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sorabeebb · 4 years

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After reading a lot of fics and imagines, I decided to write and post something about my Oc and Reno during the events of Before Crisis 😊

Hope you like it! And I’m sorry if Reno is out of character and if there’re mistakes, english isn’t my first language.

Pairing: Reno x Oc (Neila)

Warnings: swearing, blood,torture, mentions of dead.

Word count : 3024

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The deafening sound that was being made by the chopper’s propeller didn’t give a chance to strike up a conversation. The long ride to the proximities of Nibelheim was spent in complete silence between the two Turks and the SOLDIER. It wasn’t uncommon during war times that the brute-strength from SOLDIER and the slyly approach, a Turk’s trait, were paired up when required. Although the built-up rivalry between the two sections could be almost touched.

Tseng ,on one of the two pilot seats, never took part in these meaningless arguments. He thought both divides had their purposes to benefit Shinra interests. The Turks were more suitable for works which didn’t need a straight strike like SOLDIERs were. Of course they had to deal with more or less undesirable tasks but Turks were more refined than that.

However Reno at his left, on the other pilot seat was everything a Turk shouldn’t be. He had got a big mouth, usually tried to pick up fights with SOLDIERs, with obnoxious ways of doing missions but he was good accomplishing them nevertheless. Tseng had to give that to him.

On the other hand was Neila, a second-class SOLDIER, at the back of the chopper. Tseng had scouted her some years prior in Junon, dragging her out of that fortified town straight to the SOLDIER tests. He had seen potential into that teenage girl, which soon was proved. She had a way with magic and an extraordinary stamina. Perhaps she didn’t demonstrate a powerful brute force or strength as most SOLDIERs did, but in reality she had got it after all those mako baths and trainings. Neila had trained her ass to where she was standing.

The ride could have been worse if the airscrew hadn’t plunged the snarky remarks of Reno about the unnecessary presence of a SOLDIER around.

Tseng just became lost into some mission reports or files just after Reno had taken the helicopter off, , whilst Neila had brought some book with her to read at the back seats calmly.

After almost six hours of riding, Tseng took control of the chopper. “The last sighting of Hideki was of him heading to the mountains. Some trail must have been left behind. Find him and recover the files he has stolen. Then put them back into the Shinra Manor” He repeated the main parts of their mission..

“Gotcha.” Reno confirmed, stepping to the doors, while Neila gave just a nod as acknowledge.

“Don’t get yourselves into fights. Discretion, Reno!” Tseng called the red-haired Turk out.” is a must.” He still didn’t understand why Veld had chosen him for this mission. Other Turks would have been more suitable for this task, but Veld suspected Avalanche had something to do with it. Furthermore, the stolen goods were important classified op about secret experiments, which had been made years ago. He guessed the third in command Turk was the best option at his boss’ eyes.

Tseng would retreat to Rocket Town, something about another mission of his, where he would wait till Reno notified him theirs was complete.

Jumping off, Reno and Neila fell over the rocky floor. Fresh and clean air filled their nostrils rapidly. They had landed far from the village, in the mountain chains surrounding it.

Neila tensed up the same moment her feet touched the field. An odd grieving feeling started to overwhelm her, with a rhythmic pounding, beating softly at the sides of her head. She assumed the lack of rest was the reason behind it.

A sour grimace appeared upon Reno’s face. He hated the countryside with all of his being. He had grown up in the slums, used to the mako steam filling the air, and although he was the first one to say the slums were garbage, Midgar felt like home, and all that rural areas with its nature and clean air sickened him.

“ Let’s finish this fucking shit as soon as possible “ Reno said, pocketing out a cigarette, and lighting it up. Both of them strode up the hills, scouting the fields for any signs of Hideki.

“You know smoking is bad for your health, right?” Neila spoke once she kneeled down before some footsteps. The headache fading away with each step they took farther.

“ And what?” He retorted after her irritated. She had seen him smoking several times before, often hanging out after a long day at work. What has gotten into her now?

“ Nothing, just that is bad, I doubt Veld approves his Turks ruining their health. “ She turned her head to look at him.

“ Lucky for you, Veld doesn’t have a say about it.” He puffed on his cigar slowly, as a silent challenge.

“ It’s a bad addiction. Just saying.” She wasn’t that fond of his harsh attitude, which intimidated and annoyed her.

“ There are worse addictions. I’ll die first working than from smoking, sweetheart. But your concern touched me.” Sarcasm in his voice, irritating Neila more. “Besides, you’re one to talk.” A SOLDIER trying to lecture him about bad addictions. He felt the urge of laughing at the occurrence.

“ Suit yourself then.” She gave up about having a civilised conversation with the Turk. “ These footsteps… Hideki must have climbed up to the top. What do you think?”

Reno kneeled besides her frame,invading her personal space and inspecting the trail. “ What a dimwit.” His cerulean eyes following the tracks ahead them.

“ Excuse me?” Neila frowned at his words, and stood up on her feet again, glaring at him amazed. The warmth his figure let off had felt so good against her bare arms.

Reno started to stride up the path, leaving her behind. “ If he’s gonna steal from Shinra, at least he could have tried not to let a sloppy trail of footsteps. Not that I’m complaining though.” He wasn’t, he rather wanted to be back in Midgar soon, but he also liked some type of challenge, not something this… simple.

“ If you say so… Well,this way we’ll finish the mission in a record time.”

“ Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart. These mountains are full of monsters who have been living between mako residues for years. It will be a miracle if Hideki has not been devoured by those freaks yet. “

“ That’s why I’ve been deployed too? Because there are mako-contaminated monsters roaming around?” Neila guessed.

Reno didn’t answer her, and just keep on going up to the peak of the mountain, following Hideki’s clues.

“ Now that I think about it. Does Hideki have anything to do with Wutai?” Neila asked again with curiosity. Brilliant mako eyes searching for the named man around the caves and boulders in their path.

“ If I tell ya, I’ll have to kill ya.” A cocky smirk curled up his lips, shooting a side glare to the SOLDIER, while he threw the cigarette and stepped on it.

“ You wouldn’t, not that you could anyway.” A loud laugh burst from him, who bent forward slightly, pulling a hand on his chest. “ What’s so funny?”

“ Oh, sweetheart, I would, but not before enjoying other things first.” He sent a playful wink towards her, hidden intentions not that well hidden. The attraction between them wasn’t a secret though.

“ In your dreams Reno.” Neila answered back, folding her arms and rolling her eyes.

“ Have already done that yo.” Playfulness splattered upon all his features, and enjoying the blushing and embarrassment creeping Neila up.

They were reaching the top without any unpleasant encounters, yet. Maybe Reno was right,and Hideki had already been eaten up.

“ I know you’re joking, cut it off.” She ended the talk, ashamed. She would be lying if she said she didn’t think about it before. Even if Reno was insufferable most of the time, he still was attractive with his flashy red hair, blue eyes and those red marks, and without saying his strange selection of customized uniform. And his personality was tempting too, although it pushed her buttons too many times.

“Oh? You are ashamed now? A strong SOLDIER like you? “ He carried his ironic remarks on, making her still more uncomfortable.

“ I’m gonna make you swallow that rod of yours unless you shut up.” He was driving her up the wall.

“ I would like to see ya trying to do it. “ The joking end up abruptly when a cry out for help crossed the air. Both of them ran up the last steps till the top, being welcomed by a hideous scene.

There was their target, surrounded by a group of what looked like a four mutated praying mantis. Mako influence for sure. A leg and an arm had been ripped off from his body, blood gathering on the rocky land beside him.

The bugs must have come across the man shortly before them. Unless they finished the monsters off, Hideki would be eaten and no options of getting information from him would be possible.

Jumping out to action, Reno took his electric rod out, and Neila her sword. Although the mantis weren’t that many, the mako running through their organisms, made them stronger, and a pain in the ass.

If Neila remembered right from previous encounters, Mantis’ weak point was ice magic. “ Reno, back off!” She yelled out, while she gently caressed the green materia placed inside her left bracelet’s gauge.

The Turk was about to retort at her, but with his characteristic speed, he retreated back after noticing her intentions.

The ice magic flew straight across the battlefield, hitting and freezing three of them.

Now getting rid of the mantis should be a piece of cake. With three frozen-up, the remaining one didn’t stand a single chance.

Lightning trails were drawn around the frozen monsters, followed by unpleasant cries in pain, which would have caused your ears to start bleeding.In the blink of an eye, Reno had wipe those things out with just one strike.

“Man, I hate the bug-type monsters, I really do.” Neila murmured after taking care of the last one at Hideki’s foot. Her standard SOLDIER sword deeply impaled in its thorax, and some type of purplish blood splashed on her uniform.

“ Well now, now… What do we have here?” Reno walked slowly, watching the almost limbless man laying down in agony. The facade he had showed previously around her, was replaced by a sadistic and cruel one, sending goosebumps down her spine.

The SOLDIER wasn’t unaware of the inhuman things the Turks did, but she had never got the opportunity to witness one yet.

Realization shone in the dark eyes of Hideki. “ A-a Turk!” stuttering, he dragged himself as far as he was able from Reno. “ Please! I didn’t do anything!”

“ Of course you would say that, wouldn’t ya?” Reno stepped onto Hideki’s stomach, pinning him down with force, not letting him more room to scape, or keep dragging on. “Now about the files you’ve stolen...Do you still have them on you or did you already give them away?

“ Reno, he’s lost too much blood. He won't…” Neila tried to say watching carefully the blood ponds.

“ Please have mercy! I didn’t give nothing away! “ The man yelled, air leaving his lungs in short breaths. He didn’t have much time left.

“Oh? So you still have them. “ Reno checked inside Hideki’s backpack, finding some type of old books and folders. “Who’s your contact?”

Neila was speechless with the scene in front of her. Their target was crying and shouting due to an unbearable pain, his blood still blooming from his open cuts and lost limbs. And Reno was interrogating him not caring about his poor and bloody status.

She had also done unnamed acts in her missions during the war time, but her work never consisted in torturing like this.

“I don’t have a contact!”

Reno chuckled before positioning his electric rod upon the man’s throat, as a silent threat. “ I’ll ask again idiot. Who’s your contact?”

“Please!” an electric wave went across the injured body, more screams of pain could be heard, but soon were vanished amongst the rocky walls of the tallest mountains.

“Did ya change your mind? Or should I keep playing with you? Long time I don’t electrocute someone, I’ll be sure of making the most of it.” The Turk was smiling pleased with the sight of the man shouting.

“Fujito! It’s Fujito!” Hideki answered. Fear could be read on his face.

“Where?” Reno pressed more the bar against his skin.

“In the nearness of Wutai! Please I don’t know more, let me go!”

A sigh escaped Reno’s mouth while he was dialing Tseng, who picked up instantly. He told Tseng all the information obtained, and after a brief minutes and a nod, Reno pocketed back his phone.

Tseng must have given him directions.

“ Not that you would be able to reach that far… “ With a last look at Hideki, Reno stepped off of him, and walked back down the slope. “Come on sweetheart, we still have work to finish with. “ A gesture with his left hand told her it was the time to continue.

Neila ran behind him, words caught in her throat, unable to bring them up. Some things couldn’t be approved, but work was work, and they had to do it.

The flirtatious and cocky facade had been back on Reno’s face during the long rambling to Nibelheim. Several encounters with monsters slowed their descent. Even though the mission had started rather earlier in the morning, when the sun hadn’t risen down yet, it was almost nightfall when they reached the village.

“ I guess we’ll have to leave things for today, don’t ya think?”

“ Probably.” The headache had returned with every step they took. Not that it wouldn’t let her fight or keep with the mission, but it was getting tiresome now.

“I’ll notify Tseng, go ahead babe.” Reno stood outside the inn while Neila entered to ask for the room keys. The owner would be kinder to her in her second class SOLDIER uniform than to Reno with his characteristic and recognisable black suit.

“ It was about time a SOLDIER was sent here to clean up the surroundings crawling with beasts.” The owner greeted her with a smile.

“ Yeah, well… “ Shyness taking the best of her. She was awful at talking with strangers.

“ Shinra booked two chambers, I guess those are yours. “ Veld must have taken care of it. The girl nodded, uncomfortable. “ Here you are. If you’re gonna clean the place, you’re gonna need a place to rest.” the keys were put on the wooden counter.

“Thank you.” Taking the keys, she was ready to head up to the chambers, but Reno shuffled himself inside the inn, greeting the owner, whose face changed to a grimace of disgust.

The Turks weren’t well welcomed here either.

“ I’m exhausted sweetheart, we should go to bed. “ his arm over her shoulders, guiding her upstairs.

“ Your key.” Neila offered the object to Reno. “ And please, hands off of me.”

“ You’re hurting me.” A false expression of pain crossed Reno face, while he grab the key, but still refused to let her go. “ Acting all tough as if you don’t want it.” mockery present in his tone.

“ That’s because…”

“Don’t you dare lying to me. I’m not blind, nor I’m a fool. We’ve been toying with each other for a while.” He cut her off after a chuckle. Reno was starting to get tired of this shit. Fooling around was okay for a bit, but not for that long.

“ And? You’ve got a problem with it?” swallowing the shyness, she was able to answer him. She wasn’t used to flirting , let alone a straightforward confrontation like this. For Bahamut, she had never had anything with anyone. When she was still a teenager Tseng had brought her along to Midgar as a SOLDIER candidate. All of that romantic stuff was new for her.

“ Don’t ya think it’s enough?” Reno had dragged her in front of him,holding her still with his hands on her shoulders, and leaned forward, blue eyes focused on hers.

“ I doubt the corridor is the best place to discuss anything Reno.” tearing apart her gaze to the side.

“ You’re a tease.” Reno might have been a sadistic, and might have done inexcusable things during his career, but forcing a woman was out of the question. There were some boundaries that couldn’t be crossed.

“ It’s just that… I’ve never…” She whispered, ashamed.

“ Ya know that I know, don’t ya?” He had thought she wouldn’t have been that idiot to believe that he hadn’t caught that she was inexperienced. He was a Turk for Bahamut's shake, he had been trained to pick up into people’s traits. Besides, her clumsy acts and nervous reactions at his flirting, demonstrated her innocence, anyone with two eyes would have caught it in a jiffy.

The surprise in her features said otherwise. He let out an exasperated sigh, and released her shoulders, letting her free of his grip.It wasn’t that he was going to give up, but until she had made up her mind, he wouldn’t make a move “ It’s late and we still have a long day tomorrow. A comfy bed is waiting for us so… see ya tomorrow’s morning sweetheart. “ Giving her one of his signature smiles and shuffled to his assigned chamber.

Neila bit her lip, thoughts racing across her mind, but walked behind him and tugged his clothed arm, turning him to face her.

His mouth slightly opened of surprise at the sudden movement she had done. This time Neila was the one leaning forward to him, her eyes sparkling with resolution.

Well, it looked like she had already made her mind up. In the blink of an eye, Reno shortened the distance till their lips meet into a sweet and naive kiss briefly.

Once they broke apart, the smug smirk made its way back to Reno’s lips. “ See? It wasn’t that difficult.”

“ You can’t have you mouth shut, can you?” blush drawing onto her cheeks, but her eyes were glittering more than normal.

Reno let out a laugh, and bit his tongue to avoid saying a snarky remark before leaning down to meet her lips back again, this time into a more passionate and long kiss. After all, they’ve been playing around for weeks, it was about time.

#ff7 #reno x reader #reno #reno sinclair x reader #final fantasy 7 #ffvii

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

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I’m sorry I’m late, Levi. Here is my birthday Drabble for you

I’d heard the rumours. We all had. The stories one would tell a child to keep them from seeking the embrace of the night. Like a fool I’d signed my name to the contract. To hunt the unhuntable. The rid them all of the curse of the night. Yet such a fool I was. Young and ignorant of the future to pass. When I first met him, it was like a midsummer dream. A flitting presence in the corner of the eye, as one would expect from a young sparrow on a breeze. He held himself with such poise and grace, with a but a turn of the head he’d carried himself from my vision, if as if the sparrow had never been. I may say met, though we did not speak. But for me it was the truest form of meeting. A meeting of unknown fates that would bind us all the way to depths of our very soul. He knew me, from but a glance. Yet our true meeting was still some time off. Winter in all its bitter struggles came. The land swallowed by the thick blanketing of snow. The nights so cold and long that the darkness seemed forever infinite against our finite existence. With its rolling winds and dancing flakes, it came to us and stole our warmth. First one or two, then soon I was all but was left. Such lofty dreams we held when we started. Wishes that our names shall become recorded as the great heroes we believed we’d be. How foolish man is. Man who is but a drop in the great ocean in all the times since time began. How ignorant we were of the particulars of our foe. I’m sure if we had known this was how our story would end, none of us would have been so hasty to sign our lives away. No one would have called us cowards. For each man sought his own self preservation above all. Each of us thought ourselves the finest of specimens. Each with some unique trait or quirk that would ensure our victory against all odds. Yet, we are but flesh and bone, and he... he was manhood ascended into god form. For many nights passed in the bitterest of conditions. My stead, whom I had taken the pains to train painstakingly since foaldom, the most trusted of all my companions finally fell. His noble white hook taking through the ice, as a warm knife would slide through butter with ease. Thrown from the saddle, limbs so numb that the pain of the landing elicited the sensation of a thousand needles upon the soul, were useless as his struggled, sinking ever deeper into the frosted swamp the ice had hidden. To shoot him was as if to shoot ones self. In the arm or such, no, perhaps the removal and loss of such limb would truly be the better description. His black eyes half lidded as continued to struggle. Leg clearly broken, yet my noble friend still tried. With an almighty snort, resignation filled the beast’s features, death delivered swiftly so as to release my last true friend from the struggles of his mortal life. That night I ate the heart of my last friend. Taking upon the legends that his strength should reside in me if was to do as such. Following his death, it was as if God had condemned me for the murder of the most refined beast. The gunpowder I held fell damn and useless. My clothes torn to shreds by the biting winds. I sincerely hoped for death. I had not even raised a hand to my foe, yet he laughed at me from afar. He struck us all down without lifting a single finger against us. Such thinking’s brought a smile to my face, the weeks of isolation and seclusion has endowed me with a touch of lunacy it would seem. If my poor mother was to see me now, how she would weep for her foolish son. Perhaps it was better that she’d been taken into heaven’s embrace early, sparring her the horror of her son’s foolery. Oh, why had not listened to gentle Armin. His kind and soft nature so often seen in those of scholars and academics. He’d thrown himself at me, begging me to rethink, and how bitterly I wish I had. His warm embrace and that of my cousin were the selfish dreams left to a dying man. Those days we laughed as children might. Armin’s sweet nature naturally made him the target of those less than civilised, yet my sweet friend never raised a hand in his own defence. Not wishing to stoop to such levels, he held a defiant stance. Unlike myself and my dear sweet cousin Mikasa. How I longed to see them both. Would the recognise the wretched thing I became as their once dear friend, or cast me to the streets? Sweet Armin, so gentle and willing to help the most wretched would offer me a seat by his fire and soup to warm my empty stomach. Mikasa would glare, her slim arms crossed as she watched, waiting until the last dregs of the bowl were empty to then cast me back to the streets. It was by some amazement I had lasted as long as I had. My poor notebook had seen better days, it’s pages often stuck together from the snow melting through and chilling my breast. Each coming day I had tallied, each line a signal that my bleak existence had not been snuffed out while I huddled lost and cold. How many life times a man could live in those days condemned to be remember by such a small and trifle thing as a line. By my count a fortnight and then some had passed since the killing of my dear friend, and all that time I had wandered, sometimes until my body could no longer support my saddened frame. As I scrawl these few lines I am quite certain that tonight shall be the last for me. My refuge the ruins of a once might cathedral. A fitting place for one whom God Almighty has turned his back on. I never did meet him again, yet I am remarkably at peace with this outcome. I may be a young man, all of 21, yet I feel the cold chill upon me as if I were the most wisened of men. Let me sleep, and dream of the better days and the embrace of my mother awaiting me. It is by luck that I made it through the night. I felt sure that the small fire I kindled together has been dying as my eyes slid closed. It seems too happy to call it luck, though I know my dear sweet cousin would call it just so. Regrettably it is a sentiment I can no longer associate with one particular emotion I might call my own, for each day is yet another served in self loathing. It would have been far nobler to have passed with him comrades, for I have passed so far that there is nay chance of being recovered. If there was, such a grand and fine cathedral shall not have fallen into a sad state of disrepair. When I close my eyes, I can very nearly imagine the ladies of the parish in their fair white dresses, one perhaps two bells tolling. The familiar phrases of muchly repeated bible versus, that as a child I thumbed nose at. Again by luck, or some greater cosmic design, there was a dead rat not so far from where I’d bedded. Bedded. Ha! What a novel notion. The rags I sleep in barely hold a candle to soft downy bed I shared as a child. None the less, and as starved as I was, the companionship of the rat was short lived as I roasted him over my fire. Such a short and brief meal, my manners akin to ravenous wolves as I devoured my brief friend. Despite pretending the small thing some more appealing such as a quail, the gamey taste filled me with such revulsion I barely kept the meal down for a matter of moments before I threw up. Where he sits upon his throne, God is surely having a good laugh at this pitiful fool. It has now touched on dusk. I am taken by a peculiar sensation of eyes upon me. Rats scratch and mice scurry. Yet I have not the strength to pursue either. Through the shattered remains of a once grand window, the moons bright rays are yet to illuminate my little friends. My little friends who shall no doubt feast upon my bones, as I did their brother, upon my demise. Above me some bat looks down, the soft fluttering of the wings I at first mistook for death on the wind. To have come this far, I wish I had the strength to go all the way. To catch this fiend and hold him to account, for I have lost so much on this chase that he is all that is left for me. It is now we meet for a second time. His footsteps lighter than a feather as he flits just out of sight. His eyes as red as the flames of hell, yet all he has done is wait. I have pulled my blunderbusts on the devil, yet he does not know as I, that the powder too wet for even a final shot. Yet, perhaps if provoked, he would grant me my fondest wish of a swift death. With shaky aim, I raised my guns, pointing at the fiends red eyes, fingertips paused on the triggers. He speaks no words, nor makes any sound, yet I hear his laughter in his ears. My fingers squeeze the triggers but a millimetre and he is upon me. Great halberd in his grip. In the light of the mood he does not look like the devil of legend. He looks like my saviour. His soft short black hair flows so beautifully, his eyes now silver in the light. Plump bottom lip and thin upper of the most palest pinks. My fingers abandon the trigger. In a split second he’d changed the trajectory. The heavy silver blade that was to grant me my release embedded it’s self barely a breath from my ear. My wicked foe, nay, I cannot deny, for he is the most beautiful man I have set my eyes upon. He is quick to jump back, confusion clouding his charming face “Why do you not shoot?” His voice makes my heart leap, for having no one to talk to for so long has taxed me muchly “Why do you not behead me? Or is your thirst so great you think to drink from my neck?” He pulls a face, crossing his arms. Clad in the garb of all Prussian upper class, his riding coat black with the fanciest of gold trimmings. It charms and suits him muchly. He stands an inch or so beneath Armin, and perhaps a whole heads length beneath me. Yet, in his own way, it is so becoming upon him. It plays on the tip of my tongue to tease him over his height, but never have I beheld such a man who radiated such intelligence. Oh the conversations we could have had had we met under different circumstances “I’m not so hard up to feed upon any shitty brat before me” I cannot help myself as I laugh. His refined appearance held none such hint of such blunt conversation. Yet again, it suits him well “Alas, it is all I have to offer you. Had we met elsewhere, perhaps we could have feasted like kings. Yet, I am sure when the night ends, so shall my life” “This is true. You’re barely worth the rags you sit in. At first I was irritated, then confused as to why you did not turn back” “The foolish pride of man. For we are a gluttonous bunch” “Stubborn pride shall be your ruin” “I can not deny that. Nor you nor I, shall deny the words of a dying man” His voice excited my heart so. I’m quite certain he must have noticed as he came closer, removing his weapon from where it was lodged as if it weighed nothing more than a sheet of paper. The second the weapon disappeared into the shadows it ceased existence. If not for the gaping wound beside my head, I would have thought it all a figment of my imagination “Having pursued me for so long, I find myself curious as to what you are thinking” My heart fluttered, a sensation I thought gone “That the devil may just perhaps be my saviour. If I am to die tonight, might I look upon the moon’s grace one last time” “It is the act of an insincere man to swear on the full moon” Arranging my features into the best smile I could give him, I replied “Then it is a good thing that God has turned his back on me, though I’m sure I have nothing to swear” When he laughed it sounded like the first sweet bird songs once spring has sprung. Taking my hand as if I were not a filthy thing, he raised me to my feet. I felt sure he must hear the pounding of my heart. The delight of being touched again sent shivers through my body. His own held a warmth that was wholly unexpected. Supporting my frame, he led the short distance to the windowsill. The moon in all her grace shined so brightly tears formed in my eyes. In my hurry to thank my companion, I turned too fast. My cheek hitting his face as I gasped in horror. Again, my strange foe laughed. I noticed blood had beaded upon his lip where his sharpened fang had cut “I am sorry” “You are strange. You delight in though from he who you deem “devil”. Now you apologise to the face of your foe” My cheeks heated, he had noticed my excitement “The moment you stepped beneath her light, I have never seen a sweeter sight. Your countenance not at all like the villain my mind had made you into. The human mind is fit for flights of fancy. The first time you danced past my vision, I thought it a dream. If this is all a dream, I pray not to wake” “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?” Raising a soft hand, he thumbed over my cheek. The softest in his eyes so gentle my breath caught “Will you feed upon me when I die?” “If that is your desire. For the man who pursued me for so long, I shall grant you one last wish” The decision came easily. For if I never say another day, I did not wish to die with this regret “Then let me wish for a kiss” His lips were soft. The softest ever pressed against my own. Knowing my own perversions, no kiss bestowed upon me had ever sent my heart soaring as the soft meeting of his lips against mine. Not those of my sweet cousin, or those of friends offered in friendship. No. None of those kisses could compare to the thrill of no longer denying ones self. Feeling his teeth scrape against my lower lip, he pulled back to gaze at me in the moonlight “For many months I watched you. Your foolish struggles brought me no delight. I knew in my heart that I should be gladdened at the death of your friends, but let me tell you this, Eren Jäger, I was never the monster responsible for the crimes against my name. Your blood is the first to pass my lips in long over a decade. I do not wish for your death, yet I have nothing that which may sustain you” My heart skipped a beat as he said my name. It seemed all was well known by him “You know my name, but I not yours. They call you the devil, all manner of names as such” “I am Levi. Nothing more, nothing less. This curse forced upon me against my will. When you have passed, I shall continue to walk this world alone. Is there someone I should notify of your passing?” Brushing the hair from my face, I wondered how I could ever thought this man the worst kind of fiend “My sweet cousin. Though I fear her so fierce she shall instantly hold you to account. I have no blood family remaining. My father is gone and my sweet mother taken by the plague. Her own family was lost, and like a sister she has been to me” “With your boundless pride, I was sure you must be the rebellious son of a noble” Smiling softly, he wasn’t terribly wrong. My father had held a position of high standing as the saviour who’d stood against the initial plague upon our village “Perhaps in another lifetime... You have shown me much kindness, Levi. For that I am grateful. Never have I had such a sweet kiss placed upon my lips. I shall be gladdened if my life is of some use to you” With his arm around my waist, he led me back to the fire’s warmth. Before I could object, he sat beside me. His pretty coat upon the dust “You know what I am, yet you did not ask for my curse” It would be a lie to say that I was not envious of the thought of seeing another day, but it was his eyes that stilled the thought before it reached my tongue “Never have I seen eyes as sad as yours. Your curse is no great blessing. It has robbed you of even the simplest joy death brings. But you shall not have my pity, for I know you are strong enough to see this curse through. I sincerely hope from the depths of my heart you shall find someone to walk this long and dark road with you” “Would you?” My laughter turned to a harsh cough. Levi rubbing my back until my breathing had settled “I am hardly anyone’s first choice. I shall cherish our first and last kiss. It was more than I ever thought I shall receive” “I ask... I mean... You are right. It is hard and it is lonely. Yet it has been easier since I set eyes on you. Your boundless youth. The beast you hide within. I don’t think I would mind being bound by this curse if it was at your side” “You flatter me, yet you do not know me” “I know enough, Eren. If you ask of me this, I shall promise you shall never walk alone. We both house what they call “beastly” desire. You are the first and last human I shall ever offer this curse upon. For know it is a curse. And yet, I am selfish and a slave to my human desires of company” Staring at Levi’s face, he was earnest, if not looking somewhat constipated. How beautiful he was though. As if carved by the hands of the greats. His silver eyes held such hope that I found myself as his mercy. This man, who’d shown a wretch like me such kindness. How could I deny him his request when he’d asked me so honestly. The beast I’d thought to hunt was my saving grace in my darkest time “Will it hurt, terribly?” My tone was timid, Levi’s fine lips morphing into the saddest of smiles “Only to begin with. Then each time one you love passes before you eyes” “You, who have led the saddest of life’s have given me such joy. I can deny you this one wish you have of me. I ask that if anything is to go wrong, you shall destroy me by your own hand, for nothing shall give me greater joy” “For you, I shall. I shall give you the Earths and the heavens, all wonders shall lay before you feet” My cheeks reddened further, for his words spun like the finest of silks “If I am to have you, then I already hold all the wonders a man could ever need in one lifetime, or two. How does this... How do you...?” Levi stroked my hair so lovingly that I could not help but lean into his touch. For a man whose heart no longer beat, he’d shown such love and kindness “I will cut your lips upon my fangs, then do so my own. My curse is in my cursed blood. Yet know, I do not sup from those not of my kind. You shall meet them all in time. Until, my blood shall be your bread and wine. A whole new world will scare you. It will overwhelm you. And at times you will curse me. But for one as lovely as you, you are all I could ask for in a mate for this journey of life. I swear this to you” “Isn’t it the act of an insincere man to swear on the moon” “Our lives are not blessed by the warmth of their so called God. Insincerity is all I have, though I do believe I swore to you, and not on the clear moon of tonight’s sky” “Then you shall swear on your blood. The blood we shall share” “This is do readily. Are you prepared? I will take no offence if you decline me, or only accept my proposition so that you might return to your family some day” “I have stalked you this long. I might as well follow you until the end” “Then close your eyes, my gentle beast. Take my blood and be born new” The pain passed to pleasure. I am quite sure that I must have lost my mind. Never have I experienced such an unbounding pleasure as I found in that bloodied kiss. Levi’s blood rushed to meet mine. The feeling akin to having a million wasps released into ones bloodstream. Such descriptions would not normally be used in such tight conjunction, yet to those who have not tasted the sweetest of sins there is no easy way to express the overwhelming senses of... overwhelmingness. Hungrily I fed from his lips as a starved babe from mother’s teat. Levi undenying of my thirsts, holding my body to his as the last of my breath passed from my mouth to his. I could not tell you how long the embrace lasted. It felt to me as if all the seconds of all the minutes of all the hours of my meager life passed between us. Levi feeling my dizzying highs and bitter lows with such grace the last beat my heart gave was for him. When the moment passed and the kiss broke, his eyes flashed red “Tonight you will change. Your body will born anew. This place does nothing for one so fine” “It has its own charms” “It’s filthy, brat. So filthy that not even pigs should be subjected to disgusting environs. You, who walked so far, let me carry you the last of the way” “My heart. My soul. My blood. It is all for you” Spurred by my words, Levi was swift in lifting me from the floor. My arms looped around his neck, as I hid my giddiness. This life is already such a magical life. We have no breath, yet we form words. Our lungs expand from brain’s memory that breath is a necessity. He did not need to breathe, still, I felt the steady movement of his chest as he did... He was so very human, yet so very not. My blood dribbled down his chin and chest, staining his fine line shirt and cravat. My nose could smell his blood amongst the mix. Base hunger aroused, somewhat mortifyingly as I realised my desire to lap away the traces of our sealed pact. For his part, Levi raised an eyebrow, I’d temporarily forgotten he’d faced the same hunger before “Soon, my insatiable beast. Let us leave before the first rays of dawn” “Shall we ever gaze upon a sunrise again?” “We shall see so many that they will all become the same” “Still, this is our first sunrise. I feel remiss to not know the date” “It is Christmas. The first day you shall walk beside me. Nothing could thrill me more” Unable to suppress a little mischief, I laughed softly “And soon you shall see that I am the gift that keeps giving” “I have no of doubt that” Burying my face against his neck, Levi started towards the broken window, as he leapt with me in his hold, it occurred I’d been quite rude. I’d decided myself his gift, on this the holiest of days. But as God had turned his back on me, I turned my back on his son. The man whose arms held me, held more hope than I’d ever known “Happy Birthday, sweet Levi” “The sweetest one to date”

#Ereri #riren #Levi Ackerman #Eren Yeager #Levi #Eren #2019 #vampire Levi #aot #snk

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mdnghtfae · 3 years

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season 3, episode 5 - a seat of civilisation and refinement

"never let a vampire in close. i'm half vampire; half of me wants you to step in close enough for me to bite your throat."

#adrian tepes #alucard #castlevania #alucard castlevania #dracula #lisa tepes #sypha belnades #trevor belmont #gifs

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iwannafuckyexiu · 5 years

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A TEASE A DAY BRINGS YOU CLOSER TO DEATH 002

TIGHT P.E. UNIFORMS AND AIZAWA'S KINKY BANDAGE SCARF to think about it, this whole anime can become a hentai if you have great imagination.

Click.

A boy stands beside the door, blazer slung over his shoulder, the top button of his uniform wide open and crimson tie hanging loosely around the collar. The first thing that most notices about him was his long and narrow but charming eyes then the ruffian temperament he has.

Overall, people conclude that he has nice looks to woo some girls but he seems too much like a rascal down the back alleys instead of a hero in the making.

And yes, it is Y/N.

"Woah, this class is full of beauties," he comments and flashes a slovenly grin to them as he leaned on the wall just beside him like he has no fucking bones.

"Who do you think is the prettiest then?" a familiar mustard head boy retorts with a very difficult question for anyone that has seen too much high score faces.

To that, Y/N just laughs: "Of course it's—"

"YOU!"

"I remember you asshole from the exam, you fucking stole one of my kills!" a pissed off voice calls, and oh boy Y/N thought it was familiar enough, as he did get kicked by him in the middle of his sleep when they first met.

"Language, Bakugou-san! We should be civilised and educated h—" this guy with glasses makes an attempt to lecture 'Bakugou-san' but gets cut off by that unkempt boy by the door.

Y/N walks over to Bakugou's table and plants his hands on his desk, veering down to grin at him, "Oooh, well isn't that Tsundere-kun who's oh-so passionate to me?" Tipping his chin up with two fingers, Y/N shifts his lips towards Bakugou's ear — to the point where the latter can sense Y/N's mellow breath against his left ear, "Why, missin' me?"

The close proximity and resonant voice of his finds Bakugou with a flaming face that stays even after Y/N backs away. "S-SHUT UP DIPSHIT! AND FOUR EYES I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT BEING A CIVILISED PERSON!"

"Okay, okay," Y/N puts his hands in the air and saunters away from the scorching piece of wheat, but his tone still as amused as ever, "I'll see you later boy."

"Hey Y/N!"

Rotating his head, Y/N recognises the mustard hair boy in one glance. His eyes arch as a lively leer contorts his features, "Ah, if it isn't blushy boy Denki here."

"Likewise, s-scoundrel."

"Awh I thought I'd at least be a charmer or something."

"Nah man, your whole body just shrieks: 'I like flirting with anyone that looks decent' and that's exactly true to you."

"But you're not decent — you're," Y/N pauses for a while, "pretty good." Not only pretty good. His yellow hair and semi-long fringe frame his face and jowl to perfection, those phoenix eyes of his when they curve into crescents as he smiles adds to the glamour. And not to mention his well-kept figure. All that makes him overall attractive to almost anyone — absolute hot punk boy there.

But all that description is just in Y/N's mind and he just can't really piece all his words together properly in one go.

"Pfft," Denki snickers at Y/N's lack of vocabulary and questions with a cocked brow, "did you run out of words from your dictionary or something?"

"Yep, I'm too illiterate for this shit," Y/N admits with a generous grin, splaying his hands out. But he continues shamelessly: "But at least I have a good personality."

Denki comically sweatdrops, "Good personality, sure."

"Uhm ... is this—is this c-class 1a?" the colossal door gapes open once again and a tiny broccoli head kid walks in, hands fumbling at the hem of his blazer and head poking out to check around.

Skin limpid as jade, cheeks still plump with some baby fat, peach lips a coral hue and teeth ivory white. He has an endearing face that makes all girls want to be his mother and freckles to add to it, but those lofty glaucous eyes and that innocent, chaste but anxious smile are the main highlights here.

"No, this is class 1c for crackheads," Denki says which makes a few other students including Y/N to choke on their giggles.

"Hi! I'm Uraraka Ochaco, remember me? Thanks for helping me in the exams!" a girl with mousy hair scurries over to broccoli kid, and she holds both his hands in her palms to show her gratitude and sincerity — which broccoli kid in reaction goes into a tint of crimson at.

"Oh shit, that guy gettin' some pussy there."

"Ahahah ..." broccoli kid laughs, quite strained as he turns to the speaker of that comment. Taking a brief glance at Y/N, broccoli kid's eyes enkindle once he remembers who he is and he exclaims, "Oh! I saw you uh—uh use your quirk to help a lot of people and you looked awesome running around!"

"A-And when you launched off from the wall to the kick the robot!"

"It was epic!" he concludes, doe eye glistening like the stars in a dark night as he gazes at Y/N with elation.

"He only got the kill because I was fighting it first!" Bakugou tries to interrupt but his signal's just too faint for Y/N to give a fuck at the moment, so this boy gets brushed aside.

"Thanks, freckles! I'm L/N Y/N but you can call me," he halts for a dramatic pause before resuming, "tonight." Y/N ends it with a classic wink which leaves freckles' poor heart in havoc for the second time of the day.

"A-Ah I'm Midoriya Izuku!" broccoli boy juts his hand out enthusiastically, so enthusiastic that his dainty fingers are trembling slightly.

Stepping forth, Y/N takes his hand and squeezes it as he cleaves onto it, "I'll take note of that~" After he lets go (which Izuku is so glad of because he feels like he's going to pass out from high blood pressure very soon if Y/N doesn't stop the pinching at his hand), he says to Izuku, "Anyways, I'm gonna go take a seat at the back there, see you later!" Once again, he leaves another victim of vigorous teasing and flirting shaken in his original spot for quite some while with his heart battering way too fast for his lungs to keep up.

Y/N ensconces himself at the back, in the seat just beside a boy Melanie Martinez hair that can without a doubt be the most beguiling person in the room. But the boy just seems like he doesn't want to socialise with anyone in the class, perching by his seat all on his own, completely silent.

So Y/N decides to speak to him, beginning by tilting over towards his desk, "Heyyyyyy." A pregnant silence fills in the gap between the pause before Y/N speaks again, "Aren't you gonna say something?"

"Say what?" half and half boy unexpectedly glances over to Y/N, chiselled features void of any sentiment at all, gelid and impassive.

Y/N: "Hol-y shit."

The boy's voice isn't exactly low and deep but it has soft and refined texture to it, serene tone adding an eccentric touch to it. And when Y/N sees his face — skin ashen as snow with the exception of the red patch to his left eye, knife-shaped brows and heterochromatic irises protruding his pretty features.

Half and half boy: "???"

"I'm just surprised of your front face and voice," clarifies Y/N, seeing his creased forehead and the modest curve of frown on his pale lips.

"Oh."

"So—"

Y/N switches his focus to the big yellow pile at the door, "Wait is that a big dick in a condom?"

The classroom gradually hushes down as they all stare at the condom-looking thing, all at a loss of words as the condom writhes into the room like a caterpillar.

"That took eight seconds for you all to quiet down," an exhausted voice comes from the yellow condom. And a man's face shows itself from the zipper, slowly getting out while he continues to speak, "Hello, my name is Aizawa Shouta and I'm your homeroom teacher for this year and probably the next and the year after."

He heaves a deep sigh: "Pleasure to meet you all."

"Doesn't look like it."

Not taking any attention to the remark, Aizawa just remains in his own world. He fishes out a pile of sapphire clothes and says to the class, "Okay that's that, now change into these P.E. uniforms, we're going outside."

"Where are the changing rooms, Aizawa-sensei?" four eyes questions the already tired teacher, glasses glinting in the artificial light.

"Look at the sig—ugh nevermind, I'll just tell you."

"Go out, turn right, turn right, turn left, then turn right."

"Thank you, sensei!" Four eyes bows literally ninety-degrees to Aizawa, to which the latter just hums tiresomely.

"Are we gonna like do track and field with our quirks or something? Because I can't think of anything else we can do on the field and train for being a pro hero."

"Probably, I'm fine with either since my quirk literally is designed for dodging and running away."

"Hah, fuckin' pussy."

"Is that a new pet name?" before Bakugou even retaliates something back, Y/N swivels to face him whilst he walks backwards. An impish smirk brimming his lips, he says, "because if so, I'll gladly accept it."

"Looks like our friendship has increased ey?" As he approaches Bakugou, Y/N skips forth and hitches an arm around his shoulder.

"Who's your fucking friend?" Bakugou smacks Y/N's arm away, a contemptuous look sweeping over his face, "you're just an extra."

"I don't mind as long as I get to see all these pretty boys and girls."

"Sicko."

In the chaotic changing room.

"Turn over, you fucking weirdo!" Bakugou glowers menacingly at the pair of eyes just staring at his figure, clutching onto a plastic bottle, ready to just fling it at Y/N directly in the head.

"Okay, okay," Y/N chuckles as he pivots around towards the vast sink.

"But L/N-san's still staring from the mirror ..." Izuku, the only person who's honest and morally righteous, mumbles before getting shushed by Y/N.

"Shh."

It is absolute heaven in the changing rooms to Y/N, good ass bodies everywhere. Especially Bakugou, Denki, and Izuku's — the well-built type, slightly fit type and the holy-shit-he-fucking-has-eight-packs-like-bakugou-only-has-six type. Although Y/N wished to see half and half's body, but that clearly didn't happen as the guy probably dislikes being open with other people and changed in a stall.

"L/N-san? L/N-san?" Izuku goes over to Y/N, seeing that he's just gazing over at Katsuki and Denki as they change into their sports uniforms. Receiving no responses from the boy, Izuku proceeds to hold his shoulders and swing him back and forth. "L/NL/NL/NL/NL/NL/N!!"

"A-Ah, stop shaking! I'm back!" Y/N opens his eyes wide, hastily halting the broccoli from continuing to shake him to avoid a tragedy that ends with him getting a concussion. After Y/N wears off the feeling to puke, he finally says, "Yeah what is it, Izuku?"

"What were you blanking out at, L/N-san?" curious baby, Izuku, queries with his pristine, glistering emerald eyes.

To such a cuteass Izuku, Y/N only responds with: "Well, my brother — that's ..."

Izuku: "...?"

"Nothing."

"You'll know once you get into the world of zeroes and ones."

Izuku: "?????"

Izuku can't do it anymore and just says, "Okay ... but L/N-san, aren't you going to change?"

"Oh right, thanks for reminding!"

Y/N unbuttons his white uniforms and slips it off swiftly, revealing a whole patch of hirsute skin. As he gets out of his pants, he steps into the P.E. uniform and skids it up his body in his own leisure pace.

The three victims of his can't help but stare at his slender figure, lips agape to a slight extent. Obtrusive collarbones and unmarred complexion are uncloaked for a brief moment, rather bewitching and ravishing to them. His draped eyes entranced into unbuttoning his shirt, lashes flickering slowly as his slim fingers flick open the clasps.

It isn't until Y/N walks out of the changing that the three crack out of their daze. Let's just conclude this with: they try their best to convince themselves that they're straight with the: 'I am straight as a flat surface' persuasion.

"These P.E. uniforms look cool as fuck on us!" this rock-n'-roll-looking boy blurts out, enlivened, his fists toss into the air, making him look like a complete teenager who's too outgoing and lively.

"Yep, I agree. I mean look at it sticking tightly onto their bodies, I'm—oh shit." Y/N feels a surge of heat flow through his nose and before he knows it, a habitual scent floods his senses.

"Your nose is bleeding!"

"Oh it's fine, I get it a lot," Y/N responds, his voice distorted by his fingers pinching at his nose to halt the bleed, expression composed enough to see that he's gone through the same process quite a number of times.

、、、

"Alright we're gonna do a Quirk Apprehension Test, so listen carefully," Aizawa says and proceeds to explain what they're going to do today and 'threatening' the students with: "Our school is pretty chill about freedom on campus and that also applies to teachers too, so guess what you little bitches? I get to use any teaching method I want." Cue the crooked smile that just gets intensifies thousand times with his pale complexion and dry eyes.

"Bakugou," Aizawa makes his call of death (to the others anyways), "how far could you pitch a softball in junior high?"

"Sixty-seven meters."

Hurling a ball at Bakugou (which he does catch), Aizawa orders, "Now, use your quirk this time and you can do whatever you want as long as you stay in the circle."

His hand gripping onto the ball so clinched, Bakugou paces forth into the circle. He takes his ready position, arm swaying back and legs proding into the ground. And he swings his arm forward to fling the ball out of his hand!

"DIE!!"

He thrusts the softball further by generating explosions, and the ball charges across the air at an impressive speed, tendrils of amber flames trailing behind.

"I bet he has mommy issues," Y/N whispers into half-half boy's ear, gaining him the look of daggers from Bakugou (don't ask me how he hears it) and a blank stare from half-half boy.

Aizawa lets Bakugou go back and unveils his score to the class — a whopping 702.5 meters distance. The whole class's jaws disjoint at the unbelievable mark, facial expressions just overwhelmed with revelation.

"Hold on we have to use our quirks for these tests?" Y/N looks around at everyone, they're all either gushing with self-confidence or abasing themselves. Only the nicest of them all, half-half boy gives him a nod.

"Fuck, man."

Embarking with the first activity, fifty meter dash, everyone has been doing a lot better than Y/N thought (which may just be him being an arrogant little shit) and that frets him. With four eyes' score of 3.04, ribbit-ribbit 5.58, and kinky-tail guy's 5.49, Y/N can sense peril in his own self-reliance.

Then it is Katsuki (after shamelessly annoying him, he finally got his first name) and Izuku's race. Both their veins are bulging out from their arms and necks, thigh muscles clenching taut.

"Oh, the cauliflower and broccoli are going against each other," Y/N remarks as he squats down by the side of the track in an amusement, speaking to probably the souls in the grass, "my favourite cp, bro."

"Cp?" Denki cocks his head.

"Couple, of course."

"OOOoooO," jeering with laughter, Denki takes in Y/N's 'you know what i mean good bud' smile with one of his own.

By the time the two immature teens set the seal on their conversation, Aizawa's already displaying the results of the dash for Katsuki and Izuku. And it is Y/N's turn.

He turns to take a brief look at who his opponent is and fuck. If he doesn't take a look maybe he can just act okay and chill, but he takes a look and holy shit.

"I'm up against you, my brother."

Half-half boy just hums as an answer which gets Y/N stunned in place until the a shrilling squeal from the whistle makes him realise that he's still in a race. Half-half boy's already skating on his ice when Y/N begins sprinting with his quirk, "Wait up, wait for me!"

Spoiler: half-half boy didn't wait for him (naturally but just gonna tell y'all). The whole way, Y/N concentrates his eyes at his feet for some reason, not paying any attention to his opponent and surroundings. Making it to the end, Y/N jogs over the finish line for a little bit before just lounging himself over the grass at the side, chest rising up and down as he regains his steady breath.

"Hah ... hah ..."

"What did I," deep breath, "get?"

"3.41 seconds, L/N-san," Izuku skips over towards the patch of grass Y/N is killing by laying on with an ardent beam and bottle of water, "that was great!"

"Thanks~" Y/N seizes over the bottle of water (he ignores Izuku's protest at him drinking from his bottle), stifling a snigger at the All Might sticker on it giving a thumbs up. He sits up properly with two legs in front of him and knees bent then gulps down a fuck ton of H2O, instantly drinking away half the water inside the bottle, "But what's next?"

Izuku blanks out when he realises that it's an indirect kiss since Y/N drank from his bottle lip-to-tip, not hearing Y/N's question.

Y/N repeats, this time louder: "Izuku, Izuku?"

That gets Izuku out of his thoughts, and he flusters up once he realises what he was thinking of but he still replies to you, "G-Grip Strength test."

"Let me die! Don't hold me back!" Y/N pretends to ram his head into the dirt as he kneels on the ground, arm swinging at the back randomly. He persists to do that for some time until pure broccoli calls him.

"Uh ... Y/N? We're going indoors."

"O-Oh, coming!"

Grip strength, Y/N's quirk and arms say no to that. And that's exactly what his score says too, sixty eight. And to that, Y/N only shrugs and comments, "Well, that isn't very optimistic." But that chill attitude shatters to fragments in seconds when he exclaims, "Even Tsundere-kun got such a high score!"

Katsuki who's just minding his own business by the sidelines with his always-looking-pissed face hears and whoosh! The fire has been lit. "Hey, what do you fucking mean?!"

"The literal meaning, of course," Y/N slims his eyes into a sly grin at Katsuki and diverts his attention to Denki whose score is just being showed, "Naisu, Denki!"

"Thanks!"

Strolling over to sulking broccoli, Y/N pats his shoulder and consoles him a bit, "It's alright Izuku my son, I'm sure you'll probably do great with the next activity. And even if you don't, the next next activity, next next next activity, you'll do good in at least one of them!"

"I can see your potential!"

"Mostly because you look like a typical anime protagonist but yeah I'm not gonna tell you that," Y/N mutters rapidly, too fast to the point that Izuku didn't get it.

Izuku, once again: "?????"

The next activity is the standing jump test, where it's basically like long jump but they just call it standing jump? Anyways, Y/N takes an advantage on it due to his quirk but beyond the mountain is another mountain and four eyes got the highest score.

The final test is the pitch-a-ball. He observes the girl before him, Uraraka, draw her arm back and hurl the softball out like anyone would do, but the ball never came back??? In the end, she got infinity — Y/N is just purely dumbstruck at the fact that it's a thing to panic about his turn.

And when it is his turn, he just breathes one big ass breath in and sends the softball propelling through the sky. Then it falls after one second.

L/N Y/N 71 meters

Y/N makes an attempt to defend himself, "That's purely my arm strength, I swear."

"Sure, pussy," Katsuki gives him a white eye.

"It won't be good for Midoriya if he keeps doing this," Iida (Y/N finally got corrected by Iida when he said: "Woah, four eyes' gettin' all that scores.") remarks at the sidelines, hands behind his back, making him look unfathomable and profound.

"Of course not, he's a quirkless weakling after all," condemning Izuku with every chance he can, Katsuki laughs icily to the point where he can compare to half-half boy's quirk.

"Quirkless?" Iida frowns and faces Katsuki, "It doesn't seem so from what I saw he did during the practical exam."

"What?!" The fire has been flared up again.

"Aha, you sound like Izuku cheated on you or something."

"Forty-six ...?" a quivering voice sidetracks Y/N's focus, only to see Izuku with his green pupils dilated and face empty of his usual naive smile.

"I stopped you from using your quirk," Aizawa speaks, directing Izuku to stare at him.

"But ... why?"

And then Y/N can't eavesdrop on them anymore due to Aizawa hauling Izuku towards him with his kinky ass bandage scarf that just looks like tendrils in tentacle hentai — Y/N swears he's seen the same product on AliExpress once under the sex toys category. But anyways, when Izuku finally walks back and does his throw, it is magnificent.

The moment Izuku slowly lets go of the ball, his fingertip transforms and the ball gets propelled into the air, cutting through like a keen knife! His score shows up at an impressive 705.3 meters, although his finger did break from overloading too much force into the tip, Izuku's brows finally untangle and he cracks into a grin.

But Katsuki just has to ruin the moment with his shriek, "What's this Deku?!" Sounding like a housewife that just saw her husband cheat, his eyes mantle with red veins, he continues screaming into poor Izuku's face, "I thought you were quirkless?!" Katsuki hoists a fist up to cast explosions at Izuku but a familiar roll of kinky bandage tows him away from the waist.

"Stop making me use my quirk, I have dry eyes now! Fuck!" Aizawa finally snaps, it's probably the class's idiotic-ness that pushed him to the point of swearing in school.

"Sensei, I think you should use some eye drops or something like dang your eyes are literally popping with veins," Y/N attempts to give helpful™ advice, "you can try Thera Te—"

"Shut up."

Y/N: "Alright, alright."

"Is your finger okay, Midoriya-kun?" Uraraka strides towards the beaming broccoli, questioning him with concern present on her face. Y/N blows a whistle at that — to which both teens take no mind to.

"Ah, y-yeah!" Izu·virgin and haven't talked to girls much·ku stammers over his words when Uraraka suddenly slaps his shoulder for his good job. Beads of sweat literally stream down the side of his face by the time Uraraka turns away to speak to pink avatar and invisible girl.

"Y-Y/N," Izuku rolls his name on his tongue, walking over to tug at the boy's shoulder, Th-Thank you for believing in me!"

"No problem, man!" Y/N springs up and thwacks his arm onto Izuku's shoulder, putting all his weight onto the tiny boy.

、、、

"Well I got third to last, that's something to at least cheer for since I'm not last hah!" Y/N stands with his arm akimbo, guffawing out loud for some reason before quickly adding, "oh sorry Izuku, not saying you didn't do great because you did good as fuck in the pitch test! I'm sure you're not getting expelled."

"That asshole of a teacher is probably just telling us that to make us do our best," cambering his chin at Aizawa's direction, speaking in a low voice to Izuku.

"Right, I lied about the expulsion thing."

Fucking silence.

Everyone's just fucking stupefied and maybe a bit pissed at Aizawa.

To everyone's blankness, big tiddy rock-n-roll hair girl just says, "Of course it was a lie, you'd get it if you really used your brain for a little."

"N-Nani."

"I feel betrayed."

"You haven't even known him for more than six hours, so what do you mean betrayed!"

TO NOTE skskskksks i am gonna start updating a bit slowly, so yep that's that

NOT PROPERLY PROOFREAD BECAUSE IT'S TOO LONG

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ashleybenlove · 4 years

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Sypha’s attitude towards Christianity seems to be “meh, but Jesus is cool”.

Which is pretty much my attitude towards the religion as an Agnostic ex-Catholic. Meh, but I like Jesus and Joan of Arc.

#Castlevania #Castlevania spoilers #season 3 #A Seat of Civilisation and Refinement #ashleybenlove posts

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martinmcg · 3 years

Text

PALACES OF FORCE

Our journey to Paris and the Exposition Universelle de 1889 did not begin auspiciously. The trip required us to catch a train from Victoria Station, which is a terrible place. From Victoria Street the station appears to be nothing more than a shabby wooden shed, held together only by the many layers of paint that have been plastered on it over the years. The station’s exterior, however, offers barely a hint of the horrors within. The inadequate walls conceal the most chaotic, the most crowded and, assuredly, the dirtiest place I have ever seen.

And I am from Calcutta.

Everything was stained black by the smoke and clouded by billowing steam. I felt certain that, if I could but find a moment’s pause to contemplate it, I should be able to feel the station’s grime smearing itself across my face.

But there was no pause. The crowd heaved back and forth between the great hissing beasts of the engines. Men pushed and grunted, women screeched and shoved, and the children scuttled like rats and bellowed like savages. In terms of both volume and shrillness the noise of the crowd was almost a match for the whistling, rumbling, rattling, and hissing of the great steam engines that loomed over us all.

Though I have lived here now for somewhat more than sixty years, I still find it impossible to reconcile England’s conception of itself as the world’s most civilised nation with the wolfish mob its people become when gathered together. It is as though the English, by constant repetition of their claim to an excess of refinement, hope that it will become reality. It is plainly a deception, though perhaps not without a certain admirable intent.

My companion and I struggled through the noise and press of the station to our appointed platform and the night train to Paris. The distinctive yellow-ochre of the Brighton and South Coast Line trains took on a sickly pallor in the dim light and smoke-laden air. A discreet display of coin caught the attention of a somewhat reluctant porter, and we made our way along the platform.

My companion, Mohandas, was a quiet man, shy and softly spoken even in his native Gujarati and more so when required to converse in English, though he was quite fluent. You will have heard of him of course, as he is now more than famous. Then, however, he was simply a student hoping to be called to the bar. Like many of the Indians who came to England to study at that time he affected to become, in appearance and behaviour, a more precise instance of the idealised English gentleman than any I have ever encountered amongst the native population. However, unlike the majority – including, I freely confess, myself – Mohandas maintained the proprieties of diet and religious observance. This religious bent and his somewhat serious manner had led some of our fellows to abandon him as a prig and a bore. I fear he pricked their consciences. For myself, having no conscience, I found him honest and intelligent, and we became regular companions.

He dressed in the most proper fashion, taking the utmost care with his appearance. Those who know him only from the newsreels may imagine that Mohandas only ever dressed in the simplest of clothing, but when I think of our youthful days together in London, I see him in the clothes he wore that day: a chimney-pot hat and suit bought in Bond Street, with a gold watch chain across his chest.

Assisted by the porter, we installed ourselves in a compartment in the first class carriage and settled down. We had, thanks to my habitual punctuality, arrived a little early and our train was quite empty so we were able to pick our compartment and arrange ourselves before the majority of passengers arrived. As the time of our departure neared, the train became quite full, crowded even, and I waited with interest to see who would share our compartment. I watched as several of our fellow travellers peered through the glass of the door, then turned away with expressions of distaste.

I dismissed it with a shrug, and if Mohandas noticed he gave no sign. As has always been his way, he spent any spare moment reading voraciously. He had galloped through the Daily News, The Daily Telegraph and The Pall Mall Gazette, and was absorbing The Times when there was a roar from the guard on the platform and a blast from the engine’s whistle, and the train juddered forward. We were leaving at last. I stared out the window, watching the dark and crowded platforms slip away. And then we were out of the station and, for a moment, I was blinded by the early evening sun.

I blinked several times, and when I recovered the most handsome man I have ever seen was standing in the doorway to our compartment.

He was several inches taller than my own six feet, with beautiful deep-set blue eyes. Though he was obviously Caucasian, his skin was almost as deeply coloured as my own. His hair was black and, growing slightly longer than might everywhere be consider proper, it tangled into curls. His full beard was lightened by a faint, reddish touch. He was tall, but even through his fashionable pinstripe suit I determined a slender boyishness about his body.

I nodded and the stranger smiled. There was a shyness about his demeanour that only enhanced his physical beauty. He sat next to me, facing Mohandas.

“It seems you have offended some of your fellow travellers,” the man said.

Mohandas looked up sharply.

“But we spoke to no one,” I said.

“Some people need only the slightest of excuses to become offended,” he said. His accent was marked and I assumed he was Scottish, though I would later learn he had been born in Ireland.

“Such as?” It was Mohandas who had spoken. I was quite surprised for it was usual for him to require a lengthy courtship with a new acquaintance before overcoming his natural reserve to address them directly.

“Oh, the usual. The cut of your suit, the style of your shoes…” he paused, and looked around as though searching the cabin for examples of things that might offend a polite sensibility, then he smiled. “The colour of your skin?”

I grunted a laugh and even Mohandas grinned.

“Casement,” the young man thrust out an open hand and I shook it vigorously. “Roger Casement. Very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Sanjit Kamath,” I introduced myself. “And this is my friend and colleague, Mohandas Ghandi.”

“I believe I have heard of you, Mister Casement,” Mohandas said as they shook hands.

The young man cocked his head to one side.

“Really?”

“You have been in Africa? One of Stanley’s men, in The Congo Free State?”

“I was, but how could you know?”

“Your friend, Henry Ward, has spoken most highly of you, at our meetings.” Mohandas pulled out a pamphlet on vegetarianism and I barely suppressed a groan.

“You know Henry?”

“I have attended meetings of the Vegetarian Society with him.” He waved the pamphlet at young Casement; Henry Ward’s name was on the front. “Hearing your name, I could not fail to know you by his description.”

Casement leant back in his seat, stretching his long legs. He seemed, suddenly, entirely at ease. “Well, if you’re friends with Henry, then I am sure this trip will be most pleasurable.”

Our eyes met for a moment and a smile curled my lips.

“Most pleasurable,” I said.

I have forgotten much of the conversation that passed between the three of us on that journey to Paris, but I do remember that we talked about Livingstone and the Congo, and about the prospects for establishing a genuine commonwealth in Africa that might serve as a beacon for the whole continent and perhaps the world. Casement was passionate and sincere in a way that only young men who have found a true cause can be. I found him immensely likable and attractive, and we chatted endlessly.

Mohandas spoke rarely, but one of his interventions sticks clearly in my mind, for it was my first insight into the political ideas that were coming to the boil inside his head.

I had asked young Casement what he hoped to achieve in Africa.

“Why, to end slavery, to ameliorate the most awful conditions that the natives must endure, and to spread enlightenment of the ways of the modern world.” Casement said. He spoke so straightforwardly and earnestly that it was impossible to doubt his sincerity and difficult to resist his beautifully simple vision.

Mohandas laid the book he was reading onto his lap.

“And what if the people there do not want your enlightenment, Mister Casement?”

Casement looked surprised. He stared at Mohandas for a moment, opened-mouthed. The idea had clearly never occurred to him.

“But you have not seen the terrible conditions in which they live,” he said. “Each new tribe we discover suffers an existence a civilised man would not wish upon a dog!”

Mohandas smoothed out his suit trousers. It was, I thought, a very lawyerly motion.

“I believe I have seen such conditions in my own homeland,” he said. “Are you to tell me that the poor natives of India or Africa are better off for the coming of the white men?”

“No,” Casement didn’t hesitate. “Not yet. But that is because they are being exploited. We, that is those of us who support the Free State, wish to liberate the Africans from such exploitation and to establish them as a modern nation amongst the peoples of the world.”

“And what if they do not wish to be modern in your ways?” Mohandas turned to look out the window as Kent, low and lush, rumbled past. “Has it occurred to you that their traditions and their way of life may be as valuable as yours?”

It clearly hadn’t, for Casement fell silent.

After a moment I changed the subject and we talked of happier subjects, perhaps of cricket – my true love – or mutual acquaintances and our plans for our time in Paris.

Later, the young Mister Casement and I spent two hours together in his cabin on the steamer that carried us across The Channel. He was a strong and fierce lover. It is my clearest and most cherished memory of our time together.

I will not dwell on the details of the 1889 Exposition, except for those that impinge most pertinently on this tale. None who were not in Paris that summer can hope to comprehend the scale and opulent magnificence of the display that girdled the Seine. And, even these many years later, those who journeyed through its many wonders will not require my aid to recall the impression that the city and the Exposition made upon everyone who took in its sights.

Suffice it to say that those who consider these things, experts who have attended similar events all across the globe, judged the Paris Exhibition of 1889 to be the most extraordinary and comprehensive gathering of mankind’s many achievements in the fields of art and science. Subsequent years may have witnessed mankind’s increasing ingenuity and the blossoming fruits of many great minds, but there are still those who insist that the Paris Exposition has never been surpassed or even matched. All man’s greatest achievements to that point were on display on the Champ de Mars that summer and the path that would lead us into the next century was set out for all to follow.

The once-controversial symbol of the exhibition, Mister Eiffel’s great tower, remains in place – now synonymous with France herself – but the Exposition left a more subtle mark in the souls of the many millions of visitors lucky enough to have explored its wonders.

The planet span serenely at our feet. First, one noticed the vast white ice cap of the Arctic, then, as we circled slowly around and down past the equator, the great expanses of Asia were gradually dwarfed by the ungraspable hugeness of the Earth’s oceans, until at last the Southern ice cap was above our heads, and we had passed below the planet.

It was a most disconcerting experience.

The globe, as high as a three-storey house, dominated the huge room, and a single walkway spiralled around it as the planet itself rotated. By some fluke we had entered the room when it was otherwise empty, and in the church-like silence I found myself deeply moved by this vision of our planet.

The sense that the globe represented something fundamental was profound. The immensity of the world on which we live, and our own smallness within it, was made plain. Its scale – one millionth of the planet’s actual scope – staggered the mind. Only when faced with such a sight, the vast globe encompassed in a glance, can one comprehend how insignificant is humanity. But, more surprisingly, I was at the same moment struck by the fragility of the planet, a tiny haven of life in an unimaginably larger universe. We were insignificant specks on the face of a planet that, itself, seemed suddenly no more than a full stop in a lost volume on a forgotten shelf in some great library.

The great mountain ranges appeared as but wrinkles on an aged face. The greatest rivers seemed to be no more than trickles into oceans that were themselves made simple pools that a child might splash through. The portion of our planet that is habitable, squeezed between expanses of ocean and ice, driest desert and sterile mountains, seemed reduced to so small a sliver that the distances that divide race from race seemed meaningless.

I dare say that no man capable of reason could have gazed upon that globe and not been moved by the essential unity of humankind.

Casement was stroking his beard, looking up at the planet, his eyes followed southernmost tip of South America as it passed across his field of vision. Mohandas had paused further up the walkway. I can still see him, in my mind’s eye, standing just below equator, one hand slightly out-stretched as though he would scoop up the waters of the Pacific Ocean

In that moment the only sound was the gentle rumble of the machinery that drove the great globe.

Then the door above us opened and a group of giggling girls entered the chamber. The spell was broken.

“Shall we move on?” I said.

Our next steps took us into the future. From the chamber containing the globe we crossed to the Galerie des Machines.

This hall, dubbed the “Palace of Force” by one Parisian commentator, was itself a symbol of man’s power over nature. One knew, logically, that innumerable tonnes of iron anchored the great vaulted roof that arced high above us, but under acres of glass and in the summer afternoon’s sunlight that flooded everywhere, that mass of metal seemed to become attenuated. It was possible to imagine that the whole building could simply waft into the Parisian sky. We descended a wide staircase to a viewing platform dominated by a tall, skeletal clock tower. We paused there; we had entered through the western end of the Gallerie and stretching away below us was the first of two great wings that met beneath a glass dome that was larger, lighter, and more impressive than anything in Europe’s ancient cathedrals. My own reaction was reflected in the gasps and exclamations of my fellow visitors. The torrent of people divided on the platform and swept downwards to the Gallerie’s floor via two sweeping staircases.

There was a moment’s respite then, as one recovered from the shock of this extraordinary building. We regrouped, sharing glances that, at least on the part of Casement and myself, revealed that we were almost awe-struck. That this temple of light and iron had made an impression on Mohandas was obvious, though whether it was favourable was not at all certain.

No sooner had we become accustomed to the magnificence of the great exhibition space than we began to become aware of the wonders it contained.

Looming over the entrance stood the engine of an ocean liner – a cathedral of steel and brass, dwarfing all who entered and impressing on everyone the power now in the hands of man. Elsewhere hundreds of smaller engines wheezed, slapped, and banged, illustrating the many tasks man’s ingenuity had found for them.

For myself and Casement the Hall of Machines was a delight. We jigged from stand to stand, gasping at each toy or gadget, thrilled by the endless possibilities that opened up with each new discovery. Everywhere electric lamps flickered even in the sunshine, and the exhibition was filled with swarms of photographers who went about their task with a fervour, recording every miniscule detail. Moving pictures flickered in darkened booths. Recorded music blared from Berliner gramophones. Daimler motorcars trundled amongst the wide aisles between walls of machinery. Everything that we later took for granted – the whole future – was here.

In the centre of the hall, beneath the vast dome, two balloons were suspended. The smaller example was a model of the gaudy device that had first born the Mongolfier brothers aloft just a century before. Dwarfing that, however, as Jupiter does its many moons, was its modern equivalent – a great crimson orb below which was suspended a wicker basket.

We paused beneath it. Casement smiled to himself then signalled to the balloon’s attendant.

“What are you doing?” I asked, but he ignored me and took the attendant to one side and began a whispered discussion that commenced with a regretful but firm shaking of the attendant’s head and concluded with a handshake and a discreet exchange of francs.

“Come along.” Casement held aside a thick red rope and waved us towards the balloon’s basket.

Mohandas stopped and looked toward the attendant who bowed respectfully.

“What have you done?” I asked.

“I told him Mohandas was the Rajah of Peshawar,” a huge boyish grin split Casement’s face. “And that he was interested in buying a fleet of balloons to enable exploration of the Himalayas.”

A look of outrage spread across Mohandas’s face but we rushed to his side and Casement shuffled him into the basket before he could splutter a word. I distracted the attendant with a most elaborate namaste.

Once the wicker basket was raised above the floor of the hall of machines, Mohandas’s outrage dissipated and his natural curiosity asserted itself. Casement stood alongside Mohandas, and the two of them could hardly have presented a greater contrast. Casement was tall and hale so that even standing still he seemed to vibrate with barely restrained energy. Dwarfed beside him, and fragile, Mohandas held himself so perfectly still that the world seemed to pivot about him. Even then I worried whether his slight frame could carry the burdens he took upon himself – yet he never buckled.

Casement seemed quite transported by the sights and sounds of the great machines now at man’s bidding. “Impressive, isn’t it? These engines are power incarnate. They are the way to the future.”

“Certainly,” Mohandas did not look at him. “They are the way to a future.”

Casement caught the barb; clearly he had not forgotten their brief exchange on the train. He swept his hand across the scene below them. “Do you really mean you believe that the people of Africa or India would be better off if we denied them all that this could offer?”

“What does it offer, my friend?”

“They’d have the strength to build, the ability to control their lands, the power to protect themselves against the predation of the white nations or their fellows.” Casement was counting off the obvious benefits on his fingers. “They could ensure comfort from want and safety from exploitation. And with ease from such fears comes the ability to devote time to art and science and the true fruits of civilisation.”

“These machines could do that for the poor of India and Africa?” Mohandas was smiling.

“Of course! Look around this room. Think what they have done for Britain and France.”

“So you believe that these great machines could make the poor of the rest of the world as fortunate as the poor of Limehouse or Manchester or Birmingham?” Mohandas shook his head. “How happy they will be that such luxury has only cost them their lands and their traditions.”

Whatever response Casement was planning stuck fast. He stared out across the exhibition, gathering his thoughts.

“Of course, the present organisation of our society is far from perfect,” he said.

“I hadn’t taken you for a communist.”

“I am not,” Casement visibly bristled, pulling himself to his full height. “But I will concede that there are ways industrial society could better provide for its people.”

“And who will care for the people when these great machines rust, when the land has been abandoned and the crops fail?” Mohandas’s hand chopped the air. “When these machines become scrap, Mister Casement, how will your Empire feed our people then?”

“I have said that changes are necessary,” Casement met Mohandas gaze and held it, visibly trying to restrain his anger. “But I hardly think an Irishman needs a lecture from anyone on the consequences of famine.”

There was silence then, for what seemed like a very long time. Even the sound of the machines in the exhibition hall and the thousands of people moving just a few dozens of feet below us seemed to fade away. I found myself unable, or perhaps unwilling, to intercede, for I felt certain some crucial struggle was taking place. But there was to be no victor here and, after an eternity, it seemed, the two men reached some silent accord and smiled.

The mood immediately lightened and Mohandas, looking out over the Galerie des Machines, pointed to some stall that caught his eye.

I signalled to the attendant of the balloon, who set to winching us back to earth.

“You shouldn’t have lied,” Mohandas said, nodding towards the attendant. Casement’s face was a sudden mask of utter contrition.

“I did not mean to-”

Mohandas rested a hand on his arm, leaning close, smiling.

“I have never even been to Peshawar.”

Casement’s laughter rang out across the Palace of Force.

The next day we took a journey into the past. Our trip through time took us down a boulevard illustrating the history of human habitation presented in exquisitely detailed reconstructions or large models. We began in the familiarity of the present but quickly passed a delightful hostelry of the Renaissance, the rougher dwellings of the Dark Ages, the glory of Rome and the simpler elegance of Greece, back through the cruder dwellings of the stone ages and, ultimately, to the troglodyte beginnings of mankind in caves lit by guttering flame. Nor was only European history presented, for the display featured civilisations from across the globe, from the tepees of the Red Indian and the adobe homes of the Americas before the Europeans arrived, to the homes of ancient Egyptians, Assyrians, and Phoenicians. Perhaps unsurprisingly Mohandas and I were particularly fascinated by the reconstruction of the Brihadisvara temple in Thanjavur. We were most impressed by the attention to detail in the reproduction which included the great bull and the Periya Koil.

Finally we reached the end of the boulevard and, rather tired and hot in the afternoon sun, we were drawn to the shade of what appeared to be a small copse of exotic trees from which strange music floated.

Beneath the trees we found reconstructed a village of the native people of Malay. At first glance it was little more than a scattering of bamboo shacks thatched with palm-leaves, and yet there was something in the grace of the buildings that spoke of a simple life in a bountiful land. Rather than the construction of man, the village seemed to have formed organically from the very stuff of the forest and it seemed that to live life in a place like this would be to become an organism in service of the trees.

We followed the music to an open theatre, roofed with more palm leaves but open at the side, and watched a traditional dance performed by a group of native girls. They were such slight creatures that it seemed impossible that they should dance with such grace while encumbered with head-dresses and thick bracelets, brooches, buckles, and embroidered garments. But graceful they were, and they moved with such entrancing charm that the three of us stood quite transfixed as their arms and fingers etched intricate, exotic patterns on the Parisian air and their musicians beat out rapid yet oddly plaintive rhythms.

How long we stood there I cannot tell, but when the show finished the first hint of evening could be felt on the air and the feeling of being transported to some distant shore was complete. Silently we made our way back to the huts of the village and dipped inside the first one, finding low benches set around the wall. We spoke not a word as we arranged ourselves, perhaps fearing to break the spell that the dancers had woven around us. We were entranced.

“This is how life should be,” I said eventually, stretching out in contentment.

“Exactly!” Mohandas suddenly leaned forward. “This is the life for which we are intended. This is the level at which our moral and economic life should be organised. We cannot understand the world in a city where every neighbour is a stranger – we have no feeling of kinship. But in a place like this, where everything is shared, men could see the consequences of their actions and be held responsible for them. In a place like this, justice would be a reality.”

“You’re a romantic!” Casement was laughing but not mocking.

“You think so?”

“You think this thing,” Casement took in the village with a flick of his head, “is real. It isn’t. It’s a fiction.”

“Not this place, perhaps, but places like this are real.”

“No,” Casement’s voice rose slightly. “I hadn’t seen it before but your background has made you as distant from places like this as mine.”

“You know nothing of my background.”

“I think I do. You are a child of privilege – more so even than I, I think–”

“My family were not wealthy.”

“No? But you have been privileged. You have had an education, a chance to travel, and all the while protected by your family’s position. You said your father was a politician, so you have grown up amidst the exercise of power.”

“That hardly invalidates my opinions.”

“Of course not,” Casement stood up and walked to the door of the hut, bending to look out into the village beyond. “But you know nothing of what it is to really live in places like this.”

“And you do?”

“More than you, I think.” He dipped beneath the roof of the hut and stepped out. Mohandas followed him. Reluctantly, I trailed behind – regretting what I had started. “At least I have lived amongst these people – though, I confess, always apart, always with the knowledge that I could walk away. But I saw enough to see that their life was not one of harmony with their surroundings but a struggle just to gather enough to live. One poor harvest and a generation may be lost.”

“Then we should temper our society to live by what nature can provide.”

“Why, when we have the power to set these people free from nature’s tyranny?”

“You think your work sets the poor free, but you simply bring them another form of imperialism,” Mohandas’s lawyerly training had taken control; he spoke evenly and with confidence. “The ideas of progress you force upon them are as alien and destructive as any imperial army.”

“Perhaps,” Casement conceded and, for a moment, Mohandas broke his stride – surprised. “But the ideas I bring them are no more alien than yours, and no more dangerous.”

“Dangerous? How could it be dangerous to live within one’s means?”

“How could such communities protect themselves from the true imperialists – whether amongst their neighbours or the white men?”

“But what would an imperialist want with a poor village?”

“Wealth.”

“But a place like this would have no gold, no jewels,” Mohandas smiled. “I think there would be nothing here to bring the conqueror.”

“I think you misunderstand the nature of wealth and the desire for power.” Casement did not return the friendly smile. “Riches aren’t built on gold but on people. What use is gold if you have no labour to dig it from the ground? How can palaces be constructed if you have no slaves to build them for you? And what good is wealth if there are not masses of people possessing nothing to gaze upon your fortune with envious eyes? What is power if it is not exercised in the subjugation of others to your will?”

Mohandas opened his mouth to speak, but Casement did not pause. He was striding around the little village now, hands clenched behind his back, his body tense, his jaw firmly set. His voice was loud, his accent becoming quite nasal and pronounced, and his eyes were ablaze.

“But this all starts from a false premise. Those with power would never let your dreamy villages exist, for they would bring gold and trinkets and buy your villagers first, and if that did not work they would bring rifle and horse and force their compliance. The only way that a village like this can be free is if its people are given the tools of the modern age and made as powerful as anyone who would threaten them. It is the job of those who care to construct a decent world to give them those tools.”

“No!” Mohandas’s voice was gentler than Casement’s and he habitually spoke so softly that the fact that he raised it now visibly shocked the young Irishman. “Guns are nothing without men to wield them. Gold is nothing without people willing to be bought. You underestimate the power of resistance.”

“And you underestimate the determination of the powerful to stay that way.”

There was a rustle in the trees. I looked up to see the Malayan girls whose performance we had recently watched peeking from between the leaves of the plantation’s vegetation. How long they had been there, I could not guess. From the bewildered looks on their faces, it had clearly been long enough to understand that the two smartly-dressed gentlemen before them were arguing furiously.

One of the girls noticed me and I doffed my hat to her. She giggled and nudged one of her companions who, in turn, began to laugh. My companions, however, were so entirely engrossed in their debate that they squabbled on, unaware of their audience. One of the bolder girls began to imitate Casement’s mannerisms, which set another girl to imitate Mohandas’s air-cutting hand movements.

The giggling turned into outright laughter.

At last there was a pause.

The argumentative pair turned towards me, confused. I nodded towards the trees. The Malay girls howled and suddenly the two lions of debate became blushing boys. In a moment, I was roaring more loudly than any of the dancers.

“I must go on to Brussels tomorrow,” Casement said as we paused on the Pont de l’Alma. We were alone, Mohandas having gone in search of vegetarian food, and the streets of Paris suddenly emptied. “I must see if there is work for me back in Africa.”

He placed his hands on the low balustrade and I rested my hand on top of his. He looked around furtively and then leant his shoulder against mine. We shared a smile.

Paris had pulled down the stars and draped them around herself. The banks of the Seine glowed with all the majesty of the Milky Way. The river, blacker than the night sky, ripped silently against the bridge’s buttresses and reflected a uncountable points of light in every swirl and eddy. Further down the river the city’s other bridges were ribbons of light leaping across the darkness. Boats of every shape and size, brightly lit and filling the night with laughter and the clinking of glasses, seemed to dance at the feet of the great statues that guarded our bridge.

“At least tonight will be memorable,” I said.

Casement, his eyes on the rippling river, nodded and smiled softly, but I sensed part of him was already back in Africa.

Now, almost seventy years after our trip to Paris, Casement is long gone – executed in an English jail – and my friend Mohandas is dead these ten years – assassinated by a fool. Both lived their beliefs, turning ideas into actions, and both were killed because of them.

Though the history books show that their lives followed quite separate trajectories, I have recently come to think that they led to rather similar places. Both fought for independence for countries that would ultimately be divided by religious enmity that was stronger than they could conceive. And their dreams of justice and equality have been betrayed by those who used revolutions to replace one corrupt set of rulers with another. Neither man would be content with the continuing penury and exploitation of his nation’s poor and both would, I am sure, find themselves fighting the very governments they struggled to create. In revolution or resistance, progress or simplicity, Irishman and Indian were both victorious and defeated, and they have become symbols that embarrass those who have come after them.

Today I found myself wandering with my friends through the Paris of the Exposition and that great model of the globe was spinning, once again, at our feet. Somewhere above my head a Russian device is circling the globe. I have heard its frantic, crackling warble on the wireless. I wonder if allowing all humanity to stand above the Earth and watch it turn might not have the same profound effect on all the world that it on the three of us so long ago. However we die, we live together and now we can see the world now as it truly is, just a speck. Yet even this mote – significant only to us – is so massive that it overwhelms our petty differences.

I see the great engines of the Galerie des Machines and laugh at how impressed we were by toys that have been entirely surpassed in the years that followed. I think of our journey into the past, to that most distant village, and my companions’ disagreement. I am surprised that my strongest memory is not of the words of two great men putting forward their visions for a better world but of the laughing Malay girls who mocked them before going on their own way through their ersatz forest and away into the Parisian night, quite unaware of the weight of the discussion they had witnessed.

Finally, I am back on the Pont de l’Alma and the smell of roses rolls across the water from the gardens constructed on the Trocadéro. I turn back to gaze at the Champ de Mars; Eiffel’s slender tower knifes the night sky with twinkling diamonds and the great palaces shine brightly. The South Bank is ablaze with the light of man’s greatest achievements. I reach out and, just for a moment, I seem to have gripped all time and space and that I might manipulate an awesome power to remake the world.

I could set free the engines that Casement so admired. Unleashed at last, their energies might set men free. Or I could crush them and cast us all back to innocence. Mohandas believed that those machines were as much the tools of slavery as chains and rifles.

The choice is mine. If I can make it.

I hesitate.

And then Casement is beside me, urging me onwards into the Parisian night. I follow him into the gardens on the Trocadéro and we lose ourselves again amongst tall hedges and the perfume of flowers.

“Palaces of Force” was first published in Aeon SF #8

PALACES OF FORCE was originally published on Welcome To My World

#science fiction #Short story

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thelegendfck · 3 years

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Yoga for Weight Loss: 9 Asanas to Help You Lose Weight

A five-thousand-year-old transcription by the Indus valley civilisation on fragile palm leaves has paved way to an innovative weight loss therapy. Yoga was mentioned in the Indian collection of Vedic Sanskrit hymns, the Rigveda. Researchers have traced yoga to over a thousand years ago, and its rich history is divided into periods of innovation, practice, and development.

Yoga was refined and developed by the Rishis and Brahmans who documented their training in the Upanishads. This practice was later developed over several years to what now is practised as Yoga. The discipline has 5 basic principles:

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Is Yoga good for Weight Loss?

The development of yoga has benefited many people in losing weight in a healthy way. Yoga for weight loss is a debatable topic. Many people believe that Yoga alone does not promote weight loss. Yoga, when combined with healthy eating, has proven beneficial as it helps to lose weight along with keeping your mind and body healthy. Yoga increases your mindfulness and how you relate to your body. You will start seeking out to food that is healthy instead of binging on food that can increase your fat accumulation.

Losing weight has two important aspects, healthy eating, and exercise. Yoga poses for weight loss demand these aspects. Yoga is not just about a few poses that strengthen you. It has more benefits to offer such as

Increased flexibility

Improved respiration

Improved energy and vitality

Balanced metabolism

Improved athletic health

Increased muscle tone

Improved cardio health

Weight reduction

Stress management

Stress can have a devastating effect on your body and mind. Stress can reveal itself in the form of pain, anxiety, insomnia, and the inability to concentrate. Most times, stress is the main cause of weight gain. Yoga can help you cope with stress. Physical benefits of Yoga, combined with stress management, helps a person to lose weight and maintain good physical and mental health.

Yoga Asanas for Weight Loss

Yoga does not always result in weight loss immediately as these poses are simple. This Yoga poses for focus mostly on building body flexibility, improving concentration and building your muscle tone. Once your body gets used to these asanas, you will begin to practice Yoga asanas for weight loss.

Some of the Yoga asanas and yoga tips for weight loss are as given below.

1. Chaturangadandasana – Plank pose

Chaturangadandasana is the best way to strengthen your core. As simple as it looks, its benefits are immense. It is only when you are in the pose that you start to feel its intensity on your abdominal muscles.

2. Virabhadrasana – Warrior pose

Toning your thighs and shoulders, as well as improving your concentration has become more accessible and interesting with the Warrior II pose. The more you hold that pose, the better the results you gain. With just a few minutes of Virabhadrasana, you will get tighter quads.

Warrior III pose is made to improve your balance along with toning your back end, legs, and arms. It also helps to tone your tummy and give you a flat belly if you contract your abdominal muscles while you hold the position.

3. Trikonasana – Triangle pose

The trikonasana helps to improve digestion as well as reduce the fat deposited in the belly & waist. It stimulates and improves blood circulation in the entire body. The lateral motion of this asana helps you burn more fat from the waist and build more muscles in the thighs and hamstrings. Though this pose does not make your muscles shake as others do, it does give you the benefit that other asanas do. It also improves balance & concentration.

4. Adho Mukha Svanasana – Downward Dog pose

Adho Mukha Svanasana tones your whole body with a little extra attention to specific muscles. It helps to strengthen your arms, thighs, hamstring and back. Holding this pose and concentrating on your breathing engages your muscles and tones them, as well as improves your concentration and blood circulation.

5. Sarvangasana – Shoulder stand

Sarvangasana comes with multiple benefits, from increasing your strength, to improving digestion. But it is known for boosting metabolism and balancing thyroid levels. Sarvangasana or the shoulder stand strengthens the upper body, abdominal muscles and legs, improves the respiratory system and improves sleep.

6. Sethu Bandha Sarvangasana – Bridge pose

Yet another asana with multiple benefits is the Sethu Bandha Sarvangasana or Bridge pose. It is excellent for glutes, thyroid as well as weight loss. It improves muscle tone, digestion, regulates the hormones and improves the thyroid levels. It also strengthens your back muscles and reduces back pain.

7. Parivrtta Utkatasana – Twisted Chair pose

The Parivrtta Utkatasana is also called the Yoga’s version of the squat. But you must know that it is a little more intense and tones the abdominal muscles, works the quads and glutes. The asana also improves the lymph system and the digestive system. It is a great way to lose weight.

8. Dhanurasana – Bow pose

Are you looking for the best way to lose that belly fat? Dhanurasana helps massage the abdominal organs, improves digestion, and strengthens the thighs, chest and back. It stretches your whole body, strengthens and tones your muscles with improved blood circulation.

9. Surya Namaskara – Sun Salutation

The Surya Namaskara or Sun Salutation does more than warm up the muscles and get the blood flowing. It stretches and tones most of the major muscles, trims the waist, tones the arms, stimulates the digestive system, and balances the metabolism. Surya Namaskar is a whole package of good health and the best way to lose weight.

Interested to strengthen your immune system by practicing yoga? Click here to download the app and join the live sessions for FREE!

Power Yoga for Weight Loss

There is always a debate whether yoga is ideal for weight loss. Yoga tones your body and helps you lose that extra fat. But the story is different for Power Yoga. It is a vigorous form of yoga that rejuvenates your mind and body. It is more like a cardiovascular workout. Power Yoga helps promote weight loss and maintain a healthy body and a stress-free life. It also enhances stamina, flexibility and mental focus.

Power Yoga is a modern form of Yoga that has its roots in Ashtanga Yoga. The asanas build internal heat and increase your stamina, making you strong, flexible and free of stress. It is a strength-building form of exercise that provides a workout for your whole body. Power Yoga gives you the benefit of Yoga and more, including:

It helps to burn calories, a little more than yoga for beginners

It boosts your metabolism

It boosts your general well-being

It helps increase your concentration

It is very useful to build strength, stamina, flexibility, and it tones your body.

It helps you relax as tension and stress are considerably reduced.

The most reliable form of Power Yoga begins with Surya Namaskara or Sun Salutation. You can perform the Surya Namaskara as a warm-up before you start your Power Yoga workout session, or Surya Namaskara in itself can be done as Power Yoga. Surya Namaskara has immense benefits as it concentrates on all the core muscles of your body.

The best Power Yoga poses for weight loss include the following.

Pawanmuktasana or the Wind releasing pose help you drop those extra fat from the stomach and the stomach region.

Trikonasana or the Intense side stretch pose helps to reduce the fat from the sides. It raises your heartbeat and burns calories.

Dhanurasana or the Bow pose helps you drop the excess fat from the arms and legs. It is very helpful to tone your body.

Garudasana or the Eagle pose is a perfect weight loss choice for those who want thinner thighs, legs, arms and hands.

Eka Pada Adho Mukha Svanasana or the One-legged downward facing dog- when combined with breathing, helps you tone your arms, hands, legs, thighs and your abdominal muscles.

Bhujangasana or the Cobra pose is a great choice if you want to solidify your buttocks and to tone your abdominal muscles.

Navasana or the boat pose is the simplest Power Yoga pose for weight loss. It concentrates all the major muscles of your body.

Savasana or Corpse pose is the most important pose to end your Power Yoga workout session. Savasana helps your muscles relax and prevents muscle damage.

There are several other Power Yoga asanas that are very important for weight loss such as the Uttanpadasana or the Raised feet pose, Veerbhadrasana, the warrior pose, Ardha Chandrasana or the Half-moon pose, Paschimottasana or the Seated forward bend among others. Power Yoga is considered an appropriate intervention for weight loss and to prevent obesity.

Summary

Yoga, an Indian form of mind and body rejuvenation has significant benefit for all, from people who are obese and want to shed weight, to people who want to relax. Yoga is an age-old treatment for a well-toned and healthy body and a stress-free mind. It not only aids in weight loss but also promotes a balanced physical and mental wellbeing.

Frequently Asked Questions(FAQs)

Q. How much weight can you lose by doing Yoga?

The amount of weight one loses by doing Yoga varies from person-to-person and depends on their a number of factors including their flexibility.

Q. Can you lose belly fat with yoga?

Yes, you can lose belly fat with the help of yoga. Basic stretches and different asanas (like Surya Namaskar) can help you lose belly fat. That said, it is not recommended that you aim for spot reduction in any case.

Q. What is better for weight loss – yoga or gym?

Both yoga and fitness have their own advantages. Yoga involves more stretching and relaxation, whereas fitness deals with the contraction of muscles. There is no way of saying one works better than the other for weight loss. It depends on each individual’s own body type and their choices.

Q. Is power yoga effective for weight loss?

Yes, it is effective for weight loss. However, Hatha yoga is recommended since it is better in the long term. People with medical conditions should not prefer doing power yoga, unless under supervision

#beauty #health & fitness #weight lose weight #weight lose fast #yoga #yoga mobe #yogagirl #yogamen

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radmitsubishitalk · 4 years

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Mitsubishi Pajero Sport Driven To Test It’s Limits

Mitsubishi has gone full '

Beast mode

' on the Pajero Sport for 2020, giving it a new, more Triton-esque face and jamming in a whole load of new equipment, as is the Mitsubishi tried-and-tested way. And, you know what? It works very well indeed.

Well, it hasn't quite gone full-on Triton - rather, think of it as a more refined, urbane version of the Triton's aggressive Transformer face. A larger grille, smaller headlights and new LED combination indicator/cornering light/fog lights bring the beast, while tweaks to bumpers and other exterior trim (plus the addition of a rear spoiler as standard) make the Sport look lower, wider and more squared-off than before.

The polarising tail lights have come in for a refresh too, with a bolder, squarer look that sees them looking far less like clocks in a Salvador Dali painting now.

The new bumpers make the Mitsubishi Pajero 40mm longer than before, but it has lost around 20kg, with a decent chunk of that coming from the new aluminium bonnet that shaves 7.8kg off its weight.

Shaving millimetres off here and there inside the Pajero Sport has seen an increase in interior width of 25.6mm, while storage space has also increased, but the big news inside is the all-new 8-inch multi-information display that replaces the traditional dials behind the steering wheel, which is its first appearance in a Mitsubishi.

This, along with the addition of an electric tailgate, a revised and enlarged touchscreen infotainment display and remote control access via a phone app make the Pajero one of the most high-tech vehicles in the company's line up.

Okay, so its got a bunch more tech and equipment and it looks tougher, does it drive any better?

Little has actually changed on that front, but to be honest, it really didn't need to - the Pajero Sport has always ridden and handled at least as well, if not better than anything else in the large ladder-chassis ute-based SUV segment anyway, and it continues to do so.

Okay, so if you're coming from a monocoque car-based crossover-style SUV, then it is going to seem a bit agricultural in comparison, but in essence, the Pajero Sport rides and handles like a particularly impressive ute with better rear suspension - which is essentially what it is anyway.

On the open road it has a comfortable, loping ride quality that absorbs the worst of things, only occasionally getting a little brittle around the rear over broken surfaces at lower speeds.

Around town it feels firmer - like a ute - and occasionally jarring over the likes of speed bumps, but is generally a very comfortable and effortless-feeling big thing.

And make no mistake - it is big. At close to 5 metres long the Pajero Sport faces the same parking challenges that the slightly longer Triton does, plus it is also now 30mm higher than the old model too.

Still, that doesn't prevent it from being an eminently practical thing to live with, particularly thanks to its massive interior space that includes three rows of seats.

So it's still a useful thing off-road then?

Oh, yes. The increased length from the new bumpers hasn't affected the approach angle (still 30 degrees), while the departure angle has only been fractionally affected (up 0.2 degrees to 24.2) and ground clearance remains 218mm.

Mitsubishi's excellent Super Select II selectable 4WD system remains a thoroughly effortless thing to use, with easy selection via the chunky big dial in the centre console.

This is also an area where the Pajero Sport has an advantage over the Triton ute - where the Triton has an admittedly very good 6-speed automatic transmission, the Pajero Sport sticks with its utterly excellent 8-speed unit.

While the transmission is a very good thing at low speeds off the road (although it does occasionally become indecisive at on the road lower in its torque band), it truly shines at open road speeds by being remarkably fast and smooth in its shifts, and while the 2.4-litre turbo-diesel four-cylinder engine isn't exactly bristling with power, it does have a nice fat spread of torque that matches it nicely with the transmission.

No-one ever really takes these things off-road though, so what's it actually like around town?

That is true, but it is nice to know that you can. Particularly if that off-road ability is paired up with a comfortable and civilised on-road demeanour, as it is in the Pajero Sport. To find out what any of the Pajero models drive like - I’d say test drive one at Group 1 Mitsubishi. It’ll be insightful and fun as hell!

The newly refreshed interior is a comfortable place, with wide, welcoming seats and pretty much every modern convenience you expect in a new vehicle.

While it is a big lad, the Pajero Sport is bristling with cameras and sensors to make life easier, including a 360-degree camera, rear cross-traffic alert and blind-spot monitoring.

This all helps to make the Pajero Sport fairly effortless to live with on a daily basis, with its commanding seating position being a particular bonus in traffic, while its excellent adaptive cruise control also helps here.

Article from Give Me More Mitsubishi.

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tipsycad147 · 5 years

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How To Enhance Your Magic With Music

SL Bear

Imagine you’re riding home in the car after a long day. You turn on the radio, and you hear it: The first few notes of a song you love. The artist starts to sing and you know every word. You’re instantly revived. You turn up the volume and forget about your troubles for a moment because it’s time to sing and dance in your seat until the next red light. You’re not just sitting in your car doing the same boring thing for the hundredth time. Suddenly, your heart speeds up, the rhythm catches you and you feel great!

Music as a magical medium is nothing new. Witches have long turned to music to not only set the mood but also as part of their craft. Because although candles and incense do a great job of making a ritual feel witchy, music is different. Some say music and the physical effect it has on us is magic unto itself. Not a difficult concept to accept, especially when you think about your favourite song and how it has the ability to make you remember, make you feel, make you get up and dance. This is the spell music casts on all of us.

Every culture and civilisation in the world today creates music, and scientists study music’s effect on our cultures and brains to understand human evolution itself. Understanding music gives insight into prehistoric cultures’ beliefs, language development, and ancient migratory paths and interactions between humans in and out of Africa. Creating and listening to music isn’t just something people do for fun; it’s beneficial to us in many ways. Studies have shown music soothes our nerves and reduces tension. Singing as a group builds bonds between people. Music is interwoven in human biology.

Scientists will tell us that music enchants us in many different ways. Music is now being studied as a method to help patients heal and improve the quality of life for patients in hospice and the elderly in group homes. In 2017, the Mount Sinai School of Medicine produced a study which showed patients recovering from spinal surgery actually reported decreased pain when music was used as part of their therapy. Beyond medicine, studies have shown that listening to happy music increased creativity and encouraged better solutions when faced with problems. Science also shows a link between music and positive emotions and memories, but I’m sure most of us could have told them that.

If you have any doubt about the power of music, think of how often the powers that be have tried to ban it. Rock and roll was the devil’s music that conservative leaders fretted had the power to turn the youth into degenerate criminals. Fast, pounding rhythms, wild guitar riffs, and of course the uninhibited dancing that accompanied this music obviously harkened back to pagan rituals that organised religion feared and tried to stamp out. Apparently, certain music had the power to turn listeners away from Christian values and was a threat to the establishment. Plus, it was loud. So intertwined is music with witchcraft and free-thinking individuals, it’s no wonder attempts were made to demonise it by organisations that rely on conformity.

Recognising the power of music comes naturally to practitioners of witchcraft, though. Music is not a threat to magical practice — it is an important tool to enhance the craft. A 2004 survey of witches in the UK showed that only 3% of respondents did not use any kind of music in their practice. The vast majority of witches relied on music before, during, and after rituals, usually to enhance the mood but also to add potency to their spells and improve concentration. Witches cited simple drumming — which built in intensity like a racing heart — in particular as a powerful means to refine and strengthen their casting. Another important use for music was calling spirits with particular chants and songs. Participants reported that repeating a chant would help focus and subdue the conscious mind and let the subconscious mind open up, revealing hidden thoughts and powers. It also aided in absorbing new ideas.

No discussion of magic in music can pass without acknowledging voodoo and its musical influence. Music is essential to voodoo ceremonies. Possession, or being overtaken with a divine spirit (a loa), is facilitated by music. During slavery, white people feared the power of African religions (both in and of themselves, and their potential to unite) and sought to suppress voodoo ceremonies, even creating a law which made the use of drums and other instruments by slaves illegal in 1740. African practitioners of voodoo, who melded their religion with Christian denominations in America, brought their beliefs about the importance of music in worship to the church. Voodoo’s musical style, rhythms, and beats survived and thrived in black congregations and have become hugely influential in American music through gospel, rock, and soul.

Enhancing Your Magic With Music

So how can modern practitioners of witchcraft harness the power of music? Pretty simply, it turns out. Some may find the idea of learning to play an instrument daunting, and it can be. Music, as an art, is not as forgiving as other mediums. The eye may accept imperfect or wildly subjective art as aesthetically pleasing, but the ear is much more discerning. We don’t mind if a photograph is a little overexposed but play the wrong note — even a melody we’ve never heard before — and it sticks out like a sore thumb. Thankfully, you don’t have to be a musical prodigy to use music in your spellwork.

Using An Instrument

To begin, your choice of instrument is important. Instruments belong to different “families.” These are generally woodwind, brass, percussion, strings, and keyboard. Some people have tried to make these families neatly align with things such as the elements. Indeed, some analogies between instruments and other things can be intuited. For instance, the crisp sound of violin strings makes me think of winter or water. Percussion feels earthy. Brass is loud and bright — like a shining sun and blooming flower in spring. Woodwind feels light, full of life and breezy renewal. These connections are naturally subjective. Finding these symbolic connections, however, will help you choose an instrument which gives more meaning to your magical tunes.

Once you have chosen an instrument, it’s time to play! If you’re just starting out creating music and musical spells, keep it simple and don’t be overwhelmed by the possibilities. Let the notes speak to you. Your ear is an innate music lover, so trust it. If you’re noodling around on a guitar or drum, or even a music app (some can offer a whole digital orchestra), and you hear a couple of notes that sound right together, chances are you’ve stumbled upon a chord.

Of course, choosing to study music will help you find these more easily, in addition to scales, etc. You can create many tunes and melodies with just a few chords and you’ll be able to start making a soundtrack to your spellwork. When you create your tune, try simple ways to embellish it, like moving it up or down a key to change the pitch. A lower pitch can set a whole new mood, bringing solemnity and resonance, and moving up a key will brighten it up, both of which can better reflect a spell’s purpose. Even if you just work with a few notes, their combination and rhythmic possibilities can be endless. Since drumming and rhythm can have such a powerful effect on the mind, you may also choose to just pick up a makeshift mallet and start pounding out a beat. The thing to remember is the intent behind your playing and whatever magic you’re performing. As always, this is what’s important. Put thought and feeling into your creations. While they may not be musical masterpieces yet, they are still capable of enhancing your spellwork.

Vocal Methods

You may choose to forego instruments altogether and just sing or chant. Even if you’re not gifted with the best voice, a simple, repetitive chant will help hone your mind and put more energy into your intention when you cast. Science has shown that singing releases chemicals in the brain which make us feel good, lower stress, and induce calm. In other words, exactly the state of mind you want to be in when focusing intention and performing a spell!

One option is to sing or chant your intention. Start softly and then build volume (like the drumbeat mentioned above), to build strength in your spell. Another option is to find a poem or lyric which you think fits with your intention and sing that. You may just want to add a song or chant at the beginning and end of your spell or ritual that makes you feel good. It’ll put you in the right mindset and focus your energy. If you feel like it, move and dance around to the music. Adding that little extra physical element is a powerful way to use your own body to channel that music magic.

Adding music to your witchcraft can be as simple as putting on your headphones or quietly chanting, or as complicated as learning a whole new skill. However you choose to incorporate it, music will guide your magic to powerful new places and make you part of a fabulous tradition of witches who rock!

https://thetravelingwitch.com/blog/how-to-enhance-your-magic-with-music

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