#what ARE men compared to rocks or mountains

[artemisbarnowl]

I feel each male-attracted woman should be allowed 1 (one) poor wet little meow meow token. This allows them to be more like their exclusively same sex attracted sisters and hang affection on someone unreachable so as to easily check a social behaviour box to avoid subtle but desperate intervention from closet homophobes, as well as avoid any harm coming from giving one's attention to an actual man.

Anyway I'm for sure cashing in mine on Mr Darcy (2005) that man is piteous in the best way.

[fritzmonorail]

Legitimately some of the most gorgeous cinematography I’ve ever seen. Seriously if you haven’t seen it this movie is so freaking pretty.

[n0tamused]

Hiya!! I have a WuWa request, how about Reader stargazing with Jiyan and them talking about some deep topic of ur choice while stargazing? Only if you’re up for it tho! Don’t push urself. Have a good day!

A/N: Thank you for your request anon! I hope you enjoy this :)

Contents: Jiyan x GN!Reader, angst and sadness

Low calls of an owl echo over the breath of the breeze, the soft sighs of nature enveloping you in its embrace. Your head is supported by the lush grass, and Jiyan’s bicep that he insisted you lay on. His tone was low and a soft timbre compared to its commanding tone when he was performing his duties. Jiyan’s body exudes warmth and comfort, and in all the ways you needed him, he was there.

“You shouldn’t be so reckless..” He’d mutter, golden eyes dark from drinking in the serene, dark scenery up above. Little stars were freckled across the sky like little faded droplets of milk, counting up to billions of the same, yet not one less beautiful than the other. 

The towering mountains sprouted from the ground so high, long rocks fingers reaching as far as possible, as if trying to grasp the fading lights and the moon itself.

“I know.. I try, Jiyan. Yet, I really can’t just stand by and watch, especially when I see you in the midst of it all, surrounded or cornered..” you respond back, quiet, not willing to disturb this serenity.

He hums, wordlessly in disagreement of your response yet he can’t bring himself to say anything in that exact moment. His mind is plagued by images of your exhausted form slumping behind a fallen tree trunk, and skin grimy with sweat and dirt. 

“I know you mean well, and you are doing your best. Yet, you are not a Midnight Ranger, love, you are not a soldier. This.. battlefield is not your place to be in” Jiyan says, his gaze leaving the midnight sky and falling on you, seeing the way your nose curved and how your eyes were much darker in the absence of a lamp or a fire. “I am the General, the leader of these men, and I don’t need you to step in for me, love..”

He sees your eyes lower to stare at nothing in particular, lashes fluttering while your throat bobbed with unease. His words rang true, but you couldn’t find yourself accepting them.  

“I need you alive... and I need you safe. While I can do my absolute best at shielding you while you are here, I cannot stand true to my promise to you if you’re jumping head first into hot water. Not when you do so behind my back”

“Jiyan… “ you sigh, trailing off, your lips opening and then closing as you try to pry your brain for a response that would get him to be more lenient, to see your side too.

“I know..” you say, your eyes finding his as you turn your face towards him. “I know.. I know you are doing your best, and I don’t wish to burden you with my-” “You are not a burden” “I know, Jiyan- let me talk.. please”

His lips press into a firm line and he gives you a small nod, encouraging you to keep going while his eyes apologize for cutting you off. One hand came to trace your cheek, he was almost laying on his side now.

“I don’t want to make your time more difficult, especially not when we’re in the middle of a battle. But don’t send me back to the city, please.. I can’t bear not being close to where I can see you. I am still useful here, perhaps not as a professional warrior or a soldier or a gunner, but I can help and I can learn too.. You talk about your promise to keep me safe, but what about our promise to stay alive... and with each other?”

Your question renders his thumbing of your cheeks slow before his fingers stop altogether in tracing your features, instead cupping the side of your face in his calloused palm. “I haven’t forgotten about that..'' he simply replies, the heaviness in his chest too great, making him unable to sigh to rid himself of it.  Fatigue hangs heavy over your heads, but neither of you are willing to cut the conversation or this moment short.

“Don’t send me back.. There is nothing for me there..” Not without you- it goes without being said, and he feels it in his bones that he can’t argue with you on this, you’ll both remain stubborn on your stances. He knows he’ll have to put restrictions on you, to keep you safe, but until then he’ll enjoy this night of reprieve with you. The tent he sleeps in feels like a bed of nettles without you, and the way he’s comfortable laying on nothing more but this lush grass speaks volumes of that. He does not feel cold or irritated. Jiyan is at peace.

But he has to send you back, he tells himself, but not yet.. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, until you forget about this conversation, and until the next cargo drop off comes in. Then, he’ll send you back.

“And we will be together, my love. You must be patient. You are my northern star in these dark nights, are you aware of that? The most precious person to me, one I hold within my heart itself.. I can’t afford to lose you..” he whispers to you as you watch him with pleading and loving eyes. You tip your chin up, brushing your nose against his and with that simple motion he is leaning in to grant your wordless wish, satiating your desire for closeness with a kiss to your lips.

The arm underneath your head stirs and he wraps it around his shoulders, bringing you in closer, flush against him, and you’re wrapping your arms around him and kissing him with fervor and unspoken love. Closer, closer, stay with me, don’t leave..

He holds you with such tender touches, holds you like you may fade away like sunlight before the long night, feather light touches tracing your cheeks and chin and moving towards the back of your head. He pulls away for a moment, his forehead pressing against yours as you both inhale the same air. “I love you” - it’s you who blurts it out before he gets the chance to do so, and his eyes widen with surprise. His heart drums in his chest, and he presses his lips to your again, in search of water to quell his worry, and for a forgiveness. Every note of love is interwoven in his actions, his touches and his kisses. Were the world any less cruel, it would have granted you two the eternity of this night, to forever be here and watch the skies in tranquility. 

Black night covers you both in a blanket of stardust and far galaxies, bringing you safety if only but this night alone, undisturbed by monsters or people. And as Jiyan pushes himself to his elbow to loom over you, chasing your lips, a lone star flies across the vast sky, flickering out and leaving behind a silver fading tail.

Maybe.. just maybe, the universe heard your wishes. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Chapter VIII

Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including graphic violence. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: For those of you who have been saying "wow! I wonder what's going to happen next!"... me too.

Following the last Senju raid, which had nearly decimated the Uchiha village in its entirety, the reconfiguration of the land shifted. The newly appointed clan head, Madara, led your clan up the mountains to higher ground as the Senju more than doubled their already sizeable territory, spreading across the sprawling forests. 

One of many wooded mountains in the range that bisected the Land of Fire, the one that the Uchiha chose to call home was the largest and was appropriately dubbed the “Grandfather Summit,” which boasted three great peaks. The smaller outer two were called the “Guardian Shoulders,” while the peak in the center was simply called the “Crown.” 

You supposed that some ancestors long ago had thought the sizeable structure to be anthropomorphic enough to be a golem or perhaps a god. You could see it, although the shape took on little more than what you thought a child could draw. Madara never believed that the Grandfather Summit looked much like a man at all.

“It is a large pile of stone and nothing more,” he would frown and perhaps cross his arms with a tilt of his head. But his unimpressed notion of the Grandfather Summit didn’t stop him from relocating what was left of his friends and family up the mass of rock following the most destructive blow on the Uchiha tribe in recent history. 

You couldn’t believe that Madara had been able to set his pride aside for such a move. While all the clans in the Land of Fire bordered on nomadic in some way or another, a clan as large as the Uchiha typically opted to stake its claim in a sizeable plot of fertile land. After all, a clan’s ability to keep their territory was a marker of status in and of itself. 

But in the end, Madara moved you away from the patch of forest you had called home for all of your life in pursuit of the Grandfather Summit. You were almost certain the remaining elders were unabashed in sharing their thoughts before they were forced to submit under Madara’s domineering presence. And you knew just as certainly that if the previous clan heads were alive, they would have given him an earful. 

“They are buried so deep, the earth fills their mouths too much for chatter,” Madara would surely say.

He hardly followed rigid tradition, even when it mattered, so you weren’t surprised when protests fell on deaf ears. Madara’s changes were apparent, even from the distance you hid yourself. Only strong young men filled the war room, with no wrinkled brow or shaky joint to be seen. Just like Madara, they were all chosen through combat. 

Madara took his place in the center of the room, stroking his chin gravely as he studied the map. Izuna stood at his side, both wrists folded and resting on the hilt of his sheathed katana. Four stones sat each corner of the table, holding down the corners and pulling the artisanal paper taut as the band of Uchiha warriors took turns gesturing and poking at the depictions drawn below. 

The Uchiha settlement sat between the Crown and the southern shoulder, which offered the most fertile and settleable land. Although despite resting on the lower of the collection of peaks, the southern shoulder still undoubtedly offered the highest ground compared to the land in the surrounding radius. The current positioning of the Uchiha compound was second only to the treacherous northern shoulder and the Crown itself, which reached the clouds in the heavens above. 

It was no wonder the Senju were beginning to close in from the north. 

At least, it made sense to you. You were no military strategist.

“It would be impossible.” One of Madara’s councilmen scoffed. You saw the flippant wave of a hand through the crack between the windowsill and the closed shutters. “Say the Senju manage the northern Guardian. The chances of their warriors taking on the Crown are slim to none in and of itself. There is too much to lose in an attempt to ambush us from the skies.”

“Nay, save such speculative talk, for we are far past speculation.” Another flippant wave. “The Senju have already sunk their claws deep into the northern shoulder. Farther than we could have ever anticipated. Perhaps your words would be true if we had only heard rumors of their traveling north, but it was only a sennight ago that my brother carried a Senju crest back with him from patrols.”

“An ambush from the highest peak of the Grandfather himself?” A third voice scoffed. A shadow teetered back and forth, swiping across your eyes from where you hid, wavering in the candlelight. “What must Hashirama Senju be thinking? He is certainly out of his own head! He thinks himself a god!”

“He thinks himself nothing.” Madara’s voice was low and raspy, churning in his chest like a beastly growl. His nose scrunched to the side, contrasting the nonchalant bob of his brow and shrug of his shoulder. He rested his elbow on his knee, allowing his forehead to rest in the area between his index finger and thumb. Madara took a deep breath, letting another growl-like rumble resound in his chest. “He thinks himself nothing.”

The light from the candles that lit the room flickered, casting shallow shadows across the warriors gathered. They littered the room silently; all turned toward their clan head with watchful eyes.

No one dared speak but Izuna.

He leaned down, bowing at the waist, to speak directly into his brother’s ear. Madara quirked an attentive brow.

The red pattern of your already ignited sharingan swirled in your irises as you watched from your hiding place. Your breathing slowed to steady streams of hot air, and all of your attention focused on Izuna’s lips. 

“It is worth considering that the Senju…” A curtain of hair fell over the side of his face, obscuring your view. He continued to whisper as you tried to track the movements of his mouth from behind strands of hair. 

A chill came over you. Goosebumps began to pop up across your skin. A shiver worked its way down your body in a wave, starting from your shoulders and ending at your thighs. It was only then that you met Madara’s eye.

He peered directly at you, straight through the tiny slit between where the window and the shudders were supposed to meet. Your breath hitched in your throat, everything around you slowing as you felt the hairs on your arms rise. 

And with the slightest breeze, you were whisked away like smoke in the cool summer air. 

***

The meeting didn’t adjourn until late into the night, and it was only when the candles were snuffed out that the soldiers began to head home. The moon shone brightly overhead, appearing more prominent in the sky than it had during any of the previous seasons. Even without lanterns, the entire Uchiha compound remained well-lit. Madara and his forces trickled out of the meeting building’s doors, exchanging formal nods with each other as they set off onto the moonlit paths. 

Madara paused before the wooden steps, eyes focused on the trees that swayed gently in the evening breeze. Izuna stood on the porch behind him, silently following his brother’s gaze from the trees back to Madara. 

He lingered on the Uchiha clan head for a moment before making his way down the steps. Izuna approached him with certainty, placing a firm hand on Madara’s shoulder. Only through touch did Madara snap out of his trance, blinking a few times as he tried to conceal his acute surprise. Izuna returned his hand to his other in their usual resting place at the hilt of his katana, offering his brother a knowing nod.

Madara wordlessly understood, making his way down the dark path toward home. 

Izuna loitered in the middle of the dirt road. His shoulders relaxed under his robes, and his hands never once left their slack position across his weapon as he watched Madara disappear farther and farther into the distance. 

Only when Madara disappeared over the small dirt hill in the distance did Izuna set his sights on the trees. He peered at the spot where Madara had been fixated on, slowly pivoting himself in the earth to face the patch of dark forest. 

“Reveal yourself,” he commanded. His gentle voice carried a great sternness. 

He stood patiently in the open, ever so sure of himself and not in need to prove it.

You respected a man’s ability to manage his seriousness devoid of aggression. That was likely why you obeyed him, moving out of the shadows to step into the moonlit patch of road not too far of a distance in front of him. 

If it were up to you, Izuna would be clan head.

Not that you had any power to make those decisions in the first place. 

Izuna eyed you with mild incredulousness. You expected no less from him.

“I told you to reveal yourself,” he repeated, voice ever-neutral. You sighed softly, bowing your head as the double before Izuna melted into the atmosphere. Your true body emerged from behind a nearby tree a distance away. Izuna continued to eye you wordlessly.

“I deemed it worth an attempt,” you said, clearing your throat. Izuna didn’t humor you.

“You forget yourself.” 

Quiet overtook the night once again. You dared to venture farther from your hiding spot, stepping through the grass toward the ever-still Izuna. Your limbs protested, your instincts locking your joints like those of a wooden doll. You stopped at the edge of the path, protected by the shallow shadows of the trees and feet still planted in the line of the forest. 

You could see the tension build in his neck. Having already been lost in thought with the Senju affairs, you were sure your woman’s trick hadn’t been the most well-thought-out plan in the face of Izuna’s clear vexation. Quite a few Uchiha women were known to unlock their ocular abilities, but unlike their male counterparts who were expected to partake in battle, the Uchiha women’s sharingan techniques were almost entirely passive. 

Most of them centered on making illusions, for an image of a beautiful, vulnerable woman alone in the woods may distract enemy warriors long enough for a mother to escape with her children. The mother often taught these techniques to the young in her home for similar survival reasons. 

You waited for Izuna to speak again. It was best to wait, as unlike Madara’s explosive, violent fits of predictable rage, Izuna kept his rage artfully, dangerously restrained. Like storm clouds slowly rolling in to cover the sky above, you knew that Izuna’s thunder could crack at any moment.

“I will have no more of your nonsense, and neither will Madara,” Izuna harshly proclaimed. He slowly turned away from you, hands never moving from where they sat on the hilt of his swords. The skin of his nose crinkled a bit as if he were holding back a bitter snarl. “You know not what you involve yourself with. A woman knows nothing of the matters of men, nor should she be as involved as my brother has allowed you to be. If I were clan head, an apprentice would have replaced you as apothecary long ago.” 

You stared at him as he tried to fight off the bitter look that threatened to contort his face. The redness of your sharingan had long extinguished, but you hardly needed the enhancement to study the man before you. 

“There is none more knowledgeable at the present. Makihara was… Makihara was far too liberal in his ideologies. And with the war effort, we cannot afford a lesser medicine maker.” His stoic exterior faltered for a moment with a dip of his lip. Izuna gazed somewhere in the distance, lost in an anger caused by something greater than you. “But above all, Madara wishes not to take more from you than has already been stripped of you by the Senju.”

Izuna drew his attention from the ground to the moonlit sky overhead. A full moon peaked from behind the thin clouds, illuminating the road in a silver sheen. He pivoted a foot as he regarded you, the cracks in his exterior beginning to sink back into his cold exterior. 

“Then, it is not in your control,” The gentle evening breeze carried your level voice. It was soft and undaunted, like an Uchiha woman should be. “Nor is it in mine.”

“Why do you stay?” he asked in an even tone. “I ask myself why you forget yourself so, and why has fate encouraged you?” Izuna gazed up once again at the sky. 

You stood in the darkness, shrouded by the forest.

Izuna stood elevated in the light, blanketed by the glow of the night. 

“An Uchiha, yes,” he continued coldly as if the words he recited were nothing less than factual. “But you boast no living blood. You, a woman— you have no interest in the value of tradition. Instead, you busy yourself with matters that do not concern you.” Izuna’s gaze sharpened but didn’t narrow. “Your heart is easily swayed. Your flesh is soft and bleeds when it is struck. You consider not what is done on your behalf; I implore you to consider it.” 

Izuna’s sword drew from his hip in a flash, and the tip of his katana drove into the ground. The polished metal sunk a few inches before stopping.

He finally breathed. He hadn’t realized that he had begun to heave or that his sword had been pulled from its sheath. Izuna stared at the hilt for a moment; hand still gripped around the woven handle. 

“I advise you to retreat from this place,” he muttered, heaving another deep breath as he removed his weapon and slid it back into its usual place by his hip. Izuna turned once more, squaring his shoulders back as if the mere act of speaking to you angered him to the core. His robes snapped with the motion, flowing in the air as he stormed off, ever-militant. “Our world as we know it thrives on deception, and you are no different. Retreat before your illusion fades like the fog before a flame.”

He stalked off down the path, leaving you where you stood in the darkness. Your form remained shaken but undaunted. 

***

The Uchiha’s most formidable forces were venturing off to defend the northern shoulder. It was the talk of the village from as early as daybreak, and the entire compound bustled with life as everyone made preparations. 

The journey that the warriors were to be making was most perilous. Due to the incline, there was no better way to reach the northern shoulder than to pass around the Crown summit. If Madara were to lead them upward, the warrior party would encounter a few narrow routes that led directly north. If only a few warriors were leaving, the journey might have only taken about a day or so, but with a battalion the size that Madara selected, you anticipated that it would take them a few days to reach the northern shoulder.

Women carried back firewood and prepared provisions. Children ran across the village, delivering messages and small amounts of raw materials. Metal on metal sounded from the forge. The ovens churned the scent of bread products into the air. And just shy of the center of town sat your apothecary.

You propped the door with a large rock and tied the shudders open that morning. Warm natural light trickled into the main chamber, where you stood, slaving over a mortar and pestle at the counter. 

The apothecary didn’t appear too dissimilar to your old workspace. Made of mostly wood, it stood on giant tree trunk supports. Five wooden stairs led up to the entrance, and a small patio housed a few pots of herbs. 

Large cabinets lined the walls, reaching about hip height with sturdy shelving just above to house a tall arrangement of medicinal goods. A half counter bisected the room, separating the entrance lined with goods from the back of the building, which flared out a short distance on either side. Heavier jars and handling tools were stored in this section farther into the apothecary, leaving room on the extended countertops for you to use as a workspace.

In the very back stood a winding wooden staircase. At the top sat a loft with a small library, and at the bottom was a door out the back into the small plot of land you called your medicinal garden. 

Madara’s warpath kept your counters as messy as ever. To your left, you kept trays of various herbs and mixtures laid out, ready for the adolescent soldiers to pack into bags to put into field kits. 

“You should be able to administer the wound ointment.” You frowned, stopping your work to hold up the two halves of your concoction. “First, you are to place the powder—”

“I am aware of the ways in which to administer medicine,” Madara groaned, letting his head tilt back. He rolled it from shoulder to shoulder, gazing off toward the ceiling as if that would make you stop talking. “I have not the time to learn your convoluted experiment. Where are the items I requested from you? Izuna should have notified you.”

Madara leaned over your counter, and you met his gaze. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought he was bored, but the mischievous glint in his eyes was unmistakable. With you behind the counter and Madara imposing himself onto your workspace, it was almost as if you were sixteen again. 

“Some things never change,” you sighed. You turned to grab a small bowl from an eye-level shelf and placed it down on the counter with a huff. Madara caught your eye again, but despite the glimmer of curiosity that continued to swim in his dark irises, you knew better than to test him like you would have just a few years prior. “I insist that we try the deep-wound treatment first. The fibrous characteristics of the vallestinia, in combination with some moisture and the accelerant-type factors of the lamortens grand, can quite plainly sew tissue together with chakra in a matter of moments—”

“Unnecessary.” Madara placed his entire hand into the bowl, scooping up a palmful of pills. He let them slip through his fingers, falling back into the pile as he considered them. “The Senju will not allow us any time to spare to make use of lengthy healing processes.”

“But you wanted me to create these,” you posed, holding your tongue from making more than an implied criticism. 

The last of the pills fell back into the bowl. Madara stared at the small compilation.

“I do not doubt that Hashirama Senju will be present on the northern shoulder,” Madara drawled, pausing between phrases. “The surrounding clans grow weary of battle, and I must admit that I have grown… tired of the state of affairs.”

“You?” you hummed an amused laugh behind tight lips. “The grand Madara fatigued of battle?” 

“Fatigued from the act of burial,” he swiftly corrected. The corners of his lips twitched upward for only a moment. “Fatigued from my home being disturbed.” His words drifted off into a growl, a soft, bored rumbling in his chest. Madara often let his voice stall in his throat, the noises turning over as they churned into a low rumble. 

“This is why I implore you to bring my latest ointment. There are but a few of them—”

“The Senju do not climb upon the Grandfather Summit to entertain prisoners. Should a warrior of the Uchiha sustain a fatal blow, he should take it upon himself to give his life in a suicide attack. It should be an honor for the final act of a soldier to be making his enemy pay.” He rose to his full height from his leaning position, glancing from the trays of herbs to the pile of pills on the counter. “Are these all you have crafted?”

“There are several more jars in storage. The herbs consist of a standard selection for minor wounds… for the journey home, of course.”

“Very good.” Madara nodded, not sparing you a second glance as he exited.

You wouldn’t see him again until the battalion departed. After a few short days of preparation, the gathering of some of Uchiha’s best warriors and other volunteers left before daybreak. You watched them go from the porch of your apothecary. Madara led them out of the compound, donning his infamous red battle armor and gunbai. Izuna followed close next to his brother. He didn’t look back at you either. 

There was much fanfare, but it was soon over, and the Uchiha compound was left in peaceful stillness.

You busied yourself with foraging in the woods near the compound, enjoying the time you were left undisturbed. The doors and windows to your apothecary remained open so you could enjoy the cool summer air. Despite the sun, which shone brightly overhead, the temperature remained comfortable.

Something about the stillness didn’t feel right.

***

The Uchiha never made it to the northern shoulder.

The Senju made their approach toward the Crown, and both clans clashed on the rocky terrain that plateaued between the two summits as you tended to your garden at home. Madara and Hashirama engaged in combat, as they had for years, clearing out a massive section of the battlefield for their duel. The blistering heat from the sun beat down on the unforgiving field, leaving little but hot stone and wilted grass. 

Not a far distance away, Tobirama’s sword clashed with Izuna’s. Their weapons crossed, shaking with the sheer force of their strikes as the two came face to face. Izuna flashed his sharingan, the deadly crimson pattern swirling to life in the heat of battle. Tobirama quickly closed his eyes, and Izuna used the opportunity to strike.

Tobirama tumbled back, slamming his back against a nearby boulder. A strangled noise tore from his throat at the impact. He wasted little time readying his hand signs, completing his jutsu before his eyes reopened in time to counter Izuna’s great fireball jutsu. 

Steam filled the battlefield.

Not one to underestimate his life-long rival, Izuna held the reds of his irises at the ready, scanning the rock for signs of movement. Kunai flew toward him from the front. He hummed to himself, unamused at the feeble attempt. 

And for a moment, he considered himself blessed to have been blessed with the sharingan eye.

“Flying Raijin Slice!”

At home, one of your flower pots fell from the railing on the apothecary patio. The sound of shattering clay startled a flock of crows, which flew overhead from a gathering of nearby trees. You stood just at the top of the wooden steps, staring down at the pile of shards, dirt, and upheaved roots. 

You could feel it.

Something was terribly wrong.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: The last chapter, this one, and perhaps part of the next are a bit Uchiha-centric in order to set up for what I have planned. You know, I didn't even intend for Madara to have this much of an impact on the story nor did I even consider writing any Izuna, but here we are... I knew I had to kill him before I posted this.

Sorry for keeping everyone waiting. It's been really cool seeing the Foul Creature notifications roll in all the time. Especially when it's someone starting from Chapter 1. Always feel free to chat; I know my posts are few and far between.

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

[gt-abby]

Tiny!Omega AU

“THAT’S Omega?” Wrecker, exclaimed, a little too loud and close for Omega’s little ears. She could feel his breath brushing through her hair, and she shuddered.

“Wrecker…” They heard from behind them. Hunter was pressing his pointer finger and thumb on the bridge of his nose in disappointment. Wrecker wasn’t exactly known for his environmental awareness. “You’re gonna scare her if you lean in so close.” Hunter walked over and pushed the big guy a little bit back.

“So… what happened exactly?” Echo piped up from behind them, walking into the room. They were on the Marauder, after Hunter gathered around everyone to talk about the situation.

“Well, as far as I can tell,” Tech said as he clicked on a few buttons on his datapad, “We have yet to find an answer to this question.” He looked up.

Hunter scooped up his little girl with both of his palms as he held her up to their eye level. She’s never been so high before, since she was the shortest of the bunch. That took on a whole new meaning after Hunter found her on the rocks on the beach of Pabu, after looking for her for hours. Omega scratched the back of her head.

“I only just remember waking up on that rock from a nap when I heard Hunter shout my name…” she said, her voice was too small even for her. They all looked at her as if with question marks over their heads. Those four men were absolutely mountainous, even more so now that she was merely 9 centimeters tall. She cowered in front of them, unable to speak. Hunter seemed to have sensed that. He was good at reading her body language.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do now.” He said with his authoritative voice, “Tech, go with Echo to scout out the beach areas for any signs of anything unusual. Wrecker, go get some food. I’ll handle Omega.”

And so, they all left the room, each to their tasks as Hunter placed Omega back on the table and sat across from her, only his head visible above the surface.

“Hunter…” Omega began but couldn’t let any more words out before the tears started spilling out. She was shaking, and Hunter was left baffled, and unprepared.

“Hey, wow, hey, kid, it’s okay-“

She put her head in her hands as she wept, overwhelmed with emotions. Fear, anxiety, the burden of the unknown, all resurfaced once they were alone. He watched her as she let everything out, helpless in the situation of trying to comfort a child in such a bizarre state. Everything he’d been training for, all battle scenarios, survival tactics etc., were nothing compared to this. His little girl that he swore to keep from harm, needed him most, and he could do nothing. He clenched his fists under the table. They too were shaking. But he didn’t let himself break.

Hunter held out his finger and as gently as possible he lifted her tiny little chin so she would look at him.

“Everything will be okay, kid. I promise.”

—-

Here’s a little snippet of my new project. I hope people like this enough to keep reading in the future.

[thetraumaking]

The Accursed Crown

Other chapters

Chapter 18

Her fist clenched in rhythm.

Staring ahead at the ongoing battle, Azula couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from you.

The mountains surrounding the battle field was that of a giant pot. Mountains high with no trees in sight, a simple plane land with nothing but grass and weed. Within the overgrown hollow, stood you, leading the soldiers as you all fought, while she, the princess, stood at base, in a village of tents and supplies surrounded by the tacticians and elderly.

Weaving around the rocks and boulders that are sent your away, she tapped her foot, impatiently waiting for your victory.

The plane lad that was riddled with pink and blues of flowers and plant now splattered with blood or scorched by flames. And true to her judgement, those rookie men she saw flailing at the deck laid their drowning in their blood. They didn't make good soldiers anyway.

Well, at least they'll make good fertilizer.

Her lips twitched.

There were hardly anyone worth watching, none were as graceful as you or as masterful.

Her eyes then moved to the old men that sat around the table with liquor in hand. Compared to them, you were of higher rank, so why was it that you were there on the field, getting your hands dirty -and to their knowledge, risking your life- while they, the subordinate ate cut fruit and drinking to their hearts content.

"Princess, why don't you sit down and enjoy the show? There's no need to worry, everything is all under the Major's control." A balding man with twice the recommended amount of forehead spoke. Letting out a bellowing laughter as her face redden from his intake.

Pigs. That's what sat before her. Filling her ears with nonsense as they ate and drank.

"That's Princess Azula to you, Captain Lou. I'll be sure to notify my father of your disrespect and attempted fraternization." She paid no mind to the panicked apology. There is only one person who could speak so…

She lets out a sigh. "You are dismissed. Captain."

The chattering died down after that. They even did away with their mess, how wonderful. There was finally some comforting silence in the room(rather than a room it was more of section of the land that was blocked off by cloth and sheets.)

Her observation continued. Watching you as you broke through the Earth Kingdom's defenses. Burning and slicing, forcing your way through, breaking their formation as you go.

It looked easy enough, she'd seen enough already to depict who was an earth bender with how they moved.

And, the battle is nearing its end. At least half of the enemy forces has been taken down within the first hour. It is more than ideal time for her to join in on the fun.

Besides, the ground cracks before anything happens.

She just has to be observant.

Rolling her shoulders, she prepared to descend the mountain. Her armor hugging her form as she stretched. Without a moment to spare, she ran before propelling herself with her fire. Her aim locked in on you as she flew. With her knees tucked in, her arms fully extended back shooting continuous blasts of blue flames as she soared.

Once high enough, she changed her angle. In a perfect forty five degree, she shot down.

Landing just a bit of distance in front of you on a group of earth kingdom soldiers. The armor on their backs melted as she landed, the men being sent forward from the blast.

The bewildered look on your face was worth the dirt that covered her. Sending a smile your way, she ran forward. This is the perfect opportunity for her to show everyone how great she was. The word of her power shall spread like wild fire, her grandfather and father will surely make her the heir, she will be the next Fire Lord. Those who try to take you will see just who stood behind you.

And her mother, well, she could rot for all she cares. But you? You'll have a piece of mind knowing what a great job you did in raising and training her. Then all you would need to worry about is how to better spend your time off. What to do when all the need to outshine others is not a necessity. You'll be free like the birds you admire. Live with pride like the phoenix you wear.

And best of all, she can be the one to take care of you.

Her smile broadened at the thought. Once she gets rid of all the shackles that weigh you down, you'll be back to normal. You'll smile and laugh again, hug and kiss her, cook for her and more.

Condensing her fire to a singular point, she shot at the earth benders. Flakes of blood dusted her cheeks as she smiled on. Aiming at the center of the body. Keeping her chin low as to better focus on the opponent. Dodging from side to side rather than jumps and ducking for better evasion. Never locking joints for sudden and sporadic movements. And making sure her heart and breathing are steady. Just like how you taught her all those years ago.

Before she knew it, she had made a small clearing. Sweat dribbled down her head as she took slow steady breaths. Her stance still in that of an offensive one as she took in her surrounding.

Bodies scattered across the burning plane. Ash and sooth rained down, black and red powder like substance tainted her skin. The heat now only nipped at her as she looked around. Her stance easing up only when she noticed that both nations' soldiers stood clear of her.

She was quite a bit away from the main group. The only ones near her were either corpses of maimed men. Groans filled her ears as a cough ripped through her throat.

Must be due to the filth she was breathing in. For a moment she wondered just how many she had accidentally inhaled. Licking her now very dry and ashy lips, she tried to spot you.

She will admit.

That was a stupid mistake.

She. amongst most of the Fire Nation denizens are fire benders. Any wound they inflict cauterises the wound and or either burns it. There is no liquid involved, they are the ones coming out victorious.

Meaning, she should not be seeing blood at this moment.

Her rear hit the ground. Rather than seeing the blood it was more so feel. Warm sticky liquid splattered across her face. Palms scraping against the rubble as she looked ahead.

Due to adrenaline, one wouldn't feel pain after getting stabbed. Maybe some pressure and maybe some heat in the area, but pain? Not so much.

But she hasn't felt either or. With her warm yet dirtied hands, she wiped at her eyes.

Smearing the rich red across her face, spreading it as she felt the smallest drop roll down the side of her cheek down to her chin.

She heard fire roar ahead, just a few steps from her yet she still couldn't see.

The blood got into her eyes. The world looked as though she was looking through a red stained window. Her eyelids felt sticky, she wanted to keep rubbing at her eyes but she couldn't bring herself to.

Both her words and breath got caught in her throat. She tried to gasp for air but couldn't.

A long spike poked through where she stood just moments before. Blood ran down it like river as you took ragged breaths. Your hand still outstretched, still holding onto the face of the earth bender that had tried attacking her. The man's head crumbled as his headless body fell with a loud thud. Gray blackish ash blew in the wind as they escaped through the space between your fingers.

She sat there frozen as you broke the spike with a grunt, the fight still ongoing behind you. The wound on your cheek was now covered in the ash of the war as you spoke, "Don't get distracted, A-" You let out a cough, "... Princess."

She watched you as you plunged two fingers deep into the bleeding hole that now decorated your left shoulder.

She had spend the better part of her day in this war, both as a spectator and as a participant. The smell of burning flesh or the raw rich aroma of blood did not phase her. But yours were different. It made her sick.

With another grunt, you pulled your fingers out. The scent of burnt flesh was stronger now.

Even when you left her behind the formation in favor of advancing into the enemy line, the smell lingered. Only when the horns of victory were blown did she found herself still seated on the ground. Her hair out of sorts, armor covered in dust and flakes of blood and flesh, her face covered in now dry blood.

She fisted at the ground below her.

Those barbaric savage earth benders. How dare they humiliate her like this? How dare they spill your blood? On her. She bit her lip, your blood mixed with yours as she seethed.

They had no place in the world she wished to establish. She'll get rid of them one way or another.

She now understands how Zhoa must have felt when he was beaten by that water bender.

Maybe another cleansing is in order.

[elia-nymmeros]

""A start?" said Ellaria Sand, incredulous. "Gods forbid. I would it were a finish. Tywin Lannister is dead. So are Robert Baratheon, Amory Lorch, and now Gregor Clegane, all those who had a hand in murdering Elia and her children. Even Joffrey, who was not yet born when Elia died. I saw the boy perish with mine own eyes, clawing at his throat as he tried to draw a breath. Who else is there to kill? Do Myrcella and Tommen need to die so the shades of Rhaenys and Aegon can be at rest? Where does it end?" "It ends in blood, as it began," said Lady Nym. "It ends when Casterly Rock is cracked open, so the sun can shine on the maggots and the worms within. It ends with the utter ruin of Tywin Lannister and all his works."" The Watcher, ADwD

Rereading ADwD, one of the most interesting aspects of the Dorne plot for me is that constantly, over and over again, the elder Sand Snakes mock Doran for his perceived weakness, for being slow to act, for planning and disguising and lying instead of outright fighting, claiming that he was a lesser man compared to Oberyn, and yet part of me wonders what they thought/might've thought of Elia while she lived, especially when Gregor's head was brought back to Dorne and the Sand Snakes demanded vengeance not only for Oberyn, but also for Elia and her children.

"Her sister Tyene gave answer. "What he always does," she purred. "Delay, obscure, prevaricate. Oh, no one does that half so well as our brave uncle."" The Watcher, ADwD

It's hard to know because we only have second-handed accounts, but we've been told that Elia was someone agreeable, kind, with a good heart, someone precisely like Doran and very unlike Oberyn. No account of Elia presents her as a bold, outspoken, bloodthirsty, or vengeful woman, which of course doesn't mean that she wasn't, but it means that she didn't choose to present herself as one in front of Dorne and King's Landing court; in fact, some people even remember her as "drab" and "frail". It's very poignant to see the Sand Snakes asking to spill blood and kill innocent people in the name of a woman dead some 17 years ago who, as a matter of fact, probably never wanted to see the entirety of Casterly Rock and Oldtown destroyed and slain, children and smallfolk included.

"Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit." ADwD, Daenerys IV

""We could kill him, to be sure," said Tyene, "but then we would need to kill the rest of his party too, even those sweet young squires. That would be … oh, so messy."" ADwD, The Watcher

It's interesting for me that they learned this bloodthirsty attitude from Oberyn, who of course had almost two decades of virulent resentment because the brutal rape and murder of his sister and her children went unpunished, but who was also the man who probably knew Elia the best and what ideas she held about retribution, not some idealized version of a woman who they probably don't remember. Part of me wonders if the Sand Snakes wouldn't have found Elia cowardly and weak and useless too, simply because she displayed the same ideas about politics and power than Doran, because all accounts of Elia (all three of them) shows us a genuinely gentle and easy-going person who did not murder and poison her way to power as it is common in the royal court.

"I am not blind, nor deaf. I know that you all believe me weak, frightened, feeble. Your father knew me better (...)" The Watcher, ADwD

"It must have been the madness that led Aerys to refuse Lord Tywin's daughter and take his son instead, whilst marrying his own son to a feeble Dornish princess with black eyes and a flat chest." AFfC, Cersei V

I'm not saying that Elia wouldn't have wanted The Mountain dead or that the Sand Snakes were in the wrong for wanting their family members avenged, because Tywin Lannister and his lackeys were evil men who committed several crimes against the Martells and faced no direct repercussions, but the extreme level of hatred that the Sand Snakes show towards everyone who happens to be named Lannister, their willingness to go to a war they cannot hope to win with allies they aren't sure they can trust without any kind of well-thought plan, and the constant derision they show towards Doran and his attitudes... part of me feels like Elia has already been forgotten by them, replaced by an empty figurehead who they can rally around and use to justify their cruelty, while at the same time disdaining the same attitudes that Elia herself was known for...

"Written? If you were half the man my father was—" AFfC, The Captain of Guards.

""Obara would make Oldtown our father's funeral pyre, but I am not so greedy. Four lives will suffice for me. Lord Tywin's golden twins, as payment for Elia's children. The old lion, for Elia herself. And last of all the little king, for my father." "The boy has never wronged us."" AFfC, The Captain of Guards.

Something something about letting vengeance and senseless violence consume you, about a woman dead so many years ago and yet still loved by her people and her family, about the attitudes we teach our children and how they might end up twisted without a specific contextualization in time and space...

[johannestevans]

just watched Immaculate (2024)

it's unfortunate for this film's creators for it to be released the same year as the first omen, such that the two films form such a direct comparison with one another, but even without that comparative like…

this is a film, like the first omen, which is about the idea of a nun becoming pregnant with the antichrist - itself an idea that is based in the union of novitiates to jesus christ through a symbolic marriage, and therefore like. ends up being about the dominion of the catholic church over these young women, and by extension the desire of the catholic church over all people

and yet. and yet.

this is a movie which goes "hey man, what if we did jurassic park and cloned jesus from one of his nails from the execution" and even if we accept that premise at face value like. WHY does that create the antichrist?

and even if it did… what's the point?

this film has so many disparate and disconnected elements, and while it creates a very solid sense of place, has genuinely very good understanding and use of its setting at a convent, of the catacombs beneath it, of the costuming of the catholic church for novitiates and nuns, for priests, for cardinals, and then for saints and icons such as an embodiment or reincarnation of maria… it doesn't seem to understand WHY any of those things are important, or what they mean.

she gives birth to the antichrist and then smashes it with a rock on a mountain.

what is this film trying to say about the church? about its attitudes toward women? about christian and catholic feeling toward christ, the antichrist, the resurrection, death, revelations? about relations between men and women within and without the church? about pregnancy? about birth? about bodily autonomy, or choice, or even God?

i cannot name a single like. apparent belief or thesis statement offered by this film, let alone successfully delivered by it.

it seems that some people went "wouldn't it be fucked up if--" and then just threw a lot of budget into this film, and it's genuinely so bizarre to me to see something that has such an excellent understanding of the visuals and aesthetics of what it is depicting and ?? criticising? worshiping? examining? ??? anything? and yet seem to have no cohesive opinion or view on any of it at all.

what an absolute mess

[glitteringaglarond]

'Do you think those halls are fair, where your King dwells under the hill in Mirkwood, and Dwarves helped in their making long ago? They are but hovels compared with the caverns I have seen here: immeasurable halls, filled with an everlasting music of water that tinkles into pools, as fair as Kheled-zâram in the starlight.

'And, Legolas, when the torches are kindled and men walk on the sandy floors under the echoing domes, ah! then, Legolas, gems and crystals and veins of precious ore glint in the polished walls; and the light glows through folded marbles, shell-like, translucent as the living hands of Queen Galadriel. There are columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose, Legolas, fluted and twisted into dreamlike forms; they spring up from many-coloured floors to meet the glistening pendants of the roof: wings, ropes, curtains fine as frozen clouds; spears, banners, pinnacles of suspended palaces! Still lakes mirror them: a glimmering world looks up from dark pools covered with clear glass; cities, such as the mind of Durin could scarce have imagined in his sleep, stretch on through avenues and pillared courts, on into the dark recesses where no light can come. And plink! a silver drop falls, and the round wrinkles in the glass make all the towers bend and waver like weeds and corals in a grotto of the sea. Then evening comes: they fade and twinkle out; the torches pass on into another chamber and another dream. There is chamber after chamber, Legolas; hall opening out of hall, dome after dome, stair beyond stair; and still the winding paths lead on into the mountains' heart. Caves! The Caverns of Helm's Deep! Happy was the chance that drove me there! It makes me weep to leave them.

'No, you do not understand,' said Gimli. 'No dwarf could be unmoved by such loveliness. None of Durin's race would mine those caves for stones or ore, not if diamonds and gold could be got there. Do you cut down groves of blossoming trees in the springtime for firewood? We would tend these glades of flowering stone, not quarry them. With cautious skill, tap by tap – a small chip of rock and no more, perhaps, in a whole anxious day – so we could work, and as the years went by, we should open up new ways, and display far chambers that are still dark, glimpsed only as a void beyond fissures in the rock. And lights, Legolas! We should make lights, such lamps as once shone in Khazad-dûm; and when we wished we would drive away the night that has lain there since the hills were made; and when we desired rest, we would let the night return.'

And this. This right here is why Gimli has been one of my favorite characters ever since I was a child. There is a reason my tumblr url is glitteringaglarond, and it’s this passage right here.

Gimli has proved himself to be many things throughout this story - he’s a badass, he is witty and intelligent, he has a brilliant sense of humor and is the funniest character in these books - but one of the most important things about him is his love for beauty.

We saw it in his longing to see Moria, regardless of the dangers. We saw it as he couldn’t help but turn aside and gaze into the waters of Kheled-zaram. We saw it as he praised the beauty of Galadriel. Gimli is a character with a deep, artistic, soulful love for beauty. And it comes across most strikingly here, in this passage.

Because Gimli is out of his element right now, traveling through this strange, dangerous, magical wood. He is injured and weary from battle, and is once again riding a horse - something that he explicitly dislikes. This is the absolute last situation where somebody should be unveiling their poetic soul, and yet that’s what Gimli does.

Because to Gimli love for beauty is stronger than weariness and fear and uncertainty. And while being in this forest makes him fearful, only being forced to leave a thing of beauty can make him weep.

So he tells Legolas about the caves, using language so poetic that we can’t help but see the caves through his eyes and appreciate their beauty in ways we might never have done otherwise. And even Legolas is moved.

I cannot overstate how important his love for beauty is to me, and unlike Gimli I am not enough of a wordsmith to communicate exactly how deeply the beauty of his soul, expressed through this love, touches me. The best I can do is express my joy at having been taught appreciation for beauty at such a young age by such a teacher, and I can only hope that like Gimli, I too can help others find an appreciation for the beauty around them that they might not otherwise have seen.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Can we see Curtis/bride smut? Or some fluff?

His hands were rough from his years of working with them, from the years he had laboured to build this entire paradise tucked in the rolling hills and clutches of the mountains. Curtis’ hands were rough, but his touch was gentle and loving as he caressed your bare back from your shoulders to the curve of your ass.

He kept you clutched against him, shifting you only when necessary to get you comfortable to the girth that filled you and the stretch of your walls around him. Your hands on his shoulders helped brace you, your eyes were captivated by his own. He was staring up at you with his crisp and crystalline blue eyes that pierced you with intensity and warmth, and you found yourself unable to breathe momentarily from the hold he had on you.

Curtis had only come back an hour before, he had been gone to deal with an auction for a few horses he had raised from foals and had come back with three in exchange. He had settled them in the barn and returned to you with a fire burning between you two that had led to this here, the moment where you had wholly given in to the other for the first time since you had arrived.

There had been moments of pleasure, the soft opening to your sexual relationship as well as your emotional one, but this was new. This was the first time you had been joined together in your marriage bed. It was the first time you had felt the girth and length of his cock, the heaviness of his balls against your ass.

“Move when you’re ready, this is all up to you.” Curtis had raised a hand from your back to brush the hair off your shoulder and then he leaned forward to place soft open mouth kisses against your skin. “This is all up to your pace.”

Your head lolled back when he trailed his lips down your shoulder to your collarbone and further, his lips tracing a clear path to your left nipple. His lips had parted and he had brushed his tongue against your hard nub as you sighed his name and slowly rocked your hips. The feel of his cock inside your warm pussy was something you knew you could have grown addicted to, the stretch of your walls around him and the sensation of being full was immensely pleasurable.

You weren’t a virgin by any means, but Curtis’ size was bringing some discomfort as you tried to adjust. You had sex with men before, you’d been fucked and screwed but none of them felt like this. None of the men your age that you’d been with had felt this good. Even before you and Curtis had gotten to this point, there was something about his hands on your body, his tongue tasting your flesh that had put the rest to shame.

Curtis knew what he was doing, he had proven to you that all those other sexual experiences were nothing compared to what he could do. He was a man; they were boys.

“Move your hips, sweetheart.” His voice was muffled against your breasts and the hand he held on you had guided you.

Curtis guided you to start riding his cock, every gentle and subtle movement was electrifying. Your hands had gripped his shoulders and your lips were parted with endless whines and whimpers as you ground your cunt on his cock. His thick head was penetrating your spongy walls, his lips had been teasing and lapping at your nipples.

“Good girl, you’re my good girl,” Curtis whispered against your breasts, he whispered against your flesh as he bucked his hips and fucked up into you. “My sweet wife, my sweet girl.”

“Curtis, fuck…” Your head lolled, your back arched when he lifted you with one hand and pulled you back down, the angle of his cock hitting a spot in your pussy that had previously gone untouched. “God, it feels so good…

“Cum for me, cum for me honey.” Curtis watched you raise your hips, his pleasure groans falling from his lips after he had laid back down and watched his cock sink back into your seeping cunt. Your pleasure was translated into sweet wet juices that had begun to coat the two of you, your hot pussy still clenching his shaft as the head of his cock twitched.

“I’m…” you shuddered and removed your hands from his chest and placed them behind you on his thighs, gyrating on his cock as your breathing became more erratic. “I’m going to cum….”

“Cum on my cock, cum for me.” Curtis grabbed your hips and yanked your cunt back down on his cock, he had kept you locked onto him while he thrust his hips and ducked you with power and unrelenting desire, holding you steady even while your body had become rigid and you had screamed his name in pleasure, his name falling from your lips in lusty anguish as your first orgasm hit you. “Good, good wife.”

Curtis was unrelenting, he had continued to fuck you through your searing orgasm. He had fucked you until you had fallen back onto his chest, and your cheek rested against his shoulder. He held you, he wrapped his arms around you while slamming his cock in and out of you. There wasn’t a moment's of rest, not that you wanted it, from his powerful thrusts.

“Please…Curtis, I need more. Please-“ He had only pulled out to switch positions, he had only pulled out to gently set you up on your belly while your head rest against the pillow.

“Ass up.” Curtis’ demand was still laced with softness, it was still laced with endearing devotion. “Good girl, you listen so well.”

He slipped an arm around your waist to hold you into place as he pushed his cock back into your pussy. He filled you again and wait, he waited for you to adjust again to him in this position, taking pride when your nails had dug into the bed. When he knew you were ready, he started fucking you from behind, his free hand running up and down your back twice before he dropped it to your ass.

“Feels so good, fuck it feels so good.” You whined, your eyes screwed closed with intense pleasure. “Please, I need more. Please I need-!”

Curtis’ hand smacked against your ass, the slight sting of pain meeting the sweet kiss of pleasure, and he had known you liked it when your cunt squeezed his cock. He had smacked your ass twice more, once before his fingers found and teased your clit, and the second when he had leaned forward and pressed his back against yours.

“Cum with me, cum with me.” Curtis huskily whispered in your ear, he had huskily crooned to you as you bit down on your bottom lip, your body becoming rigid again. “Cum with me, sweetheart.”

He pulled out and slammed back in only once more before he felt the pivotal and last powerful squeeze of your pussy. He met your orgasm with his own, he had met your peak with his throbbing cock. As your sweet cum had started to pool from your cunt, Curtis grunted as he pushed his cock in further, the hot and sticky seed flooding your cunt.

It was moments, maybe it was hours, before he had finally pulled away and observed the flood of his semen dripping from your pussy. He had reacted instinctively and gathered it on his fingers before he had pushed it back into your sweet heat.

“We can’t waste any, baby. It needs to stay in place.”

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

Remember that one Jon chapter in ACOK in which he wargs into Ghost for the first time and encounters a manifestation of Bran as a weirwood?

When he closed his eyes, he dreamed of direwolves [..]

Jon?

The call came from behind him, softer than a whisper, but strong too. Can a shout be silent? He turned his head, searching for his brother, for a glimpse of a lean grey shape moving beneath the trees, but there was nothing, only...

A weirwood.

It seemed to sprout from solid rock, its pale roots twisting up from a myriad of fissures and hairline cracks. The tree was slender compared to other weirwoods he had seen, no more than a sapling, yet it was growing as he watched, its limbs thickening as they reached for the sky. Wary, he circled the smooth white trunk until he came to the face. Red eyes looked at him. Fierce eyes they were, yet glad to see him. The weirwood had his brother's face. Had his brother always had three eyes?

Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.

He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.

Don't be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him.

- Jon VII, ACOK

I’ve always wondered about this but passage because the whole thing is so strange and a bit confusing.

So Bran reaches out and touches Ghost - we’re not sure where but I always just assumed between the eyes because he tells Jon that he must open his eyes and see.

People say that this was Bran awakening Jon’s warging powers but I’m not so sure. For starters, I think Jon was the first or the stark kids to warg; or at the very least, he was the first one to bond with his direwolf.

“Can’t you hear it?” Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else. “There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

- Bran I, AGOT

Plus, Jon is already warging into Ghost at the time of the encounter so it can’t be that. If that’s not the case then, what does this mean? What is Bran doing if he’s not triggering Jon’s already active warging powers?

There’s also something else that is quite confusing. So Bran touches Ghost and the scene changes.

And suddenly he was back in the mountains, his paws sunk deep in a drift of snow as he stood upon the edge of a great precipice. Before him the Skirling Pass opened up into airy emptiness, and a long vee-shaped valley lay spread beneath him like a quilt, awash in all the colors of an autumn afternoon.

- Jon VII, ACOK

I’m not too sure about what just happened here. Are we meant to believe that Ghost is physically transported to the mountains? Or is Ghost experiencing the world on two planes: one physical and one metaphysical? Ghost’s real body remains at the weirwood tree but his consciousness is transported to a different place? But then this conscious has a corporeal form? I don’t get it….

Another thing to note is that Ghost seems out off by Bran because he smells of death. We know that Bran is in the crypts of Winterfell when this is going down so that would explain why he smells that way. So is Ghost afraid of death? Is he afraid of the dark? How much of the metaphysical is Ghost able to sense? If memory serves me correct, Ghost was also scared at the Fist of the First men because he presumably smelled death there too. It might just be animal things or it might point to something deeper.

Anyway, Ghost shows some aversion to what’s going on but Bran then tells him not to be afraid of the dark. He must first embrace it. And this is when Bran reaches out and touches Jon to open his eyes.

Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him.

So this is all happening while Bran is experiencing a very physical journey to the underworld (an important part of a hero’s journey). So can this be taken as foreshadowing of something that will come to fruition when Jon has to go through his own brush with death? What will opening his eyes to “see” mean for Jon then? Is it similar to when Bran gets all those visions while he’s comatose in AGOT? Maybe this is what will happen to Jon. He will also get visions that remind him why life is worth living; and why life is worth fighting for.

While he’s in a coma, Bran sees past the curtain of light and peaks into the Heart of Winter. The three-eyed-crow tells him that this is why he must live, because winter is coming. Bran then wakes up and names his direwolf ‘Summer’ - as in opposition to Winter. I think it’s possible that we get something similar with Jon. He might have to see what death actually looks like and make the decision to live again so that he can bring about the spring.

And if Jon has to see beyond death, how does that relate to Ghost being, you know, a ‘ghost’? One who exists in the boundaries between life and death. So does he see the living and the dead because he is a part of both? Is this what is needed for Jon’s role as one who will defeat death once and for all? He has to see and conquer death so that new life (spring) can emerge? This could be another reason why Jon has to warg into Ghost after death.

This also brings forth questions of the innate power within Ghost. Namely, how he functions as a vessel of “seeing” and “watching”. To watch is a very prominent motif in Jon’s arc. He is someone who is constantly in the shadows, seeing and watching. He joins an order of men named the Night’s Watch. And even more poignant is that the NW’s primary purpose is to watch for winter - and winter means death. Ghost is a watcher and as one who exists in the boundaries between life and death. Let us remember that he is found with his eyes open when all the other direwolves have theirs closed….

His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey. His eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who had died that morning. Bran thought it curious that this pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others were still blind.

- Bran I, AGOT

When Arya meets the Ghost of Hight Heart, she compares her eyes to Jon’s direwolf. And the Ghost of High Heart seems to be operating on some kind of magic that might be of the First Men- and the old gods. And the Ghost of High Heart can see things.

Arya spied the small pale shape creeping behind the horses, thin white hair flying wild as she leaned upon a gnarled cane. The woman could not have been more than three feet tall. The firelight made her eyes gleam as red as the eyes of Jon's wolf. He was a ghost too.

- Arya VIII, ASOS

Not to mention, Ghost the albino direwolf has an obvious connection to Bloodraven. Bloodraven is powerful in the magic of the Old Gods and can also see things. Bloodraven, like Jon, is a watcher as he too joined the Night’s Watch and served as its Lord Commander.

His hair fell to his shoulders, long and white and straight, brushed forward so as to conceal his missing eye, the one that Bittersteel had plucked from him on the Redgrass Field. The eye that remained was very red. How many eyes has Bloodraven? A thousand eyes, and one.

- The Mystery Knight

It gets interesting when we consider the powers working within Ghost, and through him. The power of the Old Gods. See, Ghost is like a weirwood in wolf form. Literally.

And suddenly Ghost was back, stalking softly between two weirwoods. White fur and red eyes, Jon realized, disquieted. Like the trees …

- Jon VI, AGOT

And Jon thinks that Ghost belongs to the Old Gods.

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

- Jon XII, AGOT

Ghost’s red eyes are those of a greenseer. Again, one who sees beyond what others can.

“Those you call the children of the forest have eyes as golden as the sun, but once in a great while one is born amongst them with eyes as red as blood, or green as the moss on a tree in the heart of the forest. By these signs do the gods mark those they have chosen to receive the gift. The chosen ones are not robust, and their quick years upon the earth are few, for every song must have its balance. But once inside the wood they linger long indeed. A thousand eyes, a hundred skins, wisdom deep as the roots of ancient trees. Greenseers.”

- Bran III, ADWD

So does Ghost have the power of the old gods? Is he a vessel of the old gods? An emissary sent to aid Jon specifically? Ghost had red eyes that see, and Jon the watcher can tap into them to see as well. But what other power can Jon tap into, through Ghost’s red eyes that can see very far?

Direwolves, as we know from George R.R Martin, are magical creatures. But Ghost seems to be capable of much more than what is expected of a regular direwolf, even one bonded to a warg. I’m not just talking about his coloring but about certain ‘powers’ he seems to possess. For one, he is able to sense his siblings. He can sense whether they are alive or dead; he senses that Summer and Shaggy are alive, senses Nymeria is alive, senses Lady is dead, and also senses that Greywind is dead before Jon gets news of the Red Wedding.

There were five of them when there should have been six, and they were scattered, each apart from the others. He felt a deep ache of emptiness, a sense of incompleteness.

- Jon VII, ACOK

But that’s not all. There are instances of him going beyond just sensing his siblings. It’s almost like he can “see” them; not just “see” where they are but also “see” what they’re doing.

A wild rain lashed down upon his black brother as he tore at the flesh of an enormous goat, washing the blood from his side where the goat's long horn had raked him.

- Jon I, ADWD

His black brother was the closest, prowling over wet rocks and through dark holes in the ground. He had taken down a monstrous goat, a shaggy white goat as big as any elk with a long horn jutting from its brow, and he was gorging on its flesh, sharing the kill with his other half.

- Longer version from a deleted AFFC chapter; same scene as above but longer

In another place, his little sister lifted her head to sing to the moon, and a hundred small grey cousins broke off their hunt to sing with her. The hills were warmer where they were, and full of food. Many a night his sister’s pack gorged on the flesh of sheep and cows and horses, the prey of men, and sometimes even on the flesh of man himself.

- Jon I, ADWD

On the other side the wind was colder still, the wolf sensed. That was where his brother had gone, the grey brother who smelled of summer. With the cliff between them, he could not sense his brother, but sometimes when he padded down the long cold burrow under the ice and poked his nose through the hard black bars, he could feel him. The snow was falling where his brother was, covering all the woods in white. And there were hunters near, living men and dead men, and the ones who wore the shapes of men but smelled only of cold.

- Deleted Jon AFFC chapter

Is this what Bran awakened during the encounter with Jon? He awakened Ghost’s (and Jon’s) ability to “see” things like a weirwood can? And let’s remember that Bran was working through a weirwood…

Correct me if I’m wrong but ghost is the only direwolf that can do this, yes? Perhaps this is where Ghost being ‘a ghost’ comes into play. Because he can straddle the boundary between life and death, then that means he can see who is on either side (dead - Lady and Greywind, alive - Summer, Shaggy, Nymeria); it could also explain how he knows Summer is alive even though he cannot actually sense him. This could also explain why Summer is the only other direwolf able to sense which of his siblings is alive or dead; because Bran made a journey to the underworld, both figuratively and literally.

It’s quite speculative, but I think another reason for why Ghost can “see” his siblings is because they are in near death situations, or are in situations where death hangs in the air. Like when he “sees” Shaggy in Skaagos, Shaggy is wounded from his fight with the unicorn (and the unicorn is dead). In the last quote I posted above, Ghost can “see” the Others and Wights who surround Bloodraven’s cave and can identify that some are dead. Note that Ghost can also “see” the Others and even though they wear the shapes of men, Ghost can see that they aren’t really men because they smell of cold (and also bring death in their wake).

Jon isn’t anywhere near his siblings but he can see all these things through Ghost. Does this mean that Ghost is able to see beyond Jon’s physical constraints? Or that Jon, through Ghost, can cast his eyes far and see? But how far does that go? Is it just something to do with the pack? Or can it be extended to other people/places? After all, after the encounter with Bran, Ghost saw the wildling camp and that had nothing to do with his litter mates.

I just can’t wait to see how Jon’s resurrection plays out because this ability to see is something that could potentially be made stronger after Jon’s resurrection. Jon, like Bran, will have journeyed to the underworld and emerged from it. Perhaps the encounter with Bran was sowing the seeds for things Jon could do in the future. But there is still the question: does he need to warg into Ghost for this or can he do it on his own? If his bond with Ghost is multiplied exponentially after death such that they share a soul, does Ghost’s power transfer over to Jon? What are the constraints here?

Another question that greatly interests me is, if Ghost is the one who not just senses but sees his siblings, is this indicative of a special place he has among the pack? Is he the pack leader maybe? Or perhaps the pack protector?

They arrived, flushed and breathless, to find Jon seated on the sill, one leg drawn up languidly to his chin. He was watching the action, so absorbed that he seemed unaware of her approach until his white wolf moved to meet them. Nymeria stalked closer on wary feet. Ghost, already larger than his litter mates, smelled her, gave her ear a careful nip, and settled back down.

[Jon] messed up her hair again and walked away from her, Ghost moving silently beside him. Nymeria started to follow too, then stopped and came back when she saw that Arya was not coming.

- Arya I, AGOT

Far off, he could hear his packmates calling to him, like to like. They were hunting too.

- Jon I, ADWD

He was no longer certain they were wrong. Every night Ghost prowled along the Wall, hunting for a way through, called by a brother he could not feel, a hunger he could not sate. And Jon ran with him, in the darkness of his dreams.

- Deleted Jon AFFC chapter

There’s obviously a weird power that’s active within Ghost that isn’t exhibited by the other direwolves. Not to mention his incredible intelligence which also isn’t seen in the other direwolves; the other direwolves are intelligent, but Ghost’s intelligence seems almost human.

A vast blue-white wall plugged one end of the vale, squeezing between the mountains as if it had shouldered them aside, and for a moment he thought he had dreamed himself back to Castle Black. Then he realized he was looking at a river of ice several thousand feet high. Under that glittering cold cliff was a great lake, its deep cobalt waters reflecting the snowcapped peaks that ringed it. There were men down in the valley, he saw now; many men, thousands, a huge host. Some were tearing great holes in the half-frozen ground, while others trained for war. He watched as a swarming mass of riders charged a shield wall, astride horses no larger than ants. The sound of their mock battle was a rustling of steel leaves, drifting faintly on the wind. Their encampment had no plan to it; he saw no ditches, no sharpened stakes, no neat rows of horse lines. Everywhere crude earthen shelters and hide tents sprouted haphazardly, like a pox on the face of the earth. He spied untidy mounds of hay, smelled goats and sheep, horses and pigs, dogs in great profusion. Tendrils of dark smoke rose from a thousand cookfires. This is no army, no more than it is a town. This is a whole people come together.

- Jon VII, ACOK

I get excited just thinking about how this could manifest with Jon as a commander of armies. He could very well become a commander who can see across enemy lines, can see their formations, who’s leading them, what sort of supplies they have, how big their numbers are, etc. It’s kind of a scary thing to have. Jon wouldn’t need to send so many scouts if he can just see things for himself. Plus it brings to mind Jon’s parallels with the Norse god Odin, who can see into all realms through his high seat Hlidskjalf.

One last thing to note, Bran says that Ghost was the only direwolf to have his eyes open when the wolf pups were found. This is obviously a nod to Jon being more mature than what is expected of him at the time, plus we must remember Maester Luwin asserting that bastard grow up faster than trueborns. But perhaps there is a magical explanation of that as well. It’s not just that Jon sees and understands the real threat from up north, but he can see on a metaphysical realm in a way that none of the others can.



[everthewip]

A WIP chapter for my Skyrim fic that has been on hiatus for a hot minute. I was honestly rereading it recently and there was a lot of cringing at past me's writing. Not enough that I'd change and rewrite it, though, at least not anytime soon. Warning for semi-NSFW topics?? I guess? Nothing detailed.

Loredas, 1st of Sun's Dusk In the early morning, moving down the mountain and away from Ivarstead, the air was warmer and pleasant; at least compared to High Hrothgar. Less snow hindered our way and eventually faded, exposing bare earth beneath our boots. The grass did not thrive as it might in warmer seasons, but at least it was not frozen beneath layers of white. It was the cypress trees that were the most beautiful and refreshing change, however. After days of nothing but mist and rock and snow, I could barely keep my eyes from drifting up toward those vibrant limbs; the golden leaves were almost a reflection of Celeon’s hair and eyes. During one of our rests, the High Elf sat against a tree trunk and napped. A leaf, plucked by the wind, fell tenderly onto his head, blending into the warm locks as easily as rain blends with a river. Celeon helped ease the burdens of travel. His chatter was unending, but I found myself growing fonder of his tales. Visions of adventure beyond Skyrim’s borders distracted from the ache in my feet and helped pass the time. In return, I offered what few stories I had of life in the city. They were dull, compared to his, but Celeon’s enthusiasm for them made me feel like the grandest weaver of words.

The weather chilled the closer we came to Kynesgrove. One night the sky was dark, snow clouds hiding the stars. The flakes drifted down, gentle and lovely, but they promised much colder nights going forward and I could find no pleasure in their beauty. Celeon kept our campfire burning, but after several days through the Rift it seemed like nothing could keep me warm. We retired early that night, the heat of his magic and body beside me somehow more comforting than the fire. “I must know,” he began as we lay there, neither weary enough to sleep. He was on his back, watching the roof of our tent, but as usual I lay on my side and faced away from him. “In Solitude, did you ever have any... surprising and shocking patrons?” I could hear the teasing in his voice. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Of course you do!” The blanket shifted as he turned to face me and with reluctance I followed suit. It was dark in the tent, but I could still see him; the glint in his eyes was unmistakable. “Why do you want to know?” “Because I’m bored, I’m not ready to sleep, and this topic is of interest to me.” “Oh I’m sure it is. Well, no, all of my patrons were boring little men.”

He exhaled a dramatic sigh and flopped back, flat against his bedroll. “I don’t believe you. I bet you had countless noblemen who risked scandal to have you in their beds.” “Noble or not, they were all still boring little men.” “And women?” “A few... less boring, I suppose.” He turned to face me again and I knew I’d made a mistake. “Well now you have to tell me!”

It was my turn to sigh, to which Celeon grinned; he knew he'd won.

“I don't have to tell you anything,” I reminded him while his eyes gloated in the darkness. “Ugh, fine… You know of Maven Black-Briar?”

His eyes grew round as twin suns. “You can't be serious! The Black-Briar matriarch of the family who brews the best damn mead in all of Skyrim? You're having a go at me, you have to be.”

It was a rare delight to see the disbelief in his pretty features.

“She came all the way to Solitude once. Didn't come to Gileva's herself, but sent someone. Gileva thought I'd be a good pick.”

“And?” Celeon propped himself up by his elbow, eying me eagerly.

“And, she fucked me. The end.”

“Uuughh,” he groaned, tilting his head back in his over-dramatic way. “Details, Eishilde, details! Or would you rather I tell you about my most interesting trysts?”

He quirked a brow, eyes back on me, and I rolled mine in return. I absolutely did not want to hear about his lovemaking. Not that it really mattered to me, but Celeon would over-embellish his tales and probably offer more details than anyone needed.

“She was fond of rope, lots of it, and was just as wicked in bed as I've heard she can be in person. Now that's all you're getting and no, I don't want to hear your own stories.”

With that I rolled back over, unable to handle his gaze any longer. Fortunately he exhaled a chuckle and I felt him shift, laying back again to stare elsewhere.

“Rope, huh? Did you enjoy it?”

“My skin was sore the next day.”

“That doesn't answer my question...”

“It was work, Celeon. I enjoyed the coin I got, that's all. What does it matter anyway?”

“Oh, no reason, just curious...”

We were quiet for a few long moments, and despite it all my thoughts drifted back to that night I'd been bought by the matriarch. I hadn't liked the woman, but she hand't been the worst.

“Maven Black-Briar...” Celeon muttered beside me, exhaling a breathy chuckle; his thoughts clearly in the same place as mine.

“If you start touching yourself in this tent, then I'm kicking you out into the snow.”

He laughed, so loud I nearly kicked him out anyway.

[prismaticxchromatics]

Pride & Prejudice (2005) Director: Joe Wright

“What are men when compared to rocks and mountains?”

[theworldiswhispering]

Ok but like what Are men. Compared to rocks and mountains??

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Where Can Wisdom Be Found?

1 For there is a place for the silver, whence it comes, and a place for the gold, whence it is refined.

2 For iron comes out of the earth, and brass is hewn out like stone.

3 He has set a bound to darkness, and he searches out every limit: a stone is darkness, and the shadow of death.

4 There is a cutting off the torrent by reason of dust: so they that forget the right way are weakened; they are removed from among men.

5 As for the earth, out of it shall come bread: under it has been turned up as it were fire.

6 Her stones are the place of the sapphire: and her dust supplies man with gold.

7 There is a path, the fowl has not known it, neither has the eye of the vulture seen it:

8 neither have the sons of the proud trodden it, a lion has not passed upon it.

9 He has stretched forth his hand on the sharp rock, and turned up mountains by the roots:

10 and he has interrupted the whirlpools of rivers, and mine eye has seen every precious thing.

11 And he has laid bare the depths of rivers, and has brought his power to light.

12 But whence has wisdom been discovered? and what is the place of knowledge?

13 A mortal has not known its way, neither indeed has it been discovered among men.

14 The depth said, It is not in me: and the sea said, It is not with me.

15 One shall not give fine gold instead of it, neither shall silver be weighed in exchange for it.

16 Neither shall it be compared with gold of Sophir, with the precious onyx and sapphire.

17 Gold and crystal shall not be equalled to it, neither shall vessels of gold be its exchange.

18 Coral and fine pearl shall not be mentioned: but do thou esteem wisdom above the most precious things.

19 The topaz of Ethiopia shall not be equalled to it; it shall not be compared with pure gold.

20 Whence then is wisdom found? and of what kind is the place of understanding?

21 It has escaped the notice of every man, and has been hidden from the birds of the sky.

22 Destruction and Death said, We have heard the report of it.

23 God has well ordered the way of it, and he knows the place of it.

24 For he surveys the whole earth under heaven, knowing the things in the earth:

25 all that he has made; the weight of the winds, the measures of the water.

26 When he made them, thus he saw and numbered them, and made a way for the pealing of the thunder.

27 Then he saw it, and declared it: he prepared it and traced it out.

28 And he said to man, Behold, godliness is wisdom: and to abstain from evil is understanding. — Job 27 | Brenton's Septuagint Translation (BST) Brenton Septuagint Translation of the Holy Bible, 1884. Cross References: Deuteronomy 1:45; Job 2:3; Job 3:15; Job 4:11; Job 6:28-29; Job 7:8; Job 7:10; Job 8:15; Job 9:18; Job 12:10; Job 13:12; Job 15:20; Job 15:29; Job 18:18-19; Job 22:26-27; Job 31:35; Psalm 90:5; Jeremiah 13:14; Luke 12:20

[k-she-rambles]

You may think them wonderful, but I have seen a greater wonder in this land, more beautiful than any grove or glade that ever grew: my heart is still full of it.   'Strange are the ways of Men, Legolas! Here they have one of the marvels of the Northern World, and what do they say of it? Caves, they say! Caves! Holes to fly to in time of war, to store fodder in! My good Legolas, do you know that the caverns of Helm's Deep are vast and beautiful? There would be an endless pilgrimage of Dwarves, merely to gaze at them, if such things were known to be. Aye indeed, they would pay pure gold for a brief glance!'   'And I would give gold to be excused,' said Legolas; 'and double to be let out, if I strayed in!'   'You have not seen, so I forgive your jest,' said Gimli. 'But you speak like a fool. Do you think those halls are fair, where your King dwells under the hill in Mirkwood, and Dwarves helped in their making long ago? They are but hovels compared with the caverns I have seen here: immeasurable halls, filled with an everlasting music of water that tinkles into pools, as fair as Kheled-zâram in the starlight.   'And, Legolas, when the torches are kindled and men walk on the sandy floors under the echoing domes, ah! then, Legolas, gems and crystals and veins of precious ore glint in the polished walls; and the light glows through folded marbles, shell-like, translucent as the living hands of Queen Galadriel. There are columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose, Legolas, fluted and twisted into dreamlike forms; they spring up from many-coloured floors to meet the glistening pendants of the roof: wings, ropes, curtains fine as frozen clouds; spears, banners, pinnacles of suspended palaces! Still lakes mirror them: a glimmering world looks up from dark pools covered with clear glass; cities, such as the mind of Durin could scarce have imagined in his sleep, stretch on through avenues and pillared courts, on into the dark recesses where no light can come. And plink! a silver drop falls, and the round wrinkles in the glass make all the towers bend and waver like weeds and corals in a grotto of the sea. Then evening comes: they fade and twinkle out; the torches pass on into another chamber and another dream. There is chamber after chamber, Legolas; hall opening out of hall, dome after dome, stair beyond stair; and still the winding paths lead on into the mountains' heart. Caves! The Caverns of Helm's Deep! Happy was the chance that drove me there! It makes me weep to leave them.'   'Then I will wish you this fortune for your comfort, Gimli,' said the Elf, 'that you may come safe from war and return to see them again. But do not tell all your kindred! There seems little left for them to do, from your account. Maybe the men of this land are wise to say little: one family of busy dwarves with hammer and chisel might mar more than they made.'   'No, you do not understand,' said Gimli. 'No dwarf could be unmoved by such loveliness. None of Durin's race would mine those caves for stones or ore, not if diamonds and gold could be got there. Do you cut down groves of blossoming trees in the springtime for firewood? We would tend these glades of flowering stone, not quarry them. With cautious skill, tap by tap – a small chip of rock and no more, perhaps, in a whole anxious day – so we could work, and as the years went by, we should open up new ways, and display far chambers that are still dark, glimpsed only as a void beyond fissures in the rock. And lights, Legolas! We should make lights, such lamps as once shone in Khazad-dûm; and when we wished we would drive away the night that has lain there since the hills were made; and when we desired rest, we would let the night return.'

Just leaving the whole thing here