#The Storyteller: Tales of Life and Music

[thatwritererinoriordan]

[mylifeinfiction]

My Best of 2023: My Top 5 Non-2023 Books

1. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas, 1844)

2. No Country For Old Men (Cormac McCarthy, 2005)

3. Britt-Marie Was Here (Fredrik Backman, 2016)

4. In the Miso Soup (Ryū Murakami, 2003)

5. The Storyteller (Dave Grohl, 2021)

Note: These were chosen from the 10 Non-2021/Non-King books I read in 2022. (Low, I know, but once again I got caught up in new releases.) Same as previous years, Stephen King gets his own Top 5. The only Classic I managed was The Count of Monte Cristo, which was epic and took up pretty much my entire January. My first two reads for 2024 are Lonesome Dove and Don Quixote, so hopefully I'll get in the trend of reading more Classics throughout the rest of this coming year.

Thank you all so much for reading/sharing/etc. And please follow for My Top 5 Stephen King Books of 2022 & My Top 10 2022 Books, Coming Soon!!

-Timothy Patrick Boyer.

[booksandwords]

The Storyteller: Tales of Life and Music by Dave Grohl

Read time: 2 Days Rating: 3/5 Stars

The Quote: Though Kurt and Jimmy were not "family," I invited them to be, and that invitation can sometimes be even more intimate than the connection to any blood relative. There was no biological obligation here; we were bonded for other reasons: our parallel spirits, our love of music, and our musical appreciation. You cannot choose family, and when you lose family, there is a biological imperative that implies a built-in type of mourning. But with friends, you design your own relationship, which in turn designs your grief, which can be felt even deeper when they are gone. Those can be roots that are much harder to pull. — (p.187)

Warnings: Drug use, references to death. Neither are particularly graphic and the drug of note is weed.

Rather than writing The Storyteller as a linear timeline of his life Dave Grohl has written this as a series of short stories I guess tied together by theme. It is a good writing style to use allowing for events impacting each other over time to be discussed together. Such as the chapter He's Dead which discusses the deaths of two influential men in Dave's life, Kurt Cobain and Jimmy Swanson despite them happening over a decade apart. Others such as Bedtime Stories with Joan Jett tell the story of a limited event in this case introducing Violet and Harper to Joan Jett, at first her as an inspiration than her in person. It does glance over some of the more darker/ negative moments in Grohl's life but I'm okay with that if I'm honest. There is nothing but love from him when it comes to the 5 most important women in his life, his Mother Virginia Grohl, his wife Jordyn Blum and his daughters Violet, Harper and Ophelia Grohl these are also the women to whom the book is dedicated. You can feel Dave's love for his mother on the page to the point where she is the last person he talks about, to in the epilogue.

Changing my review style for this one a bit, something that I will think about doing for biographies in the future too. It is my opinion that it is not the place of readers to judge the experiences of an individual it is our place to read and enjoy their presentation to us. So I've decided to make this review a series of dot points moments that made me laugh, quotes I want to comment on or just note-worthy things. • In a way similar to Kimi Raikonnon's biography Dave Grohl's first wife, Jennifer Youngblood, isn't mentioned. The only time he comes close is in referring to their 1997 divorce in relation to another event. More surprising is his not referring to his older sister, Lisa, by name at all. Though I know nothing of their relationship.

• The man and his injuries... the ones he talked about floored me. One of them is the infamous "I think I just broke my leg" moment from a concert in Ullevi Gothenburg. It is just one of the moments you see exactly how much he will do for his fans. There is an interview with Dave Grohl, Taylor Hawkins and Johan Sampson from Sweedish tv filmed in 2017 that just made me laugh. Another of the injuries tells you exactly how much Virginia Grohl went through, Dave describes being hit so hard in the head (accidentally) by a golf club that he split his skull open.

• Having no true musical training, I didn't refer to the sound as "notes on paper; it became shapes that I could see in my head as I listened intently to the multiple layers of instruments. Like colorful building blocks stacked upon each other, music became something I could "see," a neurological condition known as synesthesia, where one sense is activated (hearing) and another unrelated sense (vision) is activated at the same time. — I like this description of synesthesia, it is accessible not all of the ones I've seen are. He explains later it as seeing LEGO bricks, each part of a song is a LEGO brick that needs to be clicked into place. (p.65)

• or hiding small chunks of hash in Skeeter's dreadlocks so that we'd all have something to smoke on the long drives between shows (nothing like watching our bassist play with the drug dog on the border, knowing full well that his tangled mop was filled with ounces of spicy hash), we did what we had to do to get by. But not without a few close calls along the way. — I don't know why this is so funny to me. But I couldn't not include it. (p.121)

• "David... I know that you love your friends, but sometimes you have to put your needs ahead of others'. You have to take care of yourself." — This is Virginia's advice to Dave when he has to make the decision between staying with his friends at Scream and joining Nirvana. We all know what he chose. (p.130)

• It's appealing to see a different side of Kurt Cobain, seeing the man rather than the muso. There is a particular section I like... "At the end of the couch sat an old table where Kurt kept a pet turtle in a putrid terrarium. A true lover of animals, Kurt had an intriguing, perhaps metaphorical appreciation for turtles, as their wheels, the thing that most protected them, were actually quite sensitive. "Like having your spine on the outside of your body," he once said. But as beautiful and anatomically correct poetic as the sentiment may have been, it eventually made no difference to me, as this goddamned reptile kept me awake every night by tapping its head against the glass for hours on end in an attempt to escape our shared den of filth. I couldn't blame the poor thing. I often felt the same." (p.134) On this sentiment even while being courted by record labels, hard, the early days of Nirvana were hard as balls. It was fairly obvious they would be but it's more than I realised. Their fame and potential to better their circumstances was astronomical.

• I never knew the import of Smells Like Teen Spirit to Nirvana's story. Not the release of it but the writing and creation of it. The story of the M/V is fantastic. • The chapter He's Gone is heavy. It starts with the lines... ""He's gone, Dave" My knees gave out and I dropped the phone as I fell to my bedroom floor, covering my face with my hands I began to cry. He was gone. The shy young man who had offered me an apple upon our first introduction at the Seattle airport was gone. My quiet, introverted roommate who I'd shared a tiny apartment with in Olympia was gone. The loving father who played with his beautiful daughter backstage every night before each show was gone." (p.181). This is not actually from Cobain's death, it's from his March 3rd OD. This severely impacted his ability to grieve his suicide 5 weeks later.

• I had no idea where the Foo Fighter's name came from. Or that Dave Grohl was a UFO nut. Has an interesting take on spirituality.

• Taylor and I had become practically inseparable since he had joined the bad the year before, becoming devious partners in crime from day one. During his stint as Alanis Morissette's drummer, long before he became a Foo Fighter, we would bump into each other at festivals all over the world, and our chemistry was so obvious that even Alanis herself once asked him, "What are you going to do when Dave asks you to be his drummer?" Part Beavis and Butthead, part Dumb and Dumber, we were a hyperactive blur of Parliament Lights and air drumming wherever we went, so there was no one I would rather have shared this psychopathic safari with than Taylor. — It was this moment that made me realise that Taylor Hawkin's memorial might rival Chester Bennington's for star power. It's also a fantastic description of the relationship between Taylor and Dave. (p.213)

• There they were, wandering about like us mere mortals. And in the light of day, no less! I had always imagined (hoped) that these dark figures only came out at night after hanging upside down like bats in their mausoleums, nocturnal creatures refusing the sun, just waiting to terrorize us all with their evil anthems beneath a full moon. To my dismay, I think a few of them in shorts holding soda pops but whatever. Metal lives. — This is talking about the legends of metal performing at Ozzfest. Honestly I just think the man has a way with works, this made me laugh because it is a helluva visual. (p.215)

• The whole Down Under DUI chapter is fun. I barely remember it, but I do remember it. Getting a DUI shouldn't be funny but it kinda is when that is how you achieve it. I'm glad that Dave Grohl recognises that they are not as chaotic as Blink-182 but those two in the same room? 🤣

• Our secret was mostly safe, though Paul somehow knew, because well, he is the all-knowing, all-seeing, omniscient and omnipotent Paul McCartney. — Dave Grohl and Paul McCartney have a really interesting relationship. They have a long relationship that led to Paul playing drums on a Foo Fighters song (on which Taylor sings) Dave has performed multiple Beatles songs including with Violet. (p.300)

• There was no way that I could possibly repay this roomful of icons for the years of inspiration that they had given me, but if I could make them smile, dance, and feel the joy of music, as they had done for me my entire life, I was making a small dent in my debt. — This is about a room full of some of the most influential people in Dave's life including Paul McCartney and AC/DC. (p.302)

• Inspired Yet Again is a smart chapter. It is a few people he's met that had an impact on him in varying degrees. It does end with an ending. Dave is a gifted orator (perks of being the son of a speechwriter as well as a songwriter) he's spoken at multiple inductions are ceremonies over the years, but this ending was a funeral, Motörhead's Lemmy.

• For in a world full of Barbies, every girl needs a Joan Jett. — The whole chapter with Joan Jett Violet and Harper is just gorgeous and I'm so pleased that it was included. If you know a little girl without a strong female role model... find it, provide it. Especially now in the social media generation. To me, this is a chapter for his girls and daughters everywhere. (p.331)

• I love the idea of the Daddy-Daughter Dance, especially in an area with so many workaholic dads. This chapter has an insane story of travelling 40 hours return just to keep both his fans and daughters happy.

• WTF... KFC and champagne? Can someone who drinks tell me if that actually works?

• It is fantastic to read a person so trusting in their own instincts. Leaving school to make music his life, giving up the opportunity to join Tom Petty, performing Blackbird at the Oscars.

To me, this is a book that needs to be read to be appreciated. You do not need to be a fan of Dave Grohl's music to appreciate this, in disclosure, I am not a fan of Scream, Nirvana or The Foo Fighters. I read this because it was acclaimed, I quite like biographies and Dave Grohl has the reputation that made with appealing. Usually, the high praise of a book would put me off it but it's different for biographies I judge them differently and have different expectations from them. I firmly believe this deserves the praise that was heaped upon it in the wake of its publishing. Dave Grohl has lived a helluva life from being raised by a strong single mother, Virginia and breaking so many bones to being in immensely popular bands and living surreal moments with famous and finally raising three beautiful and talented girls he would move the world for.

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat. 

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other. 

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you. 

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story. 

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

[greatdenimbeast]

Diamond Castle au- introducing, Shadow, Muse of History, Astrology and Astronomy

Once a mortal in ancient Greece, moulded from clay by an inventor and brought to life by the blood of a god, he spent his years caring for his ill sister, Maria. Doing his best to assist his creator in finding a cure. Since the blood of god ran through his veins and, seeing that his existence was a miracle in of itself, it stood to reason that he could be the miracle that helped save her

Cuz he was quite literally born yesterday, his sister loved to tell him stories about historic events, tales of gods and heroes to teach him about the world and how it cane to be. She was a damn good storyteller too, always leaving Shadow craving for more.

His favourites were the ones related to the stars, the constellations, so much so that Gerald noticed and taught him how to properly chart them

Maria wasn’t allowed to leave the house, her grandfather fearing that the elements would be too much for her and that often made her sunny demeanour dull and, looking to cheer her up, he did his best to find ways to brighten her mood until found one that worked

He entertained his bed-ridden sister with tales of history, of old dead heroes, of gods, of prophecies, things that he had picked up from local traders and travellers when he was out running errands for Gerald.

Maria was enthralled by them, hanging off of his every word

“The island of Crete truly holds such a monster?”

“It’s travellers gossip, but who’s to truly say.”

He wasn’t as good of a storyteller as she was but he did keep record of every story he could, and Maria loved it so that was all that mattered

As Maria got worse, Shadow started praying and giving offerings to the god Asclepius and the god Apollo, he doubted they would come to his aid but if there was a chance they could help he wanted to be sure.

But it was getting harder to cure her, some of the medicinal herbs they needed grew far off and the merchants that brought them to the markets to sell them kept marking up the prices out of greed. So Shadow, who had been blessed with inhuman speed, was sent off to pick the herbs himself, allowing him the opportunity to venture and see more of the world and bring back more stories, even making a few of his own, slaying a few monsters on the the way

The soldiers for the nearby king didn’t make it easier, tormenting the people for laughs, outright stealing, sometimes outright killing people when they refused to cave to their demands. Gerald was always being pulled away from his work for a cure to craft machines and statues for the king, the only reason the soldiers were unable to harm him or Maria when he refused was because of Shadow being there to protect them.

This became an issue when the king decided that he wanted Shadow

Soldiers stormed the house and workshop, taking the inventor prisoner, dragging him away to the castle and as Shadow tries to get Maria to safety she pushes him out of the way of blade and gets stabbed through her stomach

Shadow blacks out.

When he comes back, his hands are covered in blood, the bodies of dead soldiers litter the floor, his ears are ringing.

The only other breathing Shadow could hear besides his own was the shaky, laboured breaths of his older sister

He rushed to her side and examined her, the wound was deep, too deep. He tried his beat to clean up the blood but he could barely see what he was doing past his own tears. As he did he prayed, to his other father, to Apollo, to any god that would listen, to please save his sister, to not let her die

Then Maria’s hand squeezing his stopped him

“Sh…Shadow… o-one more story…”

“Maria please, please, i have to treat this, I won’t let you die, i won’t let you, i can’t let you die!”

“One…one m-more… please?”

“…okay… okay, one more story.”

So he shakily told her a story, about the fabled diamond castle, the birthplace of music, home to the museum of music. He struggled to remember parts of the story but Maria shakily helped him fill in the blanks

Then as the story concluded, Apollo made his presence known and applauded the two on how exemplary their storytelling was. It turns out Shadow has gained Apollo’s attention for a while, ever since he started praying to him and he had an offer for him

He wanted him to be his muse, an inspiration, a god. Initially Shadow wanted to refuse until Maria winced and coughed in his arms, then he got an idea

“…Lord Apollo I will accept this honour on one condition, that you heal my sister of her wounds and her ailment so that she may live as freely as she wishes.”

Apollo accepted these terms and gave Shadow, ambrosia (the food of the gods). It burned away his mortality and left him a god

And Apollo fulfilled his part of the deal, healing his sister, and did Shadow one better by turning Maria immortal so that she may be Shadow’s attendant to assist him in his duties before whisking them both off to the diamond castle

50 years later Shadow meets the next muse

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | explicit | 1.1k | tags: established relationship, sub!eddie, top!eddie, dom!steve, bottom!steve, porn with feelings, Good Boy Eddie | @steddielovemonth Love is liking the version of yourself you are with them the best by @tinytalkingtina | AO3)

Eddie has been called many things in his life. Some good, more bad.

He's been called a good friend, a herder of lost sheep, a dungeon master, a rock star, even a hero.

But he's also been called a pariah, a coward, a waste of space, a fuckup, trailer trash, a freak, a murderer, a monster.

But no one had ever called him a good boy. Not until Steve.

Ever since he was a little kid, Eddie had learned to fit in, to become whatever someone needed him to be.

When his ma got sick, he learned to be her sweet little boy, quiet and uncomplicated instead of loud and wild. To take up as little space as possible, one less thing for his mama to worry about.

After she died, Eddie learned to be self-reliant. An adult in a child's body, able to take care of himself because who else would. Whenever his father was around, he adopted the Munson charm, the easy smile and empty flattery. He learned how to hot-wire cars, pick locks, steal, lie.

In the process, he learned to hate himself and even more the path his father was trying to set him on.

It wasn't until he started living with his Uncle Wayne that he didn't know who to be, because his uncle never asked him to do anything but be himself. Which should have been a relief, but by then Eddie had almost forgotten who that was.

So he began to reinvent himself in ways that made sense to him.

A storyteller, like Tolkien, spinning tales through his campaigns and having his party hanging on his every word.

A rock star, like Osbourne, van Halen, or Hammett, who played his heart out and made himself heard through his music.

A rebel, like Bowie, who stood up for those who, like him, were on the fringes of society, being their shield and offering them a safe place and a community where they could be their wonderfully weird selves.

Those versions of him were all Eddie, but at the same time they weren't. Not all of him.

Not the soft parts, the sweet and sincere and quiet parts he thought he lost when his mom died. Being all that for her hadn't been enough, it hadn't saved her, so Eddie buried that part of himself with her and became someone else. Someone the world couldn't break so easily.

Until Steve.

Brave and reckless, kind and bitchy and oblivious, self-sacrificing and self-centered, vain and dorky Steve. An enigma if Eddie ever met one. One he couldn't get enough of, each layer a new but pleasant surprise.

With Steve, Eddie doesn't have to reinvent himself, doesn't have to be any of the stories or boxes or labels.

With Steve, Eddie can let go.

With Steve, Eddie can stop looking over his shoulder.

With Steve, Eddie can let down his guard and show his soft belly.

With Steve, Eddie can be a good boy, sweet and obedient and sincere.

"You're doing so good, baby, so good for me. Fucking me so well, so sweet, feeding me that thick cock of yours. Can feel it in my throat. All for me, my good boy treating me so well," Steve coos with his mouth right next to Eddie's ear. They've been at it for what seems like hours and Eddie is so far gone, trembling in Steve's arms as he keeps rocking his hips, the only thing on his mind is Steve. Being good for Steve.

He's already made Steve come down his throat, lapping up every single drop like the good boy he is, before opening Steve up with his fingers and tongue. He pulled another orgasm out of him as he kept stroking across his prostate while licking messily inside him where he had spread him open on his fingers.

Eddie thought they were done, but Steve had other plans as he gathered up his own cum to spread over Eddie's cock, intention clear. Eddie had hesitated, afraid to hurt Steve because it was too much. It was only when he told Eddie to fuck him with a smoldering look from under his lashes that he finally, carefully, pushed inside him.

He's been hard and aching ever since Steve pushed him to his knees and made him nuzzle the bulge in Steve's tight Levis.

He's been ready to come since Steve's cock hit the back of his throat, moaning so prettily as it fluttered around him.

He's been holding himself back from coming by the skin of his teeth since Steve started clinging to him, overstimulated and loving and everything Eddie could ever want, cooing the sweetest and filthiest praise as Eddie slid in and out of the hot, tight grip of his body.

"What do you want baby, tell me, I'll give you everything my sweet little thing, just tell me what you need." Steve's soothing voice washes over him and he realizes he's whimpering into the sweaty skin of Steve's neck.

"You," Eddie replies without hesitation. "Just you, wanna make you feel good, 's all I need, just you." He's babbling, too far gone to be anything close to coherent. Reduced to his soft, needy core. "Love you so much, wanna stay like this forever, never wanna leave you." Things he never thought he'd say out loud spill out of his mouth and he can feel Steve tighten around him, impossibly so and he's so close but he can't, not without -

"Eddie, baby, don't stop, 'm so close, I love you too," Steve pants before whimpering, "Oh God, you're making me come again, kiss me, please, baby, kiss me."

He can't really feel his body anymore, his mouth clumsily seeking Steve's, but he could never deny him anything. Especially not when he's begging him so sweetly.

They both come within seconds of each other, no more words needed. Steve, whose legs and arms are wrapped around Eddie so tightly that it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, is the first to spill between their bellies. The fluttering of his hole, the bucking of his hips and the rhythmic way he clenches around him makes Eddie follow suit.

It almost hurts in its intensity after holding back for so long and he can't help the pitiful whimpering or the overwhelming tears.

Cradling Eddie's head in his giant hands, Steve wipes away the tears and kisses the whines from Eddie's trembling mouth. More tears follow, his love and devotion and gratitude for being loved in this way running down his cheeks as salty droplets, and Steve kisses them away as well.

"You were perfect," he whispers between his kisses, "I love you so much."

When his face is clean, the tears finally stopped, Eddie sinks back down onto the man beneath him. The man who gave him back this side of himself, a side he missed and mourned without even knowing it. A version of himself he has learned to love, to like best, thanks to Steve Harrington and his unwavering love for Eddie.

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Day 11 — Cozy Night

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 600

Contents & Warnings || Fluff — no warnings.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Advent Calendar 2023

You and Bucky had spent the week in a magical cabin nestled within a winter wonderland forest. The getaway was a relaxation for you both, offering a sanctuary from the busyness of everyday life. Your days were spent visiting the charming town, exploring cute vintage shops, and savoring cocoa at the cozy cafe.

Your evenings unfolded in the warm embrace of the cabin, where you and Bucky cuddled by the crackling fireplace with an assortment of books. Wrapped in a thick blanket, you shared beautiful moments, taking turns reading passages and stealing soft kisses between lines.

On the last day, plans of departure were interrupted by an unforeseen snowstorm, the roads dangerous. Stranded for a few more days, you and Bucky embraced the unexpected twist of fate, turning it into another cozy night with each other.

The storm-induced power outage left the cabin in darkness, with only the flicker of flames in the fireplace and the gentle glow of the candles illuminating the space.

Nestled on a plush sofa, your legs covered by a thick blanket, you and Bucky snuggled together. The warmth from the fire and each other kept the chill away.

You were at the end of your book, and Bucky took charge of reading the final chapters. His voice was a soothing melody, a comforting cocoon enveloping you both. He kept the story flowing, his voice becoming a rhythmic lullaby that was almost hypnotic. Tracing the plates of his vibranium palm, your fingertips danced along to his storytelling.

At the conclusion of the book, Bucky’s soft voice lingered in the air, leaving a warm, happy feeling behind. Closing the book, he kisses your temple, and you hummed in contentment.

“Hmm, that was a wonderful story, babe. Your storytelling skills are on point. I could listen to your soothing voice forever.”

“Well, I’ve had a few centuries of practice,” he mumbled, brushing his lips against your skin.

Cuddling closer, limbs entwined, you let the warm flames and the echo of the tale envelop you both.

“What should we do now?” you pondered, breaking the comfortable silence.

“You’re not tired?”

You shook your head. “Are you?”

“Not the slightest. How about we do a puzzle?” Bucky suggested, eyeing the 500-piece set on the coffee table. The box was adorned with a snowy, picturesque landscape with a cabin, much like the one you found yourselves in.

“Let’s do it.”

Seated comfortably on the sofa, still close, you unpacked the contents of the puzzle box onto the coffee table, sorting through the countless tiny pieces.

You began with the edges, searching for the border pieces that would lay the foundation for your masterpiece. Your conversation flowed between debates over puzzle piece placement and sweet nothings whispered to each other. Occasionally, Bucky would kiss your cheek or nuzzle against your skin.

As the puzzle took shape, you became immersed in the details of the image coming to life. The crackling logs and the wind’s howl serve as background music, along with the satisfying click of connecting the pieces together.

When the final pieces fell into place, a sense of accomplishment washed over you both. The once chaotic pile of puzzle pieces had transformed into a breathtaking panorama.

“We did it. It’s beautiful, Bucky,” you hummed, resting your head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the soft material of his sweater.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” he agreed, voice low and soothing as he draped an arm over you, pulling you closer. “Almost as beautiful as this moment with you.”

Meeting his gaze, filled with adoration, you felt a rush of affection. “I’m so glad we got stranded here for a few more days.”

“Me too, doll,” he whispered, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips. “It turned our simple getaway into a magical adventure.”

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

I don’t do taglists so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

When the twisted wonderland anime comes out what are the things you hope they do better then what they could do in the game?

To quickly clarify a few things (so new readers and anyone stumbling across this post doesn't get the wrong idea): firstly, we do not yet have any confirmation on what the Twisted Wonderland anime will be about. Secondly, I have previously expressed that I would prefer the TWST anime to be random slice of life rather than another main story adaptation. If we assume that the anime will be another adaptation of the main story, I don't think the anime staff has a ton of liberty in the alterations they can make to the source material. Book 2 is widely known to be the greatest example of Bad Writing in TWST, and it cannot exactly be swept under the rug since it's in the main story. I doubt anyone would be allowed to make massive rewrites to the script or to the series of events; the biggest changes we get are slightly compacted scenes in the manga and the light novel. For example:

Skipping lines that appear in the game. (Ex: in the Book of Heartslabyul, Ace does not joke about sharing a room with Yuuken.)

Combining scenes to save on time. (Ex: In the light novel, Yuuya and Deuce meet Leona for the first time not in the Botanical Garden, which is the case in the game. Instead, the mob student that broke the eggs meant for Ace's apology chestnut tart is a Savanaclaw kid that Leona shows up to reprimand.)

Adding slight details to fill in logical gaps. (Ex: Yuuya in the light novel is granted a NRC uniform by Crowley; the uniform is described to us, the readers. Yuu getting a uniform is never mentioned in the game.)

Continuing from the last point, new details can also serve to flesh out character motivations, backstories, and lore. (Ex: the Heartslabyul light novel informs us that Riddle faces social repercussions for his OB and almost got expelled from school; the Savanaclaw light novel sheds new light on Leona's motivations, and the same can be said of Riddle.)

So basically, the story (again, if the anime does end up following the plot of the main story) would be the same. What would make the anime different from the manga, game, and light novel is largely the medium in which it is presented. I have talked about this at length in a number of older posts, but here is one example of how the manga, uses visual storytelling (as it is primarily a visual medium). A manga chapter is usually limited in length due to it being physically printed and shared in a magazine alongside other manga; there is therefore a constraint on how long-winded it can be, and its limited pages must be used effectively. We need to think about the strengths and the weaknesses of each individual medium and how those strengths and weaknesses affect how it might slightly change how TWST I presented.

An anime is able to incorporate animation with sound in a 20ish minute time slot to tell a tale. It gets the same benefits of the game, but far more freedom of movement. There is, however, also a time constraint to be considered. One complaint TWST often gets is that despite half of its core gameplay (I'm not going to count reading as gameplay) being rhythm games, the music the game has is NOT memorable. While the anime most likely won't have a ton of original songs, I hope that it can at least creatively incorporate some of TWST's scores as background tracks to fun scenes and make them more enjoyable that way. The anime will also be able to... well, be animated!! We won't get just a static screen where a maximum of three characters are crammed onto the screen at once staring back at you. It's okay to have in the game to save on time and budget, but you have to admit it does get boring to look at after a while. But with an anime production, we can get exciting lighting and camera angles that result in cool animation! I hope that this will really help the TWST characters' stories come to life on the screen ^^ One scene in particular that I hope the anime will adapt well is the VDC/SDC performances of RSA and NRC. The game tells us that RSA's performance is clumsy and amateurish, but it still managed to capture people's hearts. The game also tells us that NRC was not able to perform at their maximum capacity because they were already physically worn down from dealing with OB Vil. I want to see these descriptions actually be realized on screen (the Rhythmic/Twistune alone isn't enough), as it could help us better judge and have an enhanced understanding of the situation. I know a lot of fans who, to this very day, still feel that NRC was cheated of the win and shouldn't have lost to such a lackluster performance from RSA, so I'm hoping that a fully animated version might give us more perspective.

[theendorisit]

magnus protocol season 1 part 1 praise and credits

all right my lovelies, we are at our Magnus protocol hiatus and you know what that means?

Credit where credit is due, we do not get wonderful stories without wonderful storytellers, and storytellers don’t get to tell stories without the people working tirelessly to bring the story to the audience. So thanks to everyone at Rusty Quill who makes these stories possible! I also want to shout praises to our part 1 guest writers: Graeme Patrick, Cole Weavers, Jamie Petronis, Shaun Pellington. Stellar work everyone!

All credits and my thoughts on each episode are below, so SPOILERSSSSSSSSS, you have been warned.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 1 – First Shift

CAT1RBC5257-12052022-09012024 Reanimation (Partial) -/- Regret [Email] CAT23RAB2155-10042022-09012024 Transformation (eyes) -/- Trespass [chat log]

Written by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J Newall

Script Editing by Alexander J Newall and Jonathan Sims 

Thoughts: stunner of a first episode, juggling meeting literally everyone and setting up the huge diversity of case styles we will be seeing. Also shout out to Alex for making sure we got such a banger of a line: ‘Canaries should stay above ground’.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 2 – Making Adjustments

CAT3RBC1567-23092022-18012024 Transformation (full) -/- dysmorphic [video call]

Written by Alexander J Newall

Script Editing by Jonathan Sims 

Thoughts: Like walking down a stone spiral staircase, you never know what the next thing is going to be (but you know it'll be dark and make your stomach drop a little). Enjoying the twist on accurate CS terminology (yes, contractors ARE called Externals).

The Magnus Protocol Episode 3 – Putting Down Roots

CAT2C8175-03042009-22012024 Infection (full body) -/- arboreal [journal entry]

Written by Graeme Patrick (for more of his work visit https://www.aintslayednobody.com)

Script Editing with Additional Materials by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J Newall

Thoughts: absolutely now a fan favourite, compelling gruesome body horror, with an intriguing backstory. The slow unravelling of a mind. Brings to mind horrors like Kafka's The Metamorphosis and the film The Ruins (not because they are similar stories necessarily, but, well, vibes). Definitely need more Graeme Patrick in my life!

The Magnus Protocol Episode 4 – Taking Notes

CAT3C7494-19111831-29012024 Collection (blood) -/- musical [letter]

Written by Cole Weavers (for more of his work visit https://www.thetownwhispers.com)

Script Editing with Additional Materials by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J Newall

Thoughts: A curious tale, that gets more curious in the re-hearing. Sure, an instrument plays the player. But how was the teacher driven wild BEFORE the pupil got the special violin? Maybe the chaos was from him, and the violin was a conduit? Got to hear more Cole stories! Dear grandpa Augustus does always tell such lovely stories, if Tim Fearon can narrate my life, that would be great thx. Also - need a promotion? get your windows NT to tattle on your boss! Lena giving Gertrude vibes with the killing-my-assistants theme.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 5 – Personal Screening

CAT2RB2377-10012023-05022024 Disappearance (undetermined) -/- Invitation [internet blog]

Written by Alexander J Newall and Jamie Petronis (for more of his work visit https://www.thecellarletters.com/)

Script Editing with Additional Materials by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J Newall.

Thoughts: I really love this one, it is such a brilliant thrilling story that genuinely has me shouting 'WHAT? WHAT HAPPENED? I need more details!!' - which is a hallmark of all good mysteries honestly. Will be on the hunt for more Jamie stories.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 6– Introductions

CAT1RB4824-09022024-12022024 Injury (needles) -/- intimidation [999 call]

Written by Jonathan Sims

Script Editing with Additional Materials by Alexander J Newall

Thoughts: Needles is a lame tryhard. I love him. Also Alice referring to Lena as 'Big Bird' is hilarious. Also, yay, Celia!

The Magnus Protocol Episode 7 – Give and Take

CAT2RC3338-03022016-12022024 Agglomeration (miscellany) -/- congregation [email]

Written by Alexander J Newall

Script Editing with Additional Materials by Jonathan Sims

Thoughts: I really hope that Mr Clayton turns up again. As the remains of a crime scene. Also, worldbuilding: hello Oxford. hello people in what is essentially an antique shop repeating the same phrases. Getting déjà vu. And Gwen, you know the Civil Service is really easy to move around, right? You can get a secondment, a loan, a transfer, there's internal job adverts... are you sure you want a promotion?

The Magnus Protocol Episode 8 – Running on Empty

CAT2RBC3366-12072023-28022024 Architecture (liminal) -/-hunger [coursework]

Written by Alexander J Newall

Script Editing with Additional Materials by Jonathan Sims

Thoughts: I feel like I just experienced a TMA/Backrooms crossover and I can dig it. Interesting repetition of ... repetition as a theme ('people' repeating phrases over and over). I like this one a lot, I feel that it communicates a great deal about the way this universe (or at least, its spooky experiences) works. Also, I really really hope Gee Gee is a villain in this story, just so Sue Sims can be the tiny cackling witch she was destined to be.

Interestingly, the official transcript has the name Hostile Workplace - an early title perhaps?

The Magnus Protocol Episode 9 – Rolling With It

CAT3RB3354-14101998-08032024 Dice (bone) -/- fate [Magnus Statement]

Written by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J Newall

Thoughts: This is a fun one, and does put an interesting twist on the idea of owning an artefact, that one could compel others to take the negative consequences. Can't decide if the ending (oh one last time) is too predictable - but definitely immensely satisfying. Also, I'm not sure if the truck/diner death is a direct reference to a final destination movie ending, but I noticed some similarities.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 10 – Saturday Night

CAT1RB2275-06082021-09032024 Mascot (kids) -/- murder [TV interview]

Written by Jonathan Sims

Script Edited with additional material by Alexander J Newall

Thoughts: appropriately named! The sound design for this episode gives me intensely-visual mental images of the TV interview, and I really want a YouTube video unpacking the Bonzo Butcher and his crimes, timelines, arrest, everything.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 11 – Marked

CAT23RC5246-06012020-11032024 Tattoo (corpse) -/- compulsion [email exchange]

Written by Jonathan Sims

Script Edited with additional material by Alexander J Newall  

Thoughts: Shirley Jackson Susan Hill called, she wants to know when she can have her haunted typewriter back.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 12 – Getting Off

CAT1RB4728-09032024-13032024 Mascot (kids) -/- frenzy [insurance claim]

Written by Alexander J Newall 

Script Edited with additional material by Jonathan Sims  

Thoughts: Possibly my favourite so far. Alex is bringing the gory horror and it's perfect. Excellent descriptive storytelling - opening a guy's head like a book is a visual I did not know I needed.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 13 – Futures

CAT3RB4622-17092023-14032024 Gambling (application) -/- murder [voicemail]

Written by Alexander J Newall

Script Edited with additional material by Jonathan Sims

Thoughts: Can someone get Alex in as a writer for Black Mirror? The series might actually get good as a result. Also can someone start a series tally for died in a hospital bed due to wickedly cool sound design? Thanks. Death by personal adjustment is giving TMA season 5 Mortal Garden vibes.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 14 – Pet Project

CAT1RB4426-01081995-15032024 Transformation (snake) -/-horde

Written by Shaun Pellington (https://www.imdb.com/name/nm14461505/)

Script Edited with additional material by Alexander J Newall and Jonathan Sims

Thoughts: Sometimes well-written characters come and punch you in the gut. Character writing isn't always prioritised in horror, as the characters can just be the vehicle through which horror happens. But the transition from report to last message to dad really hit hard, and the story was creepy af. Shaun writes podcasts and voice acts, so check out his stuff.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 15 – Well Run

CAT1RB-6451-22062023-22032024 Hunt (aristocratic) -/- compulsion

Written by Alexander J Newall

Script Edited with additional material by Jonathan Sims

 Thoughts: the real horror is being forced to be the monster. Yet you had a choice, you chose the monster, before anyone else could. I will always praise the sound team, though it is amazing how a shot through a window also kinda sounds like a brick wall falling down. I enjoyed Alice's run-in with the drowned woman, great writing, sound design and authentically chaotic. Also, let us all simp for Lady Mowbray, purely because it disgusts Jonny.

The official transcript also has an alternate name Good Show

I know exactly what Jonny means about disgust for the aristocracy, but his reaction is too funny to not do it.

PSA - nellie the elephant was dropped as a CPR technique bc you need to depress a chest by 2 inches to pump someone's heart, and compressions were too shallow when people used that song. Another One Bites The Dust and Stayin' Alive are better rhythms to use.

 The Magnus Protocol Episode 16 – Anti-social

CAT1RB1565-30102023-25032024 Tattoo(influencer)-/- Cardiac

Written by Alexander J Newall

Script Edited with additional material by Jonathan Sims

Thoughts: I genuinely really like this case and the character. Sure, cringy, but she's young, overexcited, and wants attention, like every other human being on the planet. I think she's quite a compelling character to follow, as she trips headlong into abject misery. Spectacular sound design on the death scene.

Also, a lot of people were complaining about the slang, but given the load of cringy slang that the fandom made the cast read out: this episode was 100% deserved. You want them to call their characters dummy thicc? You made your cringy slang bed, now lie in it (I say with love, affection, and sarcasm).

I am aware part of the complaints were that non-AAVE characters were using AAVE - but unfortunately, that is how real life, and real slang use, works. For example, the word 'cool' meaning good, has been around since the 1930's, and originated from Black Americans in the Jazz scene. Now, everyone uses it. I can't comment on whether this is good or right (and I don't think the show does either), only that the show's use/misuse of slang is accurate to real life.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 17 – Saved Copy

CAT2RC1147-30111997-04042024 Doppleganger (interdimensional) -/- murder

Written by Alexander J Newall

Script Edited with additional material by Jonathan Sims

Thoughts: Alex and Jonny are very good at twisting existing formats. Evil Twin/Doppleganger? Oh he'll want to kill you, replace you, drain your life, steal your existen- oh he wants a friend to play in his murder dungeon? That's new! Also, the receptionist and orchid-pervert - stop being a tease Alex!

The Magnus Protocol Episode 18 – Solo Work

CAT1RC2374-20032024-10042024 Memory (derelict) -/- compulsion

Written by Jonathan Sims

Script Edited with additional material by Jonathan Sims

Thoughts: How can a body speak without lungs? Autopsy reports are some of my favourite horror (see The Mortuary Assistant game and the autopsy of Jane Doe film). A house full of fog and forgotten poems.

Also, I got the credit details from the official transcript, so I'm not sure if Jonny writing and editing his own script is an error or deliberate, but it is kind of funny on an episode called 'Solo Work'.

Everyone complains about the AQA Anthology (2004) we had to read for English GCSE, but I loved it intensely.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 19 – Hard Reset

CAT13RBC1137-21031684-11042024 Transformation (canine) -/- growth (Crystalline)

Written by Alexander J Newall

Script Edited with additional material by Jonathan Sims

Thoughts: Alex writes the word 'Christendom' in a story and is immensely happy about it. I get the deep suspicion that Alex and Jonny have 'Edward-Kun'-ed the boys into a horrific electronic chimera a la Full Metal Alchemist. Excellent world-building. Wonder if the 'Protocol' is going to be 'yeah, we find people acting sus, and we teach them what the second part of 'fuck around and find out' actually entails'. Also COLIN ISN'T DEAD YET. YAYYYYY.

The Magnus Protocol Episode 20 – Social Stigma

CAT1RAB2534-12042024-12042024 Transformation (tattoo) -/- Social Media (influencer)

Written by Jonathan Sims

Script Edited with additional material by Alexander J Newall

Thoughts: Talking to a supernatural person... in person. I love it. Interesting dialogue on parasocial relationships and Gwen trying and failing to be an authority figure is hilarious (I am very similar!). Gwen's playlist is just RESPECT covered by Aretha Franklin on repeat. She can't get no respect ever.

Created by Jonathan Sims (@jonnywaistcoat)  and Alexander J Newall (@rqbossman) Directed by Alexander J Newall  Executive Producers April Sumner, Alexander J Newall, Jonathan Sims, Dani McDonough, Linn Ci, and Samantha F.G. Hamilton Associate Producers Jordan L. Hawk, Taylor Michaels, Nicole Perlman, Cetius d’Raven, and Megan Nice Produced by April Sumner    Featuring (in order of appearance) Billie Hindle as Alice Dyer

Kazeem Tosin Amore as Teddy Vaughn Anusia Battersby as Gwendolyn Bouchard (@anouchard) Shahan Hamza as Samama Khalid Sarah Lambie as Lena Kelley Alexander J Newall as Norris Jonathan Sims as Chester Kate Sketchley as Daria Jenny Haufek as Therapist

Tim Fearon as Augustus Paul Schmidt as Klaus

Hattie Quinlan as Operator 1 Harry Roebuck as Needles Tom Park as Operator 2 Joe Bence as Police Operator Lowri Ann Davies as Celia Ripley

Jon Gracey as Gerry Keay Sue Sims as Gertrude Robinson

Catherine Luff as Geraldine Hardy Steve Newman as Nigel Dickerson

Uncredited as Mr. Bonzo Beth Eyre as [Error]

Zena Carswell as Answerphone Euan Shedden as DarrienEp

Jesse Hawke as Voicemail Danny Scarre as Caterer Ellie Dickens as Lady Mowbray Yanick Ghanty as Luke Dyer Lara Sawalha as Drowning Victim

Vera Chok as Ink5oul Ki Griffin as Madam E

Sasha Sienna as Georgie Barker (@sashasienna)

----

Dialogue Editor – Lowri Ann Davies Sound Designers – Tessa Vroom, Katharine Seaton, Meg McKellar, Mastering Editor - Catherine Rinella

Music by Sam Jones (orchestral mixes by Jake Jackson) Art by April Sumner    Fabulous work everyone! Can't wait for the next part!

Official transcripts:

[orchideous-nox]

The Amazing Devil are underrated storytellers

Like I'm sure many people did, I discovered alt-folk band The Amazing Devil through Joey Batey as a fan of The Witcher. Someone on TikTok was talking about the song Fair and how the actor who plays Jaskier (or Dandelion, depending on preference of material) from The Witcher sang it.

Instantly, I knew I had to listen to this song and I sat with it on repeat for an hour, picking through references and laughing at how pure and simple the love conveyed in those words was. It's the kind of love you dream of, where your partner completes you and life without them seems impossible. A love that goes beyond you both, as if there was no choice but to fall for one another. It's not pretentious or impossible to understand. It's universal and I fell in love with it.

Months later, I found Battle Cries, a song of overlapping whimsies. It tells the tale of two lovers ending their relationship and trying to find pieces of calmness in the uproar of their breakup, comparing it to a war not just between each other but within themselves. There a metaphors deeply woven within the lyrics and each line is magic as Joey and Madeleine sing over each other, words occasionally syncing up, representing the way they struggle to feel in tune with each other at the end of their relationship.

Battle Cries lead me to Marbles, the story of a couple where one of them is suffering from memory loss, the trials and tribulations of watching the person you love forget who they are and who you are too. It is a beautifully told story that feels so genuine, making me wonder how close to home the inspiration was. This song is an absolute guarantee at tears while also making you laugh.

Ruin came to me next, as wells as Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious and The Horrors and The Wild, three songs with such incredibly different vibes that don't just need to be listened to but thoroughly devoured.

Finally, a song I can never praise enough, Inkpot Gods. This song brings together so many ideas and images I love. Again, it is heavy on its use of metaphors but contains one of my favourite references they have ever used. The song discusses the love you can hold for another person and the lengths you will go to so you can protect them. It talks of breaking generational expectations and being there for someone when they can't defend themselves.

The best part of Inkpot Gods, however, is the Lord of the Rings reference where Madeleine sings "you might not fear a man//but to a woman by the end you'll kneel and plead". This is popularly theorised to be about Eowyn in The Return of the King and the line "I am no man" she speaks as she ends her foe's life, a show of her strength not despite of her gender. Easily the best line of the trilogy to me, and hearing it in song form cements this, following it with "I'm more than what my mum told me", breaking this tradition what what a woman can or should be.

While Joey Batey was the draw to The Amazing Devil's music for me, Madeleine has kept me there, she has such a beautiful voice and her and Joey together have made some stunning music that I will always love. They tell these fantastic stories within a few minutes, creating characters worthy of epic tales and narratives so deep and complex it leaves you thinking for long after.

[mylifeinfiction]

The Storyteller: Tales of Life and Music by Dave Grohl

“I stopped trying to understand fate and destiny a long time ago, but dumb luck seems to be my specialty.”

I am a huge Foo Fighters fan. And Dave Grohl is very high on my list of all-time favorite drummers (and front-men). So, naturally, I was pretty damn excited when this book was first announced. Then it was released, and because I generally just do not read non-fiction, it slipped through the cracks. Fast-forward to this month, when Spotify announced the availability of audiobooks for premium members. I'm not normally a fan of audiobooks, as I'd much rather read my books than listen to them (my brain just processes/devours them better that way). But, seeing as this one was read by the man, himself, I figured... why not?

This was easily the best way for me to experience this book. Grohl has an extremely excitable - and likable - personality that makes these stories just fly by, and saves the book from his often awkward prose. And hearing him actually tell these stories, instead of just reading his words, brings an emotionally touching sense of reflection to them. It also keeps all of the name-dropping from ever feeling like (just) bragging. Instead, it makes them feel like the world's luckiest fan sharing the unlikely situations - and unbelievable encounters - that led to him becoming one of the biggest rock stars in the world.

My biggest complaints would be that there are some periods from which I would've liked to get more stories, his prose can often be awkward - but is (mostly) saved by the audiobook - and the stories are seemingly organized randomly in terms of chronology, making it difficult to keep track of where we are on the Dave Grohl timeline.

This isn't really a book about Grohl's craft, nor is it a comprehensive account of his life as a musician. It's just a storyteller telling stories. Knowing this, I was able to kick back and enjoy these tales for what they are. Dave Grohl may be one of the biggest rock stars in the world, but he's also a fan, and it's so fun listening to him geek out about meeting his personal heroes on his journey to becoming one of ours.

7.5/10

-Timothy Patrick Boyer.

Note: I'm including a few favorites from when I got to make photos of Foo Fighters back in 2015 at Fenway Park.

[sonoftydeusthemusical]

Welcome to the Son of Tydeus: The Musical blog!

Our progress, ideas, polls and more will be posted here on this blog to keep you up-to-date!

We're also very open to any asks, comments, questions and suggestions!

It really warms our hearts and delights us to see how many poeple have already shown interest in this project, and we're excited to continue this journey with you :)

Overview and FAQ to the musical and us below

Who are we? 

In the most literal sense we are Ley and Bea. (Our personal blogs are @leynaeithnea & @friedmagazinebouquet )

We are two storytellers who are completely normal about mythology, and Diomedes in particular! Obviously!

We started working on this musical in early October, after an off-hand comment in a discord server that someone should make a musical about Diomedes.

Somehow we decided to keep daydreaming about it, asking "what-if" after "what-if", and eventually figured that sometimes you have to take things into your own hands.

What will this musical be about?

The life of Diomedes of Argos, from his father's death when he was 4 years old, all the way up until his own. As of now we plan to be covering his childhood, the Trojan War, his homecoming, exile, life in Italy and the end of his mortal life.

What will be the format of the musical?

It will be fully sung-through, allowing for it to be easily accessible to everyone once it is complete.

We want to emphasize auditory storytelling so that no visual elements will be necessary to get the full expierence.

Though visuals (be it animation, stage play or other) might still allow for even more immersion, it's an element that we won't put our focus on for now

What stage of production are we at?

We are currently in the earliest planning stages, where we are gathering information, researching and working on defining a set timeline, figuring out what aspects we'll want to focus on and what story we are trying to tell, before we move on to drafting a storyline and eventually tackling the songs itself.

Why are we doing this?

Primarily because Diomedes rarely ever gets mentioned in any modern media unlike so many other ancient greek heroes. Despite his incredibly interesting life and major role in the Iliad he gets cut from nearly all adaptations and is barely known at all, and we decided we want to change that.

On top of that we also see it as a great chance to not only expand our knowledge about Diomedes himself, but gain a more in depth understanding of the myths and tales themselves.

[scotianostra]

On August 15th 1771 Sir Walter Scott the poet and novelist was born in Edinburgh.

Walter survived polio as a toddler which left him with a limp and he used a cane the rest of his life. He was the first author to have international fame in his lifetime and is credited with inventing the historical novel.

Scott used the great storytelling tradition of the Highlands to help bring back the Scottish identity that had been cruelly crushed by the British. His Waverly novels were very popular in Europe and America starting Romanticism and influencing American writers such as Thoreau and Twain.

As well as popularising the historical novel, his books more or less invented tourism in Scotland. A family holiday to Loch Katrine inspired Scott to write the epic narrative poem The Lady of the Lake; a romantic, stirring tale of secret identity, love and loss. It was a publishing phenomenon and readers flocked to see the landscape Scott had described. Thus when travel entrepreneurs such as Thomas Cook began selling packaged railroad tours in the 1840s, Scotland was one of the most popular destinations. Victorians who had grown up on Scott’s Waverley novels, and now technology made it possible to reach these areas

Scott was a prolific writer, publishing two novels a year. Readers around the globe devoured his tales of historic Scotland and its noble, heroic people.

Composers in particular found inspiration in his work, among them Gaetano Donizetti who was inspired to write the tragic opera Lucia del Lammermoor based on Scott’s novel The Bride of Lammermoor.  Franz Schubert was similarly moved, setting text from The Lady of the Lake to music to create his much-loved work Ave Maria.

When King George IIII visited Edinburgh in 1822 Scott was put in charge of the festivities. This was the first time a reigning monarch had made it north of the border in over 200 years and Scott masterminded a spectacular Scottish show in his honour.

He created a romantic - and, some argued, and still do argue, an unrealistic - vision of the Highlands on the streets of the capital with parades, gatherings of clans and swathes of tartan on display. King George himself lapped up this romantic symbolism, dressing in a kilt for the occasion and, like a 19th century influencer, prompting others to wear it too. It marked a turning point in the way the world saw Scotland, and the return of tartan to fashionable society following a ban enforced by the government in the aftermath of the Jacobite rebellion.

Scott’s influence in society allowed him to lobby on causes he held dear.Sir Walter Scott got involved in a number of political issues. Particularly, his interested in issues where the government was trying to impose things on Scotland. For example, the Bank of England wanted to withdraw the right of Scottish banks to print bank notes, it's testement to the man that he features on bank notes not just today, but going back to the days of smaller nbanks, like the Linen Bank in Scotland, The Bank of Scotland range of notes still carry his portrait. Scott He stirred up such a furore that the government backed down, so you have him to thank that your not carrying English bank notes around with you, imagine a life where we Scots couldn't have a good old moan about businesses in England refusing to take our money as payment!

Scott’s popularity as a poet was cemented in 1813 when he was given the opportunity to become Poet Laureate. However, he declined and Robert Southey accepted the position instead.

Having suffered a stroke in 1831, which resulted in apoplectic paralysis, his health continued to fail and Scott died on 21st September 1832 at Abbotsford, I hope to read and post more about Sir Walter Scott in just over a months time.

[pagannatural]

2.15 Tall Tales

-once again we have an earth-shattering revelation episode followed by silly sibling hijinks episode. Last episode Dean confirmed out loud he would rather die than kill Sam and that he is devoted body and soul to saving him. Now he is eating sloppily from a takeout container on Sam’s bed. Fascinating ecosystem.

-so Dean is on Sam’s bed. He likes hanging out and making a show of being annoying while lying on Sam’s bed. He must want Sam’s attention because it seems territorial. He’s licking his fingers and smacking his lips and being as loud and expansive as possible. Maybe Dean is reclaiming Sam in some way after he was possessed last episode by laying claim on his space.

-Sam asks Dean to turn down his music so Dean turns it up, and the song is actually so fucking perfect look at the lyrics

I could really just highlight the entire song. It’s about someone avoiding talking to the subject and the subject feeling out of their mind lonely about it.

It sets the tone for the whole episode and adds meaning to why they’re getting on each other’s nerves so badly. They’re avoiding talking about the big thing on their minds and subsequently picking at other things and at each other. Again, they’re lonely when there’s distance between them and they don’t feel they belong to each other.

-Sam and Dean recount their investigation into the case so far to Bobby. It’s a storytelling device that allows us to see into the characters’ perspectives and the ways in which they are unreliable narrators.

Sam recalls Dean being a sloppy drunk and basically asking him to have a foursome with him, a girl at the bar, and her sister. He recalls Dean leering at him and wiggling his eyebrows and Starla drunkenly hanging off of Dean, doing the same. It very much seems as though Dean and Starla are suggesting a small, incestuous orgie.

Sam turns up his nose because Dean is drunk and he thinks the girl is trashy and tanked. His judgment toward her is palpable and betrays his jealousy. It’s also a glimpse into the way he perceives Dean’s attempts at setting him up—he recognizes Dean’s interest in him sexually, he remembers when this happens, but he doesn’t think it’s serious because he thinks it’s about the girls rather than about him. Dean is a himbo in his story, kind of without intention or feeling.

Dean, however, describes hitting it off with a woman who is a classy grad student. He remembers Sam being extremely feminine and prissy and confronting him about making out with a woman like he’s Dean’s nagging girlfriend.

Trying to set Sam up is not a part of his story, instead he tells it like he’s the center of attention and Sam is jealous. It makes me wonder if Dean is self conscious about how he treats Sam, how he often involves him in his sex life. Later in the series Dean is described as “needy” more than once in the context of his relationship with Sam as a way to taunt both of them. It’s interesting that Dean would feel shame about needing Sam, whereas Sam’s shame is never really about needing Dean. This is one of the dynamics in their relationship that tends to operate consistently in the background for the entire show, and I see it as a birth order thing. Dean as the older sibling feels responsible for Sam, so he can’t be clingy and unhinged the way that Sam sometimes is without really thinking anything of it.

Dean also portrays Sam as feminine. Like, flamboyant. It’s probably easier for Dean to focus on Sam’s sexuality and make fun of him for being gay rather than take him seriously for being in love with him. So Dean is doing the same thing Sam is doing, dismissing Sam’s intentions and chalking his behavior up to something else.

Both stories are defensive in their own ways: Dean paints himself as totally uninterested in Sam. Sam paints Dean as indiscriminate and careless in his attentions but wanting Sam to join in. Common elements are Dean’s attention being on someone else and Sam being jealous. The variables are the why’s.

-Bobby: you’re bickering like an old married couple

Dean: no see married couples can get divorced

Okay so you’re not like an old married couple—not because you’re not married or because you’re not a couple, but because your connection is more permanent? Okay!

The brothers say they’re more like conjoined twins which is wild because regular siblings get on each other’s nerves plenty but they are not regular siblings and that description is not enough for them so they describe themselves as physically part of each other. Over and over we’re told that actually they are not “just brothers” like Sam said in Playthings.

-Dean was watching porn on Sam’s laptop. He eats in Sam’s bed and jerks off with Sam’s laptop and it’s like he’s a dog getting his scent on everything Sam touches.

-Sam gives Dean the sassiest look anyone’s ever given anyone

and I’m including it in this analysis because it’s giving major fem vibes.

-the alien story is actually super fucked up and horrifying, although it’s clearly played as a joke. The guy says he was probed and forced to slow dance. The brothers seem to be telling this particular story together in a shared perspective, because it’s already embarrassing for them to hear and talk about, and underneath the bickering they respect and understand each other.

-the next interview is Dean’s telling, and in it Sam is acting emotional and over-sympathetic and Dean says “you’re always saying pansy stuff like that.” Sam is once again caricatured as feminine and clingy. Dean puts a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder and says It’s okay, and Sam’s face crumples. So in Dean’s retelling, he’s Sam’s shoulder to cry on when Sam is over emotional.

- Dean is reasoning through the connections in the cases and says the punishments are almost poetic “or actually it’d be more like a limerick” and sorry was anyone going to talk about Dean’s knowledge and interest in poetry?? I LOVE poetry but I didn’t technically know what the fuck a limerick was (so I googled it) and it’s a short poem that’s funny or silly in content. Dean is well-read. It would make SO much sense for him to be well-read because when he was younger he longed for more of a connection to the world outside of Sam and John and being locked in motel rooms, and reading would have been a good way for him to do that. He seems to enjoy fiction and characters he can relate to. It probably makes him feel less isolated.

-The brothers’ arguments this episode reveal such interesting glimpses into their life. Sam says “I don’t lose things” which would have been important as a child living out of motels trying to maintain his grades and seem normal. He probably learned as a child that he can’t just forget his things somewhere and go back to look for it later or call people he knows. If he leaves something in a motel room, that’s it, it’s gone forever, they will never go back and no one is finding and mailing it to him. I wonder if that’s also why he’s so particular about Dean not touching his stuff, because he had so little that was his. He probably got Dean’s hand-me-downs, and he had to share Dean himself with their dad which he famously hated.

Sam also says that Dean’s socks are in the sink. The only reason I can imagine for Dean’s socks being in the sink rather than just like, Dean leaving his dirty socks on the floor, is that he must’ve been washing them in the sink. Do they hand wash their clothing in motel sinks? It must be more convenient than going to a laundromat sometimes.

Sam also comments on Dean’s food going bad in the fridge. I read a whole essay on how this connects to Dean’s food insecurity, which makes sense to me. It also could be that he’s just kinda messy and doesn’t throw away his gross old food. I think Dean tends to get messier the more stressed out he is. He’s one of those people you can tell how he’s doing mentally by how his space looks— if he’s angry he’s breaking shit, stressed he’s looking worse for wear, happy he’s got everything neat and clean and starts nesting. Not to mention taking care of the Impala, his and Sam’s childhood home, is his pride and joy and one of the only mainstays in his life. His self care is very visible.

He is stressed as shit right now. Maybe eating greasy food on Sam’s bed is a cry for help and wanting Sam to talk to him about everything but not knowing how to bring it up.

-they fight over some money. It’s really something.

They are rolling around in bed grunting. Sam initiated the physicality of this fight by tackling Dean. It seems like a shared telling of what happened, and a good time to remember that the brothers have told wildly different stories and are both trying to make themselves seem as normal, cool, and under control as possible in these stories. And yet still they’re telling about the time they were rolling around and grunting in bed passionately. I’ll just leave that there.

-Sam pauses on the rush to the car with Bobby after driving a stake through the trickster’s heart. He starts apologizing to Dean, sincerity on his features, and Dean picks up on his intention and assures Sam “me too.” They gaze at each other lovingly over the roof of the Impala until Bobby interrupts and asks them to move it along.

-episode theme is perception, deception, and things not being what they appear. The trickster (Gabriel) casts illusions and the format of the narrative highlights how differently Sam and Dean can see the same story. They’re not seeing each other clearly, and they’re hiding from themselves, and it makes them lonely.

[merwgue]

A SNEAK PEAK INTO MY NEW FANFIC

In the heart of Prythian, the Spring Court was a place where the magic of nature itself ran through the veins of its people. It wasn’t just a court known for its greenery or the eternal spring that wrapped its lands in soft warmth and vibrant life—it was a living, breathing entity where every fae held an intimate bond with the land, the creatures, and the cycles that shaped their world. The Spring Court wasn’t a place where nature was tamed; instead, it was honored, revered, and allowed to flourish freely.

From the youngest fae child to the oldest elder, their lives were intertwined with the rhythms of the earth. It wasn’t unusual to see children running through fields of wildflowers, their laughter echoing as they learned the old ways from their parents and grandparents. These fae were storytellers, and their lore was rich with tales of the first bloom, the Great River Spirit, and the first animal companions who roamed the world with them. Stories were not just meant to entertain but to teach the values of harmony, respect, and the delicate balance between all living things.

When spring arrived, the air would hum with life. Festival preparations began the moment the first green shoot broke through the soil. I imagine their largest celebration, Primaveralis, marking the true beginning of the season. The fae would gather in fields, dressed in clothes adorned with intricate embroidery of flowers, vines, and animals. Woven into their hair would be garlands of fresh blossoms, symbols of renewal. The Primaveralis was more than just a festival; it was a sacred ritual of thanks, where they would offer a part of their harvest to the earth in gratitude for the bounty it would provide. They danced until their feet ached, the music mirroring the flow of rivers and the rustling of leaves in the wind. In the Spring Court, to dance was to connect with the heartbeat of the world.

And then there were the gardens—vast, sprawling sanctuaries where rare plants were cultivated and protected. It was said that every noble house had its own private garden, each one a reflection of the fae who nurtured it. Some were wild, left to grow untamed and free, while others were meticulously cared for, with each petal and leaf carefully pruned. The garden of the High Lord, Tamlin, was rumored to be the most breathtaking of all. No one knew for sure what lay behind the ancient, ivy-covered gates of his private retreat, but whispers spoke of trees that touched the sky and flowers that could bloom only in the light of the full moon.

The bond between fae and nature was sacred, and no one embodied that connection more than Tamlin himself. The High Lord could shift into a beast, a physical manifestation of the untamed power of the land. He was the protector of the Spring Court, and his very presence was tied to the land's prosperity. When he walked the borders of his territory, the flowers stood taller, the trees whispered their thanks, and the animals watched him with a kind of reverence. He wasn’t just their ruler; he was their guardian. And in return, the Spring Court was fiercely loyal to him.

But the Spring Court was not just about nature—it was about the bond between its people. Family was at the core of their traditions, and the fae of the Spring Court were bound not just by blood but by the shared values of protection and growth. Births were joyous occasions, marked by the Ceremony of Roots. In this ritual, a sapling would be planted in honor of each new life, and as the child grew, so too would the tree, symbolizing their connection to the land. Weddings were similarly sacred, held beneath the ancient boughs of the forest, where vows were whispered to the wind and witnessed by the spirits of the earth.

Death, too, was honored. The fae of the Spring Court understood that death was simply another part of the cycle. When a member of the court passed, their body would be returned to the land in the Rite of the Earth, where they would be buried beneath the roots of an ancient tree. The people believed that in death, they would continue to nourish the land they had protected in life. Their legacy lived on in the flowers that bloomed and the trees that stood tall long after they were gone.

I imagine the Spring Court having its own language—one that was soft, flowing, and filled with words that described the beauty of nature. Their language would be rich with metaphors, where love could be expressed as a blossoming flower or a tree’s roots reaching deep into the earth. While they spoke the common tongue of the fae, their dialect would be unique, shaped by centuries of living so close to the land. And perhaps, for their most sacred rituals, they had an ancient script—runes carved into the bark of trees or drawn in the earth during ceremonies, connecting them to the ancient spirits who had watched over the land since the beginning of time.

The fae of the Spring Court were known for their artistry, their creativity inspired by the world around them. Their tapestries were woven with threads dyed from the petals of rare flowers, each one telling the story of their ancestors or marking a significant event in their history. Their clothes were simple yet elegant, adorned with floral patterns and symbols of the seasons. Jewelry was crafted from the stones and gems found in their rivers and mountains, each piece imbued with the magic of the land.

But at the heart of the Spring Court was its music. Songs were passed down through generations, each one telling the story of the court’s history, of battles fought, love found, and the eternal cycle of life and death. The music was always present, whether in grand festivals or quiet moments of reflection. Instruments made from wood and bone, their sounds mimicking the calls of birds or the rustle of leaves, were played by skilled musicians who had learned the craft from their ancestors.

Tamlin, despite his flaws, was deeply tied to these traditions. He carried the weight of centuries of history on his shoulders, and though the events of recent years had taken their toll, there was no doubt that the Spring Court’s spirit still lived within him. He had made mistakes, yes, but the people of the Spring Court saw him as more than just a ruler. He was a symbol of the land’s strength and resilience, a protector who had stood against darkness for fifty long years under the curse of Amarantha.

And while his court was healing, so too was he. The fae of the Spring Court believed in second chances—in the possibility of growth after destruction, just as the forest regrows after a fire. They believed in Tamlin, not just as a High Lord but as one of them—a fae bound by the same traditions, the same love for the land that they all shared.

In the end, the Spring Court wasn’t just a place. It was a feeling—a deep connection to the world around them, a respect for the cycles of life and death, and an unbreakable bond between its people. Despite the hardships they had faced, their hearts still beat in time with the pulse of the land, and their hope for the future remained as strong as ever.

TELL ME GUYS IF I SHOULD CONTINUE IT, thank you so much for reading this, i really appreciate it🥹❤️

[iomoru]

Iomoru’s Halloween Special 2024 | Part. 2

➢ 𝐀/𝐧: Check other parts on "Iomoru'sHalloweenSpecial2024" tag!

➢ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Modern! Au, Halloween! Au, Fluff, Gn! Reader, Liyue Boys x Reader, Second Person, Proofread

➢ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬: Baizhu, Chongyun, Gaming, Xiao, Xinqiu, Zhongli

➢ 𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: How they would spend Halloween with their s/o

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ ✰ do not repost, translate, plagiarize, use to train ai, or share my work on other social media platforms.

Part. 1, Part. 2, Part. 3, Part. 4, Part. 5, Part. 6, Part. 7, Part. 8

Baizhu:

Baizhu would suggest a serene evening spent at his herbal shop, where he transforms it into a cozy Halloween-themed tea party. He carefully brews spooky-flavored teas and serves them in elegant cups while discussing the folklore behind Halloween traditions. With dim lighting and gentle music, he enjoys sharing ghost stories that he makes lighthearted and humorous, often incorporating some herbal remedies into the tales to keep the mood relaxed.

Chongyun:

Chongyun would be determined to embrace the Halloween spirit, so he takes you to a local haunted house, though he’s a bit nervous about the spooky atmosphere. Clinging to your arm, he insists on protecting you from any “evil spirits” inside. His excitement grows as he realizes it’s all in good fun, and by the end of the night, he’s filled with laughter, especially after you tease him about how cute he looks when he gets startled.

Gaming:

Gaming would want to try a Halloween-themed escape room, where you both can put your wits to the test. His enthusiasm for puzzles and problem-solving shines through as he leads you through the challenges. He loves the thrill of racing against the clock, and every time you successfully solve a clue, he cheers with a grin, making it a competitive yet fun experience. Afterward, he treats you to a festive dinner to celebrate your successful escape!

Xiao:

Xiao, preferring a quieter evening, would invite you to watch a classic horror movie marathon at his place. He might seem stoic, but he secretly enjoys the thrill of the suspenseful films. Occasionally, he’ll sneak glances at you during the scariest scenes, ready to protect you if you get frightened. Afterward, he surprises you with some homemade snacks he learned to make, wanting to share a piece of his life with you while creating a cozy atmosphere.

Xinqiu:

Xinqiu would be all about the Halloween festivities, leading you to a local festival filled with fun activities like pumpkin carving and ghost stories. He’d enthusiastically encourage you to take part in all the games and even volunteers to help you carve the best pumpkin possible. With a charming smile, he’d recite spooky poems and tales throughout the night, making it a memorable celebration filled with laughter and creativity.

Zhongli:

Zhongli would host an elegant Halloween dinner at his home, complete with intricately themed dishes and decorations inspired by ancient customs. He’d educate you on the history of Halloween while sharing delightful anecdotes from Liyue’s traditions. After the meal, you both would enjoy a quiet evening of storytelling, where he’d recount tales of myth and folklore, creating a warm and enchanting atmosphere that perfectly balances the spooky and the scholarly.