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wmarximoff · 1 year

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DFTR! How would WANDA react to R Carving her Initial into her skin? I feel like Wanda would go Feral and Desperate for it like realising that R is finally warming up and just being as equally obsessed with her as Wanda is with her?

cut me up | w. maximoff

summary: Wanda finds out that it wasn't just your initial that ended up carved into her skin.

warnings (18+): serial killer!reader, stalker!wanda, graphic depiction of injury, strap-on sex (Wanda receiving), heavy degradation, slight breeding kink at the end, face slapping, daddy kink, choking, toxic relationship, bottom!Wanda, top!reader.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 3k

A/N: this is so twisted and sick and sinful i'm genuinely ashamed omg

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༺ᱬ༻

“Okay, stay still.”

The beam of pale alabaster skin glistening beneath the digits of your industrious fingers, soft to the touch and tender in temperature, was glimpsed through the thin strap of the warm red lacy lingerie that Wanda draped around her torso; the pair of breasts shyly tucked into the microfiber bra, the piece that hugged the mounds and made them look just as inviting to knead and squeeze in between your palms.

Long strands of ebony dark hair brushed her sharp collarbone beneath her skin, and with your right knuckles gently tucked into the palm of your hand you swept that lock behind Wanda's shoulder, moving your elbow joint, revealing in that region a piece of porous gauze screwed tightly to the skin by strips of tape in a well-made bandage. A pair of emerald eyes blinked at you from behind long, thick lashes.

Both you and Wanda were snuggled into the center of the bed in your bedroom, your legs crossed inside your thighs, your ankles draped over the pearly vanilla-cream satin sheets. Her dark miniskirt left the tops of her thighs exposed to your watchful gaze, and it would take very little effort to find a red lace there between her skin that matched the bra worn by Wanda.

Next to your right thigh, there was a small white plastic square suitcase, the lid open and tilted to the side, revealing, inside that box, a handful of the most varied items related to immediate first aid in the face of a possible daily injury – inside there was 10 ml saline ampoules, a package containing disposable nitrile gloves, one or another long rectangular box containing plastic tubes of ointment, and small and variegated silver cards containing several polychromatic pill tablets.

“Don’t move.”

“But I wanna see–” Wanda whimpered.

“No,” you asserted sharply, your eyes raking the height of her pale collarbone, “I told you not to move.”

With the expert fingertips of an avid med student you peeled the tape off Wanda's skin, and a detachment sound could be heard. A nervous caesura was then revealed, inflecting the skin of the region in shades of reddish pink, about three centimeters long. Your irises gleamed in identification with the mark carved with a knife's edge into the velvety flesh just below the collarbone that protruded hard beneath Wanda's epidermis.

“Well look at this. I did a great job with this one,” you hissed in a delightful whisper, a gleeful shiver that almost made you nibble the skin of your lower lip with your incisors.

“Does it look pretty?” Wanda asked, her gaze trying to search for the mark beneath the hanging gauze soaked in a thin layer of dried pus.

“Oh it does look pretty, dear. It's healing very, very well,” and then the phantom touch of your index finger traced the regular cut marks on Wanda's skin, as lingering in your actions as you'd allow yourself to be, only to sip the benefit of that moment to the last possible drop, “For sure this will leave a very nice scar.”

“Of course it will be pretty,” she smiled then, in a slow and jovial way, rapture traced by the purest and most genuine love glistening in the jadish green of her irises turned towards you, “It's the mark you left on me, Y/n. The mark of your love.”

“Yeah,” you smiled back at her, “You're right, I think. You look beautiful with my brand on you, so everyone knows you have an owner. Though I would really like to see you on a leash...”

It was that symbol the first letter of your own name, ingrained in open, red flesh for all eternity in your girlfriend's existence, like branded cattle—a reminder to her of who she belonged to (nothing Wanda really needed, though), while a warning to the other prying eyes that might someday come to look at her with glances of concupiscence. If something belonged to you and only to you would be exposed, then it was only right for you to point out to other possible admirers of your girlfriend's beauty the fact that that body was already someone's possession. Your possession.

“You're mine, right Wanda? Mine. Only mine. Mine to have,” you whispered, your gaze never leaving the outline of the letter etched into her skin, “And mine to do with what I want to do. I own you.”

Wanda smiled so that her upper teeth sank against the length of her pink lower lip, leaning with her spine to run the tips of her nails along the line of your neck. Slowly she slid her pale, bare thighs, which rubbed and bumped with impatience, over your own knees, then settled herself snugly on top of your lap; her crossed legs with her heels brushing the hem of the shorts you were wearing. And you were able to take advantage of the position to brazenly stare down the length of Wanda's breasts squeezed so appetizingly in that lacy red bra.

“Oh, I'm surely yours,” she mussed, smiling against the pulp of your lips, her hooded emerald eyes staring into your pupils from behind lashes mottled in a lustful sheen, “Completely yours, daddy. My soul. My body,” and then, she moved closer to the shell of your ear, breathing warm air against your skin, “My pussy. All of this is yours.”

“Good,” your steady hands, slow and studious, ran over the girl's silhouette brushing the tops of your thighs, “Because you'd be in serious trouble if it weren't mine. Now hold still,” you deferred two light taps with your fingertips against her left knee as a pair of hands touched the bottom of your shirt, “We need to change your bandage.”

“No, we can do that later,” she moaned against your left earlobe, the tip of her nose tucked between your strands of hair, her fingers encased in a handful of silver rings fidgeting with the hem of your white cotton shirt, “Let me play with you Y/n, please? C’mon, I wanna feel you inside me.”

“Wanda,” your right fingers, steady from wielding tennis rackets to hit green balls (or raising and lowering axe-handles), screwed into the outline of her thin, gnarled wrist, catching it in midair before for her to complete the action of lifting the fabric hem, “Your bandage. Now.”

“Baby,” she pouted like an upset child, “It's been so long since you let me see your body. I wanna see you! You don't even let me shower with you lately! I like to see your body, Y/n. You are so beautiful. So, so beautiful baby...”

And she started to move that wrist one more time, but your grip was even more pressurized on her skin, holding her in place.

“It's nothing you haven't seen before,” you grumbled grudgingly into your girlfriend's face, “And I never let you shower with me, every time you just walk into the shower without even asking first.”

“But now you lock the door.”

“Because you aren’t exactly known for respecting boundaries, are you now Wanda?” your irises dipped into Wanda's emerald gaze, who pressed her lips together in a slightly limp line, yet without untying her hard gaze from yours, “Now stop being an annoying fucking brat and let me change your damn bandage. C’mon, now.”

But she looked at you in silence, a contemplative silence. She just looked at you, as if something in her was processing a command, as if something inside her was reprogramming itself to externalize a thought that had germinated deep inside the walls of her skull, emerging into explosive abstractions that pressed something icy into the pit of her chest. Her jawbone twitched into a sharp edge.

And then the well-shaped dark brows creased between them a crack of furrowed skin, and Wanda's chin turned at a half-broken left angle as she tilted her head vaguely to the side, the emerald color inside her irises eclipsed by that haze of opaque darkness that could always be pointed out the moment her mind began to conspire with itself, overgrown fears that so tormented her twisted spirit. Her hands hardened into a firm grip over the cotton of your shirt, pressing the fabric stiff between her rings.

"You're hiding something from me," was a shrewd, guarded statement, said in a low, lugubrious tone of voice, not in the form of a dubious question, “There's something about you that you don't want me to see.”

“Wanda,” a warning tone was employed in your hard voice, your eyes hooded like an angry dog's before her, like the terrifying thunder harbingers of a cataclysmic storm, “Don't you even fucking dare to start. I'm not in the mood to put up with your childish tantrums right now, so stop being so annoying and just do what I’ve told you to.”

“You're fucking hiding something from me,” she reiterated just as pointedly, disregarding everything about his scolding admonition, “I know you are. I know everything about you. I can see right through you, Y/n. And unlike the others around you I know when you lie, because you do it all the fucking time—”

A sharp slap crackled hot against the skin of her left cheek, jerking her chin away, causing such violence to ruffle the strands of her dark hair, which all swung to cover her face in one swinging motion. From the side, through slits of long hair, Wanda's green irises flickered in a dark glow toward you.

“So it's true,” she hissed in an icy voice, “You're hiding something from me, I fucking knew—”

The words were constricted in Wanda's throat as your right hand screwed your fingers in an upright violence against the pale skin of her jugular, squeezing the oxygen into her pharynx as you jerked your wrist up, “Ungrateful fucking bitch.”

A sudden dry choking sound crashed through her partially parted lips, and then your vigorous forearm slammed her back against the length of the mattress in an uncomfortable thud, the insides of her thighs hooked to the sides of your hips, your nose almost touching hers over the top due to how close you forced your faces to be. Your fingers were still solidly squeezing the soft flesh of your girlfriend's neck like it was a thread you meant to snap soon – the weight of your body pressing hard against her ribs.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Huh, who do you think you are to talk to me like that, you fucking slut?!” you spat in front of her sharp cheekbone, pressing the back of her head against the mattress.

“I can just squeeze the life out of you if I want to now, do you hear me you ungrateful brat? I owe you Wanda, your life is mine, everything about you is mine. And I do whatever the fuck I want with what's mine, and you don't complain! Ever! You don't question me! Do you fucking understand me?!”

But a mischievous smirk appeared between her lips, the insides of her thighs pressing tight against your hip bones.

“Harder...” Wanda moaned looking at you from under hooded eyelids, hooking her left fingers on the length of your forearm from that hand that was squeezing the outline of her neck, “Squeeze harder daddy...”

You looked at her for a second (dark hair splayed across the sheets, tight pink mouth glistened with a thin layer of saliva, red bra and so tempting). How she seemed to want to beg so much for something only you could give her. She didn't scream in fear or terror. She just moaned and asked for more.

Something about her passive submission urged you to stop and reason like a functioning human and not an untamed, primal animal. It urged you to breathe, to breathe in her crimson scent, to think about her, really think about her – how different she was, how it was just transiently pleasant to ruin other girls who came and went and left behind only the emptiness that would just grow and burst in you; and then there was Wanda, beautiful and sycophantic and soft, just a little pestilent. How she truly satisfied you, with immeasurable delight, a creature as twisted as you could be.

How she knew how to keep up, ever so willing to submit to your most sadistic disturbances, attend to your needs, satiate your desire without giving up on doing so at any time. How she pushed your buttons and urged you to do more and just be worse. You didn't need to mold her because her defect came from the cradle, something had gone wrong with her long before you did – just as your evil was also paramount. Sick, obsessive and ill. And then, you blinked once at the emerald desire bubbling within the darkness of her eyes. And an incredulous smile spread across your face.

“You really are so beautiful… and so fucking sick in the head,” and then, again bending down in front of her, bringing your face closer to her hot face, you placed a warm little kiss on the tip of Wanda's nose that scrunched up involuntarily in the face of your action like a curious little bunny, “It makes me want to fuck that madness of yours out of you, you crazy bitch.”

Your hand was still squeezing the skin of her throat as fingers hooked into the nape of your neck, nails cut short, coated in a peeling black, digging in poignantly as they pierced your skin there just below your hairline.

“So fuck me, Y/n,” Wanda mussed, her mouth throbbing dangerously close to yours, breathing in the hot air that wafted from your nostrils, “Fucking ruin me daddy.”

Something bristled inside you in need and hunger. And you looked at Wanda's grim face down at you – you just wanted to feel her close, all to yourself, dismantled in your needy grip. It scorched you with will and greed sharpened by your veins, and your hands just wanted to rip her apart completely, leave her in ruins, destroy and tear everything inside of her. And then you had been compelled, in an act permeated between needy demand and execrable eagerness, to postpone the detachment that compromised your lips and Wanda's, thrusting your tongue firmly through the velvety commission of her mouth with a taste of passion and her madness.

Through a set of rosy lips on the part of the girl below you a tongue was broken, and that tongue laced itself with yours tenaciously, needy and passionately. It was bestial and shameless. It was carnal. It was animalistic. She bit your bottom lip until the metallic blood she had dissolved from inside your mouth drained from it. The taut palms of your hands pressed her swollen breasts hard into her red bra as you both let go for air; but you didn't want oxygen, you wanted her. And she wanted you. She craved for you.

You saw, beneath dark, voluminous lashes, two dark spots of green immersed in wild labor, overflowing with liquid pleasure. Desire bubbled in your guts invaded and screeched by Wanda's red color that, like the most noxious of plagues, infected your bloodstream, hypnotized you according to the erotic whims of the demanding and sinful libido of that girl lying beneath you.

“C’mon daddy,” Wanda whimpered performatively, “Wanna see you.”

The silence was momentary and fleeting because unimportance soon took possession of you. All right, you thought, fuck it. You dropped back to your knees in the mattress and, perhaps using a purposeful and provocative delay to rouse the sensitive dark-haired girl below you, you crossed your arms as you gripped the hem of your garment and pulled the shirt over your head, then unbuttoning the clasp of your own bra, exposing, to Wanda's in-need-to-touch glow, your mesmerizing, alluring figure—a dangerous bandage attached to the side of your left breast, just above your ribs.

Your hunger raced up your spine like an electric shock, driving you to want more, to want her all to yourself. Wanda wanted you, and you wanted Wanda. With your fingertips you removed the gauze stuck to your own skin.

“Is... Is that…?” Wanda's gaze strayed to the side of your breast, where a large W was etched into annoyingly reddened, jittery skin, a healing self-inferred scar like the one that marred her own skin. Her index finger lightly brushed in admiration the silhouette of that three-pointed letter forever embedded in you.

“I’m yours,” you stated, firm in your words, “As much as you are mine. Never forget that.”

“You're mine,” Wanda repeated, full of feeling in those inflated words that made her mouth tingle, “You… you're mine. Only mine. My everything. You are everything I need in my life.”

She was the one who reached for the scarlet silicone strap-on from the dresser drawer next to the bed and buckled it just above your pelvic bone. Panting hungrily against the bristly skin of her ivory neck, teeth scraping the battered, reddened skin, you shoved yourself against the inside of Wanda's wet, hot cunt, who immediately felt a comforting sensation in her belly, you biting a small, barely audible “Mine” out of your nose as you sank deeper and deeper into her womb.

Wanda moaned during penetration, “F-fuck daddy!” she suddenly screamed when you, without even giving her time to get used to the sensation, constantly moving inside her, touched a specific spongy spot within her velvety walls.

“Take it,” you groaned, “Take my cock, you slut. Take my cum. Take my bones. Take my blood. My meat,” and then, you growled like a ravish dog, “I'm gonna mark you in a way that not even your dead fucking body will forget how I feel inside your worthless hole.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck– daddy!” Her black-painted fingernails raked the length of your back to your tailbone, leaving in their wake a hotly pleasurable sensation, “You're mine! You are fucking mine! Please tell me again!”

“I'm yours!” you scolded against her ear, “I'm yours! Yours!"

“A-again!”

“I'm yours,” you gasped, “And you're mine. Mine and no one else's. I'd gouge out the eyes of the motherfucker who even dared look at what's mine.”

And Wanda smiled against your shoulder just at the thought of you hurting someone for her. That certainly wasn't the first time she wished you could come inside her.

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nkjemisin · 8 months

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Hi! (Just to get in front of it, I'm not asking you for anything. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your work and I SEE the decolonization in it. I'm definitely also neurodivergent, so forgive me if I over- or under-explain a point.) But I realize this is an Ask Me Anything... egad.

I'm working on a piece about Broken Earth for the Decolonizing the EcoGothic volume of the Gothic Nature Journal, and I just wanted to let you know that I am blown away by the way you tell stories. I was in a Gothic Horror (I'm really not that big of a Gothic literature nerd, I swear!) class while I was in graduate school last year and we read Toni Morrison's Beloved. That was the second time that I read that novel in particular, and the first time I read it I got hung up on Mama Suggs. Her character and her ceremonies in the clearing were very powerful, and I couldn't put a pin in why until I read Broken Earth. Something about the connection between Essun and Alabaster's bodies transforming as a result of their magic use and the utter negation and abuse and colonization of the black body in both stories and historic times of slavery (and the prison industrial complex today, let's be real). Reading Broken Earth helped me understand that. So thank you.

I'm sorry this is turning into a mini essay, but I also wanted to mention another connection I found between the two on my second read (a connection I formed, I'm definitely not trying to say that I know for sure what you were going for because of course there's a lot to the stories) was between that of the characters Nassun and Denver. Near the end of the novel, after Beloved's ghost has all but taken everything from Sethe, Denver begins to step off of the safe porch and enter into the unsafe world alone for the first time to try and find help. She finds herself recalling a conversation that she heard between Baby Suggs and her mother:

“Oh, some of them [white people] do all right by us,” Sethe said. Baby suggs responds,

“And every time it’s a surprise, ain’t it? Don’t box with me. There’s more of us they drowned than there is all of them ever lived from the start of time. Lay down your sword. This ain’t a battle; it’s a rout” (287). Denver then asks the memory of her grandmother what she should do, then. “Know it, and go on out the yard. Go on,” her grandmother responds (288).

What should Denver, or Nassun, do with the knowledge that they will never truly be safe? She has to accept it, but go on anyway. One foot after another, and so on. I felt a bit of this driving Nassun after her father takes her away from their home in Tirimo... and I dunno. You and Toni Morrison both write stories that stick with me, personally, and make me think. And think and think.

Oh I'm also not assuming you've read Beloved, either. I'm sorry! I this is turning into a mess. I think I'll stop there. Just, thank you. For your stories and for your characters and for the story of Syl Anagist. I loved the Inheritance Trilogy also, I'm just very stuck on Broken Earth because of this piece I'm working on. Thank you! Sorry.

No need to apologize! But I can't answer your question because I haven't read Beloved. Read and loved several Morrison novels, but not that one. (I keep meaning to, but my Mount ToBeRead is the size of Everest and growing.) Both books are inspired by the same historical event, and I think because of that, folks who don't know about Margaret Garner reasonably assume I'm riffing on Morrison rather than reality. But nope, the Broken Earth trilogy is just one of several creative works that are in conversation with the Garner tragedy. Any similarities you see probably come from the fact that Morrison and I share a racial and gender identity, and had a similar reaction to realizing just how much our current lives are impacted by hidden historical horrors.

Even if I'd read Beloved, however, I probably wouldn't be able to answer your question. Lit crit is best done by people other than the author, IMO. We're too close to our work to tell you very much about it.

#answered asks

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avaetin · 3 months

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This has taken over my life---

@haiseiscute333

“Welcome to the Oscars, live from the red carpet from the Dolby Theater in Los Angeles! I'm your host, Kayla Knowles, and for the next hour, we're going to be talking to the many nominees and presenters of this show-...”

“-....As we prepare to welcome our first guest, remember to breathe it all in, because tonight, we are part of something truly special. Tonight, we gather to celebrate the magic of the silver screen and the small screen, where dreams come true and where Hollywood truly shines.

So, without further ado, let the Oscars begin!”

…

“- Let’s just take you down the red carpet. As you can see, we have America’s all-time male sweetheart, Percy Jackson, in his black tux, looking good. You can see people yelling, trying to make eye contact with him. With him is America's sweetheart, Annabeth Chase, looking absolutely beautiful in her sparkling silver Gucci gown!”

—-

Comment section from the live video:

Perc4beth4evr: OMG! My parents are finally here! They look so gorgeous together! The perfect golden couple! ❤️❤️❤️ THEDaughter: Took them long enough to come out as a couple! We all knew he was dating her for two years now. ImOfficial: ❤️❤️❤️ BitterDingy: ❤️❤️❤️ HonesToxic: You're all delulus. They don't even look in love. I'm pretty sure he was with someone else. Perc4beth4vr: YOU TAKE THAT BACK!

—-

…

“Thank you, Alabaster. Hope you have a wonderful time inside as well-! Ah! Over there! It's the industry's charming darling, Nico di Angelo! Oh, he certainly lives up to his name - he looks so dashing and adorable in his white designer tuxedo!”

—-

Comment section from the live video: NDAPS: IM JUST A BABY— 😍😍😍 NicosAngel: NICOOOOOO! BABY BOY ASDFGHJKL Cat-astrophe: I HAVE LEGAL ADOPTION PAPERS PLS COME HOME WIV ME NOW Shituation: Everyday, I wake up just to see his gorgeous face 😫

—-

“Wait. Is that… Did Nico di Angelo bring a partner with him this year?”

—-

Comment section from the live video: NDAPS: HOLD UP. WAITWAITWAIT OUR MEOW MEOW BRING A WHAT NOW??? NicoApologist: Our baby grew up so fast 😭 NicosAngel: NOOOOOOOO!!! WHO DARES CORRUPT MY ANGEL?!?!

—-

“Oh my! Nico di Angelo did bring a partner to this year's event, and-! No. Nonononono. This can't be real. Who has the right to look THAT gorgeous? The press is going crazy over them, look at all those flashing lights! They're clearly wearing matching tuxedos as well! Is this Nico's mystery partner?”

—-

Comment section from the live video: NDAPS: HOLY JESUS CHRIST ON A MOTORBIKE! I MUST HAVE ASCENDED TO HEAVEN! IM SEEING AN ANGEL AND A GOD AT THE SAME TIME— Perc4beth4vr: Doesn't that guy look like Percy? Sorrynotsorry: Not everything's about Jackson. Clearly that guy looks way better. NicosAngel: I apologize for what I said. Please corrupt my angel, Mr. Greek God. For you, I'll make an exception. MY ANGEL IS SMILING SO MUCH RIGHT NOW I HAVEN'T SEEN HIM THIS HAPPY 😭😭😭 THEY LOOK LIKE THE PERFECT COUPLE, I DEMAND WEDDING INVITATIONS ASAP 🤧🤧🤧 excuseyou: Did Percy stop at the end of the carpet or was it just me who noticed? troll.on.a.roll: Kayla is us right now. She's fangirling over Nico just as hard as everyone else lol

—-

Kayla: Nico! Wow, you look drop-dead gorgeous! How are you feeling this evening? (hugs him)

Nico: Kayla! You look stunning as well. (hugs her back) I'm doing great! The best, actually.

Kayla: Oh, is it because of your mystery partner? (smiling playfully before turning towards the other male) Are we going to know his name tonight, or are the netizens going to have to do their thorough investigations?

Nico: (laughs) As fun as that is… Let me introduce to everyone, Aeon Oceanus. My fiance. (lifts one of his hands to show off a silver diamond-studded ring)

—-

Comment section from the live video: … … … … NDAPS: Did he say fiance? narrowcrepe: !!! NicosAngel: YUUUUUUS! I CALLED IT! I DEMAND AN INVITATION! FRONT ROW! ILL EVEN BE THE CARPET YOU WALK DOWN ON JUST SO I CAN SEE YOU GET MARRIED- excuseyou: Percy looks constipated hmm… Sorrynotsorry: NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT THAT TALENTLESS NEWBIE 🙄 Dundundun: But for real! I sense drama. Like, this guy really looks a lot like Jackson. I won't be surprised if they're related.

—-

Kayla: M-Marriage? Wow! That's amazing! No wonder you're glowing tonight. It must be love.

Nico: Ah, well, it's also my first time bringing a partner to an awarding ceremony. It feels amazing, knowing that from today onwards, I have no need to hide my relationship with my partner.

—- Comment section from the live video: excuseyou: Definitely constipated. Sorrynotsorry: Someone kick this Percy-stan out. —-

Kayla: And how about you… Mr. Oceanus?

Aeon: Aeon’s fine.

Kayla: How are you feeling tonight?

Aeon: I feel like I’m on cloud nine (smiles warmly). Having the love of my life acknowledge our relationship publicly, and having the public know that I am his as much as he’s mine… (pulls Nico close to press a kiss to his forehead) Perfect. Everything’s perfect.

—-

Comment section from the live video: NDAPS: HE SAID THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE OMG!!! EAT THAT PERCABETH SHIPPERS, YOU CAN HAVE YOUR GOLDEN COUPLE, WE HAVE OUR PLATINUM COUPLE! NicosAngel: 😭🥳😭🥳😭🥳😭 Perc4beth4evr: !!! Shituation: The way Nico closed his eyes, and his lips curling to the softest of smiles when Aeon pulled him close and kissed his forehead--- Dear God, I have a new reason to wake up everyday

—-

Kayla: That’s wonderful! All right, I won’t keep you guys any longer. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening. And Nico, all the best for the awarding!

Kayla: (whispers, but microphone catches it) And all the best for your wedding.

Nico: (laughs) Thanks, Kayla. (walks into the event with Aeon, hand-in-hand)

#aeon (pjo)#nico di angelo #pjo #nion #percy jackson #still dunno what to tag this as

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griseldagimpel · 8 months

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Harrow, Nona, and Kiriona Gaia's Skin Color

This is from Nona the Ninth, from when Nona (who's body is, of course, Harrow's body) sees Kiriona Gaia at Ianthe's broadcast:

Their skin was rendered pallid in those hot lights, with the same weird, waxy-quality: warm-coloured skin that should have been a similar brown hue to Nona's, except there was something wrong with it.

"Pallid" means pale, and that makes sense: direct lighting can make brown skin appear lighter. "Warm-coloured" refers to undertones. For art, if you did multiple layers, this would be yellows, oranges, or reds underneath the brown, which is exactly how Gideon's skin is depicted on the English-language cover of Gideon the Ninth*. But here, Kiriona is not only under a bright light but also dead, which is affecting her appearance.

There are also Muir's extra-textual tumblr posts and fan casts (link: https://tazmuir.tumblr.com/post/187901634998/hello-i-loved-gideon-the-ninth-so-much-and), which can certainly be useful to artists, but even if we're just talking what's described in the core text, Harrow, Nona, and Gideon aren't alabaster lily white. It says it right there: "brown hue".

* For those not aware, there's a long problem in the publishing industry of white washing and colorism when it comes to depicting characters of color in the cover art. Authors generally have very little creative control here, and the artists are often working off of a description provided to them by someone, rather than from the actual book text. The English-language covers are generally pretty good for The Locked Tomb series. I had envisioned Nona as maybe a couple shades darker than the cover of Nona the Ninth depicts her, but that could just be the lighting used. The covers for release in Japan, however, are a travesty.

#the locked tomb #meta #harrowhark nonagesimus #nona tlt #nona palona #gideon nav #kiriona gaia #race #colorism

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2as2gs · 3 months

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El último sueño

4 de Enero 2024

Buenas nuevas es que no haya noticias, recuerdo me decías cuando te llamaba por teléfono después de bastante tiempo sin hablar.

Recordaba esa frase esta tarde, cuando tu hija adoptada ha llamado para decirnos que te ibas, otra vez, la definitiva.

No quisiste que te acompañáramos en tu olvido de la vida, quizás protegiéndonos, de nuevo sin preguntar si lo quería, o merecía.

De niños, nos alabaste al guardarnos una pieza cada uno sabiendo que ganaba el último en ponerla, sintiendo la vida dura y competitiva.

Podía haber aprendido otras cosas de ti, dibujo y pintura, diseño y estilo, fotografía y experiencias, más no recuerdo que así fuera.

Recuerdo sin embargo dos veces que me pareció estabas orgulloso de mi.

Cuando me llevaste a visitar a un importante cliente industrial, yo aspirante a ingeniero, tú afamado diseñador local, para que viera la fábrica y sus máquinas.

Te agradó que no te avergonzara, creo, pues dijiste que actué con entereza.

La segunda vez me visitaste en mi trabajo de verano en la librería. Me dijiste que podían hacer mucho peor que emplearme a mi.

No te recuerdo ayudándome con los deberes, ni besándonos buenas noches, pero recuerdo que algunas veces, los domingos, nos cocinabas espagueti al horno con tomate.

Sí que me enseñaste a pescar, y a volar cometas, y conduje por vez primera en tu regazo.

También di la mano a mi primer bello ensoñamiento en el asiento trasero de tu coche, mientras conducías sin manos; y me gustaba acompañarte al Pirata a tomar café de sobremesa y ver el coche fantástico en aquellos veranos cántabros de inundaciones y tienda de campaña.

Fuiste padre hasta que nos dejaste, supongo, y te encontré al pasear por el puerto viejo de la mano con tu amante, mientras mi madre cubría tu plato de comida caliente y esperaba en casa.

No hay que cerrarse a las posibilidades, nos convencías en las pocas horas de custodia compartida.

Luego tuve que escapar, pues no podía ya soportar más mentiras, y en los diez años en que pasé de asustado fantasma a persona, no visitaste mi piso nuevo en el extranjero, ni llamaste más de una vez.

Me sentí segundo plato, insignificante carga; no me enseñaste a ser padre y tuve que malaprender sobre la marcha.

La última vez que hablamos me diste el pésame por mi madre, y añadiste que ya no la recordabas.

Hoy podía haber dejado todo, haber hecho todas las horas de carretera, para estar ahí y darte la mano, como hice con tu padre, no hace tanto.

Pero me sentí hipócrita, cínico y desalmado; pues no me quisiste a tu lado y no voy a aprovechar tu hora más baja para forzarte a ser amado.

#poema #enero2024 #haiku sosho

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cosmicanger · 2 years

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Alabaster Industries Sinew Watch In Black

#watches #gems

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aesthetelabel · 1 year

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Shop - This vintage pottery vase is a thing of beauty, those perfectly formed handles, cinched in waist and patina that only age can achieve, a rare piece from the once thriving pottery industry in Staffordshire, England. Available on the website www.aesthetelabel.com . . . Photograph @aesthetelabel #homedecor #interiordesign #ceramics #nature #stylist #alabaster #vintage #vintagehome #home #aesthetelabel https://www.instagram.com/p/CqYlDAVL301/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#homedecor #interiordesign #ceramics #nature #stylist #alabaster #vintage #vintagehome #home #aesthetelabel

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astralscrivener · 4 months

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For the End of the Year Book Ask! #3, #10, #16 <333 Let your correct onions be KNOWN Beautiful <3333

I LOVE TALKING ABOUT MY BOOK ONIONS

3. what were your top 5 books of the year?

FUCK this one took a lot of thinking

i had to go to my shelf of favorite reads of the year and it was. very tough to choose.

firstly is yellowface by r.f. kuang, which i talk about more in the next question (i answered these out of order oopsies)

second i think is the fifth season/the obelisk gate by n.k. jemisin. i read the fifth season both last year and this year for two different classes, and then finally got around to the sequel + am currently reading the third book and i am bonkers about them. i am thinking about essun and nassun and alabaster and hoa constantly. deeply unwell. a lot more geology than i had initially expected but i'm having a GREAT time

the long way to a small angry planet by becky chambers. my fucking beloved. i've literally owned the book since like 2021 but took forever to read it but i love it sooo much i love the entire wayfarer crew but i think about kizzy and ashby constantly. the socks match my hat scene was so small but lives in my head rent-free

circe by madeline miller!!!! this one is popular for a reason. i know a lot of people tend to prefer TSOA/their first introduction to miller's writing is TSOA but circe was mine bc i love the odyssey (and also the emily wilson odyssey came out before wiliad. so. i have not had the brain power to get thru the fagles translation of either one yet). anyway i loved this a lot. i connected a lot with circe as a person and a character and her entire web of relationships...i am so emo about it. also i am a circe/penelope truther and when i write a sci fi or fantasy novel very loosely inspired by their dynamic. then what. ....wait i might have just had a breakthru on one of my wips wait a minute—

and finally the haunting of hill house by shirley jackson. i think about eleanor too often. way too often. someone in the goodreads reviews commented on her loneliness and it clicked for me why i like her so much and i have not recovered <3

10. what was your favorite new release of the year?

out of the ones i read this year? yellowface by r.f. kuang. i don't read thrillers much but this one was so much. i loved it. chaotic satirical thriller criticizing the publishing industry and raising questions about ownvoices and representation, which authors and stories the industry rewards and prioritizes, the pitfalls of being a young prodigy, and also it was just bonkers. i know this one was divisive for some people but i loved it. i had a great time. i have not stopped thinking about "they called it a globule" for months.

16. what is the most overhyped book you read this year?

you know DAMN WELL what you were doing when you chose this question. kissing you on the mouth

anyway is this a safe space. is this a safe space for me to be bitch. f**rth wing. it was f**rth wing. spoilering so tumblr doesn't put it in the search for the stans to find me

it is bad. it is bad. i initially gave it i think 1.5 stars (rounded up to 2 on GR) but i hate it more every single time i think about it. there is just so much wrong with it as a book but is also emblematic of a lot of larger issues in publishing, and particularly with red tower as an imprint, but i do not have all day to rant or we will be here forever

end of year book ask!

#eileen answers #literature #sweetheart tag

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ithidunes · 2 years

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My webcomic chapter on the american chestnut! 🌰✨

Huge thanks for the research materials to the american chestnut foundation, which is one of the primary conservation groups in the united states working with such an amazing species. :)

(page text under readmore)

CASTANEA DENTATA:

The American Chestnut was a large species of tree in the beech family, native to the eastern forests of North America. They bloomed long strings of catkins each summer, and dropped their leaves each fall- along with a hefty mast crop of burr-guarded nuts. Their flavor was sweeter and milder than other types of chestnut, and each year, they helped feed entire ecosystems beneath the branches.

The trees themselves were especially prolific, making up to roughly 30% of a forests' tree population throughout their range. In favorable conditions, the chestnut could reach over 100 feet tall, with trunks almost 10 feet in diameter. Some specimins could have contended among the tallest individual trees in the world.

The american chestnut was not alone, either- within its teperate family range, there exist 7 other species, though C. dentata was the largest. It was a tree of many uses.

Even aside from the sheer bulk of food value produced, the wood of the american chestnut was especially valuble. High tannin content in young trees especially accounted for a superior rot resistance and overall durability in certain types of construction.

Its leaves were also a reliable source of natural tannins for the leather industry, before the creation of synthetic tannins in the 1950s. The leaves of the american chestnut are also responsible for the latin name of the species- seemingly ironically, given the sharp thorns of the chestnut's protective burr. DENTATA refers to the elongated teeth on the leaf edges, which are more pronounced than in other chestnut species.

Given the propensity for their incredible nut production, one may find it odd to note that the chestnut tree rarely propagated itself from seed. Sprouts emerging from the base of older trees and stumps were vigorous growers, shooting up to fill the canopy gaps left behind by their ailing predecessors. Some nuts still sprouted- forgotten by the diverse selection of wildlife that consumed them- but their early growth was slower, and made up but a small percentage of young trees.

But still the crop was massive. Each mature tree could produce over 6000 nuts per season, with an average lifespan of 150 years. Some individuals were recorded to be older- much older- clocking in at 400 years of age, and still producing nuts.

Lords of the ecosystem each in their own right- for those who lived in the eden beneath the canopy, this keystone species didn’t just add to the environment… it was the environment.

Summertime rolled in with an expanse of flowers, packed so densely in the canopy that the sight from above was like an alabaster ocean. Catkins and pollen and leaves, dancing together in the sunbaked wind for miles and miles and miles…

Sights like these would be a rare one today- rare enough to be impossible - for the downfall of the American chestnut is a terrible irony. What a cruel joke it was that a wood known for rot resistance came to kneel down before the onslaught of a fungal blight.

Or rather: there was two in the span of a century. Ink Disease was the first, introduced from Europe in the early 19th century and afflicting the roots of hundreds of flora species across the continent. The nail in the chestnut coffin was the 2nd wave- another fungus known as Chestnut Blight, primarily affecting the trunks and stems of trees.

Cryphonectria parasitica is a sac fungi native to East & Southeast Asia, which coevolved with the Chinese and Japanese chestnut species. Much like the ink disease introduced from imported plant materials a century before, the blight was shipped in to North America on the barks of other chestnuts. Like father, like son: The first Japanese Chestnut arrived in 1876, commissioned by Samuel Browne Parsons Jr- son of the first man to import Japanese maples to north america.

Chinese chestnuts followed soon after, and starts of each were sold in a booming nursery industry that sent the trees by mail order all up and down the eastern forests. While any one of these numerous imports could have first brought the fungus, the collectors desire for these ‘exotic’ trees displayed a status, and that obsession spread the spores far and wide.

By the time the blight finally begun to bloom in 1904, the onset was so rapid, researchers believe that the fungus had already been deeply entrenched in the countryside for some time.

Truly, it was like a wildfire- its embers first spotted in the Bronx Zoo of New York, raging southward and overtaking the chestnut population in only a handful of decades. The only force faster was the lumber industry. Faced with such a devastating loss of capital value, efforts were made to save the valuable wood and uncountable stands of the american chestnut were felled before the fungus even touched them. Meanwhile, the survivors continued on...

Once entrenched, c. parasitica spends its life within the cambium layer of a tree, feeding on the active living cells and producing oxalic acid as a byproduct. The american chestnut is unable to metabolize this acid, and its buildup in their living tissues eventually kills the tree.

Or, at least, the fungus kills the part of the tree that remains above ground… but the chestnut, ever adapted to the true wildfire conditions of a terraformed North American forest, sprouts new shoots in perpetuity. This is not enough to shake off the blight entirely- as the fungus survives happily on dead wood and other trees as well- but a vast majority of living chestnut trees remain in a sort of limbo.

These once-giants exist as tiny growing shoots, surviving, not quite to breeding age… but among these survivors, a scant few individuals stand out from the rest. If they can overcome the blight just long enough to produce nuts, it indicates a genetic shift towards blight resistance. Ever so slightly, these trees are the key to the species future.

To unlock their potential, a chestnut sapling needs only 8 years before it goes to seed… and while the blight is here to stay, there are ways to delay the inevitable. Certain strains of Cryphonectria parasitica have been found with their own blight- a viral contagion- that slows the fungus down enough that the tree can survive infection.

Unfortunately, this virus is not so prolific as the blight was in the wild. To be an effective treatment for the blight, a chestnut must have each individual canker examined and the virus reapplied, year after year. It’s expensive in labor, and time.

But it IS possible.

Different people working together across the continent are already making headway on the chestnut’s revival, utilizing these methods and others. The forests of old may be changed forever: coextinction is irreversible, and habitat loss has fragmented the range these trees once grew.

This much is all true- but with some luck and a bit of support, there is still hope for this magnificent tree and the ecosystem it has sheltered. Better practices, better priorities, better care are on the horizon. People just have to know where to look for it.

#american chestnut #passenger pigeon #webcomics #ecology #chestnut #Metempsychosis #i did so much background painting and i learned a lot!!!#best of

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cassieuncaged · 9 months

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OC: Nyx Biography Part 1: Black Dragon Ties

Name: Rachel Rogers (legally redacted)/Nyx (codename)

Age: 33

Gender: Female

Affiliation: The Black Dragon (formerly), Special Forces

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Appearance

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Skin Color: Alabaster, fair

Hair Style: long, it hangs halfway down her back

Hair Color: naturally blonde but dyed it half black and half white.

Eye Color: aquamarine. Wears red, black, and purple contacts

Body Shape:

Has an athletic, slim build with broad shoulders

Height: 5’7

Clothing: goth core, wears either black jeans or leather pants, a matching leather jacket, fingerless gloves, fishnet and mesh shirt beneath a goth rock tshirt (Bauhaus, Joy Division, etc,), and Doc Martens. Also wears a studded mask that covers the bottom half of her face.

Misc.: has an eyebrow piercing, a septum piercing, as well several on either ear (lobe, tragus, industrial). Wears heavy makeup, Smokey eyeshadow and purple lipstick

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Powers and Abilities

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Nyx doesn’t posses any supernatural powers. However, she practice karate and judo since was a teenager as well as Krav Maga. She is agile, quick, and elusive as a ghost.

Her weapons include a Sig MPX K with a silencer as well as a throwing knife occasionally as well using her Ducati to literally run over her competition.

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Personality

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Likes

Playing video games

Moshing at metal concerts

Pepperoni pizza

Rodents and reptiles

Getting tattoos and piercings

Dislikes

Kano

Being bossed around

Her job as a hired gun

Big crowds

Personality Traits

Clever

Adaptable

Independent

Fear(s)

That everything in her life was meaningless and that she’s only a killing machine with no other prospects

Those she cares about dying because of her

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Backstory

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Born Rachel Rogers on June 6th 1990, Rogers was the first born to Jill and Michael. Her early years were filled comfort and stability fueled by loving parents.

However, Michael was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer shortly after the birth of their second child, Noah. The family spent a lot of times in and out of hospitals until Michael passed away.

Rachel was devastated and became averse to hospitals because of the experience. She was quiet as a child and spent most of her time playing old computer adventure games or reading about Greek mythology. Jill had to work multiple jobs to make ends meet and often left Rachel in charge. She became very protective of Noah and even defended him when he got bullied at school.

Because of this, she began practicing karate and judo and became very proficient in both. She received average grades in high school and enlisted in the military after she graduated from high school. This was in attempt to make money and help her mother with financial stability with government granted stipends.

It was then that she discovered how agile she was as well as naturally proficient with firearms. She moved to special ops. She was discharged from active duty after three years and struggled to readjust to the world around her.

Rachel began running with underground crime syndicates as a hired gun. However, her job put her family’s lives at risk. After meeting Kano in Los Angeles, he offers her a blank slate under the condition she works for him, no questions asked.

Desperate to start over, she accepts the offer of tabula rasa and begins to work with the Black Dragon clan under the moniker Nyx.

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#oc: nyx #mortal kombat #mortal kombat oc #long post #mortal kombat 11 #mk nyx

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aurora-daily · 2 years

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AURORA: ‘Online crucifixion is the modern witch burning’

Interview for Dazed magazine by Greg Wetherall (August 6th, 2022).

The enigmatic Norwegian pop artist opens up about death, her relationship with Billie Eilish, and her fated plans to leave the music industry

Not long before the first of our two interviews with AURORA, the musician takes to Twitter to denounce societies’ sexualisation of women. “We get sexualised by the world, and yet shamed for being sexual,” her post begins. It concludes with the hashtag #ourbodyyourchoice, with a link to her track “The Devil is Human”. Backstage at BST Hyde Park a few days later, the diminutive 26-year-old is the picture of tranquillity as she settles into a quiet corner of the artists’ enclosure. She will shortly take to the stage to showcase tracks from her outstanding new album The Gods We Can Touch, alongside earlier hits, including viral TikTok sensation “Runaway”.

For now, though, she is keen to reveal what’s on her mind. Unexpectedly, this includes where she sees her music career headed and where it is likely to end. “I'm going to make eight albums or eight chapters in my whole life,” she confides. “I know how all of them are going to sound and what they are going to be called. Now I have three chapters, [but] I’m going to have eight.”

AURORA makes for a compelling and idiosyncratic pop star. So far, she has encompassed Nordic electro-folk, snappy synth-pop, and atmospheric chamber balladry across three bewitching albums – a mix which has beguiled legions of fans, including Billie Eilish, who announced that the video to 2015 single “Runaway” inspired her to make music.

If you map AURORA’s musical DNA, you will likely hear traces of Lorde, Bjork, and even Enya alongside her beloved Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen (“I wanted to write in English because Cohen wrote in English,” she says). There are shades of Kate Bush too. When the latter is put to her though, she admits to not being particularly familiar: “I kind of feel like I know [her] already even though I haven’t heard much [of Kate Bush’s material]. One day I will listen to her music… I never really listen to music,” she says.

Lyrically, AURORA often digs into the big topics. She has criticised human greed (“When the last tree has fallen/And the rivers are all poisoned/You cannot eat money, oh no” – “The Seed”), railed against conversion therapy (“Cure For Me”) and laid bare her despair over the state of the world (“I fall asleep in my own tears/I cry for the world, for everyone” – “Warrior”).

The singer’s aesthetic is fiercely individualistic too: think Scandinavian forest-dweller crossed with someone plucked from a Waterhouse oil painting. Today, she is wearing a medieval chemise underneath a corset top, and her trademark lack of make-up ensures her alabaster complexion is dazzling under the glare of the sun.

We return to the social media post that the artist made a few days before. “This last child of mine, album, I mean, is inspired by suppression in society,” she says. “Often, I think about the way religion makes us judge ourselves – our sexualities, our bodies, and our mistakes. I don’t like anyone telling human beings they should be ashamed of natural things. I find that very sad, and so I wrote a song about it.” That song is “The Devil is Human”, and the lyrics posit a series of pointed theological questions. When asked if they are a swipe at organised religion rather than the concept of a higher power, she is unequivocal: “Oh, yeah definitely, because I don’t think that about faith or spirituality. I think about the God we made after and the book that we wrote and rewrote many times. I find it sad that we let this chosen truth ruin people’s lives, especially the freedom for people to express themselves; be who they are and fall in love [with who they want].”

The concept of judgement troubles the musician. She stresses the importance of people getting to know their “deep place” and learning how to think for themselves. “I think the world struggles most when people forget how to think for themselves,” she explains. “We forget because it’s so easy to get influenced… and because online crucifixion is the modern witch burning. Women get the worst of it.” Asked as to why she thinks this is so, she says that the world is “used to criticising women” because “they can”.

When we resume our conversation a few weeks later, AURORA is home making the most of a small window of downtime, during which she intends to undertake some “naked swimming” and unwind with “some champagne” in her apartment. “It’s raining in Norway, and I’m very happy about that,” she says, and flips the camera around to showcase the multitude of plants that she intends to take care of while at home. “It’s a perfect holiday for me.”

Born in Stavanger, Norway, Aurora Aksnes discovered music early. The piano became her first instrument “by accident” when she was six (“I just pressed the keys, and kind of taught myself by ear,” she recalls). A few years later, her first original composition emerged, and the subject was pitch-black. The song “A Hunter in the Dark” was about “a serial killer who had no regrets, so it doesn’t make any sense to be angry at him, because he’ll never understand you”.

School was not her happiest time, despite having some friends and doing well academically. “I think from the outside it could seem like I was doing OK, but my internal experience of school was awful. I remember just being very stressed; very anxious. I grew up in a very small place, and I was constantly overwhelmed by everything. I always felt out of place. I didn’t relate to the kids. I thought they didn’t make sense. I didn’t understand why I was there. I was very confused and lost… but only at school and only with other people.”

On her own, it was a different matter. AURORA says she was “very happy” in solitude. “80 per cent of my childhood was spent in the forest alone and I had a great time,” she says. AURORA’s parents had a “huge bell… like a cowbell” that they’d ring when they wanted their daughter home: “We didn’t have phones back then, so I would go into the forest, and they would ring the bell to get me back for dinner.”

Her parents were “very liberal and kind” and never forbade her from expressing herself, even though her behaviour was less conventional than that of her siblings. Dinner time would find AURORA sitting “on top of the table” where she would eat with her hands. “They just let me be,” she says, gratefully.

At around seven or eight, she started experimenting with her clothing. This involved putting “a lot of things on top of each other”, “cutting up socks” and feeding her arms through them. She hesitates to use the term bullying when describing the reaction of her peers during her teen years, because she doesn’t feel “worthy”. Nevertheless, she claims the whispering, laughing and looks she endured helped shape her. “I remember feeling quite empowered by it. I was like, oh, it’s fun to liberate myself and realise I can still enjoy what I enjoy beyond the approval of people. It gave me quite an eye-opening perspective on life and myself. It was a huge part of me becoming who I am. It was important for me to go through it.”

Following a clutch of EPs and singles, AURORA released her debut album All My Demons Greeting Me As a Friend in 2016. The album received extremely positive notices and boasted songs that would be established as among her signature works, including “Running with the Wolves”, “Warrior”, and “Runaway”. When we touch upon Eilish’s love of the latter, AURORA gives candid insight into their relationship. “I have spoken to her and her family many times. We meet sometimes. The world pressurises her way too much. Because she acts and looks mature, I feel like the world forgets how young she is. And it’s very unfair. I think she’s doing a brilliant job in manoeuvring how the world treats her. But yeah, she and her family are brilliant. They’re just nice people. I think the way her brother [FINNEAS] produces and writes is very, very gorgeous too.”

Although only in her mid-twenties, AURORA concedes that she’s already known “quite a lot of loss” in her life. A friend was tragically murdered at the Utøya massacre in 2011, another friend passed away through suicide, and another by way of a fatal car accident. “I’ve seen a lot of people consumed by death, and it always surprises me how physical grief is,” she says. “There’s an actual pain in your chest. I’m going to write a whole album one day – a concept album – just dedicated to grief, loss, and sorrow, and how to cope with it.

“I wish we talked more about it [death]. Sometimes when I sit with my family, I say, ‘If I die young…’, and my mother goes, [mimics shocked exclamation] ‘Oh, No!’,” she continues. “I’m not going to die. I’m just saying that, if I die young, know that I’m very happy with what I’ve experienced in life – if that [knowledge] can give you some peace. I’ve already written my will too, with lots of letters to people just so there’s something to hold on to if I go early. It’s not because I know or want to [go]. I just want to make it as pleasant as possible.”

Following the success of her debut album, AURORA released her second album A Different Kind of Human (Step 2) in 2019. Less than a year later, the world shut down due to the COVID-19 pandemic. The experimental, yet hook-heavy, The Gods We Can Touch followed earlier this year. Of her pledge to only make eight albums, AURORA confirms that it was established ten years ago when she first started out. “The first thing I did when I became an artist was to sit by myself and divide my life into what I feel I need to address in my time. And then, I started addressing them chapter by chapter. This chapter now, I knew I was going to address religion, freedom and sexuality.”

Is it likely that she’ll walk away from music entirely once her album quota is fulfilled? “Yeah, I think so. Because then I won’t have more to say, I think. I feel like I have spiritual stuff to realise... I also want to learn more about astronomy and physics. My dream is to have a bachelor’s degree in those things, so I’m going to go back to school. I feel like a lot of the spiritual conversations have lacked science, and scientific conversations have lacked spirituality. For the last 20 years of my life, I want to sit quietly and think, basically.”

With our time almost up, and with the theme of a potential musical retirement hanging in the air, AURORA delivers one final revelation before we say goodbye. “I have a death album with one song from every decade of my life that I want to release after I die,” she shares. Make no mistake, AURORA’s beautiful brand of Nordic Noir is an intoxicating potion. The fact that she has everything mapped out only makes it more alluring. Does she have any doubts at all about a hard stop after eight albums? “It might change, but I doubt it. Weirdly, I feel like I know in my core my mission in life. And it’s very exciting.”

#aurora #aurora aksnes #interviews #final album #the gods we can touch #a hunter in the dark

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