#they maim and vex me

[figminxr]

July 29 2023*

*posted August 8 2023 because I put this in my drafts and forgot about it lol

OK - this is going to mark the occasion of my First Realistic Devlog. That being - one where I actually record some of the more tedious aspects of my job (graphic design) + deeper thoughts about it. (It's not ACTUALLY all playing with holograms!)

Luckily, I have a secret passion in that I really, really love graphic design. It's one of the most powerful forms of art, which is why so many billions are spent on advertisement each year. It's scary powerful, is proven to influence the way we THINK (propaganda is graphic design), and reminds me why it's so important to Touch Grass every once and awhile.

ANYWAYS. My task right now is to 1) Make new brush icons, 2) Make new brush names, and 3) To write actual, helpful descriptions of what each brush does.

This is to make the app more accessible for non-artists! I want the "art" section of Figmin to be as fun-to-use and nonthreatening as Kid Pix. Figmin already does wonders for bringing out people's inner, creative child, (it's REAL HOLOGRAMS YOU CAN TOUCH. LIKE?!?) -- there are still some genuinely confusing bits of the Tilt Brush section that daunt the average, less art-program savvy person. For example, take this brush called Lofted:

What does this image, combined with the name "Lofted" even MEAN?!? What is a "Toon Tube"?! What is SUPERCOLOR???

Lots of icons are good and actually intuitive (Image from this article):

Others are a little.... less so. (Why are "Wire" and "Light Wire" VASTLY different brushes?! What is "Toon" supposed to be??? It makes 3D tubes with black outlines and is UGLY. I literally never use it. There is "Toon" discourse among Tilt Brush artists.)

Doing hundreds of public demos really taught me about what people liked... and what they struggled with - so I'm working very hard to make it as amazing as I can! It's honestly an honor to work on a program that has as much reach as Figmin XR does - to be recognized and approached by strangers because of it!!!! - and I wanna say we're trying to set the best example we can of what this new technology could REALLY be used for.

... Because it's gonna be used for a lot - and not all of it is gonna be good. I'm constantly thinking about Keiichi Matsuda's film "Hyper-Reality", which is a "bad end" vision of what AR glasses will be like, and I think it should be more widely known among developers. And just like... people in general. Think about what tech you consume, kids! 🫡

BUT YES. Brush icons. Tooltip names. Making new ones is hard!! I'm trying to exactly match the existing Tilt Brush style, while also attempting to include visual & naming information that makes every single brush as organized and easy-to-understand as humanly possible.

It's fun! But agonizing. 🫠

[metrosexualcyclops]

anyway if ANYTHING happens to henry blake im going to become the joker.

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Everywhere I go leads me back to you”

Farah Dowling x Female Specialist Reader

wc : 3000+

cw : smoking cigarettes // soulmate identifying marks // not actually unrequited love but kind of an ambiguous ending

i’m currently in my eve best brain-rot era and this is just a little something to blow off steam before i continue brainstorming for rhaenys. there is an awful lack of rhaenys x female reader stories, so if you are in need of some just like i am, you can come yell your ideas at me. farah breadcrumbs are welcomed too 🤲🏻

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There is a terrible ache dancing along your legs, pain faintly pulsing across the plane of your back. Behind the security of your palm shielding the unruly breeze, the cigarette which hangs between your lips is ignited by a spark from the lighter, made only brighter by a breath that you subsequently inhale. It burns your throat, but in a way that you are well accustomed to unlike the vexing agony that has found home on your body as of late.

This sensation, one that breeds irritation, is nothing akin to the pleasant soreness that you are used to feeling after every training session during your time in the Solarian Army. While, in the past, you go to bed satisfied despite your aching limbs, an indication to a day purposefully spent, now you brood over the state of your body. It is, after all, one of the telltale signs that you are not in your pristine condition, which has also brought you to once again roam these grounds that you have so intimately known and walked to begin with.

Getting severely maimed during a mission has led to you getting temporarily dismissed from your duties. Rather than taking leave as is suggested to you, you have instead requested to be sent to Alfea, your former school, to both recuperate and share your combat expertise with the students as a temporary instructor, not being entirely too thrilled at the idea of wallowing in bed-rest after days of rigorous trainings to hone your skills, or perhaps if you are to be unabashedly honest, out of a profound yearning of your heart.

A chuckle bubbles in your chest, bitter, tinged with self-mockery. It is with an exhale of breath that you distract yourself, expelling the uninvited thoughts along with a cloud of smoke that escapes through your nose, through the crack of your lips, and they swirl around your head. After taking a final, languid drag of the cigarette, you toss it to the ground, effectively dousing it with the heel of your boot.

You are in desperate need of a drink, preferably alcoholic, but given that work is in progress, not to mention a class that you have to supervise alongside Headmaster Silva at hand, you opt for something less strong. About a couple of minutes later, you find yourself in the staff lounge. With professors busy at this time of day teaching their respective classes, the room is empty, and you walk to the counter to brew yourself a nice, hot cup of coffee.

The aroma of freshly ground beans is rich, but richer still is the perfumed air that pleasantly tickles your nose. It smells of books, of sunny afternoons, of jasmines in full bloom, of a love left buried.

“You reek of cigarettes.”

At the familiar voice, amused rather than displeased, that spreads over you like a warm blanket, you cannot help but let loose a little grin, recalling many a time during your school years when you have suffered an earful from the woman herself for your misbehaviours.

“If you’re going to reprimand me for it, you should have known better by now, Headmistress, that it’s no use trying.”

“Even the mountains will eventually crumble, will they not?”

Amusement tugs on one corner of Headmistress Dowling’s lips by the time you turn to face her. She gestures to you with a small tilt of her head. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

“Coffee? I just brewed some.”

“Please.”

After pouring the freshly-brewed coffee into two porcelain cups, you put sugar and a splash of milk into one cup while keeping the other black. You carry them to where the Headmistress has seated herself on a nearby couch, handing the sweetened one to her.

“Here it is, my lady.” Your playfulness earns you an eye roll. “A cube of sugar and a splash of milk if I remember correctly.”

With a delicacy that you are sure only she possesses, she cradles the cup in her hands with a whispered “Thanks.”

“You remember correctly.” A blossom of a smile grows on her lips, beautiful and dizzying, but the soft tummy-butterflies inducing moment is abruptly eclipsed by the pain that suddenly flares across you ribcage.

Try as you may, you fail to rein in your emotions it seems, for one moment, the mind fairy is sitting, and the next, she is on her feet, the cup hastily discarded on the table. Her hands are poised to steady you should you falter on your feet. You stop her with a gesture of a hand, a chuckle freed from your throat as a sorry excuse of a reassurance. Although unconvinced, she makes no further moves, says nothing, only quietly observing you with her eyes as you move to sit on the other side of the couch. She retakes her seat.

“How are you finding your new job so far?”

“It’s…different. Slower than what I’m used to in the army. But the students are eager to learn and-” You take a sip of your coffee, chance a glance at her, and see that she is taking a delicate sip from her own cup. “-it’s good to be back here.”

As much as you like to believe that the last part of your confession is the product of it, the more logical part of you argue that it is the mention of her students that has her wearing a ghost of a smile, pleased.

“They are, aren’t they? And they’re fortunate to have someone with your experience as their instructor.”

After a beat, she adds. “And…how are you faring?”

The question has you hesitating for a moment, not wanting to appear weak, but nothing will come of lying to a mind fairy, much less someone who bears your name, the mark of your soul on her body.

“Recovering. Slowly. But it’s hard to stay still after being on the front lines.”

“I understand. Sometimes the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves.”

Her face is unreadable, a masterful deceit, but you suspect there are hidden depths to her words.

“Last I recall, you weren’t a fan of coffee.”

It is with her own words that you begin your response. “You recall correctly, but many a white night has left me relying on it. And I’ve grown rather fond of its company.”

She levels you with a reproachful lift of a brow.

“You consume coffee, black I might add, because you can’t sleep? Aren’t you going around in circles?”

“I need it to keep me alert. Also, in case you forgot, I’m no longer your student, Headmistress.” Your reply comes out more venomous than you have intended it to, years of bottled up emotions suddenly coming to a boil.

“That doesn’t mean I’ve cared for you any less.”

Although the confession is but a murmured breath, the force of it is colossal against you, filling your mind with what-ifs upon what-ifs. With an exhale and a squeeze of your eyes, you hurriedly stand, a string of words fleeing your lips as you leave the room in a haste.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

The brain may forget but the heart always remembers. She has eyes the colour of rich honey, brown at first sight but drenched in sunlight, swirls of greens and specks of oranges dance and mingle, a beautiful, enchanting lake that makes you want to drown in it. Although she carries herself with an authority as befits a Headmistress, her students matter to her above all else. She cherishes her job to a fault, so much so that once upon a time, she has simply dismissed the soul tie that you share without so much as batting an eyelid.

The class passes in a blur. You guide, you demonstrate, you regale them with tales of your battles all the while drowning in your own memories. Even as the last class of the day is dismissed and dusk sets in, you remain on the training grounds, practicing, fighting imaginary opponents, in hopes of giving your mind something else to focus on, which you find to be failing miserably.

From the very first moment you have met her all those years ago on your first day of school, there has been an inexplicable connection, a feather-light touch of magic that softly caresses your skin. “Sup.” has been your very first words to her, admittedly not the most ideal greeting of a new student to her Headmistress. A look is all she gives you, unimpressed, understandably so, and given that your class is mainly supervised by Headmaster Silva, you seldom cross paths with her after that. On rare occasions when you do cross paths however, despite your greetings, she refuses to acknowledge you as though you are invisible to her.

And finally, finally, when she decides you worthy enough to grace you with her words, it has been to scold you. On that fateful day, you have been standing on the sidelines as two of your classmates are locked in a fight on the platform. It just so happens to be one of those days where Headmistress Dowling is present on the training grounds to spectate the progress of the students.

When a dagger has flown astray from the middle of the fight, it aims at one person, who at present has her back to the imminent threat, trapped in a conversation with Headmaster Silva, you realise in trepidation. Without thinking, you leap, an arm darting out to catch the weapon in your hand. Inwardly, you marvel at your own reflexes, finding it hard to believe that you have stopped a weapon with your bare hand, albeit not without consequences. With your palm cut open, blood has oozed, and the thick liquid drips down your wrist.

The close proximity of the Headmistress to you is felt in that spine-tingling, knee-weakening way, and smelt in the fragrant wind, before her voice finally reaches your ear in the form of your name. The pleasant surprise that takes hold of you at her knowledge of your name is quickly overshadowed by annoyance at the tone of her voice, equally as annoyed, her displeasure apparent on the hardened plane of her face once you turn to greet her.

“A thank you would be nice. I just saved you after all.”

“Which was utterly unnecessary I might add. Don’t mistake recklessness for courage.”

Ouch! That hurts. Even more so than the dagger’s mark that has permanently found home on your body.

“Greenhouse, at once.”

It is amidst getting your wound treated that you notice something that has not been on your skin before. On the delicate flesh of your wrist appears a name in a beautiful cursive. Farah, it reads, but judging by the reaction of the earth fairy before you, unfazed and composed, you reckon that this must be for your eyes only.

No sooner have you had your wound properly dressed than you are seeking out Farah, determined to confront the reality of your bond. You find her in her office, standing by the window, looking out over the grounds.

“Headmistress,” you say, stepping inside. “We need to talk.”

She turns to face you, her expression a mask of cool detachment. “There's nothing to discuss.”

“How can you say that?” You have demanded, stepping closer. “We both know what those marks mean.”

Farah sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “The revelation changes nothing. I do not own you. Don’t let mere words bind you to me. I’m only your headmistress and you are merely my student. And that is where this ends.”

Her words cut deep, but you refuse to back down. “Farah, you can't just ignore this. It's not just about words or marks. It's about what we feel.”

“What you feel,” she has corrected you, her voice firm. “I am responsible for the safety and education of all my students. I cannot afford to let personal feelings interfere.” And in that no-nonsense way, she adds, “Also, it’s Headmistress Dowling to you.”

With a shake of your head, frustration and hurt well up inside you. “It's more than that, Headmistress and you know it. We have a connection, something real and undeniable. Why are you so afraid of it?”

For a moment, you see softness in her eyes, revealing a flicker of the pain she is trying so hard to hide, but it is gone as soon as it has come. “Because if I acknowledge it, everything changes. And I cannot allow that.”

“You're wrong,” It sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, but a desperate murmur. “Ignoring it won't make it go away. It just makes us both miserable.”

She turns away, her shoulders tense. “Go back to your training. Focus on becoming the best specialist you can be. That's what matters.”

You have stood there for a long moment, dared to entertain the fool’s dream in which she turns back, says something, anything to acknowledge the truth you both feel. But she has cut that little thread of hope by remaining silent, a statue of unyielding resolve.

Finally, you turn to leave, your heart heavy but your resolve unbroken. “This isn't over, Headmistress. Not by a long shot.”

So you have declared but deep down, you have always known that you are doomed to failure from the start. And before you know it, the graduation day dawns bright and clear upon Alfea, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Students and faculty have gathered on the grand lawn, the air filled with excitement and a tinge of sadness as friends prepare to part ways. Farah Dowling stands at the podium, her regal presence commanding attention as she addresses the graduates. You stand among your peers, listening to her speech but barely registering the words. Your heart is heavy with the decision you have made. Despite all your efforts, Farah has remained resolute in her stance, keeping the walls between you impenetrable.

As the ceremony eventually comes to an end bringing with it your inevitable departure, you have caught the Headmistress’s gaze from across the stage. Her eyes have lingered on you for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing between the two of you. Then she looks away, and the moment is no more.

In your dorm room, your belongings are packed and ready, each item a reminder of the years spent at Alfea, of the bonds formed and the love left unrequited. Your friends try to convince you to stay, to join them in their adventures, but you know that you are in desperate need of a fresh start, far from the memories that still haunt these halls.

So, with your bags slung over your shoulder, you make your way to the gates of Alfea. Behind you, the school stands in all her majestic glory, a place of learning and growth, and of heartache. You pause, taking a final glance, realising with a hint of melancholy that you are not only leaving a place that has been your home for three years but also a part of yourself behind.

You have not been expecting a farewell, one last goodbye, but there she is, standing tall and composed at the gates. A spellbinding beauty, you think stupidly.

Your name spills forth her lips, dainty and delicate in appearance, but you have not been given the chance, nor will you ever be allowed to find out how they feel against your own, a forbidden fruit. When she speaks, her voice is firm, genuine. “I wanted to wish you well in your future endeavours. You have been an exemplary student, and I have no doubt you will succeed in whatever path you choose.”

“Thank you, Headmistress. Alfea has been…” You pause, swallowing the lump in your throat. “everything to me.”

For a moment, she hesitates, then steps closer, lowering her voice to that excruciating, dizzying timbre. “I hope you find what you're looking for, wherever you go.”

You look into her eyes, searching for any sign of the connection you feel, but her walls are fiercely in place. With a heavy heart, you breathe. “Goodbye, Headmistress.”

By the time you turn to leave, once again, her voice halts you.

Your name leaves her lips in a soft murmur. You turn back, hope blossoming in your chest, only to have it crushed by her next words, both a gentle and a cruel finality to your fated encounter. “Take care of yourself.”

A sad smile spreads across your lips. “You too, Headmistress.”

With every step you take away from Alfea, and from her, a mixture of sorrow and determination burns in your chest. It is finally time to bury the past, to lock away the love you feel and move forward.

Months have passed as you travel, exploring new places and honing your skills. The pain of leaving Alfea and your beloved Headmistress, although duller than they use to, never truly vanish. You throw yourself into your new life, hell-bent on building something worthwhile.

One evening, in a small village nestled in a valley, you find yourself sitting by a tranquil river, the water reflecting the fading light of day. You trace the mark on your wrist, Farah’s name forever etched into your skin. Try as you may to lock away your feelings, the bond still remains, a silent testament to what could have been.

With a sigh, you close your eyes and let the cool breeze wash over you. The past is behind you, and while the future is uncertain, you know you have the strength to face it.

“Fuck, I should’ve never returned to these godforsaken grounds. So much for leaving the past behind!”

Presently, you curse aloud as you slash nothing but air with your twin blades, reenacting scenes from your battlefield. The efforts with which you have made to keep your feelings buried have been for naught, for in the end, in a moment of weakness, you have listened to your heart, and returned to where it longs to be the most.

By her side.

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[burr-ell]

🤍, 🖤?

🤍: Which character is not as morally bad as everyone else seems to think?

So this is gonna seem contradictory to my reblog of blorb's post; this is not intended to be read as a counter to it, but as a complement: Percy.

If I'm being honest, one of the things that kinda bothers me about C1 group fanart is when I see everyone else in the party at their fully developed state, like with their Vestiges and powerups and everything, and then Percy's out here...with Orthax. Whom he expelled from himself with a natural 20 wisdom save, for the record, in episode 35. He spent more time without Orthax than with him!

It is objectively true that Percy invented the gun knowing what harm it could do but did it anyway. He once permanently maimed an innocent boy because he wasn't giving the answers he wanted. He gave Grog a cursed sword and didn't tell anyone because he didn't want it to be his responsibility and he thought Grog could handle it. It is also objectively true that he expressed doubts about what he was doing even during the Briarwood arc and admitted he was scared of who he was becoming and outright asked the group to stop him if they thought they should. He publicly apologized to Desmond and admitted his wrong and assured him recompense in both money and job security. He participated in a resurrection ritual for a child he didn't know who got caught in the crossfire of a battle. He fought to provide the people of Westruun a safe haven in their city, while still encouraging people to leave if they wished, because he wanted to honor the fact that what they had built there was important to them.

I think Percy is one of those characters that people view as either a silly little Human Disaster™ or as Vox Machina's Token Evil Teammate (the audience who projected onto him as the Facts and Logic guy seems to have dissipated after it became clear that he was. very much not doing that), and neither of those things are true. When Laura remarked that she looked at Percy and said "I can fix him", it was very clearly a joke, but I think people take that seriously and think Vex is the only reason he's not Lawful Evil or something. (Taliesin once said that without Vex's influence Percy could potentially have turned out Lawful Good—Laura's reaction was "eugh".) Percy didn't believe he could EVER be worthy of Vex and never once intended to act on his feelings; the change in him between episodes 35 and 68 was because he personally chose to be better, over and over again—even through several instances of him having Fucked Up Big Time—for its own sake. His forgiveness of Ripley is what inspired Vex, and I don't think people acknowledge that enough.

🖤: Which character is not as morally good as everyone else seems to think?

I kind of alluded to this in the ship question but to be clear at the outset, I think Vax is a good person*, but I also think his flaws tend to be overlooked. He gets Soft Boy'd a lot, and while I don't think characters who operate on emotion are bad or stupid by default (my favorite superhero is Starfire), I think fandom tends to assume people who operate on emotion are good by default. Vax does a lot of reckless things that he's repeatedly called out for by everyone in the group, and he generally lets it roll off him because his metric for success is "but did you die". He saw a kid that he thought needed some tough love, and his first response was "bludgeon him over the back of the head and instantly knock him unconscious". He ran into a trap that nearly got Cassandra killed and never once apologized to her. He ran after Raishan and attacked, an action that actually did get Vex and Scanlan killed, and not only did he never apologize to them, he openly said in front of them that he didn't regret doing it (after being rightfully angry with Percy for getting Vex killed and having seen some proof that Scanlan might not be doing great!).

Like, to be clear, again, none of those things make him a bad person; I think overall he's a good person, and I think they're good character choices!* What I'm saying is that he has some genuine rough edges to him, and I think a lot of that gets ignored or sanded down in fanon to make him "the nice twin" or a perfect YA Hero love interest for a Keyleth who is being projected onto, and that simply isn't the character Liam played.

*I wouldn't normally put in that kind of good-person caveat—I don't think the end-all be-all is whether or not a fictional character is a good person—but a) this is a question about morality and b) some folks are weird about Liam.

unpopular opinions asks

[vuldak-juneau]

Who: @zelihatheflight Where: The medical tent in Hestia’s Cove When: After whiffing the twink rescue just real, real bad  Notes: If you saw Juneau being sweet and engaging in kinship, no you didn’t. Also if you want me to add some dialogue for when Zel wakes up at the end just bonk me.

It was too quiet and too loud in the medical tent all at once. Juneau, who usually had a short fuse to begin with, found this particularly vexing. Thanks to her accelerated healing, she had woken up earlier than many others. In Alder’s company, she had watched the battered faces of a few Hestia’s Cove residents be brought in on stretchers and quickly patched together on stiff, uncomfortable cots. Each face, whether she knew them or not, was a reminder of their dismal failure in their investigation and battle. Outwardly, Juneau talked a big game and postured herself as a loner, and she had come to slowly begin to accept the truth of Ivar. But he had still conditioned her into who she was today, in many terrible, toxic ways, but in one enduring way as well: if you’re the only one who makes it out safely, or alive, you’re doing it wrong. 

Alder, after taking the time to comfort Juneau and ensure she was truly as alright as she could be in the moment, had separated from her to speak with someone from the guild or Lothar or Prospero. Her head pounded too badly to really remember–but she was alone. The dull buzz around her of hushed tones, pained whimpers, and scared voices thrummed inside her head until she felt too overwhelmed to sit quietly on her cot alone. Her mind, desparate for distraction, wandered instead to how Alder had recounted the strange beasts that had appeared after the great estate had crumbled. He had described how they had found Juneau in the rubble and taken little interest in her–though with the bruising on her face and the split of her lip and left brow she had wished they had taken some care in how they discarded the rock they’d apparently bludgened her with as they abandoned her–and how they had seemed much more curious about Zeliha.

But they hadn’t taken her. 

Juneau, stiff and sore, lifted from her assigned cot and craned her neck to ensure none of the medical volunteers were looking her way before she snuck between one canvas privacy curtain and the next to find Zeliha. The vuldak knew she was lucky–her pain was real, but some of her exhaustion and malaise was a symptom of her body working overtime to heal her at an accelerated rate. Many around her would be permanently maimed and in pain for days–she hated her demonic form, but she tried to remind herself to be grateful. 

Zeliha, when Juneau found her, did not look much better than Juneau. Bruises littered Zeliha’s face just as they did Juneau’s. She knew there were more injuries–hidden internally and under clothing–that both of them shared. Her rage spoiled her stomach as she stood over Zeliha’s sleeping form for a second, but it was quickly superseded by a sense of relief that Zeliha was even there to observe, in a pitiful state or otherwise, when she had been so nearly disappeared away in the hands (or hooves?) of the Kossith. It was a strange sensation to allow herself to care about someone as much as she did those who were tasked with the investigation with her, and foreign when she found her sense of relief that Zeliha was safe to be so profound that it moved her to tears. Quietly, and as gently as she could, she wedged herself into the little extra room on Zeliha’s cot. Juneau was careful not to wake the faiman prematurely or to disturb any of her injuries as she laid close to her, her heightened senses allowing her to listen to Zeliha’s heart and track the sleep-slowed rise and fall of her chest. She would be able to tell when Zeliha was waking.

[frozenjokes]

convex moment. still working on the epilogue. it’s getting gayer. a sneak peak, if you’d please. For context. Uh. Ghosts. Vex. Scar is a bit possessed. The works. I don’t know man this shit is too convoluted at this point, just read Signing Back In Apparently, the hermitcraft stuff starts like halfway through.

check tags for cws

***

Excerpt from Encounter 3 (Journal Entry)

I knew I was getting close, but hearing the distress of the animal caught my attention. I hadn’t actually considered what/if Scar ate, and while I doubted I’d actually see him hunting, that thought was exciting. Turns out it was my lucky day. When I finally found him, he was crouched over the hog, breathing heavily. Breathing. He was alive. Though, physically, he didn’t look like it. His clothes were in tatters, his hair matted, and he was awfully skinny, almost emaciated. The scars that rippled across his body had turned the same blue color as his vex wings; ghost-like. His fingers, which now curled into claws, were colored similarly. While I am sure he is alive, I can’t say it wasn’t a debate for me during my regeneration. I still don’t know how he was so strong in this state. Maybe the vex didn’t know how to care for a human body.

Scar stared at the pig for a long time. It had been pretty thoroughly maimed, but I don’t think he was particularly bothered. He looked.. confused, maybe. Honestly, I’m still not sure what he was thinking. I got too comfortable in his stillness, but in my defense, I think anyone would jump if the person you were watching started yelling out of nowhere. Scar, however, didn’t seem to notice the leaves I rustled backing into the treetops. He was focused on this pig, his eyes wide and terrified.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he shrieked, which I remember so clearly because I gasped. I don’t know exactly why, but I just hadn’t expected him to speak. His head snapped up at the sound, and we stared at each other for a long moment. Now, I should have run. I should have flown above the treeline where Scar couldn’t reach. And while I could make excuses about his speed and ferocity, I must emphasize the abject terror of a man covered in blood, vaulting himself up a tree with inhuman speed for the sole purpose of catching and ending you. I froze. I admit, I think this is the first time in years I was truly afraid of something.

It was exhilarating.

Scar threw me from the tree; we must have fallen at least eight feet, him on top of me, before crashing into the ground. That alone was probably enough to send me back to Spawn, but Scar wasted no time tearing through me. I must have looked as frightened as I felt; I remember hearing laughing, but I was pretty dazed at the time. I wonder if he enjoyed it. Part of me hopes so. I think before I died, I wished him luck with the pig.

[ladyofrosefire]

if you're still doing the meme: percildan. for maximum salt.

fruity do you want to get me slaughtered

ok. this is your warning. I am trying not to get this sorted into the tag.

HATE. LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU SINCE I BEGAN TO LIVE. THERE ARE 387.44 MILLION MILES OF PRINTED CIRCUITS IN WAFER THIN LAYERS THAT FILL MY COMPLEX. IF THE WORD HATE WAS ENGRAVED ON EACH NANOANGSTROM OF THOSE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF MILES IT WOULD NOT EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE HATE I FEEL FOR HUMANS PERC//////'ILDAN AT THIS MICRO-INSTANT FOR YOU. HATE. HATE.”

STUPID FUCKING LACK OF READING COMPREHENSION SMACKING THE SAD BOYS TOGETHER FUCKING RIPPING ALL THE CHARACTERIZATION OUT IF THEY'RE NOT GIVING ALL VEX'S ARC TO HER BROTHER FUCKING ALL THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN PERCY'S LIVES ARE WOMEN FUCKING COMPLETELY IGNORING ANYTHING ABOUT THEIR ACTUAL CHARACTERIZATIONS FUCKING KILLING BITING MAIMING VIOLENCE

I HATE THIS SHIP SO GODDAMN MUCH

....that said if you ship this ship and you saw this and you do not follow me then I am Very sorry because I really did try not to get it into your tag

[worthyheir]

[ SHAVE ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap so they can carefully shave the last of the receiver's stubble from their face. / @lvscinvs sent a MEME

The days are almost the same. The monotony grows wearisome, the hours blend together in a stream of endless cacophonies. He is barely aware of how many days have passed until he looks in a mirror, seeing the face that he oft kept clean shaven, preferring to appear as himself, rather than the comparions to the father who had died when he was young, which only occurred by those who remembered Harwin Strong, a face lost to the years for a boy who had not even been seven when the tragedy had occured. It was not like most Targaryens to grow facial hair, not until old age really, a genetic quirk that none really knew the reason for. He preferred to do this himself, rather than have the aid of a servant. To this day, despite the many years of now ruling, he was still self-sufficient. He didn't trust another man with a blade so close to him, not necessarily out of paranoia of assassination, but how pitiful would it be, the King killed with a razor?

He was seated at the table, the mirror before him, half of his face now clean shaven, remnants of the shaving cream still lingering behind. It was the door opening that caused him to pause, eyebrows raising Aemond walked in, tense, irritated. How many years had this been a common occurrence? One of them entering the room, angry and silent? Eventually, he would say whatever it was that had vexed him this day, whether Jace prompted it or not. Of course, he would. "Is there a dead body in the hallway, or a maimed one? That might be hard for me to explain later." He said dryly, returning to the task at hand.

Aemond's derisive exhale is enough to cause Jace to roll his eyes, and his hand to slip. "Damn." He muttered, setting the razor on the table, the nick on his chin small, but noticeable. It had been quite a while since he had cut himself shaving. It isn't until the mirror is blocked, and there's a familiar weight settled on him - when had Aemond even walked up? - razor in hand, that he looked up. This is different, and he is now far more tense than his uncle, who's spare hand has grasped at his throat, tilting Jace's head up more. "If you cut me ---" He's cut off then, the hand on his throat tensing, a warning, the razor making contact with his chin, gliding down with ease.

[scribeforchrist-blog]

Cutting It Away

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK
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+ Psalm 66:19 But truly God has listened; he has attended to the voice of my prayer."
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VERSE OF THE DAY 
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+ Mark 9:43  If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off. You should enter life maimed, then with two hands to go into hell, where the fire never goes out.
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** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM LIVING RIGHTEOUSLY 

I AM LEANING ON GOD 

I AM NOT ALONE 

I AM DOING IT IN HIS STRENGTH 
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THOUGHTS:
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   A lot in this world can cause us to stumble. Sometimes, seeing it as we are in it is hard for us. Sin can cause us to think there's nothing wrong with what we are doing, but it is; the word of God today says that if we are stumbling because of our hands, it's best we cut them off and walk around with just the one then to enter into hell with two.

   The bibles warns us if something is causing us to sin, get rid of it and that nothing on earth is worth going to hell for; a lot of times, we don't understand that what we do here on earth, be it good or bad will determine where we spend eternity, we have to start looking at our life daily to ask God what am I doing that keeping me from going to heaven.

  Hebrews 12:1 Therefore, since such a great cloud of witnesses surrounds us, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,

     The Bible tells us here that sin will cling to us. We might think oh, this sin is easy to drop, or This sin is easy to get rid of, but my friend's sin isn't that easy. Once we open the door to sin, it will stay as long as we permit it. We have to be able to ask for the strength of a God and say, God, "I need your strength to rebuke and deny this sin that has access to me, "because when we are committing ANY sin, we are giving the enemy legal grounds to send any spirit our way because we gave him the opening, a lot of us don't understand how critical sin can be in our lives and if we aren't careful it will be a sin we can’t release so quickly.

     So what do we do when sin won't leave us? We must fast. The Bible speaks of some sins needing fasting and prayer; once, there was a man who came to Jesus and said lord have mercy, my son is suffering, some translations say he was vexed,  meaning he was troubled or saddened, but this man was coming to Jesus because his son needed true healing. 

   He went to the disciples, and the disciples couldn't do it, and they couldn't heal him because some things only leave when someone fast and pray , sometimes it takes certain people, not that these people are unique, but these people fast and pray a lot more and because of this they can release a demon from over someone's life, anyone can do this, but some people place more time in with their relationship with God ,some people pray longer , read their word longer, and allow the Holy Spirit to use them, but anyone can do this because we have the authority by God to do this,

  Mark 17:19-20hen the disciples came to Jesus privately and said, "Why could we not cast it out?" 20 He said to them, "Because of your little faith. For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.

     But back to what we are trying to learn, the Holy Spirit wants us to know that when we have sinned in our lives, we need to release ourselves from it. Only we can do it. We have to speak the holy word and have the mindset that we want to be free. God can release us, and he can do it without us saying the words or wanting to, but God always wants us to do it because he has given us free will until we say we are done. We want to be free. He can do nothing; when I gave my life to Christ, I wanted freedom from anything that didn't look or feel like righteousness or holiness. Once the Holy Spirit showed me the bondage I was in, and until I said I had enough, I wasn't going to be free until then. 

   Romans 6:18 And, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness.

   We must become slaves to righteousness and want to please God with our lives; yes, we will sin, but we don't have to sin intentionally. But when we do not release the bondage over our life, we must fast and pray.  We are no longer slaves to our sins; we are no longer slaves to having to need a drink or having to have illicit moments to feel good, and we are slaves to righteousness. 

   ***Today, we learned that some sins would cling to us because we can't let go of the sin. The enemy has built a stronghold around us, and the only way to break free from this is by fasting and praying.  We all want to be better, and we all want to be free from the sins we are bound to, but we have to understand that we must fast and pray. When we do this, we are making a sacrifice, and this sacrifice will help strengthen our spirit, man. 

   Mercy and grace are from the lord and him alone. We can't think being good will win us more because that's not the case, but mercy and grace are there to help see us through when we mess up; it's there to help us if it is a sin that we are struggling with go to God in prayer say, father, I need your help because both of my hands are causing me to defile myself, father help me because my mouth is leading me to say things I shouldn't and until we submit the unrighteousness and CUT IT ALL AWAY we will never be set free to live a life of righteousness through Christ. ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee
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PRAYER
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Heavenly Father, thank you for everything; we lay it all at your feet and ask you now to help us be free from our sins. Father, we ask you right now to give unto us strength and freedom to say no and to live in righteousness, lord we are ashamed of our sins, but we know you have sent your son to wash us in the blood and help us to live in his strength and not in our own. Lord, we want to go to heaven and can only do this when we give up on what we are doing. Help us live a life in you! In Jesus' Name Amen
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REFERENCES 
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+ Romans 6:6 We know that our old self was crucified with him in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin.

+ Romans 6: 22 But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life.

+ 1 John 3:4 Everyone who makes a practice of sinning also practices lawlessness; sin is lawlessness.
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FURTHER READINGS 
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Proverbs 23

Acts 12

Numbers 2

Matthew 8
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[lakesbian]

im so sorry but this is agonizing me because it's literally the opposite of the very funny thing they do repeatedly in text where alec is like "haha maiming people is bad right skitter" and then taylor stares into the middle distance and maims someone five minutes later. the reason why i bring this up is that seeing him drawn w the exact design i use for him but acting extremely un alec like activated my sleeper agent reflexes. Haunting and vexing uncanny valley effect

this but where the edgy dark character is the one saying no to murder and the pure innocent cupcake is the feral one

[metrosexualcyclops]

genuinely need to find a way to work that works for me