#unjust belt

[drunk-poets-society]

How am I supposed to live laugh love when I don’t even have the bare necessities of life (a crow on my shoulder, a snake wrapped around my neck, a bat in the underside of my long jacket and a black cat following me around at all times)

[777rare]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS PT.11

THESE NOTES ARE ONLY A STUDY OF MINE AND HAS/HAS NOT BEEN PROVEN YET, SO IF IT DOES NOT RESONATE WITH YOU, FORGIVE ME AS IT WAS ONLY A STUDY/OBSERVATION OF MINE.

I DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, COPY OR REWORD ANY OF MY FELLOW ASTROLOGY OBSERVERS POSTS AND I DEMAND THE SAME IN RETURN.

• As a 5th house Saturn with an Aquarius Chiron in the 11th house, I can now tell u with utmost confidence that online dating is not for me😭. I have tried it before and all I've got is trauma and pain.

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• Speaking of Chiron, people having chiron in the 11th house have had wounding experiences and traumatic incidents online with people. Please especially be careful online you guys. Friends and social groups will also wound you all and you feel pretty left out in your friend group.

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• Did you know? In a woman's chart, Mars is said to represent the man, a woman is extremely attracted to but shouldn't be around and Jupiter represents the woman's husband. Now, in brief Mars is the bad boy and Jupiter is the suitable boy.

This is why I believe one can check their Jupiter placement too in order to understand where are they most likely to meet their husband and how he would be as a person.

Example:

✓ I personally, having a Capricorn Mars in 10th house am so attracted to the typical CEO man who wears black suits and wraps his belt around his wrist in front of you to show you his dominance👇👇. I love a dominant man. Like the '50 shades of grey' kinda man hahaha😭😂

✓ My jupiter although is in Sagittarius in the 9th house so I'm most likely to meet my husband in college, university, while traveling or in any educational institute. He will most likely be bubbly, fun and very adventurous👇👇. He can love dad jokes too. He will love knowledge and philosophy. He won't be like the dominant daddy I want lol but a protective man who might wanna be a dominant daddy deep down hahahaha😭😂😂. He will be husband material though. He's also most likely to be the 'golden retriever' boy. Oh, he can also love dogs too.

• For Men, Venus is the women they are most attracted to and Moon is their wife.

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• If Venus in 4rth,6th, and 12th house natives were a song:

• FIXED sign MARS and MOON horniness are like:

• How people feel around 1st and 10th house MOON natives:

• I have observed that whenever a person has placements in 10th house, 11th house, Aquarius or Capricorn, the first half of their life (birth- 30's) will always be filled with struggles and pain.

The second half of their life will be full of rewards and blessings for having gone through all of Saturn's trials and tests successfully.

Where Saturn sits can also play a major role in these lessons, along with the placements mentioned above.

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• The planet nearest to your True node is the life or soul purpose that you need to fulfill and mission that you need to accomplish in this lifetime. Planets conjunct True node will have a MASSIVE impact in your life.

Example: If a person has Neptune near or conjunct True node, their soul purpose in this lifetime is to walk this Spiritual path and help others with their gifts. They also believe in renouncing the world and feel a sense of ease in spiritual places like monasteries and isolated temples. They are definitely gifted with spiritual or higher gifts and their mission is to help others with it or get a spiritual enlightenment.

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• Saturn is a protective figure in our chart. Where he sits is where you are most protected from people who are not good for you or have ulterior motives towards you. Wherever he sits is also where the people in that area get heavy karmic punishment if and when they do you dirty.

If you hurt someone there, you will get instant karma, like a sudden tight slap on the face. Saturn is like your father, instant punishment when you make a mistake or do something unjust but they wait for the right time to strike the person who hurt you.

When another person hurts you in that area, they'll get karmic payback but it will be after a while and it will be BIG. It's like the power move of a vedio game character where you see the energy in their fist accumulate for a while and then they give their mighty blow to the opponent.

Examples:

✓ That's why when Saturn sits in the 5th, even if you'd want to be with that person romantically so bad, something happens and you can't be with him/her. It's like a protective shield. If anybody hurts you in love, they're gonna see their next relationships fail and they won't be as happy as they were with you.

✓ That's why when Saturn sits in the 1st, people who do you dirty get karma instantly and no matter how much you want that person to see you in a good light, something happens and they don't, only because they're bad for you and Saturn doesn't want you anywhere near them. Whoever does you dirty will face karmic payback all over gurl.. they're gonna get hurt left, right, up, down, everywhere😭👏.

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• I have noticed natives having Leo ascendant, Sun in 1st house or Sun conjunct ascendant have this undeniable glow. They glow so so much!✨ Even if they're in a bad mood or they don't maintain their skin using expensive skin products, they have this natural glow to themselves.

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• People having Jupiter in 1st, 4rth,9th and 12th house are extremely divinely protected beings. It's like the divine has shielded them with so so much of positive vibrations and layers of protective energy. These people are the hardest to send negative energies to because, even if they feel bad for a while, they are hopeful and find ways to make themselves feel better. The divine has literally got their back.

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• Aquarius moon women are actually detached from their mothers. They also do not have the ability to express exactly how they feel emotionally but they have so so much emotion running deep in them. These people are also hard to put a pin on, especially when they have Moon in 10th house.

It's like how Edward feels towards Bella in Twilight, you know, like, he tells her he can't read her mind or understand her mind and that frustrates him. The only difference here is Edward is everyone and these natives are Bella.😂😭👍

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• A Man with Mars and/or Moon in 4rth house when he falls in love:

• Lilith in 7th house or Libra often feel this way👇:

• People often perceive SUN in 11th and 12th house this way (cuz they can't identify them easily) :

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Thankyou for Reading through this today❤️‍🔥

I really hope you all enjoyed it and I have no idea why am I so interested in analysing Saturn's placements more deeply these days😂😅. Anyways I hope you all have a great day ahead!💝

[hobies-gf]

missing him (hobie brown) - nsfw

you’ve been missing hobie. fighting against the unjust government and performing every few days doesn’t really give him much time to come home to you. usually you could wait, be the perfect little angel for him and sit pretty while he’s gone. but its just been so hard lately.

before you know it your humping at his pillow, whining cuz it smells just like him. you really tried to ignore the ache between your pretty legs but once you thought about Hobie it would always spiral to the last time you were underneath him.

so you grind against his pillow, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted as faint murmurs of Hobie’s name leave your mouth. you were too focused on the way you moved your hips to hear the heavy footsteps pounding out in the hallway. too focused on your approaching orgasm to hear the metal of a belt hit the ground. as you approach your high, thighs tensing and back arched, only then did you see Hobie in front of you.

he was smirking, of course. because his angel was really just the dirtiest little thing when he was away. he doesnt pay attention to the fact that you continued to gyrate your hips against the pillow despite his presence. instead he sits across from you and beckons you over with two of his fingers.

“c’mere pretty. I’ll treat you better than that damned pillow.”

[ghentry02]

I saw Anora recently. And while I can't say people's interpretations of the themes are wrong, because I don't believe any one interpretation can be entirely wrong, I do think the analyses are missing one element: power.

Ani struggles for control throughout the entire second act of the film. While she puts up a good fight against the men working for Ivan's family, they eventually forcefully subdue her, binding her with a telephone cord and a scarf (remember the scarf). She's being told she'll divorce Ivan, despite what she wants. She's carted around New York, and when they finally find Ivan, Ani is forced in front a judge to procure an annulment she doesn't want.

Eventually, Ivan's parents are brought into play, with the most important interaction playing out between his mother and Ani, outside of the plane. Ani is refusing to go on, threatening an old fashioned American divorce. Ivan's mother gets very close, threatening to take away everything Ani has ever loved.

The difference between the two of them could not be more clear: Ani is a sex worker living in a shared apartment and Ivan's mother is a wealthy beyond belief Russian oligarch. There is no fair fight to be had - the latter holds all the cards.

In the beaurocratic room the annulment takes place in, Ani throws the scarf in the mother's face as a final act of defiance against the unjust situation she's been thrust into. Ani has this item, only because Igor brought it with him when they were out looking for Ivan. Igor offers it to Ani, who is visibly cold, and she has a harsh reaction - it's a symbol of his forceful subduing of her earlier in the movie. Eventually, however, she gives in and accepts the scarf. A symbol of someone else's power over her has been accepted.

The final scene is often characterized as Anora being unable to connect with Igor on a real level, thus not wanting to kiss him, and her break down being a reflection of that. I'd say it's him again using his power to coerce her into something she doesn't want. Ani is the initiator of the sex between them. She turns on her charm, something we saw her use again and again with men at the club, and climbs atop him. She brings the seat down. She undoes his belt.

Then, we see him forcefully trying to bring her into a kiss - he thinks this is more intimate than it is. While Ani is looking for power over her life and decisions, Igor is looking for connection. Is she still in control? When she recognizes her strength and power in the situation is now null and void, she finally breaks down over the repeated assaults to her autonomy over the last day, and even weeks.

I'm reminded of the conversation Ani and Igor have during their final night at the Zakharov mansion. Ani posits that Igor wouldn't rape her, not because he is above it, but because he is a "pussy ass bitch".

While not rape, the scene between them in the car is most definitely a boundary being crossed. Ani could not make it more clear in her body language and response that she does not want to kiss him, but this does not stop him from pushing the envelope. He shows his true hand here: while he may not see himself as someone willing to cross a sexual boundary, his actions prove he most definitely is.

This is why Ani has her final breakdown - not because she is incapable of genuine connection, but because despite all she's been through, she is still unable to gain control of the situation.

[thomastanker02]

The book of Job serves to answer this question: why does God allow bad things to happen?

Job is a righteous man who fears God and keeps his commandments. There is no fault in him. However, God still allows him to lose everything he has; his kids, his wife, his house, his servants, his live stock, and even his health.

Why?

God answers Job by asking him questions that he couldn’t possibly answer: where was he when God formed the Earth? Does he know the process of snow and hail? Can he loosen Orion’s Belt?

God’s message is clear; his perspective is infinitely bigger than ours, and his knowledge and wisdom are beyond our comprehension. He is aware of everything happening on Earth as it happens, and Job calls him unjust because he only sees a small piece of the picture?

The message of the book is clear: humble yourself before God. His wisdom and knowledge and might are beyond understanding. Instead of asking why God allows these things to happen, we are called to trust that he is good, and he knows what he is doing, even if we can’t see it. From our small perspective, we are in no position to call God unjust

God bless, Jesus loves you ❤️✝️

[polutrope]

For Day 1 of @arafinwean-week, some Angrod and Galadriel pre-Darkening. G, 900 words. On AO3.

“You are too agitated,” Artanis said, without judgement. She combed her fingers through her brother’s hairtail, shaking free a shower of white sand. “You will never make the leap with a heart weighed down by cares.” 

“Stop fussing, sister,” Angaráto yanked his head free, “I am fine. I am only out of practice.” He bounced in place a moment, visualising his leap. Or at least trying to. His distraction was transparent to Artanis: his head stayed squared over his shoulders, but his eyes darted here and there; he pulled his lips too tight, forgetting to breathe, so his in-breath hissed before he took off: one, two, three, and his feet came down far short of the mark. He slid and crashed onto the sand.

With a graceless flail and groaning, he rolled onto his back, limbs splayed in surrender, then heaved a great sigh.

Artanis came to stand beside him, looking down. She poked at his ribs with her toes. “Are you all right?”

Angaráto chuckled. “Oh, little sister. You always know, don’t you?” She shrugged, leaving space for him to continue. Everyone always talked, eventually, if you waited. “Would you like to know what it was this time? I am ashamed to admit it. I cannot abide that elf! He has only to look my way with his ruddy little cheeks and his sneering little lips and I…” Angaráto grabbed fistfuls of sand and tossed them at his feet. “Well: we saw Morifinwë in the marketplace, and he was giving the fishmonger – you know the one, Mother’s friend – a horrible time, complaining that she had purposely given him the smaller catch, accusing her of doing so because she was a supporter of Nolofinwë. She answered, with commendable humour, that she did not care at all who was king so long as there were people who wanted fish. That coloured Morifinwë perfectly crimson, and he began railing about lineage and honour and the memory of Míriel Therindë — Can you imagine! The poor woman is trying to sell her fish, and this haughty son of Fëanáro strides up to accuse her — because his fish was too small! — of callousness and treason!” 

Angaráto was himself becoming rather flush recounting the tale. Artanis crouched to sit cross-legged beside him on the ground. His lips were pursed and his mouth shifted from side to side, as if he was trying very hard not to speak until he had fully considered what he wanted to say. Angaráto was not typically good at this. 

“Well,” he sighed at last, “it will do no good trying to hide the whole of it, I suppose, certainly not from you. Besides, the whole marketplace saw it, everyone will hear of it eventually… I couldn’t just let it be, Artanis. It was unjust! So I… I pulled off his belt and smacked him with it,” he said in a rush, then cried, “Augh!” and covered his eyes in shame.

Artanis burst into laughter. “Ango! You child! That is worse that I imagined.”

“Not hard! Just to teach him a lesson in humility. And I did let him have it back.”

“You are a grown man, brother.” 

“What would you have done?” His head lolled to the side so he could properly look at her.

Artanis considered. “Snuff out Carnistir’s temper first, I suppose.”

“Ah, so you’d have doused Prince Morifinwë in a bucket of salty, fishy water? Yes, that would have been clever.”

“No!” She smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. “No, I’d have pretended I had business with the fishmonger.”

“And interrupted him? Oh, he’d not have taken well to that.”

“At first not, I am sure. But once I got a pleasant conversation going with the woman, he’d have no audience for his anger, and would quickly begin to feel a fool, barking about nothing for no one. Eventually, he’d sulk off like a sad dog with his tail between his legs.”

“Pfft! I should like to see that.” Angaráto propped himself up on one elbow. “But, I will grant it would have been better than what I chose to do. Few things would have been worse.”

Artanis smiled. She loved her brothers, dearly – but sometimes they were awfully obtuse. As far as she was concerned, they were all tossing themselves willingly into Prince Curufinwë’s pot of discontent and letting him stir them up into a boil. 

A comfortable silence settled between them, and Artanis marked the easing of her brother’s agitation by the slow rise and fall of his chest. So she asked: “Why do you think he is like that?” 

“Who?” 

“Carnistir. Why do you think he is so quarrelsome?”

Angaráto snorted. “I don’t know. He’s always been that way. He was named for being angry.”

“Perhaps.” Artanis paused. Even she had to delve deep into her heart to find understanding for her disagreeable half-cousins. But who might she have become with a brash, implacable, hateful father like theirs? Who would strong and dauntless Angaráto have become, in a household full of bitterness and anguish? 

“Or,” she said, “perhaps he was never shown another way. Whatever the case may be,” she stood, dusting the sand from her thighs, “it will do no good to blow wind upon the flames.” She offered her hand. “Try not to mind him, if you can, dear brother?”

“Very well.” Angaráto clasped her hand in his and allowed himself to be pulled up to standing. “I will try.” 

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Armin Wegner 

Armenian refugees photographed by Armin Wegner, 1915

Armin Wegner was a German soldier stationed in the Ottoman Empire during World War I who was  witness to the Armenian Genocide. Disobeying orders, he gathered extensive documentation and took hundreds of photographs of atrocities committed against Armenians. Later, Armin became a fearless peace activist who was imprisoned for standing up to Hitler.

Armin was born in 1886 to an aristocratic Prussian family in the Rhineland area of Germany. He was educated at schools in Poland and Switzerland, and was a gifted poet, publishing his first volume of poetry, “I Have Never Been Older than as a Sixteen-year-old” as a teenager. He attended law school, but had the soul of an artist and spent the next couple of years (in his own words) as a “farmer, dock-worker, student of drama (with Max Reinhardt), private tutor, editor, public speaker, lover and idler, filled with a deep desire for unraveling the mystery of things.”

When World War I broke out in 1914, Armin joined the German army, serving as a medic in Poland. He received the Iron Cross for rendering care under fire. Armin rose to rank of second lieutenant in the German Sanitary Corps and was sent to the Middle East as part of a detachment to assist the Ottoman Army.

Stationed along the Baghdad Railway in Syria and modern-day Iraq, Armin was shocked to witness thousands of emaciated Armenian refugees forced onto death marches by the Ottomans. The horrifying reality of what was happening was being hidden, and Armin was ordered to keep quiet about what he saw as Germany did not want to alienate the Ottoman Empire, an important ally. Disobeying what he felt was a deeply unjust order, Armin went to great effort to collect proof about the systematic massacre of Armenians – the first modern genocide. Armin was willing to risk his life to document what was happening, and his extensive photographic record remains the most important evidence of the atrocities that occurred.

The Ottomans eventually found out what Armin was doing, and he was arrested by the Germans and sent back to Germany. Some of his photographs were destroyed, but he was able to smuggle out many negatives hidden in his belt.

After the war, Armin became a successful journalist and prominent anti-war activist. In 1919 he published an “Open Letter to President Woodrow Wilson” urging the peace conference to create an independent Armenian state.

He wrote extensively about the Armenian Genocide and testified in court at the trial of Soghomon Tehlirian, an Armenian who killed Talat Pasha, the Ottoman leader who orchestrated the atrocity. Armin’s testimony was so powerful that the court could not convict Tehirian for the assassination, even though there were many eyewitnesses. He was found not guilty for reason of temporary insanity.

Armin was a respected writer and cultural figure who co-created the German Expressionist movement in the mid-1920’s. After visiting the Soviet Union, including the Soviet Socialist Republic of Armenia with his wife, author Lola Landau, Armin wrote a book about his trip, which became a bestseller. It was a chilling account of the political violence endemic to Soviet Communist rule. At a time when many in the West were romanticizing the Bolsheviks, Armin was one of the few who could see where the situation was headed: totalitarian Stalinism.

Meanwhile in Germany, Hitler and the Nazi power gained power and in 1933 they urged a nationwide boycott of Jewish businesses. As someone who witnessed the Armenian Genocide and had many Jewish friends, Armin could not remain silent. He wrote an open letter to Adolf Hitler identifying himself as a proud Prussian who could trace his roots in Germany back to the time of the Crusades. In clear language he told Hitler that his persecution of Germany’s Jews would destroy the country. “There is no Fatherland without justice!” he said. Armin was the only writer to speak out publicly against Hitler. Swiftly, he was arrested by the Gestapo, tortured and imprisoned in harsh conditions for a year. In 1934 Armin was released, and immediately fled to Rome, where he changed his name and lived in hiding. His wife divorced him, leading Armin to later say, “Germany took everything from me… even my wife.” He never returned to his beloved homeland. For being the only cultural figure in Germany to speak out for the Jews, Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem honored Armin Wegner as Righteous Among the Nations in 1967.

Armin died alone in Rome in 1978, at age 92. Per his request, his gravestone contains a quote from Pope Gregory VII as he lay on his deathbed in 1085: “I loved justice and hated injustice/Therefore I die in exile.”

For bravely documenting the Armenian Genocide, and standing up to Hitler at great personal sacrifice, we honor Armin Wegner as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[theink-stainedfolk]

The General's Bride

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The grand hall was brimming with tension as nobles and officials gathered under the gilded ceiling. The emperor sat atop his throne, his expression a mask of feigned indifference, though his sharp gaze darted between his court like a predator watching prey. Jian sat at the far end of the table, his delicate features serene, hands resting lightly on his lap. No one paid him much attention—just the forgotten "daughter" of the emperor, after all.

Luo Xingchen stood by the side, his imposing presence commanding respect, though his eyes flicked toward Jian every so often, warily watching his supposed spouse. He knew better than anyone that there was more to Jian than met the eye.

The council was in an uproar, bickering over the impending grain crisis. A drought in the south had left villages on the brink of starvation, and the emperor's advisors squabbled over who should bear the cost of relief. The wealthiest dukes argued to deflect the burden onto the poorer provinces, while others suggested raising taxes across the board.

Jian remained quiet, his expression calm but distant, as if the matter didn’t concern him. Yet, beneath the surface, his mind worked like a finely tuned machine, analyzing every word, every gesture, and every opportunity.

"Your Majesty," Duke Wen said, his voice heavy with feigned loyalty, "surely the southern provinces can tighten their belts. They’ve survived worse. Why should the burden fall upon those who have earned their wealth through diligence?"

"Earned," Jian murmured under his breath, barely audible. Xingchen, standing nearby, caught the word and smirked faintly, though he didn’t betray his thoughts.

Another official, a staunch supporter of Duke Wen, chimed in. "Precisely! It would be unjust to punish the prosperous for the failures of the weak. Let them endure; it will teach resilience."

The emperor nodded slightly, seemingly swayed by their arguments. Jian could see the cracks forming in the court’s unity, and it was the perfect moment to strike.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice soft yet cutting through the noise like a blade. "Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but if I may offer a humble observation?"

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him in surprise. Jian rarely spoke during council meetings. The emperor’s gaze narrowed, suspicion flickering in his eyes.

"Speak," the emperor said, his tone clipped.

Jian rose gracefully, his movements deliberate, as though every step was calculated to draw attention. "It strikes me as peculiar that those who claim to have 'earned' their wealth would so eagerly shirk their duties to the empire. Are we not all bound to serve our people, regardless of our station?"

A murmur rippled through the room, and Duke Wen’s expression darkened. "What are you implying?" he demanded.

Jian tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Merely that the empire's strength lies in its unity. If the wealthiest among us cannot bear to part with a fraction of their riches for the greater good, what message does that send to our soldiers, who risk their lives daily for the safety of our borders? Should they, too, withhold their service in times of need?"

The nobles bristled, but Jian wasn’t finished. He stepped closer to the map spread across the table, his slender fingers tracing the southern provinces. "Furthermore, consider this: the south may be impoverished now, but it is also the empire's breadbasket. If we allow its people to starve, who will sow the fields next season? Who will fill the granaries that feed our armies? Short-sightedness today will cost us dearly tomorrow."

Xingchen watched silently, a flicker of admiration in his eyes as Jian’s words turned the tide of the discussion.

The emperor’s gaze hardened. "And what do you propose, Jian?"

Jian’s smile widened, though his eyes remained cold and calculating. "A compromise, Your Majesty. Let the wealthiest provinces provide an initial relief fund to stabilize the south. In return, they will be granted tax incentives for the next harvest season, ensuring their contributions are repaid with interest. This way, the burden is shared, and the empire remains united."

The room erupted into murmurs once more, but this time, the tone had shifted. Jian’s proposal was difficult to argue against—it appealed to both morality and self-interest, leaving his opponents with little ground to stand on.

Duke Wen scowled, but before he could protest, another noble spoke up. "It’s... a reasonable solution. Fair to all parties."

The emperor tapped his fingers on the armrest of his throne, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. Let it be as Jian suggests."

Jian bowed his head, his smile never wavering. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Your wisdom is unparalleled."

As the council dispersed, Xingchen approached him, his expression guarded. "That was impressive," he admitted grudgingly.

Jian glanced at him, his smile turning faintly smug. "Impressive, or necessary?"

"Both," Xingchen replied, his voice low. "But don’t think for a second that I didn’t notice what you were really doing."

Jian arched a brow, feigning innocence. "Oh? Do enlighten me, dear husband."

"You’ve just painted a target on Duke Wen’s back," Xingchen said, his tone sharp. "And you made it look like the emperor’s decision. If he retaliates, it’ll be against him, not you."

Jian’s smile widened, his dark humor glinting in his eyes. "Well, it wouldn’t be very intelligent to let my enemies see the knife coming, would it?"

Xingchen shook his head, a mixture of exasperation and reluctant admiration in his gaze. "You’re playing a dangerous game, Jian."

"Life is a dangerous game," Jian replied smoothly, brushing past him. "I merely play it better than most."

---

My ♡s: @paeliae-occasionally @willtheweaver @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @frostedlemonwriter-deactivated2

[notasapleasure]

Saga AU, before the beginning for Cass maybe?

Askbox writing meme

ooof ooh boy, you asked for it!

This 'before the beginning' is how saga AU Cassian was taken from his home during the wars between the Nonoalca and the Chichimecha in Toltec Mexico (mid-tenth century). In canon I suppose it's equivalent to the mining/ecological disaster on Kenari we don't see, that leaves the scar on the land and the children without any adults.

It's not seeking to make any judgement on the way the societies vary in their attitude to human sacrifice, more just following the (pre-)historic record that the Chichimecha came out on top. Also exploring the idea of Cassian's journey from someone who feels angry that unjust things happen to him into someone who feels angry that injustice happens to anyone at all.

I called him Cahuan here, thinking the pronunciation could shift enough via interactions with speakers of other languages to sound more like 'Cassian' by the time he finally reaches Maine/Norse Vínland. Kerri is Quauhtli.

Apologies for any egregious inaccuracies - I'm grateful to Kay for help with the research into this setting, but any mistakes or misunderstandings are my own!

CW for children caught up in a slave raid.

Notes at the end

Before the beginning

When the jaguars descended on them they were with their mother in the fields of amaranth. Cahuan heard her scream his name - she told him to protect his sister. Quauhtli was a few rows over, barely tall enough to be seen behind the weeping plumes of golden-red seed. She wailed for her mother, and Cahuan told her to be quiet.

He was meant to go to her, to protect her, but he froze, trying to count the figures prowling through the crop: big, broad-shouldered warriors with obsidian blades on th edges of their macuahuitl, glinting green-gold under the sun. Cahuan couldn't see their faces with the bright blue sky behind them. They were just dark monoliths circling the women and children in the field, a net closing in with arms extended, stretching like evening shadows made solid.

"Cahuan! Take your sister! Run!" his mother called again, and he made a confused scrabble for the blade his father had given him. It was only as long as his small hand, black and smooth as lakewater, and so far he'd only used it for killing chickens and skinning game. He understood now that he had to be the one to protect his family though, he had lived through fourteen rounds of the tzolkin and his father had trusted him with this knife.

Cahuan set his thin lips into a grimace and spoke a prayer to the feathered serpent. He squeezed the leather grip of his knife and dropped into a crouch. His little sister called for him and he told her to stay put, ignoring his mother's plea for them to run. A jaguar was approaching her and Cahuan saw a glint of teeth, saw the loops of rope at its belt.

The slave raids had grown more frequent as the war heated up, but they'd never expected the Chichimecha to raid so close to the boundaries of Tollan.

Cahuan ran at the jaguar, head down, his childish bellow of rage mingling with the shrieks and cries of the other Nonoalca who'd been working the field. As he approached, trampling the dry stalks of the amaranth, scattering its grain and cutting across the neat rows, the ocelotl seemed to grow taller. It seemed to Cahuan that the jaguar's great head moved in front of the sun to block his warmth, and the warrior's bare, muscled arms with their paint and tattoos swung wide as a snare to catch Cahuan.

He jabbed with his knife and the warrior deflected his blow easily. The strength of his parry appalled Cahuan, but he couldn't back down now. He felt the hilt of his knife dig sharply into his palm and he changed his grip to stab at the ocelotl's forearm as it swung after him.

This time he connected, and the warrior snarled in fury. The sound of his voice made Cahuan's hair stand on end, it made his heart quake and his ribs ache. The ocelotl struck him in the jaw with one empty paw, then kicked Cahuan in the chest so that he fell back on the hard ground.

The sky was so very high above his face and the ground was hard, rain-thirsty, the dry crop of amaranth whispering crisply beneath his shoulders. Cahuan tried to draw a breath but his ribcage spasmed in pain; he tried to raise the hand holding the knife but the jaguar put a foot over his wrist. He didn't press down with all his weight, just enough for Cahuan to know he would do so if there was a struggle.

He couldn't unclench his fist though. The knife was held tightly in it, so tight its stone hilt cut his palm through the leather and reed grip. Cahuan whimpered as the ocelotl moved his sandalled foot off his wrist and brought it down on the knife his father had given him.

The obsidian blade crunched like bone beneath the ocelotl's weight and then the warrior crouched down, his own knife pointing at Cahuan's throat. The face of the jaguar he wore was moulded into a fierce snarl. Polished white fangs framed his eagle-beaked nose and black paint around his eyes made them seem sunken into his face: clear water sparkling a threat from deep in a well.

"You are brave, boy," he snarled. "Are you brave enough for Tezcatlipoca?"

Cahuan felt his heart thump against his breastbone, responding to this call from the gods. But he was afraid - he wasn't ready to give that up yet. Didn't he deserve to enjoy the gifts of the gods first, before he gave back to them?

The ocelotl took a fistful of his hair and pulled him to his feet, and Cahuan screamed as his scalp burned. He clawed at the jaguar's paw but the grip didn't loosen, and the warrior wrenched his head back so Cahuan had to look up into his monstrous twin snarls.

"The rope. Take it and tie her well," the ocelotl nodded at Cahuan's mother. Her face was wet with tears and her teeth shone white as the grimaced. She held her hands to her neck and shook her head and Cahuan tried to shake his head too. He tried to kick at his captor, but the claws in his hair tightened and the ocelotl shook him by his scalp.

"You'll get your reward, boy! Now do as I tell you!"

To his other side, Cahuan heard his sister screaming. Another warrior strode over to them with Quauhtli gripped under one arm and a second child bundled under the other, like turkeys ready for market.

Quauhtli's face was red from crying and she squirmed and wriggled. She called for her mother and she called for her brother, and in the tone of her desperate shrieks, all Cahuan's bravery evaporated. The stream of pain in his head and his chest met the stream of pain from his family's cries and as they mingled, Cahuan burst into furious, terrified tears.

The ocelotl holding him laughed a booming laugh. "Only fit for the rains. Here boy," he swiped the thumb of the hand holding his macuahuitl across Cahuan's cheek and tasted the tears he'd collected. "Take responsibility for your women!"

He released Cahuan and took the rope from his belt, handing it to the sobbing boy. "Tie her well!"

Cahuan's hands shook and so did his mother's as he wound the rope around her wrists, the obsidian bladed macuahuitl of the ocelotl held to his mother's neck. When he was made to do the same to his desperate little sister, who sat in the dirt and howled at the sky as he approached her, one warrior spoke to the other: "He hasn't the pride to go for Tezcatlipoca. Keep him with these two, though, and you'll have a strong and obedient slave."

--

Notes:

ocelotl/jaguar - the Chichimecha warriors wearing jaguar skin, followers of Tezcatlipoca, big fans of the old human sacrifice.

Nonoalca - followers of Quetzalcoatl. Under the rule of priest-king Ce Atl Topiltzil (mid-tenth century) human sacrifice was reduced, as it was believed not to please Quetzalcoatl. These guys lost the religious war, after lots of slave raids and guerilla attacks from the Chichimecha.

macuahuitl - hand held weapon with barbs of obsidian set into the wood (like a small baseball bat with razor blades in it...)

Tzolkin - 260 day basic calendar (from Mayan sources). So Cahuan isn't fourteen, he's ten (14 × 260).

Tlaloc - god of the rains. Tears, especially children's tears, featured in sacrifices to him to encourage the rains.

[mindhealing]

When To Let Go!

You can't change who you are absolutely not, no matter what anyone tells you, every individual is unique and different and come with their own unique sets of skills and talents. But you can change what you have in your mind and corelate that with who you are in your mind and heart, you are who you are at the heart and you are a Magnificent Being of Light and Love. You can refresh what you are thinking about yourself especially when it doesn't corelate with who and what you want to become and with your life and life experiences, and you can put fresh ideas, images, pictures and viewpoint in the mind to create the right circumstances, situation, events and happenings as you want things to be in your life and life experiences but it starts with having the right mindset, thoughts and emotions that create the reality you want and yearn for. Is it possible? Absolutely! But it starts with you and from you!

You have to reconnect with the divinity within you, your Higher Self which is your true authentic self waiting to connect with you and give you the higher viewpoint of 360 degree, that you need to see things from a much clearer perspective so you can correct your wrong choices, decisions, actions and mistakes. Your human viewpoint from which you had made the wrong decision is at about 90 degree and at most 180 degree, which cannot be compared to the higher viewpoint of your divine self which is the source of life, this magnificent power is yours and always at your beck and call but the question is - Can you see it? Are you aware of this power and that it exists? Do you even know who and what you are? The answers to all these questions lie within you, right under your nose awaiting your connection and awareness and then the magic of your life truly begins. Life becomes so much more than you can ever know or imagine, it takes control of your life and turns everything around but that is only - when you let go and surrender to the divinity, the greatness, this absolutely amazing power within you.

Then you can begin to put everything in the right perspective, see things as they really are and not as you have been seeing them before, which has caused your limited view, then you realize that every situation, challenge, condition, circumstances is a lesson in the school of life and at the end of the day, you are blessed with the understanding of the lesson inherent in each encounter and the blessing of having a different mindset, viewpoint and understanding and becoming a new you - emerging from the whole experience. You realize that even bad times, challenges and problems are opportunities to refresh, to grow, evolve and expand in your understanding and appreciation of life.

No situation can overwhelm you, derail you or is unbearable because you are only given as much as you can handle, the law of life is immutable but flexible and it gives to you every experience required to help you grow and evolve and become the best version of yourself. Every situation, condition and circumstance is  redeemable, because it's just a lesson in the school of life and not a prison sentence from an unfair and unjust God, Universe, Higher Power or whatever you call the Divine Source of all life.  When life deals you a low blow, a blow below the belt and you stagger back, the wind knocked out of you, take a pause - a breather, breath deeply in and out and look at the situation again but not from your previous point of view but now being calm and peaceful and having connected to the divinity within you, you will see things better and clearer and see where the wrong choices, decisions, actions had occurred and how to correct them, and fix things in your life resetting the balance of your life and life experiences.  You can now allow some fresh air into you and start again.

Your dreams may have been buried inside of you for a long time probably out of fear and trepidation, or maybe because you were busy with other things that needed to be done at that time, but it is never too late to dare to dream, to dare to spread your wings and fly, to take to the sky like the eagle, soaring and flying, looking down on your world, on your universe and rechecking your life and life experiences and deciding how you want things to be henceforth. Every saint had a past whether they are proud of it or not, and every sinner has a future whether they believe it or even dare to dream about it or not. The most powerful thing you can ever do for yourself is to let go of everything no matter what life has thrown at you, especially when you have done the best you can possibly do or ever do. Now let the divinity within you guide you onto the next levels on your way to the top and all the way to your greatness and success. Don't stop until you reach your goals.

More to come!

[ihopethisendswell]

My backstory idea for Zephyr ( air genasi grave cleric) is several things.

He used to be an adventurer in his youth. Traveled a lot, met a lot of people. Needless to say my man has some experience under his belt.

^ he also had a lot of flings/ Ex-lovers lol. I don't even think he was a notorious flirt ( though he could flirt ) I just think he had that air ( heh ) around him. ( There's a running joke in my head where the party would meet an important older npc and said npc would be like " well well, if it isn't Zephyr" and the rest of the party is like "WHAT. ZEPHYR DID YOU FUCK THE KING" or something like that.)

Ended up being in a very committed relationship down the line.

( more lore below!)

Gonna start off from the 3 point since that segways into the greater backstory idea for Zephyr here: his ex(?) husband. As I said before, Zephyr ended up being in a very serious, committed and loving relationship with his husband ( have yet to give a name). They got married, and eventually adopted a daughter of their own. Things were good....until they weren't, because of course nothing good stays. I don't know what exactly happened, but it resulted in their daughter's death. I do know that whatever happened was something that was 1) outside of the couples control and 2) something that was deeply unjust. So it wasn't a natural sickness. Both Zephyr and his husband grieved terribly for their daughter, but that grief turned...sour. Zephyr's husband wanted to bring her back. Revive her soul from the dead, and take revenge on those who did this to them. Zephyr did not want to do that. I have not decided if he was a grave cleric before or after his daughter's death ( I like both story possibilities of either), but Zephyr just not wanting to go through with the plan was enough to put a serious rift in their relationship. His husband thought of it as Zephyr not standing with him, not caring about the injustice that was dealt to them. Zephyr does care but doesn't want to go down the slippery slope that is necromancy. The cost could deeply outweigh the benefit...if there even is a benefit. Their arguments got so bad, their relationship strained with grief and anger and sadness that Zephyr just left. Which. You know, kinda proved his husband's point. ( If Zephyr was a grave cleric before this point, his husband would accuse him of putting his faith over his family which oof ).

Zephyr ends up becoming a hermit/ grave keeper, while his husband is tirelessly looking into ways to bringing his daughter back. I don't see his ex being the Big Bad, though I can see some manipulation from one to him. Also I wanna be clear there isn't really a good or bad guy here: Zephyr and his husband are just grieving parents whose grief took a big strain on their relationship. The necromancy ( and by extension the revenge) angle isn't to say necromancy is evil, but the obsessive/desperate nature of Zeph's husband would lead to something Bad. But on Zephyr's end I also feel like he has some faults too- I kinda see him just being far too passive, not really. Taking into account his husband feelings? Like he's not fully listening? Heck even hypocritical to how his husband feels ( the grave cleric has the ability to turn undead and revivify which low-key feels like a slap in the face to his ex husband-). Basically their daughter's death kinda brought the worst of them.

Do they still love each other? Yes. Do they miss each other? Of course. ( Though Zeph's husband is trying so hard to deny it. He's angry, rightfully so in some areas, and just wants to focus on his daughter. But he misses Zephyr so much, and he hates it). Will they ever get back together? I dunno lmao, that's probably gonna be in the hands of a DM if I ever play this guy. I would like a happy ending bc I'm a sucker for that, but I think the reality is gonna be more nuanced. And the last thing I wanna share is that Zephyr and his husband are older men. Maybe in their 50's or 60's? Their daughter I haven't fully figured out an age range for.

[greatbritishsimchallenge]

"Father, may we talk?"

Cassian didn't respond but took a seat at his desk and looked up at Henry expectantly. Cassian could feel his son's discomfort and immediately tell what was coming.

"I believe Edith and I have found you a good match for marriage. Her name is Lady Catherine. She is incredibly wealthy - the sole heir to the Newcrest estate - she still has sufficient child-bearing years, and she is said to be very beautiful."

Cassian frowned, "If she's so perfect then why the fuck would she marry me?"

Henry cleared his throat, "Like you, she has a... complicated... past. Unlike you, her past was revealed and she has been summarily shunned from polite society."

"What did she do?" Cassian enquired, intrigued.

Henry immediately became flustered, "I'm not sure that matters. She has since undergone a great transformation - Edith and I know her from our circles at church. She is now a respectable, God-fearing woman..."

"And yet you say no one else will marry her because of her reputation. If I'm going to be the one to give her chance, I should at least know what I'm giving a chance to."

Henry sighed, "Did you ever hear the nickname.... the Princess of Newcrest?"

Cassian frowned as he thought back, "I think I remember hearing about her around the time I was married to Regina... didn't she have an affair with the King, Queen and their adult children simultaneously?"

Henry cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Umm... something like that. Anyway, it is quite unjust that most in society fail to recognise how she has changed and learned. She is most worthy of a second chance."

"And I'm willing to give it, am I?" asked Cassian grumpily.

"Yes - you are," Henry replied firmly. "For you have done far, far worse. Indeed, if I may say father, she believes she is being given the second chance when we both know that it is you who is the fortunate one here."

Cassian said nothing but tightened his lips.

"There are also some... caveats... to the marriage to which you must agree before she too will agree to marriage," continued Henry.

"Very well. What are they?"

"First, she feels that, as the sole heir of the Newcrest estate, she must remain in her titled homelands. Upon marriage, you would move to Newcrest."

"You want me to leave the place I've called home for most of my life?" asked Cassian, a low tone of anger clear in his voice.

"The second," continued Henry, raising his voice a little as if to speak up over his father. "Has regards to faithfulness, a very important quality to Lady Catherine. She would require that... you wear a chastity belt."

"You fucking what?"

"To which she would hold the sole key... to ensure your loyalty and faithfulness solely to her. In return, she too would wear a chastity belt to which you would hold the sole key."

Cassian said nothing, but Henry could feel his father's anger building.

"Third, she would like a legal agreement drawn up that would specify some key behaviours of the marriage, such as how much time you are required to spend together, and the frequency of relations required in order to produce an heir. I have read all the stipulations myself and had them checked by our lawyers, and it all seems very conventional. She simply wishes to ensure the marriage is destined for success."

"And will I get to read these stipulations?"

"Of course. You are required to sign your agreement."

Cassian stood up and went to pour himself a drink.

"Father, this marriage will do a great deal to restore our family's financial status; as the sole heir to the Newcrest estate, she is one of the wealthiest women in all England. Finding someone willing to even consider marrying you has not been easy and, while this may be a very different relationship to the type you are used to, I do also believe it will be good for you."

Cassian downed his drink and poured himself another.

"In all her requirements - is meeting me one of them?" he asked.

"Oh, erm..." Henry was surprised by Cassian's question and took a moment to reflect back over his meetings with Lady Catherine. "No, actually. That didn't come up. I suppose she must have been satisfied with the information we provided. But I can suggest it, if you'd like?"

"No. I think I'd rather meet this one at the aisle, when it is too late for me to walk away," Cassian poured himself another drink then added, "I have one request of my own, before I go ahead with all of this."

"Yes, father?"

"I want to see Isabeau. I want her brought here, to Brindleton."

"Father, Aunt Isabeau has her own very busy life in Champ les Sims and -"

Cassian turned to shoot his son a warning look.

"As you wish," Henry replied, immediately backing down. "I will write to Aunt Isabeau immediately."

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[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @somethingclevermahogony!

OC Interaction Tag

C's OC: Penetinos is a Korithian Sage and a former priest of the goddess Fokisa. He is afflicted by a neurological disease, the exact nature of which is not entirely known to the people of the Green Sea. Penetinos's sickness and his sagecraft have caused him to age prematurely. His back is bent, his once light brown hair is now grey and silver. In his youth, Penetinos was noted for his handsome and youthful appearance, tall and thin. Now unfortunately, though he is just under 60, it would be quite easy to mistake him for a man in his eighties. He is a reasonably powerful sage, though he has been limited by his sickness and age. In his youth he could summon bolts of lightning, clouds of fire, even fly for very short periods of time. Now, he can do little more than summoning small lights or move small objects. His attitude can be best described as professorial, stern at times, quiet, though ultimately kind. Penetinos is a gentle person, averse to violence, and easily enthused when it comes to learning new things. From a very young age, Penetinos was tutored in the language and scripts of three languages, those being Korithian, Kishic, and Apunic and in matters of literature and the natural sciences.He has come to accept his mortality, and will readily discuss the subject of death with just about anyone, though he isn't necessarily happy about it.

My OC: Sepo Kaiacynthus is an aroace siren man in his late twenties/early thirties with a tall stature, gaunt face, dark eyes, and long hair he usually keeps braided. He is mute and has been ever since the Silver Sovereign, divine empress of the sirens, cut out his tongue as punishment for murdering her daughter, which he did by way of setting the royal palace on fire as retribution for his brother's unjust execution. Occasionally, he walks with a cane due to dizziness from a lingering brain injury he gets at the end of the first book. He is a remarkably cunning, paranoid man, with a brutally pragmatic streak. He also tends to be very grumpy, though he does have good manners and a sense of propriety instilled from being raised in a temple. He enjoys complaining about every little thing, though he'll deny it if you ask. He tends to get very worked up over issues, which, combined with his hair-trigger temper, can result in some stunning acts of violence. This violence is never directed at his friends though. Sepo loves just as deeply as he hates, and if someone manages to worm their way into his heart, he'll protect them to his last breath. Other than that, as a siren, he has Opinions on music, and also enjoys learning about surface magic too. His own vocal magic was rendered unusable when his tongue was cut out, and his relationship with the god that grants that magic is also quite touchy. He's not a big fan of religion in general.

How they'd interact: I think Sepo would be eager to learn from Penetinos, and Penetinos would likely be eager to learn from him. Normally, Sepo is untrusting of any new person, however, he respects anyone with proper manners and spine enough to stand up to him, so I think Penetinos would make a good enough impression for Sepo to stick around. They could trade secrets of the Voice and sagecraft, and I imagine Penetinos would be eager to learn Sepo’s form of sign language as a man with so many languages under his belt already. After warming up to each other, I think they'd find a lot to bond over. They're both former priests, have lessened magical abilities, and some form of disability. Eventually, Sepo’s brusque nature might wear on Penetinos, and though Sepo knows how to tone it down somewhat when he wants to learn from someone, this probably would result in a purely academic bond. If Penetinos shows him patience, and especially if he can dish out some snark as well as take it, I think they could get along very well. I imagine they would disagree on matters of violence and combat, but I think Sepo would respect Penetinos enough to, if not change his ways, then to at least not prod the older man on the topic.

Yeah I think these two would be an interesting pair! I'll tag @mk-writes-stuff @halfbakedspuds @elsie-writes @kaylinalexanderbooks @willtheweaver and anyone else who wants to play :)

[bright-tatters]

Tatters #124

cw molestation mention.

Catalina Reinaldo sat at the semicircular arc on her side of the table of the Council of Light. She and her seven colleagues were spaced evenly about, and there was a gap between semicircles in which a petitioner could walk to address the Council at large. In a larger circle, monitors and observers sat on curved benches, watching the proceedings.

It had been a dull day, but Photia needed governance, and Catalina could provide.

“Mr. Van de Voight, with a petition about the turnpikes north of the city.”

A man in a cloak and hood strode to the center of the Council’s arcing table. With one brisk movement he pulled the cloak off and swung it to fold over his arm.

Fortune stood before the Council, his scarred face an offense to the heavens themselves.

Both Council and observers burst into babble at once, Catalina among them. He had murdered four Council members in the past six years, all because one of them had ordered him disfigured. “You have got to be kidding me. Guards!”

Councilor Fest, son of the Councilor Fest Fortune had murdered, raised one knotted hand. “Hold. Let us see what he has to say. He’ll still be here and arrestable when he’s done talking.”

Fortune gave him a grudging nod. The obscenity of his scar, the never-healed strip of raw flesh from right lower eyelid to jaw, stood out horribly in this clean, civilized room. He was dressed to the nines in a courtly black belted tunic with trousers and high black boots. Like a caricature of a medieval hero, lacking only a sword. His face outside the scar was pale and sexless, not to say soulless. His straight gray-brown hair was combed in careful symmetry. He spoke like a sudden trumpet. “I’m here with a petition, Councilors. I have something to ask of you. I don’t like that any more than you do, yet here we are, in a grievously unjust world.

“Fourteen hours ago, my daughter was abducted by unknown attackers and dragged off to who knows where.” His voice got harsher, tighter. “Who ordered that? Hm? Who? No one outside this room would have the means or the nerve. What have you done with her? Where is she now? If you had her harmed I will feed you your own entrails over rice. And that’s the nice and restrained option, which I hold out now in case the culprit doesn’t want to experience the hostile one.” He turned slowly in place, doing his level best to impale each Councilor with his gaze. “Which one of you? I want an answer.”

Catalina leaned forward. “Fortune. You and I have had our differences.”

He sneered at her. “You burned my house down after locking me in it. Not to mention your social decisions.”

Mm, like recruiting his ex-boyfriend. “But I would never drag an innocent into our dispute.” That was questionable, as she hadn’t had many such opportunities, but it sounded good. And the man sounded worried sick, a startlingly human reaction. “I swear on the honor of my house and my seat, I have not taken your daughter, nor by knowing action allowed her to come to harm.” Knowing the possibility counted for nothing if she had resisted the urge to nudge it.

The formality seemed to have its effect. Some of the wildness around Fortune’s narrow asymmetrical eyes seemed to fade.

River Up’s representative, another Councilor who had stepped into a Fortune-burned seat, stood. “I swear on the honor of my house and my seat, I have not taken your daughter, nor by knowing action allowed her to come to harm.”

The formula was taken up. The Council was happy to disclaim anything that would start another shooting war with Tatters. Mière Lu went last, his reedy tenor providing a final knell to the Council’s toll.

“And what else goes on,” growled Fortune, “that you august rulers know nothing of? I will take this to the King.”

“The King has no answer,” Mière Lu said calmly. “Don’t trouble him with this. I will let you leave this room, because your family needs you. He will not be so understanding.”

“I don’t want his understanding. I want my daughter.”

“Don’t get anyone else killed when you look for her.” Mière leaned back, apparently content. “I will…regret, having to get to know another Travailler of such talent.”

“He’s a bastard,” said River Up.

“A bastard of great talent,” Mière said imperturbably. “If this search takes you back to Central, I urge you to gauge the value of your life. You will have to choose.”

“You’ve never had a child in anything but a carnal sense. There is no choice.” Fortune walked out.

Catalina thought of the look in his eyes, the subtle crack in his voice. She did not call for his arrest.

Despite this, six hooded figures found Fortune on the streets, overwhelmed his bodyguards, and beat his legs with pokers until they shattered. Two of Fortune’s people were shot dead; the other four dragged them into retreat. There was no further question of him taking to the streets to find his daughter.

[rohanneofcoldmoat]

Thinking about Brienne and idealism and despair, I feel like George has sown some seeds in the last couple glimpses we get of her that hint at a crisis of faith she'll have in twow. There's this deep-set sense of futility, of helplessness, in Brienne's last chapter, one that extends beyond the fact that she's a prisoner.

"He turned back at the river, m'lady. He's gone back to his forge, to Willow and the little ones, to keep them safe." No one can keep them safe. She began to cough again. "Ah, let her choke. Save us a rope." One of the shadow men shoved the girl aside. He was clad in rusted rings and a studded belt. At his hip hung longsword and dirk. A yellow greatcloak was plastered to his shoulders, sodden and filthy. From his shoulders rose a steel dog's head, its teeth bared in a snarl. "No," Brienne moaned. "No, you're dead, I killed you."

Those kids at the inn that Brienne was willing to die to protect, the kids that she was literally eaten to protect, well now, in her mind, no one can keep them safe. Of course, Brienne feeling like the odds are against her is not something that will make her fold on its own. "No chance and no choice" after all, but here, you can feel her wondering, is there ever really a chance? And as if to confirm this, the monster haunting the Riverlands, the same one that Brienne killed at to crossroads to protect the children, is seemingly back again and right in front of her.

And then, the last time we see actually see Brienne, her appearance startles Jaime.

Jaime scrambled to his feet. "My lady. I had not thought to see you again so soon." Gods be good, she looks ten years older than when I saw her last. And what's happened to her face? "That bandage … you've been wounded …"

Obviously, her injuries and the fever she suffered are likely contributing to the fact that she seems to have aged ten years, but if we take this more metaphorically, what else is associated with youth? Resilience, innocence, idealism. In Winds we may see a Brienne who has lost some of these things. Being confronted with the rotting husk of your liege lady who commands you to do something you deem unjust lest she kill you and and an innocent child will do that I guess. Jaime says "You've been wounded," when he sees her, and he's right, and not just physically. Brienne's in a lose-lose situation, where any decision she makes requires her to compromise her own morality, a part of the too many vows dilemma that led Jaime to lose his faith in the institution of knighthood that Brienne still holds sacred. I think there are some dark places she could go internally, and the fact that she's going to get slammed with the fact that Tarth has been invaded and has possibly fallen is certainly not going to help. How far things will go, and what morally grey actions Brienne may take I don't know. In my mind there's a certain something to Brienne killing Catelyn, with Oathkeeper no less, but considering all the foreshadowing that Arya will meet her mother again before her final death, I don't know that that will be the case. What this faltering idealism will look like in Brienne's story I'm not sure, I just know that I am ready for George to tear my heart out in twow (one of these days).

"There are a lot of dark chapters right now in the book that I'm writing. You know, it is called The Winds of Winter, and I've been telling you for 20 years that winter was coming. And winter's the time when things die, and you know, cold, and ice, and darkness fills the world, so this is not going to be the happy feel-good book that people may be hoping for, and some of the characters are in very dark places." - GRRM x

[theskeletonprior]

Write Time: Day Twenty-One

This month, my goal is a cool 30 000 words written. I’ll be carrying on with more RAVENOT. If you’re curious, you can take a look at my WIP intro right here. And if you’re really keen, you can read the first chapter (sort of a pilot as I toil) right here! Now onto the daily ramble.

I got my vaccinations today and did a bunch of car maintenance. I'm exhausted, but I'm still going to get some words out. Also if you aren't, you should be following my beloved husband @alexanderflowerbird who has already reached his count for the week! Their current WIP, Blood Sun Territory is incredible and follows Malachi, an ex-con trying to make things right with his estranged family. Unfortunately, he first has to find them, and the way is perilous and full of monsters. It's turning out really beautifully, and is about cool things like the healing power of community, what it takes to earn redemption, and boys kissing. Please do check it out. And now, my excerpt for the day.

“I will depart swiftly,” said Ravenot. “If our fortunes are good, the Dead One’s road will bear me from these lands.” “And if they are ill?” “Then my feet shall do’t.” The Summer Lord found it in him to be merry again, even as he rose to his feet, the dead fey nestled in the boughs of his arms. Again the fiery attention of the greater fey alighted upon Ravenot. “Find this hunter,” the Summer Lord commanded, even knowing as he did that Ravenot would do so even without his grandiose demand. “I will take this one to rest, and will not let him stray. Cut out this rot for me.”’ “I will do it, for it is my purpose,” said Ravenot, ever wary of a promise, but knowing the fate of one who had wrought such unjust necromancy. “This is where I leave you, O Lord of Summer. If we meet again, let us hope I need not pause longer than to pay proper respects.” The Summer Lord’s radiance softened, and at last he drifted away, and the trees seemed to part, to shift their leaves to let him go. His light faded, and soon only the distant cries of the cicadas echoed as evidence that he had visited himself upon this place. Already, in the cavern where the catalyst had been found, bright young blossoms began to push through the earth, and deep red lichen grew where once that scarlet ichor had been. There was nothing more to be done here, save to find a crossroads, where the Dead One might be reached. Ravenot hung his thurible upon his belt, and left the cavern behind. 

Until next time! Taglist: @alexanderflowerbird @void-botanist @carmillasboywife @ceph-the-ghost-writer @wintherlywords @cream-and-tea As always, let me know if you’d like to join or leave the taglist, and I’ll act accordingly. You can reply right on this post, if you’d like. Divider by @/strangergraphics, from this set: here. Thank you!