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hannahmcne · 5 years ago

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Westward Sc 1

Ben watched the carriage turn into the driveway, feeling expressionless. He watched the servants load his suitcases into the back and the horses fed and watered as they waited for him. This would be the carriage that would take him to the Cinderellasburg Castle, where he would be conversing with King Chad on the state of his kingdom.

Ben was twenty-seven and the High King of the country of Auradon. Underneath him were about a hundred other royals of various backgrounds who had either inherited their kingdoms or had them gifted to them in thanks for extraordinary acts of bravery. The country was beautiful – high purple mountains in Arendelle, deep blue seas in Oceania, thick forests in Sherwood and hundreds of magical places in between. Ruling at Ben's side was his queen, Audrey, whom he had known since he could walk. They'd been married seven years and had one child between them, a stubborn and often cross girl whom they had misnamed Belle Joy, after his mother.

"Is Audrey coming down?" Ben asked with a sigh, casting a glance to the side at a servant who was standing at attention nearby.

"No, your majesty," the servant declared. His hat slipped down on his forehead even more. "She's in the spa. Her back has been hurting her more. She says to come see her when you return."

Ben nodded. Audrey wouldn't want to see him when he returned, he knew. He hadn't seen her for three and a half weeks now. Little Belle sometimes came into his office to gift him flowers and demand candies, but she had a nanny and the nanny took care of her. He and Audrey didn't need to.

With a sigh, Ben stepped out from under the overpowering shadow of the castle and towards the carriage. No one was there to see him off despite the fact this was a two-week long meeting. Audrey was in her spa, Belle was probably taking a mid-afternoon nap, his mother had moved out with the death of his father and now resided in a small home where Ben took Belle to visit weekly, and there was no one there to say goodbye or tell him they'd miss him.

"Let's go," The king nodded to the driver of the carriage. A few shouts rang out – orders for servants and directions for others, and the carriage began to move as Ben was sitting down. He fell into his seat, hitting his elbow against the side of the door, and rubbed it slowly as the noise diminished and the castle disappeared.

Ben rested his head against the frame of the carriage and winced when they went over a rock and he knocked his skull into the wood. It was going to be one of those journeys. One where he went over all the decisions he'd made and reminisced over his life and wondered how things could be different.

Auradon was one of the center-most kingdoms. Charmington was closer to the sea and had a large dock, which was used to export goods to the outermost province of the Isle of the Lost. The two were separated by a very large and thick forest known as the Seeoderschwarz. About 250,000 square miles of nothing but forest and forest and the occasional stream or river and more forest. It was teeming with natural resources, he was told, and the majority of the land was owned by the Charmington Forest Service and the Charmington Logging industry, which made for pleasant interactions. Ben supposed that King Chad had been dealing with land disputes between the two for as long as he had been trying to get Weselton and Arendelle to get along.

Ben got a glimpse of the ocean before the road took them into the heart of the forest. For several dozen miles, the roads remained nice, but they soon began to rumble and clatter down a thin, unpaved, barely-cleared road. Ben watched mile markers give way to large boulders, fallen tree limbs, and wild plants. He ought to petition Chad to improve all the roads, but knew that his old friend was busy with other things.

The sun remained high in the sky for what seemed like several years before it suddenly jumped to the horizon and the trees began to cast thick shadows around them. Ben supposed he must have dozed off as the armed escorts and the driver lit up their lanterns. He pulled a thicker jacket out of his travel bag to wrap around himself as the cold spring air started to nip at his fingers and ears. Winter had just ended, but the nights were still frigid.

The sky grew so dark that the trees blended into the atmosphere. Ben couldn't see any stars past the lanterns and the roof of the carriage, but he supposed they were up there somewhere. He tried to curl up into his seat, but every bump knocked his back a little more out of joint and every shout from outside kept him feeling like he was supposed to be awake – supposed to be doing something important.

What was he supposed to be doing?

They continued on, switching drivers once at half-past midnight. No one checked in on him. That was fine – he'd been on long journeys before. Three minutes before three a.m, they rolled to a stop. Ben startled out of a daze. He'd been tracing the wood grains in the beams with his eyes, and now struggled to see in the dark as hushed whispers came from outside. He tried to listen but couldn't hear much. Slowly, he reached for the carriage door, expecting them to jump into motion at any second. His hand twisted the latch. The carriage made no motion. He opened the door and leaned out. "Why have we stopped?" He asked a soldier, who was staring ahead in shock and confusion. He didn't answer.

Ben followed his gaze. Everyone's eyes were focused ahead on a green orb swinging in the middle of the road. Like some sort of haunted ghost. Ben felt his eyes falling out of focus as he watched, but he was used enough to it that he was able to rip his eyes away to step down, out of the carriage, and onto the ground. "Who goes there?" He asked loudly, without hostility. "Are you in need of help?"

The light came closer. It's presence was overpowering. The urge to look and to fall into a deep, deep sleep was almost irresistible. Ben put a hand up to block the light and spotted someone behind it, swinging it in a dizzying pattern. They had a cloak on – or possibly a cape – and wore slim, tight fitting boots. Either it was a girl, or a man with very slim, feminine ankles.

Then, a voice, as overpowering and alluring as the light, which penetrated every particle of him, straight to the bone. "Why have you brought soldiers in our midst?"

A girl, he thought vaguely. Definitely a girl, but a powerful one. He could feel her authority.

"They are here to protect me," Ben explained calmly. "We're not here to hurt you."

It occurred to him too late that perhaps he shouldn't have insinuated he was anyone important. In the dark, his identity was mostly concealed. With great trepidation, he swallowed and asked: "Will you allow us to pass?"

The light stopped swaying and its wielder held it closer to the side of the carriage. Ben swallowed as he recognized the Auradon crest on the side of the craft. "You are from the high kingdom?" She asked slowly, cautiously.

Ben swallowed. "Yes," He affirmed.

He could barely see the woman behind the light, and it became much harder as all of the lanterns in the company – all the ones that had been held by the driver and the guards – turned green. "Take them," The woman ordered, and then her light disappeared. The driver and the escorts came back to life, gasping for breath, and several loud battle cries echoed from the forest. Sturdy arrows the length of his arm with ropes attached to them flew through the air, going through the roof of the carriage and splintering the wheels. The horses reared up almost as one as figures with black, green, and purple torches rushed through the trees.

"We're under attack!" One of the horsemen yelled. "Barbarians! Yield!"

"Don't hurt them!" Ben struggled to be heard over the whinnying of the horses. He reached out and caught the reins of one and pulled them back down to ground level as he tried to calm the frightened creature. "I think they're only frightened of the weapons! If we throw them down-"

"You'll have us all be murdered?" The man bellowed, wrenching his reigns away from Ben and shoving him back. "Get down and take cover! We already have a soft man on the throne – we don't need one on the battlefield as well!"

Ben fell to the ground, and the soft dirt gave way under his frame. The officer had, it seemed, not recognized him in the dark with his coat covering his jacket. "Wait!" He yelled as the men spurred their horses to action and they began to hurry away. The carriage, with one broken rim and at least five broken spokes, more than tripled its previous pace as it took off into the night. The horsemen followed it. Ben spotted a horse's hoof coming down on him from above and rolled to keep his skull intact. He crouched, face down, into the dirt as horse hooves plundered the ground around him. A scary vision of a hoof severing the connection from his head to his neck made every hair stand on end as he gasped, shaking.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Chances were, if Ben had stayed inside the carriage, he'd be safely away with them. As it was, he was afraid to even move as shouts echoed through the forest and then fell to whispers around the road. What were the chances they wouldn't spot him; that he'd be left to wait for his caravan to realize he'd been left and return to retrieve him?

Hands seized his shoulders and yanked him up, keeping his knees pressed into the mud. He gasped at the same bright green light was shoved into his eyes, blinding him from the people holding him captive. "Who is he?" The woman holding the light asked.

"Can't tell," A smooth, male's voice replied. "He's unarmed."

"I don't mean any harm," Ben gasped, closing his eyes as the bright light made his brain feel like it was pulsating inside his skull. "We were just passing through the area."

"Heading to where?" The female demanded.

"Cinderellasburg," Ben provided.

"Where?" The woman asked.

Ben paused and opened an eye to see if he could see her. "It's… King Chad's kingdom?" He asked. "I'm supposed to meet with him tomorrow afternoon."

"He's important," The woman decided. A little fear had crept into her tone. "He was traveling with a guard to meet someone."

"Who are you?" Another man – one with a little bark who was tightly gripping his left arm – demanded.

"I-" Ben faltered. "I'm… just a representative from the High Kingdom."

"He's lying," The first man accused. "He paused!"

There was a long silence. Ben tried to slow his breathing as he waited for his own verdict.

"We'll take him to E. She'll make a decision," The woman declared.

Ben's eyes flew open. "Wait!" He gasped. "I'm being expected! And the carriage will come back for me. Let them come back and I'll convince them to let you walk free!"

The first man laughed. "We can't trust him, can we?" He asked.

"No," The woman agreed. "Tie him up, and we'll take him back to camp."

A blindfold was whipped across his eyes and his head was wrenched back. Ben tried to call out, but before the blindfold had even been fastened, a gag was tied across his mouth and a thin rope was strung around his wrists several hundred times, so they were biting into his wrists. He was forced to his feet and the three began to lead him away, though he could hear first the footsteps and then the heavy breathing of many others around him.

"Who is he?" He heard someone whisper.

"Someone important," The woman whispered back. "We're taking him to Evie."

Evie. He was going to be judged by a girl named Evie. A leader? What sort of leader might a band of… outlaws? Misfits? Castaways? He wasn't sure what to call them. But what sort of leader could they possibly have?

Ben tripped over tree roots as he tried to keep pace with the two men leading him. Behind him, he heard shouts and distant 'Find him!'s. The carriage had returned too late.

They marched for about an hour, and then the leader called a pause. "We're going too slow," She decided. "Take the blindfold off of him, and cover your faces. We'll move faster if he can walk straight."

The blindfold was removed off of her command, but everyone was already covered. They removed the gag off with the blindfold, and Ben took a deep breath of the fresh air. Ben's head swiveled to examine his surroundings. They were in the middle of the forest, hidden in the thick underbrush, and there were about twenty people in number. Two held onto his arms, and others surrounded them, armed with knives in case he tried to run. The person on his left, who had spoken with the bark, had bright blue eyes, and light hair and skin. The person on his right, with the smooth voice, had more ethnic skin that reminded him of Aziz, from Agrabah, and long brown hair poking out from under a cap. Black, beetle-like eyes caught the light of the stars as they examined his face, which was still covered with mud and dirt.

Up ahead, he caught a rush of long, thick hair as the woman who he assumed had been the one to previously hold the light turned away from him. He could see, in the light of the stars, that her hair had an odd quality to it. Something that looked very, very different from the others. "Let's go," She commanded, and the group continued on.

The uneven forest floor was more compatible with his feet now that he could see where the roots, rocks, and uneven spots were. The fresh night air brought a soft of calmness to his bones despite the tense situation. And holy heavens – he had never even known this many stars existed. He had to rip his eyes away from the vast, glittering expanse above in order to keep from tripping. There was no moon to outshine the pinpricks of light as he stared, dumbfounded, at the constellations and beautiful clouds of heavenly fog.

Hours later, as the sun began to light the sky, Ben heard yelling, and then saw smoke rising into the sky. They walked into a camp, and his mouth dropped at what he saw. Hundreds of people – not one older than he was – were living in the center of the forest. He could see hammocks strung up and small lean-to's and two or three half-made teepees. They weren't of the greatest construction, but had clearly been here for several weeks, if not months.

Ben was led to the largest teepee by his two captors. The other group broke away as they took him inside, forced him to his knees in the center, by the supporting pole, and tied his hands and ankles together around it. "Try and get some sleep!" The smooth-talking one snapped. "E will be in soon to question you." Ben didn't fail to notice how they'd positioned his back facing the entrance, so that he'd never be able to see who came in.

"Could I have some water, please?" Ben requested. His throat had started to become a little dry as they had walked, though the night air hadn't made it too bad. Now that he was sitting though, he was feeling a little light-headed.

The two snorted. "Ask E," The man with the bark in his tone replied. He spoke a bit childishly, as if he hadn't quite wrapped his head around what they were doing yet. "She's the compassionate one of the three." There was the sound of someone hitting someone else, and Ben realized that the reason they were trying to be secretive about the camp is, because, if he was someone important, he would know who to prosecute. He decided it would be wise to pretend he'd never heard the name 'Evie'.

The teepee flap closed, which was unfortunate because it blocked out most of the sounds from camp outside. He shifted against the frost on the ground, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes to fall into a restless sleep.

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infectedworldmind · 5 years ago

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I saw Endgame on the Sunday after it was released in theaters during a work-related conference in Chicago. I bought advance tickets for a screening at the ShowPlace ICON at Roosevelt. The theater featured “industry leading customer service”, reserved stadium seating, the ICON-X enhanced xperience with Dolby Atmos, upwards of 60 individually powered QSC speakers and 40 QSC digital amplifiers, and a fancy lounge with fancy cocktails. The screens were nearly 1500 square feet.

My hotel (and the conference) were in Hyde Park, a gorgeous diverse neighborhood in the South Side of Chicago. As I explored the neighborhood, I stumbled by the Harper Theater, a local spot that had screened films for the local community since 1913 (with a break in the early aughts). It did not have stadium seating or an ICON-X enhanced xperience. I don’t know how large the screen was, but it was not nearly 1,500 square feet. The theater was screening Endgame but there were no lines or fuss, just some posters promoting the movie and people casually milling about the theater. There was something about the casual atmosphere and the friendly environment that felt appealing. I decided to return my ticket at the ShowPlace and buy one at Harper.

The theater didn’t serve much food but was near some great places that did (props to Ja’Grill Hyde Park). It also featured a ticket taker/usher/bartender who made a mean (and inexpensive!) Jack and Coke.The projection was perfectly fine and the sound was clear. The theater was full, but I got there a little early to get a good seat. The audience was perfect, engaged but not loud enough to be a distraction. It was a terrific viewing experience. As the credits rolled at the end of the film, surrounded by satisfied families and fans, I thought that Marvel had finally produced a legitimately great film that captured the experience of reading an epic superhero comic.

I had breakfast with a colleague at the conference the following morning. We chatted about work, family, Game of Thrones and Endgame while sipping coffee and absentmindedly picking at bagels. We both grew up on comics and were surprised at how excited we always were for the latest Marvel film, even when we had mixed feelings about the actual product. They chuckled as they told me that they took Friday off work to watch the film after closing out a particularly challenging case. I told them that I saw the film immediately after a networking dinner at the conference to wind down. They shared their mixed feelings about the film – they enjoyed moments and the spectacle, but the film was far too long and didn’t make much sense. I nodded thoughtfully. I shared my thoughts about the film. They asked me whether I liked the film. In that moment, I realized that I didn’t know.

Endgame is the second part of a story about the epic battle between almost every hero introduced in Marvel Studios’ Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) vast narrative (including the Avengers) and Thanos, a hypercompetent nearly omnipotent super villain with plans to reduce the population of the universe by half that began in the Infinity War. The film is partially inspired by Jim Starlin, George Perez and Ron Lim’s classic Infinity Gauntlet miniseries from the early ‘90’s. It features the surprising team ups, epic battles and astronomical stakes that one might find in a classic superhero event crossover. For those of us who read superhero comics when we were children (and many who continue to read the books), this pair of movies combine to form a single expensive, perfectly designed nostalgia machine.

The film blends melodrama, situational comedy, slapstick, space opera and action to create an entertaining viewing experience, but it also values emotional resonance and fan satisfaction over storytelling logic and meaningful stakes/consequences for character actions. The film alternates between dialogue and banter heavy scenes and pedestrian action scenes with state of the art visual effects in a way that feels thrilling in the theater but quickly fades from memory upon exit. Endgame tantalizes the audience with a world of imaginative possibility that feels absent of civilians or characters who are not superheroes (by this point in the narrative, the Avengers are mostly protecting and avenging one another).

Endgame exemplifies the strengths and shortcomings of the MCU project as a whole. It is a film that captures the sense of discovery and excitement that readers like me felt when reading superhero comics as children, appeals to a global audience of people who are only familiar with the Marvel characters as brands and feels somewhat weightless and insubstantial.

I saw the first MCU movies (the first ‘phase’) in the theater. The sense of awe I felt watching Iron Man on the big screen diminished with each film that followed. After Joss Whedon’s Avengers, I mostly saw MCU films on a streaming platform on nights when my wife went to sleep early. They were more densely plotted and serialized than procedural shows like Law & Order and not as intellectually taxing or emotionally draining as shows like the Americans. They scratched an itch. The best of these Marvel films were thoughtful and entertaining, but other than a few standouts – Captain America: Winter Soldier, Black Panther and Thor: Ragnarok – the scenes and images faded shortly after the credits rolled.

I never got completely used to this experience. I’ve loved superhero comics and film for most of my life, and one of the things they have in common are the images that lingered in my imagination.

The woman emerging from the sea as a god surrounded by flame. The man who realizes that he’s going to leave his wife and child and stay with a near stranger in France. The woman who embraces her rage and allows her exterior to reflect her interior. The door closing on a woman who allows herself to realize what she suspected all along – that she lost her husband to his family and their business a long time ago. The makeshift family who momentarily put aside their troubles to enjoy each others’ company, if only for a moment. A sequence that asks us to imagine a near future America that feels as uncertain and unsafe as the unstable countries we all read about in the newspaper (never mind that we were always more uncertain and unsafe than we thought and some of those places may have been more stable).

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I will never completely understand how the marriage of superhero stories and film in the Marvel Studios films has produced so much entertaining work with so few memorable images and moments.

The excitement that I felt in Chicago’s Harper Theater surrounded by enthused families and dedicated Marvel fans faded into respect for the craft involved in creating the film as I walked back to my hotel room. It took me a few days to notice that Endgame’s plot (and the film’s overall role in the MCU vast narrative) left more of an impression than any image or visual sequence in the film. There were flashes – the exhaustion on Robert Downey Jr.’s face, the calm expression of Mark Ruffalo’s Hulk – but very little that lingered in the imagination.

As I sat through workshops and chatted with colleagues from peer institutions over the following days, I found myself returning to the storytelling choices of the filmmakers and Endgame‘s place within the larger MCU vast narrative. There were elements and ideas that were still fascinating, but others which had a distancing effect, a reminder that I was watching a commercial product.

2. Endgame: The Pedestrian Puzzlebox

Endgame is the last chapter of the most successful film franchise of the last decade, a visual effects extravaganza designed for theaters with top of the line sound and projection systems. It’s also one of the few action franchises that feel more driven by dialogue than compelling action scenes. The visual effects are state of the art but the action scenes are relatively pedestrian, lacking the brutal beauty or poetry that can be found in the John Wick or Raid franchises.

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I didn’t have the sense of awe or magic that I get from watching films from the Star Wars franchise (which is even effective on a smaller screen). One of the things that separate great action films like the Police Story or Mission Impossible franchises from lesser films is the use of action sequences as a tool to add layers of meaning to the overall story. The fights aren’t just a way to get from point A to point B or an opportunity to thrill the audience, they help us understand the characters involved and gain insight into their respective journeys. We see combatants display their strengths and vulnerabilities and learn from mistakes. The scenes tell a story through movement that complements the scenes with dialogue.

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Tony Stark’s sacrifice is foreshadowed in the dialogue-heavy scenes in Endgame and occurs at the close of the film’s biggest action sequence, but the opportunity to use the action and movement to tell the final part of his story was lost. His final battle with Thanos and his army did not look or feel meaningfully different from his prior conflicts with Thanos and other antagonists, except that the outcome was not the same. In an early scene, we do see what Thor learned from Infinity War (don’t pause when you’ve got a kill shot against a genocidal maniac), but it would have been interesting if Thor’s approach to combat in the final battle in Endgame was more clearly informed by the prior film. On first viewing, Thor’s ferocity in Endgame doesn’t feel much different than the ferocity that he displayed in the closing battle of Infinity War.

The action in Endgame may not have the beauty or meaning that one might find in the best action movies, but even after a decade, there is still something novel and exciting about engaging with a franchise that isn’t just composed of a number of smaller franchises with interlocking stories, but has incredibly fluid narrative boundaries. Each film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) stands alone as an independent work or as part of an independent franchise, but could also be viewed as a piece of a larger story that shifts the audience expectations of narrative extent from the confines of a two-hour film to a ‘cinematic universe’ that includes nearly two dozen films and which represents the entire output of a film studio.

Some viewers can engage with the film as a part of a single vast epic narrative that begins with 2008’s Iron Man, but for others, this film is simply the last in a quartet, or most interestingly, as a part of a loosely connected string of films that have some familiar faces. There were some in my audience who were ardent fans of the MCU and others whose knowledge of Marvel consisted of vague memories of Iron Man and the first Avengers movie and crystal clear recollections of Black Panther (the crowd erupted when Wakandan warriors made their appearance in the final action scene) and Infinity War.

We can treat each film as a chapter of a story or a piece in a giant puzzle, but not only do we not need to experience all of them to understand the larger narrative, the shape of the story itself changes based on the number of Marvel films one has viewed. A story about heroic sacrifice can be one about the limits of duty or another one of a series of zany misadventures. It can even be a prelude to a story where your favorite franchise moves from the margins of the narrative to the center.

These qualities help make Endgame feel like the perfect Marvel Studios film, a work that can appeal to different slices of the audience who are engaged with one or more of the lucrative franchises within the larger MCU. It is interesting to think and talk about, but it’s hard to avoid the sense that the film is essentially a��nostalgia machine filled with unremarkable images and scenes. Is this why it was so hard answering my colleague’s simple question?

Did I like this film at all? And if I didn’t, why am I still fascinated by Endgame?

Wrestling With Endgame 1 - Endgame at Hyde Park. The first of three posts on Avengers Endgame (spoilers lie within). I saw Endgame on the Sunday after it was released in theaters during a work-related conference in Chicago.

#Avengers: Endgame #Chicago #film #Marvel Cinematic Universe #Russo Brothers

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jane-ways · 6 years ago

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Scion of Kings, Chapter 4

Well, this is it! The last chapter (for now...I don't think I'll be able to put away this Gil for good). I know this is a quick turnaround, but I knew what I wanted to write and the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone (and I wanted to finish the story before going on vacation). Special thanks to @ecthvlion for betareading.

Lastly, my very talented friend Ian was kind enough to take a commission of my Gil! I think he looks very handsome - check it out and give it a reblog here!

Thank you all for joining me on this journey! This was my first ever fic, and it's been so wonderful to read all your comments and get your support. You guys make this worth doing :)

Read it on the Silmarillion Writers’ Guild and AO3.

Maedhros sat at his old desk, made for him when he reached the age of ascension and became, according to the laws and customs of the Eldar, an adult. He had always been tall, and even then, when he still had a few inches left to grow, the desk had been a little short for him. But like all things of one’s youth, it had become part of the fabric of life, the slight stoop it forced him into as natural a part of writing as breathing.

But how does one pick up the threads of an old life, its pattern no longer familiar to the fingertips? In Himring, Maedhros had commissioned a new desk, more suited to his height and station in life. It was the desk of a king, a warrior, fit for sealing and stamping and making the fate of the world, not of a boy-prince composing treatises on rhetoric in the warmth of his mother’s house. He no longer knew the stoop he had forced his shoulders into, sitting at his old desk in a life he no longer recognized.

No muscle memory to weave this new world, then.

Maedhros sighed. He rolled his shoulders in discomfort, and organized all he would need: several sheaves of paper, an inkwell, a quill, a nib sharpener. Laying them all out in a neat grid before him, he considered his options. He had to tell the lad, of course—he laughed at himself, then, breaking his own train of thought. “‘Lad’ indeed,” he said to himself. “He’s High King and here I am calling him a lad.”

The last time Maedhros had seen him, of course, he really had still been a lad, small and cold and frightened. But even then, there had a been a strength in the boy’s eyes, a steady burning—not of hatred, or even judgment, but of the will to live. (Secretly in his heart of hearts Maedhros had envied that fire even then.)

He had held the boy close, wrapped him in his cloak and rubbed feeling back into his limbs. An unexpected surge of affection had coursed through him, then, the memory of many brothers and cousins who as children long ages ago had cried in his arms. Briefly, he had considered taking the child with him. But how could he have damned a child to such a life as that? How could he have been so selfish as to risk more violence—a last retribution against the heir of Dior from his fallen brothers’ followers?

So Maedhros had let him go—called him Starlight after the fire in his eyes and sent him to the last place in Beleriand the boy might be safe. He had thought of Gil-galad often, especially after the twins had come into his life, wondered what sort of man he was growing into, what sort of education he was receiving. If he was happy.

It all fell into place, then. Maedhros had never been one for over-deliberation; once the path cleared before him, he followed it with as little to-do as possible. The words already laying themselves out in his mind’s eye, he set pen to paper.

To Gil-Galad, from Maedhros.

Greetings, my lord. I thank you kindly for your letter, and am glad to learn of Elrond’s success in court, and in friendship. You seem like a good sort of person, and he speaks very fondly of you. In another life, I think, had had things been different, I would have been very fond of you as well.

It does me great honor to know that you hold me in such regard. I am not sure what I have done to deserve it—

‘No,’ Maedhros firmly reminded himself. No self-pity, no guilt. These were, as his mother often reminded him, unhelpful emotions. And he knew this; he remembered the cocoon of loathing he had once tangled himself in. In a fit of exasperation, Fingon had once yelled at him, “It’s not good enough to just stand there and say, ‘I’m sorry, I’m terrible;’ you have to do something about it! You have to stop being terrible and actually start making amends!” He had been right, Maedhros supposed, although it was a feat easier said than done. But what was this strange second life if not a chance to rid oneself of the easy familiarity we all have with the more unpleasant parts of ourselves?

“Here’s to mending,” Maedhros murmured, lifting his quill in a mock salute.

—but it is welcome nonetheless. There is no delicate way to put this, and so I shall say it right out: being your father would bring me no end of pride, but the honor is not mine.

You doubtless wish to know the story, and although I have debated with myself over the potential harm telling you may do, you seem a man of steady constitution, and I believe it is your right to know. I will try to relate the matter as factually as I can, but I beg of you to forgive whatever bias remains.

You were born Eluréd. Dior was your father and Nimloth was your mother and Doriath was your home. You had a twin brother, Elurín, and a sister, Elwing. You know what became of her. And so Elrond your dear friend is also your nephew and your heir, a fact which I hope may bring you some measure of peace. Of you and your brother I shall now relate.

When my brothers and I sent word asking for—well, I suppose demanding is really the correct word—the return of the Silmaril and heard nothing in return, I hoped that Dior would at least expect an attack and evacuate Menegroth. This was not to be, and when Dior slew my brother Celegorm, a few of his followers, blinded by hate and rage, retaliated in the cruelest way they knew how. They took you and your brother—Elwing they could not find—and left you in the woods. Your intended fate you can imagine.

When I heard what they had done, I slew them and went searching for you. It was the dead of winter, and the woods were treacherous with snow and ice and things that are not spoken of in the Blessed Realm. When I found you, you were huddled in the hollow of a dead tree, barely alive and crying for your brother. He lay at the bottom of a nearby ravine with his neck at an angle. He was surely dead, and you would have soon joined him had I not found you then. I warmed you, garbed you in my own cloak, and sent you to the one place I hoped would remain safe. I told no one but the messenger I sent you with, a woman long in my service and whom I had trusted with my own life more than once. She died at Sirion, and thus with me our secret passed beyond knowledge into the West.

Maedhros paused there, releasing a deep breath he felt he’d been holding for thousands of years. So now he had explained that facts. But how could he ever explain? How could he justify the panic that had gripped him, covered in his little brothers’ blood, as Gil-galad’s tiny, half-frozen body curled in tight against his own? In that moment he had been pierced by the distinct feeling, as cold and clear as the winter sun above, that seeing this child to safety was the only important thing in the whole of Arda. What other justification was there, besides—“I did what any father would have done”?

Forgive me for what I did. You have, it seems, forgiven me for Sirion, but if you cannot find it in your heart to forgive me for Doriath, at least forgive me for concealing your identity. I feared for your life if my brothers’ followers learned that you lived. I feared they would try to complete what their compatriots had started, either before you reached Círdan or when you reached manhood. I feared, I suppose, that if they knew, if you were found out, you would be running all your life. I sometimes wondered if I made the right decision.

But when Gondolin fell, and the mantle of High King passed to you, I knew there was no going back. I could not risk open rebellion while your reign was still young and fragile. Then—

Then the Oath had awoken again, and Sirion was burning before Maedhros knew what he was doing. In Elrond and Elros, despite his initial reticence to keep them, he had recognized the chance to start over, to do things right this time. To repair a little of the damage he had done. But all too soon came war like even Maedhros had never known before, and the Oath clawed at him, shredding him apart until it was there was nothing left of himself and the Oath was all that remained. Of the end he remembered little but a pain so strong it numbed and a gaping maw in the earth to match what he felt in his heart.

—it was too late. But I do not think there is any harm done by a small reinterpretation of the truth that heals instead of harms. Perhaps it was fate, a little tweak in the fabric of history, or perhaps Námo really does have a sense of humor. You were born to be king, after all. And as it so happened, we Noldor had need of one. It seems you have done a good job of it. Were I your sire, I could not be prouder.

Here Maedhros stopped again, making to sign the letter. But it still felt incomplete. He turned Fingon’s old words over in his mind anew—it’s not enough to say you’re sorry. You have to make amends. Maedhros thought of the little boy he had once cradled in his arms. It had been the first time he’d held a child in centuries. What choice would he make now, if he had to do it all over again, knowing what he knew?

I have been told that guilt without action is a selfish emotion. That it turns our thoughts inwards, rather than out towards the world we must seek to repair. I think, when I found you, for a brief moment I was able to transcend that guilt. I saw clearly that the duty of your protection fell to me, and me alone. I felt then what I felt for my own foster-sons when I sent them to stay with Círdan—I wanted to spare you the doom we had wrought for ourselves. Perhaps it is a strange sentiment, but not, it seems, unwelcome by you. I was good with children, you know, what with so many little brothers and cousins to look after. I think I was not so bad with my own sons. You are grown now, but I think perhaps there is still a chance to do right by you, as I did by them.

Besides, there are not so many kings of the Noldor from whom you could have inherited that silver hair.

I wish you every happiness to be found in Middle-Earth—would that I could have known your new world, and shared those joys with you. If you will have me, it would be my honor to be called

Your father,

Maedhros

#scion of kings #my fic #silm fic #silm #silmarillion #the silmarillion #tolkien fic #tolkien #maedhros #gil-galad

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slugmanslime · 7 years ago

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I’ll Tell You What I Want! (Ch. 1)

hey guys its late im so SO tired but i sat down and wrote this bc its been on my mind all day tell me what you think im exhausted i love you all this is a fairytale AU, based loosely off of Rumpelstiltskin, so just bear that in mind

EDIT: I am reposting this because I changed a crucial point of the storyline and I think it is way better now.

Pairings: Bog King/Marianne, Dawn/Sunny Warnings: Eventual Infidelity, Violence, Possible Smut, Heartbreak, Bog is a bitter Magic Hoe Word Count: 2660 Chapter: 1 / ???

The kingdom of Hearthmark was sprawling, dotted with villages, markets, valleys and meadows as far as the eye can see. For a millenium, the Fallow family had ruled Hearthmark with a gentle and knowing hand, negotiating their way out of wars and arbitrating expansive treaties that brought harmony to the kingdom, and fruitful years of trade to the markets. Heathmark’s economy flourished, the kingdom expanded, and the people thrived under King Dagda and Queen Carmen’s rule. The citizens of Heathmark lived in harmony with each other, harvesting their plentiful crops as they kept each other company year in and year out as life was plentiful and plain and happy.

Bog hated plentiful and plain and happy.

Bog King, Bog of the Black Oak, sorcerer and heir to a legend, was one of the only denizen’s of the Dark Forest encompassed the perimeter of Hearthmark that acted as a natural border between the gentle people, the supernatural, and the burdens of warm and unrest roiling in other countries. The gloomy woods were filled with fascinating but often dangerous mythical creatures that would prefer not to be disturbed, Bog being one of them. Once upon a time, Bog’s parents were seen as useful to the kingdom, and his mother Griselda, along with him and his father, lived a comfortable life in service of the crown. But those years were long gone, as was his father, taken too soon by an illness that not even Griselda the Great could cure. Bog’s mother, a powerful witch with a secretly kind heart, was his only constant company now, something that he couldn’t help but appreciate and yet he loathed, especially at times such as this.

“Bog, deary, you realize that the winter solstice is tomorrow? You really oughta check the hens, you know how they despise the cold!” Griselda’s voice grated through his thoughts, stirring him away from the shelf of ingredients he was organizing. She herself was busy clucking around their little cottage, dusting and folding articles of light clothing away into an empty closet. She was busy preparing them for the coming winter storms, and had spent the past two weeks jarring vegetables, patching thick coats and pants, and ensuring that their chickens and goats were well prepared for the weather. Not to be left out, Bog was there to do her heavy lifting and any other menial task he could be cowed into. Heaving a great sigh, Bog gathered his coat and shrugged it on, snatching a basket from beside the doorway when a flurry of sudden knocks stopped the pair in their tracks. Bog paused and glanced over his shoulder to meet Griselda’s curious stare, before the knocking interrupted them once more, sounding increasingly urgent.

A visitor… in the Dark Forest? A visitor? Travelling through this kind of weather? These questions and more bounced around his head as he dropped the basket and opted for the enchanted staff he kept by the door for protection.

With his guard up, Bog unlatched the door, revealing the most petite, anxious, and beautiful young woman he had ever laid eyes on. Perhaps that was speaking too rashly, but then again, Bog didn't have much experience with the outside world. The young women dropped her fist to her side limply, clearly unsure of her intentions after being met with such an imposing figure. They engaged in a staring contest, challenging and questioning in the same moment. The young lady was obviously bundled against the cold but carried nothing with her but a small satchel, speaking to her confidence that she could make this trip a short one.

Removing the small cap she had donned for the trip, the visitor gazed at him with a look brimming with excitement tempered by uncertainty, causing him to quirk an unruly brow. A halo of chocolate curls framed her face in cute pixie licks, with searching hazel eyes framed in long lashes stabbing him straight through his chest with the intensity that they trained on him. The lovely stranger was dressed in finely tailored traveler’s clothes and thick boots absolutely caked with snow, speaking to her wealth and making the sorcerer even more curious about what she possibly thought to gain by making a dangerous trip out here.It was the dead of night now, and it had been snowing since dawn.

Bog swallowed thickly, forcing himself to read into a situation that he had seen one to many times. She was a lovely thing, and they were known to be skilled with magic. Why else would someone as fragile and important as herself journey to their home, unless it was with a request for their services? A scowl of disappointment colored his features and he regarded her in a manner that mirrored the chilly weather she had just traversed.

“Aye, traveller, don’ go knockin down me door now. Winter approaches swiftly. Ye must be lost, so far from the Hearth.” Tall and broad Bog leaned against his staff in the doorway, exuding contempt and trying to appear bored. His figure was lean from tending to their crops and livestock, and he towered over the petite woman shivering before him.

“Sir, please… I’m not lost, if you would tell me your name. I am Marianne Fallow… Crown Princess of Hearthmark. I come with an urgent request… please, hear me.” Having finally revealed herself, Marianne pressed her hands together against her chest breathlessly. She carried an aura with her, one of strength but innocence, as if she sought out the best in people. Her eyes were clear and bright, full of good intentions without the life experience to judge them. It nearly made Bog sick to his stomach. Before he could turn her away, his mother’s voice drifted from inside.

“Bog, who is it? Don’t just stand there, it’s cold as all get out, bring them inside!”

The already-exhausted sorcerer growled in frustration but after one last tense moment of silence, he took a step back and motion for her to enter. “Please, do come in.” Of course, while it might have been phrased nicely, the implorement was dripping with sarcasm. Marianne eyes flashed with something hot but she only warred with herself for a moment before schooling her expression into something polite and appreciative as she crept inside the cottage.

Griselda did a double take when she saw the princess and nearly tripped over herself trying to make introductions. The witch was tiny, withered with age, but that did nothing to curb her enthusiasm at having someone as pretty and tough as Marianne in her home. How hard it was to play matchmaker when her son insisted they hole themselves up out here in these god-forsaken woods! Grinning widely, she took Marianne’s hand and drew her closer to the fireplace as she drenched her in a torrent of conversation.

“Oh goodness me, deary, you must be frozen to the core a delicate little thing like you out in this cold! Come by the fire, let’s get you warmed up. Are you hungry deary, I’ve got a delicious stew on right now, it’ll be done here in just a few minutes. Where are you from, what brings you here at this time of year, oooh it must be something important, I know it! Haven’t you--”

“MAM. The lady can’t get a word in edgewise with all yer yammerin’. Let her speak, please.” Bog had taken residence against the door, his back pressed to it with slender arms crossed over his chest. The staff stood at his side like a loyal guard, ready for action at any moment. Dark ebony locks, a curious shade between tawny and black, curled upon his head like a crown of thorns while sharp blue eyes reminiscent of a clear sky in summer burned a hole through his (unwanted) guest. Marianne was bewitched for a moment, taken aback by just how young and… strong, this legendary sorcerer was. She took a deep breath to collect her thoughts, forcefully tearing her eyes away from his in an attempt to gather courage, and she spoke.

“Bog… as in Bog of the Black Oak?” Marianne had to ask without looking, lest she lose her train of thought again, and instead turned her eyes on his mother. “And his sorceress mother, Griselda the Great?”

They had very different reactions, with Bog hissing in disdain and Griselda preening under Marianne’s curiosity. Hoisting himself off of the door, Bog stalked between the two women over to the fire and crouched to add another log. Distrust drew his body taught, and it grated on his nerves to have his back to this stranger. With every word she spoke, his assumptions were proved right, and boy did that put him in a bad mood. He was so young when he left Hearthmark (relatively speaking) that he found it hard to remember what a sense of community felt like, what friendship and comradery felt like. Griselda was privy enough to her son’s attitude’s to know that he was upset, and she placed her other hand on his shoulder. Bog seemed to visibly relax, if only minutely, and Marianne watched the exchange quietly. This Bog man, he was not very similar to the stories she had heard as a child. The firelight softened the harsh edge of his cheekbones and jaw, making him look almost afraid. This couldn’t be the man so hungry for power that he was banished to the Dark Forest…

“I come to… request your services. Your feats are that of legend and I am humbled that you invited me into your home… Thank you very much for your kindness.” Marianne smiled softly, squeezing the hand that Griselda still held.

“My courage fails me, it seems. I have fallen in love with the man of my dreams, but I can’t seem to find my words when I’m around him, he is far too charming! Roland is a knight in service of my father, and is loved dearly by our subjects… myself included.” She took a moment and blushed very prettily as she looked for the proper words to convey her desire. “I would just hope that you might help me win his heart. Anything that you ask of me in return, you may have it.”

Griselda pondered Marianne’s request silently, glancing between the princess and her son, who was regarding the fire with a stony expression. The princess claimed to be in love, but it sounded more like infatuation to her. Not to mention… love potions were the reason that she and her son were here in the first place.

Bog clenched and unclenched his fists while the cogs in his brain turned. How could it be that a princess, especially one as lovely and forthcoming as her, could not win the love of someone, knight or not? Marianne was obviously kind if she would thank two strangers for keeping her warm even if they did it begrudgingly; she had to care a great deal for this knight as well if she was here, alone, in this weather. And yet, anything that they asked… in return for a love potion? A small but very bitter part of Bog’s heart thrummed at the thought, and paused to pick his words carefully before turning to the princess. The sorcerer stayed crouched, the shadows shifting on his face making him appear otherworldly and gaunt; Marianne’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

“You said anything, princess, is that what ye meant?” His eyes bored into hers with almost hypnotic amounts of energy. Marianne felt a wave of unease course through her but she stood her ground, nodding when her words failed her.

“There is a potion that I can craft, somethin’ guaranteed to win this knight’s… affection. I will teach ye how to use it. When yer lover is exposed to it’s magic, it’s nigh impossible fer them to not fall in love with the first person they see.” Bog stood, the flames returning its previously hoarded light to the cottage. “However… everythin’ comes at a price, me lady.” A wicked grin lit up his features, sharpening his electric blue stare that seemed to paralyze and terrorize Marianne for a moment.

“By using this potion, the one person ye hold closest to yer heart will be stripped of their ability to find love. Oh, aye, they will love their family, their friends, but…” Bog’s smile faded, a haunted look of sadness brushing over his features. “When someone falls in love with them, they cannot requite it, no matter how much they might want to. They will be damned to a life of fleeting, meaningless romance, leaving a string of broken hearts behind them as they suffer from an emptiness they cannot name nor fight.”

His monologue made her heart squeeze and her blood run cold. Marianne was stunned that someone could request something so utterly heartless, but an image of Roland rose unbidden in her mind’s eye. Gods above, he was so perfect; his smile, his golden hair, the way that he carried himself with such pride and confidence. A perfect romance in exchange for a loveless life for the person she cared most about? How could Marianne agree to something so heinous? Selfish… that’s what this goal was. Marianne would be queen one day-- is this something that she could live with on top of the stressors of managing a kingdom.

There was only one person this could affect… She let out a shuddering sigh, dropping her head and cradling it with her hands. There was no way… Dawn was such a bubbly, gorgeous person. If it was the last thing that she did, Marianne would make sure that Dawn could find someone to spend her life with.

Bog could see her resolve faltering and aimed to encourage her previously line of thinking. Griselda was… quiet for once; he did not dwell on that fact for very long. “Marianne… ye love Roland, donch ye? Yah know that the two of ye can be so happy… if yah just say yes.” That almost made Griselda peep-- this was going too far! She knew that Bog had been hurt before but this was something truly terrible. She kept her mouth firmly shut, thinking hard about the situation. Yes… yes, she could remedy this. Love is a tricky game, but one that she knew how to play well.

Marianne steeled herself and lifted her head, standing with her back ramrod straight anf fists clenched at her side. “Let me make this clear… You will make me a love potion, one guaranteed to work on Roland. But once I use it… the one dearest to me will never find love again?” Her heart was in her throat, and speaking the words around it was painful.

“Aye, Princess, that’d be the gist. So… what say ye?” Bog stood directly before her, offering his hand for a pact.

Marianne studied him for a moment, trying to clear her mind and buy herself some time. Bog of the Black Oak was not very sociable, but had enough wits about him to keep his manners in company. He did not take kindly to strangers, but still opened his home to her. Bog was stiff and uncertain when near her, as if he was not used to being close to people, or having friendly conversations. He was very different from his mother, who was endearing and lively even in her old age. Despite having very little experience with magic, the princess had a sense of naive confidence that she could make this deal work to her advantage. She couldn’t admit to herself that she was afraid, but pressured, having come so far and being unwilling to leave empty handed.

Marianne calmly placed her gloved hand in his grip, squeezing as they shook.

Dawn, please forgive me. I promise to make this right.

“Bog of the Black Oak… we have a deal.”

#strange magic #bog king #marianne #griselda #butterfly bog #itywiw

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tomorrowedblog · 3 years ago

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Friday Releases for June 11

Friday is the busiest day of the week for new releases, so we've decided to collect them all in one place. Friday Releases for June 11 include Ratchet & Clank: Rift Apart, Game Builder Garage, Betty S2, and more.

Rogue Hostage

Rogue Hostage, the new movie from Jon Keeyes, is out today.

Rogue Hostage follows single father and former Marine Kyle Snowden (Tyrese Gibson), who is struggling to adjust to life with PTSD. On a routine stop for his job in Child Protective Services, Kyle finds himself and a group of innocent customers trapped inside his stepfather’s store during a hostile take-over by militant maniac Eagan Raize. Disturbing details emerge about Eagan’s violent vendetta against Kyle’s stepfather, Congressman Sam Nelson (John Malkovich), threatening the lives of everyone inside, including the Congressman and Kyle’s young daughter. In a race against time, Kyle must battle against the terrorists as well as his personal demons to secure the store and save everyone.

Holler

Holler, the new movie from Nicole Riegel, is out today.

In a forgotten pocket of Southern Ohio where American manufacturing and opportunities are drying up, a determined young woman finds a ticket out when she is accepted to college. Alongside her older brother, Ruth Avery joins a dangerous scrap metal crew in order to pay her way. Together, they spend one brutal winter working the scrap yards during the day and stealing valuable metal from the once thriving factories at night. With her goal in sight, Ruth finds that the ultimate cost for an education for a girl like her may be more than she bargained for, and she soon finds herself torn between a promising future and the family she would leave behind.

Skater Girl

Skater Girl, the new movie from Manjari Makijany, is out today.

When a teen in rural India discovers a life-changing passion for skateboarding, she faces a rough road as she follows her dream to compete.

Censor

Censor, the new movie from Prano Bailey-Bond, is out today.

When film censor Enid (Niamh Algar) discovers an eerie horror video that speaks directly to her sister’s mysterious disappearance, she resolves to unravel the puzzle behind the film and its enigmatic director – a quest that will blur the lines between fiction and reality in terrifying ways.

In The Heights

In The Heights, the new movie from Jon M. Chu, is out today.

Lights up on Washington Heights… The scent of a cafecito caliente hangs in the air just outside of the 181st Street subway stop, where a kaleidoscope of dreams rallies this vibrant and tight-knit community. At the intersection of it all is the likeable, magnetic bodega owner Usnavi (Anthony Ramos), who saves every penny from his daily grind as he hopes, imagines and sings about a better life.

Betty S2

The second season of Betty, the TV series from Crystal Moselle, is out today.

In Betty, a diverse group of young women navigates their lives through the male-dominated world of skateboarding in New York City.

Love, Victor S2

The second season of Love, Victor, the TV series from Isaac Aptaker and Elizabeth Berger, is out today.

The series follows Victor, a new student at Creekwood High School on his own journey of self-discovery, facing challenges at home, adjusting to a new city and exploring his sexual orientation. When it all seems too much, he reaches out to Simon to help him navigate the ups and downs of high school.

Home Before Dark S2

The second season of Home Before Dark, the TV series from Dana Fox and Dara Resnik, is out today.

A conspiracy coverup, a mysterious illness, and dying birds. Hilde Lisko will stop at nothing to uncover Erie Harbor’s secrets.

Lupin S2

The second season of Lupin, the TV series from George Kay, is out today.

Assane’s quest for revenge against Hubert Pellegrini has torn his family to pieces. With his back to the wall, he now has to think of a new plan, even if it means putting himself in danger.

Ratchet & Clank: Rift Apart

Ratchet & Clank: Rift Apart, the new game from Insomniac Games, is out today.

Go dimension-hopping with Ratchet and Clank as they take on an evil emperor from another reality. Jump between action-packed worlds and beyond at mind-blowing speeds – complete with dazzling visuals and an insane arsenal – as the intergalactic adventurers blast onto the PS5 console.

Game Builder Garage

Game Builder Garage, the new game from Nintendo, is out today.

Learning something new is like gaining a real-life power-up!

Game Builder Garage helps you understand the basics of visual programming in a fun, memorable way.

With your new power-up, you just might look at the video games and apps you enjoy every day in a different way. Continue learning to power yourself up even further!

Wave Break

Wave Break, the new game from Funktronic Labs, is out today.

Wave Break is the world's first skateBOATING game, inspired by arcade skateboarding classics. Grind, grab, kickflip and shoot your way through an explosive 80s crime-filled Miami Vice themed world.

#Games #Movies #TV #News

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seiqn · 3 years ago

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i swear im not emo

hokus pokus- insane clown posse

hello kitty- jazmine bean

to catch a predator- insane clown posse

drift away omnichord- mars bars

action winter journey- nero's day at disneyland

child protective services theme song- nero's day at disneyland

run run!- jorge aguilar II

f slur skfjkdf- mindless self indulgence

magical doctor- maretu

La llorona- coco KFJDJF

uh tagging- @youraveragemii@thevalleyoftriumph@moltergeist and @milosdumb and anyone who sees this is free to participate

you can usually tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to. put your favorite playlist on shuffle and list the first ten songs then tag ten people! no skipping!

ooooooookay let’s go let’s do it thanks for the tags @remuslupingf and @dykesiriusblack

from my liked songs because… where else would I keep my favourite music?

Russian — Caravan Palace

First Love / Late Spring — Mitski

Seven Nation Army — The White Stripes

Kiss Me Now — UPSAHL

Life Itself — Glass Animals

June — Florence + The Machine

RUNAWAY — half•alive

Der Kommissar - 7" Version — After The Fire

Blue Monday ‘88 — New Order

Jenny — Studio Killers

@moth-rothko @blitheringmcgonagall @dead-james-potter @trouvailleamor @min-blogg @acciorxses @rwbel-r3bel @remuslupininskirts @billsfangearring @thebattlehamster but like no pressure!

#rb #im not emo i swear guys #you gotta believe me

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mahi-does-some-art · 5 years ago

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1, 2, 3, 14 and 20 >:3

>:3

1. Three songs that come up when you put your phone on shuffle

- Exorcism by Creep-P

- 911 by Ellise

- Sister's mercY (I have no idea who made the song, it's Vocaloid lmao)

2. Last three songs you listened to

- Teeth by 5 Seconds Of Summer

- Cult Of Dionysus by The Orion Experience

- My Nocturnal Serenade by Yohio

3. Last three songs you were recently obsessed with

- Child Protection Services by Nero's Day at Disneyland

- Action Winter Journey by Nero's Day at Disneyland

- Angry Too by Lola Blanc

14. Three songs you want at your wedding

- Devil Town by Cavetown

- Cult Of Dionysus (Because it's a bop and I love it)

- Monster by KIRA

20. Three songs that remind you of the person who sent this

- Let Me Down Slowly by Alec Benjamin

- This Is Home by Cavetown

- Darkside by Alan Walker

#thank you for sending an ask!#🧡🧡🧡#4u by blackbear is also a good song I like #ask meme #ask thing #songs #thank u hun!#cloud-ya

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circe-poetica · 6 years ago

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My stones: Aquamarine

Introduction to the Meaning and Uses of Aquamarine

Aquamarine evokes the purity of crystalline waters, and the exhilaration and relaxation of the sea. It is calming, soothing, and cleansing, and inspires truth, trust and letting go. In ancient lore, Aquamarine was believed to be the treasure of mermaids, and was used by sailors as a talisman of good luck, fearlessness and protection. It was also considered a stone of eternal youth and happiness. [Simmons, 49] Today it protects all who travel by, over, or near water, and opens the channels of clear and heartfelt communication.

The name Aquamarine comes from the Latin aqua marinus, meaning "water of the sea," and refers to its sparkling ocean-like color. The pale blue, transparent crystal is a member of the Beryl family. Its color, sometimes bluish green, is caused by iron oxides within the chemical makeup of the stone. Ancient seer considered it to be under the influence of the moon, an orb exerting very great magnetic influence. Present day supporters of crystal-gazing suggest that when using an Aquamarine to view coming events, do so when the moon is increasing. The magnetism of the moon on the included iron oxides will strengthen the stone's forecasting ability.

Aquamarine embodies all things connected to the sea, as well as those things relating to Heaven reflected on the surface of the water. It becomes a mirror, reflecting itself indefinitely, making it possible to discover hidden meanings of reality. As a stone of symmetries, it is conducive for meditation and revelation, a stone of prophets, shamans, healers, and mystics. It also allows us to explore the darkest depths of our souls, face to face with ourselves, and with others.[Megemont, 31-32]

Aquamarine is the blue variety of Beryl, though the Beryl family forms in other colors used as gems, such as green Emerald, yellow Heliodor and Golden Beryl, pink Morganite, Red Beryl or Bixbite, and the colorless variety, Goshenite.

Aquamarine Uses and Purposes - Overview

Associated with the Throat chakra, Aquamarine helps overcome the fear of speaking, and is an excellent stone for teachers and presenters of all types. It relaxes speakers to a stage of consciousness in which they are fully aware of their own truths, wisdom and feelings, and able to articulate them with clarity and conviction. It also allows one to speak clearly and without anger in difficult situations. [Simmons, 49][Ahsian, 50]

Aquamarine accelerates the intellectual reasoning processes and enhances the ability for rapid response. It makes one unconquerable through learning, not only about the physical world, but about oneself. [Melody, 128] It bestows perseverance, discipline and light heartedness. [Gienger, 16]

Aquamarine encourages the ideal of service to the world and to the development of a humanity attuned to healing. It emits a gentle and compassionate energy, promoting moderation and responsibility for ones' actions. It inspires judgmental people to be more tolerant, and helps those overwhelmed by responsibility to find order. [Melody, 129][Hall, 68]

A stone of natural justice, Aquamarine utilizes compromise and negotiation, and gives quiet courage and clear reasoned words in confrontational situations. Pass Aquamarine over any written complaints you receive or before you send any out, wear or carry Aquamarine when visiting your child's school because of a complaint, or when resolving neighborhood disputes over parking or boundaries. [Eason, 218]

As a travel crystal, greenish blue Aquamarine protects those who journey by sea, alleviating the fear of water, and guards those involved in any long-haul travel such as flying or driving long distances. [Eason, 42] It is a good stone for learning to swim. [Eason, 218]

As a love crystal, pale blue Aquamarine encourages a lover to return, helps two people with different lifestyles to live together in harmony, and reduces the effects of sensitive issues that cause quarrels. [Eason, 43] Aquamarine is often given as a love token or eternity ring, and increases commitment and fidelity "as long as the waters of the earth flow." [Eason, 218]

Aquamarine Physical Healing Energy

Aquamarine is a stone of breath, the respiratory tract, and the lungs. It can heal sinus conditions and frequent coughing, and is effective for hay fever and other chronic allergies. [Megemont, 32][Gienger, 16] It relieves colds and bronchitis. [Eason, 218]

Aquamarine is a cooling stone, countering infections and useful for laryngitis, strep throat or a sore throat. [Ahsian, 50] It harmonizes the pituitary and thyroid glands, regulating hormones and growth. [Hall, 68][Gienger, 16] It is beneficial for teeth and gum problems. [Eason, 218]

It supports the healing of inflammatory diseases of all kinds, and is soothing to eczema, hives, rosacea and psoriasis. It may also help prevent outbreaks of herpes. [Ahsian, 50] Some skin diseases caused by allergies may be cured by Aquamarine, and can complement the treatment for shingles. [Megemont, 32]

Tired eyes and some vision problems can be relieved if Aquamarine is placed on the eyelids for 20 minutes every night. Placed on the solar plexus, it will calm nervous spasms. [Megemont, 32]

Aquamarine Emotional Healing Energy

Aquamarine is a Water element stone, powerful for cleansing the emotional body and opening communication. Its gentle energy brings emotional patterns to the surface and assists in understanding the reason for holding onto old thoughts or patterns that are limiting forward motion. It also identifies where ego is causing one to overreact, assume a victim/abuser role, manipulate others, or martyr oneself. By consciously releasing these patterns, it allows for better relationships, love and compassion. [Ashian, 50]

Aquamarine helps balance excessive anger or fear, and clears past emotional, physical or verbal abuse. It is an excellent stone for children who have been through traumatic situations and are acting out aggressively or who have disassociated from their emotional bodies. [Ahsian, 50] It heals the effects of over-judgmental parents who set impossible standards, and panic attacks lingering from guilt and inadequacy into adulthood. [Eason, 218]

Aquamarine is useful for moving through transition and change, its cleansing energy removing resistance and helping one overcome fear of the unknown. It helps not only in the release of emotional baggage, but the clearing out of physical items and clutter. [Ahsian, 50]

Aquamarine Chakra Healing and Balancing Energy

Aquamarine is perhaps the strongest stone for clearing and activating the Throat Chakra. It stimulates energy from the heart to the throat, allowing one's deepest and heartfelt truth to be communicated. [Ahsian, 50]

The Throat Chakra is the voice of the body, a pressure valve that allows the energy from the other chakras to be expressed. If it is blocked or out of balance, it can affect the health of the other chakras. In balance, it allows for the expression of what we think and what we feel. We can communicate our ideas, beliefs, and emotions. When the throat chakra is in balance and open, we can bring our personal truth out into the world. We have an easy flow of energy within the body and spirit. The energy that springs upward from the lower chakras can continue its path enabling free expression and natural release.

Aquamarine Spiritual Energy

Aquamarine is a stone of empowerment, for men and women alike. It helps in the realization that not all power comes from force. There is also power in aligning with the yielding, resilient vitality of life, and in promoting truthful and compassionate communication. It lends women the courage to express their inner knowing and enhances their intuitive abilities, and helps dispel the emotional numbness and difficulty men sometimes experience in communicating their feelings. [Simmons, 49]

Aquamarine can be used as a gateway crystal to the Divine Feminine, both within the self, and in Her outer manifestations. [Simmons, 49]

Aquamarine Color Energy

Pale blue Aquamarine is the color of the winter sky giving way to spring. As the sun moves higher each day, it marks the beginning of life and emotion, helping us reflect on, question, and relax in our acceptance of the life we have. Light blue talismans help us develop patience, reconcile differences, or seek forgiveness. They're excellent for recovery efforts from addictions or destructive patterns, aid in curbing tempers, and help us become more dependable and cheerful. Light blue crystals also assist in dealing with grief, letting go of the past, and curing guilt.

Aquamarine in pale turquoise shades provides a fresh, welcome energy that moves us to serenity as new growth and life emerges. It brings hope, discovery and balance. It returns us to center. In lighter shades, Turquoise energy promotes inner harmony and peace through spiritual understanding.

Meditation with Aquamarine

Aquamarine is an excellent crystal for meditation and the awakening of paranormal abilities. It is helpful in inducing revelations, and some traditions claim it is possible to see your guardian angel through an Aquamarine crystal when it points to the north. [Megemont, 32]

Aquamarine Divination

The Divinatory meaning of Aquamarine: Go with what is on offer rather than waiting for the ideal opportunity or time. [Eason, 218]

Dreaming of Aquamarine indicates new friends. [Kunz, 358]

#aquamarine #throat chackra #crystals

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jacquelinezalgo · 5 years ago

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O Dios, aquí solo habrá pura wea rara xdxd, pensé que era la única que escuchaba Bo en My Time xdxd, me sorprendes miss cry

Ora' si, a lo que vienen, mi top 10 de canciones que más escucho de mi lista, osiosi

° Action Winter Journey - Nero's day at Disneyland

°Alma, Corazón y Vida - Frank Reyes (gracias lubay, me la pegaste xdxd)

°Blood//Water - Grandson

°Body - Mother Mother

°Child Protective Services - Nero's day at Disneyland

°Happy Pills - Weathers

°La llorona - Natalia Lafourcade

°Merry go round of life - Howls Moving Castle

°Je Vous Salue Marie - Ángelus (no pregunten, esta wea es cristiana alv)

°Cradles - Sub Urban

Y una más porque no la quiero dejar fuera úwù

°The other Side of Paradise - Glass Animals

No mms, pura pinche wea rara escucho xdxd

Todos los que leyeron está madre, ya se chingaron, están nominados alv

music tag! list 10 songs you’re obsessed with

tagged by @cookiescr !!! thank you friend!!!

Hideaway by Grace Vanderwaal

A Different Kind of Human by AURORA

Lemon Boy by Cavetown

Itsuka Suteki na Tabi from Tanoshii Muumin Ikka

Ready Now from Moominvalley

The Seed by AURORA

The River by AURORA

Daydreamer by AURORA

Omajinai no Uta from Tanoshii Muumin Ikka

Not There Yet by Eric Hutchinson

tagging: @senpika @sprinkles4lunch @theunluckyturtle @gayymomgod @joxterstudies

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dracodaiir · 5 years ago

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topworldhistory · 5 years ago

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From elaborate disguises to communicating in code to fighting back, enslaved people found multiple paths to freedom.

Despite the horrors of slavery, it was no easy decision to flee. Escaping often involved leaving behind family and heading into the complete unknown, where harsh weather and lack of food might await.

Then there was the constant threat of capture. So-called slave catchers and their dogs roamed both sides of the Mason-Dixon line, nabbing runaways—and sometimes free blacks like Solomon Northup—and transporting them back to the plantation, where they would be whipped, beaten, branded or killed.

Yet those willing to brave the risks did have one main ally: the Underground Railroad, a vast, loosely organized network of constantly-changing routes that guided slaves to freedom.

All told, in the decades preceding the Civil War, up to 100,000 slaves escaped. Some went to Mexico or Spanish-controlled Florida or hid out in the wilderness. Most, though, traveled to the Northern free states or Canada.

Harriet Tubman, circa 1860s.

1: Getting Help

No matter how courageous or clever, few slaves threw off their shackles without at least some outside help. Assistance could be as slight as clandestine tips, passed by word of mouth, on how to get away and who to trust. The luckiest, however, followed so-called “conductors,” such as Harriet Tubman, who, after escaping slavery in 1849, devoted herself fully to the Underground Railroad.

In about 13 trips back to the Eastern Shore of Maryland, where she had been brutally mistreated as an enslaved child, Tubman rescued some 70 people, mostly family and friends. Like her fellow conductors, Tubman cultivated a network of collaborators, including so-called “stationmasters,” who stashed her charges in barns and other safe houses along the way.

Tubman knew the Maryland landscape inside and out, generally following the North Star or rivers that snaked north. She knew which authorities were susceptible to bribes. And she knew how to communicate—and gather intelligence—without being caught.

She would, for example, sing certain songs, or mimic an owl, to signify when it was time to escape and when it was too dangerous to come out of hiding. She also mailed coded letters and sent along messengers.

2: Timing

Over the years, Tubman developed certain extra strategies for keeping her pursuers at arm’s length. For one, she usually operated in winter, when longer nights allowed her to cover more ground. She also preferred leaving on Saturday, knowing that no runaway slave notices would appear in the newspaper until Monday (since there was no paper on Sunday.)

Tubman carried a pistol, both for protection and to intimidate those in her care who considered turning back. In addition, she brought drugs with her, using them when a baby’s cries threatened to give away her group’s position. “I never ran my train off the track,” Tubman would later state, “and I never lost a passenger.”

Harriet Tubman: Soldier/Spy (TV-PG; 2:23)

3: Disguises and Hiding

To return again and again to Maryland, Tubman often relied on disguises, dressing as a man, an elderly woman, or a middle-class free black depending on the situation. Her fellow conductors made similar use of costumes. They might, for example, enter a plantation posing as a slave in order to round up a group of escapees.

Conductors also needed disguises, or at least nicer clothes, for the charges in their care: They couldn’t very well flee in tattered slave rags without attracting unwanted attention.

Some sartorial efforts bordered on genius. In Georgia, a light-skinned female slave posed as an injured white gentleman, with bandages on her face and her right arm in a sling, while her darker-skinned husband pretended to be under her possession. Traveling openly by train and boat, they survived several close calls and ultimately made it to the North.

Frederick Douglass likewise escaped slavery hiding in plain sight. Boarding a train dressed as a sailor, he flashed a sailor’s protection pass, borrowed from an accomplice, to fool the conductor. “Had the conductor looked closely at the paper,” Douglass would later write, “he could not have failed to discover that it called for a very different looking person from myself.”

By contrast, other runaways took extreme measures to conceal themselves. Desperate to avoid her master’s unwanted sexual advances, one slave hid for seven years in an attic crawlspace. Another lodged himself inside a wooden crate and shipped himself from Richmond, Virginia, to abolitionists in Philadelphia.

4: Codes, Secret Pathways

The Underground Railroad scarcely existed in the Deep South, from which very few slaves escaped. Though pro-slavery sentiment wasn’t quite as strong in the Border States, those who abetted slaves there nonetheless faced the constant threat of being ratted out by their neighbors and punished by the authorities.

They therefore took great pains to keep their operations secret, which they did, in part, by communicating in code. A stationmaster, for example, might receive a letter referring to incoming fugitives as “bundles of wood” or a “parcel.” The words “French leave” indicated a sudden departure, whereas “patter roller” entailed a slave hunter.

On occasion, runaways might use a secret chamber or secret pathway, which would come to epitomize the Underground Railroad in the popular imagination.

Harriet Tubman, far left, with family and neighbors at her home in Auburn, NY, circa 1887.

5: Buying Freedom

For much of its length, though, the Underground Railroad operated openly and brazenly, despite the passage of the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act, which mandated harsh punishments for those found to have aided runaways. Some stationmasters claimed to have hosted thousands of fugitive slaves and very much publicized their actions.

A former slave-turned-stationmaster in Syracuse, New York, even referred to himself in writing as the city’s “keeper of the Underground Railroad depot.”

Meanwhile, so-called “stockholders” raised money for the Underground Railroad, funding anti-slavery societies that provided ex-slaves with food, clothing, money, lodging and job-placement services.

At times, abolitionists would simply buy a slave’s freedom, as they did with Sojourner Truth. They also used the courts, suing, for example, to secure the release of Truth’s five-year-old son. Additionally, they fought to change public opinion, financing speeches by Truth and myriad other ex-slaves to bring the atrocities of bondage to light.

6. Fighting

When all else failed, Underground Railroad participants would occasionally form large groups to forcibly liberate fugitive slaves from captivity and intimidate slave catchers into returning home empty-handed. Perhaps not surprisingly, John Brown was among those who favored brute force.

Prior to his failed slave revolt in Harpers Ferry, Brown led a group of armed abolitionists into Missouri, where they rescued 11 slaves and killed a slave owner. Hotly pursued by pro-slavery forces, Brown then took the fugitives on a 1,500-mile journey through several states, finally depositing them safely in Canada.

from Stories - HISTORY https://ift.tt/34apVdM October 31, 2019 at 01:38AM

#Worldhistory

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