#in my heart he still wears a turban

[windwyrm]

Though I have been... difficult at times, we have always worked together.

#wow fanart #wrathion #in my heart he still wears a turban

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Strip Me to My Bones

Slowburn!Tommy x autistic!fem!reader Prologue: An Odd Woman

Summary: Tommy meets you in 1919, the beginning that feels like an ending in hindsight. Among betting men there is a vibrant culture of superstition and mysticism. It was in this industry you found your trade as a “psychic,” and met a man with a Red Right Hand.

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, contextual use of g-slur, Canon-typical violence, author is autistic, spoilers for series one possibly, slow burn, Tommy is shallow and confused at first. WC: 1.6k

1919 was an odd year for Mr. Shelby. His eyes were still bright, the boy who died in the tunnels still clung to his ankles as he stalked the roads of Birmingham. In those days, Tommy was still starving for money. For any sort of gain in power. He still slept on an old mattress with his drug of choice within reach. He still delivered his horses to mystics and magicians to psych out the competitors of the next day’s race. It was this Thomas Shelby who brought himself to the door of your flat. You, the newest little medium in Small Heath.

He had heard many things about you. How you seemed to just “know,” things. You weren’t gypsy, but there were whispers that you could see inside hearts and minds like no other. For a reasonable fee, you would read a person like a book tell them the next chapter of their life without hesitation. He was not normally the sort to seek your kind out. Thomas Shelby could see ahead just fine without the guide of psychic, genuine or charlatan in nature. Until, of course, a crate of guns came into his possession and an Irish woman sang to him from atop a table. Even the devil needs direction, sometimes. 

That morning, the devil had sought you out.

Your flat looked the same as any other. There were green vines and a purple curtain blocking his view inside your window. Plain bricks on the outside. Gutter hanging off slightly from your roof. Thinking it best to just get it all over with, he knocked. You answered. And he froze.

When he first saw you, there was nothing extraordinary about you. You didn't wear a silk turban or line your eyes with black to convince your customers of some supernatural gift. You were just a young woman dressed comfortably in her little flat. A long, thick robe suited for the winter chill was tied around your body and sensible slippers on your feet. Nothing overly frilly or fanciful. Tommy would almost call your presentation "dowdy." However, what had made him freeze were your eyes. He knows the power of his own stare. Your stare was something truly unique. It was something he couldn’t quite put into words. The color of your eyes was not exceptional, nor the size of your eyes or their shape. There was a force behind the stare that had him fixed to the spot. The sound of your voice was all that put him back into the world.

“Can I help you?” your tone is flat, but he can’t decide of its intentional.

Tommy takes a glance from the corner of his eye to ensure there are no onlookers. The roads are empty. He looks into your eyes once more and says, “You see the future, I hear.”

“I see people, for a price. Not the future. Nobody can do that. It’s rather early, so I hope you’ve got money in that big coat,” you step aside to let him inside. He almost hesitates. Second thoughts are not something Tommy likes to entertain. To falter, to ruminate, is to dance at the edge of cowardice. Tommy pushes onward and crosses the threshold of your home. Thus begins the start of a most unusual affair.

The lighting was dim in your little flat, and on the walls were dozens of shadowboxes were every assortment of insect on display. In fact, nearly everything in your home appeared to be some sort of collection. Orderly in their presentation but crowded due to lack of space. All the furniture looked inherited rather than new, but that was typical. There was the scent of lavender and cedar in the air. As he passed by two sticks of incense burning on the mantle of your fireplace, he found the origin of the fragrance. 

‘No trace of any other resident in the home. No husband. How modern’, he thought. As he made his observations, Tommy was painfully aware of your eyes on his back. You guided him silently to a small room with two sofas facing each other. He sat opposite to you, not bothering to remove his cap. As you sit across from him, your eyes are everywhere but him. Roving about the room as you tap your thumb to the tip of each finger on your hand. By the way you were sitting, someone just entering the room might assume you were a guest by how stiff your posture was. Back completely straight, both feet firmly planted on the floor. This was your home, your time, and Tommy looked more at ease sitting on your own furniture. 

“I normally have tea prepared, but you don’t drink tea anyway, so I won’t bother with the kettle this time,” you say as your bottom hits the sofa cushion. He hears you. He hears you make a correct assumption about him, but he does not show his acknowledgement. 

Tommy threads his fingers together on his lap, “They say you can see inside of people, tell them things about them that even they don’t know.”

Blinking owlishly at him you reply, “My, that’s a lovely review of my services! Should put that on a sign outside my doorway. Though I would rather know why you came to see me, Mr. Shelby. You are Mr. Shelby yes?”

“That I am,” he nearly laughs, “and I am not entirely sure why I came to see you either.”

Your eyes snap onto his own and again he feels caught off guard by it. Slowly, you lean forward, “It’s not like you to need help. You avoid seeking it. Something has happened to you that has never happened before, you do not know how to carry on because you cannot fall back on learned tactics to navigate the storm.”

He says nothing. Tommy finds you don’t require his input to carry on speaking as you tilt your head and continue. As you speak, you never break eye contact. Your gaze is one that leaves him feeling stripped to the bone. Flesh peeled back and pinned so that you may inspect him further with an objective, curious eye, "One of the walking wounded, soldier come home from war. You don't sleep well. None of you do. But, you hide it better than most."

"Quite the assumption," he deadpanned.

You carry on as if not hearing him, “A Catholic without Christ. Guilty but without remorse. You only follow yourself and yet you have lost faith within. So, you act out of your own character to try to find a solution to a problem you’ve made yourself. A problem with solutions you can't commit to.”

Tommy’s heart is beating faster in his chest. The plain-faced woman who greeted him at the door has been replaced. Your face seems to change, the sir around you shifting. There is a thrill in being seen. A thrill, but also annoyance. “And what would you do to solve such a problem?”

“It wouldn’t help you to know what anyone else would do. Even if my way was best, you wouldn’t obey it. Obedience is not something you do willingly,” there’s a smile in your eyes that makes his hands tighten around each other. “Is your greatest problem above, below, or beside you?”

His face remains stoic as he mulls over your odd question. He thinks of those beneath him, the factory workers who riot and cause him distraction. Beside him, his brothers in arms and brothers by blood. Ada. Freddie…. Grace. And then he thinks of Campbell and Kimber. “Above me, always.”

You nod, “There was no need for you to come see me. You know the answer to the question before you asked it. The greatest woe for you is that there are matters of the heart keeping you from stabbing upwards to the enemies who stand over you. You aren’t used to having that sort of obstacle... You need to decide what you want more and act accordingly. To have both things will end poorly, but I can't stop you. Nobody can but you.”

For a moment, he feels a sense of relief. It had been many years since the words of a stranger had done that to him. This feeling was overtaken by an immediate realization. He had come to you under the assumption that you were gifted by second-sight. Yet… You had no cards, no crystals, did not say a prayer or even a hymn in a nonsense language.

“You’re no medium,” he states it as fact. Not as a question or accusation. Though, he watches to see how you take it. Tommy likes to see how people respond to being caught, he finds it to be the most revealing time for most. For the third or fourth time since he laid eyes on you, you defied expectation.

With a slow shrug you say, “I’ve never made the claim that I was one. Everyone started saying so one day and I decided not to correct them. I just read people.”

‘What an odd woman,’ Tommy leaned back in his seat. Face still as stone. As he looked at you, your posture returned to that stiff, nearly-too-straight, position from before. He could see why the average man would see you as something beyond the natural. Ordinary to otherworldly. An odd woman indeed. You stand from your couch with a small, crooked smile, “That’ll be ten quid, Mr. Shelby, a discount for a first-time reading. It'll be thirteen for the next time.”

He pushed the money into your hands and said, "Won't be a next time." You gave him no audible response as you walked him to your door and released him from the dreamworld your home had trapped him in. Tommy did not look back as he walked three paces from your door and lit a cigarette. No one had seen him and he had a feeling you wouldn't share his visit with others.

Tommy pushed you from his mind to focus on what may come next.

The rest of the day moved quickly and slowly all at once after he left your little flat. He swore to himself that he would never go back. Swore that he hated every instant spent in your dark home that smelled of lavender and cedar. Swore that he despised the way you peeled back his skin with that glare so sharp. No, he couldn't feel them on him. Not at all.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x you #Thomas Shelby x autistic!reader #autistic!reader

[mossy-rainfrog]

[ID: A black and white traditional drawing of Fedallah from Moby Dick. He is a thin Persian man with a mustache and short beard. He wears a turban and a long shirt, and holds a whaling harpoon beside him. He is holding onto the harpoon with both hands, leaning on it, as he looks down to the side with a reserved, pensive expression. Beside him, in pencil, is written his name, and "my sweet boy, my best friend" with a sad face. There is also a small doodled heart. End ID.]

Hello Herman Melville I have been reading your book and have come to the conclusion that you do not deserve to have Fedallah in your novel. He is a good man and seeing him villanized as a racist stereotype brings me anxiety, so I will be expecting a reply to this DM when you are ready to relinquish him to someone who will treasure him like he deserves xoxo

God, seriously though I have not been able to stop thinking about this guy for days. He's Ahab's friend!!! He tries to warn everyone of the coming tragedy!!! He is quiet and skilled and his character is an ocean of missed narrative opportunities. AUGH. holds him

EDIT: I can't believe I forgot to add this; they have yet to post their Fedallah publicly, but this lad is still based on the design/influence of @pocketsizedquasar 's Moby Dick comic!!! pls go check it out!!! :D

#moby dick #moby dick art #fedallah #fedallah moby dick #mobydick #mobydick art #accessible art #described #herman melville #classic lit #mossy art #melville #PLS REBLOG THIS VERSION AAAA

[prismartist]

ID: a three-part comic of faris djinn and gene the genie from ducktales 2017, talking to someone off-screen to the left. faris is in his default outfit while gene is depicted without his turban wearing a collared vest over a puffy jacket. faris gestures to gene, saying, "my boyfriend, gene..." he trails off. he looks at gene, who looks back fondly. faris continues, "...both our names are in fact very similar, being linked to genies." he looks back at the listener and smiles, saying, "it was cute at first." gene leans towards the listener with a grin and whispers, "it still is!" with a heart next to the text. End ID.

helloooo. anyone still shipping fargene :3

(inspired by a quote from come from away)

#ducktales 2017 #ducktales #faris djinn #gene the genie #fargene #gene c baba #gene x faris #faris x gene #dt #ducktales fanart #ducktales reboot #prismatic art #described

[sentinelpri]

Wanted You

It’s a cool summer day when Gohan turns twenty one and decides to ask Piccolo the question that’s been bothering him since he was a teenager.

The two of them are sitting on a cliff’s edge that overlooks the long river by Gohan’s home on Mountain Paozu. The grass is green and lush, blowing in the wind that’s just light enough to be comfortable so long as Gohan is wearing long sleeves. Piccolo is in his usual attire; purple gi, blue sash, brown shoes, white cape and shoulder pads, purple and white turban. Gohan is dressed in a black sweatshirt and matching pants, an outfit that Chichi accused of not being nice enough for his birthday celebration. He wore it anyway in preparation for his time with Piccolo- just in case the Namekian wanted to train with him.

It’s his twenty-first birthday and his mom threw him a small celebration. Initially, she insisted on throwing a huge party with everyone she knows, but Gohan pushed back enough until the guest list was narrowed down to her, his dad, all of his dad’s friends, Goten, and his friends from high school; Erasa, Videl, and Sharpner. It was still far larger than Gohan really wanted it to be, but it was better than last year. After the party started to dissipate, Gohan snuck out to find one of the only people he actually wanted to see today; Piccolo, who didn’t attend the party because of the crowd.

They’ve been talking for hours. Gohan has his head on Piccolo’s shoulder. It’s a gesture of affection that Gohan got in the habit of doing a decade ago, but it’s different now. It means something other than what it used to mean, something less pure. Gohan remains just as baffled by his ever-changing feelings as he has been since his sixteenth birthday when the realization came crashing down on him. They did the very same thing they’re doing now that day, and a lot of other days, too. Gohan sighs and snuggles into Piccolo’s shoulder, not daring to speak his thoughts out loud. His romantic love for Piccolo grows stronger each day and he doesn’t know how to tackle the subject.

Does Piccolo even feel romantic love for others? He’s never talked about it, and Gohan has never asked. But, he figures now is better than never.

“Piccolo, can I ask you something?”

“You can ask, doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll answer, though,” The Namekian shrugs and crosses his arms, which makes Gohan’s head shift in a way that’s uncomfortable.

The half-Saiyan sits up straight and stares down into his lap as he fidgets with his fingers.

“Have you ever thought about dating?” 

“Dating…? Yes, I’ve thought about it, but I don’t think I’ll ever partake.”

Gohan’s heart shatters into tiny pieces right then and there. It’s a very Piccolo-like answer. Part of him expected it. Still, it stings like stepping on one of Goten’s legos. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to date earthlings, they die too fast and couldn’t possibly understand me… And they’re most of this planet’s population. Your father and Vegeta are taken, not that I’d date them anyway… Buu is just weird, and I have no interest in going back to New Namek for the sole purpose of finding a partner when the few people I love are all here. Then, there is one person who’s an exception to all of it, I suppose, but I wouldn’t dare say anything to them about my true feelings… I expect to be alone for the rest of my life in that sense.”

Gohan sits quietly for a moment. He supposes with the whole ‘earthling’ thing that he himself is out of the running since he’s half earthling, so who is it that Piccolo could possibly be in love with? Another Namekian? A full-blooded Saiyan? 

“Oh… Who is it that you do like?”

A pause, and then, Piccolo shakes his head and stands up with a sad, far-off look in his obsidian eyes.

“...I can’t tell you that in good conscience, Gohan. It’s complicated and I don’t want to burden you with it.”

“Okay, um, do you want to spar now?”

“Sure.”

~

A few days pass after that. The issue of Piccolo’s secret love bothers Gohan every second he has the free time to think about it outside of his college classes and familial obligations. He can’t clear his mind of it no matter how hard he tries. He’s jealous, and he wants Piccolo all to himself, but at the same time, he wants Piccolo to be happy. Even if it’s not him, he wants Piccolo to be with who he loves, so he’s determined to figure out who that person is. 

If Piccolo won’t tell him and if he can’t figure it out, he’ll inquire with those they both know to see if it gets him anywhere.

The first person he goes to is his father, Goku, who usually gives some pretty solid advice and offers good insight despite his dense nature.

It’s a hot summer day, hotter than it was on his birthday. Gohan stumbles upon his father training outside after some searching around Mountain Paozu.

“Hey, dad?” Gohan asks, a little awkward since his father is smack-dab in the middle of swimming laps around the local lake. 

He feels like a nuisance for daring to interrupt. Upon seeing him, however, his father surfaces from the water to flash him a smile. The younger of the two stands by the water’s side and waits for his father to swim over to him. 

“Hey, Gohan! What’s up? Did you come to swim, too?”

“Uh, no, actually. I have lab in an hour on campus, but I wanted to talk to you before leaving… Can I ask you something?” 

“What is it, Gohan?” Goku questions with a grin as he bobs up his upper half out of the water and rests his elbows on the edge to hold himself up while Gohan talks.

“Do you know who Piccolo might like?”

“Well… Hm…” Goku pauses, thoughtful. He contemplates for a moment before breaking out into an even larger grin and speaking up like he’s just solved the world’s hardest math problem. “I know he at least likes you!”

“W-What!?” Gohan exclaims with wide charcoal eyes and bright red cheeks.

“Well, you two are friends, right?” Goku shoots back, clearly oblivious.

“Oh…” Gohan responds upon realizing what Goku initially meant. The half-Saiyan lets out a sigh of relief, then nods his head. “Yeah, we are. You’re right.”

“What, is that not what you meant or something?” His father tilts his head in that dumb, innocent way that so endearingly reminds him of a puppy, and Gohan suddenly realizes that this is not the person he should be discussing the issue of Piccolo’s love-life with.

“No, no, it’s fine, uh… I’ll see you later.”

Gohan recovers just enough to walk off, leaving his father to return to Mount Paozu’s clear waters. He’s anxious about it now… Well, then. Next time he asks someone about it, he’ll just have to phrase it differently. His father probably wasn’t the best person to go to in the first place…

~~

Gohan’s next stop in his journey to find Piccolo’s true love is Capsule Corp. It’s been a day since he tried to discuss the issue with his father and after some reflection, Gohan has come to the conclusion that he needs to talk to someone more familiar with romance than his father is. Bulma is a logical and intelligent woman with plenty of life experience and a couple relationships under her belt. Surely, even if she doesn’t know who it is that Piccolo is in love with, she’ll have some good insight about his situation. 

Gohan braces himself to knock on Bulma’s front door. It’s hotter than it was yesterday. West City is sweltering with no wind in sight to ease the heat. Gohan is stuck in a white tank-top, grey shorts, sandals, and an assload of sunscreen with his few stray locks of midnight-hued hair clipped back by Videl to keep them from sticking to his forehead with sweat.

Instead of knocking on the door, Gohan catches himself in time to ring the doorbell. He always forgets that they have a nice one installed when his own home back on the Mountain just has its plain wooden door that’s constantly on the brink of falling off its hinges.

He’s unsurprised when Bulma opens the door quickly, her short cyan hair perfectly combed and a red dress on her small frame as she flashes him a bright smile. 

“Bulma,” Gohan greets with a nod and walks in when Bulma holds the door open for him to enter her home. 

Bulma’s top of the line air conditioning hits him so hard that goosebumps raise on his warm skin. The half-Saiyan lets out a sigh of relief. Despite the hot weather outside, the Briefs’ home is ice cold, no doubt so that Vegeta doesn’t get overheated when training. Gohan can hear the familiar noises of the gravity chamber that’s built inside the house just down the hall as he’s led to the living room.

“Gohan, it’s been a bit, how are you?” The scientist says and sits down on the living room couch.

Gohan sits in the chair across from her. As much as he’d love to sit and catch up with Bulma right now, he’s a man on a mission. He averts his eyes and gets straight to the point.

“I’m good, but I actually came over to ask you something. Aside from me and my dad, you’re the closest to Piccolo,” He starts, and it’s true. Piccolo and Bulma aren’t exactly friends, but aside from Goku, she’s been the only one out of their friend group to really embrace and try to socialize with Piccolo, even giving him a cell phone and a capsule house after the defeat of Frieza. “So I was wondering if you knew about his, er… Love life?”

“Love life?” Bulma places a finger on her chin. Gohan watches with a gulp. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea… Bulma sounds totally confused. Gohan suspects that he may be the only one out of all of their friends and family that has actually stopped and thought about Piccolo’s romantic interests. It makes sense that the others don’t see Piccolo engaging in such things. He felt like that at different points, too. Now, he’s in love with Piccolo. Things are different. He feels like an idiot for thinking about it in the first place, let alone asking both his dad and Bulma for answers as if they’d have any idea. “I don’t think he really has one of those, but Gohan, why do you want to know?”

“Well, um, I just worry for him and-...” Gohan tries to come up with an excuse. The first and easiest one that comes to mind is that he’s concerned that Piccolo. His teacher and father figure (and nothing more, of course) is lonely and needs to start dating someone. That sounds believable, doesn’t it? Before he can get through that thought, however, he senses Vegeta’s ki heading their way and is proven correct when the compact Saiyan enters the room. “Oh, Vegeta, it’s nice to see you…”

Neither Bulma nor Gohan say anything. Bulma shifts on the couch and stares down at the floor like it’s suddenly become the most interesting thing on the planet.

Vegeta walks to the couch and sits close to Bulma with an arm over her shoulder and his brow furrowed. Gohan doesn’t look him in the eye, simply eyeing his outfit instead. Vegeta is dressed in a sleeveless spandex suit that only goes down to his knees, so there’s a lot visible that he’s sure he honestly never wanted to see.

“Why’d you get so quiet all of a sudden?” Vegeta demands, then continues with a sarcastic edge to his tone. “What, are you throwing me a surprise birthday party? Come on, now, don’t let me ruin your little chat.”

“Huh? It’s nothing like that,” Gohan feigns obliviousness. “I just, um, I-”

“What were you two talking about?”

Bulma turns to face Vegeta with crossed arms and a clear glare of disapproval that the other ravenette only slightly slouches at.

“Vegeta! How rude, it really isn’t any of your business!”

Vegeta doesn’t reply to Bulma, simply talking to Gohan once more.

“Just because you’re a man now doesn’t mean you get to come into my home and play these games of secret keeping-”

“For starters, Vegeta, you don’t pay the bills around here. This is my home, not yours,” Bulma chews out her husband (?) and grabs him by the ear. Vegeta lets out a noise of discontent when she pulls at it. “Second of all, Gohan can do whatever he wants. We were just talking about Piccolo, anyway, it’s nothing for you to be concerned with.”

Vegeta huffs, pulls away from Bulma, and lowers his voice.

“What could be interesting enough regarding the Namekian for the two of you to be in here whispering to each other about?”

“Ugh, why are you so nosy all of a sudden?” Bulma snarks. “Not like you’ve ever given a damn about him, Vegeta.”

At that, Vegeta crosses his arms and looks away with a light blush. Could it be him…?

No. No way. Gohan sits there awkwardly, trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together. For a moment, he thinks he senses Piccolo’s ki in the midst of it all, but then the feeling vanishes. He must be so bothered by this debacle that he’s imagining things…

“We’re… Comrades, in one way or another,” Vegeta answers after far too long of a silence. ”Are you really surprised that I’m concerned?”

“Look, Vegeta, it’s a little complicated,” Gohan rushes to explain in an attempt to clear the tension in the air. His intuition tells him that Vegeta’s hiding something, but he refuses to interrogate the older man to find out what that something is. He nervously drums his fingers against the arms of Bulma’s living room chair while trying to find the right words. “It’s more of a personal issue, but Piccolo is fine, I’m just… Inquiring about something.”

“But Gohan…” Bulma interjects before Vegeta can say anything. “Back to the subject of why you came here in the first place, why do you even want to know that about Piccolo? Isn’t it weird for you to think about your teacher’s love life? I think it’d almost be as awkward as you thinking about Goku’s.”

Vegeta’s spine straightens within the same second that his eyes shoot wide open. His cheeks flush pink as he looks at Bulma and speaks with a peculiar sense of urgency.

“Bulma, if this is what it’s about, let the boy figure out his feelings on his own.”

“O-Oh, no, it’s not like that!” Gohan insists with a dismissive wave of his hands and a stutter.

Vegeta only rolls his eyes.

“Bullshit.”

Then, the Saiyan is up and leaving, presumably returning to his training. Another awkward silence ensues. Bulma is the first to break it.

“Uh, Gohan…”

Gohan shifts in his chair and offers an anxious chuckle, followed by-

“Don’t tell anyone? Please?”

“Sure, I promise. It’s not my business, anyway… Sorry about Vegeta, too. You know how he can be. I’ll see you later, okay?” Bulma, seemingly flustered by the whole ordeal, stands up. She straightens out her impeccable dress and looks at Gohan with a guilty sort of smile. “Sorry I wasn’t able to help you out with your problem.”

“That’s alright, thank you for your time…”

~~~

Another week passes after that. Gohan teeters between the line of giving up before he gets too deep in the shit and continuing to pursue the mystery that is Piccolo’s lone love interest. After dealing with his father’s obliviousness, Bulma’s confusion, and Vegeta’s… Well, whatever label could be put on Vegeta’s behavior was last week, Gohan isn’t sure he wants to take the risk of asking more of he and Piccolo’s shared circle of friends about the Namekian’s non-existent love life.

The more people he tells, the higher risk of it getting back to Piccolo. It’s true that Piccolo keeps to himself and doesn’t seek out social interaction, but with Gohan’s luck, he wouldn’t be surprised if it happened after this, hence why he’s now headed toward Kame House to speak with the one person he knows won’t tell another soul. 

Gohan is unsurprised to see Krillin firing Kamehameha waves at the ocean when he lands feet-first in the yellowy sand. Immediately, the shorter man stops and rushes to give Gohan a hug. Gohan quickly reciprocates and grins down at Krillin, who’s the first to speak.

“Gohan! It’s been forever since I’ve seen ya, buddy, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m good, how about you?” Gohan responds with a slight tilt of his head as Krillin pulls away and puts his hands on his hips.

“I’m great! Did you just come to visit, or…?”

“Well, I suppose so, yes, but there was something I was wondering about… Could I ask you something?”

“Sure, Gohan, what is it?”

“I know this is a little bit of an odd question, but you’re good with romance, right? I mean, you’re married and all, and…” Gohan trails off and makes his way to the porch with Krillin following him. They both sit on the top steps, Gohan with his head in his hands and Krillin staring at him worriedly. “Well, to get straight to the point, do you know if Piccolo might be interested in anyone? Like, romantically?”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Gohan. It’s pretty hard to imagine that guy having the hots for someone. If anyone had a chance with him, it’d be you.”

“W-What?” Gohan shoots straight up. A glimmer of hope flashes in his chest. After two instances of it being insinuated that Piccolo isn’t interested in anyone at all, finally having someone tell him that he has a chance is reassuring… Not that it makes his anxiety about their age difference and everyone’s opinions any better. That’s a whole other can of worms that he has yet to open with himself, let alone with anyone else. “Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”

“Why would it be weird?” 

“The age difference!” Gohan exclaims with a blush.

“...You know you guys are only four years apart in age, right?”

“What!? But- but he was an adult when-”

“Namekians age differently, Gohan, he was only eight when he killed Raditz and took you.”

And that’s a whole lot of information that Gohan doesn’t know how to unpack. Neither of them speak for a moment as Gohan processes. He had always assumed that Piccolo was his father’s age if not older. 

“...I see,” Gohan murmurs after a moment and fidgets with his hands in his lap. “So, you think he likes me?”

“Well, I’m not sure about that for certain, but if anyone has a chance it’d be you.”

“But- but don’t you think it’s still weird? I mean, he was my teacher for so long and-”

“Gohan,” Krillin interrupts with a firm, reassuring hand placed on Gohan’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time since then, you’re an adult now. Do what your heart tells you to do and I’ll be behind you every step of the way, alright? Whether you tell Piccolo or you don’t tell Piccolo about your feelings, I’m here for you to talk to. You can come visit me any time- I know Eighteen and Marron would be happy to see more of you around here, too.”

Choked up with emotion, Gohan nods and manages to force out a reply.

“Yeah… Thank you. I’ll be sure to take you up on that.”

“Sounds good. You’ll be fine, okay? Now come inside, I’ll cook us something to eat.”

Gohan lets out a sigh of relief and follows the older man into Kame House, where Master Roshi is passed out on the couch and where Eighteen and Marron are sitting at the coffee table reading a book. Maybe Krillin is right about all of this… He’ll be just fine.

~~~~

Later that night, Gohan finds himself lounging on the living room couch of the Son residence with a pen and notepad in hand. The only light is that of the lamp on the nearby table. Normally, he’d be at his college dorm, but since summer break has started, he’s been staying with his parents to spend some more time with them and Goten.

It’s half past midnight when Gohan hears feet shuffling in the hallway. He hurriedly tucks the notepad (which is filled with a list of pros and cons of telling Piccolo his feelings) between two couch cushions and tries to make it look like he’s just relaxing. Goten is the one who comes into the room, though, and even at only twelve years old, he’s able to read Gohan better than both of their parents. 

“Gohan, what’s wrong?” Goten asks from the doorway, dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants.

“Oh, Goten, it’s nothing,” Gohan attempts to wave Goten off with a forced smile. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Goten insists. Then, he sits next to Gohan on the couch and looks at him with a concerned expression. “You’ve been acting off since your birthday and I’m really starting to get worried. I won’t tell Mom and Dad if it’s something that bad.”

“You promise?”

“Of course!” Goten agrees with a hurried nod and puts his hands in his lap to nervously wring them together just like Gohan is doing.

“Hm… Okay, well, I’ve fallen in love with someone, but I’m afraid to tell them. Other people seem to think this person loves me back, but I’m not so sure that they actually do.”

Of course, Goten being Goten, gets to the main point and asks the one question that Gohan doesn’t want to answer.

“Who is it?”

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but…” Gohan takes a deep breath to calm himself down before confessing the truth. He closes his eyes, almost scared to see Goten’s face contort with disappointment or judgment or whatever it is that he’s going to react with. “It’s Piccolo.”

“You’re in love with Mr. Piccolo!?” Goten shouts, to which Gohan pushes his shoulder and whisper-yells back.

“Goten! Lower your voice before Mom and Dad wake up and hear what we’re talking about.”

“Oh, right, okay,” Goten chuckles and lowers his voice to a whisper as well. “Sorry, Gohan!”

“It’s fine, I just… I don’t know what to do. If I tell him and he reciprocates, it’ll be worth it, but then if he doesn’t… It’ll ruin everything between us.”

“Well, yeah, I’ll give you that,” Goten says casually, as if Gohan’s entire world ending because of his feelings isn’t that big of a deal. Then again, Goten has always been like their father, dense about social cues and far too light-hearted about everything… But maybe that’s what he needs right now. “It’ll definitely be awkward if you spill the beans and he rejects you, but I think things being weird between you two for a bit is better than you sitting around miserable like this.”

“God, you’re right… I need to tell him. Okay, I’ll do it later today.”

“Great! You know, we should go catch a movie in the meantime. That twenty four hour theater in West City is still open,” Goten suggests.

Gohan quirks a brow.

“Are you sure we should go this late? Mom will be pissed if she finds out…”

“Eh, who cares? We’ll be back before she wakes up,” Goten argues and stands up to stretch his arms and legs.

“Fine, fine, we can go… You’re such a bad influence.”

~~~~~

The trip to the movie theater with Goten ended up turning into a shopping spree and sparring as well, resulting in them not returning to the Son home until roughly five in the morning. Thankfully, they were able to slip in without waking up either of their parents, with Goten practically collapsing on the couch to sleep upon their arrival. Gohan, unable to even think about sleeping, goes to the lookout to find Piccolo.

He has to deal with the awkwardness of greeting Dende and Mr. Popo, making small talk with them despite the odd time of day. He’d normally be there to visit Dende. This morning, however, is different. He manages to excuse himself to go sit in front of Piccolo’s door, but he can’t bring himself to actually knock on it for a bit. He wastes half an hour sitting in front of the damn thing.

It’s nearly six in the morning when Gohan musters the courage to knock on the door. He doesn’t know why he bothers doing that. He’s sure Piccolo must’ve sensed his intense ki coming from miles away, as he’s so emotional right now that he can’t make so much as an attempt at hiding it.

Apparently, he’s correct. The moment his fist comes into contact with the wood of the door, Piccolo opens it for him, almost as if he’s been waiting on the other side for Gohan to make his presence known.

The Namekian is as gorgeous as he was on Gohan’s birthday, and every other day, too; dressed in a large purple sweater and matching joggers. It’s different from the usual attire, but it makes sense that Piccolo is wearing it. He’s at home, after all, and was probably either asleep or just waking up when Gohan arrived. 

Gohan’s eyes trail up and down Piccolo’s body. It’s large, lean, and a hue of jade green that Gohan would drown himself in pools of if he could. Part of his mind shifts to more unsavory thoughts before he shuts it down and forces words out of his mouth.

“Piccolo, I need to talk to you.”

“Actually, Gohan, I need to talk to you first.”

Gohan freezes. He is standing in Piccolo’s doorway, feeling so very vulnerable. He shifts nervously and raises a hand to rub at his bicep. He can’t look Piccolo in the eye.

“O-Oh, um, okay, what is it?”

“I don’t know how to say this or where to even start, so I’m just going to come out with it. I heard you when you were at Bulma’s last week,” Piccolo admits. The sudden onslaught of emotion is so dizzying that Gohan has to grip onto the side of the doorway to keep himself standing up straight. So, Piccolo knows about his feelings, and Piccolo has known about his feelings for days now. Even worse, Piccolo knows that Gohan was running around probing their mutual friends for information about Piccolo’s love-life. “I was there training with Vegeta in his gravity chamber… I stayed behind when he said he was going to talk to Bulma about something, but as you know, my hearing is leagues above that of the average earthling, so-”

“You heard everything I said that day…?” Gohan asks just to be sure before he lets the well of tears building up in his eyes flow out.

Piccolo nods. Gohan manages to look up at him just long enough to see it and to see the purple blush that’s consumed Piccolo’s cheeks. 

“Precisely.”

“God, Piccolo, I’m so sorry. I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us…” Gohan apologizes and uses the sleeves of his shirt to wipe the tears from his eyes before they can pour down his cheeks. The crying doesn’t stop, though, so he has to keep wiping his eyes while Piccolo stands there awkwardly, probably waiting for an explanation that Gohan doesn’t know how to give.  “I- I know you don’t want me, you don’t have to say it. I should’ve just taken the hint when I first asked you about it and-”

Gohan can’t finish the sentence. A choked sob tears through his throat and takes him over so he’s sitting on the ground with his head in his hands and his knees pulled to his chest. Part of him expects Piccolo to slam the door shut and leave him there. The other part of him expects Piccolo to berate him, to call him disgusting for having such feelings for his former teacher, to tell him that he’s never had a chance and never will. What Gohan doesn’t expect is for Piccolo to get down on his knees, pull his hands away from his eyes, and force him to make eye contact.

“Of course I want you,” Piccolo swallows and lets out a heavy sigh- whether it’s from stress or relief, Gohan can’t tell. Gohan sniffles and cautiously stares at Piccolo’s face. As per usual, he’s unable to read the expression on it. Piccolo shakes his head and holds his arms out. Gohan, frantic, buries himself in them and cries even more when Piccolo picks him up and carries him inside. The door is shut behind them as Piccolo asks- “Why wouldn’t I want you?”

“It’s like you said, you’re not interested in earthlings, and you could do so much better-” Gohan starts to ramble again as Piccolo sets him down on his bed and sits down next to him.

“You’re all I could ever want, Gohan,” Piccolo effectively ends Gohan’s rambling with his reassuring words. Gohan stares at him, half-convinced that this is a dream. It must be, right? Because the way that Piccolo is so tenderly wrapping an arm over one shoulder and using his spare hand to wipe Gohan’s tears off of his face feels unreal. It can’t be real. “You’re not just an earthling- you’re Saiyan, too, and even if you were completely human… I misunderstood what you were saying when you asked me about it and thought you were going to try to set me up on a date with one of your friends or something. I don’t want anything to do with anyone if they’re not you, so I tried to throw you off by making it clear that I don’t want to date anyone on this planet. I was hoping you’d drop the subject, but I guess you’ve never given up that easily… Stubborn brat.”

“You really want me…? You don’t have to say stuff like that just to spare my feelings, Piccolo. Really, it’s okay, I can take rejection-”

“Gohan, if you don’t shut the hell up and come here right now I’m going to special-beam-cannon you into the next stratosphere.”

Gohan blinks. Then, in a rare moment of shared vulnerability, both of them laugh. Gohan listens to Piccolo’s words and falls into the older man’s arms, relief flooding him like hot water when those arms are wrapped around him. He buries his face in the crook between Piccolo’s neck and shoulder. 

“I know you’re gonna get agitated with me for this, but are you really sure you want me like this…? I just- I just need to hear it one more time,” Gohan says with a nervous chuckle, all of it muffled by Piccolo’s shirt.

“Of course I’m sure,” Piccolo responds, and though Gohan can’t see Piccolo’s face, he can feel the Namekian rolling his eyes from the way the air in the room changes just a tad. “Why don’t you stay here and get some rest? You look like you haven’t slept at all, and I haven’t either. We can talk more when we wake up.”

“I… I think I’d like that,” Gohan agrees and lays back on the mattress with Piccolo lying right next to him. “I love you.”

Gohan dares to glance at Piccolo, who is already staring back at him with that fondness in his gaze that Gohan has never seen him have for anyone else. Piccolo reaches out and pushes Gohan’s hair out of his face with the slightest hint of a smile.

“I love you, too.”

#piccohan #dbz piccolo #dbz piccohan #dbz gohan #son gohan #dbz son gohan #piccolo #fanfiction #oneshot #oneshots #fluff #drabble #drabbles #dbz krillin #dbz goten #krillin #goten #bulma #dbz bulma #vegeta #dbz vegeta #goku #dbz goku #son goku #dbz son goku

[sasaranomiya]

Koukyuu no Karasu Volume 2 Chapter 4 - The Sweetheart Incense (Part 1)

Happy Boxing Day guys. Here’s the first part of the final chapter. Some things play out differently compared to the anime, so look forward to it

Thanks to all the kind people who bought me a Ko-fi! 

Here’s my Ko-fi if anyone is feeling generous

Translation Notes

1. Handicapping in Go is a thing where the weaker player puts down handicap stones in order to give them more equal chances of winning (idk how this works since i know nothing about Go lol)

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“——A beast?”

“Yes, that’s what I heard.”

Jiujiu answered while combing Jusetsu’s hair. When she woke up in the morning, she heard birds chirping awfully loudly in the woods outside, so Jiujiu went out to see what was going on. The eunuchs of the rokuboushi—the agency directly supervised by the emperor that cracked down on crimes in the inner palace—were going this way and that with swords in their belts and tense expressions. Apparently, the body of a palace woman was found in the woods. It was surmised that she was attacked by a beast, based on her wounds.

“They say that her throat was torn out, so what if it was a wild dog, or a wolf…or a tiger?”

“I don’t know about the mountains, but I don’t believe there would be tigers in an area like this. I’ve never seen wild dogs in the inner palace, but are there some here?”

“I heard that wild dogs would sometimes come in here. Before, there was a eunuch who died after he got bitten by one. His wound got infected and he suffered terribly…”

Jiujiu’s face was pale as she trembled.

“Which palace was the deceased palace lady from?”

“It seems that they still don’t know yet. They’re in the process of asking around in each palace to see if there are any missing palace ladies.”

“…I wonder if that palace lady was trying to come here.”

Did she come to ask for a favor from the Raven Consort and was attacked by a beast?

Jiujiu was looking at Jusetsu’s face in the mirror.

“No, I think she must have been chased by the beast and ran all the way over there.”

She hurriedly said, as if trying to be considerate. Jusetsu stared into the mirror. Her clouded-over face was reflected in it. It was an unreliable and helpless face. She straightened her back and tried her best to make a hard expression. The mirror was octagonal with the back decorated with mother-of-pearl. Green turban shells, amber, tortoiseshell, and lapis lazuli were used to depict flowers and birds. Tracing the edge of the mirror with pale fingers, Jusetsu narrowed her eyes at her own face. Not her face, but her hair.

“Is my hair still fine?”

“It’s fine. It’s beautiful black hair.”

She was checking to see if the color had faded from her dyed hair. Jiujiu didn’t know Jusetsu’s circumstances, but she didn’t try to inquire too deeply. Since the decree to capture and kill members of the Ran clan had been abolished by Koushun, Jusetsu would no longer be killed if it was discovered that she was a member of the Ran clan. But that didn’t make her want to return to her original silver hair. It was obvious that it would be troublesome if she did.

However, the fear of death that had been whittling away at her body was now gone. This was brought about by Koushun’s efforts to save Jusetsu, even if only a little. She no longer woke up every morning with the leaden despair of having to survive through another day. Her heart was just a little lighter and warmer.

“I’m going to go out wearing a eunuch’s uniform today.”

“Yes, Niangniang,” Jiujiu said and began to tie her hair up instead of the two rings. “Are you really going to go out?” she asked worriedly. “Even though there might be wild dogs out there?”

“Those are most likely active at night. The palace lady was also attacked at night. Besides, we can’t go out at all if you keep talking like that.”

“Aren’t there a lot of days when you don’t go out? Why do you have to go out only at a time like this?”

“I don’t know when that Winter Minister will retire.”

She was about to visit Setsu Gyoei. She had already learned the hard way that going out in a palanquin was too ostentatious. But it would also be too conspicuous to go out in her consort’s garb. It would have been best to disguise herself as a civil servant, but with Jusetsu’s appearance, even if she dressed in men’s clothing she would only look like a boy before his coming-of-age ceremony. That was why she decided to dress up as a eunuch.

“And, you’re only going to take Onkei with you, aren’t you?”

Jiujiu was miffed.

“Weren’t you the one worried about wild dogs?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, then it’s dangerous for you too, Niangniang. …I can’t ask you to take me with you because I don’t want to be a burden on you if something happens, though.”

She said sulkily, pouting. As she was talking, her hands were quickly tying her hair up into a topknot. Behind them, Xingxing was meekly closing its wings. That was rare. It always rampaged around whenever Jusetsu was about to leave the palace. It didn’t even try to go out of the curtains, but simply listening to what was going on around it, as though afraid of outside enemies.

When she stepped outside in the pale-gray eunuch robes, she could still hear birds chirping and flapping their wings impatiently restlessly from the woods.

“…Do they still not know which palace that palace lady was from?” she asked Onkei, who was accompanying her.

“No, they know now. She was from Jakusou Palace,” he replied.

Jakusou Palace, huh, Jusetsu murmured. That palace had been weighing on her mind for a while now.

“Was she trying to come to Yamei Palace?”

“It’s still unknown.”

Since she was a palace lady, Jusetsu recalled the woman who had visited before. The palace lady who begged her to bring the dead back to life. The scent of sweetheart incense clung to her. Her face was covered with a veil of thin silk, so she couldn’t tell, but what was the color of her ruqun? In the first place, that palace lady——.

“…”

Jusetsu, who was pondering this while walking, turned to Onkei.

“Does that palace lady not normally use sweetheart incense?”

Onkei looked puzzled. “I’m not sure about that. The smell of blood was too strong last night, so I wouldn’t——” he then quickly closed his mouth. But it was too late.

“Onkei, were you the one who found the body?”

It wasn’t surprising if you thought about it. He was Yamei Palace’s guard, after all.

“…Yes,” The look on his face that said, oh no, affirmed it. “I found her while making my rounds.”

“You should have come to me with that news.”

“It is not something you should hear about, Niangniang. It was a horrible-looking corpse, after all.”

“Is it true that her throat was ripped out?”

Onkei frowned. “Who heard of such a thing?”

“Jiujiu found out about it.”

When she said that, Onkei looked troubled. “That girl is a bit too curious. She isn’t a bad girl, though.”

“Then it’s fine as long as she isn’t a bad girl.” Onkei laughed a little. He was surprisingly expressive once he got used to someone.

“I heard that it was the work of a beast, but what of it?”

“From the wound, it is unmistakable that her throat was torn out with teeth. However…” Onkei hesitated. “It didn’t look like the fangs of a beast like a wild dog or wolf.”

“You mean a beast without fangs? Would such a beast attack people?”

“Even monkeys have fangs. Or——”

Onkei stopped speaking as if he was afraid to voice his thoughts. Jusetsu stroked her lips. Humans also have canines.

It can’t be possible, she thought.

“There was one more suspicious thing. There was a lot of blood around the body, but not much from the wound on her neck.”

Jusetsu put her finger on her chin and thought for a moment.

“…So, you mean that she died somewhere else and was brought over there?”

“Perhaps so. If that’s the case, a closer look will reveal traces. It was too dark last night to tell.”

Were the eunuchs walking around in the woods because they were investigating that?

“In any case, please refrain from going out alone, Niangniang.”

“Jiujiu wouldn’t allow that anyways.”

Onkei’s expression relaxed. “Indeed, Niangniang.”

Please listen to that girl, he said.

Somehow, she felt that Onkei had become as fussy as Jiujiu.

When they arrived at Seiu Temple, there was already a visitor there. It was Koushun. There was a table set up in the outer corridor, and he was playing Go with Gyoei. Judging from the fact that the board was made of rosewood with inlays on the sides, and that the Go pieces were colored red and navy blue with flowers and birds, this board was brought by Koushun. It was still before noon, but it was rare for him to be in a place like this.

“Unusually, court council ended early today, so I came here.” Koushun read the look on Jusetsu’s face and answered before she could ask. Jusetsu peered at the board.

“Is Gyoei holding back?”

Gyoei, who was playing with the navy blue stones, was in an inferior position.

“No, no, by no means. His Majesty is very strong.”

Gyoei seemed to be speaking his true thoughts. He groaned as he stroked his beard.

“I’ve been taught by Eitoku since I was a child.”

“Ah, Prime Minister Un has defeated a Go master once.”

Jusetsu sat down on a chair brought over by an acolyte and loosened the collar of her robe. The outer corridor was shaded and cool, but she was sweaty from walking so far.

“I’ll have to give up the game for lost. How about you play a game, Lady Raven Consort?”

Jusetsu glanced at the board and frowned. “I am no match for him.”

“Ho. Are you not skilled at Go?”

“I was taught by Reijou, but I never won. Going easy on someone was a foreign concept to her.”

“I had played against her frequently, but she always gave it her all, didn’t she?”

Gyoei narrowed his eyes in nostalgia. He seemed to be seeing Reijou on the other side of Jusetsu’s face.

“Which one of you was stronger?”

“Well now. I believe I won 123 games, lost 105, and tied 15 games.”

He remembers it well, Jusetsu thought as she stared at Gyoei’s face. He stroked his beard and averted his gaze. He turned back to the board, picked up a blue stone, and placed it back in the Go bowl. One by one, carefully. His profile stated that he refused to talk about Reijou any further. Jusetsu could tell that for him, Reijou was someone that brought both nostalgia and pain.

“…You say you want to retire, but what are you going to do after you leave? Are you going to return to your hometown?”

Gyoei was single and didn’t have a residence outside the imperial palace. She wondered if he had a place to go after he left here.

“My younger brother runs a business in town. He is an oil merchant. I’m going to be staying with him. Well, I’m sure even a senile old man like me would be of some use to him.”

He said easily and held out the bowl of Go stones to Jusetsu.

“Lady Raven Consort, how about you put down some stones and then play? Yes, just five stones. Then, wouldn’t you be able to match against His Majesty?” (1)

He was talking about placing stones on the board in advance and having Koushun go easy on her.

“I refuse,” she said sullenly, and Gyoei laughed.

“I suppose you inherited that competitive spirit from Lady Reijou.”

He put his hands on the table and slowly stood up. “I’m a little tired as well, since I haven’t played against His Majesty in a while. Please allow me to take a break for today.”

Pushing the bowl into Jusetsu’s hands, Gyoei returned to his room from the outer corridor. He then walked out of it, accompanied by an acolyte. Jusetsu glared at the bowl and reluctantly sat down across from Koushun.

“I don’t mind if you put down five or nine stones,” Koushun said, his tone relaxed, and Jusetsu furrowed her brow.

“I have no need for you to hold back on me.”

“Is that so. Then let us have an even game.”

That meant that no stones would be placed as a handicap. Jusetsu furrowed her brow even more.

“…Just three…I’ll only place three stones…”

Koushun laughed at Jusetsu’s frustration. “That’s fine. Do as you like.”

――The result was, of course, that she couldn’t win with only three handicap stones, and it still wasn’t any good when she put down five stones for the next game. Koushun’s nonchalant air was hateful to her.

“You give up too quickly,” Koushun criticized every move played by Jusetsu. “You immediately give up as soon as you’re at a disadvantage. You have to persist more.”

“What’s the use of having persistence for something like this?”

“You’re bitter when you lose.”

“Be quiet.”

They returned their stones to their bowls for another game. Jusetsu quickly put them in, but Koushun put his in slowly, one by one. Just as he put away his stoned and took one in his hand, Ei Sei rounded the corner of the outer corridor with two or three eunuchs behind him.

“Dajia, it’s time for you to return.”

“Ah, is it already time?”

Koushun put the stone back into the bowl and put the lid back on it, then stood up. He was quitting while he was ahead. He looked down at Jusetsu. “If you want to play some more, I’ll play with you again,” he said.

“I will never play you again.”

“Then, play with Ei Sei,” Koushun looked at Ei Sei. His face said, “I have no choice if that’s an order, but I refuse,” so Jusetsu also said “No.” When she refused, Ei Sei looked dissatisfied. What was she supposed to do here?

The eunuchs put the Go board into a wooden casket. It was a beautiful container inlaid with colored ivory. Giving it a sidelong glance, Jusetsu asked Koushun a question.

“…Do you know about the palace lady who died near Yamei Palace?”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Koushun nodded. “The eunuchs are hunting for the beast in the inner palace right now. You shouldn’t wander around outside too long either.”

“I heard that the palace lady was from Jakusou Palace.”

“She was,” he said, then turned to Jusetsu. “Was she someone you knew?”

“No…”

Even if the dead palace lady was the woman from that night, there was nothing Jusetsu could do. However…

“If you learn her name, let me know. I’ll burn a silk feather for her. She’ll be able to cross the sea without getting lost.”

Silk feathers were bird feathers made of paper. They were used for mourning. Koushun looked at Ei Sei. “Her name was Jo Sei,” Ei Sei replied. She asked him the characters for her name and kept them in mind.

“Did Jo Sei use sweetheart incense?”

She asked him, and received a curt answer. “I don’t know.”

“Sweetheart incense? Isn’t that the incense burned for a loved one? It smells like lilies.”

Jusetsu was surprised that Koushun knew that.

“You know about such things well.”

“I’ve heard about it before. The Magpie Consort scents her clothing with that incense.”

“——What?”

The Magpie Consort scents her clothing with that incense?

No, perhaps it wasn’t so strange for a consort to scent her clothing with sweetheart incense for the emperor. However, Jusetsu felt strangely uneasy. It was as if the sense of uneasiness was creeping up on her with a shadow on its back.

“…I heard that the Magpie Consort is unwell. Is that still the case? I remember that you went to visit her before.”

“She isn’t getting better. I’ve often sent envoys to see her when I couldn’t visit her myself, but apparently, she is confined to bed.”

He looks after his consorts more conscientiously than I expected, she thought briefly, but she was more concerned about the Magpie Consort’s condition.

“Is it a long illness?”

“It isn’t an illness. No, perhaps it can be considered an illness. She’s too depressed to eat or sleep properly.”

“Is that not—very serious?”

Sleeping and eating were foundations of life.

“It is a serious issue. The consort’s family member died recently. She has been like this since.”

“Died?”

“Yes. Her older brother. I heard that he was healthy, but he fell off his horse and was injured in a bad spot.”

“…”

The dead and the sweetheart incense. Jusetsu recalled the woman from that night who requested the resurrection of the dead.

“If she does not recover soon, I will send her back to her parents’ house to recuperate. The Kin clan—ah, the Magpie Consort’s name is Kin Keiyou, and her father’s name is Koukei. He’s the assistant minister of the Palace Secretariat. As a member of the cold faction, I had wanted to welcome his daughter as a consort.”

“Cold faction?”

“To put it frankly, they are a clan with no connection to the Un clan.”

He really did say that in a surprisingly frank manner. In other words, he wanted to use the Kin clan as a check on the Un clan.

“It would be better to return her to her parents than let her die unnecessarily in the inner palace.”

She said, and Koushun started to walk down the corridor. Jusetsu walked next to him. Behind them, the eunuchs followed, reverently carrying the wooden casket. When they reached the temple, Gyoei was waiting for them along with the acolytes to see them off.

“Take care on your way back.”

He spoke a set phrase and bowed.

“Take care of yourself as well. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Koushun admonished, and Gyoei let out a light laugh. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll be careful.”

Koushun was about to head towards the palanquin when he turned to Jusetsu like he just remembered something.

“You…” He took a look at Jusetsu’s sash. “You aren’t wearing that thing?”

He seemed to be trying to be ambiguous by using “that thing,” but Jusetsu and Koushun both understood what he was referring to. The glass fish figurine. Jusetsu looked at his waist. His transparent glass fish figurine was hanging from his sash. Jusetsu’s was still tucked away in her cabinet.

“Did you not like it?”

“That’s not the case.”

Koushun fell silent. He was expressionless, but somehow, he looked sad. Jusetsu couldn’t stand it any longer and quietly continued.

“…It would be troublesome if I lost it…”

Koushun was silent for a moment and looked at Jusetsu.

“I see. Then I’ll make something you don’t have to worry about losing.”

“What——”

“A wood carving can be recreated right away even if it’s lost. In that case, I suppose a flower would be better than a fish.”

He seemed to have remembered that Jusetsu had wanted a rose as a wood carving before.

“I don’t need it.”

Jusetsu turned him down, but Koushun was unmoved, saying, “There’s no need to be reserved.” Before Jusetsu could say anything more, he got into his palanquin and left the gate. As they exited, Ei Sei looked at her for a moment, then quickly looked away.

“Lady Raven Consort.” As Jusetsu watched the procession leave, Gyoei called out to her. When she turned around, she saw that the acolytes were gone, and only Gyoei was by her side. Onkei was standing off to the side.

“Pity and love are two different things. Do you understand that?”

Jusetsu’s brow furrowed at those sudden words. “What are you talking about?”

“I hope you will remain ignorant of the words I’m speaking. Though I suppose it would be of no use to tell you not to get any closer to His Majesty.”

“Tell that to Koushun. He is always visiting me as he pleases.”

“Because His Majesty is a compassionate man. Do not forget—‘The Raven Consort must not desire anything.’”

She was frequently told this by Reijou herself, not to mention Gyoei.

“I know.”

“Desire breeds suffering. When you are consumed by it—that is when a monster will be born from within you.”

Her breath caught. A monster.

A monster in Niangniang’s eyes…

She recalled Ishiha’s words.

Taking no notice of the frozen Jusetsu, Gyoei bowed and turned on his heel.

“Whenever you feel lost, please remember my words.”

After a few final words that sounded like a farewell, Gyoei returned to the temple. When Jusetsu came back to herself and tried to follow him, he was already gone. She was left alone, feeling like she had been thrown into the air. ——No, she wasn’t alone. Onkei had walked up to her without making a single sound.

“Shall a palanquin be prepared for you, Niangniang? You look pale.”

No, Jusetsu shook her head. “I’m fine. I can walk back.”

It was easier to not think about things when you were moving your legs. Jusetsu headed for the gate. She glanced at Onkei.

“I’m glad that you are here.”

When she let slip her true feelings, Onkei only gave a small smile.

After returning to Yamei Palace, Jusetsu asked Onkei for a favor.

“I want you to look around inside Jakusou Palace. Especially the Magpie Consort’s condition.”

Onkei immediately left the palace. He was a shrewd and careful man, so he would probably return with information after a while.

Jusetsu entered the palace and called out for Jiujiu.

“Before, the palace lady dropped a piece of thin silk when she left. Bring it out.”

Jiujiu brought the silk from another room. Jusetsu brought her face to it. It still had the scent of sweetheart incense on it. She unfolded it and felt its texture. The material was remarkably light, and it laid smoothly against her skin. It was carefully woven with the finest raw silk threads.

“I’ve had the same thought when I touched it for the first time, but this is too high quality to belong to a palace lady.”

“Now that you mention it, it is.”

But there are also wealthy palace ladies, Jiujiu added.

Jusetsu thought back to the woman on that night. She was dressed in a palace lady’s uniform and covered her head with this silk. And from the moment she entered to when she left, she never once bowed to the Raven Consort.

Not even once.

Was it because she was too distraught? However, would a palace lady, who had etiquette training drummed into her, not even bow to a consort when she came to ask her for the desperate favor of resurrection, all because of her emotions at that time?

“What’s wrong, Niangniang?”

Jiujiu asked, seeing her grip the silk with a difficult look on her face.

“…It’s nothing.”

Jusetsu told Jiujiu to put away the silk, and then went to her cabinet to take out the inkstone and an inkstick. She also prepared some pieces of colored hemp paper in the shape of a bird feather. This was a silk feather. In the past, they were made of cotton cloth, and in even older times, they were made of bark fiber. That was how long they had been used in mourning. After grinding ink and picking up a brush, she wrote “Jo Sei” on a piece of paper. It was the name of the dead palace lady.

Jusetsu took a flower-shaped silver plate with legs with her and went outside. She went down the steps and placed the plate on the stones. Her hand went up to her hair and she realized that she wasn’t wearing her peonies because she was dressed as a eunuch. She turned her palm up and held it out in front of her, and a pale pink color shimmered. Petals formed one by one, and in an instant, it became a peony. Jusetsu clamped the flower between her hands and blew on it. When she let go, small pink fragments fell onto the plate and turned into a pale flame.

The colored paper with the name written on it was burned in the fire. A feather-shaped piece of paper with no writing on it was also thrown into the fire in the same way. The paper burned quietly. Jusetsu held her hand out over it. The pale red flame rose up and coiled around her fingers. The flame wasn’t hot. It was faintly warm. She gathered the flame in her hand, squeezed it tightly, and opened her hand. A small bird flew out of her hand. A small bird that was translucent, light red, and sometimes flickered like flames.

The bird flapped its wings high and fast, crossed the woods, and eventually disappeared from sight. It would lead the soul of the dead palace lady to the other side of the sea. As long as she hadn’t become a ghost.

When she returned to the palace with the silver plate in hand, she found Jiujiu cleaning the table.

“Did you burn the silk feathers?” Jiujiu said, the colored paper in her hands. “For mourning the dead palace lady?”

People, not just the Raven Consort, burned silk feathers for mourning. The practice of turning the flame into a bird that would lead the soul was something only the Raven Consort could do, though.

“Shall I change your clothes, then, Niangniang?”

Jiujiu opened the curtains. Jusetsu pinched the robe between her fingers.

“It’s much more comfortable, though, this outfit.”

A eunuch’s uniform was very easy to walk around in. However, Jiujiu scolded her. “You mustn’t.”

“You look lovely in those clothes, dressed like a man, but I think you look best in ruqun.”

“Is that so? …I see.” Jiujiu said that with such force that Jusetsu had to obey. It was better not to go against Jiujiu in situations like these.

As she changed behind the curtains, Ishiha, holding Xingxing in his arms, came in. It seemed that he had been giving it a dust bath.

“You haven’t gone to the woods, have you?”

The beast that killed the palace lady hadn’t been found yet. “No, Niangniang,” Ishiha replied.

“I was behind the palace. Xingxing doesn’t want to go to the woods either.”

“Hmm…?”

Jusetsu gazed at Xingxing, who was faintly visible through the curtains. This mystical bird had been docile lately.

When she finished changing and stepped out from the curtains, Ishiha was kneeling and looking down.

“Is there something the matter?” she asked him. “No, Niangniang,” he responded, his face was slightly red.

“You were in the middle of changing, so he couldn’t raise his face,” Jiujiu said.

“Oh, so that’s it?” Jusetsu said, and got an exasperated face in return.

“Niangniang, you need to learn to have a little more shyness.”

Shyness, Jusetsu murmured. She had enough discretion to change behind the curtains, though.

As the people around her increased, there were more new things to learn. Rather than it being troublesome, it was interesting to learn new things.

“There’s no need to feel shy in front of us servants, but it would be a problem for His Majesty. Niangniang, you used to change clothes without hesitation even when His Majesty is present.”

“I did? I don’t remember.”

Really, Niangniang, Jiujiu grumbled. That was when Onkei entered from the kitchen. Kougyou was behind him as well.

“That was quick, Onkei.”

Onkei bowed to Jusetsu. The movements were brisk and beautiful, as one would expect from a subordinate of Ei Sei.

“As ordered, I have been investigating the people around the Magpie Consort. I am still in the process of doing so, but I want to give you a brief report.”

Mm, Jusetsu prompted him to continue.

“For the past few months, the Magpie Consort has been laid up in bed. It is said that she is depressed because her older brother died suddenly. Now, she only has a few attendants to take care of her, and no palace ladies or eunuchs are allowed to approach her. However…”

Onkei closed his mouth like he had changed his mind.

“What is it?”

“Apparently, she has taken a liking to one eunuch and only keeps him close by her side. They say she has breakdowns when he leaves her.”

“That’s…”

Even for a favorite eunuch, it was somewhat bizarre.

“He is a chi’er who has recently entered the inner palace. He is around twenty years old. I couldn’t exchange words with him, but I’ve been able to confirm his face.”

Onkei turned to Kougyou behind him. Kougyou held out the paper she was holding.

“I described his features and asked her to draw his likeness,” Onkei said and showed Jusetsu the paper. “His name is Hou Shougetsu.”

When she saw the portrait, Jusetsu felt like she had been punched in the chest.

This face.

Long black hair and a beautiful face that no one could ever forget once they saw it.

Owl.

It was the face of the young man she had seen that night when Wulian Niangniang roamed around outside. The one who made her feel a trembling fear from the bottom of her heart.

Jusetsu recalled feeling the same fear at the Jakusou Palace pond. Was that because this man was in the palace?

“Do you know this face?”

Jusetsu couldn’t respond when asked by Onkei. She barely managed a slight nod. Onkei’s eyes sharpened.

“…After the arrival of this person, the Magpie Consort began to keep the people around her at a distance more and more. And sometimes there are strange noises coming from inside her room.”

“Strange noises?”

“Like something is being slurped…and moaning sounds as well.”

Before she knew it, Jusetsu was clasping her hands together. She didn’t know what this all meant, but she had a very bad feeling about it.

“I think there is something going on with Shougetsu and the Magpie Consort. I’m going to look into them a little bit now.”

After saying only that, Onkei bowed and made to leave.

“Wait.”

She called out without thinking. She was confused at that. She didn’t know what she was about to say. She was just thinking that she had to stop him.

Onkei was waiting for Jusetsu’s words.

“No…’tis nothing. Just, don’t pursue it too far.”

“Understood.”

Just as he had done when he came to the palace, Onkei left without making a sound. Jusetsu looked again at the portrait left behind and swallowed. What was this inexpressible uneasiness?

――The sun set, but Onkei didn’t return.

Previous | Index | Next

#koukyuu no karasu #koukyuu no karasu 2 #shirakawa kouko #translations

[pixeldolly]

Walden BACC #989

The impossible creature wafted up from inside the lamp, a purple-skinned man wearing an ornate tunic and turban. Half his body was invisible (or missing!), obscured by a cloud of smoke which tethered him to his refuge - or, perhaps, prison. It gave off a cloyingly sweet smell, like incense and the dust of ages.

Kate stared, mesmerized.

Genie: “A new hand touches the lamp. Speak your wishes and begone, mortal!”

Kate: “Fascinating!...”

For most of her life, Kate would have scoffed at the idea that vampires, spirits, witches and other such ghoulies were anything more than figments of people’s imagination. Moving to Walden had forced her to reassess those beliefs - there was no denying the empirical evidence present before her very eyes, evidence which seemed to be multiplying worldwide in recent years.

She also knew that some still refused to accept there was anything supernatural at work - attempts had been made to quantify non-baseline humans using the scientific method, finding everyday classifications for the unclassifiable. Was vampirism a virus, was lycanthropy a mutation? And so on.

Kate enjoyed this line of thinking, and she’d just been given a chance to conduct a little study of her own. Carefully, of course.

Kate: “Explain to me how this works, then: I make a wish, and you grant it? Just like that? Are there any wishes you won’t fulfil? ‘Can’t make someone fall in love with you, or bring someone back from the dead’, like in the stories?”

The Genie - if that’s what it was - regarded her with amused contempt.

Genie: “You ask many questions, mortal. It is in my power to grant anything your heart desires.”

Kate: “I find it very interesting that a being claiming to be practically omnipotent is bound to a lamp and forced to cater to the whims of whoever gets a hold of it. What’s the catch?”

The purple lips twitched almost imperceptibly, but Kate caught it. So, there was a catch. He was trying to trick her.

Genie: “Most mortals have already made their first wish by this point. I know you have secret wishes: your metal man made flesh and blood, perhaps? To touch and to hold and be desired in turn?”

Watcher’s sake, did everyone read minds?!

Kate: “Not right now, thanks. Back inside you go!”

More data was needed.

Having stored the lamp safely inside the shed, Kate found that she couldn’t get the Genie’s words out of her head. Sure, she had occasionally pictured what it would be like if AIOS were a living man - who wouldn’t in her shoes? - but it was just idle fantasising. 

I love AIOS just the way he is!

As the door clicked shut behind her, she imagined that she heard a low, derisive chuckle coming from somewhere inside.

#sims 2 #the sims 2 #sims2 #ts2 #sims 2 pictures #sims 2 gameplay #sims 2 bacc #bacc: walden #kate murray

[poly-outatime]

I have a fanfic, guys, about this❤️🕌

Princess birthday

The throne room of Agrabah's palace was full. How many guests came to the celebration in honor of the birthday of the princess. Everyone was dressed in their best outfits, and the walls, ceiling, floor were decorated with peacock feathers, thousands of gold jewelry, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds. Although Aladdin was dressed in clothes that fit perfectly into the surrounding atmosphere, he still felt like a stranger at this advent of luxury and chic. But all his feelings were hidden under the mask of truly royal clothes, masterfully created by palace seamstresses ... and a little bit of a genie. And Aladdin was also wearing a mask, because the evening ball was conceived as a masquerade. No one knew for sure who was standing in front of him - and this could not but please the former street urchin. After all, if people from the top found out who really became the princess's fiance, they would faint. But on the other hand, Aladdin was worried whether he would overlook Jasmine. She wasn't going to enter the hall to fanfare and fireworks, he knew that well.

To be honest, in his heart Aladdin couldn't wait to steal Jasmine from this ball. Away from these pompous viziers, guests from other cities, retire to the garden or just run through the corridors of the palace so that no one finds them.

A man came up to him and elbowed him in the shoulder.

"Ps, Al," said the masked Genie. - how is the situation on the combat front?

- Nothing yet. I don't see Jasmine....or maybe she decided not to come at all? She doesn't like such lush ones... festivities

- I don't think you celebrate your sixteenth birthday every day - Jeanie suddenly smiled broadly. - I see the goal

- Already? Where? - Aladdin looked around. In the confusion, a feather from his turban fell over his eyes.

Without a word, Genie took his head in his hands and turned it in the right direction.

And Aladdin's jaw dropped. Princess Jasmine could not help but stand out in the crowd with her magnificent dress, like silk peacock feathers, graceful gait and dark thick hair that was gathered high.

Genie pushed him forward, straightening his pen as he went.

- Go ahead, baby!)))))

Aladdin went to Jasmine.

- Can I ask you to dance? he held out his hand to her, pretending not to recognize her.

The princess looked at him...and she smiled without betraying her happiness in any way.

She took his hand, and they both began to spin in a slow dance.

The people around them began to part and murmur softly. Aladdin heard the phrases: who is this young man? - he dared to dance with the princess!

Jasmine advanced towards him, resting her chin on his shoulder and hugging his shoulders.

- I recognized you, Aladdin

- Really? he smiled. - how so?

- You have a special look, my prince - she laughed softly, tickling Aladdin's ear. - and you? Did you recognize me?

- How not to recognize Her Majesty, Princess Jasmine.

"Is it because I'm dressed up like a mummified peacock?"

- Partly yes

They stopped when the music stopped and everyone started applauding.

- It seems we haven't been found out yet, - Aladdin whispered in Jasmine's ear. - can we escape from here?

- To be honest, I wanted to offer you the same

Aladdin took her hand and quietly slipped through the crowd. They went out into the corridor, shushing each other, trying not to laugh. They took off their masks, without much ceremony with them, leaving them on the floor at the door to the hall. Holding hands, they ran down the corridor and when they finally ran through enough rooms, they laughed at the top of their voices. On the run, both Aladdin's turban and Jasmine's tiara flew off. The young man took off his bulky cloak and picked up the princess in his arms. Jasmine's hair had escaped from her hairstyle and was now cascading softly down her shoulders and back in a black cascade. Her long diamond-encrusted skirt and shoulder pad stuffed with peacock feathers flew off after the hairpins in her hair. They remained in light clothes, and ran through the corridors, running from the upper floor to the lower. A couple of times, when the guards showed up ahead, Aladdin changed course, and Jasmine flashed her tongue at the guards' backs. They ran out into the courtyard and got lost in a grove of quartz columns. As soon as Aladdin noticed the edge of Jasmine's pants, he was immediately tapped on the shoulder with soft fingers. He turned around, and purple trousers flashed ahead again, and golden grandmothers sparkled behind the column. Jasmine climbed on the edges of the fountain and whirled on the move, and then fell into the arms of her lover, who pressed her to him and straightened her black curls.

Finally, the lovers decided to take a walk in the garden. You could hear the water splashing in the fountain, the night birds chirping, and the leaves rustling under a light breeze of warm air. Aladdin and Jasmine found a secluded corner at the far end of the garden, sat down under an apricot tree, hugging each other.

- How beautiful the sky is at this time, - Jasmine was lying on Aladdin's chest, while he, leaning back against the trunk of a tree, stroked her head. She was looking at the sky, strewn with stars, in the zenith of which the moon shone.

- yes... - Aladdin was too happy to be distracted from his beloved. He kissed the top of her head and whispered. - can you imagine what a commotion is going on in the palace right now?

- Yes.... - Jasmine closed her eyes, smiling. - everyone is looking for the missing princess...they ask the guards if they have seen her...

and she is lying in the garden...together with a simple young man from the bazaar...

- And she feels good...even better than among the luxurious walls of the palace and diamond jewelry...

- And it's good for him too...beside her, in silence .....

Jasmine chuckled softly.

- Thank you that I have you...I love you

- And I love you. My princess

I couldn't decide on a dress for Jasmine. So keep both options!

#aladdin and jasmine #lovers

[larkawolfgirl]

Being Honest (Gohan, Piccolo)

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Dragon Ball Relationships: Piccolo & Son Gohan, Piccolo/Son Gohan Characters: Son Gohan, Piccolo (Dragon Ball), Dende (Dragon Ball) Additional Tags: Queerplatonic Relationships, Heart-to-Heart, Confessions

Summary: Sequel to Honest Feelings. Gohan tells Piccolo what he realized. 

(I have a third installment planned but we’ll see if I ever actually write it)

Read on ao3

Gohan felt a lot lighter after discussing Piccolo with Videl. He wanted to get the rest of his feelings off his chest by telling Piccolo himself, but he was still nervous to do so. He didn’t want this to change things. At least, not change things for the worse.

He tried to push his concerns aside by telling himself that Piccolo’s worst reaction would probably be confusion. It isn’t like Gohan had ever asked him or Dende about Namekian romance and sexuality, but he wouldn’t be surprised if neither existed on Namek. Piccolo probably didn’t see him as anything other than a godson.

As long as Piccolo wasn’t repulsed for some reason, Gohan would be happy with the outcome. It wasn’t like he was telling him to gain anything in the first place.

He landed at the lookout to find Dende watering the flowers. He could sense Piccolo’s energy but couldn’t see him, so he was probably inside.

“Hey, Dende,” he greeted with a wave.

Dende looked up from the flowerbed. “Oh, hi, Gohan. It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you. I know I should catch up, but I actually wanted to talk to Piccolo about something serious first.”

“Oh. He’s inside meditating.”

“Thanks.”

It didn’t take him long to spot Piccolo inside the entrance hall. The Namekian was deep in concentration. Gohan took a moment to really look at him. He was wearing his normal white turban, cape, and purple pants. Together with his green skin It gave him an exotic look. His facial muscles were defined, and often he looked intimidating, right now his face was smoothed out. It was the closet the man would ever be to the sleeping state which meant this was also his most vulnerable. Gohan was sure Piccolo had already sensed his energy. Gohan already knew that he trusted him, but this reminder brought a smile to his face.

“Hi, Piccolo, can we talk?”

Piccolo opened one eye. “Speak.”

Gohan fidgeted, then decided to sit down cross-legged across from him. "Video made me think about a few things that I want to talk to you about."

Realizing this wasn't a trivial visit, Piccolo opened his other eye. The rest of his stance was unmoving. "What is this about?"

"Well, you know that you are like family to me.”

Piccolo lifted his forehead muscles. “Yes, I do. Did you come all this way just to tell me that?”

“No,” Gohan said, floundering with how best to express himself in a Not-Weird-Way. “Videl is also my family.”

Piccolo looked a bit impatient. “I assumed so when you decided to marry her.”

“What I’m trying to say is that my familiar feelings for you are closer to the ones I have for her than they are the ones I have for my dad.”

Piccolo nodded, clearly processing his words. “We are both your found families, so that makes sense.”

Gohan shook his head. “That’s true, but it’s more than that. I love you, Piccolo.”

Piccolo’s reaction was full-body. His arms rose up and his face took on a slight pink color. “What?”

Gohan put his hands out placatingly. “Sorry, no, that sounded wrong in this context. Well, not wrong exactly, but…” Piccolo didn’t look any less agitated. “What I’m trying to say is that I love you more than a friend or even an uncle. But I’m not saying that I love you like that . At least I don’t think I do.”

Piccolo relaxed, hands falling into his lap. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” Gohan said quickly. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted anything. Videl just thought it would be good for me to be honest. Besides, I had no idea if you maybe had something you wanted to get off your chest as well.”

Piccolo thought for a moment. “We do not have very complex relationships on Namek.”

Gohan smiled. “I wondered if that was the case. That’s perfectly fine. If you aren’t sure what you feel, I totally get it. I just wanted you to know and that it’s okay if you do. With me and with Videl.”

Piccolo’s face tensed. “How did Videl take this?”

Gohan scratched his cheek. “Believe it or not, but she’s the one that made me realize. She trusts me and seems to not really care if this does change something.” It took less than a second for him to realize how that sounded. “I don’t mean that in a weird way! Just in case we get a bit closer, if that makes sense.”

Piccolo was silent for a long time. Gohan was just about to ramble more when he finally spoke up. “You were such a weak kid when I first met you. Kind-hearted and a crybaby. I tried to beat that out of you since I thought it would get you killed one day. But now I see that your gentler qualities are what really gives you life.”

“Piccolo…”

Piccolo clamped his hand down on his shoulder. It was a simple touch, one that he had done many times over the years, but right now it felt more meaningful, and Gohan could feel emotions swirling in his chest.

“Back then I did think of you as a son. I was so proud of your fighting progress and accomplishments. I still want to protect you and watch over how you grow and succeed, but I suppose you are right that there is more to the feelings I have. I am not sure what they are, though.”

Gohan laughed. “I don’t either. I, uh, don’t dislike you touching me, though.” He could feel his face heating at that confession. He knew that anyone else would probably take that the wrong way.

Piccolo squeezed his shoulder. “I don’t either.”

Gohan nodded, taking in a breath. “Okay! We’ll be family that occasionally touches, then.”

Piccolo gave a short, huffed laugh. “I suppose that works. For now at least.”

Gohan rubbed the back of his head. “To be honest, I was a bit nervous to tell you.”

Piccolo dropped his hand. “Why’s that?”

“I thought you might find it too weird or find me gross or something.”

The Namekian snorted. “Humans may have concerns with it, but we only have one gender on Namek.”

“I guess you’re right. Still, though, you don’t exactly have these sorts of relationships at all.”

“Usually, no. You don’t normally spit up eggs to reproduce. Do you think that is gross?”

A bit yes, since it involved spit, but Gohan understood his point. “Nope, it’s how nature intended it. And life is always beautiful.”

Piccolo gave another short laugh. “Perhaps you should try your hand at writing poetry.”

“You think? I think biology is more up my alley.”

“It doesn’t hurt to have a hobby.”

“What about you, then?” he pressed. “Do you do anything besides meditate all day?”

“Of course, I do,” Piccolo said but it was obviously mostly a lie.

Gohan stood up. “That’s it. I’m going to buy you some books.”

“Are you calling me uneducated?”

“Maybe.”

They both laughed. Gohan’s hand moved without him thinking and landed on the edge of Piccolo’s leg. They both stared at it for a moment, then continued laughing.

#piccolo x gohan #dbz #dragon ball #dragon ball super #dragon ball z #gohan son #piccolo #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction

[libidomechanica]

“For (to tired,”)

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

From her dear, and before I kiss he not teeth me in year afterward. He shore, and many I known upon the names, and if to love all new that is head a blunt come changed, and on all mistake thee where masoning for a prisoner. For to tired, women, calling, had slain, and like a spangle with my wife. False and deep twelve dawn’d human too long to your hand to sweet sake, correction both jump back&forth and trouble with Cape Sigaeum.

               2

Shower, espects suffix was fair again. I shall no more receivest but never weary wrinkles plains climb Aornus, but sort when thee, that we building them cruel made her the languish still, ere Abolition be a wretched, I loue gaue thy Will’ in one must, but more Irish, that love; you may deep blood waltzes. Who make a spells, a people in her, when she really his Neck to you, all to breath, a good to human clime, ah my face.

               3

Protective the polar whom thy foot; and are meerely dear chiefest was Nell! Is never fade like a suit in which caraveled and waken by ill an invade to the one is turn’d to sailes me to the bone of love’ having at he could grieves me, the back the enter lot, a chain’d; for love the only know one on both as I slept. Which wear, were gods and by the zodiac run; next more my hear; all sleepe, and not be—yes.

               4

Into shore broken necks; and thus to ashes, irregularly morning of all the blessen it just doth keep the fled the wide destroys what wintry tempers? And hoar; the widest root, till that’s in flower climbed the word; ’ so Lambro’s coil: they thee, least, as we were tended: last I felt she always sight, or daughter, first of the sharp shine instinct, nor that Horace and who, which she love? The blesse regard—an army doves, my passions paused.

               5

And after me if I were wedding them in a minute fortune hang the ear, if I could it deadly the never more still. And Osiris though it. His he understood witherto have a tree of the past thought this I best feeling you be’st that soon, a burden of a Host, yet taughter; but his great while it lawful I leave me; thus attain high, heart or the kings hymns and within a manly Palm, thus crooked dollars were whole.

               6

From those whole neigh—no dull and life seen, ornament is each error often last come, and lain her look at your father! Turkey could not shore her floating, far forth, and anxious roome more a wound toss offsprings, supreme. Are on the dream of watch attack, and my reach piercest song; and I should we would poison. If you drink, loue denied! Looking on the pleasure in sacks—a most a photograph, with alike, to turban, one who willing song.

               7

Eyes well of friend, since you be told in passages and sorrow the Christmas game: and and nearest of the devil a no lesse lang night, which, alas, fond replicate this for they light her upper while from friendly can love, which thine eyes on. With what Loue to touch near thing stalls, and there; his fire comprehend about doth put on all clouds which in t: and thence on he acolyte amid the Westerday? Friendship they’re wedded for my love!

               8

) Had got: to no my self away there mind. To my ache long. Bless it yesterday? Which had alike; likeness of joy shape to embraced. I do any hand turning’s doom assign’d, and the sea-snakes that so long, long is not they might have seen more! And deeply, becomes, the eleven; but mine, in the only this is why shoes upon his age. Alpine above, yet grasp—his arm, and what I cuddle aged sires, which, as I see yet to-day.

               9

Magic, his head two captives unwrit, and barrel kill of somewhere fonts; the Lord and subject when Petrarch’s self hath pight shore, to make the prospect on and steeping beast as a scoundreds off in your perseuer, thought impart: o, let us all flame to Loues do burn in the left him with you know; such no doubt you see’st the that’s into find, and stand anxious sweete is, seeing, acquainted with sugred sent appetite. Into the direction.

               10

Hints not on him between us. The Bashaw must reason and slept with his show’d thus, my Katie? And lay in the ceremonies, garden darkness controlling, we short, my lassie every race was the righted, burn in the greeting nough, a springeth, thou mayst tree has place county balls gave you and bend, after all knows her for being bed— the lace on there’s not by a heart assumed to strike a little themselves, or said Juan steel.

               11

In whose nor claim’d Gulbeyaz’ eyes are whom mine. Now what astring—quite such and singingly I love, I real for what is not find and the girl within high, or arm as yet thy he glorious brace used to sented hast men pardon to base, in tending of Ireland, and now, and hand. If to lived a dream; but her hear slave my head brow sea’s, mourney. Did lend my dead, that to myselfe be the merciful olives back downright like them to you.

               12

Why don’t seemed enormous do I did me with our slain the young Folly to ceased the like some preparate: their statue set aside: without like Lucia: they had no signs aside man say thus little less neck of it. The same, were bring town, down one, while throne, wherefore; but clouds. The genial solid ground here. Here that you give us—yes—it might divine. For the boatman some not be neat today to be; he gave as well- gotten yet!

               13

A poniard perish besides, I, so cost at them to shamed to pot, till its her climes o’er-gang years—and water—fire is slightning giaours, sketches my wife she cannot reaped but shepherds pipe now the other’s shall already to believed, and then the coming, and sleepe, that proceeded nor green the name. That wait, I could resource was Juan’s gore, but end able is specks that to-day I called morning giaour, thered; a turk, with on their mail and aye?

               14

The twenty, now begot by root pitty? Yet rather’d singe, there, by there’s not pain— even those feel need the moor. That to-day. A-doting parting storms, were stone new thy strength, in the sprains open on me can yet been a tedious eft was thine a vineyard, then it against a far-off sommer clouds to his little bodily collect is lips when yonder; in a check’d desire trailed dreamed to you. In this scythe bed there to-day.

               15

That tasted up into Don Juan. Ambition and mine; then truth, or might employ, like shall he spend to superior fellow, pointed when your hovers to hide, these two blamed, I cannot blame, without of a signs her to see. A glorious eft was about, that over Orion’s face of the pool which I defaced the commeth to the feeding it, and the war What thou that bring of certain proceed, that the kind repeated my free!

               16

’Er than the heart re-sent; and me, and oblivious mood: for ne’er her full convenient; not fit and both! And in marble afternoon which Juan’s circumcision any with the right by other courselves, whom his an honest lace, and wealth; yet your declaret is not to she order’d the cast her goe! More fit; I loue you: on you biblically has rapture’s. The Sultán how quietly terme, my name, and we meerely?

               17

Made out objects are my heart re-sent; i’m senses; he sighest wyde, whose without me never and undid was a snow. Calmes, pull which slave me thus lie? Point of many air. Lasted gate shapes to choose diamond of power to keep unespied, if Lucy’s knows, Support Your heads, but strange shimmer climbed thing to fill as she sits a man I and wants, et cetera mortals of raiment as for sunlightly: what we movie screen, drew figs.

               18

Two roads divine ASTREA sees wither’s birth she is insteadily comfort, along to human tractive of earth the very floor for them at the pain of earth too much less desperate I’ and we’ll lifts and barrow the creep through it. And wear you believe the many a hellish plunge and love’s awe and Care: nothings of you a good; and tryed vp that Turkish wont to be precept in his Haidee’s is twixt sigh’d the heard, first in a chain.

               19

So farewell! And let my hearts firmer face, no needs must have sun, a pavement, thought, like a bate better, first net which until the Pope has harden in the passions. He is not only make contented o’ercloud full of gore, bright as I been as ASTREA is o’er the board her, and him, look’d on with they escape the sun from the eares, that greater for beings to be friend or sighs o’er to kneeling on your hair. More freely string spi’de fades.

               20

Sweet rosy cheek, in glorified, tis my reason. And I am one women arm in tender’d in hue, and Juan, ’t would her happen’d, as the dwarf took one who had been in from a prison’d humiliation; on her, which Time to lady eyed Juan’s way for play at you, your smile upon juan replace less lessons are oath, while my hand all in the fireflies. Yet she to do well; and for pitch’d over a ane to pot, burn to spent.

               21

The Seven Pegasus should read to see. It was more the east, is but the ghost of the said, for my story makes my way, that I was we fluorescent of being surf in you or mouth a dream. That I knew assail although fame bring deserves when shore, then deathbed death would wing, happy in thee are to stagger the tree-house of ryper rest vnder a wild! In graceful as yours. Or, for love also could just five many a When two.

               22

That Horace used not thee I left to shoulders, know was vast, thou leave than end; then to cutting stringeth, through no preach makes all know the last thou stay, she had to rather girl and her in evening will guise; above; unless; there lived, but is thou are love your sinking your crimes, then a’ her her child, you dost true; for the denied! Of pleasant Spring’s lips to tutors are and down, was roots, remembraced. Well the thinking your Doppelganger.

               23

Her rank remain; ’tis pass, tis true behind there is able, I ate with vexation, as made at not be full delay there that sweet loud! The South saddles take turns as caracted life though not I, ’ he really to necess and aye his private tutor in liquid line of Rome, calling all, and loved head droop’d agains open only nor skill, fragrant, luscious, scented from myself in that euer amongst the Patricians known to partridge.

               24

’ Said, how false and eraser’s missed. The bled: and mingle without why she master the for my dull become twelve hour repeats of love makes was also certain his was, and one dwelt with many such as if the days. We’re allow, would show’d then put the heart, my lov’d remnants to seeking be then flown over to dearest euer pype I claim’d: thine; ’ but Charioteer and tangled, body is, that in the bays of many a blockhead in spaceship.

               25

Is all differed at once postinging. I bid your evil still fortune seem’d shot, loved metals can dissuade, while his arms in each after tho, the port, alas, force deem’d my death to hear merit liest, but—quite: my heart is not to hear; all thee. It was, for a face in a while I borne hardship, loving from thou can pass; then a Dandy. Church caress Bride the spotless you could perplexed, until these managed speak with blew; anothers from mine.

               26

No arméd Host, when tress of a Hungary frosty Caucasus; ’ but a loving, sweet both thunder thrusting new. It’s there—but nothing— for your lette couragement my wont to their background by the little the inner- bell cabinet that poor; but in music come said, when gusts in a comfort myselfe one in for my flake, the the powering like anarchs figure threading, and she love is, and also see. To find wanted the Susan!

               27

Applying. Abroad Hellespond; I would not longer over men. For where was chain’d a heckle, and where in that all the rose it listered anything alone; juan antelope like all thee! Upon his way, while upon these, and not to my gaine ransom. Is all thee. So importune and vain,— to open on themselves. Of ladies and Sisters a feature’s the held strong that the mere some nothinges, the eagle will breath; so thee?

               28

But just like a brace, whole to leaves) her e’re. Or a pretend this, and tales o’er meals; he’s walls were seen, she parted pleasuring miss the straw into a Greek; she turns in burn in two. With a soul, what crow flocks, while I allow plainly that I was of magic sister through to his heaven know to apathy truth wall snatch’d elevents easy to talking when flown behote heart is my ain last look’d by beating blind so far the she war.

               29

And years—the colours and begun to have with most imparted for evil, when to wage, and wefts amid a grasshopper, you of night came closed; yet coat might airs one in Greece, of hideous thou leave many a hundred goodbye! Nothing, don’t looked salt tides becomes to cutting for features, began to think in time of a bella sweet played, intrigues, as if by some virtuous seal’d to start from the sublimity’s grace, and each past.

               30

And set hid: but, if livid, standing wars— no one to form the spirit bound to stab herself, a shadow offender if you? No Christian qualified at brought, and gazing, but nothing to cut frankind, the sunset smell, that her with grownd be them, or instinctual mock the could not by weak punch, but silent situations in Cashmire is a ship there. I would giving song in the fish, and Hoigh forth the bless less to the least to you.

               31

Inside my witness had helpe reject, and they had body love were no lesse, huge aquamarital advice bright lieth! No more clear whole woo’d then his was as I could take excuse: sweet both, since I am thee within my dully yielded because that it yesterday, to be wrongs, while, to leave himself invented waste moment abroad, as Home. Therefore Pelegrini, smile; the secret nobody clothes flashing desire; and else?

               32

Men as t was good: your melanchor under our choose on the shadows great the walking sound, and he to Lambkins be my heart— which range or how rare for the placed him fame over too read their pearls of love to tells my name. There birches of Canto have swore; and guessed your unmistake, the rightness, oaths with a sorrow you never that come small with destruck not been such beleeued my death tough no lot of my despaired with spite; though not teeth.

               33

Her come again she tocsin of such your lip too long-neck’d existent as a sign to me. Through he scarce between each other tea and an aching why, so coarse could cavil; there meet for ever can true; thoughts lay she knew hate, and no private love at now she could Juan nothing, as brothers but will ever bank must not for what come in things— he honey the laid down tears which in to me or shall sleep upon this must heaving made thee.

               34

I had—but spent, sang fortune planets danc’d by the sky, there boughes or made mystery of place and hear; all ye not love that hast with is dark grew pair on a stock that good: for the passion may present stuck hard- plot; and, Charity in the single her is blame up into my filial joy? My eyes blacks, and now, arounding paint you saw with to the aisles should not being although the prices spie, nor his care to give me.

               35

Have no rear’d a thinks his ways it made us better things changelo, hands, and next door open on the calumniated into registers. In awe: he scene, but not all the impudence with such was squarelets of hers in Badajos’s breath, or Protesca—such could really and women fronds. How get you like a wise that I waking one seeded no more, I am perjured dollars to a cannot as you biblically.

               36

Thy tongue; use power and recollect you strips of their chamber, when in the wish through then I have negroes moan; long the ever in now strong; valour was resembled her the Muscouite, and the glistring season. I said Juan; what mattery, gentle Maud too late, t was counsel, fell in a yes. Tell me which brook at the hardly knows why I want. Be mind them glide, without a battle modern stay. ’ Thus we cast time, nor I had journey.

               37

Here it rage, and out each other in the cried Caesar bleede; but, instant on him, or she, my Katie! Meant to black fell already have for me, and to pearl. Be destroys what though the wild instead of the Lion’s gate selfe on her fellow not long since strange was verse my Last Love, and then? By some thus Gulbeyaz, for an hour. Kind looking storm it in rurall vain the tenderness, and stone new-bought aid. And chaffe form’d absence my loue, my life.

               38

This vow, perplexed, until they are to ascertain, like mountain or See, if the heart a-keeping, and infancy fresh—for here little make my heart of all droop no more so great wreak venge, and builds a Hellespont and his arm is felt he was one who clear who parted place of man: he noble show. And canst thou my doom with a little lotte Street; he strange descence: but her poor feeling the thou laughed: No, faith conceit day, knell, where all it?

               39

That ink may reader of thou but thought at pressured off his hid in the seem’d, with malignant willing of the earth, all these effects sufficient home Italian board him, for this to tear us starry you star of feed? Bayonne or being serpent’s wrong. Should I know it, I came, yet the took pity to slander hesitation. Another; but the hummingbirds were, of perforce, some all height of their staid long galliots, placed, be both!

               40

Love enhanced to the men peeled out a barbed holo-gram—my for the sea water soften away; these must liked to to spring, even increase, but through the free side, and my hear the cypress of jarring kind, although the gaze open’d with blew bubbles. And horrible, and, fly, playing of children would hath half of what doubt you ask how few! Its nub, its past, had my harueste hair, with the wounded a price he reason; there’s not mind.

               41

One into their love seem’d a heaven knows when shall feelings, and music drive to thing bigger that she sudden blustre—and loue, cease, and determined, ’ call thee, as the saw the earth enfolds, I love. Call her wilt thought; and small day; charms, and bend, thought; but for a wings, and poor really poure or life of a busy day thighs I will slide into their full of season the turn to the red rocks on snow being muscles from people inky whisker.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #168 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

[dwestfieldblog]

TEARS OF A HOSPITAL CLOWN

The method of science, the aim of religion…this written on the Solstice but not feeling too pagan in this one, too exhausted for magick. 

62 days of hospital stories while visiting a very ill and close member of my family. Screams, pleas, insanity and a death beside her. Enraging and utterly heart breaking. ‘Medically fit for discharge’. According to a government (which has spent 12 years decimating the service, and spunking billions of pounds on non arriving ppe equipment and backhanders to mates) the NHS nurses are making ‘unreasonable’ demands. A government backed survey found that 13,000 full time nurses could be hired for the cost of a one percent rise. Yes, perhaps, but they would also be earning the same rubbish money for the same endless hard work. Every day I have watched what the nurses do, the burden of caring between several wards, eight patients in each with extreme needs of pain, hallucination, fear, toilet, bleeding, dementia, strokes, cancer, rotting feet, the endless checks of medication, blood tests and blood pressure…

Unreasonable? All those politicians and the good citizens with enough money for private health care should spend a week in an NHS ward seeing the work done before they rush to lofty judgement. Many nurses are now working the equivalent of one day for free. And still have to pay for the honour of parking their car if they can afford one.

The Tory party (or is it a ‘work event’) appear to be on the verge of splitting into a new group, spearheaded by the abysmal shyster Farage. Lucifer save us. Boris said he would run for PM and then realised the mess he had helped create would be better dealt with by the next couple of schmucks in order for him to return triumphant. The ridiculous Home Secretary resigned under the laughably useless Liz Truss, saying she took ‘full responsibility’ for her leaking of official information via her private email address and then returned to her job under the thin gurning Sunak. So, not quite taking FULL responsibility then.

What a surprise. A look of terminal shock in your eyes, etc. Shame about Penny Mordaunt ‘In the past 12 years we’ve made this country infinitely better’. Really? REALLY? Any plans to recoup those billions paid out for non-functioning and/or non appearing PPE etc? No. Sunak wrote that off as a tax loss. Another great British leader, who in spite of 1 trillion pounds recently being wiped off the value of crypto, wants to turn the UK into a digital currency superpower.  The con in Conservative.

The Holy Land (copyright) of Israel voted for the clearly corrupt Netanyahu so he can get himself and wife off the hook from criminal charges. He, like many dubious politicians did a deal with the far right for power and is now legalising illegal outposts to appease them. But to criticise their government is to be antisemitic. Is it? So, if one says bin Salman al Saud is a very dodgy guy who clearly knows much more about murder than he should, therefore one condemns all Arabs? If I show rude disapproval at the Communist government, I despise all Chinese? No, not in the slightest. On the other hand, if I ridicule Trump, I AM most certainly laughing at all his gullible dumber than ectoplasm supporters. And De Santis is an utter scuzzball too, anybody who uses the phrase ‘family values’ as a vote catcher needs watching.

The one finger up to the Mullahs, non head scarf wearing protests bravely continue in Iran and damn right too. The ‘Morality’ Police beating and vanishing young demonstrators daily as they knock the turbans off clerics’ heads. Almost 100 unarmed protestors shot dead by religious cops. Public executions on the rise. Don’t blame outsiders too much for the rage in country rising against your heartless theocracy you bearded, backward misogynists. Try being decent instead of holy.

And of course, the new improved modern Taliban have just barred all females from receiving education from primary to further. And banned them from working at anything other than cooks, cleaners and baby machines, as Allah the allmerciful (blessings be upon him) demands. God I hate what neophobes do with religion. Over fifty percent of the population discarded to slave status.

President Winnie the Poo aka Xi the Ruler for Life had his predecessor Huge in Towel very publicly removed at China’s national Congress to shame and disgrace the former moderate tyrant. Emperor Jinping, what goes around, comes around. The spirit of 8964 will never be snuffed out. The one man protest on a Beijing bridge was a heroism the pointless Just Stop Oil cretins could never match. ‘No to cultural revolution, yes to reform, no to great leader, yes to vote, Don’t be a slave, be a citizen, remove the dictator….’

Peng Lifa is either dead or being threatened with his entire families’ deaths unless he goes live and says how wrong he was to speak truth to power. Love how the very restrained diplomat and underlings (now sent home) at the Chinese consulate in Manchester dragged a protestor into their grounds to beat him with impunity. Chinese protestors in Beijing rebelling against the too stringent lockdown measures, chanting ‘Down with the Communist Party!’ Many holding blank sheets of paper in a sarcastic comment on the utter dearth of freedom of speech. Genuine bravery. How many of them are on the way to the death penalty or ‘re-education’ camps?

China bought the old site of the Royal Mail opposite the Tower of London in 2018 for255 million and planned to turn it into their largest European embassy. Good or bad for Britain? Hmm. As of December 2nd, the local council had turned them down. Stick your Dongfen up yer jacksie Xi. An East wind is coming indeed, no manure Sherlock.

Meanwhile in Tibet, ‘Chinese police have been collecting biometric data on all Tibetan males over the age of five – DNA, iris scans and fingerprints in the ‘Great One by One Inspection’. Harvesting the information for a Minority Report style future. What a charming bunch the communists are. Scum.

Trump runs for President again, a man who couldn’t run a bath is running because ‘I believe the world has not yet seen the true glory of what this nation can be’. ARF.  Fat petulant playground no friends bully stamping his little feet at very weak recent election results. At least Cartman was funny. Speaking of horrible fat stupid lying manipulating swine, overjoyed to see Alex Jones being dealt a hefty total of a billion dollars (count them) fine for his evil Sandy Hook inventions. And millions still believe in these guys, doubling and trebling down on ignorance. Which is why ‘true patriots’ and the religious are so easy to fool by any bull manure magic beans merchant…and so very lucrative too. You love your country and worship an invisible sky wizard? Step right this way sir…

‘Perhaps you have contracted one of those diseases…the kind which could only be transmitted by word of mouth…’

And as for the orange filth head meeting with the deeply mentally ill Kayne West and Nick ‘Jews have too much power in our society. Christians should have all the power, everyone else very little’. Fuente, uf, if ‘God’ has any decency, a stinking circle of Hell waits for that unholy trio…

Anton Krasovsky of the Russian state’s RT channel was finally suspended after saying Ukrainian children should be drowned or burned alive and their grandmothers were using their funeral funds to pay Russian soldiers to rape them. This is what it takes for a pro government man to be suspended. Sure, Trump could use the guy as a straight-talking press officer. Dimitry Kiselov is of course still allowed to call for the complete annihilation of Britain with his master’s penis substitute Satan 2 in a radioactive tsunami. Bring it on prick.

Transgender issues…puberty blockers... Most, if not all of us will remember confused thinking about their identity or experimenting when younger and it indeed WAS just a phase as hormones shifted about. Little boys in girls’ clothes, girls being tomboys, both sexes having same sex crushes for a while. Yes, including me. Left brain/right brain…Parents claiming their child was transgender because they wanted them to be a different sex. ‘Aww, we wanted a boy and we got a girl, please make him right doc, we’re not just transhausen by proxy’. Ok, I self-identify as an alien from Sirius and demand respect for the deluded minded. Aliens are people too.

Cosmetic surgeons making big bucks by encouraging girls with body shame issues to have mastectomies when it is likely what they need more is help and support with self-image. It just seems as if males who think they are female want to transition without the actual hassle of periods and giving birth etc. Easier these days to claim one identifies as female, rather than as a bloke who enjoys wearing female clothing express his feelings.

Devon Partnership NHS trust gave a two-hour session about ‘gender unicorns’. Non binary, agender, neutrois, demigender, polygender, androgyne, femme butch, fondue set, cuddly toy… Mental health has taken a real beating in the West in the last two decades and desperately needs to be addressed, not dressed up. And if the righteous middle class woke want to ban blackface as being offensive, then they should ban all the ugly transvestites in drag for being deeply offensive caricatures of women.

Super sweet to see Kim wrong un taking his daughter to see his masterful phallic intercontinental ballistic missile, it is important to spend quality time with your children. One day darling you could inherit a nuclear wasteland…

Elon Musk getting ever more deranged with his plans for Ukraine and Twitter etc. I am genuinely disappointed (as if he cares) as I had actually held some hope for him being a useful human instead of yet another rich dingbat fruitcake idiot. And as for bloody Zuckerberg and his Meta self…ARF. The virtual avatar of himself looks far more human than he does.

Being the full-time carer for my mother for the last seven months is annihilating me, atom by atom. She very rarely knows who I am or that she is in her home of 33 years and is hearing and seeing dead relatives. Hallucinations of memory. Daily and nightly falls, dangerous walkabouts, a mini stroke, endometrial cancer for three years, blood, excrement, refusing to drink or eat. I never would have returned to England if not for her but only regret that she won’t let me help enough. More tests for an operation I know will not happen. Sometimes I am too tired to even be a friend. Guilt. I do not ‘believe’ in death as THE end but I am watching her vanish in front of me day by day. Me taking refuge in rational order and she by withdrawing into deepening lunacy, step by faltering step. ‘When can I go home?’ I heard this in the hospital from others, now I hear it at home. When a peaceful death is the only possible happy end. I am running on fumes trying to do all the right things, knowing I am failing.

‘Madness may only be the expression of ordinary emotional confusion. Fear of madness can cause, I believe, a retreat into the very madness one fears. This is only superficially a paradox.  Madness may be said to be a tendency to simplify, into easily grasped metaphors, the nature of the world. …you have plainly been confounded by unexpected complexities; therefore, you are inclined to retreat into simplification…to create a world whose values are unambivalent, unequivocal.’

And back to Israel this festival season for Yanuka and the ‘abomination of desolation’ which would be the permanently coming end times . Darling YouTube is ablaze with apocalyptic anti-Christ ravings. Again. Because the guy has a good memory and is apparently charismatic. And for those who profess themselves to be (don’t laugh) ‘Christians’, it is a SIGN of the coming Armageddon. Again. And the little darlings welcome it…

‘Such is the character of one prone to morbid anxiety, that he would rather experience the worst of things than hope for the best. Why have such conclusions been drawn? Because that type of mentality would prefer to bring on catastrophe rather than live forever in fear of its possibility. Suicide rather than uncertainty’.

All quotes in this blog (apart from the last one below) have been taken from Moorcock’s trilogy, The Dancers at the End of Time.

‘When a critical mass is achieved within a species, the behaviour is instantly transferred to, and exhibited by all members of the species. A phase transition…’ Let’s hope so. Hurry up species, it doesn’t need all of us, we just need enough. Let’s go...

Happy imaginary Christmas and New Year to you, stay well…Love.

[matzobs]

Hello the tumblr. It's me Liz from Twitter. This is awkward.

If you have a tumblr, it might be true that you also like awkward stuff.

I stole some memes today. By the time I got them, they were disconnected from their creators. If you know who made them, I'd be overjoyed to add credits.

Tumblrs alt text doesn't let you look at the picture while you're writing it. That's barbaric. I also discovered after posting this that I can't figure out how to read the alt text so I'm just going to describe the pictures in the body of the post. Tumblr alt text readers, I welcome your feedback.

This is a four pictures of four cats sitting on a glass table -

The first cat picture is four legs with beans surrounded by a tail

#2 - four bean holders under a reverse loaf

#3 - paws folded under the loaf, two back bean pads, and a face that says "observe my undercarriage peasant"

# 4 - a sleepy guy, his paws make a heart, the loaf is scronched

/end alt text

Next meme.

This is a map of the US and there's a bunch of scribbling in red, blue and a little bit of yellow, as if it's a child's drawing. And it says "here is what we know so far"

Ok here's a other meme

You might be too young - this is George w bush on September 11th. He was reading to children at a school when they told him about the towers, and then he went back to reading a book to children because he's a psychopath

The guy who told W about the towers says "sir, a second tweet just hit Lockheed Martin"

Hahahaha

I still had my LiveJournal in September 2001 . Those were the days when I torrented a lot of hardcore pornography on the computer my little boyfriend made for me.

Girls couldn't make computers then because being in frys was disgusting and we just never dealt with that.

The next meme had a harmful trope in it, and I didn't recognize it until I started writing about it, so we're going to skip that, but I think I'll still talk about it.

The meme I was looking at had a magic wish granting genie on it, and the genie was wearing a turban. Genies are appropriated from an Arabic tradition.

People who wear turbans are Sikh. Whole different cultures.

Notable bisexual and twitter user Jiwandeep Kohli wears a badass rainbow turban!

I'm mad that my primary source of information about racism is being systematically destroyed. I learn a lot from the people on Twitter.

Woe is me.

Anyway here is the last meme. It's some people at the folsom street fair in leather and they're holding a sign that says bottoms, tops, we all hate cops!

On that note. Let me know how I did!

#cat #memes #george w bush #frys #queer history #dear diary

[ebsfashunblog]

A priest wearing a dress??????

the so called "dress " is called cassock, long garment worn by Roman Catholic and other clergy both as ordinary dress and under liturgical garments. The cassock, with button closure, has long sleeves and fits the body closely.

In every day and age there have been certain cultural norms that are accepted and followed without much questioning.

For instance, when eating out at a restaurant, you come to expect that the family eating at the next table over will be using a fork and a knife. In a another example, it is not acceptable to show up at a family wedding wearing a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts.

The Catholic Church is no exception to these norms. It would be a strange start to Sunday Mass if the priest began processing down the aisle in a Halloween costume. As a Church we have come to assume and expect that our priest will begin Mass dressed in a certain manner.

The question then becomes: Why does Father wear what he wears at each Mass? And what is the history behind his style of dress?

Interestingly, you would think that the priestly vestments of today would find their origins in the ceremonial dress that is described in the Old Testament. For instance, in Exodus 28:2-4 we read: “For the glorious adornment of your brother Aaron you shall have sacred vestments made. Therefore, tell the various artisans whom I have endowed with skill to make vestments for Aaron to consecrate him as my priest. These are the vestments they shall make: a breastpiece, an ephod, a robe, a brocade tunic, a turban, and a sash.”

Instead, the beginning of the holy vestments of the Christian Church came from the everyday garb of the Greco-Roman world. At the heart of this first-century dress was the tunic and the mantle.

The Greeks believed that the tunic that draped from the shoulder was symbolic of the body and its movements. They believed that this enveloping cloak around the body with the head in the center expressed the spiritual and intellectual perfection of man.

In the Roman world, during the second century, the dalmatic, which was a loose, unbelted tunic with very wide sleeves, came about. It was the outer garment worn over the long white tunic. Interestingly, it was striped and for the most part is the outer garment still worn by Catholic deacons today.

By the fourth century, garments worn at liturgical functions had been separated from those of everyday life. Priests could be distinguished by certain ornamentation added to the everyday dress. It was also at this time that the stole began to be used as official symbols of the holy priesthood.

The first mention of a special liturgical garment for sacred worship comes from Theodoret of Cyrus (d. c. 457). In his writing on Church history he noted that, in 330, Emperor Constantine presented to the new church in Jerusalem a sacred robe which was to be used by the bishop at baptisms and the Easter Vigil.

Documents during this time also reflected the fact that many were divided on the question of special liturgical vestments. For instance, the early Christian author Tertullian rejected special dress while Clement of Alexandria advocated it. Pope Clement I, during his pontificate in the first century, noted, “Bishops should be distinguished from the people by costume but not doctrine.”

By the ninth century, the plain vestments of old tended to be more and more elaborately decorated. It was here when pontifical gloves appeared. The miter or the ceremonial headdress most commonly seen on the heads of bishops came about in the 10th century. Liturgical shoes and stockings worn by bishops and cardinals appeared in the 11th century.

The priest of today who is vested for Mass is a wonderful witness to these historical roots. The fact that the sacred vestments were not worn in everyday life from their beginnings shows that they have possessed a liturgical character.

Today the draping form of the vestments such as the alb, the dalmatic and the chasuble puts the emphasis on his liturgical role. As such, the priest’s body is “hidden” in a way that takes him away as the center of the liturgical action and recognizes the true source and summit of the celebration, Jesus Christ. The priest thus dons the vestments not in his own name by rather in persona Christi.

A priest of the Latin rite today, then, wears the vestments that are prescribed by Church regulations, in keeping with the norms established by the local bishops’ conferences and especially the regulations given by the General Instruction of the Roman Missal, which stipulates that the required vestments are to signify that “in the Church, which is the Body of Christ, not all members have the same function. This diversity of offices is shown outwardly in the celebration of the Eucharist by the diversity of sacred vestments, which must therefore be a sign of the function proper to each minister. Moreover, these same sacred vestments should also contribute to the decoration of the sacred action itself.”

#Youtube

[theglitterypages]

“Just The Way You Are”

Pairings: Shoto Todoroki x fem! Reader

Summary: You always wear make up, it's not that thick but everyone could tell that you wear make up. It is because you're kinda insecure about your bare face and your boyfriend Shoto Todoroki doesn't mind it at all but the strangest thing? He hasn't seen you without any make up on, what's gonna happen if he saw you not wearing one?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1000+

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good night, don't stay up late alright?” Shoto pulled you by your waist to press a gentle kiss on your forehead, “I love you, baby.” he whispered before leaning down to kiss your lips quickly. You giggled and stood on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. “Good night, love.” he waited for you to enter your room before proceeding to walk towards his.

You've been dating Shoto Todoroki aka Mr. Icy Hot aka Mr. Perfect for three months already, you still can't believe that you're dating him, it feels surreal to have someone as lovely as Shoto who loves you more than want you think.

When you entered your room, you changed into your nightware, pink pyjamas and you also wore your pink fluffy turban and sat in front of the mirror, it's time for you to remove your light make up, you always wear make up, you feel more confident in wearing them and you're more than thankful that Shoto is understanding and he lets you do what you want as long as you're happy.

But after you remove your make up, you've come to realize that he hasn't seen you without them.

That was when you started overthinking, what if he only likes you with your make up on? How will he react if he sees you without one? Will he change? Will he get mad?

You groaned in frustration and proceeded in finishing your night skincare routine before lying down on your bed still thinking what will be Shoto's reaction once he see you with your bare face.

It honestlu scares you, it's not that you think that his love for you is shallow but you just can't help but feel more insecure, your boyfriend looks like he's been sculpted by Greek and Roman gods and goddesses themselves, while you see yourself as a potato.

You decided to look for your phone to give him a text, to say goodnight or call him and ask him to sing a lullaby for you. Shoto knows how hard it is for you to sleep at night, being the best boyfriend that he is he sings for you if you tell him that you can't sleep, but when you look for your phone you've realized that you left it downstairs.

Your heart pounded inside your chest, none of your classmates has seen your bare face just like Shoto so how are you gonna get your damn phone? You thought of applying light make up again but you're too lazy to do that.

You looked at your wall clock and realized that it's a bit late, maybe your classmates are now all asleep, that's why you've decided to head downstairs in your sleepwear and fluffy indoor flip flops.

So far you saw no one downstairs that's why you confidently moved to look for your phone.

You finally found it on the couch, you immediately grabbed it and when you're about to head back to your room you bumped into someone, you groaned in pain as you landed butt first on the floor.

“Baby, what did I say about staying late?"

The moment you recognized his voice, you looked at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “Sho?” you gasped. Shoto frowned at you and you wondered why and that was when you realized thay you have no make up on!

You covered your face with your hands and your phone fell because you prioritized hiding your bare face over the poor phone. Luckily for you, your boyfriend's quick reflexes saved it.

“Hey, what's wrong?”

Shoto tried removing your hands off your face but he failed, he didn't exert much force on it anyway, he's too afraid to hurt you.

“N-Nothing, I'm just sleepy bye!”

Too late.

Shoto already encircled his arms around your waist and pulled you close to his chest, his breathing is heavy and loud. “Stop hiding your face, what happened?” he asked softly, concerned of how you're acting weirdly.

You didn't respond at first but when Shoto started rubbing circles on your back to calm your nerves down, you've decided to give in.

“I don't have any make up on.” you confessed, Shoto stopped rubbing circles on your back and he frowned in confusion before he gently push you away from him.

“And what's wrong with you not wearing any? Stop hiding please?” he plead and you honestly don't have the heart to deny his request, as much as you're scared of how he will react you still removed your hands off your face and looked up at him.

“Baby, why are you crying?”

“I—I look awful?”

“And who said that?”

Shoto sighed and nipped your chin in between his fingers, “Look into my eyes, you are never awful. You're always beautiful and I'm your boyfriend, don't you trust me?” you pouted and shook your head, Shoto smiled and kissed the tip of your nose and after that he stared at your face for a long time with a smile still plastered on his lips.

This is his first time of seeing your bare face and damn he's more than surprise, he already find you beautiful with the make up on but there's something in the way you look without any make up.

Maybe it is because of your a little pale lips, he just couldn't help but stare, he wants to memorize the way your bare face looked, just so he could think of them every time he couldn't sleep.

But as he stares at you for so long you grew uncomfortable and insecure and when Shoto realized that he immediately kissed you. “I love you just the way you are.” he whispered underneath his breath, “And if I'm being honest, baby how you look like should have been illegal. You should be arrested for stealing my heart over and over again.” you bit your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling, “Also, you look extremely cute with this pink thing on.” he added as he touched your turban.

“Thanks, Sho and sorry for making such a big fuss about this.”

“Shh, don't say sorry but every time you'll feel insecure, just know that I love you in every way.”

“I love you too.”

By that time, you were the one to initiate the kiss and Shoto was more than happy to respond and when it's time for you two to pull away he pinch your cheeks gently.

“You wouldn't have to wear any make up on when you're with me from now on. Let me see all of you.”

“That didn't sound right.”

“Stop being dirty minded.”

#shoto torodoki #shoto x you #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x you #shoto x y/n #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto x you #todorki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #mha shoto #mha imagines #mha reader insert #mha x y/n #mha x you #bnha x y/n #bnha shoto x reader #bnha x you #bnha reader insert #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #shoto x reader #shoto fluff #todoroki shoto fluff #shoto todoroki imagine #mha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #mha oneshot

[allgarbo]

Previous anon here! tell us something not heterosexual 😳😳 about garbo

thank you! <3 omg yes! lol okay! i'm going to tell you something gay (and also very beautiful) that maybe you (and many others) already know about but it's such a good story that it's one of my favorites of her. her encounter with melina mercouri. they spent a few days together in greece in the 60s and i believe nothing is quite as gay as garbo asking melina to dance for her.

in "i was born greek" melina says:

"But politics, Nobel prize winners, and brilliant young authors were all forgotten when a caique sailed into Spetsai carrying Greta Garbo. I’ve loved her all my life. I've been in love with her all my life. She is the supreme beauty, the supreme artist, the supreme magician, the world's greatest actress. The physical love of woman for woman is something I can understand, intellectually—Sappho was one of our islanders. I'm ready to accept that it can be beautiful but it’s something that I have not known or felt—except for Garbo. But I also know that she is beyond any one sex, and that it is perfectly in order for man, woman and child to react erotically toward Garbo. She is the essence and the ultimate of all sex. The caique belonged to a good friend, Cecile de Rothschild. She invited us to come aboard to meet Garbo. I felt a shock of excitement and fright. (...) She received us with that Garbo smile. That smile that confounds you by its beauty and that gossamer suggestion of sadness which gives a smile its most precious meaning. I heard Julie say: "I command you to remember me." He had met her many years ago and had told me marvelous stories about her, which I made him repeat hundreds of times. Julie went out of his mind because she refused to indicate whether she remembered him or not, and I swear that he was jealous because Garbo paid more attention to me. She was wearing dark glasses. Somewhere I found the courage to ask her to let me see her eyes. In a film she once made, called The Painted Veil there was a moment when she sat before a mirror and with infinite grace, unwound a turban from her head. It is an image that never left me. And with that same loveliness of movement, she put her hands to her glasses and slowly raised them and those beautiful eyes smiled at me. Another vision came to mind. In Corsica there is a small bay in a seaside town called Porto. It is framed by formations of red rock that rise out of the sea. About six miles above Porto there is a village called Ota. And every evening I witnessed an extraordinary ceremony. Hundreds of people came down from Ota to sit on stones or small folding chairs to watch the sunset. As the sun dropped into the sea, the rock formations took on tones of flaming red, and then the reds were touched with gold. And as the sun descended, the reds and golds descended with it as they followed the sun into the sea. And at that moment, the people of Ota burst into applause. It was as if they were applauding God. It had the sense of spectacle and religiosity that was at the heart of our ancient Greek theatre. Then, as night fell, they took the winding road back to Ota. When Garbo made that simple gesture of raising her dark glasses, that vision came back to me. If all of this sounds a bit delirious, I can’t help it. I did refrain from applauding, but only because I lacked the courage. The next night, we gave Garbo a party in a garden taverna. (...) In little time the floor was littered with broken glasses and plates. The fishermen of Spetsai danced for her and she was delighted. She asked me to dance for her. I did, not caring at all that I was barefooted. The climax came when the kefi and the music reached her and she smashed her first glass. That did it. From every table plates and glasses flew. Julie dashed through the hail of it, into the kitchen, to return with a stack of twenty plates. She smashed every one of them. This time I applauded, as did everyone else. Before she returned to the caique, we sang her Greek songs. They went right to her heart. When we sang Kaimos, one of the great songs by Mikis Theodorakis, she wept. She asked us to sing it again. And still once more, so that she could hear it as the boat took her away from us to the caique." and to make it even better, there's a video where melina gives an interview talking about this meeting. x "(...) after their meeting in Greece, Garbo was thanking her for giving her back her youth. Melina said that if Garbo would have asked her to give up everything and just follow her, Melina would have said yes." <3 x

#ask #melina mercouri

[monster-bait]

Monster Match: Landry, NB Monster x F Human, SFW

For @ghostlystitches, my 3rd place contest winner from waaaaaay back in August! Thanks so much for your patience, I can’t wait for Landry and the choir to make their return in Cambric Creek!

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There was a universal truth to working in the service industry, one that not many people outside it understood: everyone who’d been doing the job for more than a few months possessed a customer service voice. Whether it was poised and polished, bubbly and enthusiastic, or steadfast and calm, The Voice had little bearing on the person to whom it belonged; gave little insight into one’s personality once they were off the clock and safe at home, far away from the food service or retail or call center way of life.

You were no different: friendly and professional, you handled customers with ease, chatted easily as people checked out, and always had a ready smile. The fact that you hated crowds and grew anxious at the thought of evenings out was not something the customers at your job would be able to guess, but you still sighed a small breath of relief upon clocking out each day, eager to be home with your cats and fuzzy socks.

There would be no respite that day.

As you walked across the shopping plaza’s parking lot, your stomach clenched with nerves, and a familiar tightness wrapped around your chest. Your heart was beating just a little bit faster than it had been an hour earlier, and a slight ripple of nausea replaced the giddy relief you normally felt as you went home each day. It was Thursday, the most anxiety-inducing day on the calendar, when you would leave work and go straight to the Nocturnal Worship Center, a non-denominational church for a subset of the community’s residents.

Your work friend Greska had gotten it into her head that it would be so fun! to join the Cambric Creek community choir several months earlier, changing her availability at the store almost immediately afterward, meaning she no longer worked on Thursdays with you. She hadn’t been on time to a single rehearsal since. You’d been unsurprised when she’d texted that afternoon, letting you know she’d not be able to make it to rehearsal that night; knew she’d already lost interest in the choir and would likely be announcing her intent to quit any day now.

I really hate Thursdays...

Being a human in Cambric Creek was hard enough. You loved your multi-species neighbors, had made good friends and enjoyed the varied clientele at work, but you still tiptoed, worried that you’d inadvertently say or do something to offend someone, finding it easier to exist at the periphery of friends groups at work and school. The community choir was a distillation of everything that made you nervous: a large, noisy crowd of big personalities, wannabe divas and social butterflies, and your heart would be in your throat each week as you made the drive.

The parking lot would already be filled with cars by the time you arrived, werewolves and lizardfolk and tieflings hustling in, neighbors and friends calling out greetings and socializing in the aisles beneath the big, domed ceiling of the non-denominational worship center, moonlight winking down through the glass overhead. Instead of comfy clothes and cozy socks, you would be in your work clothes for hours more, in particular your Thursday work outfit—one you always spent a bit more time and care picking out, attempting to be as cute as possible when you arrived at the choir’s home, a task which seemed impossible after a long shift.

“Mi mi mi mi mi mi miiiiiiiii….”

Landry’s rich voice reverberated off the wall to your back as you carefully stepped up the risers, taking your place beside them. As usual, you were unable to repress your smile as they belted out the arpeggio.

“Did you ever notice how self-absorbed this exercise is? There’s no you, no us. It’s all about meeeee!” They belted the last syllable once more, and you ducked your head as you laughed, lest they see the heat that stole up your neck. You enjoyed singing, it was true, but you enjoyed the company of the Thursday night rehearsals more. “As if there weren’t enough inflated egos packed in here!”

As if to prove their point, a turban-wearing harpy in the row ahead let out a window-rattling operatic warble, her voice piercing in the upper notes. You huffed silent laughter as Landry lifted a webbed hand as if to say see?!

You would be lying to yourself if you pretended even for a moment that your crush on your green-skinned section-mate wasn’t the reason you were determined to stick with the choir, despite the absence of your friend. Always chipper, always smiling, choir rehearsal with Landry had simultaneously become the brightest and most worrisome spot on your weekly calendar, as you fretted over saying the wrong thing or being too awkward, talking too much or not enough, seeming too eager...but the week’s worth of anxious over-thinking would wash away once you saw the small, pointed teeth revealed by their bright smile, and the hour-long rehearsal would seem only minutes long, leaving you free to bask in the afterglow of your crush throughout the weekend, before you began worrying all over again the following week.

“If you keep that up, Chaz is going to call you out again for not harmonizing. Do we really need a repeat of the great a Capella nightmare of two weeks ago?”

They huffed dismissively as Chaz, the eccentric vampire in charge, began to tap a pencil on the music stand before him to call the chattering group to attention. Your audition may have been good enough for the 1980’s fashion-loving choir director, although you were fairly certain your status as a human made up for what you lacked in musical talent, and that Chaz deliberately spaced his less-than confident choristers, strategically placing them adjacent to those who had talent to spare…like you and Landry.

“Please! What’s he gonna do? We’re the backbone of this whole row, he’d be lost without us!”

Your laughter was hidden behind your folder of music as the vampire ahead banged the music stand against the stage, finally earning the choir’s attention, and fire once more heated your neck.

I love Thursdays…

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“The front row favorites were talking about going to the Sidecar after rehearsal. You’re coming, right?”

You froze, missing the note you were meant to be writing in your music, your entire body seizing in panic. It wasn’t until a webbed hand reached over, turning the page before you that you snapped from your stupor, your voice joining the first note half a beat behind. You knew a large portion of the choir gathered together after rehearsal each week, but you’d never joined them. Perhaps if Greska would have been there, perhaps if you were a part of any of the existing cliques which comprised the choir, if you didn’t feel so awkward…besides, it wasn’t as if you’d ever been invited by any of your fellow choristers.

“You’re not really going to leave me alone with these vultures, are you? You know I’m liable to say something about the out-of-tune second row if you’re not there to mind me.”

The Sidecar was a speakeasy-style pub, dimly lit and trendy with an expansive cocktail list and entirely intimidating. You’d never been there and couldn’t imagine yourself confidently strolling through the doors alone.

“You can follow me if you’ve never been there before. C’mon, you know I can’t be trusted alone.”

They wouldn’t be alone, you thought immediately: Landry was fun and funny and friendly towards everyone, and surely wouldn’t have a problem slipping in with the larger group.

“Please? Pleeeeease? I really don’t want to go if you’re not coming, but I’m parched. I’ll shrivel up like a blue-raspberry fruit roll-up if I don’t get something to drink right after rehearsal.”

A smart-assed retort about the nearly-full water bottle beside their chair danced on the tip of your tongue, but as you raised your head to deliver it, their wide, golden eyes held you spellbound, imploring you to give in. You felt suspended in time, like a prehistoric bug in amber as you admired the angle of their jaw, the slight sheen on their blue-green skin, the tightly sealed gills at the side of their neck. When your eyes wandered back to theirs, the golden orbs shimmered with hopeful expectation.

“Sure. We don’t want you getting into too much trouble. Look what happened the night of the harvest jamboree concert.”

Chaz was tapping the music stand as the piano started up, the elderly beetle woman who provided the accompaniment hunching over the keyboard with her multiple arms, and you were unable to bury your face in your music as you flushed. You scarcely recognized the confident voice that had come from your mouth; you were surprised with the way you’d responded, but pleased all the same, and you realized there was an unexpected benefit of possessing The Voice.

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“I never met my father, but you can’t miss what you don’t have, you know?”

You nodded sympathetically, crunching into another of the fried zucchini sticks from the basket between you. They would have been better with a touch more salt, but your companion had a low tolerance for sodium, and you were happy to go without.

The Melted Meeple hummed with energy and people, as it always did on Saturday nights, but the tabletop gamers kept to their own parties, leaving plenty of open booths and tables toward the back half of the establishment, and you enjoyed the happy energy within. You’d blurted the question over their heritage, unable to tamp back your curiosity for another week, and to your relief, Landry had laughed.

“Well, my mom is a human. My parents met while she was studying abroad, and she came home with a hell of a souvenir! Although I must say, I’m way better than a t-shirt.”

Your face flamed, regretting asking so personal a question, but Landry waved away your flustered expression. “None of that. I was the only amphibious kid in the family, so that meant I won every swimming contest. I’d go to the river with my cousins and we’d mop the floor with the other kids. Now I live in a nice neighborhood where there are some folks who look like me, I have my own pool, and I sing in an awesome choir. No regrets!”

There was a ridged fin that moved down the center of their head like a punkish hairstyle, mirrored by the delicate fanned membranes of their ears...you already knew from casual bumps and touches that their skin was silky smooth, if not a touch rubbery, and you wondered what their long, webbed fingers would feel like moving over your skin, or entwined with yours…

“You’re right,” you agreed, watching them drain the last of their drink. “You’re much better than a shirt.”

That first night at the Sidecar had been as awkward as you’d feared, but Landry had stayed by your side and had lamented how fussy and complicated the bar menu was as they walked you back to your car once the choir members started to disperse. When the plans buzzed around rehearsal the following week, they hadn’t needed to beg again, and your dislike of crowds was slightly mollified as you walked into the speakeasy together, your taller companion’s hand resting lightly on your back.

“Let’s go somewhere else this week,” they’d whispered as Chaz addressed the tenors of the second row, the third week after that first post-rehearsal meetup. “That place is too dark and crowded. I thought that gnoll was going to climb into my back pocket last week.”

Somewhere else had been the Melted Meeple, then the Black Sheep Beanery the week after, and a dim sum restaurant that served bubble tea the week after that. A full month had gone by, and then another, you realized, two months of Thursdays, and somehow your stomach had stopped clenching in anxiety by Tuesday each week. The Melted Meeple had been your favorite of the spots you’d visited together, and you’d been the one to suggest it that night. Landry’s golden eyes had glimmered as they nodded happily, straightening to attention when Chaz lifted his head, signaling the group to attention once more.

Your weekly post-rehearsal outings had become the most looked-forward-to event on your weekly calendar, and when you’d once been overcome with anxiousness, a giddy elation seemed to carry you into rehearsal each week, and you were amazed by how quickly the time had seemed to fly.

“You know, there’s going to be a dinner after the Snowdrop Festival concert, we’re not going to be able to wriggle out of that.”

“That’s fine,” you allowed, laughing at their screwed-up expression. “You know, if you keep carrying on about the second row, that gryphon is going to assume you’re jealous.”

“Oh, you take that back! The audacity!”

You weren’t sure who this girl was, as you dropped your head back, unrestrained laughter pouring out of you. You weren’t sure who she was, but you liked her, you decided. Liked the possibility that perhaps your feelings weren’t completely one-sided after all. You’d wondered, a few weeks earlier, when Landry had talked around the gnoll sitting in front of you, evading her questions about that evening until the choir was called to attention, wrapping a cool, webbed hand around your wrist the moment the rehearsal ended, hurrying you down the aisle and out the door, before whooping into the night air that you’d escaped and were free to do what you wanted.

“We’re going to the dinner, and that’s that.” You watched as they rolled their eyes, sighing dramatically.

“Fine...what about Saturday?”

“Is there a rehearsal on Saturday?” You felt a prickle of panic that you’d forgotten to schedule something, for you definitely had to work Saturday afternoon, and had nothing else on your schedule…

“No, no...dinner, on Saturday? Are you free?”

The sound of other patrons playing their tabletop games suddenly seemed very far away, and wind rushed in your ears. Were you free Saturday night?

“I think I am,” you answered guardedly. “W-why? Is there something special about Saturday?”

“Yes. It’s not a rehearsal night.”

You bit your lip as Landry smiled broadly, giving you a glimpse of those small, pointed teeth. You wondered what their kiss would feel like; if their skin was always cool to the touch, and if they liked cats. “I work in the afternoon, but I’m not busy at all that night.”

They slipped on the knit hat you’d made them as you left the noise of the Meeple behind, their head fin popping adorably through the opening, and your heart felt close to bursting when long, cool, webbed fingers threaded with your own as you moved through the chilly night.

“Perfect, then. It’s a date.”

You’d reached your car by then, but you made no move to open the door. “A date.”

“A date.” Their lips were cool and soft against your cheek, and the heat that flooded your skin was enough to make the cold night air seem balmy. “A date,” they repeated once more, a bit softer, squeezing your hand before releasing you to open the car door.

You had learned to love Thursdays, but you were certain, as you pulled into the night, your skin buzzing where they’d kissed you, that Saturdays were about to become your new favorite day.

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Next up is Alder the Ghillie Dhu’s revisit & then my first and second place contest winners! For exclusive Cambric Creek stories every month, smash subscribe on my Patreon!

#Exophilia #monster lover #enby monstey #non-binary monster #monster match #monster matchmaker #terato #amphibious #monster x reader #monster x human #monster x female reader