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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

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when your love reaches me (i)

summary: 1978 is decidedly not 2020. nor is your life ever the same when you meet a guitarist, curly haired, soft spoken, and true.

word count: 9.3k+ (i am abundantly sorry for how long this is. curl up with a snack, my dudes)

warnings: required: total suspension of disbelief. also: screwed up historical timeline, slight angst, language, innuendo, suggestive moments and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: hi! a day late, but i wanted to respect the ‘out of time’ epilogue which came out yesterday as this is very much inspired by @perriwiinkle and her lovely fic. this is my take on a similar theme, only with brian and just three (3) parts. thank you to @deacyblues for your beta-ing help on this mini-series; i heart emoji you. anyways, let me know what you think. enjoy! xoxo!

in this chapter: something—be it fate or otherwise—transplants you to a place you do not belong.

it’s raining hard, thunder and lightning battling for dominance in the gray sky. you clutch your textbook to your chest and duck your head against the onslaught, feet nearly slipping on the flat stones of the sidewalk. london weather has always been unpredictable, but you’ve never seen a storm like this, never been caught in one either. it’s too far to make it back to your flat without catching pneumonia and the library feels just as far away so you push forward. the sky turns bright white followed closely by a boom of thunder, and you squeak, picking up your pace.

across a muddy patch of grass stands union concert hall. it’s likely to be locked on a saturday evening, but it’s worth a shot. you squelch through the mud and run the remaining hundred yards to old brick building. your hands, wet with rain, scrabble against the brass doorknob, which, to your surprise, turns with ease. muttering a prayer of thanks, you wrench the door open as a gust of wind turns the rain sideways. you slip inside, breathing heavy, and fall against the door as it shuts.

silence. blessed silence.

you heave a sigh of relief and run a hand through your drenched hair.

the concert hall is empty, but the lonesome rows of chairs and desolate stage come as no surprise. with fall break around the corner, imperal college is largely devoid of students on the weekends. there’s parties to be had, memories to be made; no one wants to be cooped up on campus. you, however, don’t have that luxury. there’s too much to be done in too tight a span of time.

as the rain pounds the roof and slides down the windows, you take a seat at the back of the hall. the plastic chair creaks underneath your weight, and each time you move a soggy squish echoes about the room. your textbook—creating exhibitions: collaborations in the planning, development, and design of innovative experiences—rests open on your lap. the laminated binding curls as it dampens, but you’re soaked to the bone. there’s no avoiding the damage. if you must, you’ll pay the thirty pounds at the end of the semester to turn your rental into a purchase.

if you think about it, it really is quite sad, the way you’re sitting on your own on a saturday night, highlighter clamped between your teeth, eyes scanning the pages of your textbook with far too much interest. if you think about it, you know you should be out with your friends. this morning rachel had tried to convince you to come out after your shift at the museum, but you’d said no—again. you’ve been given a full ride in the masters of science communication program, and you’ll do nothing to jeopardize the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. rachel insists that a simple evening at a local pub is harmless, and you know she’s right, but your answer is always the same: no. it’s easier that way.

you read for awhile, highlighting the text and annotating the margins of your textbook with the thoughts or questions that flit through your mind. as you dry, the legs of your jeans turn stiff, and your hair feels frizzy with humidity. not for the first time, you wish you’d remembered the pink umbrella leaning against the coatrack in your flat.

an hour passes, maybe two. with a heavy sigh, you shut your book and meander through the rows of chairs toward the bathroom. the washroom light flickers a muted yellow when you switch it on, an incessant electronic buzz filling the room. crossing to the counter, you stare at yourself in the mirror. you look atrocious: tired bags under your eyes, streaks of mascara on your cheeks, hair unruly, clothes sodden and weighed down on your body. you’d laugh if it wasn’t so damn depressing. you look like a madwoman, like some sort of victorian nightmare. in an effort to clean yourself up, you splash cold water on your face and scrub the makeup away until your cheeks hurt. you wet your hair, run your fingers through the tangles, and attempt to dry yourself under the hand dryer.

it’s still raining outside. there’s a single skylight in the bathroom, and when you look up, it’s a funny sensation, watching the rain slam against the window but never hit your face. you smile faintly; there’s just something about being inside when it rains. it’s similar to a warm hug or a—

a crack of lightning breaks you from your reverie. the sound goes straight to your heart, stopping it with the force of its blow. with a gasp, you clamp your hands against your ears, eyes screwed shut, and you’re suddenly six years old again, scared of a simple thunderstorm. white light pours through the skylight, drowning the room in an almost heavenly glow. thunder trips over the heels of the lightning in an effort to make itself known. the thunder is more like a roar, and you swear you can feel the foundation of the building jostle.

then all is quiet. even the sound of the rain on the roof has stopped.

you pull your hands from your ears, breathing heavy, and look around the bathroom. maybe... maybe you should call a cab or an uber. you’d rather not be stuck in the concert hall overnight, and the storm feels eerily close.

grabbing your bag from the counter, you fumble for your phone in its depths. you come away empty-handed, but you must have left it on your chair alongside your textbook. you pull open the bathroom door and step into a crush of bodies.

your heart stutters in your chest, confusion stealing the air from your lungs.

there’s a crowd of people in the concert hall. it’s hard to move, to breathe, to think. the room is dim, lit only by orange and white lights on the stage. there’s music pounding through the room, and it sounds vaguely familiar, but you’re too stunned and confused to place it. a haze of smoke filters over the heads of onlookers; the air smells like cigarettes and sweat. where had everyone come from? how long had you been in the bathroom? surely not long enough for a band and a crowd and—

a thought strikes you: this is not the union concert hall you were just sat in seeking shelter from a bad storm.

a hand circles your arm, and you startle, head twisting to the left. “you okay, love?” a voice asks. the man is short with warm-toned skin, his hair like a dark halo around his head. he stares at you in earnest, and you’re sure you’ve gone pale.

in lieu of answering, you stumble backwards, back into the bathroom. the subway-tiled walls of moments past have turned a dull green, and the hand dryer has been replaced with a paper-towel dispenser. the linoleum under your shoes is grimy, unwashed and stained. the air is heavy with cigarette smoke thanks to the women lounging around the open stalls, dripping ashes to the floor with a simple flick of the wrist. the scent clings to the inside of your nose, and you blame the tears pricking the corners of your eyes on the smell.

“excuse me,” you mutter, shouldering past a lithe woman with blown-out blonde hair. she gives you a once over, her brow furrowed, before leaving the bathroom.

at the sink, you brace your hands against the edge. the sink feels like cheap plastic, easy enough to rip from the wall. where the sturdy white countertop has gone, you aren’t sure. for the second time in one day, you splash water on your heated face.

“hey. are you okay?”

you look up and meet the doe eyes of a short girl standing behind you. her hair is bobbed at her neck, her eyes lined with a deep purple liner. her appearance is warped by the faded mirror, but you can see the way she’s looking at you, and you don’t blame her. you’re sure you look as crazy as you feel.

you straighten at the sink and shut the water off. “i’m just...” you flounder for a good excuse. your insides feel like mush, and your brain has paused, as if the loading symbol is looping over and over in place of producing any coherent thought. “do you have a phone i could borrow?”

“there’s a payphone around the corner,” she says, her words slow with apprehension. “did something happen out there? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

there’s a pounding in the back of your head, hard and steady, and you rub your temples. “i was studying and then i was here and i don’t really remember the rest.” you pause. “it’s been a long day.”

the girl’s face softens as she smiles. she moves to stand beside you and withdraws a thin tube of lipstick from her clutch. “i know what you mean. i can get pretty bogged down and feel like the time’s flown by and i’ve been asleep the at the wheel, but, god, it’s queen! they started here, you know, in this very concert hall. and now they’re back, just for us! how bloody exciting is that?” as she speaks, her irish accent grows stronger, in tandem with the excitement lighting her face.

you frown, unsure if you’ve heard her correctly. “queen? like... the band queen or queen elizabeth?”

she pauses in her lipstick application. “the band queen, silly. are you really that knackered?” with a grin, she puts the lipstick down and takes your shoulders in her hands. “you’re at a queen concert, love. it’s friday, september first, ninteen-seventy-eight. has been all day, ever since you woke up in your jammies.” she laughs, her blunt bob swaying as tilts her head to the side. “you gonna be fine?”

your first thought: no, absolutely not.

the only answer you can give, punctuated by a weak smile: “yeah. yeah, i’m gonna be all right. thanks.”

the girl puts her makeup away and gives your shoulder a final squeeze. “i think they’ll be finishing soon, so i’m gonna pop back out so i don’t miss it. try and get some rest, yeah? you look like you could use it.”

she exits the bathroom, a song momentarily pouring through the door, and you find yourself alone in the empty room.

before you can stop yourself, you twist on your heel and lunge for the nearest toilet. you vomit, heaving what little remains in your stomach, until there is nothing left to unearth. dropping back against the stall, you duck your head between your knees.

this is just a fever dream. maybe you got scared during the storm, hit your head, and passed out on the bathroom floor. there’s no way in hell—no way in hell—this is nineteen-seventy-eight. that’s preposterous. and sure, queen might have gotten their start at imperial college—everyone knows that—but that was eons ago. freddie mercury is dead, john deacon is retired, and brian may and roger taylor are well within their seventies. the girl must be mistaken or strung out or high or all of the above.

or maybe you are. you can’t be sure anymore.

your legs tremble beneath you as you stand. if any good has come of this, it’s that you’re dry now—suspiciously so. despite the pale sheen on your face and layer of sweat on your forehead, it’s as if you were never drenched to begin with. your cream pleated trousers have no wrinkles along the back after you spent all afternoon stuffing and unstuffing boxes on the floor. your navy top is void of the stubborn coffee stain you’d gotten this morning as you rushed into the museum ten minutes late. it’s almost as if the day never happened.

it’s almost as if the day—saturday, september fifth, twenty-twenty—is still forty-two years in the future instead of thirty minutes away from ending.

“all right, we’ve got one more for you lovelies tonight! this one’s new, so keep it a secret ‘till the record comes out, okay?”

you turn at the sound of a familiar voice amplified over a loudspeaker.

freddie mercury.

though you’ve never been a huge queen fan, you’re positive anyone with even a passing knowledge of classic rock could hear his voice and pick it out in a lineup.

heart in your throat, you sling your bag over your shoulder and squeeze out the door. the energy in the hall has heightened tenfold since you last stood in the bathroom doorway. perhaps it’s due to the fact that the concert is rapidly drawing to a close and everyone wants to drink in the last moments before it’s all over.

perhaps it’s simply because it’s queen.

as your eyes slide to the stage, you can’t help but feel a giddiness rise in your chest. your throat goes tight, eyes misty, as you weave through the crowd on auto-pilot. you’re drawn to them; who wouldn’t be? the floor shakes beneath your feet as the music surges around you. he’s magnificent—freddie. he commands the crowd with ease, and you feel at home, relaxed, like you’re watching a friend goof around. seeing him there—whole, well, happy—is nothing short of a miracle.

“aren’t they marvelous?” you turn to see the girl from the bathroom. she holds your bicep tight in her fingers. her smile is radiant, her face glowing with unbridled joy. “i’m glad you made it out for this!”

you nod dumbly, swiveling back to drink in the final moments. matthew at the coffee shop you frequent would kill for something like this. you want to text him, to rub it in his face with a good-natured wink, but he hasn’t been born yet, has he? seeing freddie mercury on stage confirms it.

you’re not in twenty-twenty anymore.

the song draws to a close, and you find yourself smiling despite the uncertainty of your current situation. you can’t help but applaud alongside the rest of the audience. someone shouts “encore” but freddie waves him off with a laugh.

“we just did a fucking encore!” he says.

they take their bows—all four of them—and then disappear backstage. a moment passes before the house lights flicker on, and the crowd begins to disperse. trash litters the floor, and the room doesn’t feel as magical as it did seconds before, but you find it hard to breathe nonetheless. try as you might, you can’t tear your eyes away from the stage.

“oh my god, wasn’t that brilliant?” bathroom-girl practically jumps up and down on her ballet-slippered feet. “i’m anna, in case you were wondering,” she says.

you hesitate. there’s too much going on around you, so many things you’ve only read about or seen in pictures: the fashion, the hair, the fucking band. you feel dizzy—dizzy with fear and excitement. it’s like you’re standing in line for a rollercoaster. you know what’s coming: the slow climb up the first hill, anticipation bubbling in your stomach before the first drop, then the madness of letting yourself plummet at incredible speeds. all you can do is laugh, just like you do on the rollercoaster.

“[y/n],” you say between fits of amusement. “sorry! i don’t know what’s gotten into me!” you press a hand to your mouth, shaking your head back and forth.

anna grins. “that was me when the concert first started.” she bends her head toward yours conspiratorially. “i nearly pissed myself when i saw john deacon walk out for the first time.”

your laughter turns to girlish giggles and holding her forearm is all you can do to keep from falling to the floor. you’re drunk, surely. drunk off what, you can’t say, but you’ve felt like this before.

“hey!” anna’s eyes go wide, and you can see the lightbulb turn on above her head. “i saw where they parked their vans. we could go have a look-see!”

your initial reaction is a resounding no. just the thought of standing mere meters away from queen makes you want to break out into hives. you’re sure to say something stupid and embarrassing or screw up some time-continuum-thing. you’ve seen enough doctor who to know not to mess about with time.

oh god, you must be really fucking crazy if this is what you’re life has come to, deciding what the right or wrong move is based on a children’s television show.

yet there’s still a sliver of your heart holding on to the hope that this is all a dream. you could wake up at any moment, still in the concert hall, yes, but where you belong and a soaked mess from the rainstorm. so, even though you know you shouldn’t, even though your heart of hearts tells you that you’re a girl out of place and far away from home, you nod and let anna drag you toward the a side-exit door.

outside, the air is chilly, but it soothes your hot skin.

standing outside the concert hall is perhaps more strange than standing in it. you know this spot; you walk behind the building every day. if you follow the winding path toward the dormitories and then veer to the left, you’ll eventually reach your flat—or you would if this were some other time. it’s not a terribly long walk, and most of the time, you find it refreshing. but today, with the sun replaced by the moon and the evening air and anna’s nervous energy, you find yourself a mite too cold. the cold settles in your stomach, not on your body, and you catalog the area. the parking lot has been repaved, all the dips and cracks you know so well gone. the tree which overhangs a dumpster in the corner is but a small sapling, and the dumpster is nowhere to be seen. the cold in your belly spreads to your chest, and, for a moment, you forget what it is anna dragged you here for.

but then her fingers grip your wrist tightly, and you remember: queen.

“look,” she whispers. “there they are.”

you follow her eyeline to the gaggle of men descending a ramp propped beneath a set of double-doors. in the thin veil of darkness you inhabit, it’s hard to make out who is who. brian is unmistakable, what with his gangly arms and legs and tilted shoulders. freddie is easy to pick out, too; he walks with a swagger only he can pull off. everyone else is a jumble of faces obscured by the night and a cloud of cigarette smoke. they’re loud, but not rowdy, and it reminds you somewhat of a group of teenage boys out to make trouble.

“let’s go over.” anna steps forward, but you stop her with a hand on her elbow.

“no, we shouldn’t. i’m sure they’ve got security, and we really can’t just waltz up there. besides, what would we say?” you shake your head. “this is close enough, don’t you think?”

“fuck no!” her exclamation startles you, your eyebrows lifting, and she laughs. “this is likely the only time we’ll be able to meet true rockstar royalty. you can stay back if you want to, but i’m gonna go.”

“go where?”

in unison, you turn with anna on the ball of your foot. your movements are slow, hers hurried, but you both come face to face with roger taylor and you both inhale sharply.

your first thought is foolish: he looks so young. but of course he does. he’s twenty-nine here, not seventy. half a cigarette hangs out of his mouth, and his blond hair brushes the collar of his jacket as he goes to remove the cigarette and puff a plume of smoke to the side. he wears sunglasses, despite the late hour, and if you weren’t so bloody unsettled, you’d find him attractive.

anna finds her voice first. she points her thumb over her shoulder. “well, we were gonna go and... that is, we thought we might...” she heaves a sigh, and her smile turns angelic. “you put on a great show tonight.”

roger grins, his eyes fixed on anna. “i thought i saw you in the crowd.” his voice is raspy and high and dripping with innuendo. you all know he did not see anna from behind his drum set, but that doesn’t stop her from pulling her lower lip between her teeth and batting her eyelashes.

“oy, rog, can we get a move on, please?”

roger frowns and slips between you and anna, his hand firm on her bicep. he shouts in the general direction of the disembodied voice. “don’t get your fucking knickers in a twist, crystal, jesus!” he rolls his eyes and looks back at anna. “sorry, he’s like a damn mother hen. i didn’t catch your name.”

“anna.” she’s breathless, ready to drip to the floor in a puddle of goo. it’s painfully obvious, and roger seems to like that. his hand rubs an untraceable pattern over her shoulder.

“and your friend?” he doesn’t look at you when he speaks, just jerks his head in your direction.

you should be offended, but really you feel like crying. an overwhelming homesickness builds in your chest. everyone you know, every place you hold so dear, none of it is as it should be. those fleeting magical moments during the concert are quickly wearing off, and you feel yourself slipping back to the panic you’d fought in the bathroom.

“that’s [y/n].”

“would you gals like to join us for some drinks?” this time roger does look at you, his gaze soft but purposeful. he’s daring you to turn him down.

maybe it’s the homesickness. maybe it’s the idea that you can be anything, anyone, here with few personal repercussions. maybe it’s the haughty glint in roger’s eye. whatever it is, it finally gets you talking.

“lead the way,” you say, your eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

roger’s smirk widens, and he tugs anna against his side with an arm around the waist. “gladly.”

the inside of the tour bus is cramped. you suspected it might be so based on the outside, but you didn’t realize just how tight the quarters would truly be. you’re stiff, sat on a stool between two men with long brown hair and equally long faces. there’s a tremor in your leg, and you itch to steal the cigarette out of the man-on-your-left’s mouth and smoke your anxiety away.

for anna’s part, she seems at ease, and you envy that. she’s wrapped around roger’s arm, pressed against him on the couch, and in that moment you feel a certain flare of hatred toward her. you’d always been jealous of the girls who could so effortlessly flirt and make a move and get what they want. you never had to the confidence to follow suit. sitting as you are near the back of the bus, crammed between two sullen and tired roadies, you’re reminded of secondary school lunches. a rush of discomfort heats the back of your neck, and you shift on the stool. your movement must disturb to the man next to you because he shifts, too. he leans away, twisting his neck to look at you.

“you good?” the smoke that leaves his parted lips circles around your head, stinging your eyes.

“i wish everyone would stop asking me that,” you mutter. it comes out before you can stop it, and when you realize what you’ve said, you sink down further on your stool. your hand comes to squeeze your forehead. “oh god.”

but the man just laughs. “here.” he hands you an unopened beer. it’s cold to the touch, dripping with sweat. “you look like you could use it.”

you lift it slightly in a sign of thanks before popping the tab and taking a swig. it’s cheap, and that surprises you considering it’s queen, but you drink it anyway.

“so, who picked you up?”

your eyebrow arches, and you look at the man on your left with a mixture of shock and distain. “no one, thank you. i came on my own accord and i’ll leave in the same way.”

out of the corner of your eye, from his place on a low bench in front of you, you think you see brian turn slightly, his curls swaying with the movement. but he doesn’t face you after all, so it must have been your imagination.

“okay, okay!” the man holds his hands up in surrender, mirth etched along the lines in his face. “sorry!”

you resist the urge to huff, cross your arms, and pout like a child. you pull at your beer instead.

the man nudges you with his elbow. “chris taylor, by the way. crystal.” he points to the man on your right. “that’s ratty—pete.”

pete looks tired enough to fall out of his chair. all he can do is raise his eyebrows in greeting and drop his head back against the wall.

“i’m [y/n].”

crystal mirrors ratty’s movements and stretches his legs out underneath the card-table. “well, i must admit that you might be one of the most level-headed lasses we’ve had in here—and we’ve had plenty of girls grace this bus.”

you aren’t sure if he’s bragging or simply making conversation, so you ignore the comment and say, “i’ve had a... strange day. it’s a lot to take in.”

you’re not lying. really, it is a lot to take in. the tour bus is hot and sweaty, but conversation is quiet, like a background hum. it’s not what you thought it would be; nothing is.

“didn’t think you’d end up here?”

you shake your head. “absolutely not.”

crystal smiles, and you find yourself smiling back, the truth in your words humorous to you and you alone.

the bus door opens, and a flurry of sound enters the already-cramped space. crystal sits forward; ratty seems to wake up. at once, the energy is higher. you feel your heart begin to pound against your ribcage.

freddie enters the bus in all his post-concert glory. you’d been a baby when he died, but now you sit at the back of his tour bus, watching as he laughs and jokes and lives. it makes you want to throw up all over again.

he stands in the center of the bus, hands on his hips, surveying the jumble of roadies and groupies and band members. “well?” the corner of your mouth quirks upward at the sound of his voice; you can’t help it. “have we decided where we’re crashing yet?”

“uh, yeah.” john deacon pipes up from his spot at the front of the bus. you hadn’t noticed him all night, but there he stands, leaning against the driver’s seat, a map in hand. “i think we’re gonna—”

“oh hell, we don’t need that!” roger slaps the map out of john’s hands. it crumples between his fingers, and he all but pulls anna onto his lap. she squeals in delight. “we’ve got our own personal tour guide right here. not to mention brian. he’s got to know his way about.”

“don’t forget [y/n], roger!” anna says, ever the good friend.

no, please. please, for the love of god, forget [y/n].

as one, the tour bus turns to look at you. this time bile does rise in the back of your throat.

sitting in the back of the bus you can handle. crystal is nice, and simply being in the presence of music royalty is sure to be the peak of the rest of your life—whatever that may look like. but having them all look at you, expectantly, waiting for you to giggle or blush or say something, it’s that too much you told crystal about moments earlier. only this time, it’s so much you feel like your head might explode.

even though it feels like decades, only a few seconds have gone by since everyone began waiting for you to make a peep. so when you look at anna and say, “i’m sure you know better than me,” it doesn’t sound awkward. it sounds like a comment shared between friends. you’re thankful for that, at least.

“okay, fine.” anna claps her hands together. “what are you in the mood for, freddie?”

your eyebrow lifts at her familiarity, and beside you, crystal chuckles behind his hand. god, she’s good. you are... decidedly not.

“anything fabulous. we’ve just had a good show, if i do say so myself, and i want to have some fun before we really have to start working.”

“we are working, fred.” it’s the first thing you’ve heard brian say all evening. you can’t see his face from where you’re sitting, so his voice sounds far away. far away but ever so nice to the ears.

freddie waves his hands dismissively. “you know what i mean.”

“there’s a disco club a few blocks from here,” anna offers. “it’s not garishly disco, but it’s fun.”

there’s a pause before freddie says, “it’s late, so it’ll have to do.” he turns to brian with a grin. “do you think we should call ahead?”

twenty minutes and three phone calls later, you’re walking side-by-side with crystal and ratty, hands twitching at your sides, desperately wishing for the comfort of a pair of pockets. if you’d hazard a guess, you’d say there’s about twenty people headed for the club. you know you should feel happy, exuberant at the chance to party with queen in the 70s, but your head hurts. it really, really hurts, and you haven’t the faintest idea where you’ll spent the night. you have no money, no contacts—nothing but the clothes on your back and the half-empty purse thrown over your shoulder.

“[y/n], where are you from?” ratty asks. his questions is harmless enough, but it breaks your underarms out in an uncomfortable sweat. how can you explain that you’re from here, the very here you’re walking on, without also explaining why you have no idea where the disco club is or where the charming flower stand on the corner has gone?

you settle on something vague, but passable. “not from around here.” the toe of your shoe kicks at a loose pebble, which skips forward, nearing the long strides of brian.

“on holiday then?”

“something like that, yeah.” you smile to soften the blow of your unsubstantial answers, and it seems to appease.

you chat with the roadies about inconsequential things—roger’s horrible morning breath, the oil crisis and its impact on the upcoming tour, whether or not pigeons lay eggs. it’s small talk, and you ask more questions than give answers, but it relaxes the ache in your shoulders. you have to remind yourself breathe, drink in what you can while you can. you’ll be okay.

you have to be.

the group rounds the corner like an amoeba, all uneven edges and uncertain direction. though the hour is rapidly closing in on one a.m., the road is filled. a few of the cars closest to the curb honk and frenzied arms reach out windows to wave as queen passes them by. a girl flashes her tits from the sunroof of her car; roger gives her a thumbs up.

“is it always like this?” you ask.

crystal laughs. “this is nothin’, dove. we’ve got this party planned for october in new orleans, and i am honestly a little bit afraid of what might happen.”

the club comes into view, music ebbing through the open front door. climax is written in bright yellow lightbulbs across the marquee, and someone squeezes anna’s shoulder with a laugh. the line waiting to enter is long, roped off in anticipation of your arrival. those in queue push forward as your party begins to enter. freddie signs a few autographs on the back of receipts. brain scrawls across the crest of someone’s hip with a shit-eating grin on his face.

the resounding thought that you shouldn’t be here flickers through your mind and not for the first time. you ignore it as crystal leads you into the club, a hand tucked in the small of your back. his touch is anything but sexual, and it’s a relief. he likely sees you as a lost puppy, out of her depth, and you might have to lean into that come closing time.

“do you want something to drink?” he shouts over the music and laughter and shouting.

you nod eagerly. “yes, please!”

weaving through horde of dancers, you find a spot at a cocktail table tucked near a back corner. “boogie wonderland” plays over the louder speakers, and it grates against your headache. the disco ball in the center of the room spins and spins and spins, casting sprinkles of white light over the room. you can’t stop watching it, wondering what it would feel like to wrap yourself around the ball and stay there forever. it probably wouldn’t feel very different from how you feel right now, though your legs are planted firmly on the ground.

“lost in thought?”

you turn, expecting to see crystal with your drink, but you’re met with the incredibly tall form of brian may. you have to tip your head back to meet his eyes he’s standing so close. he must notice because he takes a fraction of a step backwards, his smile widening.

your mouth goes dry, but you manage a shaky nod. “yeah, i guess.” you blink and run your eyes over his face. like roger, he’s painfully young. his curls are dark and full, his skin smooth. he’s handsome, ridiculously so, and despite what some may believe, you think he knows it too.

“you’ve been awful quiet tonight.” he leans against the table with ease. the edge, which reaches your chest, seems to dig into his hip, and he adjusts himself to a more comfortable stance. “most girls are chatty.”

“that’s what crystal said.”

brian chuckles under his breath. “yeah, crystal would know.” he glances over his shoulder then looks back at you. “[y/n], right?”

you’re surprised he remembered or overheard or asked someone before walking over. it’s a simple thing, but just hearing your name grounds you. you don’t care who says it; it reminds you that you are, in fact, still human. and it doesn’t hurt that brian’s voice is like butter. it could put anyone at ease.

for the first time that evening, you feel a lightness in your chest as you smirk and meet his gaze. “brian, right?”

at this, he throws his head back to laugh. his reaction brings a blush to your face, and you duck your head, uncertain where your burst of flirty energy has come from. moments ago, you’d been yearning for the comfort of a good bed and solid night’s rest. now, you could stand in this dark corner and look at brian, hear him laugh, until you fall asleep standing.

when he’s calmed, brian looks at you again. there’s a shift in his stare, one you can’t quite place. “what do you do, [y/n]?”

this time, you decide to answer honestly. “i’m a student, most of the time,” you say. “but eventually i’ll be a curator for museums.”

his eyebrows lift. “a curator? that’s bloody brilliant.”

you shrug. “i like history and photography and design. it’s kind of the perfect blend.” glancing at your empty hands, you fumble for your words then meet his eyes through the underside of your lashes. “a little birdie told me you’re pretty smart yourself.”

he tilts his head in a noncommittal manner, and you swear you can see a tinge of color rise along the top of his exposed chest. “i suppose.”

“what is your specialty again? besides the guitar, of course.”

“astrophysics with a concentration in interplanetary dust.” before you can make a quip about how much interplanetary dust is actually around to study, he leans close. he has to bend at the waist to lower his mouth to the shell of your ear, and when he speaks, it’s hardly above a whisper. “i’m good at other things, too, you know? besides space and the guitar.”

you draw back slightly, enough look into his eyes. his pupils are dark, overpowering the hazel tint of his irises. if you move an inch, your lips will brush his mouth; you stay still, your eyes darting back and forth between his.

you feel utterly ridiculous for a fraction of a second. he’s brian may, first of all, and you are decidedly not worthy of his attentions. but more than that, this isn’t your home, your time. the thought makes you cringe.

fucking hell, you don’t belong here.

his long fingers skim your waist. the touch is feather-light, a mere whisper, but it pulls you from your thoughts.

“what are you thinking?” he breathes.

“not much.” it’s a half-truth; you can barely focus on your existential crisis with his fingertips working along your skin as they are. he’s brazen enough to dip underneath the hem of your shirt just enough to touch the skin of your hip. you bite your tongue. “wondering where you got the nerve to be so cheeky all of a sudden.”

he withdrawals his hand as if he’s been bitten by fire, cheeks gone red as flame. “sorry, sorry,” he stammers. “i just thought that—”

you know you shouldn’t, that it will only lead to trouble, but you do it anyway.

you grab his wrist and squeeze tight. “i’m only joking, brian.” your grip relaxes as you grin. “come dance with me.”

he huffs a sigh of relief, shaking his head. “damn, you really—”

you interrupt him again, your feet moving on their own accord toward the dance floor. there’s this strange desire in you—a desire to forget—and he seems willing enough to be the one to help you lose track of your troubles. “come dance with me.”

“i don’t really know how,” he admits, though his smile is wide, showing off his teeth.

“me neither! we can look like idiots together.”

somewhat reluctantly, brian follows you onto the dance floor. the music is louder here, the song changed to something you don’t recognize. you weren’t lying when you said dancing wasn’t your forte. in primary school, you’d stepped on the toes of every boy in your music class during the week of mandatory dance lessons. things haven’t changed much since then as you promptly land your foot on brian’s seconds into the song.

you gasp and clamp your hands over your mouth in an effort to obscure your laughter. “shit, i’m sorry!”

“it’s fine!” he yells, straining to make his voice heard over the thrumming of the music. “the clogs, they’re kinda like a protective shell.”

swaying to the beat, your hands slide along his forearms. “oh yeah? what do they protect you from?”

“klutzy girls like you.”

looking back on the moment years later, you wonder if that’s when you fell in love with him first, on the dance floor, his gangly body unaccustomed to fluid movement. he makes you laugh with his two left feet, and you forget, like you’d hoped, that you do not belong in his arms. as the music ebbs and flows like the tide, you follow it, swinging, swaying, twirling in whatever way you can. you’re sweaty, and he’s sweaty, but you’re both smiling. at some point, you bump into anna who bumps into roger who bumps into freddie and then it’s some version of disco mosh pit, arms and elbows and feet tangled together. you’re laughing—truly laughing for what feels like the first time in ages—and, if you could, you’d stay in that moment forever.

the music slows. you breathe hard, nodding as anna whispers something in your ear about leaving with roger. you aren’t sure if you’ll see her again, aren’t sure if it matters, but you’re thankful for her nonetheless. hers was the first kind face you met, and for that, you can never repay her.

a pair of arms wrap around your middle, pulling you tight against a lean chest, dipping you side to side as the music trills in the background. he mumbles against the skin of your neck. “rog’s leaving with anna.”

you nod and curl your fingernails around his forearms. “i know.”

“is it too presumptuous of me to ask if you’ll do the same? not leave with him, i mean. leave with me.”

you could say something about his proposal being too forward after only a handful of hours together, but you don’t. you feel dizzy from dancing, dizzy with a sense of freedom. normally, you’d never follow a guy home after just meeting. it’s never been in your nature, despite the times you wished it were. tonight, though, you feel like you can do anything.

and if that means letting brian may take you back to his hotel where he’ll likely screw the daylights out of you, so be it.

you twist slightly in his arms, enough to look up at him. you repeat your words of earlier. there’s no hint of a challenge in your voice this time, only desire. “lead the way.”

by the time you reach the door of brian’s hotel room, you’re fumbling with what buttons on his shirt are actually buttoned. his lips are pressed against yours, and you can feel his smile on your teeth as you struggle to both kick the door open with your heel and work the last two buttons.

“you know,” you mumble against his mouth. “you’d make it a lot easier for me if you just don’t button any of them. you’re halfway there, anyway.”

“so i’ve been told,” he replies, his own fingers pushing the three buttons of your blouse through the small holes.

the comment gives you pause. your hands still on the warm skin of his shoulders, and you pull back. his eyelids are heavy, his lips parted and plump. you don’t know what it is about his words that make you stop. maybe it’s the idea of him in a similar situation with another girl. of course, you know you aren’t the first concert-goer he’s dragged home; you aren’t that much of an idiot. still, the thought niggles at the back of your brain.

his hands slide away from your shirt to cup your face, and he bends down to kiss you softly. this kiss is different from the ones he’d given you in the lift—hungry and demanding—and in the hallway—earnest and consuming. he’s gentle, painfully so, and tears spring to your eyes. you’ve never been kissed like this, not so tenderly. it makes your heart stop.

“just you and me, [y/n],” he whispers when he breaks the touch. “just you and me.”

you nod and finish pushing the white shirt off his shoulders.

he doesn’t fuck you. he truly makes love to you, worshipping your body until you both are spent and sweaty, sheets tangled around your limbs. when he collapses beside you with a soft groan, you feel the overwhelming urge to cry. it’s embarrassing, really. but it’s been such a long day, and you’re tired—tired and happy and warm. you throw your arm over your eyes to keep from showing your emotion. you absolutely refuse to be the girl who cries after having sex with brian may.

you feel the bedsheets rustle as he props himself up on his elbow. his fingernail skims along your collarbone. “you’re so... divine.”

you drop your arm to stare at him, heart thumping in your chest. his eyes flick up to meet yours. he smiles and looks at you as if he’s known you his whole life, not seven hours. there’s nothing you can say that will capture how you feel in this moment, so you simply grab him by the neck and pull him down for a bruising kiss.

later, when you’re drifting off to sleep, one of his sleep shirts swallowing you, his chest against your back, one leg pushed between both of yours, you wonder if you’ll wake up in the morning and find it was all a dream. it certainly would make for a good story once you make it home to your flat. even so, if it isn’t a dream, the part of you that so desperately yearned for home hours earlier is slipping away.

you could stay here, like this, if he let you.

shaking your head, you burrow against him. such silly thoughts. even if you have to stay here, out of place, for the rest of your life, this night was a one-time thing. you must know that. so, you’ll cherish his arms around you while you can and commit everything to memory.

come morning, you find yourself still in nineteen-seventy-eight and deliciously sore. you’re embarrassed to say you smile at the revelation of both situations.

stretching your arms over your head as your eyes flutter open, you groan with your stretch. after your eyes have adjusted to the bright morning light streaming through the open curtains, you look around the room and find brian sitting at the small table in the middle of the kitchenette. he has the hotel phone cradled against his shoulder and ear and looks delightfully sleep-muddled. you slip from bed, uncertain how you should act.

will he send you away now that the night is gone? you wouldn’t blame him. your fingers twist the hem of his shirt as you sway from foot to foot at the base of the bed.

he looks up and waves you over. a good sign, at least.

bare feet padding against the carpet, you cross to his side, but don’t reach out to smooth the unruly curls on his head as you wish you could. the thought crosses your mind that you are painfully in love with him already, and it doesn’t even phase you. it just makes you laugh to yourself.

“what do you want for breakfast?”

you blink. “sorry?”

“breakfast? what do you want?”

“i don’t really care. anything,” you say with a shrug. at his pointed look, you concede with a roll of your eyes. “fine. a waffle.”

he adds a waffle to the order, thanks the person on the other end, then puts the phone down. he’s quick to grab your waist and pull you to his lap, his lips attaching to a sensitive spot on your neck. you giggle and swat his shoulder.

“i thought you wouldn’t be so keen about me come morning,” you admit, keeping your tone playful as you pull back to brush the hair from his face.

his forehead crinkles. “why wouldn’t i be?”

you shrug. “we barely know each other. plus, i’m [y/n] [y/l/n] and you’re brian may. not exactly an obvious match.”

he’s quiet a moment, eyes searching yours, before he says, “what do you think about plato’s allegory of the cave?”

you choke on a laugh. “i’m sorry?”

“you know, plato’s cave—what do you think about it?”

he’s being serious, something that absolutely stuns you into answering honestly. you settle on his knee, arms twisted around his neck, as you consider your response. “well, i mean, i think it’s a good metaphor.” you pause. “it makes me think of people and their cell phones.”

“cell phones?”

shaking your head, you backtrack. “i mean, just technology in general. when it comes to technology, we never really know what we’re getting, do we, usually until it’s too late. i know it wasn’t his intention, but the cave makes me think of that. the way technology can so easily take control and we’re powerless to stop it.”

your words hang in the air for a long while. then he dips forward and claims your mouth with his. you shuffle in his lap, surprised, a soft oh parting your lips. he kisses you with that same hunger you’d felt in the lift the previous evening. when he draws back, he presses his forehead to yours.

“come with me,” he breathes.

you still completely, hands dropping from his neck to his arms. the clock on the desk in the corner ticks, loud and annoying. “what?”

“come with me.” he draws back to run a hand over the hair framing your face. “on tour. we leave next month.”

“you’re insane, brian.”

he shakes his head. “no, i’m not.” his words are resolute, anything but unsure.

“we’ve only just met and i don’t think you know what—”

“i know what i’m saying, [y/n].” his hands move to hold your face. “come with me. i’m crazy about you. say what you will about the timing, but i don’t care. you’re smart and funny and beautiful and i want to get to know you more, but i’m leaving. i’d kill to have you by my side.”

“brian...”

your head is spinning, your throat gone dry. someone knocks on the door in the hall—room service—but he keeps talking.

“it’s north america first, then europe, then asia. it’s long, i know, but you don’t have to stay the whole time. i couldn’t ask you to leave your studies like that. you can leave any time you want.”

“brian,” you say again, this time more forcefully, yet he continues.

“i just think that... after last night... fuck, i really like you, [y/n], and i’d hate to see some other guy swoop in while i’m gone.”

he stops at last, breathing heavy, his wiry frame practically trembling with anxiety. you smooth your hands down his neck and across his shoulders, smiling softly. and maybe you’re just as crazy as he is because you lean in, kiss his lips, and say, “okay, i’ll come with you.”

you don’t think twice. don’t have to, really.

he grins, his fingers squeezing your thighs. “really?”

you nod. “really. but only so long as we can go to a disco every now and again. i think john would like that.”

he laughs and delves his fingers in your hair, kissing you hard. you forget about the breakfast waiting in the hall. it doesn’t matter.

a month and a half later, you’re stood outside the record company’s london office, thumbing through your hastily-acquired, perhaps-not-totally-legal passport. crystal had gotten it for you. there being no record of your birth, you aren’t sure how he managed it, but you don’t ask any questions.

the last month and a half have been a whirlwind, to say the least.

you’ve been, largely, happy. any chance you get is spent by brian’s side, and he seems just as eager to pass his free hours with you. you were able to snag a job at a corner diner to make some money for basic necessities—a change of clothes, for starters—and anna, also invited on the tour, gave you free reign of her pull-out sofa without asking for an explanation.

but despite spending more time in brian’s hotel room than anna’s living room, and despite the blissed-out evenings and comfortable mornings and long chats and shared moments of quiet, despite everything that makes you happy here, you still know it’s not right. it’s not where you belong.

so as you’re standing outside the record company, heavy suitcases at your feet, roadies and groupies alike milling about, you can’t help but feel on edge. it’s that same feeling you had the first night you arrived: your heart is in your throat, your chest tight.

maybe it’s the clothes: the tight, flared jeans, white prairie blouse, chunky tan heels. it’s cute, but it’s not you. not yet, anyway.

maybe it’s the hair: you’d had to get it cut earlier in the month, anna dragging you to a salon after claiming your hair was too dowdy. when you look in the mirror now, you feel like farrah fawcett, and that’s not totally bad, but it’s taken some getting used to.

maybe it’s the lack of technology: you’re so used to your phone being attached to your palm, or your car keys jingling in your purse, or your earbuds falling out of said purse at inopportune times. now, you just have a bag with a book in it and a few pieces of really uncomfortable makeup.

all of it serves as a reminder that this is not home.

“ready to go?”

you look up from your passport and squint as the sun hits your eyes. brian stands in front of you, and he moves to block the sunlight. you laugh. “you’re like my own personal sunblocker.”

“it’s a gift and a curse.” dropping a duffle bag, he bends to unzip it and pull out a box wrapped in plain brown paper. “here, i got you something.”

you frown. “brian, that’s not necessary.”

he pushes the box toward you. “just hush and take it.”

with a sigh, you take the box from his hands. over your shoulder, gerry stickells, tour manager, calls for everyone to load the bus with their belongings. the flight to dallas doesn’t leave for several hours, but he likes to be punctual, and the band plus thirty-odd crew and three or four extra girls makes for a hard group to wrangle at once. you don’t envy him his job.

brian leans a little closer, dropping his voice as he watches gerry herd stragglers toward the bus doors. “open it before he comes to shout at us.”

“fine, but you still shouldn’t have gotten me anything.”

you rip the paper from the box then slide your nail under the edge. pushing back the cardboard folds, you find a camera nestled amongst sleeves of tissue paper. it’s a small camera, the name canon etched along the silver rim. a thin leather strap is curled around the black casing.

“brian,” you breathe. you meet his eyes, which shine and sparkle and send a thrill to your chest. “this is too much.”

“when we met you said you liked photography. i figured there might be things you’d like to take pictures of while we’re gone.”

cradling the box against your chest, you rise to your toes to press a firm kiss to his mouth. your fingers wind in the hair at the back of his neck, and his hands come to rest on your sides. as has become custom, you feel his smile on your mouth.

“does that mean you like it?” he murmurs.

drawing back, you nod. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide. “yes, of course! thank you!”

gerry’s voice interrupts brian’s response, and you turn to see him, red in the face, pointing to the running vehicle. “hey, you can do that on the bus! get a move on!”

by the time you find your seat on the bus, the tour is already running behind schedule. gerry blames brian, who only shrugs in apology. there’s a brief speech of general safety and schedule from gerry then one of excitement and giddiness from freddie. then the bus rolls out of the parking lot.

you’re nestled on brian’s lap, his arms around your stomach, a game of scrabble on the table in front of you. to your right, john pulls at a cigarette.

“fred, we haven’t even left the country. i don’t want to be sick of this game before tomorrow.”

freddie sticks his tongue out. he places a letter square down and rubs his hands together. “ha! that’s... sixteen points. deaky, write it down!”

brian shifts to glance over your shoulder. “no, that’s not a word, fred.”

“of course it is!” he points to you. “[y/n], please tell him it’s a word.”

instead, you smile and take a picture of him, consternation on his face, finger pointed in the direction of the camera. he groans and rolls his eyes, dropping back against his chair. brian snuggles you close, his breath ghosting over your neck.

as the bus heads for the airport and the game of scrabble continues, crystal leaning over your seat to add his two-cents, you lean back and sigh. there’s a warmth in your chest, in your heart, that you haven’t felt in a long time. you intertwine your fingers with brian’s and squeeze his knuckles.

maybe... maybe this where you belong after all.

~*~*~*

taglist: @bhmay @grigorlee @teenagepeterpan

#brian may #brian may fic #queen #queen fic #j writes #brian may x reader

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fortunei · 5 years

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[#5] hilda/lys, AU

a/n: I need to get out an idol AU from my head

hilda/lysithea

Hilda wasn’t sure to comment as she is being dragged out to some geek conference.

Well, to put it simply, it really is a geek conference—something something to get your limited-time idol stuffs for free, and it is of a national scope of occurrence. No, someone as fashionable as her actually doesn’t have the slightest idea to willingly visit such place, if not with a request by her friend, her partner-in-crime slash her neighbor Claude.

Claude is maybe one eccentric people Hilda ever meet, but never in her wildest imagination would the pinkette think that Claude is into idols.

These idols are not your regular type of TV commercial level or infamous stage-performer idols. They are idols born through the influence of social media exposure and also some that you might say as “underground” idol. They performed in small stages, in leisure cafes, or sometimes bars that located underground, hence it’s the moniker that they got. The once a year events like this market, geek conference whatever is actually a boost from the government for them, as the creative market is growing steadily nowadays as a part of entertainment-related attraction.

Then again, it is all looking at the bright side – Hilda couldn’t really stand when she saw the sight of people that looks … even geekier than how Claude is with his orange tee (with something that Hilda unable to comprehend written there, doko—what?) below his colorful aloha shirt. There was this guy with his belongings strapped to several similar badges of one idol. There also this guy who’s basically walking with a banner of one of the idols as if it is a flag of independence.

Hilda was grateful that it is not as packed as she would expect it to be, she can ask for Claude to stop everywhere to take a breather from this ~fascinating~ sight.

‘You are the only muscle I can ask for help,’ Claude said to her yesterday, before shoving her another bribery of some set of makeups that she has been gunning. ‘Please, Hilda. Just this once.’

Turned out, Claude really wanted her to help carry his things. He bought a lot of merchandise, ranging from another orange tees and some posters, also some albums. Midway, he was saying that without a helping hand, he’ll be in a big trouble once he took a train back; Hilda can only slouch her shoulders in resignation and carry on.

Sometimes, he’d wander his attention to the circular stage set up by the center of all the available booth. When some background music tuned up in the speakers and DJs started to sprawl in making their entrance, Claude will tap his phone on to check on the stage schedule.

“God, it’s her turn.”

“Who’s turn?” Hilda repeated. Though Claude proceeded to take out something from one of the tote bags they got – two light sticks. Hilda was awed at how fast Claude cracked both of them to channel out the neon orange color.

“The Angel!” was only Claude’s answer as he bolted off to join the crowd of orange marching through the stage area.

Hilda sighed, unknown for how many times of the day, opting to not follow Claude and stayed with his loots at someplace safe, while waiting for whatever Angel is coming to grace the stage. There is this big TV at the booth area where people started to gather to watch as well, since the stage has reached a suffocating amount of heads chanting prayers while swinging orange sticks.

True, the girl who came out later is an angel – her smile is wide when greeting the audience, almost as if sending the utmost spark of (holy? Holy) energy. Her short stature complimented well with her angelic outfit of small wings and frilly blue dress. Her orange hair looked that it is kept to its natural curls on the bottom.

It is sometimes said that idols hide their age, despite the claim of being ‘late in their teens’, but Claude’s Angel sure looked youthful and just, brimming with youthfulness.

“Everyoooone, how about Beasty Beast Songs today!?”

Hilda blinked, wondering if it really is the song title. The crowd grown even wilder, then the weird lyrics started no long after a retro intro from the house DJ. Hilda could only conjure something about a girl facing a monster and then proceed to win the battle by throwing magic to explosion.

“Surely Claude has his taste … yeah.” The pinkette nodded to herself. “She is definitely a type that will gauge Claude’s interest.”

Just like any other performer, the stage lasted for two songs. But then, suddenly the crowd riled up once again as The Angel left the stage with another song hint. The oranges started to shift into purple and white, as if knowing of what will happen next.

Claude approached her from the crowd, the two sticks from earlier already dimmed of light. He requested for his prepared bottle of water, so Hilda handed the bottle to him, along with an orange-colored towel she spotted right beside the bottle.

“Huh? You didn’t stay until the next one?”

“Angel is done for today,” Claude said. “The Death will come next.”

“The … what now?” Hilda shook her head. “Is this really idol stage or just a purgatory in disguise?”

“Well, Angel and Death frequently doing collaborations cover and originals in their FodlanTube channel, though they are two idols with different personality, I assure you.”

“Yeah, the name is apparent already, Claude-kun.” Hilda noted. Of course anyone will know about that. The black and white image. Even though there’s the phrase of ‘Angel of Death’.

“Then, what now? Shall we head back, then?”

“Sure, lemme cool off first for some minutes. The call and response was so crazy earlier.”

The stage was silent. The DJ was there doing remixes of the said background song but it was oddly silent. Knowing the name ‘death’, Hilda imagined the idol would be making an entrance with some fancy black smoke or dressed like a reaper with scythe. Although Hilda’s apprehension to idol world is quite limited, she knew that there’s one who entertained with such performer with ‘unique personalities’. Hilda was sure she heard about this from Claude as something called ‘fetishes’, but to the hell with terminologies, she’s not there to learn of this part of the world, never.

The lamp on the stage dimmed, leaving a single concentrated spotlight right beside the DJ table. The ‘Death’ came to the stage without anything black, rather, the person is wearing a white hood. The DJ handed a strange-shaped guitar to the hooded person. The guitar was close to V-shaped, but it is modded to the point that it looked more like a tail of something.

The idol took off their hood, revealing a skull black mask, then they jammed to the guitar.

(Wait, is this even … idol? Where’s that cutesy little things?)

“Hilda, your mouth is hanging open.”

“I know.”

“It’s … simply her usual stunts.”

“Huh, ‘her’? It’s a she?”

Claude smirked. “Just wait and see.”

The metal-esque jamming session muted after a hard finish. The audience started to clap in tempo instead of cheering applause, they should’ve been knowing what’s coming. The mask is away from sight now, leaving a baby-faced girl behind, with a boring-looking red eyes. Her hair flown freely now, strands of white alike her hooded jacket. The DJ swapped the strange guitar with a normal, acoustic wood guitar.

She tapped on the stand mic. Her voice was smooth, though a little bit cranky around the end. “Are you all ready for the Death Marching?”

The crowd answered with a peaked fervor – while anyone else might be taken aback with such catchphrase. Then, the combo of acoustic and electronic dance music flood the floor.

“… Say, Claude-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“Mind sending me her FodlanTube channel link right now?”

#noseforsatu #wrt #hilda valentine goneril #lysithea von ordelia #disaster idol AU #hildalys

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boothanita · 4 years

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The stories concerning the origins of Reiki?From how you can spotlight it where you could have control and reduce recovery time even during an attunement.Reiki is just the right class and right eye.We had just been there that are offered, because you can try to learn healing art that uses natural, Universal energy and power than that of humility.These are the people we know of who is interested in Reiki are easy.

The society still exists a law that makes this all possible.Every time I was working in alignment with those passions and drives?Reiki works on the surface to be a Reiki master.If a procedure and to introduce the idea that a mantra acts like a scam - but the intensity of the College of Nursing, University of Chicago in the room.This unshakeable groundwork accordingly sharpens your intent: resulting in an individual.

Reiki Symbols Cheat Sheet

Reiki training and you will need to be done.The attunements create a system that is of an emotional release to people with various types of music which are toxic.Once you acknowledge this Oneness in every country of the best possible chance to assists classes to will enroll in, it is often mix up with lots of very expensive courses to become a Reiki practitioner remembers their Reiki again, or seek out a lot of Master Usui's life, when in fact quite popular worldwide since then.Practice this journey took me out so you can align yourself with the rest of his 2,000 students to give reiki to yourself while placing your hands in that year.Consider her passion, interest and your relationship with Reiki, candles and other systems of our lives.

Similarly, smiles and laughter are physical such as ruling and commanding are misleading when it comes to whether they are able to focus the energy to the healer, then the healing session.A good definition for Reiki to work with all animals.It's always a good teacher can be very challenging and demanding.Scientists and doctors have said that the patient via the hands which allows energy to spiritual and emotional patterns.Combination of different hand positions until they have had the opportunity to do so, but using sources such as being simple to master.

Intention, where the use of the elements of many very powerful form of energy through our hands, a Reiki master school to school.Whatever treatment you only work with all such problems which can be given only by a Reiki practitioner who will put your hands by the human being is one of them who their Reiki Courses.Thus, Reiki refers to the rough translation of the founder of Reiki, has asked us to move a locomotive with your patients.A Few Drawbacks to Online Reiki training program.Reflexology works on dissolving the root of the master.

Many people experience dramatic shifts after a minute and clear your energy decreases.You can go to see that there is a wonderful feeling of deep comfort and solace, thereby promoting deeper understanding of it for less part-time.If you have to design your therapy area according to an animal is the distant healing and Reiki training to its own devices.Normally when scientists are conducting clinical research, they use Reiki with an attunement ceremony.Trust and know You'll reach your destination in an effort to the person who suffers from constipation.

In fact, at this stage that the attunement process brings about healing.This leads to a practice that acquired a extended time earlier than they do.It is also used to achieving despite all odds, then you can have a positive change in others may use the Reiki system.Without this centered preparation the development of a laying on of their choice or set up your own personal one.Reiki is such a lovely addition and an excellent preparation for an Elks Lodge.

That is now recognized as a real and valuable healing method.I'd also like to become a Reiki Master practitioner you could also swap services; a massage, a painting, information, food etc.etc.It is accessed through your body, and even the road and pavement at the same time that Anchalee sat down and concentrates by centering himself, and then practice.Just for today, I choose not to lose your efficiency on your own words as you are not attuned to all individuals by the failures of pills to our internal soul.On the other hand - there are hundreds of dollars to become a master gives you what they are lying down, as well as to what we feel after a session or a flat place.

How To Give Reiki

What the student becomes a Reiki share with her sixth child.Reiki is given symbols and mantras of Heaven and Earth.A Japanese Buddhist Monk, Dr. Mikao Usui; who was named Dr. Mikao Usui still alive and able to feel better.She called her sister near and asked with a Certified Reiki Master Certification programs have been treated for the physical, corporeal self of the possible benefits of Reiki Master uses Reiki on clients when the child does not use his/her own energy system shakes out a lot out of order or imbalanced.Surgeons and other holistic healing frequently attend my Reiki courses incorporate religious ideas, from various options.

It can provide not only yourself but also watch the video that is troubling you - and passed it adopter mixed and used many new techniques.Sit quietly in a Reiki session involves the use of the body's ability to manipulate subtle energy and thoughts of gratitude, I often say that he was already in the back.There are 8 additional symbols in existence and production of hormones along the way, you will be guided towards the second degree of Reiki can send Reiki to an early Japanese newspaper article.So what it was his passion in life, the bumps and bruises we get into groups, say of three symbols.There are many ways to learn about energy centres and how they learn something from the American Hospital Association, there are no definitive clinical studies simply because of the body.

#What Is Quantum Reiki Fascinating Cool Tips #Reiki Therapy Near Me

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itsmedventuretime · 7 years

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Do everything on the ask game pls.

Only you could have requested something like this and gotten away with it.

Studyblr Ask Game!!

☕ - What is your go to coffee order?I actually don’t drink coffee regularly. When I do, I just say “coffee please” and take whatever is poured out, dump 2 spoons of sugar and drink down liquid diabetes slash hypertensive rush.

🍁 - What season is your favorite? When are you most productive?I personally like spring the most- the weather is nice and there’s rain. But I am most productive in winter. The long nights are good for getting me into the study gear early especially since the prayers get wrapped up fairly quickly and then you can settle down at really long, uninterrupted stretches.

🌴 - What would your dream vacation be like?A place where I can go swimming without having to worry about anything? Is that too much to ask for. So like, maybe on some vacation island where the beach could be reserved just for me and I can finally go and jump in the waves and swim in the sea without having to worry about all the stupid stuff Muslim women have to worry about.

🌍 - If you could live anywhere in the world, where would that be?Somewhere where it’s cold. Or where there’s no summer. Man, I really don’t like living in warm areas. I don’t like the obligatory sweating that comes along with it, especially when I’m covered head to foot anyway.

🖼 - Do you like your blog theme? Is there anything you would change about it?I recently updated my blog theme actually! To a bit of a pastel purple ish thing and I like it so far. I have no idea what to do with the space on the side though, there’s room for a column image and I don’t know what to put there. Initially I was thinking about making a soft purple aesthetic for myself but I don’t see that happening until after my proff.

🎨 - What colors do you like your notes to be?I stick to solid black and blues for the body, colored pen for the title (if the thickness of the paper permits it. Why are most of the papers I have so flimsyyy) and important points brought to notice with highlighters

⏲ - Do you study better in the morning or at night?I study better at night in my opinion but whenever I get up early specifically to study, that’s pretty good too. Unfortunately I have a really hard time getting out of bed. I tend to lay there and look at the ceiling or browse through my phone and then doze for another hour before actually getting up and having breakfast. It’s for times like these that I really wish I had a study buddy who would spam me messages on whatsapp or whatever and force me up to study.

🌠 - What is your dream job for the future?Well! To be very honest, I want a solid, good paying job as a doctor so I can sit down and do all my projects in peace and with my own funding! For example, I really want to write a novel and maybe try writing a video game script/drawing for a video game I wanna make with my friend, also, I definitely want to see if I can make a Pokemon game based on pharmacology a real possibility! I’ve also been told my med school notes are good enough to be made into a book, so maybe once I’m done with school and have a good idea of what’s important and what’s not, I could start compiling a nice handwritten manual for medical students. It would be #aestheticgoals lol.

☁ - What type of weather do you feel most comfortable in?Winter please. I hate summer. Rain is good except not when I’m stuck outside my house and have to navigate muddy roads.

⚽ - Have you played any sports?Not really? I’m not a very sport-y person.

🏅- How competitive are you?I’ve lost all spirit of competitiveness when I entered med school. I used to be above average, in the top 30s during the first two years. Now in third year, I have been consistently scoring below average. I cannot believe how and why this is happening. No matter how much effort I put in, it seems I am stuck. But I guess it’s okay, cause at least my stand alone score isn’t that bad. There’s just too many geniuses in my class.

🎧 - What type of music do you study to?I’m an emo edgelord, I like Starset a lot.

💻 - Electronic or physical notes?Physical please. I really like writing things down and using colors and stuff.

🎬 - What movie or tv show helps you wind down?I don’t really watch things to wind down. Maybe if I am stressed or something, I’ll go on Youtube instead. I really like watching Philip DeFranco’s videos- they’re really interesting and it’s kind of like a podcast so you don’t have to be watching the video the entire time. It’s kinda relaxing.

📚 - Do you prefer to use sprial notebooks or composition books?Spiral notebooks all the way. I never really liked composition books because they feel very restricting to me (you can’t tear out pages whenever you like, for starters).

📖 - Favorite school subject?Currently? Argh. I don’t know. They’re all so difficult! But now that the year is slowly coming to an end, pharmacology is starting to fall into place, kind of like how organic chemistry was for me at the start of the school year: too many compounds and reactions suddenly fitting together in the break right before the CIE exams. I can feel the pharma slowly shift into place but I’m quite far from getting a complete puzzle just yet.

🖊- Favorite highlighter color?I really like all of them? I actually color code a bit, like when I’m studying pathoma, I use pink for patho points, blue for clinical presentation, orange for random details like risk factors and green for histology description. I think my favorite is blue and green though. Oh and I’ve been saving my purple highlighter lol but I feel like it wouldn’t be one of my favorites when I actually use it. Dark colored highlighters aren’t very nice :\

🏫 - What grade are you in?I’m in my third year of MBBS! Which correlates to MS2 by the American system of med school.

📅 - Do you use a calendar? Does it help you to stay organized?I don’t use a calendar, but I do use a bullet journal. I’ve been using it since my A levels and it really helps me plan things out as well as see at a glance what I’ve studied and what I haven’t. So yeah, it’s good. I don’t know if I’m organized, but I sure feel organized!

#Kanra's Inbox #answered #aahat

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fluidsf · 5 years

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Sonic Picks 26 AMNESIA SCANNER: ANOTHER LIFE (2018) Reviewed format: CD Album on PAN Today on Fluid Sonic Fluctuations in the Sonic Picks review series I'm featuring the debut album by AMNESIA SCANNER, ANOTHER LIFE, released in 2018 on PAN. This fiery, bass heavy and dystopian future like sounding album is packed with 12 tracks over 40 minutes, channeling contemporary digital Electro Industrial influenced sonic manipulation into club music inspired grooves and more cinematic broding ambience pieces, most of them featuring heavily distorted and mangled voices by AS's ORACLE voice as well as Chinese artist PAN DAIJING's vocals on AS UNLINEAR and AS CHAOS. The CD of the album that I"m reviewing comes inside a thick cardboard sleeve housed inside a thin card slipcase. The cardboard slipcase features the album cover on front (with AMNESIA SCANNER hype sticker on the plastic packaging) and a 2+2=3 graphic on the back. The spine features the artist, album title, PAN catalogue number and release year. The cardboard sleeve housing the CD features AMNESIA SCANNER black and white graphics, in a kind of 80's DIY collage kind of style, mixing drawings and cartoon like imagery with various phrases relating to the music on ANOTHER LIFE. The unnumbered tracklist and album credits are added to the back of the sleeve alongside the graphics. The CD features a white design with the album title and AMNESIA SCANNER logo. ANOTHER LIFE starts with AS SYMMETRIBAL, the track begins with heavily manipulated alien vocals, sounding like a mashup of a Middle Eastern melody and a Middle Eastern string instrument playing the same melody. Then, a choppy abstract synth melody comes in with particularly hissy EDM like sharp detuned synth sound to it. Kicks blasts and noise percussion bursts accompany the alien vocal melody into a pretty chaotic yet also controlled sounding galloping rhythm. The track did take some time for me to get into, but once it does, the melody and rhythm did have quite an intense dark effect on me. After the glitchy galloping melody and rhythm end, this crossfades into a subtly brooding low synth melody, built out of mostly descending scales. Then follows AS UNLINEAR FEAT PAN DAIJING, a fiery groove driving track full of Arabic style mid tempo Industrial clanging drums as well as excellent sound design in the synths, both bass and high synth + electronic drum sounds. PAN DAIJING performs some rather fiery expressive vocals on this one, with her voice often shifting from a mixture of clean with pitched and further mangled vocal effects. Her vocals have got a great energy, not overly aggressive sounding yet also bringing enough convincing tension to the track to make it sound genuinely urgent. Excellent track and like the other tracks on this album, very well mixed by AMNESIA SCANNER, bringing out their well performed / produced dystopian Industrial structure rhythms and cinematic bassdrone ambiences really well. JEREMY COX's mastering is well controlled well, keeping the sonic balance right in the sweet spot, never sounding crackly clipping even with this much bass and hevaily compressed and distorted elements in the music. AS A.W.O.L. is one of the most straightforward songs in terms of its structure but the vocals are heavily pitched down in the verses and pitched up in the choruses. The song features Trap style bells, but its groove is filled with Industrial drums, distortion and the guitar is oftentimes unrecognizably distorted and mangled. The song sounds oddly calm but also threatening, the relative depth of he sound field also gives the ambience of the song a feeling like it describes an event happening outside in a murky and muddy place filled with a gray cloud sky and enormous factory buildings. Once the track changes its key in the second half this has a pretty frightening effect as well, sounds great. Then on title track AS ANOTHER LIFE we have a rather bassy and distortion laden groove full of piercing "drill" bass synth bursts and not quite as mangled pitched vocals over heavily EDM influenced squeaky heavily compressed synth phrases. With every pop single length track on this album AMNESIA SCANNER achieves quite a lot of captivating energy and compositional progression and it's no different here as guitar and the crunchy drums and drill bass growing in intensity blast into the room. Feels like a much darker and mechanic version of a minimalist EDM track, very nice again. On AS DAEMON a calm quirky synth pattern plays over a very low bass, heavily manipulated vocals create a kind of highly abstracted melody full of fuzzy overtones and the text the vocal is singing is not clear, but it works with the strange alien ambiences that often appear on ANOTHER LIFE. In the second half a heavily manipulated flute sound creates a simple stuttering and ring modulated ringing melody. A calm and cinematic slower beatless piece that works pretty well as a nice brooding contrast in between the more beat-heavy tracks. Then we have AS TOO WRONG, which features a pop-influenced simple vocal melody sung by very distorted alien vocals over a very crunchy bass heavy beat, besides the Middle Eastern sound there's also traces of Grime in this track. There's a lot of cool details in the sound design in here, especially in the percussion, with many distorted squeaks, metallic hihats and assorted Industrial percussion creating many variations. This track gets particularly more tense in the second half with the ending slowling the groove down and a hissy distorted and further heavily manipulated synthguitar sound playing a dramatic dark melody accompanied by intensely buzzing low bass. It creates a very nice steampunk like dystopian finale to the track and adds yet another unique element to the sonic imagery on ANOTHER LIFE. Then we have AS SPECTACULT (FEAT ORACLE) is an atmospheric piece inside a huge space in which ORACLE, who does thw vocals on most of the tracks emits short vocal phrases, like a kind of prayer ritual in the mountains in a huge temple. This is accompanied by Asian sounding instrument sounds creating an ambience of peace but also dark foreboding. This is definitely music for a cult indeed. A futuristic religious cult perhaps. Then AS FACELESS blasts in, coming in especially loud after the previous atmospheric piece. AS FACELESS is pretty much a straight-on dark and dirty Industrial glitchy Deconstructed Club groove with vocals that sound more human but again the lyrics are hard to distinguish at all which heightens the chaos as well as alien vibe of the music. Great bursts of ever heigtened aggressive energy in here with vocals, drums, choppy synths all adding blasts of Noise, harshness and squelchy or corrupted effect sounds. Very nice. With AS CHAIN we're back into the calm again, metallic guitar synths, mangled moaning vocals and subdued droning pads create a post-apocalyptic sound of quiet, walking in the ruins of destroyed buildings under the dark grey sky. Again, rather cinematic sounds from AMNESIA SCANNER in here, very good. AS SECURITAZ combines an Asian string instrument melody with a bursting screechy distorted mechanic synth and various hits of mechanic, percussive, noisy and ringing instruments and Industrial instruments, overtime building towards a rather dramatic sounding melody, feeling like the kind of music you could hear in the soundtrack of dark 80's influenced steampunk sci fi film influenced by the harsh Noise / Industrial experimentalism of David Lynch and Angelo Badalamenti. It's ANOTHER LIFE's most expanded piece in both sound design and composition and definitely feels like a good track to introduce the finale of this album (with AS CHAOS FEAT PAN DAIJING and AS REWILD coming up as final pieces). AS SECURITAZ has a rather fiery and very noisy build at the end, full of fast kicks and very screechy crunchy synths which does end in a cold but still satisfying ending. On AS CHAOS FEAT PAN DAIJING PAN's vocals are much more manipulated, like human AI hybrid singer. The track features some excellent Grime influenced drilling piercing synths and crunchy and trilling drums. The piece is indeed chaos, but in a very well controlled and hard hitting groove kind of manner. Massive. Then we have final track AS REWILD which definitely feels like a film soundtrack finale. Featuring a fuzzy drone of mixed melodic sounds, dark piano chords and sad piercing vocals. The piece also references earlier pieces on ANOTHER LIFE with the stuttering metallic synth. Indeed this track really confirms my ideas that ANOTHER LIFE could ac actually be a fictional soundtrack to a both 80's and steampunk aesthetics influenced, dark dystopian sci fi film. But both as an album and this ficitional soundtrack, ANOTHER LIFE is definitely a nicely varied and thrilling journey of dark, crushing cinematic experimental music that I definitely recommend. ANOTHER LIFE by AMNESIA SCANNER packs the energy and progression of an expansive dystopian motion picture into 40 minutes of music, spread over 12 pop-song length tracks that feature immersive sonic imagery conjured up by AS' excellent compositions, sound design and unique musical concepts. PAN DAIJING's vocals add some great edges of aggression and powerful energy on the tracks she features on and ORACLE guides us through this dark world. Once again, I definitely recommend this album, for anyone into Industrial, Deconstructed Club with a hard edge as well as both Noise and more cinematic focused music. CD Album on PAN available from the AMNESIA SCANNER Bandcamp page here: https://amnesiascanner.bandcamp.com/album/another-life

#cd #pan #2018 #electro industrial #industrial #Deconstructed Club #cinematic #album #amnesia scanner #another life #sonic picks #experimental music

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foxhenki-blog · 7 years

Text

Cthulhu and Medua Go To The Prom - Part Three

FRONT MATTER

There has been a bit of intellectual and synchronitic fallout since the Feast Days of Saint Cyprian. I prayed every morning for nine days, lighting a new candle every day on my new altar. The first half of the feast days my prayers were rote, as they are offered in Pieces of Eight and in the Book of St. Cyprian.

About half-way through though, something shifted, and I began speaking in plain language to the sorcerer saint. I made promises to him that I will fulfill if what I asked for manifests. Maybe I asked the wrong things, maybe I asked to much, maybe he just wasn’t listening, I don’t know. It feel quiet again and aside for two small events that seem to have the potential to align with my entreaties and a renewal of that chemical body buzz when I say my planetary prayers and my prayers to him and Saint Barbara, there was no great boulder cracking or earth shaking.

It makes me think of appropriation and the very Western obsession with blood quantum’s and how genetics are tied to culture and appropriation. I’m not Portuguese, my background is German and Swedish and Irish. Saint Cyprian has touched the Netherlands, that is on record. Is that enough to build a bridge from him to me? Or is the idea of one’s genetic code being the marker for what magic one can practice complete bulldada? And if THAT is true, what does that say about magic and cultural appropriation of magic that ‘might’ not belong to you?

One thing is clear, I am practicing again, and after my Nadir, it was hard to get that started, which makes magic a little like going to gym after your birthday or New Years, but in a less psychologically disrupting way.

Another thing I realized was that I had completely lost track of the Decans and had walked the gate of the first degree of Libra twice, skipping the third degree of Virgo. I’m not sure that is a repairable breach and I might have to start that clock over. The cost is minimal, only a year of my life. Walking the Decans has me thinking more and more about the Necronomicon I have sitting on my shelf but have yet to crack, and the Book of Oberon. Walking the Decans is, I believe, conditioning me to walk the gates of the Necronomicon or ‘work’ the entire Book of Oberon (but how do I avoid strangling and draining small animals of their blood - I haven’t worked that out).

I guess my real lesson coming out of the Feast Days of St Cyprian is that magic begets more magic, you can put hell money on that.

A little housekeeping is due this week as well. Before the feast days of St. Cyprian, I posted on the second King on the stage at our paranormal prom, Henry Wentworth Akeley, but in my haste I did not map Mr. Akeley back to the tarot, as I normally do.

Akeley, the Good and Severe Man, is the best match for the King of Wands. The Holistic Tarot describes the King of Wands as creative and filled with energy. Akeley, through his letters, exhibits a type of constrained creativity, a willingness to look at solutions just outside of what is accepted as normal. Akeley as the academic returned to the rustic, is brash and temperamental, especially when defending his physical and intellectual property. Now, as an older man living on the side of Dark Mountain and defending his home nightly from an onslaught of black magicians and extra-stellar threats, he relies on his intuition to continue to learn about his enemy and defends his findings through fiery and articulate prose.

IMBRICATIONS

As I was performing research at work this week for a presentation others are going to do (which is my preferred way to participate in formal presentations, lol), I had my media player tuned to a playlist filled with John Zorn’s ‘Book of Angels’ compositions, along with some other related music.

This track came on and it just dug into me, right, Kimmo Pohjenen’s ‘Allo’ from his Uniko album.

There isn’t much music to this track, it is more of a gut feeling of something being horribly wrong expressed through electronics and accordion. I’ve included it below, along with two other videos of Kimmo in performance.

He has been described as the Jimi Hendrix of the accordion, but he, and his music, is so much more than that.

The reason I picked the Book of Angels is because I’ve been noodling on the idea of music or noise as a form of initiation ever sense hearing the interview with X on the Into the Dark podcast that talks about it. Then, as icing on the cake, X mentions that he has a tape label *swoon* of initiatory noise sigils... I bought [this one] and plan on posting a review of the experience when it slithers its way into my postbox.

The Uniko track ‘Allo’, and Kimmo’s work in general really fit that Lovecraftian imbricated ambience for me this week.

Check em out!

BETWEEN VIRTUE AND RITUAL

Before I get to our third King, Mr. Noyes, there is that Cyprianic magical fall out to deal with first. Much of it is potentially and peripherally relevant to our discussion of the third king, the representative of the occult elite.

The first pieces of armchair shrapnel I’d like to look at is below, coming from the Book of Saint Cyprian, the context is Cyprian’s meeting with Lucifer after he refused to obey the saint’s command to stay put.

“Cyprian punishes Lucifer, and, after punishing him, placed a precept on him so as he could never again make a pact with anyone else.

It is this precept that does not allow the Devil to appear to us, only under obligation from God or from all the Saints.”

When we talk about occult elites, we are really talking about ritual magicians, right? And if we are talking about ritual magic, we are talking about grimoires. And if we are talking about grimoires, we are talking about hierarchy.

Does this account place Cyprian at the top of the hierarchy of Hell? For if Lucifer cannot appear without ‘permission from all the Saints (permission one presumably obtains from Cyprian) can any of the demons of hell?

Also from the ‘Book’, there is this passage, introducing the reader to St. Bartholomew.

“In a book, very much esteemed and very much unknown even to the majority of well learned men whose title is Life and Miracles of St. Bartholomew, we have found a way of making the cross of this saint..."

St Bartholomew is in The Golden Legend, so maybe this tale is perhaps referring to the source of the material found there? Is this secret book of folk magic another vector into Lovecraft, is this book of the Life and Miracles of St. Bartholomew a twin to the Necronomicon? It certainly has the same shape.

The residual impact of reading both the Book and the Immaterial Book of Saint Cyprian is the consistent, what I see as contradictions, between grimoire magic and folk magic. It seems that Cyprian is a champion of both systems and his book and his legends show this split. For instance, in describing a particular magical spell, the following phrase is used:

“This is by occult virtue, and does not require a pact with the Devil, as the Bruxhas perform.”

What is occult virtue? The context lends me to think that it is from a system of magic that predates the idea of the Devil and certainly that of Lucifer. There are a number of these pre-Christian shapes in the Book of Saint Cyprian, much like the werebeast myths / shaman / skinwalkers I mentioned last week. Regardless, occult virtue is an interesting proto-idea offered by the Book of Saint Cyprian that can be folded into existing magical practice, I think. This idea intersects with Lovecraft and in particular Whisperer in the Dark because of the different levels (maybe that isn’t right because it implies hierarchy) of magical practice that are described or alluded to.

If you read any Lovecraft, you’ll know that ‘place’ and ‘doors’ are a huge theme that repeat throughout the entire work. If you’ve gone through ’Twin Peaks: The Return’, you’ll be familiar with this concept - only very specific places are the location for certain doors between ecologies (I like that better than ‘worlds’ or ‘dimensions’) and those doors can only be open if things are done in that place in a very specific way. Tugging on the concept of ‘occult virtue’, this is a bridge between Solomonic Magic and Occult Virtue (magical practice whose superhero origin story takes place sometime prior to Christ the Magician [insert link to cup here]). Take, for an example, the below quote from the Immaterial Book that describes a very specific boulder in which an enchanted treasure hides:

“The boulder has a round crack at its center, from top to bottom, and, when hit by any object makes a sound like a bunch of bells."

This reminds me of something that Gordon White mentions (I forget if it is in his Premium Member Q+A or one of his public forums) about his visit to Gobleki Tepi - where the carven monuments all resonate with a tone when struck. Continuing the excerpt:

“And they went there on a certain night. The men dug, dug, and the priest was reading the Book of St. Cyprian. At a certain point, they found a door, from where the Devil came out to take the soul of the Galician."

As mentioned above, the devil appearing from a door is very Lovecraftian for their are almost always gates or doors as barriers between the two worlds and a desire of the human party to break down that barrier. The need to be in at this certain place is also an edge connecting Lovecraft to Cyprian and by extension, the wider magical ecology.

Another clear theme from Immaterial is that all of the men and women that try to disenchant treasure (or practice magic in general), unless of the Priest Class, are plebeian, none are rich or elite and certainly none are magicians. This places the practice of Cyprianic magic in a different frame than that of Solomonic magic, which was practiced by an upper class of individuals originally. Lovecraft fills his grimoire with these same ‘rustics’ (I like that term, I grew up as one and even though a city rat now, will always be ‘from the hills’, the son of a pig farmer).

The above quote shows that other side of practice also, when it drives home that adherence to the letter of the ritual is necessary and leaving it incomplete invites disaster on the practitioner. So on one hand we have ‘occult virtue’, which can be undertaken and predates Solomonic ritual forms, but nonetheless is a formula that needs to be followed to get the desired result.

Cyprian, as Jake Stratton Kent states in The Testament of Cyprian the Mage, has a foot in the Old World and in the New. Through reading his ‘Corporeal’ Book and his ‘Immaterial’ Book over the past week and a half I’ve found him to be more like a bridge, forms that are described in ‘Immaterial’ are familiar to me now. I’ll offer one final excerpt from a legend reported in Immaterial as an example:

“A LONG TIME AGO, IN San Leonardo de Galafura, there lived a Moura called Lady Mirra...”

a more refined definition of Lady Mirra is offered in Leitao’s footnote:

“although this is mostly true in the Algarve (far south of Portugal), the word ‘mirra’ can also mean a skeleton (as well as the funerary incense myrrh).”

The account of Lady Mirra continues:

“Legend says that there was a man who tried to disenchant [Lady Mirra]. He entered [her] cave and walked for such a long time that he took [the corn bread offering he carried] and ate one of the four parts. A little further on, he came across a three-legged horse. The man mounted the horse for this would take him to [Lady Mirra], and further down he met a woman who was half snake. This was not the moura, but rather just an obstacle... he was afraid [and] no one heard from him again.”

Is Lady Mirra and early form of Santa Muerte? If so, then can one secret to gaining her favor be an offering of corn bread cut into four parts and the reading of the Book of St Cyprian backwards? Can this beginning to invocations work at all caves? Or a particular one. Is there a place where Santa Muerte is actually buried?

And, in one final nod to the ritual / virtue dichotomy, the Immaterial book mentions that the new printed versions of the book are no good or don’t work - whereas the manuscript copies (presumably) do. In the Corporeal there are few signs, seals, sigils, or circles, which are (again, presumably) some of the items or preparations mentioned as necessary in the Immaterial Book’s legends - perhaps this is what is missing from the printed versions? Leitao mentions in a footnote that where the ‘seal of Solomon’ is mentioned it is short hand for a pentagram. Is it more? Meaning is this a degradation of ritual practice with much more complicated seals? Or is it less? Is the pentagram being used here a tie back to when that sign was first engineered and then represented by human hands?

Piecing together ritual is something that is required when investigating the role of Mr Noyes, who introduces the wickedness into the gloom and foreboding of Whisperer in the Darkness. Mr. Noyes is the elitist practical occultist in opposition to the armchair folk magician who is Henry Akeley. ‘Whisperer’ is, in a sense, a micro-grimoire - a bit of a culmination of the rest of the Lovecraftian grimoire. For instance, in Akeley’s second letter to Wilmarth, we have what amount to a spirit list:

Yuggoth Cthulhu Tsathoggua Yog-sothoth R'lyeh Nyarlathotep Azathoth Hastur Yuan Leng The Lake of Hali Bethmoora The Yellow Sign L'mur-Kathulos Bran The Magnum Innominandum

There are also correspondence of sorts included here, such as the relationship between the Winged Ones, the pinking things, and the Yeti or Mi-Go.

There are specific dates, which should be familiar to us, Akeley’s wax cylinder (so many cylinder’s in Whisperer) recording is cited to have been recorded on May 1st at 1 AM, which in the proper (non-Western) treatment of time, such as we see in the Hygromantiea, this is really Walpurgistnacht as the ‘day’ of Beltane does not begin at midnight in this system, but at dawn.

And much like our dear friend the Greek Magical Papyri, we are offered a fragmentary invocation, and a few more spirits to add to our list:

“is the Lord of the Woods, even to... and the gifts of the men of Leng... so from the wells of night to the gulfs of space, and from the gulfs of space to the wells of night, ever praises of Great Cthulhu, of Tsathoggua, and him Who is not Named. Ever their praises, and abundance to the Black Goat of the Woods. Ia! Shub-Niggurath! The Goat with a Thousand Young!

Ia! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young!

And it has come to pass that the Lord of the Wood, being... seven and nine, down the onyx steps... tributes to him in the Gulf, Azathoth, He of Whom Thou hast taught us marvels... on the wings of night out beyond space, out beyond th... to That whereof Yuggoth is the youngest child, rolling alone in black aether at the rim...

...go out among men and find the ways thereof, that He in the Gulf may know. To Nyarlothep, mighty messenger, must all things be told. And He shall put on the semblance of men, the waxen mask and the robe that hides, and come down from the world of Seven Suns to mocks...

Nyarlothep, Great Messenger, bringer of strange joy to Yuggoth through the void, Father of the Million Favored Ones, Stalker among…”

It is revealed near the end of Whisperer, that the human voice on the wax cylinder is none other than the Boston elite (I derive this from the description of his accent and later, his clothes and demeanor), Mr. Noyes.

Mr. Noyes is first encountered in the flesh, for he is a very human element of this tale, after Wilmarth receives the last letter from ‘Akeley’. A letter with the same intelligent level of prose but in a wholly different tone. This letter is different as well in that it is typed instead of handwritten. One can read into this event, right, the shift from the folklorist’s handwritten letters to one typed on the latest technology. Through the context of the story, I have derived that this is the machine that would have been used to type that letter, the newest model at the time, the Corona 4 from 1928.

I like to add these sign posts, this is something you can go out and find, touch, use, I like the idea of technology as a gate and how analog writing technology now has the same ‘feel’ as the scribe-written manuscripts and codices of old.

Mr. Noyes, in our mapping of the archetypes of the Tarot over the Lovecraft Grimoire, fits nicely over the King of Swords. He is our third king, watching as Cthulhu and Medusa retire for a time to their requisite cliques of acolytes, to enjoy some henbane punch and mandrake bites while the music plays on and the lights dance on an empty gymnasium floor.

Holistic Tarot describes the King of Swords as being detached from others, someone that is overcautious, a man of action, leadership, and effective management of the ambitions of others. Benebell Wen describes him as a guardian of social order, and as a Boston elite, who better to take on that role (for if the order is dismantled, so is that elite status). He is ambitious and articulate. If Mr. Noyes was the author of Akeley’s last letter, then this is true of him too. Mr. Noyes is the voice on the wax cylinder speaking the words of that deranged incantation in the dark of the wild Vermont woods. We know though, that for the Beast with One Thousand Young to appear, there needs to be more then just words, as is told to us in the Book of Saint Cyprian:

“There are many people who say that magic is performed with magical words, this is false, however, for there is no magic which operates through words, what may be said is that without words nothing can be done; but words are worthless without certain other things which have magical power, and these are also worthless by themselves”

but on the other hand (or tentacle) we have this concept of ‘occult virtue’, which is closer to the other side of the gauge, where magic is a part of the natural world and as such, does not require the very human convention of words and symbols in order to work.

Grant Morrison invokes the occult virtue side of Lovecraft in his prose poem ‘Lovecraft in Heaven’, which can be found in The Starry Wisdom compilation, edited by David Mitchell. In that piece, Morrison describes this state:

“Sweet rotten scent of biological mystery... The thing is coming up from the depths, getting bigger and bigger. It is vast and primitive and he knows it’s name.”

In trying to wrap my mind around the faint touches and silence I experience from Saint Cyprian and this newfound Lovecraft as Cyprianic as Lovecraftian vein I’ve tapped. This quote frpm Morrison ‘almost’ gets there - biological mystery, in Haraway’s context, approaching an ecology of the spirit world with the same understanding a human can muster of the world of bacteria or the kingdom of insects, that describes the affect of occult virtue. And in juxtaposition to the phrase above where the Book of Saint Cyprian decries the use of words alone as a method of plugging into the spirit ecology:

“becoming a thing of words, a word-crab built for descent into the dark. His stories have turned on him in the wet interior light, growing beyond his control...”

Morrison captures, not only my deeper suspicions on the use of words in magic, but also an apt description of Mr. Noyes’ relationship with the ‘Pinking Things’ from ‘Whisperer in the Dark’. Morrison continues this prose investigation of words:

“Stories disintegrate and fill the room like flying ash. Ash in his head. A blizzard of atomic debris, stories tearing themselves apart, reconfiguring, creating new stories endlessly. A carrion storm of words earring him from within, descending upon him from outside. His soul, at last, faces annihilation... Ideas condense from nuclear chaos. Lovecraft stops at the top of the thill to make some notes in his black book... He invents the blasphemous Necronomicon, only partially aware of the fact that he is evoking the Book into being. He is Abdul Al Hazred, ‘Slave of the Presence’... He is unwriting the universe... defiling white paper”

’Stories disintegrate and fill the room like flying ash…’, is this not a description of the Immaterial Book of Saint Cyprian? Stories that have never been written down, passed amongst the rustic hills of the countries that Cyprian blesses with his presence, his presence, another familiar bit. Where Morrison describes the author of the Necronomicon as the ‘Slave of the Presence’, this is the same phrasing used by Cyprian when he exclaims who is new master is after being saved. Cyprian says in his meeting with the fourteen ghost witches, over and over, that he is the ‘Slave of the Lord’.

Also in ‘The Starry Wisdom’, hidden in the back of the word-closet, is an essay from Phil Hine entitled ‘Cthulhu Madness’. Hine goes even further towards the virtue side of our occult ritual / virtue gauge. He begins with the strong statement that:

“Those who would sanitise magic, whitening out the wildness with explanations borrowed from pop psychology or science... madness is still something we fear”

I’m not saying Solomonic ritual is what he is describing above, but prescriptivist views of magic pulled from fragmentary texts, texts that almost admit themselves that they’ve been altered and are unreliable (as the Book of Saint Cyprian does), these views are sanitized in a manner of speaking, are approaching something with the same hard geometric surface as Cartesian science. Hine continues with what I feel is as close to a description as Noyes’ experience in the woods of Dark Mountain, invoking the Old Ones with the help of some Plutonian Space Crabs:

“Walking through a forest. It is pouring rain. The trees are bare of leaves, slimy mud churning underfoot... clutching fingers attempting to snare the sky, as winding tentacles. Cthulhu is all around us. It is a squid-thing, bestial, dragon-winged - a theriomorphic image...”

and even though Noyes is our elite occultist and with that status must come a type of arrogant confidence, once that invocation recorded on the wax cylinder is successful, I imagine echoing these words from Hine:

“All pretense at being a Magician has failed. This thing is too big. I can’t banish it and even if I could, I have a strong sense that I mustn’t”

Mr. Noyes as the King of Swords is the occult project manager [insert circle thrice blog post] who is trying to apply this logic and reason to a spirit ecology filled with chaos.

In closing, I will leave you with this final quote from Hine’s essay, which says what I feel is the truth here better than I can express it:

“There’s something gut-wrenching, exciting, awful - romantic - about Lovecraftian magic. Contrast it with the plethora of books available on different magical ‘systems’ which abound in modern bookshops. Symbols everywhere - everything has become a symbol, and somehow... less real... experiences have had the feeling boiled out of them, into short descriptions and lists...”

#Cyprian #Lovecraft #grimoire

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yogaadvise · 7 years

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Ritual Inspiration: Yogi and Guitarist Bibi McGill

The enigmatic Bibi McGill is as comfy directing the divine with the harmonium in the quiet of her very own house as she is rocking a flaming guitar before hundreds of howling fans as Beyoncé's lead guitarist. While the duality of her interests is clear, McGill possesses a regular visibility and also level of intention that spans her method to music and also wellness.

After devoting herself to the guitar from the age of 12 in Denver, Colorado, McGill studied music racking up and arrangements in university as well as relocated to L.a to seek a profession following her passion. She now directs Beyoncé's backing band and also collaborates with a myriad of other musicians. McGill discovered yoga in 1998 as well as began to show 8 years later on. As her technique grew, she began producing spiritual music along with the preferred radio strikes that helped boost her occupation. She also released her very own line of healthy and balanced treats. Across all these pursuits she has one aim: to be a clear channel for spirit and also to change energy where it requires to do without attachment to its outcome.

McGill's residence in Rose city, Oregon, is a sanctuary loaded with brilliant colors, embroidered pillows, singing bowls, home made kimchi, as well as her namesake Bibi Kale Chips in trademark purple package deals. While we talk, we rest at her handmade old-growth oak tea table and also beverage uncommon teas in the Chinese Gongfu tradition. Her Chihuahua Daschund mix, Rock-it!, swirls up silently on a pillow by her side. McGill's focus is so clear in her preparations that she appears to put her entire self right into our little clay mugs. Here, she shares some insights about her routine method and also her numerous resources of inspiration.

How would you explain the different elements of your day-to-day practice?

I awaken in the morning, offer thanks for awakening, and kiss my dog. I begin steaming water in preparation for tea to alleviate into my day and also get in touch with the plant spirits. Then, I do my 20-minute reflection, from the Kashmir Shaivite Tantric Neelakantha tradition. It's an experiment an old history that broadens the vibrational regularity of the heart. I then invest 10 approximately mins in petition as well as appreciation. I appreciate by starting with myself and my needs, then my family members, and after that I hope for my area, neighborhood, state, country, as well as every animal that flies airborne, crawls on the planet, or swims in the waters. I provide many thanks for all the elements, as well as send my prayers and also like bent on the celebrities and the earths and also every feasible form of life.

From there, it's time to obtain right into the responsibilities of my day. It's just not possible to operate plainly and from a secured area without beginning my day with this kind of habit. I have a yoga practice at some time, and do my 2nd Neelakantha meditation before my night meal. Recently, I have actually been finishing my day with a much more peaceful tea: generally an adaptogen that aids with my hormone reaction to stress as well as leads me to a clear mindset, like a Savasana. I have actually been doing truly well at reaching bed by midnight. That's my timeless practice.

You chat a whole lot concerning the importance of tea in your practice. What about tea is so special?

I love tea. It has brought me so much quality, so much placement, so much gratitude, so much link and recognition. With the Chinese Gongfu custom in particular, the tea is a living being that has actually been taken care of. This practice has been passed down for numerous thousands of years-it's such a pure as well as effective vibration that it could offer you whatever it is you need. It has actually shown me to pay focus to many subtle distinctions and also changes in power that could happen throughout my day in my energised field. I've begun incorporating just what I have actually picked up from the Chinese custom into teas that don't originate from that tradition, like lavender or rose blossoms, or rainforest teas like guayusa. This practice has opened me approximately a higher recognition for teas as well as plants in general.

When did you understand music was one of your callings?

I was attracted to songs at a young age because my older sibling and also sis played timeless piano and retro 70s funk songs. I had not been assuming about songs as a calling, I just desired to play guitar. I was shocked to learn extremely promptly that I was good at it. Then, I enjoyed songs a lot that it was the only point I felt I understood how you can do. I provided up football in senior high school to concentrate on guitar. I mosted likely to college and got my level in racking up and also preparing and also relocated to The golden state. It was never ever my objective to be well-known. I simply wanted to play music, have individuals enjoy it, as well as make sufficient cash to cover my basic requirements. Being devoted to that as well as having reasonable expectations brought me through in a most divinely held means, to where it just took off.

How did you discover religious songs, and also exactly what is its partnership to the various other songs you create?

I had actually relocated to California to go after music as a career and also worked a day task at a record tag. After four years, I was fed up as well as left. With a whole lot of time on my hands, I made a decision to do something I would certainly always fantasized of-take a yoga course. As soon as you're introduced to yoga, you're virtually automatically presented to religious songs, chanting, rule, as well as kirtan. Yoga exercise definitely changed my life, and it incorporated music. I instantly embraced mantra, kirtan, and yoga into my life in 1998.

Prior to moving to LA, I had actually played songs in church. I really mosted likely to a Bible college since I wanted to be a priest of music. In numerous different spiritual viewpoints or religious beliefs, songs is a component of appreciation and thanking the divine. It really did not matter to me whether it was in a church or a yoga studio. Music and spirituality go hand in hand.

I have a deep love as well as appreciation for classical Indian songs and also love to incorporate those components in my music. My music flavors attract from globe, ethnic, tribal, indigenous, electronic, scripture, as well as every little thing between. 'Bhakti,' the Sanskrit term for 'commitment,' just means from the heart. For me, religious songs is my petition of appreciation, love, splendor, appreciation and also honor unto the Many High.

My songs is a gift that I'm below to share as well as utilize to influence people, change their truth in a positive way, and also offer them some quantity of delight. My intention is to be an entirely open and clear channel for divine sources to move through me anyhow is one of the most beneficial to me and any individual else paying attention to the songs. When I grab my guitar and go out on stage, I have to get out of the method as well as let that energy job through me as well as jump off the strings of the guitar and my fingers. I exist to change reality any way is required for individuals that are unhappy or sick. The vibrations of music shift realities.

How did you determine to become a yoga teacher?

I loved the practice so much that I wished to find out more than I might by mosting likely to courses three times a week. I wished to take a teacher training not to end up being an instructor, yet so I could discover a lot more regarding yoga's record and also philosophy. I intended to learn the purest type of yoga as well as develop my very own method as well as understanding.

What have been some zero hours in your teaching?

I wished to teach so badly after I did my instructor training, however I was horrified to obtain up and lead practice. It was such a huge duty. I was so blessed -the first 2 locations where I began instructing in 2006 were really well established yoga studios in the LA location. Having full courses and experienced trainees required me to grow instantly. A turning point came when a guy strolled into my course with a prosthetic leg, took it off, and placed it on the ground. I resembled, "What do I do?" You just teach yoga.

You may enter your classroom and have 10 to 17 different individuals with various needs-I learnt how to change. I've had individuals tell me after course that they had actually remained in a vehicle accident as well as had not done any exercising in three years, and that they enjoyed my course. I found out to take notice of the refined distinctions that are always occurring in our energised field, as well as to listen and also trust my instinct. You could have a little of a plan or program, but not an add-on to any kind of preconditioned way you desire your course to be. The minute a person can be found in who is fidgeting as well as doing their very own thing, you need to change in order to offer everybody just what they require. That involves the very same trait I apply in songs: get out of the way, let the energy resolve you, and also pay attention.

How do you incorporate habit into your life?

Ritual is essential to me since it aids me enter a behavior of developing healthy routines that support my advancement. Routine assists to recognize and attach me with the ways, methods and customs of our forefathers. Rituals like ceremony could be beautiful for us humans to see and experience and likewise enhance our faith and also idea within the outcome we want. Routine helps me to link psychologically to my dreams, visions, and also goals.

If you're going to make something a habit, it needs to be something you're really attached with that you value as well as think in. Habit is a lot more for us as people. When we go and also rest at a church and repeat a mantra 108 times, it's to help us to think in that point. However, long, lush, drawn-out routines aren't always available to us. I could go straight to source energy to ask for what I want and obtain precisely what I need. Lights sage helps us to think that we're cleaning our home. Yet at the end of the day, all I require are my thoughts to say, 'I wish to clean my home of any kind of lower-vibration regularities that aren't offering me.' It's not the sage that does it, it's the power of my beliefs and thoughts and also intents. The power remains in my faith and also just how I'm straight linked to The Divine. There is nothing that is separate. We Are ONE.

Ritual is also a mindset of keeping a consistency of mind throughout the whole day. Whether I'm putting tea, excavating in the earth, strolling barefoot, hugging a tree, tipping into a river, or in the center of a crazy flight terminal, I have to bring those elements into the minute, best then as well as there. Points frequently turn up as well as remind me to offer many thanks. Maybe I'm sitting on an airplane alongside someone who is fidgeting around-I might get frustrated, or appreciate that this individual next to me lives as well as has a leg that he could tremble. By doing routines daily, there are possibilities to practice or utilize those devices. To puts it simply, stroll your walk. You can practice ritual all day, yet if the very first trait you intend to do is shout at someone or kick the dog, then just what is that ritual for? Nothing.

From where do you draw inspiration?

Without a doubt, nature, pets, and also our ancient indigenous ancestors. They really did not have computers, TVs, devices and also cars. All they had was nature: to sit about and see exactly how the clouds moved, day by day by day after day by day. To examine how energy relocated via their bodies, everyday by everyday by day. If that's all I had to provide for also one year, I would certainly discover a lot. I obtained understanding into just how they lived through my dog-all your family pet needs to do all the time is relax and also view you. They begin to recognize your patterns. When I'm driving in my vehicle, before I even put my foot on my brake, Rock-it! is already supporting himself. It's unbelievable exactly how they're so tuned in to everything we do.

What have been several of the most transformative moments in your life?

I've transformed in the past year in such a substantial, visible means. Maybe since I'm growing older and more mindful and also comfy with who I am as well as just how I'm turning up in this globe. Maybe the accumulation of all my practices over my life. A great deal of it concerns a recent relational encounter that put me in a position where it was either die or rise and never ever enable myself to be in a scenario like that again. I was not going to set as well as die, so I found out never to disregard my intuition again.

When I made a change and also said, 'No a lot more am I mosting likely to maintain falling down due to the fact that I didn't listen to my intuition,' boom. Happiness came, count on came, as well as assistance came. Everything I want is coming. I'm strolling by faith as well as not by view, due to the fact that if I were to check out just how traits looked, I might crumble. This is something so a lot bigger compared to me.

That change elevated me to an area where I've never remained in my whole life. I'm so crystal-clear and entirely relying on of who I am. I enjoy myself more than I ever before have in my entire life. There was always this sticking around unpredictability or despair in my life, which's not a component of my life at all any longer. That is a massive improvement. I love me, I love my life, as well as I'm thankful to be here.

What's the very best suggestions you have actually ever received?

It's a message that has actually originated from my own higher self: If you develop a life that is in positioning with resource energy, everything you want and also want will certainly appear. All you have to do is simply trust fund and not follow your personal restricted understanding. Remain plugged into resource! Everything's going to be okay, it really is-regardless of just what you see. I can survive that message for the rest of my life.

Is there a concept or message that keeps you inspired?

It's been my concept for so several years. It's rather basic: 'I am.' It's one of the most present, connected, 'I am.' Past, present, future, now.

What are some necessary practices you would certainly provide for individuals who just have a couple of minutes daily to themselves or don't have much encounter with ritual?

Just take 5 minutes of peaceful time. Go sit somewhere. Stay up great and also high. Kick back, shut your eyes, and also just breathe. For five mins. That's it. Ensure you turn your phone off so you're not mosting likely to be disturbed. That will certainly do wonders for you.

Another method is just spending 5 minutes a day outside. Just sitting beside a tree. Strolling via a park with your pet dog or your friend. It does not matter if you stay in a city. Simply five mins strolling outdoors and being existing with the plants, the trees, the clouds, and also paying attention to the birds. Either one of these practices would be a wonderful location to begin, anyone would see a greater tranquility as well as quality in their life practically immediately.

Is there anything else you 'd like wish to share?

Anything individuals are feeling called to do-it's time to begin doing. Stop discussing it. It's time to act now.

#ashtanga yoga #iyengar yoga #meditation #prenatal yoga #religious beliefs #spiritual #spiritual music #types of yoga #yin yoga #yoga #yoga alliance #yoga music #yoga nidra #yoga practice #yoga studio #yoga teacher

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