#Scottish meteor
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I just saw a big green meteor fly over the sky (I’m in Scotland)
Did anyone film it?
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‘Meteor crashes into field’ on Scottish island as hundreds of witnesses spot fireball streaking across UK | In Trend Today
‘Meteor crashes into field’ on Scottish island as hundreds of witnesses spot fireball streaking across UK
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Barry McGlashan (Scottish, b. 1974)
The Meteor
oil on panel
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What I could read: :)
WHO WERE THE RESSURECTIONISTS?
MUNGO DALRYMPLE (1790-1829)
Perhaps one of the most notorious names asociated with The Ressurectionists was Mungo Dalrymple (1790-1829), an Edimburgh doctor who hanged himself in disgrace when it became public knowledge that he was buying cadavers from body snatchers, for his medical students to dissect.
Born in Carsphairn, Dalrymple had a meteoric rise to fame in the Scottish medical establisment when he became one of the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh's youngest ever members at the age of 22. Dalrymple was passionate about the study of anatomy, giving many well received papers on the subject.
He was prine however to making enemies and earned a reputation for mercilessly skewering pomposity wherever he found it. This did not endear him to the senior doctors and surgeons of the Edinburgh medical establishment and Darlymple ruffed many feathers and as aresult had few allies when the bodysnatching scandal eventual broke.
FUN FACT Up until the 19th century, barbers carried out many surgical procedures in their shops!
...
Darlymple's downfall came when one of his suppliers, commonly known as 'Ressurection men', was suspected of murdering several of his lodgers in order to supply the doctor with a steady stream of cadavers. Eagle eyed landladies, Mrs Cat Clarke and Mrs Caro Clarke bravely confronted the murdere when he was attempting to conceal the body of his last victim in a barrel of pickled herring, and raised the hue and cry.
...
#good omens#bts#bts photos#cat clarke#caro clarke#fun fact#catriona mckenzie#hq photos#2ep3#mr darlymple#1827 minisode
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Drew Mcintyre X triple h and chynas daughter reader where reader doesn’t talk to her dad but she joined wwe and met and fell for drew and his accent when he was a nobody in the business?
Legacy || Drew McIntyre x Reader
Summary: You're the daughter of Triple H and Chyna. A relationship that ended with your father cheating on your mother. You joined WWE to continue your mother's legacy after her tragic passing. What you didn't expect was that you'd fall in love with the tall brooding Scott that is Drew McIntyre.
Your journey in WWE has been marked by a mixture of determination and unexpected romance. As the daughter of Triple H and Chyna, your path was paved with legacy, but also shadowed by the betrayal that tore your parents apart. Despite the fractured relationship with your father, you took up the mantle to continue your mother's legacy in the ring after her tragic passing.
When you first crossed paths with Drew McIntyre, he was far from the towering figure he is now. He was just beginning to make his way in the company, long before his meteoric rise to fame. Back then, his brooding demeanor and undeniable Scottish accent caught your attention in a way you couldn't explain.
As the two of you spent more time together, you found yourself drawn to his authenticity and humility. He wasn't just another superstar; he was genuine, kind-hearted, and fiercely passionate about his craft. You couldn't help but admire his dedication, knowing the challenges he had overcome to get to where he was.
The bond between you deepened, and before you knew it, your feelings for Drew had surpassed simple admiration. You fell for him, not just because of his accent or his rugged charm, but because of the person he was beneath the spotlight. And somehow, against all odds, he felt the same way about you.
Together, you and Drew navigated the unpredictable world of WWE, rising through the ranks just as your parents had done before you. You became a powerhouse couple, not just in the ring, but in life. Your love story echoed the resilience of your mother and the unexpected turns that can shape a life.
With Drew by your side, you found strength in each other's successes and solace in each other's arms. He understood the weight of legacy and the scars of the past, and he supported you as you wrote your own chapter in the storied history of WWE. Through every triumph and challenge, your love for each other remained unwavering, a testament to the power of unexpected romance and the echoes of history.
#wwe fanfiction#wwe x reader#pro wrestling#wrestling#wwe#drew mcintyre#drew mcintyre x reader#the scottish warrior
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The lyrics "so you won't have to ask me to stay" confirm it for me that Try Honey is for Taylor (allyouhadtodowasSTAYYYYY). I love the song and the self awareness. I'm not sure if this was meant to be on HS1 but I wish it was on the album because it is so good. And a certain someone would've loved to hear the message
Agree, Anon. The thing is, I am not sure she didn’t hear the lyrics. It’s more did she think they were enough, what he was offering was enough?
There is such a huge difference between what she might have been looking for at 25 and he could offer (or even imagine) at 21. Life before the meteoric rise of his band involved him writing standardized exams for pre-University and learning to drive. He had no idea what it would look like post 1D, and if she didn’t even like what he could offer at that moment? An impasse.
I think he got stuck on thinking his own behaviour and love for her could be enough, and she was wanting more stability (which she thought an older Scottish DJ and his more established career could offer. Wrong there, lol.)
But he sure did try. And he *was* willing to stay, which he has been saying up to and including:
TRY HONEY leaked (late) Sept. 13, 2023
[Verse 1]
She said "you make me feel so alone"
She said "you never pick up the phone"
She said "how come you never come home when you say you will?"
Darling I know that you want
Last night I nearly made a mistake
She knows and now she's making me beg
I love her, just don't know how to change
It feels like I'm slipping away
I'm starting to heal and she says
Chorus]
She said "oh my, oh my, oh my"
You're never there for me, you're never there for me
You said "oh my, oh my, oh my"
You're never there for me, but I'm gonna try honey
I'm gonna try honey
I'm gonna try
[Verse 2]
Feel lucky when I lay next to you
You f*ck me like there's something to prove
One day baby I'll come through
You won't have to ask me to stay
And I won't be hearing you say
[Chorus]
She said "oh my, oh my, oh my"
You're never there for me, you're never there for me
You said "oh my, oh my, oh my"
You're never there for me, but I'm gonna try honey
I'm gonna try honey
[Bridge]
Hold on
Hold on
Won't you hold on for me, I'm gonna try honey
Hold on
Hold on
Won't you hold on for me?, I'm gonna try honey
Hold on (Hold on)
Hold on (Hold on)
Won't you hold on for me?, I'm gonna try honey
Hold on (Hold on)
Hold on (Hold on)
Won't you hold on for me?, I'm gonna try honey
[Outro]
You said "oh my, oh my, oh my"
You're never there for me, you're never there for me
You said "oh my, oh my, oh my"
You're never there for me, but I'm gonna try honey
You said "oh my, oh my, oh my"
You're never there for me, you're never there for me
And you said "oh my, oh my, oh my"
You're never there for me, but I'm gonna try honey
I'm gonna try honey
Won't you hold on for me?, I'm gonna try honey
Hold on
Hold on
Won't you hold on for me?, I'm gonna try honey
Thanks for the ask, Anon!
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On this day, January 20th 1937: Champion boxer Benny Lynch won world title… and the hearts of Scottish fans.
Some sources give the date as 19th, such as it is it never appeared on yesterdays lists, so……..
As he stood triumphantly opposite his opponent after 15 rounds of brutal action, his hand raised in victory, Benny Lynch was declared the undisputed champion of the world.
It was the culmination of an incredible journey, a true rags-to-riches tale that was breathtaking in its speed of ascent. But if the Glasgow boxer’s rise was meteoric, his downfall was as spectacularly swift and sudden.
His Wembley victory over the highly-rated American fighter Small Montana proved he was the true flyweight champion of the world, following a dispute about his status from across the Atlantic. There was no arguing over the identity of the true champion now.
Lynch had lifted the world, European and British flyweight titles 16 months earlier in a bout in Manchester, defeating Jackie Brown in the second round, having already knocked him down eight times in the brief contest. Thousands of fellow Glaswegians greeted him at Central Station on his return home from that defining contest in Manchester, with the crowds lining the streets all the way back to his Gorbals birthplace. The city council chiefs, for some odd reason denied him an official welcome home. It couldn't be because he was the son of an Irish Catholic immigrant could it?
Lynch was brought up in the deprived slums there, the son of Irish immigrants. He was only 5ft 4in and slightly built, but he possessed a power to his punch that belied his frame and he soon began to train at boxing clubs and took part in fights in the fairground booths at nearby Glasgow Green.
He turned professional in 1931 and fought more than 100 bouts in just seven years, an unbelievable statistic when looked at today.
Nine months after his career-defining victory over Montana, 40,000 people turned up at Shawfield Stadium in Glasgow to watch him defend his titles against Peter Kane. Lynch also fought at Anfield in Liverpool, Celtic Park, and the Kelvin Hall.
Benny was box office, but outside of the ring he was soon to be hampered in a way no boxer inside the squared circle could ever manage.
His downfall was the bottle, with Lynch becoming a chronic alcoholic. His training suffered, as did his conditioning and body, and he was soon turning up to bouts too heavy.
He lost his world title on the scales, unable to make the weight for his scheduled bout against Jackie Jurich in June 1938. The bout went ahead without the title at stake – and Lynch won.
But the cracks had long since started to appear and alcohol, combined with money problems and a number of run-ins with the law, took its toll.
His final bout was later that year, when he suffered his only knockout loss. With boxing gone from his life, his speed of deterioration accelerated and he passed away in August 1946, aged just 33.
In scenes similar in size to those that greeted Lynch upon his return home from Manchester as the champion 10 years earlier, but much more sombre in tone, the streets of Glasgow were lined to pay tribute as the funeral cortege passed through.
Forty years after his death, he was named in the Ring Magazine Hall of Fame, and in 1998 he was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame.
His boxing legacy has withstood the test of time and he is often named in lists of the greatest boxers of all time, and has influenced the Scottish world champions who have come after him, as he memorably led the way.
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Excerpt from "Called by the Willows"
The morning dew trickled from the leaves above, Texas lapping his tongue over the wet to quench his thirst.
"We'll find a river to stop at soon," I promised, stroking the dun's neck.
He glanced at me over his shoulder with a whinny, "I know. I'll be fine."
Behind me, Meteor snorted and pulled his reins from Linda's clutches. She had to grab onto the saddle as he cantered to mine and Texas' side.
"Someone's watching us."
I gave Linda a frown, before lifting my hand to stop our friends behind us. With a few taps of my fingers, a thorn stem rose from the ground and reached just below my palm. "Who goes there?" I demanded, my voice carrying through the dense forest.
The ferns rustled at the volume of my voice, or whoever was watching us. Hooves clicked against sticks, and I turned to tell Alex and Tin-Can to stop moving.
They were both still behind Lisa and Starshine.
Whoever was keeping their eye on us knew how to use the unfamiliar forest to their advantage...
A rather tall, unrecognisable man stepped out from underneath a willow tree. His dark eyes stared wildly at us, and I clicked my tongue in order to get Texas forward.
He dropped his head, something he never did for a stranger, and stepped closer to the man. Only when we were two horses in-length from him did I realise the stranger had a front legs of a horse—and behind him, the body of one stood out among green.
His tense stature softened, lowering his weapon and stared at me. He stood taller than Texas, and even Starshine, and could easily subdue either stallion in seconds.
But he didn't. He just stood there.
"Do I..." I managed to speak. Next came what I could only describe as a whimper, "...know you?"
The man paused, his breathing bottoming out. Equine ears atop of his head twitching at the sound of my voice, at sound of my subtle Scottish accent.
"No..." He started, his voice soft and almost fatherly. "Your mother disappeared before you were any bigger than a bird's egg."
So he knows me?
His adam's apple moved with caution, as what I assumed to be a centaur looked over me. "No, you don't know me.
"But a father knows the scent of his kin."
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‘Meteor crashes into field’ on Scottish island as hundreds of witnesses spot fireball streaking across UK | In Trend Today
‘Meteor crashes into field’ on Scottish island as hundreds of witnesses spot fireball streaking across UK
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a journal entry comprised entirely of excerpts from letters & postcards written to friends
(@belialjones and @endreal - don't peek if you don't want spoilers!)
I remember in one of the letters you sent me, you asked what my current inspirations are, and even though they've changed since then, I thought I'd reply. What's inspiring me right now is: the photography of Nan Goldin, the art of Tracey Emin, the novels of William T. Vollmann, John Waters and David Lynch films, and the poetry of Cynthia Cruz, Forough Farrokhzad, and Alexis Rhone Fancher.
I'm currently on a little vacation with my family, up on the peninsula of Wisco. I've been reading a lot and hiking in the woods and going to the beach.
...
My vacation has been great. I've been reading poetry & eating pizza & watching the Perseids meteor showers.
...
I accidentally broke my own heart the other day. I had my 'on repeat' playlist on shuffle and what songs played back to back? Paul Westerberg's "Got You Down," followed by R.E.M.'s "Nightswimming." Fucking oof.
In general, I've been going thru a bout of nostalgic melancholy. What else is new? Haha, but really though. You know, I'm writing about all this stuff for RC #27, and reminiscing about one era of my life inevitably turns into reminiscing about others. And then I was up in Door County, driving down old familiar roads, listening to old familiar tunes, and remembering driving those same roads, listening to those same tunes, getting stoned with my friends circa 1997-2003, and I don't even miss getting stoned but I do miss those friends. I try to have a positive attitude about things changing, but I still get sad driving past places and thinking about what's gone—and more than that, who's gone. And I was thinking about the summer of 2013. And then I was thinking about the summer of 2012 and how that summer I was all nostalgic for the summer of 2006 and how it seemed impossibly far in the past, and then timeghost showed up and was like: "Oooo...2012 was closer to 2006 than it is to nowww, ooo..."
I realized that my whole life, I've been trying to get back to this mythic Perfect Summer that didn't really exist. Right now, I'm missing 2013 & 2012. In 2012, I wished it was '06. In '06, I wanted '03. In '03, I wanted '00; in '00, I wished it was '97, and on and on.
Other than that, I've been having feelings about small towns and Americana. It's kinda weird. On the one hand, I'm a deviant radical queer artist. On the other hand, I love so much Americana. But I think you get it.
...
I've been having hella zine/zinester nostalgia. Next year marks 30 years that I've been making zines. I'm thinking about putting a book together of the best stuff from my first 30 years of zines, and then having a release party w/ local bands n' stuff.
I've been particularly nostalgic for the early '00s Chicago zine scene. I'll never forget that time you and I went to Kinko's late at night to make Xerox art. 22 years ago, what the fuck? I also recently found my Loop Distro/Al Burian Totally Wants My Ass shirt. Oh man.
Recently I was having a bit of an identity crisis. See, I've always thought of myself as someone who gets crushes easily, and as a slut (in spirit, if not always in practice—meaning, even in a monogamous relationship I still have the desire to fuck lotsa people even if I don't act on it). But for a while I hadn't gotten a proper crush on anyone, and didn't really even think about hooking up w/ anyone but my partner. And it was weird! I was like, who am I, if I'm no longer the totally crushed out slut? But then after that, I had a couple sexy online convos w/ queer cuties, and got my flirt on IRL w/ a punk rock fella who lives in my neighborhood, a Scottish fiddle player, and a gorgeous redhead girl w/ a tattoo of a fox, and I was like: Oh. Guess I'm still slutty and crushed out, after all.
#ashtrayfloors#dear livejournal#letters#inspiration#vacation#door county#music#nostalgia#melancholy#we get one real summer#only one in our time#zines#zine life#chicago#identity#crushes#sluttiness
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Capítulo Once: I’m A Monster
Deep within the forest, I pursue my prey. Stalking a pulchritudinous pair of teenage lovers, who appeared to be in middle school, as they walk down a trail in the dead of night searching for a ghostly fright.
Despite my following them, these two lovebirds were not my target. Rather, they were unwitting bait for my prey—an otherworldly intelligence, not from the stars, which relishes human flesh for various purposes. Sometimes to eat, sometimes for the same reason people have tortured baby monkeys or kittens, and other times for sadistic sexual gratification. Not that these three motivations were mutually exclusive.
I had my attire modeled as a sort of medieval interpretation of a Kamen Rider. A round helmet with oni-like horns and a third eye painted on it. The visor combining elements of a bug’s and human’s eyes, with an ovular concave shape segmented into a pupil and iris without a sclera. Additionally, a pointed strip of metal extended outwards from the edge of the visor.
Covering my face was a menpō (面頬) depicting an open smile with exaggerated mandibular and maxillary fangs, giving me a predatory expression. To protect my neck, albeit at the expense of restricting its movements, I wore a bevor.
The breastplate accentuated my bust with the kanji for “super” (超) painted on the center of the chestplate and below the clavicle. Spaulders, rondels, couters with a weaponized point on the elbows, and vambraces protected my arms. I also wore gauntlets with talon-like tips.
At my hips, I had three overlapping tassets on each side. For my legs, I donned cuisses, genouillères, shin-guards, calf-guards, and segmented sabatons, which provided greater freedom of movement.
The weapon in my hand was Ryūseiseki (流星石), a kanabō made of carbon nanotube reinforced tungsten with meteoric iron studs. The pommel of Ryūseiseki could detach to reveal the spine sheathed within the handle, which I named Tenbatsubari (天罰針).
The meteoric iron (隕鉄) within these studs had been alchemically transmuted into a cold iron (冷鉄) alloy. An alloy that disrupts the flow of magical energies of the beings from Otherworld (異界).
Affixed to my utility belt was a kpinga, a five-bladed weapon meant for melee combat or to be thrown as a shield-circumventing fūma shuriken (風魔手裏剣). A weapon I named Hiraiha (飛来刃).
From the handle projected a main bladed shaft, which split into two counterclockwise carvers. These carvers extended from the stem’s ten and two o’clock positions and were crooked at an almost ninety-degree angle in a counterclockwise fashion. A third counterclockwise curved, but not crooked, blade extended from the base of the main shaft at the weapon’s three o’clock.
Unlike a traditional Azande kpinga, the basic design of which the bladesmith emulated, its form took inspiration from the Chinese hook sword, or gōu (鈎). Hiraiha featured a crescent, single-edged guard to protect the handle, which was wrapped in goat skin leather for a more ergonomic grip. This weapon projected a dagger-like blade at the end of its hilt to facilitate slashing and stabbing.
My shield, Kyūdōmujun (九瞳矛盾), was another weapon of hybrid consideration. Inspired by the spiked pavise of medieval Europe, with a shovel-like blade that allowed it to be planted in the ground or used to augment my punch. Kyūdōmujun also possessed a tungsten spine modeled after those of the Scottish targe. This allowed me to gore my enemies if I gripped the shield with my fist. This weapon’s name drew from the ocular motive painted across its face: eight eyes circumscribing another massive central eye out of which extended the tungsten spine.
I had heard a rumor about something that should not be here. Something like the excoriated corpse of a beheaded, eight-armed giantess grafted, from the hips up, onto a flayed horse as tall as a giraffe at the shoulder. Its eyes were like a blazing fire, its breath a potent miasma, and it wielded a flanged mace in each hand. A devil whose wail could strip the courage from a samurai.
This is what the locals called the Ama-uma (海人馬): a cryptid blamed for the exceedingly cruel deaths of over ten people, not counting the alleged suicides. I suspect that it was also responsible for the astonishingly gruesome deaths of a hane no haeta kappa (羽之生えた河童) and a shirogitsune (白狐).
What I would find today, however, was not some misplaced Indo-European chimera, but something native to the folklore of this country. I could feel its presence through the tactile hairs across my skin as its evil presence filled this space.
The chill of the air forebodes something truly monstrous. The electricity coursing from my shoulders to my brain, tempting me to a shudder that I successfully suppressed. There was a magical power flowing through the ever-thickening air as it approached.
I heard, with bat-like hearing, the violent chattering of teeth and rattling of bone against bone in the distance, which strangely grew less intense as it approached. Owl-like night vision allowed me to see into the darkness, in search of the evil spirit, as the pair grew more and more disturbed by the approaching aura they could only indirectly sense.
A smell of rotting human flesh in the distance detectable through my canine olfaction.
It accidentally made a sound as it stepped on an unnoticed branch, so they turned to see it. From a distance, it bore the appearance of a defleshed human skeleton held together only by tendons, except it was far too big to have ever belonged to a man. Ever-hateful bones animated by a ghost with insatiable hunger and unquenchable thirst.
Though, upon closer inspection, one could see an ancient magic carved into every bone of that fifteen-meter-tall monster, with a script I could not read.
The boy, as would be proper of a man, stepped between the monster and his girlfriend, who froze in supernatural terror. Curdled blood stained its hands and jaws, with bits of putrid maggot-infested flesh clinging to its hideous, triangular, and chiseled incisors.
That’s when it made its move, and I sprang into action. Leaping with the force of a bomb detonating below my feet, I launched 30 m into the air. I threw Ryūseiseki, which exploded through the monster’s wrist like a bullet through glass, and punched straight through into the ground. This violently forced the carpal bones apart and forced the monster to drop them.
I grabbed the humans, using a seminal power to fly and dampen the inertial forces experienced as I landed. A landing that started in a run and ended in a slide across the ground. I place the two on their feet, and they saw my mask.
I stepped between them and the gashadokuro (餓者髑髏), which emanated an overwhelming and penetrating psychic field to immobilize its prey. So, I expanded my psychic influence to oppose that of the gashadokuro and release the youths from its paralyzing presence.
Having freed them from its telepathic oppression, I told them simply, “Run!” as I grabbed Hiraiha. The boy thanked me as they took off, but the man-eater, ignoring me, reached for them.
“Oh, no you don’t, you bastard!” I told this malevolent intelligence.
“You won’t be gnawing on the bones of children today!”
I once more leaped with explosive force into the air. This time, aiming at the base of the giant’s skull from under and through the space between the mandible. I punched a hole into its skull with my shield’s spine, pushing those loathly bones away from the naïve lovers.
As they ran, the young woman looked back and saw that I decomposed my body into a superheated smoke. I caused it to rapidly seep into the cranium through the foramen magnum of the staggered titan. This forced the air within out through its many lesser foramen and fissures, as well as the puncture wound I had just made.
I reconstituted myself inside the braincase in the fetal position since its skull was only 122 cm tall. So, I summoned my metal shearing strength. Pressing on all sides with my limbs and body until the cranium lost structural integrity on all sides, killing it instantly.
I rotated like a cat in freefall, then landed on all fours like a monkey, having avoided injuring myself upon these criminal bones. Quickly, I moved to recover Ryūseiseki from its burial place, gathered the rest of my equipment.
Then, I made my way over to the femur—the strongest bone in the gashadokuro’s body—and cut away its tendons with Hiraiha. I thought I could carve an excellent weapon, fit for an oni, from this material.
Unlike the lovers under my aegis, I’ve always known of the existence of monsters simply because I am one. My name is Setagaya Momo (世田谷 桃), and what I am goes by many names across the world: Yāo (妖), Goemul (괴물), Wenkamuy (ウェンカムィ), and Faerie, but here in Japan most people would rightly call me a Yōkai (妖怪). I am not a metahuman. In fact, I am not human at all. My biological father was half-succubus and half-vampire, whereas my biological mother was a half-oni and half-djinn. They died when I was only a few months old, and that’s what resulted in my adoption by a kindhearted couple who found me abandoned in the woods. My adoptive father was a foreign-born Yamato man, and my adoptive mother an Ainu from Hokkaido. From my adoptive metahuman parents, I inherited the siddhis of Earthly metahumans, with my unique power allowing me to unite the powers of my parents while assimilating none of their weaknesses, and that included the seminal powers of humanity: my adoptive heritage.
To protect the human nature that loved me when I was weak and powerless, I took on the guise of their archetypal superheroes, such as Ultraman, to fight against the unspeakable evils that come from Otherworld. Though, I also dabbled in vigilantism.
I thought that something had to have happened in Otherworld, as I had never seen something of this scale pass through the veil into the Human World (人間界). Considering that I had never been to Otherworld myself, I did not know what it might be.
As I walked around the corpse, contemplating how to conceal the bones, I heard something behind me in the distance. I turned around and noticed a massive, hideous thing with gray skin, knee-length wavy locks, a long, broad, drooping nose, piercing eyes, long, pointed, drooping ears, and disproportionately small head compared to their muscularly rotund body, legs, and arms appeared from within the woods. I had never seen this manner of yōkai before, so I grabbed Hiraiha and prepared for a fight.
But the monster calmly pleaded, “Easy, demon slayer! I mean no harm.”
Another, higher-pitched voice confirmed this, “It’s true, he saved me from slavers!”
A human girl, only nine years old, stepped out from behind him. A Koropokguru (コㇿポックㇽ), which resembles a bearded Ainu man, except that he was small enough to effortlessly hide underneath the leaf of a butterbur, stood on the child’s left shoulder.
The Koropokguru petitioned, “All we ask is that you hear us out.”
This child was clearly not a native to this location. Evidenced by her red hair, green eyes, and fair skin. I could smell the humanity coming from her, and the way she clung to the troll’s robes told me that the child felt safe with this stranger, so I deigned to trust this foreigner.
I holstered my weapons and asked it, “What manner of yōkai are you?”
The thing explained with a bow, “I am but a humble troll (トロール), but you can call me Hallvarðr (ハルヴァーズル).”
A strange name that I could not hope to pronounce, so I avoided using it. That said, he was astonishingly proficient in Japanese.
The Koropokguru introduced themselves with a bow. “My name is Atuy (アト゚イ).”
I could speak and understand Ainu, so his name was easy for me to pronounce and remember.
The child did not deign to speak, but she emulated her guardians.
I warned him, “A troll? By earth or Otherworld, you have traveled far. But make no mistake. I am protector of this island, and if I have any inkling that you mean harm to men, I will waste no time in swiftly ending your life.”
The child seemed to understand the general threat, as she clung even tighter to the troll, who reached into his shirt and revealed a crucifix necklace, explaining, “I commend your love of humanity, but as you can see, my God is a man, so I mean men no harm.”
This took me aback. I had heard stories of yōkai being converted to Catholicism in Medieval Europe, not dissimilar to the stories of yōkai converting to Islam and Buddhism throughout Africa and Asia, but I had so few interactions with my race that I had never seen this myself.
His voice was as deep and powerful as you might expect from a 350 cm tall humanoid who looked as if he could wrestle a bear into submission, even without magic, but it was soft enough as to not frighten the girl, whom he comforted with a gentle head pat.
The monstrous thing said, “I apologize for the fright, but we had heard the rumor of a monster slayer with tremendous power, so we seek your aid.”
Atuy explained, “Several man-eaters have escaped Otherworld and entered Earth through a doorway on this island.”
The Troll explained, “It is not just here. Portals have appeared across the Human World.”
Atuy asked, “Have you noticed something unusual about the anthropophagi recently?”
My thoughts turned to the alien description of the Ama-uma and the unexpected state of the gashadokuro’s teeth, which are not traditionally reported to be filed, as well as its joints, which I would not have expected to possess tendons.
I honestly answered, “Yes, there are reports of a monster wondering about this country, which does not match the description of any native to the local mythology.”
The Troll asked me, “I thought so. Could you please describe this criminal?”
I complied. “A yōkai, called Ama-uma, which is implicated in multiple murders. It has the form of a woman, from the hips up, grafted onto a horse…”
I could see that the Troll immediately recognized this description, and I asked, “So you know what this is?”
He told me, “It sounds like a Nuckelavee (ナックラヴィー). An unusual devil for this part of the world…”
I interrupted, “That’s what I would have assumed if it wasn’t headless with additional arms.”
The Troll seemed troubled by this revelation, turning to Atuy. They seemed to be on the same page, so the troll explained, “I am unfamiliar with this criminal, but we will help however we can.”
I asked him, “I assume you are in pursuit of a specific monster?”
The Troll admitted, “Yes. We have tracked many devils who have tried to enter the human world: manticores (マンティコア), yara-ma-yha-who (ヤラマヤフー), even asuras (阿修羅), but we’re currently looking for a hanyō (半妖) who was born and raised in Otherworld.”
My left hand could not help but flinch when he said that their target was half-human. Because of my assortment of powers, I had never had to kill humans in my vigilante work. Even the yakuza were of little concern to me, given I could simply transmute my body into and from various amorphous states.
That, coupled with the power to enter people’s dreams, to shapeshift into animals, become invisible, and to hypnotize the weak willed with eye-contact, among other powers, meant that I’ve never had to take a human life.
I’ve only met one other hanyō in my life, a sweet little girl only twelve-years-old who was half-Sotonarukami (半外なる神) and I could not imagine seeing her as anything other than a metahuman, like my parents.
Atuy admitted, “We know next to nothing about our target, except that they are an astonishingly powerful necromancer and follower of the Devil Path (魔道).”
Without moving my feet, I turned to look at the aberrant gashadokuro, and the Troll asked me, “Do you think that this necromancer might have something to do with this devil?”
I turned to face them and admitted, “It’s possible…”
But before I could finish my thought, a flash of light illuminated the distant north behind me. I turned to look toward the flash, which left the others in confusion.
A few moments passed before the troll observed, “I am not familiar with how the weather in the Human World works, but I thought a particular cloud was necessary for lightning. Yet the skies are clear.”
I chimed in, “That is my understanding as well…”
We waited for a little before I rhetorically asked, “Where’s the thunder?”
Atuy agreed, “It is oddly silent.”
I pointed out, “From what little I understand about the matter, I remember humans can only hear thunder up to about sixteen kilometers from the lightning strike. That means the young girl should have heard the clap of thunder within 47 seconds.”
There was a foreboding feeling that overcame me, something that the others felt through my aura and saw through my body language.
The troll revealed, “I feel an intense psychic disturbance, the likes of which I have never felt before.”
I felt it as well, coming from that direction, but aside from an intense sense of forewarning, I had no intuition what this might have been.
I asked them, “What was the most powerful devil that you know has crossed the veil into the Human world?”
The troll told me, “That would probably be an asura, but we believe she arrived in Patagonia, not Japan.”
I asked them, “What other devils do you suspect have made it here?”
The troll confessed, “I believe that a manananggal (マナナンガル), mapinguari (マピングヮリ), and nue (鵺) have made their way into this country.”
I did not recognize the term mapinguari, but the others I have heard of, and while they were incredibly dangerous and sadistic creatures, none could explain what it was we observed.
After about four minutes, we all heard a crack of thunder succeeding it. Loud enough that we could feel a wall of pressure pass over us, jostling our hair, the troll’s clothes, and throwing poor Atuy off his feet. He held onto the child by her hair, who didn’t mind while she clung to the troll, not out of a need for stability, but for a sense of protection. As Atuy climbed back up to his shoulder, we all spotted the cloud rising in the distance.
A cloud that soon took on a familiar shape, clear to the nocturnal eyes of the troll and me: a mushroom filled with rain and thunder. I dropped the gashadokuro’s thigh bone as the gravity of the apparent situation washed over me. I bolted north, in the direction of the cloud, before I could come back to my senses.
The troll called out to me, but I could not hear what he said. Blind panic filled my mind. I could not fathom that any state was mad enough to start a nuclear war, but there were no signs of this being a meteor strike, which only left the possibility that this was the work of a Jihōhōsha (持法宝者): a magician given the power to wield the weapon of a deva, as described in the Mahābhārata.
I took on the appearance of an ethnic Yamato middle school girl underneath the armor and continued to run through the woods. Until I came across abject ruin, beyond the thresholds of broken glass. Running until I encountered toppled buildings. I removed my helmet and affixed it to a holster on my armor, then offered my help in excavating the trapped.
With my radically superhuman strength, I moved massive slabs of wall, floor, and ceiling. Using my psychokinetic powers in tandem, I helped maintain the structural integrity of what we moved.
I could use my inhuman senses, and latent telepathic powers to locate people trapped under the rubble. But the dead and comatose were invisible to my psychic powers. I considered transforming into smoke to help locate those we couldn’t otherwise find. Something I immediately realized could unintentionally displace the air that the people trapped in the rubble needed to breathe, which might kill someone in a critical need of medical aid. So I deigned to rely on my strength and fallible psychic senses.
We worked ceaselessly until time seemed to lose all meaning, and it became impossible to remember what happened at night, dawn, and day. Although, during dawn twilight, after I delivered a young boy, only ten years old, to the triage, I saw a giant woman with black skin and hair dressed in a kuro Lolita fashion.
She effortlessly spotted people concealed under the rubble and excavated passageways for emergency medical technicians to carry off both the living and the dead. This out-of-place fashionista could clearly find and rescue people and recover bodies I missed. She was also much faster at moving between patients. It was astonishing, even to me.
I could smell her humanity, and I knew she was neither yōkai, deva, nor the product of admixture with these two. She was 100% human.
She came across a father, who I would later learn had been digging with shredded hands for twelve hours straight in desperate search for his wife and son. The monstrous woman found a mass of survivors through some unknown power and quickly opened a passageway for the escape and rescue of the children in need. She yelled something in English, and the emergency medical technicians raced to her.
The woman saw the man, on the verge of complete muscle failure, stumble towards them, so she darted to him, picked him up, and brought him to the opening. He called for his son, and a child called back. They rescued his sons and his son’s friends, but his pregnant wife died when the structure crushed her skull like a grape in the collapse. Something they both learned when she excavated the body from the wreckage, with a towel provided by an EMT covering the decedent’s face.
The giant woman made the sign of the cross and prayed over her body, all the while scanning for others in need, as the EMTs moved the body, which the two immediately recognized by her clothing and a scar on her right arm.
Before the day ended, I had heard tales of that foreigner working at superhuman speed, with supernatural proficiency, impossible strength, and seemingly limitless stamina. With eyes that displayed clear compassion and heartbreak, bounded by compassion.
Considering how utterly exhausted I was, I couldn’t fathom how a foreigner, with no connection to this country, could bear such a weight and commitment. Not only saving as many people as she could, but also faithfully recovering as many bodies as she could. It was like she could hear sounds I could not and see through the rubble.
I couldn’t forget the look in her eyes: behind the stoic mask, they betrayed her childlike heart. A heart that earnestly cared for the well-being of the surrounding strangers.
We never interacted, as I was called to help elsewhere when she appeared. And as quickly as she arrived, she was gone. I never helped within the inferno, as by the time I needed to rest, the firefighters and metahuman volunteers had put out the blaze.
By the end of it all, covered in dirt, dusk, ash, sweat, and dried blood, I was too exhausted to cry or scream. I entered into a state of autopilot.
Good Samaritans offered anyone involved with the rescue efforts free transportation to a distant hotel, which offered to open itself up so that the rescuers and volunteers, too exhausted to make it home, could have somewhere to sleep. It was an offer I did not refuse, and so I slept on a couch in a room shared with two or four other women. By the time I woke up, I had been asleep for twelve hours.
This was the worst day of my life so far.
#magical girl#superhero#hopepunk#dark fantasy#mythology#worldbuilding#original story#original character#feedback welcome
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Rings of Power Episode 2 Liveblog
The opening credits are pretty cool
Where's you're God now, Galadriel? (Literally)
So is the cold fire supposed to put us in mind of the torches from the previous episode?
POKE!
So this meteor guy is obviously a Maia of some kind
Nice that he fell from the sky with a scrap of cloth to protect his modesty.
I love Poppy, the sane friend.
Poppy! None of the elves are handsome! Why would you taunt us like this??!!
I'm surprised they actually kept him hidden successfully
Some people have wondered if Meteor Dude is a Blue Wizard, but I can't imagine them not arriving in a pair. (Spoiler, my guess is Gandalf if they're playing fair, Saruman if they're pulling a switcheroo)
I guess it was useful to have Bronwyn along after all.
Eregion! Where did that giant lake come from?
Feanor's hammer!
"True creation requires sacrifice" That's not ominous at all.
Hypnotic Silmarils confirmed! Didn't expect that.
Stop sucking up, Elrond.
YES I am all on board for Celebrimbor's super forge project! He sounds so excited!!
I love how he talks about the dwarves too
Gonna admit, it took me a sec to figure out why Khazad Dum only has this tiny little gate on the western side of the mountains.
Guess my dream of non Scottish dwaves simply wasn't to be
I love the dwarf masks!
Knowing why the dwarves are so surly makes this make a lot more sense
Oh dear. Your strange giant dude has run off. Who could have foreseen this?
Always a fan of magic powers that you can't really control
The little ear tug is a cute bit of body language
It's not a silly question, Maiar actually only eat on special occasions
Snails, yum! Cronch.
JESUS ow, cool it with the sympathetic magic!
You can hide your ears, Galadriel, but what about the light in your eyes?
So where did these castaways come from?
So obviously the hot one is the one that's gonna survive.
Corsairs prowl these water? The Numenoreans are slacking on the job.
RIP other castaways, we hardly knew ye. We didn't need your deaths to raise the stakes but we sure got em
And obviously I'm not gonna nitpick Galadriel having that name from the beginning, with nary a Celeborn in sight. But, you know. I could.
Elrond stronk. Got those Maia genes. You know, they haven't really mentioned the whole halfelven thing at all yet? And they can't exactly pretend it doesn't exist. He's kinda famous for it. Makes me wonder how much they're gonna build on that.
I choose to believe Elrond did not intentionally throw that challenge, but he did pick one he couldn't win.
"Has it been only twenty" Oh, buddy.
YOU MISSED HIS WEDDING ELROND.
Always working the diplomacy.
I love that the halls of Khazad Dum are spacious, but Elrond still has to duck sometimes.
Oh, I love Disa with my whole heart. Her hair is so cool!
"Gamli" the diffident attempts at naming OCs continue.
Disa and Durin's courtship story is so! cute! I like their dowsing technology too.
He has a tree!
But what *kind* of tree is it, Elrond?
Everything about Elrond's actions is sincere, yet calculated. He certainly is something.
What exactly is Galadriel trying to do with that rope, anyway? There's no sails.
If he's from Bronwyn's hometown how did he get to the Western ocean?? Is she not from way farther East??
Oh man, just watching Arondir crawl through that hole is giving me claustrophobia
Either it's not an Orc, or Arondir's knife is faulty
Again I'm not gonna nitpick names too much, but Theo's is kinda weird; Tolkien didn't generally import Greek and Latin names to stand in for Middle Earth languages (except for some of the Hobbit women's jewel and flower names I guess)
I suppose I understand Bronwyn's instinct to stay with her son and hide instead of running for help while she can.
Lol, fail orc got taken out by two level 1 commoners
Yow, Galadriel was raised by sailors but I guess she never really trained in seas this rough. She should know how to tie a better knot, though
There are A LOT of plotlines in this show, it's hard to wait for everyone to come back around the carousel
Would a lantern full of fireflies actually...work? Very Aesthetic, though.
Could be Radagast, I guess
Nori has a lot of dreams in her head, doesn't she
Is it in Sadoc's book? Is that where you can find the stars?
HE KILLED THE FIREFLIES!
I heard a theory that Durin III is actually just an illusion or hallucination. Interesting if true.
I SWEAR TO ERU IF THERE IS A SILMARIL IN THAT BOX I AM CALLING MAEDHROS ON THE PHONE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW
Evil vampire sword!!! Oh, poor Theo, I don't want you to become a ringwraith
Elendil?? Are we finally getting Numenoreans? Maybe??
See y'all next Friday!
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Which Religion to Follow?
My family abided by three religions though Mother followed none. Perhaps, fashion was hers. She frequently made pilgrimages to Brisbane’s upmarket department stores, boutiques and draperies to stay abreast of clothing styles and fabrics. Dad devoted his spare waking moments to racehorses and cricket. Every Saturday, he either listened to, on the radio, or attended the races. On Sundays, he played cricket from eight in the morning to ten at night. Both activities finished with the drinking of beer with mates. When the cricket and the horseraces were broadcast simultaneously on different radio channels, he never knew which to listen to. He needed to be well informed on both; these being his main topics of conversation with Pop and his mates.
I didn’t find racehorses interesting. I was never going to ride one! Occasionally, I rode a cart horse or a draught horse at a slow clip clop speed if somebody helped me on to its back. Besides, I worked out early that Dad’s devotion was financially ill founded. Cricket though became more than a religion to me; it was a second language. As a baby, I had listened to the summer broadcasts in my crib and knew all the rules by the time I could speak. When I began running around the backyard, Dad bought me a bat and ball and taught me to play. I grew to be a fervent worshipper of the sport, practicing my batting and bowling techniques religiously.
Don Bradman and his team of ‘Invincibles’ had won every game on the 1948 English tour. The following year, he had retired. This legendary man had begun his quick, meteoric rise from humble beginnings in the bush. This gave hope to every Australian boy. Each dreamt of being his replacement. Me included! I played a fierce game with my mates in the schoolyard, and as a young man, played for a representative team in South West Queensland. As this team’s opening bowler, I struck fear into many opposition batsmen. Unfortunately, my future path wouldn’t align with my dream and cricket would be sacrificed.
My family paid lip service to our third religion, the faith of our forefathers. Nearly all the families in the community faithfully attended church each Sunday. My family didn’t! Most people married within their faiths and adhered to their families’ ethnic roots. This wasn’t so with my parents. Dad was born a Lutheran of Germanic stock whilst Mother claimed to be a Methodist of mixed English, Scottish and Germanic lineage. She only stepped inside churches to admire the bridal and bridesmaid gowns she had sewed. We were outcasts! At home, we avoided all substance of religion in our daily lives. This made me a religiously bemused child.
It also made me a very bored child on Sundays; these being very quiet. With Dad gone, Mother retreated to her sewing room. Nobody else worked. Nobody chopped wood, felled trees or banged a hammer. Only a few trains ran. Any noise could be heard for miles. Thus, I couldn’t conduct any of my spurious activities in the bush. Besides, both Reggie and Ronnie were from religious families. In fact, ninety-five percent of the children at my school were Lutheran and most attended Sunday School in the old German school building, built in the late 1800’s. My parents, in their hypocrisy, decided I should go too to learn the values I should have learnt at home. Perhaps, Nana and Pop gently encouraged this decision. So, I went. I obediently listened to the Bible stories and coloured in the paper pictures provided, improving my dexterity with pencils. Though, I did skip the church service in favour of a roast lunch at Pop’s and Nana’s house.
Strangely, Pastor Reuter’s wife was one of Mother’s few friends despite Mother’s well known nasty and unchristian tongue. This lady visited our house regularly. I liked her and the pastor very much and often dropped by them at the parsonage. They saved me stamps from their mail for my stamp collection. I particularly treasured the envelopes and stamps from Germany.
As a child, I didn’t understand the pastor however. He delivered fire and brimstone sermons with these focused on sin and repentance. Those I heard frightened the gee willikers out of me. He maintained the dour persona of an older man and always dressed in his black clerical attire. He held himself aloof and detached from his parishioners and shunned most of the community’s social activities. He never greeted or farewelled the congregation at church services. He spoke to nobody before these either and departed during the last hymn. Each week day, he promptly returned to his home office after his 8.15am drive to the train station for his mail. Yet, he was responsible for dispensing spiritual guidance and compassion to those in need. Perhaps, he was busy with three parishes to care for.
When I was twelve years old, the church’s Youth Society seemed to be a ‘happening’ group. Its teenage members regularly travelled away to conferences and festivals. The Society also played sports competitions against other church groups and fielded a table tennis team. Of course, I was a natural with a racket. Afterall, it was just a round bat held in a different position. Alas, I had a significant hurdle to jump to join!
The church required a young person to confirm their faith to join the Society. To do this, one attended half day religious instruction classes every Saturday for a year then struggled through a verbal examination held in front of the congregation. At the time, I had just begun grade six at school and was two years under the usual age of fourteen. I had already decided to study for my scholarship exams the following year. Back then, these were voluntary with the consequence that most local students finishing primary school avoided them. My mate and academic competitor, Ronnie, as well as another lad were in the same predicament. So, we plucked up courage to ask Pastor Reuter if we could begin confirmation classes early. The intransigent Church Council debated our request for a few weeks. Fortunately, Ronnie’s father served as one of its senior elders and swayed the argument in our favour.
Unfortunately for us, Pastor Reuter extended our tuition or indoctrination, as some said, to eighteen months due to our age. However, I didn’t mind. He also combined all the students from his parishes into one class. Here, I met a pretty girl from Beenleigh.
Whilst I later gave away my cricket ball, I did learn at church that God would always provide what I’d need (but not necessarily what I’d want). Indeed, he would!
#which religion to follow#cricket#Lutheran Church#Sunday school#Pastor Reuter#fire and brimstone#confirmation#faith of forefathers#Youth Society
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‘Meteor crashes into field’ on Scottish island as hundreds of witnesses spot fireball streaking across UK
‘Meteor crashes into field’ on Scottish island as hundreds of witnesses spot fireball streaking across UK
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