#viper is like. a snake. but hes a cat. like. really polite cat

[mikevipermetcalf]

not so sure. on everyone. but for now.

[mydriases]

Silent cry

Jamil Viper x Reader Warnings: Spoilers for episode 4, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 3 600 Summary: In the aftermath, you wonder if his love for you was nothing more than another lie.

Winter break was a bit too long for you. You loved holidays but being away from your love for so long weighed on you. You remembered how warm his lips were when he kissed you goodbye before you went through the mirror. You wished you could have went along with him in the Country of Hot Sands but your family wanted deservedly to have you home. It didn’t ease your longing for him though. The desire to be reunited with him increasing the more you thought about him and the last smile he had given you.

You had finished your homework in a short time, putting in practice every study tips Jamil had gave you. Passing the time while getting lost in the colorful world of Magicam, the notification that rang in your ears easily caught your attention to inform you that Azul Ashengrotto had started a live stream on his account. With nothing better to do and wanting to avoid continuing to drown yourself in the gloom of this endless day, you pressed the screen without thinking.

You were surprised when the face of your love appeared in your field of vision. As far as you knew, Azul and Jamil were only classmates, so to see the latter on Azul's account was odd to say the least. The focus of the camera became a little blurred, highlighting the scenery instead of  your beloved. You recognized the walls as those from the Scarabia Dorm. What were they doing there? Jamil didn't tell you anything about staying at Night Raven for the holidays. Had he received orders from his parents telling him to stay with Kalim in Scarabia?

The camera stabilized again and you were able to see Jamil more clearly. You expected to see his usually serene look, but what left you speechless was that Jamil’s expression showed a confusing wickedness. A sneer deformed his mouth while his arms made grand gestures as he spoke to someone in front of him. You found a look of resemblance with the face he did after winning against you at your favorite game. Nonetheless, you never had witnessed Jamil having on his face such a frightening contempt. Did they decided to organize a friendly competition in Scarabia’s dorm ? No, Jamil would have invited you if so, he always did.

The person who was filming zoomed out and you saw Azul, blank stare and dangling arms, direct opposite of Jamil's threatening aura. You immediately figured out the situation and prayed that you were mistaken. He wouldn't dare, would he? There was no more friendliness in the air, everything indicated a confrontation that took a turn for the worst. That was the only logical reason Jamil would have used his unique magic on someone, especially Azul with who he had a polite relation. But none of them had a hot temper so it didn’t make any sense in your eyes.

And then Jamil spoke.

What scared you, even more than the hatred that seemed to consume your beloved on every side were the words Jamil articulated without trembling. Revealing his desire to bring Kalim down from his position of dorm leader, he seemed drowned in joy as it was clear that his plan was working.

He had spoken without shame, his voice betraying that he believed in every word he said. You didn't understand, you didn't want to understand. In the hope of finding a logical explanation, your gaze slipped on the title of the live: "The dark side of a certain famous magic school". There was no information on the nature of the current events. So was it not a joke? Jamil was not the type to participate in this kind of thing. But maybe if Kalim had asked him he would have accepted ? But you were certain he used his unique magic and he had always been so secretive about it, there’s no way he would have used it in front of thousands of people. You didn’t know what to think anymore.

Jamil kept talking, spitting his venom on Kalim and on his position as vice dorm leader which he seemed to hate with all his heart. As hard as his words were, you couldn't help but feel your heart clench at the sight of the triumph that lit up his face. He had suffered so much that he felt liberated by the simple thought that Kalim would soon no longer be a part of his life. All this sick euphoria was the result of a pain you never knew anything about.

He used the word ‘free’, as if he'd been imprisoned in his role and his sentence was about to be served. He believed that the downfall of Kalim would be his ascension. Suffocating under the most negative emotions he saw only his own hatred, reason disappearing little by little.

Before you knew it, tears had begun to wet the corners of your eyes. Comments from other users were all expressing their shock at this student's behaviour. They were talking about how unacceptable his attitude was and that he was the one who should expelled from this school. Horrible. Everything you saw was horrible: Jamil's expression and words as well as the comments from people who didn't even know him, who didn't know anything about how he felt. Then, you wondered.

Did you know him as well as you wanted to believe?

One of Octavinelle's twins entered the camera field, accompanied by Kalim and Ramshackle Dorm's student. Jamil's face decomposed as he realized he had been tricked, in front of more than five thousand spectators.

You listened carefully to their conversation, their voices muffled by the rapid beat of your pulse. You saw Azul break out of his false hypnosis and Kalim ask, on the verge of a breakdown, if Jamil was really betraying him.

Jamil laughed. He laughed and it seemed to be liberating for him. He had lost, but there was no more pretending anymore. His laughter became a cry of hatred towards Kalim and, as it was apparently still possible, his face sank deeper into this malevolent expression as he conjured up his unique magic: Snake Whisper.

His unique magic was a secret for everyone in school, except for you and Kalim. When you took your relationship to the next level, he had accepted to entrust you with the real nature of his magic. Because you were equals, because you loved each other. And now, while witnessing his actions, you wondered what was left of this mutual trust.

A flash flooded your screen and you heard a voice uttering the beginning of the word "overblot". Then the broadcast was over and you were left shaken in the solitude of your bedroom.

Your brain filled with thoughts, each one more heartbreaking than the last. Your boyfriend was a manipulator (was he ? or it’s because you didn’t manage to see through him ?), he has just overblotted (thanks to someone who failed to alleviate his suffering) and was going to hurt loads of people (and to think that you could have avoided all of this). Did you fall in love with this person? Did you have any responsibility for his actions? (yes and yes).

Your conscience was being torn apart. Split between guilt and fear and incomprehension. You needed to do something, anything. You needed to go there so as to reason with him, so as to get explanations. Time suddenly seemed to accelerate as you hurried to put on your shoes and get your coat on.

You left a note on the kitchen table, summarizing the situation in a handwriting that betrayed a nervous tremor of the hand. You came out of your house -gasping for breath before you even started to run- and headed towards the nearest public transport.

Everything was long over by the time you got here.

You’ve asked everyone you encountered, pleading for someone who knew where Jamil was. The student from the Rhamshackle Dorm was your savior. Explaining along with their weird cat what happened in details and telling you that he was now resting in his room. You thanked the two of them and started to run to where you knew he was.

You stopped to hurry halfway through.

Loads of the damage he’s made was because of the fact he overblotted but that didn’t explain his disturbing scheme. If during all this time he had only been forging a perfect image of himself, hiding all his bad attentions, what was left of the sincerity you had sworn to each other? Jamil has just been unsmasked but you don’t change in the twinkling of an eye. It took time for Jamil to put up with his plan and it will take time to make a fresh start. Was everything before that a lie?

As far as you can remember, your relationship with Jamil was one-sided in therm of confidence. You told him your insecurities, your traumas and most of your philosophy on life. He told you loved you. Being evasive at the slightest question because when I’m with you I don’t want to think about bad things, you make me happy and I want this relationship to be about the love between you and me. Not my problems. I can be your confident of course, but don’t expect to me to share everything. It’s just how I am, it doesn’t mean I don’t love you, because I really do.

That was the first time he confessed to you. You didn’t answer, because you were too busy embracing him and nuzzling the crook of his neck. It was also because you were feeling a bit disappointed. You didn’t want to be clingy if that’s not what he wanted, it was fine, really. But it made you feel like you were not as close to him as you wished. His arguments were justified : when you’re with your loved ones it’s normal to want to have fun and not think about all the depressing stuff that happened in your life. But now that Jamil has overblotted nothing is the same.

You sincerely wanted to believe him, to leave behind his bad deeds and start all over again. But a part of you pointed its finger at him while murmuring in you ear that he was a liar, a hypocrite that used you to appear less suspicious. Kalim choose to forgive him, obviously, despite all the suffering he endured. He has always been very lenient after all. You still haven’t seen him, nevertheless the chances are high that he would tell you that Jamil has always been at his side. Helping him through the hardest times, having been raised with him. That’s wasn’t your case.

If you wanted to leave him you’re sure he would understand. You could find another person to love and build a relationship not based on lies. But first and foremost, Jamil deserved the right to explain himself.

In front of his bedroom, as feeble as the first time you knocked on his door, except that this time it was because your relationship with Jamil was about to take a turn, not because you were excited to see him ; you waited for an answer that never came. You couldn’t be patient anymore. You pushed one of the handles and were surprised to discover that the door latch was unlocked.

Jamil was sitting on his bed, his gaze not lingering on you as he fastly looked away. It destroyed you. You thought you were ready to face him. To accept that he despised you, rejected you or begged you to forgive him, but not that he ignored you. Your voice came out hoarse, as wounded as you were :

" I came as soon as I could "

You wanted to cry at his feet and plead him to forgive you for not understanding him, you wanted him to cry for hurting you and Kalim, you wanted to leave him, you wanted him to tell you he loved you.

With his head down, one hand firmly clutching the sheet underneath him, he gave no answer. For the time being you were still lovers, but within the four walls of this room you were strangers. Because of him, perhaps because of you. You took a breath and knew what to say.

" I’m sorry "

For not being there when you needed me, for letting myself get attached to an illusion, for what you’re about to say, for everything that will be left untold.

" For what ? You did nothing wrong. "

He sighed and let himself fall backwards on the bed. He gazed at the ceiling, eyelids fluttering soflty as his hand was still grabbing the sheet under him. You walked towards him, he looked up to you and you found mixed emotions in his eyes. He seemed glad you were here but also like he would prefer for you to be anywhere else. You sat on the bed in a way that Jamil could not see your face, you didn’t need your voice to become tearful and trembling. The silence invaded the room as you were pondering over what to say. You tightened and loosened your grip on your coat, which you had been forced to remove due to the heat, and decided to cut to the chase.

" Jamil, I know I’ve never told you before but I love you. "

In spite of everything that happened, it was true. You knew that your endearment for him really had evolved in something stronger a long time ago. It's a shame it's only now that you're telling him.

You had to question him about his actions, make him spill whether or not he used you. But you didn't have the strength. Your spirits had never been so low, your self-confidence so damaged. Every answer to your questions would turn out to be a knife stuck a little deeper into your wounds and you couldn't take it. He knew either way, didn't he? He was observant, you were an open book to him so there was no need to ask questions he already knew.

You remember when you kissed for the first time and that the two of you became a couple. Everything was so easy, so simple. Never you would have thought that one day things would change, that you would want to run away from him. In the span of a few minutes, your whole life had changed. Anyone could be a traitor, from the most reserved friend to the one that couldn’t stop talking. Somewhere among these people was a liar. You had hoped it would not be Jamil, that it was just a misunderstanding and a bad joke from Octavinelle’s trio, but the facts were there.

You heard the rustle of the sheets, hitting that Jamil sat up again, and felt the warm contact of skin against your shoulder. Hesitantly, you turned your head towards him and he clutch to you a bit more as a sign of encouragement. His gaze was now overwhelmed by sorrow, mirroring your own expression. He sighed once again and reached into his pocket in order to pull out a bracelet decorated with a small red stone, similar to the one that adorned the ribbon in his hair.

" Here " he said, his voice trailing off as he was finishing his sentence " I wanted to give this to you to celebrate my rise as Dorm Leader but it won’t happen. I don't think I could give you things like this again after our talk, so take it. "

He handed you the bracelet, his fingertips brushing against the palm of your hand while doing so, you started observing the red gem so as to benefit from a pause in the conversation. He seemed sincere which illuminated a beacon of hope in you : Jamil meant to give you this after his accomplishment which signified that you were not a mere piece in his plan. That was one less thing to worry about, remained his disturbing attitude.

You played with piece of jewelry, observing the delicacy of the gemstone and the golden color of the bracelet. Giving you such an expensive item as a present was symbolic, surely it wasn’t just a piece of the richness of the Asim family. Jamil would have prefered to offer you something more personal, not showy but simple. He was like that.

Your heart sank.

" I’m sorry, because I didn’t see how you felt and also, maybe, because I feel uspset to habe been deceive by the person I trusted the most. I’m sorry for myself. "

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Jamil straightening his posture.

" In a way, you’re both similar and different to Kalim " confied Jamil, " How could have you changed anything when I was the one keeping everything to myself ? " He crossed his arms, one of his thumbs circling on his skin. " That’s why I’m the who needs to apologize. Not because I regret my actions, but because I’ve abused your trust. If I had told you, there are chances that you would have tried to stop me. Now that I overblotted I guess that it wouldn’t have been a bad thing. " His hand almost went to hold yours, but he suddenly changed his mind. " Forgive me. You were the one person I didn't want to hurt no matter what. "

Although it was what you came for, his apology didn't lighten the load on your heart. You wipped away a tear you didn’t feel coming, silently hoping that Jamil saw nothing.

The light of the room was getting dimmer as the sun began to disappear into the horizon. In the silence and darkness of the place, the gravity of the situation was crushing you. Here we are, the time to choose to forgive or not. You would be a liar if you said that you didn’t still want to be with him. To hug him and run your hand through his hair like before, to work beside him -paying more attention to him than to your homework- to talk to him about whatever interests you at the moment. But it would also be a lie to say something hadn't been broken in you. If he’s lied to you once, there was no proof he wouldn’t do it twice.

" I wished there was a way I could make it up to you " Jamil mumbled and you authorized yourself to turn to him. His eyes were glistening lightly, half hidden under his locks. That was a odd thing to see him moved, as well as a huge step forward.

" It will take long before I can trust you again, Jamil " you sobbed unable to restrain yourself any longer. The back of Jamil’s hand came to wipe away the tears that escaped you. Your gazes met. His expression was worried, his movements were uncertain and his voice wavered when he whispered your name.

" Do you want anything ? Maybe a handkerchief? "

The tears multiplied, but it didn't matter when the man in front of you wore the same expression.

" Hug me. "

More of an order than a request, but Jamil complied without hesitation. His arms wrapped around your form, you leaned into his touch and the two of you sank into the bed. One of his hand caressed you head as you nuzzled his neck, still sobbing, maybe a bit less loudly. From the start, his warmth was what you were looking for, finding his embrace again and spending your time by his side. Little did you know that the moment of your reunion was going to have the bitter aftertaste of tears.

" Can I stay with you for the night ? "

" Yes, you can. Of course. " he whispered, "Does your family know you’re here ?"

" I left a note, they’ll understand. "

There was still several thing you needed to discuss but for now you let yourself fall asleep in the soothing embrace of your love. You had been deceived and hurt, Jamil had been belittled and probably just as hurt. Maybe it was necessary to pass through all of this in order to better your relationship. Regardless, that was all in the past now. You weren’t sure wether or not you forgave him, the scars being still opened and far from being healed, but you were ready to try again. And hopefully, your couple wasn’t going to be as one-sided as before.

Underneath you, Jamil reflected on the consequences of his actions. In spite of all his bad deeds, Kalim, you and so many others have decided to forgive him. He felt good, he felt awful. Mainly he felt grateful for all the kindness he received and that he didn't deserve. Things will be different from now on, he’ll be Kalim’s servant no more, at least not as much as before. All his plans had been revealed, there was nothing left to hide.

He synchronized his breathing with yours and realized you had fallen asleep. There was still a long way to go before the damage he's done can be repaired but he’ll try. Because you, and even Kalim, deserved to be happy. His arm wrapped a bit more around you as he waited for sleep to take him.

It was strange but the darkness of his room didn’t feel lonely anymore.

Hey, it’s been a while. I’m still a silent lurker who doesn’t want to bother at heart that’s why I don’t post updates, hope you didn’t forget about me. I’m still working on requests but I struggle a bit to convey what I want sometimes and end up deleting what I’ve done because I don’t think it’s good enough :’) I hope all of you are safe, my inbox is open to anon again if you want to talk.

[beastlywritings]

Beginnings

Pairing: Eskel/OC (Lae’elan) AFAB NB (but gender doesn’t come into it until later)

Summary: Eskel comes across a shapeshifter (Or she comes across him) and they make nice. 

Rating for this chapter: PG-13 for sexual innuendo and suggested sexual acts, as well as talk of masturbation

TW (this chapter): stalking (kind of), manipulation, injuring another on purpose, mention of dissociation and the feeling of it, mentions of orphanage, mention of lost love, selfconsciousness about scars and appearance, gratuitous use of italics for thoughts

AN: Unbeta-ed. If you wanna beta just ask lol (help me). If you wanna gimme some concrit, I’d be grateful; this is my first time posting fic in years and I’m rusty as hell. Gonna be a long fic.

This chapter is mostly just intro to Lan, who is quite literally me if my kintype was a reality. She comes with much of my baggage and personality.

From her perch in the tree opposite the witcher, the apparent chickadee watched the man as he went about building his fire, placing each branch and split wood neatly and setting it ablaze with a quick hand motion. She’d followed him all day, in various forms, from the moment she’d spotted his cat-like amber eyes across the market. A witcher could have access to information she didn’t. A chance to finally find out what she was. Following him had been easy for her. No one expects a quiet but friendly dog, a flighty squirrel, or a singing songbird of malice, not even a witcher; and no one expects all those creatures to be one and the same. And, she knew from past experience, her powers only set off their medallions if she touched them while shifting. So reconnaissance? Recon was child’s play. 

She worked through the questions that mattered. 

What school is he from? Cats and vipers were dangerous, both schools cut-throat havens, less likely to help a sentient magical creature and more likely to kill first and ask questions later at the first signs of non-human traits. Wolves and griffins tended to be more code-bound and willing to listen. Her eyes narrowed in on his chest. She was in luck-- a wolf medallion peeked out of the collar of his open gambeson, laying on the cream of his shirt. I won’t even have to bother with proper manners, she thought to herself, remembering the last time she’d dealt with a witcher from the school of the griffin. 

What’s his personality; which method would work best to get what she wanted? She knew that Kaer Morhen had been sacked, had heard rumors of who and when, even out in the wilderness. But surely some books had survived. She hadn’t been successful in gaining entry to the keep proper in her youth, but this could be her second chance. What sequence of events would more likely get her invited to Kaer Morhen and access to the library there? 

The man seemed soft spoken; his voice could easily be a booming baritone, but he kept his voice quiet and calm to not spook the women in the town square. He was kind and friendly and polite, even smiling and saying ‘thank you,’ when he bought supplies in the open market. He tried to be as non-threatening as possible, as well, trying to make himself less of an obstruction in the throngs of people in town and pulling his large arms to himself instead of letting them hang loosely by his sides. He’d even stooped to help a woman pick up her fallen goods, though it had gotten him a scowl and a barked ‘hands off!’ Perhaps a spot of friendliness to warm him up to her, break down the walls that no doubt he had constructed over the years, then switch to some seduction. 

Her eyes roamed over him, eyeing up the deep facial scars, the bit of white tooth visible where the scar tissue pulled (adorable); to his strong forearms of corded muscle, bare to the elbow with veins snaking along his golden skin; up to his silky, dark hair that ruffled in the breeze; and finally to the crotch of his pants, where there were little red bows keeping a codpiece in place. Seducing him,  she thought to herself with a purr, poofing up her feathers and preening them some, would be no hardship. A handsome lay and the knowledge she’d been seeking since she was young? No better deal would ever come her way. Just keep the long game in mind, Lae’elan, and this could be it. Finally feeling she had enough information and having made up her mind, Lae’elan fluttered down to land quietly among the leaf litter behind the tree the witcher sat propped up against, her tiny feet making a bit of a ruckus. Muscles popping and bones creaking, she shifted into her true form. Or, well, most of it. She’d need to know him a bit better before she deigned to show him her wings. She pulled clothes out of the ether of her pocket dimension and over her head with less than half a thought. Vulpine legs peeked out beneath a woad-blue dress, as did her long succubus-like tail. Before she’d even taken a full step to the side, she heard the witcher reaching for his swords and decided she’d best show herself before he put one of them through her. Just because it wouldn’t kill her didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.

“That spot taken?” Lae’elan asked as she rounded the tree, her hands visible in the air beside her head, one clawed finger pointing to the space on the other side of the fire. There was indeed a sword leveled at her, a cross witcher standing at the other end. She hadn’t even registered the sounds of him getting up. Looking down at the sword, she found he got more interesting. Steel. He assumed human or common beast. Huh.

“How did you-!” His eyes darted around behind her for a flash second. 

“Sneak up? Shapeshifter. I was a bird a few minutes ago,” she said breezily, even pointing to the branch she’d been perched upon. Smartly, he did not look. Well trained. Eyeing the blade poised at her neck, she continued, “Could you put the blade away from my neck? Don’t need you to put it away, just… preferably not immediately pointed at my jugular would be lovely,” She smiled kindly. 

He eyed her warily, but lowered the blade a fraction. This close she realized his eyes were actually just a shade or two deeper than her own. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. He seemed to not hate what he saw because the sword lowered another few inches. 

“Just want to sit, maybe chat.”

His eyes narrowed warily and his gaze wandered over her. The horns atop her head, the long ears, her golden eyes, sharp canid-like teeth, fingers ending in curved claws instead of human fingernails. The gears working in his head, trying to make sense of what she was, were visible in his expression. Wouldn’t we all like to know, she thought. 

“Why?” he asked, finally.

“Why wha-at?” 

“Why chat,” he buried the tip of his sword in the dirt, acquiescing, and sat. She stepped around the fire and settled herself on the other side.

“Why does anyone chat?” She asked, but quickly followed, “Because it’s exceedingly rare to find someone I can be myself around in these times. Humans can be decent conversation, but they tend to be sticklers for shoes,” she looked to her feet-- her paws-- and wiggled her toes, “and too often make remarks I’m not fond of. Same ones you no doubt prefer not to hear as well.” He just looked at her over the fire. 

“I’ll be honest, I’ve spent half my day following you today, trying to figure out if you were safe or not,”

“And you’ve decided…?”

“That you’re safe enough,” she chuckled. She’d get a proper conversation out of him yet. 

“Oh?”

“Never known a wolf to attack on sight,” she nodded to his medallion, “and you were kind and gracious to each person I saw you interact with,” she continued. Waiting for a response, but not wanting to push, she looked into the fire and drew her legs to the side, leaning her weight on one hip.

“I would have noticed if a single bird had followed me all day,” he grunted. That wasn’t quite what she expected as a reply, but it showed intelligence and caution. 

“A dog, two birds, and a squirrel” she replied.

“What?”

“I was a dog in the market, a sparrow in the town square, a squirrel on your way out of town and into the forest, and a chickadee for the past hour,” she looked to his eyes to gauge his reaction, “I’m no spring chicken. Reconnaissance is important to my staying alive, let alone having fulfilling conversations.” He paused after that, seemingly looking at the fire, but she knew that he was watching her in the edge of his vision. He was chewing over the fact that she had so many forms. Not many things could change into even three forms, let alone potentially the five he’d have been able to spot today. 

“And what, little stalker, do you propose we talk about?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back on the tree. She ignored the jab. 

“Pretty much anything other than children-” she spotted the minute twitch of his eye, “Whatever you want to talk about, really, as long as I can keep my tail out,” she flicked her hairless, red-black tail for emphasis, “Gets itchy if I’m in this form for long without it,” 

“Don’t know of any kind of shapeshifter that can do that many forms in such a short period,” he squinted at her. She tried to hide that that made her crestfallen. His eyes darting around her face said she hadn’t done a very good job. Just because he doesn’t know off the top of his head doesn’t mean the library doesn’t have something, she reminded herself. Sighing, she replied honestly,

“Other than me, neither have I,”

“What are you?” he asked, not unkindly, losing the wary, almost clinical tone he’d had. Of course honesty would be what got him. She should have predicted that. 

“I’ve no idea,” she answered, a bit quietly, surprising herself at the admission. He scratched his scar absentmindedly. Lae’elan wondered if it was terribly itchy or if his scratching was just a nervous tic.

“Don’t know, or won’t tell?”

“Don’t know. Honestly. Earliest memory is at a temple of Melitele for children, the office specifically, but the sisters told me I’d been left on the front stoop in the night,” Again, she was spilling truths freely. If it gets you closer to him, what’s it matter? Gets you closer to that library? He raised his eyebrows, but shrugged. 

“And you can just…”

“If I can figure out how it works, or might work, I can turn into it,”

“And that’s your face?” She rolled her eyes at the question. 

“Not a doppler. Here, I’ll prove it,” she said, sitting up straighter so she could reach around the fire, hand out loosely, palm towards the ground. As if she were a maiden offering her hand to a suitor to kiss. Nodding to his sword in its sheath at his side, she continued “Touch your silver to my hand,” When he didn’t do it immediately, she nudged her hand forward again and tilted her head to the sword, looking him dead in the eye, urging him to just do it. He tilted his head curiously, but unsheathed it. Moving slowly, he placed the flat of the blade on her hand without hesitation. There was, as she knew there would be, no sizzling of flesh. Just cool metal on a dainty, pale hand. Slowly, he turned the blade so that the edge sat atop her hand, but not enough pressure to cut. He piqued one eyebrow in askance. Lae’elan sighed, but nodded, and he immediately made a shallow slice. Her nose wrinkled a bit at the sting, but nothing happened. No hissing of melting doppler flesh. He wiped the blood off the blade onto his pants and replaced it in its sheath. 

“I can do faces, but to do so makes me… uneasy. Like an out of body experience, but the bad kind a human might have as a poor reaction to some drug. Ah, there’s a word for it…” she trailed off before licking at the cut on her hand to get rid of the blood and watching the sliced flesh knit itself back together. 

“Dissociation?” the witcher filled in before she had to think much. He eyed her hand curiously. 

“That’s it exactly!” she nodded, “Most I ever change is my nose. Other than, you know, making myself look human,” she circled her face with a finger, drawing attention to the obvious non-human features. He snorted at the obvious gesture. She huffed a chuckle back.

“Eskel,” he said, suddenly.

“Hm?”

“My name. I’m Eskel,”

“Oh!” she said, pleased, “Lae’elan,” she stuck out a hand to shake. He gently took the hand in his and shook it once. His hands are so much bigger than mine, she thought briefly before-

“Odd name. It’s not a-”

“It’s a bastardized attempt at a human making up an elven name. The sisters thought I was an elf,” she said, flicking one of her long ears, “They were shorter then, and I hadn’t grown a tail or horns or paws or wings at that point. Those didn’t come till later,”

“You looked-? Wait. Wings?” He looked at her shoulder, as if trying to see if he had missed something on her back. He was tilting his head to the side again, like a puppy. Melitele it’s more endearing every time he does it. 

“I have wings as well, but I don’t show those off until I really trust someone,” she explained, looking around the tiny clearing, “Besides, it’s a wee bit cramped for them to stretch out here.” The witcher-- Eskel, she corrected herself-- looked about the patch of dirt.

“They must be quite big, then,” 

“Big, unwieldy, and very sensitive to curious hands if you get my meaning.” He made an ‘ah, I see’ face and seemed a tad embarrassed. She wondered if the old tales of witchers not being able to blush was true, and if it wasn’t, would he be blushing now? Ah shit, maybe we do need to be less crass with this one afterall, she scolded herself. 

“But enough about what I can and can’t do, Eskel,” she laughed, and found she rather liked the sound of his name on her tongue, “Surely there’s something more interesting to talk about. Witcher like you must have some good stories or unique interests to talk about,”

“What are you, my brother’s bard?” He griped, smiling ever so slightly. The shapeshifter just raised an eyebrow. 

“Ah, my brother’s the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia.” Another blank stare. 

“The famous witcher? The bard Jaskier, his songs, they’re all about him?”

“You’ll have to forgive me,” she began, “I.. don’t come out into human society very often, and when I do I tend to stay away from the more gossipy crowds. I’m afraid I have no idea who or what you’re talking about,”

“Oh,” he looked a bit startled at the fact she was so out of the loop, but the look melded into a bit of bashfulness, “Well then I suppose I feel a bit honored to have been your choice of companion, then,” he said, smiling lightly before gathering his thoughts.

“My brother, Geralt, has bright white hair and is known for not staying out of the affairs of men as we’re meant to. He met a bard, that’s Jaskier, who latched on to Geralt’s pantleg and became rather famous as his barker. Has an entire song cycle about Geralt,” and, mumbling quieter than a human could hear, “You’d think that it wouldn’t take Ger 20 bloody years to figure out the kid is as in love with him as he Jaskier.” She couldn’t help but snort loudly, surprised at the comment. Eskel’s eyes shot up to her. She flicked her ear again. 

“You’ll have to remember I’m not human. Ears are big for a reason. I can likely hear better than even you,” she laughed again, “20 years?”

“Longer, 20 years of pining before they finally got their heads out of their asses and realized,” 

“Fuck, even I’m not that bad. Longest I’ve lasted is two years before giving in,”

“Yeah, well. It’s different when you're a witcher,” he said, mood souring.

“Oh?”

“We live a long time. You watch everyone around you grow old, die, their kids die. Even if you decide watching them die is worth it, being with a witcher is sure death, whether it comes from exposure to the elements, a monster getting them, or a vindictive witcher-hater,” 

“It’s not worth the experience of love? Of companionship?”

“They’ve decided it is,” he said, poking the fire with a stick, “Others? Me? I’m not so sure,”

They sat in silence for a minute, Lae’elan watching him as he moodily poked the sticks around.

“Eskel, how old do you think I am,” She asked, curious. He looked up sharply before looking her up and down. 

“20… 30?” she scratched his scar again, “I have trouble telling with humans,” She laughed softly, thinking of times long, long gone. 

“Try somewhere around 250, my dear,” she smiled and looked him in the eye, her own head tilting to the side now. If she didn’t impart anything on him but this, it might be worth it anyway, “And I have to agree with your brother and his bard. It’s worth it. Even if it kills a part of you when they go, it’s worth it.” He stared into her eyes for a minute, looking for something. 

“I’m… sorry,” he said quietly, turning his head to look at the ground to the side of the fire. 

“It’s ok. 80 years does a lot of healing,” her smile was sad, but brightening as she took up his idle mantle and poked the fire with a stick, prodding to move a bit that had fallen so that the fire could breathe better. 

“250?” he asked, looking her over again, “Really?”

“Somewhere between that and 260, I’d guess. Some bits get hazy on the years what with being a hermit for years at a time, and, well, I don’t know how old I was when I turned up at that orphanage,” she shrugged, “Apparently I looked to be about three, but when I ran away four years later, when I should have been 7, I looked closer to 11. My aging’s rather fucked up. So… my age is a mystery just like the fucking rest of me.” Her stomach chose that moment to growl lightly.

“I’ll go-”

“You can check those snares I saw you set up,” she cut in, rising to her feet and stretching her arms above her, “But I can catch my own food,” 

“I wouldn’t… I mean I didn’t-” He began. She chuckled. 

“I know you wouldn’t try to poison me or assume I can’t hunt for myself, Eskel, I just enjoy catching my own meals too much to let someone else.” With that, she shifted, her bones snapping into new forms, her russet hair turning into pale cream and brown fur, until a wolf wrestled its way out of her dress. She took off like a shot into the undergrowth, but not before noting Eskel’s discomfort at the sight. Have to unpack that later, she thought as she bounded in the direction she’d heard a deer about half an hour ago. 

Taglist: @its--fandom--darling

[damienthepious]

it’s still tuesday here for THREE MORE HOURS i didn’t heckin miss it i made it

Like Whispering

[ao3]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags:  Fluff without Plot, Literal Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles,  (basically just a deep dive into monster anatomy), (and Rilla's incessant hunger to understand things), (i'll be real with you this one is weird), (but i like the ending and i need something to post for the IMPORTANT DAY), Lizard Kissin' Tuesday, (i hope y'all care to hang with me while i unpack a buncha headcanons about Arum's body!!!!)

Summary:  Rilla examines the fascinating landscape of her monstrous lover while he sleeps.

Notes: I don't even know anymore fam I hope SOMEONE besides me enjoys this at least. There is at least one Lizard Kiss this time, thank the Saints. Rated T for implications of sex in the past. Title take from the song 3 Rounds and a Sound by Blind Pilot. ]

Rilla will never stop being fascinated by Arum.

He sleeps beside her, between she and Damien, and even that is a thousand page treatise on the concept of trust that she wants to memorize front to back. When he sleeps alone he curls into a ball, tail wrapped around himself like a cat, but in the bed they share he is more apt to sprawl, hand and hand and hand and hand reaching out until they can find a soft source of warmth, until he can pull his lovers close against him and curl around them instead.

It’s easier to really learn him, in sleep. He tends to get irritable with her if she stares at him too long in the daylight. Which is fair, Rilla reasons. Analyzing the bone structure of your monster is a process that requires more direct observation than anyone would reasonably call polite… but Rilla can’t help herself.

Arum’s body is like a puzzle in some ways. Like four or five puzzles piled up together, actually. She’s been taking notes about the subject in longhand, in code, because she doesn’t think he’d appreciate her trying to categorize him so thoroughly- but it isn’t even about the science, anymore. The inhumanity of him, the irrationality; it draws her in. Curiosity has always been Rilla’s weakness, and Lord Arum is a curious creature indeed.

She wants to know him. Every part of him.

She can’t decide, yet, how to organize her observations; mostly she tries to take him part by part, layer by riveting layer.

She has pages dedicated to his eyes. The first thing she learned about him, really, was that he could see better in the dark than a human, and his eyes only got more interesting from there. Diamond-shaped pupils blow out wide in the dark or with arousal, or narrow into thin, dangerous slits when he’s focused. Irises, bright violet. Bright like actual violets, saturated and bold with narrow flecks of a darker shade arranged around the pupil in a subtle starburst. She and Damien must be the only creatures alive who have gotten close enough to see those flecks of plum among the violet, the only people he would trust enough to let that close. He lets them close enough to see, and then he allows his eyes to close regardless, a set of nictitating membranes sliding horizontally over the purple before his proper eyelids close as well.

Another fascinating layer, those membranes. They’re translucent but fogged gray, waterproof, protective; she’s noticed them slipping closed without the outer lids when he’s startled, or when he happens to go out in the rain [a note on his clothing in the rain: it is waterproof as well, though whether that is through magic or the skill of monsters’ weave is impossible to determine, and when she asks for clarification Arum dismisses the question in so particular a way that she is unsure which possibility is more likely]. It’s a useful trait, one that Rilla appreciates because it’s another layer of protection for those unique, beautiful eyes.

She can’t take more notes on his eyes in sleep, though. Instead, she ghosts her hands over his scales, over the subtle patterned expanse of his back as he snores gently into Damien’s hair.

The long, elegant curve of his spine is crested with a subtle ridge of raised scales, like spines or horns, nearly an inch long at the base of his skull and down between his shoulders, and barely higher than the bumps of the rest of his scales lower down [the first time Rilla runs her fingertips along the ridge Arum snaps his teeth in the air, hissing through them in surprise and delight, and Rilla smiles, then repeats the gesture]. Aside from some mild sensitivity, they seem primarily cosmetic, and Rilla can’t place what specific creature the trait is stolen from.

The entire expanse of his scales gleams magnificently, even in the low light of the nighttime Keep. He’s mottled in vibrant dark green and in black, with speckles of gold dotting down his front. The scales themselves are small and near as thick as light armor on his back, on the outsides of his arms, along the top of his tail, and in bigger, softer, smoother plates down his neck, his stomach, underneath his arms, between his legs. He is textured, cool, everywhere she can lay her hands [she has made a point to lay her hands nearly everywhere, by now].

The second pair of arms is completely unnatural relative to any nonmagical reptilian, and they should be completely incongruous with the rest of his frame, but his body fits together with infuriating ease. Arum’s torso is slightly longer than it would otherwise be to make room for the second set of pectorals that the extra arms necessitate [when he stretches in the morning his musculature ripples beneath his scales like the billow of steam, and Rilla could easily spend the rest of her life cataloging every configuration of angles at which his arms could be arranged atop the pillows of their shared bed], and his musculature there is lean but shockingly strong.

The pads of his fingers are textured with hair-thin ridges that help him stick to walls and ceilings when he scurries along at his shocking speed, similar to those of a gecko [Her list of creatures that Arum has traits in common with is absurdly long, and longer when she includes her speculations on his internal anatomy], and the same is true of his toes. His claws on all four limbs are dangerously sharp [more recently, he files down the claws on his lower pair of hands enough to dull them, complaining bitterly about the fragility of humans in general, but the first time he can reach out for the two of them, touch them without fear of causing harm, his expression falls to something raw and earnest and tender] [the claws on his upper hands remain sharp, and there is a certain thrill that comes with their careful touch as well].

His legs are powerful, long, a zig-zag of artful curves. He walks on his toes when he’s upright, his heels in the air and adding to his already impressive height, but he can turn his ankles oddly when he drops to all six limbs, slithering viper-quick whether he is crossing the floor or climbing a tree or wall or ceiling.

Arum’s tail is primarily meant for balance, and it’s not quite so deft as to be entirely prehensile, but he has enough control that he can grip a small object with it or curl it around something solid to stabilize himself [he is equally likely to curl it around either of his humans to pull them closer unexpectedly, to add an extra layer to an embrace].

[Rilla has an entirely separate mental space for notes on Arum’s sexual anatomy; that research is currently ongoing]

Arum’s teeth are [she mentally places a line between her more clinical observations and those that belong in the previous category] gorgeous, knife-sharp, terrifying, with long vicious incisors and jagged molars. Insectivore teeth, meant for piercing and crushing exoskeletons, and they flash bright behind his thin lips when when he snarls or speaks or laughs.

There is a crescent of little divots above those lips, the labial pits he uses to sense heat; a snake trait among the more dominant lizard features. In the scatter of her notes she has them sorted into the category of particularly anomalous with his extra arms and his frill.

His frill: infuriatingly out of place [speaking only for the purposes of classification: in the social sense, Rilla is only ever grateful for the fragile, expressive webbing that flares around Arum’s head in surprise and embarrassment and indignation, because it’s one of the easiest ways to tell what he’s feeling, besides his tone of voice]. It bears only passing similarity to the same feature on nonmagical frilled lizards; it drapes along the sides of his head when at rest instead of folding at his neck, it’s smaller relative to the size of his head, and the folds revealed when it flares are colored in bright patches of bluish-green and gold-

“Amaryllis.”

For half a moment she thinks that he’s murmuring in his sleep, which would be an interesting first, but then one of his eyes slits open and fixes her with a violet glare.

“I could feel you staring even in the depths of sleep, Amaryllis,” he mutters, voice thick and growling. “What, precisely, is causing you to think so furiously at this time of night?”

His irises are wide black diamonds in the mellow dark, his long tongue flicks absently to scent the air, his chest rumbles with each breath he takes, and every piecemeal part of him fits together in an impossible harmony, every edge that by rights should be jagged instead slides smooth. Rilla knows she’ll never unravel the entire tapestry of Arum, and that knowledge fills her with the thrill of challenge, with breathless awe, with overflowing love.

“You,” she says after a pause, hoping the enormity of her feelings doesn’t bleed too much into her voice. When he goes startle-still, she leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, where she knows he can feel the tickle of her warm-blooded heat. She doesn’t pull away then, sighing against the texture of his scales and pressing her hand to feel the slow drum of his heart in his chest. “Just thinking how damn stunning you looked all wrapped up with Damien.”

Rilla isn’t Damien, and she can’t make the tangle of science and wonder and connection in her mind sing as prose, or verse. Her coded pages read exactly like her field notes: pointed, unadorned, though admittedly a bit more biased. Arum knows her, though. He knows the deeper context around her flippancy, the way she uses informality as a source of comfort.

He breathes a laugh and it tickles Rilla’s ear, and he nuzzles his face against her own. “I would love to pay your flattery back in kind, Amaryllis, but if we wake the little knight now he’ll be utterly useless in the morning,” he grumbles, letting his eyes slip closed again as he pulls her closer.

“Sweet of you to worry about tiring him out,” she replies in a teasing whisper. He growls at the implication that his worry is unselfish, and Rilla’s mind flies off again. The entirety of Arum’s vocal system is a wild mystery, how he can duplicate human language with such an incompatible tongue and lips, and that isn’t even getting into the mystery of how he makes those rattling noises, those growls, those purrs. As far as Rilla is aware, purring is not a typical trait in a lizard, so she can’t even begin to speculate what animal instrument is hiding in the hollow of his throat.

“You are thinking again,” he hisses through a sigh, smiling with his eyes closed and letting his claws drift gently up and down her bicep. “I can hear your mind churning when you go still like that.”

“Sorry,” she says wryly, pressing another kiss to his neck.

“No apologies, my Amaryllis, but you need your rest as well as he does.”

Arum tends to save his pet names for Damien (Rilla suspects this is because they have a much more profound effect on the knight than they would on herself), but it does send a giddy little thrill through her when he slips enough to call her his. “I know, I know,” she says. “I’ll get to hibernating or whatever.”

He chuckles low again, his fingers tracing soft soothing circles on her arm, on her back, his breath lifting his chest beneath her palm, and the combined rhythms are nearly hypnotic. “Would it-” he pauses, and she can feel the hesitation drift through him and then dissolve like parchment in water. It’s easier for him to let himself be soft like this, in warmth, tangled up together in the dark. He hums above her and asks, “Would it help if I sang for you?”

Rilla will never stop being fascinated by Arum, and she’ll never stop being surprised by him either.

She nods against his shoulder, because she thinks her voice will either crack with laughter or too much feeling if she tries to talk, and Arum presses his mouth in an almost-kiss against her hair before he starts to sing. He sings close and quiet against her skin, his voice rough and low and inhuman, and Rilla smiles against his scales as it works in concert with the movement of his hands. It's soothing, stable, perfect.

There is comfort in a curiosity that cannot be answered, Rilla thinks as she drifts. Stability in a mystery that can unfold and unfold and never reveal a conclusion. Rilla has always preferred answers to questions, but Arum-

Arum is a question she intends to ponder for the rest of her life.

[kariai-blog]

MEET THE MUSE POWER HOUR!!

━━ take a seat and REPOST this detailed little bio with criteria to introduce the world to your muse.     no reblog karma or tagging ━  if you see this on your dash, feel free to partake in it!

☆ ━ B A S I C S .

NAME:     the republic of lithuanua   ( lietuvos respublika ).  //  toris laurinaitis. NICKNAME(S):     lietuva.   litva.   lithy.   liet.   blasphemer  ( by prussia ). AGE:     ~1919 years. GENDER:     cis male. NATIONALITY:     lithuanian.

☆ ━ A P P E A R A N C E .

EYE COLOR:     green   ( specifically  artichoke green  ---  link ). HAIR COLOR:     brown   ( specifically  golden walnut  ---  link ). HAIRSTYLE:     an inch short of shoulder length.   messy.   almost doglike. HEIGHT:     5′9″. WEIGHT:     ~168 lbs. BUILD:     like a willow:   strong and solid,  but slender.     he has more muscles than he appears to. TATTOO(S):     moon phases along his spine  ( link ).   three swords on the inside of his left hip  ( link -- somewhat nsfw );  a tribute to the battle of grunwald / žalgiris.   a small bee in the crook of his right arm  ( link ).   ink wolf on the side of his left thigh  ( link ).   misty tree half-sleeve on his right forearm  ( link ).   tree branches twisting up his left arm  ( link ).   romuva symbol on his right shoulder  ( link );  frequently carved out by ivan due to his religious intolerance,  though it always grows back as some sort of silent defiance. SCAR(S):     he has too many;   such is the life of an old knight.     most notably,  his back is covered with deep gashes and pockmarks,  grisly reminders of the abuse he endured at russia’s hands  ( and whip,  and blades ).     the knuckles of his left hand are scarred almost to the point of stiffness,  due to them being repeatedly broken by belarus on his neverending quest to gain her favor.     he also has a small,  very faint scar just behind his left ear that appears somewhat in the shape of a cross  ------  given to him by prussia during his lithuanian crusades.    ( maybe he grew his hair out to cover this. ) PIERCING(S):     n/a. PREFERRED FASHION:     very cozy  ------  lots of thick green sweaters and knit beanies and baggy jeans.     one could say he’s almost  hipster.     really he isn’t very picky  ------  he’ll wear anything that’s comfortable and he can work in. TYPICALLY SMELLS LIKE::     the woods:  pine,  cedar,  the damp forest floor.     crisp autumn leaves.     cigarette smoke.     black coffee.     rosemary.     sweat and musk  ( very faint ).     undertones of iron and copper  ( armor and blood ). OTHER::     isn’t very open about his scars,  so don’t assume your muse is familiar with them.

☆ ━ P E R S O N A L I T Y .

POSITIVE TRAITS:     patient.     level-headed.     honest.     compassionate.     dedicated.     true to his roots.     wise.     bigger than his bones. NEUTRAL TRAITS:     stubborn.     fierce.     wild.     self-sacrificing.     has a long memory.     aged.     manipulative / controlling.     gentle. NEGATIVE TRAITS:     anxious  ( badly ).     critical.     holds grudges.     jaded.     not as strong as he used to be. LIKES:     the forest.     nature.     punching prussia in the balls.     coffee.     cigarettes.     belarus / natalya  ( most of the time ).     poland / feliks  ( half of the time ).     cooking.     swordplay.     keeping others happy,  comfortable,  and safe. DISLIKES:     being belittled / talked down to.     being reminded of his age.     being controlled.     russia / ivan  ( most of the time ).     prussia / the teutonic knights / gilbert.     the smell of his national flower,  common rue. PHOBIAS / FEARS:     fear of losing control  ( agoraphobia ).     fear of failure  ( atychiphobia ).     fear of extreme cold  ( cryophobia,  mild ).     fear of being severely punished / beaten  ( rhabdophobia ).     fear of being blinded / blindness  ( scotomaphobia,  mild ).     fear of dependence on others  ( soteriophobia ).     basically toris is really afraid of lots of stuff,  but don’t mistake this for  COWARDICE. HABITS:     asking  ‘are you okay?’  too often.     apologizing too often.     smoking and drinking too much.     has to constantly be doing something with his hands.

☆ ━ R E L A T I O N S H I P S .

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:     pansexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:     demiromantic. RELATIONSHIP STATUS:     single  ( verse dependent;   i’m multiship ).     he was married to feliks / naszczescie  for almost three hundred years  ( polish-lithuanian commonwealth ),  but that’s in the past.     currently quite taken with gavrill / krasnyybunt.

☆ ━ H E A L T H .

CHRONIC CONDITIONS:     anxiety;   varies from manageable to almost unbearable depending on his socioeconomic and political status.     irritable bowel syndrome,  exacerbated by his near-constant anxiety.      ADDICTIONS:     smoking.     drinking.     injecting himself with viper venom  ( an attempt at immunity / holistic medicine ). ALLERGIES:     n/a.

☆ ━ H O M E .

PLACE OF RESIDENCE:     estate just outside of šiauliai.     it has a treehouse,  it’s very cute.     flat for business stays in vilnius.     there’s a pinterest board for his homes  HERE. METHOD OF TRANSPORTATION:     horseback  ( via his horse ledas,  only around his own country ).     1969 morris minor convertible  ( for driving around the baltics and eastern europe  ---  link ). PETS:     two dogs:   a polish greyhound  ( mažylis  ---  link ),  a wedding gift from feliks;   and a german shepherd / wolf mix  ( kaukimas  ---  link ).     one cat:   a birman  ( alyvinis  ---  link ).     two horses:   a lithuanian heavy draught  ( karys  ---  link )  and a wielkopolski  ( ledas  ---  link ),  also a gift / bribe from feliks.

☆ ━ W O R K  &&  E D U C A T I O N.

JOB:     martial and representative of the republic of lithuania. SCHOOLING:     the forest is his teacher,  and he is still learning. SPOKEN LANGUAGES:     fluent in english,  lithuanian,  samogitian  &&  aukštaitian  ( dialects of lithuanian,  considered by some to be completely different languages ),  latin,  latvian,  curonian,  estonian,  polish,  belarusian,  russian,  tree language.     knows fragmented irish gaelic and french due to his close friendships with ireland and france. SKILLS:     expert swordsman  &&  lancer.     skilled archer.     adept at forest and nature magic:   is able to speak to the trees and their leaves,  and uses them as spies to protect his lands.     also communes with wolves,  snakes,  and bees,  and gains news about the world at large from them.     it’s said that any battle lithuania partakes in,  nature  ( the weather,  the terrain,  etc. )  is somehow on his side.     has a green thumb unlike anyone else  ------  he can grow  anything,  probably on account of his skill at nature magic.

☆ ━ R A N D O M .

QUIRKS:     always has to be doing something with his hands;   constantly fidgety.     can’t function without coffee,  or at least tea.     reaches up to rub at the scar behind his ear when the topic of religion is brought up.     very punctual;   hates being kept waiting or being late himself.     almost always insists on cooking his own food,  though he loves being wined and dined too.     when his mind is set to something,  he won’t take  no  for an answer. HANDEDNESS:     right. RELIGION:     romuva  ( practicing ).     roman catholic  ( practices in name but not in spirit ). THEME SONG(S):     mumford & sons  ------  after the storm.                                  svrcina  ------  battlefield. BOSS BATTLE MUSIC:     round 1.   brunuhville  ------  the wolf and the moon.                                          round 2.   really slow motion  ------  earth full.                                          round 3.   two steps from hell  ━---  victory.                                          tiebreaker round.   two steps from hell  ━---  after the fall.

[networkingdefinition]

Weasels Quotes

Official Website: Weasels Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push();

• A typical vice of American politics the avoidance of saying anything real on real issues, and the announcement of radical policies with much sound and fury, and at the same time with a cautious accompaniment of weasel phrases each of which sucks the meat out of the preceding statement. – Theodore Roosevelt • Agnostic for me would be trying to weasel out and sound a little nicer than I am about this. – Richard P. Feynman • Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?” said Zacharias Smith. “Here’s an idea,” said Ron loudly, “why don’t you shut your mouth?” “Well, we’ve all turned up to learn from him, and now he’s telling us he can’t really do any of it,” he said. “That’s not what he said,” said Fred Weasley. “Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?” inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko’s bags. “Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this,” said Fred. – J. K. Rowling • Art is what separates us from the animals. – Iimani David • Be good now, Potty…Weasel King. – J. K. Rowling • Because success is such a weasel word anyway, it’s such a horribly American word, and it’s such a vamp and, I think it’s a death trap. – Daniel Berrigan • Cats didn’t start as mousers. Weasels and snakes and dogs are more efficient as rodent-control agents. I postulate that cats started as psychic companions, as Familiars, and have never deviated from this function. – William S. Burroughs • Democrats—lily-livered, weasel-assed collaborators. – Michael Parenti • Dingoes, jackals, skunks, vipers and weasel are now illegal in New York City. Well great, who’s going to run CBS? – David Letterman • Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel? Polonius: By the mass, and ‘tis like a camel, indeed. Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel. Polonius: It is backed like a weasel. Hamlet: Or like a whale? Polonius: Very like a whale. – William Shakespeare • Eagles may soar, but weasels don’t get sucked into jet engines. – Steven Wright • Every credible scientist on earth says your products harm the environment. I recommend paying weasels to write articles casting doubt on the data. Then eat the wrong kind of foods and hope you die before the earth does. – Scott Adams • Evidence indicates that cats were first tamed in Egypt. The Egyptians stored grain, which attracted rodents, which attracted cats. (No evidence that such a thing happened with the Mayans, though a number of wild cats are native to the area.) I don’t think this is accurate. It is certainly not the whole story. Cats didn’t start as mousers. Weasels and snakes and dogs are more efficient as rodent-control agents. I postulate that cats started as psychic companions, as Familiars, and have never deviated from this function. – William S. Burroughs • For those of you who may be unaware, [Michael] Boskin is the economist/weasel/fraud who helped to officially distort the CPI, making it more or less worthless as a measure of inflation. The Boskin Commission… was an act of cowardice. Rather than man up and say fix this, its broken, we can’t afford it. – Barry Ritholtz • Go on, try weasel, try squirrel; it tastes like chicken, it tastes just like chicken! If it tastes just like chicken, why don’t you gimme some damn chicken? – Bobcat Goldthwait • Having an aura of menace is like having a pet weasel, because you rarely meet someone who has one, and when you do, it makes you want to hide under the coffee table. – Daniel Handler • Hope,” Frank grumbled. “I’d rather have a few good weasels. – Rick Riordan • I didnt like being reminded about how self-absorbed i was. I wanted to be over this, done with this. I didnt want to live in a broken world or a broken me. I wasnt trying to weasel out of anything. I just wasnt in the mood of being on the earth that night. I get like that sometimes when it rains, or when i see certain sad movies. – Donald Miller • I have obviously failed to galvanize and prod, if not shame enough Americans to be ever vigilant not to let a Chicago communist raised communist educated communist nurtured subhuman mongrel like the ACORN community organizer gangster Barack Hussein Obama to weasel his way into the top office of authority in the United States of America. – Ted Nugent • I like ‘pencil-necked weasel’. It has ‘pencil’ in it. Pencils are good things. You can draw or write things with pencils. I think it’s what you call someone when you’re worried that using a long word like ‘intellectual’ may have too many syllables. It’s not something that people who have serious, important things to say call other people. – Neil Gaiman • I therefore invite you all,” Mr Fox went on, ‘to stay here with me for ever.’ For ever!’ they cried. ‘My goodness! How marvellous!’ And Rabbit said to Mrs Rabbit, ‘My dear, just think! We’re never going to be shot again in our lives!’ We will make,’ said Mr Fox, ‘a little underground village, with streets and houses on each side – seperate houses for Badgers and Moles and Rabbits and Weasels and Foxes. And every day I will go shopping for you all. And every day we will eat like kings.’ The cheering that followed this speech went on for many minutes. – Roald Dahl • I was having a mildly paranoid day, mostly due to the fact that the mad priest lady from over the river had taken to nailing weasels to my front door again. – Warren Ellis • I’m sure I’ve been a toad, one time or another. With bats, weasels, worms…I rejoice in the kinship. Even the caterpillar I can love, and the various vermin. – Theodore Roethke • I’ve met an attractive weasel or two in my time. He looks more like a rat.” -pg.170- – Cassandra Clare • Jack Abramoff is going to testify against some of the other weasels in Congress. A lobbyist testifying against congressmen? How many Bibles are going to burst into flames in that courtroom? – Jay Leno • Listen, if I heard shrieks and cries coming from a house and I ran in there and I found a great big broad shouldered whiskey soaked Joe weasel, dragging his wife about by the hair, and over here, two children are unconscious from his blows and kicks and another one screaming in terror, do you think I would apologize for being there? No! I’d knock 7 kinds of pork out of that old hog. – Billy Sunday • Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come. – Matt Groening • Lucky Charms?” I asked. “Magically delicious,” he explained. “Requisite for any sort of building project.” I shook my head, still amazed at how he had managed to weasel his way over here. “This isn’t a date.” He cut me a scandalized look. “Obviously. I’d bring Count Chocula for that. – Richelle Mead • Mayor de Blasio has legalized ferrets. Now you can legally own ferrets in New York City. I want to tell you something. If I want to see anymore beady-eyed little weasels, I’ll just keep riding the subway. – David Letterman • Most of us are animal lovers. We insist that we love all animals equally – the hamster, the weasel, and the zebra – but if pressed, we will admit to being either a cat person or a dog person. – Nicole Hollander • My career as a magazine writer was largely prefaced on the idea of curiosity, to go on adventures and weasel my way into the lives of people that I admire. – John Hodgman • My character on ‘I’m In the Band,’ Derek Jupiter of Iron Weasel, is definitely one of the crazier ones. That’s completely on the other end of the spectrum. There’s absolutely nothing like Derek any shape or form. I’m having so much fun playing this egotistical, ’80s-era rockstar – everything he does is from the point-of-view of a rockstar. – Steve Valentine • My first fight was a little weasel from American called Andre Dirrell. I say that because he runs and holds, and I hope Abraham bangs him out. – Carl Froch • Not all introductions worked well. Rabbits were an unmitigated environmental disaster. Unchecked by any natural predator, they bred at a staggering rate and chewed their way across vast areas of pastureland as well as any garden that came their way. Attempts to control them by introducing ferrets, weasels and stoats did much more harm than good. Although these predators probably killed a reasonable number of rabbits, they also devastated populations of kiwi and raided the nests of flighted birds. – Bee Dawson • Nothing out of the ordinary ever occurs to me when I’m by myself. But you attract duels, ambushes, immortal enemies, obscure creatures such as the Ra’zac, long-lost family members, and mysterious acts of magic as if they were were starving weasels and you were a rabbit that wandered into their den. – Christopher Paolini • Occasionally I hear a band that blows me away. For instance, there’s a musician in Oakland named Weasel Walter who has a band called the Flying Luttenbachers. Go see the Flying Luttenbachers when they’re in your town. He’s one of the greatest rock composers who ever lived, and he’s struggling and living like a poverty-stricken hermit. – Glenn Branca • Oh, he is cute!” Shane said in a fake girly voice. “Gee, maybe we can ask him out!” “Shut up, you weasel. Claire, hit him! – Rachel Caine • One of our defects as a nation is a tendency to use what have been called “weasel words.” – Theodore Roosevelt • One of our defects as a nation is a tendency to use what have been called ”weasel words.” When a weasel sucks eggs the meat is sucked out of the egg. If you use a ”weasel word” after another there is nothing left of the other. – Theodore Roosevelt • One thing that worried me was how writers get categorized and so they end up having to write the same kind of book again and again. That is fine if it is what you want to do, but I would rather be locked in the trunk of my car with a weasel than write the same book every three years until I die. – Justin Cronin • Or, as I call it, a Cheesel, it’s a Weasel with a Cheese finish. – Bill Bailey • Ser Cleos looked like a weasel, fought like a goose, and had the courage of an especially brave ewe. – George R. R. Martin • Some men can be very rude. On the other hand, some clients are absolute angels. One john always brought me a gift every time he came to see me. He brought me a pearl necklace, a ring, a bra or something. But eventually, as much as I really loved all the gifts, he fell in love with me, and he tried to weasel his way into my life. It was too much and I sort of had to ‘break up with him.” – Annie Sprinkle • Some weasel took the cork out of my lunch. – W. C. Fields

• Tarly, when I was a lad half your age, my lady mother told me that if I stood about with my mouth open, a weasel was like to mistake it for his lair and run down my throat. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, beware of weasels. – George R. R. Martin • Tea Party goers are just a bunch of wimpy, whiny, weasels who don’t love their country. – Paul Begala • The coast’s a jungle of Moors, Turks, Jews, renegades from all over Europe, sitting in palaces built from the sale of Christian slaves. There are twenty thousand men, women and children in the bagnios of Algiers alone. I am not going to make it twenty thousand and one because your mother didn’t allow you to keep rabbits, or whatever is at the root of your unshakable fixation.” “I had weasels instead,” said Philippa shortly. “Good God,” said Lymond, looking at her. “That explains a lot.- Dorothy Dunnett • The eagle may soar, but the weasel never gets sucked into a jet engine. – John Benfield • The night can sweat with terror as before We pieced our thoughts into philosophy, And planned to bring the world under a rule, Who are but weasels fighting in a hole. – William Butler Yeats • The reason any conservative’s failing is always major news is that it allows liberals to engage in their very favorite taunt: Hypocrisy! Hypocrisy is the only sin that really inflames them. Inasmuch as liberals have no morals, they can sit back and criticize other people for failing to meet the standards that liberals simply renounce. It’s an intriguing strategy. By openly admitting to being philanderers, draft dodgers, liars, weasels and cowards, liberals avoid ever being hypocrites. – Ann Coulter • The weasel under the cocktail cabinet. – Harold Pinter • There is such a thing as the poetry of a mistake, and when you say, “Mistakes were made,” you deprive an action of its poetry, and you sound like a weasel.- Charles Baxter • There’s a gigantic gray area between good moral behavior and outright felonious activities. I call that the Weasel Zone and it’s where most of life happens. – Scott Adams • Those props are as cunning as a bag o’ weasels. – Bill McLaren • To err is human. To cover it up is weasel. – Scott Adams • Values and verdicts never bother me half as much as people trying to weasel their way around them, or people compromising their reason to pander to their own prejudices and preconceptions, which they are so rarely competent to look in the face. – Kenny Smith • Walk in this faithless grass with studious tread, Lest mice, weasels, germane beasts, too soon The tall hat and eyes, the fierce feet, for dead Descry, and fix you prone in their revelling moon. – Allen Tate • Want a cookie,’ Ra said. ‘What kind?’ ‘Weasel cookie.’ I’m here to tell you, that comment about weasel cookies probably saved the known universe. – Rick Riordan • War has taught me that each one of us contains every ingredient of the human recipe. By varying measure we are all cowards and brave men, thieves and honest men, selfish and selfless men, malingerers and champions, weasels and lions. The only question is how much of each attribute we allow- or force – to dominate our being. – Eric L. Haney • We dwell amid pinheaded weasels who know only timid, the generic and the abacus. – Danny Baker • We have to call mass surveillance mass surveillance. We can’t let governments around the world redefine, and sort of weasel their way out of it by saying this is bulk collection. – Edward Snowden • We stepped back and looked at the king of the gods, slumped in his chair snoring, and cradling his crook like a teddy bear. I placed the war flail across his lap, hoping it might make a difference—maybe complete his powers or something. No such luck. “Sick weasels,” Ra muttered. “Behold,” Sadie said bitterly. “the glorious Ra. – Rick Riordan • Weasel words from mollycoddles will never do when the day demands prophetic clarity from greathearts. Manly men must emerge for this hour of trial. – Theodore Roosevelt • Weaseling out of things is important to learn. It’s what separates us from the animals… except the weasel. – Matt Groening • Weasels–and stoats–and foxes–and so on. They’re all right in a way–I’m very good friends with them–pass the time of day when we meet, and all that–but they break out sometimes, there’s no denying it, and then–well, you can’t really trust them, and that’s the fact. – Kenneth Grahame • What annoyed me was that I so often attempted to weasel out of things on purpose, it killed me to do it by accident. It seemed like a waste of whatever detailed lie I was going to have to come up with. – Sloane Crosley • What the Danes left in Ireland were hens and weasels. And when the cock crows in the morning, the country people will always say ‘It is for Denmark they are crowing. Crowing they are to be back in Denmark.’ – Lady Gregory • When the cold comes to New England it arrives in sheets of sleet and ice. In December, the wind wraps itself around bare trees and twists in between husbands and wives asleep in their beds. It shakes the shingles from the roofs and sifts through cracks in the plaster. The only green things left are the holly bushes and the old boxwood hedges in the village, and these are often painted white with snow. Chipmunks and weasels come to nest in basements and barns; owls find their way into attics. At night,the dark is blue and bluer still, as sapphire of night. – Alice Hoffman • You’re alive!” Percy said to the others. “The giants said you were captured. What happened?” Leo shrugged. “Oh, just another brilliant plan by Leo Valdez. You’d be amazed what you can do with an Archimedes sphere, a girl who can sense stuff underground, and a weasel.” “I was the weasel,” Frank said glumly. – Rick Riordan

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

[equitiesstocks]

Weasels Quotes

Official Website: Weasels Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push();

• A typical vice of American politics the avoidance of saying anything real on real issues, and the announcement of radical policies with much sound and fury, and at the same time with a cautious accompaniment of weasel phrases each of which sucks the meat out of the preceding statement. – Theodore Roosevelt • Agnostic for me would be trying to weasel out and sound a little nicer than I am about this. – Richard P. Feynman • Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?” said Zacharias Smith. “Here’s an idea,” said Ron loudly, “why don’t you shut your mouth?” “Well, we’ve all turned up to learn from him, and now he’s telling us he can’t really do any of it,” he said. “That’s not what he said,” said Fred Weasley. “Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?” inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko’s bags. “Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this,” said Fred. – J. K. Rowling • Art is what separates us from the animals. – Iimani David • Be good now, Potty…Weasel King. – J. K. Rowling • Because success is such a weasel word anyway, it’s such a horribly American word, and it’s such a vamp and, I think it’s a death trap. – Daniel Berrigan • Cats didn’t start as mousers. Weasels and snakes and dogs are more efficient as rodent-control agents. I postulate that cats started as psychic companions, as Familiars, and have never deviated from this function. – William S. Burroughs • Democrats—lily-livered, weasel-assed collaborators. – Michael Parenti • Dingoes, jackals, skunks, vipers and weasel are now illegal in New York City. Well great, who’s going to run CBS? – David Letterman • Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel? Polonius: By the mass, and ‘tis like a camel, indeed. Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel. Polonius: It is backed like a weasel. Hamlet: Or like a whale? Polonius: Very like a whale. – William Shakespeare • Eagles may soar, but weasels don’t get sucked into jet engines. – Steven Wright • Every credible scientist on earth says your products harm the environment. I recommend paying weasels to write articles casting doubt on the data. Then eat the wrong kind of foods and hope you die before the earth does. – Scott Adams • Evidence indicates that cats were first tamed in Egypt. The Egyptians stored grain, which attracted rodents, which attracted cats. (No evidence that such a thing happened with the Mayans, though a number of wild cats are native to the area.) I don’t think this is accurate. It is certainly not the whole story. Cats didn’t start as mousers. Weasels and snakes and dogs are more efficient as rodent-control agents. I postulate that cats started as psychic companions, as Familiars, and have never deviated from this function. – William S. Burroughs • For those of you who may be unaware, [Michael] Boskin is the economist/weasel/fraud who helped to officially distort the CPI, making it more or less worthless as a measure of inflation. The Boskin Commission… was an act of cowardice. Rather than man up and say fix this, its broken, we can’t afford it. – Barry Ritholtz • Go on, try weasel, try squirrel; it tastes like chicken, it tastes just like chicken! If it tastes just like chicken, why don’t you gimme some damn chicken? – Bobcat Goldthwait • Having an aura of menace is like having a pet weasel, because you rarely meet someone who has one, and when you do, it makes you want to hide under the coffee table. – Daniel Handler • Hope,” Frank grumbled. “I’d rather have a few good weasels. – Rick Riordan • I didnt like being reminded about how self-absorbed i was. I wanted to be over this, done with this. I didnt want to live in a broken world or a broken me. I wasnt trying to weasel out of anything. I just wasnt in the mood of being on the earth that night. I get like that sometimes when it rains, or when i see certain sad movies. – Donald Miller • I have obviously failed to galvanize and prod, if not shame enough Americans to be ever vigilant not to let a Chicago communist raised communist educated communist nurtured subhuman mongrel like the ACORN community organizer gangster Barack Hussein Obama to weasel his way into the top office of authority in the United States of America. – Ted Nugent • I like ‘pencil-necked weasel’. It has ‘pencil’ in it. Pencils are good things. You can draw or write things with pencils. I think it’s what you call someone when you’re worried that using a long word like ‘intellectual’ may have too many syllables. It’s not something that people who have serious, important things to say call other people. – Neil Gaiman • I therefore invite you all,” Mr Fox went on, ‘to stay here with me for ever.’ For ever!’ they cried. ‘My goodness! How marvellous!’ And Rabbit said to Mrs Rabbit, ‘My dear, just think! We’re never going to be shot again in our lives!’ We will make,’ said Mr Fox, ‘a little underground village, with streets and houses on each side – seperate houses for Badgers and Moles and Rabbits and Weasels and Foxes. And every day I will go shopping for you all. And every day we will eat like kings.’ The cheering that followed this speech went on for many minutes. – Roald Dahl • I was having a mildly paranoid day, mostly due to the fact that the mad priest lady from over the river had taken to nailing weasels to my front door again. – Warren Ellis • I’m sure I’ve been a toad, one time or another. With bats, weasels, worms…I rejoice in the kinship. Even the caterpillar I can love, and the various vermin. – Theodore Roethke • I’ve met an attractive weasel or two in my time. He looks more like a rat.” -pg.170- – Cassandra Clare • Jack Abramoff is going to testify against some of the other weasels in Congress. A lobbyist testifying against congressmen? How many Bibles are going to burst into flames in that courtroom? – Jay Leno • Listen, if I heard shrieks and cries coming from a house and I ran in there and I found a great big broad shouldered whiskey soaked Joe weasel, dragging his wife about by the hair, and over here, two children are unconscious from his blows and kicks and another one screaming in terror, do you think I would apologize for being there? No! I’d knock 7 kinds of pork out of that old hog. – Billy Sunday • Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come. – Matt Groening • Lucky Charms?” I asked. “Magically delicious,” he explained. “Requisite for any sort of building project.” I shook my head, still amazed at how he had managed to weasel his way over here. “This isn’t a date.” He cut me a scandalized look. “Obviously. I’d bring Count Chocula for that. – Richelle Mead • Mayor de Blasio has legalized ferrets. Now you can legally own ferrets in New York City. I want to tell you something. If I want to see anymore beady-eyed little weasels, I’ll just keep riding the subway. – David Letterman • Most of us are animal lovers. We insist that we love all animals equally – the hamster, the weasel, and the zebra – but if pressed, we will admit to being either a cat person or a dog person. – Nicole Hollander • My career as a magazine writer was largely prefaced on the idea of curiosity, to go on adventures and weasel my way into the lives of people that I admire. – John Hodgman • My character on ‘I’m In the Band,’ Derek Jupiter of Iron Weasel, is definitely one of the crazier ones. That’s completely on the other end of the spectrum. There’s absolutely nothing like Derek any shape or form. I’m having so much fun playing this egotistical, ’80s-era rockstar – everything he does is from the point-of-view of a rockstar. – Steve Valentine • My first fight was a little weasel from American called Andre Dirrell. I say that because he runs and holds, and I hope Abraham bangs him out. – Carl Froch • Not all introductions worked well. Rabbits were an unmitigated environmental disaster. Unchecked by any natural predator, they bred at a staggering rate and chewed their way across vast areas of pastureland as well as any garden that came their way. Attempts to control them by introducing ferrets, weasels and stoats did much more harm than good. Although these predators probably killed a reasonable number of rabbits, they also devastated populations of kiwi and raided the nests of flighted birds. – Bee Dawson • Nothing out of the ordinary ever occurs to me when I’m by myself. But you attract duels, ambushes, immortal enemies, obscure creatures such as the Ra’zac, long-lost family members, and mysterious acts of magic as if they were were starving weasels and you were a rabbit that wandered into their den. – Christopher Paolini • Occasionally I hear a band that blows me away. For instance, there’s a musician in Oakland named Weasel Walter who has a band called the Flying Luttenbachers. Go see the Flying Luttenbachers when they’re in your town. He’s one of the greatest rock composers who ever lived, and he’s struggling and living like a poverty-stricken hermit. – Glenn Branca • Oh, he is cute!” Shane said in a fake girly voice. “Gee, maybe we can ask him out!” “Shut up, you weasel. Claire, hit him! – Rachel Caine • One of our defects as a nation is a tendency to use what have been called “weasel words.” – Theodore Roosevelt • One of our defects as a nation is a tendency to use what have been called ”weasel words.” When a weasel sucks eggs the meat is sucked out of the egg. If you use a ”weasel word” after another there is nothing left of the other. – Theodore Roosevelt • One thing that worried me was how writers get categorized and so they end up having to write the same kind of book again and again. That is fine if it is what you want to do, but I would rather be locked in the trunk of my car with a weasel than write the same book every three years until I die. – Justin Cronin • Or, as I call it, a Cheesel, it’s a Weasel with a Cheese finish. – Bill Bailey • Ser Cleos looked like a weasel, fought like a goose, and had the courage of an especially brave ewe. – George R. R. Martin • Some men can be very rude. On the other hand, some clients are absolute angels. One john always brought me a gift every time he came to see me. He brought me a pearl necklace, a ring, a bra or something. But eventually, as much as I really loved all the gifts, he fell in love with me, and he tried to weasel his way into my life. It was too much and I sort of had to ‘break up with him.” – Annie Sprinkle • Some weasel took the cork out of my lunch. – W. C. Fields

• Tarly, when I was a lad half your age, my lady mother told me that if I stood about with my mouth open, a weasel was like to mistake it for his lair and run down my throat. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, beware of weasels. – George R. R. Martin • Tea Party goers are just a bunch of wimpy, whiny, weasels who don’t love their country. – Paul Begala • The coast’s a jungle of Moors, Turks, Jews, renegades from all over Europe, sitting in palaces built from the sale of Christian slaves. There are twenty thousand men, women and children in the bagnios of Algiers alone. I am not going to make it twenty thousand and one because your mother didn’t allow you to keep rabbits, or whatever is at the root of your unshakable fixation.” “I had weasels instead,” said Philippa shortly. “Good God,” said Lymond, looking at her. “That explains a lot.- Dorothy Dunnett • The eagle may soar, but the weasel never gets sucked into a jet engine. – John Benfield • The night can sweat with terror as before We pieced our thoughts into philosophy, And planned to bring the world under a rule, Who are but weasels fighting in a hole. – William Butler Yeats • The reason any conservative’s failing is always major news is that it allows liberals to engage in their very favorite taunt: Hypocrisy! Hypocrisy is the only sin that really inflames them. Inasmuch as liberals have no morals, they can sit back and criticize other people for failing to meet the standards that liberals simply renounce. It’s an intriguing strategy. By openly admitting to being philanderers, draft dodgers, liars, weasels and cowards, liberals avoid ever being hypocrites. – Ann Coulter • The weasel under the cocktail cabinet. – Harold Pinter • There is such a thing as the poetry of a mistake, and when you say, “Mistakes were made,” you deprive an action of its poetry, and you sound like a weasel.- Charles Baxter • There’s a gigantic gray area between good moral behavior and outright felonious activities. I call that the Weasel Zone and it’s where most of life happens. – Scott Adams • Those props are as cunning as a bag o’ weasels. – Bill McLaren • To err is human. To cover it up is weasel. – Scott Adams • Values and verdicts never bother me half as much as people trying to weasel their way around them, or people compromising their reason to pander to their own prejudices and preconceptions, which they are so rarely competent to look in the face. – Kenny Smith • Walk in this faithless grass with studious tread, Lest mice, weasels, germane beasts, too soon The tall hat and eyes, the fierce feet, for dead Descry, and fix you prone in their revelling moon. – Allen Tate • Want a cookie,’ Ra said. ‘What kind?’ ‘Weasel cookie.’ I’m here to tell you, that comment about weasel cookies probably saved the known universe. – Rick Riordan • War has taught me that each one of us contains every ingredient of the human recipe. By varying measure we are all cowards and brave men, thieves and honest men, selfish and selfless men, malingerers and champions, weasels and lions. The only question is how much of each attribute we allow- or force – to dominate our being. – Eric L. Haney • We dwell amid pinheaded weasels who know only timid, the generic and the abacus. – Danny Baker • We have to call mass surveillance mass surveillance. We can’t let governments around the world redefine, and sort of weasel their way out of it by saying this is bulk collection. – Edward Snowden • We stepped back and looked at the king of the gods, slumped in his chair snoring, and cradling his crook like a teddy bear. I placed the war flail across his lap, hoping it might make a difference—maybe complete his powers or something. No such luck. “Sick weasels,” Ra muttered. “Behold,” Sadie said bitterly. “the glorious Ra. – Rick Riordan • Weasel words from mollycoddles will never do when the day demands prophetic clarity from greathearts. Manly men must emerge for this hour of trial. – Theodore Roosevelt • Weaseling out of things is important to learn. It’s what separates us from the animals… except the weasel. – Matt Groening • Weasels–and stoats–and foxes–and so on. They’re all right in a way–I’m very good friends with them–pass the time of day when we meet, and all that–but they break out sometimes, there’s no denying it, and then–well, you can’t really trust them, and that’s the fact. – Kenneth Grahame • What annoyed me was that I so often attempted to weasel out of things on purpose, it killed me to do it by accident. It seemed like a waste of whatever detailed lie I was going to have to come up with. – Sloane Crosley • What the Danes left in Ireland were hens and weasels. And when the cock crows in the morning, the country people will always say ‘It is for Denmark they are crowing. Crowing they are to be back in Denmark.’ – Lady Gregory • When the cold comes to New England it arrives in sheets of sleet and ice. In December, the wind wraps itself around bare trees and twists in between husbands and wives asleep in their beds. It shakes the shingles from the roofs and sifts through cracks in the plaster. The only green things left are the holly bushes and the old boxwood hedges in the village, and these are often painted white with snow. Chipmunks and weasels come to nest in basements and barns; owls find their way into attics. At night,the dark is blue and bluer still, as sapphire of night. – Alice Hoffman • You’re alive!” Percy said to the others. “The giants said you were captured. What happened?” Leo shrugged. “Oh, just another brilliant plan by Leo Valdez. You’d be amazed what you can do with an Archimedes sphere, a girl who can sense stuff underground, and a weasel.” “I was the weasel,” Frank said glumly. – Rick Riordan

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

[elmwrites]

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

There are stories which come from the past towards the present. To the present to the past and meanwhile, all these things in between cycles repeat in unexpected ways. The story mentioned next is going to be told like one of those old legends of the past. A tale, or a myth, of the sort of ones which in our days are in mouth to mouth of everybody who is gossiping between the corners and hiding in the shadows to see if the winter is really coming, or it was just a fantasy of some gifted people with the talent of to hold the feather properly and to use the words wisely.

There were years ago, in a land which was rare by its own, a little girl who was seeing like odd. While it seemed everybody wished to be like knights who killed for pleasure and to make all sort of atrocities in the name of someone else for their own profit. She spent her time running away of all of that, chasing cats for to pet them, dogs and other animals too but never for to hurt them. When everybody disliked ending the classwork fast, she made it for to get the reward of to can climb to the small attic where the school had their modest library. For the rest, that was a waste of time, to enter into any library or temple for to enjoy the pleasure of to read what others imagined or wrote. But even more, they were scared of to climb to that place; they said between the books there were hidden monsters of all sort. This could never be understood by some girls. How was it possible kids said there were monsters in libraries and not in the taverns or in the shady places where the creatures of the night live? In which moment the reason and common sense become blind for to let pass to the creation of alternative fake myths?

One of her favourite childish games was to lie outside in the nights. Maybe to do not close the window in winter, and to observe the stars. To imagine shapes, to think if it was the truth that some of those celestial beings represented old and new Gods like stories said. Why did some of those stars pass by like beautiful sparks in the sky? No idea if the stories about to ask for wishes to the stars were truth or not. The adults did not agree in to arrive at a conclusion between all these terms between old and new religions after all.

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

In times when it looks fancy to have house crests or to belong to any of them is something vital. Until reached the point some humans wish to adopt the ones which are from fictional texts instead of to look for their own past. Or to know more about the fathers and traditions they always rejected and hated only for to be told by someone older than them. People gave for granted that like they did not know about themselves and they stole the symbols of others, not everybody knew about their past. Just silence does not make the individual stupid like they think if not cautious for to keep in advance.

While they were fighting to see which was better: a lion or a snake which did not belong to them. Maybe a wolf, a dragon or a lion if those people preferred the lands of Winterfeld. It was certain that a girl already named Star, had 5 house crests of lineage. Including a golden deer, two golden snakes, two golden lions, wolves, two towers and hawks. Something which she did not grant any importance but having in mind how obsessed certain humans were for to adopt animals and to hesitate about it like bad drunk unhired squires saying they belonged to houses or families where they had never lineage. It was not a surprise what the new world turn so mad.

It was the ignorance which made the world enter into conflict. Please, do not underestimate the power of the lack of knowledge mixed with jealousy of all sort because it makes to the ones who wished to become someone dangerous if they reach the power. That is why in other times and Games of Thrones people simply cut their throats.

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

No, it was not a matter of money or wealth like so many insisted on believing. It was, in fact, a matter of knowledge and to gather information or to hide it from the common eyes. It was in those old techniques which certain civilised people preserved since the early democracies and empires; where the numbers were written in letters and not in their modern style. When it was granted this privilege and when it was checked some busybodies were not worthy of to know so much. Not for to limit the information. If not because they could not hold their tongue in present or past. Those same people were the same ones which always wished to acquire power and wealth thanks to the work of others. Maybe, blackmailing the source in the hope to obtain. All their different acts made the ones affected more cautious. In some cases, wild, restrictive and dangerous because, how were they going to trust in people who put the vice first instead of honour? That would not have been a wise move. Neither to trust in the first one who would knock their door saying they wished to be saved when they were disguised with the mask of a new preach which was not yet approved or well seen. Not for the old, even less for the new. It was necessary to find out a way to know why corrupted beings were acting in the way they acted faking they were worthy of a bloodline marked by incest, kings Geoffrey and so much lust…

Where it starts the myth and it starts the fiction? Is any word real and it could swear by? Or maybe it happens like in our days where the daily information of the events is transformed in myths and there are not so many objective places in which to trust the popular hubbub which characterised any society for their need of to know about other who they did not even meet. Even less, if that person is not going to command them, rule them, slay them or talk to them? Is it acceptable to think on certain times it was presumably no one would know about the Lord of a province? Maybe not even to know about no one from the seven kingdoms? It would be terrible ignorant and all a prove of unworthy that people in our days would like to compare those times of evil queens and childish annoying kings with ours. We have evolved. Now we do not use Ravens if not something faster which could be intercepted equally for all sort of spies from different lands. Some, even, extremely far…

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

But why would be someone interested in to know what someone who is not a Lord is making? Maybe because the times have modernised and now the son of the butcher should not have to be butcher anymore. Certainly, now he is having more opportunities than before. Now he can look to the stars, to dream, to go to school until he is a teen. And, if he uses well his time, he will discover he could be other things that he did not have the opportunity to be in the past. To live a different life of the one pre-assigned by conventionalism. To decide that he should not have to marry a woman if he does not wish it. To establish a relationship with a man if he prefers. Black people are not slaves. Neither red heads bring bad luck. Women have the right to wear short skirts and to show their ankles without more taboos. Red lipstick is not a political metaphor if not a statement for to reclaim our female rights. Like it is in beauty, fashion, style, revolution and do not constrict to the norms other imposed to the females where the spirit Chanel resides. The lion, the diamond, the star. And with that fashion will never die.

However, what all these myths, symbols, jewellery, wheat and wealth have to do with the present and the past? That girl who chased cats and who dreamt with the stars was not in the right place. Somehow she finished lost in some lands where vipers of all sort believe information must be manipulated, that design, fashion, music, stories… Are not what they were meant to be. They believe that information is created and not transmuted with objectivity and fairness if not who holds the power has the right to manipulate that reality and to make everybody think what they wish. Following those norms, they give for granted in the rest of the kingdom lands people makes the same they do. It is impossible to convince them of any other thing because they do not want to listen or to believe chance is possible, miracles exist.

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

A land, where the older ones believed they had to work as much as they could while the others who followed gave for granted life is only for to get a paid job of any sort. To live with that wage the rest of your life and having the right to constantly ask for all sort of permissions on their public position which some took like gap years with all sort of illness like different motives or excuses. Some children had so many teachers whom they only saw one month in the whole year. They said they were depressed and they did not come back except for to correct tests which they did not even prepare or taught. That was how it worked those lands where it was normal to be wealthy but believing they were not and living in their own disgrace. Instead of to make a change in their lives and to follow what the stars, their dreams or heart said they preferred to play safe. They finished ending sick of themselves and making believe the younger ones everybody else was sick like them. “That art is not art. That person only creates because they need to say something to someone else. Something they do not dare to say with works and they make it with visual work, painting, filmmaking, storytelling… Instead.” That believe was spread like the wide walkers in winter. It is the reason people does not follow the stars, the Gods or dreams. They think fashion is not a way of expression if not to impose others what to wear, to look and to think.

Les Blés jewellery collection by Chanel. Picture courtesy Chanel.

Rescuing it from the past it is the symbol of wheat. It meant prosperity in the same lands which not so long ago were ruled by Romans and who were the ones who attributed to it the meaning of wealth. Here, like an old legend which comes from those golden fields and which is the basis of so many cultures for to be fed. It came to the inspiration of a jewellery line full of diamonds and all sort of precious stones. Because it is in the pure creativity, myths, beliefs and inner expression where the art, stories, design, music… borns. Not for to say something the artists does not dare to express and they do it this way thanks to their subconscious for to let others psychoanalyse the message that they cannot understand. Certainly, you cannot understand because you are not looking it right. Instead of to believe fiction medieval myths, Roman ones of if stories about girls are or not real. Stop your watch. Stop the time. Keep with your own and the piece you want to read, to watch and to explore. Then you will feel what it says instead of to deem it like something which must be dissected like a frog. You will learn there is not need to kill a thing and to rip it torn to make a children’s science class. Not in our days, that was a story of the past. And with that and a bit of hope, you will let others keep moving this world forward.

Fashion is made for to express, oneself. Art is made for to express, oneself. Design is made for to express, oneself. Music is made for to express, oneself. Storytelling is made for to express, oneself… The list is so huge that it is like a spigot of wheat. Full of wealth. But not of others, if not the one we acquire by ourselves. Instead to wish to see the stars fall for to make the world in darkness, follow them. You can never imagine to the places a little girl arrived for to do it that way.

It is said, that when fashion meets style and art meet oneself, Strawberry Fields and other lands are full of Le Blé and some of those grains will turn in pure diamonds arrived the time when they will reap the good seedtime they made.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

A Story Of A Throne. Pictures courtesy @CHANEL There are stories which come from the past towards the present. To the present to the past and meanwhile, all these things in between cycles repeat in unexpected ways.