#divine interiors group

[dailybruce]

Tile - Patio Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary backyard tile patio remodel with a fire pit and a roof extension

[m-vd]

Tampa Enclosed Dining Room A picture of a medium-sized, modern dining room with a dark wood floor, beige walls, and no fireplace

[lua-magic]

Tenth lord and your professional life

Tenth house is house of karma and duty, tenth house says alot about the attitude that you will carry towards your work.

While, tenth lord wherever, it sits, that house will bring you professional success.

Let me be clear here, I am mentioning about "Vedic astrology " and morden era has got many jobs, and streams so in my blog I can't specifically tell which stream you can go or opt, because that also depends on your position of your Sun, Saturn and Venus in your chart.

Here, I will discuss how you can attract professional success and attract right career for yourself, so that you will get brief idea how astrology can help you in your professional life as well.

Tenth lord in first house 🏠

First house is you, so your professional success depends on you and your personality, more you work on your personality more successful you become.

Your professional life in your hands, and Only you control it.

Tenth lord in second house 🏠

Second house is of house of finance, so either you can work in financial sector or you can work with your family as well.

Second house is also of communication, so communication would play an important role in professional success.

Tenth lord in third house 🏠

Third house is house of efforts and courage, more efforts you would put in your professional life, more successful you would get

Third House is also of skills, so work on your skills development.

It also shows you can also work with your siblings.

Third house is also of travelling, so choose job that requires traveling.

Tenth lord in fourth house.

Fourth house is your comfort, and also your emotions, such natives can become good psychologists, therapist, psychiatry who understands mind and emotions.

Fourth house is also Home, so either you can work from home, or do some work related to home like real estate, interior decorator.

Tenth lord in fifth house 🏠

Such natives are good in teaching children, so they can go in teaching and education sector.

Fifth house is also of children, so native could work for children.

Fifth house is also of intellect, so such natives are intellectuals and enjoys work that requires intelligence.

Tenth lord in sixth house

Sixth house is of debt, and disease, and eniemies such natives could earn from other's problems, like they could become doctor, healer, lawyer, account.

Virgo is the sign of problem solving, such natives are great problem solver and enjoys work that requires problems solving abilities.

Tenth lord in seventh house 🏠

Seventh house is of partnership, such natives should always work in partnership, or involve your life partner also in your work.

Seventh house is also of public dealings, so such natives are great in dealing with public,.

Tenth lord in eight house 🏠

Eighth house is of secrets, so native can work in sectors that requires secrecy, like spy, Secret services.

Eighth house is also of research, so that can take up research oriented job.

Eighth house is also of occult and astrology

Eighth house also deals with other' s Money, so native can go in investment banking, insurance, banking.

Tenth lord in ninth house 🏠

Ninth house is of divine blessings, so your work has always divine blessings and luck.

Ninth house is of counseling and guidance, so native can work as an counsellor or as a coach.

Tenth lord in tenth house 🏠

Extremely comfortable position for tenth lord in its own house 🏠, such natives can take up any job role that they desire, they would do well in that.

Tenth lord in eleventh house 🏠

Eleventh house is of gains, native would gain alot from his work life

Eleventh house is also your social circle, so you can work with group of people like "co-operative society" . Eleventh house is also of social media and elder siblings so native can work in social media or with elder siblings..

Tenth lord in twelfth house 🏠

It is bit tricky placement, because twelfth House is of looses and transformations, so native could experience, lot of transformations in his/her professional life.

Twelfth house is also of devotion and giving, so you have to be devoted to your professional life without expectations.

Twelfth house is also of spirituality and foreign land, so you can work in spirituality or settle far from your motherland.

If tenth house has Rahu, then you can choose job profile that are unconventional, that no one in your family has done it.

Rahu is your vision, so keep your vision clear and big

If tenth house has ketu, then you need to go in job or service that requires helping others because ketu is liberation, and your job is to liberate people from their pain or problems

Ketu is intent so keep your intentions clear.

If your tenth house has, sun, then you are born leader and you will show way or direction to others..

If your tenth house has Moon, then you could good in cooking or do work related to mind , emotions and psychology .

If your tenth house has Mercury, Mercury is a business man, so you can go in business, or work related to documents, education field is also good for you.

If tenth house has Venus then work related to cosmetics, beauty and luxury would be good for you

If tenth house has Mars, then you have lot of Martian energy within you, and Mars is exalted in tenth house, so any work is good for you, you are good multi-tasker and a logical person, so any field that requires logic like engineering will good, Mars is also land, so land related jobs are also good, Mars is also security so Mars makes good police, army and security .

Jupiter in tenth house makes great counsllor and guide.

Jupiter is also spirituality and religion, so such person can go in spirituality as well

Saturn in tenth house, is exalted and its own sign, Saturn is planet that loves to serve others, so here you need to take your job as a service, and a way to serve others, even when you are at high position, don't act like boss and command others infact do all the work by yourself, because Saturn gets satisfied only when people below them are happy..

[overandundertarot]

Pick a card reading; Your psychic talents/ gifts and how you can develop them.

Keep in mind this is a general reading so if something doesn't resonate for you, feel free to leave it or pick another pile! Trust your intuition always.

Take a few deep breaths and chose from the pictures below.

(1-3)

Pile 1

Cards; 4 of cups reversed, Ace of wands, 5 of swords,8 of cups reversed, 8 of swords reversed.

Your psychic gift/ talent is knowing. Clairaudience, clairsentience etc You have been blessed with so many opportunities and ways out if you desire them. If you need something, it shows up for you, if an opportunity is not for you, you are guided away accordingly. Its kinda like the world is especially looking out for you and your sense of intuition and manifestation is quite strong. You may have things go your way easier than some other people. The people in this pile are great manifesters and masters of their emotions as well. The type of people to make a wish and it happens. Some of you always experience great luck and advantageous coincidences. However, a message is coming through that you should remember not to take things for granted.

How to develop your gift;

Develop a clear channel to your intuition, so that you can receive messages easily. This is important so that you can make the correct decisions, since you are being guided constantly. Developing a strong sense of trust in yourself is important as well. Having psychic clarity or practices that can improve your clarity such as meditation will have a very positive impact on your life. For a specific few of you, there is a set way that your life is supposed to go, a kind of divine purpose that you have to fulfill, and your gifts are meant to align you on this path.

signs/confirmations; blue and cool toned colours, oceans, vines, reeds, fire.

Pile 2

Cards; 3 of pentacles, Wheel of Fortune, Queen of wands reversed, 3 of wands reversed.

Pile 2 you are quite connected with animals and nature, there's a way you can intuitively understand and work with the cycles of life around you. You may care quite alot about the environment and its enhabitants. You may also have a particular fascination with insects. Your psychic gift/talent is this connection. You are the type of person who easily gets signals and synchronicities through animals/ wilderness. Some of you have strong ties to your ancestry and could come from cultures that practice nature based religions with medicine men/ women. You are talented at divination too and could be adept at bone throwing or runes. Strong ties to your ancestors, they could send you psychic messages quite often and work with you to bring in manifestations and blessings. (this last part is only for a specific group of people.) People who chose this pile may have native american/african(particularly the interior/central african communities)/celtic ancestry.

How you can develop your talents/gifts;

Going out into nature and managing your emotions. You may be prone to depressive episodes? or bursts of irritation and anger and may also often get disillusioned with life and feel that it is cruel to you, or that you are unlucky. Learn to take it in stride, there are always ways to seek support from the universe and sometimes bad things just happen. Seek support from your communities(if you dont have one, try to cultivate one) and look to learn from them, you could greatly benefit from a mentor or a guide in your spiritual practice. Carry out research on your ancestry and their ways of life/spiritual practice.

signs/confirmations; small woodland(i know these arent all woodland creatures but im honestly not sure how to classify them😭) creatures eg squirrels, possums, badgers., insects, eagles, warm fiery colours and violet and orchid flowers., 333.

Pile 3

Cards; Queen of wands, 3 of swords, The tower, Page of pentacles reversed, The sun reversed.

Pile 3 you may be quite beautiful and sensual. You aren't afraid to embody your sexual energy and may have broken quite a few hearts. Your gift/ talent is towards healing and transformation. You have depth of character and may have gone through some traumatic experiences but you overcame them and transformed them into wisdom. There is a sort of femme fatale energy about you but interlaced with kindness. Because you present yourself this way people may have been eager to approach you but found themselves transformed instead. Beauty and brains, mysterious and magnetic appeal. You are also talented at witchcraft and could work your magic through glamours, charms, sex magic, lunar magic too. There is a duality here, sometimes you are femme fatale, tight dress and red lipstick, other times you are more nature, cottagecore aesthetic. You are unafraid to present yourself in whatever way you are feeling.

How to develop your gifts/talents;

You may get bored easily and feel that you always have to be working on something. Frequent change and following your intuitions and urges will help you develop your talents; if you feel interested in something you are being encouraged to do some research about it/try to pursue it. Working to see your life in new perspectives you can appreciate is also helpful for you. Don't be afraid to do things that shake you up or that may seem dramatic to other people.

signs/confirmations; sun, chickens, yellow, sunflowers, farms, south american countries .

***

Thank you for participating in this pick a card reading!

Please let me know it resonated for you! Feedback is always encouraging and helps me improve as a reader. :)

[unicyclehippo]

New Year's prompt: glitter!

eat and be eaten is the way of the world. laudna knows that better than most. there is nothing that escapes it; if there is something that she believes in, it is that.

every person, every creature, good and bad, is meat sinew blood bone. death will lick her way into sweet marrow and she, giantess, will grind bone to bonemeal, to dust, to the finest vanishing filaments in the blowing wind. she will do that for everyone—pauper and puppet and queen. she kills moles in their molehills and boulders dreams of mountaindom. drags her pale hands through the farmlands and rots seeds in their bed, then farmers, then towns. she drapes a dark cloak across all faces, her shroud, takes their breath and leaves only memory behind, that small and tarnished token. hers is the dominion of death everlasting and it is steady and voracious in its generosity.

when the last of the aliens have landed in the desert, the bridge brightens to a burning red. it pierces into the rubble moon until it finds glass, crystal, that throws the red in a hundred thousand beams, each line a knife to the net, the cage.

glass melts, rock melts. the prison door cracks—and death sighs. she is free. she unhinges her jaw and opens wide her hands and reaches for the gods. it is the easiest thing to pass through the weave; she grabs the magic by the fistful and gorges herself on it, finally, licks every shred of magic from the chains and swallows it down link after link and when she is done with it she takes the first domain, the closest, and sinks her teeth into it rotsoft and sweet, an overripe plum, the frantic beating of a heart. it bursts in her mouth. holy! red! she drinks it down, licks her lips clean, licks her hands, until there is no trace left of the paltry god and its domain its stagnant cup. she is so hungry still. she reaches for the next.

far below, light spills like blood across the sky of exandria. divinity flares, fights, dies and is devoured; it glitters as it goes, explosions like all the rest of the far and distant stars, dead and dying.

the feast—the sky full of fire—lasts a year. there are no gods remaining when it is done; death has eaten them all, and herself too, in a great slow writhe, a snake and its tail, death and its endless end.

//

bells hells waits a year. stationed at the edge of the world, a red column of light drifting up into the distance of the astral sea. there is no ruidus anymore. only a line of red dust and rock smeared across the sky.

laudna has taken to travelling between the towers. there are twenty-five of them, so far, in groups of two or three. each new cluster rises up a little further from the bridge as the builders grow more daring, more hopeful. the red-stone roads creep between each settlement like a network of roots or splintering canyons. a reminder of ruidus, she thinks.

there is something to it that makes her heart ache—their world and city had been so full of dreams of exandria and, now that they were here, it was dreams of ruidus that guided their hands.

‘copper for your thoughts?’ miraani asks, sharp teeth grinding over the words.

laudna is resting, which is still strange to her. the sun is high and blisteringly hot and her caravan has stopped at one of the nexus; everywhere where the splintering roads met, the builders had fashioned great domes. way points of water and shade in the desert, wind tunnels whistling as the heat is dragged up and out, flags and awnings stirring in a lazy breeze. she is searching the interior—carved and painted with directions (and some amusing graffiti) for the way to the seventeenth cluster. stood in the archway, laudna eyes the next waypoint—a little lump in the distance—and the cluster beyond it. the twenty-sixth tower nearly complete.

‘do you miss kreveris, miraani?’

they step up beside her. tall, the sloping crest of their head nearly brushing the seven-foot curve of the arch. for a time, they are silent.

‘it was a place of great misery for many.’ miraani touched two fingers to the spot at the base of their neck where the flesh was warped, lumpy with a long-healed scar. a pink membrane closed over their black eyes—a sign, laudna had come to learn, of discomfort. emotional or physical. no one liked getting sand in their eyes. ‘we were corralled and leashed, our will lashed to that of the weave mind. there was never enough and it spurred cruelty in all. our city was a hollow thing built in honour of your world.’ miraani tilted their head upwards. beneath the membrane, their eyes swivelled. searching for that red trail across the sky. ‘and even so… yes, my guide. my mind overflows with thoughts of it.’

‘i am sorry. that we could not save it.’

miraani shook her head. ‘you saved us. and soon, i will be your guide through new kreveris.’

‘is that what has been settled on?’

‘i do not know what the Chorus intends but yes, many among us are calling it this.’

laudna nods. rubs at the line of her sternum. ‘i look forward to seeing it,’ she murmurs.

miraani waits. when laudna says nothing else, they clear their throat. ‘if we leave now, my guide, we will make it to the cluster before night.’

‘what? oh, yes. yes, of course.’

the caravan is ready to move, wuukor watered and drivers back from a road-rough lunch and stretching their legs. miraani swings up into the first caravan and pulls laudna up with them; together, they lead the six-cart caravan forward into the desert.

‘why are you thinking of kreveris?’ miraani asks later, voice lifting over the creak of wood and leather, the clatter of hooves and wheels on the road.

laudna shakes her head. ‘i was not. i was thinking of…death, i suppose. and what it leaves behind.‘

‘bodies,’ miraani nods.

it is not what laudna had in mind but she nods. thinks of her own body. creaking joints. scars. hollow burned out rooms in her mind that she cannot tread, cannot recall what they once held.

there was once a city on the moon; now, pieces of a city and pieces of a moon. it will take decades to rebuild and the work is at hand but it is painful and slow and sand fills every pair of boots she has.

there was once a woman in her mind; now, no woman and, it feels, only pieces of a mind. it is frightening and terribly lonely to hear only herself; it is more frightening, when she hears her thoughts echo, that old remembered whisper a sigh through the corridors of her mind. but the emptiness, the splintered roads and canyons, make it so very easy to tell when the red weight of a beloved mind brushes into hers and sinks deep.

hello, my love, laudna sings, and hears the redoubled echo. my love, my love, my love.

they are in range of the cluster and laudna lifts her eyes to the glinting cap of the twenty-sixth tower. it takes a moment, and a teasing brush of a mind to coax her close, but finally she spots a figure floating near the peak. massive bricks of stone rising effortlessly into place around her as teams of builders set them into beds of beam and mortar.

you are incandescent, my love, laudna whispers to her.

you are still too far away, imogen says. her mind bristles—irritation and exhaustion and that needling anxiety. you’re not allowed to sweet talk me until i can kiss you about it.

then come and kiss me, laudna tells her simply. her love, her wife, her life wavers in the air. the blocks shiver and, one by one, lower to the ground. then like a comet, imogen burns across the sky, closing the distance until she is here. with laudna once more. she hovers by the side of the caravan. it has been a year since she had to touch the ground and she rarely does; her eyes crackle with lightning, forks of red and purple leaping from her hands, her feet, the frizzing ends of her hair. she is the most beautiful creature laudna has ever seen.

she is frowning.

‘you’re two days late.’

‘hello,’ laudna says, pointedly. ‘there was a sandstorm.’

imogen scowls—up at the sky, as if in reprimand for keeping them apart—and then darts forward. ducks her head beneath the top of the caravan to alight within. purple lights flare and fill the space; purple paints the distance between them, and laudna’s hands and skin and when imogen kisses her, she closes her eyes and sees no black, no green, only purple.

[jillsandwhichs]

Valenfield Oneshots/AU's Collection , Chap 11 , Officially Together

Masterlist

Pairing: Jill Valentine & Chris Redfield

Summary: Chris and Jill officially move in together

Status of their relationship in this one shot: engaged

WC: 2.3k

Type: SFW

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

"Take this box." Chris stated, tapping the top of the cardboard box labeled 'Clothes', it was resting in the back of the truck. "You got it boss." Jill teased, grabbing it and holding it firmly to her chest and walking over to the front porch. The main door was wide open, showing off the interior of their newly bought home. The two couldn't be more happier, and couldn't feel more accomplished. It was a true success, being able to purchase your own home in this economy.

Most of the boxes had already been placed inside the home, they were set in the main, extensive hallway, which Jill loved a lot. The front door was large, two rectangular windows formed side by side of it. The staircase to upstairs was in front of the door as well, easy access, Jill loved that too. Out of all the homes they had looked at, this one stood out the most. Chris wasn't as picky, all he wanted was a roof over their heads.

As Chris ambled into the house, Jill went outside, smiling a bit, realizing what was actually happening. She shaded the sun from her eyes as she gandered upwards, viewing the trees planted in their yard. They were tall, and beautiful, both of them were nature enthusiasts, so having these lovely, green leafy trees was a bonus, rather than a burden.

The tailgate of the truck was about empty, only a couple boxes left which were labeled, 'Kitchen Appliances', 'Fish Tank Equipment', 'BookShelf set' and 'Chris's awards + ribbons', and Jill had been left brittle, and confused. Jill had packed her own personal box, it had a lot of sentimental value to her. If it had been left behind in their old apartment, the landlord warned them she'd just toss it out, no matter what it is.

Jogging back to the house, Jill needed to ask Chris if he had seen it anywhere. "Babe?" Jill spoke aloud, stepping over to where he was standing with the group of boxes all around them. "Yes?" Chris replied, taking his eyes from his phone, and to his fiancees divine face. "So like, where is my box? Y'know? It just had my name written on it in blue sharpie... Where is it? Did you move it from the truck?" "No sweetie, I didn't. Did you already take it from the truck by chance?" Chris questioned, setting his phone onto the window sill.

Without even responding to her fiancees question, she sped walked towards the truck again, double-checking if she simply overlooked it, in which she didn't, it wasn't there. "Baby, it's not here!" Jill yelled out, hoping he'd come out to her, but he didn't, most likely not even hearing her. Moving is stressful, but it shouldn't be this stressful.

Wandering inside the house for the last time, Jill looked to Chris, who was just standing up straight, gazing at her, which it was quite the romantic stare. "Enough with the looks, Chris, please help me find the box! You know damn well I need it, Gia told us if we left anything behind, she'd toss it out. I will murder her if she did, I'm not jok-" Jill was cut off when she watched as Chris pointed his finger to the small box resting in the corner, which did in fact have her name, in blue sharpie written on it.

"Oh." She whispered, moving her right hand to her forehead, massaging her temple. "Gotta look harder next time, beautiful." He teased, poking her hip, causing her body to react. "Oh stop it." She groaned out, picking the box up and really making sure it was the correct one. She wasn't joking either ; she seriously would've choked out Gia if the box had been left behind, then tossed in the garbage like it was useless.

"I thought you said you didn't touch it?" "I lied." Chris smirked. "You're an ass!" Jill spoke, her tone playful yet annoyed. "I aim to piss you off, you look good when you're mad." Chris but his lip with glee, clearly getting happy with the result of the matter. "I'm sure you do." Jill replied, slapping his chest firmly, obviously not enough to hurt him, she'd never seriously hit her own soon to be husband.

"Oh, you love it, I can tell." Chris spoke with elate in his tone, staring at Jill as she strided off to their newly remodeled kitchen. Chris went in with her, watching as she admired the room. Jill recently got better with her cooking skills, so he already knew she'd be spending a good amount of her days in here, whipping up lunches, dinners, and snacks for the two of them. Chris did also know how to cook, but Jill swears she wants to be the one to do it. Chris can cook a mean steak though, especially with well seasoned fries and sauteed green beans.

"I wish I could cook tonight." Jill spoke, running her fingers along the wooden, polished counters. "Why can't you? We can run up to the grocery store, get whatever it is you'd like." Chris responded, his voice was genuine, it always made Jill feel comfortable when he'd speak to her this way. "Yeah, well, I appreciate that a lot, so thank you sweetie, but honestly ordering something is easier. I'm just burnt out from the day, all that driving and moving heavy boxes, I'm ready to eat." Jill snorted, heading towards Chris and where he was leaned up against the kitchen wall.

Chris eyed down Jill as she headed closer to him, as she did so, he took her waist within his hands, pulling her into him, their warm bodies pressed together, it felt cozy. "Well, we can order whatever you'd like... It is common for couples to just order in food, sit on the empty floor and talk about life whilst they eat." Chris smiled, thinking about the stereotypical couples who recently moved in together. "You got that right." Jill laughed, staring up into Chris's shiny brown eyes.

"I love when you're happy." Chris whispered, planting a peck upon her soft, small forehead, then using his fingers to move strands of hair behind her ear. "You make me happy." Jill whispered back, taking both of his hands into hers. She stood on her tippy toes and kissed his lips softly, the feeling of their mouths moving together was always so perfect, both felt as though they could melt into the kiss.

Pulling away, Chris gave Jill a warm, loving smile before moving away from her, grabbing his phone off of the counter and turning back to her, speaking softly, "What would you like me to order?" "Oh, anything's fine. I've been feeling like... Chicken lately, y'know?" "Do you want chicken wings? I can order that for us." Chris questioned, begining to dial a number. "Sure! Can we get honey barbecue ones? Oh and sriracha ones too. Both are good." Jill expressed, the thought of the tastes on her tongue was amazing, she was starving after today.

"Sounds good... How about you go grab the extra boxes from the truck while I order the wings, yeah?" Chris spoke, her words stern but sweet. "Will do." Jill replied, walking out to the truck for the real final time. Pressing the green call button, Chris shifted the phone up to his ear, waiting to hear a voice on the other line. "Hello?" Chris said, his voice kind-hearted. "Hello! My name is London, what can I get for you?" The lady on the other end asked, waiting to receive Chris & Jill's orders.

"Hey. Yeah, can I please get a six piece count of honey barbecue wings and a four piece count of the sriracha wings too, along with two medium Cokes please." Chris finalized their orders, waiting for the reply of London. "Alrighty, all together that'll be 13.25$, we'll have those sent out to you shortly, we'll need your current address as well." "Sounds great, thank you miss and here..." Chris spoke out, proceeding to give her the personal information. After a bit, he thanked her once again, and ended the call.

Making his way back to the entrance, he saw Jill putting down the last box, which was labeled 'kitchen appliances'. "Good work beautiful." Chris praised his fiancé, resulting in her smiling and gripping onto his shirt. "Why thank you." She said is a playful tone, smooching his cheek quickly before convoying into their living room, which already had a couch and recliner set up. The room was lofty, very homey too. The two decorated it as much as they could before their personal items would arrive, which they officially brought home today.

"It's great to finally have our own place, it's so nice here. I especially like the yard." She spoke from the heart. "Yeah, maybe we'll get a pool sometime... Or maybe a hammock." Chris smirked, his nose scrunching. "Oh I had a hammock growing up, I forgot those even existed." Jill exclaimed, reminiscing on her childhood.

It wasn't the best but she didn't have it as bad as other children at the time did. "A pool would be nice though, we could have it near the deck." "Yeah, I can live with that... Seeing you in a bikini, all wet and pretty..." Chris teased her, treading over to her and wrapping his bulk arms around her waist, standing behind her. "You're naughty." Jill bit her lip, gazing outside through the deck window.

Chris kept his arms slithered around her hips, his thumb caressing her lower torso. "We'll make so many memories here." Chris muttered out, his head resting on top of her head, her silk-felt hair rubbing against his scruffy chin. "I know we will..." Jill mumbled back to him. "We should get a dog." Jill stated. "A dog? Ain't it kind of soon for a pet?" Chris chuckled, squeezing her hips. "Never! I want either a border collie or a husky... Even black labs are cute guys." "I like that idea... Maybe a bernese mountain dog?" Chris cackled out. "Those are good family dogs, like the main option if you have kids because they aren't aggressive." "Family dog..." Chris whispered out, clearly thinking about something.

"Do you think... Well, I don't know, nevermind babe." Jill changed the topic. "What? What sweetheart?" Chris questioned her, pulling away from her body and moving his right hand to her chin, turning her to face up at him. "Oh nothing, I forgot what I was gonna say." Jill giggled, trying to move on from it. "You sure?" "Positive." She mumbled, squeezing his hand and moving away from him, plopping down onto the black leather couch. "Ok..." Chris muttered to himself, not fully believing what she had just said to him.

Was she gonna bring up the idea of a family? The two of them, eventually having children? Chris had hoped she'd bring it up one day... Did she get too nervous? Or edgy? Did she just genuinely forget? Chris's mind was bouncing all over the place. He really wishes she just would've proceeded with what she was going to say. He loves to hear literally anything that comes out of her mouth.

Ambling to the couch, Chris sat right beside her, grunting out as he stretched his lean body. "Love you." Chris spoke out, his arm wrapped around her slender frame. "Love you to bits." Jill said delicately, leaning her head on his shoulder, feeling ultimately at peace with herself. Being right beside Chris made her feel safe. He was so protective over her, he was her perfect match, as she was also very protective over him. Jill can definitely handle herself, but she also is content knowing he has her back just as she has his. It's called teamwork.

The two spoke for a bit, all about random stuff. Once Jill and Chris get into an interesting topic, they can never shut up, especially Jill, she's a talker. Chris can't complain though because he loves listening to her. He remembers how back in their STARS days, she'd just go on and on about all these random tedious things, it was cute, it's definitely one of her traits he favors.

"Those wings should be here at anytime." Chris chortled, gandering down at her defined face, her jawline sharp and her eyes popped in color, she was magnificent. "Can't wait, wish we had the TV here though..." "Yeah, we'll just have to entertain ourselves until we buy one, bet we can get a good one at Best Buy or Walmart." "Yep." Jill heaved out, rolling her head back, her neck resting on the crevice of the warm, well made leather couch.

"Remember that one movie you showed me? I can't remember the name for the life of me but it was so good." Chris expressed, trying to pin down what the movie was. "Describe it to me handsome." "So like, it was these two kids who visited their grandparents, and turns out, their real one were dead! Horror movie, I know that." "Ohhh, The Visit? Yeah, it's a classic." Jill replied, remembering exactly what film he was referring too.

"We should re watch it here soon." Chris stated, gazing at his fiancé. "I'm cool with that." Jill gazed back at him, leaning in closer to his face. "Good." Chris whispered, slowly moving his hand to her cheek and pulling her into a kiss. Jill breathed in deeply, accepting the lovely kiss from her soon-to-be husband. "Mmm." Jill groaned into the kiss, sighing when Chris pulled away.

"You're my world." Jill muttered out. She wasn't always affectionate type, but she's tries, knowing that Chris really loves that side of her. "You're mine too baby." Chris mumbled back to her, his voice full of gentleness. "Good." Jill spoke, sitting up off of the couch and stretching. "I am starving, when do you think those wings will get here?" Jill questioned. "Soon sweetheart... Wanna go sit on the porch and wait?" He asked. "Sure, why not?" She replied, reaching her hand out for Chris to grab, the two of them making their way to their newly made front porch.

[gurlgallade]

△•△•△ Gal’s Fics △•△•△

Hi! I'm Gal. Old to writing, new to Ao3. Expect many thoughts on plurality and a crack-laced mixture of angst and comedy.

Four’s Sword AU

A Linked Universe series focused on the interiority of a plural Four.

Fourfold — (Massive backstory tragedy fic in the works.)

Forged of Cerulean & Sea — “It’s Blue’s turn to handle the Chain’s equipment maintenance. But when their sailor shows up with a couple of shields and some questions that take a wrong turn, he has to figure out how to perform some kinship maintenance too.” (Light Wind Angst & Comfort.)

Spun of Lavender & Air — “During a brief Minish reconnaissance in Rulie’s Hyrule, Vio finds himself kidnapped by curious fairies and taken to meet the Great Fairy of the local pond. To his surprise, another Link from their chain is there to visit her too…” (Fluff, vague fairytale vibes.)

Sung of Crimson & Sunset — “A nasty portal shift leaves Red the only color awake after giving the rest of the Chain a nasty scare. It’s up to him to reassure Twilight, who’s still worried about losing Four.” (Angst & Comfort. Might revise later for more Twi interiority.)

Honed of Viridian & Divinity — “When Green can’t recall a recently-taught move in a sparring session, Sky tries to have a talk with Four about his memory troubles.” (Veiled Green Angst.)

Scattered to the Four Winds — “A normal foraging trip turns violent when Wind and Four are ambushed by a band of Lizalfos. After accidentally switching weapons, the pair have a new problem on their hands. Four problems, actually.” (Color reveal fic, but only for Wind. Comedic and angsty both.)

Splitting My Temples — “When the Chain begins delving a dungeon tailored a little too closely to Four’s skillset, the Colors are forced to split up to solve a hidden room — only to get separated when the puzzle rewards them by shuffling up the entire dungeon and dividing the chain into four groups. Now with no choice but to work individually among the other Links, can the Colors keep their secret? More importantly; did they ever have to keep it in the first place?.” (Color reveal fic. Comedic and angsty both, but mostly funny.)

A Little Experiment (Or Four) — “Now that Four’s more colorful secret is out, Vio wants to conduct an… informal experiment to better understand the nature of the Four Sword. Legend, Wind, Twilight, and Warriors all help, and maybe learn a little bit about themselves in the process.” (Humor & trauma mingle.)

Misc LU

Various LU one-shots and experiments.

Aww, Deku Nuts — “Wild and Hyrule attempt to cook an unusual ingredient, to stunning results — then Time shows the chain what a properly prepared deku nut actually tastes like.” (Comedy.)

Fairweather Friend — “The gale boomerang keeps mysteriously winding up in Wind's bag overnight. Wind, Twilight, and an accused Legend investigate.” (Comedy.)

I'm Your Little Butterfly — “Sky touches Twilight's shadow crystal. How can Twi, Rulie, and Legend get him back to normal without the Master Sword?” (Comedy.)

Makeup an Excuse — “Somebody pranks Twilight during second shift. Hyrule witnesses it. He does not intervene.” (Comedy. Spoilers for Can’t Conceal It.)

Sew Bad At This — Our first attempt at writing LU. Don’t like it very much anymore, but it’s there. (Mixed tone.)

Would You Still Love Me If I Was A Sword — The Chain discuss whether or not they would like to be sword spirits.

LU & LoZ Artwork

Should be searchable under the tag “mightier than the sword.” If you want to use any of these as icons, banners, etc, you're 100% allowed to. Reposting is not permitted. Slowly working on Visual Novel character sprites for each hero!

Minish Four

[alex-perry]

name: alexander “alex” perry (no relation to katy perry)

age: 32

birthday: january 22

zodiac: aqua sun, libra moon, virgo rising

place of birth: minneapolis, minnesota

occupation: architect 

neighborhood: asbury bay

mbti: infp

pinterest

this is alex and he is the most beige human you could ever imagine.

he is THAT guy who considers “meal prepping” an extreme sport.

bio:

he’s from minnesota, which is like just a giant icy wasteland filled with nice, boring people who think a wild night is a trip to ikea (maybe that's what shaped his taste in interior design but we will get into that soon). his father frank is a civil engineer. his mother susan is an english teacher. he has a younger sister named amelia, who recently graduated from college. his parents' whole philosophy is hard work and practicality, which is just code for “let’s suck all the fun out of life.”

alex's dad richard was raised uber christian in small-town in lexington nebraska, but everything changed when he went to college. cue the culture shock: he met new people, encountered different ideas, and quickly realized the world wasn’t quite like the way he was told in his little church. he met susan, a free-spirited liberal who basically turned his worldview upside down. when they decided to get married, as you can guess, richard's family did not take that well and all hell broke loose. his family basically went all 'THIS IS THE FUTURE THE LIBERALS WANT!!!' route ofc.

because of this divine union, his dad has been banished from the good ol' conservative family circle. they probably think he’s gone to the dark side. he only keeps in touch with one of his cousins. (the one happens to be the father of alex's quirky cousin andrew. and andrew is a chaotic entrepreneur, who lives in silicon valley).

he is also cousins with miss dakota @dakota-perry

so it's safe to say they don't spend much time with his father's siblings. the Perry fam only visits them during holidays.....

little alex was the type who actually did his homework on time and actually got excited about things like mowing the lawn. so it wasn't a surprise when he graduated top of his class and got a scholarship to mit. he studied architecture because.... well, bc he had no other hobbies. and i guess alex wanting to become an architect ever since he was a middle schooler played a role in that decision too.....

he aced his courses, probably wearing one of those dreadful beige cardigans, and designed buildings that weren’t about to fall anytime soon. in MIT he was the one who did all the work in a group project while everyone else was off having a good time. not because he was a control freak, it's bc he actually loved architecture. nothing got his blood pumping like a well-drafted blueprint. and as you can guess, he wasn't exactly fending off crowds of admirers with his passion for structural integrity lsfkslafkalsf

alex in a group project:

after mit, he moved to new york cityyyyyyyyyyy (pls read that with laszlo's voice). he got a job at an architecture firm called thompson & rivera architects, a mid-sized firm with just the right amount of prestige without the snobbery. he had a little apartment in hell's kitchen. his place looked like someone took an ikea catalog, sucked out all the personality, and called it home. minimalist to the point of tragedy, with a potted plant that only survived because it couldn’t be bothered to die.

alex didn’t just wake up and decide to move to asbury for the fun of it(that would be far too spontaneous for the practical prince). his design firm, landed a new project: a modern, trendy boutique hotel in town. he was picked as one of the junior architects to join the senior architects in overseeing the project. he’s not the lead designer OBVIOUSLY, but he's definitely in the inner circle, making sure everything’s structurally correct.

personality:

alex is awfully practical, grounded, and a bit of a perfectionist. and he justifies this by saying "i’m not being picky, i’m being precise". alex's idea of a VERY WILD night would be marie kondo-ing his collection of architectural books and magazines. despite his boring demeanor, he actually has a sense of humor and SURPRISINGLY he can take a joke. to mingle with the local folks, he joined the local bowling team. tbh he’s not the most outgoing person, but he values deep, meaningful relationships over casual friendships. once he is your friend, that means it's going to last forever.

outside of work alex enjoys cycling. (actually a little bit too much, he is cycling around as if he is training for tour de france). and then there’s his cooking obsession. during quarantine, he got into cooking and suddenly became that person who binged every jamie oliver video in existence. next thing you know, he be baking his own sourdough.

well, he has 'mild' ocd. and when I say mild, that's actually an understatement. he is very particular when it comes to organizing his workspace—everything has its place, and he gets mildly irritated if someone moves his things. he’s known to be a bit of a coffee snob, always in search of the perfect cup, and can be annoyingly particular about his brew (as someone who does not know shit about the coffee, I wonder how am i gonna write about this little quirk but we shall see).

OH OH OH ALSO HE IS A HUGE FAN OF THE KILLERS

connection ideas

cycling buddy: soo this dumbass is in a cycling group called "the pedal -pushers," (so original, i know). the group is full of people who take their biking way too seriously. their conversations are not the most entertaining to be honest, such as the best tire pressure or which helmet brand is the best. alex usually shows up in full cycling gear, complete with a helmet with green reflective stripes. that was his way of celebrating the brat summer.

barista (friend or nemesis depending how much they can tolerate alex): a local barista and fellow coffee enthusiast who shares his love for a perfect cup of coffee. orrr simply hating him because he always finds some fault in his coffee.

bowling team / squad: he also recently joined a bowling team. i'd love to discuss the team name and its details, so feel free to hmuuuuu

[rainbeausworld]

The Horned Serpent

So before I get started on this one, I have a couple of things to get out of the way. First, I will be using she/her pronouns for the Horned Serpent; this is just because UPG and because I'm used to it. I know someone else who venerates/worships the Horned Serpent, uses they/them pronouns for them, and considers them to be beyond gender / present as whatever gender they feel like. Second, I will be focusing on my interpretation of her on the Gundestrup Cauldron, in part because there's really not a lot of literature on her, even when you include works that specifically analyze Cernunnos' depictions. Third (and related), I will be using the National Museum of Denmark's estimate as to when/where the Gundestrup Cauldron was made, which is roughly in the Danubian or Wallachian Plain(s) around 150 BCE to 1 CE (link).

So first a little historical & cultural context. This area, as far as culture groups, would have been a heck of a melting pot, between the Dacians and Thracians that already lived there, the Scythians coming in and also living near by, the Gauls that moved in around the 300s-200s, the Greeks who came up and started establishing colonies along the Black Sea in the 300s, and the Romans, encroaching on everyone's business around the time the Cauldron was built. A pretty solid primer on the history of the region is A Companion to Ancient Thrace, published by Wiley Blackwell.

So I'm gonna try to make sense but it might be a little disorganized going forward. Anyway, onto the actual thoughts & stuff. So anyone who's taken even a passing glance at Cernunnos is well aware of the Horned Serpent, since she is present in basically every ancient art you can find with him. On the Gundestrup Cauldron, she appears three times, all on the interior panels. One is at the Hero's heel, who's holding the wheel; a second is at the end of a line of heroic riders, which seems to be a Thracian horseman motif; and of course the famous Cernunnos panel. In Thracian Tales of the Gundestrup Cauldron, published by Najade Press, Jan Best presents an interpretation of the interior panels as a story, and assumes that Cernunnos is singing in his famous panel, specifically about the secrets of immortality, a concept which was very popular at the time. I agree with this and I also assume that the depiction of Taranis / the wheel god is that he is also singing, and if he is singing then the lions and griffins - both predators associated with kingship (griffins were protectors of the pharaoh, and also decorated certain tombs out in ancient Persia), then the action of passing off the Wheel must have symbolic meaning, such as being handed the Wheel of Heaven.

The Gundestrup Cauldron's exterior also has very clear influence from the Scythians, you can almost 1:1 map the gods based on Herodotus's retelling of the Pontic stories. I believe there are also thematic parallels going on here on the Wheel God panel, featuring a new god/king being given the symbol of his domain. Wikipedia actually has some relatively thorough articles on Scythian religion as well as the genealogical myth specifically, which is the myth that I personally associate with the wheel-giving panel. As well, the animals in this panel don't appear to be particularly concerned with attacking anyone - if anything, the griffins and lionesses are slightly tilted from one to the next, which makes me think it's more likely that they are dancing, especially if the human/divine subjects are singing, especially if the human with the helmet is receiving a high honor, potentially his rank amongst the gods. In this panel, she is just at the hero's feet, not really joining the parade if the animals, but clearly not ready to attack either, but her attention does seem to be drawn towards the hero.

The final panel she is on is the panel featuring the nine soldiers and the heroized dead, represented by the "Thracian horseman" motif. After Alexander the Great and his penchant for having statues of himself be on horseback, it became popular for wealthy men and nobles to depict themselves riding horseback to a goddess or sacred tree (unfortunately my best source discussing this in English is also not great and he comes up with some..... questionable theories), but the popularity seems to have blown up to the point where even deities such as Zeus were depicted on horseback in a similar manner. There are also mentions in a few other sources that the Thracians believed in the ability for people to essentially become immortal after death. Unfortunately, I'm having trouble sorting out my notes and this essay has been nagging me for weeks now.

Anyway, I interpret this panel as what is expected to happen to us after we die - the "ordinary", so to speak, are lead to a deity, likely to be reincarnated (this is honestly just a guess on my part largely due to the popularity of that in Greece for ever, and Grecian influence was in full swing by the time the Cauldron was made), meanwhile the "extraordinary" are lead by the Horned Serpent.

This is where I tie all three together to my upg/theology: The Horned Serpent is a friend and ally to Cernunnos. He teaches the secrets of life after death to those who will listen. The Horned Serpent is by his side during his teaching, and when we die, if we have proven ourselves worthy during life, she guides us through the trials of the afterlife. If we succeed in these trials, we are awarded with apotheosis - becoming a god or godlike - and she stands by our side as we earn this prize.

@musingmelsuinesmelancholy sorry it took me so long x.x & I hope this makes sense!

[yerbamansa]

Writing Patterns - First & Last Sentences

Tagged by @thetragicallynerdy - thanks for the tag! This was fun! You got me to make a tumblr post for the first time in a thousand years!

Editing to add @petrichorca for tagging me in the first part of the game - consider yourself tagged back for corresponding last lines?

I’m just combining two things because that seems handy.

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern! Then list the last line of the same 10 fics you shared opening lines for and see if there's a pattern!

1. the secret middle-aged sad-sack mostly bad vibes I can sing along to playlist

First: Some things don’t change.

Last (most recent): Why the fuck, then, do they start sobbing?

2. the way things are going

First: Since things started falling apart, Oluwande learned the hard way to be careful about who to trust.

Last (most recent): Once he got it open, he read aloud: “‘Dear community and/or individuals, my name is Stede Bonnet…’”

3. Welcome to Jeff’s Inn by the Sea | Innkeeper Roleplay ASMR | Personal Attention | Realistic | Soft Spoken Male Voice

First: When Stede Bonnet’s boyfriend casually mentioned wanting to try making ASMR videos, he was all in.

Last: “I’ll have to think about that one, dearest,” he decided.

4. Rock On To The Oceanside

First: Ed Teach wasn’t built for sitting idle.

Last (most recent): And Ed felt ready.

5. Plus Ones

First: “So how did you two meet?”

Last: “Probably even better luck if we do it again.”

6. you can move in light divine

First: Oluwande had always loved Jim, probably from the moment they met.

Last: So many more conversations to come.

7. due to a controllable irregularity

First: It had been a good week, but Stede was looking forward to going home.

Last: He’d tell him. Soon.

8. an atypical emotional response to common sounds

First: Stede Bonnet had a complicated relationship with sounds.

Last: Stede couldn’t wait for Saturday.

9. Stede has started shopping for your order

First:  “Your GetMeGroceries shopper Stede has arrived at Jenkins Market!” the app informed Ed.

Last: For the moment, however, he had far more compelling priorities.

10. I Think I See The Light

First: Jackie’s traded her usual vivid reds for somber black, but she still looks every bit the part of the intimidating pirate queen.

Last: And they start humming a now-familiar tune as they scan the docks for a recognizable face: If you want to sing out, sing out…

NB: skipped one that’s a mostly abandoned group collab smau because that doesn’t seem indicative of my style, and there’s one here that needed the preceding sentence because otherwise it’s just one word.

Hmmm, so, self-analysis: I start with some kind of place-setting thesis statement. Sometimes it’s maybe a little in medias res, but not usually, I guess. The POV character is named more often than not. And I end on the edge of some kind of decision or change. That’s by design—I don’t like writing pat endings and happily ever afters (even if they are pretty happy). This is especially true for mid-fic chapters, I suppose, but it’s definitely how I approach endings in general! (There’s one fic I can think of that has a final sentence I fucking hate for reasons related to this but I don’t wanna go rewrite it because I am not sure what to change it to, and I’m really quite pleased with the rest of the fic!)

One thing that strikes me is that I can’t really tell from any of these firsts and lasts whether the fic is more funny or serious. It’s just a lot of interior monologue, really.I’m not sure if there’s anything here I specifically want to work on. Maybe experimenting more with diving right into the action?

ANYHOO. If you see this because you're still actually looking at your tumblr dash regularly (sorry sorry) and you wanna play, please do!! I won't stumble out of the woodwork and tag but I love you all ok byeee

[katarina-writes-about-jesus]

Behold the lamb of God!

I'm going through a really rough time right now. I was made to feel not safe in my own home in December when a relative who used to mentally abuse me growing up suddenly did something that reminded me of it. I spiraled. Then I spiraled some more.

I'm kind of sort of still spiraling but trying to pick myself up. Or to let God pick me up. I went to church on Christmas Eve (early, service for children), my toddler wasn't crying, he wasn't screaming. But he wasn't still. So I did what I always do. We walked up and down on the side. A woman who worked there looked at me angrily and told me to make sure he was quiet. I can still see her face filled with rage as she leaned down at me (I was low since I was standing next to toddler).

...and then I spiraled again. I've never felt so unwelcome. And yes. Totally overexagerated. I didn't need to be sad. But when you've been dealing with self harming for a few weeks, crying yourself to sleep, finally taking a breath and being in the presence of God and then feeling unwelcome?

The woman saw me leave crying. I sound like a wuss, I'm not. I think I'm just clinically depressed. Onset by the two rough years I have had since having a baby and my dad dying and everything and then the event in December that shall not be named.

I feel tested but I think it's just the depression talking. I know in theory that God loves me and that Jesus is there even though I can't feel it right now. I don't feel much right now at all. But I'm trying to be still and believe and wait.

My favourite Bible app (the biggest one I believe?) has small studies or reading plans you can follow. I'm bad at following day by day so usually I just pick a plan and then read through it in one sitting. The plans which are 5 days or so I can do that. Longer plans aren't always possible. I think it's so handy to read the bible on my phone when I'm too tired or too overwhelmed to pick up my huge pink study bible.

So the other day I opened my Bible app and read a study that talked about how God in the old testament commanded people to continuously remind themselves of him.

Deuteronomy 6: 69

"These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. 7 Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. 8 Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. 9 Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates."

So I've decided to do that. I want to put reminders of God here and there. In every room. The reading plan also talked about how we have some kind of divine amnesia. It seems that if we are not reminded of God we forget. I think that's why it's so important to surround yourself with Christian friends, mind you I have no Christian friends. I'm like many who are surrounded by atheists and agnostics. I'm praying that during this year I'll get some Christian friends. A friend whom my family will accept. There is an LGBT Christian group that meets once a month. My "priest friend" (she isn't my friend but I choose to label her such in my head) goes there.

I have now lost in the point of this post. I want to fix more Christian interior. I want to be reminded of Jesus in every room. Maybe the point of this post is to do like John the Baptist. Say "Behold the Lamb of God"!

[nicklloydnow]

“The specifically human feature of human groupings can be exploited to turn them into the semblance of nonhuman systems.

We do not now suppose that chemical elements combine together because they love each other. Atoms do not explode out of hatred. It is men who act out of love and hatred, who combine for defense, attack, or pleasure in each other's company.

All those people who seek to control the behavior of large numbers of other people work on the experiences of those other people. Once people can be induced to experience a situation in a similar way, they can be expected to behave in similar ways. Induce people all to want the same thing, hate the same thing, feel the same threat, then their behavior is already captive - you have acquired your consumers or your cannon-fodder. Induce a common perception of Negroes as subhuman, or of whites as vicious and effete, and behavior can be concerted accordingly.

However much experience and action can be transformed into quantitatively interchangeable units, the schema for the intelligibility of group structures and permanence is of quite a different order from the schema we employ when we are explaining relative constancies in physical systems. In the latter case, we do not, in the same way, retrace the constancy of a pattern back to the reciprocal interiorization of the pattern by whatever one regards as the units comprising it. The inertia of human groups, however, which appears as the very negation of praxis, is in fact the product of praxis and nothing else. This group inertia can only be an instrument of mystification if it is taken to be part of the "natural order of things." The ideological abuse of such an idea is obvious. It so clearly serves the interests of those whose interest it is to have people believe that the status quo is of the "natural order," ordained divinely or by "natural" laws. What is less immediately obvious, but no less confusing, is the application of an epistemological schema, derived from natural systems, to human groups. The theoretical stance here only serves to intensify the dissociation of praxis from structure.

The group becomes a machine - and that it is a man-made machine in which the machine is the very men who make it is forgotten. It is quite unlike a machine made by men, which can have an existence of its own. The group is men themselves arranging themselves in patterns, strata, assuming and assigning different powers, functions, roles, rights, obligations and so on.

The group cannot become an entity separate from men, but men can form circles to encircle other men. The patterns in space and time, their relative permanence and rigidity, do not turn at any time into a natural system or a hyperorganism, although the fantasy can develop, and men can start to live by the fantasy that the relative permanence in space-time of patterns and patterns of patterns is what they must live and die for.

It is as though we all preferred to die to preserve our shadows.

For the group can be nothing else than the multiplicity of the points of view and actions of its members, and this remains true even where, through the interiorization of this multiplicity as synthesized by each, this synthesized multiplicity becomes ubiquitous in space and enduring in time.

It is just as well that man is a social animal, since the sheer complexity and contradiction of the social field in which he has to live is so formidable. This is so even with the fantastic simplifications that are imposed on this complexity, some of which we have examined above.

Our society is a plural one in many senses. Any one person is likely to be a participant in a number of groups, which may have not only different memberships, but quite different forms of unification.

Each group requires more or less radical internal transformation of the persons who comprise it. Consider the metamorphoses that one man may go through in one day as he moves from one mode of sociality to another family man, speck of crowd dust, functionary in the organization, friend. These are not simply different roles: each is a whole past and present and future, offering differing options and constraints, different degrees of change or inertia, different kinds of closeness and distance, different sets of rights and obligations, different pledges and promises.

I know of no theory of the individual that fully recognizes this. There is every temptation to start with a notion of some supposed basic personality, but halo effects are not reducible to one internal system. The tired family man at the office and the tired businessman at home attest to the fact that people carry over, not just one set of internal objects, but various internalized social modes of being, often grossly contradictory, from one context to another.

Nor are there such constant emotions or sentiments as love, hate, anger, trust or mistrust. Whatever generalized definitions can be made of each of these at the highest levels of abstraction, specifically and concretely, each emotion is always found in one or another inflection according to the group mode it occurs in. There are no "basic" emotions, instincts or personality, outside of the relationships a person has within one or another social context.

There is a race against time. It is just possible that a further transformation is possible if men can come to experience themselves as "One of Us." If, even on the basis of the crassest self-interest, we can realize that We and They must be transcended in the totality of the human race, if we in destroying them are not to destroy us all.

As war continues, both sides come more and more to resemble each other. The uroborus eats its own tail. The wheel turns full circle. Shall we realize that We and They are shadows of each other? We are They to Them as They are They to Us. When will the veil be lifted? When will the charade turn to carnival? Saints may still be kissing lepers. It is high time that the leper kissed the saint.” (p. 64 - 67)

[tacticalhimbo]

Howdy @miasmat ! I was assigned to celebrate @detectivelokis FC5 Anniversary Gift Exchange with ya, and I come bearing a gift!

I hope you enjoy this fic I wrote! I had a lot of fun looking through Noah’s tag and the written documents provided, and seeing his interactions with Joseph. I hope I did them both some justice and captured that bittersweet buildup between them <3

Let me know if you'd like a permanent copy of this, too! I can slide a PDF or something your way :-)

Under a cut for length!

Smoke plumes coated the vast Montana landscape, though it was no different from how things had been. Still, day in and day out, cultists clashed with local resistance groups, just as they had prior to the Deputy's arrival. Nothing had changed in those moments where crimson coated tarmac. Not a single thing, even as the weight on Noah's shoulders fell to the earth at his feet.

And yet, everything had changed. For him. For the Seeds. For Joseph.

Shimmering dew drops splashed against the rich, country soil, accompanying distant footfalls in matting the earth. The air was chilled. Still. Hushed, as if the Deputy were the only one to walk the path at that moment. Perhaps, in a way, he was. The only one to go willingly to the Father, even after all he had done. To see him surrounded by chaos and bloodshed, and still find himself captivated by the beauty of those eyes. To find himself lost in the Father's intense gaze.

No. It was a simple task; nothing more.

That's what he'd told himself when returning to the wreckage. What he'd affirmed as gloved hands reached down to retrieve the twisted aviators. He'd held them up to the sun, watching as the dew dripped from amber tinted lenses. It was what he repeated to himself as he’d walked up the church’s steps, doing well to avoid the scrutinizing gaze of the working cultists just in the distance. They’d done well to avoid causing a scene, lest they’d unknowingly unleash a secondary ambush. Stirred the hornet’s nest just yonder, past the barbed wire fencing. Awoken the beasts hidden in the wild brush. No, they’d do well to wait it out. Prepare while they had the chance. To share subtle nods and check their persons. Always armed. Just as God intended.

The doors opened with a humble creak, a sign of wear on the wrought iron hinges. Silence. An empty alley of cracked wooden flooring stood between him and the central stage, dusted pews lining each side of the church's expansive interior. To the side, there was a small hallway. And within the hallway, which almost seemed to shrink around the deputy as he'd walked along the row of doors, lay the office. A quaint little door with a window illuminated by the interior light. Inside sat the very man he was searching for, head tilted down as he focusedly flipped through the stack of papers in his hand. Preparations for their next sermon. Statements addressing the latest incident, and how it was God's will that had pulled him from the wreckage.

Divine intervention. Intervention that only he'd known to be walking in the form of the cult's very target.

Seeming to sense a set of eyes upon him, Joseph lifted his head to find Noah standing there beyond the glass. The Father studied the deputy's expression before motioning for him to enter, and simply returned to organizing the papers.

"I—" Noah's voice caught in his throat, dissipated in the swirling thoughts that'd begun to circle his head. It wavered before he'd steadied them with a soft cough. "Your glasses."

Joseph glanced toward the deputy's hand as he extended it, revealing the aviators. They were worse for wear, but not beyond repair. It wouldn't be the first time the Father found himself tinkering over them. He set the handwritten notes to the side, resting them atop his desk as he'd stood to approach. To accept the offering. Curiosity swirled in tired blues, his touch lingering on the deputy's hand as he examined him. Then, he simply took the glasses and set them to join his notes.

"Something else is on your mind." The Father's voice was steady. Almost cautious in its guidance. It brought pause to the deputy as he lingered in his position just by the door.

Something else? Several things more like it. The way he'd instinctively pulled the trigger on a member of the Resistance. The silent understanding between himself and Joseph in those last moments. The decision to walk away from it all. To free himself from the confines of his duties. Conflict wrote itself on the other's face, jaw clenching as he'd bit back and swallowed the nausea it'd all stirred.

"I will not judge you for what you say, or whatever you choose to do. I have no reason to, given you've come on your own volition. If you'd like to talk, there is time. If not, then know my men will not attack you as you leave."

Reassurance. A kindness that tethered itself to Noah's very core. Wrapped so gingerly around his limbs and compelled him to take the spare seat just beside the few worn shelves. Compelled him to suck in a breath through his teeth and finally allow the words to leave his mouth.

"I'd like to stay. Here. I'd like to stay here. I can't go back there after..."

After I killed an innocent man. After I killed someone who put their trust in me. After I let him, and others, die to save you.

"I understand." Joseph took his own breath, pondering over how he could make such an arrangement work without risking those within his flock.

Of course, he would guarantee the freedom to leave at any moment. Tell his men that the Deputy would be in their protection for the time being. But how would he ensure others did not come looking for him? He couldn't, frankly. The best he could do with the resources on hand were to simply maintain business as usual. Keep the church grounds protected by any means necessary. Prepare somewhere that the Deputy could remain out of sight, but still have access to the things he'd needed. It wasn’t sound, but it would do. But there was one more thing…

"And Noah?" A pause to await the deputy's recognition. "... Thank you. For doing what needed to be done."

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Blessings on this Feast day of St. Brendan!

He is known as the “Navigator” or “Voyager” because his life was defined by his seven year long journey across the sea to find the Island Promised to the Saints.

He hears the call to search for this mythical island and it is revealed in a dream, an angel says he will be with him and guide him there. He brings along a group of fellow monks for community, and searches for seven years sailing in circles, visiting many of the islands again and again.

Each year he celebrates Easter Mass on the back of a whale. Each year he visits the island of the birds, where white-feathered creatures sing the Psalms with his monks. Only when his eyes are opened, does he see that this paradise he seeks is right with him.

There is, of course, the actual narrative of a physical voyage. Tim Severin, a modern sailor in the 1970’s, re-created the voyage Brendan took, rebuilding the same boat, and landed in places like Iceland and Greenland. There have been suggestions that Brendan was perhaps the first to land in North America. This is the outward geography of the journey.

There is also a deeper, archetypal layer to this journey, which resonates with our own inner pilgrim – the part of ourselves drawn to make long voyages in search of something for which we long. This is the inward geography of the journey, and one where we may physically only travel a few feet or miles but the soul moves in astronomical measure.

The Navigatio, as the text of Brendan’s voyage is known in Latin, is a story of a soul rooted deeply in a monastic tradition and culture, as well as the liturgical cycles and rhythms, in early medieval Ireland. Each of the various parts of their journey take place in 40 and 50 day increments to reflect the liturgical seasons and the rhythms of fasting. They arrive to landfall to celebrate the major feasts and always accompanied by the singing of the Divine Office and chanting of the psalms. Time is not linear on this journey. Brendan and his monks move in circles, spiraling again and again to familiar places from new perspectives.

This journey is an allegory of spiritual transformation and the soul’s seeking to live and respond to the world from an experience of inner transfiguration with themes of Brendan’s waiting, anticipation, striving, searching, and seeing from a deeper perspective.

The heart of the voyage asks us, what needs to change for the Land Promised to the Saints to be recognized? What is the way required through both illuminated and shadowy interior landscapes? Are we able to stay present through moments of solace, ease, and joy, as well as the anxiety, fear, and sometimes terror that comes when we let go of all that is familiar to follow our heart’s calling? Can we see the difficult journey as a passage of initiation?

There is a great deal of waiting in this journey, so much unknowing. There are whole seasons when they feel impatient and confused about why they can’t find the place they are seeking so diligently. Yet it is the very journey through the shadows that is required to make the desired discovery.

Brendan doesn’t arrive to the promised land he seeks until he has made the arduous journey within and then as Cynthia Bourgeault writes, he realizes that he himself is the veil that hides the Paradise he seeks.

[Christine Valters Paintner]

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for Beato Angelico

Heb 11:1-7; Ps 144; Mark 9:2-13

A few days ago, the Rosary Shrine welcomed its first group of pilgrims of this year: five women and one Dominican friar had come on pilgrimage to England, and they were devotees of Fr Bede Jarrett OP who had served as Provincial for 16 years; revered as a retreat giver, spiritual writer, and tireless in his work of expanding the Dominican mission in this country. Like all good Catholics, Fr Bede had a great aesthetic sense, a love for beauty, which is inherent in human souls, and also in beautiful things made by the ingenuity and hard work of human hands. He once spoke of beauty being found “not as a secret but as a gospel, not as a thing hidden but as a friend revealed.” 

This love for beauty, which must be both spiritual and material in order for it to reflect the splendour of the incarnation of Christ, a splendour glimpsed in its magnificence by the three disciples on Tabor, is ultimately a love for God, for the Son who is the splendour of the Father, the icon of the unseen God. As such, when Dominicans preach the Word, they don’t only focus on what is spoken, nor even just on what is written, but also on what is seen, expressed artistically through the painter’s brush, the sculptor’s chisel, or the photographer’s lens! 

For the Dominican seeks and preaches beauty, “not as a secret but as a gospel”, as good news in a world darkened by sin and destruction, and in moments when we might be tempted to cast our eyes downwards in the face of so much ugliness and brokenness. In such a world, beauty is needed all the more, to give us faith in God and his goodness and beauty and power to save and redeem. Thus Christ revealed his divine beauty to his disciples, transfigured on the heights, to help them look up and give them hope of the Resurrection in advance of the terrible suffering of his Passion and Cross which was to come. Likewise, the Dominican find and makes manifest beauty “not as a thing hidden but as a friend revealed”. For the One who has befriended us, and who has revealed his glory to us, even when we were made ugly by sin, is Christ, who is Beauty himself and the greatest Friend of humanity. Dominican preaching, therefore, calls us to look and see that God is with us, and his grace fills this world with divine light, to dispel the darkness, and to beautify us. 

Bede Jarrett thus wrote to an aspiring Dominican who did not think he was much of a public speaker that “Fra Angelico used his paint brush” to proclaim the Gospel, and “these [paintings] are effective” and perhaps more so than the voice. For spoken sermons fade and become mere memory but, he implies, paintings live on. Clearly the painted sermons of Fra Angelico (or Blessed John of Fiesole, as he is properly called), this blessed Dominican friar who we commemorate today, and who is the patron saint of artists, have an endurance and an interior beauty that powerfully communicates the Gospel to us even today. Indeed, many, who would not read a sermon or spiritual writing, do still flock to the museums and churches that are blessed with Fra Angelico’s works, and there they can see in his frescoes and paintings a world transfigured by divine light, and a beauty that gives hope and draws us forward in life’s journey, calling us to look up towards heaven. 

In part due to the example of Fra Angelico, who himself was inspired by the preaching of St Antoninus, Dominican bishop of Florence in his lifetime, beauty, then, has been firmly established in our Dominican life, especially in our churches and in every aspect of our liturgical life. So, I want to momentarily pay tribute to our Dominican Sisters of the English Congregation of St Catherine of Siena, who are based in Stone (Staffordshire), and who were renowned for their beautiful and painstakingly embroidered vestments and liturgical furnishings. This past week, a significant part of the Sisters’ beautiful heritage was handed down to us to be used in the Rosary Shrine, for the glory of God. My hope is that we can have an exhibition of these works in October this year. Such things are, unfortunately, regarded these days by many people, even Catholics, as unnecessary luxuries that shouldn’t concern serious Christians. After all, we should be feeding the poor! However, the Sisters who educated the poor (and fed them) knew that Catholics also couldn’t neglect beauty and art. For the human person needs to be fed in body and soul; the human heart longs for beauty, longs for God and so looks for his beauty to be revealed as gospel and as friend. 

Hence, the austere observant Dominicans, of which Fra Angelico was a member, also had paintings in their monastic cells at San Marco in Florence for we pray not just with our lips and in our minds, but also with our eyes, and indeed, our whole bodies. The goal, therefore, was that such external beauty would lead to interior beauty, so that as we look on the face of Christ and Our Lady and the Saints, our lives would be transfigured by the gospel of Jesus Christ, made beautiful by his grace as, through beauty, we befriend Jesus and so we are made beautiful. For as St Thomas Aquinas says the divine communication of beauty is beautifying, ie, the revelation of divine beauty and our recognition of it  produces beauty in things; Beauty himself acts to make us truly beautiful. 

May Blessed Fra Angelico pray for artists today, and for create beautiful things in this world. May God use the work of their hands to reveal himself to us. Amen. 

[lunarscaled]

drabble scene: The Twilight Assembly, post-tournament

Lyric arrives at the Assembly doors in handcuffs. Not alone, of course—who would let someone walk around in handcuffs unattended?—but escorted by two tall, silver armored guards, one with long elvish ears and the other with speckled brown primary feathers protruding from an open space in his bracer. Each one keeps a hand on their thick biceps with thumbs pressed into the muscle uncomfortably, and every twist of their arm or roll of their shoulder is met with a hard pull of the limb back to their side. They can’t even raise a hand to push the one errant curl of dark hair hanging between their eyes out of their face. If they twist their neck, they can see their haggard reflection in the polished metal of the bracers on either side of them: unkempt brunette curls fallen over their shoulders and down their back; the purple mottled skin under their eyes which reeked of exhaustion and pronounced their orange stare; clusters of opalescent white scales on their olive skin, growing more and more numerous every day whether they wanted them to or not. 

They had never been the type of person to dress up for appearances, but a bath would have been nice before being dragged here.

The closed door before them is at least a story tall, built from marble and embossed pewter and blends in perfectly with the surrounding monument; Lyric had only glimpsed a fraction of its towering exterior very briefly during their escort through its halls, surrounded for miles by empty, blue ocean. Pale dawn light filters through arched windowpanes and throws glares in their eyes as the doors open with a weighted clack and scrape, their heft parting sluggishly to bare the amphitheater of the Twilight Assembly to them. It is constructed from the same white stone and metal decor as its doors are, but in place of true walls and a roof are many towering, fluted columns holding aloft a dome with an open skylight in the center. Though the sun has not yet risen enough to bring about the full effect, Lyric follows the imaginary line from the hole down to the tiled floor that is inlaid with chips of lapis lazuli in the shapes of constellations. A star chart, surrounded by an outer ring which shows the phases of the moon, the blank spot for a new moon furthest from the door. They feel the great rumble and scrape of the doors closing slowly behind them vibrating painfully through their feet.

The half-circle interior of rising seats is filled with representatives Lyric has only heard of in myths, clustered in groups of their peers. Faeries dressed in the colors of their seasons, at least one for each court; Seraphim and Cherubim with their many wings folded tightly to their backs; Devas and Yashkas adorned in gold and colored silks seated beside a sharp-eyed man dressed in red robes, his hair cascading into patterns of feathers like a golden pheasant—the Vermillion Bird. From divine beasts to homely fae, all who represent their kind seem to have come to the spectacle, right down to the first half ring of seating closest to Lyric.

"The audacity of you to refuse my call and to injure my escorts is unprecedented." Ao Guang speaks in the quiet, the echo of his voice ringing with the authority of one who has always been listened to by his lessers. He raises one pale eyebrow as he stares down at them from his raised position in the stands, "You bit them?"

"You expected me not to?" Lyric replies, bending their arms at the elbows to rest their restraints only to be pulled straight again. "Do you usually expect people you kidnap to go without a fight?"

The elder dragon straightens his posture and raises his head to look down his nose at them; his presence gives weight to what they already suspected, eyes creeping from one first-row occupant to the next, all of them bearing a variety of colored and textured scales—they were in the presence of the Dragon Archons, a position they thought had grown obsolete in the modern age. It made sense if they thought about it: the suffocating aura each of them possessed, the pervasive feeling of being stared down by an apex predator, how their skin goosebumps and hair stands on end when Lyric raises their eyes to meet Ao Guang's gaze. Their pride as a fellow dragon won't let them back away, but their instinct bids them to sink lower, be more meek. They are in the presence of someone far more powerful than they could ever hope to be.

"I expect you to come when you are called, hatchling."

The diminutive grates on their clenched teeth. He raises a slender hand.

"Release them. They can do nothing here." Ao Guang lowers his hand as Lyric's jaw tightens, their stare narrowing. Where spans of his skin are not protected by his long, layered blue hanfu, Lyric can see azure scales winking in the open air. Even several meters away they can tell the clear color of his eyes, light like blue lace agates. "I assume you are beyond the age where you feel a need to throw tantrums?"

"That depends." they say, hands coming to rub their wrists as the guards each remove one thick metal cuff with a key and back away towards the closed doors, "Am I going to have a reason to throw one?"

Again he glares down at them, displeased with their flagrant pushback against his questions as titters arise behind him. Lyric watches a muscle in his jaw bulge outward before relaxing as he produces a fan of yellow and green feathers from his sleeve and hides his mouth behind it, now interested in the decorum of keeping his composure. Lyric’s free arms fall to their sides, sore from bindings while their fingers tapping anxiously against their legs as they try to keep their facial expression in check; no sneering teeth or curled lips or outward anger. There is a clearing of someone’s throat.

“You have not been summoned before us without reason. A matter of grave importance requires both our attention and yours—I assume you know what the title of Dragon Archon means?” Ao Guang gives space for their answer, but Lyric fumbles to find one. They knew of the Archons in the same way people might know of a popular urban myth, but they knew nothing of detail or how they came to be. The Dragon King of the East Sea had not become such because he was an Archon, and likewise an Archon would not be crowned a king solely based upon the former title, but that was where their knowledge ended.

Their eye contact falters and drops to the floor. Before the azure dragon can continue, he is interrupted by a sharp guffaw to his right, which was Lyric’s left, and both of their heads turn to see a large, dark scaled man in layers of wool coats leaning his weight forward onto one elbow against the wall of the seating area. He stares down Lyric with six yellow eyes crowding out his face and sharp incisors that flash when he grins.

”You can’t be serious. Look at them! No more than a babe as it is!” He gestures to them with a calloused palm that ends in thick nails like hooked claws, his boisterous voice only worsened by how his Slavic accent smears some consonants into each other. It must be the Black Dragon Archon, if his scales were anything to go by. “They could not fight for their life! How would they defend such a title!”

His tone is uninhibited by Lyric’s souring expression or the side-eye he receives from Ao Guang, who Lyric assumes has been the de facto head of all dragons for some time. Why else would he be so irritated? Lyric takes a moment to account the many dragons in the front row one by one with a careful eye, all of different silhouettes and impressions, no two outfits similar; three dragons to the left of the circle and one to the right—in the middle is Ao Guang, who they would have to be blind to think is anyone but the long-reigning Blue Dragon Archon. They knew dragons and their shapes extended the world over, but that individuality was easily missed if you never left the region you worked in.

“That isn't your choice, Chernobog," the green dragon speaks in a voice that is even but not soft, keeps his hands in his lap out of sight in a manner that makes Lyric suspicious and does not seem to regard them at all despite standing in front of him. He is wrapped in a checkered gho with folded back cuffs up to his elbows, scales so thick they can scarcely see his skin beneath and whose horns are wobbled and long like willow branches. "Or your place to speak."

"This isn't a school. We don't need to raise our hands and take turns." Chernobog rumbles, wearing a heavy wool coat over ruby-dyed, embroidered linen, whose pattern they could not clearly see at this angle or distance. He jabs a clawed finger in Lyrics direction, two of his eyes squinting. "You. Have you ever fought for a title in your life? Can you even control that magic in you?"

"I…" their tongue feels heavy as a hand clasps over one wrist and their thumb pushes against the joint as a sickening wave of anxiety rises up over them. Could they see it? Could they all see it? They were fine right now, but if their emotions escalated—if they got even the slightest bit too upset it would tear through them and their surroundings like tissue paper. Their skin was already covered in the pink scars of one-too-many ice spikes speared through, how could they hold their own in any kind of combat that didn't end up with their body run through like a pincushion with only themselves to blame? They had barely lived through their nigh-explosive outburst at the guild tourney and still lost their match. Who were they to be standing here before dragons of myth and curling their lips at being called weak "I’m trying.”

“Does it matter if they’re strong or not?” Gold, with two sets of curving horns decorated in rings that matched those on his fingers, dressed in a loose draped sleeve and fitted vest, leaned against his palm with his elbow on his knee. His accent is the only one they recognize, like their grandparents on their mother’s side from Lamia, and they are reminded of both legend and name in quick succession: Cadmus, prince of Phoenicia, dragon slayer turned serpent for slaying the Ismenian Dragon sacred to Ares. How old did that make him? 3,000 years? 4,000? How old were the rest of them? How vast the gap of power and age, and yet still having brought them here for a purpose they barely knew. “Not a single other white-scale has come to claim their seat in all this time. They may as well succeed it; they’re the only child Zargincerinth ever claimed, as damning a fate as that is.”

“An Archon has never passed down their position! It has always been fought for! That bastard dragged the dead body of the White before him into the assembly hall before he got his seat!” Chernobog brings a heavy fist down against the stone that cracks the wall on impact, quiet surprise rippling through the rest of the hall. There are many more eyes on them than just those of dragons, some delightedly watching the squabble over a single, human-born child, some sneering that they are even allowed to be here. “An insult to the legacy of the Assembly! It’d be foolish to even suggest it!”

“This is not a matter of strength, Chernobog. Don’t be so single-minded.” Further down the semi-circle to their right sits a dark skinned woman with brilliant red scales, hair braided tightly to her head in rows and decorated with beads. Her clothes are vibrant patterns of greens, golds, blues and whites, embellished with beads and braided threads; they start from her neck and extend outward like a large necklace, but sit separate from a skirt and belt in the same style. She rests her chin on her interlaced fingers and contemplates the little one before her. Of all the looks they have received, only the Red Dragon’s has been anything close to kind, but when they look up to meet her stare they find only pyrope depths with no answers for them. “This is about the Beasts’ Seal.”

Another ripple of murmuring runs through the amphitheater. The seal… they whisper. Oh yes, the seal! The summer court exclaims. Is this it? Will they finally undo it? Lyric feels a cold sweat breaking out on the back of their neck, left wringing their own wrists in the center of gossiping. It will be quite the ruckus. We’ll all have to prepare.

“Thákane is right. This is not because we feel you should suddenly rise to take this seat,” Ao Guang addresses them directly now, having lowered his open fan now that his irritation has ebbed, “It is because it is only the White Dragon Archon who can release the Leviathan and Behemoth from their slumber.”

“I don’t know anything about a seal.” Lyric professes, their voice subdued. They barely speak and yet it seems to echo in the domed space against their will; goosebumps run up their arms. “I don’t—I’m not special. If there’s someone you’re looking for it isn’t me.”

“It is.” the green dragon speaks, his arms crossed tight over his chest, “You reek of that same magic. If that is not enough, you look just the same as your predecessor from more than a millenia ago.” A pause. His pinning stare softens. “—you struggle as they did, too. The magic of a primordial dragon is too much for a human body to bear.”

Lyric looks down at their calloused hands where scar tissue has given way to rising clusters of scales and curls their fingers into their palms. Their nails are sharper than they remember, longer and faintly curved, they nick themselves sometimes when they scratch as the soft skin of their cheeks. Their teeth, too, felt as though they did not fit properly in their mouth anymore; really, nothing had felt right since the tourney. Every irritable inch of them ached, their skin seemed to split open new wounds all the time, some days it felt as though their bones were going to grow right out of their skin and they could do nothing to stop it. Was that why? Some old dragon’s blood they never asked for; some pact they never agreed to? And what did that speak of them? What did they exist for? (to go to war in someone else’s stead. to become an enemy of themselves.)

“Druk is right. The timeliness of this matter is imperative to both you and the Assembly; you must assume responsibility for the White Dragon Archon’s title, and for the unsealing of the beasts.” Ao Guang says. Lyric’s shoulders raise as their body hunches just enough to tuck their arms protectively around their ribcage, a frown deeply creasing their face.

“What happens when they’re unsealed?”

“Order.” Cadmus says, bearing a bored expression, “The natural randomness of the world returns; floods, droughts, rising winds, the expanding of forests. How things should be.”

Lyric’s mouth curls up at the edges, their teeth showing in their grimace as they feel a low-burning anger in them. “That’s not order, that’s chaos! You’re describing natural disasters! People will die!”

“Humans will die.” a kijin interjects from the back of the auditorium, its massive size barely fitting over several rows of seats as it uses its sword as an armrest, “That is no great loss. Humans die alllll the time”

“You only fear this because you are young.” Chernobog says, an elbow on his knee as the other gestures towards them. He seems to be the type to talk with his hands. “Your life will extend long past theirs. You must think of what is best for the future of the world, not the present.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can just let people get hurt! And there are more than just humans at stake—what about all the species and lives that exist codependently? What about the cities, or crops, or the colonies that will be harmed?” They can see their breath unfurling when they speak and feel the cold creeping over their hands, leaving a fine layer of frost on the skin as their emotions rise, “What about my friends?”

“Do you really have time to be worrying about such trivial matters as that?” Ao Guang’s stare drifts downwards towards their hidden hands, “If you do nothing, this problem will continue to fester.”

“The “normality” of your world is little better than an illusion.” Druk says in his perfectly even tone, “What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.”

“They’re not flies.” Lyric hisses. Beneath their eyes they can feel the pinpricks of accumulating ice, little snowflakes overlapping on their skin. “They’re alive, like me. Like you.”

Ao Guang sighs, lifting his fan to hide his irritation behind feathers again. “How disobedient children are these days…I wish I could say you weren’t always like this, but your type is so incorrigible as it is…”

“---I’m not a kid, you know.” It seems petty to pick at now, but they have little other ground to stand on. They’re clawing for any kind of leverage to raise their pride on and be listened to. “I’m 19.”

And he scoffs. A hard huff that cuts off a laugh at their incredulity, his eyes hardening until the scrutiny of his look makes them feel like an insect, held in place by pushpins on a corkboard. He wears a humanoid facade now, but they’re sure in his true form he could swallow them whole in one bite.

“You will take your place as the White Dragon Archon, and Zarcingerinth’s successor. We will manage your condition and prepare you to release the seal properly, so that the natural order may be restored.”

Lyric, despite how their palms tremble, stares back. “And if I refuse?”

The Blue Dragon Archon snaps his fan shut in a snap motion. When he opens his mouth, they can see the long fangs of an apex predator.

“Then your magic will overwhelm you, and you will die.”