#thinking about the counting crows rhyme

[argo-bolo]

Thinking about how funny it is being born on a Tuesday and having Grace being in your name.

Like, referring to the whole rhyme that Wednesday Addam's name might be based on:

Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works hard for his living, And the child that is born on the Sabbath day Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

It's just so silly that it was a total coincidence that this happened. Every couple of months I remember this rhyme and have a giggle.

#argo-bolo originals #grace is the only part of my legal name i will share openly online #i only ever think about two rhymes / poems and the other one is the counting magpies / crows one #i'm not very graceful due to medical stuff but i am very quiet and jumpscare people on accident

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

It’s gone midnight and I’m thinking about Six of Crows so y’all know what that means: it’s time for a long rambling thought process that will hopefully have some interesting insights into the books in it.

I want to talk about the animal, mostly bird, symbolism of these books because although it’s obviously something we’re very aware of I also think it’s something that runs a lot deeper than we necessarily always realise/talk about. Even when people aren’t being directly involved in bird metaphors (crows, pigeons, peacocks) they are often described as “squawking”, “flapping”, or with other phrases that further this semantic field.

Now the crows is obviously the main source of the symbolism, and it’s openly talked about in the book with the speech on how the recognise human faces and how they support each other. I’ve also seen a few people online talking about the Crows in conjunction with a poem/nursery rhyme about crows (it’s one of those that has many different versions spun of it, some know it was counting magpies rather than crows) wherein 6 crows symbolises gold, of course greatly linked to the plot of the novels as well as their anti-extreme capitalism message. It’s also key to mention that crows are massively underestimated birds in the general public view; they’re far ‘smarter’ animals than we would typically expect. Crows have a very high brain to body mass ratio, I believe the highest of any birds but don’t quote me on that, and although we understand very little about the brain the size ratio is currently considered a very good indicator for the general intelligence level of the animal. Crows can make tools, hide their food, mate for life, and - VERY interestingly for this book analysis - have even been suspected to hold funerals. Now I want to be clear I’m working on a mix of random knowledge and the first helpful looking website that came up when I googled ‘fun facts about crows’ so I am by no means an expert here, but to my understanding the practice that was initially considered to be a ‘crow funeral’ is actually a process wherein crows will gather around a dead crow to look for potential danger. So I feel like the links I’m establishing here are relatively obvious, the point is that, like the birds themselves, the Crows are undervalued, underestimated, and unexpectedly successful. But the symbol of the crow in these books arguably goes even further.

The crow-headed handle of Kaz’s cane represents everything about the crow I’ve already mentioned on top of his own symbolic layering to the cane as a sign that no part of him has not been broken, and no part him is not better for having been broken. So in Chapter 27 of Crooked Kingdom, when Kaz returns to the Slat and fights the Dregs before leading a coup against Per Haskell, the cane with the fake crow’s head that Haskell has contrived to mock him effectively represents the failing of everything the Dregs represent. They’re last, the remnants, the people with nowhere else to go: they are the people who have been broken and have made something new for themselves. Except Haskell. So the sheer ridiculousness of him mocking Kaz’s cane, something he clearly thought would win him favour and success, in the end becomes one of the biggest aspects of his downfall. Inej describes the moment when the Dregs begin to support Kaz, the way the look at Per Haskell with discomfort - “the feathers in his hat, the canes in his hands” (and then she goes on to highlight how they’ve seen Kaz use his cane in fights, “wielded with such precision”, whereas Haskell is washed-up, pathetic, never could have taken the fight Kaz did and walked out the other side). Of course they realise, then, how completely and utterly wrong all of this was. Because when they’re confronted with both of those canes they realise something. They know what Kaz’s cane represents; it’s power and strength in spite of a world that has that has scorned him, it’s taking something that was broken and not fixing it but emphasising it and making it into a threat, into a symbol, into a strength. They know that, even though they don’t know what happens in Kaz’s head, because they see themselves in that. The Dregs; the literal bottom of the Barrel, who have been broken and who have clawed their way to survival. They cannot see themselves in Haskell’s mockery cane. Haskell is not a man who reflects what the Dregs are at their core, but Kaz is. The emphasis on the feathers is also really interesting, because I think it’s implying a sort of gaudy, colourful feathering that (despite fitting in with the style of the Barrel) does not represent the symbol of the crow; it is not something shadowed, something half hidden that could have an unexpected bite. It’s almost more akin to Heleen’s gaudy peacock feathers than it is to anything the Dregs understand, or represent through being Crows.

The pigeons I don’t really see anyone talking about, but I think it’s pretty interesting. The idea of ‘the pigeon’ is the same as ‘the mark’; they’re the victim, the fool who’s easy to swindle. I think the imagery of the fools being pigeons, ie being everywhere and massively populating big cities, is really clever to show a divide between the few, the Crows, and the many, the pigeons. However, it’s not only the Crows who remark on others being ‘pigeons’, but other gangs as well. When Kaz confronts Pekka about the scam he ran on him and Jordie, he says “you were just two pigeons, and I happened to be the one who plucked you”. I’m not gonna lie to you guys I’m losing my point slightly, but I just googled ‘crows and pigeons’ and the first thing that came up was about how crows sometimes eat pigeons so I reckon that’s pretty relevant.

Ok I’m really tired and I feel like I’m clutching at straws here, so I dunno I guess if this does well then I’ll cover peacocks, lions, and the general semantic field of birds in another post. I hope at least some of this made sense, thanks for reading it if you bothered to get this far

#grishaverse #leigh bardugo #six of crows #crooked kingdom #inej ghafa #nina zenik #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #matthias helvar #wylan van eck #kanej #wesper #helnik #crows #soc #fantasy analysis #fantasy books #book analysis

[tokillamockingbird427]

Had the idea to make the Ghosts hella superstitious (Knock on wood, broken mirrors freak them out, etc.) and was then stuck by the mental image of Keegan with a flock of crows, but he's not happy or emo about it he's just mildly distressed.

Context is the counting crows/corvids rhyme thing. "One for sorrow, two for mirth," that one. And there's like a response in case you come across a bad count, where you either greet the bird or feed it to like.... appease it so it won't curse you. But you know, crows are smart enough to recognize people, especially those that give them food.

Hence Keegan having a flock of crows. He didn't mean to make friends, he was just trying to appease the damn things, and now they follow him around. So he has to keep counting... and keep feeding them... and they like him more. Positive feedback loop.

Worst part is this will repeat at each new post but Keegan is high key convinced that it's the same flock of crows somehow following him each time and well... would be difficult to prove him wrong, even if logically it's not likely he's right.

Can make this even funnier if you consider that the Ghosts are already the ominous special forces (ooooo spooky guys) so to add on that one of them is (for all looks and appearances) in league with a flock of THE OMEN BIRDS would be WILD.

Keegan isn't sure what to think when the crows start bringing him trinkets.

#call of duty #call of duty ghosts #keegan p russ #poor keegan #bet this fucker would name them too #''Paula that is my earlobe stop biting me please. Eat the birdseed like everyone else does.''

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 37: O Death

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M

* Warnings: language, dread, violence, kidnapping

* Word count: 1,881ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all.

Author's note: I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well! Please don’t come for me with pitchforks and torches! 😅

Feel free to scream at me in my ask box. I have a feeling we’re all going to need to.

Stella had gone out to the barn to grab Abigail to go for a night ride. The bay roan was antsy. The mare could tell Stella was anxious. Stella hadn’t really had much of a chance to take her out properly as of late, so that didn’t help.

Kayce said he loved her. That still floored her. She wasn’t sure if she was overreacting or not. Her mind tried to downplay what had happened. The last time she got ahead of herself, she ended up getting humbled really quick. She definitely didn’t want to do that this time.

Stella had a hard time comprehending why Kayce would be interested in her at all. If that’s what was truly happening here. She would have to suck it up sooner or later and find out. Then again, Kayce had bigger things going on. He was getting everything settled and finalized with his soon to be ex-wife. He had a living situation, and the time with his son to figure out. There’s no way he would have even been thinking about her during all of that.

Stella quietly led Abigail to the outside. On their way out of the barn, she spotted a solitary crow sitting on a fence nearby. Her face scrunched. A single crow? At night time? ‘What was that rhyme about crows? One for sorrow? Two for mirth? Somethin’ somethin’ blah blah.’ She felt her chest tighten at the thought of what that could mean. She’d seen one too many single crows lately. ‘You gotta stop freakin’ yourself out, girl.’ Stella heard noise ahead of her and saw Tate over at the round pen. He was alone, with what looked to be an armful of hay. She led Abigail over to the youngin’ and his horse.

“Tate, what’re you doin’ out here all by yourself?” She thought it was strange that he was allowed to come out by himself at night. Yes, the ranch was safe for all intents and purposes, but there was no way to effectively say it was safe at all times. It was late and most of the guys in the bunkhouse were out taking care of Jimmy’s problem. Stella ran a count in her head of who was still home. Jamie, Colby, Ethan, and Jake were the only ones in there. They were probably already looking at the backs of their eyelids.

The little boy latched the gate behind him, and faced her. “Grandpa said I had to feed my horse before I got dessert because it’s not fair that I’m treating myself and he’s down here hungry.”

Stella smiled. “Well he’s right, buddy. We can’t just forget about our pets,” she gently patted Abigail’s shoulder. “Do you want a ride back to the house? I’ll let you ride while I walk her.”

Tate’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!”

“Alright, bud. Come stand over here.” Stella knelt down and cupped her hands so Tate could step into them in order to give him a hike into the saddle. When he was seated safely, she handed him one of Abigail’s reins and held the other to walk her along. “So back to what your grandpa was saying.”

Tate sighed. He hadn’t been expecting a lecture from Stella.

“They depend on us. If we don’t come to help them out, they can’t just go get the hay or the feed for themselves.” Stella looked up at the boy. “They don’t have thumbs.” She wiggled her thumbs at him, successfully making him giggle.

“Yeah, you’re right, Aunt Stell. I gotta start thinking about him too.”

Stella nodded, “now you’re thinkin’ like a cowboy.” The fast crunch and skid of tires on the gravel of the hill could be heard not far behind them.

“Who’s that?” Tate questioned.

Stella’s face pulled into a frown and stopped Abigail’s motion and quickly walked around front of her. She wasn’t familiar with the van. Her stomach dropped thinking back to a few weeks ago with those men that were following her. How she said to Kayce a few nights back, “how can you be sure? There’s so many places people can sneak onto the property and we all would be none the wiser.” A couple men spilled out of the van and started to close the gap between them rapidly.

“Tate, get down now!” She clambered to catch the boy so he didn’t hit the ground too hard. She grabbed his shoulders to hold his attention. Quickly, she explained to him, “no matter what happens next, no matter what you hear, I need you to run. And if you can’t make it to the house, I need you to hide in the best hide and seek spot you can think of that’s out of sight and don’t come out until you hear someone you know! Do you understand me?”

He shook his head quickly.

“Take Abigail, use her as cover to run until you aren’t seen anymore. She’ll find someone when she runs off. Go!”

“But Aunt Stel —,” Tate started to object, but Stella cut him off.

“— I said go!! Run!” Stella yelled at him. She hated to scare him, but something was awfully wrong about the situation.

She knew Abigail would make her way back to the barn or in front of the bunkhouse. Stella needed her to be a distraction to keep Tate safe. She stalked off to the round pen. Cursing herself that she only had her hunting knife on her.

“Can I help y’all?” Stella called out to them, shocked at herself for sounding almost like Rip.

“Yeah we’re looking to get a message to John Dutton.” The lead man expressed.

“You are, huh?” She slid the knife out of its belt holster, that belonged to her and Ryan’s dad, in a fluid motion. To the men she approached it looked like she fixed her jacket. “Y’all tell me and you can leave. I’ll relay the message.” She tried to keep her eyes on the men and make sure she could see where Abigail was headed in her peripheral vision. If she couldn’t see Abigail anymore that meant Tate was one step closer to safety.

“Nah we can’t do that. We were sent with a specific purpose. You weren’t it.” The lead man confessed. Stella’s heart sank at the implication about Kayce’s son. “Now where’s the boy, Stella?”

Her hands started to go clammy. Her breathing was shallow. “How do you know my name?”

“We know a lot of things about you. About everyone here.”

The second man started to search around. Stella couldn’t see Abigail any longer. She closed her eyes for a split second and breathed hard. She prayed with every last bit of her soul that Tate was on his way to his grandpa.

“That’s nice, but you need to leave. You’re not getting anything.”

“We came for the boy, and we will not let anyone, let alone some girl, stop us.” The lead man yelled to his partner, “Cut out farther until you find him. I’ll take care of her.”

Stella turned abruptly, starting to make a mad dash for the bunkhouse. Her burning legs wanted to give out, but she pushed them to go faster. She could hear the lead man behind her as he gained length on her. He was almost on top of her and she panicked. She grabbed a piece of rebar sticking out of the sand by the round pen and swung it at the face of the lead man, hard. Stella swung as if she was trying for a home run.

The man’s jaw snapped shut and reopened as he let out a deafening scream. He grabbed the bar tight and yanked her toward him. “You filthy bitch!” The man’s words came out garbled. He gripped up Stella’s hair and pulled as hard as he could.

Stella stabbed at the man with her knife, but in her panic she didn’t have a good hold. She punctured his leg and he howled in pain. It didn’t have the desired effect Stella had wanted. She jabbed wildly and got him in his side twice before the lead man was able to slip it out of her hands.

Tate must have seen her struggle because he screamed her name loud and clear from not far off, “Aunt Stella!!”

“Fuck!” She wrestled with the man to get her balance back and his hand out of her hair. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tate as he ran over to her. “Tate, I said run to the house!” Stella screamed at him.

Tate continued to dart toward her, he wanted to get the men away from Stella. He was snatched up by the second man she’d lost sight of.

“Stella!!” His tiny voice hollered. Tate struggled against the second man’s grasp.

Stella broke loose from the lead man and started to scramble for the second, but was grabbed from behind. “Fuck you piece of shit! Let us go!”

A fist hammered down onto her head from the man that had her, knocking her glasses off her face. She groaned as her vision blurred. She tried to get her foot behind or under the man’s leg, to sweep his foot out but he stayed on top of it. His arms were wrapped around the top of hers as she struggled to gain some high ground. She didn’t want to do this, but she didn’t have any other option but to ram her head backwards into his nose as hard as she could. She hoped she would break it.

Stella and the lead man both cried out, and he loosened his grip. Her head started to thump wildly. Quickly slipping her right arm out of the weak hold he had on it, Stella wrapped it around the lead man’s neck and tried to flip him like she would a calf. They both hit the ground and groaned. Stella was winded and half woozy, but scrambled her way to standing.

She ran forward trying to make it closer to the bunkhouse. A silent prayer was said. Stella let out a scream she hoped would be heard by the entire ranch. “Colby! Anyone help!!” She would have gotten away if the other man hadn’t been enraged and made his way back for her after getting Tate in the van.

“Fuck!” She squeaked out. He gripped her up by the neck making her lose air and landed a solid fist to her face that dazed her. Her posture drooped and the man behind her let her fall to the ground.

She tried to claw her way back to standing to run toward the van. Both men kicked her sides, her head, her arms; anything they could get at to make sure she stayed down. The bunkhouse was too far away to have heard their screams clearly. She couldn’t breathe from the wind being knocked out of her and her vision was starting to go. No one was coming this time. With one final attempt to crawl back to her feet to get to the van, the lead man landed a knockout blow to her chin with his foot and Stella stopped moving all together. That solitary crow cawed and fluttering wings was the last thing Stella heard.

#yellowstone #kayce dutton #yellowstonetv #luke grimes #ian bohen #ryan #kayce dutton fan fiction #yellowstone fanfic #yellowstone fanfiction #kayce dutton fanfic

[glassandmetalwings]

I'm putting it out there in the universe.

So most of my life I thought the idea of a tattoo was cool, but I could never think of anything I'd want permanently placed on my body. What if I lost interest with the subject (yes, this includes Vulpix)? What if I wear and outfit it clashes horribly with? What if my style changes? What about cosplay?

But a few weeks ago an idea came to mind, and is just kind of stayed in mind:

On one shoulder blade, a kanzashi, with a kitsune weaving through the tassels and a crow/magpie flying out near the top.

And it's been stuck in my head. I haven't visualized it perfectly yet, but it's there and I...I want it.

One thing that's been clashing in my mind was the crow/magpie thing. A crow seems more fitting (kind of a kitsune/tengu thing), but a magpie is more personal, being my favorite animal. I've been going back and forth.

Until tonight. Because I realized something.

For those who don't know, there's a nursery rhyme called 'One for Sorrow' that's about counting the number of magpies nearby and what it says about your luck. There's a few variations, but obviously it starts with, well, 'one for sorrow.

I COULD put a magpie on me, but if it's only one, what am I inviting into my life?

And it honestly... makes me feel more confident about my decision. I don't feel limited by the rhyme; it's more like, but not choosing a single magpie, I'm opening myself up to joy.

Maybe one day I will get this tattoo. I can dream.

#wings does things #idek what I'm saying but it felt important

[storm-and-starlight]

for the fic title ask game - "Dear Gravity, You Held Me Down In This Starless City", small modification on 3/4 - what's your favorite line overall? and then 11 and 13

3/4: Favorite line

I heard it was a magpie, and it brought her Lilit's crown of gold

I just... this line is part of a larger triad set in the fic, around the concept of corvids and omens and the counting crows rhyme, and I love the way the line falls and the rhythm of it -- it sounds like poetry to me.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

I love love love the way it all folds together and feels like poetry -- I used a lot of the rule of three here, to emphasize that, and a very lyric voice in telling it, and on top of that the bird imagery running through the entire thing I think is just stunning.

I also worked in a Supernatural quote in the first section, and I love it.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

Oh that's easy lmao. I listened to Tiffany Blews (that's where the title's from), [Coffee's for Closers], and Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year while I was writing this fic, all of which are by Fall Out Boy!

Read it here!

Ask me questions!

#storm's writing #dear gravity #about my writing

[teacupthesauceror-blog]

One hill I will die on is that there's about 10 collective nouns for animals and I'm being generous. There's like 5 that are shared by types of animals:

Herd of ungulates (I think? Prey mammals)

Pack of predators that hunt together

Flock of birds

School of fish, (which are real shut up I'm not looking at the genome am I'm checking if it's got gills and fins)

Pod of whales or dolphins

Swarm of insects maybe? But that's also a behaviour

And then there's some species specific ones that are generally agreed on :

Pride of lions

Gaggle of geese or teen girls

Murder of crows

Probably a couple of others that I'm sure people will point out

I don't even count an unkindness of ravens here because when do you see ONE raven even

No-one is pointing at a flock of flamingos and going "it's a parade of flamingos!" Unless they waste a LOT of time on the internet.

And you don't need a collective noun for generally solitary animals. Oh no it's a barcode of tigers I'd better not bother them twice as much. Oh it's a sibilance of snakes time to remember my childhood rhymes to see if I can let them bite me. The words of absolute fools. If you see more than one of a solitary animal then the correct designation is "oh fuck it's two of them"

This has been today's linguistic hill to die on, please descend the hill because it's tea time and I didn't bring enough for all of you

#linguistics #collective nouns #am i trying to pick a fight #maybe #I've already picked my nose today so I'm running out of things to pick

[cicadasrubbish]

I posted 73 times in 2022

That's 73 more posts than 2021!

10 posts created (14%)

63 posts reblogged (86%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lyssys

@seryojiinn

@me-llie

@toiletwipes

I tagged 40 of my posts in 2022

Only 45% of my posts had no tags

#omori - 16 posts

#omori fanart - 12 posts

#omori sunny - 11 posts

#omori art - 8 posts

#omori kel - 7 posts

#omori game - 6 posts

#fanart - 5 posts

#wilbur soot - 5 posts

#omori fandom - 4 posts

#omori basil - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 49 characters

#i laughed so hard at this for literally no reason

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

reasons why i adore against the kitchen floor (hey that rhymed!)

i relate way too much

i just had a situation that made me listen to it around fifteen times today

his voice on “i swear” and how desperate he sounds during the chorus

i made this bangin vent art of my sona singing it

See the full post

5 notes - Posted December 10, 2022

#4

See the full post

5 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

#3

i’m very bad at reading and interpreting lyrics without looking up meanings, but sometimes just words strung together sounds pleasing, you know? like, it’s something you would probably never hear, or say for that matter, in a normal conversation, but when you think about it it just sounds amazing? so here are some of those instances in will wood songs

the greener grass grows where wildfires fertilize with ashes or sparrows, peppered moths, and butterflies -cicada days

the ink upon your jigsaw piece traces you back to your fingerprints -suburbia overture / greetings from mary bell township! / (vampire) culture / love me, normally

so if you wash your hands of where you been until you flood the second floor, neatly fold your skeletons but still can’t shut the closet door -laplace’s angel (hurt people? hurt people!)

you could sing a pretty melody like a black canary, but a crow don’t know the smell of carbon monoxide -marsha, thank you for the dialectics, but i need you to leave

in lipstick on the mirror are the lyrics to my obituary -love me, normally

i could drink your blood if you let me baby, drain you of your blood until you hate me -yes, to err is human, so don’t be one. (song)

7 notes - Posted December 11, 2022

#2

this is my first fic on tumblr, sorry if it’s bad im kind of inexperienced

thanks @todorokiiwassad for basically forming the plot, ilyy

pairing: light yagami x reader

warnings (possibly): caught cheating

genre/fic type: angst

pronouns: you (if that counts)

Caught Cheating

You calmly enjoyed the quiet noise of soft rain landing on the pavement and on your umbrella. The familiar scent of an overcast day filled your nose as the clouds softly rumbled with light thunder to accompany distant lightning. You had a soft smile on your lips as you basked in the state of your day. You had gotten off of work early to see your boyfriend, Light, after he had been gone for multiple weeks. You found it strange how he never specified where he or what was going off to do, but you figured it was fine. You were a faithful and loyal partner, at least, by your standards.

Not wanting to dwell on negative thoughts too much, you instead decided to remember what it was like when he was around, times where you were in his embrace and him making sweet little comments about you and generally making you feel loved flowing through your mind. The mere thought made your smile widen as little remnant tingles of being in his arms danced across your body, making you pick up your pace and the rain make little gentle splashes across the pavement, as your nice rain boots made contact with the wet concrete. You observed the neighbourhood as you wandered past various mailboxes and other assorted neighbourhood norm, knowing his house by heart. Your eyes scanned through the rows of houses, taking in the muted colors of your surroundings as the rain drowned them out, all the while scattering little raindrops across the area.

Soon enough, you began to recognize color patterns on houses, lawns, rows of trees and bushes that decorated the quaint little neighbourhood that your boyfriend lived in, and eventually, his house. As you strode up his driveway, making your way to the steps that emphasized the entrance to his home, you noticed that all the lights were off, strange, yet you just simply hummed and shrugged it off. He was expecting your arrival anyways, why wouldn’t he be there? You walked up the steps to his porch with a light skip of excitement in your step, excited to greet your boyfriend after weeks of him being away. When your eyes locked on his door, all you were met with was a wide open doorframe, with only a simple screen door separating anyone from entering his home, also strange. Your eyes scanned through the grayscale colors of his living room, thanks to the dim, gray lighting of the that shone through his front door where you stood and a window in the living room, leading you to familiar brown hair as your finger hovered over his doorbell, lying only inches away. In mere seconds before you would press the button that would alert him of your presence, you noticed that he wasn’t alone in that dimly lit room.

As your eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and shadows moved around the ground, the light from the doorframe you stood in shines just enough for you to see quite clearly, you dear boyfriend, having a seemingly very enjoyable make-out session with some girl. As the cogs in your brain began spinning trying to process the scene in front of you, it didn’t make it fast enough before you emotions responded first. Your throat stung with dry mouth and a large lump forming from the emotional buildup, and tears pricked the corners of your eyes as one of your hands made its way to cover your mouth, as the pleasant smile that once graced your features quickly dropped and faded away, as if it were never there to begin with. Any happy feeling you had before that moment was immediately washed away by a tidal wave of tears, emotions, and dread as your grip loosened on your umbrella from weakness and shock.

Not able to bear to look at the scene in front of you anymore, your hand tightened around your umbrella once more, and you fled from the house of your cheating boyfriend. As you ran from the neighbourhood you were once happy and gleeful entering, tears fell to the ground, hidden by the rain. You couldn't comprehend what you just saw, you thought he loved you. You thought he cared. Everything he said to you, everything he did for you that made you happy when you thought of it, instead washed a wave of nausea over you every time the thought entered your conscious mind. The rain began to pick up, and so did your pace. You didn’t want to be near the neighborhood, near him. Your mixed emotions gathered in your stomach in a sick feeling that only added to your discomfort while hot tears contrasted the cold weather around you. You wobbled along the sidewalk, arm gripping your side as you knuckles turned white with your grip on the umbrella. Your hand began to hurt but you didn’t care, you needed a grip on something as you made your way to the crossing light.

You continuously wiped your blurry eyes from tears as you waited for a crossing signal, along with many others. You were grateful the sounds of rain and soft chatter around you disguised your distraught sniffs and hiccups. The light changed and you took it as an opportunity to run through the crowd back to your home, desperate to get to some form of privacy.

You saw people running for shelter from the rain, some laughing as they shielded each other with a coat or things of the sort. You couldn’t help but feel jealous at how happy they looked contrasting your sulking state in the gray colors around you. You pulled up your hood as you splashed off to your house, wanting nothing more than to just scream.

As you walked in the front door, you quickly discarded your rain-wet umbrella along with the rest of your rain gear and power-walked to your room, slamming the door aggressively behind you as you stopped resisting the urge to cry. You fell to the floor as you hugged your knees to your chest and his your face in them while hiccups and sobs racked your body as you thought about what you saw. You wailed into your knees in a futile attempt to relieve your emotions, but it failed miserably. You tried to convince yourself that it wasn't what it looked like, but you couldn't bring yourself to justify those claims.

They were just friends.

Friends don't kiss like that.

Friends don't touch like that.

You took in a deep breath, attempting to come to terms with what you saw.

He cheated.

He cheated.

He cheated.

It’s not fair.

After your tears calmed down somewhat, you picked up your phone, about to send a string of sad vent texts to your friend, but you hesitated. As your finger hovered over the send button, your eyes skimmed through the messy paragraph you had typed out. You second guessed yourself as familiar words crossed your eyes with the illumination of your phone’s light on your face in the darkness of your room.

You knew very well that sending those texts would result in Light finding out that you saw him, because your friend cared and they wouldn’t let someone else treat you like this. You appreciated that, you loved your friend but Light would probably want to break up after that, and despite everything you weren't ready to let him go. You thought maybe, just maybe, he still loved you. Maybe, if you pretended, he would hold you again, he would kiss you again, he would love you again, and you could forget about what you saw. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you could be what he saw in that girl. Even though every part of you was tugging and pulling, begging you to do what you knew was good for you, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

You loved him too much. And maybe, if you tried hard enough, he would love you too. You laughed bitterly at yourself, any stray tears left on your eyelashes falling and soaking into your clothes.

You, deciding to rest after the emotional roller coaster you had just been through, laid down for a while. You felt yourself drift off into a gentle sleep, the dream taking away the events of your stress-inducing day. About two hours later, you woke up to the repeated noise of a message notification. Opening them, you found that it was Light, asking why you weren't there. You simply responded that something came up and that you'd meet him tomorrow, and that you did.

The next day when you met up with him, and he entangled you in his arms, bringing a smile to your face and upturning your tired eyes. The two of you simply walked as he ranted about things that happened on his trip, and you tried your hardest to mimic your same behaviour and façade as you convinced yourself everything was ok, that maybe things could last just a little bit longer. You didn’t say much, scared that you would slip up on your words and just hummed and shot him a grin every couple of sentences. You convinced yourself that this could still continue, no matter how much it hurt you.

But you knew in the back of your subconscious that things would collapse sooner or later, and you would be at the center.

11 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

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19 notes - Posted June 23, 2022

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wowie i literally just joined this app five months ago so like

no♡

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #no please no please god no please

[parttimeghost]

Hiya Taylor, name's Midnight and nice to meet you!! Please, tell me more about both of your WIPs!

Hi Midnight, it's so nice to meet you! <3

I know you're probably referring to the two WIPs I have in my pinned post so I'll talk about those first. But I've also got a couple of other WIPs that I'm currently working on/thinking about and I just haven't gotten around to updating my pinned post so I'll chuck a little bit about them on the end as well for a bit of fun!

WIP AN ODE TO THE DESTINED (Arthurian WIP)

An Ode to the Destined is my main WIP at the moment; I just started rewrites for the second draft which I'm super excited about! It's an Arthurian-inspired fantasy told from the perspective of Morgan of Avalon, the twin sister of Prince Arthur of Camelot. The story follows Morgan as she attempts to stop King Uther's purge and prevent the veil between the worlds from unravelling, whilst also dealing with the prophecies of Taliesin (who believes she is destined to fall to darkness) and her own seer dreams, the lines between reality and vision blurring as the events of her visions draw nearer.

The magic system of AOTTD has to be one of my favourite things that I've ever come up with! The basic concept is that reality is set out like a weaver's loom, right? The warp is everything that provides the structure to reality, things that cannot be changed (like the rising of the sun, the phases of the moon, and the seasons of the year). Whilst the weft is everything else, everything human. It helps to explain the way Seer visions work in AOTTD, where the future is possibilities (the different ways in which you can weave), whilst the past cannot be changed (as it is already woven).

I'm definitely going to be posting about this story over the next couple of months: here's an excerpt from the opening that I posted for HU7U!

WIP THE SUBTLE ART OF COUNTING CROWS (Superhero WIP)

This is probably the WIP that I've been working on for the longest. I started writing about these characters in 2020 for my HSC English Extension Two major work (basically I elected to take a course for my final year that meant that I got to submit a major work, which in my case was a short story) (they didn't like it very much lol).

It follows the lives of Bran Wren, Clancy Culpa, and Melissa Kennedy (though it's mostly told from Bran's point of view) as they navigate life as newly initiated superhero-vigilantes in the city of Wrenwood.

It's very much a slice-of-life superhero story; it's told in a non-linear fashion where each chapter of the collection is based on that counting crows nursery rhyme (One for Sorrow, One for Mirth, etc.). And I'm thinking about adding a couple of 'bonus stories' in the second draft (shorter stories based on alternate versions of the nursery rhyme, maybe told from Clancy and Melissa's point of view?). It's just really fun to write and the characters are so dear to me. Here's an excerpt from one of my favourite chapters so far.

I'm currently working on the second (?) draft so I'll post some more excerpts as I get into that (and when I finally stop procrastinating).

WIP VIGNETTES OF A LIFE I NEVER LIVED VOL. ONE (Short Story Collection)

I haven't actually posted a lot about this WIP so far so I'll give a brief overview. Vignettes of a Life I Never Lived Vol. One is a collection of short stories I wrote in early 2021/22 about being unsatisfied with the direction my life was heading but being uncertain about where exactly I wanted it to go. It's a work in progress and I'm adding little vignettes every so often when I think about different lives I could've led (some of them are realistic, others less so). I'm currently writing the story in a kind of weird possible-future-tense (I'm not sure how to explain it) but it makes for a really interesting structure and reading experience.

It's more of a love letter to all the people I could have been than anything else; a way to mourn them and say goodbye. I might have to finally get around to writing up a WIP intro for this soon...

WIP DON'T PAY THE FERRYMAN (Afterlife WIP)

Don't Pay the Ferryman is my most recent WIP. I started it for Camp NaNoWriMo back in July, but uni kicked my ass that month, so I only managed to write a little bit. It's about Thea, an Afterlife guide, who ferries unmarked souls (those without religious belief) through the afterlife and is looking for a way to escape, to find her own peace in an afterlife (any afterlife really). The only way for a Ferryman to retire, and that is to get an unmarked soul to take their place by paying them before the journey is over (based on that Chris de Burgh song of the same name). So when Thea receives her first charge, she believes herself willing to do anything to reach retirement. That's when she meets Adriana. So it's a road trip romance novel but with a fantasy (and philosophy) bent.

Thank you for the ask! Have a lovely day (and lmk if you want to know anything more about any WIP in particular)! <3

#wip: an ode to the destined #wip: the subtle art of counting crows #wip: don't pay the ferryman #wip: vignettes of a life i never lived vol. one #writing asks #writeblr #u: midnights-melodiverse

[diannehoffman]

In many of my new pieces vintage photographs can be found that I’ve used to relay a line from a specific nursery rhyme about counting crows each are titled after. In this one you can see a girl in a bonnet with her head down presumably thinking about a boy, a makeshift sundial is in the foreground to measure the shadows that count the hours until they speak again and a dice of 4 replaces the tuning peg of a string instrument on top indicating a song is in her mind as she sits quietly waiting and the crow’s gifts of bells and baubles sway from dangling chains. Four for a Boy, 13” x 4.5” x 4”, $425 June 11 - July 5, 2022 What the Crows Brought Me - A solo exhibition by Dianne Hoffman ARTHOUSE Gallery, 1021 R Street, Sacramento, CA Save the date for the Opening Reception: Saturday June 11th 5-8pm #whatthecrowsbroughtme #crows #corvids #giftsofgratitude #foundobjects #reliquaries #fourforaboy #murderofcrows #putabirdonit #smartbirds #artistmuse #assemblage #assemblageartist #assemblageart #diannehoffmanart #arthousegallery #sacramentoartshow #savethedate #sacramentogallery #crowgifts #soloshow #foundobjectart #creativereuse #sewingdrawer #vinatagephoto #waitingpatiently #foundobjects #itsthelittlethingthatcount (at Arthouse on R) https://www.instagram.com/p/CdlgrWWpFHH/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#whatthecrowsbroughtme #crows #corvids #giftsofgratitude #foundobjects #reliquaries #fourforaboy #murderofcrows #putabirdonit #smartbirds #artistmuse #assemblage #assemblageartist #assemblageart #diannehoffmanart #arthousegallery #sacramentoartshow #savethedate #sacramentogallery #crowgifts #soloshow #foundobjectart #creativereuse #sewingdrawer #vinatagephoto #waitingpatiently #itsthelittlethingthatcount

[lovely-v]

Hello Vee!! I feel like it’s a lovely day today :)

For the ask game: 2 (and feel free to get real specific, I think talking about colors is so fun), 10, 31, 35, 36! (answer as much as you like hehe)

Hi Sunny! It's a very lovely day where I am!! Thanks for the ask!

2: Oh I love so many different colors! My current favorites are yellow and orange, as my color scheme might suggest. I was recently staying in a house with a sorta soft yellow kitchen and it was my absolute favorite vibe! It was so quaint and homey, I wanna have a kitchen like that one day.

10: Cats are an all time favorite for me ! I am allergic to them though :(( I also like crows (I do the little counting crows rhyme every time I see a group of them. As a side fact, my favorite song by the band Counting Crows is Mr. Jones.)

31: My favorite scents are vanilla, lavender, eucalyptus, and anything cooking that involves a bread or curry component

35: hard question to answer! I like my hair, I think it's pretty versatile and I've learned that I'm never gonna find a single style to stick with, but that means I can always change it into something new :) I'm currently trying to grow it out so I can put it into various buns and braids

36: It's hard to pick a compliment that's really stuck with me, but I'm so flattered whenever someone tells me I have a cool music taste. Also my roommate described my style as "hardcore" once, which for some reason was really flattering lmaoooo. And of course whenever people compliment my writing I feel like I've won a nobel prize

#vee's asks #ask game #thank you these were so fun! #i know i overshare but ive had a lot of coffee and i'm in a good mood <3

[holden-caulfield]

The Distraction

main masterlist

REQUESTED: "Kaz brekker with a reader who is apart of the crows but she doesn't fight, she plays the violin and is used as a distraction during heist. And she's the complete opposite from kaz super sweet and nice. Maybe something goes wrong during a heist and she gets hurt."

SUMMARY: the reader is part of the crows and is used as the distraction during most heists, but when she gets injured she discovers something very interesting about kaz.

WARNINGS: blood and wounds mentions and descriptions.

WORD COUNT: 1846

"Everyone knows what they have to do?" asked Kaz to revise the plan once more.

"I stay in the shadows, watching over everyone and making sure nothing goes wrong." said Inej, checking all her knives.

"I escort Y/n inside and wait for the right moment to strike." said Jesper as if he was reciting more of a nursery rhyme than his part of the job.

"I distract." you said, simply shrugging your shoulders.

It wasn't the first time you had been it, the distraction. They said you played the violin, but you didn't just play it. You were one with the instrument, every melody that emitted from its strings was a spell and no one was immune. Every chord you played, every song you made, it enchanted everyone, it kept them glued to your agile hands, fabricating every single sound to allure and well, distract.

Kaz Brekker had found you, he had been lost in the music like everyone. No one was immune. His undeceivable mind momentarily stopped, enraptured by your fingers holding the instrument like the most valuable crystal glass. It was like watching a master at work and he knew he needed such an asset in his team.

Ever since then, you had worked with the crows, deceiving everyone they needed to with your talent. You didn't do the dirty deed, but you made sure it got done.

That night was no different: you got inside, Jesper by your side, both dressed with the most elegant clothes you could find. You smiled widely as you took your place at the center of the hall. You took out your weapon while they welcomed you with a soft round of applause, and then you began. Everyone had eyes only for you, everyone had ears only for you.

Jesper silently left his place and began roaming, but you focused only on your work. You played and you played, and you got lost in it. No one was immune, not even you.

It was only when you felt a sharp pain in your stomach that you stopped. Everyone was running around, the music had stopped and you realized you were bleeding. You let go of the violin, falling desperately to the ground, but you couldn't do anything for it as you clutched your side.

You didn't look down, you kept your eyes on the door. A swarm of men with rifles advancing on you. They were all hazy, undefined. They started falling one by one, scarlet strands filled your vision. Yet another man stepped closer to you, but no one stopped him. He was dressed in all black and black was the last thing you saw.

When you started seeing colours again, you weren't in the hall anymore, the violin wasn't by your side and you weren't dressed in your long scarlet gown. You were in a dark room, a tiny golden line was all the light you had and it came from a tiny opening in the window. You delicately touched your side and immediately retrieved your fingers as you ascertained that last night wasn't just a dream. You lifted your shirt slightly and saw stitches keeping the sides of the wound together. It hadn't been a dream, but it sure was a nightmare.

You tried getting up, sitting on the bed with the feet dangling on its side, and then the door opened: in entered a tall girl, brown locks on her shoulders and she was carrying what you supposed was food. You couldn't see it very well but the smell that invaded the room was obvious.

"What are you doing up?! Lay back again immediately!" she shrieked, settling the plate she had brought on the table beside your bed. She pushed you back down, uncovering your wound. "You aren't fully healed yet, you shouldn't be standing."

"Who are you?" you asked as you watched her hands hover over your stomach.

"I'm the one that saved your pretty face!"

"Thank you, then." she turned her gaze to you with shock on her face. You returned the confused look.

"When Kaz told me i had to help you, i thought you were a crow..." she pondered.

"I am. Y/n Y/l/n, pleasure to meet you." the girl shook your outstretched hand, still surprised.

"Nina Zenik, pleasure's all mine," she began, then turned her attention back to your stomach. "You don't look like a crow, what do you do?"

"I distract." you said simply, a déjà-vu, but noticed her look of suspicion, so you continued. "I play the violin and i distract whenever there's the need for a distraction." Nina scoffed lightly. "What?"

"It's just- Kaz doesn't need distractions." she claimed, and you started feeling a tingling sensation in you abdomen as she moved her hands over it.

"Well, sometimes during a job-"

"He has Jesper for that. He has demo for that." she admitted, a smile playing on her lips but you couldn't quite understand. "He doesn't need a violin."

"But he's the one who offered me the job, of course he needs it." you stated stubbornly. You weren't going to let some random girl tell you how useless you were.

"No, no, you got it wrong," she started. "Kaz doesn't need a distraction. He has plenty already." you were growing progressively more confused and irritated, but let her continue. "However..."

"However, what?" you asked.

"However i think he wanted a distraction." she said, flashing you a knowing smile.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," she twisted her hands on your abdomen and the wound was starting to disappear almost completely. "That Kaz Brekker is a very logical man, as you probably already know, and this isn't a logical decision. Why hire a distraction when he could simply ask Jesper or create one himself?"

You thought about it; you knew the crows had been together before you joined them and you knew they had worked together before but you always thought you made the whole process of stealing and deceiving easier with your abilities. Nina was now making you doubt that.

"I'll tell you why, because he wants a distraction, and, more specifically, you."

You widened your eyes as she got up from your side, the wound now a past memory, only a light scar was in its place. You lifted yourself from the bed, it still hurt but you had more pressing things on your mind now.

"What do you mean? Kaz hired me to work for him."

"That's what he tells you, but i think you are his first impulsive decision. Be proud of it, it doesn't happen often!" she winked at you but you were still confused. She sat down on the chair and started biting on one of the delicacies she had brought with her. "Want one?"

"No, thank you."

"Your loss." she said as she shifted the plate onto her lap.

"I think you're wrong." she lifted her gaze to look at you.

"Why's that?"

"I know Kaz and he does nothing without a reason."

"Oh you are right, but i think he had different reasons for hiring you." she said. "I think he might have a liking on you."

You laughed incredulously. Kaz Brekker would never.

"And i think you might be crazier than i expected."

"Then tell me, Y/n, why would such a logical man come check on his basic distraction every hour when he could simply find another one?"

You gulped. He checked on you every hour?

"Because no one does what i do like i do it." you shuddered at your words, you were speaking like him. "What i mean is, he would do it for everyone."

"I am quite sure he wouldn't check on Jesper every few minutes, he wouldn't pace around his office like a mad man if i were in your place." she said, eating the last of the waffles she had brought.

You thought about it a moment, then swatted the thought out of your mind. There was only a way to know for sure and it was to ask him directly.

"Do you know where he is now?" you asked, getting out of bed and going for the door.

"Where do you think he is?" she said inquisitively. You had a feeling you knew.

You thanked Nina and bid her goodbye, darting outside the room towards Kaz's office. You had been there sometimes, usually to discuss plans with him. You never made a big deal out of it but now Nina's words were reverberating in your mind. Maybe she was just messing with you, but maybe she wasn't and, however silly it sounded, you wanted to believe it was the latter possibility.

"Hey Y/n! Are you alright?" asked Jesper as he saw you running past him.

"Yes, have you seen Kaz?" you asked quickly.

"Should be upstairs, but why are you-"

"Thanks Jesper!" you didn't give him time to finish as you climbed the stairs.

You stopped in front of the door and knocked loud enough for him to hear you, thinking about what you could have said, thinking about his reaction. Would he have been happy to see you? Relieved? Impassive as always?

"Who is it?" came his rough voice from inside.

"Y/n." you said gingerly and you heard total silence.

"Come in." you opened the door and stepped inside. He was standing in front of the window, his shoulders to you. He didn't even turn around, maybe Nina was kidding and you fell for it like an idiot. "Do you need anything?"

"I-" you stopped yourself, what could you say? You just wanted to see him, see if he was scared for you, if he cared. "I thought you'd have wanted to see me..." you wanted to smack yourself in the face after that. He was Kaz Brekker, not some silly teenager in love.

He remained in silence, still in front of the window. It was late and the sun had already gone out.

"I am planning this new job and-"

"You don't need me for the job." you said it matter-of-factly.

Even though Nina might have been wrong about Kaz, you knew she wasn't wrong about you: you weren't vital for the plan and you had never been, so Kaz owed you at least an explanation. Especially after what happened the previous night, the job gone wrong.

"You are right, i don't." you weren't surprised by the answer he had given you, but what surprised you was that he admitted it so easily. "But i thought you'd want to be there when we get our revenge over those that did that to you."

You gaped at that, but he obviously couldn't see it. "We?"

"Yes. We." he repeated.

"Did you come checking on me?"

He craned his neck so that he was looking over his shoulder, looking at you. "Did Nina tell you?"

"Did you or not?"

"I did."

You paused for a moment. "Why?"

"Because you are one of us."

"Just one of us?" you insisted. You weren't sure whether you should have continued or not, but he couldn't leave you with such an answer. You needed a clearer one.

"No." he said, "Not just one of us."

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#kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x reader #kaz x y/n #kaz x you #kaz x reader #kaz brekker #grishaverse #shadow and bone #six of crows #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #tw blood #tw wounds

[a-is-for-abel]

“It’s a very odd sensation, standing over your own grave.” prompt from @givethispromptatry

Crows barked, throaty and dry, from their perch high in the gnarled branches of the tree at the head of the cemetery. The letters etched into the granite before him shined and the heavy mist settled over his shoulders, oppressive and thick.

He counted the crows in the tree, a rhyme coming to mind as the black winged birds called into the fog. "One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral… Four-- Four for..."

A funeral… His brow furrowed. The name on the gravestone drew him back in and he eyed the letters. Bells from the steeple of a church coughed in the distance.

"It's a very odd sensation, standing over your own grave." He turned to see a man leaned against a tall gravestone, a lit cigarette in his fingers. "But you seem to be taking it rather well."

The man flicked a lick of hellish embers off the end and took a long drag. Smoke trailed from his lips and curled over his salt-flat empty eyes. "Say, you haven't died before have you? That'd make this a bit awkward-- See, I don't really do the whole doing someone else's do-over. Those contracts tend to get a little messy, if you know what I mean."

Dressed sharply in a suit jacket and trousers to match, the man didn't stand out quite that oddly against the backdrop of a graveyard. However, with no procession, he was out of place without the rest of the mourners to stand shoulder to shoulder with.

It was even harder not to notice the way he stood a little too tall, a little too pale, and a little too thin...

And the eyes--

He couldn't remember having ever seen eyes like that. Though, he also really couldn't remember how he had gotten here either.

The man frowned, cigarette dangled from his lips. "You're not very talkative are you. That's gonna make this a little hard if you don't at least start asking some questions."

"Who are you?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Ah, there it is-- Everyone always starts with that one. Never a 'where am I, how'd I get here', it's always the who are you?" The man shrugged. "I got a lot of names, kid. Just make one up, it'll probably be better that way."

Paul. It was the first name that came to mind, risen like the valleys of weathered hands and deep-set wrinkles the name brought with it.

"Paul?" The man hissed, eyes scrunching as he flicked the cigarette onto the ground and ground it out with the toe of his dress shoe. "Wow, you're real bad at this. Look, I'll settle for something like, uh-- How's Paal sound? Good? Great."

Even as Paal dismissed it, he tried to latch onto the name Paul and the hands that came with it. Somehow, he knew those hands had shown him how to hold a chisel and carve with the grain and not against it. That they had smoothed down his hair and lain flat against the crown of his skull as the other drew a new line against the door jamb, and he had childishly smiled at the inch gap that had grown between it and the old one below.

"Well, now that we got names out of the way--" Paal reached into his coat and pulled free a scroll. "Let's get down to business."

The parchment unfurled with a dry cough, ink dripped over the page and rearranged itself into letters that shimmered, ruddy and wet.

"So, for starters, my contracts are pretty straightforward. I don't do all that funny business the others do." Paal pointed to the second line. "The overall payment is going to be your eternal soul, of course. The only exception I'll make here is if you can name something of equal value and I also deem said thing of equal value. Now, don't get all excited. Not a lot of things add up to a human soul. Unless you'll be trading someone's else's soul as your payment. Simple math and all of that."

His eternal soul? He looked at the cross atop the gravestone and wine-dipped stained glass and the pulpit of a church flitted to the forefront along with it.

"We on the same page here? You look a little lost?" Paal asked, tilting his head.

"Sorry, I just--" He furrowed his brow. "Am I dead?"

Paal pointed to the grave. "Is that your body in there?"

"I--" He looked at his hands. "I think so."

"I wouldn't say I'm a genius myself, but I think we can both put two and two together here."

He grit his teeth. "Right…"

"Fantastic-- Now, onto the good stuff." Paal pointed further down the parchment. "So, in exchange for said eternal soul, I grant you a few things. First off, you get to get up on your own two feet and walk out of that grave. A pretty good deal, right?"

"Deals go two ways."

"See, now you're catching on--" Paal pointed at him and then tapped the next line on the scroll. "Alright, so it's pretty damn expensive to bring a soul back to life. Maker's got an idea in mind and tampering with that's always gonna cost you a little extra."

"Do you mean money? I don't exactly..." He held his hands out, the empty state of his pockets hopefully obvious.

Paal laughed. "Money? What the hell am I going to do with money? No, no, no-- I need a favor."

"A favor?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah! A favor. something pretty simple, actually. But to get that body back and with all your precious little memories intact, you gotta do something to pay for that. More than just signing off your soul, that is."

"And who exactly am I paying back?"

Paal grimaced. "You're asking questions you really don't want the answers to, kid."

"Fine." He rubbed at his jaw. "What's the favor then?"

"Bounty hunting. Or collecting, I guess?" Paal gestured vaguely. "Whatever-- Basically, a few folks deferred on their contracts and I need to collect on their souls a little early."

"How early is early?" he asked, squinting.

"Well, I'd say I'm a pretty generous dealer. I give you about how much worldly time you should've had-- Had things not gone absolutely shit for you." Paal held up a finger. "So, in this case, I'd be collecting these souls well before they croak from becoming all ripe and old like they normally would've."

"So, I get my life back..." He chewed the inside of his cheek and glanced at the cross on the gravestone. "Is that it?"

"Is that it?'" Paal mocked and then grinned. "Look at you, already driving a hard bargain."

"You wouldn't have come to me if my soul wasn't worth something."

"Did you come to that astonishing conclusion all by yourself?" Paal said flatly.

He glanced over the demon.

Or devil... Or whatever hellish equivalent he was supposed to be. The lack of the classic horns or even a tail made it hard to pin any kind of fiendish charm to him. Besides the eyes and the pallor of someone who's never seen the light of day, he looked rather ordinary...

And his memories, few and far between-- muddled even-- like he was reliving them from underwater-- As unreliable as those memories were, he still remembered sitting upon a pew in a sun-washed room, a pastor at the head of the church, attesting how the devil would always wager in ways that would seem fair and just, but never were.

"What else do I get?"

"Greedy, aren't you? Fine." Paal rolled up the scroll part way and pointed at a line halfway down. "You can't die. At least while you're contracted under me to collect souls. If you call on me and I deem the request reasonable enough I can and will help you. Think of it like, uh-- Praying to a guardian angel. Except I'm absolutely nothing like that and I'll actually show up."

"And collecting on these contracts? What does that entail?"

"Killing them, for starters." Paal said simply. "I can't exactly grab their souls when they're still kicking around like that. And a lot of them have found ways to sort of, eh-- protect themselves from me. But you're just a bag of bones, maybe a little bit juiced up when I'm done with you, but you'll be human enough."

He didn't feel like picking that last aside apart too much. "So, you want me to kill for you?"

"Yes."

"How exactly?"

Paal flicked his hand and the scroll snapped out of sight with a thwick. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled free a revolver. Six-shot, shined, scarred with engravings up and down the muzzle and wrapped around the barrel. Handle a bone-white ivory, pale and unblemished.

Paal held it out to him. "With this."

Dropped into his palms with little fanfare, he cradled it, as if a newborn lamb. He glanced up from the gunmetal shine after a beat. "I can't shoot."

"Oh, you won't have to. You just have to aim." Paal formed his fingers into a mock-gun and pointed it at his forehead before mouthing ‘pow'. "It does all the hard work for you. Unless you're into that kind of thing, then by all means I'll take the training wheels off of it and let you do the trigger pulling."

"No…" he swallowed, careful to keep the muzzle pointed away from himself. "Training wheels is fine."

"Fantastic. Do we have a deal then? All of this--" Paal gestured to the whole of him. "--for the meager, one time price of doing a simple chore for me."

He stared flatly.

"And your eternal soul after you've lived a long and happy life, but that's just semantics," Paal laughed, waving him off.

He tilted the gun in his palms and glanced down at his pockets. It wouldn't exactly fit very well… "Is there a holster?"

"Oh, right--" Paal patted his chest and fished around in his suit jacket before drawing out a belt. "Here. It's a bit used, but at least it's already worn in, right?"

Mottled stains scattered the edges of the leather belt and where intricate markings had been stamped and tooled into the holster itself.

"Thanks…" he said, pinching it between two fingers while trying to find a good way to hold the pistol with his other hand.

"Woah, don't sound too grateful there, champ," Paal said. "You'd think I wasn't about to do you the biggest favor of your life."

He paused in his inspection of the holster and gave Paal the flattest look he could muster.

"Get it?" Paal's grin dropped. "Not a funny guy then… Noted."

Finally, managing to holster the gun he slipped the belt around his waist and fumbled with the buckle before fastening it. "How exactly do we seal the deal?"

"Eager, are we?" Paal held out his hand. "Just shake my hand and that's it. None of that writ in blood nonsense."

He wrinkled his nose.

Paal flexed his fingers and held his hand out further. "Look, if you really need me to draw up a traditional contract and give you a copy, I can do that too, but it's dreadfully boring and I do enough paperwork as it is. I mean, what do you have to lose, honestly? You're already dead. I'm just offering you a second chance… and a little bit of revenge."

"Revenge?"

"No one ends up dead in a ditch with a pack of dogs eating their face without being fucked over somewhere along the road."

"I don't…" He knitted his brow. "It's hard to remember."

"Oh, it'll be like that for a bit. It gets better once we get everything settled. Trust me though, you've got quite the bone to pick with someone back up there. And I for one would love to see how it all pans out."

"This is a form of entertainment for you," he said flatly, eyeing the still outstretched hand.

"What's the harm in mixing business and pleasure?" Paal smirked. "Plus it'll be fun to see what you do."

"Can you not bring back the memories now?"

Paal tutted. "That's quite expensive, and we haven't made a deal yet."

"How do I know I even want to go back then?"

"Does it even matter who you were before if you get a re-do?"

He looked at the name on the gravestone. "Won't they recognize me?"

"Oh, no-- Uh, see, you're not going back into your original body." Paal grimaced. "I can only repair so much and those dogs really did a number on you."

"Great…"

"Don't worry though, I got a good one picked out for you. Close enough to be uncanny even. Just some little differences, barely noticeable."

He grimaced.

"Don't you humans love taking leaps of faith? What's with all the hemming and hawing? What happened to all that stupid recklessness?"

"Not all of us are stupid."

Paal groaned. "I would get stuck with the biggest coward this side of the Mississippi."

'Look, it's lil' yellow-bellied Bern!'

'Just take it from him. He's not gonna do shit-- He'd flinch at a fly if it looked at him wrong.'

'Pa said he's soft. That his own daddy made him like that.'

He blinked, flinching and scrunching up his eyes at the sudden, sharp jab that needled at his skull. "I'm not a coward."

"Then take my hand."

His head pounded, and if he really was dead he wondered why he could still feel that out of everything. If the sweat pricked along the back of his neck was more memory than actual sensation, or if the way his tongue had grown heavy in his jaw was all made up too. He eyed Paal's hand and the discolored fingernails, the sheet white skin, the odd scarring along the knuckles and on the palms.

'Leave and don't you ever come back here. And if I ever see you again, you'll be begging the devil to take your soul from me first.'

He grit his teeth, fingers curling into fists.

The voice bit across his cheek like knuckles, like blood on his tongue and smattered across his hands. It curled like snake oil and melted wax, like the dust settled over the rafters of an ever empty church and like floorboards stained with drying flecks of rust.

He reached for Paal's hand and Paal grabbed his wrist instead, wrapped his fingers around him and squeezed, hard enough he twisted with the motion. Paal didn't budge, no matter how he pried at him, and the hand burned-- Burned the way laying your palm across a sheet of ice stung and wormed its way deeper and deeper the longer you left it there.

He stumbled as Paal released him, clutching at his wrist and hissing. "What the hell?"

"Part of the contract. It'll fade in a second."

The burning stopped and when he let go of his wrist, a coiling band of white took its place. Sat snugly, flat and lined with black, was an ivory snake wrapped three times about his wrist. The head of the serpent rested along the heel of his thumb, eyes a nearly translucent blue. It faded, still standing out against his skin, more like an impossibly pale tattoo and less like the actual snake it was a moment ago. His arm ached dully with it, like he had come in from a long frigid day, and his fingers cramped as the feeling returned to the very tips of him.

"Oh, right-- You'll be needing bullets." Paal grabbed his hand and dropped a freezing piece of metal into it.

More followed as Paal fished around in his suit jacket for them. At the fourth one Paal paused. "What was that little rhyme you were doing before I arrived? I rather enjoy that one. The ending is always my favorite."

He watched where the bullets settled in his palm. The casings a blood-red ebony and the bullet itself the shade of bone.

"And four for birth…" Paal dropped another bullet. "Five for heaven..." Another. "And six for hell," Paal said with a smirk, manually curling his hand around the bullets and patting it. "Now keep track of those, they're not exactly easy to make."

He didn't tell Paal that he didn't finish the poem, that there was still one more line that needed to be said to complete it. Instead, he pocketed the bullets.

"Walk with me a sec--" Paal grabbed his shoulder and nudged him forward.

They meandered along the lines of graves, passing headstones that varied in shape and size, some cared for, with flowers and candles and even worn sepia photos left at their feet. Others were less fortunate. Grown over, dulled, and abandoned.

They stopped before one with a less modest headstone. A large stone cross jutted up from the top and an angel carved above the name of the soul that was laid to rest below their feet.

"You know, I really do think this is the start of a great partnership..."

He raised a brow.

"Marcus J. Bern--" He flinched at the name, not expecting it to fall from Paal's mouth so casually. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

He hesitated, shoulders drawing up, hand coming to rest on the gun at his hip. "Uh, you too…?"

Paal smiled, like he found that amusing. And he hadn't noticed how sharp his teeth looked until he was staring the oversized canines dead in the face.

"Now--" Paal said, placing his hands on his shoulders, dusting them off before squeezing lightly. "This might hurt a bit."

"What--"

Paal shoved him.

He fell and fell and the earth swallowed him whole.

Dirt and silt and death surrounded him. Impossibly endless and vast, the grave didn't catch him as it should have. And the chill that bit at his limbs gnawed feverishly, right down to the core of him until he felt a yell clog up with the hallowed ground packed against his tongue. Further and further he descended, gut flipping and twisting with him, until he thought this would be his new forever. That Paal had lied to him, and he would simply be doomed to free fall for the rest of eternity, until all returned to dust as it had once emerged and longer still.

Light broke up the darkness overhead and he reached for it, arm outstretched. The white snake coiled around his wrist writhed and burned at the first touch of it and dripping with pale ichor, his veins stood out a ghastly silver against him. A venom coursed through him as it wound further and further down, closer and closer to where his heart had thrummed to life and kicked against his ribs in a fevered fit. He clutched at his chest as the ground-- as something-- hurtled towards him.

Breath slammed into him with a rattling gasp and his eyes shot open.

Blinded, he blinked and squinted against the grace of a new day, trembling and shaking where he had woken upon the dirt. The cross of the gravestone cast a merciful shadow over him and he could see the tangled fingers of the tree beyond it.

Raucous caws chorused above him. A murder of crows dotted the grey sky overhead, having flighted from their perches high in the dead limbed oak.

One, two, three, four, five, six--

"And seven for the devil, his own self..." he muttered, hand falling to his hip and the gun now holstered there.

#writeblr #creative writing #writing #prose #prompt fill #original work #my writing #fiction #demons #gothic vibes #this is technically me testing out these two for a longer novel idea #the prompt just happened to fit really well #its a bit long but it got away from me #hell's comin' with me #making that the official tag for this i guess in case i ever expand on the two of them and the world etc #thank you for the prompt!!

[justasparkwritings]

NoFacetober {22}

Previous: Day 21

Pairing: Wizard Kim Seokjin x Witch Reader

Genre: Witch/Wizard AU, Smut

Rating: R 

Warnings: Swearing! Sex Talk! 

Word Count: 889

NOFACETOBER hosted by @bangtanbathhouse​

Day 22 : Slime

Master List 

           “The Legend of the Feathers, a tale as old as time, but not a song as old as rhyme, it comes to us from lands long ago. In this faraway country in a faraway time, the legend of the feathers begins,” Seokjin prefers to tell his stories in sweeping gestures and different voices, some magically inspired others imitations of his friends. His Jungkook is particularly humorous.

           You watch him as he starts the tale – this could go one of two ways. One, he becomes full performer. Two, he gets the hint and rushes through it quickly so that when his lips move, they move against you. “How long is this retelling going to be?”

           “Why do you ask?”

           “No reason,” You shrug.

           “Anyway – is it a sex reason?” Seokjin will admit he’s officially, completely distracted by you.

           “What – the legend or why I asked?” You tilt your head to the side, purposefully bringing insecurity to his question. It isn’t that you want him squirming, but you do, totally and completely.

           “Why you asked?”

           “Maybe,” You shrug.

           “You’re calculating how deeply you want to fuck me and if you can come between the pie baking and me telling you the story, or if you’re just going to wait until the pie is cooling,” Jin crosses his arms over his chest, watching you.

           “I hate how well you know me,” You smirk.  

           “So, what’s it gonna be?”

           The problem with you bringing sex into this conversation is that now Seokjin can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop thinking about you, naked and wanting, your voice strained and heated, your hands grasping at him, eyes darkened with lust. All he can see is what could happen, and that’s enough to derail his entire story.

           “Tell the story.”

           “Good choice,” He offers in consolation, though he would’ve preferred you wanted him now. “Where was I – had I gotten to the slime yet?”

           “You hadn’t even started,” You laugh, taking in the flushing of his ears. “How distracted are you?”

           “You’re the one with a shirt half open – I’ll start from the beginning.”

           “Just say you want me Jinnie, and we can call it,” Your fingers unbutton another, exposing more of your chest to him. “No Legend of the Feathers, no waiting for the pie, you can just have me and I can have you.”

           “But we’ll have to stop when the pie is done.”

           “So?”

           “I hate stopping,” He whines. “Leaving you under the mirror – alone?”

           You feign hurt. “You don’t trust me?”

           “No – I don’t. Not tonight, not when you’re looking at me like that,” Seokjin’s remaining composed – or at least every part of him from the waist up is remaining composed. It’s his lower half that’s betraying him spectacularly.  

           “Hm, tell your story.”

           “The Legend of the Feathers,” Seokjin begins. “It begins, as all stories do, with a murder of crows gathered in council over the appearance of a mysterious, murky, mauve slime that began seeping from the trees in their grove.”

           You stare at him, watching his lips as they punctuate the air, articulating each syllable and sentence, expanding and contracting, dipping when needed. His voice is a melody between your ears and whatever it is he’s saying, is going straight to your core. His hair is too long, growing shaggy and bowl-shaped, he flicks his head to move it out of his eyes. God, you want to push it back, expose his forehead, not let it flop around and dangle in your face like a 17 year old.

           “And after their council, it was determined that crows needed to stay on watch and not linger on trees with mauve goo. While crows took to the skies, the unkindness of ravens decided they would linger on trees to see if they could gather any information. They would allow the weaker birds, pigeons, and less creatures, squirrels, to eat the sap and see what would come from it.”

           Seokjin tells this story at least once a Halloween season, your favorite tale of mystery and intrigue, a brief warning to heed the intelligence of Ravens and Crows… very ironic for a species that is often killed and turned into pie.

           “Honey?” Seokjin asks.

           Your attention is drawn away from his lips to his eyes, which are staring at you inquisitively. “Hm?”

           “I asked you if you wanted to say the incantation to clean the dishes.”

           “Oh, yeah, of course.”

           It isn’t lost on Jin that you were daydreaming about him, how could it be when he watched you take your bottom lip between your teeth, dragging them across the supple flesh? He isn’t stupid, he saw your thighs rub together, the slight flush rushing to the apples of your cheeks. You’re lost thinking about him too.

           Saying the incantation takes you a moment longer than usual, but once it’s done and the kitchen is clean, Jin checks the timer. “Two minutes.”

           “Okay – I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be back,” You tell him. Jin nods, an unspoken permission.

           Leaving the kitchen and stepping into the hallway, you let your lust and desire come over you. First your shirt – then your bra. Next you wiggle out of your leggings, and finally as you cross the threshold into your bedroom, your underwear.

           “Seokjin?” You call.

           “Hm?”

           “Come back here when you’re done – okay?”

Next: Day 23

#bangtanbathhouse #nofacetober #thebtswritersclub #clubzerooclock #bangtanarmynet #networkbangtan #kim seokjin #seokjin x you #seokjin x reader #ksj #justasparkwritings #justaspark #ot7 series #mxm #I hate halloween

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

The villa where my mother lived before she got married collapsed because of me. That's what my mother told me, each time I brought up the place.

I'd been there as a kid, where I'd counted the colours on the walls, and it seemed to be a different number each time.

The black dog my mother's father owned took a particular liking to me. He was fond of kids, I think.

And my mother's mother could knit anything you asked for. I asked for an armadillo and a fighter jet, and she knitted both of those.

"Can we go to where you lived before you got married?" I asked the question with trepidation. I'd heard the story before, but I kept hoping it would change. I kept hoping that maybe I was old enough now, old enough to be told the truth.

But her story remained the same.

"The house hated you," she said, and she would lay an emphasis on the word 'hated' that felt like a cold knife in your heart. "It recoiled at your touch. Soon, everything you touched started cracking. The plaster came off. The tiles broke. The beams and bricks cracked open like ribs. And then one night, it all fell down."

She always said the last four words in a songlike tone, like she was reciting a nursery rhyme.

I didn't question her story. I just put off asking her again for longer. And then longer, and longer, and when you become an adult, you stop taking your parents' shit, so I eventually broke off with her.

When she disappeared in Italy, I couldn't decide what to think about it. Was I glad? Relieved? Pained? Indifferent? It's hard to process these things when you're an adult and you know so much about so many things.

In her belongings, I found a letter in a blank envelope. On the page, in the centre, an address in Italy.

I went to Italy, and in chatting up the hotel receptionist, I found out that my mother had checked into the hotel before her disappearance. After presenting identification, I asked about her, but got nowhere. The receptionist probably thought it was bad business to involve himself in this affair.

Taking a car out to the address, I listened to Italian music on the radio, and I kept thinking of that house where my mother lived. I knew this was its address. What else could it be?

I got there in a few hours of driving. The villa was not collapsed. There wasn't a single crack on it. The walls were painted in more colours than I cared to count, and my mother was not there.

Off the high cliff the villa sat on, the Mediterranean struck its waves against a legion of rocks. I explored the empty villa, hoping to see someone who could give me an answer. Even the crows looked like they knew nothing.

As the sun set on the horizon, I sat on the cliff and looked at the villa that hated me. Or maybe it didn't. I would never know now.

#writing #writeblr #words #spilled ink #spilled words #daily writing #original fiction #original prose #short story #short stories #short fiction #fiction #flash fiction #flash fic #creative writing #literature #prose #spilled prose #writers #writers on tumblr #i have a weird fascination of this image of an empty mediterranean villa #i think it comes from some old italian art film i saw #when i was younger #this story too reads like some kind of european arthouse film #i dig that #i'm expecting comments from folks who think it's a real story #don't let me down tumblr

[ingek73]

Fairytales for fuckwits: Meghan, a children's book, and the school bully tactics of the British tabloids...

Piers Morgan's obsession with Meghan Markle continues, while Mike Graham appears worried there may be too many big words for him to understand.

Mic Wright

May 6

On May the 4th, there was a great disturbance in the force, as if thousands of tabloid reporters and talk radio pundits cried out at once: The Duchess of Sussex had announced she was writing a children’s book.

Since the earth-shattering news that Meghan has written a story about the relationship between father’s and their sons — apparently based on a poem she wrote for Prince Harry — the tabloid press and talk radio stations have gone into meltdown.

The Sun has managed to crank out seven hysterically-pitched stories on the announcement since it dropped — the book isn’t out until June 8th — with each more unhinged than the last:

MEG TO PAPER Meghan Markle writes children’s book inspired by Prince Harry and baby Archie about ‘bond between father and son’

MEG-A MOVE Meghan Markle’s first priority should be mending broken relationships with royals not writing kids’ book, expert claims

SOUNDS A BIT WOODEN ‘Schmaltzy’ Meghan Markle ‘on dodgy ground’ with kids’ book celebrating fathers ‘after own bust-up with dad’ says author

DOUBLE DUCH Meghan Markle accused of copying her kids’ book The Bench from another story – but author defends her

NOT WRITE Piers Morgan slams ‘hypocrite’ Meghan Markle for kids’ book on ‘father-son bond’ after ‘ruining Harry and Charles’ ties’

'RIDICULOUS' Meghan Markle using Duchess of Sussex as author name ‘laughable’ after she wanted to cut Royal ties, says royal expert

CUT PRICE Meghan Markle’s kids’ book has price slashed already at Amazon and Waterstones

You’ll notice that Piers Morgan — a man who has turned one drink with Meghan after which he claims she “ghosted him”, which took place in 2016, into a five year and counting obsession — gets his own story there. That’s The Sun filleting Morgan’s spittle-flecked Daily Mail column on the book for its own news piece.

Morgan, who trails his columns on Twitter like they are exciting new releases rather than the tabloid equivalent of a letter scrawled in faeces forced through your letterbox, dashed out his thoughts on The Bench with the indecent haste of a man running along while his trousers fall down.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @BreeNewsome

DEFUND & ABOLISH POLICE, REFUND OUR COMMUNITIES

@BreeNewsome

Piers Morgan’s obsession with Meghan Markle is genuinely disturbing. He’s really just using the guise of journalism to be a public stalker and harasser.

May 5th 2021

1,414 Retweets10,252 Likes”

-

Beneath a typically screaming Mail headline — How the hell can Meghan 'I hate royalty but call me Duchess' Markle preach about father-child relationships when she's disowned her own Dad, and wrecked her husband's relationship with his? — Morgan howled:

… she continues to cynically exploit her royal titles because she knows that's the only reason anyone is paying her vast sums of money to spew her uniquely unctuous brand of pious hectoring gibberish in Netflix documentaries, Spotify podcasts or children's books.

Of course, her equally cynical publishers don't give a damn about any of this shocking double standard.

Forget the fact that Meghan had a good degree of personal fame before she ever met Prince Harry, Piers Morgan accusing anyone else of being a cynical fame chaser is beyond parody. From his earliest days as a gossip hack, Morgan has muscled into pictures with the rich and famous, desperate to be someone.

When Meghan was willing to indulge him, he showered her with praise, but once she stopped taking his calls, he turned into the Tinder match from hell. That he has been married to his second wife, fellow controversialist columnist Celia Walden since 2010 seemingly did nothing to dampen his obsession.

Having repeatedly interviewed Meghan’s estranged father Thomas Markle — another man aggrieved because a woman would rather not spend time with him — Morgan sneers:

If she really cared about father-child relationships, she'd take a chauffeur-driven limousine on the hour-long trip to see her own father who's never even met either Harry or Archie.

It’s projection again: Piers Morgan’s ego is so egg-shell thin that after Meghan decided that one drink was more than enough, he’s spent 5 years seeking revenge and convinced that he’s been wronged, just like her ‘poor old dad’. That’s the ‘poor old dad’ that insists on talking about his daughter to journalists at every possible occasion.

At the end of an article that implies Harry and Meghan contributed to the death of Prince Philip — he died of natural causes — and rants on about “the woke”, Morgan ends with this:

But then as we've seen from her gruesomely self-interested behaviour during a pandemic that's caused so much devastation and pain to billions around the world, Meghan Markle doesn't really care about anyone but herself.

Remember, the Duchess of Sussex’s only ‘crime’ here is to write a children’s book which people will be free to buy or ignore with equal ease. But, as ever, Piers Morgan treats the news with all the proportionality of a US drone strike.

The real story here is about how Morgan — the bittiest of bit-part players in the narrative of Meghan and Harry’s lives — is so desperate to upgrade his place in the cast list that he will rant and rave to stay relevant. His departure from Good Morning Britain came after his last stream of invective about Meghan and he knows this schtick gets him the attention and money he craves.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @MariaLRoach

Maria Roach

@MariaLRoach

Meghan Markle inside the tiny space called Piers Morgan’s head. #duchessofsussex Tap Dance GIF by Miss America

May 5th 2021

122 Retweets1,619 Likes”

-

Aside from Morgan’s column, MailOnline has published 9 other news stories on or related to the book announcement. The most telling of them is one that links the Duchess of Sussex’s book to another one… by the Duchess of Cambridge.

Headlined Bookshelf battle royale! Kate Middleton shares a glimpse inside her Hold Still photobook just a day after Meghan Markle unveiled her own £12.99 children's story, the story unsurprisingly treats Kate with kid gloves while continuing to imply that Meghan is the kind of person who would make gloves out of kids if it suited her devilish schemes.

There’s no shade thrown at the Duchess of Cambridge for revealing further details of her book just hours after Meghan’s announcement. Instead, the story — lavishly illustrated with images from the book — gushes:

The Duchess of Cambridge has shared a glimpse of her photography book Hold Still ahead of its release on Friday…

… Kate, 39, a keen photographer, launched a campaign during the first lockdown last year to ask the public to submit images which captured the period.

It even includes a mention of an image of a BLM protestor saying:

Over the course of the project, the Duchess shared a number of her favourite images on the Kensington Royal Instagram page, including a Black Lives Matter protester holding a sign reading: 'Be on the right side of history.'

If Meghan had done the same she would have been decried for “supporting extremists”. Remember the contrasting way their mutual taste for avocado was covered?

15 Headlines Show How Differently The British Press Treat Meghan Markle Vs Kate Middleton | Bored Panda

Over at The Daily Telegraph, Spiked alumna Ella Whelan offered her thoughts on a book that isn’t released until next month under the headline Meghan Markle’s fun-free children’s book may put an entire generation off reading, which makes it sound like a grimoire full of dark magic rather than a gentle children’s book about kids and their dads.

Just as with the Mail’s story on Kate’s book, it’s worth imagining what Whelan would say if the Duchess of Cambridge had written The Bench. Look at the following section…

It reveals something of the political superficiality of Harry and Meghan’s activism that an “inclusive” book would use the military father as its promotional message. Perhaps it’s a cultural thing, but if my kids have to read about soldiers, I’d prefer Hans Christian Andersen’s tin version rather than the woke posturing of a former royal.

… and notice that because Meghan is the author including a father who is in the military is “political superficiality”. If Kate had written a story that featured an analogue for Prince William — who also spent time in uniform, though in less dangerous circumstances than his ‘spare’ brother — Whelan would likely deem it a ‘touching tribute to their love’.

Similarly, Sarah Ferguson — the ex-wife of Prince Andrew, top Yelp! reviewer for Jeffrey Epstein’s houses and noted avoider of FBI questioning — uses the title Duchess of York on her many execrable children’s books.

Now that Meghan is the tabloid’s new monster in the monarchy, Fergie’s antics are pointed to as a positive with her books flattered even as Meghan’s as-yet-unpublished book is panned.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @talkRADIO

talkRADIO

@talkRADIO

Meghan Markle is releasing a new children's book about father-son relationships.

Mike Graham: "It's so juvenile. This is somebody who acts like she's still in high school... it's not exactly Tennyson, is it?

@mrmarkdolan | @Iromg Image

May 5th 2021

36 Retweets221 Likes”

-

Over on talkRADIO, Mike Graham — a melting mass of expired meat — ranted about a children’s book, worried perhaps that it will contain too many long words. Speaking to his colleague, Mark Dolan — Dennis Pennis without the charm — Graham crowed:

It’s so juvenile. This is somebody who acts like she’s still in high school… I don’t have anything against her for any particular reason, other than she’s a bit too American, you know. She thinks everything is just great and cheesy. Rhyming the words ‘joy’ and ‘boy’. It’s not exactly Tennyson, is it?

Ah yes, that famous children’s author, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, known for such devastating rhymes as this one from The Lady of Shallot: “She left the web/ She left the loom/ She made three paces through the room.”

I’m not saying The Lady of Shalott is rubbish — though I do still hold a grudge against Tennyson after some very tedious teaching in high school — but that focusing on one rhyme in a poem is an easy trick if you want to say its shit. That Graham cannot see the irony in decrying writing a children’s book as “juvenile” is just one of the reasons he’s employed by a station with less than 1% reach.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @NadimJBaba

Nadim Baba

@NadimJBaba

Piers Morgan ranting about the one who got away in 5, 4, 3.......

Media Guardian @mediaguardian

Meghan wins copyright claim against Mail on Sunday over letter https://t.co/cJZTgDMvgz

May 5th 2021

1 Like”

-

There’ll be a new round of these columns, stories, and talk radio segments when the book is released, particularly as The Mail on Sunday just lost the second part of Meghan’s copyright claim against it.

There’s nothing that either Meghan or Harry could do that wouldn’t drive these rats in a sack rabid. If they did nothing, they’d be called lazy. When they make things, take jobs, or really say anything the very media that benefits hugely from stories about them scream that it’s a cry for attention. And yet Piers Morgan regularly pissing himself in public is “commentary”.

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