#and the war rages on lol

[kit-just-kit]

“Strip” -Alex :)

Strip meme!

As odd as it seemed, it was the first time she'd been present at an actually active crime scene. Usually, her analysis and investigations were performed solely by photo's - hundreds, sometimes thousands of them, of the minutest details that could, if you were lucky, let you temporarily overlook the visceral horror of the total tableau.

But here, in this oddly compelling setting, you didn't stand a change of forgetting anything. It slapped you around the face, dragged you kicking into it's gore and then spat you out along with your own disgust afterwards. And although her head was spinning and her stomach roiled more than it did the first time she'd rode the Corkscrew at Alton Towers when she was twelve, Kit would not give Detective Rollins the satisfaction of seeing her nauseated.

So she concentrated very hard as she walked away, counting her steps and breathing deeply, calmly, trying to focus on anything but the smell of blood. In fact, she did such a good job that she completely forgot to remove the PPE coverall she'd been obligated to put on prior to entering the room, prompting Rollins to come chasing after her, a smug and self-satisfied grin on his face as he'd taken hold of her arm, turned her and issued the one word command.

"Strip!".

Through muttereed grumbles, she did, leaving her in the slacks, t-shirt and blazer she'd worn that day while the blue, anti-contamination suit was crumpled up and all but thrown at him.

"There, Can I go now?".

[katerinaaqu]

I love it how everyone is so hyping over how sweet and romantic Achilles is or even his anger issues and rage but...can we all like talk more on how obsessed that kid was with human sacrifice?

I mean...he sacrifices 12 Trojans to the funeral pyre of Patroclus (and two of his dogs) and then demands Polyxena as his human sacrifice...

I feel no one remembers these 12 Trojans! Poor guys!

Patroclus from the afterlife be like: Dude...no!

[skyloftian-nutcase]

This prompt is your free ticket to write GanonDad stuff! I'll take anything as long as Ganon's being a good dad :3

Ganondorf had never seen the sea.

Some called the desert a sea, or said that it used to be one. All Ganondorf could see in the desert was death.

He'd heard tales of it when he visited Castle Town. People described it as endless, in varying shades of blue that could swallow one whole. It had sounded fantastical and exaggerated, powerful and enticing and so foreign he could hardly put a picture to it. It hadn't mattered all that much back then, once he'd realized the sea didn't have water that was actually drinkable - what use was it to him, then?

He'd learned of its depths when he met Nabooru. There was a teenager who went by that name in his barren wasteland, spunky and capable but defiant. But when he was brought to this new land through Din's blessing, he'd met someone of the same name who was far different. She was the Gerudo's chief.

She was more than just a chief, though, she was a queen. She didn't just lead a small group of thieves picking at scraps in the desert, she ruled over an entire civilization.

Ganondorf had challenged her, of course. He was the rightful ruler of the Gerudo, after all.

He'd lost.

Despite his anger, despite his attempt to overthrow her, Nabooru spared him, letting him stay in the outskirts of her capital city, Lagema.

Ganondorf felt frustration and jealousy boil his blood. He'd had the power of a goddess at the point of being executed by the sages, yet when he needed it now, Din stole it away from him. Instead, he was left to suffer the indignity of seeing a Gerudo prospering under someone else's rule.

It was almost as if Din did this just to show him he couldn't succeed. And he would not let that stand.

But the longer he lingered here, the more he saw of these people, the more he saw her...

The woman was bathed in power. She wore it like the fine silk head scarf she sometimes showcased for celebrations. Red, dripping in precious gems, jingling with every step from decorative jewelry all over her arms, her belly and hips, her ears, her wrists, and her ankles, strong in stance, muscles sculpted by the goddess Farore herself...

And her eyes. Bluer than the sky, infinite in their depths, drawing him in every time he looked at them, daring him to try her, calm and quiet and dangerous. They held the vastness and power that people spoke of in relation to the ocean, all encapsulated in such beauty.

He’d finally seen the sea. And it was breathtaking.

Ganondorf had never felt this way before. He didn't know what it was. He just wanted to get closer to her again. To fight her, to prove himself, to win.

It was maddening. It was invigorating.

It was far worse when those oceans actually looked at him, when they focused on him. He could hardly articulate himself sometimes when they started to speak, and he despised that. He stepped up more, became bolder, and as time passed, this woman became more than just a challenge; she became an adventure, and, eventually, a partner.

When their children had been born, he'd never suspected he'd find her ocean eyes in their little boy.

It was fascinating, beautiful to watch how their children reflected them. Hemisi bore her mother's facial structure paired her father's amber eyes and leaf shaped ears. Merovar was the spitting image of his father, but with his mother's eyes, captivating in their blue. They didn't reflect the silent power that his mother bore, though - they were ravenous, hunting for whatever his ambitious heart could reach, just like his father. Despite this, though, Hemisi was the one with true fire, rambunctious and temperamental and the superior warrior.

His twins were his world. He’d never been so utterly overrun by so many emotions, so dedicated to others. He’d build and destroy kingdoms for them.

Many moons after their birth, Ganondorf found his son on the balcony of their palace, staring out at the night sky. The streets of Lagema were still vaguely splashed with color from the festival, though the harsh winds and sands were slowly washing it away, bringing a drab tan back to the world as they prepared for the moment of truth.

The world was silent in anticipation. Hemisi was fast asleep, having let her father carry her to bed after he'd told her and Orik a story. Nabooru was gathering forces in the other settlements. Orik was resting, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

Merovar glanced at Ganondorf with his ocean eyes, blue coloring near black in the darkness, face uncharacteristically worried.

"What is it?" the Gerudo king asked quietly.

Merovar sighed, looking away. "The assault. It's going to change everything."

"For the better," Ganondorf pointed out. "Don't tell me you're having reservations like Hemisi."

Hemisi had argued time and again that they didn't need the Triforce, that an ancient sacred relic didn't matter because they had what they needed. Nabooru looked at it more as a potential threat if relations between the Gerudo and Hyrule broke down.

Ganondorf saw an opportunity. He'd desired this power most of his life. Once he'd learned of its existence here, he'd renewed his search for it. Merovar had seemed on board.

"I... don't know," his son finally said, looking at his hands resting on the balcony railing. "Such power is... I want it. But we're going to start a war."

"Not necessarily," Ganondorf assured him with a rumble of satisfied amusement in his chest. "They won't stand a chance against us once we have it. It'll be a skirmish at best."

"And then?" Merovar asked, glancing back at him for guidance. "Will we really rule over it all?"

Ganondorf rested his hand on his boy's shoulder. "Yes, we will. All of Hyrule will be ours."

Finally. The winds of Hyrule would belong to him and his family.

His children. He'd share this prosperity with them. He'd protect them with it. His entire life, Ganondorf had been looked to for safety and guidance - it had been an expectation a s a burden. But now, he finally felt... happy to give it.

He moved his hand to sweep up and down his son's back briefly, a promise of love and a reassurance. Merovar relaxed under the touch, smiling a little, excitement glittering in his blue eyes like stars in the night sky.

But it hadn't gone that way. The Triforce had fractured, the world had gone awry, and war had broken out.

And one by one, his family had fallen apart.

Nabooru had turned against him. They'd fought, and she'd died. Ganondorf repeated over and over that she had started it, that she had attacked him. His hands didn't tremble as much anymore thinking about it. Instead, all he felt was rage.

The rage grew when Merovar fell in battle. When Hemisi was captured and subsequently betrayed him. His grief was inconsolable, dying heart replaced with a furnace of pure hatred. He didn't even see the fear in his little girl's eyes anymore when he fought her, Link, and the queen that final day.

Yet time and torture had a way of cooling such hatred. Solitude brought contemplation. But resentment, fear, hurt remained.

And on a battlefield millennia later, Ganondorf froze at the sight of blue cutting through a sea of armor.

A blue scarf. Just like Link. A fierce cry of rage. Just like Hemisi.

And those ocean eyes. Just like Merovar, like Nabooru.

That day, Ganondorf saw the sea once more.

[vaguely-concerned]

I don't know what I love more, the fact that as rook you can make a statement in NO uncertain terms that you are NOT responsible one way or the other for the theological implications of the shit you're discovering in the 'regrets of the dread wolf' memories. not my jurisdiction. quite simply none of my business. not my chantry circus not my chantry monkeys. irrelevant to the matter at hand here we'll kill that god if we get to him he can get in line. or if the best thing about it is seeing the lone little 'lucanis approves' that pops up right after choosing it. corvid with a knife about to commit deicide keeping it real and sensibly, pragmatically, wilfully agnostic with me here in this magical lighthouse today

[yarrayora]

servamp is like you will let your children inherit the blood that has been shed in your war and your children's children will teach their children that this is normal, this is what it takes to be a person. and then one day they'll realize hey this is wrong. the world doesn't have to be like this! but you have never taught them how to resolve conflict without blood. but they know hurting others will simply continue the cycle of violence, so the blood they shed will be their own

[roosterbox]

Look at these fucking blog names that have followed me over the past week or so:

Inflated-peasantry

Sticking-amulet

Hardenedblo

Regimentalequinox

Favored-imbecili

Strugglingemanat

Meaningfulstakeout

Linguistic-standing6

Intestinal-foo

Possessive-gulch

Silver-hairedbr

Faint-lane46

Chosen-dial

Upward-bettor89

Avenging-outcome5

Territorialhunker

In-depthsanct

Politicalprocedure

Tangledber

Stripped-expropria

Nineteen-century-vis

Sleazy-refrigerator

Methodological-buck

All blank. Every single one. Some of these are so fucking good it makes me mad, lol.

Please let ‘sleazy refrigerator’ be picked up by an actual person.

[acourtofquestions]

Boots crunched in hay, and then he was knee to knee before her.

Aedion.

There was nothing kind on his face. No pity or warmth.

For a long minute, they only stared at each other.

Then the prince growled softly, "Your plan was bullshit."

She said nothing, and couldn't stop her shoulders from curving inward.

"Your plan was bullshit," he breathed, his eyes sparking. "How could you ever be her, wear her skin, and think to get away with it? How could you ever think you'd get around the fact that our armies are counting on you to burn the enemy to ashes, and all you can do is run away and emerge as some beast instead?"

"You don't get to pin this retreat on me," she rasped. The first words she'd spoken in days and days.

"You agreed to let Aelin go to her death, and leave us here to be slashed to bloody ribbons. You two told no one of this plan, told none of us who might have explained the realities of this war, and that we would need a gods-damned Fire-Bringer and not an untrained, useless shape-shifter against Morath."

Blow after blow, the words landed upon her weary heart. "We—"

"If you were so willing to let Aelin die, then you should have let her do it after she incinerated Erawan's hordes!"

"It would not have stopped Maeve from capturing her."

"If you'd told us, we might have planned differently, acted differently, and we would not be here, damn you!"

She stared at the muddy hay. "Throw me out of your army, then."

"You ruined everything." His words were colder than the wind outside. "You, and her."

Lysandra closed her eyes.

Hay rustled, and she knew he'd risen to his feet, knew it as his words speared from above her bowed head. "Get out of my tent."

She wasn't certain she could move enough to obey, though she wished to. Needed to. Fight back. She should fight back. Rage at him as he lashed at her, needing an outlet for his fear and despair.

Lysandra opened her eyes, peering up at him. At the rage on his face, the hatred She managed to stand, her body bleating in pain. Managed to look him in the eye, even as Aedion said again with quiet cold, "Get out."

Barefoot in the snow, naked beneath her cloak. Aedion glanced at her bare legs, as if realizing it. And not caring.

So Lysandra nodded, clutching Ansel's cloak tighter, and strode into the frigid night.

"Where is she?" Ren asked, a mug of what smelled like watery soup in one hand, a chunk of bread in the other. The lord scanned the tent as if he would find her under the cot, the hay.

Aedion stared at the precious few logs burning in the brazier, and said nothing.

"What have you done?" Ren breathed.

Everything was about to end. Had been doomed since Maeve had stolen Aelin. Since his queen and the shifter had struck their agreement.

So it didn't matter, what he'd said. He hadn't cared if it wasn't fair, wasn't true.

Didn't care if he was so tired he couldn't muster shame at his pinning on her the blame for the sure defeat they'd face in a matter of days before Perranth's walls.

He wished she'd smacked him, had screamed at him. But she had let him rage. And had walked out into the snow, barefoot.

He'd promised to save Terrasen, to hold the lines. Had done so for years. And yet this test against Morath, when it had counted ... he had failed.

He’d muster the strength to fight again. To rally his men. He just ... he needed to sleep.

Aedion didn't notice when Ren left, undoubtedly in search of the shifter with who he was so damned enamored.

He should summon his Bane commanders. See how they thought to manage this disaster.

But he couldn't. Could do nothing but stare into that fire as the long night passed.

[chamerionwrites]

Absolutely living for this drag of one of my least favorite TCW episodes (and arguably by extension the whole show, since I would argue it's a continuing pattern):

"There’s a core metaphor for Clone Wars, right? This is the thing we’ve talked about so many times - and for the prequels. Lucas is not afraid of this. The Galactic Republic is the United States of America, slipping towards authoritarianism and fascism. It is a republic that has failed to serve its constituency, it has failed to serve the people that live there, it is filled with corrupt bureaucrats and moneyed interests, and - it’s unfortunate but the fact is that powerful people here can slowly push this even further towards the kind of centralized control under the hands of a few people who are absolutely politically and morally repugnant, until it gets transformed into what ends up being an empire. Right? That is the thing that happens in the prequel movies. But, here, the signifiers of the American empire - Agent Orange, napalm, the ways in which homes are searched in the beginning - are not deployed by the Republic. They’re deployed by the Republic’s enemies! It’s similar, in some ways, to the way that recent Call of Duty re-used the Highway of Death, rubbed America’s name off of it, and put Russia’s name on it. Obviously there’s a difference here, we're not literally talking about America and Russia, but that’s the same sort of like - we want to play with these ideas, but it doesn’t work if the Republic is the occupying force in this story (they say to themselves). Instead, let’s make it the Separatists who are our cartoonish bad guys. But when the bad guys are so cartoonish as to be identical to the boogeymen that the actual empire in our real world cooks up so that they can justify their imperial attitudes and actions, then the metaphor unravels."

--Austin Walker, A More Civilized Age (Episode 8)

[nathanialhowe]

have no patience or respect for ppl who expect--require--colonized peoples to have patience/respect/manners in the face of their own ethnic cleansing.

palestinians dont have to be kind to or about israelis or jews or anyone at all no offence; they could be saying "i hate all jews" 24/7 (and they're NOT, by the way) and they still wouldn't Deserve to be ethnically cleansed. and i despise the people suggesting that's the case. like people who are facing literal extermination need to be model minorities or people won't deign to help them not be ethnically cleansed. sickening that thats so many peoples priority. how nice someone is in the face of extermination.

[broke-on-books]

I think the universe just hates me personally (can't find my scooby doo comics)

[vaguely-concerned]

"not bad, rook! ...for a watcher😏" yeah okay davrin lmao

[bluestonewings]

Just thinking about GOW again and little Atreus becoming a massive dickhead once he finds out he’s a god and honestly I am such a huge fan of it!!

Like Atreus being a jerk is such good writing. Kratos is willing to admit his godhood but does not admit the flaws and sins that come with it (to himself nor Atreus) so of course Atreus doesn’t grasp the implications. He’s only told about the godhood and glory and myths so while kratos (and Mimir, bless him) try to warn him about the dangers and responsibilities it always rings hollow because kratos himself doesn’t admit to his own errors. Atreus doesn’t recognize his rage as a risk and doesn’t recognize the responsibility he holds and doesn’t see the danger he poses because kratos isn’t willing to be truthful about the same to him or to himself ABOUT himself.

Atreus’s growth is not just spurred by his own actions but also paralleled by kratos coming to terms with his own past!! Once his father shows the weaknesses behind godhood to him, Atreus also recognizes that he has committed atrocities against the people around him as a result!! “We must be better” finally impacts him as he recognizes WHAT they both must be better than as kratos speaks truly and Atreus listens completely !!!!! It’s about the father coming to terms with himself and the son learning from the truth from his father!!!!!

[safyresky]

I feel like whenever I chat with people about writing one of the questions that crops up is usually "how do you plot everything out?" The answer being, I usually do not. I am winging it as hard as Jack was with the escape clause thing tbh! BUT! When I start a thing and know how it goes but need to stop it for whatever reason, I do plan it out! And here's a funky look at how that looks:

"And that works for you?" you ask me.

"My god," I reply. "does it EVER."

[motherofcats666]

Of all the stupid times for the fugitive to run up and give me a weapon, he picked one of the worst possible ones this time: at Korvanjund right as Hadvar was about to talk to me. WE WERE ABOUT TO HAVE A MOMENT, GOD FUCKING DAMMIT I'M SO MAD.

[dan-crimes]

Splatoon is a very interesting game cuz I do really enjoy the game I love it lots it's the game I for sure play the most outta any video games and the most consistently at that, but it's also the game I probably get the most mad at as well and I don't get mad at games basically at all lmao like the problem isn't with me losing a game cuz idc abt that as long as I had fun while playing the game, the issue is a lotta the times when I lose a game in Splatoon it wasn't a fun experience at all lmao