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homesick4la · 4 months ago

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intimate — hamzahthefantastic

contains: 18+ content mdni!!!!, oral + fingering (fem receiving), inexperienced reader

summary: you spend a random friday night. exploring physical intimacy with your boyfriend.

a/n: cooked this up at 2 am and wanted to post hi

part 2: closer

you and hamzah had been dating for a couple months-

on one random tuesday evening, you and your best friend had decided to go out to your local karaoke bar. during your cover of carly simon’s you’re so vain, your eyes locked with a pair of big brown eyes from across the room. he had curly hair poking out of a camo hat and a silly shirt on. he’s cute, you thought.

the several shots you had taken throughout the night left you feeling brave. you smiled at him and continued to hold eye contact with the stranger throughout the duration of the song- performing as if it were only you two in the room.

a smile spread across his face and he quickly began mouthing the lyrics back to you. mirroring the emotion you poured into each word. and in that moment, even though he was a stranger at the time, you fell completely head over heels for him.

he approached after you finished the song, applauding you on your performance and introducing himself. you two spent the rest of the night talking. not only was he even more attractive up close- he was hilarious. he understood all of your niche internet references and matched your sarcastic jokes. once the karaoke bar begun closing up, he quickly asked if you’d want to coffee in the morning which you replied with an immediate and over-eager “yes.”

since then the two of you were inseparable. he loved taking you on planned out dates but even more than that, he loved doing mundane life tasks with you. cleaning. grocery shopping. helping you take your laundry down to the local laundry mat. he’d do absolutely anything as long as he got to be around you.

so in many ways, your guys’ relationship resembled an old married couple. the way you bantered back and forth. the way you shared your darkest secrets with one another. the way you could simply never get sick of each other’s presence.

the one thing you two had never truly explored was physical intimacy.

you’d made out of course. and there were definitely times you wanted more. but neither of you had ever initiated anything more.

hamzah had never directly asked, but he figured you didn’t have much experience after you told him you had never had a boyfriend. this was why he was so hesitant to pursue anything further than kissing with you. he would never want you to feel pressured in any way so he decided he’d wait for you to initiate that you wanted more.

it was like any other friday night- the two of you making out on hamzah’s couch, neglecting the movie that took thirty minutes to decide on.

a soft moan escapes your mouth and hamzah allows himself to let his hands slide down your waist to your hips. he grips onto them, pulling you closer than you thought possible.

with his hips pressed against you, you feel just how turned on he is. and god, you feel the same.

you hook a leg around his hips, allowing him to press into you even deeper. you push your hips up and the friction is downright intoxicating.

within seconds, the two of you are grinding together, completely clothed. the kisses getting messier and messier. satisfied sounds coming from the both of you.

hamzah’s hands roam your body, unable to stay still. his hands slide under your large t-shirt as he moves from your mouth to your jaw. his fingers begin tracing the lace of your bra as he kisses alongside your neck.

you guys had never gotten this heated before. the thought of what’s to come makes you nervous. he feels you stiffen under him.

“you okay?” he looks up at you worriedly.

“y-yeah i just, never done this before,” you admit.

“s’okay we won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” he moves his hand, rubbing the side of your waist soothingly. “whenever you tell me to stop, i will.”

“i don’t want to stop,” you confess. he nods before placing his lips back on your neck.

“what have you done before?” he asks between kisses.

“nothing. only kissing.”

hamzah learning that you’d done nothing at all had suprised him a bit.

“really?” he looks at you, “no guy has ever tried anything with you before?”

“no. i guess no guy has ever wanted me like that,” you explain. truly, you had never felt sexy or desirable until meeting hamzah. he was constantly reminding you of just how attractive you were.

“shut up.” he grins like he doesn’t believe you before placing a sweet kiss to your lips. “you’re perfect.” he kisses your cheek gently. “s’beautiful,” his lips move to your jaw once again.

“and so fucking sexy.” his low voice vibrates against the skin on your neck. “and i want you like that.”

you feel his fingers play with the edge of your t-shirt. he glances up to you as he starts to pull up the fabric- asking permission. you nod in response.

he runs his hands over your lacy bralette. you arch your back, allowing him to unclip and completely remove your bra, leaving you in a small pair of black lacy boy shorts.

you feel vulnerable- nervous.

but he’s staring at you as if this is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

he kisses you. placing one hand on your breast. the other cupping the side of your face, tilting your head back so he can deepen your kiss. his fingers work your nipple before being replaced by his mouth.

then he moves towards your stomach, kissing his way down. you spread you legs automatically, giving him more room to work his way down your torso. the thin fabric of your boy shorts getting wetter and wetter by the second.

he stops right before your boy shorts, hooking his fingers at the band of them.

“this okay?” he asks, his big brown eyes looking up at you.

“yeah, keep going.” you nod and shift your hips closer toward him, feeling needy.

just like that, your lacy shorts are being thrown to the side. hamzah’s hands go to the inside of your thighs, spreading you wider before placing sweet kisses on both inner thighs.

his sweet kisses are replaced by his tongue running up the inside of your thigh. he’s taking his time but god the anticipation is killing you.

you whimper and his tongue is immediately running up and down your folds and then circling your clit slowly. your hands hold onto his dark curls, earning a deep groan from him.

he continues to suck on your clit in a way that makes you feel like your floating. and you simply cannot contain the satisfied moans leaving your throat.

he lifts his mouth up and the loss of contact makes you want to cry until you see his hand moving up your thigh.

the pad of his thumb presses your clit, making slow circles.

“do you ever touch yourself like this?” he asks, his voice confident and curious.

“y-yeah.” you answer, barely able to get words out.

“yeah?” he grins, “what do you think about, baby?”

the sound of his voice makes the knot in your stomach grow stronger.

“this,” you admit, “i- think about you t-touching me like this.”

he slips a finger inside you. a devilish smile on his face.

“i think about you too.” he slides a second finger in. “i’ve thought about this so many times.”

“thought about how wet you’d get for me. how pretty you’d look when i make you come..”

he cuts himself off, his mouth now occupied with completely devouring your core. his two fingers still pumping in and out of you at a pace that makes you see stars.

“want you..to come..all over my fingers.” he says breathlessly.

all you can do is let out a shuddered sigh in response. you’re so close. his fingers increase in pace, perfectly coordinating with his tongue. you tug on his hair, needing to grasp onto something.

“hamzah,” you whimper. “hamzah, i’m going to-“

you don’t even get to finish your sentence before you cry out. pleasure flooding over your entire body in a way it never has. a way much more intense than anything you’d done on your own.

he removes his fingers and brings his hand towards your face.

“open your mouth,” he says, looking up at you. “want you to know how fucking good you taste, pretty girl.”

you taste his fingers in your mouth, sucking them clean before releasing them.

he grins at you before pressing his mouth to yours, kissing you gently.

he pulls away, tracing his fingers up and down one of your arms soothingly.

“feel good?” he questions.

“so good,” you laugh, still catching your breath after your orgasm.

he kisses your temple before pulling you up, positioning you two upright on the couch once again with his arm around your waist.

“so should we restart this movie- because it was actually really good before you started distracting me.”, you tease.

“girl, don’t even.” he responds, pulling you closer towards him and holding up the remote to rewind the movie.

a/n: guys i have never written any sort of smut so sorry if this awful and too long and boring… might delete this after like a day…lol but i will write more if u guys want… tehe… k bye muah

p.s. there is a fly in my room and it’s 3:30 am and i can’t sleep and all i can hear is the goddamn fly buzzing around me

#hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah x y/n #hamzah x reader #hamzahsmut #hamzah imagines

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empresskylo · 1 year ago

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you wanna kiss me so bad, it makes you look stupid. pt. 1

⊹ simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

[ warnings ] slightly nsfw. reader referred to as 'she' once. wc 979

part 2

cod masterlist

Everyone shows their love differently, you just so happened to show you cared about someone by relentlessly teasing them. And it was so easy with Soap and Gaz. They would give you shit right back and you’d all burst out laughing. But when it came to Ghost—your lieutenant—you couldn’t justify throwing jabs at your superior. You imagined yourself making a joke about him being ugly under his mask and you shuddered. Even the thought of poking fun at him made you uncomfortable.

But as Ghost and Soap grew closer, you overheard their—crude—conversations on comms. And often, it was Johnny saying something stupid and Ghost’s monotone voice mocking him.

“It's dark in here,” Soap had said.

“Good observation. S’water still wet?” Ghost’s deadpan voice had made you giggle to yourself, careful to make sure you weren’t doing it over comms.

It surprised you when someone like Lt.—a stone-cold killer—could have a sense of humor. And it made you a little more influenced to act snarky, your tongue loosening around him on its own accord.

But for a while, it still managed to make your eyes widen whenever Ghost would say something silly, like when Price was basically on the verge of coming back from the dead, and Soap said, “Was worried your face was gonna melt off like those other poor bastards.”

You could still hear Ghost’s low voice in your ears. “If you ask me, it’d be an improvement.”

However, after time, you slowly fell into slipping in snides to Ghost alongside Johnny. You hadn’t even realized how often you teased him…

When you came back to the safehouse with Ghost during a mission, you were both soaked. Your clothes dripped water all over the floors, leaving a wet trail behind you. Soap and Gaz were on their way, but you and Ghost had beaten them there.

You began to shiver, the damp clothing sticking to your skin making it insufferably cold in the room. You dumped your stuff on the half-broken couch, slipping your tactical vest off. You pried your shirt off with several, strained grunts, getting it stuck over your head at one point, and then tossed it to the floor with a plopping sound. You immediately felt warmer having shed the wet material.

Your eyes flickered up and spotted Ghost. He, too, had stripped his vest off, holding it in his hand. But his eyes were locked on you, unabashedly watching as you had torn your shirt from your chest. You still had a thin tank top on, but you felt far more exposed with his eyes on you than you expected.

You smirked, not really thinking there was any intention behind his gaze. You walked towards him, wanting to go around and search the rooms for dry clothes, his eyes following you. When you brushed past him, you spoke. “You wanna kiss me so bad, Lt. It makes you look stupid.” You had meant it as a joke. To tease him for watching you—he was probably just spacing off, deep in thought, his eyes inconveniently resting on you.

His arm stretched out, connecting with the wall, making you halt. Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to look up at him.

“So, what if I do?”

Your lips parted in a bit of shock and embarrassment. That wasn’t the response you had expected. You weren’t even sure what you should say to that. You heard Ghost chuckle, watching as your usual cocky attitude faltered.

“Not so smart, now, hm?” he teased.

You tried to shake it off, but the sticky feeling of his pupil-blown eyes staring down at you after taking your joke and throwing it back in your face shrouded your insouciant demeanor.

Did he mean what he said? Or was he just trying to catch you off guard?

Before you were forced to either acknowledge what he said, assuming his words were honest or teasing, Soap and Gaz burst through the door.

Ghost gave you one last wistful look before dropping his arm and moving into the living room. You were left a little dumbfounded, shocked that you were so overwhelmed by his one, little sentence.

When you turned to meet the boys, Ghost was watching you from behind the couch, stripping his clothes off, his eyes unwavering as they suppressed you with their weight. When he finally tore his shirt off, exposing his bare chest, you had to look away. Your cheeks felt hot as you tried to listen to what Soap was saying to you.

Soap said your names several times before you blinked and refocused.

“Sorry, what?” You muttered. Soap raised his brows at you in concern.

“She’s a bit distracted today,” Ghost chimed in from the corner of the room.

He had a fresh shirt in hand but had yet to put it to use. You scowled at him.

When everyone was getting situated several minutes later, Ghost strolled past you before lowering his head to whisper in your ear. You got goosebumps all down your neck and arms. “Not s’fun bein’ on the receiving end, huh?”

You swallowed. “Didn’t know my words bothered you so much, Lt.”

He smirked under his mask, his eyes squinting as he did. “I wouldn't say ‘bothered’. More like…” he pondered for a brief moment, “aroused.”

You choked on your spit, trying to play it off as a cough, then spun on your heels to face him. But you were left with his back, he was already walking away. You knew this should have discouraged you—that you needed to just accept defeat from your lieutenant and not mess with him any further. But, unfortunately, this brief fault in your step didn’t deter you.

If that’s the game he wanted to play, so be it. And a terrible part of you hoped he wasn’t just trying to make you uncomfortable, but was being truthful.

part 2

#ghost #simon riley #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost angst #cod mw2 #cod fic #call of duty fanfic #mw2 fanfic #mw3 #ghost mw3

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sebscore · 2 years ago

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rubyyy i have an idea for your gen-z driver series! when you are free, maybe you can write about when lil miss just got into f1 and had many people doubted her just for her to nail her rookie season like the goat sir Lewis Hamilton did in his. feel free to tweak it however you want. I just thought it would be cool to see more off the racing side of gen-z driver. :))))

and i really enjoy your writings, keep them coming but also don't stress out too much about them as well :)

WELCOME TO THE STRANGE WORLD

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader

warnings: sexism. swearing. based this one on the 2018 grid, cause I imagine her joining the grid that year. christian horner & helmut marko.

author's note: this got me immediately inspired!! It's also the first time I tackle the racing aspect of the series so I hope it's a bit accurate and that it is enjoyable x

• • • • • • •

''Do you feel the pressure going into this week's race?'' The reporter asked her, a polite smile on his face.

Y/N carefully adjusted the mic attached to her cheek. ''Uh, definitely,'' she nervously chuckled as it was her first F1 press conference, ''there have been a lot of reactions, both negative and positive, so I do feel a lot of eyes on me at the moment.''

To say that there had been a lot of reactions was an understatement. The announcement of the female race car driver joining the F1 grid had become the #1 topic on several social media platforms and even international news channels had broadcasted about the ''controversial'' arrival of the young woman.

Various notable figures in the motorsport world had also voiced their opinion on the new face on the grid. There were many positive reactions, for example, Mercedes Team Principal Toto Wolff saying: ''It's a step in the right direction. Many young girls will see her race and get more interested in the sport, which will hopefully motivate them to start karting.''

Susie Wolff, former development driver for Williams, also showed her enthusiasm. ''I think Y/N is the perfect role model for all the young girls who watch F1 at home. We've been following her closely the last few years and she's proved that she can compete with the big guys, I'm very proud and I can't wait for her performances this season.''

Unfortunately, there had also been less positive feedback. Red Bull Motorsport advisor, Helmut Marko, had questioned whether she would be able to handle the ''physicalities'' the sport asked of a driver. ''I hope I'm wrong, but I wouldn't be surprised if she would be replaced by the second race.''

His Red Bull colleague, Christian Horner, had also made some sensitive comments about the young woman. He recalled his first meeting with her, stating he thought she was one of the grid girls and that it would be tough as she's ''entering a man's sport''.

Y/N had been upset with key figures of the sport making such statements about her, but she had heard worse throughout her racing career. Men like Horner were stuck in old times.

''Sebastian, how do you feel about a female joining F1?'' Both Y/N and Sebastian internally cringed at the rookie being referred to as a 'female', trying to not let it show on their faces.

The German collected the right words before answering. ''I'm very happy that Y/N is sitting here next to us,'' he smiled at her, ''I think her being on the grid and competing alongside us, is going to bring a lot of positive changes that should've been happening a long time ago. I've known her for some years now, so maybe I'm biased, but I couldn't think of a better person joining the line-up.''

''Thank you.'' Y/N mumbled, grown shy by Sebastian's praises. He had been involved in her career since her humble karting beginnings, wanting to guide her as he knew a lot of people would try to stop her from flourishing in the sport.

The journalist then put his focus on the other world champion sitting at the panel. ''Lewis, you share the same opinion as Sebastian?''

''I agree with Seb, it's nice to see that progress is being made in diversing the sport and she's here, because she deserves to be here.'' Lewis' answer showed his disagreement with the people who were convinced that the woman's arrival to F1 was nothing more than a statement to the FIA.

Y/N wasn't ignorant and knew her claiming an F1 seat would bring a lot of publicity, not only to her, but her team as well. However, they wouldn't risk losing millions of euros, because they simply wanted to make a point that women can competitively drive as well.

''I've seen her drive, we've all seen her drive and you can't deny that she has a huge talent.'' Lewis concluded his answer, sending a soft smile her way.

The reporter who asked the question directed his attention back to the young woman. ''Y/N, it must be great to hear those positive words from such seasoned drivers.'' He said to her, his hands pointing towards the two World Champions.

She shyly nodded her head, feeling the gazes of everyone in the room on her. ''Yeah, it's, uh, very nice of them.''

''It's the truth.'' Sebastian chuckled.

''That's P11 tomorrow, Y/N! Good job, we're proud of you over here.'' Her engineer announced over the radio, letting the driver know her qualifying session was over.

She pressed her radio button. ''Thank you so much, guys! A good start!'' She enthusiastically exclaimed, delighted about her team being happy with quali.

They had greeted her back into the garage with an applause and many headpats, congratulating her on her first ever F1 qualifier. ''Let's discuss now.'' Her coach put his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the team's briefing room.

It hadn't lasted long. The team was overall very satisfied with how the qualifying session had gone and didn't have much feedback for the rookie.

''Of course it would be great to score points, but finishing P11 is the realistic standing tomorrow.'' Her team principal's words had taken her by surprise, expecting them to want to score as many points as possible at the race tomorrow.

Y/N wasn't too sure if that was the genuine opinion her team had about the next day or if they thought that she wouldn't be able to make any overtakes. Whatever it was, the dilemma clouded her mind as she walked through the paddock, ready to go back to her hotel and unwind.

However, an arm pulled her out of her thoughts, making the rookie flinch at the sudden touch. ''What the heck,'' she hastily turned towards the person, ''Seb, don't scare me like that.'' Y/N calmed down seeing the German man grinning at her, Britta standing next to him.

''You looked like you were overthinking.'' He had seen the frown on her face as she passed the Ferrari hospitality, immediately knowing something was on her mind. ''Starting P11 is good for your first race, the best of the rookies.'' Sebastian figured it was related to the qualifying session.

''No, I'm happy with my starting position.'' She assured him, shaking her head.

The Ferrari driver furrowed his eyebrows, being confused. ''Then what is it? Did someone say something to you?''

Y/N glanced around the paddock, making sure no one of her team or a reporter was standing near them. ''I just, uh, well- during the briefing, they basically said that they don't expect me to make any overtakes and that I just need to try to keep my position.'' She explained to the duo, both listening attentively.

''They're already underestimating you?'' Britta commented, shocked they wouldn't encourage her to at least try to overtake as many cars as she can.

Sebastian agreed with his friend. ''A team telling their driver to not score points is the weirdest thing I've heard in years.'' He said to Britta, a frown gracing his face.

He turned towards the young woman. ''Don't listen to them, okay? You pass as many fucking cars as you can, alright?'' It almost looked like he was scolding her.

The girl nodded her head, an appreciative smile on her face. ''You know I will.''

''I love the confidence.'' Britta laughed, patting her back.

''Don't think about it too much, Y/N. You're gonna do great tomorrow, I'm sure of it.'' Sebastian ruffled her hair, a sincere tone in his voice.

Y/N simply smiled at both of them, and thanked them for their support. ''I'm gonna go back to my hotel now, but I'll see you tomorrow then.'' She bid them goodbye, waving as she walked through the exit gates.

She could see and feel the condescending stares as she waited on the grid before the start of the race, some people didn't know how to be subtle. She had her headphones on, blasting music through them so she could drown out all of the negative thoughts.

A tap on her shoulder brought her eyes from the ground to the face of a semi-looking concerned Kimi. She paused her song and took the headphones off, ready to listen to what the older man had to say. ''Yeah?''

''I can hear your song.'' Kimi pointed at his own ears, visualizing his words.

Y/N's eyes widened, her worried expression altering into one of embarrassment. ''Oh, sorry, I'll turn it down.'' She apologized, immediately grabbing her phone to change the volume.

''No, uh, is okay,'' he told her, ''you good?''

She was stunned by his question, awkwardly staring at him for a few seconds before answering. ''Yes, I'm good.'' Kimi always kept it short, she figured she should do the same.

''Don't be nervous,'' the Finnish driver continued, looking into her eyes, ''people want to see you do bad, prove them wrong.''

She had met the man a handful of times before, but they had never talked this much with each other. Kimi kept to himself and she wanted to be respectful of that, not wanting to accidentally cross one of his boundaries.

He wasn't a man of many words (at least sober) so she appreciated his advice very much, knowing he wouldn't tell her this if he didn't think she could actually prove them wrong.

''Thanks.''

''No worry.'' A small assuring smile was found on his face, making the grimaces of her critics seem like nothing.

''Y/L easily passes the Renault, moving up to P10.'' The commentary of David Croft sounded as she overtook Sainz, going from P11 to P10.

Her team's pit crew cheered in the garage, watching the spectacle on the screen. ''Keep pushing, Y/N! We're in the points.'' Her engineer told her over the radio.

''Hehe, understood.'' She chuckled, proud of her smooth overtake.

She managed to pass the Mclaren of Vandoorne in the same lap, falling behind the Mercedes of Bottas and the Renault of Hulkenberg who was doing his best to keep his seventh position in the race.

The pair was too busy challenging each other that they didn't see the car of the female driver coming through, passing both of them when they left a gap. ''Y/L jumps ahead of both of them! She jumped Bottas and Hulkenberg, moving up to P7! What a stellar performance of the rookie driver!''

People couldn't believe their eyes as she passed the Mercedes, undoubtedly one of the fastest cars on the grid compared to her team's midfield one.

''Bloody amazing, Y/N! The Red Bull is too far up to catch, but defend for your life now!'' P6 wasn't possible anymore as she went into the last lap, Max's car being quicker and having fresher tyres than her.

The last lap almost went by in a haze, the young woman scared something would ruin the beautiful moment for her, but that never came. ''Y/N Y/L comes across the line to celebrate her dream debut and she becomes the first woman in over 40 years to score points in a Grand Prix!''

She parked her car behind Max's, her hands on her helmet as if it were her head. Y/N sat in disbelief as reality dawned on her. You scored points in your first F1 race, the sentence played on a loop in her head.

''Oi! Little Miss scoring points on her debut!'' An Australian accent pulled her out of her thoughts, several pats on her helmet making her look up. ''You passed the Mercedes? Fucking amazing!'' He exclaimed as he saw the silver car parked behind her.

''Daniel, can you help me get out? My body is in shock, I think.'' Y/N awkwardly chuckled, a bit embarrassed about not being able to get out of her car on her own at the moment.

Fortunately, the Red Bull driver didn't see the big problem and helped her stand up, supporting her underarms.

The support turned into a congratulating hug, the Australian swaying her side-to-side. ''Welcome to Formula One, baby!'' He loudly exclaimed.

Y/N laughed at his antics, touched by his excitement for her good result. ''Thanks, Ricciardo.''

''Good overtake there.'' Valtteri patted her helmet with his hand, complimenting her. She bowed her head in appreciation. ''Thank you.''

Her and Daniel followed the Mercedes driver into the cooldown room, the latter handing her an ice-cold water bottle from the table. ''What place did you get?'' Y/N asked Daniel, turning to him.

''P4,'' he sighed, ''but I got fastest lap, so a little redemption.'' The Red Bull driver laughed it off, at least happy he got an extra point for the championship standings.

A pat on her back made her look back, being met with a sweaty Charles. ''Hey, man.'' She greeted him with a side-hug.

''Saw you got P7, congrats.'' The pair had been teammates the year before at Prema Racing so they have a good friendship with each other. ''Thanks, how did it go for you?'' Y/N was curious about her fellow rookie's debut race.

He shrugged his shoulders. ''P13, but only because 5 people retired.'' Charles downplayed it, glimpsing at the ground.

''Cheer up, Charlito! It's only the first one of the season.'' She tried comforting him, not wanting him to be down about his result.

Charles just smiled and moved on, ready to go back to his team and discuss everything. The rest of the drivers, except the top 3, followed swiftly. Y/N received a grand welcome back in her garage, it almost seemed like she had won the World Championship. She had a brief discussion about the race and her team prepared her for the post-race interviews.

Surprisingly, the interviews had gone well and not one discriminating question was asked. She mainly received a lot of congratulations and one female reporter even thanked her for her race performance as it would inspire many young girls watching it. Y/N had almost teared up during the specific interview, not expecting anyone to do that.

The rookie was walking to her driver's room when a call of her name stopped her in her tracks. Lewis jogged up to her, greeting her with a big embrace. ''Good job, you did so well!'' He told her with a huge smile on his face.

''Thank you, Lewis.'' Her head felt warm, the older man making her a little flustered.

''And this is only the beginning, you know? You showed everyone today that you deserve to be here, truly amazing!'' He continued praising her.

Y/N grinned at him. ''Thank you so much, that means a lot to me.''

''The three of us were watching it back in the cooldown room, like waiting to see in which position you came in.'' Him, Sebastian and Kimi had attentively observed the screen that replayed the race, interested in knowing how the young woman had performed.

She was touched by Lewis' words, honored that three World Champions had looked out for her and wanted to know her result. ''Oh my god, that's- wow, that's really cool.'' Y/N awkwardly laughed, not knowing how to give a proper response all of a sudden.

''Anyway, congrats and celebrate it well,'' he made a move to leave before visibly remembering something, ''oh, yeah, Seb asked me to tell you that he'd come by your driver's room.'' Lewis conveyed Sebastian's message.

''Oh, great, I'll, uh, see you in two weeks then.'' She bid him goodbye and she was on her way again, hoping the German wasn't already waiting for her there.

Fortunately for her, Sebastian wasn't there yet and she had the time to change into her casual wear so she could leave the circuit and go straight to the airport afterwards to go back home.

Three knocks on her door stopped her scroll through social media and she called for her guest to come in, not having the energy to get up from her couch.

She watched an energetic Sebastian walk into her driver's room, practically running to give her a hug. ''I told you that you could do it! P fucking 7!'' He exclaimed, excitedly.

''Congrats to you for winning!'' She retorted back, not having had the chance yet to congratulate him on his GP win.

''Thank you, honey.'' He sat down next to her on the couch.

''I would have loved to see the faces of everyone on your team the moment you passed Carlos, it must have been priceless.'' Sebastian smirked, thinking of what she had told him the day before. ''And the double overtake? You couldn't have had a better race.''

''Oh my god, I couldn't believe it, Seb! Like I finished in front of a Mercedes? Wow, just wow!'' Sebastian laughed at her enthusiasm, imagining how great she must feel now.

The winner of the day scratched his voice. ''Kimi said how nervous you looked before the race and I'm not gonna lie, I was a bit worried about you,'' he had lowered his voice, different from his loudness of before, ''but you dealt with the pressure perfectly and you didn't let it affect your race. I'm very proud of you.'' His sincerity and expression of pride almost brought tears to her eyes, the words of her idol and mentor meaning a lot to her.

''Thank you, Seb,'' a shy smile graced her face, ''that means a lot to me, I couldn't have done it without you.'' She thanked him.

''No, it was your hard work that got you here.'' He argued, not wanting to take any sort of credit for her accomplishments. ''And maybe a little of my money, but you know.'' Sebastian jokingly added, not able to help himself from teasing the younger one.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the comment. ''Always so humble! Red Bull Seb made an appearance for a second there.''

''He's still in here, I just need to keep him in check.''

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#f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 x reader #formula 1 fic #f1 x oc #sebastian vettel x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #kimi raikkonen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #female f1 driver

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lizzy019 · 6 months ago

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НИКТО Personality Analysis

-> Information Given

Some form of dissociation disorder

Tortured by Zakhaev, leaving heavy scarring and forcing him to wear a mask to avoid ridicule, fear from others, and shunning by society

Age is in the range of late 20s to mid 30s, not confirmed yet

-> Theories

Nikto says "us" a lot in his voicelines, and in his description it only says he has ACUTE DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER, which is when you zone out and fall into a heavy state of haziness and confusion for a short period of time before regaining focus. However, DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER is all about dissociating for however long, the range is limitless, and another identity will take over while you're spaced out. Therefore, this is why I believe Nikto had DID and not ADD.

Nikto has this animation where he's supposedly showing that he'll slit your throat in a very oddly realistic manner. What pressure to use and how he'd end off your head. I believe he's witnessed and first handedly experienced this when Zakhaev tortured him, and he began doing it while in the military. Why? Nikto has a very gruff, harsh tone, but it's only when he's yelling and putting too much pressure to his vocal cords. I believe he has a scar on his neck, maybe a bit too close to his esophagus and lower chin that didn't heal properly and affected how he projected his voice.

Now, Nikto has one voice line that goes, "I hear enough voices, I don't need another!" Referring back to my first theory, I believe Nikto also has very short patience and all of his alters do as well. His whole personality is built off of acting fast, doing as instructed, and constantly going. You never see Nikto stop. I believe this voiceline is a very strong giveaway to a part of Nikto's personality on how he functions. It also shows how his temper is kind of wonky.

-> Personality Scan-over

Nikto is presumed as a very harsh Russian man, brutalized by his captor Zakhaev and taken advantage of when he was at his absolute lowest. This has caused major issues with trust, abandonment, and self-love. Nikto struggles with expressing himself, often resulting in violence and anger as heard in his voicelines.

He typically doesn't like speaking to people, only his fellow military personnel, but even then it isn't guaranteed. Nikto is a very self-sufficient person, he's head-on about lots of things and isn't scared to take charge when need be. His main frustration is when people don't listen to him, he already lacks control mentally with all his alters.

Nikto is the type of person who struggles with letting people into his life, or into his head in general. He's reserved, too reserved. He doesn't like letting people in, and who could blame him with all that he's suffered?

But if you do manage to break down his barriers, expect tough love and lots of strange surprises. He'll become more protective of you in a physical sense, not caring too much about you emotionally. If you've brought him comfort in any way, shape or form, he will tell himself how much he cannot lose that solace you bring him.

Nikto is cold, and typically isn't good in relationships. In his voicelines, he's very aggressive and doesn't show any sympathy, much less many manners. The occasional "spasibo" (thanks in Russian) and that's all. It'd be hard to be dependent on him when he's just more independent than you'd expect.

-> Background Theories

True Name: Igor "Nikto" Vasilyevich Yurievich

Age: 33 or 34

Born in: Siberia, Russia

Family: No mother, no siblings

-> Summary

Nikto is a Russian soldier who fights in the private military dubbed "KorTac", an elite group of military personnel who fight alongside other military units to achieve a shared goal.

Nikto is a torture victim survivor, captured my Viktor Zakhaev and ending up with some severe scarring to his lower face and neck. This is why he hides his face with a mask, and also covers his whole body in dark clothing.

Nikto is an individual who struggles with a dissociative disorder, causing some of his work to be a bit half-done, not purposefully however. His lack of control due to his disorder brings him only disadvantages, making him stop mid-fight and inevitably making him an easy target.

Regardless of this, Nikto has proved himself to be a worthy soldier on the battlefield, exceeding many expectations and climbing the ranks cleanly and efficiently. His character is the embodiment of determination and dedication despite everything going wrong much to his dismay.

#elizabethposts #nikto cod #cod nikto #call of duty nikto #nikto #cod mw2 #call of duty #love this man

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balrogballs · 2 months ago

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Finding Celebrían

For Tolkien Meta Week — an essay on autofiction, archives, healing, and why I moved across the country after finding out Elrond Peredhel had a wife. Being an essayist irl, believe me when I say I was thrilled to see @silmarillionwritersguild have the personal essay form as a format for Tolkien Meta Week! Here's something from the heart - warning for discussion of cPTSD and (non explicit) references to violence.

When I first found Celebrían in a footnote, I wrapped up warm and followed, certain she'd lead me to where she truly lived in the text.

By that point, it had been a good decade or so since I first read Tolkien – I had been aware that Elrond had a wife, and assumed she was dead or hung up in some other cold meat locker alongside a procession of wives spanning literary history.

It was only years later that I properly came across her, and blinked, realising she was a cursory line which led to a footnote in Appendix A of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, one which referred to her torment in passing, meant to explain why the sons of Elrond and to an extent Elrond himself, were the way they were.

Fridging was one thing, but torment was another entirely, I thought — and so casually! Tea and torment in the Third Age, tra-la-lally traumatised into "losing all joy" in Middle-Earth and leaving the year after, taking ship to Valinor and leaving behind a grieving family. It was simple curiosity, really, until it turned into a cold, familiar grasp: the clear-cut knowledge of exactly what sort of torment it would have been, that drove away the wife of a noble lord living in what was very clearly described as being one of the last great sanctuaries in a ravaged realm.

But to understand why The Footnote stopped me in my tracks, I need to tell you about The Fields.

When I speak of The Fields (which are of course not really fields and neither are they called The Fields anywhere but here), I refer to one of the most beautiful spots in the country. The Fields combined the peaceful pastoral with quaint urban charm, rustic without being remote, safe without being detached. I lived in The Fields for several years, and made a little life for myself that grew into something bigger.

I had been an activist in The Fields — moved from scrappy student to card-carrying revolutionary — and I did it because I loved where I lived very, very much, enough to think I could kiss it better. And I was good, I was! I belonged on the stage in that sense, I was invited to panel after panel, talk after talk, and I stood on little podiums that grew alongside me. I knew how to carry myself, present myself, leveraged my palatability and conventionality in return for rights and bare-minimum environmental reparations.

Such wonders, of course, came with a cost I hadn’t foreseen — an incident, a couple really, that tossed a diagnosis of cPTSD into my lap and turned my lovely home into The Fields. And because I had been so good at presenting myself and clambering on podiums with shiny hair, the incidents became the talk of the town, and I in turn very quickly became a subject, the walking, talking cost of resistance.

A feature of cPTSD, one that sets it apart from PTSD, is the overarching dullness with which the emotional flashbacks grasp you. Not like being plucked off the surface of the earth by a monstrous thing, but rather drowning quietly in sludge you never realised was beneath your feet in the first place. There was never a thing that terrified me about The Fields, it was only ever a quiet, creeping mass taking over everything, and in being so — easy to ignore and disguise.

I love The Fields, I told myself, even after. I loved The Fields, even though life had turned into air and static, and I had turned into an unfeeling thing. I lived in the middle of that little city but felt as though I was in a small hut on no-man's land, or a joint security area, suspended between towers. I couldn't stand the wonderful hills and valleys, so I tried my hardest to cling onto the reasons I loved them, tried to medicate them back into my heart with the forcefulness of a pacemaker. I shoved things down throats and up noses, walked back onto all those stages, turned myself into an electric hearse chasing a long-dead dragon. I would walk around The Fields on some nights, very cold and very young, the bleached bones left behind by something very promising.

Can you see why I stopped still at Appendix A, at Celebrían? I tried to follow her, and see where her story began, and what wonders it would end in, because if Celebrían's story ended in wonder then maybe, there might be a chance, perhaps…..

It would be easy, I thought, I was a writer, a journalist, a researcher - I trained in asking questions and knowing things, even sticky, stunted, back-of-the-throat things that you'd rather not catch sight of in a mirror. The History of Middle Earth book sets were ordered, fresh copies of all the old texts, magnifying glasses held over Unfinished Tales.

I’d been so certain I would find her. That Celebrían would ramble across page after page, legs dangling over the edge and an indolent expression fizzing on her face. She would be stubborn and glorious and righteous in her fervor to change the world. I would find her in the flesh, and then no longer would I stand in The Fields each night, hollow-eyed, self-haunting spectre holding myself thrall to a single series of events in what has been, objectively, a lovely, loving life.

But a full month went by, and all I found was footnote after endnote after cursory mention, almost all of them clothing her in torment, growing stiff and sharp against the tooth of the page: vicious, like a blade angled backwards. For Celebrían and I, the richest text in the world turned into a landscape of loss.

What a wonderful, rich, textured world you have!

All the better to swallow you whole, my dear.

I couldn't find her in the story. I spent weeks and weeks on her, and I couldn't find her in the story and by then I had already fancied myself and Celebrían to be counterparts, like if she laughed, I would laugh too, like if she ran, then I would run too, and if she was lost, then… well. I suppose it shows the power of an enduring text. I had a PhD, at that point I had just gotten my publishing deal through, I'd spoken on all those podiums and done all those real-world, adult things, and still I was not immune to the indulgent tether of a good old self-insert. And then it turned out we were not counterparts but rather more akin to co-morbidities, that The Footnote and its friends were all I would ever know of Celebrían.

It was summer, I remember, but my hands were cold — autopsy-fingers, my partner called them. Archive-fingers, autopsy-fingers, scrabbling around to find nothing, no indication as to how Celebrían's story truly ended and why I was the person I was. The texts shifted uneasily under my hands, like the Professor himself was turning out his pockets and shrugging, reminding me that it was neither Celebrían's nor my story, not really. Pointed me back to The Footnote like it was a pacifier, and still I turned in circles like a dog chasing its tail, looking for other instances of her name. I found nothing. I began to fear that I had wasted my life.

The Footnote started to blur across weeks, and soon it turned itself into My Footnote. The one I had found, a year or so before the hunt, in a fantastic, recently published book that spoke about activism in The Fields, where I came face to face with myself. But there, I hadn't been standing on a podium or being interviewed or writing pressure pieces or anything I had really, truly done, but I was instead a single footnote — condensed into the things that had happened to me, as opposed to the things I had made happen. As the months went on, I looked for references to myself in new books, newspapers, magazines — and I would find myself, but in the same scrap of footnote, wearing the same costume of torment, tragic poster children of a violent world.

I sat there looking at the thousands and thousands of pages in the legendarium, the stack of books on things I had worked upon, statutes I had pulled down and little laws I had changed. And then at the scraps of Celebrían and I, reduced to scribbles and crossing outs in the margins. It was like we never lived at all. It seems a rather childish reaction, perhaps, to not finding the story you want in a book you bought. Still, that afternoon, when I put down the last page of HoME I had access to, I crawled into bed and stayed there for a very long time, trying very hard to not touch even the bedclothes around me.

But I think that was always what drew me to her, that absence. I didn't find myself in Celebrían, but in the footnote that gestured to her presence. It wasn't that I understood her so much as I knew how to decrypt the desperate scratches left behind by someone who drowned on dry land. That was how she and I were truly alike: people who wanted to change the world, or a little part of it, and did, did something good — and had all of it forgotten, crammed into a footnote read with a tender, pitying fret.

But that's not canonical, is it? Yes, her absence shaped the story of the Ring War in certain regards. But who said Celebrían, Celebrían the Person, not Celebrían the Footnote — had ever changed anything, let alone the world in which she lived?

Simple – I did.

My Celebrían was a complete nutcase. I wrote her as a daughter born to a borderline-squirrel of a wood elf, who herself hated small creatures with a passion. I had her take off her shoe and beat earwigs to death, had her talk the ear off a perpetually grieving mother, irritate a kinslayer into planting a pine forest, and threaten the High King with a shovel. She would shove cotton in her ears to block out her husband's snoring, and put four teaspoons of sugar in her tea. She bribed her sons to dispose of a snake, and demanded magical healing for a little scrape on her forehead.

I cut her into familiar shapes: the shape of someone who spent months unable to bear the slightest touch, whose loved one slept on the floor beside the bed, clinging to a listless hand dangled off the side. The shape of a small house in a forest, and the shape of a wonderful ending, in which she truly did change the world in all the ways she could. I don't know, if I'm being honest, whether Celebrían changed me, or if I changed her. Whether change was an instant or a process, whether this version of almost-Celebrían mattered to anyone but myself. I knew one thing though — my Celebrían is a thousand footnotes long, and counting.

Footnotes, like most things in the archive, are of course caging things: keeping unpalatable violence in the past, or at least elsewhere, keeping the here and now good and quiet. It's easier to outsource healing and rediscovery to other places, to archives and museums and books and Valinor. Was being a footnote a punishment? What’s worse, being pickled wrongly or never being pickled at all? Was this yet another installment of the cautionary tale stretching all the way through time and reality from Celebrían to me; footnotes about women who held themselves thrall to the memory of violence, who lived as well as they could, till they couldn’t? Would it have been better if she never existed at all?

I don't know. All I know for certain is this: at some point between finding Celebrían and writing her, I moved out of The Fields and across the country.

It had been a long time coming. But for years, I had thought I would weather living in The Fields because even after the Torment, the Footnote, the Diagnosis, I never felt a disconnect from the place, because I was still extroverted and irritating and fizzing with the desire to stay in the Fields and love it, as I had always done. And then suddenly, I wanted to run.

It wasn't as if Celebrían burned The Fields down, leaving me there to watch flames eating its flat, starless sky. But what she did was this: carefully take off my rose-tinted glasses, and say run —- this earth has swallowed you whole.

I had assumed it was my fault, my attachment to The Fields, that I was looking at things wrong, that I was maintaining unhealthy attachments to sites of trauma, prioritising the wrong perspectives, the body keeps an atlas and all that. But Celebrían did not call me crazy. Celebrían was not the kind of person who would ever call you crazy. She was the kind of person who would lay in a wide-open field beside you and ask you what you were looking at.

And when you say "oh, just up at the big sky", she wouldn't probe. She would know exactly what you mean when you didn't say "-- because there is nothing ahead of me", and she wouldn't say a word about how the ground around you was soft with decay, reeking like a corpse, that you were caught in the straggling grass of its hair.

She would instead shrug, wink, and point you towards Gollum, because of course she would. She would tell you that Tolkien, ever the Catholic, had drawn out a perfect depiction of what might have happened if Lazarus was left in that cave. And then she would say, run, for god's sake, girl, run, and you would. I did!

How stubbornly we all cling to the idea of staying fixed until being fixed, to the idea of a ready-made Valinor to sail to if we do well enough at life, stay still enough in the margins! How faithfully we believe that if you spend enough time being a very, very good cracked vessel, maybe one day you might feel the quiet triumph of bearing water again. Celebrían, not the Celebrían of The Footnote but my Cel, the manic pixie freakshow of Imladris, said shut the fuck up and run. That it was no use hungering for the impossible and thumbing listlessly though footnotes, and to instead run, and run, and start digging a garden at the ground you come to a stop at because it is only in new soil that something gentle could unfold unbidden. That as time passes, you will belong less and less to the ground you left behind and more and more to the ground you walk upon, to the new trees and new hills around you, to those who love you still.

Run! she said. How alive you looked, hunting for me. How badly you craved my story. See? There are still stories you crave. You are still human enough to crave. Run!

I think many of us who love this brief, inexorable footnote of a Celebrían, whether we read her or write her, are bound by a similar truth: that in her we caught sight of something within ourselves. All around the world, these tiny, unflinching mirrors in Appendix A and the rest, tie together and create a hundred different Celebríans, all part of the same thread, each version carrying its own burden, though rarely do we ever acknowledge it in each other. It's a quiet nod, an unspoken connection, a reminder that we are all more alike and less alone than a cursory footnote might imply.

To find Celebrían, I had to write her. And in turn, she wrote me in her image. I look at her now, as she is in my head, and there Celebrían is neither alive nor dead. No, what is most clear in my mind is a girl in a dusty wing mirror, a life packed into boxes, sunglasses sliding down her nose. One hand sandwiched in an ordnance map, prying the pages open, hurtling at a perfectly legal speed down an M-road, The Fields growing smaller, and smaller, and smaller in the rearview mirror. Not gone, not truly, but invisible to the naked eye, unless you know exactly where to look. A grain of sand in a bucket of water, a single, sad-looking fish half-buried on a tropical beach. A finger to the past, a wave from a window, a footnote in an appendix.

#dedicated to all the cel-stans here <3 #tolkien meta week #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #tolkien elves #celebrian #elrond peredhel #lotr #personal essay #cptsd

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 3 months ago

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“I have many names”: Halbrand, the Repentant Mairon in “Rings of Power”

The themes of redemption, second chances and forgiveness are major in Tolkien legendarium. This is due to Tolkien’s Catholic faith, and the belief that no one is irredeemable in the eyes of God, no matter how low they might have fallen.

And we see “Rings of Power” exploring these themes with Sauron’s character in Season 1. Or better yet, with Halbrand, which is the name the show chose for “Repentant Mairon” (Sauron’s original name) of Tolkien lore.

Nothing is Evil in the Beginning

This is the first quote in “Rings of Power”, narrated by Galadriel. This is a reference to Elrond’s quote in “Fellowship of the Ring” book: “For nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so.”

In the beginning of time, in the Days before Days, Mairon (the admirable) was created by Eru (God) as a Maia of Aulë, and he was one of the most powerful Maiar (demigods or angels). He was a Maia of smithing, perfection, order and beauty, with qualities like goodness, purity of heart and loyalty, and a dislike for wastefulness. He helped shape Eä (the material universe) alongside the Valar and the other Maiar, during the Ainulindalë (the music of the Ainur), and these qualities (smithing, perfection, order and beauty) were, most likely, his contributions.

Due to his power, he was targeted by the Dark Lord Melkor/Morgoth (the most powerful of the Valar), who seduced him, with promises of greater power. Morgoth is the Satan of Tolkien lore; he was envious of Eru’s capacity of creation, and wanted it for himself. Unable to have it, he devoted himself to corrupt it (which included the corruption of several Maiar), and destroy it.

Becoming Sauron

Mairon, being an idealist, betrayed the Valar and joined Melkor, seeing in him the opportunity to make his ideas a reality. He went on to become Morgoth’s most devoted servant and chief lieutenant, in charge of Angband fortress, in Middle-earth, during the First Age.

Mairon was corrupted by Morgoth, and reshaped into darkness, and all of his qualities reversed: his love became obsession; of order and perfection into dominion and tyranny; beauty into ugliness and monstrosity (by the breeding of the Orcs), goodness into evil, and his loyalty and purity of heart into treachery and deception, becoming the “great deceiver”. The Elves created the name “Sauron” (the abhorrent), as a mockery of his own.

Eventually, Mairon started to resent Melkor, because their goals turned out to be opposite: while Melkor is chaos and destruction, Mairon is order and perfection. Melkor is brute force, Mairon is the brain. What Melkor wanted to destroy, Mairon wished to perfect. Melkor is chaotic evil, while Mairon is lawful evil.

Mairon’s whereabouts are unknown during several periods of time, especially after his defeat at the hands of Lúthien and Huan, the Hound of Valinor (so it’s uncertain if he was hiding from Morgoth, or if Morgoth locked him up somewhere).

Season 2 of “Rings of Power” has already began shedding some light on this, in 2x07:

Sauron: Be not afraid. This too shall pass. I promise you, when Middle-earth is healed, and its people see what you and I did here… all our sufferings will be worth it. Celebrimbor: “Our sufferings”?

Do you know what it is to be tortured at the hands of a god?

Sauron mentioning Morgoth next and how he treated him, seems to indicate that’s what he meant by “all our sufferings will be worth it”. And this idea goes on in this dialogue:

Sauron: Sometimes, the pain almost became a reward. Became a game. A contest, to see whose will was the mightier. Celebrimbor: And after all that, you would still choose to inflict the same pain upon me? Sauron: No. You chose it. Not I. Celebrimbor: What?

I already analyzed this scene from Tolkien theological views of this dynamic, but we can also talk about the wild amount of projection Sauron is doing here. Because the core theme of this scene is Morgoth’s treatment of Sauron, and how he’s replicating that with Celebrimbor. Which might indicate these were things Sauron himself heard from Morgoth in the past: the pain is a reward; you chose it; you [are] the true author of your own torment.

And Celebrimbor saw through this, which explains his reply to Sauron’s nonsense:

And his advise to Galadriel, in the same episode:

We also see Sauron crying while hearing Adar’s tale, in 2x01: “I was in your place once. In the eldest of the Elder Days. Thirteen of us were chosen to be blessed of Morgoth’s hand, with the promise of power. A new birth. I was led up to a dark and nameless peak. Chained and left.”

There are many interpretations on why Sauron cries, but I think it’s because he’s recalling his own experience of being “blessed by Morgoth’s hand”, which might have been somewhat similar, but far worse, because Mairon is truly immortal, meaning he can be subjected to every sort of torture imaginable, without truly dying, because he can always re-embody.

And even before any explicit mention of torture, this was already clear when we saw Sauron being resistant to extreme physical pain, hinting it’s something he’s very familiar with: not only he was tortured by Morgoth, but his previous physical form got stabbed into oblivion by the Orcs, without him making a sound.

@love-and-doom asked me why didn’t the Valar or other Maiar intervene when Mairon was being corrupted/tortured by Morgoth? Or why didn’t Aulë tried to get Mairon back? Sauron himself answered to that: because he “chose it”, and he’s the true author of [his] own torment.

Free will is another major theme in Tolkien lore. And neither the Valar, and less alone any Maia, could do anything without Eru’s permission. And the moment a character sides with evil in Tolkien lore, it’s stuck with the consequences. And this goes for Marion, Adar and Celebrimbor. Because all of these characters are both victims and accomplices of Morgoth (the original source of evil), directly (Mairon and Adar), or indirectly (Celebrimbor).

Which also explains why Sauron hates and resents the Gods so much; he probably feels they have forsaken him, like they did with Middle-earth after the War of Wrath, hence him stepping in to rebuild and heal it (because no other Vala would); symbolizing his own desire of healing himself from Morgoth’s corruption.

Sauron in Truth Repented

In 2x01, we saw Sauron getting taught some humility by Adar and the Orcs unionizing against him, when he gets his physical form destroyed, by the means of Morgoth’s crown. Afterwards, Sauron is trapped in a cave for centuries, until he’s able to get out.

He, eventually, re-embodies and is able to recover his physical “fair form”, after centuries as a slimy dark substance.

When Morgoth was defeated, it was as if a great, clenched fist had released its grasp from my neck. And in the stillness of that first sunrise, at last, I felt the light of The One again. And I knew if ever I was to be forgiven... That I had to heal everything that I had helped ruin. Sauron tells Galadriel, 1x08

Soon, we see him brought low, depressed and unsure on what path to take; having a identity crisis. Some centuries trapped in a cave being goo will do that, even to a demigod (Maia).

We see him lingering on Middle-earth, and by the visual clues (wardrobe and sword) it can indicate that he might have dwelled among humans for a unknown period of time, and even found himself work as smith (sword).

The passage of time is not only hinted by his clothes, but when we, the audience, last saw him he was at Forodwaith (Northern Waste), and when he meets Diarmid, he’s in the Southlands; which means, he traveled all the way from the north to the southeast of Middle-earth.

The Trials of Mairon: Diarmid

When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not within the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgment of Manwë. Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation and to receive from the Valar a sentence, in might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-Earth. The Silmarillion

There is a theory that Diarmid might have been Eönwë in disguise, sent by Manwë, and his mission was to test Mairon and bring him home to Aman. I subscribe to this theory, because not only it’s aligned with what Tolkien wrote, but because Amazon has limited rights to “The Silmarillion”, and needs to adapt and work around it.

And there’s some clues towards this in the dialogue itself:

That way lies death, friend. […] I know you’ve suffered. I can see it in your eyes. There’s another life waiting for you. You just have to turn toward it. […] A sure path may crumble, but there’s always another. Often, it can lead us someplace better. Someplace good. They say there’s places across the sea, a man can escape himself. Find another path. Perhaps another life. Come with us, if you like. Or, walk on. And keep chasing death. Choice is yours, friend.

Diarmid also wears the pouch of the King of the Southlands, which might be another clue; “A symbol of kings, long-dead […] My family served them.”

This is also connected with what Mairon tells Galadriel in 1x03: Be careful, Elf. The heir to this mark is heir to more than just nobility. For it was his ancestor who swore a blood oath to Morgoth. I am not the hero you seek. For it was my family that lost the war.

In "Rings of Power"; this pouch is symbolical of Mairon's blowing up his redemption, and falling back into evil.

The connection between the Southlanders and Morgoth was also a major theme throughout Season 1. This was, after all, the reason why the Elves kept watch over them for centuries: It has changed much, Watch warden. But the Men who live here have not. The blood of those who stood with Morgoth still darkens their veins. (Revion to Arondir; 1x01).

You were right to watch us. Because we are destined for the darkness. It's how we survive. Perhaps it's who we are. Who we will always be. Bronwyn to Arondir, 1x05

What we see here is that Southlanders were kept watch by the Elves to make sure they were fulfilling their penitence for siding with Morgoth, and obtaining their pardon from the Valar.

Hence Diarmid/Eönwë wearing the pouch of the King of the Southlands, as a test for Mairon: will you choose good and redemption (save Diarmid)? Or will you choose evil and Morgoth (the pouch)?

Diarmid: Nightmares again? What haunts you so? Mairon: I've done evil. Diarmid: All of us have done things that we care not to admit. Mairon: Not like I have. Diarmid: Find forgiveness. You are alive because you have chosen good. Mairon: But what of tomorrow? Diarmid: You have to choose it again. And the next day. And the next. Until it becomes a part of your nature.

And this makes even more sense with the sea serpent destroying the ship Diarmid and Mairon were traveling on, in the Sundering Seas, near Valinor. A sea creature, most likely, sent by Ulmo, the Vala of the sea. Or even Ossë, the Maia of Inner Seas, himself.

We have the Gods uniting to test Mairon and killing a bunch of humans in the process. Why I’m telling you this? Because the “Rings of Power” fandom has not yet grasped the concept of “being a God” and how Gods are d*cks, overall, who don’t care about individual lives, they look at the full picture and see reality in 5D. Like Sauron himself. And if they need to kill a bunch of people to accomplish their goals, they will. Even Eru sinks an entire island to punish its people, and He’s the ultimate good (and authority) in Tolkien lore.

And Mairon failed the test, because he chose Morgoth (the pouch), and left Diarmid to die.

The Trials of Mairon: Galadriel and Númenor

Sauron was of course not 'evil' in origin. He was a 'spirit' corrupted by the Prime Dark Lord (the Prime sub-creative Rebel) Morgoth. He was given an opportunity of repentance, when Morgoth was overcome, but could not face the humiliation of recantation, and suing for pardon; and so his temporary turn to good and 'benevolence' ended in a greater relapse. Tolkien Letter 153

Having failed one test, the Valar didn’t give up on Mairon, for they send him another: Galadriel. Who also turned her back on Heaven, by choosing to remain in Middle-earth due to her pride, and desire of hunting down Sauron. And, so, this time, they were both getting tested by the Gods. And even Mairon sees through her, in 1x02: At last, a little honesty. If you want to murder Orcs and settle a score, that's your affair. Don't dress it up as heroism.

When Mairon arrives at Númenor, he sees it as “the place across the sea” Diarmid told him about. Where he can find another path, another life. A island gifted by the Valar themselves to Men, and where they are ever watchful. And so, he believes this is where he can prove his good faith to the Valar and sought their forgiveness for his past sins and crimes under Morgoth.

However, Mairon recognizes that Galadriel can be a liability on his plan of staying at Númenor, not only due to her antagonistic atitude towards the Númenóreans, but also the bad blood between them and the Elves. And that explains his advises to her, in 1x03: “I suggest we set history aside for the moment and show some restraint. Let's try not to antagonize these people.”

When things turn sour in their meeting with Tar-Míriel, we see him employing his charming ways, and acting the diplomat: “It seems to me that our leaving presents some complications. Perhaps it'd be better if we stayed... […] Long enough, good Queen, to give you and your advisors adequate time to weigh our request. A few days, perhaps?”

Of course, Mairon’s intention is not to stay in Númenor for just a “few days”. He wants to stay there in servitude, and prove his good will to the Valar: “I have been searching for my peace for longer than you know. Please, for both our sakes, let me keep it.”

to receive from the Valar a sentence, in might be, of long servitude in proof of his [Sauron] good faith; The Silmarillion

When the petals of Nimloth, the White Tree of Númenor, fall, according to Queen-regent Míriel, the Faithful see in them the tears of the Valar, “a living reminder that their eyes and judgment are ever upon us.”

Which explains Mairon's next actions: after the meeting, he goes straight to Númenor forge, to find himself work there:

There is not another man on this isle that knows this craft better than I. I will shovel coal if needs be, I’ll splinter wood, I’ll shape a sea anchor for you, free of charge, sturdier than anything you have ever seen. How’s that? I’m here to start anew. Lend me that chance. Please. And I won’t forget it. Halbrand/Mairon asks for work at Númenor forge, 1x03

Mairon is told he needs a guild crest in order to be a smith in Númenor, and he’ll do just about anything to get it. And this is when his bounds to Morgoth and his old ways come to the surface: not only does he steal the crest from one of the smiths (and gets into a bloody street fight), but he also tells Ar-Pharazôn of Galadriel’s plans. And this was confirmed by Galadriel herself in 1x05: I wondered how the queen knew to waylay me at her father's bedside. It never occurred to me you'd hand me over for a guild crest.

And we see Mairon working at the forge, and he’s happy. It’s not random that the times we see Mairon truly happy in Season 1 is when he’s smithing; both in Númenor, and at Eregion, alongside Celebrimbor. This was what he was created to do and to be, by Eru himself. This is his purpose, and what’s he’s meant to be doing. Not getting high on power trips (Morgoth).

And this is a great contrast with Season 2: as Mairon goes deeper into evil, he embraces the sorcerer and neglects the smith. We barely saw him doing any actual smithing in Eregion, in Season 2, while in Season 1, he was involved in the entire process.

And, as Galadriel leaves, the petals of Nimloth, the White Tree of Númenor, fall. The Valar “cry”: my theory it’s in approval of Mairon’s decision of staying in Númenor, in servitude. He has proven his good will (“in truth repented”) and needs to stay on his current path (redemption is a process). But Míriel looks at it, all wrong (like her father will warn her about), and thinks it’s a warning to follow Galadriel, when it’s actually the other way around.

And 1x05, we see Galadriel acting behind his back and involving Míriel, Queen regent of Númenor, in her plans of getting herself an army to fight “Sauron” in the Southlands (the army she claims Sauron promised her, in 2x06).

And Mairon is vexed. He doesn’t want any part in this; he wants his redemption. And this is very clear in this scene:

Míriel: My thanks, Lord Halbrand. I'm certain your fellowship will prove just as invaluable once we make landfall. Mairon: "Landfall?" Míriel: Galadriel informed us of your aspiration to unite your people. Mairon: Did she now? Galadriel: I trust she was not speaking in haste? Mairon: As a matter of fact, it was my intention... [to stay in Númenor] Galadriel: My companion is merely feeling the weight of his task. I have no doubt, come time, he will do his part. Míriel: Given that I've staked my name upon it, I should hope so. Edda: Queen Regent, your father has requested your presence in the tower. Mairon: "Galadriel informed us." Galadriel: I wondered how the queen knew to waylay me at her father's bedside. It never occurred to me you'd hand me over for a guild crest. Mairon: You used me. After I all but begged you to let me be. Galadriel: I have just convinced Númenor to send five ships and 500 men to aid your people and place a crown upon your head. Many might assume you used me. Mairon: Find another head to crown.

This is Mairon symbolically rejecting Morgoth. And this is the “good” he should have chosen. This is him passing the test, and a step closer to his redemption.

But Morgoth/Galadriel won’t give up, and she goes to the forge to persuade him into taking up the role of King of the Southlands.

I already talked about this on several posts; in Season 1, we see Galadriel being the “Morgoth” to Mairon’s “Sauron” on several occasions, by tempting him with promises of power. And this Númenor forge scene is a direct parallel with Morgoth tempting Mairon with promises of power in Aulë forge.

This idea is also present in Míriel's scene with her father, the king of Númenor, on the same episode, when Tar-Palantir warns her against going to Middle-earth and follow Galadriel:

Tar-Palantir: The kingdom! The kingdom is in danger. I must... Míriel: The danger has passed, Father. We are doing now what you always believed we must. We're restoring our connection with the Elves. I'm going to Middle-earth. Tar-Palantir: Míriel? Míriel: Yes, Father. It's me. Tar-Palantir: Don't go to Middle-earth. All that awaits you there is... Míriel: What, Father? What awaits me? Tar-Palantir: Darkness.

And this is true to both Míriel and Mairon, because darkness is what awaits for them there, should they follow Galadriel. Because, just like Adar tells her, in 1x06: It would seem I'm not the only Elf alive who has been transformed by darkness. Perhaps your search for Morgoth's successor should have ended in your own mirror.

And we see this dynamic with Galadriel and Mairon in the forge scene, where the pouch (Morgoth) is used as a plot device; while Galadriel wants him to take it, Mairon rejects it.

Galadriel: I was wrong to use you. For that, I'm sorry. Tomorrow, the queen will call you to audience. Your voice at that meeting may well decide whether this mission stands or falls. Help me. Mairon: I think I've helped you quite enough. Galadriel: Then help yourself. Stop fighting me, and together, let us fight them.

And this is when Galadriel tells him about her brother's death (although Mairon was already aware of this). But that's not what makes him reconsider, and essentially ruin his redemption. It’s when Galadriel says this:

The company I led mutinied against me. My closest friend conspired with the king to exile me. And each of them acted as they did… Because I believe they could no longer distinguish me… from the evil I was fighting.

And this is personal to Mairon. Because of what happened with Adar and Orcs; not only they mutinied against him, but they could no longer distinguish him from Morgoth.

And this is related with what Adar himself tells Galadriel in 1x06: After Morgoth's defeat, the one you call Sauron… Devoted himself to healing Middle-earth, bringing its ruined lands together in perfect order. He sought to craft a power not of the flesh… But over flesh. A power of the Unseen World. He bid as many as he could to follow him far north. But try as he might… Something was missing […] For my part… I sacrificed enough of my children for his aspirations. I split him open. I killed Sauron.

Your sorrow cannot ease my pain. And nor will a hammer and tongs ease yours. There is no peace to be found for you here. And nor for me. No lasting peace in any path, but that which lies across the sea. I have fought for centuries, seeking to earn mine. This is how you earn yours.

Find Forgiveness

And this is when everything collapses, and changes for Mairon. He now believes his redemption is connected to Galadriel and her forgiveness. But he’s deeply mistaken, because by following Galadriel and going to Middle-earth, all that awaits him there is darkness, like Tar-Palantir prophesied.

And that’s why Galadriel is connected to the Fall of Númenor visions: she's the “Morgoth” who brings "Sauron" back, like Gil-galad foresaw, in 1x01: “We foresaw that if it had, she [Galadriel] might have inadvertently kept alive the very evil she sought to defeat [Sauron]. For the same wind that seeks to blow out a fire may also cause its spread.”

By following Galadriel, Mairon chooses deception over redemption. And it’s like Elrond says to Galadriel in 2x02: “It was entirely of your choosing. Sauron looked inside you, plucked the very song of your soul, note by note, making himself out to be exactly what you needed. "The Lost King" who could ride you to victory.”

And this is exactly what Mairon does, hoping to earn Galadriel’s forgiveness, and redeem himself. And he makes his choice. And he chooses wrong. He fails the test; and he chooses Morgoth (the pouch), all over again.

And in 1x06, we see Mairon helping people, and guiding them to safety. And he thinks it’s because of Galadriel’s influence on him, and not of his own doing. Because he’s a Maia, he was created as a servant, and he needs to serve someone, otherwise he’s lost.

Galadriel: Whatever it was he did to you, and whatever it was you did... Be free of it. Mairon: I never believed I could be... Until today. Fighting at your side, I... I felt... If I could just hold on to that feeling, keep it with me always, bind it to my very being, then I...

And when Galadriel tells him “I’ve felt it too”; it’s the confirmation and validation Mairon needed. He thinks she’ll be willing to bind herself to him, and keep him in the light, and he'll achieve the redemption he so desperately wants.

But Galadriel’s light is merely aesthetic; it’s the light of the Two Trees of Valinor, who shines on every Elf who was born during the Years of the Trees. But in her case it’s more perceptible, because of her legendary golden, shot with silver, hair. And it’s her beauty that blinds Mairon; the Maia who loves beautiful things.

Forgiveness takes an Age

Forgiveness doesn't come to folk like me. Sooner or later, they'll cast me out, you know they will. Estrid to Isildur, 2x03

In Tolkien legendarium “forgiveness” is not just “earned”, it’s given, as well. And we see this with Frodo and Gollum in “Lord of the Rings”: it’s Frodo’s mercy and pity that ultimately allow Gollum to “redeem” himself, because he's the one who destroys the Ring, by falling down the volcano with it. Frodo, in “Fellowship of the Ring” believed Gollum deserved death and that Bilbo should have killed him when he got the chance, but Gandalf shares some wisdom with him on that topic. However, after he meets Gollum, he pities him and takes mercy on him.

And when Galadriel rejects his offer, Mairon sees it as a rejection of her forgiveness. She tells him: No penance could ever erase the evil you have done; and he sees this as confirmation of his worse fears, on a subconscious level (because he’ll try to redeem himself through the “rings of power” masterplan, still); he’s not worthy of redemption, and others will always cast him out. This is the turning point for him.

Because this is also a theme morally gray or villainous characters face in Tolkien lore (especially in The Silmarillion): they are always seen as irredeemable by others, and must die. But these characters are wrong, due to Tolkien’s ideas of redemption, rooted in Catholic faith (and this is what is called “unreliable narrators”, because “The Silmarillion” is written by the Eldar POV, and is a collection of facts, myths and gossip, essentially).

In Tolkien lore, “redemption” is a process, and a nuanced and complex idea. It’s broader than just one villain turning good overnight, because in the legendarium this process is not instantaneous. It’s pretty much like Diarmid tells Mairon in 2x01: it’s a process where the character has to progress towards good by conscious choice and free will: “you have to chose it again, until it becomes part of your nature”.

But Mairon never chooses this. And in Season 1 of “Rings of Power”, it’s exactly what Tolkien wrote: he in truth repents, temporarily turns to good and benevolence, but doesn’t see his redemption through as a result of his own choices. And the “pride” Tolkien talks about is personified in Galadriel, and him choosing to follow her, instead of staying in Númenor in servitude. But he means well throughout Season 1 and Season 2, too; when he embraces the next plot of his character arc, “Annatar the reformer”.

And this is Halbrand. And he was very much real, and not one of “Sauron’s illusions” or deceptions. He was Mairon seeking redemption and pardon from the Valar due to his crimes under Morgoth.

I'm planning on doing meta on "Annatar the Reformer" of Tolkien lore, too. But I got a feeling "he" is not over in "Rings of Power", just yet. I think that plot will continue in Season 3.

#the rings of power #rings of power #Sauron #sauron rings of power #rop sauron #sauron trop #Mairon rings of power #Halbrand #celebrimbor #Celebrimbor rings of power #Galadriel #Galadriel rings of power #diarmid #haladriel

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cherie-doll · 4 months ago

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Listen, listen. Reader who usually think alot, like, she is highly educated, reads alot bla bla...When cuddling with her man, she suddenly asks him

"Would you defend me if we were in the witch hunt era and I was accused of being a witch ?"

(Would be great if you add Horangi btw)

my roman empire right here, maybe reader is just very interested in witchcraft (the "traditional" meaning that anon is referring to here not the neopagan term we know today)

ེ ཻ ՞☾ Horangi, König, Nikto, Gaz, Soap, Ghost

Horangi

His eyes glance at your desk; eyes taking in various essays and papers you've written and researched on the witch hunts that happened in the 16th century in Salem and Europe in the 17th century

Maybe this is this your version of "Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

He knows he's got to pick his words carefully when he gives an answer, the amount of times you've talked about this subject and he should've picked something up

"If I did I would've also been hung alongside you" Because he remembers you mentioning that some men were also executed and he probably would have been considered an accomplice

König

König had been comfortable resting his head on your chest until you sort of startled him with this question

"...Yes.." he had answered but you caught onto the hesitation in his voice by the slight raise at the end

He looks up and glances over at the whiteboard you've scribbled over with notes and the term "Hexentum" stands out; the German term for witchcraft

"Most likely wouldn't have made it" he replies and it makes you laugh, the persecution was severe in Austria during that era and was included in the list of regions with the highest trials and executions

Nikto

You've had to ask him this question several times before you got an answer

And when he finally did it was, "It would first be the other way around, you would defend me"

Because unlike other places, the cause of the witch-hunts in Russia was not due to religious reasons as much as it was due to political reasons

The predominance of men in the percentage of accusations included soldiers and government officials and their wives

So imagine being Nikto's wife during that era and having to constantly watch out for him

Gaz

You've asked Kyle this sort of question a hundred times, each time switching it out for something else

He is no stranger to your interest in the witch-hunts as he is the one who takes you to visit Salem every year

At night when you can't sleep you'll go over and over the stories of the innocent women and children who were executed and he lies there listening to you

Soap

"You might've been able to get away with it yourself"

"How so?"

Not every trial resulted in execution + women used to be stripped and searched for a mark apparently left on her by the devil, two Scottish women however disguised themselves as men to be "witch-finders" so they too could do this

Persecution was only if harm was caused by the person doing witchcraft until the 15th century i think

Ghost

Simon doesn't even hesitate when answering "No"

"What- why not?"

"There's no saving yer"

Half-joking, but he was also right, there was no way anyone would've gotten away with the hunts and torture used

From limbs being cut off to being tied up and thrown into a river, surely anyone who was accused and convicted was sure to die

#counting this as prompt day 1 #horangi x reader #horangi call of duty #konig x reader #konig cod #nikto x reader #cod nikto #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley x reader

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midnightkolrath · 4 months ago

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One thing I like about DMC is the parallels they sneak in where at first you may not think it is...but the more you think about it...

Like the scene in 3 with Arkham is essentially Vergil's first big footsteps into hunting for his father's power years later after the tragedy he endured. He's looking for a way to grab that power, and here comes Arkham to begin to properly set him on the path that builds up the domino effect that THEN sets up the rest of the suffering he has to endure. From his clash with his twin, to his defeat, then his attempted clash with Mundus that leads into his enslavement and weakening that sets the stage for DMC5 with the birth of V and Urizen.

Then, in Visions of V, the climax has it where V embraces Urizen and encounters essentially the form of his fears and weakness as his younger self. Of course, V is met with immediate act of aggression through instinct of self defense by his younger manifestation but he still is prompted to not show his special book to return to him, but also remind him that 'Power alone is not enough'.

That line alone has me thinking like....wow. A complete opposite to the context of the moment with Arkham, where there's the talk about power and the desire for it. The fact that its basically himself on the other side of his own sword in VoV telling him that is, to me, such an interesting display of character growth. I don't know if that moment in VoV was meant to reference the Arkham convo in 3, but I like to believe it was. Its so alike, that it'd be weird if it wasn't to me.

Here's another cheeky one I like too, by the way.

The very night that Vergil reclaims Yamato and heads home to split himself into V and Urizen has a full moon. JUST like the very night when Vergil first defeated Dante that would eventually lead into the escalation of 3's plot and even having an ironic callback in 5 that would lead into Dante unlocking his Sin Devil Trigger.

One's a moment of victory over his twin brother, asserting his power. The other? A moment of reflection of losses that haunt him to this day, reminding him of the weakness he's desperately trying to chase away. The said desperation that peaks his desire for power and pushes him to believe abandoning his humanity is a benefit.

Of course, these thoughts still haunts him even as V (and especially Urizen, but I've mentioned that before) to the point where he reflects over it a few times. I often talk about these moment in VoV, but its just...man. One of the best things we got for DMC. A good addition for Vergil's character and essentially the icing ontop of the cake for 5 alongside the Before the Nightmare novel. There's several things it calls back to for Vergil's journey subtle or not. I hope we get more content like it in the future (maybe even have VoV localized officially), alongside games of course.

#devil may cry #dmc #leo's dmc analysis #I feel like I'm a nerd that should be shoved in the locker for how much I talk about VoV #tbf I would deserve it but it'd also be worth it #Graaaah I love Vergil as a character and the subtle refs they sneak in generally!!!#I'll prob talk more about the 3 manga and 1 prequel novel when the netflix series comes out #so bare with me abit longer-#meanwhile I'll have other small stuff between random yaps lmao

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najia-cooks · 5 months ago

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فول مدمس فلسطيني / Ful mudammas falastini (Palestinian fava bean dish)

Fūl mudammas is a dish of boiled and mashed fava beans often flavored with spices, aromatics, herbs, and vegetables. It is commonly considered to have originated in Egypt before spreading throughout North Africa, the horn of Africa, and the Levant.

Ful is most typically eaten as a breakfast food with bread and raw vegetables, but may also be eaten for dinner. Parsley, mint, garlic, and lemon juice add freshness and zest to the base of hearty, earthy beans. Palestinian versions of the dish are often topped with a spicy دقة ("dugga") of chili pepper, lemon juice, and garlic.

Some researchers consider fava beans to be one of the "founder crops" of the Southwest Asia. A pile of about 2,600 charred fava beans (Vicia faba) discovered in a Neolithic site in Palestine suggests that fava beans were cultivated in the Lower Galilee about 6500 to 6000 B.C.E. The wild progenitor of these cultivated beans is still unknown.

فُول ("fūl") is likely, like many Arabic words, a borrowing from the Aramaic, in which פולא ("pōlā") means "fava bean." The Arabic would then yield the Coptic "ⲫⲉⲗ" ("phel"), "bean".

مُدَمَّس ("mudammas") is probably from مُ ("mu"), verb prefix, + د م س (d m s), a verb root related to hiding, burying, and storing. This may refer to a cooking method commonly used in rural areas of North Africa and West Asia: namely, burying an earthen pot containing beans or lentils and water alongside hot embers and leaving it for several hours, or overnight.

Notes:

The Coptic romanization scheme used is LOC (Library of Congress) 2014.

Donate to an evacuation fund

Donate eSims

Ingredients:

For the dish:

100g dried fava beans, soaked overnight

4 cloves garlic, grated or pounded

Juice of 1 lemon

2 Tbsp tahina (tahini)

1 tsp table salt, or to taste

1/2 tsp cumin

2 Tbsp good olive oil

Parsley, mint, or tomato, to top

For the dressing:

1/4 green bell pepper

1 green chili pepper

1 clove garlic

Juice of 1 lemon

Salt to taste

Instructions:

For the dish:

Cook fava beans in enough water to cover for about an hour, until very soft and breaking apart.

Mash beans, in their cooking water, to desired texture.

Mix in other ingredients.

For the dressing:

Combine all ingredients in a mortar and pestle, or blender, and process to desired texture.

To assemble:

Spread ful in a plate or bowl. Top with dressing, parsley, mint, or tomato, as desired. Serve warm or cold with khubiz al-kmaj, olives, green onion, and/or pickles.

#Palestinian #vegan food #vegan cooking #fava beans #broad beans #green bell pepper #green chili pepper #lemon #tahina

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creamsoda1998 · 6 days ago

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Night Nurse mentioned that Charles' cause of death was hypothermia and internal bleeding, and I'd like to dive deeper into the discussion about internal bleeding.

Here are some thoughts on Charles’ death and his chance of survival in 1980s.

TW: Detailed discussion of major injury The information below is intended to be roughly medically accurate, but I’m not a trauma surgery specialist, so please feel free to share corrections!

Although the Night Nurse only mentioned internal bleeding, the term generally refers to bleeding within the abdominal cavity, particularly from organs like the spleen or liver, which are highly vascular and prone to damage from trauma.

However, based on anatomical positioning, these organs are protected by the rib cage. Considering the size of the rock, the angle of the throw, and the cushioning effect of the lake water, it seems unlikely that the impact directly caused organ damage.

A more plausible explanation would be that Charles sustained his injuries from being hit or kicked by his so-called "friends." This theory also aligns with his rigid stance in the lake, he likely didn’t dare to run or fight back because stepping out of the water might have led to another beating.

Blunt abdominal trauma caused by physical violence can lead to internal bleeding, most commonly from ruptured spleens and livers. Other potential injuries include damage to the intestines and pancreas.

The spleen and liver are particularly prone to bleeding, with the severity depending on the amount of blood loss and the extent of tissue laceration. These injuries can worsen over time.

Liver lacerations might be managed with embolization (though this technique wasn’t as advanced in the 1980s) or surgery, while splenic injuries generally require surgical intervention.

Given the likely mechanism of Charles’s injuries, multiple organ damage is plausible, and such cases almost always necessitate surgery.

Patients with less severe organ damage might survive under conservative observation, but Charles only survived a few hours (while also likely dealing with hypothermia). This suggests that his organ damage was significant, potentially with severe bleeding (as the body can sometimes lose a staggering amount of blood before losing consciousness), or his condition deteriorated rapidly.

Even if he had been transported to a hospital from school, the chances of saving him would have been slim.

Additionally, even if Charles had survived surgery, being immersed in lake water would have significantly increased his risk of developing aspiration pneumonia and wound infections, alongside other possible complications from abdominal surgery.

All things considered, the internal bleeding caused by blunt force trauma might not be visually obvious on screen, but it would have made Charles experience more pain and gradually grow weaker, which absolutely breaks my heart. Moreover, it reveals that what seemed like a sloppy "teach you a lesson" act was, in reality, no different from murder. I really, really hope Edwin does something to those bastards.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #save dead boy detectives #dbda #charles rowland #cw injury #cw death #I really hope Edwin doesn’t feel guilty for not being able to save Charles back then #Edwin did his best #and he did an amazing job

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literaryvein-reblogs · 7 days ago

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Hi :)) do you have any advice on writing stories about Celtic mythology? Ive been trying to use Wikipedia to learn more about it but I find the format of it isn’t very digestible for me and I end up not understanding it well

Writing Notes: Celtic Mythology

The ancient Celtic pantheon consisted of over 400 gods and goddesses who represented everything from rivers to warfare.

With perhaps the exception of Lugh, the Celtic gods were not universally worshipped across Iron Age Europe but were very often limited to only several regions or a specific area.

Another difficulty in examining the Celtic pantheon is the paucity of written records produced by the Celts themselves; quite often a god (deivos/deiva) is named in only a single surviving inscription.

To further complicate our lack of knowledge, the Celts often gave all-embracing powers and attributes to their gods which means that they can rarely be easily categorised.

Celtic votive inscriptions from the Roman period often name a Celtic god with a Roman equivalent noted alongside, a practice known as the interpretatio romana. The following are a few major deities or those with multiple or significant inscriptions.

Andarta - a Celtic goddess whose name may derive from the Celtic word for the bear animal.

Borvo (also Bormo) - a god whose name likely derives from the Celtic word meaning 'to boil' and so indicates his frequent association with natural hot springs.

The Dagda - an Irish-Celtic god whose name is usually preceded by the definite article. His name likely means 'the good god', probably in the sense of being 'many-skilled'. His common attributes are a great club, which can both kill and bring the dead back to life, and a giant cauldron that can produce an inexhaustible quantity of food, especially porridge.

Danu (also Dana) - a Celtic mother-goddess who gives her name, which means 'stream' or 'the waters of heaven' to various places and the River Danube.

Genii Cucullati - mysterious Celtic divinities which are not given a name but appear in groups or alone and wear hooded cloaks in art. Depictions typically have them near a single better-known god and holding either an egg or a scroll.

Nemetona - a goddess whose name derives from the Celtic term for a sacred grove of trees (nemeton). Votive inscriptions naming the goddess survive from both England and Germany, some of which indicate she is the partner of Mars. The goddess had temples dedicated to her at Klein-Winternheim and Trier, both in eastern Germany.

Suleviae - this is a group of Celtic sister goddesses who were venerated in Britain, Germany, and Rome (where there were many Celtic mercenaries). The trio was most likely seen as protective figures and associated with regeneration.

Read the full list here. More Celtic mythology concepts and themes:

Albion - Ancient Celts referred to Britain—not including Ireland—as Albion and only later as Britannia. The Romans connected Albion through their word albus, meaning “white,” with the white cliffs of Dover. Geoffrey of Monmouth reported that the Celts believed a certain Albion who ruled the island was a giant fathered by a god of the sea. Others believe the island was named for a princess who came to the island with fifty women who in their former home had killed their husbands.

Belenus - Also known in Celtic Ireland and Britain by various names—Bel, Belinos, Beli, Bile—Belenus is a god of Celtic Gaul whom Julius Caesar compared to the Greco-Roman Apollo as a solar god of light and reason. He carries a solar disk on the chariot that he presumably uses to travel daily across the sky. His British name is the source for Billingsgate in London. Fires in honor of the god were lit for Celtic festivals of Beltaine (“Bel’s Fires”) on May 1.

Cernunnos - A horned Celtic god of Gaul (modern France) and parts of the British Isles, Cernunnos was a god offertility, like the Italian goddess *Ceres. He carries a club and is lord of the animals. Perhaps because of his association with planting and seeds, he was associated with the underworld. The Romans linked him to Mercury, who led souls to the underworld, and to Apollo, as he provided light for the dead in their graves. Sometimes he is equated with Dispater and the Irish Dagda.

Decapitation - An important theme in Celtic mythology in general and Irish and Welsh mythology in particular. The story of Bricriu’s Feast is a decapitation myth, as is the Welsh story of Bran. The theme influenced the Arthurian myths and the medieval English romances such as Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Earlier decapitation stories are found in the Bible—including the tales of David and Goliath, Judith and Holofernes, and Salome and John the Baptist. There is also decapitation in the Greek myth of Perseus and Medusa, and in the Mesopotamian myth of Gilgamesh and Humbaba. The decapitation theme—especially when associated with a “green man” such as Gawain’s Green Knight, the Aztec Corn King, or many Native North American Corn Mothers—may well have its roots in sacrificial rituals of fertility. Heads that have been cut away from the body, as in the case of Bran’s head, continue to function and talk in Celtic mythology, suggesting a belief in the head’s being the seat of the soul as well as of power and fertility.

Dis Pater - In the Gaulish, that is, continental Celtic mythology, Dis Pater was the Roman name provided by Julius Caesar for a god claimed by the Gauls as their father god, or ultimate progenitor. The name given by Caesar suggests that the Romans saw a connection between this deity and the otherworld or underworld. As, literally, “underworld father,” Dis Pater is naturally associated in Caesar’s mind with the Roman Pluto. The Irish cognates would probably be the Dagda, the father god of the Tuatha De Danaan, and Donn, the god of the dead.

Druids - The priestly class in early Celtic societies, especially continental Celts. They were judges and seers with great moral authority, who ranked above all other classes. As such, they were the equivalent of their Indo-European brothers, the Indian brahmans. The Romans in Gaul developed myths about the druids such as the one suggesting that they practiced human ‘sacrifice. The Irish filidh may be said to have somewhat diminished druidic standing. The great Celtic bards Taliesen and Amairgen had druidic qualities and authority.

Epona - It was primarily the continental Celts who revered Epona, the horse goddess. She was naturally adopted as a favorite by the Roman cavalry and was celebrated at an annual Roman festival. Epona has certain earth goddess aspects, such as her strong association with fertility, sexuality, and water. In Welsh mythology, Epona appears to have had a cognate in the fertility-warrior goddess Rhiannon, who rode about Wales on a white horse dispensing gifts, in the traditional great goddess manner, from her bag or womb bundle.

Irish mythology

Lugus - His name, referring to brightness, indicates that the continental Celtic god Lugus, whom Julius Caesar equated with the Roman Mercury, was a cognate of the Irish Lugh and the Welsh Lleu. Lugus was a god of the arts.

Maponos - Son of the continental Celtic mother goddess Matrona, has a Welsh cognate in Mabon, as Matrona has one in Modron. Maponos was the divine child— the puer aeternus—of Celtic mythology.

Matrona - In the continental Celtic tradition, Matrona, whose counterpart in Welsh mythology was Modron, was the mother goddess whose son was the divine child Maponos (Welsh Mabon).

Nehalenia - A Germanic and possibly continental Celtic sea goddess who protected voyagers.

Taranis - (Taranus) was compared by Julius Caesar to the Roman god Jupiter. Taranis was the thunder and storm god of the continental Celts of Gaul. He was an aspect of the typically Indo-European triad of Esus, Taranis, and Teutates.

Arthurian Mythology

Annwn - (Caer Feddwid) is a name for the Welsh Otherworld, where a magic cauldron exists. In a medieval Arthurian tale, Preiddeu Annwn (The Spoils of Annwn), Arthur and his knights go to Annwn to obtain the cauldron, which, as indicated by the possession of the Cauldron of Plenty by the Dagda, the father god of the Irish Tuatha De Danaan, was a symbol of sacred kingship. Arthur and the few of his men that remained return empty-handed. The tale is seen as a prototype for the story of the Holy Grail.

Camelot - The castle and primary dwelling place of King Arthur, the seat of the fellowship known as the Round Table. It was at Camelot that the Holy Grail appeared to the knights of the Round Table. Many places in England to this day claim to be the site of the legendary castle. Camelot was first mentioned by Chretien de Troyes in his twelfth-century work Lancelot. Supposedly Camelot was destroyed after Arthur’s death. During the early stylish and optimistic years of the American presidency of John F. Kennedy, it became customary to speak of Kennedy and his followers in the White House, and of the administration as a whole, as “Camelot.”

Chretien de Troyes - A French poet of the 12th century C.E., Chretien wrote metrical romances about the ‘Welsh-British ‘hero ‘King Arthur and his knights of the ‘Round Table. Most famously, he wrote Perceval or the Story of the Grail, about ‘Percival (Parsifal) and the ‘quest for the ‘Holy Grail; and Lancelot, or the Knight of the Cart.

Fisher King - In the Arthurian story, the Fisher King is a somewhat ambiguous figure who is encountered in various conflicting versions by hero-knights of the Round Table— particularly Percival—during the quest for the Holy Grail. The King is in some sense wounded, a fact that affects the fertility of the land he rules. Some say that the King—Pelles, Parian, or Pellam—was guardian of the Grail but that he had sinned and was thus unable to speak when the Grail appeared before him. The King can be cured of his wounds or his speechlessness only when certain questions are asked of him. But when Sir Percival comes to the Fisher King’s castle and the Grail passes by him in procession, he fails to ask any questions about it, and the King remains under the terrible spell.

Galahad - Originally Gwalchafed in Welsh, Sir Galahad was a knight of King Arthur’s Round Table in medieval Arthurian sagas. His story had strong heroic mono- mythic elements. Galahad was the son of Sir Lancelot and the Lady Elaine, whom Lancelot had been tricked by a potion into thinking was his beloved Guinevere. Galahad was brought up by a nun and then knighted by his father and taken to Arthur’s court. He was, above all, pure, and it was this quality that made it possible for him, of all knights, to succeed in the quest for the Holy Grail. Galahad appears in Arthurian lore in a thirteenth-century French cycle of romances. La queste del saint graal (“The Quest for the Holy Grail”). In Sir Thomas Malory’s Le morte d’Arthur, Galahad achieves apotheosis; he is taken up to Heaven.

Guinevere - In the Arthurian romances, including those of Chretien de Troyes, the Welsh historian Geoffrey of Monmouth, and Sir Thomas Malory, Guinevere (Welsh Gwenhwyfar) is the wife of King Arthur and the beloved of Sir Lancelot. There are conflicting tales of Guinevere’s origins. Some traditions hold that she was the daughter of Leodegan, who gave the Round Table to Arthur when the latter married his daughter. Her love for Lancelot led to the disruption of Camelot and the fellowship of the knights of the Round Table, and eventually to Arthur’s death. Some say she married Mordred after Arthur’s death. More often it is said that she retired to a nunnery.

Holy Grail - or Sangreale in Old French, was an important quest object in the Arthurian tradition, particularly connected with Percival, as in the Perceval of Chretien de Troyes (c. 1185) and the slightly later Parfval of Wolfram von Eschenbach. Whatever the original source of the legends of the Grail, Christianity associated it with one of the vessels used by Jesus at the Last Supper.

King Arthur - Legendary British king who appears in a cycle of medieval romances (known as the Matter of Britain) as the sovereign of a knightly fellowship of the Round Table. It is not certain how these legends originated or whether the figure of Arthur was based on a historical person. The legend possibly originated either in Wales or in those parts of northern Britain inhabited by Brythonic-speaking Celts.

Lancelot - The son of King Ban of Benwick or Brittany, Sir Lancelot, or Lancelot of the Lake—so called because he was raised by Vivienne, the mysterious Lady of the Lake, who stole him at birth—was one of the noblest knights of King Arthur’s Round Table. But his love affair with Arthur’s queen, Guinevere, would lead to the downfall of Camelot and the fellowship of knights. Sir Galahad was Lancelot’s son by the Lady Elaine, who tricked him into thinking she was Guinevere and so made love with him. Galahad would succeed in the quest for the Holy Grail where his father had failed. Lancelot rescued Guinevere when she was about to be burned at the stake for adultery. When Guinevere and Lancelot fled to Brittany, Arthur followed them and his illegitimate son or nephew, Mordred, usurped his throne. This led to a war in which both Mordred and Arthur were killed. When Guinevere retired to a nunnery, Lancelot, too, took religious vows. The Lancelot story is found in the works of Chretien de Troyes and Sir Thomas Malory.

Mabinogion - The “Welsh Mabinogion is found in two fourteenth-century manuscripts, the White Book of Rhydderch and the Red Book of Hergest. The collection, based on oral narratives, probably took literary form between the mid-eleventh to the early twelfth centuries.

Malory - Sir Thomas Malory is the fifteenth-century English author of Le Morte d’Arthur, an important compilation of Arthurian material. He is said to have created his great prose work while in prison.

Merlin - Probably has an antecedent in the legendary Scottish and/or Irish mad prophet Myrddin (Merddin). The Welsh historian Geoffrey of Monmouth, in his twelfth-century History of the Kings of Britain, established Merlin’s position as the motivating wizard in the Arthurian legend. It was Merlin who helped arrange for the liaison between Uther and Igraine that would lead to the conception and birth of King Arthur. After Arthur’s birth Merlin took the child to one Hector, this in keeping with the monomythic heroic divine child’s being raised by a menial or commoner. It was Merlin who arranged for the ceremony through which Arthur would prove himself to be the king by removing a sword from a rock. There are many versions of Merlin’s life. It was said by some that he was conceived as a result of the union between a sleeping nun and a demon. In Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur, based on many earlier sources—many of them specifically about Merlin—the magician falls in love with an enchantress, Nimue (perhaps the Lady of the Lake), a femme fatale who imprisons him under a rock.

Welsh Mythology

Has come to us from various sources, all much more directly affected and distorted by time and non-Celtic elements than is the case in the much more isolated Ireland.

There are the two Latin texts especially concerned with the Arthurian legends—the early-ninth-century Historia Brittonum by Nennius and the twelfth-century Historia Regum Britanniae by Geoffrey of Monmouth—and there are, of course, oral sources, including, traditionally, poems questionably attributed to the semi-mythic sixth-century poet-prophet Taliesin, whose Irish equivalent was Amairgen, the poet-warrior.

But Welsh mythology, including the remnants of a pre-Christian Welsh pantheon, is more essentially contained in the “four branches” of a collection of eleven medieval tales known in modern times as the Mabinogion {Mabinogi) and in the various traditions associated with King Arthur.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hi, consuming a lot of media on the topic would be important for your story. These are just a few excerpts from the sources I was able to find, which you can go through in the links above (+ the other references the authors mentioned). Find the right balance between your research and the direction you want your own story to go. Hope this helps with your writing!

#anonymous #celtic #mythology #writeblr #dark academia #literature #writing reference #creative writing #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #writing prompt #writing inspiration #writing ideas #light academia #writing resources

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unoislazy · 1 year ago

Text

I lied to all of you, Hiccup later, Mizu now!

Spar With Me

Mizu x Reader

Disclaimer; Possible spoilers.

Mizu will be referred to as “he/him” since the reader won’t know her secret at this point in time.

I can’t guarantee this will be completely in character, I’m still learning more about the characters so bear with me.

Part Two

Part Three

————————————————————

You had been traveling alongside Mizu and Ringo for a fair amount of time. You had been haphazardly picked up along the way, very much to Mizu’s dismay. The only reason you were allowed to tag along was your fighting skills. Your skills were no wear near Mizu’s level, not many people would be, but you were able to do enough that if the need arose, you’d be able to form some sort of protection for yourself and possibly Ringo.

But you wanted to learn more.

You didn’t want to do like Ringo and become a Samurai, it should be clear to anyone that Mizu was not a samurai, you wanted to learn how to fight. Throughout your travels with the two you watched how the man practically danced with a sword, the elegance as he leapt through the air and sliced up men with ease. The sword seems to be a sort of extension of him, of his arm, or his heart. When he wielded the sword it was like they were connected more than just physically.

You didn’t understand it well but you wanted to learn.

You had your reasons for wanting to fight. You didn’t want to learn in the name of tyranny or even greed, you wanted to learn to prevent a situation from happening ever again.

When you were younger, you certainly weren’t the most popular kid in your village. You never truly did much to attract attention so people often never really batted an eye to your presence. However, that meant no one truly noticed when you would walk around with several visible injuries some days after being picked on by some of the other village kids.

They didn’t pick on you for any other reason than they were bored and they knew they wouldn’t face any consequences if they went after you.

And they were right.

You tried your hardest to fight back but they were always a step ahead of you. So from then on you knew you wanted to learn how to fight, if not to protect yourself then maybe to have the hopes of one day protecting someone else.

You all continued to travel in complete silence, the snow lightly crunching beneath yours and Mizu’s feet. The only thing giving away Ringo's position was the bell that was wrapped around his foot. You looked down at his bell and smiled, it was almost like putting a collar on a pet, it was kind of funny to you. Ringo turned to you, noticing you looking at the bell and he excitedly smiled.

“Do you like it? Master gave it to me, he says I’m too sneaky so now he knows where I am at all times!” He loudly exclaimed, you think he was trying to whisper but he was obviously doing horribly at it. Mizu, who was walking a few steps ahead of you two, gave you a slight glance over the shoulder. You didn’t really notice as you were still smiling at Ringo, you enjoyed his ever optimistic demeanor on everything, it was so different from everyone else’s dreary lives and it gave you a reason to smile.

Ringo leaned over to you, trying his best to lower his voice but he still said everything quite loud.

“Maybe master will give you one too! That way we can both be sneaky apprentices.” He whispered, causing you to burst out laughing.

“Me? Get a bell?” You laughed before continuing, “I’m not going to call the man my master, I have no reason to.” You stated pretty plainly, which obviously confused Ringo.

“You want to learn how to fight, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“And you want to learn from Mizu, right?”

You nodded your head agreeing with him before realizing what he was getting at.

“So then Mizu is your master!”

“Woah, no way.” You argued, now crossing your arms with your head raised high.

You had your issues with calling some man your master. Especially one that barely gave you the time of day. Plus, if it wasn’t for your persistence and Ringo's persuasion, he would’ve left you on that street corner where he found you.

But he didn’t.

He instead let you travel along like a stray dog, following him around on his dark mission that you felt no need to ask about. You had talked to him maybe a handful of times before but he clearly didn’t want to give you the idea that he wanted you around. You were welcomed here, but with very cold and rigid arms instead of nice warm ones.

You might’ve been following him like a stray dog but you’re no pet.

And so you refuse to get that stupid bell.

“Why don’t you want to be Masters apprentice? I’d say it’s very fun, I get to do stuff for him all the time!” Ringo said, it was obvious he was trying to persuade you in some way.

“Well my friend, I think that position is occupied, number one. And number two, I want to learn how to fight, that’s it. I don’t want to learn the ins and outs of being a samurai. I’m simply hoping Mizu will teach me, as a friend.” You explained, it seemed this finally clicked with Ringo, but then you watched as his face contorted into more confusion by your answer.

Before he could ask, Mizu abruptly turned to the both of you and simply stated,

“It’s getting late, we should rest here.”

You both nodded as Mizu walked off in some random direction with Ringo following him. You however, took a moment to just stare at the already dark night sky. You hadn’t realized just how long you had been traveling, and you were a bit peeved that you had missed seeing the sunset. Although it’s not like you would’ve really been able to see it anyways, you were currently deep into a forest, surrounded by hundreds of trees with no clear direction in any which way.

Speaking of not knowing your direction, you quickly looked back down and spotted Ringo, quickly following after him as to not get left behind. If they had left you you would’ve been screwed, you have no idea where you are, or how to get out of the forest, not to mention there’s usually many dangers in the woods that you’re not yet prepared to deal with.

It didn’t take long for a fire to get set up and for Ringo to start cooking. He might not have made the world's best soba, but you’d argue it was pretty high up there. You and Mizu sat quietly by the fire, not really saying a word to each other as you stared at the scorching flames before you.

You wanted to ask if you could try training, while you’re both not doing anything, you wanted to try.

But you were almost afraid of Mizu. His stoic demeanor often sent shivers down your spine especially when he had such a stern tone of voice.

Well it’s now or never.

“Hey Mizu?” You began. You could see him just barely out of your peripheral vision. He turned his head ever so slightly to look at you, but you didn’t want to look back as you continued,

“Before Ringo finishes the food, would you mind sparring with me?” You asked. Mizu stared at you for a moment before looking back to the tree he had been looking at before. Maybe he was thinking about his answer?

Your eyes slowly crept over to look at him from the side. He didn’t really make a move to give you an answer, he simply sat there, thinking.

“It can double as extra training for you. Obviously not to your level, but you can use me as a warm up.” You persisted, now fully looking at him. You stared at him for a moment, he was probably in the most relaxed position you ever have, or ever would see him in. He rested one of his arms on his knee with his back against the tree trunk that lay behind himself. His dark hair was in its usual top knot and his glasses remained on and pushed up.

You didn’t know why he wore those glasses, you had never seen him take them off, and you had never seen behind them. Maybe he just really enjoyed wearing them, maybe a family heirloom?

Well, from what you knew about the man, his family definitely wasn’t something he’d want to honor with an heirloom. Plus, they seemed more of a newer style of glasses so there goes that idea.

After staring for what was in reality, maybe ten seconds, you looked away. If he wasn’t going to train you then who was, why were you even here if he wasn’t going to give you a chance. Were you seriously just along to be Ringo's makeshift bodyguard? Seriou-

“Fine, get up.”

You looked confused, being snapped out of your thoughts so abruptly had you thinking you completely made up what you thought you just heard.

“Do you want to learn or not?” Mizu asked, now standing before you, looking down at you as he waited for your answer. You nodded eagerly, quickly standing up and following Mizu just a little ways away from the fire.

It wasn’t like the forest was pitch black, you could still see thanks to the bright moonlight, it was just a little bit harder.

Mizu stopped in a little open area, just enough room for a fight to take place. You looked back, seeing that the fire wasn’t too far but It was enough that you couldn’t exactly see what Ringo was doing because of the trees that blocked your vision.

You stood a little ways away from Mizu, getting into a fighting stance, unarmed. You knew how to use a katana and naginata very loosely, but you wanted to just start with hand to hand. You knew Mizu could easily kill you if he wanted to regardless of what the fighting style was, but you trusted him even the slightest bit to not commit to ending your life.

Now you both stood quietly before each other. Both in fighting positions as you waited for the other one to move. If you were to attack first you were far enough away to give Mizu time to counter you. If Mizu attacked first, you might have time to counter or dodge but you weren’t going to get very far.

So, without another thought, you charged at Mizu. He waited for a moment before doing the same, and just as you were about to swing, he threw snow right in your face.

“Hey!” You shouted, wiping the snow out of your eyes before looking up and seeing Mizu sending a punch right for your face. You successfully dodged underneath and swung your leg to send Mizu off balance.

“You must be ready to use all the elements to your advantage.” He instructed, easily jumping out of the way of your kick and backing away. You quickly got up, dodging another one of his kicks before going in for a punch. You sent too much momentum into it which left you way too open and vulnerable leading Mizu to easily knock you off balance.

It was clear he wasn’t going to hurt you, just humiliate you for your lack of understanding of how to fight.

You fell to the ground, looking up at Mizu who was just staring at you, waiting for you to make your next move.

You two continued to fight for some time and you honestly could have sworn that you saw him smile a few times. Sure it might’ve been at your expense but you still felt proud enough to achieve such a feat.

You were slowly but surely getting the hang of it as you went.

Or so you thought.

You had gotten yourself into a position where you had a full plan of attack, but it seemed like Mizu was already eight steps ahead of you because with one simple move, he had knocked you down, now pinning you to the cold and snowy ground.

You struggled beneath his grip, trying to find a way out to attack but it was no use. He was indeed a lot stronger than you.

“Stop fussing, you lost.” He stated with what you could have sworn was a teasing smile. Fighting really brought out a different person in Mizu and honestly you didn’t mind it. It felt as if you two had finally started to get to know each other, even if it was just through a series of dodges and snarky remarks. It took you a few moments to realize he was actually straddling you, very tightly one might add. His hands were firmly holding down your hands and it was clear he was not going to budge.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by the current situation you were in. It was nothing short of humiliating to practically beg to fight someone only to wind up underneath them, but you also couldn’t help but admit you also felt embarrassed for other reasons.

You looked up at him, and it was just then you noticed that his glasses had fallen off. You didn’t know when, you didn’t know where, all you knew was now you were staring at a pair of bright blue eyes that seemed to be watching you in amusement.

He watched as your face changed from a sour expression to one of confusion,

“What’s wrong, can’t handle losing?” He teased, nearing you ever so slightly.

That was until you muttered,

“Your… eyes.”

With those two words, Mizu’s amused expression dropped suddenly and he jumped off of you and faced away in a matter of seconds. He quickly grabbed his glasses that had gotten thrown off during one of his many expert maneuvers.

You sat up, now staring at the back of the makeshift samurai who didn’t utter another word.

You had heard stories of ‘the demon eyes’ when you were a kid, everyone did. You might’ve believed those stories when you were younger but here stands someone with those ‘demon eyes’ and you saw nothing more than just a very scarred individual. Sure, Mizu was scary good at wielding weapons, but that wasn’t some demonic power, that was pure skill, and you admired him for it endlessly despite never wanting to admit that outloud.

You both sat in silence, you leaning on your hands and Mizu, sitting with his legs crossed and his back towards you. After a moment of just sitting you took a breath in, as you did so you noticed Mizu’s head lower ever so slightly as if he was preparing to hear or feel something he had heard before.

Your eyes softened as you stated,

“Your eyes… they’re very pretty.” You complimented. You could see Mizu freeze for a moment as you stood up, walking just up behind him.

You couldn’t imagine the amount of stuff he had gone through throughout his life, having to deal with people treating him differently for something he couldn’t control. You didn’t need his whole life story to know it was probably rough. It didn’t take a genius to know that considering where you are, sitting in the middle of the woods as the man before you continued to try to track down certain people for a reason unbeknownst to you.

Mizu continued to sit in silence as you kneeled down just behind him, you reached out your arm to touch his shoulder but you hesitated for a moment. Maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should just leave him alone, it’s clear he is not comfortable.

You just wanted to show him some kind of comfort, even if it was just in the sense of one little shoulder touch, so that’s what you did. Your hand ever so gently rested on his shoulder before you quietly muttered,

“I mean it.”

Mizu’s head ever so slightly turned towards your direction, but before he could say or do anything you took your hand off of him and quickly stood up, quietly rushing back to Ringo who was still carefully preparing your food.

It was only a few more minutes before Mizu followed behind you, making his way towards the fire. Neither of you mentioned what had just happened and you continued to sit in silence just as you had done before. It was as if all the progress you had made to getting to know him while fighting, had gone down the drain.

Until you heard him quietly mutter,

“Thank you.”