#powdered sea horse

[emilybeemartin]

Just to tie in my two themes this month----

Additional notes, because poll options apparently limit their characters:

Frodo finds great peace in watching the tides rise and fall throughout each day. He attends all the ranger programs on birds and seashells and fills pages with sketches and poetry.

Sam meticulously selects postcards in the gift shop for each of his friends and spends a whole morning writing and addressing them. He also buys Junior Ranger hats for his kids and a variety of Appalachian jams for Rosie.

Park rangers launch a Missing Person search for Aragorn when they realize his car's been parked at Avalanche Creek for three days. The search runs for almost a week before he comes strolling out the opposite side of the park, supporting one of the SAR techs who twisted an ankle during the search.

Legolas is first drawn to Olympic for the towering, mossy temperate rainforests, but the ground goes out from under him when he steps onto Second Beach for the first time. He spends an entire day watching the light and tides shift on the sea stacks, and he leaves feeling both full and hollow, like a bell that's just been rung.

Mammoth is only Gimli's first stop on a cavern tour, followed by Jewel and Wind Caves and Carlsbad Caverns. Wind Cave is his favorite for the unusual formations. He makes an obnoxious tween boy cry in Carlsbad for breaking off a speleothem.

Boromir is on a tour of military parks. He asks so many questions to the intern working the info station at Fort Sumter the kid has to go find the park historian. His favorite site is Vicksburg because that place was buckwild, though he silently judges one of the reenactors for his clumsy handling of a black powder rifle.

Merry also makes stops in Jurassic and Dinosaur National Monuments. He watches every park video, takes selfies in front of all the fossil exhibits, and earns his Junior Ranger badge at each one. He buys a keychain for Pippin.

Pippin actually gets four citations, mostly for trying to stick his hands in mud pots. He doesn't mean anything by it---he's just so delighted and curious about the bizarre landscape. He winds up with several thermal burns and dumps a king's ransom in the donation box on his last day.

Gandalf gets dinged by rangers for not paying the $5 fee for Trunk Bay, but he acts senile until they eventually decide to drop it. He gets postcards from everyone and responds to none of them.

Faramir and Eowyn are traveling together and do many of the same hikes and rides, but they do have some different preferences off-trail. Eowyn drags Faramir to a rodeo and the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar in Jackson Hole, and he goads her into Ranger Shelton Johnson's living history programs on the Buffalo Soldiers in Yosemite.

Eomer is bike-packing on his sport cruiser motorcycle. He goes to Roosevelt south unit for the wild horse herds but ends up spending half a day watching a prairie dog town. He takes 400 photos of them, mostly blurry, and texts them to Eowyn.

[drtyfiction]

IMAGINE [1/2]

Oliver Quick x Y/N (she/her) Saltburn spoiler alert!!

It's already quite late when Oliver wanders around the exterior of the house, wearing his white embroidered suit and deer antlers on his head. He chugs down something that burns his throat and gazes at the crowd, searching for any familiar faces. Among the sea of people dancing, drinking, vomiting and chatting about some uninteresting futility, he found none. All the oblivious, hollow, inconvenient figures who don't know him, who don't care for him and who don't show him any respect, expose him to the lack of admiration they bring as a gift on his birthday. He stares at the bottom of the now empty plastic cup and sighs softly. Even when everything seems to be turning out exactly the way Oliver had intended, and even when everyone seems to have gathered exclusively for him, he still feels lonely. A man wearing a horse mask approaches, but Oliver doesn't get startled. - Hello Farleigh. - How did you know it was me? Farleigh removes his mask, exposing his slightly sweaty skin from the heat of the muffled costume, his delicate eyes and his voluminous hair, still impeccably tidy despite the headpiece that had been pressing it down until then. - Signet ring. - God. You really notice everything, don’t you? Oliver faintly grins and Farleigh catches sight of his pale blue eyes, which are dimmed by the low light in the room. Farleigh is able to read him a little better than most ordinary people. Perhaps because, after all, he's not that ordinary either. - Have they seen you yet? - Oliver asks. - Not yet. - Farleigh says, indifferently. They're alluding to your friend Venetia's family, with whom you've been living for some time. Farleigh removes the lid from a small container he carries in his pocket, pours a bit of white powder over the back of his hand and sniffs. - Yeah, they’ll go ballistic. - Oliver adds. - I doubt it. Y/N invited me on everyone's behalf. - This time, it's Farleigh who flashes a tiny grin at the corner of his mouth. Oliver frowns and stares at him for a second. He can't hold back an unanticipated reaction and utters an astonished "Oh" sound. In a vague attempt to correct what could be interpreted by the other person as frustration, Oliver releases a low, uncomfortable laugh, attempting to appear calm. - God, the look on your face. - Farleigh bursts into a loud, deep laugh. - What do you mean? She can’t have invited you. - The look on his face is a blend of sternness, confusion and disappointment. - You know, Oliver, I thought you were cleverer than that. Y/N invited me because she wanted to. They want me back, after all. She wants me back in Saltburn. - And why would she want that?

[Continued in part 02]

[delightingintragedy]

Various Uses for Fossils in Magic from Wisht Waters by Gemma Gary

"Sea fossils, as well a guarding against drowning, had other protective uses. The fossils of sea urchins, or Echinoids, were employed for a variety of protections. Upon these fossils, one might find a star-like pattern, very reminiscent of the 'daisy-wheels', which one might find inscribed into the timbers and masonry of ancient buildings, most likely for apotropaic purposes. Their folk names include shepherd's crowns, thunder stones and fairy loaves. They protected against thunder, evil spirits and witches, prevented milk turning sour, and in common with other fossil amulets, they sweated in the presence of poison. As 'fairy loaves' they might be used to ward off supernatural interference from the baking process, and to ensure an abundance of bread."

pg. 104

"Belemnite fossils, from an extinct squid-like creature, were known as thunderbolts, and were thus kept as charms to protect against lightning. Once believed to be the tongues of ancient serpents, fossilised shark teeth were one of the fossil amulets against poison"

pg. 104

"Rings of stone, formed from the fossilised stems of the sea-lily were known as St Cuthbert's Beads, as were worn as amulets against evil influences."

pg. 105

"The 'Devil's Toenail' fossils were carried as charms against rheumatic pain, and they were powdered to be used in the treatment of soreness of the back in horses."

pg. 107

"Various accoutrements of the sea witch's divinatory work may be seen in the Museum of Witchcraft. Here we find that belemnites were employed by a Newlyn sea witch named Nancy. She would read the fall of her 'sea stones' to make predictions for fishermen. Perhaps their traditional association with lightning gave belemnites the virtue to make predictions regarding storms and changes in the weather?"

pg. 108

[...] There have been many ways to bless, consecrate and 'sain' water, thus rendering it more potent and useful within various rites and magical operations. This might be achieved by steeping or immersing charmed items within the water, or else allowing water to flow or be poured over such an item. These may include charm-stones, fossils, flints, or the metals gold and silver.

pgs. 115-116

"Ammonite fossils were also employed as charm stones to cure cattle in 17th century Scotland. They were known as 'cramp stones' because cattle afflicted with cramp would be treated by being bathed in water in which a 'cramp stone' had been steeped for a number of hours."

pg. 122

[poisonsage808]

♡ Flowers ♡

w/ dany, sansa, arya, brienne and margaery w/ gender neautral reader

(A/N: everyone in this is 18+, we’re not gonna look into the timeline of that like we’re not gonna look into the fact some flowers just aren’t available in certain areas lmao)

♡Daenerys♡

• She’s probably already been given every flower ever known to man, you tell yourself before you can round the corner and greet the dragon queen

• Discouraged, you turn back around only to almost bump into Missandei who smiles, “Are those for the khaleesi?” she asks pointing to the tray in your hand

• Lemon hibiscus cookies with the edges rolled into sugar crystals sat on a meticulously detailed plate

• The idea seemed good some hours ago while you were making them.. and a few months ago when the idea came to you in the first place (It took a while to get everything together and even longer to quiet your nerves about it)

• “No— I mean, yes but she didn’t ask for them and it’s so close to—“

• Missandei is smart, she’s nudging you onto the balcony where Daenerys is watching her dragons fly, “Khaleesi, you have a visitor.”

• The queen’s smile has you go rigid and your grip on the tray tightens as you offer it to her with a bowed head

• “What an interesting combination. How did you make it purple?”

“Hibiscus flowers, your grace. I-I dried the petals and made them into a powder.”

• Missandei fights back a smile while informing the queen it takes two weeks to dry out flowers and how purple hibiscus flowers haven’t bloomed in two months

• “You’ve put quite a bit of time into these then?” Daenerys asks. You nod, cheeks rosy under her gaze

• She takes another bite and doesn’t hide the smirk that tugs at her lip, “I think I’ll need to bring you with me when I cross the sea. I’ll miss your pastries too much to leave you here.”

♡Sansa♡

• The last time she was given a flower it was by a Tyrell and it was so long ago she can’t recall which it was or if the act was genuine. It probably wasn’t, she tells you

• So you devoted hours in the library, left before the sun rose and returned when it was falling

• You waited patiently to catch a moment of the queen’s busy day and blush when she comments on your absence. “I’ve been looking for you, they told me your horse was gone before anyone woke.”

• Sansa’s stoic expression falters when you present one long stem with purple blooming flowers from behind your back, “They’re gladiolus— gl-gladioli? They represent strength, integrity and remembrance.. and so do you, your grace.”

• You just meant to give her a happier memory, a true gesture of adoration, not make her cry!

• When Sansa tears up you frantically apologize but she wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you into a tight hug

♡Arya♡

• Ladies are given flowers and Arya Stark is not a lady so you’ll have to be subtle with the gesture as well as unconventional

• Gift it to her in private

• A leather bracelet with lilies engraved on the underside; a flower associated with rebirth. It seemed fitting and Arya agrees, asking you to tie it on for her

• She wears it proudly every day and waves to you with the hand that displays it, sometimes with a wink like it’s a secret between the two of you

♡Brienne♡

• She’s never gotten flowers before and you debate for a long time if it would offend her or not… You decide to find out and ask forgiveness later should that be the case

• After she’s completed her duties for the night, you approach just before she retires to her chambers

• As always, Brienne smiles politely and nods at you, greeting you and saying your name so sweetly your knees wobble a bit. It mattered not if the day she had was long and tiring, she asks if she can help you with something

• “You could take this off my hands,” You laugh nervously as you hold out the single stem with many white flowers, “I hear they call it a fallen star.”

• Astrantia, a symbol of protection, strength and courage

• Brienne’s lips part and a blush erupts on her cheeks as she holds it closer to her face, “No one’s ever given me flowers.” she almost whispers

• “I’ll consider myself the luckiest person alive to be the first, and everyone else a fool for not doing it sooner.”

• She keeps those flowers until they wilt but before then, you’ve given her more and her words of thanks slowly become kisses instead

♡Margaery♡

• Y’know what’s a worse idea than giving a Tyrell a rose? Giving the cruel, boy king’s intended a rose

• You have to be much, much more clever than that. Luckily, the woman you fancy speaks the language of flowers

• Yellow mums are placed on her seat and you watch from a distance as she cautiously looks around in genuine surprise. A secret admirer

• That same look and those gorgeous eyes once again scan the area some days later when she’s handed a drink with marigold sticking over the rim of the glass

• “Is something the matter?” Someone asks her. You turn away just when she catches you watching from a distance. Margaery shakes her head with a bright blush on her cheeks, “Not at all.”

• There’s a red rose in your room that night, and being held by the queen to be. She smiles and says, “I was hoping they were from you.”

• Y’know what’s stupider than accepting a rose from the king’s betrothed? Kissing her until both your lips are bruised

[starfirewildheart]

Scars and Souvenirs 

Chapter 2

Summary: Sy and his lady both retire from the army but not before tragedy befalls Sy. He slowly tries to adjust to life again on their ranch.

Pairing: Sy / OFC

Word count: 2,324

Rating: NO MINORS, NSFW under cut. Police yourself please, mentions of war, being a POW, death and animal abuse. A little more detail in this one. More abused animals rescued all happy endings I promise.

Sy texted Debbie for the tenth time. His Ma was still talking and didn't look to be slowing down anytime soon and he didn't want her doing all the work herself.

Sy: Sugar, come back to the house. Ma's still ramblin' a mile a minute and showing no signs of slowin' down. Got steaks marinating for dinner. We can put the round bales out tomorrow and I'll help you finish brushin' everyone down then.

Deb: You spend time with your mom. I got dis! I have one more thing to do and then I'm comin' to the house. I haven’t been alone all day anyway. I have a friend.

Sy: oh?

(Not my dog or my pic)

Deb: she said you better have some steak for her too!

"Austin, are you listening to me?" Sara Syverson scolded.

"Sorry," he told her sheepishly. " I'm trying to get Deb to stop for the day. She's been out there for hours."

"Well honey it's hard work taking care of animals, she needs to know that."

Sy's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "What?"

"This animal rescue stuff is all her idea. She's spending your money and using you as a workhorse," she fussed. She loved her son and it broke her heart to see him used like this.

"Wait just a minute here, ma. I don't know what you're going on about but you are very wrong! This ranch was my dream and I asked her to join me.  When we heard about the horses being abused and sold for meat we BOTH wanted to rescue them, not just her." He moved to sit by her on the soda and took her hand. "I don't know why you don't like her or what's going on with you but you're blaming her for things that aren't her fault."

"You are with her 24/7. Is it too much to ask that you spend some time with your momma?" 

Sy cringed, "No of course not. I'm sorry," he hugged her as he tried to blink the tears from his eyes. "I never realized," his breath caught in his throat. "I'll do better, I promise."

The screen door banged open and Aika came bounding in jumping up on Sy sensing his anxiety. Debbie came in a few seconds later. "Wheew it's hot out there." She stopped in her tracks as she picked up on the heaviness in the room. "Is everything ok?" 

"Yea," Sy got up and hugged her. "We've just been catchin' up." She gave him a concerned look but didn't push. "Will you fix your famous potatoes for the grill before you take a shower sugar?"

Deb laughed. "Are you trying to say I smell, Sir?" She teased as she headed to the kitchen squeaking when he playfully smacked her ass.

"Ya reek sugar," he smirked as he got the foil out for her.

She could feel Sara's eyes on her as they moved around the kitchen, perfectly attuned to each other without even having to speak. She scrubbed her hands good then put some butter in a dish to melt in the microwave before moving to the sink to scrub the potatoes. Once that was done she retrieved the melted butter and started tearing off sheets of foil for each one. Brushing the potatoes all over with the butter  she then sprinkled them with sea salt, Italian herbs, garlic and onion powder then wrapped them all up tightly. "You sure that's all you want me to do?"

"Affirmative, get outta here." He smacked her ass again then grabbed her wrist and pulled her flush against him kissing her when she started to walk away. He took advantage of her soft gasp and deepened the kiss exploring her mouth and getting lost in the feeling of her pressed tight against him. They both nearly jumped out of their skin when his mom's voice rang out loudly. Deb hid her flushed face against his neck.

"It's getting late. Shouldn't you be starting dinner?" Sara sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm gonna go clean up," She said, still blushing wildly. She didn't miss the disapproving look Sara shot her as she rushed out of the room.

~~~~~~♡~~~~~~

Sy watched as Deb flopped face first across the bed still fully dressed. He toed off his boots and laid down on his back beside, her resting his hand on her ass. 

" Mmmmm mmmmhm hummm." He laughed, "can't understand you with your face smashed in the mattress sugar." She turned her face toward him. "Your mom hates me"

"No, it's not you sugar, it's me. She's not been the same since I got stateside," he shrugged. "Guess her baby boy is too broken now." If the word 'D'fuq??' had a face Debbie was using it on him now and he couldn’t help the big belly laugh that escaped him.

"Austin Lee Syverson, that woman loves you more than life itself." She got to her hands and knees and straddled him pressing soft kisses on his lips and jaw. "And you, my love, are not broken. You are handsome, loving, passionate, strong, a leader, a hero." She punctuated each word with a kiss or a nip to his neck as she reached under his shirt and lightly ran her nails over his chest and stomach.

"Fuck", Sy moaned as she ground her core against his now hard bulge. "Way too many clothes," he growled before quickly stripping them both. This time he crawled on top of her with a wicked grin. He kissed his way down her body only stopping when he reached her shaved mound. "Mine," his growl was possessive. Since his return he was extremely possessive of her and didn't want anyone else even near her. He wanted the world to know she was his so he had started marking her by sucking or biting places and today it would be here.

He bent her legs and pushed them up to her chest, opening her beautiful flower to him. "So wet for me sugar. Look at you, already clinching, needing my cock."

"Please Sy," She mewled as she bucked up trying for his touch.

He quickly thrust three fingers knuckle deep into her while taking his left hand and exposing her hidden pearl before diving in and licking and sucking it.

"Oh fuck! Sy!" She circled her hips thrusting against his hand and mouth seeking that pleasure starting to build in her belly. The scruff on his face was leaving beard burn but she didn’t care Sy's mouth was a national treasure and the way he used suction and even a light scraping of teeth could make her cum in an instant. "Oh god!" She reached down and pushed his face harder against her throbbing pussy fucking up against his face until she cum with a scream, her body clenching and quivering, her legs shaking. As the throb started to die down she felt Sy's teeth sink in gently against her bare mound marking her causing her to his and yelp.

He licked the mark he'd made to soothe the ache before placing a kiss on the red mark already forming then crawled back up her body. "Mine."

"Only yours, always," She pulled him into a kiss, tasting herself on his tongue.

He kept her legs hitched up by his arms and rubbed his cock over her still sensitive folds before he started pressing inside her. They both moaned at the sensation."So fuckin' tight. Your body is made for me, sugar. Fits like a fuckin glove."

Debbie clinched around him as he filled her almost to full, the final push making her feel like she was going to burst leaving her panting. "So big baby. So full." She was beyond the ability to string words together at this point much less form sentences.

Always the best at what he does, Sy moved slowly at first. Slow, languid thrusts while he circled his hips. After her third orgasm clamped down on him he couldn’t hold back any more and started pounding into her. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, the wet sound of her juices leaking out around him and the cock drunk look of bliss on her face and he felt his balls start to draw up tight and his dick swell even more. "One more sugar. Give me one more. I wanna feel you milking me when I cum!" Reaching between them he started rubbing her clit and soon they were both falling apart crying out each other's names as he collapsed on top of her. He laid there a minuet before slipping out of her and rolling to his side pulling her against him. "I love you."

Deb snuggled to his side and pressed a kiss to his chest. "Love to Sy."

~~~~~~♡~~~~~~

A few days had passed and things were normal on the ranch. Deb had been researching an upcoming auction while Sy was trying to find a home for a mare and her foal that were ready for a family. "The Winston's are going to take them," he smiled happily.

"That’s wonderful. Their little girl will have a ball with the foal."

He walked over to her desk and sat on the edge of it. "Any prospects? "

"A few, sadly. There are a lot of rumors about a stallion that was beaten and abused to the point no one could even approach him then left uncared for. I read that his hooves are so overgrown they are curled around his feet."

"Damn," he shook his head. "I'll have the farrier and the vet on stand-by for Friday morning. Hopefully we can get him calm enough to give him some help right away."

"Sometimes I just really hate people."

He kissed the top of her head and hugged her.  "There are a few good ones out there still."

"So What you're saying is I can't break 'em all and make' em snap like glow sticks or push 'em down the stairs like slinkies?" She asked innocently. 

He flashed his crooked grin. "Just a few of the many reasons I love ya."

"Life will never be boring with me."

"That’s for damn sure," he chuckled. "Do we have everything we need in case this storm front is as bad as they think it's gonna be?" It was that season where bad weather could knock the power for days due to floods, wind and debris and they were calling for a bad one to start late tonight or early in the morning. 

"Animal's food and backup water supply is safely stored and ready. Aika had plenty of food and treatos. I stocked up on food and supplies for us yesterday and incase shit really hits the fan we gave the lovely MRE's hidden in the closet." They both cringed at the thought. "We filled the sandbags and got them ready the day before yesterday and we picked up three gerri cans of fuel for the generators. We are about as set as we are gonna be." She could see the crease between his brows and that he was chewing at his bottom lip which were all warnings of anxiety building in him. She reached over and put her hand on his thigh giving it a gentle squeeze. "You worried sweetheart?"

He took her hand in both of his. She could always tell if even the slightest thing was off with him. She and she alone was the reason that he made it through his POW recovery and the loss of his men. She spent weeks just holding him while he screamed and cried fighting tortures who were no longer there physically but in his mind were electrocuting him, beating him, breaking his bones, stabbing him, burning him, trying to drown him and killing his men and torturing them in front of him because he was an officer and they wanted information. He shook the thoughts from his mind when he felt her hands on his face and saw her standing in front of him. "No, I'm not worried about the storm sugar."

"Then what's going on up here? " She softly tapped his forehead. 

"Ma needs me to come by and put some sand bags by her back door and put the shutters on her windows."

"Ok." She wasn't sure why he'd be upset by that. "I'll grab my shoes."

"She wants me to come alone."

Ah, there it was. Sy hadn't spent more than 20 minutes without Debbie where she could get to him quickly since he landed in Germany.  She was his anchor. According to the army shrink, just the same way that sounds, smells and other things could trigger PTSD her voice, her scent and her touch helped ground him and pull him back. "I can go and wait in the truck," She offered.

He pressed his forehead against hers. "No. It's just Ma's place right? What could possibly happen to trigger me there? Besides, I've not had a flashback in months. I'll be fine."

He tried to sound convincing but she could tell he felt anything but. Protectiveness told her to demand to go with him but she knew she couldn't. Sy was a grown man making astounding strides in recovery and she had to show him her faith in him. She smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "I'm a text or call away if you need anything." 

He gave her a kiss and a hug before calling for Aika and heading to his moms.

@shellyshellshell

@enchantedbytomandhenry

[nicoseyeliner]

nico + percy brotherly headcanons :)

- [ ] Percy takes Nico out to get Mc Donalds + take him to see a Disney Movie

- [ ] Percy let’s Nico doodle all over him

- [ ] Percy listens to Melanie Martinez continuously + got Nico into it

- [ ] Nico takes Percy to the underworld to visit the horses + pegasi that dies in the war

- [ ] Ever since Percy found out about Nicos sexuality he has fully supported him

- [ ] Percy took Nico to a Pride Fair/ Show one year and Percy saw how much Nico enjoyed it, now they go every year

- [ ] Nico + Percy do drag together

- [ ] Nico cooks Italian for Percabeth on their anniversary(blue themed obvs)

- [ ] Nico speaks like an old man a lot

- [ ] Percy was one of the first people Nico told about his crush on Will

- [ ] Nico helped Percy discover he is bisexual (my headcanon)

- [ ] Percy LOVES marvel

- [ ] Percy + Nico both hyperfixilate on deep sea animals

- [ ] Percy takes Nico to see said deep sea animals

- [ ] Percy takes Nico scuba diving

+

Song quotes that define Percy + Nico :))

- Nico

”Maybe if I knew all of them well,

I wouldn’t have been trapped inside this hell that holds me”

- Pity Party : Melanie Martinez

- Percy

”I’ve never fit into any category, always deemed an outcast”

- Fire Drill : Melanie Martinez

- Nico + Percy

“It’s past point of no return, when will we learn?

Alert me when this shit is over”

- Powder : Melanie Martinez

- Nico + Percy

”I’m not a little kid now (Kid Now)

Watch me get big now (Big Now)

- Alphabet Boy : Melanie Martinez

(I have more but I’ll do a separate post about it)

[sanctus-ingenium]

answering asks and stuff vol 5

i think he'd just sort of hang there limply like a sack of potatoes. no verve in that man

(more asks under the cut because u know these things get long)

-

Yes! There are actually soooo many different horses around the place, it's the reason the ranger organisations in Inver have a section entirely dedicated to horsemanship. Your whole job can just be the guy they call whenever there's a horse (this is what Pascal's human sweetheart does btw)

The Unicorn is a creature who starts to make trouble in the year 2017 and is a nemesis of Pascal who, again, is a modern Inver character. I do portray Unicorn with water motifs on purpose, but that's because his territory or the area in which he operates is the great inland sea of Inver, Lough Cánamac.

(@sleepvines)

The water horse in that picture referred in the ask & those tags lived until the year 1864 in the victorian Inver period and died pretty dramatically after tangling with the Púca servants and a completely normal human man called Jean-Baptiste (Félix's twin brother). Jean-Baptiste was researching the application of bombarding enchanted objects with electrons in a vacuum tube to see what the hell it would do. He was sort of a scientist, if you consider making jerry-rigged electromagnets with no safety features in his bedroom 'science'. He discovered that the electrical current in a vacuum tube interacted with a magic object by piercing the barrier between the Overworld and the Otherworld, and this would often have flashy and explosive consequences. To date, he is the only human character of Inver who has invented his own form of magic without the aid of any faery patron or familiar.

The water horse, after its scuffle with Félix as depicted in the painting, withdrew and then came back for vengeance. And one CRITICAL feature of faeries in Inver is that they physically can not tell identical twins apart - no matter how different they look, those two people are one person in the mind of someone from the Otherworld. So it attacked Jean-Baptiste instead and died super hard because he doesn't fuck around.

-

So his head isn't fake fake like Nosewyse's is, there are actual skull fragments in there.

I can't comment on what causes the growth of flesh within holy beasts but I can say that this would not be a factor for either Pantera or Krokodilos. We'll just call it an imbalance of his humours ;)

-

Guinefort is suuuuper archaic, one of the very earliest Holy Beasts still kicking. And back then, they built small on purpose. They didn't have the technical knowhow or the foundation of knowledge to make anything much bigger or more complex. When he was built, he was the pinnacle of enginesmithing and he did hunt dragons, though back then he would have been accompanied not by companion beasts in a crusade, but by ground troops only. He was (and is) very quick on his feet thanks to his super light build and works well as a lure or decoy (his actual animal type is a greyhound).

He also used to have a series of regular black powder cannons mounted on his back, which was fun and dangerous and used to be absolute hell to maintain & reload because he couldn't carry much ammunition.

[weishenmewwx]

Stars of Chaos 杀破狼

Vol 2, Notes 1. Pages 21 - 46.

A very kind tumblr user had to educate me that, yes, Priest edited her work after it was published (stolen on to?) on pirate websites, and so, yes, the translators were working off of a different version than I read.

But I LOVE the version I read, so I'm sharing it with you. You get BOTH.

Please excuse my angry "MISSING PARAGRAPH!" hand-written notes, as I did not realize that official edits were made post-pirate-publication.

Below are many possibly-unnecessary cultural notes that I think are just really neat, plus differences between versions. (I love the old one!)

Here we go:

Very cool word, 帅。

Usually, I read or hear it in reference to some guy being very cool. Devilishly handsome. Dashing.

Here, 大帅 is used as "Commander-in-Chief," which is the same thing as "Marshal," which can mean (dictionary.com) "a military officer of the highest rank" as well as the one I'm more familiar with, "chief of a police or fire department in some cities."

I just like how, in Chinese, I can also-interpret that everyone is calling him "Big Handsome."

Yah, Chen QingXu is a Boss. Who introduces herself as, like, a snake-oil peddler.

讷于言 The young soldier was bad at words. Not sparing, not careful; just bad.

悬壶济世 hang pot save world, because so much of Chinese medicine is boiling herbs for patients to drink.

No one is putting powder in leather sachets. It's dried herbs.

I usually agree with the Seven Seas' formatting, but I think it would be more clear if those sentences were broken into the original two separate paragraphs.

Top: Gold Tank = container for violet gold. It took me a second to figure that out.

Bottom: 小兄弟. I love how you can combine the "older brother" 兄 with the "younger brother" 弟, add a "little" 小 in the front, and it becomes, effectively, "Bro," but respectful.

In case you can't read my tiny bad handwriting: there used to be another paragraph here about how Gu Yun wants to see Chen QingXu because his meds are losing effect. The effects of drinking the meds used to last for months, then weeks, and now they only last two days.

And on the facing page, in the illustration, Chang Geng should be ON his horse.

It hits a little different, I think, to say You have to bathe and change your clothes just to walk your horse? And it has to be this exact time and place?

锋芒毕露 "sharp point must expose"

After years spent guarding the Silk Road, Gu Yun's propensity to show off had gradually faded...

OK. I think ten is enough for this post. More to come...

My DanMei Literary Adventure Masterpost

Stars of Chaos - All Notes Links

[stromuprisahat]

The Little Palace and Grishas’ lives in Second Army, pt. 9

Siege and Storm- Chapter 15

war room's many maps

The cartographer in me couldn’t resist the old maps wrought in animal hide and embellished in whimsical detail: the gilded lighthouse at Os Kervo, the mountain temples of the Shu, the mermaids that swam at the edges of the seas.

Materialki kaftas

... the red embroidery at the cuffs of her purple kefta indicated that she was one of the Alkemi, Fabrikators who specialized in chemicals like blasting powders and poisons. David sat further down the table, his cuffs emblazoned in gray. He worked in glass, steel, wood, stone—anything solid. David was a Durast ...

Siege and Storm- Chapter 16

library

At night, the glass-domed room was lit by oil lamps, and the hush was so deep that I could hear myself breathe. Alone in the gloom, surrounded by books, it was hard not to feel overwhelmed.

summer heat relief

Summer deepened, bringing waves of balmy heat to Os Alta. The only relief to be found was in the lake, or in the cold pools of the banya that lay in the dark shade of a birchwood grove beside the Little Palace.

Siege and Storm- Chapter 19

Alina's large-scale gardening attempts

It was as if someone had taken a razor and lopped off the top of the woods in a clean diagonal cut from the tip of the tree line to the shore. Where the beam had touched down, the ground was marked by a glowing trench that ran all the way to the waterline.

?official? name of the main hall

We charged through the Hall of the Golden Dome and flung open the doors ...

Siege and Storm- Chapter 20

Little Palace's surrounding buildings

We made our way down the gentle slope that led past the banya. Horses whinnied in the paddocks. The stables were dark, but the training rooms were ablaze with light. I heard shouting. The largest training room was little more than a barn with a dirt floor, its walls covered in every weapon imaginable.

one of the maps again

I set the atlas on the long table and crossed to the ancient map of Ravka that ran the length of the far wall. Of all the maps in the war room, this one was by far the oldest and most beautiful. I trailed my fingers over the raised ridges of the Sikurzoi, the mountains that marked Ravka’s southernmost border with the Shu, then followed them down into the western foothills. The valley of Dva Stolba was too small to be marked on this map.

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

[johaerys-writes]

As Fate Would Have It

Patrochilles | Omegaverse | E | Ch. 7

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

The journey to Pelion lasts for the better part of the day. They make their way through narrow, serpentine paths winding through dense forested land, twittering birds and bubbling streams accompanying them as they ride higher and higher up the mountain. Chiron leads them at a gentle, even pace that’s easy on the horses, and talks to them about the trees, herbs, animals and mountains they pass by. 

This is sage, the first shrub to bloom this season. The leaves are used to manage pain and inflammation in the body; the flowers make a lovely tea. 

Great horned owls live in dense populations here, and they often lay their eggs in the fall; you must be careful not to hunt them when they’re rearing their young. 

Do you see this wide rock, up there on the hillside? Pan is known to come and rest there from time to time. I would avoid it, if I were you. 

“I’ll be sure to,” Patroclus mutters under his breath. His brush with the divine has been nothing short of testing so far; he doesn’t exactly want to push his luck further. 

The clean, fresh scent of the mountain greets them as they approach the glade where Chiron’s cave lies, late in the evening. Its mouth is covered by thick leather panels, no doubt meant to keep the cold at bay. Even though in Phthia it is still very much summer, Patroclus can feel the change of the temperature that comes with the altitude. His skin prickles at a chill, sharp breeze, and he wishes he had taken a cloak with him before he dashed out of the palace like a man possessed. 

“Leave the horses there,” Chiron tells them, gesturing at a covered alcove in the stone that has been turned into a pen of sorts. “There is grass for them to graze on, and plenty of shade for when day breaks again.”

Patroclus guides the horses there, his and Achilles’ both, as Achilles stretches his legs and his arms after the long ride. It is a beautiful place, quiet and serene, and so very green. Pine needles and acorns crunch under his feet as he walks. After so many years in the lowlands, it is strange not to hear the murmur of the waves or smell the sharp scent of the sea with every gust of wind. 

Achilles is waiting for him by the entrance of the cave; they make their way inside together, their heads turning this way and that to take everything in. There is a big fire already burning in the middle of the large, circular room, bathing the space in vibrant warmth. There are tools of all kinds covering the entirety of one wall of the cave, while the other is lined with amphorae, crates, boxes, vials and clay bowls filled with strange powders and dried herbs of  all kinds. Achilles’ nostrils flare as he inhales, eyes wide with curiosity, and Patroclus can’t say that he can’t relate; his own keen nose has been practically assaulted by all the different kinds of smells that can be found in this room, from the sweet tang of stum to the musky odour of dried mushrooms, to the floral scent of fresh blooms, cut and left to dry on the wide worktable. It’s like a workshop or a laboratory of sorts, and Patroclus is more than a little curious about what the centaur busies himself with here. 

“Come,” he tells them, “sit by the fire. There is food and drink aplenty; I think you might need it.” 

They both sit down on the furs in front of the fire and accept the warm wine that Chiron offers them, as well as the strange porridge of coarse wheat and sour milk, sprinkled with goat’s cheese as soon as he takes it off the fire and serves it into bowls. Patroclus has never had anything like this before, but it’s quite delicious and very warming. He hungrily wolfs down his share, and gladly accepts the second helping Chiron generously ladles into his bowl. Achilles is reluctant to try it; he sniffs at it cautiously, brows drawn in a curious frown. 

“Is there any fish in it?” he asks. 

“Not a trace,” Chiron answers, amused. “Being this far up, fish aren't as easy to come by here. Unless you’re prepared to go fishing at the river everyday, I’d suggest you get used to different kinds of food.” 

Achilles’ frown deepens. He brings a small spoonful to his mouth, chewing very slowly. Then, his features twist in an expression of faint disgust. 

“How far away is the river?” he asks, a little choked, before he downs his wine. 

The centaur smiles widely; his teeth are perfect rows of white teeth, stark against his dark skin and darker beard. “I’ll take you both there first thing in the morning,” he says, then offers Achilles a few strips of what looks like smoked brown trout. 

They talk while they eat, Patroclus and Achilles giving the centaur a detailed rundown of all events in Phthia and beyond. Though he lives in such a quiet and secluded place, he seems to have a fairly good grasp of everything that’s happening in Greece and beyond, of the doings of both men and of gods, yet he still listens with avid interest as they both relay to him the news, important and mundane. 

After dinner, Achilles asks to play one of the lyres that are hanging off of the cave wall; he plays for them, the crystal clear notes filling the space with sweetness. When the fire is reduced to embers, and Achilles’ fingers slow on the lyre strings, Chiron pushes himself up on his large hooves. 

“It is late, and you are both weary. There is much to do tomorrow; I suggest you take some rest.”

He leads them to another room, adjacent to the larger one, connected to it by a brief passage in the stone. There is a table in one corner, and a small basin filled with clear water in the other, a bundle of furs next to it. It is small and quite bare but Patroclus couldn't be asking more from a room he is, presumably, only going to use to sleep in.

There is just one small problem: there is only one pallet in the room.

Read on AO3!

[ehlnofay]

19! :)

19: sea change

In the last few days of the year 200, Torr kills the Emperor. In early 201, a war breaks out.

It’s not wholly unexpected, at least not by those who know where to look. The Emperor’s death is no small blow to Solitude, the city that sent him off on a voyage he would only exit under a pall; especially considering that the guard had patted itself on the back for successfully foiling an assassination attempt right before his ship left, only for his throat to be slit under their noses, anyway. The head of Skyrim’s Penitus Oculatus appears to have vanished. No-one reports seeing anyone out of place on the boat until they started stumbling over the bodies. The Empire mourns through all the official avenues as the heir prepares for succession; Solitude’s government is busy trying desperately to smooth it over, putting out excessive bounties on the assassin that failed and scraping up intel on the one who succeeded. Not that there’s anything much to find – it’s a locked-room murder, and every logical suspect has an alibi that holds up to interrogation. There are no leads to follow.

And Windhelm is a powder keg.

It always has been, ever since the Great War, as long as Torr or any of his kids have been alive. Short-fused and disillusioned, crowds moving hot as blood through its winding stone streets, it’s always been something tough, hard-throated, splintered into careful lined sections. Torr walks whatever lines he wants, but not everyone has the energy to straddle them; not everyone can.  The upper city is all harsh-cut stone and ice, the bricks ancient, the crowds in a hurry, even though none of them seem to know where they’re going; the Grey Quarter is where the snow runs when it turns to slush and the walls are stuffed with rags. The planks keep snapping with dry rot, sharp and gaping as broken teeth. They need to be filled to keep the cold out. The Cornerclub keeps the fire roaring. Talres goes there to work most days and doesn’t come back up to the house until the streets are empty. No-one knows it’s going to happen, not exactly, but there's no way anyone couldn't know. There are a lot of people who have been waiting on an opening, and all eyes are pointed elsewhere.

With little fanfare, the Jarl and his entourage leave Windhelm.

The city stops being a fuse and starts being the wreckage after it’s blown. Torr is told that there’s a span of a few weeks where Talres stops leaving the house completely. Katla gets arrested again and weasels out of it on her own. The ill-drawn posters of something approaching Torr’s face stuck up over the walls of Solitude are covered up with announcements and calls to join the Legion. Windhelm floods with bodies ready for the rebellion. Aventus’ house is already crowded; in a few months, Torr hears, it’s nigh impossible to walk in for the bedrolls and blankets spread over the floor. The city has never been a warm place in any sense of the word; Torr’s siblings are inundated with more kids and more kids with nowhere else to go. They don’t know if Solitude is much better; they look different now than they did on the night of the assassination that wasn’t and then was, hair cropped shorter and uneven, face gaunter, the weight they’d managed to gain over their comfortable months in Falkreath sloughing off them like a spider’s old skin, but even so it’s a bit much to step foot in there so soon, some of the bounty posters still mouldering on their posts. One of the kids says something about needing a whole other house. They’ve only got the one. Still, it makes Torr think.

(Skyrim has one orphanage, a little wooden hall down on the banks of Riften’s canals. And now there is a cursed house in Windhelm.)

Torr doesn’t go to Solitude. They only occasionally go to Windhelm. When they’re not on business, they stay on the outskirts of Danstrar; the Pale, all frozen winds and snow high enough to ice a horse’s knees, is an unappetising enough target that aside from an announcement of alliance with Windhelm’s Stormcloaks the war has not truly reached them yet. Which is ironic, considering.

(If prompted, Torr probably could have seen this coming – Torr, who spent years with his finger on Windhelm’s pulse, moving through the people and hearing endless talk about the government. It was going to happen sooner or later. And of course the Empire reeling from the assassination of its Emperor – the first since around the time of the Oblivion Crisis, which no-one is anxious to repeat, and the reminder of which put plenty of important people quite on edge – is enough of an opportunity to weigh heavily in sooner’s favour. If he’d thought about it with his blade set beneath the hairs of the old man’s beard, he would have known he was setting a war in motion. What Torr doesn’t know is if he would have cared.)

(Probably not. He still doesn’t, after all. Not enough to regret anything.)

Dead winter bleeds into spring; a little ice melts, and the sea begins to change. Torr’s shoulder aches when the weather is bad. There are clashes on the roads, outside cities, described in newspapers and word of mouth. Cyrodiil ships off heaps of soldiers to spill into Solitude’s ports. The house in Windhelm is overrun. But the nightshade kept in the temperate corner that Babette has transformed into a garden begins to bloom months early. The tides still come in and out.

The old Emperor is dead. Skyrim is tearing itself apart. Torr cleans his knife after use with a soap that smells like lavender and tries very hard to dredge up any guilt.

[the-chronicle-of-holy-days]

Day 4

Liber Liberi vel Lapidis Lazuli

Adumbratio Kabbalae Aegyptiorum sub figurâ VII

VI

1. Thou wast a priestess, O my God, among the Druids; and we knew the powers of the oak.

2. We made us a temple of stones in the shape of the Universe, even as thou didst wear openly and I concealed.

3. There we performed many wonderful things by midnight.

4. By the waning moon did we work.

5. Over the plain came the atrocious cry of wolves.

6. We answered; we hunted with the pack.

7. We came even unto the new Chapel and Thou didst bear away the Holy Graal beneath Thy Druid vestments.

8. Secretly and by stealth did we drink of the informing sacrament.

9. Then a terrible disease seized upon the folk of the grey land; and we rejoiced.

10. O my God, disguise Thy glory!

11. Come as a thief, and let us steal away the Sacraments!

12. In our groves, in our cloistral cells, in our honeycomb of happiness, let us drink, let us drink!

13. It is the wine that tinges everything with the true tincture of infallible gold.

14. There are deep secrets in these songs. It is not enough to hear the bird; to enjoy song he must be the bird.

15. I am the bird, and Thou art my song, O my glorious galloping God!

16. Thou reinest in the stars; thou drivest the constellations seven abreast through the circus of Nothingness.

17. Thou Gladiator God!

18. I play upon mine harp; Thou fightest the beasts and the flames.

19. Thou takest Thy joy in the music, and I in the fighting.

20. Thou and I are beloved of the Emperor.

21. See! he has summoned us to the Imperial dais.

The night falls; it is a great orgy of worship and bliss.

22. The night falls like a spangled cloak from the shoulders of a prince upon a slave.

23. He rises a free man!

24. Cast thou, O prophet, the cloak upon these slaves!

25. A great night, and scarce fires therein; but freedom for the slave that its glory shall encompass.

26. So also I went down into the great sad city.

27. There dead Messalina bartered her crown for poison from the dead Locusta; there stood Caligula, and smote the seas of forgetfulness.

28. Who wast Thou, O Caesar, that Thou knewest God in an horse?

29. For lo! we beheld the White Horse of the Saxon engraven upon the earth; and we beheld the Horses of the Sea that flame about the old grey land, and the foam from their nostrils enlightens us!

30. Ah! but I love thee, God!

31. Thou art like a moon upon the ice-world.

32. Thou art like the dawn of the utmost snows upon the burnt-up flats of the tiger’s land.

33. By silence and by speech do I worship Thee.

34. But all is in vain.

35. Only Thy silence and Thy speech that worship me avail.

36. Wail, O ye folk of the grey land, for we have drunk your wine, and left ye but the bitter dregs.

37. Yet from these we will distil ye a liquor beyond the nectar of the Gods.

38. There is value in our tincture for a world of Spice and gold.

39. For our red powder of projection is beyond all possibilities.

40. There are few men; there are enough.

41. We shall be full of cup-bearers, and the wine is not stinted.

42. O dear my God! what a feast Thou hast provided.

43. Behold the lights and the flowers and the maidens!

44. Taste of the wines and the cates and the splendid meats!

45. Breathe in the perfumes and the clouds of little gods like wood-nymphs that inhabit the nostrils!

46. Feel with your whole body the glorious smoothness of the marble coolth and the generous warmth of the sun and the slaves!

47. Let the Invisible inform all the devouring Light of its disruptive vigour!

48. Yea! all the world is split apart, as an old grey tree by the lightning!

49. Come, O ye gods, and let us feast.

50. Thou, O my darling, O my ceaseless Sparrow-God, my delight, my desire, my deceiver, come Thou and chirp at my right hand!

51. This was the tale of the memory of Al A’in the priest; yea, of Al A’in the priest

(Years favorite is with bold as always) and I can’t even explain this days choice haha

[eating-the-inedible]

Here is a list of the inedibles that will be in this bracket

Lava

Orbeez

Orange Joe (fictional "beverage" that's a combination of orange juice and coffee)

Doll shoes

Dirt

Pen caps

Mercury

Watermelon tourmaline

Comet/scouring powder

Moss

Paper towels

Play-Doh

Drywall

Marbles

CD

DVD

Dice

Kinetic Sand

Coins 

Fiberglass insulation

3DS Stylus

Plastic Bottle Cap

Chapstick

Babybell Cheese Wax

Paper

Bouncy ball

Human meat

Venus (planet)

Cascade dishwasher pods

Acrylic Paint

Magnets

Molten glass

Pens

Sea glass

Silica gel packet

Leaves

Cocoa butter lotion

Antifreeze

Pencil Toppers, the lil eraser things

Sand

Tumbled amethyst

Rubber Ducks

The rubber balls from the game Cranium Cariboo

Polly pocket clothes

Poison Dart Frog

Snow

0.1 uF Film Capacitor

The sun

Metal

Eraser

Tide pods

Phone charger wire

Those free wooden pencils you get at ikea (just the wood shell not the lead)

Liquid nitrogen

Aquarium gravel

the weird science juice in the beakers in those stock images

Origami star

Styrofoam cup

Sticky note

Collar of shirt

This submission form

Plastic straws

Glow sticks

Oil paintings

Candle wax

Glass

Nickel sulfate solution/Nickel plating solution

Silicone wristbands

Seatbelt

The wax paper under your Poutine

Forearm (doesn't have to be one's own)

Asbestos

Candy wrapper

“Okay so technically this is edible but I’ve had urges to just take a huge bite out of certain sea creatures before. Like just a chunk from an orca or dolphin or great white or seal, etc.”

“Those stupid wooden spoons”

Furbies

Scotch tape

Artificial grapes (the wax/plastic ones for display)

phone

THE FLESH OF MY ENEMIES

Crystals

Fire

The goo inside  Stretch Armstrong

Headphone wire

Raw steak

Art

Small colorful rubber bands 

Tinfoil

Pencil lead

Cattails (the plant)

Foamy soap

Liquid soap

Bar soap

Flourite

Shiny rocks

Grass

A hunk of random fish swimming by

A live goldfish

Toothpaste

Styrofoam

Price Tag Fasteners

The moon

Pool noodles

Smol frog

Destroying angel mushroom

the smoke coming out of the grain refineries two Mike's out of Gary, Indiana, Usa

Popsicle sticks

Cardboard

My hat

The tiny rocks in school playgrounds

Gasoline

Blue laundry detergent

Spray foam insulation

Battery corrosion

Fiber optic cables

Packing peanuts

Your mother

Pond water

Dry ice

Alkali metals

Chocolate shampoo

Ping pong ball

Bricks, like the stuff you'd build with. Minecraft bricks even, if you want

Hoodie drawstrings

Horse treats

Chalk

Copper (II) Sulphate Water / Blue Science Rock + Blue Science Juice

Ink

Floam

Fabric Paint

Oil paint

that one art piece of the banana taped to the wall

the hotdog somebody encased in resin

“the thin lego plates not the base plates but like the lego piece thats like 2x8 and they kinda look like hershey chocolate bar pieces”

One of those little hamsters

Model magic

Battery Acid (the drink)

manchineel apple

Rubber band ball

The lava lamp liquid

Blood

Rosin

Wax apples

That cake decoration that came with your slice and you're like 90% sure it's not edible... but what if ?

Soap bubble

Lush cosmetics' products

Plushies

Strawberry Shortcake's dolls with scented hair

Wood

Glue

Salt lamp

People who think children are not worth their consideration

Tarmac

Shampoo

Pennies

Poisonous berries

Chunky soft yarn

Crayons 

Rock

“whatever the Chuck E Cheese Ticket Muncher Machine is eating (it's not the tickets) (or the sound itself but that's neither a solid nor a liquid so this is just kind of holding hands with the hypothetical ticket muncher food)”

Snow globe liquid

Chisel tip whiteboard marker

Raw dough

Raw fuckin cactus. alive

Grape agate

Car seat

Succulents

Keys

Lock pick

Scrub daddy

Molten sugar 

Allergens

Lightning bolts

“Bark dust. Like the dirt/bark dust that's under the bark chips on a playground. Not the chips themselves. The dust.”

Clear deodorant

Apple earbud wires

Eggshells

Squinkies

Hello kitty sweatshirt zipper

Preshredded mozzarella cheese

Scrap metal

Rose

All of the rocks at a crystal shop

Origami polyhedron model

Bubbles mixture

Cupcake liners

Hair gel

Curtain rods

Incense sticks

Incense cones

Metal thing that attaches eraser to pencil

Windshield wiper fluid

Plastic pencil grips

Wooden ice cream spoon

Book

Tree

The liquid in levels

Vanilla extract

Aroace flag

Coil incense

California state testing “next question” button

Spackle

Forbidden coal iron french fries

Garage doors that look like chocolate bars

Plastic takeout box

Velvet

Weird anime girl hair

Freezable gel ice pack

Clouds

Necklace chains

Nail polish

Pencil Shavings

Pool floats

Bao Dumpling

Spray deodorant

0.1 uF Ceramic Capacitor

Vanillish (Pokémon)

Fondant

Really fancy pillars

Computers

Favorite song

Tumblr

“THE LITTLE ORBS IN THE MOUSE (aka trackballs)”

“Any cutesy anime character like Chopper or Pikachu”

Wooden fan blades

Balsa wood sticks

Those blankets that look like tortillas

Microwave

Milk and golden honey softsoap

Batteries

1x2 lego pieces

Light bulbs

Slightly melted lounge chair

Cork (the material)

Pineapple coke

Fingernails 

Sparkly lipgloss

Race Car Tire Marble

Gold trophies

Konjac sponge

Shirt

Mandy the Slayer / Orange Spyderco Dragonfly Knife

Malachite

Heater

Glasses Temples

Typewriter keys

EVA foam

Airplane

Sword

Crumbs in the couch

Children

My wife's arm/shoulder

Records

Yellow ACE bandages

Neon Signs

Scented candles

[arturouriza]

Mis discos favoritos del 2023

He aquí la tradicional lista del año. A excepción de los primeros 10, el resto de los álbumes contenidos en esta lista no tienen una jerarquía real, todos fueron materiales que disfruté y que considero vale la pena escuchar completos. En el caso de los 10 primeros, la única diferencia significativa es que me hicieron querer hablar un poco más de ellos y estuvieron constantemente en repetición.

60 - Velvet Negroni - Bulli

59 - Helvetia - You Shot Past the Moon Scapegoat

58 - Strategy - Graffiti in Space

57 - Gunslingers - Supreme Asphalt Doser

56 - Mivos Quartet - Steve Reich: The String Quartets

55 - Orbital - Optical Delusion

54 - U.S. Girls - Bless This Mess

53 - Algiers - Shook

52 - mui zyu - Rotten Bun for an Eggless Century

51 - Unloved - Polychrome

50 - Model/Actriz - Dogsbody

49 - Kate NV - WOW

48 - Contemporary Noise Ensemble - An Excellent Spiritual Serviceman

47 - Tanukichan - Gizmo

46 - Luke Vibert - Machine Funk

45 - Trees Speak - Mind Maze

44 - M83 - Fantasy

43 - DEBBY FRIDAY - GOOD LUCK

42 - Masahiro Takahashi - Humid Sun

41 - Marta and Tricky - When It's Going Wrong

40 - A Certain Ratio - 1982

39 - Deerhoof - Miracle-Level

38 - Tim Hecker - No Highs

37 - Shit and Shine - 2222 and AIRPORT

36 - uh - humanus

35 - Melati ESP - hipernatural

34 - Brown Spirits - Solitary Transmissions

33 - bar italia - Tracey Denim

32 - Mandy, Indiana - i've seen a way

31 - feeble little horse - Girl with Fish

30 - Decisive Pink - Ticket to Fame

29 - Laurent Garnier - 33 Tours Et Puis S’en Vont

28 - K-Lone - Swells

27 - Jah Wobble - A Brief History of Now 

26 - Italia 90 - Living Human Treasure

25 - Unperroandaluz - Peek!

24 - M(h)aol - Attachment Styles

23 - Acid Arab -  (Trois)

22 - Jad Fair and Samuel Locke Ward - Happy Hearts

21 - Avey Tare - 7s

20 - Alabaster DePlume - Come with Fierce Grace

19 - Eartheater - Powders

18 - Teeth of the Sea - Hive

17 - Barry Can't Swim - When Will We Land?

16 - Hyperdawn - Steady

15 - Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter - SAVED!

14 - Aesop Rock - Integrated Tech Solutions

13 - Art Feynman - Be Good the Crazy Boys

12 - a.s.o. - a.s.o.

11 - Lost Girls - Selvutsletter

10 - Oneohtrix Point Never - Again

el territorio de un tiempo sin medidas donde el pasado que no sucedió se encuentra con un futuro que nunca llega y que da como resultado la linea temporal en la que habitamos, llena de errores que se convierten en esquemas, en ejemplos y posteriormente en emblemas de un momento. Lopatin lo ha hecho desde sus días en Games, y lo ha continuado explorando y explotando para llegar a un décimo material que se siente igualmente abstracto y surrealista que aterrizado y molecular, una amalgama mutante punzocortante con icebergs que aterrizan en tierras calientes, momentáneamente creando océanos de nubes que se evaporan entre arena, melodías que llenan de belleza pequeños bunkers grisáceos de la posguerra, destruídos y oxidados por el tiempo, pero que ven nacer nuevos brotes de vegetación, la única perseverancia existe en el abandono y en la soledad absoluta.

“Again” encuentra así múltiples personalidades de su creador, como un dios benevolente que decide juntar a sus vástagos para narrar de una manera superior y múltiple las escenografías más angulares de la música electrónica que deconstruye el pop pulsante, pero que igual deja que surjan entre las grietas las influencias de la música experimental batallando contra lo que significa la aceptación. Es de alguna forma el plano para mucha música del futuro, que al ser redescubierto brindará toda una generación de creadores, -o tal vez no-, y que de manera circular también ofrece una narrativa biográfica al trabajo de alguien que navega entre la producción de las altas esferas y su apasionante acercamiento a lo disímil, un pequeño universo donde colapsan soles y absorben planetas que contienen enormes pensamientos, habitantes, sonidos eternos que permanecen como un eco en el vacío. 

9 - Baxter Dury - I Thought I Was Better Than You

Baxter posee la elegancia de una navaja automática heredada por su padre pero perfeccionada por una generación maldita de crooners. Él mismo lo deja claro haciendo una fina analogía en el primer track de este material, hilando Citizen Kane y la genealogía de Kubla Khan, -que se menciona en la película-, como si fueran una maldición, y posteriormente aclarando que por más que digan que es una versión absurda y fuera de tono de Serge Gainsbourg, él quisiera ser Frank Ocean.

La lírica de los Dury sin embargo, persiste gracias a una inteligencia casi molesta que demuestra que pudieron ser poetas, pero son demasiado elegantes para eso (y al mismo tiempo callejeros como las ratas) y si no fuera porque Baxter es profundamente melancólico, no tendría el encanto natural que se refleja en sus emocionales baladas de post funk spoken word. Cosa que lo aparta de su padre.

La cualidad, probablemente más fuerte sin embargo, es el sentido del humor que nuestro protagonista ha perfeccionado con el tiempo, desde aquellos años en los que parecía ir en contra de todo lo que significaba ser hijo de Ian Dury y evocaba, -o trataba más bien de-, ser una estrella del indie de principios del nuevo milenio. Ahora, es más bien una especie de viejo apostador, que se mantiene de anfetaminas y martinis, y así se siente correcto.

“Pensé que era mejor que tú” en la superficie parece un reclamo hacia el padre, una reflexión del pasado, pero también un intento escapista de la carga autoimpuesta de los errores que cada uno se ha ganado a pulso. Eso sí, con un ritmo exquisito y lineas de bajo que Rick James en opiáceos habría soñado.

8 - Squid - O Monolith

A pesar de las probables ridículas implicaciones de una etiqueta como post Brexit, algo de verdad radica en las posiciones temporales específicas y geográficas de un movimiento artístico en particular. El tiempo como máximo ecualizador de las siempre mal llamadas escenas, -quiero decir más bien movidas-, se encarga de aclarar por qué algo tan absurdo como llamarle punk a un estilo de rock mas bien tradicional en la estructura, pero cambiante en la ejecución, tendría relevancia e importancia.

Entonces, en el mundo del post, donde todo es y está después de algo, y nada es puramente nuevo, lo más referencial en cantidad puede sentirse de alguna forma fresco ¿es acaso la homogeneidad el enemigo natural de la música de guitarras en los tiempos de los sobados y sobrevalorados Arctic Monkeys? Yo diría que sí.

Squid, de todos los proyectos que entran en esa misma bolsa revoloteada del llamado post Brexit, es la banda más auténtica y menos complaciente. Son hijos espirituales sí, de un Robert Wyatt, pero también conocen las ventajas de la síntesis electrónica vía Edgar Froese, y cuando quieren pueden robar de los Talking Heads más frenéticos, esos a los que Eno dio forma en Remain In Light. También saben usurpar los colores de un Oingo Boingo cuando se lo proponen, pero cuando no, pueden desechar absolutamente todas esas referencias y crear agujeros temporales que coquetean con el progresivo (menos las partes aburridas), o evocar la psicodelia de los krautrockers más de avanzada, y tal vez sean de hecho los únicos en el mundo que lo logran de manera natural.

7 - James Holden - Imagine This Is a High Dimensional Space of All Possibilities

A veces cierro los ojos y pienso en cielos que he visto, y a esos cielos le agrego colores, formas y posteriormente sonidos. A esos sonidos les agrego palabras o emociones que no necesariamente son reales, son abstractas y muchas veces llenas de más emociones que se mezclan como el aceite en un charco después de la lluvia, hermosas y contaminadas, brillantes y metálicas en un pavimento sucio y negro que parece casi juguetón, como un arcoíris venido a menos y que sueña con volver a cruzar el cielo en un día de verano. También a veces todo eso se convierte en un recuerdo de la infancia, que después de repetirlo por unos cuantos años, se confunde con lo que viví y lo que imaginé y me da una especie de tranquilidad equiparable al olor inidentificable de una presencia del pasado, como de un amor efímero o una mirada traslúcida. 

Hace algunos años conocí a James Holden, platicamos durante unos minutos. No recuerdo las cosas que me dijo. 

6 - Water from Your Eyes - Everyone's Crushed

Las particularidades de lo disímil, atonal y en pocas palabras raro, siempre han funcionado como un impulso para la evolución. Hoy en día sin embargo, es raro encontrar algo que entre en el reino de lo raro de forma natural o de manera auténtica, sin trata de impresionar, sino simplemente como una muestra real de liberación, como esa necesidad de querer decir algo, no de echarlo al ruedo esperando que gane un premio, sino como un espíritu que puede merodear diferentes locaciones y traspasar las paredes sin querer ser notado, pero que no puede pasar desapercibido.

WFYE ha sido ese espíritu en un mundo de muestreo, pose, pre-saves y demás prácticas que odio con toda mi alma en el mercadeo musical de estos días, que trata de hacer de las cosas algo tendencioso y que busca validación a través de las maquinarias y bla bla bla… esa historia también ya nos la sabemos. Esta es música que va contra las probabilidades, contra las fórmulas, y que poco le importa ser consumida. Resume una historia donde caben bandas de electrónica experimental, y también Deerhoof o Battles, y al mismo tiempo se ayuda de sampleos dignos de los primeros sintetizadores digitales de los noventa. El trabajo de guitarras es ejemplar, y puede recordar a los mejores momentos del más cuadriculado no wave, pero también hay momentos de extraña e inclasificable belleza, cosa que incluso la misma banda no puede describir o etiquetar, y eso siempre será una buena señal.

5 - Paris Texas - MID AIR

Pasé unos cuantos años alejado del rap por hastío. Vi un género que en un momento de hartazgo con la música de guitarras me pareció lo más fresco, convertirse en lo más genérico, en el tipo de música que escuchaba la gente que consideraba más común, todos aquellos que representaban lo que yo quería pelear. Vi a las peores mentes de mi generación cantar a Biggie y Tupac, hablar de Kanye y Kendrick, poner en sus fiestas a Big L, Outkast y NWA, vi asimilación, el enemigo se había apropiado de algo que en el pasado me había salvado, y no me gustó para nada. 

Luego el rap se empezó a ramificar una vez más y volvió esa parte dura, oscura, melancólica y un poco más compleja con la que sí conectaba, y de todos esos que no están en el lado ganador con los Tylers y los Drakes (dios nos libre) salieron Paris, Texas, que poco importa si son fans de Wim Wenders, pero que definitivamente se nota que sí y eso ya es un punto a su favor. La consecuencia por supuesto puede remitirse a algunos alt rappers de las ultimas dos décadas e incluso si nos apuramos, a colectivos más contemporáneos donde al igual que aquí, juegan muchos factores que nada tiene que ver musicalmente con el rap, como el rock, el pop (la rola que lleva por título “Lana Del Rey”) o la música electrónica e industrial (“BULLET MAN” que también se siente como un homenaje lateral a Shinya Tsukamoto), no voy a nombrar nombres eso sí. Este es uno de los álbumes de rap que más me emocionó en 2023 y me parece un excelente termómetro de lo que viene para el futuro, quiero creerlo, y si no, mientras tanto tenemos uno de los mejores trabajos en el hip hop de los nuevos años veinte. 

4 - Yo La Tengo - This Stupid World

Yo tuve un sueño, y en ese sueño Yo La Tengo eran más influyentes que Sonic Youth. Es un sueño sin sentido porque a quién le importa eso, no hay necesidad de comparar ambas (y grandiosas) bandas, pero como muchos sueños reside en un deseo primario que tiene que ver con la fantasía de ver a una de los proyectos más interesantes de la historia ser tratados con justicia. En mi mundo ideal Yo La está lidereando festivales alrededor del mundo y todas las bandas mediocres que no me gustan, se rinden ante su grandeza, aceptando por fin que un track hipnótico de doce minutos vale más que sus baladillas edulcoradas de rocksito desgastado. 

En dicha fantasía también, este disco, el número diecisiete en su discografía, es tan importante para el mundo como lo es para mí y aprecian con emoción la autenticidad de este trío y su inalcanzable energía. Viva Yo La Tengo, y muerte a todas las bandas que no me gustan.

3 - John Cale - MERCY

En el mundo no existe la justicia, porque si existiera todos estarían hablando de este disco. Valoraríamos como un fenómeno de la naturaleza que a su edad y después de tantas vicisitudes, John Cale haga un trabajo como este, un ejercicio de belleza absoluta que no pide prestado del pasado y que más bien pinta un panorama del presente como casi ningún artista o músico joven lo hace. Por supuesto que ocho décadas en este planeta le han enseñado varias cosas a uno de los originales, a una de las mentes más influyentes del rock y la música experimental, al responsable de enseñarle el ruido a Lou Reed y de traducir el minimalismo de La Monte Young y Riley a los rockers, pero como decía esto no se trata sobre el pasado.

Cale, juntó a la gente más importante de la música experimental de esta generación y lanzó uno de los discos más crípticos y hermosos del año, al cual el estatus de rock le queda más que corto, y que si bien también puede hacernos pensar en su trabajo con Eno y con Nico, se siente también como una pieza independiente, nueva y ciertamente fresca a pesar de toda la carga histórica que involucra a su autor. John Cale le sobrevivió prácticamente a toda la Velvet Underground, a varios de sus discípulos y a cientos de otros músicos de su generación y las que le han seguido, es uno de los maestros y de los inventores de la música de guitarras, es prácticamente un gurú del ruido y a la vez un artesano de la melodía, y este disco es una proeza, un logro y un regalo para la humanidad y todos aquellos que amamos la música.

2 - JPEGMAFIA & Danny Brown - SCARING THE HOES

¿has visto a alguien hacer algo que te parece fácil y luego intentarlo y darte cuenta que no sólo no es fácil sino que todo lo contrario es sumamente difícil y probablemente no lo puedas hacer nunca como ver a un atleta de alto rendimiento cruzar en segundos kilométricos pedazos de violencia con una mirada fría y una mente enfocadísima que sólo tiene como objetivo el romper los límites de la realidad como si se tratara de una telaraña que por un momento contuvo contra las leyes de la física objetos animales o conceptos metafísicos abstractos o simples y que más allá de ser o no tangibles reúnen de forma concreta una enorme cantidad de información que por separado es imposible descifrar y que en conjunto es casi igual de difícil de entender pero como está encimada de una manera ordenada pero caótica la entiendes como si se tratara de un cuadro de Jackson Pollock traducido no al jazz sino al lenguaje del internet con todo y memes y música de comerciales y hip hop de los dosmil y sampleos de boy bands y música extrañísima casi como si fuera un concurso de quién puede hacer más rara la vida y más rara la música y más rara la realidad aunque la realidad siempre será más rara que cualquier canción de JPEGMAFIA & Danny Brown?

1 - André 3000 - New Blue Sun

Aunque no catalogado como tal por André 3000, “New Blue Sun” es esencialmente un disco de ambient inherentemente ligado a la belleza de lo cotidiano y rastreando cierta energía que históricamente ha sido impulsada por la figura más grande del género: Brian Eno, nombre que no podemos olvidar ni obviar en este tipo de esfuerzos sonoros, musicales o exploratorios del universo del aire siendo movido por la fuerza de la acción.

Sin embargo, ya en lo práctico, la primera persona a la que se puede referir inmediatamente al escuchar este material no es per se Eno, sino uno de sus colaboradores y, por propio mérito, uno de los grandes emblemas de la música experimental, -si es que podemos hablar de emblemas en este circuito-, Jon Hassell. Y es justo en este punto en lo que hay que hacer hincapié. Como movida artística el ambient y sus variantes llevan más de cincuenta años siendo explorados de diferentes maneras y formas que nacen de una tradición que también por sus propios méritos han generado discusión y teorización durante mucho tiempo gracias a su discreta evolución desde la llamada ola de los minimalistas, término que cada uno de los involucrados desprecia y que debería se analizado por separado. 

Sin embargo en función del contexto, vale la pena hacer una linea temporal que tiene también que ver con la opinión pública y la figura del músico como un ente creador casi divino, mejor, especial y distinto al resto de los humanos. Esto por su puesto se ha de demostrado en numerosas ocasiones ser una falacia completa. Pero tal como sucede en un conjunto de sonidos que crean cierta armonía, no podemos separar algunos de los elementos que forma al artista y su contexto. No hace falta mencionar o ser específicos al hablar de André 3000 como uno de lo zeniths del rap y de la música afroamericana contemporánea, sin embargo, sí es necesario tener en cuenta la función de su papel como estrella de pop en la incursión que tienen para la música experimental y específicamente para los terrenos del ambient.

He aquí un dilema que en otra ocasiones ha derramado sangre dentro de los círculos musicales, la figura del otrora rockstar o emblema de la música pop que en el hartazgo de la agitada vida de los reflectores decide buscar paz en espacios que los extraños y olvidados han habitado por décadas, esos cómodos lugares de nicho semi desaparecidos que sólo aquellos obsesivos y meticulosos han querido habitar en relativa oscuridad, y que casi con una devoción religiosa han hecho crecer poco a poco, como si de una pequeña comunidad de monjes alejados del mundo metamoderno se tratara. Ahí los que incluso son famosos, no lo son, los Basinskis, los Tim Heckers, no son un tercio de lo significativos que una Taylor Swift o un Harry Styles son para la cultura popular, o en todo caso el tan cacheteado mainstream. Y ahí en medio de esos ganadores y perdedores de los números y el streaming reside justamente la calamidad por la que un personaje como André 3000 llama tanto la atención. 

Por una parte todos aquellos que deseaban verle regresar como un olvidado campeón que desde el Olimpo vuelve para darle vida a un género que se siente por momentos cansado después de la absorción a la normalidad, y por otro lado todos los que optimistamente abrazan lo que un artista en su madurez tiene que ofrecer sin relación a su pasado y sus glorias de antaño. Ambos puntos son válidos y al mismo tiempo cancelables ¿quién tiene el derecho de juzgar el trabajo de un artista? ¿los fanáticos que han seguido la carrera al pie de los beats? ¿aquellos que desconocen o no sienten ningún apego emocional al pasado? Incluso podríamos decir que ninguno de los dos.

Parte importante del ambient reside en que desde su concepción como movimiento ideológico, no musical, sino conceptual, Eno lo describió como una serie de piezas pensadas para acompañar y no para capturar la atención total, ahí por supuesto podemos encontrar diferentes ramificaciones del oficio y ver sus distintas intenciones dependiendo de lo que el respectivo creador busque, algunos por supuesto, lo ven desde esa particularidad casi funcionalista del Music For Airports, y otros lo ven desde la casi religiosidad mántrica del jazz espiritual, todo por su puesto depende de qué tanto nos tomemos en serio de qué va cada cual, y al final en cualquiera de las situaciones el escucha es el que decide cómo acercarse a estos diferentes materiales, en resumen todo depende.

En ese sentido podemos ver desde diferentes perspectivas el “New Blue Sun”, una lúdica y una más abstracta y seria. Habrá quienes en la decepción por supuesto, no encuentren valor en ninguna de la dos y su juicio más temprano y a medias válido, será calificar de aburrido e incluso molesto o autocomplaciente y snob este material, en ese caso no hay mucho que decir al respecto, más que invitar a aquellos a que revisen el material ya existente de Outkast.

La intromisión entonces de una figura tan disruptiva para el núcleo ideológico anti star system del ambient y similares, como lo es la de André, permite diferentes situaciones, una es la asimilación de esta música hacia un público que tal vez por primera vez pueda disfrutar la serenidad y lento desarrollo de este tipo de música experimental, y por otro lado, el cómo esto se va a infiltrar en una nueva generación de músicos que permearán estos sonidos y conceptos en la música pop, el rap, electrónica y demás que están en función de la popularidad.

La búsqueda aquí es clara, no se trata sobre la nostalgia del personaje, la remembranza o el ego de un monstruo del rap, no es sobre quien es The GOAT, ni si André tiene que demostrar nada, es simple, pura y hermosa liberta creativa y en ese terreno, ya es un material exitoso. Si los números no le favorecen, el tiempo lo hará, porque esta música esta hecha para perdurar las modas, para trascender el espacio y el tiempo, para ponerse a lado de los discos de Laraaji, de Hassell, de Eno e incluso de los Coltrane.