#acquaintances/ancestors/god himself

[c-t-r-l14]

A RETROSPECTIVE, A REFLECTION, AND YES, ANOTHER DAMN ALEX RANT.

What I find the most amusing is the fact that Saku likes my rants about Alex.

At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if ya’ll know me as, “That One Girl Who Despises Alex”, because I write about how mad he makes me, and have MULTIPLE RANTS about how much I dislike him and his gaslighting, excuse-making, manipulative, no-backbone having, crybaby bitch ass.

Like—I be jumping Alex, reading his ass for filth, and be downright destroying him and Saku reads it and is like “Lmao, good stuff”, and LIKES THE DAMN RANTS.

It’s really crazy because at first, I was really scared about posting my first ever rant about him, because before people saw just how immature Alex was being in the breakup audio, a lot of people were jumping listener in the comments and talking about how it was their fault that this happened in the first place. Now, listener is definitely NOT a saint, at all. Even though I sympathize with them, what they did was wrong—point BLANK. But the way their relationship ended wasn’t entirely their fault.

I remember reading the comments and there were some people who said, “Ugh, if listener just didn’t say anything at all, this would’ve never happened”, but that shit confuses me so much?? I do agree that they should’ve been more careful about their approach when it comes to confrontation, but if THIS is the way Alex reacts when Listener looses their cool and does something in the heat of the moment, who is to say that it wouldn’t happen at all? He was so damn quick to end a four year relationship over a mistake. He never put in any work to see why listener acted out that day. He never once tried to talk to them, he acknowledged the fact that they don’t usually act like this, made up stupidly flimsy excuses on why the relationship would supposedly would not work, said some out of pocket shit about them not being the right partner for a long distance relationship, AND THEN PROCEEDED TO GASLIGHT THEM into thinking that THEY were the crazy one for reacting to what he just said, tried to manipulate them into thinking that the reason why their relationship ended was all their fault, and tried to act like HE was the mature one by making the decision to end it in the first place—-

And you’re telling me you saw ALL OF THIS UNFOLD, and your first thought was, “Oh yeah, all of this is definitely listener’s fault. They had it coming, lmao. Good luck to Alex in the States.”

OH H E L L NO.

If he had been so quick to end his relationship of F O U R Y E A R S in a heartbeat over something he K N E W to be an out of character mistake, then what on God’s green Earth would make ya’ll think that he’d stick around had listener stayed silent???? Listener will make mistakes, and there will come a time when their emotions will get the best of them (as it does with all of us), and you guys really believe that Alex’s fickle, emotional whiplash having, “this would be good for us, we both wouldn’t be tied down anymore 🥺” headass would still stay then???

Because, HE W O U L D N ‘ T.

He saw the opportunity to leave, and he took it. He already had his mind made from the jump when he told his mother and father, his friends, his acquaintances, his ancestors—and the ENTIRE W O R L D that he was taking that NYC job and his partner was last to know. Listener—-his own goddamn partner—-was the only person he needed to get rid of. They were his “burden” to bear, and he wanted to rid himself of it. And he didn’t want to seem like the bad guy, so he made excuses to make the break up easier on himself, pushed the blame away from him, and cried like the little baby back bitch he is in order to make it seem like this was such a hard decision to come to. He disregarded listener’s feelings, disregarded them as a whole, disrespected them, and left them with (probably) more trauma then what they started with.

I am sick and tired of seeing people blame the listener for everything that happened. They did not deserve the way they were broken up with at all. Alex isn’t a victim. He never was—and he stopped being the “mature one” (if you can even call it that) the moment those dumbass excuses came out of his slimy mouth.

For the people who were saying, “Alex deserves better than listener! I hope he finds a new partner.” Ya’ll need to realize that if this is how he acts when listener makes a mistake, he will do the absolute same thing with his future partners. He will give up the entire relationship and make an exit plan as soon as they do something even a little bit out of character. People who fold that easily and refuse to put effort in their relationship will NEVER KEEP IT. He will end up being single, and I know he’s the type of person who will never consider himself as a factor as to why his relationships all end in faliure because he has such a victim complex.

This man deserves absolutley nothing, ya’ll! NOTHING!

And I hope that one day, he realizes what he did was wrong, and apologizes to them. I will literally not be able to die peacefully if this doesn’t happen.

The craziest thing is that back in the olden days (four months ago), I would’ve been so scared to publish this whole rant, ya’ll. 😭 My dislike for Alex has been a hyper-fixation that held me in a massive chokehold—and I was honestly scared I was going to get hated on for not liking him (as well as my reasons for disliking him in the first place). But in the most strange turn of events, a lot of people share the same disdain I have for him too, and the comments on that break-up audio is now more critical toward Alex than it is toward listener, and these were both really big shocks to me. I’m really happy that a lot of people enjoy my rants, and even more happier (and surprised) to see Saku HIMSELF like my rant posts too.

Like literally ya’ll, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The love ya’ll leave for these rants are the reasons why I feel more and more confident to make them in the first place, and I appreciate it all very much.

So, here’s to next year, and to all the rants I’ll make in the future! And I hope we’ll all have a great year!

(Except for you, Alex. I hope your credit card declines when you try to pay for that $2.90 train fare and nobody opens the emergency door for you).

[salixsociety]

Ullr's Oath

On building a relationship with the gods of cold and dark.

With the seasons so rapidly changing in Alaska, I am reminded of my eternal wish to honor the cycle of everything in my religious practice as well. Watching 'termination dust' gather on mountaintops and birches rapidly dropping their foliage in preparation for the harsh cold of subarctic winter, I feel a need to leave behind my familiar gods of agriculture and productivity in favor of a new journey: seeking acquaintance with the frigid gods of winter.

The Learning

"Ullr is a god about whom not much is known," crows every source at me as I tentatively dip my toes into winter worship. The past few weeks, complacency has been the theme: scholars know Ullr must have been of great import to the Old Norse cultus, but they consider what they do have insufficient to construct a hypothesis with, and leave it at that. Go figure. While I have no desire to completely abandon my summer gods just yet - I've just given them thanks for my fruitful salmon run and wild adventures - I know the time is coming, and I am unwilling to turn a blind eye to a god I feel is calling my name. And so I am neck deep in books and other sources, finding nothing, and I figure it may be time to do what I always dread doing: close my eyes to the sparse Eddic attestations and speculation of others, and reconstruct, damn it. Reconstruction, or reviving, whichever word you think is more appropriate (I am aware which is which is a hot button topic, and I have no desire to strongly associate myself with either community) based on little more than intuition is something I do not do often. I like, probably more than I should, doing things by the book. If something is not attested to, or I don't have reasonable cause to assume it was done historically, I do not engage with it. And I am aware that is a flaw of mine, religion does not have to reflect the way the ancestors did it for every tiny facet of it. That is just the Appeal to Age fallacy, as it were. After all, I feel no need to replicate certain historical morals, such as flagrant misogyny or xenophobia. The security of setting every step in the footprint of an ancestor needs to make way for change and, dare I say, improvement, at some point. So I will take what we know about Ullr, and I will take what I know about other gods, and fill in the gaps with my cosmology that I have worked so hard on, that I think is completely compatible with or even similar to the cosmology that upholds the old Germanic religion in its entirety.

Ullr, who'll be the main focus of our exploration today, is only mentioned thrice in the Poetic Edda, and twice in the Prose Edda. Most are truly nothing more than mentions; they don't tell us much about who he is, what he does, or what he stands for. The Poetic Edda tells us where he lives, in Grímnismál:

Ýdalir heita þar er Ullr hefir sér of görva sali. Ýdalir it is called, where Ullr has himself a dwelling made. [Thorpe]

Ýdalir translates directly to 'yew dales', plural. It may well refer to a single location that he calls home as well, but that is not otherwise attested to, and the plural stands out to me, reassuring my understanding of the gods as indwellers: they are not just narrative tools to describe nature, they are nature, and can be found in every aspect of it. The idea that Ullr would dwell in yew-dales makes sense, as the Prose Edda reveals in Skáldskaparmál that Ullr is also known as bow-god, among others, and bows are often crafted out of Yew wood. Yew (taxus baccata) is a closed-pore softwood. Some of the oldest longbows in the world were found in England and Wales, and they were made out of yew. This preference for yew is not for no reason: it is easy to carve, long-lasting, extremely well suited for compression and tension, and much associated with death across Europe. Yews used to be placed in church- and graveyards across Europe, both to supply wood for weapons, but also because of its association with strong spirits. In Greco-Roman mythology yew was associated with Chthonic deities, ghosts, and even magic, and Artemis dipped her arrows in yew poison for a more effective hunt. The Gauls, too, made bows and arrow-poison with yews. It is a symbol of mourning as well, both because it was planted so abundantly in graveyards and because it was used during funerals and mourning periods across Europe. (de Cleene, 2024) This strong association with death was likely a two-way phenomenon: it probably came about because of how somber-looking and extremely poisonous the tree is, and then stuck because of its use in both causing and protecting death, being used both as weapon and graveyard hedge. But let us turn our gaze back to the written sources.

The other two mentions of Ullr in the Poetic Edda are equally short. One provides us with one of many hints that Ullr was quite important, as Odinn attempts to call a blessing upon whosoever tries to save him from a torturous predicament he has gotten himself into:

Ullar hylli hefr ok allra goða hverr er tekr fyrstr á funa, því at opnir heimar verða of ása sonum, þá er hefja af hvera.

Ull’s and all the gods’ favour shall have, whoever first shall look to the fire; for open will the dwelling be, to the Æsir's sons, when the kettles are lifted off. [Thorpe]

In his instruction to his potential saviors he calls on them the blessing of Ullr in particular. This could be for no reason: he does also mention every other God in shorthand, and the name was likely used primarily to fit the meter and rhyme of the poem. Still, it is an potentially interesting choice, considering the relationship between Odinn and Ullr that we will uncover.

The final mention of Ullr in the Poetic Edda, this time in the Atlakviða, mentions his ring, and swearing an oath on it.

Svá gangi þér, Atli, sem þú við Gunnar áttir eiða oft of svarða ok ár of nefnda, at sól inni suðrhöllu ok at Sigtýs bergi, hölkvi hvílbeðjarok at hringi Ullar.

So be it with thee, Atli! as toward Gunnar thou hast held the oft-sworn oaths, formerly taken - by the southward verging sun, and by Sigtý’s hill, the secluded bed of rest, and by Ullr's ring. [Thorpe]

Rings and oaths are like peanut butter and jelly in Germanic myth. Rings of all kinds (finger rings, neck rings, arm rings) have played a very important role in Germanic culture for a long time, as currency, as indications of wealth, as amulets, and as subjects to swear sacred oaths on. Now Ullr was likely not the oath god, as Germanic polytheism is not wont to have a singular god for a singular purpose, really ever. But he may have been one of many oath gods, and we will keep this in mind as we move forward. The Atlakviða and Grímnismál are often thought to be the oldest surviving Eddic poems, and that may be the reason they are the only ones to mention Ullr. Ullr may have fallen out of favor or grown increasingly less common as time went on in the old Germanic cultus. Still, he is a fascinating figure worth exploring.

The Prose Edda mentions Ullr twice, once in Skáldskaparmál, and once in Gylfaginning. The former, Skáldskaparmál, gives us an indication of the kennings that may be used for Ullr.

Hvernig skal kenna Ull? Svá, at kalla hann son Sifjar, stjúp Þórs, öndurás, bogaás, veiðiás, skjaldarás.

'How should Ull be referred to?' 'By calling him the son of Sif, the stepson of Thor, the god with skis, the god with a bow, the hunting god and the god with a shield.' [Poole]

This does not give us much to work off of immediately, but it is a good indication of what sort of space he occupied in the pantheon. These kennings tell us he is a god of winter, of traversing snow, of battle and of hunting. We can compare him to Skadi, a goddess occupying a similar niche of mountains, hunting, and cold. It also tells us half of the story of his ancestry - but of course ancestors are not limited to blood in Germanic polytheism. His connection to Thor as his stepfather could be quite important.

His final attestation in Gylfaginning reiterates most of this, with a few additional details:

Ullr heitir einn, sonr Sifjar, stúpsonr Þórs. Hann er bogmaðr svá góðr ok skíðfærr svá, at engi má við hann keppast. Hann er ok fagr álitum ok hefir hermanns atgervi. Á hann er ok gott at heita í einvígi.

'Ull is the name of one. The son of Sif, he is the stepson of Thor. He is so skilful a bowman and skier that no one can compete with him. He is beautiful to look at, and is an accomplished warrior. He is also a good person to pray to when in single combat.' [Byock]

The final written source that mentions Ullr is the Gesta Danorum, where the gods appear euhemerized. It gives us an absolutely fascinating account of Ullr as a practitioner of Seidr, using magical means of transportation as other gods associated with magic, and even witches, are wont to do.

Fama est, illum adeo praestigiarum usu calluisse, ut ad traicienda maria osse, quod diris carminibus obsignavisset, navigii loco uteretur nec eo segnius quam remigio praeiecta aquarum obstacula superaret.

The story goes that he was such a cunning wizard that he used a certain bone, which he had marked with awful spells, wherewith to cross the seas, instead of a vessel; and that by this bone he passed over the waters that barred his way as quickly as by rowing. [Elton]

Furthermore, the Gesta Danorum details Ullr as a usurper of Odinn's throne. It does so in a euhemerized fashion, presenting Ullr as a real man in Danish history, who usurps Odinn's throne when he is banished for misbehavior, rules for ten years, and is then banished to 'Sweden' for his crimes upon Odinn's return. Because it is euhemerized and quite convoluted, I will not include the full attestations here, but I will tell you where to find them: in the Gesta Danorum, book three.

So where does this leave us? We have before us a deity mentioned only in passing and in place names. The shadow of a figure so imposing and well-known that the authors of old simply did not feel a need to record him. "Who doesn't know Ullr?" But I, now, a thousand years later, do not. And I would like to.

The Work

Ski god, hunter, warrior, duelist, seidmann, yew-dweller, usurper, heartthrob. What on earth to make of thee? I have some ideas.

A great way to start the process of reconstructing old faith on very little, is to ask yourself questions based on what you do know, and fill them in with speculation. For example: who is Ullr's father? Normally the Eddas, especially the Prose Edda, are quite clear about the paternal lineage of the gods, but nothing is said of Ullr's father. That said, we can speculate. Ullr must, if he likes to ski and hunt, be a lover of the mountains and the wintertime, like Skadi is. Skadi is a giantess, and this is completely in line with her place in the world. She resides in the mountains where the snow never melts, and she uses the snow to her advantage. She feels most comfortable in it. This trait, a certain love for what many would consider something detrimental to mankind and an origin of hardship, is the norm for giants. In fact, Jotunheim, the realm of the giants, is often interpreted as being all the parts of the world that are untameable by mankind, and will always harbor an inherent danger to the residents of Midgard. Rocky mountains, deep sea, arctic tundra, the utgard (outer realms), that is the territory of giants. It can hardly be considered a stretch, then, to assume that Ullr's mysterious father might be a Jotunn. What does the rest of his ancestry tell us? Son of Sif, stepson of Thor? Thor and Sif have one other child, Thrudr. Thrudr ('strength') is not talked about much in the written sources, but I have always understood her to be an indication of what the marriage of Thor (love for mankind, protection, brutal power), and Sif (agriculture, wealth, marriage, unity, fertility) brings about. Beauty and strength, power. This sort of symbolic familial relationship can be seen across Germanic polytheism, and I do not think it to be a stretch to take that into consideration when attempting to reconstruct Ullr's place in it all. Ullr, assuming he has a frost giant for a father, and Sif for a mother, would be a god of fruitfulness (Sif) in trying times (Jotunn). We see this reflected in what little we can scavenge about his lore: he is a proficient hunter known for his skilful skiing. Taking that to mean that he was a god of success in the wintertime, and the bounty of the earth in the resting season, he may be a good god to pray to when one is struggling with a slow season. Whether one is quite literally hunting in the snow and wishing for a caribou to appear, or experiencing a slow season in business and in need of some life blown into their sales. You can stretch this sort of symbolism quite far in the modern age, in my experience.

Successful hunting in the snow requires good equipment. Ullr was of course known for his skis, or snowshoes, and his affinity for bows, so that box can be checked. But there are more gaps to fill. Hunting in the cold requires being well-dressed, as the gods were never said to be impervious to the cold. Ullr must have been clad in many many furs, acquired over years of hunting and processing. One could stand to reason that one could very well offer furs and suchlike to Ullr, or depict him wearing many furs. And being associated with yew, one could assume that he was not just aware of its phenomenal wood for longbow making, but also for its toxin, very well suited to dipping arrows in. But there is an extra layer to these things. Saxo Grammaticus' description of Ullr as a powerful wizard may seem random and easy to dismiss, but to me, it feels extremely significant. Maybe it's because I am devoted to Odinn, maybe it is because I see magic everywhere, but I wish to explore the idea of Ullr as seidmann. For example, in skaldic poetry and other sources of kennings, we often see that a shield can be referred to as 'Ullr's ship' in various ways. Some say that early skis and snowshoes may have resembled shields, others have it that Ullr's ship may have been called 'Shield'. But why would Ullr need a ship, except perhaps to leave Asgard when he is chased out for his crimes as a usurper? And if that is truly it, we should consider that many things in Norse mythology have a double meaning of sorts. Indeed, in some iterations of the myth, Ullr may have been banished on a ship named Shield, but in others, he may have used his shield as a ship, just as he could potentially use his shield as both mundane and magical transportation in the mountains: as a snowboard, and as a means of traversing realms. Especially compelling for this theory is the idea that when Ullr is banished from Asgard, he is banished to Helheim, which means he may indeed have needed realm-traversing transportation. But that's something to come back to later.

Furs and skins, too, are tools of the practitioner. It is a fairly well established idea, after all, that berserkers and the like used furs for their work, and berserking is very much magic. This is reflected in the belief of the old Norse that we are made up out of many semi-autonomous spirits, one of which is the hamr, your 'skin'. But it doesn't actually refer to your skin so much as it refers to your second skin, your air, the way you come across to others. A berserker would use ecstasy, rage, and other high emotions to manipulate his hamr into embodying some wild and powerful animal like a bear or a wolf, and his furs greatly helped him along in that endeavor. Skins, too, play many roles in magic. While there have never been any archaeological drum finds, we know the old Norse must have had them. They used both their shields as drums, and more than likely, actual skins to make drums, in a way to achieve a highly emotive state for berserking, trance work, and other such rituals. Ullr likely being familiar, intimately, with both of these items lends more credence to the image of him as seidmann. More proof to feed into the idea of Ullr being a practitioner of magic, is that he is so fond of yew trees. As mentioned before, yew trees are not just trees used for weaponry. They are associated strongly with death and magic across Europe. Known in some Germanic languages as the 'tree of death' (e.g. Boom des Doods, Dutch), it is a crucial tree in the symbolism and handling of death in Germanic cultures, and how interconnected death and magic are in those selfsame cultures is so intricate, it would require a novel of its own. Yew worn as an amulet was said to protect the wearer against witchcraft, and making crosses out of yew branches and hanging them about the house would bar witches and dwarves entry. These beliefs are ancient, and very much rooted in the connection between death and magic.

Perhaps most important of all, expanding on the connection between death and magic, one should note also the connection between hunters and magic. Ullr is one of the oldest gods in the Germanic pantheon we can conceive of, as evidenced by the fact that he is most prominently mentioned in the oldest Eddic poems we know, and how he has become almost obsolete as time has gone on. This would mean Ullr finds himself firmly placed in a culture where the practice of magic and the effort of the hunt go hand in hand. Indeed, the hunter, especially the prehistoric hunter, is one of the most prolific magicians out there. To hunt successfully is to know the land and its spirits, to read the landscape, to commune with its spirits, to see the tracks of an animal and speak its language. To hunt successfully is to know death, to not fear it, to deliver it honorably and respectfully. Though one cannot approach a hunter to cure a curse or change fate, there are few people better suited to teach you the magic of the land. There is ritual in the hunt, also. Go out, divine upon your surroundings, find what you seek, annihilate it. Process it, offer thanksgiving to it, consume it, honor it. Go out again, and see the renewal of that which you destroyed. Ullr knows death and rebirth like no other.

The hunt and magic are not the only places that Ullr might signify and be familiar with death and rebirth. Ullr is also a winter god, in many ways, and we see this represented in a fascinating way, again, in the Gesta Danorum. Saxo details that Odinn practices seidr, something considered womanly and unusual for a man to do, bringing shame on Asgard, and they banish him from their realm. For fear of accidentally bringing themselves down, they give the throne to Ullr, to rule in Odinn's stead and as Odinn's equal. For ten years Ullr rules, according to Saxo, before the gods pity Odinn and decide to restore his glory. Odinn, upon being reinstated, banishes Ullr to 'Sweden', where the 'Danes' slay him when he tries to recreate the glory he experienced while ruling Asgard and Midgard.This tale seems illogical at first glance, and the fact that Saxo presents the gods as though they were real historical figures does not make his books easier to decipher. Even so, this story is not founded in nothing. For one, it is true that Odinn practices seidr. And while not every interpretation of the myth has it that he is banished for it (or even that he is disliked for it), it does appear to be universally known that Odinn wanders. He travels extensively, often leaving Asgard for months at a time. Even if Odinn was never banished, it could well be true that Ullr usurps his throne and takes up a role as ruler during the winter months, and being a frost giant and ostensibly not very generous, he allows the world to become shrouded in cold and dark. There are two reasons I do not find this hard to believe. Firstly, metaphorical and poetic motifs used to symbolize the coming and going of seasons are not uncommon in Germanic myth. Vali's story of vengeance and retribution against the god of darkness is often said to represent the return of spring, for example. Even though this technically only happens once in the myths, it does represent the cyclical disappearance of the dark winter in favor of budding spring. Why would it not be equally possible that Ullr's usurping could be a myth with a double meaning? Even if how Saxo tells it is truly how the old ones told it, that could still quite easily mean that this single instance of supplanting represents the arrival of winter, or even that Saxo was retelling a myth that had it that Ullr usurped the throne every winter, when Odinn was out roaming the realms. Secondly, in Germanic folklore in particular, there are traces of evidence that suggest that Ullr was seen as a bringer of snow. Frau Holda, also known as Vrouw Holle, Bertha, Perchta, et cetera, in some iterations of her lore, is married to one Holler, who is said to have covered her lush green dwellings with a layer of snow year after year, so that they may regrow equally green the next spring. (Guerber, 1929)

But then one could wonder, where does Ullr go when he is banished from Asgard for usurping the throne? Truth is, it's hard to say. Some theories say that he travels to Helheim and makes friends with Baldr there. Others, that he returns to the mountains and summers there until the time to reassume his position as chief comes around. To me, what makes the most sense, is to picture Ullr as a wanderer-god, just like Odinn. That he would traverse realms, especially taking to cold and high places both inside and outside of Midgard, does not seem like a stretch to me. Indeed, we've already established the potential of skis and other suchlike attributes to be used for realm travel, and we know that skis are associated with exceptional speed and traveling power, as seen when Skadi catches up with her father, a hawk, on skis, when no other god is able to. A hunter traverses great distances in search of prey, after all.

Ullr's mention in the oathtaking in Atlakviða is another great but innocuous piece of evidence to suggest his great importance, though faded by the time the myths were recorded. The last oath is often the most solemn and serious, and it being sworn on him suggests he was indeed treated with much respect, and had a prominent place among the gods once upon a time. The Lilla Ullevi, an archaeological dig that revealed an exceptionally well-preserved cult site, proved to be dedicated to Ullr, and it featured some amulet rings. Likely, oaths were sworn on these things, and Ullr was thought to preside over these oaths as a judicial god. Folklore has it that a ring upon which an oath has been sworn to Ullr could shrink suddenly, and sever the wearer's finger, if they failed to keep their oath. Now this is truly all speculation, but nothing fascinates me more than the relationship between Odinn and Ullr both from a comparative mythology perspective, and a religious perspective. I like to imagine that Ullr, as oathkeeper, maintains an oath to Odinn to always allow him to come back to rule, to always allow spring to return to the lands. This is not something I believe was actually in the myths, nor do I necessarily believe there was even a true spoken agreement between the two, but isn't it beautiful to see the cyclical nature of summer and winter, and back and forth usurping of the throne of Asgard, as a sort of oath? To imagine the dutiful handing off of the throne to the other ruler, admitting that their contribution, too, is crucial for the good of the world?

Ullr’s name, as our final topic of interest, is something deserving of some extra examination as well. Ullr comes from the reconstructed Proto-Germanic *Wulþuz, meaning glory. That word in turn derives from the reconstructed Proto-Indo-European noun *wul-tus, meaning sight, gaze, appearance, of which the root in turn means ‘to see’. What’s fascinating about this word is that it’s very much related to words in other European languages that have taken the ‘see’ aspect and turned it into second sight. Old Irish filed, meaning seer or poet, is a great example, and one can find others in other Celtic languages such as Middle Welsh and Middle Breton. The idea that Ullr would be somebody with second sight is not so crazy, considering his possible proclivity for magic and realm travel. One can wonder if his name was not always to mean ‘glorious’, but it may well have, or even had a double meaning at one point.

Ullr's being an equal of sorts to Odinn, once upon a time, is an absolutely fascinating idea to play with from a reconstructionist perspective. Not only are they proving to be more similar than previously thought, both being practitioners of magic, rulers of Asgard, gods of death, fearsome warriors, ring-bearers, oathkeepers, and travelers between realms, they may in the distant past have had a common origin. It doesn't surprise me, for that reason, that Ullr seems to have been so incredibly important to the cultus predating all the written sources we have. It also comes as no shock to me that I feel so strongly drawn to Ullr, as somebody devoted quite passionately to Odinn.

The Worship

I have always feared winter, as it were. Where I am from, winter is nearly extinct; snow and ice and frigid cold have made way for seemingly eternal grey, constant rain, and a damp chill that settles in your bones, but is never cold enough to warrant more clothes than one would wear in the fall. I have fled, now, to a place quite the opposite of that: Alaskan winters are long, harsh, dark, and full of snow and ice. I prefer it that way. The frigid cold distracts you from whatever horror you may feel at the apparent deadness of the land, and when you are busy chopping wood and marveling at the aurora, there is little time to lament the greyness of the sky. And there is beauty in a harsh winter, too: never before were animal tracks so easy to spot, and the communal struggle of all the creatures of Midgard attempting to survive the cold reminds us of our place in the family of things. Winter offers us the clearest view of the star-dotted sky we could wish for, and on occasion we are blessed to see that black canvas painted with teals, greens, whites, purples, even reds. Winter is a time of rest, of coming together, of contemplating and recuperating, and celebrating the hard work we did over the summer. Ullr is there, presiding over us until Odinn returns from his roaming. Ullr assists us in our hunt for the materials we need to survive. Ullr feeds us and clothes us. Ullr teaches us the magic and ritual of survival against all odds. He reminds us to hand off responsibilities that tire us, and to honor our promise to do the same for others. Ullr protects us when we do our winter sports, applauds us when we get up after falling. Ullr presides over the oaths we swear during Yule.

We might begin to honor him upon the arrival of the first frost, or other regional indicators of the impending winter. One could make offerings of fur, meat, prey, or even icons of shields, skis, and other such attributes. As the season progresses and the cold becomes a common occurrence, one could honor him by devoting winter activities to him, such as preparing one's residence, buying or preparing a winter wardrobe, processing furs and skins, even shoveling snow. But worship to Ullr doesn't need to be confined to winter, of course. One could call on him for aid during ski trips, during the hunt, during trying times. One could dedicate acts of craftsmanship to him, especially the crafting of weaponry. Historically backed especially, is to pray to Ullr when engaging in martial arts or combat. Acts of worship and devotion to Ullr may be performed in yew thickets, or one may build a shrine to him where a yew grows.

I, personally, look forward to cultivating a relationship with Ullr this coming winter. I will look for the signs of the first frost, and try not to fear the appearance of snow on the mountaintops around me. Though yews do not grow in Alaska, other woods suitable for making bows do, and I will find a good piece to carve an idol out of. I will adorn him with a ring, and furs, and a little bow and some arrows. I'll think of him when I go skiing, when I go hunting, when I sit by my fire. I will honor him by being grateful for the cold snow in my face and the biting wind blowing up the hill. My making it through the winter will be dedicated to him, as I acknowledge Ullr as the one to look towards. Odinn's rage-filled, intensive, wild and emotional magic can make way for practical magic, magic that is pensive and calm, that allows me to sit by the fire and be warmed by it as I learn. I will conserve my energy and the warmth in my bones by turning a calm and learned eye to my surroundings, and maintain the relationships I have cultivated with the spirits of my land, even when they are made harder to recognize by feet of snow. I will traverse the realms, but purposefully, and I will know to make time also for family, food, frith.

I will leave you with this prayer:

Hail Ullr, envied bowman, skier competing with the wind.

Grant us success in our pursuits, and quicken our feet, to reach our destinations sooner.

Hail the hunter, the glorious, the knower of the land.

Grant us wise eyes to see with, and teach us kindly, to understand our place better.

Hail the winter god, the frigid, stepson of Thor.

Take after the mighty protector, keep our hearths, and aid us warmly to survive the winter. ---- If you enjoy my work, please consider purchasing or commissioning some of my written resarch, ordering a reading, or commissioning my art. Click here to see the options. Thank you!

[cain-e-brookman]

Character Profile Tag

I was tagged by @eternalwritingstudent! thanks so much!

Name:

Uthyr Kri'Asphodel (Uthyr of the Asphodels, First of His Name)

Nickname:

Doesnt really have one?

Kind of being:

A witch, descendants of the Goddess Lythis of the Void.

Age:

45

Gender:

Male

Appearance:

Roughly 5'5", dark umber skin, amber eyes, kind of stocky, with black hair he wears in mid-length locs. He usually wears greens or browns, sturdy boots, and if he's in his garden, thick gloves for weeding. In the early spring he'll pluck dandelions and put them in the fastenings of his shirt. He tells Crucius its just to keep the seeds from his plants, but really he likes when the bees stop by to rest in them.

Occupation:

Healer and apothecary.

Family members:

Most of Uthyr's family is gone.

Pets:

None, though he once had a rooster that someone had given him in exchange for his healing. He wasn't sure if they meant to for slaughter, but witches don't eat meat, so he made it a little house until it passed of old age.

Describe their room:

I'm gonna take this from the canon text:

"His home was more of a hut with one large area that served as his spell room, kitchen, and bedroom. New threshing lined the floor and gave the room an earthy scent mixed with the herbs drying in his windowsill. As he crossed the threshold, he was washed with a feeling of peace. He’d lived his whole life wanting for a space like this.  There wasn’t a single part of his home that didn’t speak to who he was. Littered with knick-knacks, his shelves held more baubles than potions or books. Mostly dried flowers and colorful or interesting rocks he’d found on walks. From the ceiling and on the walls he hung art and crafts from some of his more local patients. He never turned down a client, never required payment from someone who couldn’t afford the care, but even so, some who had little coin to part with gave him gifts of gratitude and he never denied one.

Way of speaking:

When around friends, he's talkative and bright, especially when discussing his garden or magic. He grows wearier around strangers, trips on his words and often comes across more blunt than he means to. He's a rather direct person and trying to decode niceties is a necessary skill he tries very hard at, but is not very good with.

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitudes):

He's always very mindful of his posture, especially when working. He's a healer so he knows how improper movements can strain muscles and cause injury. When in the company of friends, he's very relaxed and open with his body language, but once in large crowds or in front of a lot of strangers, his shoulders tend to rise to his ears.

Hobbies:

Gardening, frog-watching, bee-keeping. He keeps saying he's going to make a bird feeder to better acquaint himself with the local birds, but every year he looks at the squirrels already stealing from his garden and remembers why he's yet to do that.

Favorite sports:

He's not much into sports. Anywhere in his country that might be holding any events is far too distant from him to care.

Abilities/talents/powers:

As a witch, his ancestors made pacts with each individual god, (except Raschic and Aeriessa,) for access to their power. Although he can draw from any, he struggles with cardinal elements, and only finds consistent success with Uensine, the God of Rest (healing,) and Emjir the Trickster (hexes and such.) Considering those two gods famously don't get along, Uthyr has never been sure why he excels at both their magic.

Relationships (interaction with others):

Crucius: his best friend. For the last few years, his only friend. Although Crucius is secretive and inscrutable, Uthyr values his company and his wit.

Alma: In Uthyr's eyes, Alma is all of two years old. He tries not to talk down to her, as she's a fully realized Priestess of Uensine, and as such can call upon her god's waking dead with a single prayer, she's also incredibly naive in a lot of ways, due to being, in Uthyr's eyes, all of two years old.

Bran: Bran is too big for his britches and needs to come back to the ground with the normal people, as far as Uthyr's concerned. He tries to ignore the one-sided rivalry Bran has decided on, but does occasionally revel in putting the other witch in his place.

Fears:

Being left, not being able to say goodbye, as well as little things like crowds and being in the center of attention.

Faults:

Uthyr is always kind, but not always nice. He does tend to be rather impatient where people are concerned. He rarely sticks up for himself like he should, and tends to downplay how important he is in people's live.

Good points:

He's always kind. Despite his objections to it, he's brave and steadfast, loyal and chivalrous, with a love of the world he lives in and the people in his life. His heart's too big for his body.

What they want more than anything else:

A quiet life with his garden, with Crucius across the way. Their daily tea while he talks about how his flowers are getting on. To be important enough to Crucius to be worth telling secrets to. Perhaps a peach sapling to plant this year. Might be nice to have a cat around...

alright i'm tagging @spideronthesun @topazadine @inadequatecowboy and @skullduggeryandfilibuster

[rrezshifts]

hiiii!!! could u answer the 🎙️, 🗯️, 🧪 for layla's superhero ask game? it can be any dr that involves superheroes (i wouldn't mind if it's ab ur young avengers / young adult superhero one though)

thank you macky for sending in asks 💋💋 !!! i have just answered two of these for my young avengers reality so i’m going to answer these for my marvel (comics) reality instead.

context for this reality before you read my answers : yes, again, i do have powers. yes again, i am not a hero. for most of the asks i’ll try and answer for myself as much as possible, but i’ll also be answering for my significant others in this reality !!

🎙️ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ solemn studio microphone : how does the media in your desired reality portray you? are they in favor of your supersona or do they think you are a menace? . . . daredevil has complications with the press. when it came to kingpin, he could turn the media against him easily. but also the general public saw how he helped the people of hell’s kitchen so the truth often resurfaced eventually. echo isn’t too often seen in the media as a hero, but when she is it can be a mixed bag. more often than not though it is good, as she often works with other heros more than just by herself (more on that later). her hero name is also her stage name when she performs on stage, so she can be seen in media when they talk about her performances. i’m never in the media. i’m a freelance artist that happens to have powers. i have no hero name and i am never involved in fights or hero ventures.

🗯️ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ swift speech bubble : do you work alone? are you a part of some hero organization ( the justice league, the avengers, x-men, fantastic four, new avengers, etc...) ? . . . echo never works alone. her focus in life is often more just her art and performing. when she does act as a vigilante it’s usually when other heroes need her to help defeat a big bad. she’s like a rent a hero (not really). however she only works with those she knows and trusts. daredevil was the first hero she became acquainted with so they work together often. but she also has worked with moon knight, luke cage, other defenders, and anyone in a makeshift new avengers team. if you see daredevil out in hell’s kitchen, it’s likely he’s out by himself. if he’s not working alone it’s likely he called maya (echo) to join him because he’s lonely or just wanted company. but he could be working with a bigger team for a bigger issue too.

🧪 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ tenacious test tube : where did your powers come from? were they from a test tube like captain america? a radioactive spider like spider-man? . . . i think it’s more common knowledge that daredevil got his powers as a kid from being hit by a truck transporting radioactive chemicals. it both blinded him and enhanced his other senses. echo was born with her powers of photographic reflexes and superhuman physicality. from a young age she was able to replicate anything she saw. this prompted her to become a musical prodigy despite being deaf, as well as a phenomenal dancer and fighter. she’s not a mutant as she’s had access to these powers since birth and doesn’t have the x-gene. me, myself, and i got my powers from my thousands of years old lineage that started in ancient greece. an ancestor of mine was a demigod, son of a mortal woman and the greek god Phobos. every few generations, a single male descendant gets the power to manipulate fear. that was me. which was strange as i was born a female. so growing up with this ability was an anomaly to my grandparents and great-grandparents. coming out as transgender made things make sense for everyone though.

© rrezshifts last updated. 01/13/2025

[ffxiv-swarm]

prompt 22: cultural differences

He’d kept his temper.

He was very proud of himself for keeping his temper.

But the souls—the regulators—and the Alexandrians were so bloody cavalier about it, about tearing the very fabric of a person’s self apart for currency—

“This is wrong,” Mistress Leveilleur had spat out, and he’d bitten the inside of his cheek and thought that the word he would use was blasphemy.

But he hadn’t said anything, though by the way Alan and Gan were both eyeing him they clearly rather feared he was going to. The rest of their little band looked ill at ease themselves, which was oddly cheering. At least he wasn’t wholly alone. The floating mechanical contrivance calling itself Cahcuia had burbled on—he’d been peripherally aware of Gan asking questions and Miss Ritanelle taking furious notes—and the meeting continued without further incident. He’d taken in absolutely none of it.

He needed fresh air. A drink. A good, solid scream. In the moment, he’d settle for the fresh air.

Master Gallius had exited the cave ahead of him, staring fixedly into the distance in the manner of a man who needed either a cigarette or a stiff drink. There was a muscle twitching in his cheek. Evrard sympathized wholeheartedly.

Finally, the man broke the silence. “Far be it from me to cast aspersions on another’s practices,” he began tightly, his accent sharper in the consonants than it usually was.

“Then I will do it for you,” Evrard growled. They could speak freely here, for the moment, and Master Gallius was a distant enough acquaintance that he didn’t need to feel too ashamed of his candor. “‘Tis blasphemous, what they do—”

Gallius spun to face him, violet eyes alight. “Yes! You understand!” He gestured wildly as he spoke, words evidently failing him.

“I am a Halonic priest. Of course I understand.” It came out sharper than he intended, and they both winced. Evrard dropped his gaze to the stony ground and muttered, “Your objections are...somewhat different than mine, I assume?” Of course they would be. Garlemald had no gods—he well remembered Alan needing the concept explained when they’d first met—but he’d gathered that their varying schools of philosophy evened out to a broadly similar moral code once you made it past all the imperialism in the way.

“Well.” Master Gallius cleared his throat. “I would not call it a blasphemy. We have little concept of that. But to destroy the memories of the dead...”

He paused so long that Evrard was almost tempted to prompt him. His mouth moved silently as he thought.

Finally, he continued, “We do not venerate the—the complete soul, as you do. But the fact that the regulators strip away the memories of the deceased—that is what I call a crime. Without the memories of those who have gone before, how do we know where we come from? What drives us onwards? Were it not for my father’s memory...” He trailed off, grimacing.

Evrard did him the courtesy of studying a wind-carved stone arch in the distance as he murmured, “’Tis the same for me. I cannot think of the man I would be now, if I did not hold the memories of my parents in my heart. Not to mention those who mourn, and yet cannot even remember the loved ones they mourn for.”

Gallius heaved a gusty sigh. “...We clean graves,” he said softly. “Every year. To venerate our ancestors. I did not see a cemetery in the Outskirts.”

Well, that added an entirely new level of horror.

Alas, before they could discuss that, Wuk Lamat was ambling out of the cave herself, followed by their friends, and they had to be polite again.

[celticcrossanon]

Astrology of the Coronation Day

This is the astrological chart for 11.00am in London on May 6th, the start of the Coronation Service.

Very Amateur astrology comments below the cut:

The first thing I look at is the angles.

The midheaven, the MC angle, shows how things appear to the general public, casual acquaintances etc. In this chart Chiron, the asteroid of wounding, is conjunct the MC. This means that the Coronation Service will display some or all of the wounds of the King and it may be his attempt at healing some of those wounds (which we have seen already with the behaviour of Charles and Camilla).

The MC and IC angle, at 15.02 Aries and 15.02 Libra, is conjunct Charles's MC-IC angle at 13.15 Aries and 13.13 Libra. The Ascendant and Descendant angle at 6.32 Leo and 6.32 Aquarius is conjunct Charles's Ascendant-Descendant at 5.23 Leo and 5.23 Aquarius. This means that the ceremony is a good fit for Charles. When your angles match with another person, the way that person approaches the world and how they are seen or want to be seen by the world feels familiar, as it is the same as what you experience. It is a similarity of outlook that gives harmony between the two individuals. Similarly, with this event, having the angles conjunct means that this event is a reflection of how Charles wants to be seen and perceived, his approach to the world, etc. The image of the vent matches the image that Charles gives out to the world. The Coronation will fit him; he is not being forced into a way of thinking or expressing himself that is unfamiliar to him.

The Coronation Nodes at 4.03 Taurus and 4.03 Scorpio are conjunct Charles's natal nodes at 4.55 Taurus and 4.55 Scorpio. The Nodes of the Moon show your path in life. With the North Node in the 10th house, the House of Public position, conjunct Charles North Node which is also in the 10th house in his natal chart, this ceremony is a strong declaration of the culmination of Charles's destiny to be the holder of a prominent position in his public life.

The Coronation Sun is at 15.38 Taurus, the degree of astrological Beltane. As the service progresses, the MC is going to move across all the planets in Taurus - Jupiter, the North Node, Mercury, the Sun, and Uranus. It will be very interesting to see what planet is on the MC as Charles is anointed, and then as he is crowned. I am wondering if the actual crowning has been timed for when either Jupiter, the planet of the chief god, is on the MC or for when the Sun, the symbol of the King, is on the MC. If Charles is crowned when the Sun, in the degree of astrological Beltane, is on the MC, then he will truly be a Beltane King as per the Green Man on his invitation.

The Coronation Sun is conjunct Uranus, the planet of unexpected events, so I expect Charles's reign to be rather unsettled and/or to have some large unexpected events marking it. It could also be very modern and forward thinking, as Uranus is also the planet of innovation and progress - as well as being a free spirit. We can see this progressive thinking in such things as the inclusion of the leaders and representatives of different faiths in the Coronation Service.

The Coronation Moon at 24 Scorpio in the 4th house shows that family, roots, ancestors are important emotionally in this event (e.g. following the traditions is important). The Moon is also closely conjunct Charles's natal Sun at 22 Scorpio in the 4th house. When you have the Sun and the Moon together like this, the dynamic is that the Moon supports the Sun, especially with emotional support, so this ceremony (the chart with the Moon) is going to be emotionally supportive to Charles (the chart with the Sun).

Coronation Venus is in the 11th house, the house of groups, friends, the collective, working together etc. Venus, the planet of love, relationships, and values in the 11th house says to me that this is a person who cares for the values of the collective group and who wants to be liked or loved by the collective group.

The Coronation Venus indicates a reign where the relationship focus of the reign will be building a relationship with the collective group, being part of a group, working together with others and so on. (As a comparison, Queen Elizabeth's coronation chart had Venus in the 9th house, the house of foreign lands and foreign travel, and the relationship focus of her reign was building relationships with other nations, as seen in the Commonwealth of Nations).

Coronation Venus is in the sign of Gemini, a sign that generally likes to communicate their ideas to other people. There could be a lot of communication with the general public and adapting ideas to fit the mood and values of the general public in this reign, although the adaptation may be only on the surface (Gemini has a silver tongue and can adapt to fit in to almost any group, but doesn't necessarily believe the values that it proclaims to fit in with others).

Coronation Mars is in Cancer in the 12th house. Mars is the planet of drive, energy, willpower, anger, and this combination is not a good fit. Mars is in fall in Cancer, which means that it is weakened in Cancer, so it is easier to express the negative aspects of this combination - such as whining, being passive-aggressive, avoiding confrontations , behaving like a child when thwarted - than it is to express the positive aspects.

Planets in the 12th house are usually unconscious, meaning that the person with that planet is unaware of how they express that energy, although everyone around then can see it perfectly clearly, and they will not recognise that behaviour in themselves when someone else talks about it. So with Mars in Cancer in the 12th house, this ceremony and/or Charles's reign may see a lot of passive aggressive behaviour when it comes to desires and having to modify those desires, with the King being completely unaware of how he is behaving, and not believing it when someone points said behaviour out to him.

Two other planets are in fall in this chart: Uranus is in fall in Taurus and the Moon is in fall in Scorpio. This means that for both these planets it will be harder to express the positive energies of the planet/sign. It can be done, but it will take work. The Moon is boosted by being in its natural house, the 4th house, so it may be easier to overcome the Scorpio Moon's tendency to hold grudged and exact revenge for past slights. Uranus has no such support from its house, the 10th house, and so Charles will have to watch the tendency to embrace 'progress for the sake of progress' rather than 'progress for the good of all'. Not all traditions need to be thrown out to make way for the new.

Finally, both the Sun and Jupiter are in the 10th house in this chart. This is an excellent sign for a coronation, uniting the planet of the self, the Sun, and the planet of good fortune/excellent luck, Jupiter, in the 10th house, the house of public life and public position.

[steveezekiel]

KNOWLEDGE IS A RESPONSIBILITY 2

5 FOR HE ISSUED HIS LAWS TO JACOB; HE GAVE HIS INSTRUCTIONS TO ISRAEL. HE COMMANDED OUR ANCESTORS TO TEACH THEM TO THEIR CHILDREN,

6 SO THE NEXT GENERATION MIGHT KNOW THEM—even the children not yet born—AND THEY IN TURN WILL TEACH THEIR OWN CHILDREN."

7 SO EACH GENERATION SHOULD SET ITS HOPE ANEW ON GOD, not forgetting his glorious miracles and obeying his commands.

8 THEN THEY WILL NOT BE LIKE THEIR ANCESTORS—stubborn, rebellious, and unfaithful, REFUSING TO GIVE THEIR HEARTS TO GOD."

Psalm 78:5-8 (NLT)

• Take note of these:

a. Through the knowledge of God's Word, you get to know about God, whilst through the practice of what you know you get to know God firsthand—how He thinks, what He wants, and what He does not want.

b. Through the knowledge of the Word, the Bible, you get to know how to walk with God—how to talk or communicate with Him and present your needs before Him.

c. Through the knowledge of God's Word, the Bible, you had an encounter with Him. He reveals Himself to you through His Word, the Bible.

• When you become a believer in Christ Jesus, you are to be part of the salvation of others (2 Corinthians 5:18-20).

- The first and foremost assignment; ministry or responsibility given to every Believer in Christ Jesus, is, the reconciling of others to God (2 Corinthians 5:18-20). You are saved to serve (Ephesians 2:10).

- The Israelites were commanded to teach their children the Word of God, the Scripture, that the new generation might set their hope anew on God (Psalm 78:5,6). Remembering His glorious miracles and obeying His commands (Psalm 78:7).

- The same is applicable to the contemporary Christians or believers, they have the responsibility to teach others—their homes, friends, and acquaintances—the Word of God.

- Though, this would primarily be done through their character, the way they live and practice their faith before others who are watching them—neighbours, coworkers, extended family members, friends, and acquaintances.

- Who you are speaks more of you and your believe or faith than what you say or tell others with your mouth. People want to see the practicality of what you want to tell them in your life before they could give you a listening hear—before they would allow you to sell your faith or believe to them (2 Corinthians 3:2,3).

• You must not fail nor let God down in this glorious assignment or the responsibility given to you (2 Corinthians 5:18-20).

- Your children, friends, neighbors, and As many who might come your way, are the people whom God wants you to share His Word with.

- When you share or teach the Word of God, either through your character, attitudes and behaviors or manners of life: "THEN THEY [the people you shared the Word with] WILL NOT BE LIKE THEIR ANCESTORS—STUBBORN, REBELLIOUS, AND UNFAITHFUL, REFUSING TO GIVE THEIR HEARTS TO GOD" (Psalm 78:8 NLT).

- When you did it, you would have succeeded in rescuing them from the claws of the enemy, the devil and his cohorts.

- God wants the knowledge of His Word to go from one generation to another generation. Thus, what you know should not end with you, It should be taught to others:

3 THAT IS GOOD. IT PLEASES GOD OUR SAVIOUR. 4 HE WANTS EVERYONE TO BE SAVED. HE WANTS THEM TO COME TO KNOW THE TRUTH" (1 Timothy 2:3–4 — New International Reader’s Version).

• You will not fail in this glorious assignment in the mighty name of Jesus Christ.

- Should there be any sickness or ailment in your body, I declare your healing and deliverance now, in the mighty name of Jesus Christ.

- The affliction which you are delivered from will never rise again in the mighty name of Jesus Christ.

Peace!

STEPS TO SALVATION

• Take notice of this:

IF you are yet to take the step of salvation, that is, yet to be born-again, do it now, tomorrow might be too late (2 Corinthians 6:1,2; Hebrews 3:7,8,15).

a. Acknowledge that you are a sinner and confess your Sins (1 John 1:9); And ask Jesus Christ to come into your life (Revelation 3:20).

b. Confess that you believe in your heart that Jesus Christ is Lord, and that you confess it with your mouth, Thus, you accept Him As your Lord and Saviour (Romans 10:9,10).

c. As you took the steps A and B your name is written in the Book of Life (Philippians 4:3; Revelation 3:8).

- If you took the steps As highlighted above, congratulations, It means you are saved—born-again. Join a Word based church in your area and Town or city, and be part of whatever they are doing there. Peace!

[flightcloset]

Rasmus and Vincent (my OC's)

First meeting

This event happened rather strange, spontaneously and looked like it wasn't supposed to happen at all. Worth noting, at the time of the meeting Rasmus was about 20-23 years old, and Vincent was 24 years old. This was April-May 95-96. At that moment Solberg (Rasmus's last name) was temporarily living with his school friend and long-time acquaintance - Stian 'Blacky' Dullum. 'Blacky' was 'Valhöll' ('Valhalla') band founder and its soloist, while Rasmus either sang back-vocal sometimes, or only played the guitar. Stian himself in addition to vocal parts performed on synthesiser or simple and old electric guitar, which 'polluted' the sound of the band, making it even harder and rougher. The house itself belonged to Stian and it was used by everyone in the band (counting Stian and Rasmus there were 5 of them: 'Blacky' (Stian Dullum), 'Usher'/'Gatekeeper' (Rasmus Solberg), 'Exorcist' (Frode Nielsen), 'Curse of darkness' (Stig Pettersen) and 'Glutton' (Felix Ulf Carlsen)) only for rehearsals, although Rasmus lived there periodically, finding some peace and the opportunity to quietly practice music without complaints from neighbors about loud noise.

Closer to the point. At that moment Stian, thanks to his sociability and musical group, had many acquaintances and friends in the Norwegian black metal party. One day, Dullum met in the same group with, based on the words of other members of the BM (black metal) circle, 'a strange guy from America or, rather, hell' - this was Vincent Lester. At that time, he was working as a translator, living in a rented room somewhere on the outskirts of Oslo and earning money with the help of the same translations and work in the library. Stian immediately offered Vincent cooperation, to which the latter agreed.

On the same day, Vincent was introduced to Rasmus, who immediately began to ask questions, saying, 'What the fuck would a translator do for us? Stian, are you out of your mind at all?'. But next day the band was assembled in full in a house on the outskirts of Bergen and 'Blacky' announced the new concept of the band: 'We need to appeal to the Ancient Gods and our ancestors, so Vincent will become our mediator' (Stian 'Blacky' Dullum).

Thus, Vincent became the translator of the band's lyrics from English into Old Norse, and also partially taught the members of the band the pronunciation of words and the language itself.

Meeting from the words of Rasmus:

'... That day, Stian burst into the house, dragging a skinny and short guy, all wrapped up in sweaters and a jacket, and told me, 'Rus, we're going to fucking blossom thanks to this guy.'. I couldn't believe these words and almost dropped Stian's synthesizer from my hands (that day I was carrying instruments to prepare for rehearsal). I had to look at this gloomy guy again: he looked more like a teenager than an adult, or at least someone who is REALLY connected with The Inner Black Circle of Norway. I couldn't stand it: 'Stian, are you serious? What the fuck?'

...

The next morning, he (Stian) gathered us all in the kitchen of the house and announced his plan: introduced the guy, named his profession and said that we would live richly and learn Old Norse. It all sounded like a sick delirium or a dream, and if Stian didn't dislike binge drinking and drugs, I would have thought he was terribly drunk. For a week, I couldn't figure out in which pub in Norway Dullum found this kid, who, surprisingly, turned out to be a real translator and a nice guy, who, however, had nothing to do with music at all...'.

Talking about Vincent and Rasmus' relationship.

Everything is quite ambiguous. In principle, it can be argued that Rasmus and Vincent did not fall in love immediately, they needed time, but still Rasmus's interest in Vincent's work and occupation and Vincent's piercing glances at Rasmus did their job, and both began to get closer: they hardly talked, not finding common topics, but, nevertheless, if one was doing something, the other was always either nearby or somewhere nearby.

[burninlovebutler]

my bf/friends: don’t come here with that elvis shit

me comin’ with that elvis shit:

[theonewiththefanfics]

The Layers of Thomas Shelby - Frozen Fear (one-shot)

Synopsis: Fear was an emotion Tommy elicited in others. He never thought he'd feel it himself. Not like that. Never like that... 

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, slight fluff

Warnings: graphic descriptions of blood, injuries, kidnapping, swearing, death not sticking to canon whatsoever :)

Word count: 3028

Fear was something Thomas Shelby was intimately acquainted with. He elicited it and made others tremble to their very core with just a glance or a whisper of his name from someone else’s lips. Fear was as much a shadow in his life, as his daughter who followed him around wherever she could.

But fear was also what he felt in that exact moment as he stared at the bloodied napkin on his table, the silver locket he’d gifted Y/N when their child had turned one inside it, a simple note of “For Angel” attached to it.

Sadie was tight asleep on his chest when he’d received the damned box. Y/N had taken her to Ada’s so she could have the day to herself, get her body pampered, do up her hair and maybe spend a bit of money on some new shoes or a winter coat as a birthday present from him. If she’d asked, Tommy would’ve bought her the Eifel tower, and she’d bloody well deserve it. Valentine's was coming up, after all.

He was so proud of her. Despite the certain things that’d happened, he wouldn’t want anyone else to share a life with. She’d picked up the broken pieces Grace had left his heart in and mended it with gold. But gold didn’t matter at that moment when he didn’t know where she was. Where her body was.

When Frances had brought in the box that’d been left by the doorstep, Sadie had been softly snoring on his shoulder for the better part of an hour while he ran tired blue eyes over the logs of the previous week.

He thanked her, his voice a whisper to not stir his toddler, before cautiously examining the square. When he opened it, Tommy swore his heart stopped beating. Or he wished it did. Because it wasn’t like that time when Grace’s boyfriend had taken Y/N, or like that time she’d gotten mugged behind a shop. No. This time, he knew she was dead, and he wished he was too.

It took all of his self-control to ring up his brothers and tell them to get to Arrow House right that second. It took all of his restraint not to shout or scream, the only thing tethering him to earth and sanity his pride and joy asleep in his arms.

When Arthur and John got to his home office, Tommy simply threw them the note, his eyes trained on the small oval locket, thumb tracing the inscription upon it, smearing blood more and more over his own hands.

“Find her.” Those were the only words he uttered.

For a brief second, he’d glanced up and saw terror rush through the eyes of his brothers; he knew how much the two loved his wife, they loved her like they loved Ada and Polly, so without a second to spare, they ran back out, no doubt to gather every Blinder and search every nook and cranny while he clutched the brown-haired girl to his chest, the silver locket clutched in his other palm.

He wasn’t a religious man, didn’t even necessarily believe what his gipsy ancestors did or even his aunt Pol, but at that moment he turned his head to the ceiling and prayed to whoever might listen, old gods and new, Norse and Greek and Slavic – anyone that would hear his pleas.

Tommy thought back to every time Y/N had smiled at him, had laughed and filled his world with light. He even thought back to all those insane moments where he felt like his jaw would snap with how hard he’d been clenching it because of some stupid thing she’d done. He wished he’d appreciated those moments more because when two hours later Arthur came back to the house, the coat his wife had been wearing that morning in his hands, soaked and dripping freezing water onto the Turkish carpet, Tommy knew she was gone.

***

Her whole world consisted of cold, nothing else. It was the only thing she could feel, taste and sense. Was there anything to sense? Y/N didn’t know. She didn’t even fully believe her legs were still attached to her body, but somehow she was making her way across the field.

Time had become a concept she couldn’t comprehend, and the only thing that showed it had passed was the ever-changing position of the moon - her only companion through the long journey.

She had stopped shaking a while back, which it didn’t take her being a genius to know meant trouble if she didn’t find a way to get warm, but even that didn’t matter. Nothing but getting home did. If she had to die, she wanted to do it there, not somewhere in a ditch let alone beneath the frozen surface of the lake where Luka Changretta had dumped her.

He thought she’d been dead. He’d slit her throat, but not before ripping off the beautiful little necklace Tommy had gifted her.

“So he has something to remember you by,” the Italian mobster had given her a mocking smile before taking a knife from his side and slicing it across her neck.

The pain had been blinding, knocking all sense of reality out of her mind. She knew it would be the end. When her body lifted above the chair she’d been tied to, when her back greeted plush leather seats, her blood staining them forever. She knew she would die sooner or later. Then sweet blackness greeted her.

But death was a lot more painful than what it’d been described to be like in all the books she'd read and edited, especially the wound in her throat. Her breaths were white-hot knives dragging down her oesophagus and her lungs were on fire with each shallow take of air.

Through a haze, Y/N heard Italian being spoken before two rough hands grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her out of the car.

Her body hit the frozen ground with a thud, and it took every bit of remaining brainpower not to whimper from the pain. The winter air stung every piece of her body inside and out, caressing her with icy nails.

Slowly her mind was coming to, the cold sobering her up, but when someone took her wrists and another took her by the ankles, setting her flying, it was the frozen surface of the lake she cracked through that awoke her completely.

Y/E/C eyes flew open, murky depths of the water greeting her while every nerve and cell in her got shocked. Instinct told her to swim up, get a breath, and get out of the water before it pulled her under, but with the mightiness of a Norse goddess, Y/N suppressed all that and allowed the lake to gently pull her down, and her mind finally started to understand what’d happened.

They thought she was dead and decided to throw her body in some lake, probably hoping it would freeze over before she floated to the top and would remain that way until the very spring, prolonging the pain for her family.

The thought of her family grieving her was the only thing keeping Y/N from not trashing below the still surface. Instead, she slowly slipped her arms out from the coat and let it move to the top, while she sunk lower and lower.

Soon enough her feet touched the slimy earth below, which is when she once more opened her eyes and glanced up. There wasn’t really anything to see, apart from the light of the moon streaming in through the broken place where her body had been thrown and two retreating headlights.

Y/N waited two more seconds her whole being in shock and begging to get out and away from the cold when she pushed upwards and broke the surface. She gulped the air down in greedy takes, not caring about her split neck or the trembling of her body - at that moment all she cared for was air.

Her teeth were chattering so hard she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, afraid it might get caught between them and she’d bite it off. Swishing her head around, she looked if the ice had broken anywhere else. Out. She needed to get out. And to whatever god had taken pity on her after everything, underneath a small makeshift pier where kids would come and fish, the ice had cracked right to the very edge.

She knew every second spent in the water was a second closer to hypothermia, so as quick as her frozen limbs would allow, she swam to the land. It was a hand’s stretch away when another pair of headlights came into view. Y/N cursed and instead of getting out of the lake, she ducked underneath the wooden planks, pressing a palm to her mouth, so whoever it was wouldn’t notice the air steaming up in the air from her mouth.

Her ears were ringing, so Y/N couldn’t hear whatever the men were talking about, only see how they fished out her coat and took it with them. They left another minute later, and she swore at whoever it was for costing it to her. Home. She needed to get home and fast, but she couldn’t be seen, couldn’t let Changretta know he’d half-assed her murder and she’d survived. He wouldn’t do so again, so Y/N waited another bone-chilling minute, checking if any car passed by again.

And then she got out, her dress clinging to her body, hair against her face, matted with seaweeds and blood, one heel of her boot snapped off – a wraith come to life and ready to haunt.

The first step was agonising, and Y/N collapsed underneath her weight, needles piercing her feet. Her knees bruised and scraped raw against the stony earth as did her hands, but she welcomed the pain, let it ground her, and used it to remind herself – pain meant she was alive. No pain would be the real problem.

Y/N wrapped her hands around her body, digging her nails into her biceps, each step an arduous labour. Small pebbles cut the soles of her feet; she’d lost her shoes somewhere along the way; her bones ached from the very inside and each breath was a task, the wound in her neck, although scabbed over, split with every small movement, small streams of blood trickling down and staining her white dress.

Lights were visible in the distance, even as her vision blurred more and more, the small bright dots becoming stretched-out beams before everything tilted and she was staring up at the sky.

The stars were magnificent, she thought. You couldn’t really see them shine like that in the city. Even with Arrow House being further away from the centre, the beauty of it didn’t compare to that of the open field.

Her mind went back to Tommy, to how they met, how they used to bicker about every single thing and to that first morning she’d woken up beside him and instead of finding his pillow cold, a strong arm had been wrapped around the middle, his nose hidden in her hair.

Neither mentioned it a few hours later at breakfast, but it’d been the day things slowly had started to shift. Then she’d gotten shot, and the switch had completely been flipped. All those glances they’d shared, the soft smiles and tiny touches were no longer hidden, but out on full display. His hand now always gravitated to touch any part of her, they fell asleep facing one another, most times Y/N using Tommy’s chest as a pillow. And then someone else came along and used his chest as a pillow, his heartbeat as a lullaby and his eyes as the ocean to pull them in and never let go.

She’d been scared to become a mom, but even with that, she’d never seen Tommy so absolutely terrified. When Y/N had gone into labour, she thought he would pass out, but he swallowed the fear and stayed with her. Despite Ada being adamantly against a man being present during “women’s business”, she’d threatened to break her neck if she so much as looked at Tommy, Polly snorting beside her.

“He put me in this position, and by God, he will be here,” Y/N had sneered at her sister-in-law before a contraption rippled through her body and she almost crushed her husband’s hand.

But then the pain went away and a small wriggling person was placed on her chest. She’d never seen Tommy fully break down before that.

“Huh,” Ada had shrugged. “So he does have a heart.”

She’d promptly received a smack from Polly and Y/N for that comment, but Tommy had chuckled.

“No, I don’t.” He’d leaned in and pressed a kiss to his wife’s temple. “These two stole it a long time ago.”

After that day, it wasn’t uncommon to find Tommy either in his office or even in their bed with Sadie sound asleep on his chest. She just about melted each time.

But now all that stared back at her was the cloudless winter sky. Y/N wanted to sob at the thought she’d never see Tommy’s blue eyes anymore or fix the way Sadie’s curls framed her face, but every little movement was agonising, so she just laid there, staring at the cosmos and waiting for that black void to get her.

***

When Y/N came to she was confused as to why there was so much yelling when being dead, why her head was pounding and her body was racked by violent shivers.

“You undressed my fucking wife!” A deep voice boomed from somewhere very far away it seemed while at the same time, the noise echoed in her skull, rattling her brain.

“Oh, would you have liked me to have left her in that frozen fucking dress?” A deep, gruff one replied. “She was already hypothermic, but by all means, you’d rather no one saw her in her knickers than be alive.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Solomons!”

That name being said snapped her eyes open, which was a big fucking mistake, as even the warm light from a candle by the bed and from the fireplace was enough to make Y/N feel like she was looking directly at the sun and burning her retinas.

Another horrible shiver went through her frame, her teeth chattering nonstop. Pins and needles were running all over her skin and Y/N curled up in a ball as if trying to not let any of the heat she’d managed to get back escape, but that only made her feel more pain, a groan escaping her mouth. That small noise was enough though for the door to be busted open and for two men – one lean and tall, the other a burly, beard-covered menace to rush inside.

Tommy was by her in an instant, a careful palm placed on her cheek.

“Don’t try to talk,” his own voice was that of a whisper. “The wound’s pretty rough.”

If it didn’t feel like it’d hurt like hell, Y/N would’ve just rolled her eyes, but all she could do was squeeze them shut as shivers went through her body. When Tommy saw that, he was instantly on his feet, going for the fireplace and adding more logs to the dwindling flames.

When he turned around, Y/N had slid her shaking hand from underneath the duvet and extended it to him, a silent plea for him to come back.

It didn’t take much more than that for Tommy to take off his jacket and suit, not caring about the company in the room, his trousers following until he was in his breeches, sliding into the bed, wrapping her frozen body with his own warmth.

A groan escaped her mouth, as she clung to him, Tommy releasing a string of expletives when sensing just how cold Y/N actually was.

“Bloody hell, woman,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her forehead and tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

Gently, he intertwined her legs with his, and his fingers went to card through her matted strands, the motion more so calming him down, than her.

He’d put their daughter in bed after calling for Polly to come, with the thought Y/N was dead, his whole being a numb void. He’d thought the only time he’d ever get to see her again was after her body was found, that was if it’d be in a recognisable condition, so he’d take her frozen feet against his calves, her cold lips against his chest and stiff fingers digging painfully in his sides, as long as it meant she was alive.

At some point, after Alfie and Tommy exchanged words, Solomons left, and they spent the whole night and early morning like that, tangled in one another until Y/N was no longer cold or more appropriately would snap her tongue off if she so much as opened her mouth. She still couldn’t speak despite how Alfie had cleaned and stitched the wound in her neck, but she could write.

Alfie had brought a pen and paper upon Tommy’s request so they could communicate and the first and only word she scribbled was “home”.

“We’ll go home soon,” Tommy promised. “Arthur’s just… taking care of a few things.”

To that Y/N just nodded; she didn’t need any more explanations.

She took the pencil again and flipped to a new page. “Alfie has shitty sheets.”

Tommy chuckled, tightening the grip he had around Y/N’s waist. “He does, doesn’t he? You’d think the fucker could afford silk by now. Did he even change them before he put you in the bed?”

She just smiled and nuzzled closer to Tommy pressing her no longer cold nose to his chest and breathing in his scent, as he cradled her nape.

Y/N could hear the rapid thuds of his heart. When he'd first joined her in the bed, it'd been racing like one of his horses, stuttering and trying to find a beat, but now it was a steady song, matching her own.

No longer were they afraid.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take): 

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @m-a-t-91​ @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​ @strangersstranger​

Thomas Shelby tags: @datewithgianni​ @captivatedbycillianmurphy​ @screemqueen​ @mrsmalfoyshelby​ @theamuz​ @lyarr24​

A/N: sooo, it's been a while, hasn't it? Just wanted to drop something for the upcoming Valentines :)

P.S. hope you liked this :)

P.S.S. please don’t plagiarise my work and repost it/ translate it on other platforms (wattpad etc). re-blogs are very welcome

[ninjakitten1699]

Was Kronus the Original Master of Time in your AU?

Yes, Kronos is the original elemental master of Time

Ramblings of this lunatic author going on about Kronos and a little bit of the AU down below

Canonically, he was also the original villain for season seven, hands of time before he got changed into a pair of twins. I think the fandom and I have somewhat agreed that Kronos existed, and he was just a father, or ancestor, of the Time Twins. That just gives him the dad joke of being called “Father Time”.

So basically, he had Reverse, Halt, Decelerate, and Accelerate. He had plenty of more abilities that involved Time, but the only other notable ability there aside from the main four would be Theft.

Time Theft is basically a life-stealing kind of ability. It takes time off of people and objects whether it be how long they were around or how long they had left. Either way, it can steal months or years off someone, and it used to be a touch distance sort of power before it reached further out the arm’s reach. Depending on the duration of the use, it could kill the victim and make the user live longer than they originally would have. Hence why Kronos wouldn’t use it often. Phoenix eventually learned he could act as a conduit and transfer time from one person to another through him.

In my AU he was once a friend/acquaintance of the FSM before he began putting pieces together of why so much of Ninjago’s history was missing and why the FSM was so adamant/against anyone learning why.

I think at some point he left without a word and tried to start his own life, he’d eventually met a woman (who I just might name Cittrix from @jaymi-and-their-shit ’s post. It just fits the vibe), they ended up having triplets and they all turned out to be boys. Kronos was hoping for a Phoebe, but he was alright with Phoenix. Not too much later Phoenix actually died of SIDS and the other boys just wouldn’t stop crying all night, knowing something was wrong with their brother, so Kronos went to see them, and he found him like that. So, he just passed his power of Time Theft to Phoenix and gave up plenty of his years to let him live.

FSM really thought Phoenix a Tyke Bomb at first sight meanwhile later on, here comes his grandson, Lloyd whose Oni Half woke up before the Golden Power and same Golden Power is trying to kill the Oni in him, meaning it was killing Lloyd too. (Don’t tell me it wouldn’t since he hated Oni so much he never even looked twice in Garm’s direction and he was all for Wu.)

Take note that a long while before this, the FSM had asked Kronos to use that same power on another, but Kronos said he couldn’t cheat someone’s fate anymore so when the FSM finally saw him with these babies and his powers that passed to them, that fake god thought Phoenix a threat long before he’d even learn to crawl, so he didn’t even bother to help with the Time Family when they got attacked. (Or the FSM caused it no one knows for sure.)

During the attack, Kronos had to separate from Cittrix and the Triplets and defend them with all he had left. It was all for naught and the triplets would never know their knowledge of their powers for a long time (*wheezes at the pun*). This event would lead to Cittrix pleading with the boys to not involve themselves with the Serpentine War and Elemental Alliance, saying she doesn’t want to lose them too. They couldn’t just ignore what was happening especially when one of the Serpentine had attacked their mother before Krux reversed it and got himself some scars from that same snake. Unfortunately, we know how that ends for the Time Family.

[beccarooni]

The End - Chapter 2

(Tag list: @ageofgeek, @elreyciervo, @woahthisguy, @generationblip - ask to be added!)

Loki hadn’t been permitted to show his face at Frigga’s funeral, but he’d had a good enough second-hand description to imagine it as if he had. Golden towers, draped with black cloth. His mothers boat, adorned with flowers, her sword placed in her hands and a golden veil over her face. A flaming arrow shot by their finest archers - and even that too was gold. Frigga would sail to the ends of their horizon; dissolving into flame and sparks, her spirit scattered amongst the stars, marking her journey to Valhalla. Where the brave shall live forever.

He knew the feelings well enough; even if the visual had not been his. He knew that aching feeling inside - like a creature, tiny and desperate, trapped beneath his ribcage and clawing to escape. Loss was something he was well acquainted with by now; and the splendour that Asgard attached to it seemed almost intrinsic to the process. Asgard’s warriors died the deaths of heroes; it was only right that their passages would be heralded by something as glorious as they had in life.

Cramped in the Quinjet bathroom, with barely enough room to get on his knees, Loki muttered out the parting prayer - quiet enough so that Banner couldn’t hear from the other side of the door. A piece of his armour caught against the sink, and all of a sudden he was struck by how wrong this felt.

Sadness, he expected. Fury, and rage; those were emotions he knew came with death. But this sense of wrongness, of shame - it was new. It was new, and uncomfortable, and he wanted it to stop.

There was no body to bury. Nothing to cast to the stars, no boat to lay his brother to rest in, no hammer to place gently against his chest. This was the best he could do, and it burned his face with shame. Loki didn’t know the fate of the others. They may have survived, but they also may have died. And that would make Thor the last one. Possibly the last true Asgardian, and this was how his parting from this world would be marked. No fanfare, no lanterns, no stars.

An airplane bathroom, smaller than a closet, and a few words whispered from cracked and bleeding lips. The harsh smell of cleaning agents, and the harsher glare of the flickering light above him. A body, his brother, left in the cold grip of space - maybe forever. The best he could hope for was that a passing garbage collector would take pity on the condemned, and at least allow them the decency of a disposal.

This was what Loki of Asgard had to offer the God of Thunder, and it sickened him to think of it.

Loki swallowed, pressed his forehead against the plastic walls, and muttered the last of the prayers.

“Thor, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.”

Glorious death.

He sniffed, slumping from his knees further to the floor, and shutting his eyes against the world.

There was nothing glorious about this.

His throat hurt, and he allowed himself a few tears as the neon light flickered above him. The prayer was the only tribute he had to give. Well, that and revenge, of course.

Revenge was a talent Loki had yet to perfect. His schemes had a nasty habit of going awry at the last second - but, he supposed, the one person who was always there to thwart said schemes wasn’t here anymore. Now, there was a stretch of open road between him and his dagger piercing Thanos’s heart. Wherever that monster landed, whatever cursed ground marked the final battle, he knew he would be there. His soul wouldn’t let him rest if he wasn’t.

That would be the final gesture he could make for his brother, then. Thanos would die at his hand, he would pay for all he had taken from them. The gentle ending that they were robbed of; where they sailed to earth through the stars, as their ancestors once had. Where they landed, safe and sound, and rebuilt their departed homeworld. If the Mad Titan was so fond of balance, then he could experience it for himself. The scales would tip even with his death; and then, perhaps Loki could rest. Leave for somewhere new, and condemn this blood soaked tapestry to the dirt.

The tale of the house of Odin; beginning in blood, and ending as it began. Crimson, it seemed, was destined to stain the pages of their storybook. And Loki had seen more than enough of it for one lifetime.

“Hey, Loki?”

Banner knocked on the door, gentle enough that Loki almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the engines.

“Are you alright in there? It’s just, uh, it’s been a while. I don’t know if you’re sick, or...yeah.”

Loki cleared his throat, moving to his feet. A quick glance in the mirror, an adjustment of illusions, and he was himself again. There was a certain image he wanted to uphold with the Avengers; even if Banner had certainly seen worse of him (tied to a chair in Valkyrie’s apartment and having a bottle lobbed at his head, for one). They still thought of him as a threat - and there was comfort in that perception. An evil being, a god mad with power - they wouldn’t feel sorrow. Evil wouldn’t cry for its kin. Evil was unstoppable, unstable; an ever shifting force. He didn’t want to disabuse any of them of that notion quite just yet.

“I’m fine. Just washing my hands.” He opened the door, coming face to face with the worrisome scientist standing in front of him.

“I would think that with all the riches in his possession, Stark would grace you with more than one bathroom.” Loki moved past Banner, stalking back to his seat with as much dignity as one could muster when exiting from an airplane bathroom.

“Yeah. It does make missions kinda awkward, sometimes.” Banner rubbed the back of his head, hovering by the door for a moment before shuffling back to the bench where he was sat.

“Six super-people and only one bathroom. It can get intense.”

“I can only imagine.” Loki grimaced as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

There was a silence, then. But one with a touch of anticipation. Banner kept looking at him, and after a few minutes it began to grate on his nerves. It was the face of a scientist, after all. The one brimming with questions but holding back purely on social decorum. Banner tapped his feet, bounced his leg, cast him a sideways look. Loki stared ahead impassively, keeping his eyes trained on the window in front of him. He could guess what question it was that Banner wanted answering; and, frankly, it wasn’t something Loki wanted to discuss right now.

Banner wanted to know why Loki had chosen to help them. Why his loyalties had so quickly changed. And of course it was a complex answer; one wrought with chaos and really it would require a play with at least twelve acts to get through, and -

“Why’d you say that earlier?”

The scientist spoke softly, and Loki turned to him, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“About Thor being dead.”

Loki groaned, leaning until the back of his head touched the cold metal wall behind him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted to muster some venom into his voice; to spit out the words with vitriol and hatred. But he was so tired, and it came out with more numbness than he intended.

Banner looked at him a little more intensely then, and he could’ve sworn a hint of green crept into the scientist’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “You keep telling me about how your brother - one of my closest friends - is dead, and then wonder why that might possibly piss me off?”

Loki scoffed, and Banner folded his arms, shifting his gaze into a dark corner of the quinjet.

“I care because you’re not even giving him a chance. It’s like you have no faith in him - when he’s had nothing but faith in you. You’ve died a lot, and he’s always expected you to come back sooner or later.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is it different? If you’ve come back enough times, then he can too. I know you don’t think he’s smart enough for that but he is. He’s smart, and strong, and kind, and I just-” Banner cut himself off as his face illuminated with green, and his voice shot a few octaves deeper than normal.

Loki scooted back, watching the scientist's face with a degree of caution. He didn’t expect the beast to appear - when one of the sorcerers had hurried Banner back into the building, looking thoroughly un-green, he assumed something had happened. Which was understandable, he supposed. Travelling through the bifrost was bad enough for the inexperienced - let alone the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their travel.

He and Hulk had an uneasy truce on the Statesman. They stayed out of eachothers way, mostly. Hulk was wary of him; and vice versa - even if Thor had tried his best to ease tensions between them with group meetings and ‘dinner nights’. But that wasn’t enough to make him jump for joy at the prospect of seeing Hulk again; especially on a cramped jet, and without his usual strength to defend himself.

Although, it might be nice to see the beast again. It would be a familiar face at the very least; and while he wasn’t concerned about the giant’s safety, he couldn’t deny that his strength had brought a certain comfort with it. When you had the hulk by your side, you felt unstoppable. And it would be rather nice to have that confidence for the battle ahead.

When the scientist seemed to catch himself, Loki was almost disappointed. Banner breathed heavily, the green veins on his face dying down and retreating below the surface.

“He can’t be dead, Loki. He just...He can’t be.”

Loki paused, leaning forward a little. Studying the man in front of him; the twitches, the clasped hands wringing together, the never ending tapping of the foot. The strained expression; the eyes that held hope, but something else underneath that. Something desperate.

Banner didn’t just want Thor back. He needed him.

And all at once, those accidental touches on the Statesman made sense. Every guiding hand on the small of Banner’s back, every meal that the two had shared together, each word of comfort and gentle smile; it wasn’t just comradery.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.

“You liked him.”

“What?” Banner looked away from him then, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Of course I like him. I’ve known the guy for 6 years.”

“No, this is much more than a - Oh, what did he call it - a friend from work. You fancied him.”

He caught the sight of Bruce’s fists clenching at his sides, and for some reason that sparked something inside of him. A memory from long ago; of being trapped in that glass prison, with a sudden desire to set the beast loose.

“Well, maybe your paramour being dead will be enough to draw the beast back from the shadows. Does it make you angry, Bruce? Does the thought of someone you love dying for nothing fill you with rage?”

“Stop.” Bruce dropped to a whisper, screwing his eyes shut as if that could drown out the sound.

Some part of him told him to take pity on the man. A word of wisdom from his mother; that grief shared was grief halved. And maybe this wasn’t very nice of him, and maybe it wasn’t at all in line with honouring his brother’s memory, but at this moment he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wanted glory again - wanted the feeling of control that he’d had back on the helicarrier.

“I wonder if you ever confessed it to one another - or did he die without ever knowing it? You know, I always assumed that when his heart stopped he thought of Asgard, but maybe he thought of you. Maybe the last thing he ever felt was heartbreak, because he never knew if you loved him back-”

“Stop it!” Bruce’s voice deepened as he leapt to his feet, the veins along his neck deepening to a dark green; but it went further than that. Green blotches spread across his arms, and there was a momentary wildness in his eyes that Loki recognised.

The beast was here. Loki bared his teeth in a fierce grin, hands waiting for his daggers and his body itching for a fight.

But none came.

Banner’s fists stayed clenched, he shook with anger, but that was apparently all the good doctor could muster. The remnants in his eyes died out, like the last few sparks of a campfire, and he remained firmly Bruce Banner-sized. Loki sank back into his chair after the moment of apprehension, sighing.

“I was hoping that would work.” He shook his head dejectedly, a scowl creeping into his face and voice. “I get the sense that we might need him, eventually.”

“Jesus, Loki. So, what - your plan was to get me mad enough for a hulkout? And you thought now was the perfect moment? Here?” Banner gestured around their surroundings - to the low ceiling of the quin jet, the fragile equipment piloting their journey.

Loki’s head thunked against the wall as he melted back into the seat, shrugging listlessly. “I suppose I didn’t think that one through very well.”

“No, you didn’t.” Banner paced about the ship, wringing his hands together before he turned back to Loki, a hint of that previous anger emanating into his tone.

“Look, I know you miss him. And just because I don’t think he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him - I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about him,” He paused, looking up to the ceiling - his face contorting as if he was having to force these words out.

“But don’t you dare take this out on me. Mourn, if you want. Get angry, get sad - but don’t you take this out on me just because I still have hope.”

“Hope.” Loki chuckled mirthlessly. “Hope is a fool's gamble, Banner.”

“Maybe.” Bruce swallowed, his features smoothing out as his eyes turned to the viewing window beside them. “But it’s a gamble I’m willing to take.”

[revoleotion]

ao no exorcist DND AU except that I haven't played in ages and don't know the English terms or how the game works. Enjoy. Feel free to add. Feel free to run with this. I'm just happy to write about my chaotic boy.

.

Liu goes overboard with many things in life but Yukio has never seen him quite like this. It's a bit too early to assume he is excited about this but perhaps this might be exactly it. It all started when the exchange exorcist brought a huge bag of dice to their first meeting and dumped it onto the table.

"I will take the red ones. For luck," he announced with a grin. It was in that moment that Yukio realized how out of place it felt to see the exorcist without his uniform or clothing that indicated his field of work. There was something about someone he admired - and still admires, if he's honest with himself - in such a casual scenario.

He still thinks it's weird, with his dice stacked on top of each other in front of him and a character sheet in front of him. He tries not to look, for he is sure that a glance might turn into something very embarrassing.

They've had a few sessions by now and Yukio is slowly starting to understand the game. Liu's outfits range from casual to "clearly just left a work meeting" but it doesn't seem to change his motivation. With no fail, he'll start the sessions with a bright grin and an excited narrating voice. He's happy, and Yukio might be happy as well. He enjoys trying to figure out the characters on Liu's shirts, all of them seem to be puns that he can vaguely understand with his knowledge of Kanji but doesn't know the pronunciation of. He enjoys the game.

He realizes another thing. The worst and best thing about the whole affair is that he can feel his different experiences, different acquaintances, all melt into one entity. One life. And it works. Why does it work? Why does it feel right to sit next to Shima Renzou and exchange banter with his character, while trying not to stare at Liu's face or yell at his brother? It works and it feels like he's part of something without being out of place. Yukio isn't too young or too old for this. All he needs to do is pray to the dice gods - this is funny to them as they are all aware that the divine can very much be proven but dice gods might not be a part of it.

By the fourth meeting, Yukio has to officially admit that he is looking forward to this. Things are starting to get complicated by then.

It starts with a side character Liu introduces. A small demon that Yukio recognizes to be from a children's book. Liu explains that one of his ancestors was credited to have performed an exorcism on the demon back in the day - and even if there's no truth to this at all, it seems to be a nice way to honor the man's heritage.

Then Rin announces, "I want to befriend it."

Liu clearly intended for this to be a minor boss battle, at least Yukio assumes this judging by the look on his face. He's smiling, an unsettling expression on his handsome features.

"Why?" he asks. "That's a demon."

"Well, so am I."

Liu looks over to Yukio who offers a little shrug.

"Let him try," Suguro Ryuuji says before Yukio can open his mouth to say the same.

"It might be fun!" Shima chimes in, which might not be the way Yukio would phrase it but very in character.

Liu lifts one of his red dice, the D20, and rolls it between his slender fingers.

"Roll for Wisdom," he instructs Yukio's twin. "Animal handling."

For a second it looks like Rin is about to protest but he sighs and nods. Yukio assumes that Rin would rather roll for that than charisma - or maybe he just doesn't want to ruin his chances. Rim's dice are bright blue, not unlike his flames. Yukio leans closer to follow the movement. The dice jumps on the table, just once, before slowly coming to a stop.

A natural 20 faces up.

"Does that work?" Rin asks with the biggest grin Yukio has seen on anyone, ever.

Liu says a word that seems to have more than one meaning because even though Yukio knows it to be very harmless, it seems to be a curse word in this context.

"You befriend the demon," Liu says after a couple of seconds. "And now excuse me, I have to rewrite this entire game for unrelated reasons."

[shaolin-spin-doctor]

Marked words, broken vows, shattered worlds

Three times Kung Lao made promises he couldn't keep, and one where he fulfills an oath against all odds.

Next chapter

Part 1: Praised be the name

Kung Lao closed the large wooden door behind him before stepping forward into the room. He forced himself to keep his gaze steady as the men ahead stared him down like vultures eager to tear his flesh, their eyes boring into him with various degrees of disappointment and annoyance. Each step he took made him feel smaller, more vulnerable, as if the room itself wanted to swallow him whole, and by the time he stopped in front of the Kung elders gathered inside, a cold feeling of dread had taken over his entire body despite his best efforts to keep his mind at ease. He kicked himself mentally for his lack of self control - stupid, coward, weak, pathetic-

"Kung Lao," a familiar booming voice called, and he fought to stop himself from flinching.

"Yes, father," He replied, bowing slightly, praying to the Elder Gods so his voice woldn't shake. "You requested to see me?"

The lean, elegant man at the front of the group looked down at Lao, and, despite being almost the same height, the gesture made the Shaolin felt a lot smaller. "We have been informed of the monks' decision," he continued, circling him like a predator while the rest of the men watched on in silent judgement, "and your failure to prove yourself worthy of being The Chosen One."

Cringing internally, Lao straightened back up and looked at the Kung patriarch, finding nothing but contempt in his brown eyes. Despite being well acquainted with the sight, it made him want to look away and run, run until his feet bled and everything was completely left behind and nobody could ever find him again. "Apologies, father," he replied softly, bowing his head once more. He felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. "I assure you, I gave it my all in the name of our family. I will continue to train-"

"You have disgraced us again," the older man cut him off, his thin lips curling up in a disgusted snarl. "Once more, you have demonstrated your sheer incompetence... by losing to a street rat, no less."

Kung Lao's head jerked upwards, his previous anxiety being overtaken by sheer outrage. "You have no right to insult Liu Kang like that," he growled, shaking with barely contained anger, and it took every inch of willpower inside him to stop himself from punching his own father square in the face. "He is the best warrior in the temple, and just as capable as I am. I will not allow you to speak badly of him."

The older Kung didn't even flinch, raising an eyebrow at his son's outburst instead. "So this is how it is," he responded, glancing at the men around him, "You jump at the chance to defend this individual, but are as lazy as ever when it comes to fighting for your own family's reputation. Your ineptitude has cost every single person in this room greatly."

Turning back to Lao, he raised an arm and adjusted the cufflinks of his suit, impassive in the face of his child's wrath. "We have all contributed exceptional things to this family. All of us, except for you. You do not deserve to carry the same name as our ancestor. There is no greatness within you."

Kung Lao clenched his fists and looked around. The most important men of his own family, the people he was supposed to look up to and please, were all side-eyeing him scornfully and murmuring scathing remarks about him, his low efforts, his seeming lack of achievements. He hated to admit it, but it hurt. It hurt, and it ached, and he wanted it to stop, to scream that he had always done everything he could, overworking himself to death in an attempt to prove himself to everyone even though he knew he could never be enough. Instead, he took a deep breath and looked at his father right in the eye, steely resolve hardening his challenging expression. He was being incredibly disrespectful, but he couldn't care any less at that point. He was already a hopeless disappointment in their eyes anyway. He had nothing left to lose.

"I will honor The Great Kung Lao," he said between gritted teeth, staring his relatives down, "no matter what you all say or think. I will show everyone my worth, even if I am not the Shaolin's champion. You will see."

He then set his sight back on his father, who had an almost amused look on his face. He refused to let it get to him. "I swear on my own life."

Not even bothering to wait for the man's answer, Kung Lao turned around and stormed out of the room, fighting off the bitter tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He wouldn't let them trample all over him. Not anymore. He would prove to everyone - his family, the Shaolin, even Raiden - that he could be just as good as both his ancestor and Liu Kang, if not better, and then they would all recognize his greatness at last.

---

News of Kung Lao's death reached his relatives a couple of weeks later. Only a few of them mourned him.

They refused to bury him in the family grave, and he had to be laid to rest in the Shaolin temple instead.

His name was dragged through the mud and became synonym of shame and misfortune, framed as the sole culprit for the family's downfall. Members of the house of Kung were told to erase him from their minds. Pretend as if he had never existed.

Nobody was allowed to mention him again.

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork! So fancy!

Midnight

Chapter 4 — The Ball

Summary: In which our heroine feels exposed

Chapter 4 of 7 on AO3

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you”

-The Way You Look Tonight, Fred Astaire

Having spent several days eating her way through Misthaven with one eye on the lookout for black sedans, Emma was glad to be heading away from the town and the emotional memories the sight of a pub or gas station would cause. She wasn’t sure why one innocent night with Killian Jones continued to dominate her thoughts and hijack her dreams, but she feared seeing him again would push her over the edge.

That didn’t keep her from wanting to though.

On some level, she knew he had probably already forgotten her. Perhaps he did before the night was even over. Some other passenger might be walking around his place now, wearing his shirts and eating his pancakes.

Because when she dreamed about Door Number One, they always had pancakes for breakfast.

Despite her stubborn heart’s refusal to cooperate, the last couple of days had not been wasted. Arthur turned out to be a man of his word. Like a crazy fairy godmother who sprinkled cold hard cash instead of pixie dust and magic, he kept her supplied in the finest clothes and the chicest accessories. At the same time, he made sure her social calendar buzzed with invitations from a who’s who of Misthaven’s finest and wealthiest families. Events that inevitably threw her together with Lance more often than not.

It was at a garden soirée the previous day Lance had pressed to drive her out to Camelot, Arthur’s sprawling estate just a couple of hours away. Figuring the sooner she got the weekend over with, the better, she remained elusive only long enough to be convincing and then accepted his offer.

She already figured out Lancelot du Lac was a man who enjoyed the chase. She also discovered underneath his rakish exterior was someone who desperately wanted to find love while at the same time being deathly afraid of it. Normally, Emma wasn’t one to psychoanalyze. Still, the funny thing about rich people’s parties was that they were actually very dull, and she had nothing to do but regret not kissing the Captain before they parted ways or come up with profiles on the personalities she encountered.

Psychoanalysis seemed like the safer option.

Now she was waiting in the lobby of the Ritz for Lance’s foreign sports car to arrive so she could finally shake the dirt of this town off her feet. She hoped she could shake the lingering sadness as well. It was doing things to her. Things like making her hear the Captain’s voice in crowds.

“Swan! Swan! Emma, if you don’t turn around this instant—“

Excitement and abject horror battled for supremacy when she realized it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. As if in slow motion, she turned in the direction of his voice and her eyes met his across the vast space. Then she watched as Killian Jones began to sprint toward her, pushing people out of his way none too gently while managing not to crease his startlingly posh blue suit. This wasn’t the flirty Uber driver of a few nights ago, all leather and innuendo. Sure he had the same sex hair and twinkling blue eyes, but this man exuded power and authority and, quite frankly, looked more than a little pissed as he closed the distance between them with frightening speed.

Unaware of the drama playing out, one of the valets rushed to her and announced breathlessly, “Baroness, your ride has arrived.”

“I… I’ll be right there.”

Emma couldn’t break eye contact with him. His face was just as she remembered it, as it should since it was less than a week ago when she last saw him. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked frantic to get to her. He seemed to know she was contemplating an escape and he paused briefly, not caring who heard him when he called across the remaining ground between them, “So help me, Swan, if you run again, I swear I will—“

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said as a herd of visitors passed between them chattering loudly in some foreign language, the group taking photos of the architecture and potted plants as if they were worthy of remembrance. She had a brief opportunity to step out unseen under cover of the mob separating them. To forever give this man who haunted her the slip.

Or she could stay.

God, did she want to stay.

—

The estate was as lovely as one would expect. Ancient oak trees lined the drive and gave way to topiaries precisely cut into fantastical shapes as the car approached the main house. Lance regaled her with tales of the vast land Arthur inherited, the numerous homes on the property, and the complete absence of any cell or internet services once you crossed the boundary.

It seemed old man Soberano convinced himself the emerging technologies were a way for the government to spy on people and had forbidden, by way of his last will and testament, any cell towers or fiber lines from ever crossing the property. It was why as coveted as an acquaintance with the family was, people often grumbled when they received an invitation to the country estate rather than one of the other properties throughout the globe. The ancient landline phones served as the communication system for the large estate and the only connection to the outside world.

Of course, most of his ramblings went in one ear and out the other because she was too busy wondering why Killian had been at the Ritz in a suit that looked like it was made for him. She would know. After all, she was now in possession of a wardrobe filled with custom pieces and carefully tailored lines.

Was it a fluke encounter or was he still searching for her? He would give new meaning to the phrase ‘no stone left unturned’ if his sole reason for coming to the premier hotel in town was to look for the broke woman he gambled on and lost. Literally.

“Darling, I feel like you haven’t heard a word I said the whole journey,” Lance gently complained as he helped her out of the low seats of the car and up the grand stairs leading to the front door. He appeared genuinely distressed at her distance, and for the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt for the ridiculous game she was playing.

“I’m sorry. I had some bad news right before we left, and I’m a bit distracted,” she explained, allowing Lance to take her hand as they approached the Soberanos who were waiting for them in the foyer. Their linked hands did not go unnoticed by either of their hosts, although to widely different responses.

Learning she was at the opposite end of the mansion from Lance, the group moved to the second floor together. The servant leading them turned to Lance and said helpfully, “Good news, Mr. du Lac, we found the cuff link you lost on your last visit. It was in Madam Soberano’s sitting room.”

Sheepishly, he looked to Emma as if ready to offer an excuse. Unable to keep a chuckle from escaping at the crazy situation, she patted his arm and said, “The wind must have blown it in.”

With that, the group separated. Arthur replaced Lance at her arm and smiled indulgently at his protege. “You’re quite good. You have him eating out of your hand, and you’re not even trying.”

“I’ve met his type before. The less I try, the more he will. He’ll be begging me to divorce my husband and proposing before the end of the night at this rate,” she joked.

“You don’t know Lancelot du Lac,” Arthur argued. Their leisurely stroll through the second-floor gallery allowed her to see pictures of his ancestors back to the Norman invasion, but she noted there was none of him or his beloved wife who he was fighting so hard to keep.

“Well, you don’t know Emma Swan. He tried to give me an emerald the size of a baby’s fist today.” She had been tempted to pocket the jewel, but some small part of her knew what she was doing was wrong and robbing the man blind when she had no intention of ever returning his affections wouldn’t make it any better.

“Excellent! I won’t even deduct it from your pay if you promise to take him for all he’s worth and break his heart, dear. It will do him some good.”

“How are you still friends with him? Knowing what he’s doing with your wife. I can’t figure out if you’re the most understanding man in the world or absolutely crazy.”

Sighing, he sat down on one of the numerous benches that lined the gallery floor and patted the seat beside him. Emma didn’t know precisely how or when it happened, but he had become almost a friend after the deal was struck. She spent as much time with him as she did Lance and, despite the fact she thought he was extremely odd, she had grown fond of him. “Because I think he was trying to make her happy at first. I told you she wasn’t the only one to make mistakes. This whole thing is my fault. It was my foolish pursuit of wealth that drove her to this, endlessly trying to carve my name into the family tomes as one of the best empire builders in the dynasty. If I had been there for her, if I had just listened when she tried to tell me what she needed…well, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

“I hope for your sake this works.”

“And I hope for your sake, the next time a man tries to give you an emerald, you keep it.”

“How do you know I didn’t keep it?”

“Because I think I’m starting to know Emma Swan,” he explained with a wink and smile before pulling her up and taking her to the east wing. Dropping her off at her room, he teased, “Get some rest, dear. Cinderella needs to be at her best for the ball.”

With a sardonic grin, she countered, “Hard to be at your best when you know every Cinderella has her midnight.”

Hours later, after a nap and a fortifying drink, she shrugged into her form-fitting green dress like it was battle armor. She was joking earlier when she said a proposal would be forthcoming, but she had no doubt Lance would make a proposition of some kind. The trick would be to keep him on the line without actually following through with anything.

She left her room as late as possible to avoid spending too much time around the pampered elite who were her housemates that weekend. While she had met a fair few during her crash course in Misthaven society, Arthur was the only one she didn’t mind having a conversation with, but he was unlikely to abandon Guin’s side to keep her company. Especially since it would put a damper on Lance’s pursuit.

Her destination was the expansive, three-tiered back deck, illuminated by thousands of clear fairy lights and a fair number of fireflies, the faint breeze carrying the briny smell of the ocean that lay only a few feet beyond their well-tended lawn. The men in tuxedos added a dashing contrast to their partners’ colorful evening gowns and cocktail dresses. A string quartet was playing off to the side; the beautiful melody drifted through the party in a way that enhanced the romantic atmosphere to a point it made her hurt.

She was surprised to see Arthur standing alone through the wall of windows. She stopped to take in the scene, complete with busy waitstaff and tables of food.

She couldn’t wait to get away.

“Alright, Guinevere, you want to talk, let’s talk. I have a few serious words to say.”

Silently moving until the curtains partially hid her, Emma watched as Lance and Guinevere made their way toward the patio. Guinevere’s eyes were red and she was fretting with a handkerchief gripped tightly between her hands. “As if you had two serious words in your whole vocabulary, Lance.”

“I could make a very noble speech. Tell you we were just two ships passing in the night, but the truth is, Arthur is my friend. I don’t want to break up a happy marriage. We’ve been playing with fire, but it’s better to end this now before someone gets hurt.”

“Funny how none of that mattered until the baroness showed up. I know you think you are in love with her. I can see it in your face every time she is around. You’re behaving like a schoolboy. You’re a darling, but you need to be careful. We don’t know anything about her. All we have is her word that she is who she says she is. I’ve asked around; no one has ever heard of her. Maybe her hair is dyed, and maybe she’s poisoned three husbands. Sidney told me there was some man calling her a swan and chasing her at her hotel today. It had all the staff talking.”

“You’re jealous, Guin.”

“Terribly. Fun, isn’t it?” The woman rushed from the room, tears flowing freely now. Emma didn’t move from her hiding place, instead waiting until he had joined the party before she followed in his footsteps.

—

As she predicted, Lance made sure he was her partner for most of the night. She followed Guin’s movements with alarm, knowing the woman was on edge and fearful of what she may do if she felt she had nothing to lose. Her glance met Arthur’s when she saw his wife and Sidney go inside, heads close together and a look of shock crossing Guin’s face. The other man nodded at her and trailed after them at a distance.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to let Lance lead her away from the party into the formal gardens spreading north of the patio. Perhaps she was tired of having to put a fake smile on her face, or maybe she was simply tired.

He kept a steady stream of conversation going, mostly unanswered on her side, and navigated them down an old stone path to a large fountain surrounded by benches and meticulously pruned rose bushes. “Please don’t interrupt, dear, but suppose we were to follow this path all the way to the garage and take my car for a ride through the countryside.”

“Oh, the make-believe game! It’s always been one of my favorites. But why stop at the countryside, Lance? Why not go on a tour of the moon while we’re at it?”

“I asked you not to interrupt,” he teased, pulling her arm through his and continuing to amble further away from the house. “You see, this isn’t some random trip. We have a particular place we are heading. A little estate by the lake where an opinionated old dame lives. It’s twenty ’til midnight. If we leave now, we can make it as dawn is breaking.”

Intrigued despite herself, she asked, “And what business would we have at this chateau by the lake?”

“I want you to meet my mother. To introduce you to her and tell her that I’ve met the one. Then the pale light of dawn will shine on the first day of our lives together.”

He was serious, and she felt like the lowest of human beings when she joked back, “I doubt the day will be the only thing breaking when that bombshell drops. Were we going to share the news with my husband before or after our visit?”

Before he could respond, Arthur called out from behind them on the path, “Baroness Jones, I believe you promised me a dance.”

He reached them seconds later with a pointed look at her. Although he was the picture of sophistication, she could tell by his quick pace something had happened. “A midnight dance as I remember.”

“Of course, please excuse me,” she murmured to Lance, who looked like he was about to protest as she took Arthur’s arm and allowed him to guide her back to the house. Keeping a calm expression on her face, she smiled and nodded to the people they passed and waited until they were out of earshot to ask, “What’s happened?”

“It’s midnight, dear. The ground has opened under our feet. That horrible friend of Guin’s, Sidney, did some digging and found out there is no Baroness Jones. They plan to make an announcement any moment now. I’m sorry I brought you into this mess, Emma.”

They reached the dance floor Arthur installed on the deck specifically for the party, but neither felt like dancing. Instead, they hovered along the back wall and waited for the troublesome pair to return from their scheming.

Sighing, she nudged his shoulder. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. We never really stood a chance at this working.”

“But we were so close. I could feel Guin changing, turning back to me. Now I may as well help her pack her bags,” he replied, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one off to her. Clicking his glass against hers in a mock toast, he muttered, “Here’s to wasted years and endless torment.”

He downed the entire glass and, when she only took a sip, he reached out and downed hers as well.

She wasn’t sure what he had to be upset about. She was the one who was going to be exposed as a charlatan, forced to exit under the judgmental gazes of a house full of people who would dine on the story for months to come. Just as she was about to point out it could be worse, she saw Guin descend the stairs with Sidney hot on her heels. “Here we go.”

“I’ll stand by you as best I can,” Arthur promised, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back as if to provide some physical barrier against what was about to happen.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have a moment of your time? As you know, Arthur and I pride ourselves on providing the best of entertainment at our parties, and I think you’ll find tonight’s will not disappoint. I have a story to share that I think will delight and amuse you. Under our roof tonight, we have a guest claiming one of the oldest names in European aristocracy.”

A murmur started in the crowd, musicians laying down their instruments, even the waitstaff and caterers ceased what they were doing. It seemed as if the entire universe held its breath waiting for Guin to continue. She could tell the woman enjoyed every moment of it.

“I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the heraldry of Cambridge nobility, but let me assure you that in all of England, there is no—“

From the patio entrance, the footman interrupted in a booming voice to announce the arrival of a late guest of note. “Baron Killian Jones.”

Emma had to grab Arthur’s arm to keep from falling when her knees buckled. In the soft light, the Captain looked like a fantasy. His dark hair mussed in a way that looked intentional, but she knew it resulted from repeatedly running his hand through it when he was frustrated. He was outfitted in a tuxedo, the crisp white shirt making his stubble seem even more dangerous in the moonlight. He surveyed the crowd looking for her, supremely unconcerned he had the attention of the entire party.

Arthur looked at the mysterious stranger and then took in her aghast expression and whispered, “Do you know him?”

At that moment, Killian’s eyes met hers and the heat she saw there made it difficult to think, much less speak. “Yes. Yes, I know him.”

“Right. All hope isn’t lost then,” Arthur said with forced cheerfulness as he disengaged her death grip on his arm and went to greet their visitor. In a loud voice, so nobody would have to strain to hear, he said, “Welcome to my home, my dear Baron. It’s been a long time since we’ve met.”

Despite the fact the men had never laid eyes on each other before, Emma observed the Captain as he quickly assessed the lay of the land and responded, “Yes, years and years. I hope you don’t mind me trespassing on your hospitality. I only just arrived in town and the hotel staff informed me my wife was spending the weekend here. I couldn’t wait to see her.”

“With such a charming companion, no one blames you,” Guinevere said smoothly, giving Sidney a look meant to quell any further talk and rushing to meet their newest arrival. “She’s kept us all so diverted this past week.”

Giving the woman a slight grin, he nodded. “I’m sure. She’s nothing if not diverting.”

Moving away from the Soberanos, he took the stairs two at a time until he was standing in front of her, mouth twisted in amusement and eyes on fire. He seemed to drink in the sight of her from the artless way the curls were falling down her back to how her hand was white-knuckled from holding on to a nearby chair.

“You found me.” Somehow her words sounded like both an accusation and a thank you. Her eyes searched his face for some clue as to why he was there.

“Did you ever doubt I would?”

Before anything else could be said, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips to hers. Plundering her mouth, not caring they had an audience numbering in the hundreds, he shifted his grip, one hand making its way to her hair and cradling the back of her head. The other drifted lower, moving her body until it pressed against the long length of his. The thin fabric of her dress allowed the heat of him to soak through to her skin which suddenly felt tight and she was desperate for more contact.

She leaned into him, allowing her hands finally to comb through the hair that had haunted her dreams. The silky strands provided a contrast to the rough drag of his facial scruff against her cheek, the feeling of him in her arms doing exactly what she wanted almost pushing her into sensory overload. She didn’t think, who could when faced with such an onslaught, her body moving on instinct. She moaned into his mouth, tongues tangling and tasting of champagne and need.

A throat cleared in the distance and reality came crashing back. Reluctantly, Killian pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and breathing unevenly.

With quiet wonder, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I was hungry to see my little wife.”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[esperwatchesfilms]

The VelociPastor (2018)

This one holds an especially special place in my heart. I’m always proud of classmates and teachers and other folks from my hometown who go on to do amazing things. I knew he was a force to be reckoned with when he played Orin Scrivello, D.D.S. in our high school production of Little Shop of Horrors, and I’m so glad to see his talent and determination produced this fucking gem. Yes, I did just shamelessly brag about having been acquainted with the writer/director/producer/editor in high school. But in all honesty, I’m extremely happy to have known him and to be able to include this absolute MASTERPIECE in my world record attempt.

Father Stewart: So your parents died, Doug. It's what parents do. They die on you.

I love that Doug tells the homeless man he took a vow of poverty and then runs off, no change to give the downtrodden. Then Carol comes by, telling Doug off for being inconsiderate as he runs into her and then she digs some coins out of her purse to hand to the homeless man. I can only speculate, but that definitely feels like some pointed commentary. I love it.

Frankie Mermaid: Now, what’s my name? Carol: Frankie Mermaid. Frankie Mermaid: And why is my name Frankie Mermaid? [Carol mumbles] Frankie Mermaid: Speak up girl, or else I’m gonna give you the fucking boot! Carol: [raises voice] ‘Cause you’re swimmin’ in bitches! Frankie Mermaid: You’re goddamn right!

Frankie Mermaid: Yo, Cherry! If you stuffed dicks in your mouth like you’re doing that sandwich, I’d be a fucking millionaire by now!

Doug Jones: I don't believe you. Dinosaurs never existed, and even if they did, I don't transform into one.

Doug Jones: You're a hooker? Carol: And premed/law, but people aren't surprised as much by that one.

Carol: You think I like turning tricks to pay for college? There’s surprisingly little demand for hooker-doctor-lawyers.

Doug Jones: What is it that you'd like to confess? Frankie Mermaid: Oh, geez, I guess we could cover the last... four days? Stole candy from this baby, then I threw the baby in the river - so it couldn't snitch, obviously - then, ah, well, I pimp bitches; I do drugs, sell drugs, murder people - really, you name it, I've done it, padre.

Carol: I don’t know much about God...

Doug Jones: Father Stewart, what if I told you that I was different? Father Stewart: You're not that different. There are plenty of men like that in the church.

Doug Jones: I might be on a mission from God himself! Father Stewart: That's insane, Doug! God does not want people dead! Doug Jones: Oh, I think God wants a lot of people dead.

Father Stewart: War is war, and war is hell, and hell never changes.

HOW DIDN’T I NOTICE THAT ALTAIR IS PLAYED BY MUSICIAN VOLTAIRE!? I LISTENED TO SO MUCH OF HIS MUSIC AS A TEENAGER!!! WTF!?!?!?! THIS IS CURRENTLY MY NEW FAVORITE THING ABOUT THIS FILM!!! How am I this stupid? How did I not notice this sooner!? I’m a dum-dum. Oh my gods, that makes this movie a thousand times more perfect.

Oh my god... another sort of subtle joke that I’m not sure whether or not it was intentional (It fucking has to be... it just has to) -- there is a ninja called Choi-Min who doesn’t say a word except in a voiceover while he’s ignoring a ninja who’s talking strategy. The ninja talking strategy has Australian accent. When he says “Choi-Min” it sounds like he’s saying “Chime in”, making the name Choi-Min super punny... and I know that’s a small thing, but it made me ridiculously happy that I noticed another thing I hadn’t noticed in this film before.

Doug Jones: Your ancestors are my ancestors!

I love that Carol was dying, but she ends up in a general doctor’s office-looking place rather than a hospital. It cracks me up more than it’s probably meant to.

ESE: 98/100

50 +5 for “Rated X by an all-christian jury” -10 for blowing up Doug’s parents +10 for VFX: Car on fire +10 for the “what parents do” line +5 for the subtle Jurassic Park riff at the end of the opening credits -5 for China looking a lot like the woods behind my house +3 for mannequin head +5 for hooker-doctor-lawyers +5 for Frankie Mermaid’s confession +2 for the high-five +5 for prolonged goofy ninja laughter -5 for Vietnam also looking a lot like the woods behind my house -5 for Ali’s death +7 for Ali continuing to puff on his cigarette after death -5 for poor, sweet Adeline’s demise +5 for Altair -5 for ripping out Father Stewart’s eye +8 for the way the sex scene is edited +5 for kicking ass in their undies -5 for stabbing Father Stewart +5 for prolonged ninja laughter again -5 for neglecting poor Sam -5 for cutting Carol +5 for the ninjas crying for Carol +10 for hilarious AF dino costume +3 for re-use of the mannequin head -5 for smoking in a hospital +5 for the Chevelle