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intheholler · 8 months ago

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the appalachian murder ballad <3 one of the most interesting elements of americana and american folk, imo!

my wife recently gave me A Look when i had one playing in the car and she was like, "why do all of these old folk songs talk about killing people lmao" and i realized i wanted to Talk About It at length.

nerd shit under the cut, and it's long. y'all been warned

so, as y'all probably know, a lot of appalachian folk music grew its roots in scottish folk (and then was heavily influenced by Black folks once it arrived here, but that's a post for another time).

they existed, as most folk music does, to deliver a narrative--to pass on a story orally, especially in communities where literacy was not widespread. their whole purpose was to get the news out there about current events, and everyone loves a good murder mystery!

as an aside, i saw someone liken the murder ballad to a ye olde true crime podcast and tbh, yeah lol.

the "original" murder ballads started back across the pond as news stories printed on broadsheets and penned in such a way that it was easy to put to melody.

they were meant to be passed on and keep the people informed about the goings-on in town. i imagine that because these songs were left up to their original orators to get them going, this would be why we have sooo many variations of old folk songs.

naturally then, almost always, they were based on real events, either sung from an outside perspective, from the killer's perspective and in some cases, from the victim's. of course, like most things from days of yore, they reek of social dogshit. the particular flavor of dogshit of the OG murder ballad was misogyny.

so, the murder ballad came over when the english and scots-irish settlers did. in fact, a lot of the current murder ballads are still telling stories from centuries ago, and, as is the way of folk, getting rewritten and given new names and melodies and evolving into the modern recordings we hear today.

305 such scottish and english ballads were noted and collected into what is famously known as the Child Ballads collected by a professor named francis james child in the 19th century. they have been reshaped and covered and recorded a million and one times, as is the folk way.

while newer ones continued to largely fit the formula of retelling real events and murder trials (such as one of my favorite ones, little sadie, about a murderer getting chased through the carolinas to have justice handed down), they also evolved into sometimes fictional, (often unfortunately misogynistic) cautionary tales.

perhaps the most famous examples of these are omie wise and pretty polly where the woman's death almost feels justified as if it's her fault (big shocker).

but i digress. in this way, the evolution of the murder ballad came to serve a similar purpose as the spooky legends of appalachia did/do now.

(why do we have those urban legends and oral traditions warning yall out of the woods? to keep babies from gettin lost n dying in them. i know it's a fun tiktok trend rn to tell tale of spooky scary woods like there's really more haints out here than there are anywhere else, but that's a rant for another time too ain't it)

so, the aforementioned little sadie (also known as "bad lee brown" in some cases) was first recorded in the 1920s. i'm also plugging my favorite female-vocaist cover of it there because it's superior when a woman does it, sorry.

it is a pretty straightforward murder ballad in its content--in the original version, the guy kills a woman, a stranger or his girlfriend sometimes depending on who is covering it.

but instead of it being a cautionary 'be careful and don't get pregnant or it's your fault' tale like omie wise and pretty polly, the guy doesn't get away with it, and he's not portrayed as sympathetic like the murderer is in so many ballads.

a few decades after, women started saying fuck you and writing their own murder ballads.

in the 40s, the femme fatale trope was in full swing with women flipping the script and killing their male lovers for slights against them instead.

men began to enter the "find out" phase in these songs and paid up for being abusive partners. women regained their agency and humanity by actually giving themselves an active voice instead of just being essentially 'fridged in the ballads of old.

her majesty dolly parton even covered plenty of old ballads herself but then went on to write the bridge, telling the pregnant-woman-in-the-murder-ballad's side of things for once. love her.

as a listener, i realized that i personally prefer these modern covers of appalachian murder ballads sung by women-led acts like dolly and gillian welch and even the super-recent crooked still especially, because there is a sense of reclamation, subverting its roots by giving it a woman's voice instead.

meaning that, like a lot else from the problematic past, the appalachian murder ballad is something to be enjoyed with critical ears. violence against women is an evergreen issue, of course, and you're going to encounter a lot of that in this branch of historical music.

but with folk songs, and especially the murder ballad, being such a foundational element of appalachian history and culture and fitting squarely into the appalachian gothic, i still find them important and so, so interesting

i do feel it's worth mentioning that there are "tamer" ones. with traditional and modern murder ballads alike, some of them are just for "fun," like a murder mystery novel is enjoyable to read; not all have a message or retell a historical trial.

(for instance, i'd even argue ultra-modern, popular americana songs like hell's comin' with me is a contemporary americana murder ballad--being sung by a male vocalist and having evolved from being at the expense of a woman to instead being directed at a harmful and corrupt church. that kind of thing)

in short: it continues to evolve, and i continue to eat that shit up.

anyway, to leave off, lemme share with yall my personal favorite murder ballad which fits squarely into murder mystery/horror novel territory imo.

it's the 10th child ballad and was originally known as "the twa sisters." it's been covered to hell n back and named and renamed.

but! if you listen to any flavor of americana, chances are high you already know it; popular names are "the dreadful wind and rain" and sometimes just "wind and rain."

in it, a jealous older sister pushes her other sister into a river (or stream, or sea, depending on who's covering it) over a dumbass man. the little sister's body floats away and a fiddle maker come upon her and took parts of her body to make a fiddle of his own. the only song the new fiddle plays is the tale about how it came to be, and it is the same song you have been listening to until then.

how's that for genuinely spooky-scary appalachia, y'all?

#appalachia #appalachian murder ballads #murder ballads #appalachian music #appalachian culture #appalachian history #appalachian #appalachian folklore #appalachian gothic #tw violence against women #cw violence against women #cw murder #tw murder #folk music #folk #txt

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maybe-boys-do-love · 23 days ago

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Spare Me Your Mercy from the outset has tied the acceptance of death with the acceptance of queerness. Many of the critiques of the show have missed this connection or its significance, which goes a long way to explain their complaints about the series. Dr. Kan, the character most accepting of death is also the most overtly gay and unashamed to act on it. The director prioritized life even if the patient was suffering, and in line with that, he, himself in the closet, experiences life as constant suffering.

The rural setting heightens these stakes and commentary. We can see it most in Detective Thiu, who returns to his small hometown with trepidation after escaping to the city. He followed the typical gay narrative from the supposedly backwards country to the ‘enlightened’ city, what Jack Halberstam coined as "metronormativity," where he could realize the true expression of himself. Now, forced to return to the rural space, we see Thiu in all his interactions internally contending with the true extent of his city-born self-acceptance. Some reviewers on here fail to appreciate the weight of his struggle. One reviewer in particular, whose work in the fandom I greatly appreciate, nevertheless has a history of reviewing actors' performances and "chemistry" poorly when the characters are wrestling against their internalized homophobia. I, however, find Thiu's immensely compelling and relatable as a queer person with strong rural ties.

With Thiu, SMYM seems to lead us toward a similiar perspective to Halberstam and others (Imma provide a reading list below), who criticize the dangerous individualism of the metronormative narrative. In the third episode, the show depicts an indigenous perspective toward death, practices with roots preceding commercially-bred urbanization. These roots, more so in Thailand than perhaps any other nation in the world but also in a multitude of indigenous cultures across the globe, draw forth indigenous traditions of queerness and gender variation.

An exchange evoking the parallels of accepting death and queerness occurs between Kan and Thiu in response to the rituals. "Their belief up here is that death is like moving from an old home to a new home." The detective replies, "That's a nice way to think about it. When you die, you don't have to end up in hell like the rest of us." This line, whether in the context of a Thai Buddhist hell or the Christian one (inviting any Thai language folks or people more familiar with the culture to add their expertise here!), reveals Thiu's pervasive sense of shame, inflecting his view of himself and distrust of others, contrasting with Kan and the beliefs indigenous to the place where he grew up.

While the indigenous rituals suggest how Thiu might have avoided shame if he had remained more connected to his rural upbringing, SMYM depicts myriad reasons the town's culture, specifically the practices of those men in authority positions, condemned that possibility. The director of the hospital and the police enforce de jure expectations for heterosexuality alongside their de facto enforcement of regulations against euthanasia. As this post about the show's theme from @respectthepetty points out, "life should not be a punishment for the living," but life as a punishment was the set condition Thiu must've been raised within.

While the plot might be asking about who's the murderer and how will they be caught and punished, for me, the question beating under it all like a heart that can't let go is where Thiu's mother sat on this scale regarding acceptance. She's the key that could open the door for Thiu to find queer peace in his hometown. His ability to process how she felt about him and how he felt about her will determine his ability to be himself in relation to where he came from rather than as a rejection of it.

For me, this show's music, cinematography, editing tempo, plotting, and performances all lend it a familiarity with the western crime-thriller genre that make it a great recommendation for BL first-timers in the Anglo sphere . It's easily comparable to Mare of Easttown, Broadchurch, True Detective, or Silence of the Lambs, (Asian thrillers, too, I assume, but others could write better about that than I) while delivering queer love and acceptance in rural spaces at the forefront of its story and philosophical musings. I personally recommend ignoring the misrepresentative criticism. SMYM constantly reiterates the ways relenting to someone else's authority might keep one from the types of agency and connection that make the experiences of life and death, no matter where you are, gay and fulfilling.

Queer Rural Reading List for those interested

Short Digital Reads:

Metronormativity by Maxwell Cloe

Metronormativity Is Dangerous for LGBTQIA+ People's Health and Well-Being by Alexander Martin

Rural Queer History: Hidden in Plain Sight by Anya Petrone Slepyan for The Daily Yonder (a great resource for progressive rural news in the US)

LGBTI Families in Rural Thailand by Bruce Bonta

Thailand LGBT Outside of Bangkok reddit thread (grain of salt and all, but still interesting)

Books:

In a Queer Time and Place: Transgender Bodies, Subcultural Lives by Jack Halberstam

Reclaiming Two-Spirits: Sexuality, Spiritual Renewal & Sovereignty in Native America by Gregory D. Smithers

Visibility Interrupted: Rural Queer Life and the Politics of Unbecoming by Carly Thompsen

Another Country: Queer Anti-Urbanism by Scott Herring

Farm Boys: Lives of Gay Men from the Rural Midwest by Will Fellows

Men Like That: A Southern Queer History by John Howard

Lonely Hunters: An Oral History of Lesbian and Gay Southern Life, 1948-1968 by Jamie T. Sears

Queering the Countryside: New Frontiers in Rural Queer Studies, ed. Gray, Johnson, Gilley

Out in the Countryside: Youth, Media, and Queer Visibility in Rural America by Mary L. Gray

Real Queer America: LGBT Stories from Red States by Samantha Allen

Gay Faulkner: Uncovering a Homosexual Presence in Yoknapatawpha and Beyond by Phillip Gordon

#smym #spare me your mercy

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slutsareteacherstoo · 1 month ago

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I Hope Part 3 - Terry Richmond x Black OC

Black Fem! OC - Savannah (dark skinned, curvy, and disabled) x Terry Richmond (Gentle!Terry, Sweet!Terry, Nervous!Terry)

(I gotta get better at these tags, suggestions welcome!)

Summary: Terry finds himself a change of scenery to after the events of Rebel Ridge

Warnings/Things of Note: I made him cry 😭🤣 (idk i just feel like that’s important; THE MAN IS GRIEVING!!!)

Word count: 3K+ (3,093)

Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience. After I made my last post I was like lemme try and polish it, but then I added more and then i fell asleep. Been fighting sleep tryna finish this part. I dont like how this part ends because it doesn’t have all the descriptions I wanted but it’s part 3 complete and onto part 3. im also trying to not let myself not sharing anything because Imma be holding on it to it for who knows how long cuz life is beating my butt😵‍💫

So canonically, Terry was born in 1992. And they wrapped up filming in July 2022. A lot of folks have been using 30 for Terry’s age since thats how old Aaron is. And so i was like okay cuz in my mind this takes place a few months after Rebel Ridge and so i used the time period to my advantage and make it an important part of the story

So we are throwing it back a bit in time to start at the beginning of their story. I was rereading it like oh shit damn i did do something frfr but we gotta go chronologic for this to work.

It’s kinda proofread but i be missing words when i type (also its 2:30 in the morning so idk its probably mistakes in there) Comments and critiques are welcome 🤗

don’t do too much tho🌚 cuz apparently yall think you can talk to people anyhow on this internet.

Anyways. Enjoy. ☺️

Fall 2022

Terry was making his way to the library. He needed a place to charge his phone and to think before heading to his final destination to meet her. Sun shining, skin glistening with sweat and pedaling hard to the tune of metal, he focused on where he was going. And what his next steps would be.

He wanted something different. Something better. He was trying to be better. Someone new. He’d been out of the military for almost 5 years now. And for the past 2, he’d been trying to shed that skin. To cut those ties and be someone new. A man and not a machine.

It’s why he found himself not at home but more than 2000 miles away from it. Away from what happened some months ago. The grief he was holding was too much. The very much preventable death of his favorite cousin. The future he envisioned for the both of them and what was to come instead. The loss of camaraderie and brotherhood of his fellow Marines while also knowing he needed to get out while he still could.

With his desired destination now in full view, he eased his pace a bit, preparing to slow down and eventually stop. The music in his ears was coming to a crescendo when he finally got off of his bike. He pulled his blue backpack for the lock and began the short walk to the bike locker. He hoisted it upward to fit in the rack with the other bikes.

After closing the locker, he decided to take a swig of water while looking at the landscape before him. Body turned to face the direction he’d previously came from. He was taking in the urban landscape, a concrete jungle lined with palm trees. A different view from the country back home. After taking the moment to center himself, Terry decided to enter the library.

He was making his way through the sliding doors, being met with the building’s cool air immediately. And when the song he was listening to faded, a different melody came through but it wasn’t from his phone. It was someone speaking. A smooth and gentle voice that resonated with Terry strongly. The person was saying something about frozen food. He took his buds out, ear by ear, to see where the voice was coming from. Hearing it in fullness and clarity, the feeling of resonance grew inside of him. Almost like recognition.

“So when we’re shopping for food, it can seem difficult to try and eat healthier. The fresh fruits and veggies seem to be more expensive than other items. So it makes sense that we want to go for what’s cheaper. Especially if we have mouths to feed,” said the voice.

A chorus of agreement in yeses, yups, and mhmms came from the direction of the voice.

“That’s why I like to get some of mine from the freezer.”

The chorus sounded again in wonder, confusion and intrigue. Terry’s interest was piqued too. Since he was going to start figuring out all this for himself again, he might as well listen. He finally looked and faced his body in the group’s direction, standing straight with hands crossed in front of him at attention. And she had it. The group’s conductor captivated him immediately. He didn’t know why but it felt important.

Her hair was in low puff and covered by a magenta bandanna. Translucent lavender glasses were the gateway to deep, dark brown cat eyes, lined in black. Terry couldn’t help but be drawn in by their allure. Thin, gold oversized hoops framed her face and gave warmth to her deep brown skin. The rest of it was covered by a white mask with light blue straps.

That actually gave him pause. Was he supposed to be wearing one? Maybe he missed a sign, distracted by the captivating conductor. Performing a quick scan, he hadn’t seen one, nor many other patrons wearing them as well. He’d spotted maybe 4 or 5 people outside the seated group and conductor. Some wore thin, black and light blue ones. Others wore more sturdy-looking ones? People had them in different colors—white, black, pink green. Maybe he could ask someone for one or why they were still wearing them.

Terry was dedicated to listening. He really was. She was talking to these folks about trying to eat good while stretching a dollar. Especially because he was gonna be staying in this expensive ass place for a minute. He was taking in all the details. Including the woman’s orange crochet cardigan and the white ribbed shirt stretched over her large chest. The white shirt was tucked into black yoga pants, waistband showcasing her soft, round belly. At a certain point, she’d put her hand on her hip; the orange cardigan behind her elbow now showing her wide set hips and full thighs that clung to the fabric. The rest of the material flared out at her knees over white light brown running shoes.

Terry heard something about freezing cooked rice. Something something starch profile. But it was the woman’s that had him at attention. He couldn’t see behind her but…he was NOT supposed to be checking out this random stranger in a random place. Being captivated by a masked maiden or whatever, this was neither the time nor place but damn she was everything.

Terry had thought these thoughts were all in his head, until the library worker behind him cleared their throat loudly for the audience of the one and only Terry Richmond. He was blushing with embarrassment and mortification, turning to meet the worker behind him. He smiled nervously and hoped the apology in his eyes came through. So much for trying to better man.

“I’m sorry about that. Is there a place I can charge my phone,” he asked while adjusting his backpack.

The worker pointed in the opposite direction of Savannah and her group. “You can go over there.” The worker was wearing a thin, black mask so he couldn’t see the bottom half of their face. But the expression in their eyes made it clear that he could actually go to hell, needed to keep it pushing and do so expeditiously. “Thank you,” Terry peered down at the worker’s badge to see their name, “Casey,” and made his way to get some juice for his phone.

Terry found an empty spot at a desk, back towards the wall and face towards the rest of the library. He could see the place with a much wider vantage point, but the conductor from earlier now out of his range. He ought to feel ashamed of himself and he did. Terry shook his head and sighed. He took a few calming breaths. In and out. In and out. Feeling a bit more comfortable, he pulls out his phone and charger, plugging it into the wall. He unlocks his phone to look at the address saved in his phone for the hundredth time. As if he hadn’t memorized it by heart. One of his safe spaces. Being with her. Figuring out what he’s going to say to her and how everything will work when he sees her again for the first time since the funeral.

He plugs in the library’s address to calculate the distance between the two of them. It was only 37 minutes. Not too bad surprisingly. Although, that might change whenever his phone got to 100 percent. His auntie had told him to be wary about the traffic. That he should overestimate at least 30 minutes to 1 hour for wherever he wanted to go, because you never knew how far you’d be set back and you never wanted to tempt fate.

He couldn’t wait to see her again. It’d only been 3 months since Mike’s funeral. A couple more since the life altering events of Shelby Springs.

— - - -

The navigation on his phone alerted Terry that his auntie’s house was coming up soon on the right. He decided to stop the bike and walk with it to the front door. The closer he got to the familiar grey house, the more he

felt the dam of emotions begin give. He walked the bike up the driveway and set it between the garage door and the big truck. Stopping in front of the red door, he drew in a few deep breaths. He was trying to steady his nerves. Terry didn’t want to break down in front of the woman’s steps. At least not in public, he didn’t want to embarrass the woman. When felt ready enough, he rapped 4 times into the hollow of the white door.

Terry heard movement from the other side, and then the clicking of locks. The door opened to reveal a woman with golden brown skin and salt-and-pepper curls. She was wearing a green blouse with wide-legged white pants and brown strappy sandals. Her eye color matched Terry’s green-blue-grey. There was no mistaking that he and Taylor Richmond were cut from the same cloth. Upon seeing her, he hugged Taylor immediately. Terry was lost in the feeling of her, the smell of her—a signature brown sugar and cinnamon. It reminded him that this was a safe space. That he could be himself here—no questions, no judgement; no putting him on a pedestal, calling him a hero; no pity and no blame from others who weren’t there.

Her nephew didn’t even let her get a word out. Taylor only let out a yelp of surprise before embracing her nephew back and chuckling. His hold on her was tight. Good lord, this boy, she thought. When she heard the sob that ripped through Terry though…oh Lord, this boy. She pulled back slightly to get a look at him. His eyes were a sea of sorrow and ache. Even in this vulnerable state, she sensed relief in him letting it out. His frame was still slightly bowed from embracing hers. She held his face in her hands.

“Well, hello to you too. If you missed me that bad, you should’ve told me to pick you up at the airport,” she said with a raised brow and wiped his tears with her thumbs. That made Terry chuckle.

“Hi, Auntie,” he said, “And I’m sorry. I didn’t want to put you out.”

“Terry, you’re literally staying in my house for God knows how long. And you’re my nephew. I’m not braving that traffic to the airport for just anybody,” Taylor said with a furrowed brow.

Terry turned his head from his auntie so he’d have space to roll his eyes, mostly at himself. Taylor caught him though. She lightly tapped him in the center of his chest with the back of her freshly manicured hands, bangles ringing in unison.

“Now, you stop all that and get in here,” Taylor said in a mocking tone.

“Yes, ma’am,” Terry obliged with a few nods, wiping at his eyes again for good measure and tugged on his backpack straps.

He followed his aunt and crossed the threshold of her home, making sure to remove his shoes before he ventured further and placed his backpack down. Taylor was making her way to the kitchen, where he guessed she was earlier before announcing his arrival. Terry took a moment to admire some of the living room. It had a grey sectional with a maroon throw blanket draped across its back. The walls were decorated with photos of his family over the years, his auntie and uncle in different places around the world, a photo of him and Mike as kids playing in the front yard caught his eye. He walked toward the picture and reached up for it. He ghosted his hand over the frame and glass and stared at it in awe and remembrance. Terry felt his aunt’s gaze on him before she spoke.

“I remember that summer clear as day. You two were a menace with those water balloons,” Taylor said, the sounds of wooden spatula hitting the edge of a pot rang through the space.

Terry looked over his shoulder at his aunt, a look of disbelief with a hint of mischief behind it.

“I wouldn’t really say menace,” he said, trailing off a bit.

“Please, the neighbors gave me and your uncle hell over it,” Taylor exclaimed, pointing the spatula at Terry through the view space of the breakfast bar and upper cabinets, “especially because you got a lot of the other kids involved in that scheme. An entire summer, you two planned that out,” Taylor said shaking her head, while returning some spices to the cabinet.

“Well, you told us to make friends and that’s exactly what we did!” Terry said with a laugh, quickly turning back to the wall to return the frame. The laugh left a smile that brought wrinkles to the edges of his eyes. Taylor was happy to see it. It was a genuine one. And she missed seeing it on her nephew’s face.

Taylor playfully rolled her eyes and gestured for Terry to sit counter.

“Come over here and wash up. I know you’re hungry.”

Terry bounced over to his aunt, joining her in the kitchen and washing his hands. He reached up and across for plates and utensils from muscle memory. Terry waited for his aunt to make her plate to then make his own (she wouldn’t let him when he offered). He opened the fridge for 2 bottles of water, and balanced them with his plate and their utensils. He then went to join her at the dining table.

After a quick prayer over the food, the two dug in. Terry groaned in satisfaction and appreciation. He missed good food like this. He could cook himself, but a big part that made the food good was that his Auntie Taylor put her heart and soul into the food she made; and did every time but he felt and knew she made this specifically for him.

“Thank you, Auntie. For the food and letting me stay here with you for a while,” Terry said graciously.

“Of course, baby. It’s nothing at all. It’ll be nice to have another person ‘round here,” Taylor said with her fork in hand, using it to emphasize the space they were in. “And besides, I’m not gonna be the only one in that kitchen. All them years working with Mr. Liu and Ken, I know you got some good meals in that brain of yours. And you’ll also be buying groceries. Lord knows the last time you were here, you almost ate us out of house and home.”

“Okay. So, rent and groceries. I can do that,” Terry agreed.

“No, I don’t need your money for rent. You keep that.” Taylor said firmly

Terry stared his aunt down, but Taylor Elise Richmond was better. So Terry stood down.

“Yes, ma’am.” he said lowly, scratching the back of his neck. He hadn’t said it under his breath, only accepting his aunt at her word. She was a reasonable woman but a staredown with her would always be a losing battle, a lesson he’d learned spending many summers here in her home.

“Now, you’ll stay in the backhouse. I put fresh sheets and towels down for you,” Taylor began. “You can enter it through the gate by the driveway. It’s got everything over there, except washer and dryer.” She stood from the table and grabbed a set of keys from the counter. “These are yours. Please do not lose them.” Terry nodded at her.

“Hmm…let’s see what else am I forgetting?” Taylor said tapping her pointing index finger against her chin. “I can’t think of anything else right,” Taylor added as she turned head to the kitchen clock.

“Oh shoot,” Taylor exclaimed. “I gotta go drop a plate of food to my neighbor.”

“Here, let me do it. I’ll clear the table and make the plate,” Terry offered after getting out of his chair and began do what he said. “I know you did a lot, preparing everything for me when I got here. So I got it.”

Taylor sighed at herself mostly. Her nephew was a persistent and she was a bit tired.

“Okay,” she relented, leaning against the counter with her hands up in mock surrender. Taylor watched as Terry put the leftover food in a plastic Tupperware container. He removed the pots and pants from the stove and placed them in the sink to soak.

Terry rounded the corner to meet his aunt at the counter. He picked the keys up.

“So, which way am I going?” he asked her.

“Just right across. It’ll be the house with the red flower decorations,” Taylor responded.

“Thank you,”

“No, thank you.”

Terry headed to the front door with the food in hand. He set it down quickly on the entry table to put on his shoes.

“Oh, one more thing,” Taylor went to meet him up front. She reached for the first drawer of the plastic chest nestled under the table and pulled. Returning to a neutral position, she placed a black face mask on the lid.

Terry glanced down at the item.

“They sick over there or something?”

“No. Well, something like that. It’s just better for her, when we go over there.”

Terry nodded and put the mask on. Taylor unlocked the door for him and gestured to his delivery destination across the street.

“I’ll be back real soon,” Terry said, kissing his aunt on the cheek.

Now on the sidewalk, he checked both sides of the street for traffic before cutting across. He spotted the house with the red flower directions and knocked on the door 3 times. He heard a voice call out, “Coming!”. Terry was tapping his thumbs on the top of the container when he realized he forgot the poor neighbor’s name. His aunt had told him but it slipped from his short-term memory. When the lock clicked, he resolved he’d ask the nice, older lady.

The door opened and he went to introduce himself but he was stopped in his tracks.

“Hi,” the woman said. “You must be Terry?”

Terry nodded, “Yes, how’d you know that?”

“Your aunt. She said a nephew was staying over, that and your eyes. You two are definitely the same. Thank you for bringing this over.” the woman said. “And my name is Savannah,” she added, holding her hand out for a handshake.

It wasn’t just any woman. It was his conductor from the library earlier today. And now he knew her name.

Thanks for reading! Until next time😇

————-

Big big shoutouts to @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @earthchica @theereina @brattyfics @uzumaki-rebellion @sweettea-and-honeybutter @mymindisneverhere yall are fantastic your writing has shown me that i can push myself and im capable of writing more and like get in my craft frfr recently 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

#slutsareteacherstoo #atiya writes #terry x savannah #terry richmond #terry richmond x black female reader #terry richmond x black!oc #terry richmond fic #terry richmond fanfiction #terry richmond x black oc #rebel ridge fics

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flowerakatsuka · 2 months ago

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finally finished kuroba's updated fujio rock design!! i ended up thinking about them a lot more than i expected and ended up fleshing out their au a lot more so they really needed a new look. and here's a short playlist for how i imagine their band's music / their vocals would sound!

more info under the cut!

rotten flower is a lolita vkei band aesthetics-wise, but they pull from a variety of genres for their music. a lot of their songs have instrumentation inspired by european folk and classical music ( a la kaoling or yucat. )

their band has multiple themes they play on — card suits, royalty, flowers, and urban decay being overtaken by nature.

kuroba's band persona plays into a cool prince archetype with a playful side, this really comes out on stage.

they've gained more popularity as of late and have gotten the chance to play at larger venues, but kuroba still prefers playing at smaller, underground venues. they think it makes for a more intimate, energized experience.

rather than being a plant nerd in this verse, kuroba is obsessed with instruments. it's not uncommon for them to dive down a rabbit hole of researching different ones and come out the other side with a wealth of knowledge + a new baby in their collection. they're very fond of stringed instruments.

kuroba themself loves a wide swath of music genres and is interested in making music in them, but many of them don't exactly fit their band's aesthetic well. they'd love to produce a bossa nova or city pop album at some point.

they were also an utatie back in college under the pseudonym, " tsumekusa. " their channel wasn't super popular, but they had a few dedicated fans that loved hearing their covers. they mostly covered songs from the 80's.

kuroba used to be tone death in this au like they are in canon, but thanks to their fellow club member's help and encouragement, they were able to train their voice to the level it's at now. their natural singing register is on the lower side, but they're able to sing in higher ranges as well, ( i imagine it to be like to the range showcased in the jun togawa song on the linked playlist. )

their beef and rivalry with kara seemingly came out of nowhere after they meeting for the first time in the au. kuroba tends to be kinda curt and playfully snarky towards him while kara is happy that at least someone recognizes his greatness enough to see him as a rival. also, he's just very clearly infatuated with them and wants this to be a rivals to lovers situation so fucking bad. ( he'll probably get that wish granted, we'll see. )

#it took me a second to figure out what info i wanted to put on the ref itself but here it is!!#ngl i made myself blush with this design so i hope you guys like it asfjl #i also want to give dobusu in this au a redesign too. i need her to serve with kuroba so bad...#that and i thought about homura being an idol in this au and want to design that at some point....#okay my brain's started to fry a little so i'm scampering off again #osmt #osomatsu-san oc #fujio rock #mj ocs #oc : kuroba #au : fujio rock #mj draws

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gemsofgreece · 4 months ago

Text

Grecanico

I wasn't very familiar with the dialects of the Griko community, the Greek minority of Italy, residing mostly in Calabria and Apulia. Once in a travel show I had seen a grandpa speaking in one of them but it was so fast and idiomatic that I could only catch one word or two and I consequently thought the Griko dialects had grown really distant from Greece's or Eastern Greek dialects.

Recently I watched this Griko song performance in Italy and it moved me deeply. First of all, it impressed me how it could seamlessly pass as a Modern Greek music style. Of course, Italy and Greece do share a lot of similar sounds, so it perhaps was to be expected. Even the la-la-le-o-la-la pattern, I have heard it in many familiar Greek urban songs (as in, not folk).

I just read that there are in fact two Italiot Greek dialects, Griko (spoken by ~ 45,000 people) and the smaller one, Grecanico (severely endangered and spoken only by ~ 2,000 people). The latter is believed to have incorporated more Italian influences. According to Wikipedia, there are many similarities with Standard Modern Greek, although linguists assert they evolved independently from either Ancient or Koine Greek. If you ask me, judging from the song, there is no way they evolved independently from Ancient Greek. Not only that but if the linguists did not only examine the Ancient and Koine theories, I would have thought they evolved independently from early Modern or super late Koine at most. This could be explained by an influx of Greeks to Italy as a consequence of the Crusader conquests or the Fall of the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire to the Ottoman Turks because - fun fact - the type of Greek spoken during both those periods was Modern Greek. Very early Modern Greek at the times of the Fourth Crusade (1202 - 1204), yet modern nonetheless. So the Greeks that might have fled the Latin and the Ottoman blows to the East Roman Empire may have perhaps influenced the language of the ancient and medieval Greek communities of Italy. Then, this late koine - early modern Greek dialect also got influenced by Latin / Italian, especially in the pronunciation and some of the vocabulary. That’s my theory that’s just on me. Perhaps they indeed developed independently from Koine Greek because the Greek language is pretty conservative after all. But Ancient, as in prior to 200 BC, no fricking the frick way.

The song is in Grecanico of Apulia. The video of this performance had the lyrics in Grecanico (they use the Latin alphabet) and a translation in Standard Modern Greek. I was shocked by how much more I could understand in the slower way they were singing compared to the mumbling grandpa. It was deeply touching so I decided to share the video and I even decided to offer the Standard Modern Greek equivalent version in a Latin transliteration, in case any of you is interested in the study of the evolution between Standard Modern Demotic Greek and the Grecanico of Italy.

youtube

Lyrics in Grecanico and Standard Modern Greek (with Latin characters) below the cut:

G: KALINITTA SMG: KALINICHTA

G: Ti en glicea tusi nifta, ti en ória SMG: Ti glikiá in' túti i níchta, ti oréa íne

G: cíevó plonno penséonta 'ss' esena SMG: ki eghó xaplóno skeftómenos eséna

G: C'ettú mpἰ's ti ffenéstra ssu agápi mu SMG: Ke káto ap'to paráthiro su agápi mu

G: tis kardia mmu su nifto ti ppena SMG: tis karðiás mu su ðíchno ton póno

G: Evó pánta ss' esena penseo SMG: Eghó pánta eséna skéftome

G: jati 'sena, fsichi mmu 'gapó SMG: jatí eséna psichí mu agapó

G: ce pu pao, pu sirno, pu steo SMG: ke ópu páo, ópu sérno, ópu stéko

G: sti kkardía panta sena vastó. SMG: stin karðiá pánta eséna vastó.

G: T' asteracia pu panu me vlepune SMG: T' asterákia pu páno me vlépune

G: ca mo féngo friffizun nomena SMG: ke me to fengári psithirízun omú (?)

G: ce jelú ce mu leone ¨ston anemo SMG: ke jelún ke mu léne ¨ston ánemo

G: ta traudia pelis, i chamena" SMG: ta traghúðia petás, íne chaména¨

G: Kalí nifta! Se finno ce féo SMG: Kalí níchta! Se afíno ke févgho

G: Plaja 'su ti 'vó pirta prikó SMG: Plájase jatí eghó févgho (?) pikrá

G: ce pu pao, pu sirno, pu steo SMG: ke ópu páo, ópu sérno, ópu stéko

G: sti kkardía panta sena vastó. SMG: stin karðiá pánta eséna vastó.

Hopefully, the Greeks of Italy and the Greek state will aid in rescuing Grecanico from fading forever. 🙏

Oh and here’s an English translation of the song to not leave it entirely obscure:

What a sweet night it is, how beautiful

and I lay down thinking of you

and under your window, my love

I show you the pain of my heart.

I always think about you

because it’s you, my soul, that I love

and wherever I go, I set to, I stand

I always keep you in my heart.

The little stars look at me from above

and they chat together with the moon

and they laugh and tell me “In the wind

you throw your songs, they go wasted”.

Good night! I am leaving you and I am going away.

Go to bed for I am leaving in bitterness

and wherever I go, I set to, I stand

I always keep you in my heart.

#Greek #languages #Greek language #linguistics #Italy #langblr #language stuff #dialects #Griko #grecanico #Greek songs #Greek music #Greco-Italian music #music #Youtube #Greek dialects #Greek culture #Greek facts

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

The Detour 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a small village.

Part of the Backwoods AU

Note: So this is an idea I had for a while but I just know I wouldn't get to do it full length for chapters but I hope it's fun.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You watch the green landscape pass outside the window. The tow truck rattles, almost to a concerning degree, as it chuffs down the winding country road. The driver, a man who calls himself Vol, sings along loudly to the radio as you make yourself small in the passenger seat.

This isn’t how you saw your road trip going. You don’t understand why something always has to go wrong. Even with your utmost efforts, there’s always some hitch.

You go over it all in your head. An oil change, standard check-up, some adjustments. All that on a nearly new model and you still ended up stranded. A flat tire but you don’t have a spare. The man promises one back at his shop.

Whatever it costs, you don’t care. You’re annoyed at the time spent on this ridiculous mishap. It does seem to occur often that each time you attempt to do something for yourself, that there must be some disaster. It’s why you haven’t tried anything of the sort in years.

You look in the mirror and see the edge of your car strapped to the bed of the truck. You should’ve done the train. The view along the cross country rail is allegedly quite resplendent but you didn’t like the idea of having to abide by a schedule not your own. Once again, your stubbornness nips you in the rear.

The man slaps the steering wheel along to the beat of the music. You don’t mind the song, it’s considered a classic of the genre, but does it need to be so loud? You cross your arms and huff, the noise of your displeasure drowned out by the crackling speakers.

Country houses stand on hills and fields sprawl with freshly sowed fields. You try to imagine a life here, away from the bustling furor of the city. That thought makes your chest want to collapse. You couldn’t do it. You are urban to the core.

As you come to the heart of the village, the houses are placed closer but not clustered. Only along the sparse row of their ‘downtown’ do buildings dare to touch. It’s after five and the shops are all closed for the day.

“Garage is just behind Mary’s place,” the man turns down the radio, “we’ll get a better look at the damage.” He assures you, peeking at you in the rear view, “these old country roads aren’t meant for speeding.”

“I wasn’t…” you cut yourself off. You won’t argue. You just want a new tire, “right, thank you.”

He chuckles, nonplussed by your curtness. He steers around another long bend in the road. Why must everything be so tedious and slow? He shuttles up to a bright red structure that resembles a barn. Across the moniker, hand painted nonetheless, is the name Volstagg’s. He flips the stick to park and kills the engine.

“Here,” he proclaims, pausing as his eyes pinpoint through the windshield, “ah, of course.”

He clicks his seat belt and lets it repel. He swings open the door so violently it shakes the entire vehicle. You furrow your brow as he hops down and hollers. What on earth is he doing?

“...working. What d’you want?” Is all you catch through his chortling grit.

“Good to see you too, friend,” another voice counters, even deeper and smooth like silk. Great, another of the village folk.

You undo your seat belt and check your reflection in the side mirror. You open the door and plant your heel on the little metal step below the door. You let yourself down but stumble at the still jarring height of the truck cabin. You cling to the door as you gain your balance.

You shut it with a creak and a clang. Your soles mulch in the dusty gravel as you follow the voices. You clear your throat, facing the men chattering on the other side of the truck. You bring your hands to your hips in a show of your irritation.

“Hullo,” you sneer, “my tire, sir.”

The bearded redhead, Vol, and his companion, a blond even taller and blonder, look over at you with curious expressions. Their faces tint from surprised to amused. You want to roll your eyes. Your stature rarely affords you dignity.

“Yes, ma’am,” the redhead shows his large palm apologetically, “forgive me,” he faces the other man, “as you see, I have work to do.”

“So I see,” the other man drawls, his gaze stuck on you, “you are visiting Hammer Ford?”

You curl your lip, “never. Passing through,” you turn and stride away, towards the front of the building as Vol gets back in his truck.

The blond jogs in front of the high bumper, waving at the driver, as he crosses over to you. You keep your back to him as you strut up the edge of the dirt lot. You try to ignore him as you watch the mechanic angle around to bring your car along the front of the garage, steering the bed towards the doors.

“Passing through. On your way to…?”

“None of your concern,” you sniff, “I only need a new tire and I’ll be gone.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. This is a lovely village. Quaint. You might like it here,” he muses, “a woman like yourself, you might find it novel.”

“A woman like me?” You challenge, facing him at last, well, facing his torso. You look up, “how am I like, sir?”

“Well, from the city presumably,” he tosses back as if mocking your tone, “city folk tend to endear themselves to the quiet here.”

“Mmm,” you accept with a purse of your lips, “I’ll be off as soon as my tire is fixed. I have more important places to be.”

“Fair,” he shrugs, “you do seem rather… important.” He emphasizes the last word, echoing your own statement. You squint and turn away again. You’ll be gone soon enough.

“Vol,” he spins with a holler, bounding off to bother the other man as he works at placing the loading ramps against the truck bed, “before I go…”

His voice trails off as he claps the other man’s shoulder, his volume dropping notably. You slowly drag your heels towards them, receiving another glimpse from the blond’s sea blue eyes. He smirks before he releases his comrade from his bearlike grasp.

“Good day, lady,” he bows his head in exaggerated gallantry, “not to worry, Volstagg always takes special care of the pretty ones.”

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #au #backwoods au #series #drabble #the detour #mcu #marvel #avengers #volstagg

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odasantiago · 4 months ago

Text

The Ocean at 21:00

After Zaros was crowned and became king, Earis was shunned away. Never to be seen again, after a couple years, the King of Serulla gets an update.

M!Earis, Post-Noble Trials, Semi-Angst(???)

The Noble trials were finished years ago, Zaros has been the king for 6 and a half years. It felt like yesterday that the crown was placed on his blond head, while Earis smiled at him for the last time.

He’s fought battles, went through the hardships of being the new royal family, regretted many of his decisions, had beautiful banquets inviting the common folk and royalty to eat together, all the sorts.

Something he didn’t think about though, is how painful ruling is. The public would yell and shout, and the work would build up until there was sleep-less weeks, with no one there to help him, hell, even listen to him. The only days he’s enjoyed being king, is going on missons.

These missions let him get some fresh air from the responsibilities waiting for him on his desk.

This time, his mission was to go to the kingdom of Lsmena, to provide insight of trading matters..transportation stuff…blah blah blah.

This kingdom was known for its rich history with music and the arts, mostly performance arts near the water. Since the whole kingdom is surrounded by water, having lovely townsfolk, perfect weather, and a amazing range of rare flowery. It somehow felt like a vacation for Zaros, all things considered.

Stepping onto the dock, with 2 guards behind him, his red and black coat flowing behind him akin to a blaze. Walking pridefully, seeing the view of the beachside town.

The kids where playing games, girls in pretty, Greek-style outfits we’re practicing their dances next to the water, the houses were a light brown, and Zaros smiled. Today was going to be a small break, finally.

He walked up the hill, gliding towards the urban area of Lsmena.

Everything was going fine, until he saw a flash of man with long black hair and two large scars on his face standing next to a building, talking to a brown-haired woman with porcelain like skin.

Could.. could that’ve been Earis?

And.. who was that woman?

WHO was that woman?

He zips his head backward, with a bit of a fumbled expression.

No, it couldn’t have been him, they haven’t seen each other in almost 7 years! Maybe, Zaros was just being delusional and missed Earis a bit too much. It was just a couple striding along the Oceanside. Nothing to see there.

They treaded on. It was only a while until him and his guards get on the Carriage they had transport them to the castle.

After hours spent looking at the scenery, they made it to the officials, and they had a meeting. And even more hours were wasted from there.

Tired, Zaros told his guards to get them a decent inn to stay at, and he’ll explore more of the city. The guards obligee, and off he went. For some reason, he felt a nervousness in his heart.

For the most part, he DID just wanna explore and see the flowers, but he was tugged by the nervousness of chance, what if that was Earis?

Shaking his head, he decided to entertain himself by seeing the gardens that the city had to offer.

Walking down yet another hill, the lights were beautiful, highlighting the cool breeze that went along with it, colored in hues of red, yellow, and pink. Some of the residents bowing down to him, realizing who he was, or offering him a drink. He was too tired to care.

Although, his eyes drifted to a couple holding hands, the same man with long black hair, all let down, with that woman again. A rush of alertness rushed into him.

There was a decision that ruler Zaros had to make.

Reveal himself to his old friend, or have him notice Zaros?

His feelings skyrocketed, and he tapped the man on the shoulder.

“I apologize for the hinderance, but you look like someone I knew..”

Before he could finish, the old friend turned to Zaro’s direction. It was him. His scars, pretty lips, dark eyes, and beautiful skin. His hair was down, flowing with the Lsmena air. The woman next to him gave Zaros a puzzled expression.

Earis started to speak, “…Ruler Zaros of Serulla?” With wide eyes and a puzzled expression.

Zaros felt a weight on his heart, he took off his crown to be one to one with his old friend.

“Earis! It has definitely been the wait worthwhile since I’ve last saw you.”

The other man smiled, that didn’t use to happen before.

“Zaros, it is definitely humbling after seeing you, the years do go by, I admit.” Earis calmly said.

Zaros felt lighter, “Alas, what have you been dabbling in? A new place, rich villages?”

For some reason, he forgot all the reasons why the man standing infront of him brought him so much pain, which is the reason being they didn’t banter like they used to.

Earis responded. “None of the sort.” He chuckled. “Here, allow me to introduce you, Ruler of Serulla, my wife. Apollonia!”

Zaros heart dropped.

He felt a unruly feeling in his soul, seeing Earis with someone else. It’s instinct, at this point. He must’ve gotten with her because of her looks.

Apollonia was a woman of great beauty, her gorgeous wavy brown hair with big eyes. Freckles spiked on her face, smooth skin and happy demeanor. What people known her for though, was her personality, her personality was accepting—loving, and always wanted to help someone out. Married to Earis for 4 years now. She used to live in Serulla in her childhood, and she knew Earis on a deep level before moving to her home kingdom.

Zaros thought, as their introductions and conversation grew on, Earis is a coward. That man told him that one day, he’ll come back and they could rule together, that he found himself within Zaros and “there just couldn’t be another,” it was a lie. All of it. Blasphemy.

Being Ruler usually swayed what he says, which is happening right now, but he let a simple sentence slip while staring at Earis.

“Was all of it a lie, my friend..?!”

They all went silent. Zaros realized what he said, and realized the people watching him, his heart started to pound and world felt like it wasn’t any different than it was 7 seven years ago.

It felt automatic, like all the years of sleepless weeks finally caught up to his feelings.

“You run off to this.. island.. and find a lady like HER? You left me alone. Alone to rule! You know that everyone knows that you humiliated yourself by not winning the games, but I have you mercy.. just for one time.. and I am left alone standing. Looking at this!” The blond adult.. adult child, spat. He felt pensive, aggravated, and envious in the worst ways.

Earis stopped. Gripped his wife’s hand harder, and said, very quietly. Very calmly. Like a ballerina on a the stage, or.. akin to the lowest key of the piano.

“Don’t ever talk about my wife. Ever again. She is the love of my life, the woman I’ve known since I could play piano, the woman that helped me through everything, my whole life…

“She’s better than you could’ve ever been. Goodbye, my eminence.”

Apollonia looked at him with worry and they lock arms, looking at him with such a love and affection that it caused Earis to smile. Earis sighed, looked at her and they walked off. His wedding ring blinged in the lights of the city.

It was tense. Awkward.

Dreamy, and the taste of selfishness in the air.

Zaros felt, for the first time, that maybe his Earis was right. Maybe, all he does is ruin things for himself. For everyone. That train of events that just unfolded before that street was selfish and unproper. All because his little heart was broken by the boy he doesn’t know anymore.

It’s almost like, he’s become the thing he swore he would never become.

Thanks for reading! Idk if many ppl will read it because Earis is usually gender-neutral, and he’s male in this story, but whatever y’all wanna imagine hehe

#sakuverse #zsakuva #zaros atha’lin #asmr #zsakuva zaros #zsakuva Earis #fanfic

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