#like a btw here's what this shit means

[vacantgodling]

HE WHO SMITES THE SUN : Dori-Tsokhizhemasonen

CHAPTER 1: SANO'NYON KI MANYENYA (The Rain Dance)

The light of the bonfire was so bright, that even standing atop of the outside wall of their ancestral city, far removed from the center of their encampment where it blazed, Tsokhizhe could still see it. The flecks of stray warmth and light traced its paws against his dark skin, still drawing him into its orbit. The flames rose higher than they would ever dare at a normal pyre, but tonight was a special night, and so special exceptions were made. Every clan and tribe south of the Gingi’nga Nanmoso would be celebrating tonight; there would be no need to worry about an attack, safe within their wall with guards like Tsokhizhe to keep it. There was a mysticism in the air tonight—one that made the flame’s reds closer to oranges, and oranges closer to white; and the colors danced, interlocked and interwoven against the backdrop of the pitch black sky. Music and laughter fueled the mirthful, heady flame, up to the very heavens above where the Affinities, named and unnamed, lie; surely enjoying the spectacle. It was a celebration worth the ages, and then some, better yet than any they had before.

Yet, unsurprisingly, Tsokhizhe was purposefully left out of the festivities. While other guards may have traded posts with one another to each take their turn at the pyre, the dances, or the feast; he was not permitted; despite being the Khoda’s own eldest child. However, he was used to this. His mother, Khoda’nga Kori-Yadeno, approached him with quiet steps at his lone hut—sequestered away from the rest of the clan’s residential huts, or the nobles grand estates; hidden in the overcast of their city’s walls—just before dawn had risen that morning. Her face was hardened, yet there was no other expression he was used to from his mother. When she spoke, her words burned, with quiet disgust barely hidden on her tongue:

“You are to be stationed at the Eastern Gate tonight.”

Tsokhizhe quickly got out of bed, still in his sleep-dress, and knelt at her feet, his head bowed respectfully to the earth. “Yes, Khoda’nga.” He said, devoid of all inflection. It was hard to be hurt by something he already knew was coming. When he was a child and first took watch-duty during this festivity, he hadn’t understood why he was not allowed to join. But now, he knew, even if no one said. He knew it in the way that his parents avoided him, the way other Kori and Dori avoided him, how even those of the diminutive gender would not meet his eye when he walked past. Every meal he took alone, hunted by his own hand. Every mission he braved alone, only speaking to his father for duty and his mother for instruction; never an affectionate word or hand given to him. These sins he bore, and wore, not with pride but obligation. 

“Kori-Tsokhizhemasonen, do not disobey me.” His mother scolded. Even his name: She Who Smites The Sun, spoke of this great transgression of his: his very birth, under the most evil of all nights, and that omen of misfortune would forever follow him, to the rest of his days.

“You are to be alone and you are to stay away from the festivities. Do you understand this?” 

“Yes, Khoda’nga.” If Tsokhizhe could bow his head lower, he would. He could feel his mother’s steely gaze lie upon his back for a moment too long, then she finally turned on her bare heel, whisking herself away towards the main grounds. Still, out of a long borne habit, Tsokhizhe stayed that way, waiting until he no longer heard the pad of her feet against the ground before he allowed himself rise. 

The Eastern Gate was the furthest away from the festivities of the night. It is why, whenever they were short on guards, he was stationed here. Even the guards did not meet his eyes, and instead kept their gazes turned away towards their mounts, or their sword hands that always rested just so on their scabbards when he passed. They were ready to strike him down at a moment’s notice, he knew. But he did not bow his head in defeat, nor shame. He only bowed to his Khoda, and father, Dori-Darada’ngomakhadzonki—Chief, He Who is Master of Mounts; his mother, Khoda’nga Kori-Yadenomanyozhango—Chieftess, She Who Guards The Store; to his younger sister if their parents bore witness to an interaction; Kori-Chazomakenan’nyopinyi—She Who Breaks the Dying Season’s Song; and most of all to the power of the Affinities named, and unnamed, who lorded above all. He may be cursed, and he was not proud, but Tsokhizhe knew better than to show weakness. If his mother taught him anything, it was to bear your sins for they define you and it is folly to expect another to bear that burden in your stead.

Still, watch duty was Tsokhizhe’s least favorite occupation. He would rather be hunting—out in the far off fields away from the reminders of his misdeed and the ire of his betters. But kenan’nyo had fully set in now—the nights were long, and the frost had begun to pepper the ground with its kisses of chill. The store was full and there was no need to go out—only perhaps, for water runs. But even that had been circumvented by the canal that as of last year had been finally completed. Now, freshwater flowed through their ancestral streets, confining Tsokhizhe more and more to these walls of clay and mortar.

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the shadowy figure coming to approach him until a friendly hand tapped his shoulder. Tsokhizhe was long practiced in never startling—and he was thankful he hadn’t—the moment he recognized Yanyado, the shorter man was immediately throwing his arms around Tsokhizhe in a hug, a joyous cry of  “Sonenko!” leaving his lips. The momentary discomfort at the ko at the end of the fond name, did not stop Tsokhizhe from putting his arms around Yanyado in turn.

Yanyado—or, Yanyanagape’nyodo, Moon Crier— was his closest friend—only friend. And despite their friendship spanning for nearly two decades, Tsokhizhe still had never become accustomed to the affection that his friend handed out in doles. Yanyado was the only one who never besmirched him. Why Tsokhizhe never knew. But even if they were from totally different worlds—with Tsokhizhe being a Kori, and Yanyado being of a lower gender, nevermind the omen that hung about Tsokhizhe like a frightful, impenetrable cloak; he never seemed to mind this. Like the sun, Sonen, and the moon, Yanya, the two of them were inseparable and complementary, and despite his mother’s warning from this dawn, Tsokhizhe still found some part of himself happy to see him.

“How did you find me here?” Tsokhizhe asked when they pulled apart. 

“Your mother always stations you here when she does not wish for anyone to find you.” Yanyado’s voice was coy. “She is not as subtle as she thinks.” He said so conspiratorially, as though it were a lighthearted and playful secret between friends but instead a lump of basalt lodged itself in Tsokhizhe’s throat; he nodded along. “I see.” 

“Don’t look so sullen!” Yanyado lightly punched his shoulder. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” Tsokhizhe nodded, but he could tell that his expression must still be far away since a frown pulled over his friend’s features. “I know what will cheer you.” From the folds of his brightly colored parka, he pulled out a wrapped cloth. “Take it, take it!” He urged, holding it out to him. Eventually, when Yanyado did not pull his hand back, Tsokhizhe took the proffered parcel. It was warm to the touch, and the sweet smell of freshly cut herbs and flowers, rolled in sweet dough hit his nose. He had not eaten anything since sunrise, after his mother visited him and informed him of his disinvite, he charred one of the rabbits he felled the day before, gnawing on its grisel, then armed himself for the day’s activities—namely, to make himself scarce. His stomach growled, but still he could not bring himself to unwrap the parcel.

Yanyado noticed his hesitation. “I will be upset if you do not eat it. After all the work I put in to make it, I would hope you appreciate it, Sonenko.”

Something that could have been a smile tugged onto Tsokhizhe’s face, and he slowly unwrapped the cloth. “You made this?” Yanyado puffed his chest out, beaming. This made the traces of a smile that tried to bloom fully blossom on Tsokhizhe’s face. “My Yanyado does not know how to cook. Are you sure you aren’t a sopiro?”

Sopiros—fables told by parents to scare their children into behaving. People who denounced the order of things, such as the genders assigned to yokhe’nyo and kenan’nyo, who believed themselves mighty enough to hold even a speck of power that the Affinities wielded. Outsiders, hated by everyone, and shunned from all the Southern Tribes; forced to wander the wilderness unto the end of their days. Even if they warred amongst each other for resources, hunting routes, ancestral cities and land—they all agreed that sopiros were not to be trusted. 

Tsokhizhe himself, perhaps in another life, could’ve been a sopiro. He wondered it when he was small; and he heard snatches of stories around the campfire of those treated just as he. But try as he might, no otherworldly confidence came to him. No sparks of affinity flew from his fingertips or burned strong in his chest. And after the first time he was discovered and was beaten for it—he tried no more. It was then that Tsokhizhe learned that sopiros could not be feared; it was those who feared them who posed the real threat.

“Do you really think a sopiro could be so handsome as I?” Yanyado asked indignantly; but the jest was heard in his light tone. “But furthermore, I have the burns on my hands to prove my labor for you.” Yanyado held his hands out in the far off light of the bonfire, and even further light of yanya and the stars that attended it—there, on his forefinger and his thumb, Tsokhizhe saw the telltale angry welts from a few burns from a hot iron pan.

“Yanyado.” He tsked, but it was fond. “You ought to be more careful. For my sake.” He added when he noticed Yanyado’s mouth open to protest. He tucked the parcel of food underneath his arm to take Yanyado’s hand into his own. There wasn’t much he could do to heal the burns, but he did still rub them between his hands, the cooling of his skin hopefully a balm to heal it. Yanyado smiled—he was always smiling around Tsokhizhe. Tsokhizhe still hadn’t learned what fondness to his friend he held, but it did warm something broken in him. 

“For my sake, my burns will be for nothing if you don’t eat.” Yanyado reminded him. Tsokhizhe gently let go of his friend’s wrist, and finally took a bite from the doughy treat. It melted in his mouth and the taste of lemongrass and chamomile danced along his tongue. He hummed appreciatively, but before Yanyado could say more off in the distance, the songs began to grow louder, as though every voice in their clan were joining as one to cry out to the heavens their thunderous, joyous celebration. They both turned their heads. After a moment of listening, Yanyado’s eyes lit up, recognizing the melody.

“They must be doing the Sano’nyon Ki Manyenya.” Yanyado held out his hand invitingly, the beads of the colorful bracelet around his wrist jangling just as joyfully as the sound. Tsokhizhe… hesitated.

“I… do not know the steps.” He slowly admitted. 

“I know you do!” Yanyado replied. He didn’t wait for an answer and grabbed Tsokhizhe’s hand anyway. The wall was too narrow to do the dance properly, and Tsokhizhe really did mean it when he said he didn’t know it—at least, he didn’t know the ko part; the follow. They bounced together awkwardly trying to find the faint rhythm’s steps, and it was everything Tsokhizhe could do to try and keep with his do’s lead. Their hands were tangled awkwardly together; just as their feet marched arrhythmically in place. Tsokhizhe’s scimitar bounced at his hip and the jangle of the ties and beads of its scabbard just added to the confusion. At last Yanyado gave up and released him with a breathless laugh. 

“You have two left feet, Sonenko! I have not danced the steps that badly since my mother showed me how nearly a decade ago!” 

If his dark skin would allow him to blush, perhaps Tsokhizhe would’ve; but not of embarrassment but shame. The only part of the Rain Dance that he knew was the lead—the do. That is what he taught himself, observing from a closer wall station as a child; when he was yet too young to be fully left alone but still wholly excluded from the festival’s activities. He’d returned to his little far off hut at the end of the night and while all the tribe slept, whisper sang the words that had entranced him all evening until his voice went hoarse:

Ki yin nana ma’sen

I do not talk much

Ranmi renin ke petono’ni sikhona’nyo

But the rhythm knows my desires

Manyenya naro ke, ki’ngi da zhazhana

Watch me dance and I will show you

Nimon da soson da ki’ngi chon

If you leave I will follow

Nimon da kasachi pon ke, ki’ngi zhino dechi soson da

If you tell me to stay, I will never leave you alone

Nimon da sano’nyo ki’ngi yangipan

If you are water then I will drink it

Sano’nyon-ki’chi. Ki’ngi yangipan. Ki’ngi yangipan.

It’s raining. I will drink. I will drink.

“I’m sorry.” Tsokhizhe could hardly find it in himself to make his voice louder than a whisper. Even in his mirth, Yanyado was still attendant to his friend; a frown pulled down over his round, heart-shaped face, and he stepped into Tsokhizhe’s space, pushing his friend’s twisting blue locs away from his eyes.

“Old friend, you have nothing to apologize for!”

“You believed in me, and I failed.” It was childish, how much the thought of failing Yanyado hurt to admit—but Tsokhizhe admitted it anyway because he was not proud. He was honest. But Yanyado wouldn’t have it. He quickly reached for Tsokhizhe’s cheeks, squishing them together until Tsokhizhe tore his golden hazel eyes from the space between their shoes. 

“To not know is to partake in the joy of learning.” Yanyado was always wiser than his youthful face would suggest. He squished Tsokhizhe’s cheeks harder. “And anyway. If you wanted to dance the do part, why did you not tell me?” 

Tsokhizhe felt as naked as the day he was born. “Wh… Why would you assume that?”

“You didn’t deny it, no?” Yanyado smiled cheekily. “And anyway, we kept messing up because you stepped the same ways that I was. I hop right, and you hop right with me. You must know enough of the dance to know do hops right, unless you knew not at all, where perhaps you would only stare at me.” 

“I would not stare.” Tsokhizhe sputtered.

“You stare during every other festival that I have seen!” 

“And when have you seen me during other festivals?” Tsokhizhe countered—a fair question. Now it was Yanyado’s turn to look bashful, but it too seemed borne out of shame rather than embarrassment. 

“I have sought you out, on occasion.”

“Perhaps?” Tsokhizhe asked, and Yanyado nodded, confirming it. “Why have you not approached me until now?”

“Our Khoda—”

“I understand.” Tsokhizhe didn’t want to hear anymore. Tomorrow would still come, and he would face it as he had faced any other day.

“Would you like to try leading me?”

“I would not want you to disgrace yourself.” Tsokhizhe grunted. The music from the pyre had finally died down, and with it, the flames, as their stokers departed, perhaps to the awaiting feast. The warm glow that touched and glimmered on every far off rock and blade of grass outside of their ancestral walls, was now bathed in the serene light of yanya. It was too dark for Tsokhizhe to see Yanyado’s expression.

“You are above me, Kori-Tsokhizhemasonen.” Tsokhizhe winced when Yanyado used his full name—even if it were true. “That I should lead you at all is not fair to you. Ki’ngi chon da.” I follow you.

Tsokhizhe pulled away from his friend, turning his back to both him, and their city. He looked out into the night; willed it to swallow him. “The feast has begun, and I would not wish you to miss your meal.” 

“Just one verse.” Yanyado held out his hands again, palms flat and inviting. But Tsokhizhe did not turn back to his friend; he was not weak. He crossed his arms over his chest until Yanyado finally sighed and began his descent down the wall—back to the rest of the clan, where he belonged. Tsokhizhe belonged here. Guarding him. Them. From those like him, who would expect others to bear their burden.

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[triglycercule]

horrortale waterfall game broke me sorry (hey just like horror!)

[dustykneed]

pov: you're having your comphet removed 🌈🤯😤 (doctor's orders) 🙏🏼💫🩻

this is why bones only gets to play dress-up as a treat 😔 if they'd put him in a little blue tunic in plato's stepchildren it would've been deadly

@very-bad-poetry-captain was watching the cloud minders and generously brought these skimpy little guard outfits to my attention. and then i blacked out for two hours and...

[deoidesign]

Quick re-do of a 4 year old piece

[bonefall]

I understand being upset by the moonpaw dog post but i dont think talking about some random teen publicly (on a pretty big fandom blog) as opposed to like, dming them about it, is a very nice thing to do? Would recommend keeping that kinda gossip in dms going forward personally.

??????? "That kinda gossip???"

Saying that it's fucked up that a publicly posted incest joke about how deformed she should look went to the top of the Warrior Cats and Moonpaw tags, is gossip???

TRENDING TAGS?? GOSSIP?

I'm not talking about "some random teen," I have not even dropped a username and been VERY clear I don't want harassment of anyone. During this discussion about wider ableism against Moonpaw, I've directly answered two anons about the contents of a post that was/IS extremely popular to the tune of nearly a thousand notes.

One of those two asks was an anon who only stumbled in to say that the post was funny in a display of SHOCKING tonedeafness, while I was talking about how shitty it is to compare people who are the products of incest to unethical dog breeds, especially in the context of WC. The other was an actual XX/XY chimera who expressed that the extremely popular post hurt their feelings, and when they tried to express discomfort to someone, got told they "probably killed their twin in the womb."

It's not just one rando weenie little blog the minute half of the Tumblr space is openly laughing at a joke about deformed incest kids and hoping Moonpaw dies because she's so "gross." Not nice?? Your feelings are hurt? OTHER people's feelings were ALREADY hurt.

NOTHING about this was "nice" to begin with!

Difference is, when YOU cry me a river, you can build me a bridge, and get right the fuck over it. A person who's the product of incest cries and has to go right back to every shitty banjo-hunchback-hapsburg joke they've heard before, just feeling more unsafe about a space that PRETENDS to care about the abuse they experienced. If you feel guilty about that, maybe you should!

If you were under the impression I was ever "nice" about bigotry, you were mistaken. I don't appreciate calls for ME to be more polite when I'm at a trend of fandom ableism and calling it fucked up. I've named NO names. Sounds like what you ACTUALLY want is for people like me who have a platform to shut up.

[hyohaehyuk]

Sam talks about Jacob being 'an exceptional person' and answers what would have happened if Dale interviewed Lestat and whether or not Dale and Louis would be "friends" in The Emsolation Podcast Extras!

Note: Unf this is not the complete video where he answears that question(s). I had to edit it with a few excerpts i found so it might not make much sense. if someone put the whole segment of this question(s) i will edit this with that video

Source: The Emsolation Podcast - Sam Reid talks the FINAL season of The Newsreader, urvampiregirls, loustatsoup, comeappraiseme and pixielayer

------

Him saying that he can't imagine Louis giving two f*cks about Dale 😞 Well the fanfics says otherwise 🙃 i am really surprised they didn't told im about the Louis x Dale fanfics on AO3 🤣

i cant find the tweet now but i swear that i saw someone one twitter saying that Michael Lucas and the lady in the video talked about it a few weeks ago in one of The Emsolation podcast eps.

Anyway, it's funny that Lestat possessed him both times: one (where Sam clearly was able to control him) where he was totally down to the idea of f*cking Dale and in the other where he cant stand the idea of Louis f*cking Dale (Lestat you fake poly. A cheater is what you are) I didn't believed 100% in the Lestat possession allegations until i watch this 🤯

[arosebyan0thername]

If there are a million Reeve Carney as Orpheus fans in the world, I am one of them. If there are only two Reeve Carney as Orpheus fans in the world, I am one of them (Eva Noblezada is the other). If there are no Reeve Carney as Orpheus fans in the world, Eva Noblezada and I are dead 😔

[hauntingblue]

Rewatching act 2.... yeah ISHA WATCH OUT FOR THE CYCLE ISHA!!!!! NOOOOO

[officialdump]

Hello Tumblr,

this is the Official Tumblr account for the Department of Uniform Magical Novices. We have been made aware by a few concerned Empowered humans that there are other Empowered humans and Informed Unempowered humans on this platform that are posting information that could potentially breach covert. So the Department has assigned members of our staff to keep tabs on these individuals as well as answering a few small questions that some people might have. But just so we are clear, this is not a replacement for getting a proper education on magic or anything like that. This blog is simply hear to remind others on their possible effects on our secrecy and if you seek deeper information on a topic we aren't able to provide in this blog, please go to your nearest Department sanctioned facility. Thank you for your time and always remember to Keep it Covert!

[celtrist]

Why does Vassago already have merch, we haven't even met him yet

[mantisgodsdomain]

More notes for Roach conlanging. Roach has grammatical gender, in which only Male, Female, and Object are grammatical genders, whereas Worker uses feminine grammar, Queen and King use a slight variant on feminine grammar, and Drone, and Queen-Alate use masculine grammar. This is because King is derived from Queen, due to their similar positions in a colony, and Queen-Alate is derived from Drone, as both are forms of alate.

Queen is an alteration of feminine grammar that functionally just adds a handful of extra syllables to it, and King is an offsprout of Queen that uses the same grammar with different pronouns. Queen-Alate, despite the name, is derived from Drone, as they are both for referring to different types of alate ant.

Most Roach dialects are intelligible to speakers of Snakemouth Den Cordyceps Roach, but Snakemouth Den Cordyceps Roach is not entirely intelligable to speakers of Roach dialects due to a mix of the excessively specialized vocabulary caused by the specific needs of its speakers, the fact that its speakers do not necessarily have Roach mouthparts and thus may not pronounce syllables in a similar way, and due to the fact that Inanimate Object is a full grammatical gender that does not exist in any other dialect of roach and replaces a decent chunk of terminology for things that previously had Other Words For Them.

[skrunksthatwunk]

yu yu hakonstruct intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men.mp4

crossposted to youtube

[faggotcitosis]

i am a huge believer in direct action, i dont like when people scoff at it and only recommend organizations for multiple reasons, direct action is generally the best way to help your community & people in need. especially in brutal situations, your change will impact directly the hope & future of someone in need, especially when you're western and your currency goes way further in the global south.

that being said: do not feel pressured into sharing random bot messages. it does not matter what tumblr users say about morality or activism - spreading scams around because "what if it's real? id rather a scammer get money than a real person in need not get help" gets in the way of real people getting real help. high level bot scams are professional scam operations that are actual real life human trafficking & slavery operations. it's not some random person in texas trying to scam a couple hundred for a new computer - it's actual organized crime that has real life victims. most of the money they con comes from europe & the usa.

ask yourself: where did the pets crowdfund posts go? donations for ukraine? all the porn bots & sugar daddy scams? please think critically before aiding international crime rings because you got emotionally manipulated by people online saying you are the devil for like, using your brain and seeing the pattern of behavior on this website, which is very fertile ground for conning and has been for years due to the progressive/liberal/leftist nature of its user base.

[lunarsolar1]

This isn’t what my blog is about and I usually try to avoid making post about things not related to the tv show fandom I’m in but someone needed to call this people out because going to this tag and seeing war everywhere is so tiring and exhausting so imma make this post and HOPEFULLY PEOPLE WILL READ AND LISTEN!!!!!!!!

Buddie shippers needs to seriously CALM DOWN:) and back off!!!! (This also applies to BUCKTOMMY shippers)

Going to the others tag just to HARASS and bully people over FICTIONAL characters is so ridiculous and stupid and people need to stop. It’s a TV SHOW!!!! YOU aren’t the ones writing this, the writes are and they’ll know how they want to finish THEIR story because that’s THEIR characters!!!! Not yours!!!!! People (both sides) need to stop harassing one another and just stay in your tag and enjoy the ship and the characters. There’s no need for hatred or war, especially since in the tv show all 3 are FRIENDS (so fighting about it is so???!!!) just stop. Y’all acting like babies, get some manners and learn how to respect each other preferences and continue enjoying yall ships in PEACE!

And please leave the actors alone as well, they’re just actors they cannot decide what they’ll do next seasons. There’s literally no reason to harass and bully people over people that doesn’t exist. Just enjoy the SHOW and enjoy the SHIP and LEAVE PEOPLE ALONE!!!!!!! And stop using the incorrect tag please, I know some yall are doing it on purpose but please stop that is so annoying. (And I know yall KNOW how that feels like so stop!)

[tanasha-not-yet]

Maslenitsa sound so cool

I googled it after your picrew post and wooowww

yeah it is cool ! look what they did in smolensk a couple of years ago looll

i never burned the scarecrow myself, i usually participate in 'eating pancakes' part and 'cursing the fucking winter' part

real maslenitsa even has day themes like thematic weeks loll and they all are about wedding and extended family and stuff .. we dont do that we just make a shitton of pancakes of different types and eat em all week haha

also it's pagan !!! i love pagan traditions these were the only people who knew how to make religion fun /silly /but also i wish my genuine beliefs were like this