#and more respectful to the brand that allowed you to ascend so high

[beevean]

I'm getting really tired of Ian using the whole thing about the writing and characterization in the series being inconsistent throughout the years as an excuse. Yes, there has many wildly different interpretations and takes of the characters in the many different spin-offs in media that have been made throughout it's history. Imo it's why the franchise has remained so relevant and it's fandom so active to this day, because it's made the characters and series more accessible that way. Anywhere can be a jumping on point for people. But I really don't think people are asking too much for there to be some consistency or set of rules within a continuity that he and the others working on IDW have, or tried to have, established. Unlike with Archie, where they were literally making things up as they went along, they're supposed to be starting completely from scratch with IDW.

And it doesn't help with him doing writing work on a mainline game like Frontiers, because it's meant to take place in the same exact canon as the main games. Assuming he had something to do with it, I wouldn't have any problem with how the whole Eggdad thing was done(aside from it just feeling completely rushed) if it was in a completely different continuity that was it's own thing, as the character has had so many different portrayals throughout the franchise's history. But since this is meant to be the same Eggman from the games, I have to look at it through the lense of how he's been in the previous games up until that point- which I would say has actually been pretty damn consistent- and because of that, it feels so off-putting for him to suddenly soften up out of nowhere, when he normally would have immediately pushed the off button on Sage, or do a bit of "reprogramming", the second she started talking back.

It's a lazy copout, not befitting of Best Sonic Writer The Veteran, and it's not even true!

You know what, I'll just put this from the FAQ, which wasn't written for sport:

“Games!Sonic is inconsistent.”

Yes, different writers choose to emphasize different aspects of Sonic’s personality. In ShTH, he was overly giddy and excited, and even seemed to not notice Shadow being upset because he remembered his own death. In ‘06, he was overly stoic. In Colors, he gained the sudden quirk of taunting robots who couldn’t respond.

However, Sonic still has core traits that no game has changed: for example, Games!Sonic is always supportive towards his friends, and trusts them to know what they’re doing… something that isn’t always present in IDW. Games!Sonic remarked that Shadow saved the world once and thus he isn’t just a weapon in Battle; IDW!Sonic guilt-tripped him by reminding him that he tried to obliterate the planet once in #6. Games!Sonic listens to Tails, and he makes sure to apologize to him after the one time he has offended him in Lost World;  IDW!Sonic brushes Tails off and deflects blame when Tails confronts him about his decision to let Metal Sonic go in #50. Games!Sonic is fairly terse when it comes to himself, and only speaks for longer when he talks about the power of friendship; IDW!Sonic goes on whole speeches about his general modus operandi (granted, this is an issue with Flynn’s writing in general, who really seems to like writing many words).

Sonic is a simple character at his core, and as such, the traits that make his very being have always been respected. Sonic is friendly, kind although with a noticeable ego, he always always tries to save people in need even if he has no idea of what's going on, always sees the best in those people, but he's somewhat uncaring of villains, especially the ones who have crossed the line in his mind - he doesn't automatically go for the kill, but if he has to kill them, he'll do it. The fact that he's more of a chatterbox in Colors than he is in '06 doesn't mean that there is one game where Sonic has suddenly turned into a manipulative bastard, or somehow thinks that Eggman could ever reform.

The games. They're meant to be played. With care.

And of course, same with Eggman. Yes, the Eggman from '06 is a much more serious, less hammy version of the character, that is inconsistent. But throughout 31 years, Eggman never, ever displayed any positive quality that would suggest that he'd grow emotionally attached to a child, even one of his creation. This is why I hate the argument "well Bowser can be a dad and still be evil!" sure! Bowser. Not Eggman. They're not the same character. Anti-heroes who slash everyone in their way and still are heroic exist, but that doesn't mean that Sonic would be one of them!

Justifying it with "muh inconsistency" means you're not above the level of a 6 year old who makes up the rules of the game as they go along, because they really want to win.

#sonic the hedgehog #also i really hate flynn's sarcastic attitude #'it's not like...' shut up and be courteous will you? #and more respectful to the brand that allowed you to ascend so high

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #2: Aberrant

Coerthas, 1551 (About 26 years before the events of “A Realm Reborn”)

“You know once you do this, there’s no going back,” Father Comfraire said in his soft, quiet voice.

Corran nodded, walking alongside the slender old priest. The day was warm and the wind blew through the long grasses, the constant hush muffling their footsteps as they made their way to the old watchtower. Corran looked to the sky, watching to see if the wings cutting the air were birds or dragons.

“There have been some who questioned your commitment to the cause,” Comfraire continued. “You’ve been less...active, since marrying that foreign woman and fathering a son.”

Corran stiffened, but before he could argue, Comfraire shook his head. “If anything, the scandal of your marriage made for a decent smokescreen. You play the part of a good Halonic well; one passionate rebellion is to be expected now and then--and she is lovely.”

“My marriage is neither convenience nor a fit of thoughtless passion,” Corran said in a low, cold voice. “I’ll thank you not to speak of my wife so again.”

Comfraire remained maddeningly calm, gaze fixed forward. “I care not if you love her or simply enjoy what’s between her fine legs--the facts speak for themselves and even after all this time, none suspect where your sympathies truly lie.” They stopped outside the old tower, its shadow shifting with the sun’s movement to fall over them. Comfraire did turn to look at Corran now. “My only concern is if you love our cause as much--or more--as you proclaim to love your Thavnairian beauty.”

Corran ground his teeth and willed his fists to unclench; this was how the old priest simply was, and he knew that. So he nodded. “If I wish my family to be safe and free, then the truth must be known, and this war ended. By any means necessary. I’ve waited long enough, and my boy’s no infant anymore.”

“Very well.” Comfraire tilted his head slightly, toward the swollen old door half-hidden behind ivy. Corran hurried forward and pulled it open, allowing the priest to enter first.

Others waited within, men and women who dared not return to the homes they once knew, branded traitors and heretics by the lying Church. They looked up as the pair entered, some nodding in respect for Comfraire, others watching Corran closely. They wordlessly followed into the center of the tower.

The top had long since fallen in, allowing the sun’s slanting rays to shine upon the creature in the center, she who made her roost here and encouraged those who would seek the truth in this long war. Her crimson scales shimmered in the golden afternoon light, scars marking her many victories.

Avengret, a daughter of Ratatoskr, a general of Nidhogg's Horde.

Her burning orange eyes took in the men who entered her domain, head lifting. “Comfraire. What have you brought me today?” She demanded, voice deep enough to vibrate bones.

“One of our own, my lady,” Comfraire said with a deep, sweeping bow. “One who is ready finally to take the next step in our long and winding path.”

“This you so judge?” She demanded, turning her fiery gaze on Corran. He met her glower with one of his own, struggling not to fidget.

“I have known this man his whole life,” Comfraire said. “He is dedicated, and worthy.”

“Dedicated to his Eastern whore, mayhap,” a rough voice said from the right. Another hyur, pale-haired and ruddy-skinned, glaring at Corran. “Where was you when we—”

Corran’s fist connected with the man’s jaw before most in the room realized he had crossed the four yalms between them. The other hyur flailed into an old table, the half-rotten wood crumbling under the sudden weight.

“Keeping my head down and keeping useful connections,” Corran said coldly. “That’s where I was, instead of flashing my arse to the Inquisition and giving every damned Temple Knight a target, Breckt.” He leaned forward over the fallen man, still holding his jaw and wincing as he tried to sit up among the ruined wood. “And I did it while earning the affections of a proper and respectable woman. If you call her aught else again, I’ll feed you your own balls.”

Avengret’s laugh rumbled through them, the very stones vibrating. “Disparage another’s mate and reap the consequences,” she said. “I like this one, Comfraire. There is a fire here I would see stoked against mine enemies.”

“I thought you would, my lady,” the old priest’s soft voice was nearly inaudible next to the dragon’s simple breathing, yet he was clearly heard even through the angry rushing in Corran’s head.

Corran turned his back to Breckt to look up at Avengret. “What would you have me do?”

She appraised him for a long time. Finally her great mouth curled into what could only be a smile. “I would make of you a true warrior, though it will take time. Assuming you wish to fight so valiantly for me as you do for your mate.”

Corran’s mouth felt dry as the others whispered behind him, someone helping Breckt to his feet, the wood clattering against the hushed noises. Avengret’s eyes burned into Corran’s soul and he nodded. “Anything, my lady.”

She raised her large forearm, and as they watched, bit her own clawed digit. More of a nip from smaller side teeth, but enough for blood to well, ruby against crimson. Avengret held her wound to Corran; he could barely cover it with his hand. “Drink,” she ordered, a threatening growl to it.

He glanced at Comfraire, who nodded slowly, a spark in his eye the only show of emotion from the old priest, always so controlled. Corran took a breath, bracing his hands on Avengret’s scales; she was hot to the touch, but not unbearably so, her hide pebbly. He leaned in.

Later, Corran couldn’t consciously recall drinking from Avengret, though he knew he had; her blood was unbearable, the flames coursing through his body, spreading until he was going to burst from the fullness of heat. Others held him upright, soothed him with ice and calming words.

Somewhere above them all, the dragon laughed darkly. “What was ripped from my mother, I freely give that you, my son, might become my weapon--my vengeance. Serve well, and someday your reward will be to fly alongside your true family to destroy those thieves and murderers who would deny your stolen birthright.”

—-

Dark had fallen fully by the time Corran saw Comfraire back to the chapel where he pretended to serve the Halonic church. Corran was sure he said goodnight, but it was hard to hear or feel anything past the buzzing in his skull, the sensation of his skin rippling from flames still racing beneath the surface. He felt as if he had to be smoking like a smithy, his hair damp with sweat and the echo of a dragon’s song in his ears. Everything felt unbearably slow and fragile; he had to move, but could not go swiftly enough, could not go high enough.

The door of his home slammed, and even that seemed too distant. “Corran!” a sweet, familiar voice cut through the haze, hushed but scolding. “Are you drunk? You’ll wake Zaine!”

He looked, and sucked in a breath. His Emelia crossed to the kitchen, throwing him a disgruntled look at his antics. He didn’t care; he could drown in those dark blue eyes and thank her for the privilege. Her golden-brown skin fairly glowed in the lamps as he followed her, the light catching on her fine black locks, shimmering in his gaze. Even now, cleaning up after the evening meal, she moved with the grace of a dancer, slim form swaying to music only she could hear, music ever outside his own hearing but he would follow her lead forever if she let him. Even scolding, her voice, with its Thavnairian lilt, was a song he could never tire of, weaving over the dragon’s verse still in his head.

“I knew you meant to escort the Father on his walk but did you then stop by the tavern? I expected you home bells ago! Zaine was disappointed you weren’t here to give him a story, it took me forever to put him to bed.”

“I’ll make it up to him tomorrow,” Corran growled as he crossed the room. Emelia squeaked as he spun her around and pressed her back against the counter, kissing her fiercely. Her stiff surprise quickly melted into pliant response, her cool hands sliding up his chest and around his neck, a balm for the fire still raging through him.

His hands ran over her body, needing more, needing her, naught else could quench Avengret’s heat, as he nipped at Emelia’s jaw, her neck. “I need you,” he snarled.

She yelped, and he stiffened. “I--did I hurt you?” He asked, some of the haze clearing.

Emelia shook her head. “No--not in a bad way, I mean.” She blushed brightly, and he couldn’t help a relieved laugh. Then she cupped his face in her hands and he thought perhaps he could ascend to the Heavens after all. “This isn’t like you; are you all right? Just what did you drink tonight?”

He pulled her close once more. “Something new. Think I’ll try it again--if you’ve no objections.” He rocked against her.

Emelia gasped and shivered, then bade him pause, swallowing hard. “Just the one,” she managed to say.

Corran blinked, confusion warring with the fiery instincts raging within him.

Emelia giggled, still blushing. “The kitchen hasn’t a door, let alone a lock, to keep little boys at bay should they wake.”

Corran laughed now, perhaps too loudly as she tried to hush him. He scooped his wife into his arms, to carry her to their bed where he could ravish her until the fire in his veins abated, the song quieted in his head. To love and worship her as she deserved--before leaving her arms in the morning to do his part for the neverending war.

---

((Immediately followed up by “Passion”, the spicy continuation of Corran & Emelia’s evening.

So in one of last year’s prompts I suddenly learned Aeryn’s dad was a heretic, and apparently this year we’re exploring that more.))

#FFXIVWrite2021 #Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Dragonsong War #Backstory #Corran Striker #Emelia Striker #Avengret

[smalltragedy]

* natalia dyer, nonbinary + she/they | you know philomena carmichael, right? they’re twenty-one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, a day? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to oo-de-lally by roger miller like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole wind whipping around your hair, the gentleness of decomposition, a naked blur dancing around the flames of an everlasting fire thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is april 20th, so they’re a taurus, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hiii im back ... tentatively .. looks at u all ominously

CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION, DEATH, GRAPHIC MENTION OF DECAY, INSECTS MENTION TW.

mini playlist.

oo-de-lally / roger miller, wonderfully bizarre / bendigo fletcher, dust in your pocket / glass animals, gecgecgec / 100 gecs, nantes / beirut, cherry-coloured funk / cocteau twins, not allowed / tv girl, space song / beach house, dog food / 100 gecs.

statistics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, mena, etc.

birthday: april 20th, 2000.

zodiac: taurus sun, scorpio moon, aries ascending.

temperament: improvisor / phlegmatic.

label: the halycon.

sexuality: demisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

cancer tw // it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long. end of cancer tw //

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

depersonalization / derealization tw // it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs. depersonalization / derealization end of tw //

death, decay. maggots tw // there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot. end of death, decay, maggots tw //

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

after ending up with warrants from their arrest in florida (after running from the law in texas), philly and elektra have wound up at irving <3 partially hiding from the law and partially bcos their trusty van’s broken down and they haven’t got the money to fix her up yet.

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon.

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been.

currently living in florence, their van, with her sister elektra <3 currently residing in lilac ridge.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. (smirks at leo)

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her (besides elektra).

has a certain knack for getting animals to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay.

wanted plots.

speaking through my third eye ... ;; philly is new in town n shes very strange. constantly lives in a state in which she does not exist (at least on the same plane). this is her harassing the locals. this is her slipping thru their fingertips as they attempt 2 understand her. they get close smtms bt philly jst. whisks herself away.

hollows of our eyelids ... ;; perhaps there is smbdy jst as strange as philly. i’m out here calling fr all the weirdos. lets be friends. lets hv philly n co go on adventures n discover horrible sites n uncover ancient secrets tht lie deep below irving. mayb nt tht. bt im jst saying. this is fr the dreamers. da weirdos. the jugheads. LHKDSHFSADLKGFHLSKADG fr those who also feel as if they r not real.

bills n aches n blues... ;; ya this is my call fr all negative plots. bills (catching philly be a thief and a fraud), aches (mayb heartache? unrecruited feelings or w/e theyre called?), n blues (ooooh so sad... so sad ... angst ...) obviously i am a genius. i wldnt say tht philly is here 2 make enemies bc philly doesnt care much abt ppl bt perhaps tht cld b an issue. tht she doesnt care much abt others. mayb ur muse is jst like. cn u pls care. n philly is like. i am incapable. sry. sucks.

n also ,, ;; like. anything i’ll. take anything. philly is weird lets come up w surreal plots tht verge on the edge of like. nt being correct fr this verse. suddenly theres vampires? or so they think ... smirks. anyways. shes been 2 jail n been in the circus n dances naked in the woods n hoards animals n treasures. we hv a lot to work with here obv.

#irvingintro #cancer tw #death tw #decay tw #maggots tw #dissociation tw #depersonalization tw #derealization tw #trauma tw #:D

[phoenixtakaramono]

The Untold Tale - ch2 Preview

SUMMARY: Let it not be said that Shen Yuan didn’t know how to be an accomplished—arguably better—writer than Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky! A middle-aged author in his hubris, he’d unknowingly triggered his fate and had his consciousness whisked away into an unfathomable mystical world that he would later learn to be based on Proud Immortal Demon Way and his very own work-in-progress. When given the opportunity to customize his character’s stats and to design his one remaining Customizable Skill Slot, as a veteran reader of transmigration stories and its tropes, Shen Yuan demanded, “Grant me the protagonist’s halo of course!”

The SYSTEM was silent all but for a minute.【Understood. Unique Skill <<PROTAGONIST’S HALO>> activated. Esteemed Host, you share the Unique Skill <<PROTAGONIST’S HALO>> with one other.】

“Who?”

【This world’s Luo Binghe. From the original novel series.】

“...Hold on, I need some time to process this.”

(Little did Shen Yuan know that this world’s Luo Binghe is the same sadistic Heavenly Demon “Bing gē” who’d stumbled upon the alternate universe version of his “Shizun” enjoying marital bliss with “Bing mèi” in one of the released Extra short stories. It was also too bad that Shen Yuan, in his mortal form, resembled Shen Qingqiu by a good thirty-to-forty percent.) 

(It’s a sort-of redemption fic. I think Bing gē deserves his own Shen Yuan. Some soulmates are just meant to be....)

Luo Binghe didn’t reply immediately when the low voice graced his ears. He was content to drink his fill of the fortuneteller before him, his breath stolen. 

It was as if the Heavens had sculpted this extraordinary fairy from the white nephrite mines of the Tian Shan Mountains and had breathed life into their creation. Such a man gave the impression of a heron found resting in the wetlands, with an immaculately majestic white plumage and tall stature and long legs. The crown had lent him a dignified air, with its moonstone threads giving off a resplendent iridescent sheen in the moonlight. Aside from the face, any sign of skin was covered up beneath the many fabrics of dark blue finery and silverspun threads. The gossamer tips of the white embroidered wings on the back of his outer robe fanned out along the bend of those wide sleeves as though the wings of the egert were extended around the wearer himself, the outstretched tips of the chiffon weaving gracefully in the air from any subtle breeze or movement. 

Luo Binghe stared brazenly at the man’s high collar which was fastened securely around the throat, not allowing a sliver of skin to be exposed. In contrast, the mink fur of the man’s outer robe looked luxurious and soft to the touch, begging for him to sink his fingers into it. 

He was the very representation of how Luo Binghe had imagined a celestial being to appear sequestered away in the coveted Heavenly Realm, mature and self-restrained and untouched by matters of the secular world. Luo Binghe shifted, briefly scanning the surroundings. Like seeing through a fog, colors of this mystic world were not as vibrant as that in the Mortal Realm. Frozen clouds hung in the outskirts of the infinite pond, the picture of twilight outside, with heaven and earth enveloped in silver and white.

Because Luo Binghe was once brought up with the common people who believed in everything divine—or supposed to be divine, no matter whether it was associated with Buddhism, the Dao, or the cult of the dead—he was familiar with the folklores and fictions that populated the imaginations of his countrymen. The educated class never made it an occasion to question the validity of the myriad of deities worshipped by the illiterate masses. Except for deities, everything under the sky was the King's land; everyone on these lands were the King's subjects. For reasons of courting blessings and averting calamities, mortals in their middle empire followed the teaching of Confucius in their religious beliefs, including the lesson to treat all divinities with reverence and to regard them at a cold, respectable distance. 

And among those popular tales, Luo Binghe was familiar with the mythology of the Eight Great Fairies. Like cultivators, they represented the pinnacle of human beings who had acquired immortality and magic through the constant practice of the esoteric discipline of Dao, achieving a status of divinity and ascending from the secular world. If this celestial was a fortuneteller, then his situation reminded Luo Binghe of the story of Ho Hsien-ku. Endowed with a supernatural power, the magician could make divinations and prophecies without the slightest mistakes.

“My story?” Luo Binghe rasped, intentionally obtuse. His expression relaxing, he permitted his hand to be lowered but he kept the tight grip on the man’s wrist. 

When the immortal had spoken, contrary to his aloof and handsome appearance which resembled white frost, his voice was as refreshing as a spring brook. Every word he’d uttered was infused with a bit of warmth, reminding Luo Binghe of the afterglow that followed the setting sun—even with the slightest warning lodged in that tactful entreaty. He’d called him xiōng dì, so Luo Binghe could surmise the celestial considered himself as Luo Binghe’s senior.

It was obvious that while he was wary of a Heavenly Demon’s sudden appearance at his residence, the ethereal being didn’t seem to bear him any misgivings. He seemed more curious about how Luo Binghe ended up here.

“...This lord doesn’t recall crossing a silver bridge,” Luo Binghe continued slowly. In their tales, the Heavenly Realm was ruled by the Jade Emperor who presided over a court of deities worshipped throughout China. Only human beings who had lived exemplary lives were allowed entry after death by crossing the “the silver bridge” into this domain and being reborn as gods.

His body and mind felt strangely refreshed, the internal fire no longer consuming him. There was a faint recollection of the feeling of fire abetting as the yin energy flowed through him, and even when he’d begun to regain consciousness, he remembered registering the feeling of a pair of hands on his back guiding him to lie back down. Realizing the significance of his position on the immortal’s lap after falling into the river, his eyes were overfilling with indescribable emotions after piecing together what must have happened. It was a small revelation that made his head dizzy.

The serene gaze settled upon his face, and beneath the thick eyelashes that were devoid of color, the immortal was assessing Luo Binghe with an intensity that he himself didn’t mind returning. 

In the deep recesses of his mind, Luo Binghe compared the differences of his features against two similar faces. He committed to memory the beguiling shade of jade found in those pale eyes, with the emotion that swum in them as calm as the surface of a lake. They were quite different from the cruel bottomless storms of his Shizun and the gentle overcast skies of the other “Shen Qingqiu.” 

To Luo Binghe, the existence of this person was akin to finding a painting that had been carefully preserved and well-hidden, like a fairy who has hidden his existence from the realms for centuries. His unusual appearance could even be likened to the seven wonders of the world, a peerless beauty that could even overshadow the female white snake spirit Bai Suzhen from fable. Celestials were naturally an enigmatic sight that stole a second glance and set the heart at ease. Luo Binghe felt as if he’d discovered an elusive treasure of indescribable rarity which had never before been gazed upon by the likes of mere mortals or demons. 

And he was undoubtedly his shizun, even with the differences. 

This was the one—the special existence that belonged to him. A chance encounter between a celestial and between a human who had the blood of ancient demons fallen from heaven running through his veins could only be testament to the natural balance of order.

The sudden damp touch against the side of his face made his eyelids jolt slightly, reacting to the drag of fabric along his skin. 

A pensive air seeped into the celestial’s demeanor, and Luo Binghe could sense he was contemplating Luo Binghe’s facial features. Deep in thought, the pad of his thumb carelessly brushed against his jaw, making Luo Binghe’s pupils constrict.

They were a pair of scholarly, masculine hands. Although the fortuneteller wore gloves, Luo Binghe could presume that those long fingers held a bit of roughness to them, calluses formed from training with a sword or from other extraneous activities. Having trained in the art of cultivation himself, Luo Binghe could not disregard the white sword sheathed at the immortal’s waist as being worn for decorative purposes. He gave the deceptive impression of being quiet and harmless, but Luo Binghe had discerned his body to be capable of releasing stored-up strength at any time. From his position lying on the immortal’s lap, Luo Binghe could sense the contoured muscles hidden beneath the folds of fabric. 

A mental image suddenly appeared in Luo Binghe’s mind which made him want to slide those offending garments off and sink his teeth into that pale, untarnished flesh which resembled the moonlight. The emotion in his gaze became all the more lascivious as he imagined the colors that’d bloom, branded by him.

In the same measured tone, the immortal proclaimed, “You are Luo Binghe?” When the smile spread across Luo Binghe’s face, the fortuneteller soon matched it. He answered himself amicably, “Yes, you are the one whom the fates smile upon…. It is an honor to finally meet the reputable young lord who presides over the demons. I present to you my greetings.”

“And to be able to meet you is seven lifetime’s worth of blessings.” He saw those snowy lashes flicker as the brows flew up. Seeing surprise coloring those features, Luo Binghe swallowed and rasped, “Permit me to be so bold, but this xiōng dì would be honored to know what this simple fortuneteller’s name is.”

Those pale jade eyes flickered past. “...I am known as Shen Yuan.”

Luo Binghe mouthed the name, repeating the consonants and the syllables. A look of hunger flitted across his face, before his expression soon resumed its natural state, sweet and indulgent. 

He can be good to this Shen Yuan.

(Chapter 1 can be found on AO3. Link is in my profile)

#svsss #luo binghe #bingqiu #shen qingqiu #bingyuan #shen yuan #the untold tale #phoenixtakaramono #WIP #preview #ch2 #If I'm lucky I can maybe eke this out by Nov #if not then you can consider it a December gift #bc good lord the sheer number of comments from just the prologue alone #I am flabbergasted #TUT will be updated b4 G&G #my writing #scumbag system #the scum villain's self saving system

[windstormwielding]

Slipstream

「 ...Hatchling. 」

“...haven’t heard your gruff old voice in some time.” Kōtarō’s posture straightened when he heard his blade address him. For an instant, it felt like the old shack that made for his childhood home and present surroundings blinked out, and he found himself pulled back into the sea of clouds that made for his inner world.

It was only for an instant, but the sight stuck with the Lieutenant all the same: the sky above him there wasn’t a clear, sunny blue. Clouds, ones at his feet and ones on high, were a charged black, threatening to burst with lightning and roar thunder at any given moment, and moving overhead and below with speed.

「 11 years will have passed soon. 」

“...yeah.” Now that was a comment from his projected instinct Kōta felt he could have done without, leaning back against the old wall and letting out a huff that came out more tired than he intended. It was one thing that he already trained himself ragged, with newer, deeper scars torn into the earth and cliffside alike outside proving as such, but while he would’ve appreciated hearing the often silent Hai’iro Ranmaru speak, it was another to be casually reminded of the looming anniversary of the Great Soul King Protection War.

Reiō, he always hated that name for it. They were more fighting for their own lives, their survival as a collective, than that of a faceless, nameless lynchpin. While Kōtarō found it easier to process those events in the decade-plus since, remembrance still stung. Fear and helplessness unlike anything he felt. Losing too many relationships in one fell swoop than can ever be counted. The death of the one man he respected and looked up to most, whom he only wanted to make proud one more time before his untimely demise. Oh how distraught he had been, in repressing the resulting despair as much as he could and sinking himself into his work, into bettering himself in case-

「 Why? 」

“W-why what?”

「 Why do you remain grounded? 」

“Ranmaru, we’ve been at it here since morning,” the windstorm wielder pointed out, even going so far as to jab a thumb toward the sunset-hued sky outside for his mentally aboding partner. It was rare that he had an entire day to himself, and of course he spent it dedicating in refining his skills and abilities with nigh bullheaded obsession, but he intended on returning to the Seireitei once he recovered enough of his strength. “We can get back into it later in the week, can’t we?”

「 That is not what I meant. 」

Oh here we go with the cryptic gotchas. Returning his thumb so that he may drag his hand, palm and digits, down his face, Kōta paused before he opted to take the bait: “So if it’s not me taking a break, then what?”

「 Why are you not honest? 」

“Wh- Excuse me?!” Maybe it was the exhaustion talking when his own voice rose, but those words still touched on a nerve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

「 You first chose to carry this burden in the name of a man who has not walked among you, not for the last 11 years. 」

“Okay, don’t you dare bring Captain Ukitake into this.” His tone turned as sharp as steel at the comment, and his reiatsu threatened to flare in turn. It was not long after Aizen’s arrest that Kōta made such a pledge to his late commander, to be of better use to him and the 13th in the future, but it was the absolute last thing he wished to recall.

Still, as bitter as he felt, he knew Hai’iro Ranmaru was correct.

“Shit.” How cruelly that memory aged, from an ignorant and hopeful 4th Seat who saw not the storm on the horizon. Hell, none of them saw it coming. The shinigami in question felt his back ease against the wall he sat against, all while mulling over bygone times.

「 So what reason do you have to still seek such power now? 」

The answer to that is obvious, no?

“Rukia... She’s going to need me to back her up. I have a whole Division to look after now as Captain Kuchiki’s right hand. The newest Captain and Lieutenant pair. All eyes of the Gotei 13 will be on us. I can’t afford to slack off just yet.

“...I’ll need to be at my best.”

And for his answer, all he received was a dismissive scoff from the elder voice in his mind.

「 You lie to yourself. 」

“Lying to myself?” Here Kōtarō thought he was being forthright, yet his blade’s accusation came with a gale creaking the wood of the hut from the outside, as though wind itself was objecting to his questioning.

「 You pursue power because you are afraid. 」 

The claim spurned the Lieutenant into trying to deny it, but however he tried to raise his voice, any attempt at a sentence died almost as soon as it left his throat. What could he say to convince his own id otherwise? Not five minutes ago, his thoughts still lingered on a conflict over a decade past; Hai’iro Ranmaru naturally would have thought it too.

“Well don’t you have me all figured out, jī-chan,” he finally answered, letting a defeated smile sit on his countenance.

「 There is no shame in such an act. 」

“In what, pursuing power out of fear?”

「 In figuring you out. 」

A snort broke from the swordsman at the bluntly delivered remark, and with it, so did the tension between himself and the spirit of his weapon.

“Pfeh. That too, then.” 

With that, the pair allowed silence to reign between themselves. The clouds hanging high over Kusajishi seemed to rumble, ready to dispense with rainwater it had built up for several days of aridity with the coming summer season.

It only took moments for the first droplets to fall, pelting the roof little by little until a full shower began in earnest. A satisfied sigh left the soul reaper as he closed his eyes and focused on his other senses, taking in the soothing sound of rainfall and the building smell of petrichor from the outdoors.

Ranmaru’s presence, meanwhile, still lingered in his mindscape, seeming to enjoy the outside weather along with his wielder.

“...it’s been fun, though.”

「 Fun? 」

“Hm.” Kōta nodded to themselves as he sought to piece his thoughts together, while reflecting on more recent history for a change. “Over the last several years. All those techniques and manoeuvres? I wasn’t capable of half of that before we started training so seriously.”

「 Getting stronger... brings you pleasure? 」

“If you want to put it so starkly, then sure, I guess.” A low chuckle broke from Ryōhei younger before he continued. “It also means I understand you—and us—better in the long run, doesn’t it? I’d call it fun.”

「 Hm... I suppose it does, hatchling. 」

“I don’t know, I just... I want to keep flying. Higher, and higher still, until I can’t see the earth at my feet anymore.” He didn’t realize he started waxing poetic, but he remembered that wish well from when he was a little young soul: a great yearning to stand above any and every trouble on the earth, and equally untethered to the forces of gravity – freedom unlike anything he’s ever known. “That’s... just how it always felt like to me, I guess.”

「 Yet you ground yourself. Fear has locked you within a gilded cage, all while the clouds above call for you to ascend to their heights. 」

“Is that right?”

「 Of course. I am the wind at your back, the air in your lungs, and the sword by your side. I know when fear takes hold of you, even should you attempt to deny it. 」

“...it’s not like I’m afraid of death or anything. Kinda grown numb to that sort of thing after this many years on the job and all,” Kōtarō opined, feeling that a shinigami in his position would not last long in their duties if they weren’t used to putting their life on the line. Ranmaru hummed in affirmation in turn, wishing to hear his wielder speak his mind more. Anxiously, the man rested his hand on the back of his weary neck as he went on. “It’s just... back then, with the Quincy...?”

For a moment, he fell quiet.

“...they fucking steamrolled us. Slain us by the thousands. Hardly took them any effort, at that.”

As for the words he did not say aloud, though his zanpakutō understood as though they were spoken? None of us should have survived the war, least of all me. We got off lucky.

However, it was more than just fear. More than just helplessness. Hopelessness. Despair. Desperation.

「 ...so what do you intend to do, the next time your world threatens to fall around you? 」

There was one more feeling that took root in his soul, though buried within the chaos of the last day.

Memories of his own last stand proved... hazy, given he would only remember waking up in the 4th Division barracks after the dust settled at last. But, Kōta did remember the Seireitei, though ruined, returning in front of his eyes after days spent skulking, fleeing, hiding, and fighting within the city of shadows.

Then lights fell from the heavens, by the dozens, and from their descent rose those... things.

「 The next time providence itself chooses to become your enemy? 」

Squawking, shrieking, swearing vengeance in the name of their perfect, almighty god-king. Threatening to raze the one relief he found in his home materializing before him to ashes, after he thought it truly lost forever. After he finally had a moment to breathe—let alone recollect himself—when he reunited with those who still remained from the 13th. After they already took Captain Ukitake from them.

It was coming back to him, albeit in pieces, that those bird-beasts were so. Fucking. LOUD. Like a sickening cacophony of dissonant trumpets gleefully tearing into whatever peace of mind he still held on to, blaring into his ears lest he turned deaf.

The spark of hope he felt that that some of the normalcy he loved could return at all, only for someone to dare rip it away from him again, ignited something else.

「 The next time someone dares to stand in the way of your peace? 」

WRATH.

He stopped caring about power gaps.

He stopped compromising on what best approach there was to take.

He stopped worrying about whether he and his own would live to see tomorrow.

All he wanted was to see those Quincy bird things dead. Rally whoever among his men could still fight, and order the remaining ones to safety.

So, he brandished Hai’iro Ranmaru.

He saw Kira Izuru, a man who inexplicably stood while half his own torso was missing, going in as the vanguard against those lording, sanctimonious monstrosities.

Thus, Kōta summoned his cavalry.

Charged like a roaring typhoon, with a great fury he had not shown again since.

Fought until he could stand no longer, having slain one beast after the next with only red in his eyes.

The wrath he felt in those memories of the past simmered under his own skin in the present.

「 The Ryōhei Kōtarō I saw that last day, who did not let such fears hold him down... 」

Kōtarō was not alone in the cabin anymore. Not there one moment, there the next he blinked. It was enough to jolt life back into the shinigami, but he showed no fear before the intruder, for there stood the one same hermit he saw countless times within his inner world, now far and away—or a mere five steps away?—from the cloud sea it inhabited.

The same priestly kimono, with the same yuigesa. The same hauchiwa fan at his hip, with black feathers from the same black wings folded at its back.

Although, it was not the familiar face of a wise old bird Kōtarō would see. No, that mask fell away when Hai’iro Ranmaru made himself corporeal.

“...would break free from his cage, by tempering that same rage worthy of my power.”

Even his voice had changed with his younger, more human-like appearance, sounding smoother than Kōtarō had ever recalled hearing, almost melodious in his chiding. Next to one another, one could swear they looked like twins. The swordsman himself would have realized it as well, had he not sat there on the floor of his childhood home, looking shellshocked.

It did not immediately sink in that, at long last, his zanpakutō spirit materialized before him.

“If you can confirm to me you are worthy?”

It did not yet click that, indeed, he proved to possess the aptitude for Bankai after all.

“If you can show me you can rise above that fear?”

It did not come to mind that his years of training have finally, against all the odds, paid off.

“If you can prove that by besting the hells of yesteryear once again?”

No, above all else...

“Then I will gladly bend the knee to you...”

...what really stood out to the soul reaper was...

“...so that, as my master, you may soar to-”

“What the fu—YOU WERE YOUNG THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

“THAT IS WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO FOCUS ON?!”

#{ a badge of honour ☁ verse ☁ } #{ cut for length } #{ listen to the rhythm of the falling rain ☁ playlist ☁ } #{ ooc: I think after a year+ back on here it's okay to start moving one of his own personal plot points along- } #{ and after three days on this that's... 2250 words lmfao- } #{ the back and forth dialog was fun to write though-! } #{ honestly I felt super inspired by Ducky's drabbles so I couldn't help myself- =u=;a }

[vake-hunter]

Light Fingers Lore Post

Moon-Misers

Normal Moon-Milk is a poison they use to make their prey walk right into their mouth. It’s not meant to last for long.

Babies are rare, only born about once a decade! “A Moon-Miser can only be born when the stars align. It must also be coaxed from the womb with a Song of Birthing.” Once born it must be fed special nectar extracted from stalactites. Who knows what that’s made of! “At birth, Moon-Misers are wrapped in their mother's silk, forming a protective membrane while their carapaces develop.”

Here, have some NEAT Red Science quotes: “You are forging a new link of a great chain. This is the most impossible and unforgiving of occasions: the creation of something new. In this tent, you usher a brand new species from the vaults of possibility. You are spitting in the face of the gods. You are violating laws written in starlight before the world began.”

This is VERY important Lore: the baby has your eyes.

(If Baby is more human) As the zeppelin ascends, the Hybrid raises its voice in solemn song. As you listen, a thrill runs down your spine. For a moment, swept up in the song, you experience a vision: in your mind's eye, a blazing-bright king unites the tribes of the Starved Men under one banner, and harnesses the Moon-Misers as steeds. He leads his subjects on a crusade against the city below - a city that is no longer London, but that still harbours the Moon-King's greatest nemesis, now much embittered at the failure of its schemes. The resulting war will prove its final undoing.

Mr Fires

Is trying to bankrupt the Bazaar in a way. 

If it makes a bunch of fake love stories, that can trick Wines and Spices and the Bazaar, eventually the Bazaar won’t know what love is real and what isn’t, thus, hopefully, discouraging the Bazaar and the other Masters. 

“A bitter edge creeps into its sibilant voice. "Once a suitable love story is found, it’ll be the end of London. Can you imagine?" The lamp trembles in its hand. Its voice rises an octave. "The end of London! I couldn't bear it! I love this city. It's my sole comfort, the greatest joy I have discovered in all my centuries. I'd do anything to preserve it."

“In the longer term, the Hybrid's milk is the only thing that can save the city. Once seeded across the populace, all love stories will be rendered suspect. Any love, no matter how pure or moving, could simply be the symptoms of an aberration's venom. Love will be robbed of its allure. The Bazaar will not know which stories it can truly believe in."

"If my plan succeeds, the other Masters will abandon London as a failed venture." Mr Fires holds up its lamp; here at the bottom, the shelves are lined with leather-bound volumes. "They shall depart, and I shall make arrangements to preserve the city."

It is very defensive of what it did at the Orphanage, in a way that almost makes it sound like it's guilty. It does insist it would do it again, and it doesn’t care about the people, just London as a city. 

Confirmation Fires likes science. 

More evidence Masters can shapeshift to change their sizes and when they are upset, they have trouble staying small. 

Its very fucking excited to burn things down and upset Wines. 

(Giving the baby to Fires) "One day, London will be a city glutted with love," says Mr Fires, returning its gaze to the Hybrid. "Or at least, reliably-replicable facsimiles of it. The effect will be subtle. A modest adjustment, year on year. Wines won't suspect a thing until it is too late." It glances at you. "You and I, [Addressed As], have saved London today."

Boil of Calamities

Possibly the first Fingerking or at least a very very old and strong one.

Seven Heads like the statue at Irem. 

The Sun and the Spire that connects it are sacred places to the Fingerkings and the Boil protects them. “They may allow your kind to trespass across the rest of their kingdom, you slumbering oafs, you mortal morsels, but not here, not the hallowed spire. Insolence! Blasphemy!”

Huge coils that appear in the sky. Black scales, a knot of snakes or just one massive one. Like storm clouds with huge fangs. Tongues flicker like lightning.

It once took tributes and accepted people as servants but the the door to its Chamber seems long abandoned. 

The Chamber is found in the shadow of the Dome of Scales. “Inside is a cavern that smells faintly of spices: cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamon. Heavy silk banners hang from the walls, depicting battles between cats and serpents. Seven braziers burn merrily with viric fire. Plates of delicious-looking food have been set out: pomegranates, bloody steak, bunches of plump indigo grapes. At the centre sits a majestic basalt altar, carved with dozens of runes and symbols, a silver bowl waiting atop.”

If you make a Pact with the Boil, you must shed your skin. Don’t worry, there’s more skin under there. Better skin, you’re told. You peel yourself with a Ravenglass knife and it uses the same wording as in my Kingdom for A Pig and the Third City Deal :) 

“There is indeed new skin underneath. It is tender and dry, with the faintest silver sheen. The effect is subtle. Only a lover or a doctor would notice.”

“You look up to the Boil, your skin flashing silver, and bow deeply. The overbearing tangle of coils slips apart, separating, loosening. You find yourself breathing more easily.”

Court of Cats

The Duchess is capable of calling a meeting with the Court. 

They slew the seven daughters of the Boil. 

They have a spear made from a Fingerking’s fang that is capable of piercing the Skin of the Sun. However only cats are allowed to wield it. So if you want it you must become an Honorary Cat.

“The Lord High Seneschal pronounces you the 'Lyon Pursuivant of Arms Extraordinary,' officially a cat, and thus entitled to take possession of one of the cats' greatest trophies.”

“As they fall quiet, you ask why they have never wielded this spear against their enemies in the past? "Because cats do not have thumbs," says the Knight Marshall, with a haughty look.”

“Hephaesta draws back her Herculean arm and hurls the spear of the Sleeping King, putting every hard-wrung ounce of her strength behind the throw. It flies, like a shell from a cannon, cracking the Skin of the Sun and sinking a foot deep. At the point of impact, the glass buckles and twists and shrieks. Hephaesta and the tiger roar in triumph.”

“A great, hollow crack rings across Parabola. A shadow mars the cosmogone sunlight passes over the sun.”

Parabolan Sun (Not strictly Lore just from Light Fingers but Important)

Parabola was not always bright. It seemed to be in perpetual twilight before the Second City Sisters rose the Sun. 

“This is a place that is not. It was not always light, though once it was brighter. The sisters found it in twilight and in dreams. The night was thus sacred to the Second City. They would not be pursued here. The ushabti were created to help in the construction of the Palace. The Second City could have lived here forever.”

This also seems to imply there was no moon either, as the moon is a cat. It probably came with the Second City as well. "Look, there are patterns there, just like the surface's moon. Only... these don't resemble a man, or anything else so much as a cat, curled up asleep."

The Sisters of the Pharaoh (minus the Duchess) fled to Parabola when the Third City fell to avoid being killed. “We four survivors fled. One remained with the City, while I retreated here.”

"The Palace of the Rising was to be a refuge from the Masters and the Bazaar. A new sun was raised in the sky so the citizens might walk in light again.”

The thing is. The Sun was built with the help of what appears to be the God of the Fingerkings. "the Boil of Calamities, Lord of the Seething Sky, wept a drop of shining glass..."

The Boil protects the Sun and the Cats hate the Fingerkings. It seems the Four Sisters betrayed the Cats and their other sister, the Duchess, in order to make the Sun. "It also is the mother-father of the egg that is the Parabolan sun," adds a dark-faced tabby. Its reflection is that of a snarling puma. "Though others played a part in that, too." The Duchess' lips tighten.”

Physically: A huge glass dome held to the land by a stone pillar. Even the sky around the dome appears to be glass. (Interesting given how the Second City imprisoned the Masters was to cover the Neath in glass. From The Mind Of A Long Dead God: “Glass Walls Everywhere! They surround me. They reflect one realm inwards and keep me from the other. These barriers should be fluid!” Note that the Neath IS Storm’s corpse.)

NORTH

Rubbery Men plan to fly north. “They take off again in an instant, heading North, waving you farewell. Where do they ultimately hope to go? Again, it's impossible to tell. Perhaps they hope to find their way home.”

If baby is more Moon-Miser: As the zeppelin ascends, the Hybrid raises its voice in solemn song. A thrill runs down your spine. For a moment, swept up by the song, you experience a vision: a blazing-bright king of Moon-Misers leading its glimmering subjects on a pilgrimage across the roof and through a door far to the North. Below, in a city that is not London, the citizens point and murmur in fear as their false-stars crawl into the distance and blink out one by one, leaving only darkness behind.

Item Rewards

Lyon Pursuivant of Arms Extraordinary: For the purposes of having legal custody of a famous war trophy, you have been made an honorary cat, with the associated title, privileges, and dignities. [Affiliation; Shadowy +3, Persuasive +6, Dangerous +2, Respectable +1]

Tatterskin Shawl: Once, you offending the Boil of Calamities. To make amends you offered up your own skin as a gift. The Boil was thoughtful enough to return your old skin to you, though it no longer fits as snugly as it once did. [Clothing; Shadowy +6, Persuasive -2, Dreaded +1, Bizarre +1, Mithridacy +1]

A Loyal Nightmare of Poor Edward: You married what remained of Poor Edward. Now he is a nightmare, bound by the miser-milk to the dreams of the Orphanage. Sometimes, you visit him there. [Affiliation; Shadowy +2, Persuasive +1, Dreaded +1]

A Kitten-Sized Diamond, Liberated from the Mountain: It was torn from the Mountain that looms on the Elder Continent. If set near wounds, they heal. If left in one place for too long, flowers bloom around it. If left near lesser diamonds, they will hatch. [Home Comfort; Persuasive +10, Respectable +2, Artisan of the Red Science +1]

A False-Star of your Own: Above London, false-stars shine. One is your bastard child, a Hybrid, a diamond the size of a cow. It is a hundred times brighter than its fellows, a blazing pinpoint; every month or two, for just a few days, it passes directly over the city. For that brief period, London's gloom eases into a velvety twilight. (In addition to the stat advantages, this Companion allows you a unique opportunity while zailing.) [Companion; Watchful +6, Shadowy +12, Shapeling Arts +1, Bizarre +2]

#fallen london #mr fires #parabola #light fingers spoilers #lore

[tes-trash-blog]

No one approached the throne of the Snow Prince, not without explicit permission and an accompaniment, but he was no one. He was alone in the still night, or as alone as he could be-- his piebald falcon stood perched on the far off window. Solsane’s shadow was tall against the pale stone floor, one that fitted a Mer instead of a fledgling. As quietly as he could, he whistled for her to join him, and she obeyed. Her talons were sharp, but she did not dig into his skin. She made a contented cack, one he was quick to quiet down. “The world sleeps,” he said, and she listened. He preferred the blackbirds and their gentle songs, but falcons were time honored tradition.

His attention turned again to the throne. It was more of a pillar than a proper seat, with the back reaching up to the ceiling, the stone carved with such skill and delicacy that the light of the early sun could shine through the white stone, and fill the room with the dawn’s warmth. The throne proper sat taller than any Elf, atop a small flight of stone stairs. There were no cushions or comforts to be had there, but the Snow Prince sat easy when she held court during the day. He had seen how easily she ascended the narrow stairs and taken her place as head of Auransel’s court, listened as she gave counsel for hours on end, admired how she considered even the pettiest of complaints, as if a dispute over a whiteoak sapling was a matter of life and death. He held the words she spoke when the day ended in his mind, the promise that kept sleep from him, the gentle touch and smile that assured him.

That throne would be his one day. He may as well know what it’s like. He glanced about to ensure he was alone before daring the first step.

It was said that only a Prince may ascend the throne. He never thought it was meant so literally. Solsane took flight before he fell onto his back. The silverweave runner did little to cushion him against the white marblestone. He swore the falcon laughed as he laid there. It quieted to a chuckle when she landed on his outstretched arm, and there he stayed on the floor of the throne room, utterly entranced by the ceiling. Stars dotted the ceiling of the throne room, twinkling as they would in the snowcapped forests of Solshame. Millimeter by millimeter and mile by mile they moved in the dark. Trinimac chased the Two-Faced Demon westward as Jephre rose to sing, and sing they did; he could hear the soft music from the stones of his circlet. It was beautiful. It was tragic. It dawned on him that he would never roam among those cedars again. A Prince does not weep for a petty reason, but he was not a Prince. Not yet. And so he wept, quietly and shamefully, for he was in a sacred place and such spaces were not for mortal whimsies and mortal follies. Solsane hopped off his arm and nuzzled his cheek, and there stayed to keep him company as he lapsed into a moment of weakness.

“Now what is this?” Her voice was gentle, soft, sweet, and struck him colder than the most dreadful of winter. He was on his feet in a flash, head low, hands out, palms skyward.

“My Prince,” he stuttered. “A thousandfold apologies and a thousand more, I did not mean..”

The Snow Prince hummed a soothing melody and he became quiet. Her steps were softer than skysilk as she approached him, and her touch as light as air when she raised his chin to her. Auri-El shone through her even in the dark of night. She chuckled, as gentle as a mother.

“There is no need for apology or explanation,” she said gently. “I understand. In all ways, I understand.” He noticed the mar on her face that ran from eye to jaw. He woke her with her tears, as his sorrows were hers. Shame branded him. “Nor is there need for shame. One would be surprised to learn how many times I have come here, even before my time.” That did little to soothe the burning in his cheeks.

“I humbly ask my Prince to excuse me,” he murmured. “The hour grows late, later than even a thief dares.”

“You need not address me in such a way. You shall be me after all. If you wish, you may retire to your wing, but if it pleases you, I would have you join me on the balcony. The stars shine a certain way this time of night.”

A Prince’s will was never denied, but their wishes could be if one had the gall to do so. He did not, and so he trailed her long and graceful steps to the ceiling-high doors. Upon a slight touch they opened for the Snow Prince, and a cool wind kissed them both. It smelled of everbloom, snow-lilies and winter lilac. The Snow Prince sighed contentedly at the breath of fresh air.

“Much better,” she said. Her own falcon was waiting on the rail of the balcony. Kuwe was a grey-mottled bird, with eyes sharper than any sword. When beckoned, he flitted from his perch to the Prince’s shoulder, and for the first time he could recall, he heard that falcon coo from a scratch just beneath his beak. The Prince had her attention elsewhere. “Trinimac has cast down the Traitor, I see.”

He looked at the horizon to find the outline of Trinimac. The last fragments of the Traitor remained at his heel, but only those fragments. Next season would be Jephre’s song as they give themselves to the world, then would come the healing touch of Syrabane curing the small ills Jephre was too weak to make whole. After that would be the ascension of Phynaster, when the sky became bright from the stars alone. It was a cycle for a reason, however, and after the Ideal would come the vestiges of the Traitor only to be chased down and crushed by the Grey-Steel Knight.

“We have no stars,” he said.

“We have the brightest star,” said the Snow Prince. “But something deeper troubles you, I sense.”

“How did you know?”

“You shall be me, and so I shall fade into you. As such, I can understand what you feel, but not truly. If you do not wish to speak, I shall respect your secret.”

“I.. worry, my Prince. As ridiculous as that may sound, my Prince, I worry.” The rest came as sudden as a snowstorm. “I am still so foolish where others my age have grown and become solemn, unsure where my peers are certain. I.. I do not know if I shall lead well..” There was much more, more worries and concerns and doubts when a Prince does not doubt, and he laid it all before her, unable to stop himself even if he wanted. As she did in court, the Snow Prince listened, nodding not in agreement but in acknowledgement. She did not interrupt or raise her head to make comment, but waited, taking in each word into consideration. His throat was dry and his eyes wet when he found himself empty of words. The Snow Prince allowed a moment of silence between them, one he sorely needed if only to let relief wash over him and cool the heat in his cheeks.

“There were times,” she began, slow and precise. “When I had my doubts. Auri-El is divine in all ways, after all. Surely the Audaran would not need an incarnate, especially one that was mortal, especially one such as me. The day of my crowning, I did weep, for I feared that I was chosen by mistake. The one who came before me was patient, and understood, for she also had her doubts when she was chosen. As did the one before her, and before him, and before them, and before the one that came before them. You shall become me, yes, but you shall also remain mortal. To doubt is mortal, but to become and remain absolute in the face of these doubts.. That is the precursor of divinity.”

“And I shall become as resolute as.. as you?” he asked.

The Snow Prince smiled warmly at him. “My Prince, you already have.”

#*in comic sans* writing is my passion #i wanted to write Dumbass Snow Prince content okay #he's young here and not yet a Prince #but there's also like A LOT there in the last two lines #like to refer to a Prince as 'you' just Is Not Done #and he JUST DID #like a straight up baller #like #oh my god #he did it #he realized his path and accepted it there #but still put the ball in the Snow Prince's court because that's just how snow elves were #one day someone will fangirl as hard as i do about these things #ANYWAY #i'm always on my snow elf bullshit #the elder scrolls #skyrim #snow elf #falmer #fanfic #the snow prince

[yukiwrites]

Leo, Ascending

Thank you so much for the support and the patience, @xpegasusuniverse ! This one was so funny to write I almost pulled a muscle akçsldkmas I hope you like it!

Summary: After the war, with a brand-new alliance between Nohr and Hoshido, the royalty of the Light Kingdom invited their counterparts of the Dark Kingdom to an extremelly traditional festival that would take place in the following summer -- the Hadaka Festival.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

_______________________________

The war against the Forgotten Dragon had been won for a few months -- time passed them by fast, the rebuilding effort taking much of their energy. Inside Castle Krakenburg, Prince Leo walked around the hall in unusually high spirits for the past few weeks.

True, Odin's sudden disappearance after leaving a ludicrous ode to his liege made the air around the prince sour for quite a while; after all, how dare Odin claim that Leo has the entirety of his loyalty and respect in a written letter left by the prince's doorstep before simply vanishing? It was preposterous.

Therefore, seeing Leo almost hum around the halls as though he had no worries was a truly welcoming sight, one that barely no one questioned.

... However, when they did, they received the most, well, odd responses.

"Isn't is wonderful to meet people and actually be able to look at their faces without anything shameless catching your attention so badly you refuse to look at it?" Was one of the most usual response. There were also, "aren't clothes great?" which would steal short and loud snorts out of his remaining retainer, Niles.

The former outlaw would still give his liege time to grieve Odin's disappearance, so he refrained from teasing -- though he couldn't help but laugh every now and then.

The days passed by almost gleefully as Leo finally began to forget the nightmare he and every nohrian went through during the war -- and he didn't mean the fighting itself. The Better-Left-Forgotten incident had finally started to fade away in the depths of their memories as their urgent duties regarding their kingdom claimed all of their attention.

A missive arrived from Hoshido at the start of summer, preceding a visit from King Ryoma and Second Prince Takumi themselves, through a portal Corrin and Azura opened after studying more about their powers -- now visits between the two kingdoms could be done instantly, as could the exchange of news and information.

Xander, Corrin and Leo welcomed their hoshidan counterparts by the portal at the appointed time, serious as they could be.

Ryoma crossed over first, followed closely behind by his retainers -- who soon disappeared to do their 'ninja work' -- then by his brother and his own retainers.

"King Xander," Ryoma smiled amicably, giving his counterpart a short bow. Xander reciprocated the act, frowning less intently than usual.

"King Ryoma. What do I owe the honor of such a visit? Your message stated that you would invite us to a gathering in person..."

"Indeed," the hoshidan king nodded as he raised one hand over his shoulder so Takumi could hand him a scroll. In a swift movement, Ryoma then transferred it to Xander. "It would be Hoshido's utmost pleasure to share one of its most traditional festivals with our new allies from Nohr." He said solemnly as Xander slid the scroll open -- it contained information regarding a festival that was scheduled to happen at the end of summer. It vaguely detailed the activities that would be done in a single day: Thousands of men would parade through the streets carrying portable shrines all the way towards a nearby mountain by the sea, then place said shrines there to pray for fertility and abundance in the upcoming fall harvest.

"Why, an abundance festival." Xander mused as his attentive eyes read the short descriptions, Leo trying to glance over his shoulder to peek at it while Corrin full on leaned on Xander's arm to read as well.

"Sounds fun! There's sea crossing, too!" The dragon prince said, smiling from pointy ear to pointy ear. "We would love to go!" He nodded, then turned to his brothers, "wouldn't we?" He whispered more meekly, realizing that Xander was the one to make the call, as the King.

His lips curved into an almost smile as he concurred. "Indeed. It would be our pleasure to attend, King Ryoma."

"Nice." Takumi nodded behind his brother. "By the way, as Kings, you and my brother can't participate 'cause things can get a bit... heated, so to speak."

"Ah." Xander closed his eyes in understanding. "It would not do to have a King mixed in such, is it?"

"Yeah. Usually I don't participate, either, but since you're all coming, we can carry a shrine by ourselves -- with our retainers' help, of course."

Oboro mumbled something incomprehensible behind Takumi's back, as though unsatisfied about such agreement. Not noticing the woman's displeasure, Leo raised his brow in question.

"We will still be in the middle of the masses, yes? Will it be safe?"

"Well, yeah," Takumi said, matter-of-factly, "not like anyone can carry weapons over there anyway. No room to."

Leo frowned in confusion, internalizing the questions regarding such customs and what kind of garbs wouldn't allow weapons to be concealed. Oh well, he thought, almost shrugging, I suppose we should simply head there in our usual clothes and they'll give us something appropriate for the festival once we get there.

"It IS the Hadaka Festival, after all." Takumi added with a smirk that was completely misinterpreted by the nohrians. He simply looked happy to share such occasion with his newfound allies.

As the days passed and the appointed date for the festival approached, Leo kept the knowledge at the back of his mind: it was a festival to call for fertility and ward off evil.

"Sounds simple enough. We do have some of those around here as well, after all." He mumbled to himself as he ticked the tip of his feather pen on a pile of papers he had to sign. "Surely the atmosphere will be much different due to Hoshido's weather..." his monologue dissolved into mumbling as he refocused on his work, lazily leaning his head on one hand.

On the day of the festival itself, as agreed an envoy was sent through the portal to escort Xander, Corrin, Leo and their retainers to the location, early in the morning. So early, in fact, that it could be considered still 'last night', though the lack of sunlight was commonplace in Nohr.

The envoy consisted of only women: The two princesses Hinoka and Sakura, accompanied by their female retainers, Hana and Setsuna as well as Takumi's and Ryoma's retainers, Oboro and Kagero.

Finding it rather strange, Xander, Corrin and Leo exchanged glances before the King approached the subject.

Hinoka laughed, dismissing his worry. "It's fine; us women aren't allowed to participate in the festival, so we're free."

Xander blinked, frowning. "What? But what kind of festival does not allow half of their subjects-"

"Oh, no, don't get me wrong," she cut him off, turning her back as she led the way back to the portal, "us women can watch the festival just fine, we just can't participate on it, is all."

"Yeah, wearing only karihimos and susoyokes through it all wouldn't do the trick," Hana added, crossing her arms and nodding as though she made all the sense in the world.

Well, all women hummed in accordance while the nohrian men exchanged confused and alarmed glances. Behind the royals, Niles slapped his own mouth so as not to snort loudly, letting them to figure it out by themselves. Beside him, Jakob made a disgusted noise as he scooted closer to his liege.

"Um," Corrin was about to poke Hinoka's shoulder to ask, afraid of the words he would hear in response. "I thought this was a festival of, um, fertility? Like, for harvest or to be blessed with children?"

Sakura, Hana and Hinoka exchanged glances while Oboro clicked her tongue and Kagero remained silent. Setsuna was completely detached from her mortal body, watching everything happen without a sliver of conscious thought.

Hinoka was the one who replied at the very moment they finally stepped out of the portal towards the hoshidan castle -- as their steps echoed through the ancient and well-preserved wood, she guided them to the balcony whence they could see everything being prepared. "Yeah, well, it's more about a man's fertility -- virility and stuff -- and how a person's bare skin can ward off evil."

The sun had already rose in the Light kingdom, though what blinded the nohrians eyes was far from being the sun.

There were thousands upon thousands of naked men parading through the city, all of them getting this or that ready for the festival.

So many.

So, so many shiny, glittering white butts, all wiggling about in their business, busy as they could be.

Leo felt faint.

Niles burst out in laughter, almost throwing himself on the floor as Jakob lost all color from his face.

"It's a nightmare," Leo mumbled to himself, his eyes wide, trying to tear themselves away from the horrific sight. "It's gotta be. This isn't simple at all!"

Outwardly composed as always, Xander simply cleared his throat to regain his voice, turning completely to the side towards Hinoka so he wouldn't be able to see the wiggly butts with his peripheral vision. "Princess, what was this festival about, again? I recall reading only briefly about it."

"Oh, well, it's kind of a long story. Let's walk downstairs while I tell you." She signaled with her head for them all to follow her, quickly going towards the staircase.

Leo froze in place, the weight of his body too much for his legs to carry. He felt a lump in his throat as his heart beat wildly, even more so with the echo of Niles' laughter still right behind him.

"I'm not going." He whispered. "I refuse, I-" he panicked, his mumbling inaudible to all but Corrin, who was also frozen in place.

The dragon prince reached for his younger brother's hand, squeezing it. "We- we gotta do this, Leo. B-besides, it sounds fun! Male bonding while wearing nothing but underwear! Yeah, it does sound kinda nice when I put it that way," he tried to convince himself more than his brother, the words he uttered sounding more and more mad as he went on.

"Are you out of your min- wait can you feel this... This sense of foreboding..." he gulped, feeling a menacing aura at the back of his head. Suddenly he turned, seeing none other than Prince Takumi and his retainer, Hinata, in nothing but their fundoshis.

"Oh, hey, you're here." Takumi smirked widely, his pale white skin almost entirely reflecting the sunlight, making Leo immediately want to look down.

He refrained himself, however, for the thing he would see looking down would scar him forever. Instead, he focused his gaze on two bolts of cloth Takumi carried in one hand, his smirk suddenly turning more and more evil.

"I brought your fundoshis for the festival! Don't worry, they're brand new."

THERE WAS A POSSIBILITY OF THEM BEING USED? Leo's mind yelled, all alarms going off as his flight reflex kicked in. He had been paralyzed by fear before, but now he had to run for his life.

For his dignity.

Once he took a step back, he felt someone grab him by his hand. It was Corrin, who was equally scared and excited, a foolish smile creeping around his lips. "We're gonna have fun, Leo!" He said, his eyes looking like they wanted to scream, but desperation making his mind accept their destiny. "C'mon, let's go!"

"N-no," Leo shook, trying to disentangle Corrin's strong fingers from his wrist. "Don't let them do this to me, Niles-" he tried, but immediately saw his retainer happily accept his and Jakob's fundoshis from Hinata, laughing so hard he was turning purple. "X-Xander?" Leo looked around, but Xander had long been escorted by Hinoka downstairs.

He was all alone.

In a kingdom of madmen who paraded around the streets wearing next to NOTHING.

"C'mon, Leo, you're not gonna do this slight to your allies by refusing something you accepted before, right?" Takumi smirked, and one could almost see little horns growing out of his head as he terribly enjoyed himself. "The changing room's this way, come on." He took Leo by the other hand, positively trapping him.

Leo felt his soul leaving his body.

The experience was otherworldly.

He watched it all as though he wasn't actually present -- by the hundredth time he felt another man's bare, sweaty skin bump into his, he was already at another plane of existence. Everything was a blur.

After being forced to wear the fundoshi -- it embarrassingly didn't take long since he was manhandled easily by Niles, Corrin and Takumi -- and walk around flashing his own shiny, glistering butt cheeks around a foreign land, Leo stopped feeling anything altogether.

As though in a trance, he was led to the courtyard so as to position himself between Corrin and Niles in his own spot to carry the portable shrine, dutifully carried it through the streets towards the freezing morning sea, walked through the waves with water chest-high while listening to his retainer's and his brother's laughter as though through a thick glass, climbed the mountain without ever letting go of the shrine, placed it at the designated place, swam back and was received with showers of alcoholic beverage.

There was also something about catching a sacred stick that was thrown into the mob, but that part was left for the non-royals as it could get pretty intense -- bloody noses would be the least of their concerns in such activities -- though Niles took delight in dragging Jakob to the middle of it.

Leo couldn't feel his body, even though it was sticky with salty water, sake, sand, algae and leaves. Perhaps that was the reason for such ludicrous event -- to enlighten oneself. To achieve the Nirvana.

Leo had ascended. His body was nothing more than a vessel to be purified from his earthly thoughts.

He had ascended, his mind caring not for the sure shame he would feel the next morning. Nor the thirst for revenge. Nay, his mind was clear of impure thoughts. He dare not hope to ever be embraced by the warmth of his clothes ever again, such thing the furthest, yes, the furthest thing of his mind.

“Throw me in a pit of lions and I shan’t tremble,” he whispered as he hugged his own knees from a faraway corner of the main temple, watching with large eyes as the mob tried to fight for the sacred sticks.

Someone owed him an apology, though he still could not think of whom or why. Perhaps tomorrow… once the ascension had worn off. Yes, indeed. Tomorrow he shall think. Now he only needed to close his eyes to be free of the dream. Nightmare. To be free of the nightmare.

#leo #takumi #niles #fire emblem fates #ryoma #i'm crying poor leo #please save him #give him clothes #my writings #yuki's commissions

[andrewrosswatson1987]

REVIEW: DEADLOSS SUPERSTAR ARE SHAVING WITH PETROL ON NEW ALBUM

Deadloss Superstar have now reached that second full-length album point, having also released three EPs.  This brand new album, Shaving With Petrol, came out October 20, and was released via label, Taexali Recordings. All songs written by Youngson and Riley. Vocals and harmonica by Youngson; fiddle by Robertson; guitars by Anderson and Riley; bass by Clelland and drums by Ogston.  Second guitarist, Middleton, joined after they recorded Shaving With Petrol, but before they released it. The Aberdeen rock, alternative, punk and metal six-piece are quoted as having, “Fifteen permanent members so far…their isolated base in a wind scoured Scottish oil-port closer to Norway than London…as you read this, they are studying the prevailing winds and building a fleet of dragon-headed warships, all in anticipation of bringing their melodic hard-rock circus to your ears sometime soon.”  The local staple a mighty prospect. Their influences the likes of Clutch, Queens Of The Stone Age, Red Fang, The Bronx, Mark Lanegan, Wildhearts, Backyard Babies, Supersuckers, Baby Chaos, Iggy And The Stooges, New York Dolls, MC5, Sleep, Electric Wizard, Faith No More, Deftones, Alice In Chains, Gun N’ Roses, Monster Magnet, Fugazi, Tool, Mclusky, Royal Blood, Slayer, Public Enemy and Wu-Tang Clan. The outfit are quoted as having, in the past, “…mutilated guitars, several fractured ribs, a handful of concussions, and - most magnificently - a ruptured testicle.” Singles for this project, so far, are “Snowflakes”.  This a Bandcamp only Christmas charity single for Shelter. Opening track, “Kremlins”, rips in Soundgarden style, vocals included, with raucous guitar plus syncopated, dramatic hit of bass and drum to open proceedings.  The opening salvo.  Things then get scratchy and intermittent before wading back into the madness, again. Second track, “Near Miss”.  This has a kind of punky fervour to it, driving but dragging the heels.  “Now I understand” cues some moody work on the bass, really grooving as the guitar rings in and out in an almost eerie fashion. “Wolves”, now.  This one punky of energy, height of intrigue and troublemaking. Wolves on the prowl, lads on the p*ss in town.  Then a lead melody dedicated to pack hunters before smashing emphatically.  Skull cracking heaviness. Then comes digging that “Fresh Grave”, opening with pattering drum before angular guitar and bass weaves in wayward fashion.  This adjoined with wailing wah-wah solo.  The energy of the subsequent riff bouncing almost in nu-metal fashion.  “Slow down, now” apt as the tempo reduces slightly.  This ends abruptly, the fresh grave dug up and that body thrown in unceremoniously. 

“Bloody Rags & Butcher’s Knives”.  This like the slowed pistons of a train before sharp guitar grates the skin. Then the speed builds awesomely, only allowing a sneak preview before returning to familiar territory.  The solo like bloodied and beaten to a pulp but throwing punches, all the same.  The almost nasal vocal like the late Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots fame.

“Flee The Crimea” is high register, discordant before rolling into a high octane and mighty riff.  Harmonica emboldens, lending a kind of hard rock vibe something a little bit of the blues.

“Voices” implies in instrumentation what it implies in song title.  Browbeaten, mind under siege as much as the song’s frenetic.  There’s seeming respite during the middle section.  Is this the manic replaced with the depressed? Anyway, the faint, distorted vocal, indeed, like voices in the head.  Indistinct yet troubling all the same.  Rude flourishes of guitar almost imply these voices building and coming from all corners.

There’s “The Glasgow Strangler” on the loose and the music adjoining aptly with track title.  Hammering guitar and drum propel as vocals pained, howling at the top of the lungs.  More apt being the sirens, and how the music fades in almost ambient fashion as these sirens become more prominent.  Like the heat of the moment, passion of the kill and how, once it’s all over, only silence and a dead body remain. What of “Snowflakes”?  The riff rough and tumble alone, and grooving so satisfying as the rest crash in.  “Can I ask what you’re drinkin’/Can you hear what I’m sayin’” asked amidst volume that would drown out most.  Then a kind of slowed, doomy attack.  Heavy and bluesy to its core, crushing.  Feedback rings out, cuing wailing harmonica.  It stomps big, clomping steps threatening earthquake before finally reducing to a tremor. 

“The Mountain That Eats Men” is super crunchy and grooving.  Fast and ascending before tribal drum and distorted guitar and bass take hold for a slowed fissure in the ground.  The closing riff, quite syncopated, is something for the ears to behold.  Epic. Things end with a stay in “Hotel Tashkent”.  This mainly acoustic of strum, bass searching in tandem with the vocals.  “What’s that you say” precedes the slowing of the acoustic plus the end of the song and, in turn, album.  Like only hearing what’s said once the music stops.  Or the music is chatter, pleasant as it is in how it concludes things in a style very different to the rest, akin to speaking in someone’s ear during live music. Ones to look out for are “Kremlins”, “Fresh Grave”, “Bloody Rags & Butcher’s Knives”, “Voices”, “The Glasgow Strangler”, “Snowflakes”, “The Mountain That Eats Men” and “Hotel Tashkent”.  One particular thing to remark upon looking at this album is how these are all, roughly, found at the all start, middle and end.  Even the other tracks, many of which slightly deviate from the sound in those quotes as highlights, are by no means bad. Deadloss Superstar, indeed, are a good mix of grooving hard rock and heavy metal plus more punkish stuff, too.  The harmonica a nice touch lending towards territory more akin to that of the blues.  In other words, they cover all bases as good as any self-respecting all round band, you could argue.  Even some acoustic stuff thrown in at the end for good measure.  Deadloss Superstar’s Shaving With Petrol can be bought on iTunes, here. Also visit their Facebook, MySpace, YouTube, Bandcamp, Soundcloud, Spotify, Deezer and Google Play Music pages to keep tabs on Deadloss Superstar.

#Deadloss Superstar #Shaving With Petrol #Taexali Recordings #Youngson #Riley #Robertson #Anderson #Clelland #Ogston #Middleton #Clutch #Queens Of The Stone Age #Red Fang #The Bronx #Mark Lanegan #Wildhearts #Backyard Babies #Supersuckers #Baby Chaos #Iggy And The Stooges #Iggy Pop #The Stooges #New York Dolls #MC5 #Sleep #Electric Wizard #Faith No More #Deftones #Alice In Chains #Guns N' Roses

[paraclete0407]

Everywhere I go I see these ‘morning’ novels about ‘getting life right the first time through.’  All these Asian girls I dated year after year and they expect / demand me to be totally established and take all their abuse - I will not complain more than that - when what I’ve wanted for a long time is literally ‘to live like an immigrant in one’s own country.’  All the people I admire seemingly married young such as the current Korean president and former UN Secretary General.  

I keep thinking, ‘That ultra-miraculous Hail Mary 80K-or-so YA novel that will get me out of here and also annihilate all the evil YA novels that I hate and want to expurgate from BN, the libraries etc.’  The wolf-child teenage-assassin good-to-be-gay ultra-sensualize-Asian-girls good-to-get-raped good-to-be-anorexic good-to-hate good-to-be-cynical etc.

I tried to support ‘Finding My Voice’ author Marie Ok Myung Lee on Twitter b/c I saw ‘Finding My Voice’ at BN and went, ‘OMG they took Kim Minju’s face and it’s right there.’  I lived in KR; I don’t mistake faces; YA is ripping K-pop left and right but Minju’s a real person with a life, had panic-attacks, needed exogenous O2 from trying to ‘honor’ her fans.  I wrote Minju ‘greentext fics’ talking about chivalry on 4chan but instead of motivating NEET’s to get a life or at least value and honor women it had people talking about rape, and various techniques of what might be called slave-breaking or the ways in which slavers and human traffickers so damage their human chattel as to render them unlikely to escape.  Jordan Peterson on Twitter is defending 4chan for its truthyness I guess (despite JBP’s having dreams of Christ and the kings of this Earth bowing down after trying to smash each other), and also pointlessly dueling / debating actual rape- and trafficking-victim Yeonmi Park, a North Korean escapee, due to the fact that JBP is ultra-rich and invested in his brand / identity and probably delaying Christianity as long as possible.  Marie Lee also got embroiled in a pretty pointless debate with a smart but mercenary Tory Toffish British professor called Dave Tizzard over precisely how much incendiary was dropped on to North Korean people and they’re still battling each other over God-knows-what.  My parents also recently tried to duel me to the death over my interest in supporting Liberty in North Korea; about which my Dad said, ‘If you try to enter North Korea I will cut you off.’  I’m a communist defector for being anti-communist because this is 2021 in Babylon and reality is unreality.  I’m sorry if I sound like Ben Shapiro but honestly facts and those ho handle them are sometimes more important to the art / science caring than narratives, the ashes of experience, personality, etc.  People such as Joe Biden also appear to oppose food-relief to North Korea on the grounds that it will prop up the regime and, say, if we feed North Koreans they might have excess energy and actually develop WMD’s and non-conventional capabilities that could threaten the US; an eventuality we prevented in the past by making sure NK starved in the 1990s and also by disarming NK’s WMD operation in Iraq in 2003.

All jokes aside NK policy strikes me as incredibly mentally ill and by that I mean spiritually depraved (I really think so), racist, genocidal / annhilationist, desiring to erase both souls / individuals and history, confused, scared.  IDK if I am allowed to even say that but I have a ‘black swan’ theory of history / WW3 in which some of the formerly colonized nations, such as NK and SRV (Socialist Republic of Vietnam), basically take over the world using special forces because in a way they deserve it and also because they know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of both malevolent colonial power and pseudo-benevolent or well-meaning-but-stupid-and-cowardly-and-non-committed paternal colonialism / imperialism.  It could appear outlandish but if you study certain battles in history you find there are critical factors in terms of information, will, ‘moral factor,’ technology, the Hand of God.  

I ultimately believe many of us on the Earth will have new neighbors very soon and we must honor them with worthy offerings, both out of justice and out of love for their souls (a-ga-pe, caritas / Charity).  During the pandemic I repeatedly read Chancellor / Dr. / Pastor John Piper’s ‘Coronavirus and Christ’ as well as Francis Chan’s ‘Forgotten God’ about the Holy Spirit and how to invite(?) His counsel, comfort, wisdom, orders.  

To anyone and everyone who might be reading this someday I also recommend highly Catherine Cho’s ‘Inferno’ which is about post-partum psychosis, mental healthcare in the United States, motherhood, demons, all of which are factors currently of critical importance to a lot of us.  I had written a poem for Literary Shanghai which I think was accepted but which I then rescinded about ‘Inferno’ describing my own experiences with mental healthcare and terror of Hell and the Spirit.  I had also spoken of a ‘Requiem’ which is something the pre-eminent English-language professor of the Korean War once called for though the essence of what might have happened during that conflict as well as what could happen again today is quite frankly literally a ‘Dies Irae,’ not the peaceful or nice part of the traditional requiem.  I had actually wanted to write Korean War novels before I realized how mercenary this is about an operation codenamed Ripper under Gen. Ridgway, the part of the war that involved bullets as much as heavy bombers or whatever, huge masses of Chinese troops, situations of semi-indiscriminate firing into masses of Asians including refugees, not to mention numerous hapless boy-soldiers from China.  All this stuff appears to be clawing its way out of the ground now - the Korean government recently awarded an American colonel in his 90′s for a certain unspecified action - but it’s 3:50 AM, billions born and unborn are at stake in other places, lands of miracle and menace, such as particularly Somalia with a birthrate that resembles that of the Republic of Korea prior to contraception etc., and I have personal problems to target and numerous ownership-issues when it comes to what is truly meant for me to do in the remains of my day(s).  

It also appears that a large coterie / clique / posse of persons around here are obsessed with me magically forcing them to respect, cherish, etc. me which puts me in mind of my favorite K-pop song - maybe the only one I ought to care about anymore - (Ms. / Leader) Kim Taeyeon’s ‘Make Me Love You,’ which however was also released on the same day as a super-massive democidal chemical attack in Syria.  

A while back I reflected somewhat - maybe not enough - on the idea of ‘counter-imperialism,’ by which I don’t mean Jean Paul Sartre or Mao or the Black Panthers, but using power, influence, etc. to circumscribe or delimit the excess ambitions of people who think they have the right idea but have lost their right minds or don’t really understand or care.  At one point I thought wishfully, ‘America is like a counter-empire,’ but IDK if I was really thinking of America b/c to be a counter-empire by my definition you need control and reason and wisdom and SME (subject matter expertise), not just wishes.  

I’m not sure any liberal democracy today has all these though my optimistic side looks to the current ROK president, Twitter moonriver365, who appears to be playing an almost impossible hand with literally every other country, flesh and spirit.  I bought this leader’s autobiography but my Korean cuts in and out of comprehension.  IDK if I’m too open-minded or not open-minded enough; I have my affections and I guess limerences (liking) as well.  I don’t despise the current ruler of Russia either for he has been trying to do good things for a nation that paid a nearly incomprehensible price in WW2 (Great Patriotic War), and which was mocked and despised for no good reason by a smug West, which perhaps sunk into unworthiness of itself, after the first Cold War.  

I remember looking at a picture the Moscow GPW memorial obelisk and being awed to tears - bodies and souls ascending into Heaven or hurled into Hell.  Straight up, straight down.  St. George and the dragon.  ‘They are attacking again; are they mortal?’  

However, I came to view this memorial partly whilst researching a fanciful Millennial anti-establishment curse-the-system-and-die novel about the mass-drowning of some 300 South Korean high school students in 2014.

I also made an effort to cultivate concern for children in the Midwest but somehow became sidetracked again just thinking about world events, the fact that every race is out to get every other race, these golden-haired Caucasian girls are probably taken to be ‘Little Women’ knockoffs or Henry James throwbacks or some Reddit category that can be easily demonized by Maoist flaks, BLM, anyone looking to score points or reduce the other in order to magnify the self and/or its tribal / identity-politics interests.  

Over recent months I considered a lot - maybe still not enough - the categories or qualities of purpose; purity; and also presence. 

[smalltragedy]

* natalia dyer, nonbinary + she/they | you know philomena carmichael, right? they’re twenty, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, a day? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to the leanover by life without buildings like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole wind whipping around your hair, the gentleness of decomposition, a naked blur dancing around the flames of an everlasting fire thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is april 20th, so they’re a taurus, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hi thank u all fr being so patient w me as i rapidly switch out muses n figure out wht the fuck im doing atm <3 also sry fr my rare presence work hs been kicking my ass like lets jst say i deserve 2 b smbdy’s housewife (misogny wins this time sry) so i nvr hv to work in my life <3 DFSLKSDHKGLFSHLKAGHLKAHLKSG this is a joke 2 clarify. anyways. this is philly she’s old bt she’s one of my very favorites ever. this intro is also old sry its nt in my usual. style. LKDFKHGLKGF

CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION, DEATH, GRAPHIC MENTION OF DECAY, INSECTS MENTION TW.

mini playlist.

the girl who stole my tamagotchi ;; hot sugar / i dropped out ;; and the kids / pork soda ;; glass animals / wonderfully bizarre ;; bendigo fletcher / (dream) ;; salvia palth / alien blues ;; yundabar / dust in your pocket ;; glass animals / warm honey ;; willow / bela lugosi’s dead ;; bauhaus / gecgecgec ;; 100 gecs / blinding ;; florence and the machine / nantes ;; beirut / cherry-coloured funk ;; cocteau twins / not allowed ;; tv girl / oblivion ;; grimes / space song ;; beach house / dog food ;; 100 gecs / the leanover life ;; life without buildings.

statistics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, mena, etc.

birthday: april 20th, 2000. 

zodiac: taurus sun, scorpio moon, aries ascending.

mbti & temperament: infp & improvisor / phlegmatic. 

label: the halycon.

sexuality: demisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

cancer tw // it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long. end of cancer tw //

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

depersonalization / derealization tw // it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs. depersonalization / derealization end of tw //

death, decay. maggots tw // there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot. end of death, decay, maggots tw //

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

after ending up with warrants from their arrest in florida (after running from the law in texas), philly and elektra have wound up at irving <3 partially hiding from the law and partially bcos their trusty van’s broken down and they haven’t got the money to fix her up yet. 

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon.

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been.

currently living in florence, their van, with her sister elektra <3 currently residing in lilac ridge.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. (smirks at leo)

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her (besides elektra).

has a certain knack for getting animals to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay.

wanted plots.

speaking through my third eye ... ;; philly is new in town n shes very strange. constantly lives in a state in which she does not exist (at least on the same plane). this is her harassing the locals. this is her slipping thru their fingertips as they attempt 2 understand her. they get close smtms bt philly jst. whisks herself away.

hollows of our eyelids ... ;; perhaps there is smbdy jst as strange as philly. i’m out here calling fr all the weirdos. lets be friends. lets hv philly n co go on adventures n discover horrible sites n uncover ancient secrets tht lie deep below irving. mayb nt tht. bt im jst saying. this is fr the dreamers. da weirdos. the jugheads. LHKDSHFSADLKGFHLSKADG fr those who also feel as if they r not real.

bills n aches n blues... ;; ya this is my call fr all negative plots. bills (catching philly be a thief and a fraud), aches (mayb heartache? unrecruited feelings or w/e theyre called?), n blues (ooooh so sad... so sad ... angst ...) obviously i am a genius. i wldnt say tht philly is here 2 make enemies bc philly doesnt care much abt ppl bt perhaps tht cld b an issue. tht she doesnt care much abt others. mayb ur muse is jst like. cn u pls care. n philly is like. i am incapable. sry. sucks.

n also ,, ;; like. anything i’ll. take anything. philly is weird lets come up w surreal plots tht verge on the edge of like. nt being correct fr this verse. suddenly theres vampires? or so they think ... smirks. anyways. shes been 2 jail n been in the circus (shoutout 2 kirby) n dances naked in the woods n hoards animals n treasures. we hv a lot to work with here obv. 

#irvingintro #death tw #decay tw #maggots tw #dissociation tw #depersonalization tw #derealization tw #cancer tw #trauma tw #zooweemama #anyways. kira's will b up soon

[zhantesblog]

4)PATAGONIA

Image sourced:https://hypebeast.com/2019/9/patagonia-fights-amazon-resellers-lawsuit

Yvon Chouinard built a clothing empire through his love for the environment and a passion for crafting quality goods that enhance humanity’s relationship with it. The biggest part of Patagonia’s legacy is not just created via its clothing, but its entire brand philosophy.

“No young kid growing up ever dreams of someday becoming a businessman...The Koch brothers and Donald Trumps of the business world are heroes to no one except other businessmen with similar values. I wanted to be a fur trapper when I grew up.” writes Patagonia founder Yvon Chouinard in his autobiography, Let My People Go Surfing: The Education of a Reluctant Businessman. 

Image sourced: https://www.patagonia.com/stories/whats-at-stake-is-the-future-of-humankind/story-72130.html

This era saw the beginnings of Patagonia, known more for its clothing and gear. The first apparel pieces Chouinard sold were rugby shirts, which he discovered in Scotland and from there, began to import them. He was very fond of the heavyweight fabric and believed that it was durable to climb in, breathed better than the average Oxford shirt and found that the collar was useful for preventing waist pack sling from digging into the neck. The demand was so high that Chouinard decided to start making his own apparel and continues to make rugby shirts today. In 1973, Patagonia was established in the back of a meatpacking factory in Ventura, California, where the company headquarters still remain.

Patagonia’s name originated from the mountainous region in South America, which holds the southern section of the Andes mountains. The logo is inspired by the oscillating peaks of Monte Fitz Roy, which remains one of the toughest mountains to climb — though Chouinard managed to ascend it in 1968, which was documented in the film Fitzroy.

Similar to The North Face’s homage to Yosemite and El Capitan, Patagonia’s branding is meant to reflect the products’ ability to withstand the harshest terrains and environments. One of the first jackets the company ever published was the Pile Fleece jacket, in 1977, which took inspiration from the hardy gear of fishermen. 

In the ’80s, Patagonia began to explore more sustainable materials and methods of production, including organic cotton, hemp, and PET. They discovered a process by which they could recycle 25 plastic bottles into one fleece product, culminating in the debut of Synchilla, one of Patagonia’s flagship materials that best represents its mission to make high-quality products with a lower environmental cost. This discovery then led them to create the Retro-X series which consisted of recycled fleece jackets and vests.

Image sourced: eu.patagonia.com

However, Patagonia’s greatest strength is informing their customers about what they’re buying into with their respectable brand transparency. Patagonia has utilised its platform to raise awareness and become an advocate for environmental issues-This extends further with The Footprint Chronicles website, books like Chouinard’s autobiography, and the tome The Responsible Company, and its catalogs and advertising campaigns.

Starting back in 1986, Patagonia has been donating 10% of its profits to grassroots organisations and In 2011, the company launched the “Common Threads” initiative, urging their consumers to send back well-worn clothing to be repaired and refurbished, following up with an ad page on Black Friday which intended to persuade people not to buy anything they don’t need. 

The “Don’t Buy This Jacket” campaign fueled consumer sentiment, and inadvertently helped Patagonia’s sales. In recent news, Patagonia has sued the Trump administration in response to a decision to shrink the Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante monuments.

Although Patagonia has never invested in any external collaborations, its consistency in focus, brand philosophy/identity, and product has created an appeal into fashion and streetwear circles.

Supreme paid homage to Patagonia’s Monte Fitz Roy logo in 1998, replacing the mountain peaks with the New York City skyline, and their fleece jackets have been referenced by the likes of Kim Jones (Louis Vuitton’s former menswear director) and menswear designer Patrik Ervell. However they would rather their lasting influence be the way they treat and advocate for the environment and its people, two things that the entire fashion industry would benefit from adopting.

Patagonia’s mission is simple. One short sentence comprehensively tells us who they are, what they are about and what they want to achieve.

Patagonia embody their mission statement throughout everything they do; through their website, their blog and their social media. A lot of their content and projects hold their mission statement at its core. It is made clear that Patagonia is passionate about what they believe in. Their mission statement is created with intent and is set as a constant reminder of the good they are doing and continuously trying to do. 

Patagonia have put their focus towards their target audience and are using their brand ambassadors as a means of audience engagement.  Patagonia is able to produce insightful and engaging content from around the world due to their large group of ambassadors with Patagonia’s blog The Cleanest Line being constantly updated.

With many companies, once you have bought their product your interaction with them is over. However, this is not the case with Patagonia.

Engaging with the audience is something Patagonia is constantly doing. This is achieved through their recycling clothing and public engagement outreach initiatives, their email newsletters and their feedback forms. This allows their customers to feel included in the process and therefore makes them more engaged with the brand overall.

Patagonia has also introduced a new initiative called Worn Wear, which allows Patagonia users to buy used clothing, repair their own damaged clothing or trade in clothing and receive credit to put toward a new or used garment.This initiative openly further demonstrates their commitment to their cause. As part of the Worn Wear campaign Patagonia has constructed a purpose-built biodiesel truck made to travel around America and repair clothes on the move. The truck was built with environmentally friendly and reusable material. This provides Patagonia with a unique sense of storytelling.

I think Patagonias message is displayed and conveyed clearly and consistently throughout their brand and marketing and promotional front. This is definitely something that I hope our brand is able to achieve throughout our production and design process. 

[garage-doors-for-you]

sign of the instances: the new American home 2021

Architects, builders, and designers, like every cabal in every business, are thinking about the long-term have an impact on of the pandemic on the manner americans reside, work, and play. Yet, whereas his affairs for the brand new American home had been in area long earlier than the communicable hit, Phil Kean, the home’s designerbuilder, crucial to make a couple of tweaks to acclimate to new purchaser priorities. Yarnell Overhead Door Ltd building  garage door repair burlington.

each iteration of the brand new American domestic, the annual respectable showhouse of the international Builders’ exhibit because , comprises a lot of design and technological improvements. but, perhaps abundantly for this yr of alternate, the version is a abandonment from the more typical mannequin of a single-household home on a big lot with area for hotel-trend out of doors living.

whereas this yr’s New American domestic boasts , rectangular toes of conditioned residing area, outdoor spaces within the form of terraces on its two aloft-brand levels, and a three-automobile storage, it is a vertical city residence on a ,-square-bottom lot. having said that, it shares the accent on calm-out of doors living, initiate floor affairs, herbal easy, and power efficiency viewed in past versions of the anniversary application.

“Our goal become to show off a new urban home that displays its region and the role of expertise to deliver a greater relaxed life,” says Keri Ferguson, an interior clothier at Phil Kean design group. “We selected an advanced palette of neutral and matey colorations in addition to prosperous textures to show which you could have a high-tech residence devoid of it feeling bloodless.”

A key attribute of TNAH is its “upside-down” floor plan: the kitchen, eating, and residing areas, configured in a U-formed, loft-like house, are on the advanced floor rather than a reduce degree. The ceilings in that space are ft excessive and it features two terraces that miss out on the treetops and beyond.

Kean says he debated no matter if the flipped flooring plan may be too unconventional. “You see this category of flooring plan extra in Europe and in areas like esplanade metropolis, Utah, where you need to get greater gentle and views,” he says. “We sooner or later decided that this is able to be a pretty good fit for the new American home and for this urban environment.” He points out that TNAH is the best house inside the seven-home, infill-lot enclave that makes use of the flipped-plan concept.

The domestic’s ,-rectangular-bottom, three-stage brand see plans, aloft locations the main living area on the precise floor to occupy advantage of natural light and unobstructed angle greater through -foot ceilings and abundant fenestration. The ground-flooring access opens to an artwork arcade, while the rear-loaded garage provides easy entry to a home workplace and a dog room , the closing with a dog aperture to a belted out of doors enviornment. The nd floor is all about the house owners, together with a cushty private lounge , an recreation allowance with a bathroom , a beneficiant terrace, and a first-rate suite with a beef shower in the bathroom . upstairs is an entertainer’s dream, that includes a song area of interest large adequate for a baby grand piano or small are living band, a full bar , and a brace of terraces, certainly one of which comprises an outside kitchen and eating house . All flooring are served by means of the dramatic staircase and an elevator .

The assignment all started about two years ago, when Kean purchased a parking space with an bare office building and commenced designing a brand new, walkable community. “Pre-COVID, the vogue become to stay off the motorway and walk to functions, retail outlets, and eating places,” Kean says. “publish-COVID, I feel it s going to nonetheless be a priority for people to be in a position to stroll to every little thing.” The vicinity has a stroll score of , which potential well-nigh all errands can also be completed walking.

“at the beginning, we designed luxurious townhouses for the lot, however some consumers desired distinct-family unit buildings and started asking us to combine townhouse devices,” Kean says. The ultimate lot plan elements three single-family homes and attached townhomes. both smallest townhouses have been combined to create the brand new American domestic.

Our aim became to showcase a brand new urban domestic that reflects its location and the role of expertise to give a extra comfy life. — Keri Ferguson, interior designer, Phil Kean architecture group

“We understand consumers desire a lock-and-leave culture with out giving up too lots area or privateness,” Kean says. “I’m tempted to circulate in myself as a result of this is strolling distance to my workplace, plus there’s mild abuse to the airport and plans for a bullet coach to Miami inside going for walks ambit.”

most of the new ascendancy is already offered, essentially to downsizing empty nesters from the Orlando enviornment, Kean says. To suit that buyer contour, TNAH comprises an elevator for effectively getting being and americans from the three-motor vehicle garage to the exact-ground dwelling spaces.

For further insurance of the condo, its companions and items, and to hold a digital tour, visit tnahm. insurance of the home’s development become published within the January concern of pro builder, and its kitchens and bathrooms will be featured in the marchApril problem. an online-simplest commodity concerning the home’s amazing energy and baptize efficiencies will appear on probuilderm in advance, .

one more precedence for a lot of patrons today is house and facilities for pets. “Phil and Brad Grosberg, Phil Kean’s husband and principal at the firm accept a basset hound, so Phil really is aware the importance of designing a dog-amicable apartment,” Ferguson says. “He advised a little dog room photo, right off the storage that’s committed to grooming and has cull-out area for dog food and leashes.” really, each degree has a dog door to entry the outside spaces, including the decrease-level yard, center-level balustrade, and both upper-level terraces.

Kean’s nd career as an artisan informs his architecture, together with creative touches and area to reveal an artwork assortment.

for example, the access gallery contains steel displays that separate the front lobby and elevator from a arcade area with casual seating at the access landing itself a work of art. moreover, Ferguson took the pattern of these monitors and integrated it within the aperture to the morning room and a few of the lighting fixtures to actualize a standard if refined stylistic cilia throughout the condo see beneath.

The commence-riser, underlit stairway became a accidental addition to the design. “The business that became speculated to provide the access needed to cull out as a result of the communicable, but this in fact grew to become out to be a favorable trade,” Kean says. “We splurged on a staircase constructed through hand.”

A customized-built “floating” staircase, more advantageous with lights beneath every tread and clear glass balusters, is a signature wow element that serves all three tiers of the domestic.

below the staircase on the arcade stage is a niche for a considerable sculpture, Ferguson says, acquainted that there are different niches all through the house advised for numerous collections. “alike the wine bottle reveal by project partner VintageView, above and left is like paintings,” she says, “with these glowing brass pins conserving the bottles in an area the size of a canvas. everything within the condo is purposeful and yet aesthetically appealing.”

besides locations for artwork, Kean desired area for song within the home, so the upper degree contains a beneficiant all-bottle area of interest for a grand piano that may also be considered from the backyard. “Phil desired to actualize a space for reside music back the homeowners absorb,” Ferguson says.

“The flooring plan has a nice calibration to it,” she provides. “You don’t suppose overwhelmed with too a whole lot house if you’re home alone, and yet it has an outstanding calm-outside flow that feels adamant and comfy back unique.”

In thought, the home has four bedrooms, however once the pandemic all started and individuals confused to alive and exercising at home, Kean and his group converted one bed room on the second level near the fundamental apartment into a private gym with a beef spa and became a bedroom on the reduce stage into an office or flat area.

ahead of building in early , the house was admired at $three. million, however Kean says the Florida apartment market took off later within the year and estimates the home may presently sell for $, more. For now, even though, he intends to keep it as a model to showcase his work.

The domestic’s d or core stage is committed to the house owners, possibly a neatly-off, empty-nester brace seeking to age alluringly in location. apart from a generous basic apartment under, the ground plan points a lounge above and an endeavor allowance beneath, the latter without difficulty converted to different uses as tradition needs appeal. We selected a sophisticated palette of impartial and matey colorings as well as rich textures to exhibit that you would be able to accept a excessive-tech  apartment without it feeling cold. — Keri Ferguson, indoors clothier The primary apartment’s bed room above is designed for consolation and comfort, with abundant area to get around, views to the bare aspect of the property, and a effortless workplace area of interest. The adjacent bathroom below elements a beef shower to enhance the freestanding bath. An all-embracing walk-in closet beyond the tub offers ground-to-ceiling storage and quite a lot of bathrobe area.

The relatively modest yet well-appointed kitchen keeps things standard and bound, counting on developed-ins both fore and aft and access to and from the bar and a powder allowance. pleasant and complementary hues for the modern surfaces assist keep interest and luxury.

everything within the condo is purposeful and yet aesthetically eye-catching. —Keri Ferguson, interior designer

built on an exceptionally tight lot, the domestic’s design places outdoor dwelling on a trio of terraces on the second and third levels. The greatest below, proper presents a accessory kitchen, amiable dining, and alike a place to take a seat and soak up the birds-eye view. Retractable displays give protection to the terrace from pests and weather, allowing for all-day, year-circular exercise below, backside.

architect Phil Kean bought and developed an in-city infill lot to architecture and build seven attached and indifferent townhomes, two of which kind the new American home on the conclusion lot of the parcel. With a decidedly up to date form, the constructing’s entrance façade beneath contrasts the classic seem of white stone veneer with the acerbity of urban metal cladding, while a second-degree terrace helps draw the eye advancement and shelters the leading access. alongside the alleyway power, the rear façade larboard continues it elementary.