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merakisnotavailable · 3 years

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MOON

Moon- verb; to behave or move in a listless manner.

-by Srishti Shivam

(written by Shivangi)

Blinded by the tears staining her cheeks, Niki closed her eyes and buried her head in her knees as she hugged her legs closer to her chest on the tiled bathroom floor, the warmth and the sound roused by the water running down her back in the constricted shower cubicle seemed to be the last string of sanity she was hanging onto, she truly felt like she would go crazy from the pain that sprouted from her broken heart, the absence of a certain someone's embrace and the deafening silence of her apartment. Moreover, she felt incomplete, insecure and listless. Why did she have to be here like this? Why was she pinning for someone who wouldn't even spare her a glance? Why did she give someone the power to turn her into the very person she swore she'd never become? and when did it start?

-3 months ago-

The soothing sounds from the air conditioner composed the background of the dimly lit room, the only source of light being the ceiling light right on top of the dressing table as Nikini added finishing touches to her makeup before leaving the house for a much needed dinner with her girlfriends.

Niki is like a breath of fresh air in a city where everyone seems to be walking in the same direction, everyone looks and dresses the same, everyone has similar goals and they seem to be rushing towards them all the time.

Surrounded by people who wore the same dull expression on their faces everyday, Niki's eyes glimmered with mischief and she'd throw her head back and laugh without a care in the world every now and then. Nikini is a woman who speaks her mind, she is an unconventionally slow paced, charismatic woman with a heightened sense of self importance.

Niki left the house and hailed a cab at 7:30 sharp, exactly half an hour before the dinner appointment had been made; being the most punctual one of the bunch came with it's own drawbacks, and one of them was waiting. Waiting for the the others to arrive after having done everything in her power to avoid getting late in the first place! Nikini had gotten used to it by now though, she arrived at the restaurant, was escorted to the table and started scrolling through her social media while she waited for the others to arrive and this is when she starts to drift off on her train of thought.

The people she is meeting up with today are her closest friends, their presence means a lot to her and if even one of them was in pain, there was no way Niki would be able to bring herself to sleep in peace, not until she had made sure that her friend is alright now.

She doesn't have a remarkable number of friends, it's just herself and her three girls; Nabi, Andy and Arya.

Work is good, she's happily busy with her life, but one could always use a catch-up with the friends! And besides that, Niki really wanted to check up on her friend Andy, who has recently come out of an excruciatingly long relationship followed by an extremely difficult breakup.

According to Niki, her friends deserved the best and only the best in life and she gets anxious whenever they start going out with a person who makes them feel otherwise, it goes without saying that Niki was not particularly fond of the way Andy had handled her feelings or even herself through the relationship as well as the breakup, but all she really could do here was give advice or even a shoulder to cry on; She could not make the choices for her friend.

This brought her back to the one thought that has been playing on a loop in her head lately; She knows that she still has a lot to learn in life, and that the future is the epitome of uncertainty itself, however, one thing she knew for sure is that she'd never become a part of the lovesick folk who are ready to roll the dice on everything they have and who they are for the only one that might not be meant for them to have in the first place.

That being said, she first needs to get a boyfriend.

Niki is brought off of her train of thought by a tap on her shoulder and as soon as she turns around, she comes face to face with Nabi who chose to wear a smile on her face that accessorizes her midnight blue dress in the best way possible, some people are effortlessly charming and this woman is definitely one of them. She gets up and greets her with a hug and sits down to talk while they wait for the others to arrive.

Andy is the next one to come and they decide to place the orders as they catch up so that the food will be ready by the time Arya makes it. While the girls are waiting for the orders to get prepared, they make a quick trip to the ladies.

On the way back to the table, Niki accidentally bumped into a stranger and impact was such that it sent her purse onto the floor and all of its contents out of it, they both started apologizing profusely as they bent down to collect the scattered belongings; the last thing she wanted was to be seen running after her lipstick as it rolled away from her in a Michelin star restaurant.

Niki only looks up once they're done collecting all of her stuff to thank the kind stranger only to be met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes she'd ever seen in her life. There was nothing extraordinary about them, they just felt familiar, like they carried a glint of mischief, much like herself. But she pushed the butterflies aside, thanked the guy and carried on with the night.

This was the first time they met.

The second time was at the park, when Niki had stepped out to complete her fitness target for the day and ended up meeting the cutest Golden Retriever while she sat at the bench for a little rest, the only thing that seemed off about the dog was that it didn't have anybody accompanying it at the moment.

He was definitely not a stray, if the bright blue collar around his neck was anything to go by; he looked quite young and it didn't take her that long to put two and two together and figure out that he had probably run away from his owner who will come searching soon enough.

So she started playing with the little guy to engage him and distract him from getting any farther from his owner than he already was and almost as if on que, there was a tall figure that came calling out to the dog from a distance, the cheerful barks and wagging of the tail directed towards the said person being the tell tale signs that this man was in fact the owner of the dog who's name happened to be "Toffee" of all things.

Niki bid a silent yet smiley farewell to the dog as it ran towards his owner before carrying on with her jog, the earbuds blaring with music preventing her from hearing as the stranger out to her with Toffee in his arms to thank her, eventually having to give up on it.

The next time was at the grocery store at the corner of her street. Niki was struggling to bring down a bag of chips from the top shelf with one hand and balancing another armful of snacks in the other while she was in her favorite five inch heels, her current state was probably not very graceful to look at but her ego prevented her from asking for help and right when she lost balance, she was caught in a tight embrace, the person behind her waiting for her to regain her balance and get back on her feet so that he could let go of her.

And as soon as she did, she was greeted by a familiar pair of hazel eyes and she couldn't stop her lips from curling up in a smile that reached her eyes; Thank you! she chirped at the handsome stranger No, thank YOU!! was what he said back, and then went on to explain how he was out walking his brother's pet the other day and how he lost the dog and how thankful he was for her help; the realization dawned upon her, and she told him why she happened to remember him.

That night they realized, they were in fact meeting for the third time, they first exchanged smiles, then names and then the numbers. Niki was over the moon for she could now attach a name to the handsome face of the man that she kept running into these days; " My name's May, Maynard, but everybody calls me May."

Third times' a charm, they say; it however turned out to be a tribulation that led Niki into a relationship that proved to be a blight on her self worth for a very long time.

Her relationship with May taught her what it was like to be tied to a sallow heart, to be in love with someone with her entire being but only being entitled to a part of his heart. She was so deeply in love that she found reason in everything that he did and said, she lied to herself to pretend she was not hurt or suffering, the glint in her eyes growing dull day by day. She delayed her reactions to his actions till the day she could not take anymore and then she left.

The imprints of his touch were etched into her brain in the form of memory, and all the places they went to became off limits for a while. she became exactly what Andy used to be like; The way she handled herself and her feelings for the person she loved was not something she could be proud of, even when she was the one making all the choices this time.

And the most important lesson that she learned was that, loving is hard, and it is completely possible for the perception of a person that you've created in your head and the person himself to be entirely different from each other.

It was all fun and games till the late realization hit her like a ton of bricks in the face, the dates, the fun they had together, the feeling that they got along well and were on the same page in the relationship, the memories were all reduced to nothing until the day she fell in love and he didn't.

Here it is!!

MOON, inspired by the song, " One Last Night" by Vaults.

A huge shout out to Srishti for coming up with a great source of inspiration and allowing me complete creative freedom with the plot.

Make sure to leave your suggestions and encouragement in the form of a comment, share this post if you liked it and feel free to send me prompts for my next story!

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#short story #female writers #writers on tumblr #ghost writer #writer's corner #writersociety #writersmonth2021 #writerblr #short story writing #writing life #blogger #blog post #blog owner #moodboard #unrequited love #one last night

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

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Jim’s Best Friend

Chapter Nineteen - Mambo No. 5

Word Count: 3694

Author’s Note: Quite glad that the last chapter was short, because these next chapters are longgg. There’s a whole big flashback sequence here, which I haven’t really done before, so hopefully you guys like it. Yeah, Chapter Twenty will be coming soon, I want to get it perfect, so expect two-three days from now.

WARNING: none.

For previous chapters click here.

September, 2007.

It rained the day Pam was assigned to Dundie Duty.

Her required job one day a year had come round once more as Michael prepared for a final Dundies before he left for New York's corporate building, the man so confident the position was his that he was arranging to sell his condo despite the staff warning him to do otherwise. Still, Pam quite enjoyed Dundie Duty, getting paid overtime to make sure notes were taken and all the videos watched. She was tracking recipients of past awards, musical numbers Michael had performed, any sections of the tapes that received more applause than the normal. Her boss was desperate to outdo himself every year, and had even managed to agree that the Dundies would once again be part of the office's budget before he and Jan broke up.

As Pam stood up from the conference room's comfiest chair to switch tapes, a knocking caught her attention, walking over to open the door and smile up at Jim, who had coffees in hand. She took a cup from him and beckoned him into the conference room as she pushed in the next tape. Jim needed the break, needed a bit of fun amidst the boredom of his work. With Karen out on a sales call with Dwight, he had absolutely no one to talk to or torment, and spending time with Pam was a fine alternative.

He had been dialling down the time they spent together, they both had, though not for a lack of friendship. It just... It felt weird without Y/N there, it felt wrong to make memories without her. From day one of his job, Y/N had been by his side to help him, guide him through the office despite being younger than him, and she had done the same for Pam. And without her, the office felt empty, like the sunshine had disappeared and replaced by gloom and rain showers. Everybody in the office was a little off about the whole thing, they had been for a while. Even Dwight was missing her in spite of the reveal that no-one in the office was working against or for the CIA.

Pam took a seat beside Jim, both turning their attention to the television as Pam pressed play. The picture was black to begin with, with loud chatter coming out of the speakers. A moment later, Michael's face appeared on the tv, seemingly handing over the office camcorder as a certain song began to blare over the din.

"Toby, Toby, you have to record this." Michael pleaded, and Toby panned the camera to show Scranton's one and only semi-decent nightclub, Chases, only the footage depicted the club from at least five years ago. Toby said something that made Michael, looking a lot younger, laugh as he ran out onto the dancefloor, joined by a young woman, the pair taking centre stage.

"Wait, is this really?" Jim asked, moving closer to the screen to be sure. Pam nodded fast in his peripheral, a bright smile on her face as the song began, Michael and Y/N beginning to perform along to the Lou Bega hit, Mambo No. 5.

September, 2002.

Jim really wasn't expecting to be invited to the office party that night, and a part of him begged for his brain to make up an excuse, any excuse, to get out of the dreaded situation. He wasn't planning to stick around this office for much longer, the last thing he needed was attachments to more people before he got out. But, Michael had insisted, as had Dwight, Pam and Y/N. So as the clock hit 5 that night, he helped set out chairs in the conference room for some sort of team building exercise called 'The Dundies'.

Michael, Dwight and Y/N had refused to tell either him or Pam about it, and Jim couldn't deny that the vague answers and whispers had him intrigued about the whole thing. He had only been in the office for a few months, yes, but by the way the team around him spoke of The Dundies, it was an ancient ritual or something, and he should be honoured to attend.

"If you keep flexing those muscles Halpert, Michael will move you down to the warehouse." A voice spoke up from the doorway, and Jim turned from placing down a table to see Y/N leaning against the door frame, a smirk on her lips as she teased him. Jim looked down at his arms and laughed a little, fixing the last few chairs into place. The rest of the office was finishing up, and it seemed that Y/N was the first.

She had been the first face he saw on his first day, the pair becoming desk buddies with Dwight. And what Michael gave too much of in bravado and lack of personal boundaries, Y/N had cancelled out with friendly tips and pranks on Dwight to calm Jim's nerves. She ran him through the phone extensions, the computer systems, helped him settle in with the rest of the employees at Dunder Mifflin. When Pam came in a few weeks later, she had repeated the process, and the three had become quite close in the past few months of working alongside one another. Y/N had even showed them how to get free candy out of the new vending machine in the breakroom.

"Y/L/N, you know we need a strongman in the office." Jim posed, making his colleague giggle. The pair were remarkably close for the short span of time they had known one another, finding that someone to confide in, someone to be friendly with both out and inside the Scranton Business Park buildings.

"We've got Stanley." Y/N quipped back, and Jim held a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. She sent a wink his way, turning with a flip of her hair and skipping back out onto the main floor, encouraging everyone into the conference room, where free food and booze were waiting. Jim had to move out the way as Stanley, Kevin and Meredith all rushed in, and he found himself a seat with Pam and Y/N in the front while the rest of the Dunder Mifflin team filed in.

"Is it ok that I'm scared?" Pam asked him in a whisper, letting out anervous laugh. Jim smiled back, taking a second to admire the receptionist's beauty before answering.

"I think if you weren't, there'd be a problem." Jim responded, the pair sharing a grin. He looked back, seeing a few of the warehouse team. and frowning a little. "I thought Roy would be here..." He commented, and Pam sighed, shrugging a little. The pair had been dating for a while, before Jim knew her, but Roy was yet to make an appearance at any work event Michael had hosted. The look on Pam's face told him not to bring it up again, and he gave her hand a squeeze. "You, me and Y/N. We'll do something fun after this." He suggested, glancing to Y/N for confirmation. Y/N nodded quickly, taking Pam's other hand in a show of support.

"Chases, we'll head over in a hour, get some early evening drinks." Y/N suggested, her coworkers nodding.

"Ladies and gentlemen!!" A voice boomed from outside the conference room door, the lights going off and causing Stanley to grumble at not seeing his crossword. Dwight walked in first, flashlight in hand that he shone on Michael, who entered with a strut, dressed in a magician's cape. "Welcome to the fifth Annual Dundie Awards!" He announced, and Y/N began cheering, trying her best to boost the atmosphere of the room. The rest of the team gave in, beginning a round of applause that Michael bowed to.

"Let us begin with our history..." Michael stopped, looking to Dwight with wide eyes. Dwight muttered to himself quickly, running behind the boss to turn back on the overhead lights, then scooting back to his position by the office's only laptop, already set up with a powerpoint presentation Pam was made to work on. Michael sighed as Dwight scurried, tapping his foot impatiently before continuing. "I started the Dundies in '97, my first year as Assistant Regional Manager of the Scranton Branch of Dunder Mifflin as a thank you to all you folk. And now, the Dundies are truly a historic event in Scranton!" Michael ended the brief history with a holler, and Y/N whooped. Jim watched her leave her chair for the back of the room where snacks and drinks were, coming back with thre red solo cups. Jim took two from her, handing the second to Pam, the three cheers-ing as Michael continued to ramble.

"Drink up..." Y/N encouraged, taking a gulp of her own and shivering. "Makes it all much more fun." She assured, and Jim shrugged, following her lead. He brought the cup to his lips, taking a swig and coughing hard as he swallowed, his throat on fire. It sent Y/N and Pam into a small fit of laughter, and Jim did his best to hide his embarassment.

"So, our first award goes to the Number Cruncher... Oscar!" Michael held up a miniature plastic trophy, Jim realising he had seen a few similar scattered around Michael's office and the main floor. He had thought it was just a vanity thing. Dwight tapped the computer, Oscar's name and award appearing on the screen behind Michael. Oscar came up, taking his award with a smile and nod before disappearing to the back of the room.

The night continued on, and only after Creed's confession that his using the women's bathroom wasn't a mistake, making his 'Most Embarassing Moment' award redundant, Michael placed the last three awards on the table.

"Now, the past few months we have been blessed with the presence of three new employees in the office, sort of. So, to start of with, the old new girl, Y/N." Michael gestured to Y/N, who laughed along, taking another sip from her solo cup. "For you, we have the Hangover Cure Award. Because no matter how many nights a week you go out, you always seem to be completely fine the next morning..." Michael handed Y/N the award, who stood up and pretended to wave the adoring crowd, getting a few laughs from the team.

"I just..." She looked at the plastic in her hand and pretended to wipe a tear away. " I want to thank my body. For, first, processing alcohol fast enough to avoid a hangover, and second, for getting me the dates that lead to aforementioned alcohol consumption in the first place." Her false sincerety made Jim laugh loudly, and he gave her leg a nudge with his own as she sat down.

"You've jinxed it now... Hangovers will haunt you from now on..." Jim teased, and she rolled her eyes playfully, resting her head on his shoulder and Michael moved on to Pam's award.

"For our new receptionist, Pamela, Pam Pam, we have the Hottest in the Office Award, mixed with the Doodler Award. Accept it with grace, and preferably with cleavage on show." Michael announced, a few audible sighs coming from the crowd as Pam stood and accepted her award with a quick smile.

"And finally, Slim-Jim... James Halpert, you receive the award of the Jim Halpert Award." Michael handed over the award, Jim raising a hand as the team let out a small round of applause. "For being, for just being you, Jim." Michael said with a dazed look in his eyes, and Y/N smiled up at the red cheeked Jim.

The team began getting ready to go, heading back out to their desks to collect bags and the like, Y/N taking a few extra moments to perfectly place her Dundie on her desk. Jim walked over to Pam's desk, pulling on his jacket and taking Y/N's off the hanger for her.

"You guys looking forward to Chases?" Jim asked a little too loudly, and Y/N hushed him as he spoke, but the damage was done. Michael appeared out of thin air, and waved his arms frantically to get the attention of the office.

"What did you say about Chases? We're going to Chases? Ok, people! Mandatory trip to Chases, drinking is on the company tab." Michael announced. "If you don't come you will lose out on any sort of Christmas bonus!" He added, giving no one a choice but to join the three barely legal newbies for a night of boozing.

As Jim walked over to Chases from the office, the bar just across the road, he wondered how bizarre the sight must have seemed. The age range of the shuffling employees ranged from 21 to 50 plus, a mass moving along the sidewalk towards the flashing lights of Chases. He and Pam shared a look, wondering how this night might end up turning out, but their worries were dismissed upon seeing the smile on Y/N's face.

The idea of the entire office coming on a night out appealed to her despite her initial protests. These people she worked with her more than friends, and she was sure it could be a fun night if everyone gave in to the situation.

After a few questionable looks from the bouncers, the team made their way inside and settled down a a few booths and tables in a corner of the club, Michael ordering a round for the team of shots and alcoholic beverages of choice.

"Everyone is going to enjoy tonight. That's an order." He called out, but it wasn't like anyone would speak up against the man buying them drinks. Jim found himself seated with Pam and Y/N, Angela and Dwight across from them, and Michael parading between their table and where Phyllis sat with Kevin, Oscar, Creed and Meredith. As drinks were sat down, Y/N raised her shot into the centre of the table, prompting the others to follow suit.

"Come on Angela! One night of fun is the least you could allow yourself." Y/N pleaded when Angela refused her drinks. "Even Dwight is joining in." She urged, looking over to Dwight for help. The man nodded and smiled as wide as he could at Angela.

"... One drink couldn't hurt..." The blonde said slowly, lifting the shot glass and drinking with the rest of you.

Twenty minutes later, the girls had left for the dance floor, Angela actually having fun for the first time since Jim had known her. To his left, Dwight sat with a fruity cocktail in his hand, watching Pam, Angela and Y/N dance on the club floor before them.

"She's pretty..." Dwight muttered, and Jim couldn't help but follow his eyeline. There was Pam her head thrown back from a joke Y/N had made as they bounced along to the music. She was stunning, and Jim took another drink of his own cocktail, sighing with a goofy smile on his face.

"Yeah, she is." He responded, the pair clinking glasses and watching the commotion of their employees. The customer service girls were chatting with Phyllis and Meredith, sharing a pitcher of Sex on the Beach at one of the booths, Michael going round and filming everything he could. Toby stood with Oscar and Kevin, all drinking beers and quietly mumbling in a far corner, Creed had disappeared, and Stanley was sat nearby, doing his crossword.

It took a few moments for the DJ to switch the songs, but when he did, Jim watch Michael force the camcorder into Toby's hands, yelling at him to catch 'it'. Jim recognised the song, sure, it was Mambo No. 5, but he couldn't quite understand why Michael and Y/N were looking eyes, squealing like girls at a boyband concert, and rushing into the centre of the dancefloor as the opening beats began. Jim excused himself from Dwight's side, heading over to Phyllis as he finished his drink.

"What... What's going on?" Jim asked over the pulsing beat, and Phyllis laughed, Michael and Y/N beginning some sort of energetic dance routine. It looked like something he would watch on dancing with the stars, a jive step kick thing and lots of shimmy-ing.

"The pair went to a dance class last year... The can't hear this song and not dance." PHyllis chuckled, taking a sip of her martini and cheering the pair on, prompting those surrounding her to do the same. The floor cleared for the pair to perform, sliding their way around the room, pretending to drive a car. When the lyrics came around, calling out, coincidentally, the names of the girls in the office, Angela, Pamela, Sandra and Rita were all beckoned onto the dance floor by Y/N, who seemed to take lead as the music continued.

She was electric, and Jim felt a stupid grin tug on his lips as she began pulling more and more of the team onto the floor for the second verse, taking a position with Michael in front of almost all of the rest of their team, the pair leading the through the next section.

"Jump up and down, and move it all around, shake your head to the sound and put your hands on the ground." Lou Bega's voice hollered, Jim now stood alone watching the events unfold. He never really danced, but by the wink Y/N sent him, and the continuous eye contact as she salsa stepped in a circle with Michael, he knew it was only a matter of seconds. As the second chorus began, she rushed over to him, taking his drink and setting it on the table behind him.

"I don't dance, Y/L/N." Jim began to protest, reluctantly being led onto the dance floor, much to the joy of his fellow employees.

"You dance with me." Y/N replied, Toby circling around the as the pair fell into hold, beginning a bouncy two step , Jim's hand holding Y/N close to his body. He spun her under his arm, the pair joining by the hands next, Y/N leading his movements with her body. He did his best to keep up, encouraged by the cheers from the girls nearby and Michael.

"I do all to fall in love with a girl like you." Jim and Y/N sang along with the final lyrics of the song, Y/N catching Jim off guard and spinning him under her arm. His head caught, the pair crashing to the floor in laughter as the song ended.

It was a moment of complete joy, for everyone involved, and for a second Jim hoped he could be frozen in time.

"Wow..." A voice interrupted Jim and Pam's viewing, Michael having slipped into the room unnoticed at some point. "I looked so young... We all did it's..." He chuckled to himself, Pam removing the video tape and holding it to her chest, wanting to keep in contact with the fond memories just a few moments longer.

"The night that inspired Dwight's and your recorder cover the next year." Pam said with a giggle, sharing a look with Michael that made Jim frown. He had missed something they both saw.

"What?" Jim asked, taking a final sip of his coffee, grimacing at the lukewarm fluid in his mouth before swallowng. Pam looked over at him, trying to figure out if he was kidding or not, before rolling her eyes.

"You really didn't see it? The way she was looking at you, the way you were looking at her. I don't think I've seen you dance like that since, Halpert." Pam was straight to the point, and Jim felt his cheeks flushing. "It's pretty clear why she decided to kiss you in April."

"We're friends, Pam... We've always been just friends." Jim tried to defend himself, and Michael scoffed.

"You're delusional Jim, and you know it." Michael muttered, though neither he nor Pam would say the truth outright, Jim being with Karen and all. But the three of them knew the unspoken reality of the situation:

Jim had been in love with Y/N for years, and her him.

And now, she was Lord knows where and uncontactable. Pam had been trying to get a response for weeks, but Y/N's phone had been switched off, every call going to voicemail, every message going undelivered.

Jim sat there, elbows on knees, he and his colleagues all looking out at the desk Y/N had sat at, still empty. Michael had refused to hire anyone else, and the seat had become a sort of shrine. When Dwight had tried to steal Y/N's old chair because his own had begun squeaking, Michael had caught him red handed and demanded he pay penance for his crime: Dwight had been washing Michael's clothes for a month.

"So, are you both ready for the interviews next week?" Pam asked, changing the subject as she gathered up the tapes and tidied the away, the clock nearing lunchtime. The men drew their gaze away from Y/N's desk and back to Pam, Michael being the first to speak.

"Yes ma'am... Leaving early Friday morning." Michael nodded as he spoke, giving Jim one last look before leaving, a sigh escaping his lips as he headed back to his office. The kid had no idea, and it was probably too late to fix it now.

The two friends stood in silence, Pam moving the watched videos over to the table. She stopped for a second, running her fingers over the casing backs, a sad smile on her lips.

"You know, when you leave for New York... That'll be it." She spoke up, and Jim looked up at her, his expression asking for an explanation. "It's just, you'll be in New York... And if everything goes well, I'll be up in Albany with the design team by Christmas... Scranton will be a memory." The words were sad to say, but someone had to say them. They had to move on, once more, to better things. And be happy for each other about it.

"It wasn't meant to end like this..." He said, finally voicing his own opinion, and Pam shrugs. What could they do? She left the room quietly, heading towards the kitchen to pick up her lunch, and leaving Jim to think everything over properly.

Because, when all was said and done, the finale followed.

Tags: @imsuperawkward @poppirocks @rosie2801 @onceuponahuntersrealm @aziggya @suitelifeofafangirl

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ziotsu · 4 years

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time to write out literally all my thoughts as someone who can’t read Japanese!

I actually saw the first few pages when people were posting them because apparently the first half of the chapter comes out the second week? I didn’t post my thoughts cause I wanted to do them all at the same time

Page 1! Well this is fun, I absolutely love the expressions in this manga (I feel like me going on about the art in this manga is going to be a theme lol). But the subtle differences between how Ashiya looks and how he looks when Sakae is controlling him are amazing. And it isn’t just the eye color, but just everything with how Sakae acts and carries himself (face included) really is awesome. And it doesn’t feel like just slapping a new face on Ashiya’s body, I genuinely can see Ashiya making this expression when Sakae isn’t possessing him (if he wasn’t such a cinnamon roll). Also the shock on Abeno’s face is not something we see too often. He has his normal shocked face but this feels more raw than in the past? Like his eyes seem wider and the way his hair is makes it seem like he basically just did a double take. MMMMMMMMMM this is good shit. But story wise, I assume this page is just restating the fact that you really don’t wanna use influence on a parasitic shrub possessed demon.

Page 2 and 3! Abeno know’s what’s up, or at least it seems so. It would be more surprising if he didn’t tbh. Also I wonder if Sakae kind of knew this was going to happen? Considering he was trying to keep them away, I assume he did. At the very least he does not seem shocked at all to see Aoi like that at all. Speaking of Aoi, they are def trapped where they are at. That whole is well large enough for them to get through and attack them again, but they are still on the ground it seems. I am guessing it has to do with the tree we saw coming from their tail last chapter. They are still 110% mad though.

3-4! It looks like it isn’t just the trees that are keeping Aoi down, I thought the roots attaching the main body to the ground had been ripped up but it looks like there are some remaining. Sakae is as gentle as ever, yes just toss away his injured arm, great idea. Now Abeno is in even more pain. The wound though is really deep, looks like two large gashes, which Sakae actually starts to dress (rest in peace, kimono sleeve) (also while abeno is trying to get his arm out of the inner kimono (idk what is is called), we can see the medicine Abeno always carries around! I love the attention to detail in this manga)

5-6! Yup, page 5 doesn't do it justice, but page six really shows the extent of the damage one of the gashes did. Super nasty scar going to go there. We see some more of Aoi though, and do they chirp? Like what cats do? Cause murder cat looks super cute on page 5 and I don’t know how to feel about this.

They look like baby here and I want to protect them. Abeno seems to be bringing up the medicine, though I really don’t know what this would do to Aoi other than basically kill them. Which honestly, may be for the best? I know it’s a bit messed up, but it has been stated before that they are obviously past the point of getting them help, and leaving them there would be super dangerous.

7-8! I am making another assumption that Sakae doesn’t know what the medicine does. Which I have a current theory that the medicine is a new development for the underworld. (if such a medicine existed before Aoi left, why wouldn’t they use it on them?) Which would also mean that Sakae wouldn’t know about it either. My guess from the last pages seem to be correct as there is a panel showing Aoi burning, which seems pretty deathy to me. I honestly don’t know what they are going to do, though I think for now, they should be getting back, reporting the situation and getting help for themselves. Aoi seems really stuck here so I don’t think they are a direct threat to the underworld immediately. (Unless Aoi manages to escape the island and oh boy that would not be good) Abeno seems pretty determined, though, so regardless Aoi is most likely going to meet their actual end.

9-10! Aoi is starting to go to sleep here, Sakae seems really good at first aid (wonder where/why he learned that ;) Maybe a certain lady who often gets sick?) Not a whole lot happens, I think these are mostly showing the passage of time, and it seems Abeno is putting away the medicine for now. Which good move, my boy. Come back to take care of murder cat later. Also I wonder if all those trees are from Aoi’s parasitic shrub. That would be terrifying if that is the case. It could really show how long they have been there, trapped and going mad because of the shrub.

11-12! Good lord all of them are looking super cute this chapter. Sakae you can’t do this to me, just all your movements and facial expressions are justlasdkhjg;lakshjdg. Ashiya is cute in his own right, but this is a different type of cute. Why are all these characters like this and please don’t stop making all these characters like this. We get a good look at Aoi’s spine and it makes me sad (though also could give more insight to how the shrub basically takes over? Using the spinal cord to get to the brain seems like a good path to take if the shrub’s goal is to spread like any other parasite (which also makes sense with the going mad thing, kind of like rabies almost) I am glad Abeno’s arm is being supported and held still with what they had on hand. Still looks super painful though.

13-14! And they are out! At least out of the pit where they can really easily run if they need to. Sakae is starting to get tired, so I wonder how much longer he can go on? I hope he can stay awake long enough to get back to the mononokean because I highly doubt Abeno can carry an unconscious Ashiya back. He would most likely have to wait for Ashiya to wake back up before moving on and who knows how long that will take. Part of page 13 made me go back to see the last few pages, but it looks like Aoi’s front right paw is stuck in the ground :( good cause they are most likely really stuck there and probably wont be able to escape easy but it makes me sad to see the previous master of the mononokean in such a state.

15-16! Oof the tiredness is really showing in the first panel. Get out of there quick so you both can rest! I am guessing Abeno is asking about why Sakae said those things in the flower field.Like how Aoi is dead and such, and honestly did Sakae lie? Aoi, as they were in the past, is dead. They are completely over taken and do not recognize even the child they basically raised.

17-18! Oh boy Sakae is getting more and more tired, Abeno is asking about the golden butterfly and can you two just get going? Ya’ll have limited time here!!!!! Though I wonder if Sakae used his influence on one of the butterflies to communicate to Ashiya? it seems very similar? Or a butterfly made from pure influence? Which would explain how it disappeared when Ashiya grabbed it?

I am going to stop the page format because uh.... WHAT. First off Abeno was def asking about the influence/parasitic shrub thing that Sakae brought up. And WE ACTUALLY LEARN ABOUT IT NEXT CHAPTER. This is huge cause oml this feels like a rare moment. Normally mysteries like this linger for a few chapters, simmer and make us suffer. BUT WE GOT A NEW BRAND OF SUFFERING TODAY FOLKS! Like I theorized it a bit on why I didn’t think Aoi was the one Sakae used his influence on, due to thinking that Aoi being infected years before picking up Abeno seemed super dangerous and didn’t feel like something they would do. I DIDN’T KNOW YOU CAN USE INFLUENCE TO CURE THE PARASITIC SHRUB THOUGH! PAGE 22 IS SUFFERING! PAGE 22 HAS ALL THE ANSWERS! Like we now know what happened, or at least have enough facts to be able to piece it together! Aoi and Sakae went out for a job, either they find out that the demon is infected or know and are going to try to help them out. Aoi somehow gets infected by this demon and Sakae uses his influence to get rid of the growing infection only to die himself as the parasitic shrub is not meant to live in the human body. This explains why Aoi was so beat up over his death, because IT WAS THEIR FAULT. It explains why Sakae would use his influence on a demon that is infected, because it is Aoi, their employer and friend. He probably wasn’t meaning to die at all, just thinking that ‘hey let’s just get rid of this shrub from Aoi so they don’t die because they are an important part of the Underworld (though AU where Sakae can’t do this and has to become the next master of the mononokean ;) )

We also see the aftermath, it is almost like he becomes some form of demon himself, and actually looks infected with the shrub. I doubt it is the same sort of situation because he doesn’t become a tree? I am honestly unsure on how this affected him. He does go and meet his son a few months later, (wait or was that Aoi because between the two pages we see a sort of continuation with the hand on the left (aoi’s hand) but we also see the ‘veins’ of the shrub which hints towards Sakae? I like to think that Sakae visited baby Ashiya, so I am going to go with the assumption it is Sakae visiting till I am proven otherwise) and smol Ashiya is always cute. Ashiya does seem to ‘notice’ something? or he is just a baby and babies cry A LOT. We see Sakae ‘infect’ the butterfly he uses to communicate with Ashiya in the flower field. Wonder if he tried doing the same in the past with Abeno, only Abeno cannot hear his words.

ALSO GUYS I TOLD YOU TO GET OUT OF THERE NOW WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? Ashiya is now completely passed out, Abeno cannot carry him back and now they gotta just chill there till Ashiya wakes back up. I know it is awesome to have questions answered, but please.

Though I guess somehow they managed cause Ashiya wakes up in what I can only assume is the Legeslator’s place? It is def not the mononokean (too large and im sure we would be hearing a bell the moment Ashiya woke up) but it could be Korou’s place. Not sure how Abeno managed, but he probably found a way to get them out of there. Rip golden eyes, though :( Guess they were just either the side effect to using that much influence or a hint that Sakae was just kind of hanging around in case shit hits the fan.

There is incense burning, making a guess this is either a preventative measure against the shrub or something to help wake Ashiya up faster. Ashiya is alone and it seems he is shaken because of what Sakae explained (I am guessing it was similar to his dreams when he subconsciously used his influence and he was dreaming about Sakae’s past)

This chapter was amazing, answered so many things and saw enough cute to really counter balance the ‘what the actual fuck’ this chapter brought along with it.

#fukigen na mononokean #The Morose Mononokean

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outlaws-of-anarchy · 4 years

Text

Tainted Love (Chapter 1)

Summary: For a year, the Reader and Tig have been seeing each other on and off. But far before it was the two of them, she had loved another man as well. Kozik. When he returned to Tacoma, the Reader focused solely on Tig. However, when the fearless Tacoma outlaw returns to Charming, a battle breaks out with her heart. Who will she choose? The man who left her, or the man who stuck by her side.

Pairings: Tig Trager x Reader, Herman Kozik x Reader

Warnings: Love triangle, swearing, sexual content, shower foreplay, shower sex

Words: 2700

---

It had been in the early hours of the morning that Y/N had climbed out of Tig Trager’s bed. Home to him, was the dorm provided by the club. Which she had learn to love, it had been her sanctuary for the last year. Even going to the far extent of selling her house and taking refuge with the outlaw who owned her half of her heart. The raven-haired man had been passed out in the bed beside her, snoring peacefully. He reeked of liquor and weed, nothing about that being unusual though.

She had to be at work by 8am, and that required showering to wake herself up. Most nights spent with Tig involved staying up late and engaging in anarchy. However, she had to draw a line when it came to work. She couldn’t party every night, she had responsibilities. Not that he didn’t, hers were just a little more specific. Running a company wasn’t an easy task, and she didn’t fool around when it came to her lively hood.

She worked for Elliot Oswald, being his right hand when it came to everything involving his company and Charming. Yet, somewhere down the road, she had tangled herself up with the Sons. Specifically, Herman Kozik. She knew all SAMCRO, had heard all the gossip. They were a bad bunch, and people needed to be careful around them. As Elliot said, they were ‘A bunch of no good thugs.’ On a business trip to Tacoma, Washington, was where she met Kozik.

And everything she had learned and been warned about the Sons, went right out at the door. He was a bad boy with the sweetest, softest side. He was rugged and sexy, and she had lost herself in him. He would come to visit the Charming Charter, but also to see her in town. Eventually, she was being brought around his friends, the people he loved and die for.

It was easy to see the flaws in the town folk’s lies, sure the Sons were rough around the edges, but they were genuine. Only wanted what was best for their town. It was even easier to grow attached to all Kozik’s friends, eventually even being considered family. However, the night Kozik dumped her, was the night Tig Trager soothed all her frustration and pain away.

Both had been drunk, and Tig wasn’t all that fond of Kozik for his own reasons. Yet, he did care for Y/N, and hated to see her all fucked up over blondie. Besides, she was a sweet, young thing and he didn’t mind burying himself in her.

However, neither of them had planned for their little tryst to continue for as long as it had. Real feelings had been developed easily for them, any spare time was spent together, and love was made constantly. Nothing ever had been official between the two, but Y/N never bothered fooling around with anyone else. Tig did, and she cared, but had no place to say otherwise. But, even if he fucked other women, he was always returning to her, his interest in her never faltering.

Every other woman paled in comparison to Y/N, and he knew that.

Hot water paraded down her scalp and back, pores soaking up the heat. Tense muscles were soothed and restored to their former glory. Suds were lathered around every curve and crevice she could find. Hair slicked back and hanging down her spine, droplets of water spiraling downwards. She was in the process of rinsing off when she heard the curtain being yanked open. With a surprised yelp, she jumped back and covered her breasts and groin with her hands. “Goddammit!”

Tig looked at her with a sleepy smile, a hand of his own running through his unruly locks. “Mornin’ pussycat.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she’d eventually drop her shield and continuing rinsing off. “Don’t do that Alex, I hate when you do that. I could have slipped and broke my neck.” She lectured.

He dramatically rolled his eyes before beginning to peel the leather from his torso. “I’ll make it up to you.” Y/N’s gaze shot towards him, one brow arching in a questionable manner. She carefully watched him as he stripped down. The moment his morning erection sprang free, she could feel the heat ignite in her core.

“Sex isn’t the answer to everything, ya know.” She purred, clearly transfixed on his hard cock.

Blue eyes locked onto her before slowly rolling over her naked body. His head tilted somewhat in appreciation as he scoured the entirety of her form. He hungrily let his gaze crawl up the leanness of her legs before roping around the angle of her curves. Then he was humming in approval of that toned, flat stomach, before landing on full, overwhelming breast. They weren’t over exaggerated in size like other women he had been with, but nonetheless, they were definitely a handful.

She had pink, puckered nipples, which begged for his lips to wrap around. Her skin was smooth, almost silken in texture, enticing him with every stroke and kiss. And without her even turning around, he could visualize her ever so lovely backside .Y/N had a plump, perky ass, which he swore he could bounce a Nickle off. He could also picture the curve of her back, and the way the indentations of where her cheeks and thighs met.

“No, but it sure is a good answer.” He replied smugly.

Y/N’s lips tugged back in a grin before she allowed her back to press against the tiled wall. Tig wasted no time in stalking towards her and shutting the curtain behind him. The shower had suddenly become much smaller, teetering to claustrophobia.

The water now beat down on the outlaw’s body, soaking him efficiently. Yet, as the water pore across rippling muscles and a chiseled chest, his eyes never fled from her body. The way she was pressed up against the wall, eyes expectant and hungry, made him growl with reverence. His own desire seemed to peak as she slowly ran a hand up her thigh, getting dangerously close to his destination. “You just gonna stand there and look pretty, Tiggy?”

With a snarl, he was closing the small gap between them and searing his kiss onto her lips. Then they were a tangle of wet limbs and hungry mouths. Hands roaming over every possible inch of each other’s bodies. Then he was swiftly grabbing one of her legs and hiking it upwards, forcing her to rest the base of her inner thigh right against his hip bone.

He then patted at her other leg, growling out a demand. “Spread em.” She managed to hobble with her one leg, spreading it further apart from the other. Tig was big on foreplay, finding pleasure in the incessant teasing and over stimulation. Especially with Y/N, if he teased, then she teased right back. However, on certain days like this, there was only the need to be fulfilled. He just wanted a quick little taste.

She placed both hands on his shoulders, keeping herself steady while one of his hand’s clutched her thigh tightly to him. His flesh was warm, inviting, and all she wanted to do was kiss every piece of him. He managed to situate himself between her spread open legs, his erection pressing firmly against her lower abdomen. Then there was that familiar clench of her walls and the soaring of her senses. He had a way of doing that, completely possessing her by such simple actions. She had been so interested in his cock, watching the precum leak from the small slit, that she hadn’t noticed his available hand sneaking between their bodies. Not until, she felt two fingers at her entrance and then them plunging inwards.

There was a fullness felt, but not the one she craved desperately. But it would do, for now at least. A hiss of satisfaction escaped her control as she tilted her pelvis upwards to meet those grazing fingers. Tig gazed down at her with a cocky smirk, brushing his nose across her cheek. “Always so ready for me huh babe?”

Finger pads began prodding at the warm flesh that enveloped them, before he started forcing them into a ‘come hither’ motion. Her head could only roll back, a content sigh intermixed with her words. “Y-Yes, Alex.”

No doubt about it, he knew the female body entirely too well. He knew all the right spots to make her squirm and come undone in minutes. But he also knew how to drag out the feeling, that euphoric high. He forced his skillful digits further in, spreading her entrance as far open as he could. Then he was retracting them and then slowly pushing them forward, earning a whimper from Y/N.

The clenching of her walls made him grunt, forcefully rubbing his dick against her, needing a bit of friction himself. While he kept toying with that insatiable pussy, he lowered his head and began pressing delicate kisses to her collarbone. Each thrust forward was met with the grinding of her hips, only encouraging him. Eventually his tongue had coiled around a nipple where he began sucking slow, damn near tormenting her.

Teeth gripped at the pebbled nub, tugging it back and earning a mewl. “Fuck, Alex.” One arm unwound itself from his neck, slithering down his stomach and halting at his pulsating cock. He was then sucking gently once more on the nipple before releasing it and biting along the side of her breasts. Yet, when she grabbed ahold of his cock, he tensed and let out a pent-up grunt.

They grasped and tugged at each other’s bodies, completely high off one another. The more he moved his fingers inside of her, the more she stroked his shaft. This only edging them closer and closer to combustion. After several minutes of pawing at each other, Tig had grown rock solid and miserable. He needed to pour his load into her, to get the aching sensation out of his balls.

He slowly drew his fingers from her core, bringing them to his lips. Then they were engulfed by his mouth and tongue, relishing in the way she tasted. She was sweet, taste buds going haywire with carnal hunger. He set her leg down, eyes dark and luminating with the need that he had. “Bend over.” He ordered with a breathy demand.

The bathroom had filled up with steam, clouding and encircling their bodies. His demand was one that shot a sense of thrill through every nerve ending in her body. She rotated, back to his front as she placed her hands on the wall, bending over and presenting her bare ass to him.

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack here babe.” He sighed, hands roaming over the fullness of her ass-cheeks.

Hips moved side to side in a teasing fashion which only earned a harsh smack, a whimper of surprise vibrating within her throat. “Such a good girl…” He smirked, aligning the head of his cock at her sopping entrance. It wasn’t as if they had been without each other in days, for fuck’s sake they had screwed just the day before, but when they got each other like this, it was like embarking on a journey to heaven.

Y/N could only anticipate his next move, teeth hooked inwardly on her bottom lip. She was growing impatient, thighs pressing together on and off, adding pressure to the small, swollen bud hiding underneath a hood. But that lack of patience quickly dissolved once he was pushing his cock forward, swiftly burying himself at the hilt.

And in sync, moans fled their lips, taking a moment to revel in the way it felt to be filled and the way it felt to fill. He was big, thick, walls instinctively tightening around his shaft, already attempting to milk him for his worth. She was warm, soft, wet, massaging and contracting around him with desire. A desire that only he could sate, a desire that was only fueled by him.

His rough hands found her hips where he gripped tightly, leaving claiming marks. Then he was moving inside of her, forcing her head back and her spine arching. Each thrust forward, she met by moving backwards, rotating those hips slowly. They kept up at their game for several, drawn out minutes. Bringing each other to edge of releasing, only to be pulled right back from it.

They could tease and tease one another relentlessly, finding satisfaction in the pleading cries and moans that they both offered. Bodies moved in rhythm, skin crackling with electricity while the hot water rained down on bare silhouettes. Sounds of chassis colliding repetitively could be heard amongst breathless moans and curses of approval.

Bites, scratches, and love marks were given to the other, pleased smiles and ushers of admiration danced in the air. They peaked together, the eruption of their juices flowed and intermingled in a single embrace. In one single movement they had branded each other with their scents and sweet fluids.

Sex with them, was never just sex. It was two souls connecting, grasping for the other. It was love, even if those words hadn’t ever been said.

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

8 PM

Exhaustion had infected every fiber of her being, and all she wanted to do was curl up in bed. Which had been her goal since she had left work, which had been extremely busy, and she wasn’t allowed to leave until she had settled everything. Her lower half was draped in a black pencil skirt that cut off above her knees, while a baby blue long sleeve blouse was tucked beneath the waist band. Black heels clicked across the cement as she made her way from her car to the clubhouse entrance.

A purse was slung across her shoulder as she yawned tiredly. Yet, just as she was rounding the corner, she was faced with a row of extra Harley’s. These hadn’t been the local boy’s, but possibly from another charter. Pursing her lips somewhat, she’d turn to continue walking, but ran smack dab into a hard chest.

“Sonofabitch.” She snarled.

Large hands gripped her arms to steady her before gaining her attention. “Happy? What the hell are you doing here?” She asked with a welcoming grin.

Coal irises scoured her body with a swift swoop, before offering a small grin in her direction. “Club stuff, Tacoma’s been hell without ya girl.”

She could only playfully nudge him before wrapping an arm around his waist, allowing him to lead her back in. “Well, what can I say. I am the life of the party.” She teased.

But once they entered the clubhouse, the entire universe shifted. Because sitting at the bar, with his steely blue eyes locked on her body, was the man who broken her will and stolen the other half of her heart.

“Koz.” She deadpanned, leaning dizzily into Happy’s side.

Kozik could only take a drink of his beer before rising to his towering stature. His strides were slow, almost anticipating her next movement. Happy eventually left Y/N’s side, leaving the two former lovers to catch up, not wanting to be apart of any of the drama.

“You’re lookin good, Tig seems to keepin’ you satisfied.” He bit out, a glower of hatred in his eyes.

Chapter 2

#soa #sons of anarchy #tig trager #tig trager fanfiction #herman kozik #kozik #jax teller #chibs telford #opie winston #happy lowman #juice ortiz #fanfic #samcro

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scarletgardensrpg · 4 years

Photo

LIVING ♦ TWENTY-FOUR ♦ HOUSE OF EDEN

GABRIËL DE JAAGER is a Yellow Jacket affiliated with the House of Eden. The youngest son of the Netherlands’ Koninklijke Landmacht Commander, Gabriël defected early to the House of Eden and was instrumental in the organization and execution of the Oranje-Nassau massacre. Gabriël is one of the few non-Undead soldiers to serve in the House’s massive army, as well as a close adviser to Thalia. Although he is a formidable fighter and strategist, his notorious temper makes him difficult to work with.

BIOGRAPHY

tw: violence

Thalia Yamaguchi met his gaze, and after a brief moment, turned away to wave to the bartender for a second drink. Sifting through the din of the Moulin Rouge, Gabriël settled gingerly into the seat next to her, every nerve singing. When she swiveled around to face him again, he saw that her cat eyes sparkled like tahitian pearls, and her manicured hands were laced neatly underneath her chin. Smug. Neither spoke—for in coming to meet her, Gabriël had already said everything she needed to know. At last, the bartender brought out his drink, an oranjebitter, and Thalia nudged it smoothly toward him with a pale knuckle. Drink, young Gabriël, she purred, and he could have killed her there, three bullets to the head and a crushed windpipe under his foot. But to level his gun at Thalia was to level it at Luana and Maurice. She’d made sure of that. We have something to celebrate, then, in your coming, Thalia said, lifting her own drink. Aan de koningin.

To the Queen. Gabriël knew, she didn’t mean Catharina.

- ❀ -

He was born brawling. The birth was difficult, and after, so too were the years: an endless parade of trouble presenting itself to the de Jaager family in the form of one single boy, scowling and insolent. In some ways, it was understandable—with four older brothers ahead of Gabriël, there was nothing really left to prove, only that he, too, could bite and bruise. They were all the sons of the Generaal, held in the highest esteem and afforded great luxuries for their father’s service to the Netherlands: but where his older brothers were handsome, serious boys in white shirts and chinos, who played football at their private schools and brought home immaculate grades every quarter, Gabriël ran with wolves, himself a sharp-toothed terror. How many lips had split under his fists? How many fights broken up by weary principals, expulsions begrudgingly demoted to suspensions behind doors as a favor to the de Jaager name? Gabriël snarled, bright with fury, and it took all four of his brothers to wrench him off some misfortuned kid.

By fifteen, he boasted a disciplinary record riddled with bullet holes: backtalk, fighting, truancy, fighting, vandalism, fighting. All this violence; and from what place did it come? All this rage; and where could he put it all down? They said he was hanging around wrong folk by then—bubblegum bitches with switchblades under their latex skirts, penoze runners from the hidden alleys of De Wallen, street-racing boys with wolfish smiles who kept Gabriël out hours past curfew. They said he was marked—a winding dragon on his arm, inked in by De Dame’s very own consigliere, that frightening Yamaguchi girl. His family was, of course, at a loss. How were four brothers reared into soldierly perfection, only for the fifth to emerge like some fresh wound of a nightmare, teeth bared and knuckles bloody? Even Gabriël could not have put a name to his recklessness, his enduring love affair with adrenaline, his need to throw the first punch, always—only that he was certain the world would swallow him whole, if he were even a little softer. He had not thought it possible, ever, to be soft. De Jaagers were cold machinery, were war rampages—what nervy soul dared to ask gentleness of him?

In the end, there were two. The sun princess, who spotted him from across the expanse of a palace courtyard and, like a barnacle, attached herself henceforth to him with comedic determination—and the moon prince, sapphire-eyed and erudite, who had merely swept his gaze across the dragon tattoo with disinterest, before turning to go. Neither of them afraid. They had played together as children, once, and so now played together again, even as the Scarlet Death wreaked havoc from what felt like a million miles away: Gabriël grumbling in the gardens, dragged along by a glowing Luana to admire the daffodils; Gabriël mussing Maurice’s pale hair by the waterfront, telling him, I’d be good, for you; Gabriël driving his fist into the pretty jut of Thalia’s face after she’d given her sick ultimatum. I never knew you to be a fool, she’d laughed, almost maniacal, stumbling to her feet with a hand cradled to her cheek. You’ll help my men into the palace, or we’ll blow it up from the outside. I’m offering you a choice and a chance. Aren’t I merciful? Gabriël lunged again, but this time, she moved like quicksilver. Click.

Listen, kid, Thalia purred. One hand leveled the gun to his temple, steady as a heartbeat—the other dug its nails into his shoulder, where the dragon she’d inked into him sprawled.

Gabriël listened.

CONNECTIONS

LUANA & MAURICE – HIS SORROWS, HIS LOVES. Here are two truths, and a lie. Truth number one. He loves them. Truth number two. He is responsible for the blood. And the lie? He regrets it. There was, truly, no other alternative that would save them from the same fate their family suffered: seven years ago, they were, all three of them, teenagers helpless to the machinations of politicians and killers. Agostina was hungry for a power vacuum, Thalia was happy to create it—and the rest is bitter, bitter history. There is, of course, an abundance of history between he and the royal twins. He never did return Luana’s feelings perfectly, but grew to love her all the same for the kindnesses she showed him, and for the countless hours they spent together at her whimsical behest—indeed, it was difficult not to grow fond of someone so effortlessly charismatic. As for Maurice...that is more complicated. They resembled something closer to good, true friends: shared interests, shared silences, shared understanding of the uglier things in life. For Gabriël, he had seen in precocious, careful Maurice a future king—someone to swear loyalty to and serve, as his father served Catharina. Perhaps, they were standing at the precipice of something more than friends, too—but all that is gone, now. The twins, who have recently returned with hollow faces and hunted eyes, hate him for a treasonous crime he did commit. He will not attempt to argue otherwise.

THALIA – A THOUSAND DEBTS AND GRIEVANCES. In the beginning, they were friends. It was hard not to feel heady with power when Thalia Yamaguchi claimed she liked you: she was a striking woman, rumored to inherit the penoze someday and already possessing the cruelty and efficiency required to lead the Netherlands’ most powerful crime ring. She’d shown him every nook and cranny of Amsterdam that was worth exploring: secret passageways in and out of cartel territory, underground fighting pits, glittering clubs, smoky brothels, stretches of urban streets where initiates lounged against the brick like neon demons. When she’d offered to mark him, Gabriël had accepted with awe and pride. Now you’re tied to me forever, she’d mused, etching her tattoo into his shoulder—and he had laughed, not understanding she was serious. Gabriël may have been the instrumental turncoat, but Thalia was always the originating mastermind behind the massacre, understanding it would take nothing less than the annihilation of an ancient family line to ensure her good standing in Agostina’s new empire. Gabriël hates her for it, of course—but finds he can’t fully commit to his rage in this one regard. Thalia had offered an opportunity for Gabriël to save Luana and Maurice, promising she’d turn a blind eye if he could make arrangements for them to leave Amsterdam forever. It is not a kindness, exactly—but it was not something a completely heartless woman would have concerned herself with.

IVONNE – THE ACE. She’s the PYTHIA. Gabriël knows this because he had, painstakingly, traveled to London in the days leading up to the massacre in search of one Walpurga Albert—only to find her creation, Ivonne, instead: wrist-deep in carnage, lips stained in unspeakable sin, head cocked to the side as she regarded him with calm, intelligent eyes. He had asked of her what he couldn’t trust to ask of any other soul in Amsterdam: save the children. And this she accomplished, with a shaking of hands and exchanging of goods. You owe me a debt, now, Ivonne had said. Someday, I’ll call on you to repay it. Gabriël isn’t necessarily interested in whatever strange agenda she’s pursuing, but he feels she is someone to keep an eye out on. He’s upset with her for not ensuring the twins would never return, as this puts them back in danger—but finds there’s little he can do to ask for a second favor. He is already indebted to her, and this makes him uncomfortable. Debts are the currency of the PYTHIA; it feels uneasy to know she could call on him at any moment, and he would be likely forced to do her bidding.

OPEN ♦ FC: GERON MCKINLEY

#gabriel #l #o #house #all #lsrpg #lsrp

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littledreamybeth · 5 years

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Injuries, tears and 1 surprise

A/N: Hey folks! This is probably my last writing for a while since my exams are nearing and I have to concentrate on them! I’m not a professional, so I’m sorry if a few aspects of my content seems unrealistic to you :) Nevertheless, enjoy!

Y/N couldn’t remember the last time that she had driven to somewhere this fast as she was now. She was clearly crossing the speed limit, she was aware of it, but she had a reason for this rush. It was a matter of life and death. Otherwise, she always stuck to the traffic rules, or rules in general. She was a good girl after all.

Tears continued to roll down her cheeks since the moment she had started the engine. Not even half an hour ago, she had received a certain call which she wished she had never received, making one of her biggest nightmares come true.

Her boyfriend’s mother had called, her voice unclear because she was crying so much.

She kept excusing herself for not having told Y/N that the love of her life was sent to hospital due to an accident sooner, because everything was quite hectic. Besides, her motherly instincts had advised Anne to keep Y/N from heartbreak until the worst was overcome. Anne gave no further details, only urging the young woman to hurry to the hospital as soon as possible.

Y/N practically threw herself out of her car after she had parked it in the hospital’s parking lot, and rushed to the entrance, ignoring the people with their flashing cameras and microphones, who started to mob her. She fought her way through them, but thankfully, she also got help from security guards, who tried to get rid of the crowd.

“H-Harry Styles,” Y/N croaked out of breath once she had arrived at the reception desk. It was a miracle that Y/N still stood on both of her legs, because she was almost at the verge of collapsing. She felt completely weak and drained off energy. The room around her was spinning and the walls seemed to be caging her in- it gave her a massive headache. Additionally, the constant worry about Harry drove her insane. The entire drive, she couldn’t think about anything but whether Harry was okay. No one really gave her any information about his condition- only that he was involved in a car crash this morning.

The friendly female staff behind the desk stared at her with sympathy. She knew exactly who this young woman in front of her was. She had seen her lovely face more than often on tabloids or magazines. Besides, the rumor that Harry Styles was hospitalized made its round quickly. Not only nurses were talking about it-no, the media also had heard about the news. It was hard to keep the reporters and paparazzi away from the building.

“Harry Styles!” Y/N repeated again with a trembling voice. Tears were brimming her eyes already and she could hardly maintain her emotions. “P-please, t-tell me w-where I can f-find h-him!”

The lady nodded her head, then turned to type something on the computer. The keyboard’s soft clicks gave Y/N a little moment of calmness. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest that the beats had reached her ear drums, too.

“He’s at the Intensive Care Unit,” the lady said.

Y/N’s blood froze in her entire body. “W-what?”

“I’m so sorry, darling.”

Y/N needed a moment to process everything. Harry was at the ICU, which means that his condition must have been very critical. Fear overtook her.

“Can you tell me anything regarding his state?”

“He just left the operating room, love. He must be brought to his room by now.”

After the lady had given her the information she needed, Y/N thanked her and then sprinted all the way up to her destination without any stops. She would often bump into someone - especially at the stairs, since she refused to use the elevators because they were a waste of time; only apologizing with a quick ‘sorry’. The closer she got to Harry’s room, the more anxious she became. And then finally, she stood right in front of his door with heavy breaths leaving her lips. Her shaky fingers clasped the door handle tightly and with every inch that the door was opened, her heartbeat increased. Y/N swallowed hard, then entered the room.

What she saw in there ripped her apart.

Her eyes didn’t really recognize the presence of his family members and friends who were scattered around her boyfriend, because she had them trained on Harry only. At this moment, she saw no one but him. Everything else was faded out.

Her legs took control and moved her forward to the bed in which Harry was peacefully sleeping. The heartrate monitor, on which he was attached to, was the only noise that could be heard in the room and the only evidence showing that he was alive. It brought her a sense of comfort. If it wasn’t for that device, Y/N would have believed he was dead. He looked so pale and lifeless, as if no soul was resting in his body anymore. He looked nothing like her Harry, but still very beautiful.

“What happened?” Y/N managed to ask to the round after a long while, not tearing her gaze away from her boyfriend.

She felt someone’s hand on her shoulder, massaging her muscles gently in encouragement. It was Anne’s voice that spoke to her. It sounded as broken as she was feeling. “Drunk driver, what else?”

Y/N shut her eyes tightly, clenching her jaw. Anger cruised through her veins and she had the urge to scream and tear the first thing that she could grab apart. Because of a drunk asshole, Harry ended up here. Why in god’s name do drunk people always have to sit behind the wheel? Can’t they already assume the outcome of their stupid choice?

“What about the driver?”

“He died on spot.”

Y/N didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, whoever it was deserved to be in pain, however, losing their lives was a little bit too extreme, even for her liking.

She observed Harry. The majority of his head was covered with a white bandage, hiding his chocolate brown curls underneath. He had minor scratches on his cheeks and a plaster case around his left arm. There was also a bandage wrapped around his naked torso, which indicated that he had also gotten some broken ribs. The sight was unbearable. Harry- her strong Harry, who would do everything to keep her safe, was lying here, looking vulnerable and it seemed like he would break into a pile of pieces if you even dared to touch him. Y/N wanted to grab his hand, but was afraid to hurt him. He must’ve been enduring enough pain already, and she didn’t want to add any more.

“He just got out of surgery, y’know. The doctor said he was lucky,” Anne informed her. You could clearly hear exhaustion mixed with sorrow in her voice. “He had a severe head injury, but thank god, he got through it.”

Y/N couldn’t imagine how her life would’ve been like if he hadn’t made it. But fact is; she didn’t want to live in a world in which Harry did not exist. He must have had guardian angels who had protected him. Whatever force it was that kept Harry safe, Y/N was grateful for it.

Nick Grimshaw offered her a seat right next to her boyfriend. She sat down and intertwined her fingers carefully with Harry’s, placing soft kisses on his knuckles. His unharmed hand felt warm around hers.

“I think we should give them some space,” Grimmy suggested, gesturing Harry’s manager and friend Jeff to leave. Jeff obeyed, and both disappeared out of the room.

Gemma approached Y/N, gave her a big, comforting hug, before she asked for her keys. “I know you will spend the entire night here, so I’m gonna get you some clothes and toiletries.”

Y/N reached out to her pocket, pulling her keys out and handing it over to the young brunette. Once Gemma had left, it was only her and Anne who remained.

“I’m glad he’s alive,” Anne whispered, loud enough for Y/N to hear. “I couldn’t bear to lose him.”

Being a mother of a worldwide superstar, she was always concerned about her son’s wellbeing. Especially when he was out of her reach. Then, she would have no control whatsoever over her son. He was her baby after all- of course, she worried. Harry was the only male remained in her life.

Anne didn’t stay long either, giving Y/N the opportunity to have some time with Harry alone.

Hours passed in which Y/N did nothing but to observe Harry’s chest, which lifted and fell with each intake of breath. From time to time, a nurse would stop by to check on Harry’s vitals, advising her to take it easy on him when he woke up, and to not asking many questions.

Prayers of desperation would leave her rosy lips more than once, hoping that Harry would open his eyes very soon. She would have loved to lie down with him, cling to him tightly and just hold him. However, because of his broken bones, she could do nothing but holding his hand.

Her limbs began to sink sometime, sleep starting to consume her. But just as she was about to doze off, she felt a light movement under her hand. She instantly looked at her boyfriend.

Harry started to shift in his lying position, his face expressing nothing but pain. The anesthesia’s effect had begun to diminish slowly. Shallow breaths left his mouth, and he mumbled something unintelligible. His grip around her hand tightened. Y/N was about to call a nurse to inform her that Harry was slowly awakening, but she heard her name escaping his lips.

“Y/N…” he whispered weakly, his voice sounding like he hadn’t talked for ages. Rising from the chair, she took place on a free spot on the bed.

“I’m here…” she responded, feeling something wet running along her cheeks. “I’m right here…”

“Y/N…”

“I’m right here, my love. Don’t be afraid.” Y/N gently massaged the back of his hand to provide him comfort.

“Everything hurts…” he whined.

“I know… But it’ll be over soon, I promise.” She wished she could do something to take his pain away.

Harry slowly opened his eyes. Everything was blurry at first, but with every blink, his vision became a bit clearer, adjusting to his surroundings. He came back to his senses every passing minute.

“Let me get the nurse,” Y/N stated, then left the room. Very short after, she came back with another middle-aged, kind lady, who unplugged him from the heartrate monitor. She checked up on his injuries, gave him some painkillers, told them to inform her should there be any problems, and then left with a “Welcome back to the living, Mr. Styles.”

After she was gone, it was him and Y/N alone again.

“Hi,” he spoke, when his green irises met his love’s ones.

“Hey,” Y/N responded, “how are you feeling?”

He tried to sit up. Y/N rushed to his need, taking care that she didn’t hurt him.

“As if I was hit by a car,” Harry joked, but when he sensed Y/N’s tense and frozen state, and that she wasn’t laughing or smiling at all, he apologized instantly. “Sorry, love.”

A blunt remark hit his ears. “That joke was lame.”

“I know…”

“You scared me. You scared us all. I thought I had lost you.” Y/N nestled her cheek against the inner side of his palm. “No one told me how you were. I was so afraid.”

Harry wiped the wetness under her eyes away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, love. I never intended to scare any of you.”

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault. That drunk driver is the one to blame.”

“How are they, by the way? Anything regarding their condition?” the young man inquired. His question took her by surprise. Y/N contemplated if she should tell him right away, but he had all rights to know.

“We were told that they have passed away.” Unfortunately. If that person was still alive, they would have heard a big lecture from her. Harry’s features softened. Even though that person was the reason he was at this condition, he still felt bad for them. Drunk or not. No one deserved to die in an accident. Of course, this didn’t justify their actions. They sat behind the wheel, drunk, knowing the how likely it was to cause a car crash.

“I see.”

A short silence followed. Then, Harry pushed Y/N down to his direction.

“What are you doing? You’re injured.” Y/N called.

“Cuddle me.”

“I can’t you have broken ribs if you haven’t noticed already.”

“I don’t care. Cuddle me. I want cuddles now,” Harry pouted. “You’re my medicine, c’mon.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. But she still obeyed to his wishes since she wanted nothing but to have him in her arms. Harry shifted away a little bit, making space for his love. Y/N cautiously laid down beside him, wrapping one arm around his lower half, making sure not to hit his injuries. Harry slung his healthy arm around her small form, snuggling against her.

“From now on, I’ll be accompanying you to everywhere,” Y/N said determined. “Somebody needs to keep an eye on you. Whether you want them to or not.”

Harry chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Yes…”

He kissed the crown of her head. Y/N wondered who was relying more on comfort, her or Harry?

“You won’t be getting rid of me so easily, love. Not gonna let that happen. You’re stuck with me forever.”

“I can’t risk losing you, anyway. I need you,” the young woman said. She looked intently at her lover, her eyes mirroring her emotions. Harry could tell that there was more behind them than she gave away. “We need you…”

“We?”

Y/N sat up and only led his hand onto her flat belly, where another life was going to rest and grow in the next couple of months. A large smile graced her lips.

As Harry caught on her hint, his eyes gleamed with joy. “Are you- are you really pregnant? Like, there is a little me in there?”

“There is, and that’s why I need you more than ever. When your mum called me and told me you were hospitalized, our baby was the first thing that crossed my mind. How would I raise them if you weren’t there anymore? I didn’t want them to grow up without a father, so I’m relieved from the bottom of my heart that you’re alive, and with me. Us, I mean.”

Harry gently ran his hand over her stomach.

“I’m not leaving anywhere, love. I won’t let you down, don’t worry.”

Pressing her lips delicately onto his, she kissed him gently.

“I love you,” they breathed in unison.

taglist ❤ : @hes-writer

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luckyjak · 5 years

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fic: i never leave well enough alone [shadowgast]

Caleb and Essik, making out for science. The Mighty Nein are also there to walk in on them and embarrass them. A kissing fic, with some found family fluff thrown in to break the tension that could otherwise be carved up with a knife.

[AO3 Link]

a/n: I haven't even seen the episode yet (I'll see the VOD Monday) but I know a good ship when I see one.

They are studying, and they are talking, and Caleb has been distracted by the gold of Essik’s eyes for a while now.

Normally, dunamancy is a fascinating subject for Caleb, but he finds his attention wandering this afternoon in ways it hasn’t in over a decade. Not since he was a boy, noticing his classmate Astrid and the way her robes filled out in different ways than his.

Today, he’s distracted by a lot of things--the overbearing warmth in the room, to combat the stark cold of the Xhorasian winter outside. The way Essik must be warm, too--there is a gentle bead of sweat falling down the back of his neck, into his high collar. Caleb imagines following that bead of sweat for a moment. Essik has a lovely neck, long and slender, and Caleb can imagine himself kissing it, pressing hot lovebites into the drow’s dark skin. What do drow even look like, bruised? Would anyone even notice if Caleb left a trail of hickeys on his dark purple skin, or would it just be their little secret?

It’s not just his neck, either. It’s his mouth, too: his lips are full, and they look soft to the touch, and they move subtly, spellwork precise in the way it comes out (“ pro” “hibere” “tempus”), the verbal components soothing to Caleb’s ears. Somatic, too, in the way Essik moves his hands, tracing arcane patterns into the air. He has beautiful hands. Caleb thinks about his hands, and wonders where else his long and slender fingers may fit on Caleb’s body.

And his eyes, too--gold, like the center of a hot fire, and Caleb has always been attracted to a flame. They are small but vivid, in color and in shape, and they are staring at him now, intently.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” The drow accuses, but his tone is gentle, teasing, coaxing Caleb out of his fantasy and back to reality.

Caleb rolls his eyes, and with the practiced ease of a student who has never once had to study, casts the spell he was only half paying attention to flawlessly.

His reward is a smile and a pointed look of pride on Essik’s face. “You are brilliant, you know? You’ve progressed further in mere weeks than what many have done in lifetimes. You are simply amazing .”

Essik runs his hand down Caleb’s shoulder and squeezes, and it’s too much for Caleb; the heat and the intensity of Essik’s gaze, the skin contact, the way their knees brush against one another underneath the table. He leans in swiftly and kisses Essik fully on the mouth before he can think better of it.

It’s a risk, but a calculated one, and he’s always been a fan of the potential rewards.

Essik’s lips are soft, softer than Caleb expected, and while the Shadowhand doesn’t pull away he doesn’t kiss back, either, and so Caleb moves away sooner than he wants. His gut wants to keep kissing, to grab and to hold the other man and kiss him until they are both breathless, but he stops himself.

Not yet. Not without permission.

“ Oh ,” Essik says, quiet at first, barely audible. “That was-- unexpected.”

“I apologize,” Caleb says, sitting back down in his seat, though his eyes still stare at Essik’s lips.

“No, don’t. It was not unpleasant,” Essik’s hand traces his own lips carefully, cautiously, curiously. “Merely unexpected. I have never, ah, kissed , like that,” He says the word kissed with uncertainty, like he has to think carefully about what the word means in common.

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Ever?”

“Not with one like you, no,”

“Human?” Caleb offers, scooting his chair closer to Essik’s, so that one of his knees is in between his partner’s. The dark elf doesn’t respond. “Male?” he ventures another guess.

“One of those is correct. I’ll let you guess which one,” the Shadowhand whispers, playfully, a coy smile on his face. He moves his hand to Caleb’s face, caressing the soft patch of hair that’s begun to grow there in the weeks since he’s shaved last. “I would--I would like to try again, if you aren’t opposed.”

Caleb doesn’t respond; instead, he kisses him again, and is thrilled when the elven man kisses back.

This time, Essik is more present in the kiss, less shocked and more daring. He keeps one hand on Caleb’s face, caressing his cheek while the other wraps around the broad expanse of Caleb’s back across his shoulders. Caleb’s hands, for his part, find themselves drawn to Essik’s waist, his fingers catching in the loops of his belt.

They part only long enough to catch their breath before Essik stands, kicking his chair over in the process, and drapes himself instead into Caleb’s lap.

It’s too much; Essik kisses like a storm, like lightning in a bottle, precise, stunning, fast, and all of Caleb’s senses are on fire from the sensation. His vision is dark and blurred, only catching glimpses of white hair against dark skin as Essik nibbles his way down his chin.

Yasha doesn’t remember what she came into the library for, but it certainly wasn’t to catch Caleb in this compromising position.

...It is Caleb under there, although it takes Yasha starring longer than she intends to to discover that. It’s not her fault: Caleb is somewhat buried, his lap full of an attractive drow man straddling him in the chair.

There’s a chair knocked to the floor, and neither man is wearing their jacket. Caleb’s shirt--from what Yasha can tell, where she’s standing--is half unbuttoned, and his hair is a mess, stark red tangled from dark fingers.

They are just kissing, she reckons, but Essik is kissing Caleb like he wants to eat him, tongue first, and Caleb’s hands are firmly attached to Essik’s backside.

“...I’ll come back later,” Yasha tells the room in a whisper, her voice unheard, as she closes the door quietly behind her.

“Did you know Caleb’s kissing the Shadowhand now?” Yasha announces casually to where most of the Mighty Nein are gathered in the kitchen. "They're making out in the library."

“WHAT?” Jester squeals with delight, clawed hands covering her mouth in joy.

“WHAT?” Beau hollers, outraged, fist slammed on the table.

Fjord doesn’t react beyond trying not to choke to death on his salad, his face a new and unusual shade of green.

“Good for them,” Caduceus nods sagely, stirring his teapot without much concern. “Tea?”

“Yes please,” she nods to Caduceus, taking a seat between him and Jester. “I just walked in on them in the library. They seem quite attached to each other.”

Jester’s squealing gets louder (“oh my gosh oh my gosh ohmygoshhhh!!!”) and Beau seems even more outraged.

“The fucking library?” Beau howls, loud enough for the whole house to hear. It’s a good thing Nott and Yeza are out shopping, and that the rest of them were in the kitchen, minus the two in the library. “ I use that fucking library. That’s public property. I swear to god if they get sweaty boy shit all over those fucking books I’ll murder them both, those fuckers-- ”

And then Jester is up out of her seat and down the hall, and Beau is following fast behind her, and Fjord seems like he wants to crawl into his shirt and hide like a turtle as he pushes his bowl of food aside.

“Was I not supposed to say anything?” Yasha asks, more to herself than to anyone in the room, but Caduceus answers her with a cup of tea nonetheless.

“Nah, it’ll be fine. This is what families do, in my experience. At least that’s how I reacted every time one of my sisters brought a partner over.” He picks up his own cup and sips it. “Never really saw the appeal, myself, but different strokes for different folks.”

“Ah,” Yasha nods at his wisdom. Behind her, a door slams and there is a lot of yelling and screeching and a crash of what sounds like two bodies roughly hitting the floor. “Should I stop them?”

“In a minute,” Caduceus says with the sophisticated ease of someone who used to living in chaos. “Let them have their fun, first. Then we’ll go save poor Mr. Caleb from dying of embarrassment.”

“Or setting off a fireball in the house.”

“That too.”

Unlike Yasha’s quiet opening of the door, Jester slams the door to the library open with enough strength that they might should be concerned about the hinges.

“Caaayyyyleeeb,” she coos , her voice getting high pitched towards the end. Her voice and the door startle Caleb and Essik enough that they lose their balance in the chair, and Caleb lands flat on his back on the hard stone floor, with Essik on top of him.

“Oh my gosh, Yasha was right! You two were kissing,” she makes an exaggerated smooching sound, and Caleb can feel Essik stiffen on top of him, uneasy with the situation. For all that Caleb is certain that Essik likes him (as a friend, if not more, now), he always thinks that the elf has no idea what to do with the rest of Caleb’s friends, uncertain what to make of them. “How cuuuteee.”

Beau comes slamming in after Jester, and gods, they are going to have to replace that door. “Do not fuck in public spaces,” Beau yells, and, oh, it seems drow can blush, based on what little of Essik’s face Caleb can see buried on his shoulder. “New house rule, effective immediately, should have been mentioned earlier but we didn’t think about it. No fucking in any place where I routinely eat, sleep, read, practice, or bathe, or I’ll cut your fucking dick off and nail it to the wall.”

Caleb can feel his own face flush at that. “Get. Out.”

Jester scrunches her face at Beau. “But if they can’t fuck any place we sleep, then where are they supposed to have sex? Outside?”

“Get out.”

Beau shakes her head. “No sex outside either. I don’t want anyone to ruin the garden with that. They can fuck in Caleb’s roo-----oom, shit!”

He flings a firebolt at Beau’s head and misses, his aim made unsteady by the body on top of his.

That causes more squawking, this time about “fire safety!” and “don’t burn this house down too Caleb!”, and he feels Essik start to laugh quietly against him.

Luckily, his heroes arrive before he dies of embarrassment. “Okay,” he can hear Caduceus's calming voice come from that side of the room. “You’ve had your fun. It’s time to stop embarrassing Caleb now.”

He hears Beau shriek in protest, and then Caduceus must pick her up somehow, because she starts screaming about being carried off until Caleb can’t hear her voice anymore. He still hears Jester’s giggling though, and heavy footfalls until she, too, starts complaining about how Yasha is ruining all of her fun.

He hears the door shut tightly, and thanks whatever gods are out there that they are alone now.

He feels Essik roll over on top of him, and groans a little, his back bruised from their fall. “We broke your chair,” Essik says, sitting up off of Caleb properly and onto the stone floor. He looks--undignified, and young, but still terribly handsome, as Caleb takes a moment to stare. His stark white hair is in disarray, and his tunic is off-center, and his gold jewelry tangled. It’s the most like a mess Caleb has ever seen him, and he must confess, it’s a good look on him. It makes Caleb wonder, briefly, about other times when Essik might become disheveled, and how Caleb might help him get there.

Sure enough, there is a broken splintered wooden chair nearby. He offers Caleb a hand to help sit up, and Caleb finds he’s reluctant to let go now that he’s sitting up straight. He leans his back up against the leg of the table, and offers Essik what he hopes is a charming grin.

“We can fix it. Jester knows mending,” he breathes in deep, and takes a moment to recollect himself briefly. “That was fun though, yeah?”

He get a soft smirk in return. “I can think of less enjoyable ways to spend an afternoon.” Then Essik bites his lip, his eyes glancing up and down Caleb’s form. “I can think of more enjoyable ways, too, though.”

Caleb feels his face flush, and he wants to ask like what, coy and flirtatious, and he wants to lean over and kiss him again, on the floor under the table, for hours at a time. He wants to peel off Essik’s tunic and see what he looks like underneath his many layers of clothes, to see if his skin is that dark purple color throughout.

He probably shouldn’t, though. Not today. Caduceus and Yasha can only distract the others for so long, and besides, Nott will be back soon, and that’s a whole different interrogation to get through.

So instead he grins, charming and boyish, and says, “Like, four hours of uninterrupted time in a library with a good book?”

That gets him a hearty chuckle, and gosh, the Shadowhand is pretty when he laughs. Caleb’s face should not be this flushed; he is not some inexperienced teenage schoolboy, and yet the rapid beat of his heart seems terribly, achingly familiar.

“Among other things,” Essik smiles, and kisses him, softer this time, just a gentle press of lips against his. Where as last time was all passion and fire and shocked skin, this one is gentle, like a feather tickling the skin, and it ends quickly. “I should probably go, though.”

Realistically, Caleb knows he has to leave; that Essik has a job and a life outside of kissing and tutoring Caleb in magic, but right now the idea seems unfair, cruel and senseless, just another way of punishing Caleb for his past crimes. “Tomorrow, then?”

Essik bites his lip, and kisses him again. “I think I could find the time,” he promises, and there’s another kiss, deeper, and Caleb can taste his tongue. “We could maybe actually study, this time.”

Caleb wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him closer with another kiss. “Or we could explore those,” he’s interrupted with a kiss, “those other things you were talking about,” there’s another kiss, another clashing of tongues and teeth, until they find they need to breathe again. “I have ideas.”

“A locked door might be nice,”

Caleb kisses into Essik’s grin. “I think I know where to find one.”

If they don’t stop kissing now, they may never stop, and while Caleb can think of worse things, he also doesn’t want to get Essik in trouble. He pushes him away slowly, savoring what he plans to be the last kiss of the night. “You should probably go though,”

“Right,” Essik breathes heavily, still staring at Caleb’s lips. “I have a meeting. With the Bright Queen.”

Caleb reaches over, and straightens out Essik’s tunic, and rehooks the gold chain that had come undone around Essik’s ear. “Sounds important.”

“It--it could be more important,” Essik stutters as Caleb stands, offering him a hand up as well. “It could definitely be more important.”

“You don’t want to be late, though,” Caleb picks Essik’s cloak up off of the table, wrapping it around the gentleman’s shoulders. “I doubt the Bright Queen tolerates much tardiness.”

“You’re right,” Essik confesses, and looks down at his shoes. “I don’t want you to be right, but you’re right.” They haven’t stopped touching each other, Caleb’s hands on Essik’s shoulders, and Essik’s hands on Caleb’s waist. “I just want to keep kissing you.”

With a stronger willpower than most, Caleb leans into the embrace, and kisses Essik carefully on the cheek. “Tomorrow, then.” He lets go then, and squeezes Essik’s hand tightly instead. “I’ll walk you out.”

They leave the library hand in hand, and dream of better tomorrows.

Notes:

unpictured: Caleb's walk of shame back inside to be interrogated by the Mighty Nein.

also unpictured: Essik doodling cartoon hearts with Caleb's name in them during his meeting with the Bright Queen

#critical role #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essik theylas #mighty nein

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callmeblake · 4 years

Link

GERARD WAY

Phoning It In April 07th, 2020

Phoning It In. I’ve always loved the phrase and I was just inspired to write a song with it. To keep in spirit with the title of the song, I made sure not to try too hard on any one element. I wrote the riff quickly, wrote the lyrics quickly, we got the guitar sound quickly, and there was no overthinking or really changing anything. My only complaint about it is that I think it is a little too fast, so it forces me to sing harder to keep up, and it doesn’t fully sound like I’m phoning in the vocals. So I thought about slowing it down and delivering a more laid back vocal take. Just ever so slightly. I played the guitar, sang, No bass yet. Doug programmed the drums. Every once in a while we will have someone play drums on the songs, but usually only when we are finishing something for release. Otherwise, all the drums in the demos are programmed by Doug, and I think he does a really good job of making them sound kind of real and natural. I get attached to them. All of Hesitant Alien started as demos with programmed drums by Doug. He and I have a cool relationship, and have evolved together over the years since he engineered Black Parade, Danger Days, and engineered and produced Hesitant Alien. We work in the same space, the studio at my house, called Milk Friends. I just let him have the space I’m not using and he brought in all of his gear and works on various projects, recording, and mixes, and I would be in the other room, the office, writing comics. And every so often, when neither of us is too busy, we record things. I like sharing artistic spaces with people, especially Doug. It’s nice to have a friend that can record you when you have an idea, because I’m terrible at recording and I barely even know how to use Garage Band. So all the singles you have gotten from me over the last couple of years have been done with Doug and I, and then various musicians who would replace certain things, making them real, and sound better.

https://soundcloud.com/gerardway/phoning-it-in

Phoning It In

Some folks make hasty decisions They live their life on the go I can’t be bothered to give a damn bout anything and Some people say I’m a pro

You’re busy climbing the ladder I’m busy lying in bed It doesn’t matter if anybody calls me names and I’m gonna fuck off instead

Because

We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in Don’t care just phone it in Get bored just phone it in We’re gonna phone it in

You busy yourself with fashion I busy myself with fun I’m busy painting these mini metal skeletons and You say I’m dressed like a bum

You say that you’ve got a passion About what you’ve gotta do You say you can’t wait to buckle down and start your day and I’m less excited than you

Because

We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in Don’t care just phone it in Get bored just phone it in We’re gonna phone it in

We are the ones The ones who never give a damn We are the ones Without even a basic plan Out in the sun We are the ones enjoying it You work too hard I quit I quit I quit I quit and

I’m tired of people complaining My best is not good enough I’m only doing the minimum to get me through and If you don’t like it then tough

Because

We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in Want pizza phone it in Hate work just phone it in We’re gonna phone it in

We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in We’re gonna phone it in

#gerard way #phoning it in #april 2020 #2020 #music #gerard's blog posts

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theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

Text

There's a sneering attitude that the dub is inherently inferior solely for being a dub, and when I say 'dub' I mean the American one. No one attacks the South American interpretation, funnily enough, or the variety that exist globally.

Why not if foreign languages are so abhorrent? Do you think it's kewl to hate America?

That's so original you know.

If the moan centres on the dub changing certain things, well that's a pointless stance, because it's impossible to do otherwise.

What's accepted in one country is not always permitted elsewhere, so either you make those alterations or it's never shown. I'd prefer seeing a slightly toned down version rather than have it never reach the West at all.

This is without considering the technical obstacles that a direct translation brings. The words do have to fit the mouth movements, and if they don't, truncation must follow.

America and Japan are different; the population of the former are not going to comprehend the references to the latter's history and culture, which necessitates some divergence from the original to give it mass appeal.

Anime is a branch of entertainment. It has to attract the public's good will to stay in business. If impenetrable, it'll fail, with all the resulting unemployment and finacial losses that brings.

Those in charge of dubbing understandably think they're on safer ground promoting familiarity rather than the strange, but that's not to say Pokémon was stripped of its identity. On the contrary, it was like nothing I'd ever encountered before.

I may have watched Western cartoons then, but the idea of doing so now is silly. I won't give time to any modern animation unless it's Japanese. Growing up on the dub has not produced an ephemeral fan less serious or 'true'.

The 4Kids dub had wit, humour, deep emotion, suggestive comments and flights of fancy. The voices fitted the characters well.

Unlike the current one, where everyone sounds on the verge of vomiting, but then they're clearly working with substandard material on a miserly budget. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear after all.

Dubs can be bad, but the very state of being a dub doesn't confer worthlessness automatically. Considering the work gone into them, attempting to gain your favour, it seems rude not to appreciate the time and energy spent in production.

Knowing a little about history, sub-only fanatics remind me of the kind of folk who opposed an English Bible, because it was too good for the oiks to read the word of God.

Of course it was alright for them, rich enough to be taught Latin, but not so much the ordinary man.

It amuses me how dozens dismiss the dub, but see no hypocrisy in using its evidence to further their ship or anti-ship arguments, so it can't be that revolting.

It's also bizarre that so many hold sacred the sub of a series currently in a frenzy to shed every aspect of its anime and Japanese origins, leaving a vague, rootless ghost, supposedly making it easier to slip down the gullet of the masses.

Pokémon I've seen referred to as a 'gateway drug', as in the anime that introduced a generation to the entire concept. This means the dub. You would not have got enough kids in the late Nineties to read a screen rather than watch it, and even today most would lose interest rapidly.

Where would you be without that dub? Unless you're Japanese, your first experience of Pokémon will have been a dub, and if not the American, the one where you live, which was only made because there was the funds available.

You may have then progressed to watching the sub, but only because that dub stirred love in your soul.

Where would the franchise be without that dub? You think Pokémon would've grown to be a world-wide obsession raking in billions by itself? No, it'd still be a solely Japanese phenomena, and most likely never lasted this long.

Its decades of supremacy rests on the quality of that dub. It sold games and merchandise to kids by the ton, giving an incentive to keep the series going. If you're not a fan from the first wave, then your favourite era would have never existed had it not been financially attractive carrying on.

The team who wrote the first film actually preferred the dub, moved to tears by its emotive use of music, therefore they aren't so precious as the fans.

Where would anime be without that dub? Pokémon brought it to the West. A handful slipped through previously, but made minor impression.

To those who would dismiss Pokémon entirely in favour of more 'worthy' output such as Studio Ghibli, I would say that Pokémon, first the games, then the programme they inspired, must have an integral quality to have caught on in Japan, which isn't exactly short on similar concepts.

To have gained popularity in a crowded market, and so fervently a dub became an option, can only have come about because it held a certain magic.

It was the dub that smashed a hole in the cultural barrier, setting free the tidal wave to engulf the world. In Pokémon's trail followed Digimon, Cardcaptors, Monster Rancher, Yu-Gi-Oh! et cetera.

Without Pokémon, I doubt they'd have been translated, and definitely never broadcast on mainstream television. That came about as channels desperately hunted down anything Japanese to serve as the next craze.

I really appreciated the effort made by 4Kids in converting every aspect of the series to suit American tastes, including changing text on signs, letters and books into English. I assumed this was standard practice until I watched others.

I could never be as involved in them as I was Pokémon because of that block. It was like being denied access to the deeper waters, fenced into the shallows, and implied a rushed dub, with little care shown but to chase the same crowd and money.

If personified, the dub 'n' sub wouldn't be one human being, but rather identical twins: the same to a casual observer, but easy to tell apart by the more attentive.

It's like the games: Red and Blue are versions of a single adventure, but not totally one. Take the dub and the sub the same way. They are parallel dimensions running on separate rails, and beyond reconciliation, and that's before we consider that, sub and dub alike, each generation has only a faint relation to its predecessor, working on its own whims.

Everyone has a favourite, or can like both, and there's nothing wrong in that, but so many are proud of the fact they hate the dub, as if it conveys a revered status of supremacy.

When Disney films are shown abroad, they too are translated, and I'm sure references and jokes are redesigned to make sense to the locals. It's no use selling yourself as a comedy then being surprised when the audience refuses to laugh, having no idea what you mean.

If people prefer that one, for being what introduced them to Disney as a whole, or as a fond memory of childhood, then so what?

I don't mind if their view of a character is minutely at odds with mine, having seen the original, because what they think is canon to their version, so can't be wrong.

I don't go round declaring every Disney dub to be pathetic by its nature, that viewers of them are of a lesser breed of fan for preferring their own tongue, even though more of the world's population understand English than they do Japanese.

If you enjoy one tailored to your country there's no crime in it, just as I like one at least comprehensible to mine. It's not even my culture, but I pick it up mostly.

The choice must be made on which to follow, and this blog runs on dub canon, as that has a claim on my heart. Just because I don't acknowledge what takes place in the sub doesn't mean I'm unaware of it, but it has no bearing on what I write.

The idea that the dub alters things willy-nilly without rhyme nor reason is also mistaken. Often it does it because the original does not make sense.

In the sub, I know Nanny and Pop-Pop are just a couple of old duffers taken at random and dropped in to a castle, supposedly as James's far away nannies.

Oh yeah, that's a cushy position. You doing a lot of child care from miles off?

Mind you, it used to describe 'em as 'caretakers' on Bulbapædia, as if Nan serves as housekeeper whilst Pop tends to the garden.

That's right. Ma and Pa finally got some work out of this pair of freeloaders.

They're not related, remember? No, no, absolutely not, no way. Of course their style reflects that. They just gave Pop a 'tache, thick eyebrows and a bigger nose, and Nan got a bun and lines in her hair, but there's certainly no connection. Oh no. Such a thing is ridiculous.

They're NOT family. No. Yet Hoenn James still panics they might learn he's joined Team Rocket, spending the whole episode trying to hide the truth.

Why? Who are servants to criticise the son of their employers? Why should their opinion be of any consequence to Hoenn James, especially when his parents, fiancée and butler are cognizant of reality?

Children of aristocrats are usually brought up by governesses, thus develop a stronger attachment to these figures rather than their parents, but that isn't the case here.

James lived with Ma and Pa, not the codgers minding the castle. He would have very little contact with distant employees compared to those who waited on him daily, so why seek out their approval?

Hoenn James apparently was permitted visits to Nan 'n' Pop, which is strange considering they're not relatives. Why them and not any other house-stters?

That's right, Ma and Pa sent their son to one of their properties without them, entrusting him to the care of two shrivelled pensioners of his size that he barely knew, and who could keel over at any minute. There are no other servants present. Apparently Nan and Pop clean an entire castle by themselves.

Oh, and they run a makeshift Pokémon sanctuary, but since it's not their home it has to be done with Ma and Pa's blessing, who also have to pay for it, but they're eevul aren't they?

The idea that somehow Nanny and Pop-Pop have not cottoned on to James's occupation by now is risible.

Servants gossip about their masters. I bet the entire household of his home know, and so in turn does the county. That Nan and Pop remain oblivious proves how isolated they are, for no one's thought to inform them.

When it came to dubbing it, they were made his grandparents, removing all the above nonsense. Of course he visits his nan and granddad, it's their gaff and their money funding the place, and it is likely his mother or father would keep James's job a secret, for fear the shock would finish 'em off.

It should do really. If they're not bothered by it that's a sign of where his rapscallion ways were inherited.

They aren't facially akin to Ma and Pa, but display the same additions, so if staff it's bloody lazy, as if nannies have to resemble your parents, but inventing a blood link excuses the slothful characterisation.

Every reference I've seen on Tumblr relating to the coffin-dodgers calls them Nanny and Pop-Pop. Apparently the dub decision is met with universal approval. It does have redeeming aspects then.

Now the sub writers, rather than ignore this development, took to it too. They aren't exactly bursting with ideas these days and are probably grateful for the lifelines offered.

Remembering James had parents, they forced a likeness between them and Nanny and Pop-Pop. How else do you explain the inexplicable ageing, even when Sinnoh Ma and Sinnoh Pa are younger than Ma and Pa?

I've also known for years that the sub has this woman as Jessie's foster mother, not Ma Jess, but that's stupid.

I can grasp the idea that Jessie and Ma might have endured extreme deprivation, considering that's what Team Rocket has brought to Jessie anyway, and that they may have lived at the bottom of Mew's mountain prior to Ma's death.

What I find difficult to take in is that social services (or as they're known where I live, the S.S.), however notoriously awful they are, would give a child to a mad bitch in a shack with no running water.

Come on, they have to at least pretend to be concerned for Jessie's welfare.

As Jessie is very young, bereavement can't have befallen her in the distant past, so how can she be happy this soon after becoming an orphan? How could the grieving period be a cherished memory?

If that woman's creaming off the money, why hasn't she fixed the place up by now? Where do the payments go, sniffing glue?

Then there's the depiction. If this is just some daft bint never to be mentioned again, why do they conceal her face? Who cares what she looks like when she's unimportant?

Here's another figure from Jessie's past. She isn't disguised, and why not when she too briefly appears and is then forgotten?

Who was she?

The only sort of characters they tended to hide were other members of Team Rocket:

During the early scenes featuring Giovanni, he was enveloped in shadow, adding both intrigue and a sense of menace.

Madame Boss also got this treatment, even though there was probably no intention to ever feature her in the anime. What's the use in keeping an appearance a mystery if it'll remain masked?

With that pattern, it implies this woman is in the same category, like Ma Jess.

When it came to animation, it definitely was intended to be a foster mother. Not her real one. No.

What did they do?

They gave her Jessie's skin tone and purple hair hanging down her back!

You know, like Ma Jess?

Any colour would've done. Any at all, and being anime I do mean any colour, but no. The choice was made to give her the looks of the exact person she's not meant to be!

Is it that surprising the dub simplified things?

I don't mind if you like the dub, sub, both, or any from around the world, but I'm tired of the smug condescension, as if we all agree the sub is the only one that counts, and that dub fans are grunting troglodytes, or not 'proper' aficionados.

None of us would be here were it not for the dub. Pokémon would not be here. I think it deserves some respect for how much of a difference it made, to my life and to yours.

#pokémon #team rocket #nanny and pop-pop #ma jessie #jessie's mom

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rosecolouredash · 5 years

Text

Querencia CH. 1

Previous Chapters // PROLOGUE

Summary: A prince and his sword meets a king and his bandits.

Warnings: Arson, violence, blood and mentioned death.

Notes: Thank you again for all the love and excitement on my new venture into Fantasy!5SOS territory. I hope this chapter is more filling than the prologue 😉

—

CHAPTER ONE

At the southernmost end of the country was an area known as Veodia. Although the land was scarce—barren of the lush wood and running rivers that the Kingdom of Saere was known for—it was beautiful in its own right.

Gargantuan mountains that peaked into the clouds and grazed upon the heavens.

Dunes of silver sand that sparkled underneath the moon’s light.

It was a wasteland by any other name and through this wasteland—Prince Calum Thomas Hood ran.

It was almost nightfall when he sped up his pace—kicking behind him a cloud of dust, as he fled from a group that has been on the tail of his coat for a week. The prince neared a rocky area when he realized his situation and let out a quiet curse underneath his breath.

A dead end.

In the distance, he could hear them.

“He can’t have gone far—keep yourselves alert!”

The runaway prince licked his lips in nervous habit. If he did not think quickly, he would likely get caught.

Or worse.

As if lady luck herself, was guiding his vision—Calum happened upon a door, hidden amongst the rocks. He dashed and closed himself inside the seemingly abandoned stronghold when he heard from his unwelcome followers again.

“I saw him run this way!”

At the top of a dune, a woman clad in onyx armour paused at the sight of her troops.

“What’s wrong?”

They addressed their leader with bowed heads. “Forgive us miss but we’ve lost him around here.”

The colour of her eyes matched the cold metal that enveloped her body.

She surveyed their surroundings.

“Well, are there any likely hiding spots nearby?”

A man from the group spied the door within the rocks and gestured towards it.

“He might have gone into that old fortress there?”

A smirk plastered itself on the warrior’s face.

She had thought so too.

“All right, let us torch this place and smoke him out.”

Almost on command, the door to the old fortress was set on fire.

She watched as the flames grew and black smoke filled the night air.

“Oh little Prince~ If you come out now, I’ll grant you mercy and a choice.”

Eerily, the scene before her was reflected in her dark eyes.

“What would be less painful? Death by fire or death by my rapier?”

The woman cackled at her words when she was suddenly interrupted.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

She sharply turned her head to the voice and found a boy and girl stood in front of a small group of others.

They were clad in various animal pelt and almost blended in with the grey surroundings of Veodia. If it were not for the armoured chest plates present on their bodies, the woman knight might have assumed they were merely wasteland folk.

“Who are you?” She asked, eyeing the people.

The young man she suspected to be the leader stepped forward—his cape, lined with fur, shifted at the sudden harsh wind that filled the area they occupied.

“Funny, that’s exactly what I was going to ask you,” he replied with a boyish smile.

A grunt from her troop let out a scoff, “they’re the bandits that infest this dump.”

The wind picked up again and sent sand to smother the flames.

The so-called bandit woman nudged her friend—her russet coloured skin contrasting heavily with his pale complexion.

“They must be allied with the scum who attacked us earlier,” she concluded.

The head bandit tsked, in agreement. He turned to address the woman that led their enemy.

“You’ve got some nerve burning down our home.”

He reached under his cape and unsheathed his battle axe—Chasm, Bringer of Mayhem.

The boy tightened his grip on his trusted weapon. “I guess we’ll have to show you what we do to anyone who messes with us.”

The armoured woman readied her rapier, “and what can a bunch of lowlifes do?”

The team of bandits prepared for a fight while the sole woman of their group snuck away.

“More than you give us credit for, apparently.” He smiled again—this time showing his teeth. “I promise, you’ll eat those words,” he said as she grimaced.

What an overconfident bastard.

Without a mere signal, both sides attacked. As the battle raged on, much blood was shed and a number of bodies fell onto the sands—one right after the other. Cries of anguish and the sound of metal were all but what echoed through the starry skies over Veodia.

The group of bandits were well-versed in battle, that much was certain, as the armoured woman went one-on-one with their leader.

There was something wild about his style of fight. While her every move was composed and calculated—down to where the tip of her rapier was pointed, his movements, on the other hand, were almost random. Or that was what she thought until she felt the brunt impact of his axe against her suit which made her second guess how arbitrary his actions actually were.

After some time, she successfully brought him to his knees and kicked away his weapon. She raised her sword above her helmet and readied her final strike.

The expression he gave her was almost playful.

“Any last words?” She sneered.

The grin on his face would haunt her for nights to come.

“Yeah—duck.”

Bewildered at his response, it was not until she heard a high-pitched squawk that she understood what was being said.

The woman clad in heavy armour was easily lifted into the air—a pair of talons scratching at the onyx metal of her suit. She struggled to look up to find the head of the bandit woman nuzzled against that of a gryphon’s.

“Careful now,” the lady bandit’s tone was sickeningly sweet. “Any sudden movements and Arnie, here, might just drop you below.”

The gryphon let out another cry which sounded more like a laugh.

The armoured woman tried to swat at the two but to no avail.

The gryphon rider laughed at her actions as she lightly tugged on Arnie’s reins.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Arnie then opened his talons, to let the rude woman fall.

She fell atop the dunes and tumbled down. What was left of her troop, ran to her aid.

“Accursed bandits,” she managed to get out as she coughed up silver dust.

“Withdraw the troops. We’re pulling out!” She cried while being helped to stand and escape.

The leader of the bandits watched as the army fled like hounds with their tails in-between their legs.

“Everyone still standing come and gather ‘round.”

The young man observed the wreckage. Not only was their home destroyed tonight but people he considered family were lost too. He had those who did not make it through the fight collected.

A hand made its way to his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.

“They were good men.”

The woman bowed her head in respect, as did her gryphon and those who survived that night.

“May they find peace in death.”

She raised her head to look at her dear friend in the eyes, “they knew what they were getting into.”

He hummed in response while he finished an unspoken prayer. The young man then turned his attention to the rocks and the charred door of the fortress.

“I know you managed to escape the stronghold while we fought. It’s safe to come out now.”

It took a second before Calum emerged from the ruins—unscathed safe for the soot that littered his already dirtied white blouse and boyish face.

“You don’t look like you're from around here.” The prince did not flinch at the unnerving stares he received from these people. Whether they acknowledged it or not, they had just saved his life.

One of the bandits suddenly recognized the embroidery on the sleeve of the stranger’s coat. “That’s—He’s a survivor from Castle Waiburne.”

At the name, the leader whipped his head around, “so you’re saying those guys were from Easentis’ Army?”

At that, Calum decided this was his time to speak, “I have nowhere else to turn.”

He exhaled deeply and continued, “I need help to defeat the empire.”

The group of men, a woman and a gryphon regarded one another. Their leader spoke up for them.

“Our help, huh? I can’t say it won’t come cheap.”

He then eyed the sword in its scabbard—attached to the young man’s hip. “I’ll think about it, if you give me that sword of yours.”

Calum gripped at Zephir’s hilt and a subtle frown graced his face.

“This sword is precious to me. I’ll not part with it,” he replied with a stern resolve, “but I can give you anything else. Just name your price.”

A chuckle escaped the head bandit’s lips. “Anything? That’s a lot to offer.”

Calum squared his shoulders and addressed the small crowd with a soft and unwavering voice, “I am Prince Calum of Saere. If you aid me, you have my word as the rightful monarch of this kingdom.”

The bandit scratched at his chin and took a minute to think. “Hmm, all right. Well how about that castle of yours?” His tone was mostly joking but the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

Calum smirked at the upfront request and decided to humour him. “Very well. Though, right now, the castle is currently being occupied by the Empire.”

The leader of the bandits swung his axe to rest on his shoulder. “We’ll just have to take it back from them then won’t we?”

Cheers from the men of his group filled the air. The woman stayed quiet as she watched the interaction unfold and pet her gryphon, gently.

“So, do we have a deal—” Calum paused. He did not know how to address his newfound ally.

“The name’s Michael Clifford. They call me the King of the Wastelands ‘round these parts.”

—

Tagged: @irwinkitten @calpops @rosecoloredash @lilbabycalum @gorgeouslygrace @rainingcalum @cashton-dolan @lockthisheartinchains @americanhorrorstudies @lovableah @cals-eyebrows

#ro writes #fantasy!5sos #fantasy!au #5 seconds of summer #5sos #5sos imagine #5sos fanfic #calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfic #michael clifford #michael clifford imagine #michael clifford fanfic

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frostclawdragoon · 4 years

Note

“I want to know why you stayed.” for Ouros

A collection of random “I want to know…” prompts.

@suigon

—

“Why I… Stayed?”

He blinked once in momentary confusion, wondering what such a vague question could mean. Why he stayed? Stayed for what? Dinner? A major gathering event that was so boring everyone left but him? But as he thought about it, it slowly dawned on him that… The question probably meant why he stayed with the Free Company.

R’ouros had a history with Free Companies, or any group of people uniting for a cause, really. It wasn’t just because he got cabin fever quickly and couldn’t sit still in one place for too long, goodness knows he had extreme amounts of patience when required. No, what made him turn down company offers was his multitude of health problems… Aaaand his history with the Garlean Empire.

If anyone knew he helped the military, that he built Magitek machines that slaughtered countless innocent people… Well, he was certain they would not be kind to him, if they didn’t outright kill him first. And while he understood that deep rooted hate and distrust, he had abandoned that life. He was trying to make amends, to work away his sins, to prove to others – and to himself – that he was not a cruel monstrosity unworthy of life. That, deep down, he was a good person.

Sticking with one company jeopardized that. Gaining friends jeopardized that. Trusting others with his unforgivable past could ruin every chance he had at redemption. If, for one moment, he grew attached to someone, and that someone learned what he had done for the Empire, they could tell everyone else. Word would spread, no one would accept his help anymore, or even want it.

Helping people was all he had left in a world that didn’t want him, it was all that kept him going, even when he was exhausted beyond belief. If he lost that goal… What more was there for him?

So he avoided people and company offers. Turned down each and every one while making up silly excuses like “he loved to be free of obligations” or “was too busy.” He had every single intention of turning down Windsong’s offer of hospitality too. However, in a moment in desperation as he searched for work after the liberation of Ala Mhigo, Hydaelyn brought him to their doorstep. He thought he had gone to a different company house, until he had knocked and the front door was opened. He didn’t have a chance to reject them and run before he was pulled inside and basically handed the pen to sign up, eyes watching him with intense eagerness and excitement.

So he signed up, partially because he felt like he couldn’t let them down… Partially because he had so foolishly come to enjoy their company during their time in Othard. He let his guard down, and wasn’t able to say no. At least, not right away. He planned to make the excuse that the Company just wasn’t working out for him a week after joining… Unfortunately, there were certain individuals within the Company that he just… Couldn’t leave or forget, no matter how hard he tried.

He had lived in forced self-isolation for so long, and he was so, so lonely. He missed having friends. Real friends. He missed talking to people that understood him, connecting with them, forging bonds that mattered and would last. He missed–… He missed having a home.

So, despite the risks. Despite knowing he could lose everything should they ever find out the truth… He stayed. He stayed and lived in a constant, confused state of happiness and utter fear. Happiness for company and friendship, and in fear of having it all crash down in front of him like so many things had a habit of doing.

… Until… One of them found out the truth, and though it strained their bizarre friendship for a time, Khamri’a had come back around. And… And he trusted R’ouros. At least enough to the point where he was willing to share some of his own secrets with him. An honor he did not take lightly, of course… But the whole event, that whole conversation of the truth coming out and what it meant to him… Well. Needless to say, R’ouros wasn’t afraid anymore.

If the rest of the world crumbled and shattered around him, and his chance at redemption was ripped from his fingers, he knew he would at least have a home in the arms of a dear, dear friend…

“… Guess I stayed for the people!” R’ouros chimed up after a long bout of thoughtful silence. He beamed with a smile. “Windsong has some pretty great folks in it, like Mr. Silianaux, and Ana-chan and Khamri’a! Even though Khamri’a would tell you otherwise. He still likes to pretend he’s not part of the Company.” He laughed. Then, his expression softened with adoration as he continued. “… They kinda make it easy to stay, and they remind you that you–… You don’t have to be alone, and that no matter what… They’ve got your back.”

#about ouros #prompts #my writings #I didn't expect it to get lengthy but here wE ARE #insert Sorey gif because they're the Same Person tbh #suigon

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adalheidismimisbrunnr · 4 years

Text

Magickal Beings

Elves & Other Spirits

The world of ancient Paganism was hardly limited to the worship of the Gods. There are various other beings who were honored, and. Elf worship. was often the hardest part of Paganism for Christians to destroy. It was easy enough to substitute one God for another, but it was quite another to tell the common people that the elves which brought fertility to the land were not real!

In the various folktales and sagas, we find very little which would lead us to a concrete system of what spirit was responsible for exactly what. We are sure of the place of the Valkyries, who were responsible for bringing the slain to Valhalla, and for choosing who in battle would die. They seem, judging by their actions, to be supernatural beings of some type. However, Valkyries appear in various places as very human figures and their exact nature is difficult to determine. Sigrdrifa was a Valkyrie who was cursed by Odin because she refused to bring victory in battle to those whom he had chosen. Her punishment was to be married to a mortal, and the implication is clear that this would end her days as a Valkyrie. It’s equally clear that she has great knowledge of the runes as she tutors Sigurd after he awakens her. In most respects she seems to be a normal human woman, although a very wise and independent one with great powers. Elsewhere, Voland and his brothers are said to have found three Valkyries sunning themselves without their swan-coats. When the brothers steal their feather-coats and hide them, the Valkyries again appear as otherwise normal women. This does not seem entirely in keeping with a supernatural origin, and it’s possible that some kind of magickal order of Priestesses has become confused over time with the supernatural beings we know as Valkyries. The swan-coat seems very similar in description to Freya’s falcon-coat and the entire issue may be something related to the practice of seidhr. As far as we know, the Valkyrie were not worshipped as such, but were considered more the messengers of Odin. They also serve the mead at Valhalla, and because of this whoever pours the mead into the Horn at Blot or Sumbel is today known as. the Valkyrie.

The other spirits whose place seems fairly clear are the Disir. These are spirits who are intimately linked with a family. There is also some indication that they are linked with the land, but this would be in keeping with the old ways. We forget sometimes that many landowners in Europe have been living in the same place since before this continent was discovered. The land becomes an intimate part of the family and its identity, so it is natural that family spirits would also oversee the family land. Disir inevitably are seen as women who appear at times of great trouble or change. They are somehow linked to the family bloodline and seem most closely linked to the clan chief. There is one scene in one saga where a spirit, apparently a Dis, is passed on from one person to another who are not blood relations. However, these two friends are closer than brothers, so while the link is apparently not genetic, it is definitely familial. We know the family Disir were honored with blots at the Winter Nights and that they have great power to aid their family. As far as their origin, it’s possible that they are ancestral in origin. They may be ancestors whose power was so great that they were able to continue to see to their clan. Or it’s possible that the Disir are the collective spirit of the family ancestors. Freya is called the great Dis and there may be some linkage here to her position as a seidhr woman. We know from the sagas that Seidhr was involved with talking to various spirits (including the dead) and its possible that this is the source of Freya’s name. It is also possible that she performed much the same function as a Dis to her tribe the Vanir.

Closely linked to the idea of the Disir is the Fylgia. These spirits are attached to an individual person in much the same way that the Disir are associated with a family. Fylgia usually appear either as animals or as beautiful women. They correspond to the. fetch, totem, or. power-animal. in other cultures. Most of the time the fylgia remains hidden and absent, it is only with truly great or powerful persons that the fylgia becomes known. They may have something to do with Seidhr as well, because many sagas offer evidence of spirit travel in the shape of animals. This corresponds exactly to notions of shamanism found in other cultures.

The remaining spirits include Alvar or elves, Dokkalvar or dark elves or Dwarfs, kobolds, and landvaettir. While some have defined one being as doing one thing and another serving a different function, I’m not inclined to draw very sharp distinctions between these various creatures. They all seem. elfish. in origin, and there seems to me to be no pattern of associating one name with a specific function. We know that various landvaettir or land spirits were honored with blots. We also know that Frey is the lord of Alfheim, one of the nine worlds where the alvar are said to live.

Of all the remaining spirits, the dwarfs are the most consistent in description. We know that the dwarfs are cunning and misanthropic in character and incredible smiths, capable of creating magickal objects so valuable they are considered the greatest treasures of Asgard. Thor’s hammer Mjolnir, Freya’s necklace Brisingamen, and Sif’s golden hair are all creations of the dwarfs. They live beneath the earth and have little to do with mankind or the Gods unless one seeks them out. What place they had in the religion we no longer know. It would seem wise to invoke them as spirits of the forge, but I can think of little other reason to disturb them.

Elves are the most difficult magickal race to pin down. Mythological sources tell us that the Alvar or light elves live in Alfheim where Frey is their Lord. However, we also have the enduring belief in folklore of the elves as faery-folk: beings associated with the natural world. These two conceptions of elves might still be linked, however, as Alfheim is known to be a place of incredible natural beauty, and Frey, their leader, is an agricultural deity. To further confuse this issue, Norse folklore has a strong belief in the Landvaettir, or land spirits who may fit into either or both of these categories. I’m inclined to lump them all together as similar beings that we simply don’t.t know enough about to tell apart. What is important is that Asatru, like all Pagan religions, honors the natural world and the earth very deeply. Whether one calls the spirits of the land as the elves, the faeries, or the landvaettir, or uses all of these terms interchangeably, respect is all important. Asatru is known for being one of the most politically. conservative. of the modern Pagan religions, but you’ll find few of us who aren.t staunch environmentalists.

One of the most important spirits to honor is the house-spirit. Folklore is also filled with stories of various spirits variously called faeries, elves, kobolds, brownies, tom-tin, etc. who inhabit a house and see to its proper conduct. In the usual form of the tale, they offer to perform some housekeeping functions, but eventually turn on the owners of the house when they are insulted by overpayment. We don’t.t have any concrete evidence for how our ancestors honored these beings, but this is not surprising because such a thing would not be a public observance and it’s unlikely it would be recorded in the sagas or Eddas. Folklore indicates that such beings should be honored with a simple bowl of milk or perhaps beer, but no more.

In general folklore does not paint the various elves and spirits as particularly benevolent figures. With the exception of house spirits, who as spirits of a manmade object are bound to us on some level, they seem most interested in staying out of the dealings of mankind. There are numerous stories of people who spy upon elf women and force them to become their brides. Inevitably the women are unhappy and eventually escape, leaving their husbands devastated. There are also numerous stories of spirits who haunt the woods and who will drag wayward travelers into rivers to drown or to some other untimely death. When people do have dealings with the elves these beings seem to operate on an entirely different set of expectations than we do. Most of us would be gratified by the gift of a. bonus. from our employer, yet time and time again in folklore this is the easiest way to anger a house spirit. We know that elves were honored with blots, but it’s just as possible that these ceremonies were made in propitiation to them rather than in kinship as are our blots made with the Gods. We suggest caution in dealing with beings with a set of values so foreign from our own. They should be approached in the same way one would approach a person from a country whose ways are very different.

In general, we.re also very reticent to make decisions about classifying the various. other peoples. It would be very easy to draw lines and place certain spirits into little boxes which label their function, but that seems overly mechanical and of little utility. Elves and other. wights. are not human, and it might be too much to try to classify them in other than subjective terms. It’s probably best to simply make your intent clear, experiment, and use the terms which work for you, remembering only to be true to the sources.

Demi-Gods

There is a whole classification of Gods which are not truly part of the Aesir, Vanir, or even the Jotunn. Wayland the Smith is the best example of this that we can offer. Wayland, called Volund in the Norse version, is the greatest of smiths, but it’s clear in the mythology that he was more or less a human man. The myth tells of how he lost his wife and was enslaved by a human King. While his powers allow him to outwit and take vengeance on the king, it’s clear throughout that he’s not on the level of a Thor or an Odin. What one does about these demi-Gods or local Gods is a good question. I see nothing wrong with pouring a blot in their honor and dealing with them as you would any other God or Goddess. On the other hand, they are not part of the Aesir, and I think it might be disrespectful to honor them with the Aesir or as part of a ceremony dedicated to the Aesir as they seem of a different nature.

Ancestor Worship:

Honoring one’s ancestors was one of the most sacred duties of the Norsemen. One of the most important parts of greeting new people was the exchanging of personal lineages at sumbel. The worship of the Disir is closely linked to ancestor worship. However, it is difficult for modern day Pagans to seriously engage in ancestor worship. We are for the most part without a strong connection to our heritage, and even if we feel motivated, we would probably need to skip at least a thousand years back to find ancestors who would not have been appalled by our Heathen beliefs. One substitution for ancestor worship in the modern Asatru movement has been the veneration of heroes from the Sagas and legends of our people.

The manner of how we honor ancestors is also somewhat troubling. I reserve the blot ritual to Gods and other powers, and I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to pour a blot to an ancestor, no matter how important he was. It’s touchy when you are honoring someone that you knew was a mortal. I think the most important part of ancestor worship is remembering, and the sumbel seems the most important part of that.

While we discuss ancestry, I must mention that some modern Asatru groups, in part because of holdovers from 19th century cultural movements, have placed a great deal of emphasis on ancestry in terms of race. Many have held that Asatru was a religion for whites or Northern Europeans only. In my not particularly humble opinion, this is pure idiocy. The basic argument for this is that people of other cultures do not share the same background and values. This is certainly true, but the key word in my opinion is culture, and all Americans by definition share a culture. Also, while I admit I would think it doubtful that people from outside of our own cultural heritage would be attracted greatly to Asatru, if they are it is for a reason and they should be welcomed and not shunned. It proves the worth of our religion and way of life that it is so strong that one would leave his own cultural path behind to take up ours.

As far as culture is concerned, the ancestry of the ancient North is alive and well in modern America. A thousand years ago settlers sailed to Iceland to avoid the growing influence of powerful kings and centralized government. This centralization of power was one of the things which Roman Christianity brought with it. Two hundred years ago we in America rebelled against our king for much the same reasons. Our culture is much more profoundly influenced by the Vikings than most would care to admit. Our law is based on English common law, which in turn has roots in Norman and Saxon law. (Both the Saxons and Normans were descended from Germanic tribes.) Our culture is based on many of the same ideas which the Northmen held dear: the importance of the individual and the belief that individual rights outweighed collective rights. Thus, it is my assertion that we are all descended, at least in part, spiritually from the ancient Norse.

The Jotunn

The Jotunn or giants are the sworn enemies of the Gods. While the Aesir represent order and the Vanir represent the supportive powers of nature, the Jotunn represent chaos and the power of nature to destroy man and act independent of humankind. In the end, it is the Jotunn who will fight the Gods at Ragnarök and bring about the destruction of the world.

In essence despite being called Giants or Ogres, the Jotunn are Gods just as much as the Aesir or Vanir. In many cases they correspond very closely to the Fomoire in Celtic mythology. Most simply put, the Jotunn are the Gods of all those things which man has no control over.

The Vanir are the Gods of the growing crops, the Jotunn are the Gods of the river which floods and washes away those crops or the tornado which destroys your entire farm. This is why they are frightening, and this is why we hold them to be evil.

The Jotunn are not worshipped in modern Asatru, but there is some evidence that sacrifices were made to them in olden times. In this case, sacrifices were probably made .to them. rather than shared. with them. as was the case with the Vanir and Aesir. It would be inappropriate to embrace them as friends and brothers in the way we embrace our Gods. One doesn.t embrace the hurricane or the wildfire; it is insanity to do so. However, we must also remember that fact that we see their actions as bad, they are not inherently evil. The storm destroys the crops, but it also brings cleansing and renewal. We humans are only one species on this planet and in the end, we are both expendable and irrelevant to nature. This is the manner in which the Jotunn act, and it is not surprising that we see this as evil.

However, one must also take into account the premonitions of Ragnarök recorded in the Edda’s. If the Jotunn are merely amoral, why are they the sworn enemy of the Aesir and why will they bring about the end of the world? It’s possible that Jotunn was more of a catch-all term for dangerous Gods rather than a reference to a specific family. (It is the case in many languages that there is one word for people that speak the language, usually translating as people, and another term for those persons of other cultures and tribes.) The dangerous forces of nature are. Jotunn. because we cannot control them, but there are other forces, principally those of chaos, that are considered. Jotunn. as well.

There is abundant evidence for this in the Eddas. Various Jotunn are seen to marry into the Aesir without a great deal of trouble from the Gods, but at other times the mere sight of one throw Thor into a rage. The obvious conclusion is that they are more than one specific race of deities. The destructive powers of nature were tolerated to some extent, and often married into the Aesir bringing them more under control. However, other. outlander. Gods were completely destructive to the Aesir (and thus mankind) and the Gods only thought for them was death.

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arbenia · 5 years

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Popular Albanian beliefs (part 2)

(Taken from “A Dictionary Of Albanian Religion, Mythology, And Folk Culture” By Robert Elsie)

Fingernails - When someone cuts his nails he should blow on them and throw the cuttings over his shoulder. In this way he puts the evil behind him. One should also avoid cutting one’s fingernails on a Friday. In Kosova many people will only cut their fingernails on a Thursday or a Saturday.

Bats - As among the Germans of Transylvania and the Upper Palatinate, bats were interpreted by the Albanians as omens of death. Thus, if a bat flew into a house, it was thought that someone there would die.

Sun - Both the sun and are common symbols and motifs in Albanian folk art, including tattooing. We know that the Illyrians, the ancient inhabitants of the western Balkans, used symbols of the sun in their ornaments, though it cannot said for certain wether it is these which have been handed down to the present-day Albanians. The Paeonians who lived somewhere between the ancient Macedonians and the Dardanians, also had a cult of the sun, which the second-century A.D writer Maximus of Tyre described as focused on a small disc at the top of a long pole. The sun cult among the Albanians is reflected in oaths i.e swearing by the sun. Indeed, oaths taken by the sun and its rays e.g. “by the sun.” Alb. për atë diell, and “by this sunbeam,” Alb. për këtë rreze dielli, were formerly more common than the oaths taken by God, and are used by to this very day. Albanian oral literature also preserves noticeable references to the sun’s rays illuminating sombre mountain caves, etc. The feast of Saint George can also be linked to an early solar festival. Baron Franz Nopcsa (1877-1933) reports that the Catholic inhabitants of Shala and Plan Sh would make the sign of the cross when struck by the first rays of the sun in the morning.

Tuesday - Of all the days of the week, Tuesday is regarded in Albania, as in Turkey, as the unluckiest, Alb. ditë ters ‘ill-omened day.’ It is a particularly bad day for setting out on a journey. Many Albanian women will not do their housework on Tuesdays because one of the hours of the day, the the sahat ters ‘unlucky hour,’ will bring them bad luck. Old women are known no to wash their hair on Tuesdays, nor will they throw out the dishwater. This belief is still widespread in Albania. Workers will often not lay the foundations for a new house on a Tuesday and many people will not wear new clothes for the first time on that day. The Italian cleric Ernesto Cozzi of Trento recorded the Gheg expression Zoja e marte asht e lidhun “Lady Tuesday is harsh.”

Friday - Friday was considered an unlucky day of the week, almost as ominous as Tuesday. It was particularly inauspicious to spin wool, shear sheep or even have one’s hair or fingernails cut on Friday. Among the Orthodox women of Reka e Epërme (Republic of Macedonia) is was considered a sin to manual labour on this day.

Wolves - Wolves, Alb ujk, def ujku, plur. ujq or ujqër, were much feared by the pastoral Albanian tribes in the past. As such, they used a number of euphemisms for them in order to attract their attention, e.g. bisha ‘the savage one,’ gojëlidhuni ‘the one whose mouth is closed,’ i pagoji ‘the mouthless one.’ A wolf might kill only ninety-nine sheep. If it tried to steal the hundredth, it would die. In connection with vampires, it was thought that only a wolf could force a lugat back into its grave. If anyone refused to give money to a beggar wearing a wolf’s skin, the beggar needed only throw the skin onto the threshold of the miser’s house. This was enough to ensure that wolves would cause damage to his herds. In view of this, it is said that no herdsmen ever refused money to a beggar dressed in wolf’s skin.

Cats - According to Johann Georg von Hahn cats were particularly revered in the northern Albanian mountains. As one legend has it, a cat once jumped out of the sleeve of a garment worn by Jesus in order to put an end to a plague of mice in a house the Lord was visiting. The killing of a cat was thus regarded as an act of impiety. Black cats on the other hand, as in many other cultures, are considered unlucky, specially if they cross someone’s path. People in Albania used to believe that if a cat licked itself while looking towards the north or east, the sun would shine. If it licked itself white facing the west or south, there would be rain.

Hare - The hare, Alb. lepur, def. lepuri, lepuj, is a bad omen in Albanian belief. If someone stars out on a journey and his path is crossed out by a hare, it is deemed advisable, as with a black cat, for him to return home at once, for otherwise something bad will happen to him. If a pregnant woman sees a hare, her child will turn out to be a coward and will sleep at night with his eyes open. Nor should a woman eat a hare during pregnancy. Dervishes will not eat hares because they believe the animals are made of menstruation discharge.

Garlic - A clove of garlic can be used to protect a child from the evil eye. The witch-like shtrigas can also be kept at bey with garlic.

Pigeons - Pigeons and doves, Alb. pëllumb, def. pëllumbi, like many other birds in the Albanian tradition, were said to bring bad luck. For this reason, people in the countryside will not keep them in their homes.

Shoulder blades - The shoulder blade, Alb. shpatull, def. shpatulla, related to Lat. scapula ‘shoulder blade,’ of an animal, in particular of a ram, was used by the northern tribes well into the twentieth century to predict the future, in particular with references to deaths, coming wars and weather. The breast bones of chickens, preferably black chickens, were also held up to the light to predict the future. Predictions from chicken bones were only valid for an individual if he had possessed the chicken in question for at least forty days, otherwise the prediction was valid for the previous owner.

Pigs - When pigs begin to play, it is said that is going to rain.

Clover - As in many other cultures, great power was attributed to the four-leaf clover. If such a clover were to be rubbed against the locks and chains on a horse, they would fall open at once. The four-leaf clover was also used for courting. A young man would take a four-leaf clover to church with him and leave it there for forty days. Thereafter he would place it upon the maiden of his choice and, with this simple gesture, win her over as his bride.

Prophecies - The Albanians attached prophetic capacity to various objects in their surroundings. Most common in the north of the country was divination with the shoulder blades of rams and cattle or with the breast bones of chickens. Propitious for prophecies concerning the future of a child were the moment of the first ritual hair cutting, fingernails and baby teeth.

Weasels - If a person speaks badly of a weasel, Alb. nuselale, def nuselalja, or bukël, def. bukla, also known euphemistically as bishtfurkbukur, def bishtfurkbukuri, lit. ‘the beautiful folk-tailed one,’ it will destroy his clothes. If a weasel enters a house and bares its teeth, all the mice and rats in the house will die of fright.

Colors - It was believed by the northern tribes that black-coloured animals had magical powers, or at least more magical powers than others. The breast bones of black chickens were especially propitious for predicting the future. In Albanian mythology, the most courageous draguas in animal form were black: black rams, black roosters, etc. In the northern mountains, married women could be distinguished from unmarried women by the fact that the latter did not wear anything red. In Dukagjin, the fairy godmother-like oras came in three colors: white ones who did good and brought luck, yellow ones who did evil and brought bad luck, and black ones who brought death.

Djegagur - In northern Albania, the first twelve days of August, known as djegagur, def. djegaguri ‘the burning stone,’ because of the heat, were feared because poltergeists and invisible witches who were wont to invade people’s homes. In Labëria, each of these first days of August was said to determine the weather for the months of the coming year.

Cuckoos - The cuckoo, Alb. qyqe, def qyqja, is a female symbol of misfortune in Albanian folklore. The song of cuckoo portends disaster or misfortune, often a death. The word qyqe is also synonymous in Albanian with an unfortunate woman, i.e. one who has no children or husband. In the legend of Doruntina, Doruntina’s mother turns into a cuckoo when she learns that her children are dead.

Fleas - In order to rid a house of fleas, Alb. plesht, def. pleshti, the youngest female of the household had to strip naked, sweep the house and, standing near the doorway, repeat three times over, “We’ve been freed, the fleas are gone.”

#albanian #albania #shqipëria #Robert Elsie #books #balkans #balkan #popular beliefs #superstitions #shqiptar

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vapormaison · 4 years

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2019 Best Press 3/4: カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title by TANUKI

While for many vaporwave vinyl is doubtless equal parts collector’s item and audio source, I don’t want to lose sight of the goal of this blog here: developing a canon of the genre for high fidelity enjoyment. That said, when I come across something remarkable or noteworthy about a particular piece of wax, even if it is not a “purely audiophile” object, I want to make mention of it.

And TANUKI’s カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title wax release is not only noteworthy, but contends for hi-fi consideration despite it’s status as a picture disc.

But let’s back up slightly.

Going back to the previous thesis on why we buy records, sometimes you just want to own a vinyl just because. Just because you’re a collector trying to compile a discography on wax — or, better yet, just because you truly love the album art. For me, カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title (Double EP) was undoubtedly all of the three “just be-causes”.

A while back, I noticed that the LP was going into its 3rd press, and decided to snap up a copy because I like Tanuki, I like Lum, and because of those other just becauses. Unfortunately the only format available was not the pink vinyl, but the picture disc. As I’m sure is well-known (because audiophiles are very loud about things they dislike), picture-discs are a big no-no in the audiophile community. This is because while a beautiful objet d’art, a serious listening session of a picture disc release will usually produce greater amounts of surface noise than any other type of vinyl. You can, of course, with the right system, neutralize and mitigate this process slightly, but true-blue hi-fi heads pursuing that elusive muse of “pure sound” would never give a picture disc a second look.

I’m not one of those people.

Tangentially, I’ve heard whispers of ghosts of rumors from when I was living in Shenzen, China — that various record suppliers (small batch Makers) are working out manufacturing and material processes that minimize these issues on pic discs to create appealing records that cover all the bases: hi-fi suitability, collector oriented visual esoterica, and price. I should also admit I have no idea where those companies are in terms of R&D and/or producing these. I end up catching a lot of very fast talk from extremely motivated enthusiasts, but Chinese is still as elusive a language to me at times as “pure sound” can be. With that in mind, however, it’s logical to surmise that advances in technology will eventually render the differences between picture discs and traditional black wax undistinguishable. So long as the world isn’t destroyed in some cataclysmic climate disaster (very real possibility), or -- as we are watching evolve now: World War 3. My view is that it’d be pointless to dismiss the format out of hand when there are active attempts to innovate it as we speak.

That all said, I know what to expect when a contemporary, big-label picture disc plays. During my college days, I used to spin wax at the university radio station. One of the previous catalog managers had a fetish for this “collectible” format, and was convinced he was doing the station a favor by purchasing all these vinyls, noting a pre-supposed resale value later. I remember throwing these on the well-worn Technics SP-10 we had as our main turntable, and listening to the occasional scratch, frequent popping, and constant surface noise, that for the uninitiated (bless you), sounds like a sustained “cracking” in your Rice Krispies — or for those born in the analog age, CRTV static.

So when I sat down with the Tanuki picture disc, I had this laundry list of preconceptions and prejudices about the format. I thought that I could listen to a moderately scratchy record once or twice, keep it as more a visual boutique item and then eventually include in an article where I bemoan the poor quality of the genre’s releases.

But then, I actually listened.

And it sounded… well, I won’t get ahead of myself. Here’s the full review:

THE MUSIC

BABYBABYの夢 — is doubtless the reason why many of us have bought the EP from a sonic perspective —especially if the band-camp reviews are indicative of trends. I still maintain that this is the Mariya Takeuchi sample/remix work par excellence. Tanuki hits all the essential notes here, a genuine respect and love for the sound-staging of its original source, Yume No Tsuzuki. I still get echoes of the original arrangement in my system, (ever so slightly) with a bright and dance-infused collection of unique sounds — particularly in that delicious, wide mid-range — that flesh out the track into its own sort of masterpiece.

何がGoin' On — the curatorial and conspiratorial side of my brain tells me that Goin’ On will probably go down as one the under-appreciated vintage bangers of this era of future funk. I can envision hipsters two or three decades from now sussing out a neophyte with pretentious questions about this track’s pitch-shifted sample draws from. It has that sort of vibe that you know hits with a certain subset of electronica fans — rich & vibrant, making the tweeters on your system work out in all the best ways — it’s just great.

がんばれ — Tanuki is at his best when he gets playful with brass samples. I firmly believe that the titans in this genre each have their go-to piece in their best arrangement — like Dan Mason’s creative vocal array, or greyL’s manipulation of micro-samples. For Tanuki, it’s whenever her gets a horn — synthesized or otherwise, into his production workflow.

ファンクOFF — continues Tanuki’s magic act, taking another city pop track more iconic for its soulful electric guitar riff and turning it into the most slap-worthy single on this EP. I prefer it when Japanese pop samples are fundamentally re-imagined, although I can see how the perfectionist tweaking of someone like Yung Bae is more appealing for some. Tanuki is undoubtedly one of the innovators of this genre, and there’s no more solid evidence of that talent than this track.

腕の中でDancin’ — if I ended up hosting a sort of mythical vaporwave grammies or something like that, (I’m available, folks!) I would probably go off on a Ricky Gervais style rant on how artists aren’t in touch with “the people” (read: me) because all we really want are more remixes of Meiko Nakahara songs — who given her impact on City Pop should have way more play in this genre than she does. This one, like most of the Meiko mixes I’ve heard, is a banger with an absolute fire bass riff punctuated throughout.

Radiant Memories — this might be my first certified “hot take” in the publication (they’ll be many more, I imagine) — but as far as I’m concerned this is the superior Plastic Love edit. I’ll just leave my thoughts there, so they can soak in with a portion of the fanbase who split my reddit account on an open fire of downvotes for suggesting that other artists than Macross 82-99 (Praise be upon him!) are allowed to touch this song as well. While Macross’s mix is definitely the more up-temo of the two, and that for some is the very essence of the genre, this slightly down-mixed version is both the perfect conclusion for the EP and ideal antithesis.

THE LISTENING EXPERIENCE

Signal to Raise ratio on the following albums:

カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title: ~61.9db (1 db MoE)

Tron Legacy, Daft Punk: 58.4db

Love Trip, Takako Mamiya, Kitty Records Press: 65.8db

(ratings based on averages 5 minutes of sustained play on the testing unit, the machine actually complied this data on its preset, which is another fascinating part about this sort of vintage press-testing tech). The margin of error is because the machine, according to my mentor Dr. Juuso Ottala formerly of Harman International, informs me it was never meant to give accurate readings of picture discs, and to add about a dB of error margin.

One of the benefits of growing up in New England and, subsequently, New York, is that there are no shortage of heritage professional audio brand HQs in operation around a 200 mile radius from Manhattan to Boston. Off the top of my head, there’s Harman/Kardon, Boston Acoustics, Bose, NuMark, Marantz, and Rane headquarters within an hour’s drive from my two hometowns. Early on in my audiophile quest, I got my hands on some cool vintage gear — vinyl lathe testing equipment that has collected dust in both an old Harman technician’s storage unit, and now my parent’s basement. Over the holiday, I recently brought it out to do some surface noise testing on it to get a rough confirmation of what I was explaining in yesterday’s hi-fi guide. The innards of the machine looks eerily like a plinth-less linear tonearm and plate pair attached to a monitor. After making sure I’m not violating some kind of Harman International trade secret, I’ll post it on instagram.

Wanting to also get a firm idea on just how good my ear-test sounded, I grabbed another picture disc vinyl I had received as a gift a few years ago from my brother — the Tron Legacy OST. While I found the film passably enjoyable, my own preconceptions about pic discs, and a general exhaustion with french house — left me with no discernible desire to spin the thing. I hadn’t even broken the seal on the plastic wrap, so it seemed like as good as a blind test as any. I also grabbed what my ears tell me is a “good”, “heavy” press, a 1982 original dead-stock copy of Takako Mamiya’s Love Trip LP pressed by Kitty Records Japan. I’ve played it maybe a half dozen times since I bought it, so it’s as close to “new” 80s audiophile pop record as you can get. The Japanese are infamously anal about low SNR on their vinyl.

And, well, the results speak for themselves. The sweet spot for most black vinyl records is between 60-70db depending on age, weight, and a host of other frankly uncontrollable factors that aren’t worth getting into detail here, as I’d go on forever. The main takeaway here is that Neoncity’s and Tanuki’s record sat at the low end of the audiophile vinyl reference spectrum. Which in itself is a remarkable achievement for a pic disc. It’s worth taking a look at Tron Legacy, which just barely scratches 8db above a cassette tape, and 7db a Japanese vinyl from 1982.

This is all in an effort to say: damn, this is pretty good.

This also somewhat counters the usual “picture discs sound like shit” narrative that’s prevailed pretty consistently in the audiophile community. Tron Legacy? Yeah, that probably sounds like shit if I could bother to suffer through a listen. But whoever Hong-Kong based Neoncity is using actually makes “good” — if such a qualifier needs to be attached — image-pressed records. And that devotion to audio fidelity should be rewarded.

It might be time for me to re-asses picture discs on the whole, and that mind-expanding moment is something I owe to the fine folks at Neoncity.

#bestof2019 #bestpress

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swaddlen64-blog · 5 years

Text

Prologue/Introduction

Blood spilled out of the body hanging upside down from the flag post in the town square. Throat cut, skin white and cold, the smell permeated around the dimly lit platform. Thick and pungent, blood and death. The body, naked and hairless, was male. His eyes stared out, sightless, though his face appeared calm. A stray observer would think, in other circumstances, surely, that the man died a peaceful death. Upon closer inspection, a smiling gash sunk deep into the man's throat. His head lulled inches above the ground, attached only by a slight chunk of flesh on the back of his neck. The pool of blood beneath him spread and spread.

A shout woke the otherwise quiet village, three hours before the rooster's caw would have. Old Hoyle, one of the most senior of the town councilmen, out on one of his regular insomnia-laced walks, had limped, cane, bum leg, and all, into the town square. Not an ounce innocent to the spoils and terror of war, Hoyle's heart nevertheless skipped a beat as his old eyes passed over the blood-drained body.

Hobbling as quickly as his pained legs would carry him, Hoyle pounded the Sheriff's door with the top of his cane. A murder! Just across the square from the sheriff's own home.

Another rap of the cane on the door. A crow fluttered down out of the night sky, as if appearing out of nowhere. Black on black, the bird perched itself a top the flag post, creaking its head quizzically at the dripping body down below.

A loud shuffle from inside the sheriff's house signified Hoyle had succeeded in waking the big oaf. Thank the Sun he got up. Likely spent the night guzzling ale at Tarran's. Probably just got home and passed out.

The door creaked open and Sheriff Burke, face flushed and hair matted to his forehead with sweat, gruffly berated Hoyle: "whaddya want, old man?"

"Sheriff, by the Sun, get dressed. There's been a murder."

Despite his annoyance at being awoken at this early an hour, Burke flashed a hand across his face, wiping away the sleep, and for once, he listened to the elder councilman.

A murder? In our town?

###

Less than twenty minutes later, a large crowd had grown in the town square. Mayor Sem stood in the center, conversing hastily with Hoyle, with Burke, with the other councilmen. Villagers, awoken by the hustle and bustle, made their way out of their sleepy houses and gathered round the flagpole. Around the body. Women cried; children screamed, whether from the terror of seeing death for the first time or simply from being woken too early in the night was unknown. Men, many feigning bravery, stood resolute next to their wives, their families, begging their children to quiet. Assuring the lot of them that they'd be safe.

Out in the harvesting fields, cows mooed. More crows gathered, perched a top the houses and markets, looking over the grisly scene.

Garus, the town's Sun priest, waddled through the crowd in his bright white robes. When he saw the bloodied body, he gasped and, covering his mouth, began to recite the prayer of the Sun. The Moon priest, Balyr, had not yet shown up.

Mayor Sem, looking up from his conversation with the council, appeared to finally take notice of the large crowd that had gathered. The murmuring, the worry, the unknowing. Now was the time to step up, he knew. Only a mere three months into his mayorship, now was the time to truly start to lead. He turned to face the crowd, holding his hands out as he'd imagined a king or a prince might.

"My friends, I'm sorry that we have gathered for such a grim occasion--"

"Grim 'occasion'?" Someone shouted, interrupting, "A man’s been killed!"

More shouts, concurrences. The crowd became unruly. Screams, angry cries, children's fear.

"Friends, please calm down, please --" Sem tried to assuage the terror but the pandemonium had already set in. Shouts echoed over the crowd, each person frightened and trying to speak over one another.

"A killer is loose!"

"Are they among us?"

"Anyone seen Fred lately? He and Brant had that row a few days back. Fred says Brant stole a barrel of corn from him..."

"Agh! Fred couldn't do nothing like this. The old bastard can barely manage to wipe himself properly!"

"Monsters!"

"It's blood magic!" A group of teens laughed.

The sound of a punch, a gasp as someone tried to catch their breath after having the wind knocked out of them. Raucous discord as several folks in the crowd bickered and wrestled.

"You shut up with that bloody witchcraft! We need none of that here!"

"Oh the smell, the bloody smell!"

Someone vomited.

Too many voices at once, too much to handle. Sem was not prepared. He didn't know what to do, how to manage this. He was not ready, was not prepared. Suddenly, Old Hoyle stepped in front of the young mayor, placing a soft, yet firm hand on his shoulder.

"Silence!" the old man shouted and everyone quieted.

Hoyle peered over the crowd. Nearly everyone in the town, as far as he could tell, had assembled in the square. "Now, does anybody recognize this man?" He turned, his hand outstretched towards the hanging body as if displaying a hunting prize he'd just slaughtered and was attempting to sell. Recognizing the bad optics, Hoyle swiftly returned his hand to his side.

The crowd was silent. Except for the random fluttering of crows wings and the flickering of torch flames, there were no other sounds.

"Nobody? No one knows this man?"

Still, nothing but silence and the night.

"Then he did not come from our village." Hoyle said, stepping down from the raised platform the flagpole stood upon in the center of town. He paced in front of the crowd. "Someone brought the body here."

Murmurs, gasps, turmoil. The crowd, of course, was frightened and confused. Who could do such a thing? This little, quiet, riverside town did nothing but farm and fish and sew and mind it's own business. Who could have something, anything, against them?

Sheriff Burke, wrapping up his discussion with the other townguards made his way down the platform steps to join Hoyle. Though calling them townguards was a bit of a stretch. The group was made up of two drunkards, like Burke himself, and two young men, barely into the throes of puberty, probably with just the lightest sprigs of hair on their balls. Nothing to truly entrust the safety of a whole town with. But, it was what they had. It'd have to do.

Burke spoke up, "there was no trail of blood leading into the square." More murmuring. "whoever did this, muddy have slit the poor man's throat right here."

"Or whatever did this!" A man shouted from the crowd.

"Quiet!" Hoyle shouted. A crow cawed out, as if in response.

"I've spoken with the other townguards." The Sheriff said. "We will post up for the rest of the night, two at each entrance to the village. We'll make sure nothing enters our town. At first light we, and any able-bodied man who can, will travel out and search nearby in the river lands."

The crowd, unsatisfied, continued to surge with doubt and with fear.

"What if the killer is hiding here, hiding amongst us?"

"What if he's escaped while we all gather here?"

"Who says it's a 'he'?"

"A woman couldn't do something as gruesome as this!"

"Oh fuck off, I've seen monstrous women in my day!"

"Quiet!" Hoyle shouted again. Nearly forty years in service as a councilman of this quiet town. He'd seen nothing like this before, and was entirely unprepared to deal with it. But, it was moments like these that one must truly step up as a leader. And clearly Mayor Sem was unable to do so.

The Mayor, still up on the platform, willed himself to not look at the gruesome body hanging upside down next to him. The dripping blood had stopped, thank the sun and the moon, but still. The dead exert a certain depressive aura that makes a man almost want to join them.

Hoyle, through all his years in this town, had not seen anything quite like this. A dead cow attacked by wolves, sure. Maybe a sick horse that needed to be put down by its owner, yes. But a grisly murder like this? In their very own streets? Impossible.

A deep sense of foreboding swept across Hoyle as he stood in front of the crowd. The only way he knew to muster the strength to make himself feel better was to tell the people what they wanted to hear. Make them feel safe and he'd have done his job.

"Our sheriff and our guards will protect us through the night. They will hunt whatever did this tomorrow morning. There's no use searching now; it's still too dark." Hoyle encouraged. "Whoever did this may have escaped but they can't have gone far. It rained just a few hours ago. Their tracks in the mud will be preserved in the mud around our village."

The crowd didn't seem to accept this, but without other answers or explanations they remained silent. The Sheriff turned, nodding to the old men and the young pre-teens, who gripped their dull swords just a bit tighter and rushed off in opposite directions to stand guard at the two village entrances.

Meanwhile, someone again shouted out, incredulously: "if it's blood magic, we'll never find them!"

Another retorted: "Shove that blasphemy up your ass! Blood magic's not real, you know that!"

"You lot best stop talking bout magic at all, lest we get the Knights of the Phoenix patrolling through our Village! Or worse, those bloody Three Fingered Men..."

Hoyle's stomach felt queasy. And it wasn't just the mention of blood magic, or the thought of the Three Fingered Men paying the townsfolk a visit. He needed to do something. Needed to stop the rumors, the wild speculation amongst the crowd.

A cool breeze passed through the crowd and with it, any hope of quelling the spreading rumors in the town.

A deep, raspy voice called throughout the square, chilling everyone present to the very bone.

"The blood of the fallen shall haunt the living."

If Hoyle's heart, still beating, hadn't stopped at the first sight of the hanging body, it should have stopped now.

"Who said that?" whispered Mayor Sem.

All was quiet. Except for the ruffling of crow feathers, and the large assembled crowd, of course, it was as if tonight were no different from any other night. Then, the raspy voice spoke again:

"Your Sun and your Moon cannot save you from the Hell that swiftly comes tonight."

It was then that Hoyle noticed the faces of those in the crowd, staring rapt in horror past him and towards the center of the square. He whirled around so fast it made his old bones ache.

The body, now completely drained of blood and cooling, was...twirling slowly in the air. Suspended, somehow, by nothing. The eyes, the sightless dead eyes, were now glowing a deep crimson. The dead man's mouth was agape, a dark cavern from which the horrible voice escaped.

It repeated itself again, those same words, and with them panic and terror woke the crowd from its horrified stupor. Screams and shouts echoed throughout the town square. Hoyle was shoved to the ground as two of the other councilmen ran into the crowd to their wives. Children crying, crows cawing, chaos reigning. There was nothing the council could do now to calm the crowd. Everybody wanted to get as far away from the twirling dead man as they could.

Mayor Sem had fallen to his feet, just a few meters from where Hoyle lay. He whimpered, scared and confused. His youth now very apparent, Hoyle pitied the young mayor, the boy who never chose this leadership role, who had probably never even seen death first hand. Hoyle crawled, his bad hip burning with pain, to Sem's side. "Get up, boy! We need to move."

The sheriff and the other town guards had returned from their posts. They made their way to the Mayor and Hoyle, helping the old man to his feet.

Burke was the first to speak, shouting over the screams of the chaotic crowd, "Sir, what shall we do?"

"We need to quiet the townsfolk," Hoyle replied. Sem was shaking in Hoyle's arms. They watched the crowd running back and forth, mothers trying to find their children who'd been lost in the madness. Fathers desperately trying to traverse the crowd and get to their homes, whether to grab their own weapons or just to shack up and hide.

"They're not going to calm down," Burke said, solemnly. Nothing like this had ever happened in their quiet town. He hadn't seen this much pandemonium since the Battle of Brystell, years earlier. He'd moved here to seek a quiet life of drinking, gambling, and more drinking. It was looking like that quiet life had run its course. Burke turned and looked at the twisting body. The crimson glow of its eyes made his balls jump back inside the sheriff's body. He felt queasy, uncertain. Damn it, he was scared.

"Garus!" Hoyle called out, seeking the Sun Priest. The man, dressed in a billowy white robe emblazoned with the red and yellow symbol of the sun, had bowed his head in prayer. Garus stood in front of the rotating corpse, his long white hair falling over the rest of his face. Muttering under his breath.

Great good prayer will do for us right now, Hoyle thought. "Garus! Where is Balyr?"

The Sun Priest did not respond, acting as if he'd heard nothing. How could one hear nothing at a time like this? The town was alive with fear and death and anybody paying attention could notice nothing else.

Balyr, the Moon Priest, still nowhere to be found. "He's probably at that brothel in Mendellwood," Burke supposed. "Bastard always had a thing for the women up there."

"And the men," snorted another town guard. Burke smacked the man in his chest.

Suddenly, Hoyle's unease subsided, not into a good feeling, but into one he'd not felt for many, many moons. Dread. His heart, his mind, his very soul filled with dread.

The chaos and screaming had ceased, almost as quickly as it had begun. Replacing it were not shouts joy and happiness, no. The crows, all of which appeared throughout the night, gathering one by one like the crowd of townsfolk below, had perched themselves in rows along the tops of the buildings. They looked down over the square below, watching. Waiting.

In unison, the birds' heads turned upwards to the black sky, their beaks opening as if of one mind. A terrible shriek pierced the night, emanating from each crow, the sounds enveloping and multiplying into one murderous screech.

Children ducked, clutching at their mothers' robes, covering their ears with their little hands. Fathers paused where they were, looking up at the line of crows above them. Hoyle stared in awe, dumbstruck, worried. Tears burst from Mayor Sem's eyes. Burke had no idea what to think: was this really happening? Or a drunken nightmare he'd soon wake up from?

"It is time." The raspy voice called, escaping out of the swirling corpse's gaping mouth. The crows' shrieks immediately stopped when the voice spoke, though their heads remained pointed up at the sky.

Then, the man's white body, once suspended demonically in the air slumped to the ground with a sickening, wet crunch. The moment it fell prostrate onto the bloody stone below the crows heads whipped down from the sky, eyeing the crowd of townspeople who had stopped their chaotic running in an attempt to fathom what was happening in their once quiet town.

Moving as if like one solitary form, the crows black wings lifted them from their perches on the buildings and they each dove, faster than anyone could imagine a crow could dive, into the crowd. The massacre was quick, and certainly not painless.

Beaks pierced through thick jugular veins, ripping out throats. Talons tore into chests, wings beating, feathers flying. The villagers' screams filled the night air, mixing with the fluttering of wings, the cawing of the birds, the wet crunches as bodies fell and eyes were dug out by bloodied beaks.

It lasted only a few minutes, but soon everything went quiet. The birds, having done what they were summoned to do, flew off as quietly as they had arrived.

The bloody scene would not be discovered for four more hours, when a passing merchant arrived at the town's gates, curious as to why he had not been greeted as usual by Old Man Hoyle.

###

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