#bewonderful

[twafordizzy]

Een god, een god van de wraak

Alcohol is immers een god, zoals de Grieken vaststelden toen die hen vanuit het Oosten bereikte, zij het een god van wraak. Wie drinkt wordt een dronkenman. En niemand ontkomt aan de invloed van drank. Ook de man of vrouw die geen druppel drinkt heeft ooit weleens een arme dronkaard geholpen zijn treurige pad te vervolgen. Zo is het bijvoorbeeld goed mogelijk dat Cullen in zijn jonge jaren, toen…

[zonspeedofficial]

eBay Vs Amazon - Which Marketplace is Better For You?

[rankamz]

How Amazon's Top Selling Rank Affects Your Sales

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

In his own twisted way: Prologue

So here it is! First part of my new daughter of Ares fic! I hope you love it as much as I do <3

Word count: 2100 ish words

Warnings: mention of character death

Fic masterlist here!

Ares hated children.

He hated their whining, their crying, their clinging. He didn’t care for the drawings they did, or their “cuteness” or their wonder for everything new around them, and he hated when they cried like babies because of a scrape on their knee, or when they had nightmares and wanted to be held.

He didn’t like them, not even his own.

He hated how they reminded him of his own weaknesses. He hated how they made him feel something other than anger, something he couldn't name.

But he couldn't hate her.

Not entirely. Not when she looked at him with those big eyes, so much like her mother's, and a grin every time she saw him at her doorstep. Not when she smiled at him with that gap-toothed grin, so innocent and trusting, a polar opposite as to how everyone else looked at him. Not when she held his hand with her tiny fingers, so warm and soft, completely trusting him to lead the way.

She was his youngest daughter. Her name was Emily, and just as his other children, he hoped she would grow up to be a troublemaker, a rebel, and a fighter. Someone like him. He had hoped she would make him proud, or, maybe more fitting for him, at least amused. Useful for his battles.

And at barely six years old, she was a true daughter of Ares: she loved adventures, exploring the wild, she didn’t mind getting messy or dirty, and she stood up to whoever opposed to her. However, she was also gentle, kind, curious. She loved nature, and stories, and the stars, and learning. Her little soul was still pure… something Ares bewondered, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.

But she was a mistake. A mistake he had made with a mortal woman, which he had tried to ignore, and he almost succeeded at it; he had visited her very few times, enough for her to know who he was, but not sufficient for him to get attached.

Until the day he found out she was dead.

Her mother, not the girl. The woman he had once loved… or, more like, had had a relationship with, was dead. The woman who had birthed and raised their daughter alone, without his help, without his care. She was now gone, leaving their daughter orphaned, alone, and unprotected.

Ares had been fond of her. He hadn’t loved her, no, not really, or at least, not in the romantical way. She had been someone he shared interests with, with whom he formed a connection with, and as a result of that, came Emily. As an immortal being, he was more than accustomed to death (it kind of came in the job description for being the god of war), and especially the death of mortals; their lives were brief, like the blink of an eye, and it rarely affected him anymore, if ever.

But Emily was alone now, without any family left, and even if he was the god of war, and all the brutality and horrors that came with it, he wasn’t exempt of having feelings (on the contrary of what he said about himself). They were the reasons why he found new lovers from time to time, and had children with them every once in a while.

Even the god of war longs for some sort of connection and human emotion.

So he had no choice. He couldn’t have Emily live with him, for obvious reasons, and he also didn’t want that. No, he’d take her to the only place where she would be safe from the monsters that would end up eventually finding her: camp Half-Blood. The camp for demigods, where his other children were. The children he hated, and who hated him back.

He was sure Emily would end up hating him as well. They all did… it was only a matter of time.

So there he was, driving a car towards Long Island, with little Emily sleeping in the backseat, her head leaning against her teddy bear, breaths even and rhythmic. He tried to not pay attention to her wet cheeks, still glistening with tears shed for her mother, or how she had raised her arms up at him upon seeing him when he picked her up, wanting to be comforted by her father; Ares tried to not think about how much she trusted him, with his rough exterior, and without really knowing him, and most importantly, he tried to not think much about how moved it made him feel.

The car stopped in the middle of the road, not too far away from the entrance to camp, hidden in the heart of the forest. Ares reluctantly turned off the engine, and silence followed, only broken by Emily’s breathing, and the faint sound of morning rain falling on the roof of the car.

Ares took a deep breath, pushing back the conflicting emotions that surged within him.

He didn’t know why he was feeling like this. It made him extremely uncomfortable in his own skin, and that was something he didn’t experience often. Perhaps Aphrodite had played some trick on him… making him actually feel something at the prospect of leaving his young daughter all alone at camp half-blood. Something like… dread, and pain, and not the one he was used to. This was pain that came from other feelings he had, that usually blossomed in his chest the few times he visited Emily, or when he looked at her from the rearview inside that car, watching her sleep soundly.

But he didn’t know how to do it. He didn’t know how to be a father, he’d never really had good role models to learn from. He didn’t know how to comfort children, talk to them… or hell, love them. And he didn’t want to even try to… because that wasn’t like him. He hated children. Why even care about his own? He was an Olympian, and Olympians didn’t do that.

When the rain stopped, Ares stepped out of the car, and went to the backseat; Emily only stirred in her sleep when he fumbled with the seatbelt, the unfamiliar task more challenging than he’d like to admit, and she kept on sleeping when he took her into his arms out of the car.

She had with her only her teddy and a small backpack filled with her essentials; Ares hadn’t grabbed more of her stuff when retrieving her.

On top of the hill, where the whole expanse of Camp Half-Blood could be seen for those who had divine heritage, Ares stood, listening: it was very early in the morning, the sun hadn’t risen yet, and the few people at camp were still sleeping; in a few weeks, most of the cabins would be full of demigod children, running around, training, and relishing in the beginning of summer. Emily would have settled until then, and she’d be ready to begin her training alongside her half-siblings to become a warrior, just as every Ares kid did.

His daughter woke up before sunrise, while he was still standing at the same spot. She mumbled something, her little eyes fluttering open, cheeks warm against the skin of his neck. She clutched her bear tighter, tired.

“Daddy?”

Ares hummed, not used to a small child talking to him in such tender voice. Like everything involving Emily, it made him feel that unfamiliar warmth he was uncomfortable with… but that he longed for when he didn’t have it, missing it.

Emily raised her head, slowly starting to look around, and at Camp Half-Blood. Her new home.

“This is where you’ll be staying from now on” he said, watching her. Her little eyebrows frowned, and then she looked at him, directly in the eyes.

“With you?”

“With people like you” he clarified, making sure she understood it “Demigods. Half-bloods. Remember what I taught you about the gods?”

“You are one. It’s your job”

She didn’t really get it, that was obvious. But she was still very young, and he didn’t really expect her to do so. Compared to him… well, his life had been already so long, that her presence in it was like a single grain of sand in the beach: small and imperceptible.

And yet, she was the only one of his children he had brought to camp himself. The only one who he had stayed around enough time for her to call him daddy to his face. The only, and first one, for many things.

At sunrise, a centaur emerged from the big house at camp, and noticed pretty quickly the silhouette of the god on top of the hill, and the small child in his arms.

Ares watched Chiron make his way slowly up to them, and he set then Emily down to the ground, helping her put her backpack on (which looked comically enormous on her little form); she grabbed his hand when she spotted the centaur, tiny fingers clutching his own, nervous. He couldn’t really blame her: she was facing many changes in a very short period of time.

“Ares” greeted Chiron, reaching them. The god acknowledged him with a nod, watching the centaur shift his gaze from him to the little girl by his side, trying to hide behind his leather coat “Hello there, young lady” Emily shyly waved back at him, and introduced herself after Chiron did “I assume… she is yours?”

“My flesh and blood” answered Ares “She will be staying at camp from now on, permanently”

Chiron nodded, and stretched out a hand for her; Emily, encouraged by a nod from her father when she looked up at him, went to the centaur, still uncertain.

“She will be taken care of here”

“I sure hope so”

Chiron looked down at Emily again, smiling at her, trying to ease up her nerves.

“Let’s go to your cabin then, young lady”

He gently guided her to the pathway that led to camp, Ares still standing there, watching them go. But Emily turned back around before leaving, searching for his eyes.

“Daddy?” she asked, with the same small voice from minutes before when she woke up “Aren’t you coming with us?”

He wouldn’t. He knew it from the beginning, of course, and Chiron also knew it. The pain in his chest, however, was unknown.

Ares told her no, and he bit the inside of his cheek when he saw sadness invading her gaze. She ran up to him, raising her arms up again, reaching for him with tears in her eyes. She was all alone, and he was abandoning her as well.

Chiron looked away, his heart breaking silently for the young demigod, while Ares stood there, conflicted by his feelings (those damn feelings he couldn’t handle).

“Listen kid” Emily still had her arms raised up, not budging, and he gave in, picking her up “You’re gonna stay here, you like it or not. Don’t go soft on me now”

Emily pouted at her dad, sniffling.

“But I want to stay with you”

“Yeah, but you can’t. You’ll stay here. That’s final”

She made a mad face at him (which made her look more like an angry kitten in his eyes, actually cute, but he wouldn’t admit that), frowning.

“You’re a meanie, Daddy”

There it was. She was starting to hate him too. Yep… All of them did.

“Sorry to break it to you, kid, but life isn’t fair”

He set her down, but she didn’t move, instead looking up at him with her big eyes. She looked like him, he noticed then, very much so in her way of staring at his face: she was fierce, but also vulnerable.

“Will you come visit me?”

Ares sighed, waving his hand as if to shrug it off.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Maybe sometimes. Now go”

Emily sighed, mirroring him perfectly, and obeyed, going back to the centaur. She did look back at him one time before leaving, though, waving at him.

“Bye Daddy. Love you”

Ares felt that uncomfortable pressure in his chest as a response to her words, feeling like his insides tightened, constricted, twisted and turned all over. He watched her go in silence down the hill alongside Chiron, and he dared to take one last look at her before leaving for good, having completed his self-imposed task of taking his daughter to camp.

“Goodbye, little warrior”

Tough exterior be damned, Ares cared for his daughter.

In the quiet of the moment, where no one was watching him, being completely alone, he allowed himself to hope: He hoped she would be happy. He hoped she would be safe. He hoped she would forgive him for leaving her there.

And he also hoped he would someday be able to forgive himself for doing so too.

***

Taglist: @strawberryys-stuff @ladysybilchronicles

[autism-corner]

for my own enjoyment i like thinking that humanoid creatures from all three worlds have two forms. one more uniform over the three worlds aka their human forms. and one way more extreme on their respective sides of the spectrum. think biblical angels and horrific creatured demons. yes neither of these are shown ingame but thats bc the devs are cowards.

for humans, because we generally still lack a HUGE magic part, it's yet to be discovered/realized. due to our advancements with electronics compared to the other two worlds im imagining some robot-form, but thats also just straight up my own fantasy. something more realistic would maybe be more nature inclined. i dont know the specifics yet :)

My take one it:

Personally I'm leaning more towards the latter option. And my guess is that they use this "magic spell/illusion spell" for convenience's sake.

I mean, we've seen the brothers talk about wings getting in the way of doing things, mostly to talk about Lucifer when he had twelve of them in the Celestial Realm but choose to keep half of them closed for practical reasons.

I can only imagine the comical scenarios of having TWELVE large ass wings constantly getting in the way of things when you're trying to move around.

Or just having any wings or tails in general. For example, imagine:

Going through the door and forgetting to close your wings before so you just get stuck and look stupid in front of everyone in the room.

Unintentionally getting in the way of people's faces or straight up hitting them with your wings when standing in front of them.

Having your watch out for your tail 24/7 so you don't hit stuff, always having to make sure to place them in a comfortable position when you're going to sit/lay somewhere.

Finally finding a comfortable position for your tail only to have someone else not pay attention to their surroundings and carelessly sit on it ( ouch ).

And then someday a demon just goes: "I have to do something about this." And creates a spell that hides the user's horns/tails/wings when they use it.

The spell becomes popular in the whole Devildom, and the way the angels become aware of it is when Simeon comes to the Devildom for business/to discuss something with Diavolo & Lucifer and when he gets there he sees demons walking around without any wings/horns/tails in sight and is just dumbfounded by it.

So he asks Lucifer how this is possible and he tells him about the spell. From then on it becomes popular in the Celestial Realm too.

[papermodelsinternational]

Bij het opsturen van deze (en veel meer) schitterende plaatjes verontschuldigde Erik Zwaan zich dat hij er bijna een jaar over gedaan had - maar met een drukke baan en dito gezin kunnen we alleen maar vol bewondering kijken naar de tijd en concentratie die er dan toch overbleven! Het gaat hier om de Lockheed P38-H Lightning van Halisky, 1:33 - en elke enigszins ervaren bouwer weet hoe veeleisend de modellen van die uitgever zijn! Prachtig!

[heroes-of-the-new-world]

Illustration by KeksTala

Izuku glanced up at her. Yamato was indeed munching on one of the donuts Whitey Bay had given them. She was smiling like a happy child; like Eri when she had her first toffee apple. He can feel her legs practically kick in joy.

“Yummyyyyyyy!” declared Yamato. “I’ve never tasted anything like this!”

“Well save one for me, okay!?” retorted Izuku, smiling in spite of himself.

“Here!” Yamato pulled out another donut, and held it to his mouth. Izuku bit into it. She was right, it was very tasty. It’d been a long time since he’s had anything sweet. The fall of Hero Society. The Hunt for the Tartarus Escapees. The final battle. Onigashima…

Enough of that. Just savor the donut as he kept on eating.

“I wanna try all kinds of different foods!” Yamato went on, as he ate his donut. “I wanna taste all the different foods I can find!”

Izuku suppressed a chuckle as he swallowed the last of his donut.

“That sounds good to me!” he called. “Maybe I could cook for you too!”

“You could?”

“Yes!’’ Izuku grinned. “We just need some supplies and some gear, and I can try some of my mother’s recipes!”

“We can help too!” Nana cut in cheerfully. “I wasn’t a bad cook back in the day. Neither was En!”

“Wow, seriously?” asked Daigogo, amazed. “You don’t seem the type!”

“What’s that supposed to mean…” Nana glowered.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” replied En. “Even after all these years.”

“Thanks guys!” Izuku grinned. This actually sounded like fun!

“Uh Izuku, who are you talking to?” asked Yamato, taken by surprise.

“Oh, the Users,” Izuku said. “They want to pitch in with the cooking.”

“They do?” Yamato sounded surprised. “They can…actually hear me?”

“Yes! They can hear and see everything I can!”

“Oh…oh wow.” Yamato was clearly impressed, along with bewondered at the reminder of Izuku’s…companions. “Uh…I’m not sure about this, but…thank you, Users, for helping Izuku all this time.”

“Tell her it’s our pleasure,” said Nana, and he can feel the warming smile from the woman as Izuku looked back at Yamato in kind.

[Chapter 22, Heroes of the New World by Zaru]

[911whatsyourgratitude]

I am eternally bewondered and awed and grateful that we have the actual inventor of acting, Kenny Choi, on our screens every week. This episode was magic.

SEND IN YOUR GRATITUDES HERE

[vastingedachten]

Het raadsel dat jij bent…

Sommige mensen zijn als een boek dat je keer op keer opnieuw leest, hopend dat je deze keer de verborgen betekenis tussen de regels zult ontdekken. Voor mij ben jij dat boek.

Ik zie je kracht—de manier waarop je je staande houdt, zelfs als het leven van alle kanten trekt. Je zorgt, je werkt, je probeert, maar ik zie ook dat het allemaal veel van je vraagt. Misschien leef je nog steeds op standje overleven, alsof je geen tijd hebt om stil te staan bij wat jij nodig hebt. Dat maakt je niet zwak. Het maakt je menselijk.

Het is duidelijk dat je zoveel energie naar anderen hebt laten stromen, dat er weinig overblijft voor jezelf. Je bent moe—niet alleen van het dagelijkse leven, maar van jaren waarin je jezelf misschien hebt weggecijferd. Ik zie die vermoeidheid in hoe je soms contact zoekt en dan weer afstand neemt. Het is alsof je even durft te openen, maar daarna snel terugtrekt naar een veilige plek.

En dat begrijp ik. Het is moeilijk om ruimte te maken voor jezelf als je altijd bezig bent geweest met het dragen van de wereld op je schouders. Misschien voel je zelfs dat je geen energie over hebt om te ontvangen, omdat je zo gewend bent geraakt aan geven.

Toch is er iets moois in die kwetsbaarheid. Je probeert je weg te vinden, ook al voelt het alsof je soms vastloopt. Ik bewonder de momenten waarop je eerlijk bent over hoe je je voelt, zelfs als dat in stilte gebeurt. Die stilte vertelt me meer dan woorden ooit zouden kunnen.

Misschien is het grootste cadeau dat iemand je kan geven, het besef dat je niet altijd sterk hoeft te zijn. Dat je genoeg bent, zelfs op de dagen dat je niets te geven hebt. Misschien ben je dat aan het leren. En dat is oké. Dat kost tijd.

Soms vraag ik me af of je jezelf al ziet zoals ik je zie. Puur, authentiek, soms verward, maar altijd écht. Ik hoop dat je op een dag de ruimte vindt om dat te voelen. Tot die tijd blijf ik je zien, met respect, zonder eisen, en met de wetenschap dat je precies goed bent zoals je bent.

Van. Mij.

[cactusklas]

De eerste KLIMACHTIGE-middag is een feit!

Een beetje ontspannen in de spa 🧖‍♀️ , leren haken 🧶 of vol bewondering luisteren naar een reisverhaal 🧳.

Bedankt aan de ouders van Mats (5L), de mama en oma van Pauline (5L) en de mama's van Ella-June (6L) en Mats (3L)!

[se-coaching]

Narcisme Test: Ontdek meer over je persoonlijkheid met de NPI-13

Narcisme is een eigenschap die we vaak associëren met zelfgerichtheid, een groot ego en het verlangen naar bewondering. In onze huidige samenleving is het bijna een modewoord geworden, maar er schuilt veel meer achter. Door een narcisme test te doen, kun je ontdekken of, en in welke mate, deze trekken bij jou aanwezig zijn. In deze blog belichten we de NPI-13. Dit is een beknopte en effectieve…

[devosopmaandag]

Op zoek naar de verloren tijd in een café te Buenos Aires

Het alfabet maakt dat enkele delen Proust onbereikbaar hoog in mijn boekenkast staan: een paar oude exemplaren, met de wat broeierige omslagen van Wout Muller (van wie ik als prille kunststudent les heb gehad), en enkele nieuwe uitgaves met hun nietszeggende, frisse uiterlijk. Dat zegt iets over mij en Proust op dit moment: of verstoft of maagdelijk weggezet. Ik las maar een paar delen, nooit 'de hele Proust'. Vorig jaar deed lezende vriend P dat wel, vierentwintighonderd pagina's lang. Maar hij is verslagen door een lid van een Argentijnse Proust-boekenclub. Die las Proust drie keer, en daarbij heeft hij een dochter die Albertine heet én die ook nog eens in Parijs woont. Nou jij weer, P!

Ik zag in Utrecht de documentaire 'El Tiempo Recuperado'*, over een boekenclub met oude, enkele heel oude leden. Al zo'n twintig jaar komen ze samen in een café in Buenos Aires om steeds enkele hoofdstukken voor te lezen en af en toe commentaar te geven of vragen te stellen. De film was behoorlijk uitputtend, maar ook ontroerend, vrolijkmakend en op enkele momenten ongemakkelijk. 95 % van de tijd wordt er voorgelezen en met Proust in het Spaans in je oren en in het Engels de ondertiteling lezen is een hele inspanning.

Af en toe schuiven er mogelijk nieuwe leden aan. Een vrouw die nooit iets van Proust gelezen heeft, vraagt of het er in het boek om gaat wie de moordenaar is. Oh nee!, roepen de andere leden lachend in koor. Ook in de bioscoopzaal stijgt er gelach op. Ze wordt niet zozeer uitgelachen; het is de lach van het absurde. Als haar dan even later het vuistdikke eerste deel wordt voorgehouden, deinst ze bijna achteruit op haar stoel. Een passage over de glimlach van een overleden vriend in het boek herinnert een vrouw aan de glimlach van haar overleden man, die zij steeds weer kan oproepen. Alsof hij bijna oplicht in haar geheugen. Ook klinken er zuchten van bewondering en verrukking. En als de vader van de Argentijnse Albertine maar weer eens aan een nieuwkomer vertelt dat hij Proust drie keer heeft gelezen, dan zijn er soms blikken van de anderen. Wat een prestatie, wat een onmogelijkheid!

Voor mij wordt Proust niet opgeroepen door lindebloesemthee maar door de de bloeiende meidoorn. Al zo'n dertig jaar lang laat ik mij ieder jaar voor een bloeiende meidoorn fotograferen. Ook een soort op zoek naar de verloren tijd. In 'Combray' beschrijft Proust de herinneringen van de kleine jongen aan de bloeiende meidoorn: … ze boden me tot in 't oneindige dezelfde charme met een onuitputtelijke overvloed, maar zonder dat ik dieper in hen kon doordringen....”.** De bloesem had iets ambigues voor hem, zoals voor mij de geur het zelfde heeft: verleidelijk van verre, een tikje afstotend van dichtbij. Maar de kleine jongen houdt zo van de meidoorns, dat hij snikkend afscheid van ze neemt.

*'El Tiempo Recuperado' | Maria Alvarez |Argentinië 2020 | zwartwit documentaire 120 minuten

Trailer documentaire : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iER-3qonZJs

** 'Op zoek naar de verloren tijd' – De kant van Swann – Deel Een – 'Combray' | Marcel Proust | vertaling C.N. Lijsen | Uitgeverij De Bezige Bij | 1977

[zonspeedofficial]

How the Best Selling Rank on Amazon Affects Sales

[kindsokind]

No but to all my great lakes heads. As of 2022, a drop of water that fell into Lake Superior in 1715 STILL hadn't reached the Atlantic Ocean. Are you not beguiled bewitched bewondered???

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

In his own twisted way

A sneak peek at the dad!Ares fic I'm writing... tell me what you think!

If anyone wants to be tagged let me now! :)

Ares hated children.

He hated their whining, their crying, their clinging. He didn’t care for the drawings they did, or their “cuteness” or their wonder for everything new around them, and he hated when they cried like babies because of a scrape on their knee, or when they had nightmares and wanted to be held.

He didn’t like them, not even his own.

He hated how they reminded him of his own weaknesses. He hated how they made him feel something other than anger, something he couldn't name.

But he couldn't hate her. Not entirely. Not when she looked at him with those big eyes, so much like her mother's, and a grin every time she saw him at her doorstep. Not when she smiled at him with that gap-toothed grin, so innocent and trusting, a polar opposite as to how everyone else looked at him. Not when she held his hand with her tiny fingers, so warm and soft, completely trusting him to lead the way.

She was his youngest daughter. Her name was Emily, and just as his other children, he hoped she would grow up to be a troublemaker, a rebel, and a fighter. Someone like him. He had hoped she would make him proud, or, maybe more fitting for him, at least amused. Useful for his battles.

And at barely six years old, she was a true daughter of Ares: she loved adventures, exploring the wild, she didn’t mind getting messy or dirty, and she stood up to whoever opposed to her. However, she was also gentle, kind, curious. She loved nature, and stories, and the stars, and learning. Her little soul was still pure… something Ares bewondered, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.

But she was a mistake. A mistake he had made with a mortal woman, which he had tried to ignore, and he almost succeeded at it; he had visited her very few times, enough for her to know who he was, but not sufficient for him to get attached.

Until the day he found out she was dead.

You can now find this fics masterlist here! :)