The Birth and Death of Day

Gone

@humanhunterpapyrus

364 Days after the Twins birth
1 day remaining until the return

Charlotte’s flowers had gone silent. Not a single word whispered from their petals. The secret cave behind the waterfall had remained untouched since her death. It wouldn’t be long before the water would part and she would emerge once again.

The twins played quietly on the floor. Now at the age of 5 in human time, they had learned to walk and talk properly. They were creative and outgoing girls that adored their family. They did their best to stay happy for their father and, for a while, succeeded…until he found the echo flowers had gone quiet.

There is a time to be born and a time to die

It seems to me that the birth referred to here is our salvation, as is suggested by the prophet Isaiah. This reaches its full term and is not stillborn when, having been conceived by the fear of God, the soul’s own birth pangs bring it to the light of day. We are in a sense our own parents, and we give birth to ourselves by our own free choice of what is good. Such a choice becomes possible for us when we have received God into ourselves and have become children of God, children of the Most High. On the other hand, if what the Apostle calls the form of Christ has not been produced in us, we abort ourselves. The man of God must reach maturity.

Now if the meaning of a timely birth is clear, so also is the meaning of a timely death. For Saint Paul every moment was a time to die, as he proclaims in his letters: I swear by the pride I take in you that I face death every day. Elsewhere he says: For your sake we are put to death daily and we felt like men condemned to death. How Paul died daily is perfectly obvious. He never gave himself up to a sinful life but kept his body under constant control. He carried death with him, Christ’s death, wherever he went. He was always being crucified with Christ. It was not his own life he lived; it was Christ who lived in him. This surely was a timely death—a death whose end was true life.

I put to death and I shall give life, God says, teaching us that death to sin and life in the Spirit is his gift, and promising that whatever he puts to death he will restore to life again.

—Saint Gregory of Nyssa

But what nobody realized was that Sirius was really was The Grim.

As James and Peter went around with Mandrake leaves under their tongues, Sirius pretended to be in just as much pain as they were, though of course, he didn’t have to go through the process of becoming an Animagus.

He could already transform into an animal.

He’d been able to do it since birth. He blamed his parents and the alcohol laced with dark magic that his mother drunk when she was pregnant.

He didn’t mean to kill. He didn’t want to kill. But sometimes, he couldn’t help it. Even in his human form, he was still able to send out the death sentence. It first happened to their owl, Mort. Sirius had cried for days, blaming himself, as his parents rapped on his door and screamed for him to shut up.

But Mort’s death taught him a very important lesson - his sentence was passed on whenever he looked someone in the eye for more than three seconds.

An odd sort of specification but then again, the entire world was odd.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter were the first victims. He didn’t mean it. He really didn’t. They had told him that they both loved him. He had looked up, he had looked them in the eyes, tearful and touched, saying that he loved them too. He had realized his mistake a few moments later but it was too late.

They died a year later, mere minutes apart.

Dragonpox.

Reg suffered a similar fate. He had come to Sirius’ flat, begging for forgiveness. Sirius had pulled him into a hug and when the brothers drew back, Sirius had looked him in the eye to ell him how much he loved him and how proud he was. He didn’t think that he had looked for three whole seconds - he certainly hadn’t meant to - and he did everything within his power to take it back.

Too late.

Regulus disappeared several weeks later. His body still hasn’t been found.

There were only four times in his entire life that Sirius deliberately used his powers. The first two times were right after his brother’s death. He threw on his cloak and went into London, staring at a row of townhouses until another one appeared. He rapped on the door. Kreacher answered and Sirius coldly told him to retrieve Orion and Walburga. They came forward and Sirius stared at them both, a stare filled with so much hate and disdain that it caused his eyes to water. He then turned on his heel and marched away without a word. Orion died a month later. Walburga was gone within the year.

That still didn’t make up for what he had done to Regulus.

James and Lily tried to comfort him, they tried to make him see that it was just a coincidence. And when they looked him in the eye and told him how much they loved him, he looked back.

Voldemort came several months later.

And when the rat transformed back into his true form, startling several teenagers in the process. As they bound him and dragged him out of the Shrieking Shack, Sirius grabbed Peter’s shoulder and stared at him, cold and calculated. It took a few years but as the silver fingers wrapped around his throat in that dusty dungeon, Peter knew that it was Sirius’ doing. It was the second time he deliberately used his powers.

He never looked Harry in the eye. He didn’t know if his godson ever noticed but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, ever be the one to give him that death sentence.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed fond of giving many people death sentences. Sirius had always hated him, as had James and Lily. Remus had been loyal to him thanks to the services that the old goat had so kindly given to him. Sirius tried to tell him that he was being manipulated but he wouldn’t hear it. But Sirius knew. He was a manipulative bastard. Damn him. And when he forced Sirius to stand up, when he forced him to look Snape in the eye, when he forced him to shake his hand, Sirius knew. For whatever reason, the goat needed the snake to die. 

Well, two could play at that game.

And so, as he let go, Sirius turned and stared Dumbledore down. The third time he deliberately used his powers.

He didn’t know if Fred was his fault. He wanted to think that it wasn’t. Then again, the taller half of the twins had grabbed him excitedly, telling him all about how they had found the Marauders Map. Sirius had clapped him on the back, roaring with laughter. He didn’t think that he had looked him in the eye. He couldn’t be sure.

Several months later, when Moody, Remus, and Tonks burst into the room to tell him that Harry was going to the Department of Mysteries, Sirius leapt to his feet and stared back and forth as the three of them recounted their intel. He realized his mistake a few minutes later. He only hoped that they would forgive him.

His last deliberate attempt was next to the archway. The light had hit him in the chest. And right before he fell, Harry’s screams in his ears, he stared at Bellatrix. If he was going down then so was she.

Shortly before she went down, Sirius used his powers one last time when a boy, a man, pressed his lips to the Snitch. He appeared in that forest and he looked his godson in the eye for the first time, telling him that they were always with him, silently expressing how much he loved him.

And then he watched him die.

Your httyd dragon and its name!

Dragon:
Your birth month:
January: Monstrous Nightmare
February: Razorwhip
March: Gronckle
April: Stormcutter
May: Death Song
June: Scauldron
July: Zippleback
August: Rumblehorn
September: Deadly Nadder
October: Night Fury
November: Skrill
December: Triple Stryke

Name:
Your birth day:
1-3 Wind
4-6 Sky
7-9 Storm
10-12 Cloud
13-15 Fire
16-18 Night
19-21 Sharp
22-24Thunder
25-27 Dark
28-31 Spark

Your first initial:

A-C Shear
D-F Wing
G-K Terror
L-N Fly
O-Q Jumper
R-S Song
T-V Star
W-Z Flash

Mine is a Razorwhip named Stormwing! What about you? @toothless-dragon-riders (my httyd blog)

anonymous asked:

#96 + Kabby!!

I brought you an umbrella. 

Abby is the most intelligent, most talented, and cleverest person he’s ever met who somehow can’t quite understand the concept of weather. 

It’s something new to get used to, he understands. Their time on the Ark was a climate controlled environment, a sameness which meant that you could wear basically the same thing every day, from birth until death. Still, even after months on the ground and the obvious changes in temperature, he still feels like he spends half the winter reminding her to button up her jacket or fishing her forgotten gloves out from his back pocket. 

He doesn’t mind, really; he always makes it a point to reach out and grab her frigid hand in his and rub the warmth back into them briefly, tsking at her thoughtlessness before slipping her gloves over them. Sometimes her hands are too clumsy or too cold to button up the jacket on her own, which gives him the excuse to step in close and do it for her. 

Part of him wonders if she doesn’t do it on purpose - some hidden desire of closeness and intimacy coloring her usually sharp memory. He mostly tries to shake off that conspiratorial part of his brain, consigning it to his own deep desires. (Still, he doesn’t think he imagines the flush to her cheeks or the deeply satisfied smile on her face any time that it happens.)

Once the weather clears and signs of Spring begin to pop up through the quickly thawing ground, he becomes aware of another bit of weather that Abby seems intent on ignoring: rain. 

He and Abby are sitting outside one cool Spring night, enjoying the setting sun as they eat their dinner, when droplets of water begin to fall gently from the sky. It’s soft - a sprinkle, really, rather than a downpour - but he can tell that they’ll be damp from it before long. He picks up his food and turns to head inside, is almost halfway to the door when he turns back and realizes that Abby is still sitting at the table. He furrows his brow as she smiles up at him, tilting her head back and closing her eyes against the softly falling rain. The crystalline droplets cling to her eyelashes and slowly wind their way down to the ends of her hair in a way that he can only describe as entrancing. 

He watches her for as long as he can without it being too obvious that he’s staring before he clears his throat and rests a hand on her shoulder. 

“We should head inside before it starts coming down heavier. Don’t want to get sick just as the weather’s warming up.” 

She sighs and nods, briefly rests her head against his hand as she begins to speak. 

“There’s something relaxing about it, you know? The smell of the rain. The sound of it out here.” She smiles and stands up, close enough that her shoulder brushes up against his. “It just doesn’t sound the same once we’re inside.” 

He smiles back at her and nods, walks quietly back into the halls of Arkadia as he thinks about what she’s just said. 


A week later, he sees her sitting outside at a table just as he’s returning from a trading post. From the look of the sky, he’s just barely beaten a rainstorm that’s sure to hit their makeshift town at any moment. 

He’s proven right just as he gets to the table she’s sitting at and tiny raindrops begin to fall from the sky. They’re small, but falling quickly; he can tell that their clothes will be soaked through in a matter of minutes if they stay out here. 

Abby, of course, has made no movement to get up despite this. Instead, she leans back with her eyes closed and a calm look on her face, taking in the sound of the rain. 

He smiles as he walks up to her and in one smooth moment, takes the item from his backpack and spreads it out above her. 

She opens her eyes and blinks up at him when she feels the rain stop abruptly, tilts her head at the contraption above her. 

He widens his smile and steps closer to her. 

“I know you like being out here when it rains, but I also like you like not being sick, so,” he pauses as he shifts his hand slightly above her, “I brought you an umbrella.” 

She looks between him and the umbrella and laughs, a tinkling sound that mixes with the steady sound of the rain overhead. 

“Thank you, Marcus,” she says softly, then furrows her brow thoughtfully. “Just one thing.” 

He raises his eyebrow at her. 

She smiles and stands, moves closer to him and grabs the hand that’s holding the umbrella over her and positioning it so that it easily covers them both. She hesitates for a brief moment before wrapping her arm around his waist and drawing herself next to him. 

It’s an awkward position for him - his arm holding the umbrella acting as a bar between them. He shifts the umbrella to his other hand and steps in closer to her, draping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her flush with him. 

He hears her sigh contentedly before she drops her head to rest it on his shoulder. 

He smiles and squeezes her arm. 

“Ok?” 

He feels her smile against him as she nods. 

“Perfect.” 

In Everything God Works for Good 
with Those Who Love Him.

“This is surely the most astonishing verse in the Bible, for it certainly doesn’t look as if all things work for good. What awful things our lives contain! But if God, the all-powerful Creator and Designer and Provider of our lives, is 100 percent love, then it necessarily follows, as the night the day, that everything in his world, from birth to death, from kisses to slaps, from candy to cancer, comes to us out of God’s active or permissive love.

It is incredibly simple and perfectly reasonable. It is only our adult complexity that makes it look murky. As G.K. Chesterton says, life is always complicated for someone without principles. Here is the shining simplicity: if God is total love, then everything he wills for me must come from his love and be for my good. For that is what love is, the willing of the beloved’s good. And if this God of sheer love is also omnipotent and can do anything he wills, then it follows that all things must work together for my ultimate good.

Not necessarily for my immediate good, for short-range harm may be the necessary road to long-range good. And not necessarily for my apparent good, for appearances may be deceiving. Thus suffering does not seem good. But it can always work for my real and ultimate good. Even the bad things I and others do, though they do not come from God, are allowed by God because they are included in his plan. You can’t checkmate, corner, surprise, or beat him. “He’s got the whole world in his hands,” as the old gospel chorus tells us. And he’s got my whole life in his hands, too. He could take away any evil—natural, human, or demonic—like swatting a fly. He allows it only because it works out for our greater good in the end, just as it did with Job.

In fact, every atom in the universe moves exactly as it does only because omnipotent Love designed it so. Dante was right: it is “the love that moves the sun and all the stars.” This is not poetic fancy but sober, logical fact. Therefore, the most profound thing you can say really is this simple children’s grace for meals: “God is great and God is good; let us thank him for our food. Amen!” I had always believed in God’s love and God’s omnipotence. But once I put the two ideas together, saw the unavoidable logical conclusion (Rom 8:28), and applied this truth to my life, I could never again see the world the same way. If God is great (omnipotent) and God is good (loving), then everything that happens is our spiritual food; and we can and should thank him for it. Yet how often we fail to recognize and appreciate this simple but profound truth.”

- Peter Kreeft,  The Three Most Profound Ideas I Have Ever Had

There was a time I could say no one I knew well had died. This is not to suggest no one died. When I was eight my mother became pregnant. She went to the hospital to give birth and returned without the baby. Where’s the baby? we asked. Did she shrug? She was the kind of woman who liked to shrug; deep within her was an everlasting shrug. That didn’t seem like a death. The years went by and people only died on television—if they weren’t Black, they were wearing black or were terminally ill. Then I returned home from school one day and saw my father sitting on the steps of our home. He had a look that was unfamiliar; it was flooded, so leaking. I climbed the steps as far away from him as I could get. He was breaking or broken. Or, to be more precise, he looked to me like someone understanding his aloneness. Loneliness. His mother was dead. I’d never met her. It meant a trip back home for him. When he returned he spoke neither about the airplane nor the funeral.
   
   
   
Every movie I saw while in the third grade compelled me to ask, Is he dead? Is she dead? Because the characters often live against all odds it is the actors whose mortality concerned me. If it were an old, black-and-white film, whoever was around would answer yes. Months later the actor would show up on some latenight talk show to promote his latest efforts. I would turn and say—one always turns to say—You said he was dead. And the misinformed would claim, I never said he was dead. Yes, you did. No, I didn’t. Inevitably we get older; whoever is still with us says, Stop asking me that.
 
 
  
Or one begins asking oneself that same question differently. Am I dead? Though this question at no time explicitly translates into Should I be dead, eventually the suicide hotline is called. You are, as usual, watching television, the eight-o’clock movie, when a number flashes on the screen: I-800-SUICIDE. You dial the number. Do you feel like killing yourself? the man on the other end of the receiver asks. You tell him, I feel like I am already dead. When he makes no response you add, I am in death’s position. He finally says, Don’t believe what you are thinking and feeling. Then he asks, Where do you live?
   
Fifteen minutes later the doorbell rings. You explain to the ambulance attendant that you had a momentary lapse of happily. The noun, happiness, is a static state of some Platonic ideal you know better than to pursue. Your modifying process had happily or unhappily experienced a momentary pause. This kind of thing happens, perhaps is still happening. He shrugs and in turn explains that you need to come quietly or he will have to restrain you. If he is forced to restrain you, he will have to report that he is forced to restrain you. It is this simple: Resistance will only make matters more difficult. Any resistance will only make matters worse. By law, I will have to restrain you. His tone suggests that you should try to understand the difficulty in which he finds himself. This is further disorienting. I am fine! Can’t you see that! You climb into the ambulance unassisted.
—  Claudia Rankine, excerpt from Don’t Let Me Be Lonely 
2

“It was as though Dean and I were twins who had been separated at birth and found one another years later. We knew each other’s strengths and shortcomings, and our trust was instantaneous.” - Jerry Lewis

“When we shook hands on our partnership, I said in my heart, this is forever, ‘til death do us part.” - Dean Martin

“If you bottled that, you could save the world. It was this camaraderie they had—a shared sense of humor. It was just a delight.” - Peter Bogdanovich

Martin and Lewis (July 25, 1946 - July 25, 1956 ∞)

Alim

In the beginning was the blackness
and the blackness proved a darkness,
Yet the darkness hummed a silence
empty of love, devoid of violence,

Then burst the elemental mass
with all the thunder of fine glass,
Had the speed of furious light
and heat that brought day to night,

O! the stars were born and died
spanning worlds a cosmos wide,
T'was from their dust I roused and breathed
petals bloomed, and tombs they wreathed,

Now as I walk the lovely earth
I think of this, recalling birth,
For from the blackness we were made
and to the darkness we will fade,

But in the light some men think god
others look for another lord,
They know of death, they’re singing hymns
while in their hearts lay sweetest dreams.

laurapirjo  asked:

How come every year more people turn vegan but every year more meat is produced and consumed by almost every country? Will you ever address that??

Ive mentioned that in a stack of vids brah. Carb up and pay attention plz instead of spewing so much hate my way.

The reason is the developing countries want more western lifestyle product and meat is one of them so meat consumption is going up.

Also more people on the planet EVERY DAY so meat production and consumption is going up. About 360k births and about 100k deaths so about 260k NEW people needing MORE food born each day.

Also more and more people going vegan in western nations but yeah, not enough and not fast enough to offset the fucking devastation that is INCREASING LITERALLY EVERY FUCKING MINUTE

Our biggest enemies are not even meat eating redneck paleo crew, it is other faux vegans just trying to make a $$ on some drama lol.

TOTAL FUCKING CHAOS!

4

The whales who were the first

I’m for some unknown reason working on a complete timeline of killer whales in human care (every capture, birth, death, transfer - y am I doin dis to myself?), and so I felt like simply making a post of all the whales who were first in something major.

First ever captured - Wanda, 1961. She was likely already sick when she was captured as she was found alone and died after only two days. She was put in Marineland of the Pacific’s largest tank of 540 000 gallons, so roughly like Lolita’s, but with 3000 fish.

The first to perform and swim with a human - Namu, 1964.

The first at SeaWorld - Shamu, 1965.

The first to give birth - Bonnie, 1968.

The first in the UK and Europe overall - Cuddles, 1968.

The first in Australia - Ramu 2, 1970.

The first in France, also the first to be artificially inseminated -  Calypso, 1970.

The first to be rescued, also the first in Germany - Wally, 1970-71.

The first in Japan - Jumbo and Chappy, 1970.

The first to conceive in captivity and the first to have a live calf - Corky 2, 1977.

The first in China - Hoi Wai, 1979.

The first in Spain - Ulises, 1980.

The first in Argentina - Milagro, 1985.

The first succesful mother and calf - Katina and Kalina, 1985. Katina went on to have six more calves and all survived infancy.

The first successful artificial insemination - Kasatka and Nakai, 2001.

2

It’s been a tough few days. My grandmother’s burial service was yesterday and it was extremely emotional but really nice - just her daughters and their families, so it was intimate and close.

It’s been such a week to put things in perspective, between the birth of my niece and the death of my grandmother, so it was good to unplug for a bit and just spend some time with my family.

I was feeling antsy today so I decided to go out for a run. I’ve been off my game a bit, so I just thought I’d go out and run and just kind of see how far I got. I haven’t done any type of real distance since the last 8-miler I did that pretty much sealed the shinjury back in March.

About a mile or so from my house, I noticed for the first time that thistles grow along the pond. I can’t believe I never noticed it because I run and walk there all the time. But today, they just were so obvious. The thistle is the national flower if Scotland, where my grandmother was born, and she always had artwork and little plates and things that featured thistles. I even pinned one of her handkerchiefs with a thistle embroidered on it into my wedding dress (it was my “something borrowed.”) It was just so poignant and beautiful that I’d notice them today (and apologies for the blurry photo - I was running when I took it haha). Now I’ll think of her every time I pass them.

It was super hot (already 85 degrees) and bright sun so the running was tough, but I somehow managed to complete a full 5k. I feel amazing and like I can do anything. Just such a wonderful capstone on a rough week.

Thank you all so much for your incredibly kind words and thoughts. I’ll catch up with you all over the next few days.

2

The Astrology of Jean-Michel Basquiat  

I was having a conversation with a Capricorn friend about Jean-Michel Basquiat. He was a Capricorn as well, so I started talking about his artwork and creative expression. I don’t have a birth time for him, so I’m focusing on planetary aspects (not houses) I created his natal chart on the right. The inner ring is his natal chart and the outer ring are the transits that were taking place when he died at the age of 27 on August 12, 1988.

There is no time of death, but his girlfriend at the time mentioned how Jean-Michel would sleep all day and she became worried when he didn’t come down by mid-afternoon. I chose the time above because transiting Vx (Vertex) was in Pisces right on his natal Moon. The Vertex is not a celestial body. It’s a mathematical point that often points to fated events that are beyond our control.

The one thing that stood out for me when I was looking at his chart and transits, was the Arabian part of fortune. Also known as Arabic parts or lots, the part of fortune is a mathematical calculation. The part of fortune is calculated by Ascendant+Moon-Sun/+ Sun. Like it’s name, the part of fortune points to just that: Fortunate events and gifts. In 1968, Jean-Michel was hit by a car when transiting part of fortune was in Aquarius conjunct his Venus. Venus astrologically is linked to creative/artistic expression and aesthetics. Jean-Michel’s mother bought him an anatomy book while he recovered from multiple injuries. The accident was in fact fortunate for him, because it played a major role in his creative outlook.

Jean-Michel’s moon was in creative and sensitive Pisces. The moon symbolizes the mother archetype, childhood and nurturing. Those with Pisces moon tend to have mother’s who are fragile, creative and victims in some way. Jean-Michel’s mother was institutionalized in 1970 when he was 11 years old. Earth and water are strong in his chart, giving him great artistic vision (water) and the discipline (Earth) to bring creative ideas to fruition. His natal Neptune in dark/sexual Scorpio was Square Venus, Trine Mars and Sextile Pluto. His dark images (Pluto) often had spiritual (Neptune) undertones in them. Symbols such as skulls, crowns and halos were prominent in his work.

His Sun and Moon were in the early degrees of Capricorn/Pisces. Signs in early degrees are often impulsive and an almost obsessive need to forge ahead and move onto the next thing. Cardinal energy is very strong in his chart. Cardinal signs (he has four planets in cardinal signs) are known for being initiators and at 15 he ran away from home and was eventually banned from the household. I find that Capricorns are often like little adults in a child’s body when they’re young. The father figure archetype in the home is often overbearing and the home environment in general is heavy and oppressive in some way. Jean-Michel’s work had a very grave/dark serious tone to it and this probably stemmed from his inner life. His artwork was truly an avant-garde healing tool (Chiron in Aquarius)

His natal Neptune while connected to artistic expression, spirituality and higher consciousness, is also linked to drugs and escapism. In 1997 his depression and drug use increased. While depression impacts all of us at one point in our lives, I find Capricorns in particular struggle with emotional “heaviness.” Jean-Michel’s Jupiter, Saturn and the asteroid Juno were all in Capricorn. His Pisces moon opposed his Pluto/Uranus conjunction. This points to intense, powerful moods that are often overwhelming. At the time of his death, transiting Pluto (Death/transformation) was in Scorpio conjunct his natal Neptune (drugs) Transiting Neptune was also conjunct his Sun as well as transiting North Node in Pisces on his natal Moon. The North Node points to what we struggle with in terms of ones soul-purpose; add Pisces to the mix and struggles surrounding dependence/addiction may arise.

With his Moon in Pisces he may have had issues with boundaries and surrounding himself with the wrong people. There’s a vulnerability about him.

He left behind 917 drawings, 25 sketchbooks, 85 prints and 171 paintings.

Hug me till the cold leaves

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2a7qv1v

by Cheerful_Shipper

Tony Stark has the weird condition of being cold since birth. He has ignored it best he could until one day heat spikes through him for the first time along with a certain star spangled visitor. (Soulmates fic)

Words: 598, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English



read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2a7qv1v

Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne, 22, Played by Deepika Padukone, Taken

 The fourth child and first daughter born to Princess Ariella Martell of Dorne and her consort, Elia is the second Martell child to live past infancy. Born exactly nine years after her elder brother, Doran, Elia was considered to be as much of a miracle as the former. After the miscarriages suffered following Doran, as well as the children who had died in their cradles, it had been expected by nobles and common-folk alike that the young princess would meet a similar fate. It had been clear from the day of her birth that Elia was a sickly child and the maesters had predicted that the illness may never leave her until death’s kiss itself arrived. She had been a frail babe, as if made of glass, yet she had survived her first few days within the world and that alone assured Ariella that her daughter would not meet the same fate as her late infants, Mors and Olyvar.

 It only became even more apparent as Elia grew older that the maesters had been correct; her illness would not leave her. Yet despite her physical weakness, there was a captivating beauty in her frailness. Where she lacked physical strength she made up for with her strong spirit and although her health saddened her a great deal growing up, it had not made her spiteful. Not being able to truly enjoy the Water Gardens with Oberyn, Ashara, and Arthur stung, but she did not have it in her to be bitter about her brother and best friend enjoying their childhoods. Those who have met Elia cannot find it in themselves to deny that her heart is as golden as the sun which represents her house. From her days as a girl in her mother’s arms, Elia hasn’t been known to be anything but gentle and good - except, perhaps, for mischievous from her days as a child in the Water Gardens.

 Ever a princess of Dorne, Elia was as wild and willful at heart as any Martell woman before her. She had learned her lessons of how a highborn lady was to behave, yet it was freedom she craved - freedom from her plaguing health. Her illness had limited her a great deal throughout her childhood and thus Elia could never join Oberyn in his wild and boisterous ways. He had always wanted Elia to be an opponent he could spar against, but where she couldn’t pick up a sword, she picked up a pen instead. Elia indulged herself within books her entire life. A pastime that not only was enjoyable for her, but one her health did not limit. The sweet songs of knights and poems of the Targaryen conquerors engulfed her more than any other activity could.

Traits

  • (+) gracious, clever, charismatic
  • (-) escapist, detached, stubborn

Connections

  • Oberyn Martell: Although the two have always been as different as night and day,  due to only having been born a year apart, Elia and Oberyn have a closer relationship than most siblings. While Oberyn may be the one who takes action, it is Elia who is the mastermind behind everything - thoughtful and calculating to a fault. Even as children, while Oberyn and Ashara would physically be causing havoc, it would be Elia and Arthur who would silently be pulling the strings behind each prank like two puppeteers. Seldom has changed since. The two continue to remain inseparable. It is his opinion that she values the most, which was apparent in her turning down each suitor that he did not approve her. Her oncoming wedding holds many terrors for her and among them is having to leave her brother for good.
  • Arthur Dayne: Elia had only been fourteen when she and Arthur began their six year long courtship against both their better judgments. Arthur had been half-in love with the Princess since childhood, while Elia had idealized him as a child. A match between the Houses Martell and Dayne in itself would not be scandalous by any means, except that Arthur is a second son and Princesses of Dorne, who are also second children, do not marry spares.   While it had been clear from the beginning that this fact, along with her betrothal to Jaime Lannister, would bar any further relationship between the two, she still finds herself slipping away into thoughts where her groom is the Sword of the Morning rather than the Golden Heir of the Rock. Arthur is one of the many reasons as to why Elia did not object to her prolonged betrothal. His abrupt plans to join the Kingsgaurd had taken her by surprise at first, but she now understands his reasoning behind why and merely worries for his safety in King Aerys’ presence.
  • Jaime Lannister: Joanna Lannister and Princess Ariella Martell had been close friends since their days as Queen Rhaella’s ladies-in-waiting and it had been their wish to unite their families through their children, however, Joanna had died birthing Tyrion before the Martells reached the Rock. Despite this, Tywin honoured his beloved wife’s final wish and promised Jaime to Elia in an attempt to eliminate yet another potential bride for Prince Viserys. While he had been a kind enough boy when she had met him as a child, their reunion many years later, at a tourney, had been a brutal awakening for Elia. He bore a harsh and contrasting personality, in comparison to her own, made no attempts at conversation, and had treated her as if she were a pest, rather than his betrothed, when she had made an attempt to interact with him. Furthermore, he continuously gave excuses to push back the wedding, knowing well that an unmarried woman beyond 17 would spark gossip. When Jaime had crowned her as the Queen of Love and Beauty at Prince Rhaeger’s nameday celebration, Elia would have been less surprised if she saw a White Walker in bare daylight. Since then, Jaime has been purposefully been bringing up their betrothal, most commonly in the presence of his twin, and reminding her of their upcoming marriage. Although she bears no fondness for him, as he is not Arthur and she cannot see past that, she has seen good qualities in the man and see’s his crowning of her as the Queen of Love and Beauty as a formal acceptance of their match.

anonymous asked:

so tell me how thames came to be, not the do but his creation if you get my drift ;)

Dear anon,

I shall pretend I understood your drift but let me notify you in advance that my mind is a bloody clusterfuck so uh

The do, which I assume is when thamesie’s parents did the do thus leading to thames’s birth, happened on a beautiful day, where clouds wept, waves  wrecked, and winds howled in dismay. Please, refer to your textbook for further details of the do.

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A preparatory study for a portrait of Maria Christina of Austria, Queen of Spain as the second wife of Alfonso XII. They had two daughters, and she was pregnant with a third child at the time of his death. Maria Christina was the Regent for their son, Alfonso XIII, who was King from the moment of his birth.

She was born on this day, July 21st, in 1858.

Source

[Helsa Week] the escape mechanism [1/1]

Genre: “Romance”/Drama/Angst/Tragedy

Rating: T for implications of suicide and other dark themes INCLUDING MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

Word Count: 2,647

Prompt: Mermaids and beaches

Summary: She carries a curse from birth with no hope of lifting it; until one night, the ocean calls. Oneshot. Written for Helsa Week. Mermaid!AU.

Links:

FF.net | AO3

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biancablackwells  asked:

hey!!

Opening Credits: Sugar // Robin Schulz, Francesco Yates
Waking Up: Young Volcanoes // Fall Out Boy
First Day At School: Hands To Myself // Selena Gomez
Falling In Love: The Ballad Of Mona Lisa // Panic! At the Disco
Fight Song: Let Her Go // Passenger
Breaking Up: Lost Boy // Ruth B
Life’s OK: ***Flawless // Beyonce
Getting Back Together: Miss Missing You // Fall Out Boy
Wedding: I Lived // OneRepublic  
Birth of Child: Circles // Passenger
Final Battle: One Call Away // Charlie Puth
Death Scene: BO$$ // Fifth Harmony
Funeral Song: Trees// Twenty One Pilots
End Credits: Hold Each Other // A Great Big World

send me a hey!