#not everyone flocking to my account as soon as it came out that he played golf djdkdkdj
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AN INQUEST ! BROKENCROWNS’ FIRST TASK !
as the investigations at winterfell begin , so do the inquests . investigators ( both of northern and southern origin ) pull guests aside , asking what questions they can to try and identify culprits and keep the tenuous peace. below , is the set of questions the inquisitor asks . be careful what you say - as little birds are known to flock nearby , particularly with the ravens missing their home .
All muses below, replies go in the order of:
Anthor
Daemon
Dorian
Valarr
REQUIRED QUESTIONS
what is your full title / occupation ?
“Ser Anthor Lefford, Lord and Knight.”
“Daemon Aurane Velaryon, Lord of Dirftmark.”
“Ser Dorian Sand, Knight of the Kingsguard.”
“Lord Valarr Waters, Master of Whispers.”
what do your friends / loved ones call you ?
“My friends call me “Thor”, I rarely hear anyone call me Anthor these days.”
“Daemon.”
“Nicknames are for children.”
“Val but only family. I don’t allow just anyone to call me that.”
where were you born ?
“The Westerlands, I was there but I don’t remember much.”
“On a ship near Driftmark.”
“Godsgrace.”
“Waters is a bastard name for the Crownlands....you tell me where I was born.”
do you have siblings ?
“I do....in the sense that we have the same parents.”
“Far too many.”
“Yes.”
“Dragons are as fertile as Stags.”
do you have children ? do you want them ?
“I don’t have them but I want them. I want a lot of them.”
“No. Of course I want children.”
“Children are disgusting.”
“Dragons are as fertile as Stags. Many dragon seeds have been planted.”
do you have a positive relationship with your family ?
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Yes, we’re a beacon of strength and unity.”
“Sure.”
“I love my family more than anyone in this world.”
do you have any family traditions / memories that you value ?
“....no.”
“For the birth of every child, we come together on the same ship for the birth. We drink and praise the Merling King.”
“My father gave me my first spear, a man’s spear and told me, ‘you’re not a man until your spear is part of your arm’.”
“We like to sit on dragon eggs and hold hands.”
how do you typically spend a day ?
“I train my mind and body everyday. I’m soon to be married and I want to learn more in the way of being a husband but it seems that’s something a man must learn alone.”
“I meet with my smallfolk and I hold court. If needed, I’m in King’s Landing. We build the best ships known to man so I spent a lot of time organizing.”
“I protect the most important people alive. The Prince and Princess of Dorne. When I’m not doing that I train and when I’m not doing that I spend my time enjoying my privacy.”
“Oh, you know, I collect information and read. Reading is fundamental.”
are you religious ?
“The only Gods that exist are the old Gods.”
“I am. I suppose.” Daemon shrugged, “I don’t go to the sept or talk to trees or turtles.”
“Religion is for children.”
Valarr laughs, his head falling back and his arms wrapping around his middle.
what is your greatest strength ?
“You’ll never see me coming.”
“Sailing.”
“I’m the greatest swordsman in Dorne.”
“I’m the smartest man in any room.”
your greatest weakness ?
“Love.”
“I get irritated very easily.”
“Temper.”
“I am a dragon. We don’t have weaknesses.".
describe a hidden talent / little known skill you believe you posess.
“Singing. No one knows but I do enjoy singing.”
“If you get two people to hold me upside down I can empty a pitcher without spilling one drop.”
“Dancing and no, I won’t go into it.”
“I’m a lovely singer, if I wanted to be a disappointment I would travel the realm and sing for a living.”
do you fall in love easily ?
“No but I would like too.”
“No.”
“What a stupid question.”
“...love is a trap.”
do you have someone you would die for ? who?
“I would die for my family.”
“My wife.”
“My Prince and Princess and Joanna Stark.”
“My daughter.”
describe your life five years from now.
“I suppose that I’ll be a father by then, maybe I’ll have some more experiences. “ He wanted to do something to have the North and South united under the Targaryens but he wasn’t an idiot, some things were better left unsaid.
“Four kids, maybe, more ships, and I want to have more added on to the castle.”
“No.”
“I plan on having much longer hair when I get older.”
do you consider yourself to be a secretive person ?
“I try to be.”
“A man must hold his tongue.”
“Yes.”
“I love secrets. Do you want to tell me some secrets? Lets see if I know them.”
is there a secret related to you that you hide from most people ?
“No one knows everything about anyone.”
Daemon stares for a long moment then rolls his eyes in irritation, “we all have secrets.”
“Mmm.”
“Of course, good look figuring them out.”
do you put yourself before others , or others before yourself ?
“Other first, if I love them.”
“I put my wife first. My family. My King.”
“I would be a terrible Kingsguard.”
“Depends on the day.”
do you like yourself ?
“I like me...I suppose.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t think about it.”
“I’m delightful.”
do you believe that you are a good person ?
“Good is subjective. I’m subjectively the best person.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Good is boring.”
are you a vengeful person ?
“Vengeance can be useful.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Who? Me? Never.”
EVENT / PLOT DROP RELATED QUESTIONS -
why did you accept the invitation to the coronation ?
“It’s important to be here.”
“It was either me or my mother. And my mother hates snow.”
“The Starks and Martells are family. I go where the Martells require me.”
“I wanted to play in the snow.”
what are your impressions of the northern rulers ? their home ?
“The North is strong. Our leaders are just as Strong. Winterfell is nice.”
“I don’t know them. I hate this place though.”
“I like the walls.”
“I find Northmen unlikeable but the rulers seem fit. I don’t care for Winterfell.”
were you partaking in the festivities as an invited guest , or someone in service to an invited guest ?
“Invited guest.”
“I was invited.”
“In service to House Martell.”
“I suppose it was an invite but I’m here in service to my King.”
did you attend both the coronation & the feast ?
“I did. I enjoyed my time.”
“I attended the coronation, came to the feast.”
“Yes.”
“No, I was standing on the wall and then I came for food.”
if so , can you account for your whereabouts prior & during the attempted poisoning of queen freyja & king edrik ? can anyone verify this account ?
“Many of my men can confirm that I was in the hall the entire night.”
“I went to the glass gardens, I think Lord Quentin Tyrell was there. I was quite drunk.”
“I was in the hall, someone saw me, ask arond.”
“I can’t. Sorry. I got drunk and. think I followed a serving woman into a closet.”
did you see , hear , or overhear anything suspicious that might be useful in the investigation ?
“If I did I would have brought them to my father immediately.”
“I heard that assassins don’t talk about their deeds.”
“No.”
“If I knew I would have charged you for the answer.”
what motive might someone have for setting the maesters tower ablaze ?
“To throw everyone off.”
“Because Maesters smell funny.”
“Distraction.”
Valarr smirked, “maybe they were cold.”
do you believe these attacks were / will be an isolated incident ? explain.
“Of course not. Someone planned this, someone wants to cause a war and i don’t know why.”
No one would go through all of this for a one time kick. Has to be the beginning of a plan.”
“Someone else will be attacked, it’s only a matter of time.”
“Seeing as the assassin failed, I imagine no one is safe.”
who do you believe to be responsible for the late king stark’s murder ?
“Whoever tried to kill the King and Queen.”
“The dead Maester.”
“I don’t speculate. It’s dangerous.”
“Maybe it was you.”
if you were asked to lay blame upon one of the houses, who would you hold responsible for such a heinous acts ?
“Greyjoys.”
“Starks.”
“It could be anyone. I hope you find them before I do.”
“Starks.”
is there any other information of note to share with the inquisitor ?
no one has anything sassy to say.
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Gladiator AU where Warrior Kylo is given feisty Rey as a reward. And Kylo (being a good boy) is both in love at first sight but also not about to touch this stranger who was essentially forced to marry him. Rey (upon realizing what a soft boy Kylo is) goes from angry bride to THIRSTY wife 😏 because I’m trash. Bonus if they’re both virgins because I am really trashy
Yes! I am still writing the drabbles for the prompts I was sent! Take heart! I will get to everyone’s soon!
While I adore this prompt, I’m going to try and keep it as PG-13 as possible, because while I am also trash, I’m not the best at writing it. I apologize in advance for this disappointing development.
This also sounded way more Victorian than I intended--so beware.
-Read it under the cut :)-
Rey was in chains deep inside the arena, but she could still hear the commotion of the fighters in the ring and the crowd’s roaring screams. Rey didn’t know either of the men currently fighting to the death, but she knew she was to be the winner’s prize. Rey pulled on the chains roughly in a futile attempt to escape, her bonds clanging loudly as she struggled, but she knew it would be no use. A guard, who had been dozing lazily in the corner, came to bang on the bars separating them.
“You best be still, or Kylo will end up with damaged goods,” the man spat, pointing at her with his blade.
“Kylo?” She questioned. The word rolled unnaturally from her tongue. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
“By all accounts, he’s the one who will win this fight. There is no match. He is fearsome in battle—brutal. The things he is said to do. He’ll have such fun turning you inside out, girl,” the man laughed bitterly. He was balding and his breath reeked of stale ale. “He is a good head larger than most other men. In the ring, even the lions seem small. I once watched him disembowel one in the dirt with his bare hands.”
Rey grimaced at the image. A savage. She was to be awarded to a savage as his—his slave? His concubine? She had worked in Unkar Plutt’s household before this whole mess had begun, and had met a great many honorable men at the parties he threw. At one point, she might have imagined being swept off her feet by a man with a strong set jaw and a pair of kind eyes, but Rey found that her tongue was too sharp for her own good. She had been sold away for some coin, and the next thing she knew, Rey had been chained and promised to a man she didn’t even know. Rey wasn’t helpless, she was a survivor, and she would survive this too, even if it meant killing the man in his sleep.
The crowd overhead grew loud in a shout of celebration, and the ceiling overhead shook with the sound of their pounding feet. The man smiled wickedly at her, “It’s time.”
*
Ben knew what would be waiting for him if he won this fight. The emperor had promised him a maiden. The shadowed outline of her silhouette taunted him as he swung and clashed against his competition. He had never had a maiden before. His scars repulsed most of the women he’d met, and the others seemed to flock to him for all the wrong reasons. But this girl—the girl waiting for him on the other side of this fight—would be his, all his. When he finally won, drenched from head to toe in the other man’s blood and his own, the first thing he said was, “bring me to her.”
Ben imagined he looked horrible as he was led away from the ring and deep into the bowels of the arena. He could feel the warm blood drying on his skin and caking in his hair. He didn’t stop to wash his face in a nearby water basin, however. Ben pushed forward in search of his prize, his wife.
“This way, sir,” a nameless face called to him, and Ben turned down another corridor. There, pressed against the wall behind a set of metal bars was a young girl. He stopped when he saw her, his world slowing for a moment. She was beautiful. His mouth gaped open slightly at the realization. Even through her dirtied skin he could see the freckles that crossed the bridge of her tan nose. The soft curve of her hips a dizzying temptation, but he retrained himself to take in all of her glory. Bright hazel eyes shined at him from the shadows—angry eyes.
“Why is she chained?” He growled, suddenly recognizing the predicament the girl was in.
Her guard, a portly man wearing stained robes scrambled up from his chair, “she put up a fight, sir, we had to restrain her.”
“Give me the keys at once, I will release her,” Ben demanded, holding out a large, open palm toward the man.
They dropped into his hand without question.
*
The gladiator—Kylo—approached Rey slowly, and she pulled against her chains again, gritting her teeth as the man grew closer. He was colored dark red and stank of death, and an ugly gash sliced through his face from one eye down underneath his breastplate. A savage, just as the guard had described. When he got close enough that she could see the whites of his eyes, she spat in his face.
He wiped the mess away with one hand and busied himself with undoing the locks.
“Is that all I am? Just a body to you? Not even worth the effort it takes to speak?” Rey ground out through her teeth.
The man rose his dark eyebrows as he turned to look at her. His eyes looked almost amber in the torchlight, and soft against the glow.
“No, no you are so much more,” he breathed. And to Rey he looked almost awestruck in front of her. “You are to be my bride.”
“Your bride?” Rey scoffed as her last cuff was undone. She knew what men like him wanted, and it wasn’t marriage.
“That was my intention, yes,” Kylo said evenly, gently, “unless that is not what you wish.”
Rey cocked her head in confusion, rubbing at her wrists, “so you don’t mean to—”
“I don’t mean to force you into anything, no. But I was promised a bride, and as you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” Kylo explained, and even looking like a devil from hell itself, he spoke sweeter than honey as the words dripped from his tongue. Rey’s insides softened at his tone. “Please, my lady, won’t you tell me your name?”
“Rey,” she whispered, holding his gaze. He was so big, so broad, he could probably engulf her entire being if he wished. Instead, he held out a single hand toward her.
“Ben, my dear,” he introduced himself. Kylo must have been his gladiator name. Rey knew some men took on fiercer titles for battle, “if you’ll have me.”
She looked at the bare fingers stretched out before her, reaching out for her to take. She saw the long arms and his crooked nose and the small smile playing on his lips, and Rey realized suddenly that she wanted to take his hand, she wanted him. It was as if a fire was lit in her belly, filling her with desire and something softer still. She didn’t question the feeling, didn’t dare to. Instead, she took his hand.
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984
Have you ever tried Turkish Delight?
No. I’ve looked up photos of it before and it has genuinely never looked appealing; sorry to those who are delighted (heh heh) by them :/ I’m willing to try it if I ever get the chance, but I really doubt that I’ll enjoy.
Do you have a Vietnamese restaurant in your town or city?
They’re a lot less common than other Asian restaurants, but I think we do have a fair share, yeah. The most common are banh mi joints. I think the reason why they aren’t super popular in my country is that Vietnamese dishes tend to be veggie-heavy - at least that’s the impression of most people here - and with Filipinos loving rice and meat in everything they eat, other cuisines simply end up being more popular, like Thai and Chinese.
Do you or have you ever owned a portable gaming console?
Yes; we had a couple of PSPs and a DSi as kids. These days, we have a Switch.
Have you ever been in a car with a sunroof?
Yeah the Vitara has one. It’s my favorite trick to pull off whenever a friend is riding with me in it for the first time, haha. Everyone always gets so excited about it.
Do you have to have an occasion to eat out or do you just do it for fun?
Back in college I allotted a certain portion of my weekly allowance to be able to eat out once or twice a week. Food is the way to my heart and happiness and it just felt good to have nice food, man. I didn’t want to have to wait for occasions to be able to eat at my favorite restaurants.
Have you opened a letter today?
No, I haven’t.
How far away is the closest cinema from your house?
It’s around a 10-15 minute drive.
Have you ever been to the emergency room?
Nope.
Are you one of those people who can’t go without their morning coffee?
I wasn’t for a very long time, but it’s starting to become that way now that I’ve started having a regular 9-6 shift. I find that I’m way crankier and am prone to crying from anxiety if I don’t make myself a cup of coffee. When I do, I feel super productive and more motivated to do work.
Have you ever worn fake eyelashes?
Twice. Once for junior prom and the next was for my college grad photo shoot.
Do you know the story of how your parents met? If so, tell me?
They both started out as part of the kitchen crew in a luxury hotel in the city, my mom as a waitress and my dad as a cook. My mom started pursuing my dad when she discovered what school he came from lol because priorities, I guess.
What is your favorite Chinese food?
Minced pork with eggplants is a huge favorite of mine. Xiao long bao and pork buns (steamed or baked) are also suuuuuper good.
Would you ever work at a movie theater?
Probably not at this point in my life. It would’ve been a nice gig during college.
Do you have a phone charger in your car?
Yessir. I need one since I constantly use Waze to get to anywhere for both directions and traffic updates, and the LTE I need for that drains my battery.
Do you live far from your parents?
No, they’re like 10 steps away, in another room.
Have you ever submitted a video to Funniest Home Videos?
Nope. I always loved the videos though and the show made up a big part of my childhood.
Have you ever been attracted to an authority figure?
I’ve found several teachers attractive before, yeah. The biggest crush I had was on my biology teacher...I think everyone else had a crush on her too lol, she was the personification of beauty and brains.
Do you think you have a wide vocabulary?
I mean I guess I know more words than most people my age...but I also feel that my vocabulary still would’ve been a lot wider if I just continued to read well into my teenage years and now as a young adult.
What was the last hot food you ate?
Lumpia.
Have you ever seen a meteor shower?
I don’t think so.
Describe your current position:
I’m sitting up on my bed, laptop on my lap, right leg outstretched with my left leg tucked underneath it.
Have you used a microwave today?
It’s only 5:01 AM, so I haven’t. We’ll see about today.
What was the last electronic device you purchased?
I don’t really buy electronics. I’m more likely to buy accessories for the stuff I already have, and the last one I got was a new case for my phone.
Have you ever slept through an alarm?
I think so; only a few times though. I wake up from them easily.
Do you have any celebrity crushes?
Kristen Stewart and Kate Winslet are where it’s at for me, y’all.
Do you prefer going out for coffee or brewing your own?
I can go either way. Coffee is coffee. I don’t mind making my own for convenience, or paying a few hundred bucks for a little more quality coffee.
Have you consumed caffeine today? If so, in what form?
Yeah I have a cup of 3-in-1 barako coffee beside me. I actually made this cup at like, 7 PM last night...then I fell asleep for a bit, woke up at midnight, fucked around for a few hours and now I’m back to drinking it at 5 AM, ha.
Do you have lactose intolerance or know anyone who does?
I have a mild case of it. It’s not a complete disaster for me to eat cheese or consume milk, and I wouldn’t say that my trips to the bathroom afterwards are emergencies. My body has for the most part been nice to me, hahaha.
Do you know anyone who follows a raw vegan diet and lifestyle?
Not to my knowledge, no.
Have you killed a bug this week?
Probably.
What was the first food you learned how to cook?
I followed a recipe for onion rings a few months ago and that was super fun, but I haven’t followed that up yet so I dunno if it’s right to say I ‘learned’ it.
Do you have a Bachelor’s degree? If so, what in?
Journalism.
How many email accounts do you have?
Four, but honestly I barely use the Outlook one anymore. I have three main email addresses on Gmail.
Can you go see a doctor alone or do you like to take someone with you?
My parents come with me because they take care of the finances and insurance that go with things like that.
Have you ever made your own pasta noodles from scratch?
Hmm, I don’t think so.
How long is your average shower?
5-10 minutes.
How close is the nearest park from your house?
We don’t have any public parks because my country sucks, but my village has a few small parks that residents can flock to and walk their dogs in or bring their kids to play in or whatever. The nearest one is a 10-15 minute walk or a 2-minute drive away, depending on how you prefer to get there.
Which household chore do you hate the most?
Cleaning up dog pee.
Have you ever been to an all-you-can-eat buffet?
So many times. They’re very common here and there are a lot of restaurants that solely have a buffet gimmick. Sambo Kojin was my favorite, and I’m really hoping their business wasn’t affected by this stupid virus.
Can you see out any windows from where you are?
Yup.
Do you like pineapple on pizza?
No, but I also don’t like pineapples and all other fruits.
What color is your soap?
Green or white. I don’t really pay attention.
Is anything bothering you right now?
Just about all the time, yes.
When’s the last time you had a headache?
Sometime this week or last week.
What woke you up this morning?
I woke up naturally as I normally do these days.
Are you planning to go see a movie anytime soon?
Yeah my workmates have been watching American Murder on Netflix and all of them so far are raving about it, so I want to give that a shot soon.
Will you sleep alone tonight?
I always sleep alone.
How do you feel right now?
Confused at my lack of drowsiness and a little sad but it’s manageable for now.
Is shyness cute?
I don’t feel any particular way towards it. I suppose it can be endearing and it can also be annoying.
Will you be up before 7:00 a.m. tomorrow?
I already am.
What are your plans for tonight?
Maybe keep doing surveys or send in my online interview that a company I’m applying to asked me to accomplish. I didn’t even know do-it-on-your-own-time interviews were a thing; it’s super convenient and removes my anxiety of being interviewed in real time by strangers.
Would you rather write in pink pen or blue pen?
Blue.
Have you ever kissed the last person you text messaged?
Yes.
Who was the last person you cried in front of?
Just myself. Haven’t cried in front of anyone in a while.
Are your eyes the same color as your dad’s?
Yep.
Have you smoked a cigarette in the past 24 hours?
No, but could definitely use one.
Were you happy when you woke up today?
Nah I woke up crying I think. It was one of the more difficult mornings.
Are you the youngest sibling?
I’m the eldest.
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A Cool Monk...
So WAAAY back in the 70′s, when dnd was in it’s infancy, the Monk was once a cleric subclass, and an overpowered one at that, with the ability to do more damage than a 5e monk can do in 1 round with just 1 hit and the ability to attack way more often than them...
And recently, after looking over Blackmoor and Greyhawk from the 70′s, I came up with something pretty neat!
So in 5e there’s this thing called ‘Ranks’, which need to be earned by a Character (and almost no one uses them because all dnd characters lack effort), but it’s worth it because it gives you some pretty amazing buffs!
And so I made my own little variant, as yet untested, but based more off of the ability for an OD&D Monk to go absolutely crazy!
So, here it is!
I know it looks blurry and bland but here me out, at level 20, a normal 5e monk can do 1d10 damage with each hit from their unarmed strike, and can strike anywhere from 3 to 4 times per turn without taking into account any multiclassing or archetype specific abilities.
So at this level, a Level 20 Monk would be considered a ‘Master’ in Rank, a Master of the Martial Arts.
The next step is Grand Master, someone that controls a whole monastery and essentially trains those soon-to-be Level 20 Monks.
That’s why the Grand Master gets a boost to Open Hand Damage that they cause with their unarmed strikes, all those punches, kicks and etc.
But here is where the DM can have fun, because the only way to advance up in the ladder, from Master to Grand Master, is to single-handedly defeat the current Grand Master is a fist fight, either killing the Grand Master or forcing the Grand Master to submit and making you the new Grand Master.
After that, the cycle continues, eventually you become a Master of the Winds (insert fart joke) and then a Master of the Seasons and eventually a Grand Master of Flowers, of which there is only ever one in the world, the only true master of all ki...
But while doing 4d10 + your Dex Mod per hit sounds great for a Monk, if you feel like the Monk is already a little too damaging, you can use some other features.
A few I’ve come up with are:
Once per long rest, you can use your Flurry of Blows, Patient Defence or Step of the Wind feature without spending the necessary Ki.
Think of this like becoming so in tune with yourself and the universe that you can flow with it naturally, not needing to strain your body or mind to do what others would see as extraordinary.
Perhaps they gain the ability to use the ‘Step of the Wind’ feature without spending the necessary Ki after they become a Grand Master of the Winds for example.
Once per long rest, when you use your Stunning Strike feature, you can choose to spend an additional Ki point to grant the target disadvantage on their saving throw.
Again, something very useful that can’t be used often. Trust me when I say I’ve seen many times when a Monk has spent their Ki point to do Stunning Strike, and the creature immediately passes the save and the Monk just wasted their precious Ki to do literally nothing to help themselves or the party...
So while granting disadvantage is nice, it also doesn’t guarantee that the creature is gonna fail, so there’s still a chance that a creature with a solid Con Mod could easily succeed, even with disadvantage...
Your Movement Speed is now equal to 5 x your Monk Level while you are not wearing armour or carrying a non-monk weapon or shield.
This isn’t really much until the later levels, because at Level 20 having a Monk that has a base movement speed of 100 feet and the ability to dash, dash and dash again, basically going 300 feet in 6 seconds because Monk, is pretty dope.
Combine this with running on the ceiling and running on water and you got yourself a badass...
Your Deflect Missiles ability now allows you to reduce the damage of an attack by ____ + your Dexterity modifier + your monk level.
Instead of a d10, make it a d12, or 2d6, or 5d6, or 4d10, whatever you think is appropriate, but the ability to literally catch and halt a flying bolder in its tracks should be not only a sign of how badass you are, but to show how high up on the scale you are too!
Whenever you take the attack action on your turn, you can choose to spend 3 Ki points to make an additional unarmed strike.
I put it at a minimum of 3 Ki because the maximum number of regular attack any character should get should be about 10, that’s like a High-Level Fighter usnig even and Action Surge on top of it all.
And keep in mind, in order to get these kinds of abilities, your Monk first has to defeat this Grand Master of Whatever in single combat, meaning your could just have your Grand Master of Flowers do 400+ Damage in the first round if you wanted to...
Some more abilities I haven’t fleshed out yet are:
Spend X number of Ki points to automatically succeed on a saving throw.
Spend X number of minutes meditating and regain all your expended Ki.
These two are more for fun...
But after all that remember that each fight will be harder than the last. If you’re not using any of the above ideas or abilities and just want your Monk to do more straight damage with their unarmed strikes, then that’s fine, but remember that you’re fighting 10+ people who are very clearly more trained than you to get to the Rank of Grand Master of Flowers.
This is also a great thread to give to a Monk Player that has that super-animoo protagonist motivation of being the best martial artist in the world.
It gives the monk a motivation, and the monk should (hopefully) get their butt whopped at least once by one of these Grand Masters before defeating them and earning their new rank, or at least gain the privilege of training under a Grand Master of the Winds or a Grand Master of the Seasons to even gain the ability to challenge them for their title...
I’ve seen this before actually online in an old d&d campaign by everyone’s favourite not matt mercer named matt, Matt Colville.
With Bhaltair, the Human Monk, he gained the title of both ‘Master of Locusts’ and ‘Master of Ravens’, both things Matt made up, and after Bhaltair defeated the past Master of Ravens, he gained the title and some awesome powers to go with it, like being able to fly using raven ki magic stuff or turning into a flock of ravens.
So in a way, maybe Matt inspired me, in which case, Thanks!
P.S. I may or may not be testing this in an upcoming campaign, I have no Idea yet because no one has chosen a Monk yet, so it may not even come into play, in which case, feel free to test it yourself!
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January’s Story
Yup! My ninth Win a Commission contest is the Princess Who Never Laughed, and @boopboopboopbadoop won! If you’d like to read my version of the story and an explanation of the art,
Once upon a time there was a widower king, who had a daughter named Felicity, and she was so lovely that the reports of her beauty went far and wide; but she was so melancholy that she never laughed, and she said “No!” to all who came to woo her—she would not have any of them, whether they were princes or noblemen.
The king had tired of this so-called whim of hers long ago, and thought she ought to look at and like other people; there was nothing she need wait for - she was old enough and she would not be any richer either, for she would inherit the kingdom.
So he made known that whoever could make his daughter laugh should have half the kingdom. Lovers from south and from north, from east and from west, came to try their luck - they thought it was an easy thing to make a princess laugh. They were a odd lot altogether, but for all their cleverness and for all the tricks and pranks they played, Felicity was just as serious and immovable as ever.
But close to the palace lived a man who had three sons, and they had also heard that the king had made known that he who could make the princess laugh should have half the kingdom.
The eldest of the brothers, Peter, wanted to try first, and away he went; and when he came to the palace, he told the king he wouldn’t mind trying to make the princess laugh.
“Yes, yes! That’s all very well,” said the king; “but I am afraid it’s of very little use, my man. There have been many here to try their luck, but my daughter is just as sad, and I am afraid it is no good trying. I do not like to see any more suffer on that account.”
But Peter thought he would try anyhow. It couldn’t be such a difficult thing to make a princess laugh at him, for had not everybody back when he had served in the army, both grand and simple, laughed so many a time at him when he served as soldier and went through his drills under Sergeant Nils?
So he went out on the terrace outside Felicity’s windows and began drilling just as if Sergeant Nils himself were there. But all in vain! The king laughed, but the princess sat just as serious and immovable as before, and so they sent him home.
Peter had no sooner arrived home than his second brother, Paul, wanted to set out and try his luck. He was a schoolmaster, and a funny figure he was altogether. He was great at preaching.
When Paul came to the palace, and said that he wanted to make the princess laugh, the king shrugged and let him in.
So the schoolmaster went out on the terrace, and took his place outside Felicity’s window, where he began preaching and chanting imitating seven of the parsons, and reading and singing just like seven of the clerks whom they had had in the parish.
The king laughed at the schoolmaster till he was obliged to hold on to his stomach as he fell to the floor, and Felicity was just on the point of smiling, but suddenly she was as sad and immovable as ever, and so it fared no better with Paul the schoolmaster than with Peter the soldier. So they took Paul and sent him home again.
Well, the youngest brother thought he would have a try next. His name was Hans. But the brothers laughed and made fun of him. Besides, the father would not give him leave to go, for he said it was no use his trying. But Hans would not give in—he begged and prayed so long, till they got tired of his whimpering, and so he got leave to go to the king’s palace and try his luck.
When he arrived at the palace he did not say he had come to try to make the princess laugh, but asked if he could get a job there. He figured if he could work there, he could observe the princess and see what could make her laugh. They had no job for him; but Hans was not so easily put off - so get rid of the lad the King gave him hired Hans to carry wood and water for the kitchenmaids.
One day, when he was going to fetch water from the brook, he saw a big silvery fish in the water just under an old root of a fir-tree, which the current had carried all the soil away from. He put his bucket under the fish and caught it. As he was going back to the palace, he met an old woman leading a golden goose.
“Good day!” said Hans. “That’s a fine bird you have got there; and such splendid feathers too! He shines a long way off. If one had such feathers, one needn’t be chopping firewood.”
The woman thought just as much of the fish which Hans had in the bucket, and said if Hans would give her the fish he should have the golden goose; and this goose was such magicked that if anyone touched it and if Hans said: “If you’ll come along, then hang on.” as well, they would be stuck like glue to the whatever they were touching.
”Sure,” said Hans, and they made the trade. “A bird is as good as a fish any day,” he said to himself. “If it is as you say, I might use it instead of a fish-hook,” he said to the woman, and felt pleased with the possession of the goose.
He had not gone far before he met another old woman. When she saw the splendid golden goose, she felt that she must go and stroke it. She made herself so friendly and spoke so nicely to Hans, and asked him to let her stroke that lovely golden goose of his.
“Oh, yes!” said Hans, “but you mustn’t pluck off any of its feathers!”
She acquiesced. Just as she stroked the bird, Hans felt curious and said: “If you’ll come along, then hang on!”
The woman yanked and pulled, but she had to hang on, whether she want to or no, and Hans walked on, as if he only had the goose with him.
When he had gone some distance, he met a man who had a spite against the woman for a trick she had played upon him. When he saw that she fought so hard to get free and seemed to hang on so fast, he thought he might safely venture to pay her off for the grudge he owed her, and so he gave her a kick.
“If you’ll come along, then hang on!” said Hans, who felt that the woman hadn’t deserved that, and the man had to hang on and limp along on one leg, whether he wanted to or no; and when he tried to tear himself loose, he made it still worse for himself, for he was very nearly falling on his back whenever he struggled to get free.
Hans pulling them around by the goose
So on they went till they came in the neighborhood of the palace. There they met the king’s smith; he was on his way to the smithy, and had a large pair of tongs in his hand. This smith was a merry fellow, and was always full of mad pranks and tricks, and when he saw this procession coming jumping and limping along, he began laughing till he was bent in two.
But they did not stop. The woman and the man only looked in great rage at the smith for making game of them. So said the smith: “It would be great fun to see if I could stop the whole flock, many as they are!”—He was a strong man, and seized the man with his tongs from behind in his hat, and the man shouted and struggled hard, but Hans felt mischievous and said: “If you’ll come along, then hang on!”
And so the smith had to hang on too. He bent his back and stuck his heels in the ground when they went up a hill and tried to get away, but it was of no use; he stuck on to the other as if he had been screwed fast to the man’s trousers, and whether he liked it or not, he had to dance along with the others.
When they came near the palace, a dog ran against them and barked at them, as if they were a gang of tramps, and when Felicity came to look out of her window to see what was the matter, and saw this procession, she burst out laughing. But Hans was not satisfied with that. “Just wait a bit, and she will laugh still louder very soon,” he said, and made a tour round the palace with his followers.
When they came past the kitchen, the door was open and the cook was just boiling porridge, but when she saw Hans and his train after him, she rushed out of the door with the porridge-stick in one hand and a big ladle full of boiling porridge in the other, and she laughed till her sides shook; but when she saw the smith there as well, she thought she would have burst with laughter. When she had had a regular good laugh, she looked at the golden goose again and thought it was so lovely that she must stroke it.
“Hans, Hans!” she cried, and ran after him with the ladle in her hand; “just let me stroke that lovely bird of yours.”
“Rather let her stroke me!” said the smith, simply wanting her to join the fun and not realizing what that sounded like.
“Very well,” said Hans.
But when the cook heard this, she got very angry. “What is it you say!” she cried, and gave the smith a smack with the ladle.
“If you’ll come along, then hang on!” said Hans, and so she stuck fast to the others too, and for all her scolding and all her tearing and pulling, she had to limp along with them.
And when they came past the princess’s window again, she was still there waiting for them, but when she saw that they had got hold of the cook too, with the ladle and porridge-stick, she laughed till the king had to drag her off the floor. This magically caused the people to come unstuck, and they all went off grumbling. They weren’t grumbling for long, however, as they later realized they had the story of a lifetime to tell and so rejoiced.
Felicity immediately asked to meet Hans, and they soon became friends, but never married, because she was uninterested in everybody and so was he. Felicity did have a daughter with him to carry on the line, and they lived comedically (and happily) ever after.
THE END
Explanation
I wanted to draw clogs - that is literally the only reason why everyone looks Dutch. But I didn’t realize their old fashion was so colorful, and is kind of old-timey cute!
The title card isn’t my most sophisticated one, but I got a goose in! I specifically looked up geese from the Netherlands area, but I forgot what its called. Its white with an orange beak and kind of red around the eyes? Very helpful, I know. Sorry.
For the first picture, I used this as inspiration for their clothes. I loved giving Hans a goody face, and I liked practicing drawing older faces - I tend to draw people my own age more than anything, lol. The old nasty man has anime impact lines just to make sure everyone knows that he bumped into that corner. I don’t think I’m going to make that a habit in these.
For the last picture, I’ve never drawn anyone laughing, really, before, so that was fun! If you think Felicity’s legs are awkward, I agree. Here’s my post-drawing explanation!
I decided to make Felicity an aroace person, along with Hans, because I felt it fit well with their characters.
I based Felicity and her father, along with their clothes, off Dutch royalty I found off of Wikipedia.
Do you guys know the book in the corner? It’s a reference to another story I’m going to do, sooner or later.
#win a commission#contest#commissions open#the princess who never smiled#princess who never laughed#the princess who had never laughed
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The Talllle of Glennnn and Daaaale
(and Gaiiiil and Marrrrsha)
(Note: some of the footage of the 2017 P4A was lost. This compilation was the best I could do from my memory and the footage available. If I made any mistakes or forgot any parts I apologize.)
In the 2017 Project for Awesome the Missoula crew were hanging out the first night when Brit Garner brought a bunch of props from a local theatre. As Hank said, “Brit is here and she brought… something terrifying.” That terrifying thing was Glennnn the sheep. From one angle Glennnn looks like he smoked a bunch of weed and then killed someone. From another angle Glennnn looks like he’s very tired and knows a lot about you. From yet another angle Glennnn looks proud, like a spiritual teacher. Like a gentler Rafiki mentor. Apparently, Victoria looks at Hank like Glennnn a lot, especially when he has “ideas.” Glennnn reminds Hank of Undertale. At one point Glennnn was called the Merlin to Hank’s King Arthur. Hank quickly became so attached to Glennnn that he promised to work Glennnn into the sequel to his book.
Glennnn came to the stream with two hats: a green visor and a gold crown. When wearing the green visor, it seemed like he will do your shady taxes and launder your money for you. Or maybe play poker with his friends. Does he have a gambling problem? No, he’s just a CPA. When wearing the crown, he is King Glennnn. We will get to that later.
Soon a consensus was made on the spelling of Glennnn. Glennnn must have 4 n’s, three of which are silent. It does not matter which three are silent. Later we learned that Glennnn is pronounced “Glen” if the last three n’s are silent and “Gle-n” if one of the later n’s is the audible one. At this point chat was overtaken with sheep emojis, all from Glennnn the Sheep Father. Some chatters went overboard and were informed that Glennnn can’t have five n’s, we must keep it reasonable!
Quickly we learned more about Glennnn: he is a hollow shell full of wisdom … and MURDER. Hank claimed that NASA is hiding the fact that for years they have observed Glennnn through a powerful telescope. Someone claimed that Deadpool wishes he didn’t wear such a skin-tight suit and instead wore Glennnn’s hat… and nothing else.
Meanwhile, the nerdfighters quickly made social media accounts for him. Glennnn The Sheep soon had an Instagram with a screenshot of the P4A stream as the profile picture. The bio read “Hi, my name is Glennnn, the last three n’s are silent. My favorite people are the Nerdfighters that are currently watching the livestream of the Project for Awesome!” A twitter account was also made for Glennnn, @GlennTheSheep. Later, when describing the discrepancy in n’s on social media, we were advised to type as many n’s as your heart tells you to find Glennnn on social media.
Soon Matthew Gaydos joined the stream and was introduced to Glennnn. Matt found his legs “interesting” and when chat asked him how to buy the sheep Matt said “You can’t! Glennnn is a human! No, he’s not!” Hank questioned if Glennnn is 100% sheep and Matt clarified that he is 4% wood and 96% sheep. When Matt had to step away he left Glennnn in charge of the stream.
Somehow Glennnn lost his hat. Matt gave him the crown and declared him King Glennnn. King Glennnn of the Glen, Hank added. It is Glennnn’s Glen, he is not king of the forest. Daaaale is his brother, King of the Dale. And Marrrrsha, of the Marsh, is their sister. Clearly glens were named for Glennnn. As Hank said “If Glennnn can see you, you are in his Glen. You are turning into a sheep. Can you feel it?”
Hank invented a new version of Instagram for Glennnn: Glennnnstagram. All pictures on it are of sheep and glens, except the one picture of a dale from when Glennnn visited Daaaale. Chat suggested a Glennnn theme park and Matt seemed confused about what that would entail. Hank suggested making a hat with Glennnn on it as a perk for P4A 2018 (as of the posting of this it has not been announced as a perk but Glennnn and Daaaale plushies are totally a thing!). Much of this conversation happened while Hank’s face was being painted to look like Pizza John. Hank then declared that Hank-Pizza John Green of the Glen is a subject of King Glennnn. Chat requested that someone kiss Glennnn and Matt promised that someone would at 1.4 million dollars. Hank offered to kiss Glennnn, although I am not sure if he ever did.
Soon talk turned to a major event in Glennnn’s past. Apparently, a sheep’s hair is only shorn when he loses in battle. Glennnn’s hair is the longest in the Glen. Daaaale’s hair is slightly longer. Glennnn of the Glen is the hero of the Battle of Glen-Dale. The elves know him. Songs have been dedicated to Glennnn. It is proposed that Lin-Manuel Miranda or Al Roker should write a musical of the battle of Glen-Dale.
Then Rodney appeared and it was confirmed that Glennnn has Rodney’s back because, of course he does. Rodney said, “the sheep is everything” and as Glennnn was passed from person to person we learned that holding Glennnn feels so right that you forget he’s there. For a time Glennnn wore the frog hat instead of his crown. We also learned that Glennnn plays the banjo just like Ed Helms and Ryan is his middle name. Maia and Valerie drew Glennnn eating corn in a timed competition.
The next day we learned that Glennnn is everyone’s baby. He belongs to the world. Unknowingly, Destin was encouraging donations by offering to write donors’ names on magnets and one was a sheep. The chat insisted that the sheep was Glennnn. Soon a donation came in from Glennnn but Destin rejected his name because he “is not a real person.” The chat declared that while other magnets were worth a certain donation amount the sheep should cost $1000 in honor of Glennnn. Ben donated $1000 and Destin insisted “but does he want the sheep?” He then offered that Ben could name the sheep whatever he wanted. When Destin wrote on the sheep he could feel how much it mattered to chat. “This is the most important thing I’m gonna write on a sheep, probably in my life.” Destin writes “Ben (Glenn)” and chat quickly corrected: Glennnn has four n’s.
Back with the Missoula crew we learned that Glennnn is Tuna’s favorite quadruped. Since we had last seen the Missoula crew, Ashe had made a painting of Glennnn. The donations reached a milestone and Brit brought in a surprise. DAAAALE HAD ARRIVED! Daaaale bowed to Glennnn, for he was the hero of the Battle of Glen-Dale.
“All hail Daaaale!” someone declared. “Disagree!” countered Hank. Soon it was questioned where Marrrrsha is and Brit clarified “I drive a Honda Civic, I can only do so much.” After a brief debate, it is confirmed that Daaaale has four a’s and can be pronounced as “Dale” or with a bleating sound in the middle (like a sheep). Soon the battle between Glennnn and Daaaale was sparking again, they began to tally a donation battle between the brothers. “Is the vote just a tally? I’ve made a spreadsheet!” someone said, proving how nerdy we all are. The spreadsheet was put to use as the tally was called the “popular vote” and the spreadsheet was used to count the amount donated to each sheep. Suddenly most of the Missoula crew was on Daaaale’s side. “We’re just excited by the new thing” said Caitlin (and seconded by Hank).
The following was determined about the First Battle of Glen-Dale:
-It took place in 1994 (Possibly 640? Possibly yesterday? It couldn’t have been yesterday!)
-Different spellings are all accepted: Glen-Dale, Glennnndale, Glennnn-Daaaale
-Hank’s recap of the Battle: “This is Glennnn, king of the Glen. This is Daaaale, king (queen?) of the Dale. The Dale and Glen were once one land until the Battle of Glennnndaaaale. Very sad for Gaiiiil, their mom. Their sister, Marrrrsha, inherited the Marsh that no one wanted, so it is a peaceful land.”
Now we are in the Second Battle of GlennnnDale! Accusations were thrown at the brothers and slogans were created:
-Glennnn had cow pox and did not tell his lady-friends about it
-A vote for Glennnn is a vote for cow pox for the entire flock
-Tip the scale for Daaaale
-Justice for Daaaale
-A win for Glennnn is a fail for Daaaale
-Daaaale has kind eyes (contrasting the discussion of Glennnn’s eyes from the first day)
-“If Daaaale fails I will wail”- Julie
-Glennnn is such a good friend!
-RiverDAAAALE!
-What do we know about Daaaale? Nothing!
-Daaaale is against Net Neutrality
-We are feeling sheepish about Glennnn
-Daaaale will prevail
-Tip the scale for Daaaale
-Glennnn and Daaaale have beef with each other
-A vote for Daaaale is a vote for a world of snacks
The Battle paused to introduce and catch up the new guests. Brit explained everything as “Brit brings props from community theatre but they are now their own things and stories.” At this point Daaaale was wearing Shrek ears because Shrek lives in a swamp. (I’m still confused on this one since a dale is not a swamp.) The new guests were happy to jump into the Battle and insisted that cow pox gave us vaccines. As their connection to the stream went in and out it was commented that the Battle is causing wooly connections and shear brilliance of puns. I’m not sure you herd me. Chat declared the puns to be flocking awesome.
As the Battle waged on and the donations continued to pour in Brit called for peace: “I need to take them back in the same vehicle.” Hank agreed, adding that Glennnn and Daaaale need to go sit in the same basement together. Soon donations were submitted for peace and were tallied under the joint ticket of Gaiiiil and Marrrrrsha. Unfortunately, this peace was short-lived as the debate was reignited by the question of if Glennnn or Daaaale is older. Eventually it was decided that they are twins but Glennnn is older.
As is to be expected, Harry Potter was soon pulled into the battle. In the heat of anger Glennnn was declared a Slytherin but it was soon walked back. He is a Gryffindor. Daaaale is definitely a Hufflepuff. Both Glennnn and Daaaale love Harry Potter. The discussion of Harry Potter brought us back to Nerdfighteria and Brotherherd 2.0 was born, as were its fans the Herdfighters of Herdfighteria. Quietly Brit lamented, “Why do I feel like they are never going to be returned?”
“I’m for Daaaale, but when I look into Glennnn’s eyes I feel the need to vote for him” commented Hank. There is definitely something about Glennnn’s eyes. Ben (possibly the same Ben from before) made a big donation in Glennnn’s name. He was declared Glennnn’s SuperPAC which was soon replaced with SuperHERD (or SuperFLOCK). Since Glennnn was given larger donations than Daaaale, Glennnn was declared a puppet for Big Sheep. Soon the Second Battle of GlennnnDaaaale was ended due to the $5154 donation that did not vote for either sheep. The votes were tallied and Glennnn won the Second Battle of GlennnnDaaaale.
As they were finishing up for the night Brit went to wash dishes and found a picture of Reed hugging a different sheep from the theatre… and also a large goat (which Brit did not bring to the stream because it was too big).
You would think that would be the end of Glennnn and Daaaale for the evening BUT NO! They traveled to Synema Studios to visit that crew into the wee hours of the morning. Michael Aranda questioned why Glennnn gets to be the lord and savior (and wear the crown). He was then given a quick recap of the story. Soon it was discovered that Glennnn and Daaaale were in marching band together as drummers. As the stream continued the Synema crew gave Daaaale a lot more attention than Glennnn because Glennnn is a king and “Daaaale just lives in a swamp” (Note: a dale is not a swamp). At the end of their shift Michael declared that it was more of an honor to be in Daaaale’s presence than Glennnn’s and chat was offended.
As the 2017 Project for Awesome came to a close Hank thanked Glennnn and Daaaale for their efforts. Glennnn appeared to celebrate the end of the livestream. After John and Hank said goodbye the last shot of the stream was Glennnn.
(Here’s a link to my Butfartman Lore Compliation.)
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Willpower Butch Infiltrates the BAFTAs
It was my twenty-seventh scotch, noble reader, of the hour; Tom Rob Smith, world-renowned proponent of gay death, was with me, but not in the way a full-lipped apprentice attends to an aging poet, nor as a former classmate who comes to share a booth with one at a bar after a chance meeting which culminates in a divorce pact – for such follies are the province of the Homosexual, that Cyclops, who became so since his loss of depth perception did not enable him to notice breasts. In the midst of the nigh-on soft chatter of our female militia, my companion could be heard making overtures, squalidly, for me to play “snooker” according to his specious and altogether sun-bathed program:
“Willpower, you must use your pole to hit the balls, or else I will best you, and that is improper for a loathsome pervert to do to a manly man.”
“Spare me your monologues, Elton Yawn!” roared I, for I had made excellent progress at ramming my rod into the table’s holes with sweltering masculine virtue.
We had come, concretely, to destroy our health sufficient to the task of passing among the British unobserved.
Although I, a stalwart and heterosexually-attracted Man, would have taken emotionless, ungay pride in eviscerating Tom Rob Smith at golf, we were interrupted by the blaring sirens which indicated that the BAFTAs were soon to begin. So, we left, along with the women – a wolf and an inconvenient rabbit among their flock of sheep – for the Imperial BAFTA Hall, where the Gay-Transgender makes one of its many covens outside of Tom Cruise. Despite our unstoppable approach, my heart was gripped suddenly with incredible weight-lifting, and TRS himself exclaimed:
“Do you see it, Willpower, at the door? There is a vision of extreme displeasure, and a stench arising from it which would make nancies of a lesser constitution die outright. What can it be? Alas, this is why the Gay is impelled toward a lifestyle of superficially confrontational languor, of blasé splendor, because we are so surrounded by the impertinence of heterosexual childbirth. Do you imagine, Willpower, how it is to be imprisoned in this world, to exist in the presence of Neanderthals who think that drunken subway arguments which end in daredevil stripping have no place in public life, and not to be able to set them on fire as they have done countless times throughout history to my scripts? Woe, for this is the fate of the homosexual to endure such preening boredom. Oh, it is Germaine Greer.”
So it was, as we drew close, that we could make out her contemptible visage, which conceals a mass of disgusting platitudes where other persons might possess a brain. Thinking quickly, I sent the contingent of women over, who becalmed the creature with pretty nonsense about uteruses as I and my companion strode bulgingly past.
(Germaine Greer, right, bravely checks a ‘woman’ for beard hair.)
It was at the threshold of the BAFTA Hall that TRS addressed me, insofar as his perniciously pretty physicality would permit, for what the Gay-Transgender lacks in muscle mass it accounts for in spite. “Willpower,” said he.
The remnant of my beard extended and cut into his throat, which he understood correctly to mean that I was about to kill him. He reconsidered whatever soliloquy he had been formulating along our frightful travail through the throngs of disco-dancing initiate necrophiles and on-fire SLAM poets. Instead, he spoke a modicum of sense: “Master Butch, whatever feelings of soulful longing for male love we may have assimilated ‘til now, we must put them further out of mind than Bryan Singer’s career. It is time for us to assert dominance, or we shall be in pulsating danger.”
Manly reader, I was not greatly concerned. “You are aware,” I growled, “that everyone under the age of twenty-five is a woman? and that the Gay has tried many times – deliciously, immensely many times – to convert me and has not more than thrice succeeded? I shall need only to eviscerate those virgins by the power of forthright apoplectic flexing, which is my attribute as a noble Excellent.”
But TRS shook his head dolefully, like all of mankind who have had the misfortune of reading his books. “That won’t work. What we need, monsieur, is for you to think like a Gay.”
“Like a Gay...”
I pondered this, although I was aware of the degradation to my unmountable masculinity in so doing. Because the Gay is inscrutable to the manly man beyond his suspiciously smooth-faced desires, because the Gay’s entire psyche is ruled by those desires, am I to believe that the key to thinking like a homosexiphone is to slander women until the straight man becomes confused?
I strode in willfully, gloriously, the light glinting off my pectorals sending those hideously Eurythmicsed gargoyles into a fearful advance. It was a vision of such heroism as in Hellenistic days could not be depicted, for the limp hand of the poet shall not wield anything as thickly engorged. Facing down their trimmed stampede, I released unto them:
“Gay homophiles! I am indeed one of your horde, as you can plainly tell by my wet cough. Shall we discourse together on the evils of Woman, who are essentially redundant since the invention of canned corn? Shall we convince the Genuine Man to leave her and her ways, her wiles, her rejection of fully equipped samurai decapitations at family restaurants? Let us stand together, heathens, for I can see an acknowledgement of the truth in my words by the erect posture of your varnished pincers.”
All seemed lost – the Gay Vampires had descended upon me, their decrepit digits wrapped in guilt and recently-unstuck Titanic posters, gyrating in a vicious parody of Reddie Sexchaynge during his electro-shock faith healing in The Danish Girl. They had brandished on me their fearsome skincare, which is known to turn straights into the sort of recently single young men who move to the city to purposely trip on sidewalks in front of low-key leather cafes. But it was then that a miracle took place, that the insatiable fabulant Tom Rob Smith came to the rescue of myself, an indestructible master of unweak gigantism.
Slamming open the door, he addressed the crowd. “I’ve seen all of your films. They’re obvious.”
A gasp echoed through the hall as TRS strutted down the aisle, glowering tearfully, manifesting low-budget ‘90s sex comedies in his wake; and I, in pursuit, took great care to strafe past the apollodisiac influence of his posterior -- for the Gay, natural prey of the manly man, has evolved to paralyze him with insipid perception. We arrived in the front lines, with eminent hormonal abundance, where our way was made by those most cocktail-lit transcendentalists.
It was then we were alerted to the presence of Germaine Greer, who had crept into the hall by reason of the existence of her reproductive capacity. She was joined by the well-educated and generally expert feminist scholar Graham Linehan; that personage was invited to the stage to speak, where he was met with much appreciative braying and the open display of genitalia such as might surprise even Ewan McGregor.
“Evil perverts,” he yelped, gripping the edge of the podium like the neck of a sub. “I have come to educate you. Listen and assimilate the words of your infinite better. This world is divided at its hilt: in one sphere, our sphere, live the real, who accept the existential primacy of boob size. In the other are the transgendereds. Too easily have you upright homos accepted those vermin in your ranks, for now they have tasted the come of anime weirdos and will no longer settle for overdosing on fake heroin in corporate meeting rooms where they have been hired by the capitalists to populate sex parties. Oh, they will destroy reality given the remotest chance: they will take to it with scotch tape and whore makeup like they did to Tom Holland. Thank God that I, a straight man, have emerged from the depths of intolerable self-fellation to inform you benders which of you is queer, you know, in the normal way.” He concluded this declamation with great flourish: a round of tequilas, called “T shots,” was provisioned to each of us, as club drugs rained from the ceiling and a gaggle of clownfish was brought in to be ritualistically basketballed. Then, giving us a caustic grimace, Graham Linehan disappeared, taking my macho sanity and will to live with him.
The night was only beginning, and directly I understood how the Gay-Transgender could be quite so miserable as they are, that they must prowl the alleyways between disparaged Tex-Mex restaurants in search of lascivious marriage – in order to forget, if only for several months, the vivid lunacy of having to murder everyone who discovers your incest fetish. And I was struck with a sudden melancholy, for the idea of the Gay without its Transgender is an upsetting one: it is far less dignified, erudite, and rose-fleshedly proper, lordly reader, to think only of whom the Gay has sex with and not additionally how.
Nevertheless, it is clear why Hollywood must disapprove of these most vacant transgendereds, for if too many of us should fall into their strange genitalia, how shall show business reliably obtain more children to rape?
Abruptly from out of an enormous, glittering, piano-shaped coffin rose the master of ceremonies, the remaining life-force of Rupert Everett, who disco-danced toward the podium nervously and began his address:
“‘All you need to make a movie is a twink and some glycerin.’ Jean-Luc Godard said this in the seconds before he memorably punched William Wyler face-first through the muffler of his Trabi, and it is perhaps truer today than it was even in his prime as a total Otter. Year by year, as gay culture continues to defile the world with men who look like they might be wearing lipstick but are too flushed to tell, we gather here to celebrate the crimes our community has gotten away with because of the liberal globalist agenda, and in particular, those fantasy characters that actually pull them off. And so, the nominees for people who are probably haunted by their teenage years are as follows: Jake Gyllenhaal, in the role of Borscht, a gay who decides to become bisexual, bringing destruction down upon humanity. Ben Whishaw, our High Shaman of Shame, in Posh Homosexual Encounters of the First Time. Chris Pang, who didn’t do anything gay this year but is unfairly hot. And Tilda Swinton, who is genuinely an alien out to replace every person in the world, this being the sort of tenacity to upset the straights that our Academy recognizes. But as you well know, there can be only one foot-gripping Fonzie, so it is with Biblical villainy that I announce the winner of this year’s Silicone Satan: Ben ‘so bottomy it’s almost straight’ Whishaw!”
The crowd broke into revels immediately, a boundless catastrophe which brought the town of London to its knees in a literal sense, for those Englishmen who are not fashionably bicurious are so accustomed to marmite and scotch eggs that they hardly care what goes in their mouths. And amid the dilating chaos, I took Tom Rob Smith by the arm, but it was, most audaciously musclebound king, a gesture neither tender nor rough, which could not in the remotest circumstance be open to lewd interpretations, as there was no occasion for my thighs to greet his glistening back, grazing “accidentally” for one heart-stalling moment when I could not meet his eyes, as any man who has been to Cracker Barrel on a Monday afternoon will well remember; and, I did not, say, growl seductively that my breath wasn’t the only warm thing I could put in the orifice of his ear, nor did I drag my thumb along the line of his bicep while pristine depression tears glimmered on my cheeks outside a gas station where a group of teenagers was either dangerously wasted or speaking Dutch. Thus, did we wend through the pendulating masses in pursuit of that dimensionless maudlin fairy Timpani Gayparade and the sometime-man who had also been my much be-tolerated roommate, Paragon Shag.
(Timpani Gayparade, right, shared many hours of blazing homosex on the set of Ball Me By Your Chains with his former master and effigy pervert, Smarmy Whammer, most of which made the cutting room floor.)
Turning a corner into the corridor of Z-list drag queens who had become ordained online, we encountered Gayparade in the act of performing a sorcerer’s spell which would grant him bodily existence. Timpani addressed us, having to peer up despite the heel of his combat boots, for the heterosexual is size-advantaged by his immunity to pet-play – a fact that is widely acknowledged even among Gay propagandists: “Trot on over here, lover, and face my hot brothers, some of whom would die to protect me, and the rest of whom will die because they have just witnessed Benedict Cumberbatch try to get the British press to stop calling him a gay bitch by licking out a pork pie.”
And sure enough, with a wail that was more in-tune than Marc Almond could ever be, some fifty of them passed into the oblivion of trying not to become second-hand racist from conservative editorialism. There did endure, however, a small contingent, who approached me with the determination of a newly hatched Transgender learning J-pop lyrics.
“Are we on Russian dash cam?” groaned the first passionately. “Because I’m about to slam you in the rear.”
But he could not anticipate that I had concealed pepper spray and an axe in my jacket, which are a great inconvenience to the Gay. So, it came to pass that those notorious hot brothers were immobilized – by their evil lust for my manhood or by the evacuation of their limbs, I could not be sure. While I dealt with them, Trimathee Chaletgay slipped through my fingers, into the bowels of unfortunate shaving. But it was not for him that I had come.
My goal was there, at the end of the hall, his skin bleached out by the industrial lighting and his degenerate lifestyle. And yet, after so many decades of acquaintance, those brave calves and that carefully swooped shoulder mane were unmistakable to me.
“Shag,” said I. “Are you still...?”
There was a pause as he turned toward me icily. “I – I didn’t change my name, so...”
We loafed about and said nothing, but I did kick three separate iterations of Spiderman down the stairs.
“You, ah,” it was most gay, but I could not come up with something dexterous to say nor a timely masculine reflex. Then I remembered the words of Tom Rob Smith much earlier in the evening. “Hey, girl. You look like they let Randy Quaid back in the movies, but with less visible pubic hair.”
Shag had begun to turn from me – I knew because I was tragically subjected to the witchcraft of gay sexy-walking, whereas the straight man cannot be accused of having hips, for he moves by the sheer gravitational force of his erectile prominence. And, my most red-bedecked haruspex of whatever the fuck Jonathan Ross is ever saying, I could not allow such a flagrant display of dandyism to go unimpeded, for that is how one remains a Top; so, did I call to him once more:
“Shag! Hear me and be somber! I speak, and a profound gloom becomes me, for I would rather not open my mouth around these pedophiles. But, I shall say it regardless: I need you, Paragon Shag, for everything you are – to help me destroy James Franc’n’o and his compound of chad gay clones, to graffiti organic supermarkets with ironic caricatures of Chairman Mao which will put at-risk youths off vegetarianism, to pull the plugs of the unabashed and despotic fairies who have made this world into a sheer-underpantsed nightmare of ex-Soviet post-punk, to be my one true ally against the rising tide of gay joy and the tribulations of this erotic disaster we call life.”
I felt the world end, bicepted Lord – for a long moment, when I could discern nothing on his heavily painted face, my heart stilled, which is not dangerous to the Man because his blood courses by its own perfect will – and when his lips twitched into a smile, Comrade of my Coronary Supersession, I felt it reborn.
Racing toward the exit, our pansificious colleagues and female battalion in tow, I began to imagine that after the stretched darkness had come a thrusting dawn. And then an unbearable shriek fell upon our ears. After we had determined that it was not Ed Sheeran, who is easy to kill, Shag and I turned to each other, establishing wordlessly that me must investigate.
We could see wave upon wave of reclaimed fake fur-draped gay cannibals, Z-snapping anxiously. They had gathered ‘round a TV screen -- but from such a distance as I could not make the picture out, nevertheless, I knew at once what had come to pass -- for the manly man, being preferential in evolution’s progress, is vested the power of second-sight so long as it pertains in some way to explosions. So it was that I realized the day of our reckoning had arrived in the image of a smoldering crater: God had crashed back to earth.
About the Authors
The wayward and athletic Admiral Willpower Butch this week celebrated his fifth decade of victory over superior-acting children, among whom he is universally known as the Hospital Man. He is an unparalleled hero, superlative in his muscular immensity, heterosexual prowess, and aptitude for breaking underdeveloped bones. His correspondent, Paragon Shag, his soul reclaimed from the clutches of pastoralism, would have certainly become such a commandant of auspicious slapping had he only been spared from the gay influence of mathematical implements in his school years. Their secretary and loosely-historically-based magic syphilitic gambler, Dead Summer Days, never thought the apocalypse would look so much like a Robert Rodriguez film.
#willpower butch#paragon shag#manly men! magazine#timothee chalamet#tom rob smith#the gay#the trans#my terrible jokes
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Chapter 8: Eagles and Dragons
The weekend went by swiftly, a blur of dancing and practicing my magic. I was able to consistently create a sword and occasionally a halberd. Although, when I did make the halberd, it looked a little different than the one in the sparring hall. This halberd looked more like a long double axe. The axe on the outside was bigger than the one on the opposite side, and both the top and bottom ended in a spear point. Whenever I could form the halberd, I headed straight to the Sparring Hall so Snapdragon could teach me to wield it without killing myself on accident.
On my way to lunch one day I ran into Blackthorn in the hall.
“Hello Allie, I’m glad to see Kyrie is doing well,” he said, seeing her once again on my shoulder.
“Yeah, she was lucky.” I said, and was halfway down the hall when I heard him call out again.
“Allie, I really am sorry I couldn’t do anything about the note, but you must understand such letters are not uncommon. More often than not just fanciful roleplaying,” he said apologetically. “Besides,” he continued, “I doubt I would be mistaken in thinking that you and your friends might find a way to handle a real threat,” he winked, and continued down the hallway without another word.
When Monday came around we met back in the Map room. Once we were assembled, Robin lead us down a series of passages until we reached a vast chamber filled with chests, racks, and closets filled with weapons.
“Blades,” muttered Daedalus, “You could arm a whole battalion in this one room.”
“Daedalus,” I said, “That’s the point.”
“One might wonder if it is wise to arm teenagers.” Atalanta mused, looking about the room.
“It’s Spade philosophy.” Kennedia explained. “We believe that one of the ways to suppress violence is to conquer it. The logic is that if someone can fully comprehend and master force and the damage it causes, they will be less likely to use it.”
“There are also the practical applications,” Continued Robin, “People are generally less likely to attack someone if they know they are just going to fight back.”
We finished up in the armory and continued to the South wing to view the bunk room. It turned out to be a series of smaller chambers branching off of an even larger main area. We decided to use the main area as a makeshift sparring hall. We spent the rest of the hour moving weapons to the South Wing and putting tables along the walls where we would fill them with desserts and hot cocoa.
We spent the rest of the week making sure everyone knew about the Friday night meet and were pleased to find that the vast majority were looking forward to it. We also made great care the teachers didn’t know, because I severely doubt what we were doing was allowed. When Thursday night arrived, we were ecstatic as we were going over the final details for tomorrow night.
“You know,” Daedalus said through an eclair, “I feel like we should have a name for ourselves.” We looked up from our list of weapons to stare at him.
“What do you mean?” Atalanta inquired, and he shrugged.
“If we’re going to found an organization on that grand a scale we should adopt a name.It’s daunting, but I think we can do it if we use our skills correctly. We’ve got an encryptor and a navigator,” He gestured to Kennedia and Robin, but before he could continue, Robin interrupted him.
“I’m actually a healer too.” He said, and explained that his magic allowed him to see various wounds and ailments and if he directed some of his energy to it, he could heal them.
“That’s even better, so now we’ve got a directionally gifted healer, a brawler and a weapons expert,” He pointed to himself and Atalanta, “and Allie is our team leader. We even have a secret headquarters!”
“Hey wait a minute,” I interjected, “since when am I team-”
“So what do you suggest?” Kennedia asked, warming up to the idea, and Daedalus quieted for a moment, then said very seriously.
“Queen Allie and the Knights of the Round-”
“Very funny, and when did we decide I was leader? Shouldn’t we hold an election or something?” I asked, and everyone just looked at me for a second before continuing.
“How about the Order of Blades?” suggested Robin
“No, that’s too pretentious.” protested Atalanta.
“Yeah but it sounds cool.”
That’s how we spent the rest of the hour, bouncing ideas off of each other until we began to nod off. In the end we decided to call ourselves the Eagles after the name of the Observatory we gathered in.
The next night came in a flash and my Eagles and I had just finished setting the sweets on the table when the other students started to file in. At first it was a bit awkward and the students kept to their respective years, but soon enough when they began to eat and drink they started to open up. Within the hour, students from the Flock were singing and playing their music for Dancers while League members started to play the games that they brought with them.
After I danced a for a few songs I was introduced to a few games. Daedalus convinced me into being one of his pawns in the Spade version of chess. This version involved people taking the place of pieces on the board, which was a massive grid drawn on the floor. The king was the player that dictated where the others moved. When to players met on the board, they would have a sparring match in which the loser was captured and taken off the board. The main objective of the game is for the king to take into account the different strengths and weaknesses of the players below them.
Hilarity often ensued when players kept trying to influence the king’s thinking.
“Why did you move me here! I can’t do anything from here!”
“No don’t put me against her, I can’t fight her, now him I can beat, put me there!”
“I can’t believe you sacrificed me just so you could get the bishop!”
“What do you mean I’m expendable?”
Daedalus, as it turned out, was quite the king. He put me up against a Fledgling that didn’t really have a knack for hand to hand combat. He maneuvered Atalanta, his knight, and Robin, rook, to clear a path for me to the end of the board. Once I was a queen I was able to checkmate the enemy king by knocking her queen off his feet.
“You’re not bad, Hatchling. What’s your name?” He asked as I helped him up. He was a senior, or Dragon, named Zephyr.
“Allie Sage.”
“That’s right, you’re the one who started this whole thing right?” I nodded
“My friends and I did, yes.” He laughed.
“You did a good thing here, Allie. I wish I had thought of it. If you ever need anything I can help with, let me know.”
It was well past midnight when people finally started to sleep. When it was a few minutes before dawn I went with my friends to fetch more food for breakfast. We found that the pantry filled itself, and when we looked through some shelves, we found that there were more than sweets. We grabbed whatever breakfast food we could and went back to set everything on the tables before the other Spades woke up.
The night was a success by all means, everyone everywhere was saying how much they were looking forward to the next one, and many volunteered to help with the set up. As implausible as it might have seemed, we were gaining the trust of the other Spades while uniting them into one student body. I began to feel a sense of hope, we might be able to pull this off.
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Kandomere x Reader - Notice Me
lucacangettathisass replied to your post “Got any requests?”
Could I please request a kandomere x human reader one shot where the reader is completely oblivious to kandomere's feelings even though he flirts with them a lot, subtly and unsubtly, and it is Hell Someone Free Him From This Torture Montehugh Stop Laughing
This is a continuation of all my other Kandomere ‘fics where the character is a jeweler. I use ‘I’ and first-person perspective because I think it flows better as a self-insert. This story is also known as ‘We Learn the Author Doesn’t Know How to Flirt’
My flagship store had been open and thriving for several months before Kandomere graced us with his presence. It was a Monday, April 21st and sunny out. Funny how your memory works when something important happens. I could hear my ovaries popping in my ears when he walked in, a leather jewelry box in his hand. All my male attracted staff stopped to catch a glimpse. We’d had plenty of attractive people come in before, being in the heart of Elftown and the best jeweler in the city (Seriously, there was a poll), but his aura enhanced it. He was mysterious and powerful.
I had a feeling about him, that he was important; that he is in general and would be to me. Love at first sight, maybe? The instant he stepped in, his moonlight eyes were on me. Was the feeling mutual?
“Hi!” I greeted him, “Is there anything I can help you with?” I was thanking every deity listening that I didn’t stumble on my words.
Kandomere walked up the counter, “Yes, I would like this to be restored.” He opened the jewelry box and a silver gorget laid inside on a bed of velvet lining. It was scratched and beaten to hell.
I leaned over the cool glass counter to examine it and carefully removed it.
“May I ask what happened?”
“Let’s just say, an occupational hazard. Will you be able to save it?” Kandomere asked, a bit of worry in his voice.
I examined it further, “It’s definitely in bad shape. Scratched, warped. Did someone run over it with a car?”
Kandomere said nothing, but his look said, ‘It’s a long story.’
“These scratches are deep around the engraving, I’d have to completely redo the bottom text, but yes, it’s salvageable. I’d say it’ll take a week, week and a half and probably around $150 ish.” I grabbed some forms from under the counter. “If you’ll fill these out, I’ll get right to work on it. Pretty simple stuff, your contact info, mostly.”
Kandomere nodded as he filled out the forms.
“Just so I know what I’m working on, I need to know how old it is and if it’s magical or not. The last time someone on my staff or I didn’t ask before we started work on restoring a piece, Brandi ended up breathing fire for a week and it was a complete disaster.”
“That’s how I met my fiancé, the firefighter,” Brandi chimed in from the back.
“That’s awesome and all, but how about you get around to updating those forms she’s talking about before, I don’t know, someone summons Bigfoot for a commitment ceremony just because they looked at a toe ring wrong.” Matt jeered at Brandi.
Kandomere gave a light chuckle, “I can assure you, it’s rather plain for elven ware. No curses or embedded magic. It was my father’s, I’d say it’s at least fifty, sixty years old.”
I nodded as he spoke. I wrote up his ticket, gave it to him and replaced the gorget back in the jewelry box.
“I greatly appreciate you taking this on, I can’t see how it’ll be an easy project.” He said as he shook my hand.
His hands were the perfect combination of softness and strength, the hands of someone who was not afraid to work but also took care of himself.
I smiled, becoming infatuated with this man, “It’s not a problem at all. I look forward to the challenge.”
As soon as he was gone, the story erupted into woof whistles and giggles.
“Oh. My. God. He was gorgeous!” Violet squealed, kicking her feet in her chair.
“He could cast an elven spell on me any day.” Matt whistled.
“He’s single! I didn’t see a ring! Did you see a ring? Because I didn’t see a ring!” Avery exclaimed.
“Chill out guys, we’ve had legit celebrities come in here and no one freaked out this bad,” I said, trying to calm everyone down.
“None were as hot as him.” Matt countered, plainly.
“Okay, okay, whatever. Just get back to work. We’re a place of business, not a middle school cafeteria.” I sighed but still found humor in the situation.
I started work on the gorget that day. I used my phone to translate the text. ‘Elves above all. Above all elves.’
That left a bad taste in my mouth. He was one of those elves. Why was he so nice to me? Did he even know what it said? Was he playing a trick on me, hoping I’d screw it up so he could leave a bad review proclaiming the humans were indeed idiots?
While it made me uncomfortable, it gave me the incentive to do my absolute best. I blew up the image to capture every dip and swirl of the ancient language. The text would have to be the last part I worked on, but curiosity got the better of me. I had to at least reshape it first.
It wasn’t long until Kandomere was back, three days to be exact.
“Oh, hello!” I said, “Did you want an update on your gorget?”
“No,” Kandomere said, “I was interested in a custom piece. A brooch, to be specific.”
I loved custom pieces. They allowed me to be creative and to surprise my clients. I looked forward to a lot of those projects each day, but as long I was working with jewelry, making it or repairing it, I was happy.
I smiled, “Follow me back and we’ll get something sketched out for you.”
“Did you have any design ideas or references?” I asked as we sat down in my office, my pencil and paper ready to sketch.
Kandomere looked momentarily thrown off, as though he was completely surprised I asked such a question. Later, I would learn that this trip to my store was just to see me and he hadn’t prepared that far in advance.
“Filigree.”
I’d also learn that he only blurted out the first word that came to his mind. He was lucky it was appropriate.
I started sketching the whimsical pattern. “I’d recommend a single gemstone in the center, probably an amethyst or sapphire. Your coloring leans into the darker jewel tones as for complementary colors.”
Why did I say that? Elves had known their complimentary color pallet since they knew what colors were.
I passed him the rough sketch, “What do you think?”
Kandomere looked it over, “Perfect. I’d be honored to wear it.”
I beamed at the compliment, “Great! I can have it done sometime in the week after next for $250.”
He nodded in agreement.
“I’m sorry if this is personal, or makes things awkward, but I translated the text…” I had to say something, it had been needling me for days.
Kandomere knew exactly what I was getting at, “It is a harmful and outdated sentiment which I do not believe in, but the gorget was my father’s and I can’t bear to part with it. Maybe one day I’ll be able to lose it in a drawer somewhere, but that hasn’t happened yet.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. He must have met a lot to you.”
Kandomere nodded and changed the subject, “Nevertheless, I am eager to see your work.”
“And I thank you for your patronage! Your gorget will be done next Friday. It’s already looking sooo much better.” I said as we left my office. No paperwork today, we already had his info from last time.
“I have nothing to worry about when it’s in your skilled hands.” With one final look at me, he was out the door, into the bright sunlight.
It wasn’t until that night I wondered if he really was flirting with me. My skilled hands? Did he mean that double entendre? Was I reading too much into this? I sighed and turned on a podcast, burying my thoughts in refining gemstones.
As Friday rolled around, I was excited for him to see the gorget once it was completed. Every time I heard someone come in, I looked up, hoping it was him.
Around noon, it was finally him. “Kandomere! Hi, I have it right here!”
I kept the gorget in its box close to me. His moonlight eyes widened when he saw it. Momentarily, he seemed speechless.
“It is magnificent. The level of artistry is exceptional. It looks better than new.”
“I’m happy I could restore it for you.”
“I can’t thank you enough, honestly.”
“It’s my job, no need!”
Kandomere paid with his card and returned to work. Once he was gone, everyone flocked to me.
“He likes you.” Brandi grinned.
“He was totally flirting with you.” Avery giggled.
“Ask him out!” Violet implored.
“CALL HIM!” Matt urged.
“If you don’t, I will,” Fabian warned.
I scoffed, “You all are crazy. If that was flirting, then that mom of two from this morning was flirting also. And I’m not saying that because I don’t feel pretty or anything, I just genuinely don’t believe he was flirting. Also, isn’t incredibly unprofessional?”
No one had strong rebuttals and lost interest, returning to their work.
That night I curled up in bed and unlocked my phone. I had a few notifications from my business accounts. My store’s Instagram and Facebook had been liked from the same account. Kandomere had followed my accounts. Out of curiosity, I snooped on his profiles. His Instagram was blank, leading me to believe that he had just created to follow me. His Facebook was locked up pretty tight with privacy controls, but I did get a look at his selfie profile pic.
A schoolgirl crush bloomed in my heart. Maybe the handsome and mysterious elf did like me. I feel asleep with my phone clutched to my chest and smile on my face.
Kandomere returned a few days later to pick up his brooch. With him was someone who I could only guess was Hagrid’s American cousin.
I was just as excited for Kandomere to see his brooch. I felt I kept it simple while still retaining the signature elf whimsy. I was pretty proud of it.
“Hi! Are you excited to see your brooch?” I asked.
“I could never grow tired of the wonders you create,” Kandomere answered.
I awed internally. How sweet! Okay, that was probably a flirt.
I pulled out its box with my logo on the top and presented it to him.
A satisfied smile appeared on his face. “You have amazed me once again. How do you do it?”
It was a rhetorical question, but I still answered. “Hard work and some talent, mostly!”
“Is that what I think it is?” American Hagrid asked in disbelief.
Fabian was working on a leather wrist cuff that was signature to a famous musician. I loved the band myself and they were in town for a show. They were performing at a small and intimate venue instead of a large arena show. I wanted to get tickets, but they sold so quickly, all I could get was one seat. I didn’t want to go by myself, so I decided to be more vigilant about when the tickets would go on sale if they came back.
“Indeed, it is my friend,” Fabian replied, pride in his voice.
“I’m still amazed when people like him come in,” I said, “I’ve listened to him since I was a teenager.” The musician was so famous, no one had to say his name.
“He likes that band too.” American Hagrid said, nudging Kandomere.
“Whaddya know so does she,” Fabian goaded, nodding towards me.
“Would you like to accompany me to their show?” Kandomere asked, bit embarrassed by everyone’s comments, but still found humor in it.
“Yeah! If I can get tickets, that is.” I said, not thinking.
Kandomere and everyone I worked with looked at me expectantly.
“Jesus, this is painful,” his friend said, his face buried in his hand and gruff laugh.
“Oh, shit, you’re asking me on a date,” I said, nearly dropping a box of findings in shock. “Wait, are you really?”
Me? I was human. I didn’t have perfect, effortless looks or supernatural powers. I worked for everything I had. Elves just had things handed to them. Let’s be real, my brand was so popular largely because I was exploiting elves’ love of useless, shiny things. It was only a plus to them that I was actually good at what I did.
Kandomere grinned and nodded, “Yes, I am.”
I giggled and nodded, “Yes, I do!”
That was the first of many ‘yeses’ in our relationship.
#lucacangettathisass#kandomere#bright#bright fanfiction#kandomere x reader#kandomere fanfiction#kandomerefics
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Meriadoc Brandybuck x Reader
Can also be found on my quotev account -CertifiablyAGeek
The shire was alive and well on this delightful evening. The night was filled with music, laughter, and joy all around as every hobbit in the shire was gathered together in one spot for a very special occasion.
It was Bilbo Baggins’s eleventy-first birthday. Quite the admirable age for a hobbit. The old fellow was strange indeed. He went gallivanting off with an entire company of dwarves at the ripe age of fifty and didn’t come back for thirteen months. He was thought dead so all of his possessions were auctioned off as he had no last will and testament. In the middle of the auction though, the fellow appeared, bothered and flustered and carrying several strange, foreign objects with him. Once he got settled back into his hole at Bag-End, the old hobbit spoke of faraway lands filled with elves, dwarves, and men. He told the story of a great battle against herds of orcs and of the slaying of a great fire breathing beast, the slaying of Smaug the Terrible. He told these stories to the young hobbits as they grew, you being among those that listened intently, and they had stuck with you and just about every other hobbit to this day.
So now, whether or not you liked the old odd fellow would have been irrelevant as everyone still flocked to his hobbit hole at the prospect of free food and drink. You, for one, were there in the hopes of catching a dance with a certain young gentle-hobbit.
You had helped prepare for this party all day, running last minute errands, cooking, and stitching up Bilbo Baggins’s old wine red waist coat for him, while your brother had busily set to work on the grounds, ensuring they would be the envy of all. After working all day, it was good to enjoy your work for the night. Thus, you danced along to a light hearted jig with a random hobbit fellow close to your age, laughing and smiling at the joy all around you. The tempo and melody was infectious and your dress was so alluring that you had hardly been at a loss for company all night, however you only wanted the company of one hobbit in particular. As the last chords played and the band finished with a yell, you curtseyed to your random partner, who took your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, and dismissed yourself from dancing. You were now, once agin I might add, looking for that certain fellow I keep mentioning.
Your (e/c) orbs turned in their sockets as you surveyed the large assembly of hobbits. But alas, this search yielded no news of your quarry. You huffed annoyedly.
“Where could that silly boy be?” You tapped your foot in frustration whilst crossing your arms like a stubborn child. Seeing no point in simply standing on the dance area, you located your brother in the throng of full and drunk hobbits. A mop of curly blonde hair was your indicator for where Samwise was, seated alone with his face in a mug of ale. You rolled your eyes before crossing towards the elder Gamgee child, being mindful of the other guests.
“This is one of the biggest parties we’ve ever been invited to and he chooses to spend it with his face in a mug of ale instead of going after Ms. Rosie Cotton. I’d like to not be the only parent this genera-hey!” While you were muttering to yourself, you were unaware of another hobbit sneaking up behind you until he had yanked you backwards. You were sent stumbling into the chest of whomever decided that move was a good idea.
“Excuse me, this is NOT how you ask a lady to dance, si-Frodo!” You shrieked out in shock as you looked up at your captor who was busily laughing as he yanked you into a new uplifting, dance. Frodo Baggins was your best friend (aside from Sam) and “wingman” in most cases. And, he was the only one who would dare to startle you like this.
“I’m sorry, (Y/n), but it was too funny!” The young hobbit laughed more causing you to roll your eyes again as you danced with him. The blue eyed male twirled you around while the other hobbits clapped and yelled in joy and merriment. When you returned to him, he started up a conversation.
“Tell me, (Y/n). I watched as you danced happily with just about every other eligible man here, willingly at that, then suddenly I turn to find you scowling and looking as though someone had destroyed your brother’s gardening tools. What happened?” You sighed but danced along with the young Baggins. An idea came to you suddenly.
“I have been enjoying myself all evening, despite not being able to locate a certain someone,” out of the corner of your eye, you saw Frodo smirk mischievously with a knowing look. “But, my brother has not. Look!” You pointed as Samwise Gamgee stood, cast a longing glance at Miss Rosie Cotton dancing nearby, then took off in the direction of the ale. Frodo groaned as he watched the spectacle and you made a gesture as if to say ‘you see what I mean?’ .
“Before you pulled me into another dance, I was heading over to speak to him and get him to go after Rosie. He’s done nothing but pine after her for months and it is maddening!” You joined hands with Frodo as you began partner dancing, in order to allow for easy conversation. Frodo nodded along.
“You’ve done the same as him though.” You glared up at the taller hobbit, stating that you at least intended to do something about your attraction tonight. Frodo smirked wider with a hint of pride at that and went back to your brother. “But, his is a worse case. It’s so very evident Rosie returns his feelings, Sam is too shy to ask her to court him though. Perhaps, we could do something to help them out?” Frodo looked to you as the song ended. He bowed and you curtseyed to him out of sheer politeness. Frodo and yourself continued to talk though as the band struck up another song, concocting a plan to get Sam and Rosie in close quarters for the night. With a plan hatched, the two of you made your way to Samwise. Frodo sat down on Sam’s left, facing the party, while you took the spot on his right, clasping your hands together on the table.
While Frodo quickly chatted with Sam, you stole your brother’s mug and drained the ale as quickly as you could without being too obvious about it. You sat the mug down with a light ‘tink’, causing Sam to look down at it and Frodo to wink at you.
“Ah think I’ll jus’ have ano’her ale.” Sam said whilst lightly glaring at you. All you did was scrunch up your nose and stick your tongue out in return. As the blonde hobbit went to stand and head off, you and Frodo caught his arms and spun him into the arms of Rosie Cotton who gladly started to dance with your older brother. You giggled behind your hand as Frodo laughed with you. You laughed out a ‘thank you’ and finally asked the ravenette where he had last seen Meriadoc Brandybuck. With a smirk and a teasing comment about being sure to invite him to the wedding, Frodo Baggins pointed you to your next search area. You bobbed and weaved between carts, tents, and pavilions as Gandalf sent off more firworks. At each one, you came up short. You padded past Gandalf’s firework cart for the third time before finally deciding to just sit and wait for Merry, and most likely Pippin too, to show themselves. You took a seat at a small table somewhat off by itself, where you sipped at your own ale and laughed as you watched Sam and Rosie twirl around. Suddenly, you heard a loud bang and the sound of a firework scream as it was launched high into the air. You turned to the sound and watched as a red explosion occurred in the sky.
Many of the gathered hobbits clapped at the display, you simply smiled, until the red lights morphed and took shape. It’s shape was that of a dragon. Your eyes widened in shock when the great display of pyrotechnics turned and came barreling towards yourself and the other party goers. You yelled in fright like many others and bolted out of your chair, immediately hitting the ground to avoid the burning display. As the great firework dragon swooped past, it seemed to light the air around it on fire as it continued forward. You looked up to watch its tail wisk past you and you caught a glimpse of Bilbo and Frodo mimicking your actions by hitting the ground.
But just as quick as it passed over head, the dragon soon swooped back into the sky where it then exploded several times and rained down red sparkles. You breathed a sigh of relief while sitting up as the other hobbits clapped and cheered once again. Now that the “danger” had passed, you burst out in a smile and began to laugh as you got to your feet, dusting the dirt off of your skirt. As your guffaws subsided, your lips were drawn into a smirk. You caught sight of Gandalf making for one of the spots where a tent had been previously near his cart and it all clicked with you. You allowed Gandalf a few minutes by capering towards where you had last seen Bilbo and Frodo. The latter was helping his uncle to his feet when you arrived and you quickly went to the other side of the elder hobbit to assist in stabilizing him.
“Oh-thank you, my dear!” Bilbo patted your forearm in appreciation and it was at that same moment that Frodo and you made eye contact. The blue eyed hobbit took in your smug expression, mimicking it with one of his own before asking,
“Merry and Pippin?” He questioned in reference to the firework dragon. You nodded, your smirk morphing into a bemused smile.
“Merry and Pippin.” You stated while gesturing with your head in the direction Gandalf had disappeared. Frodo shook his head, causing his curls to swish around erratically, before waving you off with his free hand, the other was still clapped on Bilbo’s shoulder. You giggled mirthfully and made your way back to the tents and pavilions, grabbing an apple along the way. Oh, you were going to have fun with this!
You paused beside Gandalf’s cart, thinking for a moment on where he would’ve sent the two trouble makers. With a snap of your fingers and another bite from your apple, you took off towards the tent for the dishes. You peeked around the fabric to spot Merry and Pippin begrudgingly but diligently working on cleaning the plates, bowls, forks, saucers, and everything in between that had been used up till now. Gandalf sat nearby, smoking his pipe whilst monitoring the two cousins. The gray wizard shifted his gaze from them for a brief moment as he blew smoke out of the corners of his mouth. He locked eyes with you and you sent him a small wave in return. Gandalf dipped his head in greeting, a smile forming at the edges of his lips, before looking at Merry then back to you, the same knowing look in his eyes that Frodo had earlier. Eru’s sake! Did everyone know? Your own brother hadn’t even caught on! The only people you had told were Frodo and Bilbo. Actually, the only person you had told was Frodo, Bilbo had been eavesdropping. When the older hobbit heard, he came charging out of his study, placed a firm hand on your shoulder, and wished you the best of luck. It was an odd thing to say, but you supposed you would need all the luck in the world when it came to the troublemaking Brandybuck.
You took in the singed look on Meriadoc, having to hold in your giggles at the sight of his lovely golden yellow locks standing on end and the soot covering his face. The black powder was even all over his waistcoat! That was a shame, you had been rather fond of that one, it was lovely and fun. Something you felt complimented his personality well. But it still gave him a distinguished and neat look, which you thought reflected the other side of Merry. You drew your lips together in discontent at the state of the waistcoat but brushed it aside and subconsciously licked your lips as butterflies began to take flight in your stomach. You ducked back behind the cloth and whispered a little pep talk to yourself.
“Breathe, (Y/n). You can do it. Just, be natural but fun and alluring and mysterious and playful and-this isn’t helping me.” You shook your head, and took another bite from your apple as you emerged from the other side of the tent and strolled into Pippin and Merry’s line of sight.
“Hello!” You chirped in a perky voice to catch their attention. Pippin responded with a dejected ‘hi’, continuing to scrub the plate he was working on. Merry paused in rinsing the dishes of soap to take in your appearance. His eyes trailed up from the bottom of the (f/c) dress you were wearing to your face before his lovely blue eyes locked with your own and his jaw went slack. The young Brandybuck was at a loss for words, you were stunning. Of course, he thought you looked stunning whenever he saw you, but there was something new about you tonight that really made it feel like the only word to describe you.
You stood poised for a greeting from the second hobbit but received none. You began to fidget as all Merry could do was stare. Under his gaze, you began to feel nervous. Pippin looked between your increasingly anxious form and the awe-struck Merry before elbowing his cousin in the side, causing him to huff as air was forced out of his lungs. Despite the jab in the side stealing even more of his breath away, it did the trick to get Merry to talk.
“(Y-Y/n)! Hi, uh, hello! You, ahem,” he cleared his throat before trying to continue. “You look...gorgeous!” Beneath the soot and powder, the Brandybuck began to blush and was suddenly very self aware of the state he was in. He felt as though he looked like a beggar before a queen. Merry looked at your face to gauge your reaction and was pleasantly surprised (and more than a little delighted) to find that you had a bright red blush painted across your cheeks and a small bashful smile you were attempting to hide playing on your lips. Those bright red, beautiful, soft looking, kissable lips...He shook his head to clear the, less then appropriate, thoughts from it. A lovely rouge color now flooded his face. Merry glanced down at his attire once more, taking in the unruly look that now adorned him and cringing as the weight of his actions tonight hit him. He had wanted to ask you to dance, woo you and sweep you off your feet before showering you in attention. When he was sure you would have been completely enamored by him and his charms, he was going to offer you the little ring he had picked out to ask you to court him-then he would have gone and messed with the fireworks. But no, his nerves had gotten the better of him and he had followed Pippin’s prompting into getting involved in mischief to take his mind off the anxiousness he inevitably felt around you. Anxiety mixed with glee, delight, and affection though. Ah, but now, here you were.
“-rry? Meriadoc? Did you hear me?” The hobbit was shaken out of his stupor by your gentle voice attempting to get his attention and Pippin grabbing his arm rather forcefully. Meriadoc looked up at you to see your hand reached out as if to cup his cheek and that you had taken three steps closer to him, leaning on the edge of the barrel he was working from. Merry was tempted to act as though he was still lost in his thoughts if it meant he could feel your hand against his cheek. However, the Brandybuck didn’t feel that to be any form of “right” so he attempted to respond to your questioning.
“Uh...yeah, I-well no. I didn’t hear you actually...” he cleared his throat nervously, glancing down at the slightly soapy water between you, “would you mind repeating it?” The normally confident Brandybuck was completely at your mercy as you raised your free hand to cover your mouth as you giggled. A sweet, melodic tune that sent the male hobbit’s head reeling. You stood up straight as Pippin handed you the apple you had tossed into his hands.
“Miss (Y/n) was asking if we were the ones behind the ‘display’ and if that’s why we’re doing the dishes.” Pippin piped up. Merry glanced between you and his cousin, his face growing warmer as you looked at him expectantly. He swallowed comically before answering your question with one of his own.
“Well, uh-that depends,” he began hesitantly. “Did you...like it?” The hobbit before you felt utterly foolish asking something like that but it was all he could think of.
“Welllll-“ you dragged out the ‘L’ until Pippin interrupted you.
“Were you impressed by it?” Merry felt his face flush even more at his cousin’s more direct route. He glared at the younger lad, ready to leave him behind in Farmer Maggot’s field the next time they went.
“I was, actually. Until it came barreling towards all of us that is...” Merry cringed internally and only now noticed that your hair was slightly disheveled and dirt was trapped under your nails where it hadn’t been before.
“Still, I dare say the whole incident was rather spectacular.” Eru, was it possible to blush anymore? If there was, Merry was certainly close to figuring out how. Said hobbit looked up at you with a lopsided grin. Suddenly regaining his confidence, the golden haired hobbit leaned forward on the barrel, getting slightly closer to your face. He angled his head down to meet your eyes due to your small stature, taking pride in the blush that crept up your neck, face, and stretched towards your ears. For a brief second, he thought he saw the same level intensity of his affection flash through your (e/c) eyes.
“Spectacular, huh? That’s what I-“Pippin cleared his throat in an annoyed fashion, prompting Merry to correct himself (but not without an eye roll and a laugh from you). “That’s what we were going for.”
Your eyebrow arched at that and your mouth twisted up in a smug yet playful smirk. Your words to Frodo earlier suddenly rang in your head. Unlike your brother, you were planning on putting your feelings out there, weren’t you? What better time to engage in a little flirting that pushes that agenda? You moved your hand from its resting place on your hip and gently messed with the ribbons on the bodice of your dress, it was both out of nerves and to feign non-chalance. You felt your heart pick up speed as your mind was set. You were doing this! No backing out! Your throat tried to close in on itself but you refused to let it, releasing a quiet sigh instead. you averted your eyes and attempted to ignore just how close Merry was.
“Really? Is that what you were going for? I thought you just wanted to see me lying down.” You had no clue where that comment had come from, but it did its job. The confident look on Merry’s face disappeared in an instant and you could see his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed in embarrassment. However, he didn’t move further away from you and he, albeit unsteadily, met your gaze when you continued.
“You know, Merry...” you trailed off slightly, lowering your hand to rest on the edge of the barrel again. Except, what your hand landed on, was not the barrel. You had accidentally placed your hand on top of Merry’s which was gripping the barrel with a vice grip. You flinched involuntary. Merry felt you pull your hand back slightly before hesitating, fingertips brushing ever so lightly against the back of his hand. It sent shivers up his arm and he considered grabbing your hand himself until you gently lowered your hand again and left it there. You resumed your sentence, a little more confident his time.
“If you wanted to get my attention-“ you slowly moved closer to the blue eyed hobbit before you, who mimicked your actions as if in a trance. If you were honest, that’s what it felt like. The two of you were trapped under some sort of spell that clouded your mind, heightened your senses, and made you act purely through instinct. It felt wonderful, especially knowing just by looking at Merry that he was under the same spell as you.
“You could’ve just asked me to dance.” Your noses bumped together slightly as your lips almost came together. Eru, you wanted to kiss him right now. You could do it too, he would not reject you. You knew that for a fact. It was so tempting...then you got a whiff of the soot and powder coating the hobbit and a wicked idea pushed itself to the forefront of your mind. It was tempting to kiss him, yes...but this would be funnier and was sure to keep him on his toes. Just before you put it into action, Merry spoke very softly, careful not to break the moment.
“(Y/n), may I kiss you?” Had his lips not been a millimeter away from yours, you probably would have missed it. You hummed in a questioning manner.
“Right now?” You asked, matching Merry’s tone.
“Preferably.” You hummed again in slight amusement, sliding your hand up Merry’s supporting arm till it rested on his forearm. You waited for Merry to take that as a nonverbal ‘yes’, and as soon as you felt his head move even slightly closer, you went into action. You smiled wide and pulled his arm out from under him. The poor fellow nearly planted his face in the dish water within the barrel. Pippin roared with laughter at his friend’s misfortune while Gandalf sat chucking to himself. Goodness, you’d forgotten they were there. Merry caught himself, looking at you incredulously. You grabbed his chin with the same hand you had toppled him with and held him in place as you got closer to him, partially stooping down. You giggled uncontrollably as you explained your “reasoning” to him.
“I’m sorry, Meriadoc Brandybuck, but until your face is clean; your lips shall not touch mine.” With that, you released his chin, took another bite of your apple (purposefully licking the juice off your lips as Merry watched) then you turned to leave the trio alone. You had only taken a few steps when Merry came to his wits, puffing and sputtering up a storm as he tried to go around Pippin and past the plates to catch you.
“Why you- I’ll get you for that, you tease!” Merry called after you when Gandalf stopped him from running to you. You cocked your head to the left, letting a coy smile grace your lips.
“Oh, I’m sure you will, Merry!” You scampered towards the edge of the tent, turning around the corner before replying once more. You poked your head around the edge of the tent, and made eye contact with the darling blue eyed hobbit.
“In fact, I’ll be looking forward to it!” You winked at him and ran off to rejoin the gathered hobbits of the night. As you ran off, Gandalf pointed Merry in the direction of the, by now, dry dishes. Merry sighed and went to move them, though not before pausing at the edge of the tent to spot you running over to your brother and Rosie Cotton who were enjoying a nice chat. You missed the wonderful, wide grin that stretched out over his face and you were not close enough to hear him laughing under his breath while he thought to himself.
“I’ll have you yet, you tease!”
#Fluff#whydiditmesswithmyformatting#Merry#Brandybuck#Meriadoc Brandybuck#xreader#myfavhobbitboi#Lotr#thehobbit#whatamidoingwithmylife#fluff
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Bring May Flowers (Ch. 29)
AO3 Link / FF.net Link
Prompt: “Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually a dog person.”
Chat didn’t show up the next night. Or the night after that. In fact, Adrien didn’t want to go anywhere at the moment. The day after Chat left Marinette’s place felt perfect. He and his girlfriend entered the school, holding hands and giggling, their shoulders touching and their steps in sync. Everyone they passed was left with their jaws hanging. Nino gave him a high-five on the way to class, much like Alya did for Marinette just moments after. His favorite part was Chloe. Adrien had suspected he would have to be the knight in shining leather, but in his civilian clothes, protecting his princess from the Mayor’s daughter. But the model was left in shock when Chloe marched up the blunette, poked her chest with her manicured finger, and threatened to ruin her life if she ever hurt Adrien, considering how it was so obvious how much he cared for her. Marinette shocked him even more with she took Chloe’s hand and smiled happily, stating that her life would be ruined if he wasn’t in it anymore. Adrien almost cried then and there.
He was so happy. He was too happy. Therefore, he tempted fate. The following day, a huge flock of birds flew over the school, shedding feathers like no tomorrow. Everyone in the hall took cover for the onslaught, not wanting to even bargain that if was just feathers, if you know what I mean. But everyone who was aware of Adrien’s allergy stuck close to him. Marinette had to hold her blazer over his head as they rushed to the nurse’s office. He was sneezing the whole way, his nose turning redder by the minute. It was lucky timing when they got to the nurse. His head felt too light to be normal and he couldn’t breathe very well through his nose. The nurse insisted he rest up and he’d feel better by the end of the day. But it did not get better.
The pollen in the air during springtime was the worst it had ever been. He normally wasn’t affected by a little pollen in the air, but it certainly didn’t help that all the birds were flying back home for the spring. He went home coughing and sneezing. His temperature was normal, but it felt like his head was going to split in two. Nathalie cancelled all of his modeling gigs that were supposed to take place after school, informing the photographers and even his father that it was on account of sickness. His father wasn’t the most lenient person in the world, but even he understood that Adrien’s allergies were no fault of his and he couldn’t exactly preform perfectly if he was sneezing every ten seconds. The bowler hat was the only exception because Marinette replaced the real feather with a fake one so he wouldn’t have an allergic reaction. Speaking of Marinette…
The blonde turned in bed to lay on his back. His hand reached to his nightstand and grabbed his phone, turning it on. He groaned when he saw the words “No Notifications” stare back at him, as if taunting him and his vulnerability to feathers. He glanced at Plagg, who was, per usual, munching on cheese at his desk, admiring cheese photos online. The little glutton didn’t know when to quit, even as his chosen was moping in bed with a stuffy nose. He couldn’t risk going outside with his allergies at their peak. Which meant no rebellious consumption of baked goods, no sugary sweet kisses, and no snuggling in the arms of his beloved Marinette. Oh Marinette, Adrien bemoaned, throwing an arm over his face. What he wouldn’t give to see the girl who could take away this loneliness in a heartbeat.
A sudden tapping on his window made Adrien look in surprise. There were only a handful of options as to the source of the noise, considering how high up his room’s window is from ground and rock-throwing level. It was either an akuma, a bird pecking at the window, or… He spun around, his gaze hopeful, and it proved he was right. Ladybug was on the other side of the window, waving shyly to him. He smiled and waved back, then scrambled to get the remote, pressing the button to open the window. The spotted hero swung in quick enough so he could close the window, as to not irritate his allergy any further.
“Hi,” Ladybug greeted with a small smile.
“Hello, milady,” Adrien greeted back with a bow.
“Nice pajamas,” she commented, moving her finger up and down his figure.
Adrien’s cheeks reddened as he remembered what his sleepwear consisted of. His top was just a plain white t-shirt that said Miraculous across the chest. But his bottom were Ladybug-themed sweatpants he paid to be custom made back when Ladybug and Chat Noir were coming into their own as Paris’s local heroes. The blonde scratched the back of his neck, chuckling nervously.
“Th-thanks,” he stammered. “Guess you have a soft spot for stray cats, considering you’re here.”
Ladybug giggled. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually a dog person.”
Adrien feigned a gasp, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Milady! What would Chat Noir think?!”
“He’ll live,” the heroine responded with a smirk and a wave of her hand. “Besides, there will always be many dogs in the world. But he knows that he’s the only kitty in my heart.” Adrien blushed at her response.
Suddenly, Ladybug embraced him, pulled them down onto his bed. He barely had time to register the movement onto he noticed his head was tucked on her collarbone. Her suit felt cool. It helped greatly to reduce his headache. Adrien closed his eyes and settled in, his breathing even and his body comfortably curled up. Plagg moved out of the way to give the two some space, both happy that his kid gained someone that gave his world color again and grateful that Tikki was inside the earrings and therefore couldn’t tease him.
“I dreamed of this moment for so long,” Adrien suddenly whispered. He felt his girlfriend stiffened slightly and decided to keep talking so she wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. “But at the same time, I was convinced it wasn’t going to happen, no matter how much I wished it. I wouldn’t have the witty, intelligent, creative, clumsy yet surprisingly brave, perfect girl with black spots in my arms for even a moment if it wasn’t because of an akuma attack. But turns out I was wrong on so many levels. I can hold her every day…and every night. I can play video games in her room, cuddle up to her in school, and watch her surprise me every day. I love you Marinette, no matter what you mask you wear.”
He heard her gasp and felt her hold tighten on him. “I love you too, Adrien, mon chaton,” she managed to choke out, “and I’ll never stop loving you. That I swear.”
The model slowly closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around her. He let sleep overtake him, sleeping better than he ever had before Marinette came into his heart. When he woke up, the moon was high in the sky, overtaking the position he had last seen the sun in. Ladybug was nowhere to be found. However, the only proof she was there at all was on his coffee table. He picked up the note and the stem of Sweet Peas. He gave the sweet-smelling flowers a little sniff, his sinuses surprisingly clear, and opened the note to read it.
Dear Mon Amor,
Hope you’re feeling better. I’d be a sad little bug if my kitty was still suffering. Get better soon.
Love Always, Your Maribug
P.S. You’ve brought me flowers so often, I thought I’d return the favor.
At the end of the letter was a little drawn ladybug on a heart. The blonde held the note and the flowers close to his chest, smiling like a lovesick idiot. But he didn’t care. He would show his appreciation tomorrow.
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#Marichat May#Marichat#miraculous ladybug#marinette dupain-cheng#ladybug#chat noir#adrien agreste#ladrien#story time
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Hello starbrights, it's time for a little housekeeping. A few things: I've recently made a Twitter account to focus on writing, you can follow me @river_quinn if you'd like. Currently I'm participating in the #LGBTWIP challenge, so there's little extra morsels of Ossuary stuff there. Also, I'm going to try to get onto a more regular posting schedule, ideally once a week, likely on weekends. You're welcome to hold me to this! Lastly, I also have a ko-fi account, so if you feel so inclined, you can support my work there. I'm really grateful to everyone who's on board already, you're all wonderful! I'm glad this world is drumming up some interest, and if there's a story snippet or some world-building that's stuck with you, maybe reblog it?Your followers might like it, too, and it would really help me out to have my work be seen in wider circles. I had a longer piece planned for this weekend, but it turned into a bigger project than I'd originally intended, so you'll be seeing that next Saturday, most likely. For now, enjoy another myth (Rho'ki's favorite, the one they carry a talisman of told in stitched motifs on a small kerchief, embroidered by Feana), and a collection of short introductions of some minor characters I'm excited to flesh out.
When Yotri was young, all ocean and sky, the Mother of Creation thrust Her hands into the waters and drew up the land, letting it draw its first breath. She sculpted the mountains and carved out canyons, smoothed the plains and caressed into being the rolling hills. The God of Passion, Her Shining Light, cast golden rays down onto the soil and flowers sprang up to turn their faces to Him, moss and grass covering stone and dirt and blanketing the land. Together, They planted the world and began to birth small creatures into it. Inspired, the Creatrix bent down and kissed the ground, and a forest of saplings pushed their way up into the Light.
Slowly, they grew together, roots entwined, stretching upwards, and when they were thirsty the Mother sent them rain. When the sun shone too brightly, She shaded them with clouds. At night, they rested under glittering stars and watched the moons change, watched bright colorful plumes of star births blossoming in the dark Cosmos, and as the forest grew taller, it fell in love with the sky. They reached higher and higher towards the clouds and stars, feeling kissed by the rain, embraced by the wind, graced by the night's shimmering darkness, but no matter how high they reached, they could not touch the sky.
Crestfallen, the leaves began to droop and lose their color. The trunks and branches no longer swayed in the wind, only a cruel reminder of their unattainable love. Feeling their sadness, the Divine Lovers plucked out tufts from the clouds and made from them a flock of white birds. The birds could soar through the sky and roost in the trees, and the forest knew they were of the sky. The leaves became green again and flowers bloomed, bearing fruit. When the birds ate the forest's fruit, their white feathers turned into bright floral colors, and they carried the hues back up into the sky like a love note.
Mesmerized by the colors, the sky fell in love, too. It no longer needed the Mother's prompting to nourish the forest with rain, or cloak it in fog, or shade it with clouds. It did so out of adoration, showering its affection down onto leaves and branches, soaked up into the roots to help the trees grow taller and taller, never quite touching the sky, but coming ever closer so that they might admire one another, sending their love back and forth through rain and birds.
When the clouds break after a storm and are painted jewel- bright hues like a field of flowers, that is their love story.
minor characters
Vamman Khi - She is the temple mother and spiritual leader of Handien, a former head priestess of the Mother of Creation. She’s a portly trans woman in her late sixties that gives off intense high school art teacher vibes; commanding and intense when she needs to be, which is more often than she’d like, but soft and gentle and kind, with an exuberant streak that keeps spirits lifted. The younger priests and dedicants are like her children, and quite a few of them were orphans of Rho’ki’s generation that she looked after as a priestess; she’s watched them grow up and choose to remain with the temple and take their vows, and it makes her feel like a proud mom. She is the only person besides Feana who is allowed to hug Rho’ki without asking. It isn’t uncommon for priests to be nude in the temple (there’s significance to it in terms of vulnerability and celebrating the physical body as sacred creation, but it’s also very hot in Handien for most of the year), and Vamman Khi is nude almost always, whether she’s in the temple or not, leaving nothing about her body to the imagination. She is castrated, has breasts, and still has her penis, she’s fine with it. Being trans (or queer, for that matter) isn’t a big deal for Mahai folk, they recognize five main genders along a spectrum (and are open to more if a person does not feel they fit neatly within these) so Vamman’s body on display doesn’t raise so much as an eyebrow. She is beloved, especially by the devout, and a major influential power in the community, which she does not take lightly. Rho’ki and a lot of the other priests around their age or younger call her Mama.
Draea - A priestess of the God of Passion, Draea is from a large modern city on the other side of Mahai, but came to train in Handien and fell in love with the community, asking to stay. She had just been ordained when Rho’ki returned home and they had beds next to each other in the dormitories and quickly became friends. She is a cis woman, very petite with short cropped hair and traditional tattoos of her order on her forearms and hands. She is one of the priests who performs sacred healing and pleasure, which can range from cuddle sessions with talk therapy, to hands-on sex education, to sex in general. There are many different facets of the Passion Order and sex is not required of priests (it’s in fact a very strict and respected realm of practice with a huge emphasis on consent and awareness), but the God of Passion does tend to attract a lot of pan hyper-sexual extroverts into the order. Draea is quick-witted and assertive and a loyal friend. People who go into training for priesthood intending to dedicate themselves to the Passion God have a high turnover rate for not making it to ordination for a whole host of reasons, and those who make it to their vows are often the most devout of any of the priest orders. Draea deeply loves her god and sees her work as an important part of serving the community and spreading His joy. There’s a really delicate balance between treating sex and intimacy with respect and not trivializing it as a passing pleasure, but also not discounting that that pleasure is sacred and a gift to be enjoyed for what it is. Draea played a big part in helping Rho’ki let go of the resentment and distrust they had for the God of Passion and His followers and understanding what He is really about, rather than the warped ideas they had been manipulated with in the Qores temple.
Eridae - A young priestess-in-training, Eridae is shy and quiet and sweet and has become like a little shadow to Rho’ki. She is sixteen and trans and looks up to Rho’ki as an ideal of what a priest should be. Though she doesn’t feel called to They Who Is Between, her year studying Their realm is her favorite so far simply because it means getting to be taught by and work with Rho’ki. She comes to them for advice and guidance and wants to make them proud. She also has an enormous crush on a boy that sells bread in the market and is too shy to speak to him.
Moireina - Mahaji tradition is not closed only to Mahai folk, but it is uncommon for non-Mahai to follow their path, and rarer still for them to pursue priesthood. Moireina is Skanan, nonbinary, and a priestess of the Mother of Creation. She is disfigured (Crouzon syndrome) and deaf and the primary caretaker of the temple’s rooftop garden. There was some stigma both about her ethnicity/nationality and her appearance when she first came to Handien, but regulars of the temple got to know her quickly and she’s a favorite for spells involving luck and prosperity. She and Rho’ki often have lunch together in the temple cafeteria and trade herbs, seeds, and gardening tips. Because Handien’s temple is one of the oldest and largest in use, it is a minor tourist destination for non-Mahaji folk, and Moireina sometimes finds herself having to be the translator to tell curious Skanans admiring the architecture to take their damn shoes off and be respectful.
Dova Qersho - Qersho (his first name is irrelevant (dova is his title) because literally no one feels comfortable being informal enough with him to use it) is the elder priest of They Who Is Between. He’s trans and in his early eighties and is very no-nonsense. He walks with a cane and has slowly evolved in my mind to looking very much like Srila Prabhupada. In his old age, he leaves a lot of the presiding and counseling to the younger priests and focuses on the more mystical and esoteric parts of priesthood, though he is the one to give the final prayer at every tomb interment. He and Rho’ki have a great deal of respect for one another, Rho’ki is his chosen successor for dova after he has passed on, but their personalities are just similar enough that they clash and they don’t actually get along. They have virtually no personal relationship, only a working one, but for Rho’ki this is a benefit, as they never doubt if his faith in them is biased and knows it is based on merit, alone.
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Handien is getting more populated by the minute in my head, but these five are currently the most prominent outside of Feana and Rho’ki. There will especially be a good deal more of Draea in backstory very soon!
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Ma Rainey’s Life and Reign as the Mother of the Blues
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Netflix’s Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom stars Viola Davis as one of the most influential blues singers of all time. The real Ma Rainey was the first stage entertainer to bridge the gap between the white and the Black performance circuits. “If you don’t like my ocean, don’t fish in my sea,” Rainey warned in her 1927 song, “Don’t Fish in My Sea,” but the crowds couldn’t stay away. She was one of the first entertainers to play integrated shows in the Jim Crow South, and the first popular singer with authentic blues in her setlist.
“Madame” Gertrude Rainey was the “Mother of the Blues,” but the world knows her as Ma. She wasn’t the first woman to sing the blues. She’d actually heard it while playing vaudeville, tent shows, and cabarets. Rainey wasn’t even the first woman to record the blues. She began recordings when she was 38 in 1923, three years after Mamie Smith’s Feb. 14, 1920 recordings of “That Thing Called Love,” “You Can’t Keep a Good Man Down,” and “Crazy Blues” for Okeh Records in New York City.
A Georgia Cakewalk and Some Alabama Fun Makers
Ma was born Gertrude Pridgett on April 26, 1886, in Columbus, Georgia, or September 1882 in Alabama, according to a later census. Her parents were minstrel troupers Thomas Pridgett, Sr. and Ella Allen-Pridgett. She began singing professionally in 1896, after her father died. Her first public performance was in the 1900 stage show, “The Bunch of Blackberries,” at the Springer Opera House in Columbus. Pridgett soon performed on the tent-show circuit with troupes which set up their own stages.
Pridgett first heard country blues in 1902 while she was on the road, according to Sandra Lieb’s Mother of the Blues: A Study of Ma Rainey. At a stop in Missouri, she saw a young woman singer accompany herself on guitar playing a song in a pentatonic scale with blue notes. Pridgett added the song to her repertoire as an encore. The everyday anguish and joy resonated with audiences. Pridgett would continue to add songs she heard in the towns she played.
In 1904, Pridgett married a singer, comedian and dancer named Will Rainey, and they toured as the duo Ma and Pa Rainey. “Rainey and Rainey, Assassinators of the Blues” played regularly until the pair separated in 1916. Ma went solo, touring with her own tent show, Madam Gertrude Ma Rainey and Her Georgia Smart Set, which included a chorus line of male and female dancers. The traveling troupe spent winters in New Orleans where Ma mingled with the cream of jazz masters.
In 1923, she was signed to Paramount Records by Mayo “Ink” Williams, who was the most successful blues producer of his time, the first Black producer at a major label, and the only person ever inducted into both the National Football Hall of Fame and the Blues Hall of Fame. Pianist Thomas A. Dorsey entered Rainey’s world in 1924. Dorsey, who would later go on to gain fame as a gospel songwriter, was also her manager and musical arranger, much like the trombone player Cutler (Colman Domingo) in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. He spotted the talent for Rainey’s touring ensemble, the Wild Cats Jazz Band. The musicians played blues, but also performed written sheet music to play contemporary jazz.
During Rainey’s five-year recording career at Paramount, she recorded with a rotating crew of musicians in various musical settings, but who all laid down genuine rural blues songs of heartbreak, betrayal, drinking, superstition, prison road gangs, and hard and easy loving.
Rainey wrote or co-wrote about a third of the 92 songs she recorded for her label. With her strong voice, unapologetic lyrical sexuality, and onstage abandon, “the Paramount Wildcat” devoured contemporary women blues singers like Ida Cox and Sippie Wallace like appetizers. Ma wore that tag as proudly as the gold she adorned herself with after she became famous and became the “Golden Necklace Woman of the Blues.” Her only competition was known as “The Empress of the Blues,” and it was a very friendly rivalry.
Bessie Smith
Ma was performing with the Moses Stokes’ Traveling Show when she met Bessie Smith, the troupe’s new chorus girl dancer, in 1912. Ma was 26 and Bessie was 18. Chattanooga, Tennessee-born Bessie Smith had spent her childhood performing on street corners. Both her parents and a brother died by the time she was nine years old. Smith went on to be the highest paid African American performer of the “Roaring Twenties.”
According to the book Bessie, by Chris Albertson, legends persist that Rainey kidnapped Smith, forced her to join the Rabbit Foot Minstrels and taught her to sing the blues. Bessie’s sister-in-law Maud Smith says the legend isn’t true, but it made for great publicity. While there are some accounts that Rainey was Smith’s vocal coach, it appears her suggestions were more about vocal stylings and performance. Both were virtuoso singers with distinct and personal deliveries. Ma’s slow driving moan and Bessie’s vibrant contralto were signatures. They performed together regularly and the two artists remained lifelong friends.
Both singers expressed themselves boldly, their lyrics were masterpieces of double entendre, and their lives were as risqué as the songs. The two Jazz Age divas proudly proclaimed their bisexuality. While neither confirmed rumors that they were lovers, Smith bailed Rainey out of jail when the Chicago police busted in on the singer in the middle of some erotic personal entertainment with some of her female dancers. And Rainey’s bisexuality comes through in her songs.
“It’s one of the things that I really loved about Ma Rainey,” George C. Wolfe, director of the movie version of Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, tells Den of Geek.* “One of the songs that she records… is a song called ‘Prove It on Me [Blues],’ in which she sings these incredibly bold, very unapologetic lyrics such as, ‘I went out last night with a bunch of friends. Must have been women because I don’t like man.’ And that was one of her hit songs in the 1920s. And so she lived her life unapologetically that way.”
And it’s not that she didn’t “want no man to put no sugar in my tea,” as she sang in “Bo Weavil Blues,” but “some of them’s so evil, I’m afraid they might poison me.” On some occasions, however, they came up with something interesting. “My man says sissy’s got good jelly roll,” Rainey confessed on her 1926 song “”Sissy Blues.”
In other songs she admits a fondness for younger men. Colman Domingo, who plays one of Ma’s band members in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, tells us the power of Ma’s life was that she could make these things happen in a country with systems as stacked against her 1920s America.
“I love in the film how she holds her woman with her nephew right there,” Domingo says. “And everyone knows that Ma is gay as well. I love that August is examining that, that she created her world. And in her world, she is the queen, and everything she says goes as well. They know. They know Ma’s proclivities in every single way. And that was also that pioneering spirit. She was fighting so many systems at that time, being a woman, being a gay woman, in a male dominated industry. She’s a true champion.”
In her 1998 book, Blues Legacies and Black Feminism, Angela Davis sees Rainey as a revolutionary who embraces heterosexuality and lesbianism, and observes the women in Rainey’s songs “explicitly celebrate their right to conduct themselves as expansively and even as undesirably as men.” Davis sees Rainey, as well as Smith and Billie Holiday, as inspirational models for how African American women can overcome racism, sexism, and capitalism.
Louis Armstrong
The iconic jazz legend Louis Armstrong was so inspired by Ma Rainey, he stylistically paid homage to her every time he put down his horn to sing. Even his facial expressions were reportedly reminiscent of Rainey’s. “Satchmo” played cornet on Rainey’s songs “Yonder Comes the Blues,” “Jelly Bean Blues,” “Countin’ the Blues,” and “Moonshine Blues.” The 1927 re-recording of that song is featured in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, but the original 1923 version was done with him, May, and Lovie Austin and Her Blue Serenaders.
Armstrong was also part of Gertrude “Ma” Rainey & Her Georgia Band’s rendition of the now-standard piece “Stack O’Lee Blues.” Ma was one of the song’s early interpreters, though her rendition actually carries the melody of the song “Frankie and Johnny.”
Along with Charlie Green on trombone, Buster Bailey on clarinet, Fletcher Henderson on piano, and Charlie Dixon on banjo, Armstrong also played cornet for Ma in mid-October 1924 for the blues classic “See See Rider Blues.” The song has been covered over 100 times. Rainey’s was the first version, and her recording was added to the Library of Congress’ National Recording Registry in 2004. She holds the copyright.
Legacy
The singer, songwriter and astute businesswoman helped make black female autonomy mainstream. The horsehair wigs and the gold teeth she wore on stage empowered her fans. In Black Pearls, author Daphne Harrison said Rainey’s voice was “a reaffirmation of Black life.” Alice Walker cites Ma Rainey’s music as a cultural model for her novel, The Color Purple. In the song “Tombstone Blues” from the 1965 album Highway 61 Revisited, Bob Dylan pairs Ma Rainey with Beethoven.
Rainey’s songs inspired poets like Sterling Brown, whose 1932 poem “Ma Rainey,” describes one of her concerts from the eyes of her audience. “When Ma Rainey comes to town, folks from anyplace miles aroun’ flocks in to hear Ma do her stuff,” he enthused.
Rainey also inspired the 1982 August Wilson play Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. In spite of Levee’s protests in that play and its Netflix movie adaptation, she did play Harlem. Ma did shows at The Lincoln Theatre on 135th Street near Lenox Avenue.
Cause of Death
Rainey retired from music in 1935, after the death of her mother and sister. She settled in Columbus and spent her time running the two playhouses she owned: the Airdome and the Lyric Theater. Ma Rainey died from a heart attack on Dec. 22, 1939 in Columbus, Georgia. “People it sure look lonesome since Ma Rainey been gone,” blues guitar legend Memphis Minnie bemoaned on her 1940 tribute “Ma Rainey” before humbly promising the good works of “the Mother of the Blues” would go on.
“Ma” Rainey was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame in 1983 and into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1990. “To tell the truth, if I stop and listen, I can still hear her,” Langston Hughes wrote in his 1952 poem “Shadow of the Blues.” Madame “Ma” Rainey cast a long one.
Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom premieres on Netflix on Friday, Dec. 18.
*Additional reporting by Don Kaye.
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from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2LRXvS3
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THE MIRACLE OF THE SUN AT FATIMA - OCTOBER 13, 1917
THE MIRACLE OF THE SUN
October 13, 1917
"Silence, silence! Our Lady is coming!" Lucia cried out as she saw the flash. The rain having ceased, the sun began gradually to appear, and Our Lady came. Her snow white feet rested upon the beautiful flowers and ribbons with which Senhora da Capelinha had adorned the tree. The faces of the three children assumed an unworldly expression, their features becoming more delicate, their color mellow, their eyes intent upon the Lady. They did not hear Lucia's mother warning her to look closely so as not to be deceived. "What do you want of me?" Lucia inquired of the Queen of Heaven.
"I want to tell you that they must build a chapel here in my honor; that I am the Lady of the Rosary; that they continue to say the Rosary every day. The war will end and the soldiers will return to their homes soon," Our Lady responded.
"I have many favors to ask. Do you wish to grant them or not?"
"Some I will, others I will not. They must amend their lives, ask forgiveness for their sins. Offend not Our Lord any more," Our Lady continued, her face becoming very grave, "For He is already much offended."
Lucia, knowing this was to be the last interview with Our Lady, wanted to make sure that she received all the commands Mary wished to give her. She hoped to spend the rest of her life on earth fulfilling the desires of Our Lady. "Do you want anything else from me?" the girl asked.
"I desire nothing else."
As Our Lady took leave of the children, she opened her hands which emitted a flood of light. While she was rising, she pointed towards the sun and the light gleaming from her hands brightened the sun itself.
Instinctively, Lucia cried out in ecstasy, "Oh, look at the sun!"
The echo of Lucia's shout came back in a huge, immense cry of wonder and astonishment from the multitude. The sun was now pale as the moon. To the left of the sun, St. Joseph emerged from the bright clouds only to his chest, sufficient to allow him to raise his right hand and make, together with the Child Jesus, the Sign of the Cross three times over the world. As St. Joseph did this, Our Lady stood in all her brilliancy to the right of the sun, dressed in the blue and white robes of Our Lady of the Rosary.
Meanwhile, Francisco and Jacinta were bathed in the marvelous colors and signs of the sun, and Lucia was privileged to gaze upon Our Lord dressed in red as the Divine Redeemer, blessing the world, as Our Lady had foretold. Like St. Joseph, He was seen only from His chest up. Beside Him stood Our Lady, dressed now in the purple robes of Our Lady of Sorrows, but without the sword. Finally, the Blessed Virgin appeared again to Lucia in all her ethereal brightness, clothed in the simple brown robes of Mount Carmel.
As the children stared enraptured by these most beautiful heavenly visions, the countless thousands of people were amazed and overpowered by other miracles in the skies. The sun had taken on an extraordinary color. The words of eye-witnesses best describe these stupendous signs. "We could look at the sun with ease," Ti Marto testified; "it did not bother us at all. It seemed to be continually fading and glowing in one fashion, then another.
It threw shafts of light one way and another painting everything in different colors, the people, the trees, the earth, even the air. But the greatest proof of the miracle was the fact that the sun did not bother the eyes." A man like Ti Marto who spent all of his days in the open fields with his flocks and tended his garden under the hot sun of the Portuguese hills, marveled at this fact. "Everybody stood still and quiet, gazing at the sun," he went on. "At a certain point, the sun stopped its play of light and then started dancing. It stopped once more and again started dancing until it seemed to loosen itself from the skies and fall upon the people. It was a moment of terrible suspense."
Maria da Capelinha gave the author her impressions of this tremendous miracle. "The sun cast different colors, yellow, blue and white. It trembled constantly. It looked like a revolving ball of fire falling upon the people." As the sun hurled itself towards the earth in a mighty zigzag motion, the multitude cried out in terror, "Ai Jesus, we are all going to die here; Ai Jesus, we are all going to die here." Some begged for mercy, "Our Lady save us;" many others made acts of contrition. One lady was even confessing her sins aloud.
At last the sun swerved back to its orbit and rested in the sky. "Everyone gave a sigh of relief; we were still alive, and the miracle promised by the children had come to pass."
Our Lord already so much offended by the sins of mankind and particularly by the mistreatment of the children by the officials of the county, could easily have destroyed the world on that eventful day. However, Our Lord did not come to destroy, but to save. He saved the world that day through the blessing of good Saint Joseph and the love of the Immaculate Heart of Mary for her children on earth. Our Lord would have stopped the great World War then raging and given peace to the world through Saint Joseph, Jacinta later declared, if the children had not been arrested and taken to Ourem.
"What you do to these my least brethren," warns Our Lord, "you do to Me."
The Miracle had come to pass at the hour and day designated by Our Lady. No one was disappointed, no one but Our Lady, perhaps, who said the miracle would have been much greater if the children had not been so mistreated. Many thousands of people in the Cova da Iria and in neighboring villages witnessed the overwhelming signs. Their reports are of intense interest. There are slight variations in their descriptions of the events, though all agreed it was the most tremendous, the most awe-inspiring sight they ever witnessed. Some idea can be had of its effect on the people by reading the newspaper accounts of the day.
"At one o'clock, the hour of the sun, the rain stopped, O Dia reported. "The sky had a certain greyish tint of pearl and a strange clearness filled the gloomy landscape, every moment getting gloomier. The sun seemed to be veiled with transparent gauze to enable us to look at it without difficulty. The greyish tint of mother-of-pearl began changing as if into a shining silver disc, that was growing slowly until it broke through the clouds. And the silvery sun, still shrouded in the same greyish lightness of gauze, was seen to rotate and wander within the circle of the receded clouds! The people cried out with one voice, the thousands of creatures of God whom faith raised up to Heaven, fell to their knees upon the muddy ground.
"Then as if it were shining through the stained glass windows of a great cathedral, the light became a rare blue, spreading its rays upon the gigantic nave. Slowly the blue faded away and now the light seemed to be filtered through yellow stained glass. Yellow spots were falling now upon the white kerchiefs and the dark poor skirts of coarse wool. They were spots which repeated themselves indefinitely over the lowly holmoaks, the rocks and the hills. All the people were weeping and praying bareheaded, weighed down by the greatness of the miracle expected. These were seconds, moments, that seemed hours; they were so fully lived."
O Seculo, another newspaper of Lisbon, carried a more detailed account of the extraordinary events. "From the height of the road where the people parked their carriages and where many hundreds stood, afraid to brave the muddy soil, we saw the immense multitude turn towards the sun at its highest, free of all clouds. The sun called to mind a plate of dull silver. It could be stared at without the least effort. It did not burn or blind. It seemed that an eclipse was taking place. All of a sudden a tremendous shout burst forth, 'Miracle, miracle! Marvel, marvel!'
"Before the astonished eyes of the people, whose attitude carried us back to biblical times, and who, white with terror, heads uncovered, gazed at the blue sky, the sun trembled and made some brusque unheard-of movements beyond all cosmic laws; the sun danced, in the typical expression of the peasants.
"On the running board of the bus from Torres Novas, an old man whose stature and gentle, manly features recall those of Paul Deroulede, turned toward the sun and recited the Credo in a loud voice. I saw him later addressing those about him who still kept their hats on, begging them vehemently to take their hats off before this overwhelming demonstration of the existence of God. Similar scenes were repeated at other places. A lady, bathed in tears and almost choking with grief, sobbed, 'How pitiful! There are men who still do not bare their heads before such a stupendous miracle!'
"Immediately afterwards the people asked each other if they saw anything and what they had seen. The greatest number avowed that they saw the sun trembling and dancing; others declared that they saw the smiling face of the Blessed Virgin herself; they swore that the sun turned around on itself as if it were a wheel of fireworks and had fallen almost to the point of burning the earth with its rays. Some said they saw it change colours successively."
The testimony of another witness, Dr. Almeida Garret, professor at the University of Coimbra, is most informative and corroborates the others. "As I waited," he said, "with cool and serene expectation, looking upon the place of the apparitions and with a curiosity that was fading because the hour was passing away so slowly without anything to arouse my attention, I heard the rustle of thousands of voices. I saw the people stretched out over the large field turn about from the point upon which their desires and anxieties had converged so far to the opposite side and they looked up to skies. It was almost two o'clock wartime or about noon, sun time.
"The sun had broken jubilantly through the thick layer of clouds just a few moments before. It was shining clearly and intensely. I turned to this magnet that was drawing all eyes. It looked to me as a luminous and brilliant disc, with a bright well-defined rim. It did not hurt my eyes. The comparison (which I heard while still at Fatima) with a disc of dull silver, did not seem right to me. The color was brighter, far more active and richer than dull silver, with the tinted luster of the orient of a pearl.
"Nor did it resemble the moon on a clear night. Everyone saw and felt that it was a body with life. It was not spheric like the moon, neither did it have an equal tonality of colour. It looked like a small, brightly polished wheel of iridescent mother-of-pearl. It could not be taken for the sun as though seen through fog. There was no fog at that time. (The rain and the fog had stopped). The sun was not opaque, veiled or diffused. It gave light and heat and was brightly outlined by a beveled rim. The sky was banked with light clouds, patched with blue here and there. Sometimes the sun stood out alone in rifts of clear sky. The clouds scuttled along from west to east without dimming the sun. They gave the impression of passing behind it, while the white puffs gliding sometimes in front of the sun seemed to take on the color of rose or a delicate blue.
"It was a wonder that all this time it was possible for us to look at the sun, a blaze of light and burning heat, without any pain to the eyes or blinding of the retina. This phenomenon must have lasted about ten minutes, except for two interruptions when the sun darted forth its more refulgent, lightning-like rays, that forced us to look away.
"The sun had an eccentricity of movement. It was not the scintillation of a celestial body at its highest power. It was rotating upon itself with exceedingly great speed. Suddenly, the people broke out with a cry of extreme anguish. The sun, still rotating, had unloosened itself from the skies and came hurtling towards the earth. This huge, fiery millstone threatened to crush us with its weight. It was a dreadful sensation.
"During this solar occurrence, the air took on successively different colors. While looking at the sun, I noticed that everything around me darkened. I looked at what was nearby and cast my eyes away towards the horizon. Everything had the color of an amethyst; the sky, the air, everything and everybody. A little oak nearby was casting a heavy purple shadow on the ground.
"Fearing impairment of the retina, which was improbable, because then I would not have seen everything in purple, I turned about, closed my eyes, cupping my hands over them, to cut off all light. With my back turned, I opened my eyes and realized that the landscape and the air retained the purple hue.
"This did not give the impression of being an eclipse. While still looking at the sun, I noticed that the air had cleared and I heard a peasant nearby say, 'This lady looks yellow.' As a matter of fact, everything far and near had changed now. People seemed to have jaundice. I smiled when I saw everybody looking disfigured and ugly. My hand had the same color…"
The testimony of this learned man demonstrates how difficult it is to describe adequately the marvelous signs that occurred in the skies on this day. October the thirteenth, 1917, was a day to remember for all the people who witnessed these events. The reporter for the Ordem, a newspaper of Oporto, wrote about it in these words: "The sun was sometimes surrounded by blood-red flames, at other times it was aureoled with yellow and soft purple; again it seemed to be possessor of the swiftest rotation and then seemed to detach itself from the heavens, come near the earth and give forth a tremendous heat."
Another witness, the Reverend Manuel da Silva, wrote a letter to a friend the evening of the thirteenth in which he tried to describe the events of the day. He spoke about the morning's rain and then, "immediately the sun came out with a well-defined rim and seemed to come down to the height of the clouds. It started to rotate intermittently around itself like a wheel of fireworks, for about eight minutes. Everything became almost dark and the people's features became yellow. All were kneeling in the mud."
Inacio Loureneio was a boy nine years old at the time, living in the village of Alburitel, ten miles away from Fatima. He is now a priest and he remembers this day vividly. He was in school. "About noon," he said, "we were startled by the cries and exclamations of the people going by the school. The teacher was the first to run outside to the street with all the children following her. The people cried and wept on the street; they were all pointing towards the sun. It was "The Miracle" promised by Our Lady. I feel unable to describe it as I saw it and felt it at the time. I was gazing at the sun; it looked so pale to me, it did not blind. It was like a ball of snow rotating upon itself. All of a sudden, it seemed to be falling, zigzag, threatening the earth. Seized with fear I hid myself amidst the people. Everyone was crying, waiting for the end of the world.
"Nearby, there was a godless man who had spent the morning making fun of the simpletons who had gone to Fatima just to see a girl. I looked at him and he was numbed, his eyes riveted on the sun. I saw him tremble from head to foot. Then he raised his hands towards heaven, as he was kneeling there in the mud, and cried out, 'Our Lady, Our Lady.' Everyone was crying and weeping, asking God to forgive them their sins. After this was over, we ran to the chapels, some to one, others to the other one in our village. They were soon filled."
"During the minutes that the miracle lasted, everything around us reflected all the colors of the rainbow. We looked at each other and one seemed blue, another yellow, red and so on. It increased the terror of the people. After ten minutes, the sun resumed its place, as pale, and without splendor. When everyone realized the danger was over, there was an outburst of joy. Everyone broke out in a hymn of praise to Our Lady."
As the miracle came to its end and the people arose from the muddy ground, another surprise awaited them. A few minutes before, they had been standing in the pouring rain, soaked to the skin. Now they noticed that their clothes were perfectly dry. How kind was Our Lady to her friends who had braved the rain and mud, and put on their very best clothes for her visit.
The Bishop of Leiria wrote in his pastoral letter that those who witnessed the events of this great day were fortunate indeed. "The children long before set the day and hour at which it was to take place," he said. "The news spread quickly over the whole of Portugal and although the day was chilly and pouring rain, many thousands of people gathered…They saw the different manifestations of the sun paying homage to the Queen of Heaven and Earth, who is more radiant than the sun in all its splendor. This phenomenon which no astronomical observatory registered was not natural.
It was seen by people of all classes, members of the Church and non-Catholics. It was seen by reporters of the principal newspapers and by people many miles away." These are his official words, spoken after long study and careful interrogations of many witnesses of the apparition. There is no possibility of error or illusion when close to a hundred thousand people concur in their testimony. God in Heaven had called the people of the world to join with the heavens in paying honor and glory to His Blessed Mother, Mary.
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It Can’t Be You, Ch. 2
last chapter recap:
“Because… Miroku... we’re getting out of here.”
Inuyasha gets convicted and sent to one of the most dangerous and ruthless prisons ever known to man. Sango, his lawyer, is distraught when she notices her friend/client purposely put himself in a position to lose their case. He comes across a few minor obstacles in his new “home,” but he doesn’t plan to stay there much longer.
{inuyasha au. inukag, mirsan, + others. 2,353 words. artist. writer. SEE END OF CHAPTER FOR NOTES.}
“Getting out of here?!” Miroku cleared his throat. “This is not your responsibility, Inuyasha,” he reminded the boy in a whisper. “It’s not.”
The guard shoved Miroku which caused him to take a heavy step forward. Miroku didn’t retaliate; he started walking farther and farther away, turning his head back every few steps, but the guard would smush his face to the front.
Inuyasha stood there, alone.
Rec time was over by the time Inuyasha made it back to gen pop*. The loud rumble of chatter alerted him that the rest of the inmates were returning to their cells as well. Floods of people came from the east--the yard--, the west--the kitchen--, the north--the chapel--, and the south--visitation.
Inuyasha’s cell had one benefit, and that was because it was on a balcony. It was on the second floor, which was connected by a flight stairs that led up from the first floor to the third.
He continued to overlook the growing number of people and took note of each of their faces. Scar after scar, tattoo after tattoo, Inuyasha’s attention was captured by a man down near the guards’ office. The man’s red eyes illuminated and set off a spark, even though light wasn’t hitting them at all. The two small strand of hair in face and long braid moved quietly as he conversed with the correctional officer from earlier.
“TIME FOR BED, LADIES!” a C.O. exclaimed from the first floor.
Inuyasha rolled his shoulders as he made his way into the cell. He took a seat on his bed, only slightly sinking into it, as he watched every single one of the blocks closed simultaneously. The bright luminous lights were immediately shut off as soon as everyone was locked in. The pitch darkness was only cut through with the faint moonlight from outside.
“So,” a voice hummed from above him. “What are you in for?”
Inuyasha remained silent.
“Hello?” the voice peaked out from the top bunk before returning back to his previous position.
“I get it, man,” Inuyasha could hear the voice moving his hands behind his head. “I’m just trying to do my time here to. Just wanted to get a little acquainted with my cellie so I know I won’t be killed in my sleep-” the voice paused- “I could take you on if you tried though.”
Inuyasha continued being unresponsive, but he was taking into account everything that this voice was saying. He stretched out his legs as he waited to see if this guy was going to be of any use to him.
“Alright,” the voice rustled in his bed again. “My name’s Kohaku, by the way.”
The sound of an obnoxious buzzer and loud repetitive clangs against the cell bars awoke Inuyasha the next morning. The glaring lights were back on and so were the rambunctious jabbering of the hundreds of thousands of inmates at Blackwater Institution.
Inuyasha immediately picked up the rapid toothbrushing noises that was going on behind him. He rubbed his eyes and scratched his head before, barely, looking at Kohaku.
“You continue waking up this late, Mr. Ku-ku-ku is going to be on you like a dog,” Kohaku spit out his toothpaste and looked back at the mirror, realizing what he had said. “Uh… no offense.”
Inuyasha ripped away from his stare as he got out of bed. He walked towards the entrance of his cell as the bars began to roll away.
“Mr. Ku-ku-ku?” Inuyasha finally spoke.
Kohaku lifted his gaze from the sink and turned off the running water, “Y-Yeah.” He was surprised he actually talked, “We call him that because he has a really annoying and ugly laugh.” Kohaku chuckled, “And, quite frankly, it goes along with his name.”
“What’s his na-”
“Inu--yoshi, was it?” the inmate was greeted with a mischievous smirk. “Was the bed good for you? Or do you need us to order you a new one?” the guard laughed. “Or, better yet, why don’t you just build yourself a new one, yes?”
Inuyasha kept a blank expression.
Kohaku wiped his face before stepping up closer to him, bracing his fists in case something were to happen.
“Nothing to say, huh?” the C.O.’s breath surrounded Inuyasha’s face. “Get it moving, pup. Otherwise, the big dogs are going to get their chow before you,” he took a look behind him. “You too, fish, unless you both prefer to starve… I wouldn’t object.”
The two didn’t say a single word as they walked behind one another out of the cell. The cackling of the C.O. could be easily heard by anyone with two working ears.
The two didn’t say a single word as they walked behind one another out of the cell. The cackling of the C.O. could be easily heard by anyone with two working ears.
“I told you,” Kohaku muttered as he followed behind.
“What are you sayin’?” he replied, rubbing his knuckles.
Kohaku huffed, “Mr. Ku-ku-ku?” He realized Inuyasha still wasn’t following, “C.O. Naraku, that was him.”
The line in the mess hall seemed like it could go on for ages. It was a relatively large room--dull walls, stained tiles--that had a line that was wrapped around almost half of it. Inuyasha continued to keep to himself as the inmates in front him slowly moved up.
He took a look around, continuing to exam faces as well as the layout of the place. Tables that took up 99.9 percent of the room were jam packed and had hardly enough space. Only the big muscular inmates, who had a reputation, was able to have a whole bench all to himself.
Most, however, traveled in small groups that weren’t nearly as powerful, but had a flock they were able to roll with. Then there were the lonely ones; those who were usually scrawny and lacked tattoos struggled to find a place to eat, let alone to fit in. Their food was usually snatched by a gang member who would then hand it over to their boss; if that person refused or that member took it for himself--as Inuyasha so happened to witness--, that person would be beat up, stabbed, and left on the floor to die. No guard would even try to intervene.
“Tray, inmate,” one of the kitchen workers stated, snapping Inuyasha out of the murder he just witnessed.
The slop plopped onto the pale plastic tray. He continued down the line where milk, juice, fruits, and small desserts were available, but it wasn’t like he was going to eat any of it anyway. He held a firm grip onto the object as he took a short lap around the hall looking for a seat. Not once did he back down from staring at other inmates’ in the eyes.
One of the gang bosses’ took “offense” by Inuyasha’s boldness and decided to make right of this. Just as he motioned the rest of the table to stick him--
Kohaku ripped Inuyasha down to the opening beside him, “I know you’re just trying to do your time--” his eyes pointed to the gang-- “but it’s coming off the wrong way for everyone else.”
“You expectin’ a thank you?” Inuyasha replied as he pulled his arm out of Kohaku’s grasp.
“Cute,” Kohaku took a bite of his food. “But no.”
Inuyasha watched Kohaku nearly suck in his food as if he were having steak and mashed potatoes. He could see the gang keeping a close eye on him from afar, but he just looked back down at the boy.
“I need you to tell me where Hiten is,” he said in a low voice.
Kohaku raised his eyes from the slop, “Hiten, huh?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, “Brother of Manten? Mob leader?”
“That’s right.”
“There,” Kohaku leaned his head in the direction. “He’s always playing cards with his buddies during mess hour. During rec time, he gets to change out of these dull clothes and into another set of dull clothes, but this time he has some authority as head of Prison Industries.”
“Prison Industries?” Inuyasha furrowed a brow.
Kohaku nodded, “Yup, PI. Basically him and his groupie walks around and does jobs for the prison that the prison itself can’t fix.” He took a sip of his milk, “It pays 19 cents an hour, but hey at least you get something.”
Inuyasha was too busy taking in Hiten’s body language to reply. He memorized how he looked when he talked, laughed, and even breathed.
“What you need him for?” Kohaku followed the trail of Inuyasha’s eyes.
The inmate rose from his seat, the faint callouts from Kohaku drowning in the sounds of the room.
“Tell ya what, Hiten,” Inuyasha stood firmly in front of the group. “I got a deal for ya.”
The mob boss’s eyes instantly struck Inuyasha with his bloody stare. The jewel embedded in his forehead glimmered against the light.
“That’s funny,” Hiten folded his cards as he looked up to the inmate. “What’s a pup like you got to offer a mob leader like me?”
His group laughed, returning their attention to their game, but Inuyasha wasn’t going to let that happen.
Hiten rushed up to his feet, shoving his forehead against Inuyasha. His breaths were steady and so were Inuyasha’s.
“I could have you dead and buried in the yard in less than two seconds, pup,” his group stood from their seats as well, but this wasn’t nearly enough to draw the attention of the entire room.
Inuyasha smirked, “I guess you could do that…” He pushed a little further against Hiten’s forehead, “But then you would never find where Shippo is.”
Hiten’s mood changed; he sat back in his seat, and his group followed, shocked and a bit doubtful by the inmate’s suggestion.
“You?” he laughed menacingly. “You know where that lousy kid is?”
Inuyasha nodded his head.
“Huh,” Hiten patted his back. “So how ‘bout it? Tell me where that stupid weasel is.”
“No,” Inuyasha looked at Hiten then his group. “Not yet.”
Hiten shot up from his seat once again, angered and full of rage, “Then you’re worthless to me. Get the hell out.”
Inuyasha took three steps back before turning his back to the mob. The guards shouted that mess hour was over, and it was now time for rec. He smiled as he followed the rest of the inmates out to the yard.
Everyone dispersed into their designated areas out in the yard. Even though, of course, the purpose of rec time was to allow inmates outside to roam about; not keep them restricted to a specific area, except for PI.
Inuyasha remained near the gate where everyone else was entering, surveilling the place once more. The inmates of darker tones claimed their spot in the corner of the yard where all the weights and bench presses were located. Mixed tones took to the basketball court that was right beside the gym area while those of lighter tones resorted to playing cards or sitting on the bleachers.
He then noticed a set of bleachers that were empty, which was exactly what he needed. He nonchalantly made his way to it, hands in his pockets, and occasionally looked to the left and right of him.
He took a seat at the top of the wooden bleachers, specifically sitting down at the end of it. He felt underneath him where there was nothing but wood. He continued tracing his hand along the work until he finally felt it--a screw.
The inmate referred to his arm where “Allen 11121147” was tattooed onto him*. He began to loosen the bolt by rotating it clockwise and counterclockwise. He lifted his leg onto the lower bleacher, trying to relax and remain casual. However, of course, this was not the case.
“Well, well, well,” a man with blue face paint draw only beneath his eyes approached him. “What do we have here?”
Inuyasha threw his hands into his pocket in a hurry, not replying to the question.
“You come around here often, suga?” the man stepped onto the bleachers to be beside him.
Inuyasha stood up, “What do you think?” He gave a sarcastic smile.
“Ooooo,” the man was swooned. “Feisty one, ain’t he?”
There was a group of men behind him, but one was much younger than the rest. The younger one stood right behind the man, gripping the inside of his pocket.
Inuyasha made his way off the bleachers but then, “Woah, woah, woah.” The man put the inmate into a halt, “What’s the rush?” He giggled, “I’m just being friendly, pup.”
“Keh, I don’t need a friend,” he huffed.
“Ow, baby, now don’t do me like that!” the man and his posse laughed. “Look, I can offer you protection. We all know I’m not the only one coming after that pretty-little face of yours,” he winked as he slapped the younger one’s hand, lifting the empty pocket. “All you have to do is take a little stroll with me.”
Inuyasha breathed calmly and stepped closer to him. The man smiled in satisfaction, preparing to lift up his pocket once again.
“I’ll pass.”
The man twitched and clenched his fists, “Whatever, baby.” He smacked the younger one to make him grip the pocket again; the group following him, “I’m never gonna give up on you.”
Inuyasha turned away and walked in the opposite direction, burying his head into his hands in disappointment. He shook his head and scratched his ears before placing his hands back into his pockets.
“I see Jakotsu’s taken an interest in you,” Kohaku mumbled as he returned to his side.
Inuyasha sighed, “Thanks for the information.”
The sound of a lone basketball dribble was heard from across the gate. The dribble continued to pound against the floor before going silent and hitting the rim, causing the chained nets to make a noise. Inuyasha turned his head to the source and sped walked in that direction.
“Miroku!” he said with happiness, putting his fingers through the fence. “I’m glad to see you here.”
“No offense, Inuyasha, but I can’t say the same,” he picked up the basketball and held it beneath his arm.
Inuyasha lowered his head with a low chuckle, “Right.”
“Why are you really here, Inuyasha?” Miroku shot the ball and missed. “How did you let yourself end up here?”
Inuyasha snickered, “I already told you why I’m here, idiot.”
“If anyone’s the idiot, it’s you,” Miroku laughed. “You can’t be serious about what you said.
“But I am,” he assured.
Miroku frowned, “Inuyasha, you kno-”
“TEN FEET FROM THE GATE, INUYOSHI!”
The two raised their hands in innocence and took the required steps backward. Miroku continued dribbling as Inuyasha began to return to the yard. Inuyasha nodded his head and Miroku already knew what he meant.
“You really trying to kill yourself before you do your time, huh?” Kohaku was beside him yet again.
Inuyasha ignored his comment, “Why is he secluded from the rest of us?”
“You haven’t heard?” Kohaku let out a small gasp. “He killed the vice president’s sister, Kaede. He’s been on death row ever since and is being strapped to the chair in about a month from now,” Inuyasha’s heart was going to burst. “Why are you asking?”
“Because,” Inuyasha lowered his head, near the ground, slow to find the strength to return. “That’s my brother.”
a/n:
*gen pop - general population. the area of a prison that houses the majority of inmates
*I forgot to mention that just like Michael Scofield from Prison Break, Inuyasha, our beloved protagonist is also covered in tattoos. Literally, every inch of his torso and arms. Refer to HERE.
Sorry for the super long chapter, but I had so much I wanted to get into. I’m definitely continuing this series no matter what lmao.
Please let me know your thoughts, like, reblog, and follow for more! :D
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The Fireman's Tale--Personal Account of Mitch Russell
"At the time of the Zion Mountain Incident, I had been with the Grundy Fire Department for over 10 years. 10 years couldn't prepare me for what I saw on the night Zion Mountain burned to the ground. I've always said the whole thing was unnatural, but no one else paid it any mind. About 5 miles above Zion Mountain, past the Unicoi Grill and a few of those rental cabins along the river, my crew and I came across what we believed was the starting point of the initial fire. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't just one fire that destroyed the town. It was several. Most of them started from sparks coming off downed power lines, transformers, and hell, even a couple of gas stations that didn't close down for the evening. It was the eeriest damn thing I've ever seen in the 10 years I had been in the fire department. Sure, I've seen some crazy shit over the course of a decade by that point. House fires, forest fires, horrible traffic accidents....you name it. 10 years couldn't prepare me for what I saw up on that mountain. There was a path that started from the base of the mountain and eventually, went about a half a mile or so up the ridge to this clearing where some logging had been done. It was so strange. Nothing had burned above this clearing. As far as I could tell at that point, the first fire originated within the clearing. As for who or what started it, it was anyone's guess. Stupid me, I decided to go up there with a couple of others---Chris Wilson and William Campbell. I knew we weren't supposed to be up there until Jace Moser, who was the main fire investigator at the time, stopped by to access the damage and begin his investigation. I could tell you right now this wasn't an act of arson. All three of us agreed on that. Nothing about the whole thing made sense. We weren't dealing with drought conditions that year. On the night of June 13th, there were no reports of high wind or thunderstorms. It was a muggy, clear night. There were prescribed burns in parts of the Unicoi Range that March, most of which got rid of the debris from the tornado we had back in April of 2012. The rest of the downed trees were logged off, leaving a big scar near the entrance of the Range. The clearing where the fire originated was part of that logging operation. In fact, we found the scorched remains of logging equipment--skidders, harvesters, knuckleboom loaders....they were still logging the area up until that point in time. By first glance, it would've looked like a fire was started by the logging outfit and it just got out of control. Walking up that logging road was like walking into an apocalyptic wasteland. Hell, it was spooky enough seeing how barren it was from all the logging, but walking into this was like a nightmare. Everything was pitch black, as far as we could see. Every once in a while, you'd see tree stumps of different sizes. Some were as tall as a man and others, below your knees. They were blackened, hollowed out by the fire. The smell....oh god, that smell....it was horrific, like a mix between a rotting corpse, burned flesh, and strong metallic odor. If it weren't for our masks, we would've been throwing up non stop. William Campbell was, I can remember. It was 86 degrees that day and the humidity was very high. You can probably imagine what it was like, both up on the mountain and in town. We didn't see human remains initially, but the further up we went, the smell became stronger the closer to the clearing we got. We had all been shaken up pretty badly by fighting the fire itself. I had been without sleep for 72 hours. Same with William and Chris. Within that circle, there was a pretty good sized bolder that stood about five or so feet tall. The top part of it was stained with this deep reddish brown color. There were splatter marks on the side of it and these strange symbols. At first, I thought it was on old prank some teenager pulled a long time ago to fuck with whoever came across it until William came out and said he knew what those symbols were. Can you believe that? William of all people--quietest guy on the squad. William was from Zion Mountain. You know, I hadn't given it a second thought, since we were caught up in the chaos. It wasn't a relevant piece of information at the time. Our main goal was to attempt to reduce the amount of civilian casualties by evacuating them and putting out the fires that spread across town. I didn't ever consider how William felt, watching his hometown burn to the ground in front of him. If it wasn't for the fact he had to work that night at the station, he would've been one of the people we had dig out. He still hadn't heard from his wife, Hannah. Personally, I wasn't too optimistic about it, but I wouldn't dare tell him at the time. He was already pretty shaken up by what happened anyway. I didn't express my doubts, even after we found her....or rather, what was left of her, near the front door of their house. When Chris and I asked him what the significance behind this place was, he said this was where the church elders would perform sacred rites and other strange rituals. As for what exactly would go on during this rituals, it was anyone's guess. The only ones who were allowed to attend the ceremonies were a select few, the most influential people in Zion Mountain. This would've probably included the Yearwoods, Tallents, Millers....you name it. William openly admitted he had no idea why they'd conjugate up on the mountain. As he put it, "white trash like us aren't privileged enough to get closer to God". "What do you mean, you're not privileged enough?" I remember asking him. "Will, you're a fireman, just like us. It's our job to put our lives on the line to save the lives of others. Surely that's enough to convince them you're worthy." "No. Not even that is enough." I can recall him answering back. He looked so defeated and betrayed. 'I'm not one of them. God loves everyone in his flock, but he holds a special place in his heart for them, his most 'dedicated' disciples." Something about that statement really tipped me off, you know? Now, we're taught in church that God each and every one of us, regardless of our imperfections. Every man, woman, child, saint, sinner, and everything in between was worthy of Her love. If there's anything I learned on that day, it was that Kalona was the God of the wealthier, more privileged citizens of Zion Mountain. Everyone else beneath him was nothing more than pigs wallowing in the mud. Part of me wonders if such a thing would behave like that or if his disposition was the result of his human followers. The symbols on the bolder not known to belong to any human language, he claimed. They were some sort of divine message, special instructions on how the ritual was supposed to be performed, passed down from their patron deity, Kalona. Being that the rest of our unit was from Grundy, we all were pretty acquainted with Zion Mountain's weird religious practices. They didn't worship the same God as we did. We let them do their thing and we did ours. It wasn't our place to tell them they were in the wrong for believing what they did, but....maybe we should've stepped in a long time ago. They called him "Kalona", the God of land and the bearer of fire. He was always portrayed as looking like an angel, specifically one of the Archangels. He had giant, flaming wings, wore armor, carried a ridiculously huge sword...you know, like something out of a video game or movie. No one ever knew what to make of it. Behind their backs, we'd kind of have a good laugh over it, say they'd discover soon enough how wrong they were to worship their strange, Pagan god. Now....we're no longer sure. The moment we stepped into the circle, we were bombarded by blow flies. There were hundreds of them, like a black cloud humming in the dead silence of the woods. We knew....all of us knew...that we were about to find human remains. It had been like that all day. Casualties were numbering in the dozens by that point and morale was running low. The entire time we had been within the city limits, we could not find survivors. We braced ourselves for what we might find....but.....there was nothing in this world that could've prepared us for the horrible shit we had seen. It had been about 3 days at that point. Most of the fires had been put out, except for the one on Atsila Branch, near old Doc Larson's facility. The Atsila Branch Fire burned for over 700 acres and it was finally contained a few days later. Chris was the one who saw it first. I was inspecting the bolder in the middle of the clearing when I heard him let out a yelp. I called out to him and asked what he found, but he didn't answer. I called out a second time and again, he didn't answer me back. I admit, I was a little bit annoyed at the time. When you go that long without sleep, everything gets on your nerves. Every last one of them. He was standing several feet away from me near this burned out stump. "Chris, what the hell are you doing?" I hollered. "I told you to stay close, goddamnit!" When I finally caught up with him, he was just standing there, completely frozen in his stance, breathing rapidly like he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack. I saw this....it was like this sludge that was brown, gelatinous, filled with thousands of maggots, and smelled like rotting meat. There were splintered bones floating around in it, some with the muscle tissue and skin still attached. It was splattered all over the place. I went 72 hours without sleep. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me from sleep deprivation. I really wanted that to be the case, no matter how many times I tried to pinch myself. I've never seen human remains that were in that condition before, completely liquified with the exception of bones, pieces of hair, and even teeth. There were no visible singe marks, save for a layer of soot. Something wasn't right, nor did it add up. Why weren't the remains we found near the center burned like everything else? What caused this person or group of people to be essentially liquified? My radio suddenly came on, snapping me out of it. I heard Miles Grady, who was the lieutenant of the Grundy Fire Department at the time, on the other end. He demanded to know where we went off to since we weren't technically allowed to leave the city limits. Boy, was he pissed! I hollered at William and Chris and told them we should get the hell out of there before Miles went apeshit. Units were spread out across the city limits, focusing on the many fires that popped up on June 13. Most of them were contained by the next morning, with the occasional hot spots. Atsila Branch was still on fire. Smoke was billowing above the trees, raining ashes down on the remains of town. There was a sickly, brownish tint in the skies that cast a depressing, dingy glow across the smoldering ruins. The smell was horrendous, far worse than what we had experienced in the clearing. My unit mostly worked around the business district, which was clear on the other side of town. There used to be a strip mall on the other side of the highway. They had a Piggly Wiggly, Wilson's Drugs, Dollar General, a Mexican restaurant, a book store, and a video game shop. Nothing of the strip survived. It was like bombs had been dropped all up and down the highway. Chris, William, and I helped with recovery in what was left of the Pig. I'd rather not go into full detail about it, but....if there's one thing I can say, whatever happened in Zion Mountain was sudden. It came out of nowhere and it came out of nowhere so fast that no one really had time to react. The town square was the part of Zion Mountain that catered mostly to rich tourists from up north. They had expensive art galleries that sold high dollar paintings to people who had more money than common sense, several tacky themed restaurants, souvenir shops, thrift stores, the town library, city hall, police station....all of them were reduced to smoldering piles of rubble, just like that. Miles Grady, the lieutenant of the Grundy Fire Department at the time, grabbed ahold of Chris, William, and myself and told us to come with him because he had something he wanted to show us. It was like someone had taken a wrecking ball to the outer walls of the buildings. Most of the buildings in the town square were some of the oldest in the county, built after the Civil War. They survived everything both nature and man threw at them, including other fires. But this....none of us were prepared for what we were about to see. There was this strange silence about the place, even though dozens of first responders were on site, sifting through the rubble in vain to find survivors. It was like the hands of God grabbed ahold of the phone poles and snapped them into splinters, just as simple as that. They were lying on the burnt pavement, charred, with the wires snapped in half. It reminded me of the tornado that tore the place apart the year before, only worse. All up and down the main drag, there were dozens of bodies that were burned beyond recognition. Some of them were decapitated, while others were missing limbs or huge chunks of their body. We even found a few that were ripped in half and their entrails were slung into the sides of buildings and the sidewalk. We thought that it was the work of scavengers like buzzards, coyotes, raccoons, and the like....until we saw these huge claw marks on the pavement, like scratches. The way it moved, it was like it drug its feet along behind it, ramming into anything in its path, including innocent bystanders who were trying to flee on foot or in their vehicles. We found at least two cars that had indentations of these....footprints(?) Paw prints(?) on the hood, barring them from leaving the inferno behind. On one car, the roof was completely ripped off, exposing the driver and passenger. The driver was forcibly ripped out of their seat and as for the passenger...All that was left of them was from the waist down. Whatever it was, it must have tried to rip them out of the car, just like the driver. I don't know if just couldn't do it for whatever reason, but....it either ripped them in half by grabbing onto them with its claws or clamped down on them with its teeth. Whether it was doing this as a method of attack or it was just eating them, we don't know. We had so much resting on our shoulders at the time, which made things even worse. There was this constant feeling of paranoia, of looking over our shoulders every time we heard a sound that was out of place. No physical evidence was ever found of the entity that laid waste to the town square, meaning that somewhere, it was roaming free, waiting for another opportunity to strike. What happened in Zion Mountain was not some tragic, freak accident like you've been led to believe for all these years. All of us who were involved....we all agreed to never speak about what we saw so that it wouldn't cause mass hysteria. Morale was low enough as it was. It was covered by every major news channel, both local and nationwide. People were constantly glued to their TVs, phones, and computers, desperately trying to figure out if their loved ones died. Everyone in my unit lost someone. I lost several cousins, my two younger brothers, my sister-in-law, and my nieces and nephews--4 girls and one boy. William, who was from Zion Mountain, lost his wife, parents, and god knows how many cousins. Chris lost his parents. That's just how it was. Even that didn't stop us from doing our jobs because who else would? People view us first responders with such a high regard, but I didn't feel like the hero they made me out to be. Despite all of our efforts, we only managed to save 12 people. Zion Mountain had a population of 906. 894 people lost their lives for absolutely no reason, other than to appease that thing they called God. I don't know what happened that night and I probably don't want to know. Something dark happened in Zion Mountain, something so horrible we can't even begin to understand. I stopped going to church after we were finished in Zion Mountain. Maybe it was a combination between everything I witnessed while struggling in vain to stop the fires and to save everyone and the things William told us in the aftermath. Those people....they were lied to. Were they offered as a sacrifice to appease their own god? Did they blindly follow their absurd doctrine, never knowing they were being led to the slaughterhouse like sheep? I had forgotten when the realization hit me. Whether it was the 10th body I dug up or maybe even the 100th, I don't remember. What if...we're being led down the same path? What if the thing we worshipped every Sunday morning was the same as Kalona--a mindless monster who would stop at nothing to completely destroy us? Could that be the reason why we're asked to give it so much of our devotion and love? Are we being groomed to prepare for it when that moment comes? --Personal account from Mitch Russell, former member of the Grundy Fire Department
#the zion mountain chronicles#my writings#writing#psychological horror#lovecraftian horror#nightmare fuel#tw: disturbing content#southern gothic#tw: strong language#I wonder how many people will notice the Evangelion references#Tennessee writers#can you believe I've had people to message me and ask if this really happened?#cosmic horror
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