#The unbroken circle

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

the fact we can easily listen to music recorded in the 1920s... a century ago... by people who were born in the 19th century, and music is music and people are people and 

[lilradridinghood]

@chex-appreciation-week

Day 5 - Cycle

I started writing a song about Chex for Chex Appreciation Week and then I accidentally made it about Caboose too lol

When you think about it, he did help perpetuate their cycle by bringing Church back. And I like to think he learned from it.

So this is a song about all three of them, from the beginning to RvB Restoration.

[kismetmoon]

The False Shepard, Here To Lead Our Lambs Astray

[ID: a digital drawing of an original, stylised Flatland character named Elizabeth.

Elizabeth is a vaguely humanoid character. She is depicted here with a seven-point star head with an eye in the centre, a clawed right hand and a left arm that is cut in half at the elbow - leading onto a white geometric hand. She has a broad chest that narrows into a thin torso. Her legs are cut out of frame - her body is only shown from the waist up.

She is stood in the centre with her arms held perpendicular to her body and the palms of her hands facing upwards. Over her right hand hovers a white crescent moon with a black earth shadow. Over her left hand hovers a black four-point star. She is smiling and staring slightly upwards. Her body is made up of black lines that get denser at the edges of her head, the bottom of her body and on her forearm.

The background is a stained glass window. There is a yellow and orange sun behind Elizabeth’s head with grey and pale blue glass around it, that fades to purple further down. Faint rays of light also shine out from the sun and into the corners of the canvas.

End ID.]

putting the background story and symbolism about this piece under the cut bc i feel like it really deserves an in-depth explanation

i can’t believe i’ve never properly discussed it before, but Liz’s main goal is to stop Chief turning out like his father.

after she tries and fails to kill their Chief Circle and instead kills his guard in Atlas’s defence (and i’ve decided that this is the incident where she loses her arm), she can’t risk taking any more blows like that. so instead of resorting to physical violence, she instead tries her hand at ‘positive manipulation’ to tear her problem from the root up.

she makes sure Chief has enough emotional ties to the lower classes (Atlas and Vance), irregulars (Ruth and Elijah) and lines (Liz, Ruth, Stella and Irene) for him to reconsider everything he’s been told about them. this is all to make sure that when Chief Sr. kicks the bucket they have a somewhat more progressive next-of-kin lined up to take his place. this works for her as Liz first meets Chief when he’s only about 15, so he’s still pretty young and an impressionable teenager.

but Chief Sr is still alive so boo. he has a strong grip on everything and has Chief Jr pinned under his thumb out of fear. while he doesn’t know about Stella, he does know that this ‘false shepard’ is up to something that involves his son. again, he still doesn’t know exactly who Liz is but he’s working on figuring it out.

so this image of Liz - a large, dark, looming, unnerving figure - is made to fit the circles’ depiction of her. how the next Chief Circle and his daughter are locked in her clawed grasp, and she smiles almost mockingly about it. her prosthetic is replaced by a white geometric hand and it sticks out like a sore thumb, as though it makes her ‘unhuman’ - but easily identifiable. her body is made up of a mass of lines, joined together in their force (danger !! women !!). the glass is only coloured around her head (the sun is the same as her colour palette when she’s not greyscale) and at her ‘feet’ (it’s more like the bottom of her torso but you know what i mean) which is mostly shaped with triangles - as if she’s breaking their world of grey out over the blood of the circles (again, i use purple as circle symbolism). the sun is rising in the sky, as the dawn of a new day and a new era begins.

essentially, she’s a revolutionary of the lower class, and a tyrant to the upper classes.

[maybe-boys-do-love]

[helgiafterdark]

[jt1674]

[solosol]

from Yurugu: An African-centred Critique of European Cultural Thought and Behaviour by Dr Marimba Ani

[kessielrg]

Finally found a hymnal old enough to have Will the Circle Be Unbroken, a song featured rather prominently in Bioshock Infinite. No modern hymnal I’ve got my hands on (mostly Baptist churches and two Methodist churches) has had the song.

The copyright date for the hymnal is 1939.

[multistanisms]

Let Our Circle Be Unbroken; Chapter 3 || Multi-Group

FANDOM: NCT [other groups will be featured/mentioned]

PAIRING: Jaehyun x Taeyong, Yuta x OC

WORD COUNT: 2,983

RATING: PG-13

POTENTIAL TRIGGERS: N/A

SUMMARY:  Surviving a near death experience comes with a lot of surprises when warlock Jeong Jaehyun finds a dragon in a place that holds tragic memories for him. Nothing is as whirlwind, though, as when Jaehyun begins to meet the little clan of misfits Taeyong has gathered over the years and a mystery is revealed.

TAGLIST: @no1likemybbgcharlie

Previous || Masterlist || Next

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The morning sun is shining behind the curtains of Taeyong’s room when the dragon wakes. Stirring among the blankets, he stretches before climbing from bed to head down into the kitchen. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, head tilting at the familiar scent of coffee. Curious, he finished the brief distance to the kitchen, looking around. Nothing seemed overly out of place, aside from the coffee pot being mostly full of fresh brew and a kettle sitting in the middle of the stovetop with steam escaping. A brief, thoughtful sound escaped Taeyong as he walked over to make himself a cup of coffee, walking out the back door to the large patio and sitting on the porch swing that hung in one corner. He sensed the presence before he heard the footsteps coming from around the front, sipping at his drink quietly. 

"Love the new setup here, Yong-ah." Platinum hair falls about a very attractive face, dark eyes taking in the surroundings as the male finds his way to where the dragon sat on the porch, leaning backwards on the railing nearby, forearms atop the wood to let his hands dangle.

"With the clan as big as it is, we needed the room. And this place needed some love." Taeyong replied, shrugging one shoulder as he watched the garden. "We were expecting you, Seonghwa."

"Of that we had no doubt. Although I am surprised Youngjo’s clan isn’t here first, or at the very least Youngjo himself. It's been a few days since Wooyoung and San rushed out on us." Seonghwa states casually, moving to lift himself up and perch on the porch rail with a grace only a nonhuman possesses. "What happened this time, exactly?" 

"Hwa is that a question you really need to ask?" The voice is gentle but strong, and Taeyong smiles as his gaze moves to land on the leader of the Aurora pack; shorter than Seonghwa but clearly powerful in the way he holds himself, as he appears from inside with two cups in his hands. "She was helping the warlock."

"It's nice to see you as well, Hongjoong.” Taeyong greets with a smile, rolling his eyes. “Jaehyun will be fine soon, he was just in bad shape when he got to us. Arashi will be fine, too. You both know that, right?”

“Never doubted it.” Hongjoong replied. “She’s a fighter, that one. Is that going to stop Wooyoung from scolding her when she wakes up, though?”

“Definitely not.” Taeyong and Seonghwa agree with quiet chuckles. 

“He should be scolding me, though, Joong. I’m the one who asked for her help.” Taeyong replied.

“Arashi is very capable of making her own choices, Taeyong.” Hongjoong retorts, moving to lean against the railing next to where Seonghwa is. “Her heart can be too big, is all. You know she cares about everyone. Sometimes too much.”

“That may be the case, but I'm still the one who asked.” Taeyong shook his head a little, lifting his mug for another sip of his coffee. The conversation takes a pause as the door opens and Jaehyun appears from inside with a mug of his own. “Morning, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun nods, moving to sit on the swing with Taeyong as he takes in the pair at the railing. “I thought I sensed company.”

“This is Hongjoong and Seonghwa, the leaders of Wooyoung and San’s clan.” Taeyong introduced as Hongjoong lifted his free hand in greeting and Seonghwa gave a polite nod.

“A pleasure, gentlemen.” Jaehyun greets, giving a small nod of his own. “Do we have any word on Arashi?”

“She’s still asleep, as far as I know. I thought about glancing in on them, but if anything had happened, one of the others would have let us know.” Taeyong answered. 

“Do you mind if I go check on her?”

“Not at all.” Taeyong assured. “I should get started on breakfast, though. With these two here, the others aren’t far behind.”

“We’ll help, of course. You won’t do it alone.” Seonghwa assured as Jaehyun stood and gave a little bow before heading inside. 

Jaehyun set his mug on the counter by the door before starting up the stairs to the room he’d been told was Yuta and Arashi’s. He stops himself for a moment, unsure if he should knock, before he's startled by a voice resounding in his head. 

“You can come in.”

It's Yuta speaking, causing a brief surprise in Jaehyun as he slowly opens the door. Entering the room, he glanced around before he spotted the bed. Yuta is sitting up, a book held elegantly in one hand while the other rests at Arashi’s side. Arashi herself is sleeping on her side facing the vampire. Curled against the back of Arashi's legs is a bundle of multicolored fur, which Jaehyun surmises must be San and Wooyoung. “I came to check on her.”

Yuta chuckles, eyes not moving from his book as he speaks. “She's alright. Hopefully she'll be up and moving soon.” The hand not holding his book moves to pet through her hair. The touch causes Arashi to stir just slightly, arm moving to drape over his legs. “You need not feel guilty, you know.”

“I'm the reason she's in this state, Yuta.” Jaehyun countered. “I'm responsible.” 

“While that is technically the case, Jaehyun, I can assure you that you were not the only thing that had her focus.” Yuta replied, finally lifting his eyes from the pages. “She's very stubborn, and even if I had been more insistent that she be cautious, she probably would have kept at it. How are you feeling?”

“Physically, I'm really well. My magic is still very weak, though.” Jaehyn answered. “Not that that's surprising. I know I was in pretty bad shape. Regardless, I need to thank you. All three of you. I don't know what would have happened if you guys hadn't helped me.”

“Nothing good, I imagine.” Yuta mused, a slight hint of playfulness in his voice. “Do we have any more friends?”

“Hongjoong and Seonghwa?”

“Of course the leaders would be first.” Yuta chuckled. “No doubt they'll have started breakfast by this point.” He reaches over to pet the pile of fur, chuckling as a fox head popped up and wriggled free of the multicolored feline curled into him. The fox hopped over to Yuta’s lap and laid a paw on Arashi, chirping softly. “She's okay, Woo. Hwa and Joong are here. Did you still want to go help cook?” The fox shook its head, adjusting to slink under Arashi's arm, tail wagging a little. Yuta laughs at the gesture and pet Wooyoung gently. “Okay, I'll go down. Keep her safe, okay?” Leaning over, he placed a kiss on Arashi's forehead, whispering something before carefully sliding from the bed to stand. He motioned for Jaehyun to follow as he led the way out, shutting the door quietly behind them. 

“You two are quite a pair.” Jaehyun admitted. “Even in her current state, your energies match very well.”

“I've heard it said that healers fall in love with protectors.”

“That is true.” The two are quiet for a moment as they descend the stairs, and Jaehyun speaks first. “Would I be intruding if I asked you a question?”

“That depends on the nature of the question, Jaehyun.” Yuta replied.

“Your breed is hard to come by these days. Born vampires, I mean.” 

“I can't say that notion is entirely wrong. Borns tend to stay in places that are familiar. I don't know many who leave their homes. If they do turn fledglings, they usually venture off once they're strong enough and in control.” Yuta explained. “Of course, any vampire can turn someone, born and turned alike. Though I doubt that answers your inquiry.”

“I was wondering where you're from?”

“I was born in Osaka.” Yuta replied. “Middle child and only son to my parents. My two sisters are still back home.” 

“I don't remember the last time I was in Japan. Forty years at least.” Jaehyun thought aloud as they entered the kitchen, the sounds and smell of cooking greeting them. “I don't believe I've ever been near Osaka, though.”

“Osaka is beautiful.” Hongjoong chimed in with a grin, busying himself with gathering plates and such for the large table. “I prefer it in the fall, though.”

“Or winter.” Seonghwa teased from the stove where he stood with Taeyong.

“Not the spring?” Jaehyun questioned.

“Someone doesn't like massive crowds.” Seonghwa clarified.

“It's an overload for me, there's always too many energies clashing. I make myself tolerate it for the children.” Hongjoong claimed indignantly, going about setting the table. Seonghwa steps from the stove to walk over, apparently intending on kissing the blue haired male, but Hongjoong turns away. “No, no. Kisses will not make it better.” He protested with a playful pout. Laughter echoed in the kitchen as Seonghwa sealed the smaller male in his arms and dipped his head to steal a kiss anyway, the others laughing. 

“Come on you, you two lovebirds.” Taeyong teased, working on what looked like vegetables. “You're too cute for your own good.”

“You’re certainly a family.” Jaehyun noted, going over to join Taeyong. 

“We've had time to get used to each other, even if we spend a lot of time apart.” The dragon answered with a smile. “With three clans connected, it's basically a family reunion when everyone gets together. That's why this place is perfect.”

“Perfect?” Jaehyun can't quite cover the disbelief in his tone as he arches a brow at Taeyong, who turns to look at him with an understanding smile upturning his lips. 

“Everything can have scars, Jaehyun, homes included. And while this place may have wounds of its own, love and time can bring a new life, better things, to even the darkest of corridors.” His voice is so gentle, so calm, that it catches Jaehyun off guard for a moment, the two of them watching each other quietly. 

“Awwh, look at our dragon, being all deep and poetic.” Hongjoong teases with a giggle, dodging as a carrot flies his way when Taeyong turns away from Jaehyun. “Oh, come on now, dragon-hyung! That was a good one!”

“I should smack you.” Taeyong teased, rolling his eyes. 

“You wouldn't dare.” Hongjoong snarked back. 

“Maybe have Seonghwa do it, then.” Yuta chimed in, a smirk evident in his voice as he looked up from cutting more meat.

“Regardless of who smacks him, he'd smack back.” Seonghwa says in a faux forlorn tone, sighing dramatically.

“Who are you, Wooyoung?” Hongjoong nudged Seonghwa gently, smiling even as he spoke. “Gods, I hate all of you.”

“Lying is unbecoming of a leader, Joong.”  Yuta teased. 

“Maybe you're just unbecoming, Yuta.” Hongjoong countered. Yuta had opened his mouth to retort, but a knock sounded on the door. 

“Come in!” Taeyong called, the sound of the door opening soon following. “We're in the kitchen.” Three pairs of footsteps were heard approaching. After a moment, three men entered. One redhead, a blonde and one with greenish-turquoise colored hair. “Hello boys.”

“Hey there, Taeyong.” The redhead gave a nod, eyes finding Yuta. “I take it Woo is with her?”

“Yes. You need me to show you, Youngjo?”

“I can find my way.” Youngjo replied, slipping past the pair he'd entered with to head upstairs. The green haired male and the blonde watch him go before returning their eyes to the group in the kitchen. 

“How is our little witch?” The blonde asked. 

“Still asleep, but doing better. Thank you for coming, Yeosang.” Yuta replied. 

It didn't take much to fall into a comfortable atmosphere, everyone working together, talking and laughing as they made food and coffee. Others came slowly; two from Taeyong’s, the remaining three from Hongjoong's clan and two more from Youngjo’s and Jaehyun did his best to make sure he caught each name and matched it to a face, mind once again letting him feel at ease with a distraction. San appeared to get food for himself, Wooyoung and Youngjo, carrying two plates upstairs before returning for drinks and disappearing again. Once breakfast was made and dishes done, the now large group found their way to the den, everyone easily finding places. Jaehyun found a place near Taeyong and Seonghwa, sipping a cup of soda as he listened and occasionally engaged with the group, but he was tense and on edge, fingers on his free hand tapping at his thigh. He was lost in thought when a tap on his knee drew him back into the moment. 

“Would you like to come outside with me?” Taeyong’s voice is gentle and soft, offering instead of demanding, and Jaehyun finds himself nodding. Taeyong lets the others know he’s stepping out, and Jaehyun follows him out to the front part of the wrap-around porch. The dragon moved to sit on the porch swing, tucking one leg under the other as he gently swayed the swing with his other foot. He watched as Jaehyun moved to lean on the railing, head tilting. “What’s bothering you, Jaehyun?”

“What do you mean?” Jaehyun asked back, glancing over his shoulder. 

“You’re tense.” Taeyong's voice is matter-of-fact, eyes watching the other male patiently.

“I’m fine, Tae. I'm just not-”

“Jaehyun, I know you're not used to this scene, and I know we've technically only known each other a couple of days, but I can tell something is wrong. How much of that is where we are and how much of that is how you live out in the world, I'm not sure. But I sensed the change hours ago, so please, don't lie to me. I'm not saying to trust me with your life story right this second, but I need you to know that you are safe here, with all of us.” 

Jaehyun is listening, head lowered and eyes shut. “Safe isn't exactly something someone like me knows, Tae. That's why I do my best to help our kind. This property though…” he trails off, lifting his head to look out at the vast yard. “I know this isn't the same place from my past in many ways, but it still feels haunted. And not in a fun way.” 

“I can't say I know exactly how that feels, but I can say that the past can be healed over time. If you let it. There's certainly a few of us in the clan who can attest to that.” Taeyong replied, lifting his glass up again. 

“Are there any actual humans in this clan?” Jaehyun manages to tease, turning to finally look at the dragon. 

“Just plain ol’ human? A few, though they do have psychic gifts. Just member wise, my clan is in the twenties, and that’s not counting mates.” Taeyong smiles as he takes another sip from his mug. “All joking aside, though. What’s wrong? You don’t have to dive into the deep end of your past, please don’t make yourself uncomfortable. If I can help, though, please let me.” He watches as Jaehyun turns back to once more face the yard, patient as he listens to the sounds of the day waking up around them. 

“When I was little more than a kid, my mom sold me off for a pretty penny.” Jaehyun’s voice is quiet, but the silence of the porch makes it easy for Taeyong’s sensitive ears to pick up on. “At that time, warlocks were a commodity. Demons spawned halflings like no one’s business, and once we were old enough, all kinds of people would pay top dollar for us.”

“Black market slavery.” Taeyong mused. “Every species has one, though I can see why warlocks would come in handy. Your magic has a variety of uses.”

“So do our marks.” Jaehyun replied, tone sad. “Especially when they can be preserved.”

“Like your eyes?”

“Exactly like my eyes.” It goes quiet between them, but Jaehyun is very aware of Taeyong’s eyes on him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes before continuing. “I thought I was lucky at first, until I ended up here. We were little more than toys, and the headmistress used berserkers to keep us in line.” He stopped, one hand gripping the railing.

“Oh.” The realization in Taeyong's voice is evident without having to see his face.

“I know it isn’t the same, Taeyong. This place, your family-”

“But your mind still registered Geonhak’s aura and it triggered fight or flight.”

“Sort of.” Jaehyun chuckled, shaking his head. “I learned quick berserkers don’t react kindly to either the fight or flight mode.” The swing creaks and he hears Taeyong stand, and soon the rainbow haired male is at his side. “I managed to stay because none of you were bothered by his presence or reacted negatively.”

“Well, I can say with utmost confidence that Geonhak is very tame for his species. Especially when Yeosang is present.” Taeyong moves to rest his forearms on the railing. “I am sorry you went through such darkness, but I need you to know that you need not be uncomfortable. It’s okay to feel, to step away if it becomes too much.”

“Old habits are hard to break, my friend. Especially ones based on survival.”

“I’m not your only new friend here, Jae.” Taeyong remarks. “And we’ll all do what we can to help you, in our own ways, Mind you, this is all if you decide to stick around once Arashi says you’re okay.”

“How are you so sunshine coded?” Jaehyun teased, looking at Taeyong curiously. 

“We all have our own battles with darkness, just like we all have to figure out how to fight against it. Some people let it consume them, others of us choose to try and be a light. I’d like to think that despite all of our own stories, these guys fall into the latter category.”

Jaehyun nodded a little as he thought, looking back out into the yard. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out then, won’t we?”

[screechthewriter]

Firestorm | a god of war fanfic

part three of four:

When Kratos arrived in town, he was greeted by more stares. They seemed genuinely surprised to see him alive. He ignored them, limping past and back to the old man’s house.

The Blades would return, he knew. When they did, he would bury them, recover, and move on. The plan had not changed. He would simply avoid going upriver.

Or perhaps downriver, if the beast was moving that way.

Maybe it would be better if I stayed away from the river entirely.

He was checking the injury again when the old man returned. There was someone else with him—a man who was only just starting to go grey. He seemed wary about being in the same space as Kratos. Kratos had planned to ignore him, assuming that he was some guest of the old man’s, but...

“My friend here was hoping to have a word with you,” the old man said.

“No,” Kratos said immediately.

“You haven’t even heard what he wants to say.”

Kratos glared at the old man. “Answer me this: has anyone survived that beast before?”

“You would be the first to engage it in direct combat and live.”

“Then I know what he wants. He views me as their best chance of defeating the beast and wants my help. The answer is no. I have other matters to attend to.”

The old man hummed quietly, then turned back to the visiting man. They had a brief conversation; the meaning of their words was lost to Kratos, but the conversation went on far too long for Kratos’s liking. Eventually, the old man spoke again. “Have you determined how you will be navigating the river?”

“I will not be navigating the river.”

“If you defeat the monster, there are those in this town willing to take you anywhere you wish to go. Free food and passage." The old man tilted his head slightly. "I can promise you, whatever you're running from, you'll outrun it faster on water than by foot."

Kratos stood, so suddenly that he should have collapsed from either pain or a rush of lightheadedness. The thing that kept him moving was his rage, a sudden stab of it coursing through his body at the old man’s words. "What concern is it of yours what I am running from?!" he snarled.

The visiting man cowered. He may not have known Kratos, known what he was exactly, but from the look in his eyes, he knew exactly what he was looking at. Something powerful. Something monstrous.

The old man, though…

Next thing Kratos knew, there was a wooden staff pressing against his chest, right over his heart. The old man stood much closer, blue eyes calm on the surface, with something...different underneath. Not fear, not anger...authority. He spoke first to the visitor, causing the other man to flee. Then…

"I will not be spoken to with that tone in my own home," he said calmly. His tone held the same authority of his eyes, calm and unconcerned. Kratos recognized it from his days in the agōgē. The teachers he feared and respected most were always the calm ones. The men who did not need to raise their voices to make their positions clear.

He might have hated hearing that tone here and now, from some mortal old fool he barely knew. But despite himself—despite all his other urges to the contrary—he could not bring himself to speak. Hear what he has to say, whispered some buried part of him, the young footsoldier of long ago. Just listen.

"You're right, Greek. It is none of my concern what you are running from. At the end of the day, I will continue on as I have regardless of whether you live or kill yourself. But…" His eyes examined Kratos's face. "...why is it so difficult for you to believe that I am simply being altruistic? Has there really been no one who has helped you with no hope of reward?"

Lysandra. Atreus. Orkos, to a degree. All dead. Kratos's mouth felt dry at the memories of them. Two gone by his hand, one lost to cruel fate. He could not even speak their names aloud.

"It is, of course, your choice. I cannot force you. Only remind you that you are in an unfamiliar land and could do with making some allies." The old man finally stepped back. "And ask yourself what you're really running from while you’re at it."

The old man's gaze slid from Kratos to a corner behind him. Kratos did not have to ask. He knew from the throbbing pain in his leg, the sense of foreboding gripping at his skull.

The Blades were back.

Kratos walked over to them, picking one up. It fit perfectly in his hand, comfortably, as if the hilt had molded to his hand. A vision flashed before his eyes: walking back to the river, driving the blade into the beast's skull, slashing its gut and letting the entrails spill out.

The blood…

Lysandra's blood, Calliope's blood, so much blood. He could already feel it on his skin, mixing with their ashes. The beast was just a beast, he knew that, but he had not used these weapons since Olympus. Had not fully tasted his rage since he destroyed his home. He buried the Blades like he buried his rage because if he tasted blood again…

Would he stop?

"Your people do not want the help of a cursed man," Kratos said.

He picked up the other blade and walked out the door. The old man did not follow.

It was foolish of him to stay outside, Kratos knew. The heat of the day still made him sick, and his leg would heal faster with rest. But he could not bring himself to go back. He sat in the meager shade of the rocks and stared out over the town, and the river just beyond it.

The river that could bring him either freedom or damnation.

Loathe as he was to admit it, the old man had a point. He had travelled south with no real plan, nothing on his mind except escaping his past. Instead, he was hunted, battered by the environment, and no closer to finding peace. Perhaps running from the Blades, running from himself and his darker urges, was to be his eternal punishment. Perhaps he should learn to accept that. That did not mean he had to bring further hardship on himself. He could find more efficient ways to run. Better ways.

Perhaps this river was one of them.

It is only a beast, Kratos told himself. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists. You have killed many like it before. It is an animal to be hunted. You do not have to…

You won't…

But could he really tell himself that? As much as he wanted to believe it, he didn't know if it was true. It seemed whenever he tasted blood, he couldn't stop. Man or beast, did it matter? Especially when the beast was as strong as this one?

He sat there as the day cooled. Even the lowering heat was not enough to soothe his mind. Eventually, when the chill turned from a comfort and to a nuisance, he returned to the old man’s home. The old man said nothing to him. Only continued scratching away at his tablet.

“...what’s so important that you have to write it down?” Kratos asked, despite himself.

The old man smiled slightly. “A great many things,” he said.

Kratos should not have been so annoyed back a lack of conversation, but something about that smile made him feel mocked. It was possible that was not the old man’s intent, but it was enough to make Kratos go to bed without saying another word.

Or at least, he tried to. Kratos had been sleeping lightly of late, his body rousing him every time there was a potential threat. There had been little to threaten him in this village aside from the beast, but he kept waking up. At the sound of strange birds. At the sound of a dog barking. One time at the sound of a cat that perched in the window and hissed at Kratos when he glared at it. Once, he thought he heard singing, crying...sounds he thought he recognized. But when he stepped outside to listen closer, the language was foreign to him, the tune unfamiliar. The crying baby not…

He stepped back inside and covered his ears until the weeping stopped.

When he slept for the final time that night, he dreamt of Sparta. Not in ruins, not aflame, for once, but whole. He was young again, darker-skinned, his forearms unmarred. Atreus crouched next to him, perpetually adjusting his grip on his spear, as he always did. "Personally, I think this is deeply heroic of us," he whispered. "Not at all stupid."

The boar had been destroying some nearby farmland, and nearly killed at least two helots that they knew of. There had been talk of organizing a hunting party, but when the beast had come too close to Kratos's land for his liking, he decided to take matters into his own hands. His only concession had been letting Atreus come--although he said letting as if he had any choice in the matter. The other Spartan would have come even if Kratos had told him not to. He likely would've had to knock the man unconscious and tie him up to keep him away.

"We'll be the talk of the town. Lysandra knows how to prepare boar, right?"

"There won't be any boar to prepare if you don't stop talking." Kratos elbowed Atreus in the ribs, as gently as he could. "You didn't have to come."

"Don't be stupid, of course I did." That slight grin Atreus wore before battle was as familiar to Kratoas as his own face. "Not that I think a simple boar could take the god of war, but…"

Wait.

No, that wasn't how the day had gone.

Kratos sharply grabbed Atreus's shoulder, half-expecting the illusion to peel away, revealing Athena, Ares, the Furies, Zeus. It was a trick. It had to be. So many had worn the face of his wife to try and appeal to him; using his friend was not out of the question. But there was no flash of light, no shift in the other man's skin; when Atreus looked at Kratos, it was his face, not some mask tearing away to reveal a sharp sneer and malicious eyes. It was just…

"You all right?"

But how? He'd been dead for years.

Then again, the dead did not seem to stay dead. Not in his mind, at least.

"Are we going to kill this thing or not?"

Kratos woke up then, his hand cramping as if he had been grasping a spear too long. Kratos carefully flexed his fingers. The ache faded quickly.

The dream did not.

Kratos tried not to dwell on dreams. They were, at best, mere nonsense, and at worst, a tool for his past to mock him. But this did not feel like a mockery. It felt like...

“You couldn’t have spoken to me sooner?” Kratos growled quietly.

He expected a clever remark from the old man, but it seemed he had already left from the day. It was only once he was sure he was alone that Kratos added, more softly, "You always were a fool."

Atreus did not appear to speak to him as Athena often did, but Kratos knew what his reply would have been. You continue associating with me, αδελφός. I think that makes you at least twice the fool I am.

He wasn't wrong about Kratos being a fool. He was just wrong about the reasons.

The sun was rising. The heat of the day would be intolerable soon. Kratos contemplated his options. Remembered the boar hunt. It had gone smoothly; they had not exactly been hailed as heroes, but people were grateful the beast was finally dispatched. He had not lost himself to anything.

There had been a time when he could fight without the Blades, without his rage overflowing into something monstrous, but he could not remember those days. It had been so long since he had ever thought not to use them. What had happened to him? Had his deal with Ares scarred him so greatly?

Or had he simply grown too used to the power they gave him?

Is there another way?

He wasn't sure. But, as he watched the sunlight outside grow harsher, he started to wonder if it was perhaps worth the risk. He thought of contingencies. If he fought the beast far enough away, if there was no one else around, no other targets to turn his rage on should it consume him…

He could live with himself if it were just the beast. But only if there was compensation.

And only if he did not use the Blades.

As he contemplated this, he heard a familiar voice outside. The old man was speaking to the younger woman. As always, when Kratos left the house and approached them, she glared. Kratos ignored her. "Can they guarantee me passage upriver or downriver?" Kratos asked.

The old man's expression did not change, not even to twitch into a smug smile. All the better; Kratos would have changed his mind out of spite if it had. "They can."

"Hmm." Kratos looked to the other side of town, towards the river, and sighed heavily. "I will need a weapon."

This town was too small for a large armory; Kratos would have to make do with what little they did have. Spears he knew well, and while the curved blades of their swords reminded him too much of the Blades, he knew they would suffice. So long as I do not try to throw them. "If this beast is anything like a regular hippopotamus," said the old man as he watched Kratos select his weapons, "it will be most active at night. Not entirely inactive during the day, as you know…" He glanced down at Kratos's leg. "Are you sure that will not hinder you?"

"It's fine." Even with his fitful sleep, it had healed well enough—not entirely, but enough. He would not let it slow him down. "Are you saying I should seek it out as soon as possible?"

"It's what I would do, for whatever that is worth." The old man was writing again. By now, the scratching sound was familiar to Kratos. "Have you killed something of this size before?"

"Killed bigger." It was a statement of fact, not a boast. "Why have you been helping me?"

The question had been bothering Kratos for some time, but if he was going to ask, now seemed the best time. He was sure the man would claim altruism again, something Kratos wasn't sure he believed, but instead…

"I have a talent for arbitration and you seem like a man in conflict," the old man said. "Sometimes a second set of eyes can make a problem clearer, but...you seem like a man used to doing things on his own."

For better or worse, the old man was right. Even when he still had living friends and family, they had to pester him to accept help. The phalanx only holds if everyone works together, Atreus had told him once. Admit it. You need me.

Of course, they'd been talking about Kratos's courtship of Lysandra at the time, and Kratos had been quick to point that out. In hindsight, the wider sentiment did have merit, just...not in that situation.

Perhaps things would have gone differently if  you'd been there, old friend.

Kratos gritted his teeth, trying to push back thoughts of the past. "I don't think this is a conflict you can help with."

The old man chuckled. "Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that. You haven't met some of my friends." He scratched one final symbol into his tablet before meeting Kratos's eyes. "If I offer you some advice, will you at least listen?"

"Hmm...fine." He had a feeling the old man would tell him whether or not he wanted to hear it. At least this time, he was asking first.

"I have a feeling that whatever it is you are running from was not always there," said the old man, "that there must have been a time in your life before it. Take that as proof that it will not remain forever. Things may never be as they were, but…" He shrugged. "...the worst of it can pass, if you find a way to make it so."

Kratos did listen. He even considered the words.

He just as quickly pushed them aside, because he did not have time for the thought. He had to focus on other things. On what it would take to kill the beast.

Kratos did not say anything as he left the space, but as he did, he caught sight of the old man smiling slightly. As if he thought he'd somehow scored a victory.

Old fool, Kratos thought.

He tried to ignore the fact that the words had taken root around his heart. Clinging to it. Whispering a lie he'd never been able to make himself believe.

It will not remain forever.

It certainly did not feel that way.

[likehephaestionwhodied]

crying about Duane Allman help

[kismetmoon]

i <3 my gf

[Plain text ID: four monochrome digital drawings of two original Flatland characters, Liz and Ruth, on grey backgrounds.

Liz is the longer, solid black line with stars on either end of her body and three arm-like cilia near her head and the back end of her body. She is missing one cilium and instead has a shallow indent in her side where it would be. Ruth is the shorter line with grey patches on her body and a sharp v-shaped ‘dent’ in her middle. She also has four cilia protruding from her sides in the same places as Liz. Their heads are denoted as the blunt ends with thin white lines making up a mouth.

In the first photo, Liz is bent over Ruth (who is situated right below her) as to avoid touching Ruth’s dent while holding a 2D-style umbrella in her mouth. It is raining all around them except for areas in the umbrella’s path. There is a square thought bubble beside Ruth with text that says “what a nice friend!”. There is a triangular thought bubble next to Liz with text that says “i <3 my gf”. Both are smiling.

In the second photo, Liz’s body is curled loosely around Ruth’s but they are not touching. Liz is smiling while Ruth has a soft frown. There is a grey line to their left, right and behind them that all connect at the ends to form an open rectangle-like structure that is meant to represent a bed. There is a square thought bubble beside Ruth with text that says “do friends usually cuddle?”. There is a triangular thought bubble next to Liz with text that says “i <3 my gf”.

In the third photo, Liz and Ruth are situated horizontally side-by-side with Liz to the top and Ruth near the bottom of the photo. They are both touching each other’s arm-like structure closest to their heads. Liz is smiling while Ruth is grinning nervously. There is a square thought bubble beside Ruth with text that says “omp i wonder if she feels the same way,,”. There is a triangular thought bubble next to Liz with text that says “i <3 my gf”.

In the fourth photo, Ruth is facing Liz - who is curled into a S-shape. Liz is presenting some grey flowers in her mouth to Ruth. Ruth has a sheepish smile and a square thought bubble beside her with text that says “omp i think she likes me back”. There is a triangular thought bubble next to Liz with text that says “i <3 my gf”.

End ID.]

[murderballadeer]

not a christian but they did kinda go off with gospel music

[mercuryislove]

i NEEEEEEED to be at my best friend's house on their big red sectional sofa with the spooky red lights on while we listen to king dude

[haveyouheardthisfolksong]

General Disclaimer: While this song has religious connotation, this blog is purely for polling and does not intend to promote any religious ideologies.

[dndtreasury]

Blade of the Unbroken Circle by Griffon's Saddlebag