#so you know. i am forging onward

[catharsis-in-a-bottle]

I STARTED ELDEN RING 💛💛💛💛💛

#im TERRIBLE at it but i have never played a souls game before #nor would i even consider myself a gamer #so you know. i am forging onward #it is so cool i LOVE obscure worldbuilding and cool creatures and sword fighting #.txt #elden ring

[angeldreamsoffanfic]

“So how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Y’know, how did you know.”

“Dingus, I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me here, the Russians did a number on how many of my braincells are actually working.”

“How did you know that you liked girls?”

Robin Buckley immediately pushed herself up so she was resting on her elbows, head tilted to catch Steve Harrington’s eyes in the low light of their hospital room.

They weren’t originally even going to go to the hospital, if Robin was being honest. They had just wanted to slip away back to their respective homes, but then Melissa and Richard Buckley caught wind that Robin was hurt. Then the both of them realized that Steve’s parents (if Robin has to use that term to describe them) had less than zero intention of sending anyone to pick up Steve.

Then EMS made the light suggestion of both of them probably needing to go to Hawkins General Hospital… and well, while Melissa and Richard did tend to lead toward more natural remedies… one couldn’t fix a concussion or a drugging with an unknown substance with essential oils and hope.

“Robbie? Did you OD over there?” Steve had himself up on his elbows, easily mimicking Robin. That’s the thing that makes the inside of Robin ache, that he’s so like her. She knows that she’s an only child, knows that, but sometimes Steve’ll just… do something and it makes her question it. Makes her wonder how she spent so long without him, without another brain and two legs and arms and so much hair. “Robbie?”

“No, I am still alive.” Robin slowly spoke, before she let out a soft sigh. “Why do you ask?”

“Like-” Steve huffed as he shook his head from side to side, before he used the one hand that was free from the pulse monitor and saline drip to card through his hair. It’s sleep ruffled, and if he uses product (Robin is sure he does), it’s for sure gone. Steve looks up though, and his eyes are so earnest that it causes something to hurt inside of Robin. “never mind just ignore- fuck - just ignore me.”

“I couldn’t ignore you if I tried, you idiot.” Robin let out a huff, and she winced as the PICC line in her arm shifted as tilted to be able to fully face Steve on her side. “But I just, dingus, this is out of left field for even you.”

“How so?”

“Did you even know that, that people like me even existed until a couple of hours ago?” Robin kept her voice soft, especially as Steve huffed out an indignant sounding sigh. Robin sighs though, and then she cards her own hand through her hair, and forges onward. “I think I’ve just… always known.”

“Always?”

“Yeah like-” Robin shrugged, a careful movement of her shoulders. “When I was like, eight? My uh, parents sent me to this camp thing- like summer camp kind of like what Dustin went to? But with, y’know, with the swimming and archery and dude I was fucking awful at it.” Steve let out a soft and watery laugh at Robin’s rambling, and that gave Robin enough power to continue. “But we uh, had these like songs we had to learn? And there was this uh, girl counselor there that had to teach me because you know, that was her job.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and uh. She couldn’t have been older than I am now but man…” Robin let out a slow whistle, and allowed herself to fully melt into the hospital cot she’s laid up on. “All I could think was that I just wanted to be with her. Like not even kissing because I thought kissing was gross then, still do now kinda but anyway- I wanted to like, hold her hand and shit. Do the cheesy stuff I’d seen in the movies, y’know?”

Steve huffed out his own laugh, and he tilted his head to lean against his pillows instead of facing Robin. Robin watched though, quiet for once, as Steve swallowed once and then twice- before he cleared his throat.

“I knew it existed before you.”

“What?”

“It.”

“Dingus-”

“Girls liking girls.” Steve’s voice is barely above a whisper, even as Robin can hear him gulp in a lungful of air. “And boys liking boys.”

“You did?” Robin kept her voice quiet, gentle, as coaxing as she could- especially when she could see Steve’s throat bob. “Dingus?”

“I…” Steve doesn’t continue, and that’s enough.

Enough to Robin that she pushed herself up, and ignored the pain that ricocheted down her spine like needles. Ignored Steve’s hurried ‘what are-’, as she stumbled out of her hospital bed and right to Steve’s. She made sure to drag her IV pole and the monitor with her, situating it as best as she could next to Steve’s. Robin huffed quietly as the pain trickled down her spine, and she couldn’t help but smile as Steve curled his hand carefully around her wrist and tugged.

Robin got comfortable, let Steve fret over her as best as he could, his fingers only ever-so slightly trembling as he made sure that the line in her arm wasn’t kinked up. They were pressed close, side to side and hip to hip, and Robin tilted her head down until it was rested on Steve’s shoulder.

“Wanna keep going, Stevie?”

“No.”

“But?”

“I…” Steve huffed again, a small indignant noise that Robin mimicked.

They sat like that then, just the two of them for a moment, before Steve continued slowly.

“I’ve never, told anyone this- like I’ve told Tommy H. so much shit about me - but this is… Robin this is different.” Steve speaks in a hurried and stilted way, like he’s stringing together bits and pieces of sentences, and it shouldn’t work.

But it does because he’s Steve and she’s Robin.

And truthfully, Robin likes that. That they’re Steve and Robin. SteveandRobin. RobinandSteve. Likes that the two of them are so in tune that even her own mother didn’t want to separate them.

That had to mean something in the end, didn’t it?

“Tell me, whatever… whenever.” Robin murmured as she turned her head so she could press a soft kiss to Steve’s shoulder. The hospital gown is thin enough she can feel the heat of his skin from up under it, and that’s grounding. Grounding even as Steve drew in a shaky breath, audibly swallowing again. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

“I didn’t uh, notice Tammy in Ms. Click’s class or uh, you for a reason.” Steve slowly spoke, eyes wet, and Robin can hear his sniffle as he tried to reign his emotions back. “Ms. Click made him sit uh, right by her desk at the front of the room.”

And oh.

Oh.

If that doesn’t immediately settle something that just usually writhes around in Robin’s chest.

“Him?” Robin is gentle, gentler than she thinks she’s ever been.

“Uh, yeah… Eddie Munson?” Steve huffed out an almost dry laugh, the only thing that he does that ever remotely reminds her of his time as his high school “King Steve” persona. “He uh, got this bat tattoo right before that year’s Thanksgiving break and all I could do was just… gawk at him.”

“And then what?” Robin knew she was pushing, searching for information, but she can’t help it. Not when Steve is right next to her, hip to hip and thigh to thigh. Not when he’s like her. In all the ways that matter.

“I went home and screamed into my pillow.”

Robin immediately smacked Steve’s thigh with the knuckles of her left hand- grinning in triumph when Steve let out a squawk of laughter.

“Eddie Munson?”

“What about him?”

“He’s… he’s a total dud!”

“No he’s not!”

“He stepped in my mashed potatoes once! That is totally total dud material!”

“No way!”

“He wants to be like, like a metal singer!”

“He has a band! Dreams!”

“Do you even know if he can hold a tune?”

“Well, no-”

“Total. Dud.”

Robin grinned wide as Steve launched into a very quick defense about Eddie, and she decides then and there that Steve and her? They’ll be just fine.

Especially if she can get Eddie to come into Steve and her’s orbit just a bit, to see if the crush is still there.

Because while Robin may not have all of the gay knowledge in the world, there is one thing for a complete certainty that she knows.

The black hanky that Eddie kept in his pocket?

Well…

Robin chuffed to herself, before she tilted so she could lay on her side- nose tucked into the place where Steve’s neck and shoulder met.

Right before she falls asleep though, Robin does a very important thing on a mental whiteboard.

You Rule: 1

You Suck: 0

hope you all enjoyed! truthfully think this is one of my favorite things i have written. love platonic stobin. <3

#angeldreamsoffanfic #steve harrington #robin buckley #steve and robin #robin and steve #platonic stobin #stobin friendship #codependent stobin #steve harrington and robin buckley are bffs #eventual steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #richard and melissa buckley saw steve sitting in the ambulance with robin and went oh we have a son now #steve harrington has bad parents #but he has the buckleys now <3 #fleshed out robin buckley’s gay awakening #the counselor was named in my head but it didn’t make sense to fit it in here (her name was maddie) #robin likes girls where there name ends in something that sounds like the letter ‘y’ #exhibit a: tammy exhibit b: vickie exhibit c: nancy exhibit d: chrissy #in this essay i will #stobin ficlet #platonic with a capital p #sometimes i tag things and then forget other (see more important) tags #sorry y’all

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I was wondering if you could do like Wednesday x fem yn but like Wednesday trying to tell mortica and gomez she has a gf and not knowing how they'd react and edin trys to help her and in the end they find out somehow you can pick if they take it good or bad but yea

A/n: I’ve seen this get asked to another person but I’m too proud of what I had already written to throw it away.

The crystal ball upon Wednesday’s desk taunted her with the impending call from her parents. Wednesday was something she hadn’t been in a long time; worried. The last time she had spoken with her parents, a lot had changed and one of the most recent and most prominent changes was that she had found herself a girlfriend.

How you met was the typical run of the mill meet cute, Wednesday was caught doing something she wasn’t meant to and she threatened to take your tongue, vocal chords and hands should you ever rat her out. Your response? “You’re beautiful.” Ever since then you had been constantly drawn to the chaos that was Wednesday Addams and not once has the thought of ever letting you go crossed her wicked mind. She was happy, a word she never thought she’d use in a lifetime but truly, for the first time in a long time she was happy. You made the insides of her hollow husk of a human vessel warm.

You lit a match and threw it upon her coal heart, setting it ablaze with the very foundations of life as the fires reflected in her dark eyes. You were her cara mia as she was your mon cher. For you Wednesday would die for you, kill for you, even live for you should you command it of her. It was moments like those that she began to see how alike she was to her father; Unhealthy obsessed with the object of their eternal attraction. So unhealthy in fact the pair might possibly be clinically insane with their love. However not even a highly facilitated psychiatric ward would be able to prevent Wednesday from coming back to you.

For she would have it burnt to the ground in your name as though she were a crazed religious fanatic, pleading her love to the only form of higher power that ever truly existed; You. If she had it her way, you’d both would’ve carved out and calcified your beating hearts for the other, to have and to hold until you were both cold and dead within the ground that would make up your grave. You would now and forever more belong to Wednesday as she would belong to you until the dark forces swelled you both whole; snuffing out your mortal flame for good.

So as Wednesday clamped down on her finger nails, bitting them right down to the nub and then some, Enid couldn’t help but feel concerned for her friend as she stared vehemently at her -seemingly- only form of communication with a look in her eyes. “What’s chomping you at the bit.” Enid asked, begrudging to know the answer but knew that Wednesday was in a situation where a friend was something that she could use right now. “My parents will be calling soon.” Wednesday merely said, not taking her eyes off of the crystal ball as though she was awaiting for it to go off.

“That’s great! Unless your relationship with them is questionable at best then that’s…not great.” Enid trails off when she began to notice that she wasn’t helping in making the situation any better even in the slightest. However the blonde wasn’t one to give up even in the face of adversity, Enid presses onward and upward. “My parents only sent me here to mold me in their image, to forge a carbon copy of themselves out of me by the time inn through with this place,” Enid stayed silent, “I get sent to the same dormitory my mother once resided, I have premonitions like she does.” Wednesday falls silent as her fists clenched in silent anguish.

“However I am not my mother, nor will I ever be like her because unlike her I have a heart to give and I gave it to y/n upon a moonlight night; the same night where the crows dropped dead before us and black dahlias bloomed by our feet.” Enid smiled warmly, remembering the twinkle in Wednesday’s eyes when she came back to the dome after her first official date with you down by the greenhouse. It was a dangerous twinkle but a twinkle none the less, Wednesday could’ve told her that you had a sparing match that ended with the tips of your blades poised at the others throat and the werewolf would’ve still somehow find it romantic.

“Now I am seemingly at an impasse with the illogical concerns of how my parents would react to me engaging in romantic circumstances with another girl, despite being well aware of their stances on societal demands.” Wednesday admitted, not use to feeling this vulnerable in front of another person but at this point in their relationship, Wednesday trusted Enid -despite how much of a gossip she could be- a smidge more then she did the rest of the student body that made up Nevermore. So if anything, this was Wednesday’s silent cry for Enid’s help and luckily she wasn’t overly dense to not notice.

“Wednesday,” Enid began as she moved over to stand by her friends’ side, “what your parents think shouldn’t reflect upon your relationship with y/n. You love her and she loves you, so why ruin a perfectly good thing by listening to what you parents think.” She places her hands on Wednesday’s shoulders and made sure that they were meeting eye to eye. “Never, not once, since I’ve came to know you had you given a shit about what others thought of you. So why give a shit now?” Wednesday has to admit, Enid was right. Why should she all of a sudden care when all she’s ever done thus far was deflect other peoples opinion on her. It made no logical sense but she guessed that now that you were in the picture with her; Wednesday worries about her parents perception of you.

Just as Enid was about to continue with her speech, the crystal ball went off and within the clear cut glass could the image of Gomez’ stout figure and Morticia’s taller frame could be seen as though they were actually trapped within the crystal itself. Upon seeing their daughter, Gomez and Morticia sat up straighter and smiled at Wednesday who only stared blankly at them, blinking slowly like a cat does when trying to convey their emotions to their owners. “There’s my little death moth, how’s Nevermore been treating you?” Gomez started as Morticia only took in her daughter’s expressions with a curious furrow in her brow but she didn’t speak upon it. Yet.

“Same as usual, however-“ “however you have found love, with a girl perhaps?” Wednesday straightened at her mother’s words. “How did you-“ “call it a mother’s intuition my dear death blossom.” Morticia’s unnerving voice cut her off as she looked to Gomez who was already looking at her, love sick. “Our daughter has found love Gomez, the ancestors must’ve blessed her already.” Gomez only grasped Morticia’s hand that rested on the chair arm tightly. “That’s amazing ‘tish, our little cope has found her forever mouse to play with until she too becomes a viper, until she becomes an Addams.” Wednesday perks up at this, her parents were indirectly giving you their blessing to marry her, to join your soul with hers as one until the end of your shared days.

Enid, still in the room, was trying her hardest not to squeal in excitement. Sure this event wouldn’t be until later down the line but she hopes she becomes your guys maid of honour.

#wednesday addams x reader #Wednesday Addams x you #Wednesday Addams fanfic #Wednesday Addams fic #Wednesday Addams imagines #Wednesday Addams imagine #wednesday x reader #wednesday imagine #Wednesday x you #Wednesday imagines #Wednesday fanfic #Wednesday fic

[firenati0n]

several sentence sunday <3 :)

hello :) happy sunday! thank you to @kiwiana-writes @getmehighonmagic @tintagel-or-cockleshells @cricketnationrise @sherryvalli @dumbpeachjuice @littlemisskittentoes @ssmtskw @tailsbeth-writes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @leojfitz @songliili @eusuntgratie @wordsofhoneydew @heybuddy-drabbles @happiness-of-the-pursuit @ninzied @bigassbowlingballhead @anincompletelist @rockyroadkylers for the tags (damn i am seriously behind) :) :) :)

here's a snip that is well over seven sentences from proposal au "the full spectrum of human emotion" because i CAN:

“Does ‘sweetheart’ do it for you? Any others I should know about?” Alex isn’t really all that surprised. Any time the pet name has slipped out in the past, he’s seen Henry’s face do a fun little pinch at the corner of his mouth. He tries to work the term of endearment in as much as possible, because he’s a messy bitch who lives for drama.  Henry clears his throat. “Alexander. I beg of you to not.” Alex forges on, a man on a very important mission. “Honey? Fucking gross, nope. Sugar? That’s what my mother calls me, so hell no.” He clicks his tongue. “Let me noodle on this. Gotta nail you down.” Henry’s flush works its way down from his ears to the base of his neck. A few more and Alex might even get it to go down to his collarbones. How exciting. “Hmm. Bunny? Too cutesy. Boy toy? Well—” “I’m older than you! I’m certainly not your boy toy. If anything, due to not only my age, but also our power dynamic, you’re my boy toy,” Henry huffs.  Alex tries not to feel a certain way about the words you’re my boy toy leaving Henry’s mouth in smooth, rounded vowels. He obviously fails. “I’d say boy toy feels age agnostic, but whatever you say, sweetheart.”

+

tags under the cut <3

no pressure tagging @inexplicablymine @myheartalivewrites @suseagull04 @sparklepocalypse @onward--upward @nocoastposts @user-anakin @matherines @celeritas2997 @gayrootvegetable @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @14carrotghoul @orchidscript @rmd-writes @dustratcentral @magicandarchery @leaves-of-laurelin @msmarvelouswinchester @whimsymanaged @tintagel-or-cockleshells @zwiazdziarka @indomitable-love @cha-melodius @anchoredarchangel @theprinceandagcd @gay-flyboys @read-and-write- @benwvatt

and open tag for anyone else wishing to share (pls tag me so i can see and read and eat it up!) have fun :)

#roop writes #fic: tfsohe #rwrb #rwrb fic #fics #writing is ajsldfjals rn i am trying though

[fafnir19]

Hunter Prince

As the youngest prince, I am often belittled, ridiculed, and scorned. My elder brothers, Haas and Rego, are exemplary warriors, while I, Prince Almir, am but a mere shadow in their presence. The king, too, has often expressed his disappointment in me, though he does so subtly, through concerned glances and exasperated sighs. One fateful day, a group of entertainers graced the castle with their presence, and amid their act, they unfolded a tale of Princess Naja, bewitched by an evil sorceress and earmarked for marriage to the fearsome wizard, Zarik. Her plight ignited a fire within me—the chance to prove my worth, not just to my family, but to myself. Stealing away from the castle, I embarked on a journey to rescue the fair Princess Naja.

Many trials beset me, but eventually, I arrived at the sorceress's tower, where Naja was imprisoned high above, seemingly out of reach. I approached Naja, hoping for her wisdom and guidance. Much to my surprise, she revealed her secret knowledge of the sorceress's books. She disclosed the conditions for my success: "Capture the black unicorn and fashion boots from its untamable hide; Slay the black wolf and forge a cape from its impenetrable fur; Snare the black falcon and equip your garments with its swift feathers." With Naja's aid, and a stolen magical ring from the sorceress, I would then transform into these creatures. As a falcon, I would soar into the tower, transform into a wolf to subdue the sorceress, and flee with Naja upon the back of the unicorn.

The challenges before me seemed insurmountable, but with cunning and skill, I succeeded in each task. The garments were fashioned, the magical ring obtained.

As a falcon, I soared into the sky, riding the winds as they carried me closer to the lofty prison where Naja awaited her liberation. My heart pounded, and the adrenaline coursed through my veins as I approached the tower, ready to confront the sorceress and seize my chance to rescue the princess. "Naja, I'm here," I called out in a silent hum, the only sound that carried from my avian form. From the tower, her voice echoed back, laced with an urgency that spurred me onward. "Almir, be swift. Transform into the wolf when you arrive. We must act before the sorceress intervenes." My feathers ruffled with determination, and with a steely resolve, I executed the seamless transition into a formidable wolf. As I approached the tower, the door swung open with a gust of chilling wind, and I bounded forth to confront the sorceress. But as I advanced, ready to confront the wicked enchantress, the sight that greeted me struck with the force of a thunderbolt. It was not the sorceress who stood before me, but a figure much more imposing. It was the wizard Zarik, his eyes gleaming with power and malice. I snarled and attacked, but before I could even reach him, Zarik swiftly subdued me with a collar and muzzle.

Naja stepped forward with a sinister smile, holding the magical ring. "Oh, Almir," she said with false sweetness. "I knew you would be the perfect addition to our little family." Naja's laughter filled the tower, a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine. "You see, Almir, love can make one do many things. And my love for Zarik knows no bounds." She kissed Zarik and presented him with the magical ring. "This will be the perfect wedding gift for you, my dear." With a sinking feeling, I realized that the true love story was not between Princess Naja and I, but between her and the dark wizard Zarik. I desperately asked: "What is the meaning of this? Naja, I thought you were—" "Silence, Almir," Zarik commanded, his voice laced with an undercurrent of dark power that sent shivers down my spine. "You will come with us, and you will learn the consequences of meddling in matters beyond your understanding." As I stood there, rendered helpless and captive, the reality of the situation began to sink in. I had been tricked, betrayed, and now I was at the mercy of the very adversaries I had sought to thwart.

Just as despair threatened to consume me, Zarik's voice cut through the suffocating silence. "Almir, you are no longer who you once were. From now on, you shall be known as Hunter, my loyal companion." I blinked in confusion, my mind reeling from the sudden turn of events. "Hunter? What do you mean?" Zarik's eyes held a chilling glint as he explained, "You possess remarkable potential, Hunter, and I will decide which form you will take—whether it is the unicorn for its speed, the wolf for its prowess in hunting, the falcon for its keen sight, or the human form for its cunning and intelligence." A dreadful realization dawned on me as the truth sank in. I was now at Zarik's mercy, bound to his will and stripped of my former identity. As Hunter, I had become a mere tool in the hands of a powerful wizard and a deceitful princess. Defeated and captive, I could only wonder what fate awaited me at the hands of the sorceress and the powerful wizard.

The days melded into an existence I had never fathomed, where loyalty was my only currency. Zarik, my captor turned master, reveled in his newfound "wedding gift," parading me like a prized possession. I accompanied him everywhere, adopting the form he desired, whether human, unicorn, wolf, or falcon.

His training was relentless, intended not just to hone my hunting skills, but to break my spirit. "Good, Hunter," Zarik murmured, as I successfully tracked our prey through the dense forest. "I see great potential in you." Potential for what? I often pondered, but all that escaped my lips, in any form, were feigned grunts of acquiescence. One evening, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Zarik and I found ourselves in the great hall, partaking in a goblet of wine each. Naja appeared, cloaked in allure as always, her gaze flitting between us with a glimmer of malice. "Ah, Naja, my love," Zarik said, rising from his seat. "Have you come to admire our progress?" Naja's laugh echoed like silver bells, belying the darkness that swirled within her. "Indeed, Zarik. It's impressive how you've transformed Almir into such a useful companion." Useful? I snarled inwardly, my human form concealed by the boundary of silence I had resigned to. Zarik stepped closer to Naja, his eyes alight with fervor. "He has proven to be a valuable asset, indeed. His loyalty knows no bounds, just as yours." Naja's lips curled into a wry smirk, and I could almost taste the bitterness of my own plight. "Hunter, isn't it?" She addressed me as if I were naught but a hound. "Yes," Zarik affirmed with a glint in his eye, seeing his handiwork unfold. "His transformation is quite remarkable, wouldn't you agree?" I clenched my fists, hidden beneath the guise of human semblance, the wine in my goblet forgotten as their sinister exchange unfolded before me.

Naja approached, her ethereal beauty masking the venomous intent within. "Impressive, indeed," she purred, her fingers trailing along my arm as if I were no more than a weapon at their disposal. I recoiled internally, stifling the violent impulse to lash out. Trapped within my own facade, I could only endure their twisted charade. The moon ascended high into the night as the hour grew late. Zarik and Naja bid each other farewell, entwining in a passionate embrace, leaving me to my thoughts. However, their parting words, laced with veiled intentions, lingered in the air like a thick mist. As they departed, Naja spared me a glance, her gaze cutting through my facade with cruel clarity. "Be sure to join us on our special night, Hunter," she taunted. "After all, you are an essential part of our union." With that, the door closed behind them, leaving me to confront the turmoil churning within. I had become nothing more than a pawn in their treacherous design, a far cry from the prince I once was. The night crept on as I wrestled with the shackles that bound me, both physical and emotional. Eventually, the fateful hour arrived, cloaked in a darkness that mirrored the despair in my heart. I approached the grand chamber, the weight of my captivity bearing down upon me. The door creaked as I entered, my footsteps echoing through the chamber. Zarik and Naja reclined upon the grand bed, their eyes gleaming with a sinister glimmer. My presence, a silent reminder of their triumph, did nothing to dampen their unholy revelry. "Ah, Hunter," Zarik beckoned, his voice laced with a cruel edge. "Come, fulfill your duty as my loyal companion."

My stomach churned, repulsed by the spectacle before me, but even in my agony, I dared not defy their command. I assumed the form of the wolf and lay beside their bed, a silent sentinel on their unholy union. As the night waned, a haunting realization seeped into my very being—I had sacrificed not only my freedom, but also my dignity, on the altar of their dark desires. The weight of my sorrow threatened to consume me whole, and the hollow echoes of their laughter reverberated through the chamber, mocking my entrapment. In the depths of that chamber, I, the once proud Prince Almir, lay bound by chains unseen, ensnared in a web of cruelty spun by those I once sought to rescue. The night waned into dawn, casting an ethereal glow upon the shadows that enveloped me, and in that ephemeral light, a flicker of defiance kindled within me. Though my captivity had robbed me of many things, it could not extinguish the ember of resilience burning within. As the first light of dawn breached the horizon, I vowed to reclaim not just my freedom, but also the honor that had been callously stripped away. In the hushed embrace of that chamber, I plotted my emancipation from the clutches of their malevolent design, forging a resolve to defy their expectations and emerge from the darkness, a prince no longer in name alone, but in spirit and will.

#male tf #male transformation #wizzard #wolf tf #falcon tf #unicorn tf #prince #princess #fairy tales #forced transformation #hunter prince

[creamiesstoryconer]

Yandere Harpy x Reader Taster

Yander Harpy x Reader Taster 

Word count: 666

Length of time to read: 5-8 minutes

This is a taster for a OC x Reader story I am working on, it currently has about 4 chapters planned and I am hoping to release every other day :) This is a taster I am posting for the first chapter enjoy 

TW:Mention of blood

Nature's natural lace, web, clinging onto the remains of the early morning dew. The clear pearls that drape themselves over finely pulled strings that are nestled in the sea of blue and green. Catching glimmers of sun as it breaks through the dense canopy, its golden light a welcoming glow to the undergrowth.

Fine petals of muted blues, reaching for its limited life line of light. Moments of silence such as now, rare within the small thicket. The gentle pushing of the wind picking up stray leaves, dancing with the yellowing trinkets in the air to be carried into the distance. 

Under your foot, grass that once stood tall crunches, its brothers in arms gently grazing your ankle. Early morning air crisp as always, nips at one's shoulders and nose, beckoning the solemnly sweet wind to join it in its conquest of stealing the heat from any warm body.

Knuckles tightly grasped around brown wicker, a basket neatly woven by hand. Packed sunngly with vibrant colours, forged from the long negated trail. 

Damp penetrates your nose, the untones of pine. Forcing the almost suffocating scent to almost have a refreshing taste upon your tongue. 

Onward,deeper into nature's land of peace, the hum of the village morning grows mute. Replaced with the rustling of leaves calling for you. Singing of birds just from sight, soothing and lulling.

Just a little deeper down the overgrown path you know so well, a routine experience every spring. To bring an offering, to wish for peace to the Earth, to keep a titration you grew bored of. The ways of the old and their tales are nothing but fables for children to be afraid of. 

Feet grew stiff at the edge of the opening, the woods breaking its dense canopy of greens to allow for the flooding of gold. Warm upon the skin, stark contrast to the morning wind, the honey coloured light swallows the clearing in its entirety. 

═══════════════════════════════════════════

A blur and a impact, 

The coarse texture of dried bark entangled in once soft locks of hair. Throbbing, building a deafening silence is what over stimulates the nerves. Soothing warmth trickling down your neck, tracing itself past your crook. Allowing for a bud of red to flow and root itself onto once pristine white clothing. Now defiled with browns and quickly darkening crimsons. 

The rising of your chest like hard labour, air having been stolen from your lungs. Hoarse gasps replace a steady rhythm that was once there. Drying your mouth as a once cared for body folds in upon itself. 

Ringing in your ears causes one's head to spin. To not focus is to not be able to see. 

Blurs of greens, a blue perhaps the sky. Golden shines for a moment. Then the sight of flesh. 

Flesh unclothed, blotches of maroon identifiable upon the sun kissed skin. 

══════════════════════════════════════════

A guttural scream escapes your lips, ripping through your vocal cords, straining already fatigued muscle. 

Cheeks, red as puffed eyes strained to stay open, salty water - your own tears-  sullying your face. Teeth bared as saliva bubbles and leaks from the corner of your mouth. 

Fingers tangled within a sickenly soft plumage of feathers. Almost comforting to touch under dirt stuffed nails.

Air that was once almost refreshing to the lungs now reeks of desperation and fear. Tawng of metallic lingering, your own blood that was long dried and flaking. A dried river of rusty colour liquid fashioned from your own wound, wrapping around your neck like a macabre necklace. 

It’s animalistic eyes boaring into you, pupils blown to unnatural size. Tilting its head, forcing itself to envelope your sight. It’s chest rumbling, trilling… studying.

══════════════════════════════════════════

I am in desperate need for a proofreader (￣ ￣|||)

sorry this is another super short post but chapter one will be up tomorrow with about 2,000 words none of which are here this is just some extra content that i reworded and shortened so all new content tomorrow ;)

all feedback is welcome!

#yandere #yande.re #yancore #yandere blog #yandere aesthetic #yanblr #oc #male yandere #tw yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere harpy #oc x reader #oc x y/n #harpy #harpy oc

[1moreff-creator]

Happy Birthday Rose Lacroix!

Except, don't shout it too loud, birthday girl is sleepy. Let's do the usual birthday analysis and song associations, but be quiet, she wants her sleep.

(Still her birthday in my time zone I win)

-Rose's backstory is revealed in Episode 5 of CH 2. Her family was poor, and to help with the financial situation, Rose started forging artwork. Thanks to her photographic memory and natural talent, she made a lot of money. However, at one point when she was 15, one of her clients left a trail leading back to her, and now she had to pay back ten times as much as she'd made, which was millions of dollars, for her actions. This would have ruined her family, of course.

-However, a philantropic organization named the Spurling Foundation, led by Richard Spurling, offered to pay her fines and clear her charges. The condition for this to happen was that any painting Rose made from that point onward would belong to the Foundation.

-Rose saw herself forced to take the deal, but it haunts her. She's extremely upset about not owning any of her art, of course, and so any time she makes an original painting, she makes sure to then cover it in black paint so as to not make anything for the Spurling Foundation without being asked. She doesn't regret the deal by her own admission, but she's not exactly happy with her life.

-This brings us to one of the main themes of Rose's narrative, which also happens to be one of the main themes of DRDT. The ability (or in this case, inability) to change and let go of the past. Rose is stuck paying back for the mistakes of her past for the foreseeable future. It's even expressed in her character design; her clothes are stained with paint, as her life is stained by the mistakes of her past. Her photographic memory, which allows her to perfectly recall anything she's ever seen to the tiniest detail, is another expression of the inability to let go of the past. The lack of change is also referenced in her secret quote: "In the end, the only thing I can do is watch my wretched life go on."

-Going back to her memory, while Rose has a flawless memory of everything she sees (see: noticing one sixteenth of an inch difference in her height), remembering things other people say isn't easy for her. She even forgot J's name that one time.

-Her memory situation is even referenced in the quote on Mai's page attached to Rose: "She remembers everything that is important to others."

-Speaking of J, according to Recap Foil Theory, J is a narrative foil to Rose. While J was born into wealth, her home life was still so terrible she wants nothing more than to separate herself from it. Meanwhile, Rose was born into poverty but (from what we see at least) loves her family, and while she's not happy with her situation, she seems to have accepted she can't run from her past. That's just the surface level stuff, there is definitely more to analyze there.

-Rose has admitted to having nightmares as a result of her memory, since reality, memory and dream tends to blur together in her mind. It's part of why she chose not to look at the second chapter crime scene.

-She has numeral II (2) in the David MV, connected to the phrase "Ego cogito ego (turbatus) sum".

This is a play on the phrase "I think therefore I am" (Ego cogito ergo sum), a phrase which implies the only thing we can be truly sure of is our own consciousness, which fits the aforementioned "nightmares and reality mixing together" thing.

However, the addition of 'turbatus' changes the meaning to something closer to "I think, therefore I am disturbed", which also fits how horrifying Rose's thoughts can be.

-According to some (read: mine) versions of color theory, she gets the word "world" in the David MV.

Because... you know what just go to the 2:25:03 time stamp of this video I made I am not talking about this fucking MV any more than I have to.

-She can do a pull-up, but only if there's grippy tape on the pull-up bar. She strong :O

-Her birthday (November 29th) falls on Electronic Greetings Day, National Evan Day (???), and among other things, the International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People. I know I don't talk much about this kind of stuff in my blogs, but Free Palestine.

Fun facts!

-As per her profile, she likes sleeping and dislikes conversation, though we already kinda knew that.

-She has two moms (Iris and Holly), an older sister (Daisy) and a younger brother (Saffron). Yes they’re all named after flowers.

-Like most DRDT characters, she's American, right-handed, has no confirmed sexuality, and her hair color is natural.

-She smells like paint and chemicals.

-She likes "food that is filling (because she often forgets to eat)." :(

-She prefers wearing clothes which are eccentric and colorful, but not delicate.

-Her favorite ice cream flavor is red velvet.

-Her favorite color is lilac because she likes subdued colors. She doesn't have a least favorite color because they're all useful in the right situations.

Songs!

+Exorcism by CreepP

+Echo by Crusher-P

+Those Who Carried On by Ghost & Pals (fun fact, according to Spotify Wrapped I was part of the 0,1% most frequent listeners of Ghost & Pals, with 6531 minutes of play time. So a normal amount)

+In Iolite by Ghost & Pals (I don'y know if I've mentioned it, but this might be my favorite song ever if you're curious)

+DEATHBODY by Ghost & Pals (or it’s this one. One of the two)

+Marionette by KIRA

+End-World Normopathy by Ghost & Pals

+Two of a Kind by Ghost & Pals (okay I'm seeing why I'm top 0,1% for them lol)

+Dune/Sand Planet by HACHI

+Hyperdontia by Ghost & Pals (Reason: Memories theming go brr)

+The Dream Granter by Vane Lily (if you twist the story a bit it kinda fits with the singer being Spurling)

+Entomologists by Ghost & Pals (vibes)

+Piece of Art by KIRA (vibes and title, the actual lyrics don't have much to do with anything)

And Happy Birthday! A capella please, we don't want to make too much noise. Take care!

#drdt #danganronpa despair time #rose lacroix #character birthday #sorry if this one’s shorter than usual

[casp1an-sea]

MAY 4th EVENT!!!!!!!!!!!!

this is my first event so sorry if it’s bad 😅

You do not have to be a Star Wars fan to participate!!!

—————————————————————————

Starting May 4th (lasting the hole month) I will be writing short one shots/head canons of what your life would be like in the Star Wars Galaxy. If I don’t know you personally they will probably be shorter unless you give me a specific prompt. The only rules for the event is for you to answer the quiz linked above and tell me your results in your ask. You don’t have to be a Star Wars fan but if you are not please say that and your level of Star Wars knowledge so I can write the Oneshot in a way you will understand. You can add any extra detail like, I want to be a bounty Hunter, or I want to be from the Imperial era, but that’s entirely optional. you do not have to be a force user. I will write prequels onward except for the sequels because I just don’t know them well enough (sorry other Hux fans). I will do Legends new republic and new Jedi order era though.

I am also willing to do this for a fictional character from one of the other fandoms I like such as Marvel, Twisted Wonderland, Or Octonauts. (full fandom list here, Fandoms) And I can do OCs if you give me reference. —————————————————————————

Please let me know if you want me to answer your ask privately or publicly. If I get to anxious to write yours and I’m not happy with it I will answer privately no matter what. :)

@dragonflies-draw-flame, @tomatette,

@vivislemonade, @octo-doofus, @notakoolladz

@snowy-yoshi, @diabollicallyangelic,

@theosb0rnway, @cimonim-crunch, @thehollowwriter, @kw4ziicat,

@ferris-the-wheel, @xentari94, @fizzydreamz,

@sunshinechildskywalker, @cheezy-moon,

@hyperfixation-or-death, @l7k-a, @ravenwing0110, @fryofthefrench,

@kirans-wonderland, @elenauaurs,

@keii-starz, @the-banana-0verlord,

@i-like-forgs, @messylxve, @shinysparklesapphires, @magics0up,

@dove-da-birb, @v-anrouge, @femmefaeryboi,

@edith-is-a-cat, @krenenbaker,

@distant-velleity, @xen-blank @bigmack2go

@silly-little-goober-core @cookiecrumbles52palace @lifblogs

Welp I tagged all my moots

#star wars #may the 4th #oneshot #personality quiz #blog event

[tansyuduri]

Merlin Loregasm Rewatch S1E2

Hi Everyone! Welcome to my rewatch of Merlin focusing on the lore. I am a giant nerd so pretty excited about this. Time for VALIANT!

So this brings up heraldry in the series. We see Arthur using Camelot heradlry, and other knights doing the same but during tourneys, we see Lots of different other patterned shields. So either people usually use the shield of their overlord in battle but their own in tourneys Or no knights of Camelot besides Arthur appear in tourneys. (I think Lancelot will make this a bit clearer when we get to it.) Either way either this is Valient's family crest, or he serves someone with a family crest. Either way it makes sense for why he murders this dude. As the shield is KINDA a dead giveaway to his identity. (And we know he is a knight or at least is acting as one and pulls it off better then Merlin's later first attempt at identity theft.) They obviously do not require patents of nobility at tourneys because Gwen, Arthur and Merlin pull off a fictional Knight later just fine.

I think he is likely a knight because ARMOR IS EXPENSIVE Y'ALL.

He also says he is from the Western Illes. Because the island of Mora And Ealdor this is the first place we hear about besides Camalot. Does he mean Ireland? I think he means Ireland? ALSO! are you used to my messed up grammar and punctuation yet? I have an LD in both. This is why I always need Betas for my fics despite creative writing being my thing. (I mean besides just wanting them to be better.) (This is an example of autistic oversharing. You are welcome! BACK TO MERLIN!)

So we only see this kinda sparing with Merlin in armor and holding a sword and shield once. (Usually he just holds a target for arthur) However, Merlin does get better with a sword somewhat as the series progresses so I think it likly continues. (Though perhaps a bit more nicely) It's interesting because Arthur has his pick of people to spar with, we see that later. Yet he says "Most Servants collapse after the first blow" So who is he sparing with? Has he been given manservants he didn't like before and just used this to make them quit? ANYHOO this was not as much lore so will not often comment on character dynamics but yesh.

Okay so I will spare you the talk of different armor parts. BUT this is really interesting compared to mentions of "Camalot forged steel"

See many Castles would have their own blacksmith and the one in the villager would be more for horseshoes, nails, and the like. Because armor and weapon making was A BIG DEAL

This implies Gwen's father was a HIGHLY SKILLED blacksmith who likely served the knights of Camalot. (He can't have been the only one because when he dies there is a period of time before Elyan comes and in Gwen's words Gets the forge running again.) But for a regular blacksmith to serve as an armor and weapon maker is a BIG DEAL that kinda knowledge was highly specialized! And yet Uther killed him easily.

OKAY time to nerd out a bit! This is quartering, an advanced heraldic tradition in which an individual for some reason or another wanted to show MORE than one coat of arms they were entitled to. You guys should look all this up, its fascinating! But onward!

Okay yeah remember what I said about Gwens family likely descending back to the Roman times? It's still possible but if Arab knight equivalents can get to Camelot then her family could totally have come from northern Africa for other reasons. Also I like the dude in Mauve having an Anglo-Saxon Helm and the due behind him having one from the 1100s I love Merlin's stew of things from all over history.

Okay this is perhaps just Uther being an ass. Because I'm sorry if you are not the king of Mercia I refuse to belive you are the king of Ireland. (Albion is not united yet.)

Perhaps its mostly knights of Camalot here with some exeptions? I mean if we are creative with the dude CLEARLY of the middle east we can say somehow became a noble of camalot. It would explain a few things. Did Valiant come from Ireland (Sorry I mean The Western Illes) originally then somehow for reasons we will not question also moved to Camalot? (Unlikely as Uther asks him to stay later.) There are also very few people here so likley perliminary tournaments were held? I mean we do see in Lancelot people come from all over to try to be knights of Camalot. so THEORETICLY Uther might be being honest here?

Okay this guys helm is the same as the Arab dude we saw before I think he just took his outher coat off. BUT And some of this gear is very European. So Camalot somehow has an Arab noble family that fights in ancestral gear when they can OR he got repairs along the long journey to Camalot in local styles. Take your pick!)

(You know because I can't be normal and just say they throw this in for visual appeal.)

Something to note! This would normally be the job for a Squire. A Squire was also usually the step before knighthood but in the Merlin world they do not seem to exist!

#bbc merlin #merlin lore #merlin lore rewatch #merlin loregasm rewatch #merlin bbc

[upwards-descent]

Redemption

(Good guy TotK Ganondorf AU)

Link watched the clouds leisurely glide past the Temple of Time. It stood like some stalwart soldier over the floating island, a beacon that made him feel as safe as it did uneasy. His head had been hurting since he came to and as he skidded down the beaten path, he couldn't help but grimace.

"I'm sorry," The ghostly image of Rauru sat nearby, his chin propped up in his palm. It was weird to witness, seeing that it was now Link's own hand. Or was it? He winced as his head throbbed. "I wish I had more answers for you but so much time has flown by. I'm... Mainly passing on messages now."

"I don't even understand what that means, you're being esoteric," Link snapped back but there was no true heat in his words, only pain. His arm hurt, too, and the ping between his bicep and temple felt like his nerves were being juggled around. "Either you do know or you don't know where Zelda is, I don't really care about anything else at this point."

Rauru's melancholy sigh was the only answer he needed.

At least the Constructs were pleasant, the non-hostile ones at least. They reminded Link of the old Guardian technology, when they weren't corrupt with Malice. Sweet Hylia, he'd barely rested across five years and now here he was once more, Hyrule in peril, Zelda lost, and a piece of himself missing.

"There's someone awaiting you at the Temple." Rauru reappeared, an arm slung around a tree.

"Yes, you told me."

"No..." His voice went quiet, eyes narrowing. "Someone else. Someone... Different. Keep your guard up and your wits about you."

Link had half a mind to flip the spectre off but felt it'd be going too far. He was tired, his body ached, and the frustration he felt within himself writhed burning heat in his chest. Instead, he forged onward.

There was in fact someone waiting for him.

He was a large man with long flowing red hair, dressed in garb Link recognized as some Gerudo style. What appeared to be a sword was lain out at his knees and the Hylian understood it was a position of submission, of surrender. Regardless, he unsheathed the weighty stick slung across his back and approached with confidence.

"And who the hell are you?" Link demanded, stopping at the top of the ruined staircase. The air up here was somewhat warm at least, in the light of the sun. "I've been told to watch out which really doesn't give me... A lot..."

His grip tightened and he held his weapon in a more threatening manner. Some spark of recognition tugged a scowl at his lips.

"You look familiar. Like that... Corpse we found under the castle," Link growled. He leveled the stick at the man's head. "Who are you? Answer me before I let action speak instead."

The man looked up at him and the Hylian nearly flinched. Though Link himself rarely wore his emotions openly, simply as an aspect of his personality, he was pretty good at reading other people instead. There was a great sadness on the man's face that drew in his heavy brows and touched at his frown.

"... I am Ganondorf, leader of the Gerudo," His voice wasn't as deep as Link expected given how large he was but he spoke with some degree of command that couldn't be ignored. "I... I only ask you hear my story first. After that, it's your call whether or not to slay me. I wouldn't exactly blame you for lashing out."

"Watch yourself," Rauru stood nearby, probably unseen by the strange Gerudo man. "This man, as I know him, is the greatest threat against Hyrule in our entire history."

Link held back the urge to heave a loud sigh. He was so tired. Still holding up his weapon, he gave a casual sort of flourish to urge his words further.

"Long ago, when the gods were nearer to the ground below," Ganondorf began. He sat up straighter but the sadness never left his eyes. "I was a chosen leader of prophecy. As had been foretold in my people's history, a male Gerudo is born only once every 100 years and is expected to lead. I was... Or at least, I tried to be what my kin deserved," Link questioned if Rauru was visible as the Gerudo seemed to glance forlornly in his vague direction. "I lead with pride and a steady hand. I listened to the complaints, the concerns, and dedicated every bit of energy I had to bettering our situation. The desert can be cruel but... It's our home."

"I've never heard of a male Gerudo," Link interjected, eyes narrowing. "And trust me, I'm closer to them than you'd think."

"The Gerudo... Persist?" The first glimmer of life lit up Ganondorf's eyes. "I see. Unfortunately, it's because of me that the legend is no longer spoken, or at least I can assume," Link watched as a broad hand kneaded at his chest above his heart. "See, there's a second prophecy I have unfortunately found myself tangled in. I can sense it's one that effects you, too."

The Hylian quickly glanced over at Rauru's ghostly image and he had the gall to shrug.

"Oh," Ganondorf's eyes widened. "I can sense the power within you, but you... Do you know of the Triforce?"

"Only because Zelda has a passion for history," Link let down his guard for a moment, brows knitting in confusion. "It's a big artifact, holy light, gifted to humanity by the ancient goddesses or something like that. I've... Seen her use a power that looked incredibly similar before but..."

"These are strange times indeed," Ganondorf muttered before refocusing. "Regardless. I have to assume that she and I and probably you are the three destined champions chosen by the Triforce, and by extension the gods. It's... A whole other history for another day but all you need to know is that the branch that effects me has been corrupted. Before any of our times, when the universe was young, an ancient evil--"

"Listen, if you're pleading for your life right now," Link cut him off by adjusting his stance, holding up his weapon with confidence once more. "I don't think a whole library's worth of storytelling is gonna convince me either way. Can you give me the short version?"

"Yes, of course," Ganondorf seemed bewildered but shook it off and continued. "I've essentially been cursed. That... Corpse was in fact me but it also wasn't me. As I grew into a man and matured, a powerful evil was sewn into my very soul. I was slowly taken over, used like a puppet by the shadows, until only my subconscious was my own. My thoughts, my words, my actions; perverted by this great evil."

Link felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when Rauru pulled an odd expression, like some great revelation was dawning on him.

"Though it was my hand that threatened Hyrule long ago, it wasn't by my will," Ganondorf frowned and huffed. "However, as I was imprisoned for millennia, the powerful magic of the Zonai--"

"Me," Rauru mumbled, as if that made anything clear. "He's... Referring to me."

"--The spell acted like a slow exorcism. That corpse is made of pure evil, mimicking my appearance," The Gerudo laid a hand over his heart in earnest. "I've been cleansed and... Now I have to make things right."

Suddenly, he shifted and Link dared to take a step forward, tightening his grip on the wooden club. Instead, Ganondorf laid his palms flat on the ground and touched his forehead to the pale stone beneath him.

"Spare me, don't, I only ask that you use me so I may pay for my sins," He begged, his voice thick with emotion. "I've watched through eyes clouded by hate, powerless, as innocent people were slain, as the world was torn asunder. Use me and let me correct these wrongs. Use me and we shall prevail to slay the true evil that's been left behind."

#idk why i made the poll a week long the results seem pretty final as is lmao #ganlink #totk ganondorf #totk link #in preparation of this i made a link personality guide on my personal characterization of the four links i had in that poll #it'll be interesting to see how it compares to others #scribbles

[thebabydragon]

Consequences

Short story.

{What happens when you openly defy the dark lord in his own home}

Sauron x OC

《 From the tale of Sauron and the Haradrim Rejha》

She knew it was only a matter of time before her luck had run out. Before the leash yanked back a new. She had gotten close, so close as to reach the platform to the lower levels.... to fresh air. The very thought of fresh air giving her confidence and strength to push onward, to find a way. She had been so close.

Read more below

It was only when she found the platform that she was caught. It must have been strange seeing her there, un accompanied and wide-eyed. Of course, she was caught. A skulking Uruk, rousing from its stupor, snorted aloud and emerged from the alcove overlooking the platform. She had been careless.

Any fight she had left in her was all but spent on her defense against the stinking thing. Not her whit or blade spared her. Though she was not starved, she was little match against the creature and earned a sporting cut on her jaw as a reward. A favorable price to pay compared to what was to come.

She had been caught. This time, there would be no excuses. No forgiveness. If only she had been more careful.

With in little time, Rejha was standing in a familiar, circular parlor, a single man like guard not far behind. Jagged rock of cut, black caged around the room, framing lamp lit walls of deeper black. Only some flash of color graced her eyes. Red. A flicker of gold. She stared downward harshly. Her face reflected in the polished black, offering little comfort in the soft red hues of the oil lamps hanging above.

She could hear her heart racing in her ears, her knuckles white as they gripped her sleeves, persperarion glittered across her forehead despite the bitting cold.

At last, the sound of the adjacent doors opening stabbed her ears, flinching, she bit the inside of her cheek.

Soft foot fall and the gentle hiss of heavy fabrics slithered toward her at a steady pace, not a word spoken. She need not look up to know the individual. In the cold, the heat that enveloped from his presence was enough. He was a forges fire even from a distance. As the footsteps came before her, Rejha pursed her lips and lowered her head all the more.

Black folds of void like fabric pooled before her muddied boots like a tar pit. Though the sight made her knees tremble, she dare not close her eyes. She dare not raise her head.

Finally, the dreaded words were uttered. Her stomach dropping like a stone.

"You disobeyed." Came the voice. Like fingers over silk and blades to flesh. Rejha cringed at the sound. The silence following his words a relief.

She breathed out cautiously and uttered as firmly as she could.

"I did not leave the tower." She spoke bravely. "I did not go beyond your sight. I remained in Barad-dur as-."

She was cut off by a hiss of air above her. A sound that silenced her immediately.

"You think me so plain that your words would hide your true intent?" Under her jaw, Rejha felt a leathered hand take her chin and raise her gaze. The heat from his touch, nearly scalding. Now, looking upward, Rajha faced the full breadth and horror of her host. Black was all she could see, save for two piercing eyes that shone down brightly beneath a low hanging veil. The eyes of Sauron. Even veiled the sight wearied her to the bone.

"After my generosity, I had hoped you would show some respect as gratitude."

His thumb stroked over the cut she had received from the Uruk, the folds of the veil tilting ever so.

"I swear..." Rejha breathed carefully, her lungs feeling shallow. "I was not trying to leave... I just wanted to see the sky. Breath real air again. I am owed that."

The dark lords stature adjusted to full height and released her face. His hand disappeared under the veil, a soft suckling heard, and soon, the blood was gone from his thumb.

"You have shifted along the edge of my patience, Harad. You are owed what I see fit to give you."

The heat of his gaze was suffocating as she held eye contact with him. It was not out of feilty or foolishness that she did so. But the fear that if she looked away, he would strike her down, like a wild animal cornered.

"Yet as it stands, you have done little to earn such favor."

Rejha clenched her jaw, trying to compose herself despite his words. She must tread carefully. His voice was as honey, but his viperous words were meant to rile. To push her on to do something foolish.

Her hand ghosted the blade at her side. Her arm aching to seize the hilt and cut through her way to freedom. But such were foolish fantasies. How long would she stand against him in a fight? A second? A few seconds, if he were gracious. She would not last long. Nevertheless, her desire to draw her blade ever present.

"You can't keep me prisoner here when I have done no crime." She spoke evenly, slowly, as best she could. "My people expect me to return, I am needed home. What more could I serve to you if I am kept here, purposeless?"

Sauron's head perked. Whether he was taken aback, insulted, or intrigued by her was unknown. Though the heat of his gaze did not relent in the slightest. It intensified.

"Who is to say what your purpose is to me?" He lulled, now leisurely walking about her as though admiring something she did not see. "Is that for you to determine?" His hand gestured toward her in strict fashion. Displaying, slender, leather clad fingers, only his ring finger was missing from his hand. Rehja's stomach turned, averting her eyes she would rather stare into his gaze than look at his hand.

The hand that was cut....

"If it is my will, if my word commanded you, who are you to question it? Is it not my wisdom and power that leads your people to victory? Am I not your sire?"

Gritting her teeth, Rejha flinched as his hand retracted into the void of his garments. She felt as though she were tettering on the edge of a cliff, desperate to stand upright.

"A thousand times you are, my lord. I can not comprehend your grand designs, but nor can I serve you cut from my purpose. I am dust with out my garrison. Let me return to my people. Let me serve you as I am born to, with your armies. I can be of greater use as a scout, archer or emissary. Please, lord. See that I am perishing, be merciful."

At this, a huff of amusement rattled her ears as a sickening chuckle wandered from his chest. From the moment she had first opened her mouth infront of him there had been little hesitation or fear. True the woman had been terrified in his presence but spoke her mind regardless. He could see the expressions in the eyes of her garrison. Horrified at her imputence. But how refreshing it was.

"Your tongue does you credit in only that it amuses me." He hummed. "Your betters would grovel at my word, yet you quarell with me." His slender, towering form circled about her till he stood behind her, leaning down over her shoulder. "Were I in a less savory mood-." He cooed, his fingers stroking the intricate bangles of her head piece resting on her temple. "I would have you on your knees, humble you till you begged for my pardon."

Rehja's face took on heat and redness. She turned her head from his touch, scowling to repress the intent of his words.

A gesite that did not go unknoticed. Sauron removed his touch and spoke further.

"As you amuse me, I shall be merciful, aleviate you of your woes by putting them to rest. Your garrison is not coming back for you, Rejha. They have been commanded out of Mordor to continue their orders. Therefore, any attempt to leave Barad-dur would be as pointless as it would be deadly to you. Your people have gone."

A shallow gasp escaped Rejha's lips as the silken words of Sauron hissed into her ear. The very idea of such a betrayal cutting into her very chest. It could not be true. They would never leave her behind, they were family. Her brothers and sisters in battle.

And yet there she was. Still in with in the dark lord's tower, standing alone with in the very center of his evil. Alone.

Her garrison had gone.... she had been left behind. The devastation of reality gripped her as though her heart had been squeezed till it burst.

"Given this." Sauron continued. "It is pleasing to me that you are to remain in Barad-dur as long as I require it. To serve me as I deem you should."

Tears welled in Rejha's eyes, her vision blurred from fatigue and grief. She could not help it. After waiting so long, desperate to see her garrison again, to finally go home, the news of their departure was more than she could bare.

A pained breath escaped her lips as she turned back and stared into the blackened void behind her. His two eyes watching intently.

"You ordered this...?!" She gaped, tears falling from her grey eyes. Sauron's head tilted downward, eyes fixed on hers. He did not hide his hand in this.

Rehja turned her gaze from his, lowering her eyes to harshly wipe her tears away. Her greif was crushing, nit only has she lost her freedom but any hopes of seeing Harad again. What could she do against what has been done? How was she to overcome the walls that had been closed in on her?

No answers were given. Only frantic panic and greif as she held her face.

With her face oscured, darkness enveloped her. She felt his hands on her shoulders.... the left one missing the ring finger. A heavyness like waves of thick fabric settled about her.

His breath was at her ear. His grip held her steady yet seemed dire in some way as she tried to console herself.

"Harad is your past." Came his voice, a lull that was sickeningly sweet to her ears. She almost fell into him from their honied tone. "You belong here now. With me."

Gasping, her heart racing, the cage she was trapped in shrinking, Rejha cried out. She could see only darkness. Feel only the heat closing around her. The dessert, her people, her home vanishing before her eyes into the jaws of fire.

Rehja pushed her arms outward, casting Sauron back in desperation. It was only far enough for her to reach her for blade and draw it. "No!" She yelled, tears streaming down her face as she raised her arm to strike him. If she was left behind, never to see her homeland again, then death was her only solace. Her only honor left.

Cursing in her own language, she made a swipe to create some distance between them. She managed one cut to his garment that was utterly harmless and swiftly found her wrist caught in his grasp.

Firmly, her arm was pulled to the side as she fought against him. A brave but fruitless endeavor. For no sooner had she cursed his name than he uttered one word that seased her movements entirely.

The word was harsh. In a language she did not know. Evil. Poison. It turned her stomach and left her without breath. She felt the vibrations of the word tremble about her, ringing in her ears and flushing her mind of all thought.

Rehja felt all strength with in her vanish, her mind became a haze and her will failed her at last.

The blade in her hand fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor loudly. A hand was secured about her lower back keeping her upright as she hung limp.

Staring upward into the veil, she was able to see the shadowed chin of the dark lord beneath. The skin was cold, pale, scarred and unpleasant to behold. Some devistation had befallen him, so much so that his body had been mangled, a horror to behold.

Despite her state and beholding a glimlse of the evil before her, her heart rate slowed. Her breath evened. Her eyes watched him calmly but intently as tears slid down her face. All care had left her.

His gloved hand returned to the cut on her cheek, apprasing it attentively. She felt her body being lifted and pressed against his as her face was brought to the hem of the veil. The the sensation of warmth suckled the cut of all blood.

When that well had run dry, his lips pulled back, a soft sigh following. The gaze under the veil lowered to her exposed neck, finding it unguarded.

Even as his lips were pressed upon her throat, Rejha did not cry out. She found peace, even contentment, despite the horror of reality.

Was she perhapse, even so bold, to find the warmth pleasant? The sensation of lips on her skin welcoming? Was it beyond her to enjoy what was happening? Was this not her purpose to serve the Lord of Mordor?

In a moment, piercing pain like a dagger punctured her throat and sent a jolt through her body that caused her to yelp aloud. Rejha held her mouth agape as an explosion of burning heat blossomed at her neck, spilling down her throat.

Fangs buried into her, lips drinking deeply as though her host were dying of thirst.

Sauron was wholly occupied in her blood as his nostrils flared. A low toned growl purred in his throat and his grip, held tight about her waist. His indulgence into this precious desert spring was a long desired thirst he would not now deny.

She could hear each gulp as blood was stolen from her body. Every suckle loud in her ear. Yet not a care could be had. Her vision blurred. Her breath weakened as each drop of crimson was hoarded, she faded more away into dimness.

"Don't kill me...." Her thoughts begged, while in her minds eye, she wandered from dimness to visions of Harad. Vast dessert of swooping, golden dunes that stretched across a pale blue horizon. She could see it even with her eyes open. Could almost feel it. Smell the air.

"Death is not for you." A voice spoke in her mind. And there in the dunes stood a man in stark white, she was nearly blinded by the sight. Even from a distance, she could see him, a fair elf like being that struck her with his beauty.

But the eyes... they were that of Sauron.... he smiled cockily at her as sandied winds kicked up his garments and disturbed the red, strawberry gold hair.

"I would not be so foolish to deprive myself of my only oasis."

In the cold reality, Rejha's eyes closed fully, a labored breath escaping her lips. She hung limp in darkness, defenseless against the moster at her throat and left alone in a strange land far from her people. Yet despite this, she remained at peace and dreamed of fresh air, dessert sands, and a of a fair stranger with blazing eyes.

#digital art #drawing #the lord of the rings #sauron art #sauron #the eye of sauron #digital painting #sauron fan fiction #sauron fanart #sauron imagine #sillmarillion #tolkienasmr #tolkien fanart #tolkein #jrr tolkien #fanfic #sauronxoc #short story #sauron short story

[mariki33]

PART 1

Nordmark pod translation Swe-Eng

First third of the interview. I have left out Per Nordmarks moments of reminiscens..

-Please excuse things lost in translation and lack of knowledge in the English language🙈

Enjoy, fellow Ghostie's 🖤👻

N: Tobias Forge. Welcome to the Nordmark pod.

T: Thank's for having me.

N: How's it going?

T: Fine,fine.. It's fucking boring to speak of the weather and such,, but shit! What a great weather we have?

N: Do you get the blues during the winter season?

T;, Ee mm.. Like this.. Like all kids i had, at least some, restless feet and thought it was relatively fun to be outdoors. But at kindergarten and such i was often the one left last. Single mom, had to work you know. Eem, so i liked to be on my own, last, and indoors. I could sit there and have all the Lego for myself and i could sit there with the tape recorder with a bunch of kasettes i brought. And i. I like to be indoors in the nature. If i go to the mountains i like to watch the outside from the indoors. Snowcovered slopes..Being out on the country side, being close to nature but not in it. I'm not an outdoors person. But! I am a very season effected person and so. But when i started going on your, for real. And when i, for the first time, had a shock from when in January going to Australia. Then you noticed like,, my back pain is gone all of a sudden. My body doesn't hurt. What's going on? And because of me going back and forth to Los Angeles during the year i notice, purely physical, that smaller leaps (season wise) feels better. One last thing about weather.. I can say the upside of living north of a certain latitude is that it will take a lot for Sweden to "stop" because of the weather. And i don't know, maybe you didn't go to school at that time. Out,, I'm an -81,,

N: Yeah you're a bit younger than me.

T : Most people remember 1995, when it was one day when baisicly all of Sweden was covered in snow. And it was stated, -Today you don't have to go to school.

N: School for you,,was it a catharsis for you?

T: He he, as in a had a revelation of not wanting to be there? Well yeah. I guess i felt it was pretty boring. As, I found myself socially in a twilight zone, because i was an outsider, like by choice. I had friends, plus i was like… I come from Linköping. Its a small town, or smaller town at least. And when you start in first grade and onwards, and you don't move around, you end up knowing everyone who was around from the start. Like so. And there.. One can say i had wind in my sails in that sense that i knew the "right" people, and people who…But most of the people i knew and was around were of the same age, or one year older. They were,, almost none of them were interested in music, listening to music maybe, but not playing. And then I ended up sort of outside. Plus i wasn't just interested in music, but extreme music that nobody liked and my interests became very specific and i had a laser focus on it. Early on. And that lead me to slipping further and further apart. And at the same time becoming tiered of school and turning teenager. With all that comes with that. And um, eeh, i was pretty messy, both outsider and maybe not that nice to everyone.. It was a messy time.

N: Is the boy playing alone still in there?

T: Aah ey, i,,,I think i create myself a lot of time alone when on tour. I don't know, i'm pretty much in between all the time. But i really need to walk away to charge the batteries. And i have to, ehh,,i go nuts if i don't get to be alone. So basically i make sure of it. If its only to walk the other direction, walk around and return. Just to have some.. But, well, as a grown up i have power over my life and have made sure to get an amount of space. Em, And need to, Emm.. As a, it sounds boring but i'm kind of the boss over a bunch of people, like that, Ee, Now, of course i have hired someone else to be tour leader, to boss over others. So i don't have to be the executive, telling people.

N: But in the end you're the narrative..

T: Yes, and that means to carry a social responsibility to some degree. Like, i can't behave like everybody else does. And I can't.. When were on tour we are like 40 ppl or so. And of course you're not best friends with everybody. And many of them are there because they are very good at what they DO. While if you sat down to talk you find out you don't agree politically and aren't remotely alike. So its kind of easy to, -you go your way and i go mine. I got my stuff over here, and then participate sometimes. It suits me pretty well,.. Oum,, When i'm at home… I've got two kids, wife,, so, So of course it's not… Of course i can just go for a walk, and i do. But you don't have the same possibilities to be solo. To just stay awake all night and just watching.. If i have a day off, like on tour, if i have a day off i can spend the whole day and night in a hotel room just watching You Tube.

…..

…T: It's a plus to come to a city you know..

….

T: But i like Stuttgart. There are some great record shops.

N: Are you a big record collector ?

T: Aaa,ah, I am, but the collecting, or the record store visiting frequency has become less because, Ehh, partly from a knowledge of what it is. So when i come to cities i know where i want to go. In the beginning i went all ower. I could take a cab to go to all the record stores in the city. A whole day. Even if it was a gig in the evening. I was totally exhausted when the evening came. But today i've taken that into consideration. Damn, if i'm in Stuttgart, we're playing in the evening. I can't be out sightseeing. In that case i can make an estimation the day before and say - tomorrow i want to go to a place and make arrangements for that.

N: You do pretty long shows..

T: Nah, ah, well, Yes.. One hour forty five minutes, somthing like that.

N: How does it work those days when you don't feel like it. Are there such days?

T: Well sometimes of course you can be physically and mentally tired, Eem, We had, when we just started this tour cycle now, a little bit over a year ago. We did a,, At first we did a US tour that lasted six weeks or so. Six weeks is pretty normal, i have to say. It's not like shit, it's pretty normal and the amount shows you have to do to cover enough land, and economical aspects aswell. Ja,oo,, if you do shorter tours it tends to be crew quitting. Because they want lasting jobs, and short breaks but no breaks preferable. So one must think holistic what's most efficient for all, so people don't end up quitting. Its a pretty advanced show. We can't, it's disturbing if we have new people in the crew -if they're not awesome that is. It's always like -Shit! we have a new guitar tech. And stuff happens and you hear it goes wrong, and it's the wrong guitar and wrong tune. Ehm, but we did the US tour January, February, March. Pretty dark then. And it was exact in time for covid to be seen as "passed". Concerts was allowed. As far as that it was a go. But rules varied between the states. Almost equal to if it was red or blue. Red state -All is fine,, and blue, it was EH! From a touring perspective my reactions was almost like opposite my political standards. It was pretty tough coming to a city and everything is forbidden, you can't do anything. You're only allowed to leave the bus and walk into that air lock and everybody are supposed to be tested. To me this became so troublesome because now we've decided to do this tour and, -Damn ! It's 7000 people coming.. -And they're NOT! supposed to be tested. You know,, AAAHH!! But in the end we had a deal amongst us, and Volbeat was on the tour too, -We will not test everybody, everyday. As was the plan at first. Because what happened was, we just ended up sending people home, it was such a mess. People getting scared of being fired, hiding they were sick, -you know..such a mess. So we said, well, lets make this tour work now. But we stayed in "bubbles", like many did When you've been in a bubble and not been outside in three weeks,, and to the advantage if our success we're playing in hockey arenas. -Hockey arenas. You know? -it's not many windows, and like, it's somewhat like a being in a cellar, -like this almost. Storage rooms, boiler rooms, long corridors, tile, kitchen, industrial kitchen..Then, you really had to make an effort to just keep up some level of serotonin. So, i walk, everyday, 10.000 steps before the gig. Just to get..I have to walk. And when on tour the easiest way to do that is around the arena. So i was standing by the entrance in a lobby, in front of these huge windows, just standing there to just, i don't know, get some d-vitamin. I felt like i have no reason to be sad but i don't feel happy. I feel tiered and want to sleep, can't take no more ..

…To be continued

Translation by Ulrika Linderoth from the Ghost Sweden Facebook group

#ghost #the band ghost #tobias forge #slavghoul #rock #interview #Imperatour #concert tours #Europe tour #us tour #sweden #Sweden rock

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

about that guy I met on my European vacation--

OK, don’t get too excited, nothing that crazy or illegal happened. But I learned a few things about myself in the process that I thought I’d share. GET READY BECAUSE SHE A LONG ONE

So here I am on my 35 day European tour of a lifetime, starting in Barcelona and ending in Greece. When I get to Barcelona I have to meet my tour director after driving from the airport because he has the keys to our rooms. I knew he was Greek beforehand in the group chat--I’ve seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding about a million times and also I’ve played Assassin’s Creed Odyssey, and his accent confirms it. “I like your name,” he says when I introduce myself, and it’s from this point onward that I have two missions for this trip. Number one: have an amazing time. Two: avoid this man at all costs, except when necessary for the tour. 

Avoiding him is simply about survival, even if he seems personable and truly wants to get to know all of us on the tour. I know I’m not that interesting a person and he is quite good looking and also really charming. If I’m not careful, I’ll catch feelings. I know me. He’ll just be doing his job and I’ll mistake it for attraction. I’ve lived through this song and dance before. It’s the curse you wear when you’ve grown up in a body that society doesn’t deem as good enough. Even if time has made me what society would call “prettier,” old thoughts of you’re not pretty enough for him are going to linger, lines forged by the likes of my grandmothers and casting directors. I am the funny side character, not the romantic lead. Hell, in college I wasn’t even on the stage. I remained in the backstage area as the helper. The funny side character stays on the sidelines. She provides funny banter, not the romance arc. She has to protect herself. 

Yet there’s a moment after Barcelona before we head to Paris where he ends up having dinner with me and my friend, myself terrified when he plops down at the same restaurant we’ve chosen. I don’t do much of the talking, my friend does, asking him all sorts of questions about his life I wish I could have asked, and some brazen ones in my mind anyway like are you married or attached? he’s not, come to find out. I glean he’s sort of a wayward traveler and content with that, but he admits he’s getting a bit too old for this tour directing thing. He also lets me try his food. It’s a small kindness I wouldn’t have expected from an American man. I feel brave. I tell him I like the way he says my name. 

“That’s what I said,” he says, twinkle in his eye. (No, it’s not. I let it be. I like the way he says it. To Europeans I even begin introducing myself via his pronunciation.)

Time passes without incident. I follow my promises in Paris, London, and Amsterdam. I know my other friend L likes him a lot and says she danced with him in Paris where they connected. It’s probably true, but I don’t know--I also can’t help but feel there’s something in the way he looks at me. A glimmer of something or other that some part of me recognizes, but doesn’t think can be the case. Not for me. I know my place. Then Prague happens. 

A lot of things happen in Prague. The morning of our tour through the city I get an email asking if I’m still interested in joining the company I applied to before my trip. I can’t believe it. I’m in Europe, and when I come back there is now the possibility I won’t have to go back to teaching. The day goes on, a terrible heat wave in the city. He takes the group out to a medieval dinner--sort of an interactive renaissance fair. We’re all as a unit, very drunk and ready for more drinking and dancing. It may be one of the best days of my life. Here I am in Europe, a world away from last year in the deepest pits of my depression and anxiety, drinking beer with an amazing group of travelers who I get to call my friends. We hit one bar, and then another, an Irish pub where he is, of course--he loves his Irish pubs and makes no secret of it. He flits around and some of my friends chit chat with him, but I of course don’t say anything. Of course we want to keep the party going--so we head out to this eighties dance club where he follows. I admit my eye is on him during the night--he helps out one of my friends who gets so drunk she can’t walk. (And he avoids her attempts to hit on him as well) but mostly I dance and I dance and I dance and I drink and I let loose in a way I don’t think I ever have. I feel beautiful. I feel free. And hell, when I see myself in the mirror--I am beautiful. Later, my friend tells me how cute I was drunk. I let loose. She’s right. Everything is perfect, except for the nagging realization I have to pee.

Upon what I call the pee test, wherein you get to see how drunk you are in the bathroom, I am moderate. I can stand but things are a little wobbly. Not the drunkest I’ve been, but pretty drunk. I emerge from the bathroom. There he is. 

He grabs my hand. He doesn’t let go. He stares into my goddamn soul. One of my friends is prattling on about going to another bar, I think, but it’s so loud because “Here Comes the Rain Again” or something is playing. He is insistent I come along too to this other bar with them all, still looking into the depths of my soul and holding my hand. In my drunken, yet still somewhat lucid state, I ask him why on earth he’s standing outside the girl’s bathroom. No answer, but my hand is still in his, and his eyes are still looking into the depths of my goodman soul. I feel really fucking pretty. So pretty, part of me realizes a good looking man is holding my hand. I hold on tighter.

We don’t end up going to another bar, we end up staying, but still holding my hand he takes me away from the girl’s restroom, finally, and eventually a tentative arm is places around me, something I reciprocate until more people crowd around. Shots are bought. We take a shot together before back to the dance floor we go. He dances with me, our backs turned in this shoulder-to-shoulder sort of shimmy, and I am vaguely aware of my ass grinding against his. When it’s over I am horror-stricken. People definitely saw me grind with our hot as hell Grecian tour director. But I’m in it too deep. I want to dance with him again, and I throw out some joke as I shake my hips about how they are going to hurt tomorrow--to which he laughs. It’s at this point another girl notices and literally throws herself on him. I watch with my mouth agape as he fights off her advances, and watch as he eventually untangles himself and leaves. 

I can’t sleep that night. Number one there’s a heat wave and I’m on the top bunk, and two, I’m swimming with thoughts of what the hell just happened. He started it, but why? The funny side character shouldn’t be treated like the romantic lead. The morning comes and the girls in my room mention his behavior from previous cities after noting how the other girl danced on top of him. They mention behavior I haven’t seen, and are concerned about his professionalism and if tour guides should go out dancing with tour groups. “I think I danced with him,” I say. “You did,” my friend replies. I  can’t help but feel judged. 

We move on from Prague in our trip. In Switzerland I decide to accept the new job. I see more glances from him here and there. He watches me get hit on in Venice. Then there’s this one particular look he gives me before we drive to Florence that I can’t shake away. I tell him good morning and the way he replies, you’d think I made his morning. 

Once in Rome I end up crying. We are deep into the trip and I want to talk to my Mom about my new job and also what happened. It’s confusing and I don’t get it and is this lack of professionalism true or something that should bother me? My friend L tells me a rumor he kissed a girl in Barcelona in our group and confessed his life story to her--and she says she doesn’t like him anymore, albeit for different reasons. I never ask. But there’s something ingrained within me that senses shenanigans will happen, even that night after I kiss an Italian boy. 

I’m right. It’s the second night in Rome. I go to a bar with two other friends. Apparently this is his favorite Irish bar in the whole of Europe, and of course he’s there. He plops beside me, deriding my choice in drinking Heineken when I should get an Italian beer. He asks me what I’m going to do when I come back to the states. I joke about ice water. He teases me. I tell him the truth, that I want to talk to my mom about a few things. I think about Prague, but leave that out and tell him about my new job, and how it’s everything I wanted but I’m nervous to leave teaching and also take a decrease in pay, but it’s also exciting because my head will be clearer to write more during the day, and I get a foothold in a career that’s interesting to me. He’s happy for me. 

From there, we talk, and we talk, and we talk and do occasional shots with the others I came with. The night is a blur, I can’t say everything we talked about--movies for one where he’s impressed I know who Laurence Olivier is. (”Of course I do! I’m a Shakespearean!”) and places he’s been to. he loves architecture, and tells me I could pass as Italian, and even Greek. (He’s right, I get mistaken for Greek a lot a little later) I show him a picture of my grandparents, and when my friend next to me starts showing pictures of the various colors she’s dyed her hair, I casually mentioned I stopped dyeing my hair. “Why would you?” he asks, “it’s a pretty color.” Once, he offhandedly mentions he’s self-conscious about his accent. I tell him I like it. Rather bashfully, he thanks me.

He takes a picture of us in the bar and posts it to the group chat. More people arrive. We kind of remain by each other’s side. He buys me a beer separate from the rest of the group. At some point I have to pee. On my way back from peeing I end up smooching another Italian man. He uses too much tongue too quickly for my taste. On my way back, he follows me. You know who sees this whole exchange and is very amused I got hit on, apparently. I think I mention something or other about my therapist telling me to kiss boys in Europe. Then he’s gone--gone without saying goodbye, and I’m a little upset but mostly I’m elated. I talked virtually all night with a man I find attractive, and not once did I run away. My good mood is only spoiled by the fact that I learn when I call home that my grandma was placed in the hospital.

The next day after the Vatican I’m eating with my friend L and a few others, and she casually mentions how he tried to get her to party with him yesterday. Driven by tiredness and also my news from the previous night, I go to my hotel room and cry. I don’t feel like he played me, but more so that I played myself. I’m just the funny side character after all. Why would I think I’m special? We’re going to Greece in the morning, and my body is just so tired I have no desire to go. 

But go we do, and once in Athens I just feel very, very happy. I can’t even really describe why the city makes me so happy. but I feel safe there. I feel like maybe the past life reader I emailed back in April was right, Greece was once my home in a time before. One thing is sure, I am not wasting my time on my tour director anymore. I’m just going to enjoy the rest of the trip. 

Except he’s eating lunch the same place me and my friends decide to eat at. We leave him be but he’s as amiable as ever. And then later that night when me and another group of girls decide to go for drinks at a rooftop bar---he tags along. I don’t really speak to him much, other girls in the group dominate the conversation, but I try my best to look wistful and unbothered. He lets me sip from his beer, and when I ask my smoker friend for a cigarette puff  he beats her and gives me a puff of his. He mentions the Irish bar in Rome and how I was there with him. I feel a sort of electricity when he plops by me to smoke and he’s pointed toward me. 

The next day at the Acropolis he gives me this sort of playful, dreamy look I don’t see him give anyone else, and I ask if he thinks I look silly in my hat. “Yes,” he says, and I laugh. Another dreamy look in Paros when we’re by ourselves by the sea for the briefest moment. He looks at me like I’m a revelation. It makes me laugh. It makes me feel like the romantic lead. One last wistful look the next morning before we return to Athens when he tells me “good morning.” Again, I feel a sort of revelation. My friend tells me later there’s a rumor he slept with a girl in our group. I kind of don’t care.

At our last dinner in Athens before we all must leave, I give him his tip. We embrace, we take a photo. He wants me to send it to him. I do, and he gives it a little heart. He comes out dancing with the group, one last time. I don’t see him for a bit, but when he bumps into me in the club he asks me where my drink is. I ask him if he’s going to buy me one to replace it. He teases me before agreeing, and then more people crowd around and suddenly we’re taking shots. It’s at this point I see the rumored girl he slept with in our group cuddle up near him, to which he doesn’t reciprocate. I give a certain look of disgust, one he mirrors. “What happened to the Irish bar?” he asks me. I am possessed. I put my hand on his cheek and I tell him I’ll always remember it. He will too, he says. That’s his favorite in all of Europe. 

I remember that souvenir I bought in Athens a few days ago, my name on a necklace in Greek. He’s supposed to give it me at some point, and when I ask he says he’ll just keep it if he forgets. YOU’RE GOING TO KEEP A NECKLACE WITH MY NAME? I ask, and he just looks sheepishly at me. I know I have to leave soon, so I say my goodbyes. “If I don’t see you, when I leave in the taxi to the airport,” I tell him, “I will kill you.” And then I embrace him again. I kiss his cheek. 

Such a simple thing, a kiss. I always thought I would have to be deliberate about it, because I imagined kissing his cheek in parting before. I wasn’t so. I was possessed, automatic. When he kisses me back on my cheek, an immediate response, it feels like an I see you, you were beautiful, I enjoyed my time with you. It feels romantic. 

So we part a few hours later with an embrace--nothing too crazy. But when I’m home, I message him because he asked us to let him know when we’re home safe. I thank him in Greek, and thank him for everything. I tell him I’m glad I stopped waiting around for someone and did what I always wanted to do. He thanks me. Am I going to leave it there? He lives in Greece, I live here. He told me he wouldn’t live in the US. Fuck, I’d move to Europe for true love, though the chance of him being it for me are very, very slim. I do know he said he’d mention if he was in the US, and asked me to mention if I was in Europe. Of course I’ll go back to Europe. I’ll always return. And I may need to message him. Some of my stories take place partly in Greece. I need research help.

In my therapist’s chair upon my return, she tells me who cares if the rumor about him sleeping with someone is true or not, I know what happened between him and I. He’s a tour director and he probably lied when he said he would never do something like that in Athens. At the end of the day, he’s European, and Europeans have different sensibilities. Good for me for kissing him, and after all, it’s not really about him. It’s about how I felt confident, I felt beautiful, and I held a man’s attention. She’s right of course. She’s always right. This story isn’t about a romance, it’s about the funny side character coming into her own, and knowing she can be the lead. It’s about how I got to know this amazing, incredible woman, and now I know I can’t be without her. And, my therapist says, it’s time for me to write my book. 

I used to be sad I didn’t have a partner, how I would look at pictures of my cousin’s family and be jealous. But I see them now, and I see how beautiful it is, but I also see how that’s not what I want. Not quite yet, I still want to travel. I must, for me. For my soul. For the art that I will make. 

And as for my tour director, I waffle back and forth now that I’m home. I know I can live without him. I’m ready for the man I will marry, but I also don’t want him yet, weirdly enough. There are things I have to do. I learned that in Europe. I learned that with my tour director, talking with him, exchanging heated looks with him he didn’t give anyone else. I was careful to observe that. I admit, there are parts of me that have this knowing that there’s more and I haven’t seen or heard the last of Nikos.  

I guess time will tell. I’m happy either way. I’m still the lead.

#personal #DO NOT REBLOG PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING THAT IS HOLY #FUCK WHY DID I WRITE AND PUBLISH THIS #this is long #warning

[sergeifyodorov]

I’m very curious about why Leafs-Oilers SCF would be “Good Hockey”! What would make it Good, and what would make it Good-er than other potential combos?

few reasons

the hockey

stanley cup final is between a good western team and a good eastern team. kind of obvious but that means there are only so many possible combinations of hockey that you can make, and not all of them are interesting to neutral observers!

ok ignoring my obvious leafsguy bias. if i want to watch a stanley cup final i want the two teams facing off to be not only good at hockey but also engagingly good at hockey -- i want excitement! i want goals! i want it to be fairly evenly matched but in a way that brings UP both teams' strengths and potentially also provides highlight-reel Fuckery. some teams, let's be honest, are straight up not fun to watch if they're not Your Guys, or sometimes they will bring other teams down to their level and be less fun. i do not hate the wild but they're nicknamed the mild for a reason, you know?

there are a few teams that are Good but not Fun (carolina) and many many teams that are Fun but not Good (sens). Goodness is fairly easy to quantify, but Funness is a little more nebulous. here is my proposition for the first few Fun Qualities:

at least two stars (super-type, not dallas-type. in roope and robo's case they Are both though), or at least two guys who stand a step above the rest in terms of quality. homoerotic devotion optional but strongly preferred

quality more stemming from Hijinks than Systems. in Systems hockey everyone kind of does the same thing. in Hijinks hockey we get sillay with it

really good and sexy offense. defense optional but strongly preferred

i would like it if they didn't try and kill people on the regular

patrick kane is not there

examples of teams that are Good And Also Fun (imho)

devils (this pisses me off because of how well whatever the fuck they did worked)(that whatever the fuck is tanking, getting lucky, and signing for the underlyings)

stars

oilers (this pisses me off for reasons i can neither name nor describe)

leafs

even if you count on this list not being comprehensive (it isn't), this does not leave us with a lot of options. this is my campaign for leafsoilers though so we forge onward

2. the narrative

i am weaving a web i am webweaving. it is about connor mcdavid. it is about the curse. (you know the one). it is about the fact that the greatest player of our generation was born just outside toronto, a leafs fan born and raised. it is about the fact that on the year another generational legend was set to be picked into the league, that wayne gretzky's original team won the lottery.

the leafs won their own lottery, too, of course. one year later. they missed out on connor by a year and instead took auston matthews, the ovi to connor's sid. the goalscorer to the playmaker. the ferocious competitor to the good humble perfect canadian boy. as sid and ovi were rivals back then, so must mcdavid and matthews be. every cup run either of the older pair had, one of them defeated the other. as above, so below.

3. god damn it, patrick roy

no canadian team has won a cup since patrick roy's montreal canadiens did in 1993. he got humiliated at the forum, cursed out the habs, and ended seventy years of dominance. the league, supplied as it is in significant portion by canadian fans and players, is really pressed about telling this to us at every opportunity. they would goddamn shut up about it as soon as it was canadian on canadian violence in the scf please god.

#asks #long story short: it would break at least part of patrick roy's curse #it might break the leafs' curse #and everyone would shut up about neither canada nor mcdavid having a cup. #well. they Might shut up about mcdavid not having a cup. depending on how the series goes #also it would straight up be entertaining hockey!

[sen-no-kotowari]

PGR Noan Activation Day 2023 Mail

With the recent text editor update, I won't be using my usual plug-in for the posts I make here onward unfortunately. I'll try to figure out which format for the voice lines would work for me so other than that, everything's probably the same.

You can read more of Noan's thoughts about his activation day on the cut down below (*‘ω‘ *)

Is today...

Hello, Commander. I found the book you mentioned the other day. Please come pick it up at the library when you have the time since I’ve borrowed it for you. Also, Commander Simon was looking for you. It seemed like he absolutely wanted to meet up with you today, but… I can tell him that you can’t if you’re busy. Though I think it might not be that important since you haven’t tried to contact me, but still… In any case, I’ll be in the library for the whole day. Please come drop by again when you’re free. From: Noan's Mail―Part 1

Thank you

Who would’ve thought that both you and Commander Simon were planning to celebrate my “activation day.” I couldn’t remember the exact day I became a Structure since this amalgamation of a model was constructed by an Ascendant using scrap parts of other defunct Structures. I wrote down my date of birth when I registered in Eden because I’ve been told that it was okay to write down my birthday or any specific day I have in mind as the date of my activation. For you to remember such a day… I was really surprised. Allow me to express my heartfelt gratitude. Thank you, (Commander). Even though I should’ve told you this when I escorted you to the Gray Raven’s maintenance room, the words were somehow stuck in my throat. A lot had happened in my life that I wanted to forget my own birthday and even other people’s birthdays. I think I would’ve also forgotten my birthday if it weren’t for the two of you.  Thank you, for remembering this day… For celebrating the day a sinner like myself was born. Would this mean… I’ve gotten a bit closer to you, enough that you’ve accepted me for who I am? I know I should send something as a token of appreciation at times like these, but… While we were choosing a gift for Lilian, I noticed that Commander Simon and Captain Palma don’t know a single thing about you, including the things you like and all. I thought of giving something adequately practical as a gift, but a senior officer told me the other day that friendships built on a lack of gratitude are frail and fake. It’s also important to have a sense of indebtedness toward others. Even the best of friends frequently argue with each other and it’s precisely because they try to reconcile their differences even after so many problems they had faced that they’ve grown close, forging a genuine friendship. I’m no longer a wayfarer without a home to return to, plus I wish to stay here in Eden as of now. That’s why I don’t want this to be a one-time thing after today. I want to see you again. I want to know more about you. I want to directly hear it from you rather than from someone else. I wish to give you something better next time as a gift, as a friend and comrade. I believe that maybe this sketchbook illustrating the starry sky at night would be good as a token of appreciation, but… I drew it because I wish to convey to you that I would always remember the words you said to me that day. P.S. That being said, I thought just giving you a worthless artwork as a gift wasn’t enough, so I’ve also bought you a bottle of multivitamin gummies. Commander Simon told me that you can replenish the nutrition your body needs with this. Since you’re also tired today, please take your vitamins before bed and get plenty of rest. Don’t push yourself too much. Good night. From: Noan's Mail―Part 2

#pgr #pgr noan #punishing gray raven

[primordialsoundmeditation]

OLD WAYS 🍃 from my book The Heirloom Gardener.

"Walking. I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands" —Linda Hogan

Linda Hogan's old ways are those of her Chickasaw ancestors. Mine come from the landscapes of Italy, Ireland, and New England. They were emblazoned in our gardens, on our tables, and in our treatment of the land that supported us. They were passed down in recipes and prescriptions. In the way stones were fit together. In the way a dovetail joint expanded and contracted through hundreds of seasons.

Old ways are how my hands learned to follow a pattern, save a seed, make a cordial, and trace the lineage that makes up every fiber of my being. In centuries past, people’s lives were harder in many ways. But most were also richer in meaningful experiences gained by living lives connected to the seasons and the elements. Lives more vivid for the visceral interaction of handcraft and better connected for the legacy of handed-down skills.

Seeing these old ways as historical precedent and blending them with modern inquiry can help us to retrace familiar steps with new eyes. Look closely and analyze the memory embedded in fragments. We can find inspiration from the assured hands of a knitter, a calligrapher, a mason who came before us. Methods as simple as hanging out laundry or as complex as dyeing fabric with botanicals.

Although they can often be improved upon, old ways are guideposts that have helped us survive childbirth, illness, natural disasters, wars, and season after season of ordinary days. Why did particular herbs and spices become traditional medicines? Which heirloom seeds deliver the most flavorful, prolific, or disease-resistant produce? Old ways can shed some light, offering clues, like puzzle pieces, when we’re fitting stones back into an old farm wall or letting our hand be guided by earlier cuts when we prune an old orchard tree.

Old ways are the familiar artifacts that help us to explore an unwritten code, like talismans passed down to enhance and protect us. Ways so deeply embedded that they guide hand and heart to forge onward with minimal effort. Ways so old that only the wind and the trees can pronounce them. No matter how dark the days, old ways can help us succeed and regenerate, like a woodland begins anew after a devastating fire. Old ways hold memories evolved through countless seasons of ice ages, hunting and gathering, agriculture and industrialization, feast and famine.

As Rachel Carson reminds us, “There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature—the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.” For a multitude of reasons that vary all around the world, we have found ourselves at a necessary turning point in our relationship with the earth and each other. The gardeners’ spirit knows why we have to take care of place. We know it from our very roots, and they are our tonic, our life blood—the water we drink, the soil we till, the heirlooms we grow, and the air we breathe.

Old ways can speak to us. They can lend us confidence and skills to do things like forage, but like any other language, their translation can make a world of difference. Old ways are nuanced, and they call upon us to be attentive to the details. Place, population, season—and how our decisions play out in the larger communities around us. At its core, respect is inherent in the old ways. If we poison the earth, if we do not apply lessons learned, we can poison ourselves; but if we pay heed, we can know no greater nourishment than the wild greens gifted by nature and birthright—nurturing medicine, like the lingering savor of a grandmother’s chicken soup.

In an age when our waters and landfills are choked with plastic, old ways remind us how to make a wooden cutting board, and why it is best to rub it with garlic or lemon when we are done. In a world with tidbits of food-like substances sealed in plastic to preserve shelf life, learning to pickle, ferment, and preserve foods that actually nourish our bodies becomes an act of resistance. At a time when chemical fertilizers are sterilizing the land and toxifying our lives, old ways remind us to compost, companion plant, and cultivate perennials that draw up nutrients from deep below the earth’s surface. They remind us how to eat a dandelion instead of pouring chemicals onto our lawn. In a world where we have sped up climate change and disease for the bottom line and profit margin, the answers we need (like dandelion) are blowing on the wind.

Old ways help us to roll up our sleeves and get things done. They help us to draw upon all the learning in the universe and the fifteen billion years of compost, in order to advance civilization and soil. It is our great fortune as gardeners and seed savers that we know how to get our hands dirty, how to take spent soil and rebuild systems. In The Same Ax, Twice: Restoration and Renewal in a Throwaway Age (2000), Howard Mansfield concludes that whether it’s rebuilding an old farm tractor engine or reviving the village model of community organization, it must contain an element of renewal—like fashioning a new handle for an ax broken so many times that there is little left of the original; yet its preservation communicates the spirit as well as the form of the original.

When I lived in Japan, I visited the Ise Jingu, a Shinto shrine some two thousand years old. But every twenty years, for at least the last thirteen hundred years, the most outdated building there is torn down and exactingly replicated. The process of regularly rebuilding the wooden structures, which would otherwise have been lost to the elements, helped preserve the original architecture; but even more importantly, it keeps the artisanal skills and processes (from harvesting and aging timber to timber framing and thatching structures) alive—often with the same lineage of artisans that built the shrine two millennia ago. In contrast, on recent visits to Boston, I have watched an almost entirely new city being built on the old waterfront piers. Dizzying skyscrapers built at sea level on centuries-old landfill. I am keenly aware that craftsmanship did little to inform these plans. It would seem that nobody was tasked with creating buildings and landscapes that could be seen as living, breathing organisms, or that could endure decades of climate change. Clearly, in this age of excess, the old adage “a rising tide lifts all boats” no longer pertains to all; and these sinking ships may well be left bankrupt for the rest of us to contend with, like so many other outmoded dams and toxic waste sites from coast to coast.

We are not living in the most detail-oriented of times. Science can surely help us to advance, but first we need to know the right questions to ask. And all too often, the patterns most deeply ingrained in our history evade us. Old ways don’t require that we remain stuck in the past. Many are best abandoned and good riddance, but most simply remind us of patterns that have kept us resilient, helping us to survive a history full of change. Historian Howard Zinn urges us to remain hopeful, to remember the times and places where people have “behaved magnificently”; doing so “gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.”

The elders I’ve known who found ways to stay positive through changing times are role models to me. It’s not that their lives were easy, but they never forgot all the ways that they were fortunate, and they made sure to acknowledge them as fervently as they worked for justice, equity, and beauty in the world. There is nothing political about taking care of the earth. Every person knows it in their conscience; and old ways can help to guide us as we cultivate food, flowers, forests, and ecosystems, starting with the plot of land beneath our feet. They are living histories, and they are marvelous little victories. Open up the recipe box, the jar of seeds, and share the craft. Our work is to radiate out as far as we can, like ancient seeds carried on the wind.

Traditional haying woodcut by Mary Azarian whose art illustrates my book https://www.amazon.com/Heirloom-Gardener-Traditional-Plants-Skills/dp/1604699930#customerReviews

The Heirloom Gardener John Forti