#ARTICLES OF FAITH band

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

ON THIS DAY IN WEST MASS HARDCORE PUNK -- FORTY YEARS AGO TO THE DAY.

PIC INFO: On This Day in '80s U.S. punk history -- Spotlight on a show/gig flyer for HÜSKER DÜ (headlining), with OUTPATIENTS, ARTICLES OF FAITH, and PERSONALITY CRISIS (supporting), performing live at Pulaski Club, East Hampton, MA, on June 21, 1984.

"Before my dad passed away in the early eighties he always said put the year on it so you know when it happened when u get older… At the time it seemed weird… not anymore. Didn’t have to do research on this one! . . . . ."

-- @outpatientshardcore (OUTPATIENTS band official Instagram page)

WSource: www.picuki.com/media/3130225158731059465.

[hiraethwa]

to be loved is to be known

two; here we go again // the red strings bring you back to me

<the collection — to be loved is to be known>

pairing. kageyama x reader

cw. angst, timeskip, setter!reader, one-sided pining, divorced!reader, fluff, healing from past marriage

wc. 6.8k

featured track. haze by LUCY

you have me. even when you think you don't. i was only ever yours to begin with.

kageyama tobio accepted the offer to play with ali roma that following season. 

you had seemed happier in the following weeks with no recollection of the night of your birthday, so he tells himself that he is happy for you that you managed to mend whatever it was in your marriage. not that it ever stops him from thinking that he wouldn’t have allowed it to happen in the first place if he was your husband. if, if, if. 

but he isn’t, so he throws himself into volleyball, the love of his life. between the busy season leading up to the olympics and moving to italy, he didn’t have much time to miss you anyway. 

you didn’t normally text or call each other outside of volleyball, the only thing that threads a very thin connection between you, so he sort of lost contact with you naturally, the delicate string unraveling through disuse. 

it’s been many months since he settled in italy, so he gathers it’s time to move on with his life—move on from you. he thinks he is actually doing alright in that department, chasing after whispers of your name on written articles, posts, updates significantly less than he used to when he first moved there.

once again, kageyama forgets to account for the variable that is you. 

because he finds you knocking on his apartment door as he returns from his grocery run, and his arms slacken, bags falling to the wooden floor. a tomato tumbles out onto the floorboard. he wonders if he is hallucinating—he thought he had been doing so well in the moving-on-from-you department too. 

“kageyama!” he finds himself flustered at the lack of formalities coming from you. 

“kuroo-san? w–what are you doing here?” how did you even find where he lives? 

“didn’t you send me that text to drop by if i visit italy? you didn’t tell me you changed your mind.” you help him with the bags as he fumbles with his keys. why won’t the key fob just orient itself properly? 

wait, the text? he didn’t text you, did he? finally, the lock on his front door registers the presence of the fob and unlocks. he realizes belatedly, as you set down his groceries on the kitchen floor, that he must have accidentally sent you the text that was meant for hinata. 

no wonder hinata never said anything about it. 

kageyama wisely chooses not to mention his mistake to you. he listens to you point out a few things you’ve noticed in your trip so far—the gorgeous architecture, the gelato storefronts that seem to line every other block, the mouthwatering food you tried so far—patiently waiting for you to explain this bizarre situation to him. 

it is extremely out-of-character for you to show up unannounced, and not to mention, formalities and boundaries be damned. and you are rambling, seemingly nervous, your tell of tucking your hair behind your ear giving you away. 

so he nods along with you, commenting here and there, pretending like all of this is normal (when none of it is) as you make yourself at home at his kitchen island, telling him stories while watching him put his groceries away.

kageyama could almost pretend that this is your domestic life. one in another world where the gods favored him.

he recognizes the glint of wildness in your eyes, the look when you take a leap of faith, uncalculated faith, trusting, hoping that you will land on the other side safely. 

“say, if, if aeroitalia smi roma gave me an offer to join them here in italy next season. what would you do if you were me?”

aeroitalia smi roma. here in italy. a barrage of questions appear, one that especially looms above them all. his eyes wander to your hands, noting the absence of the gold band on your ring finger. he tamps down on the blind hope rising to the surface of his heart. 

“i would take it. they’re one of the best in italy.” but what about kuroo-san?

you nod at his statement, mostly to yourself. he registers the faraway look in your eyes as you turn to look out the window at the busy streets below. 

he could almost taste the hope on his tongue, could almost imagine a life shared with you, doing groceries together, having you stare out his kitchen window as you are now on a lazy saturday afternoon, a cup of steaming hot latte in your hands. almost.

“could i ask you for a favor?” 

“anything.” he breathes. 

another lifetime where you would barrage him to decorate his relatively empty apartment, its four plaster walls empty and unused, to make his place feel like a home. 

“i am going to need a tour guide when i come back.” you look pointedly at him. 

he tries not to let his smile shine through too much. “when you come back?”

this lifetime where he would take anything you are willing to offer, make his peace with it. it has been so long he’s almost forgotten it, how easy it was to be around you, natural as breathing, familiar as a volleyball in between his palms. 

as though he’s a desolate tree that survived all winter, the chill that festered in his bones being chased away by your warm gentle rays of sunlight from the unexpectedly early spring.

“you know, if aeroitalia did give me an offer.”

“i have barely been here for a year.” he laughs, coming to a stop next to you, staring out at the streets.

“still barely a year longer than me. plus, you can speak some italian, right?” you elbow him. 

“i guess i will see you then, huh?” he tilts his head at you, dimples showing. you smile back at him—barely, a ghost of what it used to be. 

he makes a vow to the gods that he would do anything to bring it back. anything.

“i’ll be two doors away if you need me.” you think kageyama was being polite as he helped you lug your suitcases up twelve flights of stairs with the elevator undergoing maintenance. 

you bang your head on the wall in embarrassment. what exactly were you thinking when you showed up at kageyama’s apartment last month, and then pestered him with your stupid questions about moving to italy?

oh my god. he was probably just being polite and didn’t know how to tell you off. your relationship with kageyama had been strictly work-related, but you went off the rails, too worried about the move to italy while finalizing your divorce to be anxious over what he thought of you. 

you ignore the uneasiness in your chest as you fish your phone out, feeling a buzz from it. 

it’s a text from kageyama. you alright over there? shit. that was the wall between your apartments, wasn’t it? you text back a yep! before letting your shame out in a silent scream. 

you make quick work of putting your essentials away, clothes, toiletries, packed food ingredients (as kageyama suggested), and some miscellaneous things that you managed to fit in two suitcases. the apartment came furnished, and two suitcases wasn’t much to begin with, having left most of the items from your previous marriage behind. 

the sun is setting by the time you finish. the apartment looking just a little less vacant with your jacket strewn over the back of your couch, sauces and seasonings dotting the space next to the stovetop for now. 

it’s not home, but it will do, for the time being. until you could fill in the missing fixtures and appliances, like a coat hanger for the front door, some bathroom necessities, kitchen knives. the list grows by the second as you survey your new space from where you are curled up by the kitchen window.

you lean your head against the wooden panels, admiring the yolk-colored ball of fire casting its final rays of light over the bustling city before darkness falls, much like flipping the last page of the chapter. 

you stay there until the last strand of sunlight disappears over the horizon, rome now enveloped in specks of yellow. the sun will rise again tomorrow, it’s time to start a fresh page. 

still, it feels odd knowing you are the only one who will walk through the front door every evening, that you have this space all to yourself. 

your habitual tadaima slipping from your lips to no one in particular as you cross the threshold of your apartment, not that kuroo was ever present physically or mentally to welcome you home with a responding okaeri. on days when he came home after you (which was most), he often beelined for the shower, briefcase left at the front door, which he would come back to later, flipping through project documents past working hours. 

you could probably count on ten fingers the handful of times that he even noticed your presence in the living room and mumbled a tadaima before tugging off his tie in the last year of your marriage. 

it is easy to forget how much your life has changed during the day, occupied with the pace of practice and the frenzy of filling your apartment. so easy to gloss over the kuroo-shaped hole in your heart when the sound of the cities floods out the voices in your head. 

when the night falls, and the city quiets, that’s when it gets loud. the sound of nothing, the crackling static gets so deafening in your ears, your mind, overwhelming your senses. 

the realization that you really left everyone who’s ever loved you behind in japan to find something new, different in a foreign country, its tongue that you are struggling to decipher, the loneliness of being abroad. 

the hollowness in your chest that amplifies the nothingness in your ears. 

you have taken a liking to the city nightscape, eyes staring out at nothing in particular as you sit by the window by your lonesome, trying your very best to adapt and learn to be comfortable alone in your spacious apartment. to allow your thoughts and fears and hopes to speak to you while the static buzzes in the background, acknowledging them and letting them flow over and through you. 

i hear you. 

it gets easier to breathe the more you sit by the window overlooking the city. the sense of loss that once pressed on you at every waking moment dulls to a quiet throb. 

you look out the window, where the first rays of sunlight peek over the city, dancing through the window and illuminating your kitchen in its softness, loosening a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

it’s the first morning you actually see the sunrise, legs cramping, as the sun climbs over the horizon, wishing you a good morning, since you moved in weeks ago. 

it feels like deja vu as kageyama tobio finds you outside his apartment door, arm poised to knock on it, except you don’t. still as a statue, you stand frozen in doubt, the only movement from your fingers flexing and curling catching his eye. 

even the shadows themselves seem to curl tighter around you as he approaches you carefully, as if you were a wild animal emerging from hibernation that would vanish back into the darkness at the slightest disturbance. 

the gods must be over the moon with the new creative ways they are coming up with to toy with his heartstrings. the roles so starkly reversed between you and him, his once brilliant sun reduced to mere echoes of its former glory, leaving him to play what used to be your role and bring you out of your shell.

kageyama wonders if it would be appropriate if he poked fun at you the way you used to at him,  if he would be overstepping his lines. then again, the lines had been blurred and redrawn over the past month, he thinks, remembering the first time you reached out to him after dropping by without notice, not really volleyball related.

hey! what should i bring to italy? you had texted him, the bubble showing that you’re still typing. like stuff you can’t get there.

he had thought long and hard about it before replying—curry cubes. perhaps that one was too specific, as he follows up with another text. sorry. anything you like to eat in japan, it’s hard to get japanese ingredients here. you had reacted to his message with a heart and left it at that.

and then more random messages. 

do i need to bring a rice cooker? probably not…? i bought mine here. [image attachment] maybe i should bring one… 

kageyama couldn’t help but laugh at that one. did you really have such specific preferences?

hey, do you think rome has nice soy sauce? just bring it.

how cold does it get there? tokyo is much colder, just bring your lighter coats.

he could just try. what’s the worst that could happen, right?

“hey.” he feels bad as you flinch at his sudden appearance, having half a mind to scurry back to the safety of your apartment, but it was too late—you have been spotted. “the door isn’t going to bite.”

“oh, hey, i wasn’t sure if you were home.” you rub the back of your head sheepishly. 

“our practice ended late, what’s up?” he spies the stack of curry cube packages under your other arm, the thought of you remembering the stupid text he sent without thinking and bringing him all those boxes from japan making him flush. 

he puts a mental hand over his heart to calm it from jumping out of his ribcage into your hands.

gods above, the effect that you have on him with every little gesture, all of them flying blissfully over your head. that’s one thing he can thank the gods for, at least.

you hand him the stack, tucking a stray curl of hair behind your ear. “a token of appreciation for all your troubles, kageyama.”

and because he was feeling a little bold, he jokes, “are you the same y/n who turned up at my door a month ago?” 

“oh, you’re one to speak,” you roll your eyes, the corners of your lips twitching in a small smile. “there are two wolves in me, okay? one is batshit nuts, you know her, the one you see on court. the other one is me, and you drew the short stick today.”

kageyama knows he’s nowhere close to getting over you with the way the smallest hint of a smile from you sends his heart skittering, the way he is offering up everything he has to the role he has been asked to play so that you might shine freely once again, not for him but for you.

despite the stamped out selfish hope that maybe, maybe you might fall for him this time, he earnestly wants to weather the passing storm by your side, so you might walk out to clear blue skies, cloudless and unburdened. so you might smile freely once more, even if it's not meant for him. 

“wanna come in? i’m making pasta for dinner.” he holds up the bag of groceries he picked up from the corner shop on the way home. 

you hesitate, not unwillingly, more so from not wanting to intrude on his personal space. “you don’t have to—”

“you’ve already shown up unannounced once, what’s another?” 

you flush with embarrassment at the thought of that time. not your brightest moment. “gods, will you ever let me live that down? i really don’t want to be a bother.”

“c’mon, you’re not. promise.” he gestures for you to enter his apartment. 

you lean against his counter awkwardly as you watch him lay out the ingredients, prepping the table surface to actually make pasta from scratch. he notes the surprise on your face.

“i actually can’t cook very well, but making pasta is surprisingly therapeutic.” kageyama explains while he measures out the flour and salt, making a well in the center of the mixture to crack the eggs in. he whisks the eggs before slowly stirring in the flour mixture methodically. 

“wanna try?” he offers after seeing the entranced look in your eyes. you nod, scrubbing your hands with soap before taking over the kneading of the pasta dough from kageyama.

he watches you quietly as you poke the tip of your tongue out the side, attention completely focused on folding and pressing the dough and repeating the motion, taking note of the downward turn of the corners of your eyes, the haunted look in your eyes when you forget to hide it. 

your hand waving in his face breaks him out of his thoughts. “kageyama?”

“what happened to your formalities?” he blurts. where is the line between us?

you give him a questioning look. 

he corrects himself, “i’m kageyama-san to you, and you’re kuroo-san to me, remember?”

“oh, that. i’m not kuroo-san anymore. we finalized our divorce before i moved here. if you prefer that, i can go back to calling you kageyama-san.” you brush your divorce off as if it is ancient history, as if it doesn’t leave an emptiness in your chest where you used to feel love for him. 

“i’m sorry to hear that.” he shouldn’t have asked. for various reasons not limited to the way the hope in him perks its head up at the confirmation that kuroo is out of your life for good. 

“it’s fine, it’s been coming, i just chose to look the other way.” you squint at the dough, suddenly kneading it with more force, your previous child-like delight now gone at the mention of your failed marriage. 

kageyama really shouldn’t have asked. he hates to be the one who took away your fun and soured your mood with that question. that you still look devastatingly beautiful despite the sorrow etched in your soul. 

“you can call me tobio. since we are friends outside of work now.” he hopes that his hair is covering the warm tips of his ears.

“sure,” you shrug, “you know you’re the only one who called me that or oumae-san anyway, right? old man.”

“oh wow, going right to insulting me. is this your other wolf appearing?” he shoots back drily as he nudges you out of the way. “go put something on the tv, we need to rest the dough for twenty minutes.”

your clear and bright laughter fills his apartment as you back out of the kitchen, hands up in surrender, a sparkle in your eyes and that smile appearing on your lips, chasing away the darkness. 

he thinks this may not be as hard as he thought after all, playful banters with you. anything to chase away your ghosts. 

and suddenly the one-bedroom apartment feels like home to kageyama tobio. 

months slip by, summer’s warmth finally giving way to crunchy leaves beneath your feet and cool breezes caressing your skin softly with a lover’s touch. 

kageyama tobio and you are nothing if not creatures of routine, taking turns at your apartments during the weekdays to make dinner since it’s so much easier to make dinner for two than one and significantly time-saving to not have to go through the twenty steps of cooking by yourself every day.

though you find yourself at his apartment more than yours, his skillful hands diligently prepping ingredients, slicing them with precision, following the recipe methodically with you as his assistant (who lounges at kitchen island a little too much, head on hand, watching him work, because gods, his hands, larger than your own, fingers unbelievably slender and elegant despite all the training he puts them through. you are envious of them, and just a tad obsessed.) 

tobio would catch you staring sometimes, and you would look away, pretend to be unfazed, ignoring the blood racing through your veins. gods really do have a favorite. 

you grew to enjoy his company, so unlike the quiet solitude of home that you were used to. his dry humor and his quiet steady presence. his cooking, really. you wonder what his fans would make of that, since he had once admitted to being a bad cook in an interview that lives on somewhere on the internet. 

perhaps that precision of his is the reason the food he makes tastes so sinfully delicious on your tongue. 

you had felt restless at first, unused to having so much time on your hands after being used to spending most of your own free time for more practice, more work, since kuroo was rarely home before the late hours of the night. 

it never quite felt like home without him in that ninety-five square meter apartment—larger than most middle class homes yet so devoid of life and love that makes somewhere home. the luxury that you were able to afford given the size of your paychecks was never quite put to good use in those two years of your marriage.

“i’m feeling like some gelato today, want some?”

kageyama joins you out on the balcony, wiping his wet hands on the black cat apron you bought for him on a whim—a gift. it reminded you of his image in most people’s minds, a hissy and fussy cat who hates people, and to be honest (and maybe a little biased), you do enjoy that side of him. 

it’s endearing, especially since you’re one of the few special humans that the picky cat likes. he really does act like a cat. 

he had moved to italy a year before you, and being more familiar with the local culture, quickly became your go-to person to help you navigate the everyday life responsibilities from setting up your internet to the oddly laxed city disposal system. or the unlucky time your air conditioning stopped working in the peak of summer, barely weeks into your new apartment, your broken italian barely any help as you attempt to call a technician. 

you remember having to resort to knocking on his door with a sheepish smile, rambling about the bind you were in and asking him if he could talk to the technician on your behalf. he had nodded, taking the phone from you and speaking into it, italian rough but so much more fluent than yours. his usually deep solemn voice just half a pitch higher and more expressive.

his unresponsiveness had you twiddling your thumbs in nervousness as he padded into your apartment, still on the phone and with you following closely, and proceeded to slam a fist into the side of the air conditioning unit before turning it back on. 

the unit sputtered to life and you sighed in relief. “oh thank the gods.”

“the technician said he’ll stop by tomorrow in the evening because he has other calls to attend to from the unusually hot weather. i’ll be back from practice by then.” 

“thank you, tobio.” you had smiled at him gratefully. you hated having to rely on other people for help with things that you should be able to do on your own, so accustomed to being hyperindependent, but tobio makes it easy to come to him for help. mostly due to the fact that he never makes you feel bad about asking for help, even though you do still feel bad about bothering him with all the stupid everyday life problems. 

you had somehow wormed your way into his life and he had graciously allowed you to stay beyond all the times that you needed his help, steadily and unknowingly becoming your dearest friend. 

you hum in response, giving gelato another thought since the air is turning chilly as the sun dips lower over the horizon, dusk creeping closer by the minute. “sure, why not?”

now, walking through the streets of rome at dusk in the cool autumnal weather for gelato was not what you expected when you agreed to it. you had expected smooth cold gelato melting on your tongue in the comfort and warmth of tobio’s apartment. not this.

goosebumps scattered across your skin under your sweater, teeth chattering slightly thanks to the cold dessert dropping your body heat further. your stubborn ass had rejected tobio’s offer of a jacket at the door, thinking your sweater would be warm enough for the autumn breezes. 

apparently not if you’re eating gelato.

you didn’t have the heart to tell him no after finding out that the little trip would entail trekking fifteen minutes into the city and then back, with gelato, on a cool autumn night. 

tobio has a way of making you go along with his whims without even trying. 

you let out another shiver, cold fingers gripping the paper cup. he stifles his low chuckle by stuffing another spoonful of gelato in his mouth. 

“what?” you narrow your eyes at the man, challenging him to say it. i told you so.

he shrugs, licking his spoon clean. 

you look away from him, shoving the last mouthful of gelato between your cold cheeks and dumping the paper cup and spoon into a trashcan as you pass by.

a heavy warmth settles over your shoulders as you stick your hands into your pockets, surprise lining your eyes for a few seconds before realization sets in that tobio is draping his jacket over your shoulders. 

tobio, who’s always known what you needed when you needed it. tobio, who’s always done it without guilt tripping you, no ‘i told you so’s or ‘you should have listened to me’s. tobio, who welcomed you into his life and stayed without asking for anything in return, his warm and steady presence providing you comfort just from knowing that he is right next to you. 

the light brushes against your elbows when you work in the kitchen, arriving just as you space out a little too much while waiting for the onions to cook or staring out the window, the task before you forgotten. the gentle touches that grounds you back to reality, a quiet reminder that you are not alone. 

you wonder if he knows how he makes you feel at ease, at home, and sometimes, when you catch a soft knowing smile on his lips at your boisterous laughter, you wonder if he is doing it with intention.

what kind of heroic deeds did you do in your past life to earn the favor of the gods?

you spin around to face him, only to have him take a step back as a biker zooms by, hands gripping your shoulders, pushing you away from the hazard, his back towards the open street. he glances back at the rider who is long gone, frowning at their carelessness. 

his cheeks are pink from the cold, navy eyes sweeping over you to check that you’re fine. 

“are you cold?” you ask him, hands already moving to return the jacket to its owner.

“no, keep it.” 

you nod your thanks and pull your arms through the sleeves. your silhouette drowns in his already oversized jacket. the remnants of his warmth and the thickness of his jacket keep you warm the entire way home, just as it always does. 

tobio shoves his hands in his pockets, tilting his head in the direction of your apartments, towards home. tobio, who had teased you and laughed with you, sat with you in silence and talked to you over dinner, walked with you on that rocky path back towards the light. 

somewhere deep inside you, the smallest bud springs to life on a barren branch, hope, quiet and unsure, stirs in its dormancy.

the lines between you and kageyama tobio keep rewriting themselves. 

lines that were blurred and redrawn, over and over until the first lines were unrecognizable. it feels like drawing lines on sand, only to have waves wiping the slate clean, leaving you to hastily put down some semblance of a line. 

as if the gods are laughing in your face, telling you that you are wrong and to try again. 

so you threw the stick away. 

it was not a conscious decision, not at first. you had just accidentally let it slip, the thing that kept you up at night, the whispers that only quieted at the sight of the midnight skies. the endless expanse of it and the deep blue hues stretching as far as the eye could see, occasionally broken up by wafts of clouds floating through.

lighter than the dark skies of your hometown in rural japan where there was less light pollution from the sparse street lights dotting the farmlands. but it was the same skies, same stars light years away from earth that your obaasan taught you to navigate with if you ever got lost in the forest behind your home. 

the home you left behind to chase after your dreams in the city, and with it, your grandmother. the home you left again once more to outrun your bad decisions. 

tobio, to his credit, had listened intently to you on his balcony that night, both of you sitting cross-legged with your backs against the door, elbows grazing lightly, and assured you that your fears were in fact, not stupid. 

maybe it’s his comforting presence, or the way he ponders over the secrets you handed to him without judgment, but you seem to spill at the seams when he is around, unafraid to bare your soul to your—kindred spirit. maybe it’s the words that fall from his lips meant only for you, roughly thrown together, not without care, merely earnest and unembellished, sincerity clear in his focused gaze. 

though certainly, bringing up one of your deepest fears in the middle of a farmer’s market was the last thing on your mind, and tobio’s, you are sure. yet here you are, words pouring out from your heart at the sight of flowers, one of the last hurdles that still sticks tall. 

“do you think one day i won’t be broken anymore?” you gently thumb the soft petal of an amaryllis, feeling the ever so slight give under the pad of your thumb grounding you from the pain that your memories brought to the surface. 

tobio frowns at your words—he hates them. “you’re not broken.” if you were not in public, with people weaving around the different stalls, he might have tried to shake some sense into you, literally. 

oh, if only he knew. your heart twists, hand dropping to your side, flower forgotten. “he was in love with the idea of me. with an olympic setter as his wife, the trophy to his jva corner office. and i was too blind to see it, even tricked myself into thinking that i was in love, when really all along, we were just in pain.” 

you point at where your heart resides, finger digging into the soft flesh cushioning your sternum. “in here. i’m irreversibly broken deep in here. some part of me that rots in the darkness, never able to see the light of day. despite having fallen out of love with him months ago, stopped expecting anything from him, i fear that i’m still broken, tobio.”

the tip of your index finger—and nail—turning white with the amount of force you’re prodding yourself with. as if you wished you could pluck the beating broken but healing organ out of your chest and replace it with an undamaged one. nothing but a strangled mess of scarred tissue growing over old wounds that bleed with ease, too much ease. still fucking broken. 

“you are more than that. more than that wounded part of yourself that you’re healing. you’re not broken.” he deftly draws your hand away from yourself, holding it because he wanted to, drawing circles into the back of your hand to remind you that you are not alone. the crowd melts away, leaving the two of you in your bubble of imagined intimacy. “you’re not broken.”

“i can’t even look at my favorite flowers without being reminded of the times he would buy them as a late apology and a rain check he never made up for. and i would wonder if there’s something wrong with me, some explanation as to why having a husband is no more different than not having one.” you blink rapidly, fingers tightening on his hand as if he could keep the helplessness at bay that way. “some reason as to why it felt more like living with a stranger i love under the same roof in that last year. he just had something to prove and i just wanted him to love me.”

“when you find the right person, they will love you the way you deserve to be loved, with everything they have. they will make sure you never doubt yourself ever again.” tobio pins you with a determined stare, the words weighing heavy on his heart, knowing that he might have you to himself in this very moment, but not forever. not forever. 

does he have to watch you fall in love this time? gods, they really have it out for him. would he even survive it this time? 

you falter, hand around his slacking in defeat. “you don’t know that.” 

you cannot fathom anyone choosing to love you, with all the jagged edges and uncertainty. 

“i know that you deserve more than him, so don’t settle for anything less than you do. trust that the right person will come along.” he says it with so much conviction that you could have mistaken him for one of the gods that chart your destiny. 

you wanted to ask him why—why he seems to believe that with his whole heart despite yourself—but the brush on your sleeve from a passing shopper breaks you out of the imaginary depths of your fears, shattering the illusion of privacy. 

what had gotten into you today? 

you recover from your momentary meltdown in public, instincts to guard and deflect kicking in among the many ears that could be listening to a conversation that should have been kept behind closed doors. “are you speaking from experience?” 

“never been in a relationship, actually.” he smiles a wistful smile at you, deciding to release his hold on your hand—as if he himself also just remembered that you are in the public eye. 

“huh, i would have thought otherwise.” 

tobio rolls his eyes playfully at your teasing. “don’t even start, i know i’m not good with words.”

“no, really. it’s a wonder you haven’t been snatched up by anyone yet.” 

“now you're just flattering me because you want me to make the carbonara pasta that you’ve been begging me to make for the past week.” 

you gape at him, in disbelief that he would use that against you when you are doing nothing but giving him a sincere compliment.

“i’m being real here. whoever you choose to love would be lucky to have you. and if they don’t feel that way, it’s their loss, really.” you gesture with an outsplayed hand, turning back to the selection of flowers, wandering down the row of autumnal varieties. 

tobio presses two fingers to his temple, sighing as he mutters under his breath, exasperated words a soft whisper on the breeze, “too bad she’s too dense to realize it.”

he panics a little at the thought of you picking his words up as you turn around with your head tipped to the side in confusion, “what did you say?”

“nothing, just that the amaryllis is pretty. you should get it.” he blurts, just happy that his muddled brain was able to come with something on the spot. never mind that he just name dropped a flower, one of many that he learnt because you once loved them, still do, it seems, just tainted by your past. 

you shake your head at him, already looking forward. “it’s alright, let’s go look at the other stalls.” moving on from the remnants of a relationship you moved to italy to outrun, and leaving them behind. 

“wait,” a sudden thought pops into tobio’s mind, and he decides to do it without letting himself overthink it. before he loses his courage. 

you watch quietly as he picks out a stalk of carnation, a dusty pink that lightens slightly towards the tip of the petal and hands it to the shopkeeper, exchanging a few words before paying and returning with a very short stem. 

“i know you still love flowers even though they are tainted by your past,” tobio swallows, hoping he does not fuck this up like he always seem to with his words, “but i want you to know that you deserve flowers just because. it doesn’t have to be an apology, or a special occasion. you deserve them just because you like them, simple as that.”

he takes a step closer to you, watching you carefully for any hints of discomfort or anguish that you might try to hide from him for his sake—hoping that you are comfortable around him enough not to. 

you find yourself holding in your breath as you meet his eyes, mesmerized by the blue of his irises up close, warm cobalt shades dancing in the light, as if they were welcoming you, reminiscent of the night skies that fall after dusk, the same navy hues that lull you to safety. 

he tucks your hair behind your ear, his touch featherlike as he slips the carnation over the crest of your ear. “there. one day the first thought that crosses your mind when you see them will not be of him, but of how pretty they are again.”

a blink. “thank you.” the words are choked, as a wave of emotions envelop you whole. you throw your arms around him haphazardly, hugging him tightly with your eyes squeezed shut for fear of your tear ducts betraying you, leaning on him for balance with your weight on the tip of your toes because of his height. 

you yield to his warmth, comforted by his arms sliding into place around you, the familiarity tugging on a memory that you cannot seem to recover, a nagging feeling of something you forgot as seconds tick by. 

“thank you, tobio.” you say it again, releasing him shyly when you realize that you held on for moments too long, brushing at your eyes with the back of your hand for any stray tears, chuckling lightly at how emotional you are being. 

somehow it feels as if a weight has been lifted off your chest after hearing his words. 

“you are loved, y/n, by your family and friends, and your fans. you are the setter who will dethrone kageyama tobio’s rule of the court, remember?” 

you recognize the quote from one of the japanese magazines that you and tobio managed to get a hold of. it makes you laugh—the type that sends tears pooling at the edge of your eyes, leaving you breathless and light and feeling like everything will be alright—and you smile at him.

it feels strangely like coming home after a long day. 

there is a twinkle in your eyes, the return of your genuine self as you ask, “and what of kageyama tobio?”

your smile hits him like the first ray of warm sunlight when snow melts away to reveal the tiny buds sprouting at the nodes of tree branches, that first truly warm day after winter when you know that spring is here. and just like the trees that have weathered the cold season, you are shaking off the cold in your bones, ready to bloom again. 

that pureness in your smile—the invisible pull that drew him into your orbit almost three years ago now emerging reforged.

gods, you are nothing short of devastating. he knows he will never be able to love anyone else like he loves you, describing it as intense does not do it justice. try all-encompassing and consuming, leaving him defenseless and dazed and wanting more. 

is that wrong of him to feel that way? that if given a choice by the gods to do it all over again, he would still choose to love you? that there is nothing he would not do, no hell he would not descend, no winter he would not weather, just to see you smile at him unadulterated?

“he believes that you are the queen of the court.”

your smile does not falter. it deepens, reaching your eyes, curving them into joyful crescents that send his heart thundering at an inhuman pace. 

“thank you for being here. i am beginning to realize what it means to live.” you make me want to live. the unspoken words hanging in space between you. 

for the first time in a very long time, tobio finds himself praying to the gods that have long abandoned him. he can only hope that they are listening. 

taglist. @hatsukeii @daisy-room @soulfullystarry @kitsune-kita @bakery-anon @thechaosoflonging @bakingcuriosity (gen) @mintgrumpy @noble-17 @box-of-roses (tobio nation) @hiraethwrote @shouyuus @yogurtkags @mcdonaldsnumberone (add yourself here)

a/n. i sprinkled lots of little details in this one hehehe (like how it is apartment to tobio before it becomes a home) how many did you find? *giggles while plotting* it's fluffier than i intended so i hope you enjoyed <33

awaiting updates? browse the library while waiting

if you liked this, please consider leaving a like, comment, rb or ask <3 (perhaps i enjoy breaking hearts a little too much)

[morganski-19]

The One Where It All Started

This takes place about a year before the rest of the posts will be taking place. Just to set the stage before the real schnenanigans start.

“So I said that was a terrible idea, because there was barely any research done so it would be misleading to the readers, right,” Nancy continued her story about the piece she’s been working on at work.

“Yeah, that would make me pissed,” Robin added, following along.

Nancy nods in agreement as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Exactly. I would rather print nothing than something they made up. But of course, the boss doesn’t think so. I’m thinking of dropping the project, so my name isn’t attached to it, but then that just means I ‘didn’t have faith in the work’. No shit I don’t, it’s completely fake.”

“Fuck those guys,” Steve adds, partially listening as he’s grading his student’s assignments.

Jonathan and Argyle walk into the café, finding the group at their normal seats and joining them.

“My dudes,” Argyle bellows. “How’s it going?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” Nancy groans.

Jonathan winces. “Those assholes at work again?”

“Yes,” Nancy exclaims. “I need to find another job but this is the best I could get after school.”

“Could be worse,” Robin adds.

“I know, I just hate working there.”

Steve stares at the paper in front of him with a confused expression. “What do you guys think of this one?”

He turns the paper around to reveal a hand turkey covered with red drops resembling blood. What would normally be the feathers are now plucked off and surrounding the turkey leaving the pink underneath. Or at least that’s what it looks like. It could just be pink feathers and a turkey standing on a pile of leaves. But that wouldn’t explain the X’s for eyes.

“Are you seriously grading hand turkeys right now?” Robin rolls her eyes. “And you think your job is hard.”

“Try to teach a bunch of first graders basic math after they’re all hyper from recess and then get back to me. And it’s not just hand turkeys. There’s also spelling tests somewhere in here.”

Jonathan takes the paper from Steve’s hand, showing it to Argyle better with a very concerned glare. “I think you might need to talk to this kid.”

“He drew a murdered turkey, dude. Kid’s got issues.”

Steve takes the picture back, assessing it more. “I mean, those could be leaves.”

Robin points to the picture. “And that’s not blood.”

“Yeah, I need to talk to the kid.” Steve turns it over and sees the name. “Wait, this is Bobby’s. His parents hunt wild turkeys. That’s normal.”

A man with long, brown curly hair approaches the group, wearing a leather jacket with a band tee and black jeans. “Sorry to interrupt but, Wheeler?” He turns toward Nancy, pointing softly at her.

“Oh my god, Eddie?” Nancy smiles standing up to give him a hug. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since high school.”

“Eh, it’s been better. But you, I saw the article you did last month. Best thing I ever read in the news.” Eddie sits down on the chair across from Nancy.

Steve is trying his hardest not to stare and keep grading his stack of papers, but it’s hard. Robin elbows him in the side and widens her eyes in a “Really?”. Steve shrugs in his defense, taking a sip of his mocha. Robin rolls her eyes.

“Aw, thank you. I worked hard on that. What are you up to now?”

“Kinda between jobs at the moment. I work as a freelance artist but I’m taking a break from that becoming a tattoo apprentice.”

“That is so cool, dude,” Argyle interrupts from across the table.

Nancy has a moment of realization. “Right. Eddie, these are my friends. Robin, Steve, Jonathan, and Argyle. Guys, this is my old friend from high school, Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you guys.”

The group replies with varied greetings, Steve and Eddie holding eye contact a bit longer than the rest of the group does. Resulting with another jab in Steve’s ribs from Robin. He yells at her with his eyes for her to stop.

“So, do you live in the city now?” Nancy goes back to addressing just Eddie.

He scratches at his chin with a pained faced. “Kinda. Moved here to live with my ex a few months ago. And then he sort of cheated on me, so I’m trying to find somewhere else, but money’s kind of tight right now.”

“Ugh, that sucks,” Nancy winces. “I’m sorry.”

“Is what it is.”

Nancy turns to Robin, whispering something in her ear. Robin shrugs and whispers something back.

“You know, if you wanted to, no pressure or anything,” Nancy starts. “But, my old roommate just moved out and I’m looking for a new one. It’s a nice place my grandma rents to me so it’s rent controlled. I know we haven’t talked much since high school, but it’s yours if you want it.”

“Have to think about it, and see the place. But that might be nice.”

“And you’d live across from me and Steve,” Robin adds, earning her an elbow to the ribs.

Eddie smiles flirtatiously. “Well that does sweeten the pot.” He notices the hand turkey still laying on the table. “What the fuck is wrong with that hand turkey?”

“I already said I would talk to the kid,” Steve groans.

“Why is this is this kid going on turkey hunting trips anyway,” Jonathan asks, concerned.

Steve shrugs. “How would I know, not my kid.”

Argyle reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a joint, handing it to Steve. “For your troubles.”

“This group is great,” Eddie laughs to himself, already agreeing to Nancy’s offer in his head.

General information about the fic here

Tag list (just tagged everyone who seemed interested, let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low, @thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady, @apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417

[whencyclopedia]

The Man Who Married the Thunder Sister

The Man Who Married the Thunder Sister is a legend of the Cherokee nation about a young warrior who falls in love with a Thunder Sister and follows her home where he finds nothing is what it seems to be, not even the young woman. The story explores many themes common to Native American literature.

Ojibwe Shoulder Pouch Depicting Two Thunderbirds

Daderot (Public Domain)

Among these is the importance of following instructions and of faith. According to Cherokee belief, the Creator God Unetlanvhi, made the tri-level world with good spirits above, bad spirits below, and humanity in the middle world, tasked with maintaining balance. Spirits from either plane could manifest themselves on earth at any given time – sometimes threatening this balance -–and so people were encouraged to proceed, in anything, through faith in Unetlanvhi to discern what kind of entity they might be encountering, whether a threat to harmony or a guide in helping one maintain celestial and terrestrial balance.

In the case of the young warrior in this story, as he follows the young woman and her sister toward their home, he is shown that his senses are deceiving him and the waters he encounters on the journey are not as they appear, but upon reaching their cave, he forgets the lessons learned, abandons his faith, and relies on his own senses. According to some interpretations of the story, he has been tested and has failed in recognizing the sisters as beneficial guides. Trusting in his own judgment, instead of proceeding by faith, he is led astray.

He later fails to heed the instructions given to him by the sisters that he should tell no one where he had gone or what he had seen there, and he suffers the consequences. This theme appears in the legends and myths of many different Native American nations and is often repeated in a cycle of stories – such as the Wihio tales of the Cheyenne or the Iktomi tales of the Lakota Sioux – in which a character repeatedly fails to follow simple instructions and must then suffer for it. The importance of following instructions appears so often in Native American tales because it is a common cultural value. Part of maintaining balance in life is recognizing and honoring tradition and the rituals that are a part of that. Deviating from how something has always been done runs the risk of throwing an individual, or community, off balance.

Another theme central to the story is the danger of blindly trusting strangers, no matter how friendly or welcoming they may appear, as they might be ghosts or evil spirits who have appeared only to lure one into trouble or strike one with sickness or even death. This theme usually runs through Native American ghost stories as ghosts, even of loved ones, were thought to sometimes appear only to draw one with them into the afterlife, and before one's appointed time. In this story, the young man instantly engages with the two beautiful sisters, even though they have never been seen in the village before, and, ignoring the traditional wisdom of approaching strangers with caution, happily follows them home.

This is not to say the Cherokee – whether in the past or present – do not welcome strangers into their community, as they certainly did and still do, but it is thought prudent to proceed with caution, trusting in one's faith to discern bright energies or dark energies in a new acquaintance. Failure to do so, as seen in the stories of many different nations, always leads to serious problems. In this story, the young warrior never pauses for a moment to question who the young women are or where they have come from and so, unwittingly, is led to the home of the Thunder Beings.

Thunder Beings & Horned Serpents

The Thunder Beings, according to some Cherokee bands (not all) are storm spirits descended from Selu, the corn goddess, through her sons, the Thunder Boys (Wild Boy and Good Boy), all featured in the Cherokee myth, The Origin of Game and Corn. The Thunder Boys are trickster figures – often playing with people's perceptions of reality – and so it is no surprise that their children should do the same, as the women do with the young warrior in the story. The Thunder Beings live in the west, the cardinal point sometimes associated with death and the afterlife, but are life-giving spirits as they bring rain, which fills the streams and makes the crops grow. They are the personification of thunderstorms, as scholar Larry J. Zimmerman explains:

Native Americans believe that the forces of nature – which include summer, winter, rain, lightning, and "the four winds" – are controlled by elemental gods and spirits to whom the various powers of the Great Spirit are delegated. Many peoples of the Great Plains think in terms of spirits of earth, fire, water, or air (thunder, one of the mightiest forces, is an air god). Elemental entities feature in the lore of most tribes, but they are understood in divergent ways…The underworld spirits, headed by dragon-like deities that are usually represented as panthers or horned serpents, are generally regarded as malevolent.

(162)

The Thunder Beings in Cherokee lore correspond to the Thunderbird recognized by many of the Plains Indians as the bringer of storms. Scholar Adele Nozedar comments:

Every aspect of a storm was explained by the actions of the Thunderbird: thunder was the flapping of its wings; the storm cloud was caused by its approaching shadow. Its blinking eyes caused lightning. And rain poured down from the lake carried by the bird upon its back.

(479)

In this same way, a Thunder Being brought storms simply by moving from one place to another. In the following story, the brother of the two women arrives home with a clap of thunder, in keeping with the understanding of how a Thunder Being would announce himself. The Thunder Beings were to be respected, not feared, while the horned serpents Zimmerman references were always to be avoided.

Among the most terrifying of these serpents was Uktena, the great serpent with the powerful jewel in its forehead, featured in the Ulunsuti tales. When Uktena is taken up into the higher realm so that his activities can be monitored, he leaves behind smaller versions of himself, all possessing some of his immense chaotic power. This is the kind of snake the woman brings into the cave in The Man Who Married the Thunder Sister, and so the young warrior's reaction is justified, but, as he has already learned that he needs to walk in faith and not trust his senses, he should, by this point, understand that the "uktena snake" he thinks he sees is probably something else, most likely a horse.

Rock Art Depicting a Horned Serpent

E. Kay Luther (CC BY-SA)

As with all Native American stories, legends, and myths, The Man Who Married the Thunder Sister can be interpreted in various ways. Perhaps the young warrior fell under a spell to test his discernment and failed, or it could be that, until his lapse in not following instructions, he behaved as he should have in rejecting what is offered by elemental spirits he has no business dealing with. The story is as popular today as it was in the past, however, and, as noted, continues to lend itself to many different interpretations.

Continue reading...

[louisupdates]

[Translated from Spanish to English]

British singer-songwriter Louis Tomlinson is ready for his first performance in Panama, on May 2 at the Amador Convention Center and for after the show he requested a margarita pizza and another combination of meats (pepperoni, chicken and chorizo).

In addition, among his requests he highlights that he does not want any food with peas, he prefers tomato paste with and without chicken or beef lasagna.

For the dressing room, the interpreter of "Bigger than me" asked for vodka, energy drinks, sodas, black tea, coffee, milk, chocolate bars, assorted cereals, a package of ibuprofen and paracetamol, among other items, available.

The former member of the band One Direction brings to the country his "Faith in The Future World Tour", a tour with which he has toured Europe and the United States and whose name comes from his second studio album, released in November 2022.

From Magic Dreams, the company that organizes the show, they confirm that Némula will be presented in Panama, the electro pop singer who stands out for his distinctive sound and perceptual aesthetic, merging organic instruments with electronic music.

In addition, the organizers of the Louis Tomlinson show assured that there are still tickets available at www.panatickets.com.

[Article about Louis’ tour riders for the Panama venue.]

[fantastical-euphoria]

this was me at a one direction concert back in 2014. had myself a blast (besides the last half bucketing down rain). little did i realize just how much this band was going to shape my life, and my tenure on this wonderful place called the internet.

i became massively obsessed over all the boys, harry especially. i thought they were always wonderful people, sunshine and happiness all around. just straight up good people.

i always put my faith in harry, louis, and niall. fan testimonies were off the charts, always stating how amazing they were. zayn i questioned for only a time, but i know now that i was reading too much into it and the golden rule has always been to never fully trust anything you read on the internet. i’m wary of this and have been a sceptic in many, many cases/articles.

now, what i never questioned or considered was liam. he was kind of a wild card for me. i initially thought that he, too, had the same wonderful lovely demeanor as the rest of the boys. they’re british lads, young, so typically you’d stereotype them as innocent charming bucks that are too easy to fall head over heels over.

just these past couple years, that image i had formerly painted for liam has since been tarnished. i feel safe in saying that liam did it to himself. he was the igniter of his own downfall. it wasn’t the fans. *it wasn’t maya.* did his former management and current management play some type of role in it? possibly and probably.

still, i’ll echo what millions of others are typing at the moment, this was far too sudden, far too soon. i didn’t expect any of what was being published on the internet to get to his head that fast, let alone that much. the mental toll that this, *all* this, has taken on him, coupled with addiction torment that he has clearly been battling for a few good years now, is probably the most lethal combo out there. it can lead to what the articles were describing. aggression. that’s not the liam that so so many of us knew. it was the drugs. it was the alcohol. it was the mental drainage. still, we know that the past cannot be erased and his actions are still irreversible, and abuse/assault can never be forgiven.

i cannot imagine the weight that’s setting in on his whole family, and his young son who now has to grow up without a father figure in his life. i cannot imagine how his management is feeling right now. but most importantly of all, i cannot imagine how the boys are feeling. they just lost a brother. they will always remember/commemorate him as their lifelong brother. i cannot even BEGIN to imagine them in tuxes at liam’s funeral… if they even decide to show up. i highly doubt zayn or harry will. if anyone, louis and/or niall, because they’ve been the more actively and vocally supportive of him. i expect all of them to post at least some little thing about this, however, knowing their history of being respectful.

as the days, months, weeks, and years pass, we are slowly watching this grim reality of a disintegrating childhood and, at least for me, teenage-hood unfold before our eyes. this definitely has been one of the more devastating blows. as much as i somewhat anticipated it… i never expected it to come so soon.

i know the fact that this will never become a reality will forever haunt us. if one direction hasn’t been scarred enough in their tenure, this will definitely feel like a gaping gunshot wound.

i’m still reeling, and i’m still processing this. for those who have checked in on me, thank you. for those that i’ve checked on, understand that i’ll still be here, with a hand extended, and an ear to listen. we’re all in this together, grieving over such a devastating loss, not just to the one direction community/fanbase, but to the entire world. liam touched a lot of people, not just fans.

if you have any further thoughts on this, feel free to sound off in the comments. this is a safe space for everybody. ❤️

[jokeroutsubs]

[ENG TRANSLATION] Joker Out, or the return of faith in the power of music:

Original article written by Žikica Milošević for EXIT 13.07.2024. English translation by IG irenalemajic, proofread by IG gboleyn123

The second night of Exit Festival 2024 on the Tesla Universe stage was literally and thematically dedicated to pop music, specifically 'classic', 'old school' pop music. The most significant stage of the festival was marked by performers from Slovenia and Vojvodina, so the north of former Yugoslavia demonstrated how to create an atmosphere and memorable songs.

And it began powerfully, while the sun above Petrovaradin Fortress, after another day of being merciless, was still blinding the performers, because Astrid & The Scandals got on the stage at 7:30 p.m. restoring our faith in alter-pop, as well as in Slovenian talent to produce hitmakers. In the old Yugoslavia, Slovenians were always at the forefront of musical breakthroughs, dictating trends along the Ljubljana-Zagreb-Belgrade axis. Independent Slovenia no longer had a lead role and for many decades we did not hear performers similar to Laibach, Pankrti, Lačni Franz or Buldožer, but the situation has abruptly changed in the past few years.

Instead of avant-garde and peculiar performers, hitmakers and creators of great pop music are now coming from Slovenia. The bouncy Astrid energetically announced the 'new era', adding oriental elements to her music, dancing seductively and delivering vocal virtuosity. Undoubtedly, she is 'the next big thing' in pop music in the region, and with a bit of luck, in Europe as well.

It has not happened for a long time, that the atmosphere becomes so 'heated' already at 8 p.m, but Astrid had already raised the temperature and the girls in Joker Out T-shirts were in the front rows even during the performance of Ljubičice, which perfectly continued the series of performances this evening. Their concert is a kind of poetic justice - they were supposed to lead the Main Stage at Exit in 2019 at 8 p.m. but unfortunately, the storm cut the program short and 'plucked' them from the lineup.

In the meantime, the band from Pančevo, which is composed of the two Stevanović brothers, who got a classical music education, has grown into a trio, since Olga Petrović has recently joined them as the 'third flower' in their little bouquet. There's an old saying that 'Vojvodina is Britain and Belgrade is America' in music, and pop bands from Vojvodina are widely known for their fresh melodies and hit potential and Ljubičice who, with their 'brotherly and neighbourly' band Buč Kesidi, began to conquer the region even before the pandemic, gaining fame with the song 'Jedva čekamo rat ljudi protiv mašina'. Ljubičice are the kind of pop band we've needed for a long time, and if their songs reminded me of anything, it is the sunset in summer...of 1983. A mixture of funk, synthwave and nostalgia, combined with guitar and bass skilfulness, gave us an excellent overture for what will happen later. Vuk reminded the audience that they performed at Exit back in 2014 on the Jack Daniels Stage, when they were young and relatively unestablished – and now they command the stage as if they were born to it.

And then - Joker Out, heartbreakers from Ljubljana, form with substance, the best of both worlds. It was clear to us what to expect when, at the mere hint of their entrance, the screams of the girls began, which I remember from the documentaries about The Beatles. Love messages on cardboard signs, choral singing, fantastic communication between the band and the audience were evident right from the opening song, 'Katrina'.

Joker Out are much more raw and more guitar-driven during their live performances than on their 'polished' recordings and the influences of bands such as Arctic Monkeys or The Strokes are evident.

On the other hand, the fascination of the female part of the audience is completely understandable, because besides the fact that they really know how to play, all five members have a 'superstar vibe', in the way Duran Duran or Spandau Ballet once had the same vibe. I believe that the last time such a reception was registered was during the era of boy bands 20+ years ago, but the Jokers are anything but a boy band. Singer Bojan Cvjetićanin probably 'reaped' the biggest 'harvest' of love from the audience, but the other members are not that far behind.

Slovenian is 75% understandable when read or spoken, which drops to 50% when sung (and when thousands of girls are singing along with Bojan), but it's clear that the lyrics are engaged in a way similar to Buč Kesidi – precisely dissecting the everyday life of young people in a big city, their disappointments, dates, breakups, loves and sorrows...

Bojan won the hearts of the local audience from the very beginning by addressing them in Serbian and he also managed to make a 'population census' among the attenders. We saw that (incredibly loyal fan base) quite a number of spectators came from Slovenia, but that there were even more people from the other parts of the former Yugoslavia and even those who understand none of our languages ​​- simply driven by their love for the band that gained wider popularity at Eurovision in 2023.

The Jokers did not hide their exitement to perform on this already legendary stage.

The concert continued with a series of songs that are 'friendly' for parties, bedrooms, the beach and the radio - 'Plastika, znanstvena fantastika' and Bojan's sharp analysis of the 'culture' of plastic beauty made me look around and conclude that none of the girls in the audience were 'plastic' - which is a breath of normality and freshness we've been lacking now that we are wrapping up the first quarter of the 21st century. A better future is still possible, even though a worse present is dominant.

Joker Out jokingly call their style 'shagadelic rock' (translate it by yourself, but watch Austin Powers first), but there is nothing funny about their music. All of their songs are in Slovenian, except for two they performed in Serbian¹ (Bojan’s background allows him to play with languages and easily switch from one to another) and one in English.

In the song 'Tokio', they took us to Japan and sang part of it in Japanese too, previously teaching a 'little course on love expressions in Japanese.'

'The song that brought us here – 'Carpe Diem'!' – Bojan shouted and the audience received an infusion of energy and joy. Indeed, it was almost unimaginable 20 years ago that a 'schlager festival' would produce new stars and headliners, but Eurovision has become just that – a springboard. And it doesn't matter that they were 21st in the competition. Who cares about numbers – some performers are there to win points during the competition and some are there to conquer the world after the competition. The last song, 'Šta bih ja', was perfectly timed to be released on Friday, on the day of the concert – and it tells us, somewhat in the manner of 'Arctic Monkeys listening to Sarajevo pop', about the experience of life in London.

Joker Out brought 'sexy' back to pop music. We didn't lack cheap sex appeal all these years, but we did miss sophisticated and rock sex appeal. They brought the classic pop formation back big time – and we've missed it. They brought the energy back to the stage, female fans who travel to see them, scream their names and know all the songs by heart.

I can imagine the 'good old' days of girls' bedrooms decorated with their posters. Even if they hadn't recorded a single good song, all of this would have been enough and refreshing. But they recorded plenty of good ones. And somehow I believe we witnessed history and the beginning of a 'stellar' story with five guys from Ljubljana in the lead role.

¹In this case, the author of this article is referring to two songs that have already been released in Serbian, 'Ona' and 'Demoni'.

The band now has three songs in Serbian, including 'Šta bih ja'.

[warningsine]

For the early punks, many of them white British blokes, their music was about declaring themselves outside the larger society. The Sex Pistols dreamed of “anarchy for the U.K.” The Clash howled for “a riot of my own.” To be punk was to give offense, to make one’s self unpalatable, to choose to stand apart.

But what is punk when your society has already made you an outsider? This is the musical question that the raucous, cheeky comedy “We Are Lady Parts,” returning Thursday for its second season on Peacock, seeks to answer.

The first season, back in 2021, introduced Lady Parts, a punk band of Muslim women in London: Saira (Sarah Kameela Impey), the caustic lead singer; Ayesha (Juliette Motamed), the fearsome drummer; and Bisma (Faith Omole), the earth-motherly bassist. Together with their manager, Momtaz (Lucie Shorthouse), a savvy Malcolm McLaren in a niqab, they recruit a reluctant lead guitarist, Amina (Anjana Vasan).

Amina is no one’s idea of a rock star, least of all her own. She is an introverted microbiologist who worships Don McLean, with a severe case of stage fright that causes her to heave her guts while performing — and not in a defiant, Iggy Pop way. (Vasan gives Amina an engaging nerd-hero energy, similar to Quinta Brunson in “Abbott Elementary.”)

Over the six-episode season, Amina finds that Lady Parts gives her a way of defining herself rather than being defined, whether by the conservative suitors who tell her “Music is haram” or by her free-spirited mother (Shobu Kapoor), who wishes Amina would wait to seek a husband.

The root conflicts of “We Are Lady Parts” are familiar rock-band woes — having no money, having no gigs, being judged by family and by hipsters. This is where making the series about Muslim women rockers accomplishes more than representational box-ticking: It makes an old story new and nuanced.

For Amina and the rest of the band, rebellion is complicated. It means being Muslim women musicians, with equal stress on both adjectives. (The name Lady Parts itself feels like an answer to the anatomical name of the Pistols.) It means owning their sexuality and spirituality, seizing the right to define what being Muslim means to them and affirming their Muslim identity, as reflected in their sly, effectively catchy songs (co-written by the show’s creator, Nida Manzoor).

“Voldemort Under My Headscarf” embraces the traditional garb as a badass statement as defiant as any ’70s punk’s safety pin. (“I’m sorry if I scare you/ I scare myself too.”) “Bashir With the Good Beard” addresses a certain kind of haughty, elusive boyfriend. (“Are my clothes too tight?/ Do I laugh too much?”)

The series has some resonance with the recently ended “Reservation Dogs,” though its sense of humor is more rowdy and brash. It, too, is a story about young people asserting their individuality while affirming their community rather than rejecting it. The first season’s climax, in fact, involves the band being mischaracterized by an article profile that labels them “Bad Girls of Islam.”

Season 2 finds Lady Parts in the flush of minor success. (The show also shows signs of having hit the big time, attracting guest stars including Malala Yousafzai.)

The band has finished a camper-van tour of England and is planning an album. Their fan base now includes not just Muslim kids, but Muslim kids’ parents, as well as middle-aged white people, whose cringey praise recalls the garden party guests from “Get Out.” Amina has mastered her stage fright and — with occasional wobbles — is embracing her confident “villain era.”

The show’s sophomore outing is as brassy as the first, but adds layers of theme and character. Early on, the band discovers it has competition in a younger Muslim band, Second Wife. (“That’s good,” Ayesha grudgingly acknowledges of the name.) Rather than set up a battle of the bands, “We Are Lady Parts” puts a twist on the “There can only be one” mentality that pits underrepresented artists against each other.

As the band progresses, and Amina grows into her romantic confidence, the season plays with the way a kind of fetishizing adoration can be as toxic as rejection, both artistically and personally. Being stared at because of your head scarf, in post-Brexit Britain, is alienating, but so is being asked to keep your head scarf on to protect your Muslim-punk brand.

Over six episodes, the season fleshes out its supporting characters, wrestling with who they are and what they want to say. Bisma, who is married and has an adolescent daughter, starts to feel typecast as the group’s maternal figure. (“I am Mommy Spice. I am Wholesome, Boring Spice.”) Ayesha is dating a woman but is reluctant to come out to her parents, which makes her worry that she’s letting down her gay fans. Saira, the most old-school-punk of the group, itches to branch out from “funny Muslim songs” and write more pointedly political material, but that risks hurting the band commercially.

It’s hard not to see this last story as a meta-comment, intentional or not, on what the series itself can get away with saying, on a major media platform, with these characters. There is reference, for instance, to Saira wanting to speak out on how Muslims are being persecuted around the world, but less reference to any specific conflict, be it in Gaza or elsewhere.

One striking scene makes this sense of invisible boundaries literal, as Saira struggles to put her politics into song form. She runs through a verse: “It’s like death and the maiden / Dancing with my corporation / I won’t mention the w—” The what? The world? The war? We never hear. Her mouth is pixelated as she tries to finish the line, over and over; she strains and screams but the word won’t come out. Whether “Lady Parts” chooses not to complete her lyric or can’t, the image of asphyxiating silence is potent. (The episode closes with a song by the Palestinian singer Rasha Nahas.)

Of course, getting silenced by the industry is another perennial tale of rock ’n’ roll, among other vocations. As in Season 1’s getting-the-band-together arc, the challenges of making it are superficially familiar from other music stories: What is selling out? How do you distinguish growth from compromise? Can you make it big without abandoning any of your mates?

But the execution and the details are captivatingly specific. What works about “We Are Lady Parts” is what works about great punk. You can still fashion something new out of the same old three chords. You just need a distinctive voice.

[louistomlinsoncouk]

During the pandemic the songwriter and producer James Vincent McMorrow would rise early, go for a run and write songs for Louis Tomlinson, of One Direction.

“I actually made half of a record for him,” he says. Tomlinson’s team “had a lot of songs but maybe not a lot that he was as into as he wanted to be. I think they were maybe looking for a weirdo. So they reached out to me. I love him. He’s a fascinating human being. I absolutely loved making that album,” adds McMorrow, who is about to start a tour of Ireland.

When it comes to potential collaborators with a boy band megastar, McMorrow’s name is not the first that springs to mind. He’s an indie songwriter whose open-veined, falsetto-driven pop has been compared to that of folkies such as Bon Iver and Sufjan Stevens. But Tomlinson was a fan of the Dubliner’s beautifully wrought music. He wasn’t alone: Drake famously sampled McMorrow on his 2016 track Hype.

One of the tracks they wrote together, The Greatest, would serve as the opener to Tomlinson’s second LP, Faith in the Future. As is often the way with the music industry, the rest are in a vault somewhere. Still, for McMorrow the opportunity to work with a pop star was about more than simply putting his craft in front of a wider audience. The call from Tomlinson’s team had come at a low point for the Irishman, who had become mired in confusion and doubt after signing to a major label for the first time in his career.

(The above is an excerpt from the full article)

[marimayscarlett]

Does till (or any other member) believe in afterlife?

Hi 👋

Till is an atheist and has stated this in several interviews. Here is a post on the matter. In one article which is quoted in this post Till mentions that everyone in the group is an atheist - Richard doesn't like religion and sees it as something with dangerous potential, but would call himself a spiritual person (source). I've read similar statements of Flake, as well as Paul not really caring for religion, but can't find a reliable source for it. So I think you can say that these four don't really believe in something regarding religion, and most likely don't concern themselves with the concept of afterlife. (Can't say that I know something about Ollis standpoint on faith.)

Regarding Schneider: In the famous Viva interview from 1997, the band was asked what "faith" meant to them. Here, Schneider sees it as something "very, very important". Additionally, in the "Kretzsche - The Handball Punk" documentary, which was aired in the beginning of this year, Stefan visits him in his studio/rehearsal building and above the bar, there's a version of the "Sacred Heart" painting type of Jesus Christ (I added an example for comparison). These types of paintings/icons can sometimes be found in catholic households.

If Schneider is religious, there might be a chance he believes in afterlife. But I don't want to speculate too much, so that's enough for today 😌

[daisiesonafield-blog]

I need the articles to drop now so we know what are we dealing with!!!

Here you go, I wrote it for you:

"Louis Tomlinson spotted out with mystery blonde ahead of his documentary"

The One Direction star was seen enjoying a casual coffee date with a mystery blonde in Los Angeles following his split from long term girlfriend and model Eleanor Calder. The pair split after nearly 10 years together, with [tabloid] announcing the split.

Louis has been busy promoting his sophomore album, Faith In The Future, and has a documentary titled All Of Those Voices coming out March 22 world wide.

The 'Written All Over Your Face' singer was seen grabbing coffee and laughing with a stunning blonde in Santa Monica last Wednesday. The pair seemed in good spirits as they laughed and enjoyed their hot beverages.

Louis sported a vintage Black Sabbath band tee and khaki pants, while his date wore casual loose pants, and an oversized band tee. The stunning blonde topped it off with some silver jewelry and black tote.

Pay me @ daily mail @ tmz

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Three Indigenous Alberta women are involved in a lawsuit that requires articling students in the province to swear an oath of allegiance to “be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King Charles the Third.”

Rachel Snow is an Îyârhe Nakoda First Nations legal consultant and Indigenous law practitioner, and a descendant of makers of Treaty 7.

Her father John Snow was chief of the Wesley Band, west of Calgary. In the 70s he received an audience Queen Elizabeth II and presented Prince Charles with a book that he wrote about the history of his people.

John fought for Indigenous rights and had an honorary doctorate of laws degree from the University of Calgary.

Rachel has a law degree but she can’t be a lawyer in Alberta unless she swear an oath of allegiance to the king.

“It’s very much a remnant of colonialism,” Snow said. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada, @abpoli

[mesetacadre]

Ten of the best pupils in botany, aged fourteen to fifteen, made a similar expedition that summer to the Altai Mountains at government expense. They hiked well over a thousand miles and discovered twenty-seven new varieties of black currants, which they sent with great pride to the aged Michurin, the famous plant creator, the Burbank of Russia.

Soviet children begin to learn in the kindergarten to cooperate with others. Many of their building blocks are the size that can only be put in place by two children working at once. Later games are organized around some collective form of activity. Thus the children of railway workers in Tiflis built a regular children’s railroad, half a mile long. It was a serious enterprise, run by children on their holidays. It carried passengers, collected fares and spent them to “expand the road” in the regular style of the Soviet Five Year Plan. There are many such children’s railroads in the U.S.S.R.

What are the ideals of these young people? If it is not sufficiently clear from their education, an article in Pravda, chief organ of the Communist Party of the U.S.S.R., makes it very plain. Five years ago, when Hitler had made an impassioned speech to Nazi youth, demanding “unquestioning obedience to the Leader” as the highest virtue, Pravda broke into a long editorial that denounced the Nazi ideal and declared that the Soviet ideal was the exact reverse. “Not submission and blind faith... but consciousness, daring, decision... strong and original individuality, inseparably connected with the strong collective of the working people.” This was set up as the Soviet ideal. To people accustomed to think of the Soviet people as “regimented,” the words may come as a surprise. But Stalin, in his first radio speech after the German attack, appealed to the “daring initiative and intelli-gence that are inherent in our people.” The events of the war have shown that these were no careless words.

One recalls the guerrilla band which, lacking rifles, stopped Nazi ammunition trucks by spiked boards placed at night in the roads and then demolished them with homemade grenades. Or the Ukrainian farmer who crept up to a German armored car, using a camouflage of three sheaves of wheat; then shouting: “The robbers want our bread, let’s give it to them,” he threw the dry wheat under the car and set it afire by tossing a flaming bottle of gasoline after it, thus converting the car into blackened iron. Or the guerrilla detachment which captured six German planes, destroyed five of them, and sent the sixth to the Red Army, piloted by an amateur air enthusiast, who was a tractor driver in ordinary life.

The Soviets Expected It (1941), Anna Louise Strong

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Thursday, October 10

The Mayor: And what exactly did this demon look like? Faith: Demonic?

~~Enemies~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Angel why did that siren take on my image to try and seduce you, Is there something you should be tellin’ me ? (Angel/Spike, G) by GroundControltoMajorTom06

[Chaptered Fiction]

Unconditional, Chapter 13 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Blade Redwind

A Tumble in Time, Chapter 9 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by thedoppleganger

Not Ready to Make Nice, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by tragic

Drawing a Blank, Chapter 2 (Buffy/Spike, R) by EverythingElse

Waiting for You, Chapter 24 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by honeygirl51885

Enchanted Dawn, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by VeroNyxK84

Chamption of War, Chapter 6 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Desicat

To All We Guard, Chapter 28 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by simmony

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork:I drew Giles and Buffy by casthecorpse

Manip: Collage #191 by thedecadentraven

Manip:Collage #192 by thedecadentraven

Gifset:'cause that's just the way life goes; i push my luck, it shows, thankful you don't send someone to kill me; i love you, i'm sorry by clarkgriffon

Gifset:buffy rewatch -> The Pack (1.06) by creulsummer

Gifset:Kali Rocha as Halfrek in BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER by 5bi5

Video: PCRC Visits Buffy: The Slayer Experience by Pop Culture Role Call

[Reviews & Recaps]

We Aren't Special | Buffy the Vampire Slayer 7x12 "Potential" | The Normies Group Reaction! by The Normies

Buffy the Vampire Slayer 4x17 & 4x18 REACTION | "Superstar" & "Where The Wild Things Are" by The Horror Bandwagon

Lies My Parents Told Me: Buffy 7x17 Reaction by Dakara

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Season 3 Episode 4 - Beauty and the Beasts by Sh*t 90s Shows Taught Me

Episode 012 - Prophecy Girl | Boys Watching Buffy by Boys Watching Buffy

Buffy S03E03 "Faith, Hope and Trick" Spoiler Review by LGRN - Entertainment

1-04- Teacher's Pet BUFFY REACTION PODCAST by Definitely Doomed

Buffy the Vampire Slayer by Eldridge & Monroe Horror Show

Episode 011 - Out of Mind, Out of Sight | Boys Watching Buffy by Boys watching Buffy

Episode 010 - Nightmares | Boys Watching Buffy by Boys Watching Buffy

[Community Announcements]

James Marsters Adelaide & Brisbane Supanova Expo 2024 Schedules by DontKillSpike

James Marsters Winnipeg Comiccon 2024 Schedule by DontKillSpike

[Fandom Discussions]

It's so heartbreaking to see all the moments in which Spike offers Buffy such a understanding and tender love [...] by hellmouthe

I keep thinking about Buffy's refusal to believe that Spike is capable of love or goodness without a soul [...] by thequeenofsastiel

Scoobtober: Most Dangerous Villain in the Buffyverse? by multiple authors

Why are they acting this way towards buffy early on in season 3? by multiple authors

Most Iconic Season ? by multiple authors

What if Jenny Calendar was in band candy? by multiple authors

Angel - smiletime by multiple authors

Hilarious Fear Itself Mark of Gachnar Irish translation is about a bus route by multiple authors

First time watcher, finally reached 'The Body' by multiple authors

Wesley "killing" his father by multiple authors

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Publication: "Buffy: The Slayer Experience" via WGN News

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[whencyclopedia]

A Story of Faith

A Story of Faith is a legend of the Pawnee nation similar in theme to The Boy Who Was Sacrificed and featuring the same sacred animals – the Nahu'rac – who serve Ti-ra'wa ("Father Above") from their homes in five mystical places. This story, like other Pawnee legends, focuses on the concept of everything happening for a reason.

In A Story of Faith, a young doctor, naturally endowed with healing powers, is poisoned by an older medicine man who is jealous of him and, through faith in the wisdom and justice of Ti-ra'wa, is taken on a journey of healing by a great elk and small bird (probably the interior least tern). The Nahu'rac of the greatest mystical site, Pahaku (Pahuk, Pahuk Hill in modern-day Nebraska) insist he be seen by the Nahu'rac of the other four sites before he can be healed. By submitting faithfully to their demands, the young doctor not only recovers but is granted even greater powers than before.

Text

The following comes from Pawnee Hero Stories and Folk-Tales (1889) by anthropologist and historian George Bird Grinnell. It has been edited for space, but the full story will be found in External Links below in the Grinnell book which also includes The Boy Who Was Sacrificed and another thematically linked tale, The Bear Man.

LONG ago, before they ever had any of these doctors' dances, there was, in the Kit-ke-hahk'-i tribe, a young boy, small, growing up. He seemed not to go with the other boys, nor to play with them, but would keep away from them. He would go off by himself, and lie down, and sometimes they would find him crying, or half crying. He seemed to have peculiar ways. His father and mother did not try to interfere with him but let him alone. Sometimes they would find him with mud or clay smeared over his face and head. That is the sign of a doctor. When you see a person putting mud on his face or head, it shows that he has faith in the earth. From the earth are taken the roots that they use in medicine…

The boy grew up till he came to have the ways of a young man, but he never went with any of the other boys. After he had grown up, they saw that he had something in his mind. Sometimes he would fast for two days, and sit by himself, smoking and praying to Ti-ra'-wa, and not saying anything to anyone…

When anyone in the camp was sick, this young man would take pity on him, and of his own accord would go and doctor him, and pretty soon the person would be well again. Through his doing this, the people began to hear about him, and his name became great. He was humble and did not want to be thought well of. He was not proud, but he was always doing good. At that time, there were many doctors in the tribe, and they wondered how it was that he could cure so many people, when he had never been taught by any of them. They could not understand it, and they began to be jealous of him. He never wanted to be with the doctors but liked to stay by himself…

In that time there were bad doctors, and they began to hear about this humble man and to be jealous of him…The bands of the Pawnees were not then together, as they are now. As the people talked about this young man, one of the other bands heard about him. In this band was a great doctor, and this doctor thought to himself, "This young man's influence is growing. If I do not do something, he will soon be ahead of me."

This great doctor went to the village to visit this young man, to see how he looked, and to find out how he got his knowledge and his power, for he knew he had never been taught. He wanted to eat with him, and talk with him, and find out whence his learning came. He reached the Kit-ke-hahk'-i village. He was welcomed, and the young man treated him with respect, and asked him to come into the lodge, and sit down with him. At night they talked together. The great doctor said, "I am glad to see you. You can come to me for advice sometimes." The young man thanked him. They smoked together. It is the custom always when an Indian is visiting another, for the one that is being visited to present all the smokes; but at this time the great doctor said, "We will smoke my tobacco." So all night they smoked his tobacco. The next morning, he went away. He did not again eat with the young man. He said, "I am glad, and I am going." And he went away to his village. This was in winter.

About summertime, he felt different from what he had. He was drowsy and felt badly. He felt heavy. He seemed to be swelling up with some strange new disease. The great doctor had poisoned him with this result. How it was no one can tell, but it was so. This was a disgrace, and he did not know how to get out of it. There was no way. He would go off and cry, and pray to Ti-ra'-wa, and sometimes would stay for three or four days without anything to eat. He was so miserable that one time he was going to kill himself. He did not tell his father or any one about this but kept it to himself. The tribe went off on a hunt and left the old village. Before they started, the man went off on a hill somewhere to meditate and pray, and his father told him that when he was ready to start, he should ride such a horse, and he left it in the village for him when he should come in.

When he came into the empty village, he found the horse tied there, and he saddled it and started; but instead of going in the direction the tribe had taken, he went east. (He prayed for healing).

The tribe at this time was camped on the head of the Republican River. He went on toward the east until he came to the place on the Platte River called Pa-huk' (hill island). He saw that there were many wild animals on this point, and he liked it, and thought he would stay there, and perhaps dream. He stopped there a while, feeling very badly, and mourning all the time on this point…

The fourth night something touched him. He was half awake when he felt it. Something said, "What are you doing here?" He was lying on his side, his head toward the east and his feet toward the west. Something tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up and saw a great big animal, big black eyes, and a whitish body, Pah', big elk. When he looked at it, the animal said, "Get up and sit down;" and the elk too sat down. The elk said, "I have heard of you and of your condition, and I am here to tell you that we all know your trouble. Right here where you are, under you, is the home of the Nahu'rac (animals). I know that it is impossible to help you, but I shall let them know—they already know—that you are here. I can only help you so far as to take you to the places where these animals are. If this animal home cannot help you, I will take you to another place; if that fails, I will take you to another place; if that fails, to another. Then you will see that I have done my part. If it is impossible for the animals to do it, we have still one above that we look to." As soon as he had said this, he vanished like a wind…

While the boy sat there, thinking about what the animal had said to him, he fell asleep with his mind full of these things. In his sleep something talked to him. It said, "I know that you feel badly, and that your mind is poor. I have passed you many times, and I have heard you crying. I belong here, but I am one of the servants. I have informed my leaders, those who command me, about you, and that you are so poor in your mind, and they have said to me, ‘If you take pity on him, do as you please, because you are our servant.'"

At this time, he woke up, and saw sitting by him a little bird. He talked to it. He said, "Oh, my brother, I feel pleased that you understand my poor mind. Now take pity on me and help me." The bird said to him, "You must not talk in this way to me. I am only a servant. To-morrow night I will come this way and will show you what to do. To-morrow night I will come this way, and whatever you see me do, you do the same thing." Then he disappeared. The man then felt a little easier in his mind, and more as if there were some hope for him…

When the elk took him back to Pa-huk', the bird again conducted him into the lodge. He had left his pipe here. When he entered the lodge all the animals made a hissing sound—No'a—they were glad to see him again. The man stood in the middle of the lodge and spoke. He said, "Now you animals all, you are the leaders. You see how poor my mind is. I am tired of the long journeys you have sent me on. I want you to take pity on me." …

After they had smoked, they told the man to go and sit down opposite the entrance to the lodge, between the head doctors and the fire. These twelve animals stood up and walked back and forth on the opposite side of the fire from him, facing him. After a while they told him to stand up. The head ground dog now asked the other Nahu'rac to help him, by singing, and they all sang; and the ground dogs danced, keeping time to the singing, and moved their hands up and down, and made their jaws go as if eating, but did not open their mouths.

After a while they told him to lie down with his head toward the doctors and his feet toward the entrance. After he had lain down, they began to move and went round the lodge toward him, and the head ground dog jumped over the man's belly, and as he jumped over him, he was seen to have a big piece of flesh in his mouth and was eating it. Another ground dog followed him, and another, and each one ran until he came to the man, and as each one jumped over him, it had a piece of flesh in its mouth, eating it. So they kept going until they had eaten all the swelling…

The man was still unconscious, and the head ground dog said, "Now, Nahu'rac, I do not understand how to restore this man. I leave that to you." Then the ground dogs went back to their places and sat down. Then the head doctor, the beaver, spoke to the bears. He said, "Now this man belongs to you. Let me see what you can do." The head bear got up and said, "Very well, I will come. I will let you see what I can do." Then the bears stood up and began to sing. The head bear would jump on top of the man, and act as if he were going to tear him to pieces, and the others would take hold of him, and shake him around, and at last his blood began to flow and the man began to breathe, but he was still unconscious. After a while he moved and came to life and felt himself just as he had been many months before. He found that his trouble was gone and that he was cured…

The man got up and spoke to the Nahu'rac, thanking them for what they had done for him. He stayed there several nights, watching the doings of the Nahu'rac. They taught him all their ways, all the animal secrets. The head doctor said to him, "Now, I am going to send you back to your home, but I will ask a favor of you, in return for what I have done for you."

The man answered him, "It will be so, whatever you say."

The doctor said, "Through you let my animals that move in the river be fed. Now you can see who we are. I move in the water. I have no breath, but I exist. We every one of us shall die except Ti-ra'-wa. He made us, just as he made you. He made you to live in the air. We live where there is no air. You see the difference. I know where is that great water that surrounds us is the house of Ti-ra'-wa, and we live inside of it. You must imitate us. Do as we do. You must place your dependence on us, but still, if anything comes up that is very difficult, you must put your dependence on Ti-ra'-wa. Ask help from the ruler. He made us. He made everything. There are different ways to different creatures. What you do I do not do, and what I do you do not do. We are different. When you imitate us, you must always blow a smoke to each one of these four chief doctors, once to each; but to Ti-ra'-wa you must blow four smokes. And always blow four to the night, to the east, because something may tell you in your sleep a thing which will happen. This smoke represents the air filled with the smoke of hazy days. That smoke is pleasant to Ti-ra'-wa. He made it himself. Now go home, and after you have been there for a time, go and pay a visit to the doctor who put you in this condition."

The young man went home to his village and got there in the night. He had long been mourned as dead, and his father was now poor in mind on account of him. He went into his father's lodge, and touched him, and said, "Wake up, I am here."

His father could not believe it. He had thought him dead a long time. He said, "Is it you, or is it a ghost?"

The young man answered, "It is I, just the same as ever. Get up and go and tell my uncles and all my relations that I am here. I want you to give me something; a blue bead, and some Indian tobacco, and some buffalo meat, and a pipe."

The father went about and told his relations that his son had come back, and they were very glad, and came into the lodge, bringing the presents, and gave them to the boy. He took them, and went down to the river, and threw them in, and they were carried down to the Nahu'rac lodge at Pa-huk'.

A few days after this the boy got on his horse and rode away to visit the doctor who had brought his trouble on him. When he reached the village, the people said to the doctor, "A man is coming to visit you," and the doctor was troubled, for he knew what he had done to the boy. But he thought that he knew so much that no one could get the better of him. When the boy came to the lodge, he got off his horse, went in and was welcomed. After they had eaten, the boy said to him, "When you visited me, we smoked your tobacco; to-day we will smoke mine."

They did so, for the doctor thought that no one could overcome him. They smoked until daylight, and while they were smoking, the boy kept moving his jaws as if eating, but did not open his mouth. At daylight the boy said he must be going. He went, and when he got down to the river, he blew strongly upon the ice, and immediately the water in the river was full of blood. It was the blood of the doctor. It seems that the ground dogs had taught the young man how to do their things.

When the people found the doctor, he was dead in his lodge, and he was all hollow. All his blood and the inside of him had gone into the river and had gone down to feed the animals. So the boy kept his promise to the Nahu'rac and had revenge on the doctor.

The boy was the greatest doctor in the Kit-ke-hahk'-i band and was the first who taught them all the doctors' ceremonies that they have. He taught them all the wonderful things that the doctors can do, and many other things.

Continue reading...

[louisupdates]

Review: Louis Tomlinson rocks Brisbane River Stage with Faith in the Future world tour

Louis Tomlinson ignited the Brisbane River Stage on Tuesday night, blending One Direction nostalgia with his new Indie-Pop hits, at the second Australian show of his Faith in the Future world tour.

Molly Snaylam | January 31, 2024 - 7:49AM

Courier Mail AU

Former One Direction star Louis Tomlinson took Brisbane’s River Stage by storm on Tuesday night, at his second show of three in Australia, as part of the Faith In The Future World Tour.

The 32-year-old singer performed to thousands of screaming and adoring fans, with some wearing their almost vintage-looking Directioner merchandise and others in Louis’ Brisbane tour T-shirts.

Tomlinson first performed in Brisbane with One Direction on their Take Me Home tour in 2013 and on Tuesday established himself as an independent Indie-Pop/Brit Rock artist, “making the music he wants to make”.

As the lights went down the crowd came alive with excitement as the band kicked in to accompany him for The Greatest, the opening track to his 2022 album Faith in the Future.

Tomlinson charismatically introduced himself to the crowd, not shying away from profanity, as he welcomed the audience to his tour, “It’s f---king hot tonight isn’t it Brisbane, we’re going to have a great time!” Tomlinson said.

“This scale and size of a show like this absolutely blows my f---king mind, I can feel this is going to be a special night,” he said.

The setlist was a perfect blend of his solo hits, fan favourites, and some surprises, showcasing the evolution of his music.

Tomlinson’s vocals were on point as he effortlessly transitioned from powerful anthems to more intimate moments.

The live arrangements brought a new dimension to familiar tracks, making them feel fresh and dynamic.

Throughout the night, it was clear Tomlinson has veered from his prior pop status and has embraced a ‘mod’ and rock feel with his new music, this was confirmed by him including a cover of the Arctic Monkeys' eerie smash hit 505.

His casual and cheeky northern Brit personality shone through as he sported a black singlet and grey joggers, showing off his iconic tattoos.

He was sure to interact with fans as he wandered around the stage, even taking selfies and posing with his band for a photo in front of the audience.

The relationship between Tomlinson and his fans is noticeably gratuitous and nostalgic, with in tears and others moshing with wide smiles as they danced the night away.

As a major One Direction fan myself – especially during my teenage years, I can appreciate the impact Tomlinson has had on the many young music lovers, who attended his show, during their adolescent years.

Witnessing his fans singing along to every tune, old and new, brought back fond memories of when I saw him perform with One Direction in 2013, seeing the fans who have grown up with his music and the worldwide hype of the band took me back to that night.

Tomlinson’s ability to convey vulnerability and strength resonated with fans, creating an intimate atmosphere in one of the city’s largest outside venues.

His casual, yet captivating stage presence and soothing vocals memorised the audience throughout the show.

Tomlinson said the goal of his Faith In The Future tour was to create a “great live experience on the next tour”, a goal he certainly fulfilled on Tuesday night.

The concert was a testament to his connection with his fans, leaving them eagerly anticipating what the future holds for his music.

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