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sudokuplayer · 7 months

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MY LOVE IS A WEAPON THROWN ONTO THE OBLIVION OF YOUR BODY (taken from booklet of original art and essays by Sufjan Stevens, written to accompany his new album Javelin)

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1.MY LOVE My first love was an involuntary sound – the music of the spheres – a subdued, white-noise shuddering of my heart, a fluster of hummingbird vibrations that I could taste in the prenatal hemispheres of my mouth, body against body and brain against brain, two conjoined selves conjuring an off-shore thunderstorm in the horizontal distance, dazzling with flashes of metallic music and elemental chaos in the safe harbor of my mother’s womb. There was no light and no dark, no semblance of simile or semaphore. There was only the blurred and audible presence of a distant and divine voice hovering above the waters where I balanced between the prism of absence and presence on an inflatable dirigible of sea foam, wandering into the oleaginous abyss with a half-smile of hazardry and wizardry – my maiden voyage into the “unbeknownst” of oblivion. For what did I really know at this point in my primordial mindlessness? Nothing at all. I was struck dumb, created from ignorance and ether, first without function or features, then without order or form. I was sensation and consciousness postponed, a wet and placid portion of monotonous fruit cut in quarters awaiting heaven’s blessing. My only occupation at this point was to occupy, be occupied, preoccupy, and prevail nature in a womb-world of benevolence and buoyancy. The music of the heartbeat of the universe danced me to sleep. Within this realm, I was love and life supreme, undivided by thought, word and deed, a small promise kept until the act of doing would undo me for good. My birth was my undoing. And then I was born into oblivion.

2.IS I remember in college, falling in love for the first time, two spring months of rapture, residing on the tail end of a helium balloon. I was so giddy about everything: washing the dishes, tying my shoes, scrambling eggs, binding books, pulling berries off juniper trees. My infatuation had such an arrogant persuasion on the world around me. Everything as metaphor ascribed with romance. I remember, while mowing lawns on the college campus, finding an injured fledgling crow by the dining hall. I carried it to the biology lab, where we called a woman who ran an animal sanctuary from her home. She met us on a bike with a wicker basket. “You are doing the universe a great favor,” she said, holding the bird to her breast, like Mother Goose. The event provided endless fodder: for prose poems and folk songs and long conversations on the roof of the aspirin factory, where we got drunk on Boone’s Farm sangria, speculating on cosmic intentions and the order of the universe. So much meaning, so little time. I was young and dumb and in love. Guided by a perverse curiosity and a voracious sensation-of-the-imagination pivoting at the tip of my tongue, I marveled at the mysteries of life laid out before me, awaiting in the calm commotion between innocence and experience.

3.A WEAPON And then experience pummeled me. Many years later, after the long-suffering exhaustion of life had driven me into the bleak underbelly of realism, my most profound thought was sad and static: that nothing really matters, nobody loves me, and loneliness would always be my most devoted companion. In my new sobering worldview, absent of love, I began to encounter everything as an object without meaning, without modifier. The homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway was just a homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway. There was no metaphor, no rapture, no cosmic intentions. I had to ask myself: does this make the man, the newspaper, the subway, or myself any less meaningful? No. Quite the opposite. For what resided in that substantial vacancy where I was always prone to symbolize the world to death is exactly what I needed right then: Opportunity. Presence of Mind. Peace On Earth. Stable Stoicism. Absence of Metaphor. Responsibility. And Hard Facts. That was my prayer: to shake off the doting artistry of an over-eager poet with a proclivity to create dreams from doldrums; to approach the world as a concrete object, a thing to be held, not a thing to behold, or allegorized; to remain at peace and in careful jurisprudence in spite of the resentful intonation of my overarching loneliness that devastated innocent bystanders with all the magic castles of the imagination. I told myself: I must snuff out the candle of candy-corn dreams. I must soldier on like a dead-end daydream undeterred. I must be steadfast in the stolid presence and essence of common sense and survival. I must be true to life internal and reside in resignation at last.

4.THROWN My second love was less ecstatic, but more tragic: the “gift” of sight – an elemental flash of lightning, which struck me like a bag of metal shavings thrown out onto ice reflecting back at the centerpiece of my sternum. A sucker punch to the chest. My cold consciousness came into sharp focus, rattled by illuminating waves invading everything around me. The light was loud and extraordinary. And even with my eyes closed, my pupils began pontificating at the pornography of sight, and I was momentarily carved into madness. Seeing is believing is birth. I shuddered and shirked at the tangible evidence of something else – the others – the imposition of a sensation outside myself, in which everything was separated into opposable armies: the land from the waters, the air from the earth, the seasons from the doldrums, the seen from the unseen, sin from sainthood, light from dark, good from evil. Everything was put in its place by the curse of namesake. The world was now before me, beneath me, above me, and ultimately against me, a pressure foot pressed down on all sides. I felt a cold claustrophobia, empty and alone, trans-natal and tragic, baffled by the violence of this new environmental context. And to think I was just a silly beansprout of a thing shivering under the medical lights, squirming like an open earthworm, now tasked with this terrible act of naming. God gave me a pen and a pad of parchment paper. “Transcribe your feelings and your findings,” she said. “Do your thing. First thought, best thought.” I did as I was commanded, a dutiful sea urchin inching its way to the possibility of words and wisdom.

5.ONTO A world without language was once the indication of certain death. Soundless, voiceless, nameless vapor. A typography of empty vessels. The void! But now, what of the tragedy of names, spoken into existence with the demystification of words? I was culprit and complicit, identifying all the divergences, differentiations, variations, permutations, diversities, dichotomies and double entendres. Categorizing the animals, cutting them down to size, organizing the parts of the body with the parts of speech, a fanatical grammar-game of possession, domination and death. I had to ask myself: Is this manner of identification in the name of higher knowledge even if it disregards purpose, analysis, and compassion (observation absent of intention)? And how could it be undertaken without idolatry and ulterior motive? I desired the objectivity of the photography of the baby-brain, whose fuzzy visionary reception was a delightful nebula of perfumed consciousness and joy. I wanted to see the world coherently and without discretion, discernment, reduction, and deduction – unintelligible intelligence. Instead I began to perceive how intimate knowledge generates prosperity (fullness) and progeny (fruitfulness) – of ideas and offspring. To be “made known” was to be consummated: “Adam knew Eve” – intercourse as discourse (knowledge as physical/sexual engagement). To know someone was to take possession (to gain access, in confidence and with confidentiality). The exchange would potentially unveil the secret knowledge between lovers (the nominative ordinances of arousal) – wherein posterity would become the observable antecedents of this sacred wisdom, and pleasure would be its misfortune (of infatuation and love, of chaos and order). My sexual discourse began to die a slow death of observation and objectification, a nonsense category of substances seen and deemed believable, predicating a cosmic break from the universe: a psychic rebirth, from which invisible things transformed into figures of speech, wherein figures of speech were left dead in the wake of rivulets and rivers, drowning in a molten waterfall of dread, where they would meet their maker in linguistic whimsy. My death was now new life. My reincarnation, a reverse sublimation. I was made known; therefore, I knew nothing.

6.THE For a short time, my pet peeves were my shortcomings: dry skin in the morning – brushing off the bed sheets with bits of outer insulation from my body. Was I molting? I needed to drink more bitter herbs, I thought. I had chronic stomach pain, below the clavicle, a small fist of air. Sweet antacid, mint leaves, fennel seed tea. Invisible Anxiety. The pain in my leg: a hypochondriac’s dream. Soothing myself with palm oil and camphor. Small applications on the surface. At dinner with guests, supplementing aspirin with ice-water, saying very little otherwise, a friend agreed with everyone’s assessment: “Yes, sometimes you are cold and unfeeling. You could warm it up a little.” My apparent coolness – was it a matter of objective safety? That remote vacancy which I brought to every engagement, keeping the world at arm’s length, the anthropologist’s vantage point, sustaining the presumptive: was that my vocation – the judicious spectator, an odd outlier outlining all this activity while staying behind the line of sight? As the youngest sibling, I was always evaluating my older sisters with fierce judgment from the corner of the room, just out of reach: eavesdropping on phone conversations, catching glimpses of padded bras, curling irons, and maxi pads passed between casual doorways. Taking stock of the panoply of premature adulthood (teenage pregnancy), unruly rebellion (sneaking out at night), clumsy and combative excursions with our wicked step-mother (cat fights with elegantly finger-nailed fisticuffs). I watched from a dutiful distance, careful not to engage, harboring a catalog of tragicomic events and all their moral assessments in order to avoid the worst-case scenario for myself. I was in the world, but not of it. I learned from the mistakes of others: that I was nothing more than a mistake waiting to happen, potential energy. I learned from the mistletoe to keep watch overhead so as to avoid the dangling modifier of accidental affection. I learned from the stone in my shoe to keep walking through the pain with a staggering refrain in my step, a constant reminder of the brokenness of my body and the indefatigable self-loathing of my own self-consciousness.

7.OBLIVION My third love was a surprise affection – ticklish touching and tender swaddles of terry towels and cotton cloth wrapped in armfuls of goose down feathers transfixed in the careful undertaking of childcare. A sensual delight! I was an object to be objectified, a thing to squeeze and prickle, caress and carry about in a breadbasket. I grew from a pinecone to a pine tree, from a newt to a dinosaur, from a poppy-seed to a poppy flower bursting with fireworks. This love then transferred its fornications onto something wet, wild and ornithological – a flying, feathery python ascending to its countenance as a bastion of bridegrooms in a flaming aviary chariot of leathery kisses all aimed at my elbows. Hope is a thing with bird feeders. So I watched the feathered fowl crowd around the seeds and suet, grubs and grains with dinosaur intensity, beaks and claws doing their vast prehistoric business with messy execution. My lovers cawed at their community of plumy mishaps like transcendental mother hens: nuthatch and creeper, tanager and titmouse, blue jay and junco gallivanting together like an armful of woolen throw blankets clapping the dust from their ornamental features. Our fairy dance of foreplay lasted for days. Cat calls as birdsong with balloons, iambic pentameter poems, chimes that rhymed with clanging crystals hung on fishing line, and all the fanciful costumes with sequins and fringe, flowered bell bottoms, metallic body suits, reggae music, ballroom dancing, charm bracelets, diamond rings, glimmering little earrings with fly-fishing ornaments, and, on the last day, a very long and serious monologue about global warming. Our lovemaking was quick and witty, a little slutty and clumsy – nothing more than a jaunt, a quick choreography of slaps and body slams, two pigeons in a mosh pit, working things out in juvenilia. Nature had done its work. Afterward we lounged together in the afterglow with soft pillow talk and dreams of nest eggs and parenting, protecting, foraging, feeding, and changing diapers, all the domestic labors of love. But for now, in a warm bird bath, sunning ourselves with a glistening glow, I could only think of the sweet bliss of here and now, the wetness of loving kisses on my nape, my neck, my back, my rump, my foreshortened wings and a sweet nectar nightcap. Hope is a thing deferred, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

8.OF My fourth love was peripatetic: a suitcase stored in an overhead bin on an airplane. Things beget things beget responsibilities. I procrastinated my life by traveling far from it. A day before the voyage, I stayed up late in the polar forces of the night, diligently packing the baggage on the couch, opened up like can of tuna fish, a glass of lemon juice on the nightstand (master cleanse), the Siamese cat washing itself, the dollar store dishes in the sink, my dirty clothes in a paper bag. The last time I had left for this kind of trip, my things were in boxes in one room on the second floor of a gated town house in God-knows-where, New York. Now everything had been transferred as in a swap meet, boxes upon boxes, things upon things, other voices, other rooms. The living room was a labyrinth of speculative journeys, a crossword puzzle of travel prompts. Outside, gale force winds rose to the occasion, knocking on the windows like unwanted guests. I imagined the weather overtaking everything in an apocalyptic frenzy: cups and saucers trembling in tongues, plastic wrap coming undone in a transparent wedding train, pillowcases falling over our heads like hard hats, ceiling fans circumnavigating the neighborhood like helicopter rides, the colored crayons on the kitchen shelf thrown asunder to make slapdash hieroglyphs all over the window panes, the mysterious penmanship of the gods! My mind was preoccupied by disaster, a force majeure, an act of God, a ball of yarn, and the four horses of the Apocalypse. I wanted nothing of it: this origami suitcase lifestyle of travel and transition. I wanted to be here and now. I wanted silence, solace, and stillness. I wanted the simplest of things: a bowl of vanilla ice cream, a warm bath, and a quiet place to sit and stitch my hand-crafted cross-stitch of rainbows and sailboats framing a sexy cartoon portrait of Dionne Warwick diligently working the lines for the Psychic Friends Network from way back in the 1990s, when every solution to every problem was just a phone call away.

9.YOUR History repeats itself, defeats itself, cheats itself, berates and beats itself. I am not historic. I am histrionics. I must hate my mother and my father. I must hate myself and take up the cross and be born again. In this way, my fifth love was an immutable shadow following me with sticky tricks and schemes, a cancerous contamination of the mind that could only be cured with the deadly venom of a cone snail. I couldn’t quite shake it, the cobalt-blue memory of a ghost haunting my sophistry, a prescient reminder that the knowledge of faith and the substance of hope were right behind me this entire time (and not something to pursue, or follow, like an ornamental object on the horizon, dazzling, elusive and alive in the distant future). The Divine Inside was a “previously known encounter.” I could never see it face to face, but only feel it in my shadow, the former patterns of an aura left behind, pushing forward, pursuing, persuading, steering and navigating my memory through the valley of the shadow of death. I wanted so desperately to “have and to hold” the real substance of things (evidence!), the physical, intimate engagement with the body and the blood, which I actively sought out in transcendental activity, prayer and supplication, the sacraments, the feasts of the saints, a metaphysical substance to salivate and sublimate within the natural order of things. But this was a false pretense. God is not natural, but supernatural. The real material of divinity is ineffable, unassailable, unknowable, unutterable, and unreal. The evidence of providence is not within our line of sight, nor within our grasp, but instead beyond and behind our physical kinesphere. It is unapproachable, unspeakable, unobservable, and ultimately “erstwhile”. And yet still we continue to feel it “under our skin” and “within the universe” of our own personal history: The Past/The Passed/The Repossessed. God is our delayed consciousness – the nameless, faceless dichotomy of our secret truth. And we are made in its indistinguishable appearance. Therefore our own true “image” is without a name or a face – a baseless, shapeless cloud hovering above the waters, a countenance of empty atmosphere (signifying nothing) – a gothic apparition, a vision of love, a dance of the eternal travesty of life, a burrowing beetle of impenetrating curiosity. Digging for the true grit of life in the eternal dirt of the universe.

10.BODY My last love was a kind of science fiction. I was out running errands at the mall when I saw a fleet of lampshades falling like flying saucers from the sky. The alien robots came to me in an escalating beam of light and said: “We come in peace! The obverse seeks to make its face shine upon you, while the inverse hides in shame.” They did their thing with my body, prodding and poking around for some good news, but at first I would have none of it. I struggled and squirmed under nylon restraints strapped onto a stainless steel operating table. I was a basket case of curmudgeonly vitriol, pointing out everything that was wrong with the world around me: Fossil fuels. Cancer. Money. Greed. Sales Tax. Frozen Yoghurt. Religion. Varicose Veins. Junk Mail. But the alien robots were unflappable. They said, “We just need a little DNA, not a diatribe,” while swabbing the insides of my mouth with a cottony Q-tip. Then, after careful intubation and a slow drip of aesthesia, I eased into the abyss. They removed my clothes and covered my body with a marshmallowy spray foam. They swaddled me into a warm cocoon of maroon goo, where I remained in stasis to the end of the ages, slowly resuming into the soft, pillowy features of my former self – pre-natal, premature, pre-conceived – a slippery and succulent primordial membrane of soupy warmth and illuminating agency awaiting, once again, the cosmic journey laid out before me like a yellow-brick road of possibilities – the secret oblivion of love, the “unbeknownst!” Within this pinprick vision, I saw a tapestry of afterbirth in afterglow as an addendum to an immaculate after-thought of rapturous joy. I was born-again in fullness and truth. I was a peanut. I was a pretzel. I was a pan-fried shrimp. I was pandemonium personified. I was once again myself waiting to happen again and again and again and again and again … until the end.

— Sufjan Stevens

#sufjan stevens #javelin

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gastrophobia · 9 months

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Added three more character cards to YBR's cast page.

Of course, the Loons have already appeared in the comic.

Sir Dashemoff Daily was a character in the 1902 stage play (played by a woman) who tried to woo Dorothy. He was a human, but I decided to make him a donkey because Oz is full of talking animals. He only shows up on two pages unless I decide to do a rewrite before his appearance.

Hickory plays the role of the Queen of the Fieldmice's subject in Marvelous Land of Oz, but his backstory is he's also a character from the short story, "Hickory, Dickory, Dock", in Baum's Mother Goose in Prose.

I'll probably go back and add that dragon to the cast page at some point, but I need to add characters in groups of three so that the table isn't uneven! ;)

#character designs #yellow brick ramble #oz

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adarkrainbow · 2 months

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Speaking of Donkeyskin - it is quite funny how nowadays everybody refers to the fairy godmother in this fairytale as the "Lilac Fairy". This was definitively popularized by Jacques Demy's movie, and it even pops up on the Wikipedia page of the fairytale. But here is the fun story with this...

Charles Perrault never wrote anything about any "Lilac Fairy". The fairy within his Donkeyskin has no name. So where does the "Lilac" qualification comes from?

From Perrault's Donkeyskin. Or rather fake-Perrault Donkeyskin.

It is a crazy story: Donkeyskin is not part of Perrault's "Mother Goose tales", which are all fairytales written in prose. Donkeyskin as part of a set of three "tales in verse", poem-tales, published earlier than his main fairytale collection. However, due to Donkeyskin being so similar to Perrault's Mother Goose tales, it is often decided to add Donkeyskin to the collection. And given a verse text clashes with a prose collection, and as generations went by it was thought a fairytale should be in prose, not in verse, "Donkeyskin" was rewritten in prose.

... But who rewrote Donkeyskin in prose? All the books of the 18th-19th say it is Charles Perrault, but the truth is that it is not possible. The prose-Donkeyskin only appeared after Perrault's death... in 1781. One century after the Mother Goose tales. Oh sure it got massively popular enough that everybody attributed it to Perrault, and included it in the Mother Goose tales. It was this prose-story that Gustave Doré illustrated. It was this prose-story most scholars of the 19th century knew about (Flaubert wrote about this tale believing it was Perrault's work). And it is even the story many children are told today.

But this version was rewritten by an unknown person at the end of the 18th century... It is not Perrault's tale. Not only is it not Perrault's hand behind it, but the prose version modifies several details compared to the original verse version - and as Tony Gheeraert said, it is very obvious that this prose version inherits the ideas and motifs of a post-Enlightenment world (there is notably an entire thing centered around the character of the "druid" that was invented for the prose version, and replaces a different type of satire Perrault meant to have through the king's incestuous wedding).

Anyway... All of that to say it is in the prose 18th century version that the fairy got her name, the "Lilac Fairy" (La Fée des Lilas - as in not a fairy of lilac color, but "The Fairy of the Lilac Flowers"). But in Perrault's own, original tale, he leaves the fairy unnamed - for all of Perrault's fairies are unnamed (it was one of the things that set him apart from other authors of the time like madame d'Aulnoy who took care of naming most of her fairies to individualize them).

#donkeyskin #french fairytales #donkey skin #charles perrault #perrault fairytales #the lilac fairy #lilac fairy

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sassafrasmoonshine · 5 months

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Maxfield Parrish (American, 1870-1966) • Illustration for Mother Goose in Prose, (The Man in the Moon) by L. Frank Baum • Bobbs-Merrill, publisher • 1905

#offset lithograph #maxfield parrish #art #illustrator #illustration #vintage book illustration #artwork #artist #american artist #book illustration #american illustrator #early 20th century illustration #sassafras and moonshine blog #mother goose

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wolfbrideinhiding · 9 months

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Get to Know Me

Tag 9 people you’d like to know more about!

Thank you for the tag, my dearest @padfootagain 🤍

Last song I listened to: It must be Building Steam by Abney Park. I’m not lying when I say it’s my anthem hahah.

Currently Reading: I just started Adrienne Young’s Fable yesterday! I’ve been wanting to read it for ages but I have some sort of reader’s block with prose, I’ve only been able to focus on One Piece. Back to my ”I’m casually reading manga and watching anime” era after like 10+ years (watch me lying about that ’casually’).

Currently Watching: Lots of things! I recently started Game of Thrones again. I watched four seasons back in the day but now I’m going to finish it. Today I started a rewatch of Tidelands as well. And if I didn’t need another Australian drama, I’m watching A Place to Call Home with my mom. We’re watching it for the second time now while waiting for our other shared fave, Outlander, and my, I still love it to bits! Then I’m also watching One Piece with my big brother from another mother; I read a few mangas and then we have a marathon to catch up in the anime. If you didn’t catch it by now, I’m very bad at watching one thing at a time. It’s nowhere near organized!

Current Obsession: I’d want to say I’ve been pretty casual recently, but… That’d be a thick lie. I had a long time when I had no hyperfixation in sight and to be fair, it was a bit rough. I’m used to having at least one obsession at a time. My current one is definitely One Piece. But I have found new comfort characters and another home to escape to when I’m feeling down. It has helped me a lot. And this is gonna sound so cheesy but my cats. I have one that recently had his birthday, my baby turned one. And the other one is just 9 months old. These boys are the best thing in my life and I love them lots.

Feel free to do this if it looks fun! I’m tagging from the top of my mind @fuckyeahhangman @pohjanneito @goose-bradshaw 🤍

#tag game #charlie was tagged #get to know charlie #text

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jilatoice · 6 months

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OREO BLACK PINK BISA DIJADIKAN GELATO?

Hallo Jilalova, udah banyak yang tahu tentang Jilatoice dong pastinya, nah kalau kemarin kita sudah bahas tentang variant Unicorn yang terdapat perpaduan dari tiga rasa strawberry, bubblegum, dan blueberry kali ini kita akan bahas salah satu menu yang menggugah selera dengan warnanya yang cantik dan menarik, yaitu Black Pink. Siapa sih yang tidak kenal dengan nama Black Pink yang identik dengan Girl Band asal Korea. Menu yang satu ini Terbuat dari 80% strawberry gelato yang di mix dengan oreo crumble 20% yang bikin kamu ketagihan. Yuk bahas satu persatu asal usul serta manfaat dari kedua bahan utama Black Pink bareng Minji. Simak penjelasan Minji sampai habis ya..

ASAL USUL STRAWBERRY :

Buah strawberry diketahui pertama kali ditanam pada abad ke-13 di Eropa, tepatnya di Perancis. Meski demikian, buah ini pertama kali ditemukan di Italia di hutan belantara. Jadi buah strawberry sebenarnya merupakan tanaman liar yang tumbuh bebas di hutan-hutan yang ada di Italia. Buah ini lalu dibawa oleh orang Perancis yang mendaratkan kapalnya di Italia. Buah ini kemudian ditanam di Perancis dan lambat laun dijadikan sebagai budidaya. Ada juga yang menganggap kalau buah strawberry sebenarnya sudah ada di Italia sejak abad 234 SM. Buah ini pada zaman Yunani Kuno dianggap sebagai lambang dewi cinta oleh masyarakat setempat karena warna dan tampilannya yang sangat indah. Buah strawberry dinamakan dari bahasa Inggris kuno yang bernama ‘streawberige’ yang merupakan gabungan kata dari ‘streaw’ atau ‘strew’ yang artinya adalah sedotan. Nama ini diberikan karena buah strawberry dulunya ditanam dengan menggunakan sedotan agar buahnya terhindar dari proses pembusukan. Sedangkan untuk kata ‘berry’ disematkan karena awalnya mereka mengira kalau buah ini adalah jenis berry dikarenakan tumbuhnya dipermukaan tanah layaknya buah berry pada umumnya. Strawberry merupakan salah satu buah yang sangat populer di dunia. Pasal buah ini bisa dijumpai hampir di seluruh penjuru negara. Tidak hanya negara-negara yang ada di benua Eropa dan Amerika saja, tapi juga di negara-negara Asia seperti Indonesia. Strawberry bisa tumbuh subur di dataran tinggi dengan cuaca dingin dan sejuk. Di Indonesia, perkebunan strawberry banyak dijumpai di kawasan di kaki gunung yang ada di Pulau Jawa. Buah ini memiliki ciri khas warnanya yang sangat merah merona menjadikannya sangat menggugah selera. Selain itu, buah ini memiliki ciri khas adanya bintik-bintik kecil di seluruh permukaannya sehingga menjadikan tampilannya sangat unik. Sementara untuk rasanya, buah strawberry memiliki perpaduan rasa manis dan asam yang membuatmu ketagihan.

MANFAAT STRAWBERRY :

Strawberry adalah jenis buah beri yang biasanya berwarna merah atau merah muda, dengan biji-biji kecil di permukaannya. Buah ini memiliki rasa manis dan segar, sering ada dalam berbagai hidangan, seperti kue, selai, es krim, dan salad. Strawberry juga kaya akan vitamin C dan serat, sehingga baik untuk kesehatan. Karena memiliki banyak kandungan nutrisi, berikut berbagai manfaat strawberry untuk kesehatan:

- mengoptimalkan kesehatan jantung

- menurunkan resiko peradangan dalam tubuh

- mencegah kanker

- mencegah dehidrasi

- mengoptimalkan sistem imun tubuh

- mengontrol berat badan

ASAL USUL OREO ;

Oreo adalah kukis khas yang berwarna hitam dengan isi krim putih. Camilan manis yang disukai banyak orang ini ternyata sudah ada sejak lebih dari satu abad. Perjalanan menarik terciptanya Oreo melibatkan dua pria bersaudara. Berakhirnya kerja sama bisnis antara Jacob dan Joseph Loose sebagai pemilik American Biscuit and Manufacturing Company, mendorong Joseph mendirikan National Biscuit Company (Nabisco). Dilansir dari laman Times of India, Oreo pertama diproduksi pada tahun 1912 oleh Nabisco dan dipasarkan sebagai bagian dari trio 'biskuit kelas paling tinggi', yang meliputi Mother Goose Biscuit dan Veronese Biscuit. Dua biskuit itu sudah lama tidak muncul lagi, tapi Oreo mampu bertahan hingga menembus zaman. Awalnya, Oreo Biscuit sempat berganti nama menjadi Oreo Sandwich di tahun 1921, kemudian namanya berganti lagi menjadi 'Oreo Creme Sandwich' di tahun 1948, dan akhirnya biskuit ini diperkenalkan lagi dengan nama 'Oreo Chocolate Sandwich Cookie' pada tahun 1974. Oreo memiliki krim dan biskuit yang lezat dan manis sehingga bisa dijadikan sebagai es krim gelato. oreo memiliki tekstur yang unik dan rasa manis khas oreo. Oreo baik dikonsumsi untuk anak-anak karena mengandung protein susu yang membantu menguatkan tulang. Namun, kandungan gula dalam oreo juga dapat memicu obesitas pada anak sehingga konsumsi oreo tetap harus dibatasi.

nah gimana Jilalova sudah tau sejarah dan manfaat strawberry dan oreo yang dijadikan menu Gelato Blavk Pink kan, oreo tidak hanya disajikan dalam bentuk cake saja tapi kini oreo bisa menjadi salah satu kombinasi gelato yang segar dan manis. pastinya mengandung banyak manfaat serta aman untuk dikonsumsi. Varian gelato Black Pink itu bisa kamu temukan di Jilatoice. Outletnya berada di Jalan Kerto Raharjo No.81 Malang, Jawa Timur. Sekarang kalian dapat menikmati Black Pink gelato yang segar di Jilatoice dengan harga mulai dari 4k-10k aja loh.. Selain harganya yang ramah di kantong, kalian juga dapat menikmati sensasi dingin yang menyegarkan dari gelato Strawberry yang dikombinsikan dengan Oreo asli sebagai isiannya serta berbagai macam manfaat dalam satu cone Black Pink Gelato.

WE'RE OPEN 10;00 a.m - 10;00 p.m

LOKASI = JL. KERTO RAHARJO 81, KETAWANGGEDE, LOWOKWARU, KOTA MALANG [DEKAT UNIVERSITAS BRAWIJAYA]

#jilatoice #gelato #gelatomurahmalang #gelatomurah #gelatomalang #gelatoenak #gelatoviral #icecream #icecreamitalia #icecreammalangmurah #icecreammurahenak #icecreamenak #icecreammurah #icecreammalang

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rh35211 · 1 year

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Charles Perrault | Biography, Fairy Tales, Books, & Facts | Britannica

He is best remembered for his collection of fairy stories for children, Contes de ma mère l'oye (1697; Tales of Mother Goose). He was the brother of the physician and amateur architect Claude Perrault. A lawyer by training, Charles Perrault first worked as an official in charge of royal buildings.Jan 8, 2022

Notable Works: “Tales of Mother Goose”

Born: January 12, 1628 Paris France

Died: May 15, 1703 or May 16, 1703 Paris France

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asmywhimseytakesme · 3 years

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As promised, here is a list of my favorite tropes in fiction. I may continue to refine this over time.

Note, I am not pulling these from a website, I’m writing these up myself. There may be a page on tv tropes for all or most of these, but I’m trying to articulate to myself what I like and why I like it, so I’m naming my own tropes and writing descriptions that are specific to my own taste. I’m also including a short list of examples for each.

Needless to say, if you know of a book or show that includes some of these tropes (the more the better) and it isn’t mentioned here—PLEASE TELL ME. And of course, these are just my preferences and opinions—if you disagree, that’s fine, we just don’t like the same things 😁

These are organized loosely by category—character tropes, relationship tropes, and plot tropes.

Under a cut so people who aren’t that interested in my specific tastes don’t have to scroll forever.

Character Tropes

Mastermind—

An extremely clever and competent character who reads people, pulls strings, and often has a grand scheme the other characters are unaware of. Usually a good guy (at least my favorites tend to be), but doesn’t have to be.

Eugenides (Queens Thief), Miles Vorkosigan (Vorkosigan Saga), Peaceable Sherwood (the Sherwood Ring), Lord Peter Wimsey (the Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries) Sir Percy Blakeney (the Scarlet Pimpernel), Sherlock Holmes

Note: all the above examples are male characters, but I don’t consider this a gender specific trope. I would love recommendations of female characters who fit this trope.

Not Just A Soldier / Not Just A Mom

I originally had these listed as two tropes, and then realized that they were just inverses of each other. They each have to do with fulfilling gender stereotypes in some ways, while subverting or transcending them in others.

For a male character in the genres I read, Not Just A Soldier is typically a fighter of some kind, and really good at it. Basically, on the surface he appears to be a very Masculine Male Manly Man. But! It turns out he is also just a really nice guy. And not only that—he’s smart, and he’s good with kids!

On the flip side, Not Just a Mom seems at first glance to be your typical motherly feminine character. But! That isn’t her entire personality! She also has a (not particularly feminine) career and hobbies outside of parenting, and she is confident and competent doing those things—AND (this is important) those non-mothering things she is good at are essential to the plot. (This tends to be less of an issue that needs to be specified with male characters, grumblegrumble.)

So on both sides, we have a character who is fulfilling gender stereotypes on one hand, but subverting them on the other.

Not Just A Soldier examples: Costis (Queen's Thief), Din Djarin (the Mandalorian), Cazaril (the Curse of Chalion), Uncle Iroh (ATLA)

Not Just A Mom examples: Hera Syndulla (Star Wars Rebels), Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan and Ekaterin Vorsoisson Vorkosigan (Vorkosigan Saga), Katara (ATLA)

Adventurous Parent

A parent who continues to be cool and have adventures and stay involved in the plot even after becoming a parent (a GOOD parent, of course).

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian), Dr Mensah (Murderbot Diaries), Hera Syndulla (Star Wars Rebels—-we’ll see if this holds true now that she actually has her own biological child?? Assuming she’ll show up in future Star Wars projects—I’m hoping to see her in the Ahsoka series🤞)

Reluctant Ruler

It seems like many bad guys would kill to be king—and many good guys would really, REALLY rather not be in charge, thanks. But when a good guy is forced by circumstances beyond their control into becoming a ruler, and they decide that they might as well try to do a good job at it, and then THEY ACTUALLY DO—this trip has my whole heart.

Maia Drazar (The Goblin Emperor—this book is basically the perfect example of this trope and I love it SO MUCH), Eugenides (Queen’s Thief), Sophos (Queens Thief), Aral Vorkosigan (Vorkosigan Saga), And hopefully Din Djarin in Mandalorian season 3? OH PLEASE YES I NEED THIS.

Broken, but loved

The name basically says it—these are characters who believed themselves broken, heartless, and unlovable, but others chose to love them anyway. It’s important to note that they are NOT “saved by love”, but they do CHOOSE to try and be better because of love.

This trope just GETS ME EVERY TIME GUYS. It makes my heart hurt in the most joyful way.

Murderbot (Murderbot Diaries), Attolia (Queens Thief), Zuko (ATLA), Medraut (the Winter Prince)

Friend Indeed

This is a simple one—a character who befriends someone who is in the middle of a difficult situation, when it would be much easier to just keep their distance.

Ratthi (Murderbot Diaries), Csevet (The Goblin Emperor), Kuill (the Mandalorian)

Magic Schmagic

The character in a fantastical story who can’t do magic, doesn’t know about magic, and doesn’t WANT to. They just wanna carry on being their own non magical, mundane selves and we love them for it.

Sokka (ATLA), Din Djarin (the Mandalorian), Digger (Digger), Gideon (Gideon the Ninth)

Relationship tropes:

Found Family

Ok, this is a popular one so don’t think I need to explain it. Since these often involve large groups of characters, I’m just going to list a few of my favorite pieces of media where this trope features prominently.

Star Wars Rebels, the Mandalorian, Digger, Murderbot Diaries

Reluctant Friendship

Where two characters are thrown together and one or both doesn’t particularly want to be friends with the other, but as they move through the adventure together they gradually come to like each other and form a friendship.

I also love the romance side of this trope but I’m just as happy to read about a platonic relationship.

Ben and Nathaniel (This Was Our Pact), Kaidu and Rat (The Nameless City), Kamet and Costis (Queen’s Thief), Digger and Shadowchild (Digger),

Magical Animal Sidekick

A character who forms a deep personal bond with a magical creature. It doesn’t have to be an actual creature—in a sci-fi setting this could also be a sentient robot or ship.

Temeraire and Laurence (His Majesty’s Dragon), Ani and Falada (Goose Girl), Murderbot and Art (Murderbot Diaries), Ezra and the Loth Wolves (Star Wars Rebels)

Prose/plot tropes:

It’s Complicated

Related to the Mastermind character trope, the distinction here is that this is a plot that wasn’t manipulated by a single character intentionally, rather it’s a complex series of interactions and misunderstandings that are all revealed to be interconnected in the end.

The Court Jester, Howl’s Moving Castle, To Say Nothing of the Dog, Digger

Sarcastic, Witty, and/or Colloquial narration

The name says it all. I usually prefer this in 1st person, but it can be fun in 3rd person too. In 3rd person it might be the narrator who is witty, or it might just be the main character's thoughts that are witty as related by the narrator.

1st person— The Thief, Murderbot, Digger, Dragonhaven

3rd person—Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Gideon the Ninth

Written For You

First person narratives are interesting and tricky because there is the question of WHY narrator is telling the story, and who they intend it for. I love first person stories where the narrative is specifically addressed to a person or group, which adds a level of meaning to the story. This isn’t the same as a story told in diaries or letters (though that can be fun too).

The Thief and A Conspiracy of Kings, the Winter Prince, All Systems Red, Dragonhaven

The juxtaposition of Magic and Mundane

I deeply love stories that mix magical things with mundane details of life in a deliberate way. I feel this makes real life feel a bit more magical, and helps magic feel a bit more real. This juxtaposition can be a central idea of the plot, or might simply be present in the way a narrator describes things.

This may be my favorite trope of all, come to think of it (though there are a lot of great ones listed above, so maybe I shouldn’t start naming favorites…) most of my own story ideas center on this idea to one degree or another.

Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Howl’s Moving Castle, His Majesty’s Dragon, Digger, Hilda, Queens Thief, Dragonhaven

Tropes I would like to see less of: prophecies, hereditary magic, a Chosen One, Soul Mates, fate/destiny. Yes, many of the stories I love involve these tropes, they’re hard to get away from in the genres I prefer to read. These tropes are Iess exciting to me first off because they’re done so often, but there’s a bigger reason I’d like to see less of them, which has to do with characters agency. I’m much more interested in a story that is about a character who CHOOSES to do the right thing, not because they were Chosen, but because they CHOOSE themselves to do the right thing. In the same vein, characters who CHOOSE to build and maintain a relationship are so much more interesting and, frankly, romantic to me than people who are just meant for each other BECAUSE FATE OK. Just.... no. People making tough choices because it’s the right thing to do makes for a much better story (aim my opinion) than people who do the right thing because DESTINY. So the overall theme here is, more character agency! (And as I said above—if you disagree, that’s fine! This is just me listing my preferences and opinions.)

If you read all that—wow! To all those who made it this far, thanks, and if you have any book/show recommendations that involve these tropes, please tell me about them!!

#tropes i like #personal #on writing #on reading #book recommendations #queens thief #the mandalorian #star wars #murderbot diaries #digger comic #studio ghibli #hmc #atla #howls moving castle #vorkosigan saga #and uuiuuh a bunch more but those are the main ones

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outoftimewriting · 4 years

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Imagine (Son of Hades! Percy; Godswapped! Big Three's kids) (8/8) or (13/13)

Blood of Olympus pt.2 - The War

Hello! If you're here, it means you probably already know - but check the masterpost for both warnings and the other twelve parts.

I want to thank everyone who followed this fanfic? Imagine? AU? for the month it took us to get here. Tell me what you thought about it, if there's anything you are anxious to see in the epilogue - yes, we'll have an epilogue!

If you like my writing, you might be happy to know that I'm starting another AU - same style, no patience for prose - this time, a daughter of Zeus! Percy. Don't worry - it bares almost no similarities to this, and part 1 will be out before the epilogue, so stay tuned. For now, good reading :))

Maybe it was the death of Malcolm, but after that night, there was something different about the crew of the Argo II. Their journey to Gaea changed them.

Will notifies them as soon as morning rises, leaving Annabeth secluded in her room and Perseus to whatever was happening upstairs - they are told not to interfere.

No one knows exactly what happened on the deck between Perseus and whoever dared to attack them - there is nothing there but sea salt and dried ichor when Frank goes to take his shift.

The screams will haunt him for the rest of his life - they pleaded for mercy, but after this journey, no one in here is a merciful person.

There's an aura - an aura Frank recognizes well, for it clogged around Hazel in her first days in Nova Roma. An aura of death. Perseus is looking at the sunrise, cleaning his gold-stained ax.

He looks happy - for the first time since Tartarus, he is humming a melody to some song that Frank is pretty sure is from Disney. Percy grins at Frank.

"Hey, man."

Frank doesn't ask. He trusts Perseus - Perseus took a whip to the back, side by side with him. Perseus fell on Tartarus for his best friend. Perseus would give his life for any of them. The son of Mars Ultor is sure he did what he had to do.

It still spooks him a little when Perseus leaves, whistling what he now recognizes as Fathoms Bellow.

They're journeying to Delos - for more half a day - and then, finally, to Athens. Frank wonders if the monsters are too afraid of them - or if Gaea just told them to stop attacking.

The fact is that, for several hours, no monster touches them again. Might be the death air encapsulating the ship's bow. Might just be their reputation.

With nothing to do, Frank watches as the sun rises and his friends starting to walk around.

Leo has no fixed hours - so he might be either awakening or going to sleep. He crosses through Frank in his post and rambles for a second - the Legionis thinks it's cute.

Leo crosses Hazel - she never wakes past eight unless she had a night shift - who is probably going to breakfast. They exchange a kiss, and Frank's heart aches.

Hazel stops to talk with Jason - the last one awake, since Perseus and Will are probably sleeping, Annabeth still hasn't left her room, and Nico and Piper went to their room after the morning announcements - probably to grief.

The blonde is uncharacteristically serious for such an early hour, but with recent news, it's expected. Frank goes back to look at the sea - and wonder if any of them will ever be free of this.

The two of them retract to the war room - to plan the attack on Gaea. They are at a serious disadvantage. It might be better for them to ride back to Long Island and try to unit the camps and plan a war - just like they did with Kronos/Mount Otris.

It's very improbable that Gaea will give the same considerations to put Manhattan to sleep. Kronos wanted power - not to destroy humanity. Gaea is a nesting mother who lost her kids - she wants chaos.

But with all giants here - wouldn't be easier to do this here? Even if they have no support whatsoever? If they tailed back to Long Island, would the giants run rampant through Europe?

They wait until after lunch - when everyone is more or less up - to congregate and vote.

"There are seventeen giants - one for each Olympian plus Trivia, Proserpina, and the Fates, except for Dyonisus who has two and the twins who share two - and nine of us."

"Fifteen" Retorts Percy from his place opposite to Jason "I killed Aristaeus - the bane of Proserpina - yesterday. And the bane of Ares... Damasen... he was a good giant. He didn't reform."

Jason doesn't argue - Perseus was the one on Tartarus - even though he wants to ask who helped him kill the giant - and if he killed them afterward.

Fifteen is still a staggering number of giants. They have no chance alone - so after Delos, they solve to make their last stand on Camp Half-Blood.

Will, Perseus, and Jason are the ones to go down to the small island. Finding Apollo is exceptionally easy: it's just a matter of following the sound of the lyre.

He laughs at their request - full-blown laugh. Jason wants to punch him - the world is ending.

"There's no need for flowers. You already have the Physician's Cure. This is a name my son gave to his union to Zagreus - life and death."

Jason wants to scream. He wants to kill Nike - who is in her island, chilling after sending them in a goose chase. But Perseus and Will are already miles ahead of him - whatever happened last night unlocked something in him, even if the gloves never left.

"You'll come to Long Island. You'll fight - for as long as needed - against Orion and Gration." It's Will - defying his own father. Jason doesn't know if he has the courage.

"Promise - on your immortality, because I don't trust the Styx."

"I could still evaporate you"

"You won't. You need us too much."

Apollo promises - maybe because he sees everything and knows more than Jason about whatever will happen, maybe because that ax still bears gold in it - and exchanges some words with Will that neither of them hear as they walk back on board to tell the news.

Will and Percy disappear into a room - it makes something stir in Jason's stomach, as he remembers that he no longer knows this Perseus, but the one he knows, he loves.

Will and Perseus talk for hours - before being invaded by Leo - only to keep talking until the next morning.

"Change course to Athens. We have the Physician's Cure. Gaea will rampage through Europe. Hercules is on her side. There's no way we can go back now."

They agree - there's no crossing Hercules little island again.

An IM from Reyna cements their decision. A group of demigods serving Gaea - including the Censor that unjustly tried Hazel and was exiled - tried ambushing she and her sister - but the Amazons and the Hunters won against them. Thalia is alive - and she drove an arrow through Gwen's eye, the traitor in Nova Roma.

The Hunters called the Pegasi - and they all set course to Athens - while Reyna followed the statue who set course by the sea. Pegasus himself is going to Athens - he fought once against the Giants, he would do again.

They reach Athens in a little more than five hours. It's the last day of their time - and they are ambushed as soon as they cross the Parthenon.

They fight well - Gaea wants Perseus and Piper, so they rally around them.

Perseus is a fighting beast himself, but he is overwhelmed by the sheer number of monsters and unable to help others. He kills the Minotaur once again - the armies of monsters are almost endless - is the battle of Manhattan all over again.

Piper strikes against the three gorgons - Medusa can't petrify anyone without petrifying her own allies - and keeps the head as a prize.

Nico is in the sky - he looks like part of the storm. The flying monsters rally around him, but Nico doesn't disappoint - his sword cuts through them like butter.

In the end, the nine annihilate the whole army - Gaea has just her giants now.

But in the fray, two griffins escape - carrying with them Jason and Hazel. Now they have no option but to follow.

Perseus almost hits his head on the wall. Why was he so dumb? Gaea was playing them. Gender had nothing to do with the sacrifice - it's just one of the sea, one of the earth. And Hazel, as much as she is a daughter of the sky, her powers exist on earth.

He could deal with the bounty hunt on him. Even on Piper - just a person to protect - but not on two. He was not expecting this. Perseus thinks Gaea must be laughing right now.

He feels guilt creep on him. That was his plan, and now two of his best friends are gone in the sky. Leo looks even worse than him - he is weeping as if the two demigods are already dead. They probably are.

Annabeth takes the reins - and they fly to the Acropolis quicker than ever. The ship slams against the ground - it probably needs repairs. But they are here.

Jason doesn't remember feeling that much pain. He wakes up, chained in a sacrificial altar, Hazel just behind him. Their powers don't answer - the chains are as dark as Perseus' ax: stygian iron. In front of them, Porphyrion and Polybotes laugh.

"We'll be glad to offer your fathers your severed heads"

He wishes to talk back - but his mouth doesn't work. It's Clytius taking his voice away, right behind them - holding a scyther that is not unfamiliar. Is the same scyther that took Uranus manhood - the same one that cut him to pieces and reduced him to the sky.

"We take an arm from the daughter of the earth, blood and flesh, so that her connection with the ground is given to our Mother, so she is able to reclaim her dominion."

There's blood everywhere. Hazel's left arm is twitching on the floor, and she lets out an ear-splitting scream, before passing out.

"We take the ability from reproduce from the son of the sea, blood and flesh, so that his fertility will be given to our Mother, so she is able to reproduce again, the ability his father took from her."

Jason feels like the world is spinning. They will... they... they want to castrate him. He sees Hazel's blood staining the marble and the floor, running through his skin, and he wants to vomit - but something is preventing him from doing so.

Hazel is paling fast - she'll be dead in thirty minutes if they don't stop the bleeding. But he can't move. He can't help. A scream strangles in his throat.

If Hazel's voice was able to cut through Clytius magic, would his powers too? If he focused enough if he stretched himself enough.

Jason forces himself to stop thinking about the chanting, and focus. He imagines Nico - with no family, losing Hazel. Or Frank and Leo. Or Perseus. He pushes and pushes.

He doesn't find a source of water - but he feels her blood. He can stop it from coming out - just for a second, just for a minute, just until they rescue them.

They are going to rescue them. They are - none of them are dying today. They have to survive this war.

Jason focuses his thoughts on good things. After this, he is going to go to college. He is going to spend time with his sister. He'll work on greek-roman relations. He'll ask the male Praetor on a date. He'll punch Octavian. Everything will be just fine.

The scyther is just over Clytius head, ready to strike when an arrow takes its place in his eye. Thalia, mounted on Pegasus, barges in. The horse is bigger than Clytius - and he takes their chains, before flying off to the arena.

Thalia cuts his chains - throwing a gladius at him. Hazel is still passed out - curled into herself in the ground. Jason stands before her, still doing his best to keep her blood inside. It won't work for long.

The giants follow them - but to no effect. The ship crashes between them, the demigods jumping off - armed to the teeth. With a scream of war, the Amazons and the other Hunters come flying in their own Pegasi.

Reyna is not with them - Jason hopes, not for the first time, that the demigod settlements are in peace. That they won't have to deal with two battlefronts.

It's not the time for petty wars. They should be here, helping, if they were not caught up in past fights of over a hundred years ago. Gaea is much more urgent than whatever they are debating.

These fighters are not enough - they are fighting a losing battle. No gods are coming, and between immortal hunters and Amazons, no one is a deity.

Jason starts thinking he is hallucinating - wishful thinking - for the sky opens, and from there descents all the Olympians and Hecate. Nike is the first to appear, guiding the chariot of Zeus, a scream of battle in her lips.

Juno is in a chariot guided by peacocks. Behind her, Aphrodite - that's not Venus, but Jason has never seen Aphrodite so ready for war. There are no doves or flowers in her - just a giant bow and arrow and a spear, riding in a horse side by side with her husband and her lover.

All twelve Olympians, plus Hades, plus the Fates, plus Trivia, Nike, Juventa, Bia, and Enyo. Proserpina is not there - nor the court of Atlantis.

Jason can't help but think is too little too late. Why they didn't show before? Before Hazel lost her leg? Before Malcolm died? Before Perseus fell? Before this journey took everything from them?

The gods pair off with their children - Hades with Perseus, Athena with Annabeth, Aphrodite with Piper, Mars with Frank, Zeus with Nico, Hephaestus with Leo, Juno with Hylla, Thalia with Poseidon.

Before pairing with Will - who looks reluctant to do it - Apollo comes to them. Jason is good enough to go - but he won't leave Hazel.

"I can't regrow her arm - not here, not now. And never, if it has been amputated by a titan weapon. The best I can do is close it."

Jason is so tired of the gods being unable to do stuff they should be capable of, but he sighs and nods. Hazel's color starts coming back, even if she doesn't wake up.

It's Trivia who comes to take the place of Jason. He stalls - he doesn't trust any deity anymore with the well-being of his friends - but they are not much, and they need him to fight. He joins Ceres as she raises a sickle to go against her bane - Asterius.

The hunters follow their mistress and Amazons divide themselves between the remaining gods - Dyonisus and Mercury - and they attack.

It's not enough. They are stretched too thin. Clytius is the only fallen one after thirty minutes of battle - Trivia burns him down in rage for her acolyte and makes a still groggy Hazel make a little cut on so he dissolves.

Perseus fights alongside his father, mounting Mrs. O'Leary as he does Cerberus. Small Bob can't die unless struck by celestial bronze, so the giant's effort to kill the creature is useless. Both of them don't hold back. It's the first time he really remembers his training with the Lord of the Dead. But mostly, he remembers Persephone too, and the gardens of the Underworld.

Percy has to go back to her. To his stepmom, and his mom, and his other stepmom. He has to go back to his life - the life he can barely remember now, but that was everything for him.

He has to go back to the gardens and the lakes, to blue cookies and bare feet. At least one of the rulers had to be in the Underworld, so Persephone is waiting for them to come back.

It gives Perseus strength. They have to win, so the earth can prosper - so that they can go back to the Underworld. So he can meet Thanatos, and play with Cerberus, and debate with Charon. So that they can be a family.

They keep fighting, but even with Perseus renewed will, there's no winning. Alcyoneus retorts them blow for blow and they tire quickly. Hades turns to him - there's a grim expression in his face when he throws his helmet to Perseus.

Perseus notices to late what his father is about to do - and is unable to prevent it.

"FATHER"

It's the first time he recognizes it. Hades has always been the lord of the dead to him - he only ever called him father in mockery. But this time, it's yelled in anguish.

"Tell Kore that I love her."

A giant blow from the Lord of the Dead makes both of them stumble. The giant falls to the floor, but not before running his sword through Hades' neck.

It's the first god to fall, and when Perseus cuts Alcyoneus' head in return, he stays dead. But it's not enough, because Hades is dead.

He'll have to tell Kore. Kore that loves Hades so much that she leaves the surface for months on end to stay with him. He'll have to tell her that he wasn't enough to save Hades.

Cerberus whine loudly and tries to wake his master - he sniffs at the ground soiled by ichor. No giant is able to approach the body or Perseus - Cerberus growls at every enemy who tries. Small Bob stays by his side, fighting alongside him.

A tear escapes his eye. After so much time, so much resentment, he didn't think he would care. His father lies on the floor like a puppet with the strings cut - and Perseus rages. He closes his father's eyes but doesn't stop - there's still a war going on, so he puts on the Helm of Darkness and goes on to join Ceres and Jason.

A scream rings through the arena - is Poseidon, noticing his oldest brother is gone. He throws his trident at Polybotes head - between him and Thalia, the giant is gone in the next ten minutes.

The god of the sea runs through the field, stepping through dead bodies and avoiding the corner where Trivia is taking care of Hazel. He clutches his brother's prone body and cries, ichor staining his clothes. Cerberus whines at his sound - it's heartbreaking.

Across the field, all four siblings cry together for their fallen brother, but none of them as badly as Poseidon. There's a cold spreading through the field - and soon enough, the sky opens again.

It's Vesta. The last Olympian - the one who stayed behind to tend to the hearth. But now, she looked as fiery as her nephew - descending from the sky with no armor or chariot. The eldest child.

Family - that's Vesta domain. Perseus never saw her fight, but she does this time - throwing herself against the closest giant - Gration.

But Hades is not the last to fall.

Between Jason and Perseus, there's no match for Asterius. Ceres cuts his head off, still sobbing for her son-in-law and brother, sobbing for her widowed child. It doesn't help when her sister falls by her side - Juno, in full battle armor, is cut in half by Eurymedon.

Perseus thinks it might be a scene worthy of being painted - her lifeless eyes stare at the sky, as her crown rolls off her and stops at the giant's feet. Hylla keeps on fighting - now joined by her mother, who changes from Enyo to Bellona.

Zeus, in rage for his wife's death, kills Porphyrion before striking against Eurymedon with his general and her daughter. Nico, even if he never cared for Juno, follows suit - there's a path of destruction behind them, where lightning bolts hit the floor and filled the ground with craters.

Dyonisus kills Elphiates with his oldest daughter by his side, but his brother doesn't die as easily. Athena is still fighting against Enceladus - Annabeth striking the giant from all angles, in perfect synchrony with her mother, with help from Nike, who shields them both with her wings.

Mars and Mercury fight against Hippolytus - but he is faster than even the god of travelers, and evade them at every turn. Frank is a dragon, and then an elephant, and a snake - but nothing hits the giant.

After a blow on the arm by Bia, Periboea spears the still masculine body of Piper. Her blood falls from in-between her legs as Aphrodite - scarier than even Ares - runs her spear through the giantess's eye, killing her.

To save her daughter, Aphrodite shifts her completely into a girl - it's jarring, and something that takes adaptation, but the only way she can keep fighting without dropping.

But it's too late, the damage is done. Gaea is awake, by the seed of a daughter of the sea. Perseus exchanges a look with Leo through the fray - Mimas is just defeated, as Hephaestus smashed his head in with his hammer, but he regenerates quickly as if nothing happened.

There's no winning anymore. The fallen giants don't rise again - the Doors are closed - but the seven remaining ones don't die either - Enceladus, Eurymedon, Orion, Mimas, Otis, Hippolytus, and Thoon - their mother healing all their injuries.

The gods that killed their banes rally together against Gaea - but it's futile. It's just like Perseus in Tartarus - there's no battling a primordial in their own turf.

Will leaves his father to battle Orion, with his sister and the hunters - as Gration lays, probably dead, across the feet of his brother, courtesy of Vesta - and joins the duo.

The three of them sprint through the muddy ground, and onto Festus. There's no winning from Gaea on the ground - but they might have one way.

"Don't let me die, okay?"

Will and Percy join hands across Leo's forehead - and try to bless him the best they can, without being gods themselves. A green sheen covers Leo - and this might be it.

Leo mounts Festus - now again a giant dragon - and rises to the sky. It is enough to attract the Earth. She leaves her battle against Vesta, Aphrodite, Bia, Poseidon, and Ceres - to go after the dragon.

"Trying to escape me, my little demigod?"

An explosion of fire rocks the sky. It's not enough to kill Gaea, but between Zeus' thunder and Leo's explosion, the primordial is unconscious.

Perseus focuses - on keeping Leo's soul in his body. Will, by his side, shines as Apollo himself - there's a sheen of sweat in his face. It might've worked

None of them have the power to kill her now - just the union of all the remaining Olympians would even be capable of rendering her asleep again.

They can't find Festus or Leo - Perseus renders this as a good sign, the sign that their powers were enough.

But for now, with her unconscious, she can't heal the giants. So the remaining gods do quick work of killing them - the last to fall is Eurymedon, with Zeus' bolt across his forehead.

The king of the gods falls on his knees and weeps. Juno is dead. Hades is dead. There are six hunters and twenty amazons remaining - from tens and hundreds.

Mrs. O'Leary died - from a stray arrow. Cerberus paws the ground where her dust is - Perseus can't even imagine his puppy back on Tartarus.

Nike - both wings pointing into different sides, spine broken by Enceladus foot - is sprawled on the ground. Her unblinking eyes stare at Athena, who is holding her hand.

"Did... did we... win?"

"Y-yes"

"Give them the... the crowns... don't forget..."

"I won't"

"There's no... no friends.... in victory. I wish I had... someone."

"I am your friend, Nike"

"My best one... don't let them forget.... champions don't die..."

"Never"

She gags in her own blood. It drips around her chin. It's the first time Perseus sees Athena cry. It hits him - they, all of them, have known each other for thousands of years.

Mars is crying by his mother's head, his spear broken on his feet. Juventa, burned blonde hair blowing around her face, hugs Hephaestus as he cries for their mother - the one that never cared for them, but that was their mother anyway.

Vesta has Hades head on her lap, while his body lays broken on the floor. Ceres is trying to calm Poseidon - but the god of the sea can't stop crying.

On the other side of the Arena, most demigods are together around Hazel - Will is explaining about Leo, but most of them look hopeless. Hazel is crying in Frank's arms.

Eight of them are here - Hazel is missing an arm, Piper went through a jarring body change and Frank has a broken leg - but eight of them are alive, and there's hope for Leo.

Perseus stands in the middle - not joining the gods or the demigods. He looks at the ichor stained floor, the upcoming battle against Gaea looming. Cerberus and Small Bob are together on each side of him.

Apollo - from where he is laying with his unconscious, but alive, sister - raises to help the demigods. None of them are happy about any godly presence - but they need treatment, so they let it happen.

Perseus is the first to break the silence after everyone is healed. Some gods are still crying - but there's no time for grief now. He doesn't look at where his father lays dead - he can't process this right now.

"We... we need to go. To Long Island. We need reinforcements - the war isn't over."

"We need to recharge" Is Hephaestus that retorts "There's no way we can fight right now. Maybe in a day or so but..."

"I don't think we have this time." Jason points "We could try and stall things, prepare... Can you send us there?"

"I can" Say Pegasus, who was fighting alongside Thalia.

Perseus wants not to care. To say that Juno or Nike deserved it. But it's not fair - not even them deserve to die, to go back to the void or Tartarus to reform or be lost for centuries.

Annabeth, however, sits in her corner with the ghost of a smile in her lips - so many demigod's lifes lost for them, for their petty struggles, and now they have to pay the price too. Everyone is paying the price now.

If they helped before, if they didn't spend months cooperating with Juno's useless plan, perhaps now no one would be dead. They could have united the demigods without waisting eight months on stupid missions to kill giants - just for them to come back.

If they stopped thinking about their "oh so bad" split personalities, maybe they could've made this journey quicker, instead of letting them spend two months going in side-quests, fighting minor gods, and retrieving useless information.

So yes, Annabeth is vindicated. This - all of this, those deaths, the ichor soiling the ground - it's their fault.

Piper feels tired. This - this body, this recognition from her mother - is all she ever wanted. But now that she has it, she can't even appreciate it. Was it worth it? She would give everything back for Perseus' leg, Hazel's arm, Malcolm, Leo.

She looks at their mismatched little family - and remembers that yesterday, they had lunch together - all of them. It was not the best moment, but they were laughing.

They could've been happy. If they weren't demigods, most of them would be in college by now. They wouldn't be broken.

Perseus solves to travel by shadows with Cerberus - he still has his father's Helm, and the immortal horse won't let him mount with it. He feels sick - that's his father's dog and his father's armor. But that's their chance of survival.

No god look at him when he melts into the darkness - it's too fresh, too painful. Part of their family is dead.

She jumps on the Pegasus, holding Hazel up - she can barely hold on to her brother in front of her. The wound is closed, but the daughter of Jupiter is off-balance - there's nothing on her right side.

Hazel closes her eyes and rests her head across Nico's back - she is so tired. Leo is gone - maybe forever - and she doesn't have an arm. There's nothing there - nothing. She goes to move and she forgets it for a second - but then she tries to hold tighter to Nico and can't.

Nico feels his sister's tears on the back of his shirt and holds tight to Frank - who is almost strangling Will in his efforts not to panic - he is flying over the sea.

Jason is behind Piper - he is the last one - and he is much more comfortable. That's his half brother after all.

They land in Long Island after ten painful hours - and Will seethes, because their journey could have been so easy, so small - but the gods were too occupied by their insignificant problems that they had to journey for months.

One after the other, they dismount just shy of the river - Jason thinks the naiads look mad when Frank vomits all over their water.

"Flying on a ship is a thing. Flying on a horse is another."

He stills looks queasy when they cross the Pavillion. There's no one there, which is weird because it's morning. There's no one anywhere.

Perseus - powered by the Helm - is the first to get there - almost two hours before them. And the first thing he listens makes him utterly mad.

"Give our soldiers back - or Nova Roma will strike back!"

It's Octavian's voice coming from the hill that harbors Thalia's tree - and Perseus sighs. He looks at himself - he needs a shower, and sleep, and food. They need traps. They don't need a second war.

He is in no condition to fight right now. So he'll have to put his diplomatic skills to use - just the reminder of his father's death sparks a dull pain in his chest - still covered in ichor and dust, his ax slung over his shoulder.

Cerberus stays by his side. Perseus sends Small Bob to Persephone through the old Labyrinth entrance - he needs the big dog, but the skeleton tiger would just be easy prey.

"TWELVE LEGION, STOP"

Perseus looks mightly tired as he takes on the scene - the greeks following Clarisse, Connor, and Lou, the Romans following Octavian and Mike Kahale. Reyna between them, with the gigantic statue.

The demigod looks between his first and his second family, none that he ever fit right, both of which he was the leader, and hold on to Cerberus.

"We - and by we, I mean nine of us, greeks and Romans, the Amazons, and the hunters - just defeated fifteen giants, with the gods. In Athens. We could've - and should've - had reinforcements."

"Percy-" Connor starts, but Percy raises a hand to stop him. There are shadows curling against his arms - his celestial bronze leg shines under the Athena Parthenos.

"I may have been gone for a while, but I'm still your leader - and their Praetor. You choose me to lead - both of you. Me, and Reyna, and Annabeth, and Frank, and Jason."

"Praetor Jackson-"

"Shut the hell up Octavian, this is all your fucking fault" Intercedes Reyna.

"I went through Tartarus - for a month - because of that damned statue, to close the Doors so you could be safe. I don't care about your petty little problems now - Earth has risen."

"IT'S A LIE, IT'S ALL LIES" Screeches Octavian.

"How can you know? You were here, raising trouble and creating unnecessary problems while we went on the freaking mission to save the world."

Octavian tries to reply, but Reyna's sword in his throat stops him.

"My father is dead. The gods are coming - but we need to stall Gaea. There's no time for this."

"I say kill him." Replies Reyna.

"I agree." Says Perseus, to the surprise of no one "We're the Praetors of Nova Roma. Our word is the law. For treason against our people, you're condemned to death, Octavian Simmons."

"Apollo will curse you for this!" Are his last words as Reyna cuts his head off. Mike Kahale backs down - no one would dare to go against them, not when Perseus is holding the symbol of his father in his hands and the Guardian of Hell in his side.

"Now that... that was solved, let's prepare for the true war. Gaea is coming - in hours from now. We have to hold on until the gods come."

They enter the Camp - the Greeks and the Romans aren't a unit, but at least they all trust Perseus, who sits on the top of the amphitheater with Reyna, and they wait until the others get there. Jason is the first to come to sit down by them - followed by the other six.

"I won't ask you to trust each other. I ask you to fight - with all that you can. Juno and Pluto, or Hera and Hades, are dead." Cries erupt from that, but silence quickly at Reyna's fulminant look "Nike, or Victory, has also fallen. Pray for your parents - burn food, whatever - so that they can take strength. They should be here in a few hours. We just need to hold on."

"Romans and Greeks - no one will survive if we don't fight. Together. For now, you take your orders from Reyna and Clarisse." It's Jason who completes.

Reyna and Clarisse sit down to discuss ideas - they don't trust each other, but are both daughters of war - and their objectives are simple. Lou goes to call her brother as Connor joins the table - Alabaster apparently refused to join the battle against the Romans.

While Romans and Greeks trade strategies and weapons, the travelers rest. Perseus is the first to fall asleep - holding his father's Helm of Darkness like a teddy bear, while most of the others keep their distance from it.

Cerberus makes the campers stay away from the eight. Two of his heads sleep and one keeps growling at whoever gets too close.

Annabeth is the last to fall asleep - she joins the strategy group for about thirty minutes before joining her quest mates behind the giant dog - it sniffs at her. She wonders if remembers the red rubber ball.

They have eleven hours to plan and rest. It's a miracle - Leo managed to knock Gaea down for 21 hours, almost a day.

At least is enough time for everyone to sleep and eat and plan traps. It won't be enough against the primordial, but it might just hold her for a while. They have no way of causing explosions to Leo's proportion - at least they have numbers.

Gaea rises from the earth like an evil mountain - she is the ground. Some of them - the ones on bare earth - die immediately, sucked into the mud as it turns to quicksand.

Frank takes the lead as the whole army charges against the goddess, striking again and again in every part they can find.

They last the three hours before the gods appear - but they lose two-thirds of their forces. Mangled corpses are everywhere on the battlefield.

The gods win - against a tired Gaea - without major losses for themselves. There's no need to recount their battle, for they will lord about it for many centuries.

What counts, however, is the deaths on the demigods' side - the ones who will be forgotten in the shadow of their parents' victory.

Connor sobs over the almost unrecognizable body of his brother, who died holding hands with Katie Gardner, being veiled by her sister, Miranda.

Hazel is helping Alabaster to find his sister, who missing somewhere in the rubble with the other 56 demigods, who are unaccounted for. The first they find is Clarisse - her still hot corpse trying in vain to protect Chris Rodriguez.

Jason holds Thalia's circlet - the only remaining thing of the Lieutenant of Artemis, who came into the battle with her mistress and died to save her. There are just two hunters alive. The sister he barely knows - and won't ever have the chance now.

Piper holds on to him - she can't bear to look as Mitchell and Ariel mourn little Lacy, killed by a fallen tree. Drew died taking a stone to the head for Piper - she doesn't know how to feel about it.

Will would help - but sadness devours him. Of his whole Cabin, he is the sole survivor. All greek children of Apollo are gone. His boyfriend is also dead - his metal foot caught on the quicksand, and he was swallowed by the earth.

Nyssa mourns her siblings - Jake, Leo, Thalassa, Kira. There's only six of them now - back to where they were just after the first war.

Reyna is alive - although with half of her face burned. Hylla - the last of the Amazons - hovers over her, tending to her injuries.

The smaller cabins help each other - there wasn't a lot of them at first, and now there is even less. Cabin 17 has no demigod alive - and won't ever house one again.

Frank is helping the legion to unearth the bodies and rescue the survivors - it's weird to see a giant mole with only an eye. He is the one who holds Hazel's hand as they have to break Lou Ellen's arm to take her from under a pillar.

Grover died protecting Juniper from Gaea's earthquakes. He became a little juniper tree, side by side with hers. Coach Hedge is the only satyr from Camp Half-Blood left.

But maybe the worst scene is where the Pavillion once was - Perseus Jackson is flicking in and off, large gashes in his torso. Hazel is the one to find him. Most of the survivors - and the eight travelers - stop to look. It's their leader, their savior.

Nico holds his head as blood pools under them - the irony, Perseus took a boulder in the chest for him, flying across the Camp at the end of the battle, and Nico was again unable to catch the hero.

Annabeth sobs over his body, screaming. She lost Luke to the gods. She lost Thalia to the gods. She lost Malcolm to the gods. She lost Leo to the gods. She lost Grover to the gods. Everyone is gone - she won't lose Perseus too.

"FIX HIM" She screams at Apollo "FIX HIM"

Apollo shakes his head sadly. In his benefit, he managed to save all demigods who still held on after battle - and most of their limbs - but Perseus is too far gone.

"FIX HIM! HE SAVED YOU. ALL OF YOU. HE DESERVES TO LIVE!"

"Annabeth, he is beyond-"

"YOU ARE GODS! WHAT ARE YOU FOR?"

"We can't, child"

Annabeth doesn't relent. She lost too much. She lost everything. They took all she was, all she had. She won't fail Perseus.

"Immortalize him."

"Annabeth, no-"

"Shut up, Nico" She barks. There's a mad look in her eyes. "You didn't let Heracles die, and he deserved it far less. Save Percy. Make him a god. You have the Fates right there."

Most of the gods look uncertain. Perseus denied immortality the last time - but they couldn't let the hero die.

"DO IT"

No one disagrees with her. Most of their friends - the ones who know Perseus better, who aren't blinded by grief - look horrified.

Nico would argue strongly - but he promised himself that no harm would come upon Perseus after Tartarus. So he backs off - better than he hates them forever than dead.

Zeus is the one who finally takes a step forward. Perseus soul is almost leaving him - it's now or never.

"All in agreement?"

The gods nod and raise their hands over his prone body. It burns so brightly everyone has to look away

When they look again, there's Perseus - still missing a leg, but better than ever. He looks like his father - uncannily so. There are tears in the corners of Ceres's eyes. Poseidon can't look.

Juventa brings the jar of nectar - she is the one who can grant eternal life, the one who guards over her mother's apples. She puts the jar to his lips, and the boy - the god - wakes up, disoriented.

"W-what... h-how am I here? I-I was with Charles and... and Ethan..." He mumbles under his breath, looking lost.

The Fates look at him - but there's no pity in their eyes. He sees again the blue line being cut - is his life. It's gone. Even before they speak, he knows what happened.

"Earthopener, The Silent One, The Rich One, Lord of the Dead. Hail Perseus, the Underworld God"

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ao3bronte · 4 years

Text

Mamma Mia AU [Part 4]

READ PART 3 HERE!

Does Your Mother Know

Luka sits back and enjoys the view of the rehearsal dinner from the polished oak counter at the open bar, sipping his second Hennessy of the evening. Things had gone off without a hitch and now the wedding party is socialising amongst themselves, enjoying the ambiance and the splendour of the space since they have it rented out for another few hours. Alya’s Buzzfeed friends come and go from the bar but Luka only has eyes for one particular woman…

...until an old ghost from his past catches his eye.

“Couffaine,” Kagami Tsurugi divides the crowd as she stalks her way up to the bar, her empty crystal tumbler grasped between her fingers. She sets it down onto the gleaming wood and wordlessly beckons the bartender to fill her glass with the bottle of Japanese whisky hiding behind the Grey Goose, “It seems Los Angeles is treating you well.”

Luka sizes her up, his heart rate increasing as he soaks in the silhouette of her navy pencil dress, accented by a peekaboo cut out at the hollow of her spine, “It’s nice, I’ll admit, but not as nice as Paris.”

Kagami hums, bringing her tumbler up to her lacquered lips, “I’ve only been a few times. I find the whole country pretentious, really. I prefer the unconceited simplicity of home.”

“And is home here? Or back in Japan?”

“I split my time evenly between the two,” she replies, savouring the eighteen year old Hakushu whisky on her tongue, “Between business and competition, I find the dichotomy of the two quite...pleasant.”

“But you prefer Paris.”

Kagami nods, “Naturally.”

“Let me guess,” Luka’s lips quirk, seeing right through her prose for the melody lying within, “Your mother is back in Japan.”

“She certainly isn’t here,” Kagami raises a brow, “And she certainly doesn’t know I’m taking part in a wedding instead of the European Fencing Tournament in London this weekend.”

“I’m sorry,” Luka can’t help but laugh a little, “I only met your mother once. She was scary.”

“I’ll probably never hear the end of it for ‘betraying the family name for nuptial frivolities’,” Kagami shrugs, “But some things are worth toeing the line for.”

“Don’t I know it,” Luka nods, “Are you here for long?”

“I’m flying back to Tokyo Monday morning,” she takes a long swig of the amber liquid and hisses, “I don’t expect to see the light of day for a while once the press catches wind of my presence here.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Luka soaks her in and frowns as the delicate harmonies of her heart song begin to clash discordant.

“My mother has no qualms in reminding me of the mandatory respect I owe to the family name. To rebel, as I’m doing now, is practically unforgivable.”

It’s Luka’s turn to hum, leaning forwards, “So run away.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me,” Luka’s wolfish grin takes her aback, “I’ve read about you on the internet, I know you’re wealthy. What’s stopping you from stretching your wings?”

“My mother,” Kagami’s mask of calm finally cracks, revealing the cacophonous melody of her mind, “She would kill me.”

“A little distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Luka turns away for a moment, watching Marinette blush furiously in front of the blond man she’d been successfully avoiding all dinner, “And I doubt Tomoe would slice your head off if you took a little extended vacation, considering you’re the only heir to the family business.”

“It’s not a risk I’m willing to take,” Kagami replies, downing the rest of her whisky in one go. She turns to the bartender and orders another, “Besides, where would I go? My mother will send her guards to find me if I stay in Paris.”

“Come stay with me,” Luka smiles at her over the rim of his glass, enjoying the crescendo of her chorus, “Trade in your épée for the sun and the sand.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Kagami mutters into her whisky, her brows furrowed once again, “She’d disown me.”

“Good thing you’ve already cashed that trust fund then,” Luka swirls the rest of his Hennesey within its crystal confines, “That’s the first rule of show business, right? Get your money somewhere where no one can touch it.”

“I can’t risk it.”

“Your heart song tells me otherwise.”

Kagami’s stare is unrepentant, “I’ve always wondered how you did that.”

“We all have our superpowers,” Luka shrugs, “You’re the greatest fencer on the planet and I can hear the melody of a person’s thoughts.”

“Yours seems to be more useful than mine.”

He smirks, “Yours is sexier.”

The tension between them thickens, “When do you leave for Los Angeles?”

“I have a red eye booked for midnight on Sunday,” Luka responds, “I wanted a day to sleep off the hangover before hitting the clubs stateside.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re considering it, aren’t you?”

“Hardly,” Kagami lies blatantly, barely even bothering to pretend the possibility isn’t teasing her thoughts, “That would be very irresponsible of me.”

“It would certainly be rebellious, something you’re clearly not.”

“I am a perfect daughter. I’ve never rebelled in my life.”

“Of course,” Luka nods, “You never used to sneak out with Adrien and party the night away on my houseboat back in lycée.”

“You’re mistaking me for someone else entirely,” Kagami counters, a smirk playing on her lips, “A Tsurugi would never.”

“And you certainly never beat all the boys in your grade at keg stands and beer pong,” Luka shakes his head, “That must have been someone else too.”

“Exactly,” she nods resolutely, stretching one of her long, slender legs in his direction to nudge him in the knee.

“Except there’s no one quite like you,” Luka wraps his fingers gently around her ankle, his calluses rough against her skin, “Devoted. Composed, yet fiercely independent. I can hear every little bit of it, the spiking percussion that segues into understated meditations, the energetic, multi layered melodies that transition into sweeping musical tapestries. I’ve only ever heard a heart song as compelling as this one once before, but I lost the opportunity to be with her long ago.”

Kagami looks stricken, her façade finally crumbling as she soaks in the weight of his words, “You never told me.”

“You were dating Adrien then,” Luka explains, his fingers tracing soft patterns up her calf, “And then I moved away to Los Angeles. I never lost track of you though. I was even there when you won the North American Championships in San Diego last year. I came just to watch you kick ass.”

“I didn’t know you were there,” she blinks, her pupils blown wide.

“That’s because you left right after,” Luka’s ministrations caress the sensitive hollow at the back of her knee, “You’re always at the beck and call of your family, a fearless soul locked in a gilded cage. I know you’ve tried to let go—”

“—and it hasn’t worked out so well in the past,” she breathes, her lips parting as he runs his fingertips along the outline of her kneecap, “But I guess you already knew that if you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”

“I keep tabs on all my friends,” he smiles, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he glances downwards, “I’m not just a dumb rock star, you know. I value my friendships with the people who liked me before I hit platinum.”

“And I value the men who don’t kiss my ass just because I’m rich,” she laughs through her nose, goose pimples prickling along her skin.

“Sounds like we might just get along after all.”

They finish the rest of their drinks together in comfortable silence.

#miraculous ladybug #mamma mia #lukagami #luka couffaine #kagami tsurugi

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greyfen · 3 years

Text

Mithra 02: Rictus

A second piece following Mithra from my Sunday D&D game; this one taking place a few sessions later after we returned to Boroford, the town we’d started in, and found it to be overrun with death and weirdness. Things got even weirder after this but that is a story for another day. As ever if you read these, I hope you enjoy; apologies if they are a bit rough, it’s been years since I wrote consistent prose.

It was strange to be back.

She’d been at this place a week before she’d met the others and they’d gone chasing what felt now like some sort of wild goose chase. As Nilsa and her made their way back towards the centre of town, Nilsa striding ahead in what seemed equal parts determination and concern, the latter tinged with a little fear; Mithra found herself casting a look across much of the settlement, still scarred from the goblins that had purportedly raided a few days previously.

The small town of Boroford had been less alien than a larger settlement might have been when she first arrived to meet that cursed emissary of the Queen, Bromm. She’d camped outside for about a week, arriving early to get the lay of the land, her brain too accustomed to monsters in the shadows to simply assume all would be well on arrival. But on the surface it seemed like a simple town, similar to where she grew up, if a tad larger. She’d enjoyed its rustic charm almost in spite of herself, ignored the curious looks and loitered in various spots throughout the town, simply enjoying the presence of people again; even if they were ignorant strangers, they were people, easing an ache for company she hadn’t known she’d had.

Even then though, something had seemed strange.

Back then some of the folks in town had only ever smiled, no matter the situation or insult given by others; even the hunter who had accidentally shot her in the forest when she’d been exploring the area cheerfully stated they’d both learned a valuable lesson that day before strolling away whistling. At the time she’d been wrapped up in her own problems and put it down to her own decades-long semi-isolation in the Verdant Thicket leaving her socially inept in this new environment. Now though…

She was no expert on humans beyond those she’d known growing up, and those memories seemed like they’d happened to a different person now, but she was pretty sure that they didn’t cheerfully smile and laugh about their mother lying slaughtered and unburied in the abandoned tavern next door. The words of Amelia the baker echoed in her mind as she chased after the agitated paladin.

“You should buy these cakes, the last my mother ever made! Aha!”

“Well you know, we’ve all got to die some time!”

Then there was Nilsa, seemingly convinced that this ‘David the Caretaker’ they’d heard of was her brother, a bit of questioning had revealed that he could be human or aasimar, that Nilsa was not on great terms with her family and a joint agreement that whatever had happened in this place something was very wrong.

Things only got worse when they arrived at the town hall.

The woman behind the desk had the same smile, the same casual attitude; Nilsa was scary to most people or at least mildly off putting when angered. She approached problems like a charging bull with about as much tact; and the smiling old woman seemed only to become nicer, as if she were intentionally provoking the increasingly frustrated and distressed paladin.

Watching her mannerisms and attitude though, the idea that the deceased caretaker, (verbally acknowledged to potentially be the deceased brother of the angry and heavily armed woman in front of her), was dead seemed to be an annoyance, something that simply caused more work. It was as if the woman was incapable of empathising or caring, or had been rendered unable to do some by whatever had happened in the town. As she delivered the news that the caretaker named David had likely been killed and left in the tavern they’d passed earlier; the smile, wide and horrifically cheerful, never left her face.

“You didn’t even bury him?!”

Nilsa’s sharp anger burned openly for a moment, a shift of tone that would have rung alarm bells in a sane person’s mind, Mithra was immediately on edge as she saw Nilsa grasping the hilt of the blade on her belt.

“What kind of people do not even bury their dead and leave them to rot!?!”

The old woman’s smile never faltered, never moved; there was only the slight tilt of the head as if the question was foolish.

“Well the caretaker hasn’t been doing his job has he? Clearly we need to find one that is better at what he’s supposed to do.”

The blade began to leave its sheath as Nilsa’s face darkened and fury played across her features, her mismatched eyes burning into the older woman behind the counter. Mithra wanted to be disgusted and felt for Nilsa’s potential loss; but they couldn’t start something here. This town, these people: they were either mad or magically compelled and confronting either situation with their companions scattered across much of Boroford would only end one way.

Her hand reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently resting on Nilsa’s shoulder in an attempt to both check her actions and reassure her.

“This isn’t worth our time right now, this isn’t normal. We should go.’

Mithra was grateful when Nilsa released a breath and nodded, offering an irate comment to the woman before turning sharply on her heel and leaving the building, Mithra a few paces behind her. Before crossing the threshold of the town hall she gave one last glance over her shoulder.

The woman was watching them leave, the rictus grin having never once left her face.

#Mithra #Mithralla Hyndell #druid #5e #DnD #original nerds #greyfen writes #high elf #dungeons and dragons #circle of the moon #Nilsa #chyronsmaiden #aasimar #dnd writing

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flyswhumpcenter · 4 years

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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you may have sent me requests according to this marvelous card!

We've always been fucked up because nature is, in fact, a dirty little bitch who enjoys itself with abnormalities. She gets amused by giving birth to men in women's bodies or does the opposite, sometimes.

This story absolutely isn't for the faint of heart. It openly and severely deals with gender dysphoria. It may be phrased with my usual dose of purple prose bullshit sparkles, but that's kind of it. It's still raw. Needless to say it's based on personal experience. Also, hahaha, guess who got stuck with his stupid ideas. I don't even remember why I picked "Forced Out of the Closet" back in August. I think I was planning on making this an original work thing, but it ended up never panning because I switched fully into fandom mood shortly thereafter. I'm pretty sure I was saying that about my first card back in April for "Panic Attack", no? Well, it ended up becoming this thing. I don’t know what to make of it yet.

It's a really weird note to end my 2nd BTHB card on. Until now, compared to the first card, I've been much more focused on physical pain. This has none of it and only 2nd POV narration and angst. I originally started it in a 3rd person POV, but it didn't work out and I thought it'd be worse if I wrote it in a 2nd person POV. It is. It's vivid and it's painful. I love it. Again, thanks to my Writing Crew for the support despite me being an edgy-ass bitch. I guess yiu can also call us the Derek Suffering Crew?

The title of this was what I wanted to give to the sixth chapter of Earth Never Stops, but it ended up not really ringing right with that chapter in particular. I feel like it fits here much better. And of course we gotta go with a rewritten Angie because, y'know. Canon Angie is canon Angie...

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Like Honey in a Cup of Acid

Summary: You may have explanations to give to your assistant now that she's discovered something wasn't exactly normal, Derek. (You may also like not to do so because you want to forget).

Fandom: Trauma Center Relationship: Pre-rel DerAng

Wordcount: 2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo (Thank you so much for having me for a second time!)

AO3 version available here.

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A sort of weight immediately hits you when Angie asks you if you can have a little talk now that your thoughts aren’t just a painkiller-induced mishmash of words and incoherent thoughts with neither head nor tail. She looks concerned and perplexed, puzzled even, her eyes never truly looking into yours. Almost as if, for once, the fierce and daring Angie is intimidated by something about you. Sounds farfetched, right?

Well, there could be a number of reasons. You did almost just die on her a couple days ago and surely you can’t look much better than your own patients at the moment. You know, the usual: pale face, dark rings under the eyes that look like trenches, reddened eyes… She could just be very concerned for you like Kimishima has told you before when checking if you were still amongst the living.

When you finally have the “little talk”, it’s in your hospital room, with you still bedridden and her on a chair to your left, next to the IV drip still inserted into your wrist, her hands pinching her skirt or clutching a notepad against her chest when she holds it. You’re not sure if there’s something even written on the thing, wondering if it isn’t just her way to cope with stress and whatever is making her anxious. Her fingers are shaking and the hair on her exposed forearms is risen. How come she’s so terrified? Do you really look this awful?

“What did you want to tell me about, Angie?” You ask, in a gentle tone, making sure you aren’t forcing on your throat so you don’t worry her even more. The tense silence in the room and the lack of noise in the later hours of the evening helps your low voice to be heard.

“I… Huh… Well, it’s just that… I was curious!”

“Curious? About what?”

Angie looks away, red creeping on her cheeks, breath hitching in her throat. She gulps, shakes her head, takes a deep breath in, another out, and finally, looking at the ground, starts speaking again.

“When Dr Kimishima started the operation I…” She hides her face in her hands, her notepad and pen clicking against the ground. “I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it since your operation!” Well, this sure is going to be a dirty secret, as Tyler would have said. “But, when she started the operation, I noticed something on your chest, and…”

Your heart skips a beat. You forgot about that, haven’t you? You forgot she’d notice such a thing, didn’t you? Alas, it’s a bit too late to pretend like she didn’t see what she must have seen. Kyriaki nor Paraskevi are known to leave stains on one’s skin, they aren’t Tetarti.

“What did you see?” You ask, feigning ignorance.

“Ah… I don’t know how to describe them well… But they were two weirdly shaped scars around your pectoral muscles. They kind of looked like –”

“—crescents, right?”

“Yeah!”

Angie picks her notepad back into her hands, avoiding eye contact, much to his satisfaction. You really, really don’t want to have this conversation, this awful, rotten conversation you’ve had a couple times already. If it’s never ended too badly, even with your own mother, you still don’t want to live through it again. Alas, did you really think you’d escape it forever, especially with someone you hold so close to your heart (and in more ways than one too)? You’d have had to tell her one day anyway, so better get on with it, right?

Wrong. Your hands are trembling and your throat is tied into a knot. You don’t want to utter these forsaken words. You want that part of you to remain a secret from the entire world. But, alas, you also don’t want to lie to your trusted nurse, to your best friend during surgery procedures. In any case, she’d eventually guessed you lied to her, so popping the bubble off now or later is kind of the same. But, even with that knowledge in mind… It doesn’t make what’s about to happen any less dreadful.

Derek?

What if she isn’t as accepting as she seems? What if she stares at you right in the eyes like a freak, like a circus monster, like a broken doll that was badly stringed back together, like something that shouldn’t be, like, like…

Huh… Derek?

And, hey, what if she thinks you’re not fit for you job because of this? You’re technically experiencing a state of distressed triggered by the littlest things. It’s about faraway childhood memories, whenever you see a father with his biological child, when someone mentions a monthly event you’d have rather never known… Hey, what if that happened during an operation?

Dereeeeek? Are you still here?

You can’t ignore the existential dread coursing through your veins. You know, the one that happens when you remember that your father never called you by your right name, what was written on your birth certificate, what they called you in high school, how you look on all the pictures your mom won’t set fire to like you wish you could do… Yeah, that dread. That toxic, lava-like dread.

Hey, Derek, what’s wrong?!

Her urgent tone makes you snap back to reality. She’s staring at you with big, full of concern eyes, her hands on your shoulder, gently shaking it.

“Ah, sorry, I… must have zoned out. Sorry for worrying you, Angie…?”

“Are you alright? You’ve got tears in your eyes…”

You realize you have to look dumb and weird, so you take your glasses off and rub the water away.

“What were you saying, then?”

“Ah, huh… I was talking about the scars you had on your chest… I’ve never seen such specific shapes before. So…” Her hands tangle together. “I was curious, that’s it. Feel free not to reply, if it throws you in such a state of distress…”

“No, it’s… It’s fine. It’s just… difficult to explain.”

Your voice breaks when you try to push the words out of your tangled throat. You aren’t ready for this. You’ve not found your way out of there yet. You’ve been pushed into a corner and the only way out is to find the right words at the right time while not knowing how she’ll react. Maybe she’ll really think you’re the error of nature you are, you whose brain and body weren’t able to match, you whose chromosomes and spirit never agreed before your birth, you who has had to fight your way out of the mess your own biology threw you into before you were even born.

Her fingers are cold against your feverish skin, against the goose-bumps that your medical gown doesn’t hide well. You’ve made it this far only for your world to perhaps crumble again and the existential dread appears again. What if she never accepts you again? What if she calls you “Mr Stiles” again, starts staring at you with an amused glare? What if this supportive glance she gives you and the kind words she’s offered since you got over your differences disappeared as soon as she knew? Why is it that you always have to throw a shot in the dark when the truth of your story comes back to bite you?

You need to trust in Angie, don’t you? She’s been kind of your guardian angel until now, would she give up on you for this? Do you believe so little in her for that to happen? Aren’t you too harsh on her, aren’t you getting too caught up in your own web?

“I… got them from a surgery I had in med school. As far as I know, only Tyler and a couple other people are aware I have them.”

“From what kind of surgery?”

Here it comes. The nausea’s already here, twisting your stomach, squeezing your heart as it increases in pulse, choking your throat shut. If you weren’t in this bed, surely your head would spin.

“…Top surgery.”

Angie seems fairly confused, until her eyes snap open, glimmering in realization.

“You mean, like a mammectomy?”

“…Yes.”

Your voice almost fails you again. You feel tears you want to dry again burning your retinae, blurring your vision and the candid face of the nurse who’s just realized what you really were. You fucking liar.

“For…”

“Part of gender dysphoria treatment,” you reply trying to pretend to be an encyclopaedia, to be the internet pages you read in your teenage years when puberty got confusing and warped into a lucid nightmare.

“Oh my God…”

Angie’s face distorts in what you can only qualify as distress, horror or disgust. She tries looking at you, fixating on your bandaged chest, her gaze struggling to even meet with your face. You wish you could pat her head, tell her it’s fine, that she didn’t know, that you’re sorry for being that and not telling her before, that she’s right to feel betrayed if that’s the case; but your hands are numb and dirty, covered in acid and black mud, and you can’t dirty her like that because you, yourself, are a special kind of a biological and anatomical failure. She’s a collection doll, you’re a broken toy.

“I’m sorry, Derek, I’m… I… I shouldn’t be like that!” She stumbles on her own words. “You’ve just told me such an important thing and I… I…”

“It’s fine…” You try to sound reassuring, but the truth is that you’re still shaking, terrified and apprehensive.

“I should’ve known! It’s such a sensitive topic, I… God, Angie, you need to pull yourself together and stop being so noisy!”

He clutches her hand at last.

“It’s fine, really. I’m… at least glad I could tell you by myself…”

That’s not entirely wrong. You just wish you didn’t feel backed into such an uncomfortable corner. It’s not her fault, of course, she was just concerned for an abnormal thing about you… A lot of you is abnormal, after all.

“I’m still me, though.” He wants to assert that with that shaky voice of his. “It’s just something I don’t like… talking about, per say.

Angie takes a deep breath and focuses back into a state of stability.

“Of course you’re still you, Derek. You’re still the surgeon who saved the world from GUILT. I would never stop thinking that. You’ve always been Derek to me, why would that change now?”

The warm smile he gives her make the hair on his skin calm down, little by little. It’ll be okay, eventually.

“I’m just… so sorry I forced you to confess like that.”

“I’d have had to tell you anyway, one day, I suppose…”

“You didn’t have to. At least, not this early…”

“It’s fine anyway. I forgive you.”

“Thanks…”

For the first time since she’s entered the room, you can exhale with a relieved heart and a normal pulse, profit from the rainbow that shows up after the rain. The dread is still there, hiding like a snake in your stomach, ready to bite into your throat at any moment of vulnerability you show in front of it; but, now, you have a new ally to help through the storms.

“Just promise me you’ll never tell anyone, okay?”

“I never planned on having that secret exit this room. Not even the walls of Caduceus will know about it!”

You chuckle.

“I like your spirit.”

You want to thank her again, but it feels like overkill, and you want to have the snake finally resting, asleep in the pit of your abdomen. For now, a serene silence is enough. It’s more than enough after all this trouble, all the turmoil and all of the acid rain that drenched the both of you…

There’s no need to worry anymore when you have nothing left to hide and no one but a guardian next to you; so relax, now. It’ll all be fine, from now on, now that the lead prison around your chest is gone…

#trauma center #derang #bad things happen bingo #derek stiles #angie thompson #forced out of the closet #emotional hurt comfort #angst #angst with a happy ending #otp: nice work dr stiles

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adarkrainbow · 7 months

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Fairytale trivia of the day!

The version of "Donkeyskin" (Peau d'âne) you probably know - and the one most well-known by people, is actually not the original nor "correct" one. I'll explain.

Peau d'Âne, Donkeyskin, was indeed a French fairytale written by Charles Perrault, and is part of his famous stories alongside Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Puss in Boots and more. HOWEVER, Donkeyskin was not published alongside the others in Perrault's book "Histoires ou Contes du temps passé" (Stories or Tales of the past), alternatively known as "Les Contes de Ma Mère L'Oie" (Mother Goose Fairytales). No, Donkeyskin was published prior to this book release, in a different collection called "Contes en vers" (Tales in verse). The difference between the two books being, obviously, that one was written in verse, and the other in prose. Of the three stories making "Tales in verse", only Donkeyskin is an actual "fairytale" in the sense we understand today - the other two are Griselidis (which is more of a short story/moral tale/moral fable with nothing magical about it) and "The Ridiculous Wishes" which is an humoristic take on the fables a la Aesop and La Fontaine. As a result, Peau d'Âne is usually taken out of the Tales in Verse to join the Mother Goose Fairytales.

But again, the problem is that Peau d'Âne was written in verse, which clashes with the other fairytales, written in prose. So, someone one day decided to rewrite Donkeyskin as a prose story, so that it could be more easily added to the Mother Goose Fairytales. But who did? No actual idea. The prose-Peau d'Âne was published in 1781 by an editor named Lamy, so almost a century after Perrault's original text - and we do not know to this date who actually wrote it. This prose Donkeyskin became a massive success, and was reprinted everywhere, to the point that for a very long time, people thought it had been written by Perrault itself. Flaubert for example, when he talked about the fairytales of Perrault, treated the prose Peau d'Âne as written by him. And the famous illustrated version of Perrault's fairytales by Gustave Doré? The Donkeyskin illustrations correspond to the prose-Donkeyskin, not the verse one. It was only recently that people had to put back on the table the fact that the prose Donkeyskin was a later rewrite.

And this is something very important to keep in mind because the verse and the prose Donkeyskin have several differences. The prose Donkeyskin remove some elements, add some scenes and changes several details. I won't list each and every difference here, but for example, the main difference between the two tales comes with the approach the king has to the whole "incest" business.

In the prose Donkeyskin, the king does not want to marry his daughter - he is pressured into accepting such a perverse plan by his government, which insists on him having a male heir for the throne, and by his refusal to break the vow he made to his dead wife. In the verse-Peau d'Âne, the king has the idea all of his own, and comes up with the incest without anybody's help. Worse - while in the prose Peau d'Âne the king only marries again because he has the duty to give a male heir, and else would stay sad and a widow all of his life, in the verse Peau d'Âne it is explicitly stated that his grief at his wife's death was exaggerated/half-faked, and that as soon as the decent time for grieving was other he jumped on the occasion to marry again.

Another difference comes with the "voice of authority" that comes to help the king's plan. In the prose Peau d'Âne, the king consults an old and ambitious, greedy druid who is clearly a very bad advisor to the king and encourages him in this plan he doesn't want in the first place - in the original version by Charles Perrault, the king went to find a casuist who could prove that his incestuous desires were legitimate in the eyes of moral and religion. (It was part of a common literary habit at the time to denounce the loose moral of the Jesuits, thanks to their dubious casuistic)

#donkeyskin #donkey skin #charles perrault #perrault fairytales #french fairytales

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starberry-cupcake · 5 years

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also the rise of the guardians movie was fire? like it was legitimately good and well-executed. also i had no idea that william joyce lost his wife and daughter? do you know if that influenced his writing of pitch in the books?

The ROTG movie to me was a peak use of CGI in animation, to an extent. Like, not to say movies after it haven’t done cool things, but ROTG knew how to use 3D and CGI to make it part of the movie rather than making things look realistic just because they can, or combine realistic backgrounds with cartoon designs in weird ways (I’m looking at you, The Good Dinosaur). The sand effect? Holy cow, that was something.

He lost his daughter Mary Katherine in 2010, the lead character in Epic (based on The Leaf Men and the Brave Good Bugs) was named after her and she had a dedication in the Guardians movie because he said the stories that led to Guardians’ creation were born in stories he told her. His wife passed away in 2016, and he’s published more books after, including other installments in the Guardians series. He lives with his son now, I believe.

I feel like Guardians is a very key series in his overall narrative because it combines a lot of his ideas in something that is really meant to be about selfless protection and care. The Guardians are all developed in their different stories (there’s also Mother Goose, who doesn’t appear in the movie), but their main idea is to take these folkloric imagery recognizable to children from many places of the world and make them defenders of children, of childhood, recruited by the Man on the Moon whose parents and Guardian were killed, as a response to children’s wishes and voices.

The Sandy picture book, which was released two years after his daughter passed, is all about defeating negative thoughts. It made me cry the first time I read it. It’s centered on this idea of fear and nightmares being something only if we let them take grasp.

I feel like Joyce really has a brilliant way to tell stories in many different forms. Not all writers of prose can do pictures books just as well, but he goes from format to format, and delves on subjects that are difficult to deal with, always with hope and joy behind it all. He doesn’t get enough credit for how great his stories are.

#another fave of mine is the fantastic flying books of mr morris lessmore #william joyce #death cw #ask #starsfadingbutilingeron #it's appreciate william joyce time in this blog

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southboundhq · 4 years

Photo

MEET RAMIRA,

FULL NAME › Beatriz Ramira Reyes Bustamonte AGE › twenty eight GENDER › Cis female (She/Her/Hers) FROM › El Paso, Texas; Artemisa, Cuba LODGING › Holly Boarding House PRIOR EMPLOYMENT › Writer NOW PLAYING › Como La Flor by Selena

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger/content warnings: divorce mention, horror

ramira reyes was almost a household name by the time she’d finished her third book, but only her family called her beatriz. the sound of her birth name on their lips producing goose flesh as easy as the creak of a door in a house void of people. it had been a wise, yet impulsive, decision she’d made prior to her first publication that, were she to gain any small fame at all, she might like to keep some part of herself to herself. that she might want to some day found her own world absent of perfection without them. if nothing else, she could at least have her name and that small piece of autonomy and power that came with keeping it safe someday on the lips and hearts of her siblings, even if many of them did not appreciate or understand her chosen subject matter.

diego and gabriela met in artemisa, cuba in diego’s dental practice. gabriela was a dental hygienist with dreams of modelling and diego thought she had the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. the pair were perfection, because they were both obsessed with perfection. despite the infidelity, no one could find a single flaw between them. beatriz was born eight months later and diego thought she and gabriela could offer him a more beautiful life than the one he already had. no hairs out of place, no stains on white couches. beautiful enough that he left his wife, and the children he’d already had with her, bringing his new bride and daughter to el paso, texas where they could start anew.

since the very first book, beatriz devoured the written word. she read every book she could get her hands on. she read in spanish and english. she read poetry and prose. she read history and the classics and all of shakespeare’s collected works by the time she was ten. it was stories like macbeth and the raven she loved most and she searched for their peers. disturbed by their daughter’s love of the macabre, gabriela threw out her stephen king paperbacks as easily as she found them and diego insisted she read more sophisticated authors. her parents’ efforts did little to sway her and, as her siblings were born after her, she was able to fly under their radar a little more with each birth.

a nervous child since birth, her parents control and idiosyncrasies only served to worsen her anxieties. allowance was not freely given to be spent; purchases had to be reviewed with both parents for approval. she became afraid to step out of line and yet she stepped on every crack in the sidewalk on her daily walk home from school. not because she believed some playground rhyme, but just to spite them. just to feel the imperfection underfoot as she plastered on her wooden smile. reading was her greatest escape and the school library her only refuge. it was there she discovered terrifying covers and flawed heroes. there was comfort in the frightening fantasies spun by horror greats. whatever her worries were, they were never as intimidating as the battle of good versus evil in the stand or the serial terror of books of blood. soon she was writing her own stories–sending shivers up the spines of girls at slumber parties and earning concerned, but approving glances from her creative writing teachers.

despite their dislike of her interests, both diego and gabriela were loving and supportive, they told her so. there was a long list of careers they had planned for her. she could follow in her father’s footsteps, she could be a model and fulfill her mother’s dreams, she could become a doctor, a lawyer, or go to business school like her uncle. and none among the prestigious careers laid out for her included horror writer. they stroked her hair and assured her it was not her fault when they finally split during her sophomore year in high school. in some ways, it only served to make things worse, but their divorce made it even easier to pursue her passion for writing. they were so focused on sabotaging each other’s happiness, she could easily slither through the cracks. finding herself with a hefty acceptance letter to sarah lawrence, where she’d always dreamed she’d go to escape the monotony and control of life in a dentist’s household in order to become who she’d always dreamed she could be.

college never felt pointless, despite meeting some of the same attitudes shared by her parents–one of the only things they could still agree upon. the nervousness that had driven her to the macabre seemed to dissipate the more she wrote about it. the more she wrote, the more she had to keep going and her first collection of short stories–her thesis project–was published the year she graduated. touted in the horror circles as a debut success, beatriz found herself in a whirlwind and, while her parents refused to read her work they did their best to support her; they told all their friends that they’d always pushed her to write. it burned that she couldn’t share everything she loved with them. that her place in the family was largely tied to her success. even her siblings seemed more afraid of stepping out of line than they did a desire to step out from underneath the reyes patriarch’s heavy thumb. and, as her success grew with each book, she felt further and further away from them. ramira reyes was a household name, but beatriz was the name she left behind with her family.

the distance only grew with her busy schedule and, as christmas neared, she found herself unable to travel back home under the threat of a new deadline for her latest tale of terror. procrastination became seductive with every daily distraction, and she found herself caught up in movie deal negotiations and parties. parties with people who were rarely critical of her, bathing her in the afterglow of sycophantic, unconditional love. after one such night out in a string of forgettable nights, she found herself drunk and lost in a subway car that felt eerily like midnight meat train with a broken phone and lost wallet. it was that morning, when she sat in a diner with last night’s party dress and smudged eyeliner, that she decided it was time to unplug. it was time to be scared again and it was time to write.

the loft apartment didn’t take long to sublet, nor did it take much time for her to pack. ramira had no idea where she was going, but she’d seen some rumors online about the mysterious town of boot hill, arizona and it seemed like the perfect place to unplug and be inspired. she sent her mother and father an email, apologizing to them that she’d likely miss christmas this year, but would make sure to come and see them all in el paso when she’d finished her book. the words were as wooden as her childhood smiles; nothing sounded worse than another christmas back home in el paso.

the flight wasn’t too long, but she was exhausted by the time she got into the rental car. assured by several people along the way that boot hill was simply an urban legend, ramira shrugged them off. it didn’t matter really. boot hill was more of an idea to her than a real place. as long as she found some small town where nobody knew her name and she wouldn’t be tempted by new york city nightlife, she was pretty sure she’d manage. maybe it wasn’t a real place, she thought dreamily, turning the dial on the rental car’s radio as she lost service, after following the directions she’d read on reddit and finding nothing. she could swear to god there’s no southbound highway and she’s barely able to keep awake any longer without any music, even with both windows rolled down.

it seems like it’s time to pull over at the next rest stop and catch some shut eye when she sees the sign. BOOT HILL, ARIZONA. IF YOU LIVED HERE, YOU’D BE HOME NOW! the quaint kitschiness makes her exhale sharply in amusement. fuck you, creepy gas station clerk, she thinks, tightening her knuckles at ten and two on the wheel with renewed resolve. i’m going to write a new bestseller in this town. white knuckled and red eyed, she drives on with the renewed energy of a second wind.

as a small smattering of lights appear in front of her, she can hardly hear the call of something sinister in the outskirts as she drives on. her phone still doesn’t have service, as she looks for an airbnb, but it doesn’t even bother her that she can’t call anyone to let them know she’s made it safely. hell, her publisher will probably lose his marbles until she sends him a draft, but all of that can wait. there’s something so calming about the sleepy town waking up in the wee hours of the morning. there’s something so magical about the pace of this place and ramira thinks, maybe she could write all her books in this town. maybe this is somewhere she belongs.

❝ strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he’ll tell you the story of each small one. ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Jeanine Mason AUTHOR › Lucia

#jeanine mason #rp #rpg #town rp #oc rp #bio rp #{ all. }#{ newcomer. }#{ f. }#{ over twenty. }#{ lucia. }

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