#technonation

[maxellminidisc]

Ah Ms. Carly Rae Jepson always delivers a good pop album! Perhaps a lengthy review tomorrow but who gives a shit honestly kskekddkdks

#very interesting because her album is also giving an interesting mix of #experimental pop beats from like the early to late 2010's!! #and i would also argue that like particular indie pop rock sound from the mid early 2000s #like say lyke li's youth novels meets a light touch of arca produced pop tracks #theres a few technonic sounds as i like to call them lol

[sealrock]

poem - or specifically, a character reading a poem that particularly strikes them as meaningful or enjoyable

{-creeps along in Sea's footsteps to deliver YET MORE prompts-}

cw: depictions of illness

(ty for the ask @thefreelanceangel!)

"I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading – treading – till it seemed That Sense was breaking through –" Paris paused for a moment, glancing beyond the worn and yellowed pages of their cousin's poetry book to an unmoving body as it lay in the infirmary cot in front of them, its emaciated frame swallowed under layers of itchy blankets and sensitive medical equipment to control the frayed aether reserves. Evander continues to gawk in childlike wonderment at Physis Technon's "scientific ingenuity and advancements in aetherology," but Paris sees this as inhumane. It's sickening. The monotone beeps and hums of the machines are here to keep a corpse alive, to pump fluid and nutrients into otherwise wilted flesh. It's scientific necromancy for all Paris is concerned. A growing collection of flowers and sentimental tokens sat on a dresser in the corner of the room—most of them were from the Scions, even if they didn't know this person.

It's Paris' turn to look after the body. Andromache—their mother—looked like shit after pulling an all-nighter. She's not young like Paris, but Paris refused to stand by and let her intentionally neglect her health to cater to a husk. The artificial sunlight of Labyrinthos cast Paris' shadow long and dark from the open window behind them, cutting across the body's torso in an act of pseudo-bisection. Paris couldn't look at the unruly black hair and sunken face attached to the body. It's not the gentle, smiling face they once knew, for it belongs to a stranger. The skin, once a rich shade of brown and so soft to the touch, grew pale and dry. The healthy meat, strong enough to carry Paris even after they got too big to be held, withered away to reveal dull blue veins and sinew. A lot has changed in the fifteen years of separation, but Paris continued wishing for things to return to how they were before. Especially now.

Paris had excised a tumor from the body in the same manner as they did Thancred. But Thancred wasn't down and out for this long—his friends didn't have to watch him languish away to something unrecognizable. Not even Gaia suffered this much. The tumors were phantoms feeding off of their life force, like parasites. This parasite dug too deep, it nestled in the very marrow of the husk. If only Paris had been quicker to flush out the infection. They were still a child then.

Tumor.

Parasite.

Infection.

Paris calls it many names. To be this detached helps them cope. Halmarut is dead, yes, but the destruction left in their wake resonates like thunder. Case in point: the body being kept alive with somanoutics.

The equally artificial breeze from the facility's wind turbines blew into the room. It felt temperate. Paris felt their thick hair tickle their goosefleshed nape. The body wouldn't feel it. The body hasn't felt the sensation of sunlight for a long time. Paris ran trembling fingers through their hair and shifted around in their uncomfortable chair before continuing,

"And when they were all seated, A Service, like a Drum – Kept beating – beating – till I thought My Mind was going numb –

And then I heard them lift a Box And creak across my Soul With those same Boots and Lead, again, Then Space – began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and Silence, some strange Race Wrecked, solitary, here –

And then a Plank in Reason, broke, And I dropped down, and down – And hit a World, at every plunge, And Finished knowing – then –"

The poem stopped abruptly. Paris shuddered.

"How can Patroclus read such morbid stuff like this?"

Paris talked aloud to no one in particular. The body couldn't hear them. Paris carefully flipped through the pages, briefly scanning the stanzas to find something less depressing. For the half a year the stranger's been here, all but dead to the world, Patroclus would read poetry to keep it company. The lad never met this person before, but he was willing to travel from Ul'dah just to spend time with them. Paris failed to understand his reasoning, but Patroclus had always worn his heart on his sleeve.

Patroclus believed this therapeutic; he reported witnessing a smile as he read his favorite poem one autumn day—it must mean the body liked it, too. Paris could vaguely recall Evander, swellheaded as ever, brushing off his brother's excitement and saying it was an involuntary response to the environment due to the persistent vegetative state. Evander then gave an example where he recalled when the skeletal hand grabbed his wrist as he shaved the face free of patchy stubble, but he appeared too giddy telling the tale. He's no different from the Sages running this facility. Between their bickering and Achille threatening to lose his breakfast, Paris didn't want to hear anymore.

Paris doesn't expect the body to spontaneously rise and converse with them, but the fact that two people with no relation to it were present for these events settled wrong in Paris' gut. It should've been Paris. Paris let out a sigh and continued to read,

"If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin, Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain."

This poem is what Patroclus loved the most. Paris finds it ironic. They've helped ease many people's pain, but who can help Paris with theirs? Stealing another glance up, Paris felt a shriek catch in their throat as they jumped. The book fell from their hands and landed on the tile floor with a soft thud. The head had turned towards them without Paris noticing.

Black eyes, more like black holes with no visible bottom, were watching them. As the Warrior of Light, Paris has seen many things that would disturb the most hardened individual, but this is different. Hector—their dad—is watching them. Paris froze in their seat, unable to look away. Their heart hammered roughly against their ribs. Their dad blinked slowly, his weak eyes scanning their face for something to land on. His expression remained unchanged, the hollows of his face more apparent up close. He looks… so old and frail. Paris couldn't move.

Dad… Do you remember me?

Please look at me.

Paris wanted to say it, but they just sat there, mouth gaping like a fish as dread filled their belly. It twisted and roiled. Their hands gripped the arms of the chair with such force that Paris thought the metal began to bend. Before Paris could react, Hector's eyes rolled up as his eyelids fell. A soft sigh escaped his nose. He returned to being a corpse.

Paris' throat clamped shut. Tears burned fiercely behind their tired eyes, and Paris would be a fool in not letting them out. Paris isn't one to cry, they stopped crying a long time ago. Paris told themselves to be stronger than that because no one was there to wipe away the fat tears from their face anymore. But Paris reached a breaking point. They couldn't keep the façade going any longer.

First, it was one. Then two. Before long, tears drenched Paris' face. Their shoulders shook violently as stifled sobs threatened to break free from their clenched teeth. The tension fled from their body as they sagged in the chair, callous hands coming to hide their face from no one. Through bleary eyes, Paris reached to take their dad's fragile hand into theirs and squeezed.

"Please, open your eyes. It's me, dad, it's your little sprout."

Paris' voice pitched higher with each word before they finally lost it. Paris' head dropped onto the edge of the bed as they continued to sob, their tears falling at the toes of their worn boots. Patroclus' poetry book lay discarded and open next to them, its pages gently fluttering in the breeze.

"Hope" is a thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm –

I've heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me."

#inbox #thefreelanceangel #writings. #................. :) #i uh. went overboard with this #poems are by emily dickinson (but are considered anonymous in my canon) #i just know patroclus would love her poetry #but yea this is a peek into hector's post-ascian possession recovery. it wasn't good #i also tried writing in present tense. it's a bit rough idk

[littlehenrikehd]

ÄLSKAR TECHNON !!! TILL FINAL MED SCARLETT NU SVERIGE !!!

#melodifestivalen

[actualhumanyes]

Ursäkta men LÄGG UNDAN TECHNON DEN PASSAR INTE

#im having words again #melodifestivalen

[yuri-cocaine]

ffxivwrite 2023: ring

Sharlayan cake was just like every other kind of Sharlayan fare—bland. Even this wedding cake had about as much taste as chewing on cardpaper. The pastel pink fondant was as hard as dried clay, and it wasn’t even sweet. Yuma nibbled on the driest slice of cake she had ever had in her life, and she was reminded of the hardtack she used to have in Rabanastre. 

Professor Tankin and Hinageshi decided to host their wedding in the Searcher’s Meet, and everyone was invited to the impromptu celebration. It was charming in a clumsy, bookish way. Instead of fancy glassware, guests had paper cups full of iced tea and juice. The wedding cake was appropriately pink with fondant roses and fondant doves, bought for about thirty gil at a random greengrocer’s at the last minute. An alchemy student loomed over the punch bowl, stirring something neon green and fizzling. A cluster of anthropology TAs were furiously huffing and puffing into balloons, and a department professor confident in their tenure let loose a dozen mammets blaring wedding ballads at maximum volume. 

The food was mostly take-out from the Last Stand, and along with her slice of boring cake, Yuma also had a small plate of popoto wedges and a paper cup of fizzy green drink. She took a curious sip, and found that it was flavored like grapes of all things. 

Hinageshi, the beaming bride, looked radiant in her wedding dress. One of her friends wore a moogle hat and acted as the officiator moogle. She brought out the rings, and the bride and groom put them on. They were silver bands fitted with gently glowing crystals, elegant in their simplicity. 

After the Scions publicly disbanded, Yuma had helped around the Studium gathering samples for various professors, among them Professor Tankin and Hinageshi. Hinageshi had always apologized profusely for asking Yuma to travel around, but Yuma was sick and tired of the sages at Physis Technon constantly fussing over her wellbeing, and was more than happy to have to any excuse to get away. When the party died down around midnight, Tankin and Hinageshi loaded Yuma with all the leftovers as well as a good chunk of the wedding gifts as thanks for the help she provided them. There were gift cards for various shops in the Agora, as well as practical items such as new pens, pencils, notebooks. 

Yuma smiled, and wished them a blessed and eternally happy marriage. Her eyes flicked to Hinageshi’s ring, and some strange emotion bubbled in her throat and caught there. 

Back at her room in the Baldesion Annex, Yuma brushed her hair and thought of what to call this feeling twisting within her. It was bitter, and it stung behind her nose and eyes, and it made her ears flatten back. There was something wrong with that shining ring. There was something wrong with that happy little wedding in the Studium, surrounded by peers. 

When she slept, Azem’s memories bled through her soul and into her dreams. Yuma hated witnessing bits of Azem’s life. She always awoke the next morning overcome with the most terrible grief, gasping and sobbing with ice-cold despair. Her, the so-called Bringer of Hope, having the gall to despair alone after promising hope to the greatest manifestation of despair in the stars. Azem had been dead for millenia, but her emotions still haunted her favorite shard like a bit of food stuck between teeth. 

This time, the dream had engagement rings. There were three boxes: one contained a ring with a yellow diamond, one contained a ring with a gleaming amethyst, and one contained a ring with shimmering ruby. They were simple golden bands, too simple for two Convocation members and the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect, but the three of them agreed that these rings were the ones they wanted. 

“Well, I think our matching earrings should more than suffice,” huffed a familiar voice.

Someone laughed beside her. “Oh, come now! Rings will make it official. Er, more official than it already is, of course.”

Themis would be invited, and Erichthonios, but maybe not Lahabrea. Although if Erichthonios was going, there’s no point in not inviting Lahabrea. And if Lahabrea was going, then so would the rest of the Fourteen. Venat was going to be there too, and she would probably bring along her archivist friend from Anamnesis. It would be so funny if they just held the wedding in Akademia Anyder, maybe in Mitron’s spacious lecture hall, and gave party hats to all the shark concepts. 

They split up to personally deliver invitations to everyone. Azem headed to Venat’s home with a bounce in her step, admiring her new ring. 

Yuma jolted awake in filmy gray morning light. Her face was wet with tears, and she felt a desperate presence pulling at her limbs. Groaning, Yuma pushed herself up out of bed.

“Shut up,” she muttered. “Just shut up. Stop crying.”

Yuma knew what both of them wanted. The aetherial sea was right there beneath them. Every day was the same tired song and dance. They would go to the Aitiascope, ask to take the lift down into the sea, and Fourchenault or whoever was on shift would say no. Then they would leave, and come back another time. Leave, and come back.

She couldn’t even find Emet-Selch’s earring on the Tempest floor after she killed him.

Later that day, Yuma found herself at the Agora with her gift cards. She stared at the display of fashion rings Tataru sold at her boutique. With a discount, they sold for just three gil each. 

#ffxivwrite2023 #emethythazem #when you write the ship name out like that it sounds like an antidepressant #yuma: i don't care if something good happened to you #it shouldve happened to me

[fistsoflightning]

afternoon breeze

for wolcredweek day 6 - tea/family

i just think we should have gone back to the first to update ryne on the situation after everything (i miss the first)

When Thancred went to go get something for both of them to drink, he half-expected Zaya to have eaten most of the slightly stale packet of coffee biscuits he’d left with them. Ryne had gone through the trouble of making her own recipe for the things so she could share her favorite treat with Zaya, having apparently picked up on their disdain for anything cloyingly sweet through his stories of them—and they seemed desperate enough today to escape the bitter aftertaste of their medicine.

Instead, he opened the door to their inn room with his shoulder, hands occupied with a tray laden with all one might need to appease an Ul’dahn elite at teatime, to the sight of Zaya squinting at a familiar sheaf of paper with Feo Ul eating half a biscuit on their shoulder. The afternoon Ul’dahn sun spilled over their backs through the thin curtains, slipping through their hair when Zaya looked up to greet him with a sheepish smile.

Thancred paused in the doorway, tipping his head hesitantly towards the fae king on their shoulder happily distracted with their coffee biscuit. Feo Ul didn’t exactly like him—they were fiercely protective of their time with their ‘sapling’, and their delivery service only benefited him by proxy—but Zaya didn’t seem to think that was a problem. They set down the letter they were reading and pushed out the chair across from them with their foot in clear invitation, so he relented and carefully crossed the room to the table, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“Courtesy of Momodi. She seems to be making up for us missing breakfast,” he said, and set the tray down on the small table as he sat before he looked to Feo Ul. “Staying for tea, Your Majesty? I fear you’ll have to share a teacup, but the snacks are fair game.”

In a slightly concerning display, they finished off the rest of their biscuit in four bites before dusting off their hands with a sigh. “How lovely it would be, to daydream and dawdle with my beloved sapling with such delights,” they said, flitting up into the air as Zaya reached for a piece of dried fruit, “but those pesky Fuath and their tricks call me back to Il Mheg. I linger only to pass on a very important message from your precious flower, a world away.”

“On top of the letter?” he asked, gesturing to the page on the table.

Feo Ul giggled. “Silly mortal. Not one, but many!”

They waved their hand and pointed down at the remaining empty space on the table; in a shower of fae sparkles, a set of letters bound together by a pink ribbon appeared.

“She worries very much for your safety,” they said. “Knowing what you were to fight against, she wished you well, and then—nary a word from you for moons. Not a peep! I tried to come visit and give my dear sapling a right scolding, but even joined as we were, it was as flying through a blustery day, over a vast expanse of nothing!”

Thancred took a moment to consider. “That would be the work of the distance we had to travel and possibly Sharlayan medicine, I’m afraid,” he said, thinking more of Zaya’s uncomfortable face when the people from Physis Technon were crowding around them with experimental remedies for whatever nonsense was happening to their aether this time round. “We weren’t on our star for a long while, and when we returned it wasn’t in the best of conditions.”

“So I hear. Risking your lovely soul for the world, again and again.” Feo Ul zipped over to the side of Zaya’s head and lightly shoved at their horn; their head didn’t move much, but Thancred was more shocked that they moved at all. “Foolish, reckless, brave sapling. Have you not learned your limits? Perhaps the ways of we fae folk stayed my hand from aiding you, but that doesn’t mean I would be happy to see you fade away, no matter your struggles.”

Zaya smiled lightly. “I know,” they said quietly, and reached out to gently poke Feo Ul’s cheek with one finger. “‘m trying to be better. F’r everyone.”

They looked at him, then, their smile widening into that familiar bright grin that found its place on their face whenever they were causing trouble; behind them the light pouring in through the window brightened, some distant cloud moving away, and it cast a halo of light around their head. Unable to reach across the table without knocking something over and making a mess, he settled for stretching his leg beneath the table and tapping his ankle against theirs with a smile of his own.

“Ugh,” Feo Ul said suddenly. When Thancred finally looked away from Zaya’s smile, Feo Ul’s face was somewhere between grimacing and grinning madly. “I shall leave you two to your sappy, syrupy afternoon to bring news of your wellbeing to your fretful flower—unless you have words to give her as well?”

Thancred frowned briefly; he hadn’t written any letters since returning from the outer reaches of the distant stars, distracted thoroughly by Zaya’s injuries, their lengthy bedrest, and gathering information on the remaining complications from their star’s brief encounter with the Final Days. She didn’t need to hear about the less-savory bits of their struggles, and what few things she might like to hear were better described by Zaya.

But at he could at least give her a promise. “Tell her we’ve finished our mission, and we’re safe. Not entirely hale, but getting better, and she’ll be getting a sorely belated letter or three soon,” he said. “I’ll see about getting a letter around for Gaia too—so long as Your Majesty is willing, that is.”

Feo Ul sighed, fluttering over to his side and around his head in another shower of sparkles. They felt warm when they fell on his shoulders and his head, and flickered away just as soon as they came. “Foolish moss. Of course—you are my sapling’s dearest, and so I travel back and forth to deliver your words in hopes I create a path where your love may easily travel.” They backed away with him slowly, clasping their hands together. “You must return soon. I won’t have you missing your flower’s next wonderful festival!”

With that, Feo Ul did a small backflip and disappeared back into the aether to travel back to the First, though not without one last gift. Thancred laughed beneath his breath when he turned back to see Zaya reaching up with a confused expression to touch the flower crown left on their head; he stood up now to reach over to them, plucking a stray coral petal out of their bangs.

“I’ll get a quill and some paper,” he said, looking about the room, “but first I have to ask: is moss some manner of insult for the Fae, or an endearment?”

#ffxiv #wolcred #thancred x wol #wolcred week #thancred waters #c: zaya qestir #s: bound by faith #feo ul #elie writes

[morocosmos]

Returning - Tataru

Intro chapter | Thancred | Urianger | Y’shtola | Alphinaud, Estinien

Warrior of Light & Tataru Taru

Takes place during Endwalker, just after the end of 6.0. This is a series of vignettes on each of the Scions’ relationships with my Warrior of Light, Moro’a as he’s recovering after the end of the Final Days.

CW for mentions of serious injury

The usual buzz that surrounded the Agora had died down by the time Tataru at last finished her project. Gently cleaning the leather cords with a soft cloth, she held the charm against the light for a final appraisal, allowing herself a small smile of satisfaction as the blood pearls sparkled amongst the darker green crystals like morning rays on seawater. There we go.

With a loud huff, the lalafell rose from the table she’d been hunched over, sparing a moment to stretch her sore arms and rest her sore eyes. It really, really shouldn’t have taken this long! She was supposed to have had the whole evening for this, only she’d been interrupted by a shipment of Hannish cloths arriving a day earlier than scheduled, then delayed further when Varsarudh discovered the delivery was a half-dozen mommes short on silks. By the time she was able to return to the table the sun had long set, and her hands had raced against the bells without pause, led on by anxious urgency.

“Tataru?” Varsarudh poked her head around a pile of boxes that formed the end of a makeshift wall, peering into the corner Tataru had made for herself. The au ra had stopped by more than once, careful not to interrupt her colleague but determined to check on her all the same. “It’s just past the tenth bell. Do you want anything from the Last Stand?”

“Is that the time?” Tataru shot up from her chair, nearly knocking over the lantern she’d brought to the table for her work. Sure enough, the chronometer’s hands pointed at seven minutes past ten. “Visiting hours end at eleven – I have to go there before it gets too late!” she exclaimed in dismay. “I was so caught up in finishing, I didn’t notice…” Tataru rummaged around the table, looking for the square of paper where she’d scribbled down directions to the Physis Technon. “I’ll try to come back before closing time, but in the event that I cannot, can I trouble you and Mehdjina to close the shop without me? I’m sorry for the hassle…”

“We will be fine. I know how much this means to you.” Varsarudh cast Tataru a reassuring smile as she held something towards her. It was a small box with an accompanying lid, already lined with soft velveteen. “Here, I thought to prepare this for the charm – so that there’s no risk of damaging it on your way there. I have taken care to disinfect the box as well.”

“Oh…” A surge of emotion rose in Tataru, and tears already threatened to spill from her eyes, but she held fast; it wouldn’t do anyone any good to cry now. “Thank you so, so much!” She accepted the box from Varsarudh, gently placing the charm inside and closing the lid. “I’ll make it up to the both of you!” she promised.

Tataru walked as fast as she could without breaking into a run, the box held tightly in both hands as she thanked the Twelve for the scarcely-occupied streets. She would not have slowed even if they were bustling with people; she’d endured far worse on the tightly-packed streets of Ul’dah and Revenant’s Toll.

When Tataru found the building, wedged between several others in a rather clustered corner of the city, her resolve wavered as she stood before the tall, twin doors, and her heart felt tight in her chest. What if they didn’t let in visitors this late? Would they even allow visitors? The Scions had been informed that Moro’a had been moved to one of the facility’s recovery wards – meaning his condition was no longer critical – but they’d stressed that there was a long way to go before he was fully healed. They had every right to refuse her.

Perhaps that was it: the fear of what she might see when she stepped into that recovery room, or that Moro’a was in such a bad way that she wouldn’t be able to. Tataru knew of the struggles of battle, of injuries and death, for the Scions had weathered all these and more during the course of their endeavours. But she’d always observed it from behind the table, or within the safety of the Waking Sands or the Rising Stones. The closeness of this was…overwhelming.

Don’t give up on Moro’a now, Tataru! she scolded herself, shaking her head. Not when he’s made it this far. Gathering herself, she pushed through the doors and made for the reception desk with a determined stride. She held on as she spoke to the staff and navigated their reluctance with all the tact and graceful persuasion her years in business had taught her. It would be a swift visit, yes; the box and the charm inside had been thoroughly cleaned and disinfected so as to pose no threat to the patients. When she and the charm were at last allowed through, she held fast still as a staff member led her through corridors and stairs, before at last arriving before Ward Beta, Room 1-1-3.

The moment she entered the room, however, she couldn’t help but gasp at the sight before her. So many machines! All huddled about the bed, as though in vigil for the man they surrounded. Beeping and whirring quietly, they were more than slightly eerie with their incomprehensible screens and their many blinking lights, not unlike the ones in Castrum Meridianum, and she was deeply glad for the bright lanterns that lit the room.

She couldn’t yet see Moro’a clearly from where she stood, which gave her some time to steel herself. 

As Tataru approached the bed, she felt her face involuntarily contort with worry and anguish as the full extent of Moro’a’s condition came into view. There wasn’t much to see, which was just as well – a thin blanket concealed most of his body, and most of his exposed arms and face had been carefully bandaged. Tataru swallowed hard as she stood before the miqo’te, watching his chest rise and fall with slow, weak breaths; that nearly-serene expression of unconsciousness on his face.

Seven turns of the sun had passed since the Scions brought the Final Days to a close. Oh, how she’d raced down towards Scholar’s Harbour with Krile, filled with such relief and excitement at their return! And how swiftly their elation had been replaced with terror as only Thancred had emerged from the Ragnarok, shouting for medical aid. Krile had immediately rushed into the ship, leaving Tataru to turn back and call for help.

Tears had begun to spill down her cheeks, and she chased them away with her elbow. “Oh, Moro’a,” she said softly. Gingerly, she placed her box onto the bedside table between them, opening the lid and gently lifting the corded charm from within.

“I know I’ve given you charms like this before,” she continued, through the warbling of her throat. “And that it’s far from a guaranteed power. It hasn’t always worked…and mayhaps it’s merely a flight of fancy. But even so, if only to show the conviction of my wishes!” She placed the charm next to Moro’a, tucking it slightly beneath his pillow. Against the off-white sheets, the blood pearls shimmered beautifully in the light. “So please,” she prayed. “Please, return to us as soon as you can.”

Tataru remained there for a while, unsure of what else she could say. At last she sighed, picking up the box and holding it close to her chest. “I should be going,” she said. “Take care, Moro’a. I hope you’ll be awake the next time we meet.”

#i will get through all of these #eventually!!! #kae scribbles #'it really shouldn't have taken this long!' #same tataru same #series: returning

[technofemininity]

Hi!

A technon belüli női tapasztalások budapesti gyűjteményét találjátok majd ezen a blogon. Tartsatok velünk és ismerjük meg együtt a techno nőiességet és ismerkedjünk meg a technoval, mint szubkultúrával!

#technomusic #techno girl

[tigirl-and-co]

okay so I'm on page 70. my current guess for how this all ends is that langely and saris team up, either on purpose or unintentionally, and destroy the technon or whatever it's called. this may or may not kill the both of them

#titi talks

[igazikutya]

Zajok a nappaliból – Traxelektor 2024. 01.

Mivel hagyománya van annak, hogy naptárilag záródik az év, és a Top 12 az ünnepek között, a Grand Traxelektorok Újév körül érkeznek, létezik 13. havi, sőt néha 14. havi Traxelektor is a tavalyi felvételekből. (gyúcsány ezt is elvenné) Ezek legjobbjai pedig hozzáadódnak a Grand hármashoz. Decemberben a megjelenések terén is rendre bezuhanás van, ergo ilyenkor keletkezik némi vákuum. Ezt pedig, afféle visszatekintéssel, visszakereséssel szoktam pótolni. Vagyis nem csak november/decemberi kiadványokról olvashattok majd. Ugyanis mindig vannak olyan lemezek, amik elbújnak, kevésbé tűnnek fel. Az egyik ismert zenei korbendallasing a szerzői kiadás. Na azzal olyan ködbe lehet burkolózni, hogy nincs az a spotify, ami oda elvilágít! Bandcamping!

2023

Emlékszem, feltűnt január elején, hogy milyen sok a halálhír? Persze tudjuk, telente a kaszás mindig duplán arat. Szomorú veszteség, John Juan Mendez, vagy ahogy jobban ismerjük Silent Servant hagyta maga mögött világunkat, egészen váratlanul. A hardcore az egészben, hogy hármasban, a feleségével Simone Linggel és a industrial-wave banda, The Soft Moon frontjával, Luis Vasquezzel együtt sikerült túltekerni a potit. Megint arat a fentanil. Juan Különleges előadó volt, az általa játszott technon érződött a kortárs kulturális hatás, posztpunk, industrial, ebm, new wave – ezek mind ott zizegtek szerzeményeiben. Nagyon sokakat inspirált, a Sandwell District kollektíva (Regis, Female, Function) tagja volt. Lucy-vel, Svreca-val, Broken English Club-bal, Marcel Dettmannal, Phase Fatale-lal, Santiago Salazarral közös munkái övezik szólólemezeit. Személyes kedvencem tőle a 2012-es Negative Fascination album. A legzavarbaejtőbb, hogy a berlini Tresornál tavaly év vége felé látott napvilágot In Memoriam című négy hibátlan felvételt tartalmazó EP-je, mely egyfajta visszatekintés, összegzés, újragondolása annak a 30 éves pályafutásnak, amit maga mögött tudhat. Szóval kezedbe a jegyzőtömb, aláhúzod, nyugodtan összeadod, leellenőrzöd, majd hirtelen elfolyik a tollból a tinta. Mintha a Coen-ek írták volna. Az IM tehát nem posztumusz, hanem prehumusz lemez.

Négy mondatban intézte el a tavalyi évet a Black Merlin. A Distance EP pazarul példázza a kevés beszédű ember szavának súlyát. („A távolságot, mint üveggolyót, megkapod...”) A Black Merlin ezúttal olyan tájon kanyarog, hogy a bal parton technoland dübörög, a jobbon trance-re ropják predatorszerkóban. George Thompsonnak mindegy a műfaj, a terep, ő önazonos, művei nagyívűek és pontosak.

A „Ki a kockább Sheffieldben” verseny erős mezőnyében, pusztán a névválasztással az élmezőnybe lőtte magát a Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan. A prestoni születésű, Rumfordban és Warringtonban felnőtt Gordon Chapman-Fox tulajdonképpen azt hozza létre, amiért a magamfajta blackdogos imádkozik. A lemezei között nincs sok különbség, és még a borítók is szigorúan arculatot követnek. Ellenben mindegyikük egész, önnön rendszerében tökéletes, már amennyire egy kocka kocka, ha oldalainak száma 5,7 és 6,3 között ingadozik. A szürke és pasztelszínű Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan tereiben jó lenni, ez az ambient legfőbb lakmusza. Persze a WRNTDP-nél az ambient csak alap. A The Nation's Most Central Location album erre az ambientre épült minimaltechno, brainmusic és trance modifikátorokkal, melyek néha olyan kisebb csodákat tesznek, mint a London's Moving Our Way. A kilencvenes évek mixmaster morris-alex pattersoni space-ambient trance-ét sikerült hibátlanul újra kikeverni, Londont meg az interstallerbe kilőni. Ha pedig az igazi ambient-live élményre vágysz, egy másik tavalyi WRNTDP albumról, a Moonbuilding Exclusive Live Set-et tessék meghallgatni, na nem a Spotify-on, hanem itt!

A népnyelvben csak szaxofonos technoként emlegetett belgrádi Tapan egy szerzői kiadású kétszámos EP-vel abszolválta 2023-at. Az Inner Voice EP tízperces címadó felvételében Ognen Zlatanov hangjával megy a ködgép, siklik a balkáni utazós, hideg párában málik a malka tuti. Mindkét felvételt – az online-köd dacára – megtaláljátok a Traxelektorban.

Érdekes látni, ahogy a mindenféle kreatívokkal kokettáló Sam Shackleton (Pinch, Ernesto Tomasini, Wacław Zimpel, Flesh and the Dream) zenei alaptaktikája miképp módosul a partnerek hatására. A japán Shigeru Ishiharával, azaz esetünkben Scotch Rolex-szel már idén készült egy remek album (Death by Tickling). A duó Kalule Omutaba ugandai multiinstrumentalistával lépett szintet az őrület felé. Eddig se unatkozott, aki lekövette Shackletonék ütemeit, na itt most megérkeztünk Kampalába (kalimpálalába), annyira, hogy a négy felvételből álló The Three Hands of Doom az ugandai kedvencnél, a Nyege Nyege Tapesnél jelent meg. A Nyege Nyege Omutaba kvázi otthona, Omutabának, hiszen korábbi csapataival is – HHY & The Kampala Unit - Lithium Blast (2020), HHY & The Macumbas - Camouflage Vector Edits From Live Actions 2017-2019 (2020), Metal Preyers – Metal Preyers (2020) – itt kapott nyilvánosságot. Nagyon szeretni való ez a kis műhely, hiszen idén a felsoroltak mellett nekik köszönhettük DJ Smiley Bobby, Jako Maron, Judgitzu (Julien Hairon) és a Nihiloxica (Bugandan techno outfit hailing) ösztönfúzióit, különlegességeit is. Sajnos a spotify nem jutott el ugandáig, így onlineban marad a bandcamp.

Egyik kedvenc futó sorozatom, a több kiadónál – Crevette, Rocket, Emotional Response, ICI, Kalahari Oyster Cult– megjelenő Elsewhere új darabja, VA - Elsewhere Junior II címet viselő a Strangelove Music kiadványa. Nagyon szórakoztatóan, összevissza római számozott Elsewhere sorozat, de a kettesnek volt előzménye, az Elsewhere Junior I: A Collection Of Cosmic Children's Songs, még 2019-ben. A kozmikus gyerekdal koncepció maradt, bár néha inkább a begombázva bulizunk a teletabikkal a campona játszóházban, ami most össze van nyitva a a kétezertizenkettes Csodák Palotájával, mert délelőtt félrement egy kísérlet új helyükön, a XI.-ben. Ezt a helyi tévé kamerája rögzítette, őket már elvitte a TEK. És most hallgassátok meg Puma és Delfin dalát, melynek címe: Hogyan küldjünk e-mailt?

Megjelenések (2023.13)

Black Merlin - Distance [2023, Crystal Ceremony][EP] Celldöd - Pandoras Ask [2023, Electronic Emergencies][EP] Shed - The 030-Files [2023, Hard Wax][LP] Silent Servant - In Memoriam [2023, Tresor][EP] TAPAN - Inner Voice / High Road [2023, Self-Released][EP] VA - Elsewhere Junior II - More Cosmic Kids Songs - compiled by soFa [2023, Strangelove Music][LP-Comp] Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan - The Nation's Most Central Location [2023, Castles in Space][LP]

2024

A düsseldorfi Kreidler minden nagyobb kiadványa fókuszban van, a germán elektronikus népzene, a krautrock szellemi magja, szívcsakrája, a hamburgi Bureau B az otthonuk 14 éve. Startjuk 1999-be datálódik Mort Aux Vaches albummal, utolsó albumuk, a 2022-es Spells And Daubs az év Top 30 albuma között volt. A most megjelent Twists (A Visitor Arrives) LP kilenc felvétele elsőre hagyott némi hiányérzetet, de talán csak idő kellett neki, mert a Traxelektorba kiválogatott Arithmétique, Diver, Mount Mason hármas rendre okoz azóta is meglepetéseket az újra hallgatás során.

Egy újabb zseniális Philipp Otterbach remix, gondoltam magamban, most kéne ide írnom a legolasabbat – ...hacsak szemem nem csalja bűvölet – meg az a szódászemüveges mém a kiscsávóval: Philipp Odd Dub Bach Remix. Match! A cím: Tears Only Fall From The Right Eye – ezt kapásból tudnám cáfolni, de … nem is Philippről kéne írnom, hanem a kislemezt elkövető Behrang Mohammadiról. Ő a dél-svéd (ennek a szónak semmi értelme, medi-skandináv) malmöi technoszintér egyik fontos alakja, a Spazio Recordings társalapítója. Kétszámos single, eredeti + remix – mindkettőt megtalálhatjátok a TRX-ban.

Tavaly nyáron már ki-nottingham-eztem magam eme platformon, úgyhogy nem megyünk be a Forestbe, csak shortcut-okban haladva: az 1982 óta létező post-industrial/ambient banda az O Yuki Conjugate gyakran felbukkant a „nappaliban” az elmúlt években, tavaly a Tension of Opposites Vol. 3-4 szereplt a hónap lemezei között. Az OYC egyik side-projektjében négyen (Daniel Mudford, Joe Lamb, Malcome McGeorge, Roger Horberry) játszanak, a nevük: Open Yellow Circle (a nagybetűkön spóroltak). Januárban, a glasgowi Optimo Music-nél jelent meg első albumuk, New Meridian címmel. Egy pöttyet mintha izgalmasabb lenne, mint az O Yuki, gondoltam elsőre, aztán gyülekeztek a pöttyök. Valami nagyon izgalmas ambientet hallhatunk, oldva törzsi, repetitív, főleg ütős elemekkel – ez kérem az egykori Tomaga (Tom Relleen [†2020], Valentina Magaletti) megoldóképlete, shackletoni suttogásokkal sújtva.

Nagyon szép a borító, méltó a hanganyaghoz. Hibátlan lemez, felszabadult, szinte élőnek hat, pedig stúdiófelvétel. Még az O Yuki-ra gyakran használt atmospheric, dirty ambient és wilfully obscure címkék is jobban ülnek a New Meridian-re. Az albumot záró, majdnem tízperces The Chasmic az utóbbi idők egyik legizgalmasabb lasttrack-je. Sajnálatos, hogy a Spotify-osok egyelőre ezt még nem élvezhetik.

Megjelenések (2024.01)

Kreidler - Twists (A Visitor Arrives)[2024, Bureau B][LP] Open Yellow Circle - New Meridian [2024, Optimo Music][LP] Scotch Rolex, Shackleton & Omutaba - The Three Hands of Doom [2024, Nyege Nyege Tapes][LP]

Traxelektor

Traxelektor 2024 01 (+202313) Spotify Playlist - link

(49/65, 4:19/5:59, 75%)

OffSpot Data

Open Yellow Circle - New Meridian [2024, Optimo Music][LP]

Scotch Rolex, Shackleton & Omutaba - The Three Hands of Doom [2024, Nyege Nyege Tapes][LP]

Traxelektor 2023 13 Playlist

Alice George Perez & soFa - Little Dogs [VA - Elsewhere Junior II - More Cosmic Kids Songs - compiled by soFa, Strangelove Music] Black Merlin - Aft_Xt [Distance, Crystal Ceremony] Black Merlin - Distance [Distance, Crystal Ceremony] Black Merlin - Morphik Uniform [Distance, Crystal Ceremony] Celldöd - Ge Upp [Pandoras Ask, Electronic Emergencies] Celldöd - Nytt Namn [Pandoras Ask, Electronic Emergencies] Celldöd - PI Alla Satt [Pandoras Ask, Electronic Emergencies]

Civilistjävel! - Fem [Verktyg, YYAA] Damaged Clock - Beautiful Nights [The Key of the Future, SOIL] Damaged Clock - Desorden [The Key of the Future, SOIL] Damaged Clock - Fiesta Pesada [The Key of the Future, SOIL] Damaged Clock - Sticky Guy [The Key of the Future, SOIL]

Empress of Nature & t-woc - Rapper's Delight [VA - Elsewhere Junior II - More Cosmic Kids Songs - compiled by soFa, Strangelove Music] Feph - One Way Out [VA - Vivendum 2, Fur:ther Sessions] JK Flesh - PI11.1 [PI 11, Pi Electronics] Jodey Kendrick - Drive Knight [EDM X, Electric Dance Music] Jodey Kendrick - The Celt [EDM X, Electric Dance Music]

Jumbrel - Sintidesbald [VA - Elsewhere Junior II - More Cosmic Kids Songs - compiled by soFa, Strangelove Music] Michal Wolski - Grounded [VA - Vivendum 2, Fur:ther Sessions]

Mytron - Fajny Dzień [VA - Elsewhere Junior II - More Cosmic Kids Songs - compiled by soFa, Strangelove Music] Palermo - Panamera [HARD18, Hardline] Panoram - Bucolica [Keep Looking Where The Light Comes From, Running Back Incantations] Panoram - Valovola [Keep Looking Where The Light Comes From, Running Back Incantations] Philipp Otterbach - Talkoot [The Dahlem Diaries, Music From Memory]

Puma & The Dolphin - How To Send Email [VA - Elsewhere Junior II - More Cosmic Kids Songs - compiled by soFa, Strangelove Music] Segue - Community Dub [Harbour Cove Dubs, Huinali] Sexo y Fantasia - Gioca All'Amore [VA - Elsewhere Junior II - More Cosmic Kids Songs - compiled by soFa, Strangelove Music] Shed - Rocket [The 030-Files, Hard Wax] Shed - Shot Rhythm [The 030-Files, Hard Wax] Shed - Yser [The 030-Files, Hard Wax] Shed - Zone [The 030-Files, Hard Wax]

Silent Servant - M-00 [In Memoriam, Tresor] Silent Servant - M-87 [In Memoriam, Tresor] Silent Servant - M-90 [In Memoriam, Tresor] Silent Servant - M-99 [In Memoriam, Tresor] Tapan - High Road [Inner Voice / High Road, Self-Released] Tapan feat. Ognen Zlatanov - Inner Voice [Inner Voice / High Road, Self-Released] Unbroken Dub - Acid On High [Highway Sleepers EP, Rawax] Unbroken Dub - Spectral Wind [Highway Sleepers EP, Rawax] VHS Head - Phasia [Phasia, Skam]

Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan - A Brighter and More Prosperous Future [The Nation's Most Central Location, Castles in Space] Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan - Daresbury Laboratory [The Nation's Most Central Location, Castles in Space] Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan - Just off the M56 (J12) [The Nation's Most Central Location, Castles in Space] Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan - London's Moving Our Way [The Nation's Most Central Location, Castles in Space] Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan - Moonbuilding Exclusive Live Set [Moonbuilding Volume Three, Castles in Space] Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan - Rocksavage [The Nation's Most Central Location, Castles in Space]

Traxelektor 2024 01 Playlist

Behrang Mohammadi - Tears Only Fall from the Right Eye[WUB003, WARNING] Behrang Mohammadi - Tears Only Fall from the Right Eye (Philipp Odd Dub Bach Remix)[WUB003, WARNING] Burial - Dreamfear[Dreamfear / Boy Sent From Above, XL] Cloud Management - Tempentary Dance[Tempentary Dance, dispari] Donato Dozzy - Velluto[Magda, Spazio Disponibile]

Forest On Stasys - Altus[VA - Vivendum III, Fur:ther Session] Kreidler - Arithmétique[Twists (A Visitor Arrives), Bureau B] Kreidler - Diver [Twists (A Visitor Arrives), Bureau B] Kreidler - Mount Mason [Twists (A Visitor Arrives), Bureau B] Open Yellow Circle - Cold Stars[New Meridian, Optimo Music] Open Yellow Circle - Dark Blue Trees[New Meridian, Optimo Music] Open Yellow Circle - Hiraeth[New Meridian, Optimo Music] Open Yellow Circle - Spiral Jetty[New Meridian, Optimo Music] Open Yellow Circle - The Chasmic[New Meridian, Optimo Music] Polygonia - Flumen[VA - Vivendum III, Fur:ther Session]

Scotch Rolex, Shackleton & Omutaba - Burnt Earth[The Three Hands of Doom, Nyege Nyege Tapes] Scotch Rolex, Shackleton & Omutaba - Insect Vibration [The Three Hands of Doom, Nyege Nyege Tapes] Scotch Rolex, Shackleton & Omutaba - Ring Dirt [The Three Hands of Doom, Nyege Nyege Tapes] The Smile - Wall of Eyes[Wall Of Eyes, XL]

#zene #zeneajánló #zenekritika #underground #electronic #music #traxelektor #intelligent dance music #spotify #playlist #Youtube

[news-24gr]

Ξυλοναυπηγική: Εκπαιδευτική δομή στο Μουσείο Ναυπηγικών & Ναυτικών Τεχνών στη Σάμο https://news-24.gr/xylonafpigiki-ekpaideftiki-domi-sto-mouseio-nafpigikon-naftikon-technon-sti-samo/

[greekroyalfamily]

Happy birthday to ANNA MARIA MORALES DE GRECIA daughter to HRH Princess Alexia of Greece and Denmark for her 20th birthday

Anna-Maria was born on May 15, 2003 at the Centro Medico Technon Hospital in Barcelona. He is the second child of Princess Alexia and Mr. Carlos Morales Quintana.

The Baptism of Anna-Maria took place on July 19 in the Holy Monastery of Pantanassa Kranidi. The sacrament was performed in a very close circle of family and friends. It was the largest gathering of the Royal Family in Greece in 30 years, as Queen Sofia and Princess Irene also attended the event.

Anna-Maria's sponsors were, Prince Paul, brother of Princess Alexia, Mr. Don Alejandro Morales Quintana, brother of Mr. Morales Quintana, Mrs. Dona Beatrice Van Hauen, a Danish friend of Princess Alexia, Mrs. Lucie Jonas, an English friend of Princess Alexia, who unfortunately could not attend, Mr. Don Jaime Manchato Toledo, friend of Mr. Morales Quintana, Mr. Marcos Nomikos, friend of Princess Alexia, Mr. Don Lluis Ribas Estalella, Spanish friend of Mr. Morales Quintana

Χρόνια Πολλά στα 20α γενέθλια την ΑΝΝΑ ΜΑΡΙΑ ΜΟΡΑΛΕΣ ΝΤΕ ΓΚΡΕΤΣΙΑ κόρη της ΑΒΥ Πριγκίπισσας Αλεξίας της Ελλάδας και Δανίας

Η Άννα-Μαρία γεννήθηκε στις 15 Μαΐου 2003 στο Νοσοκομείο Centro Medico Technon της Βαρκελώνης. Είναι το δεύτερο τέκνο της Πριγκίπισσας Αλεξίας και του κυρίου Carlos Morales Quintana.

Η Βάπτιση της Άννας-Μαρίας πραγματοποιήθηκε στις 19 Ιουλίου στην Ιερά Μονή Παντάνασσας Κρανιδίου. Το μυστήριο τελέστηκε σε πολύ στενό οικογενειακό και φιλικό κύκλο. Ήταν η μεγαλύτερη συγκέντρωση της Βασιλικής οικογενείας στην Ελλάδα τα τελευταία 30 χρόνια, καθώς η Βασίλισσα Σοφία και η Πριγκίπισσα Ειρήνη επίσης παρευρέθησαν στο γεγονός.

Ανάδοχοι της Άννας-Μαρίας ήταν, ο Πρίγκιπας Παύλος, αδελφός της Πριγκίπισσας Αλεξίας,ο κος Don Alejandro Morales Quintana, αδελφός του κ. Μοράλες Κουιντάνα, η κα Dona Beatrice Van Hauen, Δανέζα φίλη της Πριγκίπισσας Αλεξίας, η κα Lucie Jonas, Αγγλίδα φίλη της Πριγκίπισσας Αλεξίας, η οποία δυστυχώς δεν μπόρεσε να παρευρεθεί, ο κος Don Jaime Manchato Toledo, φίλος του κ. Μοράλες Κουιντάνα, ο κος Μάρκος Νομικός, φίλος της Πριγκίπισσας Αλεξίας, ο κος Don Lluis Ribas Estalella, Ισπανός φίλος του κ. Μοράλες Κουιντάν

#kingconstantine #danishroyalfamily #crownprincepavlos #queenannemarie #greek royal family #house of romanov #greekroyals #crownprincessmariechantal #danishroyals #princeconstantinealexios

[sealrock]

Strained! ( from @tsunael )

ask meme (closed)

cw: implied domestic violence, discussions of mental illness, brief mention of self-harm, misgendering, brief mention of trans pregnancy

(ty for the ask @tsunael!)

Paris stood there in the hallway, obscured by shadow, watching their dad stare out the open window of his room. The lace curtains swayed gently as a cool autumn breeze blew into the room, carrying the subtle scent of sea salt from the rocky cliffs of Old Sharlayan. The actual sun hid behind rolling clouds, peeking through occasionally to brighten up the space Hector resided in. Hector sat slightly slumped in his wheelchair, his back facing the door. Paris' hands couldn't stop shaking, their feet glued to the marble floor. No amount of psyching themselves up could make them step through the threshold. What would his reaction be like today? Would he allow Paris to sit next to him, or would he lash out and scream for help? Paris knows he doesn't mean it, but they could sense the long-forgotten feelings of bitterness resurface.

From the moment he regained consciousness, Hector had no idea what happened to him. It took him weeks to recover his speech, but before that, all Hector could do was scream or cry and weakly thrash about in his cot. When Hector could walk, he tried to run away. He didn't get very far as his legs couldn't support his weight. As a preventative measure, the Sages had to strap him down to the cot. "It was for his own good," they had said, not wanting to risk serious injury.

So, instead of being stuck down below in Labyrinthos during his recovery, Andromache requested to move him above ground to live with her. Once the initial shock wore off, the novice Sages at the Physis Technon were itching to get a chance to study him, and Paris' mother refused to let Hector become a lab rat—not that he recognized her at first. Being the mother of the esteemed Warrior of Light—with Andromache herself a former warrior of Hydaelyn—gives Andromache a steep advantage in handling negotiations. The Forum, and most notably the whoresons that comprised the Bibliothec, couldn't refuse the saviors of the Star a safe haven, no matter how much they wanted to say otherwise. With their medical technology saving Hector's life, they gave Andromache a house of her own, a small villa tucked away from the city. But this house was not a home.

This house, one made of fine stone and marble with its sterile walls and crafted beams, was not something Paris felt comfortable staying in. It wasn't the homely cottage they were born in; it didn't have a leaky roof to catch rainwater nor creaky floorboards to indicate a sneaky child playing with shadows during bedtime. This house was not Hector's house—it was a stranger's house to him. Paris was also a stranger to him. Even now, three moons after his awakening, he couldn't recognize them. The three little words still rattle around in Paris' head, haunting their every waking moment:

Where is Paris?

Hector looked right at Paris that day. To him, Paris was just another face without a name. The Paris he knew was a curious, excitable, and clingy child who would fumble around the house because of their growth spurts. That happy child was gone, and a jaded adult was in their place. Paris couldn't answer him. They couldn't answer that question whenever they went to visit him. And every time, Hector grew aggravated. It was an endless loop, a tortuous repeat for Hector's fragile state of mind to suffer through. If Paris had the means, they would bring back Halmarut and personally beat them so bloody you wouldn't be able to recognize the body. 

Hector's soft sigh interrupted Paris' violent ruminations, causing them to look up to see him tucking thick strands of hair behind his ear. From what Paris could see, his hair needed trimming again. Poor Patroclus' attempts at giving Hector a new haircut, something he offered to do out of the goodwill of his heart, ended in tears from both parties. From what he described, Hector spiraled after seeing his reflection in a mirror, spotting an aged and jagged scar on his forehead. Paris knew how it got there, what used to be there, and to think about it still evokes fear in them.

Paris hasn't slept in their room since Andromache obtained this dwelling, not right now, regardless of their mom's pleas to reconsider. Hector doesn't outright hate Paris and throw things as he does with Andromache or hits her as he fights to get away from her, someone he remembers in bits and pieces. But the fact that Hector doesn't realize that Paris has been there the whole time makes the proverbial knife dig deeper into Paris' chest.

Letting out a quiet exhale, Paris knocked on the open door, watching their dad jump in his seat. He whipped his head over to the entrance, his unruly black fringe dimming the sparkle of hope in his eyes. His hands held onto the arms of the wheelchair, still spindly and pallid. The bland clothing, too loose-fitting for his thin size, seemed to swallow him up. It made him appear frail.

"Paris?"

His voice cracked halfway, his scratchy vocal chords straining to say their name. He must've been screaming about something earlier in the day for his voice to sound so hoarse. Paris almost didn't want to enter. To hear his timid voice call their name with such anticipation makes them want to turn around and walk away. The relationship they once had with their dad may never be the same now. However, if Paris were to be honest with themselves, their relationship began to crumble when Hector's delusions became more than delusions. The scar on their nose is proof of that. Hector started losing sight of Paris early on, and Paris could do nothing. They were just a child.

Paris stepped into the room, shoulders hunched with their hands stuffed inside their pants pockets to keep them from fidgeting. Hector's stubbled face fell, something Paris expects nowadays, and he turned back towards the open window. The sound of seagulls filled the room for a few minutes.

"Where is she?"

I'm right here.

The words died on their tongue. Paris moved to sit in a chair near the window, not missing how Hector cut them a dirty look for invading his space. Paris noted how gaunt his face looked, his undereye bags in direct competition with theirs.

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"Why should you care?"

Paris dropped their gaze to their boots. Hector's glare made them uncomfortable. They heard Hector take a shaky breath before asking again:

"Where's Paris?"

Right in front of you.

Paris knows that he won't listen to them now. Forcing him to remember only caused Hector to lash out more against Paris. Paris is a stranger to him, and their mom is an enemy. The ties that bind them together become more strained with each passing day.

"... She's fine."

I'm not fine.

Paris almost didn't want to say it. They blinked back tears to look at the opposite side of the room to recenter themselves—the desk lamp casting shadows against the paintings adorning the white wall, Hector's simple yet comfortable bed, and the finely woven pattern of the area rug. They glanced to their right to see Hector's puzzled expression.

"How do you know, and why can't I see her?"

Hector's voice rose as he wrapped his arms around his middle, a habit he picked up whenever he was nervous. Paris pushed out the memories of how Hector would hold them in his lap, how the ghostly sensation of his nose tickling their scalp hit them with a heavy sense of nostalgia. Even when Paris got too big to be held, Hector allowed them to cling to him during fleeting moments of clarity. Maybe it was the opposite. Or perhaps he wouldn't let Paris go out of fear of forgetting.

"You'll see her when you get better."

Somehow, that put Hector at ease. His eyes softened at the prospect, his knitted brows relaxing. His head drooped, allowing his hair to fall like a curtain over his face.

"Please... I need to know if she's well. Is she alright?"

No.

"Yeah... She's doing fine. She misses you a lot."

Hector squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath. "My little sprout, she must be so lonely."

More than you would ever know.

"She has friends. They play with her," Paris ignored the nickname and how their heart panged painfully in their chest, "and her mom is with her. She's safe and happy."

"Andi..." For a split second, Hector's jaw tightened as he hissed out her name, "She took Paris away from me. Andromache tore Paris away as if she tore her from my womb."

Paris couldn't watch how Hector's eyes welled over. The overwhelming sense of loss Hector carried made the air feel heavy, but Paris couldn't fill that void for him. Hector blamed Andromache for saving Paris; if she hadn't shown up when she did, who knows what would've happened next. Hector must have blocked out the worst bits to forget. He blocked out the context behind everything.

Paris could see it clearly: the blooded knife lay discarded on the wooden floor, how Hector's arms squeezed Paris' small form close to his chest. With his last ounce of sanity, he sobbed out apologies and begged for their forgiveness as he desperately tried to wipe away the blood and tears from their face, but it only made Paris' wound bleed more. Paris couldn't wiggle themselves out of his crushing grasp—they had never felt more afraid of him before that moment.

Hector has the luxury of forgetting that painful memory. Paris could never forget. Looking in the mirror reminds them of that day. There was once a time when Paris hated their dad just as much as they did their mother, Paris had despised him for reasons they couldn't understand. They sat by helpless as Hector fell deeper into that dark pit of despair and lunacy, and they resented how he alienated Paris from what was a happy home. But even after everything the two of them have been through, Paris couldn't readily forgive him. Paris had got their wish, but they could not have imagined things to turn out like this. Maybe Patroclus' childish idealism rubbed off on them when they heard the news of Hector's awakening, only to be met with stone-cold reality.

Hector looks right through Paris like one would do a spirit. And Paris hates him for it. Paris sees that Hector is relying on old coping mechanisms even now, going back to happier times to shield himself from hard truths. He can't confront the truth about how he harmed someone who loved him more than anything.

When it seemed like Hector retreated to the recesses of his mind, Paris took this as a chance to leave. Staying any longer wouldn't do either of them much good. But Paris couldn't leave without reaching over to plant a small kiss on top of Hector's head.

"I love you, dad."

Turning on their heel, Paris sped towards the door without looking back. Paris had the vain hope of hearing those three worn words uttered back at them, but they never came. Paris closed the door with a soft 'click' of the latch and headed down the stairs and out the door. The rush of fresh air caught them by surprise.

They needed a cigarette. And maybe a drink or two.

#inbox #cylleona #writings. #does this fit the prompt? idk #this came to me in a dream #this takes place a while after my last drabble with hector & paris #so it's not really a 'past' event but anyway #*thinks about that one meta post i made months ago about the wormwood family woes* #*head in hands* #sorry this took so long :plead: hope you like it :)

[syntymatitahna]

vitun häröö ruveta vääntää ruottii ku cafe technon työntekijät puhuu ruottii (ja yks vissii enkkuu)

siis ei siin mitää ihan mielelläni väännän ruottii ja hyvä et välil joutuu mut se on jännä miten

siis tää kassa puhu mulle ruottii ja olin ihan et mitähäh ja se joutu toistaa itteesä ku meni hetki et aivot siirty ruottimodeen

ja sit oon sillee et miten vitus sanon asioita på svenska olin sillee "har ni något... bröd".

de va "semlor". si olin sillee ku ne kysy minkä sortin leipää haluun et nåt som har inte... kött?

så då va det ost eller lax å ja va liksom lax! lax e god

mut joo kauheen vaikeeta ja tuntuu et raiskaan ruottin iha 6/0 mut noh kuha kommunikaatio toimii

[digitaltanvi05]

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[yuri-cocaine]

ffxivwrite 2023: extra credit day

Krile got everyone their own teacups for afternoon tea. Krile’s teacup was a simple yellow cup with white polka dots. The twins had matching carbuncle cups, with a blue one for Alphinaud and a red one for Alisaie. Thancred’s teacup was a plain white scalloped cup, and Urianger got a black and gold porcelain cup with patterns of stars on the saucer. Y’shtola’s teacup was a delicate gray thing, carved with patterns of whorling ivy, with a curling handle painted in deepest emerald. G’raha’s cup looked like a fat cat. Estinien, who refused to join in on afternoon tea, only had a water glass. 

Minfilia’s teacup, a pink bone china cup painted with roses, was tucked away safely in a cupboard at the Annex. It sat next to Papalymo’s garish pineapple mug–a gift from Lyse. 

“We ought to get Yuma a new teacup,” said Tataru. She poured herself some blood currant black tea. “And I believe I shall buy one for myself as well. Rowena’s homeware is a tad gauche, don’t you think Krile?”

“Huh? Oh, well, I think it’s fine,” said Krile through a mouthful of shortbread crumbs. 

Yuma’s teacup was bought from Rowena at a clearance sale. It was a featureless white cup with an equally plain saucer, and next to Tataru’s painted flower cup, it was definitely a boring sight. The Warrior of Light deserved something better for teatime. Something with a little more oomph. 

Krile had a catalog of handcrafts from local artisans, because Tataru had been stressing about the importance of supporting small businesses lately. It was also a happy coincidence that Tataru’s boutique just happened to be featured on the catalog’s first page. She made her way to Physis Technon, where Yuma was currently hospitalized after the Ragnarok returned from their trip to the stars, bringing with her the catalog and a pen. 

The Loporrits did a remarkable job healing Yuma aboard the starship, but the sages of Physis Technon were adamant in having her stay for at least a week to monitor her in case any wounds reopened. Alphinaud had been going in and out of there as well ever since Alisaie teased him about potentially having alien brain parasites. 

Krile knocked on the hospital room door. “It’s me, Krile! Are you awake, Yuma?”

No response. Krile gently pushed the door open and peeked inside. Yuma was asleep on the cot, snoring softly. The curtains on the window were drawn back, letting sunlight stream in. Sparkling on the nightstand was Azem’s brilliant orange crystal, and beside the crystal were a few get well soon cards and a box of carrot-flavored chocolates from Livingway. 

“Well, I’ll just drop this off here then,” said Krile. She placed the catalog on the nightstand along with a note: Be sure to circle which teacup you want! 

Krile quietly tip-toed out and shut the door behind her. She’ll let Yuma snooze for a few more hours. 

#ffxivwrite2023 #krile #tataru #yuma but shes zzzzzzzz