#Hoops Desole

[thewidowstanton]

The Widow's Best of 2023

Jane Hobson 2023: Following such a desperate year for so many in the world this quotation by Nietzsche seems pertinent. "We have art in order not to die of the truth." So, in an effort to uplift whoever might read this, here's a somewhat curtailed list of a few of our favourite things we've seen this year. It wasn't the hottest time for live shows; we walked out of five! One every few years, maybe, but five! Disappointing. However we still managed to find some wonderful things, not all of them new. Let's begin with…

MOST SPECTACULAR: Phelim McDermott's Akhnaten at the London Coliseum. We'd been asked so many times: "Have you seen Akhnaten?" No, we hadn't but now we have and, OK, it's a Philip Glass opera (pictured above and below) but really, with a set by Tom Pye and costumes by Kevin Pollard it's a full-on feast for the senses, with the ever-inventive Gandini Juggling, choreographed by Sean Gandini, doing what they do best.

Jane Hobson BEST CIRCUS SHOW: Cirque Le Roux's thrilling and ambitious Entre Chiens et Louves – staged at Le Bon Marché department store in Paris (take note Selfridges) – took our breath away even without the sublime Lolita Costet in the cast; and Circa's Humans II at the Queen Elizabeth Hall at London's Southbank Centre.

COMPANY TO WATCH: Hoops Désolé! A “crazy” six-strong troupe of artists drawn from the circus school in Quebec, Cirque du Soleil and Cirque Éloize.

Emma Kauldhar BEST DANCE: Wayne McGregor’s Woolf Works at London’s Royal Opera House, with the mesmerising Alessandra Ferri, who at 59 was the same age as Virginia Woolf when she died. Another dancer with astonishing longevity is the Spanish Lucía Lacarra, now 48, who appeared in the Ballet Icons Gala at the London Coliseum.

BEST SHOWBIZ MEMOIR: Walking Through Walls by performance artist Marina Abramović; Do It For Your Mum by Roy Wilkinson, then manager of his brothers' band British Sea Power.

MOST TERRIFYING: He's done some daring things in his time and on World Circus Day Hungarian high-wire artist Laci Simet performed a sensational walk across the River Danube – 40 metres up in the wind – with only a balance pole to keep him safe.

BEST FILM: German film Afire or Roter Himmel by Christian Petzold (he’ll never let you down); Babak Jalali’s Fremont, set in a fortune cookie factory; and the Mexican film The Empty Hours directed by Aarón Fernández.

BEST ARCHIVE PIC: Josephine Baker and Dalida at L’Olympia music hall in Paris in 1968. A legendary pair!

LONGEST-SERVING FEMALE DJ: Texan Mary McCoy, who at 85 has been on the air for almost 72 years, and entered the Guinness Book of Records.

BEST DESERT ISLAND DISCS CASTAWAY: Actor/comedian/writer and so on, Adrian Edmondson; snooker star Ronnie O’Sullivan.

MOST INSPIRING: The Maricarmen dance school in Chorrillos, south of Lima, in Peru, run by retired dancer Maria del Carmen Silva, offers free classes to girls of all abilities from low-income areas.

BEST DOCUMENTARY: Never Be a Punching Bag for Nobody by indie rock musician Naomi Yang; My Indiana Muse, in which artist Robert Townsend discovers his Kodachrome muse, Helen.

FOND FAREWELL: Actor David McCallum, who, as The Man from U.N.C.L.E.’s Illya Kuryakin was an enduring heartthrob for a certain generation of girls and women. Closer to home the UK lost its leading circus director, Phillip Gandey (above), at 67, whose shows – including Cirque Surreal, The Chinese State Circus and The Lady Boys of Bangkok – were always far and away the most creative and exciting; and The Circus of Horrors – a show I reviewed more times than any other, except perhaps Cirque du Soleil – lost its co-creator and frontman, Doktor Haze (below) at 66. Along with Gerry Cottle, they were notable as two of the nicest circus men I met during my reviewing years, and are greatly missed.

LAST WORD: It wouldn't be a Widow Stanton 'Best of' without some showgirls. This picture was taken by the Argentinian photographer Luisita Escarria, who with her sister Chela, documented all the artists appearing in revues in Buenos Aires from 1958 to 2009. Their story and wondrous archive might have been lost had it not been rescued by filmmakers Sol Miraglia and Hugo Manso. Their documentary Foto Estudio Luisita will warm your heart… and fortunately both the sisters lived long enough to see it.

Compiled by Liz Arratoon

[cl0wnb0yyy]

the chosen ones

image id:

a drawing of jonathan sims, gerry keay, and agnes montague arranged in three points around a circle. they are drawn from mid torso up.

jonathan sims is a brown skinned man with several round scars all over his skin and a scar across his throat. jon has his large brown eyes open with a green highlight inside the iris. jons got long and thick kinky hair that is a darkish brown with grey streaked through, he has a mustache that matches these colours. jon is wearing a purple sweater and has a red hair clip displayed on the right side of his hair. jon has medium sized gauges in his visible ear.

gerry keay is a fair skinned man with eye tattoos on his arms and one on his neck. around these tattoos is a burn scar that covers his arms up to the mid point of his neck. he has one dark blue eye open with a paler blue highlight in the iris. gerry has stubble on his top lip and dotted on his jaw. adorning his face is two lip rings, a septum piercing, a bridge piercing, eyebrow, large gauges, and two cartilage ear piercings. gerry has half of his head buzzed showing his natural blond, this blond is also seen on the other side of his head where the roots are visible before falling in long black hair. he is wearing a black singlet with the faint showings of his breasts in the wide ripped arm holes.

agnes montague is a woman with pinkish white skin and red straight hair, her eyes are completely closed. her skin is speckled with many freckles along her face and visible chest. the trace of a unibrow is present. agnes is wearing a cream button up with a wide collar, exposing cleavage, as well as the faint hint of high waisted brown pants. she has a necklace and single hoop earring visible.

in the circle behind these three are a series of symbols reminiscent of aspects of the entities end, desolation, and the eye. between jon and agnes are small drawings of: an eye, a camera, a tape recorder (these are repeated three times), a burning picture, a fire, and a candle (these are also repeated three times). between agnes and gerry there are: a candle, a fire, a burning picture, a ribcage with a heart behind, a book, and a skull. between gerry and jon is: a skull, a book, a ribcage with a heart behind (these three are repeated three times), a tape recorder, a camera, an eye (these are also repeated three times).

the background is purple and black.

end id.

[tiniedemon]

. . .

janitor’s closet

kenny mccormick / reader

you really didn’t want to be in class. you were so sick and tired of your math teacher’s bullshit, and the harassment from all the kids in your class. and based on the fact that you’d gotten into a fight with your mom that morning and you were running off four hours of sleep, you were definitely not going.

so you decided to go to your favorite place in the entire school: the janitors closet. it was a quiet, secluded room in a relatively desolate wing of the school. you spent most of your friday afternoons after lunch posted up in the janitor’s closet, vape or blunt between your lips, a cartoon playing on your phone.

you flung the door open, then locked it behind you, heaving a sigh as your forehead rested against the back of the door. the smell of weed burning invaded your nostrils, a smile creeping onto your tired face, your shoulders losing their tension. weed smoke meant kenny, and kenny meant nap time.

“hey, y/n,” kenny greeted softly, a tired lilt to his voice. you turned on your heel, slumping into the seat beside him. you’d somehow managed to sneak two lounge chairs into the closet, which was really just a large closet with nothing but a desk and a small cabinet of cleaning supplies. it worked out perfectly, in all honesty. the desk was great for an ash tray to sit, and the chairs were incredibly comfortable for thrift store furniture.

“hey, ken,” you hummed, outstretching two fingers as you let your eyes closed. you felt kenny deposit his joint between them, your lungs burning as you took a long hit, followed by another, and another.

“woah, honey. slow your pace a little,” kenny chuckled, swiping the joint very carefully from your hand. you puffed a sigh, followed by a tired chuckle, fingers massaging your temples.

“i appreciate you looking out for me,” you mumbled. kenny was silent for a moment, before sighing and settling himself on the arm of your chair. you looked up at him through your lashes, a weak smile on your face.

“i will always look out for you, y/n,” he spoke softly, a serious hardness to his face that you’d never seen before. his eyes shone with fondness, yet his jaw and body were squared, showing the somber seriousness of his statement. your stomach was alight with butterflies, a flush finding your cheeks, as you avoided eye contact with the blonde lingering beside you. the weed was starting to hit, too, only adding to the anxious fluttering of your stomach.

“can i vent for a second?” you practically whispered, kenny depositing the joint between his lips as he rearranged his body back into his own chair. you chuckled, watching him struggle to angle it to face you, a crease between his pierced eyebrows.

kenny truly was a beautiful man. his blonde hair, shaped haphazardly into an overgrown mullet, hung in his tanned face. his nose was pierced in three places, a stud in one nostril, a black metal hoop in the other, and an elaborate ring hanging from his septum, and his bottom lip held a shimmering vertical labret piece. both of his ears were pierced in multiple places, accented by an industrial bar through the left. he wore black eyeliner in his waterline, his right eyebrow slit and both pierced.

he always wore some sort of black outfit, todays choice being a faded band tee that engulfed his body and a pair of ripped jeans. he wore the same beat up converse he usually did, the sunflower he’d painted on the side beginning to chip with time. a few stick and poke tattoos littered his arms, a professional piece peaking out from his left sleeve.

you were caught staring, cheeks turning red as kenny’s eyes jumped up to meet yours. you glanced back for a split second, long enough to find a giddy smile on his blushing face.

“alright, spill,” he finally said, legs drawn up to hang over the side of his chair, his body angled to face you against the opposite arm. you took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh.

“i got into a fight with my mom this morning. she’s stressed about bills and shit, but it’s not like i’m not helping. i work my ass off after school trying to help out, but it’s like i’m not doing enough because i can’t work during the day. i’m not dropping out of school to take care of her bum ass,” you ranted, pausing, a sigh leaving your lips again. “and i have a thing for this guy, and i can’t tell how he feels about me. like, one minute he’s flirting, and the next i’m just a bro. he’s always taking care of me, helping me out, but i don’t know if he’s doing it because he likes me or because i’m a good friend.”

kenny took a minute to mull over your words, the end of his vape lighting up as he took a long drag from it. he exhaled, a large cloud exiting through his nose, a thoughtful expression on his face. then he spoke, his voice delicate and pensive.

“i can imagine how frustrating the mom situation can be. i’ve been emancipated from my parents for the same reason. maybe you could look into it, and i can offer up my place to you. it’s a shitty place, in all honesty, but it’s home, and the bedroom is huge so we can easily squeeze another bed in there for you. as for the guy, why not be straightforward? maybe he just doesn’t know how you feel about him. guys are pretty fucking stupid.”

“i would do that, except i’m scared. like, what if i read it all wrong from the start and he’s not actually into me? that would be so embarrassing,” responded, words morphing into a groan at the end. kenny chuckled, ashing his joint against the concrete floor.

“sweetheart, i promise, if he’s anything like what you just described to me, he’s not going to embarrass you. just confess to him, and if he doesn’t like you back, come tell me so i can beat his ass,” kenny spoke with a chuckle. you groaned, throwing your head back, hands dragging down your face.

“kenny, you’re so fucking stupid. how are you gonna beat your own ass?” you laughed, then froze completely. you’d accidentally just outed yourself. kenny was silent, the air heavy and tense.

“you’re the fucking stupid one, dude,” kenny finally spoke, a smile evident in his voice. “i’ve been hitting on you for, like, two years now. i was starting to think you just didn’t have brain cells or something.”

you scoffed, lifting up your head to stare daggers at him, a frown on your face. “i don’t have brain cells? kenny, i asked for your fucking number after one conversation. and the first text you sent was ‘hey bro!’ how the fuck am i supposed to take that in a flirty context?”

“that’s nothing compared to when i tried to kiss you at tolkien’s party and you thought i was trying to tell you a secret,” kenny drawled, raising an eyebrow. “or when i tried to hug you after i walked you to class and you thought i was trying to make a secret handshake.”

you flushed, an upset twist to your lips. you really were a fucking dumbass, as you were realizing now. “okay but i told you that i thought you were super hot and you threw up on my shoes. if that’s not disgust then what is it?”

“i was on acid, dumbass, having a bad trip. your face was melting. what the fuck else was i supposed to do, cry? i tried to ask you out that one time and you invited stan. how about that?”

“i would’ve preferred that, actually. and i thought you wanted to hang out with friends. in my defense, you said ‘hang out’ and not ‘date,’ so it’s not my fault. let’s just agree to disagree, we’re both stupid fucks.”

kenny chuckled, a smile on his face, your own mirroring his. he finally extinguished the joint he’d been nursing for fifteen minutes, sinking back into his seat once it was no longer smoking. you admired him from across the room, appreciating the halo of light reflecting in his blonde hair and the loving sparkle in his eyes.

“i’ll agree to disagree if you go on a date with me, no friends invited,” he spoke in return, a goofy smile on his face. you pretended to think it over, butterflies swarming in your stomach, smile so big it hurt your cheeks.

“i’ll go on a date with you if you let me hit your vape. mine died.”

“you’re fucking kidding me, bro.”

“see? this is the shit i’m talking about kenny! are we dating as friends or as people with feelings?”

“i’m literally going to fucking lose it.”

[nagasaki-division]

Anaia Mitsuzume

"Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory" -- Dr. Seuss

Etymology

Anaia is Hebrew for "God's answers"

Mitsuzume means "light" (光) (mitsu) and "claw" (爪) (zume)

Character Information

Japanese: 光爪 アナヤ

Romaji: Mitsuzume Anaia

MC Name: Xtasea

Gender: female

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 20

Birthday: August 7

Star sign: Leo

Blood type: AB

Occupation: heiress, university student

Division: Nagasaki

Team: Desolate Paradise

Height: 168 cm (5’6)

Weight: 65 kg (143 lb.)

Hair color: denim teal + crystal tinsels

Eye color: spring green

V/A: Kaori Ishihara

Rap voice: Kurokumo

Face claim: Lisa Manoban

Appearance

Anaia is a girl of Japanese and Middle-Eastern descent. She is of above average height with glowing bronze skin, and spring-green doe eyes. She styles her hair in one long messy braid that reach to her knees, adorned with glittering tinsels intertwined into the braid, with a string of large south sea pearls atop her crown.

She is often seen wearing a cropped white lace-up corset with puffy balloon sleeves, paired with light sapphire colored cargo pants and golden sandals with gold chains acting as the straps. She finishes her look with several gold rings, chain necklaces, a gold chain around her skin waist, and her signature gold locket and hoop earrings—the locket being the first gift she ever received from her mother.

Personality

Anaia is a vibrant girl with high energy who firmly believes in the law of attraction, that she truly deserves everything she desires because she is genuine, humble, and full of gratitude. Although she grew up with a silver spoon, she is far from pretentious and enjoys being an active member of her community.

She is very down-to-earth and adventurous with a childlike eagerness to explore the world. Her personal mantra is, "womanifest"/"womanifestation" as it is her take on the concept of manifesting in regards to female empowerment. Her signature catchphrase is, “Wait—actually?”

Ability

Her rap ability is: Walk the Plank. It is unknown for now as to what this ability can do.

Trivia

Anaia is left-handed.

She likes the ocean, mythology, and interior design while she dislikes injustice and seeing people suffering.

Her favorite food is loco moco and musubi while her least favorite foods is corn.

She runs her own jewelry store called “Mermaid Fantasea” as a means to be independent from her parents’ respective businesses.

She is directionally challenged and has a hard time finding her way around. The person she asks for help is often the youngest member, Atlas.

She learned to sing while learning to play the piano. Often times when she performs on stage, she belly dances with her tambourine. She has mastery of both instruments.

[niki-phoria]

Hiii I love reading your enha reaction! I was wondering if you could do one with heeseung x late night basketball date, pronouns he/him :)

pairing: heeseung x student!male reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 710

includes: established relationship, reader is stressed about school, idk anything about basketball so i skipped over the actual game part lol i hope that's okay

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i hope you like it :))

feedback is always appreciated <33

your shoulders and back ache; an unfortunate side effect of spending hours hunched over your computer. your fingers momentarily pause your incessant typing when you hear your bedroom door creek open before you return your attention to the incomplete essay on your opened computer screen. 

heeseung lets out a quiet sigh to himself, his eyebrows furrowing slightly at the sight of you. your disheveled hair falls into your tired eyes. your lips remain fixated downwards in a small frown. he can nearly see how much tension you hold in your muscles underneath the thin t-shirt you had stolen from him to sleep in the night before. 

“jagi,” his voice is soft as he carefully approaches from behind you. despite hearing him enter the room, you still jump at his gentle hand placed against your shoulder. heeseung’s frown only deepens at your jumpiness. “come on. it’s been hours. you need to take a break.”

you briefly glance up at him before you turn back to your essay. “i can’t,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “i need to finish this.”

“y/n,” heeseung sighs. he places both of his hands against your shoulders, slowly beginning to gently massage your muscles. you can’t help the way your eyes flutter closed in relief. you find yourself leaning back into his touch, a soft sigh of your own escaping you.

heeseung leans down to press a kiss against the exposed skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. his affection has always flustered you. “there’s a basketball court around the block,” he says as he carefully begins to pull your hands away from your computer. he shuts the device before tugging your chair back far enough away from your desk to stand up. “let’s go play a few rounds.”

“okay,” you nod as you finally relent. heeseung softly smiles, intertwining your hands together as he guides you to your feet to stand up. 

he reaches over, hand ghosting against your waist as he pulls you out of his bedroom. heeseung’s shirt hangs loosely from your shoulders. he quickly shrugs his hoodie off before tugging it over your head. “what?” he teases. “my clothes look nice on you.”

“you always say that.” 

“and i always mean it.” you playfully roll your eyes at him as you tug on a pair of sneakers as heeseung grabs a basketball you’re sure belongs to his brother. “ready?”

you hum as heeseung’s arm finds its familiar home around your waist, the ball tucked perfectly against his side with his other arm. 

a comfortable silence falls between you as you walk in sync out of the apartment building until you reach the desolate namyangju streets. the sun is just about to set, casting the sky in a beautiful golden glow. hues of light pink and purple decorate the sky above you. 

heeseung dribbles the basketball against the cracked concrete sidewalk as you make your way around the block until you reach a small park next to a nearby neighbourhood. A lonely basketball hoop sits at the edge of a concrete slab in a grassy area.

“y/n,” heeseung calls as he passes the ball to you. you catch it easily before tossing it into the hoop above, watching as it passes straight through the net below. 

heeseung smiles as he catches the ball once again, passing it back to you. you can’t help the way your lips quirk into a small smile as he playfully dribbles the ball towards you. “come on, y/n,” he teases. “five points. one game.”

“don’t test your luck hee,” you smile, stepping closer to him. “you know you can’t beat me.”

“we’ll see.”

“yes!” you cheer as the ball falls through the net once again, signaling the end of the game and yet another point for you. heeseung laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close so your back is pressed against his chest. “i told you,” you tease, pushing a strand of his hair back into place. “you never stood a chance.”

heeseung smiles brightly as he playfully shakes his head. you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in to pull him into a sweet kiss. “thank you, hee,” you whisper. “i needed this.”

“anything for you, love.”

[spoiledblogif]

Does Mc know how to drive?

They do, yes. This actually comes up in Chapter 3 and what the hell I'll give an excerpt to explain:

“Have you ever been driving and then suddenly find yourself reliving the memory of a mother getting smeared across the pavement because some asshole ran a stop sign while she was out for her evening jog? Because I’m going to guess not.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” R sighs.

You shrug. “It’s not all bad. The accident was originally a hit and run. It was some desolate back road so there weren’t any traffic cameras or witnesses. But I saw the license plate. It took a lot of lying and jumping through hoops, but Carter eventually found the guy."

[strangeoctober]

Hrolfa and the Chimera

There once was a town named Vaerdifell, as cursed as place as there ever was. It’s cattle were sickly and thin, the tools of it’s workers would rust and crack, it’s desolate fields offered only the most meagre crops, and it’s starving children shivered under dripping roofs.

It’s chief, a gilded man surrounded by thanes armed with fine steel weapons, called upon Hrolfa Hrolfsdottir to save the town. “Please, champion,” bid the chief, “My people grow so hungry, so desperate, that I am forced to hang thieves to keep order. I beg of you, slay the source of this curse, the dread chimera Galmothir!”

A hundred champions had come before and found only death. But Hrolfa swore to see the curse ended. She asked only for the chief’s plumpest lamb, his strongest rope, and his first thane’s fine steel axe.

On the next morn the dread chimera Galmothir, swept through the deep, dark woods around Vaerdifell, searching for a meal. When it spotted a plump lamb standing alone in a clearing, it did not hesitate to dive. But a mere moment before it’s jaws closed upon the little creature, Hrolfa dropped suddenly from the treetop, pulling upon a long rope and drawing up a great net to entangle the dread chimera!

Galmothir roared with rage and clawed at the net, but Hrolfa swung back and forth, tying rope and casting hoops with every movement. She bound the dragon head up, such that it’s licking flames caught only air. She tied the goat head’s horns to a thick tree, such that it could not move to smite. She jammed the lion head’s jaws open with a log and bound the snake head closed with a tight knot.

As she stood over Galmothir, keen axe in hand, preparing the killing blow, the great beast bellowed, “You have bested me, Hrolfa Hrolfsdottir, but my death will avail you nought! It is not by my hand that Vaerdifell is cursed, but by avarice and vanity!”

Hrolfa stayed her hand as she saw the truth in the dread chimera’s words. She freed the beast and by dusk she rode upon Galmothir in an assault upon the chief’s hall! They burned the callous thanes and ate the greedy chief whole, golden chains and all! And then, together, they tore the roof from his hall and revealed his hoard of stolen coin to all and sundry!

With that coin, the cattle were fed, the fields were sown, the workers got strong tools, the homes were mended, and the children given warm clothes. Vaerdifell was cursed no longer.

I was invited to write this piece for a friend of mine who has been working on a new LARP character. One of their character traits is that they carry around legends of their ancestor and it sounded like a fun thing to try my hand at!

It was, however, a little challenging as I was working under the constraint that the piece must fit a single A5 sheet for logistical reasons. And as anyone who knows me could tell you, I like my prose purple! But it was a good creative exercise, forcing me to be economical with my words to create a complete, compelling, and condensed tale.

Honestly, I think the succinct style works pretty well for the feel I was going for. A lot of these old folk legends tend to be light on the details and context to allow the storyteller to flesh things out as needed.

[veiilathiinks]

full interview for animales con patas v (english version)

full interview for animales con patas v (english version)

originally published on patreon, dec 13, 2024

interview with veiila / animales con patas v ́zine #5

the following interview was conducted in january 2024 and published in the printed version of animales con patas 'zine#5 in september 2024. the printed 64 pages magazine (in spanish) is available for order here.

- greetings, vif and bes, and thank you for taking the time out for this interview with me. first of all congratulations on the new release, “sentimental craving for beauty”. there's an inherent sense of desolation and sadness that is quite obvious in your music, among other nice factors. your songs are full of contrast like life itself: melancholy, pain, anger, joy, dark.... what was your state of mind like while composing your songs? is veiila your way to deal with these feelings? is this a kind of catharsis or has nothing to do with it? didn ́t your soul and heart hurt when you write them?

vif: thanks jose. it was a hard time for us. there was no way to cope with reality anymore and out of this entrapment the album appeared. i think we wanted to capture this pain in its raw state and try to transform it into something beautiful. bring it to a place where beauty has all the meaning in the world and you can look upon it and find something that will help you to go on with your life. definitely, the process of making this album helped us to cope with some of the depressions we had... anyway, music for us was never a place where we just played the instruments or exercised the vocal cords; it has always been something bigger for us. a place where we can be free and open to the extreme. essentially a place where we can find beauty.

bes: by the way, this is an interesting touch, how you list desolation and sadness as “nice” factors. from this statement alone i can say that we're on the same wavelength. i think all art comes as the artist's way of dealing with life (at least art as we see it), so yes, this album for sure was a catharsis in many ways. we never felt adjusted to reality, but in the last several years reality took new, completely absurd shapes and the maladjustment on our part became tenfold more acute. of course it is no secret that these songs are full of pain. i can only hope that this road of pain at least had some destination, that we managed to work out some of those feelings and turn them into something beautiful, as this was always our goal and our striving: to convert pain into beauty. whether we achieve it or not, it is not for us to judge, but for my part i can say that both the process and the result had sense. call it a therapy, a search for enlightenment or an existential journey...

- you had composed some songs that in the end i think you didn't record for this second album, is that right? how do you feel you evolved artistically with your recent songs? i also wanted to ask about another thing, so actually what were these changes that you introduced and how influenced these changes with the songs?

bes: we have quite a few songs that didn't make it into the album and a lot of those songs that are in the album were actually completely re-written and re-recorded during the process. we sort of had the idea of this album for a long time and at some point we even considered it ready, but life was throwing stones at us at the moment, making us jump through hoops, so to speak, and i think it gave us the opportunity to take a step back and detach ourselves from our work for a while. and when we had a more peaceful time, when we could sit back and reflect, it just turned out that we could no longer associate with what we heard in that version of the album. i look at it now, in the retrospective, and i think we grew artistically, emotionally and intellectually during this time (not a modest thing to say, but i hope it won't come out as blatant show off). what i mean is: we went through a phase of change and also a rectification. we rectified our aspirations, our artistic goals and we came back to square one, but in a purer shape. if 18 months ago we still felt some anxious urge to say something socially relevant, later on we came back to the idea of “art for art's sake”. that is: we realized that we just wanted to express our souls in the most basic way, by conveying the human feelings that we felt, not reflecting on social events or the state of the world. what i'm trying to say is this: when the outside world (which we always tried to ignore, to be honest) swept us away, we lost the ability to ignore it for a while, but i am proud to say that we didn't succumb to writing slogans or commenting on the news reports and in the end we pulled ourselves out, took a step aside and just wrote music. i see it as personal growth.

also on the technical side of things (and i think it has the same philosophical undertone of detachment from the “real” world) we reconsidered many things. with this album we focused more on the music (melodies and harmonies), rather than production and sound-design. this is also something that was therapeutic in effect, as we reverted to a more natural way of composing music, oldschool in some way, with less post-production and more actual musicianship. and i hope we'll explore this path further on, because it was very rewarding.

vif: i think we evolved drastically with this album. not in the least because we approached songs in a new and different way. but the most important thing, i think, was that we were able to dissolve in the process and get the best that we had inside of us at the moment. and by the best i mean the strongest feelings and emotions.

- does a sunny day inspire you to create music? are there more gray days than blue days? what motivates you to continue composing?

vif: any day is good for creating music. i don't think that there's ever a question of should i create or not. it's always out there on the table. another question: do i have the motivation to get out of bed or not? if i do, i know what to do, i don't need to wait for inspiration. it's always around in this or that shape.

bes: honestly a sunny day inspires mostly to take a hike. i guess i am more inclined to be inspired by clouds, fog and rain. but i don't think it's a determining factor. it's a hard question to ask, what really motivates us. i think this is just something that is as natural for us as breathing or sleeping. if we can't devote enough time to music for this or that reason – this is when we feel wrong.

- often i ask musicians about the music they listen to and many times they don’t listen to the genre they play. are you among them? could you tell me about the musical education of people involved in veiila and their background, by the way?

vif: i listen to different genres of music. if music moves me – it's all i need. so it isn't really that important what genre it is.

we are self made musicians. my creative path started with writing poetry and trying some melodies on the old piano that we had in the house. when we met with bes, this was, essentially, the moment of understanding what i wanted to be, and in what direction i wanted to move.

bes: i'm not entirely sure i know what our genre is, this is always a tricky thing to figure out, but i think it's safe to say that what we listen to finds reflection in what we write. we love many different artists in many different genres, from electronica, to jazz, to rock, to classical, and honestly genre is irrelevant. what's important is the feeling and whether the songs speak to you personally.

as for our background, it's actually funny, now when i think about it, that long time ago, back when we only met each other and started our first band, vif played the piano and i played guitar, and now the roles are reversed. but none of us formally studied piano, guitar, production or sound-engineering for that matter. we are strong believers and advocates for self-education.

- the title of “sentimental craving for beauty” is taken from galsworthy's forsyte saga. that trilogy is a magnificent portrait of english society in the last third of the 19th century. what’s so special about this literary work for you? are you guys influenced by poetry, painting or movies?

vif: it is a great trilogy written in a beautiful language. i remember showing some lines out of this book to bes and this line in particular stuck with us for years until the glorious moment came when we were ready to merge those beautiful feelings that these words recalled with our music and to create something new. i think we gravitate to anything beautiful. be it poetry, movies, paintings... i don't think i can live a day without something inspirational of this or that kind. you know, as sensitive souls we need a good bubble to survive in this unfriendly environment which is real life.

bes: honestly it's a line that means something personal for us. even though vif picked it up from this book, the title of the album is self-contained and i would steer away from connecting it to the forsyte saga in any conceptual way. not that there is anything wrong about galsworthy or his work of course. it's just that we don't want our music to be in any way politically or socially connected to anything. and once you start talking about society (and we've done that in some heated emotional moments) everything becomes acutely relevant, meaningful. the last thing we want is for someone to see our songs as some kind of a slice of the time, a snapshot of the current events. no, on the contrary, for us “sentimental craving for beauty” is the most pure aspiration. in this way we are always influenced by art, literature, music, but the most powerful impressions are those left by the works of art that are the least contextualized. and most personal too. i mean, one can talk about the portrait of the english society of a specific era in "forsyte saga". but one doesn't need to be aware, and concerned with it really, to appreciate the beautiful writing and to feel compassion to the basic human drama. the brilliance of the literary, musical or other artistic masterpieces is in their ability to speak directly to the soul in the language of feelings. great art doesn't have to be contemporary, doesn't need the manual to understand it. sure one can appreciate galsworthy deeper if you take the history into account, just like one can appreciate, say, orwell's “burmese days” deeper if one knows the devastating history burma or bulgakov's “the master and margarita”, when knowing the context of soviet oppression of the intellectuals, yet not knowing the context didn't prevent me from being completely taken by “the master and margarita” when i read it for the first time being a teenager or being practically smashed to the ground by “burmese days”, while when i started reading it, i'm not sure i even knew what burma was. and in this regard i just hope that the music that we write can speak to someone just as it is, without one needing to know the context. in this regard the sentimental craving for beauty (the feeling itself) is the driving force behind everything we do.

- it seems that most bands don't want to talk about certain topics. and in this way be politically correct. so it ́s much easier to write about fictitious worlds and empty talk. reality is always harsher than fiction, isn't it? does it bother you that there aren't more bands writing lyrics committed to our society?

vif: in my world art is above news. certainly some events can't be ignored and they get through your system anyway. they hurt you, ruin you, change your entire world – and as this happens your art changes too. but i wouldn't want my art to be a set of slogans – it's already too much shouting everywhere, too loud, from every corner. i think perceptive people need something more mysterious, some place where they can be free for a moment, where they can dive in and dissolve. just for one beautiful moment - this is the kind of art i appreciate. art which is free of logic, gliding on the surface of our dreams.

bes: it is a strange time we live in. from some point, as we mentioned, we try to avoid direct social references, but for the reasons personal and artistic, not for the sake of being politically correct. i think it is a very bad tendency that people need to self-censor. don't get me wrong, i don't see anything bad in phrasing yourself the way that you would avoid offending someone or hurting someone's feelings. tact and ethics are the most important factors, as i see it, in human communication, and i for my part, don't like to allow myself unfiltered emotional outbursts (and yes, it happens from time to time). but restricting oneself from expressing one's opinion is not a solution. unfortunately i think we live in a world dominated by lesser minds and the lesser minds are prone to shouting, blaming and throwing stones. either internet bullying or “canceling culture” are equal symptoms of intellectual decay. and when i see intelligent people falling into these traps, saying things that the lowest common denominator wants to hear, or silencing themselves in order not to hurt the feelings of “the stupid multitude” (it's actually the term that i picked up from the 18th century poetess mary alcock), that is when my heart really bleeds. to put it short, for me the only thing worth saying is the truth. the truth is absolute and universal. of course the truth isn't always known and in search of it we will make mistakes. but when we start avoiding or silencing truth – this is the beginning of the end.

- i think people don't think much now. everything is just a click away. every day that passes we have less to think about because everything is given to us. the science fiction of the 1960s where machines ruled over humans seems a little closer now, isn't it? are we condemned to be slaves or is there still a chance to get out of this?

bes: you're preaching to the choir, my friend! we spend hours talking, discussing and heatedly agreeing with each other on this subject on a daily basis. i don't even know if there is any way for us to get out of this sticky situation that we call progress. i mean, you can't stop it. you can't stop people from asking google every silly question, instead of using their own brains to answer it, because it is there, it's available and it's easy. everything we have now, that is everything the progress gave us, is designed to relieve us from thinking, deciding, choosing. if it goes this way we'll just turn into some creatures, no better than pigs raised for slaughter. in fact, open the news, see the war reports, brain-washing propaganda that gets less and less inventive, and it seems that the majority are already there. i hope i'm wrong, i really do hope it's just an anxious pessimist talking inside of me. but everything seems wrong. i read “the glass bead game” admiring this version of the future and i ask myself: what went wrong? weren't we supposed to develop the intellect? weren't we supposed to grow, to become smarter, wiser, more aware, more compassionate, more humane? why does it seem that we only become angrier, shallower, sillier, less inclined to analyze and quicker to judge? i can only blame progress. sometimes i think the renaissance ended with industrial revolution, with equalization of society. alas, now we have it: shut up, consume and serve the algorithm. it looks even worse than what vonnegut described in the “player piano”.

vif: i also don't have a very optimistic outlook on life in this regard. but i know for sure that there are people who resist drowning in this virtual madness. who share the same views on art and life, the same “slow” appreciation of the world, if you will. they are not many, but it makes them precious even more. everyone shouts that you have to get millions of likes here or millions of views there and if you don't then you're some kind of a loser. but i think that a few real like-minded human beings who can feel our music can make us much happier than millions of faceless accounts, by-passers who don't really care.

- i don’t want to get into your personal life, of course, but i know that you have and are still suffering from the effects of russia's war against ukraine. how’s your life nowadays? do you prefer the isolation, avoiding contact with others or you like to be surrounded by people?

vif: well, it depends on the mood and chance pretty much these days. the war doesn't stop. apparently, no one can do anything to stop it otherwise it would stop already. thus on my part there's not much belief in humanity... but we had a few concerts in december and it felt wonderful meeting like-minded people.

bes: to be honest, we always preferred isolation. nothing changed in this regard. like any proper introverts we can be carried away in conversation with one like-minded person (this interview is the proof of it), but when we are surrounded by the crowd of people, we inevitably start calculating the escape path. as for the effects of war – it is still extremely painful and mentally devastating. but i think the capacity for suffering is finite after all and i notice that we start drifting into neverland again. i mean we check the news less often, what happens with society in russia feels now more distant, less acute, less surprising. of course the whole thing is utterly horrible, but after almost two years of it you start realizing that you can't change anything, that people don't want to listen to the voices of reason, that hatred prevails and at this point it all looks like some alien life from another planet. or maybe it's we who are from another planet.

- what is your environment like?? how can this affect your music? do you think that you're based in other city or country your music would sound different? why/why not?

vif: we live high in the mountains now. it's so beautiful here that i can sit in front of the window and dive into this beauty and melt down in these mysterious fogs. some days it's so quiet that it doesn't leave any options but to dive into creativity. on the other hand with our impulsive natures some days it drives us nuts and we want to move, to play, to manifest all the energy that we've collected. i don't know what our music would be like if we were in a different location but sometimes you don't have that much of a choice and you just take what is there for you... and there's always some light to be found...

bes: yes, the mountains and forests here are beautiful and serene. and i do believe that it affects us in a good way. sometimes we walk in the mountains and looking around it seems fascinating and astonishing that nature can exist in such serenity and peacefulness for centuries. it puts our ridiculous human life into perspective. a day doesn't go by without some human calamity, drama, disaster, tragedy or something else. yet a tree in the forest can grow for hundreds of years in perfect harmony with other trees, the moss, the grass, the birds and insects. this is something worth thinking about.

- as soon as “sentimental craving for beauty” was released projekt records also made it available as free download on your homepage. why do you share it for free? aren't downloads killing music in some way? do you think that the real devotion for the music is about the content and the feeling, and not the format? it becomes harder and harder to sell music in physical format.

vif: well, the thing is that music is already practically free for everyone. it's not that important. it's just a matter of convenience for some people. and the physical format is more of the elitist or collector's format, even though i still fondly remember the times when it was so enjoyable to pick a cd at a store. to touch it, to enjoy the artwork, to give yourself space to hear the whole album.

bes: but we agreed to accept the world as it is and to move on. because, yes, everything is free anyway. you can listen to any album for free on spotify or youtube, but at least we can hope that if one downloaded the album from bandcamp they will listen to it in the best quality and the least disruptive way, without being lured into the matrix by “suggested content” and all that. as for the physical format being less popular, that's only logical, not many people have the equipment to play cds or vinyls. it's all in the cell phone now. i think we are going through a transitional phase and i hope that the real art appreciators and the real artists will stick with each other in real life, while the rest, for whom music is just some background ambiance, will surf through streams of generated “content” and never notice anything. good riddance if you ask me.

- i really like your "dive" ep but it sounded more optimistic, at least musically. am i wrong? for example the wonderful song "set me on fire" is a very danceable track, although the lyrics are quite uneasy. can you tell me about that particular song, please? thanks.

vif: well, you got that right. we were completely different people at the time. people who didn't touch yet the darkest fabrics of profound depressions. i feel quite disconnected from that ep. it was transitional in many ways and i would say juvenile. but i still like the song dive...

bes: huh, maybe it is more optimistic... i too really feel so disconnected from those songs that it's like some other band to me. “set me on fire”.... yes, we were into dance music. it's funny, it just feels like not us at all. frankly speaking we don't play any of those songs anymore. i can't even judge if they are good or bad.

- close your eyes and tell me... a)what animal do you imagine? d) a toy of your childhood. c) a film soundtrack which strikes a nerve. d) a place you have never been to before and would like to visit.

vif: a) eagle d) hippopotamus and a stamp album c) schindler's list d) any new place would do

bes: a) cat b) strangely, can't remember any particular toy c) max richter “on the nature of daylight” from arrival d) grand canyon

- i’ve read that the band's name is a reference to a demon (or a siren?) that lures men into its cave by singing and then devours them. i love it!!! throughout history, magic has played a primordial role, both to dominate and surprise as well as to deceive, trick and bend wills. in the field of personal relationships, especially in love, numerous characters played the role of witches, soothsayers and counselors, influencing interpersonal relationships, both with the use of aphrodisiacs and spells, poisons and black magic ceremonies, aimed at obtaining the love of disdainful lovers, innocent young people. do you think witches and love/hate spells still exist? if so, how do you think they work today?

vif: i like the idea of magic. some days are filled with it and it feels wonderful. and if witches are there they work as they should in mysterious obscure ways which you can only feel but not fully understand.

bes: that's interesting. i'm a bit of a rationalist, my brain tends to be mathematical. so it is unnatural for me to state anything that i can't provide an obvious evidence to. that being said, i want to believe, with all my heart, that magic exists. wouldn't this make this world a little bit more fun?

- almost all the covers of your releases are photos of vif. is there a specific reason for this? they are really beautiful.

bes: thank you very much. i believe that art and the artist's personality aren't separable and that a human connection only strengthens the connection with the art. this way when someone sees a person on the artwork, and then listens to this person's voice this makes one listen more attentively, more personally. maybe it's not like this for everyone, but it is so for me.

- vif, bes, what are you afraid of?

vif: some things. but i strongly believe that speaking about one's fears doesn't help anything and only makes fears bigger and uglier.

bes: i was brought up with the notion that fear is unworthy of a man and even if some think this idea is outdated today, i think that fear is something one must conquer in one's personal inner battle.

- ok. i would like to thank you for your willingness to answer my questions. wish you lots of health. do you have any last words for our readers? and for the human race?

vif: thank you, it was our pleasure. i'd wish for all peace and beauty.

bes: it would be nice if people took more time to reflect and think for themselves. the rest will fix itself!

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[peterpijls1965]

14 februari 2017  

Een mooie dag om te sterven

Het ruikt naar lente. Het is nog geen 10.00 uur ’s ochtends en de zon straalt mijn kamer binnen. Allemaal gratis energie die op lichtsnelheid wordt bezorgd.

Mijn amputatiestompen doen zowaar geen pijn. Het leven lijkt wat minder uitdagend nu buiten alles straalt en schijnt. Dat ik me zo kosjer voel is niet verwonderlijk. Zonlicht heeft een pijnstillend effect, en is bevorderlijk voor de stemming.

Gisteren zag ik op straat het eerste rokje al, hoewel met maillots eronder. Ik zag het als een omen voor de naderende lente. En dan te bedenken dat het morgen tot 15 graden wordt in Limburg.

Toen ik vanochtend om 5 uur ontwaakte en met m’n rolstoel even over het terras karde, voelde ik al dat een mooie dag ging worden. Een dag vol hoop en optimisme. En misschien wel een mooie dag om te sterven. Over dat laatste kan ik vanavond pas meer zeggen. Of niet meer natuurlijk.

Net was ik even in de tuin van mijn beschermde woonvorm. Er lagen treurige sneeuwresten te smelten, alsmede het residu van een sneeuwpop, met een desolate wortel in het hoofd.

Kauwtjes zaten elkaar uit te schelden om een paar broodkorsten. Die vogels worden iedere ochtend gevoerd door een huisgenoot die in Sint Franciscus gelooft.

Eén van die kauwtjes zou ik best tam willen maken. Je kunt ze een beetje leren praten, als een papegaai. Ik zou met dat kauwtje een gesprek willen voeren over leven en dood. En samen bepalen wanneer het de mooiste dag is om te sterven.

[serenity-the-firefly]

three seagrass throws caution to the political wind and takes an extremely dangerous mission AND travels across the universe AND makes an unsanctioned stop on her already-sort-of-illegal trip AND basically makes up a reason to take mahit with her just because she misses her so much but STILL has not questioned her xenophobia. girl i love you but you gotta examine your privilege here

[kirikiri1]

Hoop for Episode 145 - Infectious Doubt, for @glowclouds_ who kindly donated to the Palestine Children Relief Fund. Thank you!!

"Of course, what I thought was a banishment ritual turned out not to be. The circle I constructed was more of a – (exhale) – an invitation.

It let the Mother of Puppets bind me to Agnes, interweave our existences at some… metaphysical level, as it had with Fielding and the house.

It was the most painful experience of my life. I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing to you, but I’ve never had my lungs try to burn me alive from the inside out before.

I survived, though. And you know the rest. I’m not sure exactly how it manifested on your end. You certainly seemed to get the message.

I kept the circle, over the years, laced it through with signs and symbology of the Desolation to ward off the worst of the side effects, and keep its attentions elsewhere."

Both gone to soon.

[nagasaki-division]

Atlas Kazanari

"Maybe it's not about the happy ending. Maybe it's about the story." -- Albert Camus

Etymology

The name “Atlas” refers to the word of Greek origin, meaning a book or collection of maps

Kazanari means “wind” (風) (kaze) and “to call/cry” (鳴) (mei)

Character Information

Japanese: 風鳴 アトラス

Romaji: Kazanari Atorasu

MC Name: Off-Chart

Gender: male

Pronouns: he/him

Age: 16

Birthday: February 23

Star sign: Pisces

Blood type: O

Occupation: high school student

Division: Nagasaki

Team: Desolate Paradise

Height: 175 cm (5’9)

Weight: 64 kg (141 lb.)

Hair color: soft brown + bright gold

Eye color: topaz yellow

V/A (speaking + rap claim): Sonny Brisko

Face claim: Felix Lee

Appearance

Atlas is a lean teenage boy of Japanese and Greek descent with a golden complexion and sparkling topaz eyes. He leaves his wavy brown hair on the more unruly side and he has bright gold streaks running through his locks.

He generally sports a thin white button up shirt that has been loosely buttoned and sleeves left rolled up, paired with light brown pants, and brown loafers fastened by light gold buckles. He finishes off his look with various jewelry, which consists of: a gold coin earring on his right ear and a gold hoop earring with a pearlescent attachment on the other, a half pearl and half gold link-chain choker, a gold slip chain necklace with a gold compass pendant, gold rings on both pointer fingers, and a gold bangle bracelet fixed with a pearl on his left wrist and a plain gold bangle on his right.

Personality

Because of his appearance, he has never had trouble getting female attention, but because of his extroverted personality, girls often mistake his friendliness for flirting.

His friendliness stems from not having many friends as a child. He had tons of imaginary friends growing up and was often told that if he smiled at someone, they would smile back at him. Therefore, he puts out the energy in hopes that it would return to him. He is typically friendly and good-natured to everybody he meets, but he does have a good judge of character and becomes quiet and reserved around people he sees as a threat.

Despite his outwardly gregarious personality, he does have a darkness that is suppressed by his smile. In efforts to keep his childhood trauma at bay, he is constantly trying to make others laugh with his horrible dad jokes.

Ability

His rap ability is: Lost at Sea. It is unknown for now as to what this ability can do.

Trivia

Atlas has cross dominance. He writes with his right hand and “rights” with his left.

He likes the ocean, gemstones, gold, and baseball while he dislikes germs, apologizing, cleaning, and oppression.

His favorite food is cheese from Europe while his least favorite food is cake.

He has repeatedly expressed his disappointment with the quality of cheese in Japan. His teammate responded by occasionally importing foreign cheeses to their shared estate.

He became wildly infatuated with Kanra Akemi of Edogawa Division after she saved him from an incident at a Tokyo food festival. Although he has amassed an impressively sized female audience, his devotion to making Kanra his is the only concern he has, besides winning the DRB.

Out of all the members, he seems to have the best sense of direction and always seems to know where everything is located in the city.

[chryblossomjjk]

the weekend | jjk (teaser)

→pairing: dilf!jk x babysitter reader

→rating/genre: m/18+ | fwb?, angst, full fic will include smut

→word count: 618

→warnings: suggestive (as in building up to smut), some dirty talk, hair pulling, neck smoochies, lil lingerie moment, slightly dangerous moment in a car?, implied infidelity, smol appearance from bby yul (holds up ‘aww’ cue card)

→summary: Every weekend, you give Jungkook a little taste of something he’s missing Monday through Friday.

→notes: um long time no see i haven't posted any writing in a while so im v excited and nervy atm! had this teaser planned for a hot minute so yeah v excited to see your reactions! i don't have a set date when this will come out but hopefully soon. as for now, you can check out my masterlist if u wanna wink wink. also this fic will be v angsty so pls if thats not ur thing, skip this. ok love u bye !! feedback is appreciated v much uwu. also this is not beta’d obvi so if there’s any typos or goofiness rip im sorry :’(

“Well, there’s still time.” You point to the clock on his touchscreen stereo; 11:12 p.m. You throw your hair over your shoulder before slowly undoing the top two buttons of your shirt, revealing the skimpy black lingerie set you bought just for tonight. Just for him. “We can celebrate…”

“Yeah?” His cheek bubbles, teasing tongue poking at the inside of his mouth, eyebrow jumping at your suggestion. “How so?”

You bite your lip, contemplating your next move. Hastily, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over the center console. It’s reckless, but so was being with a man like Jungkook. You’re incapable of rational thought when you finally get to have him the way you want. One night of him isn’t enough. What kind of tease is that? You need at least six more to be satisfied.

“__,” he warns, arching his head away from your sneaky lips.  “Put your seatbelt on. Wait until we get to the hotel.”

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” You pout, cupping his cheek and batting your eyelashes innocently. Jungkook doesn’t take the bait, giving the desolate road ahead his unwavering attention. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, you can tell you’re getting to him. Below you, his slacks tighten around his thick, tensed thighs. He’s playing right into your hands. Needily, you tongue the little silver hoops dangling from his ear. 

“If I have to pull over, you’re in trouble.”

“Maybe I-”

A hushed ‘fuck’ cuts you off as the car comes to a screeching halt. Jungkook slams on the brakes, coming too close to the slower vehicle in front of you for comfort. Luckily, his dad reflexes kick in, strong hand gripping your waist tightly, preventing you from barreling forward. You brace yourself by clutching his shoulders, and when the adrenaline rush fades, you finally look at him. His nostrils are flared and his jaw is clenched painfully tight.

He’s pissed. 

You know you should apologize, or be shaken up at the very least, but the blinking of his turn signal as he pulls to the side of the dark highway has your mouth watering. This is just what you wanted. 

Jungkook sighs in frustration, tilting his head back against the headrest. The movement is counterintuitive, exposing the inked canvas of his neck that you’re desperate to paint red and purple. You go in for a bite.

A hand fists your tangled hair, pulling you off with a harsh yank before you have the chance to sink your teeth into his skin. The silver ring on his finger digs into your scalp like a knife. “Do not fucking mark me.”

The feeling of the frigid metal is agonizing. Not physically, his grip loosens immediately after the initial tug, but emotionally. You know why he doesn’t want you to mark him. Any evidence of you, other than your weekly babysitting duties, would unravel his entire life. Jungkook is an intelligent man. You don’t have to tell him that it’s all a facade, and everything’s already been undone. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out frail and shaky. “I just want you.”

And like some cruel joke, his phone rings. 

The contact image would normally make you swoon. It’s a picture of him and his daughter from her first birthday party; her sticky, strawberry ice cream covered, hands holding his cheeks as he stares at her with scrunched eyes and a big smile. You think that picture is the only time you’ve ever seen him genuinely happy.

The bold, white font at the top of the screen, though, makes you sick to your stomach. 

‘Wife.’

Jungkook releases your hair and places a finger over his mouth, signaling for you to shut up, before answering. 

“Yes, Seulgi?”

© chryblossomjjk 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost]

[dailyadventureprompts]

Settlement: Nisk Under-the-Wing

Ok, Sure its a sodden, swampy valley, but you have to admit can’t beat the view

Setup: Existing for decades as little more than a desolate peat farming settlement on the edge of a bog, Nisk became the staging ground for the last stand by a group of heroes against an ancient dragon, who saved the kingdom by working a great act of magic and petrifying the wyrm in the middle of its pre-rampage monolog. Decades and innumerable tourists later, Nisk has become a major artery of trade for the kingdom, as well as a place for younger adventures to come and learn from the legacy of their forebearers. 

Adventure Hooks: 

Defeating an ancient dragon will make anyone’s reputation, but the wizard Everett Paliisar who worked the petrification  magic has made it into an identity, opening a renowned magical workshop and taking the stone dragon as its sigil. The only problem is that even decades after his triumph,  Paliisar has NO idea how he managed his magical miracle, and into his old age has barely managed to stave off questions and requests to repeat his great trick.  When the party comes looking for some tutoring or help with their own problem in need of petrification,  expect Paliisar to make them jump through innumerable hoops in hopes of dissuading them.

In addition to the swampy waterways, Nisk is surrounded by ancient rainforest that once provided shelter and hunting grounds to the dragon. The forest also contains the ruins of a nameless kingdom, lost in ages past to some unknown catastrophe. Notoriously haunted by monsters and spirits so old that their identities have worn away, these vine choked structures have a siren song that have called to adventurers for generations.

During their adventures in the region, the party obtains a coded treasure map that once deciphered guides them to climb the cliffs behind Nisp, make their way out onto the dragon’s head, and rappel down into its mouth. Apparently some daring group of thieves had been using the cave that’d formed from the dragon’s gullet and foremost stomach to store their ill gotten gain. What happened to these thieves, and and what they left behind to guard their treasure is a story for another time, but the party will need to watch themselves regardless. The elemental energies of the petrified dragon have begun to manifest as spiny crystalline growths, which can have unpredictable effects if exposed to magic or stabbed into a clumsy adventurer’s flesh.

Those eager to make a name for themselves are often drawn to Zillo’s, a rougher establishment on the edge of the settlement where hot-blooded brawlers can compete in an arena for prizes and the chance to be scouted by attending nobles and freecompany recruiters. Every fortnight there’s a special bout where would-be champions are matched against one of the hobbled drakes kept beneath the arenas foundations, a cruel and unpredictable tradition that lets those desperate enough for fame claim to be dragonslayers like Nisk’s first defenders. Zillo’s management is known to pay top price for drake eggs or hatchings, and does a tidy trade in dragonflesh on the side. 

[nighmares-art-and-stories]

Their Mind is a World

War is a constant in society. It could never be forgotten or forgone, only lessened, as there would always be disagreements between people and civilizations. To lessen the impacts of a real war between species, all sects of the Galactical Council have designed a series of arenas allow warring species to fight it out without the threat of injury, famine, or disease. These arenas are designed so that they could read the thoughts of a sapient and project them in an equivalent of a holographic VR.

The warrior walked down the hallway, white and blue lights filtered down from the artificial lights on the celling. His claws stabbed mercilessly into the floor, sending a small shock of pain every time he stepped down. The warrior mentally exercised his mental warrior, Talagor. Directing it as the mind character jumped hoops and ran through walls.

The warriors reached a door and used a claw open it when another paw grabbed his, stopping him.

Another member of his species stood there, wearing a protective white robe over its translucent scales. The warrior waved his free hand at the scholar lazily.

“Let go of my hand.”

The scholar looked straight into the warrior’s eyes before flashing them a binding yellow.

“It’s procedure to brief you on who you’re going to fight.”

The warrior flicked an antenna back, before clicking, “I have heard, it’s another pathetic mammal. I’ll be fine.”

The scholar slowly let go of the warrior’s claw before sighing, “Alright, follow me into the mind sphere.”

They walked into the room. It is dark. The scholar then flicked a switch flooding the room with light. It’s a dome shaped structure, large pillars supported a holographic screen, wires and electrodes hung from it like large spiderwebs. Two robotic podiums stood facing each other. The warrior then nodded at the scholar then walked into the larger robotic podium. Cuffs locked round his wrists and feet with a dull click. Almost a heartbeat later, he saw the puny mammal walk into the other podium.

It has a bipedal mode of locomotion with two manipulators. Artificial skin and scales hung off it’s gaunt yet muscular body. Another mammal in a white coat grabbed the wires hanging on the ceiling and pasted them onto the other creature’s head. The scholar that has followed him into the room did the same.

A mechanical voice filled the room, “Initiating holograms. Integrating minds. Integration complete.”

The warrior closed his eyes and sent his mind warrior to the fight.

.o0o.

Talagor opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. It is black, all black with no light to grace the desolate landscape. Talagor summoned a plasma shooter in one hand and a torch in the other and took cautious steps forward. The torch shed a small sliver of light, a small calming comfort in the shifting sea that is its mind.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

An ancient timbre that rumbled in the blackness, a cacophony of man, woman, elder and child that made something in Talagor want to sing with it. That voice spoke with no words, but he has understood it anyway. He cocked his plasma shooter and shot blindly into the blackness

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The musical voice startled him. Talagor spin around, shifting the plasma gun into a handheld cannon, and pointed it at the voice behind him. 

He cracked his eyes open, only for them to fling open in surprise. Power flowed off the being like the waves in a raging ocean. Her steps are light and breezy like the wind have come and made her its vessel. One soft paw held a raging wildfire and the other held a blue ribbon of a river. Plants have wound around her shoulders like green shawl. Her eyes are closed, like she is asleep.

Talagor felt his mouth dry. His mouth coated in sand and chalk. “What do you mean?”

The being smiled, “You won’t want to wake my brothers.” The ancient timbre came back, giving the being’s voice an extra echo.

“Brothers?”

The being’s smile grew wider, sharper. If Talagor could see her eyes, he would wish for a quick death. “Yes, of course, I’m merely a drop in my master’s mind. A powerful drop maybe, but a drop ne’er the less. You do not want to see the rest.”

Talagor felt it, something behind him, something as wild as it is primal. He spun around, throwing his torch as far as he can away. It landed a few claw lengths in front of him. The fire from the torch illuminated a face. The eye of the creature is wild, searching. It bared its teeth at him and growled. After a while of staring, the skin and fur of the creature sloughed off revealing the sickly white skeleton.

 He heard the tsk, tsk, tsk of the being behind him. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The being shook its head before she used the fire to chase the darkness away.

The darkness melted away slowly as if it wanted to cling to the landscape for a while longer. When it melted away fully, the world was grey, then colors slowly came in. The sky is a deep blue, almost black, the same color as Talagor’s blood. The ground is pitted with smoking pits. Liquid rocks welled from massive cracks in the earth, setting the red vegetation ablaze. He could see the scorch marks from where he has shot before and from the scorch marks from the torch.

The being opened her eyes, it is almost indescribable. Twin black voids that contain a spark behind them. A wild thing danced around the spark, its teeth flashing. A legion of voices sounded from the being’s mouth, “I have warned you not to look but you did anyway. I have tried to befriend you, but you responded with teeth. I’ll respond with mine.”

The mist behind the being melted away.

A serpent few in the sky, the large sword-like claws slashing the air. Red drops started to fall from the pink clouds in the sky. A pack of wolves pounded past. Talagor raised his gun and shot at them. They shifted into large writhing shadows full of gnashing claws and bright shining teeth.

Laughter sounded behind him. “We may be weak when we are apart but together, we make a flood!”

Talagor turned around in time to see pearly white teeth closing in.

Then,

Nothing.

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[agathabridgerton]

Photographic Firsts

From the X-Files Free-For-All Prompt List: Since Mulder had to leave like two days after William was born and the photo of him was after (I’d say William/Jackson was about four to six months old), that means Scully gave it to him after they reunited. She told him about their son and what he was doing like “he learned to roll over that day” and they cried over the photo together.

Read it on AO3.

It seems unfair that the sky be vivid blue today, as the tires kick up orange dust into the air behind them, Mulder’s hands at ten and two for once. This time of day, she can find the color of William’s eyes in the sky, the same color as her own. Scully can’t help but wonder if his eyes will turn out to be green like Mulder’s or if they’ll stay the same; whether or not his hair will stay red or turn into Mulder’s dark brown. There’s so much they’ll miss—and poor Mulder, who only had two days before she convinced him to leave.

If it was right to send her boys away, why does it feel like she’s going to collapse under the regret of making them?

Mulder’s hand comes to cover own and she squeezes it before bringing his knuckles to her lips. She’d been living in limbo since she gave William up, staying up late into the night in her office at Quantico, an even better one than her old office from the first time she and Mulder were kicked off the X-files. She had attempted to make her office feel more like their old office, but nothing could replicate the privacy of the basement.

Scully had only dared to put one photo on her desk, afraid that if she allowed more she wouldn’t have the strength to make it through the day without bursting into tears. She remembers pulling out the camera her mother gifted them and snapping a few pictures of Mulder holding Will, trying to get in as much skin-to-skin as possible.

“Put this on,” Scully said, keeping the tremble in her voice to a minimum as she took the baby from his arms and handed him a shirt. “I want one I can put in my office.”

Mulder nodded and pulled the shirt on before taking William back and sitting on the bed, facing the window. He cradled the baby in his arms, smiling at Scully as she took the picture before looking back down at William, catching one of his hands as the baby jerkily raised it up.

“Hi...” he murmured, smiling softly. “Daddy loves you so very much, yes he does. I love you to the moon and back.”

Scully quietly snapped another picture, smiling sadly, before walking over to the two of them and pulling Mulder’s head to her body, one hand going to William’s head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the impending tears.

—

The car had come fully-stocked for them, photos tucked safely into a box within the rucksack she’d hastily packed. Her framed family pictures are in there, too, along with a bag of keepsakes from her mother. Reyes and Doggett had packed suitcases of clothes for Mulder and Scully and procured the car, too.

Scully knows that she should be trying to think about anything other than those pictures of William but she can’t. The stack has a rubberband around them, as if it’s a completed collection, the entire chronicle of little Will’s life. It’s futile and clichè to think it, but it’s not fair—why couldn’t they have one good thing?

Mulder flicked on the headlights a couple hours ago, and now they illuminate the sign of a ratty motel. The silence has allowed Scully’s thoughts to fester, and it’s only now that she has something other than the desolation of the desert to look at outside the window that she realizes how exhausted she is, clambering out of the car with a yawn and stiff legs.

They work in silence to take their lightest bags out of the car, gravel crunching beneath their feet. Mulder waits at the trunk of the car while she heads inside and pays for a room.

“Watcha doin’ all the way out here?” the receptionist asks, large hoop earrings jangling around and brushing the girl’s shoulders as she rings Scully up.

She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t really know where they are, nor does she have the wherewithal to come up with something infallible. She clears her throat before speaking, trying to ignore the prick of tears behind her eyes, and tries. “Uh, my husband and I are from the city. We—we needed to get away for a while.”

The receptionist hums. “Yeah, must be noisy. And there’s too many people you don’t know. I told my brother not to move there—I said, ‘Will, you’re never gonna get any sleep!’ But he didn’t believe me. Stubborn ass. Here’s your change. Have a great night.”

Scully smiles tremulously and nods, quickly turning around and exiting the building as tears flood into her eyes and blur her vision. The coins cut into her palm as she squeezes it into a fist, practically barreling into Mulder. He catches her by her arms but she presses her face into his sternum, muffling her sobs.

—

Morning comes, the sun unrelentingly bright and blisteringly hot. The overhead fan whirs and Scully pays to stay for the rest of the day. Mulder welcomes her back into bed readily, slinging his arm and leg back over her, tugging her close and nuzzling her face. They languish in bed until their stomachs beg them to get up, and after breakfast, they shower, washing off the dirt and grime of the past few days, the past few years—longer than that, even.

Mulder tips her chin up and kisses her so sweetly that she forgets for a second, and she holds onto that, bringing her hands to the back of his neck, raising herself onto the balls of her feet. And for the first time in weeks, she feels.

The shower goes off, the towels come on, and eventually they’re dressed for the day. Scully finally picks up her rucksack and sits down at the foot of the bed, reaching around inside until she finds the rubberband and pulls out the collection of pictures. Mulder joins her, watching the removal of the band and the slow shuffle of the photos as she scrambles to put them in order for him, a chronology of everything he missed.

He covers her hands with his and it’s only now that he’s holding her still that she realizes her hands were trembling. “It’s okay,” he says.

There is no stoicism in his voice, and Scully brings her gaze to his to see the tears gathering in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers through a tight chest, breath hitching. “I never should’ve made you leave.”

“You only did what you thought was best. You couldn’t have known.”

She shakes her head, looking down at her lap as she slips her hands out of his grasp. “These pictures are all we have left,” she gets out, inhaling brokenly. “It’s not enough.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know, Mulder. You have no idea because I made you leave. Even when I was pregnant...” Her words devolve into sobs and she brings a hand up to cover her face. “You missed every first.”

At first she thinks the sniffling is her, but Scully quickly realizes that it’s Mulder, and she turns and hugs him pressing her face into his shoulder as he does the same.

—

“Tell me about them,” he asks hours later.

She tentatively picks up the first one in the stack. William is on his stomach, head up and upper body pushed off the floor a little bit, looking at the camera with wide eyes and his mouth open. “He learned to roll over that day. I left him on his back for a second while I went to grab something and I came back to him on his tummy looking around the living room with such curiosity. It reminded me of you.”