#I IMMORTALLY Live As Above Earth & So Below Earth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ahqkas · 9 days ago

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“WHEN YOU’RE LOST IN THE DARKNESS, LOOK FOR THE LIGHT — dick grayson.

PAIRING dick grayson 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS he was completely frustrating. him with his cheeky grins and perfect teeth. maybe that’s why it didn’t anger you when he took an interest in you WORD COUNT 5.6k WARNINGS / TAGS artist!reader, cursing, mention of reader’s hair, unedited NOTES yes the title is inspired by tlou & yes i compared dick to a blue jay. i decided to mix 2 different reqs ( req 1 & req 2 ) because they worked well together for me soo i hope it’s okay! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

IN ART, WHAT WE WANT IS THE CERTAINTY THAT ONE SPARK OF ORIGINAL GENIUS SHALL NOT BE EXTINGUISHED.

Said Mary Cassatt, and her words had echoed in your mind for as long as you could remember. There was something comforting in the idea that creativity—pure, untouched, and entirely your own—could endure even such cruel punishment as darkness. Darkness was a language you understood well, especially living in Gotham, where shadows devoured the city inch by inch until there was nothing but colorless void. The darkness wrapped itself around you, slowly seeping in to claim your soul as well, like the chill of a cold winter night creeping into your bones.

But even in a city this unfair, you believed there was still some beacon of light. Hidden, of course, but not extinct.

And so, you painted. You drew. You created. Every stroke of your brush and pencil felt infinite. Art was the closest thing you felt to immortality, and you clung to that belief like a child did to innocence.

Your small apartment was more than just a simple place where you lived. Every inch of the space bore a trace of you and of your determination to carve something special into the world. The walls, once peeling and beige, were now alive with color. A breath of life you granted the old home. It wasn’t much, your apartment, but it was yours.

The darkness couldn’t quite reach you there, and the light found you within your search for it.

It was late past midnight when you met him. The hour of the night was silent despite the fact you were living on one of the most dangerous streets of Gotham. Silent, but far from safe. The full moon hung high in the sky, its pale light struggling to pierce through the dark clouds that blanketed the whole night. Every so often, the moonlight would break free and shimmered a silver beam that barely softened the shadows.

You sat curled up on your old, beaten couch in your living room, aching legs tucked beneath you. The thrifted mustard-yellow couch sat beneath a gallery wall you’d arranged with so much focus you were unmistakably proud of the piece. The light from the fairy lights strung above the paintings softened the sharp edges of your apartment.

The pencil between your fingers moved along the paper with practiced movements of an artist as you clutched the sketchbook close to you with your free hand. You brought the drawing of a blue jay to life. Its small, delicate body was perched on the middle of the page, its head tilted slightly to the side as if caught mid-movement. The blue jay’s wings began to take a lively form beneath your hands.

You loved sketching birds—the way they had an open opinion of freedom in their feathers, how they could fly away from the weight of everything below on earth.

The quiet was broken by a dull thump.

Your pencil stilled, the sharp tip pressing into the delicate beak of the blue jay as you tilted your head towards the sound. It came again, heavier this time, right outside on the fire escape under your living room window. Living in Gotham meant you knew better than to ignore suspicious and strange sounds, especially at this hour.

Setting the sketchbook down on the coffee table, you slid off the couch with a pounding heart and bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. The window was already cracked open, letting in a cold breeze of night air. It prickled at your skin and sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine.

You moved with an intention to investigate, your hand gripping the window frame when you leaned forward slightly to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Before you could fully stick your head through the opening, something shifted — a flash of movement so sudden that you instinctively took a step back to avoid bumping your head. Then, just as quickly, a figure shot up from the darkness surrounding your fire escape and you watched as his top half leaned against the window frame with effortless grace.

Anyone could recognize the symbol gracing his chest.

Nightwing was on your fire escape, practically with one of his halves in your apartment.

You blinked at him, startled at the unexpected visit from Gotham's (wait, wasn’t he supposed to be in Blüdhaven?) acrobatic vigilante. He stared back without shame. His face was partially illuminated by the soft glow of your fairy lights and his forehead, plus the top of his eyes, were hidden beneath the dark strands of his hair. Damp with sweat and light spray of rain. The black domino mask was doing little to hide the attractiveness of his handsome face, although it did not tell you his identity. Or the color of his eyes. The white lenses didn’t show any signs of life, it would be almost unsettling if it wasn’t for the other features of his face.

His jaw was sharp, the bone ready to cut through glass, and his lips held a shadowy grin in them. His chest heaved as if he’d just ran a marathon, or in his case, as if he’d just been in a chase. And his suit—a sleek, midnight black with that striking blue emblem—was marred by faint fabric tears and streaks of grime.

When he spoke up after a minute of analyzing you, his voice was breathless but warm, like he hadn’t just scared the life out of you by his entrance. “Hey. Sorry about the dramatics. Mind if I, uh, come in?” He glanced over his shoulder briefly, as though checking to see if someone had followed him.

You swallowed the lump that formed in the back of your throat, fingers still gripping onto the windowsill. You were pretty sure the surprise and disbelief etched into your face could be completely seen. “What? You’re joking, right?” those small words stumbled past your lips in a sharper tone than you intended. “You can’t just—“ gesturing vaguely to the fire escape he was standing on, you trailed off for him to finish the sentence himself.

But instead of an answer, Nightwing simply offered a grin, all perfect teeth. It was the kind that felt like it was meant to disarm you and melt you into a puddle at his feet. A swooning, pretty puddle.

“Technically, I can. But I’d prefer not to freeze out here while we debate it.”

Your reply to his cheeky comment died in your throat the moment you heard it—an angry bellow from somewhere below, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots thumping against the wet pavement. The voices were low and animalistic, only growing louder by seconds. Whoever they were, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were looking for.

Shooting him a pointed look with one of your eyebrows raised, you realized it was useless as he was already halfway through the window, ducking inside easily. He didn’t so much as flinch when his heavy boots hit the floor with a faint thud. You could only watch the trail of dirt and grime he was leaving behind himself. The sounds from outside faded into muffled whispers when he closed the window, and effectively scanned the room with a quick glance.

“You really have a way of making an entrance,” you mumbled under your breath as you gave him space and moved back towards the sofa. The sarcasm wasn’t meant to reach his ears but with the way one corner of his lips tugged up, you knew he heard every single word. Did this guy have super hearing?

The faintest glint of amusement danced on his features, despite the lack of emotion in his hidden eyes. You could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips quirked up. “It’s part of the job description,” he replied to your remark casually, as if crashing into strangers’ apartments was just another Tuesday for him.

With a sigh, you shook your head and leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching him move around the living room. He didn’t sit, didn’t relax, didn’t even pause long enough to breathe out the weight of his situation. Instead, his gaze grazed over everything in clear sight — your paintings on the wall, the cluttered coffee table and its content, the pencils scattered across your notepad.

He was strange.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking,” his response came quickly, he was probably distracted by the hand brushing against the edge of the window frame as he double-checked the latch.

You watched him carefully and tried to not let his presence throw you off. There was something unbelievable about seeing him there, in the heart of your apartment of all places, where every inch of the space was yours. Technically, he was in your territory now.

“Don’t worry,” Nightwing added with humor etching his voice when you didn’t say anything. “I’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Take your time,” the dripping sarcasm got out the exact same reaction from him just like before, and you watched as he smirked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a way that told you he was far too used to getting under people’s skin. Cheeky bastard.

This inspection of his lasted for a few more minutes before his pacing slowed down and his masked eyes landed on your beaten couch. The faint amusement in his features shifted, softening into something more thoughtful as he approached you. You stiffened when he got close enough. The light scent of cologne hit your nose from the proximity.

Gloved hand reached for your notepad, and you watched him again when he started tracing the soft pencil lines of your sketches. You seemed to watch him a lot tonight, but you didn’t dare to interrupt him. He was still a stranger and you lived alone. The vigilante could take you down without breaking a sweat, no comment.

The blue jays stared back at him from the page with their wings outstretched mid-flight, the faint smudge of pencil giving them a sense of movement, like they could lift off the paper and fly toward their freedom at any moment.

“You drew these?” the question slipped before he could think of it and the raw quietness of his tone surprised you.

You hesitated before you gave him the answer. “Yeah, I did. What, are you secretly an art critic, too?”

His lips twitched, but his eyes stayed on the sketches. “Blue jays,” the murmur was more to himself than to you. “They’re nice.”

“Nice?” you echoed back at him, a small smile ghosting your lips upon hearing his praise. “That’s your verdict? Nice?”

This time, his wide grin returned as he glanced at you from your artwork. You decided on the spot that you liked this look on him. He could be all sharp edges and rough words, but the genuine smiles and clever remarks were a part of him, too. “Hey, I don’t know the first thing about art. But they’re good. Really good. Why blue jays though?”

You shrugged your shoulders, crossing your arms around yourself tightly. His clear interest in your work made you feel strangely exposed. “They’re . . . free. They can leave whenever they want, fly away from everything. I guess I like the idea of that.”

Nightwing was quiet for a moment, his masked gaze flicking back to the page like he was seeing something more between the colors and lines you’d drawn. He really was strange. “Makes sense,” he said finally. “They’re tough, too. Survivors.”

For a man who’d just come crashing through your window, being chased by a bunch of angry goons, he suddenly seemed relaxed. The birds meant more to him than he was letting on.

“Guess that explains why you like them.”

“What, you think I’m a blue jay now?”

A smirk made its way to your lips, and you felt a slight hint of satisfaction brewing inside you. You finally got him. “You said it yourself. Tough. Survivors. Seems fitting.”

It was a strange image, seeing someone who carried so much weight on his shoulders standing here, in your little apartment, admiring a simple sketch of a bird. Most people assumed he was a machine under the suit, someone who did their job because it had to be done. But you saw the life in his smile and heard the feelings in his voice. Red flooded his system like any other human being possessed. A beating heart and marred skin. He was human, even under all that armor.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, effectively breaking the silence that followed your cheeky remark. “I’m glad my art could distract you from the mad mob outside.”

That earned you a genuine laugh, low and rich. You noted he had a nice laugh. Everything about him was nice, though. Maybe it was because it was the first time seeing him from up close or maybe it was simply that he got your attention.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The next few days were rather busy. You had more work on your shoulders and your family kept pressing about your upcoming visit (spoiler alert; you didn’t really plan on visiting them). Your family members lived far from Gotham, which you were particularly glad for. One boring and busy day went after the other, and so did you with your life. You weren’t going to admit it, but you missed the sudden excitement the cocky vigilante brought with him. It was something new, something that wasn’t boring.

The wind carried a chill that nipped at the exposed skin of your face, numbing your cheeks in the process. The streets of Gotham were alive despite the coldness the new day brought with itself—the city never really stopped, even when it probably should have. Your tea sat untouched beside your half-eaten croissant, warm steam curling lazily above the porcelain cup, while your hand moved steadily across the pages of your sketchbook.

You were drawing another blue jay. This one was perched on a thin branch, its head cocked slightly with ruffled feathers as if caught in the same breeze that howled right now. The pencil lines of your drawing were sharper this time, more confident, though you weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was because you couldn’t stop thinking about them—the blue jays.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, your thoughts fixating on a subject, but this time it felt different. Ever since that night, when Nightwing had stood in the heart of your living room and held your sketch like it was something worth admiring, you’d been thinking about them more and more often. Birds had always represented freedom to you. A fleeting kind of beauty, one that wouldn’t last long. But now they carried something else. Something more.

You found yourself replaying his words in your mind while you shaded the curve of the blue jay’s wing, your pencil working instinctively as the low conversations and local sounds of the café faded into a hushed whisper. The bird began to take shape, its tiny body beaming with life.

The next thing you knew, the chair you were sitting on rocked slightly and your bag was violently jerked from the edge of the table.

It took you a second to process what had happened. One second, your purse was there, sitting by your side, and the next, it was gone. Snatched by a blur of unidentified movement. Your heart skipped an uncomfortable beat as you whipped your head towards the stranger, catching sight of the thief bolting through the crowded street.

Panic started to settle in. Your bag. Gone. It was gone. Everything was in there—your money, your keys, your ID. The grip of your fingers on the pencil in your grasp tightened while adrenaline surged through your veins. Without having any second thoughts, you shot to your feet. The chair scraped loudly against the floor and you bolted after him.

“Hey! Stop!”

The thief was already halfway down the block when you finally pushed past the crowd with alarming speed. Your boots moved without any more thinking. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was quick on his feet, his figure darting between pedestrians who shouted in surprise and yelped in confusion when he pushed into them to clear his path. Your lungs burned as you tried to push against your limits and keep up with him. The strap of your bag was swinging wildly in his grip.

“Stop!” you shouted again, although you doubted he would listen. He wouldn’t. People around turned to look at the chaos, but no one made a move to help. It was Gotham, after all — everyone looked after their own self.

The thief rounded a corner, successfully disappearing into an alley, and you felt a pinch of dread forming in your stomach. You didn’t know this part of the city well, and the narrow alleyway clothed in shadows sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine. Hesitation brewed in you for a moment before you made up your mind. Fuck it. You didn’t care that chasing him was reckless. You didn’t care that you had no plan for what you’d do if you actually managed to catch up to him. All you knew was that he had your bag—your life—and you weren’t about to let him get away with it.

Whoosh!

You barely registered the sound at first. Your focus was entirely on your thief, the dark shade of his jacket disappearing deeper and deeper, just beyond your reach. The puffs of air left your lips in a sharp shape and the cold air didn’t help much. But you didn’t stop running. You couldn’t stop.

Then, out of nowhere, a dark blur descended from above, landing right in your path.

“Whoa, hold it!”

The familiar drawl of his voice ringed in your ears before you saw him. You skidded to a halt, nearly losing your balance as his figure stepped into the sight. His arms were outstretched to block your way, and you felt a sudden burst of frustration upon his appearance. After all, you still had a bad guy to catch.

“Move,” moving to the side, you tried to sidestep him and start your chase again. Key word—tried. He shifted smoothly, following your movements like a mirror.

“Not happening,” he interrupted you firmly. “You can’t go running after some guy who might be armed. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“I don’t care. He has my purse—my money, my keys, everything! I have to—“

“You have to stay here,” Nightwing cut you off again, and you pushed the urge to strangle him away. His presence was infuriating, even though you could see every muscle in his jawline tightening and tensing. He was holding back, that much was evident.

“I don’t need your help.”

His hands shot out the moment you tried to brush past him again, gloves catching your biceps in a firm hold. It wasn’t painful, nor would leave any marks in the form of bruising, but he held you in a grounding manner. Almost as if he wanted to calm you down.

“Yes, you do,” the glint of seriousness in his gaze made you halt in your argument. He meant every single word. “Look, I get it. You’re pissed, you’re scared, and you feel like you have to do something. But this guy could have a knife, or worse, and you’re completely unarmed. He’s probably long gone by now, too. I’ll track him down and get your stuff. That’s a promise, Blue.”

You swallowed hard as the fire that fueled your intentions died a little bit. He was right, even though you didn’t want to admit it.

“Fine, but you better catch him.”

A small, reassuring nod and a gentle squeeze was all you received from the masked vigilante before he released you and took off after the thief. A moment later, you realized he gave you a nickname.

Blue.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The thick steam from your earlier shower still lingered in the bathroom, curling faintly in the air and clinging along the tiles and the edges of the mirror as you massaged moisturizer into your skin like you did every night. It was a routine by now. One you were excited to participate in. Your favorite playlist hummed softly from the phone propped up on the counter near the sink, the melody blending with the occasional rustle of the city outside your window.

Gotham was quiet tonight. No sirens. No shouts. Just silence.

You signed and leaned against the counter as you let the coolness of the white cream soothe your skin. The events of this day were rather . . . unpleasant. Your purse was gone, and the thought of all the things you’d lost still made your chest ache. Your keys, your ID, even your favorite pen you always kept in the front pocket—all gone, snatched in a moment. But at least you were safe. Nightwing had made sure you didn’t dive head first into what could have been a disaster.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, either. The way he’d swooped in like some kind of a movie hero. For a man who lived his life surrounded by constant danger, he’d had this unmistakably calmness about him, like no problem was big enough to not handle.

Reaching for a soft towel, you patted your face dry with it when you finished the last step of your nighttime routine. A moment of realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your sketchbook.

Your heart sank deeply in your chest, and you froze, gripping the towel tightly. You’d left it at the café. It must’ve been sitting there on the table, untouched, while you chased after that thief like a reckless idiot. You would be lucky if you found it where you’d left it lying as there was a possibility of a tired barista throwing it away.

That notepad wasn’t just another notebook to you. It held weeks, months, of drawings—ideas, experiments, half-finished sketches that no one but you had seen. And the blue jays he praised . . .

The day’s exhaustion weighed heavily on your tense shoulders as you finally made your way to your bedroom. You switched off the light in the hallway, plunging your apartment into darkness save for the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the cracks in the blinds.

A dark shadow caught your eyes the second you stepped into the room and your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. There, casually perched on your windowsill was Nightwing, dressed in shadows.

His grin was the first thing you recognized on him, the wide stretch of his lips almost haunting in the darkness. His teeth appeared almost sharp, like canines of a predator. But he wasn’t here to hunt tonight. One gloved hand held your bag, dangling it from his fingers as if presenting you a beloved prize.

“Miss me, Blue?”

“Are you insane?” hissing, your palm resting against your beating heart. “You can’t just show up like that!”

A delighted laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he stepped inside like he didn’t invade your personal space and almost gave you a heart attack. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He tossed your stolen (now found) bag on your bed with a flick of his wrist. It took you a moment to process what you were seeing but when you did, your panic gave away to stunned disbelief. “You got it back?”

“Of course. I promised you.”

The smug look on his face softened after those words left his throat. You crossed the room in quick steps, rushing to get your hand on your belongings. Once it was in your hold, you rummaged through the inside. Everything was still there—your keys, your wallet, even the blue pen you favored so much. Relief flooded your system and you finally felt your shoulders relaxing. It was all returned.

You glanced at him from the bag, suddenly feeling somehow embarrassed. “I—I don’t even know what to say.”

“How about ‘thank you, Nightwing, for saving the day’? That would do,” the arch of his eyebrows told you he was enjoying this, if only a little. Smug bastard.

Rolling your eyes, you felt your lips tugging into a smile anyway. “Thank you for getting me my bag back. Happy?”

“It’s exactly what I wanted but yeah, very.”

A minute of silence stretched between you, one that wasn’t entirely comfortable but during that time, you studied him. He was leaning against the edge of your bed, just shy away from your side.

“You’ve been drawing them a lot, huh?”

“What?”

“The blue jays,” Nightwing gestured towards your desk with his free hand, the other behind his back. He looked strange, amusing even, but you didn’t dare to point it out. You followed his movements, eyes sliding toward your desk full of stray papers. He was right, the wooden space was filled with your recent works, and among them were multiple pieces of those blue birds. “You were working on them that night. At the café, too.”

Your lips parted slightly to voice your confusion, but the words didn’t come. He had noticed? And kept track of it? You didn’t know if you should feel creeped out or honored.

You didn’t get to react much before he perked up. “Oh, almost forgot,” pulling the occupied hand from behind his back, you noticed he held a small book in it.

Not just any book, though. Your sketchbook.

“You went back for it?” the disbelief dripped from the tone of your voice as you reached for the notepad. Your fingertips brushed against his gloves when you did so, and a spark of light crossed through you at the faint touch.

“Figured you’d want it back,” he tried to act nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders without a care in the world, but even if you knew him for such a short period of time, you could tell he was just acting. The subtle tone of his voice betrayed him, along with the rosy dust painting his cheeks. Your thumb traced the broken spine of the notepad. The thought of him chasing down your thief, retrieving your stolen stuff, and then returning for your more personal thing left you speechless. He didn’t have to, but he did—again.

He was so close to you now that the faint scent of rain and city clung to him, mixing with his natural fragrance. You could inhale it all while you saw everything, too—the sharp line of the bone in his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows like he was constantly deep in his mind, and even the way the moonlight caught on the pink dusting the top of his ears.

His pose shifted lightly, in a way that made the space between the two of you feel almost nonexistent. Your instinct told you to move, but your feet didn’t move.

“You’re . . . really something, you know that?”

Your heart beat against the bones protecting your ribs so loud you swore he could hear it. The white lenses of his black mask flickered all over your face, almost like he wanted to memorize every delicate detail, like he wanted to count every lash on your eye individually.

“You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but I think I’m starting to.”

No response made its way past your lips. It died at the base of your throat, and no one could rip it out of you.

His hand reached out in your peripheral vision, slowly, like he was giving you an option to stop him whenever you felt like. There was no force between you, just purity of the actions. When you didn’t stop him, he moved bolder and louder, long fingers tracing the curve of your cheek before brushing against the damp strands of your hair. He pushed it back behind your ear, his touch lingering even there.

You could feel his breath mingling with yours, becoming one.

And then, just as you felt the unmistakable pull towards him, Nightwing pulled away. He took a step back like he remembered who he was.

“Take care of that,” he nodded towards your hold that clutched your sketchbook.

You opened your to say something, anything because what the fuck was he doing when he jumped out of the bedroom window, leaving behind the what ifs if he stayed with you.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The rooftop had become your favorite spot to disappear from your responsibilities. The view was magnificent with how the city stretched out in every direction and you could see everything. The chaos was muted up here, replaced by singing of the birds and occasional flutter of wings. This place was comforting.

You sat cross-legged on the concrete with your sketchbook propped in your lap, pencil in hand and mind open to new ideas. But the paper brewed alive with yet another drawing of a blue jay. Something about them had rooted itself in your head.

Pausing in your work to glance up at the sky, you were greeted by the most remarkable sight. Caught by the horizon where the sun dipped lower, brushing its streaks across the rooftop in a golden orange. The light breeze tugged at your hair, and you reached up to tuck it behind your ear. You managed to smudge a piece of graphite along your cheek upon the gesture. Your sketch was coming along slowly today; your mind kept wandering off and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

Which you were correct about.

“Nice view,” a familiar voice drawled.

You flinched upon the sound, nearly dropping the tools on your knees as you whipped your head toward the source. There he was, perched on the edge of the rooftop, the sunset behind him painting him like some sort of an angel. Nightwing.

“Seriously? Do you ever not sneak up on people?”

The cheeky smirk made its usual appearance on his lips when he hopped down from his spot, taking slow steps towards you. It was impossible to stay annoyed at him, with that face and easy charisma. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With a roll of your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile a little. “What are you even doing here?”

“Patrolling,” he replied casually to your question, just like he did the night he came to return your bag. Trying to act all nonchalant, but deep down he cares. You know that. He’s acting again. You could tell by the experience and by the tone of his voice. It suggested otherwise from his answer. His masked eyes shifted to your knees, noting the open book. “Another blue jay?”

“I’m trying to capture the way they look when flying. It’s harder than it seems.”

You watched him while he watched your drawings. The vigilante crouched down beside you, his knee bumping against yours softly, almost as in unsaid greeting. He was saying hello while you responded hi back. “You’re getting better.”

Silence draped over the two of you after that sentence left his throat, this one much more comfortable than the one you experienced the week before in your apartment. His elbows were resting on his knees, which bumped into yours from time to time in a silent gesture. Your eyes found the white lenses behind the domino mask.

“You’re not gonna disappear this time, are you?”

“No.”

Your sketchbook lay forgotten in your lap as you gazed into the void of his eyes. You couldn’t read the emotion in them but you somehow could tell every single feeling brewing inside him. It was written across his face, open like a book.

“You’re staring,” you whispered.

“So are you,” his reply was quick, like he knew exactly what to say the moment you spoke up.

A faintest tug at your lips brought the corners up in a smile, but it faltered the moment he leaned in, taking up your personal space inch by inch. He was moving slowly, giving you the opportunity to pull away, to reject him and his touch if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

His palm hovered near the curve of your cheekbone close enough to feel the warmth seeping through the glove. He cocked his head slightly to the side, as if silently asking you a question he was too caught up in to say aloud.

“You’ve got graphite on your cheek.”

“Do I?”

He brushed his thumb across the smudge, wiping it away. He didn’t pull away once your skin was clean.

You noticed the way his eyes briefly dropped to your lips before flicking back to meet yours, searching for an answer he so desperately wanted to hear.

If you didn’t want this, he’d pull back. You knew he would.

But you didn’t want him to.

Leaning in, you closed the little distance between you, and that was all the answer he needed. His lips met yours firmly, pressing against yours like a puzzle, like they belonged there. Your hands gripped at him, fingers moving to the base of his neck to grab a handful of his black hair and pulling slightly to deliver a message.

Although the darkness around you enveloped you, clothing the day in dark, you felt a spark of light every time his lips pressed against yours more urgently, licking and biting his way inside to get a taste of you. You felt it when his gloved hands tangled in your hair, tugging you impossibly close to make you his.

His forehead came to rest against yours when you eventually had to pull away for a fresh breath of air, both his and your breaths uneven.

“Tell me I’m not gonna regret this.”

“You won’t.” That was a promise.

Because when you’re lost in the darkness, you should look for the light.

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talonabraxas · 5 months ago

Text

Hermes Trismegistus

If then you do not make yourself equal to God, you cannot apprehend God; for like is known by like.

Leap clear of all that is corporeal, and make yourself grown to a like expanse with that greatness which is beyond all measure; rise above all time and become eternal; then you will apprehend God. Think that for you too nothing is impossible; deem that you too are immortal, and that you are able to grasp all things in your thought, to know every craft and science; find your home in the haunts of every living creature; make yourself higher than all heights and lower than all depths; bring together in yourself all opposites of quality, heat and cold, dryness and fluidity; think that you are everywhere at once, on land, at sea, in heaven; think that you are not yet begotten, that you are in the womb, that you are young, that you are old, that you have died, that you are in the world beyond the grave; grasp in your thought all of this at once, all times and places, all substances and qualities and magnitudes together; then you can apprehend God.

But if you shut up your soul in your body, and abase yourself, and say “I know nothing, I can do nothing; I am afraid of earth and sea, I cannot mount to heaven; I know not what I was, nor what I shall be,” then what have you to do with God?”

- Hermes Trismegistus, Hermetica: The Greek Corpus Hermeticum.

“Close your eyes and let the mind expand. Let no fear of death or darkness arrest its course. Allow the mind to merge with Mind. Let it flow out upon the great curve of consciousness. Let it soar on the wings of the great bird of duration, up to the very Circle of Eternity.”

-Hermes Trismegistus.

“That which is below is like that which is above, and that which is above is like that which is below, to perform the miracles of one only thing.”

-Hermes Trismegistus.

“The punishment of desire is the agony of unfulfillment”

-Hermes Trismegistus, Poimandres.

“But this discourse, expressed in our paternal language, keeps clear the meaning of its words. The very quality of speech and of the Egyptian words have in themselves the energy of the object they speak of.

Therefore, my king, in so far as you have the power (who are all powerful), keep the discourse uninterpreted, lest mysteries of such greatness come to the Greeks, lest the extravagant, flaccid and (as it were) dandified Greek idiom extinguish something stately and concise, the energetic idiom of usage. For the Greeks have empty speeches, O king, that are energetic only in what they demonstrate, and this is the philosophy of the Greeks, an inane foolosophy of speeches. We, by contrast, use not speeches but sounds that are full of action.

-Hermes Trismegistus, Hermetica: The Greek Corpus Hermeticum and the Latin Asclepius.

“O ye people, earth-born folk, ye who have given yourselves to drunkenness and sleep and ignorance of God, be sober now,cease from your surfeit, cease to be glamored by irrational sleep!” -Hermes Trismegistus, Corpus hermeticum.

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godsfavoritescientist · 1 year ago

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Drabble request: post-canon "happy" ending for Bill & Ford, but find some way to imply that something super fucked up is going on just beneath the surface. Mind control, dream bubble fantasy, idk, dealer's choice, just something messed up.

Fragments of what was once Earth drift through the empty vacuum of space. They sit together on a summoned-up couch, watching it all float by. Ford fidgets with his brand new eye-shaped gold cufflinks. His ornately-embroidered sleeves are drenched in blood.

The henchmaniacs are busy elsewhere, expanding their reign of benevolent terror to the outer reaches of the galaxy. This mostly entails eating space rocks and crashing planets into eachother. For the first time since Ford accepted Bill’s offer, they’ve had time to really sit down and chat.

Bill throws an arm over Ford’s shoulder. “Lemme tell you something, Sixer. It doesn’t really matter how necessary it was–and believe me, it was necessary! What matters more is that it was the most fun you’ll ever have! Now that you’re immortal, I won’t sugarcoat it: Earth’s entire existence is a blip in the grand scheme of things. It was like a really dry log: destined to be burned!” He pats Ford on the back. “So don’t let me catch you moping about it.”

“I’m not moping,” Ford bristles, leaning away from Bill’s touch. “I’m contemplating.”

“Hah! Contemplating! You hear this guy?” Bill asks an imaginary audience, gesturing at Ford with his thumb. “Well contemplate this: we’ve got ultimate power over the entire multiverse. You might as well be a god. You can spend an eternity studying everything that ever was and ever will be. This is a sweet deal no matter how you spin it!”

Ford makes a noncommital sound. “That very well may be true, and I am grateful to you, but… human emotion is not so easy to logic away, I’m afraid. I want to move on as easily as you did, but…” he shrugs helplessly. “It’s just hard to believe it’s gone.”

Bill pats him on the back. “A little bit of shock is normal! Took me a few weeks to work through. Of course, I was brand new to the third dimension too, so it shouldn’t take quite that long for you. But humans are more emotional than shapes, so I’ll be patient! Don’t say I never did anything for ‘ya.”

Ford doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Now! You know what helps me when I’m like this? A good distraction! There’s bound to be dozens of my enemies tracking us down right now–it’s not exactly hard to miss a whole planet blowing up. So we’d better get a head start on things, attack first before any of them can put us on the defensiv-” Bill squints at something approaching from the distance. “Hey, what’s that?”

Ford looks up sharply. It takes a few seconds to spot it, but as it gets closer, it’s unmistakable: a steely-gray entirely flat object, no more than two feet wide and long, flying towards them.

Once it’s right between them, it slows to a stop. From above, it’s clearly shaped like a 2D spacecraft, except that all four walls are enclosed, not just the perimeter.

A stick-thin door opens up, and out floats a dozen multicolored geometric shapes, all with skin covering their bodies from above and below, not just around their perimeter.

For the first time in eons, Bill is too stunned to speak a single word.

The leader of the group, a irregularly-shaped silver isoceles triangle, speaks first. “It’s you! It’s really you! We were starting to think you died in the aftermath of our dimension’s death. But the energy signals we’ve been following over the past week… we knew it couldn’t be anyone else.”

Bill’s voice is very quiet, and much less echoey than usual, as he says, “I thought you all died. I made sure you all died.”

The little silver triangle laughs. “Nope! The cleverest of us were able to escape. Your destruction only took the lives of those unwilling to change, unwilling to adapt to the higher dimensions. And the lives we’ve led since then have been so much better than anything our homeworld could have ever offered to us. We owe you a great deal.”

As he listens to this, Bill glows brighter and brighter and brighter, until he’s glowing the brightest that he’s ever been. “I knew it! I knew the worthy ones would live, I knew there was a way out for ones like you!”

He turns to Ford with a brilliant gleam in his eye. “Ford, these are survivors from my home dimension! Do you know how long it’s been? At least a trillion years! These guys are persistent. More than worthy of joining the gang, right Ford?”

Ford looks just as overjoyed as Bill. “Absolutely—but this is incredible! Liberating my dimension didn’t just give me an eternity at your side, but it’s also allowed these shapes to finally find you!” He shakes his head in wonder. “This whole time, you were right, Bill. You were right about everything. If our first act as joint-rulers of the multiverse can accomplish something of this scope, then there’s nothing we can’t accomplish together.”

Bill embraces Ford in a hug that sends them both twirling through outerspace. “Isn’t it exhilirating? Being free from all those stupid little ties to a planet that’ll be dead and gone in the blink of an eye?”

Ford nods wholeheartedly. “There’s a whole multiverse out there for the taking. You’ve finally made me see that.”

He lets go of Bill, and looks back at the handful of shapes floating nearby. “You must have so many questions. I know I do. But I’ll let you catch up with Bill, first.”

Bill zooms back to face the shapes. “Boy do I ever!!! How long do you guys live now that you’ve adapted yourselves to a three-dimensional world, because we’re gonna be here for a while.”

The group settles in for a very long chat, exchanging stories and ideas and many cups of tea. And way off in the distance, far out of Bill’s line of sight, his little world’s edge glimmers with the iridescence of a soap bubble.

#gods drabbles #100 word requests #<-which are still open #just ignore the fact that this is 1000 words long lmao #i hope the implications are clear as far as what the concept is #the axolotl thinks this is a mercy :)#first thing i had to decide was 'is this a happy ending in bill or fords eyes' bc postcanon those are very different #and then i repurposed a scrapped idea for the beginning of my unwritten bill-brought-back-to-life fic #bill cipher

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fanthirtheen · 4 months ago

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Here's a question concerning the mortality of demons in HelluvaVerse.

Stolas is 30-something. We could debate 30-what exactly, but I think his age in the flashback of The Circus is ambiguous enough that we don't need to know exactly. He's 30-something. That has to be incredibly young for a supposedly immortal race of demons.

And "Stolas the Owl Demon of Books, Poisons, and Prophecies" is not a 30-something year old concept.

Why would the Goetia, supposedly immortal race of demons, be so preoccupied with producing precautionary heirs so early in their supposedly immortal lives if there weren't a very real and normal chance that they'd die in a vaguely human-like time frame? Why has Stolas the Demon Prince been in Earth's demonology for so long?

(Maybe questioning the status of souls of creatures that live where human souls go when they die, which is inherently a vacuume of a conversation) but is there some level of reincarnation-style scenario going on with hellborn? Like, Stolas isn't the first Stolas. He isn't the first owl demon prince who's dominion is over poisons, prophecies, and knowledge. There have been other Stolas's, and when one dies another will eventually be born to take his place so that power is recycled. Or more directly, this is just straight up not his first life and previous Stolas's were just him. Like the Stolas from ancient human demonology books was just as nerdy and awkward as our Stolas because it was the same guy.

You could just say that previous depictions of him are from prophecies, that his existence was foretold, but where were his powers before he was hatched? His father? Unlikely his father held the grimoire and those duties for thousands(?) Of years before he was born, because then his father (or whichever of his ancestors were around with the grimoire longest) wouldn't just be more well known in those duties than some owlet that hasn't even been lain yet.

So if the Ars Goetia are potentially in some level of reincarnation deal, and Octavia as a precautionary heir is simply meant to hold the grimoire and its duties until Stolas reincarnated and grows old enough again when he dies, is that specifically an Ars Goetia thing? Like, above them in ranking are the Sins, which I am under the understanding are either confirmed to be or implied to be more actually immortal, like they have been around since the beginning of Hell, they were in Lucifer's circus at the beginning, and above them we get into the Morningstar family.

But below the Ars Goetia? Do other hellborn reincarnate? Like, the other demons of the rins die and then get shoved back into a new body with no memories, or do their "souls" burn up and spawn with each life? Because I refuse to entertain heaven/hell-ception.

*these thoughts were spawned from my wondering for some time about the whole "Stolas is only 30-something, why would he appear in demonology lore/manuscripts/whatever on Earth from hundreds of years ago?" And occasionally seeing someone pointing out that Stolas is "immortal" while Blitz is not. What if Stolas's "immortal" just means a higher resistance to damage (only hurt by blessed weapons) and a definite reincarnation cycle? He's only 30-something!

#helluva boss #stolas #demon prince stolas #question about the ars goetia #im not sure theres a definite in-universe answer #and i will be using different explanations for different stories #whatever's most convenient

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trickortrick · 1 year ago

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“If then you do not make yourself equal to God, you cannot apprehend God; for like is known by like.

…

Think that for you too nothing is impossible; deem that you too are immortal, and that you are able to grasp all things in your thought, to know every craft and science; find your home in the haunts of every living creature; make yourself higher than all heights and lower than all depths;

…

-Hermes Trismegistus, Hermetica

***I don’t think Hermes and Thoth are the same gods, rather they are besties who vibe well and wrote books together.

And maybe Hermes Trismegistus (Hermes Thrice-Great) is not just a fusion/collaboration of two deities, but a trio. A trio of Hermes, Thoth and you. Thrice-great.

They said “If then you do not make yourself equal to God, you cannot apprehend God; for like is known by like.” in the Hermetica.

They already say if you wish to understand the wisdom of them, you need to think yourself as a god as well. For like is known by like. As above, so below, if you will.

Then you can share their wisdom. And be the Hermes Trimegistus.

Kharis Hermes! Dua Thoth! Hail me!

Disclaimer: Just some late night thoughts.

#hermes #thoth #greek mythology #egypt mythology #hermetic #paganism #hellenism #hermetica #hermes trismegistus #alchemy #kemetism

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moononmyfloor · 3 months ago

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In the 3rd Quarter of 2024 Cdramaland...

1st Quarter, 2nd Quarter, 4th Quarter

(Aka the review post where I speak like I'm a hyping announcer at a presidential debate 😆)

16. Favorite Parents/Parent figures of the year

Papa Gu (Zhang Fengyi) from A Lonely Hero's Journey, Master Li (Qiu Xinzhi & Zhang Chenxiao) from Dashing Youth

Usually the uber principled, patriotic, larger-than-life parents are stereotyped as negligent and ruthless towards their children or incapable of expressing their true affections. Not Gu Xixing. He was a strict father but for all the right reasons, and never hesitated to throw his prestige and life aside for his children any second and he made sure his children knew that, which was the most important part. The kids knew their father wasn't someone to be trifled with, but also that they were so incredibly loved and protected. Having him as the father was a big part of why the ML grew upto be such a stable and well-adjusted young man who would never sway no matter what catastrophe befell him.

Li Changsheng was, hm, admirable in the COMPLETE opposite way. One of the most convincing character designs for an immortal I've seen, he was often insensitive to the mortal struggles his students went through, and came across as snobbish and heartless at times, but that behaviour made sense and was understandable for once. Plus, when he did decide show that he cares, he went big. Earth shatteringly, Dynasty-topplingly, Heaven-shakingly big. Quite literally. He always had life advise and cultivation tips to give, if you were able to tolerate his cryptic speech and dark humor resulting from having lived for too long. I was both disturbed and fascinated by him, I even wrote character analysis for him here and here, lol.

17. Favorite historical drama of the year

A Lonely Hero's Journey

Set in Suzhou during 1940' Japanese Occupation era, this drama is by no means the most perfect espionage/spy/war show that China has to offer, but I REALLY enjoyed it because it had so much heart despite all the bloodshed and devastation going around.

It didn't have the most accurate-to-history depictions of this specific time period, the costumes weren't necessarily period appropriate etc, BUT THAT'S OK, because even still it did such a GORGEOUS job of its wardrobe, and it's not like didn't do some research (3 meta pics from official weibo posted above), delivered heaps upon heaps of world-famous Suzhou architecture and landscaping aesthetics (3 collages from weibo below) and used this mesmerising old gramophone track 【Teach Me How Not to Think of Her (教我如何不想她) by 赵元任 (Zhao Yuanren)】 in its bgm and also did a modern cover for it, all of which made for a very atmospheric viewing experience.

And most importantly, it depicted almost all the characters with empathy no matter they were a main character, a villain, a traitor, a Chinese or Japanese. If you see people spouting that Cdramas always have clear cut black and white censored portrayals of stories that take place in sensitive historical time periods, that they bend over their back to ensure the audience wouldn't root for the characters on the wrong side, just slap a show like this in their face.

18. A drama that was a pleasant surprise

Snowfall

When the premise said "Republican era Vampire Cdrama with an age gap relationship" I didn't really expect it to be anything more than a cheaply produced light fantasy thriller with the said age gap couple being portrayed by two same age actors where one character simply happens to be labelled as immortal.

Snowfall was anything but. Excellent cinematic visuals, sets, styling and costumes from Director Li Muge, who is like China's second God of Colors after Dir. Zhang Yimou, veteran actor Vengo Gao (Age: 42) as the immortal half of the pair and Ouyang Nana (Age: 24) as the younger half, who actually do share a very visually age-gap dynamic that was so masterfully explored so it was 100% about mutual respect, adoration and sexual tension without being creepy, and the show never let you forget that the main lead was a vampire who could unleash some serious, gory violence if he wanted. Yes, his vampirism was still explained as the fault of alien meteorites (as always 😂) but they compensated with delivering an immaculate antagonist who was 10x unhinged than any paranormal disease could ever be. He had a competency kink, abandonment issues, he was emitting the desire to be held by throat and be topped wherever he went like a jumbotron, he loved to torture AND be tortured... the list is endless. Watching this drama was absolutely delightful.

19. Favorite adaptation of the year

Adventure Behind the Bronze Door/Tibetan Sea Flower

The DMBJ fandom was waiting for this for what felt like a decade but OH MAN IT DELIVERED. Not only that it was faithful to the book in ALL the ways that mattered, it fixed up a lot of not-so-good parts in the original material, fixed continuity issues and became the DMBJ show with the most cohesive, well-paced narrative. It was about time.

From the super-well thought out opening credits animations, to the casting, book references, props designs, CGI, bgm and the to the freaking ENGLISH of all things, it was perfection. 9.5/10 Stars No Drama.

20. Screenstealer of the year

Ye Dingzhi (He Yu) from Dashing Youth

Tumblr user @fortycumber said it all, couldn't have said it better😂. Despite the promising start, Dashing Youth fell apart by the end (though I did enjoy that drama a fair amount, I made an edit too for Dingzhi and his poor wife Wenjun) with the scriptwriting failing almost all characters including Dingzhi himself, but He Yu's soulful acting did SO much to singlehandedly keep the show worth watching to the end.

It is especially amazing considering how He Yu is still a new actor, he had studied Architecture and started pursuing acting only recently, other than the gorgeous face he had little in common with the gazillions of his peers in the same show, yet he was the one who hit it out of the ballpark. An orphan in the Jianghu whose family was brutally murdered in his childhood, brought up by a just as loner Dark Cultivation Master, a prodigy who is admired but never understood and therefore feared by everyone, an ardent, loyal lover, a struggling young father.... he nailed it all with the perfect amount of gravitas.

21. A drama that made me cry

Adventure Behind the Bronze Door/Tibetan Sea Flower

When I tell you just how much ZHH got the vibes right, I was impatient for the subs and randomly clicked here and there on ep 30 already, without subs. I saw glimpses of certain scenes that were happing in the ep and I just

stared at the screen

scared at the screen

A shudder passed through me and I instantly started bawling like a baby.

That hadn't happened to me in a long time. 😭

22. A drama that made me laugh

The Flower of Lust

A low-budget simple comedy with copious GL undertones, this drama didn't offer much meat to bite on, but it was unexpectedly some good fun. Fast and easy to follow, there was lots of turned-around gender expectations going on for the roles.

For example, this laobanniang played by Word of Honor's Beauty Ghost is the main lead, there's no Male Lead, but a clutzy female assassin who's going to kill the Lady and they develop a classic wuxia sworn-sisterhood relationship where they share energy (😏) and sacrifice for each other. It has two side male characters played by hot young actors (Huang Junjie and Li Zhuoyang), but they are simply himbos who were saved by the boss lady and now work as her bodyguards! At most, they only have hots for each other.

Also it has a theme song that sounds TOO good for the production quality. Plus each ep is only 15 mins long, you won't lose out if you give this show a chance. The full version is only 3.5 hours.

youtube

23. An old drama I watched this year

My Girlfriend's Boyfriend (2017)

On paper-

"An otaku wants to order a love bot in the form of the girl he has a crush on, but accidentally orders a male bot who is programmed to love him forever, and the otaku re-purchases the girl bot but she accidentally gets programmed to love the guy bot, and the Otaku suffers. A lighthearted comedy with some gay jokes."

What it actually was-

Polyamory negotiation, feelings realisation, coming out, internalised homophobia, learning to love yourself, multiple thorough discussions on how a relationship arrangement doesn't have to be this predefined textbook thing and how it's sometimes as simple as just staying with people who make you happy, the biggest gathering of explicitly-acknowledged queer people I've seen in a Cdrama including the ML himself, a butch, a crossdresser, a BL writer, a girl who believes everyone is in love with her...... who are shunned by the rest of the campus for being "weirdos" so they create this space for themselves that is so full of love and acceptance and *literally* decorated in rainbows, and there was a scene of a gay bar with a married gay couple...... I can go on and on.

Is it a perfect show? No. But I would give it even more than 10/10 if possible, simply for existing. It's not a masterpiece and is full of silliness sometimes but it is so painfully clear that this show was made by people who knew what they were doing.

The Before-2018 Cdramaland was a RIOT. Highly rec that everyone watch this, especially if you are interested in seeing what queer portrayals in recent Cdrama scene used to be before censorship rules tightened.

More posts by me

#a lonely hero's journey #Dashing Youth #Snowfall #tibetan sea flower #adventure behind the bronze door #My Girlfriend's Boyfriend #dashing youth spoilers #Youtube #The Flower of Lust #Tibetan sea flower spoilers #Adventure behind the bronze door spoilers #Tsf spoilers

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jedineedlove · 11 months ago

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Monkey Man:

youtube

I watched this new movie trailer Monkey Man and with it Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god.

Usually, I talk about JTTW and Sun Wukong but this new movie trailer inspired me to take a look into this monkey god. Hanuman is the most celebrated and worshipped figure in Indian religion. And said to be the inspiration for Sun Wukong.

(What I wrote I just right what I learned from some research please don't hesitate to commoner below if I got anything wrong or missed anything Thank you. :) )

There are several stories told to explain Hanuman's origins.:

One interpretation Shiva and Parvati decided to transform themselves into monkeys in the forest. As a result, Parvati becomes pregnant. Shiva directs the wind god Vayu to carry the offspring from Parvati's womb to that of Anjana - an Apsara with the form of a monkey who has prayed to be granted a boy.

According to Hindu legends, Hanuman was born to mother Anjana and father Kesari.

Hanuman is also called the son of the deity Vayu (Wind god) because of legends associated with Vayu's role in Hanuman's birth and is said to be the incarnation of Shiva (Destroyer god)

image above (Vayu)

Another tale of his birth is "when Anjana was worshiping Vayu, the King Dasharatha of Ayodhya was also performing the ritual of Putrakameshti yagna to have children. As a result, he received some sacred pudding (payasam) to be shared by his three wives, leading to the births of Rama, Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna. By divine ordinance, a kite snatched a fragment of that pudding and dropped it while flying over the forest where Anjana was engaged in worship. Vayu delivered the falling pudding to the outstretched hands of Anjana, who consumed it, leading to the birth of Hanuman".

The majority of the stories contain Vayu and Anjana.

Similar to Wukong Hanuman had a youth full of mischief (usually with the gods and sages) and some familiar powers.

"As a youth Hanuman often abused his powers to pester the saints and holy men living in a nearby forest, with tricks such as beard pulling and the dousing of sacred fires. However, it is as an adult that the monkey god Hanuman comes into his own."

"Indra, the king of the gods, struck Hanuman with a thunderbolt on the jaw(hanu), thus inspiring the name. When Hanuman continued to misbehave, powerful sages cursed him to forget his magic powers, such as the ability to fly or to become infinitely large, until he was reminded of them."

"The god Indra grants Hanuman a wish that his body would be as strong as Indra's Vajra and that his Vajra can also not harm him. Along with Indra other gods have also granted him wishes: the God Agni granted Hanuman a wish that fire won't harm him; God Varuna granted a wish for Hanuman that water won't harm him; God Vayu granted a wish for Hanuman that he will be as fast as wind and the wind won't harm him. Brahma also granted Hanuman a wish that he could move to any place where he could not be stopped. Hence these wishes make Hanuman an immortal, who has unique powers and strength."

"He is said to have transformed into the size of mountain, and flew across the narrow channel to Lanka." "he shrinks down to the size of an ant and sneaks into the city." "Upon arriving, he discovered that there were many herbs along the mountainside, and did not want to take the wrong herb back. So instead, he grew to the size of a mountain, ripped the mountain from the Earth, and flew it back to the battle. "

How the two are not alike is Hanuman was a being who wanted nothing to do with immortality and wanted to serve the Rama. Nothing like the free spirit and immortally seeking Wukong.

"After blessing all those who aided him in the battle with gifts, Rama gave Hanuman his gift, who threw it away. Many court officials, perplexed, were angered by this act. Hanuman replied that rather than needing a gift to remember Rama, he would always be in his heart. Some court officials, still upset, asked him for proof, and Hanuman tore open his chest, which had an image of Rama and Sita on his heart.

Now proven as a true devotee, Rama cured him and blessed him with immortality, but Hanuman refused this and asked only for a place at Rama's feet to worship him. Touched, Rama blessed him with immortality anyway. Like Shesha Nag, Hanuman would live on after the kalpa (destruction of the universe)."

Fun Fact:

The namesake " One interpretation of "Hanuman" is "one having a disfigured jaw". It is due to that earlier tale of Indra striking him as a child in the jaw with a lightning bolt. Because child Hanuman mistook the sun for a fruit and tried to take a bite.

That then leads to the other gods and Indra giving him powers and wishes. There is another version the other is he was burned to ash and was brought back but had a bad jaw when he was restored.

"Though Hanuman is described to be celibate in the Ramayana and most of the Puranas, according to some regional sources, Hanuman married Suvarchala, the daughter of Surya (Sun-God). However, once Hanuman was flying above the seas to go to Lanka, a drop of his sweat fell into the mouth of a crocodile, which eventually turned into a baby. The monkey baby was delivered by the crocodile, who was soon retrieved by Ahiravana, and raised by him, named Makardhwaja, and made the guard of the gates of Patala, the former's kingdom. One day, Hanuman, when going to save Rama and Lakshmana from Ahiravana, faced Makardhwaja and defeated him in combat. Later, after knowing the reality and after saving both, he made his son, the king of Patala.o"

(Can't wait to see the movie Monkey Man when it comes out:))

#sun wukong #jttw #monkey king #hanuman #fan thoughts #Youtube

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santoschristos · 1 year ago

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Hermes Trismegistus

If then you do not make yourself equal to God, you cannot apprehend God; for like is known by like.

“That which is below is like that which is above, and that which is above is like that which is below, to perform the miracles of one only thing.” --Hermes Trismegistus.

“The punishment of desire is the agony of unfulfillment” --Hermes Trismegistus, Poimandres.

“O ye people, earth-born folk, ye who have given yourselves to drunkenness and sleep and ignorance of God, be sober now, cease from your surfeit, cease to be glamored by irrational sleep!” --Hermes Trismegistus, Corpus hermeticum.

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madamlaydebug · 2 years ago

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As Above, So Below....

"As above, so below, as within, so without, as the universe, so the soul" - Hermes Trismegistus As above, so below

The term, "As above, so below" was recorded in the Hermetic texts from The Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismegistus, which states: "That which is Below corresponds to that which is Above, and that which is Above corresponds to that which is Below, to accomplish the miracle of the One Thing."

In the heavens above, the planet's energies are that which is so below on earth. We humans who live on the so below are made of these same heavenly energies of that which is as above. Hence, the microcosm is oneself, and the macrocosm is the universe.

Manly P. Hall had said, "We are the gods of the atoms that make up ourselves, but we are also the atoms of the gods that make up the universe"; and Paracelsus says that man's spirit comes from the stars, his soul from the planets, his body from the elements. More recently Carl Sagan had said quite simply, “we're made of star stuff.”

Our immortal souls belong to the Creator like the stars in the heavens.

Humans are made of the heavens who are found among the stars and planets. The heavens on the AS ABOVE is the macrocosm, and we humans on the SO BELOW, the microcosm. The same chemical energies found in the AS ABOVE stars such as phosphorus, hydrogen, sodium, Sulfur, magnesium, and iron can be found in almost all living organisms including we humans on the SO BELOW.

Like a star that burns bright, we can also burn out and fall like Lucifer. AS ABOVE, SO BELOW. A dying star that once belonged to the Creator becomes ash, just as with the fall of man, his immortal essence also becomes mortal ash.

The as above so below is also the hidden secret biblical alchemical science of the allegorical stories behind the veiling of 666, the beast or Revelation, Lucifer, and Jesus Christ. I have written about this hidden alchemy in the bible many times before in articles such as The Science of 666, The 7 Stars and 7 Golden Lampstands of DNA and From Atom to Adam to Red Man.

The number 666 relates to the carbon atom and man. Carbon is abundant in the Sun, stars, comets, and in the atmospheres of most planets. Carbon-12 is one of the 5 elements that make up the human DNA; being composed of 6 protons, 6 electrons and 6 neutrons, which equates to 666. Its abundance is due to the Triple-alpha process by which it is created in stars.

John the Baptist said of the coming Antichrist and the Number of the Beast: “ Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast : for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.” John was telling us that we are that beast, and the antichrist. 666 is simply the number of man, and this can be proven by modern science.

Lucifer, the fallen angel is the Latin word for the Greek word phosphorus (Greek Φωσφόρος Phōsphoros); a name meaning “Light-Bringer.” The phosphorus atom is of the nitrogen family, but having that characteristic of firing. Hence, the term light bringer for this is the very chemical energy that next to calcium, phosphorus is the most abundant mineral in the body used primarily for energy production, growth and the repair of body cells and tissues. It is the very energy that you need to think, live, create and yes, even have sex with to create babies to further evolve or devolve your family blood line.

God said, let there be light, and there was light.

The very chemical energy known as the Greek phosphorus that makes us human; and like the Latin Lucifer, we too can fall and devolve. Or we can simply rise above the matrix and become like Jesus; leaving the earthly world behind by dying on the cross on the so below, in order to rise to the heavens on the as above to become spiritual beings who are lights in the world. Illuminated teachers and angels that guide those people who are less fortunate to do the same.

These truths are the basis of the human science of chemical energies of the as above and so below known as alchemy, and the science of an inner spiritual knowledge called gnosis. Two ancient sciences that are some of the least understood by current humanity. This selfish ignorance of their pasts that often leads to their early mortality, in which the evolution of their soul is simply not occurring.

Our goal with our lives is to evolve, not devolve. To rise above, not fall below. To love and be loved. Hence, those humans who do not know their pasts, simply never last. Those who live a lie always die, and those who live by truth never die.

Life is a journey in which we each take our own paths, and find our own truths. To find truth and happiness, we all need to play our own tune in accordance with each of our own chosen paths, spiritual gifts and worldly talents. Be still, withdraw from the world of illusions and just be yourself. In a sense, be happy with what the creator has given us and also do not waste our lives by becoming fallen angels doomed to devolve in our own man-made hells for eternity.

If we all play our own tune with these spiritual gifts that we have been given, we can then begin to repair our damaged selves, and then be a light in the damaged dark world that we live in. Find that philosopher's stone that is within each one of us.

In a sense, create heaven on earth.

AS ABOVE, SO BELOW and AS WITHIN, SO WITHOUT.......

{{The Seven Principles of the Universe}}:

1. Principle of Mentalism: “All is Mind”

2. Principle of Correspondence: “As is above, so is below. As is below, so is above.”

3. Principle of Vibration: “Nothing rests; everything moves; everything vibrates.”

4. Principle of Polarity: “Everything is dual; everything has an opposite, and opposites are identical in nature but different in degree.”

5. Principle of Rhythm: “Everything flows, out and in; the pendulum-swing manifests in everything; the measure of the swing to the right is the measure of the swing to the left- rhythm compensates.”

6. Principle of Cause and Effect: “Every cause has its effect; every effect has its cause.”

7. Principle of Gender: “Everything has its masculine and feminine principles.”

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 1 year ago

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Hermes Trismegistus as portrayed in the floor of the cathedral of Siena :: [Robert Scott Horton]

* * * *

“As above, so below, as within, so without, as the universe, so the soul…” ― Hermes Trismegistus

“If then you do not make yourself equal to God, you cannot apprehend God; for like is known by like. Leap clear of all that is corporeal, and make yourself grown to a like expanse with that greatness which is beyond all measure; rise above all time and become eternal; then you will apprehend God. Think that for you too nothing is impossible; deem that you too are immortal, and that you are able to grasp all things in your thought, to know every craft and science; find your home in the haunts of every living creature; make yourself higher than all heights and lower than all depths; bring together in yourself all opposites of quality, heat and cold, dryness and fluidity; think that you are everywhere at once, on land, at sea, in heaven; think that you are not yet begotten, that you are in the womb, that you are young, that you are old, that you have died, that you are in the world beyond the grave; grasp in your thought all of this at once, all times and places, all substances and qualities and magnitudes together; then you can apprehend God.

#Hermes Trismegistus #Hermetica: The Greek Corpus Hermeticum #quotes #metaphysical

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en-scribed · 1 year ago

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POLARIS - North Star [short fantasy snippet]

A character introduction for a story co-created with @heirmyst about personified immortal Stars secretly living on Earth. Previous posts: [SUN] [ARCTURUS] [VEGA] Next post: [ABYSS] Word count: 1492

Polaris strummed to drown out the island’s panic.

He strummed so intensely that a string snapped with a sickening metallic reverb, for the third time that week. Normally, this would have been when he stopped, took a moment to breathe as he replaced the string, and calmly put the guitar aside until he needed it again. But as it happened, he called into the empty, cavernous meeting room far ahead of time, and now was supposed to be when others began to come in. He had to be present at the head of the table to greet them. It would be painfully awkward to leave now.

Besides, the king was missing. All normality went out the window, did it not?

Before the horrific implications of the thought had time to sink in, Polaris assaulted his own ears with a haphazard, five-string melody, still preferable to the alternative. “Don’t think,” he warned himself. “Just keep going...”

Impossibly fast footsteps pierced through his sound bubble. Polaris placed them immediately from the speed, but was allowed no time to brace for the nonsense before the door flung open.

“Oh,” Arcturus said, perpetual frown deepening as he realized they were the only ones in the room. “It’s just you.”

“Unfortunately,” Polaris agreed. He shoved the guitar below the table so no inconvenient questions would come his way. “How have you been?”

He blinked. “You saw me literally just a few hours ago for a mission report.”

“Ah.” Had he? Polaris couldn’t remember. Time and conversations blended together into white noise lately. All he was sure about was that four days ago, the sun went dark. “Well. Clearly, your ‘report’ was only part useful information and mostly undue criticism, then.”

Arcturus stiffened, letting Polaris know the accusation was on point. Though frankly, it was not a hard guess. “It’s completely warranted, actually. How long do you plan to sit around and—”

“For skies’ sake, Arc, leave him alone.” Procyon entered, hand in hand with Sirius. “I swear, the world could end and you still wouldn't stop sniping pointlessly.”

Arcturus stepped back to let both of them through, still scowling at Polaris. “He started this one.”

“Sure he did,” Sirius said, though the strained smile beneath his mask did not reach his eyes. He nodded toward Polaris. “All set?”

By now, Polaris knew the question was a formality and the answer carried just as little significance, but he met it with an affirmative smile regardless, moving his guitar even further out of view.

Stars filed into the room, each with their own extended opinion piece on the situation. Polaris listened, because that was his job. He had to make a conscious effort to avoid mentally compiling the information into easy reports for the king.

Focus. He isn’t here right now, Polaris kept telling himself. You, however, are. Make it count.

Just as he was about to begin, one glaringly empty seat gave him pause. He addressed the gathered Stars, all occupied in talking amongst themselves. “Has anyone seen Ri—”

The skylight burst open, allowing in a freezing gust of wind. The building’s walls lost their glow for a moment, flickering dangerously. Stars closest to the center of the room ducked for cover, but they didn’t need to, because Rigel flew in. He promptly summoned a temporary net above everyone’s heads to stand by as he pulled the skylight securely shut. Furious raindrops, successfully stopped, continued to splash across the panes.

Relief filled the room, cut short by a thunderous peal from within. Everyone’s heads turned in Polaris’ direction.

“Hey!” Arcturus grabbed Polaris’ hand before it drifted below to reach for the guitar, fixing him with an impatient glare. “Get it together. Start the goddamn meeting.”

Polaris straightened up, face warm with embarrassment as he collected himself. The unintentional booming sound he had let loose subsided. “Thank you all for coming,” he said, eager to move past the moment of weakness. “Rigel, I believe we should begin with you.”

Rigel, still recovering and taking his seat, snapped to attention. He cursed under his breath, not quietly enough to slip by Polaris. Though, to be fair, not many things could evade his hearing unless he wanted them to. Sirius gave Rigel an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder.

“Uh. I didn’t find Bett.” Rigel pointed at the mess above the skylight. “Obviously. Cyon tracked the explosions well, but every time I got to a place… Bett was already somewhere else.”

“There’s no way for me to account for the storms either,” Procyon added.

Polaris nodded. “Stars keep falling to this… Abyss sickness. The few we were able to catch are contained in the cell block for everyone’s safety. More powerful ones evade us, like Betelgeuse.”

Methuselah cleared her throat from the far end of the table. “Forgetting to mention someone, are we, North Star?”

Polaris sighed. “It’s hardly a matter anyone can forget,” he said carefully. “Our searches for the king have come up empty. We have at least one scouting group out for him at all hours, and yet…”

“This is a problem,” Arcturus said, as if anyone needed to be told. “And clearly, sitting around isn’t an option. If we don’t take this on now—”

“We don’t know what we’re up against!” Polaris retaliated. “The only person on this island who would is…” He trailed off. There was no need to finish.

Rigel stared at him. “Are you saying we should give up? Be okay with losing our people?”

“That isn’t what I—” he began, but it was no use.

“Whether or not we want it, they are gone,” Methuselah said. “Lost causes, if the Abyss has tainted them so.”

And that was it. He’d lost them. The room devolved into panic and heated argument. Rigel’s panic, Procyon’s emergency data, Methuselah’s call to tradition, Arcturus’ need for immediate action, everyone’s terror about being the next to fall… all of it collided in a cacophony, transcending the peace and diplomacy that had been the lynchpin keeping together Polaris’ stint as North Star. Worse, he didn’t have the king to back him up.

Polaris heard every shouted point in exhaustive detail and finally had enough. He brought a fist down hard on the table, the boom shocking everyone into silence. “Stop,” Polaris said, “acting like he’s gone!”

When he looked up, every Star’s eyes were wide, trained on him. Usually, that amount of attention would be accompanied by smiles, because it would be directed toward a song Polaris played, or a celebratory announcement of the king’s entrance.

Now, all he saw in those faces was desperation laid bare.

“The darkness that overtook the sun lasted one hour,” he went on, speaking from the heart. “Because he is still out there. The sun goes on rising, clouded as it might be, because he will return to us! This is a difficult time, but if you’ll all do everyone a favor and have the slightest modicum of faith in the eternal pillar of Stardom… well. That will do us a far greater service than endless, futile dispute in the eye of a storm, don’t you agree?”

Polaris sat back down, tentatively studying the reactions. Rigel and some others, he’d successfully calmed, while the rest at least got something to chew on. Even Arcturus eyed him with some small amount of surprise.

Sirius slowly raised a hand.

“Please,” Polaris said, motioning for him to go on. It was only right for the highest ranked Star present to speak. “The sky is yours.”

“Your words are all true,” he said. “But still, as it stands now… tomorrow marks our fifth day with no sign of the king in sight.”

Polaris’ prepared reassurance died on his tongue at the strange emphasis Sirius placed on the time. He wasn’t the only one who noticed, either. Rigel’s eyes regained the light they’d lost in the past days. Arcturus sank deeper into his seat with a quiet “Shit…”, while Methuselah hardened her gaze, as if warning everyone present to choose their words wisely.

“Polaris,” Sirius continued. “As North Star, you’ve sworn to be the voice of the Stars and Sol’s trusted second. His crown is still formally in your keeping, right?”

He nodded, confused about why he was being asked. Of course he still had it; Sol had entrusted it to him during the Equinox and tasked him with renewing its light. More whispers drifted across the room, but instead of panic, they carried… hope.

Why did that scare Polaris even more?

“Then it’s settled,” Sirius said, and looked at Polaris as if to apologize in advance for what he was about to say. “If Sol’s not back by tomorrow… you take the throne until he is.”

Arcturus let out a disbelieving laugh. “Acting king Polaris,” he said, with a note of abject horror that matched Polaris’ own. “We’re doomed.”

When overwhelmed voices began to crowd the room once more, Polaris could only meet them with stunned, paralyzed silence.

#writing #fantasy writing #short story #original character #oc #stars collapse #en writes #urban fantasy #he's doing his best #so is the poor guitar it's going through it #stars lose their minds basically

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kushblazer666 · 8 months ago

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Greetings from Telos!

I am Adama, Ascended Master and High Priest of Telos, a Subterranean City beneath Mt. Shasta in California.

I am dictating this message to you from my home beneath the Earth, where over a million and a half of us live in perpetual peace and prosperity.

We are human and physical just like you, except for the fact that our mass consciousness holds thoughts of only Immortality and Perfect Health. Therefore, we can live hundreds and even thousands of years in the same body. I, myself, have been in the same body now for many many years.

We came here from Lemuria over 12,000 years ago, before a thermonuclear war took place that destroyed the Earth’s surface. We faced such hardships and calamities above ground, that we decided to continue our evolution underground. We appealed to the Spiritual Hierarchy of the planet for permission to renovate the already existing cavern inside Mt. Shasta, and prepare it for the time when we would need to evacuate our homes above ground.

When the war was to begin, we were warned by the Spiritual Hierarchy to begin our evacuation to this underground cavern by going through the vast tunnel system that’s spread throughout the planet. We had hoped to save all our Lemurian people, but there was only time to save 25,000 souls. The remainder of our race perished in the blast.

For the past 12,000 years, we have been able to rapidly evolve in consciousness, due to our isolation from the marauding bands of extraterrestrials and other hostile races that prey on the surface population. The surface population has been experiencing great leaps of consciousness, in preparation for humanity to move through the Photon Belt.

It is for this reason that we have begun to contact surface

dwellers to make our existence known. For in order for the Earth and humanity to continue to ascend in consciousness, the whole planet must be united and merged into ONE Light from below and ONE Light from above.

It is for this reason that we are contacting you: to make you aware of our underground existence so you can bring the fact of our existence to the attention of our fellow brothers and sisters above ground.

Our book of channeled messages is written to humanity in hopes that they will recognize and receive us when we emerge from our homes beneath the ground, and merge with them on the surface in the not too distant future. We will be grateful to you for the part you play in helping us broadcast the reality of our existence.

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ascendingaeons · 9 months ago

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The Crux of My Journey

“Mind the lessons of the past, but burden yourself not with the cares of ghosts. They cannot trouble you if you do not embrace them.”

Adept Susan Wylie - “Corridors of Light and Shadow,” Ruby Tablet of Set

“Life is an unfoldment, and the further we travel the more truth we can comprehend. To understand the things that are at our door is the best preparation for understanding those that lie beyond.”

Hypatia of Alexandria

I was seventeen when I began to practice shamanic trance. My shamanic journey began with a dream. In this dream, I was exploring a subterranean necropolis until I came across a door that was not a door. All at once, I found myself in a library that was mine but not mine. It was a sacred space that I was to return to many years later in meditation during my Reiki I° class. But, for the time being, it was an awakening. Before long I discovered the power of movement, rhythm, and vibration in altering states of consciousness. Perhaps it is better to say I remembered.

In my first experience with shamanic trance, I found myself traversing the planes of the classical elements. I trekked across the savannas and mountains of the Plane of Earth. In the twilight of the Plane of Water, I danced with its denizens and came to discern the stagecraft of my Shadow. Within the Plane of Air, I beheld the scions of noetic understanding. Beyond that, I soared through the Plane of Fire, across empyrean skies inflamed and infuriated with an ecstasy that has inspired humanity into madness. Rising beyond I beheld a vast ocean of Stars, glistening souls cast against the inky blackness; such was Quintessence. Unexpectedly, my gaze turned towards the ground far below and I knew I was not to remain. So, I chose to sink back down, away from their radiance. The experience was to come full circle upon meeting my soulmate, for he was the first to encourage me to rise while being the one into whose embrace I would so willingly return.

I experienced the numinous as a visage both black and blinding. This was not experienced through sight as much as it was through being. I was everything and nothing, within and beyond, experiencing the colliding, extravagant cycle of death and rebirth. I came to witness the notion of Self with eyes unclouded. It exists between the framework of what we believe to be ourselves. From this, I came to understand cosmos and psyche in an entirely new light. My eyes were forever opened to the precious potential of humanity and the immortality of consciousness. In terrible darkness can be found numinous light. In my experience, shadow is not inherently deceptive for its very nature is revelation and a light cast upon mirrors creates far greater confusion than one extinguished.

I lived the tale of a being that was once a vitki, a Scandinavian sorcerer, but had aged from knowledge to the point of resembling a withered husk. I experienced a memory of his younger days, traversing a timeworn forest in a relentless thunderstorm. Above me, I saw what I would describe as an anti-sky, as though I was walking through the quagmires of Hel. As I gazed upon those clouds, I bore a deep knowing that they were apertures to Aeons both great and terrible. The skies sang, the earth groaned and so it was until I reached a sanctuary in the form of ancient ruins and the yawing maw of a cave beyond—a sign that for every bright sunrise, there is always another night to be conquered. This was the only spot in the forest that saw sunlight. And so, I beheld what remained of a great temple and in that pristine moment, I knew I stood upon hallowed grounds where the ancients still breathed. Through shamanic flight, I would return to these ruins many years later and into the cave system just beyond. In the heart of the cavern, I would learn the means to reach other territories of Spirit, the first being the sanctum of Sekhmet.

I stood upon an emerald cliff before sapphire shores, the Vanir behind me and the Aesir before me. I witnessed my brothers sail off into the great unknown. Their chants and songs rang out against the billowing winds and raging seas until they disappeared beyond the horizon. I solemnly turned and walked into the ageless groves, away from what was expected of me and into the deep, eternal embrace of the Earth. This would prove to be a lesson of great value, one that would take a great while to learn.

It witnessed a pharaonic funeral with an empty sarcophagus and walked in the body of an embittered, disgraced priest of Aten. I experienced his journey of healing that lasted nearly two decades, far from the glistening sands of his homeland. I witnessed his return to a nation that would not recognize him and walked the hallowed grounds of an overgrown temple where he would offer in sacrifice his divine ka to the Netjeru. In exchange, the old man besought the Two Lands and their people healed and redeemed. As I lived, he spoke, and I recorded what I could.

“The life of a newborn child is not defined by his anthropological sinews, yet he is their herald in flesh irrespective of his desire. As the child learns – no, it would be practical to bestow consideration to chance; should the child learn to use causality as an extension of his Will, so too may he begin to grasp all that has been sacrificed and accomplished just so that he may behold this physical world with his own eyes, touch the elements and treasure the miseries and joys of Love, experience the chemistry of pleasure and pain, glory in his individuality and the ongoing eruptions of Will that light the Universe aflame, and feel the pride swelling in him for the celestial rivers of life that cascade within his veins. Since the first monumental and alchemical sunrise over the Black Lands, known therein as Kemet in aspects both terrestrial and visionary, the Netjeru have erected endless skies and buried them just as effortlessly. Every man and every woman are borne of the Netjeru as flesh and blood.”

We are children of a divided cosmos, saplings conceived by the union of Earth and Sky. We possess the capacity for profound healing but find it to be an unconquerable sun, rejecting the notion that we are, in fact, the very Star we fear to surmount. Our demons are part of us just as much as our dreams. Better they be treated with love and compassion than rejection and infamy. We are capable of such greatness but forget that greatness always begins on one’s own terms.

This year I will turn thirty-five and I can say with confidence that I have only just begun to live. I was born with clairvoyance, clairaudience, and clairsentience—the abilities to see, hear, and feel on degrees beyond our dense reality. I like to say that I was born with “one foot in the river;” one step in the foothills of Life and another in the river of Death. I am entirely comfortable with the concept of death as I know it is merely a transition to another state of being. Death is a homecoming, a return to what you always were. I don’t just perceive Spirit, I experience It. For most of my life, I was in denial of that fact, so much that during my first dark night of the soul, I suppressed my gifts altogether and would continue to do so for nearly a decade.

It wasn’t until I found myself in the position to teach, to pass down what experience and wisdom I have attained to someone eager to learn and discover their own Path. I have had a few students but one in particular left an undeniable mark. This apprenticeship wasn��t to last and I soon parted ways with them but with the realization that they had given me a gift—they had reunited me with my Path and Opened the Way. I have since come to learn that this individual was my twin flame; whether or not we cross paths again remains to be seen. Years later, it was in meeting my soulmate that everything that was lost and scattered began to coalesce. When you meet the right person in the right place at the right time, everything stops and a moment in time becomes truly eternal. In that precious moment, another soul becomes a window to our own.

The sum composite of my being exists far beyond this reality, a realization that came later than I would like. My purpose in life is not to grasp such things, for Thou Art That. As much as I love to learn and theorize, I came into this body, first and foremost, to help people. The first way to do this is to be my authentic self. By living in accordance with my True Will, I find myself in a position to master my own existence and in doing so will attract what is in resonance with that. I’ve found this a feat much easier said than done but I have lived its success and thus know it to be true.

The second way is to live as a human being. We do not master ourselves by being perfect for there is no such thing. Our journey of imperfection—of skinned knees, bitter fears, and many, many falls—is meant to help us grow by reminding us in small doses that we are eternal. I haven’t discovered the third way, which I am sure exists, but if the formula rings true, I would imagine it has something to do with one’s unending potential. I am fortunate enough to have experienced the lessons afforded to me. In the final analysis, they were just that: things that happened for me rather than to me. I am not always able to maintain that outlook but the fact that I can at all tells me that I have grown.

There emanates a fundamental duality from the heart of the cosmos. The resonance of its heartbeat touches every particle, every antiparticle, all notions of gravitation and expulsion finding themselves awash in the grace of the First Energy. We’ve given that primordial spark many names throughout civilization but the most endearing one can be the easiest to forget when its wisdom is needed the most: Love.

We only have so much time incarnate on this Earth. A third of the way through this life, I now stand at the beginning of a grand, new adventure. I choose to make the most of this life. What makes this easier for me will not work for others. Find what works for you, my friend, and embrace life.

Image is Life Journey #2 by PsychoShadow ART

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liliallowed · 1 year ago

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forgive me not

this is a short idea inspired by @yuriyuruandyuraart

I finally got the chance to write it!

tag warnings: death

the knight rose his swore with a battle cry striking down on the foul beast that had fallen from the sky.

the beast cackled with amusement.

"oh you mortals are so ADORABLE. are we playing a game?" it tilted it's head with a sinister smile. eyes glowing in a bloody crimson light as it opened it's jaw setting the battlefield ablaze in red and gold starlight.

lilac flames danced around the ashen corpse as the monster spread it's ashes around with it's tail, walking through a the once thriving mountain, now turned into desolate wasteland of pure and snow.

it huffed with annoyance muttering something to itself.

"too weak too weak. AGAIN." it commanded.

the world itself seemed to respond to it's call, it's heart shining into a brilliant light of gold as the ashes rose back. the houses were rebuilt and the humans were brought back.

within a snap of their finger, the tragedy had turned into a mere sense of deja Vu and uneasiness for the mortal humans.

it walked around the town casually overpowering any gaurd or knight that ran towards it, stabbing, biting, and scorching them into crystalized stardust.

"confetti! no? anyone? huh tough crowd" they laugh as more humans close in.

"using numbers ey? so be it?" they grinned once again setting the place ablaze on a whim.

ancient monsters ruled the skies above, while humans lived below. decades had passed ever since a monster was seen again.

their magic... their SOULS could liberate humanity.

and so they were hunted down... only for the tables to turn once the humans fell victim to the wrath of the "stars".

dragons. pureblooded dragons who could command the constellations strick the earth.

they were unkillable. unmovable and unstoppable. immortal godlings born of countless trials and tribulations of condensed magic within generations of repression.

they sealed themselves away into a different world, high above the clouds, preventing humans from making any more progress to explore the outer layers of the earth.

they ruled the skies but occasionally one would find it's way down to the surface.

they'd be imprisoned, and have their soul and magic extracted in the name of science... unfortunately the ninth fallen monster... was a pure blood dragon.

the same monster with powers akin to the ancient demigods... and it had found these humans fine entertainment in it's little games of merciless slaughter.

the Dragon would simply revive them. what was the problem? if no one could really die then what were they doing wrong?

and there was an even bigger question.

why were the monsters elders back home afraid of human determination when humans were this weak?

#forgive me not #overtale genderbend #self indulgent shipping #but with like... actual lore and stuff that makes sense #yes i made this just as an excuse to silence my ocd

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hollowwhisperings · 1 year ago

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that awkward moment where you re-read a crack post only to find that you accidentally edited out the "crack" part.

i'm sorry hugo weaving: it's not your fault they used the character you played to make drama for "character growth". > _ <

additionally must i apologise to:

Fans of the Live-Action Adaptions, old and new, whose introductions to the Legendarium through said works has undoubtedly gifted us all with new friends to nerd out with.

Fans of the above who met the books first & nonetheless enjoyed the motion picture: adaptions allow us all to better analyze our own, personal readings of "canon" through new perspectives. The Legendarium's uses Adaption (in the form of "Translation" to ENG) as its Framing Device: contesting canonicity is Encouraged within the text itself (which paints itself as "unreliable").

Hugo Weaving, for acting the role as it was written for him (no matter my Opinions on Said Writing): apparently Aragorn & Arwen needed a Direct Antagonist to "grow" from.

the employees of Weta Workshop, who did incredibly meticulous work for Tolkien's Legendarium (& continue to do so).

Sir Christopher Lee, who fully conveyed the Might & Majesty of the Wizard Saruman and wielded fully his Greater Experience (with Tolkien's works, stabbing people & just ~generally~) for the bettterment of LOTR's production. The good Sir rests now in Valinor but is ever One Of Us.

Sir Ian McKellan, for his fearsome & canny portrayal of Middle-Earth's Most Persistent Busybody. He has ever been "Mellon" to Fans & Fandom.

Cate Blanchette, who embodied "Galadriel" in all her beautiful glory: she ascertained the power of the character, subtle and fearsome and ancient. Her Graceful Swooshing of The Big Swishy Sleeves prompted my younger self into gaining an interest in the films at all (& thus Those Books I Forgot I Had). If I ever successfully sit through all three films, I'd gladly argue for her place as an Honary "Great" of Chinese Fantasy Dramas (LOTR isn't xianxia but it certainly resembles it in some parts, at least with its Immortals).

Viggo Mortensen, whose castmates found in him a "Strider" worth following, and who has everafter provided the Tolkien Fandom with its very own Cryptid.

Kiran Shah, for whom we can thank wonders untold in the cinematic Legendarium, in his roles as Frodo and Stunt Actor for all four hobbits. Rightfully was he named "Lord of the Scale Doubles" by his castmates: his laurels are well deserved!

Shah's Fellow Doubles in the LOTR films¹, who have long shared in his obscurity: I have added Footnotes that name The IRL Fellowship in its entirety, as best I could ascertain (corrections welcomed!).

Sophia Nomvete, who suffered first and worst in the Racist Backlash against TROP (her image amongst the very first released in Amazon's Promotions): she is beautiful in the role, even in her beardlessness.

the remaining POC cast of TROP, in its first season & those upcoming: they trailblaze against everything set against them² and I collate them in hope that "Tokenism" become a thing of fable... but mostly because TROP has enough of Us in its cast them to make "namedropping" the work of a paragraph (to which i say: took you long enough, Hollywood).

Alex Tarrant & Kali Kopae: they, amongst others cast as "Numenoreans" in TROP, are the first Polynesian actors to star in Tolkien works with their own faces³. They carry with them the Weight of Legacies, fictional and truthful: may the writing do they & their characters justice.

every & anyone who sets the Legendarium to Song, its "truest" incarnation by a Watsonian's metric. yes, even those responsible for the whole "they're taking the hobbits to Isengard!" meme.

Footnotes below the cut: there I touch on Prejudice & Politick, as found throughout Tolkien works: Racism is the primary focus (Anti-Semitism is tied-therein, made "implicit" because This Is Tolkien afterall) though I make reference also to Ableism.

¹The IRL Fellowship of the Ring: Doubles & All

Frodo Baggins was played not only by Elijah Wood but by Kiran Shah, who doubly served as "Size" & "Stunt" Double for Wood.

Sam was played by Sean Astin (principal), Bhoja ‘BK’ Kannada (size) & Kiran Shah (stunts).

Merry by Dominic Monaghan (principal), Martin Lenisson Gray (size) & Kiran Shah (stunts).

Pippin by Billy Boyd (principal), Praphaphorn ‘Fon’ Chansantor (size) & Kiran Shah (stunts).

(Yes, Kiran Shah was apparently the stuntsman for all of the hobbits: finding this out required my reading of More Recent Journalism, as Wikis only credit their principal actors & size doubles in the roles, with Shah's stuntwork credited only generically in-film & in wikis)

Gimli was primarily played by Brett Beattie but, despite Some Effort from his colleagues to confer co-crediting, only John Rhys-Davies was named in main billing ("movie politics", apparently). Beattie was initially cast for stunt & scaling work, but soon became a full-time "stand-in" for much of principal photography (Davies was Infamously Allergic to the Gimli Prosthetics, which restricted how long he could work).

An Aside: I remain personally ??? at why the production bothered to cast anyone, only to give them a full-face of prosthetics. The prosthetic wig & facial hair? Yes: modern beauty standards made it unlikely that a "fully haired" actor would be found for the role. The prosthetic nose, forehead & [whatever else] too? Those served no narrative purpose save, perhaps, an idea that "dwarves should look Old and [conventionally] Unattractive". This is my conclusion upon recalling the general "effect" of Gimli's changed characterization in the films & PJ's Pointed Rejection of casting "little people" in principal roles to begin with.

Legolas was played by Orlando Bloom (principal), Paul Randall (size) & Morgan Evans (stunts). Though Evans was only credited as Legolas in Fellowship, given that the entire trilogy was shot together, it can be Assumed that Evans retained the role as theirs is the only name that came up.

Aragorn was played by Viggo Mortensen (principal), Paul Randall (size) & Kirk Maxwell (stunts).

Gandalf was played by Sir Ian McKellen (principal), Paul Randall (size) & Basil Chapham (stunts). Chapham was credited as a "riding double" (or otherwise under "stunts"). A photo exists of all three Gandalfs in costume together: it's adorable.

Boromir was played by Sean Bean (principal), Paul Randall (size) & Lance Louez (stunts).

Paul Randall did indeed play as Legolas, Aragorn, Gandalf AND Boromir. Though I could only found him specifically credited as Legolas, interviews & cast photos do indeed name him as a "Stand-In" for all four roles. At 7"1, Randall could be used to scale "Big Folk" into scenes with the principal hobbit actors.

²Hollywood Racism in Fantasy Film Casting: Watch This Space?

We all Cringed at the blatant yellow & brownface of the Live-Action "Avatar the Last Airbender" film. The author of the Wizard of Earthsea series has long battled for its primary protagonist, Ged, to look like himself on book covers: he came to adaptions "pre-whitewashed" (to the great frustration of his creator, writer Ursula K. Leguin).

While there is no Public Ado About TROP from its BIPOC cast, save their grace in the face of Racist Backlash, Amazon's making the series at all was inspired by the success of HBO's Game of Thrones. The nature of Streamed Media is something currently protested: actors & writers own nothing they make, can say nothing of their work nor on its reception, and this has yet to Change for the begger.

Those Aware of how GoT handled its canonically POC characters (the Dornish, the peoples of Essos & the Summer Islands) are likely Aware of its Incredulous Killing-Off of the only black woman in its primary cast (Missandei, adapted to screen as an adult woman). Missandei's actor, Nathalie Emmanuelle, has been Very Diplomatic in interviews on her experiences while filming & later watching the show.

Additional instances of how racism has affected more recent Big Budget Fantasy Productions, "internally" (through casting & writing choices) and "externally" (racist backlash against adaptions & actors) can be found in the Star Wars sequel trilogy (Disney) and the televisation of Neil Gaiman's "American Gods" (Freemantle). Kelly Marie Tran (Rose Tico, SW) & John Boyega (Finn, SW) have spoken on their respective experiences with both (both went on to work on other Disney projects but Disney is its own Balrog) , while Orlando Jones has spoken of the racial discrimination within the production of American Gods.

The ongoing Writer's Strike is Informative on the limits of speech imposed on those working on Streamed Media such as TROP, writers & actors both. While TROP's 2nd season had already "wrapped" prior to the Strike, its production team & cast are still very much affected it: their speech is policed, by contractual obligations & self-preservation. Many of TROP's cast is "fresh": they do not have the clout to break convention, especially those acting as "trailblazing minorities" & whose continued employment is more vulnerable for it.

³The (Accidental) Diversity of the LOTR film trilogy & its (Deliberate) Othering of its BIPOC

PJ's films are sometimes joked as being (very long) tourism ads for New Zealand: the islands had been "cast" as Middle-Earth, something retained in pop culture ever since.

To fill out the wide landscapes of Middle-Earth required more cast than Hollywood could affordably export: thusly was casting opened to the local populace. This is how PJ's LOTR films' were made Accidentally Diverse.

Much of the Cavalry in the LOTR films (all those extras on horseback) were IRL Eowyns: the majority of the locals with the horsemanship the production required turned our to be female. Given that entirety of Eowyn's Plotline requires gender-exclusion in Rohan's armies? All those female riders in the background were "disguised" with beards.

Lesser known (certainly less publicised) is the quickness of the LOTR production in deciding which local New Zealanders would be cast & in what roles: a myth of whiteness in "New Zealand as Middle-Earth" was actively chosen at every opportunity.

Tolkien's Imperialist Guilt kicked in, eventually, for his depicting the Enthralled Armies of Sauron as... IRL peoples traditionally colonized (in many cases enslaved) by European Powers. He'd accidentally-on-purpose written "reverse racisn" into Middle-Earth. He'd also depicted & decribed orcs with much of the dehumanizing rhetoric used against peoples of African. This prompted both White & Catholic Guilt in his personal writings (...that never made it into printings of the Legendarium).

Decades later, when filming a big budget live-action adaption to Tolkien's Legendarium, the Production (Peter Jackson definitely included) decided that all their visually BIPOC extras should be cast exclusively as... Orcs and Foreign Invaders of Middle-Earth. Y'know: the very same Enthralled Armies of Sauron that had so troubled the Professor (very belatedly) for the Blatant Racism of it all.

Amongst those Visually BIPOC persons cast as Foreign Invaders? Just about everyone who was Maōri: Maōri, the very people native to "Middle-Earth", and a country that was very much colonized by European Powers (there were also some Attempted Conquest, though "there were no New Zealand Wars" was still the "historical canon" taught during LOTR's filming: mayhaps that explains how the Irony went unrealised).

I will note that it's been twenty-ish years & several more films yet we're still waiting on PJ to have his Belated "Crisis Of Conscience" RE: Racism. TROP, at least, cast its Maōri actors as Proper Numenorean Conquerors so... progress?

#tolkien meta #hollow whispers #i began this in earnest penitence to fellow fans bc i know the films are deservedly beloved #but then i went looking for the IRL fellowship & half of them were uncredited??#that half was somehow the disabled &/or POC half #i've tried to Hide The Dreaded Politick under the cut #cw ableism #cw racism #cw antisemitism

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