in the back of my mind there’s always been this unforseeable outcome that maybe the supergirl writers just want us to think alex and maggie are breaking up but really they’re going to have their big gay wedding and be in love for the rest of their lives and we were just tricked? anyways posting about this so you guys can have that in the back of your mind and it’ll maybe give you hope even when there is little to none.
Shivaism has always opposed the anthropocentrity of urban society. Its western form, Dionysism, similarly represents the stage where man in is communion with savage life, with the beasts of the mountain and forest. Dionysus, like Shiva, is a god of vegetation, of trees and of the vine. He’s also an animal god, a bull god. The god teaches man to disregard human laws in order to rediscover divine laws. His cult which unleashes the powers of soul and body, has encountered a lively resistance from city religions, which have always considered it antisocial. Shiva, like Dionysus, is represented by city religions as the protector of those who do not belong to conventional society and thus symbolizes everything which is chaotic, dangerous and unexpected, everything which escapes human reason and which can only be attributed to the unforseeable action of the gods.
Daniélou, Gods of Love and Ecstasy: The traditions of Shiva and Dionysus.
SUMMARY: Trapped within your anger, the Vagabond and Cheshire find themselves screaming as Ryan and yourself try desperately to break through.
Standing outside of what you remember to be Ryan’s room you
tentatively knock, the movement inside stopping at the sound of your arrival and nervous energy
wafting underneath the door. You wait a moment before knocking louder, your
crutches digging uncomfortably into your skin while you hold yourself upright. An
irritated sigh hums from your lips, before you bang angrily on the door for a
final time, “I know you’re fucking in there.” Nothing, no sound, no movement,
and no answers greet your insistence, only more anxious atmosphere. Grumbling,
your frustration is fuelled on by the aching in your body left behind from the dwindling pain killers. “Get your ass out here” you spit, suddenly
Though the Vagabond serves as the darker embodiment
of a gentle man, he had become a stronger imposing force post joining the Fakes, part of two personas living
within a single body and an unforseeable consequence of the incident you had both experienced in Greece. The events go unspoken between you, walled off within your mind; but you couldn’t avoid its effects. You’d both been thrown into states of immense anger and irrationality; struggled to find your way back in a single piece, your personalities forever shattered.
One man was gentle, loving and compassionate, whilst the
other was stubborn, rash, and cruel defense mechanism, perfectly complimenting the Cheshire that
had purred inside of you in your rage. Long ago you’d loved each in every possible way, the
Cheshire and the Vagabond, Y/N and Ryan; a perfect team so in sync that they
could take on the world. However, dealing with the Vagabond outside of the
Cheshire had always been difficult, two sets of characteristics that would mix
to the point of explosive confrontation. Still, as your anger grows you let the
Cheshire stir inside of you; embracing an anger you had long since abandoned.
“Vagabond, open this fucking door!” With a harsh punch your
knuckles crack the wood, the surface caving around your fist with a spray of
splinter. Quickly the door is yanked open, your heart leaping when you finally
see Ryan stood before you; looking rather confronted. “I can’t talk to you
right now” he says, his voice stern. Glaring, you ignore the aching in your
chest as you stare into his brilliant blue eyes, trying to calm the fluttering
in your stomach. “Yeah?” you demand, poking him in the chest with the end of
your crutch, forcing him back into the room; “well too fucking bad.”
“You’ve been hurt by incurable pain and sadness. Don’t say you can’t smile anymore or that you hate humanity. There’s a meaning to everything that happens in the unforseeable future. Now stay as you are; I’m sure the day will come when you realize.”
I still have enough to make 4 with shields, I’ll do an additional leader too, so it is going to be 2x5 or something. Like 4x shield+gun and 4xshield+meleeweapon. They are from the Maiden World Rillizar.
luxuriant world with mountain ranges, green
forests and great lakes covering the whole planet. A few cities have been
built in huge natural forest clearings and their inhabitants are mainly
focusing on non-destructive agriculture, through underground facilities
(there is the equivalent of several oceans of ready-to-drink water in
Eldar are very protective of this world and a
meticulous decontamination process is required to set foot on Rillizar. A
few Eldar chose to withdraw from society and settle into a life of
solitude, to better fulfill inward, meditative journeys. (This is the
case of the now extremely old Razek Morr).
Its moon, Rillizarkerun is a lifeless mineral world which has a pink-to-blue hue and is of no interest for the Eldar of Caliran.
Additional info :
Upon discovery by Craftworld Lonad-Shair, it appeared that Rillizar’s Exodite population consisted entirely of Seers (aka Dreamers) from Arithash who had been banished (officially sent by Aritash’s government to protect the Maiden World, though it was a secret for no one that it was fear of the seers’ powers that motivated this exile).
Losing, over time, the knowledge of most of the history and legends of the Eldar and therefore, the nature and use of their powers, the exiled became a profoundly spiritual and animist society obsessed with answering the big questions arrising from their visions and abilities. Rillizarians didn’t reject technology though didn’t feel the need to use most of it. They kept in storage and maintained what they had brought with them, however.
Without any proper teaching, their psychic powers evolved, unconstrained, in unforseeable directions that to this day, 4000 years after joining the Empire, still baffle Craftworld-born seers.
Exodite Rillizarian population amounts to just a few millions. The most powerful of their “Nature-Seers” as they are called by the Seers of the Craftworld, are in high demand. They are usually specialised in a specific set of powers that will make them known as “Soilshifters”, “Beasttalkers” or “Forestmasters”.
reaches your ears and you shrink into yourself.
God, please, no.
You pick up
your pace, making your way through the crowded corridor, pushing flybots out of
your way. You nearly trip over some bot lying on the floor and its owner
screams both at you and nothing, seeing his work so close to be destroyed.
i mean just LOOK?!??!? AT HOW SNUGLY SHE’S HOLDING ON TO HIM?!?!?! JUST LOOK AT THAT ARM AROUND HIS WAIST
LORD HAVE FUCKING MERCY THE AMOUNT OF SKINSHIP IN THIS CHAPTER
And then you get this??!?!?! panel?!?!?!!?!
Like?!?!? Look at that solemn face, look at that intensity in those eyes. He is not fucking around. This is a Promise with a capital P, to a stellar spirit mage no less who values promises above all other things and Natsu knows this. He knows this because he knows Lucy top to bottom and this is a promise that he’s going to bring Fairy Tail back and piece together her broken smile and make up for the year of depression she had to go through, because he’s starting to realise that his actions had unforseeable repercussions and even though I doubt he would do it any other way if he had a chance to do over, he’s starting to realise that what he did hurt Lucy more than he anticipated and he’s going to do something about it because even though he may not have meant to cause her pain, it’s evident that she was in pain. He didn’t mean to make her sad, but it happened anyway and hell if he’s not going to take responsibility for it. He’s gonna fix it and reset everything back to the way it was before. For Lucy’s sake.
Imagine Jamie's deep disappointment- in the Modern Glasgow AU- when he worked so hard to save a bit of money to treat Claire to a few days out of town, only to have his plan sunk by an unforseeable expense. Perhaps there's even a little substitute to save the situation??
Jamie’s feet were heavy as he climbed the stairs, one by one, 60 in all to the third floor where he and Claire called a few simple rooms home.
Tomorrow was their first wedding anniversary - and this past weekend, he’d put the finishing touches on a long-awaited and much-needed four-day trip to the wilds of Scotland. Their plans were simple - a rented car, a new map, a handful of ancient, half-ruined castles and battlefields to explore. He so wanted to take Claire to two places he’d visited as a lad - Doune Castle and Culloden Moor, both of historical importance, both beautiful and haunting in their own way.
It was to be four days without work, or class, or people. Three nights in a cozy B&B where they knew nobody. Lovely, aimless days where they could roger each other senseless, then share a hearty breakfast, then gorge on history and culture during the day (with a restorative picnic, which could turn into an hour of sun-drenched loving under a tree) and maybe a film or two in the evening before losing themselves in each other all over again…
But no. It was not to be. A perfect storm of rush orders, colleagues out sick, and Rupert booking meetings with nervous new authors meant that Jamie couldn’t take the two days off after all. He’d called Claire this morning to let her know - she had the rest of the week off anyway, as she was still in the odd time between when her nursing job at the hospital had ended and her first semester of medical school began.
She understood, of course. She *always* understood. She said she’d take care of the arrangements and that she couldn’t wait to see him tonight.
He loved her even more today than he had yesterday. Loved her for being so understanding, so caring. So loving.
Jamie rounded the second-to-last landing, heart pounding from the exertion at climbing so many stairs - and the prospect of seeing his wife. In the blissful year they had been married, his love for her - and his want for her - had grown at an impossible rate. Where did it all come from? Where did he store it all?
What did it matter?
He flexed the fingers of his left hand, heart lurching at the “C” tattooed at the base of his thumb. It had been Claire’s idea - to get each other’s initials permanently inked. A tangible, visible reminder of their bone-deep bond. The letter was small, and simple - but he now touched her every single minute of every single day. As did she, with his initial etched at the base of her right thumb. So that every time they held hands now, her right hand in his left, their initials touched. Pulsed. It was incredibly erotic.
He bounded up the final steps - and saw she was waiting for him in the doorway, lips curved in a lovely, secret smile.
He scrambled up the final steps - heedless of his screaming muscles - and almost tackled her, seizing her hips and roughly pushing her against the doorframe, mouth fused with hers, swallowing her moans.
At last they parted, panting.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I so wanted to spend our first - ”
“Shhh.” She pressed a soft kiss to his upper lip, winding one leg tighter around his hip. “It’s all right, love. Besides - I’ve got a plan.”
He bit the lovely secret spot on the side of her neck that always made her shiver. “Mmm? Does it involve our bed and the camera?”
She playfully swatted his shoulder. “No, idiot. Though it can. I was thinking…you so love your history…”
He stole her breath with a long, deep, hungry kiss. It took every ounce of willpower she had to push him away - and then meet his confused eyes.
“Not yet. Soon. Not just now. Let me go, please?”
Reluctantly he stepped away, but still gripped her hand in his - pressing his C to her J - watching her hungrily.
She smiled that secret smile again, slowly leading him through the door and into the small - but cozy - living room. The door slowly clicked shut behind them as Jamie took in the cushion and blanket fort she’d constructed - the picnic blanket she’d draped in the corner - the pile of documentary DVDs heaped on top of the TV. The “French Insults” scene of *Monty Python and the Holy Grail* was paused on the screen.
His heart filled with love - and he turned to his wife, so beautifully flushed with want - and with joy.
“I thought I could bring the trip to you, if we couldn’t get out to the countryside ourselves,” she said softly, voice full of pride. “With snacks and DVD tours of the castles and a comfortable place to hold each other.”
He swallowed, throat full of so much emotion. So much excitement. So much love. Slowly he stepped closer to her, anchoring his hands on her hips.
She held so still, enjoying how he slowly, slowly stepped closer. Then he kissed her forehead, the arches of her eyebrows, the bridge of her nose, her closed eyelids, the apples of her cheeks, the tip of her nose, the spot right above her upper lip, the curve of her jaw, her earlobe, her chin.
She whimpered with want.
“I dinna deserve ye,” he whispered, digging his fingers into the back pockets of her jeans, drawing her hips flush with his.
“We can still have our holiday,” she breathed, her breath hot against his parted lips. “As long as we’re together, every day is a holiday.”
Finally he brought his lips to hers. She gently eased him to his knees, then to his back amid the pile of cushions and blankets on the floor. Their world shrunk to be a mess of limbs, and clothing, and the desire to become one flesh.
And just as she peeled off his jeans and took hold of him, rising to her knees above him, blowing him a kiss, planning to sink home -
“Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!”
The TV came to life. Startled, she dropped him and elbowed him in the stomach. They gasped - her in surprise, him in pain.
And as the movie resumed behind them, they collapsed in a heap of uncontrollable giggles.
"We are aiming for the release of our expanded color wheel on June 8th.”
Trying not to be No Fun Bot here, but rather just offering a very gentle reminder that this is by no means a hard-set, guaranteed date. There may likely be unforseeable delays. This is also one of the few times, if not the first, that we have ANY sort of ETA on a site-changing mechanic. Which makes me wonder if this is a test of how well the community will handle it.
Feel free to celebrate and revel, to buy up and plan those nests, just please, by all that is good and wholesome in this world do not get angry if the date is changed.
3 years ago today, the world lost one of its greatest modern show jumpers, Hickstead, to an unfortunate and unforseeable tragedy. An international favourite, he turned heads wherever he went and inspired any, and all, who watched him go. There’s no doubt that he loved, and was loved by, everyone who knew him. Here’s to you, Hickstead. We miss you, we love you, and we will never forget you!
Just out of curiosity, why does Mac's success offend you so much? You're entitled to your opinion of course, but I just can't think of anything he does or has done to warrant being so hated.
Offend me? No, he doesn’t do that. Maybe if he did offend me, I would at least find him interesting. FYI, the post I made was hyperbole. I’m really not going to kill myself because he sold a lot of records last week. It’s just that……he’s just not that good. He’s vanilla (no pun intended) as hell. There are quite a few rappers out there that are far better than him at spitting on the mic but they have never seen #1 and/or they never will. THAT’S a shame. I respect him for his grind (an independent artist going #1 that wasn’t a previously known commodity is a hell of an achievement) but I can’t stand his music.
I’m sure he appreciates you sticking up for him though.
Sloshing water slapped the helm of the ship, the ruckus of feet above you on the deck was obvious as you tried to sleep.
That was hard enough already with the ropes binding your wrists but honestly, it had been weeks and you were used to it.
The door to where you were being held suddenly burst open and you were startled by the appearance of a man you had yet to meet in the doorway.
“You were more important than the lot of us thought.” He grumbled, his demeanor and his crest were the sure signs he was the captain of this ship.
“Excuse me?” Your voice cracked, your lip had split already from the lack of water and you were weak from the lack of sustenance. It showed when you tried to sit but fell back against the rough wooden floor.
“Have they not been-” He didn’t need you for the answer of that question, he could see it. He uncapped a bottle swinging at his hip and came towards you. You shuffled, the attempt scraping the ropes and binds against your chaffed skin.
“Hey, stop. I’m not going to fucking do anything to you, princess.” He snarled, irritated and antisocial made the guy a wonderful companion. “Just trying to help you and you refuse due to what? You’re a woman, let me take care of you.” You let him help you so you were sitting up and you took the offered drink before responding.
“Vulgar and misogynistic, aren’t you the full package?” He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him and you were surprised he had understood. Pirates were notoriously uneducated and you had the best possible teachers.
“Well, you don’t shy away do you princess?” You winced as you attempted to get comfortable with the wood digging into you through your ripped dress and he had a knife before you knew what was happening.
“Please, I have not done-” He paused, your begging confusing the man before he realized you indeed were tied up and he was coming at you with a knife.
“No, I’m just cutting off the ropes. Yes?” He made eye contact and the softness that swirled behind lifeless and dark eyes made you trust him for some reason. He slide the blade under the ropes and sliced quickly. You watched the binds fall as much as you watched his arms tighten with each cut. You rubbed at your wrists, your eyes adverting once he had finished.
“Thank you.” You were polite as always. Your parents expected nothing less.
“‘Course.” It was silent, breathing and the waves against the boat were all you could hear before the running of feet started again and a cannon shot went off.
“My fathers fleet found us.” You stated rather than asked and he nodded. “You are down here so if they get on board, they will have to fight you to get me.” He nodded again.
“And you asked for gold to get me back and my father refused because his kingdom has always out-ranked his family.” You finished, drawing your knees to you, resting your head on them as you looked over at him.
“You’re a smart one.”
Silence had returned but not for long.
“You aren’t scared of me?” You shook your head, shutting your eyes.
“No. I’m not.”
“Because,” You made eye contact, “If you were going to have you way with me or kill me, you would have done it and you need me if you want your treasure.” He agreed with you there.
“Are you married?” You scoffed.
“You know the answer to that, do you not?” It was the stupidest rule your father had ever made but it was followed by all.
“Ah, right. 'A married woman taken by the pirates is now soiled and a shame to any family, she is now useless.’”
“Of no use.” You corrected but that was the rule to a T. “Are you married?”
He gave you a look but answered you nonetheless.
“Why are you so curious? You do know who I am, correct?” His defensive side took over but it didn’t deter you.
“You are the captain of this ship. And I am making conversation because I have been here for a week or so and I am bored.” He snorted.
“You are my captive and you complain of boredom?”
“Are you trying to change the subject, Captain?” When he looked at you this time there was fondness and a bit of amusement on his face, it suited him.
And maybe you should not have been as interested in this man as you were but you were stuck with him for an unforseeable amount of time. Maybe if you were nice to him, he would let you look at the water. You had always been fascinated with it and the idea of traveling, or rather the freedom that it offered.
“You are from my kingdom, are you not? We speak the same, you are quite well learned as well.” He stared at you, concerned with the way he so wanted to tell you his whole life story.
“What made you become this?” You made a motion to his attire and he masked his face.
“That is not any of your business. Now be quiet. We are not friends.” You were silent, you were not an idiot. He was a pirate and if you pushed too hard, he could still do terrible and unwanted things to you. You were silent, watching him as he had taken post at the door and had one hand on his sword. He stayed that way, unmoving and stoic until someone had knocked on the door with a light rythym. He wrenched open the door, his body still tense for the attack that could be on the other side if it was a ploy. But it was a woman, her body lithe and malnurished for someone so pregnant. She did not look unhealthy but she needed better care.
“Clear.” She had an accent, you had never heard it but you liked it.
“Get food.” He spoke slowly and used his hands to show what he meant. He was kind to her it seemed as she nodded and he patted her on the shoulder, motioning for her to take her leave. She smiled at him, waddling to get you something to eat hopefully.
“She will be back. Name is Delia. She does not speak English that well but she will help you with changing and getting something to eat.” He didn’t spare a look to you but you had to ask.
“What’s your name?” He paused, his head turning but he didn’t look at you.
“I want to know who to ask for if I desire to see you again.” His heart skipped and no. That could not happen but he knew if you asked for him he would quite possibly visit. He mulled it over, knowing that once you knew what his name was you would never desire for his company.
You blood turned to ice, your veins freezing over and you couldn’t breath. You were not taken for the gold alone, you knew that much.
Calum had betrayed his kingdom, or so your father said. One of the best officers that had ever joined the naval fleet, he turned one day to the life of crime. He was wanted and you didn’t want to think about what would happen if they caught him.
Calum Hood was using you to bargain for his freedom.
You didn’t know how long you waited for Delia to come back, you don’t remember eating what she brought. You did know that you had to get out of here.
Because you were sure of the only truth in this game.
Calum didn’t know how much your father didn’t care about you and hated him.
You were the dispensable pawn and you stood with a target on your back in the middle of the clearing.
You were not the play that Calum wanted to be making and he had not the slightest idea of what was to come.
Alright, so this is weird but the word vulgar always makes me think pirate for some reason so I hope you liked it! Much Love. :)
It being hihellatus, reading all of the posts and having way, way too much time to overanalyze my favourite show, I’ve been feeling like dipping my toe into the meta-writing occasionally. So, I’m giving you my thoughts on this year’s theme and why I think everything happening around it to Oliver & Felicity is actually quite brilliant.
I’m waving the positivity flag. So, hold your fire, pleaseandthankyou. Although I give some speculation or theorizing-ish points, this isn’t exactly that. It’s a perspective on the show. I’m not claiming to be an expert at this. Just, grab a cup and have a listen. Then you can decide for yourself. And if you tend to think differently, then that’s fine too :)
I’m starting by saying, with all due respect, that we can’t lose sight of the overarching theme for this year’s season. In the midst of everything going on right now, there’s one thing we can’t forget: It’s about family.
What I’ve always had in the back of my mind when it comes to this show is that Arrow, for the overarching storyline, can’t be looked at one episode apart from all the other ones. It’s more like a 23-hour long movie. Yes, there are plotlines that only last for an episode or two. Of course, some things only apply to that one episode. But the theme is interwoven throughout the entire season. Be it in smaller things or huge revelations. And you only see how everything ties together once you’ve seen every single episode of the season.
Every great decision creates ripples. Like a huge boulder dropping in a lake. The ripples merge and rebound off the banks in unforseeable ways. The heavier the decision, the larger the waves, the more uncertain the consequences.
The 7th Doctor (Sylvester McCoy), Doctor Who - Season 25: Remembrance Of The Daleks - Ep 1