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jokeroutsubs · 7 months

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ENG Translation: Joker Out appeared today (3.11.2023) on the Headliner.rs, a Serbian digital magazine.

You can find the original text here

ENG TRANSLATION:

The phenomenon Joker Out… In Americana Hall* it was like there was no tomorrow

*in Dom Omladine

For those unaware, if they still exist, Joker Out is a pop-rock band from Ljubljana which gained fame after participating in this year’s Eurovision. Even though they only won 21st place, their career blossomed after the competition and so they became one of the most successful (if not the most successful) acts that participated this year.

They sold out tickets for nearly every concert with incredible speed, with a special emphasis on the former Yugoslavian countries. But, why is that?

First of all, this charming five are a boy band. A real, classic, boy band. We haven’t had such a phenomenon in our area for a long time, the younger generation have almost no experience with something like this. They came onto the scene at the right moment and gave the audience what they needed. And Eurovision came into their career at the perfect time to give them a flying start and to launch them from a quality, alternative Slovenian band straight to the stars.

The older generation loves them for their undeniable quality. When something that stands out from the crowd emerges, in which you can see years of work and which, as the career goes on, records only progress, the older generations stop being so elitist and know how to recognize it.

They partially love them because of nostalgia. With their attitudes and style, they are adorably reminiscent of some bands of the 80s and very easily bring back memories and briefly bring experiences that the generations growing up back then remember with melancholy.

Young people love them… well, is an explanation really necessary? Their concerts are like a party, two hours of euphoria and a total occupation of all the senses. It’s not hard to win over a young audience if you are like them: five charismatic guys who radiate with their existence.

For months, competing for a second of their attention, girls have been screaming over each other in the audience. They know the lyrics by heart, without knowing a word of Slovenian.

Tears of joy are already pouring with the opening lyrics of the first song. Having conquered Novi Sad, these guys arrived in Belgrade on the 2nd of November. The countdown is finally over.

Labyrinth-like lines in front of Dom Omladine hinted at a fight for a place in the first row, and even a few rows back. When the doors finally opened, the fastest secured their desired place, others were defeated and some gave up at the start and chose a place further back, for a more intimate experience.

Colourful outfits, shiny, neon makeup, sequins, pearls, latex, lace and who knows what other details and accessories found themselves in the same place, in the same crowd. So divided, yet perfectly harmonious, it’s clear these people belong where they are. When the members of the band joined their colourful scene on stage, the spectrum was complete.

Entering the stage, right on time, tensely prolonged but so spectacular, they set a standard that won’t be beaten for a long time. Joker Out opened their first concert in Belgrade with the song “Sunny Side of London”.

They introduced themselves as “five Slovenians who are here to sing for you”, but they are, really, much more than that. Bojan’s interactions with the audience, his smiles, looks and irresistible personality caused general hysteria from the very beginning.

With his wit, he held the audience’s attention without stopping and immediately gained their full trust. Although he’s the most mobile, with the role of frontman, he’s far from being the center of attention. It seems this is a band where everything is divided into five equal parts. The audience goes absolutely crazy for each of them.

“Bojan, I am not a baby seal, but can you please adopt me?”, is just one of the endearing banners that could be seen in the audience. Letters, bouquets, and bras flew towards them, almost non-stop.

Delighted that everyone present knew the lyrics and therefore addressed him in fluent Slovenian, Bojan spoke to us in fluent Serbian.

Although the audience was often louder than the speakers, the loudest scream was let out with our “Demons”, while “Katrina” was dedicated to a randomly selected girl in the audience.

There was such a strong collective energy that it would draw in even someone who has never heard even one of their songs. At the advice of the band, everyone hugged someone who needed it right at that moment.

To summarise, why did this phenomenon take over? When you have someone who gives their all to the audience, when they enjoy what they’re doing, everything makes sense. The five of them absolutely deserve every second of their success, there’s no doubt. Today there’s rarely a band that immensely values their fans, on whose stage there’s respect between the members. What they have is earned through sacrifice, work and talent. They’re aware of it and so are their fans.

These tireless, energetic guys gave their insatiable audience an unforgettable encore of five songs. As they themselves say, we danced and loved each other all night (loved them, ourselves, each other, or mutually, whichever happened to whom) and all that - as if there were no tomorrow.

After tonight flower petals, confetti, sequins, lots of sighs and someone’s vocal chords will be cleaned up from the Americana Hall in Dom Omladine, but the spirit of some seemingly normal Slovenian guys will remain within for a long time.

Translation cr: @moonlvster

(The photos are from their concert at 'Dom omladine', Belgrade)

#joker out #jokeroutsubs #bojan cvjeticanin #kris gustin #jan peteh #bojan cvjetićanin #nace jordan #jure macek #kris guštin

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madwomansapologist · 10 months

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Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 4 - Letters, letters, letters

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

forth chapter synopsis: Letters are vessels capable of conveying so much. From the concern with survival, to the regret of having left. Letters speak of the most varied emotions, contain the most intrinsic truths, and are always written with someone in mind. It's a problem when that letter is read by the wrong person. But what can happens when it's read by right one? [3K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. trauma.

glossary: Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Maenwë: Clever girl┆Dôl gîn lost: Empty head┆Pedig edhellen?: Do you speak Elvish?┆Na lû e-govaned vîn: Until the time of our meeting

It wasn’t his intention. It really wasn’t.

Saruman wandered through the halls Rivendell, the last homely house east of the sea, with a simple purpose in mind. He just wanted to say goodbye. After the meeting that ended with the Elvenking promising to hunt and defeat the nest found above the Bruinen River, Elrond extended the invitations to his guests. But within two weeks, Saruman had to travel back to Isengard.

And before finally going back home, Saruman needed to talk with Gandalf one last time. Saruman need to instruct him, and to convince Gandalf that it will be better if he don’t stay around Rivendell for much longer.

Saruman know he has power over the minds of others. His fame works as a shield from doubts and apprehensions. Saruman, the White. If Saruman says that the sky is green people will think anything, everything, before even cogitating that he may be lying.

His fame precedes him, and that’s why Saruman knows that Gandalf will hear him. Because that’s what Gandalf always does.

At Gandalf’s chamber, Saruman waited for him. As soon as the old mage sat on a armchair that didn’t belong to him, a sound was heard. A sound that Saruman had thought about ignoring before realizing what it was.

Radagast is the protector of Nature, but Saruman can recognize the singing of doves just as well. And when he found the pearly feathered bird pecking at the closed window, it took Saruman a glance to easily notice the letter attached to it.

No one could accuse that little dove of not doing her best. Even Saruman could sense it’s tiredness. While untying the paper from it’s back, Saruman caressed it’s delicate wings. The letter at least was sealed. That what made Saruman read it’s content. What type of person forgets to seal a letter?

Reading the too familiar calligraphy, soon his question was answered. But not only that. That letter answered his prayers. A warg bit you. Saruman didn’t even thought about what Aerin wrote about the Elvenking or the dam finally stumbling. A warg bit you. And you were unconscious. Unresponsive.

A placid smile took over Saruman’s frigid face. And his smirk turned into a bray.

That’s a miracle. You finally will die. And as soon as it happens, as soon as Gandalf discover that it happened, everything will went back to normal. Gandalf will worry no more about their lies. Radagast will stop reaching for him trying new ways to cure you. Their past mistakes will not matter anymore. Everything will be normal again. And Saruman will finally have great news to report to Sauron.

But only a great liar don’t fall for their own lies, and that’s why Saruman new that he couldn’t count on his victory. You will die, but if Gandalf discover what happened he may find a way to save you. And that simply can’t happen.

Saruman could have just burn the letter, or take it with him, but Aerin is not the type of woman to write only once in a while. Specially when something like that happens. If she writes again, Gandalf will understand that something is missing. To protect himself from further problems, while also making sure that Gandalf would not ride on your defense, Saruman hid the letter under Gandalf’s bed.

So, yes, it wasn’t Saruman’s intention to intercept the letter. But did his intentions really mattered that much?

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

In haste to avail the end the sunset, you closed the stable doors and locked them with chains. They were heavy, but not that much. You entered the inn through the back doors and went up to your room. Without giving yourself a second to breath, you grabbed the basked by your bed and hurried to your hideout.

Without further warning, without giving anyone directions for where they could found you if they need to, you ran towards the forest. Perhaps it’s insensitive of you, but you don’t want to be disturbed. Whenever Aerin say she don’t need you anymore, you quick evaporate from the inn without giving her time to change her mind. Perhaps it’s a selfish act, but you don’t really care.

Because if you do, if you stop to think about it, you’ll waste the little time left of sunlight.

Wandering through the forest, you followed the familiar path. There were no roads or signaling, you just know where the clearing is. A part of the forest where the trees thin. It was like the vegetation was mowed down by a divine being. Like someone from above decided to gift you the perfect hiding place.

It was the perfect place to be left alone. The perfect place to hear only the nature and it’s own sound. The perfect place to read. The perfect place to be alone with old myths and new words. The perfect place to forget about your misery.

But when you sit among the roots of an orange tree and grabbed your book from the basket, your heart collapsed. The cover tore. Not much, only on the edge, but that made you realize it won’t last forever. One day it will tore, tarnish, dampen. One day the ink will fade, the words will blurry, the drawings will become thin.

And you will be left alone. Again.

“Dôl gîn lost,” you murmured to yourself. Empty head. “A stupid girl with stupid dreams. Why can’t you just learn?”

You should’ve know better. You should’ve know he wouldn’t stay. Why would he? Thranduil is a king. A king. Why would he care about someone he barely knows? He lived more than you could ever understand, saw places in this world that you can’t even imagine, know people way more interesting then a girl without memories.

Of course he wouldn’t stay. Of course he wouldn’t even care enough to say goodbye. Of course you weren’t important to him. You were less then a mere blink on his long Elve life. You were nothing for him.

And to think that he called you maenwë.

Why can’t you just hate him? It would be so much easier if you did. If you just despised him. At least you would be able to feel something completely. But what can you do with those complicated feelings? Do with all the happiness you felt with him, with that rage from being alone again, with that grief? Because it’s grief. What hurts more isn’t that he left, you understand that. You really do. What hurts more is that he will never come back.

You felt so much, and what can you do with those feelings? Where do you put them?

You’re hurt. You shoulder throb if you lay on it. Your arm feel different. Heavier. Your head is almost as it was before everything happened. And yet, your soul hurts more.

“Lossëistar?” It startled you, but you recognized the voice. “So I am not the only one that knows this place.”

He wore his golden armor, his limp wrist resting against the hilt of his sword. People say he’s a good warrior, but you never saw him fighting. The only thing you saw was his kindness and his wit. You admire people that know what to say. Perhaps he’s a good warrior, but you know for sure that he’s a good man.

“Gildor,” you waved to him. Your smile was wider than usual. You did that so you could disguise your watercolor eyes. “I thought you were back at Rivendell.”

“Not yet,” Gildor leaned against one of the last trees that marked the beginning of the clearing. “I thought you’d never walk into a forest again. Not after everything that happened.”

“If you get hurt on your house, would you never comeback to it?” You arched your eyebrows. “It wasn’t a forest that bit me, it was a warg.” Gildor approached, walking towards you. With a warm smile, he nodded in agreement. “You’re right. But it’s a brave choice, if you permit me.”

You never noticed it before, but there is something yellow about him. Something warm. It’s nice to have him around. Someone that for a second can make you forget about the all those contradictory feelings.

“I do,” your tone was arrogant, but not your face. Gildor laughed.

“And may I ask why you are here? If you permit me.”

Gildor opened his mouth to answer you, but then his eyes fell to the book between your hands. And even with the torn cover, it was easy to read it’s tittle. Or at least to recognized in what alphabet it was written. “Do you speak Elvish?”

“Pedig edhellen?” you murmured to yourself. Do you speak Elvish? The words just echoed in your mind. You didn’t even tried to translate it. You just remembered. “I don’t,” you answered Gildor. “I’m just learning.”

“Alone?”

“Now, yes, alone.” You licked your lips. “The Elvenking taught me a little bit.”

And there it was. Don’t matter if it hurts, you still find a way to speak about him. A way to not let those dear memories fade. What for you was a bittersweet moment, somehow changed how Gildor behave. Suddenly he was more stiff, almost vigilant.

“He’s so noble,” and that sounded different from when you heard him being almost too polite when talking to Thranduil. It sounded honest. Somehow vulnerable. “It may seen naive, but I always thought that those great masters hated each other.”

“Do you mean Lord Elrond hates Thranduil?”

“Mirkwood is know as a dark, tenebrous place. And Rivendell is… Look around. It’s a paradise. I was naive to imagine that they would envy and hate one another. The Elvenking wouldn’t protect this realm if they did.”

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Rivendell is under attack. Spider nests, orcs regrouping, even wargs,” Gildor looked away from you. “Before you woke up, Thranduil promised to Varla that he would annihilate every single one those insects. That’s why he left.”

If Gildor said something else, if he screamed at you, if he worshiped a forgotten god, if he talked with a bewitched shadow: you wouldn’t have even noticed. You wouldn’t hear anything. You couldn’t hear anything but your own thoughts. Your oscillating, cacophonous thoughts.

Thranduil promised that? He put himself in danger, his army in danger, to help people that aren’t even under his rule. He did something so brave, so dangerous, and why? You knew Thranduil felt guilty for what happened, but you couldn’t believe that he would promise something like that. Why did he promised that? Oh.

It was before you had woke up. For you, it felt like a heavy sleep. But for anyone else if felt like centuries. Luthien said no one knew if you would wake up. No one knew if you would survive. Aerin said she knew, but she hugged tight you anyway. Thranduil didn’t knew if you would wake up.

That was the reason? Did he promised that almost as a deal with Varla? Did Thranduil feared that you wouldn’t wake up and decided that perhaps something great as defending a kingdom, something kind as protecting people that he didn’t need to, would make the gods look for you? Did he cared that much?

And thinking, sinking deeper and deeper into your mind, rocked by your thoughts as if they were music, you didn’t even noticed how cold you felt. Thinking about Thranduil, regretting having entered that damned meadow, you didn’t notice how a thick layer of ice joined your body to the roots. Or how mist escaped your mouth.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“If there is no moving on…”

A scarlet glow shone through the murky night. Sparks leaps into the air, a dark cloud spread for miles, and the world had shrunk. There are no seas, skies, mountains. No animals, no people, no civilizations. The only thing that mattered in the whole world was that forest. And it was on fire.

Motionless on the grass, Thranduil could only watch the fire. He was nothing but a witness. Someone useless, unable to help, frozen in space and time. Frozen in a distant, blurry memory. Trapped in a old nightmare.

It’s a recurring one. Every night the same dream. Again, and again, and again. A forest fire, a useless witness, a chronic pain climbing up his face. And then Thranduil wakes up. A recurring nightmare, a repetitive torture, that always left him with a itched face and moist eyes.

The clock is ticking just as it always have done, but when night comes seconds became millenniums. Because Thranduil’s futures fades, his present transforms itself, and his past come back to haunt him. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting, time stretching.

Surrounded by fire, Thranduil relives once again his worst memory. Thranduil didn’t move. He couldn’t get near the fire. Even if it was possible to extinguish it, he wouldn’t. He would never. Because he can feel the warmth. The stench of old wood. And if he walks towards the fire, if he feels it against his skin, then it would mean that it’s really happening again.

And Thranduil would rather die.

Because when that happened, at the time his memory was his present, a part of him died in order for him to survive. A part that will never grew again. No matter how much time passes, he’ll never be the same. And Thranduil don’t wanna lose himself again.

He normally wakes up when trees first bow to the fire. When they fall and finally die. It was a recurring nightmare, that same old story again and again, but something different happened this time. Something he never saw before. The fire suddenly vanished.

Mist enveloped him. For a second Thranduil thought it was raining. When he looked down, he saw snowflakes melting against his skin. Like at the beginning of the season, when the first snow falls. It’s not cold, and it’s not a lot, but it’s so welcoming. It’s refreshing. Like a new chance to try again. It’s kind, and gentle, and so delicate.

And when Thranduil looked at forest again, the scarlet glow has been replaced by a denim brightness. Sparks flying turned into falling snow. The world was complete again. He could see the sky, the stars, the mountains so far away. Thranduil saw birds. Thranduil saw the moon. And Thranduil saw you.

Every leaf that brushed against your hand, every stone that got in your way, every tiny breath you take: everything froze. Ice was spread along with your steps. And for the first time in a long time, he heard the end of the sentence that haunted him for eons. You whispered softly: “…then why are you running away?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Thranduil woke up boiling under the sheets. He clutched his chest in a vain attempt of calming his heart. For an instant Thranduil didn’t knew what was happening. He didn’t even knew his name. It was only when his feet touched the cold ground that he remembered everything.

Thranduil remembered he’s in the main tent of the camp set up to chase spider nests. He remembered it’s been days since he tracked those insects and started to fulfill the promise of annihilating them one by one. Thranduil remembered the fire. And the ice.

The things Thranduil had denied to himself since the day he started this campaign came back to haunt his mind. All the times Thranduil convinced himself that he shouldn’t, that it was better not to, just didn’t matter anymore. Because once consciousness returned to Thranduil’s body, he knew exactly what to do.

The white fabric, thick enough to protect him from the cold, covered the dark sky that surrounded his little army. And protect by it, with his privacy guaranteed, Thranduil ran to his table. And this time he didn’t convinced himself that it was the wrong choice, he just grabbed the letter-paper.

It’s been days since Thranduil first wished to write to you. He already knew what to write. Every morning Thranduil imagined all the things he would say to you. Every hunt Thranduil imagined how you would answer him. Every night Thranduil feared how you would react.

But he never wrote.

He told to himself that it was a mistake. How could he write to you after that bitter farewell? You probably have already forgotten about him. You must regret ever meeting him. And Thranduil don’t blame you. He would do the same damn thing if a friend traveled without caring to say goodbye.

As it turns out, Thranduil is too old to be so easily deceived. Deep down he knew that wasn’t the reason for him to not write for you. You may regret him. There is a chance of that. That’s what he would do. And exactly because of that, Thranduil knows that this is not the reality. You’re kinder than he would ever be.

You don’t hold any grudge against Aerin. Thranduil heard her not calling you by your name, not letting you rest, tell you to go to the place that almost killed. And you don’t hate her. Worse: you didn’t hate him. Thranduil spend every single hour of your unconscious hating himself. He couldn’t protect you. He couldn’t save you. You trusted him, you took his hand into yours, and it didn’t helped you. He killed that warg. Did it changed anything? Did that make his bite disappear, your blood stop spreading in the meadow, you, the sparkle come back to your eyes? And you thanked him when he gave you water.

So, no. Thranduil didn’t wrote for you, but not because he he knew you hated him. Not because of your reacting. Your despise. Your indifference. Thranduil didn’t wrote for you, and he didn’t because he was afraid.

If he writes, it means that he was wrong. It means that he is the one regretting how things ended. He didn’t say goodbye because he didn’t want to see you for a last time, he didn’t want to leave with such a melancholic last memory, and that only made it worse. That made Thranduil look heartless. And he don’t want you to think about him like that.

So if he writes, that means he needs to apologize. That means he need to show you that he regret how things ended. He need to show weakness. Thranduil don’t want to show weakness, but it would be cruel if he pretended nothing bad have ever happened between you both. That means Thranduil longs for you. And that he hopes you feel that too.

Thranduil never wrote for you. Until now.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Lady,

I hope your days have been peaceful thus far. How is your recovery going? Luthien is a talented doctor, I assure you she only does the best for your health. If something is ever needed, no matter what it is, I certainly can provide it for you. I sincerely wish you an uncomplicated improvement.

I’m glad I left. At south of Rivendell, following the tracks of those worms that returned to haunt this land, my army and I do good to many. I cannot help but to wonder how many would have suffered, but did not because of our campaign. To leave was the right decision, a noble way to reciprocate how well my people were treated at Rivendell. Still, my mind comes back to our farewell.

It was selfish of me to not gave you an appropriate farewell. I did not wish for a last memory. For a last moment. I wanted our last memory to one of our lessons. A last memory filled with joy. An selfish act, wasn’t it?

My farewell — or the lack of it — was not meant to hurt you. I really did not aimed at your heart. But I guess this is not enough. Great intentions mostly aren’t enough.

I hope you are well. I hope you are recovering without any inconveniences. And I hope you don’t regret ever meeting me.

Na lû e-govaned vîn,

Thranduil Oropherion.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It took you three hours of research to translate it. Soon you understood that your book wasn’t enough. In the middle of the night, you ran to the public library and dove between dictionaries. You could have asked someone to translate it for you.

But that letter was yours. Only yours. You felt jealous just thinking about someone seeing his handwriting. About someone touching the scented paper. Someone reading his words. That letter was meant for your eyes. Only for them.

And after three hours, you translated it.

Na lû e-govaned vîn. Until the time of our meeting.

[Fifth Chapter]

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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unicyclehippo · 8 months

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collection (for the one word prompts)

here’s the blurb i wrote just now to help me plan it:

With the newly minted title of Head of Collections for the Musee D’Emon comes a fascinating project for Doctor Laudna Bradbury to work on, as well as a rather more significant budget than anything she’s ever been granted before, and access to the museum’s vast history and treasures. It could be said—and has, in various newspapers and journals around the world—that she is thriving. Success, recognition, fame and fortune are all hers! Only… fame and fortune were never why she got into history and recognition was proving to be something of a mixed bag. (The success is nice though.) As she delves into the rich history of Marquet, she must contend with her own long-buried history. With old ghosts haunting the halls of her childhood home and new troubles emerging in the wake of her controversial lecture, the last thing she needs is to be saddled with planning the Musee’s Grand Gala! Frankly, it’s all a bit much and Laudna may need a little help. It comes in the form of an impulsive hire for her office, a flirtatious new colleague, and a mysterious parcel that lands on her desk quite without warning. It smells of wood-smoke and lavender and is unsigned. The only clue to its origins is the wax seal, pressed with an ornate T.

#you can ignore this #museum au #imodna my beloveds

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year

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Hey lovelies! So ya’ll remember that Blue Tears idea I had a while ago?

Welp, it’s done :)

Enjoy the angst! <33

...............

“Fly away, you’re free...”

“..Pidge..?” Confused at the command given to them, Blue’s Pidgeot stared at the shattered remains of their pokeball, before staring back at their master.

He wasn’t even looking at them, but rather at the ground, messy brown bangs obscuring most of his face.

They didn’t fully understand what he meant by that.

After all they’ve been through together, this is what he does? Release them back into the wild...just like that?

Although Pidgeot wasn’t too familiar with this place, they recognized it as the entrance to Kanto’s tallest mountain. And this is where all of the extremely dangerous Pokémon and weather conditions resided.

That being said, why did he want them to leave? They didn’t see any of their friends’ pokeballs on him, so without them he’d be in grave peril.

Yet he didn’t seem to care as he sighed in irritation, annoyed that they were refusing to listen to him. “You’re free to live your own life again. I’m not your trainer anymore. Just go.”

The Bird Pokémon was extremely taken aback by his behavior, but then again...he hasn’t been the same ever since he lost his champion title--and other things he cared about, such as his Raticate.

Although they all knew it was an accident, Pidgeot thought that grief would make Blue even stronger. Even after losing to Red for the final time, they never stopped supporting him and vowed to train harder.

Maybe he finally reached his limit, unwilling to go on.

Yet when they shook their head in protest, he snapped. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be!! GO!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!” He yelled, kicking the pieces of the pokeball into the dirt, causing Pidgeot to flinch.

However during his fit, the bag accidentally slipped off his shoulder. As it tumbled to the ground they noticed something shiny and silver sticking out of the pouch:

Something sharp.

But they didn’t get a good chance to really see what it was as Blue scrambled to pick up his bag, sealing it shut with the item tucked back inside. He looked at his companion again, with exhaustion in his eyes. “...I’m sorry, I just...I need to face him alone. So please go and forget about me...goodbye.”

Those words devastated Pidgeot to the core, especially when he pleaded for them to “forget” about him.

How could they possibly do that?

What did he intend to do with that sharp shiny thing?

They had a bad feeling in their gut, and so they flapped their wings and flew off the mountain. Not out of obedience, but rather in a frantic pursuit to find the one person that could certainly help him and Red.

They can’t beg him to come back home.

But they knew exactly who could.

.........

“[Y/n], I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to climb Mount Silver. The boys are probably fine-”

“Professor, I’ve looked all over town for them.” You huffed as you mounted your Rapidash outside of the Pokémon Lab, frowning down at Oak. “They’re my friends. I know Red likes going off on his own, but I know damn well Blue wouldn’t just disappear without telling me.”

At the mention of his grandson’s name, he fell quiet. It didn’t go unnoticed by you, which only made your blood boil even more.

You remembered fiercely defending Blue after Oak expressed great disappointment over his “failure” to keep his championship title for even a day before losing to Red.

Heck, even the silent trainer felt guilty seeing his rival getting chewed out. He nearly forgot that he still needed to go inside the Hall of Fame.

It made you wonder if that contributed to his desire to go into exile.

“Does he only matter to you when he’s training Pokémon or researching alongside you?”

“Wha..o-of course not!” The professor protested, frowning at your accusations. “He matters to me more than you know. I just..thought my words would give him the push to do better. Maybe I could have worded them differently, but-”

“You knew he was struggling with losing his Raticate. I would’ve thrown in the towel if any of my Pokémon died like that, but Blue didn’t because he’s not a quitter. But when he needed your support the most...you just told him his best wasn’t enough. Imagine how he feels right now...”

Shaking your head, you scratched Rapidash’s ears gently. She could understand your frustration as she snorted in agreement.

Oak knew there was some truth to your words. At the time, he didn’t even think about the fact that Blue cared so much for his Pokémon..not treating them like tools as he previously assumed.

But as he was about to give you another poor excuse for his harsh words, both of you heard a familiar bird cry and looked up, seeing a Pidgeot land in front of you.

At first you were confused, wondering why this one decided to randomly show up and greet you specifically.

Then...it clicked in your mind.

“Oh! You’re..Blue’s Pidgeot, right?”

“Pidge! Geot!!” They nodded frantically, using a wing to gesture up to Mt. Silver.

While you weren’t well-versed in Poke language, you knew that if they were here all alone...then Blue must’ve gotten trapped up there in the mountains.

What if Red was, too?

“Okay, okay..I’ll follow you up there.” You glanced back at Oak apologetically. “Sorry, chief. I hate going against your advice, but my friends are stuck up there. I have to go help them. My Pokémon are strong enough.”

“Alright, but do be careful.” He nodded in understanding, now looking gravely worried. “The weather up there can be unpredictable, too. Make sure you don’t get stuck up there yourself.”

“I promise I’ll get us all back home. Now let’s go, girl!" You shouted to Rapidash, who neighed and galloped after Blue’s Pidgeot, heading towards the nearest slope that will lead you up Mt. Silver the quickest.

This was officially a race against time. You had no idea if those two got cornered by extremely aggressive Pokémon or were simply lost in one of the caves...all you could do was pray that you weren’t too late.

Eventually, the three of you arrived at the cavern’s entrance, with Rapidash’s flames keeping you and Pidgeot warm as you went inside. ‘Thank Arceus I bundled up for this trip beforehand...’

You tried to be as quiet as possible so you didn’t provoke any of the wild Pokémon that might be clinging to the walls or hiding underground.

Honestly, you didn’t know where this path would lead to. But considering the footprints on the ground were still somewhat fresh, you knew one of the boys couldn’t have gone too far.

‘The only question now is how far could he have-’

“THIS IS FOR EVERYTHING!!!”

The sudden loud scream of anger startled you, especially when you recognized Blue’s voice. In panic and confusion, you bolted further into the cave, winding up in a chamber where...

You stumbled upon a rather horrifying scene:

Blue furiously attacking Red. Though not with any Pokémon moves..

But a gleaming bloodstained knife.

The silent trainer tried in vain to defend himself, but his arms got slashed up as blood dripped onto the ground beneath him. And eventually he was shoved down, a pained grunt leaving him.

You couldn’t believe this is where Red’s been after all this time. You would’ve been overjoyed to see him....under completely different circumstances.

His rival stood over him, purple sweater splattered in red as he looked down at him, grinning like a manic. Red’s eyes filled with tears, trying to shuffle towards his bag where his Pokémon were safely nestled inside. He couldn’t let any of them get into danger...even if they were powerful enough to overwhelm Blue.

“..p-please..don’t hurt them...” He managed to rasp, voice quivering in terror.

“...oh, so now you can talk, huh?! And that’s all you gotta say?!” Tilting his head, Blue’s smile only grew as he laughed hysterically. “You think you could just hide away up here?!! YOU THINK YOU COULD JUST WALK AWAY LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED?!!” He screamed. "You took everything from me, “Champion”..so now I’m gonna-”

“BLUE!!!”

Shocked by your unexpected arrival, he spun around with wide eyes to see you jumping off Rapidash. Then he noticed his Pidgeot by your side, scowling deeply at the bird for ratting him out like this. “P-Pidgeot..you brought them here?”

“Of course they did. I thought you guys were hurt, but...but this is insane. What do you think you’re doing?!”

Obviously, you were mortified that he planned to outright kill Red in some sickening act of “revenge”, but you remembered that you had to remain calm lest he did anything rash...to either you, Red, or himself.

After recalling Rapidash for her own safety, you took a few steps forward, trying to get to Red. And you immediately stopped as Blue held the blade against his own neck. Tears fully streamed down his face now, teeth gritted to bite back the sobs that wanted to escape.

“Hey, hey, hey...it’s okay, Blue.” You put your hands up, showing him you mean no harm. “You’re gonna be okay. Just please put the knife down. I know you’re in pain, but this isn’t going to make things better-”

“I-I didn’t want you to come here, [y/n]..” He sniffled. “You couldn’t just stay away. Now I have to kill you, too!!” Another hysterical laugh left his lips. “How funny...w-we grew up together, and now we’re all gonna die together and nobody will know where we are!!!”

“That’s not true.” You tried to reassure him. “Nobody has to die. We can all go home together. We can find another way to resolve this..to help you through your grief. I know you think Red deserves this...” For a brief moment, your gaze went to the other trainer’s. He was struggling to cover his wounds, barely breathing. “..but he doesn’t. He never meant to-”

“Why...Why are you defending this coward?! After all he did..h-he just runs away and thinks I’d just forgive and forget?!!”

“..n-no, Blue..”

Tensing, the brunette glanced back at Red, scowling. “Shut up, coward.” Then he looked to you again. “Tell me, [y/n]..who would you rather leave this mountain with? Me or him?”

His question had you in disbelief. How could you possibly choose?

You shook your head. “You know I can’t pick-”

“LIAR!! I KNOW IT WOULD BE HIM!! BECAUSE IT’S ALWAYS HIM!!” He snapped angrily, pointing his weapon at you as that maniacal grin from before displayed itself for you to see. “If you wanna “help me” so badly...then let’s make this quick.”

“Wha-!!”

All of the sudden, Blue yelled as he charged at you, swinging the knife--only for the blade to miss you by mere inches. Pidgeot panicked and used Gust to push him away from you, flapping their wings quickly so that you had time to get to the wounded Red.

“[Y/n]...please run..” He pleaded as you kneeled beside him. But you ignored him, instead calling out Chansey. At first she was stunned upon seeing the extent of his injuries, though at your request she began using Heal Pulse to aid him.

She needed to be absolutely focused on this task, so when you heard the wind stop, you got up to shield the pair from Blue. He was just staring you down furiously.

The murderous glint in his eyes barely made him seem human anymore..it was both tragic and horrific to see him reduced to this...to resort to killing over an accident, plus other things that his rival couldn’t have possibly expected to push him to this point.

It was like some supernatural force had taken ahold of his grief, driving it to the extreme.

Yet you firmly stood your ground. “So what now? You’re just gonna kill my Chansey, too? After all she’s done to heal you and your Pokémon?! Don’t you remember when she tried saving your Raticate?”

“”Trying” isn’t the same as actually saving, idiot!!” He snarled. “If you had any brains left, you know I can’t leave witnesses-”

However, he was interrupted as a pokeball attached to your belt suddenly popped open on its own, sending out..

Your Shiny Raticate.

“Grrrrrat!!!” They bared their fangs, glaring at the crazed trainer who dared to harm you.

Blue stared at them for a moment, and the back to you--who was just as surprised that they emerged without you calling for them. And he smiled, laughing quietly. “Y-Yours evolved?”

“I meant to tell you..but after what happened, it didn’t seem like the best time.” You told him apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“...well..it doesn’t matter anymore.” He flicked the blade towards them. “They’ll be seeing my Raticate very soon!”

And with that, he charged blindly at your Pokémon, wanting to just land a single hit on them.

“Rat, dodge and use a light Quick Attack!!” You ordered.

The Shiny Raticate nodded and evaded the knife’s swipe, using that move you commanded to leave a scratch mark on his face. As Blue shouted in pain, he dropped the knife, blood trickling down his cheek. Once they grabbed the knife’s handle in their mouth, they carefully rushed back to your side, leaving it at your feet.

“Good job!” Smiling, you kneeled down to hug them, before pushing the knife behind you so Blue couldn’t get to it.

Speaking of whom, you looked up to see him collapse to his knees, his breathing shaky. With a trembling hand, he grabbed a nearby rock and clumsily threw it at the Shiny Raticate in a poor attempt to hurt them. But they huffed and climbed onto your shoulder, as you gazed at him in sadness.

“Blue, that’s enough. You’ve lost.”

“...th-that’s the problem, I always lose,” he began to sob, the crushing weight of his actions beginning to push down on him. “It’s not fair! Why do you get to be with your Pokemon..a-and I can’t?"

Through his tears, he sniffled as he noticed Chansey helping Red sit up, most of his wounds reduced to small scratches. “You think I-I wanted to hurt either of you?!! I just...I just wanted my life back...but I have nothing now. Not even that stupid knife...” Then he buried his face into his hands. “I-I can’t keep living like this!”

Your heart ached to hear his muffled sobbing, but it seems that bringing out your Shiny Raticate finally got through to him.

Maybe it’s because his and yours were best buddies as Rattatas. Back then, you didn’t know why yours had such a strange “mutation”, but just like Blue..you loved your companion unconditionally.

For a moment you looked at each other, before going over to comfort him. You kneeled down and hugged him, feeling him cling to you and cry like a little kid. The Shiny Raticate nuzzled the side of his head, frowning as they also understood his grief.

“I-I’m so sorry...”

“It’s alright.” You reassured him softly. “Let’s just go home, okay? Before we all freeze to death up here.”

Nodding, he quieted down as you let him go, helping him stand up. Red managed to get up with Chansey’s assistance, and you smiled at the pair. ‘Thank Arceus I got here just in time.’

You called out the rest of your Pokémon to help make the long journey back home and to the hospital. The three of you vowed to tell them that you just got attacked by wild Pokemon...nobody had to know what really happened up on Mt. Silver.

And as for Blue’s knife..it remained in the chamber, buried deep within the snow.

Never to be found again.

#pokepasta x reader #pokemon x reader #creepypasta x reader #blue tears #blue tears x reader #hurt/comfort #tw suicide mention #tw knife #angst #horror

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todaysdocument · 8 months

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Plaintiff Exhibit X, Letter of Consent for Lou Gehrig. U.S. District Court. Hillerich & Bradsby Company versus The Hanna Manufacturing Company, Inc.

Record Group 21: Records of District Courts of the United States Series: Equity Cases File Unit: Hillerich and Bradsby Co. vs Hanna Manufacturing Co.

[handwritten at top right] Lou Gehrig Plf [unclear: Ex] [deletion, unclear: N? W?] X [printed] 390 DEPARTMENT OF COMMERCE UNITED STATES PATENT OFFICE [T]o all persons to whom these presents shall come, Greeting: [portion of line hidden by ribbon] THIS I[S] [TO] CERTIFY that the annexed is a true copy from the records [portion of line hidden by ribbon] [word covered: in? of?] [t]his office [typed] of Letter of Consent, filed August 1, 1927, [portion of line hidden by ribbon] in th[e] [ma]tter of the [portion hidden by ribbon] [Tra]de Mark Registered by Hillerich & Bradsby Co., [portion hidden by ribbon] [No]vember 22, 1927, Number 235,598. [seal at left] [printing at right of seal] IN TESTIMONY WHEREOF I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the Patent Office to be affixed, at the City of Washington, this [typed] seventeenth [printed] day of [typed] May [printed] , in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and thirty-three and of the Independence of the United States of American the one hundred and fifty-seventh. [printed below seal] ATTEST: [signature] D E Wilson [printed] Chief of Division. [signature at right] Thomas E. Robertson [printed] Commissioner of Patents. [small printing at bottom left] [unclear numbers: 11-5625] U. S. [unclear: GOVERNMENT] PRINTING [unclear] [unclear: numbers for year?]

[white on black background] [at top right] 391 [letterhead] HILLERICH & BRADSBY CO. INCORPORATED SOLE MANUFACTURERS OF THE CELEBRATED [picture of manufacturing plant] [bat design below picture] [in circle at left of picture] Office & Factory 725-731 South Preston Street [in circle at right of picture] None Genuine Without Our Trade Mark Stamped On Each Bat [below bat design] LOUISVILLE SLUGGER BASE BALL BATS [handwritten at right] N. Y. Amer. [handwritten at left] $25[superiors, underscored]50 - 10/15/23 [crossed out: LOUISVILLE. KY.] [handwritten below] New York Oct 15/1923 [typed] For a valuable consideration, the receipt of which I hereby acknowledge, I, the undersigned, hereby agree to give to Hillerich & Bradsby Co., Incorporated of Louisville, Kentucky, the sole and exclusive rights to use my name and photograph on Base Ball Bats and in advertising same and it can be registered a their Trade Mark. [signature at right] Henry Louis Gehrig [printed] Witness: [signature] Walter C Pipp [signature at right] "Lou" Gehrig [section cut out or superimposed on first of several blank lines below] [handwritten at left] [unclear: Dic] [unclear: ??d] 10/27/23. [unclear: ?r?t] Schmitz Mfg. Co. 10/25/23. [handwritten at right] 252844 [printed at bottom] "USERS OF LOUISVILLE SLUGGER BATS ARE MEMBERS OF BASEBALL'S HALL OF FAME."

#archivesgov #October 15 #1923 #1920s #baseball #lou gehrig #ny yankees #louisville slugger

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sourdough-seal · 2 months

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“omg you’re so creative. how do you get your ideas” i hallucinate a single scene in the taco bell drive thru and then spend 13 months trying to write it

#writing #writing community #writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #seal hall of fame

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geekymoviemom · 4 months

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I was tagged by @norbertsmom thank you so much! 💖

Tag game: tag 9 people you’d like to get to know better

Last song: Hall of Fame by The Script

Currently Watching: SEAL Team, Dark, and The Crown (we alternate seasons)

Three Ships: Peeta/Katniss (Everlark), Steve/Tony + Peter (Stony/Superfamily), and Anakin/Padme (Anidala)

Favourite Colour: Hot pink and royal purple

Currently Consuming: water

First Ship: Riker/Troi from ST:TNG

Relationship status: married

Last Movie: at home - The Hunger Games: Catching Fire. In the theatre - The Marvels

Currently working on: the last chapter of my everlark FTH fic

Tagging @sherlollyandspoilers @srebrnafh @gaiagalit @aintinacage @thelettersfromnoone @archersandsunsets @justajjfan @nashapixie @90spopstargirl and anyone else who would like to play 🧡

Thank you so much for the tag, this was fun!

#geeky gets personal #tag game #thank you!

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inventors-fair · 4 months

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A story of returns : Winner & runner ups!

Hello everyone! I'm happy to announce @bergdg as the winner of this week's design challenge.

Minerva is a very balanced and interesting legendary creature. She fits the spirit of the challenge perfectly(pun intended) and I really liked the reference with saint traft's attack trigger and the use of finality counters. Great card overall and has all it takes for a spot on the command zone and the fair's hall of fame!

On to runner ups! The positioning is random and so we start with Incidious Conscription @reaperfromtheabyss. It reminds me of one of my favorite commander pet cards, Fool's demise, and it's actually an improvement because, even if the target isn't a particularly strong creature, you can try to stall so the upkeep trigger builds up damage for the opponent, and regardless of that, when the creature dies, you keep it! It's a win win thing.

Next up is North sea whale from @curiooftheheart. This card was a surprise for me because I'm not as up to date with the sets that come out as I used to be, and I had to look if the card mechanic actually exists! It turns out it's a new mechanic, the closest thing we have in official cards is prototype and if you stretch it a little bit, you can say monstrosity is also a distant cousin. Definitely a very solid card and good uncommon design that can end the game is sealed formats. Flavorwise, I think you can re-imagine the mechanic, like wizards turned chroma into devotion. I understand that the theme here is that the creature gets older, but it has to blink to do so, and from a player's perspective, it might feel unrewarding if in the process you lose counters and auras that you creature "earned" on the battlefield. (Sorry if I wrote too much, this card got my gears spinning 😁)

Last we have Hysteria from @horsecrash. A sweet and faithful tribute to Rancor, very neat flavor text, and it would have been a winner if instead (or in addition) to the -1 toughness to enchanted there was another red themed drawback, like must attack or can't block. Then I feel it would be 100% hysteric. It's a small detail but I really wanted that extra hysteria!

Hopefully this week I will proceed with the commentary of the rest of the cards. Thanks everyone for sending a card and giving me the opportunity to run a design challenge again.

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom magic card #announcement #winners

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hatredcurse · 2 months

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It was the dawn of a New Era.

Well, allegedly.

Talks and gossip troubled themselves into the delicate fabric of public conscious. The indominable spirit of the Uchiha clan considering rebellion. Not only rebellion, but a joint policy and potential allegiance with the Senju clan?

The divide could not present itself anymore quickly.

Until battles were won and the prospect of "peace time" seem imminent, hesitation will persist and the Uchiha Layman will fail to be impressed by expensive ink signatures and well-said words. Even if the intent was with the average citizen in mind, the dual-clean leads were aware of their clan's healthy skepticism.

They had skepticisms of their own, of course, especially the princeling, Uchiha Izuna.

Walking himself side-by-side with his beloved brother, the Uchiha took to the neutral meeting grounds of this Grand Hall. Abandoned by fallen noble families at the hands of Damiyo allied clans before. Its stone walls and Wintery fortress stand empty with culture carved into its pillars and clan prophecies decorating the inner walls. It was a good middle point for both clans, keeping them off of cosigned lands and into a castle with no authority. It was tempestuous to the more war-mongering types of their kind to want to lay down the steel and fire for it, rip it away from the Senju while they had the chance, but Madara begged paused and insisted on this negotiation.

At some point, the co-clan leaders divided: the elder towards the main hall to meet with the Senju leader ( co-conspirators; soft-hearted affectionates, Izuna would distastefully hear from noble women ) and the other to a more modest room with the Senju brother. Famed for his intelligence and his temper. Izuna was already well-accompanied with him.

"Lord Senju," his youthful voice sang with all the well-meaning welcome he had in his travel-lagged body," it's so wonderful to see you on the same side of the table this time."

The princeling pardoned his guards to await outside, leaving him with some privacy with the albino. Less a show of strength as it was desiring authenticity from a should-be ally— here in the future.

"I won't bore you with the small talk. We are not strangers," Izuna took a seat on the cushion opposite to Tobirama, his long crimson robe tucking gracefully under his folded legs and his cross-collar retaining its near-perfect presentation no matter the broad movements he makes.

For once, he was mild-mannered. Bloodlust and battle-rage didn't seem to exist within an Uchiha without his onyx-crimson armor. In its place existed a well-manicured leader with his hair neat with a hairpin and his body adorned with distinguishing robes. Whatever bite he wanted to have embedded itself under the exhaustion painting in the purple existing within his under-eyes.

"I assume you've already put some thought in how you would like to divide the armies," he begins, grabbing his bag of sealed scrolls, each one a set of personal notes the Uchiha himself made on the matter," or— what have you. This is an open conversation. Say what you will."

Closed starter — @lordsecondsenju

#Izuna ic #v. SPIDER LILIES ON DILAPIDATED SHRINES (Warring States Period)#.closed #lordsecondsenju

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blankdblank · 1 year

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Protego Pt 12 - Vault of Ice

Masterlist here

Fourteen and a foot taller, summer had come and gone without more progress out of the name search. But with height and a new figure Jewel’s body had been cocooning itself into creation, a change Lily on her own also bore through hard growing pains to get to her own statuesque stance nearly half a foot taller than her younger sister. More change physically, only gradually they had inched closer to their prior dynamic while out of school to be a more pleasant duo to be around.

Changes to make the pair all the more alluring for the highly self esteemed first year Gilderoy Lockhart to try and befriend them. Brother to two Squib sisters he tried to make the most of this school he deemed boring by the lower level of skills of his classmates and lessons he found little interest in and desire to work hard in them. He wanted praise, something that he gained little of aside from a few tries to get himself in the house papers, and in that task found himself ridiculous but tolerable to Severus and avoided at all costs by Dolph. So even to failed tries to get the almost Slytherin Lockhart who was almost hat stalled into Ravenclaw just as she was Jewels tried to get him to focus on his studies.

Only enamoring the boy all the more to ways he could copy her Veela allure to bring more attention to himself. Starting with notes on new ideas for special shampoos to make his wavy golden locks all the more suited for a would be celebrity and Wizard of great renowned aimed to be the youngest Minister of Magic ever. Even if he paid little mind to urges to study the eleven year old was in his own mind thriving in the right circles in school to aim him to fame with fellow theatrically minded students encircling Jewels and the confident older boys who did tend to flock after Lily.

Sure enough less chances to get near to the object of his obsession gave way to more time for no good, and that same annoying Dolph alongside an annoyingly conceited redhead named Patricia Rakepick had set something loose in the school. Four vaults as old as the school were one of the rumored hidden dangers many barely stomached whispers about them. The topic Patricia had been hounding Dumbledore and Professor Binns about since her first day to put some effort into finding them. Not just dangers untold but treasures alike were hidden within the three vaults. Some alleged that the vaults housed priceless treasures such as gold, prophecies, and other powerful magical artifacts dating back to before the school was founded, while others believed they contained Dark Magic. The Vault of Ice, Forest Vault, and the Vault of Fear, the first of which Patricia claimed to have been opened.

A sickness of unknown proportion had been let to run wild. One that turns people gradually to ice. Symptoms made easy work for Severus to hunt down an old potion in a decaying book he had copied in his first year for safe keeping and future use that was potent even in the first dose against the sickness while others took the preventative potion to keep from getting sick.

Lily was sick, as were all of Gryffindor students and half of the Ravenclaw students, including Lockhart. Those in the dungeons seemed safest and farthest from air current travels due to the maze of halls their dorms were hidden by. And here Jewels was singing to a massive Ice Bird that was clearly behind the beams of creeping ice and air. Down into a puffy mess of feathers the softly cooing creature curled up humming to the tune Jewels was singing, falling asleep.

Dragon, terrifying, powerful. And friends with an Ice Bird? Out of a secret door like a long snake the furry scale and crystal coated body of the Dragon moved to lift the sleeping bird and bring them inside that secret room that sealed again signaling the end of Jewels’ song.

“Jewelia?” Flitwick broke the silence, having joined the other Professors who heard a student was seen by a ghost racing here from the staircases above. She had come here to sing, and now just stopped as a formerly unnoticed open door Nearly Headless Nick was unable to enter alongside Professor Binns had shut taking its mysteries with it. “What did you see?” he asked curious if her Morpher eyes had found some glowing symbol or hidden warning somewhere to come and sing here.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t see that giant ice spitting bird and that Dragon.” She replied, having to detail exactly what she saw, including sketch copies as best she could manage of their appearance, then said in a pleading tone, “Can, we not tell people, I’m seeing giant invisible things now too?”

Minerva was the one to answer that, “Naturally, you have supplied us all the necessary details. No one else need know unless this happens again and we require your assistance.”

Hagrid asked, “What gave you thought to sing to them?”

And she gestured to Flitwick, “Professor Flitwick said my first year music calms creatures. The bird at least seemed upset.”

“Fair assessment, useful as well.” Flitwick said in a chipper tone.

“Fifty points to Ravenclaw, sharp thinking, Miss Evans,” Professor Sprout stated confidently.

“And ten,” Flitwick added making the adults and ghosts look his way. “For a masterful choice of music.” Accentuated with a nod the Professor shifted a hand to guide the young girl towards the Hospital Wing to get the limp in her left foot checked.

“I’m not going on a date with you, James!” Lily was heard exclaiming across their bend of the student filled beds.

“Oh come now, life is clearly short. No time to waste.” He tried to say smugly.

“You just hexed Kyle over there for no reason at all, why would I date a bully like you?”

“It was not for nothing, he made a comment about my pajamas.” James blurted out the pathetic excuse for his presumed well deserved justice.

“That is so pathetic,” she responded.

“He is irrelevant, we should talk about us and our date at Hogsmeade this weekend.” Accenting that with a swat of his hand to the side, “It’s fate, we woke up so near to one another.”

“There’s a Muggle word for people like you.”

“Charming,” cockily grinning back at her.

“Sociopath.” She replied plainly.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Someone who has no empathy or care for others, normally flagrant narcissists who target, torture and kill people they deem lesser than themselves.” His jaw dropped and she continued, “If you think for one minute I am dating someone who treats other people the way you do and saddling myself to some abusive self obsessed jackass you are obviously not competent to be a student here.”

Shouts ensued in a failed try to get her to think otherwise silenced by Madame Pomfrey who brandished her wand to charm the curtain around James’ bed that was now encased in a silencing charm.

Down another bend of the Hospital Wing Sirius lay unconscious still under the drowsy effect of the antidote that saved his life, and body from turning into an icicle. Barty on the bed beside him tried to not do more than snicker at Jewels who was levitating gummy lizard candies with her wand in a stack onto Sirius’ forehead. Clearly the sleeping teen was waking in the settle of the red lizard, and Regulus at the foot of his brother’s bed grinned. Levitating his own choice of a blue lizard that wiggled on the way over to the stack.

“What is on my face?” Sirius asked at the next snicker from Barty.

“Lizards, I’ve nearly got ten on my side of the stack.” Regulus answered in the task of carefully settling his lizard on top of the other wiggling treats.

Up to his face Sirius moved a hand to grab off one of the lizards knocking the stack over Jewels and Barty reigned in the scurrying treats they all split up, the former taking a bite of the wriggling orange lizard. His eyes focused on Jewels whose wrapped foot was propped up beside Sirius’ knee while she reclined in a chair beside his bed. “What happened to your foot?”

“Took a stumble on the stairs, just twisted it, nothing serious.” His eyes still stayed fixed on her. “Professors gave the all clear, classes start on Monday, only a few people won’t be returning to class, but school should be back to normal.”

“Did you pick to sit here?” Sirius asked and she shook her head.

“Only spare seat and Lily and James were shouting over an hour back when I got here. Sevy is still working on some more potions and you have another dose for your feet.”

“Does he get a chair?” Sirius asked teasingly, “If you got the last one?”

“He has three chairs to choose from.” She joked back.

“Hmm, and yet they placed you by me.” Sirius teased back with a spreading smirk, “Someone is trying to tell you something.”

“Yes, we need more chairs in this end of the wing.”

Tests kept the focus of classes going with recaps on the material for them to get the students back on goal. Two students out of the hundreds still seemed to be missing out of the mix. But much like how James and others of well off families had been punished pitifully Dolph and Patricia had been punished and cleared to be let out with the other students after the latter duo had been told to not do it again.

Heavier schedules in classes at least seemed to keep some of the fights from the usual trouble makers who didn’t care about their grades at a minimum. But like always there was a few big fights that set off and ended the year on a sour note for some, alongside some disheartening headlines of a seaside Muggle city that had been found attacked without a trace of why.

A mark of a build in power that over the first week of summer had Sirius leave his family home to go and take up the Potter’s offered spare room to get out of the suggestion from his mother to get in contact with the Dark Lord’s followers. He couldn’t take up the option at all for how he knew Jewels was afraid of Riddle finding her or who she was born to. He would do all he could to not put her in risk or draw attention to her from them in any way. But he did agree with Regulus’ plan to slip in as double agent.

Sirius would still daily take the bus to work around the theater to work with Alastor as a last means of defense in case something went down there. Surely his cousins were aware of a hunt for birth parents, but like the rest of the school just knew there was a chance of a new relation to one of the oldest and widest spread Sacred 28 families out there.

Though much like in school when tempers would rise up and a week in Sirius would find the Potter house locked. Then he would make his way to a new address. Not helped by the loving Potter parents, who out of desire to keep their only child happy caved to his each and every whim, even when it meant booting Severus to the curb without so much as a bit thumb his way.

Burned off the family portrait, Sirius’ cousin Andromeda had taken up a townhouse in London. Ample room and a friendship between the two already gained Severus the basement to make his own so he wouldn’t have to go home this summer while Lily traveled abroad to spend time with distant relations and Petunia explored a few of her university options for the next semester. Alongside the new address came the reasoning for the expulsion from the family tree, who she had chosen to be in a relationship with, Ted Tonks who seemed dead set on marrying her and knew all too well from her how aggravated the bond with James could get.

All Sirius had to do was knock and the door opened to reveal the lanky dark haired teen in need of a place to sleep and Ted grinned at him. “Blinky,” he said calling the House Elf who had been hired by Andromeda, “Go fetch Sirius’ things from the Potter residence and take them to his room.”

“I, have a room?” Sirius asked and Ted nodded his head to the side showing him in and up to the second floor, “We have the back of the main floor, and this one here is yours.” Decorated to close to his usual style by tips by his cousin, Sirius hugged Ted when he said, “All yours, every summer and break, no fights or sudden evictions.” But he pointed at Sirius, “But for the love of Merlin if you pour anything on my Unicorn’s Folly downstairs I will turn everything you own pink,” making Sirius chuckle, “Me and Clint are out to see who can make the stubborn plants sing first and I got it humming yesterday. No one touches it.”

“Agreed.” Sirius said to the pop of Blinky who arrived with the first bundle of belongings James had locked inside the guest room and left again to go and fetch the rest of the untidy mess made in dressing for the day with Jewels that morning. “Thank you.”

“Well, Andromeda heard you might be getting burned off too, and she could use some family, got a room for Regulus too, and Remus, if he’s up for it. Severus keeps mentioning some potion they’ve been testing together, would make for an easier time with that.”

Pt 13

#Marauders Era #Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Remus Lupin #Barty Crouch Jr #Patricia Rakepick #Dolph #Giant Ice Bird #Crystal Dragon #Vault of Ice #Madame Pomfrey #James Potter #Lily Evans #Sirius Black Pining #Professor Flitwick #Professor Sprout #Minerva McGonagall #Andromeda Black #Ted Tonks

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laurelsofhighever · 1 year

Text

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland Chapter: 3/? Rating: T Warnings: None Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.

Read it on AO3

Cloudreach, 9:29 Dragon

The Couslands ate breakfast together every morning, by tradition. Compared to the dinners in the great hall it was an informal event taken in the library, at a round, walnut table draped with embroidered linen, with the morning light streaming through windows that looked north over the sea. After setting the places, the servants retreated to have their own meal, and, left to the privacy of each other’s company, the family helped each other to platters of eggs, cooked meat, and fruit. The dogs – Bryce’s Mallard and Rosslyn’s Cuno, still with the gangliness of puppyhood – also had their place, tucking into their own breakfasts on leather mats laid out to save the priceless Rivaini carpets from the ravages of slobber and grease.

If not for their grand surroundings, the Laurel motifs decorating the furniture and the rich weave of their clothes, they might have been any ordinary family, with ordinary squabbles. The battle on this particular morning raged around Oren, who had inherited the strong Cousland jaw and his mother’s onyx-dark eyes. He sat high in his cushioned chair, digging through his bowl of porridge for the dried apple slices hidden in its depths and ignoring the entreaties from both his parents to behave.

“I’m three-and-a-half,” he insisted, when Oriana dipped her own spoon into the bowl to try and coax at least one proper mouthful.

Across the table, Eleanor levelled a disapproving stare at her grandson. “When your father was three-and-a-half he knew the benefit of eating everything on his plate,” she told him. “How do you think he got to be so tall?”

Oren’s eyes went wide, turning on his mother. “Is it true?”

“Yes, pequeño,” Oriana replied, ever-patient. “We want you to grow big and strong.”

“And Aunt Rosslyn too?”

Rosslyn glanced up from her book. She had taken to bringing one to breakfast in recent months to keep her own company while the rest of the family got on with their business – there was no one else to talk to, after all, and if she kept herself occupied with such volumes as The Travels of Ebullient Ser Claremore of Stannis it distracted her from the reason why misery gnawed at her like a mouse, stopped her dwelling on the fact that it was her own bloody fault no letters had come from Denerim since the Landsmeet.

“All Couslands eat their porridge,” she replied mildly. “Haelia and Mather started the tradition when they drove the werewolves out of the North.”

A white lie, but the renowned twins, heroes even among the famed and fabled ranks of Cousland ancestors, had held Oren’s imagination like little else could since he heard the story, the illuminations in the family book weaving him tales of wild chases through the forest and daring battles waged against fang and claw.

“I wish you wouldn’t read at the table,” her mother chided, as if she had only just noticed.

“Aldous wants me to broaden my horizons.”

Her father’s eyebrow lifted, amused. “I doubt Aldous meant for your studies to get in the way of your table manners, Pup.”

“It’s not like anyone’s here,” Rosslyn pointed out. “And besides –”

The door to the library opened, cutting off the rest of her protest to admit a human page in a woollen surcoat of deep Laurel blue.

“Calmett?” Bryce turned at the intrusion.

Calmett bowed. “Forgive me, Your Lordship, but a letter just arrived by courier. I thought you’d want to read it.” He offered over a square envelope of thick, cream-coloured paper on a silver tray and Rosslyn saw the flash of a scarlet seal on the back when her father took it.

“‘To His Lordship, Bryce Cousland’,” he read.

Fergus, who was closer, peered at the direction. “That’s rather formal for Alistair.”

The air squeezed from her lungs. She did not miss the curious glance her brother sent her across the table, nor how Oriana’s brow furrowed; it would be one thing for the king to write to the teyrn himself, formal and aloof, but Alistair knew them as well as family and had long since grown out of the shrinking need to call his foster-father by his title.

Cheeks warming, she dropped her gaze to her plate of half-eaten jam toast, though not quite fast enough to avoid catching her mother’s eye. It was a steady look, a shared confidence; it reminded her of the noble’s mask she had been taught, the blank face required to stare down your worst enemy and make them flinch first. She straightened her shoulders. As her father read the letter she watched with a face of mild, polite interest, taking in the downward pull of his brows as he went on, the way the corner of his mouth flattened into the greying edges of his beard.

“Well? What does it say?” Fergus asked.

Startled, Bryce looked up. “He’s being sent to Starkhaven. From Denerim. King Cailan wishes him to be an aide to the ambassador.”

Fergus clicked his tongue. “Surely Cailan would have allowed him to travel from Highever if he had asked.”

“It isn’t for you to second-guess the king,” Bryce chided, his voice unusually severe. “There might be any number of reasons why the ship left berth at Denerim.”

For a moment, the table stewed in the tension chafing between the teyrn and his eldest child, until Fergus turned his head away with a nod and a sigh and picked up his spoon again. Unnoticed by either of them, Rosslyn frowned at the paper in her father’s hands, the guilt that churned in her stomach for driving Alistair away aclash with a growing anger at his lack of loyalty, his cowardice. Ever since he had first gone to Denerim, no correspondence had ever come back to Highever without at least a small note addressed to her. Did he think no one would notice the change? Did he fear her so much, or put such value on his injured pride that he would shield himself behind the king’s will to neglect his duty to her family?

“May I see the letter?” she asked.

Her father gave her a long look, but passed it to her all the same, as gently as if the paper itself might bite. Curbing her annoyance, she unfolded it and scanned the lines. The unmistakeable scrawl that Aldous had tried so hard to smooth out in their lessons was unchanged, the words short, signed at the bottom with a formality out of place for the person she knew. Despite this, glimmers of humour shone through the stiff, careful style, pulling a traitorous twitch from her lips as she read:

Your Lordship –

I hope you’ll forgive me for bringing you this news in a letter instead of coming to tell you in person. King Cailan has requested that I go to Starkhaven to assist the ambassador there, and since he requires no delay, I’ll be sailing from Denerim as soon as the ship is loaded and the tide is with us. It’s likely I’ll pass by Highever at the same time this letter reaches you – just in case, I’ll wave from my cabin and keep my eyes towards the castle.

If all goes well and I don’t make a complete fool of myself stepping off the ship at journey’s end, it may be some time before I can return to Ferelden, and so this is – for now – a farewell. This is a great opportunity for me to ‘cut my diplomatic teeth’, as my brother keeps on telling me, but I could not leave without at least writing to thank you for everything you have done for me. Without your kindness I don’t know where I would have been by now, but it certainly wouldn’t be here, and I will be forever grateful for that. I hope in return I’ll be able to do you proud.

In my own hand,

Alistair Theirin

It took two days for a courier to take a message from Denerim along the coast, maybe less if the relay used good horses, but half a day less still to cover the distance by water. He would be out on the open sea by now, with Ferelden a smudge of green on a distant horizon.

Starkhaven. It was a place she knew by reputation and court gossip more than anything else. Nate had spoken of it well enough since leaving to become a squire to one of the knights there, and in his own quiet way had painted a picture of exotic markets and gilded palaces merry with the splash of fountains. At least he would be a familiar face to help Alistair orient himself, such a long way away from home.

She wished he had written to her.

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