#sign me up for the next war

[hjbender]

me, about to get into another ship with a bigger, even more problematic age gap than the one i'm currently in:

[kayberrie]

unpopular opinion: Hydra did Bucky's hair better

[azu1as]

Hi, Tin! I love your writing and I have a prompt for you, if you are interested) what if Tang family is too afraid of Tang Bo leaving permanently and eloping with Cheong Myeong? So they initiate marriage negotiations with Mount Hua. It can be angst (CM is socially isolated and insecure about his position) or romantic comedy (awkward situations and protective Cheong Mun), up to you). Thank you in advance!

It was a well-established fact that the Dark Saint of the Tang Family was one of their generation's best.

So it came as no surprise when an influx of marriage proposals flooded their family's estate—because rumors started flying around that the Dark Saint was in search of a partner.

The Dark Saint held a reputation for being cold and ruthless. To cultivators and martial artists, he was someone they feared making into an enemy due to his sheer battle prowess and poisonous abilities. To normal civilians, he was a genius who wielded the Tang Family's techniques with cool precision and intent; to them, he was just another mysterious cultivator that they would only ever know of through gossip and stories.

However, in recent years, something shifted. His reputation among common folk was slowly altered. It started off with a supposed battle between him and the Plum Blossom Sword Saint which turned into a sudden and unexpected friendship.

Whereas in the past the Dark Saint would only go around Sichuan and closeby villages, he was now found going around different major cities and unknown ones.

He was often in the company of Mount Hua's Plum Blossom Sword Saint, who worked with him side-by-side to eradicate groups from the Demonic Cult and the occasional bandits and thieves.

For supposed Taoists, the two visited different establishments to drink alcohol and talk cheerily. It was during one of these moments that the first rumor began its spark.

"Ahhhh," The Plum Blossom Sword Saint groans in satisfaction. "That sure hits the spot!"

The Dark Saint chuckles as he tosses back his own drink. "If only I could enjoy everyday like this. Alcohol really is the best."

"What would your future wife think?" The Plum Blossom Sword Saint jokingly and dramatically shakes his head in disappointment. "To have a husband who loves alcohol more than his own wife...!"

The Dark Saint wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Trust me, I would make sure that my wife knows full-well just how much I love them."

The two of them share a silent, private conversation with just their eyes alone, that none of the other restaurant's customers could decipher, before they leave a generous tip and went on their way.

It snowballs from there.

All of a sudden gossip went around about the Dark Saint's interest in finding a wife. And so several people came to the same conclusion.

The reason why the Dark Saint is travelling around more than usual is because he's looking for a prospective wife.

Clearly, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint was there to provide moral support. How truly admirable and strong their brotherhood must be!

On the other hand, the head of the Tang Family was fully aware of their Dark Saint's single-minded interest in Mount Hua's Chung Myung.

Seeing all the stacks of letters that ranged from proposing strategic alliances and general marriage offers brought the current head of the Tang Family to a very different conclusion.

Tang Bo was trying to slowly draw himself away from their family by leaving their estate. He might be on the hunt, jumping from village to village, trying to create a dowry befitting for the hand of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint and scouting out all the best locations to settle down in.

It really wouldn't be too surprising of an idea if one day a letter turns up from the man with an intent of permanently moving to Mount Hua or some backwater village.

The Tang Family head shakes the thought of losing one of their best and genius members to one of the Ten Great Sects. If he wanted to maintain their family's reputation, he'll need to strike the first move.

And so he begins to pen a decisive letter to the Sect Leader of Mount Hua.

%%%

Chung Mun's hands tremble as reads the letter sent to him by the Tang Family.

'Who did they think they were?' He would have bit out if he had any less self-restraint. The paper crumples in his grip and he receives a questioning glance from Chung Myung who was sprawled eating mooncakes on the opposite side of his desk.

"What's got you so worked up?" The subject of the letter askswithout a care.

Chung Mun takes a deep breath. "The Tang Family wishes for you to transfer into their estate."

He refuses to say out loud the marriage proposal that came along with this request. His Chung Myung was too young! The man might be a sixty years old, but that round face, cheeks carelessly bulging with mooncakes with crumbs littered on his chin, screamed too young for marriage!

"Oh." Chung Myung nods in understanding.

Chung Mun is glad that Chung Myung agrees that this was nonsensical. To think, they thought that Chung Myung would even leave Mount Hua for—

"After the war is over, Tang Bo and I were planning to be roommates and travel the world a bit."

—?????

"Roommates?" Chung Mun's voices comes out slightly strangled.

"Yup. It's going to be great."

"No."

"'No'?"

Chung Mun tries to run through his previous conversations with Tang Bo. He knew that the man was capable of being underhanded, but he was also well-aware that Tang Bo respected him enough to not blind-side him with something like this. Especially since it concerned Chung Myung.

...

...Oh no.

"Fuck." Chung Mun says, full of feeling as he recalls Tang Bo off-handedly asking permission to live together with Chung Myung in the future.

"...Sect Leader?"

Chung Mun had thought that was a joke! He thought Tang Bo wasn't being serious! They were talking with alcohol in their systems!

The alarmed look that crosses Chung Myung's face informed Chung Mun that the way he felt his blood drain from his face was a visible, physical reaction.

"He asked for your hand in marriage." Chung Mun says faintly. "I said yes."

Chung Myung blinked at him. "Yeah? He told me?"

Okay. Tang Bo, to his credit, hasn't been leaving Chung Myung in the dark at least.

If Chung Myung knows and isn't reacting violently that means that he isn't completely against this. Even if Chung Mun was, he had to reorganize his priorties.

And his number one would be to make sure Chung Myung was happy.

((And to make sure that the Tang Family doesn't think they can step on Chung Mun and pull his little brother away.))

"I'll have to recheck the sect's budget and my own savings to make sure we have enough for the wedding preparations..." Chung Mun mutters as he begins drafting a response to the Tang Family with what he thought were better marriage agreement conditions.

But then, a flash of dread causes Chung Mun to pause writing and leave a dark ink blot on the paper. He suspected, but he really wishes that he was wrong—!

"Huh?" Chung Myung gives Chung Mun a confused look. "We already got married though?"

[linden-after-hours]

As much as most of us (I assume) found Joker Out through Eurovision last year and maybe are big fans of the contest (me included), please consider boycotting Eurovision this year!

Palestinians and allies have called for the disqualification of Israel but the EBU has refused. Now Israel is participating with a song that used to be called "October Rain" (the title has been changed) that is very clearly referencing October 7th.

Russia was (rightfully) disqualified for opening fire on Ukraine. Israel is allowed to continue, despite the year-long occupation and murdering thousands of Palestinians in the last half year alone.

Boycotting means not watching, not streaming the shows, not creating or interacting with any Eurovision content. You will miss out on a glittery night of music and it will suck, but it will help path the way to a free Palestine! 🍉

Read the BDS Movements statement from March 2nd 2024 here.

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Snort

What if oropher didn’t die in the battle of the last alliance but just used the opportunity to fake his death and escape with his wife and go on an extended honeymoon and leave all the damn paperwork and diplomacy with the noldor/sindar to his poor son.

Thranduil, when his father is finally waking up after getting many fatal injuries during battle: Ada!! Everyone thought you were gonna die!

Oropher, pausing when his son’s words registered: Everyone?

Thranduil, as he watches in disbelief as Oropher bolts away from him with a few supplies: Ada WAIT! DON’T LEAVE ME TO DEEL WITH THEM!

Oropher: don’t worry son, i’m sure you’ll do great!

————————————

Gil-galad: where is king oropher?

Thranduil, a petty lil bitch that will get back at his father: unfortunately, my my father king passed after suffering many grievous injuries during the last battle.

———————————-

Oropher, coming back from his long vacation in the third age: i’m dead? Nobody told me.

Thranduil: that’s what you get for abandoning me to those elves.

Thranduil: suffer

[wheelwheelwheel]

I’m getting soooooo tired of Dalinar’s hypocrisy, Jasnah dueling and then immediately proposing a law that outlaws it is exactly something he would do and yet for some reason it “unnerves even the callous soldier inside him”

[lucienarcheron]

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Over the Edge (Pre-war)

(A/N: WIP title. It's not really abuse, but wanna say that there's a very very brief moment of rough-handling of a kid. No hitting, only a brief shake to a kid the size of, let's say a 7-8 year old human. Also, we get to see Islanzadí for the first time in pre-war, with this taking place probably a month or two before The Promise and Arya's oath with Brom. She's struggling with the turmoil after the Fall, the loss of Evandar and not really having the time to mourn him due to the sudden rush of responsibility and new duties {that sounds like a theme for this bloodline huh} and she is barely keeping her head above water. Because of that, she tries to tell herself that it's okay to focus solely on her duties as queen, because, through trickle down and big picture, her doing well as queen keeps Arya safe from Galbatorix and the Forsworn. That's what she tells herself. If she believes it is up to you as the reader at this point.)

~~~~~~

MODERN INHERITANCE: OVER THE EDGE

Out of nowhere the door to the queen’s study slammed open with a horrendous bang. Däthedr, Fiolr and Islanzadí all jumped as one.

“What is the meaning of this int–” Islanzadí’s thunderous voice was immediately silenced by the equally stormy eyes that snapped to her. Despite his frail nature, Oromis’ presence filled the doorway, looming over them like a threatening anvil cloud. 

“Leave us.” The Rider’s voice held unmistakable steel. The two elf lords flicked their gazes to the queen, unsure of who was in control. Slighting one would be dangerous, though which was more threatening at the time was yet to be decided. “Leave!”

A great rumble shook the roots arrayed beneath their feet and a massive golden eye suddenly glinted outside the window overlooking the courtyard.

Däthedr and Fiolr were out of their seats and bowed just low enough to show apologetic respect before they fled, kicking up moss in their haste.

Silence but for the soft whooshing of Glaedr’s great lungs outside the walls filled the room. 

Islanzadí slowly settled back into her chair. “Can I help you, Oromis-elda?” The brittleness that accompanied her clenched teeth and the hard line of her shoulders was not masked in the slightest. Islanzadí was livid at the intrusion and far beyond angry at the subversion of her authority, in front of her advisor no less! 

“Do you have any,” Oromis paused to collect himself. His own rage was very close to boiling over. “Any inkling of just where your daughter is?” 

The queen blinked. Arya? When was the last time she had seen her? Surely not that long ago. Breakfast, probably, scampering out the door. Or did she see her in the Menoa tree while on a walk? No, that was yesterday, she had a meeting with the Council after that, so it had to be yesterday. 

A heavy stone of guilt dropped into Islanzadí’s stomach. Could she really not tell him when she last saw her own child? The days had been going by in a whirlwind, filled with meetings pushing for more resources for the border, more spellcasters to maintain the barriers, power struggles in Ceris–

Islanzadí had no earthly idea where her own daughter was.

“I…” 

Oromis reached behind him and marched into the room. “Spare me the attempt, Islanzadí.” 

A small yelp of indignation followed him, or rather, was dragged alongside him. Arya let out a half feral yowl at the Dragon Rider pulling her by one gangly arm, silverskin glowing a muted flush of pink anger at her cheeks at the unintentional roughness. 

The elfling’s hair was wild, though that was nothing new. Her braid was half undone, the tie at the base loosened. Knees scuffed, elbows bruised, knuckles scraped, pine needles stuck to her clothing with sap. Yes, that was her Arya, scowling up at her from where Oromis had planted the child in front of him with his hands on her shoulders. 

“Tell your mother.”

Arya’s scowl deepened. Stars. She looked so much like Evandar during combat when she did that. Her brows met with the same lightning pattern, jet streaks of midnight above endless emerald green. “Nothing happened.”

Another growl rattled the window hard enough to send it gliding inwards on hidden hinges. Glaedr snapped his massive jaws, a sharp crack loud enough to make the gathered elves flinch. Outside, a trio of pines juddered from the impact of his tail before he subdued the lashing.

‘Hatchling!’ His voice was thunderous in their minds. At the dragon’s mental touch Islanzadí felt the sensation of wind pushing against her body, a momentary inkling of confusion, then a fear of failure, fear of the outcome, and then…relief. And rage. ‘We have warned you!’

Against all odds, Arya snapped her own teeth, a defiant snarl rattling her thin chest. “I’m not scared of you, Glaedr!” 

The golden dragon audibly balked. That stung more than he cared to admit. Especially coming from one so small.

“What is this about?” Islanzadí snapped. That surge of fear felt through Glaedr’s memories twisted her stomach into knots. Besides the usual scrapes, though, Arya seemed unharmed. “I have work to do. You interrupted a meeting that was planned weeks in advance!”

Outside, Glaedr shifted. 

Arya bared her teeth. With a hollow mental wave of her hand to put it aside for later thought, Islanzadí noticed the girl’s canines had fallen out. When had that happened? Not too recently, it seemed. The tips of wickedly sharp ancestral teeth were already poking through, giving the child an almost comical appearance with both top canines barely coming in while the lower set were nearly level with her incisors. 

Oromis’ eyes flashed at Islanzadí’s words. His grip on Arya’s shoulders tightened. “We found your daughter after she leapt off the Crags, Islanzadí.”

Islanzadí’s heart dropped, the wind knocked from her lungs. “What?” 

‘We were flying and caught the hatchling after she jumped off the Crags of Tel’naeír.’ 

Arya…jumped from the cliffs? 

Islanzadí was around the desk in an instant and seized her only child by the arms. “What were you thinking?” There was only panic thudding in her chest, the image of a small body crumpled in the beds of pine needles flashing to her mind. “Have you gone mad?! Answer me!” 

“Islanzadí!” Oromis’ bark was sharp and swift. It was only when Arya stifled a squeak did Islanzadí realize she was shaking her. 

The queen released the elfling as if stung, hands hovering an inch away from the pink blotches blooming on silvered skin. “Arya…?” 

Arya lifted her gaze from where she had dropped it to the ground. 

Was…was that fire in her eyes?

Defiant but calm. Determined. The lanky child squared her shoulders as best she could under Oromis’ grip and met her mother’s conflicted storm of golden lightning and locked them eye to eye.

Arya’s voice was soft, deadpan. “I wanted to fly.” 

Fly. Said as if it were entirely normal for elf children to take to the skies after a quick breakfast. Islanzadí stared at her child, unsure if this was some sort of elaborate ruse to hide a darker motive, some childish cry for help, or if her daughter genuinely had planned to leap off a thousand foot cliff and sprout wings.

The queen closed her mouth, suddenly aware that her jaw was hanging open a good half inch in dumbfounded bewilderment. 

“...Fly?” 

Arya nodded. Never broke eye contact. Never changed her expression. “I wanted to test the spells I made. The Crags are the highest and clearest launch point.”

A dull headache began to throb behind Islanzadí’s forehead.

Why? Why did it always have to be her child. Couldn’t she find something normal to do? Couldn’t she see that Islanzadí was struggling to keep the entire elven nation together just over a handful of years after the Fall? Arya was known to be remarkably observant but how could she not understand, after her father–

The fear for her safety was quickly turning to white hot anger at the center of Islanzadí’s chest. Of all the foolish things….

The queen inhaled and held her breath for a long moment before letting it out in a tight huff. “Arya. You are far too old to be pretending you can fly, and far too young to be meddling with experimental magic!” Arya opened her mouth but Islanzadí cut her off. “No. Enough of this. You know how important the meetings today are.” Islanzadí rose from her kneeling position and knocked the knees of her dress free of dirt. “You and I will discuss this at length in the evening. Now go to your quarters.”

Again, Arya tried to speak. She even took half a step forward, something flashing and flaring bright in her emerald eyes. “I–”

“Enough!” Unmistakable. The voice she used in court. Commanding. The voice of a queen. “To your quarters!” Islanzadí threw an arm in the direction of the door, pointing sharply. “Now!” 

The elfling’s mouth snapped shut, jaw clenched.

Islanzadí couldn’t tell if it was horror, pain, or anger that surged to her throat when her daughter straightened into a smart attention, knocked her knuckles to a disheveled shoulder as she had seen countless times before, and bowed. 

“As you wish, my queen.”

Hollow, detached. Quietly and barely masking the seething underneath it all.

Arya was at the door when Oromis called out. “Arya.” She turned to him, never once looking back to her mother. “Lessons early tomorrow. Bring your books and your training blade.”

“Yes, ebrithil.” The murmur held more respect than anything she had said to Islanzadí. “I will be there.”

Once the door was closed, Islanzadí took a moment to rub her temples and just breathe. She could still feel Oromis staring at her, anger not yet gone, thunder still in his eyes. 

“What?” She didn’t mean to snap. She bit her tongue. The Dragon Rider merely shook his head. “Speak, Oromis! I do not have time for games! I have two more meetings, not counting the one you interrupted, and I have a stack of reports on attempted border incursions by Wyrdfell waiting for me.”

“You don’t have time?” The words stung hard against Islanzadí’s ears with flabbergasted accusations. Oromis must indeed be outraged if he was acting this emotional with her. “You do not have time for your own daughter?” 

The queen whirled back to her desk and stalked around it. “My daughter should know better than to jump off cliffs and think she will fly!” She shoved a stack of papers to the side roughly and sat. “She knows how important these weeks are. Arya is capable, she should be able to take care of herself.”

“That is not the matter at all, and you know this!” Oromis followed her, bracing slim hands on the back of one of the chairs. “Islanzadí, Arya is hurting! She is still trying to come to terms with Evandar’s death–”

“Get out.” 

“Islanzadí–”

“Get out! You will not lecture me on how to raise my child by invoking the name of my dead mate!”

For the first, and quite nearly the only time, Islanzadí witnessed Oromis Thrándurin in a true, uncontained rage. 

The unmistakable rumble of dragonfire swelled in the crippled Rider’s chest. Islanzadí shrank back instinctively as the elf seemed to grow before her, white teeth flashing, fingers cracking through the chair’s wood as if pierced by ivory claws. 

Oromis’ voice was harsh with crackling flame, roaring at her above the din. “Then raise your child, Islanzadí Dröttning!” His thin chest heaved, as if the effort of holding back true fire taxed him to the limit. “Arya needs her mother. Not a queen. Go to her. She is a child! She only wants to be held by her mother and told that it will all be alright while the world is falling apart!” 

The words had Islanzadí shooting to her feet yet again. “Yes! The world is falling apart! And right now, the only thing keeping us safe are magic barriers, far too few uninjured spellcasters, a handful of cities lending all the strength they can to fortify them, and spells that are millenia old and in desperate need of repair!” The queen threw an arm out, gesturing to the expanse of Du Weldenvarden mapped out on the wall of pine. “Everyone is hurting! And I am the queen of an entire race that is hurting! I do not have time to lie to my daughter that everything will be fine when we cannot know for sure! My time is spent endlessly fortifying our defenses, trying to make sure we last to the end of the month in case Galbatorix decides to send his entire collection of Wyrdfell to sweep the forest with dragonfire! Time not spent with her is time spent keeping her alive!

“Arya will just have to learn how to live with some sacrifices. I will not hold her hand when it means the possibility of losing this entire nation.” 

Oromis once again looked every year his age. 

“Are you finished?” He asked softly.

The queen lowered herself into her chair, hands shaking. “Get out. And take Glaedr with you.”

Oromis again shook his head, as if in sad disappointment. “You will lose her if you continue like this, Islanzadí.”

Islanzadí did not look up from the piles of reports on her desk. 

When the door finally clicked closed behind him, the queen of the elves buried her face in her hands, and cried. 

Oromis was not halfway down the hall when the soft sound of sniffling caught his attention. A small droplet splashed on the back of his hand, warm like a spring rain in the dead of winter. 

He looked up. “Oh, little hatchling. Come down from there.” He gave a small, sad smile. “Please?”

Another quiet sniffle, the rustle of woven pine boughs, and the lanky elfling dropped from one of the skylights in the hall’s ceiling. Arya wiped her nose on the back of her arm, scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms and stifled a hiccup before squaring her shoulders as she had earlier. 

“Arya. Were you listening?”

She nodded. Blinked. 

“Oh, little hatchling. I’m so sorry you heard that.” Her eyes shone with tears when she met his gaze, throat convulsing as she swallowed another stuttered gasp of misery. Oromis opened his arms, chest aching. “None of that, now, Arya. It is okay to cry.”

Arya sniffed again. “F…fighters don’t cry.” 

“My dear girl, everyone cries.” But she was already in his arms, face pressed to his ribs and eyes squeezed shut. 

He let her sob out her frustration and pain there in the hall, tucked into his embrace and in a little sheltered bubble of silence where no one would be able to hear her tears. She pulled away when she was done, rubbing at her face, trying to hide the evidence again as the two of them retrieved her training blade and books before beginning the long walk to the Crags. She would sleep under the stars there, an unspoken agreement forged by the many times Glaedr had awoken to the elfling tucked against his paw, or curled under the roots of a tree at the edge of their cliffside dwelling. 

“I’m…” Oromis flicked his gaze to the child at his side. Arya heaved a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm fully. “I’m going to fix it.” 

“Fix what, little hatchling?” 

“The world.” Arya nodded in affirmation to herself. The Rider at her side couldn’t help the small grin that tilted his lips. Leave it to the youth to declare such things with so much confidence. “I’m going to fix the world. Then Mum won’t have to work so hard, and you and Glaedr won’t be so sad all the time.”

The matter of fact mentioning of his and Glaedr’s pain hit like a stone loosed from a sling. He pushed it back, did his best to keep the soft smile on his face. “Do you have a plan for this?” 

“Yeah.” 

Oromis nearly missed a step when he glanced down. Arya’s face had transformed from the light frown to a near frighteningly wild smile, teeth bared in fierce determination. Her eyes were alight with brilliant fire, brows lowered in challenge. 

“I’m gonna fight.”

~~~~~~~~

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 58

Chapter; Highlights

Not that there was much Elide could do.

Despite the generous gift of power that ran through the Lochan bloodline, she possessed no magic, no gifts beyond reading people and lying.

Rushed to get bandages, hot water, and whatever salves or herbs the healers calmly requested. None of them shouted. They only raised their voices, magic glowing bright around them, if a soldier was shrieking too loudly for their words to be heard.

The sun was barely over the horizon, judging by the light at the windows set high in the Great Hall, and so many already lay injured. So many. Still they kept coming, and Elide kept moving, her limp becoming a dull, then a sharp ache. A minor pain, compared to what the soldiers endured. Compared to what they faced on the battlements.

She didn't let herself think of her friends.

Didn't let herself think of Lorcan, who had not come to the chamber last night and had not sought them out this morning. As if he didn't want to be near her. As if he'd taken every hateful word she'd spoken to heart.

So Elide aided—and did not stop.

No, that magnificent horse trampled them, fearless and wicked, just as Chaol had predicted. A horse whose name meant butterfly

—stomping all over Valg foot soldiers.

Had his breath not been a rasp in his chest, Chaol might have smiled. Had men not been cut down around him, he might have laughed a bit, too.

But Morath was launching itself at the walls and gates with a furor they had not yet witnessed. Perhaps they knew who had come to Anielle and now hewed them down. Aelin and Rowan fought back-to-back, and Fenrys had plowed his way down the battlements to join Chaol by the second siege tower.

Morath, it seemed, did not think to surrender. Only to inflict destruction, to break into the keep and slaughter as many as they could before meeting their end.

His shield bloodied and dented, his horse a raging demon herself beneath him, Chaol kept swinging his sword. His wife lay within the keep behind him. He would not fail her.

Soon now. They'd win the field soon, and the song in his blood would quiet.

Part of him didn't want it to end, even as his body began to scream to rest.

Yet when the battle was done, what would remain?

Nothing. Elide had made that clear enough.

She loved him, but she hated herself for it.

He hadn't deserved her anyway.

She deserved a life of peace, of happiness.

He didn't know such things. Had thought he'd glimpsed them during the months they'd traveled together, before everything went to hell, but now he knew he was not meant for anything like it.

But this battlefield, this death-song around him ... This, he could do. This, he could savor.

The golden helmets of the khagan's army became clear, their fiery horses unfaltering.

Finer than any host he'd fought beside in a mortal kingdom. In many immortal kingdoms, too.

Obeying the death-song in his blood, Lorcan let his shields drop. He did not wish it to be easy. He wanted to feel each blow, see his enemy's life drain out beneath his sword.

The earth shook beneath thundering hooves, and arrows screamed overhead. Then there was roaring. And then blackness.

[things-methinks]

Talking to [leftist/socialist/progressive/whatever] white people as a brown girl is always an experience

[stilettobitearch]

🥀 ooc. warning to all: back on my zelda bullshit, expect au action, ellie has an incredibly loud au too so maybe her blog will see opening day, and seeing wild era zelda on the multi and more probably

[vitamin-zeeth]

For my English course this year I wrote an essay on the debate of fine art vs contemporary art and I haven't reread it since I sent it in I wanna see if I can find this shit cause I have no clue what I ended up stating as my opinion

[dernhelmalso]

i love the scene in the two towers where éowyn witnesses aragorn calming her cousin's horse brego in elvish. like of course this massive fucking horse girl is gonna find that attractive. smfh.

[clone-wars-retteyo-au]

#Man I want a clone language #Something similar to amatakka or something #Please someone teach me how to create a language #And a culture #I beg you #All I want is big brother rex sing to his adorable little baby brothers in a super cool clone language <- OP's tags

Me: *Breathing heavily, shaking with anticipation to talk all about my ideas for a clone Galactic Basic-Mando'a Creole language with hundreds of words and phrase unique to clones that could not easily exist in other languages and is clone culture specific*

Me: *Remembers my pages of notes on an original clone sign language that becomes one of the main languages used in clone society in my AU and is a part of everyday language and I'm so proud of it*

Me: *Shaking like a maraca*

Okay, so I've read lots of fics where the clones speak mando'a, and actually I kind of liked the idea. But it's come to bother me that I get more and more of the feeling that the clones are presented as mandalorians and not their own culture.

The main problem I see is, that the clones aren't viewed as sentient life by most people, especially the kaminoans and their trainers, who, at the beginning of the whole cloning process, were nearly only mandalorians. Of course there were a few people like f.e. Kal skirata, who, if I remember correctly, actually adopted a bunch of clones, but let's be honest, that's not the case with most of the other trainers and especially not the kaminoans.

So, I've thought about it and I believe that it's not that improbable that the clones actually picked up quite a few words of mando'a. Maybe a few of the older clones were even thought a bit by some of the nicer mandalorian trainers. And imagine a few little clone cadets hearing those mandos talk in their own language - of course they'd want to learn it and share it with their brothers.

But most mandalorians that are on kamino don't even like the clones and definitely don't accept them as some of their own culture. So using mando'a in front of them could be dangerous and be punished. Talking your mind freely was dangerous enough as it is. The clones weren't supposed to have too much of their own free will, after all.

So they start developing their own words, their own language. It could be inspired by mando'a, but not too much. Because they weren't mandalorians, they weren't accepted by those people. They weren't accepted by anyone but their own brothers.

Not to mention that it was something of their own. Something they could claim and cling to and that belonged to only them when not even their own bodies and especially not their future belonged to themselves.

So in the middle of the night, after a too long, too painful training session, the clones would lie side by side with their brothers and comfort each other with their own words. Words that weren't used day by day to make them feel small and helpless, but words that were spoken softly and in a comforting and loving way.

The clones would also start developing their own sign language very early on. Not the classical military hand signs or something like bsl or asl or something, more like little movements of their heads and fingers. Maybe they'd use something similar to morse code as well.

They were mostly supervised and talking in your own language would be the worst thing you could do. None of the nat borns, especially none on kamino, could know, how much of their own free will they had. They'd risk being reconditioned for it.

So the clones would mostly communicate with very subtle signs. They grow more and more perceptive, especially when it comes to their brothers. For outsiders it might even look like they're barely moving a muscle while they have a full conversation going on.

The spoken language would be reserved for the few times they aren't directly supervised. Maybe older clones would cheer up the younger ones, that they find secretly crying and grieving, after yet another brother has been decommissioned for a stupid reason. They'd whisper softly to them in their own words - not the nat borns words. Never.

Some of the bolder clones might whisper in secret while in the mess hall and eating the same tasteless rations they've eaten for all of their cursed existence.

They'd develop stories to tell each other whenever possible. Stories that are of parents and their children, of flowers and trees, of funny animals that run around on wide fields and high mountains, stories of freedom. Of all the things they didn't have, but wished they did.

[taasgirl]

blame - driver!reader x grid

summary: driver!reader goes to war protecting her teammate and best friend, max verstappen.

a/n: this is NOT a romance smau!!

liked by user76, user98, and 6, 872, 014 others f1 Following a breach of conditions set by the FIA, Max Verstappen will serve a mandatory community service period.

tagged: maxverstappen1

ynusername just say ya'll can't handle him and move on!!!

user27 be careful y/n, they'll send you too user46 HAHA SHE'S SO REAL

user51 this is so stupid

user90 who decided this???

user75 Okay I understand him getting community service for the Ocon incident, but for swearing?

user21 they're treating max like he's a child

liked by oscarpiastri, redbullracing, and 2, 379, 918 others ynusername unbothered, moisturised, and definitely plotting to overthrow the fia!

tagged: maxverstappen1

user59 My dreams 5 minutes before my alarm:

user61 y/n and max are never beating the platonic soulmates allegations

user87 Get yourself a teammate that fights the FIA on your behalf @/estebanocon

maxverstappen1 I was going to say something nice then I saw the last photo.

ynusername pls still compliment me x

oscarpiastri I agree with the caption

landonorris ur too ashy to be moisturised

view ynusername's story...

caption only the FIA could ruin a beautiful flight @/alex_albon

liked by carlossainz55, alex_albon, and 1, 256, 280 others ynusername me and bro suiting up to destroy the FIA

tagged: carlossainz55, landonorris

lewishamilton This is why you're my favourite on the grid

ynusername this is why you're the 🐐

oscarpiastri Hey I hope you were joking when you said you'd be turning into a grid terror haha (please be joking)

ynusername don't worry ur safe xx

landonorris WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS Y/N???

landonorris If me and my gang pull up ahh post

ynusername yup you're now my number one target for unironically using 'ahh'

maxverstappen1 I hope I am bro

ynusername there's no one i'd rather serve community service with

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lewishamilton, and 3, 287, 3389 others ynusername don't worry I won't actually replicate crashgate. however, please know that I have free reign over my radio xx

landonorris Thank god u had me scared for a minute

user49 y/n is taking this too far 😭

ynusername oh i can go further if needed

lewishamilton HAHA this is gold y/n

ynusername when I have the praise of sir lewis hamilton then I know that I'm doing something right

user20 OMG Y/N GOING INSANE ON RADIO IS A NEEEED

user91 y/n is the only reason i'm tuning in this weekend

view ynusername's story...

caption: I have some business to attend to this sunday afternoon

liked by user62, user87, and 209, 557 others f1updates Not shy on the radio so far! Y/N on the formation lap, and she'd already quizzing her engineer.

user83 she's so unserious i love her

user90 This is my sign to strictly watch her onboard today

user41 y/n really is going to put on a show huh

liked by user 34, user75, and 1, 722, 981 others f1updates A few of the unhinged thing's Y/N was saying during today's race. Safe to say that she may be sporting a ban for the next race.

user38 her engineer replying with 'affirm' is so fucking funny to me

user92 And ya'll still wonder why she's my fave driver

user47 THE WAY THIS ISN'T EVEN EVERYTHING SHE SAID

user28 what else did she say??

user47 @/user28 she went on a whole tangent about how stroll is a prick that shouldn't be in f1 😭😭

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, and 3, 615, 248 others ynusername FIA knew I'd be too powerful for another race (hey at least bestie doesn't have to do community service).

maxverstappen1 You're insane I love you

ynusername dinner is still on you right?

landonorris NOOOOOO RIP Y/N

ynusername bitch i'm still alive

oscarpiastri Welcome back Kevin Magnussen liked by ynusername

redbullracing She might be crazy, but she's our kind of crazy!

ynusername pls keep me employed ya'll

view landonorris's story...

caption Yes, she still has the helmet on

view maxverstappen1's story...

caption Okay time for us to get to work

eeee i hope you guys liked this, please let me know if you did!

[sayruq]

For the past six months, I have been moving from one address to the next across the Gaza Strip with my husband and two children, aged 7 and 9, in an elusive search for safety. Our home in the Tal el-Hawa neighborhood, southwest of Gaza City, was bombed soon after the war began, and since then we have been homeless. At first, we moved between residences in the north. But sooner or later, every neighborhood in Gaza City became a target, and every apartment in which we sought refuge was damaged by Israel airstrikes. Eventually, my husband and I decided to flee south with our children, to the city of Khan Younis. It was a journey filled with adversity. Again, we moved from one address to another, until we ended up at Al-Amal Hospital. Sheltering at the hospital grounds in the middle of winter, we slept only on a blanket, with a second blanket on top of us to provide warmth for my children and I. It was the first time I had felt extreme cold; the severity, along with the fear I felt for my children, brought me to tears. After the occupation army besieged Khan Younis, we fled in early February through the so-called “safe corridor” under their control. On that journey, we experienced abuse, insults, humiliation, and the theft of our belongings. We continued back northward to the city of Deir al-Balah in central Gaza, prolonging the bitterness of displacement until this day. It has been six months, three cities, and countless places of refuge — and with the war showing no signs of ending, we know that we may not be able to shelter in our current spot for much longer.