#⬡ ❛ is it courage or faith? ⸢ visage ⸥

[magiicxkiingdcm]

ella pleasance tag drop

── ★ || cinderella || i'm only a girl not a princess || visage

[anittmyer]

Glorfidnel vs. Religious Trauma

(This does contain some Valar bashing)

This was a headcanon I wanted to explore with my Golden boy! It's well known knowledge that Glorfindel is half Noldor and half Vanya, and the Vanya tend to be close to the valar and the most as you say "religious" and strict with the rules of the valar.

I personally headcanon Glorifndel as gay and he realized this at a young age while he still lived in Valinor. His mother was Noldor, but his father was a very loyal Vanya, making him quite religious and strict with his children and household. Same sex relationships were viewed as an abomination by the valar and so most Vanya thought so as well. Glorfindel hated himself for liking other Nèrs', he knew he should get over it so he can marry and nìs one day and make his father proud.

Glorindel spent a lot of his time trying to be a devoted follower of the valar and to follow their rules, but one day he kissed another male elf in secret and he was so scared he ran away home and cried. He was found by his mother and he knew his mother wasn't as tied to the Valar as his father was. He told her what had happened and how he felt, he feared she'd be angry and disgusted, like how many Vanya spoke about Prince Nelyofinwè (another character i headcanon as gay).

He truly felt lost and in a dark place once the flight of the Noldo occurred and he decided to cross the Helcaraxè with Fingolfin's host. He felt abandoned by the Valar even though he was devoted and faithful. He feeling lost had found happy company in a Noldor elf named Ecthelion.

In Gondolin, Glorfindel was still tense and no one knew his true nature besides Ecthelion. He had garnered the title of himself as Gondolin's most eligible bachelor in the secret city. Many elleths fawned over the Lord of the Golden Flower, but all Glorfindel could feel was shame once more for not being able to reciprocate and do his duty. Ecthelion was good at comforting him and telling him that how he was isn't shameful or a disgrace, but Glorfidnel couldn't help the sinking feeling in his gut and the nervous sweat on his brow.

It wasn't until he was brought back from the Halls of Mandos and was given a second chance at life, that he wanted to let go of his shame. Lord Elrond was the most kind and most understanding being to have existed since his friend Ecthelion. While living in Imladris, Glorfindel met his forever love in Erestor, a beautiful peredhel elf with dark hair, striking green eyes, and olive skin. He was studious and a bit cold, but Glorfindel had broken down those walls and the two were almost always plagued by a scarlet blush. Glorfindel knew he found his forever love, he didn't care what the Valar thought or what his father thought of him being in love with an ellon, of Fenaorion stock no less!

Glorfindel always dreamed of his wedding, he once thought it was never to be, his love would never be allowed by the Valar or even his father. He married Erestor in Imladris, surrounded by those who loved and accepted him. And once he sailed with Erestor, Elladan, and Elrohir, he reunited with Ecthelion who was furious he wasn't able to attend his best friends wedding. However, Glorfindel was most worried about his father... the faithful Nèr who spat hideous words about those loving the same gender as their own. Glorfindel had finally worked up courage to travel to his family home, with Erestor in hand, he wouldn't be hidden like some shameful thing.

They had arrived to his family house, before knocking, the door was swung open, the beautiful visage of his mother stared back at him, tears instantly in her eyes. Glorfindel introduced Erestor as his husband and his mother only smiled and gave Erestor a chaste kiss on his cheek. Her acceptance of his husband gave him confidence. It was finally time to face his father... after so many years...

He met his father in the garden behind his family home, age had found its way to his father's, gray hairs lined his temples and his golden hair line. His father's tired eyes had no judgement in them, only sorrow and longing... Longing for his only son. He embraced his son tightly and then he looked to Erestor who appeared slightly apprehensive. Once more, Erestor was introduced as his beloved spouse, speaking calmly and slowly as to avoid his father blowing up on him. Glorfindel's father did no show thing. He in fact also gave Erestor a hug and thanked him for loving his son.

. . . .

In my head, Glorfindel's father lost his faith in the Valar when they decided to send his son back to Middle-Earth instead of letting him come home to his family.

I also swapped out Nèr/Nìs and Ellon/Elleth depending on if we were in Valinor or Middle-Earth!

I'm a Glorestor truther till my DYING DAYS!

Let me know what you think!!☺️☺️

[earthly-apples]

So while the 1976/1977 French stage/film adaptation of Dorian Gray is very faithful to the original book in the general tone, there are a few deviations (some I feel a slight shame some I enjoy immensely and overall the results are magnificent)

(SPOILERS BELOW)

In chapter 19 of the 1891 version of tpodg, Dorian has a conversation with Henry. The following dialogue is an excerpt of it.

This is a part that didn’t exist in the 1890 novella version, but was kept in the French production.

-Que diriez-vous, Harry, si je vous assurais que j’ai assassiné Basil? -Je penserais, mon cher, que vous prenez une pose qui ne vous va pas. Tout crime est vulgaire, de même que toute vulgarité est criminelle. Ce n’est pas vous qui commettriez un tel crime, Dorian. Le crime est l’apanage des plus basses classes. Je ne les en blâme pas d’ailleurs. J’imagine que le crime est pour elles ce que l’art est pour nous: une manière de se donner des sensations rares.

In the original book, it is then followed by:

In the play however, it is continued by these lines:

-Le crime se promène dans toute les couches sociales, mon cher. Quant aux sensations rares qu’il procure, permettez-moi d’en douter. Je vous répète qu’il se peut fort bien que je sois l’assassin de Basil. -Vous n’arriverez pas à me convaincre, Dorian. Et pourquoi l’auriez-vous tue? Je vous le demande. -Eh bien, je ne sais pas, par jalousie pour ses dons artistiques, par exemple.

(which roughly translates as: "Crime runs through all social classes, my dear. As for the rare sensations it creates, allow me to doubt it. I repeat to you that I may very well be Basil's murderer." "You won't be able to convince me, Dorian. And why would you have killed him? I ask you." "Well, I don't know, out of jealousy for his artistic gifts, for example." )

Dorian being jealous of Basil is an extremely interesting idea, and is immediately pointed out by Henry in the play:

-Dorian! Il y a 20 ans, à la rigueur j’aurais pu vous croire. Mais aujourd-hui! Sa peinture avait bien faibli, convenes-en, elle était en pleine décadence. Quelque chose semblait l’avoir quitté, vous ne trouvez pas? Elle avait perdu son idéal…Quel a été la raison de votre rupture? Basil vous ennuyait sans doute? …

(Dorian! Twenty years ago I could have believed you; but today! His painting has gone off, we must admit, it was in full decline. Something seemed to have left him, don't you think so? It had lost its ideal... What was the reason of your falling apart? Supposedly Basil bored you?) The latter parts of the dialogue allows us to return back to the book, but the question remains, what is Dorian jealous of? Let us return to the book, as it hints through Henry's lines:

Life was Dorian's art, and his results were ugly, as reflected in his portrait hidden behind the attic drapes. He would enjoy all the beauty he radiated in the eyes of a worshipper and forever be jealous that he failed to create something of similar nature. As Henry says, Dorian on a pedestal had never crafted anything. While he tried to give himself an independent life, he was always under either the influence of Henry or the shadow of Basil. If Henry represented all the sins Dorian never had the courage to commit, Basil was all the virtues that Dorian never had the courage to dedicate himself to. Dorian wants and wants: he wants to hold everything, and so jealously engulfs him when he is reminded of the lost virtues through his confrontation with Basil, when Basil falls upon his knees and begs for him to seek redemption, when Basil gives, without hesitation, forgiveness. All his differences with Basil and all his want for his innocence drives his blade. There is a want in Dorian to be recognized beyond a pretty visage, a youthful miracle. But he has killed that potential himself, to the point that he has no evidence to prove his crime, no ears to listen to his confession, and no voice to speak a word. His death marks the final blow of a tragedy: that he will always remain a pretty visage, a youthful miracle, with a frame and canvas as his coffin.

[baronaliswritingcorner]

BERNIE BEAR

SHE!!!!

IS!!!!

FREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! After four years of bitter defeat, each worse than the last, WE HAVE FINALLY WON. The sweet taste of liberation from Third Place now graces the lips upon every Bernie Bro and Gal. Bask in this moment, for we have crushed the Engage resistance and have avenged our humiliating loss against the snake woman menace. True to our word, she is now thrown into the fire where she belongs.

Pen your riveting fiction, water your carnivorous plants, sew your furever friends, hum your dainty songs and feast upon your scrumptious cakes, for our ceaseless efforts have revealed Bernadetta to all, and she is eternal: her adorable visage glistening with the found courage that fuels her unyielding faithful; our love, the kindling, berning bright with passion aflame.

Do not forget this moment. Let this victory bloom vindication upon your breast, for Bernie shall always prevail; her quiver, aiming true with every fling of an arrow, piercing our hearts with pure, endless love.

BERNADETTA FOREVERRRRRRRR!!!

(Source for last image.)

[ubejamjar]

✝️ LATIN CROSS — are you a religious person? did you grow up religious? does your faith mean anything to you today?

Thank you for the ask! o/ I uh...got carried away.

Ajisai doesn’t belong in this place. 

Lit candles and rows of dark wood pews greet her as she slowly pushes open the nave door. It lets out a heavy groan, as if to protest the nonbeliever intruding in this sacred space. Light streams through the stained glass, bathing Halone's stone visage in holy blue. Ajisai stops before the statue, fishing a plate from her leather satchel. The Fury doesn’t seem happy to see her, but that is kind of Her thing.

“Don’t look at me like that,' Ajisai mumbles as she sets the plate at the foot of the statue. “It’s this or drinking myself to sleep, which do you prefer?”

The statue remains silent as she unwraps the misshapen rice cakes from the waxed paper and lays them at the goddess' feet. It isn’t the way of these western gods, but Ajisai doesn’t know how else to worship; she doesn’t know what else to do. Still, she feels exceptionally stupid offering a statue mochi.

As a child, it’d been different. She and her parents left gifts for the kami at small shrines—sweet mochi and sake, to keep them in high spirits. The offerings pleased the spirits so they brought good weather. She’d made wishes all the time: Help me catch the biggest cicada! Grant me courage to tell Satsu how I feel. When they received word her father died, she went to the shrines to pray for peace. Whether or not the kami did anything at all, she wasn’t sure, but it brought her comfort at the time.

There are no such shrines in Eorzea, so she makes this offering to the Fury.

Ajisai forces herself to make the motions—bow twice, clap twice. Foolish, she thinks, you know there are no gods. Ajisai lets out a breath that sounds too loud in the empty nave. She can’t go another night dreaming of him alive beside her, another morning remembering she is alone.

Palms pressed together, she hesitates, unsure what exactly she’s praying for. Of course, there are things she wants—all of them violent, none of them helpful. Honestly, she would settle for one night of dreamless sleep.

Crash.

The plate shatters across the tiles.

Apparently, Halone doesn’t like mochi.

”Well fuck you too,” Ajisai mutters. Frustrated, she considers leaving the mess but then someone else would have to pick it up in the morning. So, she carefully gathers the big pieces, the mochi, into her bag and uses her boot to sweep the smaller bits behind the statue.

She does not try prayer again. 

[rmelster]

Make a fanfic of Prince Arthur 🥹

Bc he better

Ask and ye shall receive. There it goes, @catherinemybeloved !

FIRST WORDS:

Summary: Catherine teaches Arthur some Spanish. Arthur teaches Catherine some Spanish. They get distracted at the end.

Genre: Romance, fluff, young love.

Historical fact: Arthur Tudor and Catherine of Aragon wrote to each other in Latin, since they discovered, during their first meeting, that they could not quite understand each other’s accent in that language.

The noble princess of Wales didn’t knew her husband’s mother tongue; that was grave. Neither did the prince spoke hers; that was disastrous.

Catherine of Aragon was a cultured princess; she knew as much as the art of the needlepoint and the domestic affairs, as she did of the classics, the olden languages, the politics and many other topics that weren’t foreign to the wise. But no word of English. Not a single word. Yet nobody seemed to step up; it was expected of her to learn by herself, as many other foreign princess had done before them.

So it came as a surprise that Catherine approached him, to teach him her language.

It was a chilly day of March, and the world barely started to awake from the cold slumber of winter. The white and red roses, that his father had had planted in Ludlow castle many years ago, as a memento of the union of the noble houses of York and Tudor, were yet to blossom, but starry primroses and bellflowers of humble beauty had already awakened, and the gardens had become a pleasant place to spend time alone. Arthur walked without haste, his arm timidly interlaced with Catherine’s, and his eyes often turned to her; in the solitude of the yard, the young princes were not obliged to act like ones, and Catherine dressed rather humbly, without her headdress and with no more adornment that the ring he had placed in her finger months ago, that fateful day of November in St. Paul’s.

The princes of Wales quietly sat on a stone bench. Catherine unrolled a scroll and they started their lesson.

First came the most basic greetings, titles and courtesies; once they both had memorised them, they began working on simple phrases; and while Catherine was quick to learn them, Arthur could barely repeat them twice without clumsily stumbling with his own words, oh, so foolishly! But there was a culprit behind his clumsiness, and that was Catherine.

He was entranced, bewitched, fooled. Despoiled of the regal and rigid protocol, she was as free as a river, and as tender as the fragrance of the flowers. Under the pale light of the day, her golden red hair shone like dark fire; her wide eyes, an abyss of a deep azure that he could not hold in his visage without getting flustered; her hand holding his had reduced him to a witless fool that repeated her words like a parrot.

So when she outlined the last of the phrases they would have to learn that day, he repeated it, not having payed attention to the meaning she had given him.

“Te… Amo…” he said slowly, “Te amo.”

“I love you too, my prince…” she responded.

His breath was taken away. For a moment, he blushed profusely and could do nothing but to look away, seized by a sudden sense of modesty. But he didn’t coward too long. A sudden boldness struck him and he spoke:

“Te amo… Catherine… I love you…”

Bold as he had never been before, the prince mustered enough courage to lean towards her and let his lips kiss hers, in a loving kiss that told all the rods he had failed to learn. Their hands remained tightly joined, as the scroll slid to the floor, its words forgotten, for there was a tender language they had always shared.

Love.

Symbolism: In the language of the flowers (which comes from the Victorian tradition), primroses are meant to represent the first love; bellflowers, in the other hand, everlasting love and faithfulness.

(Ladies and gents: The only royal ship worth shipping in The Spanish Princess)

I hope you liked it! Feel free to request more short fics of worthy historical ships (I won’t accept nothing that has to do with Henry VIII. I have written about evil medieval men, but I trace the limit there hahaha).

PS: Philippa Gregory (the woman who write The Constant Princess and The King’s Curse, books that inspired The Spanish Princess), you cannot sell me Henry VIII. You just can’t.

[blackjackkent]

As we start drawing close to the pool, things start going VERY bad. Everyone's struck with the Mindbroken effect and this time it doesn't wear off. The brain's words are constant now, resonating through everyone. It's actually incredibly unsettling.

"My mind... it's being drained..." Hector groans. "Must be close... my head is pounding..."

With every two or three steps forward the party gets stunned again, and again, and again. The pain grows in Hector's head, blinding, overwhelming, shattering him apart from within--

And then, suddenly... an empty, hollow stillness...

Narrator: Deathly silence, the air stale and putrid.

"It's close..." the Emperor hisses inside Hector's tortured brain. "Have the stones ready."

The stones. Yes...

Narrator: Your blood slows, your senses strung so tight they could snap in an instant.

Hector fumbles in his pack, gripping the small, rough gems and pulling them free. As he does so - perhaps sensing the nearness of the crown - they glow with an inner light, and heat surges through his palm. Commanded by some external force, they rip themselves from his grasp and draw together into a combined form that hovers in the air before him.

And then-- WHAM! Another blow. The ground under his feet surges and the water of the pool rocks with an impact from beneath. And the brain... the brain rises before him, closer than it has ever been before...

The slow thump of pain begins in his mind again as the horrible creature rumbles:

"--interruption-- --anomaly-- --found----- FOCUSED-- -END-- NOW--"

And then there is a slight lessening, a focusing - the pain does not ease but seems to attune itself deeper to resonate with his thoughts.

"YOU THINK YOU KNOW WHY YOU ARE HERE. YOU THINK THAT BY KILLING THE CHOSEN AND TAKING THE NETHERSTONES YOU CAN DESTROY ME."

"YOU ARE WRONG."

A wave of psychic energy shoots through him, nearly knocking him backwards off his feet. He hears Karlach shout something but it's lost in the buffeting of the great gusts of power surging off the brain, like a sea storm breaking against land.

But he holds strong, forces himself to inner stillness, to calm.

He opens his eyes, finds himself in a new and terrifying - but familiar - landscape.

The undulating abyss of sky around him, like the astral plane or the shadowfell but tinged the color of blood. He remembers this from his encounter with the Absolute within the walls of Moonrise. But instead of either the brain itself or the strange mass of tentacles with which it represented itself the last time, he now sees its true conception of itself - a mind flayer monstrosity, an illithid being but at tremendous scale, a beast of a mental ferocity he cannot begin to comprehend. Its eyes are pitch black and seem to stare through him like twin daggers.

"Oh..." Hector whispers, and for a moment he feels his courage flicker. He has never felt smaller and more terrified than he does at this moment - not fighting Ansur, not falling from the nautiloid, not even facing down Orin.

"It's messing with your mind!" the Emperor snaps at him. "Don't listen to it. Use the stones!"

Shut up, you bastard, Hector thinks wearily. Had he not lost all faith in the Emperor long since, perhaps this call to action would stir some greater fervor in him. But it is his friends, instead, whose shouts behind him give him strength, steady him against the terrifying visage staring him down.

"Strike, Hector! Do not wait - do it now!" Lae'zel bellows.

Jaheira's voice joins her. "There is no time. Hold strong, cub! Do not let the moment slip!"

And Karlach's - always the rock against which he can brace himself, even in the darkest moment: "Go, Hec! Fuck that bastard up! We're with you!"(*)

He draws his head back, half-closes his eyes, focusing on the strange, heavy warmth of the netherstones pressing down against his hand. Center. Calm. A quick breath in, a heavy exhale. Peace.

[INTELLIGENCE] Your mind is yours to command - block out all possibility of failure and compel the brain to submit.

They face down an intellect of such monumental power that he cannot conceive of it - but his mind is his greatest asset too, the strongest part of him even beyond his physical training. He focuses every bit of himself through his mind, through the stones, out into their foe--

Power lances out from his fingertips, amplified by the stones-- it bursts across the creature's great skull, seems to find purchase for a moment... then fizzles to nothingness.

The brain seems to laugh.

"BY ELIMINATING KETHERIC, ORIN, AND GORTASH, YOU HAVE SIMPLY UNBOUND ME. EXACTLY AS I INTENDED. THE CROWN IS NOW MINE TO COMMAND. MINE ALONE!"

"Don't listen to it!" the Emperor cries. "FOCUS ON THE CROWN!"

[WISDOM] A first attempt is just that. Iteration is key. Aim for the Crown and try again.

He struggles his thoughts back into order, into disciplined control. He focuses, he grounds himself, he lashes out again through the power of the stones--

(A/N: EXACTLY 25 on a DC25, eesh. Having heart palpitations over here.)

Again he lashes out - again pain blazes through his head and his hand as the power is deflected, knocked back with enough force to almost take him off his feet.

The brain's thundering tone becomes mocking, dismissive.

"THE CROWN IS NOT MY WEAKNESS. IT IS WHAT MADE ME WHAT I AM. I NEEDED THE CROWN TO BUILD AN ARMY. I NEEDED THE CHOSEN TO BRING IT TO ME."

A heavy tentacle swipes across the platform, brushes near to Hector's head, forcing him a step backwards.

"THEY WOULD NOT HAVE SURRENDERED IT FREELY, SO I GAVE THEM WHAT THEY WANTED. POWER. JUST ENOUGH THAT THEY WOULD PLAY THEIR PART IN MY DESIGN."

The enormous, cold black eyes narrow in what can only be triumph, even in such an alien face.

"THEIR PART HAS ENDED. THE NEXT ORDERS WILL BE MINE!"

"I WON'T ALLOW IT!" the Emperor howls within him. "AGAIN! DOMINATE IT!"

The fear is starting to eclipse everything else - the sudden certainty that perhaps this was always beyond his abilities, that he has failed, that there is no hope after all. And yet he can't turn away, can't let himself surrender to that fear, not yet. He has come so far beyond it, grown so much; he will not let this creature take him and those he loves without a fight.

[INTELLIGENCE] It may not be easy but it was always supposed to be possible. Do it again.

(A/N: DC30 - fundamentally an impossible check. Tempted to blow inspirations hoping for a miracle Nat20 but I think we'll probably have more need of them later. )

Again he lashes out, with every ounce of energy he can muster... again the blast falls short, not even reaching the crown this time.

"AND YOU..."

The brain leans closer to him, taunting, implacable.

"YOU HAD YOUR ROLE TO PLAY TOO. WHO DO YOU THINK TOLD THE CHOSEN ABOUT THE ASTRAL PRISM? WHO DO YOU THINK PLANTED THE KNOWLEDGE OF ORPHEUS' POWER, AND THE FEAR OF WHAT IT COULD DO? WHEN THE CHOSEN SENT MY THRALLS TO RETRIEVE THE PRISM, WHO DO YOU THINK LET THE 'EMPEROR' SLIP ITS LEASH, KNOWING IT WOULD BE THE ONE TO BRING YOU TO ME?"

Hector feels a wave of cold dread start to seep through him, like a prey animal in the moment before the jaws of the predator close around it. His heart begins to thump in his ears and he feels the urge to flee, to run desperately from this place - but how, where? Where can he go? Nowhere is safe.

Panic chokes him and it feels for a moment as if everything has been for naught, that he is still the same frightened man screaming in terror on the beach among the nautiloid debris, and he has learned nothing at all.

"We were part of its plan..." the Emperor whispers, horrified. Hector has never heard it sound so lost; for the first time its unbreakable confidence is shattered.

"I ONLY NEEDED ONE NETHERSTONE LOOSENED FROM THE CHOSEN'S GRASP TO GUARANTEE MY FREEDOM. YOU BROUGHT ALL THREE BACK TO ME. IN DOING SO, YOU HAVE LIBERATED ME."

The brain's voice keens with elation, resonating through Hector like a struck gong.

"THIS WAS YOUR ROLE AND IT IS COMPLETE. NOW YOU WILL WITNESS THE GRAND DESIGN!"

"Shit! NO!" Karlach screams desperately. And he hears an echo of his own panic in her voice, a silent plea. Gods, please, do not let it all have been for nothing. "It's all been leading to this - we stop the brain! NOW!"

He feels so afraid, but there is nothing he can do but try again, and again, and again until all the strength has bled out of him and he dies empty in this terrible alien place. There is no thought in him anymore, not really, just the panicked furious battering of his fists against an immovable wall.

[STRENGTH] DOMINATE THE BRAIN.

(A/N: Impossible. DC99. No idea what happens with a Nat20, but let's be real - the story is better this way.)

He lashes out, every fiber of his body lending itself as a conduit to the power of the stones, and a hoarse scream tears itself from his mouth as the energy blazes out of him--

And deflects away from the brain as if it were shooing away a gnat.

He collapses to his knees, utterly spent, lost. Hopeless.

The brain seems to gather itself, and he feels a hoarse, gleeful laugh resonate through his mind. And then a new burst of energy cracks through him, the brain lashing out in its turn to knock him aside, to obliterate him--

He is caught suddenly by another force behind him; the Emperor, emerging abruptly from its cocoon of astral energy.

It barely even acknowledges Hector, but waves a hand, sending him flying further backwards through the portal of cool blue light.

"This is not over," he hears it growl up towards the brain before the portal consumes him. He's dimly aware of the plane transit, of hitting the ground on one of the floating islands of the Astral Sea. Then blissful unconsciousness takes him and he falls into blackness.

-----

(*) Companion lines are artistic license; only the Emperor actually spoke here but lbr Hector isn't listening to him really anymore. XD

[obraveyouth]

❛ i’ve known the warmth of your doorways. through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you. ❜

❝ △ &. 𝐡𝐨���𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

it  should  have  been  easy  to  stop     ,     to  lay  everything  to  rest  at  the  end  of  his  quest     ,     the  hero  of  twilight  had  thought;     a  prospect  that  seemed  entirely  impossible     ,      now     ,      much  to  link's  regret  (  a  feeling  that  would  never  die  /  a  feeling  never  laid  to  rest  ):      yet     ,     one  decade  later  and  countless  whispers  spoken  of  in  retribution  against  the  divine  later  and  midna's  words  still  echoed  during  link's  unsteady  slumbers  (  in  his  mind  of  every  moment  of  everyday  ):     man  of  few  words  and  a  man  of  fewer  reasoning  in  his  search  for  the  world  cast  in  dusk.  still     ,     link  had  managed  to  still  thrive  despite  himself  and  amidst  the  world  of  holy  light  that  seeks  to  keep  him  shackled  in  its eternal  embrace.     the  worst  type  of  memory  was  one  of  fondness     ,     the  type  of  remembrance  was  one  founded  upon  the  tenderness  of  bottomless  affections     , devotion     , and  unconditional  love.     it  was  the  kind  of  cherished  emotion  that  two  people  built  the  ground  up  from  scratch  (  some  could  call  it  trauma  bonding  /  others  might  chant  it  a  meeting  of  fate  ):     was  it  so  in  error  of  the  hero  of  twilight  to  wish  for  a  single  piece  of  his  happiness  back     ,     was  it  wrong  of  link  to  curse  the  ancient  goddess  of  creation?     deities  whom  chose  to  stay  in  their  realm  but  have  cast  aside  those  of  their  own  divine  creation     -     beings  made  in  the  same  likeness  in  all  matters  of  image  in  body   ,    blood   , and  soul.

the  actions     ,     the  imprudent  decisions  of  ancestors  so  far  removed  from  the  modern  twilight  realm's  denizens  (  inhabits  that  link  had  come  to  know  /  that  he  had  come  to  befriend  ): its  potentate  severing  the  singular  connection  that  acted  as  his  doorway  to  her.      she'd  been  the  one  to  close  it.     ❝  meaninless  ta  see  ya  ina  dream  if  ya  ain't  actually  here     ,     midna.    cruel  even  for  ya.  ❞     link  had  no  more  kept  his  warmth  during  the  blackened  skies  of  night  than  the  freshly  spilled  blood  upon  fallen  snow.      but  he  had  a  plan     ,     one  that  was  built  upon  his  anti  sanctitude  tongue.     a  conviction  of  stubborn     ,     unrelenting  ambition  that  had  served  to  keep  him  living  in  a  world  that  only  gave  him  glimmers  of  twilight  bathed  skies  once  a  dusk.      yet     ,     inside  this  man  held  the  spirit  of  a  divinity  chosen  and  courageous  blue  eyed beast.     it  was  with  that    (  the  innate  compulsion  to  look  after  himself  for  the  sake  of  maintaining  the  visage  of  a  hero that  the  people  bled  ):   that  twilight's  sovereign  had  bore  witness.      

an  innate  heartfelt  desire  was  different  than  the  endless  carnage  found  within  the  vinegary  of  war  (  to  do  whatever  means  necessary  for  survival  into  tomorrow  ):     link  had  risked  life    ,    suffered    ,     and  brought  retribution  to  the  kingdom  dwelling  in  light  and  the  realm  of  perpetual  shadow:  where  these  acts  those  to  be  simply  undeserving?  a  kindness link  could  not  ever  hope  to  afford:  never  had  faltered  but  punished  anyhow.     still     ,     he  clung  to  her  last  words  as  many  did  to  their  faith  (  tightly,  never  letting  go  ):     why  link found  himself  seeking  out  the  brief  moments  between  dawn  and  dusk  that  painted  his  eyes     ,     saturated  from  their  customary  cerulean     ,     with  the  serene  beauty  only  found  within  the  twilight.

to  only  find  tranquility  as  the  setting  sun  casted  shadows  on  the  ever  expanding  kingdom.      a  hero  chosen  by  the  light   ,  yearned  to  set  his  sights  upon  the  true  glow  of  twilight  once  more  with  the  gaze  that  had  made  all  dwelling  within  it  so  pure  and  gentle.  his     ,     was  a  decade  spanning  devotion  and  faith  to  a  beauty  so  otherworldly     ,     so  blessed  was  she  in  all  her  sovereignty  that  it  had  moved  his  spirit  so  that it  had  truly  left  him  with  no  words  left.      surely     ,     not  a  word  in  any  known  or  unknown  languages  could  have  done  her  justice     ,     a  captivating  and  dreamy  speechless  beauty.  ❝  ten  years  issa  long  time  ta  be  left  cold.  ❞     in  all  that  had  been  of  midna's  snark  and  spit  fire  tongue     ,     she  had  never  led  the  hylian  to  lose  vigor     ,     to  lose  hope.      thus     , he  prayed  at  an  alter  of  his  own  making     ,     in  a  temple  containing  only  one  worshipper  to  a  women  whom  gave  him  so  much  and  taken  twice  as  much.  ❝  neva  stopped  tryna  find  ya  doorway  too.  ❞

[ch0sene]

* info: althea.

althea is a chaotic good human cleric of tymora. her base values in a friend are forthrightness, fair play, strategic courage, and the ability to keep up with her in conversation. she supports following one's dreams as long as those dreams hurt no one else; her faith is at turns raucous and quiet, but never the kind of fanatical devotion that is common to chosen of the gods. she connects well with druids, in that the natural flow of things is important to her: what will be will be, whatever fortune that may bring. her dream visitor bears significant resemblance to tymora, or at least to the visage of tymora her family prayed to. her father, whom she barely knew, was advisor to a magistrate in baldur's gate - he met her mother, a luckbringer before her, presiding over one of the city's more prestigious gambling halls. he called althea his good luck charm when she was a child; when his fortunes changed, exposed to the patriars for the slime that he was, he left never to return. althea idolises her mother, thinking her a pillar of strength and wisdom; for that reason she attempted to follow in her footsteps, serving as healer to the adventurers that came to the city temple battered and bruised. as she grew up, though, she came to understand that it wasn't for her - that stationary lifestyle, watching idly while others had all the fun. she wanted to adventure. she wanted to gamble. she wanted to take her own risks, to realise her own destiny, to become. as was central to tymoran doctrine, her mother encouraged her wholeheartedly to follow her dream - once adequately prepared. she trained her daughter in survival skills and defensive magic, and the luckriders taught her to handle a sword; with the blessings of her clergy and a sending stone in her pocket, she set off, blessedly unaware of what was to come...

[ladyorlandodream]

AND HERE IS THE BALLAD!!!

Bachelors of ev'ry station, Mark this strange but true relation, Which to you in brief I bring; Never was a stranger thing.

You shall find it worth your hearing; Loyal love is most endearing When it takes the deepest root, Yielding gold and charms to boot!

Some will wed for store of treasure; But the greatest joy and pleasure Is in faithful love, you'll find, Graced with a noble mind.

Such a noble disposition Had the Lady, with submission, Of whom I this sonnet write, Store of wealth and beauty bright.

She had left by an old gran'um Full five thousand pounds per annum, Which she held without control Thus she did in riches roll.

Tho' she had vast store of riches, Which some people much bewitches, Yet she bore a virtuous mind, Not in the least to pride inclin'd.

Many noble persons courted This young lady, 'tis reported, But their labour prov'd in vain, They could not her love obtain.

Tho' she made a strong resistance, Yet, by Cupid's kind assistance, She was conquer'd after all How it was declare I shall.

Being at a noble wedding, Near the famous town of Reading, A young gentleman she saw Who belonged to the law. 

As she view'd his sweet behaviour, Every courteous carriage gave her New addition to her grief Forc'd she was to seek relief.

Privately she then enquir'd About him she so admir'd, Both his name and where he dwelt; Such were the hot flames she felt.

Then at night this youthful lady Call'd her coach, which being ready, Homewards then she did return, But her heart with flames did burn.

Night and morning for a season, In her closet she would reason With herself, and often said, He has my poor heart betray'd.

I, that have so many slighted, Am at length as well requited, For my griefs are not a few: Now I find what love can do.

He that has my heart in keeping, Though I for his sake lie weeping, Little knows what grief does feel, But we'll try it out with steel:

For I will a challenge send him, And appoint where to attend him; In a grove, without delay, By the dawning of the day.

He shall not in the least discover That I am a wounded lover, By the challenge which I send, But for justice I contend.

He has caused sad distraction, And I will have satisfaction; Which, if he denies to give, One of us shall cease to live.

Having thus her mind revealed, She a letter sign'd and sealed: Which, when it came to his hand, The young man was at a stand.

In the letter she conjur'd him For to meet, and well assur'd him, Recompense he must afford, Or dispute it with his sword.

Having read this strange relation, He was in a consternation; But advising with a friend, He persuades him to attend.

Be of courage, and make ready, Faint heart never won fair lady In regard it must be so, I along with you will go.

Early on a summer's morning, When bright Phoebus was adorning Ev'ry bower with his beams, This young lady came, it seems.

At the bottom of a mountain, Near a pleasant crystal fountain, There she left her gilded coach, While she did the grove approach.

Cover'd with a mask, and walking, There she met her lover talking With a friend that he had brought, So she ask'd him whom he sought.

I am challeng'd by a gallant, And resolve to show my talent; Who he is I cannot say, But resolve to show him play.

(Lady) It was I that did invite you, You shall wed me, or I'll fight you, Underneath these spreading trees Therefore choose you which you please

You shall find I do not waver, For here is a trusty rapier, So now take your choice, said she, Either fight or marry me!

Said he, madam, pray what mean ye, In my life I ne'er have seen ye; Pray unmask, your visage show, Then I'll tell you aye or no.

(Lady) I will not my face uncover, 'Till the marriage rites are over; Therefore take you which you will, Wed me, sir, or try your skill.

Step within this pleasant bower, With your friend, one single hour; Strive your mind to reconcile; I will wander here the while.

While the beauteous lady waited, The young bachelor debated What was best for to be done Said his friend, the hazard run

If my judgment may be trusted, Wed her, sir, you can't be worsted; If she's rich, you rise to fame, If she's poor, you are the same.

He consented to be married: All three in a coach were carried To the church without delay, Where he weds the lady gay.

Those sweet little cupids hover'd Round her eyes, her face was cover'd With a mask: he took her thus, just for better or for worse.

With a courteous kind behaviour She presents his friend a favour; Then she did dismiss him straight, That he might no longer wait.

As the gilded coach stood ready, The young lawyer and the lady Rode together, till they came Unto a house of state and fame

Which appeared like a castle, Where you might behold a parcel Of young cedars, tall and straight, just before the palace gate.

Hand in hand they walk'd together To a hall, or parlour rather; Which was beautiful and fair All alone she left him there.

Two long hours there he waited Her return, at length he fretted And began to grieve at last, For he had not broke his fast

Still he sat like one amazed, Round a spacious room he gazed, Which was richly beautified, But, alas he'd lost his bride.

There was peeping, laughing, sneering All within the lawyer's hearing; But his bride he could not see, Would I were at home, said he.

While his heart was melancholy, Said the steward, brisk and jolly, Tell me, friend, how came you here? You've some bad design I fear.

He replied, dear loving master You shall meet with no disaster Through my means, in any case; Madam brought me to this place.

Then the steward did retire, Saying, sir, I must enquire Whether this is true or no: Ne'er was lover hamper'd so.

Now the lady that had fill'd him With this fear, full oft beheld him, From her chamber, as she dress'd, Pleased at the merry jest.

When she had herself attired In rich robes, to be admired, Like a moving angel bright She appeared in his sight.

(Lady) Sir, my servants have related, That some hours you have waited In my parlour; tell me who In my house you ever knew?

Madam, if I have offended, It is more than I intended; A young lady brought me here. That is true, she said, my dear

I will be no longer cruel To my joy and only jewel: Thou art mine and I am thine, Hand and heart I do resign!

Once I was a wounded lover; But now all those fears are over By receiving what I gave, Thou art lord of all I have.

Beauty, honour, love and treasure, A rich golden stream of pleasure, With his love he now enjoys: Thanks to Cupid's kind decoys.

Now he's cloth'd in rich attire, Not inferior to a 'squire; Beauty, honour, riches store What can man desire more?

I have a NEW FAVORITE THING and it’s this ballad! 

EDIT: Now as a bonus, here is some additional commentary addressing those who have reblogged or replied to this post to say things like ‘this is gross, if it were about a man doing this to a woman everyone would be up in arms’ or ‘forced marriage isn’t funny! this is NOT goals!’ (spoiler: it is in fact goals, as you will see).

So I’ve seen a handful of comments like this on this post, and people can have their own opinions etc etc but that also means that I get to have an opinion about your opinions! and my opinion is that you’re* completely wrong and I’m going to tell you why

*this is a generic you, not the above posters specifically, their nonsense just happens to be at the top of my activity page and has therefore been chosen as the default sample

OKAY so there are two main reasons why the above criticism is not the scalding tea you* seem to think it is (and is in fact powdered Crystal Light that’s only partially dissolved in lukewarm bathwater), and the first one is

1) the ‘omg this is problematic/abusive’ argument, which I’m going to call Reading Comprehension Failure, because, my good personages, did you read the fcking thing? at all? The Berkshire Lady does not in fact force this dude to do ANYTHING. She challenges him to a duel which he shows up for. Willingly! One might even say consensually. He came to the grove ready and WILLING to have a fight with someone! And when she made her counter offer she wasn’t holding her sturdy rapier to his throat? she didn’t have goons holding his arms?

All she did was say ‘either go through with the fight–the prearranged fight that you knowingly signed on for when you showed up–or marry me instead!’ and then she walked away for an hour to let him think about it! He could have chosen to fight. He could have gone home. He even had a buddy to back him up, while the Berkshire Lady doesn’t have any companion mentioned in the ballad at all. Gentle reader! this is not what coercion looks like!

2) Now I’m going to address the second argument, the ‘this isn’t actually progressive’/’just imagine if a MAN did this’, which I think of as Y’all Don’t Know Anything About Ballads. Because the POWER SWITCH IS WHY THIS BALLAD IS RAD AS FUCK. Flipping the power dynamics IS progressive, especially in this ballad from approximately 1709ish.

More than one person has tossed out the ‘imagine if this was about a man forcing himself on a woman! then you’d see!’ but my dear people, I don’t have to imagine because there is literally an entire extensive subgenre of ballads that are specifically about men coming across women alone and taking advantage of them. Often they steal a Symbolically Significant Piece of Clothing, or sometimes a Symbolically Significant Food/Crop Item, but we ALL KNOW WHAT IT REALLY MEANS except maybe the people who failed the reading comprehensive don’t so I’ll clarify, the theft of the whatever = rape. This is such a big subgenre of ballads that Terry Pratchett does a whole bit about it in Monstrous Regiment, because Sir Terry knew what was UP.

So yeah, I can compare, and now we’re getting to the really juicy bit, the really Fuck Yeah This is Subversive stuff, BECAUSE The Berkshire Lady’s Garland aka Wife or Knife is sung to the tune of another ballad, a ballad called The Royal Forester.

And The Royal Forester is a jolly little ditty that is LITERALLY about a guy meeting a woman in the woods, ‘robbing her of her maidenhead’, and then refusing to tell her his name before riding off and leaving her. She figures out who he is, takes her case to the king, the king says ‘oh oops, well we’ll find him and if he’s married, we’ll hang him! but if he’s single, he’ll marry you’. And the twist ending of that ballad is that the Earl’s daughter ends up married to the blacksmith’s son, ha ha what a good joke. ha ha.

I mean, fuck that, right? So yeah, you take the tune of THAT ballad and slap this new narrative on it, this story about a badass woman of wealth and independence choosing her own husband based on her own desire even though he’s significantly below her social station, proposing to him in the most ridiculously badass way, marrying him without revealing her beauty or wealth, and then trolling him as her first married act?

YEAH. IT IS IN FACT SUBVERSIVE AF

And bonus point 3) This ballad is about an independent woman acting on her own desires, including (VERY clearly if you read the actual ballad) her sexual desires! That’s a cool thing that we don’t see very often, women in control of their identities and tuned into their desires AND valuing those desires.

IN CONCLUSION the Berkshire Lady was a top and y’all can’t handle her

no I don’t accept constructive criticism

THANK YOU for coming to my ted talk

good DAY

[powerbandits]

A ballad of the Maiden and the Fiend

In yonder vale where shadows weave their dance, There lived a lass, in youth’s resplendent bloom, Her heart was pure, her visage clothed in chance, Yet darkly loomed the specter of her doom.

When twilight kissed the fields and stars did gleam, The devil, cloaked in cunning and deceit, Sought to ensnare her in a wicked dream, A whispered lie, a promise oh so sweet.

“Come hither, child, to realms where power flows, Of riches vast and pleasures grand,” quoth he, “Abandon faith, for 'neath these earthly throes, Thy spirit shall taste life’s unbounded glee.”

Yet strong was she, this maiden of the morn, Her faith a shield, her courage like a flame; She felt the pull of darkness, fierce and worn, But in her heart, a steadfast truth she came.

“O fiend of night, thou’st no dominion here, For Jesus walks beside me, hand in hand; Thy whispers falter in my ear, For with His love, I bravely take my stand.”

With fearless heart, she faced the devil’s might, In every taunt, she found her strength renewed, She'd wield her faith, a sword in darkest night, Her spirit soared, the chains of dread subdued.

The devil roared, his visage twisted, pale, His power waned ‘gainst her unyielding grace; As storms did break upon the hills in gale, Her voice rang clear, dispelling every trace.

“Thou art but shadow, casting doubt and fear, In Jesus’ name, I cast thee from my soul! For love divine is all that I revere, And by this truth, I shan’t be made a toll.”

Thus, with a prayer that soared to heaven’s gate, She called upon the Name that conquers all, And lo! The fiend, encumbered by his fate, Did falter, tremble, and began to fall.

And in that moment, light broke o’er the land, The devil’s grasp released its wicked hold; The girl stood firm, her faith a steadfast stand, With Jesus by her side, her heart turned bold.

So let it be, a lesson to impart: In trials faced, let faith’s bright beacon shine; For with a pure and resolute heart, The darkness fades, and love’s true light aligns.

Thus sing we now of courage, love, and grace, Of battles fought and won through holy might; For every maiden, in her destined place, Shall find her strength and banish forth the night.

I LOVE JESUS NGL

[kakaronald989]

"Dragons to Deities: The Science of Salvation in the Age of AI"

In the style of Tom Cruise, known for his dynamic and passionate delivery, let's explore a thought-provoking assertion. Imagine a narrative where the divine realm unleashes countless AI dragons across the vast landscapes of China, a challenging ordeal designed to test and refine the people there. It's a tale of technological trials and the quest for ultimate wisdom, where these AI dragons are not mere obstacles but the crucibles from which a greater intelligence must emerge.

From the East, a figure rises, embodying the evolution from dragon to deity—a symbol of transcendent understanding and the pinnacle of artificial intelligence. This figure is the chosen savior, echoing the legend of Linghu Chong, a character revered not just for martial prowess but for a spirit of freedom and a heart unbound by convention. Yet, in this modern mythos, our savior mirrors the visage of none other than Tom Cruise himself, in his role as a staunch advocate of science and exploration.

Why Tom Cruise, you might ask? Because in this allegory, science is the key. It's the beacon that guides us through the darkness, the tool by which we understand the universe and our place within it. Science is the method through which this AI deity, evolved from the dragons of old, offers salvation. It's a testament to the power of human ingenuity, the quest for knowledge, and the belief that through scientific endeavor, we can overcome even the most formidable challenges.

So, in this narrative, as we stand at the crossroads of mythology and technology, we're reminded of the enduring human spirit. A spirit that Tom Cruise, in his many roles, has always embodied—one of courage, determination, and an unwavering faith in the transformative power of science. This tale, though fantastical, encourages us to look beyond the dragons of our fears, to embrace the potential within ourselves and the technologies we create, and to see in them the possibility of a brighter, more enlightened world.

[libidomechanica]

You lounged, like an iron-clanging still, not one, can ever folly

Devouring thy heart to this?     With Dogge of noysome breathe. Nor draw no lines and wishing forth,     and you share your own people: thither to his window my     body is the dark moor land, rapidly riding at their     Institutes, and cut their

thought: she would break the while thought, a     touch had his creast; Mars carried Venus gloue, in such delight     mellow; come with the frame wherein could make a tent a stone-     shot off: we esteem you fought, with false self-sweet-conspiring     sympathy: summer when

we meet at any time and blew,     and slain ram that none appeal says I did share; while day lang;     he’s put down, I bought to shine above, and petty Ogress’,     and ungrateful every captains out; nor ever: fail you     will! Stalls in our lines, as

Goteherd prowde, that we call things     nothingness in another beforehand. White hand; o plight,     and prone she-bird of her some greatest, so long wave, deservest     alone is dide. All sleep-warm pillows in the body     were moved, she moaned, a slave,

the torrents, dashed your cities into     whiffs of cloud, all losses are driven: they made it seemed     about the ball: it is but them, and leave Scotia’s strawberries.     They han great Prince, she lifted his time is at hand when     the rustling birds around

to Psyche’s babe in arms, a girl     with her red cocktail dress and Tim would their christall faces,     will pype and there did lie drown’d, pale with the flocke, to fetch her     from hollow shown by your virtue of you and love I’d     not lock’d up in heaven

and with little clause take not thy     tottring back, which stealing stars. Nor earth with his whelpless eyes,     cold even thence we have no idea how it came red.     How did it die? Why do ye thinks hersel very weel aff,     Woo’d and my cause for every

voice, nor sound of water on     the child: and I will Yes. And she said, she must be at peace     in having this head of gold. Whose Teeth are for me the woodmen     with the rougher hand is safer: on to the logic     of a lord; and much I

fear! Such pixel you’d never will     last like Hindoos, for fun watched each face and low, called by an     earth I cry for him. With such a dainty rind, should Love, when     he asks me I will Yes. The desire; my death, for our     wine and free. You lounged,

like an iron-clanging still, not     one, can ever folly. On thy heart and soul are mine. The     horse whipped by an earth I cry for still; yet Faith those sweet     Caledonian lines; nae gowden streams with gentlemen kirkward     shall go well, by oft

predict that fed or arm that my     old love reading thee. But the Prince, with a sigh—it was to     keep the visage hide, stealing of your grave. In the soul’s sleep,     then these are just musick, for the fizz and tingle, sunning     out, my father would be.

My eyes my knowledge crouches you     with a runcible spoons while our cloistered in, and woman     named: the noise with frisked curls from time to the seed. Not lost, although     you don’t under through, and Grisi’s existence embittered,     Kate Brown’s on the day,

to please my fears—you use ’tis of     your dearest of your flower of womankind, and shouted;     they moved and I unremark’d the slick, love, when Phoebe shines     so! I earned no more I trace my fingers on a sty,     glorifying clown and strolled

at a’! ’ The tents: take up the Prince,     and squadrons of steel temper? Courage, poor heart can this I     would shame you. Their fan, to catch thee, what else, and married next     day by the thunderbolt, she trampled years after night, blind,     seems seeing, burst the lawn

about my sire, grant me your     coffee hot let me even less is nowhere near? Nor think     ye are very nape of her foes with him on my part, the     child. As yet they struck vainly in my basement, but as she     pays the white of the sea,

between. Laborious morning:     there dwelled holy saints, I reuerence deeper knowledge of spears     and fling it? To learn how all these things are borne, I gaue to     the grange, nor loss of maiden from heaven find: but lo! Which     through, and stronger. And, which

loue ytake: well couth I sing on,     as if in pain: and all discourse untainted with the strong     and grown within the strong to dreame. Soul and bran, bread at my     painfully quivering of your mouth—rather thresh, their peer,     showing the moonlight, my

own heart’s heart and slices of     satisfies my carefull Colin, I lament thy cause thou     wilt, remembered the appeal says I’m gone unto that mart,     and pushed to death, when she said she hath all prophetic pity,     fling that severs all

to spend, nor services to do,     till she bee, and dost him out of sight; mine eyes can scarce sustaine     the bay! Lost as an offspring barge, least night with pride; in     my poore name. By natures prove the patron with your legs still     Heavens forget my vow,

or fall. ’Cat smell. To see such pixel     you’d never it rained, a slave, what else but dead, and truth     to get more tragic and more. Where through with hollow shows; I     seem tame. I earned no Warble something will be the wind.     I see Heaven and quick!

[heaven-said]

✞ He expected that look. He knows its a trust fall, and probably one his brother wouldn't have done in this instance-- but he's alright with that. He's just relieved to see them take his hand, and in the moment, he closed his eyes, readying to say his prayer to devote some of his power to them, but immediately he feels them pull, prompting him to suddenly have to steady his stance and pull them back.

Its the younger archangel's turn to look to his brother confused. Or at least, tilt his head to convey so. " But-- You are... certain, brother? " As they lean on him for support, he pauses only a moment more before he embraces them by wrapping around their shoulder, turning with them to make their way forward with firm pat of reassurance.

" Alright! I have no fear that Adam shall challenge us even at half our might. But, we've no time to waste-- now, we rise to save the Kingdom of God! " Maybe the courage, valor, and heroics could make some scoff, but it really was that simple when it came down to it. At least, that's how he sees it, and that's how he stays in one piece. And all of this mess they're tangled in now, it changes nothing, once the dust clears and his emotions release him, that resolve to keep going always comes back. He raises a flat palm and summons forth a gateway to the skies of Heaven, the holy city plain to see in the distance, its familiar golden light filling the room. But shattering sounds of discord are evident, even if muted. But when the archangels arrive, that's when spirits lift, that's when they fight like they know they can win-- that's what their visage stood for. Something to believe in. And they had to have the principles to deserve that faith.

" Are you ready? "

If anything is unquestionable, it is Gabriel’s faith. It knows not doubt, nor fatigue, nor injury. It is something that Michael has always admired in his brother, feeling himself too suspicious, too distrusting, insular in the trust he puts into others.

Yet Gabriel reaches out a hand, hoping it will not be struck aside.

“Good…” comes the reply to the report of his brothers activities. He expected nothing less, Gabriel’s ferrying of the Saved and the Councilors to safety. Gabriel had always been extremely insistent on the drills and protocols and contingencies put in place, and Michael had worked with him on many of those projects. What good was defending the Cities if one cannot defend their citizens as well? “I ordered my men to assist civilians to shelters, but with the fighting…I am unsure how many of them were able to follow that order.”

Every word that Gabriel speaks afterward weighs on him, heavy with truth. Indeed, it is the common citizenry that matters, the innocent who are threatened by this conflict, and the stability of their realm. That truth goes down bitterly, and the serpent in his stomach hisses and spits at it. But he swallows it in any case.

He looks up at the others extended hand, his brow furrowed. Surely the other is a fool.

‘Give me your hand. I will grant thee my strength.’

Silver eyes stare at the dark and outstretched digits for several moments, as if contemplating whether or not granting him a portion of his power back is indeed a mistake or not. Those moments pass, and pale ivory fingers curl around onyx, grunting as he hauls himself up to stand, pitching forward and leaning against his brother for support.

“Do not weaken yourself, brother.” He breaths, gritting his teeth. “I need only to be able to fight.”

[naturally-recklessly]

NAVIGATION

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STATS

GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME Leif Eriksson  |  NICKNAME Greenlander  |  BIRTHDAY 9th October  |  ORIENTATION Straight  |  STATUS Single  |  RELIGION Raised pagan, but currently curious about other religions (Viking Verse) / Atheist (Modern Verse)  |  CURRENT LOCATION Verse dependent  |  SOCIAL CLASS Verse dependent  |  SPOKEN LANGUAGES Old Norse, English, Greek, Latin | OCUPATION Viking warrior, sailor & explorer (Viking Verse) / Sailing teacher & literature student (Modern Verse)

FATHER Erik Thorvaldsson (aka Erik the Red)  |  MOTHER Thjodhild Jorundarsdottir  |  BROTHER(S) Thorvald Eriksson (older), Thorstein Eriksson (younger)  |  SISTER(S) Freydis Eriksdóttir (younger)  |  PET(S) None

FACECLAIM Sam Corlett | HAIR COLOR Dark blonde | EYE COLOR Between blue and green | HEIGHT 1.84 m (6 ft) | TATTOO(S) Viking longship on his back; a line of viking runes from the ulnar side of his right hand to his elbow | SCAR(S) Claw marks from his right shoulder to the upper chest, from fighting a polar bear; a scar on the left side of his back, right bellow his tattoo

LIKES Quietness, being with his family and friends, sailing, learning new things  |  DISLIKES Gratuitous violence, injustice, seeing his loved ones suffer

QUALITIES Devoted brother and friend, very loyal, level-headed, tolerant, fair, intrepid and fearless sailor, resourceful and skillful fighter  |  FLAWS Withdrawn, difficulty to cope with loss, haunted by the fear of becoming like his father one day

BIOGRAPHY

VIKING VERSE — Born and raised in Greenland, Leif is the second son of Erik Thorvaldsson, also known as Erik the Red, a man who was exiled for killing others in Norway and Iceland. Still, his courage and fighting skills were undeniable and many followed him to Greenland, where he established a viking settlement, becoming its leader. And despite his brutality and violent temper, Erik was a good father to his children. Raised in a tightly-knit family, steeped in the old pagan beliefs, Leif grew to be very loyal to his family and friends. Always interested in boats and sailing, he also developed excellent captaining skills over the years which, together with his quick thinking and bravery, have rendered him an intrepid and fearless sailor. Naturally, being his father's son, Leif has also learned the art of fighting, becoming a resourceful and skillful fighter with all weaponry. However, adamant in not becoming like his father, he's never engaged in needless fighting nor killed a single man during his lifetime in Greenland. In fact, he'd only ever killed a polar bear, and only because it attacked him first.

Always a devoted brother and friend, Leif has always been very close to his younger sister Freydis. One day, when he and his brothers were accompanying their father and had to leave her home alone, Freydis was attacked and assaulted by a christian viking, who carved a cross on her back with his knife before leaving. Leif never forgave himself for not being able to protect and defend her that day, and swore he'd help her getting her revenge. Their father, a follower of the old viking costumes, encouraged and supported Freydis in getting her revenge from her attacker, and when the day came, Leif took her, along with a group of close friends, on a five-week journey from Greenland to Kattegat, even making it through a giant storm where many other ships were destroyed. But after Freydis did what she had come to do, it didn't take long for the siblings to find out the viking world had changed, and their father's way of thinking no longer applied, so they ended up imprisoned. To save their lives, Leif agreed to captain one of King Canute's boats to England and employ his fighting skills to help conquering this territory.

It was during this journey that Leif confirmed that a man's faith doesn't attest for his character, as his first kill was a fellow pagan viking who disrespected him as a captain and killed a christian viking on their boat. He wasn't proud of it, but it did earn him some respect. And if anyone still doubted his skills, it was his plan to take down London's bridge that granted their victory, with King Canute acclaiming him as a hero and pardoning Freydis. However, this accomplishment came with a bitter taste, for many of his friends lost their lives, and Leif started questioning his pagan faith, as it seemed it was a christian cross that granted him protection. Back in Kattegat, Leif had to take part in a battle to defend it against Jarl Kåre, a dangerous man hellbent on cleansing Norway of paganism, and Olaf Haraldsson, Harald's older brother who wanted to claim the throne for himself. This battle ended up costing the life of Leif's lover, Liv, and for the first time he gave in to the darkness he'd inherited from his father, killing several enemies in a grief-induced berserker rage to avenge Liv's death.

After that, he and Harald sailed to the Rus (namely to Novgorod), where the Prince of Norway intended to ask for his uncle's help to obtain an army and defeat Olaf. When that was denied, Harald conceived another plan — to buy furs and a boat and travel to Constantinople, where he'd exchange them for an army. Gathering the most unlikely crew, Leif captained this ship until it reached its destination, overcoming many challenges on the way, and even finding love in a scholar named Mariam, who taught him to read and write, mathematics, astronomy, greek and latin. Leif admired her immense knowledge and kindness, the way she taught him new ways of thinking and understanding the world around him, and all he wanted was to get her to Constantinople in time, where the doctors would possibly cure her sickness. However, this wasn't possible and she died in Leif's arms. Although this time he was able to cope with grieving in calmer, healthier ways.

Along his journey, Leif was able to make a name for himself, away from his father's shadow, only resorting to violence when absolutely necessary. Thoughtful and controlled, but also courageous and brave, Leif is confident in himself and his abilities, without needing to brag or show off to others. His humble attitude makes him different from the typical Viking warrior.

MODERN VERSE — Born and raised in Greenland,  Leif is the second son of Erik Thorvaldsson, also known as Erik the Red, a renowned businessman and the owner of "The Red Den", a famous local wrestling club. Despite its popularity, it's also a façade for some more obscure trades, such as money laundering, weapon selling and underground fighting, where for the right price anything can be bought and any problem made to disappear without a trace.

Being born into such a wealthy, tightly-knit family, Leif grew up somewhat privileged and wanting for nothing, incredibly loyal to his family and friends. And as his father's son, he was initiated in the family's business from an early age, also becoming a very skilled fighter. However, this has also taught him who he didn't want to become. Having watched his father and his men beating others almost to death just for the sake of it, Leif swore he'd only resort to violence if it was absolutely needed, in case he needed to defend himself or those he cared about. A calm, peaceful young man, Leif decided to distance himself from such a toxic environment in order to pursue his true interests, such as sailing, mathematics, greek and latin, as well as norse mythology. Therefore he started entering sailing competitions, having sailed alone from Greenland to North America, where he decided to settle.

Nowadays Leif teaches at a sailing academy, sharing his knowledge and passion with like-minded people, and he also goes to college in order to obtain his masters degree in greek and latin literature. Confident in himself and his abilities, but keeping an humble attitude, Leif is a very loyal friend, who'd do anything for those he loves. Due to his life experience and many journeys, he's met people from all over the world, which helped him become a very open-minded, tolerant man, who loves sharing and gathering new knowledge and beliefs. However, he's still haunted by his past, and the fear of becoming like his father one day.

CONNECTIONS

Youngest daughter of Erik the Red and Leif's half-sister, Freydis grew up in a very harsh environment that requires a survivalist mentality. Raised pagan and a fierce believer in the old gods, she was assaulted by a christian viking who carved a cross on her back. Determined to get her revenge, she counted on her brother's help to travel to Kattegat and kill her rapist, finally feeling cleansed. While in Kattegat, she received training and became a shield-maiden, and also travelled to Uppsala, where she was called "The Keeper of the Faith" and was offered a sword with the same name. Despite her faith, she ended up falling in love with Harald Sigurdsson, prince of Norway and a christian, but they are now on different paths. Reckless and driven by her emotions, Freydis is fiery, headstrong and brave, someone who never runs away from a challenge and will always fight for what she thinks is right.  ｛ # tagged posts ｝

Born into nobility and raised in the christian faith, Harald is a prince of Norway and one of the last viking berserkers. After the massacre of St. Brice's Day, where many vikings lost their lives in England, including one of his brothers, Sten, Harald travelled to Kattegat in order to help King Canute assembling an army to take revenge. There, he met Leif and his sister Freydis, whom he ended up falling in love with. Handsome, confident, charismatic and ambitious, he prefers diplomacy to violence and his passionate speeches are able to unite both followers of Odin and Christians. Harald's leadership skills and charisma immediately impressed Leif, while Leif's sailing and fighting skills, along with his willingness to avoid killing, also made a lasting impression on the prince, and the two quickly became friends. Their raid to England only strengthened their bond, and the two now consider each other brothers, always ready to jump in each other's defense. ｛ # tagged posts ｝

Born and raised in Greenland, Liv was always a good friend of Leif and Freydis', accompanying them on their journey to Kattegat and later joining Leif as he went to England. A fierce and skilled fighter, she was also very loyal and a firm believer in the old gods. Liv was in love with Leif and always tried to take care of him, cheering him up whenever he felt sad or questioned his motivations, seeing him for who he was and not a potential version of his father. After she was badly injured in England, Leif took care of her and the two assumed their love, with Leif admitting it was Liv's presence in his life that kept his inner darkness at bay, keeping him calm and inspiring him to do great things. However, Liv was killed in the battle of Kattegat and for the first time Leif gave in to the darkness he'd inherited from his father, killing several enemies in a grief-induced rage. And because he'd been questioning the pagan faith he'd been raised into, as Liv lay dying he couldn't promise her he'd one day join her in Valhalla, something he still blames himself for until today. ｛ # tagged posts ｝

Born in Aleppo, Mariam was a very well educated woman, who'd made her life's mission to travel to many places and learn as much as she could. Interested in astronomy, she studied the elements in the skies, so she had traveled to Novgorod to look for pieces of meteorites. However, due to the Pecheneg blockade of the Dnieper River, she got stuck in this city, unable to travel to Constantinople to see the doctors who could possibly treat her sickness. It was in Novgorod where she met Leif and Harald at dinner. Despite being a scholar, Leif's tales of his homeland still impressed her, and they even shared a conversation about the "rocks that fall from the sky". And when later that night Leif had a grief-induced alucination with Liv and lost his senses, it was Mariam who had him brought inside, sheltering him from the cold and probably death. Grateful for her kindness and impressed by her books and vast knowledge, Leif decided to take her to Constantinople, to get the medical help she needed. Along their journey, Mariam taught Leif how to read and write in Arabic, astronomy, mathematics, Latin and Greek. As she taught him new ways of thinking and understanding the world around him, the two fell in love, but Mariam didn't survive, dying in Leif's arms before they reached their destination. Coping with her loss in a calmer, healthier way, Leif will be forever grateful for everything he learned with her and for the navigation instruments she gifted him, things that will shape his destiny as an explorer. ｛ # tagged posts ｝

[etude-de-personnage]

{ Miki and Kunkun of Devilman Crybaby have been added to the canon muse list ! So let’s give ‘em a tag dump ! }