#sing backwards and weep

[vblehhhhhhh]

But it was the fear of showing my true heart, at times either so full it might burst or so empty I could cry, that hounded me most viciously.

Mark Lanegan, Sing Backwards and Weep: A Memoir

#mark lanegan #sing backwards and weep #lit #memoir #quotes #excerpts #personalmeaning

[shaisuki]

“you're a cocky prick.”

his white brows rise from that and a smile broke in his lips.

“yeah.” his grin growing wider when he suddenly thrusted his hips upwards making you moan, throwing your head backwards and your fingers digging the skin in his shoulders.

god, he's insufferable but the great gojo satoru got fine dick though.

your pencil skirt bunched up into your waist. showing your thick, doughy thighs that looks like squished marshmallows in his lean thighs. your top stripped, showing your bare, plump body in front of him.

your body jiggling while he continues his thrusts in your sopping fat pussy. hitting the soft spots inside you that leaves you breathless and making your cunt weep.

gojo had never seen such a wonder in his whole life. who knew you'll take the form of it and he relished into it. your soft body jiggling from his powerful thrusts and fuck, you riding his cock earlier like a champ.

the six eyes and limitless holder drowns in the pleasure of your fat pussy clenching around him like a vice. the squelch of your juices coating his cock like melted sugar— sticky and hot. the sound echoing in the teacher's lounge. his blindfold in his neck, his top unbuttoned and his pants pooling in his legs.

if every break time would be like this. gojo would have it. your annoyance visible plus his shitty attitude combined in a steamy sex.

his long slender fingers sinks in the plushness of your waist, holding you steady to receive his thrusts.

gojo drags his tongue to your sweat-coated skin in your chest. nibbling at the soft flesh like he's savoring a rare delicacy he's yet to taste and he groans when he feels your pussy clench in his length.

good, you're close and so he is. looking at you biting your lip and his hand cups your jaw before pulling it to crash his lips to yours. it's all tongue and sucking each other's mouth like there's no tomorrow.

pushing his shoulders while you slam your hips. god, forbid if the chair broke. gojo smirks in the kiss. holding your wide hips to assist you in reaching your peak and his.

so close. he can hear you whine and fuck it's the best orgasm he have in his whole fucking life. the knot in his belly breaking as it fills you up with ropes of ropes of his thick, white cum coating your insides.

your fat cunt gushes as you reach your high. soaking his cock along with his cum. thighs trembling while you break the kiss, panting while you catch your breath from the earth -shattering orgasm you had. fucking gojo satoru is the best, you have to admit it.

looking down, gojo sees his cum and yours dripping down and it's hot. a creamy white ring surrounds his cock and yours while it's still stuffed inside you.

gojo licks his lips.

“hate me all you want, (y/n)-chan,~” he said in a sing-song voice making you squirm at the voice.

“i fucking hate you gojo satoru.” you retorted.

and he grins. “ i love you too~” he fires back and your eyes widened, not from him saying the l-word but the feeling of his cock hardening inside you.

he pulls you closer before you made an attempt to escape him. pressing your soft body against his muscular one.

hate him all you want but he ain't stopping until he stuffed you full of his cum.

#꩜ ⋮ shai's thirst/drabbles⸝⸝ #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #jjk gojo #plus size reader

[yourlovermori]

“Say it again,” you giggle, eyes holding a playful glint as you throw yourself on him and knock him on his back. A small scowl present on his lips — body splayed along your shared comforter. Taking advantage of the position he’s in, you hurriedly straddle his slim figure. Mounting him —your thighs resting on both sides of his hips effectively trapping and keeping him right where you need him. His gaze still holds his same bored look always with a tinge of annoyance, but from here he looks malleable— laying below you on the account of his own will. Pretty blue hair splayed out underneath him and the sculpted structure of his delicate collarbone begging to be marked up.

Testing the waters, you shift your hips against his — grinding into his slowly hardening cock. He’s hissing out a, “ngh—shit get off.” at the sensation of your clothed delicate parts grazing his. The action causing him to involuntary buck up his hips, his fingers getting entangled with yours and forced into the mattress. Pressing your hips harshly against his manhood, it brings his ministration to a halt as he indulges in the pleasure. “C’mon baby,” you coo, “Just say it one more time Tomu, and i’ll give you what you want” pressing open–mouthed kisses to the calloused skin of his neck. Grinding your wet heat deliberately against his weeping cock — faster and faster until suddenly you. Stop.

“I already told you once” he whiningly huffs— cock uncomfortably hard in his jeans. Growing impatient with the situation he’s in — bucking his hips up, head tipping backward, and letting out a strangled moan when you press back harder. Being the hardhead he is — outright refusing until you threaten to leave him with blue balls in which he starts singing like a canary. “Okay, I —please I-I love you. Wanna cum so bad—fuck.” And you grant him what he wishes for — the slow roll of your hips causing the fabric of his clothes to catch on the tip of his manhood has him arching in your hold. Desperately chasing his high as he chokes on grunts and hushed groans. When your eyes meet his bearing an overwhelming lust — capturing his lips in a kiss — one you’re whimpering into. He’s gone. Hips moving erratically and spilling his thick seed into the confinements of his boxers. His eyes fluttered shut as tears prick his eyes — interlocked fingers holding yours in a death grip, mouth fallen into one of a silent moan.

One hand unlatching from his and holding the other as you lay on his chest, it isn’t until he opens his eyes that you speak. “See?” you hum, pressing soft kisses to the bags under his eyes “Wasn’t that hard hm?” giving his lips a peck. And instead, he grunts at the ever–growing dampness in his jeans. “Whatever brat, you ruined my pants,” he replies distastefully — making you chuckle against him as he pulls you closer and you smooth out his hair. “And Tomura,” you say, voice barely above a whisper — looking down at you expectantly “I love you too.”

#hornee thots ‧₊˚✩ #shut up about the fuck ups that i’ve made #shigaraki smut #shigaraki drabble #shigaraki thirst #shigaraki x black reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki soft #shigaraki tomura #tomura smut #tomura drabble #tomura x black!reader #tomura x reader #tomura soft #tomura shigaraki #tomura thirst

[actual-changeling]

do you think yourself to be better than the people written into myths?

do you think about orpheus and eurydice and laugh at their tragedy?

do you think yourself to be above orpheus' mistake, knowing better than to turn around, to lose everything simply to see if your love is following?

aziraphale followed god in his faith, praying, believing, begging her to take the shape of his wishes so his faith would persist. make it to the top, follow your faith to the end of the line, and your life will begin anew, better, solid, not a belief but a promise.

yet as he walked for six thousand years, he kept turning around, never stopping but hesitating, loosing his footing again and again. keep walking, crowley told him, walking along his own string of faith.

was orpheus' mistake truly turning around? we know how the myth ends, not how it could have gone, which means every belief carries a piece of truth in it.

upon reaching the earth, would eurydice appear behind him, warm, alive, real, or would he fall to his knees and weep in the shadow of a shade?

maybe he should have clung to his faith. maybe he should have turned around again and again and again, until he stilled and came face to face with his eurydice, his crowley.

faith in the gods, faith in god, is a never-ending staircase with a light always just out of reach. just one more step, one more prayer, surely now they have reached the surface? more dirt. always more dirt. no voice in the silence, no footsteps either, but when he turns he can see him breathe, can hear the air rushing through his body.

every breath a prayer answered, every step proof of faith, and orpheus never saw his eurydice again, so are we above them? are they? could you believe in someone and follow them out of hell based on nothing but a prayer?

one day, aziraphale tells him, one day. so crowley follows. so he prays. they slow, walking side by side, one forwards, one backwards, and with the first touch of light on his skin, hope begins to bloom.

at last, crowley thinks, and then he stops. orpheus turned, yet that is not what breaks their faith, it is aziraphale's foot sliding down a step, one single step. faith in the dirt they escaped, faith in the hells, faith in the voices echoing in the dark, faith in god.

never, he realises then, never faith in me.

eurydice returned to the shadows, but crowley is no orpheus, he will not dig with bare hands and bruised knuckles until the earth swallows him again. he will not sing a song of mourning and broken hearts.

crowley sits in the sun and waits. he won't climb. he will wait and he will offer a hand back to the light; it is his turn to turn around.

aziraphale faces another staircase and begins to walk, step after step after step. faith? after the next corner, surely. faith? any moment now. faith in the silent sound of his steps, faith in the love resting on the surface.

orpheus or eurydice, both damned, torn apart for eternity? whose faith broke and who persevered?

does it matter?

#alex writes good omens #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #begging someone to draw them as orpheus and eurydice #sorry i had like seven years of latin me and myths are buddies #especially ovid's metamorpheses

[redbleedingrose]

Wake Up Call

Girl Dad!Eris x Reader

A/N: 6.2K words later?? I missed Girl Dad!Er and my babes Marwa and Twila! I hope y’all enjoy! As always, please reblog, comment, and like! It means the literal world to me and I will smooch you! (if u want)

~ a special thank you to @augustinerose who inspired me, and pushed me to continue to write, even when I didn’t think I could. 

Warmth. It was all I felt. It was all I wanted to feel. I shuffled my body closer to the only source of warmth in the large emerald stained oak bed, wriggling my hips backwards and using the corded bicep that was resting under my head to cuddle further into the sleeping male behind me, the high lord of Autumn Court, my husband and mate. A puff of breath escaped his lips, too sleep-idled to fully be aware of my nestling into him, but sensing through the bond that had been present for multiple centuries now, one that had grown stronger and firmer with every moment we spent together, that his mate was near, but not nearly close enough. Eris shifted his body towards me, groaning as he lifted himself from his back and onto his side, throwing his free arm around my waist and squeezing the soft flesh as he closed the gap between us, yanking my body in one tug to be fully against his, before settling his face into the crook of my neck. 

He pressed a soft kiss just behind my ear, humming in contentment before, apparently, falling back into a deep sleep as quickly as he had woken up, his soft snores fading into the fall breeze that was entering our room from the open balcony doors. The sun had barely risen, just peaking above the horizon, the milky orange and peach from the rays blending into the background of the giant sequoia forest that was married with the colored leaves of the sycamore maples and the weeping willows that I so very much loved. Sighing slowly, I dropped a delicate kiss onto a knife thin yet deep scar that marked the cream toned arm that had been acting as my favorite pillow since we had accepted the mating bond. I watched, barely awake, as the sun rose in the quiet peace of the morning, reveling in the end of the cries of the crickets and the start of the singing of honeyed songs by the diamond spotted doves.

I lived for these moments where I had alone time with Eris, as did he, his arm tightening around my waist as the song of the morning became louder and the chill of breeze became stronger, marking the start of a new day. The moments before we became high lady and high lord to our vast and expanding land. The moments before the Autumn Court depended on our daily activities to keep the territory in harmony and fruitful success. The moments before our perfect, mischievous little babes sneak into our room with their “guard” dog, who was really just a runt from a killer hound litter that Marwa and Twila convinced their papa, the usually unshakeable high lord, to buy from the farmers market with their tiny pouts and big brown eyes, in tow, just to jump onto our bed and scream with delight until we would wake and bless them with our coziest of hugs and our sunup smooches. 

Honestly, I was quite surprised the babes hadn’t run in yet, the pitter patter of their feet running towards our room that correlated with the sunrise is usually what sent my eyes flying open, shoving a warm and cuddly Eris off of me, scrambling to pull on any clothing that the newly grumpy male had hastily pulled off the previous night before we scar our innocent children for life. An observation that apparently hadn’t gone unnoticed,  a groggy murmur emmenanting from the lordling whose hand was now roaming the expanse of my abdomen and breasts, a stray finger sliding over my nipple, “What trouble do you think the babes are getting up to right now, my beloved?” 

I caught his exploring hand with my own, twining our tattooed fingers together before bringing it up to my lips and pressing firm kisses that were followed with a tiny bite to each of the available pads of his fingers, humming in response, “I haven’t the foggiest idea, husband.” He growled, shoving his naked leg between my thighs, sighing out as I brought his pointer finger into my mouth for a soft suckle to soothe the sting of the bite I had gifted him with, running my tongue along the length of his digit. 

A grin overtook my face as I finally turned to face Er, who was staring back at me with his own lust-filled smirk. A jolt of excitement ran through your core, the warmth that I had felt suddenly, rushing down to my barely covered sex that was starting to throb at the butterfly sensation that had erupted in my belly. My mate pulled me in for a slow kiss, meshing our lips together so that they would melt against each other as they had last night, quickly working in harder and faster pecks. I molded my entire body against his, grinding into the hard muscle as his hand slipped out of my embrace and up to caress my jaw, his thumb carefully pressing into the soft skin of my neck. Another thrill of heat tingeled its way through my entire body, starting from his thumb and spreading down all the way to the tip of my painted sage green toes. I couldn't help the desperate whine that escaped me, further encouraging Er to kiss me more firmly, with intent to continue into what would surely be rough morning sex that would blend into incredible love making as the hours passed. 

Unfortunately, the gods had other plans for us two today. 

The familiar sound of two pairs of small feet scampering through the hall towards our room had sent me thwarting off the edge of the bed, hurling Eris his pants as he chuckled at my panic. I shot him a dirty, betrayed look, rolling my eyes as I shoved on the silk slip I was wearing last night when I put the babes to bed, tossing myself back into Eris’ arms while pulling the heavy comforter back over us. The lordling grunted in surprise as he caught me when I tossed myself back into bed, pulling me back into his grasp, chortling into my disheveled hair with a planted kiss, “Ah, who would've known our babes would be such wonderful cockblocks, my beloved?” 

I clenched my jaw, jabbing my elbow into his perfect abs, hissing at him to “Shut up.” If I was anyone else, if I wasn’t the love of his life and his mate, if I wasn’t the mother of his children, I would already be disintegrated into ash with the force of his magic. Another swift kiss was pressed into my hair by the high lord as the hickory double doors carved with intricate designs and stained with henna were barely pushed open by the two toddlers who tried peaking their heads through the opening. 

A tuft of amber hair resembling her fathers along with another tuft of darker hair resembling her grandmother poked into the room through the doorway, curls inherited from their papa that are tangled and in disarray from the dreams of their pegasus’ in Day court, taken care of by their grandparents, mixed in with dreams of milk chocolate swirled with caramels and pecans that their uncle Lucien sneaked them constantly. Tiny grunts are heard as the babes struggle to manage keeping the doors open, their little, pudgy hands too strained against the heavy wood to even allow their shoulders to squirm against each other and through the pressed doorway, “Help pwease, papa.” The request comes grumbled out by Twila, who has decidedly put all her effort into keeping the door open for her and her sister, Marwa, whose back is now pressed into the grand oak, bare feet trying to climb up the emerald green wallpaper to use the force of her upper body to aid her twin, waiting rather impatiently for their papa to save the day, as he always does for them. 

I lean back into Eris, chuckling at the effort of the babes, nudging his already moving body towards them. His reply comes swiftly, mingled with mirth at the sweet girls he loves more than the moon, more than the stars and the sun itself, “Coming, my little loves.” Centuries ago, he couldn’t have ever imagined this is what his lifetime would be blessed with. Two perfect babes who were happy and safe, and a perfect mate who warmed his heart more than the eternal fire of Autumn. Now, he wakes every morning to the scent of his high lady who seeks him out for the fire in his blood he once despised, followed by the sounds of his precious darlings sneaking into the room, jumping onto our bed, screaming with laughter to start our day. 

He drew the door open slowly, allowing for Twila to release her efforts from holding the doors open and shift them into racing into the room towards the bed, leaving her sister behind who is hoisted into Eris’ embrace. I watched him press soft kisses into Marwa’s cheeks and messy hair while Twila fisted the fluffed out comforter to pull herself onto the bed. I settled myself into the padded headboard, crossing my legs at my ankles and placing my interlocked hands into my lap. A chuckle escaped me once again, Twila’s grunts and reddening face bringing me a sense of delight that can only be ascribed to the pride I felt in her never-ending effort, “Do you need help, little one?” I hummed down at her, leaning down to the side to see her bare feet off the floor and pressed into the side of the bed to steady her climbing. 

She whined for a moment, her amber curls falling above her eyes which she swatted away, huffing out a, “No tanks you mama.” In all her struggles, she didn’t notice Er sneaking up from behind her, winking at me with a small smirk when he fisted her daffodil yellow nightgown and gave her the final tug she needed to climb onto the bed, letting go before she could realize how her papa has interfered, and ultimately helped her succeed with her mission. Twila panted against the crumpled bed sheets, her hands curling to fist the fabric for a moment before leaping up onto her feet, jumping on the bed as though the completion of her mission had revitalized her energy, big brown eyes sparkling with joy, leaping into my open arms to shove her face into my cheek, sloppily pressing a wet kiss before she cried out, “Look mama, I did it!”

My arms wrapped around her wriggling body, yanking her into my lap while she giggled and kicked at the feeling of my fingers poking into her sides, “You did it my sweet, good job!” I returned the sloppy kiss two-fold, pressing a smooch to her warm forehead and freckled nose. The mattress shifted as Eris sank in beside me, Marwa quietly pressed into his side, her head leaning on his chest, her heavy eyes watching her sister and I before taking a deep breath and clinging closer to her papa. I reached out my hand to run my fingers through the tired babes hair, giving a soft tug to one curl following it with peppered kisses all over the top of Marwa’s head. A sleepy smile tugged at her flushed cheeks, preening under her mamas attention and love, her half lidded eyes finally giving into the sleep she so clearly felt, sliding shut with puffs of breath escaping her open mouth, soothed by the strokes of Eris’ hands down her back and back through her hair. 

Twila kindly babbled on, though, she did so more softly so she didn’t wake her twin, telling Eris and I of the things she planned on doing today, “I wanna eat nachos for breakfast, mama, an then I wanna go for a walk with Ruby,” the pup who had slid into the room with the babes and had nestled himself into the rug, dozing in front of the crackling fireplace, “An then I wanna eat nachos for lunch,” Eris cut in with a small laugh tumbling from his pretty lips, a single brow arched as he eyed the babe in my lap with amusement, “Nachos for breakfast and lunch Twi?” 

She brought up her tiny palms to stifle giggles that escaped her like a little sprite at Er’s slightly concerned tone, nodding with a hum in affirmation, finding great pleasure in being a source of what could be called ‘a healthy stress’ for her papa. Twila was always the most mischievous and playful of the two, the one most likely being the mastermind for the adventures she took herself and her sister along in as the outgoing babe she is. Poor, sweet Marwa always found herself roped into whatever Twila had planned, following along with unbreakable loyalty, and a secret knack for getting the two out of any trouble they may have found themselves in. 

Eris shot me a look that nearly sent me over the edge with cackles, the hilarity of Twila’s cravings were too adorable to handle, a feeling of delirious content spilled into my heart as I thought back to my pregnancy with the babes that were sat in our arms. I thought back to the countless nights I had woken up Eris, who startled awake with distress, thinking there was something wrong with me or the babes, or that there was some danger that needed to be eliminated, only to find that his high lady was craving cheesy, melty nachos with jalapenos and all sorts of other peppers as toppings. Pressing another kiss, this time into the babes chubby cheek, I let my smile widen as her big brown, sparkling eyes turned up to me, “How about we have scrambled eggs and potatoes, the ones that I make, and nachos for lunch, hmm?” Her replying smile lilted her ruddy cheeks enough for Eris to lean in and press his own kiss onto her. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been hours since the morning lull had quickened into the busy afternoon. Eris and I were immensely crammed with our duties, negotiations of forging an alliance between Night, Dawn, and Day was proving harder than expected. Demands that were being sent by all parties were being denied outright without explanation, driving tensions higher and higher with every passing day. The other problems of the court also required our utmost attention, the lords who remained from the rule of Beron were rebelling against Eris’ new laws that were set into place to protect the farmers and townspeople that were once oppressed, both financially and politically. Changes had to be made in Autumn once Eris took his place on the throne, assigning me as the first high lady of Autumn was the first step he made into bringing these changes. After years on the throne, things hadn’t gotten any easier. The only point of peace we got were the moments we had with each other, and the moments we had with our babes. 

We hadn’t been able to see them since breakfast; Er and I had been pulled into different meetings while the babes were whisked away to their morning lessons. I glanced up, looking over Eris’ hair at the clock that had been hung on the wall behind his desk. The times after our meetings were spent decompressing within his office, either through fucking out our frustrations or reading together in a peaceful silence. Today, it had been reading together in a peaceful silence. It was nearly a quarter till the sixteenth hour, which was encroaching on what should be the babes naptime. 

Their nanny, Zephyrus, should’ve put them to bed already, and it was high time to check and see how they were resting. Normally, Twila slept like a log, soft snores leaving her, similar to her papa  in every way. It was Marwa who sometimes struggled with her sleep, waking up in the middle of naptime, coming to her papa’s office to be snuggled and sung back to sleep. Sighing, I pulled myself up from my seat on the tanned leather couch, lifting my feet from Eris’ lap, lightly smacking his shoulder at the groan he had let out as he threw back his head into the couch. I was ready to kiss the babes and give them a quick snuggle, however sexually frustrated my mate was. “Leaving so soon, gorgeous?” 

I nearly tripped at the nickname, my heart stuttering for a moment as the bond between us pulled taught. I recovered rather quickly though, my heart returning into the deep yearning feeling for my babes and their warm bodies pressed against mine, clinging onto my hold and whining in their sleep for more soft kisses to their foreheads and cheeks, their mama’s attention something they craved even in their deepest of dreams. “I’ve been here for two hours Er, giving you my undivided attention,” I replied in a rather deadpan tone, the poor male could really never get enough of me, and he made that quite clear with another groan that slipped from his lips. I scoffed at the high lord of Autumn, “so fucking needy aren’t you?” sending him a smirk, swaying my hips as I turned toward the exit. I could hear him shuffle behind me, the image clear in my head that he was adjusting his hard on; another smirk tugged at my lips, one that was now hidden from my mate. 

As I turned to shut the door, I brought my hand up to blow Eris a kiss, and he, wordlessly, caught it, his beautiful gods-forsaken eyes glinting back at me until the knob had clicked into place. The bond between us was now struggling against me with need, enticing me to run back into the office so Eris could have his way with me, but I was more focused on getting back to the babes. I strolled through the halls, tracing with my eyes, the giant archways and marbled columns that opened into the back forest and plains of the estate before looking to the ceiling. There is a haze of lychee and pear in the breeze that guides the hung roses and peonies that cover whole portions in rocking motions, the portions that sit free are painted with the histories of Prythian breaking into the seven courts that stand today. The inner gardens had fountains that spouted water that glittered like diamonds under the afternoon sun, dazzling rainbows sent in every direction, landing on the swaying leaves of the eldred willow trees that Eris had planted in victory after he had defeated Beron. 

I reached their bedroom without haste, admiring the peach pink and lavender shade of the stained glass embedded into the entryway to the babes room, a lovely gift from Rhysand and Feyre when they were born. The rulers of the Night court had been delighted to hear that their own son, Nyx, would have not only one, but two playmates whenever we would find the time to visit their home in Valeris. Our alliance had never been stronger with the Night court, and that was something that both Eris and I had taken great pride in. I cracked the door open, peering into the dark room, only to find the two beds where the babes should be asleep, empty.

A jolt of panic shot through me and down the mating bond without meaning to, the answering tug from Eris, filled with concern and worry. I sucked a tense and heavy breath through my teeth, calming myself into believing I was just an overprotective mother hen. I sent back an ounce of reassurance down the bond, back to Er before hurrying down to the playroom. I convinced myself that it was entirely possible Twila woke early and insisted that Marwa join her for a game of pretending, pushing down the weightful sense of dread that began to fill me. The estate was impossibly protected with wards and spells that Eris himself, along with Lucien and Helion had cast, blocking off any chance of breach. My breath was too difficult to catch as I paced down the hall, a horrible voice croaking in my head, ‘Nothing is impossible, you fool. What if they were taken?” 

Hot tears rimmed my eyes as I tore into the playroom. Empty. 

Scattered toys were all over the floor, the table in the center still set with the tea cups that Marwa had gotten as a gift from Lucien, ready for the babes and their favorite uncle to join in on their ‘princess party.’ The sun shone in through the window, heating the room to the point where beads of sweat had formed at the top edge of my lip. The panic that I had shoved down reared its ugly head, spreading through me and in full force down the bond as I broke into a sprint towards their tiny classroom where they received their afternoon lessons. Maybe they had been kept by Draconus, the fae professor who, before, had taught Eris and all his brothers, and before them, Beron and his siblings, and so on. Marwa had always complained about the elderly male droning on for lengths beyond their lesson time. 

The door banged against the wall with the force that I had used to slam it open. 

Fucking Empty. 

My hand came up to my chest, clenching at the feeling of my heart squeezing too tightly in my chest, like a noose had been tied around it and tugged. A wave of nausea and dizziness swept through me, sending me tumbling backward. I nearly fell over as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, turning me to face the person who had caught me, but I couldn’t see. My vision had blurred, blackening around the periphery as ugly, deep sobs ripped through the lump that had lodged into my throat and out of me. A set of warm hands cupped my cheeks, lifting my gaze to meet crazed amber eyes flickering back and forth with mine, “They are gone. Where are… Where are the… Where are my babes?”  It comes out rather quietly, stuttered between short and incomplete gasps. Rather breathless. Almost whispered. As if I couldn’t find it within me to speak the horrid words any louder. 

My knees gave out completely, any sensation in my legs ceased to exist, but Eris was there to lift me into his embrace, wrapping his arm around my legs and lifting me into a bridal style before resting me on the small desk that Marwa usually sat at. He didn’t wait for another moment, screaming out to his personal guards in the most chilling voice I had ever heard him use, “Lock down this fucking estate. No one moves in or out. Search the entire fucking house. Leave no room unsearched. Turn every piece of fucking furniture over. Find my children, heirs to the Autumn throne. Immediately. Or heads will roll.” His back is turned towards me as he shouted, but the panic he felt rippled down the bond in heavy waves, focusing into a rage that he had never experienced, not even when Beron lived, “and bring me the fucking nanny.” 

His guards immediately drew their iron swords at his orders and dispersed rapidly, some running further into the home, some running outside. Splitting into groups of two, one ran towards the outskirts of the estate where Zeyphrus lived to drag her back here, and the other towards the outer forest that surrounded the home. My hands shook as I traced the little carving of Marwa’s name on the small desk, left by what looks to be a very sharp pencil, or possibly, a tiny dagger. I could hardly feel the indents into the wood, my hands tingling with panic and nerves as Eris turned towards me, the fire in his eyes still evident. His hand caught mine, squeezing tightly, “We will find them my love, they will be fine. They are strong and will take care of each other.”

Another sob escaped me as I collapsed into his arms, clinging to his figure for a moment before the shouts of the nanny were heard down the hall. Two of the guards were dragging her by her elbows, she glanced wildly around the room in confusion until she was brought to her knees facing us. She took one long look at Eris’ face, wincing at the cold fury that was directed at her and turned to stare down at the ground, “Where are Marwa and Twila?” Her head snapped up, confusion washing over her face, “I– in bed my lord,” stuttering it out, more as a question than as a statement. She shifted her gaze to me, maybe hoping to find more mercy, mercy that I could not find within me as long as my babes were missing. 

She continued, her voice trembling as her body began to shake, the guards tightening their grip on her elbows and yanking her up to face us once more, “My lord, I put them to bed for their daily nap, I– are they not there?” Her cerulean blue eyes filled with tears, panic shone across her face as she begins to process the implications of not knowing where Marwa and Twila were. My tone was piercing, “No, they aren’t.” She began stuttering, but the patience of Eris and I had already been drawn out the moment we found their classroom empty, Eris had fully shifted into the ruthless high lord he once feared becoming, slamming his hand onto the wooden table next to him, his eyes filled with the fire that was stoked by the fear of losing his children, the greatest joys of his life. Zephyrus cried out in fear, flinching as the nearby supply closet lit into a controlled fire, the pent of rage and horror Eris felt bleeding into his surroundings through his fae magic. 

But there was something in the way that she had looked at us, the way she had been truly confused, almost flabbergasted that we had been questioning her about the whereabouts of our babes that made me feel as though, deep in my gut, she had nothing to do with this. I felt weak, my hands still tingling from the panic, shakily resting on one of Eris’ forearms, “She doesn’t know anything Er.” Both of their heads jolted towards me, Zephyrus with a look of relief muddled with confusion, and Eris, shaken and upset. The babes adored their nanny, and she loved them. Marwa always has stories of the cuddles she and Zephyrus had, and Twila was filled with tales of their afternoon walks through the forest. She had looked after them since they were born, setting up to help me on the toughest of nights, and the busiest of days. 

Er jerked his head at the guards, gesturing for them to take the woman away, likely to a holding cell for further questioning until the babes are found. But it would be pointless. We had sworn her into secrecy and loyalty the day she signed on as our babes nanny, and any movement away from that sworn loyalty, would result in her immediate death by the magic that bound us together. I painfully swallowed against the hard lump in my throat, still struggling to breathe, the pressure in my chest making it only possible to catch my breath, even in small gasps of air. 

The fear burned my eyes, I blinked back the stinging tears to prevent them from streaming down into an endless sea of panic. Blowing out the breath from my puffed cheeks, I stared into Eris’ flickering irises, still flaming from the worry. His warm hands came up to cup my cheeks, pulling me closer into him until his forehead was pressed against mine, “You can find them my love,” his lips fluttered above my upper lip as he spoke, “You know them better than anyone. They are your soul, as they are my heart. C’mon sweet girl, think.” His hand marked by our shared tattoo reached down and grabbed hold of my own, pressing it against his chest right where his heart beat. It felt like a hummingbird fluttering against my palm, only slowing with pulses of comfort that waved down our bond. 

I tightened my palm into a fist, gripping the soft material of his blood red shirt as I forced myself to think back to where the babes could possibly be. All the areas I had checked were my firstline stream of thoughts, but it was possible they were elsewhere in places I hadn’t even initially thought of. But the possibilities remained endless. Eris and I had been quite strict with incorporating family outings into our schedules. Even as high lord and lady, we still made sure to have one on one time with the babes, girls’ day out with their mama and daddy's day out with their papa, even their favorite uncle, the newly ascendent high lord of Day, Lucien joined in on occasion. 

From having their own treehouse built in the sacoya, to private pathways in the forest, to small alcoves for a game of hide and seek, to the rapids of the Sienna river where Eris took them fishing. 

They could be anywhere. 

And who even knows if they were together? 

I sent a silent prayer to the mother and gods above, to any deity who had the sympathy to listen and hopefully, the benevolence to answer such prayers, that they were together, that they remained as a unit of sisters, stuck together with the everlasting love of siblings. I prayed a prayer that they would give me even the smallest of clues as to where they could possibly be, And I hoped that Ruby, their pup, was with them, even as small as he was, it was possible that–. 

The pup. 

The hounds. 

Though Eris’ palm was rubbing the back of my neck, keeping me close to him as he eyed my now concentrated face, I felt myself hurtle back. The fucking hounds. “I– I think I know. Gods, please, I think–,” I couldn't even finish my sentence, already using all my force to push myself off the desk, legs pumping underneath me, carrying me before the thought could even finish itself. I continued crying prayers to myself as I ran, “gods, please, please.” I could barely hear the thudding of Eris’ leather boots against the marbled floor and then the evening dewed grass over the blood that was whooshing in my ears. 

Eris slammed into my back, not expecting me to suddenly stop in my tracks. His arm wrapped around my hips as we both stumbled forward, trying to prevent me from being thrown over the stable door as the force of his impact made its way through me. But my feet were planted on the floor, my hand frozen stuck on the door handle. A question comes out of Eris’ mouth, one that I do not hear as I forced myself to take another deep breath, a final beseeching prayer to the cauldron before heaving the heavy door open. 

One of my hands reached back to grab Eris’ as I pulled him and I inside, eyes searching over every millimeter of the stable, over and over. The stalls remained childless, with only hay and curious horses peaking at us. My grip tightened its hold on Eris’ hand, squeezing three times on occasion as he paced behind me, rechecking every stall that I have peered into. I switched my path away from the horses and towards the area where the killer hounds were kept. The ones that belonged to Eris, even before I was in his life. The ones who are supposed to tear apart any enemies to the Autumn Court into literal shreds. The ones who are known to maul intruders of the estate.

The ones that have the softest of soft spots for the babes and I. 

The ones who used to whine at our bedroom door until Eris would get out of bed to open the door for them. The ones who would rush into the room and pounce onto the bed to snuggle against me. The ones who refused to leave my side during my pregnancy, taking turns laying their head on my swollen belly. The ones who stood at the doorway during the birth of the babes, growling at any sentry who walked past the room. The ones who licked the small toes of Marwa, and sniffed at Twila’s little fists. The ones who ran ahead during our family hikes to warn us of any pedestrians ahead. The ones who slowed their trots to match pace with the small toddling of Marwa and Twila. The ones who patiently allowed for Twila to climb onto their backs, who screamed with joy, “Onward Buster!” forcing them to carry her to wherever the little one pleased. The ones who sat with Marwa, who settled herself on their side, reading tiny books to them, pointing out the pictures with her chubby pointer finger which they would attentively stare at. 

And there they are. 

I took a moment, soaking in the scene before me, pressing my hands into my belly, trying to quiet the sobs that are forcing their way through my body. I heard a gasp of relief from Eris, who hugged me from behind and stroked the backs of my hand, popping a quick kiss into my cheek and then on my temple before resting his head on top of mine. He slowly swayed us side to side, enjoying the most adorable, relieving sight he had ever seen in his entire lifetime. 

Twila was curled into Marwa, her pudgy arm clinging to her sister's soft, plush belly. Marwa’s head was turned toward Twila’s, her tiny hand tightly gripping her sisters, the both of them fast asleep, cuddled together, surrounded by the warmth of the twelve killer hounds that Eris had raised. Their pup lay on his stomach, snoring softly as the babes feet rested under him, acting as a miniature comforter.  

It was Marwa who woke first, hearing the shuffling of her mama and papa trying to move around the hounds to reach them. Her tiny fist released her sister's hand, rubbing at her sleep crusted eyes, a tiny yawn escaping her as she sat up and stretched, her adorable rounded belly sticking out. “Mama?” Her voice is heavy with sleep, her eyes half lidded as she fought off falling back into her dreams. 

I choked down another sob, reaching down for her, my smile watery and full as her arms automatically reached out so she could be held, “Hello my beautiful little babe.” I pulled her into my embrace, clutching at her dress and stuffing my face into her messy, knotted hair, “And what kind of mischief have you and your sister gotten into little one?” Her legs could barely wrap around my waist, her arms tightly wrapped around my neck as she buried her face into my shoulder, taking a deep sigh of content as she took in her mothers scent. Eris finally reached the passed out Twila, who continued snoring quietly as he lifted her up into his chest. He planted a kiss onto her nose, which twitched at the tickling sensation, before she snuggled deeper into his warmth. He rocked her, patting the space between her shoulders to soothe her back into her deep sleep. The hounds lifted their deadly stares at us, taking a moment to recognize who we are, before resting their heads back onto their feet. 

I huffed out a snort, rolling my eyes while I approached Eris, focused more so on bending over to kiss Twila’s ruddy, warm cheeks than the napping hounds. Marwa grumbled, wriggling deeper into my embrace when Eris landed a sloppy kiss onto her forehead. He sent a smirk my way, bumping his hip into mine as we strolled out of the stables, “They really are your children,” his voice is hoarse, but filled with mirth and fondness. I scoffed, bumping his hip in return, much rougher than I had initially intended, “And what is that supposed to mean fireboy?” I side-eyed him, pursing my lips into a wicked grin as he flushed red at the nickname. “I mean, they fall asleep anywhere and everywhere at any time. And I wonder who they got that from,” boring his amber eyes into mine without any sense of hesitation. 

I playfully gasped at the hidden accusation, tickling the bottoms of Marwa’s feet who kicked them out and cackled as I stared incredulously at her, “Do you hear your papa little one? How ridiculous is he?” She leaned in, pecking my lips with a tiny kiss, before pulling back, her chocolate brown eyes bright and sparkling, “So so ri-ducky-lucky mama.” Eris chomped his teeth at her, “Honk honk,” snickering at her cheerful yelps. He settled the napping Twila, who had a tranquil smile gracing her face, on his hip, reaching his free hand, tattooed with our marriage vows to rest on the small of my back as we walked back to the estate. 

They were most definitely sleeping in our room at nightfall.

Masterlist

General taglist: @nyotamalfoy @brekkershadowsinger @kennedy-brooke @fieldofdaisiies

#Girl dad!Eris x reader #girl dad!Eris #girl dad eris x reader #girl dad!eris vanserra #marwa and twila #babes #acotar fanfic #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra as a girl dad #girl dad! #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra acotar #eris acotar #girl dad!er

[popculturebuffet]

Art Therapy

Charlie: Okay guys, I gave you a few hours to express yourself with art, to help work through your pain let's see what you have. First up is angel Angel:(unveils a canvas that's dog's playing poker, but with dildos) Ta-Da! Charlie: okay... I don't think you got the point of the exercise but it still looks... goooooddddd? I think? Sir Pentious? Sir Pentious: I prefer a more hands on medium (Unveils a statue of himself with over the top muscles with eggboys at the base... that's also weeping uncontrollably and wearing a backwards cap) I call it "Sir Pentious' true masculinity" Charlie: oh okay your showing both how you wish to see yourself but also your vunerablity underneath. Very good. Sir Pentious: This is how I look every day. Underneath this suit is a row of rippling muscle. (He flexes.. as alastor casually burns his suit off.. and also starts burning sir pentious, revealing his skinny ass snake physique) Vaggie: (Sighs) I'll put him out. Again. Alastor: I wouldn't rush, his tears will do that. While we wait, it's time to show MY piece. Charlie: Oh you particpiated.. that's ... lovely. You really don't have to. (Alastor unveils his painting.. which is made of real demon blood and shows allistor in his more demonic form eting a unicorn) SHITWHATWHYNOOOOO Alastor: For the look on your face. It took ages to get all the blood. Charlie: That poor unicorn... Alastor: Was delicoius Vaggie:(Having put sir pentious out, whose standing ashamed and shirtless.. and lightly singed. ) Alright cut it out. Your lucky I don't stab you. Alastor: What a concidence that's what I tell all of you every night while you sleep. Vaggie: Okayyyy since Charlie is Charlie: (Sobbing uncontrollably) Vaggie: Let's.. move on to someone less disturbing. Who's next? Nifty: (Raises her hand excitedly) Vaggie: Fuuuuuuckkk Nifty: (lifts curtain over her scuplture without anyone asking. It's her, in her dominatrix gear, standing atop a gagged and geared up sir pentious) Vaggie: Okay that's ... fucked but in a diffrent way than I expected? good job? Nifty: (claps excitedly) Sir Pentious: I... have mixed feelings about this but nonmetheless with yoru permission it shall go in my gallery. Eggboi: You mean the closet boss? Sir Pentious: Yes my closet gallery! Nifty: I'd be honored. I promise to visit every night. Just like I do for every last one of you. Vaggie: O-kay. we're getting better locks. Husk you do anything? Husk: Fuck no Vaggie: Terrific. We're done. (Drags a still sobbing charlie off) Let's go get you some ice cream champ. You tried your best.

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #angel dust #husk #nifty #sir pentious #alastor

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Oh gang... oh gang you're not going to like this one...! :((( Big spoiler at the end so I'll put it all under the cut just in case.

Chapter Forty-Seven: Peglar

As they strike camp and begin to haul the boats out onto the ice toward the new leads, Peglar reflects on the near-mutiny - he heard all about it from Bridgens of course who saw the whole thing first-hand from the medical tent where he'd been assisting Goodsir. Peglar always thought of Hickey, Manson, Aylmore et al as treacherous shits and so he's more surprised and offended to find out about the previously loyal men who also took part - his Erebus counterpart Robert SInclair, for instance, and Reuben Male who he describes as "a dependable man, but strong-willed. Very strong-willed."

Hauling across the ice again is hard-going, not just because of all the peaks and troughs to negotiate but also because it's getting thinner. Private Daly, scouting ahead to test said thickness, falls straight though into the water at one point - Goodsir has him stripped naked then and there on the ice, bundled up with two other men in layers of blankets and sleeping bags and even then he only just survives.

Peglar is worried of course, and the thought of open water makes his heart flutter which in turn has him reflecting on a childhood including scarlet fever and chronic chest pains. He's been so crippled with his throughout his life that he's often had to climb the rigging one-handed due to the shooting pains in his left arm - "The other foretopmen thought he was showing off."

As they progress further, Crozier places a boat hauled by Lieutenant Hodgson, Hickey, Manson, and Aylmore among others, at the head of the procession and in the position of greatest risk. Every man there knows it's a punishment and Peglar hasn't much sympathy at all: "Peglar thought that young Hodgson looked as if he might weep. He knew how hard it must be to be in your twenties and know that your Naval career was over. Serves him right thought Peglar. He'd spent decades in a navy that hanged men for mutiny and lashed them for the mere thought of mutiny, and Harry Peglar had never disagreed with either the rule or the punishment."

Once they final reach the open water proper, Crozier assigns Peglar to the boat that will be lowered into it to scout the lead out fully. Lieutenant Little will lead the men, along with Ice Master Reid and a select group of seamen including William Wentzell, Alexander Berry, and Henry Sait. Crozier expresses trust in Peglar specifically, and clearly values his input on the viability of the lead - "I need a good man on the sweep oar and a third assessment as to whether this lead is a go."

Once in the water, their journey is relatively uneventful. The lead narrows at several points and is blocked at others but every time they manage to find a way past until finally, they emerge into a massive lake of clear blue water in the middle of the ice with several huge flat bergs floating in it. "We could camp on 'aton and have plenty of room left over," said Henry Sait, one of the Terror seamen at the oars. "We don't want to camp," said Lieutenant Little from the bow. "We've had enough camping for a fucking lifetime. We want to go home."

They literally start to sing with happiness as they row their way out into the lake but soon enough that joy fades as they find no way out of it except the way they came in. Little even boosts Berry up onto Wentzell's shoulders to scout all round with a telescope but the ice is thick and impenetrable. Dejected, they make their way back to their entry point, which they marked with a pike.

But something is wrong... It's Peglar who notices it - a big ice boulder right next to that way-marking pike that wasn't there before... Little understands what that means straight away, orders the men to row backwards away from it, but it's already far too late. Then comes one of the simplest but best and most utterly chilling lines in this whole godforsaken book - "The ice boulder turned."

#The Terror #The Terror AMC #Observations #Random Observations #Meta #Rereading the Terror #Terror Spoilers #Henry Peglar #Edward Little #Francis Crozier #Apologies but I'm not tagging everyone #God imagine if they'd included this in the show though!

[clueingf0rlooks]

I’m so upset. What was the point of the season 2 bantr fakeout? What was the point of the finale opening scene fakeout that was clearly trying to make us think they’d slept together? What was the point of September 13, 1991? What was the point of the green army man? What was the point of the countless Nora Ephron references? What was the point of Ted being desperate to spend time with her in Amsterdam and upset that she didn’t answer his texts?

Who even was Ted this episode? The Ted Lasso we’ve gotten to know over 3 seasons wouldn’t be so blasé watching his players sing a choreographed Sound of Music number for him. He wouldn’t be completely silent and emotionally checked out watching as Rebecca Welton begs him to stay and tells him that Richmond is his home and that Henry could go to school there. He wouldn’t watch her weep at the airport and again just say absolutely nothing.

Why did Jamie and Roy’s development end up going backwards and in the end it’s a misogynist love triangle that isn’t even resolved so Keeley gets no romantic endgame?

Rebecca spent this entire episode heartbroken at the thought of Ted leaving. She was willing to move to Kansas for him. But she ends up with a man who doesn’t even have a name and was introduced in one episode in the final season? If she wanted to be with him she would have gotten his name after their night in Amsterdam but she didn’t because she was satisfied with it being a fleeting connection.

Beard ends up with the woman who has been terrible and emotionally abusive to him for their entire relationship and even in this very episode shredded his passport?

We don’t even really know what happens to Ted. Either he’s back with Michelle after finally accepting their marriage was over or he lives alone in Kansas without any of his found family or his soulmate and he still only has custody of his kid twice a month and he coaches little league.

The only person who got a Nora Ephron worthy ending was Nate, which I’m happy about and I was always rooting for his redemption and I love NateJade, but I wanted better for my leads!

I’m upset that the show’s creator and lead actors called Ted and Rebecca soulmates, whether it be romantic or platonic, but they never even find out about their cosmic connections.

I’m upset that after knowing how many fans take Tedbecca seriously they decided to lace the entire final episode with a Tedbecca endgame setup with a morning-after fakeout, asking him to stay, Rebecca buying a first class ticket just for an airport scene that even Ted admits is straight out of a rom-com, just to rip it away in the last 5 minutes.

#tedbecca #ted lasso spoilers #if you’re an anti please leave me alone I’m genuinely really sad

[lunainfortuna]

Sorry, but the funniest shit is when ~some~ people say Azriel acts as a mate towards Elain. Call them dumb.

And you know why?

This is Lucien soon after he met Elain still as a human:

Elain was shaking, sobbing, as she was hauled forward.

Toward the Cauldron. [...] Lucien, beside Tamlin, again put a hand on his sword. “Stop this.” [...] Lucien staggered a step forward as Elain was gripped between two guards and hoisted up. She began kicking then, weeping while her feet slammed into the sides of the Cauldron as if she’d push off it, as if she’d knock it down— “That is enough.” Lucien surged for Elain, for the Cauldron.

Meanwhile, Azriel who had known her for a little while:

And Mor backed away. Step by step. “What a prize,” the king said, that black gaze devouring her. Azriel’s head lifted from where he was sprawled in his own blood, eyes full of rage and pain as he snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch her.”

I mean, lmaooooo. He didn't give a single fuuuuck about Elain. His supposed mate. I swear 😂😂😂😂😂😂

But there's more! In ACOWAR, he showed once again his mate instincts:

But Mor replied smoothly, [...] One moment, Azriel was seated. The next, he’d blasted through Eris’s shield with a flare of blue light and tackled him backward, wood shattering beneath them.

And ps: Eris had just!!!! talked about Elain. Well...... Guess who didn't give a fuck again? Great mate we see here, guys.

From the first time Azriel met Elain, he treated her as Feyre's sister; he treated her with respect and kindness as he would do to anyone in need. Their interactions were superficial. They have never ever acted as mates towards each other; not even once! When he saved her near the end of the third book, he was freaking hurt and she didn't blink an eye. Would mates act like that? Er. (lets remember that Nesta was all about Cassian's safety). And in the end, after truth-teller, they didn't share any scenes together. She didn't ask about him nor did he ask abt her.

But Elain and Lucien?

“I’m fine,” Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, “Are you—”

“Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.”

A faint smile bloomed on Elain’s lips.

Azriel only started "caring" for Elain and being overprotective when he did the math about the bond between Feysand and Nessian. Only then. And we can notice this regarding his and Lucien's interactions. Before that, he respected Lucien. :) It's pretty clear by now, thinking about Mor and then, Elain, that Azriel changes the way he acts when he decides someone should be his mate/lover. It's not something real and pure.

Good thing that,

In comparison, Azriel slaughtered every soldier in Sangravah when he found Gwyn for the very first time. Every single one. In comparison, it was only when her name came up regarding the Blood Rite that he showed any reaction. In comparison, he wouldn't go as far as call her a friend, but buried the image of her shining eyes deep inside his chest. In comparison, his shadows sing to her. And that's enough.

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel supremacy #pro gwynriel #pro elucien #elucien #elain x lucien #pro lucien vanserra #anti u know what

[whumpinthepot]

Hamster Interactive Story

CYOA

Chapter 5. Sling

Previous - Masterlist

TW: belittling thoughts towards someone, dehumanization, held down, dubious forced medication, broken bones, bruises, pet trope, shoddy first aid, tiny whump, dubious handling, female cast,

Ashley’s pov

Poll Winner: Take Hamster to the bathroom to fix her up

—

The name “Ashley” reflects backwards on your name-tag in the bathroom mirror - you hardly had time to take it off after work. Hamster is crying in your hands, and you carefully lay her down on a face cloth next to the sink. 

With a few fingers holding her in place, you grab the first aid kit out of the cabinet.“I know baby girl, I know it hurts.” You make soft shushing sounds between your comforting phrases, and syringe a drop of liquid baby Tylenol into her crying mouth. Padding your manicured thumb over her lips to ensure she swallows it, you follow up by wiping any dribble off her cheeks. 

Now for that bruised, swollen arm… 

The bruising is already purple and you’re scared of aggravating it further with inspection. You don’t know where to begin, but vet bills are expensive and it’s already getting late. Your ice cream is probably melting where you left it on the floor with the groceries… But you don’t have time to worry about that. You have to stay focused. 

You have to make a customized sling for the girl, since you’re not sure if Hamster is smart enough to keep a traditional one on. You can easily picture her pulling it off in frustration. 

Hamster is still weeping, and she pushes at your fingers to try to get your hand off of her. You let go but lean against the counter to stop her from crawling off of it again while you cut small strips of bandage wrap to use. 

“I’m so sorry sweet pea, I have to wrap it up. My poor baby, I know, I know, its okay.” You speak in a soft sing-song voice, shushing her continually while you shift your hand underneath her back. She cries out like a tea kettle when you sit her up, and it makes your guts twist up in guilt. 

While apologizing a dozen more times you wrap her arm with the thinned bandages and swaddle it against her chest to hold it in place. 

Hamster’s hot tears land on your hand, tightening the knot in your stomach, and her crying dissolves into brief gasps of air. You stroke her back with two fingers and encourage her to breathe before getting her a syringe filled with water for her to drink from. She takes a few hasty gulps, then shoves it away from her face. 

Picking her up carefully, you look for any further injuries while her whimpering starts up again. She appears to be more or less okay, save for a few minor cuts and bruises, though she’s quivering and covered in clammy sweat. 

The poor thing is really exhausted… 

You don’t know how else to make this better for her, and your mind thinks of a million things at once. 

— 

More than one winning result may be used!!

(Tag list under the cut)

Thank you @verkja for fixing up my grammar <3

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @dramat1ques @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @whither-wander-whump @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @copperyote @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage

#tiny whumpee #whump cyoa #interactive whump #pet whump #whump art #broken bones tw #whump writing #hamster interactive story #breezy’s post #breezys art #lady whump

[batgirlsay]

Falling Through Memories

A Playlist for Zelink Week 2023 by @zelinkcommunity

(Image from https://zelda.fandom.com/wiki/Gallery:Breath_of_the_Wild)

First time submitting a playlist outside of the Shirayuki fandom! I dug through songs from previous Zenyuki and Obiyuki playlists to find ones that fit the daily prompts and also work well for Zelink feels. The last song for the Free Day always reminds me of ecologist Zelda (partially inspired by art from @newtsnaturethings) and would be a perfect Zelink date!

Falling Through Memories

The Kiss of Life- The Dear Hunter (Day 1: Yearning) Weeping Willow- The Hush Sound (Day 2: Forbidden) Wonder English- Eisley (Day 3: Letters) On The Safest Ledge- Copeland (Day 4: Hand in Hand) invisible string- Taylor Swift (Day 5: By A Thread) A Melody, The Memory- Mae (Day 6: In Another Life) Museum- Kitsch Club (Day 7: Free Day)

Summary lyrics are cited after the cut:

The Kiss of Life- The Dear Hunter (Day 1: Yearning)

Hope was closing with my eyes Down the shallow grave I was lying Cause you were leaning over me Clutching memories of when I was alive And then you breathed life into me one last time But I prayed it wasn't the last time Because it would be so wonderful to see your starry eyes again Now that you've unburied me Dust me off and carry me home

Weeping Willow- The Hush Sound (Day 2: Forbidden)

Those secrets hidden In our childish lips They’d die for a kiss

Fall was always left in your eyes Just a fleck of yellow light Like the sunrise Like the twilight

Wonder English- Eisley (Day 3: Letters)

If I might be as so bold to say, you saved my life I'm wondering, wonder English, oh I've found Has no words to correctly describe The way love sounds

Life, mankind, space, travel, time Oh demons in the dark Oh I will never let them tear us apart

On The Safest Ledge- Copeland (Day 4: Hand in Hand)

Don't look ahead, just run to me Each step will find the next one recklessly

We'll find ourselves on the safest ledge Well pardon me, I couldn't help myself But fall into your life here

Could you be happy to fall like a stone, If you'd land right here safe in my arms? 

You feel like someone's standing by But you'll never know

The sun burns a hole straight through your old flaws If you look toward the sky, even on your grayest night Could you be happy now with the wind in your hair, And your eyes open wide, and your feet going nowhere?

invisible string- Taylor Swift (Day 5: By A Thread)

Time, curious time Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs Were there clues I didn't see? And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string tying you to me?

Time, mystical time Cutting me open, then healing me fine Were there clues I didn't see?

A Melody, The Memory- Mae (Day 6: In Another Life)

Is that your song I hear playing? Cause I'm feeling it too Does it take all direction, all control over you?

When you sing do you slip away? Back to that place in your mind? Let our love be the one thing you won't leave behind

I know you're reminiscing through our romance

Rewind and play Time to go backwards again I'm moved by the way All the notes in-time make a sweet melody Night into day We have been captured again A new time and place to make a million new memories

Museum- Kitsch Club (Day 7: Free Day)

Let's get on a train Or maybe a boat There's a place I wanna go There's a place I wanna show you

I wanna take ya to a museum All the things inside, we're gonna see 'em

I wanna hold your hand I wanna read a plaque I wanna look at stuff I don't understand

#zelink week 2023 #legend of zelda #loz #zelink #playlist #lyrics #the dear hunter #the hush sound #copeland #eisley #taylor swift #mae #kitsch club #louie zong #so many zelink feels #hope you like it!

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

Some of my favorite parts of The Lays of Beleriand

I’m going to copy some of my favorite parts here, but this isn’t all of them, because that would just be the entire book. Still, this will be a long post. No one can stop me. This book is so good and I need to talk about it!

One of the versions of the Lay of the Children of Húrin begins like this:

Lo! the golden dragon of the God of Hell, the gloom of the woods of the world now gone, the woes of Men, and weeping of Elves fading faintly down forest pathways, is now to tell...

There is just something about the feeling this conveys. The gloom of the woods of the world now gone. That line is so good. It’s like these fragments of epic poems are from a real oral tradition passed down from the First Age, from the world now gone. Don’t get me started on the alliteration. Given who wrote it, I think it’s safe to say the alliterative style of Beowulf was definitely a major influence.

Another version begins:

Ye Gods who girt your guarded realms with moveless pinnacles, mountains pathless, o’er shrouded shores sheer uprising of the Bay of Faery on the borders of the World! Ye Men unmindful of the mirth of yore, wars and weeping in the worlds of old, of Morgoth’s might remembering nought! Lo! hear what Elves with ancient harps, lingering forlorn in lands untrodden, fading faintly down forest pathways, in shadowy isles on the Shadowy Seas, sing still in sorrow of the son of Húrin...

I can’t stand how good it is! How this is addressed to the Gods, and then addressed to Men who have forgotten the tales of the First Age. And then it tells you to listen to what Elves still sing in sorrow of the son of Húrin... They remember. They still mourn. There is this sense that even though the Gods have cut themselves off from the world, and Men have forgotten much of the past, there are still those who remember Túrin, and his story is worth telling. It gives me chills.

Here is Húrin in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, one of my favorite passages:

For Húrin standing storm unheeding, unbent in battle, with bitter laughter his axe wielded—as eagle’s wings the sound of its sweep, swinging deadly; as livid lightning it leaped and fell, as toppling trunks of trees riven his foes had fallen. Thus fought he on, where blades were blunted and in blood foundered the Men of Mithrim...

This is so heroic I cannot stand it. I can’t even process it, it’s so good. The alliteration is amazing. The imagery is incredible. That the sound of his axe is like a eagle’s wings recalls the fact that eagles carried him to Gondolin. The comparison to lightning reminds me of another heroic final stand, that of Fingolfin. In this passage there is such a vivid picture of the chaos and violence of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and how brave Húrin was in this battle. He is a truly great character. And speaking of which, there are several versions of his conversation with Morgoth, and they are incredible!

Said the dread Lord of Hell: ‘Dauntless Húrin, stout steel-handed, stands before me yet quick a captive, as a coward might be! Then knows he my name, or needs be told what hope he has in the halls of iron? The bale most bitter, Balrogs’ torment!’ Then Húrin answered, Hithlum's chieftain— his shining eyes with sheen of fire in wrath were reddened: ‘O ruinous one, by fear unfettered I have fought thee long, nor dread thee now, nor thy demon slaves, fiends and phantoms, thou foe of Gods!’ His dark tresses, drenched and tangled, that fell o’er his face he flung backward, in the eye he looked of the evil Lord— since that day of dread to dare his glance has no mortal Man had might of soul.

Is it possible to love Húrin even more? This is just unbelievably good. Morgoth threatens him with torture and that is his reply! Steadfast indeed! I love the way the dialogue is composed and all of the alliteration, which really enhances the intensity of this scene. And I literally cannot convey how stirring this entire section is. It also has a lot of dialogue, which is exciting, since that is something often lacking in the prose Silmarillion.

The Lays of Beleriand also has an early version of the Darkening of Valinor, the flight of the Noldor (the flight of the Noldoli) and the Oath of Fëanor. The entire section is amazing.

The Darkening of Valinor:

A! the Trees of Light, tall and shapely, gold and silver, more glorious than the sun, than the moon more magical, o’er the meads of the Gods their fragrant frith and flowerladen gardens gleaming, once gladly shone. In death they are darkened, they drop their leaves from blackened branches bled by Morgoth and Ungoliant the grim the Gloomweaver. In spider’s form despair and shadow a shuddering fear and shapeless night she weaves in a web of winding venom that is black and breathless. Their branched fail, the light and laughter of their leaves are quenched. Mirk goes marching, mists of blackness, through the halls of the Mighty, hushed and empty, the gates of the Gods are in gloom mantled.

I don’t even know what to say. This is as poignantly and beautifully written as it is painful to read, because the death of the Two Trees is so horrible. In death they are darkened...the light and laughter of their leaves are quenched. There is a sense (as there is elsewhere in Tolkien’s writing) that the Two Trees were not just living things, they were beings that could feel. The fact that they bled (as they also did in The Silmarillion) lends even more horror to this moment. The death of the Trees was not just tragic because they were beautiful and the Gods and the Elves loved their light—it was tragic because they were living things and they suffered. Tolkien never wrote the Aldudénië, the poem lamenting the death of the Two Trees, so I think this is the closest thing we will ever have to what the Aldudénië may have been like (except it would have been in Elvish, of course). Also, I can’t help but notice that Ungoliant is in spider’s form, like in The Silmarillion. It’s easy to forget that she is not a spider, she is in the form of a spider, and that really adds to how mysterious and terrifying she is.

The next lines are amazing too:

Lo! the Elves murmur mourning in anguish, but no more shall be kindled the mirth of Cor in the winding ways of their walled city, towercrowned Tun, whose twinkling lamps are drowned in darkness...

I love how the imagery of the city is conveyed—winding, walled, towercrowned, twinkling. Tolkien doesn’t interrupt the poem to give a full description of what Tirion looks like, and he doesn’t need to; he hints at it with just a few adjectives in a few lines, and it’s just enough for readers to form a picture.

And here is the Oath of Fëanor:

Then his sons beside him, the seven kinsmen, crafty Curufin, Celegorm the fair, Damrod and Diriel and dark Cranthir, Maglor the mighty, and Maidros tall (the eldest, whose ardour yet more eager burnt than his father’s flame, than Fëanor’s wrath; him fate awaited with fell purpose), these leapt with laughter their lord beside, with linked hands there lightly took the oath unbreakable; blood thereafter it spilled like a sea and spent the swords of endless armies, nor hath ended yet: ‘Be he friend or foe or foul offspring of Morgoth Bauglir, be he mortal dark that in after days on earth shall dwell, shall no law nor love nor league of Gods, no might nor mercy, not moveless fate, defend him for ever from the fierce vengeance of the sons of Fëanor, whoso seize or steal or finding keep the fair enchanted globes of crystal whose glory dies not, the Silmarils. We have sworn for ever!’

This is amazing. I have so many thoughts. It’s so interesting that Maedhros is here described as more passionate about the oath, and more full of wrath, than even Fëanor himself. Also, it’s so cool how it speaks of the oath as a present tense thing: nor hath ended yet. And that whole part is so chilling: there lightly took the oath unbreakable; blood thereafter it spilled like a sea... That is terrifying, and such vivid imagery. I love it! It gives me chills every time! And in the oath itself you can really see the origin of the later version which appears in Morgoth’s Ring.

Another favorite passage of mine is this part about the Dagor Bragollach, which is not in alliterative verse like the other parts I’ve quoted, but in rhyming couplets:

Rivers of fire at dead of night in winter lying cold and white upon the plain burst forth, and high the red was mirrored in the sky. From Hithlum's walls they saw the fire, the steam and smoke in spire on spire leap up, till in confusion vast the stars were choked. And so it passed, the mighty field, and turned to dust, to drifting sand and yellow rust, to thirsty dunes where many bones lay broken among barren stones. Dor-na-Fauglith, Land of Thirst, they after named it, waste accurst, the raven-haunted roofless grave of many fair and many brave.

Those last two lines are so haunting. There’s something about the way this is written, what it says and doesn’t say. It doesn’t describe the fighting itself, just the beginning of the battle and the aftermath. And there are descriptions of the sky and the field and how it turned to dust before it tells you of the many bones of the dead, and then hits you with those last two lines, which are just brutal. It’s so tragic. When I read this I want to ride to Angband and challenge Morgoth to single combat myself. I can understand why Fingolfin felt such wrath and despair.

Speaking of which, The Lays of Beleriand also has a version of Fingolfin’s challenge to Morgoth, and it is so good! This is just the beginning of it:

In that vast shadow once of yore Fingolfin stood: his shield he bore with field of heaven’s blue and star of crystal shining pale afar. In overmastering wrath and hate desperate he smote upon that gate, the Gnomish king, there standing lone, while endless fortresses of stone engulfed the thin clear ringing keen of silver horn on baldric green. His hopeless challenge dauntless cried Fingolfin there: ‘Come, open wide, dark king, your ghastly brazen doors! Come forth, whom earth and heaven abhors! Come forth, O monstrous craven lord, and fight with thine own hand and sword, thou wielder of hosts of banded thralls, thou tyrant leaguered with strong walls, thou foe of Gods and elvish race! I wait thee here. Come! Show thy face!’

This is...YES. I love this so much! I’m so overjoyed that Tolkien wrote it! The Silmarillion doesn’t tell us Fingolfin’s actual words to Morgoth when he called him forth to single combat, only that he named him craven, and lord of slaves. This is Fingolfin’s actual challenge, or a poetic retelling of it at least. This is larger than life. And the entire rest of this section is just as good. It describes the fight itself, and how Thorondor rescued Fingolfin’s body and bore it away to the mountains above Gondolin. And it is full of incredible descriptions and absolutely awe-inspiring lines. I will never recover from the sheer epicness of the line at the end of the section which reads, till Gondolin’s appointed doom.

Another of my favorite parts is this passage about the halls of Menegroth:

Then sudden, deep beneath the earth the silences with silver mirth were shaken and the rocks were ringing, the birds of Melian were singing; and wide the ways of shadow spread as into arched halls she led Beren in wonder. There a light like day immortal and like night of stars unclouded, shone and gleamed. A vault of topless trees it seemed, whose trunks of carven stone there stood like towers of an enchanted wood in magic fast for ever bound, bearing a roof whose branches wound in endless tracery of green lit by some leaf-emprisoned sheen of moon and sun, and wrought of gems, and each leaf hung on golden stems. Lo! there amid immortal flowers the nightingales in shining bowers sang o’er the head of Melian, while water for ever dripped and ran from fountains in the rocky floor. There Thingol sat. His crown he wore of green and silver, and round his chair a host in gleaming armour fair.

I mean this is just unbelievably beautiful! It’s gorgeous! The descriptions are so vivid! I want to go there! It’s also the most detailed description of Menegroth that exists, which makes me wonder what other details we might have gotten if Tolkien hadn’t abandoned the poetic Silmarillion.

Another part that never fails to give me chills is this, when Beren departs from Dorthonion:

Southward he turned, and south away his long and lonely journey lay, while ever loomed before his path the dreadful peaks of Gorgorath. Never had foot of man most bold yet trod those mountains steep and cold, nor climbed upon their sudden brink, whence, sickened, eyes must turn and shrink to see their southward cliffs fall sheer in rocky pinnacle and pier down into shadows that were laid before the sun and moon were made. In valleys woven with deceit and washed with waters bitter-sweet dark magic lurked in gulf and glen; but out away beyond the ken of mortal sight the eagle’s eye from dizzy towers that pierced the sky might grey and gleaming see afar, as sheen on water under star, Beleriand, Beleriand, the borders of the Elven-land.

Chills! Chills every time! First of all, shadows that were laid before the sun and moon were made is a terrifying concept and I love it so much. And second of all, Beleriand, Beleriand, the borders of the Elven-land! I love the way the momentum builds as the poem continues, and the sense of longing that those last lines convey... it gets me every time.

I don’t know what the point of this post is except to say I love The Lays of Beleriand so much! I could have made this post twice as long. Or three times as long. There are so many incredible parts of it. I just love this book and I wish it got more attention. I think when some people try reading HoMe they give up somewhere in the Lost Tales and never make it to The Lays of Beleriand, which is a tragedy. If you haven’t, please read The Lays of Beleriand! 

#silmarillion #tolkien #my writing #lays of beleriand

[mymainwastoocluttered]

Dark Deception (Ace Trappola)

Thank you for 1000 followers! Hope you enjoy the Horror Event!

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Requested by the lovely @b1mb0bunny-v2

I absolutely love the Gold Watchers. I love anything Weeping Angel like, honestly.

A clammy hand holds an even more clammy hand. The hallways blend together, and the noises of the traps activating come in one wave. Their footsteps and their heartbeats are difficult to tell apart—thud thud thud thump thump thump—and the goofy noise the purple crystals make when they vanish as soon as Ace’s body hits them is not enough to lighten up the situation. Nothing is, really. Not when they turn and turn and turn again, trying to run away, trying to avoid, trying to find a way. The flickering light of the candles greets them with the same mocking hue, over and over and over again. The traps activate—insatiable in their desire to pierce the two teens—the noise carrying over after they jump past them and keep on running.

“Psiu.”

(Y/N) is the one to stop.

Ace follows her lead.

In front of them—behind them, really, but on their way nonetheless—is a golden statue.

It smiles at them gleefully.

No eyes, no other expression, only a murderous gleeful grin.

In its hand, a sickle.

Sickening.

A clammy hand gets even more clammy.

Ace touches his back to hers.

Slowly, clumsily, they walk.

She’s walking backwards.

She needs to keep looking.

Keep watching.

Keep her eyes on the statue.

Or it will reach them.

Their footsteps and their heartbeats are not the same.

Thud. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thud.

Eyes burning, they walk.

The hallway looks like every other.

The statue stares with no eyes.

Thump. Thump. Thud. Thump Thump.

Ace squeezes her hand when they reach the end of the hallway.

No statues to the left, where they need to go.

She squeezes back.

A very clammy hand holds an equally clammy hand—they cannot stop to think when that will change. They cannot afford to stop, period. Way is clear, they run. They run and run and run and run and the hallways all blend together and the rooms all mix together and the sounds of the traps activating sing in synchrony. Their heartbeats—thump and thump and thump thump thump thump—and their footsteps—thud and thud and thud and thud thud thud thud—are the same to their ears. So is the sound of metallic footsteps following them—thunk and thunk and thunk thunk thunk

“Psiu.”

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thud.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #x fem reader #ace trappola #ace trapolla x reader #horror event 2022

[blackwomeninrock]

Interview w/ Lynx from Old Blood

It's not often that I get to sit down and chat with the women featured on this blog, but I was fortunate enough to grab LYNX from Old Blood and ask her a few questions.

Old Blood is a metal band out of Southern California. Their most recent release is Acid Doom, which you can check out here.

And now, on to the questions!

One of the things I’m always curious about is how other black women found themselves entangled with rock music. Can you tell me a bit about how you discovered rock music and what made you want to perform rock music?

I've always been a performer - I started acting when I was 2 and music has always been my favorite medium and as I started finding my favorite kinds of music, I always enjoyed the "strong stuff" more than other sounds. But when I discovered metal, the similarities with classical music really spoke to me. As a violinist, I was drawn to the guitar solos. As a vocalist, I was drawn to the power - all this around the ages of 9 and 10. When my neighbor lent me some Metallica tapes (yeah, this was in the 80's!), I knew what musical direction I'd be taking.

How has your experience been as the frontwoman for Old Blood? Anything memorable happen while performing with this band?

Joining OLD BLOOD has been an incredible experience. The guys are great to work with. Whether we're hammering out new parts of a song in rehearsal, cris-crossing the nation in Macho Van Bandy Savage (our band van) or hitting that tricky part of that one song at that one bar - it's always fun. Some shows really stand out in my mind - ones where other women, often black women, approached me in gratitude for being who I am and doing what I do. Truly heartening moments.

What is your creative process when it comes to making albums and performing?

I'm always making notes, as I hear or "find" lyrics in my daily comings and goings. I keep these notes in a binder that comes out when we start composing the music for new songs. I leaf through these pages and listen for melodic cues that draw these lyrics off the page. The song builds from there. Before a gig, I like to do some Pilates along with some focused breathwork and vocalizations to prepare myself for the athleticism of an OLD BLOOD show.

Who are some of your favorite bands to listen to right now?

I've been deep in a Mark Lanegan phase for the last 5 years or so, much more after reading Sing Backwards and Weep, his autobiography. When we went on tour in 2021, I got it as an audiobook and his voice became an essential companion for those hours of seemingly endless travel. He passed away shortly before our 2022 tour and once more, his music, written and spoken words served as a tobacco and whisky-stained security blanket in my ear. 

Of course, LYNX can't live by Lanegan alone. Unto Others (formerly Idle Hands), out of Portland is another constant in my auditory library. The 1st 4 cds in my car's player are all theirs.

Otherwise, I love supporting the local scene and LA has an abundance of mad-talented acts that keep me out late. I saw my buddies in Formula 400 last night with Freedom Hawk, from Virginia Beach and the night before, my friend Margarita Monet and her band Edge of Paradise opened a stellar jam night in the heart of Hollywood. There's so much good stuff out there!!

What word of advice would you give to anyone thinking about joining a band or getting involved in the music industry?

Give it a go. If it's something you truly desire, that need will never leave you. It won't be ignored nor will it die. Learn as much as you can about the industry and what it takes to reach your definition of success. It's different for everyone, but just don't let that call go unanswered.

----------

You can follow LYNX on Instagram here: https://www.instagram.com/lynxoldblood/

Old Blood Socials: Facebook - Instagram - TikTok - Bandcamp

#black women in rock

[mywifeleftme]

345: Colin Stetson and Sarah Neufeld // Never Were the Way She Was

Never Were the Way She Was Colin Stetson and Sarah Neufeld 2015, Constellation (Bandcamp)

My prevailing memory of seeing Sarah Neufeld and Colin Stetson’s duo performance in a small room at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa was the way they spent much of the performance with their eyes locked on one another. When violinist Neufeld became lost in her own playing and arched backward, in the same motion Stetson would lean forward over his hulking, steampunk bass saxophone, his legs braced wide. It was as though the two of them were bound at the neck by a long, invisible leather strap. In the most intense passages, they would square off barely a foot apart, like two rams, the veins in Stetson’s sweaty neck and forehead standing out, Neufeld’s angled forearm a blur of precision cuts. Despite also seeing Stetson’s SORROW, an arrangement of Gorecki’s 3rd Symphony for a 12-piece band, during the same festival, it was the intimate physicality of the duo show with Neufeld that had the bigger impact on me.

While Stetson has frequently performed in larger combos (as has Neufeld with Arcade Fire, for that matter), in solo and duo performances his uniqueness as a player is more legible. On Never Were the Way She Was, he uses his uncanny circular breathing technique to create ogrish drones (“With the Dark Hug of Time”), loop-like melodic phrases (“The Sun Roars Into View”), and even to emulate broken techno beats (“The Rest of Us”). Stetson is a pretty physically jacked guy, and when you see him do this stuff in person it’s a bit like watching a blacksmith going at his forge—on record it can be easy for an inattentive listener to miss the exertions required to produce these sounds. But when you start tuning in to the fact all of this groaning cacophony is produced by one man’s laboured lungs, its rawness and minor imprecisions become captivating.

Neufeld takes centre stage on the more somber, post-rocky tunes like the title track, her violin weeping rust as she overlooks a grey bay, Stetson contributing various fog horns and stomach upset. Now and again she wordlessly sings, but it’s always recorded distantly, like a memory of some ever-present sorrow you refuse to allow to surface. On “In the Vespers,” she sketches out a tricky rhythm that Stetson eventually echoes on a tenor sax, the pair running through an odd-time workout that would sound like prog were in not for the chilly clarity of her phrasing, the way the energy decays once again into remorse.

The pair’s previous collaboration was a 2013 film score (Blue Caprice), and the record is of a piece with the influential work Stetson has subsequently done as a soundtrack composer (notably Ari Aster’s Hereditary). As with fellow Aster collaborator the Haxan Cloak, Stetson’s work has helped to define the sound of contemporary unease. If you’ve watched a recent horror movie or psychological thriller, the palette of Never Were the Way She Was will already be familiar—but here the pieces aren’t tied to any preconceived scenario, and the interplay between the two musicians gives it a dynamism and complete-in-itself mood all its own.

345/365

#colin stetson #sarah neufeld #bell orchestre #arcade fire #constellation #jazz #post rock #chamber jazz #saxophone #violin #bass saxophone #circular breathing #canadian music #female musicians #'10s music #vinyl record #music review

[ladyzee-oddityhunter]

(CW! Derealization, Religious themes)

Musharna mail. This musharna seems a little bored, beit a bit confused.

Well, this is quite elegant, isn't it? Lost in the thick of what seems to be Poni Meadow. The moon is full, shining almost directly overhead, giving a light blue overcast to the surrounding flowers and weeping trees. Misdreavus float as they please, here and there, in-between patches of grass and soaring through vines, sometimes disappearng into the trees, only then for about 3 more to come back out.

It's playful!

It's peaceful!

...

perhaps a little too peaceful.

Your curiosity strikes you, and you decide to take a look around.

Something about the grass and flowers seems... off. You can definitely feel them, but as the normally scratchy blades and stems brush past your legs, it almost feels as if you're walking through a field of feathers. My, even the ground seems weirdly cush, even with Poni's rich soil.

You turn around, briefly wondering about the flowers you'd just walked through. Surely some of them had to be crushed, correct?

Instead, it seems with every petal touched of the Oricorio's stage, they glowed with an elegant bright purple. There's a trail that shows where you'd walked before, give or take a little more winding than you remembered. You try to step backwards through the field, but something in your mind paralyzes you of the thought. No. You must keep moving forward. You must see.

After a while, you lose track of how many steps you're taking. How far you've gotten. How deeply you've traversed into the meadow. You hold your head low, lost in thought, wondering. What could you possibly be wondering about..? Your mind can seem to draw nothing but blanks.

It finally surfaces, like a Mantyke taking flight above the water. Though as the words bounce in your mind, your mood can't seem to help from lowering. As you wonder, "oh light, what have I forgotten this time..?" an anxious pit forms in your stomach. This was obviously something important. What was so important..? This only makes you pace faster.

... oh light, Necrozma's light... what's so important about those phrases?

As you walk further "in", you can't help but notice the lack of grass. It's just flowers. The flowers only grow denser and denser as you keep walking.

Walking faster, faster, hurriedly. You obviously had to get away from here. This likely wasn't yours to explore.

But, as you'll soon find out, you can only catch a glimse of the island you were once traversing, as you turn around. It looks like nothing but a decorated rock in the distance. The terrain is completely flat, the moon now directly above you, blessed with an uncharacteristically pink hue.

Oh light, I'm not supposed to be here.

Your voice seems to be giving out on you, there. It'd probably be best to conserve it, in case you need it.

You look up. a sense of dread surges through your veins. Two deities of the moon, two deities of dreams and nightmares, contrasting and uncharacteristically harmonious. They're playing, chasing each other around the gleaming moonlight.

The dreams chase after the nightmares. Tick.

The nightmares chase after the dreams. Tock.

The two seem to disagree, one wailing at the other. Tick.

With every chime of the clock, the full moon knocks down a phase. Waning. Half. Waxing.

The recognizable glow of Cresselia's lovely crescent aura, glows brighter and brighter with its fury. Darkrai, on the other hand, barely represents itself in this lack of light. With a final throw of pure, unnurtured anger, the scene goes dark.

You fall to your knees, some cold tears streaming from your eyes. You can already feel it creeping up on you.

You deserved it.

With the moral boundaries of this beast, you more than deserved it.

You clasp your hands against the feathery flowers, even the glow of the touched feathers isn't nearly enough to see, even if you tried.

A drag of three, burning, impossibly sharp claws dig themselves up your spine. Singing your clothes, but clearly not tearing them.

your eyes only get heavier.

you can't stop yourself from falling.

((Offscreen))

She gasps as she arches her back, and she thrashes an elbow behind her shoulder as if to strike an attacker. Her eyes snap open, lashes peeling apart with hot tears glistening between them.

The brush of her knuckles against the small of her back causes the scorching pain in her spine to fade. In a moment it’s gone, faded to a mere echo of what should have agony.

When her heart slows its panicked racing she sighs, and she pushes herself to sit upright. She turns her face toward the soft, crackling sunlight of Glitch City as it spills through her open curtains. Home. She’s home. She’s fine.

For a while, she simply watches. The sunlight pours uncaringly through the window, growing warmer as the sun inches higher. Tonight the cool moonlight will take its place.

She’ll close the curtains. Just this once.

((End Offscreen))

My darlings, I’m wondering if I should start keeping a dream journal, because some of these are getting very interesting. This last one has left me feeling… Not so much frightened, but somber?

I felt like I forgot something important, and I was paying for it. I still don’t have any idea what I could have forgotten to warrant such a penalty. But I do know I’ve received at least two dreams that are actually other people’s, so I imagine this one was also not mine.

It was in Poni Meadow of all places, though. I used to rest there when I was feeling troubled, so I wonder.

#pokemon irl #pkmn irl #zee answers questions #musharna mail