#book snippets

[securityunit-ese]

Something tells me SecUnit isn't very good at trigger warnings

[voldemortbook]

The Importance of His Lordship

The choice of the title “lord” is another important distinction Tom makes. The wizarding world may not mention lords or ladies very often, but there’s a chance Tom is more familiar with this than most of his magical peers. The Riddle family is descended from landed gentry, more specifically squires, as Dumbledore reveals in his lessons with Harry: “The village of Little Hangleton enjoyed a tremendous scandal. You can imagine the gossip it caused when the squire’s son ran off with the tramp’s daughter, Merope.” (HBP239) According to Cambridge Dictionary, a squire is “a man who owned land around a village.” If Dumbledore is familiar enough with the illustrious history of the Riddle line, it’s probable that Tom knew of this fact as well. It’s clear from Tom’s choice of title that he has no intention of owning a limited amount of land, or, by extension, power. According to Encyclopedia Britannica, lord is “a general title for prince or sovereign or a feudal superior (especially a feudal tenant who holds directly from the king).”

Tom is putting forth this title as a message to all who use it: I own everything. He is making the bold proclamation that he is the ruler. On a deeper level, it’s a mind game. The question of what, precisely, he’s the ruler of is irrelevant. If you know his name and you are asking this question, it’s likely that he wants you to think he’s either already ruling over you or soon will be. This is not the title of a patient, benevolent prince who asks for your understanding—this is the promise of a sovereign overlord who demands your submission.

[shihkas]

from Coping with Trauma-Related Dissociation

[specialdae001]

"I'm wearing the same sweatpants I've been wearing the past week, there's a mysterious stain on my crotch, and no, I don't want to fucking come over."

Addie, Haunting Adeline

Gurl. I think the girls feel you sweetie. 😔✨

[mommy-medusa]

nobody asked, but here’s a snippet of Ares being the best brother, and Aphrodite being a badass

However, just before the weapon could lick a slobbering, bloody wound across her neck, something crashed into Zeus, throwing him off-kilter and causing him to stumble backward. His hand released Athena, and she slumped weakly down to the ichor-smeared pavilion. Even with her crushed, gushing nose, she could smell ash and smoke, and when she looked up, she saw none other than Ares grappling through the rain with their father.

Dark streams of smoke were billowing out of Ares’ mouth. He looked like a fire-breathing dragon, his expression all contorted with anger, but he wore a wide smirk, tusks already smudged with a few drops of ichor.

Athena had always looked down on Ares’ fighting style, but watching him now, parrying and striking, she knew she greatly underestimated her brother. As reckless and wild as he was, Ares was strong. Zeus landed several blows against him, but Ares was the type to not care about how many times he was hit, so long as his enemy fell before him.

However, despite his best effort, Zeus would always be stronger.

Zeus was holding back against Athena. He could easily kill her, but he didn’t because she was still useful to him.

But Ares? He would gladly smite Ares. Maybe he’d just been waiting for the perfect opportunity.

So when Zeus managed to blow Ares down onto his back, Athena felt a sharp pang of terror spear itself through her stomach. She tried to get up, but the pain of her wounds made her falter. Her broken arm was slowly reshaping itself, and her smashed nose pieced itself back together, bit by bit.

“Ares,” Athena rasped, reaching for her brother.

“While in this sorry state of hers, Athena is finally beneath you, and yet, you leap to her aid,” Zeus said to Ares. “Disappointing. But not surprising coming from you.” He raised a lightning-infused blade high. “I’m happy to allow you to share her punishment.”

“No— Ares!” Athena cried.

Zeus’ blade came down, and the sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air. The hooked sword went flying across the garden, lodging itself in the mud.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I have been waiting to do that,” said Aphrodite, standing guard before both Ares and Athena, a thorn-coiled battle axe with a blade of rose gold hefted on one of her shoulders.

“You too, Aphrodite?” Zeus said.

Aphrodite gave a dainty shrug. “I couldn’t let these two have all the fun.” Then, she stomped hard on the ground, and thorny tendrils erupted from the earth, whipping madly around Zeus.

“Help Athena,” Aphrodite ordered Ares, who looked extremely starstruck. “I’ll keep him distracted.”

Ares shook himself out of his dazzled stupor and nodded, rushing over to where Athena was still sprawled prone on the ground. He extended a hand to her, and Athena took it, allowing her brother to pull her to her feet.

“Are you alright?” Ares asked her.

“I’ve been better,” Athena grunted, smacking her side firmly and popping a dislocated rib back into place.

Aphrodite’s boisterous laughter caught Athena’s attention, and she looked up to see the goddess dueling with Zeus in the storm. She was handling herself a lot better than Athena expected, effortlessly swinging her battle axe and summoning snarls of rose vines to aid her in combat. Athena often forgot just how powerful Aphrodite truly was; she was practically a primordial, older than even Zeus and his siblings. The only reason why her strength wasn’t commonly exhibited was because she simply chose not to show it off.

Now, that cap to her wellspring of power was removed, and she whooped and hollered in excitement as she contended against the King of Gods.

“What a rush!” Aphrodite boomed. “I haven’t felt like this in forever!”

At Athena’s side, Ares gave a wistful sigh. “Isn’t she incredible?”

“Keep it in your loincloth, Ares,” Athena said.

[not-so-secret-nerd]

Hey my old readers, you remember this scene? <__<

For once, the vacuum of his mind didn't suck the knowledge away, letting it bloom in the bright sun of recognition. Orin remembered a hand cradling the instrument's slender neck. Fingers pressing against tawny strings. Smooth wood grains held between thumb and forefinger. He remembered the horsehair bow polished with rosin, and music. Such beautiful music. 

I remember this. 

He rested his chin against the built-in catch, the cool pocket caressing his stubbly skin like a lover’s palm. His right arm lifted, bow gently clutched between fingers that remembered the shape they needed to take. 

I remember music.

The first notes were low and resonating like a cold wind heralding a storm. Orin held it for an impossibly long moment, feeling the vibrations as the rosin gripped the strings, making them shiver against his calloused fingers. The note pushed a breath through his body, blowing the dust from his antique mind and waking once-dead embers that cast shadows of a past long since forgotten.

[savagegecko]

“You're so beautiful”

His words rang in my ears like the echo of a gunshot. How could he say such a thing? Having just woken up, finding me in a state of half finished slumber? Eyes puffed and hair like that of Edward Scissorhands. How could he find beauty in a moment like this? I can't deny that he is not one for polite lies and fake emotion, but the thought of him saying something like that, at a time like this? Well it just feels like a lie.

Looking into his eyes however, I find myself believing every word that falls from his lips. It is not the physical beauty he speaks of. Looking beyond the crusty eyes and stains of what is most probably drool. He speaks about the beauty of the moment. My hands that were clutching onto his shirt, his fingers brushing away imaginary dust from my arms. The smile we both held, the comfortable silence that neither of us broke. It was the beauty of what I could only describe as unconditional love.

Here is a little peak into the new book I'm working on.