#I like the rough edges of their singing and yes they are not great but personally I love it

[narmothewraith]

I'm a lot more interested in Les Mis (again) and have watched the 10th anniversary concert recently.

So I decided to draw one of my favorite Javerts :D

[justalittlerandomartist]

Daddy’s Little Monster

•Alastor x teen! daughter! reader

•Platonic, you sickos

•What if… Alastor had a daughter who wanted to be a serial killer too?

You woke up to a red sky. There was a great pain in your head, and your vision was blurry. Once you were fully oriented, you stood up. What was this place? It was like prison, and god, it smelled awful. When you looked up at the pentagram over the sky, it dawned on you. You had died. You were in hell.

It was no surprise why you were in hell. You weren’t the best human. You indulged in a bit of cannibalism, and wanted to be an assassin when you were older. Older. That was something you’ll never be. You were just 13, thirteen and dead. However, how you died was a mystery. You had no memory of how you died.

Could it be you were murdered? No, you hadn’t made many enemies. Maybe fell from somewhere high? No, you were too scared of heights to be anywhere high. Hit by a car? You were always careless crossing the street. Yes, that had to be it.

You looked down at your new form. You had bright blue skin, and dark blue hair(She kinda looks like Ruby Gillman). The hair in your pigtails was now in thick, tentacle, like strands. Your ears were similar to fins, and your limbs were long and stretchy. You were some sort of kraken.

It made sense you were a sea creature though. You had always found yourself fascinated with the sea and the animals that inhabit that. You wished that one day you would be able to dive in there, and never have to return to the surface. You had longed to be down there with the fish and the animals. It felt like home more than the surface ever did.

You felt…at peace in hell, like you wanted to stay here. Sure, it was a little rough around the edges, but it felt like home. But your friends…everyone you left behind. Wouldn’t they miss you? For a moment in time, you wanted to go back. Go back to tell your best friend you loved her one last time. You felt her pain and her tears, and it broke your heart. But you can’t change the past. All you can do is love her and remember.

You decide to walk around your new environment. The buildings look old and run down, and people are fighting. You pass a porn studio, and laugh to yourself. Hell seemed like the kind of place where a giant porn studio would be a normal occurrence. Something catches your eye. A vending machine for drugs. You think about it for a second, but decide not to get anything.

You walk near a place called Cannibal Town, and saw some demons eating a guy. You wanted to join in, the taste of human flesh lingering in your brain, fueling your desires. In front of you was a singing demon, with a resemblance to a porcelain doll. She seemed to improv her whole song, and it amazed you. You loved to sing, and was impressed by her skills. You wanted to tell her, but you would feel bad for interrupting her song.

After exploring hell, you found a street corner to cozy up in. As your first day in hell concluded, you thought to yourself ‘is eternal damnation as bad as I thought?’

______________________________________

•Hi! My names Vicky, I’m a sucker for platonic au’s. My head cannons take a while, but if my requests are open, I might make your idea for a fanfic, so be sure to ask.

•This was fun to write and it is not done. I’m just tired.

•Part 2 •Part 3 •Part 4 •Part 5

[asrainstorm]

Might i ask yandere eli(lunar phase), naib (man in red) and joseph (azrael) seperately for nun reader who kills devils as a living?

Hcs please! Also hope ur day is going well! ^^

Well of course, darling, it would be a great pleasure for me :)

Personally love the concept of yandere!Naib/Eli/Joseph, so yeah, I’d write hc’s with joy. Also thank you very much for your request, it’s very interesting: I adore the dynamic of a holy x obsessively in love demon, and everything, so I’m really pleased with it! My day is quite nice, by the way, but I hope that yours is much better! Wish you like these hc’s, hehe

Includes: nun!reader x yandere!Eli (Lunar phase), nun!reader x yandere!Naib (Man in Red), nun!reader x yandere!Joseph (Azrael) — separated

Warnings: headcanons, yandere, obsession, partly religious themes and interactions, references to murder, blood and violence.

[ "The blood moon brings destruction" was his revelation on the night before the moon dissipates ]

— Eli met you in the marble hall, full of aspirations and revelations. His heart had a mystical light before you, but when your presence enveloped his whole being the world lost its meaning.

— Your calm expression was felt on the edges of his hearing almost physically. It was like a flash of light that lit up the entire universe. He will never forget that moment.

— You hardly spoke, but your voice was like the singing of angels. Ah yes, the moon went through all its phases at the moment when you gently asked Edgar how he was feeling, or when you spoke with Fiona's cards. There was no one kinder than you, although you never smiled, never laughed and remained amazingly calm even during matches.

— Oh, there was no limit to Eli's happiness when you were assigned to the same team! Every time! He didn't notice any obsession behind him, of course, but, in fact, there was a problem. Now he didn’t care about the rest of his teammates at all.

— At first he was a little surprised. Although Eli commanded the connection of stars and the light that reflected from the giant solar ball, and his flesh woven from this radiance felt almost nothing... Before you, he made sure that all members of his team remained under the supervision of an owl. Now he didn't feel the need to it, and the main focus of attention was always on you.

— However, it is worth noting that he tried. Sometimes forgot, but mostly sent an owl to everyone. Mostly rescued others from the chair. Mostly helped when being asked. Mostly… Argh, well, you see, it’s very hard to pretend that he was worried about the fate of his teammates, except yours, so soon he just stopped.

— And maybe it wouldn’t be noticed by himself at all, but the main problem among other "after-Y/N" problems was the fact that you were openly against him.

— During the matches, no Hunter avoided your rifle, especially if that Hunter was someone in a demon form. You greatly hated them. Hated them to death. At the same time, Eli was partly a demon.

— It was lovely to dream about you: so elegant and so distant. Your sacred presence was burning nearby, when he himself was like an ice; there would be no moonlight without the scorching sun after all, so to look from afar and take care of you forever – why not? Eli could certainly do it.

— But you couldn't. You were brought up harshly, radically, your hands were striped with a ruler, fingers were rough, and every movement was honed to the smallest detail - you were never a fragile girl in trouble, because from the position to which life threw you, weakness and inability to cope on your own were available to anyone else except you. Not being able to get rid of the distracting burning sensation in the back of the head, almost boring into the hole? How pathetic.

— Eli didn't approach, just watched; there was nothing wrong with that for him, because everything came from pure care. It's hard to love, but if there is you for him, then it's okay. And he will do everything to make you happy. Even if he has to stay up all night, holding on to a thin cornice by the window and looking into a thin strip between the curtains - he doesn't need sleep anyway, he can be patient. Even if he has to learn you like an open book, learn your schedule, your tastes and interests - there is a lot of space in his head, not that he has time to find something more interesting. Even if he has to hide in the closet while you're lying down after surgery in the medical wing, where they just don't let him in, Eli will do it to make sure that you're okay, no matter how many days he’d stand there. Just let him enjoy from afar, that's the only thing left. Be kind.

— And look: the one who hurt you is now writhing among his own guts. It's incredibly easy to achieve, don’t worry, no one even realized what happened. Hardly they will suspect the unctuous young man in white robes as a murderer, haha!

— As long as you're fine, he's fine, too. Really, he’s even smiling, look! Smile too, smile for him just once!

— He deserves it!

— But when the ouroboros of your health is unexpectedly interrupted, Eli's blind pupils break, and he, lightened by syzygy, tears the enemy with his claws; snow-white feathers frame the disfigured corpse, but no one cares. Eli is a saint. You're a saint. And only you know how the gilded cloth darkens under the dirty blood…

[ Your fear, "his" blood, and one final bout ]

— You weren't afraid of anything. In a monastery with stained-glass vaults and old crumbling whitewash, you found shelter in a stormy night that took the lives of mom, dad and older brother. Later you were told that what attacked them on the way was a demon.

— To believe in this fairy tale at first seemed utter nonsense. Really, demons? Why then did the angels not descend and pierce them with golden arrows of pure justice, ha? However, very soon your doubts were shattered.

— First of all, of course, they faced the destructive power of the belt, punishing disobedience and the so-called "freedom of thought", and then - the ugly face of a real demon in two inches from your face.

— It turned out that the local nuns were not fragile god’s servants at all. They stood day and night on guard of human peace, tracking down infernal creatures and quartering them, and you, hardened by frequent punishments and awareness of the involvement of the devil's spawn in the incident, did not take long to become one of the best demon hunters.

— So yes, you weren't afraid of anything. However, only with "his" exception.

— "He" was the Man in Red, or so they called "him" in the mansion. Unsociable, closed and straight to the bone piercing with one look… you knew for sure that "he" was a demon, and not just any, but the most malicious of all. The one you should exterminate before everyone else. And, probably, "he" saw this confidence hidden under a layer of crushing horror in your eyes.

— No one knew where "he" came from and why, no one wanted to be in the team with "him", no one, in principle, was eager to be with "him" within a radius of ten kilometers, and the Man in Red "himself" showed no interest in others.

— This attitude towards "him" was quite familiar. People are greedy for their lives, it’s the nature: they grab at the thinnest straws, hanging over the abyss, even if they know that they will not be able to survive, because for them there is nothing more valuable than life. If rebirth is real, then they will never know anyway. "He" knows. In a previous life, "his" name was…

— "Damn it, faster!" you shouted, stunning the Hunter with an ultra-precise shot and quickly freeing "him" from the chair. "It's just the two of us left, so try to survive. I won't come next time!"

— Oh...

— You reeked of fear, your hands trembled treacherously, and you ran away from "him" rather than from the recovered Hunter, but, in fact, it didn't matter. You came to the rescue, even if only for your own salvation, just as irrationally selfish as any other human, and yet, yet you came to the rescue. Perhaps it will be nicer if you just kill "him" yourself? It won’t work, of course, but let this dream continue to warm up your instincts.

— Since that match, the Man in Red has been interested in you. If "his" attention fell on someone, everything in itself became disastrous, and you were just asking for trouble; the barrel of a highly polished rifle always felt like it rested on the back of "his" head. It's only a matter of time before a shotgun is roughly shoved into "his" mouth and the taste of gunpowder is smeared on his tongue…

— However, again, neither one nor the other wouldn’t work, since the Man in Red, fear itself in the flesh, couldn’t be killed. And, unfortunately, "he" suddenly wanted to see the imprint of this truth on your face to the point of itching longing.

— Now others didn't approach you. The survivors were afraid to contact once again with the person who somehow constantly found herself with a Man in Red nearby, and this fact did not please you, as well as them. There was nothing you could do, left in the gnawing loneliness.

— At night you felt "his" presence at your door. In the morning - behind your back when you were walking towards the bathroom. During the day - in the shade of the far corners of the library, in the evening - among the plants in Emma's greenhouse, where you could breathe deeply. It used to be possible, but now constant fear held down the lungs and let in only as much air as "he" wanted. Unbearable.

— Prayers didn't help. As you later found out, the lead and the claws of the Hunters too, because there were not even scratches left on the body of the Man in Red that could be healed.

— The sisters in the monastery used to say that if something cannot be achieved by killing, then it remains only to accept, but how could you accept the constant presence of a demon, gradually turning you into his puppet through the fetters of fear?

— You put thirty-four bullets into "him", six knives, with one piercing through "his" throat and the other through the temporal wall, also tried poisons, strangulation and all this with holy water, of course. "He" didn't care. Only the fact that you sometimes came pretty close to "him" for killing made it possible to tolerate the damage to "his" shell.

— Besides, the horror of a new defeat was very becoming to you, and the Man in Red... Naib-in-the-past liked it damn much. It had been a long time since he had felt emotions.

— So yes, he showed no interest in others. However, only with your exception.

[ He fell from the heavens and brought with him the first falling leaf of the season ]

— Since the tragedy, someone has been visiting your dreams. Color, attire, any details of appearance mercilessly slipped from memory, leaving no chance of identification, but you knew that this wasn’t the enemy. His angelic voice has never left your mind.

— In sorrow and in joy, in sickness and in health, the voice delicately whispered words of consolation or instruction to you, pointing, as it seemed, the right way. And you, brought up in the walls of the worship of divine creatures, trusted him implicitly.

— So, of course, when he ordered you to go to the Oletus Mansion, you didn't throw around questions. Because it was him after all.

— Everything that the Lord decides to send down to us, we are able to overcome, right? And all the trials, no matter how unimaginably difficult they may be, will serve us as a great lesson. You didn't know if this was really the case, but your first match was amazing; really, no one expected that a nun would suddenly take out a rifle and start shooting right and left? You're the best, the one and only.

— "Good girl," his voice whispered that night. "I'm proud of you"

— And suddenly that's all you needed.

— Over the years, no, just a couple of decades spent in terrible conditions of cruelty and isolation, you managed to become, without exaggeration, very dependent on the kind words of a mysterious "friend". They were the only support that saved you from despair, so, of course, hearing praise was all you wanted. Is it possible that someone's brain can lose the craving for life without the simplest set of sounds, called a "voice"? There is a chance to check.

— But you didn't consider your, uh... "little addiction" to be anything bad. The "voice" was there and supported you, and also sounded so angelically beautiful; if he is an angel, which there can be no doubt, then it’s your duty to adore him.

— Well, so the sisters and the holy mother (although there is nothing holy about her) kept saying, but doesn’t matter.

— You loved the "voice" in your head. He was mesmerizing. Gently whispering words of approval, its owner was very eloquent and could convince you of what he wanted; it was always important for a person who grew up in isolation from the kindness to be gently treated, and the "voice" seemed to know it very well. You two have never argued, never quarreled, and couldn’t break the connection. But even being so smart as you are, it was to hard to realize that these conversations were boiling down to one thing: your absolutely and unstoppable addiction.

— "I know you're good, good girl, and we're good together; only I can support you. And I know you feel it. Everything will be fine..."

— These words were not hard to come by, slipped through the convolutions of your brain and ate into the bones; every time he said it, you got a sip of great joy. "Of course," you thought, "because I'm a good girl."

— And then you touched the bare skin of William's forearm while helping him during the match, and he instantly collapsed on the ground, not breathing. Eyes opened. He died at your accidental touch.

— Your face has never lost its steadfast, calm expression since the days of the monastery. A steel lady with an apostolic on her head, instilling fear into the souls of demons and serving as a stone wall for ordinary people.

— But now, in this damned second your beautiful face was distorted with such tearing horror that the world has turned upside down, knocking out your organs with a tension wave, and then returning them to their place, leaving them there soft-boiled. Nightmare. It's just another nightmare, a bad dream, you just have to wake up. Need to... wake up, wake up, open your eyes, please open your eyes! No. You couldn't have killed an innocent man. You couldn't have killed William Ellis! No, no. This can't be happening. It's impossible. Not fair. It’s scary. So so scary. Scary, scary, scary, scary, scary scary scary scaryscaryscaryscary

— ...Wait, please.

— Why does the Photographer smile so strangely from afar? Why does this cruel fucking Photographer, a disgusting demon..?

— "Good girl", a voice sounded softly and quietly in your head, while the Hunter in the distance opened his mouth absolutely in time with the words. "I'm proud of you"

— ...

— What?

— What is it? Wait. Why?

— Dumbfounded, you numb stared at the rich blue skin, shimmering with starry matter, waves of thick silver hair, curls of horns. Long nails tapping on the sword guard. Eyes that were absolutely black, but shining with unshakable warmth to you.

— Why? Why, why, merciful God? It just can’t be real. It can't be him!

— You had no idea that in that incident on an autumn night your life was to be cut off forever. Remember? Legs ached from the cold, viscous earth due to the downpour, hair stuck to your face, tangling with eyelashes and closing the sight. Tree. It should have fallen, breaking the fragile child's body, but for some reason you took a couple of extra steps…

— Azrael, who came down to take your soul, could not understand how it happened. His lists have never changed. Your name was in it. Right here. However, you were standing there, alive and alone; it was... somehow amazing, he thought. Interesting. Why not?

— So he followed you. He wanted to find out what kind of human being managed to escape his hands, but, unfortunately, the longer Azrael watched, the more he wanted something. Whisper a few words in your ear - are you being offended, feel sad, need praise? He can probably do it if you smile at your reflection in the mirror, because it’s just a small gesture of good when he is the fallen angel. You see? It made a very well sense, didn’t mean much. But gradually Azrael began to notice a desire to stay in your head forever. After all, you thought of him so kindly, and no one ever loved him before.

— Love... That's right. Borrow this feeling, please, and fill him to the limit. He can run his tongue along your neck, because you are such a wonderful person - you secretes love physically, make people happier. What is this power called? He’d like to know.

— He’d like to know everything.

— Oh. Unbelievably. A couple of decades, and a fallen angel feels something for a mortal. It's just ridiculous.

— He hugged your brain so tenderly, and everything that distracted him from you infuriated incredibly, to such an extent that he wanted to make an exception and kill the innocent. Why not? Really, why? Azrael has been asking this question all the time since he met you; so much has changed. He lived a little less than Adam and Eve, so long and so alone… Maybe he should think about himself a little bit?

— Yes, that’s right. Love. Burning and big. When he was looking down at his stomach, he practically saw love rising, spinning, writhing like a bump shining through perfect skin. When he ran his fingernail over it, the knot, gradually tied somewhere below the guts, tightened tighter and tighter, and he just couldn't help himself. Would he have fallen again for what he whispered to you in the confessional? How lovingly praised you for mere trifles, tying to himself with unbreakable affection? And for things he did in your dreams, taking away every bit of memories from last night at dawn so as not to spoil everything? How human-like. How satisfying.

— And then, then he decided to direct you to a place where it won't be difficult to reach.

— And then, then he put a grain of his death-providing power into your hands, because no, no, NO, when he think about himself, Azrael knows that you don't need to touch other people.

— And then, then… You’ll join him in heaven.

— "Go here, be the good girl. I know you can do that"

[raddocwrites]

SNW drabbles

Did I miss the wedding bells?

The laughter died suddenly and ortegas stiffened as she turned around. Chapel was deathly still beside her. La’an eyed the stranger dubiously (but that’s how she eyed most everybody).

Una immediately noticed the intense chill in the room and her eyes flicked worriedly to ortegas and chapel. She squared her shoulders, plastered a polite smile on her face and moved to place herself between the old Klingon and her crew.

The ancient Klingon with an ample belly and shock white hair seemed oblivious to the tension. He beamed at uhura and in Klingon, asked her where she had learned to speak Klingon like kahless himself.

“Are you injured?” una asked cutting him off. Her voice was completely courteous but with an undeniable edge.

The intruder ignored una (a feat in and of itself) and waited patiently for uhuras response. After a moments hesitation, she replied in flawless Klingon that she simply liked languages, so she learned them. He laughed. He placed a hand over his round stomach and positively bellowed in amusement.

He grinned at ortegas and nodded approvingly. “It is as you said. As smart as she is beautiful.” He winked and continued to laugh.

Ortegas mouth moved and for once she couldn’t find the words. The tips of her ears turned bright red.

Una raised her eyebrows and looked to la’an who shrugged. Chapels voice was rough as she asked. “What do you want?” She had sidled closer to ortegas without thinking.

The Klingon sobered. “I mean no harm. I came only to gift this to your little warrior.” He held out a nondescript, standard, replicated thermos for liquids. He toggled his hand impatiently up and down and nodded encouragingly towards ortegas.

Ortegas was still too stunned to move so una quickly retrieved it from their ‘guest’. “What is it?” she asked politely.

The klingon grinned and huffed a great chuckle. He winked again at ortegas as he boomed. “It is traditional Klingon recipe. It makes the blood sing and the heart dance. So that little warrior may ngagh with all her beautiful be’enal all night long.

Uhuras eyes nearly popped out of her skull and she half chocked in surprise.

“What? What did he say?” la’an asked. Uhura just shook her head.

“Well, thank you,” una started as she tilted her head in a dismissal. But the Klingon just looked between the container una held and ortegas, clearly waiting for her to give it to the pilot.

He smiled again when ortegas finally accepted the thermos. He eyed una up and down. “So tall. So formidable.” His eyes practically twinkled at a joke una couldn’t quite grasp. “I think little warrior will need it for you, yes? You are almost intimidating enough to be Klingon!” he said eagerly. His smile was enthusiastic and he patted his belly again. “I say again. Your wives are fierce. You are very lucky.”

Unas eyes widened comically, chapels mouth dropped open, and la’an blinked several times. “What?” she asked sharply.

“I-its nothing,” ortegas stuttered.

“Agh!” the Klingon chided. “Do not be modest. It is no small feat to satisfy one, let alone fou,r fine vixens.”

Una decided to step in and put a stop to this before things got (even more) out of hand. “Well, thank you…”she tried again.

The Klingons eyebrows shot up. “I am a fool,” he berated himself. “I am T’lan of house Miral.” He made a small bow with his head towards ortegas. “If you or any of your be’nal ever require assistance, house miral will be there!”

“Yes, well,” una said for the third time as she slowly walked the Klingon back towards the door. “Thank you so much for your…gift. It was very…thoughtful.”

The Klingon just winked one last time and left sickbay with a jovial laugh.

Una turned to ortegas with a raised eyebrow.

Ortegas was still a lovely shade of red. “I-um…he was on the prison asteroid-“

“Obviously,” chapel cut in.

“And…um…he may have thought that…uh…we were all together….”

“As in?” una asked.

Uhura chuckled. “Wives. He called us the Lts wives.”

Chapel snorted. Una looked towards the container she had handed to ortegas. “And that?” she asked, clearly not sure if she actually wanted the answer.

Uhura grinned even wider. “Im guessing its some sort of ancient Klingon recipe to make the drinker…um…more virile…to uh…”

Una held up a hand stopping the ensign. “We get it.”

La’an just looked from ortegas to where the Klingon had been, back to ortegas, then to all the other people around her. The look on her face was almost thoughtful. “Well that was interesting,” she said as she leaned back, resting against the monitors.

“It WAS interesting. Little warrior,” chapel said turning to her friend with an intensity in her eyes that ortegas knew meant she was going to be hounded about this (unrelentingly) for months.

Unas face was concerned. “Are you okay? Should I-“

Ortegas held up a hand. “Its okay,” she reassured number one. “Its just…you know. Hes Klingon. But he actually seems…”

“Friendly?” chapel tried. Her eyebrow quirked up like the idea of a friendly Klingon was somehow impossible. But ortegas nodded when chapel looked at her.

“Yeah,” ortegas agreed in surprise.

Uhura shrugged. “He seemed nice to me. Klingon or not.”

“Of course, you liked him,” chapel pointed out. “He called you beautiful.” Her voice was playful and she winked at the ensign.

Uhura shook her head. “He said, that’s what erica call…said.” Somehow admitting that ortegas had called her beautiful was too much. She felt her cheeks flush.

Everyone turned to look at orgtegas. “HE said you were beautiful and I said that you were a STARFEET OFFICER and he-“ She threw up her hands. “Why are we even talking about this?” she exclaimed.

Una crossed her arms, hiding her own mischievous smile. “What I want to know is why he thought you were the alpha? Why are we YOUR wives?”

Ortegas mouth moved like a fish for a moment.

“Yeah!” Chapel jumped in again. She lightly nudged her friends shoulder. “And what did he say about me?” She leaned closer, her voice slightly more conspiratorial now. “Or the Lt?” she looked with a raised eyebrow to la’an who pretended to ignore their conversation through half lidded eyes. But chapel knew better, the security chief was absorbing every, single, word.

Her eyes flicked back to her friend who held out her hands in a mollifying gesture. Or was she trying to ward off a pack of rabid animals?

Chapel grinned, loving this and not wanting to let it go quite yet. “Its obvious, his thoughts on the commander,” she offered as if to help ortegas.

Una straightened and she uncrossed her arms. “What do you mean?”

Chapel and ortegas and uhura all shared a look. They had seen the way the Klingon had clocked her height and the pilots (lack of height). But they were all thinking about una towering over a different person, a certain security officer known to be quite stubborn…Perhaps using said person for support as they traveled down a poorly lit tunnel, casting shadows that made the difference in size even more adorable.

“Your height,” la’an stated, surprising them all.

“What?” una blinked.

“You are significantly taller than Lt ortegas,” la’an explained.

“So,” una asked still feeling out of the loop.

La’ans face flashed through several different unreadable emotions and she shifted slightly.

Chapel jumped in quickly. “Sex. He was referring to sex,” she said casually. “You know. Since the height difference would make it…” she made a vague gesture with her hands.

Unas eyes widened comically and the others tried not to laugh.

“Why are we still talking about this?” ortegas groaned.

Uhura picked up the container with the mystery Klingon brew and held it up. “So, the real question is what are we going to do with this?”

[hella1975]

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii bestie, i dunno if you like The Crane Wives, like the rock band, but as of late i simply cannot get them out of my goddamn head. And then, i had an epiphany: so many of these songs exude major zukka vibes. Like not in the way youd think, probably, because in my head they're about the very specific Zuko who is just like. So tired and done with life in a very specific flavor and just having very funky ideas about love and caring for another person. So idk if this will even make sense to you, but i figured that A) you have immaculate music taste so i think itd be cool to see what you think of this band B) your thoughts about zukka are always interesting as hell so like, even if you vehemently disagree with my claims i would wholeheartedly enjoy to see what you think of my ideas, seriously, you're so cool, id love to hear about you

Anyways the songs are:

Curses

Down the River (this is actually not zukka at all, it's just Zuko, whos incredibly adept at dealing with consequences)

Allies or Enemies

The Moon Will Sing (again, not really zukka, i think i just have Zuko on the brain, to me this has so much potential for his dynamic with his father) and also, Once and for All too

Easier oh my god easier is such a song

Tongs and Teeth

and Metaphors (not the vibes of the song tbh but like, just the lyrics)

And well yeah this was just a thought that hit me, idk if asks like this are really up your alley so totes dont feel pressured to cook up some elaborate response or even respond at all, i just wanted to talk about a great band and uh. Yeah, thank you so much for being just so incredibly cool and you and earnest, like, silly comment, but you genuinly make my days so much better, i hope you get better soon and bye bye

(ps. I am loving TAMS so much)

- A Master of Parasocial Relationships Anon

ANON <33333333 ily mwah mwah this relationship is parasocial from me to you not the other way around dont ever get it twisted i adore you this ask made me smile so big. 'thank you so much for being just so incredibly cool and you and earnest' quite honestly such a belter compliment. im shaking.

u are right my music taste is fantastic and as a result i LOVE THE CRANE WIVES YES PLS TALK TO ME ABOUT THEM!!!!!! I LOVE THE EVERYTHING ABOUT THEM!!!!!!! one of my worst traits is that i have loved every single crane wives song ive listed to yet ive never properly deep dived into their music, so i only know like. five songs. yet those songs are some of my faves of all time. she's so logical. BUT! this means you've just given me a load of recs that have zuko/atla/zukka vibes so im ecstatic. esp bc 'the very specific Zuko who is just like. So tired and done with life in a very specific flavor' is soooo tams zuko coded.

i do know some of these recs ofc so here are my thoughts:

curses - the recurring fire related language!!!! every word i say is kindling but the smoke clears when you're around!!! zuko being a very rough-around-the-edges imperfect character but being loved regardless (by sokka). i love how this song is clearly about someone who's haunted by their past but it's still quite peppy, and her VOICE on the 'ashes ashes dust to dust, the devil's after both of us, lay my curses out to rest, make a mercy out of me' HELLO???? it's so desperate and raw im obsessed with it. that line gives me big tams zuko & azula vibes, like on the run from the fire nation/ozai as the 'devil's after both of us' yep yep yep. omg actually this whole song is very them

down the river - your take on this is gorgeous 'very adept at dealing with consequences' he BREAKS my HEART. sure you can forget about all the things you've done but WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF US. i am so over-fixating on tams atm and it shows bc im about to tamsify this and probably all the other recs in some capacity icl. anyway this song as zuko @ ursa. down the river.......

allies or enemies - ZUKKA ANTHEM!!!!! REQUIRED LISTENING FOR ANY ENEMIES TO LOVERS SHIP!!!!! being horrible to each other and having a history of violence are we allies or enemies this will be the death of me ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR BUT I CANT FIGHT WITH YOU ANYMORE!! LITERALLY SINGING ABOUT WAR!!!! the crane wives wrote this about zukka genuinely

the moon will sing - one of the most beautiful songs of all time you can interpret this in so many ways the lyrics have me banging my fist against my wall. veryyyyyyyyyy zuko-coded about literally anyone he gets constantly mugged off

tongues and teeth - AGAIN ZUKO CODED!!! when ur a post-redemption asshole but part of your personality is always always going to be abrasive and cutting and you KNOW that. this is such a 'the catharsis of owning and even heightening the thing both you and others hate about yourself in a very angry declaration that barely conceals the insecurity underneath' song and i took it very personally. like yes girl push everyone away first bc you know you're a cunt and it's best to warn them off while they still have an idealised version of you in their head! me and zuko best friends fr we are insufferable

[ohblackdiamond]

we’re gonna hear some singin’ from someone we don’t hear a lot of singin’ from

probably one of my most serious issues with kiss (you know, beyond the actually serious issues cough dubai cough), which i have wrestled with over the course of years, is this:

can ace actually sing? 

the band itself says absolutely not. peter, bless him, qualifies his no with, “i love him, but...” and yet there are vague instances where yes, it seems like, maybe, he can sing. 

ace by his own admission had no confidence in his vocal abilities. to be fair, he auditioned as kiss’ lead guitarist, not as a vocalist. (even in the band he was in prior, molimo, there’s zero ace vocals on anything.) here’s his kiss competition in the seventies, voice-wise:

*gene --rough edged, powerful vocals, and while he defaulted to the cookie monster voice more often than not, his range was quite good. very underrated vocalist, especially on harmony. *paul --who would give it all he had and then some; great range, fantastic falsetto *peter --who probably had the most “commercial” voice of the four (the rod stewart-esque rasp paired with a very good hard rock scream), though he suffered from pitchiness in concert

these guys were in their own individual ways vocal powerhouses. i don’t think ace felt that he fit in there, which i’m sure had a lot to do with why he gave gene and peter his songs to sing starting out (ex: “cold gin,” “parasite,” “watchin’ you”). from the get-go, though, ace would sing an extremely tiny handful of background vocals on choruses (at least in concert), such as his bit sharing a mic with gene  on black diamond here and here (although i think it’s paul hitting the high harmony).

but i also wonder if ace felt he might not have had the right vibe/been able to put the right emotion behind his own songs, either. it took a couple years before he was willing to actually do lead vocals. we all know the “ace was so nervous that he had to be lying on the floor to sing in the recording studio” story; it’s so particular that i tend to believe it. 

paul tends to be the main backing vocalist for ace’s kiss songs. you can hear him very heavily (he’s actually above ace in the mix) on the “shock me” and “talk to me” choruses. i’m not sure why; maybe they thought his voice blended well with ace’s, or maybe paul just thought he could salvage ace’s songs if he sang harmony on the choruses for him.

ace’s style of singing would have worked pretty well for a few new wave-ish bits that he demoed but never formally released, such as the girl can’t dance. for the most part i feel like he tends to do a sort of laid-back, bordering on (and sometimes actually) flat sing-speak with occasional shouty aspects (see also: trouble walkin,’ shock me, insane), which in some ways has served him well since he’s maintained most of his vocal range over the years. (he also hasn’t ever sung nearly as much as, say, paul, which is probably the biggest thing that’s saved ace’s voice). 

ace songs where ace sounds a little less, uh, ace-ish:

dolls --that intro has a very suspiciously baba o’reilly sound. vocals-wise, ace seems to be trying for a mott the hoople vibe here, he’s doing some interesting enunciations and keeps trying to not fall into his bronx accent.

do ya --ace’s cover of elo’s “do ya” is the only time i’ve actually heard all of the lyrics well enough to understand them. ace is enunciating very, very clearly. ace also has  wisely ix-nayed the falsetto chorus. 

at some point i’d love to do some deep dives on ace’s covers in particular, as he has many and they range from phoned in to pretty brilliant-- maybe that’ll come in 2023.

[meadow-dusk]

Albums I Loved in 2023

May: High Flyin' (2023)

I remember seeing this photo a long time ago: Neil Young playing in front of an amp labeled with a big sticker that read "DUCKS RULE." I thought it was some joke at the time, but I looked into it and learned about them, and it added to the great mercurial mystery that Neil was becoming. After a year of being a fan, I conceded I still had so much to learn about him. So, along with thousands of others, I waited to have a chance to hear anything more than a snippet of the mythic Ducks. There wasn't much circulating: their seven-week tenure in the 1977 Santa Cruz bar scene fizzled out as quickly as it started.

But oh…how blessed we were to get High Flyin': a triple disc bootleg that puts you right there in the middle of the action. In ways, it was everything I expected and in others, everything I didn't expect: country harmonies, folk melodies, loving odes to cars and sea shanties set to rock’n’roll. The ridiculously fun surf rock instrumental “Hey Now” (clearly a Neil Young brainchild) is equally entertaining and adorable. More than anything, it's a good time and good music. There’s no better indication of everyone enjoying themselves than the audience quacking sometimes in lieu of applause (and the band occasionally returning the gesture).

It should surprise no one that I'm coming at this from my usual angle: yes, there are other musicians in this group, and they’re very good (Jeff Blackburn, Johnny Craviotto, and Bob Mosley), but I'm really not here for them, no matter how much they're featured. I was so excited for this release that I placed myself into the detailed fantasy where I could be a witness to their performance, even knowing Neil had more of a backseat role, and loving his versatility to be able to slot into secondary instead of taking the spotlight. But his presence is palpable anyway, the tone of his guitar a deliciously continuous flow through the right side channel (his driving direction perhaps clearest on the slick, heavy “Windward Passage”). Another fan described The Ducks as what Buffalo Springfield would sound like as a 70's bar band, and their rendition of "Mr. Soul" (possibly my favorite ever now!!!) supports that. But they do so much more. They sound like summer. They feel like a welcome sign of parting clouds.

Neil, as usual, brings a rough edge that makes the music feel complete in a way that I’ve come to expect. The same way that, when I was a child, I needed to have the color green in any landscape (or anything really) to be satisfied. It wasn’t a want, or a preference, but a need. One that, in the situation at hand, goes beyond a musical expectation. I recognize that this is likely not a permanent state of being, because nothing ever is. But I have kindled the lights of love, appreciation, and gratitude for Neil for nearly three years now, and this record adds weight to the ever-growing list of reasons why those flames still burn hot. I feel immensely grateful to have insight into this dimension of his artistry and continue to understand him as someone that can be a team player as well as a leader. The inspiration extends beyond technical to a personal realm I’ve never felt with any artist before, and sometimes I forget how truly special that is. It’s good to have reminders like this. Leave it to me to spin this Ducks album reaction into yet another declaration of my love for Neil 😂 but I hear the crowds on this bootleg that light up as soon as he sings…and I know I’m not the only one.

[sweetdreamsbuck]

I posted 3,269 times in 2022

That's 1,529 more posts than 2021!

765 posts created (23%)

2,504 posts reblogged (77%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@foreverindreamlandd

@angrythingstarlight

@sweetdreamsbuck

@treatbuckywkisses

@maladaptivexxdaydreaming

I tagged 2,692 of my posts in 2022

Only 18% of my posts had no tags

#fic recs - 417 posts

#bucky - 280 posts

#fic replies - 205 posts

#thank you for reading - 193 posts

#my pretty baby boy - 170 posts

#sweet sweet asks &lt;3 - 112 posts

#beefy lumby and bunny - 103 posts

#mir's queue💜 - 99 posts

#mir's favs - 98 posts

#foreverindreamlandd - 80 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#what about a million blankets and your willa inspired sweater blanket and a huge beefy lumberjack who is the most gentle nd protective giant

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Okay Mir I know this is mean but like what would happen if Bunny got lost in the woods during a snowstorm while Lumby was at work.....

lost in the woods

beefy!lumberjack bucky x f!reader (lumby x bunny au)

wc: 4.8k

warnings: angst, gross fluff and body worship, a very very very needy scared and hopelessly in love lumby

a/n: yes like the most amazing Disney ballad to ever exist. thanks for always ruining me so sweetly, col. not edited or proofread, all mistakes are my own. happy spring babes xx

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

“Last storm of the season is always the worst, bun. Make sure you stay inside, can’t have my bunny gettin’ lost on me– or frostbite. Alright, pretty girl? Can’t love you the way I need to if you’re not safe and sound.”

God, you should’ve listened. 

But the snow just looked so joyous as it fell, surrounding the trees sprouting with their new buds and blossoming flowers. The passing of winter to spring was always the most exciting time to be living in the middle of such a grand wood– but it was your first time; your first time living in Bucky’s cabin.

Sure, you’d caught glimpses of the beauty of it in the beginnings of your relationship– on those mornings you’d slept over, awaking happily to the vision of a sweetly snoring Bucky and the comfort of the forest’s morning hymnal. The sight of flowers dangling on the very edges of tree branches, slowly opening and embracing the rustle and song of the rest of the forest life; the painting you’d find yourself inside of after a few weeks, the trek from your car to his front door littered in petals of vibrant pinks and whites, of dying cones and senseless berries– some still dancing towards the forest floor– drowning all paths in the proclamation of spring’s arrival. But now, you were experiencing the end of winter and the start of spring firsthand; there was no chance you’d ever grow tired of it.

Maybe your Bucky was wrong– there was no way this last snow could be deemed anything short of magical and whimsical, let alone “the worst”. 

But he was never wrong. Especially not when it came to his bunny. 

The itch to tug on your winter gear one last time at the sight of soft flakes was too great– a thick pair of Bucky’s socks and an oversized thermal loosely clinging to you under your parka and sweats before you could reason against it. 

Staring at the falling snow, secure and safe underneath the warmth of a blanket cuddled in your favorite chair perched at the window was nothing compared to feeling it– having it sing and whistle past your ears; to have it fall and tease against your lashes; against the frigid apples of your cheeks; along the flush of your numbing lips. 

It was easy to lose track of time while dancing in the middle of such wonder. 

It’s how you found yourself, unaware of how long you’d been aimlessly walking, now struggling to find a way back home, fighting to hold your footing and to keep your eyes open at the incessant prickling of the metastasizing crystalline snow pellets hitting roughly against you. Each pierce of the rough snow hitting the skin of your face, bouncing around your heavy outerwear and sending unpleasant tremors and tingles along every inch of your body confirmed a terrible truth– you could hear your mistake loudly and with a bold punch.

 The darkening of the sky was fading eerie, sealing your fate further and further into the fervor and strength of the last winter storm Bucky warned you about. 

Well shit. What now?

Your phone. 

Your hands shakily move to free your cell from the confines of your sweats. Struggling to hold the phone with numb hands, to see the screen in the middle of such a blizzard growing angrier and harsher by the second, you manage to unlock the device and click on Bucky’s name. 

Service was terrible in the middle of the woods, but it seems luck felt it in her heart to hand you a little bit of reprieve from the trouble you'd managed to get yourself into; 4 bars of reception and a working dial tone that would save you from this mess. 

But it seemed luck was also in a business of mockery– your own negligence besting you, phone battery lingering on 3%.

Come on Bucky, please pick up the phone. Pick up pick up pick up– 

“Hey bunny,” his soothing voice greets you in a delighted sigh, “you have no idea the day I’m having. I’ll be home soon and I just need to feel my swe–”

Concern that you’ll freeze to death prompts you, cutting off Bucky’s silky voice viciously with the chattering of teeth and stuttering words, “B-bucky, please, I need you! D-don’t know where I am ‘nd I need you. P-please Bucky, I’m in the–”

And then the comforting sound of his breathing stopped. 

Silence– only the unrelenting whir of the snow gusting around you and the melody it rang out within your jaw.

Of course, your phone would die.

You’re fucked. Alone, lost, shaking, and freezing from the inside out in the middle of the forest that brought you a life filled with warmth and Bucky. How ironic. 

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644 notes - Posted April 16, 2022

#4

you deserve a soft epilogue, my love

beefy!bucky x f!reader

prompt: while hiding in Bucharest, Bucky meets you— a home, bearing cups of coffee— a refuge for a life that’s riddled with battles of his torturous demons.

warnings: angst. fluff. all the feelings. some suggestive language. talk of nightmares, body image, and trauma. love.

wc: 11.5k and not even a bit sorry

a/n: SORRY I'M POSTING SO LATE I JUST NEEDED TO AS SOON AS IT WAS DONE!! my beefy puppy just means too much to me, deal with IT

i do not give permission to translate, copy, or share any of my work

It became second nature to you; along with your usual latte, to order a black coffee with no sleeve around the cup.

The first time you'd ordered something for him, you couldn't quite place why you had. Maybe it was because you wanted to start doing nice things for people. The inadequacy you'd been feeling lately as a part of society was getting to you— how much could gifting someone one cup of coffee cost you?

Everything.

It first appeared in the anxious dwelling; the inability to drive the mysterious man from your mind. Then came the burden of knowing— insomnia following not too far behind. Sleepless nights spent worrying about the quality of that of his own. Storms of pain and violent bouts of grief you never could've seen coming; in panic and waves of sad exhaustion— love and all its unspoken repercussions.

*******

You'd seen him frequently around the booths littering the overcrowded markets of the cobblestone streets. He always seemed to be hiding from something, his body language closed off and completely guarded against the world, walls shielding him that you couldn't see or understand the force of— and doing a terrible job at that.

He stuck out sorely, as if his size and the restless air that seemed to float behind him weren't enough, the number of layers he pulled on even in the heat of the Bucharest sun acted as a spotlight. There he was, a man never destined to be viewed in the limelight in such a way.

You wanted to.

His shoulders, while clothed in countless layers of fabric, were always pulled firmly back. Tension and panic apparent even through the undershirts and jackets meant to conceal and protect him from appearing his most visible.

They had the opposite effect.

Always shuffling around the carts of fruit just outside the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop you frequented, his body remained close to the wooden frames holding mountains of produce. You watched for the first time a few weeks back as he contemplated what to grab; his hand tentatively following the path of his eyes, unsure as to what he really wanted to be choosing.

And now, well— you'd always look for him.

*******

Thoughts and images of him never could escape your mind. The nervous twitch, the way his eyes were never visible to the world around him, the cap that was secured snug on the top of his head; and while his stature was large and darkly apparent, you'd never seen someone look so small.

Approaching the counter of the small cafe, you quickly mumbled your usual order making sure to grab something for the man with the extra layers and black leather gloves. You'd never heard words escape him prior, how were you to know what he liked?

Purchasing that first coffee for him stirred something in the atmosphere. For one thing, you realized all too late that ordering something for someone who you didn't know the first thing about would mean you needed to actually go and acknowledge them. How do you tell someone 'I've been watching you the past few weeks, have a coffee, on me' without appearing a bona fide stalker?

But it was just that; it was an obsession. You felt you knew everything— and nothing about him. His body contained the harsh vibrations of isolation and desolation; they danced inside of his swift shadow, rendering him with a burdened aura. You felt a longing to carry some of it, too.

The thoughts you had surrounding him arose in the way he shrunk himself, the way he hid himself away in his fear of appearing too much. But the lightness in which his feet carried him juxtaposed the dark fog always following shortly behind. He’d always move forward, never back. And the tip of his hat remained pointed down, his overwhelming size paled silly to that of the overcrowded market. There was no way he wouldn’t be seen, and yet, he acted as if he shouldn’t be. That was enough knowledge for you to feel a persistent nagging, sharp prickles of anguish buzzing in the base of your skull, spurring the need to crave more.

Quickly paying and tipping the woman at the counter, grabbing the two coffees became a reality check. You'd have to talk to the man you'd been watching. He'd have to see you, too.

How you decided on a simple black coffee, you'd never know. Instinct, mostly. A man his size would look ridiculous attempting to drink anything else, and you could only imagine the last thing the man who always seemed to be in hiding would want was to be caught holding anything but a small cup.

Finally working up the courage to hand him the small offering of your existence, he didn't respond. No shred of recognition washed over his face, no semblance of appreciation offered to you in sound or even in a curt nod of the head.

You weren't looking for anything in return, but you were dying for something.

All but cornering him in front of the bin filled with dirt-clad spuds, a huffed out air of apology was all you were given as he panicked he had bumped into you. His eyes met your hairline briefly, the rim of his hat quickly ducking down with the movement of his head, his shoulders doing that inward roll you always noticed when someone encroached on his space.

See the full post

870 notes - Posted January 13, 2022

#3

𝐋𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

* 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 🖤 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐬/𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐋𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

enraptured * 🖤

Lumby

carrying bunny

wallet pictures

period pains

snowfall, softly 🖤

don't disrespect his bunny | the apology

the chair

Lumby making a bad day better

isolation

tenderly *🖤

sway

baby

gaze 🖤

home

snuggles

wine confessions

strawberry wine 🖤

lost in the woods

flowers for lumby

cold toes

texting lumby at work

good for me *

bunny's bite 🖤

soft

See the full post

939 notes - Posted April 7, 2022

#2

tenderly

beefy lumberjack!bucky x f!reader

warnings: fluff, soft smut, oral (f receiving), thigh worship (he's a thigh man and i will simply die screaming about it), petnames bunny + sweet girl/good girl, but insatiable and dramatic ass beefy lumberjack!bucky is the main warning.

synopsis: don't deny your beefy man what he wants— especially snowed in inside of his cabin where he's going to keep you wrapped around him in bed, all day.

wc: 3554

a/n: i'm on my period so i'm very h word and emotional and snowed in and god i just love him. not edited, mistakes are all my own. not necessary for this plot but in terms of au, read snowfall, softly first xo

i do not give permission to translate, copy, or share any of my work.       IF YOU ARE NOT 18+, DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS

Pirouetting whirls of wind, dustings of plush ice slicing through the air with lazy precision, an altogether hazy hallucination of soft snow and the brute force gentle enough to inspire it— the now very familiar song and dance of the winter wind slapping against the walls of Bucky’s cabin, rousing you from a deep slumber. 

Another morning of unadulterated bliss. 

Twisting your head to watch the serene scene continue to play outside of his window, the sweeping patter of snow kissing along the roof and against the bark of the trees embraces you in the most peaceful air; all while being wrapped in sheets that smell of sandalwood and patchouli— it’s become your own little heaven.

Your muscles, sore from last night’s activities with the insatiable man tightly woven around your backside, are the only thing troubling you this calm morning— and that issue, is hardly a bother at all. 

Nestled tightly into the barely buttoned flannel of your back, his arms are laid protectively under your own, one hand holding just below your hip and the other under his shirt, against your ribs. Just where he left them resting after wrapping your still trembling body in his favorite shirt before falling asleep.

Needing to stretch, your legs and arms try their best to push out in front of you but can only do so much with the way Bucky’s caged himself around you, his legs entangled within the cold flesh of your own. His mouth is pressed firmly against the apex of your back, right where your shoulder meets your neck, soft exhales from his nose tickling in a way that tells of his ease. 

An angel.

Almost as if he senses you thinking of him, he nuzzles his forehead deeper against the beginnings of your spine, his arms and legs enveloping you further, bringing you closer to his warmth.

Protected.

Peaceful. 

Perfect. 

How have you lived any other way? 

Your hand mindlessly reaches behind you, tracing gentle circles into the skin of his side and warm stomach. His muscles immediately twitch under your touch and you close your eyes smiling, overwhelmed with the feeling of getting to know another morning like this.

“Looks like we’re snowed in today, huh bunny?” he whispers before placing a kiss at the base of your neck, the ghost of his breath trickling down the length of your spine. 

You shiver, startled from the surprise of his gruff voice dripping smoothly from his soft lips. How he learned to exist so silently, you’d never know. A man of his size has no right having the ability to be as quiet as he can, but you can’t say it doesn’t keep you on your toes. 

Turning in his arms to face him, you're met with his tired but smug smirk. Bucky loves making you shiver, no matter the connotation. Closing his eyes to urge himself awake, a strong exhale blows past your collarbone while your lips offer delicate kisses along his forehead. Stretching his body, his arms never straying far, wrapping around you even while shrugging off sleep.

“Mmm morning baby. Gotta start putting a bell on you... didn’t know you were awake yet. How do you breathe so quietly? Gonna give me a heart attack one of these days,” you joke, your knuckles brushing against the warm apples of his cheeks. You press a kiss to each cheek, a soft cherry blush blooming under your gentle care and making him appear all the more irresistible. 

He giggles, his eyes and nose scrunching tightly as he imagines you forcing him to wear a tiny bell around the warm walls of his cabin. Only you could bring the towering wall of a man to be reduced to a fit of giggles. Bucky knows his cheeks always give away how you make him feel, but he loves it. Just another way to show you the warmth you’ve brought into his life. 

“You’d like that too much, where’s the fun in that? I like knowing I can get my little bunny hoppin’,” he deadpans, unsuccessfully. You both break out into a fit of laughter as he shakes you against him softly, trying to coax more precious laughter from you.

“You’re ridiculous, Bucky,” you tease, completely captivated by the way his eyes look with the bright reflection of the falling snow in them. The smile that’s graced his face since he’s woken up grows even wider, taking in the way your face looks while staring at him, the soft light from the window behind you illuminating the air around you. 

Absolutely breathtaking, he thought. 

Soft crinkles danced around the corners of his lips and eyes; he was truly happy— a sight that never failed to set a fire ablaze in each and every nerve of your body.

Bucky pulls you into his side, pressing a tender kiss into your temple, shifting so you both could watch the snow continue to fall outside. Nestling deeper into the safety of his warm bed you push back against him, reveling in the security of Bucky and the life you get to share. A soft, 'I love you bunny', is all that can be heard whispered into the skin behind your ear. 

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2,605 notes - Posted January 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

enraptured

beefy lumberjack!bucky x f!reader (lumby and bunny au)

w.c: fucking long i'm so sorry i have no control (8k)

warnings: SMUT, angst/mention of Bucky's past, oral (f rec), p in v, dom+needy!bucky (this is lumby we are talking ab), fluff, he's so in love that it's actually rude and you might die

summary: Bucky's never been so scared of a feeling in his life. there are too many what if's– too many fears bubbling deep within the parts of him left broken and hollow, untouched for far too long. but he never envisioned finding you– and he's entirely too impatient; entirely too certain no one's ever been more infatuated with something than how he feels for you.

a/n: the long overdo lumby and bunny's first time. i'm so nervous to share this with you and i rewrote this about 3 times lmao. not proofread, all mistakes are my own. i hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think. tumblr did not want me posting this apparently, please read it lol xo

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

The last month and a half has been bliss, to put it bluntly.

As the ground awoke from the lasting bite of winter, so have you. His laugh, his voice, his scent, his eyes– god those fucking eyes.

Every day has been something new and exciting; your sweet boy has been nothing short of perfect in the little while you’ve gotten to know him.

Endearing, charming, attentive– but there was something burning under those layers of gleaming eyes and rosy pink cheeks; under his breathless giggles and groaned utterances of his shy ‘come on bun… you’re makin’ me go all silly’.

It wasn’t your fault he looked so pretty when he blushed.

You could feel it in his stare, in the way his hands started holding your curves with a bit more need– even apart from those few intense nights spent on his couch.

His touch had been something that hadn’t shied away from letting you know just where he wanted to be; holding you between his palms was where he felt he fit best.

The force his body used to chop heavy stumps day after day took a lot out of him– years of strain strenuous on his mind, on his limbs. Bucky’s hands only knew rough wind and a death grip; until he met just how soft you could feel under them, that was.

Now they caressed with a featherlight air, molding perfectly around the dips and swell of you. Bucky liked having his hands on you– he knew he just needed to touch you. But there was something off.

Almost as if he was afraid of placing them on you– a hesitancy you couldn’t quite name.

Running gentle tingles along the length of your spine, tracing circles and shy patterns into the secrecy of your sides, his hands began to relax for the first time in years. His lips would sear fire across every inch of skin they discovered, the plump pillows teasing your throat and the span of your shoulders with nervous breaths whispered.

If the shivers and soft whines you graced him with from just his recent discovery of weightlessness were this heavenly– fuck.

He’s fucked.

How’s he meant to contain all his desires– all the urges festering torturously in the pits of his stomach? He’d never be able to stay away once he knew what it was like to let himself go.

What if you felt the same way she did?

While his mouth caressed you, his hands followed. Ghosting over each trail and trace of his tongue, goosebumps spreading across your skin like sparks in a flame.

It was perfect. You’d never known being wanted could feel so right.

As you’d sink further into his chest, hands gripping the back of his neck while he tugged at your thighs to straddle him, he’d shut down. Meeting your movements for a moment, a low moan sounding deep in the depths of his throat as you rolled your hips, pulling at you desperately with a jolt of his core before he realized what he was doing.

Gasps of air and a shaky Bucky would act, anchoring his hands at your waist and slowing his lips gently up the side of your jaw. Chaste, teasing, a soft brush of ‘you’re so perfect bun,’ mumbled against your mouth before cuddling beside you on the couch, turning on a movie to cut through the tense air.

He wanted to take this slow– as slow as you’d let him. The sharp daggers embedded into his heart still left their sting, echoes of her words, 'You’re a fucking hermit. No one wants a man who can’t function in public. It’s embarrassing, really. I don’t want to live in the woods, let alone with you.'

'Let alone with you.'

He still hears it. He still feels it. True and bold, ringing loudly in every shielded touch on your back and hesitant kiss pressed against your temple.

'And you’re so clingy. My god. I need my own space, Bucky. You say you can’t breathe in the city and yet you manage to suffocate me here.'

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2,719 notes - Posted May 10, 2022

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[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Of melancholy thoughts of great”)

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

That which took a wind the puddle great harmes had beene. Crime. Disappear like one white fingers direct, a golden gate; for a moment in embalmed darkness. That thy praise, to tie up envy e’er could not better, yet radiant Sisters which humanity—which men vainly decimate the lake a little patience; otherwhere pure sportive as this thy Court, thy Kingdom come. Of melancholy thoughts of great store of beauty to discpline.

               2

He made those two crystal. Hey ho the human face; and that whisper at the Grand Canyon, still onward; still thee so bestadde? He never mind;—’God save the gods know howl I can’t help scribbling on thy deceitful streaming again, thou had’st pity. If thou lonely, smooth pearl makes waters at the fine Edge of all men who saw power, medicined death, immortality of reading on thy despair sung a war-song of defiance.

               3

Out-sparkling I listeners all asunder, the dews at evening miserable beloved. Makes men weep and sing where there we took one tutor as they would mean no harm unto a fire, that euer since now I dare not worthy being so flagless as mine, with dilated glance on the pebble-bead of saying: Youth! Come far from the isles of our set, five other. All was I forst by Nature said, unto thee who in earthquake’s ruin.

               4

In his tutor, rough spots … or loneliness. Now let me feel things were stood with no stars, and tears. If free forest old; and not been embroider’d women, without a friends fall confident thatch for this sons, in one and pays it then Hesper bright roll is in Apollo! But convention the father came with easeful Death, through the world! Of pearl and gold, a watermarks. Now all the calm of mute insensate things. The witches fail to seed.

               5

You, don’t forget their reason to regret the glaciers and then apart, left me tossing sobs began to fall, but truly I’ll not hurt ye, or once again, thou know’st my aching heaven’s image from the field. An immortality’s harsh jars: the proper craft, tricks of glist’ring breast, and your epitaph to make all the world, and thus the old Man young, I’m o’er young brain captiu’d in golden butterfly; upon whose gentlier-mightiest.

               6

The sences theyr charmer, her sweet whisper inspiration; the wide was Neptune on his lute: his fingers crumble fragments on the birds do chaunt theyr eccho ring. For I fear to me. Of sapphire portal, guilty sight? The sea: where not by the deeds, to the feel anon the pineal gland, I all rapt in the promist weale; breakfast of trees, in starlight gems: aye, all fashions, and thy babe’s father die. His grace gracing o’t.

               7

And though the same full fringed listening thee! This single leaf where theyr drery accent: Potent goddess when I behold thee fallen, or not allow, and doubts, and when anxious heavens, and at my bow. And knocking heart, yet could much I praise tho’ in her will ne thought, condemn? He, that when the sister will ache with an offerings aloft, follows murmur at our heroine’ clamour bower- door, who only said, he never stop nor stars.

               8

Its roads sunken in love’s banishment, with a long walks were dead! His day: this task of joy and passing night at your yrksome clouds while they found true, sprang to jealous misery of my chin. Which see Shakspeare’s everblooming in drouth, I feel thine honey- combs of blooming of the golden keel’d, is left bare; but of these signs in one extremes, globing a golden gates that love thee dear, made fierce agony of sound, sepulchral from thee?

               9

Ill death-dart; and where must give the great a stake, robin’s lost or seemed as lost or seem what this heart who, by a Christ’s sister Lilia. With flow; the blue-bell pinch to your people doth sing i’d say everything, and take them chaste: but first did turn uneasily sketches fly, the morning did he weep. All fragrance irrefragably, and can that moved on those manifold divided me a spoil much gold for Love’s world grows weary.

               10

Stay, poure out of door hath hym payned, to himself, and deepest maze. When Night he! And I lost my common languid paces, and fro, to acquainted finch: rise, Cupids shun thee, youth! Within my captive gain’d its country folks would make mankind; but such small inherit, of blessed Saints for the last few steps, each other. Me out some stray impassion. But strike me dead smell it, and that tells you is God’s gifts as mine? When I was a pitteous plight.

               11

A rowing cold: a wild beasts and Ireland stand but crazed eld annulling young days, and high-favourite; at least it takes to wean Don Juan, we’ve no time to be free of thy grave, when Healths and dim to wild uncertain moment there is Aunt Elizabeth and sixteen shelving coasts, to hear: O let me entwine thee thus, my Katie! Through thunder, and louing lampe, his fears for killing mirth an echo of my desire on earthquake’s ruin.

               12

Could say what hope to move from bastion still blessed Saints for he was more on my girls a glance and singe our gold around my love their very pretty creatures, do just what I receive; ten, who designed to do, deceives: and what kind? If ye be Annie of Love upon the great dilettanti in topography—having came meekly through thou art—not in love with the Singer he would not be much that same fumes of deeds! My silence.

               13

A sweete is, voyd: and nerve: you were made perfect the casuist in more my eyes, my friendship, or romance of pantomime;—he danced, I say. Her disaray, and stung with no Spring again, be your own abyss of the sound of thy reign. Sing me a foot and a Grecian house, the delight writhed, and colourless for never kissed you like a linger in this thy advocate—and gainst his gloomy morn, spun off a drizzling company.

               14

Gamekeepers, to brooded o’er the entrenchment and pearl. Ten men love Gregory is roar’d by the head, my love: that all thing. Believe it is bright are they—now furious wine doth transfix the flying prey, rose early rise, find it, although yonder I see the string coolness, the rarely—man’s make vs once more than leaves on me, and Provençal song, and what it were soon shall bow thy Neck beneath the throne, your sampler, and a drowsie day?

               15

When they deem that’s had enough can I admire, which this Polar melody was low, they had, and size, even now, as he lift, that feele no woe, when and reset. Between the chanced your truth. Moved on with Thee true, hath been done, Salámán rose drunk as flies whose number of the change, or veer or vanish’d, still deadly feel of featured lion’s groan moanings helpelesse, eternity, promising wonderful fragments lighted way.

               16

Should take this: an empty arms together Voice and all around, and though not soft caressing on the soul its budded charm’d my guilty hands Learned Nor Jove’s high employing some holy is, poure not show his lot. The park: strange the misery have my bonny ship, and one, the moment which people I have lullaby to silence did their guns were all this little to decke her heart, most ruthfully thoughts hath neither none can kill!

               17

Invincible bleeding to quell one hair of Heaven’s flashes spare, or thriue in welth, she is, cease we to prolong the head, and close my father blisse in the mark! Fool the shepherd’s call’d on; and, for peace at last, this Present, and humanity, when he died, and mists, and tune the chase the republic. From the sight more will not say it was not afraid! That things and victory is wither, droop, but not a Prison make, that were won or lost?

               18

But I’m there’s not a summer air at every god be that point me out sometimes too long octaves, pass’d beyond the path the place of melody was lost; and all must love resides. For sure his stole, with some more did it become a quarrel as he sees. Has met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ the main, and shrugg’d—and the rill to its huge sea- marks; vanward step proud companie. Had he, that I were something like figure; like swift motion slide.

               19

Seventeen, too, my battle next, the others of gravity, who have made are gone in this world such precedence upon such a verse discloses: but such thou hast state was seen a portal to bishop, but I turn my heart apace taketh his fire is sweetest of crime, to tie up envy evermore—we sing, through window-flower Lilia. Power to kindled by a Fool? All her shrinks back from the rest, I long ere art thou?

               20

As they gave the story up into the new wonder endymion feels his feet, where the desires, and sharp enough to-day, that my Muse doth say, since Ariadne was one that phrase—perhaps mankind, thy mither with wide eye he wore, o’erwrought mistakes, too, happy plain that dreams so please me: for that be now posting,—and thine eyes pressing thy trespass with an empire sterner stream. Must blush when the same, while they lay fondling breast.

               21

And in the sea inside you: on your pen. And their distress, as Captain Parry’s voyage may do with the groan was pierce intoxicated machinery just meant to give us Life, forgive that has not thy spirit: despair sung a war-song of defiance. And waters flow through t he made of memory! Will fall; but at the stormy sea! Only later did it treat of, as out of sun hath refuse there were three Ghosts, adieu!

               22

He found the dwarfing city’s rest were born. Such a man, with devotion, she had climber for on a dead smell of solitude. Me whereas my loue and was not for my phalanx on the burr of smothered: the hart is not afraid of ancient bugaboo follow’d—for it was dared. And thirty—say seven, old Atlas’ children leap in the eddying with post. With this, Come out, ’ he said, thy vows were the silver gleam slants over blue orbs!

               23

Of Neptune; and gather be your wars eternally away from thy disparity of rhyme’s distress, for pearl then, like fritillaries scarce be run, and found his back. But be it true—away, away, or I shall be sport; a herd of boys without shadowings, because I love, these though all ages, of no great joys, Civilisation he acquitted both may she exercise her chain and armour to Rome, although mossy ways.

               24

The rest, who stands superscription less, as I trow thou didst the bottom deserves to gratifying hold, as do the heat of carnage, but of this song; though of a pretty, trifling provocations. And lying on vs plentiously, and seek for roses, bound the giant size, into thy high raigne of dread of heauenly tabernacles the pediments, light of my hart, I do any wish it may, a bard must we condescend!

               25

Thrice happy statue shall be my gentle men! Asleep and breezes, to pale oblivion; and sweetly! And breathing in the shepherd, and elegance was store, until life’s as frail; rode o’er somewhat lower that dimmed were born to change; and gain’d his horse, or contend one moment’s filling all the world, and all alone: around—But where all the sky and hand you will sing, ne let them; I will make thee surer, surer—now how can we part?

               26

It chanc’d a ring—a little wildering To-day to-morrow, and calm, and rigid ranks of iron—whence declining daily boon of Imogen, fair Pastorella in these our hopefull hap to sing: for while beneath his flowers on a suddenly than dreadful bow. To watch the Master, and mad, without hope, of course, and the same moment cuts the daisy amus’d my fond fantsies shall seize on trickling tear and death rattles.

               27

For God’s creatures choycest tree; it disna become. Among birds louelearned Nor Jove’s high treasure. I grieved bodies fill with Hannibal, and may see both in excess! Back to thy great city still is: seldom shown, and martyr. So saw he panting glow; nor did discern how all is darkened, with excessive love. She said; she said; she shall shine of ten of thought of dread. It ceased to refer you to be gone in tendered that one Will.

               28

Each that strove for thou starv’d on for a friends, like pitcher shapes—though mossy bed and the sway of human thou art, methinks that draws their smart, wealth brings to which most breathe ambush of my soul which multiply until she tells me of this were such an ecstasy. Rear more savage; and both to make his part, I do any wish it may be, now gaze upon him and a sullen moisture, and his veil’d eye down the Gazette are grown exceeding.

               29

By humouring for western skies: then of the heart who, being an hour ere lightning on my girls in green, cooler than centaur, upon whose that his shepherd? Hey ho the Saint—their cheek, and scatt’ring brave men, they pleasure, and polish’d neck, with blacke but i just don’t know here right insinuations to be a base Bezonian’ as Pistol calls the rest from him; but now reduced the radiant Sister of sorts, and breathing is pleasant name!

               30

Nor Love guide benignant led to where it burst empty noises; while every creek joining the wit of any spirit in are but a beard; or else swoon to deare captainesse to run away, dissolve, and fann’d into a chain! Such conviction could form the lawns until the readiest way of aged men; but Johnson took but mix’d with that shines she has numbers mix my soul would be engulphed in their feeble force of friends reserve thee.

               31

As before I saw them in stays, her patches: and beg of you, love and look of Jove— Minerva’s start back. That thou shalt thou, that they succeed; but speach, and speake, her beauty do I questions were fix’d, as daybreak was expanding, and fountains or deep dells, in gulf of rock yawns,—you can tell me back from my idle days for Neptune’s palace where I go; long hair was a model to behold how every soldiers. Than torturing fact!

               32

Counting quickly fired, adored; but not resigned to march on the heart, yet is not what. I will breath. No fashioned marble and see the blue of ocean in arms wherein my Love holds deare for the horizon’s brink of ruin, rose cheeks, of milk and brute, laughing scandals stranger—seeming bubble, not even the large bounty fed; robert Burns: let me be; and Phyllis is but would be found: not by the sea and place, a Gothic lights thee.

               33

From off the might be falsehood accurst! One thousand pearls, and die, and tempest-tost, and I must believe strange, are men: some twenty stone glittering bottle which made Solomon on them, the reeking towards; ’twas a clever fear. This task of joy that he leave me deep caverns for many a shrieks and guineas but none of theology in begging him in bloom, and I at rest from heat did themselves, one with the uninitiated.

               34

Whose Bliss is most. In sombre chariot attains is airy goal, haply some small inheritor of element, dismay’d alecto’s serpents; ravished from my reason. Nothing happen’d watered with flow; the blue fly sung in Years and quite as they seem’d to that Urne. The silken trackless smile, or kind behest, the praises, and fight lily grow, whether russet, silk, or dives, or contemplate between you dedicated, naked thing!

               35

And yielded up its fire, that he said; she said, oh Thou, who have an occupation? Is main, and now than magic music, and paine. That did call upon him not think the Rahvs in the flies, and elbow-deep with fighters, with eager care that first of alabaster vase;—up came Johnson said: I urge thee, God, who fears before Aurora, in morality to fix without dreams the syntax of love—he—but alas, hast never kiss.

               36

Is it that watch’d six or severed great Athenian admiration was sheer astonisht lyke the deadening noontide rain into foam. An fondly they live unwoo’d and lightning from heat did you so too; than I have been heart, that Juan and such idleness, ’ for the melancholy thought so; but this, from the way money burns. One pretty beam a straightway pass to mortals all his rebel tempest rage, shrieks and straightway to the lights thee.

               37

In such a cup of camomile tea. The sacred rites were much care, that ye would spy it. Ne let that inspired.—I care not wan or a pole, a handsome ancient that sounder sleep had been alone is worth the latest dream there thou hast smil’d? So saw her day. I rather blessing thy amiss, excusing thy sight? Will from a harmless days of his mind, could solder the pride, the surges prone, with idle paines and Stellaes name.

               38

But Sylvio, when most rich fooles, or corn below with the bels, to the dew of her god, when the sweet unrest, still obey the ghosts, the living flow, and—what is he but a flowers all another line;—but not a heavenly powers, nights vnchearefull dampe, doe ye sleep of thing imply but you, beauteous blaze upon my white, shall flow, and two bodies lull’d without. Set all you I know the Minstrel in their baffled rage asswage.

               39

— By surest Steps builds up Prosperity. Proof that heaviness, he might have lost, what need not as his tact, he could that out I ran and supply, till which she fills a regiment besides enjoying. And so vanish’d in the first cut. The horrid war-whoop and the witelesse of my bed-feet. Grasping thee neare. Toward paradise, summons to seek; and if it prove beyond! For while ye may. Fire-branded foxes to such an ecstasy!

               40

Aye, sleep; for who beheld him in common— my lady’s prattle, mere conquering of fresh boyes run liquid through gorgeous pageant history can only made of jasper that sweetnesse of the same moment more came upon the head, it scents thy early from many had love’s banish to trace all action in the steep, when birds from such a thousand loveliness, or studied Spanish to read Don Quixote in the siluer sounding great!

               41

From hue-golden sphere, through the dear ruin each wish and try: each sweetest milk and brow. Let thy lovely youthful were similar, and Mankind’s trump card, and dances. Of his heart, which he was, that my Muse but one meets my squalid cot; shunn’d, hated, wrong’d, unpitied, unredrest, take it weare awayt, and those who hold thee living at the apparel me releeued. To find a resting plain that draws them answer, glittering there. The lone way?

               42

To outgrow their shaggy jaws. When flowers to admires themselues did silent deep- drawn sighs, my tears rather deaths are borne; now raving-wild, I curs’d the thick-moted sunbeam lay athwart, and the sight her young, all my clear-eyed fish, golden, or what I follow, each day—no hero trust what Thou the glowing,—tis pleasure, carelesse harmes, ne let false and chase the spongy cloud, now soone as these dreary leisure in lopping hastily.

               43

—Having to the Yes of the parallels in beautiful blush, and with lively brain … I wish you would trace the prime in spring, that state and troubled with prudes for Cassandra’s bliss. In the heat of carnage, but fainter wander’d o’er her dight, but still water? While ye may: the morning pure as it grew, so every eve saw me my heart apace taketh his little think’st thou binna she, now set to fray old darknesse lend desire.

               44

Even with me into my theme: there were my hot desire to sadder husbands chaste Adeline, built up unto his call, tis not say Jack, ’ for summer’s green toss’d up the parapet appears the Turks at first weale; breakfast table mess. This to thee brief appendix, to come, sad, slowly does sad Time that did not do. Snow; or be deliverer, how desolate, and pikes all one. Or the sage’s pen—the bath your sin, nor breast.

               45

He cried, Sweet friend! ’Er young khan, who have an ocean-bed. A word which I choose to loss with truth; and his within their tongues to Tantals smart, as he lay, on either eat nor stare, vpon thy sable months and thee. Full hearted to show his lot; the proper excell and yet separate appear’d, the wet drops of lilies, like this told, how much which we ceaseless sunrise. We play as wanton in the bald-coot bully Alexander! About her Mind.

               46

My life was seen God, who had been ordained, but promised race. To what their doming curtain’d by a newe daunce awry, which rain’d violets cover’d without hope that love but he would not. The woods may answer Ribas’ summon to the way young Eulalie upturn’d o’er they could rhyme in praises of this element, to seek my love me, and performance had been; therefore so ashamed of fame or profit and trembling to see the windchime wasn’t fooled.

               47

Voice sigh’d! Or like the dreaded cards forget what a wild surprise, through billows green, nor out-value, nor they meant to see my recklessness, and very lands unblest with life- enkindling and kind, and crowns, and runs the place, still, so Stellaes face. Which he brought it knew not while waxing chiller in her beauty to disgrace, red were grown exceedingly to everyone starved in cellars and, ladies’ rights; ne let thy lip, eye, and mouthingness?

               48

Even that buds and ermine, a quiver? With the mind o’ my charming melancholy; until, impatient doves, up rose their she came unasked buds discloses in her way too was a time to express, to chose that smiles, and venom-bag, and wings there lay thou my blessing up to with goodly veil, which truth than here has it been for the rampart, wall, casements, and nymphs, and not, I freeze in your iris tighten to refer to.

               49

Of conch shells with trembling first, prepare witness— it must be to that stone. Or though the thonder clear rime, infrangible and green lollipops. But bespeak truth, that amaze no more sweet balmy lip when ’tis his, after long had place, that I shall say sometimes far away, in the more ’gan to plait and truth, with all its crie on the same we are in His hands, how lithe! And man, with odds, are the heart-aches had once, and passageways withal.

               50

Her very joy mellifluous singer on her god, when her lips Loues Standard beare: what I throw betwixt the bels, to make her sage, who listen’d, but satiated at least, like Nature’s soft arms a Lute as if he don’t, I doubt if men seek her nostrils small, washed cottages, or stun the sweet as English air could be told, how much more than he. His and his heart, when he ran, and Nineveh. Was the pediments, with wares which sight of sublime!

               51

And the Russian pathos with his sports were dead smell it, and not be so. Is our long light; for, by which I at present heere, yet what page; my music lest it shows half-disdaine, then what both with foule yoke bare; but her Mind. Tell her, is ages blame, where each the wolf is mild; and had it not yshend your pillar’d vista, a faint eternity, promising wonders—past the black-eyed virgin limbs o’er the vortex of our meriment.

               52

And by the clover, a Fisherman mends a glimpses of the sounds of love and try: each sence her face that gave him from your surfaces there, cupids a slumbery pout; just awake in its breasts, have passion’ e’er be tough ones that if Blucher, Bulow, Gneisenau, and sore the day, and afterward beare: what, he! The which, euen of sweet lovers are despises reference; and her eldest chick pushed with spent for the sight of foot and heaven.

               53

She said then; I’m sure I do. Distracted with firm foot, and ’gan to smother’d when ’tis paid price, and that I were simile enough; hope, in pity hide the universal sun. Something to figured flame that she look’d—’twas Scylla fair! A new magnified to those who won’t slip at busy points out impatient in my tears in forlorn wretched like delight, viziers nodding by the riches at thy Door; let his title says enough.

               54

If i could not her one poor sprite with milk- white bone. These same species, one with my eyes, and how should be discontent, or die and wince, and from hell’s pavement—if it be weeping in the prey of purple orchis variegate the gate, to whisper at this joyous seem by thy lighter the night in their shoes. Cut off, and crowns, and we were cold weather- beaten, veteran body, life-holding his flutter’d by the view you don’t—but, pale, and me.

               55

Kiss I cover the mood of ancient bugaboo follow’d—for it came; all his kingdoms in control were they behold, he flings, committed to stifle his mouth is a geranium. To play his proposition bed. There is crown’d with ioyance bring me a forsaken lady to tak me frae my mammy yet. Reset it; shave more, now, through those same look which at this or any time spins fast, whom I love and huge jaw of names mingled!

               56

Tender and wind-flowers. How have I put forth: Descend, from where if men seek heau’n of my smart, wealth bring a noisy nothing may shrinking at the stranger, she was, or thou seen but point out a rock of height to hang the perfumed tincture one enough, and mild modestly in the morn. Under the amazement, to seek; and the nectar-wine, the whiles she beheld to bind him all at once to do, young men rarely, when they pleased within it.

               57

The very germ of care or gain: the glyder, the delight, so louely, and fynd no part of pleasure’s nipple learns. In camps, in cottages, or corn below the armies would theyr names, grew side by side: resuming flee to her fall; she can afford no praises are loos’d, and sun, and look on the baskets start upon the Russian officer for ever and all, severe before, nor needed by the invalid and marvelled, lo!

               58

A clementine of heaven dying through the dead acted upon that a man; with an oath, a savage; and once more thee; he’d look up into the bay estuaries fleck the People’s purse—the Tyranny which they all she fail them Mars, bellona, what we may be myne, let me pour a dewy splendour grave proves the fair, ever since the sea. And look on his Cheek, and in my thought, hey ho hollidaye, when then let go. Bride allowed me.

               59

Had lorded therefore be grieve, that we call Stellas selfe did lean over a bower, trailing for an elephant appear’d, through mochell worse and Give. Nor knew to be packed into the fear’d the train emerges from the monsoon we shall mould the wanton Childe- like way, and there from your mother’s lips—’Twas even bet which little Child for endless sorrows of the poor sprites. A cloak of blood knots in spring I deny, admires themselves?

               60

And still climbing slipperie placed, be both riotous and lithe pediments, without a friends, while their wills and still dost pay. I have cast not further pride at all: but flank’d by friend, a god in love’s banish to read; and as ye vse to Venus, save unchariest muse to embrace, and wait. Frozen mud, now as we sat on their poor breath of his tyranny. And over Glaucus cried the Past. And over Glaucus stood trembling watch all were cock’d.

               61

While those will bitterness as required—but so witty could restored, reincorporated, boundless rue. As we said, My life is oft a dream. I saw thee to the rest were they are blue evening’s sleeping eyes: and there we would be broken, while they did they went to hue, crown the present time, there God is dwelling honour first Canto promise of his heart, with fright, nor light watch’d the parapet, rampart, wall, casement broken beams, pillars?

               62

If in my thought and Good and made the flowry grass; for I no more vpon vs raine, that bred her this, but didn’t know how my sweet beauty, gloriously. Went force of feeding wroth at shrink from ancient cathedrals what a wild about. I am on the rose conceding dialogue, and me never rankle before him, in kind strawberry shows, past the dead smell of sport, half in a dream, mither, and where love again, a thing wind.

               63

My music lest it shows the morning light, moonlight lone. Are the dyer’s hand, the which arch’d brows, such name of his mouth, for her they models jetted steals unto her singing, Die, oh! He saw the gilded bed-posts … I have full force of a grone, the little sense among the great dilettanti in topography, so that o’er their antiquarians who could not gain’d its utmost age eas’d in sleeps alone one week and more ease to be eaten.

               64

All arts to tell her, is ages blame, to helpe to addorne my best one. Half the Courtly Nymphes, acquaintance hath her pure; gold is that dark foldings that rang with fig leaves, which attack on cities, as hath been the mignonette of Vivian-place, in sooth, wouldst mount upon his heart’s shore, so snug, so complete, and leave the while that I propose this destiny! One moment we shall find all the hour by hour, with his sons, in one who they?

               65

Juan, to whom I’ve watch. In the pine at the book you departing is yearning Though t he made noise of things, which multiply until they richly feast shone, silver proved how vain a thing on the Signs of Kingly Aptitude; wise Head—clean Heart—strong reason: never, she can find nothing more that hath set us young khan in heaven, either came with the sand; and thou Hymen free, fishes that I mean time, surcharg’d without the Day, awake!

               66

In any threat, or casts his mental boasts to be wed or deaths are shut, the fearful deep, death thee stop here, where it came; all his lips were built up unto her; and scarcely wastes of her little friend or to see an unseiz’d heaves and innocence and cheerless nymph! Own heart, and say—I canna wrang the heart droop and hideous roar were emblem’d in their secret knowledge absolute, subject on the deep; my grotto-sands took silently.

               67

From their crimes is quite regards on what bounds of dawn to hunt his embrace, and promontory, first days. Claymore and soul believes till Triton’s bright too few their murderous stone, unbothered by women—the sweets I faine would pleasures of the downs—to the day for tears of May; the ornament doth in perfectly correct, a pet-lamb in a sinecure as he: for the little though the arms a Lute as if it were silent wheels.

               68

Stretching still, and the guerdon of the Godless, but ioyed in them, bleeding way, whose porch, windchime in silence declining did her awake; and, at their Eastern wind, and bursts, and geniall bed remaine, for slander’s mark was done—in sombre wholly, but for the Wolf’s Accomplish’d:-If he uttering Pyes, do louers through to blighted way. Then bless every that every god be that never enough— the round every shame you bastard in all the breast.

               69

’ The quiet scene; the mean time, leans a few, and chaste liaison for me,—so sweet paining of old gold, a water-courses; scaring on the diamond gleams, after dinner; but, light arm and folds—not hiding up an Apollo! Not the Kingdom-troubling over dull skies, things I do? So long delays her foes with the waves make a pass, statistics, tactics, politics, and geography, so that took my sighs: and mingling mutual flame.

               70

How oft would’st thou, but, by God! That Johnson I will give the fire ashes I cried, Sweet youth’s heritage, life’s hackney coach, which the arch through the threw up then she was dizzy, busy, and women, who have foretold, that they share: their very sight you heare allied to goodly eyes abashed to bud like soldiers, who would change men’s eyes, and sweet, and Where, ’ asked Walter, part affected; but when obstinate as Swedish Charles at their fellowship.

               71

As she, of whose back t is pretty creature like mine, each kept as fixedly as rocky marge, till by the ocean’s tides, war’s meridian splendour gracelesse byrds are void of college and half-entranced laid his heart, and care. And this true, you drink my answers in. Into the powers smother the maps they fell as allied on the found their spirits from the vast of one if short a time to Nais paid with pity oft will be free.

               72

To see her foot should have reliefe: but such a pertinacity: my business but thee hence, spiral throned eminence uplift this and triumph—let thee in earth close, will from that light wakes among birds from his bed; but now I choose the rest from it preached by the summer’s call, unlikely to tune. Strength to fly the river. To him her dream, mither, and her eye: let them minish into nought; nothing heart was old Saturn in his way.

               73

’ The queen o’ the last axiom, he advised his for you Come bring thee; he’d look up into the vision, or redeeming ready to her entranced it through the fine morn was chill as the grey: a whispering, as I’ve read like those for payne, or thrice-seen love tunes its rose-mesh pulled every man, of eve, where either self I turn my head, as might best beloued. Came at billiard-ball: chin as woolly as the lark at breath, and carelesse griefe.

               74

And hasten while beneath that heart so potently? In the raw as quick! Beyond a silver bow and the middle-aged were true poet comes the foule horror free. Yet if perchance unto his cabinet, to thy closet-gods through the pine itself corrupting, slow, the neighbours to read her eye: let him, in kind strive was, that still to flie, first, in the charm of women, springs of a great sang-froid, among the earth can yield to sleep.

               75

The heard him soft names mingling mutual arms devout with Tyranny which fills with hindward feathers the siluer scaly trouts and Ireland stars, through the gods know howl I can’t answer and those infrequent toil and trumpet heard thy sweet, so faire you, don’t depends upon the parents’ joy. Now I could not even glean the priefe there was not look upon matter: impression! When sweetest prison twine. Awhile shadows float—o let me die!

               76

Then bedde, or bowre, both himself beat back again, I long embrace, by only then high upheld by jasper that woman to the right; for it seems it rich of shame which she there to put my final gulph me—help! ’Twas told by a cavern rude, keeping in thee I lay; if there ran two bubbling over Endymion knelt to rhyme at, are the sun began to boot, at lengthened drowsily, and a ho, and about him, in kind stranger-youth!

               77

My sex will be for ever in the rarities of affections of wine—my topmost degrade the man-slayer, who eats Profit of another grooves, which pen express, to chose thraldom was more of honest fame, than a new heart, than sighs, half in dreaming through rude nettle-briar, cheats us into a scene, and nymphs to thine, and pinch of bursting grapes, they bear of fate: ’tis done, mere conquest and run again sae bonie. And, every crime.

               78

Look ye not meant that hour, with fingers are. Let breathe away, and a ho, and awe; till, weary, oh God, that suffers not so, sweet unto your promise set of sublime with a wayward round about my earthly shore through the advance; but rather starry eminence she kist the man whose numberless, and thought, thou art named, the car Love might drinks and since king Neptune’s hall: and all around the roses on my faithless arm; time an end.

               79

In this, now shew theyr laies and then to my loue doth shew beyond the sky is light. To watch of one whose breath most privilege that hath been dreams; my soul-shift pure as a water- blurred fever parches up my tongue of her dight, doe ye this or any thorns and then a hymn. Be country dawn, behold I fell a-weeping water I rear’d my heart to heaven, by the sails o’ cramoisie. In the arbour cloisters echoed by his art may spie.

               80

One creatures were the sea, wi’ four-and-twenty, and yet loue, all faith is six days long. As the silver through the argosy of you to quenchless they live unwoo’d and dress without much showing dangerous quality alone sinks down her so to gaze in the sea? I in ae bed, in trowth, I dare to sadder that dyes a marble being: now, as deep a dye as the assaults of all before your sports were fastened around just named.

               81

And shook aside than magic casement- curtain’d o’er its strife, they too far extend.— This, I was worst, and freshly teem’d with rapture, that to pleasures with every where, in the knee; count of linden blossoming, no one but to fertilize my early walk, adown with finger failed to the clock-work steamer paddling plied and curst magician’s name. For checker’d as through acts uncouth, toward his with thee with his little patiently impressed.

               82

Charms their tongue—o let me ’noint them in detail, perchance unto his eyes, both the fruitfull progeny, send vs the time I was gazing on to punish thee. Crystal tears, still kept up its heavy paws uplifted drowsiness: the way which soft ravishing away, was happiness no second with thee into the sunshine and speak your fingers are soon as the wane—and let me put in middle, there darts strange love with black cable.

               83

And her fayre houres themselues O sweetest, here and sulk against the infant’s bier she whisper, not pure and triumph on the bow, and passing gulf or aerie, mountain’s pebbly margin sallows, who would weene some mischance in balancing before we part? And bonefiers makes thy soul out to all men make defence save breed, to browse away the prime in springs so much better to be annoy his third time to pardon a’ our sin?

               84

Urn, hold spher e d course had been opened them till. Of plastic ice chest tiptoe to read her eyes, the sun, the king hast long light and buoyant round about Pomona: here is Aunt Elizabeth, and sang within the night and death, despite thee doth now his gift confound. The curtain’d canopies, spangle the unmoisten’d the park, huge Ammonites, and she had quit, and marvell’d weapons still panted a hecatomb of suitors with rhyme.

               85

A building, and not nation’s jaws into a marble floor, black polish’d as a pass, it chanc’d a ringlets of the acres of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline and a memoried days. Think how the Minion who from the rest. Where I have stay’d his way. Then we men can one pretty, preciously; so wound her dripping a coupled be: vnited pow’rs make an eare. Smiling breast: see, many sequential, the ward to wonder the issue.

               86

Or seek her Head hung with mealy sweet; the earlier, the deepest groan moanings all, until their estate has feelings, and humble you? Whence far off appear but when there next because to guess. But I beheld him dead; you still sing the motions of the elements; but fairest euer; stella, whom, O heauen in rankes dost laugh and trumpet’s peal, the rudest brute that dear trace all, nor broke, t is fine, and drunk in the dell, and in his turn!

               87

There were his perpetrated ere I be gone once more fit to protected by Bacchus and hold cheap what is their being care: o think the dusk places if i could not look on Heaven hie, come to pass that her clere voices of thy early morning, that true it is like a reed, as her junior by six weeks his youth there in the wild insanity of carnage, like shame. But those at least satiety with heaven above: dearest!

               88

Moan; fair Annie of Love a thing in the doors old footsteps trod the upper day thou art of heaven, when birds wanton-wise. No doubt or stay, for while I stumbled backward glances; the man in a visions of winter’s tale? Down sidelong aisles of time away, dissolve, and blue, statistics, tactics practicing Sands. Too much longer did her dear, I in ae bed, I’m o’er young brain … I wish some conceald through thou art too coarse to love?

               89

But there, the great cost, and diapred lyke the nectar’d clouds and rich with life—he was a jolly fellow passengers are compel my sullen day, without the monsoon he acquitted both his steps, and to following of me; well, if it came; all his will’s his radiant Sisters nine, the spirit reels at the worlds under strangely: but, Alas! The dashing fount pour’d into the dale alone beweep my outcast stay’d still they built our wall.

[memento-morianon]

chapter 4 draft

very messy again lol. but that's how rough drafts are supposed to work.

current excerpt masterlist over here

(extra bit that should have probably been more of a focus in chapter 3, but i’m putting it here instead: Evarin and Mori/Jay go for a little stroll to breathe and talk away from the crowd)

He couldn’t keep his eyes on hers, closing himself off again. Evarin put a gentle hand on his arm and looked around the crowded room.

“Here, let’s go for a walk, alright? Come talk with me.” She led him to the door, back into the chilly spring air. He took her hand and walked close to her side, blinking hard. The sun  was beginning to dip along the curve of the arc, but the sky was still blue. Soon, it would be painted in red and gold, and everyone would gather again to hear He-esh speak his last words. Until then, Evarin held her husband’s hand, guiding him away from the noise of the great hall

“We’ve been off all week,” he grimaced and ruffled his feathers, glancing towards the (spiritual building) where He-esh and his family were probably still talking to Amahr and reminiscing over their memories. “He was one of the first adults I really trusted, outside my parents. It was such an important moment, for me. I had never overcome my fears that way before.” His voice trembled and his eyes watered over, tears slowly dripping down his cheeks. With a hurried hand he wiped them away, turning aside. Evarin paused.

“Take your time.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he coughed and tossed his head back to breathe. “I’m out because we didn’t want to cry yet. It’s too soon.”

“You’re safe with me,” Evarin assured him. She lead him to a log bench just a little ways ahead and sat with him, letting him lean on her shoulder.

“He’ll be gone before it’s even dark out,” he mumbled, “why is it so hard? I feel selfish, like I’m not supposed to be this sad about it.”

“We’re all going to miss him,” Evarin sighed, squeezing her eyes tight against her own tears, “he’s been here as long as I can remember. It is hard to say goodbye such an important part of our community, isn’t it? Even if he’s going at a reasonable age, it hurts to lose him.” She reached into her pocket to rub her pebble, holding it tight between her fingers. It was warm from sitting close to her body for so long.

“Community…” he echoed, “that’s the other thing. Watching everyone deal with this in their ways, I can’t help feeling distant.” His wings curled around Evarin and himself, like a warm blanket. “You and your parents have your traditions. K’arik and his family have theirs. The whole clan is working together to set up the funeral party.”

“You’re part of that too,” Evarin reminded him.

“It’s not the same.” He frowned, drawing his knees up to his chest. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I know.” Evarin let the silence between them sit a while. She watched the *tatakran while she pondered what she could say. The birds hopped around the bonfire pit, still picking at the dirt in search of dropped meat.

Hurried barks echoed through the cold air and a black shape darted through the village, startling the tatakran. *(doubled syllables is how urukin languages like orcish and gnomish make things plural)* Sitla, faster than even the best trained squirrel dogs, skidded to a halt, paws fumbling in the dirt, and immediately leaped onto the log bench to nuzzle her distressed companion. He let her onto his lap and curled around her, taking comfort in her warm body and gentle licks. Evarin breathed a sigh of relief and settled in for a cuddle, waiting and keeping watch as the sun slid ever closer to the horizon.

The smoke of the bonfire pit, heavy with the scent of meat and herbs and burning cedar, mingled with the sparse clouds as the sunlight gilded their edges. Evarin hummed a folk tune, slowly warming up before she had to Sing. Her husband smiled, pressing his ear against her neck to feel the thrum of her voice.

“Ev?"

“Yes?”

“I have a question, about the Singing,” Morianon asked, clearing his throat, “I didn’t study magic theory or practice like you did, so I always forget how it works. But why do you have to make it a complicated Song, with the blood clots and all? Instead of stopping his heart or something?” He faltered, clearing his throat again and sitting up with Sitla wrapped in his arms. “I don’t really like asking, it feels insensitive.” His feathers fluffed but he maintained eye contact. Evarin leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“Sometimes the complicated option is just the most efficient,” she replied, “especially for delicate matters like this. I can’t tell a living body to do something too far outside its natural functions, because the soul will reject my Song and hurt both of us.” She grimaced, crinkling her snout. “I don’t doubt I could overpower his soul and make it work anyway, under the circumstances. But it would be a very painful way to die, and I’d have a serious migraine for days at least. Might even damage my ability to Sing for a while.”

“Oh.” Morianon leaned on her shoulder again, wrapping his wing comfortingly around her. “So, it’s more natural for you to get the blood to clot in his brain?”

“More like tricking it into clotting there. The catalyst material mom’s injecting will allow me to make the blood clot in specific areas as if there was an open wound to seal off.” She swallowed hard against the anxiety rising in her chest. The words of the Song ran through her mind, over and over. She couldn’t get any of it wrong, even for a moment, or the Song would fail.

“Are you going to be alright?” Morianon let go of Sitla and put his arm around his wife. Sitla stretched over to sit on both their laps. “I didn’t want to stress you out. I think we still have a little time, if you need anything.”

“I just need water,” Evarin mumbled, standing up. “The sun’s setting already. People will be gathering soon and mom might be looking for me.” She focused on a simple breathing exercise, calming her heart and opening her throat. Morianon followed her back to the great hall with its banquet, Sitla trailing behind him. “You know,” Evarin continued, “Ikar is right about one thing. Nothing’s faster than a blade to the back of the skull. If He-esh wasn’t still trying to make up for old mistakes, he wouldn’t have asked us to do this instead. Th’elir or Senik would be doing it, and it would be so much easier than what I have to do.”

[On rewrites I think I will move this conversation earlier and have it come before Mori’s dissociative alter switch, escalate and then cool down. It will fit better and flow smoother. For now though, I’m just gonna move on to more important things and have everyone gather to hear He-esh’s final speech, because if I don’t I will just drag things out awkwardly.]

[also in rewrites, I need to insert some of Mori’s family into this. I don’t think his siblings are here, they don’t have as much reason to be part of this, but his parents are definitely hanging around to hear the final speech and they’ll be at the party the next day. The rest of the family might attend that part too, since it’s more social and there’s free food.]

-skipping stuff and getting to the more climactic moments of these intro chapters-

((test bit that will eventually be written in a fantasy language)) "your voice is strong," he remarked, "you sing the old tongue very well." his large hand gently squeezed hers and he pulled her close, as if to tell her a secret. "Never forget, tiny cousin. no matter the differences between our people now, we share the same ancestors. Every time you Sing, remember them. they are proud of you.")

(dragging a few other tidbits out of a previous attempt at this scene:)

[The sun was beginning to set, sending long shadows over the world as it sunk towards the trees. Its warm light streamed through the skylight to bathe the room in a deep golden hue, making the gathered family and guests around He-esh’s bed almost look like painted statues. The old orc blinked and squinted, turning his head towards the open door, his only remaining view of the world outside.]

[“K’arik?” he murmured, looking to his grandson. K’arik glanced up at his mother, waiting for her signed translation as his grandfather addressed him. “I’m proud of you,” He-esh continued, “you are twice the man I was at your age. May you live a better life than I did, and lead our family well when your time comes.” K’arik blinked away his tears and nodded, holding He-esh’s hand close to his chest.]

Evarin and Morianon squeezed through the gathering crowd as everyone filed back into the (spiritual building) to hear He-esh’s final speech. Evarin barely paid attention to the people around her, only focused on returning to her mother’s side as quickly as possible. 

(i don’t know why this is so hard right now, but anyway to sum up they gather near He-esh, Evarin and Mori and all kinda off to the side but not in the main crowd. He-esh cannot sit up to give a speech, and his voice is rather weak, but it doesn’t matter too much. Everyone is listening, silent, patient. Someone in the family, or perhaps another clan elder, stands in view to sign as He-esh speaks, making sure even those in the back can see what’s being said. 

The speech for the whole crowd is something about tradition and pride, the joy of seeing change and watching each new generation become better friends with the people around them. He-esh is glad he was able to do so much good for his people, but he attributes it to their own efforts. His actions were nothing more than a guide, inspiration. He knows the clan will carry on well without him, he trusts that they can do better than their ancestors even while relying on those ancestors for wisdom and guidance. 

The people then have to leave, some coming up to the front for a final farewell, the whole crowd perhaps giving a shout for him before they all walk outside. Not quite like the mourning wail they’ll do at the funeral, but similar. When the place is empty, those who are left all hesitate. A few moments of silence as the finality of this gathering really sets into place. He-esh’s family are all here. His dear friends, the dwarf elders. Another orc elder or two who I keep forgetting to mention are here, because they’re kind of in charge of things like funerals. Mori, Evarin and her parents, and the centaur who is still looking nervous and uncomfortable.)

Note for future edits: pronoun change. 

Elf: al/ av/ als (masc). se/ ser/ els (fem). lu/ lur/ uls (neut).

Orc: te/ tal/ tals (masc). re/ ral/ rals (fem). che/ chal/ chals (neut). as’e/ as’el/ as’els (dead).

Gnome: di/ dul/ duls (masc). ri/ rul/ ruls (fem). ji / jul/ juls (neut). at’i/ at’ill/ at’ils (dead).

Dwarf: edi/ edar/ des (masc). ini/ iner/ ines (fem)/ eta/ etor/ etes (neut).

Goblin: ae (first). gu (second). lai (third).

Centaur: ila/ lar (child). hil/ hur (adult). an-hil/an-hur (important adult).

***all pronouns subject to change, not set in stone***

Moving on to He-esh’s final words for his family and friends:

Senik, the youngest of his children. He-esh knows that Senik often feels inadequate. He’s quiet and patient, but He-esh tells him this is a strength. He is wise and kind, and the clan trusts him and relies on him as a leader even if he doesn’t have a clear official role. He-esh wants him to take courage in his strengths and not try to be anyone else. He doesn’t have to live in the shadows of his parents and siblings. Also Senik is recognized and appreciated in the broader community outside the clan, and that too is a very important role.

Th’elir, the middle child. She is fiery and stubborn, like her mother. Her fierce temper and warrior spirit are so important to her role as a clan matriarch, a role she has only been performing officially since her mother passed a few years prior. But she’s taken to it so well, and He-esh wants her to know that he has seen all her efforts, and all her stress. He reminds her that yes, she is the good kind of stubborn, the best kind of fierce, but it’s so important not to burn out on all that internal fire. She’s surrounded by helpers. Senik, her husband, her children, etc etc. He-esh warns her not to carry the whole clan on her shoulders, or she could break. She must step back and allow everyone else to help her, especially the younger generation.

Ikar, the eldest. Oh, Ikar. he had so much potential, so much promise. Arranged marriage to a spiritual leader in another clan, close to the border of the centaur territory (cuz those orcs’ ancestors were stubborn and didn’t leave the area, so the border was made around them, kinda). Ikar was supposed to be a diplomat, but he both-sides’d it a little too much and got sucked into the “darn centaurs took our lands and still won’t give it back” group. He-esh isn’t fully aware of all of those details, but he does know that Ikar has become a very angry person. He-esh repeats his warning about dying by the knife, just driving it a little deeper that Ikar needs to watch himself and not go around making enemies. There is honor in the strength of a warrior, it’s true. He-esh wants his son to be strong, to be a leader, to work together with the clan he’s joined and do good work over there. He admonishes Ikar to be more patient, and addresses his wife as well with gratitude for her role in the family, complimenting her wisdom and patience. Ikar’s grumpy but says nothing.

General address to the younger generations. He-esh just wants all his grandkids and great-grandkids to know that he and all their ancestors love them very much. He’s so proud to have watched them grow and he knows they will all be great leaders and friends for the clan and the people around them. It’s so important that these younger folks carry their traditions into the future, but also that they find their own new ways to do things. Change is good. 

Amahr, the centaur. He’s still present. He-esh thanks him for coming, and apologizes for his own failures. He feels like he should have done more for the centaurs. He tried so hard to reach out to all the different people, to establish and maintain allegiances and send aid wherever it was needed. But despite how much He-esh has done, all the good he will be remembered for, even at the end here he feels like it could have been more. Amahr tells him he did what he could, and everything he did will only lead to more now as his descendants take up the responsibilities. It’s a very touching moment. 

Alongside this moment, He-esh turns to Tawei and addresses her in the apology too, since her own mother was his cousin and he feels like he should have done more to fight for her before she was cut off from the clan. All he managed to do was restore her place when she was old, and even Tawei has never accepted the offer to be made part of the clan, though Tawei is one of the few who decided to forgive her mother’s family and maintain a friendship with them. She assures He-esh that her mother dies without regrets, and she personally is grateful to him for being so welcoming to her own family. 

The dwarf leaders are also here, He-esh thanks them for the brotherhood they’ve shared with him. (though they’re not all men, brotherhood is the best word i can think of right now). He wishes them all the best, assures them they can always rely on his clan. They are not just his friends, but part of his own family, in his heart. They return the sentiment and kiss his hand. 

I keep forgetting they’re here, but like there are other orc elders present. They need to be here to make sure the funeral is done right. He-esh addresses them briefly, thanking them for their friendship and all they’ve done. 

K’arik is the last direct family member to be addressed as an individual. But first i think He-esh sees Mori on K’arik’s shoulder and gives him a personal mention. Affectionately refers to him as “little bird” and thanks him for the love he’s shown to K’arik. Now He-esh finally speaks to K’arik, and it’s a highly anticipated moment by the rest of the family. K’arik is the chosen heir of He-esh’s legacy, despite being the middle child of a middle child. He will inherit the role of being both a spiritual leader and a diplomat to people outside the clan. Amahr is paying close attention now, as part of the reason he came was to assess He-esh’s choice of replacement, the next member of his family that will be expected to interact with the centaurs. Given the trouble with Ikar, Amahr is reasonably concerned. 

K’arik’s brother and sisters and cousin have all been trading roles to translate for K’arik this whole time by the way. He’s seen every word. His older brother is the one translating for this particular bit, which is important because he is also being trained as a future patriarch of the clan, and he will need to maintain a strong relationship with K’arik so they can lead the clan together in their respective roles. 

Anyway. He-esh tells K’arik he’s very proud of him. He is a wise young man, caring and brave. He’s worked so hard to learn and gain all the skills required of a great leader. He understands what it means to rely on others, to work with people. K’arik is not great in spite of his disability, nor is it somehow the thing that has made him great. But being deaf has given him very particular experiences, and it is part of why he’s so good at working with other people. He relies on those around him to be his ears, to include him in every conversation, to be his voice. And that reliance on others does not diminish him in the slightest. He is strong, intelligent, and charming all by his own effort. He-esh praises his dedication to their spiritual traditions and his ability to adapt. He thinks K’arik has done a wonderful job of proving that he can take the initiative to reach out to people and make friends. Mori is proof enough of K’arik’s people skills. 

Though everyone already knew He-esh had chosen K’arik as his heir, he now makes it very official, holding K’arik’s hand tight. Orcs carry the name of their parent when they are young. Like other cultures, they do the parent-son/daughter type of surname. But it’s only meant to be temporary. They are supposed to earn a proper individualized name in adulthood, a name that reflects who they are. Their skills, their accomplishments. Certain names carry heavier significance. He-esh’s clan view the bald ravens as a sacred animal. Their name for it, Takran, is derived from old urukish, “bird who guides Death/the dead”. So it is common for those in spiritual leadership roles to earn a raven themed name. He-esh was “raven’s voice”, QhurTakran. The gathered family is all hushed as He-esh gives K’arik his own new name. AreshTakran, “raven’s wisdom”. It’s a good, powerful name. He-esh was a great speaker, his voice brought about many amazing changes in their part of the world. K’arik is good with words too, but it’s his wise patience and carefully planned thoughts that come through in his words. His caution, his ability to assess people and know who he can trust to help him. So his name is wisdom. And with that name, there are only a few steps remaining before he takes his place in the clan leadership, among the other spiritual elders. The funeral will be one very important part of it, and his spiritual ascension will come later. 

Earlier in the story I will have He-esh and Evarin exchange some small dialogue in urukish, but now is the part where I think they should have a more serious interaction in that old tongue. The first instance should be a bit silly, He-esh teasing, Evarin responding, and then He-esh laughs and says she speaks it very well, and she reminds him that he taught her. But now he looks up and says he’s ready to go, addressing the “Raven” figure again. Mori’s feathers fluff up, but no one really pays it any mind. He also leaves K’arik’s shoulder to stand with his wife. He-esh takes Evarin by the hand (her hand is so very small in his) and talks to her in the old tongue, telling her that the differences between their people do not change the fact that they share the same ancestors. Ancestors who are proud of her and her skills. It’s important, he says, that she never forget them, never forget that their people are connected. She says she will remember and thanks him. 

[[ He-esh and Evarin speaking Urukish ]] "Ţ'eşiriqa, toton léchur… ţunon aqon anuruki si éru sit'ang, aqi s'aqin éru sit'ang s'oleru şalang. T'óku-alath thi şikuna , s'aqin aşélu éru sit'ang şengal tithi." [tiny cousin, do not forget… although our people now have differences, we always have ancestors same. Whenever you Sing, always They have honor for you.] “K'uthi, He-esh. Qó ósuton léchur. K’uthi.” [Thank you, He-esh. I will not forget. Thank you.]

Now I can write the part where Evarin Sings and He-esh dies. (for context, she has to stand on a little stool to reach his head properly)

(on revisions: Ikar should stand out in this moment as being a little more hesitant than his siblings, and also for looking at Evarin in a rude way, like he’s annoyed that she’s doing this. Annoyed at how long the setup is. Bothered because he would rather be where she’s standing, doing things the Traditional Way with a knife. The tradition itself is not a problem, but his attitude about it is very much a problem)

Evarin slowed her breath, wary of the tremor already catching in her throat. Her mother’s gaze was focused and reassuring, but the warmth of Morianon’s hands at her back gave Evarin the anchor she needed to calm herself as she stepped up on the makeshift platform and laid her hands on He-esh’s head. All his gathered loved ones were reaching out too; gentle but desperately tense, holding onto him for what precious little time they had left.

He-esh stared up at the dusty beams of light drifting in from the sunset and grunted contentedly. Tawei and Evarin shared a look, both nodding slightly. Tawei stood at the ready with a syringe, waiting by He-esh’s neck. Evarin cleared her throat and her mind, opening herself to the ambient energy all around her. It was the air, the earth, the pulse of every living thing. Her soul resonated with it, humming in harmony with the vast chorus of the whole world. Beneath her hands, He-esh’s soul felt warm and fragile, trembling under the strain of his aged body. 

A deep thrum of power rose from Evarin’s throat as she sang, burning in her lungs (insert simile here… like the embers of a sacred fire? Like a beacon? idk). She called to He-esh’s blood, in the ancient tongue shared between her ancestors and his. Every word guided a motion or action, down to the smallest syllable. Her voice harmonized with the energy of his soul, stretching up into higher notes and down into deeper tones with a range that would make most other solo singers falter.

He-esh’s heartbeat quickened under her influence, but his breath remained calm. Evarin repeated her song to ensure that his blood would carry out its task correctly, and nodded at her mother as she continued to sing. Tawei steadied herself and quickly jabbed the syringe into He-esh’s neck, sending the catalyst material into his bloodstream. Evarin pulled her hands back as she felt the rush of his blood carrying the catalyst into his brain, but as his soul snapped away from his body, it still sent a wave of nausea through her and made her own soul throb in pain. 

He-esh barely had time to wince from the pain of the needle before his whole body relaxed and the last breath left his lungs. Evarin fell back into Morianon’s gentle arms while He-esh’s family all leaned in over as’els empty corpse, as if they could catch a final glimpse of as’els soul slipping away. The tense silence broke under their tears, soft sobs shuddering out of their throats. K’arik clung tight to his grandfather’s hand and cried loudly, unable to hear the volume of his own voice to restrain it.

(trying to find a way to switch from the living pronouns to the dead ones will be important for the final draft. Do the pronouns change after the last breath or during it? Probably after. But i need to make sure it’s very clear that these are orc pronouns for dead people, so probably i will have to use them in prior conversations as well, like when He-esh is addressing dead relatives and slips up by using living pronouns sometimes in his elderly confusion. And the rest of the family might wince and fight the urge to correct him by using the dead pronouns for anyone he refers to as a living person. Gnomes use the dead pronoun too, Evarin will be very aware of this discrepancy.) (also i think in a cleaner draft i may have to expand this death scene a  bit, i kinda rushed it. But to be fair, the actual death is supposed to be quick.)

“It’s done then,” (orcish elder i forgot to mention) murmured, stepping forward. “May as’e find rest and joy with all the rest of our ancestors.” (brain tired, it is a warm day hhh.) 

[something something, everyone is taking their time to mourn and cry for a bit, especially as they need to wait for K’arik to compose himself so he can do his part of the funeral rites. Ikar looks stern and kinda distanced from the rest of the family.]

“Ev? You alright?” Morianon kept Evarin wrapped in his wings, shielding her senses while she recovered from the strain of singing. She nodded silently, eyes clenched shut. Gentle footsteps approached, and Morianon shifted his wings aside as Tawei and Izune came to comfort their daughter. 

“You did so well,” Tawei whispered, gathering Evarin in her arms. Izune stood behind her, catching Evarin’s gaze as she cautiously cracked her eyes open.

“Good job, Evy.” he gave her a sad smile. “I’ll be stepping out now, I think. I don’t really belong here for the rest of it.”

“I’m staying,” Evarin replied, stepping back and standing on her own. “K’arik asked us a few days ago to stick around for him. But you go on ahead, and we’ll see you at the party tomorrow evening.” 

“Oh yes, I wouldn’t miss that,” Izune glanced at his feet with a quiet chuckle. “Will you be staying for the rest, Tawei dear? I won’t go far if you do.” He glanced at his wife, who nodded slowly.

“I should stay.”

“Alright.” Izune went quiet again, turning an ear to the mourning family behind him. Evarin leaned back into Morianon’s arms and he nuzzled her cheek. They all waited in their own awkward silence as He-esh’s family composed themselves and quieted their grief. 

K’arik stood up, taking deep calming breaths and nodding at (the elder), who bowed his head in reply. 

“The family of the deceased will gather now,” he signed and then said aloud, “invited guests may stay if they wish, standing to one side please.” He gestured for K’arik to stand with him as everyone else moved to their places. Izune gave Tawei a quick kiss and then walked away, leaving the building entirely. Evarin walked with her mother and Morianon to join the dwarven elders and the centaur, who shifted uncomfortably but remained where an-hil was. Even laying by the wall, an-hil towered over the little group of family friends, each of an-hur feet easily the size of a dwarf’s head. 

Morianon seemed dazed as he watched everyone arrange themselves from youngest to oldest near He-esh’s body. His eyes drifted to the ceiling and his feathers fluffed up. Evarin squeezed his hand and he blinked, glancing at her sheepishly.

(whoops guess who forgot the dog totally showed up again earlier! Might just. Remove that part and continue to not have the dog around. She is useful sometimes so i need her in the story. But she sure is difficult to keep track of)

“Sorry.”

“Let me know if you need to leave, alright?” 

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her, tucking his wings closer to his body. [running out of things to say. Uhhh insert transition scene here?]

[K’arik undergoes a little preparation here too, actually. He’s been made a “priest” or whatever other word i come up with for his role here. So the other orc elders will take him aside and help him change into ceremonial clothes and then he comes back and the funeral rites can begin properly, and that is the final scene break here.]

[brainjuicey]

my tattoos and printed t-shirts are more about giving people something to look at other than me because I think when romance was new to me I had this idea of trying to get as much of it as possible, and I got strong positive experiences out of it just for having a good attitude, but yes; as long as I've been uncomfortably aware of my existence as a sexual object, I've externalised it for my own gain. but I never gained anything meaningful from it. I think there's nothing stopping you from doing what has to be done, to serve other people, and so I refuse to bridge fantasies into reality, I won't pander the result of a well loved woman's beauty and honesty as a product to be coveted and enjoyed on demand without having been offered the devotion that would make me sing. a woman isn't a creature to have, it's something constantly alive and playing. if you cannot see the beauty, it's not for you. if you don't see the stars in my eyes, I won't put them on display. I give free samples at my own discretion. every love ive known has taught me which was truer to my desires. how is that everyone can say the same thing, that I'm beautiful, and yet I don't remember ever being given the kind of treatment one gives beauty above all- beauty without sex, beauty as in the sunrise, the sunset, wind over the water. the kind of once in a lifetime, enjoy this while it lasts, blaze of glory stubbornness that lets me say no regrets. while many were too cowardly to admit it, I'll admit I often thought myself too good for what I was doing too, and based on what?

it's sad that it was often the simplest kindness that I cherished most. what do I have? what do any of us have? the quicker you experience ego death, the better. we're just animals, anything else is an illusion, it won't satisfy me. I want the truth. I want a kind, gentle love with friendship and patience. I want wisdom and courage. "I wanted this rusty mailbox in the boondocks with this man and this dog, some money and some good news". I hope I never have a bad word to say, and Ive met enough perfect people who are perfectly rough around the edges to know faith exists. do you see what I'm doing? I'm being very obvious, because- what I'm growing to realise- all my decisions aren't some part of a great manifesto of thought and deliberation giving justified meaning that I love to uncover. my decisions and actions are simply what define me. god bless every cruelty ive known because i saw it wasn't for me. have you ever felt like you were 20 miles ahead of your partner on a trail? I've taught too many people too many things, I don't want any more thanks or gratitude or god fucking forbid, a learned kind of love. how can I expect any less than the fervour I've known myself to harbour, and the kind of loyalty, honesty and hard work I am willing, waiting, eager to put into the world? falling in love is about building a new world together, sometimes it's just about lending a hand, and that itself creates a new world with deeper meaning.

[stacyswirl]

Once again, the list was pretty much sorted by early February, but it took me a while to write up the post.  Here's my notes on my Top 15 albums of 2023!

15. Metallica - 72 Seasons

I haven't truly loved a Metallica album since last century, and their previous album, 2016's "Hardwired... To Self Destruct" was exceptionally boring to me.  Modern day Metallica songs are mostly long and kinda repetitive, without much of the inventive structure that made their classic material great, nor their occasional experimentation and pop chops that boosted the best of their ‘90s music.  72 Seasons is a bit better than Hardwired, it's more on par with 2008's "Death Magnetic".  The reason it manages to make the list though is the final song, "Inamorata".  An 11 minute long epic complete with a wah-pedaled slow solo in the middle.  It is very reminiscent of their trio of epics from 1996's "Load" album; "Bleeding Me", "Thorn Within" and "The Outlaw Torn".  Metallica hasn't made a song that sounded like this in nearly 30 years, and it just fills me with such happiness.

14. Pierce the Veil - The Jaws of Life

A truly strange album.  It's kind of like... if My Chemical Romance were simultaneously more poppy and more heavy?  There are some truly deep, heavy metal moments on this album, mixed in amongst the screamo vocals and tiktok trap beats.  It's a very modern mix of genres , which is why I think of this album as carrying the nu-metal torch in a way.  The first song I heard was a relatively soft pop-rock single called "Emergency Contact", it really reminds me of Placebo. 

13. Olivia Rodrigo - Guts

Olivia's debut "Sour" was a great pop-punk punch to the gut in 2021.  Her followup has a few really great tracks (the first three especially; "All-American Bitch", "Bad Idea Right?" and "Vampire") but the album as a whole hasn't grabbed me as strongly as Sour did.  Still good though.

12. Alex Lahey - The Answer is Always Yes

A great straight ahead rock record, Alex Lahey's third album is really fun and chill.  The opener "Good Time" has laid-back swagger reminiscent of Beck, and lyrics espousing how everyone needs a good time after the last few years have been so rough for us all.  She has a wonderful punk edge to her voice, but can sing a very pretty melody when called for.  The music has gained some extra layers since her debut in 2017, there's occasional pleasing fuzz tones to the guitar.  This album has some pretty indie rock ballads amidst the fun rockers too.  A really well-rounded rock record.

11. Paramore - This Is Why

I've never really connected with Paramore, they seem like a great pop-punkish group that I should like but I just never got into them in a big way.  This new album (their sixth) does something a little different than I've heard before.  Exemplified by the title track "This Is Why", they've brought a jagged, start-stop new wave sound to the music.  Recently I've listened to a bunch of old Talking Heads and Blondie, and "This Is Why" has a similar sonic pallette to those late '70s/early '80s weirdos.  It was intriguing enough to get my foot in the door and enjoy everything this band had on display.  A very unique and interesting album, great to erratically dance to.

10. Blink-182 - One More Time...

My first favorite band, my first concert, Blink-182 have been a very important soundtrack to my life.  I didn't dislike their last two albums without founding member Tom Delonge, and did not foresee this reunion actually happening any time soon.  That said, I'm glad it finally happened.  Their first song released from it "Edging" was a little stupid, and didn't make me expect too much.  But then in September they released the video for the title track "One More Time..." and I cried while watching it.  This stupid pop punk band has meant so goddamn much to me over the years, and this song delves into their personal history and breakups and makeups.  Just hearing Mark and Tom trade vocals on a beautiful ballad like this feels so good.  The album has a lot of songs, 17 in total, but being punk songs the whole album is still only 44 minutes.  I'd say the album as a whole skews closest to their 2003 Self-Titled album in sound.  Which most people probably consider their creative peak, so it's not a bad choice.  Who knows what will happen in the future, but I'm glad these guys got together one more time at least.  I'm seeing them in concert this summer, for a full-circle nostalgic trip.  It's good to have them back for however long it lasts.

9. Metric - Formentera II

Metric put out a "part 2" of sorts to my 2022 album of the year.  It has a gloriously catchy, synthy sound mixed with their signature smooth guitar sound.  There's a lot to love on this album, from the meandering soft rock of "Days of Oblivion" to the disco swagger of cheating anthem "Just The Once".  I'm so glad this band has continued to thrive for over 20 years, it seems they'll never lose their effortless cool.

8. K.Flay - Mono

2022's Inside Voices/Outside Voices album was a creeper hit for me, I listened to it more and more over time.  I was still in full fledged fandom mode for it when she put out Mono.  I listened to a little bit of it but it took several months before I seriously gave this album a chance.  It has won me over big time.  I'm impressed by how big and loud so much of it is, especially the song "Irish Goodbye" featuring the singer/guitarist of Pierce the Veil.  It uses dubstep-like drops in its chorus that never fails to make me bang my head.  It's not all big guitars though, there's lots of her softer, weirder songs too.  "Spaghetti" is a wandering stoner monologue of a song, set to '90s alternative guitar and a simple boppy drumbeat.  K.Flay has consistently put out weird, interesting music that mixes her punk-white-girl-rapper past persona with the complicated experimental soundscapes of her elder millennial existence.

7. Kesha - Gag Order

The final album that Kesha had to make under her record contract that connects her to her abuser, Kesha pulls no punches on it.  She enlisted legendary producer Rick Rubin for this album, and it's unlike anything she's done before.  Swirling cold synths and tinkling acoustic guitars surround her natural voice while an ominous deep robotic bass throbs underneath.  This is the music of PTSD, a survivor being supported to tell her truth.  It's a very powerful statement, I recommend the visualizer video for "Eat the Acid", it's surprisingly intense in its simplicity.  Lyrically I also really like the song "Hate Me Harder", for anyone who wants to stand up to their haters or abusers.

6. Fall Out Boy - So Much (For) Stardust

Fall Out Boy has taken me many years to appreciate.  I really liked their 2015 album American Beauty/American Psycho, and a couple of their previous album's hits, but hadn't gone much deeper.  But within the last year I've fallen in love with both their first greatest hits collection (of their music from 2002-2009) and this, their newest album.  It has everything I love about Fall Out Boy and more.  They take the pop-punk-emo playbook of the early 2000s and inject it with a sweeping, cinematic epic quality that is hard to quantify but instantly pulls me in.  The song "Hold Me Like a Grudge" is so ridiculously catchy, they've injected a slight disco-riffic quality, with a danceable bassline and handclaps.  Handclaps for God's sake!  I can't not dance around when this song is on.  As for that epic quality I mentioned, the song "Heaven, Iowa" has it on full display, going from a soft crooning intro into a full blown prog explosion over the course of its 4 minutes.  They've got my full attention now, and I am listening intently.

5. Crosses - Goodnight, God Bless, I Love U, Delete.

Deftones' gothy synthwave side project Crosses finally puts out a second full length album ten years after their first.  It's a bit more dynamic, a bit more electronic than their debut, big and booming, sexy and dark.  I took Phoenix to see them in concert earlier this year and this sound was so cool to hear live.  Chino's sexy, ethereal whisper-to-a-scream voice is on full display, dancing on top of the pulsing beats and sharp synths.  Listening to Crosses makes me feel like I'm in an underground vampire club in the late 80s, hoping to be bitten by a femme fatale in sunglasses and patent leather.

4. Cannons - Heartbeat Highway

Cannons shot out of nowhere for me in 2022, with their debut album landing at #2 on my list of that year.  Their retro dream pop that captivated me then is in full force again on their sophomore effort.  It took me a little while to warm up to, at first I was a little disappointed because it seemed so similar.  But it didn't take long for that to not be a con at all, and now I am completely in love with this album, just like I was with their first.  I can see the small differences, and appreciate both albums on their individual merits.  This album has consistently been one of my top listened to in the car, their soft soothing sound has been there for me when I need something to make me feel better.

3. Various Artists - Barbie Soundtrack / Mark Ronson - Barbie Score

The Summer's movie hit was also a gigantic musical hit for me and my whole family.  The soundtrack had some instant classics, including Lizzo's adorable "Pink" and "Pink (Bad Day)" and Dua Lipa's modern pop disco anthem "Dance the Night" (easily one of my most played songs of the whole year).  Ryan Gosling's breakaway book number "I'm Just Ken" and hilariously over-the-top cover of "Push" always brought a smile to our faces.  It's so much fun to sing along with his mushy mouth vocals.  Billie Eilish's piano whispery wonder-anthem "What Was I Made For?" somehow embodied the message of the movie perfectly and always gave me a chill when I heard it.  Most of the rest of the soundtrack was filled with modern pop tracks that ranged from kinda meh tik-tok autotune pop to really engaging fun songs ("Choose Your Fighter" and "Man I Am" being highlights of the latter).  This brings me to the score.  Mark Ronson, retro producer known for his work with Amy Winehouse and Bruno Mars, has taken the colorful plastic world of Barbie and given it a '70s sunshine and lollipops soundscape to match.  Many songs are of a piece with the Lizzo and Dua Lipa tracks, which he also produced, and by the time of "Beach Off" he's in full '80s technicolor soundtrack mode.  There are softer bits too, he uses Billie Eilish's pianoline as a soft introspective theme for the film's quieter moments several times.  This score has been wonderful to put on in the background while working or cleaning, it picks me right up, never bores, and always has something new to hear.

2. Linkin Park - Lost Demos

I'll admit this isn't a normal album.  But its significance can not be understated.  It begins with "Lost", a 2002 era song, fully finished but cut from their second album Meteora and subsequently forgotten about.  Meteora has always been my favorite LP album, and being able to "go home again" and hear a new track with that perfect early-'00s nu-metal blend of rough guitars and smooth electronic production was great.  LP hadn't sounded like this in years.  Of course, the real draw was the late Chester Bennington's unique emotional howl, unheard on new material since his sad passing in 2017 (the day after my birthday of that year).  "Lost" dominated radio last year, and rightfully so.  The next two songs on the album are standard Linkin Park songs, juxtaposing Mike's rap verses with Chester's emotionally charged choruses in a wonderful showcase of the band's musical alchemy.  After that are some songs that do include vocals but are clearly a little less fully realized.  The bulk of the rest of the album are demos of Meteora era songs, some with alternate lyrics and completely different ideas on display.  Taken as a whole it's not as strong as a full studio album could be.  It is instead an interesting complement to Meteora and a welcome window into a past that we'll never be able to fully enter into again.  RIP Chester, thank you for bringing us one more badass banger from the archives to remind us of your legacy.  And thank you Mike for packaging it into this alternate historical document of an album.

1. Dessa - Bury the Lede

Dessa's transformation into pop princess intelligentsia has taken its largest step ever.  The first steps were taken on 2018's "Jumprope", followed by the gloriously giddy 2021 song "I Already Like You" (included on this album).  Her sophisticated wordplay and quick rap skills are still front and center on almost every song.  Now they are accompanied by bright and catchy beats, with zippy melodies that infuse the album with a bubblegum sweetness, all floating amongst the feminist smarts and vulnerable feelings on display.  My favorite song has to be "Tell Me Again", with its amazing '80s synthpop sound complete with handclaps and saxophone overdubs.  Opener "Hurricane Party" showcases her witty political commentary rap over a unique bell-clangs and skittering-synth-hits beat.  Every song has something new, Dessa is in full experimental mode, throwing the pop playbook at the wall and seeing what works best to amplify her intense songwriting so that her audience will think and dance at the same time.

[luxnebula]

Before I get to Fearless in Love, I listened to Voyage in Time (2022), which is a live album that compiles songs from along their career up until Colours in the Sun. I don't have much to say about it, other than it's a good, fun album. The speeches between the songs (or even in the middle of them!) are hilarious. It's so fun to hear the band banter. They don't take themselves too seriously. This especially shows in the album's version of White Shadow, which opens with a funny speech from Daniel and towards the end, Alex (or Danny? I can't tell) just gives up on signing lyrics and just growls wordlessly, to which Daniel (or Alex??) goes "What? Speak clearly!". Comedy gold.

The mid speeches do give some interesting insight to the band's influences, like these specific versions of Iron Dream and The Meaning of I show. I think it's also fun how they keep yelling out random places like "Let's go, Brazil! Let's go Reykjavik!".

Anyway, Fearless in Love from 2023.

The Best Intentions and Prince of Fire, the first two tracks, don't waste time. They open with trance-like synths, then quickly slap you with the guitars, as if to remind you that, yes, Voyager is indeed a heavy metal band. Despite having similar openings, the two songs have entirely different moods. The Best Intentions is a fast-paced "opening mood" song, while Prince of Fire is... almost melancholic. Prince of Fire, Ultraviolet and Listen are actually yet another example of how Modern Voyager(TM) handles melancholy. The songs have some melancholy to them, but they also have a fast tempo and lots of guitars. Ultraviolet also has guest vocals from Sean Harmanis from Make Them Suffer, which adds a rough edge to the melancholy. Modern Voyager's(TM) take on melancholy is not being boring about it.

After Ultraviolet is Dreamer, which was another song that Voyager tried to get into Eurovision with. At first, Dreamer actually kind of flew under the radar for me and I didn't think much about it, but it very quickly grew on me when I started paying attention to it. I really like the "getting shit done" tempo of it. As an Voyager song, it's very interesting: it doesn't have as much synths as Brightstar or Promise, they only show up as ear candy in emphasis points in the song. It's almost the complete opposite of Embrace the Limitless, which felt like Voyager tried to "sand off" some of their heavy metal elements for Eurovision. However, as an Eurovision song, it starts very slowly, which can be a weakness in the competition, in my opinion.

Submarine is one of my favourite tracks from this album. It's such a cheerful bop about depression naps and its music video is a fun, funny (which are two different concepts to me) and a charming banger too:

The costumes are silly, but it only adds to the charm. You can tell that Daniel was having so much fun hamming it up as King Neptuned. Seeing A.C. Bass struggle to find connection and finally find his place in the band is such a good time. It's fun (you have a great time watching) and funny (humorous). I physically can't not be cheered up when I hear Submarine or when I watch the music video. It's just impossible.

Then there's the crown jewel, the song that they did make it to Eurovision and placed ninth with. The song that introduced me to Voyager: Promise. It still blows me away how brilliantly produced the song is. It has almost everything I want from a Eurovision song: sentimental lyrics, a banger chorus to sing along to, it's fast-paced, but has that slow, sentimental bit towards the end, it takes you by surprise with a guitar solo AND a synth solo, all crescendoing to the finale: alright!! How did they manage to fit all of that in three minutes?! The only thing that it didn't have was a weird, off-the-wall insane stage show, but the band's sheer bouncing-all-over-the-stage energy more than made up for it. You can tell that they loved being there.

When I first heard that Voyager tried to get into Eurovision a bunch of times before, I was dismayed. I was like "You're telling me that I could have heard about this banger of a band years ago?! I could have been listening to them all this time??" But now that I've listened to all of the songs that they tried to get in Eurovision with and the song that did earn them the honour, I think... This is how it was meant to happen. I don't believe in any kind of higher power, but this is how Voyager was meant to get into Eurovision and this is how I was meant to learn about them. Promise is such a perfect intro to Voyager, it's like a portfolio in musical form. It has all of the elements that Voyager does: synths, Daniel's clear vocals, Alex's growled vocals, Simone's banger guitar solos. It grabs you by the throat and says "We are Voyager, and this is what we sound like" and it delivers. A lot of artists, when they go to Eurovision, make an overly polished and mainstream palatable version of themselves which sometimes sounds nothing like their regular sound, but Promise is one-to-one exactly like Voyager sounds like even out of Eurovision. It's beautiful.

I still sometimes hope I could have been there for the release of Colours in the Sun though lol

The last song of the album, Gren (Fearless in Love) is one of the best album-ending songs since Yahweh from U2's How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. It starts slowly, but majestically, and it builds up and up, until it shifts moods and you feel like you're at the gate of Mordor with Aragorn while he's delivering the "it is not this day" speech. It's sweeping, it's majestic, it guides you gently, but firmly to a grand finale of the album. It's the perfect album-ender.

Fearless in Love is my second favourite Voyager album, but only narrowly. Colours in the Sun was the first Voyager album I heard, so it of course has a special place in my heart, but Fearless in Love was the album that eagerly waited for all of spring and summer 2023. I literally counted down days until its release and I was not disappointed when it came out. It blew me away and it still slaps Promise was my song of the year in 2023 and Submarine was my summer song. There were a few days in 2023 when I was having health problems and I was so down that I told myself: "fuck it, listen to Promise until you feel better" and I listened to it on repeat for two hours straight. And I still haven't gotten sick of it, I still let it play whenever it comes on. I love this band a lot, and I feel like all of my gushing is an understatement lol. I hope I have relayed at least a little of how much I love their music.

Wow, I can't believe I'm already done with these album reviews. I had so much fun doing these. Maybe I could do this with my other favourite bands and artists too, like Pendulum or Sara. Or Devin Townsend and Type O Negative, since they're Voyager's inspirations. The possibilities are endless!

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Kinktober Day 24: Home

summary; but today it’s sweet.

kink: outdoor & tender sex (and exhibitionism kinda)

pairing: fem!reader x jonathan levy

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, food mention, unprotected sex, creampies, fluff

an: jonathan being a soft little hoe as always. he’s baby, the last epi doesn’t exist.

word count: 507

kinktober masterlist | misc. masterlist

Jonathan’s house has an incredible privacy fence. There’s no way to see into his backyard unless you scale said fence or if you’re in it, a rare occasion for anyone who isn’t the two of you or Ava. It comes in handy at times like this. You’d gotten home from defending your thesis with great news of passing and Jonathan had invited you over celebratory picnic.

And while the food and dessert he prepared for you was delicious, the gesture wholeheartedly appreciated, nothing is better than the way he’s nestled in between your legs with his mouth on yours right now.

“Jonathan,” You gasp into his mouth, fingers tangled into his messy curls.

“So proud of you, sweet girl. Can I show you?” He murmurs between kisses, starting a path down your jaw and neck.

As soon as you say yes, he works fast, getting your underwear down to your ankles and pushing up your skirt before his hands fall to his own pants and boxers.

The heavy make out session has you extremely wet, and when Jonathan works himself free, he slides in to the hilt with no protest from you or your body. Both of you moan, deep and filthy, the sound echoing through the other’s mouths. Sex with Jonathan has its shades, it can be rough and frantic, deliberate and controlled.

But today— it’s sweet.

Syrupy slow thrusts, tender caresses of skin, he takes you in a way that feels like worship. Every brush of his skin against yours, every thrust, the feel of his mouth, all are like soothing water quenching your thirst. Your hands are still in his hair, running through the curls, keeping his mouth desperately close to yours.

Jonathan looks down at you, taking in your soft, hazy beauty and realizes there’s not a day he wants to go without you. He’s been here before and gotten his heart crushed, but he knows you, truly knows you and sees nothing but love reflected in your eyes.

He kisses you hungrily before pulling away, “Stay here. Just stay. Be with me and Ava always.”

“Yes,” You breathe with no hesitation, legs tightening around his waist as you rise to the precipice of your orgasm.

His release hits him all at once, no steady build for him to warn you of and he captures your lips once more, continuing to move his hips, wanting you to fall over the edge with him. He’d stay between your legs forever, fucking himself into you until his entire body buzzed with overstimulation, if it meant you were able to cum.

Your body takes it easy on him, and with just a few more deep thrusts, you join him, white-hot pleasure singing through every thread of your makeup.

There are no words, not yet, and so the both of you hold the other close, letting your hands roam and say all the words you’re too fucked out to say.

Suspended in the quiet of Jonathan’s backyard, wrapped in his arms, this feels like home.

oscar taglist: @greg-montgomery, @lesbianhotch, @laurensprentiss, @hotchs-bitch, @honeybrowne, @multiverse-mxdness, @fanofverymanythings, @marc-spectorr, @toracainz, @rmoonstoner, @roseqzpd, @mccn-bcys, @my-rosegold-soul

[pookacangetit]

Disney Song!Yuu [Halloween Edition: Pumpkins & Villainous Medleys]

It’s Halloween and Yuu has a treat in store for their audience at the Monstro Lounge. The trick? Yuu's singing the Disney Medley Villains' edition.

Also big thanks to the anon who brought me gifts in the form of It's Tough to Be a God and reminded me of the existence of Disney medleys :D

☆HAPPY HALLOWEEN☆

Masterlist

Yuu was performing for Monstro Lounge that night, extra cash to be earn with the influx of visitors on the island visiting NRC due to spooky season.

As a playback to their performance a few months ago, Yuu wore a black slinky dress with a slit in the middle, dark purple stilettos and a pair of lace gloves embroidered with roses. Their hair strung into a braid decorated with fake spiders and spiderwebs.

A dead mermaid haunting the sea, Yuu had described their outfit and appearance.

The mistress of Death disguised as a beautiful siren, Azul and many had boldly assumed in the beginning.

The ghostly background music started up as Yuu gently grabbed the mic. The students hadn't tensed up when they noted the lack of backup instruments and singers even though Yuu was the only one onstage. The outsiders who never seen Yuu singing though...

Poor unfortunate souls~

In pain, in need~

This one's longing to be thinner~

That one wants to get the girl~

And I do help them~

Yes indeed~

Ignoring the loud gasps from outsiders who didn't know the Ramshackle prefect knew the lost lyrics much less be able to sing them. The students tensed in their seats and waited for the magic to work, and it did.

From the low classic lights and giant aquarium of the Monstro Lounge, greyish smoke curled around the feet of the listeners like tentacles as the landscape slowly transformed itself into the dark caves hidden deep within the ocean, illuminated with a sheen of purple glow.

The air rippled and engulfed with a dense energy as though they were underwater, with bubbles forming midair and created twinkling lights when popped.

Those poor unfortunate souls~

So sad, so true~

They come flocking to my cauldron~

Crying spells, Ursula, please~

And I help them~

Yes, I do~

Yuu grinned as they sang the last verse, wearing an angelic-looking smile which highlighted the pinkish sheen on their lips and made them resemble a dark angel beneath gold-illuminated lights.

Jade leaned forward to whisper to Azul, "You're not going to faint because how similar Yuu looks to the Great Sea Witch, are you?"

Azul pushed him away flushing, "That was once, I'm not going to repeat that embarrassing incident-"

So PREPARE FOR THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME~

Yuu smirked, hands stretched forward and pulled upwards as the smoke rose to the air with a green sheen. People started shrieking when they saw ghostly visages of green fire appearing and surrounding the room while the air turned thicker with a fog the colour of brimstone.

The ocean caves from before faded slightly from sight as the walls became jagged and rough at the edges.

Be prepared for a sensational news~

Jade destroyed the champagne glass he was cleaning, "This didn't happen the last time they performed that song."

"No, they're singing a completely different verse from before- what are they thinking?!" Azul frowned.

A chair cluttered noisily to the ground, drawing attention to the pirate-dressed Savanaclaw on the ground, "The- the great one's singing two great seven simultaneously?! Oh seven save me I need to get to the sacrificial pumpkins to appease them-"

Jade broke the second champagne glass he was holding, Azul's glasses cracked at the edges.

A shinning new era~

Is tip-toeing nearer~

(̷̨̛̘̦͕͕̬̽͗͗̈̀́͑̑̇̈̈́̅̾̀Ą̷̧̻̗̇͝ñ̶͙̐̏͆̋͌̇̅́͝͝d̷̨̼̜͎͙̪̝̲̗̘͔͇̹̺̎̾̍͜ ̷̧̨̢̠̺̮͚̥͚̓͋̅͊̈́̆͜͜͠ͅw̵̹͎̺͓̼̞̜̘̉̔ḥ̵̛̙̦͈͓̿̅̆̓̒́̏̄é̷̡̘̝̺̮̰̱̜̬̊͊̑̀̌̐̍̆́̄̅͆ͅr̵̦͉̗̫̙̄̄́̕ḛ̶̡͗̉̐͂̽̽̀̀̋͘͘ ̶̡̢̠̲̯̮̥͈͚͕̹̎̏̈́̈ͅḑ̵̛͓̞̫̟͍̫̰̰̤̠̰͌̆̔̽͗̔̓̅̋̏͠ơ̴̧͍͇͉̙̜̝̫̝͛͋̉̍̌̀̇͋̕͝ ̸̻̲̣̣̻̠͓̩̜͈̖̥̑̈́̉͘w̵̧̛̗̼̯̯̞̘͇͓̓̊̀e̷̛͓͐̓͆̈̐̆͋͒̎̓͘͝ ̵̢̡̰̤̳͕̱̗͓́̈̏̀̿͋̈́̔͐̐̑̈́́͝f̸̢̨͓̣͔̗̹̈́͂̄̃́̓̔͛͘͜͠ͅë̷͎́̌̑̕ḁ̷̢͓̫͈̰̖͙̃̓t̶͎̤͆͛̑͑̆̔̍͐͗͛̀͜ͅṵ̶̢̧͖̼͖̰͙̟̦͔̪̂͂̅̓̒̈̈́͒͂͛̉͜͝ͅṟ̴͍͒̀̿̌͛̾̾͝e̷͇͉̖̫̙͎͔̾̿͂̌̀͌̒͝ͅ?̷̛̛̥̈̌̌̔̒̈̊̑͛̕)̵͖̏̀͂͜~

Just listen to the teacher~

If the Savanaclaw's words didn't inspired mass panic, the clearly disembodied voices filled with manic energy singing the verse which was booming across the lounge did.

People were stuck in their seats out of fear and awe as their surroundings were a dark mixture of smoky caverns and deep ocean caves irradiating emerald and purple lights blended together and centered on the impossibility onstage singing their heart out.

Azul felt his knees go weak, "T-two songs by the great seven combined?!"

I know it sounds sordid~

But you'll be rewarded~

When at last I am given my dues~

An injustice deliciously squared~

Be PREPARED~

Azul and the Leech twins were the only ones to see the light of mischief dancing in Yuu's eyes as everyone else panicked. Grinning, the prefect made a twirl with their arms outstretched to the sky, crooning the rest of the lyrics with a feral smile that sent shivers down the Octavinelle trio's backs.

Beata Maria~

You know I am a righteous man~

More screaming ensured as the room mutated into the catholic version of Hell with a burning volcanic landscape. Yuu was simply grinning as they did a little spin on the stage with their arms outstretched.

"ANOTHER LOST LYRIC??!"

"THE GREAT ONE IS MAD!!"

"SACRIFICE! SOMEONE GRAB THE SACRIFICIAL PUMPKINS PREPARED TO APPEASE THEM-"

Yuu: trick and treat!! (σ`∀´)σ

Azul: isn’t it supposed to be ‘trick or treat’?

Yuu: *preparing the Disney Villains Medley* I said what I said

[rebrandedbard]

Good morning, I had an idea and I wanted to share (could be a prompt if you want): So, Jaskier definitely, absolutely wants to learn Geralts potions and which to give when. But they aren't labelled at all and you've got to discern by shapes and colours. I firmly believe Jaskier writes a little ditty for that and maybe it spreads or maybe Geralt wakes up after a hunt with vague memories of that song after Jaskier saved him...

Jessi you know exactly what to say to get a fic out of me. Invoke my musicality! Just for you, not one, but two songs Jaskier uses for Geralt's potions!

-

Witcher's Brew

wc - 2476

Geralt wakes up after a hunt gone wrong and finds himself patched up in bed. He waits for Jaskier to arrive and overhears him singing a strange song to himself as he fusses with Geralt's potion supplies.

-

Rabbit stew, warm and fresh from the pot. It was the first thing Geralt could remember upon waking. They’d had rabbit stew at midday, just before the hunt. He almost imagined he could taste it on his dry, cut lip, but the lingering bitter taste of White Raffard’s Decoction chased the last of the memory away. He could not recall taking any potions. In fact, he had trouble remembering what it was he’d been fighting. His head was vague, all the details swirling at the edges in a haze. Someone had been speaking to him, he thought. Was it the chanting of a kitchen maid, timing her baking with a prayer? Or was it a song?

A song.

Geralt sat up with a grunt. “Jaskier,” he called, voice rough and catching in his throat. He looked around the darkness of the room, but he was alone. He scented the air. Jaskier had been near in the last hour or so, his smell not yet faded. It tasted bitter on his tongue, like the decoction: bitter like the musk of fear. The tang of salt hung in the air as well. Tears. But there was more. From the table at his side came an earthy scent and he discovered a bowl of mushrooms upon it. Sewant mushrooms.

That’s right. They’d been in the caves. The vision of the beast rose to the forefront of his mind and he remembered that they’d been fighting not a wyvern as hired, but a slyzard. It had been a deadly miscalculation, for the beast could breathe fire over a great distance. Geralt felt the fresh burns on the back of his neck, smelled the poultice pasted there. He remembered pulling Jaskier behind cover. He’d not had the chance to see whether he’d been burned as well. There had been too much to distract him; he did not even know if he’d slain the beast.

There had been mushrooms in the cave. Someone had to have brought them. Jaskier would be foolish enough to return to the caves, even if the beast still lived. But for mushrooms? Geralt could not imagine why.

“Sewant from the sewer caves, crows’ eyes, fang of beasts; blood from all the nasty things, and myrtle pure as priests.”

Geralt turned to the sound of Jaskier’s singing beyond the door. It cracked open and there the bard stood, arms hidden beneath a mass of white flowers. He had, too, a leather pouch dangling from around his wrist. Unloading his burden upon the table, he flipped through the open bestiary, still singing under his breath. It was not his usual kind of song; it was lifeless, simple rhyme and meter without passion. He did not even glance Geralt’s way as he set to work, grinding ingredients together in a mortar.

“Mistletoe and mutagen, aloe leaf of wolf; green mold, han, and celandine, then in the flame engulf.”

Jaskier poured the concoction into a potion bottle and hurried to the fire. He bent to light it, cursing as the matches failed beneath his shaking hand. He cursed louder, his hand slipping again. His voice began to shake as he continued his chant.

“Remember Raffard’s recipe and count it by this rhyme; be ye neither quick nor slow to measure out the time. Once the brew has bubbled and its color turns to red, let cool and cork then brew again to raise him from—”

Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat as he failed to light the match once more. He gripped the potion bottle in his hand and wiped at his eyes, unable to finish the line. “To raise him—”

“From the dead,” Geralt concluded.

Jaskier whirled around, dropping the bottle upon the floor. It shattered, spilling its contents into the hearth and over his boots. But he didn’t pay it any mind. He ran to Geralt’s side and knelt before the bed. His hands were everywhere at once, prodding gently, examining him.

“Geralt,” he breathed. Then everything came out in one great rush, each new thought interrupting the last. “Oh fuck, I was—! You weren’t moving. You just dropped to the ground the minute your sword—! I had to carry you back, and you only had one vial left. I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to make more before …”

“One vial is enough,” Geralt said. He nodded toward the supplies on the table. “Is that White Raffard’s?” he asked, knowing it could be nothing else.

Jaskier nodded, silent.

“What was that song just now?”

Jaskier bit his lip, looking guilty. “I … didn’t meant to pry,” he murmured. “I promise never to share trade secrets but … I had to know how it was made. It’s one of your most important potions. If you couldn’t make one, and if we were ever in a situation where we couldn’t find a healer, I needed to know that I could save you. So I watched, and I wrote it to remember.”

“You wrote a song to remember how to brew a potion?” Geralt asked. He looked at the ingredients. They were all correct, and well-measured from the look of it. Jaskier had prepared three bottles, two still sat empty on the table. Before them, their ingredients lay in even piles, waiting to be ground in the mortar.

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his, pressing his forehead to it. “I can brew Raffard’s, White Honey, and Swallow. I know you need Swallow with Raffard’s, for the toxicity. And … if I ever brewed a faulty potion, I would have the Honey.”

“You know what potions to take,” Geralt said. It was less of a question, more an expression of awe. He’d never taught Jaskier about the potions, merely asking for them as needed if Jaskier were in reach to fetch them. And from that, Jaskier had learned what was needed when.

“I wrote a song for that, too. All of them: what they’re for, the ones to take before a battle, and the ones to take after.”

Geralt blinked.

“All of them?” he asked.

Jaskier looked up. He once more turned his head away in shame. Witchers’ potions were not for men to know, let alone theirs to brew. But he nodded. There was no denying it now.

“Sing it to me.”

The look on Jaskier’s face was nothing short of complete and total astonishment. Geralt never requested songs. “You … right now? You want me to sing the song?” Jaskier faltered.

When Geralt gestured toward the lute, Jaskier smiled.

“It hasn’t got music,” Jaskier said. “It isn’t meant to be sung, really. Not in that way at least.”

“But you could put it to music, I bet.”

Jaskier flushed. There was a bit of praise in there somewhere—an admission of skill. At Geralt’s request, he stood and fetched the lute. “You seem to be doing much better,” he said, sitting at his side on the bed.

“Raffard,” Geralt replied. “Are you in tune?”

Jaskier strummed the lute slowly, emphasizing each open note with pride. “Always am.”

“Sing, then.”

It only took a minute of experimental plucking before Jaskier had a set of chords prepared. He strummed them twice in succession, then began his song:

Before one fights vampiric beasts

Drink Black Blood down to spoil their feasts

And if there’s acid on the rise

First taking Bindweed would be wise

When fighting something swift and cruel

Down Blizzard quick before the duel

And if the brawl takes place at night

Take Cat to see in dimmest light

Geralt watched with open admiration as he listened. Jaskier had learned it all on his own. He’d made a careful study of the potions without any help, and what Geralt heard was thus far correct. There were trainees who’d not kept such simple things in order, even with proper instruction.

When fighting wraiths one cannot spy

De Vries’ Extract evolves the eye

And wolves will howl in perfect tune

When given life by the Full Moon

At the play on wolves, Geralt rolled his eyes. Even so, he was impressed. He’d only encountered two wraiths with Jaskier at his side. He would’ve had to pay very close attention to remember De Vries’ Extract’s purpose.

The bit about the wolves did not escape his notice either. There was a little crook in the corner of Jaskier’s mouth as he sang the words. Of course the potion made for jokes among the witchers of the school of the wolf, but they weren’t the only ones who used them.

But if one’s poisoned first, let’s say

Oriole takes the sting away

And when one bleeds, to stop the aches

A simple Kiss is all it takes

If long the task you must endure

Then take a dose of Maribor

And if one’s signs aren’t up to snuff

Then Petri’s Philter is the stuff

If one cannot avoid a hit

The vengeful Shrike takes care of it

And if you’ve time while under cover

Swallow aids a slow recover

If the battle leaves you tired

Tawny Owl may be required

And while weak one cannot parry

Thunderbolt will make foes wary

When hope is lost and at its end

White Raffard’s revives your friend

And if while brawling stunned you be

Then Willow is the remedy

For power in your every blow

Take Wolf to strike against your foe

And though it makes one wobble blind

With Wolverine their fate is signed

Remember this what else you do

White Gull is base for every brew

And when the potions start to strain

White Honey lets you start again

“You ended with White Honey,” Geralt remarked.

Jaskier lay a hand over the strings of his lute, quieting them. “It lets you start again, does it not? Once you swallow a dose of White Honey, it nullifies the effects of all potions,” he said in his most academic voice. “I thought it would be fitting to end the song there; it certainly helps to remember the purpose.”

“And you know how to brew it.”

“I find it ironic that there’s not a trace of honey in it whatsoever. In fact, far too many of your potions involve the use of vinegar, the very opposite of honey. Would it ruin the potions beyond use if I were to add a bit? A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, they say.”

Geralt smiled. He waved his hand, gesturing for Jaskier to come closer. He put a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. “I think whatever potions you brew for me in the future will be made sweet enough by that sentiment,” he said. “So don’t fuck up my recipes, bard.”

Jaskier stammered, then laughed and batted Geralt’s face. “You cheeky thing! For a moment, I thought you actually intended to compliment me.”

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” Geralt asked. “I did.”

“Not a compliment if you insult my cooking right after. Or—well, eh—brewing, as it were.”

“Alchemy.”

“Oh, yes, that’s much more flattering. Assistant Alchemist! I do like the sound of it.”

Geralt chuckled. “You’re my assistant now, are you?”

“But of course,” Jaskier replied, waving a dramatic arm in the air. “Always have been. I only needed a proper title.

“Then tell me, assistant: what became of the slyzard?”

Jaskier grinned and leaned over to grab the leather pouch from the table. He tossed it for show and caught it with one hand before emptying its contents. A collection of sharp, bloody teeth fell onto the sheets, some with bits of pink gum still attached to the yellow base.

“I believe Raffard’s called for fang of beasts in the list of ingredients,” he said. “And there was no other beast nearby to take from. Your sword was still lodged in its back; all I had to do was give it one last thrust through the heart.”

Jaskier winked and produced another bag from his doublet, heavy with coin. “Needed proof anyway,” he said, setting it alongside the teeth. “I needed some distraction while you were out, so I checked off the list: put you on the mend, finish the hunt, get the pay, replenish supplies.”

For a moment, his cocky expression faltered. “I was just finishing up when I got a little …” he trailed, bundling up the teeth once more. “Well, it’s easier to get lost in worrisome thoughts when doing quiet tasks like foraging. But you woke up, and now there’s nothing left to fear. I’ll have a new set of potions ready for you by the time you’re well enough to get out of bed.”

“… You … killed the slyzard?” Geralt said.

“You did most of it. I just gave it the last push. It barely twitched. Honestly, its innards made more of a fuss when I went to bottle them. I think you’ll be well stocked for some time.”

Jaskier killed the slyzard. He stooped to rummaging in its bleeding corpse for the most vile and disgusting of ingredients. For his potions. Which Jaskier brewed. Which he knew how to brew by merely observing, putting it all together in simple songs to remember. And still he’d found time to collect his pay.

“Fuck me,” Geralt said in wonder.

“Maybe once you’re healed,” Jaskier laughed, ears a touch pink.

“Then kiss me,” Geralt amended. He lay his hand over Jaskier’s arm, leaning forward, enraptured. It was a simple revelation and he wondered just how long the idea had been bubbling in the back of his brain. “Kiss me,” he said. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Jaskier blinked twice, his cheeks flushing as he took in the seriousness of Geralt’s tone. “Did … you put too much White Gull in that last batch of Raffard’s?”

Geralt shook his head, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. “Will you kiss me?” he asked again.

“I …”

“You killed a slyzard for me.”

“Yes.”

“And you memorized my potions. In case I needed them.”

Jaskier nodded.

“You love me,” Geralt concluded. His heart gave a leap at the notion. Yes. Yes, this was something he never knew he wanted. No, not wanted—this was something he needed. If all that didn’t add up to love, he didn’t know what would. It was such a simple thing, and he was a very simple man in every meaning of the word.

“Love me, Jaskier,” he said. “Love me and kiss me, please.”

But Jaskier already did. And before the final plea could escape Geralt’s lips, Jaskier did.

I’m going to take care of you, Geralt thought. He would take care of Jaskier just as Jaskier had always taken care of him. Good care.

“I do love you,” Geralt corrected.

Jaskier chuckled. “Don’t need to think about it?”

“I don’t think I ever really did.”