#Hillside Festival

[dontopenfairies]

She pulls up to the curb alongside a huge green lawn. There’s supposed to be a free concert in the park today. She turns off the car and looks at her boyfriend.

“Let me take kitty for a second while you eat your snack,” she says, taking his black stuffed cat from him and setting it on the dashboard. She rummages around in the bag and finds a granola bar for him. “Here you go, sweetheart. Eat that and then we’ll try to find the festival.”

After they get out of the car, she passes him the big bag. “You’re carrying that,” she says. “Stick kitty in the big pocket. And then there’s sunscreen on the inside zipper pocket. Make sure you get your nose.”

It’s a long walk through the park to get there. “Are you excited?” she asks. “I’m really excited.” She stops him to take pictures of him next to the prettiest flowers and trees.

There’s a huge crowd of people around the bandstand. They can hear the murmur of people from the top of the little path down the hillside to get there. “Wow,” she says. “I think I forgot what crowds sound like. Maybe a Covid thing.” He reaches out and she grabs his hand as they get closer.

Everyone cheers when the band comes out. They start to play and the crowd applauds. Little groups of people around the perimeter are dancing.

He gets a little closer to her. “Are you okay, honey?”

“Um…I don’t know,” he whispers.

“Is the crowd stressing you out? You seem a little bit anxious.”

He nods. “I wet myself a little bit,” he whispers in her ear.

“Aww, sweetheart, and you don’t have a diaper today.” She surveys the damage as subtly as she can. Good thing he’s wearing black pants today.

“I think I need a toilet,” he says.

“Okay, let’s go find somewhere.” She’s wearing a flannel over her tank top, so she pulls it off and wraps it around his waist, tying it at the front. “That’ll cover you a little bit if you leak more, okay, honey?”

Now to find a toilet.

“Oh, that guy can tell us!” she says, looking at a man with a hi-vis staff vest on. “Excuse me? Hi, um, we’re looking for a bathroom.”

“Porta-potties that-a-way,” says the man, pointing.

She thanks him as they hurry over. The porta-potties are between two big, flowering bushes, but it isn’t enough to mask their smell.

The larger, accessible toilet is in use so they have to cramp into one of the small ones. The plastic walls are trapping heat inside.

“Yuck, it’s gross in here,” she says. She reaches out and opens the bag, still on his arm, and pulls out kitty and hands it to him.

“Wait, you aren’t changing me, are you?”

“What do you mean? You need a change, she says, pulling a thin adult diaper out of the bag.

“I’m not going in the toilet?”

“In there? Did you see how yucky it was? This’ll be so much better. Besides, I can tell you want it today.”

“Why? Just because I was holding my stuffie in the car?”

She unzips his pants and pulls them down along with his underwear. Even though they’ve been together for two years, he still gets shy when he’s exposed to her.

“No,” she says, getting the lotion and baby powder from the bag. “Well, not just that. Just from how shy and nervous you’ve seemed all day. Not to mention clingy.”

“Nuh-uh!” he retorts as she pulls the diaper around his front and tapes the sides. “I wasn’t THAT clingy…”

“You wanted to sit on the same side as me in the booth in the diner,” she says. “And you were hanging on to me the whole time. I almost expected I’d have to spoon-feed you your lunch.”

“Noo! You’d never have to spoon-feed me! I can do that myself!”

“Can you hold your pee by yourself, too?” she asks, watching his diaper swelling. He bends over, as far as the cramped portapottie allows him to, and presses on his bladder to get out the last bit.

“So cute,” she says, almost to herself, as she pulls his underwear and pants back up over the diaper. It’s a little harder to zip his pants up now that the diaper is swollen.

“You’re gonna stretch out my underwear,” he whines.

“I’m not getting a pants change?” he asks as she opens the portapottie door.

“Do you think there’s room in there to get your pants all the way off and your extra pair on?” she asks, holding the door open for him.

“No…”

They walk to the little sink next to the portapotties and she washes her hands.

“You should wash, too,” she says, taking kitty from him and stowing it in the bag.

“Okay,” he says. He hates the smell of the portapottie soap. Luckily, when he’s done, she sprays his hands with the lavender-scented hand sanitizer she keeps in the bag. So much better.

“Do you want to try again,” she asks, gesturing to the crowd. “Or do you want to go home?”

“I’ll try again!”

It just takes a couple more songs before he gets squirmy again. It’s getting hotter, and someone is smoking weed nearby, and more people are joining the crowd behind them, pressing in.

“I’m really trying, but I think I just need to go home,” he says. “Or somewhere quiet.”

“Okay, let’s go down to the grove,” she says, leading him by the hand through the crowd and across the lawn and down to the little area between the hills. There’s a ring of trees with a bench in the middle and they sit down.

He takes out his water bottle and takes a sip.

“Are you feeling better here?” she asks, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and pulling him closer.

“I’m sorry I wanted to leave. I know you wanted to see the concert.”

“I wanted to hang out with you,” she says. “I just thought maybe the free concert would be fun. It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay,” he says, leaning his head on her shoulder.

“Remember what I told you before? Sometimes things seem like a really big deal in the moment, but as soon as it’s over, you can see that it’s all okay. It’s going to be okay.”

He closes his eyes. He can hear the sound of the band, warped and far away. And the sound of cars on the road just outside of the park. He can feel the strap of her tank top and her warm skin on his cheek, her shoulder rising and falling with her breath.

“Now you’re happy, sitting here with me holding you. But don’t think I’ll forget how bratty you were in the portapottie when we get home. You’re definitely getting a punishment for talking back to me and whining about wearing a diaper you clearly need.” She rubs his shoulder. “Oh, don’t blush. I could tell you wanted a diaper on, I can tell when you want a little punishment, too.”

[yawujin]

Can you make the danganronpav3 boys with a jealous s/o props if you put extra time into Shuichi, Rantaro and Kokichi they’re my favourites

Thank you if you do!

awwwright here it is, hope you like it :)

request | v3 boys x a jealous S/O

type | established relationship , non killing game , light hearted , gender neutral reader

shuichi saihara always reminds his love that he only has eyes for them, no one else can compare anyway. still though, they feel the slight sting of envy whenever he is with kaede or himiko, even if they are just his close friends. "come here" he'll beckon his S/O over to sit nearer to him. once they do; he'll embrace them, pulling them in so very close and holding on tight. his sleuthing skills led him to the conclusion that today they were feeling especially jealous. (jk he just can read the room v well) "i'm here, and i'm not going anywhere." he promises.

rantaro amami's S/O makes him pinky promise that he has room for only one love and that's them. "i have you here, and that's all i need." he kisses their hand gently. later on, if they still feel jealous, he really lays on his charm thick. the sentences "you're all i could ever ask for." & "you're the only one i want." can be heard while rantaro and his S/O are on a hillside, watching the summer festival fireworks. he squeezes their hand as they walk past the many crowds of tourists surrounding the area.

kiibo usually tries to get his love to talk about all the reasons they are feeling jealous. damn, i wish i was the ultimate inventor so i could spend more time with him is what his S/O would think everytime miu pulled him away for maintenance. when they finally communicate their envious thoughts to him, he says: "this likeness for you is physically impossible for me to feel towards any other person." kiibo pauses. "or in other words, you taught me how to love, and for that i'm devoted to you." and, at least in that moment, their jealousy went away.

korekiyo shinguji tells them they need not worry, for everyone can get a little envious at times. they always remember how kiyo mentioned he had had encounters with various women from villages he visited in the past. they knew they shouldn't get jealous of that since they weren't even dating at the time but...

however, he had a fix for this. laying his S/O down and whispering affirmations into their ear. "i won't ever leave you, my dear. you have my word."

kaito momota helps his S/O's jealousy go away by making the push to spend more time with them. if it's attention they want, attention is what they will receive. he's a man of action and shows them that they're the only one he'll do these things with. he chose a late night picnic under the stars for him and his love.

gonta gokuhara will hold his S/O for an hour straight before he allows them to be jealous any second longer. "gonta promise he only love you!" he always says it with so much sincerity, they have no reason to doubt him.

ryoma hoshi reminds them that there is so use feeling jealous. "i'm already yours." he states it as fact, so they take it as fact. ryoma's comfort is his S/O, just as he is his S/O's comfort. he plans for it to stay that way for a very long time

kokichi ouma's initial reaction is to tease them about it. "aww, you feel that much for me?" he says it as if it's a laughing matter, but internally he feels as though he should make more time for them. he begins making excuses up, explaining to his friends that he can't hang out that day because of (insert ridiculous reason) but in reality it's all because he wants to see how happy his S/O gets when they get more of his undivided attention.

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu · 漢服]Chinese Warring States period(475–221 BC) Traditional Clothing Hanfu-Life of Qu Yuan(屈原）

【Historical Artifact Reference】:

China Warring States period (475-221 BC):Silk painting depicting a man riding a dragon (人物御龍帛畫)

it was discovered in the Zidanku Tomb no. 1 in Changsha, Hunan Province in 1973. Now in the Hunan Museum

A man with a sword is riding a dragon by holding the rein. The dragon's body was given the shape of a boat. A little egret is standing at the tail of the dragon. A carp under the dragon is leading the way. The umbrella in the top middle of the picture shows the owner's nobility. The work has become associated with the Chu poet Qu Yuan’s famous verse from his poem Shejiang (涉江, Setting foot in the river), ‘Carrying a long sword with weird colour; Wearing a qieyun–styled high cap.” (帶長鋏之陸離兮, 冠切雲之崔嵬)

Western Zhou Dynasty seven-huang jade pendant with linked beads/西周七璜联珠组玉佩

About Qu Yuan(屈原）

Qu Yuan (c. 340 BC – 278 BC)was a Chinese poet and aristocrat in the State of Chu during the Warring States period. He is known for his patriotism and contributions to classical poetry and verses, especially through the poems of the Chu Ci anthology (also known as The Songs of the South or Songs of Chu): a volume of poems attributed to or considered to be inspired by his verse writing. Together with the Shi Jing, the Chu Ci is one of the two greatest collections of ancient Chinese verse. He is also remembered in connection to the supposed origin of the Dragon Boat Festival.

Historical details about Qu Yuan's life are few, and his authorship of many Chu Ci poems has been questioned at length.[4] However, he is widely accepted to have written "The Lament," a Chu Ci poem. The first known reference to Qu Yuan appears in a poem written in 174 BC by Jia Yi, an official from Luoyang who was slandered by jealous officials and banished to Changsha by Emperor Wen of Han. While traveling, he wrote a poem describing the similar fate of a previous "Qu Yuan."Eighty years later, the first known biography of Qu Yuan's life appeared in Han dynasty historian Sima Qian's Records of the Grand Historian, though it contains a number of contradictory details.

Life of Qu Yuan(屈原）

The only surviving source of information on Qu Yuan's life is Sima Qian's biography of him in Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji), although the biography is circumstantial and probably influenced greatly by Sima's own identification with Qu.Sima wrote that Qu was a member of the Chu royal clan and served as an official under King Huai of Chu (reigned 328–299 BC).

During the early days of King Huai's reign, Qu Yuan was serving the State of Chu as its Left Minister. However, King Huai exiled Qu Yuan to the region north of the Han River, because corrupt ministers slandered him and influenced the king.Eventually, Qu Yuan was reinstated and sent on a diplomatic mission to the State of Qi. He tried to resume relations between Chu and Qi, which King Huai had broken under the false pretense of King Hui of Qin to cede territory near Shangyu.

During King Qingxiang's reign, Prime Minister Zilan slandered Qu Yuan.[9] This caused Qu Yuan's exile to the regions south of the Yangtze River. It is said that Qu Yuan returned first to his home town. In his exile, he spent much of this time collecting legends and rearranging folk odes while traveling the countryside. Furthermore, he wrote some of the greatest poetry in Chinese literature and expressed deep concerns about his state. According to legend, his anxiety brought him to an increasingly troubled state of health. During his depression, he would often take walks near a certain well to look upon his thin and gaunt reflection in the water. This well became known as the "Face Reflection Well." On a hillside in Xiangluping (at present-day Zigui County, Hubei Province), there is a well that is considered to be the original well from the time of Qu Yuan.

In 278 BC, learning of the capture of his country's capital, Ying, by General Bai Qi of the state of Qin, Qu Yuan is said to have collected folktales and written the lengthy poem of lamentation called "Lament for Ying". Eventually, he committed suicide by wading into the Miluo River in today's Hunan Province while holding a rock. The reason why he took his life remained controversial and was argued by Chinese scholars for centuries. Typical explanations including martyrdom for his deeply beloved but falling motherland, which was suggested by the philosopher Zhu Xi of the Song dynasty, or feeling extreme despair to the situation of the politics in Chu while his lifelong political dream would never be realized. But according to "Yu Fu," widely considered to be written by Qu himself or at least, a person who was very familiar with Qu, his suicide was an ultimate way to protect his innocence and life principles.[citation needed]

Qu Yuan is said to have expressed his love for the ruling monarch, King Huai of Chu, through several of this works, including "The Lament" and "Longing for Beauty".

Dragon Boat Festival/端午节

Popular legend has it that villagers carried their dumplings and boats to the middle of the river and desperately tried to save Qu Yuan after he immersed himself in the Miluo but were too late to do so. However, in order to keep fish and evil spirits away from his body, they beat drums and splashed the water with their paddles, and they also threw rice into the water both as a food offering to Qu Yuan's spirit and also to distract the fish away from his body. However, the legend continues, that late one night, the spirit of Qu Yuan appeared before his friends and told them that he died because he had taken himself under the river. Then, he asked his friends to wrap their rice into three-cornered silk packages to ward off the dragon.

These packages became a traditional food known as zongzi, although the lumps of rice are now wrapped in leaves instead of silk. The act of racing to search for his body in boats gradually became the cultural tradition of dragon boat racing, held on the anniversary of his death every year. Today, people still eat zongzi and participate in dragon boat races to commemorate Qu Yuan's sacrifice on the fifth day of the fifth month of the traditional lunisolar Chinese calendar.

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Recreation Work by : @晴南

Xiaohongshu🔗：http://xhslink.com/CU2x9J

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[thevirginwitch]

DON'T CALL ME MABON

WHY MABON IS AN INAPPROPRIATE NAME FOR THE AUTUMN EQUINOX

by Anna Franklin

The name ‘Mabon’ as a term for the neopagan festival of the autumn equinox (along with the Saxon term ‘Litha’ for the summer solstice) was introduced in 1973 by the American witch and writer Aiden Kelly (b. 1940). His blog for 21st September 2012 explains:

“Back in 1973, I was putting together a “Pagan-Craft” calendar—the first of its kind, as far as I know—listing the holidays, astrological aspects, and other stuff of interest to Pagans. It offended my aesthetic sensibilities that there seemed to be no Pagan names for the summer solstice or the fall equinox equivalent to Ostara or Beltane—so I decided to supply them… I began wondering if there had been a myth similar to that of Kore in a Celtic culture. There was nothing very similar in the Gaelic literature, but there was in the Welsh, in the Mabinogion collection, the story of Mabon ap Modron (which translates as “Son of the Mother,” just as Kore simply meant “girl”), whom Gwydion rescues from the underworld, much as Theseus rescued Helen. That’s why I picked “Mabon” as a name for the holiday…” bd

Curiously, his own tradition, the New Reformed Orthodox Order of the Golden Dawn, did not follow him in this and instead called the autumn equinox ‘Rites of Eleusis’.�� However, the term took off and was used in many American books, and by extension, the readers of those books in the UK and elsewhere.

The association of the god Mabon with the festival is certainly not an ancient or traditional despite the claims in various books and websites where you might read ‘the Celts celebrated the god Mabon on this date’.

In order to see why the name of Mabon for the autumn equinox is an inappropriate one we need to examine the tales of Mabon.

The Celtic God Maponius

There is certainly a Celtic god whose title was Latinized as Maponus, which is not an actual name but means something like ‘divine son’. He is known from a number of inscriptions in northern Britain and Gaul in which he is addressed as ‘Apollo Maponus’ identifying him with the Graeco-Roman sun-god Apollo. Like Apollo, all the evidence suggests that he was a god of the sun, music and hunting – significantly, he was not a god of the harvest or of the corn.

It is not known whether he was widely worshipped before the coming of the Romans, but with them his cult spread along Hadrian’s Wall amongst the Roman soldiers stationed there. Several stone heads found at the Wall are identified as representing Maponus.

He was also known in Gaul where he was invoked with a Latin inscription at Bourbonne-les-Bains, and on a lead cursing tablet  discovered at Chamalières, Puy-de-Dôme where he is invoked along with Lugus (Lugh) to quicken underworld spirits to right a wrong. 

It is possible that there are some place names associated with him, such as Ruabon in Denbighshire, which may or may not be a corruption of Rhiw Fabon, meaning ‘Hillside of Mabon’. be During the seventh century an unknown monk at the Monastery at Ravenna in Italy compiled what came to be called The Ravenna Cosmography, which was a list of all the towns and road-stations throughout the Roman Empire. It lists a Locus Maponi (‘place of Maponus’) which has been tentatively identified with the Lochmaben stone site.

It is possible that Mabon’s Irish equivalent is the god Aengus, also known as the Mac Óg (‘young son’).

 Literary Sources

A character called Mabon is found as a minor character in the Mabinogion, a collection of eleven – sometimes twelve – Welsh prose tales from the Middle Ages. He is called Mabon ap Modron, meaning ‘son of the mother’, which has led to speculation that his mother Modron (‘mother’) may be cognate with the Gaulish mother goddess Matrona. There are no inscriptions dedicated to her from ancient times, so this cannot be verified. Whether or not the Mabinogion tale of the hero Mabon stems from a thousand year old story of the god Maponus is uncertain, but since the stories contain the names of other known Celtic gods (transliterated into heroes) it is certainly possible.

The Mabinogion is a collection of medieval Welsh stories which would have been recorded by Christian monks. They don’t seem to have been very widely known until they were translated into English in 1849 by Lady Charlotte Guest, who invented the title Mabinogion since each of the four branches ends with the words “so ends this Branch of the Mabinogi”. In Welsh, mab means ‘son’ or ‘boy’ or ‘youth’, so she concluded that mabinogi meant ‘a story for children’ and (erroneously) that mabinogion was its plural.  Another possibility is that it comes from the proposed Welsh mabinog meaning something like ‘bardic student’.   

The stories now included in the Mabinogion are found in two manuscripts, the older White Book of Rhydderch (c.1300–1325) and the later Red Book of Hergest (c.1375–1425) and Lady Charlotte Guest used only the latter as her source, though later translations have drawn on both books.

The first four tales, called The Four Branches of the Mabinogi, are divided into Pwyll, Branwen, Manawydan and Math and each of these includes the character Pryderi. The Mabinogion scholar W.G.Gruffydd suggested that the four branches of the collection represent the birth, exploits, imprisonment and death of Pryderi.

Mabon is mentioned in the Mabinogion story of The Dream of Rhonabwy in which he is described as one of the King’s chief advisors and fights alongside him at the Battle of Badon. His biggest role comes in the story of Culhwch and Olwen (originally from White Book of Rhydderch). In it is the only known reference to Olwen, and Mabon is still a very minor character in the story. One task of the heroes is to search for Mabon ap Modron, who was imprisoned in a watery Gloucester dungeon. Arthur’s cousin Mabon had been taken from his mother Modron when he was only three nights old, and no one knew whether he was alive or dead. After asking the oldest animals,  they were finally directed to the oldest creature of all: the great Salmon of Llyn Llyw. The salmon recalled hearing of Mabon, and told them that as he swam daily by the wall of Caer Loyw, he heard a constant lamentation. The salmon took Cei and Gwrhyr upon his back to the castle, and they heard Mabon’s cries bewailing his fate. Mabon could not be ransomed, so seeing that force was the only answer, the knights fetched Arthur and his war band to attack the castle. Riding on the salmon’s back, Cai broke through the wall and collected Mabon, both fleeing on the back of the salmon.

Let us suppose for a moment that the god Maponus and the literary hero Mabon are one and the same. We must remember that all the evidence points to Maponus being the young sun god, his youth meaning that he would represent the morning sun or the sun newly reborn after the winter solstice. His theft from his mother after three days would make sense in this light – the three days being the three days the sun stands still at the winter solstice. The imprisonment of the young god underground equates to the sun in the underworld before he is ‘released’ to begin his reign as the new sun. In Culhwch and Olwen, Mabon is said to be imprisoned inside a tower in Gloucester, from which he is freed by Cei and Bedwyr. The ‘missing sun’ or ‘imprisoned sun’ is a premise found in the solar myths of many cultures to explain the night or the shorter days of winter, especially those around the three days of the winter solstice. Such tales often include themes of captivity or the theft of the sun (i.e. the god or object that represents it) and its rescue by a band of heroes, such as Jason and the Argonauts rescuing the Golden Fleece (the sun) from the dragon or the Lithuanian sun goddess Saule, was held in a tower by powerful king, rescued by the zodiac using a giant sledgehammer, or the Japanese sun goddess Amaterasu hiding in a cave.

An earlier source that mentions Mabon is the tenth century poem Pa Gur, in which Arthur recounts the great deeds of his knights in order to gain entrance to a fortress guarded by Glewlwyd Gafaelfawr. In this, Arthur describes Mabon fab Madron as one of his men and says that Mabon is a servant of Uther Pendragon. A second Mabon is mentioned, Mabon fab Mellt (‘Mabon Son of Lightning’) and this is interesting, since the sky/storm god is often the father of the sun god in myth, as Zeus is the father of Apollo.

Mabon defeats the monstrous boar, and in myth the boar is often a symbol of winter and the underworld, just as the sun after the winter solstice defeats winter. Mabon then is the divine sun-child born at the winter solstice and this is his festival – he is not the aged god of the harvest or the seed in the ground as Kore is in Greek myth. As Sorita d’Este says:

“Honour Mabon as a Wizard, a Merlin type figure, as the oldest of men and beasts, honour him as the Son of the Mother, and a hero – don’t take that away from him by ignorantly using his name as if it is a different word for Autumn Equinox.  If you really believe that the Old Gods of these lands still live, that they should be honoured and respected, then do that.  Don’t join the generations who tried to belittle the Gods in an effort to diminish their power.”[1]

© Anna Franklin, The Autumn Equinox, History, Lore and Celebration, Lear Books, 2012

[harpersessentials]

+40 CC-FREE LOTS FOR COPPERDALE

my current puppy love legacy is living in copperdale so it's more than time to make a list of cc-free lots to better explore the world!

1 - Hillside Haven (30x20)

Woodland Chalet (Residential) by @xogerardine

Edgewood (Residential) by @xogerardine

Hillside Haven House (Residential) by @futurelabs

2 - Little Falls Nook (20x20)

Wandsworth (Residential) by @xogerardine

Clodien (Residential) by @xogerardine

Little Falls Nook (Residential) by @alerionjkeee

Clinique du Chien Bleu (Vet) by @simsontherope

3 - BridgeCreek Drive (30x30)

Pine Lodge (Residential) by @xogerardine

Eriksen's House (Residential) by @alerionjkeee

Fern Hill (Residential) by @xogerardine

4 - Totter Park (50x40)

Ambleside Lighthouse (Residential) by @xogerardine

Fall Festival (Park) by @ladychaos

5 - LaSuli Point (20x15)

Blakey Cottage (Residential) by @xogerardine

Copperdale Family House (Residential) by @alerionjkeee

LaSuli Cabin (Residential) by @futurelabs

Chloe's House (Residential) by @alerionjkeee

Roseberry (Residential) by @xogerardine

Jocelyn Shack (Residential) by @xogerardine

6 - Golden Peak (30x30)

Copperdale Family House (Residential) by @kevinandthesims

7 - Lakeview Library (20x20)

Bowling & Arcade Alley (Generic) by @spookcy

Cosy Grandma's House (Residential) by @kevinandthesims

8 - ThriftTea (20x15)

Chic en Fripes (Thriftea) by @simsontherope

Thrift and Bubble Tea Store (Thriftea) by @alerionjkeee

Copperdale Internet Café (Café) by @spookcy

Thriftea Reno (Thriftea) by @ratboysims

9 - Town Square Terrace (20x15)

Rocky Mountain Record Traders (Generic) by @alerionjkeee

Town Square Restaurant (Restaurant) by @futurelabs

Latchemere (Residential) by @xogerardine

Hazel Valley (Residential) by @xogerardine

L'Arriere-Boutique (Residential) by @simsontherope

Laundromat (Generic) by @spookcy

10 - Water Tower Way (20x15)

Family House (Residential) by @spookcy

Copperdale Starter House (Residential) by @jezabeel

11 - Copperdale High School (64x64)

Copperdale Highschool (Highschool) by @ladychaos

Copperdale High School (Highschool) by @theseptembersim

Copperdale High School (Highschool) by @mallunch

Copperdale High School (Highschool) by @xogerardine

Copperdale High Scool (Highschool) by @alerionjkeee

Lycée de Copperdale (Highschool) by @simsontherope

Copperdale High School (Highschool) by @lava-nder

Copperdale High School (Highschool) by @spookcy

12 - Auditorium (30x20)

Auditorium (Auditorium) by @mallunch

Auditorium (Auditorium) by @peacemaker-ic*

Auditorium (Auditorium) by @alerionjkeee

[materassassino]

Green Pastures, Still Waters

This is a little birthday present for @non-un-topo, who is very lovely and deserves to have a wonderful birthday. I hope you like it!

(I did try to draw Nicolò with sheep for you, but I have completely forgotten how to draw, it seems. I'm sorry.)

---

In truth, Nicolò loves Yusuf more than he could ever say. More than his own limbs, his own breath. With every beat of his heart, in time with Yusuf’s. It is a certainty, a steadfast and immovable foundation of his being, by now.

That does not mean, of course, that there is not… friction. They are two very different men, sometimes.

“I tire of this place!”

Yusuf announces it, loudly, to the pasture around them. The sheep are unbothered by this, and continue grazing. They have become completely inured to Yusuf’s histrionics, and he scowls at them, hands on his hips.

“Philistines,” he says, and throws himself on the grass. He then springs up again, yelping, because the grass is sparse and brown, and the ground is baked hard and it is very, very hot. The Sardinian sun is fickle at best and merciless at worst.

Nicolò, much more wisely, has chosen a rock in the shade. He sits with his crook across his lap, chin propped on his hand, and watches Yusuf scoot back into the shade beside him, where the ground is less fiery.

Yusuf draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, pouting fiercely. Nicolò lets him stew a moment longer.

“Why do you tire?” he asks.

Yusuf turns to him with a look of complete and utter outrage on his face.

“Why? Why?” he demands, his voice almost shrill with indignation. “Nicolò, what kind of question is that?”

Nicolò thinks it a perfectly legitimate question. He likes this place. He loves the gentle but rugged mountains, the rocks and the cliffs and the stiff, scrubby pines, the scent of the myrtle and the laurel bushes. He loves the olives and figs and carobs. He loves the animals, the mouflons and deer, the lizards and crawling insects, and the birds, from the smallest to the great vultures that soar above. He loves the silence broken only by birdsong and the symphony of grasshoppers and the quiet rustle of the trees. He loves tending the sheep, hearing their bleating, feeding and watering and herding them, and in the spring, helping the ewes give birth, bringing new little lives into this world, soft and white. He loves the sun on his skin and the cool of the shade and the caress of the mountain breeze on his face.

This place, he thinks, is its own sort of paradise.

Yet while he flourishes, Yusuf seems to wither.

“Do you not like it here?” Nicolò asks. Yusuf lets his head fall back with a long-suffering sigh.

“I grow weary, Nicolò,” he says. “I am bored!”

Nicolò blinks. “Bored?” he repeats, surprised. He would have deemed this place perfect for art to bloom, inspiration in every hillside. Yusuf raises a rather condescending eyebrow at him.

“Yes. Bored. It is the same, day after day! The sheep, the mountains, the vast, never-ending blue sky! I miss…” He huffs, folding his arms. “I miss being in a city. I miss gossip and debate and the vibrancy of human life! I miss markets and varied foods and music and festivities! I miss libraries and art! I miss people!”

Nicolò grip on his crook tightens, twisting nervously. In truth, despite the knowledge of Yusuf’s unwavering love, there is always some fear. Little, dark thoughts, ink in water, that Yusuf might one day want more. Want better.

“Do you tire of my company, Yusuf?” he asks, very quietly.

Yusuf whips around, his eyes wide and horrified.

“What? No!” He springs up, crowding close to Nicolò on his rock, and takes his face between his palms. “Never!” He kisses every part of Nicolò’s face, his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, his lips. “Never, not in a thousand lifetimes!”

He sits back, taking one of Nicolò’s hands. “No, I merely… miss other people. This place is beautiful but so quiet. My thoughts chase themselves, tangle themselves in knots until I can barely think. My head is so loud it aches, sometimes.” He sighs. “We have boundless time, and yet I fear that here there is too much of it.”

Nicolò reaches out, stroking Yusuf’s cheek. “I think I understand.”

What is for Nicolò quiet contemplation, for Yusuf is, after too long, maddening emptiness. They truly are two very different men. He kisses Yusuf’s wrist, the heel of his hand, the pad of his thumb.

“I would say we could leave, but…” He gestures helplessly to the sheep. “We promised.”

Yusuf hums. “We did, we did.”

Nicolò knows Yusuf is a man of his word. They promised the old widow Agnese to mind her flock for the spring and the summer, and Yusuf would never renege on such a thing unless there was, truly, no other choice, but wanderlust flaps desperate wings against the cage of his ribs.

“My desire is frivolous,” Yusuf admits. “I feel quite selfish, now that I think about it.”

“Do not be foolish,” Nicolò chides gently. “You have wishes, and I would see you happy, Yusuf. That is my desire.” He gets to his feet, crook discarded, pulling Yusuf with him. “When the summer ends, we will find a city, a huge, wonderful, loud city, and you will discuss your philosophy and write your poetry and make your art again!”

Yusuf laughs, tugging him closer. “In truth, Nicolò, wherever you take me, I am happy. Forgive my grumbling.”

Nicolò could never paint with words like Yusuf does. He could never voice the beauty he sees in that beloved face, the glory of Yusuf’s bright smile, the melody of his laughter, the softness of his joyful eyes. So he kisses him, attempting to pour all his love, his devotion, the boundless depth and lofty heights of it into where their lips meet. And when Yusuf kisses back with the same passion, perhaps that is proof he can feel it.

They must be very distracted, because all of a sudden Yusuf sqawks into the kiss. The earth disappears from beneath their feet, and Nicolò’s back makes hard, painful contact with the ground. Their teeth smash into each other, cracking, cutting Nicolò’s lip and his tongue, and Yusuf’s entire weight on top of him knocks the wind from his lungs.

Dazed, he stares up at the sky, feeling new teeth grow back in, an itching, sharp ache. It is a deeply unpleasant sensation.

“You beast! Demon of a sheep!” Yusuf cries. He scrambles up to his knees, pointing accusingly.

The sheep – the one Nicolò has called Alfreda, because he cannot help but name them, and name them after saints at that – bleats mockingly back, and turns away, content in her petty vengeance.

“She charged right into me,” Yusuf grumbles, shifting so he can massage his behind. Nicolò laughs at that, wiping away the blood from his mouth.

“Alfreda is very opinionated,” he says, sitting up. “God’s punishment for shirking our duties to mind them, no doubt.”

Yusuf snorts, and sits back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“I shall remember her for my entire long life,” he vows. “I shall remember and curse Alfreda the sheep, until death finally comes for me. Do you hear me?!” he yells after her. She takes absolutely no notice, going back to grazing.

Nicolò laughs again, falling to the side into Yusuf’s shoulder, and when the laughter dies away, he stays there. Yusuf holds out his hand, and Nicolò takes it, threading their fingers together, and Nicolò can never cease to marvel at how perfectly they fit, despite looking so very different.

[blueberryarchive]

─୨MISS PEACHES '57୧─

(18+)//tw: drinking, pranking, cursing, light stuff//part 1

The horse trotted to the rhythm of the drums, the festival rumbled in the middle of the dusty nothingness, and the lights illuminated the stadium that seemed to be swallowed by the darkness of the warm night. The moon was hidden by the black clouds that threatened to break, lightning illuminated the mountains in violet, and the smell of a storm was approaching.

Jungkook encouraged the animal to go faster, clicking loudly. Jimin was behind him, with one arm he held onto the younger man's chest, and with the other, he took a long drink of the stolen whiskey.

The night called for things to fall into their hands, the purpose being to create a scandal and wake up that city girl who comes to Rivermouth thinking that she can devour them.

The apple of the Bell Ranch's eye, the star child, the one who left Rivermouth at nine to bring home a crown every couple of months.

The apple of Rivermouth's eye is back, wearing the brightest crown she's ever had. And the Hillside brothers plan to enjoy the show tonight.

With a spontaneous brake, both boys jumped off the horse, pushing people in the audience. Alcohol immunizing insults and judging looks.

"C'mon, Jimin. Hurry up!"

"Fuck off. I told you to bring something gross, ain't you working on Millie's butcher shop?" Jimin opened the lid. 

"Ain't your dad a fucking shepherd?" Jungkook spat, tongue heavy with only a few sips.

"What should I bring? Wool? You fucking idiot." The blonde laughed, grabbing the last drink ready on his strap.

The crowd started getting busier, the lights fading. 

The music started out of nowhere like the first trumpet of the apocalypse, announcing your arrival on stage.

And indeed, there was no prettier girl in all of Rivermouth.

With your pearly smile, high voluminous hair, perfect hands, and the sweetest smile Jimin had ever seen. Not even his mother looked so beautiful, nor did the statue of the Virgin Mary in the church. You were divine, a torment, taken from the same city hell.

"Take more." He heard himself say. Jungkook put his hand into the jelly jar that Jimin was carrying in his trembling hands.

Park's rebellious heart fell into his stomach as he saw you emerge completely from the curtains, materializing from the yellow dust that rose from the arid floor like a Las Vegas show. With smoke and lights and the Bell Ranch's girl dressed as a coquettish sailor. The lights are brighter than before, the sparkling shine of your glitter bow, your freshly painted nails, the sash around your body: MISS PEACHES 1957. Everyone applauded when they saw your hands rise and jump elegantly across the creaky floor.

Jungkook held the slimy mass in his fingers, gaping and wondering.

"Are you sure that's the right girl, Park?" 

"Sure as hell." Jimin licked his lips, feeling a sudden thirst. 

Thunder exploded in his ears just as your smile caught a glimpse of him. Like a sign from the Lord of your arrival, he was sure as hell that you were the right girl. "Why, are you scared, little church boy?" Teased, Jungkook clicked his tongue. 

Was that what girls were like outside of Rivermouth? With long legs and an apotheotic smile?

"Aim..." Jungkook murmured coming out of his stupor, raising his arm, the reddish juice dripping down his wrist and onto his shirt.

It's not that Park felt hungry or wanted to go to the bathroom, nor that he has a fever. He wasn't nervous either, of course not, the alcohol helped him with that. But the southern heat was so strong from your presence that he felt like he could faint if he blinked and missed one of your steps, steps, steps, turn, one, two, one, two, three, four, CLACK! LIGHT! THUNDER!

Jelly spilled from Jimin's fingers, and his heart drummed to the sound of your patent leather shoes.

If he had known that the Bell Ranch girl was going to be you, maybe he wouldn't have stolen his mother's jam, maybe he wouldn't have called Jungkook that night. But it was already late, and his fingers were tickling, his nose was beginning to despise the smell of strawberries that filled his space.

"FIRE!" Jimin yelled as the clack of your feet made his throat burst.

The sweet rained down until it reached your beautiful face, your delicate costume. 

A collective gasp landed Jimin on his feet, at what he had caused. Your smile was gone, your long eyelashes raised above the red. Both boys remained static, confused; as if they had desecrated a religious image.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck! We have to go." Jungkook mumbled hands into fists, eyes on the prize. 

Jimin's eyes were bright, the corners of his lips tremblingly raised as he watched you cry in the center of the stage, the unbearable white lights made your translucent tears shine, and the sweaty makeup made you look like a ruined wax figure. The women who surrounded you to protect you from so much shame. Oh, it was a sight.

If your father wasn't screaming, if Jungkook hadn't grabbed his arm, and if his mother hadn't screamed his name from afar. Jimin would have stayed until his feet swelled just to see you, to admire you until he grew weary.

It wasn't the first time he had made a girl cry, but making Miss Peaches '57 cry had been the greatest achievement for 18-year-old Jimin. Best of all, he didn't even have to move, yell at you, or even pull one of your perfect curls.

The mere fact that he came close to you caused tornado damage to such a wildflower.

They had to run through the blue night, ride through the cold drizzle, and disappear for hours until the festival and you were an intelligible echo behind their cruel, childish laughter.

Jungkook licked his sticky fingers while he looked back. Looking for your silhouette coming down the stairs, defeated in the worst way for a girl: when she thinks she looks her best.

That night, both boys slept in the hayfield of an old cabin, drunk and sticky. They both dreamed of the same girl, and both woke up with goosebumps from the dew of a wet morning and a mischievous smile.

One of them dreamed of stealing a kiss from you, the other of making you cry again.

[verosvault]

🚨SPOILERS FOR FANTASY HIGH JUNIOR YEAR EPISODE 8🚨

Dimension20 "Fantasy High Junior Year"

Episode 8 "Fracas at the Frostyfaire Folk Festival"

Timestamp: 00:20:30

Video Length: 5min.

Gorgug and his parents talk about the Frostyfaire Folk Festival (‣Pt. 1 | Pt. 2)

Brennan: "You see there's a bunch of people that already have little drum circles with fiddles and guitars and people just sort of like"

The gnomes in Gorgug's neighborhood: "Lai-dee-dai, lai-dee-dai, lai-dee-dai, lai-dee-dai"

Zac: "Gorgug's just looking out his window like, guess it's that all day, huh?"

Brennan: "Wilma and Digby are downstairs. They're powering through breakfast. They've got clipboards. There's some people with surveillance. They're like,"

The Thistlesprings: "All right, this is gonna be great! This is such an honor, to be able to host. Gorgug! Morning, bud! How you doing?"

Gorgug: "Hey, I'm doing good."

Zac: "I'm, like... And this is just maybe a question for Brennan, but have we had this festival here before?"

Brennan: "No, your parents go this every year."

Zac: "Yeah."

Brennan: "But hosting it's a huge deal. The festival actually kind of moves all over Solace. They've sometimes gone up to Ashgrove or the Dunefort or other places to try to participate in this, but yeah, Frostyfaire bounces all over the country."

Gorgug: "So Mom and Dad, I feel, you know... I'm here to help with whatever this is, you know? And uh-"

The Thistlesprings: "Absolutely, absolutely. Well, you know, we tried to throw some tarps over the projects that are kinda halfway done. We're getting some blankets. I mean, people are gonna bring their own blankets. We're getting some blankets out on the hillside, facing the stage. The stage is right out the back door, at the bottom of the hill. It's gonna be great. We got all these great- and kind of an interesting, we have... Have you ever heard of emotional music?"

Gorgug: "Emotional? Are you talking about emo music?"

The Thistlesprings: "Yeah!"

Gorgug: "Yeah. It's pretty cool. Actually a type of music I think is cool."

The Thistlesprings: "Oh, well, great! We love it."

(The judgemental glance from Emily is SO FUNNY!!!!! 😂🤣💀)

Emily: *offended* "You're out of the band." 😭✋

Zac: "I mean, it's okay!" 😂🤣💀

The Thistlesprings: "There's a band coming that your... I mean, I know that Fig is not touring right now, but Lola Embers got in touch with us, your old, you know, she represented you by way of representing Fig."

Gorgug: "I was really just kinda hanging on. It felt like I was sailing behind the boat."

The Thistlesprings: "Hey, you're a great drummer! This is our rock star sports team kiddo."

Gorgug: "I'm okay."

The Thistlesprings: "With the straight As!"

Gorgug: "Mostly."

The Thistlesprings: "Well, you know, but that's the thing, you know? Well, hey!"

Brennan: "And you actually hear a knock on the door and you see that your biological parents walk in, Roz and Gorbag. Gorbag is like,"

Gorbag: "Hey, Gorgug!" *Gives a big hug*

Brennan: "Roz says hi to Wilma."

Roz: "Hi, hi! Coming in to say hello!"

Brennan: "And they're sort of excited to be here as well, 'cause you remember Gorbag was a musician."

Gorgug: "Are you guys playing today?"

Gorbag: "Yeah! Well, I'm just jamming. I just like to come. There's a drum circle that's been going for 40 years, since the start of Frostyfaire."

Gorgug: "That's too long."

Gorbag: "What happens is, the festival's only once a year, but every year, the last guy or gal or person who's drumming at the drum circle, they take a small little drum and they keep it going all year long, kinda like the Olympic torch."

Ally: "Finger drumming!" 😂😂

Brennan: "Finger drum." 😂😂

Gorbag: "So the drum circle hasn't stopped in 40 years."

Gorgug: "What would happen if it stopped?"

Gorbag: *cries*

Brennan: "He starts to cry." 😂🤣😭💀✋

Gorgug: "No, hey! Hey, it's okay!" 😭✋

Gorbag: "Music is a part of a tradition. It's something that unites all of us."

Brennan: "You see Digby puts a little arm around his calf, he's so tall. Digby goes,"

Digby: "Yeah, don't even worry about a C. That's, you know..."

Brennan: "You see that Gorbag says,"

Gorbag: "A C? I thought it was..." And he looks at it and says, "Porter give you a C?"

Gorgug: "Yeah."

Gorbag: "He almost fuckin' failed me, man."

Gorgug: "Really?"

Gorbag: "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Gorgug: "He's been- He doesn't- I don't think we're speaking the same language, to be honest. I don't know."

Brennan: "You see Wilma looks and says,"

Wilma: "Have you tried making him a little cup of tea and sitting down and saying, 'hey, you know, I feel like I'm letting you down and I wanna know how to do a better job so that I can put a smile on that face?'"

Gorgug: "Not exactly that. I've tried maybe something kinda similar. I think I have to go a completely different direction though, honestly."

Wilma: "Baked good."

Gorgug: "It's not so completely... Yeah, I'll try baked goods. I'll try that, I'll try that."

Wilma: "All right."

Brennan: "You see Gorbag says,"

Gorbag: "Well, listen. I know you're Mr. Study right now, you're taking four classes at once, but if you got a second, I think me and Dig, me and Wilma and Dig and Roz might be down to that drum circle. Maybe you grab some bongos or, you know, get something from the kit. Get a little snare. All drums welcome."

Gorgug: "Okay, yeah, I'll give it a shot. I can bring my snare, just head on down."

Gorbag: "Yeah."

Brennan & Zac: *both mimicking snare drums*

Brennan: "Everyone just starts tapping around, and Wilma goes,"

Wilma: "There's music everywhere!"

Zac: "Specifically in that drum circle." 😂🤣

[cryptids-of-spielzeit]

Spielzeit Bestiary #8: The Sun Dog

Nature. Every tree, plant, and animal. It is all around us, and it is a very big part of the forest town Spielzeit's identity. The townsfolk and the surrounding forest have been in kahoots with one another ever since it split from the now defunct Playtime toy company. And now, their relationship with nature has seemingly grown stronger, due in part to a new creature said to roam the woods. They call it the Sun Dog.

Said to be the most benevolent of Spielzeit's ever growing roster of "cryptids", the Sun Dog is described as being a giant Cocker Spaniel with dark orange fur. It gets its name from what locals describe as a pendant, shaped like the sun, that it wears tightly around its neck.

It is said to be missing the lower half of its body, resulting in it crawling around wherever it goes. Those who have caught a glimpse of the Sun God report it being followed by a group of animals. The animals within said group vary, but the most common group is said to be that of a red fox, a whitetail deer, and an opossum.

Stories and sightings of the Sun Dog portray it as a protector of nature, caring for wounded and abandoned animals and helping any that cross its path. It is said to be incredibly docile, even helpful, towards humans, with one witness, Jeremy Hill, 23, describing as such.

"I was taking a walk through the woods. It was a nice day, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I'm walking, and I notice this tree, looked perfect for climbing. I get to the top of the thing, the view was really nice. Then, I heard something, sounded like, I don't know, giggling? Startled me so much that I fell off the branch, broke one of my legs. I screamed put for help for what felt like forever. Then I heard someone, they sounded like he was in his 50s, he told me not to worry, that'd he'd get me back home. That's when I saw him. We were at level with one another, he had a fox, deer, and possum at his side. Now, I've heard other people talk about this guy like he was the second coming, but actually being in his presence, I don't know, it made me feel safe. He had that look in his eyes, you know? I passed out afterwards, but when I woke up I was in town square. I won't forget that day."

The Sun Dog's contributions have not gone unnoticed. For instance, since his arrival, illegal hunting in the Spielzeit area has dropped tremendously, something that Ranger Angelo Floros has taken note of.

"Now, I'm not sure a giant, orange dog is the reason all of these hunters have went away, but regardless, this is great news. And if you want to thank this 'Sun Dog' for it, be my guest."

Many residents do, in fact, thank the Sun Dog, particularly those with some background of religion. They believe in the Sun Dog's existence so much that they have made it the central figure in their annual Summer Solstice festival. Here, there are Sun Dog themed games, food, and even stage performances about its contributions. Something notable is that during the festival, there is a chance that an animal will show up, requesting food, in which they always recieve it, yet they never immediately eat it. It is said that they bring it to the Sun Dog, who watches in the distance on the Licht hillside, where the sun shines brightest.

Is there a protector of nature living in the forests of Spielzeit? Or has Lady Luck just grazed the town with a great ecosystem? Do you believe?

(A major thank you to @abugcalledtoken for writing a greater part of the Sun Dog's lore!)

[talonabraxas]

“Inti” Shamanic Sun Worship

Sun Worship Much Inca architecture was designed and built to assist in the worship of the Sun, Moon and stars. The Inca often built pillars which marked the position of the Sun at the solstices, which were celebrated by grand festivals. The Inca lords would preside at such festivals. In the great temple of the Sun, a high-ranking Inca woman – generally the sister of the reigning Inca, if one were available – was in charge of the cloistered women who served as the Sun’s “wives.” The priests observed holy days such as solstices and prepared the appropriate sacrifices and offerings.

Eclipses Theca could not predict solar eclipses, and when one occurred, it tended to trouble them greatly. The diviners would attempt to figure out why Inti was displeased, and sacrifices would be offered. The Inca rarely practiced human sacrifice, but an eclipse sometimes was considered cause to do so. The reigning Inca would often fast for days after an eclipse and withdraw from public duties.

Inti Raymi One of the most important religious events of the Inca was Inti Ramyi, the annual festival of the sun. It took place in the seventh month of the Inca Calendar on June 20 or 21, the date of the Summer Solstice. Inti Raymi was celebrated all over the Empire, but the main celebration took place in Cuzco, where the reigning Inca would preside over the ceremonies and festivities. It opened with the sacrifice of 100 llamas selected for brown fur. The festival lasted for several days. Statues of the Sun God and other gods were brought out, dressed up and paraded around and sacrifices were made to them. There was much drinking, singing and dancing. Special statues were made of wood, representing certain gods: these were burned at the end of the festival. After the festival, the ashes of the statues and sacrifices were brought to a special place on a hillside: only those disposing of these ashes were ever allowed to go there.

Inca Sun Worship The Inca Sun god was relatively benign: he was not destructive or violent like some Aztec Sun Gods like Tonatiuh or Tezcatlipoca. He only showed his wrath when there was an eclipse, at which point the Inca priests would sacrifice people and animals to appease him.

The Spanish priests considered Sun Worship to be pagan at best (and thinly-disguised Devil worship at worst) and went to great lengths to stamp it out. Temples were destroyed, idols burned, festivals forbade. It is a grim testament to their zeal that very few Andeans practice any sort of traditional religion today.

Most of the great Inca goldwork at the Cuzco Temple of the Sun and elsewhere found its way into the melting fires of the Spanish conquistadors - countless artistic and cultural treasures were melted down and shipped to Spain. Father Bernabé Cobo tells the story of one Spanish soldier named Manso Serra who was awarded a massive Inca sun idol as his share of Atahualpa's Ransom. Serra lost the idol gambling and its eventual fate is unknown.

Inti is enjoying a bit of a comeback lately. After centuries of being forgotten, Inti Raymi is once more being celebrated in Cuzco and other parts of the former Inca Empire. The festival is popular among native Andeans, who see it as a way to reclaim their lost heritage, and tourists, who enjoy the colorful dancers.

[peaches2217]

♡ let your Luisley (I hope that's right I just took a quick glance 🤭). headcanons run wild

I owe you my life

♡ - Romantic headcanon

Luigi is the epitome of conventional Beanish beauty standards: tall with lanky limbs and a subtly but pleasantly round midsection. Peasley immediately finds him attractive, and that attraction becomes an infatuation when Luigi stops merely reacting to his flirtations and starts actively flirting back. (Luigi, for his part, has no idea he’s returning Peasley’s playful advances; he’s just a nice guy trying to play it cool and NOT make it obvious that he’s completely smitten, an effort that’s failing in the best way possible.)

Truthfully Peasley initially doesn't expect it to go anywhere, and Luigi, though he secretly hopes otherwise, doesn't either. But this bashful human is entirely too fun and fascinating to relegate to an unrealized fling, so Peasley begins regularly exchanging letters with him after the whole mess with Cackletta is settled and everyone returns home.

And that's how the infatuation becomes a genuine romance, slowly but surely.

Luigi doesn't have many stories to tell, so he just writes about his day-to-day experiences and hopes it doesn't bore Peasley. What he doesn't know is that Peasley delights in all of those mundane tales because no one's ever thought to share scenes from their personal everyday life with him. Luigi is so earnest and it makes Peasley feel like, well, just a regular guy. It almost worries him, how much he comes to enjoy that feeling.

And the more they talk, the more Luigi's starry-eyed idolatry of Peasley falls away, and the more he realizes that he's every bit as human (er, sentient and full of complex emotion, at least) as he is. He writes at length about his mother one day, and Peasley in turn discusses his father, all of the good memories and how terribly he misses him. Luigi's cried over his own diary enough to know that the smudges and wrinkled spots in the paper are tears, Peasley's tears, and he cries right along with him.

It's a few months before the Beanbean Kingdom is settled again and Peasley feels he can safely break away for short periods without putting undue stress on his mother, and the very first thing he does is pay a certain pair of brothers a visit. He gives Mario thirty seconds' worth of acknowledgement before spiriting Luigi away to some grassy hillside so they can finally speak at length face-to-face, and in the following hours, he comes to confirm something he's suspected for a good while now: he's in love.

He kisses Luigi goodnight after escorting him home, and his trip back to the Beanbean Kingdom is delayed because he has to explain to Mario why his twin brother has passed out face-first in the front yard.

A week later, Peach and the Mario bros are invited to spend a week in the Beanish capitol to partake in their largest annual festival. Peasley has it all planned out: each day he'll present Luigi with a gift, always more grand and precious than the one preceding it, and on the final day he'll make his intentions clear. That goes out the window as soon as Luigi steps off the plane. He whisks him away for some privacy and asks him, plainly and openly, for his hand in courtship.

And once Luigi's conscious again and has recovered from the shock, he, of course, accepts.

[ourshadowstallerthanoursoul]

On this day... - August 14th

+ 1969 : Austin Municipal Auditorium in Austin, Texas, USA

“The roof is still on Municipal Auditorium… I think. When part of a usually conservative local audience moved down into the aisles Thursday night for a closer look at Led Zeppelin, I wondered. […] Wide eyes gleamed, people swayed. They filled in those cement gaps between the seat sections. Suddenly, it seemed like we were all huddled close together on a hillside watching a pop festival. Naturalness and pleasantness prevailed. Seldom do rock musicians let loose in every direction while maintaining undisputed authority over their vibrations. Their playing was relaxed, yet wild – a carefully executed, most exacting frenzy. Rising, falling, the four Englishmen were a threat of violence at every measure.” – ‘Lightning Blues – Led Zeppelin outwail Joplin’ by C. Wynne

[fireflysymphony]

Dance of the Lotus and Wandering Dandelion

Nilou x fem! traveler! Reader

A/N: I wrote this for a friend a few months ago, and I think there needs to be some more Nilou love in the world. If you’re a Nilou fan, ily and have the best day! <3

Word count: 1.4k

Content: pure fluff, can be read as platonic or romantic, not proofread.

The lush greenery of Sumeru shimmered with a fresh layer of dew as the chirping of birds broke the early morning silence, welcoming the sun and rest of the world with song. Some believed daybreak to be a mystical time of day, not only is it a gateway between dark and light, but it also blurred the line between sleep and awareness— or dream and reality.

Nilou was accustomed to dreams, her nights were usually full of them, but ever since the Sabzeruz Festival. Not even her pre-sleep relaxation methods were working! She couldn’t remember much from that day. The memories were fuzzy. Was it the worry that got to her and blocked it out? And she thought she was doing good at controlling her stress levels too!

All she could remember clearly was her dance. It was magical! No, no she wasn’t trying to be arrogant, but her performance that day captured all the emotions she wished to convey— her love, devotion, and passion all on display for her audience. Everyone stopped to watch her, not a soul could take their eyes off her! It wasn’t the attention or fame she craved, but the knowledge that she conveyed her message through that dance caused a flutter in her chest.

This pleasant flutter kept her going even when nights were rot with lack of sleep or when she woke up in a cold sweat. No gloomy days could stop her as long as she had dance and her passion for it! She would stay positive, active, and not waste time thinking about sleepless nights.

Which is what led to the frizzy haired, barefoot girl being out here at sunrise, a blanket under one arm and a basket of goods in her other one. She hummed a silent tune, letting the dew covered grass soak into her feet. Her eyes widened slightly when no bloom cores sprung under her. She expected it at this point despite her nonexistent activation of her vision, and the grass wasn’t infused with dendro either. Her recent relentless training gave her these insistent fears.

Surprisingly, dance and fighting weren’t so different, especially since Nilou could never see herself dawning armor and being the center of a fight. If she could, she’d rather appease her opponents with her dances, but from the stories her friend told her, that wasn’t an option when it came to actual fighting, so when her days were full of practices and dances, she filled her sleepless, empty nights wielding the power of hydro, trying to make it bend to her will.

“You’re here!” Nilou gasped, her face breaking out into a large grin. She dropped her basket and blanket, quick to throw her arms around the girl standing alone on the hillside, basking in the rays of the sun. “I didn’t think you would. It’s so early.”

She pulled away, taking her hands between her own and pulling her along to the spot for the picnic. She sat now and patted the spot next to her with a weary smile. “You’ve probably seen all kinds.of views like this, haven’t you? It’s not much, but I like coming here.”

(Name) shook her head, accepting Nilou’s offering of pudding with a grateful smile: “The views in Sumeru are my favorite. I like this place.” She glanced around before meeting Nilou’s gaze again.

“Really? Any view with you would be a nice one though. No matter what!” Nilou smiled, stretching her limbs out on the picnic blanket. The clouds covered the sun and then parted, Celestia’s glow warming Nilou’s skin as if in soft encouragement. This picnic wasn’t just a sweet gesture. Well, it was, but Nilou wanted this opportunity to speak alone with the girl.

“Speaking of, I heard you’re leaving Sumeru soon.” She whispered, breaking the contented silence which had fallen over them. She didn’t break eye contact, fidgeting with her shaking hands. No amount of training could stop her when she began shaking like this, not even her optimism could even though it compelled her to hope this would go well. “You’re going to Fontaine and then Natlan, both sound like scary places…”

She trailed off, and (Name) nodded, glancing away too: “I am. I love it here. Sumeru feels like my home, but I need to continue my journey to meet the seven Archons.”

(Name) wouldn’t dare ask for Nilou to join her as much as she had grown to love the dancer. Despite their bond, (Name) knew Nilou had duties to Zubayr Theatre and making sure the Akademiya couldn’t touch it. Likewise, she had duties too. Their fates couldn’t mix, and what kind of person would she be if she tried to redirect Nilou’s future?

Nilou was having a similar debate. What if (Name) didn’t need her? What if she’d only be a hindrance on her journey? Nilou knew she’d never be the strongest, never be the perfect partner in face of danger, but what would she be if she let all her hard work and training go to waste? She couldn’t live with regrets, not this one anyway.

“I want to go with you.”

She winced, but she couldn’t look away, her eyes burnt with passion and longing as she looked at (Name)’s shocked face, trying to pour all her emotions in one single look. In her shock, (Name) lost hold of her padisarah pudding which Nilou caught.

“Excuse me?”

That reply wasn’t what Nilou was expecting. She flinched away, taking on the facial expression of a kicked puppy. She played with the rim of the pudding bowl, trying not to let her disappointment be too obvious. She knew the answer would probably be a “no,” but that confused tone and exasperated wording wasn’t what she wanted. “My apologies, I was too forward, wasn’t-“

“No, I was just surprised. What about the theatre? Your dancing? Would you really leave it?” She gestured towards the city of Sumeru as if to make her point more clear. “I don’t want you to leave that all behind, not for me.”

“It won't be forever; I'll come back, but I’ll have dancing forever. I don’t know how long I’ll have you.” Nilou’s heart sounded like drums in her ears, the fear of rejection eating away at her. “Will it be a year before you leave Teyvat? Two? Five? How many more times will you have the opportunity to visit Sumeru before you go beyond Celestia again? How many of those times will you get to see me? I’ll be dancing for years to come, but I won’t have you for nearly the same amount of time. Will I?”

(Name) stayed silent, picking at the grass around the picnic blanket. She wanted to assure Nilou that she’d be back, but she just couldn’t know for sure. Sumeru was her home away from home, and all the people she met were so special to her in various different ways. Would she ever get to say goodbye to any of them when that faithful departure day came?

“I even learned how to fight.” Nilou added, her cheeks getting rosy from the admission. “I’m not as good as you, and the foes you’ve faced would make quick work of me. But with your connection to Dendro and my hydro vision, I think we’d make a good team, don’t you?”

She couldn’t help but smile at that, her face breaking out into a wide grin before nodding. “Okay! If you’re sure, I want you to join me.”

Nilou’s face became a mirror of (Name)’s as she let out an excited cheer, wrapping her in a tight hug and nearly popping her neck off. “Really? Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” The stress, the excitement, the sleepless night all combined and collectly faded as the relief set in. Nilou yawned, falling away from her.

“Thank you.” Nilou mumbled, a content smile on her face. Her eyes fluttered shut, long lashes brushing her cheeks and her hair sprawled out around her. “I think my sleep can be peaceful now since I have you around.”

The last part of her sentence came out mumbled, quiet snores racking her body. It was as if she was a doll instead of a person. Her sleeping form held a sense of elegance her dances could never capture, the grace of stillness only found in someone who is constantly moving.

Request are open and welcomed!! <3

[owlespresso]

gloaming. yuri leclerc.

tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality and vague hints of backstory, sfw, pining

a/n: this is pretty self-indulgent. just fluff.

The night is quiet. Snow-covered fields stretch around you on all sides, leading to a distant tree line full of old, stubborn pines. The winter’s frost has grabbed tight hold of the land, blighting everything above the snow in a fine coating of frost. You can see your breath, like a brief curl of dragon’s smoke right in front of you.

One of the month’s many virtues is its distinct lack of insects. No crickets to chirp and no mosquitos to menace any patch of skin you dare leave uncovered. Not that you’ll have many in this weather. There’s quite a long way to go before winter ebbs into early spring. The patch of land Dimitri allotted you so generously after war’s end will remain in crystalline stasis until the season's turn. 

In the distance, over the hills, you can see Fhirdiad’s towering silhouette. Its rough lines and pointed domes and salient spires cast an imperious picture on your east horizon. Did the people of the capital enjoy tonight’s midwinter festival? Did friends and family rush onto the crowded streets to partake in merriment and games and fantastic feasts? The streets played host to an astounding variety of breathtaking ice sculptures all around the noble districts. You wonder if any happened to feature the king.

You look away, back to the treetops painted frosty white, glistening in the eldritch dark of the night. The stone building you’ve chosen to occupy was once a manor and a military outpost, created to overlook these very vistas. The honorable members of House Rowe often utilized it to rest their heads when too exhausted too plod back to their hillside manners out west, leaving their gilded, cushioned carriages to wait in the front yard all evening. Heavens forbid they struggle for even a moment with a minor chill.

You shut your eyes and drink deep the wintry air. The icy sting in the air is sobering, granting you clarity. Dinner was spent alone, enjoying more mixes of wines and liquors than you would prefer to admit. Sometime along the way, you even attempted to wrangle the guards into drinking alongside you. It was at that point that one of them politely inquired if you would like to take a walk.

And now, the fresh air pricks at your numbing cheeks. The hazy remnants of your late night rendezvous with the liquor cabinet are battered back by winter’s embrace and your own irritation.

Across the countless times you have imbibed in your short life, you have discovered that being drunk is fun until it is decidedly not. It’s fun until you require your motor skills, fun until your stream of consciousness rolls into a riptide loosening the leash you keep wrapped ‘round your emotions. The festivities are long over. You're not even sure what occasion they had been celebrating. All of these winter festivals blend together after the first three.

You slump over the flat stone of the wall, bent at the waist. Your fingers don’t even reach the edge. Faint footsteps scruff across the old stone behind her. Quiet, but purposefully loud enough for you to hear. That alone tells you who dares approach.

“Do you believe in god, Yuri?” your ragged voice sounds unfamiliar to yourself. You don't budge from your prone position. The stone cools the overheated side of your face, seeps through your layers. You can feel the wild thrum of your heart begin to slow, cooling the agonizing sear of you pumping blood.

“I believe that it’s long past your bedtime,” Yuri says, a broken piece of glass crunching under his heel. “And I believe in the Goddess. How could I not when she blessed me with you?” The mocking drawl in his voice forces the corners of your lips into a deep frown.

He’s not going to leave, anytime soon, so you slide back onto your feet. The sudden change in position has you swaying on your feet, foot stumbling out of place. Before you can take a tumble and make even more of a fool of yourself, Yuri grasps your shoulder, touch grounding. You regard him with as blank a stare as you can manage. Despite the lashing winds and otherwise unpleasant conditions, Yuri is unflappable as always, long locks of lavender laid atop his shoulder. He’s traded his cape in for a dark cloak, sticked lines of embroidery lacing the cuffs and bottom of the garment, dance around its bone white buttons. 

He’s still all purples and reds, but the smokey greys you’ve come to associate with his wardrobe have been traded in for darker shades. And he looks good, like he hasn’t lost a night of sleep in his life.

“Can’t sleep,” you mutter, kicking a nearby pebble. It’s sent skittering under a nearby table. Yuri regards you flatly, lips pressed into a thin, straight line—as thin as his petal plump lips can press, anyways. They’re coated in a subtle shade of pink, tonight, just blush enough to look natural. He rarely ever applies any intense, saturated shades of lipstick or gloss, lest it distract from the keen smolder of his eyes and his natural good looks.

Though, it doesn’t matter much what he wears. He dazzles on every occasion, sways swathes of civilians with his silver tongue and striking smile. He’s horribly, magnificently magnetic. Anyone would be lucky to have him, for what he has and what is underneath it all. He would surely make a marvelous spouse—

He flicks your forehead, sending you stumbling backwards. Before you can take a tumble onto your arse, he does you the good favor of snatching you by the arm to steady you. When had he come so close?

Up close, his chagrin is much more obvious. You shift uncomfortably under his stare. You cannot recall what having a mother was like, but you can imagine this is what being scolded by one would feel like.

“Where do you go in that head of yours?” he says with a sigh, wry smile breaking out across his pink petal lips. 

“I… I don’t—” you stammer, scrambling for mental purchase. 

“You can tell me all about it later,” Yuri takes your hand with a graceful flourish of his cape, drawing you close to the firm, lean line of him. The scent of faint lilac wreaths around you like an old, comfortable coat. “When you’re a little more sober, at least.” There’s a genteel grace to his steps as he shepherds you towards the stone staircase.

“Where are we going?” You’re left to do aught but follow, a sudden, giddy giggle erupting from your chest as you stumble into his side. 

He sighs, belied by his wry smile. He relinquished his hold on your hand to wrap an arm around your waist, the stretch of his body so blessedly warm against your own. He chases the clinging chill away, dizzies your thoughts into paste.

You hardly hear him ask, “Bed. Yours or mine?” His question rattles you out of your drunken stupor. Your eyes go wide as saucers, palms hot with sweat as you struggle to form an adequate answer. Despite having known him for quite some time, his directness still manages to fluster you—an effect he likely intended, given his devious simper. What’s somehow worse is that you can’t bring yourself to be cross with him.

“Y-Yours,” you hardly realize you’ve spoken your mind until Yuri breaks out in a loud, genuine laugh. It’s unlike his typically tame chuckles, a sound of sheer exuberance that makes the inside of your chest twinge. You like hearing him this happy. You want him to be this happy all of the time.

“Bold. I like it.” he teases, jostling you in his grasp. 

“Oh shove it—wait!” you huff, but stay in step with him, struggling not to stumble as he shepherds you down the stone stairs A line of torches straddle the descending path. In your drunken haze, you had forgotten about the two guards posted at the bottom. The sight of them shocked you stiff-still. Your fingers curl into the fine brocade of his black cloak, pulling him flush to the wall. “Wait!” you hiss, voice nearly lost in his many layers.

“What? Did you leave something behind?”

“We can’t be seen sneaking around together!” you insist, and are immediately incensed at the eyeroll he gives you.

“And why would that be? Too ashamed to be seen with a charlatan like myself?” he drawls, yet takes you in closer. There’s a mean glint in his eyes, something decidedly wicked as his breath ghosts over your cheek, teasing your ear.

“Of course not!” you protest, eyes wide, cheeks got. How could you have misspoken so terribly? The last thing you wanted was to make him feel judged for the life he led, for the methods he employed in his occupation.  “It’s you I’m worried about. What’ll people say if they saw you consorting with the Mad Witch of the Wend? No one would… would…” You draw a trembling hand over his chest, feeling the cool silk under your fingertips.

“You’re worried about my image? How darling.” Yuri coos, clearly disregarding the seriousness of the situation. People talk, servants talk, guards talk. If you two were to be seen on a random, midnight rendezvous, then word would surely get back to the capital, where plenty of available, valuable bachelorettes could hear.

“Of course I am. You could still marry someone nice and rich from the capital. Someone connected…” you reason. You blink your bleary eyes attempting to clear the blur that sticks to your periphery like stubborn burrs. The world at its edges is opaque and slow as melting candle wax. This is precisely why you typically abstain from the absinthe and fine brandies which tradesmen plod through the outpost. It makes your head dull and your words impossible to find.

“Hm. No. I don’t think I will. Noble life never agreed with me.” Yuri gives your cheek a consoling pat. You get the feeling that he is still, for some reason, very amused. Which is preferable to him being offended, or hurt. You don’t mind him laughing at you, you think, not when genuine mirth flatters him so. “If I’m going to make a difference, it’s not going to be with someone else’s spending money.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He tugs you past the posted guards, ushering you within the hollow halls of the outpost. Torches positioned on the wall shed gentle light up and down the small tunnel. You break beyond the thick walls which surround the inner manor—a proud, brutal building that sits a hybrid between the harsh stone architecture meant to shield from the cold and the slender, elegant cathedrals and house manors found en masse within the capital.

“I know.” Yuri shoots you a conspiratorial, knowing look. His thumb rubs gentle circles into your side. You can feel his touch through the two layers you have on, his arm having scooped beneath your outer cloak with dangerous efficiency. “The fact that you still think I could find some nice, doe-eyed girl from the upper crust to fall in love with is adorable, but I’m not interested in all that.” 

He pulls you through the inner sanctum with a self-assuredness that would make you think he owned the place. His strides are slow. His voice keeps his strides slow and his voice quiet, sticking to the walls and where the shadow sinks the deepest. His cape swishes and billows around you, keeps you shielded from prying gazes of glancing guardsmen. Every step he takes is quixotically quiet despite his heels.

“I just want you to be happy. With someone nice. Who can help you make your dreams come true.” 

He scoffs. “Ugh. When did you become such a ham?” you shove him again, and he laughs. “If you must know, I’ve already found the person I want to spend the rest of my days with.” He herds you to a nondescript wooden door, jamming a key into the lock before thrusting it open. The room is deathly dark, the only light slipping in silvery through a slit in the curtains. 

Incredulous and wide-eyed, you gape at him as he draws you inside, wondering if you had heard him properly. While he engaged with a number of brief romances and paramours, he never seemed entirely beholden to the idea of a permanent entanglement. Which you will not judge him for. Only members of the nobility prioritize marriage so persistently, all too eager to shuttle off their children to new, unloving homes for the sake of power. You can’t imagine Yuri buying into such a sham—even if the court’s coffers could fund his ambitions.

“You are? Who is it?” you finally muster up the gumption to ask. There’s a strange, cold feeling at the pit of your stomach. Burgeoning dread you cannot make heads or tails of.

“Worried they’ll steal me away?” Yuri says with a fond smile. He looks at you while he lights the bedside lamp. He does it with magic, you realize, catching the tail end of his somatic gesture, pointer finger aimed straight at the lamp in question, thumb quirked skyward. You’ve seen him do it a few times before in battle, spells interwoven with fast footwork and flashes of forged steel from underneath his half fastened cloak.  “You don’t need to worry your pretty head about all that—but you’ll be relieved to know that they live nearby. Very nearby, in fact.” He said, voice slowing to emphasize a point you don’t quite comprehend.

He unlatches the clasps on his cloak, gently dropping it over a nearby wooden chair. He smooths his hands over the back of it before he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. If you were perhaps a shred more sober, you would have immediately looked away. But you watch as he deftly sheds the silken garment, exposing planes of leam, pale flesh to the slight candlelight. 

He clears his throat, with a knowing smirk. You pointedly snap your gaze downwards, pretending to find sudden interest in the floorboards. They seem to glow a soft, warm brown, aged polish scuffed and scratched with the wear of time.

Hastily, you follow his example, casting off your outermost layers with great haste. It’s second nature to shift down to your undergarments at this point. Despite his teasing, you’re comfortable with Yuri. Word of his cunning and cut-throated customs is rife in both the underbelly and upper crust of Faerghus, but none of the gossip mongers who gab on about him actually know him. 

Years spent at his side have let you understand exactly the kind of man he is. Which is also why you know he would never be interested in someone like you. You’re something broken, something bent, misshapen by the malicious hands which made you. The idea of being coveted, of being loved strikes within you an uneasy feeling of wrongness. 

Ah, but you’re sure he’s still waiting for an answer…

“Yuri…” you begin. You don’t quite remember what you had been discussing, you realize with a strong swing of dismay. Yuri, blessed with an unfathomable amount of kindness, is quick to remind you.

“What? Does the honored Marquis truly want to know the sordid details of my sex life? How scandalous!” he exclaims. You guffaw, dropping onto the mattress face-first, still in your boots and trousers.

“I just wanna make sure you’re with someone good.” you mumble, pressing your face into the pillow. It’s cool, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you burrow further into the cushions. The entire bed smells like him, and if you were possessed of but an ounce more of sobriety you would be too abashed to savor it. 

“Again. Adorable. But you should really watch out for yourself,” he hums. His footsteps trail away from the bed, and you’re about to look over your shoulder when his hand wraps around your ankle and tugs, urging you onto your back. “I’m surprised you don’t have a line of suitors breaking down your doors everyday…” His fingers run down your clothed leg, to the leather and latches of your boots. You watch the graceful weave of his fingers as he slides them off, one after the other. He’s taken off his gloves, allowing you to just barely feel the fleeting warmth of his hands as they briefly swipe over your skin.  “Though, I suppose I should be grateful.”

“That I’m gonna be lonely forever?” you grumble, turning onto your side. 

“That I don’t have any background checks to do.” Yuri says, further away this time. You glance over your shoulder to where he’s gently dropping your boots near the door. So much care and compassion for something so small. 

“Oh… Does that mean I can ba…background check the person you like?” you ask, and he smiles. 

“Of course,” he says. His fingers weave through his long lilac locks, handily undoing his hair tie. He drops it on the nightstand before slipping underneath the sheets to settle beside you. “I have full confidence in your investigative skills, and you’ll quite like the person I chose.”

“That’s because you have good taste,” you mumble, eyes slipping shut. You wait a moment, and then two, and then three before opening one eye to peer at him. “Can I get a hint?”

“Again, don’t worry about it. At least, not right now. I’ll talk your ear off about it tomorrow, okay?” he says, consoling. His hand runs over your hair, fingers sliding down your neck. A flush of heat rolls through your spine, so silken and sanguine that you can’t suppress a shudder. You retreat to the cool comfort of your pillow, letting his touch sap the tension from your sore muscles. “When you have a better chance of actually remembering what I say.” The meat of his palm presses against your upper back. His heated touch saps the remaining tension from your body, soothing you enough to slip into the beginning phases of sleep.

“...Fine.” you huff, but there’s no real bite behind it. It’s half muffled into the pillowcase. You know Yuri likes being a man of his word, but he’s also a man in demand. There’s no telling if one of his gang members will burst through his door and announce a sudden tragedy that demands his attention. There’s no telling if he’ll be gone in the morning, a note left in his place written in that familiar, tidy cursive.

His roaming touch wanders upwards, warm fingers spanning across the nape of your neck. His thumb rubs soft circles into the skin together, and the touch alone would keep you awake if not for the alcohol muddling your system.

“And I’ll be here when you wake up,” he continues, as if sensing your apprehension. “You have my word on that.”

[probablyasocialecologist]

There have been numerous individual reports, just in this war, of children, mothers and grandmothers being randomly sniped by Israeli soldiers. There are the stories of Palestinians sniped, or executed on the spot in front of their children, having waved the white flag of surrender. There is the story of dozens of Palestinians found in plastic bags near a school in northern Gaza, having been killed execution-style, blindfolded, with their legs and hands tied. There is the story of Hind Rajab, the six year old girl in Gaza City who was stuck in a car with her dead family after they were killed by Israeli fire. And who was murdered along with the Red Crescent crew who came, having coordinated safe passage with the Israeli military, after she called them begging for help. The scale at which children are being killed cannot be an accident. Children reportedly make up 12,300 (or 41%) of the estimated 30,000 Gazans killed during Operation Swords of Iron, far beyond anything seen in Afghanistan, Syria, Ukraine, Iraq or Yemen, even discounting for the relatively young median age in Gaza. Even the raw numbers of children killed, in a few months in a small population, far exceed the numbers killed over five years of war in Syria, eight years of war in Yemen, eleven years of war in Afghanistan, and fifteen years of war in Iraq. One does not merely stumble upon such outcomes. They are the overt expressions of an overt calculus of a culture which holds that there are “no innocents in Gaza”, that Palestinians are from the age of four up brainwashed “terrorists” who have “brought this upon themselves”. What else is the ideological function of the stories circulating in rightist Israeli media, asserting that Gazan children as young as ten joined in the 7th October attack? Isn’t there something uncanny about the idea of a child that is also a mass murderer? Something that is, as David Livingstone Smith observes of the racialised enemy in Making Monsters, both subhuman and superhuman? And what contrasting model of childhood is implied in the decision of Israeli television channel, Kan, to have Israeli children to sing a ‘Friendship Song’ about the “annihilation” of Gaza? The soldiers have been granted, and have availed themselves of, extreme license for lubricious blood-letting. Here is the macabresque, as Edward Weisband defines it, where the cruelty has a deliberate and gratuitous theatricality belying its strategic rationales. Something is being staged here at the junction between what Weisband calls “disordered perpetrator desire”, “supererogatory moralism” and “a perverted sense of heroism”. The elaborate performativity of the sadism is at least suggested by the extraordinary rate at which soldiers post evidence of their war crimes to TikTok, along with various bizarre ‘skits’: soldiers playing in an empty playground for example, or staging a mock maths class in a deserted Gaza schoolroom. The joke in each case being the haunting absence of children. Who is the audience for this elaborately performative sadism? Recall the spectacle of Israelis setting up chairs on the hillsides of southern Israel to watch the bombing of Gaza during Operation Protective Edge in 2014. Recall the far-right dancing in the streets, to wild cries of “There are no children left in Gaza … Gaza is a cemetery!” War is a national festival and, while forms of indirect physical participation such as signing messages on bombs or raving to block aid to Gaza are still possible, the carnival can now be enjoyed through the medium of likes and laugh emojis, as with the gory ‘72 Virgins’ Telegram channel, which the IDF now admits is its own doing. But there is also the opportunity to troll, to trigger the libs: you care about these subhuman monsters, well let us show you what we do with them. You are anxious, we are having the time of our lives.

[the-trinket-witch]

Let's go fly a kite during the:

It’s August! So that means school’s about to begin again in Night Raven College. But August seems to be a month of birthdays, between Ortho, Riddle, as well as one Albert Eastwind. But there’s word of an event off-campus many are going to before classes come back in session.

Altus is an island city just off the coast of the Shaftlands, but is considered a territory of the Queendom of Roses. Its location and geography make it a breezy place, perfect for steampunk-esque airships and the like. In fact the whole city seems rather Steampunkish. It’s one weekend in the middle of August, that’s almost like clockwork with how predictable the wind blows. Such a westwardly breeze is the perfect weather for Altus’s ‘Airborne Afternoon’. The weekend is quite the jolly holiday, celebrating the city’s pivotal contributions to all things that take flight. Kites soar in craftsmanship showcases and heated dogfights. Tricked out airships, balloons and other vehicles dot the upper atmosphere like daylight stars.

Albert has talked it up the whole year, and had somehow convinced Azul, Jade and Floyd to come along. Jade had been curious about Albert’s hometown and what the hiking was going to be like; apparently the tallest hill on the isle was the epicenter of the festivities. Azul claims that winning even just one competition might get his name in some of the locals’ mouths, maybe drum up a bit of prospective business down the line. Floyd…Floyd heard about some Kite fighting and wanted to smear the competition.

Locals as well have a more eccentric ‘competition’. Every year, a member of the community gets voted as someone who ‘Just Needs a Good Laugh’. Usually, it’s the crotchetiest of the crowd, the biggest Grump in town. With a measured tether tied to their waist, they down a potion of levitation. The catch: the potion only works when the person laughs. The competition is basically a ‘Speed Comedy’ act. The tether the ‘judge’ wears is the quantifying measurement for how good the acts are; the routine that brings the judge to the heights of laughter wins.

Anyone is welcome to join in! Maybe bring a friend or partner? What does your kite look like? Will it take to the skies for combat? Want to check out all the tricked out flying machines? Have a hilarious sketch routine or joke you want to try out? Rather not compete? There’s plenty of hillside to have a viewing picnic or peruse the stalls lining up the hill.

This is going to be NOT an AU thing, but a regular ‘canon’ event, but the town has steampunk flavoring so ppl can dress up if they want.

(RULES FOR ASKS)

-Can not be on anon, sorry.

-Use #TwstAirborneAfternoonEvent if you wanna make something on your own

-One (1) OC per ask, with at most a plus-one. Let me know what your character plans to do in Altus! Are they putting on something sort of steampunk to blend in or just something casual? Are they bringing a kite? Lemme see!

-Please link a reference to your OC so I can write and/or doodle something accurately!

-I’ll either be writing a drabble of varying length for each ask, OR making a doodle of the scenario (at my personal discretion)

-This event runs from Tue, Aug 1st to Fri. Aug 18. Submissions sent after the 18th will regrettably not be considered.

-If you wanna write or draw something yourself-Tag me if ya can! I wanna see and show other folks too!

Albert SSR Voicelines:

Summon: No need for anything fancy, just some paper and string.

Groovy: If you'd like, I can take you flying sometime.

Set home: Give me a moment, please, to ‘reel’ myself in.

Home Idle 1: I don’t normally dress up this much, but it’s a special occasion

2: Altus has this event each year. The competitions can get pretty heated sometimes!

3: My cousin claims he could win the Joke Contest, if he could only get through his routine without being close to tears laughing, himself.

Home login: Today’s a rather nice day to go kite flying.

Tap 1: Was there anywhere you wanted to go? A stall or sight?

2: It’s nice to be back home, it’s been so long I may have to dust a bit~

3: The kite dogfights can get quite heated, sometimes you have to wonder which end of the string to watch more.

4: Theres free admission in the city museum; it's inside that decommissioned dirigible, the N.A.S Admiral. We call it 'Old Admiral Boom'

5: Afterwards, do you want to grab any of the meat pies Altus is famous for?