#Chuck Cleaver | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

megraen · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter Three - Juno

WORD COUNT: 5,759

@barcelonaloverf1life @quuinyoung @justnobodynothingmore @sarai-ibn-la-ahad

Palace of Domitian - Rome 195AD

The kitchens were abuzz as the slaves darted around, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. The slaves were busy preparing meats, fruits, cheeses and wine for that evening’s feast for the sake of having one. The emperors held parties almost daily, using the excuse to drink and whore themselves with their so-called friends, which were merely wealthy nobles who knelt and kissed at the twin’s feet simply to curry favour.

These events kept the slaves occupied throughout the Palace, attending to various tasks, including preparing meals, laundry, gardening, and cleaning. The Palace of Domitian always needed to look perfect, the shining jewel of the Empire from which the Emperors sat upon their golden thrones and ruled over the Roman Empire. If the slaves dared to lack in their duties, they would always be punished swiftly, their skin covered in bruises and lashes.

The kitchen workers heads snapped up when a bunch of guards rushed past the open kitchen doorway, rushing about the Palace with heavy footfalls on the marble and tiled floors. Slowly, each slave’s head turned to the young woman sitting on one of the kitchen tables, chewing on an apple.

“They’re looking for you.” One of the older slaves, Asina, spoke. She had served the Palace for the last thirty years and had seen many Emperors come and go.

Lucia shrugged. “Not my fault they don’t think to check the kitchens.” She retorted. There was a chorus of snickers from the other female slaves, but Asina quickly shushed them. She shook her head, slamming a cleaver down onto a chuck of rabbit resting on the table before her. While it was annoying, Lucia wasn’t wrong. The guards always checked every part of the Palace except for the places that the slaves ventured, as if they expected her to avoid areas ‘beneath’ her.

Since her confinement ended a few days ago after nearly two weeks of imprisonment in her chambers, extended due to her actions of throwing a goblet at Geta’s head, Lucia decided not to venture outside of the Palace for a while. She knew that Geta would be annoyed by her disappearance, but he would be more angry at the soldiers when he learned they hadn’t bothered to check the kitchens.

“If it concerns you, you could always report me,” Lucia suggested to the old woman, but Asina waved her off. Playing dumb made it easier for the slaves to avoid trouble. Hopping off the table, Lucia tossed the apple core into the food scrap bin the gardeners used for compost. She didn’t yet wish to leave the kitchen, enjoying her time away from the watchful eyes of the guards, so she stepped up to one of the counters and started to assist with the evening feast preparations. The slaves didn’t comment as they sided-eyed the princess, choosing to play ignorant.

“Dulcia. You still chatting with that guard?” Lucia asked curiously, speaking to the young slave beside her. Dulcia blushed, and Lucia chuckled. Asina tutted them, but they ignored her. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Lucia spoke, nudging Dulcia. Dulcia made a squeal of annoyance but still didn’t say anything. While it wasn’t uncommon for slaves and guards to form relationships, it was greatly frowned upon. Slaves were the property of their owners, with none being allowed to touch them. The scandal of one being in a relationship with a guard would end in the slave being punished and the guard losing their position. In some rare cases, slaves were granted citizenship by their owners, gaining the freedom to marry. It was a pipedream for any slave to be given the luxury of freedom.

“All we do is talk.” Dulcia squeaked. The slaves around them snickered again. There was a loyalty among them. Either made slaves or born into it, slaves had a brotherhood that bound them together, protecting their own. Lucia respected that. While yes, due to her upbringing and status as a Roman citizen, she didn’t see slaves as equal to her, she still gave them respect for their service, even if it wasn’t freely given.

“Very well, keep your secrets,” Lucia spoke, a small smile on her lips. She wouldn’t press the matter, letting the younger woman enjoy her private moments. Lucia focused on the task before her, cutting up swine meat to be cooked, working much slower than the surrounding slaves. She had little skill in cooking or kitchen duties compared to the other women who’d been handling such jobs daily for years.

Being born a woman of high status gave Lucia the luxury of never having to work a day in her life. She could spend her days lounging around drinking wine while engaging in activities such as music and poetry. But those luxuries also meant she did not know how to fend for herself. Cooking, cleaning, and gardening were skills she would never master.

Lucia wasn’t sure how long she’d spent in the kitchen, helping in what little way she could, having to pester the slaves to show her the correct manner of handling raw meats and preparing bread dough to be baked. She smiled as she admired the dough rising in the ovens, turning a golden brown. Someone was exhilarating about watching something you’ve made cook to perfection, a pride she hadn’t felt before. She also listened to the slaves talk, trading stories and gossiping about things they’d witnessed within the Palace. Lucia had to bite her tongue not to smile and laugh, knowing she was getting exposed to many secrets that only the slaves knew about, such as a homosexual relationship between two guards that often took place in the gardens late at night.

She did manage to crack a smile when one slave suggested that Lucia partake in laundry duty or bathing duties because they were much more challenging tasks, especially having to wash other people’s bodies. The idea of washing either Emperor, especially Caracalla, made her nauseous. She had heard from slaves how he would let his hands wander as they washed him, taking the notion of being naked and having a woman attend to him as an open invitation. While Lucia didn’t question the reality of slaves and them being seen as property or farm animals, the idea of being used for another’s sexual pleasure was distressing.

A loud squeal and the clanging of steel snapped everyone’s attention to the doorway. Lucia spotted a slave staring at her wide-eyed before hurrying from the kitchen. Lucia recognised the woman as the slave who had been attending to her during her confinement, and Lucia felt the slave was loyal to the Emperors and not her fellow slaves.

“She’s going to tell them,” Lucia sputtered, reaching for a spar rag and cleaning off her hands. Alarm flashed in the slaves’ eyes; they dreaded the impending punishment. Asina ushered her to go quickly, and Lucia did so, bolting from the kitchen and making a beeline for the throne room. She hushed any guards reaching for her as she raced past, having no time for them, yelling out, ‘I was in the kitchens!’ to appease them in their failed search for her earlier. Smoothing down her chiton and hair before entering the grand hall, Lucia composed herself, walking purposefully. Her eyes landed on the slave kneeling before the twin golden thrones, the Emperors sitting upon them. Geta had been leaning forward, listening to the slave speak, yet Caracalla had been slouching in his, not caring for the topic of conversation. Both men had a goblet of wine in their hands.

“Lucia…” Geta gritted out a purr, trying to sound charming, but his anger was evident. Caracalla snorted, giggling at his brother’s tone. “Melitta tells us that the slaves were forcing you to work in the kitchens.” Geta’s eyes narrowed accusingly. Such a tale would end with the kitchen workers being punished, alongside Lucia, for being missing for so long.

“I’m afraid she is incorrect, your majesties.” Lucia smiled, keeping her emotions in check. She didn’t need to repeat what transpired on Mensis Aprilis. “Melitta squealed and bolted before anyone could explain; she also left a mess to clean up, disrupting them from preparing for your party this evening,” Lucia spoke, seeing the slave flinch out of the corner of her eye. Geta’s eyes flickered to the slave kneeling before him, and his jaw tightened. “And as for me being forced to work, I aided them by my own accord. I often partake in such tasks when seeking entertainment.”

“Why would anyone choose to work?” Caracalla whined dramatically. Both Geta and Lucia stared at him. Out of the two, Geta always fulfilled his duty as Emperor and had to nag his younger twin into sharing responsibilities. While yes, as Emperors, they could enjoy the luxury of kings, partying, drinking and whoring while surrounding themselves in wealth, they still had an Empire to control and wars to win. Sometimes, it wasn’t about choice but expectations of one’s status in life, like how it was a woman’s to marry and bear sons.

Not commenting on his brother’s retort, Geta looked to Melitta. “You can go.” He stated, watching the woman scurry to her feet. As she tried to leave, Lucia latched onto her arm and pulled her close. Ignoring the slave’s squeals of protest, Lucia yanked back the sleeves of the tunic, exposing the girl’s back and the Imperial Roman seal branded into the skin, marking her as property of the Imperial House. The brand wasn’t fresh, but it wasn’t old either. If Lucia had to guess, the branding wasn’t even a year old, and because of Melitta’s bold nature, she hadn’t been a slave long enough to know her place.

Melitta yanked herself from Lucia’s grasp. “You have no right!” She barked, grabbing Lucia’s chiton, her fingers curling into the exquisite fabric.

“You have no right.” Caracalla laughed, standing lazily from the throne and waltzing toward the two women. He interjected between them and playfully pulled Melitta’s fingers from Lucia’s dress as he leaned into the slave’s ear. “A disgusting slave has no right to speak or act like that to her betters.” He hissed darkly for everything to hear. He shoved Melitta backwards onto the floor, laughing when she cried out as she made contact with the cold stone. Geta smiled as he watched, yet Lucia remained passive, staring at Melitta emotionlessly.

“Take her to receive ten lashings for daring to touch and speak back to the princess,” Geta ordered, gesturing to a guard to step forward. Melitta tried to scramble away, but the guards reached for her, dragging her from the throne room. Lucia’s heart tightened as she watched the sight. She felt for the girl, but Melitta had to understand that she wasn’t a Roman citizen, and for whatever crimes she’d committed or debts she owed, she was a slave now, bound in service until her death or until freed.

Lucia flinched out of her trance when she felt fingertips gracing her cheek and jaw, making her jump. She turned her head suddenly, staring at Caracalla, who was now leaning in incredibly close. She blinked rapidly and leaned away from him, but Caracalla continued to invade her comfort zone, putting her on edge. Caracalla was always obsessed with pretty things, and Lucia was indeed lovely.

“Brother…” Geta sang, warning his twin. He had a broad grin and a twinkle in his eyes. He enjoyed Caracalla’s upsetting Lucia; it was like delicious revenge for all the times she had driven him mad with her disrespectful antics. Caracalla pouted playfully yet flicked Lucia’s cheek one last time before returning to his throne, slouching back down and taking a long sip of his wine. Both brothers were staring at Lucia. While her face was neutral, her eyes showed an unmistakable glint. She was angry with them again, but she was smart enough not to act out, at least not in front of their guards, where her actions couldn’t be easily excused.

“Do you desire anything else of me?” Lucia dared to ask. It was a risque question to pose, and Caracalla quickly went to answer with a lewd response but was silenced by his twin before the words could even leave his lips. Geta always laughed at his brother’s crude nature, but now wasn’t the time.

Geta sat back on his throne, rubbing at his jaw. “We had the Praetorians out searching the city for you, and you were in the kitchens this entire time?” He asked.

“I guess they didn’t search there first,” Lucia stated coolly. Caracalla snickered, and Geta’s lips twitched. She was mocking them again, but there was truth in her words. The guards had indeed not bothered to search the kitchens, something they’d need to do next time she was missing. Lucia bowed respectfully and left with nothing else, still feeling the twin’s eyes on the back of her skull.

The twins laughed as soon as she was gone, enjoying having caused the woman some distress. Yet Lucia still had the gall to insult them and undermine their Praetorian guards, who were meant to be Rome’s elite, the personal soldiers that served directly under the Emperors. A simple girl had repeatedly outsmarted them. It was an all-time low for Emperors, an offence that made them a laughing stock to all of Rome and the Senate, yet it allowed them to do better. Lucia pointed out the Imperial Palace’s weaknesses, which could be overcome.

“She is quite a unique thing.” Caracalla giggled, dancing in his seat. Geta chuckled along, shaking his head. He held out his goblet, gesturing for a slave to bring him more wine.

“Indeed, but she was disappointingly right,” Geta spoke, watching the slave refill his cup. “How often have we sent the Praetorian into the city when she was still in the palace?” He pondered aloud, bringing the filled cup to his lips. Glancing around the throne room, he eyed off the soldiers around the chamber, poised and ready to defend their Emperors. They had all heard Lucia’s words, their faces doing little to mask their shame. The Praetorians had failed their Emperors, forgetting to check a simple room within the vast Palace. “Are there other chambers they have not checked?!” Geta barked, his face turning serious as he stood to his feet. The guards visibly flinched at his yell, fearing the repercussions ahead. None of them spoke or dared to move. Caracalla was laughing again, giggling as his brother taunted the guards.

“We should punish them! Encourage them to do better!” Caracalla cheered, egging on his twin. He stood up and drunkenly approached a single guard, laughing in the man’s face. When the guard didn’t flinch under the taunts, Caracalla splashed the wine from his goblet at the guard’s face. “Do you care?! Do any of you care?! A child is outsmarting you!” Caracalla screamed, spinning around, his eyes darting over each soldier in the throne room. “A child!” He yelled again, pulling the sword from the wine-splashed guard’s sheath and spinning it around wildly.

“No…no…no…” Geta exclaimed. He bolted to his twin’s side, his goblet crashing against the floor, forgotten as he wrapped his arms around his brother, restricting his arms. “Remove the sword!” He yelled, a couple of the guards moving in to assist him. Geta gritted his teeth, using all his strength to pull his brother to the floor. The soldiers aided him by pinning the younger Emperor down, and one reached for the sword, prying it from his hands. The entire time, Caracalla was screaming, yelling for the guards and his twin to release him, but they all knew better. In the past, Caracalla had killed a few slaves when his anger consumed him, fuelled by alcohol and something else, like he was possessed.

Caracalla wasn’t released until his screaming stopped when his body became limp in his brother’s arms. Slowly, Geta retracted his hold and breathed deeply, knowing the danger had passed.

“take my brother to his chambers. See to it that he rests…” Geta murmured, his eyes downcast. His eyes flickered back up, watching two guards practically dragging away Caracalla’s body, still unmoving. Geta rubbed at his jaw. He knew his brother’s bouts of mania were getting worse, and a healer would need to be called upon soon. There had to be a medical reason for his brother’s wild mannerisms, and with a medical reason, it meant a cure that could save Caracalla from himself. Rome had suffered under crazed rulers before, and Geta wouldn’t let his twin become one of them.

The room of the female bathhouse was clouded with steam. It was an adequate chamber, big enough to house several female members of the royal family, yet slightly smaller than the men’s bathhouse, as it was expected for men to outnumber women when it came to offspring. There was a third bathhouse, which catered to the slaves, yet it was small and cramped, with no separation for genders. The main chamber of the bathhouse, the hot room, was heated beneath the floor, with a pool for swimming, but Lucia wasn’t too fond of boiling herself in the heated waters. Instead, she rested to the side, lounging on a marble bench, letting the steam heat her skin. Her skin was covered in oil, mixing with her sweat.

Bathing was a daily occurrence in Rome, a time for people to engage socially while maintaining good hygiene. For the wealthy and upper class, it also meant preserving a sign of social class. As a woman of upper society, Lucia was given the luxuries the lower class could not obtain, such as beauty treatments, to keep her up to social standards. Stretching out on the bench, Lucia ran her hands over her naked and oil-slicked body, completely free of body hair, giving her the appearance of a Goddess carved into stone.

“Enjoying yourself, my child?” Lucilla spoke, stepping into the heated room, her own naked body covered in oil. She sat down at her daughter’s feet, a small smile on her lips.

“It’s a relaxing reward after a long, hard day of doing nothing.” Lucia joked, smirking when her mother rolled her eyes at the tease. That might also be how the Emperors saw their days, as Lucia pondered if they ever did anything involving ruling Rome or if they just left it to the Senate. Even her mother didn’t do anything overly strenuous. The wealthy and powerful never had to worry about working, as they could pay or manipulate others to do so.

“you had the Praetorians in a panic again today,” Lucilla stated her tone boarding on lecturing.

Lucia frowned. “I never left the Palace.” She retorted quickly, but Lucilla didn’t give a valid response. When Lucia’s confinement ended, her mother had been stern with her, ordering her to no longer escape into the city, no matter what. They both needed to adhere to the rules that Caracalla and Geta had put in place for them, as it was for their survival. “I cannot be blamed for the Praetorian’s lack of foresight to check the kitchens.” Lucia barked, earning a stern glaze from her mother.

Lucilla tutted and shook her head. Her daughter’s actions were unfathomable at times. After a few minutes of lounging in the steam, Lucilla stood, heading to step into the heated waters. Lucia didn’t bother to glance at her mother; instead, her eyes were focused above, gazing at the elaborate tiled ceiling through the steam.

“It’s June in two weeks,” Lucilla spoke, ending their silence. Lucia’s brows furrowed, and she turned her head. She knew the importance of June. It was the month of the Goddess Juno, the symbol of marriage, childbirth, and protection. Because of this, many Roman citizens chose this time to wed, compared to many other times throughout the year. Lucia didn’t sit up or move as she waited for her mother to continue speaking, yet she knew what Lucilla would say, that she would try to arrange for Lucia to be married off. It would be a risk, as Geta and Caracalla would stop any marriage before it could occur; therefore, it would have to be kept secret. Once Lucia was married, there would be nothing the twins could do, as she would be her husband’s property.

“I have been communicating with some sufficient matches,” Lucilla explained, sinking further into the water, revealing what Lucia had already suspected. As much as Lucia wanted to be married and fulfil her duty as a Roman woman, marrying a stranger was unnerving, knowing that she relied on her mother’s word that her husband would be a good man. “I have three who I suspect are perfect. I will continue to correspond with them before I decide, but ultimately, the final say will be yours.” Lucilla turned, facing her daughter with a serious expression.

Lucia sat up, her hands folded in her lap. Her fingers were knotting together as she thought about her mother’s proposal. “I trust your judgement.” She murmured. While she said it, her face revealed that she wasn’t entirely sure. “Did…did you like father before you married him?” She asked curiously.

Lucius Aurelius Verus had the same family tree as Lucilla but was separated through generations to prevent inbreeding. Lucia’s father and grandfather had been raised under the previous Emperor Titus Aelius Hadrianus Antoninus Pius. Lucilla had grown close to the man who’d later become her husband, having known him since she was a small child, yet that didn’t often mean that just because you’d known someone your entire life, you liked them, and Lucius Verus had been twenty years older than Lucilla when they’d married. Lucilla was only fourteen years old; marrying a man could have been her father, given the age difference. Lucia hoped to marry someone close to her age.

“He was kind. Gentle. Very much like your grandfather.” Lucilla spoke fondly, a warm smile spreading across her face, but it soon fell into a frown. “But I never loved him. My heart still ached for another.”

The news shocked Lucia, knowing that there had been a man her mother had loved while married. Love was a luxury for the peasantry and lower class. For the powerful and influential, marriage was only a way for one to extend that status by marrying into higher positions; it’s why Lucia’s fertile womb made her target. It was worse for men. Love was seen as a woman’s emotion, weak and feminine, something mothers displayed to their children. Men weren’t allowed to feel or express love unless they wanted to be scorned by society and judged.

“Who did you love?” Lucia dared to ask, almost afraid of the answer.

Lucilla was silent momentarily, unsure if her mother was afraid to say anything or pained by the memory. “Maximus Decimus Meridius.”

Lucia’s brows furrowed. She couldn’t place the name for a second, but she remembered fifteen years ago when she was only eight. She had been young, and it had been hard to remember, but Maximus had been a general who served under her grandfather during his reign. She wasn’t sure how the man had ended up as a gladiator in the Colosseum, but he was the one responsible for ending her uncle’s life and bringing her father the chaos they now endure. Maximus had succumbed to his wounds after the duel, dying on the sands of the Colosseum. It had been a catalyst. Her brother was sent away that day, and despite longing to leave with him, to be with her twin forever, her mother had kept her in Rome, saying they couldn’t go. Lucilla couldn’t leave her home, where she’d spent her entire life. She was attached to Rome, and it was to her.

The mother and daughter didn’t speak again, but the conversation had left Lucia pondering many things. She wondered if her mother loved Acacius or if she’d married him for the convenience of inheritance after the death of her father and brother. It was a concern for Lucia that gnawed at her heart and mind. She loved Acacius as if he were her real father, despite his reoccurring abscesses due to war. He had always supported her, protecting her to the best of his ability. Acacius was an honourable man, someone who many could admire to be like.

When she was done sitting in the steam, Lucia left the room and headed to an adjoining room where slaves stood waiting to scrape the oil, sweat, and grime from her skin. She stood impassively as they worked, not batting an eye as they cleared off her skin, inspecting every surface for any unwanted body and pubic hair that would need to be removed. Once pleased with Lucia’s skin, they applied drops of scented oil to her collarbone, inside of her wrists, behind her earlobes, and below her belly button, just above her cunt. These pulse points pushed body heat into the perfume, diffusing the scent over the body.

Lucia retreated to her chambers after being redressed in her chiton, her body refreshed from bathing. It was only late evening, and she would join her mother for dinner, where no doubt Lucilla would press the matter of her upcoming nuptials further. Once everything was arranged, the wedding would occur quickly to ensure the Emperors couldn’t halt it. Lucia might have been on friendly terms with the slaves, but she was sure they would sell her out in a heartbeat if it meant they could earn their freedom and citizenship.

Once in her chambers, Lucia moved quickly, stepping over to the wardrobe with silk dresses in various luxurious colours. Lifting out the bottom drawer, she revealed a hidden compartment under a false lid. Opening it up, Lucia admired its contents. It was a chiton of pure white and the woollen belt that would be knotted into a complex knot that only her husband could undo on her wedding night, as was tradition. There was also the long orange veil that would adorn her head, covering her hair. Her mother had purchased these items long ago, so the dress secretly had to be exchanged for a larger size as Lucia grew from twelve to the woman she was now. She had begun to wonder if she’d never have the opportunity to wear it, that she would die an old maid, unwed and without children.

When there was a soft rapping at her chamber doors, she hurriedly packed everything away, not wanting anything to catch the attention of a noisy slave. Standing and dusting off her dress, Lucia approached the doors, opening them to catch sight of the slave who’d knocked. The man bowed, offering to escort her to Lucilla’s chambers for dinner. Looking behind herself to ensure the wardrobe was secure, Lucia faced the salve, nodding and informing him to lead.

“Enjoying yourself, my child?” Lucilla spoke, stepping into the heated room, her own naked body covered in oil. She sat down at her daughter’s feet, a small smile on her lips.

“you had the Praetorians in a panic again today,” Lucilla stated her tone boarding on lecturing.

“Who did you love?” Lucia dared to ask, almost afraid of the answer.

Lucilla was silent momentarily, unsure if her mother was afraid to say anything or pained by the memory. “Maximus Decimus Meridius.”

#fan fiction #fanfiction #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator ll #gladiator movie #joseph quinn #emperor geta #geta #oc: lucia #wip: imperial conquest

18 notes · View notes

dustedmagazine · 1 month ago

Text

Wussy — Cincinnati Ohio (Shake It)

Over the last quarter century, Wussy has quietly built an impressive catalogue, eight albums including this one that span heartfelt alt.Americana, fiery jangle rock and an almost shoegaze-y wall-of-sheen sound. Led by Chuck Cleaver, once of twang punk’s Ass Ponys, and Lisa Walker, the band can sound like Eleventh Dream Day or a Sally Timms-forward Mekons (Jon Langford painted the cover art). In the silvery fog of “Desperation A.M., you might catch an echo of Yo La Tengo’s Georgia Hubley, but in the more strident opener, “The Great Divide” you’re more likely to hit on the Feelies side project Wild Carnation (Brenda Sauter played a show with Wussy in early November). Wussy touches a lot of solid indie-to-country rock bases, while remaining very much its own thing.

The songs vary a good deal depending on whether Cleaver or Walker sings lead. Their voices are very different, for one thing, Cleaver’s a wobbly, weatherbeaten, country tenor and Walker’s a cool, enveloping, faintly disembodied vehicle for dream pop. Both write songs, too, so if the writer is also the main singer, that may account for some of the divergence, too. But in any case, just to take the singles, “Sure as the Sun,” one of Cleaver’s, reels and bucks like a revival tune run amok on a wild horse. His voice is cracked and wizened, but fully capable of conveying both tune and emotion. The guitars crash, the bass thunders, the drums wallop, but an aura of resignation pervades. “And if there is a heaven, I don’t think that’s where I’ll head, I’d rather stick around and hang with you instead,” he sings, linking the mundane and the spiritual in a very Wussy way.

Walker takes the lead in the other single, “Inhaler” a slashing country rocker suffused in clouds of dread. Her voice is clean and dry in the verse, wobbling only a little with vibrato. But it’s in the multi-voiced chorus that she comes into her own. “It’s a swing and a miss and our hero is down today, and I check the brakes, and I fill the tank, his tornado is pulling away,” she trills, the main vocal line crisscrossed with descants and counterparts. There’s something giddy, something a little desperate about how this song hurtles forward, flinging itself off precipices only to be buoyed by clouds of harmony.

The pedal steel is one other factor that nudges these songs away from indie rock and into Americana, and therein hangs a tale. Wussy’s long-time pedal steel player Jon Erhardt died partway through the recording process, having completed just two songs. It’s him you can hear on the bare and ruminative “The Night We Missed the Horror Show” and on “Days and Hours”’ whirling torch song. Travis Talbert finished the job, adding the lovely glow of pedal steel to atmospheric “Desperation A.M.” and playing on three other tracks. Both add density and feeling to the Wussy sound, a subtle but essential. Likewise, when bassist Mark Messerly switches to accordion on “The Ghosts Keep Me Alive” and, later, “Disaster About You,” it tips the sound in a deeper, richer, more countrified direction.

Wussy is a bit of a cult favorite now, and long-time fans will undoubtedly have different reactions to this late period recording. Still, even coming to them fresh and without any prior connection, the sound is wonderfully rich and varied and the lyrics provocative without preciousness. If, like me, you’ve come all this way without running into Wussy, maybe it’s time to check in.

Jennifer Kelly

#wussy #cincinnati ohio #shake it #jennifer kelly #albumreview #dusted magazine #ass ponys #jangle #country rock #college rock

9 notes · View notes

malwaresilly · 6 months ago

Note

SHOOT THE BEE

[GUNSHOTS. MULTIPLE.]

*V.b hisses, chucking the cleaver before running off, no signs of mal...yet*

#the programmer's plan

15 notes · View notes

jinxedruby · 11 months ago

Text

Ambush at the Bridge: Chapter Three

In which Warriors and Time show up. (Heads up for blood and injury in this chapter as well.)

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->

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

Warriors sliced through some of the bokoblins before him, sword tearing through three monsters of different kinds. He at least recognized the pinkish ones from Sky’s era, having fought them during his journey. But the purple ones with white, mop-like hair and the pig-like ones with large ears were unfamiliar to him. Why there were so many at once and why they were all ganging up on him, he didn’t know. He brought up his shield just in time to block a blow to the side of his head, at the same time keeping the monsters to his left at bay with his sword. A weapon glanced off the back of his chainmail, tearing through his tunic. He gripped his sword and spun in a vicious circle, clearing the immediate area around him. He barely took two steps before the monsters surged forward again, hemming him in once more.

A sharp yelp of pain caught his attention. He cut down the bokoblin before him to get a glimpse of the worn bridge. His eyes widened. Hyrule lay dangerously close to a hole in the bridge, desperately fighting to get a lizalfos and bokoblin off of him.

A cleaver slicing through the crook of his arm forced Warriors to tear his gaze from Hyrule. A quick thrust disposed of the bokoblin that had cut him but another took its place just as quickly. He scowled, parrying one attack and responding with a slash that killed three monsters at once. He barely got a glance at the bridge before more monsters swarmed into the gap he made. A hard blow to his back sent him stumbling forward, right into another monster’s attack. He barely managed to block it with his shield, extremely thankful he had chainmail to cover his blind spots. Another struggled shout from Hyrule. Warriors clutched his sword, adrenaline flaring.

“Out of my way!” he roared. He twisted to one side, readying his sword. Then he unleashed spin attack after spin attack, plowing through the bokoblins. His ears rang from the sheer number of monster screeches as bokoblins fell to his blade. He came to a stop, panting, head spinning a little from the overexertion. He turned, trying to get his bearings.

CRACK.

He whipped around just in time to see a section of the bridge collapse. The section Hyrule was on. He and the monsters on top of him plunged into the frothing river below.

“Traveler!” Warriors shouted. He dashed toward the bridge. Another wave of bokoblins stopped him in his tracks. He cursed, cutting through them as fast as he could, arms burning from the strain.

“I got him!” he heard Wind shout.

“Wait!” Twilight yelled.

Warriors couldn’t see what was happening past the monsters before him. No matter how many he cut down, more would pop up. Why were there so many? If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were in his era. What he wouldn’t give for Legend’s fire rod right then. But he didn’t know where the veteran was. He couldn’t tell where anyone was, with all these damn monsters in the way.

A blade cut through the back of his knee and he yelped. He spun and skewered the offending bokoblin, only for another to stab at him from behind. His chainmail prevented the blade from piercing him, but the force of the blow knocked him forward, a bruise surely developing where he’d been hit. A sword whistled toward his neck. He yanked up his shield, deflecting the weapon upwards, the tip of the blade grazing his scalp just above his ear. His skin prickled as warm blood flowed from the cut, matting his hair. He executed another spin attack, muscles protesting the whole way.

“Captain!”

Warriors turned at the shout to see Time on the other side of the swarm of monsters. The old man held a giant barrel over his head, teeth clenched.

“Heads up!” Time shouted. With a grunt, he chucked the barrel into the middle of the mass of monsters. It wasn’t until he heard hissing that Warriors realized what the old man had thrown. He spun away, cutting an opening in the bokoblins and diving forward, tucking into a roll. The barrel exploded with a deafening boom. A wave of heat blasted past Warriors, knocking him flat. Monsters sailed past him, smoking and not all in one piece. Warriors covered his head as weapons and smoldering bokoblin parts rained down around him. Once things settled, Warriors scrambled to his feet, whirling around to pick off any stragglers. A blur of silver and gold flashed on his right as Time fell into step beside him, cutting down the bokoblins in his blind spot. With one final slash, Warriors cut down the last remaining monster. He turned, sword raised, searching for any he might’ve missed. After a long moment he sighed, letting the tip of his sword fall to the ground. He turned to Time, skin tingling with the dregs of adrenaline left in his system.

“Thanks for the save, old man,” he said. “That was one hell of a bomb.”

A hint of a smile flickered across Time’s stoic expression. “Goron powder keg,” he explained as he wiped the black blood from his sword. “I’ve been saving it for a time such as this.”

Warriors huffed a laugh, glancing at the carnage littered around them. “Well, it sure did the job.” Then his eyes widened. “Traveler. He fell in the river-“ He started forward but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Our sailor and rancher have already gone after him,” Time said.

Warriors shrugged off Time’s hand, ignoring the flinch of pain the motion caused. “Well, we should still go after them. Or find the others. They might need help-“

“You’re hurt,” Time interrupted.

“What? No, I’m fine-“

“Captain.” Time leveled him with a glare usually reserved for the more reckless members of the group. Warriors stared at him for a moment longer, a protest on his tongue. Then the last of his adrenaline burned away. Cuts he didn’t know he had flared up in pain. His muscles ached fiercely, limbs trembling from the exertion of the battle. The side of his head prickled and he reached up to find blood soaking his hair and trailing down his neck. He hadn’t realized how deep the cut above his ear was.

“Ah,” he managed. His knees failed him at that moment and he stumbled. Time quickly caught him, gently lowering him to the ground.

“Easy, Captain,” the old man said, kneeling beside Warriors. Warriors took a deep breath, reaching into his bag for a bandage. His hands shook and he narrowed his eyes, as if glaring would ease the trembling. There was pressure against the side of his head and he winced. He looked up to see Time carefully wrapping gauze around his head, stemming the flow of blood from his wound. Warriors reached up to take the gauze from Time, but the old man just shook his head. Warriors lowered his hand with a sigh.

“Thanks,” he said as Time finished wrapping his head. He glanced around as Time reached into his bag for more bandages. Aside from the sound of the rushing river, the woods sat quiet and still. “Did you see where the others went?”

Time glanced up from the wound in the crook of Warriors’ arm he was wrapping. “The sailor and rancher went downriver after the traveler. Champion went flying into the woods over that way.” He jerked his head in the direction of the trees to their right. “I didn’t see what happened to the other three.”

Warriors arched a brow. “What do you mean, Champion went flying?”

Time sighed with exasperation that said ‘these boys are making me go gray.’ “He used his shield to catapult off a bokoblin’s head.”

“Wh- how?” Warriors spluttered, laughing.

Time heaved another sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Well-“ Warriors coughed in an attempt to reign in his chuckling. “-we should probably go after him, make sure he’s alright. I’m worried about Traveler, but Sailor and Rancher are both helping him.” He bit his lip to keep himself from tacking on ‘I hope.’

Time nodded. Warriors moved to stand but Time grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.

“Your wounds, Captain,” Time reminded him.

“They’re really not that bad, old man,” Warriors protested.

“Maybe not.” Time withdrew another bandage and began wrapping it around Warriors’ knee. “But I don’t want you losing any more blood.”

Warriors sighed but didn’t argue any further. He knew the old man was right, he just hated the idea of taking time to tend to himself when the others might need help right now.

“You won’t be much help if you’re stumbling around from preventable blood loss,” Time said, as if reading Warriors’ thoughts. At the captain’s stare, he looked up with a half-smile. “Heroes’ minds think alike.”

Warriors huffed a laugh. “You got me.”

It only took a couple more minutes for Time to finish dressing the worst of Warriors’ wounds. The cut in the crook of his arm was the deepest and responsible for the tremble in his hand. The large bruise on his back protested as he stood, chainmail rubbing uncomfortably against it. Time glanced at him when he winced but Warriors just flapped a hand.

“I’ve had worse,” he said. Then at Time’s look, added, “I won’t do anything I can’t handle. I’ll tell you if it gets worse.”

Time watched him for a moment longer before nodding and turning away. “I’ll hold you to that.”

They started in the direction Time had seen Wild go. Slowly at first, as Warriors had underestimated the pain from the cut in the back of his knee. Pain rippled through his skin with each step, and he did his best not to limp too heavily. Time offered him an arm for support but Warriors shook his head.

“I’m not so fragile, old man,” he said. To his surprise, Time actually chuckled.

“No, you’re not.”

Warriors blinked. He opened his mouth to rib the old man about giving him what sounded suspiciously like a compliment. A gut-wrenching scream cut him off. His eyes widened. Without a word, he and Time broke into a sprint. Warriors ignored the spikes of pain driving into his knee with each pound of his boot on the ground. The scream sounded dangerously like Wild. They ran blindly through the forest, tearing through the underbrush. Warriors looked around wildly, searching for any sign of the champion. Another strangled cry came from somewhere to their left, much closer and much weaker than the last one.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Another voice carried between the trees as Warriors and Time changed direction. “I have to stop the bleeding, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”

Warriors recognized Four’s faint voice. He slowed and turned, Time slowing with him, trying to pinpoint where his voice had come from. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Smithy!” he shouted, words swallowed by the trees. “Where are you?”

“Over here!” Four screamed, desperation thick in his voice.

Warriors took off in the direction of Four’s voice, Time close behind him. He spotted a blotch of colors between the trees and sped up, a new wave of adrenaline muting the pain from his wounds. Four spotted them crashing through the underbrush, his eyes wide in panic. He knelt over Wild who lay on the ground, hardly moving.

“Help!” Four yelled. “Captain, over here!”

Warriors and Time sprinted over, the sight becoming clearer as they approached. Four’s nose twisted in a way it probably shouldn’t, dried blood coating his upper lip and chin. He held his hands tight against the area between Wild’s left shoulder and chest. Blood soaked his hands, the fluid pooling around his fingers. Warriors fell to his knees beside them, yanking a wad of bandages from his bag.

“Move your hands,” he instructed. Four pulled back to reveal a horribly deep stab wound. The moment the pressure left, blood spurted from the wound in force. Warriors cursed and stuffed the bandages into the wound before pressing down with his hands. Four put his hands back as well and Wild whimpered, head rolling to the side. The movement caused the blood pooling in his collar to run down his neck, soaking into his hair splayed out on the ground beneath him. Warriors pressed all his weight into Wild’s wound, the flow of blood only barely slowing. Time knelt beside them, brushing Wild’s bangs from his face, strands sticking to his skin. Wild’s eyelids fluttered open, clouded blue eyes darting around with little recognition.

“I’ll find a fairy,” Time said before jumping to his feet and charging into the forest.

Wild’s breath came in short, shallow gasps. All color had drained from his face, lips white. Sweat beaded on his brow, trailing down his temple and mixing with the blood on his neck. Warriors had seen wounds like this before. In soldiers whose limbs had been severed or cut so deeply that the artery broke. He’d watched men die within seconds that bled like this.

“Smith, do you have any bandages?” Warriors asked, forcing his focus on the present.

“A- a few,” Four stammered, face pale.

“Whatever you have, put it in his wound.”

Four reached into his bag and Warriors doubled the pressure he put on the wound, desperately trying to keep as much blood from escaping as he could. Four held out a small roll of gauze and Warriors snatched it, packing it in beside the other soaked bandages. He and Four replaced their hands and Warriors glanced around, searching frantically for Time. Fingers grasping at his hand brought his gaze back down. Wild clawed weakly at him, hand closing around Warriors’ wrist and limply hanging on.

“Stay with me, Champion, c’mon,” Warriors said, voice pinched with what he refused to admit was fear. Wild’s grip on him loosened, breaths shortening even more. “The old man’s on his way, just hold on, please.” He frantically looked around, hoping for any sign of the silver and gold armor but there was nothing except trees swaying gently in the breeze.

“Captain.”

Warriors looked toward Four at the smith’s raspy voice. The little hero stared down at Wild, face white. Warriors looked down. Wild’s chest spasmed as he struggled to breathe. His movements slowed and his hand slipped from Warriors’ wrist, sliding off himself and to the ground.

“No,” Warriors breathed. His hands clenched around the bandages in Wild’s wound. The kid didn’t even flinch. He’s just unconscious, he told himself. He just passed out from blood loss, that’s all. He’s… he’s not… Wild lay horribly still. His face relaxed, still terribly white. Warriors pressed against the wound even harder, muscles cramping. Blood still flowed from it, which meant Wild’s heart was still beating. Even if the flow was slowing. Even if his chest barely moved with breath. Even if the involuntary twitches of pain had stopped. Even if… even if…

“I found one!”

Warriors’ head snapped up. Time crashed through the underbrush, twigs and leaves stuck in the joints of his armor. He burst into the clearing and ran faster than Warriors had ever seen him move. A pinkish light zipped after him, darting past him once Wild was in view. Warriors couldn’t breathe as they approached. Couldn’t breathe as the fairy landed on the back of his hand, glowing more fiercely as it pushed magic into Wild’s wound. He felt a hand on his shoulder, Time’s low, rumbling voice thrumming in his ears. You can move your hands, Captain entered his brain but he shook his head, staring at the fairy. Four hadn’t moved either, eyes flitting between the fairy and Wild’s face. Something pressed back against Warriors’ palms. The fairy hopped up and down on his hand and he blinked confusedly. Hands closed around his wrists.

“Captain, move your hands,” Time said, firmly pulling his wrists away. Warriors fought against him instinctively before realizing what was happening. The gauze and bandages he had stuffed into the wound began pushing up out of it as the fairy knitted the flesh back together. He sat back and could nothing but stare as the fairy moved from his hand to hovering above Wild’s wound, flying in quick circles above it. The bandages pushed out further and Four quickly swept them away as the fairy worked. Warriors stared. Did it always take this long? It felt so much faster when he was on the other side, when he was the one being healed by a fairy. He stared as the fairy zipped around Wild’s chest. Some of the blood flooding his collar began trickling back into the wound. Droplets raced back along his neck, leaving red tracks on his skin. The fairy slowed and came to a stop on Wild’s shoulder. It paused as if inspecting its work before darting over to Time. He held out a hand, the other still holding one of Warriors’ wrists, and the fairy landed on his finger, whispering something Warriors didn’t understand. Numbly, instinctively, Warriors reached out and placed two fingers on Wild’s neck. His skin was far too cold, clammy with sweat and coagulated blood. Then he felt it. A weak pulse against his fingertips. He laughed, weak and breathy. Four gasped, snatching up one of Wild’s hands in his own and watching the champion’s face.

Time sighed in relief, head drooping. “Thank you,” he breathed to the fairy. The fairy made a sound like a quiet chime. It flew in a quick circle around Time before flitting away into the forest.

“Cook?” Four said, rubbing Wild’s hand between both of his own. When Wild didn’t respond, Four’s movements became more frantic, leaning closer. “Come on, Cook, please.”

“The fairy said she tried to give him back as much blood as she could,” Time said, placing the back of his hand against Wild’s pale cheek. “So much of it soaked into his clothes and the ground, though. He… he’s lost a lot.”

Four took a shaky breath, continuing to rub Wild’s hand. Warriors had no idea why and he suspected Four didn’t either. Warriors gently felt at where the wound had been. All that was left was a shallow cut in the flesh, shaped like a thin diamond. A sword, then. He glanced around. There were no monsters or weapons lying around aside from Wild’s sword laying in the grass beside him. Black blood decorated the tip and Warriors’ eyes narrowed. He looked to Four, opening his mouth to ask what happened.

Wild’s groan interrupted him.

Warriors’ gaze snapped to Wild, question forgotten. The champion stirred weakly, head rolling from side to side. He seemed to register Time’s hand on his face and turned his head into the touch, eyelids fluttering. His blue eyes blinked open, gaze sliding around before loosely landing on Time. He opened his mouth but all that came out was a weak croak with a hint of words. Then his eyes started to slide shut again.

“Champion!” Warriors called as Time and Four also exclaimed. Wild blinked slowly, meeting Warriors’ gaze. “Cough, I need you to cough.”

Wild squinted in confusion but complied, weakly coughing. Warriors gently encouraged him as he did, rubbing the kid’s arm. The coughing grew stronger and Wild opened his eyes wider, growing more alert. He took a shuddering breath and got a better look at the three heroes surrounding him.

“Champion, can you hear us?” Time asked, leaning into Wild’s field of view.

Wild slowly nodded, eyes darting over Time’s form. Then he looked to the side, gaze landing on Four.

“Sm… smith,” he croaked, voice crackling. “Are you o… di’ you… is ‘e…”

“It’s okay, he’s gone,” Four said as Wild struggled to string together a sentence. “Everything’s fine.”

Warriors glanced at Four, trying to catch his eye. Four glanced up and shook his head slightly. Later, he mouthed.

Wild suddenly tried to sit up, groaning.

“Easy there, Champion,” Warriors said, he and the others all reaching out to support Wild. “You lost a lot of blood, be careful.” Wild nodded clumsily, blindly reaching out and grasping onto the first thing he felt which happened to be Warriors’ scarf. Warriors could feel the champion’s hand shaking as he struggled to get a grip on the blue fabric and pull himself all the way up. Time placed a hand in the center of Wild’s back, gently pushing until he was seated upright. Wild took several deep, shuddering breaths before promptly tipping over. Warriors caught him as Wild collapsed against him, eyes squeezed shut.

“Why’m I… s’ dizzy?” Wild murmured, words slurring together.

“You lost a lot of blood, kid,” Warriors told him again.

“Did I…? Oh… yeah, th’ rancher… st…”

Warriors went stiff at Wild’s words. The rancher? Was Wild going to say that Twilight did this?

“Shapeshifter,” Four said quickly upon seeing the expressions on Warriors’ and Time’s faces. Warriors’ gaze snapped up to Four but the smith didn’t elaborate, watching Wild with a pinched expression and continuing to hold his hand. Warriors’ thoughts spun. A shapeshifter? One that looked like the rancher had attacked Wild and nearly killed him? Warriors needed the full story, but a glance at Four and Wild told him it was going to have to wait.

“I don’t want to rush things,” Time began. “But we should move. We need to find the others so we can regroup and get somewhere safe.”

Warriors nodded and carefully shifted Wild into a comfortable hold. “I’ll carry him. Should we head back to the bridge?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Time said. “Hopefully the others have had the same thought.”

Warriors began to stand, Wild’s form gathered in his arms. But in the chaos, he’d forgotten he was injured. His wounded leg trembled and he bit his lip, trying to force through it. Then Time was there, gently taking Wild from his arms.

“I’ve got him,” he said gently. Warriors felt like he should argue, but something about how small Wild looked in the old man’s arms stopped him. So he simply nodded as Four helped him to his feet. He thought Wild had fallen asleep until the champion grasped at one of Time’s hands, looking around blearily. Time ducked his head and said something in a low voice. Wild nodded after a moment, settling back in his arms, head resting against Time’s chest. Four retrieved Wild’s sword and the three began making their way through the forest, heading roughly in the direction Time and Warriors had come from. Time led the way, Warriors and Four close behind him. Warriors cast a glance at Four, eyeing the way his nose twisted and how the purplish-black bruise enveloped the smith’s nose and stretched out beneath his eyes.

“I can straighten your nose once we get back,” Warriors told him.

Four shot him a grateful look. “I’d appreciate that,” he said. He stumbled suddenly, Warriors darting forward to steady him.

“Smithy!” Warriors exclaimed as Four righted himself, using Warriors’ arm as support. Time glanced back over his shoulder at them, concern filling his eye. “Not hiding an injury from us, are you?” Warriors asked.

“No, I’m alright,” Four said, pushing away from Warriors. “Just exhausted. My limbs feel like the cook’s egg pudding.”

Warriors chuckled at that, some of the tension in the air lifting. “I can carry you, if you want,” he said, only half joking.

Four snorted, shoving him playfully. “I can still walk, Captain.”

“Only a suggestion!” Warriors replied, holding up his hands in a harmless gesture.

Four smirked. “Maybe I ought to carry you, given your limp of drama.”

“Hurt! Ful!”

The two laughed, continuing to rib each other as they followed Time back to the bridge.

#linked universe #linked universe fic #linked universe fanfic #lu warriors #lu time #lu wild #lu four #whump #ruby writes #what you think just because i put tags I have to put something funny? bet you don't think i should have a GUN NEITHER

26 notes · View notes

cupcakes-made-of-flesh · 2 months ago

Text

"Hello?"

ooc under cut

This blog WILL contain themes of cannibalism, self harm, child abuse, human/child trafficking, drugs, dissociation, and dehumanization

THERE MAY BE MORE THAT I MISSED OR FORGOT, all triggering posts will be tagged appropriately

Name: Ame Guro

Pronouns: any, they switch between various pronouns to refer to themself

Age: 16

Height: 5' 3"

Ability: Tender is the Flesh - if a person consumes the user's flesh, however small an amount, they will enter a trance-like state similar to psychadelic drugs, though they will lose their humanity until the effects wear off, focusing on their single most important goal until it does. This also applies to the user, should they eat their own flesh.

Likes: Soft things, bows, candy, herself, the color of her hair

Dislikes: The sound of bells, knives/meat cleavers, their tattoos, adults

A childish, naive teen escaped from a human trafficking ring. From his garbled, terrified rants, we've managed to get that the ring was planning to sell their meat like a cow, and that there were 'others just like him.' His body is covered in tattoos marking out his body parts like a cow- chuck, sirloin, brisket, etc.

The art is a picrew I edited!

this blog is owned by @valentinos-corner

#tw cannibalism #tw human trafficking #tw child trafficking #tw child abuse #tw dehumanization #bsd #bsd oc #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs oc #rain and candied meat #I spent so long thinking of this character tag and it's a kanji pun be proud of me -mod

4 notes · View notes

stedefxckingbonnet · 1 year ago

Text

requests info/intro!

hi, everyone!

i thought i'd take a quick second to introduce myself and to also formally open up requests. i'm already working on a few things, but requests really do always help and feel free to submit them at any point--but, we'll get to all of that in a moment!

my name is lavinia, and i am a uni student studying both theatre (dramaturgy specifically) and creative writing! i love to sing, act, write (obviously haha), read (i am a huge fan of classic literature, as well as donna tartt, mona awad, sally rooney, elif bautman, and ottessa moshfegh's works), go to concerts, go to the movies, style/design clothing, paint, collect records/cds, and so much more! this barely scratches the surface really but, if any of you share these interests, always feel free to reach out!

anyhow, as i said, i will officially be opening requests, and at the moment here is the media and the characters i will write for:

Our Flag Means Death

Izzy Hands (my BELOVED)

Ed Teach

Stede Bonnet

Lucius Spriggs

Jim Jimenez

Oluwande

Mary Bonnet

(more available upon request! these were just sort of my first instincts.)

Gilmore Girls

honestly, i'm pretty open to anything unless it's dean. just request and i'll see what i can do!

Gossip Girl

Blair Waldorf

Serena Van der Woodsen

Dan Humphrey

Nate Archibald

Chuck Bass (like sometimes)

Rufus Humphrey

more available upon request.

The Fosters/The Good Trouble

Callie Adams Foster

Mariana Adams Foster

Brandon Foster

Jamie Hunter

Gael Martinez

Dennis Cooper

Malika Williams

more available upon request.

Select Wes Anderson and Tim Burton characters. just ask!

Enola Holmes

Tewkesbury

Sherlock Holmes

Little Women (2019)

Jo March

Amy March

Beth March

Meg March

Laurie

Friedrich Bhaer

Star Wars

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Anakin Skywalker

Padmé Amidala

Luke Skywalker

Han Solo

Leia Organa

Kylo Ren

Finn

Poe Dameron

Ahsoka Tano

more available upon request!

Pride & Prejudice (2005)

Basically me just saying I'll write Mr. Darcy. but more characters available upon request, of course.

Community

Abed Nadir

Troy Barnes

Annie Edison

Jeff and Britta I'm a little iffy on but with the right request, maybe. don't hesitate to ask!

The OC

Seth Cohen

Ryan Atwood

Summer Roberts

Marissa Cooper

The Umbrella Academy

Klaus

Viktor

Ben

Five

Diego

Allison

Luther is like, not preferred for me but if you feel strongly about him and have a good request, i’ll consider it but don’t get your hopes up too high!

Once Upon a Time

Emma Swan

Regina Mills

Killian Jones

Neal Cassidy

August Booth

Jefferson (The Mad Hatter)

Mulan

Ruby Lucas (Red Riding Hood)

Belle French

Mary Margaret Blanchard (Snow White)

David Nolan (Prince Charming)

Peter Pan

Robin Hood

Any others, feel free to ask! I know I left Mr. Gold (Rumple) off, but that's only because it depends with each request. Also, please specify if you want it to take place in Storybrooke pre or post curse, or in The Enchanted Forest.

Merlin

Arthur

Gwen

Morgana

Nimueh

Lancelot

any others, feel free to ask. i am just starting S2, keep that in mind.

The Holdovers

Angus Tully

Dead Poets Society

Todd Anderson

Neil Perry

Knox Overstreet

Charlie Dalton

Steven Meeks

Love Lies Bleeding

Lou Langston

Jackie Cleaver

i'll just start there for now, as honestly it's been a bit since i've written an x reader and i don't want to overwhelm myself much! but please, feel free to request at any time! I will update this frequently, as I am always either getting into new things or remembering things I already love. I am mostly dedicated to OFMD right now, but you may also leave requests for other fandoms and I will keep them on file, or who knows, perhaps even get to them sooner than you may imagine! Have a wonderful day (or night!), and don't forget to request!

yours truly,

lavinia

me filing through all of your requests (hopefully!)

20 notes · View notes

tarnishedinquirer · 9 months ago

Text

Case: Morne Massacre (Conclusion)

Unsurprisingly, there were more gallows in back, but they didn't have corpses stacked up under them like the gallows on the ramparts. So this is where the other gallows came from. Nobles get locked in cages, soldiers get hung, and commoners get tortured. All die to the Confessors in the end.

I jumped down to the shallows below. The entire area was filled with purple-black spirit jellies. They were different and somehow more solid than the blue-white ones I've seen elsewhere, but no idea what that could possibly mean yet.

The grace pointed towards a gate sitting alone on a sandbar, obscured by golden fog. Whatever answers I was looking for were here, and the fog told me that I'd have to kill someone to get them. I summoned Edgar and without a word, walked through the gate.

One of the chimeras, bigger than the others, and with a wild mane of red hair. The voice called it "Leonine Misbegotten" which I guess is what the chimera are actually called. Its chosen arena was a small spat of solid land on the sandbar, packed with grave stones and with bodies piled high beside them. It fought with both ferocity and surprising skill, but we had numbers and magic. It fell, and I claimed the sword it was guarding.

There are advantages to my prison mask. It means that Edgar could not see the anger in my eyes as he left to go rescue his daughter. He let me keep the sword, though it was useless to me and unsightly to boot. I briefly considered chucking it into the ocean out of spite, but I'm above such things.

I sat down to compose myself and focus the facts. The voice said this place was called the Moangrave, which seems a bit redundant. Unless... if you consider the root of the word, it could refer to a complaint or accusation. Therefore, this could be the Grave of Accusation, or maybe The Accused.

Is this what Grace wanted me to see? This strange keyhole grave?

I turned to the sword, far too heavy for me to ever use, to see if the voice could provide answers. It said

The storied sword of Castle Morne. A revenger's weapon, it is burdened with oceans of anger and regret. One of the legendary armaments. A lone surviving champion from a country now vanished was so determined to continue fighting that he claimed the swords of an entire clan of warriors.

So. It belonged to the nameless revenger. He claimed the swords of an entire clan—perhaps his own fallen, perhaps a rival's—and forged them into this massive sword. He assaulted this castle and fell at the hands of Godfrey. However, he gained enough renown that they were forced to build a monument to his courage.

And perhaps, buried him with honors... on a sandbar. So that one day his body and his legend would be washed away.

It felt right.

Only the grave had persisted. They built a gate to bar access to it, maybe even tearing down the outer wall's gate to rebuild here.

The only other thing I could glean was the crest on the grafted blade. It looked like a heraldic wolf, or perhaps fox, with a bushy mane. Was this the symbol of the nameless revenger and his clan?

Maybe it'll make sense one day, when I have more information.

Thoroughly grounded, I teleported away to check on Irina. Maybe her father had found her by now.

Unfortunately, he had. Irina was dead.

Edgar was inconsolable. He cursed the Misbegotten and vowed revenge. Said he would hunt down every last one of them for taking his daughter.

My grudge against Edgar aside, this hurt. Irina had done nothing wrong. I could have joined him in his vow and revenge, but instead I retreated into cold, hard reason. They had ignored her last time I was here. Her blood was fresh and wet, and her body hadn't even cooled yet.

Her killers ignored her until they knew that Edgar was on his way. Whoever killed her wanted him to find her body fresh. They wanted him to see the cleaver, stained with her blood. Perhaps if I had arrived earlier she would have been able to choke out last words, but no, that would've been too unpredictable. No way they could control what she said.

It occurred to me just now that Irina had described a "frightful howling from all around."

Misbegotten don't howl.

Conclusion: There were forces at work beyond my knowledge. Someone wanted to break Edgar. They wanted him to suffer. For his crimes? For the wholesale slaughter at behest of the Confessors? No... even that felt like a means to an end. So many, dying in suffering, seeking to purge some heresy or infection, creating the very environment for the sickness to spread... it feels ritualistic.

The Misbegotten rose up, perhaps to stop the slaughter, perhaps to purge the infection in their own way. They let Irina leave because she was an innocent, not knowing she could also serve as a capstone to the ritual. A final sacrifice.

Somehow, I know this ritual.

Questions

Why would Grace point me towards the revenger's grave?

Why did the red-maned Misbegotten seem to revere his sword?

Why must Edgar protect it at all costs, and why was it okay that I carry it instead?

What is the symbol of the maned wolf?

Who was howling?

What was the purpose of the ritual?

Who really killed Irina?

#elden ring #elden ring lore #in character #in character blog #in character post #let's play

7 notes · View notes

burlveneer-music · 3 months ago

Text

youtube

Wussy Duo - Cellar Door (Official Lyric Video)

I love the sound of two singers singing different lines simultaneously, but I have trouble making out lyrics even with a single voice, so a big THANK YOU to Wussy Duo for putting the lyrics in the video (and for the wonderful found footage from the 80s) (and the nice song!)

The A-side from Wussy Duo's CELLAR DOOR EP, out Nov 15 on Shake It Records. Chuck Cleaver - guitar, vocals / Lisa Walker - guitar, vocals, synth, beats, production Recorded and mixed by Lisa Walker at Pompatus of Sound. Mastered by Anna Bentley.

#wussy duo #pop #alt rock #female vocal #2024 #new wave #Youtube

3 notes · View notes

fuckyeah-jessicabiel · 2 years ago

Photo

Jessica Biel for Elle USA - June 2007

From the moment she appears, Jessica Biel is gracefully deflecting the attention of men. Wearing Roger Vivier white pumps and snug True Religion jeans, her hair tightly pulled back in a ponytail, she walks out of the elevator in the Hotel Gansevoort in New York City's Meatpacking District at a rapid clip, shedding two young men who had the incredible good luck to have ridden down with her. She nods them off nicely as they walk away grinning and no doubt mentally compiling lists of buddies who'll be receiving the following text message: "DUDE! I WAS JUST IN AN ELEVATOR WITH THE SEXIEST WOMAN ALIVE!"

Next in the gauntlet is a Moby-looking scenester with a paunch who descends upon her in Ono, the Gansevoort's bustling, dimly lit Japanese restaurant, introducing him- self as if he's an old friend. The fact that he's wielding a Treo device like a video camera goes unnoticed by Biel, who later refers to said implication as "creepy." She dis- patches him into the darkness with a tight smile and walks through the large restaurant to a back booth, caus- ing a ripple of chopsticks to go still as heads turn.

If the rhythms and rotations of the mass entertainment media complex are to be trusted, we are currently living in Jessica Biel's Big Moment. After getting her foot in the door in 1996 on the show 7th Heaven, the now-25-year- old actress won the hearts and minds of the boys with her badass ability to wield a meat cleaver in the 2003 remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and a bow and arrow in 2004's Blade: Trinity. Her turn in 2005's Stealth, which bombed (literally), may have gone largely unnoticed, but the trailer highlighting Biel under a waterfall certainly didn't. Then in the fall of 2005, Esquire bestowed on her the magazine's "Sexiest Woman" honorific. Last summer, she deftly skipped over the threshold from hottie to respectable actor with her supple performance as an early-twentieth-century duchess opposite Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti in The Illusionist and since then has become a red-carpet flashbulb magnet, wearing Valentino to the Golden Globes and, to present at the Oscars, a fuchsia halter-top Oscar de la Renta dress that strikingly revealed her toned shoulders.

And yet "it's still a struggle," Biel says, sitting up straight with the alertness of a ninja. Her tan sleeveless Preen turtleneck highlights her muscular arms. "I thought the Esquire cover was going to be really positive for my career," she says. "But it wasn't, really." Biel recalls being told by one director, "I'm not looking for the sexiest woman; I'm looking for the girl next door."

"Parts that I really want aren't going to me," Biel says. "Like The Other Boleyn Girl with Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman." But she stops herself. "I don't want to say that there's nothing I love that I can have. But there's still the occasional script that the director doesn't want to see you for. They want that top tier of girls."

So how does she go from Big Moment to top tier? Gaug- ing from her acting heroes-Meryl Streep, Cate Blanchett, and Annette Bening (with whom she will costar, along with Sean Bean, in a screen adaptation of Oscar Wilde's play A Woman of No Importance)-it seems she has good taste. And in addition to working with Nicolas Cage and Julianne Moore in the recent thriller Next, Biel is finally getting a turn at comedy-something she's been longing for-opposite Adam Sandler and Kevin James in I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, due out next month.

"Jessica is a great actress who also happens to be smart, sweet, and funny," Sandler says. "But the best part of working with her was watching her beat Kevin James at arm wrestling." Not that the movie, about two firefighters who pretend to be gay in order to claim domestic-partner benefits (Biel plays their lawyer), refrains from reveling in her sexiness-she sheds her clothes for a gawking Sandler, and when his character first sees her, his world goes into super slow-mo.

"She's capable of attaining the Julia Roberts crown," says Chuck and Larry director Dennis Dugan, referring to Biel's healthy-American-girl vibe and comic timing. The actress herself is wary of such pronouncements.

"The scary thing about having this opportunity is that if it's 'your moment,' that eventually disappears," she says. "I think about reaching for 'the moment' but never really achieving it. That way, I'm always striving."

BIEL CARRIES HERSELF WITH THE CONFIDENCE OF A DANCER OR AN ACCOMPLISHED JOCK-BOTH OF WHICH SHE HAS BEEN.

When Biel walked onto the set of The Illusionist, director Neil Burger was impressed with her athlete's readiness and resolve. She carries herself with the confidence of a dancer or an accomplished jock-both of which she has been. "She completely gave as good as she got" with her Oscar-nominated costars Norton and Giamatti, Burger says. "That's a testament to her poise and her talent."

Early in the production, Biel had a scene with Norton that put the two of them in a stream in the Czech Republic in March. "It was essentially liquid ice. It was like an elec- tric shock, and it knocked the breath out of both of us and Jess turned blue," Norton says. "When we watched it back on the monitor, you could see it hadn't played out exactly right. Neil and I both wanted to do it again, but some- times you have to give up perfect for safety, and we were hesitant to ask her to get back in that water. But she said, 'It wasn't right, was it? Let's do it again.' And I thought, All right, she's a pro."

"She doesn't take herself too seriously," says her friend and producing partner Michelle Purple.

Stephen Collins, who played Biel's minister father on 7th Heaven, agrees: "She has an incredible goof-off, tom- boy streak," he says.

So what was a tomboy doing in the front rows at fashion week in Paris early last March? ("An intimi- dating and overwhelming environment," Biel says.) Scoring some clothing, including the Preen number she's wearing now, and also celebrating her twenty- fifth birthday. "Someone said, 'You have five years till 30.' I started to think, Wow, over the next five years, my life could really change personally," Biel says smil- ing, with a slight squint of her catlike eyes.

When the tabloids started spotting Biel with Justin Timberlake in January shortly after his breakup with Cameron Diaz-the two were seen snowboard- ing together in Park City, Utah, during the Sundance Film Festival; sharing a glass of champagne at Prince's Golden Globes party; and backstage at Timberlake's concert in San Diego-her personal life suddenly became of great interest to the public. She dodges a probe about her relationship with Timberlake while knocking back shrimp tempura with aplomb, saying that she was in Park City with girlfriends and holding

"WE DIDN'T LOCK OUR DOORS," BIEL SAYS OF HER COLORADO CHILDHOOD,

meetings for her production company, Iron Ocean Films. Nor does she want to discuss her past relation- ships with actors Ryan Reynolds and Chris Evans, or Yankee star Derek Jeter, "for no other reason than I can't even go to the dry cleaner by myself anymore," she says. "You're seen in public with anybody that you might not even know, and you're speculated about."

Asked if the constant attention makes dating hard, she says, "It makes everything hard because you can't even go to pick up a prescription without somebody trying to snap a photo of what you have in your Longs Drugs bag. Thank goodness I'm a nice person," she says. "Thank you, Mom, for teaching me that.

"The day after Biel was born, in Ely, Minnesota, her parents took her to a dogsled race; it was 30 degrees below zero. By age one she was in a canoe. Her mother, who is "New Age," grew up in Colorado, hunting for arrowheads as a child; her father was a "mountain man" who ran an Outward Bound school and worked as an international business consultant. His career took the family (her brother, Justin, is three years younger) from Texas to Connecticut and, finally, to Boulder. "We didn't lock our doors," she says. "We snowboarded, hiked, climbed, rafted. We grew up without a fear of the world."

Although Biel thrived at athletics, she doesn't remember a time when she wasn't dancing or sing- ing. At age 11, she signed up with a talent agency in Denver, which got her to the International Modeling and Talent Association convention in Los Angeles, which in turn got her into meetings with managers and agencies.

"I wanted to be Whitney Houston for a long time. I would be onstage and I would just come alive," Biel recalls. "I begged my parents to let me go out for pilot season."

When she was 14, she landed her central role in 7th Heaven, playing the oldest daughter of seven kids in a wholesome Christian family. But after a few years, she wanted to mix things up personally and professionally. At 17, Biel posed seductively for a Gear magazine photo shoot, topless with scant bottoms. It was a clear sign that she wanted to be off the show. "I was all over the place," she says now. "I was being a rebellious teenager." She feels that she was exploited by the magazine, but 7th Heaven's producers cut her out of the series. (She eventually returned in a more limited role.)

"The Gear thing, while embarrassing, wasn't exactly bad for her career," Collins says. True enough, in that between Gear and Esquire Biel worked on seven major films. But none of those movies had anywhere near the impact that taking off her clothes did . Julianne Moore says that Biel's "extraordinary" beauty appears as if "she were carved from marble," but she also has a body that you'd think only a comic book artist could draw-curvy in just the right places-and yet still healthy.

"WE SNOWBOARDED, HIKED, CLIMBED, RAFTED. WE GREW UP WITHOUT A FEAR OF THE WORLD."

Biel works out three times a week, primarily heart-rate training, doing fast-speed soccer exercises, squats, and running. She also does yoga regularly. Still, she feigns dismay at the suggestion that she looks buff.

"What do you mean? This is the thinnest and the least muscular I've been in a long time," she protests. "I'm so lean and feminine!"

As we order tea after dinner, the large party of 20 at the banquet table perpendicular to ours has mostly disbanded, allowing four of the men left at the table to reshuffle themselves so that eventually they sit on one side, facing her. It's as if they're at dinner theater. Biel may feel she has yet to land the role that breaks her out, but until that time, she has no shortage of fans who will be happy to watch her along the way.

When asked to go bowling two days later, after her ELLE photo shoot, Biel scarcely raises an eyebrow. She throws on a black ensemble and arrives ready to roll at Chelsea Piers between two lanes of bouncy seven-year-old girls. Despite doing pretty poorly, losing for eight frames, she pulls a spare, a strike, and two nines at the very end to win the contest. "I was really sucking, but I'm a closer," she says gamely. "You should see me at beer pong."

#jessica biel #elle magazine #cover #articles #interviews #2007

53 notes · View notes