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dojae-huh · 4 months

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huh nim.... It's bunny..... I have a small doubt, if I ask it in my tl am afraid what happens.... So let me........

So, solo stans are called like doppus, tyongfs, vals.... Etc.... Nd the rotten one are called akgaes.... Ok...... So when fandom war occures because of this akgaes ppl, why they called them as in solo stans name?? Like tyongfs dragging dy , doppus are making a gotcha moment with jae Or vals dragging ty??? Why is that?? Isn't that akgaes Or the haters does that? Why they using solo stan name instead of this akgaes word..... Like am a doppu, nd ofcrs doyoung have so many akgaes but still if dy akgaes does smthng stupid nd other fandome make it as, it is doppus who are doing it.... Then ofcrs I get mad.... Just like that lot of doppus who are actually good in my pov, like I've been watching them for a quite long time, but still calling it as tyongfs dragging dy, that's really makes me think it like, why would they do that??? They have a name ty akgeas.... Just call them as it is.... Nd this is why there is always problem arise in fandom...... Or is it tyongfs actually ty akgaes name?? Im really confused abt this fandome thing.... So huh nim.... Help???

"Solo-stan" likes one member, generally doesn't care for other members, sometimes isn't interested in music of the group, only individual projects. Like, I can call myself a solo-fan of Taemin. I listen to his albums a lot, but I'm not interested in Shinee. (I'm not on a stan level, because I don't watch content with him. My interest lies only in the music/MVs area.)

"Akgae" is "malicious solo-stan". It's an evil form of a solo-stan. Hates other members, hates the group, can even sabotage it, wants for the group to disband and their idol to be solo.

Then there are group fans who favour (bias) one member. They like the group, but their focus is on their bias.

Tyongf, Val, Doppu - an umbrella name for all kind of fans of a respective neo.

I personally think that these labels help radicalisation. As soon as one group (nctzens) is divided into several, there is a pull towards further splitting, distancing. The smaller groups start to desire an identity (a name, a banner, a doll, a lore, a cause). And "we protect our bias against everyone", "noone cares about our bias but us" is an identity. (Remember the cases when WayV fans and Dream fans wanted for those units to have their own colours, not green). The more loud a fan is about protecting the bias, the more that fan is liked by others, gets more moots, more likes for posts. It's like sending a message "I'm a true fan! I belong with you! Take me in!". (You can easily find YT videos from people who used to be a part of the beauty-community and the bodypositivity-community, how the people they used to want to be friends with turned on them in an instant the moment they had an individual thought or started to ask questions about some unhealthy trends).

You know, I had a thought today that writing posts about mistreatment is akin to making content. Fans used to draw fanart, do fan edits, fan MVs, lore theories, etc. But those things are hard, take a lot of time and real skill, and people want likes. However, there is a way out. Just write "OMG a hit twit!". And it's very easy to gain clicks by saying "my bias is a victim!". People genuinely go and look for ways to be offended to later write about it. We had a clear example today on this blog. There are people who dislike me and still keep an eye on what I write, just to catch a moment and send me an anti message about how I'm using their bias or say bad things about these and those shippers.

I agree with you that innacurate usage of the fandom terminology worsens things. It makes those fans who didn't write anything bad feel personally attacked and offended (because they associate with the name). "Tyongf did it" is waaaay worse than "a Tae's fan did it". The latter lacks the gravity behind the name. It's a habitual shortcut from real life though. Our brain puts everything in bigger groups to not care about details and nuances, for quicker reactions. Yuta is Japanese and so he is expected to be the best friend for all other Japanese neos by default, fans want him to play a role of a caring hyung (sempai in this case). There is a pull to group all of them together by the their nationality and not care whether they click as individuals.

You discovered that you get offended when the "doppu" name is tarnished by one bad Do's fan. You don't like "doppus are to blame" sentence. Your next step is to accept this as a trait of your human nature and add a correcting behaviour on top. "Well, they used "all doppus", but actually they mean "some doppus", it's not about me, noone is attacking me, I'm staying calm".

Better still, just enjoy what Doyoung does without taking on any unnessesary label. Be an NCTzen. Or a k-pop listener who likes idol Doyoung. No affiliation, no banner and false honour to protect. You are a person who likes Doyoung with an online nickname Bunny. You are you.

(Right now a rat has just peeked its head under the door and decided not to run across the room because the lights are on. Yes, I'm living with rats now. Lol, it showed its nose again. Anyway, rats are living in the house I'm staying at. Oh, a second rat has just run from one door to the other, they are getting bold. They are like "It's 1 am, it's our time, hooman! Switch off the light, go sleep! We want to go to the kitchen!". There are rats in the house, and we need to hide food from them. There are antis in the fandom, and we need to moot their accs, tolerate. In both cases you won't be able to get rid of them completely, the strategy is to change one's own perspective and attitude. Put on "ignore".)

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oh-no-a-whovian · 2 years

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Two more lonely people Part 19

NSFW 18+

Summary: “no matter what happens, I love you”

Pairing: Bruno Madrigal x fem werewolf! reader

Warnings: age gap (Y/N is 25 and Bruno is 50) swearing, panic attack, injury, mentions of death. any others let me know please.

Word count: 2887

Masterlist PT1 Next

Rumours of the truth about you have been circling Encanto since your father’s death and Evaline and Matt’s unannounced departure. Some have been claiming they saw two more wolves at the jungle’s edge during the full moon, a young couple even saying they found the tufts of fur and splattered blood by the river. Some people have even been going straight to Alma, questioning the truth and though she’s tried not to say much, she’s uneasy. She knows that if her son is now like you then she’ll have to reveal the truth, she could hide one werewolf with the lie but two? Her own son at that? No. you just hope the people of Encanto will understand.

You didn’t grieve your father for even a second after Isa had launched a vine through his chest, didn’t even watch as the church lowered him into a grave, the stone only having his name and dates of birth and death. There was no one left in the US to claim his body and no way to really transfer him out of Encanto if there was. So in the ground he went, not a single person to care.

You were glad when you noticed the other wolves’ scents fading from your home and territory. They truly left. You were worried that maybe they were just hiding out, planning something new and horrible. But once their scent was gone, you knew they were gone… you never have to deal with them again.

The month-long wait is almost over. Tonight, Bruno may or may not shift into a wolf with you and he may or may not be completely insane if he does. If what Evaline said is true, you guessed it will be because of the pain of shifting, the sheer agony that accompanies being a werewolf. The first shift was the worst for you, and it will be for him. your theory is because a child is unformed it’s not as much of a problem and can be adjusted to easy. But an adult, fully matured with their bones and muscles set, it would be worse than death.

When the full moon comes, casita is going to remove Bruno’s door, leaving you both trapped inside, surrounded by sand until the sun rises.

“How much further?” Bruno asks even though he knows you can’t answer, not only because you’re in wolf form but also because you have a basket handle in your mouth. He’s clinging to the fur on your shoulder blades, holding on for dear life as you race through the jungle and up the mountain toward your destination.

The sweet smell of flowers fills the air as you carry him up the steep surface, picking each step and stone carefully.

Even though his plan was to spend the last month like normal, he couldn’t do it. he spent several hours one day pacing back and forth in his vision cave, trying to decide if he wanted to look, rambling to himself. He’d check the moon each night as it waned, freaking out as it started to fill out once more. No matter how much you tried to remind him if his intentions for this month, he just couldn’t pull himself from the dark mindset.

You knew you needed to get him out, distract him for at least a little while. You spent all of yesterday collecting fruit, chocolate coated treats, cheeses and so many other things from the markets, filling your favourite basket to the brim and covering it with a blanket to keep it all safe. The hard part was persuading him to actually come out of his room and leave casita for a few hours.

You pant as you finally reach the level expanse of green overlooking the whole of Encanto. The midday sun sits warm and proud in the sky above, its rays undiminished by ominous clouds. The grass beneath your paws is soft and warm as you make your way into the centre of the clearing. The field is surrounded by beautiful flowers of different colours, filling the air with their sweet aroma. A large tree sits at the furthest edge, a cherry blossom, tall and seemingly ancient though it was only introduced to the area a few years ago.

You place the basket on the ground, releasing it from your mouth and flexing your jaws and tongue to ease the discomfort of holding it for so long. You huff in amusement as Bruno falls on his ass with an oof as he tries to get off your back without waiting for you to let him off.

“Good job” you laugh as you shift back, standing over him with an amused smirk, your hand outstretched to help him up. “we’re sitting over there though.” You tell him, gesturing to the tree with your lips as you help him up and pick up the basket.

“The full moon is tonight. Are you sure we should be sitting down and, and having a-a picnic?” he asks, fiddling with his fingers as he walks with you.

“We have plenty of time, mi vida” smiling you place the basket down and take his hands, holding your palms up to his. “You need some time to relax and breathe. Trust me, no matter what happens I’ll be with you.” You kiss his scruffy cheek, loving the way he looks at you with such adoration. “Now we’re gonna relax, eat all the treats I bought, drink both bottles of wine and we’re not gonna think about the potential results of tonight’s full moon.”

“That does sound nice” he smiles, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I also brought a few books” you tell him as you step away and grab the blanket, laying it out beneath the tree. “Though I’m not expecting much reading to happen” you wink, making him stutter.

“Here?” he asks wide eyed at your smirk. “What if someone comes up here or, or Dolores can hear?”

“we’re out of range and as you saw it’s not exactly easy getting up here. It’ll be fine. Besides!” you grin, flicking some hair from your face. “The view up here is amazing”

“It really is” he says back quietly, not taking his eyes from you for a second.

“Eres adorables” you tease. He’s such a sap, so full of love for you, for his family. He’s willing to do anything to make you happy, to make you safe. He was beyond horrified when you’d shown up after your attack, an arepa in your hand and Camilo by your side to tell Bruno what happened. “Now sit so we can make good use of our time.”

Plopping down on the blanket, you rifle through the basket of goods, placing them neatly in front of you.

“How’d you find this spot?” Bruno asks staring up at the pink flowers of the tree that doesn’t belong here.

“I’ve pretty much seen everything within the mountain range. Spent heaps of time just exploring, finding every little hidden location and admiring their beauty. Even brought Isa up here once, she’s why this tree is here” you gesture up before shoving a berry in his mouth, giggling as his eyes go wide.

“Amor” Bruno gasps, feigning horror at your sudden action.

“Hmmm?” you smile innocently, popping one in your own mouth.

“Te quiero” he huffs, shaking his head at your antics.

For while you both just lay there, enjoying each other’s company and the amazing array of food you brought. You spoke of everything except what the full moon may entail. You played with his hair, rubbing his head and tugging at the curls, making him moan in pleasure.

You eased his mind for a few hours, distracting him by reminding him how much you care. You kissed him all over and left him a moaning needy mess as you drooled all over his cock. You sucked marks onto his neck as you rode him and giggled in delight when he flipped you over.

The fun had to end eventually though and with two hours left until the full moon reaches the right point, you took him back down the mountain.

~~~~~

Bruno’s POV

“Joder, estoy aterrorizado.” He admits as the door to his room disappears before him, leaving a blank wall in its place. It’s just him and her now, waiting for the moon to decide his fate. He really is scared and he’s genuinely not sure if knowing tonight’s outcome in advance would have made a difference to the sheer terror he feels now.

“I know.” She whispers as she wraps her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck. He was truly grateful for her distractions through the day, for a little while he had actually managed to forget his anxieties, think only about his love for her. He wished he could spend forever in that moment, high up the mountain, just her and the view.

His revelry and bliss were shattered when she said it was time to go back, that she could feel the moon beginning its rise. Apparently, she never had to look up to know when the full moon is coming, her very bones telling her it’s close. She described it as a buzz in her blood and excitement in her mind, like being called for by a loved one. Like comfort and love. All he feels right now is dread.

“I didn’t know I was going to shift the first time. Scared the shit out of my parents… especially my father” she sneers, hating that she even mentioned the man. “I shifted in the lounge room right in front of them.” She explains as he walks with her to the platform. “I made a mess of everything as I freaked out.”

“I don’t know if I can do this…” he admits rubbing his hand on his forehead and brushing back his curls. “h-how long un-until…?” he tries to ask as the stone hands take them to the top.

“Not long now” you sigh “I’ll turn first and fast. I hope… I truly hope you don’t have to go through it. I hope Julieta’s food fixed it.”

He nods at her words. He’s grateful that she’s trying to avoid mentioning how much pain he’s gonna be in, that his bones are going to crack, and his muscles are going to tear. Going mad during that much pain is probably the sane result.

He glances into the vision cave as he sits on the lounge just outside it, the picnic blanket from the trip up the mountain now laying atop the sand with several plates of Julieta’s healing food, mostly meat based.

“I want you to know that no matter what happens tonight…” she kneels before him, her eyes filled with love as she looks up at him. He never thought he’d have someone caring for him as genuine as her, beautiful and loving. He’s still not sure he deserves her, especially after how he ruined her birthday, almost getting her killed. “No matter what happens, I love you. I will never leave your side, not even for a second.”

“I know” as he says the words her eyes glow cyan and her body shifts. Even as a wolf her eyes are filled with her worry for him.

She sits before him, looking down as she watches him intently, her body now much taller than him. As minutes go by with nothing happening, hope sparks. Julieta’s food must have worked, curing him as soon as he was bitten. He breathes out a shaky sigh, trying to stop his wavering hands. it worked! He’s not gonna shift.

Just as he relaxes his body and mind, believing he’s fine and safe, everything goes black.

He feels like he’s trapped inside a dark as pitch room, oppressive and heavy. He can’t see anything as he spins on the spot, no light or features to the space. The worst has happened. He’s blacked out and his body is shifting into a wolf as he stands trapped in his own mind.

He feels his chest tighten his breathing becoming rapid and difficult. He feels like he’s being crushed, like he’s suffocating. His mind is running in circles, worried about all the horrible things that will happen now. He won’t be able to control his body, his actions. He’ll lose time each month for the rest of his life. He could hurt someone.

He falls to his knees, crying into his hands as defeat washes over him. she’ll know right away, right? She’ll be able to tell that it’s not him in control?

He doesn’t notice the pale glow forming behind him, covering him in warm light.

“Do not give in to despair” a voice sounds out behind him, startling him. He spins toward the glow, falling on his ass and backing away. Its voice has a deep but feminine tone, but its form seems to have no gender, nothing defining it. It kneels before him as he stares up at it, wide eyed and unsure. “You will regain control soon.”

“I thought I’d lost control completely? That I’ve become a monster.” He admits to the being, though he’s unsure of its intent. “We were told because of my age that I’d lose control. Is that not true?”

“No, it’s true… at least normally it would be” it looks down at him curiously. At least he thinks it does, it doesn’t have any features to tell, he can just feel it. “What did you do differently?” it tilts its head leaning in too close for comfort.

“I-I d-don’t know” he stutters. “Mi familia… we have a gift…”

“Magic?” it asks, and he nods in response.

“My sister can heal w-with food… I ate some just after I was bitten…” it leans back on its heels, humming in response to his words.

“Thank you for telling me.” It seems to smile.

“What are you?”

Before it can answer him, the real world comes back to him. his body aches and his head feel like it’s splitting in two. The world seems a little brighter and the smells of the food in the vision cave seems a little stronger. Well, a lot stronger actually.

[Y/N] is lying beside him, her fur covered face buried in his neck… in his own fur…

He feels his tail and his massive paws. He feels his snout as he places one on his new paws over it. he can feel his ears flick about at the squeaks of his rats in the walls. He runs his tongue across the new razor-sharp teeth. He wishes he could look in a mirror right now.

He moves his head up so he can look at the woman, wolf, beside him. she smells amazing. Before she smelt like any other dog in this form, a clean one but still dog. Now she smells of lavender and pastries, the dew that falls onto the grass in the evening, sage and cedarwood.

She looks up at him, worry and sadness in her eyes. She witnessed all that he missed of his transformation, the pain that now only feels like a dull ache in his muscles.

I’m ok he tells her pressing his snout to hers, admiring the way her tail starts to wag frantically, reminding him of the day she first found him outside casita all those months ago.

You’re still you! She pounces on him, licking and nipping at him playfully. He submits to her affection, enjoying every moment.

~~~~~

[Y/N]’s POV

You could do nothing as he screamed, every bone in his body cracking and reshaping. Tears poured down his cheeks as he sobbed. All you could do was whine and press your head against him, trying to offer what little comfort you could.

When his screaming stopped, and his body was fully shifted you settled down beside him as he panted, trying to ease away the pain. You never left his side, just as you promised, staying with him for the near hour he was shifting. It will take time, but it will become faster and easier, especially if he does it outside of full moons. Practice makes perfect.

His fur is dark with flecks of white mixed in along his hackles, around his muzzle and eyes. His hooded eyes are the familiar bright green that glows when he’s doing a vision. His soft fur lays in ripples down his back, wavy like his hair.

As he finally moved to look at you, your Bruno still behind his eyes, you were overjoyed. After all that he was still himself, the man you love.

You spent the whole night playing with him, chasing each other in the sand. After he ate nearly all of the food of course.

When the door back to the world reopened and you both stepped outside, massive smiles on your faces and arms locked together. Relief washed over all the Madrigal’s faces, although it shifted a little when you told them he did in fact shift, he just didn’t go mad or lose control.

As you look at him in the morning sun, his beautiful green eyes glinting in the light, you realise this is a new beginning and the true start to the rest of your life with him.

A/N: sorry this one is late! Was a busy week. Remember! Like and reblog to share the love!!!

two more lonely people tags:

@pink-hufflepuff @kyriekurokami @goblinenby @fraujar @ducks118 @lemonbaby @sylum @life-hater39 @abelbai000 @sarashitposts @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @mother-dragon-and-her-hatchlings @elysiadjarin @multifandombtch @insanitybyanothername @inthewindsomehow @gloryekaterina @anactualvelociraptor @originalsoulcollector @hlxoos @tangerine-kitten @psychomanias @nectamburne @mary-wolf @wo1fwitch @jesuisravenclaw @shaddow-darkcloud @ryou-cosmos @puck-the-puppy @totofranken @butchcupid @mintymonicalei @azeret-mirror @a-gay-cryptid @cl0vr @tigreost @kenzi-woycehoski @acdassenza @coffee-cupps @krazyk99 @small-town-wayward-daughter @unstableyetloveable @nikt-wazny-y @animeluver23 @fuxkyoshizz @slytherinxhunter @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away

#bruno x reader #bruno madrigal x reader #bruno madrigal #encanto x reader #reader insert #disney's encanto #bruno my beloved

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astradrifting · 3 years

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AGOT - Jon I (Chapter 5)

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

I don’t know why D&D decided Jon could never lie, when literally the first line in his POV is a lie. He’s so good at it he can even lie to himself!

****

A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

A singer with a high harp and a ballad seems like a vague Rhaegar allusion. That Jon can’t actually hear him makes me happy in a very petty way.

****

His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.

I think this part is actually Jon being indignant on Ned’s behalf that Cersei was rude to him, by not looking at him when he escorts her, not that she never looked at Jon. Also, there’s those observation skills. He’s never been taken in by a pretty smile.

****

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit.

Adorable!!!

****

Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

Jon’s a mean drunk I guess 💀

****

Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

Joffrey according to Jon: 👁👄👁

But Sansa looked radiant 🥰

****

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen’s brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered “Kingslayer” behind his back. Jon found it hard to look away from him.

This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

Giving me big ‘muscled like a maiden’s fantasy’ vibes there, Jon.

Also, curiously enough Jaime’s introduced wearing black and red, Targaryen colours. Maybe a nod to the incest storyline, possibly leftover foreshadowing from when Jaime was going to become king, as per the outline.

Otherwise this means that, like everybody else in this story, Jaime is a secret Targaryen. He and Cersei can join the ranks of Jon, Tyrion, Varys, Mance Rayder and while we’re at it… *spins a wheel of names* Meera too.

****

His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.

His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke.

Jon spends half this chapter on the verge of tears, my angsty little lad.

****

Jon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled the wolf’s.

They actually call him Ben and ‘uncle Ben’ a few times in the series, which I honestly think might be a Spider-Man allusion. Surrogate father figure Uncle Ben’s early disappearance/death kicking off the plot… There’s also a saying that nobody stays dead in comics except for Uncle Ben - considering all the other resurrections in the books, metaphorical and literal, yet GRRM says that Benjen isn’t Coldhands, it might be the same for this Uncle Ben too.

****

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

"[Garlan] is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance." (ASOS, Sansa I)

Love a Jon-Garlan parallel! Also thinking about Garlan being the older brother made me realise - in the story everyone thinks that Jon is younger than Robb, but timeline-wise, he has to be older, because Robb was conceived in the two weeks before Ned left to fight at the Trident, and Rhaegar must have at least already been in the capital by then to rally the loyalists, so Jon was conceived weeks, if not months earlier. Which means that Ned has definitely lied about when Jon’s birthday is.

Jon being the product of a ‘youthful indiscretion’ before he was married is less of a stain on Ned’s honour than him betraying his marriage bed but I imagine Catelyn’s fears about Jon usurping her children might have had more basis if he was known to be the eldest, so maybe that’s why Ned lied about how old he is.

****

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

"A conquest that lasted a summer," his uncle pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." He took another sip of wine. "Also," he said, wiping his mouth, "Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"

Jon is unfortunately, a jock. And a bit of an idiot.

There’s something about Jon’s hero dying at 18, Waymar dying at 18 just a few chapters ago... Jon has them all beat by dying at 17.

****

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.”

Establishing Benjen as a somewhat contentious father figure to Jon - even more fuel for my brand new Uncle Ben ‘theory’.

****

The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon's face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl.

"Shy, isn't he?" Lannister observed.

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still." He looked up at the dwarf. "You can touch him now. He won't move until I tell him to. I've been training him."

Possibly he and Sansa are the only ones who properly trained their direwolves, considering how the rest of them will end up behaving.

****

“If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat,” Jon said. It wasn’t actually true yet, but it would be.

Pffffft! Edgy edgy edge-lord 💀

Though I also always feel like issuing casual threats to Tyrion Lannister so I can’t really blame him.

****

Standing, he was taller than the dwarf. It made him feel strange.

He’s got a weird preoccupation with comparing his height to Lannister men in this chapter. My headcanon for the books is that Jon’s quite tall by ADWD but evidently he’s tiny in AGOT if he feels strange being tall next to a dwarf.

****

final thoughts:

Believe it or not, I didn’t actually have Jonsa in mind with my new Uncle Ben theory, but I did just remember that brown haired Peter Parker’s main love interest is red-haired MJ :P

#astra re-reads #agot re-read #jon chapters

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raziroo · 3 years

Text

Cotton Candy

Pairing: Lotor x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Saying "Shit" twice

Word count: 2,076 (yay) (also, I edited this, I still need to update the word count)

Author’s Note: I'm crap at writing dialogues, and this is my first time writing for a gay couple. I'm so sorry if it seems forced or unnatural or shitty. Don't be afraid to call me out.

Story Moodboard!

It’s with a grunt of effort that I manage to lift the carton containing the cotton-candy-maker.

‘Here, dad,’ I say as my dad takes the box from my hands. ‘That’s all?’

‘Yep, that’s all of it. We’ll conquer this carnival with our delicious cotton candy,’ I nod, doing jazz hands while saying the last part. Dad chuckles. I grin.

‘Hey, Honey!’ I turn back, squinting to spot where my other dad is in the crowd of bustling people. Where, where…? Yep, there he is – in his embarrassingly brilliant sunshine yellow and bottle green striped shirt and hot pink trousers, a sharp contrast to his natural bright red hair. Don’t say that it can’t look that bright; you’ll never know just how blindingly bright bottle green can really be until you see the shirt my dad’s wearing. And trust me, he usually dresses in simpler tones; such bland tones that you’d be surprised to know he was capable of wearing colourful hues as well. It’s only that he’s very passionate about his job, and so whenever we set up a booth in fetes such as the current one, he never misses to match the shop logo.

‘Hul-lo, father dearest, how seems to go your day?’

‘Oh, quite lovely, if I do say so.’

‘Well, that’s simply charming –’

‘Alright, enough,’ my other, not redhead dad snaps with an exasperated sort of smile on his visage. You see, my not redhead, a.k.a. brown-haired dad happens to be British. And that means that me and dad would rather paint our teeth blue than to not tease him. ‘You both need to shut it and start helping me with the decorations, now. You know I’m trash at all that.’

‘Aw, now don’t get discouraged,’ I say, patting dad on the back. ‘After all, not everyone can be as blessed as me, can they?’

‘Hey, why don’t you go look around for a bit? You’ve been helping out since before I have.’

‘Yeah, he’s right, pet. You should.’

I huff, rubbing my palms on the fabric of my jeans. ‘You guys sure? I’m not tired, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘We’re not worried, we’re just saying you should also get a look, you know? There’s a lot of surprising booths this time around. I mean, there are aliens participating too, so…’

‘Hmm,’ I play with my bottom lip a little, then, ‘yeah, okay. I’ll be back in like, an hour? Forty five minutes? Sound okay?’

‘Sounds great.’

‘Bye, then.’ And with that, I turn on the heels of my Converse, wandering about the pretty stalls and eager children and kissy couples and aliens with curious features.

It really feels bizarre, just how astonishingly fast mankind has accepted the existence of aliens. It seems simultaneously ages and just a day before when conspiracy theorists raged all around the world, presenting baseless theories and concepts as to why and how the three-man squad on the Kerberos mission disappeared. Then came the Galra, bringing along with them global terror – because alien life, intelligent alien life existed and humanity remained oblivious all these millennia, and now they were actually attacking us. It could’ve been, perhaps even was, in some other dimension, the end of Earth. But then a defender appeared; Voltron appeared in all its glory, bringing along with it proof that however much these purple aliens claim that humans are scum of the universe, humans were, in the grand scheme of things, the ones that saved the universe too.

It feels even more puzzling to actually be on a first-name basis with the leader of Voltron; that’s right, I’m personally acquainted with Keith Kogane. It was around six months after him leaving the Garrison did I come across him. He’d been loitering around the neighbourhood, had ended up in a fistfight with some other kids, and along with that a split lip and bruised cheek. I’d been watching. When the fight ended, I (somehow) persuaded him to come along so that I could at the very least provide him with a band-aid.

Long story short, we’d bonded over how our moms were no-shows and how dads were the best and we became surprisingly close friends; the only difference was that after the death of his old man, he lived alone. I’d been adopted by my two current fathers. I told him about how when they’d initially adopted me, I was excruciatingly shy. I wouldn’t even come out of my room except meals. It was only when I came to know that they knew how to make candy floss had I timidly approached them if I could have some, because previously I’d always been grossed out at the thought of having to eat that. I’d overheard this group of kids saying that cotton candy was actually just dyed granny hair, so that’s where that came from.

I love cotton candy now. So much so, that even at the age of twenty-six, I will pout if someone takes some of mine without my permission. As if I’d ever allow them to.

Speaking of Keith, I haven’t seen him in years. We lost all contact when he turned eighteen, and then he went off into space, and even when he came back, I didn’t get a chance to meet him. I bear no ill will, though. He must have formed some close relationships. Our past friendship is comparatively much more trivial.

I spot a booth selling grilled corn. I instantly head there.

As I’m about join the crowd of humans and aliens who also want corn, a familiar call of my name leads me to pull a three sixty.

Lo and behold. Keith Kogane.

Despite him having obviously grown a lot, the face was still the same. I’m sure that, if he gets a split lip and bruise on his cheek right now, he won’t look all that different.

There’s a questioning hesitance on his features; he’s probably wondering if he’s got the right person. My pleasantly surprised smile and raised eyebrows assure him. As I step away from the grilled corn stall, I notice a motley crowd behind him; some are purple, some are holding Voltron plushies, and some look way too curious to be in a carnival. The introduction is going to be fun.

‘Keith! You're gonna live a hundred years - I was just thinking about you. But anyways, it’s – it’s great to see you,’ I say with a little giggle. ‘Though I am kind of surprised you actually approached me. The sixteen-year-old you would never.’

He smiles awkwardly in return. ‘Y – yeah… I, just… oh God, this is – I’m sorry,’ he says, his inner turmoil evident.

‘It’s all good. I know you’re shit at small talk, so… like, introduce me? Maybe?’

He nods rapidly, brows furrowed. ‘Yeah, um,’ he turns to the people behind him, telling them my name, how we met, the whole affair. I give them a wave. Most of them greet me back.

‘And, this is Shiro and Curtis,’ he points to the tall, white-haired yet young man, holding hands with a tanner guy, ‘Lance, Pidge and Hunk,’ he points to a lanky, bright-smiled guy, a buffer, kind-seeming person, and a short chestnut-haired woman who, despite wearing baggy jeans and a baggier tee, looks somehow better dressed than me. ‘Then that’s Allura, Coran, and Romelle, they’re Alteans,’ a woman with enchanting beauty and a regal aura surrounding her, a redhead who’s significantly older than the rest with an impressive moustache, and a youthful appearing girl with a big grin, ‘and Lotor, he’s Galran. The Galran Emperor, in fact.’ Lotor is a tall, lilac-skinned man with aristocratic features who shares the same cheek markings as the Alteans. Oh, and he’s unfairly gorgeous, his hair a luscious mane of white which I just know will be soft. It’s hard not to stare. You remember how I said Allura looked like royalty? Yeah, the way this man carries himself, he has the aura and visage of a God. Even in a white tee-shirt and jeans he looks way better than should be legal.

I rip my eyes away.

‘So…are Noah and Oliver here too? I’d love to see them. I mean, I never did get to thank them to permit a possible criminal to sleep in their house.’

I laugh. ‘Never mind that, but we actually sit up a stall here. I could, you know, maybe even get you guys something to eat.’

‘Free? Please don’t.’

‘It’s nothing, really, just… I don’t know, accept it as a small thank you present for not letting the planet go to shit.’

A bit of thinking. Even after a nod from Shiro, it was Lance who said yes. Good ol’ Keith.

When we reach the stall, my British dad is the only one we find there. He looks up, about to say something to me, when he notices Keith.

‘Dad. You remember Keith?’

‘Your possible criminal friend who turned out to be the saviour of the universe Keith?’

‘That Keith. He wanted to see you.’

‘Oh? Well then,’ he dusts his hands, stands up, and greets Keith. Both of them engage in a conversation.

‘You guys wanna try something?’

‘What do you got?’ asks Pidge.

‘What do we got? Um, we got chocolates, candy, marshmallows, jellybeans, tortilla chips, ice cream, popcorn – butter, cheese, caramel, peri peri – Lays, like, a lot of Lays, and the good old cotton candy. What d’you want?’

So, after providing the humans with two Cream n’ Onion Lays, a pack of tortilla chips, a double scoop of butterscotch and chocolate, a small tub of popcorn, and three cotton candy sticks, I turned to the aliens.

‘I’m assuming you guys aren’t familiar with a lot of this stuff, so you could either pick whatever looks to be good, ask your friends, or I could recommend something. What’ll it be?’

Romelle was the one who asked, ‘What’s ice cream like?’

‘It’s sweet. It’s cold. And it’s like… heaven in mouth.’

‘Ooh. I want an ice cream. The… pink one?’

‘That’s strawberry. You can eat it in a cone, or in a cup.

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Well, the cup you can’t eat. The cone is like a crispy biscuit,’ judging by her face, she didn’t know what biscuit was. ‘I’ll just give you a cone. It’s all on the house, so no worries if you don’t like it.’

I watched eagerly as she licked the ice cream. An unreadable look crossed her face. Then – ‘This is almost as good as Hunk’s cookies!’

‘Really?’ Coran asked, twirling his moustache. ‘Well, then…’ he squinted to read the names of the various flavours. ‘I would like “cookies and cream”. Yes.’ A cone of cookies n’ cream was served.

‘Allura?’

‘Do you have something that isn’t sweet?’ That was a plot twist. I’d have taken her as someone who appreciated sweeter foods.

‘We do. You want spicy?’

‘…Sure.’ Peri Peri popcorn was given and enjoyed.

And last… ‘Lotor. What would you like to have?’

It takes me a lot of will to not laugh at Lotor’s way too analytical expression. ‘What would you recommend?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Out of all this stuff, candy floss is my favourite.’

‘Candy floss… the item that looks simultaneously like a cloud and an old woman’s hair?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I would like a helping of candy floss, then.’

As I hand Lotor a stick of cotton candy, I wait with anticipation for his reaction.

‘How am I supposed to eat this?’

It takes me a moment to process that. ‘Uh, you just… pinch a little of the stuff in between your fingers, then eat it. Or you could just, um, go in directly, which I’m thinking isn’t really your style.’

He narrows his eyes, but follows my instructions nonetheless. Only a second after putting the stuff in his mouth, Lotor purrs.

Everyone around him, being me, Coran and Romelle (Allura’s off telling Lance how great Earth food is), looks with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Lotor appears as if he’s just died inside. The berry-shaded blush on his face is adorable, though.

'I didn't, like, poison you or something, right?'

'No. It's that... I would never in my lifetimes have expected something so tooth-rottingly sweet to be this delicious.'

'So you're okay?'

‘Yes. In fact, I quite like… this cotton candy.’

I grin.

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chubbyreaderwriter · 4 years

Text

Hands Off

Steve Rogers x Chubby/Plus Size Reader

Prompt: could i request one with steve rogers where tony stark comments on your body and flirts with you to no end but you’re dating steve and he gets all jealous and protective of you 🥺👉🏻👈🏻💖

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: swearing

Masterlist

Being in a relationship with someone as perfect as Steve, you knew that there was going to be times where the familiar green eyed monster would rear it’s ugly head but you had been foolish to assume you would be the one struggling with jealousy in your relationship. You were a very attractive woman, despite how you saw yourself, a lot of guys wished they could take Steve’s place at your side. One of those men being a certain genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, or better known as Tony Stark.

The man was either completely unaware of your relationship status or he just didn’t care. The flirting had started small, mere compliments that would be normal to give to a friend or coworker without it being weird. He would say something nice about your hair or your outfit or your work and move on with his day. Sometimes you thought you were at fault for ‘encouraging’ him, all you did was thank him but maybe that was enough for Tony to think you were interested in something more.

The flirting got worse over time, more crude and sexual but you still didn’t really think it was a big problem. This was Tony Stark, surely he does this to every living woman that walks near him. You’d tried to bring up the fact you have a boyfriend but Tony didn’t believe you, “Come on (Y/N), you expect me to believe the hundred year old virgin bagged a chick as hot as you?” You wouldn’t do much but roll your eyes at him and continue working. You worked in the tower as Bruce’s assistant, which meant you were constantly distracted and annoyed by the persistent womanizer of the building.

You had told Steve about Tony’s flirting but it just so happened that Tony’s and Steve’s schedules always had them far away from each other so Steve never had an opportunity to confront his teammate about this issue. Steve had laughed when you told him, thinking it was just classic Tony sass, not realising that the man had no idea you two were together. While Steve pretended it was fine, he couldn’t help but let himself get distracted during missions, wondering if Tony was hitting on you that very moment and there was nothing he could do to stop it. But he was being ridiculous right? Tony wouldn’t go for his girl, would he?

You were stood looking down at your desk, analyzing some results sheets for an experiment you were collaborating with Bruce on. It had been a pretty dull and tedious day up until the lab doors opened and in walked the last person you wanted to see today. Tony caught sight of you before you had time to find a place to hide to avoid him. He strolled over to your station, “Hey beautiful, I did come looking for the jolly green giant but instead I found something much sexier to look at.” It was now a force of habit to roll your eyes at anything that came out of Tony’s mouth. Scoffing, you replied, “Oh please, when are you going to learn that I’m not interested.”

Tony grinned but moved away to give you space, “Yes yes, you have a boyfriend,” he used his fingers to mimic quotation marks as he said the word ‘boyfriend’, still stuck on his theory that you were still single and available. You sighed in annoyance but perked up when Bruce walked through the lab doors, Tony always backed off a little when Bruce was around, thank god. Tony swung his arms by his side, “Say, why don’t you bring him to the party tonight. If he’s a no go, I know that’s you telling me you’re finally giving into my charms.” Bruce walked closer so Tony leaned in to whisper, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t wear any underwear.” He turned and walked over to Bruce too fast to be able to see the disgusted look on your face.

How could he be so delusional to think that you were interested in him. The only man you had eyes for was Steve and no one else was going to change that. You had arrived home later that night in a huff, you really didn’t want to go to that party but you definitely didn’t want to give Tony the wrong impression and make things ten times worse for yourself. Steve seemed to sense your frustration the moment you walked through the door and walked out from his seat in the living room to pull you into his arms as you stood in the hallway. You let out a sigh as you wrapped your arms around Steve’s back.

“Hard day at work, doll?” Just hearing Steve’s voice was enough to calm you down. You mumbled a noise of agreement as best you could with your face smushed against Steve’s chest. He laid his head on top of yours, “Is there anything I can do to help?” You pulled away to look up at Steve, “Will you go to a party with me so Tony will stop flirting with me?” You didn’t see the way Steve’s jaw clenched when you said Tony’s name, “Of course I will doll.” You smiled as you headed to your bedroom to find a dress you wanted to wear tonight. In the scenario you played out in your head, it took a lot more convincing to get Steve to be your date. Steve was more a sit at home and read a good book kind of guy most nights, only really going to events if he was required to attend or if he was bored.

Steve watched you rummage through your closet to try and find a nice dress to wear for the party. Even though you didn’t want Tony’s attention, you still wanted to look good for yourself and for Steve. After a few minutes, you found the dress you were looking for and laid it out on the bed to look for a matching pair of heels to go with it. The dress was a long sleeved, off the shoulder maxi dress with a long spit down the left side that went up to the top of your thigh. It had ruffles along the hem at the top, covering the outline of your chest but making it look even more seductive at the same time. It was a deep burgundy colour and you paired it with some black platform heels. You didn’t wear heels that often, but when you did, you felt sexy and confident.

Once you were done getting ready for the party, you checked yourself out in the mirror and you couldn’t resist checking yourself out. Steve had his eyes on your from the other side of the room as well, approaching you from behind to wrap his arms around your waist. He placed a soft kiss on your exposed neck, “You look gorgeous, doll. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself all night.” You grinned and bit your lip, turning around in Steve’s arms to face him, placing your arms around his neck, looking him up and down, “I don’t think you’ll be the only one.” Steve always looked good but when he dressed up, it really made you wonder how you managed to convince the Captain American to be yours.

If you hadn’t already been late to arrive at the party, you were sure you would’ve been tempted to have a quickie before heading out. Unfortunately, just as you leaned in for a kiss, you got a notification from Happy, letting you know that he was outside and Tony sent him to pick you up. You held back a groan, not wanting to concern Steve and walked downstairs with him to get into the black limousine. You sighed, it was clear that Tony didn’t know the meaning of the word subtle. Steve held the door open for you so you could get inside and took the opportunity to glance at your behind as you had to bend over to crawl inside, holding up the bottom of your dress so it didn’t get ruined. It was a short drive to Stark Tower and quiet. You and Steve felt comfortable enough being just in each other’s presence without needing to fill the silence with conversation. You knew each other’s mannerisms to know that you were both excited for the night ahead. You were looking forward to the look on Tony’s face when you rocked up with your boyfriend.

Once you got inside, Steve gently tapped on your arm, “I’m gonna head over to the men’s room, I’ll be right back okay?” You nodded and walked over to the bar that was next to the elevator, ordering yourself a cocktail and a beer for Steve. It didn’t really matter what you got Steve, he didn’t even get tipsy unless he was given some of Thor’s alcohol from Asgard and it seemed the blonde god wasn’t around tonight to get your boyfriend drunk. Due to your back facing the rest of the room, you weren’t able to see a certain billionaire making his way towards you. Tony smirked as he placed his hands on your hips and pressed himself against you, “I don’t see a date.” At first, you thought Steve had come back from the bathroom but then Tony spoke and you froze. You pushed your elbow back into his stomach to try and force him off of you but he didn’t budge, “Get off me.” You didn’t want to cause a scene but already people were starting to look your way and you felt embarrassed.

Tony laughed, “Oh come on (Y/N), we both know you want me.” Just as you felt Tony move closer against you, he was suddenly ripped away from you and you heard a crash and a grunt of pain, followed by “Get your hands off my girl!” You quickly turned around to see Steve standing over Tony who was lying on the ground with glass all around him. You looked at Steve and breathed heavily, still processing what happened. Steve looked at you before holding out his hand. You eagerly grabbed it and let yourself be pulled closer to him, being pulled down the hallway to the elevator, indicating that you were leaving already, not that you minded. You said nothing in the elevator, not really knowing what to say. You didn’t really have to say anything when Steve pressed you against the wall and pressed a rough kiss against your lips. You gasped and he took that opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. You pulled away to catch your breath, gasping softly. Steve put his hands on your hips, where Tony’s had been moments before, “He shouldn’t have touched you.”

Steve’s voice was low and deeper than normal, it made you feel tingly and sent a shiver down your spine. You looked him in the eyes, “That’s right, because I’m yours and only yours.” Those words struck something in Steve and he pressed the emergency stop button before picking you up and pressing you hard against the wall, wrapping your legs around his hips. Your hands gripped his hair and the back of his shirt, trying to pull him closer to you as your lips connected a second time. Your hands moved to start to unbutton Steve’s shirt when the elevator started moving once more, “Apologies Miss (Y/L/N) and Captain Rogers, but as it is not an emergency situation, the elevator must be kept available for use.” You groaned and hit your head against the wall, you couldn’t believe you were getting cock blocked by a robot. Steve chuckled against your neck as he set you down, “Guess we’ll have to wait until we get home, doll.”

. . .

The next morning when you walked into work, you were very worried that you were going to be dragged out onto the street without a job anymore, but that didn’t seem to be the case, your ID badge was still accessing entrance to your work station. When you arrived at the lab, you jumped as you saw Tony sitting on the edge of your desk silently. He looked up at you and raised his hands up, “I surrender, you tried to tell me and I didn’t listen. I apologize, truce?” You glared at him, looking down at his outstretched hand back to his face. You were unsure about this but reached out to shake his hand, “Okay, truce.” As you leaned forward a little, the collar of your lab coat fell and showed the top of a hickey on your neck. Tony grinned to himself, “Didn’t know Captain Underpants doubled as a vampire.” He left and you quickly covered your neck with your hand, rushing over to a mirror to check it out, not realising it was there. You softly bit your lip as you remembered last night and suddenly it didn’t matter anymore.

#marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x plus size reader #marvel x chubby reader #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x chubby reader #avengers x plus size reader #Steve Rogers #steve x reader #steve x chubby reader #steve x plus size reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader

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lochsides · 3 years

Text

Yellow Metal - cathartic Review

Here’s something I did not expect to be reviewing this week but when Zayn drops a 24 minute rap track, you fall in line. I had to listen to it a couple times through before I could even begin to make sense of my thoughts because my brain sort of malfunctioned. I have never been prouder to be a Zayn fan. He’s such a nuanced songwriter and there is so much to unpack here.

I think this is the most unfiltered version of Zayn that we have ever been exposed to (and possibly will ever be). I am grateful that he said his piece in this because it needed to be said. As a brown woman, I felt so seen by this and I cannot explain what that means to me. Thank you Z, for your unvarnished truth in addressing racism and various forms of discrimination.

I’m doing a short lyrical analysis below the cut, but the TLDR is that this is a fantastic piece of art that deserves to be heard.

I wish he had released this as an EP because that would be easier to review than a single 24 minute song, structurally speaking. So instead, I have picked out some key lyrics, going from top to bottom, that really spoke to me and decided to study the song that way. His lyricism is hard-hitting in this track. It is beyond anything he has ever released before.

“The planet bleeds, the damaged trees. It’s never leaving until we ascend so fuck the fence.” — I have not seen this lyric being talked about in the fandom, because the lyrics that follow this steal the show, rightly so, but I wanted to give this line a moment because it’s important too. To me, this lyric speaks to where Zayn is at with his relationship with the physical world. He’s out on the farm (about which he even goes to say “tell you what I like, farm life and the tractor”) and I believe he’s happy in his space and he feels connected to nature (also see River Road). So it is a poignant and slightly jaded, but valid perspective that he shares on climate change. It’s never leaving until we ascend. The damage human beings have done to the planet won’t be undone until there are no humans left to do damage. It’s a single sentence that says so much about the depth of the climate crisis. I’m doing my PhD on urban air quality so this is something I care really deeply about and I resonated with.

“And until they stop killing colour, it’s fuck the feds.” — Yeah, agreed Zayn. The systemic racism that he calls out here is echoed throughout the song, in equal parts anger and boldness. I love that he isn’t glossing over it with metaphors, which he could easily do and it would be beautiful in a totally different way, but this makes it harder for racists to overlook. There is so much power in calling it like it is.

“Never lose me to fentanyl, scared when I take a Benadryl, keeping it green in general.” — It frustrates me to no end to see Zayn painted as this drug-addicted lazy musician that doesn’t care about his work, because we know how untrue that is. This narrative is tired and simply boring too, and I won’t get into the racist connotations of it when you consider it against his white colleagues who smoke as much as him but that isn’t one of their defining traits in the media.

“I’m racking up excuses while I’m slacking off on work … it was hard work that got me heard” — I love the juxtaposition in this verse. The public/media perception on his career is that Zayn doesn’t put in effort or that he doesn’t want it. This obviously stems from his leaving the band. It goes back to what I was saying before about narrative, when in reality, as Zayn has said on various occasions, he fights to make his own choices. And that doesn’t have to look the way everyone else expects it to (“I beg you, don’t include me. I might write it on my shirt”), he has his own struggles that have helped forge his path, but it is his path that he paved, himself. He works hard to be heard. He has to. It reminds me of something my parents used to tell me when I was younger about being immigrants: you have to work 10 times harder for the same opportunities just because of the colour of your skin or your name on the cv. It’s a harsh truth to grow up with but it was my reality, as it is for most POC.

“This life doesn’t give you no armour, a lot of myself can harm you. I swear on what’s good, that I’m here ‘til they take me. I pray that I’m wrinkled, at least over 80…” — There is something about the simplicity of these lyrics are the messaging that I love. He isn’t trying too hard to sound poetic but he still manages it perfectly.

“All I've been achieving, clocking miles in this region, moving like a legion. Promise that I made to myself, an allegiance. Do you still believe I’m a fool for ever leaving? Staring at the ceiling, can never put a cap on achieving. I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving. // I’ve had about enough of being my own enemy. It’s time I grew up, a long way from 17. Always went against the grain, struggles in my life. Got some things to say when I stand up on the mike.” — This is the only 1D-related lyric I’ll make reference to because this song is about so much more than that. That said though, we cannot overlook Zayn’s experiences in the band because that is part of his story. The tongue-in-cheek of “I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving” is hilarious to me. The line about not wanting to be his own enemy anymore and growing up from 17 reminds me of that quote Taylor (Swift) mentioned in Miss Americana about celebrities getting stuck at the age they got famous. I think this verse is similar to that. None of them ever wanted to be in the band and I don’t care what anyone says, Zayn leaving and proving success outside the band gave the rest of them the courage to follow their own solo careers. Sure there was drama surrounding the split but he did it for himself, to tell his stories the way he is now. Whatever else you have to say about him, you cannot deny his authenticity.

“I ain’t dropping this for fame, I need this time, like therapy, it’s just to keep me sane.” — I think this line tells us 2 things, the first being that this song was not leaked. Z knew what he was doing and his twitter likes tell us as much. He didn’t release it for any sort of attention, otherwise it would be widely available on streaming platforms and for purchase. Which leads to my second point, he released this song to get everything he talks about on the track off his chest. Its referenced in other lyrics too, like “now you see where I come from, the world don’t.” This was for whoever cared to listen, not the world. It’s inaccessible for a reason. I love that he threw those lyrics in. It makes the song feel more like a private conversation or listening to a friend rant. It creates a different form of intimacy between himself and his fans.

“Lessons that I’ve learned, I’ve tried teaching to myself. What I’ve learnt from certain people is that they’re better than myself. So I surround myself with real ones, and you feel the plastic melt.” — This one is for anyone that buys into conspiracy theories surrounding Zayn’s personal life. He surrounds himself with real people, real friendships, real connections. I have never bought into the bullshit that he has zero autonomy over his personal life. I love the use of plastic melting as a metaphor for ridding his life of fakeness.

“Feeling trapped. This industry is a cage.” — Zayn is obviously not the first person to say it. Many artists talk about how suffocating the industry is ( which he further comments on in the sung portion: “I don’t wanna be, I don’t wanna be, a part of this, no, I don’t wanna be, I don’t wanna be, a part of this”). Fame is such a wild and unnatural concept and the exploitation and politics of the music industry only feed further into it. The industry being a cage makes me think of zoos and how celebrities are animals on display, when they should be free in the wild. I also really like the musical interlude following this part.

“Nobody’s speaking the truth, I’m offended by the State. Look at the state of the news, I’ve decided the argument, reciting my views.” — Zayn toes the line between keeping to himself and speaking out on important issues, sometimes not very well. I am his biggest cheerleader, but I’m not up his ass. There have been many occasions where he could’ve done better. But I cannot fault him for being offended by the State because same, Z, same. I love that he took this song as an opportunity to real speak out, no punches pulled.

“See I’ve been facing the racists from back when I were a kiddie. Born up in 93’. Living in Bradford City, they kicked me out of the school. Said they had a problem with me hitting the kids that would call me p***, still sit in the classroom, chilling. I’m angry now that I’m older cause I see they treat us different. Got me thinking I’m the problem ‘cause they never dealt with these issues.” — See what I meant about no punches pulled. He said that! He said it like that too. There is so much in this verse that I relate to, it hits a little too deep. I grew up as a brown in predominantly white communities where the colour of my skin was the reason I was outcasted. We know when that’s happening, clear as day. The lyric “got me thinking that I’m the problem cause they never dealt with these issues” says it all. I have many racial traumas that I’m dealing with as an adult because the adults around me when I was a child didn’t deal with racism in the classroom. They do treat us different!

“20 years later, I’m still in the same boat. Tryna treat me like my grandpa, say I came up off the boat. Came to tell you what I stand for. Man I think you’re shit, a joke. How can I be civil when they got me by the throat? // Pushing my feelings down, you ain’t got it like them. ‘Boy your skin is so light.’ Ok motherfucker, take my name up on a flight. Try to convince immigration that your bloodline’s half white.” — Zayn talking his shit is my new favourite art form. How can I be civil when they got me by the throat? Something that I will always be enraged by is that POC are expected to de-escalate situations of racism. We have to push our feelings down, as Zayn says in the verse, because the institution is against us. All of the institutions are against us. The fact that he takes it a step farther to say that his name makes him a target for racism, even though he is half-white just nails his point home. Also, can we please quit the whole ‘Zayn is white-passing’ bullshit. He alludes to it again later in the song (“asian in my face, but still my race you can’t define”). Its not a compliment to erase someone identity in favour of white-washing them.

“My name ain’t on the list unless they label it ethnic.” — Oh, the amount of times we have heard that age old (v. racist) saying ‘{celebrity of colour} is the new [insert white celebrity here]’ as if POC aren’t allowed to succeed in their own right. It is wild to me that Zayn has to deal with this given his level of success.

“Start to understand why they think that I’m threatening. I move in certain ways, couldn’t slow me with ketamine.” — There is a subtle nod to racism (and Islamaphobia) in this line, because of course the brown man is a threat, but I like the way Z turns it around. I also like the rhyme scheme.

“Raised on the benefit for whose benefit? They’ll never learn shit, man, if the shoe fits.” — Okay I might be reaching here, but this is just my interpretation. We all know the benefit system in the UK sucks. Being raised on benefit implies a lack of money growing up, but the benefits aren’t really all that beneficial to the families that rely upon them.

“Dealing with the hurt, they should know cause they don’t deserve it, it hit deep cause I hit the nerve.” — Well, okay then, just call me out. It’s fine. I seriously feel like he’s talking to me directly with this line. I imagine a lot of us do. Its one of those lyrics that are a bit too honest but that why we love them.

“Cathartic, I’m an artist. Trying to put my heart in” // “Freedom fighter, Yellow Metal is my name.” — So do we have an alternate persona for Zayn now? Alright, I’m down. I think these two lines are tied together, because both are mentioned in the song title. (I think of the song as cathartic, by Yellow Metal, aka Zayn, or Yellow Metal as the name of the EP if this was officially released). The lyrics that accompany both title lyrics, along with the subject matter of the song as a whole, suggest that his heart is in standing up against injustices. I said it earlier, this is the most unvarnished version of Z that we have ever been exposed to. Almost like the complete picture to the puzzle pieces we’ve been putting together over the years.

“They’re tryna kill us with disease.” — Why did this line scream out ‘COVID-19 outbreaks in developing countries’ to me? Again, I might be reaching, but there is a disparity between how COVID is treated amongst minorities, along with many other diseases, and not to mention rich, primarily white countries hoarding vaccine supplies while places like India (and my beautiful Bangladesh and I’m sure Pakistan too) suffer needlessly.

“Started something sick and on my mind is what’s next. Just became a dad so now I’m taking all the cheques. Better know I’m staying and paying like it’s debt. Imma get it done, if it’s taking all my breath, sweat, and down I ain’t messing around ’til I’m the best.” — I think this lyric shows off Zayn’s sentimental side more than it does his ambitious side, because we know he’s in this for the long haul. Others may doubt that but his fans never have. But hearing him talk openly about being a father on a song is something else. It’s like Khai added this whole other layer of meaning and purpose to his life and it’s beautiful to watch. I’ve been here since the X-Factor auditions guys!! It makes me so emotional to witness him like this.

“Aint many of me around, p***, I’m just different. Certain stages to this level aint here because fame is to the devil, fuck a label, imma do this from the ghetto.” — God, we’ve been waiting for a fuck the label moment in this house, haven’t we? I won’t get into my theories on his label or his team, but none of us deny the fact that they should be doing more for him than they are. He has the potential to be the biggest thing with the right team and promo because he has a built-in fan base that would go the mile for him. Obviously, there’s also his aversion to promo to contend with and that’s his decision. Even without it, he could shatter every ceiling. Another thing I want to mention about this verse is the nod to the complete lack of South Asian representation in contemporary Western media.

“Don’t know what’s worse: the way that you live your life or the way that you write a verse.” — I’m just putting this in here because it made giggle. Also going to take this space to say how much I love his energy in this song. He knows he’s the shit, as he should!

“Can’t be louder … so free Gaza on my banner.” // “They’re hating on Palestine ways.” — I love that Zayn has always supported this movement, years ago, before being ‘woke’ was a thing. But now, he has a daughter that has Palestinian heritage and I’m sure that makes this hit that much deeper for him, personally. The apartheid in Palestine is heart-wrenching. It’s so strange to me to watch it happen, because I never thought I would witness something like this happening in 2021, yet here we are.

“Like vipers, I see the sly ones, the snake that’s called Biden, none of them abiding what they might put in writing. We should be used to it by now, say whatever for the vote and then just choose another route. Say they’d never kill another unless that brother’s skin is brown. I’m just telling you the facts, if you can’t take it, the truth naked, to bare bones and my thoughts lately, spitting politics.” — This verse is straight up savage and I am living for it! I find it hilarious that he called Biden a snake. This verse addresses the truth about politics, that even electing a left-wing leader doesn’t fix the system.

“I’m Tony Stark, still embarking on a dream” // “Gone green like Bruce Banner” // “He taught me like Ra’s Al Ghul. Felt like living in Gotham, the people were rotten.” — And to tie it all off, I wanted to take a goofy moment to mention all the superhero lyrics Z added in this song, really showing his personality because I’m such a nerd when it comes to this stuff and it makes me wish that we were friends so I could annoy him to death about it.

#reviews #zayn #yellow metal #cathartic #zayn malik

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magicman111 · 3 years

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A Moth to a Flame - Chapter Two

One month later

Sasha joylessly toyed with the Music Box, opening its lid like a yawning mouth.

Who’d have thunk it? She wondered to herself. This tacky little thing could cause so much calamity?

How ludicrously out of place she looked curled up on King Andrias’ enormous throne, almost like the little girl playing pretend in the driver’s seat of her parents’ car. You’d be forgiven for not knowing she’d just led the swiftest, easiest toppling of a government in this world’s history.

Big blue dummy locked up? Check. The city’s army surrendered? Check. Their toad army less than an hour away? Check. Dimension-skipping Macguffin firmly in their position? Double Check.

Not a bad day’s work for a 13-year-old.

Marcy’s oversized sparrow was tethered to the armrest by his leg. A prize she’d taken for herself so she could cruise around her new kingdom in style. She saw to it he wasn’t under any duress, and the fact he was neck deep in an industrial sized bag of bird feed told her he was plenty comfortable.

Sasha managed a tiny smile as she reached out to run her fingers through the thickness of his coat. She dunked her hand in the bag and offered him an open palm of seeds; he eyed for a moment or two before gingerly pecking at the mound.

Thank Frog no one was around to hear the ‘d’aww’ escape her lips.

Her grandmother was the one she had to thank for her secret admiration of birds. Old lady had been a birdwatcher who ‘treated’ her to regular weekend trips into the forest when she was younger. This was long before her discovery of malls and arcades. Sasha wouldn’t dare admit it to even herself back then, but the ones they spotted together on those dewy spring mornings were beautiful to behold in their natural habitat.

Herons may now be forever ruined for her, but Joe—she thought that was his name—was a mighty impressive specimen. Poor guy somehow found the strength to carry all seven of them to Newtopia, only to nosedive into the moat at the end of the flight.

Definitely had nothing to do with her asking Marcy if she could take the reins in the last stretch. She and Anne were kind enough not to draw attention to it, same as they did the day at summer camp when they discovered her crying into her pillow. They were awesome enough to go along with her story that it was only allergies. She knew she had a true pair of girlfriends that morning.

Thinking about them only soured her mood afresh. She sprinkled the rest of the feed back into the bag and slumped against the backrest, arms petulantly crossed.

Here she was in the crowning moment of her young life and she couldn’t have been more miserable.

Maybe because her friends should have been here to share in this, but no, they had to go and act all noble. What else should she have expected? She always was the only one in the group with the guts. Anne had to be dragged kicking and screaming to ditch school and join her and Marcy in celebrating her birthday. Was it any wonder she had to keep taking control of the situation?

More likely... it was because deep down she knew she didn’t really want this. She certainly believed she did after they dropped that gloryhound newt general down a waterfall and when they successfully rallied the Toad Lords after retrieving Barrel’s Warhammer. Things only started getting complicated when they needed free tickets into Newtopia in the form of her friends.

She hadn’t counted on realising just how much she missed her clumsy, klutzy Marcy. Neither how effectively she and Anne were still able to work together as a team in spite of all the unpleasantness that had transpired between them during their time here, of which there was plenty. The fact that Anne actively encouraged her in taking down that molten toad monster was the rancid cherry atop the sludge sundae. For a while back there, it looked like they might really turn a corner and start afresh. All three of them could have gone home like none of this ever happened. Except by then it was already too late.

What recourse did she have when the Plantars invited them for the world’s most awkward dinner party or when they brought the house down at the Battle of the Bands? Tell Grime and all the toads who’d invested their manpower and futures in her that sorry, she was getting cold feet? There was only one grizzly way that would end both for her and Grime and the best scenario she could imagine involved heads on pikes.

... It didn’t matter anymore. Her friends had picked their path, she’d picked hers. As her mom always said, ‘You make your bed, you lie in it’. Funny how in her short life, she’d heard that line far too many times already.

Once she figured out how the Box worked, she’d send both Anne and Marcy on their merry way and they’d never have to see each other ever again.

Everyone would get what they want.

Good thing then she’d sent her soldiers to ransack Marcy’s room for all her research about Anne’s fateful birthday gift. Girl was a pack rat. She kept notes for every exam and project they were assigned back home. The less said about her laptop jammed with files of anime fanfiction and theories the better.

Plus, it was a good way to try and distract herself.

They came back into the throne room hauling burlap sacks full of parchments and emptied their contents at Sasha’s feet.

Daaang, girl, you've been in the zone.

She scattered them over her lap and the ample free space on the seat. They actually weren’t that hard to follow; colour coordinated with plenty of cutesy kawaii diagrams. Trademark Marbles.

Apparently, it worked a lot like those puzzle boxes Marcy got as gifts from relatives in Hong Kong. All it took was knowing the right sequence of buttons and zip! You can go wherever you want in the cosmos. Just a matter of finding the code for Earth.

‘I’m done listening to you!

I’m done trusting you!’

Sasha scowled, trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind where they belonged. She shuffled through a couple more pages until she found the one titled in glittery green and blue lettering, ‘HOME’.

Bingo.

‘You’re a horrible person!’

Ignore. Ignore.

Now all she had to do was jot it down on her palm and—

‘AND I AM DONE. BEING. FRIENDS WITH YOU!!’

She stopped. Her shoulders drooped. Then she just threw the page down on the floor and sunk into her seat further than she thought physically possible.

She normally didn’t consider herself that thin skinned a person, but man, that one hurt.

Traces of bitter tears creeped into her eyes.

What am I even doing anymore?

The sound of footsteps on crumpling paper and someone clearing their throat snapped her out of her self-pitying torpor. She fluttered her eyes dry to see Grime standing there awkwardly among the discarded parchments.

The diminutive, one-eyed former Toad Lord was hiding something behind his back. He actually looked pretty embarrassed about it too, which for a battle hardened war vet like Grime was actually kinda adorable in Sasha’s eyes.

“I, uhh, got you something,” he said, whipping out a long rectangular present wrapped in green paper and topped with a luscious red bow. “Had it made especially for this day.”

Now if there was one thing Sasha Waybright couldn’t say no to, it was a gift, especially from a trusted friend. They were the ultimate distraction from the blues and she couldn’t have been sitting upright and tearing into this one any quicker.

“Whaaat? Grimesy, you didn’t!” What she had pulled from the ravaged packaging wielded aloft her head made her gasp. “How’d you know I wanted to duel wield?!”

It was a brand new heron sword. An exquisite green second shortsword that would compliment Ol’ Pink perfectly.

She stared proudly into the smooth steel surface, admiring the craftsmanship. When she noticed the girl staring right back at her, however, her smirk vanished in an instant. The captain of the cheerleaders, the scarred swordswoman, the conqueror of Newtopia, whatever angle she looked at it, she didn’t like what she saw. Unbelievable as it may sound, even the joy of an awesome gift like this was not enough to make everything better.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it? Oh dang it!” Grime slammed his forehead. “I didn’t get a gift receipt!”

“No no, it’s just...” Sasha weighed the blade against her ungloved palm. Talking about these kinds of things was never easy for her. “What if Anne’s right? What if I am a horrible person?”

Grime popped up like a whack-a-mole behind the armrest. “Who cares what she thinks?” he scoffed. “You and I are in charge now, and we get to do whatever we want!”

“That’s the thing... I’m not sure what I want anymore,” she admitted wearily.

For all his years of training at the finest academies, his brutal combat in the colosseum and tactical expertise earned through a lifetime of military service as his forebears before him, this one had Grime stumped. Needless to say, talking about one’s emotions wasn't exactly encouraged during their upbringing in toad culture, so naturally it wasn’t one of his strong suits. Just one of the many things he and Sasha had in common.

“Huh.”

Still, he was a pretty fast thinker and came up with a fairly good idea on the spot.

“Why don’t you help me redecorate this place?” he suggested, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Take your mind off it. Cuz this right here...” He gestured to the cluttered mess in which she’d surrounded herself. “This is definitely not—I’m sorry, can I help you?!”

Both of them turned their heads when it became impossible to ignore Joe’s cone-shaped beak lightly nipping at Grime’s cheek.

“He probably thinks your warts are seeds.”

“For the love of—I knew he was eyeing me up on the ride here! There! Get lost!” Grime scooped up a fistful of feed and flung it over the marble floor, but the winged beast persisted with pecking his face. “Stop it! MY HEAD IS NOT A FEEDER!!”

It took an exceptional effort of willpower for Sasha not to laugh at the sight of her old man being preyed upon by the family pet.

Wow, she thought. Her old man? Was that how she saw Grimesy now? Seriously?

Perhaps up to a point. Okay, considering the options she had for parental figures back home, it wasn’t exactly the highest bar to pass, but it still meant something. Anything.

Who would have guessed this would be how they’d end up, especially given how they started off with her as his prisoner? Sure, it may have taken her helping him and the whole tower not getting turned into heron feed for her to be upgraded to his lieutenant, but they really had come a long way since then. There was a lot more honor and heart to the cranky old toad than she first thought, back when she wrote him off just as another blowhard with power. Now he genuinely considered her his equal both as a friend and comrade in arms. For Sasha, the feeling was mutual. A first for her.

When all was said and done, who else did she have left besides him and vice versa?

What the heck? Let’s tear this place up.

Untethering Joe, she whistled a tweet-tweet and gave the rope a gentle tug to encourage him to follow on their ‘indoor walkies’.

A cursory surveillance of the throne room told her there was a lot of work to be done. If this toad regime was to last a thousand years, the correct decor was an important first step. Thankfully for them, she knew a thing or two about fashion. For starters, there were way too many soft blues and purples. Rust red from top to bottom! She preferred keeping the stained glass windows, but they’d need entirely new designs. Hers truly would naturally feature in most of them, one showcasing her and Grime caving that narwhal worm’s head in with the Warhammer being an absolute must. The snakes coiling the stone pillars weren’t a bad touch, if just a bit too elegant for the whole ‘proud warrior race’ vibe they were going for, but she could still work with them. Now as for the throne, they were gonna have to replace it with something much more imposing. There was that super violent dragon show she and her parents used to watch that had the huge throne made out of swords. She was sure she had a picture somewhere on her phone to use as a reference.

“I’m sorry, what the heck is this?!”

Sasha could only denounce what they were gawking at as the single biggest affrontement to tasteful decorating known to man or amphibian. Yes, worse than inflatable furniture, carpeted bathrooms, beaded curtains, glass block bathroom windows, ‘live, laugh, love’ quotes on walls, rustic hearts, mason jars and nautical accessories all combined under the same inland roof.

Tapestries had their rightful place in a palace’s interior design, but the one sweeping across a section of wall depicting a gentle hearted Andrias sitting down by a lake, surrounded by flowers and lilypads was nothing short of vomit-inducing. Gathered at his feet and scooped up in his protective arms were his wide-eyed, childlike subjects. Even the fish and a lobster were surfacing to bask in their king’s magnanimity. Here the oversized salamander was truly the loving patriarch of everything the light touched. The mawkish display could only be topped off with a rainbow streaking across the sky.

Grime felt his stomach roile. If he ever needed an example to demonstrate the difference between kitschy and downright tacky, this was it.

“Y-y-y-yikes!” he gagged. “This thing’s gotta go!”

Sasha didn’t need a second invite. Besides, what else was Joe going to use to line his nest?

A joint effort tore the offensive piece from its place and it tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Dead silence fell over the room.

Hidden beneath the tapestry was... a mural. Including such a decoration in a throne room was hardly surprising, yet it was what it contained that shocked both the human and toad, so much so that they had to take a moment to recover.

“Woah,” they gasped at once, before starting to analyse what they saw.

The mural was a chaotic collection of nightmarish images painted on a night blue wall. Wild red flames spewing out hordes of beasts and the wreckage of buildings. Mountains of skulls and bones belonging to frogs, toads and newts alike. A flying... spaceship? A castle? Whatever it was meant to be, it firied a white beam up at what was unmistakably the Music Box. Pink, green and blue lightning bolts crackled out of the Box. Mesmerising orange gemstones or, more terrifyingly, eyes leaped off the wall and burned themselves into their minds. The frightening focal point of this one-way ticket to the school therapist’s office? Rising out of the middle of the inferno was the silhouette of a red-eyed, goliath-sized beast, its claws reaching up covetously towards the Box that hung right above its crowned head.

It may as well have been lifted straight from the tattered dream journal of a madfrog.

Any ideas of redecorating the throne room were long gone. Even the revolution they were spearheading suddenly seemed millions of miles away in the face of what they’d just stumbled upon.

Peering her eyes slightly, Sasha was the first to put a face to the shadowy leviathan, and when she did, she had to swallow her heart back down into her chest.

“Is that the king?” she asked, mystified. “With the music box?”

Sweat ran down the side of Grime’s nonplussed face. “If it is… it’s a really good thing we stopped him.”

Neither of them said it aloud, but both understood the situation at once. All this time they thought they’d been playing flipwart while the king played bog jump. Oh, how wrong they’d been. It was beyond anything that even the Toad Lords discussed. They knew that they had to reconvene with them as soon as the armies had reached the gate.

She took a couple steps closer to reexamine the mural more thoroughly, missed details emerging now that the initial shock began to wear off. Circuit board markings—the same inside her dad’s outdated computer when she foolishly dared Marcy if she could take it apart—worked their way around the images, serving as some type of frame. Odd choice for a world that didn’t even have steam engines yet. She also picked up the three small geometric figures standing atop the Box’s lid. An artist she was not, but they looked pretty human-like in design.

But humans did not exist in Amphibia. The three of them were the first of their kind to ever set foot in this dimension.

Weren’t they?

Alarm bells were ringing louder than ever before. This Andrias guy had been playing Anne and Marcy for his own ends this whole time, all to get his mitts on the Music Box! What did he plan to do with it? Right now, she still couldn’t say, but it was all bad. Outside of a kickin’ rock band, fire and skulls together were never a good thing!

Even Joe’s feathers were puffing up anxiously against her back. Not turning away from the mural, she raised her hand and patted his risen crest.

“I know, big guy. I don’t like it either.”

Grime’s voice rang urgently in her ears, “Lieutenant! Get over here, quick!!”

Sasha had spun on her heels and sprinted down the room to find Grime standing the wreckage of what used to be a display of armour. He’d evidently acted on a hunch while she’d been preoccupied. Judging by his thunderstruck expression, he’d just discovered something far worse.

“What is iooooh boy!”

This new second mural reminded Sasha a lot of Egyptian hieroglyphs. If there was any room for doubt about the technicolor stick guys, there was none here. Standing tall against an indigo backdrop in a neat row were the outlines of human beings; long gangly appendages, stumpy noses and everything. Some were wearing hooded capes, others were decked out in suits of armour. The couple in the middle looked particularly regal. No prizes for guessing the little wooden box they were holding in their hands, cementing their authority as if it were the globus cruciger.

Faded inscriptions were engraved along the bottom. They were written in a more archaic amphibian dialect, but being a toad of higher education, Grime was able to give translating them a decent shot.

These great beings of magic and might

Travelled from beyond to serve the night

Bow before these children of man

Or know the wrath of the—

“... Wu Clan?” He cocked his one good eye up at her. “Iiiii’m not getting it.”

There it was. Floodlights flashed in Sasha’s head. All colour drained from her face. A million and one thoughts were now firing across her brain at once, threatening to send her into cerebral shutdown.

It was at that moment she knew she’d been played. They all had. She didn’t know whether to be absolutely furious, betrayed or impressed.

Why that conniving, devious little—

That's when they heard the BOOM outside the window.

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talesofarcadia78 · 4 years

Text

Sorceress of Arcadia || Becoming Part 1

Summary: Y/n Lake is Jim Lake's older sister. She discovers that she is sorceress and her brother is the Trollhunter. She and the Trollhunters go on adventures together, they save trolls and humans. Along the way, a friend becomes more than just a friend and discovers their secrets.

Warnings: Bruises, mention of blood, pain

Word count: 3,514

Tags: @lunariasilver

Next >> Becoming Part 2

Beep! Beep! Beep!

UHH!

My stupid alarm clock woke me out of my perfect slumber. You rolled over to your side and glanced at your alarm clock. 6:30 AM. You groaned, today was Tuesday, which meant SCHOOL!

After another minute of groaning, you got up and walked over out of your bedroom and into the bathroom. You brushed your teeth and took a quick shower and got ready. You looked at yourself in the mirror.

“Looking good, y/n!”, you thought to yourself and got out of the bathroom and rushed downstairs to the living room. You saw that Jim was already up and making what looked like breakfast but you might wrong though.

“Good morning Jim! Your dear old sister is very hungry! Have you made anything for her?” you asked, walking through into the kitchen.

“Morning y/n! You’re only 18, three years older, not that old. But yes, I have! Here”, he handed you a plate with an omelette and a glass of juice.

“Thanks!”, as you walked out of the kitchen and sat at the dining table.

You quickly finished you’re breakfast and ran upstairs to grab your bag. You noticed that Jim was in your mom’s room, leaving breakfast there for her. You smiled. Jim took so much care for our mom. She was working double shifts lately, and she wasn’t getting enough rest and ‘me time’.

Jim closed mom’s room’s door, and headed downstairs with you.

||||||||||||||||||||

As the garage door opened, you saw that the garbage bin was laying on the floor with rubbish spilling out.

“Uh. Raccoons!”, Jim said, annoyed.

He picked up the rubbish, when Toby (Jim’s best friend) rides over to us from him house across from us.

“C’mon Jimbo, y/n, we’re late for school”, he said, buckling his helmet on.

“I know. I was busy with the lunches. One for mom, y/n, me and you”, he said walking with his bike to him and handing him a brown paper bag.

Toby peeked into the contents of the bag.

“I can’t, I’m on a diet”, handing the paper bag back to Jim.

“You’ve been on a diet for 14 years Tobes!”, Jim argued, pushing the Toby’s hand away.

They continued bickering, when I got my bike and ringed it’s bell, catching the boys attention.

“Well I’m heading to school. See ya later!”, you said, riding off

You took in the morning view of the beautiful mountains and canals. You would never want to leave Arcadia. As you rode your Vespa through town, you saw many people driving to work and walking to school. Some people were at the cafe or at a shop. You noticed a guy turn a sign from ‘close’ to ‘open’ for GDT Arcane Books. He was tall and skinny, wearing a black shirt and jacket with black jeans and black shoes. He had raven black hair with blue dyed tips.

Hmm, I’ve never seen him around town before. You knew practically everyone in town except for the students at Arcadia Oaks High, other then Jim and Toby. I rode until your school came into sight, Arcadia Oaks Academy. You didn’t go to the same school Jim because your mom, Barbara Lake, couldn’t afford both of us going to Arcadia Oaks High, so I went to the other school, since it was cheaper.

You parked your bike and hung your helmet on one of the handles. You walked through the entrance and were quickly greeted with your best friend, Rachael and Izzy.

“Y/n! Guess what happened!”, both of them squealed.

“What?! Tom Holland is coming to Arcadia?”, you asked, jokingly.

“Nope! I wish! But I got you-know-who’s Instagram!”, Izzy said, jumping up and down.

You looked over at Rachael, she nodded.

“Wow! Good job Izzy. Now you just need to become friends in the real world, not just the Instagram world”, you said walking over to your locker.

“Uhh....maybe”, Izzy said.

You grabbed your books and shoved them in your backpack, it was an urban backpack, so there weren’t any zips, just weird looking strips that magnetically connected. So you were having a hard time, zips were way more efficient.

You slammed your locker closed and headed to our first class of the day, HPE theory. You were walking to class while talking with Rachael and Izzy when, you saw Jim calling me. you stopped and picked up.

“What’s up, I have my first class in 5 minutes, so hurry”, you said quickly.

“Sorry y/n! I found something in the canals, that was calling my name, strange. But I’ll tell you after school. Bye!”, he said and hung up before you even had a chance at saying ‘bye’.

You put your phone in your pocket and were about continue to class, when you tripped over your feet and descended to the ground. You were ready for the impact but you never felt it.

Huh? You looked up, and saw the same guy from the bookstore. He had grabbed you by your arms. You quickly got up and faced the guy.

“Thank you! I can be very clumsy sometimes. Oh sorry, I’m y/n”, I said, stretching out my hand to shake.

“No problem! I’m Douxie. Nice to meet you y/n. Oh and...”, he said, then ruffled through his pockets and took out two cards.

He handed them to me, GDT Arcane Books and Mr. Benoit’s cafe business cards.

“I work there. It’ll be great to see you around there”, he said, not meeting your gaze.

“Sure! You look new, you just came here?”, you asked.

“Nah. I just don’t really show my face to the public other then at school”, he replied.

“Oh okay. Well, I’ll see you around, bye”, you said turning around to go to class.

“Bye”, he said heading the other way.

||||||||||||||||||||

The whole day was exhausting for you. After your last class, you left and went to your brother’s high school.

Jim rode over to me, as well as Toby.

“Hey Jim! How was your day?”, you asked, as you rode your bike along side him.

“It was good, I kinda got into a fight with Steve, cause he was bullying Eli, so yeah...”, he said, trying to sound like it was normal.

“Yeah! Did you see how I chanted ‘let him out! let him out!”, Toby exclaimed, proud of himself. “Good thing your mom’s a doctor”, he said, while mom drove up to us.

“Hey kids”, mom greeted us, rolling down the window.

Toby tried to stop in-front the car while he said,

“Looking sharp Dr. L”, as he stopped and came into mom’s view.

“Thanks Toby. You’re looking sharp yourself”, she complimented him.

“Oh really! It shows?”, Toby says, showing his ‘muscles’.

You chuckled.

While Jim and mom were talking, you waved mom bye and rode to your house. You put your bike in the garage and walked upstairs to your room. You dropped you bag on the floor, and took your laptop out and started doing your homework. Then you heard the front door open, must be Jim.

You ran downstairs, finding him sitting on the edge of the couch and looking at what looked like an amulet.

“I have a feeling that this is what you wanted to show me”, you said, sitting next to him.

“Yeah. Toby and I found it in the canals in the morning. It was calling my name. Strange right?”, he explained.

You nodded. You then looked at the amulet, it looked ancient. Jim suddenly, started talking to it. When the amulet didn’t say anything, he got frustrated and told it,

“Come one speak up or else you’re going up on eBay!”

He sounded stupid at this point, he was talking to an inanimate object for God’s sake! Then we heard something from the basement. We glanced at each other and headed to the basement.

“Uh! Must be raccoons!”, you said, getting a broom for Jim and getting yourself a metal stick.

We headed down the stairs and then saw....nothing. We went further in when you heard something behind you. You tapped Jim’s shoulder and turned around.

A blue creature that had 6 eyes and 4 arms came out of the shadow’s.

“Master Jim!”, it said.

Jim started screaming, when another creature was behind us. It was bigger, had green hair and grey skin, well stone.

“Hi!”, it said.

You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t. Then you looked at the creatures and backed away terrified. You couldn’t hear what they were saying since you were in your own thoughts.

How did they get in? What do they want? What are they? How do they know Jim?

Then you snapped back into reality. The creatures were introducing themselves. The multi-eyed guy was Blinky and the brute was AAARRRGGHH and they were ‘trolls’. Then Jim passed out. You looked at the trolls.

“Don’t go near my brother!”, you shouted at them and stuck your metal stick out at them.

“Do not worry sister of Master Jim, we will not harm him”, Blinky said, trying to calm you down.

But that didn’t work you felt very scared, but you had to look confident, the complete opposite. Then suddenly, aqua coloured sparks started to flare out of your hands and onto the stick you were holding. Then a ball of aqua looking sparks shot out and towards the trolls. It hit them, making them stumble back.

“Hmm. Master Jim’s sister is a sorceress. Who knew?!”, Blinky whispered to AAARRRGGHH.

“I-I’m a what?”, you asked, lowering the stick.

“A sorceress. In simpler words, you have magic”, Blinky explained, “We should make our exit. Lovely meeting you sister of Master Jim. We-”.

“My name is y/n. So call me that”, you said, introducing yourself.

“Oh okay. Lovely meeting you, y/n. Well, goodbye, we will be seeing you soon”, Blinky said and AAARRRGGHH waved. Then they were gone.

You looked down at Jim.

“What have you gotten yourself and me into Jim”, you said, as you picked him up and took him back to the living room.

You set him on the couch, and went upstairs to sleep.

||||||||||||||||||||

You had gotten up a bit more early and got dressed. It wasn’t the best outfit but how cares?

You grabbed your backpack and headed downstairs. You looked at the clock, it was 7. You then looked at the couch were Jim was sleeping, he was snoring very loudly. You quickly wrote down a note for Jim:

Morning sleepyhead, I’m out, since you were asleep, no one was going make breakfast, so I’m grabbing something for Mr. Benoit’s. See ya after school. 🤪

You rode you way over to the cafe and placed your bike near a window. You walked inside and was about to order, when Douxie walked up.

“Hey y/n. Were you going to order something?” Douxie asked.

“Hey Douxie, actually I was just going to get black coffee,” you replied.

He help up a coffee cup. You smiled and thanked him as the two of you settled at a table. You drank your coffee quietly, while Douxie ate his muffin.

“Wanna go to school together?” he asked.

“Sure” you replied.

You grabbed your bike while Douxie grabbed his. You both rided along side each other and talked. When the school came into view, Douxie asked,

“Wanna race?”

“Why not!”, you replied.

You both start peddling faster. When thought you were just about to win, Douxie peddled a bit faster. You pressed the brakes, but you didn’t stop. It did not end well. You skidded on the concrete, scraping your hands, making them bleed, and you ankle landed the wrong way when you fell to the floor. Douxie was just about to rush over and help you when a bunch of girls came up to him and started oooing and ahhing over him. He tried to go over to you but he couldn’t.

You looked at your hands, there were bleeding a lot. You tried to stand up but as soon as you did, you fell back onto the floor, screaming in pain. Your ankle was not okay. Douxie had heard your scream, making him loose his patience.

“Excuse me girls! I need to get to a very important person, so please,” he shouted, sprinting to you.

“Y/n! Your hands...”, he said, worriedly, looking at your hands.

He took your hands in his and inspected the scrapes. As he touched your wrist, you winced, he had touched a bruise. He saw you wince in pain, so he quickly apologised. He looked at your ankle, it was turning to a purple shade. Since you couldn’t walk, he would carry you. He placed one of his hands under your knees and the other behind your back and lifted you up.

“Douxie, this isn’t necessary. I can pull my own weight,” I protested.

He had pulled you close to his chest, so you wouldn’t accidentally fall.

You noticed that he was pretty tall, so you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and clinged onto him for dear life.

“You can’t pull your weight, clearly and this was the only way. Plus I don’t think you have a lot of weight to pull,” he said.

He was clearly referring to me being light.

He carried me across the school, getting everyone’s attention. We were about half way to the nurses office when Izzy and Rachael came rushed over to us.

“Y/n! What happened?” they both asked.

“My brakes were not working, so I skidded on concrete and my ankle landed the wrong way so I can’t walk. I told Douxie that I could pull my own weight but he didn’t listen and so he now carrying me to the nurses office,” you explained.

“Well look at the bright side! You’re getting carried by Douxie! Douxie!” Rachael said.

Douxie and you blushed.

“It’s nothing. I can do anything for y/n,” Douxie said calmly.

Izzy and Rachael eyebrows shot up at his statement. Douxie realised what he had said and tried to explain, when you tightened your grip on Douxie. Your ankle started hurting a lot. You winced in pain. Douxie looked at you and apologised to your friends and continued to the nurses office. You whimpered in pain, as it got worse.

“It’s okay y/n, I’ve got you. Nothing is going to happen,” Douxie whispered to you.

Douxie tried pushing the door of the nurses office open with his foot but it didn’t work. A person in the office, noticed you and Douxie and quickly opened the door, letting you in. Douxie laid you down on the bed in one of the room’s. The nurse ushered him out and the nurse examined your ankle.

After you were examined, the nurse told Douxie that she will be fine by the end of the day, and that he could pick her up after last period.

||||||||||||||||||||

You had been sitting on the bed all day, having an ice pack around your ankle and bandages on your hand. The whole day was very quiet and boring. Then, you heard the bell ring, school had ended! You didn’t have to wait long, your black and blue haired friend came as soon as the bell rung.

“Hey Douxie!” you said, as he came into the room.

“Hey y/n! How are you feeling? Can you walk?”, he asked, shooting you questions.

“She can’t walk fully yet, she can limp. You’ll have to support your friend home”, the nurse interrupted.

Your eyes become wide when the nurse said that he had to drop me off to my house. Douxie nodded and walked over to you.

“Let’s see how you can walk”, he said.

He offered me his hand for support and you took it. As you put weight on your ankle, it started to hurt.

“Ouch!”, you exclaimed, squeezing Douxie’s hands in pain.

“Yeah...you can’t walk. I am sorry for doing this again,” he said, then lifted you up again. You got out of the nurses office and out of school, were your bike was.

“Hmm. If you can’t ride your bike to school, then you’ll need a lift. Do you have a brother or someone that can pick you up?”, Douxie asked.

“I have a younger brother. He goes to Arcadia Oaks High. I can call him-”, you said when you were cut off by Douxie.

“I can call him. What’s his number?”, he asked.

You told him and then he called your brother.

“Hey, is this Jim? Okay, so I have got your sister, can you pick her up? She can’t ride her bike, I’ll come with you guys since her bag is with me. Bye,” he said over the phone.

||||||||||||||||||||

“Hey Jim!” Douxie waved at Jim and Toby, making him come over to you.

“Y/n! What happened? Are you alright?” Jim asked, worried.

“I’m fine Jim, I’ll tell you about it at home,” you said, reassuring him for now.

“Okay let’s go, before it get’s dark...” Toby said, looking at the sun setting.

Douxie looked confused, but he pushed the thought away. He helped you over to Jim, where he his hand stretched out for me to take. I took it and looked confused.

“Jimbo, where am I going to sit?” you asked, gesturing to his bike, where there was only one seat.

“You are going to sit on the seat, while I ride,” he explained.

You nodded. You sat on his seat and he started peddling through town, while Toby and Douxie were following behind.

“Douxie, thank you for helping my sister, it means a lot,” Jim said, as we rode through the town and onto the bridge.

“It’s nothing. I can do anything for her,” Douxie said, but then he realised what he had just said.

You blushed.

“Well I um mean that I can do anything um...” Douxie stammered.

“Anyways! Toby why were you at the dentist?”, Jim asked, trying to start a normal conversation.

“I’ll explain later. Anyways, let’s talk about you, Jim,” Toby said, changing topics.

“What about me?” Jim asked, panicking a little.

“You know, the LOYL,” Toby smirked.

“Yeah Jim, who is this girl? Wait, is it Claire Nūnez?” you teased.

“Uh...um..well...”Jim stammered.

“Oh! Jim you have a crush? Have you spoken to her yet?” Douxie teased.

“Well I did yesterday, during gym class,” Jim said.

“Please don’t tell me you said anything to her in Spanish,” you said.

When he didn’t give you an answer, you knew the answer, he did.

“What’s so bad in talking in Spanish?”, Douxie asked, curious.

“Jim starts talking in Spanish when he get’s nervous, which is usually when he talking to girls, more specifically, Claire,” you explained.

Then your house came.

“Well that is it for the day, see you guys tomorrow,” Toby said, riding to his home across from ours.

You got off your brother’s bike and limped over to the front door and opened it. You collapsed on the couch, tired. Douxie came in and dropped your bag onto the floor next to you.

“Well I’ll see you tomorrow, love,” he said, walking out of the door.

Jim came in and dropped his things on the couch.

“I’ll make sandwiches, you rest,” Jim ordered.

You sighed, you limped over with him and then sat on top of the bench. You looked at you brother, he chopping and looking at the amulet.

“Why don’t you try looking into it?” you ask.

“Maybe I should,” he said, taking the amulet and walking outside.

You followed him outside and sat on the stairs. He looked at the amulet and spoke the incantation.

“For the glory of Merlin, daylight is mine to command,” he spoke, turning the amulet. Then the wind suddenly picked up, and you saw that the rocks started to levitate. Then, blue magic orbs appeared out of the amulet and into Jim heart, then he levitated and armour appeared. Then the pieces clicked together. At first it was very big, which you started laughing at, then it shrunk and fitted him perfectly. He looked like a knight, but without the sword.

“This is so freaking cool!” Jim exclaimed.

“Now you just need a sword to go with the armour,” I commented, when a few more orbs appeared out the amulet and drifted to his hand, which then created a sword.

You were amazed. This was magic!

“Wow!” you said.

Then Jim started to do some ‘cool’ moves with his sword, but when it got stuck into a a rock behind him. You bursted out laughing as you saw him attempt to take it out. He eventually did, but then he got it stuck again. He tried again, and it got out a lot faster. He chuckled when he got it out.

In having discovered all this, on the other side of town, Mr Strickler and Bular were planning to take it from him. But the amulet had found it’s champion, would it be that easy? l

#douxie x reader #hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #tales of arcadia #trollhunters

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omisbreakfast · 4 years

Text

i rank every summer outfits from a3! because??

because i can. also fuck you.

the first version of this was deleted by tumblr in my drafts and now i have to re write it entirely and i fucking hate it here... anyways.

i’m biased as fuck

sorry it’s a long post

harugumi :

itaru : yeah no actually it’s pretty fine. ngl itaru is kinda hot when he dress correctly so there’s that. also, he’s often in pink. it suits him, but i don’t like it. still.... cute. but it’s also itaru so not too much praises. 9/10

citron : why.......... the shoes.... what the fuck are those shoes.... where did you even find them..... do you wanna fight or something.... this fills me with rage... you’ve disappointed me, citron... also hate the shirt. 3/10

tsuzuru : casual, soft, classic boy... nothing much to say here. but WHY THE FUCKING HAT??? IT RUINS EVERYTHING...... at least wear it correctly PLEASE. YOU DUMABSS. and the shoes would have been better in another color. i just,,,,, why tsuzuru, why the hat... 4/10

sakuya : i can’t bring myself to say bad things about sakuya. (also the fact that i don’t remember what i wrote before the first version of this post got deleted in my drafts pisses me off) but like,,, he’s cute. i mean it’s a classic outfit. tho the choice of the shirt is questionable as fuck. also HES SO TINY BABY. 6/10

masumi : yeah no actually i like it. i really like the shirt for some reason, it suits him. BUT BUT BUT the pants looks weird as hell LMAO?? like... it makes him looks like a crotch less ken doll??? it’s,,, really weird. also the shoes are.... hmmm.... overall good balance but there’s some weird stuffs going on. 7/10

chikage : garbage boy stink man. fucking looks like a rich white boy coming home from tennis and i fucking hate it here ™ if i’m objective about this it’s actually NOT bad but it loses several points for the sole reason that it’s fucking chikage and i won’t take shit for it. 6/10

natsugumi :

kazunari : why. why do you do this. why. why. how am i supposed to ever learn how to love when you backstab me like this, kaz ? what do we do now ? i trusted you and you betrayed me. i can never find love ever again............ yeah ok. pls let’s skip to the next one.... 2/10 (and two points is because it’s kaz and i just can’t bring myself to truly hate him.)

yuki : it’s not bad but i hate this dress. like. his outfits are usually ok but this? no. YOU LOOK LIKE A GOOD CHRISTIAN BOY, DAMN IT YUKI. are YOU GOING TO CHURCH TO PRAISE THE LORD TODAY TOO? also the colour of it... no. 4/10

tenma : congrats you rich boy you finally have a decent outfit ! though i don’t understand the concept of your zip being infront but ok. bet his stans like it smh. also i like the color of his jacket. very nice. 8/10

muku : baby i love u so much but u look like the pinterest girls who take aesthetic pictures in flowers fields and are smiling like the sun @ the camera.......... which is not per se but it’s a whole vibe. also stop wearing orange. it doesn’t go with your hair well........ ilu cutie. 8/10

misumi : my sweet boy. why are you wearing an hoodie with a jacket. why. it’s summer you idiot. you’ll get overheated. stop. but overall he looks very nice. idk i just think he’s neat......... i. i love u @ misumi. 9/10 (don’t look at me)

kumon : he... he looks like.... a j-j-j*ck..... which he is............... i just........... oh my god. i love kumon but he IS a jock i JUST ???? LALFKGKK. also his fucking shoes makes me lose my mind because this is so fucking bullshit ???? so ugly it hurts my eyes.... he’s lucky he’s a good boy. 4/10

akigumi :

juza : nah he hot as hell in this pass on it. if you’re asking yourself why he looks so good, here’s your answer : his arms. his arms are great. i can excuse his sandales this time cuz IT IS summer but yeah. yeah no he’s cute and- yeah. ok. yeah. hm hm. 9.5/10

taichi : so the thing with taichi is that his style is NOT bad per se but like. he’s a skater boy. so my standards are already very low for him,,,, like no offence i love taichi so much but,,,, that’s how it be.... his shirts are usually so big he looks like a GOD DAMN FLAG i can’t with this. and i don’t like how baggy his pants are but yeah,,,, it’s just a whole look.... anyways................ 6/10

omi : in which yosei boys decided to fucking test my patience by putting on classic, good looking clothes and decided to absolutely ruin my entire hopes and dreams (if i’m being dramatic ? no i am not.) AND their WHOLE outfits adding an useless stupid fucking hat thay doesnt seems even to be worn properly. omi, tsuzuru, you’ll pay for this. 7/10

sakyo : (i’m tired as heck and i almost forgot about sakyo when he’s right in the middle) actually i like this. it’s color coordinated and i think that’s very nice. but i wish his pants would have been a little bit longer. yeah no that’s it for real. also idk what’s about this outfit but he really shows how skinny he really is LMAOOO. shithead sakyo. 8/10

azami : the thing about azami is that usually his upper half is pretty well dressed, or whatever, but when we look at his pants/shoes its where everything goes to shit. Like ???? what the fuck man you could have done so much better if you didn’t decide to put this gigantic pants who looks like you’re gonna fly with it or fucking whatever (i don’t need to make sense i’m TIRED) also his shoes bothers me. can’t believe he’s fucking 15 like shut up. 6/10

banri : ...... *inhales* FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUU. fuck you and your ugly ass little hat and your zombie like haircut i. fucking despise you. if he were standing right infront of me, no he wouldn’t be because he would deck him so hard. YOU HAVE THE MONEY TO BUY CLOTHES AND THE TIME TO TRY AND MAKE IT LOOK GOOD ?? SO WHY???? what’s going on in your ugly ass little head bitch. THANK YOU god he isn’t wearing any animal prints in this, thats one thing. imagine this awful outfit with the ugly shoes and stUPID FUCKING HAT that i hate, with a leopard print shirt.... yeah cursed. i know. sorry banri stans i cant hear you over the sound of your man fishing with joe and bertrand on a sunday morning at 6am. 3/10

fuyugumi :

tasuku : ... idk man. he’s just there. why is... his shoes... so flashy........ bruh...... also he looks like a very straight man and idk how to feel about this. we know u gay bitch. 7/10

hisoka : except for the fucking weird ass pants it’s actually ok. he looks.... very comfy. 10/10 would CUDDLE...... pls hisoka.... i’m tired... fluffy boy..... ugh..... i don’t have much to say about this ok he just.... spare some cuddles. 7/10

actually i like it. well. there’s two things that bothers me. GREEN. DOESN’T. SUIT. HIM. PERIOD. if u think otherwise i’m sorry. it’s just awful with his purple hair (or whatever color it is) imo. and the second..... the square should have been a triangle. i won’t take no’s. 8.5/10

tsumugi : ngl tsumugi gives me little lost boy looking for his mommy vibes. at first i thought it was his outfits but no, it’s just his face. and this ? doesn’t make it better. idk how to explain but how he wears his shirt makes it look like he’s floating and it’s kinda cute in a... special way. he’s just a very sweet boy. 7/10

azuma : i can’t bring myself to even say bad things about azuma... it’s physical. i just can’t. i have a theory his power is that strong and therefore i cannot critizice this beauty. he just. is. ya know........ sigh...... 9/10

guy : if he dresses like this, that’s.... that’s not your man, ladies. that’s your loving, hardworking and dedicated husband who just went to pick some flowers in the prairies next to your little farm in the middle of the nowhere but who’s still paradise on earth cuz it’s the two of you and you couldn’t ask for anything more. deadass. fucking peasants. 4/10

#a3!#a3 #and now i’m going to sleep #THE ORIGINAL ONE WAS MUCH FUNNIER OK #also if you’re wondering i care at all about all the mistakes i made.... no. no i don’t #UGH #long post #in which i still think i’m fucking hilarious

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mordoriscalling · 4 years

Text

The Colour-Magic Theory (7/?)

Intro, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

@genkitaco

***

Bitter consequences can bring sweetness amid turmoil.

At Ciri’s request, Jaskier has dropped his glamour completely just this once. It took the girl only a week of travelling together to convince him, which is a remarkable feat. Geralt never even dared to suggest it in the first place, knowing it was a lot to ask.

Now Jaskier stands before them in his true fae form. Only the hair on his head remains unchanged – everything else about him is different. His facial features are sharper, so are his teeth. Jaskier’s ears are much bigger, elongated and pointed, while his fingernails resemble talons. The fae’s eyes are such a vibrant cornflower blue that they sparkle. His skin, in an olive tone, is also radiant; so much so that it appears as though sunlight was touching it. Jaskier is wearing only his boots and trousers (having foregone putting on any upper garment), and all over his hairless chest and arms, there are delicate veins of tiny speckles in all shades of brown and green. Freckles dust Jaskier’s face, too, light blue and beige in colour.

There are also some parts of Jaskier that haven’t been changed by the glamour – there were actually completely veiled by it until now. Small, sharp-pointed antlers are seated on the top of his head and on his back, there are massive, feathered wings. The feathers are dark brown at the root, just like Jaskier’s hair, but gradually turn beige and then blue at the tip; there’s also a blue-green shine to them.

Everything about the bard screams inhuman, and he exudes fae magic so much that Geralt’s medallion vibrates only because of Jaskier’s proximity. The witcher isn’t alarmed, however. He and Cirilla both admire the magnificent creature before them, unmoving in their awe. Geralt’s eyes roam all over the fae’s form, and the searing gold of his gaze reminds Jaskier of the sun itself. He longs to let himself bask and bloom in the warmth like a flower, or to fly towards it. Jaskier is a fae of the skies after all; his wings can carry him far. (But not far enough. The sun is out of his reach).

“Jaskier, you’re beautiful,” Ciri breaths out as she steps closer towards the bard, her voice full of wonder.

Jaskier smiles softly. “So are you,” he answers, then boops her on the nose.

Ciri giggles and hugs him. Jaskier wraps his arms around her, then his great wings envelop them both, only the fae’s face remaining visible. Geralt hears Jaskier make a deep coo, to which Ciri responds with a chirpy purr.

Jaskier’s gaze drifts up to rest on the witcher and the look in his eyes hardens. The cornflower blue gains a threatening glint but the bright gold doesn’t back down. Geralt wants answers but none are in sight since the bard refuses to talk to him. They continue glaring at each other but then Cirilla wriggles out of Jaskier’s embrace and the tension is broken.

They make camp for the night. Jaskier chatters with Ciri all the while, although he doesn’t reply when she asks why he seems angry with Geralt. Geralt offers no words on the matter too; he finds himself unable to admit to what he has done. Cirilla pouts and whines, as she tends to do when she doesn’t get her way, but the witcher and the bard don’t relent.

In the evening, Jaskier croons a lullaby to put Ciri to a restful sleep. Due to the glamour being gone, his fae powers aren’t restricted by anything, which makes his soft singing even more sweet and charming than it usually is. Cirilla dozes off very quickly but the fae keeps crooning, and Geralt starts getting affected by it too. He feels himself drift to sleep but doesn’t fight it – it’s like gently easing into calm, quiet and warmth. Suddenly everything he has been missing is there.

Then, Jaskier stops and the world turns cold. Geralt sits up abruptly, comprehension striking him like a lightning.

“Jaskier,” the witcher says. Jaskier’s sparkling eyes lay upon him and before he can think better of it, Geralt blurts out, “it’s you.” He swallows hard. “The blessing of my life, it’s you.”

Jaskier breaks the eye contact, a wry smile twisting his lips. “And yet you run to Yennefer every time,” he murmurs, his tone so bitter that Geralt can almost taste it on his tongue.

The witcher frowns, confused. “Jaskier, what? It’s not–”

“Spare me, Geralt,” the fae cuts in, waving his hand. He sighs, averting Geralt’s gaze, and goes on, “I’ve forgiven you long ago. And yet, I can’t forget.”

“Let me fix it,” Geralt replies, his voice balancing on the edge of pleading. Jaskier doesn’t react. “Please,” the witcher insists, inching his body closer to the unmoving, unmoved creature. “I want us to be like before. We used to be...”

Happy. The words linger between them, better left unsaid. The air grows thick with the bitter sting of memories – the moments of peace and laughter long gone.

Jaskier slowly looks up at the witcher, his features weary and rueful. “There’s no coming back, Geralt,” he says.

The truth rings out in the silence and Geralt can only fight for breath. His chest constricts, a voiceless scream filling lungs and burning his throat until his eyes begin to prickle. The witcher opens his mouth but no words come out. He can only stare at the beautiful fae he has hurt, self-loathing coiling in his gut.

“There’s no running away either,” Jaskier adds, pointing at sleeping Ciri with his chin. “I think she’s bound to both you and me.” The fae gets up to sit by the girl’s side and starts caressing her cheek. “My bud-ling,” he says tenderly.

Geralt understands the sentiment. A small smile lights up his face as he watches Jaskier and Ciri. The moment is quiet and soft. Everything is basked in the gentle light of the bonfire that makes Jaskier appear even more otherwordly. The witcher commits the sight to memory.

Soon after, Jaskier gets ready to put on his glamour again. As he’s about to leave the campsite, Geralt says, “Just know that I’m sorry.” Jaskier stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around. Geralt goes on, “I was cruel. You deserve so much better than... me.”

Geralt can’t decide whether he actually hears the whisper of, “Yet it’s only you that I’ve ever truly wanted” or his mind and the wind trick him.

When they go to sleep, they lay down on Ciri’s sides. As the girl sleeps between them, a feeling of wholeness settles deep into their bones, enveloping them like a warm cocoon. They hold Cirilla throughout the night, feeling like they’ve done something right.

Jaskier reaches for his travel pack, currently swung over Geralt’s shoulder, but the witcher moves away before he can take it.

“I’ve got it,” Geralt grunts and starts walking ahead, leading Roach by the reins.

Ciri jogs up to Geralt’s side but Jaskier stands in place for a moment more. The witcher has been kind to him in all those small yet grand ways – carrying his travel pack, making sure he eats first after Ciri, letting him ride Roach, and more – and the bard finds it hard not to let the gestures warm his heart too much. His heart is almost fully withered, after all; it would catch fire easily. He can’t allow wishful thinking to spark a disaster.

After Jaskier joins the witcher and the princess, he says, “We’re getting close.”

Ciri nods enthusiastically. “I could feel her,” she gushes, “she’s powerful!”

“That she is,” Jaskier agrees because there’s no way to deny it. The sorceress is almost pure Chaos, which, together with the other reason, is why the bard has always found her company hard to bear. Her magic clashes with his Order.

Trees talk to each other and their roots run deep. They know about what’s been happening miles away, and so do birds. When Jaskier, due to Ciri’s relentless insistence, kept asking them about a “lilac woman”, one day they finally answered that they had heard of a woman smelling of lilac and gooseberries. And so, two weeks ago, Ciri made them change their course, claiming that she needed the woman to join them. They had been travelling for a month at that point, and autumn was just around the corner, but there was no arguing with the princess, no matter how much Geralt and Jaskier dreaded meeting Yennefer again.

Jaskier started showing Ciri how to connect with the thrum of life, which allows to experience what plants and animals do in one’s mind eye. They would sit on the ground together, searching for any traces of Ciri’s “lilac woman”, and they soon discovered that nature’s Order was disturbed far away, both by a mighty Chaos-wielding person and a large group of soldiers who kept starting fires. They’ve been following the disturbance ever since despite the danger.

Now it won’t be long until they catch up with her. Geralt and Jaskier try savouring the last moments of calm before the storm. Although nothing between them is sorted, they both find peace in caring for Ciri. The three of them (and Roach) have settled into a rhythm over the past month. The daily travelling routine involves, among other things, Geralt teaching Cirilla self-defence and her learning fae magic from Jaskier. The lessons help the witcher and the bard to get to know the princess better, and vice versa. The girl took to Jaskier quickly, since she had met him before, but has grown close to Geralt too. She’s started seeking out Geralt’s attention and affection on her own. The girl even hugs him from time to time, much to the witcher’s astonishment. Jaskier laughs at the frankly adorable look on Geralt’s face every time it happens.

The evening on the day before they find Yennefer, after Ciri falls asleep, Jaskier addresses Geralt, which is something he still rarely does.

“Tell you what,” the bard says apropos of nothing, “in the end, I just find it annoying.” “What do you find annoying?” the witcher inquires. “It ‘s always us who want something from her,” Jaskier replies, “not the other way around.” Geralt huffs a laugh and answers, “Believe me, in this, she needs us more than we need her.”

Geralt says it with so much fondness betraying his deep affection and understanding of Yennefer that only one fibre in Jaskier’s heart stays beating. What else remained alive before now withers.

TBC

Part 8

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #fae!jaskier #jaskier & ciri #geralt & ciri #The C-M Theory AU

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colourful-void · 4 years

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Amity is the Weakest Witch; A theory on magic ability

I was rewatching some episode of the owl house, and I had a thought.

I’ve seen people talk about how powerful Willow is and how much we see her do once she gets moved to the plant coven track. And thats 100% true, Willow is fantastic, but as I kept watching, I noticed, so was Gus. He’s just as impressive as Willow, if not more than. Which made Amity look pretty weak by comparison. That got me thinking, which lead to this theory.

I think that Amity is weaker than the other main kids, and possibly ever other Witch we’ve seen at Hexside, based solely on innate magical ability.

In this post I’ll go over examples of Amity being weaker, what being weaker really means, why that may be, and what this could mean for the story in terms of plot and parallels!

This one’s gonna be long so under the cut it goes. (tldr at the end!)

First off, let’s talk about Magical Ability.

As Eda explains, all witches have a sack of bile attached to their heart which lets them do magic. My assumption is that by having a larger sack of bile, a witch would have ‘more magic’ than someone with a small sack.

In comparison, let’s say it’s musical talent. If someone is born with perfect pitch and good rhythm, and other things like that, then you can assume they’d be better at music then someone who doesn’t have perfect pitch, and whose rhythm is a bit off. However, if someone trains and works hard for a long time they could become better at music than the person who was born with talent, based on merit of technical skill and dedication.

It’s a common concept, that hard work and dedication are more valuable than talent people are born with.

In the world of the owl house, I believe magic works the same way!

So what’s my proof that Amity is any less magical than the others? She is top student, after all (then again, post that episode the badge literally never comes up again, but for the sake of argument, let’s say she’s still top student)

Let’s compare some magic, according to what each character has done in their respective tracks!

Starting with Gus, some of the most impressive magic he’s done!

- Created an illusion with free will - Created three unique illusions of him and his friends - Created fifteen illusions of himself while running

That can’t be easy, Gus is really impressive with his magic!

Willow too, is very impressive! Despite being a late bloomer and being teased, she’s done a lot of great magic.

- Creating vines that took over the entire school - Making plants that look like people - and a bunch of other examples (especially in Wing it Like Witches, not to mention all of Hooty’s Moving Hassle)

Willow is really powerful, but powerful at plant magic. She can’t do abominations well at all. Keep that in mind as I move on to Amity.

Compared to what we’ve seen Gus and Willow do, Amity is kind of... underwhelming.

Amity’s top accomplishments include:

- Making an abomination that can follow instructions (twirling, carrying her, high fives) - That but bigger. - thats pretty much it.

While Abominations have their uses, in general they aren’t that impressive, or versatile. While it’s hard to compare different magic, when directly pitted against each other, Gus and Willow have more going for them.

If Gus, Willow, and Amity all got into a fight, Willow would probably win. In episode 3, Willow and Amity do ‘fight’ with Amity’s abominations (around 3-5 iirc) against Willows vines (huge, wrapping around the entire school, able to move and carry people independently of the other vines) and it’s clear who the victor is.

While it’s less clear who would win in a fight between Gus and Amity, (Gus’s illusions don’t seem to be tangible, meaning that a fight depends more on the circumstances (planning, trickery, etc) than pure magic.

When comparing Amity and Gus’s magic, the similarities are easy to see. They both create humanoids (however Amity is limited to only monsters while Gus can make projections and objects) that can fulfil tasks. However when we compare their differences, I think Gus comes out on top.

Gus’s Illusions: - free will and thought - can create several unique illusions at once - can form words, witches and humans, and more - can be defeated by being touched

Amity’s abominations: - follow instructions - can create a few at once - all look the same - can only create monsters - stronger than illusions

While abominations are better weapons, I’d say that illusions are more technical and creative, and have more effort in them.

So compared to the other witch kids, Amity is the weakest in terms of pure magic ability.

Now you might be saying ‘hey that’s not fair! Amity can do more than just abominations’ and you’re right! But there’s a few things to note.

a) we see amity using a training wand to create fire spells, and we can assume this isnt something new she just got. why would she get a wand to learn something new she wasn’t going to need. by need I mean,

b) witches are locked into a single coven, so they can only perform one type of magic. since amity is in the abomination track, unless she manages to get into the emperors coven (which considering current episodes, seems like a scam and impossible) she will eventually be sticking doing only abomination magic.

so the earlier point still stands, at least for the sake of argument.

Sub topic: what does it mean to be weak?

In the context, Amity seems to have less powerful magic then the other witch kids. Despite that, she’s a hard worker (hence being top student) and trains her magic ability to be better than the other students. When I refer to amity as weak, I mean that I believe she was born with less magic than the other students, and is working overtime to become more powerful.

I also have a theory that amity’s brown hair is tied into her having less magic, hence the dying of it and the symbolism in her drawings.

For those who don’t know, in every drawing Amity’s done of herself, her roots aren’t showing. If the green is symbolism of magic abilty (since the colour is associated with Azura, who can be seen as representing magic) then it’s telling that Amity’s ideal versions of herself include being naturally green haired, or in symbolism terms, naturally talented with magic.

moving on the the next part of this analysis: why is amity weak?

My guess is that Amity was just born with less magic. Maybe a smaller bile sack, or something like that. There’s also a possibly that Amity was cursed when she was really young (like sleeping beauty, just been born and got cursed young) by someone, further adding to the parallels between her and Eda.

I’d love to hear other people’s theories as to why Amity isn’t as magical as other characters, since theres a lot of reasons it could be.

How Does Amity Being Weak Affect the Story?

a few reasons!

first off, if Amity has less innate magic then the other witches, than Luz has no innate magic, which further gives the characters something in common and pulls them together

second, if amity’s parents care so much about their reputations as Blight’s then having a ‘weak’ child would be disgraceful, hence why Amity is seemingly pushed harder than her slacker siblings.

third, it explains a lot of amity’s behaviour. When amity and Luz make up in covention, Luz wins amity over by explaining that she’s working hard to be a witch. for someone that’s worked her entire life to get where she is, that would be the first time that Amity truly understood Luz, for a moment. it also lends a lot more weight to her line ‘Humans have no magical abilty, but I doubt that’ll stop you’

So what’s the point? (tldr)

Amity is likely weaker than the other witches for some reason, either by being cursed or born that why. Her magic is less impressive by comparison to Gus and Willow’s magic. This explains Amity’s commitment to hard work, and also brings her closer to Luz.

If you have any thoughts lemme know, this got a bit ramble and I have no clue if it even makes sense, but thank you for reading it all!

#the owl house #amity blight #toh #toh amity #the owl house amity #the owl house theory #amity blight theory #long post #I regret making this it took like 4 hours

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friendsofmotoguzzicathedral · 3 years

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Super Alce - Feature Bike

The Featured Super Alce in Location

Nestled unobtrusively among a row of 500 singles inside the Cathedral of Moto Guzzi, within a part of the structure which was historically an old sheep shearing shed lies one of Teo's Super Alces. This Super Alce is presently flanked by an Alce and an Airone Sport. The Super Alce was produced from 1946 - 1957 and it replaced "la gloriosa Alce". The Alce was renowned as a tough and reliable military bike during "La Guerra" WW2. It was a robust and powerful machine which distinguished itself everywhere from the large open plains in North Africa during the fighting and then equally as well in the tough mountainous terrain of "Le Alpi" the Alps.

The Alce, or the Elk in English, was always going to be a very tough act to follow but Moto Guzzi not only followed that act, they massively improved that tough act in 1946 with the Super Alce or Super Elk. At first glance the Super Alce and Alce appear hard to differentiate. Moto Guzzi stayed with the same sturdy frame and the proven girder fork suspension up front, the tank and seats look similar. They both have the trademark (for the time) Guzzi horizontal single 500cc motor keeping the overall look of both models the same. As the Super Alce was never sold to the public but only made for the military, both models generally (not always) share that military olive green colour in a flat paint to avoid reflection and detection but that's where the similarities end. Some were offered to the Carabinieri and although still finished in green paint featured some chrome plating as well around the tank.

The Alce had a side valve engine but for the Super Alce there was an upgraded engine derived from the type V engine used in the GTV and GTW series. This engine had a single port with two inclined overhead valves along with a four speed gearbox. The Super Alce had a twist grip throttle, a major improvement from the old lever on the handle which was present on the Alce. During 1952 the Super Alce included a magneto with automatic advance rather than the old timing advance lever on the handle needing to be adjusted by the rider as the speed changed.

Earlier models continued with the short double muffler from the Alce on the left hand side which was replaced in 1955 with a single long muffler still on the left side.

Andy and Wayne communing with their Super Alces in the workshop

One, perhaps unique, and quirky optional feature of both the Alce and Super Alce models is the presence of a second set of handle bars available for the pillion passenger. We have heard much conjecture as to the real reason for the second set of handle bars but frankly we have never met anyone who has convinced us they understand the factory rationale for this decision. One of the better theories is that because both of these models were only for military use that perhaps the second set of bars was made available so that when soldiers of lower rank were transporting senior officers around the battle field terrain etc that the pillion handle bars were in place so the more senior officers did not need to physically touch or hold the more junior officers piloting those machines. This is only a theory proposed by some and it is possibly not consistent with Italian culture. My own father was a soldier in the Australian Army during "La Guerra" WW2 and as a corporal he did often have the responsibilities of ferrying senior officers around on motorcycles but to my knowledge there was no such option on any military motorcycles within the Australian Army. He is no longer alive so I can't ask him about any touching while ferrying superior officers on a bike. Please share with us your thoughts or comments on this feature and any ideas you might have in the comments section, we would be very pleased to hear your opinions and learn from any specific knowledge which our 'friends' may posses.

Teo at his best, challenging himself with a Moto Guzzi problem

Special Quiz Question

As a bonus for reading this article all the way through to this point we have a special quiz, or perhaps a test for the very knowledgeable. Most Super Alce's have frame and engine numbers which commence with the letters SAxxxxxx with the SA being an abbreviation for Super Alce but some Super Alces come with the VAxxxxxx prefix on both the engine and frame. Do you know what the VA stands for in this instance? Do you know what differences there are on a Super Alce which has the VA prefix for the frame and engine?

As a clue I can advise that for the Alce model had the frame and engine prefix Axxxxx. This was consistent through the model run but there were a few Alces which had the prefix Vxxxxx. The V stood for Velocita and these bikes had different gearing and substantial chrome differences.

So the question remains to our collective brains trust, what differences in the Super Alce model came with the Vaxxxxx prefix. At this point I will make two declarations before people provide their thoughts or facts:

We at the Friends of the Cathedral of Moto Guzzi do not know the answer to this question.

I own a Super Alce (just purchased from Teo) with the prefix VAxxxxxx.

The Statistics

Provenance of Feature Bike

While this article is about Super Alces in general, the feature bike in question nestled inside the old shearing shed in between the Alce and the Airone Sport has an interesting provenance of its own. An Italian guy contacted Teo from Italy asking him if he wanted to purchase it some eight years ago. The usual discussions around price were had and before long this Super Alce was in a container bound from Italy to Melbourne, destination Cathedral of Moto Guzzi. The bike arrived exactly the same way it is presented in the museum now, eight years later with one exception. It had an old ammunition box on the back which Teo removed to keep the bike in its very original condition. When Teo finally got the munitions box open, he found inside a nice bottle of fine Italian wine made from the famed grape of Tuscany which is responsible for some of the most revered and celebrated red wines in Italy. Yes it was a beautiful Sangiovese. Needless to say, Teo has received great pleasure from both the Super Alce and the Sangiovese.

The Friends of Cathedral of Moto Guzzi Workshop

Most of us in this group, The Friends of the Cathedral of Moto Guzzi, know that the cathedral is the private collection of Teo Larmers' but as well as the cathedral itself there is so much more going on every day at the site as there is an active and vibrant Moto Guzzi workshop here where many Moto Guzzi related repairs and ground up restorations occur.

We thought that as well as featuring the Super Alce in this article that we would also feature some recent work in the associated workshop relating to two Super Alces. The first of these is my own Super Alce which I recently purchased from Teo. It had been sitting languishing on his farm (inside a shed) for 10 years before, so we had no idea what we would find and if it would start and the second of these Super Alce projects is one owned by Andrew Hawkes another Cathedral of Moto Guzzi regular who has owned his machine for circa three years.

Teo fettling with Andy’s bike

Wayne’s Super Alce in the Workshop

My own Super Alce story commenced a couple of months back when I told Teo I have a hankering to own a Super Alce. Something about the unbreakable agricultural look and feel of these machines with their military lack of adornment was beckoning me. I am beguiled by their primitive but effective engineering casually on display. I am transfixed by the girder fork front end which like the Eiffel tower is strong, lasting and effective as a piece of engineering while hiding none of it's structural secrets. One glance at the girder forks shows you how it works and after 82 years of service within the Italian military then abuse at the hands of us civilians these simple front ends are still functioning very well in 2021. They held up to the constantly changing tide of attack and retreat at the hands of Rommel and the allies in the deserts of North Africa and they did it all again on the Italian mainland. This engineering honesty proudly on display does not stop at the front end but extends to the rear end as well and then the most mesmerising example of engineering honesty exposed, watching the externally operating valve gear doing its work in front of your very eyes as the four stroke engine ticks over.

First is the induction stroke and you can see the intake valve open to suck in fuel and air from the Dell’Orto MD 27 F.

Next is the compression stroke when all the power is being built up and here both valves remain closed.

Finally comes the combustion stroke when all the power made is released in a fury of fire and brimstone. Again both valves remain closed.

Then, in preparation for it all to start again is the exhaust stroke where all the spent gases are expelled and here the exhaust valve is open telling all what the engine is doing

The Super Alce power plant is no ‘blackbox’ keeping all its running secrets from prying eyes, no this engine is a open book ready to teach any of us willing to learn the finer details of how an internal combustion engine really works.

Modern motorcycles won't even permit you to view the outside of an engine which is cocooned in a secrecy blanket of accessories or plastic decoration let alone see the exposed workings of the valve train but for the Super Alce, there it is in front of your eyes for all to see and admire, the truth at the heart of it all.

So after telling Teo I wanted to own a Super Alce myself, he revealed that somewhere in the deep dark recesses of his sheds and containers he had a Super Alce which had been dormant for 10 years or more. With that he located the Super Alce which would become mine. We gave the old girl a new spark plug lead and new spark plug and new plug cap. We used the kick starter to roll over the engine a couple times and deduced that it probably didn't have a lot of compression. Not deterred by this we got some fuel, filled the tank, checked the oils and started the video running. (See the video of the bike's first kick below). Teo and I had talked over how this would go. I would pull the choke lever from Aperto to Chiuso (from open to closed), then I would prime the carburettor. The throttle would need to be in just the right place, then, after locating Top Dead Centre using the decompression lever, I would give that one explosive kick which would bring the bike to life. Sounds good in theory. Well watch the following video to see what happened......... Yep, she started first kick after 10 years or more in a dark corner.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13hvzKvvdm4 (First Kick)

https://studio.youtube.com/video/hCbFljGPb2M/edit (First Ride)

At first, despite the engine running well, there was a problem with the idling which could not be rectified even with a bit of fettling by Teo. We opened up the carby and used compressed air to blow out the idle jet. After that all was perfect, she ran well and idled beautifully.

It seemed we had a good engine, despite it feeling like it had so little compression. I rode the old girl around a few dirt roads over a couple of weekends and she started reliably and pulled strongly enough. We were both satisfied that it was ready to go. But, life sometimes doesn't go as planned. The next weekend I was ready to take her home and get some red plates for her and she was reluctant to start. What had happed to our perfect machine which started first kick every time on queue! We were able to start her and she ran fine but she just took way too much effort with me kicking so much my leg started to get tired before she would start.

As we were working from Teo's workshop nearby the Cathedral of Moto Guzzi it was no effort to pull off the head and barrel to see the condition of the piston, rings, valves etc. First we poured some oil into the cylinder. Wow, with oil providing a seal, suddenly I could easily find the compression stroke which had been elusive up to this point. I could even stand up on the kick-starter using all my weight without the engine turning over. Oh dear, we obviously lacked compression despite the old girl appearing to run just fine. First we removed the head. The exhaust valve had a substantial leak and after removing the valves we could see there was so much wear to the valve guides, the valves had been rattling up and down the guides like a clackity old train. How had this girl run so well! But surprisingly the best, or should I say, worst was yet to come. As we pulled the barrel off the piston the four piston rings fell onto the work bench in a myriad of pieces. One of the piston rings was in seven separate pieces. How had this old girl been running so well and how had the broken piston rings not caused any damage to the piston or the bores. What a testament to the robustness of these old engines that with all this going on the old girl just kept running.

Bits of piston ring everywhere as we removed the barrel.

Oh dear!

All the pieces of the puzzle.

Fortunately Teo was able to supply us with the necessary expertise and parts to reassemble the engine and voila, she will be back to starting with barely more than a simple well placed kick. I can’t wait to see how this baby will go with even more oomph. Another very happy customer and another amazing old Super Alce back on the roads or paddocks or wherever I choose to ride her. Hope to see you out on the road one day while I am riding her.

Andy’s Super Alce

You may notice in the photos that there is also another Super Alce in Teo's workshop. This fine example of a 1949 Super Alce belongs to our esteemed friend and fellow Friend of the Cathedral of Moto Guzzi, Andy Hawkes.

Andy’s bike in the foreground

To my eye, Andy's bike is one of the best examples of a Super Alce that I have ever seen. It's not one of these perfect shiny examples that has magnificent paint with perfect finish to all the chrome and other fittings. It has never been restored or made to look somehow better than it would have back in 1949. No, Andy's bike has surface rust in all the right places. It had dents which show the scars of a long and busy life. It has the scars of a life lived to the fullest and evidence of many experiences which date back to its time in active service for the Italian military. I suppose in today's parlance it may be described as a 'rat rod' but make no mistake, the scars on Andy's bike are not contrived or deliberately curated. No the scars on Andy's bike came slowly over years and one by one by virtue of simply being used and enjoyed for the purpose for which it was designed.

Andy’s Super Alce story starts similarly to mine. It started with an itch and hankering for a Super Alce which Teo was pleased to satisfy. Teo sourced an appropriate Super Alce for Andy in Italy and thus started the long wait which Andy had to endure as his soon to be Super Alce was transported by boat from Italy to Melbourne Australia and onto the Guzzi Cathedral at Yea Victoria.

Andy’s bike arrived with a non functioning magneto and a few other foibles which were no problem at all in the workshop of Teo Lamers next to the Cathedral of Moto Guzzi. With these minor issues quickly dispatched by Teo’s skill and tools in the workshop, Andy was soon riding his latest pride and joy.

In fact it was March 2018 when Andy was taking his maiden voyage on his ‘new’ Super Alce that I quickly developed my own hankering. Andy has always been such a trend setter with the rest of us merely following.

See link below to Andy riding his Super Alce back in March 2018. Apologies for the recalcitrant pillion passenger on the back of Andy’s bike.

https://youtu.be/yPm2uWIa4pE

The Boys Having Fun Riding Super Alces at the Cathedral of Moto Guzzi Workshop on a Sunday Afternoon.

https://studio.youtube.com/video/dP8Sn10X9wA/edit (Sunday afternoon ride)

https://studio.youtube.com/video/skMy4MJVVic/edit (Back at the workshop)

Written by Wayne Brundell

youtube

#friendsofcathedralofMotoGuzzi #SuperAlce #motoguzzi

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glorious-blackout · 4 years

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Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Six

@rock-n-roll-fantasy I should probably warn you that I am definitely back on my angst-junkie bullshit with this one, but I promise there’s more to come after this! 😅 Not sure when I’ll be able to post the next parts but hopefully you enjoy these two in the meantime 😊

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

********************************

There’s something wrong with the Earth.

This isn’t necessarily a surprise. In the week since the quake that never was, the entire world has felt off; tilted on its axis to such a degree that Alex can’t even begin to fix it. The details of the hotel feel muted, the life slowly draining from his surroundings as empty husks are left in the wake of an unseen angel of death. Once pristine white walls look faded and beige beneath flickering lights. The usual buzz of activity emanating throughout scattered hotel rooms has quietened, as though a volume dial has been turned all the way down. Portraits which once hung proudly along the reception walls have tilted, and if Alex studies them closely enough, he can see the colours smudging as the paint melts, removing all nuance in the process. At this point it wouldn’t surprise him to find cracks creeping along the marble columns or dying lilies curling over themselves in neglected pots, although he supposes it’ll only be a matter of time before that sight greets him as well.

It’s not just the hotel itself which has fallen prey to this lack of vitality. The guests have never been particularly fascinating company, but now they appear virtually soulless. Their numbers dwindle with each passing day despite no clear evidence of rockets carrying them towards home, and when scattered patrons do reveal themselves, Alex ends up eavesdropping on the same mundane conversations over and over again. Staff members offer the same monotonous greetings to him regardless of any attempts to lure them into conversation. Even Andrew, who can be quite amenable to a casual conversation over a pint, has little more to offer besides, “How are you enjoying your drink, sir?” when Alex forcibly drags himself to the bar.

On the one occasion where he agrees to play a show, he finds himself gazing at a placid, unmoving crowd who deign to make as little noise as possible. There are no cheers, no attempts to sing along, no murmurs of approval. Alex doesn’t even have the energy to be startled when he notes that several faces in the crowd have been replaced with expressionless masks, as though an artist has erased their features entirely, leaving only a discoloured smudge in their wake.

The world appears to be winding down, crumbling at the seams with no end in sight. And to top it all off, he’s the only person alive who seems to have noticed.

Even his weekly meetings with Murphy have halted without explanation. He’ll sit by the computer for hours on end, waiting for the dreaded ringing to invade his eardrums, but it never does. For the first time in his life, Alex would give anything to face that man and give him a piece of his mind, but God doesn’t appear to be answering his calls right now.

And then there’s Jamie.

“Are you coming down to rehearsals then?”

Alex doesn’t pay him any heed, choosing instead to keep his gaze fixed on the alluring form of Earth above him. He cannot bear to look at Jamie right now; not when doing so will only unveil a lifeless expression marring his friend’s once kind face. He only wishes the man would say something – anything – else. It appears to be lost on Jamie that he’s uttered the same sentence three times in the last fifteen minutes, having said little else since drawing up beside Alex on the balcony. The fact that he never receives an answer doesn’t register with him either. He simply keeps asking, like a children’s toy with only one voice-clip, not realising that every time he asks, he only succeeds in adding a further crack to Alex’s thoroughly abused heart.

Nick and Matt have fared little better. Playing a show with them the other night had been akin to playing with three ghosts who have yet to leave their bodies. All traces of humour and nuance and love have been stripped from them, leaving empty shells where his best friends once stood.

Or rather, where convincing replicas of his friends once stood. Alex can’t pretend to understand how this version of reality works, and he’s still struggling to separate the splintered fragments of Mark’s false memories from his own recollections. The Jamie, Matt and Nick he has been living with are certainly modelled after the people he’s known and loved all his life, but there are enough subtle differences to make him question if they were ever real in the first place. The most glaring marker of all being the fact that when he’d insisted they call him Alex, the only response had been a lack of recognition which had almost broken him.

The only person who has ever referred to him as Alex in all the time he’s been here is Matthew, but even as his mad theories have become more and more plausible, the man himself has remained infuriatingly elusive.

At least Alex knows why he seemed so familiar now. They’d only crossed paths occasionally in the past, exchanging pleasantries and compliments at various awards shows and festivals, but given their similar positions it would be impossible for him not to be familiar with a certain Matthew Bellamy. The man has always been more of a friend-of-a-friend to Alex than a proper acquaintance, but he likes him well enough to believe that Matt’s apparent fondness for him was also genuine. Granted, he doubts he’d ever have pictured the man as a planet-hopping outlaw, but then again, he imagines Matt must have been equally surprised to find him acting as the owner of a four-star establishment on the moon.

A disbelieving giggle erupts from him before he can stop it. He’s been doing that a lot lately. No doubt it’s an unconscious coping mechanism his brain has concocted while processing the impossible situation he’s stumbled into; he supposes his only options at this point are to laugh or sob like a child.

Pointedly ignoring Jamie’s lingering presence, Alex lets the Earth consume his attention once more. She’s as beautiful now as she always has been – her deep shades of greens and blues vibrant against a dense black sky – but that only adds to the sense of wrongness tugging at his heart. He shouldn’t even be capable of standing here, gazing towards home from this angle. Surely without proper protection and oxygen tanks, the air should have been sucked from his lungs and he should be gliding across the ground rather than standing still. Is there a force-field surrounding them, providing them with breathable air and simulated Earth-like gravity? If he concentrates hard enough, will he be able to spot the tell-tale shimmer of a shield embracing his tiny civilisation?

How odd that he’s never questioned such technicalities before.

As for the Earth itself, the more he studies it, the more it looks like someone has merely devised a painting of her against an endless black canvas, basing their work on ancient photographs from age-old Apollo missions. The image is too perfect. Too still and unaffected; a close approximation of how Earth must have appeared millions of years ago, before her surface was warped by humanity’s influence. The more he remembers of his final days on Earth, the less the image before him aligns with the truth. The clouds hovering beneath the atmosphere shouldn’t be a perfect white, they should be blackened by thick smoke. Those vibrant greens should have been burnt away to smouldering brown, as ash falls thick and heavy over once beautiful landscapes. No doubt even the oceans must have turned a grim, murky grey by now, rather than the striking blues he gazes upon now.

Alex gasps as a memory emerges unbidden, hands desperately grasping the balcony railing. These episodes have been coming thick and fast of late, and it takes all of his willpower not to collapse as faint echoes of screams pierce his ears and the foul taste of ash smothers his tastebuds.

He lets the memory carry him away, however, for he knows that stewing in his own ignorance is no longer an option he can indulge in.

The air is thick with acrid smoke as ash gathers on his tongue with every breath. His eyes draw upwards towards a tangerine sky; the sun obscured by thick smog which he can feel clogging his lungs, leaving him lightheaded and weak. Only hours ago the advice had been to stay inside, but the sirens now piercing his eardrums signal a change, and he knows with unexplainable certainty that if he’d stayed behind, he would have been consumed by the flames which lick their way across the landscape without mercy.

He doesn’t recall the events leading up to this moment, try as he might. Can’t recall if he’d been at home, or in the studio, or trapped within the confines of a hotel halfway around the world. The only instinctual memory he retains is that the catastrophe had crept up on them without warning, announcing itself with all the subtlety of an air-raid siren shooting panic into the veins of every human being on Earth. Only it hadn’t been sudden, had it? Not really. Humanity at large had known for years that the world was destined to burn unless something was done to stop it, but the warnings had been largely ignored, right up until the moment the fire was breathing down everyone’s necks.

The crowd surrounding him is desperate and he whimpers as countless bodies shove against him. No doubt he could remain perfectly rigid and yet still find himself pushed forwards by the sheer force of the human wave. The claustrophobia is suffocating, and breathing provides little relief when the air is as poisoned as it is. He can feel his chest heaving and the constant shouts and screams are momentarily drowned out by his pulse pounding a steady rhythm in his ears, and he clings tightly to the hand wrapped securely around his own as he’s guided along the wide street by a steady anchor. He doesn’t need to look to know instinctively whose hand it belongs to. The calming influence as his guide squeezes back and pulls him in closer is unmistakable. He presses himself against the other man’s body as the cacophony is quickly drowned out by gentle reassurances of, “We’re okay Al, just stay close yeah? We’re nearly there, just a little bit further, you’re doing great...”

He must look a state to warrant such a commentary, but he cannot bring himself to care. As he allows himself to narrow his focus entirely onto that soft voice, he can feel his heartrate slowing and his rapid breathing starting to ease. He feels - rather than sees - a worried face turning in his direction, ensuring that he’s still locked in the present rather than lost in the grasp of his panicked mind, and he gives a shaky nod to indicate that he’s okay. The world is burning and there’s no guarantee that safety is as close as his friend insists it is, but he’s not alone and the flames are still far behind him, so for now he’s okay. His hand is caught in another gentle squeeze - it occurs to him that the action might be for the other’s benefit as much as it is his - and they push onwards as best they can through the hulking mass of bodies surrounding them.

There’s a scuffle behind him as someone utters a sharp cry. Perhaps the constant shoving of bodies has finally erupted into a full-blown fight; either that or someone has merely lost their balance and fallen to the ground. Either way it spells the end for him. A desperate hand clings to Alex’s forearm for support and he feels himself being jerked backwards, struggling to maintain his grip on the precious fingers clutching his hand as faceless bodies try to pull him away. Panic seizes his throat, tightening his airway to the point where he cannot so much as scream. As the force of the disorganised crowd pulls him backwards, the people in front keep advancing, still trying to escape the flames and the thick, cloying smog. Concerned brown eyes turn to look at him, having sensed his distress in the crushing grip of his hand, and Alex can only watch those eyes widen with naked fear as their owner is pulled in the opposite direction.

Those pivotal seconds seem endless when replayed in Alex’s mind. The image repeats itself like a broken VHS tape - an unending loop of terror - but it must have taken no time at all for their connection to be severed with surgical precision. He remembers panicked, animalistic screams escaping his throat as he fought and clawed at the terrified masses surrounding him, his hand suddenly grasping nothing but air. He remembers the crowd in front pushing onwards, with one man among their ranks fighting tirelessly to stay behind, screaming Alex’s name over and over to the point where it must surely have torn his throat.

Neither of their efforts work. Their hands never meet again, and Alex can only watch as his salvation is carried off like a life-raft on the ocean, leaving him behind to drown on his sinking ship. And even above the distant sirens and the roar of nearby flames, the frantic, hopeless scream of “Alex!” continues to ring in his ears long after his would-be savior has vanished from sight.

“-ark?”

The crowded street blanketed in a thick, ashen haze vanishes from his mind’s eye and he blinks as Jamie’s voice pulls him back to the present. It takes a moment to fully reorientate himself, even as his eyes settle upon the pleasant mirage of Earth hanging above them. The air still feels unclean and the thick, cloying taste of ash still resides on his tongue. His throat still screams from the frantic cries that had been torn from it and his chest aches with the effort of breathing in filthy smog. His hand feels cold and empty, still grasping nothing but air in the place of warm flesh, and an overpowering sense of loss washes over him like a painful echo. If Jamie notices his distress, he makes no mention of it. His face is as blank and expressionless as it has been since his world became muted, and Alex thinks he would give his right hand in exchange for five minutes of his friend’s smothering concern.

“Where’s Miles?” he croaks out eventually, turning to face Jamie with a damning sense of dread. Part of him suspects that he already knows what the reaction will be and he longs to tear his eyes away in order to spare himself the pain, but he has to look. He needs this final grain of proof.

Jamie barely reacts to the words despite the fact that they’ve come out of nowhere. The only reason Alex even registers the minute furrow of his brow and downwards tug of his lips is because he knows that face better than he knows his own, and even then, the impassive blankness is back within mere seconds.

“Who’s Miles?”

Alex can’t look at him anymore. If he forces himself to look at that emotionless face then he knows his heart will crumble to dust and he’ll never be able to piece it back together. His eyes are drawn skyward and he keeps them there, unblinking, even when the growing sting becomes unbearable. His vision blurs with unshed tears and his chest shudders fitfully with the effort it takes not to break into animalistic sobs, but he forces himself to swallow down his grief before it can consume him. The pain is unbearable. It creeps over his mind like a specter, dragging its scythe wherever it goes without a care for the damage it leaves in its wake. The temptation to laugh as he realises that this has been the reason for his pervading sense of loneliness all along almost overwhelms him. Perhaps that would get a reaction out of the hollow shell that has taken Jamie’s place.

In the end, however, he doesn’t have the energy to make the slightest sound.

Because it’s not just Miles he’s grieving. The Jamie he knows and loves would never have let those two words leave his mouth. He would never stand idly by while Alex falls apart, visibly struggling to piece himself back together despite knowing that his efforts are completely worthless. The Jamie he knows would have pulled him in for a hug and let him sob his heart out without judgement, before gently telling him to tidy himself up so they can go out to thoroughly drown their sorrows. No doubt the Jamie standing beside him now has always been nothing more than a façade; expertly written code and little else. The same applies to Nick and Matt and every other human being he’s interacted with since stepping foot on this godforsaken rock, perhaps with the exception of Matthew. They’d been rather convincing replicas, he’s loath to admit, but that’s all they’ve ever been.

“Doesn’t matter,” he forces out in a choked whisper, in the full knowledge that that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He wonders if his real friends are still out there somewhere. Did they make it to safety while Alex was left behind and imprisoned within this lie? Have they been searching for him all this time, while he allowed his mind to be manipulated to the point where he forgot they existed? Are they mourning for him with the same all-consuming grief he finds himself overwhelmed by now?

Or are they simply ghosts, lost long ago to a world that has become uninhabitable? Perhaps they’re even trapped in the same boat he is; so wrapped up in the blissful ignorance of a beautiful lie that they cannot remember their own names.

“Is it better to exist within a terrible reality or a beautiful lie?”

He recalls Matthew’s burning question with a new sense of clarity. Because it hadn’t been hypothetical had it? Matthew had uncovered their circumstances long before Alex had. In his own infuriating way, Matt had been trying to prepare Alex for the conundrum he would be forced to contend with once the curtain rose. Their entire conversation had been a warning, planting seeds in his head that would eventually result in his world collapsing at the seams.

Had Matt also been crippled by an overwhelming sense of loss prior to stumbling into Alex’s makeshift life? Alex searches his mind for any random details he knows about Matthew Bellamy, but he cannot recall anything with great certainty. Miles had known him much better than Alex had; he vaguely remembers throw-away mentions of a wedding and a new baby, but nothing more concrete than that. For all he knows, Matthew is currently battling his way through an endless, synthetic maze to crawl back to the arms of the people he loves, or at the very least to be reunited with versions of his bandmates who haven’t been programmed to hunt him down and kill him.

“Are you coming down to rehearsals then?” Jamie asks once again, uncaring and toneless, as though trapped in an unending loop.

A huff of laughter escapes Alex’s mouth before he can stop it, and he bows his head as a tear finally slips from the corner of his eye. Rehearsals and playing live was once his only solace amongst the mundane goings-on of his daily life, but now the thought of facing the replicas of his friends and seeing them stripped of all personality is unbearable. Normality is nothing but a distant dream. There is no returning to the life that had been carefully carved out for him here regardless of what Jamie seems to think, and as the details of the hotel slowly fade around him, he doubts there’ll even be a crowd to play for by the time evening rolls around.

Jamie seems utterly unaffected when Alex finally turns to him, a thousand-yard-stare emanating from deep blue eyes as though Alex is a mere phantom standing in his way. A sense of finality takes hold as Alex stares at his friend, memorising the details of his face with a pang of grief, and he offers a small smile which he knows provides little benefit to either of them.

“You go,” he says, in a flat voice he no longer recognises as his own. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

The lie rolls surprisingly easily off his tongue, and despite giving no indication that he intends to follow-through on his promise, Jamie doesn’t question him for an instant. Instead, he simply shrugs before shoving himself away from the barrier and moving in the direction of the hotel. Alex watches his retreating back as he strolls along the cobbled balcony, and it takes all of his willpower not to yell at him to stop. To request a proper farewell, or a hug, or even to run up alongside him and enjoy one last hurrah with the band before everything fades to black.

However, as he watches Jamie vanish behind a set of automatic doors, he knows that running after him would be a mistake. There is no point in embracing the lie anymore. The avatars wearing his friends’ faces like intricate masks no longer have the power to replace the real thing in his heart, and having to reward them with false affection would surely destroy him.

Instead, he bids one final farewell to the Earth above him. For the first time he can remember, the clouds have cleared above the British Isles and he can see the tiny, shrunken form of England resting just above a narrow watery channel. Deep forest greens interspersed with tiny golden pinpricks amongst the well-lit cities are the only details he can make out, but yearning tugs at his heart regardless. He wonders what would happen if he took the initiative and made the trek to the space station now, requesting a ticket for the first flight back to Earth? Would the falsehood adapt around him and expand to include a detailed simulation of his home, from a time when everything was perfect and alive? Or would he simply hit a dead-end and be forever trapped within a tiny radius which encompasses the hotel and casino and little else? He has nothing left to lose by trying, but a nagging suspicion tugging at the back of his mind is enough to inform him what the outcome will be. Whoever designed his current reality didn’t deem Miles of all people to be a necessary addition - no doubt out of intentional cruelty - so the prospect of arriving home and throwing himself into the arms of his mum and dad is surely unthinkable.

It’s impossible to tell how long he spends gazing at the planet above, committing every single detail to memory with a bittersweet smile, but when he finally pulls his eyes away he’s momentarily overcome by a wave of contentment. The yearning for home vanishes and a renewed sense of finality tugs at his heart, only this time he lets himself bask in it. It’s over. The sky above is as much an illusion as everything else within reach, and while he knows he could lose himself staring longingly at the stars like a hopeful child, he finds that he no longer has any desire to do so.

After all, what’s the point in yearning for something that isn’t real?

******************************

Lilting piano notes resound through deserted, crumbling corridors; the echo bouncing off the ballroom walls, causing the delicate glass shards of the chandelier to tremble. All trace of life has vanished, with the exception of the lone musician on his humble stage, playing to a crowd of ghosts.

Alex doesn’t mind. He’d expected to find the hotel empty upon his return – no doubt his mental embrace of that finality had banished all remnants of humanity from its walls – and the uninterrupted stroll to the stage had been an oddly calming one. For the first time in years, a song had popped into his head with little fanfare. There’d been no need to agonise over chords or second-guess lyrics; instead the music had come to him fully formed as though obtained through a dream, and the need to perform it had become his sole objective.

A guitar would have been preferable. He has never felt entirely comfortable on the piano, but the choice seems to have been snatched away from him as all of his stringed instruments have vanished in his absence. Similarly, the lone drumkit and various brass instruments which once rested upon the stage are now missing. Only the piano remains. Each note sounds dissonant beneath his fingers, reverberating through the hall in all directions, and he gets the distinct impression that the instrument hasn’t been turned in years despite it sounding perfect only one week prior. His voice also sounds raw to his ears, but that doesn’t stop him from baring his heart anyway.

It’s a bittersweet song with an emphasis on the sweet, and he latches onto the topics of lost loves and friendships tied up with nostalgia for a golden age that no longer exists. No doubt he would have been proud of this one had he gotten the chance to write and record it on Earth, but at this rate he doubts anyone will hear it besides the ghosts haunting the fractured walls.

That’s okay though. This understated piece of music feels like the only genuine creation he’s produced in all the time he’s lived here, and for that reason alone he’d rather not be singing anything else.

While he refuses to give his surroundings much in the way of scrutiny, it isn’t lost on him that the ballroom is fading away with each passing second. Pristine white walls appear to be melting and cracks trail along the granite columns like lightning bolts stretching to the ceiling. The light from the chandelier is muted, emitting only the faintest golden glow through shards of glass which no longer shimmer, and the deserted dancefloor below has been swallowed whole by drab red carpet. The circular dining tables and bar are cloaked in shadow, their surfaces smothered by a thick layer of dust, and adorning the walls are empty frames where elegant portraits once gazed proudly upon the room.

Only one image remains. A small wooden frame sits on the wall directly within Alex’s eyeline, and though the photograph it displays sends an ache lancing through his heart, he finds it to be a pleasant ache. Captured for eternity is a shot of four young boys, barely out of primary school, with hair cropped short and arms wrapped lazily around each other. One curly-haired lad is looking away from the camera, eyes closed in a mistimed blink, while two others gape at the lens with deliberately widened eyes, baring all of their teeth in exaggerated grins. Only the smallest of the group is smiling in a fashion which can be considered normal, though the crinkling of his large brown eyes implies that he too is mere seconds away from bursting into uncontrollable giggles at his friends’ antics.

Alex can’t remember the photo being taken. The unremarkable brick wall behind them suggests it was taken at his childhood home, but it would not surprise him if the photo itself is yet another falsehood on top of the myriad of illusions he has spent years of his life sleepwalking through. And yet, he cannot bring himself to mind. The photograph may not be real, but the memories of a happy childhood surrounded by friends certainly are, and the sweet nostalgia that warms has heart can never be taken away from him. His real friends may have been lost to him long ago and even the replicas have deserted him now, but so long as he focuses on that image and dedicates this song to them, they can never truly be gone.

A shiver creeps up the back of his neck and he has the distinct impression that a pair of eyes have landed upon him, but he banishes that suspicion before it can take hold. This song is not intended for anyone’s ears but his own. The melody is quickly approaching its coda as he recites the final verse. The piano has grown so soft he barely registers the sound of it, but he carries on with a sense of obligation he doesn’t entirely understand. Perhaps it’s the sense of approaching finality which has made him so determined. His world is fragmenting piece by piece and he cannot comprehend what will happen to him once it fades completely, but he imagines there will be no coming back from it. He should be terrified and desperate, battling with every breath in his lungs to remain solid and whole, but he no longer has the energy to fight. Besides, he has always found contentment in music and performing, even in this godforsaken place. Why fight the inevitable when he can embrace it in peace instead?

The final note sounds abruptly as the last word escapes his lips, but before he can figure out a proper ending, the piano dissolves into atoms beneath his fingertips and the world explodes in a flash of brilliant white, carrying him along with it as his mind goes blank.

#Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #Arctic Monkeys #Muse #my fic #writing

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historygirl · 4 years

Text

tagged by the lovely @studyaurore to do this tag game - thank you so much ☺️

What’s your favourite quote?

there are so many, but this passage comes to mind (I really wish I could write like this):

“Then there was the ink that smelled dark and solemn, and the sound made by the tip of the brush as it raced over the surface of the scroll, like the wind rustling through bamboo grass. And finally, there was the sea – the well of the inkstone was the sea, and above it rose the hill with the strange name. The sea fell away so sharply from its shore that it gave not so much as a glimpse of its shallow bed. The still black sea, without a single wave, a sea spangled with gold powder fallen from the ink stick, always made him think of the rays of the moon fragmented on the night sea of eternity.” - Yukio Mishima, Spring Snow

Who do you look up to the most, could be a family member or a famous person?

Oh definitely Jimin of BTS hehe. He is so talented, so hard working, so intelligent, so kind and soft. And myself being also a soft and quiet sort of person, he made me realise the power and beauty of being like that, rather than being loud and boastful. And I have the uptmost respect for Jimin and everything that he has done... the way he sings and dances and the music he composes, all so beautiful, as well as his intelligence and his skills in sports and martial arts and everything like that... so I definitely look up to him the most.

Would you rather go back to the past or move into the future?

If it’s in terms of the past and future of the world in general, then the past, because I’m a History student I guess it would be interesting to see. But if it’s my life, maybe the future? Because I am not doing high school again. But I could also change the way I did things, make it better... I’m not sure

What’s your favourite movie and why?

I don’t watch films that much, but in the spring I watched The Scent of Green Papaya (1993) dir. Tran Anh Hung. The cinematography is just so beautiful. I will also say Wings of Desire (1987) dir. Wim Wenders. It’s a romantic fantasy set in West Berlin and it’s very thoughtful and philosophical (the angels can hear everyone’s thoughts).

One memory that you will always remember

The sunset in Hong Kong (I went there with some of my Chinese class on our way to Shenzhen for a Chinese language trip/exchange). It was so beautiful; the mountains, the sea and the sky all melted into each other in a peachy haze and the sun was a perfect golden-orange colour.

If you could dedicate your life to the study of something, what would it be?

History. Part of me does actually want to be an academic.

Which conspiracy theory do you find interesting?

Ghosts

If you were famous for one thing, what would it be?

Either for my wisdom and intelligence or for doing good in the world

Do you believe that money can buy you happiness?

You shouldn’t need money to be happy, but with little or no money you will be poor and have no food, no house etc. and then it is hard to be happy. But at the same time, immense wealth doesn’t make you immensely happy. With money you can buy things that make you happy, whether it’s pretty clothes or going to a nice concert, but you might not want any of those things and find happiness elsewhere. I don’t think that money should affect happiness, but unfortunately with the way our societies are structured, it does.

Choose one place in the world that you would like to live in for the rest of your life

I would quite happily live here in Norfolk for the rest of my life; it is seriously beautiful. But at the moment it’s either London or Seoul. I would like to live in a city for a change, as there would be so much to do. Living in the countryside is beautiful and healthier, but everything is so far away.

My questions for @japanesepeacelilly @oracleofdelythi @jjt-s @jeonchemstudy @teagreenstudies and @wodexuexiao:

If you wrote a book, what would it be about?

Do you find the most comfort in the forest or by the sea?

Name at least one lovely thing about yourself or that happened to you in the past few days

Are you a hopeless romantic or a realist?

What do you do to take care of yourself and feel at peace?

Does the weather have a strong effect on your emotions?

Describe a cute date idea (either as a date with yourself or with someone else)

Where is it that you would most like to be right now?

What is your definition of art?

What is your definition of beauty?

<3 🤍🌸🌷💕☁️🤍

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parkeraul · 5 years

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→ boyfriend • 1 | t.h. & s.m.

prologue | part 1

author’s note — hello, girlfriends. first of all, i really wanna apologise for the lack of writings lately & for this shitty moodboard. plus, i wanna give the hugest shoutout to @itrocksmysocks who’s been sending me pictures and stuff to help me get inspiration to write this series [thank u so much, latina neighbour!]. for now, i’m gonna update this series once in a week, then the next i’m gonna reserve the next one to write, then update on the following week and it’ll go on and on. enjoy!

pairing: tom holland x shawn mendes x reader college!tom | college!shawn

masterlist ┊add yourself to my taglists ┊give me feedbacks.

words — 3,4k; warnings — flirting, cursing, mentions of alcoholic drinks.

“People on the very back: Listen!” Mrs. Edwards shouts, banging against the board twice with her pen. “This graphic is very simple, okay? If you keep on talking and talking, it’ll become your worst nightmare and there will be no help during the final test.”

The white board had been completely taken over by lists of informations, numbers, theories and graphics in at least 3 different colours. It’s been an hour or almost two since she started crossing the entire board with red, green, blue & black and Tom feels amazed by how well she manages to understand the entire system she’s been writing for so many time. As a class he signed for just to have some more complementary hours, he can straight tell you he’s not exactly caring about it that much. It’s way too fast and too mathematic for his mind.

All the people sitting around him in the classroom are already letting the tiredness consume them. Some are sighing and dropping their pencils; some are rubbing their faces repeatedly; some others are actually paying attention and probably trying hard not to freak out. Considering the white walls with white tables and chairs, if no one said that this is a math class, people would probably walk in and think it’s a sanatorium. All faces exhausted and it’s clear to see that at least 90% of the class can’t wait for the summer break to rescue them all — the 10% left is filled with the boys that have been sleeping for the past 30 minutes.

“Next class we’ll get back to the basic analysis to freshen up a bit, I recommend you to bring one or two books to do some research as well—“

“Hey, dude,” Jacob whispers close to Tom, sitting on the chair in front of him as he turns his head — far enough to see Tom leaning in through his peripheral, but not far enough to lose sight of Mrs. Edwards giving further endorsements. “Match tomorrow at 5?” “Sure,” Tom agrees, keeping his ‘attentive’ on the teacher in front of the class. “Have you guys picked the entire team already?” He says nonchalantly. It’s typical: In Fridays, after everyone’s last class, friendly football match with the boys from the athletic team of the Empshire University.

“Ian, Ryan, Heather and Matthew: You guys cannot miss the next class at all. You guys have been bailing for a long time and one more skip it’s deadline for the four of you—“

“Same thing,” Jacob says and Tom starts to close his books, pulling his backpack up to tuck them inside of it haphazardly. “But we’ll add John Mayer to it because Kevin’s not coming.” “You don’t have to say John Mayer, his gang’s not here,” They both look around the classroom, failing at being discreet as they search for any friends of… Well… ’John Mayer’. Tom zips his bag close and Jacob turns around to do the same while everyone else’s already prompting themselves up to leave. “And you better put him in the defenders, far away from the frontline.” “I knew you’d say this!” They laugh under their breaths, also getting up to finally inspire some fresh air outside.

“See you next Thursday.” Mrs. Edwards says almost quietly, arranging her stuff while the room starts to get empty.

The corridor had never felt this comfy before. It’s crowded and a little bit loud but a lot better than Classroom number 9. As students from all courses starts talking to each other, Tom takes a look across the wall and spots new posters.

This wall is known as The Great Wall of Empshire —or Wall–E for the intimates. The Wall–E is a large blue wall that stands out from the regular white & grey ones of the building. Also, is where students pin folders and posters to warn the whole college about whatever seems to be relevant. It mostly holds notices of people looking for roommates, lost & found stuff, a special space painted in red for teacher’s announcements and messages from the secretariat of the university. As the results of the finals and classes stuff starts to fade away, the posters to summer parties slowly take over the big blue rectangle in the exact middle of the corridor to one of the two buildings that build the Empshire University.

Coming closer, Tom watches Missy climbing tiny–trembling stairs to glue a folder about Musical Theatre auditions. She’s sure struggling and, although he feels bad, he laughs in anyways as low as he can. Obviously, he doesn’t come out as subtle as he planned and gets a very–stressed Missy Langford slicing his entire being in two with the mad look in her blue eyes.

“You’re being very helpful by laughing,” She huffs, tapping the big poster repetitively to make sure it won’t fall for the next week. “Asshole.” “Oh, Miss, come on,” He teases, smirking like the asshole she just called him. “I thought we were over that part. Asshole! – Idiot! – Douche! Get outta here! You know? Last summer’s business, love,” Tom brings up a memory they both shared some time ago, knowing how pissed she’d get with the dialogue all over Tom’s charming accent in a playful tone, which sure has nothing to do with the atmosphere of the moment itself. “I swear to God that if this thing was any stronger, I’d jump onto your face right now.” After rolling her eyes, Missy spits at Tom and sees his smile widening stupidly. “Anyways,” Crossing arms, Tom steps closer to the Wall–E and leans against a blank space. “What’s that?” “We’re doing Hairspray,” She answers flatly. “Not that you’re allowed to subscribe, of course.” “Who said?” Tom frowns and squeaks way louder than usual. What now? Is she going to forbid him to audition to an open–invitation? “Jesus.” Tom’s jaw falls dramatically, “Oh! Swearing to God… Talking to Jesus, apparently,” He quirks an eyebrow, faking surprise. “Didn’t know you had friends outside college.” “Will you shut the fuck up and help me get down?” Missy gives the poster one last strong tap — probably thinking about slapping Tom’s face instead — and stretches an arm towards him. “Not that you deserve it, but–“

Tom goes silent at the moment he gets his back off the wall to help Missy, noticing Jacob coming closer suddenly with someone else.

“Is it here?” The person with Jacob asks, holding a big orange poster. “Yep,” He confirms. “We call it Wall–E!” The answer to his information is just a laughter that makes Tom immediately forget about giving Missy a hand, bringing him to step closer to the conversation. “Hey man, where were you?” At the moment Tom asks, Jacob instantly gets what he’s trying to do. Not that Tom wasn’t kinda nosy sometimes, but they’ve been hanging out enough for his moves to look predictable. Way too predictable. Jacob says nothing, only squints his eyes and the silence suiting the four of them is slightly uncomfortable. “Uhm… I asked him for help as he was waiting for people to open some space so we… Could… Walk until here.” The voice is hesitant and sweet, although, while Missy eyes the person — The person looks at Tom, then looks down — Tom looks back & Jacob watches Tom prepare a whole scene inside his mind. “There’s some tape upon that tiny cabinet that you can use,” Jacob points to the front, past Tom and Missy Langford, “And if you can put it wherever you want as long as it’s in the blue area.” “Thank you so much! I’ll help myself with anything, don’t wanna take more of your time.” “No worries,” Giving a smile, Jacob walks to the side and then to Tom, offering his hand to a high–five. “I think you’ll be okay.”

As he feels the deep gaze of his friend as he passes by, Tom understands the second intentions of the phrase as if Jacob had just said “very smooth, my friend, shoot your shot” and left. It’s not that Tom Holland is a complete womanizer — the term Prince Charming fits him better, he says —but everyone who knows him decently is aware of the fact that he has no time for bullshit. No ceremony, no playing around. If Tom Holland likes someone, he’ll sure let this person know and try a move. If it goes right then awesome! And if it goes wrong he won’t go bitter about it longer than two or three seconds. He’ll eventually forget even though he doesn’t want to.

The british boy watches another struggle. Tiptoeing, the other person lifts the poster to see if it’ll fit in the only larger space left on The Great Wall as Missy climbs down the stairs by herself, analyzing the entire scene with squinted eyes.

“Here, luv,” Tom gently moves closer and takes the poster in his hands. He tiptoes as well and reaches the blank spot easier. “I think it’ll fit, don’t ya?” “It sure will!” The answer comes out in a chuckle. “I don’t believe we met, actually,” With feet back on the floor, he holds the banner while he looks directly to the owner. There’s this stupid beautiful smile adorning his face kind of shyly, but surely threatening to widen more as his fingers run through his brown hair. “I’m sorry. I’m Y/N,” She says, smiling back at him and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and Tom notices the delicate pair of earrings shining through the locks. “Beautiful! Beautiful name,” His brows frown quickly, listening to her voice like his favourite band’s singing his favourite song of all time. His mouth wants to say ‘beautiful face too’ with ‘beautiful lips’ and a ‘beautiful eyes’, but his brain works harder to keep his dignity safe somehow. “And your name is?” Suddenly, his throat goes dry. He tries to clear it, eyes blinking rapidly and he stretches an arm to find support on the wall. The jeans on his legs goes tighter, the white t-shirt for summer weather feels hotter than a thousand coats and the backpack on his shoulder heavens like he’s carrying a bag filled with rocks. What the heck? “My name?” “No, idiot,” Missy says behind Tom. “My name.” Rolling eyes, Tom slightly turns around and clenches his jaw, looking at Missy Langford’s sarcastic face with everything but appreciation. “Will you shut the fuck up?” He mumbles through gritted teeth. “I’m tryna get lucky in here,” And this time who rolls eyes is Missy, fixing her yellow shirt and putting it back inside her blue jeans. “I’m Thomas, darlin’. You can call me Tom.”

Or future ex–boyfriend, Missy thinks to herself feeling a tiny bit of heartache annoying her chest. It’s been around four months since she argued with Tom, which led to their break–up. Well, Missy calls it a break–up. For Tom, nothing’s been broken up because what they had was just a thing, a sudden meeting of feverish hormones boiling through their bodies. No one ever kneeled down and asked gently, no one ever posted pictures online or introduced the other to their parents. He notices the way she’s still bitter about it, but after a thousand conversations and discussions, Tom had just decided to let her be until the ache goes away eventually, since his words were apparently not helping at all.

“Tom,” Y/N confirms, nodding along and looking at him. He reacts with a smile, coffee eyes drinking her in. “Thank you, Tom! I should probably go find that cabinet where the tape might be at—“ “I’ll show you!” Tom interrupts, prompting up his body and fixing his shirt. “By the way, what are you announcing? Do you need a place to stay or share?” “Oh, no! Not at all,” Y/N warns as soon as she drinks in the way Tom’s tone of voice fell worried. The boy looks down at the poster, trying to find the main information of the paper. “It’s just a party. You’re both invited, actually! It’s gonna be at my place… Tomorrow afternoon.”

Tom says nothing, just removes his eyes from the folder to look at Y/N’s charming smile. He didn’t need any more reasons to say something rather than yes — the other words slipping out of her mouth were soundless to him, his eyes were too hypnotized by the way her lips were moving; hypnotized in a way his ears stopped working for a moment but his head managed to nod along to whatever she proposed. Yes, yes and yes. A thousand times yes to whatever she just proposed.

“Well, I’ll find the tape to hang it on,” She comments, eyeing the couple as her feet start to plan their way to the middle of the corridor. “I hope you can make it.”

Her sweet smile makes it hard for Tom to think twice — not that he even considered doing this, but it’s new to him how the entire surrounding seems to slow down the pace and noise when Y/N simply breathes and smiles sweetly. This is not right, not one bit, he thinks. His heart never raced this fast before; his mouth never craved other lips as it’s doing at the moment but one thing is certain: this party’s going to ease down his thirst one way or another. Tom only realizes that Y/N went away when the frame in front of him becomes Missy. She’s got a smirk on her face and two of her fingers travel across his collarbone, right next to where his white shirt ends. She feels the warmth of his chest increasing underneath the pad of her index and middle fingers, eyes traveling across his softened expression.

“Pick me up at 2 o’clock tomorrow?” She asks rhetorically, melting slightly when he takes her hand to plant a kiss on her knuckles.

By the hand, he drags her body closer so he can murmur next to her ear the same word he’s been saying repeatedly for these past months.

“No.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you were going to ditch us for that party tomorrow, you bitch!”

Shawn rolls his eyes, smiling widely as he manages to carry his backpack, water bottle and guitar case towards his car. Brian, on the other hand, doesn’t feel like smiling back.

“Answer me!”

“Dude?!” Shawn stops, putting down his case to grab the keys inside his pocket. “It’s just a football match, we do this every fucking week.”

“Exactly! We do this every fucking week—“

“Man, Y/N’s gonna be there,” He smiles again, pressing the button to unlock the doors. “You know how much I’ve been waiting for this day to come over.”

“Wasn’t she in London?” The redhead asks, walking beside his best friend as he bends down to get the guitar case once again.

Things are heavy in Shawn’s hands and back, but the thought of finally seeing Y/N again after a semester of torture shots a wave of numbness through his nerves. The blue shirt feels hotter and the black jeans are surely tighter, but the way his heart floats around his chest makes him feel light like a feather.

He misses her.

Misses her smile, her eyes, the sound of her voice and her laugh when he first talked about his feelings for her. Shawn noticed that she didn’t believe him at all, but that impression didn’t last long in his mind — the way Y/N got close to his lips to mumble sweet nothings had sent him to cloud 9. Then his trip flew down to hell just as quickly when she pulled away to walk past the door, leaving Shawn’s pout kissing the air and the side of his bed empty. Next thing he knew, Y/N was on a plane ready to spend half of the year exploring the british airs of South West London. The song he wrote about her ended up staying inside of his second drawer, but the long-sleeved jersey of his favourite Hockey team went away with her — making Shawn’s hand itch to find home on that body, taking back what’s his and what he wants to be his.

“Exactly,” He imitates Brian’s words. “Was.”

Brian says nothing, feeling defeated. His brows only lift while his eyes close, knowing that he can’t fight Shawn when he’s like this. Obsessed.

“You should come too,” He invites, putting the tip of his bottle inside his mouth to hold it while he pushes the door open. “Heard–Djulia–iths–gonha–be–ther’.”

His guitar case flies to the backseat along with his backpack, Shawn stepping to the side so Brian can tuck his stuff into the car too.

“I have no fucking idea of what you just said,” Brian tosses his bag while pointing one finger to Shawn. “But I’m not leaving my mates behind because of some girl.”

This time, the one to lift eyebrows is Shawn. His gaze narrows Brian as he hangs the driver’s door open.

“First, you know she’s not some girl,” He corrects. “Second, Julia is gonna be there. It’s a pool party, dumbass.”

While Brian walks to the passenger’s door, it’s like magic. Julia is out there, walking–dancing outside the campus with her friends around her, singing whatever song that was. His blue eyes can’t drift away from her until she’s disappearing behind the cars parked.

“Pool party?” He asks distractedly. “See, that’s the part I hadn’t understood before. I mean, I love football but you know I never say no to a party.”

Message from +44 20…: Hi!! You left before I could even ask for your number…

Y/N gets out of the shower to immediately find her phone buzzing and ringing. The screen doesn’t show the entire text, but she doesn’t need to think that much to figure it out. Opening the app, she finds a second message popping up right after.

+44 20…: I got it from the party poster, I hope you don’t mind

Her bottom lip gets trapped between her teeth, a stupid smiling drawing her face as the profile photo loads. There he is. Messy damp curls atop of a babyface, glasses in front of those chocolate eyes and bare chest. Whew. Typing, feeling like a teenager as her stomach gets butterflies, she can notice the way her breathing goes unpatterned.

You: hey, london boy. there’s no problem! i’m glad you did 😇

It’s fun to Y/N how the text got instantly seen, the ‘typing…’ showing up below the new saved contact’s name in seconds.

Tom (Empshire): 👀👀👀 Hahaha That’s good to know. I’m really looking forward to your party tomorrow

You: you’re gonna make it? that’s perfect 💓

Tom (Empshire): Of course I am! Wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling

Unconsciously, Y/N’s legs clench together just to the imagination of his accent speaking these words loud and clear to her. Even with the dripping hair and body wrapped by just a towel, she jumps on her bed before she falls to the floor.

Tom (Empshire): Do I need to bring something?? Like beers and stuff

You: not really. unless u wanna drink something specific but as long as you’re here… just don’t forget your suit, darling 😛

If she only knew that Tom was exactly how she was picturing… Bare chest, wearing glasses, damp hair and thrown onto the sofa with a boyish grin. Tom honestly couldn’t think about smooth ways to flirt with her, he felt too intimidated — almost like Tom wasn’t Tom. Who would’ve guessed that Tom Holland could watch his moves to talk with a girl?

Tom (Empshire): I won’t haha

Then he couldn’t resist.

Tom (Empshire): Anyways, can’t wait to see you again… It was lovely to meet you earlier today. Good night, pretty one!

With burning cheeks and racing heart, Y/N twists in bed as she holds her phone for dear life. Coming back to the Empshire University fell flat at first, but with the taste of London still stuck in her life somehow, this looks as interesting as being in the United Kingdom itself — with a summertime way more catching than the winter. Her limbs couldn’t stop pulsing and the anticipation ran along her most sensitive spots mercilessly, making her thighs tighten even harder with a big smile tilting up the corners of her swollen lips from all the biting.

You: good night, t. can’t way to see you too. it’ll be awesome.

taglist of girlfriends: @lostinspidey – @goldenmndes – @shawnsunflower – @jawnjendes – @itrocksmysocks – @emilyxkate – @tell-me-when-ur-ready – @particularnervous – @grayxzabdixfer – @shawnssongs – @arypesanchez – @shawnmendes-s – @shawnsheaven – @mylifeisafxingmess – @perfectywrong – @whysparker – @blairscott

tagging mutuals [if you wanna be untagged, please sorry in advance & let me know]: @mcuspidey – @devilmendes – @snowflakeparker – @strangertingle – @honeyrosemuffins.

#tom holland #shawn mendes #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfics #mine #ficsofmine #series

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