up, my love." His words echo in your mind as you realize the meaning behind them. Hundreds of previous lives come flooding back to you with a sense of recognition and understanding.

"Nai!" Your eyes open wide as you remember who he truly is, "You found me!" The cycle of reincarnation finally feels familiar once again.

He shifts closer, leaning his cold forehead against yours, your hand pressed against his chest.

"Do you still have it?" he asks softly.

"Of course I do; it's been with me all this time," you reply as you shut your eyes. His cold fingers squeeze yours tighter, and he lifts his forehead, replacing it with his lips. A gentle kiss on your skin as his free hand caresses your cheek. You would be shivering if it weren't for the fire lit up inside you.

"Thank you, sweet Shepherd," he says, placing his cheek against yours as he speaks by your ear. "For keeping it safe all this time."

"It is yours after all," you say, keeping your eyes closed, savoring the moment.

"No, sweetling, it is yours," he replies, his voice warm and comforting. He doesn't quite sound like a god of winter and death, one that brings merciless cold and darkness wherever he goes. Instead, he is the guardian and lover of all your past lives, reaching back to the ancient times before you were cast out from the Higher Plane. He is the one who cradles you in his arms and whispers promises of love eternal. The freezing stares are saved for everyone else but you, for you are his chosen one.

"Why don't you come inside?" You smile as you turn your head slightly towards him, feeling the frigid air of his breath against your ear.

"I doubt I would make it through the door," his silky voice chuckles softly. "I've been searching for so long, I fear I myself have frozen."

You can see his massive, crystalline wings over his shoulder. It has never gone on so long that he himself starts to freeze as well. His body feels more rigid, and the softness of his flesh has turned to ice.

"I can fix that, my love," you say softly, reaching out to touch his frozen skin with warmth in your fingertips. The blanket that you released slides off your shoulders, exposing the goosebumps on your skin. The cold air bites at your uncovered flesh, but you don't mind; you are in love with winter. Your fingers slide along his jaw, turning his face toward you. Your breath escapes you as a white vapor before you close the gap between the two of you, capturing his lips with yours.

The kiss you share is deep, filled with a kind of longing that has been building up for many thousands of years. You feel his body warm up; the coldness of his skin no longer cuts you like knives; and your fingers get to press into the suppleness of his cheek. The quiet air is filled with a sound reminding you of delicate glass breaking. His hand that has been tracing the curve of your neck moves down to rest on the small of your back and pulls you closer, flush against his body. You feel his feathers brush against your skin as he wraps you up in his numerous wings, enveloping you in his embrace, protecting you from the frost he brings to the rest of the world.

You pull back to admire the sight you know you will find—the glowing markings etched into his eyes and skin, the pattern traveling along his body, gracing his face, and decorating his arms with intricate designs that seem to come alive in the dim light of nightfall. He is still pressing your hand against his chest, where you can start to feel the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm that matches the intensity of your own.

The frost in his hair is gone, his skin taking on a tone of warmth, a blush of cold darkening his cheeks and the tip of his nose. The marks still linger on him, pulsing lightly, and you are mesmerized by the blue eyes that no longer remind you of a dangerous beast but of a soul who carries too many burdens.

You lead him into the warmth of your cottage, but with every step he takes, the fire flickers, threatening to die down completely. A kind of darkness and cold emanate from him, yet it doesn't touch you anymore. His hand in yours is warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the atmosphere around him. You refuse to let it bother you as your heart is set ablaze. His hand slides out of yours and he takes a longer step forward to be right beside you. His hand moves onto your back, and with gentle pressure, he guides you to the seat by the window, where the silvery moonlight starts to creep in. With a rustle of feathers, he spreads his wings before sitting down on the soft cushion, pulling you with him. Not once has he averted his eyes, looking at you like you're a treasure of priceless value. The hand not resting on your lower back caresses up your arm, sending shivers through your body. This seems to amuse him as you see the curve of his lips in the dim light. You settle more comfortably into his lap, and his wings fold and reach over to you like a soft blanket.

"Tell me, Shepherd, do you remember it all now?" His knuckles brush gently over your cheek.

"I have lived so many mortal lives that I can hardly keep them all straight, so I'm still piecing it together." You rest your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "But I remember you in all of them, one way or another. Why do you keep calling me Shepherd, love?"

"I don't mean to be impatient with you, but I've been waiting to find you for so very long. I can call you by your new name if you would like me to." His fingers trace along your jaw and lips as he speaks. "But you are the Shepherd. My other half. I may be the god of death, but I need you to guide the souls of the deceased into the afterlife so they can be born again."

"What?" Your eyebrows move closer together in confusion. He takes your hand out of your lap to place kisses on your knuckles.

"I meant to find you sooner, my love. This winter was never meant to last so long. But it is over now. We are reunited. I have made you a lot of work. I am sorry. Some of these souls have been waiting for 50 years to move on. I reaped them from their earthly existence, I brought death, and now they need you so my brother can bring them life once again. To offer them a new beginning in spring so that my sister can fill them up with the joy of summer. Don't you remember?"

His eyes are solemn as they look into yours. Deep regret plagues them—a kind of hurt you don't remember seeing in them before. The pain is clearly etched in every line of his face.

"I will. Just keep holding me, and it will come back; it always has." You squeeze his fingers tightly, and his lips move to your wrist, brushing against your skin.

"You can ask me anything you want, love." His piercing eyes look into yours as he measures your forearm with his kisses. "Perhaps it will help."

"Your brother—he lives on a mountain, right?" You watch him carefully. "Why do you have to roam around and not him?"

"Because people don't pray for winter and only the desperate hope for death," he replies softly. His lips trail to your shoulder, and you can't see his eyes anymore. "But even if I had the power to dictate winter and death from just one little corner of the world, I still need you to put an end to it. I do not wish to turn this world into a wasteland because you still live in it. You alone can rein in the northern winds and calm the raging blizzards, for I only love you. You alone."

You feel his sharp teeth brush against the skin of your neck, and you lean back, letting out a deep sigh as you enjoy his touch. Your hand that's been resting on his chest moves to his head, your fingers lacing into his hair. You close your eyes and savor the moment, knowing that you are completely captivated by him.

"Why must gods be so cruel and jealous? To not only curse us but the whole world with it. All that because you gave your heart to me. How spiteful, they cannot kill me, so they force me into a mortal body to ensure I'm a slave to reincarnation until the end of time." Your quiet voice fills the room as you feel his mouth move to your ear.

"And I would wage another war and fall all over again just to rectify it," he whispers into your ear. "You just say the word, my sweetest love, and I will fight for an eternity, I will lay waste to everything. Until then, I will keep searching for you in each and every one of your lives."

His hand on your back pulls you tighter, and the cocoon of feathers surrounding you rustles softly as his breath gets heavy against your skin. His lips trail along your cheek until they reach yours. He moves softly, capturing your mouth with a gentle kiss that speaks of promises fulfilled and passion unleashed.

"You are so breathtakingly gorgeous," he whispers, his voice filled with love and desire, barely moving away from your lips. "No god of beauty could ever compare to you. To think you are mine... all mine."

You lean into him as his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss, knowing that this love has not dwindled over the passing millennia. Your souls date back to a time before this world was created, in the Higher Plane, among other gods, you had found each other, and now, in this mortal realm, your devotion continues to burn just as brightly. His hands trace along the curves of your body, exploring every dip and valley with a hunger that matches your own. The kisses of the winter god burn on your neck as his face presses into your skin. You lean back as his fingers undo the buttons on your blouse. The fabric falls away, revealing your bare chest as his lips map every inch of it.

"Open your eyes, my darling, look at me." You hear his insistent voice as a gap forms between your bodies, "I have been waiting for too long to see them glimmer in the moonlight, for they hold all that my soul yearns for."

The god of winter and death spends most of the night worshiping your mortal body. He kisses every mark and freckle that adorn your skin like stars. He whispers poems of adoration against the scars time has etched into you. He declares his unyielding love for you in every way two people can. He leaves trails of fire in his wake that burn with his passion. Every inch of your body is a canvas for him to paint upon. His love leaves marks where his teeth have been and where his lips have lingered. His desire leaves bruises on your skin, but you know he takes care not to break your human body.

You lay in his embrace, surrounded by the massive wings that shield you from the cold he brought with him into your home. Your fingers trace patterns into his skin, your body is exhausted, but you know that dawn is creeping ever closer and the time for him to leave is near. Your eyes remain on him as he strokes along your tingling skin. His sharp gaze catches yours.

"You're staring," you say with both amusement and slight awkwardness.

"I can't help it, you're beautiful." His low voice caresses your ears.

"Why must you leave?" The words escape you.

"Because I'm the god of winter and death, my passing alone brings calamity, I cannot linger for long," he says mournfully.

"Then can't I come with you?" You say hopefully, a glimmer appears in your eyes.

"Alas, you are chained to a mortal body, and I reside in the north, far beyond human settlements, where only demons roam the dead forests. Even if my presence alone wouldn't kill you, the merciless nature of my frozen hell would. It's no place for someone as precious as you, my sweetling." You feel a slight chuckle ripple in his body. "Yet every time you wake, you ask me that same question."

"Then when will you return?" Your voice gets quieter as you see the darkness behind your window retreat.

"An army of war gods wouldn't be able to keep us apart. They tried." His voice is soft, and he touches your cheek. "I will come back once it's my turn again, the year will be guided through its seasons, and now I know where to find you. Until my return, guide the ones I have reaped back into the circle of life, sweet Shepherd. Guide them well until we meet again."

"I hope it won't be this long again, for our sake and theirs. I don't want the humans to fear you as much as they do."

"I too wish to be apart from you for as little time as possible, yet I will engulf this world in eternal winter if it means I can return to you." His voice has a sharpness to it, his words are both a promise and a threat. "Their fear means nothing to me compared to your love."

Dawn arrives too soon, the first rays of light brushing the tops of the trees acting as a warning. Your time has run out, and your fated love must bid you farewell. His touch lingers longer, the fingers tracing the outline of your face as if etching it into his memory for eternity. His stern eyes can't hide the tender look of adoration they hold for you. His lips press against yours as the layers of wings peel away from you. Before the coolness of the outside air reaches you again, your love drapes a blanket around you, never breaking away from the kiss.

You want to reach out to him, but his long fingers catch your wrists into his grasp. He holds on tight, gripping your hands with his. He pulls away slightly and places a kiss on your cheek.

"I love you, my darling," his voice whispers in your ear. You feel another firm press of his lips on your forehead. "Keep it safe for me."

"Your heart is always safe with me. I will guard it, and I will warm it when you come again." You smile as you look up into his piercing blue eyes. "I love you in every life I live."

He releases your hands, his fingers lightly brushing your chin, before he turns to leave. He steps away from your door into the snow covered yard. His majestic wings unfurl into the still air, each feather seemingly stretching out.

"Until I see you again, my sweet Shepherd!" He doesn't show you his face, but you hear the warm smile in his voice.

"Until then, darling!"

The god's quiet footsteps lead him towards the forest again. The bare feet don't make a single noise, and the white robe emits only the slightest rustle. He might be leaving, but the world itself seems fundamentally different to you than it did yesterday. Even as he disappeared, leaving snow and ice behind and a coolness in your chambers, the dawn that came brought new colors with it you had never seen before in this lifetime.

This was originally going to be smut, but I got carried away and then it didn't seem right anymore. If my brainrot doesn't pack its bags in the next few days then I might make a part 2 that follows the original plan...

There is now a smutty Part 2.

And even a 3rd installment.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

[scotianostra]

One of Scotland's' most iconic films, Local Hero was released on February 18th 1983.

In the days before mobile phones we used to use things called phone boxes when we were not at home, and the phone box in Local Hero has become as iconic as the film itself.

There aren’t many films that have a 100% Tomatometer , on the movie website Rotten Tomatoes, backed up by an impressive 87% audience score, it should be all you need to know when choosing a movie to watch, expecially if you haven’t seen it before. IMDb also rate it highly with 7.4 out of 10.

Bill Forsyth’s oil-refinery comedy isn’t billed as a weepy. It is, however, a love poem to Scotland, and that’s what brings the lump to my throat.

Quirky, wry, gentle are words most often used for this comedy on the movie database site, IMDb, the starting point for many of my posts about those Scots in the acting profession in my posts. They brief story line on the site does not hint at the emotional turbulence you might soon be experiencing. So maybe it’s just me being a big sissy. Wouldn’t be the first time I lost the plot. All it says is "An American oil company sends a man to Scotland to buy up an entire village where they want to build a refinery. But things don't go as expected." The film is so much more than this and it stands the test of time much better than other Forsyth films like Comfort & Joy and Gregory's Girl, well in my opinion anyway!

Crackpot Texan oil magnate Felix Happer (Burt Lancaster) gets the idea that a small Scottish fishing village would be a marvellous acquisition for his so-rich-it-makes-you-sick company, Knox Oil and Gas, so he sends an executive gopher named MacIntyre (because that sounds Scottish, yeah – played by Peter Riegert) to close the deal and get the pipeline pencilled in.

“Mac” is met by some local “dork” called Oldsen (a young Peter Capaldi), who attempts to steer him through a tartan microculture that includes a lawyer-cum-publican/hotelier (Denis Lawson) who tapdances while standing on a chair shouting “Stella” – the name of his ever-randy wife; there is a super-hard marine biologist played by Jenny Seagrove who, after delivering a short lecture on the North Atlantic drift, ends up helping Oldsen to find that pistol in his pocket; and then there is a scene in which a very whisky-sodden Mac calls Texas from a red phone box on the harbourside, a phone box that has featured in so many peoples snaps when visiting Pennan in Banffshire.

Other bits of business in the film involve a salty Russian seafarer and overflying warplanes. You can see how it got the comedy tag, and I haven’t even mentioned the thing with the rabbit. And you can see how Mac ends up smitten.

This is all top material from a very talented writer/director, with photography and music from Glasgow born Mark Knopfler matches the acting and direction perfectly. But on first viewing I found myself asking halfway through, “What is this film actually about?” After not very much thought, I came to the conclusion that it was not a How Things Never Go According to Plan story, but a love poem to Scotland and the Scots. A bit slushy, but never mind. It’s only a film.

The scene when Mac phones to describe the Northern Lights, to me is very special, but the scene that prompted the lump in my throat at the end of the movie is when, having failed in his mission to secure the Knox refinery deal and mutilate one of Planet Earth’s most beautiful locations, Mac returns to his frigid steel-and-glass Houston apartment. He stands at his kitchen counter wondering what to do next, the hushed march of oil capitalism buzzing gently outside. He pulls from his coat pocket a handful of pebbles and shells, smelling one of them poignantly remembering as he spreads them on the work surface.

As Knopflers music gently plays he goes to his balcony and looks out to the city......the scene fades to black, then reopens 4,500 miles away, where, on the harbour side of a small Scottish fishing village, we see the phone box, perhaps ringing and the credits begin as the horns of Going Home blast out.

Others in the film include Rikki Fulton, Alex Norton, Kenny Ireland, John Gordon Sinclair and of course Burt Lancaster.

[twopoppies]

Hey Gina! I don’t exactly know how to talk about this so i apologise if it’s worded weird, but I wanted to talk about polari! :) Also want to quickly preface by saying A.) I am a part of the LGBTQ+ community, B.) while I’m not English, I am Scottish (Glasgow) and we use some of the same slang as (specifically Northern) England & C.) I have a lot of hetero English friends who know absolutely nothing about polari.

(Quickly before I start as u/ppl may find this annoying; I’ve said Scottish separately as a lot of Scottish ppl, myself included, don’t like being referred to as English/British as majority of us are currently wanting & trying to gain independence from the U.K. lol & I included British instead of just Scotland/England as I’m not sure if it’s used anywhere else in great britian/the UK - please say if it is! :D )

I’m not sure if you’ve seen this too but I see quite a lot of people saying that Louis solely knowing/using polari speech is proof/semi-proof of him being queer or knowing queer history - I have to completely disagree with this.

Polari is used very commonly (some examples I can think of off the top of my head are bevvy, lallies and naff as I use them quite a lot.) in day-to-day conversation in scotland/england (as I mentioned, I have hetero english friends and they use polari ALL THE TIME, like they use only refer to a alcohol/drinks as bevvy, and have no absolutely no idea that it IS in fact polari..). People use it without even knowing what it is, especially those who are lower/working class and/or neds/chavs (which Louis seems to use as? Or want to be perceived as?) and are more likely to use slang. I guarantee you that if you were to go down to England (especially the north) and asked what bevvy meant, they’d almost 100% be able to tell you what means - but they won’t know the origins of the word, they’d just think it’s slang (they probably wouldn’t even know it’s used in Scotland too LOL).

I’ve seen absolutely no other scottish/english/british person talk about this so I feel like majority of the people speaking about polari are Americans (not all & not only, of course, but I feel like they majority of larries are American? Haha) who don’t actually use it or understand it’s use in modern day England/Scotland/U.K. and that’s why they’re saying that he must be queer to use it because they think that it’s not used anymore when it actually is! :)

I’m so sorry if this is a complete jumble of words, I’m absolutely horrible at writing my thoughts down hahah! I pray you understand what I’m trying to say. I hope this isn’t coming across as rude or mean. I’m not meaning it that way at all. Also, this isn’t meant to be a dig at Americans/non-scottish/english/great British folk either, it’s completely normal that you wouldn’t know this! :)

Sorry again hahaha I’ve been thinking about this for a really long time and have been dying to get this off my chest !! + I haven’t used tumblr in years so if the layout/format(??) is weird, apologies for that too, I’m also on mobile :( Thank u (if u do) for reading my long ass ramble lol :D I just wanted to shed some light on this.

Hi, honey. I think assuming Louis’ sexuality only based on him being aware of/using Polari is pretty silly. As you say, straight people in your part of the world use certain words regularly without being aware of it.

As always, I think one has to take many behaviors and actions into consideration when wondering if Louis (or anyone) is signaling. There’s a difference between using certain words that have become common, and knowing what Polari is. Him wearing that brand goes hand in hand with many instances of him wearing clothing that sent a message (for example, wearing the All Out, Queen’s Surf, and Rainbow Apple logo shirts). At that time, he seemed to be very calculated about what messages he sent through clothing. I think Polari was one of many instances of Louis signaling being a part of the community. But I’d never look at that as an isolated instance and think that.

[cienie-isengardu]

Pakku and Iroh

So, let’s talk about master Pakku and uncle Iroh and the vital difference in how the show (and post-war comics) presented them. At first glance, we have a stern man refusing to teach Katara, a self-trained waterbender, because she is a girl and it goes against Northern Water Tribe’s culture. Even after she challenged him and proved her skills in fight, master Pakku still refused to take her as student - even if from pragmatic point equipping Avatar with a well-trained waterbender comrade on his travel through the world would be very much in the best interest of Northern Water Tribe - and changed his mind only after seeing Kanna’s necklace. 

In contrast, Iroh very much from the start was presented as Zuko’s supportive uncle, who trained him in firebending or lighting redirection, protected from harm (like he did against Zhao by stopping admiral’s attack after the man lost Agni Kai or Azula when she hunted down her brother on Ozai’s order) and in general tried to be the moral guide and voice of reason to his troubled nephew - if he succeeded or if he was even good at that is of course up for another debate.

It is easy to pit them against each other - on that ground alone, Pakku compared to Iroh doesn’t look that good, right?

But then Avatar: The Last Airbender turned the perception of those men 180 degrees. After the attack on Northern Water Tribe that temporarily killed the Moon Spirit and destroyed a great chunk of the city (enemy soldiers managed to break into the city itself), Pakku’s presence, as the waterbender master, would be greatly important to rebuilding the damage. However he decided, alongside with other waterbenders and healers to head to the South Pole, to help their sister tribe.

Pakku: I've decide to go to the South Pole. Some other benders and healers want to join me. It's time we helped rebuild our sister tribe.

And yes, he wanted also to meet the love of his life, Katara & Sokka’s grandmother, but I can’t stress enough, the war was far from being over. The Northern Water Tribe survived the attack but no one could guarantee the Fire Nation wouldn’t try it again in the nearest future, especially if Avatar failed to bring back balance to the world. Pakku had his responsibilities to his community yet he chose to travel to the other side of the world, to help a devastated sister Tribe that his people - whatever by choice or being unable to help in times of need - abandoned during war (though considering that Northern Water Tribe had no up-to-date knowledge about Fire Nation for like last 85 years I think it is more matter of choice than lack of resources).

So Pakku left his home, his community and traveled to the South Pole where, according to comics Avatara: The Last Airbender - North and South, he actually opened a school to help bring back waterbending to a shattered tribe and was willing to teach everyone, regardless of gender. His two first student, sister Siku and Sura, at first refused to admit they were waterbenders due to fear (as mother forbidden them to reveal their skills due to danger of Fire Nation’s attacks) and instead of being discouraged or complain about ungrateful Southern people, he keep trying and even enlisted Katara to help and in generally deal with the problem in good natured way. There is no doubt that Pakku, a stern character once challenged by Katara, changed for the better and took a serious responsibility in rebuilding Southern Water Tribe’s culture by offering to teach waterbending, something at that time almost forgotten due to Fire Nation’s repeated attacks through decades. 

And there is Iroh, our dear uncle Iroh, who when asked by Zuko will he take the rightful place on the throne - and with that, responsibility for Fire Nation, refused to do so and decided to re-open his tea shop. Sure, in the post-war comics he ruled in Zuko’s absence for a short time when needed and helped Ursa face imprisoned Ozai, so she could free herself from the panical fear of her ex-abusive husband but… that is basically it, at least to my knowledge. All the responsibility for the country, narrative wise, was pushed on Zuko because Iroh didn’t want to come back to Fire Nation, even if as a Prince he had duty to his people. Especially since Fire Nation too lost its cultural heritage (music, dances, true sense of firebending) due to the same war that devastated so much Southern Water Tribe’s culture.  

Look, no matter how flawed Iroh is, I wholeheartedly like him as a character, but the contrast between Pakku and him is something I think a lot lately. The one master that started as a sexist jerk but who ultimately took on himself the responsibility of rebuilding waterbender traditions - and stayed true to the element he mastered, as water represents change. And the one with warm personality, full of love for his nephew and wise advice for Aang and Toph (supposed enemy and stranger) who wouldn’t do so when asked… and as Iroh explained in “Bitter Work”:

Fire is the element of power. The people of the Fire Nation have desire and will, and the energy and drive to achieve what they want.     

but somehow he lacked the said desire and will - or maybe the confidence? - to bring Fire Nation back to its more peaceful roots? Dunno. Like I said, I’m thinking a lot about that contrast between the old masters and members of White Lotus.

[enola6]

Cage of the Given

✺✳ ┅ ⑅ ┅ ✳✺

Alpha/Omega Reader

✺✳ ┅ ⑅ ┅ ✳✺

Grey, red and deep greens painted the vegetable fields of the Yukip tribe, something you had found refuge in. Splinters and dirt covered your once pristine hands , but once a child came of age it was only fair that they contribute to the wellness of the tribe. You were of age to work, just too tired from the night before, a night filled with endless warnings and explanations from your mother. You could faintly make out her face in the dim light, but her cautions had been the most clear.

“You are an Ω, it was made evident to me when I first saw that mark on your back” the frail woman reached for her daughter's hand, grasping it tighter than ever before. She had asked your siblings to leave, something you thought was odd for you were never the favored child. “The people of the fallen. I do not know how you were born with this defect, but trust me when I tell you that you will live a life of danger. There is no tribe left of your kind , but your enemies are many.”

It was a faction of people seldom uttered. Their name , only a rumor mentioned by storytellers. The submissive ones , the fallen ones, fully conquered by the Alphas.

No, you couldn’t be.

“Mother, what do you mean?”

“The Karinsiles , you must fear them and avoid their flag whenever shown, for they are Alphas and will grapple to breed you.” She then coughed for the last time and drifted into endless sleep, her hand becoming limp in yours. Your siblings resent you for that night, but life goes on when one is lost.

A ladybug landing on your nose awoke you from sleep, allowing you to notice the setting sun and rising moon. Pink filled the sky, and you wished that all of life could be so  peaceful. Alas , the screeching voice of your elder brother called for you to enter the wooden hut you called home. You did no work today but that was fine, it will be done in the morrow.

“(y/n), did you fall asleep again ?” he questioned , his hands resting on his hip.

 “The west fields are  trimmed and fertilized, I did not do that whilst sleeping, dear brother.”

He eyed you before entering the house after you. Food was already prepared, and the firewood was already chopped. It seemed as if it were any other night. You looked to your right shoulder, the mark of ‘Ω’ which had always laid there , unnoticed. Ointment made of crushed herbs and water was what the healer had prescribed to her wounds when she was younger.  The flower you needed however, was pot marigold, a flower only grown in the north in territories that did not belong to the Yukips. Being a peasant and suffering from the financial loss of your mother’s death, you could not afford to purchase the plant directly from merchants.

So you set out, deciding to tread at night before the light of dawn awoke the people of the north. The burning of your mark seeped into your skin, it had never stinged as much as it did now. Wounds and gashes had always found homage on your skin, but it was this one that decided to dither in pain.

Lights from the lanterns and open taverns allowed you little refuge as you traveled in the dark. Surprisingly, you were able to sit yourself on the horse with little help from the stool beneath you in the stable.  And though it was winter and you wore the long coats your mother had sewn, they offered little protection in the numbing chill.

Passing fields of green and dwellings of old, you didn’t stop the white steed to lollygag for the remedy to your pain was oh so close. It was then you saw a gate, a paramount gate with hinges that seemed to be made of gold. Silver and orange levees hinted at your placement in the northern territories, though you did not seem to know which exact tribe you had stepped foot in.

While you dismounted the white mare, you reached to open the gate to collect the vibrant Pot marigolds that seemed to lean towards you, nearly breaking their stems.

“Halt!” a guttural command rang through the pit of darkness “Who goes there?”

His harsh voice and the sound of his horse caused your horse to become suddenly frightened and run away, leaving you by yourself. He had a lantern, a small one that still offered all the light you would need  at midnight.

“I am but an old beggar.” You didn’t allow the knight to peek at your face , using the cloak to guard yourself from his threatening glare. “I wish to return home.”

“No beggar dares to venture into the land of Dankworth.” Another knight appeared besides the taller one, looking as if he sensed an aroma slightly enticing. His lantern-no , torch now that you could see more clearly- was bigger, his armor harder , and his hair longer than the knight beside him.  “That is not your home, beggar. Show yourself.” He waved the torch dangerously close to your face , causing you to shriek and lose grip of the hood.

Both the men gasped in captivation from the realization of your scent which became more apparent as they stepped over.

“She’s an… She’s an…”

“That’s right, Sir Lain. She’s an Ω.” The shorter one reached over and grabbed your arm, roughly forcing you into his grasp. “Her scent is very powerful.”

“She must be unmarked, Rhory. No sensible Alpha would allow his Ω to wander unchaperoned.”

You closed your eyes, forcing your head to reach back further than comfortable in an attempt to distance yourself from the aggressive men. You were a vase, one of gold and platinum that had been lost for many years before being dredged by a gallant knight and presented to the king as something so bygone they had forgotten its original purpose.

To hold water.

The king's water.

“Speak, Ω. From what tribe do you hail?” After no response, the shorter knight snapped his fingers in your face. His finger faintly grazed your cheek , but you did not answer. Instead you thrashed , losing yourself unexpectedly from his grip. You ran, faster than your legs would allow.

The pot marigold was forgotten during your newfound freeness, your scar’s pain did not matter anymore.

But he caught up to you, and tackled you into the cold, damp earth as he had learned to do to savages once before.  You were deep in the woods now. All sounds harmonized into one haunting melody , the loudest instrument being your moans and cries of pain.

“Arrest her!”

And more came, a crowd of handcrafted armor that rode on horses that spat on you. One pulled you from the floor, discarding your hood which camouflaged into the fallen pile of leaves. You reached helplessly into the back abyss, attempting to grab the fabric but it was in vain.

The ride made you sore, but leaning into the knight’s armor  only reminded you of the cold situation. It seemed as if life were to stop. 

“Sir Knight,” you cried to the man behind you “I thirst. I beg of you to allow me to drink from the lake over yonder.”

The knight only groped your cold breasts through the dress you wore and played with your hardened , pink nipples. “The only drink you’ll  be getting is the water that pours from your eyes after I fuck you with my cock.” The sudden rush of pleasure made your pussy hot and dripping. You grinded against the back of the horse, hitting the knight as you did. He whispered once again into your ear, making your body shiver in pleasure, “I can’t wait until these tits grow with milk. I’ll make you so large that your milk satisfies the whole tribe.”

✺✳ ┅ ⑅ ┅ ✳✺

A mighty fortress sits on a lone mountain. The flag of  Karinsiles flows brightly in the blue sky, contrasting with the dark colours of the flag. Rhythmic sounds of the horses’s hooves woke you from slumber, causing your eyes to open on the flag.

“The Karinsiles , you must fear them and avoid their flag whenever shown, for they are Alphas and will grapple to breed you.”

You began struggling , but your hands had been bound and your feet bare.

“Stop it, Ω.” The knight behind you grabbed your neck causing you to see black and atypical designs in the sky. While the gate opened, you stared at the spikes located at the bottom hoping that they would come crashing down upon your face and impale you.

Anything was better than this.

You were brought to the king, a fat man who chewed on a turkey leg whilst sentencing you.

“Who is this wench you bring me?”

“My king, she is one of the conquered ones.” He pulled a tear in your dress near your shoulder, exposing the Ω mark. A gust of wind from the open stained glass window blew your hair from the mark , causing the king to widen his eyes. He pushed himself from the regal seat he was comfortable in and walked to the Ω. The king of the Karinsiles was old, his eyes obviously worn from the many years he had used them.

“And so she is, sentence her to the breeding cell, next to the others.” He then turned to the two knights “Lain, Rhory, breed the next generation of Alphas in her womb. Breed her until there is room for no more.”

✺✳ ┅ ⑅ ┅ ✳✺

The lone window in the jail cell was too high for you to reach, your tiny jumps were proven futile until you were able to grip the thick iron bar. Your impractical transparent dress swayed behind you, catching onto the dampness of the wall. Indeed, the scene was humorous to the guards who had grown bored staring at the wall, but the little amount of grass you were able to see was like a needed gift from god. You dropped from your hang, allowing the hay around you to scatter.

Getting down on both knees, you began to pray that one day, hopefully , the king would let you out or even kill you. This was a fate worse than death. Death, something your mother was able to peacefully experience, a gift not yet bestowed upon you. Rattling and screeching from the burdensome cell doors did not interrupt the Ω’s prayers, nor did the two knights who began conversing between themselves.

You were an Ω , and it couldn’t be more apparent on that cold winter's day. Your slick sinfully began soaking the back of the skimpy white dress for a reason you did not know. You had not yet laid eyes upon them, but you knew it was your predetermined destiny to breed them a bairn. They were Alphas, your destined masters. Without them , an Ω served no purpose .

“Who is it you pray to, Ω?”  one of the brothers taunted, his chest broadly showcasing marks of the Alpha together with tattoos of  Karinsiles. You observed their differences and there were few, for it seemed as if the knighthood strived to create replicas of each other.

“I pray that you will be humane when seeding me, Alpha.” You responded, your body shifting in such a way so that you were standing up and looking at them. You had never felt so naked and ashamed. It was a fall from grace to be standing in a room with two bigger, unmarried men, awaiting them to seed you. You will carry their children, knowing nothing but this barren room.

“Humane? You are not in position to make demands.” The other brother responded with an offensive guffaw, his hand moving to lock the door behind him.  The sound of iron hitting against iron reminded you of the isolation you were destined to live. “You are a criminal.”

“I was stealing to feed myself!” you retaliated, throwing your hands around.

“So you are a criminal, little Ω. Now, if you had an alpha to take care of you, we wouldn’t be in this position to begin with.” He began touching himself through the fabric of his trousers, his hand moving in a jerking motion. From the black, you could see his erectness and the largeness that he possessed. Both of them frightened you in their feral condition. As they inched closer to you, you attempted to move back, but you hit the wall, causing you to stumble.

“Perhaps you are right, sir knight.” You began to pant, “I have lived a joyous and lonely life, one without the presence of  knights to toss and beat me around. I have never once felt this so-called natural urge as you call it to breed and grow a child in the  unfilled chambers of my womb. In this very moment , even, I do not find myself lusting for you.”

“Your sarcasm does not amuse me, little Ω”

They were rutting, and breeding you would be the only cure to this madness.

“She’s in heat.” One of them remarked, taking your hair and smelling it “How heavenly the smell is”.

“Perfect,” The other one stepped back, whipping his knife from his boot in an attempt to frighten you. “Can I allow you to remove your garments , or will you attempt to attack my dear brother over here?” 

“I will not showcase my body-”

“You will obey me!” The mark behind you etched into her skin, creating both a painful and pleasurable sensation to rush through your veins , causing your slick to trickle onto the floor. “Do not deny that you lust for me, you little slut.” He stepped closer to you, his knife ready to tear the white dress, until Rhory placed a hand on his brother’s arm.

“Allow her to obey our whim, brother. She will act upon instinct when she sees our knots.” Lain held your chin in his hand whilst pulling your hair out of the confinements of the braid. “Be a good little slut and get naked for you Alpha. You want me to make you a mommy  , don’t you?”

You closed your eyes and quacked, his hot breath entered your ear like a curse. It was impossible trying to hide the slick between your legs as you attempted to squeeze them shut, but his hand prevented that. Fingers as hard as brass began fingering your dripping cunt, making them sticky with your slick in the process. The flowing motion caused a sweet sensation to erupt in the back of your throat, “Yes, Alpha.” You couldn't deny that being trapped in his strong arms unjustly aroused you.

“Then be a good little girl and take off your clothes.” The tattered white dress found its way to the floor, leaving only your silk undergarments to cover your bottom. The gust of wind prompted you to use your arms as a barrier between you and the feeling of glacial. Lain took your arms from behind you, forcing them to reveal your perky breasts. “All of your clothes.”

You hesitated before your panties were cruelly ripped from in front of you, stripping you of the virtue of modesty.

“She will learn later, let us breed her before our rut goes away.”  Rhory did not look you in the eyes when he spoke, but instead his gaze lingered on the blushing pinkness of your untouched pussy. He stepped closer to you, trapping you in between the two alphas. Everything seemed primal , natural, unholy ,and yet she still felt the slight stubbornness that persisted her to flee from their natural grasp. “I fully intend to leave you here bred and full of seed, do you understand?”

You limply nodded, looking at the floor as they removed their garments.

“Look me in the eyes when I speak to you.” he unexpectedly slapped you across the face, the alpha behind you flinched even he thought the treatment was harsh. “I said look at me, bitch.”

“I am looking at you,” you scream , awaiting the pain to stop. The mark on your back caused you to yelp in agony , your body needed them and it showed. Elegantly and swiftly, Lain removed his clothing , using his unclothed cock to softly grind against your ass, drenching his cock in you slick.

The bulky Alpha that stood before you removed his trousers with such grace as his brother, allowing the belt and knives that hung from his hip to get lost on the floor. As he stepped closer, you attempted to flee him, but you were held in place by the strong hug of the man behind you. His primal golden eyes bore into your soul as he took your tiny hand and rubbed it against his knot, granting him the womanly pleasure he had been denied for so long. And though you tried to deny it, you were in heat, exposing you to the feeling of  amativeness.

His cock was hardened in your hands, causing your eyes to widen as you watched it lengthen with each caress. You had never seen anything so big belonging to a man before. Its veins popped from the skin, becoming apparent and textured in the palm of your hand. You wanted to scream and moan simultaneously ,  your Ω mark burning so red that Lain felt the radiated heat. It was time.

“I think it’s time to seed you. Wouldn’t you like that, little Ω?” Lain kissed as he became lost at the nape of your neck. His cock’s knot pounded from swelling, begging for refuge in your slick covered walls. His hands found your nipples, twirling and playing with the hardness in his fingers.

“I would die before the seed of Karinsiles is planted inside of me.” Your comment seemed to irk him, for he suddenly removed his lips from your skin and instead tightly squeezed your nipples in some twisted form of punishment. You yelped in pain, attempting to pry his hands from your perky breasts.

“You know what, I’ve had it with you. Lain, fuck her until she bleeds.”

“Gladely”

They both positioned themselves into you. Nail scratches formed on the outside of your thighs as Rhory lifted you into a position suitable for breeding. Never had you felt so trapped and helpless. You reluctantly placed your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself in preparation as to what was to come.

He angled himself inside of your dripping hole. His cock full and ready to fuck hid children into your empty womb. One day, his children will hang from your breasts as you sit at his feet. The image caused him to groan and take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking as if you leaked milk. If only you had been taught of your position as a bairn.

Lain, from behind, slowly entered the tip of his cock into your ass, ready to force himself into the untouched hole. Your creamy white ass cheeks pressed against his skin, prompting him to slap the mounds of lust until they turned a pinkish tone. You moaned and cried from the impact, but a bitch had to learn her place around alphas.

“Are you ready, brother? I need to pump this womb full of me.” Rhory called to his brother.

“Waiting on you.” the alpha behind you gruffed.

You panicked, fearing that you would not be able to take both cocks at the same time. The thought both excited and worried you, you just couldn't make up your mind. On one end, your heat will be over, clenching your craving for their seed; on the other end becoming one with them will officiate your surrender to the Karinsiles. 

You didn’t have time to think . Simultaneously, they plunged their knots into your wet pussy , your slick providing the ease and feeling of want. Both of the men groaned , resting in their position for a short while before continuing their lusty thrusts.

It was an odd mix of pain and pleasure, a foreign feeling unknown to your virginess. You could not look him in the eye, afraid and ashamed of the pleasure your cunt allowed.

Behind you, the soldier gave you loving caresses and sweet nothings that nearly went unheard by your ears. But regardless of the pleasing utterances made you blush, the brutality of the alpha that stood before you caused you to tremble during the supposed sacred consummation. Rather than comfort you with words reserved for poets, he aggravated you as if it was his godly purpose.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you, you pathetic bitch.”

It was something you avoided answering.

From the reflection of Lain’s discarded sword , you saw your blushing face. You didn’t look like yourself or the woman you once were, silently wishing you were still sleeping in the flower fields of Yukip.

“Oh yeah, you fucking slut. I know you want this.” He groaned , his thrusts becoming faster and harder simultaneously , as if he meant to harm you. Your walls clenched around him,  attempting to accept him deeper into your body. “You're so young, so ready to breed.”

“It’s been awhile since I've had a virgin, Rhory.” The Alpha  behind you gruffed, his cock forcibly taming your  retaliating hole.  “This may take awhile.”

“Please,” you cried from the awkward position. It was unbearable, both of them at the same time , if only they had decided to be civilized and took turns.“Be more gentle, it hurts…”

“Did you hear that , Lain? She begs of us to be more gentle.” He breathily mocked you, grabbing your hair and pulling you towards his face. In an attempt to intimidate the Ω trapped within his arms , he spat in your face and bit your sensitive soft skin that seemed to crave for his mark. The sound of skin slapping on skin encouraged him to move faster, wanting to make the sound last forever.

His deep chuckle angered you, but alas you were defenseless and thoughts of crippling him were only dreams.

“Loud and clear, brother” he placed a hand over your mouth, preventing you from moaning and speaking to them in a tone that would otherwise scandalize a lady’s ears “You should be used, not heard , Ω”.

You decided to keep quiet. It was for the best.

Only stifled moans escaped your lips, it would quench the pain, allowing for an aching sound to surround the damp quarters. Little light was offered from the barred window, rays that departed the sun allowed for you to make out their defined muscles , their jarring hands that could not help but roam your body, desiring its softness. Your back arched in response.

Their sweeting nakedness stuck to you, allowing for little movement. You felt their hot breath reach your neck as they whispered unholy phrases while fucking you.

“Look me in the eyes, you stupid slut” The alpha commanded. The sound of birds chirping could be heard in the distance, singing sounds of joy and prosper. They seemed to twist your moans of pain into songs that would one day be recited on a lute.   “Know the face of the alpha who owns you. Know my fucking face, bitch.”

Forcibly , you peered at the blackness of his tattoos that he had surely gained from war. Imperfect lines that had faded with time wholly covered  the few scars that he had gained whilst in battles. A fresh wound grew above his brow as a result from his tussle with you. It made you smile, something covered from the tears you cried from the impulse of their cocks.

The Alpha behind you reached over and placed a hand on your womb, rubbing the tender area in a mockingly soothing way. The pain of their cocks mixed with his gentleness almost seemed to taunt you, as if you were meant to confuse the two emotions.

You could not handle it anymore, the pounding friction between your legs only increased in speed. You could only imagine it as you bounced between them, his bairn that would grow in your womb, feeding off your breast as you produced milk. You wanted this. You were an Ω, born to breed.

“Oh my god , brother. I'm so close.”

He sped up as he neared, burying himself deeper and deeper inside of you so harmful that it caused you to shriek in pain. A loud ground left him as his seed seeped into your tight pussy, the white overcoming the red. Not long after, his brother finished inside of your ass, though as an Ω, there was only a slight chance his seed could find an egg from his position.

Suddenly , you desired nothing but to be marked . To be bitten and have them swear to protect you forever and forever , to cherish you. You and the children you will eventually give birth to.

“How pitiful”  He whispered into your ear , shoving your limp body to the pile of hay that had gathered in the corner . The man that had stood behind you started redressing  , shifting through the discarded clothing to find the larger size . “You are bred and not even marked yet, you whore.”

“Marked?”

“You belong to no one.”

“I belong to Yukip.”

“You are an Ω, you belong to Karinsiles.”

You knew that more of him existed , rivals to Karinsiles who would be even crueler to you when captured.  You were an Ω, valued but trashed.

“Brother, let us mark her before the others take their turn with her.” Lain reasoned with the knight, turning his attention to him.  “At least with our mark, her body will be more welcoming to our seed.”

“Perhaps you are right, brother.”

“I do not hail from Karinsiles , nor will I ever carry your blood in my veins.” You whipped your head around , screeching from the floor to make your voice heard, “Nor your seed in my womb, nor your babe on my breast… May the wound I have left on your brow remind you of my hawkishness.”

The strong impact of his foot caused you to lose your comfortable bearing. You felt his seed drip from your pussy as you struggled to regain your breath. They both became hard at the sight of your struggle, regaining the desire to impregnate you once more. It frightened you, fearing that the impact of their dicks would kill you from the pressure. Lain began rubbing his member, ogling at your swollen pussy.

“No, please. At least allow the courtesy of rest.” You pleaded with all your heart, your voice even raspy from the sudden choking that overtook your throat. “If I must breed you a son, then I should be healthy and in good standing.”

“So now you wish to carry my bairn, Ω? You crave my old cock in your young pussy, pumping you brainless?” He reached and moved a strand of hair from covering the forming bruise on your faith. You were tired, parched, and hungry , craving the comfort of the fields from back home. Being a farmer, that was the only life you knew .

“The seed of Karinsiles will grow deep in your womb”

“The gods will not allow it.”

He slapped you, creating a stinging sensation that seemed immutable. The darkness surrounded you, but it comforted you in a strange way. Sunset came and Selene arose from her slumber. Your family was probably sleeping right now, in their warm beds wondering where you had gone. You wondered if their night would be as sleepless as yours.

“No need to fight me, little Ω” you quickened your breath unknowingly as he slowly slid into you once again. He dug his nose into your hair, something you assumed smelled of muck and the stone-cold dusty floor of the cell. “ This is what you want.”

You arched your back with the feeling of his hardness filling your sheath.

“I’m on to seed the next one before she falls asleep.” The knight called to his brother.

“Go on , I will join you later.”

[annonmaly]

This is still one of the best scene of One Piece. I’m watching the series again and I want to ramble about the “Will of D.”

Personally I think it means “Destroyer”. Why? Because, people with D. in their name rarely leave a place without destroying something. Just look at Luffy, every where he goes he would cause a break down building, a law or a norm. Another thing, Cora-san said that “In certain places, the clan of D. have been called by another name, god's archenemy.” So who are those gods? It may be the celestial dragons who like to act high and mighty or maybe there are real gods in the OP universe that Oda will introduce in the future. Whoever it is, the first thing that would come to mind when we hear “god's archenemy” are the devils, but, we also call the gods as the “Creator” (the celestial dragons are also called as the creator of the existing world government). If there are creators, there must be destroyers, right? Here you go, a simple speculation that my simple mind could produce.

But hey there’s more, Actually, the thing that I want to talk about is “why” does this D clan exist. When I saw the scene above, I thought that maybe this kind of thing also happened during the void century, an outlaw befriending a royal then they decided a symbol or a word as a sign of their friendship (But, this became too long without talking about this) So, there’s a possibility that the “D.” isn’t a word. There was a time I thought that “D.” is a NorthStar or Venus, “D” stands for the moon then the “.” as the star, this also influenced by Vivi’s speech. 

Oda used lots of of moon and sun(I’m not sure about this one), now we also  have planets reference, however, stars are rarely mentioned (please tell me if there are others), I think the references  I saw are the clothing designs, the true body of Vegapunk called the "Stella”, and that starfish. Oh, there’s also Shirahoshi (which is an ancient weapon, that’s related to the D’s). We’ll stars isn’t really significant in Japanese folklore, but, it isn’t non existent since we have the stories of Tanabata. Also for sailors, a star like the Polaris is very important. According to the website I read: 

The Northern Hemisphere of the planet Earth has a very special star. Polaris, also known as the North Star, sits almost exactly over the axis point of Earth’s rotation. Anyone, looking into a clear night sky, can determine the direction North – no matter what the season, no matter what the time of night.  An older English name, attested since the 14th century, is lodestar "guiding star"(ok, another reference), similar in meaning to the old German and Old Norse names. The name Polaris in English goes back to the 17th century (just before the pirates; time). It is a contraction for the Latin stella polaris "pole star". Another Latin name is stella maris "sea-star" denoting its importance to sailors.  Navigation by the stars – celestial navigation – is believed to have started in the trackless wilderness of Earth’s deserts, and was almost immediately adopted by fledgling mariners. The sea is a treacherous place to travel. Not only are there no landmarks (land-marks) but the water is constantly moving – often not going the direction that a sailor wants to go. Sailing against a strong current could – and in the early days of sail, actually did – mean a ship was actually traveling backwards. Add to this that the wind rarely blew in the direction a ship needed in order to sail, and it’s easy to see why navigation was a tricky matter at best. -end of reference

Ok so now, here are the reasons why I thought that “D.” is a star (polaris).

1. The “D’s” are scattered everywhere, and they come in different form. Like the star in our sky.

2. Some of the D’s we known are like a star that guided and give light to others, Luffy with his nakama and people he meet throughout his journey, Garp with Coby and maybe Ace. Rouge and the sacrifice she made so Ace could see the light. Saul gave Robin a the will to survive, so on and so forth.

3. This reason is just me pushing this, the flat map of one piece looks like an eight pointed star, like a compass.

Edit: Actually, the sun is a star...

[skogenraev]

The huldufólk

The huldufólk are grouped in a classification family with many of the common hill-type faeries of Western and Northern Europe, such as the common brownie. Huldufólk (Icelandic: “the hidden people”) live inside rocks; they are gray colored and wear gray clothing, and like many other hill faeries, they are territorial and easily angered. Even today, Icelanders are cautious and respectful of the huldufólk when they are starting construction projects—if an expert believes a particular rock that is in the way of construction may be the home of the huldufólk, plans will have to be changed rather than destroy or disturb the rock, for fear of bringing the huldufólk’s vengeance upon them. Traditional wisdom also forbids having sex beneath the Northern Lights, explaining that anyone who would be willing to do that with a person is probably one of the huldufólk in disguise, and that any child born from such a union would be a changeling. Besides their native home, huldufólk are often commonly found in Minnesota, brought across the Atlantic by generations of Icelandic immigrants. https://www.ancient-origins.net/myths-legends/huldufolk-supernatural-creatures-hiding-iceland-005870 "In the north, there are stories of the Huldufólk, strange and hidden beings who live among us, yet hidden. As the story goes, Adam and Eve had many children. God announced that He would come to visit, and Eve hurried to bathe all of her kids. But she didn’t have enough time, and when God arrived, several of her children were still dirty, so she hid them and told them not to come out. When God looked upon the children, He asked whether these were all of the kids that Adam and Eve had. Eve lied, and said that they had no other children at all. But God knew this was a lie, and claimed that “what man hides from God, God will hide from man”. From that day on, the unbathed children and their later descendants were hidden from mankind. They are described as resembling humans, but more talented, charming and attractive. They are not evil, and there are stories about Huldufólk saving humans from certain death, but there are also tales about people incurring the wrath of the Huldufólk. One such story is about the road to Hvalfjarðargöng underneath the Hvalfjörður fjord. During construction, everything kept going wrong, like construction equipment constantly breaking. When a worker died in an accident, people turned to a local woman who claimed to be in contact with the Huldufólk. She said that there was a Huldufólk village in the location where the road was being constructed, and that was why the construction workers were having so many troubles. The beings had already found a location for a new village and were already moving, but they needed more time. Thus, construction was halted until the local woman told them that the last of the Huldufólk had moved. When work on the road was resumed, no further accidents occurred. This happened in 1999, by the way, it’s not an ancient tale." https://yourfriendinreykjavik.com/elves-of-iceland/

[the-everlasting-downpour]

I. — Cognac.

Failure knows no bounds and makes its home here within me They Grieve — Wither

Martyrous In a trans Nero di Marte — Sisyphos

A dark evening in Port Nömbug. Wet concrete underfoot. Puddles, many puddles – thousands of puddles, as if it were meant to be. A population of fourteen thousand. Small four-story houses with families and singles living in separate huge apartments. The main contingent of the town is made up of paradisians. A few craft beer bars behind the back.

Three men are arguing with each other. One has clearly been drinking, big bags under his eyes from lack of sleep and working late. He is dressed in an unbuttoned, hobbled coat down to his ankles, with a knitted sweater underneath, black pants and shoes. He tries to keep his composure as a cultured intoxicated man might. The light of the streetlamps surrounds him and his two friends.

And the great northern sky stretches overhead.

Heated like a tungsten thread, the argument turns from the usual emotional dialog to a long great shout. One shout is layered on top of another. One of the trio, dressed in a sailor's uniform, hopes that people won't see it, that they won't call the police. The drunk one doesn't care about that – his soul has unfolded to the point of unbearability.

His scream pours into a fist connecting with the face of the sailor who tried to quiet him. A third man – a girl in a knit sweater and jeans – dodges his punch, goes behind his back, takes him under his arms. In an unspeakable floating frenzy, the drunken man begins screaming exhaustedly. Rising from the ground, the sailor punches the drunk in the face with all his might, knocking him unconscious.

The moon shows its pale face.

«Every morning is a new opportunity. Sometimes I don't think that's true, because I don't have any more opportunities. Unless I put a bullet in my head.» Diary of Newt Garfield, dated October 8, 2026.

Newt came to my shop about the first hour of the day, when the clientele is nowhere to be seen. He is a frequent visitor to my establishment, and I am always glad to meet him, though he said he was afraid he was annoying me with his frequent appearances. We shook hands, and he asked the familiar question:

— What's up with the car?

My face changed threefold – the smile came off it. Newt noticed this and became slightly concerned.

— Something very serious, wasn't it?

I just nodded and told him to follow me. Soon we were standing in front of his car, a reliable BMW from the nineties. Nice interior, powerful engine, the works. The hood was open, the center of attention was the unfinished cylinder block. There were strange marks inside each cylinder where the piston went.

I simply told him:

— Run your hand over it.

He looked at me first, then reached his hand inside one of the cylinders and felt the walls.

— How does it feel? – I asked him.

— Like… sandpaper.

— And it's like that all over the block.

He looked back at me sharply, his face a look of confusion and concern.

— You realize it can't be like that. We're gonna have to take the engine off and rebuild it. Not just the block, but the pistons as well.

— So what you’re trying to say is that the engine completely fucked?

— It is.

— That kills my plans, – Newt said with a sigh, tucking his hand into the pocket of his long coat.

— Why's that?

— You said you were going up north with your family for a couple weeks, – Newt said. – Maybe even a month.

— Yes, – I answered, – but not today!

Newt looked at me with a strange look of surprise.

— I'm leaving on Friday, – I explained. – Today is only Tuesday. I'll get my brother and my son to help me – we'll fix your car and only then go up north to visit our loved ones.

— I see. – He held out his hand to me. – Thank you very much.

I shook his hand. He waved goodbye and then disappeared from my sight. Soon, when the rhythm of my heart matched the pulsation of the returning silence, I went outside, lit a cigarette, and looked up at the sky. It was gray and breezy.

«And whenever the wish appears, the will disappears.» Diary of Newt Garfield, dated October 8, 2026.

He met me around two o'clock in the afternoon.

The place where my place is located doesn't get many visitors (unless it's on holidays, and even then it's not a sure thing – a lot of people just forget they exist), and sometimes I think about just shutting down the business, ditching my newfound friends, and going back to my country.

And that's what I would have done if it weren't for him.

Even though we haven't known each other that long (only a year), we're already thick as thieves. Once we were glued together, we'll never be unglued again. And he came to me one rainy evening – drenched, he asked for a cup of coffee, loudly placing two jsabs on the counter – loudly, almost with a slap, to hide the fact that his hands were shaking from the cold. I ordered and just watched: he gulped down the hot, scalding strong black coffee without sugar, left two more jsabs on the table, and disappeared out of the establishment back into the rain, turning into droplets.

And I figured that was the only time I would ever get to meet a rain man. But I was wrong.

He showed up at my place with weekly regularity, asked for the same thing – a cup of strong black coffee without sugar, always left a tip and disappeared. Between us there was not a single word, and we do not need words – we communicate and understand each other through looks, which could not but please (for several years of existence of my business, with any of the rare clients I have not had to reach such closeness).

And this day was no exception. It was overcast outside the window, I was smoking behind the counter, gradually losing hope that this day would bring anything at all. It was two o'clock in the afternoon. There was a desire to close prematurely, to return home and report to my father, who will once again tell me: fool, why I did not go to the teacher, as he did. The door opens abruptly, and he walks inside with a quick stride. He walks up to the counter, places the prepared two jsabs (a bill of exchange this time, which can't help but make me happy) on the counter. For a moment our gazes meet. I take the bill, and after a couple of minutes I hand him a cup of coffee. He silently drinks it, puts two more jsab (with the bill) on the table and leaves the place.

When he finally disappeared from sight, I left the place. I wanted to take a drag, but the cigarette in my fingers was already rotten. I threw the cigarette butt away and lit a new one. I looked up at the sky. It was even sadder in the blue haze.

«Dirty engine of thought, clean engine of blood. I'm still young, though I've been standing on the ground for half a century.» Diary of Newt Garfield dated October 8, 2026.

«I couldn't be happier that you are continuing with this therapy, even though you previously thought it wouldn't help you. During this session, I saw a change in your behavior – you became calmer and more rational. You seem to have started to go along with the darker thoughts of yours. Your alcoholism is still seen as a problem. I am trying to develop a method that will benefit both of us in our way. All I can say now is that that matter is all about timing now. As for me – you can be more independent now. You know the recommendations, so I'll take a back seat. You can still visit me, but now it will be optional. Keep up the good work!»

— Why I have to lie?..

«Sense is being lost with every passing second.» Diary of Newt Garfield dated October 8, 2026.

Alex A. wakes up at six o'clock in the morning in his house. He gets dressed and goes for a jog, and when he comes back, he takes a shower. When he comes out of the shower, he goes to the kitchen and eats breakfast. Then he'll go back to his room and start working on his next novel. After work, he'll then go out and then go to bed.

And so it has been for the tenth year.

Alex A. is an innovative writer from the cold Russian countryside. Slowly but surely, in Paradise and on the territory of his vast homeland, he released several books, immediately put in the level of cult writers of the northern lands. What set him apart from other authors was his lack of greed and maximum anonymity – no one from outside his circle of friends and acquaintances could get to him, even if they wanted to.

And in that circle of friends, surprisingly small, but honest with him and with himself, Newt found himself. They'd met at some trade show about four months ago-and they still walked shoulder to shoulder.

Alex A. sat in the kitchen, drinking his bitter herbal tea. The phone was lying next to him, and if Alex A. had been a dozen years younger, he would have had a manic desire to take it in his hand and browse the Internet, in order to somehow spend these quiet minutes. However, Alex A. has grown out of this obsession, and now he wants nothing – only calmness, peace. A chance to leave the world and go to his Nirvana.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Alex A. slowly and quietly put the mug on the table. In confusion, he almost grabbed the gun lying nearby. Who it could be was the main question in his mind.

— It's open! – he shouted.

The door opened. Newt appeared from behind it, reflecting the light from his glass eye into Alex A.'s face.

— Oh, it's you, – Alex A. said, unsurprised. – Come in, no need to fuck around at my porch.

Newt shyly stepped inside, took off his shoes, coat, and hat. Walked into the kitchen, sat down next to him, said hello to the writer by the hand. They started talking.

And they talked for a short time, but it felt like hours. They talked about everything that came under the hand of consciousness. The living room and kitchen became brighter. The tea cooled slightly.

Words were lost, and so was the meaning. An unbearable lightness of being. The cautious hand of consciousness pored over the options for continuation. Neural connections succumbed to the pulsing rhythm of music played through a non-existent turntable. Quietly becoming insane.

Thank goodness it all stopped quickly. Newt, under the pretext «I have to go, I have other things to do», promptly got up from his chair, walked out into the hallway. Alex slowly followed him and noticed him putting on his hat.

— Ah, answer me one last question, – Newt said, with a smug smile. – Your girlfriend's coochie – is it really candy-sweet?

Alex A. stood with a nonchalant expression on his face. It was like he knew Newt was going to say that.

— It's funny, it's really funny, – he said sarcastically and absentmindedly. – You know what's funnier, though?

— What? – Newt asked.

— You're almost half a century old and you can't put your fucking past behind you.

Newt stood up in exasperation. The phrase, said with almost no emotion, echoed inside his skull. Alex A. snapped his fingers and said as he walked away:

— Now that's really funny.

«White king, black queen. The illusory utopia of our lives.» Diary of Newt Garfield dated October 8, 2026.

After watching the play, the Captain said goodbye to Helinia and went home. He didn't feel bad, but he didn't feel good either. It wasn't that the actors, the sets, the soundtrack, or the whole show in general had failed his expectations – he was just tired, and so he couldn't react normally to this theatrical beauty that Helinia had encouraged him to see.

Looking around, he saw nothing but buildings, as if fluorescent-lit, and street lamps that scared him away with their light. The captain wrapped himself in his uniform and quickened his step. He was uncomfortable with the light of these lamps and even more so with the fluorescent lights that surrounded the buildings as if they were divine beings.

It reminded him of a fairy tale he had heard a long time ago. The tale of the sailor who met the sea serpent. The tale of the sailor who went mad in the lonely and identical sea. A tale that hid a creepiness under the cover of simple words and wrong truths. I was a sailor for nothing, the Captain sometimes thought, inside the walls of his apartment.

Suddenly, stopping, he noticed that he was in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Where the houses were taller than anything else in the world. Where there wasn't even a moon, and where the clouds pressed down on consciousness with a rabid, armed hammer. Consciousness, like the Captain, began to get lost among these high-rises, began to imagine some creatures existing beyond the boundaries of vision. Turn around and there stands Death, faithful to us all.

But suddenly he noticed a dim luminescent glow in the sky, which surrounded one of the black buildings with a halo. With shaky hands he pulled out his phone and turned on his flashlight, the Captain moved quickly, almost running, toward the building. The cars around seemed to be deformed creatures of metallic flesh and mechanical existence. When he reached the heavy metal door of this high-rise, the Captain noticed the sign: 14/2 Manserrate St. Right now he was standing at the foot of the high-rise where his alcoholic friend lived.

With ease in mind and body, the captain opened the heavy door, stepped inside. The stomp of his boots echoed throughout the stairwell. Climbing the three steps up, he walked to the elevator. There was duct tape on the doors and a sign that said: «NON-FUNCTIONAL». Disappointed by this fact, the Captain sighed and began to climb up the stairs.

Soon, Captain made his way up to the seventh floor, where Newt's apartment was located. He rested his hand on the railing, exhaled, and looked through the gap between the flights. The distance was vast. The captain, removing his hand from the railing to his coat pocket, looked around the doors, searching for the right one. Finding one, he approached, knocked politely. Silence – drinking, Captain thought, and glanced at the knob, which meant the door was not closed. He pushed the doorknob and stepped inside.

The apartment was quiet and dark. As his vision slowly adjusted to the darkness, Captain took off his shoes and carefully left them right by the door. He looked into the living room – no one was there, only the unshaded windows allowed him to see the deep dark blue color of the evening sky. He went into the kitchen and found Newt staring dumbly at his kitchen table, where there was an empty glass and a bottle of brandy. The captain sat down beside him, put his hand on the table and, looking at his drunken friend for a moment, said:

— This is the tenth year we have lived here. It's been about fourteen since her death and his disappearance. You've grown up, found a decent hobby that can pay for your needs, are among good and loyal friends. Yet you continue to brood over the past.

The captain took the bottle of cognac, examined the labels on both sides, stood up and put it back in the refrigerator.

— And we, – Captain continued, sighing, – are trying to get you out of this… self-assembled hell.

Captain returned to his seat. He moved closer to Newt, placing his one hand on the other.

— We don't care that you don't think anything will work. We don't care about your pleas to leave you alone. You're in a big delusion if you think alcoholism will solve your problems. Even if there is the tiniest chance of freedom, we will go after it. We'll try, we'll make mistakes and start over, but we'll fight to the end.

Newt continued to stare dumbly into his desk. He wasn't listening. He couldn't listen. All sound was drowned out by the churning of blood and the sounds of electrons transferring across neural connections. Captain lowered his gaze for a moment, thinking about what to say next, but soon came to the conclusion that everything necessary had been said. He stood up, and before he left, he reached into his pocket and said:

— Some stranger handed me this letter. – Captain took out a sealed flat envelope. Says it's addressed to you. Read it tomorrow and tell me what's in it.

Captain left the letter on the table, rubbed Newt's shoulder, and, after glancing at him for the last time today, left the apartment.

«Newt. I don't know if this letter will get to you or not, and I don't know if you'll read it…. …But if it does, if you're reading it, know that your son is alive…»

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

a spectre unreflected (nightmare, sae)

major cw for suicidal subject matter? that’s kind of the whole plot of the oneshot so, please take care of yourselves friends!!! 

(but. you know that one thing that happens during interlude: strength of will if you do the thing at the end? that Will emotionally devestate u? yeah that’s what this is)

The battle at the Hornburg has been won, but you are exhausted, stumbling about on barely working legs when someone directs you to a place where you could lay out your bedroll.

He leaves, and you do so.

You are asleep before your head touches the spare cloak you are using as a pillow.

You are trapped in the grip of a dream, and you cannot escape it. 

Isengard looms large in your mind but Lothrandir seems not to see you as he goes about his tasks beneath Orthanc. He’s quick, he’s always been quick for as long as you have known him.

(You recognize several places he passes or stops near.)

Defiance shines from his eyes, as he spills a bucket of slop, after expressly being told not to, and you want to scream as Uruk-hai surround your friend but Gun Ain appears from the shadows and frightens them away.

You don't know how you feel about that, but there is no time to linger on it, because the dream changes.

You stand atop Orthanc and your stomach drops and twists at thinking of how high you are, and how close you stand to the edge.

Lothrandir isn't bound, but there is a dangerous light in Saruman's eyes and Gun Ain stands behind him, as they gaze out over the foundries and the pits. 

The Prince of Rohan is dead. The King is weak and cannot save his people. Why do you still resist? 

Lothrandir says nothing and Saruman continues. 

Your friend escaped, but there is no escape for you.

Something flickers in Lothrandir’s eyes at that, and your heart twists and pinches painfully but you can say nothing.

Even now my forces move upon Rohan from the west and from the north.

There is no hope for you, unless you swear loyalty to me.  

Even in your dream, Saruman's voice has power, and it's hard to not give in to his demands, even so far from him.

For my captive there is only death. But for my friend... you could yet live.

Lothrandir seems to be contemplating something intently, but the fire in his eyes seems to grow brighter even as Saruman talks. 

What say you, Lothrandir of the Dúnedain?

It's dark but no stars shine over your heads, because they are obscured by the fumes and choking billowing smoke that drifts up from the foundries.

The wind cuts you to your quick, and you shudder.

There’s steel in Lothrandir’s gaze as he looks to Saruman, to  the edge of the tower, and back to Saruman. 

Then, everything happens so quickly, you barely have time to register what’s going on before it happens.

Gun Ain is halfway on the other side of the top of the tower when Lothrandir starts running.

You almost think he’s trying to run for the stairs on the northern side but he takes a hard left, swerving and nearly knocking Gun Ain into Saruman as she follows Lothrandir who–

There are no railings, at the top of Orthanc.

The Tower of Orthanc is nearly five hundred feet tall.

There is nothing to stop someone from dropping something and losing it forever as it's smashed upon impact.

There is nothing stopping someone from falling to their death if they were pushed.

(There is nothing to stop someone from leaping to their death, either.)

You want to scream, why can’t you scream, why can’t you do something –

But now you are falling too–

Falling, falling, falling–

Gun Ain, stop him!

Saruman's words echo in your mind as you bolt awake, breathing hard and you’re nearly sick on the cobbled floors of the mess hall where others are sleeping.

[focsle]

Wooey about coordinates lol

The random lat & long I got doing that generator in the prev post happened to be in roughly the same place as a location I got when looking into the past life of my fellow Martin so I know how HE was faring.

It was something I got when I first broached this exploration and was doing it with a facilitator so here’s a little bit of the transcript with that:

What has the ship been doing? She’s been out, but I don’t think she’s taken any whales. Or if she has it hasn’t been, I don’t know if it’s been that good of a voyage. I don’t…I don’t know if this is his first one. Because there’s almost kind of a, jaded quality to it, um, like he’s not really upset about the voyage it’s more like ‘of course, what’d you expect?’. He’s rolling with it. Like I don’t think this was his first time. But the first impression I got in New Bedford was that he was there for the first time, I’m not sure. Maybe he’s just adapted really quickly to (laughs) to disappointment. (after note: this wasn’t his first time. This voyage would’ve been his third, and he was a boatsteerer at this point) Do you know where in the ocean? I wish I could, uh, I feel like it’s somewhere around past Africa. Past Good Hope. Near Madagascar? I wish I could get lat and longitude to be objective but it’s off Africa, but not in sight of land. I think they’ve come through rough weather recently. It’s dripping from above in places. They’re below because maybe they just finished riding something out.

And of course this was something that I thought I was making up cos I later said they were near the Bering Sea / very Northern Pacific and that’s where they found a lot of success whaling, I was like ‘what kind of ship goes around Africa to get there instead of around South America, NONE of the ships I know of did that, what lies’

But when I later tried to research information I got I found record of an actual man who had a number of pieces of information corroborating the impressions I got. One of them was the map of the bonkers route of one of his voyages:

Where you see those clusters of colored dots under the grey ones, those are caught whales.

And zooming in to that mark just past Madagascar,

There is a date. And I was also lucky enough to find the logbook for this voyage too and could check the weather on that day:

Tuesday Jan the 6th Commences with light breezes and cloudy attended with sum squalls of rain middle part much the same later part much the same the wach employed in ships duty so ends. Lat per Obs 38”49S Long per Chrom 61”51E

Cross referencing with the voyage map and the logbook, the map is slightly incorrect as they had taken whales before being in the North Pacific. But it was only 2 after six months in, and by the time they’re at this location it’s been a month since they last saw any. So also connects with the feeling I got of it not being a successful voyage.

ANYWAY all this to say that if I randomly got dropped at these coordinates, it was okay, just a little damp and disappointing. Wooey people hate me cos I’m like ‘okay what’s the historical record have to say about this’ and history people hate me because I’m sometimes like ‘source: reincarnation’.

[kyndaris]

Aurora Fox-realis

Heading down to PAX in Melbourne, I could not in good conscience lug down Seto Kaiba in my stowed luggage. Instead, I brought my ever loyal Nintendo Switch for a few quick indie games that were still sitting on my dashboard and clogging up the storage on the SD card. After all, when one goes down to a gaming convention that encourages handheld consoles, it’s always easier to bring a Nintendo console.

To be fair, though, if you asked me years ago, I would have said Sony but alas, the PlayStation Portable and its big brother, the Vita, have since fallen to the wayside.

Though I had games aplenty on my Switch, after fiddling around with Owlbow (which will hopefully be played in the near future), I decided it would be better to keep it simple on this short trip down south.

Enter: Spirit of the North.

In this game, you play as a fox. Why a fox? Who knows. But a quick Google search indicates that Spirit of the North is an exploration into Finnish folklore where the Northern Lights are considered ‘fox fires’ with the actual mythological creature an elusive prize coveted by many a hunter.

But instead of actually explaining this concept, the game thrusts the player into the world with little explanation. Rather than having an objective indicating where to go, my first guide was a streak of red staining the sky above in a wintry wonderland. Just like that, I delved right in. After all, years of playing video games have taught me to just follow the signs dictated by the designers a la Journey or Abzu.

And just like those games, Spirit of the North tells its story through the environment. Murals are scattered around the world. As are a host of shamans and buildings that tell of a grand civilisation that once thrived in the world before a disaster wiped them out. What the disaster was is open to interpretation but remnants of it still remains in the corruption scattered across the land that impacts the poor fox’s health.

Beyond the folklore and the stunning vistas that helped inspire the game, I found that Spirit of the North stumbled in areas where games like Journey and Abzu shone. For me, the world was a bit too vast and not as compact as it could be. There were also several puzzles that proved more frustrating rather than rewarding. Coupled with finicky controls, the adventure across the tundra was more slog than wonder.

Despite all that, the revelation once I had reached the top of the mountain was a joy. Becoming a second guardian of the Northern Lights and running across the sky, tail creating sparks as the credits rolled was one of the most magical moments I’ve ever experienced in a video game.

Will I play Spirit of the North again? Probably not.

Am I thankful that I played it on the Switch instead of a console that would have trophies popping every few seconds? Yes. My goodness, trophy hunting in these short experiences would probably ruin my enjoyment of the game and the message it is trying to tell.

While Spirit of the North doesn’t quite hit the heights of Journey, it is an interesting look into a folktale that I would have not known. With its breathtaking views and its decent musical score, I enjoyed my time as playing as a fox exploring the hinterlands. Rather than a deceitful creature, the fox here is a noble creature that brings hope and wonder.

And much like stories from other cultures, it’s an intriguing look into how people of the past attempted to explain the natural phenomena that occurred around them. The world is filled with so many fantastical things and the Spirit of the North taps right into that.

[southernersblog]

First Week in Boston 

As you can tell from the title, I have survived my first entire week living up North. Was I worried about this? Yes! I was very nervous about getting kidnapped and whatnot. But I have come to realize that everyone who told me that Northerners weren't mean were actually right.

In my very first honorable blog post I figured I would make it light and talk about what I have done this week and even some culture shocks I have experienced as a southerner living so far North.

I am thirteen hours from my comfort zone because I got the wonderful opportunity to work with Harvard Graduate School of Education or HGSE (which alumni pronounce as 'huggsy'). I am interning at this institution for eight whole weeks! So far I have been introduced to many lovely faces who have been nothing but welcoming. I have also been introduced to two of the projects I will be helping with. Due to these projects not being public yet, a lot of the details around what I am working on will not be mentioned in this blog. Once I am given permission, I will go deeper into what I have done to help with these project launches.

But what I CAN tell you is I am working in such a healthy and dedicated work environment full of great people. The two projects I have worked on are focused around familiarizing communities and families with the terms "social emotional learning (SEL)" and "culturally responsive teaching (CRT)". We are working inside and outside of the schools to build this group understanding of what these terms really look like when they are appropriate practiced, either in the classroom or in your living room! A certain school we are working with is a low income all girls school that ranges from grades Pre-K to 6th grade! For a lot of people, especially the ones back home in the south, they would argue that those ages are too young to be talking about topics like racism, sexism, and other prejudice that come along with SEL and CRT (not critical race theory don't freak out y'all). BUT these ages are not too young. That is one of the main points why HGSE working with these ages! Our reasoning is if children these ages can EXPERIENCE racism, sexism, and other prejudices then their counterparts that don't experience are not too young to learn about it.

Some culture shocks I have experienced here are:

1.) People honk their horns ALL THE TIME! They don't even wait a full three seconds at stop lights and such to blare their horns. Also, people don't blink an eye at it, it's just acceptable behavior. In the south you barely hear people honk unless it's serious.

2.) Restaurants on nice days open their windows! There are options of seating where you can sit right on the street view and have conversations with anyone that walks by because the window is completely gone! I find it a bit awkward but I did talk to a little boy and his father one morning so that was a sweet encounter.

3.) The movies are not lying about how much construction goes on in the city, all the sirens from ambulances, cops, and firetrucks, and how you can hear EVERYTHING from your window if you live in town like I do. Saturday nights are always the busiest especially since I live across a bar (that has a bouncer!). You hear everyones music, their laughs, and even their arguments. It is safe to say though this past weekend was a little wild because of how the Celtics championship game went on. Celtics lost by the way...

4.) It might not be all Northern states but Massachusetts is very eco-friendly! There are recycling bins everywhere, they charge to use plastic bags so you better bring your own, and at certain places to eat when you order a bole of water they come in aluminum bottles instead of plastic.

5.) Massachusetts is pretty clean for the most part, at least in Cambridge it is. I was a little shocked to see how little the homeless population is here too. I mean this was a great shock! I know there is a homeless population in Kentucky but you don't really have much contact with it unless you live in the few big cities that KY has to offer. And big city in the south is totallyyyyy different than big city up north.

I will end this with some weekly unsolicited advice. Anxiety is what keeps us from walking straight into traffic, sure. But anxiety should never keep you from doing bigger things. It is worth it to trust your gut and ignore all of that anxiety you may have, trust me.

[scotianostra]

One of Scotland’s’ most iconic films, Local Hero was released on February 18th 1983.

In the days before mobile phones we used to use things called phone boxes when we were not at home, and the phone box  in Local Hero has become as iconic as the film itself.

There aren’t many films that have a 100%  Tomatometer , on the movie website Rotten Tomatoes, backed up by an impressive 87% audience score, it should be all you need to know when choosing a movie to watch, expecially if you haven’t seen it before. IMDb also rate it highly with 7.4 out of 10.

Bill Forsyth’s oil-refinery comedy isn’t billed as a weepy. It is, however, a love poem to Scotland, and that’s what brings the lump to my throat.

Quirky, wry, gentle are words most often used for this comedy on the movie database site, IMDb, the starting point for many of my posts about those Scots in the acting profession in my posts. They brief story line on the site does not hint at the emotional turbulence you might soon be experiencing. So maybe it’s just me being a big sissy. Wouldn’t be the first time I lost the plot. All it says is “An American oil company sends a man to Scotland to buy up an entire village where they want to build a refinery. But things don’t go as expected.” The film is so much more than this and it stands the test of time much better than other Forsyth films like Comfort & Joy and Gregory’s Girl, well in my opinion anyway!

Crackpot Texan oil magnate Felix Happer (Burt Lancaster) gets the idea that a small Scottish fishing village would be a marvellous acquisition for his so-rich-it-makes-you-sick company, Knox Oil and Gas, so he sends an executive gopher named MacIntyre (because that sounds Scottish, yeah – played by Peter Riegert) to close the deal and get the pipeline pencilled in.

“Mac” is met by some local “dork” called Oldsen (a young Peter Capaldi), who attempts to steer him through a tartan microculture that includes a lawyer-cum-publican/hotelier (Denis Lawson) who tapdances while standing on a chair shouting “Stella” – the name of his ever-randy wife; there is a super-hard marine biologist played by Jenny Seagrove who, after delivering a short lecture on the North Atlantic drift, ends up helping Oldsen to find that pistol in his pocket; and then there is a scene in which a very whisky-sodden Mac calls Texas from a red phone box on the harbourside, a phone box that has featured in so many peoples snaps when visiting Pennan in Banffshire.

Other bits of business in the film involve a salty Russian seafarer and overflying warplanes. You can see how it got the comedy tag, and I haven’t even mentioned the thing with the rabbit. And you can see how Mac ends up smitten.

This is all top material from a very talented writer/director, with photography and music from Glasgow born Mark Knopfler matches the acting and direction perfectly. But on first viewing I found myself asking halfway through, “What is this film actually about?” After not very much thought, I came to the conclusion that it was not a How Things Never Go According to Plan story, but a love poem to Scotland and the Scots. A bit slushy, but never mind. It’s only a film.

The scene when Mac phones to describe the Northern Lights, to me is very special, but the scene that prompted the lump in my throat at the end of the movie is when, having failed in his mission to secure the Knox refinery deal and mutilate one of Planet Earth’s most beautiful locations, Mac returns to his frigid steel-and-glass Houston apartment. He stands at his kitchen counter wondering what to do next, the hushed march of oil capitalism buzzing gently outside. He pulls from his coat pocket a handful of pebbles and shells, smelling one of them poignantly remembering as he spreads them on the work surface.

As Knopflers music gently plays he goes to his balcony and looks out to the city……the scene fades to black, then reopens 4,500 miles away, where, on the harbour side of a small Scottish fishing village, we see the phone box, perhaps ringing and the credits begin as the horns of Going Home blast out. Others in the film include Rikki Fulton, Alex Norton, Kenny Ireland, John Gordon Sinclair and of course Burt Lancaster.