#'pig blood for the pig' is the quote from the book - from one of the boys who got the pig blood

[karmaphone]

ok actually never forgiving any Carrie adaptation that doesn't have her fat. that's even why it's pig blood

[cobrakaisb]

end of beginning

summary: you’re back at camp half-blood after spending months on the princess andromeda and all you feel is the haunting of luke’s presence

featuring: SPOILERS for BOTL and TLO!!!, brief spoilers for the outsiders (just mentions of a quote from the book), 3+1, multi-pov: reader, luke, and percy, angst and only angst (i cried a little while writing)

word count: 2.4k

author’s note:guys, the end is near. there’s one blurb, and then the post heroes of olympus fic. so crazyyyyyy

series masterlist ||| previous ||| next

connor and travis stoll

the hustle and bustle of the city was a nice contrast from the stifling loneliness at camp half-blood. most people wouldn’t describe the hidden oasis buried between the forest and long island sound that way. they’d talk about the camaraderie between cabins, or the sense of family within their own. maybe they’d emphasize the humidity, and the temperature controlled barrier which prevented major storms or severe weather. then again people like clarisse and annabeth, those with a warrior mindset, wouldn’t feel the cloak of loneliness as they’re too busy with clashing swords and grunts of pain characteristic only to the training arena. 

none of those things, however, were pertinent to you. so, when connor and travis invited you to the farmer’s market to sell the overflow of camp strawberries, you jumped at the chance to escape. 

“i can’t believe we made it here in one piece,” connor exclaims, closing the door to the van once it's in park. 

“hey! i needed to practice my driving at some point,” travis defends, meeting you and connor at the back doors. 

while the boys argue back and forth about who’s the better driver — you or travis — you start unloading the cartons of strawberries. the farmers market is already starting to get busy. between other vendors setting up their booths and the diehard organic hippies already perusing the options, it seems like today will be an eventful day. 

and you were right. 

your eyes catch on someone lurking a couple booths over from yours. the guy is tall and wearing a leather jacket, so he sticks out like a sore thumb while sifting through the oranges in front of him. you squint in his direction. he looks vaguely familiar but you can’t place it. he must feel someone staring, because he turns to face you. you gasp at the sight of him, dropping the small carton of strawberries in your hand. 

“you okay?” connor asks, approaching you. 

you shake your head, crouching down to pick up the berries before they get squished under someone’s birkenstocks. connor is right beside you, speeding up the process. you can’t help it when your eyes drift back to the direction where you saw luke, but the person is gone. 

you let out a sigh of relief, “sorry, had a moment of clumsiness there.” 

connor nods in understanding, “all good. besides, i wouldn’t expect anything less from you since i’m around. i know my good looks and charming personality make you nervous.” 

you laugh loudly at his words, shoving his shoulder before he can walk away to discard the ruined berries. 

annabeth chase

“the bookstore is just down this way,” annabeth exclaims, sipping on her drink from the cafe. 

you nod, mustering a smile as you follow her lead. when annabeth asked you to visit her over spring break, you were hesitant, but she was insistent. there was a lot of history between the two of you, most of it revolving around your traitor boyfriend, but neither of you mentioned it. and whenever the subject did get brought up, one of you quickly changed it. 

“they have so many books. and i think there’s even a record section too,” she explains, pointing toward the quaint bookshop on the corner of a street in san francisco 

the awning is a faded emerald green, and the white letters detailing the store’s name are barely legible. but you can tell that it’s well loved. there’s a large bay window where a young mother and her children are sitting, flipping through a picture book with a pig and elephant character. you stop in your tracks for a minute, letting annabeth get a couple steps ahead of you. 

that could’ve been us, you think, twirling the golden band around your finger three times. it should’ve been us. 

“you okay?” annabeth asks, stopping at the base of the three cement steps. 

you nod, taking one more fleeting glance at the little family, “fine. just lost in thought i guess. you think they’ll have a copy of the outsiders?” 

“probably. maybe in the young adult section,” she answers, opening the door. 

a bell chimes overhead, and the middle-aged woman behind the counter greets her warmly. annabeth stops to talk with her, while you hover awkwardly. it’s so clear to you that she’s built a life for herself, one outside of camp half-blood and her demigod status. she laughs at something the woman says, and you almost feel jealous of the fourteen year old. she’s lost so much, yet she has so much more. you can’t say the same. 

there’s no one else for you. he was the one. you’ve always known that, even aphrodite confirmed that a long time ago, claiming that you two were one of her favorites. that never seems to work out though does it? her favorite couples always ending in a tragedy: romeo and juliet, orpheus and eurydice, liam neeson and natasha richardson, and now you and luke. 

you won’t get a happy ending, that you’re sure of. 

“you didn’t have to wait, i would’ve found you,” annabeth appears, startling you. 

you wonder how long she’s been there — how long you've been staring off into space. looking down at her, you meet her inquisitive gray eyes. she’s trying to get a read on you, but you don’t want her to; it’s not what either of you need. 

you grip her shoulder, the one without the tote bag, and say, “let’s go find the outsiders.”

she nods, but somehow you know the conversation isn’t over as she leads you down the aisle. the store is fairly quiet, not many shoppers except for the family, a group of college students, and the two of you so it’s easy to navigate. the young adult section is even emptier, but it still makes you feel claustrophobic. the smell of books and the thick tension is suffocating you. the teen must feel the same way, because she’s the first to break it after picking up a book. 

“you don’t need to feel guilty. i don’t blame you,” she whispers.

you gulp at her words, tugging on your baby tee as you pretend to pull off a string. 

“neither does percy, or anyone else at camp,” she finishes. 

you nod, picking up a copy of the outsiders. the cover is black and white, featuring a photo of a boy in a leather jacket. his face is turned downwards, but you see him clear as day: brown eyes and a white scar. 

“you know what i like about this book?” you ask, but the question’s rhetorical.

“i like johnny’s take on the world. there’s so much good in it, but we get so caught up in the bad that we forget…we forget how beautiful it is,” you say, choking on your words as tears well up in your eyes. 

“i think he forgot that too,” you whisper, and you don’t need to specify who you’re referring to, annabeth just knows. 

she throws her arms around you, squeezing your abdomen tightly. you close your eyes, struggling to hold back the tears, but a few drip down your cheeks anyways. you sniffle, and she squeezes you even tighter. when she pulls away, you look over her shoulder. you swear you meet brown eyes and a white scar. 

may castellan

luke hated westport. everyone there was the same, entitled, stuck up, and selfish. all the houses stood in a line. each one an exact replica of the one before it: pocket white fence, pristine green lawn, and a faded blue siding. his house, or rather his mother’s house, was no different. 

everything looked exactly the same as when he returned at fourteen. her kitchen window looked over the front yard and main road. he can picture her standing there, washing dishes and mumbling unanswered prayers to a god who never cared. he hates how easily she fell victim to him and he hates how emotional it makes him. 

at same time, there’s something different about his childhood home. a place that should have been filled with love, warmth, and happiness no longer harbors the coldness and terror he always associated with his childhood. somehow, the house feels more homey. there’s a floral wreath hanging on the wooden door, hidden behind the screen. he spots a vase of sunflowers on the kitchen windowsill; their bright yellow petals starkly contrasting the darkness inside. the house almost looks lived in. if a neighbor were to walk by, they would never guess it’s inhabited by a crazy person. luke would never guess that, especially with the beat-up red pickup parked out front. 

wait, he thinks, doing a double take. 

he’s seen that red pickup before, but he can’t figure out where. he looks at the license plate, hoping that will give him a clue into the owner. it’s navy blue and yellow, a clear sign that it’s from new york and that alone makes luke think of you. 

he’s come to visit a couple times, and each time he’s almost gotten caught. at the farmers market with connor and travis it was pure luck that he startled you into dropping the berries. when he showed up to talk to annabeth, it was a coincidence that you were there too. (it’s not like he had silena beauregard keeping tabs on you or anything.) but even if he did, hypothetically have her reporting back to him about your every move, he never expected you to be at his mom’s house. 

the front door opens, and he can hear your voice ring out into the stillness of the neighborhood: “i’ll be back later this week, okay may?”

“shit,” he seethes, crouching down behind one of the neighbor’s suvs. 

he hears a commotion in the house, and watches as you wait patiently at the door. his mother must say something to you, because you smile softly and nod your head. he wishes he could hear her words, but he knows you’ll catch him with one move. 

that’s not necessarily a bad thing, says a small voice inside his head. 

he shakes his head at those words, curls bouncing from the action. he runs a hand through his hair, frustration and anger building up inside him. he ruined this, not you. and no matter what he truly wants, luke knows there’s nothing he can do to win you back. 

the creaking of the wooden porch stairs and slam of the screen door draw his attention back to what’s right in front of him. it takes a bitter laugh out of him; ironic how he’s longed for your proximity and now that he has it he’s ignoring it. 

you freeze at the gate, left hand on the hinge and right on your ring. your eyes dart around the neighborhood, looking for the cause of the noise, but you never find him. he watches as you release the breath you’re holding and twirl the golden band three times. opening the gate, you step towards the truck.

he waits patiently, not daring to move a muscle until your car pulls away from his mother’s house. even then, when the engine is nothing but a faint rumble in the distance, he doesn’t move. he remains crouched behind the suv for a few extra minutes, gathering both his courage and sanity. with a final breath, he gets up, fixes his jacket and approaches the house. 

“mom,” he calls out, knocking on the door, “i’m home.”

the door swings open and her arms wrap around him. she smells faintly of burnt cookies, but it’s overpowered by shea butter and coconut shampoo. she’s crying into his shoulder, mumbling about how she always knew it wasn’t true; that wasn’t her son’s fate. 

but she has no idea, luke thinks, that i break everything i touch.

luke castellan

percy hears your scream before he sees you.

it’s loud, shrill, and gut-wrenching. his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach and bile climbs up his throat. 

i’m gonna be sick, he thinks.

percy faced a lot today. silena died. ethan died. annabeth almost died. now he’s stuck watching as you try to console luke.

you’re sitting beside him, bow and arrows haphazardly thrown to the side. there’s a cut on your shoulder caked with dry blood, and other bruises litter your body. he imagines that the pain from them is the least of your concerns. 

“it’s okay. you’ll be okay,” you keep whispering, cupping the older boy’s cheeks. 

luke grabs your left wrist, his thumb rubbing over your engagement ring. “i’m okay sweetheart. you’re gonna be okay.”

he approaches the two of you. it feels like he’s intruding on an intimate scene. percy feels a strange sense of deja vu when luke squeezes your wrist before returning his gaze to him. he wishes that he just caught the two of you sharing a vape instead of your final goodbye. 

“never again percy…don’t let it happen again,” luke croaks out. 

percy promises that he won’t, all while watching you. you bite your bottom lip, turning away from luke as you squeeze your eyes shut. he knows you're trying to be strong, but it doesn’t work as tears leak past your lash line and create tracks on your grimy face. 

“i love you,” luke whispers, and you echo the words right back. 

when his eyes close, percy swears that you’ll go with him, falling on top of annabeth’s dagger. but all you do is sit there, cradling luke’s face in your hands. you trace over his features: the bridge of his nose, his cupid’s bow, and the white scar. 

percy placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reaffirming squeeze. you sniffle, placing luke’s head down gently onto the destroyed cobblestone. your fingers brush his curls away from his forehead, and you unclasp the necklace resting against his collarbone. it’s a silver chain with three clay beads and a golden ring to match yours. you pocket the jewelry, and force a drachma in his hands. 

wiping your nose, you get up from the ground, collect your bow and arrows, and head towards the elevator. 

percy thinks he should call out to you, beg you to face the olympian council with him, but he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 

“leave her. my daughter won’t be joining you percy jackson.”

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @maraschinocherry3 @used2beeeeee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcilla @obxstiles @dracoslovergirl @vanessa-rafesgirl @l1a-pjosversion @vikimontethegirlblogger

[calisources]

GEORGE R.R MARTIN'S FIRE AND BLOOD QUOTES. all sentences here were taken from the book fire and blood which in part was adapted to hbo's house of the dragon. change pronouns, names and location as you see fit. warning for some foul language and mentions of inc*st.

“Then the storm broke, and the dragons danced.”

“A ruler needs a good head and a true heart, a cock is not essential.”

“Words are wind, but wind can fan a fire.”

 “My father and my uncle fought words with steel and flame. We shall fight words with words, and put out the fires before they start.”

“The seeds of war are oft planted during times of peace.”

“Only you could have won me away from the sea. I came back from the ends of the earth for you.”

“The Iron Throne will go to the man who has the strength to seize it.”

“I fed my last husband to my dragon. If you make me take another, I may eat him myself.”

“Let no man think that the fire of the Targaryens did not burn in his veins.”

“We are as the gods made us. Strong and weak, good and bad, cruel and kind, heroic and selfish. Know that if you would rule over the kingdom of men.”

“This is a night for song and sin and drink, for come the morrow, the virtuous and the vile burn together.”

“Thrones are won with swords, not quills. Spill blood, not ink.”

“Such a fierce little thing she is, she has no need of comfort. They are wrong in that, I fear. All men need comfort.”

“When the gods are silent, lords and kings will make themselves heard.”

“I do not have the time for tears.”

“Pride goes before a fall.”

“It is always winter now.”

“I will not fight you, nor will I kneel to you. Dorne has no king. Tell your brother that.”

“But we will come again, Princess, and the next time we shall come with fire and blood.”

“Surely the Mother Above loved my children more. She took so many of them away from me.”

“The tradition amongst the Targaryens had always been to marry kin to kin. Wedding brother to sister was thought to be ideal. Failing that, a girl might wed an uncle, a cousin, or a nephew, a boy a cousin, aunt, or niece.”

“ This practice went back to Old Valyria, where it was common amongst many of the ancient families, particularly those who bred and rode dragons.”

“The blood of the dragon must remain pure, the wisdom went. ”

“Familiarity is the father of acceptance.”

“Brother, you need never kneel to me again. We shall rule this realm together, you and I.”

“All men are sinners.”

“You rose up in rebellion against your lawful queen and helped drive her from this city to her death.”

“We came here to be free of Old Valyria, and your Targaryens are Valyrian to the bone.”

“They practiced blood magic and other dark arts as well, delving deep into the earth for secrets best left buried and twisting the flesh of beasts and men to fashion monstrous and unnatural chimeras. For there sins the gods in their wroth struck them down.”

“She has such a tender heart. Give me time, and I will find a lord to cherish her.”

“Not every Targaryen needs to wield a sword and ride a dragon.”

“I would sooner she wed a lord, but if she prefers a hedge knight or a merchant or Pate the Pig Boy, I am past the point of caring, so long as she picks someone.”

“If she wants I can find a hundred men and line them up before her naked, and she can pick the one she likes.”

“I'll have no songs about how brave you died, Kingmaker. There's tens o'thousands dead on your account.”

“Who can presume to know the heart of a dragon?”

“The Red Keep has its secrets, known only to the dead.”

“He bound the land together, and made of seven kingdoms, one.”

“Sixteen Targaryens followed Aegon the Dragon to the Iron Throne, before the dynasty was at last toppled in Robert’s Rebellion. “

“Dorne has danced with dragons before, I would sooner sleep with scorpions.”

“Winter’s here. Time for us to go. No better way to die than sword in hand.”

“The High Septon was the true king of Westeros, in all but name.”

“I will leave the making of law to you, brother, I would sooner make sons.”

“And with his death, the war of ravens and envoys and marriage pacts came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began in earnest.”

“Paying coin to the usurper is proof of naught but treason.”

“Poison was regarded as a coward’s weapon, and lacking in honor.”

“For both the blacks and the greens, blood called to blood for vengeance.”

“It was a good time, a golden autumn, a time of peace and plenty. But winter was coming.”

“The confidence of youth counts for little against the cunning of age.”

“Thankfully I proved too small for the wolf to notice.”

“Such stories make for charming songs, but poor history.”

“Why be a lord when you can be a king?”

“Only the gods truly know the hearts of men, and women are full as strange.”

“Whatever her powers, it would seem Daemon Targaryen was immune to them, for little is heard of this supposed sorceress whilst the prince held Harrenhal.”

“They called themselves the Winter Wolves.”

“We have come to die for the dragon queen.”

“Under the terms of the pact, the prince’s firstborn daughter would be sent north at the age of seven, to be fostered at Winterfell until such time as she was old enough to marry Lord Cregan’s heir.”

“For the rank and file of the City Watch still loved Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of the City who had commanded them of old.”

“We are done with writing letters.”

“The North was too remote to be of much import in the fight.”

“The Dance of the Dragons is the flowery name bestowed upon the savage internecine struggle for the Iron Throne of Westeros fought between two rival branches of House Targaryen during the years 129 to 131 AC.”

“His mount was blood-red Caraxes, fiercest of all the young dragons in the Dragonpit.”

“The bells began to ring on the tenth day of the third moon of 129 AC, tolling the end of a reign.”

“These happy bastards were said to have been “born of dragonseed,” and in time became known simply as “seeds.”

“House Tyrell would take no part in this struggle.”

“For all the vaunted strength of its walls, King’s Landing fell in less than a day.”

“This is a night for song and sin and drink, for come the morrow, the virtuous and the vile burn together.”

“How many came to see the crowning remains a matter of dispute.”

“This we do know: Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon reached an accord, and signed and sealed the agreement that Grand Maester Munkun calls “the Pact of Ice and Fire” in his True Telling.”

“Here I have you to myself, day and night,when we go back, I shall be fortunate to snatch an hour with you, for every man in Westeros will want a piece of you."

“I have the dragon’s bastard in me.”

[sarahlizziewrites]

Some writing advice is sound, some is bullshit. "Show, don't tell" gets bandied about without any context or guidance like it's some golden rule. I feel like most people don't really know what it means. In general, I like to think of it as "Showing is often better than telling, if you get the opportunity". But above all, what I've realised is

Feel > Show > Tell

Which is to say, Telling is a fine way to tell a story. Showing gets the reader more invested in something, be it a character, a situation or a plot point.

Feeling makes the reader experience what your character is experiencing.

And this is kind of meta, but if you've read the kind of writing that makes your heart beat faster or makes you breathless or makes tears pool in your eyes or sweat bead on your brow, you know what I'm talking about. It's a way to write sentences that has little to do with the content of the sentences and everything to do with the way you read the sentence.

"You are a silly little boy," said the Lord of the Flies, "just an ignorant, silly little boy." Simon moved his swollen tongue but said nothing. "Don't you agree?" said the Lord of the Flies. "Aren't you just a silly little boy?" Simon answered him in the same silent voice. [...] "You like Ralph a lot, don't you? And Piggy, and Jack?" Simon's head was tilted slightly up. His eyes could not break away and the Lord of the Flies hung in the space before him. "What are you doing out here all alone? Aren't you afraid of me?" Simon shook. "There isn't anyone to help you. Only me. And I'm the Beast." Simon's mouth laboured, brought forth audible words. "Pig's head on a stick."

I pulled Lord of the Flies from my shelf in particular because I haven't read it since high school, but I still remember how insane this scene in particular made me. It still makes me breathless. The repetition, the single-line paragraphs, the stilted feeling like you're choking with fear right along with Simon.

Another book that hit hard was Turtles All the Way Down by John Green. I don't re-read this one even though it was incredible, mostly because reading it feels like panic:

Now you're nervous, because you've previously attended this exact rodeo on thousands of occasions, and also because you want to choose the thoughts that are called yours. The river was filthy, after all. Had you gotten some river water on your hand? It wouldn't take much. Time to unwrap the Band-Aid. You tell yourself that you were careful not to touch the water, but your self replies, But what if you touched something that touched the water, and then you tell yourself that this wound is almost certainly not infected, but the distance you've created with the almost gets filled by the thought, You need to check for infection; just to check it so we can calm down, and then fine, okay, you excuse yourself to the bathroom and slip off the Band-Aid to discover there isn't blood, but there might be a bit of moisture on the bandage pad. You hold the Band-Aid up to the yellow light in the bathroom, and yes, that definitely looks like moisture.

Yes, that's a 99-word sentence. It's almost half a page, printed. Your creative writing teacher would have had an aneurism. It's hard to read, but in a way that's intentional, in a way that makes you out of breath even when you're reading in your head.

(Aside, I particularly like this excerpt because the rest of the book is in first person past tense, and then it just switches to second person present like it's nothing. It's pure emotional manipulation at its finest and I love it almost as much as I hate it.)

So, tell if you want. Show if you can. But if you want to pull emotions from your reader and make them feel the things your characters are feeling, write the way that it feels.

Please reblog with more examples of writing that makes you feel. What excerpt feels like rest, or like travel? What quote makes you feel like you're dancing?

[halucygeno]

Pacifism in “Hard to Be a God”

[Minor spoilers for the book - discussion of overarching themes with a few minor plot points as examples. There’ll be another warning for MAJOR SPOILERS hidden under “Keep reading”, just before the conclusion.]

(All quotes are from the 1973 translation by Wendayne Ackerman.)

One thing I adore about “Hard to Be a God” is that its protagonist, Anton, is a genuinely nuanced, thought-provoking depiction of a pacifist character.

Some media with this kind of protagonist falls into the trap of implying that the hero has some sort of innate kindness or softness to them. And because they are, individually, “such a compassionate person”, they can do the whole enlightened “forgive and forget, love thy enemy, everyone can be redeemed” shtick. The writer implicitly rewards this “kind nature” by giving the hero overpowered abilities which vindicate their beliefs, and let them continue displaying their kindness (see: Naruto, Steven Universe).

In “Hard to Be a God”, this is inverted. The main reason Anton can resolve fights without bloodshed is because:

A) He was raised by a much more advanced civilisation which imparted onto him their humanistic philosophy. His job literally demands him to be a passive observer who avoids conflict. B) He has access to modern combat techniques and technology (extra-durable chainmail, fast-acting medicine, a helicopter and the ability to generate gold) which give him a significant advantage (both in direct confrontations and in negotiation). C) [speculation] Other Noon Universe novels such as “The Inhabited Island” and “The Waves Extinguish the Wind” suggest that Earth’s scouts are genetically modified, giving them greater strength and survivability (though I’m not sure whether this is the case in “Hard to Be a God”, as it takes place much earlier in the timeline).

Anton’s privilege and power are not implied to be a reward for his goodness; it’s the opposite. The fact that he has privilege and power is what gives him the opportunity to be good. This is explicitly drawn attention to when he says things like:

“Remember that they do not know what they are doing; and that they are almost all free of guilt. And that is why you must have the patience of Job, patience, patience [...]”

The general doctrine of Earth’s scouts is not to judge the locals’ moral depravity, because the latter weren’t brought up in the same favourable social conditions as the former.

But ok, even with the deck stacked so heavily in Anton’s favour, he still struggles to be a pacifist. After spending so much time in a world that he sees as backwards - full of filthy brutes and meek, complicit peasants - he has to repress his contempt for these people. He has to manage his emotions, snapping himself out of anger fits:

"And I almost tore them to pieces, he suddenly realized. If they hadn’t run inside I would have killed them! He remembered the bet he had recently made, how he had taken a dummy clad in a double Soanian suit of armor and split it from head to toe with his sword—cold shivers ran down his back at the thought. They might now be lying here in a pool of their own blood, like stuck pigs, and he would be standing here, sword in hand, not knowing what to do … A fine god you are! You’ve become a beast …”

And here’s another important aspect of this: he is deeply ambivalent about this “no killing” rule. On one hand, he takes it as a moral imperative, and is revolted at the thought that he’d be capable of such savagery. On the other hand, he is angry at his own impotence. He doesn’t see his pacifism as bravery, but as passivity - a cowardly refusal to take decisive action when it is desperately needed.

After all, just being an individual saint is not enough to fix a rotten society. What good is Anton’s pacifism if everyone else is gleefully murdering each other? He can’t be everywhere at once, saving people and resolving conflicts diplomatically.

What Anton really wants is to overthrow Arkanar’s cruel leaders; he often fantasizes about staging a full-blown revolution. It’s only his pragmatism that keeps him in check. He reasons that, with how society is structured there, killing a dictator would just create a power vacuum which competing factions would try to fill by slaughtering each other and whoever else happens to be in the way, Anton included.

But, most importantly, Anton is not rewarded for his pacifism. It doesn’t make him feel good - the opposite, it makes him miserable. Nobody (outside of a very small circle of his closest friends) is “inspired by” or respects his morals. They see them as a weird idiosyncrasy which handicaps him.

[MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING FROM HERE ON, WATCH OUT!]

And in the end, after losing Kira, the person closest to him in all of Arkanar, he can no longer restrain himself. He goes on a rampage, and is punished for it - he accomplishes nothing, and his superiors immediately withdraw him from the mission. Back at home, when his old friend, Anka, hears of his exploits, she starts to fear him. The final lines of the novel are heart-breaking:

“'Anka,' he said tenderly. 'Anka, my little friend …' He held his long arms out to her. Timidly she leaned forward, then quickly jumped back a step. On his fingers … But it was not blood, only the stain of strawberries.“

The implication is clear. Anton has been tainted. He has shown to be capable of incredible cruelty and, no matter how justifiably angry he felt at the time, the people he killed are a permanent stain on his conscience. Metaphorically, the blood is still on his hands.

In this assessment, pacifism and goodness are not exceptional qualities (at least by the standards of futuristic space communists). They’re an expected baseline. Losing your self-restraint and killing, even in extreme circumstances, is a failure.

And I mean, it makes sense. If you have the power to avoid causing bloodshed, it seems like a given that you should use it. Nobody is framed as “heroic” for keeping to this basic standard.

To me, this was so refreshing about about “Hard to Be a God”. It ticks off some of the same tropes as other pacifist protagonists (overpowered abilities and exceptional moral purity relative to their environment) but with none of the aggrandisement and hero worship. Instead of being celebrated and vindicated for doing the right thing, Anton’s only rewards are agonising moral dilemmas and the constant fear that his passivity is enabling things to get worse.

The crucial takeaway is this: PACIFISM IS HARD. Helping people in times of crisis is hard. Making society better is hard. You will have to get your hands dirty, make personal sacrifices, compromise yourself. You won’t feel all fine and dandy as you preach your pacifism from a place of comfort and moral superiority. It really takes a bit of a masochistic, martyr mentality to get anywhere with it.

(Side note: This is only loosely related, but another character that embodies this ideal is Dr. Rieux from “The Plague” by Albert Camus. He loses almost everything while working tirelessly to help his patients, but is not celebrated as a hero. He himself doesn’t view his actions as “heroic”, but simply as “common decency”.)

I think more optimistic stories about pacifism are afraid of this idea. They want to encourage kindness by framing it as simple and uncontroversial - not effortless per-se, but not too challenging either. And they also aggrandise it by framing kind individuals as exceptionally wonderful.

And I don’t know, this irks me. Aren’t we setting the bar very low for humanity, if just being a decent person is so praise-worthy? Isn’t it cynical and contradictory to imply that we’ll be rewarded for our “selflessness” with admiration, and our actions will be vindicated by success? Doesn’t it inflate expectations and set people up for disappointment when we portray kindness as easy, flowing naturally from some innate “good nature” within us?

I know, I’m rambling at this point. But that’s kind of why I love sci-fi - it thrives in this ambiguity and existential dread. It doesn’t give me reassuring narratives about heroism, but asks hard questions and trails off with no satisfying conclusion.

God, this book is so good. The Strugatskys are so good.

I really need to finish that Roadside Picnic essay.

(Huge thanks to Wendayne Ackerman and later Olena Bormashenko for translating the book into English, Irena Piotrowska, into Polish, and Simeon Vladimirov, into Bulgarian.)

[lacomandante]

💭 + France

send 💭 + a topic to receive a headcanon about said topic.

       So this answer requires a bit of historical background and canon context: but the long and short of it: Teresa genuinely, deeply, hates the French with a pure, terrifying hatred- a direct quote from the books. She hunts the French and gives them a long, lingering deaths, seeking revenge for the atrocities they did upon her, her family, and her home. (rape and torture tw ahead).

        The French, in the Peninsular War, were infamously known for their war crimes. In both the books and the films, they march into her home town of Casatejada, and lay waste to everything. They force their way into their home- her father is blinded, and Teresa, her sister, Maria, and her mother were horrifically raped and brutalized, and her mother murdered after Maria begged the French to kill them. sparing the sisters. Her brother, Ramon, was crucified to the walls of the cellar, nails through his wrists, surrounded by a sea of blood, as the towns people were dragged in there and tortured to death.

“The cellar was spattered with blood, with bodies that showed death in a dozen horrid ways...the floor was black with Spanish blood, strewn with mutilations obscene as nightmare. Young, old, men and women, all killed horribly...and in the cellar the Spanish had died, slowly and with exquisite pain. The bodies lay in the crumpled way of the dead, their number impossible to count, or to tell the ways in which they had died. Some were too young even to have known what had happened, killed no doubt before their mothers eyes.”

        While this sounds over the top, this is historically accurate. This is not even the worst of the atrocities the French actually committed during this war- and I’m not giving a pass to the English, either, (nor the Spaniards). But the French showed an incredible blood thirst that horrified even the English, and are often written about in accounts from the war.

         The French took everything from Teresa- her mother, her life from before, all their wealth, and her honor, most of all- Blas Vivar crudely tells Sharpe, after admitting he harbors feelings for her, to forget about Teresa, that she’s “no longer a woman”, and details what happened to her. Because she’s been raped, she’s seen as ruined, and the choices were either to die, or to seclude herself in a convent in shame. Teresa chooses neither.

        After this horrific attack, Teresa swears an oath on her mothers grave, and rides the hills, hunts the French, and hopes to die. She is called La Aguja, The Needle, for her dagger used to slit French throats. She tortures with little remorse, sets up ambushes, and is a terrifying force against the French, and a great spy. She calls the French pigs, swine, and keeps count of how many she’s killed, never enough. “...and every Frenchman she knifed with her long slim blade was one small part of the endless revenge she had promised to inflict on the soldiers who had raped her.”

        But for as much as Teresa hates the French, she’s not without manners. Colonel Dubreton, a French officer, compliments her, tells her she’s as beautiful as she is dangerous, and invites her to dine with them during a truce on Christmas Eve. Sharpe’s surprised that Teresa politely declines.

"Of course, Madame." Dubreton paused. "Your husband has done me a great service, Madame, a personal service. To him I owe my wife's safety.  If it is ever in my power, then I will feel honored to repay that debt." Teresa smiled. "You'll forgive me if I hope it is never in your power?" "I regret we are enemies." "You can leave Spain, then we need not be." "To be your friend, Madame, makes the idea of losing this war bearable." She laughed, pleased with the compliment, and to Sharpe's utter astonishment held out her hand and let the Frenchman kiss it.

        Teresa, in the film Sharpe’s Company, murders a French engineer- he had caught her spying, and as a ruse, Teresa kissed him- and when questioned as to why she killed him, Teresa answers that she’d never let a Frenchman lay their hands on her ever again. And here (in the books anyways), Teresa offers her hand for one to kiss! He’s clearly not like the others, and shows her great respect, despite being an enemy of France with quite a bounty on her head. THAT is a nuance I love- that Teresa can hate the French with all the passion of her passionate soul, and still be polite, have conversations, and even enjoy Dubreton’s company, however brief.

         Now, that’s all canon- as for what my headcanons are for Teresa regarding the French, I think Teresa actually had a favorable opinion of the French before the war, and greatly admired them!

        Bordering France, Spain has had a tumultuous relationship with them over the centuries, both as allies and enemies. Fashion, culture, and politics often spread from France, having a great influence as time went on, and it was impossible for even Spain, traditional and stubborn as they were, to resist. French politicians and philosophers were beginning to be found in many tertulias, their ideas becoming more popular with the upper class, and the royal court began to have more and more supporters, who were called anfrancesados, from the verb afrancesar = to become like the French, to take on French mannerisms and culture, to act French. French lovers, if you would. There’s a lot of political whirlwinds in the 1790′s until 1808 about relations with France, so it’s hard to simplify.

        Teresa was born and raised in a more rural area, but was very, very wealthy. Her family owned the entire valley where they resided. Because of her status and her wealth, Teresa was able to get education at the University of Salamanca, which did accept women, though in Spain, women’s education was quite uncommon. From there, she would’ve been able to make connections to other families, and it was common to travel and stay with friends and family, and be invited to other places- from there, I think she went to Madrid for a while and was exposed to the greater life and culture afforded in the capital than in the country, including that of the French. The fashion, the food, but most of all, the liberal ideas.

        And because Spain was very traditional during this period, Teresa’s taste of (some) freedom and education in Salamanca, I think, would make her more open to the ideas of the French. I think for someone as headstrong, ambitious, and determined as she is, she would want more than what was offered, and being exposed to new ideas and ways of thinking would captivate her. This would more than likely be anytime between 1800-1806. While she leaves the cities behind and eventually returns to her home, she keeps those ideas in the back of her mind.

        But unfortunately, Teresa learned those ideas come at a cost- and her once goodwill and maybe even admiration of the French turned into hatred, for those ideals were paid in blood.

[peddling-rp-memes]

Repost, don't reblog. I didn't make this meme, but can't find the op. Please tag them if you know who they are.

DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS CLASSES.

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙽   » toothy  grins, stories  around  the  campfire,  clothes  covered  in  pet  hair, hot  temper, old  jeans,  heartbeat  in  head, potatoes  and  steak,  beaded  jewelry, bruises  like  galaxies, mementos,  backpack  stuffed  full,  craigslist  furniture, spontaneous  road  trips, air  ripped  from  lungs

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙳   » homemade  bread,  white  lies, easily  excited, trying  on  hats,  band  geek, pep  talks,  no impulse  control,  sunsets, vintage  fashion, long  showers, selfies,  following  dreams,  rosy  cheeks,  song  mash-ups, pink  lemonade  with  tequila, loves  easily, animated  storyteller, full  of  comebacks

𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙲   » list  of  wishes, biting  their  tongue, band-aids  and  neosporin, shoulder  to  cry  on,  morning  sun, necklaces, trial  and  error, homemade  quilts, formal  clothing, astrology fan, messages  in  bottles,  pleated  braids, speaking  up  for  friends, feathers, motivational  quotes, vivid  dreams

𝙳𝚁𝚄𝙸𝙳   »   bird  watching,  shy  kid, wind  chimes, trying  to  whistle,  summer  camp, apple  orchards, lost  in  their  head,  glow-in-the-dark  stars  on  the  ceiling, hoodies, thrift  shopping,  saving  worms  off  the  sidewalk,  pig  latin, bare  feet, thunderstorms, numb  fingers, braided  hair, naming  potted  plants

𝙵𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝚁   »   goose  bumps, leather  jackets,  adventure,  chewing  nails,  cares  deeply  but  can’t  show  it,  bronze  locks, no  sleep, taste  of  iron, netflix  binges, never  forgets, combat  boots, stories  behind  scars, table  for  one, official  soundtracks, sore  calves, trusts  themselves  the  most

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙺   »   always  trying  to  be  better, wanderlust,  meditation, sweat  pants, old   photographs, yoga, sleeping  in  hammocks, nostalgia,  minimalist  design, breath  of  fresh  air,  baby  animals,  volunteering, perfectionist, doesn’t  care  about  fashion, healthy  snacks, noticing  the  little  things

𝙿𝙰𝙻𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽   »   school  uniforms, thick  jackets, sleeping  with  the  windows  open, logical  advice, scrapbooking, compasses, i  fight  for  my  friends, sculpture  gardens, cold  morning  air, big  soul, likes  routine, secret  romantic, last  to  get  jokes, sunflowers, practical  presents, misty  weather

𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁   »   herbal  tea, smell  of  rain, blinking  away  tears, camping  trips, collecting  bones, swiss  army  knives, first  impressions, anxious  thoughts,  bobby  pins, burnt  marshmallows, too  competitive, clothes  lines, messenger  bags, holding  grudges, gets  along  better  with  animals  than  people

𝚁𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙴   »   flirtatious  sarcasm, candid  photos,  lost  phone  chargers, adrenaline  rush, picking  dirt  blood out  from  beneath  their  nails,  social  chameleon, clashing  clothes, self-deprecating  jokes, claw  machines, sits  in  chairs  wrong, smudged  eyeliner,  has  too  many  sunglasses, eats  nothing  or everything

𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚁   »   infectious  laugh,  family  trees, shivers  down  their  spine, lipstick  and  roses, mood  swings, clumsy, believing  in  destiny, high  expectations,  sleeping  in  darkness, collection  of  nail  polish, passionate, good  grades  but  never  studies, poetry  books, blowing  kisses,  not  knowing  their  own  strength

𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺   »  knowing  everyone’s  secrets,  backpack  covered  in  pins,  envy, being  in  walmart  late  at  night, earl  grey,  selective  memory, conspiracy  theories  and  cryptids, keysmashing, need  to  know  basis, can’t  cook, bags  under  eyes, experimental  art, flickering  bulbs, black  clothing  all  year  long

𝚆𝙸𝚉𝙰𝚁𝙳   »  piles  of  textbooks,  cat  in  lap,  keeping  a  diary, indecisions, scented  candles, studying  alone  in  a  café, lingering  touches,  museum  dates,  unanswered  questions, taking  on  too  much  responsibility, collections,  chalk  dust,  comfy  robes,  unnecessary  apologies, coming  home  after  a  long  day

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Many thanks to @blood-is-compulsory for the tag!

D&D classes: Ezra Dempsey

bold what applies to your muse/italicize what somewhat applies to your muse

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙽 »   toothy grins, stories around the campfire, clothes covered in pet hair, hot temper, old jeans, heartbeat in head, potatoes and steak, beaded jewelry, bruise like galaxies, mementos, backpack stuffed full, craigslist furniture, spontaneous road trips, air ripped from lungs.

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙳 »   homemade bread, white lies, easily excited, trying on hats, band geek, pep talks, no impulse control, sunsets, vintage fashion, long showers, selfies, following dreams, rosy cheeks, song mash-ups, pink lemonade with tequila, loves easily, animated storyteller, full of comebacks.

𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙲 »   list of wishes, biting their tongue, band-aids and neosporin, shoulder to cry on, morning sun, necklaces, trial and error, homemade quilts, formal clothing, astrology fan, messages in bottles, pleated braids, speaking up for friends, feathers, motivational quotes, vivid dreams.

𝙳𝚁𝚄𝙸𝙳 »   bird watching, shy kid, wind chimes, trying to whistle, summer camp, apple orchards, lost in their head, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, hoodies, thrift shopping, saving worms off the sidewalk, pig latin, bare feet, thunderstorms, numb fingers, braided hair, naming potted plants.

𝙵𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝚁 »   goosebumps, leather jackets, adventure, chewing nails, cares deeply but can’t show it, bronze locks, no sleep, taste of iron, netflix binges, never forgets, combat boots, stories behind scars, table for one, official soundtracks, sore calves, trusts themselves the most.

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙺 »   always trying to be better, wanderlust, meditation, sweatpants, old photographs, yoga, sleeping in hammocks, nostalgia, minimalist design, breath of fresh air, baby animals, volunteering, perfectionist, doesn’t care about fashion, healthy snacks, noticing the little things.

𝙿𝙰𝙻𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽 »   school uniforms, thick jackets, sleeping with the windows open, logical advice, scrap booking, compasses, I fight for my friends, sculpture gardens, cold morning air, big soul, likes routine, secret romantic, last to get jokes, sunflowers, practical presents, misty weather.

𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁 »   herbal tea, smell of rain, blinking away tears, camping trips, collecting bones, swiss army knives, first impressions, anxious thoughts, bobby pins, burnt marshmallows, too competitive, clothes lines, messenger bags, holding grudges, gets along better with animals than people.

𝚁𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙴 »   flirtatious sarcasm, candid photos, lost phone chargers, adrenaline rush, picking dirt out from beneath their nails, social chameleon, clashing clothes, self-deprecating jokes, claw machines, sits in chairs wrong, smudged eyeliner, has too many sunglasses, eats nothing or everything.

𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚁 »   infectious laugh, family trees, shivers down their spine, lipstick and roses, mood swings, clumsy, believing in destiny, high expectations, sleeping in darkness, collection of nail polish, passionate, good grades but never studies, poetry books, blowing kisses, not knowing their own strength.

𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺 »   knowing everyone’s secrets, backpack covered in pins, envy, being in walmart late at night, earl grey, selective memory, conspiracy theories and cryptids, keysmashing, need to know basis, can’t cook, bags under eyes, experimental art, flickering bulbs, black clothing all year long.

𝚆𝙸𝚉𝙰𝚁𝙳 »   piles of books, cat in lap, keeping a diary, indecision, scented candles, studying alone in a café, lingering touches, museum dates, unanswered questions, taking on too much responsibility, collections, chalk dust, comfy robes, unnecessary apologies, coming home after a long day

Bard is the highest at 6 (with Druid and Barbarian as seconds with 5)

Tagging with no pressure! @for-the-love-of-angst @winedark-whump @darkthingshappen @soheavyaburden

[seasaltandcopper]

D&D Classes - Mal/A'mahl Tia (he's pretty consistent across aus so I'm picking all of them)

bold what definitely applies to your muse. - italicize what somewhat applies to your muse.

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙽 »   toothy grins, stories around the campfire, clothes covered in pet hair, hot temper, old jeans, heartbeat in head, potatoes and steak, beaded jewelry, bruise like galaxies, mementos, backpack stuffed full, craigslist furniture, spontaneous road trips, air ripped from lungs.

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙳 »   homemade bread, white lies, easily excited, trying on hats, band geek, pep talks, no impulse control, sunsets, vintage fashion, long showers, selfies, following dreams, rosy cheeks, song mash-ups, pink lemonade with tequila, loves easily, animated storyteller, full of comebacks.

𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙲 »   list of wishes, biting their tongue, band-aids and neosporin, shoulder to cry on, morning sun, necklaces, trial and error, homemade quilts, formal clothing, astrology fan, messages in bottles, pleated braids, speaking up for friends, feathers, motivational quotes, vivid dreams.

𝙳𝚁𝚄𝙸𝙳 »   bird watching, shy kid, wind chimes, trying to whistle, summer camp, apple orchards, lost in their head, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, hoodies, thrift shopping, saving worms off the sidewalk, pig latin, bare feet, thunderstorms, numb fingers, braided hair, naming potted plants.

𝙵𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝚁 »   goosebumps, leather jackets, adventure, chewing nails, cares deeply but can’t show it, bronze locks, no sleep, taste of iron, netflix binges, never forgets, combat boots, stories behind scars, table for one, official soundtracks, sore calves, trusts themselves the most.

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙺 »   always trying to be better, wanderlust, meditation, sweatpants, old photographs, yoga, sleeping in hammocks, nostalgia, minimalist design, breath of fresh air, baby animals, volunteering, perfectionist, doesn’t care about fashion, healthy snacks, noticing the little things.

𝙿𝙰𝙻𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽 »   school uniforms, thick jackets, sleeping with the windows open, logical advice, scrap booking, compasses, I fight for my friends, sculpture gardens, cold morning air, big soul, likes routine, secret romantic, last to get jokes, sunflowers, practical presents, misty weather.

𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁 »   herbal tea, smell of rain, blinking away tears, camping trips, collecting bones, swiss army knives, first impressions, anxious thoughts, bobby pins, burnt marshmallows, too competitive, clothes lines, messenger bags, holding grudges, gets along better with animals than people.

𝚁𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙴 »   flirtatious sarcasm, candid photos, lost phone chargers, adrenaline rush, picking dirt out from beneath their nails, social chameleon, clashing clothes, self-deprecating jokes, claw machines, sits in chairs wrong, smudged eyeliner, has too many sunglasses, eats nothing or everything.

𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚁 »   infectious laugh, family trees, shivers down their spine, lipstick and roses, mood swings, clumsy, believing in destiny, high expectations, sleeping in darkness, collection of nail polish, passionate, good grades but never studies, poetry books, blowing kisses, not knowing their own strength.

𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺 »   knowing everyone’s secrets, backpack covered in pins, envy, being in walmart late at night, earl grey, selective memory, conspiracy theories and cryptids, keysmashing, need to know basis, can’t cook, bags under eyes, experimental art, flickering bulbs, black clothing all year long.

𝚆𝙸𝚉𝙰𝚁𝙳 »   piles of books, cat in lap, keeping a diary, indecision, scented candles, studying alone in a café, lingering touches, museum dates, unanswered questions, taking on too much responsibility, collections, chalk dust, comfy robes, unnecessary apologies, coming home after a long day.

Tallied up: Barbarian and Fighter tied with 10, Rogue coming in second with 8. Yeah, that tracks LOL

tagged by: @briar-ffxiv tagging: @ronqueesha, @ellastara, @blood-is-compulsory, uhhh and anyone else who wants to do it. Apologies if I forgot anyone/if you don't want to do it, no pressure.

[cindydartist]

Why I think BotW fits as a sequel to TAoL

My lovely siblings let me rant Legend of Zelda timeline stuff to them and I figured, might as well post it here. Note: this is my own headcanon, NOT what I think Nintendo or anyone else HAS to follow. I know and recognize that neither BotW nor TotK are part of the official Zelda Timeline.

--

Currently, if I had to pick a spot for it [BotW] in the Canon timeline, I'd put it after The Adventure of Link (second released game) with LU nicknamed 'Hyrule' Link. Two main reasons for that:

1) Ganondorf the Man and Ganon the Beast

The Fallen timeline in which TAoL takes place is the only timeline where pig Ganon is the predominant form of Ganondorf. (Despite all the separate incarnations of Link and Zelda, Ganondorf… is kinda just one guy through all of it who refuses to die properly.)

This is due to him gaining the Triforce of Power AND KEEPING IT by killing the Hero of Time (hence why that timeline branch is referred to as the Fallen Hero or Downfall timeline). Ganondorf's beast form is always shown in the games as an overrun of power and a sacrifice/discarding of the 'human' in him. In the other two timelines, he is beaten in that form effectively immediately after transforming, therefore has no time to lose himself. He continues to keep his gerudo form in further sequels/successors. Not so in the Fallen timeline.

By the time we get to A Link to the Past, Ganondorf has been beast Ganon up to/after the imprisoning war, a last-ditch effort by a bunch of sages after the Hero of Time’s death. Some details are unique to Hyrule Historia book, but the sealing war is a key part of history for ALttP (and its sequels) due to the plot-related presence of those sages’ descendants.

Again, Ganon only shows up in beast form in this game and going forward. A secondary factor may be where he was sealed to: Ganondorf keeping the Triforce of Power for a hot minute also keeps the Sacred Realm (where the Triforce previously resided in OoT) transformed into the Dark World (also predominately featured in ALttP)

ALttP’s Link, LU nickname Legend, later has Oracle of Seasons and Oracle of Ages. The goal of hidden antagonists Koume and Kotake is to resurrect Ganon. (This isn't exactly spoiler territory for either gameplay, but heads up I guess?) It succeeds -- partially. The Ganon brought back is mindless - only a force of destruction. Sound familiar??

Importantly, this all adds up to a potential Decomposition of Ganondorf the Man.

While Ganon does regain some strategic thinking in The Legend of Zelda I (Hyrule's first adventure), he remains in pig/beast form. And is killed again. Okay, technically it doesn't state killing, so it could be sealing away. Except. One of the most known things about Zelda II: The Adventure of Link is if you die enough times to get a game over, it states Ganon comes back, implied to be through spilling Link's/Hyrule's blood. Quote from the game’s English instruction manual “The key to Ganon’s return was the blood of Link – the valiant lad who overthrew the King of Evil. Ganon would be revived by sacrificing Link and sprinkling his blood on the ashes of Ganon.”

Revive? Blood ritual?? Ashes??? Sounds awfully like a resurrection ritual ta me.

Thus, with further decomposition of self through death and revival, especially if one counts how many times Hyrule’s predecessor Legend defeated Ganon as killing him, it makes perfect sense to me that a logical conclusion would be BotW Calamity Ganon. (Granted, I have not finished TotK’s history plot yet, so there may be arguments/evidence I am unaware of with how he got that way. Like his existence as Gerudo Ganondorf, but from my current info, that is in the far past, potentially after Skyward Sword. Sue me, I have a working theory the Zonai are evolved Remlits)

On to my SECOND reason:

2) My Own Personal Gratification ✨

The world of Zelda I and Zelda II is frankly post-apocalyptic. Ironically more so than ALttP which is the closest to the ACTUAL apocalyptic events that happened.

Perhaps it is important to note that ALttP explicitly confirms the idea that a previous unnamed hero failed to stop Ganondorf. And that years back IRL there was genuine reason to speculate that that previous hero was Hyrule. Now think about the blood ritual.

With the release of the official timeline, that theory is now only fanon. But the potential is still there. Currently there is no canonical sequel to Hyrule’s story. Legend’s adventures give evidence readable as foreshadowing that this is a timeline where the land itself has clearly degraded. The zora are ruthless enemies that will attack on sight. Natural water is acidic and damages. There are monsters who can take the form of hylians so no-one ever knows quite who is safe to trust.

Link’s/Hyrule’s story is beautiful because he is effectively hope that refuses to give up on a land falling apart. A synergy between selfless bravery and survival. One who sees hardiness in the weakened kingdom’s people and inspires them to try a little harder, be a little kinder, trust a little more.

For all we know, as long as there is a monster or member of the Cult of Ganon, he might be running forever. Will have to carry that risk for the rest of his life. For the sake of Hyrule’s people and future, how he lives as a hero is not enough; he must control how he dies.

 Is it strange to wish that the bountiful green land of BoTW is what his kingdom will eventually be? That, even if not in his lifetime, the Kingdom of Hyrule will continue on and find its feet again?

That’s how I see BotW. Even if Ganon manages to destroy Hyrule, it will always live on through its people. You can never take what was never takeable in the first place.

--

tldr; Pigman signifies Dementia and I want Hyrule!Link to have a happy freaking ending, okay?

[vilfy]

aheehee. answer all the prompts on the meme u reblogged

Aha. This will be going below, for all our sakes.

Why were you named the way you were? Is there a special meaning behind your name (or middle name if applicable)?

My mother was a scholar on Shakespeare's work, so my siblings and I all shared namesakes in the form of plays.

When I decided to go into medicine, my father suggested I honor my grandfather by taking on his name as part of my disguise. I liked being Simon better than Ophelia. So, Simon I stayed.

When is your birthday? What is your ideal birthday?

The 19th of September, 1875. I'm not sure what would constitute "ideal" though... party weather, maybe.

What is your sexuality/orientation? How did you discover them?

The funniest thing about pretending to be a man for medical school is that sometimes you find you're happier as a man than you ever were as a girl. And you still prefer gentleman callers.

What's usually on your shopping list?

Oh, household essentials. Oil for the lamps, fresh candles, blood bags from the plasma centers around town.

Sometimes, if I'm feeling especially lively, I'll even buy groceries.

What are some general hygiene things you do? How do you normally do your hair? What kind of products do you use?

What I use isn't legal to produce anymore. But I learned to tend my curls- what loose ones there are- from my sisters. I've been told I'm a priss about baths, though. I always take too long.

What is in your pockets/bag/etc. right now?

A cigarette book, a bottle cap from my first night out after my hibernation, and... a single penny. Nothing too exciting, I'm afraid. I don't keep much on me when I leave the house.

What is it like where you live? How does it compare to where you grew up if it differs?

It's quiet here, mountainous in a very different way from home. Just as isolated and misty- far less rain but much more latent humidity. The states are interesting that way.

Do you have a favorite food? What's your favorite breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert?

O-

Do you have any other family members? Parents, siblings, grandparents, cousins, etc.?

If I have any little great nieces or nephews, I don't know of them. I could check in on the old estate... I'm afraid to find out if it's even still occupied. Or standing.

How do you feel about makeup? Are you any good at putting it on? Do you wear it often?

Ahaha. I had to adapt to the changing fashions- once the deathly pallor of consumption was out of style, I had to keep up with the times to look less like a corpse. Not much of a problem these days, it seems.

Would you say you are an introvert, or an extrovert?

I've been described as a "tipsy stray" before for how friendly I can be. I suppose you'd call me an extrovert. Gun to my head, I might agree.

If someone were to invite you to a party, would you enjoy it?What would you do during?

Of course I would! And what else is there to do at parties but mingle and partake. Not many mortal-made substances can stagger me, despite my stature. I don't tend to metabolize things much. It's won me several contests, actually.

What scares you the most? And if it really happened... how would you deal with it?

I'm beyond that point, I'd say. All my life, my greatest fear was death. And then I died! I'd say I've been dealing with that admirably well thus far.

My second greatest fear was ships sinking, so you can imagine my mood when I found myself cancelling my visit home after the sinking of the Titanic.

Have you ever raised a weapon towards someone? Was it in self-defense, or was it purposefully? What happened afterwards?

On a hunting trip with my uncle, I put a round in his backside and told my father I thought he was a wild pig, the way he was speaking to us.

I didn't get to go on any more hunting trips.

Do you honestly believe that you are funny? Tell us your best joke!

I find my humor tends to run dry by modern standards.

To quote Beau, "drier than a Popeye's biscuit."

Not that I get the joke, but it was terribly funny to him.

Tell us about something that's happened recently.

Goodness. I've awoken from a coma to find the world around me about 98 years and a handful of wars different, and I still managed to catch someone's fancy as a floundering fish out of water. That's all of my recent news.

If you were to describe yourself in a few words, what would those words be?

I never did like these ice-breaker questions in university.

Do you have any pets? If so, what are their names? What are they like personality-wise? Can we see them?

I used to. There were hunting dogs of my father's, though the particular breeds escape me... and Gertie, our darling nanny. She tolerated a bonnet better than I ever did.

What is something you care desperately about? Something that you just couldn't live without?

I try not to throw myself into such exaggerations, but I really do think I would be lost without my books. There's so little to do in the daytime.

Have you ever broken a bone? Have you ever had surgery?

I've never broken a bone or had surgery, but I was quite a sickly thing for a time. My mother always called me her impossible one. It's funny, I think, that I was the child everyone expected to die before I could walk- now I may live forever if I can help it.

How often do you cry? Do you happy cry, or do you mostly cry in sadness?

Frankly, it's embarrassing how often my eyes mist over. It's one of the precious few things my body recalls how to do, and it does so often, with only slight provocations.

Have you ever lost someone close to you? Who was it? How did you cope with it?

My entire family is dead, and I am all but a hermit.

You're welcome to guess.

What is your favorite holiday? What makes it your favorite? Is there something in particular that you enjoy most about it?

I do miss Juliet's eggnog on Christmas...

But Halloween was always my favorite.

Do you have any crushes at the moment? If so, do you think you will ever tell them? Has anyone ever had a crush on you?

Crushes? Are we in primary school? No, I don't believe I fancy anyone at the moment. Nobody who would fancy me, anyway.

Are there any certain scents, sounds, or textures that you like? What about ones that you dislike?

Vanilla, rose, jasmine, silk, goose down blankets, and the sound of the tea kettle in the kitchen as heard from the parlor are some of my favorite sensory delights.

Would you ever consider starting a family? How do you feel about getting married, having kids, and potentially settling down?

I can't have children, and I can't see myself forcing someone into eternal life for my sake, nor am I a strong enough man to build a family and outlive them all again.

No.

... Not at the moment, anyway.

What are a few things (or one thing) you want to do before you die? Why?

...

Moving on.

Are you happy in your own skin? If you could change something about yourself, would you, and what would it be?

I would like to be able to age again. I think I've earned a few wrinkles.

Oh, thank goodness, that was the last of them. I've been writing so long I think my spine has a new natural curvature.

[hollybollybingbong]

Albus Dumbledore is the worst.

Albus Dumbledore was written to be a hero, and that's what makes him such a good villain. Almost everyone in the Wizarding World trusted him and thought he was so incredible and amazing, but in reality, he was playing a brilliant game of chess, using them all as his pawns.

How? Let's start from the beginning with Tom Riddle.

Dumbledore first met Tom when he was eleven, and even then, you could see the warning signs. Dumbledore did too. He saw that Tom was dangerous and unstable, and Dumbledore, being Dumbledore, wanted to give him a chance at Hogwarts.

But, Dumbledore, also, being Dumbledore, was the only one who saw who Tom really was, and only "kept an annoyingly close watch on him." He saw Tom Riddle, at the age of eleven saying "I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want," and did not think to do anything about it.

He said to Harry in Chamber of Secrets that, "help will be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it," yet, here we have Tom Riddle, who desperately needed help, and did not get it. Could Dumbledore have prevented Tom Riddle from becoming who he was? I'm not sure. Could he have helped him more while he was at Hogwarts? 100%

Next up, Sirius (and a bit of Remus)

One thing I never understood while reading the books was why Sirius had to spend twelve years in Azkaban when there were literally potions that forced you to tell the truth.

The truth is, unsurprisingly, Dumbledore wanted him there. By keeping Sirius in Azkaban, there was no way he could adopt Harry (who was legally his), and ruin Dumbledore's perfectly thought out plan of manipulating Harry. Dumbledore was a high-ranking member of the Wizengamot, if he managed to get Snape off, he surely could've gotten Sirius free too.

But unlike Snape, and Remus, and Hagrid, and Harry, Dumbledore couldn't use Sirius. Remus was a werewolf with no job prospects in the Wizarding World, and no Muggle qualifications either. He spent twelve years alone, as he watched his friends die or get sent to Azkaban. But then here comes Dumbledore, who gives him a job and a home when no one else would. And suddenly, Remus is loyal to Dumbledore.

Hagrid, a half-giant, was kicked out of Hogwarts in his third year for something he didn't do. But Dumbledore comes along and suddenly Hagrid has a home and job, and owes it to Dumbledore, ensuring his loyalty.

Even Snape, Dumbledore saved him from a lifetime in Azkaban prison, securing his loyalty too.

But Sirius, Sirius was different. He saw right through Dumbledore and his manipulation. He was a rebel and chose his path. A path that didn't involve Dumbledore, which is why he was stuck in Azkaban for twelve years, despite him being innocent. Because him being around would've messed up Dumbledore's plan to raise Harry to die, because there is no way in hell that Sirius would've allowed that to happen.

Finally, Harry Potter, himself.

Harry escaped death at the age of one and then was essentially kidnapped by Hagrid on Dumbledore's orders. While there's no proof, surely James and Lily would've written a will, especially considering they were living through a war with their son being the target for the greatest dark wizard of all time. I believe that Dumbledore pulled some strings (because remember, he was a member of the Wizengamot, and despite not holding the title of Minister for Magic, he was as good as, especially considering how incompetent they were), so he could be in charge of Harry's living arrangements and manipulate him further. Sirius Black was his legal guardian, being godfather and all, and yet Hagrid had "orders from Dumbledore," so he got stuck with the Dursleys.

Harry grew up in this abusive home where he was unwanted, neglected, and bullied, so when he eventually finds out about the Wizarding World, he sees it as a home, a safe haven, away from the Dursleys. He feels grateful to the Wizarding World for saving him from them. And when he has to go back at the beginning of summer, it's a reminder that it can all be taken away, so when Harry has to sacrifice himself to save the world he's come to love so much, of course, he does! Because why wouldn't he? It's his home.

Dumbledore could've left Harry with Remus, or the Weasley's, or the Longbottom's, or literally any other family, but the Dursley's made Harry easiest to manipulate.

And before anyone mentions Lily's blood wards, Dumbledore says in Order of the Phoenix: "You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, there he cannot hurt you."

There was no reason for Harry to grow up in an abusive household, isolated from the Wizarding World, but it made Harry an easier pawn to manipulate in Dumbledore's game.

Similarly, when Harry is in school, he rewards Harry's saviour complex through house points. In Philosopher's Stone, the trio very clearly go against McGonagall's orders and put themselves in dangerous situations to 'save the day.' But instead of facing any punishment, they are rewarded via the House Cup, and Dumbledore is buying Harry's loyalty.

It's always Harry being the one to put himself into dangerous situations, never Dumbledore. Chamber of Secrets, Harry and Ginny both nearly die, but oh, thanks to Dumbledore's phoenix the day is saved! But wait, wasn't Dumbledore there the first time the Chamber was opened? Was there nobody else in the entire Wizarding World who could fix this mess, without having to rely on a twelve-year-old???

Prisoner of Azkaban. Why were Harry and Hermione the ones to rescue Sirius? Why couldn't Dumbledore do it himself? Goblet of Fire. You're telling me the 'most powerful wizard in the world' couldn't break the magical contract? In all honesty, he probably could, but he said it himself, he wanted to see what would happen. He was using Harry as bait. McGonagall seems to be the only person who cares about this poor boy's life. And then we have Order of the Phoenix. Where Dumbledore isolates himself from Harry, gets Snape to teach him Occlumency instead of doing it himself, which leads to Sirius's death, which I believe was planned (to an extent).

And at the end of Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore comes 'clean,' saying that the reason he ghosted Harry for the entire year, was because 'he cared for him too much.' That he cared more about Harry's happiness than the safety of others, that he put Harry's life above the life of innocent people. He was telling Harry, who watched his godfather die in front of him, and blamed himself for it, that him being happy would lead to the deaths of others. Dumbledore's exact quote was, "What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy." And of course, Dumbledore said this, because he knows Harry has a tendency to sacrifice himself for others, and as a result, he'll choose to die when the time comes.

Dumbledore kept Harry's inevitable death from him for sixteen years, five while he was at Hogwarts. And guess what? By this point, Harry was wrapped so tightly around Dumbledore's little finger, and wouldn't say no even if he could.

Harry Potter was raised like a pig for slaughter, by a man he trusted. And this makes me so angry. Harry Potter was seventeen when he walked into the forest alone, more than willing to die. He was seventeen when he and his friends fought in a war against people twice their age. He was seventeen when he saw some of those friends for the last time, watched them die fighting a war that none of them had seen the start of.

He was fifteen when he watched his godfather die before him, and blamed himself for it. He was fourteen when he watched Cedric Diggory die at the hand of Voldemort. He was twelve when he had to fight a basilisk and Tom Riddle single-handedly while trying to save himself and eleven-year-old Ginny Weasley. He was eleven and having to find and protect the Philosopher's Stone, the first 'test' of many. He was a child battling an adult's war, with no choice in the matter.

Dumbledore manipulated them all, so he could get children to fight his battles for him.

[emofairyprincessofarkansas]

True Blood Season 2 vs. Living Dead in Dallas

TV SHOW

GODRIC MY BELOVED

The relationship between Eric and Godric never fails to give me the warm fuzzies!

Jessica and Hoyt are just too precious together and it breaks my heart because I know what comes later in the show.

Eric is such a dramatic bitch and I love him for it!

Still don't like Sam, but he didn't deserve what Daphne did to him.

Bill being an oblivious idiot. Like of course Eric wants Sookie! He's wanted her since she walked into his bar.

Bill/Lorena is fucked up! Someone stake that bitch.

BOOK

1. I don't like Godric/Godfrey in the book. He comes off as very self-righteous and the whole time he was speaking I was like "Oh my god. Please stop talking!"

2. Sookie watches Godric/Godfrey die, so they at least have that in common.

3. The outfit Eric wears to the orgy...and once again being a dramatic bitch. 😂

4. Luna, a shapeshifter, is mentioned. I'm pretty sure she pops up later in the TV show. The same with Holly.

5. Stan is a nerd instead of a cowboy.

6. The hotel is called "The Silent Shore". I think I prefer "Hotel Carmilla". At least that one is a reference to one of the most famous vampire stories.

7. Callisto/the Menaed attacks Sookie as a message to Eric? Like what even was the point of this? The whole Menaed thing is kind of glossed over in the end. Very anti-climactic.

8. Tara exists, but she's engaged to Eggs (who doesn't die to my knowledge).

9. PAM LIKES GEEKS/NERDS. EXCUSE ME? TV Pam would never.

10. Eric still tricks Sookie into drinking his blood. Sneaky bastard.

11. Eric showing up in Dallas just to keep an eye on Sookie and Bill

12. The Dallas vamps own a club

13. Sookie is the one who sees the Menaed and the pig, instead of Tara/Andy Bellefluer

14. Jason plays a little, to non-existent role in this book since he wasn't involved with the Fellowship of the Sun.

15. I will never understand why Eric loaned Sookie to the Dallas vamps in the first place. Like, why does he care that Godric/Godfrey is missing? He's not his Maker in the books.

Stand-out quote: "Angelic Sookie, Vision of Love and Beauty, I am prostrate that the wicked, evil, Menaed violated your smooth and voluptuous body in an attempt to deliver a message to me." - Eric

This one was a long one as you can see. Season 1 was much more accurate to the source material, while Season 2 was like "Fuck, that." If memory serves me correctly, it just gets worse from here. I'm interested to see how Season 3 and "Club Dead" shape up.

[darling-i-read-it]

Dolce

3x06

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k 

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, blood, drugs  

Author’s Note: I don’t want to leave Florence :( but i do be missing the dogs 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: Jack seriously doubts Will's loyalties as the two renew their alliance. Mason Verger plots Hannibal Lecter's capture, while Lecter plans for his final stand.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif) 

all gifs @/rocktheholygrail

Hannibal sat in the bathtub. His head leaned against the side of it. Bedelia sat beside him. She wrung a sponge over his broken, beaten and cut body. Hannibal's eyes landed on hers and his pain saw you, wishing that you were there. He had been waiting for you and Will to arrive, wishing that it was going to happen. He wanted it to be you cleaning his wounds. 

He needed it to be you cleaning his wounds.

His wish to have you come with him in the first place that was so strained he didn’t even realize the severity of it until just that moment. In pain, bleeding, sensing the end of something.

-

Jack Crawford looked at the dead body of Pazzi. It was being carted off by the police, the duck tape still pressed onto his face. Jack was tired. He had gotten a few scratches from his fight with Hannibal but none as severe as Hannibal’s. 

Will walked up to Jack. Jack saw him out of the corner of his eye and situated himself toward his former colleague. 

“He’s wounded and worried.” You emerged from the crowd behind Will and gave Jack a simple look. Both of you were scratched up. Dried blood covered Will’s forehead and there was a scratch on your cheek. You both clearly had been through something but Jack had not time to ask. 

“Hannibal doesn’t worry. Knowing he’s in danger won’t rattle him any more than killing does,” Will said. The three of you looked into the Atrocious Torture Exhbiit, the place where Hannnibal and Jack had fought it out. 

“If Rinaldo Pazzi decided to do his duty as an officer of the law, he could have detained Dr. Fell and determined very quickly that he was Hannibal Lecter. Would have taken thirty minutes to get a warrant,” Jack said solemnly. 

“All those resources were denied to Pazzi. Once he decided to sell Hannibal, he became a bounty hunter,” Will stated. You scoffed.

“Serves him right. Mason Verger is trying to capture Hannibal himself for purposes of personal revenge. I've often wanted to use my own resources to drop him in his pig's den,” you muttered. 

“Have you told la polizia they’re looking for Hannibal Lecter?” Will asked Jack.

“They’re motivated to find Dr. Fell inside the law. Knowing who he is..and what he’s worth, will just coax them out of bounds.” 

“It would be a free-for-all,” Will pointed out. 

“And Hannibal would slip away.” Jack paused. Both you and Will were facing opposite directions, looking at different artifacts. “Would you slip away with him?” 

You and Will shared a look. 

“Part of me will always want to,” Wil said. 

“You have to cut that part out,” Jack argued. 

“You aren’t FBI anymore Jack. You can’t tell either of us what to do,” you sneered. You believed that. Jack had no bearings over your feelings for Hannibal. You were annoyed he thought he had any. 

“So you’ll go with him to jail?” Jack asked. You faced him completely. 

“If I had come with him to Florence he wouldn’t be going to jail.”

“And that’s what you want?” Jack challenged. You stepped forward to him.

“I hate to see you win Jack.”

“You had him. He was beaten. Why didn’t you kill him?” Will asked, stepping in. Jack, eyes still on you, considered it.

“Maybe I need you to.” 

-

Hannibal looked out the window. He was wearing a cozy sweater, cuddling into it for the last glimpse of hope he may get before a cage. He sketched into his book. Memories of Florence. 

“I want to be able to draw these streets from memory. I want to be able to draw the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo,” Hannibal said whimsically. Bedelia approached him and took the book from his hand.

“You won’t be coming back here for a very long time,” she whispered.

“Memories of Florence will be all I have. Florence is where I became a man. I see my end in my beginning.” 

“All of our endings can be found in our beginnings. History repeats itself and we can’t escape it,” Bedelia stated, turning into the home. Hannibal glanced at the small suitcase. Hsi coat was draped over it. 

“You packed lightly,” he stated. 

“I packed for you.” She paused a moment and off his questioning look, moved forward. “This is where I leave you. Or more accurately, where you leave me.”

Hannibal nodded slowly. His eyes scanned from the suitcase to her eyes. In essence he was aware he was giving up his Florence hope of you and him. He was aware that he was saying goodbye to Bedelia and also your alternate self. 

In hopes to see you again, perhaps for real this time.

-

Bedelia put a needle carefully on her table. She saw the face of Chiyoh in the back of her mirror and turned around simply, confused at her presence. 

“You must be looking for Hannibal Lecter. One of his patients?” she questioned. 

“No, not a patient. Where is he?” Chiyoh asked. Her gun was in her hand delicately. It looked like it weighed a feather. 

“Gone. Seeing how you let yourself in, I hope it’s not too forward to ask, who the hell are you?”

“Family,” Chiyoh landed on. 

“Ah. You’ve come a long way from home,” Bedelia pointed out. 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m his psychiatrist.” Chiyoh glanced at the ampoule and needle. Bedelia shrugged.

“Medicinal purposes.” Chiyoh studied her further, her eyes narrowed. 

“You’re like his bird. I’m his bird, too. I met another one, on the train ride here. He puts us in cages to see what we’ll do.”

“Fly away or dash ourselves dead against the bars,” Bedelia suggested. 

“You haven’t flown away.” 

-

Hannibal Lecter looked between the Primavera and his sketchbook. He was drawing it for the thousandth time but this time, in place of the garlanded nymph was your face. In place of pale zephyrus was Will.

Over Hannibal’s shoulder, Will walked into the room. Slowly, the suit that he was wearing suddenly seeming so stuffy. Will’s eyes landed on Hannibal for the first time since Hannibal gutted him. Both men battered and bruised. 

He moved forward and gently laid a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal looked up at Will and smiled, pleased to see him. Will sat down beside Hannibal and for a moment they both absorbed the moment.

“Good to see you,” Will said.

“If I saw you everyday forever, Will, I would remember this time,” Hannibal said as he stared at the man that he loved. They stared at each other for a moment and Will’s smile seemed the brightest thing Hannibal had seen in so long.

“Strange to see you in front of me. Been staring at afterimages of you in places you haven’t been in years,” Will stated.

“To market, to market, to buy a fat pig. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig,” Hannibal said lightly.

“I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. She wondered if our stars were the same.”

She. 

You. “I believe some of our stars will always be the same. You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the hall of my beginnings.” 

“I wanted to understand you before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be clear what I was seeing,” Will explained. 

“Where does difference between the past and the future come from?” Hannibal questioned. 

“Mine? Before you and after you.” He paused. “Yours? It’s all starting to blur. Mischa. Abigail. Chiyoh.” 

“How is Chiyoh?” 

Between both boys shoulders, you emerged. You were wearing a gorgeous dress that you usually wouldn’t have pulled out. You bought it here in Florence. It reminded you of Hannibal. Plus your other clothes were bloodied. You looked just as battered and bruised as they did. 

You all pulled it off with a regal amount of elegance. 

“She pushed us off a train,” you said. Hannibal turned around to see you. The first time you had laid eyes on each other since you had kissed. It was interesting for Hannibal now. He had to double check that Will had heard you too. 

“Atta girl.”

“Ah, it hurt,” you said. You walked around the bench and sat between them. They allowed you enough room. You looked at Hannibal and smiled. He smiled back at you. 

“We have begun to blur,” Will said after a moment more of absorbing.

“Isn’t that how you found me?” Hannibal questioned.

“Even as the possibility of free will dissipates, my experience of it remains the same. I continue to feel and act as though I have it.”

You looked over at Will and then back at Hannibal. You placed your hands on your lap.

“Why did you let Bedelia live?” you asked. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I figured she had been long dead, gone through and out of your digestive system at this point. There should not have been an ounce of her left so imagine my surprise when I see her completely alive. Confused and lying, but alive.” Hannibal looked into your eyes and you understood.

“I think you know why.”

You held your gaze and then had to leave it in fear of getting emotional.

“Every crime of yours feels like one I am guilty of. Not just Abigail’s murder, but every murder streching backward and forward in time,” Will said after a moment. 

“Then what’s left to do? Freeing yourself from me and me freeing myself from you, they’re the same. No longer seeing you in people who aren’t you Y/N. You are part of his equation just as much as Will and I.” 

You smiled solemnly.

“We’re conjoined. Curious if any of us can survive separation,” you mused. 

“Now’s the hardest test: not letting rage and frustration, nor forgiveness, keep you from thinking.” Hannibal stood up and gestured for you to take his hand. “Shall we?” You took it and stood. Will’s hand was already interlaced between yours, something you did subconsciously when you sat down. 

You all stood.

“After you,” Will muttered. 

Together the three of you left the gallery. Worse for wear but something blossomed in your hearts, something that only the other two could bring out. You had walked only a few steps before Will was shot to the ground.

-

Hannibal held Will close to him, trying to get him into the chair. You stood beside him, helping him take his jacket off. Will winced and fell forward, his chin on your shoulder. 

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. Will’s shirt was soaked with blood. It was dripping down his arm from where the bullet wound entered. 

“The bullet is still inside you. This will hurt.” Hannibal took the jacket all the way off and Will watched as Hannibal cut off his shirt. The three of you hadn’t been this close since you were last covered in Will’s blood.

“Chiyoh’s always been very protective of me,” Hannibal said as he looked into the wound.

“Tell her to back the hell off,” you sneered.

“Did she kill her tenant or did you?”

“She did,” Will choked out.

“Excellent.” Hannibal took Will’s knife you didn’t know he had with him, back into his limp hand. “You dropped your forgiveness, Will.” You stared at the blade, bloodied. You caught Will’s eyes. He hadn’t told you he had brought a weapon. “You forgive how God forgives. Would you have done it quickly, or would you have stopped to gloat?” 

“Will?” you whispered.

“Does God gloat?” Will asked.

“Often,” Hannibal answered.

Hannibal moved a sharp needle into Will before you even noticed he had it. Will dropped the blade into Hannibal’s waiting hand. Will passed out. 

Your mouth hung open as your gaze held the knife. You still had your hand putting pressure into Will’s wound but it loosened. 

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, looking up at Hannibal.

“I know,” Hannibal responded. “You wouldn’t have done it anyway. I’m going to dress his wound and get the bullet out. Would you mind waiting in the kitchen? Dinner is almost ready.” 

You were so stunned that you stood up. You felt the pull of needing to be by Will but wondered what he would have done to Hannibal. Would you have gone with it? 

Chiyoh was right.

You were not the kind of girl who followed a man's lead.

You grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder and pulled him up.

“Why are you staying?” 

“Why didn’t you come with me?” 

You stared at each other. 

“I love Will.” 

“The Bloody Valentines.” You scoffed and took the knife from Hannibal’s hands. You threw it off to the side. 

“Will is drugged.” 

“Are you going to drug me Hannibal?” You stared at each other and he kissed you feverishly, the way he had wanted to since you kissed him last. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held onto him for dear life. You hadn’t touched him in so long. 

You pulled away after a moment. 

“I wanted to go,” you whispered. “I regretted now going.” You pulled away and stepped back. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Please fix Will.” 

-

Will’s eyes fluttered open. Hannibal walked into the dining room with a large bowl in his hands. Will had a dish set out in front of him.

“I do not indulge much in regret, but I am sorry to be leaving Italy. There were things in the Palazzo Capponi I would have liked to read,” Hannibal admitted. In from the kitchen came you, holding a different dish. You placed it on the table.

A last dodge attempt at normalcy. 

“I would have liked to play the clavier and perhaps compose. I might have cooked for the Widow Pazzi, when she overcame her grief. I would have liked to show you both Florence.” 

You sat down beside Will and spoon fed him some soup. He looked over at you, confused, doped up.

“The soup isn’t very good,” he slurred.

“It’s a parsley-and-thyme infusion, and more for my sake than yours. Have another sip, let it circulate,” Hannibal explained. Will took another spoon from you. Will and you finally noticed the final place setting at the end of the table. 

“Are we expecting company?” 

-

Hannibal grabbed your arm tightly and stood you up. 

“It will be Jack,” he told you.

You glanced at Will, out of his mind and slowly losing sight. Hannibal was giving you the invitation you had wanted since Jack stepped into Will’s classroom to talk about Garret Jacob Hobbs. 

-

Jack opened the door to Pazzi’s home. He had his gun held up high as he looked around every corner before he stepped forward. Eventually, Will at the end of the table came into view.

He walked forward and up to Will who blinked, focused on Jack and took a deep breath.

“Hannibal’s under the table, Jack,” Will muttered. Before Jack could react you had grabbed him from behind and a blade slashed Jack’s achilles heel. 

Jack dropped hard.

Hannibal turned to you and his gaze softened. 

“You will not join me in prison,” he whispered. Your eyebrows furrowed. He grabbed your arm and shoved a needle into your side. You let out a small, betrayed sigh and passed out.

-

Jack came to and found himself seated opposite Will. 

“I’ve taken the liberty of giving you something to help you relax. Won’t be able to do much more than chew, but that’s all you’ll need to do. I didn’t have an opportunity to ask you during our last encounter, but did you enjoy the exhibition? A different kind of evil minds museum,” Hannibal said to Jack.

“Not so different,” Jack retored. He noticed you were gone from the room. 

“The promoters are failed taxidermists who formerly got along by eating offal from the trophies they mounted things that bring people together.”

“We were supposed to sit down together back in Baltimore...the three of us. And Y/N.” 

“You were to be the guest of honor,” Hannibal said, ignoring the mention of your name. Hannibal poured himself a glass of wine and took a leisurely sip.

“Where…” Will started but he didn’t finish. 

“Jack was the first to suggest getting inside your head,” Hannibal said. “Now be both have the opportunity to chew quite literally what we’ve only chewed figuratively.” 

Hannibal held a bone saw in his hands. Jack suddenly realized what was going on. For a moment, all Jack could think about was what you would say if you were in the room. 

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” 

Blood trickled down Will’s head despite his protests.

3x07

[kestrel-of-herran]

I posted 1,664 times in 2021

350 posts created (21%)

1314 posts reblogged (79%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.8 posts.

I added 2,529 tags in 2021

#vincenzo - 1293 posts

#tvn vincenzo - 303 posts

#hong cha young - 222 posts

#vincenzo cassano - 218 posts

#chayenzo - 182 posts

#vincenzo x cha young - 165 posts

#(g)i-dle - 41 posts

#hotel del luna - 39 posts

#flower of evil - 35 posts

#art - 31 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#i am only 10% mad bc i wanted established chayenzo for five minutes but it's okay i'll just go through the five stages of grief about it

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

sometimes a date is going to the movies sometimes it's booking you & your mafia-wannabe girlfriend VIP seats to your enemy's public humiliation and getting him drenched in pig blood just because she told you she'd like to see it. then you both throw popcorn and pop bubblegum right at his furious face

580 notes • Posted 2021-04-03 15:29:45 GMT

#4

let’s talk about the scene when vincenzo kills the first guy who was helping him and cha young.

let’s talk about vincenzo making the decision to withhold the information about the bomb from cha young and to be the one to detonate it so she wouldn’t have to carry the blame for murder if she changes her mind about getting her hands bloody alongside him after she sees what a traumatic experience this is. let’s talk about how he doesn’t once pressure her to join his brutal world.

let’s talk about cha young’s initial reaction to the murder: guttural, human, because despite everything she’s done, she’s still not as used to this as vincenzo, she’s still new enough to it that she hasn’t managed to build the emotional wall which would block her from the guilt and nausea a person naturally feels at the knowledge that they’ve taken someone’s life.

let’s talk about vincenzo giving her the space to have this reaction, expecting and even subtly encouraging her to change her mind, to walk off this dark path that he’s walking so she doesn’t become as inhumane as him. let’s talk about him doing his best to become invisible so he wouldn’t have the slightest influence on her decision, hiding any expression of judgement or understanding from his face.

let’s talk about cha young’s critical thinking process after she overcomes the reaction of her body: informed by experience, logic, the pain she felt after the worst loss of her life. let’s talk about how she takes a deep breath, takes stock of each detail, and decides what kind of person she is.

let’s talk about vincenzo loosening his tie as he struggles to not express his relief, still trying his hardest not to show any reaction to her choice so as not to sway her.

let’s talk about vincenzo giving cha young her last opportunity to walk away from his kind of existence while trying his best to not let her figure out what he’s doing, and cha young making the choice to go all the way for herself.

770 notes • Posted 2021-04-24 16:01:37 GMT

#3

cha young telling vincenzo that “friends are one soul in two bodies” in italian??? the fucking intimacy of hearing your lover speak in your language??? the mindblowing character development of vincenzo, who once insulted cha young in italian, realizing that she learned this phrase to specifically tell it to him at some point??? the fucking implications of that quote which is not only romantic as hell but also describes their relationship perfectly??? the way he was looking at her as she spoke??? the handshake to put cloy to shame??? i’m on the FLOOR

881 notes • Posted 2021-04-25 15:36:37 GMT

#2

no the whole kidnapping plot was chef’s kiss. cha young telling han seok to kill her rather than try to use her to hurt vincenzo? chef’s kiss. cha young destroying han seok every second she gets? chef’s kiss. vincenzo trying to rush to cha young’s side multiple times? chef’s kiss. vincenzo getting down on his knees to beg for cha young’s life? chef’s kiss. han seo attacking han seok??? FUCKING CHEF’S KISS!!! vincenzo using the brothers’ fight as a distraction to get cha young out? chef’s kiss. cha young taking the bullet meant for vincenzo like i knew she would??? ABSOLUTE CHERRY ON TOP AND VINCENZO’S FACE GOD WHAT A TIME TO BE A CHAYENZO CLOWN

945 notes • Posted 2021-05-01 15:45:11 GMT

#1

i’m actually glad that vincenzo and cha young were shown to excel in their separate spheres at the end of the series instead of be toned down for the sake of a sweet domestic ending. vincenzo is still a ruthless villain heading a mafia branch and cleaning out scumbags like cha young inspired him to. cha young is still a tenacious lawyer defending the weak and winning cases with dirty methods like vincenzo inspired her to. they’re not your typical sappy kdrama couple and they won’t have a conventional relationship, but what they have is real and strong and durable as steel.

1253 notes • Posted 2021-05-02 16:06:34 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[ms-hells-bells]

Quote from a woman who was given lupron as a 14 year old girl from this book

So, at fourteen years old I entered menopause. I took two injections, a one-month dose, and a three-month dose, and it was by far the worst experience ever.

Over those four months, the Lupron produced hot flashes, joint pain, an irregular heartbeat, full body rashes, high blood pressure, constant vomiting, and migraine headaches. I also gained 40 pounds over the four months. And the worst part, at least to a fourteen year old girl in high school: I lost a lot of hair. When I would wash it in the shower, it would come out in clumps. I hadn’t had depression when the gynecologist diagnosed me with it at thirteen, but now I did. I felt like a guinea pig, like every doctor was experimenting on me. 

I returned to the pediatric gynecologist and begged her to take me off Lupron. Her repsonse was stunning.

“If you’re not going to follow my gold-star standard of treating your endometriosis, I will dismiss you from my practice!”

We never went back to see her again.

This is what happens to kids on lupron and this is how medical professionals dare to treat them when they admit they have terrible side effects.