#{ of fiddles: johnny spirit ;; }

[lovelyllamasblog]

Johnny Spirit 🎻

Son of Ghosts

Birthday: December 10*

Star Sign: Sagittarius ♐

*debut in Playing the Boos

[qprpbj]

cw about ponyboy and his suicidal thoughts/ideation under the cut re: deaths at my door/throwing in the towel staging and my lil opinions!!!!

tonight i am thinking about how the staging & connotations of deaths at my door vaguely implies pony contemplating suicide/having suicidal thoughts (or. idk that’s how i read it anyway) particularly provoked by the lines like “i swear that [death] it’s following me / death’s shadow is long and it grows all around me ” “you should move on / you’d be better off without me” etc and how he fiddles and stares down with his open switchblade the entire song, held tight in his hand till the end when johnny convinces him to close the blade and finally hand it over, finalized by johnny holding pony’s hand/shoulder and grounding him

this is Particularly insane to me because not five minutes later, the next time we see pony, it’s him still upstage singing the final verse to throwing in the towel with darry and soda, the highest harmony, which reads like “this is the darkest hour of the darkest night / looking overhead, you don’t see no light / […] there ain’t no letting go” and “that’s what love is all about […] / there ain’t no throwing in the towel”.

pony’s night of contemplating suicide in deaths at my door is his literal self-proclaimed “darkest hour of the darkest night” but it’s his brothers and family — johnny who talks him down, and soda & darry’s spirit he can still feel within him — that save him and convince him not to “throw in the towel”. which, of course, is directly paralleling soda talking darry down from doing the same damn thing (i could talk for Ages about how parallel of characters pony and darry are, but that’s. an entirely different Thing).

idk i just think it’s SO interesting that they have pony sing this verse with both of them right after DAMD bc that literally quite WAS his “darkest hour of the darkest night”, in fact it very well could’ve been his final hour of his final night, but he was talked down and convinced by family and love and brotherhood that he fuckin needs to be here still. that he’s got people who love him, people who need him, and he can’t give up on them and leave them alone because they never gave up on him, not even when things got unimaginably hard or when they felt like “giving out” with their “heads full of doubt” etc. yk. idk sorry this is probably sooo incoherent but. idk i just have so many thoughts about ponyboy ughhh

[mangohobbit]

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CoD OC X TF141 (Platonic)

Authors Note: Hello to anyone this reaches (this feels like a message in a bottle) For over a year now I've writing both a storyline and drabbles of my Call of Duty OC with the 141 boys. I just love her so much, and I've been having a blast writing her and the boys. This is me finally getting the courage to post her story. Maybe my style of writing isn't for everyone, and I'm not a great writer or anything, but it's my story and character that I've grown very attached to. I did try my best to research how the military works from different parts of the world. Not gonna lie when I say it can get very overwhelming with the information. But I'm here for the fun times so inaccuracies will happen but I don't think they detract from the story or the characters as a whole. So I hope you enjoy :)

Story Note: When I tell you this is a slow burn...this is a SSSLLOOWWW BBUUURRRNN. The first story is simply for you to get to know Daniela (my OC) and learn how she got recruited to the 141. I want you guys to care for her story and struggles throughout her journey with the 141. Her relationship with each of the boys is purely platonic and each dynamic with them is different. The romance will come later I PROMISE!

*please be nice with me! I tried editing as much as possible! (Being bilingual makes me dumb sometimes)

Tigger warning? Well there is a kidnapping and your regular warfare violence but not in this chapter.

Word Count : 2938

Harpia and the 141 part 1: The Boys and the Bird

Chapter 1: The Harpy and her cake

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

The fireworks went off as the last of the set of military groups passed the line as their anthem faded into another marching band song. Streamers filled the sky along with stray balloons floated all around from children's slippery fingers. As a special anniversary of some hundred year old treaty to allied forces from long forgotten war, the militaries from all around the world were invited to show off in the hosting country. This time it was in Paris, France. The streets were littered with thousands of parade watchers and hundreds of military personnel showing off their fancy parade outfits. Shiny black boots stepped on fallen streamers and confetti as some sixty different countrymen and women advertised themselves to the civilians who decided to come out and enjoy the merriment.

“Come on Ghost, get into the spirit of it,” Soap waved a small Scottish flag in front of his friend's face. 

“I hate these things,” Ghost gruffed.

“It’s a beautiful spring day in Paris. How can you hate it?” Gaz nudged on his comrades crossed arms. 

“Because it’s annoying and loud,” Simon huffed. 

“You just have to get into the spirit,” Soap fiddled his flag at Simon’s face. 

“Soap, if you value that shit little flag then get it away or I snap it in half. Make a choice,” Ghost threatened. 

Soap glared at his party pooping lieutenant, who always had a hard time in crowds. 

“Haven’t been to one of these in awhile,” Gaz waved the U.K flag. “Have either you ever participated in one of these?” he asked. 

“Once,” Soap and Ghost responded at the same time, though in different tones. Soap in a happy way and Ghost in an annoyed way. 

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you hated it Simon?” Gaz chuckled.

“Got a free meal afterwards for it so whatever,” Simon huffed.

“I got to wear a fancy kilt and sash,” Johnny remembered the event fondly. 

“Come on boys!” Captain Price called out for his boys from behind. “Let's get something to eat that, for once, we don’t have to pay for.”

The rest of the 141 followed behind the captain. Winding through the crowd they were curious as to why Price had brought them to the parade in the first place. This morning they were in their regular base across the English canal and by the afternoon they were surrounded by people while the music of marching bands pounded into their ears. 

Soap moved up to Price’s side. “So are you goin’ to tell us why we’re here. Captain?”

“Not yet MacTavish. Let’s get some grub first then I'll get you in on it,” Price replied. 

“You don’t know either do you?” Ghost spoke up. 

“Something like that,” Price confessed. 

When the group went around the corner of the street, a familiar face looked up to them. “Boys?” It was Laswell standing in front of the entrance to a giant white tent where parade performers were walking into. 

“Kate,” Gaz was the first to come up to his mentor with a handshake and a smile. 

“Good to see you again boys,” she grinned back at them. “Come on in and grab a bite while I talk with your captain,” she gestured for them to follow her. Before walking into the tent through a separate line, Kate flashed a laminated badge to the two security guards standing watch. They nodded to the agent for her to go with the 141. 

Soap, Gaz, and Soap did as they were told by Kate. They were pretty hungry from all the walking and endless standing in the heat of the day. The three filled their plates to the brim with all kinds of good stuff while Price went to talk to Laswell on the side. 

“So why did you need me here on such short notice?” the captain of the 141 asked. 

Without saying another word Kate handed John a manila folder which only meant one thing. Although, with Kate that’s what most of their meets up and conversations were about; assignments and favors. Which would it be this time? 

“Who is in need of saving this time Kate?” Price grinned sarcastically. As he opened the folder the first thing he noticed was the family photo as it was on top of the pile. Just a family of three; a father, mother, and daughter (a young woman) lined up together in front of some historic looking building. All three were smiling happily for the shot. 

“She’s been taken,” Laswell said, then sipped on some champagne. 

“And her importance? Price asked. 

“The man is Juan Carlos Morena. He’s an environmentalist recently elected as mayor to a town in the south of Colombia. He's become infamous in the conservation sphere. And with him being elected as a mayor only made him more famous. It’s given other activists hope that people want change to happen in the region.”

“But?” Price looked to Laswell finding the “but” in this topic. 

“Climate activists in Colombia have always been targeted by a number of greedy people. They are the disruptors to their illegal operations so it’s common for activists like this guy to be killed. Only this time instead of just killing him off his daughter has been taken by a confirmed cartel group operating in the area.”

“How is it confirmed?” Price asked. 

“To make a statement they kidnapped her in daylight in front of people. It was filmed,” Kate took out her phone from her pocket and played the video on silent. It was a shaky shot but it was definitely a video of a young woman being shoved into a car while fighting for her life.

“How do you know it’s not some staged act? Daddy’s girl wanted to get away from parents?”

“I asked the same question but she’s also just as giving to the community as her parents are. She’s a lawyer and leader of her own organization of helping women leave their abusive households. She’s active in the community so trust me when I say she doesn’t seem like a spoiled, rich girl that got into the wrong crowd.”

“Christ,” Price flipped through the pages. “You said a confirmed cartel as well? How do we know that?”

“The symbol on the jeep is the symbol used by this particular organization. They’ve been within our radar for some time so it was recognizable. Not much has been done on our part to suppress them but this could finally be our chance.”

“So moving drugs and inciting violence is one thing but you finally draw the line at kidnapping a major figure of the community?” Price looked at Kate in suspicion. 

“There have been plenty of stories that have come to me about these guys, Price,” she got defensive. “But stories weren't enough. Now we have footage and a kidnapping. It's a chance to finally put these guys down once and for all. And you and your boys are the best in the business for this kind of job. So what do you say?”

Price kept glaring at his old friend. Although she tried to hide it, Kate had a look of desperation and concern. Price gave in with a heavy sigh. “What are our villains' names?”

“They call themselves “The Jungle” or in Spanish it would be “La Jungla”,” Kate revealed in a rough accent. “They used to be a small sect connected to the Medellin cartel but have operated for the past twenty years as their own separate organization. These are dangerous people John. And the civilians of this region could use one less threat to their lives,” Laswell put the now empty glass onto a passing tray. Price stayed silent for a moment looking over the rest of the files. “You don’t have to accept this but the squad that’s being formed by their own military could use some people like you and your boys.”

The captain looked at the family photo one last time. Those smiles cut deep into the soldiers heart in thinking how scared they all must be. Her family weren’t the only one’s in pain. This was a whole community of people trying to make their lives better and it only keeps being interrupted by vile people like this cartel. 

“Well, alright then,” John closed the folder and handed it back to his friend. 

“Your support will be very appreciated, John,” Laswell grinned. 

“How did you even hear about this mess?”

“Through the grapevine kind of situation. A friend, of a friend, of a friend contacted me.”

“Looks like you’re the most popular kid in the schoolyard Kate,” John chuckled with Kate following along with him as she found the comment humorous as well. 

“There is one slight problem John.”

“And that is?”

“You and your boys have no experience in this region or a landscape like this and only you and Gaz know Spanish that’s passable at best. This is a region where English speakers are rare and communication will be a key,” Kate explained. “There could also be encounters with non Spanish speakers as well.”

“So what are you saying?” John crossed his arms.

“Your team is being loaned a new recruit. But don’t worry they have plenty of experience for this kind of stuff,” Laswell looked to her left and gestured for a man some feet away from them to come join her and Price. The man came up and greeted Price with a firm handshake. He was dressed in a formal military uniform with the flag of Peru patch on his left arm. “John, this is Colonel Alvarez of the Peruvian Air Force.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Price,” the man nodded.

“Pleasure is all mine, Colonel. It’s not you who will be joining me for the mission will it?” John didn’t want to be rude but the man had some years on him to be doing a mission like the one he just accepted. 

“No, no captain, I have recommended someone to Laswell for you to take on the mission. She is a very valuable asset to the air force and will be very helpful in this situation.”

“What does the Peruvian military have to do with the affairs of the remote region of Colombia?” John asked. 

“That we share many common enemies and most notably…we share the Amazon,” the colonel noted. “It is not uncommon for military troops from different nations that share a border to assist one another on missions like this.”

“I’m going to take a guess and say you’re the friend of a friend Laswell was implying about?”

“Indeed,” the colonel nodded. “This is who will be joining your team captain,” the Peruvian man handed Price another manila folder with the name “Harpia” in the front. 

John skimmed over the impressive resume of the recruit. Kate was right about her experience even though she had only been in the military for the past five years. “She’s quite the academic,” John noticed the bachelor's degree in her education side of the file along with a number of certifications. Then there was a list under the languages section that left him surprised. “What are all these?”

“Your recruit is an expert in indigenous languages, captain,” the colonel explained. “Where you are going, not everyone speaks Spanish. Not many military personnel have her knowledge and even fewer civilians have her experience and clearance for this kind of mission.”

“Alright, so we meet her over there?” John accepted the outcome. 

“Not necessarily John, she was in the parade and is right here,” Kate said. 

“She would be right over…” the colonel scanned the area of the dining tent. “There she is,” the colonel pointed to a young woman holding a small plate with a half eaten slice of cake.  

“Does she know about all this?” Price asked. 

“Indeed she does,” the colonel nodded. “You can go and meet her now if you like.”

“Then if you’ll excuse me,” Price nodded to the two higher ranking agents as he went off to the side and meet his new temp. 

Not one for sneaking, John came up to the young woman directly. She was dressed in a dark green coat and knee length skirt in the same color and some low square heels. She had a fancy sash across her chest and a spiffy looking hat that lay on top of her neatly slicked back hair that was tied on a braided low bun. She was fully decked out as much as the other parade performers. 

The young woman saw the captain make his way towards her and she put down her plate immediately. There was a cheery grin on her face once John was finally in front of her; towering over her frame. “Captain Price?” the decorated woman asked. 

“That would be me,” John smiled at her. The most notable thing about the lady was her small stature. She seemed to be even shorter than Farah. Her cheekbones were high and sharp but also maintained a very round face. There was something very unique about her face but then he remembered the list of languages she knew. 

“It’s an honor to meet you Captain,” she shook Price's hand enthusiastically. “I am Lieutenant Daniela Huari of the Peruvian Air Force.”

“Aka Harpia,” John added. “What’s that stand for?”

“The harpy, like in Greek mythology but in this case it’s after the harpy eagle of South America,” Daniela explained. 

“Can’t wait to find out how you got that one,” John chuckled. “So you’re the one who’s joining me and my boys?”

“It would seem so,” Daniela nodded.

“You know what you’re walking into, right?” John had his concern dad tone switched on.

“I do,” the lieutenant nodded a yes to the captain. 

“Good,” John smiled at her eagerness. “I mean clearly you more than qualified for this,” he held up her file. “Very impressive stuff in here.”

“Thank you Captain Price,” Daniela grinned at the praise. 

“Alright lieutenant, you meet us on the base at 18:00 hours. There isn’t any more time to waste here.”

“Si, capitan,” Daniela saluted the higher ranking officer.

“Meet ya there Harpia,” John grinned once more to the young woman and made his way back to his boys who were stuffing themselves with all sorts of stuff on their plates. “Come on lads we have some packing and explaining to do,” Price waved for the other three men to follow him out of the tent. 

“Who were you talking to Cap’?” Soap asked while taking one last bit out of his dessert. 

“Who was that with Laswell?” Gaz then questioned as well.

“And who was the shrimp you talked to next?” Ghost added to the list of questions to his captain. 

“Let’s talk about this at the base boys. There’s a lot to unpack here,” Price led his task force back to the base on the outskirts of the city. 

Task Force 141 made their way to their assigned aircraft that would be crossing them over the Atlantic all the way to a base in Venezuela. Price was right about unpacking a great deal of information to the other three men. The mayor, the mayor's daughter, her kidnapping, the cartel, there was much for the boys to intake. 

“A rescue mission and taking down a cartel. This’ll be fun,” Soap laid a friendly soft punch on Ghost’s shoulder. 

“Just dandy, Soap,” Simon gruffed. 

With heavy bags on their shoulders they finally found the lot for their transport. The loading dock door was fully open, ready for them to load in. But as they turned to go up the ramp all three men stopped dead in their tracks at someone already strapping in their own bags. 

“Who the hell are you?” Ghost partially yelled at the woman. 

Daniela bounced in her turn to the 141 crew members as she didn’t hear them come from behind her. “Oh you’re here, great,” she walked up to the men who towered over her. 

“Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant Garrick, Sergeant MacTavish, it’s a pleasure to meet you boys. I’ll be working with you on this mission,” she extended her hand for one of them to shake but all three of them just looked at her confusingly. 

“Boys! Be nice,” Price came from behind them. “This is lieutenant Daniela Huari. She is joining us as a pilot, guide, translator and interpreter, and survival expert,” Price came up to Daniela and gave her upper back a quick pat. “She’s on loan to us from the Peruvian Air Force so play nice with her. I want a good report about us from her when all this is over.”

“Survival expert?” Soap asked.

“The biggest disadvantage we have is that neither of us have ever been to this type of region. We’ve been to the country before but the place isn’t the streets of Bogota. This is the Amazon, a hostile environment we’ve never been to. Even though we’ll be assisting a military squadron from Colombia, I was informed that she will be needed.”

“For what?” Ghost asked.

“To make sure you don’t wipe your ass with a poisonous plant,” Daniela teased. 

Gaz and Soap couldn’t help but snicker at the comment. Even Price couldn’t hold in a soft scoff to his chest. “Alright soldiers, let’s get going. We have a whole ass ocean to cross.”

Johnny laughed quietly to Simon. “She’s a lieutenant and you called her a shrimp.”

“Shut up,” Ghost rumbled beneath his breath.

——The captain meeting Daniela Huari

[nekoannie-chan]

The book of the dead

The book of the dead

Work Name/Title: The book of the dead.

Author/Artist/Creator: Annie/Nekoannie-chan/SharlotteMayfair

Fandom: Marvel, Fantastic Four.

Ship: Johnny Storm X Reader.

Tags: Halloween Horror Bingo 2024

HHB2024

Any personal tags: Book of the dead, probably end of the world.

A/N: This is my entry to @halloweenhorrorbingo.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate my work myself) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. Please let me know if you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield”agent78 @charmed”asylum @pandaxnienke @real”fbi @Smokeandnailz @white”wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @Harrysthiccthighss @Marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire”rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia”rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails”club  @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @Here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard @rogersbarber

The day had started like any other, with Johnny Storm, mocking you as usual.

“Come on, you know all that stuff is nonsense,” he said as he fiddled with a fireball in his hand.

“Johnny, do you really believe that after facing beings from other dimensions and realities, there is nothing beyond what you can see? “You replied, folding your arms.

“It's not that I don't believe in weird stuff, you know I've seen it all,” he said, extinguishing the small flame with a wave of his hand. I'm just saying that cursed books and stuff like that sound like the plot of a bad horror movie.

However, everything changed when Reed Richards led a mission. He had detected a disturbance at an archaeological dig in Egypt. Reed asked you to accompany Johnny to investigate, and although Johnny initially protested, he finally agreed.

As we flew over the dunes, Johnny kept making jokes about finding a cursed mummy or being haunted by some ancient spirit.

“Just make sure you don't light up near the relics, Johnny,” I said with a sarcastic grin. We don't want you reducing something millennia old to ashes.

“Relax, I always have everything under control,” he replied, leaning back in his seat.

Although Johnny took everything lightly, you knew that these kinds of artifacts were not to be underestimated.

The Egyptian sun beat down hard, and Johnny complained about the heat, which was ironic considering he himself could turn into a ball of fire whenever he wanted.

The head of the dig greeted them enthusiastically, showing us the latest finds: a series of subway tunnels that ran deep into the earth. The archaeologists had found hieroglyphs that mentioned an ancient sacred text, and Reed believed it might be connected to the Book of the Dead.

“This place is incredible,” you said as we walked through the tunnels. The texts tell of a pharaoh who tried to conquer death. The book we're looking for could be related to those rituals.

Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Sure, because nothing says 'fun' like a pharaoh obsessed with immortality.

As we moved deeper into the ruins, the walls were covered with symbols you didn't recognize, but which radiated a dark energy. Johnny, who up to that point had been making sarcastic comments, began to get more serious.

“Hey, don't you feel like the air is getting... weird in here? “he asked.

You nodded, feeling how the temperature seemed to drop strangely, despite the heat outside.

Finally, they came to a hidden chamber. In the center of the room, on a stone pedestal, was a book, the covers of which were made of what appeared to be ancient leather, and on them were drawn intricate symbols that seemed to move in the dim light of our lanterns.

“That must be the Book of the Dead,” you whispered.

Johnny approached slowly, inspecting the book with a raised eyebrow.

“It doesn't look so scary,” he said, reaching out to touch it.

“Wait! “We don't know what could be triggered if you touch it carelessly.

“Okay, I'll let you handle it. But if anything goes wrong, I'll light up and we'll get the hell out of here.

You nodded and pulled out a pair of special gloves Reed had designed for handling mystical artefacts. Carefully, you lifted the book from the pedestal. As soon as you did, the air in the chamber seemed to thicken, and a faint whisper filled the space.

“I think we woke him up,” Johnny murmured.

Before he could respond, the walls of the chamber began to shake. The symbols glowed with an intense light, and an icy wind, impossible in that place, rose up around you. Then, you saw it. A spectre, a figure shrouded in shadows, materialized in front of you. Its voice echoed in your head.

[moonbeamwritings]

adventures in braiding

wc: 1.6k

pairing: gyro x gn!reader (and i guess gyro x johnny x reader if you squint)

warnings: none

“It’s so hot out,” Gyro complains, wiping sweat from his brow. “Are you guys not hot?”

“It’s hot as hell, Gyro. Stop complaining,” Johnny chimes in, tugging his hat from his head and tucking it into his saddle bag. “You’re not the only one sweating your ass off.”

Gyro slows Valkyrie to a stop and groans. “I need to take a break.”

He bonelessly slides off his horse and as soon as his feet hit the sand, he takes a long swig from his canteen. You watch as sweat glistens on his brow, water tipping past his lips and sliding down his chin and along his neck. More than just the sun heats the surface of your cheeks, and you find yourself following a rivulet of water as it creeps down the column of his throat and beneath the collar of his shirt.

Seemingly dissatisfied with how the water cools him off, Gyro moves to duck under a nearby rock ledge for some shade, and judging by the way he grimaces, the rocks do little to shield him from the heat.

“We can’t stay long,” you warn him. “If we want to make it to the checkpoint by tomorrow afternoon, we’re gonna have to keep moving.”

Gyro waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Just-” Gyro takes another huge gulp from his canteen and sighs. “Give me a minute.”

You watch as he pulls his hat from his head to fan his face, and annoyance washes over his features when it doesn’t immediately work to cool him down. Disgruntled, he tosses it onto the sand and then moves to pull at his hair, lifting it up and down to fan it over the back of his neck.

The movement gives you an idea. Digging through your saddle bag, you find a length of hot pink ribbon you’d taken from the last checkpoint. You don’t remember what compelled you to keep it, but you’re glad to have it now — if only to quell Gyro’s complaints.

You dismount, and join Gyro under his little rock awning. 

“I have an idea that might help. Do you mind if I try it?”

“God, I’d do anything.”

You crowd the space beside him and force him to turn away from you with firm hands on his shoulders, and when his back is to you, you set to work combing your fingers through his hair to ease some of the tangles. When you’re satisfied with how silky it is, you separate it into three sections. Delicately, you weave the hair together into a neat braid, and for the first time all afternoon, Gyro falls silent. As the braid comes to an end you pull the ribbon out to secure it in place, finally moving it over his shoulder and off the back of his neck. 

With his hair out of the way, Gyro lets out a long, pleased sigh as if you’ve just relieved him of a heavy burden. “What would I do without you?”

Emerging from the rocks with renewed spirits, Gyro bends to pick up his hat and straightens his back with a proud hand on his hip. Before mounting his horse again, he fixes his hat into place and fiddles with the ends of his hair, a smug smile tugging at his lips. Squinting in the sun, he asks, “How do I look?”

His cheek is sticky and warm beneath your palm when you move to pat it. You don’t miss the way he leans further into your touch. “You look very pretty, Gyro. Now, are you ready to go?”

“Mhm.”

“Finally,” Johnny groans from behind you, snapping Gyro out of his revelry.

“Do you have to complain about everything?”

“Me?”

The bickering doesn’t stop until well after the sun goes down.

You’ve created a monster.

In the days after, Gyro seems hellbent on incorporating the hairstyle into his daily routine. Every morning, after he’s washed up a little and brushed his teeth, Gyro drags the ribbon between his fingertips and fixes you with this sheepish, almost shy look, so unlike him you can’t help but laugh.

“You want me to fix your hair again?”

He presses the ribbon into your palm then, splaying his hair along his shoulders and dropping into a chair or onto the ground, waiting expectantly for you to braid his hair. And every time, you click your tongue and scoff good-naturedly, teasing him for being so high maintenance, even as you begin to comb your fingers through his pretty blond hair.

Sometimes in the afternoon when you stop to eat, he’ll ask you to tie it again. It needs to stay out of his face when he eats, you know. And you’re more than happy to oblige, setting your silverware aside to collect his hair in your hands. You’ll braid it, or tie it up in a ponytail, sometimes even twisting it into a low bun before digging into your food.

Johnny rolls his eyes more than once at the obvious (but apparently not so obvious to the two of you) display of affection, grumbling under his breath about you two needing to get a room already.

Gyro’s smile is smug when he tells Johnny, “You’re just jealous you don’t have a pretty thing like this playing with your hair.”

It’s a comment meant to get under the other man’s skin, and it does... every time, but you can’t help the way your cheeks light up with its implications. There’s a reason you’re so quick to fix Gyro’s hair, to do anything he asks really, and you suspect it has something to do with the handsome way Gyro smiles or the soft sparkle in his eyes when he’s pleased with the way his hair looks.

The air between you starts to change one night, now weeks after the first braiding incident. Weeks spent playing with Gyro’s hair or sitting close to him at meals or resting on his shoulder during downtime. Johnny had turned in an hour earlier, you and Gyro opting to stay up and savor the dwindling embers of the fire, enjoying the comfortable silence settling between you. The moon hangs high in the sky and a chill works its way through the air, cooling your overheated skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Gyro pick at the skin of his fingers.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

His fingers stop, a sheepish smile overtaking his features. “I was just thinking...”

“About?” You press, nudging your shoulder into his.

“Well, I was wondering,” he scoffs like even the thought of the words leaving his mouth is silly, “if you could teach me how to braid. I always get so happy when you do it for me, and I just...” He fixes you with a soft gaze, his expression bathed in moonlight. “I want to return the favor.”

“I-” you can’t even get your words out without smiling, the tips of your ears growing warm as you think it over. “I would like that.”

“Well, you’re the expert.” He unties the ribbon from his own hair and gently holds it in the space between you. “Teach me your ways.”

Just as you had done all those weeks ago, and just as you instruct, Gyro crowds the space behind you; his long legs sitting on either side of your hips. You walk him through the process: separate the hair into three even sections, cross an outside section over the middle and let it sit, repeat it on the opposite side, and keep going until you reach the ends.

He mumbles the steps to himself over and over again as he goes, and you smile to yourself as you imagine his brow furrowed in concentration, lip jutted out into a pout as he thinks.

The braid isn’t perfect, not by any means, and by the time he’s done (after starting and restarting more than once), the fire has long since burnt out. The moon acts as the only light to guide him as he ties the ribbon around the ends of your hair.

“I- It’s done,” he pauses, running his fingers over the braid. “I think, anyway.”

You reach behind you to feel it, and find that it’s a little bumpy, a little imperfect, but you adore it all the same. He’d tried, and that’s what matters. The thought makes your heart feel fuzzy in your chest.

“I love it. Thank you.”

“You can’t even see it.” He argues, a pout on his lips.

You turn to look at him and cup his cheek. “I can just tell it’s beautiful, and besides,” you pinch the apple of it as you assure him, “practice makes perfect, right?”

You catch moonlight and adoration in the green hues of his eyes, and as silence falls between you, you find yourself twisting so you can lean closer. You’re just about there, your lips almost on his, when Johnny pipes in, sleep evident in his annoyed tone. “Are you done? Can you please go to bed now?”

With the moment entirely shattered, Gyro affectionately rolls his eyes and pecks your cheek, fingers running over the end of your braid before he moves to stand. “Goodnight, sweets.”

He smirks, and on his way back to his bed roll, kneels down to plant a wet smack against Johnny’s cheek. Tone dripping with a teasing singsong, he says,  “Goodnight Johnny.”

Johnny grumbles an “I hate you” as he rolls over and tucks himself further into his blanket.

These two, you think as you settle under your own blankets. That night, you fall asleep with a braid in your hair and a smile on your face.

[peachesofteal]

Sunday snippet of Which Witch below the cut because it's never going to see the light of day at the rate I'm going:

“Be watchful of the féth fíada.” She warns, before pressing a mug into your waiting hands. “Something else is in these woods tonight.” You give your beverage to Johnny and then take a second, before leading him away, down the hill and closer to the fires.

“What’s the féth fíada?”

“It’s the mist. On Samhain, the veil is particularly thin between worlds, you know? Spirits are usually here with us, until the sun rises but…” You sip the cider, spice and warmth coating your tongue. “We, the coven, believe the Others come through at the same time, and use the mist to cloak themselves.” You gesture to the wispy white fog that rolls through the forest like smoke. 

“The Others?” He asks, and you nod. 

“Yes. That’s what we call them. The Fae.” 

“Thought the Fae were a myth.” You laugh and turn to face him. 

“I assure you, they’re very real.” 

“Oh? Have ye encountered one then?” You shudder, like you’re cold, frightening memories pooling at the forefront of your mind until you shove them away. 

“Once. When I was a child.” He frowns then, head cocked in consideration, faraway look in his eye as he casts his gaze over your shoulder. Like he's looking for something. Like he's seeing.

“Were ye hurt, Fern?” Hurt? No. Traumatized? The echo of your mother’s screams ring in between your ears. 

“No.” Someone lights a new pyre a second after your denial, orange embers leaping into the night sky with grace, and it draws your attention enough to distract the both of you. “Come on.” You tug him towards where a group has gathered, their bodies moving together in tandem with a chorus of fiddle strings that fill the air. “Dance with me?” You ask him breathlessly, emboldened by the sniff of fire whiskey that sits in your cup and he smiles before draping an around your waist and pulling you close to his body. 

“I’d like nothing more.” 

[sorta-slow]

G3 should reintroduce Johnny Spirit and give him an enemies to rivals to lovers arc with Heath that cumulates in them competing in a fiddling contest only to tie and start a country duo

[via-the-ghoul]

Monster High headcanons: how each ghost died

(Note before we go into this: Sirena, Kiyomi, Dayna, Scarah, and River are all just kinda like that. They aren’t dead people.)

(Raythe also isn’t included because I simply don’t have any ideas for him.)

(Tw for death, more specifically of teenagers and an animal at one point. Said deaths are costed by sickness, poverty, accidents, gunshots, and drowning. If you’re sensitive to any of these you might not want to read this.)

Spectra, Rhuen, and their family

Spectra’s family was a poor, lower class one. Rhuen was this ferret they took care off

Her parents spoke out against the hard conditions they had to go through a lot, and her mother wrote a book about it. It didn’t sell well however.

Rhuen died first. Ferrets only live for 5-10 years anyway and they couldn’t properly take care of him. Spectra still saw him sometimes out of the corner of her eyes.

Then a horrible sickness spread through the town.

Spectra got it, but her family couldn’t pay for the medicine that would save her. Her father tried to steal some, but he was arrested.

He got the sickness in jail quickly.

Then Spectra’s mother got it.

Spectra then died, holding her mother’s hand.

Her dad died the next day.

Her mother died the day after.

However, after this, her book got popular due to the tragic fates of the family, so uh, there’s that I guess.

Operetta Phantom

Operetta lived with at the time single mom in New Orleans (after her death her mom would remarry the Phantom, who died at some point already but let’s not get into that)

It was a simple life, not too poor, not too rich, not much was notable.

Except that she was already aware of the monster world. She had some banshee heritage from her mom’s side, and they would sometimes visit the Monster World’s version of New Orleans (aka New Goreleans)

Operetta liked it there a lot more, she found it more exciting and she found more friends there.

What they failed to take into account is that the monster world is. Very dangerous for humans, and an accident ended up keeping them there… permanently.

Operetta has mostly repressed her former life, and convinced herself she was always like this. Her friends and mom don’t have the heart to remind her.

Ari Haughtington

Her death was the most recent of everyone, taking place sometime between Haunted and Boo York.

She was a popular musician of course, and did everything to make that dream come true, no matter if she enjoyed it or not.

She’d practice for hours on end.

One practice alone in a concert hall, she bowed after a big number, only to hear someone clapping and cheering her name.

Confused, she looked up, only to see, to her horror, this purple skeletal girl, a scythe lying next to her, cheering happily.

And then the spotlight fell, right on her head.

She died immediately.

The skeletal girl picked her up, and, way too excited, explained that this was her first real reaping were she wasn’t subbing in for anyone. Her name was River.

However, Ari came so far with her dream to be a big pop star, she wouldn’t even let death stop her.

When she got to the monster world, she quickly studied transformation spells, and then snuck back to the human world, under new persona Tash.

Johnny Spirit

He’s from the 1950s (the detention was because of some time machine stuff but this isn’t about that)

He lived on the streets. He didn’t know who his parents were and still doesn’t, but never really cared.

He made some cash with his fiddle skills, he was a fiddle progeny, but most of his cash, he had to steal.

However, the police caught him during one of those attempts.

The gunshot to his head killed him immediately.

On a much, much lighter note, he is the same Johnny from “The Devil went Down to Georgia” which happened after his death. He was literally a soul floating around, still killing it with his fiddle.

Porter Giess

He’s from the early 2000s.

HEAVILY a rebel, put graffiti everywhere he could, wanted to take down this capitalist hellscape we all live in.

He was never caught though, excellent escape artist.

He still got in trouble at school a lot, meaning he often found himself in detention.

His school was one of those schools were detention happens at lunchtime instead of after school (that’s a thing, right? My school isn’t the only school that does that, right?)

So, when someone else in detention decided enough was enough, he was the first casualty in their massacre.

He was a determinator through, didn’t want him to hurt anyone else. Took 6 gunshots for him to stop moving.

Vandala Doubloons

So first of all, her dad’s the Flying Dutchman and her mom was his second in command, because I can and this is my story.

Vandala however, had no idea they were pirates, she simply though they were sailors.

Whenever they were out pirating she would stay with her grandparents.

And then one day, they simply didn’t come back.

So Vandala gathered up her friends (who were the children of the other crew members), stole a boat, and set off to find her parents!

However, a bad storm came, and they all drowned.

However, they refused to give up, and their ghosts sailed in the ghost ship looking for their parents.

Until evidentially, they did find them, somehow freed their souls from the curse, and they all were able to sail to the ghost world.

However, Vandala was like “hold on, you guys were pirates? I want in that’s really cool” and that’s why she’s studying to become a pirate in the current day.

[herbs-and-poultices]

More of my stranger-than-fiction music tastes...

A Vaguely Whumptober-Themed Anthology of Folk Songs from the British Isles / Transatlantic Tradition: Part 2

(Part 1)

16) "Would you lie with me and just forget the world" / Don't go where I can't follow: Clyde Water / Drowned Lovers

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

The very next step that she went in She’s up unto her chin And the deepest part of Clyde water She found sweet William in Saying, you have had a cruel mother, Willie, And I have had another And now we’ll sleep in Clyde water Like sister and like brother

17) "Leave Me Alone": Edward / Son David

There are so many versions of this ballad, here is a sampling: X X X X

A murder ballad: "Blood on my sword, what blood on my sword? Oh, yeah, that... Wonder how that could have gotten there..."

18) Hit Them Harder: Haughs of Cromdale

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A rousing Jacobite song dramatizing two battles on the haughs of Cromdale. The first was a humiliating defeat; the second, they were out for blood. (The historical accuracy ends there, but what it lacks in veracity it makes up in spirit.)

Day 19: I'm not as stupid as you think I am: Turpin Hero

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

The exploits of an infamous highwayman whose career came to an anticlimactic end

Now Turpin is condemned to die To hang upon yon gallows high His legacy is a strong rope For the shooting of a dunghill cock

Day 20: Found Family: Boys of the Old Brigade

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X

An Irish rebel song. I'd be remiss if I didn't manage to fit in at least one.

It was long ago we faced the foe, the old brigade and me And by my side they fought and died that Ireland might be free Where are the lads who stood with me when history was made Ghrá Mo Chroí, I long to see the boys of the old brigade

Day 21: Restraints: MacPherson's Rant

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Another notorious outlaw come to the end of his luck. James MacPherson was also talented fiddler, and with his final hours he gave the world this fine tune.

Untie these bands from off my hands and bring to me my sword For there’s no a man in all Scotland but I'll brave him at a word

Day 22: Vehicular Accident: Lowlands of Holland

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X X X

Do shipwrecks count? I think shipwrecks should count.

23) Stalking: Johnny o' Bredislee

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

An intrepid poacher is ambushed while out on a morning's hunt; despite being sorely outnumbered and wounded in the first exchange, he puts up quite an impressive fight.

But he's rested his back against an oak His foot upon a stane And he has fired at the seven o' them He's killed them a' but ane He's broken four o' that one's ribs His airm and his collar bane And he has set him upon his horse Wi' the tidings sent him hame

24) Goodbye 'Note': The Cruel Sister / Wind and Rain

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

A chilling tale of jealousy, murder, and a haunted fiddle made of human bone and hair. Depending on the version, the fiddle only plays one tune, compels the murderer to confess, or forces her to dance herself to death.

The first string that those minstrels tried And terror seized the black-haired bride The second string made a doleful sound The younger sister, oh she is drowned The final string played beneath the bow And surely now her tears will flow

25) Storm: Three Score and Ten

Nothing compares to hearing Roberts & Barrand perform this one live some 8 years ago, and as far as I know they never recorded it as a duo. Here are my favorite of the recordings I've found: X X

October's night brought such a sight, 'twas never seen before There were masts and spars and broken yards came floating to the shore There was many a heart of sorrow, there was many a heart so brave There was many a hearty fisher lad who found a watery grave

26) Exhaustion: The 51st Highland Division's Farewell to Sicily

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Then tune the pipes an' drub the tenor drum Leave yer kit this side o' the wa' Then tune the pipes an' drub the tenor drum Puir bluidy swaddies are wearie

27) Let Me See: Holland Handkerchief

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A ghostly tale of love beyond the grave

 With this young man she got on behind And they rode swifter than any wind They rode on for an hour or more Till he cried, “My darling, my head feels sore” A holland handkerchief she’s then drew out And with it wrapped his aching head about She’s kissed his lips and these words did say “My love, you’re colder than any clay"

28) Bloody Knife: Matty Groves

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

CW: domestic violence

An old and well-traveled murder ballad: an affair ends with a lady and her lover dead at sword-point

29) "I only sink deeper the deeper I think" / troubled past: The Outlandish Knight / The North Strand

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

A murder ballad with a twist

Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man Lie there instead of me For six pretty maidens have you drowned here And the seventh has drowned thee

30) Borrowed Clothing: William Taylor

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

A tale of betrayal, cross-dressing, bloody retribution, and women's empowerment, set against the backdrop of the Royal Navy

31) Setbacks: Johnny Cope

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

In which the Jacobites send the redcoat army running back with their tails between their legs. Many thanks to General Cope for his contributions to the Scottish musical tradition.

[sacredcyber]

I wanna compile information for Veruca here, my current play through is really helping me get back into her head so to speak lmao

Veruca's full name is Veruca Elise Richter-Dominguez. She was born to Anna Richter and Rogelio Dominguez. Veruca is named after her maternal grandmother, Marlene Veruca von Brandenburg, She grew up bouncing between Berlin and Charter Hill. She speaks English, Spanish and German.

Veruca's nicknames include, V, Ruca, Ronnie (vik, Misty, Johnny)

In the ending where Johnny gets his own body, and they become separated, Veruca changes her name to Veronica Brandenburg. After making things official with Johnny she goes by Ronnie Linder.

She grew up pretty isolated, as an only child she found a lot of refuge in reading and playing video games. She had a fixation on technology as a kid, one of her favorite pastimes was reading her dad's manual on his ancient Hitachi 95 cyberdeck and fiddling around with it's internals, soon that lead her to discovering the net.

Becoming a netrunner just made sense to her, it was a way she could reach out to people and maybe find some friends with a common interest. Her handle is V31L. At 14 She met her best friends through the net, a nomad girl named Sunnie Kim and her older brother Charlie. The three of them spent their days netrunning and meeting up in virtual space to hang out, eventually Veruca was able to start sneaking away to the badlands to hang out irl.

The two girls were inseparable, Veruca found a kindred spirit in Sunnie, and sunnie found the same. Both girls would spend their summers desert camping and off-roading with Charlie. Charlie became Veruca’s introduction to a lot of things, new music, hacking, love. She fell hard for the young rockerboy, if things didn’t happen the way they did, Veruca and Charlie probably would have ended up together.

Things did end up taking a turn for the worst, on the precipice of veruca’s 18th birthday she had planned on cutting all ties with her family and running away to travel with sunnie and Charlie. As they approached the border crossing point a band of armored henchmen flanked their Thornton, the three travelers dragged out into the hot California desert. Veruca was held at gunpoint and forced to watch the execution of her best friend and boyfriend before being dragged back to charter hill. Her parents had planned the whole execution as a means to bring her “back into the fold”

[rainecloud020604]

I posted 5,134 times in 2022

396 posts created (8%)

4,738 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@deafeningwastelandbouquets

@aesthetic-sweaters

@dearest-starboy

@miscellaneous--bones

@visterical

I tagged 1,807 of my posts in 2022

#shush raine |random nonsense and rambles| - 223 posts

#mutuals - 170 posts

#rian's shameful self reblog - 102 posts

#rainecloud020604 draws shit - 89 posts

#my art - 74 posts

#art - 74 posts

#artists on tumblr - 70 posts

#digital art - 68 posts

#asks - 67 posts

#tagged - 63 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#the police are useless! who can possibly piece together the evidence to solve the perfect crime? this looks like a case for… boondoggle cla

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

• Who's in control? •

A piece a did a bit back when who's in control was released as the last tease bit for Elsewhere, really happy with it! Click for better quality

Reblog to support an artist, comments appreciated 💖

54 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

#4

Another cuphead oc! Johnny who is the best fiddle player out there, better than the devil

Click for better quality

Reblog to support an artist comments highly appreciated!

59 notes - Posted February 21, 2022

#3

•Fateless one, what even are you? •

No I don't care how little people have played this game I'm still drawing fanart cause I love it <3

I've been playing Kingdoms of Amalur for awhile and this small interaction sorta hit a little I won't lie

Comments highly appreciated reblog to support an artist 💖

92 notes - Posted January 14, 2022

#2

Some castle crasher things, fleshing out my fan knights magic more and also an attempt at making a sprite click for better quality

Reblog to support an artist comments highly appreciated

101 notes - Posted March 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Redoing Trebbles design and personality for an alternative version of her just in spirit for the cuphead show

She's a chaotic brat who causes problems on purpose and gets what she wants whenever she wants

Pls click for better quality!!

Reblog to support an artist comments highly appreciated

116 notes - Posted February 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[heritage-instrument-insurance]

The Story of Fiddle Instruments Evolution

Close your eyes and picture this: a fiddle snuggled comfortably in your hands. Just four strings and a bow, right? Simple, perhaps. But this little musical instrument holds a world of magic that has traversed the globe for centuries. It has been there for the lively jigs of Europe, the soulful whines of Appalachian evenings, and everything in between. The fiddle has been a companion, a storyteller, and a way to celebrate life's ups and downs. Simply put, this string has been a constant friend of the human spirit. Let’s know a bit more about it.

Europe: A Tapestry of Folk Fiddling

The fiddle's story starts way back. It begins with its medieval ancestors like the rebec – a pear-shaped string gear with just one drumhead! By the 16th century, the fiddle we know and love had taken shape. It was not just for fancy folks in castles either – it became a regular at lively parties and community gatherings in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Jigs, reels, and strathspeys were not just fun dance tunes. They were a way for people to show their spirit and keep going, even through tough times.

Meanwhile, over at the grand courts of Europe, it had a more sophisticated cousin – the violin. Famous composers like Corelli and Vivaldi wrote beautiful pieces for it. But the lines between fancy and folk music were not always distinct. Elegant dances like the gavotte and minuet found their way into village celebrations, and sometimes catchy folk melodies snuck into the grand ballrooms too.

All credit goes to trade and cultural exchange that the fiddle kept transforming and growing. The lively Celtic styles met up with the unique sounds of Scandinavia, where musicians loved using drones and special harmonies. In Eastern Europe, it became a part of klezmer music, the energetic and beautiful tradition of the Ashkenazi Jews. So, it is a whole family of sounds, constantly evolving and reflecting the cultures it touched. If you are lucky enough to have this gear, make sure to cover it under a comprehensive fiddle insurance policy.

The Fiddle Sails West: A New World Songbook

Across the Atlantic Ocean, European immigrants were not just carrying their belongings – they were carrying an absolute musical heritage in their trusty fiddles. In the melting pot of North America, the gear found a whole new way to sing.

For pioneers pushing westward, it became a steady partner. Small and easy to carry, it was perfect for livening up barn dances, community gatherings, or even a lonely night under the vast frontier sky. Tunes like "Soldier's Joy" and "Forked Deer" were not just catchy melodies. They echoed the struggles, the grit, and the deep longing for home the settlers fronted.

But the fiddle's story in America did not stop there. Up in the Appalachian Mountains, a unique blend of European, African, and maybe even Native American influences came together to create bluegrass music. The fiddle, alongside the banjo and mandolin, became the heart and soul of this new sound. Bluegrass fiddling is all about driving rhythms, fancy fingerwork, and sometimes even playing two notes at once (called double stops).

Its influence was not limited to just one region, though. Down in Louisiana, they joined forces with accordions to create the lively sounds of Cajun and Zydeco music. And even in American country music, it became a staple. Think of iconic artists like Johnny Cash and Charlie Daniels – their signature styles would not be the same without those unmistakable melodies. Therefore, industry experts recommend getting a dedicated fiddle insurance plan in the first place.

A Legacy That Endures

The string's journey is not over yet! Modern players like Alison Krauss and Mark O'Connor have been keeping things fresh by mixing old tunes with new ideas, making this gear a welcome guest in today's music scene.

So, what makes this instrument so special anyway? It is all about how adaptable it is. A skilled musician can use it to create wild, happy jigs that make you want to dance all night. But it can also be a gentle voice, expressing sadness in a mournful ballad. It is versatile.

[ghcstlygreaser-archive]

a gentle knock at operetta’s front door was heard as the ghost finally arrived at her home. johnny was only running about five minutes late, but it was only because he had gotten into some bad traffic. a few zombies had decided to throw a parade on the street he had to always pass by to make his way to his ghoulfriend’s. the cars had been backed up bumper to bumper, because the zombies were remarkably slow and took forever to clear up the parade. johnny let out an annoyed sigh, pulling out his phone and texting her to let him know that he was finally there.

for their date, he had decided to get operetta something to make her feel a little extra special. after all, he had been gone for a week touring colleges and had missed the ghoul like crazy. he wanted her to see just how much he loved and appreciated her, so he had bought her a bouquet of fresh, sweet-smelling black and red roses. before he had met operetta, he wasn’t much for sappy little things such as this gift of affection he had gotten for her. but, she had changed him a lot, especially the way he saw unlife in general.

{ TEXT:

Johnny: Hey baby, I’m here. Sorry about bein’ a lil’ late, there was a hell of a lot of traffic. But hey, I gave ya a little extra time to get ready, so that’s not too bad, huh? Come down when you’re ready, alright doll? }

@woolfcried

[spookberry]

Alright same anon that asked about cores, What are the monster High ghosts obsessions?

Hah, yes!

Spectra: Journalism. Tho this often also just looks like gossiping when shes desperate.

Porter: his art. him being a mischief maker is more of a personality trait.

Operetta: to be famous for her music, but specifically without using her mind control powers.

Johnny Spirit: to be left alone so he can play his fiddle

I dont think Sirena has one

Scarah: ngl i have no idea she has like no personality. Maybe its to have people NOT be scared of her? Actually i think i like that, so thats what im going with.

Kiyomi: i think hers is about wanting friends? She is willing to break the law to do so. Shes kinda like klemper but shes not annoying about it.

Vandala: being a successful pirate

Does River count? Shes a denizen of the ghost zone but idk like the Grim Reaper isnt necessarily a ghost??

Red Lady: im a little torn, cuz i kinda think its terrorizing people but it could also be about her own freedom? Depends on how u spin it.

Ari im also a little torn on, i think its Being Human, which is what allows her to hide her ghostliness so seamlessly. But maybe shes also a music obsessed ghost and the human thing is unrelated.

Raythe is also a ghost and i love him but ngl he does not get enough screentime for me to know what his obsession might be. He is... also.. into music.... i guess

[cherryfemm]

Love how Johnny is a minor/B side character with so many nuanced references to his character inspirations -

"Playing the boos" being a pun on playing the blues, but also its original title was "Spirit without a cause" that being a reference to the James Dean film Rebel without a cause.

Him playing the violin/fiddle is a reference to the song the Devil went down to Georgia, about a guy called Johnny playing the fiddle against the actual devil.

His appearance, outfit and the fact he was in detention (like a metaphor for prison) being a reference to the Elvis movie Jailhouse Rock.

And I'm pretty sure most kids wouldn't have understood those references and yet they still did it. I love the 50s and 60s and so it just makes my nerdy heart freak out at how cool it is.

[nana-glass-chillhop-radio-hour]

OK so I am OBSESSED with A Cornstalk Fiddle and have been regularly sharing it with people who don't even know what fanfiction is. It's legitimately just a great Southern gothic story, written by someone who Gets It with regard to bluegrass. I am always a sucker for really good descriptions of playing music in a narrative, and this is one of the best out there.

Also, this line: "She had been pragmatic, Johnny’s mother. Now she was a starry-eyed romantic because she’d gotten remarried to a man who cooked Dominican food and did his own laundry."

First off, ahhhhhh! Oh my god let's talk more about it. Second off, I love that you're sharing it with people who don't know fanfic. A Cornstalk Fiddle is just such a success on so many levels, but I think what I most appreciate about it as a writer (rather than a reader) is how it bridges the gap between fanfic and original fic by playing with the conventions of Southern Gothic as a genre and the conventions of fanfiction as a genre and essentially turning them both upside down.

I've heard other people who don't usually read fic talk about this, and I think that's a testament to the fact that you can read it as an original work or as fanfiction. I can't think of any other work that straddles that line so fruitfully.

Reading it as fic, it engages deeply with the original text/mythos (frequent callbacks to the song lyrics, the contest and the golden fiddle as a recurring part of the plot) but also interrogates and reimagines the original text (what if Johnny was a resourceful and introspective queer black working-class Atlanta musician with conflicting desires and loyalties instead of a 2-dimensional self-insert storybook hero? Why did the Devil really challenge him to that duel in the first place? What does it mean for the Devil to be way behind and looking to make a deal? What does it mean for the Devil to tell Johnny 'I'm a fiddle player too'?)

It's a great example of fanfiction for folks who may not be familiar with the tropes of the fanfiction, but for those who are, it effortlessly reinvents those tropes in fresh and meaningful ways. For crying out loud, it's an emotion-forward, character-driven, introspective, lyrical enemies-to-lovers slow-burn slash fic (with monsterfucking elements in the other works in the series!) It's SO ficcy. But it's also so highly original! Not a lot of people are out here writing contemporary gay Southern Gothic romances where people fall in love with the Devil!

And all the thematic work around the idea of the soul, what it is and what it does... *chef's kiss* to me, losing the part of your spirit that feels joy is a really powerful metaphor for depression - but that's just my personal reading, the text supports so many interpretations!

Anyway I have a lot of Thoughts about it. We should start a book club.