#a bird of strange appearance and interesting habits | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-chosen-fanfiction · 5 months ago

Text

Matthew | Your Faith Is My Faith | Romantic

Your grandfather has tasked you with the transaction of his life. He kills two birds with one stone by setting you up with a potential romantic interest at the same time.

Requested by: Morgen

Gaius feels like he’s going to have a sunstroke at this point. He squints against the light as he stands next to Matthew’s booth, and whereas he’d normally enjoy the sun, now he can’t wait for his shift to be over.

The people of Capernaum hurry through the city and it has been a long while since Matthew had any customers at his station. The tax-collector has counted his inventory a few times and has compared them to his ledger, finding no discrepancies, even after double-checking– Triple-checking. Time really does go by slowly this afternoon, even by Matthew’s standards.

A young woman appears, not a lot younger than Matthew, halting in her step opposed to the rest of the people rushing home for Shabbat. Gaius gives you a curious look, wondering why you are looking around as if searching for something, unlike the others, who are bee-lining for their destinations.

Your eye falls onto the guarded booth and you walk up to it, holding onto the strap of your bag. You smile a little as you look at the sky for a moment. “Just like he said. Late in the afternoon, on the sixth day, so that there would be no line at this time.” you muse to yourself.

Matthew frowns a little. “Beg your pardon? Like who said?”

Approaching the booth, you lean towards the tax-collector.

“My grandfather, Matthew.”

“How do you know my name?”

You can’t help but chuckle a little at the unexpected misunderstanding.

“I mean, my grandfather, whose name is Matthew.”

“But my name is Matthew.”

For a brief moment, the two of you look at one another. Then, a small smile spreads over your face, which takes Matthew by surprise. He isn’t used to anyone smiling at him, let alone an attractive young woman. He feels a strange flurry of emotions inside his chest before he clears his throat.

“Are you here to satisfy your tax requirement?” he says in a tone that indicates it’s a practised, often repeated line, and you take your bag from your shoulder, placing it in front of him on the counter, locking eyes with him through the iron bars.

“My grandfather said I should come here and give something to you.”

Matthew blinks in slight confusion. “Who is that grandfather you keep mentioning?” There is frustration in his voice and you curiously observe him.

“Matthew bar Hezron.”

The tax-collector checks his ledger by sliding his finger across the page, giving you some time to take him in properly. Matthew seems to be sweet, a bit nervous in his habits, with a handkerchief clenched inside his palm, but he appears to be well-groomed and wealthy, judging by his tunic and the expensive scent of bergamot hanging around him. Still, you don’t want to think of him as attractive. He is a tax-collector after all, so you push away the flutter in your chest.

Your grandfather had been insistent on you going here, during this day of the week at this very hour, to give him the item that is currently burning inside your bag. He had added with a wink that he would appreciate it for his name to be kept in the family. When you had tried to mention that you were planning on naming your future firstborn son Matthew in memory and honour of him, he had waved it off with the comment that it was not what he meant, then added that you and the tax-collector were going to follow to same purpose one day. Every word from the old man left you with more questions than answers.

Something strange swirls in your gut as you mull over the instructions. Surely, your grandfather hadn’t meant to try and be a matchmaker for his only granddaughter that still remained a bachelorette. The last thing your family needed was the shame of a tax-collector on their shoulders.

“Here.” Matthew pulls you from your spiralling thoughts, and you look up, quickly forcing a polite smile on your face. He briefly mirrors the expression. The sight adds something else altogether to that strange butterfly in your stomach, something more soft. “Uh… He recently came to me with an odd request. That he took on all of his children and their families debts. What’s your name?”

“It’s (Y/n).” you tell him.

“(Y/n),” he repeats, and you cannot help but feel your heart skip a beat of how nice it sounds when he speaks it. Matthew looks over the ledger again and hums. “Oh, yes, I found it. He has purchased your debts as well, which means that you’re in the clear. Does that answer your question?”

You frown a bit. “I made no request on my own balance.”

“Then why are you here?”

You open the flap of your bag, and Matthew’s brow furrows in puzzlement.

“I’m here to give something to you. My grandfather wants you to have it and he told me to go give it to you.”

“What is it?” Matthew asks, “Something of value that he can use to pay off this immense dues?”

Something akin to sadness flashes through your eyes, but Matthew doesn’t pick up on it.

“My grandfather is going to pass away soon.”

Matthew blinks. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. So why pay off his debt now?”

Your hand slides into your bag and finds what you had been tasked to give to the tax-collector at the booth.

“It is the most valuable thing my grandfather owns. He said it is more valuable than gold, more precious than rubies.”

Matthew’s eyes light up as you withdraw your hand. “In that case, I may be able to help you liquidate it. We could work together. A ledger coming up this short on a balance this big reflects very poorly on my performance.”

You take out the prayer tassels and hold them gently in your palm. “These are one of a kind,” you parrot the words that your grandfather had told you to say to the tax-collector, “They date back to the first Exile, made with the world’s most exquisite tekhelet.”

Matthew gives you a look. “Well, there must be a buyer for it!” He dares to smile a little and feels his heart skip a beat when you mirror it. “If the amount settles the debt, your grandfather will be spared!”

Drawing a deep breath, you gather the courage to say what your grandfather had insisted on. “My grandfather, the owner of these tzitzit, wants to encourage you to keep them for yourself. He… He wants you to have them.”

The tax-collector frowns, looking at Gaius for a second to see if the Primi is listening in on the conversation, but he man in question is still leaning against the side of the booth, miffed at the way the sun shines in his eyes. “But… Why? We aren’t relatives.”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “he told me to give them to you and implore you to keep them. He…”

You swallow hard, knowing that your next words might not be very kind in the light of what Matthew chose as his profession. “He said that you have no use for them right now, and that you chose this occupation. However, he was certain that one day you might need them again.”

The scoff Matthew lets out almost offends you. “I highly doubt that, with all due respect. I… How about I put these on the market, and I will see what I can do for your grandfather. Perhaps they will bring in quite a bit of money and thus the debt will be settled. If not… Well, you know the penalty of not paying off a tax debt of this extent.”

“He told me to let you know that he will accept whatever fate awaits him, and that it is more important to him that his children and grandchildren are free from the weight of their debts to the Roman Empire.”

“It would be wasteful for him to spend the rest of his life in a labour camp. Seeing that he sent his granddaughter instead of coming over by himself tells me he is not physically well.”

“I think he knows what he is doing. He may not be the healthiest anymore, and he gains another malady or two every day, as he is slowly taken by old age, but his mind is still bright. He was… Extremely adamant on sending me here instead of my brother.”

You aren’t sure why you’re telling him the latter, but you say it before you can even realise it was forming on your tongue, and Matthew blinks at you in slight puzzlement. There is something disarming in his dark eyes as he looks at you like that, and you can’t help but smile.

“I don’t… Don’t understand.”

“Honestly? Me neither. But… For what it’s worth, I’m glad he sent me instead of coming over himself. After all, he told me to keep an eye on you when he is gone. He said you and I were supposed to meet, so here I am to fulfil that wish of his.”

“I cannot recall the face of your grandfather, let alone comprehend as to why something like that would be his last wish before he passes away.”

It is clearly making Matthew a bit uncomfortable as he hears an unfamiliar stranger wants to have his granddaughter spy on him, which is something you can get behind. You hum apologetically and fiddle with the prayer tassels for a moment as they still lay on the counter between the two of you, separated by the iron bars.

“It has something to do with establishing a future for his descendants.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“He said you and I will meet again under different circumstances,” you repeat what your grandfather had told you before sending you off, “That we will follow the same purpose one day.”

Part of you is still a little insulted at his words. After all, how could he possibly think that you’d want to associate with a tax-collector of all people, let alone walk alongside him?

“The same purpose? What purpose?”

“I am just the messenger is all.” you muse, “But over my years of knowing him, I know that his word can be trusted, for he has never lied to me, and if anything he ever said confused me, it made sense later.”

“I cannot make sense of this.”

“He thought you’d say that, and he told me to say something else.” You take a deep breath before revealing the words. “He wants me to welcome you back into the faith. Once you’re ready, come to me to say the word.”

“What? Come find you? Where? And why?”

You shrug and grab your bag again, pulling it over your shoulder before strapping it shut.

“Frankly, I don’t even know. Time will tell, I suppose. I… I’m sorry, but I have to go home now before Shabbat starts.”

Matthew rapidly blinks, inhaling as if wanting to say something, but the words die on his tongue as he watches you retreat.

“Shalom shalom.”

“Uh, shalom.”

You give another kind smile, knowing your grandfather’s plans could not have been in vain, and aware that all you now had to be was patient to one day find out what he had meant. Matthew looks at you as you walk away, then realises he’s holding the tzitzit in his palm, fiddling with them, and calls after you.

“Uh, miss, what did you want me to do with the prayer tassels?”

However, the words fall on deaf ears as you turn the corner, and he stares at them in his hand for a moment.

In the meantime, you nearly collide with Someone, and you promptly apologise.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“No harm done.” a gentle voice reassures you, and you smile at the Man in front of you as you brush past Him.

“Shabbat Shalom.”

“Shabbat Shalom.” He repeats in greeting as you walk off.

The Stranger smiles as you walk off, then halts right on the corner that you had turned moments before bumping into Him, and looks at Matthew, who pockets the prayer tassels in favour of putting them with the valuable items to auction off later. The Man smiles, humming as if He knows something nobody else does whilst He looks at your departing form again, and continues His walk through the town, smiling.

#the chosen x reader #the chosen #chosen x reader #reader insert #the chosen matthew #the chosen matthew x reader #matthew x reader #paras patel

39 notes · View notes

yuurei20 · 1 year ago

Text

Riddle Info Compilation part 19: Riddle and Jade (pt2)

Despite how Jade is likely the first person Riddle would choose to approach out of the three Octavinelle members on the main cast, he is not ignorant to Jade’s character: when Trey misunderstands Jade as “strait-laced guy” who gets easily manipulated by Floyd and Azul, Riddle is quick to correct him, saying, “I am as wary of him as I am Floyd. He and Azul are always plotting something. And at times, Jade is the one at the wheel!”

Riddle also expresses suspicion of Jade’s “Mountain Lovers Club” booth at the culture fair in Book 5, saying that “there’s no telling what sort of mischief he may be up to.”

From Jade we learn that, six months into his first year at NRC, Riddle once borrowed the Octavinelle dorm lounge to run in circles around the lounge table for six hours in order to dry off after getting caught in a rainstorm (in accordance with the Queen of Hearts’ laws).

Riddle expresses disapproval of Jade’s sharing the story due to his embarrassment at having been caught in the rain. Riddle says “Now I carry a folding umbrella wherever I go!”

Jade assures Riddle that he will tell Azul and Floyd, and Riddle encourages him to do so.

Ruggie reflects, “Riddle’s one strange bird.”

In a PE vignette we see Riddle partner with Jade for stretches, but Jade is distracted by a stalker in the bushes, who is discovered to be Rook.

Rook explains that he has been recorded “glimmers” of Jade’s eating habits, sleep schedule, heart rate and more.

Riddle points out that while impressive, it is less so “observation” and more so “stalking.” When Jade appears unperturbed and the two begin laughing together, Riddle excuses himself to find a different partner for stretches.

Riddle says that Jade has such a keen interest in Halloween traditions on land that he started going to Riddle during every break period in September with questions.

Jade taught Riddle how to tell him and Floyd apart by determining whether or not the highlighted section of hair that they both have forms a “J” from the viewer’s perspective.

Jade says, “Riddle is meticulous and I respect him as a classmate. Though I don’t know what he thinks of me in return.”

#twstriddle #twstfacts #riddlefacts #twisted wonderland #Riddle Rosehearts

62 notes · View notes

dailyanarchistposts · 8 months ago

Text

Appendix V: Checks to Over-Multiplication

Hudson, in his Naturalist on the La Plata (Chapter III), has a very interesting account of a sudden increase of a species of mice and of the consequences of that sudden “wave of life.” “In the summer of 1872–73,” he writes, “we had plenty of sunshine, with frequent showers, so that the hot months brought no dearth of wild flowers, as in most years.” The season was very favourable for mice, and “these prolific little creatures were soon so abundant that the dogs and the cats subsisted almost exclusively on them. Foxes, weasels and opossums fared sumptuously; even the insectivorous armadillo took to mice-hunting.” The fowls became quite rapacious, “while the sulphur tyrant-birds (Pitangus) and the Guira cuckoos preyed on nothing but mice.” In the autumn, countless numbers of storks and of short-eared owls made their appearance, coming also to assist at the general feast. Next came a winter of continued drought; the dry grass was eaten, or turned to dust; and the mice, deprived of cover and food, began to die out. The cats sneaked back to the houses; the short-eared owls — a wandering species — left; while the little burrowing owls became so reduced as scarcely to be able to fly, “and hung about the houses all day long on the look-out for some stray morsel of food. “Incredible numbers of sheep and cattle perished the same winter, during a month of cold that followed the drought. As to the mice, Hudson makes the remark that “scarcely a hard-pressed remnant remains after the great reaction, to continue the species.”

This illustration has an additional interest in its showing how, on flat plains and plateaus, the sudden increase of a species immediately attracts enemies from other parts of the plains, and how species unprotected by their social organization must necessarily succumb before them.

Another excellent illustration in point is given by the same author from the Argentine Republic. The coypù (Myiopotamus coypù) is there a very common rodent — a rat in shape, but as large as an otter. It is aquatic in its habits and very sociable. “Of an evening,” Hudson writes, “they are all out swimming and playing in the water, conversing together in strange tunes, which sound like the moans and cries of wounded and suffering men. The coypù, which has a fine fur under the long coarse hair, was largely exported to Europe; but some sixty years ago the Dictator Rosas issued a decree prohibiting the hunting of this animal. The result was that the animals increased and multiplied exceedingly, and, abandoning their aquatic habits, they became terrestrial and migratory, and swarmed everywhere in search of food. Suddenly a mysterious malady fell on them, from which they quickly perished, and became almost extinct” (p. 12).

Extermination by man on the one side, and contagious diseases on the other side, are thus the main checks which keep the species down — not competition for the means of existence, which may not exist at all.

Facts, proving that regions enjoying a far more congenial climate than Siberia are equally underpopulated, could be produced in numbers. But in Bates’ well-known work we find the same remark concerning even the shores of the Amazon river.

“There is, in fact,” Bates wrote, “a great variety of mammals, birds and reptiles, but they are widely scattered and all excessively shy of man. The region is so extensive and uniform in the forest-clothing of its surface, that it is only at long intervals that animals are seen in abundance, where some particular spot is found which is more attractive than the others” (Naturalist on the Amazon, 6th ed., p. 31).

This fact is the more striking as the Brazilian fauna, which is poor in mammals, is not poor at all in birds, and the Brazilian forests afford ample food for birds, as may be seen from a quotation, already given on a previous page, about birds’ societies. And yet, the forests of Brazil, like those of Asia and Africa, are not overpopulated, but rather under-populated. The same is true concerning the pampas of South America, about which W.H. Hudson remarks that it is really astonishing that only one small ruminant should be found on this immense grassy area, so admirably suited to herbivorous quadrupeds. Millions of sheep, cattle and horses, introduced by man, graze now, as is known, upon a portion of these prairies. Land-birds on the pampas are also few in species and in numbers.

13 notes · View notes

foundtherightwords · 11 months ago

Text

The Firebird - Chapter 5

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: none

Chapter word count: 4.2k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Tales

The sun was setting when Paul woke. He tactfully put Zhara's clothes behind a bush, and once she finished dressing, they continued on their way. There were more signs of human habitation on this stretch of meadow, fences along the forest, the trample of cattle's feet along the bank of the stream, and the cattle themselves, strange, ferocious-looking creatures, as big as bulls but covered in coarse black hair, lying asleep in the grass like huge, shaggy boulders. The stream now widened into ponds and pools, headed toward the big river that wrapped around the distant hills like a scarf made out of cloth of silver.

Some of these ponds and pools were occupied by a number of young ladies, who sat on the bank with their feet in the water or swinging on the branches of the willow trees that grew by the edge, brushing out their long hair, their pale, pale skin glowing in the dusk. They giggled and waved to Paul as he went past, and suddenly he found the heat of the meadow unbearable, his skin itchy with sweat and dust, while the water of the pond felt so cool and inviting. Without realizing it, he started toward the women, and would have jumped into the pond with them, had Zhara not put out an arm to stop him.

"Be careful," she said. "Those are rusalkas. Summer is the height of their feeding frenzy. Get in that water and they'll drown you."

Paul looked again and saw that the young women's smiles were hungry, their teeth sharp, their hair green and stringy, and they were brushing it with fish bones. For some reason, it was these fishbone combs that horrified him and broke the spell. He scurried after Zhara. The rusalkas' watched him go with protruding and colorless eyes, like a fish's, but didn't follow.

Eventually, the ground became too rough and muddy for Zhara's bare feet, and they stopped beside another pond, an empty one—or so Paul thought. Zhara examined the duckweed and water lilies covering its surface with interest, apparently seeing something there that Paul couldn't see. "Do you have any tobacco?" she asked him.

Though surprised at her question, he dug through his pockets anyway. His fingers closed around an enamel snuffbox in his waistcoat. He didn't take snuff much, but he carried it around because all fashionable men carried snuffboxes around. "Will this do?" he said, showing it to Zhara.

"Perfect." She took a pinch of snuff and, placing it in the water, whispered some words that Paul did not quite catch. A tiny whirlpool appeared, swirling the snuff around and sucking it down into the water, which started to bubble. Even though Paul had prepared himself for the appearance of another magical being, he couldn't help shrinking back in disgust at the creature rising out of the pond, with its half-frog, half-human face, green hair and beard covered in mud and algae, and webbed paws holding a still-wiggling fish.

Zhara laughed. "Don't be frightened," she said. "He's a vodyanoy that lives in the pond. He's far more benevolent than the rusalkas, trust me."

The vodyanoy's eyes, which glowered like two red coals, did not look particularly benevolent to Paul. The creature tossed the fish onto the grass, nodded at Zhara, and ducked under the lily pads without a word.

"Here, you can clean the fish," Zhara said, handing Paul the broken sword. While Paul had been all for throwing it away, she had taken a stone and smoothed down its jagged edge. It now resembled a rather misshapen dagger, but at least it had some edge to it and was more useful.

Paul looked at the flopping fish as though it were some monstrous thing, which, considering where he was, it might very well be. "How?" he asked blankly.

"You cut open its belly and pull out all the guts."

"That is simply barbaric! I've never had to clean a fish in my life!"

"And who do you think cleaned the fish you've been eating, Your Excellency?" Zhara asked, tossing the sword at his feet. "You're going to have to dirty your hands if you want to eat."

She left to gather firewood. Paul reluctantly picked up the sword with one hand and the fish with the other, wrinkling his nose. He made rather a big mess of things, partly because the sword was not sharp enough, and mostly because he had no idea what he was doing, but Zhara said nothing about it. She simply skewered the fish with a green birch twig and put it over the fire she'd just started.

By the time Paul came back from washing his hands at the pond, the fish had finished cooking. Like everything in this world, it tasted sweeter and more buttery than any fish he'd ever eaten.

"Does your—does your brother have that power too?" he asked, nodding at the fire. He'd been trying to think of a way to bring up the question of her brother without sounding nosy. Now, seeing Zhara flinch and seem to withdraw into herself, he felt guilty that he'd even asked at all.

She then let out a long, deep sigh, and said, "No. I inherited this from my mother. She was a vila, a nymph—well, she is one, if she's still alive." Seeing Paul's quizzical look, Zhara smiled sadly. "There aren't as many nymphs around as there used to be. My father was traveling in the northern mountains of Arthania when he met her. He fell in love with her, and she with him, but her kind isn't meant to be wives and mothers. She vanished after I was born, leaving me with her fiery eyes and her fiery power as the only things to remember her by."

Paul's chest tightened with a pang of unaccustomed sympathy. So she was an orphan too, like him.

"Soon after that, my father took another wife, a Lukomorian, and she gave birth to Lariosha—my younger brother. My half-brother, really. Illarion. Lariosha was my pet name for him when we were children."

The story was taking shape for Paul, the familiar pattern of the old tales becoming clear. "I suppose she was cruel to you growing up, wasn't she?" he said. "The evil stepmother, always favoring her own child, a son?"

Zhara stared at him, aghast. "What? No!" she exclaimed. "What a horrible thing to say! She raised me as her own. She was the only mother I ever knew."

Paul looked down, cheeks flushed from his blunder, and mumbled a quick "Sorry." He must remember never to assume anything in this world.

"But that was perhaps why everything went wrong with Lariosha," she continued.

"What do you mean?"

"You asked if my stepmother favored her own child over me. The truth was the opposite. Both she and Father favored me. Because I was the firstborn, because my mother left me, because I have this power... Lariosha ended up neglected. I tried to befriend him, I really did." She shook her head. "But the older he grew, the more he resents me. He believes that as the only son, he should be the one that inherits the throne, not some—some half-breed such as myself, and a girl at that." Paul shifted uncomfortably. "Father hated him for that. So Lariosha turned to dark magic, searching for ways to obtain power. And eventually, he found it."

"Koschei?" Paul asked, remembering her puzzling answer when he brought up that mythical dark wizard.

Her eyes were bleak as she looked into the fire. "Nobody had seen or heard from Koschei in a long, long time, even longer than Baba Yaga," she said. "Perhaps he had gone to the same place my mother and her sisters had, to Vyriy, the place birds fly to for the winter and souls go after death, where the veil between the worlds is still impenetrable.

"But Lariosha must have found him, or his source of magic, for he unleashed it the day Father announced me as his heir. As the whole court gathered for the ceremony, Lariosha announced his plan to rule, not just Arthania, but the whole of Lukomorye as well. And then he murdered Father. In front of me. I tried to stop him, but I failed." She repeated, to herself as much as to Paul, "I failed. I failed."

"It wasn't your fault," Paul said.

"Was it not?" Her look of despair went through his heart like a knife, and, without thinking, he reached out and put his hand over hers. Her eyes snapped to him, astonished, and he quickly withdrew.

"How did you get away?" he asked, to hide his embarrassment.

She buried her face in her hands and shuddered at the memory.

"It was chaos," she said. "Lariosha had a bunch of medallions in his hand—I didn't know what they were for. He tried throwing one at me, but I burned it off. That really angered him. He started throwing curses left and right at the courtiers, turning them into birds, squirrels, foxes. I don't think he meant to curse me, but one of the spells may have hit me by mistake... I've been on the run ever since." She looked at Paul, her eyes swimming with tears. "I can't understand what I have done that angered him so. I was willing to rule with him, or even forfeit my claim and give him the throne. Yet he wants more."

Paul listened to her with a sinking heart. How many times had he dreamed about his mother's demise so he could take the throne? How many times had he complained to Panin and anyone who would listen that a woman should not rule? Had he been just as bad as Zhara's brother? Could he be as bad, given the chance? Could he kill his own mother to get the throne? He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Why are you so sure that he didn't mean to curse you?" he asked, trying to avoid those horrifying thoughts.

"Because he needs me alive. And in full power." She spread her trembling fingers, and sparks shot out of them, blending in with those from the crackling fire. "Remember how I had to use my blood to chase away the Noon Wraith?"

"Was it not because you couldn't do this"—he snapped his fingers—"as a bird?"

"No, not quite." She flexed her hand, and the sparks swirled above her palm like a swarm of tiny fireflies. "See, this is just normal fire. This can never touch the Noon Wraith. The fire from my blood, though, is different. It's magic. It can destroy everything in its path. Nothing can stop it, not even the heaviest flood or the coldest freeze. But it can also bring power, if used the right way. And the more I bleed, the more powerful it is. So that's what Illarion wants. To bleed me dry and use my fire to temper a needle, where he stores his death, making it indestructible. He will then hide that needle inside an egg—"

"—and hide the egg inside a duck, hide the duck inside a hare, hide the hare inside a chest, and put the chest underneath a stone at the center of the world," Paul finished. "So he could become immortal." Zhara glanced at him sharply, and he shrugged. "It's a well-known tale."

"Yes, I believe that is his aim," she said.

"Can he do it?"

She gave a mirthless laugh. "You've seen what he did to poor Alyosha. I have no doubt he is capable of it. Would it work? That's another matter. But even if it doesn't work, it will be too late by then. He will have destroyed the entire kingdom to hunt me down."

"So you're hoping that Baba Yaga could help you stop him?"

"She's only one powerful enough."

"And to find her, we need Tsar Afron's horse."

The girl examined him more closely in that usual birdlike way of hers. "Why are you so calm?" she asked. "Only two nights ago, you were screaming bloody murder because of the leshy, yet now here you are, not a ruffled feather in sight."

Paul shrugged again. "I grew up listening to these stories," he said slowly. "There is always that disappointment when one realizes they are just that—stories." But in the last two days, he had seen so many things he never thought were real, marvelous, uncanny things, knights that turned into wolves and princesses that turned into birds, walking trees and singing toadstools, mermaids and frog-men. Even the idea of someone killing his own sister to achieve immortality, horrific as it may sound, had a sense of wonder about it. "I suppose it is a relief to find out they are real after all."

Zhara looked at him for a moment or two longer, her eyes unreadable. Eventually, she said. "We, too, have heard tales of those few Russians, fortunate or unfortunate enough, depending on how you look at it, to stumble upon Lukomorye. In those tales, they are stupid, or cruel, or both. It is a relief to know they are not all like that." Having uttered those enigmatic words, she turned her back to the fire and lay down. "Get some rest. We have to look presentable to request an audience with Tsar Afron tomorrow."

***

By late afternoon the next day, they reached the fortress. The stream had now turned into a river, where the sun was dipping low, its rays glittering on the water, reflected on the white walls of the fortress, and covering the hazy snow-covered peaks in the distance with a coat of gold. There was no need to worry about the Noon Wraith here, for the meadow was gone, replaced by a settlement that had sprung up along the river, surrounding the fortress that towered on the hill above it. The river was diverted into a moat that wound its way around the fortress, and a stone bridge spanned the moat, leading to the main gate set deep inside the battlements.

This settlement was much bigger than the tiny village Paul had visited on his first day—it was a real town, with tall houses made of wood and daub, their roofs, windows, and doors painted and carved in all colors and shapes. Smoke spewed from countless chimneys, and yet more houses were being built all along the river. In fact, it would have been quite undistinguishable from a normal town in his empire, if it hadn't been for some strange creatures he saw—an excessively hairy one perching on bags of wheat on the back of a wagon, something that looked like a ball of soot with eyes lurking behind a window, and a naked, green-skinned old man covered in birch leaves sitting at the door of a bathhouse—no doubt guardian spirits of some kind. But those creatures had the furtive, listless air of displaced people, and there was none of the otherworldly feel of the forest and the meadow about the town. No wonder the nymphs and Koschei and Baba Yaga were abandoning this land.

People and carts thronged the main thoroughfare, but nobody gave Paul a second glance, which suited him just fine. Zhara didn't know if Illarion was tracking her or not—had it been a coincidence that Alyosha had shown up in the forest just mere hours after Paul mentioned her name in the village? So, to be safe, Zhara had asked Paul to hide her, and he was now sweating from the double dose of heat from her body as she nestled in his waistcoat, which felt rather like having a bed warmer in one's pocket, and the heavy cloak covering everything up.

Since they couldn't present themselves to Tsar Afron before Zhara returned to her human form, Paul avoided the main road leading to the fortress and headed down the river. This area was also crowded with boats and skiffs, loading and unloading timber and stones and bricks, dry goods, and other merchandise. He went further down the bank. He was hungry again—they had divided the last of the bread rings between themselves that morning—so when he saw a man sitting by his wagon eating dinner, he had to swallow his pride and traded his snuff for a bottle of kvass and a wedge of the man's vegetable pie. His face burned with the humiliation of having to beg and trade, like a commoner, for every scrap of food, but it was either that or go hungry. At least nobody knew him here, so the humiliation was solely his own making.

Eventually, the crowd thinned. Paul sat down under a willow tree by the riverbank with a sigh, took off his cloak, and let Zhara out of his pocket. She looked a little squished from being squeezed into his waistcoat all morning, and she gave him an annoyed look as she tried to preen her feathers back to shape.

"Don't look at me like that, you're the one that wanted to stay hidden," Paul said, as he broke off some of the pie for her.

After finishing his meager meal, Paul went on a little walk to explore and kill time, with Zhara perching on his uninjured shoulder. He walked down the riverbank, following the tall stone walls of the fortress, pointing out to Zhara how similar it was to the Moscow Kremlin, only without the more modern buildings. There was something medieval in those white walls, with their battlements and watch towers, and in the high turrets and the onion domes of the castle that peeked over the walls. Not for the first time, Paul wondered how old this world was, and whether it had been one with his world in the past and had drifted apart at some point.

He had almost completed a circle around the fortress when he came upon a large clearing that stood directly under the castle, surrounded by a tall fence made out of sharpened logs. A watchtower looked down on it, so soldiers inside could keep an eye on both the castle and the clearing. This special care piqued his curiosity, and he put his eye to an opening between two logs to see what was inside.

He found himself looking at a pasture, scrupulously maintained with lush, emerald-green grass, which put the meadow around it, yellowing from smoke and heat and trampling footsteps, to shame. The moat widened into a pond inside the clearing to provide drinking water, and willow trees around its bank gave some cooling shades at the height of noon. And standing in the middle of that pasture was the most magnificent horse Paul had ever seen, tall and slender, its ivory white coat shone with a metallic sheen, its mane and tail, of a bright gold color, rippled like ripe wheat under the setting sun, as it gracefully lowered its head to drink from the pond.

"It's the horse," he breathed out. "The horse with the golden mane."

Zhara, balancing on a fence post, nodded at him. And with her confirmation, the nagging feeling that had been bothering Paul since their encounter with the wolf suddenly became clear. "It's the fairy tale, isn't it?" he continued. "Prince Ivan, the Firebird, and the Gray Wolf. I'm the prince, you're the firebird, and we've met the wolf—only he wasn't as helpful as the wolf in the tale. And now we're supposed to be stealing the horse and then bring back the princess..." He paused as the familiar story came back into his mind. "So why are we wasting time waiting for Tsar Afron? Who knows if he would even let us borrow the horse? We can steal it as long as we don't touch the golden bridle, and this horse has no bridle! Let's just take it!"

The moment he mentioned stealing the horse, Zhara started twittering in an agitated manner and tried to fly into his face. Confused, Paul glanced at the watchtower, but it remained closed. The meadow was empty all around. There didn't seem to be any imminent danger. He pushed her aside and searched for a way into the pasture. The gate was locked, but the fence wasn't high—he could just about reach the top. Paul put a finger to his lips to shush Zhara's frantic chirps for fear she may alert the horse, and tried to climb the fence. Zhara was still flying around his head, her chirps turning into angry squawks, but he refused to be deterred. After several tries, he was able to hook his fingers in a gap between the tops of the fence posts and hoist himself over.

The horse had noticed their presence and was now eyeing them curiously yet calmly, which Paul took to be a good sign. Though dusk was falling, its coat was so bright that he could still see it quite well. He carefully approached it, keeping his eyes on it, his hands held out in front of him. The horse tossed its beautiful mane and let out a soft whicker.

Zhara flew behind the bank of willow trees. A moment later, as the last rays of the sun winked out, she poked her head out from behind the bushes and hissed at Paul, "You fool! Stop this nonsense at once!"

"Be quiet," he said. "You'll thank me for this."

"At least give me my clothes!"

Paul realized he was still carrying her rolled-up clothes on his back. He untied the belt and tossed the bundle to her, without taking his eyes off the horse. He was now only a few steps away. A moment later, Zhara, now dressed, ran out into the pasture and tugged at his hand.

"Get back before you'll get us into trouble!" she said in an angry whisper.

"What, is it going to turn into a monster and eat me?"

"No, but even if you catch it, how do you propose we ride it without a saddle, you idiot?"

Paul hesitated. It was true; he had never ridden a horse bareback before. He began to realize how foolish he'd been. And this was right after he'd told himself not to assume anything in this world too! Just then, the horse inched forward, spurred by curiosity or perhaps a want for companionship, and pushed its soft nose under Paul's hand.

Before Paul could be surprised by this astonishing turn of events, there was a movement in the grass. A shape jumped out of seemingly nowhere and landed square on his head.

"Thief!!!" A scream pierced Paul's ears, while blows and kicks rained down on him, blinding him as to where they may be coming from. "Horse thief! Villain! Catch them!" He stumbled, trying to throw off the thing on his back, while next to him, Zhara was squealing in pain as the thing turned on her, yanking at her hair.

Paul's legs were thrown out from under him. As he fell with a painful thud on his back, the thing jumped on his chest to pin him down, and he finally had a good look at it—a creature the size of a small child, covered in coarse black hair like the cattle he'd seen on the meadow, with the face of an old man, a pair of calf's ears, goat's legs, and skinny arms with hands that ended in long claws. Its eyes, shining malevolently from deep sockets, glared at Paul. Paul tried to shake the thing off, only to find his hands and feet bound tightly by ropes that had sprung up from the ground. Next to him, Zhara was similarly tied up.

"What is this thing?!" he screamed.

"A dvorovoi. He protects the pasture and the stables," Zhara explained in a long-suffering voice.

"Burn off the ropes and get us out of here!"

"No." She lay back and stared up at the sky. "You have gotten us into enough trouble as it is, so excuse me if I'm not going to take your order, Your Excellency."

Soldiers filed in through the gate. The dvorovoi jumped off Paul's chest and disappeared into the grass, while soldiers hauled the two of them to their feet.

"Trying to steal the Golden Horse, are you?" the commander said. "Some nerves you've got. Off to the dungeon with him! As for this one—" He ran a knuckle down Zhara's throat. "We'll have some fun with her, won't we, lads?"

"Leave her alone!" Paul shouted, straining against the ropes, which only earned him a round of derisive laughs from the soldiers.

Zhara whipped her head away from the commander. "How dare you touch me!" she said, her eyes ablaze with fury. "I am Tsarevna Zhara Artyomovna of Arthania, and I demand an audience with Tsar Afron!"

"Nice try, lassie," the commander snickered. "But everybody knows that Tsarevna Zhara Artyomovna is a fugitive. She'd be a fool to show her face here."

"Is that so?" Zhara snapped her fingers, and just as Paul had done the first time he'd seen it, the soldiers all recoiled in alarm when fire burst from her hand. A second later, the ropes burned right off her wrists, while the soldiers stared, mouth agape. "Now, are you going to take us to the Tsar or not?"

Chapter 6

A/N: There is no mention in mythology or fairy tales of the rusalkas using fish bones as combs, but I got the idea from Joe's Off Menu episode, where Ed and James both misremembered "The Little Mermaid" and insisted that Ariel used fish bones as a comb (she uses a fork! But to be fair, it was a very funny bit in the podcast.)

Taglist: @ali-r3n

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

13 notes · View notes

esperata · 1 year ago

Text

End of year wip round-up

Time to look through my files of notes and see what plots I have still waiting attention, and perhaps assess where they are in the scale of projects. Colour coded for riddlebird, hattercrow, wahsbands or octogoblin. I'm always open to questions on my projects. In fact, please do ask if you want to encourage them to be written.

Starting with some I have posted as unfinished works.

OTT (LEGO Batman) : I intend to post a second chapter for this, showing how well Riddler's plan turns out.

Gay Attorney (Gotham/Ace Attorney) : This is supposed to have multiple chapters with the various 'witnesses' taking the stand.

Little Bird (Batwoman) : Not sure where this is heading but a follow up chapter seems necessary.

P.I. Riddler (DC comics) : I have an outline of the idea for this but not sure how many chapters it will require to complete.

Urban Legends (Batman - all media) : There is going to be a continuation here with other rogues making an appearance.

What Is Reality? (Btas) : I already have a second chapter started and a concept of where its going, including a 'final' scene.

A few extra Mahou AU story ideas.

Killer Croc vs Jonathan (Arkhamverse) : This is an interesting conflict I'd like to write.

Grown up Ed gets powers (Burtonschumacher) : We only saw one half of this duo in my first story so it seems fair to bring in Riddler.

Take A Chance on Me (Arkhamverse) : Pitting the pair against the machinations of Hugo Strange.

Oz mentors Ed (The Batman) : Does what it says on the tin.

The Curse of Alice (1960s) : Again an interesting development I'd like to explore.

Future Hattercrow (Gotham) : Not sure about this but considering this pair twenty years further on.

The Telltale series.

You Only Live Twice : Oswald is being mentored but demands Edward treat him as an equal if he truly respects him.

For Your Eyes Only : Edward gets trapped by the Agency and suffers their virus before returning to Oswald.

The Spy Who Loved Me : Oswald helps Edward through the aftereffects, unwilling to lose anyone else to madness.

Live and Let Die : Riddler is planning his return to Gotham, letting Oswald into the secrets of his past to convince him.

The Living Daylights : A continuation of the story arc.

New stand alone ideas.

Babysitter : Wario is cajoled into babysitting Bowser's kids and calls Waluigi in for reinforcements.

Sherrif Wario : Waluigi rides into town and immediately gets called a trouble maker by the Mario bros. Wario makes his own assessment.

Good Omens : A friend suggested Alfred Molina as Aziraphale and Willem Dafoe as Crowley which is a fantastic idea.

Fate Or Something Like It : I really wanted to consider the timeline after Norman got back from No Way Home. How he might try to save Otto from his fate.

Old Friends, Bitter Enemies : I watched the Spider-man PS game and love the dynamic of Norman and Otto. It would be worth playing with.

Skyscraper : Basically a PWP. Be fun to write.

Misunderstandings : Oswald overhears Ed saying something he shouldn't.

Batman vs Dracula (2004 cartoon) : A re-write of the film except bringing Riddler into the story.

Halloween Topsy Turvy : A fancy dress party at the Lounge causes feelings to run high.

Streamer Ed (btas) : Ed works as a streamer, with Jon and Jervis as mods, and a habit of review Iceberg Lounge promotional videos.

Gotham Gossip (Gotham) : Newspaper column style fic charting their rising and falling relationship. I still like this concept but am struggling with the media.

Kids museum meeting (comics) : A look back at how they might have met as children.

Secret Admirer : Where both Oswald and Ed are the other's secret admirer.

Tattoos (comics) : Oswald has tattoos - Ed is intrigued.

Olga My Queen (1960s/Gotham) : What if the Queen of Cossacks was Oswald's maid?

Gotta Shape Up (Harley Quinn series) : ngl I lost impetus with this show but I still like this idea - Ed having to step up with Joshua after Oswald's demise.

The King Is Dead : Similar concept in that it looks at how Riddler might react in the wake of Penguin's demise.

Wrap You Around My Finger : Ed is new to Gotham and thinks it'll be easy to cajole favours from Penguin. He is wrong.

Western AU : I wanted a fic with Jonathan on a horse thus this idea was born.

Are We Friends? (Gotham) : Ed struggles to pin down just what their relationship is during Oswald's eye recovery period. Again, not super confident writing in this media now.

Rogues Go Skiing (LEGO) : Cutesy vacation style slice of life.

Arkham sitcom : Exactly as it says, chapters done with mini plots happening, all within Arkham asylum.

Bookshop (1960s) : Penguin owns a book store and has suitors competing for him - Riddler vs Bookworm

Pre-Arkham : What if Jon and Jervis met before either became rogues?

Trans Oswald (The Batman) : Not actually a romantic fic but more angsty, considering what if he'd had a child in his younger years.

Merman Oz (2004 cartoon) : I just like the visual of him as a mermaid.

What You Love Most (Arkhamverse) : Another angsty piece where Ed doesn't realise Oswald's feelings.

Drive-in Movie (Batwheels) : Simultaneous riddlebird and Ducky/Quizz.

Music Meister (Arkhamverse) : Don't tell me the concept of Oz being forced to sing isn't hilarious.

Rumour Mill : Jonathan steps in when rumours spread about Jervis.

Trans Ed (Arkhamverse) : I wanted to write Oz facing his own transphobia but I'm not sure I can do the topic with the required sensitivity.

Hypnotism : As a hattercrow fan, its almost a rite of passage to write Jervis using his powers on Jon.

Merry Little Batman : I'm always drawn to new media variations.

More continuations.

The World Is Your Oyster sequel : What would life be like living with an octo-person?

Post Game (Arkhamverse) : A possibly final installment to my arkham Games series.

Nobody Said It Was Going To Be Easy sequel (btas) : Not sure this is something I still want to do honestly.

The Boss (The Batman) : Picking up their story post film.

Angel!Ed/Demon!Oz (2004 cartoon) : Bringing the contrasting pair actually together.

Pax Penguina sequel (Gotham) : I have no impetus to continue this one at present.

The Real Deal sequel (btas) : Considering whether Ed might get his own larger than life Penguin doll.

The King Of Gotham sequel (comics) : Picking up where the story ends off. Not finished posting the original yet.

#wips #riddlebird #writing #hattercrow #octogoblin #wahsbands

16 notes · View notes

gingerale14 · 6 days ago

Note

Can't open Tumblr from my phone because screen time limit and also can't remember my password so instead you're getting an anon ask from my secret main (which I'm sure you would discover rather quickly if you tried enough) because it hit me suddenly, in the middle of doing this ling assignment, that I never asked you any questions about your year. I couldn't remember seeing you reblog the post from me or anyone else but I decided that you would be answering the questions anyway because I need to know more normal information about you, and then I go to your blog and see you mentioning me and demanding my turn, so here I am, so many steps ahead that I appear from behind, but I know I'm not ahead and think I'm actually coming out of left field, and in reality all perceptions are wrong and I am being sent from a secret fifth direction scientists don't want you knowing about

(Based on my phrasing there, do you see now why I got as many followers as I did? Old habits die hard. I open Tumblr on my laptop and this happens)

1, 2, 3, 4, 9, 10 (your turn now. I'm sure you remember your handful of times as well as I remember mine, although this is one of those subjects where you don't have to go into detail if you don't want to and can just name the most unserious time), 11, 13 (your excuse to talk about Jurassic Park), 14 (you didn't ask but mine was probably Shriek: An Afterword by Jeff VanderMeer, with The Strange Bird by Jeff VanderMeer, Children of Memory by Adrian Tchaikovsky, and The Stone Sky by N. K. Jemisin as honorable mentions), 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 22, and 23......which is almost the entire list of questions

I feel like I overshare like crazy and can't keep secrets so this is interesting news. But I like being an enigma, a mystery, a locked box, a dark horse. Keeps people on their toes.

Sledgehammer by Peter Gabriel, insanely fun song and the raunchiness takes a while to register but when it does it just makes the song so much more entertaining

So by Peter Gabriel, that entire album is so fucking good. It's a perfect distillation of the 80s sound, but it pulls from so many different places and it's so unabashed about it's purpose that it doesn't fall victim to the corniness that turns me off from so much 80s music. Obviously Peter Gabriel can sing and the instrumentation is out of this world, but it's the production that really makes this album. Every song is absolutely dialed in, the balances are insane. You'll listen to it and every other song sounds like mush compared to the absolute clarity and precision on this album. Perfect album to test out headphones or speakers. Love it, also the album cover and title are strokes of genius. Also honorable mention to The Downward Spiral by NIN, came in with a late clutch but I started listening to it for the first time during final season and that album is already in my top five, can't wait to do a proper listening sesh.

Favorite new artist from this year is difficult, any artist that i start listening to I've usually heard a few of their songs way before and I just decided to dig deeper. But my standout artist of the year is definitely Herbie Hancock, I've been working my way through his entire discography and the dude has helped influence so much of jazz it's insane. His early work has a very dry sound that is a little weird sometimes, but when he gets it right it's beautiful. Empyrean Isles is a gorgeous album, supremely chill. If I'm ever rich enough to have like a lounge room in my house, that album will be playing on repeat in there. Of course you've gotta mention Head Hunters, the stuff he does on there is otherworldly. Singlehandedly ushering in the funk revolution is commendable enough, but the sounds he makes on that album still sound completely forward-thinking. He could have released it today and it would still be celebrated as a pioneering sound. "Chameleon" is a perfect track, and that little disharmony section (if you're a fan of the track you'll know what I'm talking about is) is so fucking saucy that I can't believe it's a wrong note.

Movie of the year is difficult, especially cause my attitudes were so different in the spring vs fall semester. I also watched a lot in the spring (especially due to my film class) and I've watched barely anything this fall. But here are a couple of the best ones: In Bruges (one of the best original concepts I've seen, somehow Martin McDonagh knew exactly what my psyche needed to see and made that movie 16 years ago in preparation for my viewing it), Jurassic Park (specifically the Live in Concert one I watched over the summer, made me tear up with joy), Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (I think everyone needs to watch this movie. If I could only show one movie to a person who had never seen a movie and would never get to watch another one, it'd be this one. A pinnacle of the art form, literally took my breath away, no praise I have is enough for this film), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre ("They cannot conceive a world where Leatherface exists." I'm just gonna repeat my Letterboxd review here cause I think I hit the nail on the head: Under the golden heat of the Texas sun, deep in the thorny fingers and pale green wreaths of mesquite, far removed from any notion of of civility or sanity, right or wrong, life or death, sings the song of a chainsaw.) and Bicycle Thieves/Umberto D (I'm putting them both together because the effect is multiplied when you watch them as a pair, truly some of the most despairing films I've ever seen).

9. Best month for me? Very tough question my happy moments in life are usually restricted to singular days. Definitely nothing this semester, august and july weren't great either, neither were june or may, maybe something in the earlier parts of spring semester? Keep in mind "best" simply means "one percent less torturous and agonizing than the rest of the months"

10. Mmmm tough question it was usually just me thinking about the state of my life and how stressed and hopeless and powerless I felt. Usually I'd spark the tears by watching some sad Instagram reels, but my go to was Anderson Cooper's interview of Stephen Colbert, where Cooper chokes up while repeating one of Colbert's gifts back to him: "What punishments of God are not gifts?". Recently though the biggest thing that's made me cry is the last verse of "Under Pressure", which I'm gonna stop talking about because I don't wan't to start sobbing right now. I'm actually really really grateful that I've become a lot more emotionally vulnerable to crying, there were several multi-month periods this year where I was worried that I'd lost the ability to cry, and crying really is such a sweet relief. I feel human again.

11. There's almost nothing I want to carry forward to next year, this year has been shit (also it's very hard for me to conceptualize my "year" as a calendar year i feel like this semester has been my entire year, spring semester belonged to Freshman Kumaren that's a different timeline). Yeah I honestly think every single habit or thing I did this year needs to be changed, and that'll probably be a lifetime undertaking but I don't like the person I am right now. Maybe I'll keep doing self-care sessions (listening to a CD with a poured beer).

13. I answered this in my response to our dear friend's ask (I never know whether to use y'alls' real names or not, or if he's just Mr. Bleedingsalt on here)

14. I honestly have read jack shit this year. Like, absolutely nothing. Horrific statement 10 year old me would have been so ashamed but I don't remember as single thing I read. Wait nevermind I did read Things Fall Apart that was amazing. Oh and reading Annihilaiton over the course of two days spent inside a very creepy forest was certainly an experience OH I FORGOT I finished The Count of Monte Cristo this summer and THAT is the best thing I've read, easily top 3 favorite book (probably #2, behind Life of Pi), literally scratched every itch in my brain the only reason i hesitate to include that in this years was because I read that book over the span of almost 5 years lmao, but I did the bulk of it between August 2023-June 2024.

16.

17.

18. Also answered in my reply to Mr. Bleedingsalt's ask

19. I'm looking forward to some better classes, my gardening class, colder weather (at least the first two months), beer bike, drinking more alcohol (shaking with anticipation), going to the gym more, going to therapy, watching more movies, reading more books, going on more walks, exploring Houston more, taking better care of myself, finally putting up all my room decorations, basically taking one step closer to living a life that is actually happy and whole, instead of the dark hole that I've been stuck in all semester long.

20. I learned that I chase women because I hate myself. That's the condensed version. My self-loathing and insecurity about basically every part of my identity leaves this huge hole in my life. I'm constantly vying for some woman or another because she has all the qualities that I want to see in myself, and I think deep down somewhere that if I can share her life with her then my own life will be happy cause she'll fill that hole I feel so acutely. I've known this in the back of my mind for a while now, but I've never had to directly reckon with it until this October, so I've had to swallow that pill unfortunately. I've also learned I really like beer. Modelo's are solid, great flavor. I was excited for Asahi but I was let down, a little too dry and clean, and the sweet grape-y finish did not appeal to me. Miller High Life have a wonderfully mild flavor, but the canned ones aren't always smooth, and the bottled ones lack body, they're thin. O'Douls non alcoholic beer sucks, beer sucks if it doesn't have that bite. Tejas Clara is solid, great flavor. Michelob Ultra is dogshit. Anything from St. Arnolds tastes like poison. Paulaner Marzens are good, but they aren't as robust as I'd like. Miller Lite is also pretty solid, I think that'll be my go-to cheap beer. Not too thin decent taste, nice and light. Shiner Bock is delicious, could very well be my favorite beer of the year. Deep, rich, caramel flavor, great body and depth. Beautiful head when poured, even the color is a fantastic dark maple. Of course, can't go wrong with Coors Banquet, not many complaints there. Probably the best body of any beer I've had, powerful flavor yet still light.

22. Favorite place I visited this year was Mt. Blue Sky in Colorado. I'm not gonna get into details but this pic should answer any questions.

The perfect soundtrack for this photo is Xtal by Aphex Twin

youtube

23. I can't provide a sufficient response to this question without getting too personal, sorry.

4 notes · View notes

matenrou-fan · 2 years ago

Note

Hello~ I am going to send 2 request, if it's okay!

The first is....... Jakurai falling in love with a mermaid princess he met... in sort of an au where they live in a normal world with no known magic or mics powers

Jakurai hears a woman crying on the beach and goes to help her, he discovers an injured mermaid...! she has a human form as well and after befriending her, he tries to get her out of the sea more often to show her his world, he's fallen in love~

thank you for your lovely writing anya! -🌸🍡

Jakurai falling in love with a mermaid princess! fem!s/o

Ahh, thank YOU for such a lovely request! Despite feeling kinda sick, I suddenly got some inspiration for this idea, so.. here! <3

Femreader, hurt/comfort, fluff, just wholesome stuff;; 1964 words;;

Ahh.. Fishing. One of the most favorite things for Jakurai's soul, as it always helps him find a new peace, a new food for thoughts while he waits for another catch. It's like meditation, but in a more interesting way. By observing the water, by respecting nature, by letting nature live on. Dying in some ways, living in others. Jakurai understands all of this, and quite enjoys being all alone, watching these circles of life.

Yet today, walking to one abandoned beach which was his favorite place, he already felt something was awaited for him. Something new and interesting..

Or maybe it's just his mind wandering again? He always has a fondness for strange things and people, and maybe it was just his mind yearning for some accident in his life that would freshen his life, and shake it up a little.. After all, someone as peaceful and calm as Jakurai just needs to be jolted sometimes.

Fresh wind caresses his face, tickling his nose with briny, when he finally steps on the beach. The usual seagulls cry on the horizon, embellishing the darkness of the blue sea with small white spots of their bodies. It's been a long time since he's visited this place, seeing it's now deserted, not even a single footprint marks the shore.. All alone with nature.

Then suddenly, a weak call that was quickly outvoiced by sounds of birds and waves hits Jakurai's mind. How strange, there's no stains on the sand, he was sure there's no one.. Maybe it was just his imagination, stimulated after a few long, hard shifts in hospital for several days in a row, yet as a doc, he just can't neglect a small chance that there is actually someone in need. So all fishing rods and nets were left under the tree as Jakurai quickly got closer to the water, inspecting a curved line of coast.

This voice was definitely a feminine one.. The heart of the genius doctor ached from the thought that maybe he would find a drowning woman, yet as soon as he ran closer to a trembling figure, this ache turned into a cold wave of tickles. For a moment Jakurai stopped, not able to look away from the strange but luring creature in front of him.. A mermaid?

But his confusion lasts just a second. Maybe Jakurai was thrilled now, but a professional habit of pushing his emotions away and concentrating on a needed task helped him to not freeze in confusion. And right now his task was to help an injured woman.

"Here, don't worry.. I will not hurt you." - his voice softened when he noticed her scared gaze, and a small reassuring smile that he always gave to his patients appeared on his face. - "It's alright, just show me.."

Ah.. It seems like some unscrupulous vacationers decided to not burden themselves with properly cleaning the place after their rest, just throwing all bottles and bags right in the water. Cut herself with glass, a young mermaid got captured in the nets right after this and now was laying here, exhausted, after hard attempts to get free and swim away.

For Jakurai, nature was as important as humanity. You can't heal people and then hurt nature. So for him this story was so heartbreaking, as he listened to her weak voice while carefully treating all wounds. He didn't hesitate to wet his clothes just to help her get back to the sea, and then check again if all cuts did not bleed after contact with water.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Thank you.." - voice still so weak, yet you try your best to sound loud. After all, you actually were really grateful for his help, as five minutes before the arrival of your savior you already buried yourself in your own head.

"It's okay, I didn't do much." - a low chuckle from him makes your heart tickle a little. - "I actually felt like I should apologize on behalf of all mankind.. We can be so inattentive to the beauty of nature, treating seas and forests like that.."

And you thought that only sirens can lure people with their speech, then why does this man have such a beautiful, deep voice? When he starts talking with you, assuring you of the piety of his actions.. Well, you didn't understand a few first words, too overwhelmed with fear, but his tone quickly soothes all your worries.

Maybe you should give him something in return, something from the cradle of the seabed..? Thinking about meeting this mysterious man again resonates in your heart unexpectedly loud, and you can see in his eyes just how much he also gets interested.

"Oh.. What a gentleman I am, if I still didn't introduce myself.." - he sighs and his soft gaze meets yours. - "I should apologize again.. My name is Jakurai."

"I'm s/o…" - finally, a smile appears on your face too.

"I'm glad to meet you, s/o.. There's a feeling in my chest that keeps telling me this meeting is not by chance.. And I hope it's not mistaken belief."

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

And his hopes were not for nothing. As you two meet again. And again..

For a few first times Jakurai just get here to check on your wounds, asking about your well-being, but very soon you both noticed just how much you genuinely enjoy the company of each other, waiting for another meet on the beach with trembling hearts.

Even Jakurai's friends and co-workers start joking about him retraining from a doctor to a fisherman, due to how much time he starts to spend near sea in his weekends. Always laughing at these small teases, Jakurai never took it to heart, as all he can think about is you and the effect you had on him.

He was truly mesmerized. From the shimmer of crystal billows on a long tail to the surprisingly smooth, always a little bit messy hair, you were mesmerizing. And sometimes it was hard even for him to control himself and keep his face as something friendly, not showing this gaze of awe. Only when you are not looking, the blue eyes of your new friend become even more gentle and caring than usual, admiring your angelic appearance.

You were so small compared to him.. Even when you show him your human form, after Jakurai described in perfect detail one festival that would take place very soon, all that he was able to think is only one thought. How much he wants to protect this cheerful woman in front of him that holds his hand and laughs so shyly, mumbling about how long ago it was when she went out on dry land.

And despite sometimes he feels like he shouldn't bring you out of water too often, worrying about your health, Jakurai can't stop searching for new places that he can show to amuse you. The way your face always lights up when he brings you into some new interesting place or talks about things you never heard before.. This bright smile resonated with his heart, lit a pit of his soul every time he looked at you.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

For a long time Jakurai feels like he lives in a fairytale, thinking hard about how he can make the most beautiful, happy ending in the story of your acquaintances.. Just to start a new one, about your joyful life together.

Another evening together, as you two take sunset walks along the beach. Jakurai asks you several times if you want to change into your mermaid form to have a little break in the water, yet you continue to cling to his arm, chirping about how fun it is, to just walk with him like that.

"Of course I can just swim and everything, but, you know.. Isn't this better, when we walk together, and can hold hands?" - your sweet voice suddenly gets quiet, as you look away with a little blush on your cheeks. - "Even near the sea, I still want to be next to you, Jakurai.. I really appreciate you."

Such words send a tickling wave in his stomach, and even this fresh wind can't cool the warmth of his face now. Ah, his plan to take the initiative now was a little bit ruined, and all Jakurai can do is just chuckle, wishing you two would soonly come to the needed part of the beach.

"Oh.. Here, s/o.. Do you recognize this little place?" - a small giggle completes his question when he notices as you look around with surprised eyes.

Nothing changes that much here - sea still tickles coast in a lazy manner, leaving white foam on wet sand, seagulls still drifting on small waves, making a roll call from time to time…

"It's the place where we meet each other for the first time.." - you mumble and Jakurai nod, stopping and turning to you.

His hands stroke yours, with the same light gentleness as always, yet right now his skin is so different, even five minutes ago it didn't feel so warm.. His touches send small electric discharges and you look up, breathing heavily from strange feelings that wrap around your chest.

"I know that our first meeting wasn't that good or pleasant here." - Jakurai start, locking eyes with you. - "But I hope that all you have now, is the warmth and happiness inside you.. That I was able to bring more joy in your life…"

"This place started our friendship, and now it will help us to start something closer too.. I hope this view evokes the same emotions in you that it evokes in me, I hope our souls resonate with the same feeling…" - he leans closer, whispering right in your ear with a low but trembling voice. - "Cause all I can think about when I look at this place is you, all I feel is a need to be close to you.. I love you, s/o.."

Softer than silk, warmer than tickles of rays of the setting sun, this small kiss between you two sends you to heaven, making your legs weak. Your hands grasp his shoulders as you lean closer, wishing this intimate moment will never end.

So many things delight your days after Jakurai appeared in your life, yet you never felt something like that.. Something so pleasant, that titillates your whole body and mind in the same passion.. Is it true love?

"Jakurai.. I.. I love you too.." - all words fade away from your head, as now you were embarrassed even to just look at his face, feeling how hot and bright your cheeks are.

A small chuckle teases your already ashamed figure, yet a small quick kiss on your forehead somewhat soothes you a little, and you look up. These eyes, full of care and sincere appreciation.. You wanted to stare at them forever, and at the same time can't help but look away, overwhelmed with a new feeling that arose in your chest.

"No, really.. I love you.." - you mumble again, trying to come up with some beautiful speech for your confession too, but Jakurai stops you.

"I understand, dear.. Thousands of words will never describe the love that I see in your eyes every time you look at me.." - his voice gets closer again, almost luring you to look at Jakurai again. - "And, of course.. Millions of words will never replace just a small kiss.. So, s/o.. Let's keep confessing our love this way, shall we?"

#hypmic x reader #hypmic imagines #hypmic #hypnosis mic #jakurai jinguji x reader #hypnosis mic jakurai #hypmic jakurai #jakurai x reader #jakurai jinguji

21 notes · View notes

pokeglitchden · 2 years ago

Text

Hey everyone! In the wake of All That Mayhem we all just endured, it looks to me like its time for a LAB UPDATE!

Er... first of all a big thanks to @battlelegendsredandblue for taking the time to come out and help out the Glitch City Labs with their Weather Trio Torchic problem. There's a lot of water damage at the lab and a lot of cleanup to do, but it looks like things are turning around now that it isn't pouring rain.

That said HERE'S an update into everything else we have going on here.

First of all, the lab is welcoming a new slightly accidental addition to the team, Meet Rascal the 94!

[ID- A photo is uploaded of a large golden plumed, bird like pokemon. It seems slightly etherial, and its bright golden plumage sports a bizzare pattern, that even in this presumably SAFE picture is still very hard to look at or focus on. The pokemon seems slightly ethereal, like it might have the ability to turn incorporeal if it wanted to.]

94 is a relative of the Missingno family. Like the common Missingno it has the ability to effect items that are near it when its stressed or curious, but UNLIKE Missingno, instead of duplicating items it transmutes them instead! For example, this persim berry used to be a DexNav!c

Fascinating! And Expensive!

Another interesting facet of 94 is their coloration. You might not be able to tell from the photo, but the plumage of a 94 is constantly shifting, and tends to change based on its mood, whether or not its stressed, and sometimes depending on whatever opponent it is facing in battle. Some of these patterns can produce a potent visual toxin when viewed from behind, so it is recommended to train it while using goggles.

It isn't lethal, but it DOES feel like getting poked in the eyes, and I can confirm it is NOT very pleasant.

This pokemon also has a great deal of volatile energy, and needs to be consistently trained in order to make sure it doesn't cause a surge. I have successfully trained it out of this tendency once so far, but it will have to be done several times in order to ensure it doesn't try to pick up the habit again.

Rascal will be a tentative member of my team for now. I am working on acclimating it to the other lab members and its new surroundings. Luckily Pidgey (which are for some reason a pokemon it tends to consider a major threat) are not very common in this region, so acclimation is going smoothly so far.

MOVING ON I'm sure what you're all interested to hear about is the status of the Many Torchic Eggs that were delivered to the lab over the course of the last few days. Here is their status so far

[Photo of three unhatched Torchic Eggs. One is strangely reflective looking, a second one is purple and levitating and the third is patterned like a Zapdos. The Zapdos patterned one has a few cracks in it, and looks like it is getting closer to hatching. The other two do not look as far along.]

So far these three eggs have not hatched yet. The first two were recieved more recently and have yet to complete their egg cycles, while the third just seems to have taken a longer time to hatch.

In the mean time, as for the ones that HAVE hatched

[Image of Five Torchic sitting together on the lab table. One is a completely normal torchic. The second is a very strange looking one that seems to distort the camera a bit. It has a bizarre green, red and beige pattern to it, that makes it look almost like it has simply loaded in the wrong color pallet. Its collision with the table also doesn't seem to be quite right, as it seems to be slightly clipping into the table. The third is a bright blue torchic, that, while it doesn't appear to be aquatic, it does seem to be emitting a few embers of a bright blue flame. The fourth is a scaly, fish like Torchic that appears to have fins in the place of wings. And the fifth is bright pink and levitating with a long, lithe tail curled slightly beneath it.] We were incredibly relieved to find that the blue egg simply contained a blue torchic and not another Kyogre Torchic or something of the like. It does have a strangely blue tinged flame, but otherwise it seems mostly like a normal torchic.

The Glitched Torchic we've determined is very similar to an unhatched torchic being accessed via temporal manipulation. It can interact with the world, but it tends to pass through things or clip into things as if it isn't sure they are there yet. Raising this one is likely going to be a challenge and as such it will be staying at the lab.

The aquatic one is very similar to the one born at Glitch City's lab. Air breathing, but able to hold its breath for long periods of time and highly acclimated to living in the water. It retains its typing as a fire/water type here in Hoenn.

The final one though is the one that concerns me the most. As you can probably see, it seems to bare a very close resemblance to the Kanto mythical pokemon Mew. Upon hatching it actually disappeared for a time, but it's reappeared now and keeps... floating and staring at me. Like it's trying to read my mind.

It's a little unnerving...

Anyway this is becoming an incredibly long lab update! I'll update you all about the Espurr eggs once they are hatched. We've recieved quite a few both at the lab, and a few had to be retrieved from the Glitch City labs for safety reasons. For more safety reasons these will NOT be kept here at the lab. I've made a few contacts already with some potential adoptees once we've determined the hatched pokemon are healthy.

These pokemon will be hatched off site.

And I think that's it! Thanks for reading!

-Simon

#glitch pkmn irl #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #eggpocalypse

5 notes · View notes

vinovintage · 25 days ago

Text

(This is the first chapter of future novel I'm working, and plan on publishing. Feel free to give your thoughts on it. Also its a bit long.)

Chapter 1

Entering the shadows

We all wish we were stronger, but you can never become strong until you realize your weakness.

Life is like a clock near a window, sometimes you can’t predict the time until its too late. I bet this is why adults run late to their meetings or why kids turn in late assignments. Then again, you could say most of them are lazy bums who twiddle there thumbs during the start and end of their deadlines, but the truth is it's inevitable for anyone to lose track of time. Out of all the ill’s and trials in our lives, this has to be the easiest task for anyone to accomplish. It's quite sad really, so many memories, happy, safe, but very fragile, all because of our ability to forget things in a snap, and no matter how hard we try to fight against this weakness they still trouble the strong minded. I feel its inevitable, like a curse from a witch it's something we must fathom, though I believe there is a reason why this obstacle is present. Simply put, boredom.

If everyone was so fixated on what time it was there wouldn't be as much joy in the world. The sound of the clock moving it's 3 hands would trap us all in our rooms starring at the wall for an enternity. No one can pretend this won’t happen when the mere mention of the future is enough to drive any sane person mad. Yet, like most habits that are bad for us, we continue to prioritize this hazy method of life. Now don’t feel questioned, if you forget, then you forget. That doesn’t outright prove you, I or anyone are anymore intelligent, but it does prove one thing. Every irrational action stems from the feeling of nervousness, and that feeling of nervousness cracks at the sight of fear. In simple words, so small yet comprehensible, we fear the unknown!

That's part of the reason why I try not to worry about the future as much. It's a complicated mess in it's own right and my Mother has warned me plenty of times to just go with my heart instead of solving probabilities. “They won't matter when that 1% still exists.” she would tell me. I soon found that out the hard way once a big bang flashed before me on a fateful day, attempting to widdle everything away. Though the cleaning service it tried to provide created a hole, big, deep, and dark. If you threw a rock inside, you wouldn’t hear a thump for twenty-seven to thirty years, probably more if the wind inside slows the travel, but that isn’t likely. A man once fell inside vaguely ill from his trama. What happened to him? Lets say when he gained the courage to finally climb back up his friends had already transpired, leaving the man to wander the earth trapped in his head asking the same question that was once asked of him, “What happened?” So who’s the man then? Who’s the farce that fell down that hole,nearly lost his soul from the crack of his skull? Well if you’ve been paying attention so far, your first guess should be as good as mine. Allow me to enlighten you just how deep the fall is before you strap on your seatbelts. After all, you have to be insane to ride this coaster.

The story began in a small American city known as Colimana, nicknamed "The False City", because anyone who’d hear advertisements about this lofty colorful residents would warn you its a scam.

On Helm street west, lived the Amos family, and me Grim Amos, a young high schoolien who dabbled in fine arts and literature. There I was, sleeping on my comfortable bed dreaming without worries. In my dreams were thoughts about this blue island that recently appeared in my mind out of nowhere. There were sweet sounds of birds flying in a V formation, and the delighted relaxing ocean waves splashing over the sandy beach as i layed back on the bench drinking a mango smoothie. This blue island place seemed so strange with it's blue sand, purple waters filled with skeletons, and interesting creatures like the dolphins who were performing the Macarena. Everytime they slapped a fin they made typical dolphin sounds which I found very bizarre. There were also these crab-spiders hiding in pine trees, and yes they sound as they come. They simultaneously possess a hard shell while creating cob webs out their big butts. Again, very bizarre, but it doesn't stop there. When they eat, I get an up close view of them regurgitating some green acid on their meals using both of its mouths to trim though every bite, and it gives me small goosebumps just thinking about it. Yes, I will admit the island is very creepy. I used to be mildly weirded out by it, but over time I became accustomed to it's presence, taking every chance I had to relax whenever I had this dream. It beats having to suffer through another day in the real world, no school, no bullies, no Arcana, ghosts, wild pets, felons, and no president ruining everything with his lies. I finally felt at home, something I haven't felt for half a decade after our last family meeting. I bet some of you envy not having to wake up on a Monday morning having the time of your life with no consequences. I know I did. If the choice came I would rather sleep until my death bed arrives than spend another day in this accursed life of mine.

Although, that briefly came to an end as during my slumber I heard someone calling me. It sounded soft and fragile like some kind of nurturer. I did my best to ignore it. I didn’t feel like getting roped into any more conspicuous activities than I already had. Yet, despite paying no mind to it for the past half hour, the voice continued to shout my name. It grew louder with every neglect, to the point where i could no longer ignore it. Soon I jolted! I felt a small pair of hands resting on my stomach. I was briefly reminded of Cassandra Uva, an old friend of my sister who I try to forget. However, when I glanced at my stomach there was no one there, yet, the imprints of those small hands still showed. "Weird" I thought. "Am I being haunted?" Then pain started emerging as I felt knees caving in on my pelvis. This invisible entity continued screaming my name relentlessly. I groaned for a while until I reached my hand out. I felt someone's head right in front of me. A bit round and big like a soccer ball. I could feel their warmth, and their hair, my fingers could slide down it with no error. I began picturing what I thought was a small dog on top of me which calmed me for a bit. And only for a bit! Once I opened my eyes after thirty seconds, I saw glimmers of light sprinkling as my vision began correcting itself, just to see Abby on top of me smiling with her hair as lose as ever. At that moment, I realized I've woken up to reality. I glanced at my clock and saw the hour hand just land on six, an hour away from my normal wake up routine. From there I knew I was not only in a bad reality, I was in a dark one.

"GRIIIIIIMMM!" she shouted proudly. "YOU'RE FINALLY AWAKE!"

"No I'm not." I pulled my covers up which caused her to fall off my bed, but that wasn't the end of her.

"Yes you are! " She catapulted herself right back on the bed knocking the air out of my stomach. I felt my eyes popping out their sockets and my toes curling as far as they could. Again, I would rather spend the rest of my life dreaming than rentering this accursed life of mine. I even wrote that as a quote for the novel I was writing. "The best place is in your head" and I'd gladly stand by that phrase till the end!

"See, you are awake."

I sighed,"Abby, there's only one-hour left before my alarm goes off. Can I please sleep in peace until then."

"No!" She began jumping repeatedly while shouting, "Let's play!" I think her heel roughly missed my liver, but it did cause me to cough up some flim. "C'mon! Let's play a game before you have to go! I have no one else to play with."

"What about Bun-Bun? I'm sure he'll like to play with you."

"No! He's sleeping right now!"

The story of my life.

I reassured her that I was in the middle of an interesting dream, and it only made her begin jumping on me more.

“Ouuuh!” she said. “What type of dream was it?”

“Eh, its complicated, but I wish I were there and not here.”

“Why though? Even though I like flying on captain Scarab’s ship, I don’t think I would live there.”

The person she referred to was some character out of that anime she progressively watches called Space Bugs. Just know she pays more attention to that show than her own homework.

“Knowing you, you probably would.”

“Nah, because then I wouldn’t have you big brother. And I love you!!!”

I sighed, before replying with an “I love you too.” But the answer was still no. I even had to say it to her again just to get the point across. Not too harsh that the sound of my slightly angered voice would ring her ears, but not too soft where my "no" sounded mute all while starring into her adrenaline-rushed eyes, as they bounced around hitting every corner of her sockets. She was as looney as those mascots for those cereal commercials, the kid would not give me a break, she began to weird me out. Something had to be done.

I took a deep breath, and carried her off my bed to the door.

Not's we're tying in my head, my stomach has suffered enough and my eyes felt really heavy. Had I'd been one of those angst teens I probably would have thrown her out and screamed to some punk rock music. This was the 300th time in a row my baby sister has invaded my sleep bickering about playing another game with her. It has become too irritating for me, and everytime she does this I have to battle myself.

My arms were gyrating her body as I carried her with a voice shouting in my head, JUST DO IT! They were signaling the play offs. I know it sounds harsh but I warned her several times to never disturb someone's slumber. They may turn into a whole different breed of human if they don't get enough sleep, just as I almost underwent. Granted shes still too young and immature to understand, but that still doesn't mean I find her actions acceptable. May I remind you her actions are weird. While I was carrying Abby to the door I noticed a small piece of paper wedged between her teeth. “487” was written on it.

“You didn’t chew through the mail again did you?”

“Nnnnooooooo…” she replied.

I knew she was lying. Her eyes were darting to the left. Most of the time people use this as a way to calm themselves when they lie. This was one of those examples. Still, I didn’t care that much, most of the mail was nothing but magazines of hot models, and notices for us to VOTE. My father in particular likes looking at those hot models, especially when he’s alone. I mean it makes since, mom was looking to get a new car in the future anyway. As long as it wasn’t any of her renewed credit cards that she chewed then I guess it's fine. I drew worries about this nasty habit of hers later.

Though I believe I struck a nerve in her. After I said no again in the same tone, I noticed her lip began quivering along with the rest of her body.

"You don't… want to play with me?" she said in a weeping voice.

Part of me wanted to say no again, but the voice in my head said, don't do it, protect your ears! A tear formulated to the side of her eye, her face similar to sad puppies in a cardboard box. One more no and she would've cracked down crying waking up the whole neighborhood, and I don't like seeing my baby sister sad. So like a good big brother, I yielded.

"Ok, Abby" her face instantly blossomed like the blue roses in our garden. "But I can only play for one hour. What game do you want to play?"

"Yaeeeeee!"

"SHUT UP!" Jalen yelled from his room. A loud bang against the wall followed. Sounded like he threw his shoes again. Gotta like how he silences noises with louder noises. That goofball never gets old.

"Ouuuh! Does Jalen want to play too? " Abby asked

"Nope! For the sake of my soul, leave me out of this! I already lost my hat, I don’t need to lose my ears."

She became befuddled when Jalen mentioned that as if she wasn’t aware of the damages her screams have caused in the neighborhood. Everytime it happens, lets say the amount of mirrors she shattered accumulates close to a milenia of bad luck. Ontop of that, several lawsuits were filed from people that became deaf, so I could understand Jalen's worries. Yet part of me still wanted him to suffer with us after he ate our last piece of cantaloupe, the one that mother had rewarded me with after I helped mow the lawn. I worked tear and sweat to reseege that piece, and could've had it as a snack, but that late night vulture decided to thieve it like no one would notice. This was my only chance at payback I wasn't gonna let slide. I offered Abby a chance to convince him to join our little fun, and she dashed across the halls to the front of his door in a heartbeat.

"So help me if I see one of ya bozos, open my door, my laces aren't gonna be the only thing I'm tying!"

"Does that mean you have a present for us? But mommy told me Christmas was 2 months away."

"He's not talking about presents." Marcel said from his room. "Also Santa clause isn't real."

"Ouuh! Do you wanna play too, Marcel?"

"No, I'm just warning you not to press buttons with him. He can get a little too happy sometimes."

"Then what is it?" Abby asked.

"OH! YOU DON'T WANNA FIND OUT! And if you cry, I'm snapping you both like twigs!" Jalen yelled.

"Just choose the game Abby, me and you will just play." I said

"Hmm… lets play hide'n seek again."

With enough time wasted, we ate our breakfast, fixed her lose hair, got ourselves dressed and ventured out into the backyard to play for a little while. I had a lot on my plate that day so I thought I'd satisfy her while I still could. I told her the second i go to school today that I may be gone for a little awhile longer than normal and that Marcel would be picking her up. Her face grieved with disappointment. These changes didn't please her, but she tried her best to understand my situation. I thought this was the easiest explanation for her incase she worries for my absence, for I believed my time was approaching.

Before we got to the backyard however, I heard the sounds of thuds and cans being dragged on the floor. When I looked out the window I saw all of our trash lined up perfectly on the sidewalk which I thought was strange. “Wow! Misty sure is nice!” Abby said. Although by this hour Misty is usually still asleep, so I knew it wasn’t her.

Abby also pointed out a mysterious message on the glass of our backyard door. It was a note sealed with tape on all four corners of the page. The message read, "Did you and your friends tame the boar yet?" Just by glancing at the slightly squiggly font, I already knew this was sent by Vanessa. Her and I haven't been seeing eye to eye ever since freshman year when she started acting different towards me. I believed those "visions" she was having might’ve slipped a forbidden nocturne into her head, influencing her rude behaviors, that or she still couldn’t get over the ills I caused in the past. I hoped to go to school today without her spitballing me but the odds were far too uneven to wager that. Our situation hasn't become any better after Syphers screw up, the one she referred to in this message.

“A boar?” Abby questioned. “You guys saw a boar?”

“Not at all.”

“Then whats the message about? Tell me Grim, tell me!”

“Eh, its some main event thats happening at school today. She’s just making sure I haven’t forgotten it, that’s all.”

“Is it a hog riding event?”

“Close, its supposed to be a play, and I might be subbing the role of the hog if Mathew doesn’t show up for the next rehearsal.”

Her smile stretched along with her hands in the air. “My brother is going to be a star!” She began running around in circles excitedly. I questioned if she payed attention at all to what i said. It didn’t matter to me as long as she was distracted from the truth. When you're young and the only thing you care about is excitement, its far to easy to get distracted. I know this, even then I wasn’t paying attention. The letter began dripping onto me to my surprise. For some odd reason Vanessa’s letters always come damaged. The paper itself had some liquid that I assumed was coffee splashed on the top right corner nearly tainting my gloves when I held it. I quickly moved my hand down to the bottom of the page where I thought I would finally be safe only to realize my thumb landed in some red liquid at the bottom.

"Did you say red?!" Abby asked.

I showed the spot where the red liquid was and her reaction was at its purity. She assumed that it was ketchup and tried to taste test it but I stopped her before she did. Even if it was a harmless chemical, condiment, or drink, I couldn't risk her ingesting a virus that could harm her. Mother would’ve strangled me if she died.

The rest of the page had both of its sides ripped almost like a battle happened. With enough viewing I finally came to a strong conclusion, "This paper has been through war!" Abby assumed Vanessa was some kind of pirate. I doubted it nonetheless. Never in a million years would I ever think Vanessa of all people would dare set sail with those buccaneer barrel muchers willingly nor would they let her board. Then again, it’s just an assumption.

I wrote no in all caps on the entire back of the letter and tucked the note away to return to her. The day Sypher tames that boar will be the day the Arcana finally disappear forever. Sadly that may never be. That buffoon refused to apologize to Deondre after he insulted his body weight. Now he plans to punish the whole school because of someone's rudeness. Thats what Vanessa told me and my friends. No one else had a notice, and yet, that wasn't the concerning part. None of us knew what the punishment was or what he and his dirt gang were planning. Not even I knew, and after seeing all the horrid stuff him and his boys have done-drenching my elder sister in lemonade, smashing the skulls of their victims, raiding a mall with firearms, attacking his own gang members, and I haven't mentioned Micheal yet- I couldn’t imagine what scheme they were cooking up this time. Worse part, Vanessa had threatened to beat all three of us up if we didn’t stop his madness, that seemed impossible without that apology. In total, yeah, we were screwed.

If i could avoid school entirely i would've done so from the beginning we met the Voids. But I couldn't even take a sick day since my parents care so much about my attendance, and when im actually sick they go on about the "aligations!" forcing me to go anyway. But who cared, i sure didn't. I was already down in the dumps so I didn’t care what happened to me at the time. Death was close to the door, it was only a matter of time before I answered it.

Afterwards I was ready to play with her, until I realized she somehow got a dab of whatever the red stuff was on her finger, that sneaky little girl. By the time I had realized, she had already ingested the dab, though her face told me she did not enjoy it. She started coughing, gaging and shooting spit into the grass. “Yuck! Its salty!” I swear sometimes I feel like she’s doing this on purpose to torment me further than I already am.

Naturally, I let Abby hide first. I was teaching her all the best hiding spots, like in our apple tree, behind the short corner, or near the sweat shop close to the park. She's not that good at hiding and usually hides under the grill, table, or in a Mariachi members' clothes.

"Do you remember what I said?" I asked

"You can hide anywhere you like, the only limit is your imagination."

"Good, girl." I patted her hair bow.

"Now it's your turn to remember, Grim. To get me some chocolates tomorrow like always."

"Yeah…" I said in a soft, yet unconfident tone.

For the first few games Abby hid in the apple tree. She took advantage of the leaves like I told her too, and I had to search deep inside to even see her foot. I on the other hand hid inside of our neighbors backyard. They weren’t awake yet so I figured none of them would mind if our game trenched boundaries.

I liked playing with Abby, even if she was a little needy. The smile on her face can brighten my day no matter what. The sound of both of us laughing while playing games amongst each other really tightens those heart strings, you know what i mean. It felt real, and not forced reactions some kids at school would do with their teachers. I couldn’t picture her wearing a mask over her face just to please me. It'd make me feel uneasy, just like those eyes at the park I'd take her to.

Though during our final round of hide and seek, she taunted me.

"I'll choose a spot you'll never think to look!" she then waved her tongue at me and took off.

Well after finding her several times and even helping her get better at hiding, I took her boast as charming bravado. Oh, how I underestimated her abilities. I couldn't find her. She wasn't hiding under the grill, the table, the wardrobe, the back corner, The Durans garden, nor the apple tree.

"Dang, where is she?" I muttered.

Then it came to me, what she said. There was a spot I never thought about hiding nor seeking. I ran towards Luz's resting area and found Abby behind her tomb.

"Ah ha, you found me" she giggled.

But I wasn’t laughing. I was staring at Luz’s photo, and the blue roses beside her. Thats when a memory surge began to trigger of the three of us hugging eachother comfortably followed by the sound of Luz saying,"I'll always love you guys." My abrupt silence made Abby feel uncomfortable.

"Wha-what's wrong?" She asked.

"Oh, nothing…" I replied. "I was just enjoying our sister sleeping, it caught my attention and…"

"Oh…” She glanced over at her photo and looked right back at me. "Do you mind if I watch with you?"

I replied with a simple but quiet nod.

Soon a brief silence followed. Abby stood beside me as we both watched over our sister, just as she watched over us for years. It's fair, right? You return a favor that someone else has done for you. That's what I've learned living in this community. It's the only way to prevent anyone else from becoming lucid.

I've seen some throw everything away for a tiny stone. The blood gems they'd call it. Many would trade millions of dollars for an entire collection to pawn. I held on to the one Luz gave me on my birthday, even taking it to her grave with me. I always had some hope that by doing so maybe she'd come back and visit us at the Ghost Orphanage. It's gotten to a point that some may consider my actions an addiction. Yet, it hasn't happened yet, and my hands are getting messy from carrying this rock around as it bleeds between my palms. I still haven't learned. I’d wash my hands later, but I didn’t let go of it. Misty told me to continue holding on to it for good reasons. One, so that her plan doesn’t fail at school today. Its a risky maneuver but either way anything else we did would’ve been just as risky. And two so that I have another memory of our sister. I don’t like the thought of Luz not watching over us. That's a burden I kept to myself for all these years of her absence.

Though while I was thinking about today, Abby interrupted me.

"Grim…" she said grabbing my hand. "How long did you say big sister would be sleeping for?"

"For a long while, maybe even a lifetime. We may never know when she’ll wake up on her own.”

"Do you think we can wake her up?"

"No, we can't. We must never disturb her sleep. She'll get very angry at us."

“You sure we can’t? Not even for 10 minutes?”

“No, not even for a second.”

She reached out to the grave like she was about to dig her up like buried treasure.

"What if we---"

I grabbed her hand right when she was in the act.

“Nope, she needs her rest, just like how I needed mine. So don't you dare!”

I released her and she stepped back tempering her temptation.

“Oh, sorry, I didn't wanna be mean, its just…I miss her. She’s been asleep for a very long time and she promised to play hotcakes with me again. I have no one to play it with.”

“Hey, that’s not true, you have me.”

“Yeah, but you're terrible at hotcakes.”

I took that with a grain of salt. I never was a fan of hotcakes but to hear my sister talk about me like that kinda hurts.

“Do you miss her too Grim?”

I nodded my head quietly.

"I miss when the three of us would go to the park, and when all of us would play hide and seek together."

"Yeah, those were the days."

"Grim, what do you miss about her?"

The second she said that, I felt a painful scratch on my face that made me jolt.

“GRIM!”

“Relax, it’s nothing. Just a weird memory, thats all. But I suppose one thing I miss from her was the hugs she would give me. They always reminded me that if I ever felt lost in the world or incompetent I could always come back to her arms to be reminded that im still wanted."

"But she's sleeping now, and we have no idea when she may wake! Does that mean if you ever feel that way again, you'll stay sad forever?!" Her eyes glittered with tears. "I hate seeing you sad…"

"No, that won't happen again, I promise.”

"How do you know?"

“Because I have a loving mother and caring father, brothers that always offer help, and everyone else to help raise my spirit." I couched down to Abby’s level. “But most importantly Abby, I have you!” I placed my finger right where her heart was. I’m not sure if the red liquid she ingested caused this, but I felt her heart stop for a brief second, and start beating harder and harder. Whatever the case, my sister felt rebooted.

She glared downward at me in silence with her hair briefly covering her eyes. Her lip gripped by her front tooth and the sound of a child holding back their emotions tuned in the backyard.

I called out her name once, there was no response. I called out her name again, still no answer. I began tapping her bow while calling her name a third time, finally she responded with a brief sniffle. Her head began slowly rising, once she finally glanced at me I noticed a tear dripping on both sides of her face as she starred endlessly into my eyes. Her fist clenched, and she finally let go of her lip.

"DANG IT!" She shouted.

She lugged forward at me and grappled onto my waste. My shirt became her tissue, as the river gates opened and her eyes began leaking. She couldn't withhold her tears any longer, not that a child her age could from the beginning, it was bound to happen, it was inevitable.

"I …just want to… see her again!"

“ I know Abby.” I crossed my arms over her shoulders. "You're not alone. I miss her, Jalen misses her, Marcel misses her, the whole family tree misses her(Except for Betty). But we can't let our temptations get the better of us. For now, all we can do is wait." Atleast, wait for the right time to tell her why Luz is really sleeping for so long.

We both hugged each other for a while. I know what I told her wasn't the full truth, but what else were we supposed to tell her besides Luz’s current status. Someone like her was too young to understand the concept of life and death. And to explain it to her would no doubt rob her of her happiness while I was trying my best to preserve it. She squeezed my back tightly as more tears ran down her face, and I planned for us to remain that way until she stopped crying. Unfortunately, off in the distance I heard the sound of punk rock music being played off a speaker. I wanted to pretend a pedestrian was blasting their music down the street, but then I heard ringing sounds like ones you'd hear from a bike. At that moment I knew one thing, the Voids were coming, again.

"Abby, go inside the house."

"Why?" She asked

We were running out of time, I heard the gang coming around the corner.

"Just go!" I shouted.

Frightened, Abby ran inside the house, and I closed the door behind her double checking that the draps were closed. I didn't want her to see what was about to happen. If the mere mention of Luz is enough to make her emotional, this would cause her to get broken heart syndrome. She was only six years old after all, it wouldn’t be fair for such a young child to bear to watch.

I heard the Voids laughing as they parked their bikes on the sidewalks.

"This is gonna be good." One of them whispered.

I glanced back as I saw Abby peeking throw the windows draps. I made a signal to get down so none of them would see her.

A spiky mohawk rose up from behind the fence along with two other heads.

"Yo-ho, Grim, my main man, what's going on." One of their members said.

"Screw you, Nash!" I replied.

"Whoa buddy, what's with the ego inflation dog? We cool, like ice, you feel me."

"Yeah, just like how we stuffed his friend in the Cafe fridge!" Said the member on the left. They all laughed at me like the heartless monsters they were. Whoever raised them sure failed as a parent. But I had to remain calm, chances were if I played level-headed, the situation wouldn't escalate.

"Why are you guys here?"

"Oh, no reason at all buddy." Nash's head was weaving back and forth like a scanner.

“Clearly you're here for something."

"Well, now that you've mentioned it, I was checking to see if there was any room in your backyard to dig some Graves, you feel? See my boys and I have a few dead bodies to bury later on, but we don't think they're worth dumping in the cemetery. It’d be pretty wasteful, you feel me."

"What were their names again?" Asked the member on the right.

"Oh they're Grim Amos, Misty Yoker, and Sypher Duran."

"Come, again?"

"You know, the three stooges of our school! And I can't wait to see all three of them crying for their lives like babies when I go today." Once again they started laughing.

"Ok, starfish hair, but I wouldn't count on burying those bodies so soon. Chances are they may still be alive."

"Whatever, dullberry, keep preaching out your falices when you get to school and see if that makes a difference."

"Hey don't underestimate him Nash, he could be right. He could end up different then how his sister fared." Again they laughed. I took that with a grain of salt.

"Oh yeah," The member on the left said. "By the way Grim, where is the other chica, eh? You know the small one with the bow on her head and the short hair with the blue skirt."

"What about her?"

"Where is she, man? I haven’t seen her around since we bumped into you guys at Gaupo Taco!"

I was about to glance back at Abby, but I feared that if I did they might figure out that she's in the house. I had to divert their attention.

"She's out of the house right now."

"Really? Dang, I was gonna tell her, that when she grows up she can bounce with a man like me anytime."

"You don't have to worry about that."

"Why? Is she different?"

"No, I told her that if she ever thinks about men in the future, that it isn't men like you."

"Ridiculous! I wouldn’t count on it, once I introduce myself to her she'll fall in love with me instantly, TENGO QUE JUEGO! Now tell me where she is so I can tell her about what she's missing out on."

I refused to tell any of them, which stirred up more trouble. Nash warned me that if I didn’t answer he’d stuff my mouth full of grass, yet I still didn’t comply. I was aware of what was going to happen. Had I did they would’ve kidnapped her and forced her to play dress up(I rather not describe what that is).

“Man, you always make the simplest choices hard, yo!” They vaulted the fence as I continued to deny telling them where she was(So much for trying to avoid escalating the situation). Each of them cracked their knuckles like a hotshot biker, and began to attack me. Nash tried to punch me. It was a swift hook, but I managed to dodge it and threw a rock at the base of his forehead. His friends tried to grab me and I made them bunk heads. Of course I didn’t also forget to throw a rock their heads too(I don’t know why I do it. Maybe the rocks were secretly describing my life).

Though I was doing good being evasive, I soon faltered to there blows because of Nash's vile trick.

See, the Voids like to play dirty, and I don't mean them doing a lot of cup checks, or punching girls in the chest, but more so of attempting to defile my sister's grave in the middle of combat. Nash walked over and began plucking out the roses one by one, crushing them in both hands. It caught me off guard leaving me open to a knee in the stomach and a hammer fist to the floor. These were similar tricks they used to take down more of their prey that decided to fight back. Alast, I still haven’t gotten over her, my sister, my mentor, and my blessing.

They held me up slapping me silly, calling me dirt boy. It triggered another vague flashback, this time of a dark shadowy figure standing in front of me uttering said fimiliarities. They were testing the limits of my family name, and how long I could go without showing a shred of emotion. Though I didn't react to their punches as you'd expect. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of hearing me groan in pain. I wasn’t going to force Abby to listen to me scream. I fought hard as I tried to contain my composure watching what just happened.

That's when Nash brought Luz back into this. He walked over to her grave and began pacing around it repeatedly in an arrogant manner. "You know, the boss said she was as pretty as a blue rose peddle, but I don't think he'd like the way you dirtied her bed with your decorations. "

"Stop…" I warned.

"Oh no no no, you know how it works buddy, once every week we show you how to properly decorate the way the mistress wants it, yeah dig. See, these roses are ugly!"

They held me up as I watched Nash continually stomped on the rest of the blue roses around her grave. I tried closing my eyes to avoid snapping.

"What does this tomb say? 'Loving and remembering Luzivel Tamara Amos'. YOU FORGOT TO ADD THE DUMMY, THE FREAK, AND THE APPETIZER!” He kicked over the tomb, and knocked down her picture. “Only a dummy would refuse an offer made by the boss, weather it be a love interest, a sports buddy," He glanced over at me annoyed. "Or being a member of our fine gang.” He held my head up by my hair. “Grim, I don’t care how many people think you and your bland family is special, you could’ve been more dog! The boss liked you, he offered you a chance to be his best man, or even his best friend, but you went and blew it! You’re really going to let Subatian fart in your chair all day?!”

“Hey!” Subatian yelled.

“Shut up, Subatian! We might aswell call you The Sub! The boss was getting tired of you clogging the hallway doors anyway.”

I told Subatian that he wasn’t that fat and he told me to shut up, followed by Nash telling “The Sub” to shut up and stop blocking pathways.

“But he’s fat too! Probably fatter than me!”

Both the members turned to him in silence.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t here that!”

“No wait! I didn’t mean it like that! Well I didn’t mean to say that!”

This drag show dragged on for quite a while that I began cracking my neck for a bit. If i had my notebook I could’ve written this experience as some type of story, but i lost it. I soon became bored and interrupted their bickering. “Uh is this still about me?”

“Yes it is! Why did you leave us!”

“I don’t care, I’ll never rejoin the Voids. They could never bring me as much happiness as my friends and families have. They never have and never will.”

“You're lucky I don’t have a shovel right now, I would’ve shown you my ventriloquism skills again.”

When he brought up that memorie, it nearly broke me. As I remained calmed, my blood circulated. My thoughts kept shouting at me, KILL HIM, TEAR HIS HEART OUT!, but I ignored every word for as long as humanly possible. It just wasn't worth the hassle. Besides, I believed the clock was on my side.

"Uh, Nash," said the goon on the left. "this chump isn't screaming and writhing like you said he would."

"Really? Well dang, man! School is gonna start soon, we gotta get at least one tear out of this guy!" He began to jitter my face around. "Come on! Cry boy, Cry! Doesn't this piss you off?"

"No." I said.

"Dang it! Wait, well what do we have here. He was right when he said she'd looked cute, at least before her death." He folded up the picture and put it in his pocket.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"I'm taking this souvenir back to our boss. Who knows, maybe he'll bring me a bonus if I give him this picture of your sister. He'd treasure it as much as your death. I hear him everynight getting excited in his room everytime he talks about both."

The member on the left grabbed my chin. "Aw…does little Grimmy miss his sister? Well I'll tell you what, when the boss sees you, I promise you'll see her again, in the afterlife."

Then out of nowhere, someone chucked a few pebbles at Nash as footsteps were heard fleeing the scene. A breeze of wind also splashed my face. He became more irritated by the minute. He spent a few minutes scanning the fence for the stranger.

"Hey, who threw rocks at me?! Who has the big shoes?!"

Relief flushed my minds space, even though we were at odds before the clock was finally on my side.

While he was looking for the stranger, i remained as quiet as possible to keep track of time. I heard my alarm going off in my room very faintly. I already had the feeling that I knew who threw those pebbles without examination, Misty normally comes around this time anyway.

Following the pebbles, a large screaming noise could be heard nearby. At first we thought it was some weirdo down the street losing a game of Jax, but then I heard them scream out a name. "Sean!" They said. It was the banshee that lives on top of Syphers house. She ended up flying over here, kicking, and scratching the Voids in their faces while screeching names at them.They ran off with the wind squealing back home like the pigs they were. "We'll see you at school Amos brat!" Nash shouted.

While I was saved from another tragedy, my curiosity sterned toward why this Arcana became hostile at the Voids. Then I realized it, I got up to check those chucked pebbles. They were yellow with a pinch of saturated brown coloring. I quickly rushed towards it for further examination, but the second a finger of mine grazed a fragment of it the Banshee screamed at me as a warning. It rushed up to the rocks and swallowed them instantly. They seemed to be some sort of snack for the Banshee, because it calmed down shortly after she ate them, focusing on nothing else but me, starring with its creepy hollowed face and torn feathers.

I showed my brief condolences to the Arcana before scaring it off with hissing noises. It's enough that we as a community have to fear these beings, could you blame me for my actions? The day before my friends and I were attacked by a group of werewolves at downhill square and nearly died. I’m no Arcanaologist or whatever term you used to describe someone researching these creatures, but there are only three things I know about Arcana. They are a pain to hangout around when they aren’t busy causing mischief, just like animals they reek of street mildo screaming there hearts out at humans that cross them like the Banshee did. All of them seem to prodomatly reveal themselves during nighttime. And lastly, every Arcana that I’ve been around or heard talking behind dark allies seem to have this hatred for this “Karma” being they are talking about. Lately it reacoured when those wolves attacked us, when the bloodgem glowed in my hands they compared me to her saying "Her damages still are present!". I didn’t know who they were nor could I distinguish if she was natural or another one of those freaks with superpowers, but again the Arcana speak ill of her a like. Even though the banshee helped, I couldn’t think she wasn't planning on attacking me next after them, her face was just as hollow as ever with eye holes deeper than mine caves. How could anyone trust such an entity knowing the consequences previously established?

It screeched back the name of Sean while flying back to Syphers house waiting for her prey.

Although the damage didn't go away. Luz's grave was disturbed, and Nash stole the one good photo I had for her. We used to have a whole gallery book of photos of her and I together in our rooms and birthday parties, but the Voids burnt it to dust along with any other possessions by our peers at Ringtail high. My parents didn't make any copies. They felt so confident that nothing would happen to those photos, well look at what their confidence had brought me…another fatal blow to my syki. Honestly it did get me in the habit of always having a backup for everything even if it doesn't go wrong, so I'll thank them for that. I won’t however thank their own arrogance for misplacing a gallery of memories.

Despite my lack of emotion towards this horrific event, I will admit they almost got to me. My hands were still shaking with anger, and there were still these thoughts of killing those goons. I quickly wiped my face of any grass and used what little time I had left to fix her grave before school started, and Abby saw the aftermath. It would cause her to crack if she saw what had happened, and honestly I couldn't blame her. I nearly reacted the same way when Luz was taken from us. As the sun began rizing removing the hazy shadows layering around the overgrowth, I used the rest of my free time to clean up the damages before school started. If she was truly resting at the time, I didn’t want this incident to distub her. Though clouds still formed within my mind, my thoughts could only convey two words at the time, “I’m sorry”.

I threw the dead pile of blue roses away, and spent a lofty amount of time salvaging the shedded tomb pieces. Each remain I took began decaying more in the palm of my hands, their savegability crumbled away before I got the chance to save them. How foolish I thought to myself that me, a boy stuck in the depths could prevent the inevitable. I had once again conveyed those two words to my sister. The guilt still remained.

I heard knocking on the backyard door. I turned around and saw Misty standing there with her hand on the glass drinking her smoothie. She told me she was trying to wash some lose hairs out her mouth since she woke up and thought a smoothie would do the trick. Weird.

She had just finished running her therapy sessions with Clara from what she described as talking to a waterfall from all the backwash she got about her food eating disorder. Everytime she'd try and help her a chocolate bar would appear in Clara's hands. They don't call her the snack jack for nothing.

I recognized Misty by her long blonde hair and Jean jacket, while others tend to recognize her as the cow girl. No, it isn’t to poke fun at the way she talks but rather her skin condition. She has black marks all over her body that kinda looked like the patterns you’d see on a cow(It didn’t help that her skin was also white. ) and I don’t like mentioning it. She sometimes gets really sensitive when people talk about her skin. Too many have suffered from that type of treatment already so I tried every now and then to refrain from commenting on it. What i did ended up asking her about was the slight reding on the right side of her face. Apparently Frank, the ghost that occupies the sofa in her house, ended up smacking her with the remote again when she yelled at him for ripping the cushion. If only he wasn’t dead, she would’ve gouged his eyes out.

From her arrival I assumed it was getting close to school time. I made little hand signs asking where Abby was, she pointed at the stairs followed with a hand sign from her right hand signaling that she's in her room getting ready. She also made signs that signified Abby had let her in. She still hadn’t learned not to open the door for anyone.Mom is going to give her a bit of hell when she finds out. Misty made another hand sign asking me why we are using sign language.

“I don’t know” I replied with my hand(Secretly i loved doing that).

"You may come out," I said.

She stepped through the door gawking at the aftermath. Her eyes blooming with concern. She almost dropped her mango smoothie in the grass, but barely caught it with her finger tips. She knew it wouldn’t be fair to add more flair to the ash, especially while I was there. She didn’t ask what happened, or even if I was ok. Instead she clinched her chest briefly. She already knew the details before I told her.

“Those Voids…” she muttered. “I’ve heard of bullies who became what they are today, but I’m starting to think these guys were all born evil.”

“Took you long enough to finally realize that.” I muttered.

Even being fully aware, Misty still found my reaction to be soulless for someone who had their sister's grave disturbed right in front them, not that I cared all that much of what she thought of it. There's simply no point to waste tears when the time has passed, it wouldn't have stopped them anyways. I carried on with my activity not shedding or morning for her. This became a bit uncomfortable to watch for her. “Had it been my Grandmother I would’ve squealed! How can you stomach this?” She sounded worried, like she was talking to a wall. One that doesn't show signs of cracking anytime soon.

"I just learnt to deal with it Misty, and so should everyone else, including you. They won't stop. This is what I get for being blessed with the family name.” I pointed at Luz’s grave. “This is what I get for leaving the past behind me.”

"Well, this has to stop, didn’t you try calling---"

"It's pointless, especially when Deondre comes from a very wealthy family. They'll find a way to break him out."

“Not if they convict him for murder, we almost got him for killing Micheal. Besides, the cops hate him too.”

“Too bad, his uncle is the president and is overly biased towards him.”

She sighed with stress seeing me how I was. "You've really lost hope haven’t you?" Since she arrived after my torment she tried cheering me up. She offered me a drink of her mango somethie which i refused.

"You sure? It's really good. And i cleaned the straw." I still refused, i didn't care if the drink tasted sweet it wouldn't have brought me rainbows. I wasn’t in the mood for trying new things. She offered me a hand fixing my sister's grave by giving me one-hundred dollars. She said it was so that I could replace the broken accessories, but seriously, one-hundred dollars? I felt that was a little much. I told her I only had to spend forty dollars max on these items, yet she insisted i take it. I didn’t except the money at first, It makes me feel like I owe her even if she was my best friend, yet Misty refused to not take no for an answer, and gently placed the hundred dollar in hand and closed it.

“I hope this helps” she said.

I gradually accepted it even though those thoughts still ran through my mind. Though i felt that was the perfect time to thank her for saving me from Nash.

Her eyebrow raised, she claimed she wasn't the one who threw the pebbles. "Weird," i remarked. "I guess it was just luck that saved me."

"Or maybe it was the bumbling idiot." I took that as a slight possibility.

While she helped situatute the mess we talked about those pigs. About how miserable life has been ever since we met the Voids. She went to say the usual "If they didn't exist, our lives would be better, the school would be clean, and you'd be smiling right now." Would it have made a difference? Time had a weird of looping itself even when certain events are avoided. I felt even if the Voids were cut from the picture, someone else would fill the frame. Centuries to her belief there are many more crooks worse than Deondre, we just haven't ran into them yet. The clock hates us.

"Well, at least you won't have to deal with them anymore, Grim." She pulled out Deondre’s Golden Knuckles. "After today, the Voids will no longer have a leader."

"You mean they won’t have anyone to keep preying on, especially since this may be our last day alive. The overgrown plumb is going to crush us."

"He won't if we go through with the plan today. Operation Freezer will be successful!"

"It may be a success." I corrected

Misty crossed her arms in disappointment. "Grim, we talked about this, I don’t like it when you say may like that because it sounds like you lack faith in my plan."

"I don't recall you changing my mind."

"Oh c'mon Grim" she rested her arm on my shoulder." You can't expect a plan to work if you're always doubting it. It’s like planning to ask someone out and expecting them to say no, when chances are they're probably going to say yes.”

“True, but we both know the probability of anyone saying yes to a date is very low, especially if you just met the person. Just like how this plan has a low chance of being a success.”

" See and its that attitude that’s going to increase it’s failure. Don’t you trust me?”

“I do but—”

“Then have faith in my plan man. Who got you those new red shoes you wanted?"

I sighed,"You did"

"Who got you and Abby a muffin for free at her party."

"You did."

"And who got you that six hundred page notebook you wanted for your birthday?"

"You did"

"And all of that was because of what?"

"Because you're a thief?"

"Well… yes, but mostly because I've planned them out. That's how i was able to get Deondre’s Golden Knuckles."

Her words made me slightly roll my eyes. I understand she was trying to sound genuine, but I was reminded of one of those cliche comic book villains who act like they planned everything from the beginning of the series.

"You forget that it was those Theftest who stole the Knuckles first. And while your other plans have been successful, thanks to them, Marianda has been on our case almost everyday now. I heard she got demoted too. Your lucky she hasn't caught us yet."

Yet as always, Misty wasn't the slightest bit concerned about her. "Forget about her. She hasn't caught us, yet." We may have been able to get away with a few of our crimes since most of the adults see us as innocent little vessels, but I still warned her to be cautious of the dangers.

"Besides those were different acts, we're talking about killing---"

"Hey, hey! Let's not think about the details."

"Let's face facts Misty, even if Deondre has a pig brain, that doesn’t detract from his bronze build."

“Really, Grim,” Misty bursted out with laughter that she almost choked on her slyva. “The only bronze he carries is that bubble gut of his packed with dozens of grilled hotdogs, sticks of butter and...”

“And what?”

Misty froze for a second looking around the sky for a bit.

“Is something bothering you?”

The wind blew, and the clouds surfed through the air. It was so quiet that I might’ve heard the sound of the clouds moving. Though I did notice the temptures began dropping a small bit. I started feeling tiny symptoms of freezing, a small chill down my back and the tip of my nose became cold for 10 seconds. Though it was only small symptoms I felt so there were no worries.

Still frozen in that posture, Misty was still glancing at the skies aimlessly. SHe eventually dropped the dead roses for no reason. I nudged her and she came back to reality.

“Huh? Oh yeah, and he also eats chicken too.”

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine, its just I thought I saw something moving through the air.”

"A fly?"

"It's too big to be that."

We brushed it off like it was nothing other than a rogue ghost looming through the air. She had wished it was Patrick finally moving out of her house. Although, I could still see him lying his entire spectre on her couch watching her TV.

But as the clock continued to tick, I offered Misty my condolences and a farewell for when the time comes. I’ve accepted that there was no way to eliminate the inevitable. Of course when I told her that, it was met with her same old banter about me being negative. So I once again brought up how Operation Freezer involved killing someone. She shoved the dead roses in my mouth as two girls walked down the street overhearing our conversation. They tasted like mother nature dying several times over, and it didn't help that they were also covered in dirt and muddy slime.

"Haha, that surprise party might kill them, haha." Misty shouted abruptly. They continued their walk all jolly and happy down the road.

"Will you stop saying that already! We're not gonna kill him!"

"Whatever, if the cops find out you're taking the blame, got it?"

"Ok, but like got damn man, da hell has dat family been teaching ya?! In a second ima start calling you the bumbling idiot."

Speaking of bumbling idiots, the Banshee screeched once again. Misty and I peeked through the rabbit hole of my fence and saw Sypher getting attacked by her. She dazed him right in the head causing him to smack his face into the street lamp. We quickly rushed over to him seeing his dazed body.

"Don't mind me guys… im just… waking up!"

He fell down with his shorts lightly ripped from the pants leg. Out came a bag of that cinnamon he always carried, or i should be saying his snack. Why the idiot enjoys munching sand was beyond me, and it's weird that he eats the entire bag without washing it down, let alone coughing up a storm. We were lucky the bag didn't pop from his clumsiness, his actions almost darted my clothes.

"Yeah, we could tell" I said.

"We don't have time for this, we're going to be late!" Misty huffed.

But Sypher had a hard time recovering so to speed things up Misty fed him a coffee bean. A 5th natural disaster began. She accidentally gave him 2 again, and Sypher can't handle more than one. He jumped up and started throwing a bunch of punches and kicks that created a vortex sucking in the Banshee. Misty and I had to flee across the street before we were sucked in. His vortex launched the Arcana far down milkman highway crashing through several buildings boards on her way there. Thankfully he finally calmed.

I kindly asked Misty to please check the amount of beans she had next time, uless she wants the neighborhood to be blown away.

"I'm ready, Grim!" Abby said peacefully(As she should). "Ouuh, Sypher has a target on his head. You mind if I try to hit a bullz-I?"

"Not at all," He replied.

But I certainly did. If she began throwing rocks at people at such a young age, the chances of her becoming a full time delinquent was huge. So I snatched the rock from her before she could even try. Her face dropped with disappointment.

"I'm sorry, but we really should get going. Mom is going to shorten my curfew if she found out we both are late."

"Why?" Sypher asked. "My parents don't care if I get T-thrity'd."

"3 letters," I added. "DNN." We quickly glanced around our environment when Sypher spotted a camera man camping behind someone's chimney. He threw a rock that veered far to the right missing him entirely, although he did manage to scare him off, for now.

No further explanation was needed from me, both of them seem to recall why that's bad.

“Also, we need to get you over there Grim so that way you can do your boar play!”

Misty turned to me. “Boar play?”

“You know, the play that Drama club is going to practice.” I said.

“Grim said he’s going to be playing the boar if that other kid doesn’t show up. WHAT JOY!” Once again Abby ran around in circles all excited.

“Nice lie,” Misty whispered.

“Oh no, what she said actually is true. Yesterday Vanessa told me that if Mathew doesn’t show up for the next rehearsal then I’ll be his substitute.”

“What? Your gonna play the boar?”

“I might…”

“Your telling me that Vanessa is going to ride you?”

“Eww, don’t say it like that. It’s enough that the whole school is going to be watching.”

“But out of all the parts to play, you get the boar? I mean that's just sad.”

“Hey, there were no other parts available, and she voluntold me since everyone else shyed away. What do you want me do, watch the schools waste away their money on this project?”

"You might as well, maybe that'll teach them to use the money fix the school."

“Well it beats being on light duty,” Sypher added. “Those lights always somehow manage to slip by me.”

We stared at Sypher, still a bit angry.

“What?” He questioned.

We didn’t answer him and just started walking off. After all, its his fault we’re in this mess in the first place.

And so we headed off to school, awaiting this dark reality that lied before us, with the shadows that stalk us. I had no idea what that destiny was, chances are this was our last day alive, although maybe Misty was right about me being negative. All i knew for certain however was weather we came back out dead or alive, our lives were finally going to change one step at time. I just hoped the steps weren't leading to our final resting area(This was something I decided to jot down as an idea for my book).

#story #novel #writing #practice writing

0 notes

teecupangel · 11 months ago

Note

From @thedragonqueen1998

Yeeees! Honestly, i don't really care for Star wars, but with AC crossovers i love it!

Hahahaha, as long as it has our favorite blorbo, we’re fine with anything XD

From @mysticalbasementwitch

Do the second. All the glourious angst especially when Haytham and Edward star appearing

From @blue-cat-ter-flies-blog

Second, second, second!

From @zero-saito

Oh this will be fun!! Would this mean desmond Would gravitate towards mandalorians and shy away from Jedi. But also obiwan found something interesting so he’s going to keep pestering desmond. Maybe once the ancestors settle in Desmond’s head they can come out as force ghosts?

‘Blade’ was a strange clone. He always refused to take off his helmet and another clone told Obi-wan it had been an order of the highest priority that was given to Blade.

His voice seemed a bit different from the other clones but Obi-Wan can’t be sure since there was a possibility the helmet was the reason behind it.

The only thing he changed in his uniform was the stylized inverted V that marked the forehead of his helmet, reminding Obi-Wan of a bird’s beak.

He was usually quiet but, when he speaks, there’s a strange casualness in it. Not even the most dangerous situation where life and death was only a step away could change it.

It was dangerous.

He also had the habit of stealing things that he says are ‘shiny’.

Most of them weren’t shiny at all but all of them were useful one way or another.

Obi-Wan had lost count how many times Blade’s kleptomaniac tendencies had made him take a device or an object that would later help them in their mission.

Because of it, Obi-Wan and the rest of the company ignored his regular stealing.

But Blade had always been cautious.

Perhaps too cautious at times.

He distrusts beings most of the time and he always already had an escape route planned out in his mind even in the safest of places.

That was why everyone had been surprised when Blade had touched that ancient relic from an unknown civilization.

It had been as if his entire focus had been filtered to only that specific relic.

What looked like a chair.

The entire room lit the moment he touched the chair.

Many words, too quick for their translate to catch up, only able to translate snippets.

Subject 17…

Error…

Rebooting An-

Forcing Subject 17 Sessions…

By the end of it, Blade had fallen to the floor.

They had been worried he had died.

But he had simply lost consciousness.

That was the first time Obi-Wan saw his face as the clones took it off to give him more air.

He looked nothing like them.

And he felt it.

Eyes staring at them.

He looked around.

For a fraction of a second, Obi-Wan truly believed he saw someone.

No.

Someones.

But they were gone.

More fickle than ghosts.

Or perhaps the shadows were playing tricks.

But he could feel it.

The Force around them was strange.

No.

The Force around ‘Blade’.

Okay, listen to me. What if, WHAT IF, in a galaxy far far away, during the Clone Wars, our boy Desmond respawns as a clone? Mmmm 212th Attack Battalion, perhaps? In the Ghost Company, more precisely, right next to Obi-Wan, who ends up loving this shinie because he's very adoptable and kind of has a strange signature in the Force? I mean, one person can't have the Force signature of three different people at the same time as their own, that's impossible.

...Isn't it?

Oh, what if Desmond was an anomaly?

Like, clones are meant to be from the same ‘stock’ and Desmond started out just as the same as all of them.

… until he became part of the war.

There was something about it…

The needless lost of lives…

The pain and suffering all around them…

The very concept ingrained into his very being to obey…

Desmond starts to crack.

And from those cracks…

They appear.

Whispers only he can hear.

Warmth he feels where there should not be any.

They comfort him.

They teach him.

They guide him.

They care for him.

And they warn him…

Of how General Kenobi shares the same skills as the ones who controlled their lives, who played god and wrote the stories of their lives.

Of how Desmond must be remain vigilant.

Less he suffered the same fate once more.

He probably won’t have Desmond as his name though. Maybe… Eagle? Is that too Earth-centric? Blade? I would have said Ghost but he’s part of Ghost Company already. XD

In a nutshell, Isus harness the Force and they come from one of the earliest races to ever do so. The Jedis learn to harness/live in harmony with the Force from a very similar principle as the Isus and that makes Desmond’s ‘ghosts’ weary of Obi-Wan and every person who can use the Force as it reminds them of the Isus.

Desmond himself is a ‘contaminated’ clone. Jango Fett is actually a ‘distant’ descendant of Desmond, born as part of an Assassin family who reached the stars and… well… things happened that led to Jango becoming a foundling. Desmond is a 1 in a hundred billion chance… or perhaps it was fate. Either way, Desmond is a product of the cloning process screwing up and making Desmond not a clone of Jango but a clone of Jango’s ancestor, Desmond Miles.

The cracks that started appearing on Desmond’s mind?

That’s not the Bleeding Effect.

That’s the cloning process’ failure. He’s starting to ‘remember’ the memories of his ancestors… including Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Ezio Auditore and Ratonhnhaké:ton.

(Would you want Desmond to remember the life of Desmond Miles up to his death which shouldn’t be possible because, according to the genetic memories rule of AC, they can only have the memories up to the conception of the next ancestor? Easy way? Use the Force as a plot device. Less easy way? Have Ghost Company find an Animus in one of their missions and Desmond touches it, starting the entire process because that Animus contained Sample 17’s data and it reacted to Desmond).

107 notes · View notes

buriedsecretspodcast · 2 years ago

Text

Embarking on a quest to write more

I'll start with the tl;dr: I want to try to write more often. Specifically, I'd like to aim for "near-daily" blog posts, with a goal of publishing something approximately five days per week and accompanying it with a piece of art. I almost certainly won't hit that goal, but it feels like a good number to aim for.

Why?

I recently dropped an episode about a book that I really liked called Consorting with Spirits by Jason Miller. In the book, Miller talks about how when interacting with the paranormal, it's important to prepare less and risk more. In the episode, I talk about how I recognize that I need to take that advice to heart. When interacting with the paranormal, I often doubt myself and try to talk myself out of what I actually experienced.

And I do that even in the moment, while the strange thing is happening, which Miller explains is the exact moment when you should not be doubting yourself. (He basically says you can doubt yourself anytime afterwards, when you're analyzing what you've been told her what you've encountered. But if you do it in the moment, it shuts down that part of your brain that helps to process the unusual and paranormal and psychical.)

As I was working on editing the episode, I realized that the maxim prepare less, risk more applies to me more than I would like it to, and more than in just my paranormal experiences. I have very strong perfectionist tendencies, and I'm the sort of person who creates large amounts of art and then just never shares it with anybody.

Here are a couple examples:

Starting last May, I decided that I was going to do a drawing every single day. A YouTuber I like, struthless, talked about a challenge that he undertook where he drew the same thing every day for a year because that sort of repetition forces you to be more creative in your artistic approach. I chose ravens and crows as my subject matter. And while, of course, I missed a few days, I did, for about eight months, draw a raven pretty much every day. I didn't quite make it to a year, because while I love birds and love ravens and crows in particular, I did get to a point where there were tons of other things I wanted to draw and I felt like the creativity challenge was stifling me rather than helping me. (Though it did help built a daily drawing habit!) However, despite having drawn hundreds of ravens, I've shared maybe five of them? Probably fewer. Why? It's not like ravens are particularly off topic or outside of my niche, because ravens have a creepy vibe and one literally appears on the podcast logo. But I just usually choose not to share them just... because.

I create episode art for every episode, and yet I very rarely share that art on social media. The drawings appear on my website and on the specific podcast episodes—for podcatchers that support episode specific art—but I could be using them as social media assets and I just . . . don't.

I could go on, talking about how many first drafts of novels I've written but not edited to publishable form, or how many episode scripts and notes for episodes that I have not recorded yet, either because I felt like they weren't quite good enough, or I needed to do a little bit more research and put some finishing touches on them before I could let them go out into the world. But I think you get the point. I don't think that all art needs to be shared, but I also know I'm holding myself back by sharing so little of what I do.

Things that have helped

Often, when being less charitable about my own shortcomings, I feel that I am too flighty and get bored with new projects. (I think that's a feeling that many neurodivergent people grapple with.) I'm proud of the fact that this podcast has been running for almost three years now. It has become a data point that I use to convince myself that I can focus on things, I can create finished products and share them with the world, and I don't lose interest in projects.

The podcast has helped me fight some of my more perfectionist qualities. My audio quality can only be so good; I live in a noisy area and I have to deal with noisy radiators that like to kick up anytime I happen to be recording an episode during the chilly months. Because I am on a consistent schedule, I have to keep putting out podcasts, whether or not the script feels completely good to me (and by good, of course I mean perfect, and nothing can clear that bar).

But I'm able to tell myself that a podcast is not an indelible object that is expected to be perfect or close to perfect. It's casual and conversational. As a medium, it's not known for being particularly polished. That allows me to let go of some of my perfectionism around podcasting.

(Of course, that doesn't stop me from fixating on moments when I misspeak or on those pauses when my brain clearly buffers in the recording--I trim those down, but I can still hear them. Also, there are definitely episodes that make me cringe, but so far I've managed to keep myself from going back into the file and recording updates and qualifications.)

Show your work

Austin Kleon, an artist and writer who focuses on creativity, has a book called Show Your Work. The book is exactly what it sounds like, and it's geared toward artists who hate self-promotion. If you want to be an artist or a creative of some kind, there's no point in creating art in isolation. You have to show people the work that you're creating.

In the book, he talks about how his own blog has been so important to his development as an artist and has led to so many connections, opportunities, and friendships. He talks about how it's important to have a body of work online, even if it isn't 100% polished. It's okay to put out things that are in progress and rough. People are interested in the creative process and the thoughts that people have while they are creating things, not just the finished product.

Despite having read this book multiple times, I still have trouble showing my work. I have my podcast, but I tend to just... not promote it, at times. The same goes for my artwork. Even though I finish a drawing almost every day, I rarely share that artwork with others except maybe—sometimes—my wife. When I started the podcast, I decided to do episode-specific art to literally force myself to share some of my work publicly.

Digital commonplace books

One of my favorite thinkers, science fiction author Cory Doctorow, is someone who, like Kleon, blogs frequently. Doctorow writes a blog post pretty much every weekday. I recently read an essay that he wrote, where he compared his tendency to write daily blog posts with old commonplace books, which people would use to record their thoughts and information that they wanted to remember.

He said his blog was a sort of digital commonplace book, which contains his thoughts on different topics as they were evolving and as he was developing them. Over time, it becomes a source of inspiration and research for him to dive back in and find tidbits that he might need in the future.

To quote from his essay:

Peter “peterme” Merholz coined the term “blog” as a playful contraction of “web-log” — like a ship’s log in which hardy adventurers upon the chaotic virtual seas could record their journeys. Though “blogs” have always been a broad church, there’s a kind of platonic ideal of a blog that’s right there in the term’s etymology: the blog as an annotated browser-history, like the traveler’s diaries my family kept on vacations, recording which hotels we stayed in and what they were like, where we dined and what we ate, which local attractions we visited and how we felt about them. Like those family trip-logs, a web-log serves as more than an aide-memoire, a record that can be consulted at a later date. The very act of recording your actions and impressions is itself powerfully mnemonic, fixing the moment more durably in your memory so that it’s easier to recall in future, even if you never consult your notes. The genius of the blog was not in the note-taking, it was in the publishing. The act of making your log-file public requires a rigor that keeping personal notes does not. Writing for a notional audience — particularly an audience of strangers — demands a comprehensive account that I rarely muster when I’m taking notes for myself. I am much better at kidding myself my ability to interpret my notes at a later date than I am at convincing myself that anyone else will be able to make heads or tails of them.

Zettlekasten

The essay is excellent, and you should just read that, but I love this idea of thinking about daily blogging as a sort of repository of ideas or digital commonplace book. I am a enthusiastic user of the zettelkasten method of taking notes, which has a fairly similar vibe.

I'll have to write about zettlekasten another time, because it's something I am passionate about. In the six months that I've been using it, the method has helped me so much with my research and with synthesizing and developing my own ideas. I'm a real PKM (personal knowledge management) nerd, no surprise there.

But to be brief: The zettlekasten method involves taking in information from books and articles and other sources, and then putting it into your own words and synthesizing your own ideas around them—and putting all of that into an atomized, interconnected notetaking system. That aspect of a zettelkasten system has a lot in common with the idea of blogging daily, and I think that these two ideas mesh nicely.

Sharing

I'm also very inspired by the artist Todd Purse, who posts a daily drawing and accompanying podcast episode. His work is so lovely and always puts a smile on my face, and I admire his talent, dedication, and positivity.

I know that sharing more and would be helpful for me in my paranormal research. I also have plenty of things to say about some subjects that aren't ready for their own episode, and I can only assume that spreading information within the community would be helpful.

It's not that I think my ideas are so groundbreaking, but I consume a lot of information. I don't like my tendency to hoard what I've learned just because I think my presentation of the knowledge isn't good enough. Kleon includes an Annie Dillon quote in his book that really stuck with me: "The impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes."

Also, hopefully, by putting these things in blog posts, I will allow myself to be a little bit less strict about how good—or perfect—something needs to be.

Just like the necessity of publishing my podcast helps me be less of a perfectionist, I hope that this will help me put my thoughts into writing and share my art, which I plan to post alongside my blog posts, and not hold back so much.

I really want to try to embody the idea of preparing less and risking more. And I think this is a great way for me to do that. I almost certainly won't be blogging everyday, or even five days a week, but even aiming for the goal of blogging five days a week should help me create a lot of new and interesting stuff. So this is the beginning of my quest to try to prepare less, risk more, and share more with my community. And if you recognize any of these tendencies in yourself, I can only encourage you to find a way to share your work, as well.

Note: I'll be cross posting these essays on Medium and in my newsletter, so you can read them or sign up to receive them either place, if that's easier for ya. This post originally went live on 03/13/23.

#paranormal #zettlekasten #writing #creativity #imagination #paranormalinvestigator #cryptidacademia #cryptidcore

0 notes

whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years ago

Text

little birdie, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: The cat has asked the little birdie to make an appearance. You have been turning down private dances, preferring to focus on the art and glamour of the burlesque shows themselves. Besides, old money was entitled, twice your age, and, worst of all, ugly, inside and out. But Min Yoongi doubled his original offer and, well, he is new money.

these events occurred prior to twelve hours, m | jjk

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader is a burlesque dancer, caged bird performance based on Dita Von Teese; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics, tiny bit of striptease, red lipstick kisses on nether regions (oop), m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU - cocky, rich!Yoongi x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader; a little drabble based on this ask

He cocked an eyebrow at you, holding the handle of the leather crop in between his perfect white teeth.

You cocked one back, covered in diamonds, rubies, and red feathers.

The room was silent except for breathing.

These walls were soundproof.

You leaned forward, lids lowered, staring at those dark brown, cat-like eyes through your lashes, your tongue extending, the warmth of his skin and his breath against your lips. You licked the handle. His pink tongue flickered out, brushing against yours.

Instant electricity.

You retreated sharply, eyes narrowing.

“You were instructed not to touch, Min Yoongi.”

The man in the expensive designer clothes tilted his head at your cold tone, not responding. He surveyed you calmly, hint of a smirk around the leather crop, his hands behind his back. Primly tailored black vest with black satin piping with matching slacks. Silk handkerchief, cobalt blue, matching his silk shirt with the subtle checkered pattern and designer logo stitched into the squares, tone on tone. Despairingly expensive, but not gaudy or over the top. Didn’t need to be. The sheen in his black hair indicated it was pampered and well taken care of. The shine of his black oxfords indicated real leather. The strength and potency of his spiced cologne made him smell like the pure sex he was from presence alone.

Behind you, your two bodyguards stood side by side, sunglasses on, unmoving.

You agreed to this private dance when Yoongi said he was willing to pay double the initial amount he offered.

New money really spent it on the dumbest shit.

You leaned forward again, watching him carefully. You were wearing long opera-style gloves made of a lush red sparkling fabric, embellished with intricate stitching.

Lifted your hand, turning it around, palm up.

“Drop.”

He only moved his lower jaw, the leather handle falling from his lips and right into your palm.

You flicked your wrist and ran the crop up the inside of his thigh, forcefully spreading his knees with one of yours, narrowing your eyes, nicking the flared end against his crotch.

Lesser man would have jumped away.

Min Yoongi was not a lesser man.

He confidently spread his legs and tipped his head back, black hair falling over one eye, smirk on those shapely pink lips. He didn’t speak or make a sound. It was disconcerting but somehow intriguing in its own way.

As if he didn’t need to speak to indicate confidence in his position.

He was a caged bird in this private room, willingly trapped by you.

You smiled.

Fitting, for the theme of your burlesque show tonight had been a large steel birdcage at the center of the stage and you inside it, dancing within the visible enclosure, skillful hands holding onto the metal bars, lush hips swaying to ruffle the feathers attached to create a half-skirt that mimicked tailfeathers of an exotic bird. You were still wearing some of the pieces now, the lingerie, the tailfeathers, and the heavy necklace of diamonds and rubies splayed out on your collarbones and chest.

You slid onto Yoongi’s lap, closing his legs with yours, entering the alluring aura that seemed to surround him, trapping the leather crop between your crotch and his. Slow exhale, mixing with his as he lowered his chin to look you in the eye, unafraid.

“Hello, little birdie.”

You did not typically touch the men you danced for. They were usually old, crass, and undeserving of your touch. You treated it as business because that was what it was. A simple service for money. Nowadays, you cut back on the private dancing and upped your price. It just wasn’t worth it, being so close to such filth.

But.

Every once in a while.

Sometimes, you got young money like Min Yoongi.

You dragged the crop up his abdomen, up his chest, shifting your arm in a graceful swoop, turning it so it grazed his cheek, outlining that high cheekbone and elegant jaw. You stared into his eyes and he stared back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips, not backing down.

Sometimes, you got someone fuckable like Min Yoongi.

“Do you think you’re in charge here, Yoongi?” you murmured dangerously.

He ticked his head.

“I’m usually in charge everywhere I go,” he chuckled. Deep, husky voice edged with amusement. “It’s very tiring being the king and the boss all the time.”

Slow blink, piercing gaze on you with a wry smile.

“I would like to have a break from that.”

You sucked in a breath.

Min Yoongi was more than fuckable.

He was going to get fucked, tonight, by you.

You closed the distance, swiping the flared end of the crop against his lips, pressing inward, taking in his smooth fair skin, his even breath, his calm demeanor, and suddenly you wanted to mess it up, you wanted to tear down this placid façade and find what was underneath, find the passion and desire you could see shimmering in those dark brown orbs, challenging you to draw it out.

“Do you understand the position you’re in, Min Yoongi?”

He chuckled, voice low and smooth.

“Little birdie and her two shadows, I understand very well and I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

Damn.

He was good.

You tossed the leather crop to the floor and captured his lips, inhaling his cologne and his scent.

Yoongi did not move his arms, devouring your lips, hungry and intense, deft tongue flickering, testing the boundaries, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth, winding with his, hot and fluid and lustful, your hands sliding up his chest and reaching his shoulders, fingers one by one falling into place, sliding your lower body up to his, sucking in his breath, heat to hardness, your body heavier from all the jewels, but Yoongi seemed unbothered, deepening the kiss and sucking on your tongue, humming contentedly.

Even though he said he wanted a break, old habits were even harder to break.

You broke the kiss forcefully, the immaculate waves of your hair tumbling down your shoulder, seeing the red lipstick smeared on those shapely, smirking lips, his eyes drifting to yours.

You lowered your arms, slowly curving your hand, pulling back your arms in one smooth arc, fingers splayed, shoulders back. Measured, slow breath, always on form, every movement a performance. He watched closely as you reached back, unhooking and unlacing the tailfeather skirt with expert precision, keeping eye contact. You didn’t need to look to undo it.

You didn’t need to look when you released it, knowing one of your bodyguards had already stepped forward to catch it, retreating to place it aside.

Yoongi smiled, dark eyes gleaming.

“An agile little birdie, I see.”

He did not need to verbalize your beauty or attractiveness.

You could see it in the way he looked at you.

Startling how lucky you were to have met such fuckable young money tonight.

You placed a gloved hand on his chest and slid one leg back, then the other, red soles clicking, tracing down his torso, kneeling now, dancing fingertips up and down his thighs, admiring them and letting him know with your gaze. Black hair over one eye again, small smile on his lips, and yet you noticed the pink tinge on his ears.

Interesting.

You retreated your hand.

Brought it to your lips.

One by one, tugging at the tips of each finger with your teeth, loosening the glove.

Dark brown orbs watched you, entranced and fascinated.

Gripping the middle finger with your other hand, tugging on the opera glove, sliding it off with one swift arc of your arm, bringing your hand behind your head as it came off, tossing the glove aside carelessly. Yoongi couldn’t see, but your hand was poised behind your head, always aware of even the unseen details, bringing the other glove to your lips and doing the same, one by one, loosening the tightness before your hand flourished out from behind your head and your arm mirrored the previous arc, into the air and behind your head, throwing the discarded glove in the opposite direction of the first. Yoongi watched with patient, precise interest, like a cat observing a bird.

He smiled appreciatively, enjoying the show.

It seemed precious, Yoongi’s smile.

A strange thought.

Painted red nails gliding up his thighs, following the shape, tracing the waistband, parted lips smeared with lipstick, the tremble of his body finally evident and, with a tight inhale, you realized you too were breathing shallowly, matching him, looking up to see his pupils dilating, his hands still behind his back.

Your index finger traced the fastening of his slacks.

Yoongi raised a dark eyebrow, questioning.

You undid it while staring at his face.

Lowered the zipper, having to lift it because of his straining erection, seeing Yoongi clench his jaw, legs tensing, shoulders shaking, watching your face, hands, the diamonds laden on your collarbones and cleavage, equally embellished bra and panties covering everything else, but it was impossible to deny, incapable to resist, inescapable sensuality between you and Yoongi, a stranger until tonight, a shadow in the crowd until this moment, now well defined by light and lust, raising his hips so you could lower his pants and boxer briefs to his knees, sitting in a heavy ornate chair in a private room with your bodyguards right behind you as you lowered your head and your lipstick-covered lips to his thigh.

Red kisses imprinted on that fair skin, shudders under your breath.

Travelling up to his hard length, tongue slipping out, tracing a fat stripe over hot, taut skin, your satisfied sigh melding with his soft hiss at the contact of your wet muscle to his hard, twitching cock.

You drifted your gaze back up to his, lazy and purposeful.

Yoongi looked down at the red lipstick kisses and his cock quivering against your warm breath, leisurely lapping at the underside of his length. His voice was a low octave, almost raspy.

“Little birdie…”

The first time he said it, it had been borderline mocking, but now there was a fondness to it. Admiration. Appreciation. Adoration.

It made your core burn and heat spread all over your lower belly, dripping between your legs.

Black hair over his eyes, breathing hard, maintaining eye contact.

“Please.”

Simple.

Effective.

Sexy.

You closed your mouth around the head of his cock, tongue lapping the underside, his scent invading your nose and your lipstick coating his skin, your fingers lacing over his hips, sliding that thick length down your tongue and into your throat, his soft moan drifting from his. He was losing control of his hands, slamming them down onto the seat of the chair and clutching the sides, manicured fingers tense, knuckles white. You tilted your head and ran the head against the curve of your teeth, heartbeat racing as you witnessed Yoongi gasping at the sensation, his broad shoulders flexing, his hips trembling in your grip, struggling to stay still.

Losing control.

Maybe he didn’t spend his money poorly after all.

You ticked an eyebrow and adjusted your head again, tongue extending past your lips, suffocating your throat with the swollen tip and cutting off your air, curling your tongue around his balls, scooping them up and pressing them to your lips, dripping saliva onto the seat, eyes on his the entire time, choking yourself on his cock and licking his balls with a blazing, intense stare. No need to say who was in charge because you knew it and he knew it, growling deep in his chest, shivering in his designer clothes from primal desire that required no such things.

You were the same, diamonds or not.

Lust feeding off lust, money or not, you probably would have fucked Yoongi regardless and you could see it in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

You pulled back and began your pace, swallowing his length hungrily, tongue all over the base of the head, stimulating the thin skin and his sensitive nerves, his breathing turning into involuntarily gasps.

Faster.

Rougher.

Tighter.

Finding that sweet spot, that moment where his expression changed and his irises were overtaken by black, mouth open and panting, locking his shoulders and his hips, feeling him throb in your constricting mouth, just a little tighter to prolong his orgasm, making it a little more difficult so he had to chase it, his handsome face wincing, black strands fallen over his eyes, his body humming with energy and arousal, so close, you could see it, smell it, hear it, his suppressed hisses and darting eyes, taking in the whole image, your back, the curve of your ass, your hands on his thighs, fingers splayed out, your mouth on him, taking him there, there, earning his wanton moans and fluttering lashes, twitching hardness and then he threw his head back, neck straining against his buttoned collar, a perfect image, his hips bucking up, lost control, spilling into your throat with a sinful gasp, his chest prominent against the silk shirt and vest, begging to be freed from its confines.

You swallowed it all, savoring his strong taste, delicious as his body.

He lowered his head slowly, panting, his previously neatly combed hair messy now, cheekbones glowing with a faint sheen of sweat.

You licked him off just as slowly, finding his dark brown, cat-like eyes once more.

Yoongi smiled at you, cocking an eyebrow.

Your bodyguards would probably prefer you to stop here, but you had other plans.

You popped your mouth off, a drip of saliva snapping against your chin, rising, poised on red soles and leaning down, capturing that waiting smirk, one of your hands lifting to toy with the buttons on his vest. First undoing one. Then one more.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

Yoongi’s hands flew up and gripped your waist, promising all night.

Tonight was going to fun.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi smut

237 notes · View notes