#songs about personal journey
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newleasemusic · 2 years ago
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Samuel Vincent Releases 'Rivalry', An EP About Battling the World (And Yourself)
Samuel Vincent (@HiPleaseHydrate) Releases 'Rivalry', An EP About Battling the World (And Yourself)
It took a while for SAMUEL VINCENT to finally release his music to the world, but once he started, he had no plans of stopping. His newest release, ‘Rivalry’, manages to cover a multitude of internal conflicts while maintaining his integrity in an industry that has drastically changed its priorities. ‘Rivalry’ consists of a brief introduction followed by five hard-hitting tracks. The EP is a…
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 2 months ago
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Started a new book series, and has been a journey...an Odyssey, if you will.
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evie-doesnt-write · 8 months ago
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“Wille has gone through so fucking much from his shitty, neglectful, psychologically abusive parents, the death of Erik, the betrayal of August, his and Simon’s relationship issues, his mother becoming sick, finding out Erik was a homophobe, and so fucking much more, and he’s just a kid whose only support are his one friend and his boyfriend who are facing their own problems and nobody can blame him for not knowing how to deal with his emotions and having breakdowns” and “Wille is extremely flawed (as are everyone in this show) and never having been taught how how to deal with his emotions and problems in a healthy way and having little to no support system doesn’t change or excuse the fact that he constantly projects onto Simon, has internalised the mindset that Simon’s problems are far lesser than him, often behaves inconsiderate towards him and doesn’t listen or listen to Simon when he tries to talk to him and these are things he will need to work on, especially if he wants to keep a relationship with Simon” are not mutually exclusive statements
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yuseirra · 10 months ago
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If all we need to live is up to time No one's sure what made it brought me to our way of life
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thewhizzyhead · 3 days ago
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one day I wish I could actually like understand songwriting especially for theatre so that I can I dunno actually put to use the random tunes I have in my head that just spontaneously appear while I'm doing the most mundane of shit. anyways patron has the concept of an opening number now
#im gonma call it Silakbo#the gist of this is um LOOK TO REALLY EXPLAIN WHAT PATRON IS UMM#understand that patron was originally two separate musical ideas whose events occur At The Same Time To Teach Other#so like yea same universe#Patron (pronounce it in the Filipino way) is about modern student activism in the philippines and the nitty gritty of it#Patron (english pronunciation) is about a young filipino playwirght struggles to find their voice in an american landscape (new york)#especially in the context of the events of Filipino Patron#both discuss what it means to be a young filipino revolutionary in this day and age#so um i first thought of this when i was 17-18 - and now im 20 and like the masochist i am i have decided to have them become one project#dual protagonist - one a new and rather sheltered stude of UP Diliman and one decorated young progressive writer in New York#the former is a journey of looking beyond privilege and what it really means to be among the masses#the latter is a story of how privilege blinds - and how susceptible we are to american neoliberalism#that it dulls once sharp pens + the irony of succumbing to such amidst environment and communities that scream for resistance#and whatever one protag does affects the other protag - whatever happens in america affects philippine events and vice versa yay#anyways openign number Silakbo is the arrival of these two protagonists to their respective settings - both with their own musical styles#(UPD protag progresses from broadway belts to pinoy hiphop - NY protag progresses from pinoy hiphop to broadway belts) (this is A Clue)#and most of UPD protag songs will be sung in Filipino while NY Protag will um progressively grow into being fully English#and silakbo can be used synonymously with storm so its basically a storm is coming who's gonna bring it#a change is approaching who's gonna chase it#tbh this out of all of my works is gonna be inspired heavily from lmm's work because tbh this is gonna be a beast to even conceptualise#so um yea thats a mini patron ramble woo hope its um understandable at worst 😭#personal shit#also yes the NY storyline is based on um once progressive Filipinos becoming subservients to conservative and harmful politics#either out of ignorance or power or simple nonchalance#i can name a lot of namess gjdjd
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aroaessidhe · 7 months ago
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2024 reads / storygraph
Song of the Huntress
historical fantasy set in 8th century Britain
follows three characters:
a woman who has spent centuries leading the wild hunt & reaping souls after being tricked into it, who disguises herself as a human to enter the kingdom
the queen of Wessex who never lives up to the demands of the court, despite leading their people in battle - and after a battlefield defeat they turn against her
and her husband, the king, deals with magic and political upheaval as his brother tries to usurp him and conflict arises between new and old religions
bi woman MC, lesbian MC, ace man MC
#Song of the Huntress#aroaessidhe 2024 reads#This is - okay? some very interesting and complex characters#i liked the women of the wild hunt and I liked how aethelburg as a warrior queen is just sort of normal not some kind of girlboss thing#it’s very slow paced - I doubt I would have gotten through it if not for the audiobook#the historical setting and details and complexity of the plot is interesting#I did read it for the ace character so:#unsure how i feel about how his asexuality's the reason for the problem in their relationship. like the book tries to make it the issue tha#he didn't TELL her about it but.....but ultimately it is just his asexuality as the issue. idk. not that I don't think that this kind of#ace narrative shouldn’t be explored I guess. it was just a smidge too portrayed as him being the problem#I feel like if he were aroace at least it’d be like okay; she finds in someone else what he doesn’t want to give her#but he literally does love her romantically lol. which makes the subplot of the romance between the women like......ok she's cheating#bc her husband won't fuck her? not to minimise complex characters down to surface level ships but also….#the sapphic relationship is kinda undeveloped/insta attraction and not much else -the book is conscious of this &#I don't think it tries that much to convince us it's something more than that (other than how it affects the character's personal journeys)#but still. idk. I guess I do like that it doesn't conform to perfect-narrative-romances but evidently unsure about how it did so#this makes it sound like I hated the asexuality and the sapphic relationship - I didn't hate either I just didn't love them lol#also his sister is also aroace and becomes a nun and otherwise she's offscreen - lost opportunity imo!
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itspileofgoodthings · 5 months ago
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#sometimes I will think about this quote I read once that said ‘Shakespeare wrote better than he could write. Michael Angelo painted#better than he could paint’ and the point was just. the art as something almost speaking through the artist#especially at certain points#and I feel that way about Taylor#I don’t know how to explain it but sometimes I hear her songs so differently than at other times#like sometimes. (this is going to sound insane) sometimes they sound too fast to me#like. it’s TOO efficient.#in terms of structure#because she is BRUTALLY efficient almost#and sometimes (sorry I keep using the word sometimes) I just want to reach out my hand and like. rest it over the song#and tell it to breathe. and at other times I can FEEL the song slot into place and I can feel the depths reached and I can feel the stars#align into place as she taps into the greater truth#like the first time I heard loml#and burst into tears#or when I listened to it again when I was on a drive in the mountains with Nina and I just started sobbing at the end#it doesn’t hit for me every single time (though every time it’s a good song)#is what I’m trying to say#and I think it’s because Taylor’s talent is the most restless spirit I’ve ever seen. she’s like a beanstalk growing right in front of me#and so as wonderful as she is she is never as wonderful as she WILL be#and I hate that attitude generally (so much) of being like ‘she’s just getting started that’s the crazy’#but the truest comments about Taylor ALWAYS say that#and it’s always struck me as true!!!! and that is why every album is better than the last and to an extent makes her previous work#look small in hindsight.#I keep being so struck by tortured poets and the way it has synthesized the personal and the storytelling#into a new blend we have NEVER seen before. the muses are present but theY ARE NOT PRESENT IN THE SAME WAY#they do ! not ! matter ! the way they used to#in her art she is getting farther away from what we call diaristic songwriting and she is moving deeper into the world of art#and as she does it you can FEEL (or at least I can feel or at least I think I can feel) the lightning and thunder (so to speak) gathering#in her heart and in her mind and in her journey and she is going to EXPLODE one of these days
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tj-crochets · 8 months ago
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Hey y'all! I am in the mood for some new (to me) music. Do you have any recommendations for songs that make you want to dance? No limits on genre or language, but if you're sending me a link to a specific music video please give me a heads up if it has flashing lights (if possible). Thanks!
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thecrimsonjaguar · 1 year ago
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the star had my favorite variant of the enemies to lovers trope: the "enemies to enemies" version is as rare as it is maddening
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newleasemusic · 2 years ago
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Storry Drops Her Deluxe Album, 'CH III: The Come Up'.
@storrymusic Drops Her Deluxe Album, 'CH III: The Come Up'.
Ahead of the release of her deluxe album ‘CH III: The Come Up’, released yesterday (24th January), multifaceted Canadian powerhouse and visionary STORRY generated quite a buzz after linking up with Stormzy on the titular track of his album ‘This Is What I Mean’, lending her indelible vocal talents to the capstone of the British hip-hop scene. The prowess that has defined STORRY’s irresistible…
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kkoraki · 4 days ago
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i've kept this in for years... i need to know what was going through elliott park's head when he composed the soldier and the oak
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chirpsythismorning · 1 year ago
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📝 💐 🛼 💔⏪️💭🧊🌄❤️‍🩹
Landslide by Fleetwood Mac
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previous ⏪︎ now playing ⏩ next back to playlist
#stranger things#bizarre love triangle playlist#el hopper#el’s pov#el is so fleetwood mac coded 😭#this one was hard to find a gif for bc I feel like this song fits a lot with her inner turmoil during her time at nina#brenner’s whole speech here about not being able to let go#‘youre regressing eleven’#all of this progress she had outside of the lab#a lot of that progress was tied to mike (or at least el thinks she owes a lot of that progress to mike)#i feel like she sees him as someone who saved her and bc of that she’s scared of letting go of (the idea of) their relationship#if mike isn't telling her he loves her... let alone showing it#what does that mean for her and all the progress she’s made?#so she tries her best to cling onto the idea of their relationship#even if it means lying about everything#but then how can she actually progress and become her own person if she’s ashamed of the truth?#and so yeah no duh she’s regressing#the lyrics sort of fit with her going on this journey all while her feelings are in the background guiding her#'can the child within my heart rise above?'#being able to grow while also mourning not having the childhood she deserved... can those two things co-exist?#'well i've been afraid of changing cuz' i've built my life around you'#'but time makes you bolder. even children get older. i'm getting older too.'#el isn't the same girl the boys found in the woods#she has grown so much since then#and yet at the same time she hasn't#bc she can't progress if she keeps holding onto this idea of what she has to be to be enough for mike#bc it's not about being enough for him#it's about being true to herself#4x05#gif
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the-eclectic-wonderer · 7 months ago
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Soo about the translation for Se Telefonando you mentioned in your author's note... is it too much to ask? 👀 (and am I setting myself up for more heartbreak by sending you this?)
kdskdhk ok I'll be honest. I was waiting for someone to ask because I've actually written a full-blown literary analysis for Se Telefonando and I have to share it here. My friend, I hope you don't mind if I use your ask to share my essay :')
Let's do this: I'll write my own translation down here, and I'll add my many, many notes (both on the translation itself, and on how it relates to the fic) under a cut. You can decide for yourself if it's heartbreaking or not :)
Ready?
Here's my translation:
The wonder of the night, opened wide over the sea,
Caught us unawares while we were still strangers, you and I
Then, in the dark, your hands suddenly on mine:
It’s grown too quickly, this, our own little love
If I could tell you goodbye just by calling, I’d call you
If I was certain you wouldn’t suffer seeing me again, I’d see you again
If I could tell you to stop while looking you in the eyes, I’d look at you
But I can’t explain to you that our newborn love is already over (x2)
Notes under the cut:
Alright, just a bit of context first. Se Telefonando was written in 1966 by De Chiara and Costanzo, two notable Italian pop music and TV personalities, and arranged by the world-famous composer Ennio Morricone. It was written specifically to be sung by Mina, a legend of Italian pop music with a unique voice (who, in fact, gives a wonderful interpretation of the song!). So: big names for the lyrics, big name for the melody, big name for the singer. And it shows!
Let's take it from the top.
Lo stupore della notte spalancata sul mar
The word stupore evokes in Italian the same feeling that wonder evokes in English: something that can be child-like, a special kind of surprise that leaves you speechless. This feeling is caused by the coming of the night, spalancata [= opened wide] over the sea: the word spalancata is used when doors are opened completely and (often) suddenly. So, all in all: the night opens without warning, like a portal to another world, over the sea, and surprises the two lovers (we'll meet them in the next verse, don't worry). Quite the start, huh?
Ci sorprese che eravamo sconosciuti, io e te
The verb ci sorprese (whose subject is the aforementioned night) could be literally translated as surprised us; I preferred a caught us unawares to convey, once again, the feeling of unexpectedness and wonder that overcomes the pair. The romance the singer shares with her lover happened quickly and unexpectedly; so much so that they were still sconosciuti, strangers, when they fell in love. I love the juxtaposition in the second half of the verse, here: the singer says they were surprised by their feelings when they were still strangers, but then immediately adds io e te, that is you and I, which communicates a strong familiarity to me -- yes, we were strangers, but we were also you and I. So familiar and intimate I don't even have to use any other words: we're the only people in our whole world.
A short note on the fic: the idea of the Girls being surprised by their bond is actually canon (Dorothy says it out loud in the finale: the Girls' friendship is a gift she never expected at that point in her life). I liked the parallel with this verse -- the Girls learned to know each other (ie became you and I rather than strangers) through the lens of their quick and deep friendship, and I've always loved that. (In the particular universe of the fic they didn't properly analyze what their actual feelings were, but we'll get to that in a moment.)
Poi, nel buio, le tue mani d'improvviso sulle mie
I love the intimacy in this verse. The theme of surprise is still there (d'improvviso = suddenly), but the real gem is the figure of the lover's hands on the singer's to indicate physical intimacy. Using the hands as a shortcut to suggest a physical relation (as part of their love) makes it delicate and romantic, while still clearly conveying the intimacy of the act. It doesn't even say they hold hands, or intertwine fingers: a very simple your hands on mine is all that's necessary.
Note also that this happens nel buio [= in the dark]: here's the full uncovering of the metaphor that carried us through the first two verses, ie the night (or, more in general, the darkness) as a placeholder for the feelings that caught the pair by surprise.
È cresciuto troppo in fretta questo nostro amor
There's the first crack in the picture. We've lived in dream land until here: the coming of the night, the softness, the intimacy, the sweet (almost lullaby-like) music... but here comes the reckoning: the love between our two characters è cresciuto troppo in fretta, has grown too quickly. Before we move on to examine the consequences of this hurry in the chorus, there's one small moment of tenderness left: questo nostro amore, literally this, our love. The literal translation doesn't convey just how soft and intimate the phrasing sounds in Italian: it's a love that's specifically ours, to be cherished, to be protected, to be nurtured (to be grown -- albeit too quickly). Hence the inclusion of own and little in my translation -- it felt like the right way to evoke similar feelings in English.
Se telefonando io potessi dirti addio, ti chiamerei Se io rivedendoti fossi certa che non soffri, ti rivedrei Se guardandoti negli occhi sapessi dirti basta, ti guarderei
Ah, the chorus! Finally. The first line here is the title of the fic, and what inspired it in the first place: the idea of someone not being able to call because they can't bear actually saying goodbye to their lover was just too delicious not to explore -- and since the theme was phone calls, it made sense to only tell the story through said phone calls (and it made for a fun challenge, too!).
The repeated if/then structure in this chorus is amazing. The stakes are increased after every line: the first verb, se telefonando, is almost impersonal (it means if just by calling generally, not if by calling you specifically), and yet it's already juxtaposed with potessi dirti addio, ie I could tell you goodbye (and addio is a proper, forever goodbye, not just a see you later!). Then we have rivedendoti [= seeing you again] in the second verse, and guardandoti negli occhi [= looking you in the eyes]; progressively more and more intimate actions. This is the desperate plea of a woman who knows she has to part from her lover (although we don't know why; the reasons are never explained) and begs him to see on his own that their relationship is over, because she doesn't have the strength to tell him personally. She longs to see him (as testified by the growing intimacy in the actions she describes) but at the same time she can't even call him on the phone, because she knows she'll capitulate if she does; she knows she has to tell him, but she also knows she's not able to bear it.
Note that this is also underlined by the music: the theme becomes much more dramatic than it was during the first stanza, the three verses are sung in crescendo (Mina was a powerhouse of a singer!), and the melody is transposed higher and higher at each verse. One really gets the sense of urgency and helplessness in the singer's plea: she needs to say all these things, she must say goodbye to her lover and their encompassing, surprising love, but she can't.
You can see why I was so inspired to use this for the Girls, can't you? :)
Ma non so spiegarti che il nostro amore appena nato è già finito
And finally -- the last line, and the moment of peak tension. The chorus has upped the ante with every line, bringing us closer and closer to the precipice, and now we're on the cusp: the music resolves, and we fall down. The song until this point was still suspended, in a way; we could feel the desperation in the singer's voice, we knew what was hiding behind all those hypotheticals, but it's only now that the truth is out in the open: I can't explain to you that our newborn love is already over. Game, set, match.
First of all: non so spiegarti literally means I don't know how to explain to you -- but that sounds almost whiny in English (to me, at least). What the lyrics are trying to convey here is a feeling of helplessness: the singer has no words to explain to her lover that their story is over (hence why she can't even call him on the phone).
And then the kicker: our newborn love is already over. The image of a newborn love fits the motif of child-like wonder and love growing we already encountered in the stanza: it's a sort of juxtaposition between the innocence of feeling (love, in this specific case, that makes one feel open and light again) and the cruelty of real life (that forces the lovers apart). This same juxtaposition is found in the music as well: I've already mentioned that the melody is almost lullaby-like in the stanza, it becomes much more dramatic in the chorus, and the song ends with a trailing tail of la-la-la that would not be too out of place in a children's playground (which, to me, only serves to further drive home the divide).
The idea of a newborn love is not exactly what I was going for in the fic, but it's still closely aligned: I figure in this universe the Girls were just about to have their oh moment when Dorothy got her chance to run away and left them all heartbroken. Sophia even comments on it in her voicemail message: she thought they were days away from it. You know that common sapphic experience of being very, very close to one of your friends, and then she starts dating someone else, and you feel heartbroken even though you two were never really in a relationship (and maybe you never even realize you had feelings for her until a decade later)? That's the vibe I was going for: being almost there but never saying anything explicit, so that when it all crumbles down, it falls spectacularly. Not a newborn love, but an almost-born love, in a way. An almost-born love that is over before it had a chance to begin.
And that's it, I think! My lit teacher would be proud of me. It's been a while since I had the chance to analyze anything in *this* much depth and I had a wonderful time. Hope you enjoyed reading this far -- and I'm always open to questions, if you have any!
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nejackdaw · 1 year ago
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Now That You've Lost Tomorrow (is yesterday still a friend?)
4.2k words of the Celann backstory in my head
Under the cut for length; not NSFW. Also leave my Jimminy Cricket ass alone, I was thinking about Disney narrators when I started this lmao. It wasn't supposed to be an actual piece send help
Ahem. (Tw animal death) (tw gore) [Minor edit made 8/28/24]
Born in the Northmoor of Breton High Rock, Celann aged to be a fine man. With a lively, happy home, he was a handsome, good natured jokester with a penchant for bringing smiles wherever he went. Be it through mischief at home, exaggerated peacocking (resulting in clumsy accidents) in front of his beloved fiancee, charitable work through the town, or the song on his lips, he was an easygoing presence that had endeared himself to the people around him. Life was good and grand: he had an easy, do nothing guard job in a happy little town to bring in coin, plans to settle down and start a family, and wanted for nothing between it all. But things started to change when his elder sister prepared to set off on her apprenticeship–dark winds blew in that he, and all of them, would never recover from.
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It was an adjustment for everyone with Jehanne recently absent; she'd been gone only a week, but the absence of fabric scraps and 'come look at this for me's, the messily kept tomes and quills that dripped ink, the prospect of not hearing another "you're being ridiculous, it's been weeks! Come join us for dinner!" and her high pitched, victorious cackles as she raced away, knowing she'd magically cleared up everyone's schedules by asking–she'd only been gone a week, but it felt an awfully lot longer than that. Celann kept up with his guard work in her absence and Charlotte, ever interested in his sister's seamstress and design work, had taken up the hobby when she wasn't keeping the ledger at Garnier's, insisting someone had to be leaving fabric in a house somewhere in Jehanne's absence–to balance things out, obviously, as all good magic is supposed to be.
Time passed this way for another week or so as everyone tried to reassure themselves that everything was fine; it was a large change, but they'd known for months, and they'll settle into this new normal soon and everything would be fine. But suddenly news came whispering through the streets of strange shadows passing by windows at night, shadows with no one to cast them, and soon enough the guards were being asked to look out for missing pets, small cats and birds that must have gotten loose.
Small cats and birds that were found far from their homes and butchered, torn apart but not eaten.
An uneasiness settled over the town as more and more of the creatures turned up, and "killer" was on everyone's lips. After a few weeks of disappearances and gory resurfaces, they began tapering off until they stopped entirely. Like any predator: from small prey to large–the guards instructed woodsmen and hunters, trappers and fur traders to keep an eye out in the woods for anything that didn't look like an animal had gotten to it first. It took only two days after the order was given for a horrified hunter to return with news of a torn, gaunt elk carcass, black with rot around the edges of the worst wounds. Next it was a boar, then a doe–then nothing once again.
Celann was tasked with joining patrols, increased in the wake of the animal attacks until investigators, who so far had found no leads towards what everyone assumed to be a fledgling serial killer, could find some hint as to what had been happening. Everyone waited anxiously for the inevitable first victim.
It came only a month after the shadow appeared.
Following loud, panicked shouts, Celann stumbled into an alleyway to find something hardly recognizable as human. It was pale, even for a corpse, and gaunt like the beasts had been–ripped apart and stained black at the edges, wounds rotting prematurely. He covered his mouth and looked away as he desperately fought against the thick, burning bile at the back of his throat, side stepping into a puddle of dried blood to let a more senior guard pass by.
When everything had been documented, after the corpse had been covered and the area sealed off–more for the townspeople's sake than the scene's–and they were given permission to leave, Celann headed immediately to the blacksmith, grateful for the harsh, painful way the smell and smoke of the forge cleaned the blood and rot from his lungs. He left with three sturdy daggers, weapons he grimly pressed into his family's hands as he made them swear to carry it with them. The protests died on all their lips when they saw the fear in his eyes, each taking it with the same gravity Celann presented it with and solemnly promising they would.
After only three days, there was another disappearance; another corpse, butchered and rotting unnaturally. He'd never possessed the same gift for magic most of his people did, but Celann knew enough–knew to fear the third and what it would bring, because there was no way this terror was only a man and threes were either a blessing or a curse. In the end, it was both.
When he stumbled on the third victim, it hardly occured to him that the man had anything at all to do with the last horrifying, supernatural month. He wasn't torn open like everything before, the ground wasn't coated in blood and viscera. He looked almost like someone who'd been lucky and gone in his sleep somehow–but when Celann knelt down to check if he was alive, he startled to see familiar jewelry and recognized the gaunt corpse of the book seller from around the block. His wedding band sat at an angle around a finger too small for the old, tarnished metal, and when Celann reached for his wrist to get a better look he touched something slimy and cold.
He distantly registered someone from the patrol calling out his name as he stared down at the red on his fingers, a steadily growing urge filling him with every beat of his heart to smear it off on the rough stones beneath him until his own blood ran hot and quick and erased the feeling forever. He clenched his fist instead–looked over at the boots beside him and pretended he hadn't just terrified himself as a second guard knelt with him to inspect the body.
It was Simon who found the most important thing the body had to tell them; Celann was busy wiping the blood off on his trousers and trying to get his mind working right again. A frantic tap on his shoulder got his attention and he looked up into Simon's wide, terrified eyes before slowly turning his head to see what he'd found. The gloved hand gripping the corpse's jaw slowly retreated, shaking, and Celann looked down to see two frighteningly neat holes at the side of the neck.
They shared a long, quiet look before Celann reached out again for the merchant's hand, praying desperately he didn't dig his fingers into disgustingly smooth, exposed flesh again as he avoided gripping the wrist to turn it around. Torn and bloodied, but the black edges were smaller this time. Cleaner, neater, less noticable.
They raced away burdened with news of a vampire preying on the town, searching desperately for the commander and whatever investigators they could find.
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The city was placed under curfew immediately after the news arrived, and patrols were focused for the dark and evening hours. Everyone was required inside and with at least one companion; a vampire could easily overpower a pair, but the hope was that, with no lone targets, it would resent the effort it would take to target anyone else. Guards were similarly paired and ordered not to stray from one another–the only souls out in the night needed to be vigilant. Celann thought about the daggers he'd bought his family, thought about Charlotte taking Jehanne's room at home without him there in the night to share their bed. He wondered what good those knives would be, what good his sword would do him, if the beast got insistent.
Heavy tension hung over the town for weeks after the news arrived. Curtains were drawn and lights were left burning outside as people hoped the creature would pass them by. Every sound was investigated.
After a week, after two, after a month… there was nothing. No pets, no woodland beasts, no disappearances.
The dread started to lighten as time passed, and after four weeks of no new attacks, the townsfolk had, to a degree, returned to life as normal. They were still sure to make it home before night properly fell, still kept a light on, but as the days went by there seemed to be a collective feeling that it had all been a nightmare, some trick of Vaermina.
Celann noted three absences with every pass through the town.
Nightmares didn't claim lives, and he worried at how quickly everyone let themselves believe any danger had passed. The bookshop was closed for a week, what with the owner being dead; he and Lotte liked to buy each other occasional gifts from there, and the darkness in the windows–always warmly lit and welcoming before–never failed to stir a sense of dread in him.
But then a second month was passing without any sort of attack, patrols returned to normal, and even Celann let himself relax. With how often the beast had attacked before, there was no way it would sit and wait for months. The town had been on alert and anything it would have hunted locked inside, but even the forests nearby had been spared. It had surely moved on at this point to easier prey, or either fled in order to avoid detection, he reasoned.
That reasoning was why he accepted the promotion offered to him: an easy, quiet job out at the watchtower, not too far from town and coming with a pay increase; he'd be replacing someone who quit, understandably, in light of the vampire attacks while they had been happening. The new station was a bit of a trek from the gates, at the edge of the forest, but the road was usually quiet enough and the pay was enticing so he agreed. Fresh air, new faces–it sounded like a nice change of scenery, anyway.
It took a few mornings–early, dark, quiet–to adjust to all the rustling, and Perrette teased him for it, but they got on well and she explained their duties simply and easily. They arrive at midnight and they're relieved around breakfast, and spend their downtime chatting or pretending they weren't falling back asleep. Celann never bothered her when she did, and she returned the favor when he was half asleep, half awake, never quite able to properly sleep in the tower.
It was early, a week or so after he'd started, and he was tired; he'd been resting with his head pillowed on his arms at his desk, lost in that dark, semi conscious haze. There wasn't anyone out at this hour, with the moon still so high, and he paid no mind when he hadn't heard Perrette for what should have been a suspiciously long time. She was probably playing cards and he was just resting, after all, not falling asleep like his coworker did. If anything popped up they could handle it.
Just resting is why one eye opened blearily at a sound outside, a sound Celann had only half heard and had already forgotten by the time he was looking at candlelit paperwork. He kept it open a bit longer, listening for any other sounds, then let his eyes close again, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. Nothing, just the dark and the quiet–but as the seconds passed something settled heavy in his chest, had suspicion creeping into his head, and he sat up to look around.
Nothing. Just the dark and the quiet. He slowly stood from his chair and breathed deep, waking himself up as he glanced around the inside of the watchtower. Perrette wasn't at the window, there was no humming or the sound of cards, like he'd expected. The deck was, however, still out on the windowsill, game partially through, and when he moved closer he spotted a few that had blown outside. A familiar dread settled over him as he looked down at them, caught in flower stems and other growth that kept them from blowing farther away.
The moon was still high. Perrette was not here. She was not with the cards she carried in a little box as a gift from her lover, hand drawn with curling letters on the back. It was quiet. It was… unnaturally still, Celann realized. He stared out through the window at the road as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword. He listened. Something moved in the undergrowth behind the station and he quietly crept his way to the–open–back door.
A black hare greeted him at the threshold, a bloody, mangled carcass with its white ribs exposed to the moonlight. The smell of rot hit him and his face twisted; his sword scraped against the sheath as he drew it.
Vampire.
Celann didn't know where Perrette was, what had happened to her, but he doubted the beast would leave a display if it wasn't waiting. It hadn't left. He stared out into the woods and swallowed, listening and hearing nothing. Nothing. His heart beat a terrified rhythm behind his ribs as he stepped outside, stepping carefully over the carcass and into the night, heading hesitantly for the woodline.
He'd hardly stepped through, heel snapping dead leaves and trampling plants–sound, something BURSTING forward, a scream–
He managed to put an arm between them, elbow digging into their chest, pain, hot, claws and yellow eyes. His heel slid back in the dirt as the creature strained against him, screaming and snarling and gnashing bloody teeth inches from his face. The hot smell of blood and decay hit him in the face and suddenly there was a fist in his hair, pulling painfully and jerking his head to the side–it vanished as soon as it appeared and Celann watched the vampire stumble back, face twisted in betrayal.
His own twisted to mirror it as he stared at the disfigured visage of his sister.
Jehanne.
She was clutching one of her hands as if injured, and he noticed a small, circular brand pressed into the heel of her palm. The shape of his earring, a small piece of silver resting by his jaw.
Those two moments stretched into forever then minutes suddenly blurred–claws, pain, BEGGING, being thrown, his shoulders slamming into a tree.
Celann blinked blood from his eyes and raised himself onto a shaking arm, catching his breath as he reached for his sword. He noticed she'd torn through his sleeves; the cloth was dark and sticky with blood, and he could feel the edge of his mouth throbbing, the skin around his lips torn open with a nasty downward swing of her claws. Jehanne was pacing agitatedly, glaring down at him and spitting to herself as he pushed himself to sit in the undergrowth. His head was throbbing dizzyingly, shoulders on fire from the impact, and he could feel something hot and wet snaking its way through the short hairs at the back of his neck.
Celann staggered to his feet, leaning against the tree for support, and let out a shuddering breath as he held his sword in front of him. Trying to evaluate.
She wasn't uninjured herself, not that it did him any good; he'd mangled one of her wrists and she'd still thrown him like a doll. He'd cut and sliced and stabbed and she was standing all the same, and they shared a mutual look of despair. Some mix of emotions flashed across her face, faintly illuminated by what moonlight breached the canopy, bright eyes wide as her lips were parting and she was clawing at her face, fangs glistening, then– "But we're family!" she wailed
The world went quiet.
Realization hit him, then. Cold blood. The world became the woman in front of him. He couldn't let her leave. Horror. Couldn't let her live. Agony. She'd kill them all. Kill her first.
He wondered how many times his sister must have crept past their windows, how many nights she must have watched him from the forest. Family. She'd kill him if it meant turning him, kill them all if he couldn't stop her.
Jehanne took a step forward and spread her arms invitingly, one wrist hanging at a sickening angle. Another step when he didn't immediately move, a sweet smile on her face, then lunged–steel and blood and pain and screams. He couldn't hesitate, couldn't go easy anymore. Blood flew from his blade as he drove it into her heart–vampires need to be stabbed in the heart–once, twice, a third time. He staggered back and tensed, waiting for her to somehow still be moving, dizzy with blood loss and buzzing with adrenaline.
He distantly watched her head slump against the ground, face half pressed into the dirt; glowing yellow eyes went dim and returned to a familiar brown. He watched, paradoxically, as she regained some color, despite being dead. Dead. He looked at glassy eyes and felt far away. Trees and green growth and blood splatters came back into view, but it was someone else's view, someone else's eyes. They laughed, whoever it was, desperate and manic, and dropped his sword as he stared at his sister's corpse. Something was screaming about it, somewhere inside him, but it was far away and muffled, a mile away.
Celann stumbled on suddenly weak legs towards the nearest tree and let himself collapse to the ground against it, staring at her face until it blurred. Everything blended together, and all he knew was that he was cold. He distantly remembered he was bleeding, but the thought vanished almost instantly into the gentle fog that was clouding his mind. He shivered, he thinks, and then thinks nothing else as he sits on the forest floor beneath the moon for hours.
He doesn't register Perrette stumbling out of the watchtower, only partially realizing she was yelling at him at all, even as she knelt beside him. He came back to himself when someone was snapping incessantly in his face, when irritation managed to stir him into some faint awareness. Simon was kneeling in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he gestured at the people around him. They descended upon him, quiet and gentle as they hauled him to his feet, and as he was half dragged, half helped back to town, all Celann really noticed was that it was morning. The sky was a pale, misty yellow–sunrise. Morning. The night was over. The night was over but he would live with what happened in the dark forever.
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He had nightmares every time he managed to fall asleep, shepherded into the temple to be healed and watched over. Breathing was difficult and he assumed he was dying; he was only a little concerned at how okay with that he was. A stranger visited him on the third day after the Incident and the priestesses allowed her to feed him something from a vial, some liquid miracle that ended the worst of the night terrors and let him breathe easy.
There had been a newly made vampire den nearby, she explained when he woke again, and Jehanne had likely been taken the day she stepped out onto the road. Her voice was factual as she informed the temple they'd all been taken care of, but there was sympathy on her face as she looked down at the shadows under his half vacant eyes. She hunted vampires–and other deadra–she'd said as she left; there was something he didn't like in her tone, something knowing, as she closed the door behind her and told him she'd be staying in town for a month or two.
He was sent back home later that afternoon, back to he and Charlotte's house, but everything felt… strange. He felt like he was intruding on his own space, in his own house, in his own bed. Lotte was being patient, but the pain in her eyes when she looked at him sent a spike through his heart. Blood. Breaking bones. He supposed he deserved it after what he'd done, though even he could tell she very genuinely didn't think less of him for it. But she handled him gently and he missed her smiles, missed making her laugh. That solemn look didn't belong in her eyes.
His parents visited twice, to make sure he was healing alright, but there was a distance between them that had never been there. They'd raised Jehanne for 26 years, their daughter, you killed our daughter, what kind of man kills his own sister? It was never said, of course, but he could see it in the tension on their faces and the stiff way they held themselves near him.
They declined both times to stay for dinner.
Celann couldn't move on. His family thought he was a murderer, his fiancee was no longer living with the man she'd gotten engaged to. Something in bim broke when he thought about it, that they were supposed to be married in a few months. He'd been over the moon about it, wouldn't stop talking about it to anyone who listened, even if they weren't really, but the hush that had fallen over the house as Charlotte gave him the space he'd started needing felt like an ill omen.
Two months passed of feeling like an outsider in his own life and he was saying goodbye to her. She refused to break off their engagement, said he felt guilty and was being stupid, and as he tried to promise not to darken her door again she told him for better or for worse came before the wedding vows and if he didn't at least write to her on his trip with this mystery woman she'd find him and drag him back home like a runaway boy.
It… hadn't been what he'd planned on. He hadn't planned on returning or writing at all, had planned on removing himself entirely, no longer the man she'd intended to marry and pained at how she was caring for him. He hadn't told her about meeting the woman from the temple, either–but people talked and Lotte was good at listening, and he wasn't as surprised as he could have been. He had mixed feelings about the indefinite engagement, but if it was what she wanted he'd let her have it, like she was letting him leave because he needed to. They looked after each other like that.
Perrette, on her part, when he found her at breakfast, immediately told him through a mouthful of jam and toast where the woman from the temple was before standing and pulling him into a hug. She pressed a small wooden box and a dagger into his hands before wishing him well and telling him to hurry, because the stranger had been packing her things last she saw and getting ready to leave.
It turns out she had left, hours ago, but Celann found her waiting expectantly outside the gate just off the road. She was sitting with her own breakfast with a second placement set up for him, and he once again didn't like the knowing look in her eyes as he sat down. She explained, eventually, that she was with the Vigil of Stendarr, and had been sent with two others to investigate rumors of vampires in the area. Jehanne had been an opportune victim, out alone on the road so early in the morning; the vampire had been trying to start a clan and needed bodies to fill the seats.
He'd almost been one of them. It was a matter of hours, apparently.
Again, she assured him they were all dead and asked if he intended to join her and her companions on the road–if he had seen what chaos and danger creatures like vampires pose and wanted to take up arms against them. He didn't answer, and she didn't demand he give one; they ate together in silence again and she didn't comment on the way he'd glance back at the gate every now and then. The guard on duty would give a little wave each time, a sad look on his face, and so Celann looked less and less until he didn't look again at all. He was leaving, after all; something deep in him was different, had shaken him out of the life he'd had, and he was moving on. There wasn't room for whatever he was in the space he'd made for himself anymore.
A few nights later he would untie the ribbon around that little box Perrette had given him, far away from town, and open it to find a clumsily hand drawn set of cards with little messages penned in her handwriting on the back. He turned the fool around to see a scribbled portrait of himself amongst the scrawled decoration; the back of every queen was a rough sketch of Charlotte. He put them gently back in the box, retied the ribbon, and ignored the look Freyja gave him as he slipped it back into his bag.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, again, without a body next to him.
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"For those who cherish memories of loved ones, their compassion often conceals the beast. Our compassion compels us to destroy it."
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ereborne · 9 months ago
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Song of the Day: February 5
"It's Electric" Diamond Head cover by Metallica
#song of the day#threw together a playlist combo of songs I know my brothers like and songs I know they don't know but that I /think/ they'll like#this is the precursor to sitting on Nick until he figures out his pandora password so we can update the playlist we use on roadtrips#it's only 350ish songs long and he says he's sick of all of them so we're running back into the pre-sibling-singalong-playlist problems#where he wants to play only Foo Fighters and Mom Jeans and I want to pull my ears off and Duncan spaces out for the ride#so now I've tossed a bunch of things together to play around them. soft launching my playlist updates#we're--suddenly I'm recalling my uncle trying to convince us 'broke as a stoat' was the 'drunk as a skunk' poor person parallel--#we're flat broke so we won't be going on any of our little impromptu trips any time soon#(we like hanging out in the car and out-the-window enrichment keeps us from getting stir crazy but Nick hates not having a destination#so there's a handful of places two-to-three hours from us that we like to go. a particular beach. a really good deli. Bojangles#it's the journey not the destination etc but also if the destination has really good scenery or lunch then isn't that even better)#but I figure when we have the chance we're not going to want to spoil it arguing about who gets aux privileges#so I'm starting the playlist renovations now#anyway this song is sick as fuck. the Diamond Head version is fine but Metallica kicks ass at covers#later in the playlist we'll hit Metallica's versions of Tuesday's Gone and Whiskey In The Jar and I'll be delighted
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righteousdelusions · 7 months ago
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One year ago in a fit of rage I ended a long distance relationship, and you guys all know how hard that was for me. But at least the playlist was fire 🤪
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