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It's with a heavy but hopeful heart that I watch Palestinian families fundraiser on here, slowly accumulating the precious little money to go around that they need to survive. However, not everyone is so lucky. A lot of Palestinians that have not had that kind of luck, that did not get early verification, that did not get massive platforms behind them from large bloggers, have approached me in my inbox, asking me kindly to do what I can for them. It kills me that I have so little to give myself, but I've seen this platform collectively raise enough to change someone's life. I've made a list of Palestinian fundraisers that are extremely low on funds, in the hope that drawing attention to people who have not been lucky at all can help turn that luck around. I know most of us can't possibly give enough to get all of these families safe in one go. But please, reblog this list. Pick one or two fundraisers, give what you can, and then keep track of it. Slowly, collectively, we can make a difference in these people's lives. Share and donate as much as you can. https://docs.google.com/document/d/178EGDFKkHlh3y4TMVX82kqgITHsqtoMdNccI2f_94Os/edit?usp=sharing

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There should be a fanfic writing game called the showrunners challenge where someone writes a story and partway through someone else can play things like "actor leaves after 4000 more words" or "topic now too politically sensitive due to unforeseen world events" or "lost rights to that reference"

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Would never be me.

I am the definition of fang bait.

Lost You Forever 长相思 第二季 | Episode 25

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🌹 a flower for everyone not feeling their best today

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A dcxdp fic that borrows from classic ghost stories and urban legends. The Justice League Responds to a disaster that appears to have emptied a town of it's residents. Or has it? A story out of order.

Notes:

You ever have a moment where you're like "Girlie write the story you wish to see in the world" ? This, this is that story. If you have any suggestions of ghosts stories or urban legends I won't guarantee I'll use them but I'd love to hear them.

""

So um... I'm writing a fan fic. Yay! Please enjoy

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It's fine It's fine. I'm crying but it's fine.

God fucking Robin Hood.

Robin Hood's Last Arrow

A common trope in legends of outlaws and other folk heroes is that they’re invisible when they choose to hide, and invincible when they choose to fight. (At least when they fight for real; in less serious brawls they often lose the fight and gain a new ally!) So the only way to bring them down is betrayal.

This is also the case in the death of Robin Hood, as recounted in A Gest of Robyn Hode (15th century), Robin Hood’s Death (17th/18th century ballad), and Howard Pyle’s The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood (1883). Robin goes to a priory to receive medical attention, which at the time means bloodletting. But the prioress who’s supposed to heal him betrays him: the later versions specify that she cuts him deep instead, and he slowly bleeds to death, while there may be an accomplice who attacks him in his weakened state.

Here’s our earliest account of the outlaw’s death, sparse in details, possibly because the story was already established in oral tradition:

Then bespoke good Robyn, In place where as he stood, ’To morrow I must to Kyrkesly, Craftly to be let blood.’ Sir Roger of Donkaster, By the prioress he lay, And there they betrayed good Robyn Hode, Through their false play. Christ have mercy on his soul, That died on the road! For he was a good outlaw, And did poor men much good. — A Gest of Robyn Hood (I’m modernising the spelling)

So in the Gest he dies “on the road”, and in the first version of Robin Hood’s Death (c. 1650) he is buried by the road: too weak to walk, he asks Little John to carry him “to yonder streete” and bury him there, with his sword at his head, his arrows at his feet, and his yew-bow by his side. But in the later version of Robin Hood’s Death (1786) we get a more poetic burial. A mortally wounded Robin shoots his last arrow and asks to be buried wherever it lands.

But give me my bent bow in my hand, And a broad arrow I’ll let flee; And where this arrow is taken up, There shall my grave digged be. ‘Lay me a green sod under my head, And another at my feet; And lay my bent bow by my side, Which was my music sweet; And make my grave of gravel and green, Which is most right and meet. ‘Let me have length and breadth enough, With a green sod under my head; That they may say, when I am dead Here lies bold Robin Hood.’ — Robin Hood’s Death (Child Ballad 120B; more info here)

In Howard Pyle’s retelling of that story, Robin lies dying in the priory, with Little John by his side and a window to look through.

Meantime the sun dropped slowly to the west, till all the sky was ablaze with a red glory. Then Robin Hood, in a weak, faltering voice, bade Little John raise him that he might look out once more upon the woodlands; so the yeoman lifted him in his arms, as he bade, and Robin Hood’s head lay on his friend’s shoulder. Long he gazed, with a wide, lingering look, while the other sat with bowed head, the hot tears rolling one after another from his eyes, and dripping upon his bosom, for he felt that the time of parting was near at hand. Then, presently, Robin Hood bade him string his stout bow for him, and choose a smooth fair arrow from his quiver. This Little John did, though without disturbing his master or rising from where he sat. Robin Hood’s fingers wrapped lovingly around his good bow, and he smiled faintly when he felt it in his grasp, then he nocked the arrow on that part of the string that the tips of his fingers knew so well. “Little John,” said he, “Little John, mine own dear friend, and him I love better than all others in the world, mark, I prythee, where this arrow lodges, and there let my grave be digged. Lay me with my face toward the East, Little John, and see that my resting place be kept green, and that my weary bones be not disturbed.” As he finished speaking, he raised himself of a sudden and sat upright. His old strength seemed to come back to him, and, drawing the bowstring to his ear, he sped the arrow out of the open casement. As the shaft flew, his hand sank slowly with the bow till it lay across his knees, and his body likewise sank back again into Little John’s loving arms; but something had sped from that body, even as the winged arrow sped from the bow. — Howard Pyle, The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood (1883)

That was really cool and really influential. The flurry of Robin Hood publications that followed Pyle’s Adventures tended to include and illustrate that scene (whereas I’ve seen only one illustration dating before that). But I should clarify that Pyle didn’t rescue the scene from complete oblivion: earlier, in 1828, it had been the subject of a very Romantic™ poem by Bernard Barton, who lauded “freedom’s rude and lawless home beneath the forest bough”:

“Now raise me on my dying bed,   Bring here my trusty bow, And ere I join the silent dead,   My arm that spot shall show.” [...] With kindling glance and throbbing heart   One parting look he cast, Sped on its way the feathered dart,   Sank back! and breathed his last! And where it fell they dug his grave,   Beneath the greenwood tree; Meet resting-place for one so brave,   So lawless, frank, and free. — Bernard Barton, “The Death of Robin Hood” (1828)

We haven’t seen the last arrow in recent adaptations, but there’s an echo in Robin of Sherwood, a scene with the same resonance even if the circumstances are different: Robin of Loxley makes his last stand on a hill, fending off the Sheriff of Nottingham and like a million men all by his lonesome (because longbow range). And just as the Sheriff wonders how many bloody arrows this man has, he picks his last one, dramatically throws away the quiver, and this time doesn’t aim. The last arrow isn’t for killing, it’s his own funerary rite and a parting gift to the forest. It's letting go without ever giving up.

He looks down, raises up the bow, and lets it loose blindly, to go wherever it may, where chance and fate decides. The arrow flies over the soldiers’ heads, and importantly, we don’t see where it lands, we just know it went somewhere towards Sherwood. And in the face of inescapable death, the now unarmed and surrounded Robin smiles.

Now that’s a fucking poetic last arrow.

@tuulikki

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ohhhhh

by bercybbc

Robin Hood AU

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I name him Pedro. He is friend shaped.

oh, so you like dogs? name one dog

this is the dog, you can name them :)

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Making jokes about Noir being colorblind/not understanding colors is how we cope with how unbelievably powerful his brain is

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old books by hyunjee lee on Flickr.

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*sweeps all of my AU ideas under the rug* why must I be called out this way?

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ah yes, the two genders:

man and bath

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I, for one, am happy these actors feel comfortable being loud about how much you and your friend suck. If you’re doing something so against that show as voting for a rapist convicted felon who wants to end democracy, what did you expect? Especially from those women?

Actors being loud about how these assholes are NOT welcome makes fandom safer for a lot more people who deserve to be there.

Maybe your fav actor hating you for your bigoted politics should be a cause for reflection about what’s gone so wrong in your life. You know, if this bothers you so much.