anyone who has been reading my blog lately can probably guess, I’ve been loving
the new season of Samurai Jack. In a
media culture saturated with mediocre and/or outright bad reboots and remakes,
Season Five of Samurai Jack retains
everything fans loved about the first four seasons, while the TV-14 rating
allows for storytelling opportunities that weren’t available when it was a Y-7
show, and yet feel like a natural extension of the original.
emotional touchstones of the new season have thus far been Jack, as is only
fitting, and Ashi, one of the Daughters of Aku, and by Episode XCV, the only surviving daughter of Aku. The
Daughters, Ashi especially, have been set up as parallels and foils for Jack in
terms of their upbringing and their ‘purpose’ in life. In particular, the show
explores a running theme through the both of them: violence as the annihilation
of the self.
Now that all bands are gonna be touring again, I really want to have loads of symphonic metal bands on my dash. I miss the old days (before I deleted my blog) when there was a lot more of that, and a bit more of a community around those posts.
Here’s how it works:
reblog this post if you’re a symphonic metal blog
check out the other blogs who have reblogged it
follow some of them, as many as you like!
maybe even talk to them and start some friendships
P.S: If you ever want to talk about anything band-related or not, please come knock on my ask box and I’ll answer!
Tropes: Beauty and the Beast AU, humor, pining derek, oblivious Stiles,
Trigger Warnings: None
Summary: Stiles has been a teapot for 3,308 days. // Scott skids into the door breathlessly and shouts, “THERE’S A GIRL IN THE CASTLE,” and promptly brains himself on one of the casserole dishes.
My Comments: There are no words, or if they are, I can’t even work out how to words good enough to express how much I loved this fic. Seriously, I’m tempted to just do one long keyboard smash that lasts for a paragraph as testament to it’s awesomeness, but I’ll try and be more coherent.
So, I think if I were going to write a Beauty and the Beast AU, the temptation would be to make Derek the Beast and Stiles in a Belle type role. The author does not do that, and it’s a stroke of fucking genius. Instead, Jackson is the beast (full on kanima), Lydia is Belle and Stiles takes on the role of teapot/cook (think Mrs Potts, but not really). Derek is the grumpy headgardener (enchanted to be a wheelbarrow) who pines and tries to woo Stiles. Every character is spot on, the whole thing is adorable, and funny and just…. perfect.
I was smiling so hard throughout this whole fic that my cheeks hurt by the time I’d finished it. If that doesn’t make you want to read it then I don’t know what will. If you’re looking for some fluff to read, then look no further.
The night air felt cool on his skin as he walked beside her along the shore, his feet sinking into the soft, rounded pebbles at the edge of the river. He closed his eyes and took in a slow, deep breath. For once the plains of the Dirth were still, the war that had been raging there quieted by Inquisition forces. He took some shred of pride in that, though not for himself.
“It’s not really peaceful though, is it?” She asked, and he wondered if she’d somehow read his mind.
“It never is. Not here.” He paused and looked out over the shimmering river, watching as the moon’s reflection shuddered on the churning surface. “There will always be strife. The land itself remembers the pain it has seen, and the Veil will always be thin. What demons lie in wait on the other side may change their shapes, but the memories of pain will last an eternity.”
“Can you feel it here?”
He nodded. “In a sense. The Veil trembles in places where suffering has left its scar. The Dirth is riddled with painful memories, and in my dreams I speak with those that are lost. They wander the twisting roads of the Fade, tempted by ancient hurts to press against the wall that holds them back. They struggle against it but their efforts are pointless without a conduit.”
He could feel her looking at him, and finally met her gaze. She held her thin arms tightly around her torso and shivered. With gentle hands he pulled her arms free and cast a warming spell. He took her hand and squeezed it. “Do they try to possess you?” Her voice was quiet as the wind, as if she were afraid to disturb some slumbering beast.
“They always do. Mages have constant temptation, but the right training makes it all for naught.”
She was quiet for a time, looking out over the river with him. “Do you wish I were a mage, Solas?” She asked finally, and he took a long time before answering.
“Magic is a gift, lethallan. You wield the anchor well, and were you a mage I am certain you would be quite powerful. But I do not wish for you to be anyone but who you are.” He squeezed her fingers and looked at her, his gaze soft. “I wish for you to be happy, Inquisitor. I am not certain magic would make that true.”
“I always wanted it though,” she replied, still quiet-voiced as her eyes drifted to the blanket of stars above them. “My sister was so talented… and I’m so… normal.”
“You say that as if you do not recognize your own skill.”
“I recognize it, I just… it’s not magic.”
“You said you could shoot a robin clean from the sky at twenty paces when you were only a girl. You move in battle with both a bow and a dagger like a dancer on a stage-”
“Yes, but it’s not magic, Solas,” she said, more firmly now, and he sighed.
“It is not. But that is not all there is, Yvelle. You are a truly gifted archer and a brilliant strategist in the field. Magic or no, there is no person in this world I would rather stand alongside.” He gently turned her chin to face him, his gaze tender. “There is more to leading than power, just as there is more to life than magic.”
She stared at him for a moment before her eyes darted away, taking in the stars again. “You called me vhenan, before.”
He nodded. “I meant it.”
Still she watched the sky, but he found his eyes drawn to her. The moonlight struck her deep red hair and made it gleam like gold, and her elvhen eyes shone like a cat’s in the dark.
Despite the billions of stars above them, he couldn’t stop looking at her.
“I’ve never had someone to call that,” she said quietly.
“Are you uncomfortable with the word? I can stop.”
“No, I… it’s fine, really. I like it.” She smiled and he mirrored it, stepped forward. She turned and he put a careful hand on her waist, pulling her toward him.
He leaned in and kissed her, long and slow and sweet. Her arms wound around his neck and he brought her closer to him. Her small body fit perfectly against his tall, muscular frame, and as she deepened the kiss he let himself forget the world around them for once and exist only in her touch.
If Graves had been honest with himself, he would have recognized it for
what it was: a foregone conclusion. How he could have ever thought
otherwise was a bit of a mystery, though it hardly mattered now. All his
self control had been undone in an instant by the flash of pale skin
mostly hidden by a high collar, by the hitch of breath, by the shy
insistence: it’s all right, Mister Graves. Gods take him, how could he resist that?
It is done. 22,491 words of vampire!Original Percival Graves being bad at feelings, Credence being assertive when it counts, and a mission gone awry for Graves and his aurors.
No major warnings. Obviously, this is Original Graves/Credence. I just recycled the vampire lore I’ve been using in AMIND/AMISD, because I like it and because I can. :P
Design for an engraved tazza with the head of a jester in profile with an upside down head of a satyr (Pride and Folly) in a roundel; surrounded by a round band of ornament decorations, including scenes of the temptation of Adam and Eve and the Whore of Babylon riding the beast with seven heads; circular plate. c.1588
Theodoor de Bry (Print made by); Theodoor de Bry (Published by