spear hunting

Horizon Zero Dawn and Cultural appropriation: A very different view.

For the first time EVER, I’m sitting on the other side of a discussion about appropriating native culture.  Why?  Well, let me lay the framework.

First off, I’m not a guy who “knows a Native American” or has a “Native friend”  I am a 100% Anishinabe (Ojibway) dude who lives on reserve and has fought racism, stereotypes, pan-Indianism, and cultural appropriation fiercely for as long as I can remember. I’ve been the victim of horrendous racial violence as a child, adolescent, and adult, and I’m also a gamer.

I am the first to point out anything that smacks of any of the above and after I saw the Dia Lacina essay on “Horizon: Zero Dawn” being culturally insensitive and appropriating Native culture, I felt for the first time in a situation like this that I had to say something in rebuttal.

Lacina takes issue with the use of the words Tribal, Primitive, Braves, and Savage being used in the game (fyi they’re used to describe predominantly white people in game and they’re White words we didn’t use to describe ourselves thus I claim no ownership of, nor want to, anymore than I want to be a redskin, Indian or Wahoo)  

It seems (IMO) that most of her beef comes from an apparent belief that numerous aspects of generic tribal culture that appear in the game (making clothing from skins, hunting with spears and bows, living in a Matriarchal society, etc) are the sole domain of the Native American and just to be safe and cleverly keep her POV less subject to scrutiny, she applies it even more broadly to indigenous people world wide (I will just refer to us in particular as NA cuz I’m lazy and I also don’t refer to myself as a Native American) and basically that anything that is remotely “tribal” shouldn’t be used in gaming without our or someone else’s permission.

 In fairness, I don’t know if she’s actually played the game but as someone who is currently in the midst of doing exactly that, I can tell you that I have a pretty good idea of what stuff triggered her being upset and why, and while I absolutely respect her right to get offended by whatever she likes, and she makes excellent points about some other games, I am going to point out that there are flaws with this logic.

First of all, the basics: HZD is set in a post-post-apocalyptic future where people are living in tribal groups in a very destroyed world.  Machines exist but as hybrid animal/dinosaur type creatures and technology is pretty much non-existent in day to day human life.  

The heroine of the story is a red haired, white girl named Aloy who lives as an outcast with her adopted father, Rost.  Without giving a lot away, they are fiercely shunned by the local tribe for something Rost did and also the fact that Aloy is motherless.  

Impressively and rightly, though somewhat dismissively remarked upon by Lacina, is the way women and especially women of color are portrayed so positively in-game as this particular tribe is a total Matriarchy run by elders of various ethnicity.  African, Asian, White, and a variety of undefined people of color are common everywhere in the game.  (The leader of one band of warriors is a very fierce, commanding, intelligently portrayed black woman with a powerful presence.)  It reflects a fairly global society from a “skin color” perspective without any horrible accents or broken speech.

They worship an “All-Mother” goddess and their culture is (at least how I saw a lot of it) fairly heavy on European i.e. Celtic, Germanic, Scandinavian, etc type symbolism and the rest is filled in with mostly generic tribal-ish stuff that you could find in countless cultures around the world.

 I really didn’t get a “Native American” vibe off the game.  Of course, I don’t automatically presume to claim sole ownership of things like tribal life, hunting with bows and spears, and worshiping spirits of various elements solely for my own.  Random fact: Because there are over 500 distinct First Nations in N. America, we, believe it or not, didn’t all ride horses, live in tipis, use bows and arrows, tobacco and sage, and worship Eagles and Wolves.  Why? Well…use your brain.  Tobacco and Sage don’t grow EVERYWHERE, horses came over with the Europeans (and if you saw where I live you couldn’t have and cant for the most part get a horse through the bush if you tried) Eagles and Wolves don’t live EVERYWHERE….get the point?  Anyways….

If you examine Rost, he like most of the men has a braided beard and other seemingly Viking/Middle Ages inspired features, is white, speaks clear, unbroken English, and is a loving, protective and very positive role model for the girl.   Aloy for her part, is also fairly Viking-esque (to the point of looking incredibly like Lagaertha from the show Vikings but with red hair) also Egrit from GoT, and is no damsel in distress who needs men to save her. NOWHERE in the game have I encountered any Tipis, wigwams, Sweatlodges, or Non-White people speaking in stereotypical “Me smoke-um peace pipe, He go dat-a way” fashion.

The  opening cinematic is very touching (and long) as we see the orphaned Aloy as a baby in Rost’s care being carried around in a bundle on his back (which pretty much every culture did in one form or another at some point in time) and him ultimately taking her to the spot where a child of the tribe receives it’s name.

I really liked this idea as it isn’t often portrayed in a lot of mediums outside of stereotypical “Dances With Wolves” bullshit. Also, naming ceremonies are not the sole domain of NA people and what occurs bears zero resemblance to any NA ceremony I know of.  (It was actually a little Lion King at one point lol) But it’s a powerful moment in the beginning with much more that occurs during it but I won’t spoil that either.

Aloy herself is a pretty complex character.  She’s extremely independent, defiant, and questions pretty much everything about why things are the way they are and wants to do something about it.  You actually begin playing her as a 6 year old which is pretty unique and even then she’s tough and fearless and determined to explore her world.  

She is in no way hyper-sexualized (I’m looking your way Overwatch) Her clothing and everyone else’s, is utilitarian and appropriate for the environments she lives in, and so far, I have not encountered anything with her or any other character that made me go “WTF?”and trust me, my radar for that shit is HIGHLY SENSITIVE.  This isn’t Avatar, people.  It’s not John Smith. It’s not The Great Wall or Pocahontas.  This isn’t white dude shows up and saves the helpless non-white people while helpless native woman falls in love with him stuff.  It’s a fictitious future where we maniacs blew it up, damn us all to hell!

But here’s the more annoying thing for me as an actual Anishinabe.  I don’t need people speaking for me or getting offended on my behalf.  I am very capable of doing that myself. I am also in no way writing this claiming to be speaking for any other NA people or persons. It’s based on my observations from actually playing HZD and examining the various fictional “cultural” elements in the game.

If you see a skin tied inside a hoop and automatically assume it’s a dreamcatcher” ripping off “our culture” (FYI Dreamcatchers are a 20th century thing whose popularity was a result of pan-Indianism that exploded in the 70s.) or if you see feathers on a spear or as part of a costume (nowhere is anyone wearing a single eagle feather in the back of a beaded headband or a Dakota looking headdress either) and automatically presume it to be ripping off NA culture, you’re REEEEEEEEEEALY reaching.  If you think caring for the environment, obeying matriarchs, worshipping elemental spirits, or making your own clothes is solely the property of NA culture, see previous statement.

By all means get offended.  Get offended by Chief Wahoo.  Get offended by the Washington Redskins.  Get offended that thousands of Native women have been murdered or gone missing and nothing’s been done about it.  Get offended by Johnny Depp or Robert Beltran playing Native people instead of actual Native people getting those roles.  Get offended by shit like Adam Sandler’s “Ridiculous 6” where a native woman is called a “hot piece of red prairie meat” or Depp’s “Lone Ranger” movie.

Get offended that my family was destroyed by the Residential Schools and that the 60s scoop took babies away from their families and people, that forced sterilizations took place and mass graves of dead Native children exist at former Residential School sites.

Don’t just jump on the I’m offended bandwagon because you saw some feathers or skins or spears or bows in a game and immediately grew indignant and wanted to claim them as OUR culture.  They’re not.  They’re almost globally universal in numerous cultures at various points in time.  Get offended, as she rightly mentioned, when the game Overwatch sexualizes the shit out of almost every female character and takes West Coast tribal art and makes a costume out of it.  

THAT is appropriation.  White people holding powwows in Europe (powwows are also pretty much not traditional and are extremely pan-Indian, not to mention full of us appropriating each other’s Native cultures ie. Dakotas wearing Jingle Dresses, Ojibway wearing Dakota regalia, etc) is appropriation.

This game……I’m just not seeing it the same way.  And I’m nobody.  I have no ties to Guerilla or anybody other than myself and my community.

White people really do not understand the idea of cultural appropriation so I’m gonna explain it to you one y’alls level okay? Bc the absurdity of these counter-arguments I’m getting is out of hand, and I’m tired of arguing with people so far beneath my level on a subject that harms me more than them.

You live in a little village where everyone is identified by the clothes they wear. Everyone in the village has a blue shirt. Your family has a blue shirt with polka dots on it. The people in your village eat lots of tasty yellow fruit with a special mixture of spices and pray to a fruit god every time you eat them. You also eat lots of nuts, but that’s not as important. This is your village’s culture. 

There is rumored to be a village to the west of you, where everyone is given a special toy shaped like an animal when they are born. It is very important to every individual, and means a lot to them. They keep it and polish it all their lives, and it is burned when they die. They eat special starchy balls full of meat, but also once a month,make a drink that honors their dead. This is their culture.

If…

The two villages have grown bigger and bigger over time, which makes them spread closer and closer to eaach other. There are no big territorial battles- the two villages like each other and sometimes share resources. If someone from the first village passes through the second, someone might give them some of their food for the trip and vice versa, so now some people in each village like and sometimes make the food of the other. A few people who have made close friends with people in the other village begin wearing colored shirts like them, or giving their children a special animal doll because someone from that village explained why that was special and invited them to do so. Things from each culture are shared with respect and friendship, and this happened naturally. This is CULTURAL INTEGRATION.

If….

The shirt-wearing village considers itself bigger and stronger. They have invented spears that help them hunt, but think maybe hunting would be even easier if they had more wood from the other villages territory, and less competition. So they decide to invade, fight and kill people in the animal-doll village. They kill some of their stronger warriors and subdue the rest of the villagers. When they are done, they let these villagers into their village as long as they agree to stop carving animal dolls, as long as they agree to learn their language, and as long as they agree to eat and dress like them, and leave their culture behind. This is CULTURAL ASSIMILATION.

If….

People from the two villages see each other from time to time but aren’t all that friendly. The shirt-wearing village likes the look of the dolls from the animal-doll village, and decides to make their own just like them, without asking. They’ve heard the dolls have a complex ceremony and meaning, but they don’t care. To the animal-doll village’s dismay, they learn that the shirt-wearers have been making ‘soulless’ animal dolls that are not connected to a villager, are not prayed over the right way, and in their belief is a dead and cursed thing. They never asked, and they did not follow the rules. In the meantime, many shirt-wearers steal fish from the animal-doll village’s fishing cages, stomp on their crops for fun when they are drunk, and make rude faces at them when they see them in the fields. They learn how to make the special drink they commune with the dead with, but drink it all the time, carelessly, and still won’t talk nicely to the animal-doll village people. They are mostly disrespectful, but still take things from the other village without being nice to them, and without asking. They enjoy the things the animal-doll people make, but do not enjoy them, and cause them suffering. This is CULTURAL APPROPRIATION.

And lastly….

You, a shirt-wearer with a blue spotted shirt, are playing with a toy. Another child comes up to you and in a friendly manner, asks to play. You hand them your toy. This is sharing.

Another day, a different child with a red shirt points at your blue shirt, makes fun of it, and takes your toy. This is stealing. This is more like Cultural Appropriation.

You guys need to learn that there are more ways for a culture to spread than just Appropriation. Cultural Appropriation is not ‘the sharing of a culture’. Fighting Cultural Appropriation does not keep cultures from evolving. It is simply pointing out that consent matters with culture, too, and when you take something from a culture you still disrespect and oppress, it’s not consensual, and the people do not have to let you do it.

I need a spear…

So first and foremost I am not a raid tier player. I am filthy casual at best. But dammit I want the damn Shinryu spear. The Lost Allagan ones stats aren’t great and the Shinryu one looks way better. So I plan to watch some videos and do my research and give it a try. If anyone wants a semi half ass decent DRG to come with, will you help me? I am pretty good with party buffs and not standing in the bad zones. I have decent burst damage. Just putting it out there here instead of Party Finder. I am not looking for a carry through the 1 to 10 times till I can get the weapon. I plan to do all I can to play my part. Any help us appreciated.

Jurassic Decor Image taken at a Boatswain Bird Island, a tiny island close to shore of Ascension Island in the middle of the South Atlantic. It has a big importance for nesting seabirds and the status on land is IBA (Birdlife International and RSPB). But it should also be fully protected underwater and be an absolute no take zone to protect the wildness of this ‘Jurrassic Park’. Huge tuna has been scooped out by trophy hunting spear fishermen in that area but there is much more to protect before it’s too late! by EllenCuylaerts

My Anime Addictions

So I’m posting this because I would like to be able to chat with people about series I am passionate about. So here is my list of my top 10 favorite anime and ship(s) from said series.

  1. Ghost Hunt-MaixNaru
  2. Black Butler-Anything with the reapers
  3. Free!- MakoRinHaru OT3
  4. Saiyuki(all seasons)- SanzoxGoku, SanzoxHakkai
  5. Princess Tutu- FakirxAhiru
  6. Durarara- ShiZaya
  7. Zankyou no Terror- NineLisaTwelve OT3
  8. Kuroko No Basket- KurokoxMidorima, KurokoxAll GOM plus Kagani
  9. Haikyuu- Kage Hina, TsukkiHina, TsukkiYama, KenHina, TsukkiKuroo, KurooHina. 01- Daiya No Ace- Miyusawa/Misawa, MiSawaChris OT3, KuroRyou

So yeah~ I’m open for chatting, exchanging fanart, fangasming over pairs, or even just talking theory about the series.

5

United Cutlery M48 Talon Survival Spear

Spears, along with knives, axes and clubs arethe earliest tools developed by mankind and have been used in combat, hunting and fishing for ages. Up until the modern era, spears have found their place in almost every army in the world and were used either in one or both hands as melee and throwing weapons. However, these advancements have not been able to completely eradicate the interest of using modern spears in hunting or as a part of survival gear. A testament to this is the United Cutlery M48 Talon Survival Spear.

I see all these posts that are like “kids of the future won’t know what (insert old technology) is!”

Look my dude, I don’t use a trebuchet but I was taught what one is. I don’t use a floppy disk but I know what one is. I don’t see parapets on skyscrapers but I know what parapets are. I don’t use a hand carved onyx spear to hunt food but I know what it is and how it was made.

If a kid doesn’t know something stop fucking making fun of them or high key judging them and just fucking tell them what it is.

It’s not their job to know everything and making fun of a kid for not knowing what a floppy disk is for is just shitty.

Did people make fun of you as a kid for not knowing what a gramophone was? For not automatically knowing how a Stradivarius was made? Or how the pyramids were built?

No, they didn’t (and if they did they were fucking jerks).

So please just stop harassing and making fun if kids who don’t know why people still motion in circles to indicate dropping the window of a car or any other things like that. I still hear grown adults say “travel to the corners of the globe” even though a round planet can’t have corners.

Teach them, don’t be an ass and make fun if them.

5

Centaurs come from a planet fairly similar to Earth, and their biology is convergent with Earth’s in many ways. Their evolutionary ancestors were savanna pack predators who used ambush and speed to hunt prey. Modern centaurs emerged when they started to use tools like spears to help with hunting. Centaurs are obligate carnivores but they supplement their diet with grain, starchy tubers, and small amounts of roughage and vegetation. Much like humans, they have a two-sex reproductive system where the individuals with the larger gametes give birth to live young.

They are very vocally talented. With their trunk they can produce a wide range of pitches and consonants, while with the muscular tissue near their breathing outtake they can make subsonic booming noises. The booming is mostly inaudible to humans and avians, but ferrets can detect the low-frequency vibrations through their numerous whiskers. There are a variety of simple subsonic languages collectively called ‘boom-speak’ that are traditionally used as contact calls over long distances.

Most centaur cultures are matriarchal, with family groups of about 20-30 living together in a small village of interconnected houses. These clans are run by the oldest females of the family, and younger females are often expected to stay in the same clan their whole life. Males are often expected to marry outside of the clan, and although they will usually join a new group for one or more specific mates within it, the ‘marriage’ for most cultures is between the new member and the entire family. Despite this, many individuals may never mate to reproduce, and instead help care for their family members’ children.

The centaurs were discovered by a ferret planetary exploration vessel, but they weren’t a spacefaring race when they were found– they were barely starting to use electricity and radio. The Interspecies Summit (a council including humans, avians, and ferrets) met on the matter and it was agreed that the centaurs should be left alone  until they were capable of space flight. Unfortunately, this policy proved impossible to enforce, and human and avian ships began visiting the centaur homeworld to trade technology and resources for centaur laborers. Today, most centaurs in space work as manual labor under human and avian companies, or they run pirate vessels.

Blood, shiny and cobalt, covered the floor. Prince Arctic was in a pitch black cave, the only light coming from a moon globe, floating far, far above his head, so that it was a tiny speck of brightness in the dark. Looking down, he could see that his talons were also covered in blood, and on the floor next to him lay a traditional Icewing hunting spear. Suddenly, without warning, his hands reached for the spear and violently began swinging it around, stabbing and slashing at the darkness. He tried to stop, but he wasn’t able to control his motions. He yelled out in frustration, trying to regain control of himself, and his body paused for a moment. Then his hands expertly flipped the spear around so that the sharp point was pointed at his body, and his head jerked back, then down, impaling his own skull on the spear.

Arctic awoke with a jolt so forceful that his body almost slid off the stone slab he slept on. A cold sweat covered him, and he stared at the cave wall for a moment, his breath ragged and sharp.

Just a dream, just another nightmare.

His jaw hurt, and he realized he had been clenching his teeth as he slept. Taking a deep breath, he sat up and rubbed his jawline with a trembling hand. The shock of the nightmare was beginning to leave his body, and as it did the cold sweat that covered him from nose to tail slowly dissipated, and was replaced once again with the heavy, hot air of the Night Kingdom. Arctic closed his eyes and ran his talons over the top of his head, pressing lightly on his temples. But this did nothing to ease his newfound headache.

He brought his hands out in front of him, staring at his talons blankly.

“Your claws will betray you in your final hour”

Arctic shuddered involuntarily as the female dragonet’s prophecy ran through his mind, accompanied by a brief flash of blue blood soaking his claws. What was her name again? It didn’t really matter…what mattered was that now, thanks to her cryptic words, he had new nightmares to torment him at night.

“Or, at ‘day’, really….” he though with a grim smile, looking over at the window on the back side of the sleeping cave he shared with Foeslayer. The sun was high in the sky, and if Arctic had to guess he’d say it was probably a little past midday. Everyone in the Night Kingdom was usually asleep at this hour, being a nocturnal tribe.

Arctic’s eyes wandered from the window over to his mate, Foeslayer, still asleep on her bed across the room from his. They had stopped sleeping in the same bed not long after arriving at the Night Kingdom. Because of Arctic’s tragic animus accident, he began to have terrifying nightmares every single day, some of which were so horrific he would wake up screaming. This, combined with the fact that it took him weeks to finally adjust to the Nightwing’s schedule, meant that he did a lot of tossing and turning when he slept. Foeslayer had always insisted that it didn’t bother her, but he could tell that it did. After a few arguments about it, he finally lied, stating that sleeping next to her was ‘too warm’ and that if he was expected to sleep during the day, that he should at least be in a bed that was somewhat comfortable.

This had hurt her. He clearly remembered the way her eyes squeezed shut and her ears and wings drooped. He felt bad about it, he didn’t want to see that look on her face. But it was partially her own fault, she wouldn’t admit that sleeping next to him was keeping her awake too….so he had to do it that way. It was the only option.

Arctic stepped off his bed and lightly approached Foeslayer. He watched as her blankets rose and fell slowly as she slept, and occasionally her talons would twitch or her eyes would flicker behind her eyelids. A small smile crept up his face; even in her sleep she looked feisty and beautiful at the same time. He thought for a moment about crawling into the bed next to her, but decided against it. Even though he did miss sleeping next to his mate, he didn’t want to wake her. Just because he couldn’t sleep didn’t mean anyone else had to suffer with him.

He looked over at the window again, and felt the sun beckoning him to come outside. It was a bad idea, he knew that. A few months ago he had accepted a position at the queen’s palace, and she would expect him to be there right at sundown. Arctic was never late, no matter what, even if it meant dragging himself to the palace on only a few hours of sleep. He knew that on those days he must look ghastly, with bags under his eyes and dull scales. But what did it matter anyways? They would still give him looks even if he showed up to the palace fresh out of a snowbank, covered in jewels and looking regal and imposing, like an Icewing prince actually should.

“Well. I look more imposing then any of these snotty Nightwings either way,” he thought as he quietly made his way out of the room and towards their front door. Nightwings had no concept of proper posture, always leaning on tables or shuffling their feet or letting their wings droop or scratching itches in public. It was enough to make him furious at times. How on earth did he get stuck with such lowborn, uncultured-

A soft sound came from one of the back caves as Arctic reached their living room. He froze midstep, his ears swiveling back towards the sound. His children, Whiteout and Darkstalker, had rooms on opposite ends of the back hall. He couldn’t tell which room it came from, but he hoped it was only Whiteout, shifting in her sleep. The last thing he needed was Foeslayer’s nosy, eavesdropping son interrupting him, especially when he had barely slept and was in a foul mood already. A few moments passed and no more sounds came from their rooms, so Arctic quickly crept to the front door and slid outside. He closed the door slowly behind him, placing his palm over the latch so as to muffle the sound of the door shutting. But he didn’t bother to lock it; why would he? No one would dare attack him or his family. Not when they knew what kind of power he had.

“Beware your own power’

Arctic shook his head, growling softly as another line from Darkstalker’s little girlfriend danced uninvited though his mind. He spread his wings and leaned off the stoop of their front porch, gliding away from the walls of the cliff. Once he was a good distance away, he began flapping, rising up until he cleared the tops of the ravine where the Nightwings lived. He found an air current and rode it for a moment, trying to decide what he wanted to do. The sun was bright, but there were a number of expansive white clouds dotting the air above him. Good. He loved this kind of weather. The white clouds would camouflage him perfectly in case any Nightwings decided to get into his business and poke their heads out of their caves. Foeslayer had told him once that a Nightwing’s daytime vision was somewhat poor. She had said that in the day, things usually looked out of focus and everything was much too bright. This fact gave Arctic a sense of subtle relief. If anyone had heard him leave his cave, they probably wouldn’t be able to see him against the backdrop of white clouds.

He looked south, towards the long expanse of the ocean, and for a moment considered going down to the beach for a swim. Unlike other, inferior tribes, Icewings were both great flyers and great swimmers, not on par with Seawings of course, but close enough. The water did look inviting, and it would probably cool him down for a bit, but Arctic decided against it. The beach was where he would occasionally receive secret messages from his mother in the Ice Kingdom. He hadn’t gotten one in a long time, not since he refused to reply to her last message about killing his children. But still, he didn’t want someone accidentally seeing him and then placing guards at the place, in case he ever needed to use it again.

So instead, he decided on the next best thing. He began beating his wings powerfully, driving him up, up, up, far above the ground and the ocean, until he reached the towering clouds above. They were huge thunderheads, probably a sign of storms in the future. But for now they were calm, inviting. Arctic closed his eyes and dove into one, letting the cold air of the high altitude soothe his heat ravaged scales. The condensation from the clouds swept over his body like a soft blanket made of raindrops, all of them cool, pure, clean. In his mind he was flying through a gentle snowstorm back in the Ice Kingdom, feeling the snowflakes brush against his tired eyes.

The cool feeling of water left him, and he opened his eyes to see that he had emerged on the other side of the cloud. Now he was flying over a long, condensed cluster of them, and their smooth, poofy shapes looked almost like the rolling snow hills of his homeland.

“What am I even doing here….,” Arctic though to himself, flying low towards the field of clouds beneath him. He hated the Night Kingdom, almost as much as the rules and expectations in the Ice Kingdom. But at least back there, he wasn’t constantly tired. He wasn’t always aching and exhausted from the climate and the heat. Nobody gave him weird looks, and for moon’s sake everyone acted like proper, well-raised dragons instead of a bunch of scavengers.

Why was he forced to live this kind of life? What was keeping him here? He had often tried to convince Foeslayer that they should run away again, this time to a secluded island like he had originally planned. But no, she always had excuses.
‘No Arctic, I can’t, I’m with egg!’
‘No Arctic, the children have only just hatched, they are too young to travel, it would be dangerous!’
’No Arctic, the children must go to school like proper Nightwings and get an education! We can’t force them into a life of running and hiding like that.’

And, more recently:
“No Arctic, this is my home and my tribe, and we are at war. I won’t run away while my friends are out fighting and dying, I have to help!”

He rolled his eyes. Yeah right. She had barely any friends here, she had told him multiple times how she didn’t really get along with the others in her tribe, how they always thought she was strange and clumsy and loud. Why would she want to stay in a place where they didn’t respect her? If it was up to Arctic, they would leave the Night Kingdom far, far behind, and go to a place where neither of them had to deal with other dragons disrespecting them. Where they were really free.

He had a sneaking suspicion that she was just scared of leaving her home, that she didn’t want to live somewhere unfamiliar with no other Nightwings around. Arctic had hinted at this during one of their arguments, just to see what her reaction was. He had asked her, “You don’t want to leave here because you think dragons you know will die, right? We started the war so their blood is on your talons, is that it? And yet, for some reason it’s totally fine that when /I/ left my Kingdom, members of my tribe DID die. And….it was /my/ fault. Can’t you see…don’t you realize how hypocritical that is, Foeslayer? How can you act like I’m the only one who is supposed to make sacrifices here?!”

And she had shouted back at him, furious, saying that this was different, that she made sacrifices for their relationship all the time. ‘Like what?’ he had demanded. “Oh, you mean like living in a cozy cave in your very own kingdom surrounded by other members of your tribe? Yeah, such a sacrifice. You sleep when you want to, eat your favorite foods, and enjoy comfortable, inviting weather. How absolutely terrible for you.”
She had left then, running out of their room crying. He didn’t follow her. He knew he was right.

….But after awhile, when he had calmed down, he felt horribly guilty. She was the reason he had done all of this, the reason he was enduring all of this. He didn’t want to hurt her, he didn’t want to make her sad. But sometimes she was so /irrational/, and something inside him just snapped, and he would argue and rant and the anger inside him would take over. And it was only after the conversation was finished, only after his heart stopped racing and his mind cleared….that he realized how absolutely horrible he was being.

Arctic sighed, bringing himself back into the present moment. He’d been out flying for probably an hour, he should get back. As he descended, he thought about poor Foeslayer. “She makes sacrifices every day.” he mused. “She has to be with me….”

“No. She /chooses/ to be with me…moons above….why can’t I ever stop myself once it’s started? I know I’ll feel bad afterwards, but when we’re arguing I can’t ever seem to remember that…I wish I didn’t get so irritated about everything…why can’t I just let things be?”

It was all fine and dandy to think about, but he could never seem to change the way he acted. When he got angry or irritated it felt like someone else was taking over his mind, turning off his compassion and love for Foeslayer and replacing it with this overwhelming need to be ‘right’. To get the last word. To show her how hypocritical she was. But that wasn’t him. That’s not the kind of dragon Foeslayer fell in love with. That’s not the kind of dragon he wanted to be.
Arctic sometimes wondered if it was because of his animus powers. He knew that the flashes were; the images in his head of blood and death, and the nightmares of course. But the anger….was that from his animus powers too? Or was that a side effect of bad sleep and poor climate? He wasn’t sure…either way, there wasn’t a fix. Both of those things were permanent.

Arctic was at his front door again before he even realized it. He landed softly on the stoop, and looked up at the bright sky once more. “Maybe if I got more sleep it would be better….I don’t know. I wish I could get away, just for a week….but I know that’s impossible. They’d think I betrayed them…that I’d fled back to the Ice Kingdom. No one would believe that I only took a vacation from their stupid, smug faces.”

He stepped inside his home and closed the door quietly behind him. Making his way back to his room, he listened once more for sounds from his children’s caves, but they were both silent. Arctic’s eyes fogged over, and he rubbed them lightly with his hands. His lack of sleep had suddenly caught up to him. He entered his room; Foeslayer was still asleep, but she had shifted slightly and one of her many blankets had been kicked to the floor. Arctic considered putting it over her again, but instead, he gathered it up and took it to his flat bed of stone with him. It was still warm from her body, which was a tad uncomfortable for Arctic, but he wadded it up and laid his head on it anyway. Foeslayer’s scent surrounded him, and the tension in his body slowly released. He couldn’t sleep next to his mate anymore, but this was the next best thing. His eyelids drooped, and before he knew it, Arctic was once again drifting off into a deep, exhausted sleep…

And the dreams of blood continued.

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Wow I don’t think I’ve written fanfiction since high school lololol. Anyways thanks for reading! I got this idea when I was thinking what daily life was like for Prince Arctic, and how he probably would have trouble sleeping a lot. Also, I bet he had a lot of nightmares too, due to what happened with his animus magic. So I decided to write a little scene depicting what might have happened one day when Arctic couldn’t sleep.

The bits where he is reflecting on how he treats Foeslayer are drawn from my own personal experiences and how I was before I found ADD medication that actually worked for me. I was irritable and all-together pretty rude most of the time, but I felt bad after I had arguments with people. However, unlike Arctic, I had a way to get better…

I enjoyed writing this, I’ll try and do more little fanfics in the future if people enjoyed this one!

Privileged (11/?)

Originally posted by bashooking

“With the Ark not responding the delinquents are once again on there own to defend themselves against the ever impending grounder retaliation. Bellamy makes a regrettable decision that has consequences more serious than he ever expected and *yn* unfortunately is caught up in the middle of it.” 

Warnings: ANGST, swearing, mild violence

Notes: Based on 1x11 ‘The Calm’ of The 100.

Series Masterlist


“Any word from the ark?” 

“Not since Unity Day.”

“Maybe they finally ran out of air.” 

“Whatever happened, I don’t think anyone is coming down to save us.”

*yn* drew her eyes away from Clarke and Bellamy once she realised that their conversation was over and focused back onto the task at hand, which was to finish the huge wall surrounding the camp as soon as possible. 

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4

French Folding Hunting Sword, c. late XVIth century
The blade, in appearance a simple sidesword with a shell guard, unfolds to turn into a 186cm/6′1″ long spear-like thrusting weapon, dull for most of its length but with a stiff sharp point. The quillons forbid overpenetration into the wolf or boar.
It is decorated with reliefs of a ‘Moor’s head’.

2

MYTHOLOGY MEME: Amazon Queens

Penthesileia was an Amazonian queen in Greek mythology, the daughter of Ares and Otrera and the sister of Hippolyta, whose magical girdle, given to her by her father Ares, God of War, was the object of one of the labours of Hercules. Penthesilea had killed Hippolyta with a spear when they were hunting deer; this accident caused Penthesilea so much grief that she wished only to die, but, as a warrior and an Amazon, she had to do so honorably and in battle.

Penthesilea’s reign as queen was during the years of the Trojan War. The Amazons did not take a particular side in the war, and Penthesiliea made an effort to stay away from the conflict for the most part. However, when Achilles killed the Trojan prince, Hector, and upon the accidental killing of her sister, Penthesilea decided that it was time for the Amazons to intervene, so the Amazons moved in on Troy.

She was a warrior in the truest sense. It is said that she blazed through the Greeks like lightning, killing many. She wanted to prove that the Amazons were great warriors and kill Achilles to avenge the death of Hector.

A Woodsman’s Dotage

Anthologia Palatina 6.93 = Antipater of Sidon (2nd half of 2nd cent. BCE)

The old man Harpalion, all wrinkles,
The hunter-with-nets, dedicated me-
His hunting spear – in Heracles’ house;
For, on account of his numerous years,
His hands could no longer hold my weight,
And he’s attained a rather gray head.

Ἁρπαλίων ὁ πρέσβυς, ὁ πᾶς ῥυτίς, οὑπιλινευτής,
    τόνδε παρ’ Ἡρακλεῖ θῆκέ με τὸν σιβύνην,
ἐκ πολλοῦ πλειῶνος ἐπεὶ βάρος οὐκέτι χεῖρες
    ἔσθενον, ἐς κεφαλὴν δ’ ἤλυθε λευκοτέρην. 

A Hunter Getting Dressed after Bathing, Gabriël Metsu, ca. 1654-56

Commander Princess

clarke secretly watches lexa teach their daughter things (walking, talking,) then (making a spear, hunting) and eventually (warpaint)… set over a couple of years.

The night was warm, humming and singing itself to sleep with the sound of insects strumming and crooning. The tent was warm, with barely a breeze and the sound of the clan outside, restless with the warmth and inability to sleep, worshiping the very last minutes of the day and prolonging it as long as the weather would allow it.

Tired and yawning, Clarke dozed in bed, waiting for Lexa to pat down the fire and join her, though she was stubborn and wrapped up with more important things. It was that sight, the baby in her arms, that made Clarke smile despite the exhaustion in her bones. There were no better sights, of that she was certain.

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anonymous asked:

Imagine this Horrorswap, HorrorShift, and HorrorFruit

*Okay, so Storyshift is always so hard for me to keep straight, and I’m familiar with the character designs of Fruittale (Melon!Sans is adorable), but I haven’t figured out their characterizations.  

Soooo, let’s go Horror!Swap~!


Empress Alphys (dubbed alphass or alfuck by Stretch) is crazy as shit and took off a good portion of the left side of Papyrus’s skull with her battle axe during a dispute about Sans.  Of course, Stretch can’t quite remember how he got the injury, and Sans can’t bring himself to admit his former best friend did something like that to his brother, so he keeps his mouth shut.  

Stretch is the tall one.  He’s grown over a foot since they started eating humans–as has Sans.  Papyrus’s orange hoodie is too short now, and ripped at the bottom, exposing part of his spine.  He still wears his usual shorts, which have also become a bit shorter on his frame.  His hoodie is stained red and filthy, but he doesn’t care.  Cigarettes are a rarity now–something he might even likely trade rations for–so his oral fixation has become chewing on sticks or old sucker stems.  This has left some of his teeth looking jagged–not as bad as HT!Paps’s teeth by any means, but just a chipped tooth here or there.  

He doesn’t have a dilated eyelight like HT!Sans, but his head wound is jagged enough to include the top portion of his left eyesocket.  Therefore, he’s now blind in that eye.  The injury has, of course, affected his memory, his magic, and left him a little unhinged.  He still loves puns and wears a lazy grin, but he doesn’t show much mercy unless you’re interesting.  He’s unable to summon Blasters, can only teleport short distances at a time, but can still summon bones at will.  His weapon of choice is an elongated bone with a jagged, sharpened end, much like a spear.   He hunts humans as a sentry, and has convinced Blueberry to start incorporating human meat into his TERRIFIC TACOS.  Stretch grinds the humans they capture up in his shed for his brother. 

Sans, on the other hand, has achieved his dream of becoming Captain of the Royal Guard–and he wants out.  Alphys takes out her anger on him, often beating him in the face with the blunt side of her axe during their ‘training’, which has resulted in him having a mouthful of jagged, oddly-spaced teeth that happen to always be stained crimson.  He’s still a skeleton of integrity, so despite the fact that he now finds humans to be delicious (Sans was vehemently against eating humans at first, but a combination of hunger and head trauma can cause a monster to do desperate things), Sans always puts the humans that fall through a series of puzzles.  

He still wears his usual bandanna, though it’s looking rather tattered now, and his battle body has been revised to fit his larger body.  It’s stained with blood and dirt that just won’t wash out, though the worst of the stains are on his boots and gloves.  He’s retained his good nature, boundless energy, and upbeat attitude, and while Stretch usually can’t muster up the willpower to do most things besides hunt and space out at his sentry station, the lanky skeleton still goes along with whatever Blueberry says (for the most part; it’s not like he’s going to actually calibrate his puzzles) and will do anything to protect his brother and make certain he’s fed.

(*… I should probably queue this up because it’s 2:30AM for me, but screw it.  I’ll post it now anyway.  I’m tired and drawing a blank, but I’d love to do more headcanons or drabbles for Horrorswap, so feel free to send some of those in.  Or any other AU imagines that’re kinda different because this was so much fun to think about. )