#ic: threads

[redknight]

... continued from here! with @pinkbolts

Wit garnishes an abrupt halt, a slow pivot of hips as internal frustration bubbles to the surface; evident by rigid movements & strung together auburn brows. He huffs, “ your persistence will get you very far in life, princess, however … that is certainly not the case with me. ” & despite his resolve , he couldn't quite help himself from indulgence … nor help the grin that threatened to shatter his facade.  “ what else do you know about the human anatomy ? since you've got the beauty & the brains, apparently .” 

[kukulkahn]

@rejectory​ sent: “I caught one back there.” attuma

         "---máasima', íitsʾin?"

         From his position cradled in the underwater current, K'uk'ulkan grins at Attuma, his expression wide open and relaxed with the laughter he doesn't voice.  The leader makes a show of looking where his companion indicates, twisting smoothly in the water and mock-shading his eyes to peer out into open sea, lips pursed and clicking bubbles. He rolls his gaze back to Attuma, leveling the younger Talokanil with an unimpressed look that belies the mirth still lingering in K'uk'ulkan's crinkled eyes. 

          "... Because from where I'm swimming, it looks like the prey has escaped, and your spear shaft is empty."

[theautumnpicker]

@mystraguideme

It's his, by any rights. They'd taken an awfully long detour to find the book in the first place, and then it had been Astarion himself who had been sent to collect it, to carefully sever the connection between the pressure plate and the statues around it. Yet for all his effort— not to mention his very polite request— it was Gale who was rewarded with the treasure. And for what? It's undoubtedly just another bauble to him, the ravenous, power-mad fool.

Not that Astarion can really fault his ambition.

Of course, he showed no outward sign of his irritation. That wouldn't win him any points with their leader. Besides, he still had options. He meant to wait until they were at camp and swipe the thing while the others were eating. He even pitched his tent next to Gale's that night, watching the wizard closely as he set up all his worldly goods. Yet Gale seemed to keep the book with him, as if it were a bit of light reading he wanted to settle down with on a full belly.

So, giving up on his first plan, Asterion joined the group at supper after all, smiling and joking to disguise his poor appetite for the sort of food they have to offer. He went to bed directly afterwards, but he can't sleep, whether or not he wants to. Thoughts of the book invade his mind, almost calling out to him with the power it has to offer him. There has to be something in the pages of that tome that he can use against Cazador, or even just use for himself. Something to make his condition permanent, beyond the grace of these damned tadpoles that everyone else seems in such a rush to remove. He imagines returning home to his old master, telling him what he'd discovered and promising to share the secret— for surely even Cazador would envy his power now— only to watch him burn and writhe in the sun.

That does it. He is getting that damned book.

Astarion sits up and raises the flap of his tent, peering out and seeing to his satisfaction that all the others are asleep, or at the very least in their little beds, oblivious to all the world. He half crawls outside, keeping low to the ground in a prowl, as he steals over to Gale's tent and listens outside, ceasing to breathe as he listens for the sounds of the wizard's own breathing inside. He feels hungry suddenly, but whether he hungers for the knowledge close at hand or for the blood he can smell under Gale's skin as he stalks his quarry is hard to say.

The hunger makes him impatient. Astarion doesn't wait until he can hear that breathing slow, until he's sure Gale is fast asleep. Instead, he enters quickly and quietly, not even looking at the wizard at first as he scans the entirety of his surroundings in rapid search for his heart's desire. Even if the book remains on Gale's person now, Astarion fully intends to take it for his own.

[this-is-krikkit]

people introducing victor: this is serial gold medal winner, olympic champion, figure skating God and living legend Victor Nikiforov victor, introducing himself: hi, i'm Yuuri Katsuki's fiancé!!!

[nonlethal-au]

[ masterlist ]

Non-Lethal AU (abbreviated: NOL)

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[arom-antix]

The brainrot has momentarily concluded

[sheliesshattered]

[zcrayas]

Rya had never seen an Omen before. Not in a sense of being aware what they were, what was their place in the society. During her journeys she had briefly noted the wandering huge creatures, thinking no less of them than any other - could they hail from other lands?

For Lady Tanith, indulged in blasphemy against the ruling order, had chosen to shelter Rya, even from the terrors occurring even behind the manor walls, even from Rya's very origin. Refusing to taint the pure heart, a rarity among their kin.

Even though she hadn't been lied about the cruelty of the lands, the cruelty executed on unfortunate beings by her home family - the serpent herself, wasn't taught to despise or shun. And she knew too well, what hate and fear could bloom in others.

Outside, where serpents were non-existent, she was feared. Thus, choosing willingly to disguise herself in more accepted form, even though holding pride for her true image. And she chose to hide, only to spare the insults and unwanted attention.

Ryaalways believed in the good of the heart upon approaching anyone. Tarnished, the champions lady Tanith requested her to find, and other wanderers. Considering just how peaceful the stranger seemed, she hesitated none.

" The tree. I saw you gaze it so longingly. Indeed, how the leaves dance in the air... how long they maintain that glow even on the ground. " The young noble mused in slight distance, pointing up at the tall looming vision - almost dream like. " I couldn't just ignore that." || @fellomenking ❤' d!

[dramatisperscnae]

@thecreativeforge from here bc tumblr is dumb

Breathe. He had to breathe. Nothing had happened, they were fine, just breathe, Grayson. And try not to think about how Roy's hand had felt, there in the small of his back. How it might have felt if it had landed a few inches lower.

The hand on his shoulder made him jump, though he didn't pull away; instead his own hand came up to hold it there as he looked over at Roy, hoping the flush on his cheeks had faded a little even as he found some comfort in the fact that Roy's hadn't. At least Dick wasn't the only one suddenly feeling awkward right now.

He managed a wry grin at the teasing, giving Roy's hand a squeeze but still not letting go. "I'd…call it a tie. Would've been my win if that old brownstone had still been here." He was trying to tease back, but as Roy glanced over and blue eyes met green any further comments died on Dick's lips. His heart was still pounding, albeit a little softer than it had been a few seconds ago, though he wasn't afraid; behind the uncertainty in his eyes absolute trust was shining through.

[branwyn-the-half-witch]

Comparative Mythologies of the Long Night: Part Two – Azor Ahai and The Red Sword

In part one, we looked at the origin story of the Long Night, and the ways in which it is reflected in the main series. Now, we shall move on to discuss the heroes who seemingly saved the world.

The most notable of these heroes, with whom you are likely aware, is the one most commonly known as Azor Ahai; emerging from Asshai, this is the hand that wields the flaming sword Lightbringer. They are also known as Hyrkoon the Hero, Yin Tar, Neferion, and Eldric Shadowchaser.

As a brief aside, it is interesting to note that all of these names can be related to specific places in Essos; the Patrimony of Hyrkoon is an ancient nation, Yin is a city in Yi Ti that has often been its capital, ‘Nefer’ is the last city in the distant kingdom of N’ghai, ‘the Shadow’, or the ‘Shadow Lands’ are a region in the furthest east, with AssHAI in the southwest, serving as something of a gateway to them – and it is the Shadow, as we will later learn, from whence the dragons may have first originated; tamed by an ancient, unnamed people.

Whether this solid anchoring of these heroic aliases in various places means anything more than a suggestion that the hero – or heroes – may have come from there, or were perhaps claimed by those peoples, I will leave you to ponder. For now, we shall turn to Azor Ahai’s legend.

Of Azor Ahai (AA), we have the most available information of all of the legends we shall discuss. He is also the only one explicitly prophesied to return again, and the manner in which AA shall return and be heralded is very clearly laid out for us from multiple sources.

AA is described as a leader, wielding a burning sword that radiates heat and light. He gave ‘courage to […] men and [led] the virtuous into battle’, returning ‘light and love’ to the world. So we should account for these aspects, as well as the finer points of the prophecy.

Much has been said about who AA reborn might be, with many candidates proposed. I will not be spilling that ink here; it’s Daenerys. Born on Dragonstone, a smoking isle in the great salt sea, she arose when darkness gathered and, beneath a bleeding star, awoke dragons from stone.

I would also point out that even Jon Snow, upon hearing of the Prophecy in the context of Mel’s candidate Stannis, zeroes on the importance of Stannis not being born on Dragonstone. One can almost hear the author himself tapping his fingers impatiently, no?

If you favour another candidate, a more abstract interpretation of the prophecy, feel free to do your own research and present it elsewhere; I am interested primarily in exploring the myths, not arguing. However, I do hope you will let me expand on my case and consider it fairly.

Dany becomes a leader, bringing hope and courage to mankind and returning light and love to those lost in the darkness. Moreover, she inspires them to fight for themselves, for their lives and loves; leading them into battle, but not doing their fighting for them.

I would also briefly highlight this echo of command from Quaithe, in light of one of AA’s names being ‘Shadowchaser’ – and that Quaithe wishes Dany to go to Asshai, from whence the myths of AA were born and the prophecy was written.

Going back here may mean in a temporal sense, revisiting the origins of AA and learning who he was, what he did, and most notably for Daenerys, why it was needed. She is, as present, unaware of the encroaching darkness that threatens the world, on any level except subconsciously through her dreams. A revelation is needed.

To add to this, we have the ‘Prince that was Promised’ title; these are used interchangeably with AA by Mel and by Maester Aemon and seem to often refer to the same person; in light of GRRM’s addition of Aegon’s dream to the canon, my interpretation is that they do refer to the same person, but by accident. Though we do not yet have it in GRRM’s words, Aegon saw the return of the Long Night and a Targaryen fighting against it. This is tPtwP, Aegon’s name for this leader who happens to also be the one who woke the dragons from stone to fight the cold.

And it is Aegon’s dream that dream-driven Targaryens have stumbled across in their scrolls – what Rhaegar to become a warrior and thence to confer the promise he initially saw in himself upon his newborn son. The Red Priests who herald Dany speak only of AA; Mel may have discovered tPtwP on Dragonstone itself. All other sources for the Promised Prince title seem to be either Targaryen or Targaryen adjacent – such as Barristan, who himself speaks of Jenny of Oldstones’ witch friend, presumably close to certain Targaryens.

But what of Lightbringer? Daenerys is not trained in arms, so how can she wield a sword? Recall that AA reborn is marked by waking dragons from stone and wielding Lightbringer. There is no separate mention of forging/reforging a sword. Perhaps there is more to the tale than that?

So let us examine Lightbringer and its forging; AA makes three attempts to forge the blade, quenching it in water, lion’s blood and, in his successful forging, the living heart of his wife, Nissa Nissa. The blade is described, by the Jade Compendium, as making its own fiery heat.

The blade never being cold, but being warm as Nissa Nissa was warm, is very alike to the description of dragons being ‘fire made flesh’; and the description of Lightbringer in action resembles nothing so much as the affect of Drogon’s flames. Lightbringer, Red Sword of Heroes, is not a blade; it is the dragons awoken from stone. But what of the three forgings? The exact arrangement of the forgings is sometimes debated, but the one I favour is this arrangement: the first forging in ‘water’.

The second in the ‘heart of a lion’; note that this moment is so important it appears again in the dreams that guide Dany’s steps to her eventual success.

And the third, successful forging – in the ‘sacred flames’ of a funeral pyre, fed by the blood of heart’s beloved. Note the proximity of the water/lion/heart imagery on each occasion, and that the conversations following the first scenes are about dragons, and then about war.

In the chapter prior to the pyre, Dany has dreams haunted by a pursuing cold, and by ghosts urging her on, with very familiar gemstone eyes; this links Dany and the dragons explicitly to the Great Empire of the Dawn and thus to the Long Night that followed the Blood Betrayal.

These dreams also link the dragons to sacrifice, just as Lightbringer is linked to Nissa Nissa’s sacrifice. Dany’s dreams show us the lives lost in her journey to that point (though Drogo is not yet entirely lost to her); those she has lost will lend their names to the dragons.

Blood sacrifice is a deeply potent power, both within ASOIAF and without. Many characters tell us of the potency of shed blood; of kin, king, and of holy men. Within many cultures in our own world, blood sacrifice was a holy act, to ward off catastrophe, as payment – and penance.

In Aztec mythology, for instance, it is now generally understood that blood sacrifice, both of slain captives but also one’s own blood on a daily basis, was both a fuel offered up to the gods for their daily labours, and as repayment for the debt owed by the living to the gods for their sacrifices made when creating the fifth sun, and so all human life. The dreams emphasise Dany’s own shed blood from the beginning; in her bloody footsteps, the burning in her womb, and the burning blood from her torn open back, which ultimately grants her wings.

When the time comes, she offers up her own blood by walking unafraid into the sacred flames of the funeral pyre, to bleed with her fallen beloved. Dany alone, among all Targaryens who have attempted to bring back dragons, took the last and most important step of self-sacrifice.

But if we understand blood sacrificed to be offered up, not just for power but for payment of debt, what debt is Dany paying here? Moreover, have we strayed from AA in this talk of blood magic and penance? I would argue not; for just as Dany’s Lightbringer is living dragons, so too do I believe that AA’s red sword was no literal blade, but dragons also.

I would here posit that Azor Ahai, in the coldest, darkest night, sought to bind fire made flesh to humankind. I propose that he tried and failed twice, before binding dragons to the fate of men.

I implore you to consider that Nissa Nissa was a dragon.

This concludes Part Two. Part Three shall answer the question, ‘what in the world did she mean by that last comment?’, by examining sacrifice, necessity, and the long, sad history of House Targaryen’s ritual offerings of innocence as payment.

[purplebass]

I just compared the antari trio to the bears from We Bare Bears? Yeah lol <3

(profile pics credit: @/lasq.draws on IG)

[kukulkahn]

@knowseverythingaboutyou​ sent: "You sound like an artist" Daredevil Sentence Starters | Accepting

        By design, it is late in the day when Namor enters the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Talokanil planned it as such, to better avoid any lingering second glances from overworked security guards or harried museum curators. He's here specifically to see the museum's latest exhibit on Maya Art and Divinity, which features some rare artifacts predating even his mother's people. The stelae and artwork tells the stories of who K'uk'ulkan would become -- both the God and the Man.

         Namor loathes that such connections to his Peoples' spiritual origins are kept in colonizer institutions, but he has learned to play the long game, regarding certain... reparations.

         K'uk'ulkan is immersed in his thoughts, peripherally aware of the people still milling around him, most of which are utterly unaware of his presence in the way only truly distracted surface-dwellers can manage. The Heavy boots hiding his ankles and knit beanie covering his pointed ears are both stifling, while the absences of his nose and ear adornments leaves the leader feeling strangely naked. He murmurs translations to himself as he scans the hieroglyphs carved into massive stone monuments, but falls silent at the words spoken from his left.  

        Turning, Namor regards the woman, his expression shuttered. There is something about her that makes a current of awareness pass beneath the Talokanil's skin.

         "...Do I?" He asks at last,  mouth tilting ruefully. "Is it because I appreciate the mastery of Maya Artists? Or because I am muttering to myself in an art museum?"

[glacialswordsman-a]

starter | @tartagla | plot call

The nation of Mondstadt, land of the free for those who call her home. There was a gentle breeze caressing the lands, making leaves rustle and tree branches calmly dance within the tempo of the wind's movement. Windwheel Asters spun delightedly as Dandelion seeds were carried along the day's delicate gust, while the sun was at its peak... It was simply beautiful. Not only that, but it felt absolutely wonderful to the inhabitants that resided in Barbatos's lands; and Kaeya was no different from anyone else in this matter.

The Cavalry Captain had long since completed his own work and then some, before opting to enjoy a 'leisure stroll' for once in his life. Normally he would be anxious in spending his time like this, but today... It was exceptionally nice today. How could he even fathom letting a day like this pass by without actually enjoying it for once by just sitting in his office? Even so, his 'stroll' was, of course, a guise for him to patrol the area between the Winery and Springvale uninterrupted. While he did want to enjoy the weather, there was still that itch in him that told him to be vigilant and look out for Mondstadt all the same.

He can never afford to simply relax.

He hiked up the mountains that stood proudly in the middle of the Dawn Winery and Springvale, using this setting as a vantage point for him to look down at the roads that wound around and between them. This way, he's able to enjoy his day while also keeping a keen eye on anything occurring below. He had high hopes that today would be uneventful, but of course, he could never be too sure.

[reginrokkr]

Footprints are left in their wake one by one on the blanket of snow, step by step as Dáinsleif treads the grounds of unknown lands. No sight of humankind nor of any shape or form of any civilization left behind or human activity whatsoever. Only monsters he hasn't seen before, while they are reminiscent of Abyss-affiliated fiends judging by the powers they draw and sometimes the anthropomorphic form they have. As star beasts in Teyvat, these are no laughing matter nor deserve to let one's guard down no matter how skilled one may be.

The sheer cold and snow that never seems to melt begets curiosity within the seraph's mind, ever wondering about the ecosystem of this world and if that is the reason why there is no human life here— or perhaps there may be none at all to be had if humans don't exist in this place. Dáinsleif is cognizant of the fact that inhospitable lands can be incompatible with other forms of life, too.

Not long before he decides to rest does he see from afar metallic fences and machinery that he opts for walking some more and have a look, albeit never intruding into territory he doesn't know. Whoever or whatever created this, he cannot be sure whether they will act kindly within his presence. Where creations lay so must loom nearby their creators and ere long does Dáinsleif find out that said creators are humans. Good, so long as mankind exists in this star, so his possibilities to learn about this vast universe will increase.

Rubescent lips part to heave a content sigh for such pleasant discovery and so Dáinsleif turns on his heels to leave. His aching muscles beg for rest, so does his mind after an undetermined amount of time walking and seeing little more than a vast albor ocean of snow. Somewhere discreet where he cannot be found yet not too far from the settlement is the chosen location to rest until a fox's cry causes his guard to be up once more, trained eyes in search of any presence that must've caused the tundra animal to be in distress.

Against his aching muscle's will, he rouses on his feet and searches for any living being activity within his vicinities. The source of the cry is found with immediacy as soon as a man's figure —judging by his muscular-looking back and broad shoulders— crouching catches his attention. With one hand he holds the poor fox in place while it struggles to thrash about in order to break free from his grasp and with the other snow is grabbed and brought to his lips. Despite the oddity of eating or drinking snow, stellar pupils take notice of a patch of blood making itself evident through the fabric of his top-wear on his arm.

❝You are hurt.❞ Only after these words abandon his lips does the seraph berate himself mentally at the prospect that the man may not understand the language. Even so, his voice stands low and gentle, tone does wonders to communicate feelings when language cannot establish a bridge of understanding. Dáinsleif ignores if what little fauna that lives in these snowy plains may be drawn to blood and thus put the man in danger, or if his life is endangered depending on the amount of blood that was spilled. His index finger points towards his own arm, pointing to the location of the other's injury to make himself clearer through signals. ❝Blood loss is detrimental in a place like this and I happen to have some medical knowledge.❞ One step brings him closer to the man, slow and measured to not generate hostility. His hand stretches towards him, an invitation. ❝Do you need help?❞

@longzhua ✦

[neutral-party]

northern albertan miku.

[bloodtwin]

@accultant ⸻ CONTINUED FROM HERE.

──────────────────────────────

HE’S LIVID. he hasn’t felt any emotion so intensely in ages. certainly not that one, never that one. he does his best to avoid it, yet it always seems to rear its ugly head at the worst of times. 

he was about to fix everything. he was about to make everything right again. he’d only been giving himself one last look in the mirror ( trying to see if that little boy was still in there, somewhere. if he was, puck couldn’t find him. those eyes were as dead as the last time he checked ) then he was yanked through the glass, dragged through time & space, life flashing before his eyes before he could take it himself. he thought it was a punishment at first. 

he knows, he’d thought. of course he knows ; how could he possibly not know ？  but that wasn’t what it was. he emerged on the other side, greeted not by the confines of a coffin, but wood flooring & dust. lots of dust. old furniture, forgotten trinkets, boxes upon boxes. some kind of attic. 

puck turns back to the mirror &, thinking himself alone, allows his rage to consume him. he repeatedly beats the glass until his knuckles bleed, yet it never cracks. blood smears over his frustrated reflection. briefly, he wonders if this is some sort of prank iago’s set up, but it’s not quite their style. there’d be a punchline, a note attached to the corner of the mirror with some stupid pun about- about . . . he’s too pissed off to think one.  

he kicks the glass. ❝ gods damn you, you wretched thing, where have you taken ⸻ ！❞

his ear twitches. someone is watching him. he had been wrong earlier ( odd, for he is never wrong ) ; he was not alone, after all. he doesn’t need to turn around to know exactly where they are. behind him, to the left. they’re small. young ？a girl, maybe. a little girl, no older than eight if he had to guess. her tiny heart pitter-patters with adrenaline, yet he smells no fear. if anything, she only smells familiar , somehow. 

❝ playing hide & seek, are we ？❞ his question is met with silence, so he starts to walk about the room. mostly to get a grasp on his surroundings, for he already knows the girl hides inside that armoire over there. one of the doors is cracked open for her to spy. while he looks around, he makes a show of peeking around corners, sifting through curtains & shadows, looking perplexed for the hells of it. from the armoire, there is a faint giggle. puck suppresses a smile. silly. 

there’s a hatch in the floor nearby. he’s in an attic, he’s sure, but not one necessarily for a home. he thinks it may be storage for some kind of shop. antiques, maybe ？magical items, certainly. why would a mirror drag him all the way here ？

. . . and where is here, exactly ？is he even in baldur’s gate anymore ？he could be anywhere.

❝ you’re quite sneaky, you know, ❞ he says, finally making his way to the armoire. after a pause, for dramatic effect, he pulls it open. there, as he thought he would find, sits a little girl with black bangs covering her eyes, hair parted into two braids draped over either shoulder. well, one braid draped over her left shoulder; the other, she chews in her mouth. her face looks familiar.

perhaps it was seeing him up-close that signaled her to the danger she was in. maybe it was the intensity of his eyes, or the lifelessness lurking behind them. whatever it was, she realized he was not a friend to play games with. ( ah, puck thinks, that is the smell of fear i expected. ) braid falling from her mouth, the girl gasps. her hands fly to close the doors on herself, panic flooding her eyes. her heart sounds like the beat of a drum in his ears.

she’s stronger than he expected from an eight-year-old, but that means very little in comparison to himself. the doors don’t budge with the handles still in his grasp. bad instinct, he thinks distantly, to corner herself like this. a predator would have eaten her by now. she is lucky that he means her no harm at the moment. 

❝ no, no, ❞ he chides, voice dry as he resists an eye roll. ❝ that’s not how the game works. i found you. now, you owe me a favor. ❞ that’s not how hide & seek works, either. ❝ where ⸻ ？ ❞

muffled voices from below. a pair of feet  ⸻ no, several pairs ⸻ climb a ladder, the voices approaching closer & closer. they’re heated & frantic. 

( ❛ it was just a prank ！i- thistle said it was like one of those funhouse mirrors  ！she tricked me & mom ！❜, ❛ don’t blame this on your cousin, dandelion ⸻ ❜, ❛ I’M NOT ⸻ ！！！❜ )

mirror ？dandelion ？sudden anxiety grips him. he lets go of the armoire & dives into the shadows, turning invisible in the darkness. the hatch swings open. 

a boy crawls out first. about twelve or so, scrawny, pale. dark, unkempt hair, lazily tied up in a tangled ponytail. he reeks of death, & mischief. at the moment, however, he looks rather embarrassed.

then another figure emerges, and puck’s blood runs cold. no, that can’t be right. their hair is too short. they’re- they’re old ！his heart hammers against his chest. he has to keep himself still, almost stops breathing in order to do so. don’t do anything yet. none of this makes sense. 

the little girl wiggles her way out of the armoire, then. scuttles up to- no. no, that just can’t be- there’s no way that’s ⸻

❝ auntie iago, there’s a scary man in here ！❞

. . . AUNTIE IAGO ？！