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sunnyoldbear · 3 years ago

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Luca Headcanons Part 3!

I can’t fucking stop please someone help me

Luca:

All seamonsters have a lot of fish qualities and different sea monsters take on different fish qualities, even within a family.

While Luca isn’t as equipped to handle the deep as his uncle is, his father does have some traits that would help him out. Luca doesn’t know this, but he can survive deeper pressure than most others can. Like, significantly deeper, but not to the point of the Deep. He’s have to get accustomed to it and he might not have even survived.

His species can also echolocate! He also doesn’t know he can do this even though it’s from his mom’s side. He just thinks he clicks and squeaks when he’s happy, he doesn’t know he can also echolocate. Since, again, he hasn’t been to the Deep, the ability is very diluted and he can’t locate things very far but… he can, if he tries hard enough. He won’t, though, cause he just thinks his clicks and squeaks are just that.

He loses his shit when he finds out about dinosaurs. He loves them.

If you even mention a museum he will practically beg to go and he will be in there from opening to closing and still come back for more. He takes in every bit of information he possibly can

He doesn’t flip people off, he just sticks his tongue out

Cloud watches! He thinks it’s cute :)

Is cold blooded. They found this out when he passed out in the middle of class one day during the winter. Winter months are very hard for him at school because of it, so he treasures the break and stays under a bunch of warm blankets.

Talks with his hands a lot

One day when he was swimming to the surface after seeing his family, a fisherman who wasn’t too approving of sea monsters tossed their harpoon at him. It grazed his arm and it hurt like hell, but he still tried to hide it. Of course, since he was clutching his arm and there was blood between his fingers, the Marcovaldos panicked and healed him tot he best of their ability, but Luca simply smiled, turned to Alberto, and said “look, we match now!” (If you see Alberto standing beside Luca so that their scarred arms touch since they’re on opposite arms, no you didn’t)

He finds out about bubble wands and thinks they’re the coolest thing!

Avoids every kid named “Bruno” at school like the plague because he doesn’t want them to think he hates them

Whenever something cool happens he instinctively turns to tell Alberto and his face drops when he doesn’t see him

Definitely the kid to accidentally say “mom” (and)or “I love you” to a teacher and then stare in horror

Grabs Alberto’s arm, wrist, or hand when they’re doing something together if he’s not grabbed first just so they don’t lose each other. It’s just instinct.

Once sobbed for an hour because he saw a dead frog in a pool

Falls asleep if his hair is played with

Still gets made fun of for smelling like fish but due to being a fish he can’t really bathe so Giulia and her mom just spray him with perfume. It makes him feel better.

Forgives Guido and Ciccio with no hesitation, will never forgive Ercole. In fact, he’s terrified of Ercole.

Technically canon, but he is the biggest mama’s boy. She learns from her mistakes and fixes her relationship with him and he becomes super close to her

Only lets those close to him call him “Bubble” like his grandma does

Loses his mind when he sees fireflies

He keeps his hair pretty short

Refuses to eat fish

Is more of a prey fish

That being said, he develops a few survival markings, such as a spot on one of his fins to look like eyes

For some reason I feel like he’d be like clownfish and be able to swim through anemone without getting zapped

Was never good at making friends. The Branzino kid often tried to befriend him but he was too scared of disappointing his parents since Daniela and Mrs. Branzino don’t get along

Wears a seashell anklet

His grandma taught him to read secretly when he was little

Never stops talking. Never.

In class, he’s always the kid raising his hand, even if he doesn’t know the answers, just because of his eagerness

Calls Alberto all the time, more than he calls his family

Carries Alberto’s drawing with him everywhere. Used to be in his pockets and then transferred to his wallet.

Is definitely more of a writer than an artist! With his vivid imagination he can write for days, and Alberto is more than happy to draw them out for him

Lets his hair grow out a bit towards the end of his final school year. The stress of school means he doesn’t quite care for his appearance

Can’t sit still. When he’s at school he’s always fiddling with something but when he’s in Portorosso he just grabs Alberto’s hand and plays with his fingers

Definitely a teacher’s pet

Gets bullied a lot. You can’t expect the world to just be okay with sea monsters overnight. A lot of the world will never accept him. There are kids that make his life a living hell at school.

As much as he loves school, he aches to be free sometimes

Gets super flustered super fast

Sits at Alberto’s side and talks about anything and everything and Alberto will sketch it

His scales are more like a duck’s water-resistant feathers. Water rolls right off.

Loves taking Nerone for walks

Definitely wears skirts and dresses in secret! He just thinks they’re neat :)

Loves romance movies but will never admit it

Literally bites his tongue to hold back from rambling. Giulia and Alberto constantly have to tell him it’s okay and he can talk all he wants, but he’s bullied so often for talking too much that he still holds back if he catches himself

Alberto:

Similar to a Betta Fish! His kind of sea monster aren’t known for bonding well and tend to fight.

When healthy, his scales are long and gorgeous just like a Betta’s! (Giulia is mesmerized by them)

You know how dolphins get high with puffer fish? It’s not just dolphins.

His teeth are a little sharper than most other sea monsters. Yes, he bares them at Ercole every time they see each other. No, he won’t stop

Definitely the “he ask for no pickles” friend

No one knows what he’s talking about half the time except for Luca, Giulia, and (sometimes) Massimo. They just kinda go with it.

Has his own words for everything. Only Luca and Giulia know what he means.

He’s actually super, duper close to Giulia, but they do fight pretty often. They’re siblings.

Likes to put his hat on Luca

Everyone thinks he’d be a bad flirt/get flustered super easily but the opposite is true! He’s a big flirt! He just knows what to say to make others fluster around him! Even if he’s not into you, if your his age or he’s trying to charm you, he’ll flirt up a storm. Living on your own from such a young age means you need to pick up survival tactics, and charm and streetsmarts were the ones he picked up.

Sometimes he faces small boats he sees just for the fun of it

He also sometimes grabs a rope or a net from Massimo’s boat when they’re fishing and just zooms to land to get them there quicker

Loves playing games with the kids when he’s on lifeguard duty, even if it can get him in trouble with his boss

You better bet he makes fun of those school uniforms. He laughs his ass off. He thinks they’re the funniest things.

If he sees or hears even a hint of danger, he is shoving his loved ones behind him and will protect them with his life.

Prefers to be barefoot

Heals surprisingly fast. Something about them fish genes.

When he’s fifteen he jokingly tells Luca he should become a teacher and then Luca’s eyes get all big and excited and Alberto regrets opening his mouth. But he still supports him every step of the way.

Whenever he hears Luca click or chirp, he calls out for him if he’s a distance away or grabs his hand since he recognizes it as echolocation before Luca does

More of a predator fish

Keeps his hair long and growing

I think he’d probably grow a mustache. Giulia hates it so much which is why he keeps it. Okay, he kept it to annoy her, but then he actually started to like it. But when Luca said he liked it, that solidified it

He’s so strong it’s kinda scary. Definitely stronger than the average fisherman, but was stronger even beforehand.

Sometimes just eats fish live and terrifies those around him

He’s super fast! Since he’s based on a tuna or swordfish, he’s pretty quick

Unlike Luca, he’s warm blooded. So when he heard Luca has to keep really warm during winters, he offers most of his clothes

His father abandoning him may seem cruel, but for his kind of sea monsters, it was what had to happen. Still, Alberto is a child and it shouldn’t happen.

Mainly a night eater

Can see further than most of his fishy friends

Good night vision too!

Was taught to read and write as a kid by his father but it’s not perfect so he asks Massimo to do it

Loves playing cards

Fins are sharper than average

Squishes Luca’s cheeks

Sword fights with Giulia except they’re sticks

Whenever Luca falls asleep on him (often), he just stays still and refuses to move

Scoops Luca up sometimes

Grabs Luca’s face and blows raspberries instead of kissing it. (Can be interpreted as platonic or romantic!! Italians kiss on cheeks as greetings)

Protectively wraps his tail around those he loves

Water clings to him a bit more since his built-for-speed scales are less water repellent

Every year he gets scared Luca won’t return

Paints the Hideout to look like Luca’s dream fish-stars after he’s told about it. The ceiling, anyway. Don’t ask how he did it, no one knows.

Changes his last name to Marcovaldo

Thinks pet fish and aquariums are hilarious and will poke fun at the fish (“haha, losers! No freedom!” “Alberto!” “What?!”)

LOVES DINOSAURS

He and Luca share a bed when Luca comes over!

The Vespa poster hangs in his room on his door

Calls Luca’s nightlights “light fish” as a nod to stars

Has Giulia and Luca’s names tattooed onto him because they’re his best friends

Tried to take Caligola and Machiavelli on walks… yeah that goes as well as you think

Giulia:

Is a fast reader

Isn’t a massive poetry fan but does have a few favorites

Also keeps a few drawings from Alberto in her folders

Also scoops Luca up randomly

Can and will bite you

Wears dresses as much as she does shorts

Ties her hair up when serious

Rubs her nose against her family’s as a sign of love. It’s just something she did as a kid, so sometimes she’ll just rub her nose against Alberto’s and he gets really confused

Is low key a little jealous of her brother and best friend being sea monsters

Is a bit of a builder! She makes a bridge from her room to the treehouse

Rarely starts fights with Alberto, but she’ll sure finish them

Half regrets teaching Alberto to swear

Though she seems pretty calm, she’s gotten into her fair share of fights at school. Mainly punches kids who bully her and/or Luca. Also sexists.

Although this is 1950/60s Italy, I imagine she’d be very accepting of homosexuality and not hide it, even if rumors of her being one start spreading and she gets hurt. She has a strong sense of justice and she doesn’t care about consequences.

She’s the only person allowed to make fun of Alberto. No one else is. She’ll quite literally attack anyone who dares.

Her parents were surprised she didn’t take after them in fishing or painting

Honestly I can see her mentoring the kids for the race every summer! Once she hits 18 and is no longer able to compete, she holds practice sessions and loves seeing the kids have fun

She definitely runs the race when she’s older. She moves to Portorosso since her marine biology career is helped by her sea monster brother and the town’s closeness to water

Teaches the boys to make sandcastles

Holds such strong resentment for Alberto’s father and Daniela. Lorenzo and Luca’s grandmother she’s fine with, but Alberto’s biological father abandoning him pisses her off more than she can put into words, and Daniela manipulating her son and sending him away makes her want to break something.

Her “santa (cheese)!” comments slowly change into “Santa (fish)!” exclamations. Like, “Santa Goby!” for example.

Is more close to Alberto than he wants to let people know. She can read him like a book. He’s honestly her best friend. She tells him everything, they go to each other after nightmares, they share everything, all the fun cute stuff that Alberto would rather die than admit.

Still has no idea what “Silenzio Bruno” and “Piacere, girolamo trombetta” mean and at this point she’s too afraid to ask

Though she loves the Portorosso kids, she’d rather die than be a mother. Her parents understand, but secretly hope she changes her mind so they can spoil a grandbaby.

Begs Massimo to coverup his sea monster tattoo, which he does

Also a “he ask no pickles” friend!

Is super patient with Luca and Alberto’s adaption to the human world (though she doesn’t like it when Alberto shoves his feet on her-which he loves to do because it pisses her off)

Secretly saves money up for the boys to get a Vespa

While she isn’t the best cook, her pasta meals are pretty damn good!

Has the trophy from the Cup in her room next to a picture of the three of them on the Vespa

#Luca #luca movie #pixar luca #Luca Paguro #Alberto Scorfano #Giulia Marcovaldo #luca headcanons

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castillon02 · 4 years ago

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It occurs to me that Jaskier might have a “group of devotees,” or rather, a fan club.

And that people who run fan clubs are generally much more organized than bards errant.

And there might be chapters in each city and the larger towns, filled with mostly-women congregating to play covers of Jaskier’s songs and analyze his latest book of poetry. Probably they end up writing and distributing erotic Jaskier fanfiction and singing filk. They don’t have matching jackets, because money, but they all wear a feather somewhere on their person---an easy token for anyone to find. No barriers. Jaskier will love anyone, so anyone can love Jaskier.

Supposedly, the feather is in memory of the opulently feathered hat that Jaskier once wore to a ball. (“It was a bold look.” “It was stupid.” “It made him recognizable from a mile away.” “It hit the floor when he bowed---dirty instantly.”) Really, the feather is because, well, they’d all like to be songbirds, wouldn’t they? Able to charm a Witcher, able to fly away from their fears and their burdens, able to soar across the Continent and have adventures and miraculously not die? And most of the day they’re stuck where they are, feet firmly in their fields or their crafthouses, but when they flock together to sing and laugh and write for no one else’s pleasure but their own, it feels like freedom.

And these Jaskier fans might come across the famous White Wolf, or another Witcher, injured or treated badly. And these fans might do something about it, whether that’s offering a meal or a barn to sleep in or a ride in their cart to the next town over.

Maybe the offer is hesitant at first, and more confident with each Witcher who doesn’t kill them, who says “Thank you,” or who doesn’t say anything at all, but the fan wakes up and finds that the Witcher is gone and their crops have been weeded or their tools have been sharpened.

And look, you don’t become a fan organizer unless you have a “see a need, fill a need” mindset, so as reports of Witchers needing aid come in, and as Jaskier fans start to take more notice of the poor circumstances that Witchers are encountering... Well. Obviously these individual efforts at helping Witchers are great! But they could also be more consistent and reliable. These are the fan club officers that organized an inter-Continental Jaskier Day last year and got a hundred villages at once singing “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher” at exactly noon; they can organize this, too.

Anyway, that’s how Jaskier fans set up a network of Witcher safe houses across the Continent and Witchers eventually learn to ask if anyone in town is a “friend of Jaskier” if they need anything.

---

Jaskier knows nothing about any of this until he sees it in action for himself while traveling with Geralt, but to his credit, he promptly gives them money to help the efforts of this new Witcher Protection Squad. He also hooks them up with some patrons who are more financially solvent than he is.

With their new funds, Jaskier’s fans hire teachers: a healer, an herbalist, an alchemist, a blacksmith, and a professional fighter. Probably their hires are fellow fans who had been teaching piecemeal before and now, with the help of a purse, can spare the time for a more intensive retreat. And the literate ones were already teaching the illiterate ones to read, the better to enjoy Jaskier’s work---this isn’t that different.

Jaskier’s fans learn things that will help Witchers, but also things that will help their families and their villages too. And once they’ve been taught, they’re honor-bound to pass on their fortune and teach others. The organizers develop a traveling workshop system that spreads across the Continent, feathered folk flying village to village and offering songs and knowledge in exchange for room and board and enough coin to reach the next town.

Jaskier’s fans get to travel after all, if they want to.

Some of the Friends of Jaskier carry lutes; others carry vaguely lute-shaped cudgels. They tend to travel in pairs. They don’t pass through villages that treat Witchers badly. And they know which villages those are. Fans are very good at making and distributing things, and that includes lists.

And of course they start passing this knowledge on to their kids. And they start creating skill-based badges, too, and rankings to show accomplishments. The feathers they wear start to have meaning. People are proud to move up to the rank of “Dandelion.” And you only get to “Buttercup” once you’ve mastered and taught the five core skills; Buttercups are highly respected.

And that’s how the “Friends of Jaskier” club becomes the Continent version of the Girl Scouts.

Jaskier inspires people to celebrate, to feel things, to find joy and love. But most of all he inspires his fans to grow. Grow with other people; grow by yourself; grow in any direction you want. Grow like weeds.

#castillon writes #the witcher #jaskier #not sure where this came from #but I have a lot of feelings about fan culture #obvs this is a pretty positive representation of it #that's partly because I've been lucky enough to help create a positive community within the 00Q fandom #a community that I'm inspired by every day #and especially every year during 007 Fest #and partly bc trying to figure out what the Jaskier Discourse would be would make my eyes roll up into my skull permanently #anyway #I've been in fandom for seventeen years #in one way or another #so I enjoy the idea of Jaskier fans becoming positive forces in their community #while Jaskier just bards his way across the Continent semi-obliviously

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nakahara-umi · 4 years ago

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Christmas 5 – Chuuya x female reader: “The best Christmas gift is you”

Genre: Fluff, love.

Summary: It was Christmas day and you and your boyfriend were opening your gifts, then you started remembering every moment you´ve lived with him through them.

It was a warm and cozy morning in the comfort of your apartment, Chuuya and you were drinking hot chocolate it was already time to open your presents and you headed to the living room where the Christmas tree was set. You were really excited to see him open his gifts and what kind of faces he would make, you loved every one of his expressions, from happiness to anger ones, and they all are really perfect to you.

But now you wanted to see his happiness face, it was hard to know what to give this man since he already has everything he wants, so you had to put a lot of effort on choosing his gifts to make him happy,

-You wanna open your gifts first babe? – He asked you.

-No honey, I want you to open yours first. – You almost couldn´t contain your excitement, it seemed you were even more excited than him.

The first gift was a wine bottle, fancy and expensive. He loves wine and that´s something everybody knows so you thought getting him a nice bottle would make him happy. You remembered the first time he talked to you about wine and all his knowledge let you amazed, you even almost faint out of shock when knowing how much he has spent on his wine collection.

By that time you were not a couple yet but he just liked you so much that he wanted really bad to impress you, so the first time he invited you to his apartment the first thing he thought was to show off his collection.

-Whoa, these ones look so fine. - You said impressed.

-They´re. – He said with a smirk, feeling smug. – Wanna know how worth is this one? He said pointing at a bottle from a brand called Romanée-Conti.

-Hmm, I guess a lot of money.

-This one cost me 1,708,269 yen.

-What!?

The memory always made you giggle, it was really fun to remember how he talked to spend such amount of money with no problem, and despite not being able to spend as much money as him you still learned a lot from him, in order to know how to identify and buy fancy wine, even if they´re not expensive as hell like that one.

-Wow (Y/N), this one is really nice, it´s going to look pretty in my collection. – He said with a smile, admiring the bottle.

-Glad you liked it honey.

His second gift was a poetry compilation. Something almost anybody knows is that he likes poetry, he enjoys reading it and even sometimes he tries to write poems, and the first time he let you know this hobby of his was when he read you a poem he wrote about you. You were sat on the couch of his living room, cuddling, when Chuuya spoke.

-You know (Y/N), there´s something I would like you to know.

-What is it, Chuuya?

-Well, I do really like poetry and sometimes I like to write it, and I wrote a poem about you.

-Huh, really? – You asked him, your soul filled with happiness as you blushed, you looked at him, and he was blushing too.

-Yeah, and I want you to hear it.

-I´d love to hear your poem Chuuya.

He went for the poem and once the pages were in his hands he started reading it for you.

“Your beauty, as bright and unique as a star itself…”

Once he finished you were crying out of happiness, the poem was beautiful and pure, so sincere it felt like a direct door to Chuuya´s heart. You loved the poem, you love him.

-Wow, this is Old Norse poetry, this is really interesting, I´m really going to enjoy reading this, thank babe.

-It’s nothing honey. – You were happy to see him enjoying his gifts.

The third gift was a hat, more specifically a homburg hat, black decorated with a small red feather. You knew he likes hats and you also knew why he loves the one he always wears, so you thought that maybe getting him a new one would make him happy. When he talked to you about the story of his hat and how much those events affected him you could only comfort him.

-So, if my existence comes from this ancient thing, am I really a human? I can´t even control my ability properly. – He said somewhat sad.

-You are a human, Chuuya. – You told him, determined, looking at his face and caressing his cheek. – Whoever tells you otherwise is a complete idiot. You are capable to feel emotions, to do amazing things. You are loyal, hardworking, and I love you.

-… I love you too, (Y/N), more than everything.

You wanted him to know how precious he is to you, to value his life as a human, not as an ability, and confessing your love to him was the prove that he is like any other human because he is capable to feel the strongest emotion of all, love.

-Wow, what a pretty hat! – He said with a smile as he changed his usual fedora to the one you gave him. He looked really happy and satisfied with his gifts.

-It looks nice on you honey. I´m really happy you liked your gifts.

-Well, it seems it is now your turn to open your gifts, (Y/N).

-Not yet, there´s still one gift for you. – You said, then you stand up and went to one of the rooms far from the living room. This one was your favorite from all because you knew Chuuya has a warm heart and he would love to take care of another life beside his.

You opened the door and there it was, a shiba inu puppy, sleeping. A friend of you was taking care of him and the night before Christmas you hurried to take him with you to home, and you had left him sleep in that room because it was pretty silent.

You woke him up and hurriedly put a ribbon in his head, then carried him to where Chuuya was.

-What the…! – It seemed this one left him actually impressed.

-Ta da! What do you think? – You said happy, handing him the puppy, who seemed still sleepy.

-It is really cute, (Y/N).

-It is a male puppy.

The puppy was finally woken up and happily licked Chuuya´s face.

-He likes you, Chuuya.

-Hey doggo, how you doing. – Chuuya said, he looked happy with his new friend.

You knew he was going to take good care of him, and you knew he will love to annoy Dazai with the help of the puppy, since he hates dogs.

-You know, (YN), all these gifts are incredible, but the best one of all is to be here, with you. I love you. – He have you a warm and gentle smile.

-I love you too Chuuya. – You couldn´t be happier, you felt the same way.

#Nakahara Chuuya #Chuuya #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #fanfic #christmas

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mythgirlimagines · 4 years ago

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This Tuesday, we have a very special guest today! You may remember her for her many roles in as both harem leads and magical girl protagonists! Say hello to Myth Anon, the Former Ultimate Voice Actress!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

As a child, Myth didn’t really have many friends or confidence in herself, but she yearned to become an actress. Because of her lack of faith in her acting skills, she worked backstage as a stagehand and audio technician, which she proves to still be competent at, even in the present day. One day in middle school, Myth’s parents decided to sign her up for voice acting. Despite her lack of confidence, she blew people away with her performance, and managed to secure the role of the little sister of the protagonist in Branching Paths, one of the most successful harem animes of the year. It managed to do wonders to her confidence, and eventually Myth managed to audition for and secure more and more major works, eventually making a name for herself and her colleagues as the “Harem Queen”, because if the harem lead is a female, you can guarantee that Myth will voice act in it. She is also famous amongst her fanbase for her behind-the-scenes antics, with her fellow seiyuu. (Note: You’ve got to watch videos of seiyuus, for they are comic gold!)

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Surgeon

Wyre was one of Myth’s few friends from her childhood, and they always hung out together. But upon showing great prowess with her medical skills, Wyre was forced to attend medical school, and leaving poor Myth behind. Despite missing Wyre severely, Myth had to remain strong and positive, for it’s what Wyre would have wanted. Needless to say, Wyre was impressed when the two reunited in Hope’s Peak, and saw that their shy wallflower of a friend sprouted into a more confident person. Now that they’ve reunited in high school, they both try their best to catch up on old times, despite the totally different talent domains.

Outfit: Hair tied into small pigtails and a green surgery cap on top, intact glasses, green face mask, blood-covered green surgery scrubs and blue gloves and shoes.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Astronomer

When Myth first met Scar, she was amazed to find a real life chuunibyou, for she has seen many chuunibyous in the animes that she voice acts for. Claiming to have control and infinite knowledge of the cosmos as the “Cosmo Master”, Scar‘s eccentric attitude and elaborate, grandiose vocabulary belies a concerned mother figure for the group, constantly handing the younger Anons nourishment and reminding the Anons to go to bed. Because of Myth‘s childish and clumsy nature, Scar always breaks her facade when around Myth. Myth really loves to stargaze with Scar, and Scar gladly obliges in educating Myth about them.

Outfit: Hair with two pointy buns that make her hair resemble a star, a blue hoodie with yellow stripes on the sleeves and stars decorating the fluff on the hood, a dark blue scarf decorated with a star badge in the centre, a galaxy colored t-shirt underneath her hoodie, a yellow skirt with the same fluff her hoodie has, dark blue boots with yellow soles that have a star design on the bottom.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Romantic

Despite Fusion’s odd and feminine fashion sense, Fusion’s school regards him as a fountain of romantic advice and a sort of father figure, viewing the people who seek his advice as his children, and being very proud of them when the gain the confidence to confess to their crushes. Fusion is a fanatic for all things romance, and that extends to romantic anime. Upon finding out that the seiyuu that starred in some of his favorite anime is going to be chaperoning him on his Kibo-Con trip, Fusion was on cloud nine. Myth is amazed at just how much knowledge Fusion has about the anime she starred in, even more than her. Outfit: An ahoge shaped like a heart, a long red scarf with white hearts on it, a pink sweater with a darker pink heart on the front, darker pink mittens, glasses, pants and shoes from original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Orithinologist

Hardly seen without her pet owl, O’Rly, Fusion II is sassy, sarcastic, and regularly tries to be cool, but to no avail. Fusion II has an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of birds, has mastered the art of laying motionless in one place, from years of birdwatching, and despite claims to the contrary, is a massive nerd when it comes to nature. As it turns out, Fusion II is perfect at imitating bird calls, and regularly tries to teach Myth how to make bird calls to attract birds. Myth has eventually mastered the art, and basically became a real-life Disney princess. Fusion II is honestly really proud of her work.

Outfit: Undershirt from the original design, a grey sleeveless parka, a necklace that holds a hawk’s talon, a brown glove on her left hand that allows her to hold O’Rly, cargo pants that patch her parka, brown steel-toed boots, sunglasses from original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Conspiracy Theorist

Janon practically lives his whole life in an iron-padded apocalypse bunker, fully stocked with food and other needs. Janon regularly uses the excuse of the inevitable end of the world to get out of doing anything, apart from prepping for the apocalypse, and managed to form other procrastinators out of his followers thanks to his surprisingly believable conspiracy theories. Because of their opposite temperaments, both of the Anons didn’t exactly get along very well. That is, until Myth found out about Janon’s secret soft spot for children, despite his vehement denial. But at least Myth managed to find a common point.

Outfit: A tinfoil hat on his head shaped into bunny ears, a camo-hoodie, formal wear and facemask from original design.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Ice Skater

Famous for her speed and grace on the ice, and her dramatic and powerful performances on the ice, Sparkle mainly specialises in musicals on ice. She is also a master at speed-skating and won a bunch of trophies for her performances. Just like Fusion, Sparkle is a massive fan of the anime that Myth voice acts in, and was ultra happy that Myth is a fellow chaperone. Myth always wanted to learn how to ice skate, and Sparkle was all to happy to teach her heroine in entertainment all about the art of ice skating. Myth isn’t the best at skating, regularly slipping and falling, but Sparkle would never dare yell at her idol, so the lessons still continue.

Outfit: A blue leotard with a sparkly transparent skirt that has snowflakes on it, white gloves, a long blue cape with silver shoulder pads and a large snowflake on the back, sparkly white boots, glasses from original design.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Puzzle Solver, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Poet

Even though most people hardly read poetry these days, Wet Sock is still famous for their dark and grim poetry. On the other side, Egg is famous for solving puzzles at record speed, and won many records. Despite both of the Anons being famed for their intellect, they love to regularly creep people out with their cursed comments and chaotic behavior. Wet Sock would never admit it, (especially not to Egg) but Myth’s vocal performances just make them swoon. But if Myth ever catches them swooning, Wet Sock would threaten the security of Myth’s kneecaps, but not before threatening Myth with a ballpoint pen to the throat. Egg’s Outfit: Same outfit from the original design, but without the earrings and a Hawaiian shirt that resembles a Rubix Cube.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: A black overcoat over a white and blue checkered shirt, a feather quill behind their right ear, black pants and shoes.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Essayist

Don’t be fooled by their age and tendency to be a total pushover for their friends (real or fake), for Curious’s essays are referenced in academic journals all over the world, thanks to how well-written they are. Because Curious is constantly busy writing their assignments, Myth hardly ever gets chances to interact with them. On the few times, Curious gets a day off, they can’t help but politely giggle at the antics of Myth, and wonders how Myth can change her voice at the drop of a hat. Myth loves Curious for their polite attitude, and being the kind of person who would be the prime person to have a cup of tea with.

Outfit: Same outfit from the original, except with a green turtleneck instead of their tie, and longer hair that goes past their shoulders.

Nerd Anon, Former Ultimate Procrastinator

If you thought Janon was lazy, Nerd is somehow makes Janon look like Dream. Needless to say, Nerd gets very grouchy if woken up from his usual 12 hours of sleep, and he especially can’t stand the more energetic Anons of the Kibo-Con roster, but especially the adorable and childish Myth. Years of starring in anime has made Myth realise that she found her male tsundere love interest, much to the anger and embarrassment of the lazy and starving college student. Myth regularly tries to use harem tropes to woo Nerd, but they just result in Nerd releasing all of his pent-up strength on the charming voice actress.

Outfit: Messier hair, a black and unbuttoned gakuran over an improperly-buttoned white dress shirt, and matching black shoes, regularly holds a brown suitcase.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Speedreader

Eldritch lived in an old and dilapidated library for practically all of his life, and managed to clear the entirety of the library roster three times over. But because of his isolated upbringing and his binging of horror and fantasy novels, Eldritch shows a hostile distrust of just about everybody, even the adorable-looking and sounding Myth, claiming that she is a spiritual vessel that houses thousands of tortured high school girl souls. Myth believes that that sounds like a great anime series, but she is willing to back away from the bite-sized bookworm for now, seeing as Eldritch doesn’t trust the seiyuu in the slightest.

Outfit: Longer and unkempt hair, black reading glasses, a patchy brown jacket over a green sweater vest with a brown stripe in the middle and a red bow tie with white polka dots, brown pants, and black and white shoes.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Trivia Master

With an energetic disposition and a love of learning the most random of things, Dream is the captain of her school’s quiz bowl team, and truly deserves her appearance and victories on many trivia game shows. Myth and Dream got along like water and Kool-Aid mix, thanks to their similar energetic, goofy, and childish personalities and dispositions. Myth loves to learn random trivia from Dream, and Dream loves to watch the anime that Myth stars in. In conclusion, both Myth and Dream gain something out of their friendship. In Myth’s eyes, Dream is like the little sister Myth never had, and Dream is happy to earn that position.

Outfit: Blue and red hairclips shaped like question marks, a oversized blue letterman’s jacket with a big yellow question mark on the back over a black shirt with a big yellow one on the front and back, shorts and shoes from original design.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Personal Assistant

With a constant need to help and assist others, Iris carries herself with an overly-positive and cheerful demeanour, despite her heavy workload, which makes her a massive hit with the people who hire her to carry out a variety of duties, such as cooking, cleaning, and entertaining guests at parties (the latter being a particular speciality of hers). But just because she��s clumsy when off-duty, that doesn’t mean she‘s clumsy or careless with her duties, for any of her bosses could tell you that Iris does everything with precision and accuracy. Just like with Dream, Myth and Iris get along, thanks to their similar demeanours and dispositions.

Outfit: A blue overcoat and matching skirt over a red tie and a white dress shirt, white stockings, black Mary Janes, glasses from original design.

Purple Anon, Ultimate VS Debater

Specializing in hypothetical matchups between both famous and obscure historical figures, Purple is famous for her online videos that bring attention to underrated historical figures, and pits them against each other in hypothetical intellectual and physical battles. Because she is a historical expert, this influences Purple’s vocabulary, making her speak in an old-fashioned and archaic style, much to the confusion of the majority of the con attendants and chaperones. Because of Purple’s extreme timidity when not behind a screen, Purple and Myth don’t interact much, if at all. Myth yearns for Purple to come out of her shell, though.

Outfit: A black overcoat over a purple turtleneck, a black skirt, stockings and shoes from original design.

This series revolves around a childish and dorky voice actress (aka. The Harem Queen), making friends with both her fellow chaperones and the con’s attendees.

——————————————————-

PERSONALITY

Despite her career as a seiyuu making her even more outgoing and energetic, deep down she’s still a massive goofy dork, which you can see very clearly in her interactions with the other seiyuus. Because she’s younger than her colleagues, she has a tendency to be babied by them, and unlike Janon, she doesn’t mind. VoiceAct!Myth is also very romantically minded, much like Romantic!Myth, but she doesn’t seem to realise that harem anime isn’t exactly the best tool to get romantic advice from. People claim that Myth doesn’t have a consistent voice, for she repeatedly switches up her voice, to impersonate one of her characters.

——————————————-————

APPEARANCE

VoiceAct!Myth wears her standard glasses, and her purple hair down. She also wears a brown beret on her head, and a pair of microphone headphones over her ears. She also wears an oversized white turtleneck, a long brown shirt with a bisexual heart patch on the right side, a brown side bag, white stockings, and black Mary Janes.

———————-———————————

I hope you like this talentswap! Let me know what you think of VoiceActress!Myth in your reblogs!

-Fusion Anon

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starofroselight · 4 years ago

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Title: Quackity's Elegy

Summary: Unfinished symphony this, musical aria that. Quackity has a funeral to attend and he needs a suit.

Tags: Introspection, Angst, Swearing, Blood Magic, Funerals, References to Drinking, Implied/Referenced Alcoholism, other implied relationships but there's not shipping unless you really want to read it that way.

AO3 link is in the reblogs since Tumblr is weird about having links in text.

Quackity shouldn't be here.

It's ruins of buildings huddled together like refugees in the streets of L'Manberg. None of the builds on the server have elegance or sophistication to them. Instead, they dare to mirror their creators. They are useful, realistic, basic, and overzealous. They lean and breathe on one another, sagging and smothering. They heave and cough as the hollow earth beneath them shudders.

All of L'Manberg sounds sick.

Is that what happens when a country is built on rotten foundation? Does it seize with sickness, does it fall like shallow breathing? Does it infect every aspect of the ground above until it can swallow it whole?

Fuck politics, Quackity thinks he should go into poetry. He entertains it briefly. Himself with a stupid beret and a feather in his hat, waxing lyrical to whoever would listen. Probably Karl. Even though he’s smiling, he can’t help but turn a nervous face upwards.

Wheezing, shuddering, the purple-tinted tower seems like they’re about to leap to life, bottle in hand, and insult his cardio routine.

Which he took great pride in, by the way.

But no, it's the apartment building Wilbur and Tommy had hidden on top of during the Festival. The one that sheltered their shadows as he pretended not to notice. Of course he saw them. It was impossible not to at the angle he was staring, his shades hiding his pupils trailing their every movement.

He'd expected them to step in when Technoblade was pressured. He'd heard stories of "The Blade", a nickname Tommy gave him. Instead he'd been blown back into the beams of the stage and given a crack in his back that hadn't stopped aching since. Despite orders, he didn't believe Techno would actually hurt a known defector to his side.

Then Quackity had seen his eyes.

He would have shuddered, but there was no one to play the bit off of. No way to make it funny. So he held it inside until he couldn't, or until it would be a wacky one-off.

No, he wasn't scared of Technoblade.

Anyway.

He doesn't have a suit that fits or isn't in tatters from a fucking explosion. No, Quackity lifts the first suit in the bunker he can find.

The bunker was a joke-type deal, the one mentioned only in passing as an extreme situation. It was a narrow section encased in basalt, avoiding the tunnel to Pogtopia.

Now Quackity finds himself wondering why Schlatt didn't go to it. Maybe he was in such a pathetic state he couldn't remember it. The alternative holds more dimensions than he's willing to give the dead president.

Wait, that's both of them.

"It's not looking so for good for Tubbo, is it?"

His voice carries the cadence of a joke, but there's no one to bounce it off of. Instead, it falls flat.

Quackity gets dressed in silence.

Wearing a dead man's clothes to his own funeral. There's an irony there. Or a good song title.

He thinks of how he'd left his guitar behind in Manberg when he'd joined Pogtopia. How he'd assumed it was safe, that the impact of war would hit harder than material positions.

Then Wilbur had it go all to shit and he was out of a musical instrument.

It would be a while before he was going to sing again.

Schlatt's spare suits hang in a row.

Quackity picks up a red tie. It should be enough. It’s Schlatt’s funeral and he feels free. It’s Schlatt’s funeral and he feels sick. Both thoughts can exist at the same time.

Just like how the bunker feels both cramped and empty. Heavy and light. It's a modern miracle that Schlatt can still fuck up atmosphere from beyond the grave.

Quackity hadn't planned on getting drunk before Schlatt's funeral. He didn't even know where the good shit was—but he'd found it in the cabinets of the bunker. He takes two bottles and puts them on the counter.

He'll drink on the way over. Right now, there's more important business he has to attend to sober.

He takes the tie and shifts it in his hands. A personal token, an item favored by the player he wanted to masquerade as. He would have preferred a Schlatt Coin, but he doubted any of those still existed.

Using blood magic while drunk was how lots of idiots wound up a solitary death message and a crater with no explanation. His magic isn’t exactly a server secret. The methods, however, are. He’s smart enough to keep trade secrets to himself; if this world wants his power, they need to reward him first.

Eret had inquired many a time on his exact procedures, but Quackity was swift to turn the conversations to other matters. The King had plenty of matters to attend to besides their favorite pastime. He’s a man of many faces, after all. If it’s a goof, well, who feels threatened at a joke? Mixing jokes with politics and subterfuge was one of his most prized skills.

Meanwhile, BadBoyHalo hadn't been able to shut up about how cool it was. Even parroting imitations of the man's most insufferable quirks back to him weren't enough to discourage him. He'd even offered Quackity a secret in exchange: he wasn't a demon.

Quackity laughed and cursed Bad out with his own tongue.

No, the one person who came the closest to knowing was Sapnap. Sapnap, who stayed around after cabinet meetings to pick up George as the two berated each other. Sapnap, who had a similar craving for blood that he knew all too well. Sapnap, who was a warrior first and as hungry for power and attention as Quackity was.

It was Sapnap to whom Quackity admitted he needed the blood of the player he was going to imitate, and Sapnap who responded by giving him the gruesome fruits of his conflicts—bottles of all kinds of blood. It was Sapnap who promised not to tell, even though they both knew his big mouth would open eventually.

That was before Quackity caught himself. Before he took one good long look pointed out by a man who always smelled of cheap aftershave and booze, who was never right until he was.

Everyone assumed Schlatt was an idiot, and he was. But the bastard was perceptive.

"Sap-Nap? Dream's guard dog? You're gonna tell him all of your secrets?"

Just because Sapnap understood blood didn't make him trustworthy. He was Dream's friend first.

The same with George. George, always tired in the moments of greatest danger. George, whose sleepiness and luck went hand in hand to save him everywhere he went.

Quackity hadn't put the pieces together yet. He was operating as a Vice President with less than a fourth of the information and not a clue what Schlatt kept in his book. However, even he understood that Dream, seemingly unrelated to the entire conflict, was pivotal.

There was another, scarier fact to consider.

He'd been having nightmares.

If someone was in control of the sleeping state of the server, wouldn't it be. . . ?

There's something else in the back of the bunker, underneath a table. Quackity notices it when one of his cuff-links drops to the floor, only to rest against it.

At the moment he didn't care where the book had gone.

It was a case. Initials written on it in Standard Galactic.

∴ ነ

"No fucking way."

Quackity had never learned how to read or write, that was for hardcore mages and they kept their secrets tighter than he kept his ass. But he knew Schlatt could read, and the person who taught him was—

If he had to guess who—

He opened the case.

A guitar.

"Wilbur."

Then it hits: he can sing. He can sing and play and make a mockery of Schlatt's funeral with Wilbur's guitar. He can't think of anything more funny. Quackity did love a good joke.

He's going to make this funeral the biggest joke of them all.

When he's done the Schlatt mask is one of his worst. Even the Dream mask—cracked, flawed, and only let him be a poor imitation of the man himself (or whatever Dream was)—is of better quality than this aberration.

Quackity takes a moment to catch his reflection in the mirror. Schlatt's face is distorted, looking back with Quackity's signature smile adorning it.

He tightened the knot around his neck like he was pulling taunt a noose.

He was going to get white girl wasted.

"Eat your heart out, old man."

He had a funeral to crash.

#dream smp #dream smp fic #smpfic #dsmp fic #quackity #jschlatt #schlatt #glatt #wilbur soot #sapnap #georgenotfound #eret #BadBoyHalo #dreamwastaken

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lailoken · 4 years ago

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“Lord of Norfolk, Grey Lord of the Flint

In our magical work, we often visualise the Lord of Norfolk in human form, because that is the way we are best able to approach and comprehend his being. He appears as a huge and ancient grey-clad figure, a hunter with bow and arrows, a strong and powerful builder, a protector and defender of the land, striding along the coastline, beside the meres, across ploughed fields or though the woodlands. Sometimes he seems to emerge so clearly, from the mists of the veil, that it is almost possible to glimpse his features, to make that step towards a richer understanding, a greater knowing; and then the moment passes. Nevertheless, the physical signs of the extraordinary remain with us, for the Lord of Norfolk is there in the stones, in our gardens and fields, as they work their way to the surface, blunting tools or needing to be removed to allow delicate plants to thrive. At other times, we hear his voice as the waves endlessly shift the shingle, back and forth upon the beach, creating smooth and sea-tumbled pebbles, or we catch a sharp reminder of presence on bare feet or careless fingers.

The Lord of Norfolk is embodied by a magical stone indeed. Flint is composed almost entirely of silica, and only diamonds are harder and more durable. Yet because it flakes so easily it can be worked into different shapes (Russell, 2000) and has a multitude of different uses. Although we see the Lord of Norfolk as a Grey Lord, his stone varies in colour, and may be yellow, brown or amber, if iron oxides or other pigments have seeped in through the his of the stone and left their own special magic. pores The core of a piece of Flint is usually smooth, dark and lustrous, while its outer surface, known as the cortex, is less dense and much more porous, and can be seen as a clear white line when a stone is broken open. Once Flint is cut and exposed, the process of cortication often transforms the colour from black to pale bluey grey, although the rate of the change is delightfully unpredictable. On some Medieval buildings, the shiny core is as little changed as on some Victorian buildings. Another process, patination, gives the Flint a yellow or white waxy look, somewhat reminiscent of ivory (Hart, 2000). Such a rich assortment is useful when selecting stones for magical work, as is the range of shapes and textures. Pieces found in Thetford Forest are often angular and rather waxy looking, with blue patterns on them, sometimes surprisingly like broken pieces of Willow Pattern crockery, but also containing runes or other forms of written messages.

The Lord of the Flint's domain extends far beyond Norfolk, and the buildings of the whole region of East Anglia are expressions of centuries of interaction between this magnificent being of the Earth and the ingenuity and skill of human craftspeople, at one with their materials, which come directly from the Source. The Lord of the Flint provides the raw materials for the simple hearth and home of ordinary folk, grand abodes for the rich, the protection of Norwich's city walls, the spiritual aspiration of the great wool churches.

Some of the constructions use "as-found" Flints, sometimes set into mortar, in an apparently random patterning, sometimes in coursed arrangements, where clear horizontal lines are visible. Herringbone patterns are often seen, as is galletting, when small flakes of flint are added to the mortar before it dries, to provide extra packing between irregular shaped stones, or for purely decorative purposes. A rich vocabulary has developed to describe the different kinds of Flint work, which have become part of the Flint Lord's poetry. Knapped work may be "select", "squared" or “rough squared"; it may use "ovals", "scales" or "blocks". In combination with other stone or brick, the patterns formed may be "chequer", "Flemish chequer", "banding", "morse" or "diaper". The names can be read as spells, and indeed used as such, with their "diamonds", "lozenges", "trellises" and "lattices". Flushwork uses the contrasting characteristics of Flint and ashlared freestone, mostly brought to East Anglia, by water, from Lincolnshire limestone quarries, to produce distinctive designs, which are full of symbolism, meaning and magic. The earliest example of this technique is thought to be St. Ethelbert's Gate, in Norwich, built in 1316, although restored in 1815 by William Wilkins (Hart, 2000). Flushwork on other buildings shows seasonal patterns, merchant's marks, the tools of many trades, wheels, foliage, intricate interlaced patterns, heraldic designs and protective or religious or spiritual symbols and even the Glastonbury Thorn. Just like the foliate heads, seen in so many Medieval churches, a wealth of Pagan and magical imagery can be seen in these flushwork designs (Talbot, 2004).

Not only does this Grey Lord represent protection from the weather and from attack, He also provided our ancestors with the means to hunt and grow their food. Arrowheads, sickles, polished axe heads and grinding stones were all made from mined Flint, at that liminal point in our history when we made the gradual transition from being hunter gathers to domesticating animals and cultivating crops (Russell, 2000). In honour of this, we attach Flint heads to the arrows we use on the garlands in some of our rituals.

Probably the most dramatic and focused way to experience the power of the Flint Lord, as he manifests in His Norfolk form, is to visit Grimes Graves, in Thetford Forest, where our Neolithic forebears risked their lives to bring out, from the depths, the most prized, unweathered, black Flint floorstone, which was to be found ten to thirteen metres below the surface, in seams just 20-30cm thick. Although there were lesser Flint workings, Grimes Graves was the largest and most complex in Britain (Forrest, 1983), with 433 shafts, many with galleries radiating out from them. None of this is easily discernible from ground level though. Approaching the site (now owned by English Heritage) along a straight, single-track forest road, one is just aware of an open grassy area of mounds and dips, a car park and a small building, which is the visitors' centre. In the Summer, there are Skylarks all around. The flora of this once industrial area, but now a Site of Special Scientific Interest, is rich and diverse, and there is a discernible crackle of ancient magic all around. Reciting just a few of the wonderful plant names associated with this place is one simple way of alerting the spirits to your desire to be fully present in the enchantment of both the past and the now. Heather, Harebell, Knapweed, Mouse-ear, Stonecrop, Hawk's-beard, Eyebright, Squinancywort, Gentian and Mignionette can all be words of power, which skim the surface and initiate a little quivering, which allows the eye to see more as you attune to what is really all around you.

Once you know what is in the ground beneath you, it is not difficult to picture an underground constellation of deep shafts and star patterns joining them all, in a fantastic, invisible network. The presence of another of the powerful gods of this land, the Norse/Anglo-Saxon deity, Odin or Woden, can also be felt to wander across the strangely- textured surface of the place, as it is by one of his many names that this site is known. There are no representatives of Odin's Ravens, Hugin and Munin, here, but we are reminded of them in the constant cawing of the Rooks, in the distance trees, and the many black feathers lying in the grass amongst the shards of Flint. Besides, both Thought and Memory are important aspects of any visit here.

Fortunately, at the time of writing, it is still relatively inexpensive to buy a ticket, which allows you to go down into the one pit which is open to the public. Visitors are required to wear a yellow hard hat (which would not be my first choice of headgear when going to meet a major deity), but they are permitted to go down unsupervised. The thin metal rungs of the alarmingly narrow, but very stable, ladder are chilly to the touch, and grow colder as you make the descent, passing the various layers of Flint- the topstone and the wallstone - and watching the circle of the sky above diminish, the deeper you travel into this underworld of the ancestors. The tap of antler picks on stone can still be heard by those who are prepared to listen, and the power and presence of the Lord of Norfolk is all around. There is an indescribable tingling when you step off the last rung of the ladder, place both feet on the floor of the chamber, breathe in, and reach out for that magical understanding of ancient power and wisdom. Low arches lead off into tunnels, but these are now barred against physical entry, although it is possible to glimpse into that network of passages which join one pit to another.

Standing there, we think of the many antlers which were used to mine the Flint. These were most often Red Deer antlers, with the crown and first two tines either burned or cut away. When the tools broke, or became blunted, they were discarded, and in just two of the pits, a total of 244 such antlers were discovered, many of which had been worked smooth by the hands of the miners. On some there were even finger prints in the Chalk which covered them (Clarke Clarke, 1937). So, the Lord of Norfolk is most definitely a horned god, and the magic of the Deer is woven deeply into the fabric of the county. Naturalistic depictions of Red Deer, engraved into floorstone, were found during the early excavations of the site, although many commentators now consider these to have been part of a hoax designed to convince people that this was a Palaeolithic site (Russell, 2000). Nevertheless, this does not undermine the depth of the connections between the Grey Lord, the Deer and the landscape of the county.

It is not difficult to imagine the miners making offerings of antlers, carvings and drawings, as well as the exquisitely worked axe heads. Craftspeople of great skill worked the Flint, inspired or guided by the Lord of Norfolk who, millennia later, can still be called upon to give assistance to the county's makers and artists. I think this is one of the reasons why all of the practitioners of Norfolk's Nameless Tradition do some form of art or craft work, drawing on thousands of years of inspiration and magical help, in the development of the skills of hand and eye.

Of course, the process of going down into the pit at Grimes Graves can be done purely in the mind, in meditation or pathworking. Those who are especially skilled at knowing and visualising what they have not experienced with their mundane senses, can even do this without having been to the place in person. For most of us, though, the physical experience is important, and the effort of a regular visit becomes an act of pilgrimage.

On re-emerging from the shaft, a visit to Thetford's Ancient House Museum can provide a moving insight into the skills of the 20th-century Flint knappers. The Museum is home to an exquisite Flint alphabet, knapped by Bill Basham, in his spare time, over a period of two years. He also made a delicate necklace of seventeen circlets and a heart, which he sold, in 1927, for just £10. Sadly, like many of the Flint knappers, Basham died of silicosis, in 1932, at the age of 38 (Forrest, 1983). But the art of Flint knapping is far from lost. Will Lord, the son of earlier custodians of Grimes Graves, is an expert Flint knapper, and continues to teach the skill, as well as running prehistoric experience courses (www.will-lord.co.uk).

The Lord of Norfolk is a being of Fire as well as of Earth, for this everyday, common, yet intensely magical stone also carries within it the stuff of stars, which can light the hearth fire or ignite the divine spark within. The Flint as a strike-a- light is of enduring significance.

However, like so many things, the power of the Flint can be used for good or for ill and has not always been adapted for purely peaceful purposes. Flint arrowheads come in various shapes and styles, ranging from the chunky to the slender and elegant. The sheer numbers which have been found are thought to suggest that people may have used them in warfare, not just for hunting (Wymer, 1994). Indeed, Flint weapons have been said to be Britain's oldest industry, from Neolithic arrowheads from 2000 BCE, to the gunflints made in Brandon, and much prized for use during the Napoleonic Wars.”

—

Of Chalk & Flint:

A Way of Norfolk Magic

by Val Thomas

#Val Thomas #traditional withcraft #witching god #horned lord #Norfolk Magic #of chalk & flint

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riathenowheregirl · 5 years ago

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Gold Dust Women: My Favorite Witchy Singers

Okay, before you burn me alive with “Where’s this certain artist?!” or “Why is this certain artist not here?!” or “Who even uses Tumblr these days?”, uhmmm me bish?? It’s my safe zone. Okay, the last question was a joke.

Can I just say that the amazing women on this list are artists I listen to all the time. They’re my favorites, so chill (I’m open for suggestions tho). This is not Rolling Stone or Billboard magazine, it’s just ya girl’s good ol’ tumblr blog. Also, I’m not saying that all of them are literal w i t c h e s, it’s just that they portray the same aesthetic through their art and music.

Alright, now that’s settled, let’s start.

1. STEVIE NICKS

Do I even need to explain this? Stevie is undoubtedly the Etheral Queen of them all, the Pioneer, the O.G. Supreme whose lyrical soul and spellbinding voice echoes from the distant past to the inevitable future. Everything about her oozes with witchcraft and magic starting from her iconic top hat, to her millions of intricately made shawls, down to her platform boots. Only Stevie Nicks could pull off such Not-of-this-Era outfits and she has been doing it CONSISTENTLY. She’s in a timeline of her OWN. If you listen to her music, you would notice that every song of hers is poetry, like she’s telling a story or conjuring the unknown. She’s every witchy woman’s icon and that’s a fact.

Stevie is an untouchable yet gracious legend, we’ll always be a part of her sisterhood until the day of earth’s decay. Forever the Queen of Rock N’ Roll.

Current Favorite Stevie Lyrics: “ You can fly swinging from your trapeze, scaring all the people...but you'll never scare me.” | “Once in a million years a lady like her rises. Oh no, Rhiannon, you cry, but she's gone and your life knows no answer.”

Notice how I used the word “current”? Because it always changes depending on the state my life. Here’s a more detailed post on why I love her.

2. KATE BUSH

“Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy, I've come home, I'm so cold! Let me in through your window!”

The eccentric beauty, Kate Bush made a genius, artistic move by writing a song about the book, Wuthering Heights, written by Emily Brontë in the 1800′s. Mind you, she was only 18 when she wrote and was the first song written by a female artist that landed on top the charts. Her voice is almost as distinctive as Stevie Nicks. While Stevie’s more nasal, commanding, wailing rock n’ roll goddess, Kate’s voice was high-pitched, alarming, ghostly, queer, and fairy-like. Everything about her is Performance Art. This is a woman who is not afraid to express herself.

For starters, you might think her music is strange and weird. Trust me, I felt the same way when I first heard her songs. But then, it began to grow on me leaving floral patterns on its path.

Favorite Kate Bush Lyrics: “Do you want to feel how it feels? Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me? Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making? You, it's you and me.”

3. FLORENCE WELCH

This one is as obvious as Stevie Nicks. Florence Welch from the band, Florence + the Machine, is a poetess, a screaming banshee, and a full-pledged Sister of the Moon. She even started a witch coven during middle school. From her red carpet looks to her everyday outfits on Instagram, Florence vibrates powerful witch energy. Not to mention she has a song called “Which Witch” and that haunting music video for Big God with levitating women. Flo is not a woman to trifle with, I’ll tell you that.

Photos courtesy of @lillieeiger

In all her songs, Florence will bind you with magic and it’ll leave you breathless. If Stevie’s songs are poetry, hers are spells you could sing out loud. Also, if you haven’t seen her house tour, go check it now!

Favorite Florence Welch Lyrics: “'Cause I am done with my graceless heart so tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart.” | “And in a moment of joy and fury I threw myself in the balcony like my grandmother so many years before me.”

4. LANA DEL REY

Remember when Lana used witchcraft to hex Donald Trump? It was all over the news and Twitter went wild. She was later quoted saying, “I really do believe that words are one of the last forms of magic and I’m a bit of a mystic at heart.” Oh, and she also did a collab with Stevie.

We. Stan. Forever.

There was even a time that I MEMORIZED the monologue in the music video for Ride. ALL OF IT, HUNNY.

Lana’s hypnotizing vocals together with her sixties baby doll dresses and Priscilla Presley hair is enough to convince me that she’s not of this era. She has a deep understanding of the beauty of past generation and the looming sadness and nostalgia that comes with it. Whenever I listen to her music, I imagine myself as a rockstar’s muse who is involved with the mafia but then I decided to leave him while taking his gun and convertible. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Favorite Lana Del Rey Lyrics: “Well, my boyfriend's in the band. He plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed. I've got feathers in my hair, I get down to Beat poetry. And my jazz collection's rare, I can play most anything.”

5. LORDE

David Bowie didn’t call her the “future of music” for nothing. Just two albums under her belt, Lorde already proved that she will one day become a legend herself. Her music narrates an unparalleled interpretation of the anguish and fleeting charm of our youth. She knows what we’re feeling because she’s been there herself and is on the road to healing just like us.

I think the message she’s trying to say is that we’re constantly losing grip on our innocence, and that life is often wicked so we need to accept that, grit our teeth, get on with it, and make art. She can also see color when she hears music.

In my opinion, Lorde is one of the greatest artists of my generation.

Favorite Lorde Lyrics: “The truth is I am a toy that people enjoy till all of the tricks don't work anymore, and then they are bored of me.” | “That slow burn wait while it gets dark, bruising the sun, I feel grown up with you in your car. I know it's dumb.”

6. FKA TWIGS

Honestly, FKA Twigs is literally art in living form, a celestial angel that nobody can easily decipher. This woman has more talent in her fingertips than I could ever have in a lifetime. She somehow reminds me of a young Kate Bush; fearless, experimental, with an intoxicating voice. She never stops reinventing herself and it’s beautiful.

In FKA Twigs’ world, there are no limits, just endless galaxies. She pours her whole being in all of her songs and it shows. She’s not for the faint of heart, let me tell you that.

Favorite FKA Twigs Lyrics: “And I don't want to have to share our love. I try but I get overwhelmed. All wrapped in cellophane, the feelings that we had.”

7. SKOTT

I say this all the time, but I cannot write without Skott’s music blasting on my earphones. She grew up in a “forest commune run by outcast folk musicians” and was not exposed to contemporary music until her teen years. You would notice it in her songs.

It’s hard to explain why, but listen to Skott’s music when there’s thunder and rain outside, then you’ll know why this woman is witchy. I kind of want her to be more popular and known, but then again, I also want to keep her to myself. Scratch that, LISTEN TO SKOTT’S MUSIC NOW.

Start with Glitter & Gloss.

Favorite Skott Lyrics: “Like an empty canvas, hear me cry. Like a masterpiece, I'm in your eyes. Now your colors are in front of me, we're a picture-perfect oddity.”

8. FIRST AID KIT

I fell in love with this sister duo when I first heard their song, Emmylou, while browsing YouTube. It’s one of those moments of instant magic. Klara and Johanna Söderberg are a coven of their own. I would describe their music as “Woodland Folk laced with runes and wild flowers”.

Their voices compliment each other so much that it reminded me of Simon & Garfunkel (they even performed their own version of America in front of Paul Simon!!!). First Aid Kit has this Woodstock seventies vibe, and you know me, I live for that sh*t.

Favorite First Aid Kit Lyrics: “ When I run through the deep dark forest long, after this begun, where the sun would set, the trees were dead and the rivers were none. And I hope for a trace to lead me back home from this place, but there was no sound there was only me, and my disgrace.”

9. ZOLA JESUS

Zola Jesus’ music deserves to be played with an orchestra inside an abandoned castle in Transylvania while it gently rains and you’re wearing a white nightgown as you roam its empty halls. Is that too much?

Not at all.

Like Skott, I listen to Zola whenever I’m having writer’s block. If I ever finish my book, I’m gonna have to thank them.

Favorite Zola Jesus Lyrics: “I'm on my bed, my bed of stones, but in the end of the night we'll rest our bones, so don't you worry. Just rest your head cause in the end of the night we'll be together again.”

10. ZELLA DAY

Photo Credits to Harper Smith

I LOVE ZELLA DAY’S MUSIC OH MY GOODNESS. My favorite songs of her are Sweet Ophelia, Hypnotic, Man on the Moon, and Hunnie Pie. ESPECIALLY HUNNIE PIE. I cry whenever I hear that song. It’s just so pure, calming, and beautiful.

Her music belong in the psychedelic era.

People labeled her as the “happier version of Lana Del Rey” but I think she’s in a league of her own. She deserves more recognition, honestly!

Favorite Zella Day Lyrics: “The older we get there's an ocean of people in places we've chosen and you know how mama keeps saying “we've gotta stop the games we're playing””.

Hope you guys approve of my list! I really like sharing stuff that I love! Feel free to message me for more suggestions, I’d really appreciate to know more witchy artists out there. We’re all in a huge coven of sisterhood.

Thanks for reading!

Love,

Ria 🌙

P.S.

Please follow my blog!!! THANK YOU 🔮

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magnetothemagnificent · 4 years ago

Note

29. Do you collect anything? And what are some hobbies you have?

Holy shit, this is going to be a long one XD

Here's a list of things I collect:

*Lightbulbs (I have boxes of all kinds of lightbulbs)

*Toilet paper rolls (Like, the empty cardboard tubes. I just collect them, I have so many)

*Shiny wreckage from car crashes (glass, pieces of metal.....)

*Feathers (All kinds of feathers, but I also have a bird, and collect his feathers, too)

*Old books (As in books that are so old that people tried to toss them, but I saved them. I once found a beautiful old book of English poetry that was discarded on the pavement)

*Charcoal (After a fire, I like to collect the burnt wood. Sometimes I grind some of them into fine black powder to use in my artwork, but I mostly just accumulate my collection of charcoal)

*Motherboards from devices (I like collecting them from broken computers, wifi routers, phones, etc...)

*Broken shoes (I hang them from my ceiling fan, and it's called my Shoendelier XD)

*Seashells and other beach finds (this includes pebbles, driftwood, and assorted stuff that wash ashore)

*Birthday cards (pretty self-explanatory)

*Wax drippings

*Broken clothes and fabric scraps (I sew and do cosplay, so .....)

*Hats (I have a huge hat collection that I am very proud of)

*Scarves (everyone who knows me knows I love scarves, even if I never wear them because the texture is wrong. But I like looking at them)

And my hobbies:

*Drawing (traditional and digital)

*Songwriting and composing

*Writing (poetry, fanfiction, original writing, political essays....)

*Playing violin

*Playing piano

*Singing

*Sewing and cosplay

*Jewelry making

*Translating (translating books, songs, films from one language to another)

*Other art mediums (sculpting, painting, carving, etc...)

I have ADHD and other many issues, so I probably forgot a few

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pengiesama · 7 years ago

Text

Pharos of My Soul (Fic, Sorey/Mikleo, Dragon/Fantasy AU) (Chapter 4/7)

Title: Pharos of My Soul (Chapter 4 of 7) Series: Tales of Zestiria Pairing: Sorey/Mikleo

Summary: Prince Sorey had always longed for freedom, adventure, and fairytale romance. But that was not something that a prince of the realm was destined for. He had resigned himself to an arranged marriage for the good of his kingdom, and those fairytale dreams would stay locked away in his heart for good.

And then his wedding got crashed by a man-eating dragon.

CHAPTER FOUR:

Sorey and Mikleo's relationship grows, and Rose makes a deal.

(CONTENT WARNING: mpreg, xenophilia, and generally weird biology.)

Link: AO3

This is a joint collaboration between me, Ali (@eachainn), and Nami (@shamingcows)! Ali and I wrote a dual AU very loosely based on the 2015 Russian movie “He’s a Dragon”. Ali’s version is available here, and my version is available here.

Updates weekly on Wednesdays!

Read on Tumblr!

“My love!” Sorey announced. He moved in a colorful swirl of robes and a jangling confusion of jewelry, and twirled his way over to where Mikleo was reviewing his lessons. “Before, I was naught but the thief of Baghdad, but now, I am a prince! Follow me, darling; follow me to the ends of the earth--”

Mikleo plucked his hand from Sorey’s grip before Sorey could kiss his way up his arm. He was a dedicated scholar, and was already progressing quickly after only a handful of lessons.

“Your recitation could use some work,” he said. “And must you rifle through my clothing collection?”

“That I must.” Sorey adjusted the jeweled turban atop his head – it wasn’t as extravagant as his wedding headdress, but it was a fitting piece for seduction. He lounged across the silk bedding, chin on his hand. He hoisted one leg up into air alluringly. “It’s important for your studies. Don’t you think acting out the books helped you?”

Mikleo flushed and looked away. His long lovely fingers drummed on the spine of the book he was reading.

“It was…marginally useful. I could have done well enough without, considering.”

Sorey had gotten hold of his fingers again. He had been bewitched by those drumming digits, and he lavished kisses upon each one as he continued to entreat him.

“Follow me, darling; follow me now to the ends of the earth…”

Perhaps it was simply redundant to ask. These isles, with their mists and towering ruined spires, could pass for the ends of the earth, Sorey supposed. They were remote, secluded; a haven, a heaven that Sorey’s heart had always searched for. And the company was simply sublime.

“Honestly. If you’re so attached to headwear, I have less ostentatious pieces.”

As regards headwear, Mikleo was, in fact, referring to his collection of racy underwear, which he seemed to think were hats with handy horn-holes. This was a charming misunderstanding indeed, and one that filled Sorey’s heart to the brim. But seeing Mikleo wearing racy underwear on his head made Sorey long to see him wearing it in a more traditional fashion. Sorey had tried to suggest this, but Mikleo had just looked at him like he was the insane one. What purpose do they serve under my trousers? They’d simply get in the way, Mikleo said. They frame my horns quite well, thank you.

Ah, but thinking of Mikleo wearing those panties on his lovely legs had gotten Sorey into a certain mood.

“Mikleo,” Sorey purred. He sat up and pinned Mikleo into the blankets. Mikleo arched an eyebrow at him, but made no move to throw him off. “I was wondering. Maybe we should make really, really sure that you’re definitely pregnant, a few more times--”

Mikleo grumbled and squirmed away from Sorey just enough to wiggle into a sitting position, placing Sorey’s head right in his lap. This was a compromise, he supposed. He basked in the heavenly softness of Mikleo’s thighs and the silken trousers under his cheek.

“I was certain immediately that I was with child, when I took you on that altar,” Mikleo said. “Do humans really not know from the start?”

That was something Sorey could not say for certain, not possessing the appropriate parts himself. He leaned up and kissed Mikleo’s tummy in apology. The feather on his turban tickled Mikleo’s skin and made him squeak.

Sorey was a bride-groom, a father-to-be, and a scholar and tutor. Falling derelict in any of these responsibilities would simply not do.

He would serve Mikleo to the ends of the earth and beyond.

“‘Anemone,’” Sorey said.

Mikleo batted at the feather on Sorey’s turban. “Excuse me?”

“For a girl. ‘Anemone’ is a great name, I think.” Sorey sighed dreamily and kissed Mikleo’s stomach again. “Or maybe something a bit more old-fashioned, if you’d prefer. We could look through some of the Ancient Avarost books here and find something you like.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes and returned to his book.

“Quite bold of you to assume my tastes,” Mikleo said. “Take off that hat if you insist on keeping your head on me. The feather tickles.”

Presented with a choice between style and keeping his head on Mikleo’s heavenly thighs, Sorey did the only logical thing. He whipped off his turban, and revealed a second, smaller turban underneath. Mikleo yanked it off his head irritably and tossed it across the room.

“‘Mikleo’ is an Ancient Avarost-era name,” Sorey noted, now bereft of headwear. “Did you pick it out yourself?”

At that, Mikleo went quiet. Sorey’s heart had been soaring just a few moments ago, but now, it dropped out of his chest – he’d clearly stumbled upon a sensitive subject. There was a secret, shameful part of him that thrilled at the idea of learning more about Mikleo. But he would not compromise this beautiful afternoon and their togetherness to satisfy his gluttony for knowledge; for more of Mikleo. Sorey covered Mikleo’s hand in his own, gently.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me--”

“My mother named me,” Mikleo said.

Now, Sorey was a well-read young man, and quite knowledgeable about his kingdom’s history. He was aware of the legends of the heroic dragon-slayer that avenged the sacrificed brides. Mikleo’s tension, and the grief written in the line of his mouth, told him the rest. Sorey was able to put the pieces together, but that knowledge did not tell him how to react to such a dreadful conclusion. Silence seemed to stretch out for eternity, and Sorey felt more apart than he had from Mikleo than he had been since they met. He had brought Mikleo heartache, and this was, perhaps, even more dreadful.

“What was she like?” Sorey asked, after a long moment.

Mikleo stared at the pages of his book.

“Caring, and strong,” he said quietly. “Devoted. And that is what led to her death.”

Sorey couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to lose someone so dear, and to such a violent end. Sorey continued to hold Mikleo’s hand, and did not look away from him. He had prodded Mikleo into this conversation, and he owed it to him to hear it out to the end.

“She always insisted we had a duty to protect your kingdom,” Mikleo continued. “You provided us with a yearly sacrifice, and in return, we were obliged to maintain the veil of mist. Had she simply left your kingdom to be savaged and overthrown by invaders, she would still be alive.

“She named me and raised me and cared for me. And protected your kingdom, until your hero killed her. I read the books your kingdom wrote on the ‘legend,’ saw the illustrations,” Mikleo laughed hollowly. “The artists never did get her right. Honestly, leather wings. Do they think we are bats?”

Mikleo’s lovely feathered wings were the dark blue of twilight, and seemed to shimmer in the sun, like light on water. The idea that people had been so misinformed about the true nature of things for so long: of the kingdom’s history, of Mikleo’s mother’s service, of the beauty of dragons…it rankled Sorey. Sorey reached out to stroke the feathers of Mikleo’s wings with his knuckles.

“Mikleo. We can tell everyone what really happened,” Sorey said. The idea had taken hold, and he sat up, drawing Mikleo to sit on his lap as he spoke aloud. “We can – we can write our own book, and get it published. People will be happy to know the truth, we just have to tell them.”

Sorey’s mind raced. Once the baby was born and they were settled on the island, he could get a letter to his parents, somehow. He’d tell them about his love for Mikleo, tell them that he was safe and sound and a proud husband and father. He’d tell them to commission the finest artist in the kingdom to draw for their book, and then he’d craft some epic poetry for the introduction, and help Mikleo with his handwriting, and Rose would surely help them publish and distribute the final product, and—

Mikleo shook his head and gave a rueful little smile. He rested his head against Sorey’s shoulder, and his tail curled around Sorey’s leg; keeping him there, close.

“What I know is this: humans like a good story more than they like the truth.”

Were Rose in a better state of mind, she likely would have been more interested in her surroundings. It was a pirate ship, after all, that sank her boat and dragged her out of the water, and Rose was a merchant by trade who had lost her fair share of shipments to pirate activity. It was a golden opportunity to gather intel on their movements in the area, or to do some swashbuckling of her own and commandeer the ship to continue her search for the prince.

However, as it was, there was a ghost haunting her. Rose feared no dragon, no high-seas criminal, no dangerous business venture. Rose did fear ghosts. Real bad.

“SALT! GIVE ME A BELL AND A BOOK AND A CANDLE AND SALT!” screamed Rose. She thrashed in the grip of her captors desperately, trying to get loose.

“Swallowed too much seawater?” asked the woman pirate that appeared to be the crew’s leader. “Only a rude guest starts making demands the moment they step in the door.”

The woman’s golden eyes were like a falcon’s, predatory and fierce, large and lovely. Her jet black hair was in a braid that trailed down her back; its length rivalling Sorey’s. Her clothing did little to hide her impressive figure, in the sense that there was little hiding of it going on. Rose had heard of pirate captains that lit their own beards aflame to terrify their victims during raids, so maybe the ensemble was meant to distract or unnerve her captives. Maybe she just liked feeling the fresh sea breeze on her nethers. But alas, it was not a time to be thinking about ladies’ nethers, and that was a sentiment that broke Rose’s heart. This haunting thing was very inconvenient indeed.

The ghost hovered in Rose’s field of vision, trying to catch her eye. No one but Rose appeared to be aware of her. “I beg of you, please remain calm!” she cried. “These scoundrels could mean you harm!”

“PISS OFF, GHOST!” howled Rose.

Before Rose could properly land a roundhouse kick to the head of one of the pirates trying to hold her down and make her cunning escape overboard, she felt a gentle little tug to her trouser leg. Shaking like a leaf, she slowly turned her head to look, expecting another terrible specter bent on dragging her to the depths of hell itself.

Instead, she saw a tiny little cloaked boy, holding out his fist for Rose.

“Phi,” the woman pirate asked, low and dangerous. “What are you doing?”

The cloaked boy turned to look at the woman, confusion plain on his face. Underneath the hood of his cloak, Rose could distinctly see the outline of little nubbed horns, and the glint of white scales on his jaw and neck.

“…she asked for salt,” he said quietly. “I went to the kitchen and got some for her.”

Rose did not get where she was today by not taking opportunities as they arose.

“THROW THE SALT AT THE GHOST!” she screamed.

The cloaked boy nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden volume. He blindly flung the contents of his fist in front of him, missing the ghost entirely. Rose dissolved into shrieking, sloppy tears, and went slack in the hold of her captors.

“Phi. Go back to Eizen and the pups,” said the woman pirate.

The boy, Phi, twiddled his fingers and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“…she asked for a book too,” he said. “Can I bring her that later--”

“Phi,” the woman said sternly, pointing her finger firmly to a door on the ship.

Phi sulkily trudged over to the door, and stared balefully at the woman before he shut it behind him.

The woman grumbled, marched over to Rose, and forced her head up to look at her with a hand in her hair.

“I am the captain of this ship, Velvet Crowe,” she said. “And you are going to explain what you were doing in the middle of the sea in a fishing skipper, screaming about ghosts.”

Rose collected herself. She closed her eyes. She desperately tried to ignore the ghost stroking her hair and offering tips on deep breathing exercises. And she began to explain the situation – the disrupted wedding, the dragon, the kidnapped prince.

It seemed naïve and stupid to collaborate with pirates, but Rose was short on allies, and equally short on a vessel to get around now that her fishing skipper was in pieces. A gang of greedy pirates were sure to offer assistance when there was a royal bounty on the head of the dragon. And if they were tempted by the opportunity to ransom off the prince and his fiancée, well, they’d have to deal with the might of Midgand’s navy, and more presently, the business end of Rose’s knife.

However, as Rose finished her tale, Velvet did not seem to be moved. In fact, she simply rose a critical eyebrow.

“So. You held a wedding on the same day as an ancient sacrificial festival. Dressed up this prince just like one of said sacrifices. Sang a song that used to summon a dragon to collect said sacrifices. And were then surprised when a dragon showed up and plucked him away.”

Rose shifted uncomfortably. The ghost girl made a concerned noise.

“She does rather have a point,” said the ghost.

“No she doesn’t! It wasn’t my idea to hold the wedding on that day!” Rose shot back defensively. She then snapped her mouth shut, and hastily looked away from the ghost. If she ignored her, maybe she’d leave.

Velvet waited for Rose to be done talking to no one, and then continued.

“Do you know what dragons do with the humans they capture?” Velvet asked almost casually. “I’m sure it’s not hard to guess. Your prince is probably being digested as we speak.”

Rose knew it was a pretty likely scenario. She just didn’t want to face it. Sorey was so young, and such a good kid.

“I’d say that’s quitter talk, and not something I expect of a pirate of your stature, Miss Crowe,” Rose replied. “Plus, are we just supposed to let that overgrown lizard get away with snatching up whoever it pleases--”

“Dragons have to eat,” Velvet said with a shrug. “Do you think humans need to be revenged on for the meat they hunt, as well?”

Rose was quiet, and could almost take comfort in the ghostly fingers stroking her hair.

“Sorey was—is a good kid, and has a long life ahead of him,” Rose began. “I’ve read the old legends – that the kingdom enjoys prosperity because of that dragon nest. But Sorey didn’t go into this wedding expecting to be made a sacrifice for the kingdom’s greater good. We made an awful, stupid mistake and I just want to make it as right as I can. I want to race to wherever that dragon is hiding and do everything I can as long as there’s the slightest chance Sorey is still alive.”

Rose meant every word. It was quite embarrassing to spill one’s soul to a pirate and her crew. But something in her words seemed to touch Velvet. Her grip on Rose’s hair loosened, and those falcon eyes had a look of grief in them. She stood, and thought.

“That dragon’s roost is magical,” Velvet said. “It moves around as it pleases, whenever it pleases. And you’ll never find it, or make land on it, unless that prince of yours is still alive to guide you to it. Even if he is, unless he actually loves you, we’ll be wandering these waters for months with nothing to show for it.”

Well, that was an issue. Sorey had a kind heart, and was full of love for everyone. But she knew that he didn’t actually love love her. Rose could only pray that the sort of general positive feeling Sorey felt for the world in general was enough of a beacon to guide them to the island in time.

“…but, if we’re not going to be able to take that kind of direct route,” Velvet continued, as if reading Rose’s expression. “We might have an ace or two in the hole. Our ship’s navigator is rather unique, and he might be convinced to help.”

“Bet I can help you twist his arm,” Rose said with a smirk. “You’ll hopefully be impressed by my negotiation skills, Miss Crowe.”

Velvet scoffed and turned to walk away, to the door where the boy Phi went.

“I doubt it, Miss Sparrowfeather.”

Hmm. Rose laughed to herself as she was escorted along with Velvet by the crew. So much for travelling incognito.

It was not as though Sorey did not realize the danger he was in. It was not as though Sorey did not miss the people he’d left behind. It was not as though Sorey intended to hurt them by throwing himself whole into this new life he’d been spirited into.

But, by god, he’d been given a taste of a life that he’d always pined for. Freedom, adventure, and – most notably – love.

There was a waterfall on the island. The water from the cave springs bubbled up and spilled over into an opening in the cave systems, and then spilled over once more, tumbling down the mountainside in a scintillating rainbow spray. The waterfall fed a shallow lake that was perfect for bathing – the mineral spring-water was clear and warm, and the fresh scent of it filled the humid air as it poured from the mountain’s heights.

Sorey would have been impressed enough if this was a natural wonder of the island, but this was a man-made feat. Or rather, a dragon-made one. Over the course of many years, Mikleo – through clever tricks of engineering and good old-fashioned elbow grease – had carefully re-routed the spring-water’s natural path through the mountain’s cave system to create the waterfall, and likewise had dug and filled the lake that it fed. It was a marvel, and Mikleo had only mentioned to him that he’d been the one to make it when Sorey had started going on about his geological theories on how it had formed. He needed something to occupy his mind and hands with, he had said. And, as he rather enjoyed baths, it seemed a worthwhile endeavor.

When Sorey thought he couldn’t fall any more in love with Mikleo, Mikleo just brought out something else to dazzle and fascinate him. Sorey had been so full of questions, so desperate to hear Mikleo explain every detail of his process, that their reading lessons had gotten sorely off-track that evening. Mikleo was such a fast learner – Sorey often found him reviewing the book they’d studied the night before, quietly reading aloud to himself with a fluency and understanding that once had been beyond his grasp; living alone and un-tutored so many years. Sorey suspected he was only being polite, now; listening to Sorey read to him for hours on end. Sorey appreciated Mikleo humoring him. He appreciated Mikleo indulging him.

Mikleo emerged from the lake, spring-water dripping down his pale skin in rivulets that glimmered in the sunlight. His wings glittered as he spread them wide; flicking them dry and sending rainbow mist glinting through the air.

He appreciated Mikleo in general.

Mikleo pushed his hair back from his eyes and squinted over at where Sorey perched on a rock, cross-legged.

“Done washing already?” Mikleo asked dubiously. He walked over to Sorey, gloriously naked, hands on his hips. His tail swish-swished behind him in the water as he went, to compensate for his rapidly changing balance. “I hope you cleaned your wound.”

He already had a tiny bump from their baby, and Sorey was more than a little bit overwhelmed with how cute it was. Serving Mikleo, keeping him sated, was a duty and a pleasure; he felt honored to be allowed to tend to him and touch him.

(Tasting him, however, would have to be worked up to. Mikleo had kicked him in the head out of surprise when Sorey tried to lick into him one evening. Mikleo’s legs were as powerful as they were beautiful. Sorey was glad Mikleo’s wound had healed enough to prove this statement, even though it��d earned him quite the bump on the skull.)

He’d already peppered Mikleo with so many questions about dragon biology, and Mikleo had answered most of them after being plied with kisses. (Perhaps he would have told him without the kisses, but the idea of not kissing Mikleo had not occurred to Sorey.) The egg – or eggs – would be laid after a few weeks, and then Mikleo would tend to them in the nest until they hatched a few months later. The babies – puppies, Mikleo kept calling them (so cute) – would stay in dragon form for a few years, growing big and strong until the protection of their parents. Then they could try their claws at managing a human form.

Egg. Eggs. Plural, potentially. Sorey daydreamed about twins, triplets. A whole little nursery to read bedtime stories to. Sorey would have to think up more baby names. He was compiling a list and planned on presenting it to Mikleo once he had worked on it for a few more weeks. It was a project that required intense and careful consideration.

“I did,” Sorey promised. “I just wanted to get out and dry off my hair.”

Mikleo nodded, and made a considering noise. Sorey’s hair coiled around him on the rock, and very nearly dipped right back into the lake. Weeks of hard work on the island, of gathering and hunting for food, of dragging things from Mikleo’s hoard of shipwreck treasures, had done wonders for Sorey’s spirit and zest for life, but had taken its toll on his hair. It was ragged and uneven and tangled – the sloppy, messy braid he yanked it into in the mornings was a far cry from the elaborate styles his mother and his servants did for him. Sorey had been close, many times, to just chopping it off and being done with it – one could only endure getting oneself tangled up in a bush so many times before one’s patience ran thin – but every time, his hopeless heart stopped him.

He was supposed to wait for his wedding night. He was supposed to cut it off with his spouse in the wedding suite, and burn it with a great deal of drama, and with a bucket of water nearby just in case the drama turned more literal. And then he and his spouse would fall upon each other with passion in their breasts and fire in their loins and hopefully not a fire in the suite and so on. It was supposed to be very meaningful, and a symbol of starting a new life together. He couldn’t just throw that all away just so he didn’t get caught on branches anymore. Maybe he really was too much of a romantic for his own good.

“Do you want me to cut it off for you?” Mikleo asked, casually.

Sorey nearly fell off his perch and back into the lake, wherein his hair would weigh him down and condemn him to a watery grave. Or something. His cheeks burned hot, and his heart thudded hard with desperate excitement. Did Mikleo just ask to—

…but Sorey sighed, and pushed the feeling down. Mikleo didn’t mean it that way. Mikleo did understand the general concept of weddings and marriage, but didn’t know about specific human wedding traditions – that much was obvious, considering their whole relationship was founded on said lack of understanding. He was just trying to be helpful.

“It’s fine,” Sorey assured him. “I think I still look pretty good, don’t you?”

“You look a mess,” Mikleo said bluntly. “But fine. Know that I won’t come help you if you accidentally hang yourself off a branch with that rat’s nest on your head.”

“Know that my heart will guide me back to you no matter what the trial,” Sorey replied, leaning forward to snatch Mikleo by the waist and drag him in. He rested his cheek on Mikleo’s stomach, and sighed happily.

Mikleo’s fingers slid into his hair.

“Why are you so intent on staying here?” he murmured. “Was your life with humans truly that wretched?”

“…no,” Sorey said against Mikleo’s skin. “I love my parents, and they’re probably worried about me.”

“You’ll see them again. Once your wound heals and you can make the voyage safely. I’ll even fly above your boat to help guide you.”

Sorey’s arms wrapped tighter around Mikleo. Mikleo sighed.

“You don’t plan on leaving, do you?”

Sorey’s eyes slid shut.

“They don’t need me. They don’t need a prince that can’t lead, a prince that no one respects. And they know it too – that’s why they were going to marry me off to someone who actually knows what she’s doing. My mom and dad can just pass the crown to her and everything will be fine.”

“Marry?” Mikleo said, with no small bit of surprise. “You were engaged?”

Sorey nodded, and looked up at Mikleo’s shocked expression. “Yeah. You grabbed me from my wedding, actually.”

“I did what?”

Sorey laughed in delight, and almost helplessly – the atmosphere here, and the company, was simply too heavenly to stay sad for long. He hauled Mikleo in to sit on his lap on his perch, and Mikleo’s tail curled around his calf on reflex.

“An arranged marriage, don’t worry. I don’t dress that fancy every day,” he said. “But I know why you’re probably confused. Over the centuries, the sacrificial rites slowly merged with wedding rites – it’s really a fascinating anthropological journey if you want to hear about it. I’ve been amending my theories on it ever since I met you.”

Mikleo gaped at him like a fish. “You – your kingdom merged…”

Mikleo paused, but then got a thoughtful look on his face.

“…though I suppose it follows a certain sort of logic,” he granted. “After all, I’ve read that human societies often associate mating with marriage. And we of course take humans to mate with when we do not simply eat them. While I was not certain that this ever became common knowledge among your kind, perhaps word of the general process got out somehow, and worked its way into your cultural rites.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” Sorey eagerly said. “You’re probably not the first dragon to spare someone, y’know? So that person comes back, tells their story, and it becomes a popular book, or play, or something – it then starts getting integrated into the cultural consciousness until we’re where we are now.”

“Yes, yes,” Mikleo continued. “Perhaps if there were marriage records dating back a few centuries, we could pinpoint when the change started to take place…”

Mikleo paused before he got too off-track, and slanted a look at Sorey.

“Is that why you keep calling me your ‘bride’? The fact that I hijacked your wedding and mated with you?”

“…well, yes, but I also love you a whole bunch,” Sorey explained.

“Ah,” Mikleo said airily. “I thought you were simply being peculiar, as always.”

He would like to have a proper wedding to Mikleo, too. In front of everyone he loved, under the midday sun; Mikleo pulling in his barge and kissing him in front of the cheering crowds. Then during their wedding feast, they’d sneak off, overcome with love and passion for each other, and Mikleo would trim off Sorey’s locks in their wedding suite before they fell atop the bed and made love until the sun rose.

Mikleo butted his forehead against Sorey’s, interrupting Sorey’s reverie. A small smile tugged on the corner of his mouth.

“If you’d like to tell me more about your theory, lie back so this bride of yours can to tend to your wound. And maybe do something with your hair.”

Though perhaps that kind of thing would be redundant, considering.

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#sormik #soremiku #suremiku #soymilk #sorey/mikleo #tales of zestiria #i guess this is my personal tales of zestiria tag now #a tenderly crafted fanfiction

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mollymauk-teafleak · 7 years ago

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Who wants some romantic Philgeorges, huh?? Been in a real mood for these two boys recently, thanks to my amazing girlfriend’s amazing head canons ( @childofdustandashes) but also thanks to the truly beautiful and inspired art of @lauwurens whose fantastic art motivated me to actually get this down

On Ao3 | My ko-fi

Philip loved to travel, he’d always known that. He loved new places, he loved seeing the stars in slightly different arrangements that he’d ever seen them before, he loved new smells of the air, for the chatter and words around him to be in a different language than what he was used to, to feel that drifting, dreamy buzz of being somewhere completely new, of having somewhere he’d only ever read about in books, theoretical and imaginary, become real. Like he was the one who’d joined it in a looser, sunnier, more colourful half reality, rather than it coming to him.

He loved taking his poetry to places it seemed to have fit more than it ever had back in New York, back where it had felt weak and watery and insincere anywhere outside the pages of his journal. In the places he went these days, the endless summer it felt like they were chasing, Philip found his words growing and spiralling beyond even his control, into something more beautiful than he could have imagined coming from his own hands. Something that felt like it was describing himself.

Philip knew that was thanks to all this, to the travelling around Europe according to their work and their whims, the way his work and he himself had grown and changed. He was so different from the kid who’d grown up surrounded by concrete and noise, now his restless heart felt more soothed and focused, driven towards something rather than rattling around in his ribcage with no direction. Of course, he missed America, he missed New York, he missed his family so desperately sometimes it felt like he was choking on it. But that was just life. That was a price he was okay with paying, something he could deal with in his low moments and keep it there.

It was like his mama said, when Philip had been fretting and dithering over all of this, whether to choose familiarity, even if it was suffocating, or freedom, even if it meant putting a whole ocean between himself and the warm smile of his Pops, the hugs from his mama that always seemed to come at just the right time, the jokes and tackles from his siblings that had pulled him out of every dark mood he’d ever been in.

Eliza had put her hands on either side of his face, that gesture she always did when she meant listen, this is important, she’d kissed his forehead and smiled through her building tears and murmured, “Pip, the world deserves to know you. It deserves to hear you.”

Pip had promised then to make her proud and he felt like he was making a good attempt, thanks to the wavering, shifting path he’d chosen back when he was eighteen, the one that ran across a whole continent.

And, of course, thanks to Georges. Though Pip would never have words for everything the man he loved, the man who’d made him brave, had done for him, no matter how many new places he visited. He was just going to have to rely on the kisses he pressed against his boyfriend’s hairline when he came back from his morning run to wake him up, the way he playfully slipped his hands under the waistband of Georges’ shorts whenever he pressed his front to perfectly match the curve of his back like two carefully moulded puzzle pieces fitting just right, the way he would sing for him on the evenings when he was in the mood, while Georges lazily played guitar, his long fingers dancing and flexing effortlessly to coax almost any song Pip could think of out of the battered aging instrument, their movement and careless, effortless skill until he wanted them inside him so much he couldn’t think and forgot the lyrics he was supposed to be singing.

When even Pip’s vast, almost ethereal command of words failed to describe some things, like the depth and metier of his love for the tall French boy who’d taken his hand and found him a life where he felt more like himself than he ever had, where he liked being himself more than he ever had. Some things would just have to speak for themselves.

As much as he adored travelling, seeing the world with Georges, relying on little more than a handful of shirts and a single pair of jeans, a pocketful of euros, their art and their love, he had to admit to the moments he really, sincerely missed home.

It was strange that now was one of those times however, less than an hour before the opening of his Georges’ first proper art show, something he’d been dreaming of since he’d decided he wanted to make a living as a painter, a whole exhibition right in the heart of one of the most respected art galleries in Paris, a place where he and Pip had been lots of times on dates, where Georges had stroked the marble columns outside the foyer, taken deep lungsful of the clean climate controlled air and promised with starry eyes that one day, a painting with his name would be hanging there. And now there were going to be twenty, in their own room, all his best work, years of studying and late nights squinting in the low light at easels taller than even Georges himself, of picking himself up when things didn’t go right and colours wouldn’t mix and people at parties gave him That Look when he said he wanted to be a professional artist, hanging these for the best of Paris to come and gaze at and see Georges’ brilliance as much as Pip did. Since the morning Georges had got the email, dragged his lover out of the shower to show him, sobbed with happiness in his arms, all of this had felt like some dream, the apex of everything they’d been working towards. Payback for every time the heating had gone out and they hadn’t had the money that week to fix it, every evening eating dry, slightly stale cereal out of the box because Pip’s paycheque for his part time job as a waiter at the café across the street didn’t come in for another week, every winter of pushing their bed (still without a frame after the last one had broken during some…extracurricular activities, Pip was absolutely not having another awkward conversation with the guy at the store asking how the wood had splintered into quite that many pieces) across the room to be closer to the bonfire of their discarded notebook pages and spare posters advertising their shows. All that felt worth it.

So why did Pip suddenly feel like he’d sell his right foot to be back at home? What was wrong with him?

For Philip and Georges, home was a tiny apartment sitting rather lopsided on top of a flower shop on the outskirts of Paris, like a rather moth-eaten hat perched rakishly on the bouffant of a debonair old lady. The floorboards and the pipes seemed to get together to form an amateur jazz band after dark, there was a good chance that the oven didn’t even work, given that they never used it; why would they, when there were six amazing restaurants all within walking distance? Their furniture, what little they had, somehow clashed and matched at the same time, a cacophony of different patterns and textures that somehow synthesised into a general oaky red colour that always made Pip feel safe and protected, held. The stairs were uneven and splintered so walking up them drunk (as Pip and Georges often did) was tantamount to doing a particularly dangerous obstacle course with a blindfold on. The paint on the windowsill was so chipped neither of them were really sure what colour they’d been in the first place, the glass in the windows rattled so much when the wind picked up that Philip sometimes jolted awake, still sort of dreaming, scared that the whole place was coming down around them, the wallpaper was some kind of psychedelic repeating pattern that could leave the boys feeling a little seasick sometimes. Especially on the (not so) rare occasions they spent entire weekends smoking joints and eating pastries, playing gentle, lilting music on the frankly insanely huge gramophone Georges had pulled from the antique store nearby, making lazy, greedy, grasping love on every flat surface in the apartment like they were never, ever going to willingly be two separate bodies again.

The place was sparse, wonky, all at odd angles and ill fitting, clashing colours and mismatched fabrics, holes in the flowing lace curtains, mugs that were all nicked and stained with paint from being used by Georges to wash his brushes, ink stains on the desk and puddles of dried wax from Pip’s all nighters working out a particularly knotty poem, piles of laundry still not done, barely lived in and slightly strange, the kind of place you’d immediately guess two starving artists lived in when they weren’t couch surfing across Europe.

But it was home. It was their home, the place they’d built for themselves. It was the smell of lavender and lily pollen and roses drifting up from the flower shop when the day was warm or a new delivery came in, making them both sleepy and feeling like they were lying in a meadow. It was dancing together across the wooden floors in various stages of undress whenever a song they liked came on the gramophone or the tinny, battered radio covered in band stickers that hung off the towel rack. It was their cat, Matisse, waving her black feather duster of a tail under Philip’s nose to get his attention, walking in Georges’ paints and tracking sky blue or yellow ochre paw prints across the apartment, with her one remaining ear and one cloudy, useless eye and funny, lopsided way of walking that meant she fell over every time she sneezed, purring lovingly as she spread-eagled across their laps. It was wearing Georges’ enormous, baggy sweaters that came down around Philip’s knees, it was painting each other’s nails, it was kisses and caresses and falling asleep in each other’s arms and Georges sketching Pip when he had just woken up because that was when he looked most beautiful, it was Pip writing down his most achingly lovely scraps of poetry right after sex, having to use Georges’ back as a rest for his paper. It was saying I love you over and over at every opportunity because it was true and always would be true and that was what kept them going.

It was where Philip wanted to be right now, not here, leaning against the wall in an eerily empty art gallery waiting for the opening party to start, pulling at the slightly too tight collar of his shirt, scuffing his dress shoes against the floor. What was up with him? After waiting so long for this night, what it represented for Georges and his work, why was the part of him he never really felt like he could control being so goddamn difficult?

He sighed a little, hoping the sound echoing through the darkened, empty foyer would give a sense of finality, a bookend to this bad mood. He straightened up and smoothed down his tie, tugging his jacket so it sat more smoothly around his hips, trying in vain to neaten the wild tangle of his hair back into its bun. He was proud of his Georges, this was his big night and he wasn’t about to spend it being sour.

Though he wasn’t the only one acting strange.

Georges was rarely anything but relaxed and calm and placid, one of those people Pip admired for the fact that they always seemed so content, hardly ever getting worked up or bent out of shape or restless the way he did at the slightest little hiccup. Who seemed blessed with this kind of foresight, an unshakeable faith that things were always going to work out fine and, if they weren’t okay right now, they soon would be. It was one part of the many reasons Pip loved his boyfriend; he could sometimes infect him with his easy calmness, putting his hands on either side of his head, his warm brown eyes finding his, pressing their chests together so Pip could feel the steady pulse of his heartbeat, telling him that there was no need to worry, he was his and he loved him, the world was still turning, everything would be okay. Philip’s restless, anxious heart had been looking for that kind of peace for a very long time.

But tonight, ever since they’d left their hotel, Pip was starting to wonder if the two of them hadn’t somehow swapped personalities. His boyfriend had been acting odd all day, bouncing his leg- something he never did- messing with his hair, fidgeting nervously, fretting over every last detail, nearly losing his mind when their taxi was five minutes late despite the fact that they were arriving at the gallery an hour early anyway, given that it was his name on the door and all. And as soon as they’d arrived, he’d shot off into the building with some hurried, obviously thin excuse that he needed to check on a last few things , could mon chou wait here, it’d just take two minutes, he wanted to make sure everything was perfect before he saw it? Apparently forgetting that Philip had been with him just last week arranging the paintings, he’d been the one who suggested that maybe the abstract of the Lafayette family home should go against the back wall, so it was the first thing people saw when they turned the corner and they’d feel immediately transported to the rolling green expanses of Georges’ world, the place he’d grew up, the place the two of them had fallen in love. But apparently he needed two more minutes?

And twenty minutes later, Pip was still waiting, daydreaming about going home and curling up with some of the really good tomato soup the kind old ladies who ran the café across the street made for them, his cat and his boyfriend. Or anywhere, really, as long as he got his Georges back.

Sure, he could understand that he was a little nervous, a lot had been riding on this, a lot proven by what he’d achieved here, though most of it was to Georges himself, imaginary disappointments at the life choices he’d made to wipe away by becoming a recognized artist. Philip and Georges both knew that their parents supported what they did, were endlessly proud of what they created with each other. But the only son of the Marquis de Lafayette had some doubts in his chest that weren’t going to go away as easily as he’d like to believe, not when he got so many daily reminders that he was living a life very, very different from what history and tradition demanded of him. And maybe every step closer he took, every time people could walk in to a gallery like this one and see his work, those voices would get a little quieter.

But surely the nerves had been for before that email arrived congratulating Georges, telling him that one of the best galleries in the community wanted to show his work after he’d sent them his portfolio (after weeks and weeks of Pip gently pressing him, cajoling him, encouraging him). The previews were glowing, the pieces he’d chosen were some of Philip’s favourites, hard work and hard nights were finally paying off. Tonight’s party was just about celebration, reward, taking a breath.

Or at least it was supposed to be. Pip frowned as he paced across the foyer, remarking with a creeping shiver how places built specifically to be full of people became such a void as soon as they were empty. How they became filled instead with a sense of mildly nauseating wrongness once they became the total opposite of what they were supposed to be.

A little like a certain artist boyfriend who really needed a drink or to get laid, at least. Well, the latter would have to wait until they got back to the hotel but at least in an hour, there would be expensive wine and champagne to take care of the former. Fancy galas like this did have their perks.

One of those being getting to see Georges dressed up. Pip’s eyes were pulled upwards by the sound of someone else’s boot heels rapping against the tiled floor, echoing and reverberating around the space. Almost immediately, his mouth curved upwards in an appreciative smile, his bad mood recoiled, unable to stand against seeing Georges coming towards him.

Some of his younger sister Ginnie’s fashion sense had rubbed off on Georges over the years, much to her sincere relief (she was still working on Philip, insisting that he was messing up all her pictures of them), he was dressed impeccably, a tight suit inlaid with embroidered flowers, his thin dreadlocks pulled back and tied away from his sharply angled face with a ribbon, looking so effortlessly beautiful, like he wasn’t even aware of the affect he had on Pip. As he strode towards him in the low light, that smile on his face, he conjured up images in Philip’s mind of personifications of the moon, of a flower adorned Hades come for his Persephone, of strength and safety. He noticed he still had that flower in his buttonhole, the one Pip had plucked from a shrub as they’d waited for their taxi and tucked in there, saying that it matched his eyes perfectly earning a smile.

He loved him so much.

“Two minutes, you said,” Pip called, playfully accusatory, what sounded like another hundred Pip’s asking the same teasing question as it echoed through the space between them, “Don’t think you can get away with keeping me waiting just because you look hot.”

“I am very sorry,” Georges answered smoothly, though he was grinning like a cat as his long, purposeful strides closed the gap, his large yet delicate hands came to cup Philip’s face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones where the freckles were densest, “And don’t play. You love it when I keep you waiting.”

Philip reddened considerably, “Not in everyday contexts…”

Georges gave a low chuckle that Pip could feel the vibrations of through his boyfriend’s palms before something flickered behind his eyes, what looked like an errant thought remembered, and the mood he’d been in all night resurfaced, ruining the calm surface of his expression, “I am sorry. I just had to…some things needed…um, the lighting…”

Philip gently placed his palms against Georges’ chest, a simple gesture that brought his nervous chatter to a stop. He raised up on his tiptoes to press a kiss against Georges’ cheek, “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. This is your night, you’re allowed to be a little nervous.”

Georges softened, a little more than he normally would for one of Philip’s usual affectionate gestures that he handed out freely and willingly, looking as if his boyfriend had just given a Shakespearean soliloquy declaring his undying and eternal love rather than just a quick kiss, “Thank you, mon chou. This night is…really important to me.”

Pip smiled crookedly, rapping his fingertips against Georges’ collarbone, “I know, baby, I know. It’s gonna go great, you’ll see, everyone’s going to know just how amazing you are by the end of this. Just like me!”

Georges snorted, rubbing the back of his neck coyly but he stood a little straighter once his lover’s words sank in, “Come on…shameless flatterer…”

“Damn right,” Pip smirked, a classic Hamilton grin on his face until it flowed into something tender, something gentle, “You know whatever happens tonight, I’m stupidly, crazily, insanely proud of you, right?”

Georges’ lower lip wobbled slightly until he had to bite down on it, ever the overemotional Lafayette Philip adored, “I do. I did. But thanks for saying it, all the same.”

“You’re welcome, you big goofball,” Pip giggled, not wanting tonight to get too emotional too fast or they’d both start crying and be worse than useless, “Now come on, am I allowed to see it now?”

“Yeah,” Georges nodded after a deep breath, “Come and see.”

Philip had lost count of the amount of times he’d found himself in a situation just like this. All museums and galleries and such were the same species, he’d realised, with the same feel to them, the same scent, the same aura of calm and itch they sparked in his chest to see everything, know everything, soak in every fact and oddity and date all laid out for him to devour. They all held the same chance to feel so connected, to history, to the rest of the world, to the rest of nature. To come away knowing more than you did when you went in, to feel like you’d grown a little. Philip had always adored that feeling, there was a reason he knew the Natural History Museum over in New York like the back of his hand, had done since he was five, a reason the boys’ first date was to a tiny independent art gallery near the Lafayette house, a reason he and Georges always made a point of finding a museum whatever corner of the continent they found themselves in, walking through it with their hands tightly clasped, taking their time and absorbing everything, learning together. No matter how far they were from their bed, how long it had been since they petted their kitten, since they’d shared a glass of dangerously strong coffee on their balcony, they’d feel like they’d found something familiar, a piece of home. A part of themselves.

Pip smiled and wound his arm around Georges’ waist as they walked through the empty exhibition rooms, dark except for just the lights illuminating each piece, making the modern sculpture pieces look like sacred totems of some beautiful, slightly alien culture, the paintings look like windows to other worlds, the whole place feel so eerily beautiful. They could go to a million different museums and Pip would still want to go to a million more.

He laughed delightedly when they came to the room that had Georges’ generous handful of names etched into the wall, “Look, they managed to fit them all on!”

“Shut up,” Georges smirked, shoving him lightly, “Some of us are cursed with fathers that have a weird obsession with giving everything six names.”

Philip snorted, “Well, forgive me, but I’d rather die than call my boyfriend the same name as my dad’s boss…whose basically my grandpa…”

“You’re forgiven,” he answered quickly, shaking his head, playfully rueful, “Just Georges is fine.”

“As if you could ever be just anything…” Philip laughed as he took his boyfriend’s hands in his own, pulling him past the towering glass doors and into his exhibit, “I mean, look at this!”

Philip had seen these paintings all before, they’d been living in his apartment, taking up floor space, tripping him up on the way back from the bathroom, occupying his boyfriend’s attention at times he would rather have had it all to himself. But there was no denying they were beautiful, he’d thought it then, even with his bruised shins and ego, and it was only more apparent now in the stark, triumphant light of the gallery. He’d seen all these unfamiliar interpretations of familiar places, these collections of shapes and colours that somehow evoked exactly what Pip felt when he ran his fingers through Georges’ hair, these carefully inked landscapes that mimicked perfectly but were somehow even more beautiful than the originals he’d actually stood in amongst, he’d seen them taking shape under Georges’ hands, over long nights and lazy weekends. Each one held not just what paint or chalk or charcoal or printed card was on the canvas, for Philip there were memories lifting each one beyond what was only physically there.

There was their first night in their own place, in the charcoal sketch of the view from their balcony, when Pip had burst into tears without really knowing why when it first sunk in that he could see the skeletal shadow of the Eiffel Tower from their apartment and Georges had rocked him and kissed the tears from his cheeks, tenderly bemused. There was their first anniversary, when they’d driven out to the countryside, drank and smoked and made out under the stars and Georges had commented warmly that he’d never seen the sky look so beautiful. There was the bouquet of flowers Georges had gone and gotten for Pip the time he was sick, rendered in achingly beautiful pastels. There was their cat, their grumpy and beloved Matisse, immortalised in her favourite place on the back of the sofa. There was the sunlight that came in through their windows at just the right time on just the right day in the spring, there was their relationship, their lives together put together like some wonderful scrapbook.

“It looks pretty good, doesn’t it?” Georges hummed, hopefully, his eyes fixed not on the art but on Philip’s face as he took it all in.

“Pretty good?” Pip yelped in mock indignance, eyes wide and bright with the wonder and excitement Georges found so endearing, whirling out of his grip and around the space, arms out and hair flying, “This is unbelievable! I’m sleeping with the best artist in the frickin’ universe!”

“And I’m sleeping with the biggest idiot!” Georges laughed, going bright red, “Behave!”

“Behave yourself! Wait…” Pip suddenly ground to a halt, almost toppling right over onto his ass as something caught his eye, something that hadn’t been here last week when he and Georges were standing on stepladders and risking their necks, deciding what would go where to give the best impression, “What’s those?”

There were small white cards next to each piece, ones other to the title cards put there by the museum. These were all handwritten, a script Philip knew well and immediately because it was his. When he went closer, feeling Georges’ warm, knowing gaze at his back, he saw that each one was a poem of his, something he’d written, something stolen from his notebook. Most of them, he hadn’t even published yet. And each one perfectly tied to the artwork it, like the emotions Georges said in pictures, he said in metaphors, working together perfectly, on the same wavelength exactly even with two completely different mediums, on the same path, understanding each other even when what was being described was so ethereal.

A lot like Philip and Georges.

He was so lost in wandering around the room, taking in every poem and every piece in tandem, he wasn’t aware of the minutes slipping by until Georges’ hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Sorry I kept it from you but I though the surprise would be nicer?” he murmured hopefully, “Do you mind? I can take them down before we open if you don’t like it but I thought just for us…”

“Don’t you dare,” Philip breathed, moving in a sudden rush after being paralysed with emotion, throwing his arms around Georges’ neck even when that left him dangling off the floor, “I love it! I can’t believe you did this for me, this was supposed to be…hey!”

He suddenly jerked out of his arms, smacking him on the shoulder, shock and surprise making his limbs a little disconnected from his brain, acting of their own accord or, at least, to the whims of the electricity running through them, “This was supposed to be your night! Your big break! You didn’t have to…you shouldn’t have…”

“Hey, hey,” Georges chuckled, catching his fists, silencing him with a kiss to the forehead, “I wanted to. They asked me to put a little bit about what inspired me with each piece and, well…my answer for each one was the same. You. So, I simplified things.”

Philip flushed, so much so that his multitudes of freckles disappeared in the rosy tide across his face, so shaken that all the great poet could manage was a soft, “Oh. That’s…that’s okay then…”

Georges grinned, suddenly taking a deep breath like a man on the edge of a bungee jump, “Um, the poems aren’t the only new thing I added tonight while you weren’t looking.”

“Huh?” Pip tilted his head like a confused puppy, “You changed something else?”

“For the better,” Georges insisted hurriedly, “Well, I hope…here, just come see it.”

“Oh? Is this what’s been putting ants in your pants all night?” Pip mused as Georges took him to turn the corner of the L shaped gallery room.

“My what now!?” Georges said in alarm, looking down at his trousers.

“Oh, no, it’s an expression,” Pip smiled a little, “Never mind.” They still had their hiccups, with four languages between them.

The tall French boy rolled his eyes, swallowing hard just before he let Pip turn the corner and see whatever it was that had occupied half of his brain function that night, “Just... just look. Tell me what you think.”

Philip had what he thought prepared and packaged and ready to go, something supportive and gushing and glowing, what could Georges possibly have done that he wouldn’t adore? After turning his first exhibition into something joint, a living expression of their love, what could be left?

But once Philip saw exactly what he’d done, the words dissipated when they were halfway out of his mouth as his eyes snapped open and his jaw slackened until it hit his chest. Up on the wall was an enormous painting he’d never seen before, not once, and he remembered every single one of his boyfriend’s paintings, even the ones that got junked. And if he’d seen this one before, he was damn sure he’d remember it.

It was of the two of them, on their backs and gazing at each other, in amongst wildflowers so dense the grass was barely visible, until they looked like they were physically holding them up, weaving into Georges’ hair and around their joined hands, making them dryads, something luminous, something otherworldly. Georges had never painted himself before, recoiled at the idea. But now, Philip couldn’t understand why. It was as if he’d painted not what was in the mirror but who Philip had always seen when he looked at the young man who’d stolen his heart, someone achingly beautiful, strong, wise, someone who looked as if he could hang the sun in the sky. Someone who could take Philip’s hand, tell him he was good and brave and talented and worth the effort and he’d actually believe him. The painted Philip was carefully, lovingly done, though he’d seen himself in his lover’s work more times than he could count, he always looked beautiful when seen through Georges’ eyes.

But seeing the two of them together, looking like they belonged that way, had always belonged that way, Philip just couldn’t breathe.

“Oh…oh god, baby, it’s amazing…” Philip croaked, hating that he couldn’t think of anything more than that though the tears sliding down his face in long diamond tracks across his sunset skin probably took over sufficiently where his brain failed.

“Huh?” Georges made a show of shuffling his fee, looking down, “The painting? I mean, it’s pretty good, I’m proud of it. But what I really wanted your opinion on was the title.”

“The…what…” Pip dragged his sleeve over his streaming eyes, vaguely glad somewhere in the back of his mind that Ginnie wasn’t around to slap him, moving closer to the neatly printed card by the frame, only one this time, no poem…

“Read it out loud?” he heard Georges ask gently.

“Uh, okay? I guess…” Philip frowned in confusion, not entirely sure where he was going with this. Georges always came up with great titles, Pip was the one who sucked at it and had a million poems titled just with numbers.

And then he understood.

“Will You…Will You Marry Me…”

When Philip turned, Georges was down on one knee, ring in hand, tears in his own eyes to match Philip’s. Clearly there was one thing he was willing to spend his family’s money on; the ring was beautiful.

Not a single word passed between the two of them, just a frantic nod, a hug that knocked Georges right off his knees, a kiss that tasted of salt and a future. One with more travelling, more new stars, more nights spend lying on cool grass, the heavy, cream thick scent of joint smoke, their arms around each other, more cities and languages to muddle their way through. More days of taking their home with them wherever they went but always being so relieved when they found themselves back in their leaking, draughty apartment. More nights trading sleep for making love until there were tears in their eyes and the sweetest ache in their muscles. More whispered declarations of love and foreheads resting against each other and hands wandering and mapping and still discovering new things. And so many teasing jabs back and forth, so many breathless, sighing exclamations at the sight of each other, so many murmurs and yelps and laughs and whispers.

But, for now, there were no words.

#philgeorges #starving artist husbands au #fluff #like major fluff you guys #philip hamilton #Georges lafayette #ficlet #proud of this

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stuckasamemory-blog · 8 years ago

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Asks!

I compiled about six different ask tags into one master post. PLEASE ASK ME AS MANY OR AS FEW AS YOU WANT!! 1. selfie 2. what would you name your future kids? 3. do you miss anyone? 4. what are you looking forward to? 5. is there anyone who can always make you smile? 6. is it hard for you to get over someone? 7. what was your life like last year? 8. have you ever cried because you were so annoyed? 9. who did you last see in person? 10. are you good at hiding your feelings? 11. are you listening to music right now? 12. what is something you want right now? 13. how do you feel right now? 14. when was the last time someone of the opposite sex hugged you? 15. personality description 16. have you ever wanted to tell someone something but you didn’t? 17. opinion on insecurities. 18. do you miss how things were a year ago? 19. have you ever been to New York? 20. what is your favourite song at the moment? 21. age and birthday? 22. description of crush. 23. fear(s) 24. height 25. role model 26. idol(s) 27. things i hate 28. i’ll love you if… 29. favorite film(s) 30. favorite tv show(s) 31. 3 random facts 32. are your friends mainly girls or guys? 33. something you want to learn 34. most embarrassing moment 35. favorite subject 36. 3 dreams you want to fulfill 37. favorite actor/actress 38. favorite comedian(s) 39. favorite sport(s) 40. favorite memory 41. relationship status 42. favorite book(s) 43. favorite song ever 44. age you get mistaken for 45. how you found out about your idol 46. what my last text message says 47. turn ons 48. turn offs 49. where i want to be right now 50. favorite picture of your idol 51. star sign 52. something i’m talented at 53. 5 things that make me happy 54. something thats worrying me at the moment 55. tumblr friends 56. favorite food(s) 57. favorite animal(s) 58. description of my best friend 59. why i joined tumblr 60. Name something that relaxes you. 61. Polaroid: Post a picture that makes you feel good about yourself. 62. Vinyl: What is some of your favorite music? 63. Incense: List your three favorite scents. 64. Roots: How do you ground yourself or recharge? 65. Silk Sheets: Any ways you treat or spoil yourself? 66. Paintbrushes: Do you have a creative past-time? 67. Scars: Share something difficult you've been through. 68. Rainstorms: What helps you fall asleep? 69. Bones: Name one strength and one weakness. 70. Teacups: Favorite beverages? 71. Sealing Wax: Have you ever received a letter or written one to someone else? 72. Dragons: What makes you feel powerful, what breathes life into you? 73. Soup: Comfort food? 74. The Moon: What's your favorite thing to do at night? 75. Klosh: If you could go back to any three era's what would they be? 76. Lace: Your favorite things to wear? 77. Pocketwatch: If you could be immortal or have an extremely long life span what would you pick and why? 78. Honeybee: Name something positive you have done for yourself or someone else in the last two weeks. 79. Typewriter: If you had to come up with ten words to describe your life story so far, what would they be? 80. Blue Hair Dye: One thing you like about your appearance? 81. Felines: Something that makes you feel better after a hard day? 82. Poetry: If you have one, name a favorite book or poem. 83. Black Cat: Do you have a familiar? 84. Pointy Hat: Do you have a Witchy style? 85. Toil and Trouble: Do you perform curses or hexes? 86. Cauldron Bubble: What are your favorite magickal materials to work with? 87. Monkey's Paw: Has a spell ever backfired on you? 88. Ravens Caw: Do you speak incantations aloud? 89. Little Poppet: Do you perform magic for others, or just yourself 90. Broom Closet: Are you openly a witch? 91. Feather Quill: Do you keep a book of shadows? 92. Magic Will: What got you on your Witchy journey? 93. Future Seen: Have you used divination to help make a major life choice? 94. Halloween: What witchy days do you observe/celebrate? 95. Skeleton Bone: What drives your magic? 96. Old Crone: Do you have a mentor? 97. Are you solitary or in a coven 98. Do you consider yourself Wiccan, Pagan, witch, or other? 99. What is your zodiac sign? 100. Do you have a Patron God/dess? 101. Do you work with a Pantheon? 102. Do you use tarot, palmistry, or any other kind of divination? 103. What are some of your favorite herbs to use in your practice? (if any) 104. How would you define your craft? 105. Do you curse? If not, do you accept others who do? 106. How long have you been practicing? 107. Do you currently or have you ever had any familiars? 108. Do you believe in Karma or Reincarnation? 109. Do you have a magical name? 110. Are you “out of the broom closet”? 111. What was the last spell you performed? 112. Would you consider yourself knowledgeable? 113. Do you write your own spells? 114. Do you have a book of shadows? If so, how is it written and/or set up? 115. Do you worship nature? 116. What is your favorite gemstone? 117. Do you use feathers, claws, fur, pelt, skeletons/bones, or any other animal body part for magical work? 118. Do you have an altar? 119. What is your preferred element? 120. Do you consider yourself an Alchemist? 121. Are you any other type of magical practitioner besides a witch? 122. What got you interested in witchcraft? 123. Have you ever performed a spell or ritual with the company of anyone who was not a witch? 124. Have you ever used ouija? 125. Do you consider yourself a psychic? 126. Do you have a spirit guide? If so, what is it? 127. What is something you wish someone had told you when you first started? 128. Do you celebrate the Sabbats? If so which one is your favorite? 129. Would you ever teach witchcraft to your children? 130. Do you meditate? 131. What is your favorite season 132. What is your favorite type of magick to preform? 133. How do you incorporate your spirituality into your daily life? 134. What is your favorite witchy movie? 135. What is your favorite witchy book, both fiction and non-fiction. Why? 136. What is the first spell you ever preformed? Successful or not. 137. What’s the craziest witchcraft-related thing that’s happened to you? 138. What is your favourite type of candle to use? 139. What is your favorite witchy tool? 140. Do you or have you ever made your own witchy tools 141. Have you ever worked with any magical creatures such as the fea or spirits? 142. Do you practice color magic? 143. Do you or have you ever had a witchy teacher or mentor of any kind? 144. What is your preferred way of shopping for witchcraft supplies? 145. Do you believe in predestination or fate? 146. What do you do to reconnect when you are feeling out of touch with your practice? 147. Have you ever had any supernatural experiences 148. What is your biggest witchy pet peeve? 149. Do you like incense? If so what’s your favorite scent? 150. Do you keep a dream journal of any kind? 151. What has been your biggest witchcraft disaster? 152. What has been your biggest witchcraft success? 153. What in your practice do you do that you may feel silly or embarrassed about? 154. Do you believe that you can be an atheist, Christian, Muslim or some other faith and still be a witch too? 155. Do you ever feel insecure, unsure or even scared of spell work? 156. Do you ever hold yourself to a standard in your witchcraft that you feel you may never obtain? 157. What is something witch related that you want right now? 158. What is your rune of choice 159. What is your tarot card of choice? 160. Do you use essential oils? If so what is your favorite? 161. Have you ever taken any kind of witchcraft or pagan courses? 162. Do you wear pagan jewelry in public? 163. Have you ever been discriminated against because of your faith or being a witch? 164. Do you read or subscribe to any pagan magazines? 165. Do you think it’s important to know the history of paganism and witchcraft? 166. What are your favorite things about being a witch? 167. What are your least favorite things about being a witch? 168. Do you listen to any pagan music? If so who is your favorite singer/band? 169. Do you celebrate the Esbbats? If so, how? 170. Do you ever work skyclad? 171. Do you think witchcraft has improved your life? If so, how? 172. Where do you draw inspiration from for your practice? 173. Do you believe in ‘fantasy’ creatures? (Unicorns, fairies, elves, gnomes, ghosts, etc) 174. What’s your favorite sigil/symbol? 175. Do you use blood magick in your practice? Why or why not? 176. Could you ever be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t support your practice? 177. In what area or subject would you most like your craft to grow? 178. What’s your favorite candle scent? Do you use it in your practice? 179. Do you have a pre-ritual ritual? (I.e. Something you do before rituals to prepare yourself for them). If so what is it? 180. What real life witch most inspires your practice? 181. What is your favorite method of communicating with deity? 182. How do you like to organize all your witchy items and ingredients? 183. Do you have any witches in your family that you know of? 184. How have you created your path? What is unique about it? 185. Do you feel you have any natural gifts or affinities (premonitions, hearing spirits, etc.) that led you toward the craft? If so what are they? 186. Do you believe you can initiate yourself or do you have to be initiated by another witch or coven 187. When you first started out in your path what was the first thing or things you bought? 188. What is the most spiritual or magickal place you’ve been? 189. What’s one piece of advice you’d give someone who is searching for their matron and patron deities 190. What techniques do you use to 'get in the zone’ for meditation? 191. Did visualization come easily to you or did you have to practice at it 192. Do you prefer day or night? Why? 193. What do you think is the best time and place to do spell work? 194. How did you feel when you cast your first circle? Did you stumble or did it go smoothly? 195. Do you believe witchcraft gets easier with time and practice? 196. Do you believe in many gods or one God with many faces? 197. Do you eat meat, eggs and dairy? 198. What is your favorite color and why? 199. What is the one question you get asked most by non-practitioners or non-pagans? How do you usually respond? 200. Which of your five senses would you say is your strongest? 201. What is a pagan or witchcraft rule that you preach but don’t practice? 202. Are you/ do you want to be in love? 203. Do you have a crush? 204. Tag three friends and your three favorite things about them! 205. Are you/do you want to get married? 206. Do you have a best friend? 207. List your three favorite things about yourself! 208. Have you ever had your heart broken? 209. What is the longest relationship you’ve been in? 210. Tag three people you want to get to know better and state why! 211. What are you attracted to in people personality-wise? 212. What are you attracted to in people physical appearance-wise? 213. Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley? 214. The Three Broomsticks or The Leaky Cauldron? 215. Fred or George? 216. Chocolate frogs or Every Flavored Beans? 217. The Chamber Of Secrets or The Room Of Requirement? 218. Voldemort or Umbridge? 219. The Burrow or Malfoy Manor? 220. Dementors or Giants? 221. Trevor or Crookshanks? 222. The Hogwarts express or Arthur’s Ford Anglia? 223. Hufflepuff’s cup or Ravenclaw’s Diadem? 224. Gryffindor or Slytherin? 225. Seeker or Chaser? 226. Amortentia or The Elixir Of Life? 227. Molly’s cooking or school feasts? 228. Death Eaters or The Order of The Phoenix? 229. Bring Sirius back to life or Bring Dobby back to life? 230. Kill Hagrid or Kill Mcgonagall? 231. Be part of the Weasleys or Be part of the Potters? 232. Charms or DADA? 233. Get bitten by a werewolf or Become a horcrux? 234. Free the elves or Free the goblins? 235. Have a date with Draco or Have a date with Cedric? 236. Bestow a curse on your best friend or a hex on your family? 237. Zonko’s or Honeyduke’s? 238. Illvermorny or Hogwarts? 239. Muggles or Squibs 240. Hermione Granger or Luna Lovegood? 241. Ten feet of parchment on a subject that you enjoy, or five feet of parchment on a subject that you hate/never listen to. 242. Own the Elder Wand or Own the Invisibility Cloak? 243. Wizard’s Chess or Exploding Snap? 244. Marauders or Albus and Scorpius? 245. Golden Snitches or Buldgers? 246. Nifflers or Demiguises? 247. Bellatrix or Narcissa? 248. O.W.Ls or N.E.W.Ts? 249. Have Lockheart or Snape as a teacher? 250. The Great Lake or The Forbidden Forest? 251. Get your soul sucked out (like Barty Crouch Jr.) or reveal all of your secrets to everyone under the effects of vertiserum? 252. Punch Harry or Kick Ron? 253. Live forever or Resurrect all deceased loved ones? 254. Discover your ACTUAL House or your patronus? 255. Sneaking into the kitchen or sneaking into other dorms? 256. The dungeons or The towers? 257. Merpeople or Centaurs? 258. Drarry or Scalbus? 259. Head Boy/Girl or Prefect? 260. MACUSA or The Ministry of Magic? 261. Fleur and Bill’s wedding or Remus and Tonks’s wedding? 262. “Always” or “Yer a wizard, Harry,” 263. tangerine - your crush’s name 264. apricot - favourite ice cream flavor 265. aqua - initials 266. auburn - favorite month 267. azure - favorite type of flower 268. blond - fuzzy or silky 269. violet - pastel or dark colors 270. turquoise - favorite art work 271. sapphire - how many siblings do you have 272. lavender - shampoo brand 273. carnation - paper or plastic 274. cotton candy - favorite tv show 275. cream - favourite blog champagne - least favorite fandom 276. eucalyptus - green or purple 277. emerald - hunger games or maze runner 278. indigo - first pet 279. lemon - vanilla or chocolate 280. baby pink - batman or superman 281. AC/DC - What are your favorite bands? 282. Aerosmith - What are your favorite songs? 283. Aretha Franklin - Do you have a favorite jazz song? 284. Alice Cooper - What is your favorite type of music? 285. Beach Boys - Have you ever been in a concert? 286. Black Sabbath - A song that motivates you? 287. Bob Dylan - Do you know how to play any musical instrument? 288. Bon Jovi - Your favorite song about love? 289. The Beatles - Latest song that made you smile? 290. David Bowie - A song that makes you feel happy? 291. Eric Clapton - Have you ever been in love with a rock artist? 292. Creedence Clearwater Revival - What is your favorite instrument? 293. Deep Purple - Do you prefer bassists or drummers? 294. The Doors - What is your favorite lyric? 295. Fleetwood Mac - Female or Male vocalists? 296. The Grateful Dead - What song are you listening right now? 297. Guns n’ Roses - What song describes your emotions right now? 298. Heart - Do you know a song that you want at your wedding? 299. Iron Maiden - Do you frequently listen to your songs on shuffle? 300. Jimi Hendrix - A song that represents “your aesthetic” 301. Joan Jett - Who do you think when you listen to your favorite love song? 302. Janis Joplin - What is your favorite 70s song? 303. Journey - Do you have any famous crushes? 304. The Kinks - What is the last single you downloaded? 305. Kiss - What is the perfect song to describe your relationship with your boyfriend/girlfriend/crush 306. Led Zeppelin - Do you like loud guitar solos? 307. Lynyrd Skynyrd - Do you like instrumental songs? 308. Metallica - A song that you think everybody should listen to? 309. Nirvana - A song that breaks your heart? 310. Pink Floyd - Name your top three songs in any language. 311. Pearl Jam - A song to drive to? 312. Queen - A song to dance to? 313. Bruce Springsteen - A song that you would sing in a karaoke? 314. The Rolling Stones - Your favorite album? 315. U2 - A artist/band you’re proud of? 316. Van Halen - Favorite guitarist? 317. The Who - Favorite bassist? 318. Yes - Favorite drummer? 319. Dusty Springfield - Do you have a favorite soul song? 320. The Supremes - Your favorite girlband? 321. Simon and Garfunkel - Your favorite acoustic song? 322. Derek & The Dominos - Do you prefer a cover more than the original song? 323. The Mamas and The Papas - What’s the song that have a harmony so good that makes you want to punch something? 324. Santana - Your favorite artist hairstyle? 325. Ramones - Do you like punk music? 326. The Temptations - A song that you liked when you were younger? 327. Cream - A song that you associate with summer? 328. The Band - A song that you never get tired of? 329. Steve Miller Band - A song that need to be played out loud? 330. Sonny & Cher - A song by an artist with a voice that you love? 331. Wings - A song that makes you remind of yourself 332. What’s one thing you would like to change about yourself? 333. Are you religious or spiritual? 334. Do you consider yourself an introvert or an extrovert? 335. Are you more into looks or brains? 336. What is a relationship deal breaker for you? 337. What’s your favorite book of all time and why did it speak to you so much? 338. Would you ever take back someone who cheated? 339. How do you feel about sharing your password with your partner? 340. When do you think a person is ready for marriage? 341. What kind of parent do you think you will be? 342. Have you ever lost someone close to you? 343. If you are in a bad mood, do you prefer to be left alone or have someone to cheer you up? 344. Are you confrontational? 345. Would you relocate for love? 346. Did you ever write a journal? 347. What’s the one thing that people always misunderstand about you? 348. What did your past relationship teach you? 349. What are your thoughts on online dating or tinder? 350. What’s on your bucket list this year? 351. What do you define as a family? 352. Are my parents happy with the person I have become? 353. What relaxes me? 354. Can you handle the rigors of a long distance relationship? 355. What will people say at your funeral? 356. If you lost everything tomorrow, whose arms would you run into to make everything okay? 357. If you received enough money to never need to work again, what would you spend your time doing? 358. Would you break the law to save a loved one? 359. What were you doing when you last lost track of the time? 360. What can you do today that you couldn’t do a year ago? What will you be able to do at this time next year? 361. If you could ask for one wish, what would it be? 362. When you think of your home, what immediately comes to mind? 363. What did you want to be when you were a kid? 364. Where would you like to live? Why haven’t you moved? 365. If you dropped everything to pursue your dreams, what would you be risking? 366. What bad habits do you want to break? 367. Describe the next five years of your life, and your plans, in a single sentence 368. Do you consider yourself the hero or the villain in your story? 369. How much control do you really have over yourself 370. When did you last push the boundaries of your comfort zone? 371. What is something you believe is too serious to be joked about? 372. ask a different question, make it your own!

#ask away #please ask #i want to answer things

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shadow-wasser · 8 years ago

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WIP Fic Whenever: The Weakest, Of the Gods

WIP Fic Friday is a place where I will put a ‘quick and dirty’ first draft of either a short story or a chapter from a longer story. This will hopefully encourage me to improve my writing output. I missed last week... oops. This is from the “The Gods Have Horns” setting. Warning: Eye-related horror.

You always thought you were, kind of, the weakest of the gods. Not because Breath is like, a shitty aspect, but more because you never really went that high up the god tiers, and Pages are like, supposed to have further to go, than most.

You don’t mind that much, though. You don’t need lots of flashy powers to enjoy life.

You wander. You fly. You sometimes accidentally run into other gods, or hear them calling your name from afar. You rarely answer them. Generally speaking, other trolls have not been kind to you, and you much prefer the company of beasts. All of you turning into immortals with robes and wings and shiznasty powers has not changed that basic fact.

You don’t hang around the aliens much, either. You might stumble upon some accidentally, if they’re in that span of time between when they start talking, and when they start building cities. But you don’t stick around long. After locals spot you, they tend to say your name, for thousands of years afterward. It’s a little annoying.

So, you find worlds of animals. Worlds upon worlds where only animals walk, where nobody splits the air with speech. You’re not all that lonely. You tell yourself you’re happy.

(You can hear Eridan calling your name sometimes. You don’t ever say his.)

You are reclining under a tree in the moonlight on a vast savannah, listening to chirping night-critters, writing beat poetry, in your head, to their songs. Then you see the lights, moving above.

A spaceship.

You are not afraid, but you are cautious, and disappointed. You’d rather that a star-faring civilization not colonize this world. It’s always a pain, to have to find a new planet to live.

The starship, which is truly enormous, comes to ground, and you know, even before it lands, that it’s not a regular alien ship.

It’s purple, for one, and bedecked in banners and streamers and flags. Those sorts of decorations, you’re pretty sure, don’t usually survive on spaceships. They burn up, or something.

And you recognize the sigil, on the banners. The aspect of Rage.

You haven’t seen Gamzee in, well, probably eons, but you don’t really keep track of time anymore. He stopped calling your name, after only a few years, when you first split off from the rest.

You’re pretty sure, he doesn’t miss you, anymore.

You’re not sure, if you ever missed him.

Aliens are coming out of the spaceship now, opening up the sides. They are all sorts of different aliens, many you’ve never seen before.

The spaceship unfolds like an intricate paper sculpture, inflating into a tremendously giant tent. There’s a carpet rolling out along the ground, and out of the tent steps-

Whoa, he’s huge.

You shouldn’t be surprised. You all can basically look however you want, now, within trollish reason. Like, you can have working legs, when you want, which you usually do. Also, you can look more like an adult, if you want, but you usually don’t like to. You like the way you feel, when you look young.

But Gamzee must be, eight feet tall, at least, not counting the horns. He’s wearing a black and purple vest and a fancy coat, striped pants and heavy boots. You can’t see his face clearly from under your tree, but you’re certain he’s still wearing his subjugglator paint.

You should go greet him, right? Maybe you can convince him to leave this planet alone, for whatever it is he’s doing. But he’s all dressed up and you’re basically just wearing your godhood. You quickly try to make yourself presentable, dredging an old hat with a feather in it out of your sylladex, even though the green clashes. You wish you had some real pants.

You feel kind of silly, for being nervous. It’s just, Gamzee, right?

Gamzee is talking with one of the aliens, but he looks up as you approach. And yes, it’s still Gamzee, he still has that lazy, satisfied expression, though his purple eyes have a degree of intensity you don’t remember being there before.

“Tavros,” he says, his voice a low rumble that makes your horns vibrate. “And there I thought you’d up and died ages ago, brother. Miracle.”

“Uh,” you reply. “No, I’m alive. I’ve been alive, this whole time. I think.”

“None of us had our knowing on about that there thing what you said.”

You feel a little bad, now. You might have told them you were alive, at least. When you speak, your tone is a little defensive. “I’ve been, exploring. And, communing with the animals. It’s peaceful, out here. And no one, judges me.”

Gamzee’s painted brows crease, but then he smiles. “Brother, why don’t you come inside? See my ring?”

“Uh, sure?”

You follow him behind a curtain, and into his ship. Inside it’s purple, and shadowy, and it smells bitter and musky. You can see aliens of various shapes and sizes running around, through curtains and around mirrors. You can hear distant screaming, or maybe it’s laughing? Maybe it’s applause. The air is full of smoke. By the time Gamzee and you reach your destination, your eyes are watering.

It’s the very top of the tent, a wide balcony from which Gamzee can look over the rings being set up, and the savannah stretching to the horizon.

There’s an alien there, its face painted in black and white, and Gamzee waves a hand at it. ��fuck off.”

It fucks off.

Gamzee settles himself in a chair that looks more like a throne, and you are amazed at how easily he fits there, fits here, now naturally he seems to take up divinity. Not a hint of uncertainty, not a pause of hesitation. Every inch a god.

You’re almost envious.

“Lots to do here, brother,” he says. “We meet in a time of miracle and wonder.”

“What are you here to do?” you ask.

“Spread the mirthful word, my brother. Ain’t been a whole planet devoted to the Carnival, not yet.” He smiles lazily, and maybe there are a few more teeth in the grin, this time. “High time for there to getting been done.”

“The whole planet?” You can’t keep the surprise from your voice. “Not just, like, one city?”

“Naw, brother, got to think bigger than that. Nothing but tents and rings and sideshows and freaks, far as your motherfucking ganderbulbs can see and then more.” Gamzee gets up from the throne and walks up to the edge of the balcony, resting his arms on the railing. Then, he turns.

“But enough all and about me, my invertebro! What is all up and happening with you?”

“Gamzee, I… That’s all, very nice, and all, but I’m not sure that’s all, a good idea? Turning the planet, into one big, um, circus?”

Gamzee frowns, and, for a moment, narrows his eyes at you. You take a step back.

Then, he’s smiling again. “Brother I know we ain’t got our squawk on in millions of sweeps and all, so you don’t got it in your pan that I got my motherfucking understand on what all this is about you dig?”

“W-what?”

“Rage, brother. You even know what Rage is all about?”

“Not, um. Really. I mean, I know it means, being angry, but it’s probably more than that, because Breath is about more than, you know, breathing.”

“What’s Breath about?”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“I want you to get me all up in the schoolfeeding, Tavbro. What’s your motherfucking aspect all getting itself about?”

Breath… you know what it is. You know it in your core, like the sigil has been branded into your thinkpan, which is probably has, now that you think of it. Breath is freedom. Unfetteredness. The feeling of responsibilities being shed, of being light as air, of being held accountable for nothing.

You think you’ve done a pretty good job of being Breath.

“Freedom,” you say, eventually, uncertainly. “Breath is freedom?”

Gamzee laughs. You don’t see what is so funny.

“Aw, brother, I’m all about that too!”

“Huh?”

Gamzee leans forward, and his voice quiets. “Rage, brother. Rage is the hole what’s left when freedom’s gone. Rage is the thing in your thinkpan that makes you stop. Makes you hesitate. And I kill that. I MOTHERFUCKING KILL THAT!”

You jump at the change in volume, then feel immediately sheepish.

“Aw, Tavbro, don’t be all scared. It’s all good and miraculous that every single one of my motherfucking followers has all their Rage gone. Would be a better motherfucking world if everyone just said what’s on their motherfucking mind and did what they motherfucking wanted. Freedom. Brother, don’t you agree?”

You swallow. “Uh, I’m not sure I understand. I thought you were a, Bard? You don’t destroy, directly, right?”

He shakes his head. “Naw, brother. But it goes and shrivels and dies all on its own. Here, I’ll up and show you.”

He turns, and looks out at the savannah. The animals have never seen aliens before. They only look up curiously, don’t run, as Gamzee’s followers set up the circus.

He points. “See that motherfucker over there?” You go up and look. It’s one of Gamzee’s followers, a funny looking red alien with four arms. “He’s been wanting to try something but ain’t letting himself do it. And that ain’t no way to be thinking in my Carnival.”

Gamzee looks at you, and smiles, mouth friendly and eyes hard. “Don’t want none of that in my Carnival, brother.”

The red alien, who had been focused on erecting a large pole, turns to a brown furry alien next to him. And without hesitating a moment, he reaches up and rips out the furry alien’s eye.

And eats it.

You don’t watch the rest.

“I think that’s kind of sick.” you manage to say, eventually. “Did you, make him, do that?”

Gamzee actually looks confused. “It’s freedom, brother. It’s only what he wanted all and up to do, all in real life like.”

He must see the distress in your expression, because he then follows that up with: “We do the same thing, Tavbro.”

“No, I,” you don’t know what to say. He’s going to make your planet (you can’t help but think of it as yours), your whole planet, be like that? Without restraint or empathy or kindness? “I don’t think it’s the same thing at all.”

Gamzee frowns, then just as quickly smiles again. “Sure thing bro. We don’t gotta work together, though it’d all make me as happy as motherfuck if we up and did.”

He turns to look at the view again. “You can still up and stay if you wanna get your watch on, my brother. Or go on chilling with the birds and bees if that’s what speaks to you and all.”

“Gamzee,” you say, after a moment. “Can you, um. Use a different planet, maybe? I kind of, like this one?”

He looks at you, sidelong, and says nothing.

“Like, I like it, how it is? Not made into… a carnival…” You trail off.

“This is a good planet for a Carnival, bro. Not like you were up and using it.”

“Gamzee, don’t- I was kind of, living here-”

“IT’S NOT LIKE YOU WROTE YOUR MOTHERFUCKING NAME ON IT!”

Gamzee whirls, and his appearance is transformed. His fangs are bared, expression furious, and the scleras of his eyes look more orange than yellow.

“Tavbro, you ran, you can’t claim nothing. NOT MOTHERFUCKING NOTHING. Ain’t even acting a real god, just running around playing like you’re STILL A MOTHERFUCKING KID. This planet is MOTHERFUCKING MINE, brother. Can’t claim NOTHING. And I. Am going. TO DESTROY THIS MOTHERFUCKING PLANET. And there ain’t nothing you’re gonna do about it, are you?”

You sit down. Hard. You are sitting in a four-wheel device. You didn’t realize you still had one. You’re not sure if you can move your legs, actually. Or feel them.

“Didn’t motherfucking think so.”

Gamzee turns, to look back at the Carnival. And you…

You can feel it. The animals. Ripping into each other. Killing mates, killing young, predators going mad, fear-aggression spiking into suicidal terror…

He’s wiping out the whole planet.

Your planet.

By now, your communing abilities are highly developed. You’re more powerful than the Summoner, more powerful than any mortal troll could ever have been.

But when you reach out to get the animals to stop, you can’t. Divine power trumps psionics, you guess.

You have divine power. You are the Page of Breath. The Page to Breath. But if this is freedom… what does Breath want from you? You wish you were a Seer.

But you’re no Seer. Barely even a Page. You’re sitting there in your chair like a fool. The clown made a fool of you.

For a moment, you think you might hate him. Then you realize, no, you just want to be free of him. You just want-

And that’s when you get it. You really, actually get it.

“Gamzee,” you say slowly. “I think, there might be, two kinds of freedom.”

“What the motherfuck are you talking about?” he rumbles.

“Yeah, there is… there is freedom to. That’s your kind of freedom. But I think my kind of freedom is freedom from. Which is different. So that’s, I think, what I’m going to do.”

You Breathe.

And they are free.

All of them. The animals, the followers. Free of their burdens. They are free now, of Gamzee. They can do what they want to, really want to, and not just reflexively enact their most base impulses.

You can hear cheering, from below. Or maybe screaming. Maybe applause.

“What the fuck did you do!” roars Gamzee, turning on you.

You stand up. The chair is gone. You do not need to be afraid of him. You are free of your fear.

You spread your wings.

“I think, I’m doing, what I need to do,” you say. “Which is, to say, stop you.”

The wind whistles, and-

------

It is the first time, but not the last, you fight another god openly.

It is the first time, but not the last, you really felt divine.

------

Your planet, at least, died free.

#wip fic #fanfic extra #homestuck #fanfiction #my fic #gamzee #tavros #godstuck

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blazerought · 8 years ago

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BOLD what applies to your muse remember to REPOST. Feel free to add to the list

[ COLOR ]: red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. magenta. pastels. bubblegum pink. blood red. ivory.

[ ELEMENTAL ]: fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. clouds. light

[ BODY ]: claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. ears. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. slender. trained. piercings. tattoos. strong. weak. shapeshifting. junoesque. svelte. long hair. short hair. dark circles. big. small. prosthetic. experimented. cyborg. halos. horns. wolfish.

[ WEAPONRY ]: fists. sword. dagger. spear. scythe. bow and arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. power loader. flamethrower. metal rod. shotguns. needles.

[ MATERIAL ]: gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. copper. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. yarn. slime.ivory.

[ NATURE ]: grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. holly. lavender. lilies. petals. thorns. sunflowers. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. snow. ice. roots. flowers. ocean. river. lake. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. swamp. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. stars. clouds. mountains. fungi. cliffs. sunlight.

[ ANIMALS ]: lions. wolves. black panther. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. roaches. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. praying mantis. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. frogs. bears. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dinosaurs. dragons. felines. foxes. centaurs.

[ FOOD/DRINK ]: sugar. salt. water. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. vanilla. cookies.

[ HOBBIES ]: music. art. piercing. watercolors. gardening. knitting. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. fencing. riding. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. poetry. philosophy. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. violin. cello. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. synthesizers. harp. woodwinds. brass. trumpet. flute. drums. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. climbing. treeclimbing. running. vivisection.

[ STYLE ]: lingerie. armor. cape. dress. robes. suit. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. shorts. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. goggles. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. neck tie. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sunglasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup. pantyhose. stockings. thigh highs. eyepatch. collar.

[ MISC ]: balloons. bubbles. cityscape. landscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. realism. loneliness. anger. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. lovers. loyalty. smoking. alcohol. drugs. kindness. love. embracing.

TAGGED BY: @vaxngr TAG: @ anyone who... isn’t wearing socks?

#this took me a bit lmao #🜂 | ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ. ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴄᴀɴᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ. [ aesthetic ]#i guess idk

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yespoetry · 5 years ago

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Listen to a Recording of Our First Virtual Reading

On Saturday, March 28, 2020 from 7PM to 9PM EST, we hosted a virtual reading on Zoom, the first of a new series called LOVE HAS NO DISTANCE.

The reading consisted of 12 featured performers, two open mic performances, and a discussion - as part of a way to celebrate work, support each other, and bolster collaborative conversations. Below you can find information on each reader, with ways to support them, as well as listen to a recording of the reading itself.

Featured Readers:

Orchid Tierney

Orchid Tierney is a poet and scholar from Aotearoa-New Zealand, now residing in Gambier, Ohio. Her chapbooks include Brachiation (Dunedin: Gumtree Press, 2012), The World in Small Parts (Chicago: Dancing Girl Press, 2012), Gallipoli Diaries (Gausspdf, 2017), and the full length sound translation of Margery Kemp, earsay (Trollthread, 2016). First collection, a year of misreading the wildcats, is out from The Operating System (2019). She received an MCW from the University of Auckland (2010), an MA from University of Otago (2013), and a PhD in English from the University of Pennsylvania (2019). She is Assistant Professor of English at Kenyon College.

Work: a year of misreading the wildcats: The Operating System, 2019; excerpt here Social: Twitter, Instagram

Denise Jarrott

Denise Jarrott is the author of NYMPH (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press, 2018). She is also the author of two chapbooks, Nine Elegies (Dancing Girl Press) and Herbarium (Sorority Mansion Press). Her poems and essays have appeared in jubilat, Black Warrior Review, Zone 3, Burnside Review and elsewhere. She grew up in Iowa and currently lives in Brooklyn.

Work: NYMPH: Vegetarian Alcoholic Press, 2018 Social: Instagram

Stephanie Valente

Stephanie Valente lives in Brooklyn, NY. She is a Young Adult novelist, short fiction writer, poet, editor, and content & social media strategist. In short, she wears many hats. Especially if they have feathers. She is the Assistant Editor at Yes, Poetry and writer at Luna Luna Magazine. She has published Hotel Ghost (Bottlecap Press, 2015), waiting for the end of the world (Bottlecap Press, 2017), and Little Fang (Bottlecap Press, 2018). She has work included in Susan, TL;DR, and Cosmonauts Avenue, and has provided content strategy, copy, blogging, editing, & social media for per’fekt cosmetics, Anna Sui, Agent Provocateur, Patricia Field, Hue, Montagne Jeunesse, Bust Magazine, Kensie, Web100, Oasap, Quiz, Popsugar, among others.

Work: Little Fang: Bottlecap Press, 2018; short fiction here Social: Twitter, Instagram

Angelo Colavita

Angelo Colavita is a writer from Philadelphia, PA, where he serves as Founding Editor of Empty Set Press and Associate Editor at Occulum Journal. He is the author of two collections of poetry — Flowersonnets (ESP 2018), Heroines (ESP 2017) — with work appearing or forthcoming in the Operating System’s ExSpecPo series, Pigeon: A Radical Animal Reader vol. 2, Mookychick, Madcap Review, Prolit Magazine, Metatron, Dream Pop Journal, South Broadway Ghost Society, Luna Luna Magazine, Yes Poetry, Apiary Magazine, and elsewhere online and in print. His forthcoming epic poem, Nazareth, will be released by APEP Publications in 2020.

Work: Flowersonnets: Empty Set Press, 2018; excerpt here Social: Twitter, Instagram

Mark Lamoureux

Mark Lamoureux lives in New Haven, CT. He is the author of four full-length collections of poetry: It’ll Never Be Over For Me (Black Radish Books, 2016), 29 Cheeseburgers / 39 Years (Pressed Wafer, 2013), Spectre (Black Radish Books 2010), and Astrometry Orgonon (BlazeVOX Books 2008),. His work has been published in print and online in Elderly, Denver Quarterly, Jacket, Fourteen Hills and many others. In 2014 he received the 2nd annual Ping Pong Poetry award, selected by David Shapiro, for his poem “Summerhenge/Winterhenge.” He teaches at Housatonic Community College in Bridgeport, CT. His chapbook, Maris McLamoureary's DICTIONNAIRE INFERNAL, co-authored with Chris McCreary, was published by Empty Set Press on Halloween 2017.

Work: Horologion: Poet Republik Ltd., 2020; poetry here

Social: Twitter, Instagram

Taleen Kali

Taleen Kali is a writer, musician, and artist native to Los Angeles. After coming up in the DIY scene as front woman of riot grrrl band TÜLIPS (2011-2016), Taleen debuted her solo act at Echo Park Rising and tours nationally with her band. She's founder of DUM DUM Zine, an experimental publication and literary arts collective named a "cult favorite" by the L.A. Times.

Work: Soul Songs, Lolipop Records, 2018; writing here Social: Twitter, Instagram

Sarah Nichols

Sarah Nichols lives and writes in Connecticut. She is the author of four chapbooks, including Dreamland for Keeps (Porkbelly Press, 2018) and She May Be a Saint (Hermeneutic Chaos Press, 2016). Her poems and essays have also appeared in Thirteen Myna Birds, The Ekphrastic Review, Calamus, and The RS 500.

Work: Dreamland for Keeps: Porkbelly Press, 2018; poetry here Social: Twitter

Genevieve Pfeiffer

Genevieve Pfeiffer is Assistant Director at Anomaly where she is curating a folio on reproductive justice and its intersections (she urges you to submit). She is a writer and poet, and facilitates workshops with survivors of sexual assault and harassment. Her work is forthcoming or has been published in Erase the Patriarchy, Juked, So to Speak, Stone Canoe, and more. She blogs about outdoor wanderings and herbal birth control’s intersections with witches, colonization, and personal and bioregional health at: https://medium.com/@GenevieveJeanne

Work: essay here; poetry here Social: Instagram

Leza Cantoral

Leza Cantoral is the author of Trash Panda, a collection of poetry, and Cartoons in the Suicide Forest, a collection of short fiction, and the editor of Tragedy Queens: Stories Inspired by Lana Del Rey & Sylvia Plath. She is Editor in Chief of CLASH Books. She has published poetry and nonfiction in Luna Luna Magazine, Entropy, Philosophical Idiot, Breadcrumbs Magazine, Cultured Vultures, Quail Bell Magazine, Verse, and A Shadow Map: An Anthology of Survivors of Sexual Assault (CCM). She is the host of Get Lit With Leza, a podcast where she talks to cool ass writers while getting hammered. She has a B.A. in Cultural History from Marlboro College.

Work: Trash Panda: Clash Books, 2019; poetry here Social: Twitter, Instagram

Zoe Tuck

Zoe Tuck is a queer transgender poet based in Northampton, MA. Author of Terror Matrix and Soft Investigations, co-curator of the But Also reading series, she offers poetry workshops and other services such as literary publicity and marketing, small press consultation, tarot readings, and more. A former member of the editorial collectives of Timeless, Infinite Light and of Hold: A Journal, she also continues to be available for editing services and manuscript consultation. She is currently working on building the Threshold Academy, an experiment in radical pedagogy and a future bookstore + alternative educational space, in Western Massachusetts. Support her as she writes her epic poem here.

Work: Soft Investigations: Daisy Mayhem Books, 2019; poetry here Social: Twitter, Instagram

Lisa Marie Basile

Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine, a popular magazine & digital community focused on literature, magical living, and identity. She is the author of several books of poetry, as well as Light Magic for Dark Times, a modern collection of inspired rituals and daily practices, as well as The Magical Writing Grimoire: Use the Word as Your Wand for Magic, Manifestation & Ritual. Her work focuses heavily on trauma recovery, writing as a healing tool, chronic illness, everyday magic, and poetry. She's written for or been featured in The New York Times, Refinery 29, Self, Chakrubs, Marie Claire, Narratively, Catapult, Sabat Magazine, Bust, HelloGiggles, Best American Experimental Writing, Best American Poetry, Grimoire Magazine, and more. She's an editor at the poetry site Little Infinite as well as the co-host of Astrolushes, a podcast that conversationally explores astrology, ritual, pop culture, and literature. Lisa Marie has taught writing and ritual workshops at HausWitch in Salem, MA, Manhattanville College, and Pace University. She is also a chronic illness advocate, keeping columns at several chronic illness patient websites. She earned a Masters's degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University. You can follow her at @lisamariebasile and @Ritual_Poetica.

Work: The Magical Writing Grimoire: Quarto Books, 2020; poetry here Social: Twitter, Instagram

Joanna C. Valente

Joanna C. Valente is a human who lives in Brooklyn, New York. They are the author of several books, including Marys of the Sea, #Survivor (2020, The Operating System), and Killer Bob: A Love Story (2021, Vegetarian Alcoholic Press). They are the editor of A Shadow Map: Writing by Survivors of Sexual Assault and received their MFA in writing at Sarah Lawrence College. Joanna is the founder of Yes Poetry and the senior managing editor for Luna Luna Magazine. Some of their writing has appeared in The Rumpus, Them, Brooklyn Magazine, BUST, and elsewhere. Joanna also leads workshops at Brooklyn Poets. joannavalente.com / Twitter: @joannasaid / IG: joannacvalente / FB: joannacvalente

Work: Marys of the Sea: Operating System, 2017; Xenos: Agape Editions, 2016 (free pdf) Social: Twitter, Instagram

Open Mic:

Zeke Greenwald

Zeke Greenwald‘s work has been featured by the Opiate, Prelude, Join the Dots, Künstler Künstlerin, and others. Check out more of his work at zekegreenwald.com

Work: poetry here Social: Instagram

Daniel Adam Saftler Social: Instagram

Check out the video recording below:

#recording #virtual reading #love has no distance

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