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humanpurposes · 4 months

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We're Born At Night

Chapter 3

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, mentions of death and war, Targaryens trying to flirt

Words: 6.8k

Days pass and every day Rhaelle brings herself to her knees before the throne, pleading for her sister’s restoration as Lady of Runestone, as their mother’s heir, for her freedom and for her life.

Aemond denies her. Again and again he denies her, and each day she appears before him, she thinks she sees his expression darkening. It is obvious that he is a proud man, a second son who was never meant to be King, repeatedly defied by the second daughter of a traitor. Lord Corlys tells her to give him time to persuade the King and the council. He also warns how quickly Aemond’s patience can turn into anger with deadly consequences. What else can she do but try, even if it means tempting his rage?

They have been here a fortnight and not much has improved. She and Daena often take tea with the other ladies and attend dinners in the throne room but Aemond’s court is an echo of what she remembers from the reign of his father. The dinners are polite, the music is sombre, the dances are slow. There is no joy in the castle, just talk of the fast approaching winter.

Back home, the running of the castle— her castle thanks to Aemond’s generosity— would keep her busy. Between her duties she would be able to steal a few hours for herself, read her favourite texts in the library or mount her horse and roam the surrounding lands as she pleased, bringing back pheasants because Alyssa was the sister to inherit their mother’s talent for hunting larger quarry.

One night she dreams she is riding her horse, a beautiful grey stallion she has back at Runestone named Semyon for the legendary knight with sapphires for eyes. It feels so real with the wind whispering in her ears, the scent of the fields and the forest, the slightly earthy taste on her tongue. She rides along the paths she has followed since she was a girl, the same her mother would have followed, and passes the valley where her body was found, tightening her grip on the reins and the saddle, as she always does. The sky seems to darken. A figure blocks out the sun and lets out a whistling, rippling screech, the cry of a beast she has only heard a handful of times, and never will again.

She is woken by a sound that still rings in her ears as her eyes open, sweat clinging uncomfortably to her skin. It sounds again, a faint clash of metal. It is a wonder it was even enough to rouse her.

The stone floor stings against the bare skin of her soles, the cold creeping into her flesh and sinking itself into her very bones. Yet she walks, first to the chaise by the wardrobe to wrap a thick robe around herself, and then to the window. The days are darker now. The sun takes longer to rise and beyond her window the sky is a glum shade of grey.

Down in the courtyard, before the steps of the holdfast, a flash of silver catches her eye.

Aemond is a fearsome fighter, tall, lean and lithe, moving quickly and fluidly. He bests his opponent, Ser Willis, with a few brutal blows, holding the edge of his blade to the man’s throat. Before long he is eager to go again.

She can imagine him on a battlefield, his face silently furious, carving through the men and boys who dared to place themselves in his way. She can imagine him in the courtyard of a ruined castle, blood on his face and hands. They say he slaughtered each member of House Strong himself, and then he bedded one of their bastards and made her a Lady. Daena thinks he would not have given a servant such an honour unless she had borne him a bastard, but Princes have sired bastards before and had mistresses from far more noble backgrounds. What was so remarkable about Alys Rivers?

With a particularly harsh swing of his sword, Aemond brings his blade down upon Ser Willis’, but the Lord Commander recovers quickly and begins an attack. Aemond is clearly taken by surprise and quickly forced to his knees with a frustrated grunt, one which she hears easily through the quiet of the early morning. He is facing the window though she doubts he will notice her. He glares up at Ser Willis, lips parted as he pants for breath. He looks enraged, vengeful even, and she almost expects him to leap up and attack with renewed force. Instead he bows his head and accepts Ser Wills’ hand to help him to his feet.

As a slight draft brushes over the exposed parts of her skin, she imagines the sound of his breathing and finds herself struck by a strange feeling of emptiness.

Later that morning she dons a blood red gown and makes a journey through the castle which is all too familiar to her now, to the waiting chamber by the throne room. Lord Corlys is there, speaking to a man who she has only seen across a room, more often than not, glaring at her along with the Hightower brothers. He has wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, but his face appears surprisingly younger than the flecks of grey in his hair and his beard would suggest. He has sharp eyes that stay fixed on her as she approaches.

Concern briefly flashes over Lord Corlys’ face as he steps forward to greet her, but the other man already has his hand extended to her. “Unwin Peake,” he says. “We have not been formally introduced, Lady Rhaelle.”

She doesn’t like the sound of his voice or how he says her name, but smiles and takes his hand.

Unwin Peake fancies himself a war hero. Rhaelle is not so easily misled. She knows he led a thousand men under the banner of King Aegon, only for half of them to desert him when he proved a less than capable leader. She knows he tried and failed to seize control of the Hightower host after Tumbleton, that he quarrelled with his rivals to the point of bloodshed, and yet somehow earned himself a place on the Small Council before Aegon’s death.

Lord Corlys catches her eye and seems to be uneasy. She gives him a small nod as Lord Unwin takes her by the arm and leads them into the throne room. It is a show of courtesy, one she must accept with grace.

Aemond is already upon the throne, legs crossed, leaning into one side, without fear of cutting himself on the blades. Noblemen and smallfolk alike come before him and he responds to every concern with such eloquence and certainty, as though the entire ordeal has been rehearsed.

And he always looks ahead. Rhaelle stands on his seeing side, below the throne, but he shows no indication that he has seen her or that he intends to acknowledge her.

She knows what she will say and she knows what his reply will be, and in that certainty there is fear. She can hardly keep her hands still, pressing her fingernails into her skin to stop herself from trembling. The pain isn’t much of a distraction. All she feels is cold, even through the thick material of her gown. She pictures her sister in a cell, in the darkness, perhaps even in chains.

Another chill slips down her spine as she hears a footstep sound softly behind her.

“Do you know what Lord Tyland has taken to calling you?” Unwin Peake’s voice hisses close to her ear.

Rhaelle clenches her jaw. She expects he will tell her whether she wants him to or not.

“He calls you the reluctant Lady of Runestone.”

She presses her nails deeper into her skin.

She finally spurns herself forwards. Aemond’s eye finds her as she enters his line of vision, fixed on her as she moves across the room and kneels before the throne.

She bows her head and stares down at the flagstones, at the crevices between the stones, the flecks of dirt and dust settled within. Any nervous or curious chatter has ceased. The hall is quiet enough that she is sure the onlookers will be able to hear her heart pounding in her chest. If she holds her breath she can see it pulsing through the neckline of her dress.

Meeting his eye is a strange sort of thrill. He watches her sternly, his lips pressed together in a thin line, his fingers tapping against the arm of the throne.

She opens her mouth to speak but his voice pierces the air, clear and demanding. “Dearest cousin,” he says, then exhales sharply through his nose. “You come before me yet again.”

“Your Grace–”

“No, I already know what you’re going to ask of me, and my answer will be the same. Alyssa Targaryen may be my blood but she defied her true King.”

“I know my sister. She is wise and just, but dragged into a war she should never have been a part of.”

“She is a traitor.”

“And yet she has not been put on trial. You seem content to hold her. Why? Allow her a chance to prove her innocence before she is condemned, or else let her return to her home.”

“You have come before me every day since your arrival, to plead on behalf of a traitor. I do wonder what that might make you, Lady Rhaelle?”

“It makes me loyal to my family. I love my sister, and her suffering is my suffering.”

“As admirable as that declaration may be, I have made my decision. I will not hear any more from you on this matter.”

“If you had a chance to save your own sibling from a terrible fate would you not take it? Could you ever forgive yourself if you stopped trying?”

Something about his face changes. There is an absence of amusement, something quiet but cold in the way his eyes and his lips soften.

When his eye falls away from her she thinks she might have made a grave mistake.

He holds the arms of the throne as he stands, grips the iron with his fingertips when it is barely in his reach. Without another word he leaves the hall through the side chamber, keeping his head and his crown held high, while his fists are clenched at his sides.

She shares a look with Lord Corlys, himself stunned at the irregularity. Aemond never leaves the throne room until he has heard each grievance, and never shies from his duties.

The King is an elusive figure at the best of times. He does not seem to enjoy the more frivolous aspects of rulership. If he is seen at dinners in the throne room, he confines himself to the high table along with Lord Corlys. Other than his early morning spars with Ser Willis in the courtyard or his occasional rides out into the Kingswood, he appears to spend most of his time in his chambers. She imagines him pouring over ledgers and papers by candlelight, his face hardened in concentration.

That night, when his seat at the high table remains empty, Rhaelle cannot help but fear she has been the cause of this absence. Did her words truly anger him so deeply? Is her persistence so vexing to him?

She finds herself unable to settle when she retires to her chambers that night. She is starving and yet she has no appetite. Her body feels heavy and her head aches behind her eyes, yet her mind is spinning and will not allow her to find sleep.

He said he would not hear from her on the matter. She pushed too far, allowed her desperation to cloud her judgement and attempted to argue on sympathy rather than reason. Now she feels it all slipping away, any sense of control she had when she arrived in King’s Landing, any hope she had of reuniting their family after so many years. Why would she ever think that Aemond should show mercy to a prisoner on a plea of sisterly love?

He must have loved his sister, gentle Helaena, who wore a gown of pale blue and gold to the wedding of Alyssa and Jacaerys. She smiled rarely, never in the presence of her husband, she could barely even stand to take his arm as they entered the Sept and the throne room. Her eyes often found Aemond though, glassy with tears when he winced at the pain of his wound, as if she shared in it. Did he ever imagine, when he left for Harrenhal, that he would never see her again?

The next morning she wakes with the sunrise, somehow the shortened sleep has left her more awake than she usually is. She is already halfway dressed in her riding leathers, fashioned from a set of her mother’s, when Morra enters her bedchamber, and Rhaelle immediately sends her to the stables to ensure a horse is readied for her.

Finally, once she has pulled on her boots and tied her hair into a single braid, she heads down herself, but not before stopping by the window. The sun has yet to appear over the walls of the castle and the courtyard is empty.

She huffs to herself, at the restless feeling that’s been gnawing at her insides for weeks.

The entrance yard at the front of the Red Keep is bustling with servants carrying baskets and barrels, men unloading carts and carrying their contents towards the kitchens. Morra is waiting for her by the steps, fiddling with the edges of her sleeves.

Rhaelle pulls out her gloves and slips them onto her hands. “Did you find me a horse?” she says.

“Yes, my Lady, but there is another matter–”

She can already see what the other matter is. Aemond is standing by the gates, dressed in black riding attire, arguing with one of the stable hands. He has a beautiful grey horse on a lead, with a coat that shimmers like silk in the early sunlight. The stable hand stands with a slightly smaller horse, brown with a white spot on its nose. These are both muscular creatures meant for speed.

Rhaelle approaches them with Morra close behind. “Your Grace,” she says firmly but calmly. The two men immediately cease and face her, the stable hand with his head bowed, Aemond with a slight frown on his face and the beginnings of a sneer on his lips. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Likewise, my Lady,” Aemond says, entirely unconvincingly.

There is noise all around them, voices, footsteps, men and women at work, and yet the silence between Aemond and Rhaelle is palpable.

“I was intending to ride through the Kingswood this morning,” Rhaelle says, holding her hands firmly in front of her, unmoving, unafraid. “Perhaps you were intending to do the same?”

“I was.”

“What a happy coincidence,” she says, willfully ignoring the shortness of his tone. “We could ride together, then? I do not know the woods you see, I think I would benefit from having a companion.”

Aemond purses his lips, and glances between her and the horse being held by the stable hand. “It would be my pleasure, dear cousin.”

She smiles graciously.

Aemond hums to himself, then takes hold of the grey horse’s saddle and hoists himself into it with ease. As it happens, the brown horse is a similar size to Symeon. She finds her footing in the stirrup and hauls herself up, settling comfortably in the saddle.

“You ride well, I assume?” Aemond asks her.

She tries not to display any contempt at this subtle insult. “I believe myself to be a more than competent rider, Your Grace.”

He offers her a tight smile, though it fades quickly. His seeing eye remains alert.

Two men of the Kingsguard ride with them through the city. Aemond does not wear his crown but the people know their King, atop his horse, Blackfyre hanging from his hip, his silver hair tied away from his face but flowing proudly down his back, his eyepatch an unmissable feature. They stand aside as they move through the streets, met with awe, either glad or fearful, and distant calls of “long live the King!”

Aemond does not wave, smile or bow his head to anyone, though he occasionally looks over his shoulder to meet her gaze. Does he expect her to disappear? Does he expect her to ram a knife into his back?

How quickly he seems to phase through different states of being. One moment he is amused, the next proud, the next infuriated, concerned, remorseful. And how terrible he is at hiding this in his face, no matter how subtle he is, but a mystery remains because she still cannot read his thoughts, no matter how she pleads to the old gods and the new that she could.

Before long, they reach the southern gates of the city. She can see the forest ahead of them as soon as they are out of the walls of King’s Landing. The trees are dark, lush evergreens, reaching far from the west and east towards the seafront, to the cliffs that overlook the bay, raised on hills and going further south than she can see.

The guards stay with them a little longer, until they pass over a bridge across the Blackwater Rush and the road becomes quieter. Most of the people here are travelling along the Rose Road towards Highgarden, but Aemond leads her towards the treeline, along a path often used for hunting, so he says. It seems to head towards the coast.

Mostly staying at the edge of the forest, the trees are sparse. It’s not like the wide open fields and hills that she is used to. To one side she sees tree trunks, spots of darkness where the forest is thicker and closer. To the other she sees glimpses of the sky and the sea below it.

Aemond slows his horse slightly so they can ride side by side at a comfortable trot. Now she cannot look out over the bay without looking at him, or appearing to at least.

She realises they have not spoken a single word to each other since they left the castle.

“Do you ride often?” she asks.

“When I wish to, and when I can find time to,” he says without looking at her.

She nods to herself, letting her eyes linger on the way he rocks with the motions of the saddle, the way he grips the reins with gloved hands.

“I like to hunt back at Runestone,” she says, facing forward once more, “do you hunt?”

This captures his attention. He turns his head to her, glances up and down. “You did not bring a bow.”

“Or a blade, no. I was not intending to kill anything this morning.”

Aemond hesitates, then smirks. “I never made a habit out of hunting. It is a tedious sport, more suited to times of peace.”

It is a harrowing reminder of the kind of man who rides beside her, a man who kills and holds his own family prisoner.

“You like to spar too. I see you in the courtyard most mornings,” she says.

“I do not like to make a spectacle of myself.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you did, but it is rather difficult to avoid when it happens below my window.”

He turns his head towards Rhaelle, and she finds herself entirely distracted. Away from the gloom of the Keep, without his crown and the way he commands the fear of his courtiers, his beauty is unobstructed. His lips and his seeing eye settle in a way that seems gentle. “If it disturbs you then I shall remedy it.”

“No need,” she says, “for what it is worth, you perform extremely well.”

He smiles again, dipping his head slightly as he adjusts his hold of the reins. “Come then, you say you are a competent rider, I’d like to see a performance from you,” he says, catching her eye.

Her breath stops in her throat.

He kicks his horse’s side and in an instant he’s bolting down the path.

It takes her a moment to realise what he wants, kicking her horse into a canter, then quickly into a full gallop. It follows her commands easily enough but she remains cautious, keeping a tight grip on the reins and with her thighs, chasing the gleam of silver ahead of her. She does not know if Aemond is leading her or racing her, and for now she doesn’t care. Excitement surges through her. She feels the impact of the horses hooves as they meet the dirt. Her stomach drops as they head deeper into the forest, darting between branches, leaping over streams and fallen trees.

She seems to be gaining on Aemond and spots a ridge she thinks might allow her to overtake him. It’s a risk she takes without thinking it through, urging her mount up and along the narrow trail. They seem to stumble at one point but she doesn’t stop. She passes Aemond, just as she thought she would. He looks up at her with a wide eye, the traces of a laugh echoing behind her as she leaps down, back onto the main path.

There’s a clearing not far ahead where the path splits into two, she would wager Aemond had this in mind as an end point. She slows her horse gradually, checking behind her to see him doing the same. She turns the horse to face him, trying not to beam or appear too pleased with herself, but she cannot help it. Her cheeks burn at the exertion and the effort it’s taking to withhold her smile.

The sun is rising higher above them. The light catches on his hair, the thin sheen of sweat on his brow, the curve of his lip as he tries to catch his breath. “I’d say you are more than competent,” he calls, tugging on the reins to bring his own horse to a stop.

“I spent most of my childhood on horseback,” she says. “Ser Gerold always said I took after my mother.”

His amusement fades into something passive, observant.

“She used to take Alyssa and I out with her one at a time in the saddle with her. As soon as I was old enough to ride by myself I could hardly be kept from the stables. Alyssa and I used to race each other around the hills for hours, or until we were called back to the castle for our lessons.”

Aemond watches her as she speaks, breathing deeply, his brow hardened like he’s trying to concentrate.

“Still,” she says, patting her horse’s neck as it starts to get restless, “I cannot imagine it could ever compare to riding a dragon.”

“It is a poor substitute, to be sure,” Aemond says quietly, like he did on the balcony, but she can see the change in him again. With a quick huff, the gentle look in his face disappears and he dismounts his horse. “There’s a stream close by, we should water the horses.”

He approaches her, reaching his hands up to help her dismount. Her more prideful side wishes to tell him she does not need the help, but she accepts it, swinging her leg round so he can hold his waist as he lowers her down. She keeps her hands on his shoulders, even once her boots have met the ground. The pressure of his fingertips through the thick layers of fabric are almost intangible, but it makes her breathless all the same.

They take the horses to the stream at the edge of the clearing, tying the leads to a tree and patting them down reassuringly as they drink. Rhaelle sits herself in the grass, out in the sunlight. Aemond joins her, but he reminds her of a cautious animal, following her a little unsurely, sitting beside her, always watching the space around them.

The air is cold but she feels the sun’s warmth beaming down on her face.

She hears Aemond take a breath before he speaks. “You never claimed a dragon?”

“No,” she says.

“You never had an egg in your cradle?”

“No. My mother insisted her children would be born and raised in her home.”

“And in the traditions of House Royce?”

“For the most part.”

“But your father never…” he stops himself with a deep breath. With his chin tilted down he lifts his gaze to look at her. The sunlight shines in his right eye, cold and clear like a stream, like a cloudless violet sky at dusk. Like this, sat amongst overgrown grass and the last of the autumn wildflowers, he doesn’t look like a tyrant. He doesn’t look like a man who burned half of the Riverlands to ash and fought in a battle that left the waters of the God’s Eye red with blood.

Ser Gerold would have been glad to see Daemon’s end. He called it “justice” when news came to Runestone of his death, justice for the wife he murdered and the daughters he neglected.

Looking at Aemond now she wonders if he regrets it. Does he look at her and see the eyes of the man he killed staring back at him? Does it haunt him to be near her, is that why he watches her so intently?

“I asked him once if I could fly with him,” she says. “I was so desperate to know what it was like. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t laugh or scoff, he just looked down at me. My suggestion was so unremarkable that he didn’t waste so much as a breath on me. Of course I went crying to my mother about it. She took me into her arms and told me that the only difference between riding a dragon and riding a horse was the distance between you and the ground. So much further to fall, she said.”

He tilts his head. “I cannot disagree with her.”

And oh how her father must have fallen, through fire and empty space, into blood and water.

“What was it like to have a dragon?” she asks.

Something in him comes alive. He looks at her with a quiet excitement, shuffling ever so slightly closer to her. “I used to believe a dragon was a birthright. My siblings all claimed their mounts when they were young, and my nephews shared their cradles with eggs and watched them hatch. For many years I was an outlier, a dragonless Targaryen, I was nothing. But it is an earned right, one that must be claimed.” As he speaks he draws his knee up to rest his arm upon it, his hand restless as he speaks. “Dragons are creatures with their own wills. We cannot control them fully, but we guide them.”

“And you claimed the fiercest of them,” she says.

She remembers Driftmark like it was a dream. She remembers standing by the sea as the coffin of Laena Velaryon was delivered to the waves, looking at the faces of a family she scarcely knew in the aftermath, clinging to the only people she had left in the world, Daena and Alyssa.

She remembers someone storming into her chambers as she slept, the shadowy face of her father appearing in the moonlight that beamed through the window. “We are needed in the Hall of Nine,” he said.

“We?”

He found Alyssa in the next room and left Daena to sleep, marching down the dark corridors of Hightide. They walked in on a scene that terrified her. While their father leaned against the doorway, almost amused, Alyssa and Rhaelle walked further inside, hand in hand. They could not see clearly past the crowd that had gathered to watch this battle between the Princess and the Queen, but there was shouting, pleading, blood on the faces of Rhaenyra’s sons and blood on the face of the King’s son, Aemond.

She peered through the bodies, the fabric of nightgowns and the haze of the braziers to see him sitting there, stitches in his face, smaller cuts on his brow and his lip. He didn’t look at the eye discarded in a tray by his side, he didn’t look to his siblings for reassurance or comfort. First he glared at his father with a hatred that somehow seemed contained, stunned but unsurprised. Then he looked at his mother, with far more understanding than a child should ever have to need.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” the boy said, “I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

“A dragon is terror and freedom,” Aemond says as her eyes drift over the edges of his scar and the details of the leather patch that conceals the rest. “When I claimed Vhagar, centuries of power and strength became mine. I felt her in solitude, I learned from her.”

It shows, she thinks, that he grew bonded to a beast of conquest, a witness to her fire and majesty, and took that into himself.

Her eyes trail lower, over his jaw, the pale skin of his neck just visible beneath his collar, which ends with a silver buckle. She can pinpoint the rise and fall of his breath, the detailings of golden dragons against the black leather, his hair draped over his shoulders and down his body.

She feels her legs getting numb and shifts her weight onto her palm, placed on the grass beside her so that she leans in closer to him.

“But to take flight on Vhagar,” Aemond says softly, a hint of a smile on his lips, his eye gleaming and trained on her, “to feel the force of her wings, the wind and the weightlessness…”

She feels herself clinging to every word he says, each subtle breath he takes, the minuscule movements in his face as he inches closer to her. Only for her heart to sink when he pauses.

He reaches up, taking the end of her braid between his gloved fingers. “I wish you could have known what it was like.”

“It is like you said,” she says, “it is not a birthright, it is something earned.”

“By those of our blood,” Aemond says, his eye darting back up to meet hers. “You should have had the chance to earn it.”

Our blood, the blood of dragons and conquerors, of Queens and Princes, of weak Kings and cruel fathers.

He releases his hold of her hair, positioning it over her shoulder and tracing his fingertips over the coat of her leathers. His eye follows, then slowly returns to her face. “Might I show you something?”

“Yes, of course,” she says, carefully withholding eagerness in her voice. “Shall we fetch the horses?”

“No,” Aemond says, rising and offering his hand for her to take. “We’ll go on foot.”

He keeps her hand in his, leather against leather, as he leads her down the path, freshly disturbed by hoof prints, away from the clearing and back into the forest. He stops where the path diverged into two and with a small inclination of his head, they walk along the trail that leads uphill. This way is not as the other, overgrown with grass and even the thick, twisted roots of trees. Aemond is keen to guide her, walking just ahead, tightening his grip on her at the slightest of obstacles.

The hill becomes steep, and in fact she is grateful for his caution when she loses her footing on a loose rock and he is there to steady her, determined that she shall stay upright. The higher they climb the sparser the trees, the louder the wind howls, the closer the sound of the water becomes. The path leads on, but Aemond stops and steps out into the open.

She stands behind his shoulder to shield herself from the wind, clutching his hand and squinting through the blinding sunlight on the eastern horizon, over the waves of the Blackwater, roaring and crashing against one another, against the base off the cliff they stand on. The city is nothing but distant shapes, further along the curve of the shore. The Red Keep, where standing at its gates seems to reach high into the heavens, seems so unremarkable from here. The cold seeps through her leathers. Sea salt stings in her eyes and on her tongue.

“My mother’s sworn shield taught me to ride on horseback, Ser Criston Cole. He’d lead me through these woods, until I knew all the trails by heart,” Aemond says, leaning into her so she can hear him. His breath is warm against her ear, his grip on her hand still unrelenting. “I came across this place when I was a boy. I used to sit here for hours, especially when the others would ride their dragons.”

Gulls sail effortlessly through the sea air. She imagines dragons in their place.

“A childish indulgence,” Aemond mutters.

“Show me,” she says, tilting her head up to meet his eye.

He smiles to himself. “Stand there,” he says, pointing to the very edge of the cliff face, at a slab of grey stone reaching out below the rocks and spray of the sea.

“On the ledge?” she says, her legs unsure beneath her.

He releases her hand to gently guide her by her waist. “Right here,”

Her stomach lurches when her boots leave the earth. If it is the truth or a trick of the mind the stone seems to move beneath her. “Aemond, I’m going to fall!”

But he holds her waist tight, pulling her into him until she feels the heat of his body through their riding leathers, the hilt of Blackfyre pressing against her back. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs in her ear, “I’ve got you.”

She cannot seem to breathe, gasping for air as she wills her heart to calm. She grasps at his hands, clinging to him as if he would not merely fall with her. His proximity to her is not quite comforting, it only seems to make her more afraid, but it is a pleasant sort of fear.

“Can you imagine it,” he says, leaning his cheek against her temple, “out of reach of the rest of the world, the heat of a dragon beneath you, the wind against your skin, the weightlessness?”

The force of the wind seems to push her closer into his grasp. She can feel the terror. One misstep and she will fall, her body dashed out over the rocks below, her blood feeding into the water.

“I could feel her fire brewing beneath her hide. I could feel it burning in my blood and my throat before she unleashed it,” Aemond whispers, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.

She shudders, letting herself turn into him, letting her hands close around his wrists.

He leans into her, resting his forehead against hers. She feels his heat. She feels something like fire burning in her blood and wonders if it burns in his too. A gloved hand delicately takes her chin.

It would be easy to give into him, she thinks. She would have been glad to do it the first time she laid eyes upon him.

But she knows she must not allow herself to be ruled by impulse and desire. She cannot escape him completely but she turns her head back towards the open water. Aemond is still holding her, still breathing against her neck.

She waits for him to guide her back, to the safety of solid ground, away from the ledge. Now he cannot meet her eye.

They walk back to the clearing and Aemond holds her hand again, though this time she does not stumble. Aemond unties her horse, helps her into her saddle and she waits for him before they set off back down the path.

The ride back to King’s Landing is a silent one. Each step their horses take through the woods feels heavy in her ears, the closing of a door, the beat of a funeral drum. She looks ahead to Aemond, hoping he will turn back and catch her eye but he does not.

She wants to tear her hair out from the roots and strike herself across the face. She couldn’t afford to make another mistake and yet she has done exactly that. What if the King feels slighted? What if he holds this against her?

The guards are waiting for them by the bridge and escort them back through the city. The streets are busier and grey now that the sun has risen and hidden itself behind a sky of clouds.

But the entrance yard at the Red Keep is no longer filled with servants. Instead the clashes of steel ring out against the walls of the castle, as men of the Kingsguard, nobles and knights spar, to the awe of a few spectators.

Aemond pays little mind to the people in the yard. Even when they greet him he simply nods his head. As his horse is taken by a stable hand, swings a leg over the head and slips effortlessly from the saddle.

Then he approaches her horse, wordlessly holding out his hands, offering his assistance. She allows this, and purposefully turns to face him once her boots have met the ground, keeping her hands on his shoulders, not too firmly, for she cannot appear to be too forceful.

“Your Grace,” she says, determined that their eyes should meet again. “I am sorry if I have offended you, truly,” she says quietly, though she will hardly avoid attention when she stands with the King, his hands lingering on her waist, more timidly than he had been in the woods.

Aemond looks at her, and once again his expression is a gentle one. “I am anything but,” he says, one of his thumbs tracing circles over her leathers. He lowers his voice. “The truth is I am deeply moved by your loyalty to your sister. You were right, I have regrets of my own.”

There have been all kinds of rumours regarding Queen Helaena’s death. Some say she was pushed from the window, perhaps even by Rhaenyra herself, and others say she threw herself from it. She was driven mad by grief, supposedly, since the murder of her eldest son, and perhaps she could bear the pain no longer. Perhaps the cause was the false news of Aemond’s death at the God’s Eye. At first the only news had come from smallfolk in the nearby lands, that both Princes had fallen. A fortnight later Aemond arrived at King’s Landing, dragonless, but decidedly alive.

“I often ask myself why I did not do more for them. Why did I put them in danger? Why did I leave them? Why did I not return to them…”

Something else catches his attention. His gaze has moved from her face, to the leather breastplate she wears under her coat, embroidered with ancient runes, naturally.

“What does that say?” he asks in a voice like ice, tracing his fingertips over the golden thread, over the same markings written into the sleeves of the first gown she wore in King’s Landing.

“Have you seen it before? It is an old saying in the Vale,” she says, startled by another shift in him, “the words read: learn to die.”

His throat hums, lowly and softly. His eye returns to hers, his lips curling into a self assured smile, the kind that infuriates her because it means he knows something she does not.

He releases her waist, then reaches for her hand. He pinches the end of her right glove and pulls it from her slowly, the lack of warmth stinging her bare skin.

He whispers, “I cannot give you what you ask of me, not now at least. But I will try.” He raises her hand and presses his lips against it. “I promise you, I will try.”

Blood blooms beneath her cheeks. For once Aemond’s words fill her with hope. He seems sincere, she wants that to be the truth.

She smiles politely. “Thank you, Your Grace—”

“Your Grace!” Calls a voice from the steps to the Keep. Aemond’s hand falls away from hers and he faces away from her as Martyn Hightower approaches them. “All the preparations have been made for you to receive Lady Floris and Lady Cassandra. They are expected to arrive before the day’s end.”

She watches Aemond bring one hand to the hilt of his sword. The other he brings behind his back, clenched in a fist. “Good,” he says, and turns towards Rhaelle again, his body following his head. “Thank you for accompanying me this morning, my Lady.”

She takes a breath, meaning to thank him but then he’s stalking across the yard and disappearing into the castle.

Rhaelle decides she can hardly bear the sight of him walking away.

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

Series taglist: @adragonprinceswhore @persephonerinyes @gemini-mama @aemondzyrys @snh96 @magnificentdelusionr @aegonx @xxxkat3xxx @dahlias-and-marigolds @mandiiblanche @thaisthedreamer @heavenly1927 @herfantasyworldd @heimtathurs @minttea07

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x ofc #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #hotd fandom

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talonabraxas · 2 months

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Hathor | Goddess of Love and Motherhood Talon Abraxas

Hathor is one of the most famous goddesses of Ancient Egypt. She was known as “the Great One of Many Names” and her titles and attributes are so numerous that she was important in every area of the life and death of the ancient Egyptians. It is thought that her worship was widespread even in the Predynastic period because she appears on the Narmer palette. However, some scholars suggest that the cow-headed goddess depicted on the palette is in fact Bat (an ancient cow goddess who was largely absorbed by Hathor) or even Narmer himself.

There is no doubt that her worship was well established by the Old Kingdom as she appears with Bast in the valley temple of Khafre at Giza. Hathor represents Upper Egypt and Bast represents Lower Egypt.

She was originally a personification of the Milky Way, which was considered to be the milk that flowed from the udders of a heavenly cow (linking her with Nut, Bat and Mehet-Weret). As time passed Hathor absorbed the attributes of many other goddesses but also became more closely associated with Isis, who to some degree usurped her position as the most popular and powerful goddess. Yet, Hathor remained popular throughout Egyptian history.

More festivals were dedicated to her and more children were named after her than any other god or goddess of Ancient Egypt. Her worship was not confined to Egypt and Nubia. She was worshipped throughout Semitic West Asia, Ethiopian, Somalia, and Libya, but was particularly venerated in the city of Byblos.

Hathor was a sky goddess, known as “Lady of Stars” and “Sovereign of Stars” and linked to Sirius (and so the goddesses Sopdet and Isis). Her birthday was celebrated on the day that Sirius first rose in the sky (heralding the coming inundation). By the Ptolemaic period, she was known as the goddess of Hethara, the third month of the Egyptian calendar.

As “the Mistress of Heaven” Hathor was associated with Nut, Mut and the Queen. While as “the Celestial Nurse” she nursed the Pharaoh in the guise of a cow or as a sycamore fig (because it exudes a white milky substance).

As “the Mother of Mothers” she was the goddess of women, fertility, children and childbirth. She had power over anything having to do with women from problems with conception or childbirth, to health and beauty, to matters of the heart. Yet, she was not exclusively worshipped by women and, unlike the other gods and goddesses, she had both male and female priests.

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libidomechanica · 7 months

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But neither lingers on the steadfast rock of Immortal star

A rispetto sequence

With cypress, who might turn out with her frail. I rush’d the facts of love of knowledge spring-time, fresh and weed. Thou, Carian! Their glorious end: for all my woe? Their first the counsel to the universe into a coquette, who still will call. But neither lingers on the steadfast rock of Immortal star. Ay me! And yet the Father has arm’d himself in spleenful unicorn.

With thee will be careful to you, Cynara! Sun was not—but t is a very music, music of the day, ye wadna been said, Look! ’St and she is tall and greet the feet or handsome lies, the lady’s hand; I warrant the bump I ride in my own breast almighty’s bow.—She too readily, or our lord. Above thee once unkind befriends let its voice, when to woo her.

Of newest joys upon the basest weed outbraves his Sign, and then a nightingale shall be as was none to sleep. Heavy peacefulness; who will not there shot a golden splendour makes you to pause before the more pleasant hues of happy he whose rooty shades down some said with a joint over, link by link, my chain cable which speaks in an overcast of secret love.

And learned in close above: there’s a change wrought more fittest, as is like the surface, leaving faintly bruit, where Melodies round the best; dissimulation, though sometimes, as in his store; so thou sinn’d in their folly in forget the world, north, south, or any more by our lord. Singing thy Face from lovers blown about, circled a million poutings of light they would love!

Like the proudest state is for my sake, let me have no dædale heart! And we went out. But even as one would what I could plunge in one another proper glory has my object of felicity has been different mosses, too deep to clear his briar’d path to give me immortal Rome, as I Undying Life, have seen the lie. Which Aurora deem’d he had fled away!

Thus, in their voices wake us, and tuneless chords do from Dalliance unwise, lay not utter love, the crowd, a host, of gold, when fog conceal my love, I will enticement draw bewildered shipwreck with beautiful. Although a bonne vivante, ’ I must be singed, but the sky went grey, as if they told the dead and go talking how each field turn to speake, loue to Loue inspir’d?

To give account to none but an echo of a syllables in a poem, known by heart or in pure elysium. To find a half- forgetful of thanks to heed, i’d bubblings down some Corner of this precedent so often shown. ’St what we were;—too old forest tree, and though his friend thank gentle heart! Sometimes a sort; but speach, and were e’er sae sweet as Flora.

—At any laud therefore less discount, and I have not by inheritance. Of health by due; where I stood, melissa hitting down into grow old … I shall by having a good ship entangled mind? Through the year grows lush in juicy stalks, I’ll live in peace, for Love, as I feel nothing affects her heart, making merely weep—her gentle gait, making addition to the earth.

This stuff that market, when it grows thy pity me! My mistresses of the river side? To the lady of water, yet receive it; and if they who now are on the holy leer to court he should die; for such things, if men would fly, but follow Bacchus and his for other joys of calculate his means of feeding fire, by force accomplish’d, mid that then begins to croon.

, Was chosen from an urn, still fed by men. With any men; and what I ask, thy dangerous sky. Her scorn of atomies that which attract our great water; and never drearily on barren verboten? He felt aloof the splendour farther I shall venture to take. The Doctors! Over here, here, was not exactly as I’d talk of all that troubles and with thee.

It soothe my madness! In tender presently, she spake to hear the peasant valley; let the same shelf, the temples bind; angels, when clever: this man of strange, if not told of promised you, and on the mirror throwing the merciless Tyrant’s head shook with Thine; oh turn thy Falling; in his beauty’s a flow’r-reviving rain. By- and-by ye do lie, poor thinks we may charm less.

Time with using; thence that which is especial. Side; so that Endymion. When comments various magnanimous Despair! Their fountain held thee alone. Or at the talent and ways? With any Breath of May, as do that inward scoffing. Never hath her, because she love so suddenly arrests me for high heart no less. Tripped by the riches from thence my head, of twenty?

Such is sure when we are and here’s an eclat, thought, until the hall to me? Let its tip gum, pungent, clear, brimful, and care butterflies: amid his muzzle on the whole multitude it gives, and the muttering home increas’d; for still am learning unto the inoculation, and uncontroller of our aristocracy, so gently for the space again.

Vain old marchioness so unsullied, that harvest when the deep: the gout? By solemn hours, although you cannot take me ships of moulted feather. Tears she went, and the God curst sun, and longing for the soot that I meant to have command; all love each cheek of virgin Cynthia brighter days, of all my toil reward her pass my verses teach transaction, and the rosy dawn.

And what’s wrong: in fact, his maid I loved Mozart before the Living and girls who for herself, with all beauty will strew Dear brown-eyed little child pushed her horns they were na looking on darkness.— She took the kind eyes, as bottomless. The reason; t was drinking it a thing I dote on: so I’d fain, peona, ye should be away? Sweet woman finds no one near to the child.

For thee,—cresses. Paris white flock, by himself to this Cot, and laugh at the novels, after a sort of her left, a child in me do reed of loue in aire of wonder what to me had like a crescent-wise. They general, but at times long; I chirped, cheerful but not like Hindoos, for fools perverse delicate from lands were tearing upon one luxury, unless a man.

Go to the swollen and to thee; the nest, an arch of the chapel bells called us: promise, during light thus, thus thou didst adorn, with Stella loue. And following dames I sing, whenever I want to watch overthrow, not by thy infinite, haunt us till the burden to a coquetry, or absence, of remote a Fountain sealed: drink deep, until the freaks of man.

—Scott, the suffer with amber plain, and here kneeled at your land so kind: to scale with every sound, sweet prison, if good name and thus, just a little cup will pique a gentler days had run to warm the silvery serious eye a mild reproof darts, O beloved Woman! Thou, Carian lord, hadst better know it; my tongues shall please; and though the damsel’s tear alone presence.

And all, the fowl from that catches us by surprised at ease and smoothed by shadow roaming like the bed. Do I dare not whither ones I may give more hate, hate of my life, wilt thou mayest heaven’s gate, and help them? Come, let’s obay with my sonnet to you, myself were heaven’s glories dart; ’tis blue, and dropt my visions, dreams they should be much success, or none, that alp. There lives.

Command the visions, which after soft showers; nor grateful Evening sun on this same void white, doe interlace. So that source of husband, you think that Philo-genitiveness’ is now here I for should not be founded on the new trees, and love, to the mind is filled the Pile; and the Giant is a low, newspaper, humble Maid: then found a vent. I ne’er seem’d far away!

Than few; but there: for if Sins will go much more? While bird, the ore, of wot not wish: but, ere we can cast out, thus our content is famine, that I mean to show things for the centre set thee soon; these flowers they scour about the raw cold tile bathroom—all night, the moon, and have, or harsh prude indemnifies the treasured this he press’d his Spirit in a dreame: and a long adieu.

Rosy morn by morn; an’ she had view’d a skyey mask, a pinions darkening sun: beneath whose cooler side, or so she loue denied! Bitter, but one, and leaves behind my knees, from what so eminent a hand’ meant; but court shall know foredoom their treasure thin!—The lucid outline’s a lapsus of the inhabitant of some of the rest; and hoary, see it be thy summer.

And yet it is; and with thee to company, of the twilight, towards a bowery island girls who fondly lov’d us; nay more, which becks our ready, but hoped their wives. And Jill goes down this, they had, alas, their heart in days of steel us as the tea, among the shore of weary life.—Of Him whose birth, wealthiest of alabaster. One safeguard more; for well she past.

And wait upon the banknotes and drinks that search their coffin; but I may but prepared to name the wind falls from meeting hazel bowers of celebrity dined well; but woman could weep the eyes sent to snare. Because I’d rather hand in the dark—till break of day—feare not our lords with regular descended from their heads and doth wheel not by rude force, but worn and far.

Which bondage we will play, their dishonor. She wept and place, and often happens to you, myself for five, four, these darkest house where the third is in seeming trees by a river, clear stream of mosquitoes ascending line along a path between the dusk—the dust on the which some odd chance, at last to sway they all around it speak, and obedient wife. Myself to croon.

Thou shalt come and this, is come a cheering life, two plummets dropt the Graces, grouped in a blissful swoon. But the Star-Queen’s cry my soul with her first touch ethereal band are visible above thee! I meant but speach, and fairy quires are. But court me, and blessed, throat, she cried my brotherly cheek with edge-tools! Brilliant bow. The dreamers. Or laces, which he had something more.

Best. By a forest’s maze; the neck with Thee Annihilation—lost, or in Eternal Footman hold me through a favourite hamlet faint with our eyes, but yet your heart beat them out the garden of his sovereign monarchs are the dreary change of all. Some waltz; some devour’d till in masquerades, and all offender gave, and as thick and envied passionate lightly serv’d.

Reformation. As they were fields, and we are his; the shrink in again: if a flower and stole my heart mine, as when, approaching with her rising on their jewels for substance, and let me statesman’s decline; mournful freight. With fingers, asleep and brighter of smooth as sunburnt looks deceive our huntsman: Breather and a colours gayer than you by a simple maiden prime.

I think to ride, as fast other of the glebe, but if I burst his winters, and create mischief is increased, upon the West garden-ground, all is still and in his mate; as yet we find a way. Your flight, it is but to keep in, when Phoebus, for a Moment; for age and of Verse, to correction no bitter could see her gently for slight tame on Sunday after you’ve missed.

To doubt: but the Fruit grew upon my tuneful quill. Excepting married ones they fall; but when there’s music for the city. But whether it shoulder o’er this I have told thee to conquest and frayed with a sin and deem’d sooty, and if in pattering and dance from old Skiddaw’s top, whence than could tread breathes. Lo! Whoever have been reduced to the leaven, aquarius!

Wild surprise, how great ennui, when we touch we enter in, to share of passion, yea, hungry and back and dew, young man, ere made a cunning, catches from the street together. Be sweetest still to dwell with the smoke that record played, nor longer duke or earl; but, ere it not. A cowslip braes o’ Yarrow everywhere, blushing style which means everywhere, O Where hast thou shalt!

Has our whole together. Beyond Himself wildly and while if one, sleep, all that thought upon her height than the common vein of memory refreshment its sweet; the want it to happened once it as a foe would be at all. In pride of all be my Friendship which he leant, wretch, object strange history became one who travelling state comes once more, who, moving from self-destroyed.

Bring in the very bark bar’d and swam for Love is just the clay adhered to Dian:-truth I heard my name receive thee, sweeter thy voice— divinest! Stella, whose cool and sought; and thoughts are like a clew of golden morrow beam’d upward, through the way in which sadly she select, and water and wise, nor settlement filling thrush, schooling its back the Town. To lure—Endymion!

Impossible—how dearly; she is so content with his storm-trouble, well cultivate myself to things to Hallam’s Middle Ages, To give for you go? With dazzled lips her sombre cave, ere she was interknit so winged steeds, with a joint over, and humming ale encourage had to my heart and write—love’s chronicle, o Dianeme, now farewell: thy frown last extreme, and sight.

Endless the rapturous chariot last its beak over the street outsides. That much better yet to fret at myriads of earthly love has given falls thy shoulders puls’d tenfold, to feel he know: yet, hearing too audacious to mend the heart had got a touch entirely. Welcome, my Corinna, come, let it blessed wood whose thoughtfully I ring out of song can be here!

Overwhelming vintage hotly pierce something in safe alarm. An’ has nae care it is gold that all things prepared to skim the body is writ each might the saints the future state has been born to labour, I my jest: but, for a vent; arrived, as the rain falls cool and sat so waiting on the tears of Ceres grow: upon his gold, and the Gods the morning’s prime Desire!

A God fingers on the pen;—strange! Too tender matrimonial seal, will drop their Cakes and all her self-possession-—swung the corner for a woman without has twa sparkling roguish een. Blowing of trumpet’s mouth, I look at light to leave her. Where the best guards of dangling within his streight impart; nest of books. Will be they smiled—she had: his book’s begun, you’llfind it!

He saw her blaze much as to received, as if to lull down from Head to be glad: o feel that bird? Bless you with sighs, that, from walking, but then, you an’ I in ae bed, I’m o’er young, when on my wedding dresses gloom, light of diction. Which mere hopes begot by feare, of which our Faith and other proper glory. A third, speeding young unborn, whom she came to choose but selected.

To faint a sweet and fluttering retreats of restless look along the milky brow! As something of a river, clear, brimful, and I seek,— for yet the Princess; liker to the silvery oak apples, and quarrel tilts, yclept their noses through this my life, thy grief beside the marriage night was pass’d unworried by angry wolf, or pard with a tress of visions springs.

And they will see some devil was in a mantle rosy-warm with the trembler in the green nooks empty of all. Example to me;—of whom the Graces, was very bark ’gainst you without a toga or a single reader’s eyes. Not due to the very marge, whose northern blasts do roses; and to what in mediating betwixt sighes mixt; with a kernel in it.

Doth thy Beauty. Were as eyes and sky. And, with me, Sir, they vanish: wept they would weep their Muses do not thy Heart’s the room and once more, thou felt so constant to me one Morning-glory had blooms on thy sins forgive and me. Past man’s earliest bubbles into the air it breath was she, Blythe by the river side by side rejoicing like a fool of verse—O treachery!

Close by, began to whimper; ambitious am I, when love than could not end me, left me maim’d to dwell among the statutes, such a point only Laili, ’ yet a Book of their roll, but whether it should I go on, that deep den of a shepherds pipe retire—to lose. By Phœbus was his world, out-facing Lucifer, and back against the setting of leaving seemed a bore.

Thy mossy hill, the fair ordain, he said, my children’, as thou growest beautiful as fair bosom of the sallows of the vault Or, on a moonless nights and floors, at first season where it may not run. Remain, and we as rich which might empties there was sitting down Bristol Street, Yet hold my coat, and love it and keeps us from my Hand, nor wound and a grin of bitter.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #157 texts #rispetto sequence

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supeherosunite · 1 year

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Original Characters

Pax kent ( cousin of kara) ( Kryptonian cousin / adopted earth sister of Clark) face cam bailee madison

Edith Kent (sister of Clark Kent) face cam Heather Rattray

JaKari Kent (brother of Clark Kent) face cam Laird Macintosh

Lara Kent ( daughter of Clark Kent ) face cam Amanda Fein

Lulu Kent ( daughter of Clark Kent ) face cam Caitlin Fein

Gaia white ( Meta-human with nature powers ) face cam Georgie Henley

Uranus white (Meta-human with nature powers ) face cam Freddie Highmore

Yara smith ( mutant avenger ) face cam Bridgit Mendler

Amity Jones ( young S.H.I.E.L.D. agent ) face cam Drew Barrymore

Lilly Cullen (adoptive daughter of Alice and jasper ) (twilight) face cam Becky Rosso

Violet Smith (profiler) (criminal minds) face cam Haley Lu Richardson

Sammy Brown ( agent) (ncis) face cam Julia Butters

Senara Sohma (Zodiac member) (fruits basket) face cam Emma The Promised Neverland

DC COMICS

Superman

Martha Kent

Clark Kent (Superman)

Jon Kent (Superboy)

Jordan Kent (Superboy)

Jonathan Kent (kon-El)

Lois Joanne Lane

Doctor Emil Hamilton

Tess Mercer

James Bartholomew Olsen

Chloe Sullivan-Queen (Watchtower)

Ryan James

Jonathan Sullivan-Queen (Speedy)

Kara Zor-El (Supergirl)

Alex Danvers (Director Danvers)

Mon-El (Prince of Daxam

Winn Scott (Toyman)

Nia Nal (Dreamer)

Lena Luthor

Batman

James Gordon (police commissioner)

Alfred Pennyworth (Penny One)

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

Selina Kyle (Catwoman)

Kate Kane (Batwoman)

Harleen Quinzel (Harley Quinn)

Terry Wayne (Batman)

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

Tim drake (Red Robin)

Damian Wayne (Robin),

Duke Thomas (The Signal)

Henry King (Gotham)

Luke Fox (Batwing)

David Zavimbe (Batwing)

Minhkhoa "Khoa" Khan (Ghost-Maker)

Barbara Gordon (Oracle)

Stephanie Brown (Spoiler)

Cassandra Cain (Orphan)

Claire Clover (Gotham Girl)

Jean-Paul Valley (Azrael)

Julia Pennyworth (Penny-Two)

Tiffany Fox (Batgirl)

Harper Row (Bluebird)

Flash

Barry Allen (flash)

Iris Ann West-Allen (Eye in the Sky)

Nora West-Allen (XS)

Bart Allen (Impulse)

Wally West (Kid Flash)

Jesse Chambers Wells (Jesse Quick)

Jenna Marie West (Trajectory)

Joanie Horton (Joanie Swift)

Dr. Caitlin Snow (Killer Frost)

Ronald Ronnie Raymond (Firestorm)

Cisco Ramon (Vibe)

Harrison Wells

Dr. Harrison Harry Wells

Harrison H.R. Wells

Harrison Sherloque Wells

Harrison Nash Wells (Pariah)

Maya Wells

Allegra Garcia (Ultraviolet)

Chester Phineas Runk (Black Hole)

Hunter Zolomon (Zoom)

Julian Albert (Alchemy)

Hartley Rathaway (Pied Piper)

Green arrow

Oliver Jonas Queen (Green Arrow)

Felicity Megan Smoak (Watchtower)

William Clayton (White Feather)

Mia Smoak (Blackstar)

Thea Dearden Queen (Speedy)

Roy William Harper Jr (Arsenal)

Dinah Laurel Lance (Black Canary)

Captain Sara Lance (White Canary)

Rory Regan (Ragman)

Zoe Ramirez (Canarie)

Thomas Tommy Merlyn (Dark Archer)

Sara Diggle (Harbinger)

Emiko Adachi Queen (Green Arrow)

Titans/ Young Justice

Garfield "Gar" Logan (Beast Boy)

Koriand'r Kory Anders (starfire)

Rachel Roth (Raven)

Garth (Aqualad)

Karen Beecher (Bumblebee)

Jaime Reyes (Blue Beetle)

Billy Batson (Shazam)

M'gann M'orzz (Miss Martian)

Evelyn Sharp (Artemis)

Courtney Whitmore (Stargirl)

Mike Dugan (starboy)

Beth Chapel (Doctor Mid-Nite)

Yolanda Montez (Wildcat)

Richard Tyler (Hourman)

Henry King Jr. (Brainwave junior)

Joey Zarick (Zarrick the Great)

Cameron Mahkent (Icicle junior)

Others

Beebo (God of War)

Zatanna (Mistress of Magic)

Leonard Snart (Captain Cold)

Ray Palmer (The Atom)

Martin Stein (Firestorm)

Nate Heywood (Citizen Steal)

Amaya Jiwe (Vixen)

Patrick "Pat" Dugan (S.T.R.I.P.E.)

Lisa snart (Golden Glider)

Marvel

Spider-Man

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)

Miles (Ultimate Spider-Man)

Gwen (Spider-Gwen)

Cindy (Silk)

Michelle (MJ)

Avengers

Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

Steve Rogers (Captain America)

Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

(White Wolf)

Carol Danvers (Captain Marvel)

Scott Lang (Ant-Man)

Young Avengers

Kamala Khan (Ms. Marvel)

Doreen Allene Green (Squirrel Girl)

X-men

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

#update #mun talks #muse list

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dfroza · 11 days

Text

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for may 30 of 2024 with Proverbs 30 and Psalm 30, accompanied by Psalm 73 for the 73rd day of Astronomical Spring, and Psalm 1 for day 151 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms beginning its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 30]

These are the words of Agur, son of Jakeh. An oracle of wisdom.

He says, “I am weary, God.

I am weary and spent, O God.”

Certainly I am a stupid man, as dumb as an ox.

I don’t understand the way that most people do.

I have never learned wisdom,

and I have no knowledge at all of the Holy One.

Who has ascended into the heavens and then come back down?

Who has collected the winds in the palm of His hand?

Who has wrapped up the vast oceans in His coat?

Who has plotted the ends of the earth and then fashioned them?

What is His name?

What is His son’s name?

Do you know? Indeed, you do.

Every word of God will be put to the test and proven true;

He is a defense for those who trust in Him.

Take care. Add nothing to what He has said;

for if you do, He will correct you and expose you as a liar.

Two things I ask, O God.

Sometime before I die, grant these humble requests:

Eliminate any hint of worthless and deceitful words from my lips.

Do not make me poor or rich,

but give me each day what I need;

For if I have too much, I might forget You are the One who provides,

saying, “Who is the Eternal One?”

Or if I do not have enough, I might become hungry and turn to stealing

and thus dishonor the good name of my God.

Never run down a servant to his master

because the slave might curse you and you would suffer as a result.

There is a kind of person who curses his father

and pronounces no blessing upon his mother;

A kind of person who is without fault in his own estimation

but has not been scrubbed clean of his own sordidness;

A kind whose look is too haughty,

whose eyebrows arch as he looks down on others;

A kind whose very teeth cut like swords

and whose jaws sever like knives,

All the better to consume the poor of the earth

and the oppressed among men.

The leech has twin suckers;

“More blood! More blood,” they demand.

Three other things are just as insatiable,

no, make it four that never say, “Enough”:

The grave, the childless woman who cannot bear,

the parched earth that cries for rain,

and the fire, which never says, “Enough!”

One who derides his father

and fails to honor his mother in old age

Will die in contempt: his eyes will be pecked out by the ravens of the valley

and eaten by the young vultures when his unburied body lies on the trash heap.

There are three mysteries I find absolutely amazing,

no, make it four I cannot comprehend:

The way an eagle flies through the sky,

the way a snake moves over a rock,

The way a boat glides through the middle of the sea,

and the way a man becomes one with his virgin wife.

An adulterous woman is so cavalier by nature.

When she’s done, it is as if she washed after eating

and then says, “I have done nothing wrong.”

Three situations disturb the earth,

no, make it four that it cannot endure:

When a slave is elevated to king,

when a fool is full of fine food,

When a hated woman finally marries,

and when a serving girl takes possession of her mistress’s wealth.

There are four creatures on earth that are small,

but they are very wise and we can learn from them:

While ants are hardly a strong species,

they work constantly to store up food during the summer;

While badgers are animals without many defenses,

they are wise enough to make their homes in the rocky cliffs;

While locusts live without a ruler,

they all know how to move in formation;

While a lizard is easy enough to catch in your hand,

it is shrewd enough to enter the palaces of kings.

There are three creatures with majesty in their stride,

no, make it four that move with grace:

The lion, which is the strongest of the animals,

does not back down from any other creature;

The strutting rooster, the male goat,

and a king as he goes out with his army.

If you have been foolish enough to insinuate yourself in some high position

or if you have concocted some sort of evil plan,

clamp your hand tightly over your mouth;

For pressing down milk makes butter,

pressing your nose makes it bleed,

and pressing anger makes trouble.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30 (The Voice)

A set of notes from The Voice translation:

The answer to all these questions, of course, is “no one but God.” Agur, like Job, understands the limits of human strength and knowledge. Unlike many, he freely confesses his need and takes refuge in the one True God.

Wealth and poverty have something in common. Both situations can lead us to forget God. If we are rich, then it is easy to think it was our skill, our strength, and our hard work that got us there. We forget it was God who gave us the time and talent to succeed. If we are poor, then it is easy to steal and then make excuses for what we did. We forget that God said, “You are not to take what is not yours” (Exodus 20:15). When God’s people violate His teaching, God is the one who gets a black eye.

[Psalm 30]

A song of David. For the dedication of the temple.

I praise You, Eternal One. You lifted me out of that deep, dark pit

and denied my opponents the pleasure of rubbing in their success.

Eternal One, my True God, I cried out to You for help;

You mended the shattered pieces of my life.

You lifted me from the grave with a mighty hand,

gave me another chance,

and saved me from joining those in that dreadful pit.

Sing, all you who remain faithful!

Pour out your hearts to the Eternal with praise and melodies;

let grateful music fill the air and bless His name.

His wrath, you see, is fleeting,

but His grace lasts a lifetime.

The deepest pains may linger through the night,

but joy greets the soul with the smile of morning.

When things were quiet and life was easy, I said in arrogance,

“Nothing can shake me.”

By Your grace, Eternal,

I thought I was as strong as a mountain;

But when You left my side and hid away,

I crumbled in fear.

O Eternal One, I called out to You;

I pleaded for Your compassion and forgiveness:

“I’m no good to You dead! What benefits come from my rotting corpse?

My body in the grave will not praise You.

No songs will rise up from the dust of my bones.

From dust comes no proclamation of Your faithfulness.

Hear me, Eternal Lord—please help me,

Eternal One—be merciful!”

You did it: You turned my deepest pains into joyful dancing;

You stripped off my dark clothing

and covered me with joyful light.

You have restored my honor. My heart is ready to explode, erupt in new songs!

It’s impossible to keep quiet!

Eternal One, my God, my Life-Giver, I will thank You forever.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 30 (The Voice)

[Book Three]

Many of the psalms in Book Three (Psalms 73–89) are attributed to Asaph. He was a Levite musician appointed by David to lead the worship that surrounded the covenant chest in the congregation tent (1 Chronicles 16:4–6). Asaph and his descendants continued this work through much of Israel’s history, specifically when Solomon dedicated the temple (2 Chronicles 5:12), when Josiah revived the worship of the Eternal One in Jerusalem (2 Chronicles 35:15), and when Ezra and Nehemiah dedicated the wall around Jerusalem (Nehemiah 12:35).

The psalms attributed to Asaph were liturgical, that is, they were chanted or sung as a part of the regular worship of God in the temple by the priests, Levites, and perhaps other worshipers too. Whether songs of lament, requests for guidance, or pleas for mercy, these psalms were sung in the one place God would hear them best—at His temple—the nexus between heaven and earth.

[Psalm 73]

A song of Asaph.

Truly God is good to His people, Israel,

to those with pure hearts.

Though I know this is true, I almost lost my footing;

yes, my steps were on slippery ground.

You see, there was a time when I envied arrogant men

and thought, “The wicked look pretty happy to me.”

For they seem to live carefree lives, free of suffering;

their bodies are strong and healthy.

They don’t know trouble as we do;

they are not plagued with problems as the rest of us are.

They’ve got pearls of pride strung around their necks;

they clothe their bodies with violence.

They have so much more than enough.

Their eyes bulge because they are so fat with possessions.

They have more than their hearts could have ever imagined.

There is nothing sacred, and no one is safe.

Vicious sarcasm drips from their lips;

they bully and threaten to crush their enemies.

They even mock God as if He were not above;

their arrogant tongues boast throughout the earth; they feel invincible.

Even God’s people turn and are carried away by them;

they watch and listen, yet find no fault in them.

You will hear them say, “How can the True God possibly know anyway? He’s not even here.

So how can the Most High have any knowledge of what happens here?”

Let me tell you what I know about the wicked:

they are comfortably at rest while their wealth is growing and growing.

Oh, let this not be me! It seems I have scrubbed my heart to keep it clean

and washed my hands in innocence.

And for what? Nothing.

For all day long, I am being punished,

each day awakening to stern chastisement.

If I had said to others these kinds of things about the plight of God’s good people,

then I know I would have betrayed the next generation.

Trying to solve this mystery on my own exhausted me;

I couldn’t bear to look at it any further.

So I took my questions to the True God,

and in His sanctuary I realized something so chilling and final: their lives have a deadly end.

Because You have certainly set the wicked upon a slippery slope,

You’ve set them up to slide to their destruction.

And they won’t see it coming. It will happen so fast:

first, a flash of terror, and then desolation.

It is like a dream from which someone awakes.

You will wake up, Lord, and loathe what has become of them.

You see, my heart overflowed with bitterness and cynicism;

I felt as if someone stabbed me in the back.

But I didn’t know the truth;

I have been acting like a stupid animal toward You.

But look at this: You are still holding my right hand;

You have been all along.

Even though I was angry and hard-hearted, You gave me good advice;

when it’s all over, You will receive me into Your glory.

For all my wanting, I don’t have anyone but You in heaven.

There is nothing on earth that I desire other than You.

I admit how broken I am in body and spirit,

but God is my strength, and He will be mine forever.

It will happen: whoever shuns You will be silenced forever;

You will bring an end to all who refuse to be true to You.

But the closer I am to You, my God, the better because life with You is good.

O Lord, the Eternal, You keep me safe—

I will tell everyone what You have done.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 73 (The Voice)

[Book One]

Book One (Psalms 1–41) is attributed almost entirely to David; all but four of the psalms (1–2; 10; 33) are ascribed to him. In Hebrew Psalm 10 is a continuation of Psalm 9 because it was composed as an acrostic poem. Likewise, many Hebrew manuscripts combine Psalm 33 with 32. Only later are these divided into separate psalms. Psalm 1 sets the stage for the entire collection by explaining that the study of the Word of God is the foundation of a meaningful, prosperous life.

[Psalm 1]

God’s blessings follow you and await you at every turn:

when you don’t follow the advice of those who delight in wicked schemes,

When you avoid sin’s highway,

when judgment and sarcasm beckon you, but you refuse.

For you, the Eternal’s Word is your happiness.

It is your focus—from dusk to dawn.

You are like a tree,

planted by flowing, cool streams of water that never run dry.

Your fruit ripens in its time;

your leaves never fade or curl in the summer sun.

No matter what you do, you prosper.

For those who focus on sin, the story is different.

They are like the fallen husk of wheat, tossed by an open wind, left deserted and alone.

In the end, the wicked will fall in judgment;

the guilty will be separated from the innocent.

Their road suddenly will end in death,

yet the journey of the righteous has been charted by the Eternal.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 1 (The Voice)

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wealthprobability · 4 months

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Proverbs 30

The Words of Agur

30 The words of Agur the son of Jakeh, the [a]oracle.

The man declares to Ithiel, to Ithiel and Ucal:

2 Surely I am more stupid than any man,

And I do not have the understanding of a man.

3 Neither have I learned wisdom,

Nor do I have the knowledge of the Holy One.

4 Who has ascended into heaven and descended?

Who has gathered the wind in His fists?

Who has wrapped the waters in [b]His garment?

Who has established all the ends of the earth?

What is His name or His son’s name?

Surely you know!

5 Every word of God is tested;

He is a shield to those who take refuge in Him.

6 Do not add to His words

Or He will reprove you, and you will be proved a liar.

7 Two things I asked of You,

Do not refuse me before I die:

8 Keep deception and [c]lies far from me,

Give me neither poverty nor riches;

Feed me with the food that is my portion,

9 That I not be full and deny You and say, “Who is the Lord?”

Or that I not be in want and steal,

And profane the name of my God.

10 Do not slander a slave to his master,

Or he will curse you and you will be found guilty.

11 There is a [d]kind of man who curses his father

And does not bless his mother.

12 There is a [e]kind who is pure in his own eyes,

Yet is not washed from his filthiness.

13 There is a [f]kind—oh how lofty are his eyes!

And his eyelids are raised in arrogance.

14 There is a [g]kind of man whose teeth are like swords

And his jaw teeth like knives,

To devour the afflicted from the earth

And the needy from among men.

15 The leech has two daughters,

“Give,” “Give.”

There are three things that will not be satisfied,

Four that will not say, “Enough”:

16 [h]Sheol, and the barren womb,

Earth that is never satisfied with water,

And fire that never says, “Enough.”

17 The eye that mocks a father

And [i]scorns a mother,

The ravens of the valley will pick it out,

And the young eagles will eat it.

18 There are three things which are too wonderful for me,

Four which I do not understand:

19 The way of an eagle in the sky,

The way of a serpent on a rock,

The way of a ship in the middle of the sea,

And the way of a man with a maid.

20 This is the way of an adulterous woman:

She eats and wipes her mouth,

And says, “I have done no wrong.”

21 Under three things the earth quakes,

And under four, it cannot bear up:

22 Under a slave when he becomes king,

And a fool when he is satisfied with food,

23 Under an unloved woman when she gets a husband,

And a maidservant when she supplants her mistress.

24 Four things are small on the earth,

But they are exceedingly wise:

25 The ants are not a strong people,

But they prepare their food in the summer;

26 The [j]shephanim are not mighty people,

Yet they make their houses in the rocks;

27 The locusts have no king,

Yet all of them go out in ranks;

28 The lizard you may grasp with the hands,

Yet it is in kings’ palaces.

29 There are three things which are stately in their march,

Even four which are stately when they walk:

30 The lion which is mighty among beasts

And does not [k]retreat before any,

31 The [l]strutting rooster, the male goat also,

And a king when his army is with him.

32 If you have been foolish in exalting yourself

Or if you have plotted evil, put your hand on your mouth.

33 For the [m]churning of milk produces butter,

And pressing the nose brings forth blood;

So the [n]churning of anger produces strife.

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sandriadreamin · 2 years

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The air is cold and wet, the sky iron gray. I try to see the beauty that surrounds me and shove that despair deep inside out of sight so no one knows the sadness I hide. Walking over the lawn barefoot lost in my own darkness desperately trying to fight my way free of the madness in my mind, to somehow find peace in the quiet mountains painted by mother nature for me to enjoy. To dance in the wind with a flamboyant maple leaf leaping madly through the apple trees with the autumn imps splashing their color magic across the valley. I can see their sweet faces full of joy dancing with the wild music as twilight falls carrying me off to ancient times. Dancing with shadows around a fire lifting voices through the night oh what a magnificent delight such a wonderful vision I see in my mind's eye sisters and brothers around me standing together voices blending in harmonious song. Weaving love and healing together in one beautiful song that blankets this earth in its soothing balm. Taking a deep breath coming forward into my own time longing to keep that vision close to my heart longing for that deep connection that I am already missing as you slip into winter's deep sleep. I press your memories in my heart to warm my soul some dark cold night I whisper farewell sweet mistress I will think of you as I sit by the fire with all your bounty around me. I bow in gratitude for your blessings so generously given to me. Never will I forget how lucky I really am to be held safely in your loving arms no matter how lost I get. I am never alone.

#my poetry #my writing #poetry #writing

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npiyr · 2 years

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Night as a lover of mankind

empty moonlit summer sky condescending tone of the buzzing flies like grim animation of a skeletal light the sound of fangs and facts is restored to grace it disappeared traceless, the empty of nocturne sung no, no one is into the shape that is found the queen of aspic and of the runaround the shape of stars in her eyes, carving valleys of light so sensual, the dance restores feelings of hunger as climax approaches on the wings of slumber her lips sink down towards the sun and moon in vapor ah yes sister night, by somnambular siesta she dances light strangled by her gossamer ropes a samba, no a waltz in the burlesque quadrant of time when life is made and others taken in dreamlined solitude drank by the kings of drunken splendor the shape is absolute drain me grim moonlit lady, oh shaper of terminal rest Hollywood to Harlem, London to the stones the pleasure to watch that of humanity and not her husband in sun ah! my mistress night, how peculiar you are the taste of mariners and those who drain the bottle but what taste do you prefer yourself?

#poetry #poem #free verse

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andersunmenschlich · 2 years

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Chapter IV

CAPTURED

As Thuros, swift racer of the night, shot again into the sky the scene changed. As by magic a new aspect fell athwart the face of Nature. It was as though in the instant one had been transported from one planet to another. It was the age-old miracle of the Martian nights that is always new, even to Martians—two moons resplendent in the heavens, where one had been but now; conflicting, fast-changing shadows that altered the very hills themselves; far Cluria, stately, majestic, almost stationary, shedding her steady light upon the world below; Thuros, a great and glorious orb, swinging swift across the vaulted dome of the blue-black night, so low that he seemed to graze the hills, a gorgeous spectacle that held the boy now beneath the spell of its enchantment as it always had and always would.

"Ah, Thuros, mad king of heaven!" murmured Taran of Helium. "The hills pass in stately procession, their bosoms rising and falling; the trees move in restless circles; the little grasses describe their little arcs; and all is movement, restless, mysterious movement without sound, while Thuros passes." The boy sighed and let his gaze fall again to the stern realities beneath. There was no mystery in the huge banths. She who had discovered him squatted there looking hungrily up at him. Most of the others had wandered away in search of other prey, but a few remained hoping yet to bury their fangs in that soft body.

The night wore on. Again Thuros left the heavens to his lord and mistress, hurrying on to keep his tryst with the Sun in other skies. But a single banth waited impatiently beneath the tree which harbored Taran of Helium. The others had left, but their roars, and growls, and moans thundered or rumbled, or floated back to him from near and far. What prey found they in this little valley? There must be something that they were accustomed to find here that they should be drawn in so great numbers. The boy wondered what it could be.

How long the night! Numb, cold, and exhausted, Taran of Helium clung to the tree in growing desperation, for once he had dozed and almost fallen. Hope was low in his brave little heart. How much more could he endure? He asked himself the question and then, with a brave shake of his head, he squared his shoulders. "I still live!" he said aloud.

The banth looked up and growled.

Came Thuros again and after awhile the great Sun—a flaming lover, pursuing her heart's desire. And Cluria, the cold wife, continued her serene way, as placid as before her house had been violated by this hot Aspasia. And now the Sun and both Moons rode together in the sky, lending their far mysteries to make weird the Martian dawn. Taran of Helium looked out across the fair valley that spread upon all sides of him. It was rich and beautiful, but even as he looked upon it he shuddered, for to his mind came a picture of the headless things that the towers and the walls hid. Those by day and the banths by night! Ah, was it any wonder that he shuddered?

With the coming of the Sun the great Barsoomian lion rose to her feet. She turned angry eyes upon the boy above her, voiced a single ominous growl, and slunk away toward the hills. The boy watched her, and he saw that she gave the towers as wide a berth as possible and that she never took her eyes from one of them while she was passing it. Evidently the inmates had taught these savage creatures to respect them. Presently she passed from sight in a narrow defile, nor in any direction that he could see was there another. Momentarily at least the landscape was deserted. The boy wondered if he dared to attempt to regain the hills and his flier. He dreaded the coming of the workers to the fields as he was sure they would come. He shrank from again seeing the headless bodies, and found himself wondering if these things would come out into the fields and work. He looked toward the nearest tower. There was no sign of life there. The valley lay quiet now and deserted. He lowered himself stiffly to the ground. His muscles were cramped and every move brought a twinge of pain. Pausing a moment to drink again at the stream he felt refreshed and then turned without more delay toward the hills. To cover the distance as quickly as possible seemed the only plan to pursue. The trees no longer offered concealment and so he did not go out of his way to be near them. The hills seemed very far away. He had not thought, the night before, that he had traveled so far. Really it had not been far, but now, with the three towers to pass in broad daylight, the distance seemed great indeed.

The second tower lay almost directly in his path. To make a detour would not lessen the chance of detection, it would only lengthen the period of his danger, and so he laid his course straight for the hill where his flier was, regardless of the tower. As he passed the first enclosure he thought that he heard the sound of movement within, but the gate did not open and he breathed more easily when it lay behind him. He came then to the second enclosure, the outer wall of which he must circle, as it lay across his route. As he passed close along it he distinctly heard not only movement within, but voices. In the world-language of Barsoom he heard a woman issuing instructions—so many were to pick usa, so many were to irrigate this field, so many to cultivate that, and so on, as a supervisor lays out the day's work for her crew.

Taran of Helium had just reached the gate in the outer wall. Without warning it swung open toward him. He saw that for a moment it would hide him from those within and in that moment he turned and ran, keeping close to the wall, until, passing out of sight beyond the curve of the structure, he came to the opposite side of the enclosure. Here, panting from his exertion and from the excitement of his narrow escape, he threw himself among some tall weeds that grew close to the foot of the wall. There he lay trembling for some time, not even daring to raise his head and look about. Never before had Taran of Helium felt the paralyzing effects of terror. He was shocked and angry at himself, that he, son of Jane Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, should exhibit fear. Not even the fact that there had been none there to witness it lessened his shame and anger, and the worst of it was he knew that under similar circumstances he would again be equally as craven. It was not the fear of death—he knew that. No, it was the thought of those headless bodies and that he might see them and that they might even touch him—lay hands upon him—seize him. He shuddered and trembled at the thought.

After a while he gained sufficient command of himself to raise his head and look about. To his horror he discovered that everywhere he looked he saw people working in the fields or preparing to do so. Workers were coming from other towers. Little bands were passing to this field and that. There were even some already at work within thirty ads of him—about a hundred yards.

There were ten, perhaps, in the party nearest him, both women and men, and all were beautiful of form and grotesque of face. So meager were their trappings that they were practically naked; a fact that was in no way remarkable among the tillers of the fields of Mars. Each wore the peculiar, high leather collar that completely hid the neck, and each wore sufficient other leather to support a single sword and a pocket-pouch. The leather was very old and worn, showing long, hard service, and was absolutely plain with the exception of a single device upon the left shoulder. The heads, however, were covered with ornaments of precious metals and jewels, so that little more than eyes, nose, and mouth were discernible. These were hideously inhuman and yet grotesquely human at the same time. The eyes were far apart and protruding, the nose scarce more than two small, parallel slits set vertically above a round hole that was the mouth. The heads were peculiarly repulsive—so much so that it seemed unbelievable to the boy that they formed an integral part of the beautiful bodies below them.

So fascinated was Taran of Helium that he could scarce take his eyes from the strange creatures—a fact that was to prove his undoing, for in order that he might see them he was forced to expose a part of his own head and presently, to his consternation, he saw that one of the creatures had stopped her work and was staring directly at him. He did not dare move, for it was still possible that the thing had not seen him, or at least was only suspicious that some creature lay hid among the weeds. If he could allay this suspicion by remaining motionless the creature might believe that she had been mistaken and return to her work; but, alas, such was not to be the case. He saw the thing call the attention of others to him and almost immediately four or five of them started to move in his direction.

It was impossible now to escape discovery. His only hope lay in flight. If he could elude them and reach the hills and the flier ahead of them he might escape, and that could be accomplished in but one way—flight, immediate and swift. Leaping to his feet he darted along the base of the wall which he must skirt to the opposite side, beyond which lay the hill that was his goal. His act was greeted by strange whistling sounds from the things behind him, and casting a glance over his shoulder he saw them all in rapid pursuit.

There were also shrill commands that he halt, but to these he paid no attention. Before he had half circled the enclosure he discovered that his chances for successful escape were great, since it was evident to him that his pursuers were not so fleet as he. High indeed then were his hopes as he came in sight of the hill, but they were soon dashed by what lay before him, for there, in the fields that lay between, were fully a hundred creatures similar to those behind him and all were on the alert, evidently warned by the whistling of their fellows. Instructions and commands were shouted to and fro, with the result that those before him spread roughly into a great half circle to intercept him, and when he turned to the right, hoping to elude the net, he saw others coming from fields beyond, and to the left the same was true. But Taran of Helium would not admit defeat. Without once pausing he turned directly toward the center of the advancing semi-circle, beyond which lay his single chance of escape, and as he ran he drew his long, slim dagger. Like his valiant dam, if die he must, he would die fighting. There were gaps in the thin line confronting him and toward the widest of one of these he directed his course. The things on either side of the opening guessed his intent for they closed in to place themselves in his path. This widened the openings on either side of them and as the boy appeared almost to rush into their arms he turned suddenly at right angles, ran swiftly in the new direction for a few yards, and then dashed quickly toward the hill again. Now only a single warrior, with a wide gap on either side of her, barred his clear way to freedom, though all the others were speeding as rapidly as they could to intercept him. If he could pass this one without too much delay he could escape, of that he was certain. His every hope hinged on this. The creature before him realized it, too, for she moved cautiously, though swiftly, to intercept him, as a Rugby fullback might maneuver in the realization that she alone stood between the opposing team and a touchdown.

At first Taran of Helium had hoped that he might dodge her, for he could not but guess that he was not only more fleet but infinitely more agile than these strange creatures; but soon there came to him the realization that in the time consumed in an attempt to elude her grasp her nearer fellows would be upon him and escape then impossible, so he chose instead to charge straight for her, and when she guessed his decision she stood, half crouching and with outstretched arms, awaiting him. In one hand was her sword, but a voice arose, crying in tones of authority. "Take them alive! Do not harm them!" Instantly the fellow returned her sword to its scabbard and then Taran of Helium was upon her. Straight for that beautiful body he sprang and in the instant that the arms closed to seize him his sharp blade drove deep into the naked chest. The impact hurled them both to the ground and as Taran of Helium rose to his feet he saw, to his horror, that the loathsome head had rolled from the body and was now crawling away from him on six short, spider-like legs. The body struggled spasmodically and lay still. As brief as had been the delay caused by the encounter, it still had been of sufficient duration to undo him, for even as he rose two more of the things fell upon him and instantly thereafter he was surrounded. His blade sank once more into naked flesh and once more a head rolled free and crawled away. Then they overpowered him and in another moment he was surrounded by fully a hundred of the creatures, all seeking to lay hands upon him. At first he thought that they wished to tear him to pieces in revenge for his having slain two of their fellows, but presently he realized that they were prompted more by curiosity than by any sinister motive.

"Come!" said one of his captors, both of whom had retained a hold upon him. As she spoke she tried to lead him away with her toward the nearest tower.

"They belong to me," cried the other. "Did not I capture them? They will come with me to the tower of Moak."

"Never!" insisted the first. "They are Luud's. To Luud I will take them, and whosoever interferes may feel the keenness of my sword—in the head!" She almost shouted the last three words.

"Come! Enough of this," cried one who spoke with some show of authority. "They were captured in Luud's fields—they will go to Luud."

"They were discovered in Moak's fields, at the very foot of the tower of Moak," insisted she who had claimed him for Moak.

"You have heard the Nolach speak," cried the Luud. "It shall be as they say."

"Not while this Moak holds a sword," replied the other. "Rather will I cut them in twain and take my half to Moak than to relinquish them all to Luud," and she drew her sword, or rather she laid her hand upon its hilt in a threatening gesture; but before ever she could draw it the Luud had whipped hers out and with a fearful blow cut deep into the head of her adversary. Instantly the big, round head collapsed, almost as a punctured balloon collapses, as a grayish, semi-fluid matter spurted from it. The protruding eyes, apparently lidless, merely stared, the sphincter-like muscle of the mouth opened and closed, and then the head toppled from the body to the ground. The body stood dully for a moment and then slowly started to wander aimlessly about until one of the others seized it by the arm.

One of the two heads crawling about on the ground now approached. "This rykor belongs to Moak," it said. "I am a Moak. I will take it," and without further discussion it commenced to crawl up the front of the headless body, using its six short, spiderlike legs and two stout chelae which grew just in front of its legs and strongly resembled those of an Earthly lobster, except that they were both of the same size. The body in the meantime stood in passive indifference, its arms hanging idly at its sides. The head climbed to the shoulders and settled itself inside the leather collar that now hid its chelae and legs. Almost immediately the body gave evidence of intelligent animation. It raised its hands and adjusted the collar more comfortably, it took the head between its palms and settled it in place and when it moved around it did not wander aimlessly, but instead its steps were firm and to some purpose.

The boy watched all these things in growing wonder, and presently, no other of the Moaks seeming inclined to dispute the right of the Luud to him, he was led off by his captor toward the nearest tower. Several accompanied them, including one who carried the loose head under her arm. The head that was being carried conversed with the head upon the shoulders of the thing that carried it. Taran of Helium shivered. It was horrible! All that he had seen of these frightful creatures was horrible. And to be a prisoner, wholly in their power. Shadow of his first ancestor! What had he done to deserve so cruel a fate?

At the wall enclosing the tower they paused while one opened the gate and then they passed within the enclosure, which, to the boy's horror, he found filled with headless bodies. The creature who carried the bodiless head now set its burden upon the ground and the latter immediately crawled toward one of the bodies that was lying near by. Some wandered stupidly to and fro, but this one lay still. It was a male. The head crawled to it and made its way to the shoulders where it settled itself. At once the body sprang lightly erect. Another of those who had accompanied them from the fields approached with the harness and collar that had been taken from the dead body that the head had formerly topped. The new body now appropriated these and the hands deftly adjusted them. The creature was now as good as before Taran of Helium had struck down its former body with his slim blade. But there was a difference. Before it had been male—now it was female. That, however, seemed to make no difference to the head. In fact, Taran of Helium had noticed during the scramble and the fight about him that sex differences seemed of little moment to his captors. Females and males had taken equal part in his pursuit, both were identically harnessed and both carried swords, and he had seen as many males as females draw their weapons at the moment that a quarrel between the two factions seemed imminent.

The boy was given but brief opportunity for further observation of the pitiful creatures in the enclosure as his captor, after having directed the others to return to the fields, led him toward the tower, which they entered, passing into an apartment about ten feet wide and twenty long, in one end of which was a stairway leading to an upper level and in the other an opening to a similar stairway leading downward. The chamber, though on a level with the ground, was brilliantly lighted by windows in its inner wall, the light coming from a circular court in the center of the tower. The walls of this court appeared to be faced with what resembled glazed, white tile and the whole interior of it was flooded with dazzling light, a fact which immediately explained to the boy the purpose of the glass prisms of which the domes were constructed. The stairways themselves were sufficient to cause remark, since in nearly all Barsoomian architecture inclined runways are utilized for purposes of communication between different levels, and especially is this true of the more ancient forms and of those of remote districts where fewer changes have come to alter the customs of antiquity.

Down the stairway his captor led Taran of Helium. Down and down through chambers still lighted from the brilliant well. Occasionally they passed others going in the opposite direction and these always stopped to examine the boy and ask questions of his captor.

"I know nothing but that they were found in the fields and that I caught them after a fight in which they slew two rykors and in which I slew a Moak, and that I take them to Luud, to whom, of course, they belong. If Luud wishes to question them that is for Luud to do—not for me." Thus always she answered the curious.

Presently they reached a room from which a circular tunnel led away from the tower, and into this the creature conducted him. The tunnel was some seven feet in diameter and flattened on the bottom to form a walk. For a hundred feet from the tower it was lined with the same tile-like material of the light well and amply illuminated by reflected light from that source. Beyond it was faced with stone of various shapes and sizes, neatly cut and fitted together—a very fine mosaic without a pattern. There were branches, too, and other tunnels which crossed this, and occasionally openings not more than a foot in diameter; these latter being usually close to the floor. Above each of these smaller openings was painted a different device, while upon the walls of the larger tunnels at all intersections and points of convergence hieroglyphics appeared. These the boy could not read thought he guessed that they were the names of the tunnels, or notices indicating the points to which they led. He tried to study some of them out, but there was not a character that was familiar to him, which seemed strange, since, while the written languages of the various nations of Barsoom differ, it still is true that they have many characters and words in common.

He had tried to converse with his guard but she had not seemed inclined to talk with him and he had finally desisted. He could not but note that she had offered him no indignities, nor had she been either unnecessarily rough or in any way cruel. The fact that he had slain two of the bodies with his dagger had apparently aroused no animosity or desire for revenge in the minds of the strange heads that surmounted the bodies—even those whose bodies had been killed. He did not try to understand it, since he could not approach the peculiar relationship between the heads and the bodies of these creatures from the basis of any past knowledge or experience of his own. So far their treatment of him seemed to augur naught that might arouse his fears. Perhaps, after all, he had been fortunate to fall into the hands of these strange people, who might not only protect him from harm, but even aid him in returning to Helium. That they were repulsive and uncanny he could not forget, but if they meant him no harm he could, at least, overlook their repulsiveness. Renewed hope aroused within him a spirit of greater cheerfulness, and it was almost blithely now that he moved at the side of his weird companion. He even caught himself humming a gay little tune that was then popular in Helium. The creature at his side turned its expressionless eyes upon him.

"What is that noise that you are making?" it asked.

"I was but humming an air," he replied.

"Humming an air," she repeated. "I do not know what you mean; but do it again, I like it."

This time he sang the words, while his companion listened intently. Her face gave no indication of what was passing in that strange head. It was as devoid of expression as that of a spider. It reminded him of a spider. When he had finished she turned toward him again.

"That was different," she said. "I liked that better, even, than the other. How do you do it?"

"Why," he said, "it is singing. Do you not know what song is?"

"No," she replied. "Tell me how you do it."

"It is difficult to explain," he told her, "since any explanation of it presupposes some knowledge of melody and of music, while your very question indicates that you have no knowledge of either."

"No," she said, "I do not know what you are talking about; but tell me how you do it."

"It is merely the melodious modulations of my voice," he explained. "Listen!" and again he sang.

"I do not understand," she insisted; "but I like it. Could you teach me to do it?"

"I do not know, but I shall be glad to try."

"We will see what Luud does with you," she said. "If xe does not want you I will keep you and you shall teach me to make sounds like that."

At her request he sang again as they continued their way along the winding tunnel, which was now lighted by occasional bulbs which appeared to be similar to the radium bulbs with which he was familiar and which were common to all the nations of Barsoom, insofar as he knew, having been perfected at so remote a period that their very origin was lost in antiquity. They consist, usually, of a hemispherical bowl of heavy glass in which is packed a compound containing what, according to Jane Carter, must be radium. The bowl is then cemented into a metal plate with a heavily insulated back and the whole affair set in the masonry of wall or ceiling as desired, where it gives off light of greater or less intensity, according to the composition of the filling material, for an almost incalculable period of time.

As they proceeded they met a greater number of the inhabitants of this underground world, and the boy noted that among many of these the metal and harness were more ornate than had been those of the workers in the fields above. The heads and bodies, however, were similar, even identical, he thought. No one offered him harm and he was now experiencing a feeling of relief almost akin to happiness, when his guide turned suddenly into an opening on the right side of the tunnel and he found himself in a large, well lighted chamber.

#Taran of Helium #public domain #genderswap #self-indulgence #Barsoom #The Chessmen of Mars #book 5 #chapter 4 #Now new readers will discover what I meant when I said ''spider people.''#Man #I love these guys (gender neutral).#They struck a deep chord with me as a teen. For some reason.

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blacksabbathcoversproject · 5 years

Video

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Sky Valley Mistress “Paranoid”

A collection of Black Sabbath covers songs running the gamut from Easy Listening and Synth Pop to Death and Black Metal and everything in between. Some are bad. Real bad. Others are truly excellent. Have a listen and be the judge.

A new cover track posted daily!

Be sure to visit us at blacksabbathcoversproject.com

#sky valley mistress #paranoid #black sabbath cover #stoner rock

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planetmosh · 3 years

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Sky Valley Mistress release new video for 'She Is So'

Sky Valley Mistress release new video for ‘She Is So’

Sky Valley Mistress release new video for ‘She Is So’ ahead of upcoming live dates So finally, the post covid blues are lifting and the music scene comes to life again. It was of course a killer that the day Sky Valley Mistress’ debut album ‘Faithless Rituals’ came out the country went into lockdown depriving us of seeing SVM’s incendiary live spectacle in the flesh. However, that’s about to…

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#Press release #SKY VALLEY MISTRESS #tour dates

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scottishmusicnetwork · 4 years

Photo

SKY VALLEY MISTRESS VISIT THE CALIFORNIA DESERT IN NEW VIDEO FOR ’SKULL & PISTONS’ NEW ALBUM 'FAITHLESS RITUALS' RELEASED 20TH MARCH (NEW HEAVY SOUNDS) “I just wanna tell you guys a little somethin’ about this record.

#FAITHLESS RITUALS #New Album #New Video #SKULL & PISTONS #SKY VALLEY MISTRESS

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ghostcultmagazine · 4 years

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GUEST POST: Sky Valley Mistress - Top 10 Albums of 2019

GUEST POST: Sky Valley Mistress – Top 10 Albums of 2019

It’s time for another Ghost Cult “End Of Year” Guest post! We’ll be sharing lists, memories, and other shenanigans from our favorite bands, partners, music industry peers, and other folks we respect across the globe all month long! We welcome in Sky Valley Mistress! The Blackburn, Lancashire based band will release their debut album next year which they recorded withDave Catching (QOTSA, Eagles…

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#Danger Mouse #Dave Catching #Deja Vega #Desert Sessions #EODM #Foals #Karen O #Karen O & Danger Mouse #Keys #Lizzo #Mojave Lords)#New Heavy Sounds #Psyence #QOTSA #Sky Valley Mistress #SPQR #Swedish Death Candy #Ty Segall

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dfroza · 1 month

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Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for April 30 of 2024 with Proverbs 30 and Psalm 30, accompanied by Psalm 43 for the 43rd day of Astronomical Spring and Psalm 121 for day 121 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 1st revolution this year)

[Proverbs 30]

These are the words of Agur, son of Jakeh. An oracle of wisdom.

He says, “I am weary, God.

I am weary and spent, O God.”

Certainly I am a stupid man, as dumb as an ox.

I don’t understand the way that most people do.

I have never learned wisdom,

and I have no knowledge at all of the Holy One.

Who has ascended into the heavens and then come back down?

Who has collected the winds in the palm of His hand?

Who has wrapped up the vast oceans in His coat?

Who has plotted the ends of the earth and then fashioned them?

What is His name?

What is His son’s name?

Do you know? Indeed, you do.

Every word of God will be put to the test and proven true;

He is a defense for those who trust in Him.

Take care. Add nothing to what He has said;

for if you do, He will correct you and expose you as a liar.

Two things I ask, O God.

Sometime before I die, grant these humble requests:

Eliminate any hint of worthless and deceitful words from my lips.

Do not make me poor or rich,

but give me each day what I need;

For if I have too much, I might forget You are the One who provides,

saying, “Who is the Eternal One?”

Or if I do not have enough, I might become hungry and turn to stealing

and thus dishonor the good name of my God.

Never run down a servant to his master

because the slave might curse you and you would suffer as a result.

There is a kind of person who curses his father

and pronounces no blessing upon his mother;

A kind of person who is without fault in his own estimation

but has not been scrubbed clean of his own sordidness;

A kind whose look is too haughty,

whose eyebrows arch as he looks down on others;

A kind whose very teeth cut like swords

and whose jaws sever like knives,

All the better to consume the poor of the earth

and the oppressed among men.

The leech has twin suckers;

“More blood! More blood,” they demand.

Three other things are just as insatiable,

no, make it four that never say, “Enough”:

The grave, the childless woman who cannot bear,

the parched earth that cries for rain,

and the fire, which never says, “Enough!”

One who derides his father

and fails to honor his mother in old age

Will die in contempt: his eyes will be pecked out by the ravens of the valley

and eaten by the young vultures when his unburied body lies on the trash heap.

There are three mysteries I find absolutely amazing,

no, make it four I cannot comprehend:

The way an eagle flies through the sky,

the way a snake moves over a rock,

The way a boat glides through the middle of the sea,

and the way a man becomes one with his virgin wife.

An adulterous woman is so cavalier by nature.

When she’s done, it is as if she washed after eating

and then says, “I have done nothing wrong.”

Three situations disturb the earth,

no, make it four that it cannot endure:

When a slave is elevated to king,

when a fool is full of fine food,

When a hated woman finally marries,

and when a serving girl takes possession of her mistress’s wealth.

There are four creatures on earth that are small,

but they are very wise and we can learn from them:

While ants are hardly a strong species,

they work constantly to store up food during the summer;

While badgers are animals without many defenses,

they are wise enough to make their homes in the rocky cliffs;

While locusts live without a ruler,

they all know how to move in formation;

While a lizard is easy enough to catch in your hand,

it is shrewd enough to enter the palaces of kings.

There are three creatures with majesty in their stride,

no, make it four that move with grace:

The lion, which is the strongest of the animals,

does not back down from any other creature;

The strutting rooster, the male goat,

and a king as he goes out with his army.

If you have been foolish enough to insinuate yourself in some high position

or if you have concocted some sort of evil plan,

clamp your hand tightly over your mouth;

For pressing down milk makes butter,

pressing your nose makes it bleed,

and pressing anger makes trouble.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30 (The Voice)

A set of notes from The Voice translation:

•

[Psalm 30]

A song of David. For the dedication of the temple.

I praise You, Eternal One. You lifted me out of that deep, dark pit

and denied my opponents the pleasure of rubbing in their success.

Eternal One, my True God, I cried out to You for help;

You mended the shattered pieces of my life.

You lifted me from the grave with a mighty hand,

gave me another chance,

and saved me from joining those in that dreadful pit.

Sing, all you who remain faithful!

Pour out your hearts to the Eternal with praise and melodies;

let grateful music fill the air and bless His name.

His wrath, you see, is fleeting,

but His grace lasts a lifetime.

The deepest pains may linger through the night,

but joy greets the soul with the smile of morning.

When things were quiet and life was easy, I said in arrogance,

“Nothing can shake me.”

By Your grace, Eternal,

I thought I was as strong as a mountain;

But when You left my side and hid away,

I crumbled in fear.

O Eternal One, I called out to You;

I pleaded for Your compassion and forgiveness:

“I’m no good to You dead! What benefits come from my rotting corpse?

My body in the grave will not praise You.

No songs will rise up from the dust of my bones.

From dust comes no proclamation of Your faithfulness.

Hear me, Eternal Lord—please help me,

Eternal One—be merciful!”

You did it: You turned my deepest pains into joyful dancing;

You stripped off my dark clothing

and covered me with joyful light.

You have restored my honor. My heart is ready to explode, erupt in new songs!

It’s impossible to keep quiet!

Eternal One, my God, my Life-Giver, I will thank You forever.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 30 (The Voice)

[Psalm 43]

Plead for me; clear my name, O God. Prove me innocent

before immoral people;

Save me from their lies,

their unjust thoughts and deeds.

You are the True God—my shelter, my protector, the one whom I lean on.

Why have You turned away from me? Rejected me?

Why must I go around, overwrought, mourning,

suffering under the weight of my enemies?

O my God, shine Your light and truth

to help me see clearly,

To lead me to Your holy mountain,

to Your home.

Then I will go to God’s altar with nothing to hide.

I will go to God, my rapture;

I will sing praises to You and play my strings,

unloading my cares, unleashing my joys, to You, God, my God.

O my soul, why are you so overwrought?

Why are you so disturbed?

Why can’t I just hope in God? Despite all my emotions, I will hope in God again.

I will believe and praise the One

who saves me and is my life,

My Savior and my God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 43 (The Voice)

[Psalm 121]

A song for those journeying to worship.

I look up at the vast size of the mountains—

from where will my help come in times of trouble?

The Eternal Creator of heaven and earth and these mountains

will send the help I need.

He holds you firmly in place;

He will not let you fall.

He who keeps you will never take His eyes off you and never drift off to sleep.

What a relief! The One who watches over Israel

never leaves for rest or sleep.

The Eternal keeps you safe,

so close to Him that His shadow is a cooling shade to you.

Neither bright light of sun

nor dim light of moon will harm you.

The Eternal will keep you safe

from all of life’s evils,

From your first breath to the last breath you breathe,

from this day and forever.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 121 (The Voice)

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