Being tender and open is beautiful. As a woman I feel continuously shhh'ed. Too sensitive. Too mushy. Too wishy washy. Blah blah. Don’t let someone steal your tenderness. Don’t allow the coldness and fear of others to tarnish your perfectly vulnerable beating heart. Nothing is more powerful than allowing yourself to truly be affected by things. Whether it’s a song, a stranger, a mountain, a raindrop, a tea kettle, an article, a sentence, a footstep, feel it all - look around you. All of this is for you. Take it and have gratitude. Give it and feel love.
—  the lovely miss Zooey Deschanel

I remember my father atop a splintered picnic bench. Tattered overalls, stained in sweat and dirt, and his skin, an apple red from the oppressive sun. I sat, splashing about in a play pool, wearing my favorite swimsuit – it was violet, the neckline trimmed with flowing ruffles.
“We nearly have two pennies to rub together, Helen,” he had said to my mother. My father was a laborer, picking up odd jobs here and there, yet there hadn’t been an odd job there for the picking in a while.
“It’ll be fine Charlie, we’ll get by,” my mother assured. But she, too, had become weary; her hopeful spirit, heavy in the thick air.
My mother was a baker, by hobby not trade. She was talented and resourceful; I’m not sure which came first: the cupboards we often better used for hiding spots than for storage, but somehow there was always the right amount of something for her to do her thing. It was what kept her smiling, moving forward. Even then, I could sense the purpose she felt with each knead of dough. Folks would pop by, knocking about on the back door, “Hey there, your mama got anymore of those tasty Helen’s helpings?” She’d sell them for what she could. People seemed to like them. And what she didn’t sell, we ate before they spoiled. My mother wasn’t a waster.
I watched my father that summer day, as he sat, staring, unresponsive to my playful quips. He’d break his fixation only to wipe the sweat from his brow – just before it’d reach his eyes – like a toy, wound at random, moving mechanically, slowly returning to its original pose. I remember thinking he looked broken. There was even a moment where it seemed he was about to cry; I had never seen a grown man cry. But then he stood, staring blankly on, before letting out a heavy sigh, kicking up the dirt drive as he exited. My mother quickly followed after. And I sat there for some time, cautiously so. I hadn’t even lifted my hands above the water’s surface, fearful to make a disturbance, each fingertip slowly turning pruney.
As the afternoon turned ripe, my mother came to retrieve me. I tagged along beside her, as she delivered packages of tarts and biscuits in the ease of the dusk breeze. To stay entertained, I gave myself a task, one that required my eyes to survey the ground. “Sadie, watch where you’re going sweetie, you’re sure to run into something if you don’t start paying attention,” my mother had warned. But I didn’t, and by the time my mother had finished her task, I had finished mine.
The wind picked up that evening: a distant rain shower’s fair warning. Father moved slowly about the house, bringing the windows to a close. I had slipped quietly down the staircase, breaking away from my obedient, nightly routine.He looked up as the floor creaked, “Hey kiddo, you should be in bed.”
I walked straight up to my father’s sturdy base, outstretching my arm, like flora slowly reaching toward the sun. My clenched hand, holding two pennies, made its way to the inside of his tough palm. I remember rubbing them between my thumb and pointer finger after finding them that afternoon: my child’s mind, pure and literal, at work.
I could see in the perplexity of my father’s face, his mind pulling the pieces together. And then he wiped his eyes with the back of one hand, the two pennies nearly drowning in the other. My mother had stood, motionless, trying to shield her presence within the frame of the doorway. I turned and exited, thinking nothing more than how happy by father must be to have his two pennies to rub together again, swinging my arms, proudly and carefree, returning to bed, a child, untarnished.

J. Zyglis


Thou & The Body - “Manifest Alchemy”

Wandering steps, obedient to high thoughts. Awful ruins of the days of old, progeny enslaved to all its author’s flaws. Are we but warped extensions? We have the power to begin again, untarnished world at hand. Recognize the open horizon, a consciousness that reaches all. We have opened the secret passage into the dream that never ends, a new reality of our own creation, an empire without end. Released from guilt, released from pain, released from love, released from trust – we are annointed in the sacred power, we are enshrined in ourselves.

Ulquiorra’s Human Past
  • 15th Century Spain Ulquiorra is born into a noble family as the last and youngest of five children.
  • Born mute Ulquiorra is shunned and ignored by his family and looked down upon by noble society. As he grows people become less and less tolerant of him and his silence, seeing his presence as useless and his constant stares as unnerving until his family finally bans him from society all together in order to save face and keep their noble name untarnished by his oddity. 
  • Ulquiorra spend the years between 12-17 in forced solitude. He is never allowed to leave the family estate and grounds and locked in his room when visitors come.
  • As Ulquiorra’s brothers and sisters grow up and marry Ulquiorra’s ageing parents fear leaving him in the care of their normal children as they do not want them burdened 
  • On his 17th birthday Ulquiorra’s mother an father drown him in the river running through their estate while on a picnic with their son there as a celebration of the occasion. 
  • They let the body go and it is never found. 
  • When accused of murdering their son the excuse give is that the simply went for a walk and must have slipped and fell in. They could not hear him call for help because he is mute. No action is taken against them. 
  • Ulquiorra’s hollow is in his heart because he was betrayed and murdered by his own parents who should have loved him unconditionally despite the fact that he was different. 


NDFashionMonth | Day 1: Character with your Favorite Outfit | Niobe Papadaki (x)

The instant I saw Niobe’s stunning white dress in Labyrinth of Lies, I was in love. Not only did I love it because it represents one of my favorite eras in history, but because it captivates who Niobe is. She’s pure and innocent, much like the untarnished ivory color of her beautiful gown. With her hair in a loose bun and her frock draped over one shoulder, Niobe displays her radiance as well as her elegance. She’s a free-spirit whose passionate about her art, and her sensational outfit says that loud and clear.

Fanfic (created by me)

“Todd?” Viola whispered, her voice begging to the grey sky above that he would open his eyes. Viola could hear him, small thoughts still breaking the silence within his noise, thoughts filled with darkness and Manchee and Ben and Cillian and Davy, and her. She smiled back at herself from within his noise. The picture of serenity, of peace, beauty. Untarnished by what she had done within the war.

Was this, how Todd had always seen her?


After passing out of committee unanimously a couple of weeks ago, the Corker-Menendez Iran Nuclear Agreement Review Act — now amended and rechristened as Corker-Cardin — goes before the full Senate. If it maintains the form that Sens. Bob Corker and Ben Cardin agreed on, it will easily pass the Senate. And if, after that, it somehow worms through the House untarnished, the president has said he will sign it. Congress will get its review of the deal. But will that review be worth anything?

It wouldn’t help Republicans to add a bunch of poison pills to this bill, but you try telling Marco Rubio that

The very meaninglessness of life forces man to create his own meaning. Children, of course, begin life with an untarnished sense of wonder, a capacity to experience total joy at something as simple as the greenness of a leaf; but as they grow older, the awareness of death and decay begins to impinge on their consciousness and subtly erode their joie de vivre, their idealism – and their assumption of immortality. As a child matures, he sees death and pain everywhere about him, and begins to lose faith in the ultimate goodness of man. But, if he’s reasonably strong – and lucky – he can emerge from this twilight of the soul into a rebirth of life’s elan. Both because of and in spite of his awareness of the meaninglessness of life, he can forge a fresh sense of purpose and affirmation. He may not recapture the same pure sense of wonder he was born with, but he can shape something far more enduring and sustaining. The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent; but if we can come to terms with this indifference and accept the challenges of life within the boundaries of death – however mutable man may be able to make them – our existence as a species can have genuine meaning and fulfillment. However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light
—  Stanley Kubrick
Desert Storm |closed| thalloxhale


Many young, up and coming heroes see the Avengers as a means to smite evil and save the world. Had such things been that simple Thor would undoubtedly praised the life of constant battle for there was never anything as riveting as such. 

However, much of being an Avenger was political as it was protecting, and right now Thor was flying over the vast, dry desert of Midgard to Wakanda for one very political reason. 

Having passed over the tall dunes with all haste, Thor soon found himself gazing at the shining walls of Wakanda, or at least what was left of it’s brilliance. The war against Ultron had left no sacred place untarnished by the creatures relenting domination over the planet. Many heroes were still left, but somewhere in the back of Thor’s mind he wondered if it would be enough. 

Lowering himself from the sky, Thor gently stepped upon the uneven cobble stone main road, the cracks already scumming to the weeds that grew between them. “Hail Azari! I’ve come with news.” Thor declared and rose his hand in greeting.

Untarnished, Fleeting Moments: Wow!

The thing I find about being an adult, and being a traveler (the way i travel) is that every moment I’ll experience, and every emotion that creeps up behind those moments will soon be leaving.

Can you recall that moment in life, childhood perhaps, when everything inside and out was alright? Purely alright? And not just an untarnished fleeting moment?

But today, I held on as long as possible, not thinking about the food I’d eat when I left the fields, or the cold waiting for me up the hill. This was a “wow” moment. The long ride from Amsterdam to Hillegom, the cold breeze, and frozen hands became inconsequential. My voice escaped without permission to say “thank you, God, for this.”

“I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it. People think pleasing God is all God cares about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.” - Alice Walker

I could have stayed there all day, basking in God.


Deep inside me, I keep secrets. I fear they will one day have the power to mold my future. Somehow strength rises within me and I manage to repress and bury them deep in the darkest parts of my soul. I get a feeling of hypocrisy but I say I have faith that I can be strong enough to destroy them, banish them from my existence. Knowing full well faith doesn’t work like that, I still hold on to it with what’s left of my untarnished soul. I’ve learned to fight these secrets and the images they carry to avoid further corruption of my mind and torture of my heart. They disguise themselves and attach to the small fragments of happiness and I fight daily for survival. They are a virus and have the ability to multiply vigorously. Now is when I use my power. I sever the connection from my heart to my mind. It isn’t as simple a plan as I write. I dig my nails in, plant my feet flat on the ground, close my eyes and clear my mind. I connecting myself with the very essence of the earth and the Greater Powers that are. I fight back with every once of energy to avoid my complete destruction. I harness the power loaned to me and shape it into a blade of blinding light so it cuts through the darkness. One by one, I slice the feelings these secrets send toward my heart and I begin to feel my strength grow. I slowly regain control, numb my heart and make my mind the only thing that guides me. I show my gratitude for the power I was loaned. I return the energy and I begin to come back to reality. Slowly I regain feeling in my body, my eyes open and my mind awakens. The moment has passed and again I control of my thoughts and I choose what I want to feel. The secrets are again hidden and I can breathe.


Her birth brought change.

In ways very few anticipated.

The greatest accomplishment of her life was teaching Death he could safely let himself feel again. That she, if no one else, cared nothing for his purpose in life.. All she craved was a seat in his lap, a perch on his arm; a place she could call home for as long as she lived.

After all, she was the untarnished result of Fintan mac Bóchra’s own unorthodox love for the great hawk he shared his unyielding days with so long ago.

littleladyelsie, since you never really knew her backstory. I felt like it was time to explain what lore I rewrote for Serianca’s mythological race.

i have very little tolerance for people that feel like modern adaptations of shakespeare plays are less legitimate. 

just had a rousing debate with a real stubborn prescriptivist and it’s like. dude. get the stick out of your ass and enjoy yourself. like if u think that theater is only valid when it has some deep earth-shattering untarnished meaning that has been exactly the same since when it was written then u need to seriously rethink why you’re involved with theater. 

I’ll be there

Damaged goods? 

What’s untarnished in this world.

Name your problems, go ahead, I’ll wait

List every single thing wrong, or you hate.

And when you’re done and we are both

Blue in the face,

Please tell me why I don’t want to stay away.

You aren’t perfect, and I’m far as can be

but Goddamn it you were perfect for me.

I want to be your real, true friend

Until the absolute end.

But I just can’t let

Those hopes of you and I

lay down to finally die. 

Don’t feel guilty, like it’s your fault

This is just something I can’t give up.

Whether you believe, or if you’re skeptical of it

You are the reason I haven’t ended all this. 

You tell me you want me in you life,

and this wish I live by.

Ask me not to die by my own hand,

Well Kitten-ko, your wish is my command.

There are a lot of people here on Tumblr and elsewhere who, whatever their reasons, feel passionately about spreading awareness of whatever particular cause they’re channeling.

Sometimes it’s not so much that they’re wrong, as it is that their conclusions are the result of a lack of appropriate experience. It comes across as dumb and ignorant and it’s made annoying by them trying to tell you what you should think. That obnoxiousness, that tendency to get in your face to tell you, despite your relevant wealth of experience, that you’re doing it wrong, can be irritating to anyone.

But you have a choice not to care. Honestly, most of them tend to be young, inexperienced, idealistic, and untarnished by real experience with life. Even when they aren’t young… It doesn’t have to be your problem whether they generally have a problem with an abstract idea of you or people.

There are, and always will be, more important things than stressing about someone being fantastically wrong and spreading that idiocy. One day they’ll probably learn… or they won’t, but either way, it’s not usually worth your time.

If you do decide to do something about it, do it smartly, do it dispassionately, and move on.

As we balance precariously on the edge of Earth’s crust
We stretch our untarnished fingers towards the abyss, hoping to catch a star
But our hands close around the utter stillness of the empty expanse
We reach and reach, but then we fall
And for what?
Because we’re already surrounded by stars!
They rotate lazily, aimlessly through the universe
Yet exude such admirable radiance that Earth cannot help but succumb to gravity
There is a star, oh so tangible,
In every person,
Every animal,
Every blade of grass in existence
Anyone can lift a hand and touch a flower
But not everyone can plant the seed
Not everyone can nurture a sprout and harvest its potential
Not everyone can produce brilliant radiance, like that of a sun
Everyone can reach for the stars
The challenge is putting them in the sky
—  “Quest”

thecrashingriver asked:

What Iexactly does the term "storm cone" mean?

Hrm… it’s a bit difficult to describe, since the best I can come up with is ‘warning sign’.

Basically, though, it’s something often associated with Sues and which may suggest that one of my definition’s characteristics is present, but which does not in itself necessarily make a character a Sue.

For example, I often see people calling out characters who are astonishingly beautiful, but I consider astonishing beauty to be a storm cone; it may suggest that the character is on tricky ground (especially if their beauty starts being untarnishable), but a character can be astonishingly beautiful without being a Sue.