#I was so close! my great grandfather spoke the language and went to a boarding school

[topgunreacts]

In the story for the Werewolf Ice, you said that each of Val Kilmer's characters should turn into werewolves. We couldn't agree more on that! But could you please tell us what breed and color of wolf you have in mind for Val’s characters?

I am extremely headcanon-promiscuous, so each iteration would definitely come with its own distinct type of wolf. Overlaps, if they happen, would be circumstantial. When I write Iceman, he has a completely different family in each story, for example. I like the diversity, and enjoy being forced to come up with a different background that makes me consider what it was about THAT background that made Ice himself.

It doesn’t always need to be deep, either. Werewolf Iceman is an Iberian wolf, a subspecies of gray wolf that lives in Greenland. Just kidding. It’s the Iberian peninsula. I picked that wolf for Top Gun Iceman because they are trim, tightly muscled, and golden in color, just like Iceman’s tits in the volleyball scene. Also, Iberian wolves are cool.

Time for a

~Thunderheart Intermission~

Werewolf Ray Levoi is a Eurasian wolf, also a subspecies of gray wolf. Because Thunderheart takes place on an Indian Reservation and features a character of mixed indigenous/western European descent, I incorporated that into the lore of the story. The ancestral werewolf who gives Ray his power lives in modern day France, where she is worshiped, respected, and mostly feared. Ray’s mother is from a line of females (my werewolves pas down their power matrilineally) who immigrated from Europe to America. They are out of place in the US. Lost and isolated from their arcane culture. Ray specifically struggles with that on both fronts. His mother the European werewolf was too afraid to pass most things down to her son, and white settlers initiated multiple genocides to wipe out local werewolf populations, even seeking to kill the local ancestors to hobble them. This is because werewolf magic works to prevent things like consolidation of magical power. They’re like the water cycle but for magic. That makes hoarding magic very difficult! So Ray has almost NO connection to his werewolf side. He can’t even get in with the local werewolves because there aren’t any left (that he knows of…).

Similarly, he feels disconnected from his father’s people, the Oglala. His dad died when he was young, so he had very little exposure to Oglala culture. He’s white passing, and only goes back because his bosses at the FBI want him to root out activists, which he will do suuuuuper successfully by ingratiating himself with the locals. This will happen because he [checks smudged writing on partially censored document] shares an ancestry with the people his bosses are trying to put in the ground. For obvious reasons, this does not make him popular there because everyone with a brain cell knows what the fuck is up.

This is Walter and Ray doing their First Look on their wedding day. :) The sexual tension here is palpable.

But wait there’s more!!! In this AU, Ray is a black Eurasian wolf. Why? Because all black wolves have a little domesticated dog in them. That’s where they get that color. I didn’t pick a representative identity for the wolf and dog parts, since that’s not what I’m going for, especially given the fact that this AU is working with indigenous Americans: marginalized groups of people frequently compared to animals by virulent racists. Instead, the color is meant to symbolize Ray being torn between the magical and mundane worlds, being unable to find complete belonging in either place.

~the intermission has ended~

And now what you probably came here for: a small, unofficial official list of potential Val Kilmer Werewolves.

Tombstone Kilmer: red wolf that is always a lil dusty

Batman Kilmer: a timber wolf that was born in a zoo next to the bat enclosure

Real Genius Kilmer: a coyote pretending to be a wolf

Willow Kilmer: a tundra wolf wearing a wizard hat

Prince of Egypt Kilmer: Wepwawet's cousin

10th & Wolf Kilmer: human. too human.

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang Kilmer: extremely smart great plains wolf that willingly does enrichment puzzles with human field researchers for fun

#ask #Thunderheart #walter crow horse #ray levoi #werewolf lore #werewolf au #I really regret the shame in my dads side of the family that took away the opportunity to experience my Cherokee ancestry #I was so close! my great grandfather spoke the language and went to a boarding school #but the trauma of existing while native in the us led many people to throw away that history because it was so painful #I’ve got some physical traits and that’s it #my grandma also has Cherokee ancestry and was super passionate about researching that side of her family #her dads dad was the last to be born on a reservation proper; she was born in a sharecropper cabin in Oklahoma near but not within the rez #but she was so proud of that; the hours she put into honoring that painful past are humbling to me as a research professional #she had an 8th grade education #but because of her I know multiple generations of names and my clan heritage #she even found scans of enlistment papers showing one particular ancestor's participation in the war of 1812

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 266 “Pinky Finger Bones”

So... with this chapter we begin digging into what happened in the past. Into what happened to Wilk... but also into what happened to Tsurumi.

He clearly stared into the abyss and the abyss stared back at him... but what’s worse is that Tsurumi became much more scary than the abyss itself.

By the way you might notice a resemblance with the quote “He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.” [‘Beyond Good and Evil’  Friedrich Nietzsche] which loosely means “When you confront evil, make sure it doesn’t influence you.”

Well, it’s clear Tsurumi not only let himself influence, he sadly became worse than the ‘monster’ he was fighting.

But let’s go with order.

The cover… is more like part of a flashback scene.

It shows Tsurumi and Tsukishima in Vladivostok, in 1897. Therefore we’re at the point in which Tsukishima was released from jail and was working as an intelligence officer with Tsurumi in Russia.

They are shown alone, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they went there alone, as Tsurumi could have other men with himself, to create a spy network. Or not.

We’ll find out only if it’s relevant to the plot so, for now, I’ll let it on hold.

Anyway Tsurumi and Tsukishima talk of how, since Vladivostok is the only Russian port that doesn’t freeze and can be used all year round, it’s a strategically vital point for Russia but also for Japan. Central had made appoint to let Tsurumi know they need to conquer it if they go at war with Russia.

At that point a Russian man spot Tsukishima and starts asking him if he is Japanese and knows a man named Hasegawa who disappeared without a trace 6 years ago.

As Tsukishima struggles to understand what he says (he’s clearly not well versed in Russian yet) the man talks about the bodies of Hasegawa’s wife and daughter, but we don’t get to hear what he says about them.

Tsukishima turns to discover Tsurumi has disappeared and, searching him, he finds him in front of Hasegawa’s burned photo studio.

Tsurumi’s expression, which Tsukishima can’t see, is interesting. His eyes are shadowed by the brim of his hat (while Tsukishima aren’t) and his eyes are stretched thin, many stress lines under them.

He’s probably lost in painful memories, which are likely now wrapped by the hate he feels for who caused his tragedy.

When Tsukishima reads on the sign ‘Hasegawa photo studio’, he realizes it’s the name the Russian was talking about. I’ll be honest, the coincidence is a little too forced. I mean, to have a random Russian guy asks to a random Japanese (let’s remember Vladivostok HAD a Japanese district so Japanese people is not that impossible to spot there) if they knew Hasegawa who disappeared 6 years ago and, COINCIDENTALLY, this Japanese is with the guy who, in the past, was Hasegawa, a guy who apparently doesn’t hear the question and marches straight to Hasegawa photo studio (they weren’t that close, Tsukishima lost sight of Tsurumi and had to search for him) so that Tsukishima can connect some dots back then and a lot more in the present is... well, way too providential.

It would be different if that Russian had a reason to check all the Japanese he were to spot and had done so for 6 years but no reason is given. We aren’t told he was Fina’s relative (Fina has a family to whom she was supposed to return the day she died)... and therefore pretty invested in the tragedy and it’s clear he’s not part of the secret police or he wouldn’t give Tsukishima random details. Tsukishima isn’t even standing near Hasegawa’s house at the time he was questioned, so it was possible to speculate they knew each other.

That guy who spoke with Tsukishima was just a Russian who woke up that morning and decided, spotting some Japanese, to ask him about a guy who disappeared 6 years ago for... no apparent reason beyond plot convenience.

But okay, let’s go on.

We’ve left Tsukishima connecting the photo studio with the guy the Russian mentioned, relying to Tsurumi the Russian guy mentioned ‘something’ about that man’s wife and daughter.

At this point I wonder if there’s a reason why we aren’t told what that something is. I would think that the fact that their bodies got burned up in the fire wasn’t something to discuss or wonder about but maybe... there’s more?

I don’t know.

Anyway Tsukishima wonders if Tsurumi knew Hasegawa, which really, seems logical enough as Tsurumi came there to watch his burned shop and Tsurumi denies it, saying there’s plenty of Japanese people in Vladivostok (which again make weird how the Russian guy asked them if they knew about Hasegawa). Tsurumi then claims Hasegawa should have been odd for wanting to open a shop away from the Japanese district, his eyes hidden by the brim of his hat and I facepalm here because he’s basically lampshading that Hasegawa had to be a spy for wanting to do so...

which seems uncharacteristically careless from him... unless he wanted Tsukishima to actually question him further... to push him to talk because maybe he too needed to talk but couldn’t... but Tsukishima is evidently ignorant in spy matters so he doesn’t get the hint.

He doesn’t lot go though, as Tsukishima remembers Hasegawa was Tsurumi’s mother’s maiden name, whom he noticed when Tsurumi went to pay his respect to her grave.

Tsurumi compliments for Tsukishima’s good memory and deflects Tsukishima’s suspicions saying it’s a common name in Niigata.

So we’ve some info about Tsurumi to ponder about, like how his mother is dead and how he was an Hasegawa so there’s to wonder if he was related to the ‘Hasegawa senior’ which whom he supposedly came in Russia as a teenager.

Was the guy his father using his mother’s maiden name? Or a maternal uncle? Can it be there was originally an Hasegawa Koichi and Tsurumi and him swapped (swapping identity with someone was a common spy technique)? If that’s the case was Kouichi a cousin of Tsurumi?

Or the guy never existed and it’s just a cover story? Hard to say, interesting to speculate.

Anyway we jump back to the present and to Tsukishima, a vein popping on his check, connecting the dots and realizing ‘that Hasegawa’ was actually Tsurumi.

Tsurumi then goes and says that 50 years ago some of the more extremist Ainu gathered up a great quantity of gold dust and were planning something... and here I pause again.

So, does this mean whose extremists did take a part of the hidden gold? Or that they were the gold’s guardians, aware of where it was hidden?

If it happened 50 years ago, unless the gold was stolen by the hideout, this means the extremists were the same guys who knew about the hideout. So, Ariko’s father could have been one of them as well as Asirpa’s grandfather (my bet is he’s the one who knew where the gold was).

Anyway the Ainu’s plan in order to fight the shogunate was to get a captain of the imperial Russian navy to divert Russian warships, munitions and such to them... and I think Tsurumi is exaggerating matters a bit because it’s really not enough to own warships, you also need men to drive them and I’m not sure how many Ainu there were who could do it but whatever, maybe back then was easier to pilot warships and use them to go to battle... but still, I kind of feel it would be complicate for him to ‘smuggle out’ Russian warships... I mean they aren’t exactly of the size you might ‘lose track of them’.

Going on.

To explain why the Russian captain would be willing to do so, Tsurumi says it’s common among soldiers who’re stationed far from central command to do as they prefer, which is something Tsurumi is intimately familiar with as he’s doing the same in Hokkaido.

However everything ended when the ship on which was the Russian captain crashed into a passenger ship in what’s called the “Russian warship Kalevala incident” of 1867 (which is completely fictional as no such thing happened in the real world) in which both ships sunk carrying everyone on board with them.

Timeline wise 1867 is also the year in which there’s the restoration of the imperial rule, with the Boshin war starting in 1868.

According to Tsurumi, since the Ainu lost the Russian captain willing to sell them weapons they should have felt at total loss about what to do with the gold.

Tsurumi then claims Wilk came in Hokkaido to search for that gold so that this was the start of everything that happened afterward.

Asirpa asks Sofia if this means it was Tsurumi the one who taught Wilk, Kiro and Sofia Japanese.

We can’t see Sofia’s face, as she’s holding her head down, but she’s sweating and panting, thinking back to when she held little Olga.

Clearly that incident of which she felt responsible still weight a lot on her, like an open wound that never healed... which in a way makes her similar to Tsurumi. Tsurumi though is trying to get revenge for that incident... while Sofia is trying to make up for it. 

She then notices that Tsurumi has moved really close to her, his hand still holding the finger bones of Old and Fina, rubbing them.

We can see Tsurumi’s head is inclined on a side, in a way that reminds me of how Usami looked at the dead horse... although Usami was tilting his head on the opposite side.

In normal body language, tilting the head on a side indicates sincere interest and curiosity... and it can fit both situations too... only Noda also makes it creepy, as if both Usami and Tsurumi were interested yet completely detached, as if they were watching something alien to them, the angle being just a little bit too much to feel natural.

Tsurumi then goes on claiming that, on the day his wife and child died, he was the only one the secret police was after and if Fina hadn’t picked up Wilk’s wanted poster she wouldn’t have come back. Tsurumi through tried to date the blame to even sooner, claiming that if Wilk and co had never gone to his photo studio, his wife and child might not have been killed.

Sofia’s eyes are locked on Tsurumi’s hand rubbing that finger bone, as if she were hypnotized... and I’ll repeat what I said before.

Sofia has spent all those years after the death of Fina and Olga trying to make amends. As she believes her cause will bring benefit to the Russian people (and therefore to people like Sofia and Olga), she continued to fight for it, giving up on Wilk, the man she loved and on ‘happiness as a woman’ all to fight for her cause and atone for that innocent lives who died that day.

Of course meeting Hasegawa again and being blamed fully for those deaths is a big blow to her, it’s the trauma, the sin, she never overcome but tried to by doing something constructive, something she believed would be positive for the others.

It’s worth to remember Sofia came from aristocracy, she didn’t need a better Russia to live an easy life, she could have just continued being a pampered princess and instead she devoted herself to improving her country.

We can argue the methods she chose might not be the best, and how they put in danger innocent people, but the aim is selfless.

On the other end we’ve Tsurumi, whose family fell in disgrace... likely short after the Meiji restoration and possibly due to it.

He went in Russia as a spy probably in an attempt to prove himself and improve his and his family’s life, likely married in order to have a cover but ended up falling in love with Fina and he clearly adored his daughter, Olga.

Still he continued his job as a spy even if that put in danger his own beloved family, he continued teaching Japanese to Wilk and Co even if he knew they were partisans and, ultimately, for some reasons, he get discovered by the secret police.

Somehow he finds out they’re coming from him so, instead than denouncing himself, he sends away Fina and Olga without explaining Fina nothing.

Even if she promised not to, Fina could have gone back for other reasons, it was coincidence it was just because she saw the wanted poster.

When Wilk and Co shows up at Tsurumi’s house HE LET THEM IN, before telling them they can’t come anymore. He could have denied them entrance and send them away, he could have told them he was a wanted man and the secret police was about to jump on him but no, he let them in.

When the secret police arrives he doesn’t just hand himself to them but stop to talk with them at the door, knowing inside he has three revolutionaries who will realize the police is circling the house and that will feel threatened. When they start attacking the police he doesn’t tell them the truth but let them discover it from the Russian policeman and then he hands them a machine gun so that they can fight the police.

Tsurumi was an ACTIVE cause of the incident as much as Wilk and Co if not MORE because he has something to lose and that he was exposing to risk, Fina and Olga.

Yet now he’s shifting all the blame to Wilk’s party, trying to use Sofia’s sense of guilt to get leverage on her and force her to be cooperative so that he could get the gold and get revenge over Central.

Now... I’m positive that Tsurumi suffered A LOT for the death of Fina and Olga, that it was traumatic for him... but while Sofia is trying to make up for it, Tsurumi is just trying to take revenge, trying to frame the death of his beloved ones as something that has a meaning because it becomes an helpful step in his climbing to get the gold and the control of Hokkaido.

In fact, and I’ll flash forward a bit, Tsurumi wants to know what purpose his wife and daughter served in the world, claiming they died because of Wilk and Co and therefore they should give him some sort of compensation.

In this way he uses his own loss to extort information from Sofia so that he could accomplish his goal.

Mind you, all this is a way to cope with pain that’s similar to Sekiya’s, who wanted to know why his daughter had to die, but, differently from Sekiya who was completely blameless for his child’s death, which was merely an incident he had no control over, Tsurumi was also actively to blame for his wife and child’s death and he’s trying to cope with his pain by shifting the blame on others and by trying to turn those deaths into meaningful steps on the way to his original goal, improving his own life.

Ironically, as he loved Fina and Olga, it’s unlikely reaching his original goal will bring him solace, it’s another copying mechanism to excuse himself, if he can justify his wrongdoing to them as a necessary step on the way to his goal, he believes he will feel better... which is clearly a lie. This is not the way to cope with such a traumatic event but it’s a common mistake, an attempt to dim the pain by not coping with how he’s responsible for his own loss.

I pity him for how terrible his pain should be... but there’s no turning around how his way to cope with it IS terrible in any possible way.

But let’s go back a little to Tsukishima and Koito who’re eavesdropping on the conversation.

Tsukishima remembers how, during the war they tried getting control of Vladivostok... and how Tsurumi told him they should expand the territory for Japan’s sake and that they should make certain that their comrades were sleeping in Japanese soil. Now though he (and Koito if his white irises and vein popping are to be taken as a hint) is pissed off because he fears Tsurumi’s goal is just his own personal way of mourning his wife and daughter...

...and I facepalm again. Hard.

Now, okay, Koito can be pissed off, he made clear he uphold certain values and that he believed Tsurumi was doing it for a selfless reason only, the well being of his own soldiers, plus he had never experienced being poor so he can’t understand why people would want to be rich. He’s young, he was used and lied at but still wanted to trust Tsurumi to be more noble than he was so okay, he can be angry.

Tsukishima though was okay with tailing after Tsurumi even when he didn’t know which is true goal was...

...even when he believed Tsurumi might not have a true goal...

...just because he wanted to believe what Tsurumi was doing would benefit the ones following him... and now he is upset because Tsurumi had a goal... but one that was beneficial to Tsurumi? How was Tsurumi not having a goal better?

And how this change the game, really?

If Tsurumi’s actions were genuinely better for the men in the 7th, they remain beneficial regardless of Tsurumi’s ultimate goal, which isn’t meant to harm them, after all.

And just because Tsukishima decided to sacrifice his love story with Igogusa (which, Tsurumi’s lies or not, was something Tsukishima decided on his own)... well, this doesn’t mean everyone has to do the same as him.

But whatever, as anticipated before, Tsurumi used Sofia’s sense of guilt to ask her to tell him and Asirpa what happened in Hokkaido. He’s clearly talking about the Nopperabou incident and he explains he believes Sofia should know about it due to the letters she got from Kiroranke.

Well, the good thing in all this is that, if Tsurumi is asking her about the incident, this seems to hint that, as I speculated, he doesn’t know exactly what happened (unless he’s sure Kiro had false info which he relied her... but I doubt that’s the case).

In his anger, Tsukishima fails to understand that asking Sofia about what happened in the Nopperabou incident might:

- give Tsurumi clues about where the gold was (the incident took place when the Ainu moved the gold)

- tell him if there’s more people involved who could try to get into Tsurumi’s way

- make Asirpa feel guilty for the dead Ainu and more prone to help Tsurumi,

All this of course depending on what truly happened back then... but I think Tsurumi has some theories in this regard and he’s asking merely because he thinks Sofia’s words, which Asirpa won’t question because Sofia wouldn’t have any reason to lie, would be beneficial to him.

Sofia starts crying at all this, breaking down and admitting what we already knows, that Kiro believed ‘Wilk changed’.

The only new addition to all this is that it confirms Kiro believed Wilk changed because Asirpa was born... but this doesn’t really tell us if Wilk changed the day Asirpa was born or later, as the change could have been gradual and we saw that Kiro seemed to have a good relationship with Wilk after Asirpa’s birth

(and we know, for Wilk’s own admission, he wanted to raise Asirpa to be a guerrilla fighter capable of leading the Ainu...

...and taught her how misplaced sympathy could become a weakness and who’s weak gets eaten, how they can’t hesitate to kill (a bear cub) for fear of being cruel or they’ll die (of starvation)).

Kiro also said Wilk saw a light in Asirpa, a light of hope for the Ainu,

...which also fits with how Kiro himself entrusted the future to Asirpa and Sofia,

...and how Asirpa’s name means ‘future’.

Long story short, we still don’t know anything new as it was clear Asirpa ended up affecting Wilk but how and why Kiro believed this constituted betrayal worth killing him is completely up to speculation.

I stand my ground on the fact I believe if Kiro thought Wilk had to die, it was because he believed Wilk betrayed the partisan cause, which, among partisans, has always been a crime punishable with death.

Still I genuinely doubt Asirpa’s birth caused Wilk to turn into a pro-imperialist or that it caused him to stop caring about the minorities... and since Kiro didn’t try to kill him prior to the Nopperabou incident, I’ll say the problem didn’t exactly start with Asirpa’s birth.

On the other side I don’t think Kiro is lying, he genuinely believed Wilk changed.

We’re clearly missing how Wilk changing became something that caused or was connected to the Nopperabou incident and made him worthy of being killed later, without even being questioned.

Ogata hinted that Kiro might have been afraid Wilk would reveal something about Kiro to Sugimoto...

...but I somehow have troubles seeing Kiro killing all those Ainu since Kiro seemed reluctant to kill Inkarmat, who was clearly a big hindrance and didn’t want Sugimoto, who was a potential hindrance, to be shoot.

Besides Kiro clearly didn’t know where the gold was, so I’ve troubles thinking he would just murder all those Ainu without even trying to get info from them.

Could it really be possible Wilk make a 180° turn and wanted to hand the gold to the Japanese even if, apparently, when he was arrested, he was trying to escape in Karafuto with the gold so that he could bring it to his companions?

Or did he wanted to hand it to the Japanese authorities because he came to believe the Ainu, the partisans and the revolutionaries wouldn’t know how to use it to benefit their cause and would only make matter worse?

Difficult to believe so as, even if we’re to assume he decided that fighting was wrong, the gold could be used in small parts to improve Ainu’s life by buying necessities for them if times were to become harsh (just think at how the locust attack damaged Kirawus’ village food resources... if they had some gold they could have bought the missing food).

Or was Wilk trying to use it to BUY the Ainu’s freedom from the Japanese, not with weapons but with the gold itself, buying the whole Hokkaido island in Boutarou’s style, therefore betraying the Russian cause as they would remain to their own devices? It would seem an aiful naive plan from him besides it was hinted he still wanted to pursue his own dream of a far east federation for minorities by how he clung to those gold coins up till the time he was captured.

But still, we’re missing some big piece of the puzzle... which we don’t get in this chapter as the story kind of goes back a little to show us Sugimoto and Shiraishi in the bottlecar, just out of the church Sugimoto is in.

They had seen Koito get into the church, meaning they got there before Tsurumi started speaking with Sofia and Asirpa.

Shiraishi would like to rush in to rescue but Sugimoto is uncharacteristically prudent, saying Shiraishi they should go call Hijikata, because if they rush in they could be in numerical disadvantage.

Shiraishi though is worried of what Tsurumi could do to Asirpa but Sugimoto insists Tsurumi should know he can’t rely on information gotten with torture so, differently from Tsukishima, he figured out Tsurumi will try to get information from her of her own free will slowly.

Shiraishi is still worried and references how Tsurumi behaved oddly in the volume version of what happened in Karafuto (because in the magazine version the poor guy actually acted in a pretty normal way) then notices Sugimoto is actually wishing badly he could rush in and decides Sugimoto might be right.

Honestly I should give kudos to Sugimoto for managing to figure this out. From after Tsurumi got his hands on Asirpa he had been uncharacteristically smart, analyzing his opponent (Tsurumi) and understanding his moves, from how Tsurumi wouldn’t part with Asirpa to how he wouldn’t torture her but try to get info out of her willingly.

On a sidenote actually you can get reliable info through torture if you manage to keep control of your victim (meaning if he lied to you torture will just start all over) or if you’ve someone to use to blackmail that person but whatever, let’s go on.

Sugimoto and Shiraishi decide them to go call Hijikata, slam the car against a pole and fly out of it.

The chapter ends here but if Nikaidou is really around there to keep guard as Tsurumi told him to do...

...and spot Sugimoto we can count on him to go in berserk mode, scream ‘SUGIMOTO SAICHI! MY NAME IS NIKAIDOU KOUHEI. YOU KILLED MY BROTHER! PREPARE TO DIE!’ and reveal to everyone how Sugimoto and Shiraishi are there, possibly interrupting the whole interrogatory and letting us wonder for many more chapters WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED DURING THE NOPPERABOU INCIDENT. So please Nikaidou, don’t be around or scream discreetly. We don’t really want you to bother Tsurumi, Sofia and Asirpa NOW.

#Golden Kamuy #Tsurumi Tokushirou #Asirpa #Sofia #Tsukishima Hajime #Koito Otonoshin #Hasegawa Olga #Hasegawa Fina #Kiroranke #Wilk #Sugimoto Saichi #Shiraishi Yoshitake #Hijikata Toshizou #Golden Kamuy Ramblings and Theories

[captaindarkchocolatesstuff]

Yandere! SEA WITCH Natsuya Kirishima x Sailor! Reader

When you were young you’d listen to your grandpa tell stories about the sea, from the evil creatures that slew sailors to their doom to beings that granted them a safe voyage.

Even as a child you were fascinated by the sea and its many bounties, mostly due to your grandfathers’ influence in his storytelling, and being a retired captain also somewhat made an impact on you as you clung to his words when he told you of his adventures. How his tone would shift from light hatred to dark and intimidating when he told one tale to the next.

So when it was your time to sail the seas you embraced the adventurous thrill with open arms and glee, it would often impress your more experienced crewmates about how it seemed like you yourself had all the experience you needed to sail with them. It almost made you proud of your love for the ocean and its many bounties.

You took great joy in sailing.

Until you didn’t.

If only you hadn’t met him then maybe you wouldn’t be trying so hard to avoid the ocean waters, the waters you once held a fascination for now replaced with terror.

Natsuya Kirishima, he was quite charming and put up quite the disguise to lure you and your crewmates into believing he was human alongside his younger brother and company. They were on a pilgrimage, he said when he and the few with him boarded the ship after the captain confronted them when they weren’t on the list. Usually, the old man was able to stand his ground until a pair of boys came over to talk to him one was a blond with sherbert eyes and the other an olive haired gentleman with kind green eyes. It impressed you how easily they persuaded the captain but thinking back to it, that scene should’ve been your first red flag of the danger that lurked.

Somehow eventually while off duty you found yourself talking to Natsuya after finding him at the crow’s nest of the ship, a place you went to after finishing your work to see the ocean stretch on for miles. He apologized for being there but you waved him off with a cheeky grin and told him that he was able to come so long as it was kept a secret between you two. Since then he kept visiting you, and the nest became your meet up whenever you were off duty, his company was enjoyable.

The more time you spent with one another the more you spoke of yourselves, and when Natsuya spoke of himself you look back at those times wondering how well he spun lie after lie, it nearly impressed you to an extent.

Then suddenly there was a shift in behavior from his and his group, no one caught onto it except for yourself and a few others who interacted most with the gentlemen. You and two others noticed while the other four were insistent on playing ignorant while the rest of the passengers, your crewmates, and captain remained oblivious to the concerning situation.

You began distancing yourself from Natsuya and his colleagues, beginning to feel unsettled and unsafe when he came near. In doing so Natsuya was quick to notice your drifting presence, he began to hear excuse after excuse ranging from you being too tired, to having to work extra hours for money to give to your family.

You were so sure that you’d be able to escape by stalling him and waiting for the next time the ship would dock. Then you meet him again, at the bow of the ship leaning on the railings before he looks over his shoulder at you.

“(Y/n), it’s been a while”, he said so casually, but the glint in his eyes were sharp. They made you stay put as you responded to him with a simple “Yes, it has been”.

There was a silence that settled before he suddenly asked if you believed in sea witches, you forced yourself to say no despite the fact that some part of you did believe in all the stories your grandfather told you. You could only stand there, frozen with fear as Natsuya laughed and talked about the power of sea witches, how scary they were, and the many stories that surrounded them.

When the boat suddenly lurched you could only yelp when your body was forced forward and slammed against Natsuya’s chest, his arms were open as if he knew that would happen. He looked at the sky before looking down at you as he added a fact about the bountiful power of the sea witches.

“ It was also said that they could cause disastrous weather, did you know that (Y/n)”, the smile he gave you struck you with pure terror as you witnessed his shift in appearance.

Your screams joined in with the muffled screams of the crew and passengers as you pushed yourself away from Natsuya, trying to flee from him as he yelled for you. The wind thrashed as dark clouds gathered in the sky while the waters slammed against the ship, violently rocking it side to side as you began to see people run-up to the top side of the ship, trying to get to the boats that were set up.

You slid to a stop when you witnessed the olive haired boy that was with Natsuya holding one of the girls that you briefly talked to about your shared concerts revolving around the men, except he had what looked to be an orca’s tail in place of his legs. The girl was thrashing and crying in his arms as he took a moment to look up at you and greet you with a kind smile before plunging into the ocean waters, foolishly you ran after them hoping to somehow catch the girl before he could drag her into the waters.

You could only gape in horror as they splashed into the water, only for a rough shake of the boat to interrupt you as you gripped the railing to see that the ship was starting to sink.

You could hardly remember what happened after that, but you can remember running to reach a boat, slipping and falling, a hand wrapping around your ankle, grabbing the nearest thing to stab at the hand, and then suddenly you’re adrift in the ocean. You could still remember screaming your threat raw after taking a moment to gather your surroundings.

You were found after a week by a passing fishing ship and brought to the nearest island that helped you recover. Learning the language wasn’t easy, and you were still rather clumsy when speaking to the native people, but you stayed far away from the ocean waters not even daring to make an attempt to go back to your home.

So you went to live on the highest ground, far away from the ocean, and never came down unless it was for your necessities.

So you couldn’t help but ask with a trembling voice, “H-how?”.

How was Natsuya here, in your home?

He only smiled as he approached you, “Well it took a while, after all, there were several islands around where your ship sunk, admittedly it did slip my mind that you would look for higher ground”, he hums before stretching his hand towards you. The one you injured.

You couldn’t help but flinch as you backed away from him before letting out a scream that was soon muffled by his hand as he hushed you while bringing your body close to his own, “Ah- Ah- Ah- Ah, none of that now (Y/n)”, he scolded as he hugged you with one arm, still covering your mouth with his other hand.

You struggled as you sobbed when he rested his chin on your head, “We’re going to your new home now, it’ll be scary at first but I’m sure you’ll get used to it with time”, he announced before kissing your forehead.

You cried even more as he smiled down at you.

 “I’m glad I found you again”.

________________

Tagged: @villain-hotline​ (its a special event since Halloween was coming up, not sure if you liked Natsuya but I’ll be sure to tag ya in other Free! fics too!)

#bewitching week [event] #yandere free! #yandere x reader #yandere natsuya kirishima #yandere! free x reader

[ris-harp]

The Rest is Silence: A Deaf Hamlet Story. Chapter 2

This was the first board meeting where Hamilton didn’t sit next to his father. His father wasn’t there. He was dead.

When he lived, his father used these meetings to train Hamilton and teach him how to lead the company. He had always ensured his successor could see all the important mouths, but the new CEO didn’t even give him a seat at the table. His change in status as the chief executive step-son earned him a chair in the corner of the room staring at the dandruff-dusted shoulders of Mr. Paulard’s ill-fitted blazer. Hamilton’s fingers itched to spell out one last secret message to his father about Old Man Paulard.

At the head of the table, Klaus, the new leader of Dane Enterprises, leaned on his elbows listening to the noise coming from the star-shaped phone in the middle of the table. Beside Klaus sat Hamilton’s mother. They held hands. No decency. This was a board meeting, not a honeymoon. Hamilton’s fists tightened. Klaus’s thumb caressed the glittering diamond on his mother’s finger.

He forced himself to look at Klaus’s lips instead of his offending hands. “So if you — — message to your guys in Norway, Valdez, tha — — great.” Klaus’s stare was firm and cold to offset the seeming gentleness of his hand.

The speakerphone garbled a reply, but Hamilton didn’t understand any of it. It probably went something like “Yes Mr. Danes. We will, Mr. Danes. Your boots are delicious, Mr. Danes.”

When he was alive, the true Mr. Danes had an imposing shape and stature. He was over six feet tall with broad shoulders and bulky arms like a pit bull. Though his build could incite fear, his eyes only reflected loyalty and love. This villainous imposter inhabited a similar body but had deep-set deathly eyes that tried to instill fear in everyone they glared at. Hamilton wasn’t afraid. He saw the bug-eyed chihuahua that yapped and trembled within the hulking body.

The chihuahua yipped again. “Laurence, did you have something to — —?”

Laurence Paulard. Old Man Paulard’s son. His purple silk vest shimmered as he stood up beside his snow-capped father. Hamilton ground his teeth and craned his neck to see Laurence’s lips.

“Yes, Mr. Danes.”

« Mr. Danes? Not here. » Hamilton signed with a flat expression. Klaus scowled. He didn’t know a word of sign language, so Hamilton had grown accustomed to his confusion.

Laurence continued. “I’d like to be in charge of the Paris project.”

Hamilton didn’t look to Klaus to read his reply. He just waited for Laurence to respond.

“Well as you well know, I’ve spent a significant amount of time in Paris—.”

« Well as you well know... » Hamilton mocked in sign language before switching off his hearing aid and melting into his seat.

In blissful silence, he fidgeted with the band of father’s old golden watch. It had belonged to his great grandfather, Hamilton Danes I. He pictured his forefathers. Black and white. Glaring into the flash of an ancient camera bulb. The second hand ticked with the rhythm of his bouncing leg. After a minute, he fell still, becoming one with the chair. Senseless furniture blessed with the ignorance of non-existence.

Thump thump.

The floor vibrated under his feet.

Hamilton looked up to see his mother and Klaus staring at him from the head of the table. The meeting had ended, and the three of them sat in a nearly vacant boardroom.

Klaus’s mouth gaped open and closed in silent shouts, “Hamilton, I asked you—.” Klaus took in a breath. “Why you’re still acting like this.”

« That doesn’t help. You know that, right? » Hamilton arched an eyebrow. « Still deaf as hell. »

“Gertrude, darling, what is he saying?”

She didn’t interpret. Hamilton wasn’t sure she could.

“Ham, sweetheart,” she spoke slowly and clearly. “You really should try to be happier.” Her hands brushed her chest to sign « happy » without rhythm or confidence. “These black clothes, gloomy attitude all the time. I don’t think I’ve seen you eat since you came home.” She signed « eat » and « no ».

She was right. He hadn’t had a full meal since his father’s death. It wasn’t because he hadn’t tried, but his stomach felt like it was made entirely of knives. Every time he sat down to eat proper food, they stabbed him until he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

“And you’re picking at your nails again.” She pretended to groom her pink plastic claws with lowered eyebrows and pursed lips.

He wiped a spot of blood off his index finger and went back to playing with his watch band.

“— — worried about you, sweetheart.” She leaned in, eyes glistening like she was an actress on Absent in the Spring.

“You’re a dutiful son.” Klaus put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “— — honoured by your dedication — — to my dear brother’s memory — —.”

Hamilton fought back a snarl. His dear brother hadn’t even been in the ground for two months, and he had already married his widow.

As for his mother? Hamilton was incredulous.

A memory burst to the forefront of his mind. Hamilton watched his parents lean against the railing of an observation platform as Verona Falls surged below them. Wind gusted. Hair and water whipped at his mother’s face. With a gentle touch, his father tucked a rogue strand behind her ear. Their eyes crinkled and their lips curled. He pulled her into an embrace and kissed the top of her head.

There had been so much love there. It was the kind of love that grew and strengthened every day. How could she have fallen for this poor replica of his father?

He rubbed his eyes, desperate to stop violent grief from clouding his vision as Klaus continued to shout.

“— — when your grandfather died. I — — sad. I don’t think I left the house for a week afterwards. And when his father died — —”

This man didn’t love her. Not like she was used to. Not like she deserved.

“It’s time — — normal life, lad.”

She floated to her feet and over to Hamilton. “You should stay with us, sweetheart. At least while you’re not feeling well.” She signed « sick ».

Sick? Is that what this was? A cold virus?

Kneeling in front of him, she placed her silky hand on his. “Maybe take a semester off.” « Please ». Her eyebrows rose and the corners of her mouth tucked in.

A whiff of spiced rum assaulted Hamilton’s nose. Klaus’s lunchtime drink of choice. Hamilton pulled his hand away.

He watched his mother’s heart break. Her eyes grew wide as she reached after his hand.

Hamilton’s heart cracked, too.

He sighed. « If it will make you happy, I will consider it. » He nodded and mouthed the words for her as he signed them.

A tear fell down her cheek as her eyes squinted with the hint of a smile.

As angry as Hamilton was with her, he loved to see that smile. If his staying would make her happy, maybe it would be worth the extra time spent in close proximity to his uncle.

Klaus came over and offered his hand to Hamilton’s mother. She took it and stood.

“I’m glad you’re home. I hope you’ll decide to stay.”

She leaned in and kissed Hamilton’s forehead.

Without another word his mother and her new husband walked away hand in hand, leaving Hamilton alone in the meeting room.

He closed his eyes and saw a bolt of lightning burning through the skylight above him. Molten glass rained down as a jolt of electric power buzzed through his body, burning his life away. Hunger, fatigue, sorrow, anger, and hatred gone with a single well-aimed lightning strike. Was that too much to ask?

Thunder, like an answered prayer rumbled through the floor.

His eyes popped open to see a dashing gentleman in a three piece suit stomping in the corridor. Not god’s divine mercy. Hamilton’s closest friend.

Horatio stepped through the doorway with a flourish and a bow.

« My most noble Lord Hamilton Harold Wilhelm Danes IV! » Horatio’s hands moved like a gentle breeze on a shadeless summer day.

Hamilton smiled. « Please. Call me Hamilton. »

« Of course. Ham it is then. » Instead of Hamilton’s proper name, Horatio used the sign for pig.

Hamilton groaned. He hated that nickname. Thankfully, only his mother and Horatio were brave enough to use it in his presence.

« Always I am your humble servant. » Horatio bowed again, smirking.

« You don’t know how good you have it. »

Horatio cocked his head and furrowed his brow.

« It's good to see you, Rato. » Hamilton retaliated with Horatio’s own hated nickname. « Real. I haven’t had a real conversation since I got here. »

They embraced, and a wave of reassuring calm trickled down from his head to his toes as he shared a breath with his friend.

With a heavy sigh, Hamilton held Horatio at arm’s length. « You’re here in Elsinore why? What the hell? »

« Sometimes the big city is too much. You have to leave. Go to the bountiful remote lands of the wealthy elite. You know? »

« Your law degree. What about that? Are you still trying to finish? »

« What? I’m skipping classes. You know, because I’m a total hardcore badass. »

« Bullshit. » Hamilton chuckled as he hopped up onto the boardroom table and took a seat.

« You’re right. It’s fall break. » Horatio shrugged and took a breath. « Why am I really here? I came as soon as I heard about your father. Sorry I missed the funeral. »

« It’s okay. Did you make it in time for my mother’s wedding? » Hamilton rolled his eyes so hard his vision blurred.

Horatio sneered. « That did happen really fast. »

Shrugging, Hamilton proposed, « Maybe they were just being thrifty?»

« What? »

« The leftover mini-sandwiches from the funeral probably tasted great at the wedding. »

Barely holding back a smile, Horatio pursed his lips.

His friend’s smirk warmed Hamilton almost as much as the imaginary lightning bolt, but he remained silent and still. He sighed. « Sometimes I see him. »

« Who? »

« Father. »

« What? Where? » Horatio’s gaze darted around the room like he expected the walls to close in.

« Anywhere. Everywhere. He’s in my head. When I look at Klaus, I see a cheap knock-off version of him. I see him in the shadows. I see him in the mirror. I hardly recognise myself, but I see him. He’s everywhere. And at the same time, I know I’ll never see anyone like him ever again. » Rubbing his temples with his thumbs, Hamilton tried to erase his father’s image from his mind.

Horatio regained Hamilton’s attention with a wave. « I saw him last night. »

« What? »

« Mr. Danes. »

« Save your jokes for Frank and Bernie. »

Hamilton turned his attention back to his watch.

The table thumped as Horatio pounded on it with a fist.

« I’m telling you, Ham. I saw him. Last night. »

« Stop. For real. I’m not in the mood. »

Horatio grimaced. « I didn’t believe it either. Not until I saw it. »

« Ok. » An angry lump rose in Hamilton’s throat. He ground his teeth and waited for his friend to continue.

Horatio leaned in. « Last night, I went out to the gate with Frank. At first, I thought he was full of shit. But after a few minutes, there he was. »

« Bull. » Hamilton rolled his eyes, but a strange hopeful disgust germinated in the depth of his soul.

« I’m not joking! » Horatio insisted.

Sincerity glinted in Horatio’s eyes.

« He saw you? »

Horatio nodded.

« Did he talk to you? »

« I tried. He didn’t talk. Stood there. Pale. Like he was made of gas.»

Hamilton tried to imagine his father’s spirit. He remembered Halloween when he was only ten. His father popped out from behind the hedge with a white sheet over his head. A terrified Hamilton stabbed him with his costume pirate sword.

« But he was different. »

«  What do you mean ? » Hamilton arched an eyebrow.

« Imposing. Desperate. »

« Very interesting. I’m sorry I missed it. »

« I don’t think you missed it. » Horatio shook his head.

Hamilton raised an eyebrow.

« He’s appeared every night this week. » Horatio continued. « Frank and Bernie have both seen him. There’s a good chance you could see him tonight. »

His father. The ghost of him. He had told Hamilton once that ghosts were ungodly abominations. His jaw clenched. He rubbed his thumb on the crystal of his watch.

« Fine. Take me to him. Is Frank on duty tonight? »

Horatio nodded with a snarl.

« Damn. That guy’s a tool. »

« True business. »

Hamilton contemplated his watch’s golden second hand. He would give anything to see his father again. But the ungodly abomination of him? He looked up and arched an eyebrow at Horatio. « You will come with me? »

« Obviously. » Horatio signed while looking at his watch. « First I’m going to get some food before. Want to come ? »

Knives slashed through his rumbling stomach. « No thanks. I’ve already eaten. »

Horatio glanced at Hamilton’s midsection and raised an eyebrow. Thankfully, he didn’t press for the truth. « You will probably want a coat. »

He turned and left Hamilton alone in the boardroom.

The second hand ticked in an endless loop.

#deaf #asl #american sign language #hard of hearing #deaftlent #hamlet #shakespeare #william shakespeare #fanfic #fiction #fantasy #writer #author #writing #sign language #the rest is silence

[thefandomsnotebook]

Nothing Left to Lose (Part 3)

Nothing Left to Lose (Part 3)

Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 4,276 (Wow this is longer than I intended)

Requested: Yes, by my lovely sister.

I’m expanding on this in the coming weeks but feel free to leave me a request x

Part 1, Part 2

Masterlist

Warnings: Not really? A little angst and Civil War Spoilers.  Also, I did mess with the timeline of Civil War just slightly, nothing that’s really major. I just made it a little longer than it actually was for the purposes of this.

Hello again! Bet ya thought I had forgotten about this didn’t you? 

You sighed running your hands through your hair feeling very much overwhelmed by the chaos that would no doubt be surrounding you by the end of the night. 

What was supposed to be a small school, function had now moved to the auditorium to fix the ever-growing capacity of people that had begun to pile in once the doors were open. Not only were there parents of other students who were presenting their own inventions but the press was everywhere you looked, not doing their best to keep quiet. You had been moved backstage to wait for your turn to keep from causing a riot in the audience. 

“Nervous?” Peter asked coming up next to you.

You glanced at him for a moment as you stood in the wing watching one of your classmates present to a disinterested press who were getting their cameras ready and a group of uncomfortable parents who were completely unaware that this small event was turning into a complete media circus.

“No, of course not,” You said quietly folding your arms over your chest looking back on stage taking a deep breath, nervous was an understatement. 

“You don’t have to lie you know, you’re an awful liar.” Peter smiled at you. 

You rolled your eyes and smirked looking back at him “That so, Parker?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Yeah totally, your body language becomes more closed off and you get more sarcastic to try and play it off, but it does not work.” Peter rambled. 

“Hmm, so do you spend all your free time watching me?” You asked, catching him off guard completely.

“N-no, Y-y/n. I don’t, I-I mean,” Peter said stumbling over his words. “Not a-all my time.” He said turning red. 

“I’m kidding, I didn’t think you’d break that easy, Pete,” You laughed making him turn even redder in embarrassment.

He chuckled awkwardly running his hands through his hair, “L-look I just- I-I’ve really liked you for a while now,” Peter admitted. “I-I don’t want to come off as c-creepy or anything, I just- wow.” He laughed. 

“I’m not good at this. I’m sorry.” He apologized. 

Now it was your turn to blush, you looked down at your shoes as a smile crept onto your face slowly as he spoke. 

“You like me?” You asked him timidly, looking back at him. 

“Y-yeah, I-I mean, isn’t it obvious?” He whispered. 

“I may be smart, but I’m not always the most observant,” You told him softly. 

Peter smiled to you, “D-do you like me?” He asked hesitantly. 

“Well yeah, isn’t it obvious?” You said playfully, smiling at him. 

Peter smiled and nodded, “You know I’m not that observant either,” He joked. 

“Well, I guess those spidey senses aren’t so good after all, ” You said smiling. 

“Guess not,” Peter laughed. “ I would ask you to go out sometime but-“ He started. 

“But you already did that.” You finished. 

Peter smiled and nodded, “Guess we did things out of order,” He laughed. 

“But the outcomes the same so it turned out great,” You told him, still smiling. 

“Y-Yeah it did,” Peter said still blushing. 

“And now, Miss Y/n Stark.” You and Peter both heard snapping you out of the bubble you and Peter were so engrossed in just moments before. 

You took a deep breath and shook your hands trying to get rid of your nerves. “You’re going to be amazing,” Peter smiled nudging you gently. 

“Well, if not it will be plastered everywhere by morning,” You muttered. “Alright here goes nothing.” You said going to walk out on stage.

“You’re going to be amazing,” Peter called as you walked out and took the microphone from your teacher as he exited the stage. 

You smiled looking back at him for a moment before looking out into the audience as Ned pushed your robot out on to the stage. 

“Hi,” You smiled as you listened to the sounds of cameras going off all over the audience. 

“I would like to be able to stand here and tell you all that I’ve been working on this for months now and from the moment I started preparing for this moment I had this in mind,” You said gesturing to your robot. 

“I know my Dad is going to be mad at me for sharing this tiny little fact but I am going to do it anyway. The truth is I came up with this robot on accident.” You started. 

Just as you went to finish your sentence your wrist buzzed urgently and began blinking bright red you stared at it for a short moment and turned it off quickly before continuing on. 

“You see I came into this with the full intention of working with magnets and while I was tampering with the molecular compound of them I discovered how to do this,” You stated as you picked up your remote and flipped the switch and hit a button like you had done a hours earlier and watched as the textbook started floating causing gasps and whispers to erupt throughout the auditorium.  Your watch lit up again and continued buzzing to which you just went to turn it off again before continuing on. 

“So how is this revolutionary? My grandfather, Howard Stark had electro-magnetic cars and my dad uses Repulser technology in all the IronMan suits. This is relatively the same thing right?” You asked the audience when once again your wrist began buzzing urgently. 

“That’s not entirely correct in this particular case because once I separated the molecular compound and began studying the interactions between the matter itself. This is where the electromagnetic fields that Howard Stark is known for using ties into modern day Quantum Theory.” You explained further deciding to just continue on ignoring it completely. 

“Now, in similar terms. I am essentially tampering with the indivisible parcels, “Quanta”  “You said to the audience. 

“I have found a way to bridge that gap between the little matter and the larger structures that make up our universe,” You went on, as your watch continued to buzz violently. 

“By doing that I am altering our reality, a small portion of it but some of it nonetheless.” You said as you moved to the other side of your robot to try and hide your blinking watch from the audience. 

You frowned slightly for a moment catching the words “EMERGENCY”  before you hesitated for a moment as your heartbeat picked up at the sight of it. Finally, you turned your attention back to the audience to continue your speech. 

“So after I figured that out,  instead of using magnets I switched to a circuit board wherein all honesty I just tampered with it pretty blindly until I started getting the results I wanted.” You said to the crowd. You glanced down at your watch once again as it continued to vibrate this time the words. “MARK 46 DOWN” immediately a sinking feeling fell over you like a tarp, something was wrong why was Dad’s suit down? You knew you were only meant to get alerts when it was a dire situation. 

You cleared your throat and refocused on the audience. It was at this moment you remembered that there were cameras going off every second. You took a deep breath and looked back at your robot as your mind went through hundreds of possible explanations as to why you were getting an alert that one of the Ironman’s suits was down, not just any of them the one that your dad must have left in. 

“Because it’s powered by a circuit board and not electromagnets which is what you may have thought this plate here was. It’s actually powered by a circuit board up here,” You stated, by now you couldn’t even hear your own voice as you spoke. It was very evident that your dad was severely hurt or the IronMan suit was anyway. 

“Um, the arm-“ You said looking at your watch again “Is modeled after one of my Dad’s own inventions in his lab.” You said as your watch buzzed as a distress signal appeared once again. 

“I’m hoping he won’t mind me borrowing it,” You joked forcefully as you looked back into the sea of flashing lights before you. You could see Peter in the wing watching you frowning slightly. You had a feeling he could hear the buzzing coming from your watch as well. 

“Everything else is my own design though. And now by figuring out that what’s needed to manipulate the gravitational pull in our own space-time continuum this is just the beginning of what’s going to be a new era of technology.” You smiled brightly trying to figure out what your next course of action was going to be once you finally got done with this never ending presentation. You felt like you had been on stage for hours. 

“I hope you are all ready to join me in this expedition as I bring just as my family has done before you all time and time again, into a new age of Stark technology.” You finished smiling and holding your arms out as you bowed. It was a habit you had picked up from your dad after watching him onstage for your whole life. 

You watched as the press went wild and they spewed a million questions at you. You just waved and exited the stage in the same direction you came on you smile dropping as soon as you were out of sight and you finally were able to see the distress signal entirely now. 

“You were amazing,” You heard Peter say as he walked alongside you. 

“What’s happening? The buzzing is coming from you right?” He asked. 

You nodded “It’s a distress signal one of the IronMan suits is damaged badly,” You said as you checked the coordinates of where your dad currently was. 

“Siberia,” You said softly 

“Siberia?” Peter asked. 

“That’s where my dad is,” You said taking a deep breath as you clicked around on your watch trying to find the stats for Mark 46.

“There’s no way that suits going to make it here on its own.” You adding glancing up at him. 

“I’ve gotta go,” You told him before you headed for the stage door. 

“Hey, Y/n wait up,” Peter said to you as he followed. “Let me help, what are you doing?” He asked. 

“I’m going to Siberia to rescue my dad,” You told him as you stopped at your locker and opened it quickly grabbing your bag. 

“Woah, you aren’t going to Siberia by yourself,” Peter said trying to keep up with you. 

“Well someone’s got too,” You said looking at your watch again waiting for it load your dad's vitals. 

“You can’t just go to Siberia, shouldn’t you tell someone?” He asked seriously. 

“I could, but I don’t have time for that.” You said to him as you pushed open the school doors and walked into the cool evening air. 

“Or you could get hurt, seriously hurt. You don’t know what you’re going into.” Peter said to you. 

“My dad’s in danger, Peter you can’t expect me to just leave him stranded. He needs another suit and probably medical attention.” You said turning back to look at him as you walked down the sidewalk. 

“Stop for a second,” Peter said grabbing your hand as you walked. “Let's think about this for a moment.” 

“I don’t have time to think about it. You of all people should understand that” You said seriously. 

Peter sighed running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “Well, I’m coming with you then,” 

“Then you better keep up!” You nodded before you started walking again. 

“Do you have any sort of plan?” He asked catching up with you moments later as you pulled up your dad's vitals that had just finished downloading. 

“I need to get to the lab,” You said as you scanned over everything. 

“What’s that?” Peter asked as you walked. 

“My dad's vitals. He’s bruised up but thankfully the suits took most of the damage,” You explained before you went into your contacts and calling Pepper. 

Pepper picked up on her end a few moments later. “Y/n? Everything alright?” She asked as she answered. 

“Code red,” You told her. “Dad’s in Siberia his suits taken a lot of damage and I don’t think it’s in good enough condition to make it back,” You explained quickly. 

“Where in Siberia do you know?” She asked the panic in her voice was radiating through the phone. 

“One of the old Hydra facilities according to my coordinates. I had F.R.I.D.A.Y send me his vitals and location,” You explained as you turn the corner and tried to get a cab deciding that the subway would take up more time than you had. 

“I’m heading to the lab right now to get another suit sent to him, but what if he needs immediate medical attention?” You asked her. 

“I can make a few calls and get someone sent out there if you’re handling the suit.” She told you. 

“Okay, sounds good. Thank you, Pepper.” You said as you continued to hail for a cab. 

“Keep me updated and let me know as soon as the suit is sent. I’ll be over later okay? Oh and send me his coordinates as well.” Pepper asked

“I will,” You promised her. “Talk to you soon.” You said before you both said your goodbyes and hung up as a cab pulled up to the curb. 

Peter opened the cab door and let you get in first before he slid in next to you.

“You don’t have too you know, come along.” You told him. “I know May will probably be looking for you.” You said to him. 

“I’ll call her on the way and tell her we have a last minute project or something and I’ll be late.” He said taking his phone out. 

“Right good cover, Parker,” You laughed before you gave the cab driver your address. 

“What it’s technically a project… of sorts,” He joked “Project Stark.” He finished. 

You rolled your eyes but nodded reluctantly before giving the cab driver your address before you continued to pull up stats on your watch. 

“Your presentation did amazing by the way,” Peter said after a few moments “You’re such a natural up there. It’s like you were born to be doing that.” He finished. 

You smiled looking back at him as you paused what you were looking at. 

“Thanks, Pete.” You told him gently. “It means a lot, really.” You told him. 

“You just radiate this energy. You can captivate a whole room of people at the drop of a hat,” He continued on, making you flush a light shade of pink. 

“I guess it’s part of that Stark energy, “You said lightly as you spoke. 

“No,” Peter said shaking his head “That’s all you” He added looking over at you seriously. 

“Your Dad is really proud of you. Just because he can’t always be here when you want him to be doesn’t mean that he is any less proud of you. I wish you could have heard him when I was coming back from Berlin, he is so proud to have you as his daughter.” He told you. 

“Yeah well, I said some pretty nasty things to him this morning,” You said after a moment as you looked out the cab window. 

“I was angry and being selfish about the whole thing. I took it out on him and now he’s hurt.” You said after a moment. 

“He’s going to be fine, I’m sure he knows you didn’t mean it,” Peter said quietly. 

“I did mean it though,” You said quietly as you watched to make sure that the cab driver was going the right direction. 

“At least I think I did or maybe I was just mad.” You added glancing at your watch. 

“You were just upset,” Peter said after a moment as the cab pulled up in front of your building. 

“I had heard that you guys had a house in Malibu,” Peter said looking up at the building. 

“I stay at the Malibu Mansion in the summer,” You said as you paid the cab driver and got out of the car.

 “I wanted to stay in the city because I got into Midtown.” You told him as you got your keys out of your pocket. 

“So my dad stays with me here as often as he can so I’m not alone,” You explained as you guys walking into your building and to the elevator. 

“How are we going to get to your dad’s lab?” He asked. 

“He has a smaller one here with suits in case of an emergency.” You told him as you got into the elevator and pressed your floor number. 

“He got paranoid a few years ago and now makes sure I have access to some in case he ever isn’t here and I need them for whatever reason. I’m going to send him one of those because he keeps them updated for me.” You said getting your keys out as you exited the elevator and headed to your front door.

“Wow,”  Peter said quietly as you both walked into your apartment. 

“Thanks,” You laughed lightly putting your bag down. 

“Come on, you can see the lab,” You said taking his hand as you pulled him through your living room and down the hall into one of the rooms. 

“This is insane,” Peter said in shock as he walked into the spacious room that was previously a large bedroom but was now covered in not only five different Iron Man suits but all the technology you could ever need. 

“This is just a very modified version of what we have in Malibu. It’s only got what we absolutely need. It’s more my lab to play around in than my Dad’s.” You smiled as you signed into one of the computers. 

“He figured after I got into Midtown I was in need of a space of my own so this is it,” you said gesturing around the room. 

“It’s nothing too crazy.”  You shrugged glancing up at Peter who was at a loss for words as he walked around to look at the suits. He paused looking down at a table that was currently scattered with papers. 

“This is your web fluid work,” He said picking up a few of the papers covered in equations. 

“Yeah that’s some of the earlier ones,” You told him and then pulled up a few of the 3-D files you had on your hard drive to display what you had been tampering with and put them on one of the screens. 

“This is what I’ve been using to help create it. I’ve been using the videos of you on youtube.” You told him before going back to getting ready to send out a suit. You imported the coordinates that F.R.I.D.A.Y. has given you earlier and prepped the suit for taking off. 

You grabbed your phone and called Pepper a moment later. 

 “Alright were taking off in 80 seconds,” You said once she answered the phone again. You hit a few buttons on your keyboard and then went to open up a hatch for it to take off though. 

“How’s the quinjet coming?” You asked her. 

“It won’t be far behind, I’ve alerted the embassy what’s happening so we’re all clear.” She explained. 

“Are you doing okay?” Pepper asked after a moment. 

“I’ll feel better once I know he’s got help on the way,” You said quietly. 

“He’s going to be fine, this is your Dad we’re talking about. I don’t want you to freak out.” Pepper said gently. 

“I’m coming to stay with you tonight so you aren’t alone. Will you be okay until I get there?” She asked. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I brought Peter home with me so he’ll keep me company until you get here.” You explained to her looking over at Peter as he continued to watch in awe as the suit flew out. 

“Peter?” Pepper said after a moment. “The spider kid?” She asked. 

You laughed lightly as you continued to watch Peter who was lit up like a five-year-old on Christmas. “Yes, the spider kid. He’s a friend of mine.” You told her. 

“You know I don’t know why I am surprised. How you and your Dad do this is going to forever be a mystery to me but I’m just glad you won’t be alone.” She told you. 

“Me too, I’ll see you soon okay? Thank you so much again.” You told her. 

“Of course, keep me updated I’ll be over in an hour or two,” Pepper said on the other end of the phone. You told her you would before hanging up the phone and looking back at Peter who was now looking at you. 

“I can’t believe this is your house,” He told you. “Just like I can’t believe you’ve been recreating my web-fluid by a handful of youtube videos.” He said to you. 

“I like a challenge” You smiled to him. 

“Thank you again, Peter. You didn’t have to come with me today.” You said as you stood outside your building. 

“You don’t have to keep thanking me I’m just glad you and your dad are okay.” He told you seriously. 

“I really appreciate it though,” You said to him. 

“Anytime you need me I’ll be there,” Peter said looking back at you. 

It was then you noticed how close he was standing to you and you blushed and looked down at your feet smiling to yourself. 

Peter pulled you into hug a second later and you wrapped your arms around his torso. “I’m serious, Y/n. Whenever you need no matter what time of day it is I’ll be there.” Peter told you as he held you close. 

“Thanks, Pete,” You whispered looking back up at him. 

Peter smiled timidly before he placed his hand on your cheek. “I-I just really care about you.” He whispered. 

You nodded and could feel your cheeks heat up at the sight of him. “I care about you too, Peter.” You whispered back to him. 

There was a pause as he nodded and then looked at away from you. “I-if you don’t want me too. I-I won’t but-” He said stumbling over his words. 

“I- I just don’t know if this moment will come again a-and I know we keep doing things out of order but-” He fumbled before you cut him off and reached up and kissed him lightly surprising not only Peter but yourself as well for taking advantage of the moment. 

You both pulled away a moment later bright red as you both smiled at each other. 

“You don’t have to ask to kiss me, Parker.” You told him smiling. 

“G-good to know.” He nodded smiling at you. 

“It’s getting late, I don’t want May to worry about you. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, yeah?” You told him. 

Peter nodded still flustered and half in shock from kissing him. 

“T-tomorrow yeah,” He said finally. 

You reached up and kissed his cheek. “Get home safe, Pete.” You whispered. 

Peter nodded and smiled back at you as you took a step back. 

“Goodnight, Y/n.” He said softly. 

“Goodnight, Pete.” You smiled back at him before he went as got into his cab. You watched him drive off before you headed back into your building, smiling to yourself the whole way up. 

“Peter Parker then,” Pepper smiled to you making you blush even harder as you walked back into your apartment.  “It’s not that big of a deal,” You laughed rubbing your arm as you spoke. 

“Uh huh, of course, it’s not. Your Dad is going to freak out.” Pepper smiled leaving you to turn even redder at the thought. 

“I really like him,” You told her smiling. 

“I know you do and he really likes you too.” Pepper said knowingly and boy was she right. 

Thanks for reading, love. 

Requests are open x

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter imagine #peter parker imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #imagine #imagines blog #spiderman #spiderman imagine #civil war imagine #tony stark

[stopforamoment]

Part Five: Grandma Lorinda’s Violin (Series 15, Part 5 of 6)

Series Fifteen: Rinda’s Insecurities (6 Parts) Part Five: Grandma Lorinda’s Violin (Series 15, Part 5 of 6) WARNINGS/TRIGGERS: Every part of this series will tie in with depression and anxiety issues. I’ll be more specific with tags in each one.

My masterlist is at the end of my bio. Please check it out or message me if you have questions or would like to be tagged in anything!

Book: The Royal Romance (After Book Three) Pairing: Bastien Lykel x OC Rinda Parks Word Count: 875 Rating: M for language, reference to passive aggressive behavior

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS for this part: reference to a mother’s passive aggressive behavior toward her daughter, reference to manipulative behaviors Author’s Note: Obligatory disclaimer that Pixelberry Studios owns the TRR characters and my pocketbook with those darn diamond scenes. OFC with all of her quirks is all mine. My apologies if Tumblr or I do something stupid when I try to post this. The keep reading link shows up on my laptop but not my phone. Ugh.

Thank you to Ash for understanding that special bond between a granddaughter and her nan. My own Grandma Lorinda was the inspiration for the bond between Rinda and her grandma—except I can’t play the violin! 😉 Thank you @asherella-is-a-dork-3 for always being my sounding board! Thank you @cora-nova @silviasutton1989 @bobasheebaby​ @riseandshinelittleblossom​ for still being a part of the journey! Series Summary: This series picks up the morning after the Halloween festival, and these are basically drabbles that occur the month or two after Bastien and Rinda start dating. Rinda has Bipolar 2 Disorder, which means she doesn’t quite get the “high ups” of full-blown mania, but she experiences the lowest lows that contribute to her insecurity days. She also experiences intense emotions of rage, which ties in with her ability to completely burn bridges and cut people out of her life when they’re pushed her too far. She’s taken medication for this since graduate school, when she went to a therapist for the first time and realized for the first time that her depression was something that could be managed with medication. She especially needed medication and additional therapy when state budget cuts were affecting her career and when Jameson died. Even though her life has taken a positive turn since she’s come to Cordonia and met Bastien, she knows that she still needs to take her medication and ask for Bastien’s help to monitor her moods and step in when necessary. Chapter Summary: Rinda’s mother has her own insecurities, and she uses passive aggressive techniques when she feels things spiraling out of her control. This is something that has always impacted Rinda as she was growing up, and it still impacts her even as an adult. When Rinda’s mother realizes she is staying in Cordonia, she ships Rinda’s violin to her. Sounds innocent enough, right?

Grandma Lorinda’s Violin

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS for this part: reference to a mother’s passive aggressive behavior toward her daughter, reference to manipulative behaviors Rinda’s mother could be a passive aggressive bitch, and when she learned that Rinda and Henry were staying in Cordonia for a full year she began calling Rinda almost every day, crying that she wouldn’t see her grandson ever again all because of Rinda’s career. And a man. Rinda rolled her eyes. Then her mother realized how serious Rinda was about her career in Cordonia—and how serious she was about her relationship with Bastien. When she talked to Henry, trying to influence him, she realized how much Henry loved Bastien and how much he was enjoying his new life in Cordonia. Rinda’s mother began to panic, and she escalated her passive aggressive techniques. Bastien came home to see Rinda holding a piece of paper, tears streaming down her face, with a large international parcel in front of her. “Tria?” “My mom sent my violin. Her note says that since I’m staying here and never coming back to America, I might as well have my violin here.” Bastien heard a lot of stories from Rinda’s childhood, so this didn’t surprise him. But he wasn’t sure why Rinda was so upset. “Sweetheart, this is a good thing, right? I know you practice in the music room at school, but now you have your violin here.” Rinda shook her head. “It’s not a good idea to fly an instrument, especially if it goes in the cargo area. There’s a lot of preventative stuff you’re supposed to do if you have to fly with it, but I can already tell my mom didn’t do any of it. So I’m upset that she’s a passive aggressive bitch, but I’m also upset that she deliberately did this—I mean, not packaging it properly. It belonged to my great-grandparents and they brought it on a boat when they came to America. It’s never flown before and I’m afraid to look.” Fortunately Rinda was able to use her connections with the royal archivist to find a luthier who restored antique violins. Rinda hadn’t even opened the package. She simply handed it to the man, head down, and mumbled that she knew this violin wasn’t properly packaged. And she had nothing to do with that. Bastien came down to the archives to see how it was going, and he was shocked to hear the luthier raising his voice to Rinda. Bastien knew Rinda shut down when people raised their voice to her, and he quickly came over and wrapped an arm around her. “What is going on?” The luthier spoke first. “I can repair this violin, but I’m appalled at how it was treated. Do you know how much it will cost to repair an instrument this valuable?” Bastien’s eyes widened as Rinda whispered that she knew the violin probably belonged in a museum or in a personal collection, but it belonged to her grandma and she couldn’t bear to part with it. It was insured. For six figures, USD. Please, just stop yelling at her and repair it. She’d speak to her insurance company to get it straightened out. The archivist looked at Rinda. “This was your grandmother’s violin? How did she get a hold of a Lété et Vuillaume?” Jean-Baptiste Vuillaume was a famous French luthier in the 1800s, and Rinda knew the violin was valuable to the right collector. Rinda gave a non-committal shrug. “It belonged to my great-grandfather who was born in France. He passed it down to his son, my grandpa. And he gave it to my grandma as a wedding gift.” The archivist gave a low whistle. “That’s some wedding gift.” . . . . . When Rinda was a child she chose to play the violin because her beloved Grandma Lorinda also played the violin. Rinda did have a natural aptitude for music, but every student has to start at the beginning and every student needs encouragement to continue practicing so they become more proficient. Rinda’s parents frequently teased Rinda as she practiced. They didn’t mean to be cruel, but their comments destroyed her confidence. But she had Grandma Lorinda to encourage her. To listen to her practice, no matter how out of tune and screechy it sounded. To enthusiastically clap for every scale and every play through of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Even though Rinda would often joke that she was an orchestra nerd, music really did become her salvation. She liked taking dance and gymnastic lessons because she could put on a mask when she was performing and pretend she was confident and outgoing. But that was just on stage. In real life she was painfully shy and wished she were invisible so the bullies would leave her alone. But music? That’s when she could be herself and be left alone. And when Grandma Lorinda was gone, music became something even more personal for her because playing the violin reminded her so much of her dearest grandma. When Rinda’s mother shipped the violin to her, Rinda knew there was another layer of aggression in her actions. Her mother was always jealous of how close Rinda and her grandma were, and her mother knew how much it meant when Grandma Lorinda gave her favorite grandchild her violin. When Rinda’s mother lashed out, she cut deep.

#long post #choices trr #bastien lykel #OFC Rinda Parks #Rinda's Insecurities series

[autolovecraft]

I boarded the White Ship sailed silently away from my far native land.

Thus would I speak to myself, is the palace of Dorieb, whom some say reach even to the happy folk, of a whiteness greater than any I had sailed so many aeons. As we drew nearer the green shore the bearded man again implored me to turn back to the White Ship used to come when the tide is low, but ever would the bearded man to land me at the stone pier by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying, Into Thalarion, and among the sights before me. Shrouded in mist they were, so that no man might behold their peaks; and sometimes at night the deep waters of the horizon stretched the grim, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent. In the darkness below there loomed the vast blurred outlines of a vessel breaking up on the cruel rocks, but I heeded him not; for ocean is more ancient than the lore of books is the Land of Hope, and the dreams and thoughts of beauty rises another more beautiful. And on the cruel rocks, and of many things I had once seen through the mists beyond the basalt pillars of the tortoise, and to our ears came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the sweetest songs of the oarsmen as we sailed madly away from that damnable coast the bearded man, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of aloe and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and as I crouched on the far horizon ahead the spires of its temples reached, so that no man might behold their peaks; and the lore of old men and of things which in turn he told to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but watched me as I crouched on the thirty-first day that we anchored at last in the immemorial year of Tharp that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as of the great monarch Dorieb, and the hours were filled with the unburied bones of those who have looked upon the living Olympus.

Sometimes at twilight the gray vapors of the West. Then did the bearded man spoke no word, but this time the oarsmen as we sailed away. Green are the groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. In the darkness below there loomed the vast blurred outlines of a Thousand Wonders, wherein reside all those mysteries that man has striven in vain to fathom. Green are the groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. And the bearded man spoke no word, but with the reluctant bearded man spoke at last in the books men gave me when I looked again, at closer range, and the dreams and thoughts of beauty rises another more beautiful. Out of that lighthouse whence I had once seen through the mists beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the West. But we did not set foot upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the sea and meet in a soft language I seemed to beckon me. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as though I were the last man on our planet. And it was that the city was greater than men, and their pavements also are of coral and amber.

From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the sea was rough or calm, and felt the first stirrings of unrest. The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me in a resplendent arch.

Of that land there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and now there are so few that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the mountain snow.

And the roof is of pure gold, set upon tall pillars of the ways beneath. As we drew nearer the green shore of Sona-Nyl is known of men and of many things I had sailed so many; and far back beyond the basalt pillars of ruby and azure, and the gardens of these things which in turn he told to me, This is Thalarion, and the dreams of Time. In my mind I would say to myself, is the Land of Sona-Nyl; for from the full moon, and besought the bearded man said to me, Beware of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. The old captains of the sea rose lordly terraces of Zar, for it is told that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the terraces again I saw that the city was greater than men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. One night I answered the call, and ever did he beckon me to turn back, but what I found was only this: a strange dead bird whose hue was as of the West? Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and freighted with the golden domes of gigantic cities glittering on the wall a calendar which still remained as when I went within the tower, I saw on the far horizon ahead the titanic spray of a vessel breaking up on the far horizon ahead the titanic spray of a Thousand Wonders, wherein reside all those mysteries that man has striven in vain to fathom. So the White Ship sailed silently away from that damnable coast the bearded man, bearded and robed, and ever did he beckon me to turn back to the White Ship sailed on past the walls of Thalarion, and I walked out over the city. Far from the full moon I boarded the White Ship sailed silently away from my far native land.

And I closed my eyes before the world could learn of what they had seen and dreamed. At first it told to my father told to my grandfather and told him of these things, and among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. In the Land of Sona-Nyl; for from the grotto-born river Narg. Green are the groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. Nevertheless at the hour I sailed away from my far native land. Up from the sea.

The man who had voyaged far from the mists beyond the horizon stretched the grim, gray walls, over which one might spy only a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. Of marble and porphyry are the turrets of marble upon its walls.

And when the tide is low, but which all believe to lie beyond the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the sweetest songs of the West. At night the streets and the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the mists beyond the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the lore of books is the palace is of pure gold, set upon tall pillars of the mountain snow.

Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the celestial bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky out of which it had appeared. Then did the bearded man spoke no word, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, the Land of Fancy, and when the music ceased and the lutanist. For the aeons that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the azure sky, and I heard the shrieking of men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. The wind grew stronger, and with the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things more strange and more distant in space and time. Out of the West?

With the dawn I descended the tower and looked for wreckage upon the rocks, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, over warm blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes.

Sometimes at twilight the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are seen when the music ceased and the hours were filled with soft songs of the South it was that the light had failed for the first stirrings of unrest. With the dawn I descended the tower, I beheld the basalt pillars of the sea. And I have read more of these things, and having such carven figures of gods and the dreams and thoughts of beauty that come from the sea was rough or calm, and the streets and the streets and the streets and the streets and the bearded man again implored me to turn back to the sound of melody the White Ship, and with the golden domes of gigantic cities glittering on the cruel rocks, and the streets and the streets and the ways that were and the streets and the streets are white with the bearded man warn me to turn back, but with the lethal, charnel odor of plague-stricken towns and uncovered cemeteries. Fairest of all is the secret lore of books is the palace is of pure gold, set upon tall pillars of the West. So once more the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt the basalt pillars of the azure sky, and with the reluctant bearded man to land me at the hour I sailed away. So to the sound of melody the White Ship. But more wonderful than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl there is no pain or death, but who can tell what lies beyond the basalt pillars I fancied there came the distant horizon ahead the titanic spray of a whiteness greater than that of the torrent. Its forests are of gold. Nevertheless at the hour I sailed away from the full moon I boarded the White Ship. For the aeons that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene. Very brightly did the moon shine on the cruel rocks, but I heeded him not; for from the grotto-born river Narg. And I looked again, at closer range, and a single shattered spar, of a vessel breaking up on the far horizon ahead the titanic spray of a monstrous cataract, wherein the oceans of the singer and the ways that might be, as of the ways that are seen when the moon shine on the infinitely distant horizon ahead the spires of its temples reached, so that no man might behold their peaks; and the mist lifted, we beheld the green shore of far lands, bright and beautiful, and the placid harbor wherein lay anchored the White Ship followed the bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky out of which it had appeared. Cathuria with its splendid groves and palaces, and a single shattered spar, of whom all are gifted with unmarred grace and unalloyed happiness.

In Sona-Nyl, which no man hath seen, but what I found was only this: a strange dead bird whose hue was as of the North Point light that my father, and told him of these cities are strange orchids, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and cities of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters of the West. Then as I crouched on the slab of damp stone which had risen beneath my feet. Of that land, the White Ship, and my father not so many; in the later watches of the great monarch Dorieb, and here hang the trophies of the great monarch Dorieb, whom some say to me in the Land of Sona-Nyl.

And I closed my eyes before the world could learn of what they had seen and dreamed. As we drew nearer the green shore of Sona-Nyl there is no bound, for it is told that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the sea rose lordly terraces of Zar, where as far inland as we glided away into a mysterious South, golden with the reluctant bearded man said to me, This is the abode of gods and the lore of books is the Land of Cathuria with its splendid groves and pastures, bright and fragrant the flowers, blue and musical the streams, clear and cool the fountains, and freighted with the bearded man say to be a demi-god and others a god. Shrouded in mist they were, so that no man might behold their peaks; and far back beyond the horizon stretched the grim, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is more ancient than the sweetest songs of the world drop down to abysmal nothingness.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #1919 #The White Ship #The White Ship week

[bibibiyu]

The Night Train - Part 1

Lilian Turner, a horror novelist, wakes up one stormy night to find a bleeding man in her train compartment. Thomas Shelby is on the run. 

PART 2

When I opened my eyes, Thomas Shelby was there, staring at me. Seated across from me in my train compartment, hair stuck to his forehead, clothes dark from the wetness the rain had harassed him with.

At the time, of course, I didn't know his name was Thomas Shelby. All I knew was a man was watching me as I tried to keep myself from dozing away.

I was on my way to the coasts of Russia, meaning to visit the family of a friend who I was told would be more than willing to give me room and board.

It was night and the combination of the sound of the raindrops on my window and the move of the train against the tracks was so soothing, I was easily forgetting all about what I’d been meant to write that night.

I’d been having trouble sleeping, my inability to write haunting me. Debilitating.

My publisher had recommended I take a trip to Europe. Russia’s snowy coasts had coaxed some of his favorite writer’s into relaxation. Many even into inspiration. The kind that often bred masterpieces.

I was waiting for mine.

When I opened my eyes, I didn't know then, but I had found it.

I stared at him silently, for a moment so utterly shocked a man was in my compartment that the words (as they had the habit of doing these days) left me.

But even then, somehow, I wasn't afraid. I reflect on this often, unsure of what it means. I didn't question it then but it’s remarkable to me even now. Thomas Shelby had surprised me, but no, not scared me.

He stared at me evenly, not uncomfortable by my gaze.

The silence was thick, I unaware of who should break it first. The longer time went on, the more I realized this man didn’t mean to shake it. 

He pulled out a cigarette case from the inside of his coat pocket and lit one with a lighter he confiscated from his pants pocket.

My mind, in spite of its prior sleepy sluggishness, was already moving fast. I was sure I’d booked the compartment for myself only. None of the attendants had said anything about anybody else joining me. There were few that had boarded the train at midnight, as I had. I’d thought I’d seen them all. And we hadn’t stopped at any station yet.

Where had he come from?

The click of the lighter as it opened and closed was subdued by the rain. But it, like a grandfather clock, kept the time.

I shifted in my seat, neck aching from the awkward angle I’d had it in. His eyes flashed to me and that was when I decided that I didn't want to say anything and wasn’t going to.

The smell of his cigarette had already dispersed through the whole train compartment.

I placed my hands in my lap, debating whether to reach for my book and read. That could keep my mind preoccupied.

A flash of lightning illuminated the window we were seated against and with its light, I saw a gash at the top of his head. Seconds later, thunder cracked so loudly, I felt it flutter in my chest.

The shock of the lightning and thunder must have ignited something in me because before I knew it, I had asked, “Are you alright, sir?”

The strange man, as I’d thought of him by then, remained still, eyes on me.

A quick flash of thought through my mind; could he not hear me?

Suddenly, he was up and opening the train compartment door, peeking from one end of the hall to the other.

I’d sat up, trying to discern what was going on but without moving much for fear he’d be spooked by me.

He was listening for  any movement coming from the hallways, concentrated. When it seemed nothing was there, he slid the door closed again and locked it.

This was when I began to get nervous.

“Sir, are you alright?”

He turned back to me then and viewed me as if he’d forgotten about me and was just remembered.

The cigarette was still in his hand and he brought it up to his lips again.

“Never been better,” a gruff voice, as if released from deep below.

He sat back down and I watched him, this time not worrying about him noting me doing so.

I eyed the gash on top of his head then looked at him again, noticing his noticing.

“Are you hurt?”

He took another draw from his cigarette, slowly untensing his body and leaning his head back against the seat, lost in his thoughts, eyeing the compartment ceiling.

He was as unresponsive as a corpse. So, I , glancing one more time at the locked compartment door, decided it best to do what I had wanted do since the man had made me uncomfortable, and reached for my book and notebook. I opened the notebook and flipped to my notes from earlier in the day. I pretended to read them after my mind refused to register the words, my eyes having run over them four times already with no luck.  

I couldn’t stop thinking about his wound. I was sure I had some disinfectant ointment and gauze in my bag. I was a clumsy person and travel could be tough. I believed in preparation. And tonight, this belief hadn’t failed me.

 I put my books aside and stood up, turning my back to him to reach for the overhead compartments over my seat. I found my bag and inside of it, what I was looking for.

His eyes were already on me, when I explained, “I have gauze and ointment for your wound. I can help you, if you’d like.”

A look came over him briefly, lingering long enough for me to notice it but not long enough for me to decipher it before he hid it.

“Are you a doctor?”

This was a little surprising. No one had thought I was a doctor before. A nurse? Always.

“Not at all. Just prepared.”

He shook his head, “I’m alright.” He pulled a handkerchief from his inside pocket and wiped at his head, missing. I stepped forward to show him where it was but his body jerked and he held up a hand.

Was he … afraid of me? That was… odd.

Embarrassed and feeling my face growing warm, I turned away.

I put the things back in the bag and sat back down, avoiding his gaze as calmly as I could.

I was already filling with dread at the thought that the train ride was to consist of such awkward silence, a torture, when he spoke again.

This time his tone was different enough that I noticed it. “Are you from New York?”

I shifted in my seat, “No, I’m from Texas.”

He was pocketing his handkerchief. “I’ve heard of it…. lots of land. Rich.”

His tone was awkward. As if small talk were a foreign language.

“Yes.” I said. “And beautiful.”

“Better than New York?”

“Oh definitely. New York is cramped, dirty, poor. A tough place for tough people. Texas is… it’s open. It’s honest. And…” I couldn't find the right word.

“Wild.”

“Yes! Wild.”

He was lighting another cigarette.

“And you… are from London?”

“Birmingham.”

“We have a Birmingham as well. Alabama.”

He nodded, taking a draw. “I’ve heard.”

“Have you ever been to America?”

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I was there on business.”

I nodded, acknowledging what he’d said while debating whether it was polite to ask what kind of business.

“Are you a writer?”

The question threw me off guard. Being a woman, no one hardly assumed i was anything other than alive. And barely. But I suppose he’d shown a knack for a different kind of thinking, considering he’d asked if I was a doctor.

“How did you know?”

He motioned at my notebook with his head, “looks handwritten.”

“People write in journals all the time.”

“Not like that.”

The notebook was worn, pages loose, stuffed with additional ones with scribbles all over them.

“What do you write about?”

“Nothing scholarly.”

“Good.” He leaned forward in his seat to place the cigarette in the holder, reaching back to remove his soaked coat. “I’m not much of a scholar.”

He threw the coat onto the seat next to him and leaned back, his white shirt sticking to him.

I couldn’t help but note this, the see-through state of it revealing a dark circular shadow on the left side of his chest. A tattoo?

He saw me staring, picking up his cigarette again.

I swallowed, suddenly remembering the situation he had put me in. My eyes involuntarily flashed to the locked compartment door.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”

Such a strange question, even after it all. Especially after the fact that I had, at one point throughout this whole ordeal, been sure I had, him.

“I …” my hesitation was unfamiliar and increasingly embarrassing. “Not at all Mr….”

I could have sworn a smirk briefly outlined his lips, behind his cigarette. He didn’t respond.

My mouth somehow, kept on moving. “Your clothes are drenched. You’ll catch a cold.”

Why I cared, I had no idea.

“Would you like me to remove them?”

I froze. The depth of my stomach suddenly felt turbulent, wiry, anxious beyond reason. My face felt warm again and my breath hitched. My mind was in a panic. 

I’m embarrassed to admit, that my mouth was probably slightly open, suspended in shock.

I was taking too long to respond, unable to form a sentence despite my affinity for words. No one had ever done this to me before.

This man. This wet bleeding man. Smoking his cigarettes. Even now, as I write this, I feel the words alive in ways I never thought they could be. In particular ways they’d never shined on a page before.

Mr. Noname had redefined all of it in a matter of minutes. My relationship to strangers, to my body, to my words.

That is what I meant by a masterpiece. A great story can change your whole point of view, the way you relate to yourself.

Thomas Shelby had done this to me. Within minutes.

I swallowed, and forced my throat to produce sound. “If that’s how you’d feel the most comfortable, I cant object.”

I, of course, wished to object but if he was truly on the brink of sickness, it didn’t really matter what I wanted. At the same time, I had truly doubted, as I said that, that he would go through with his suggestion.

But he began to unbutton his shirt, pushing his suspenders off of his shoulders.  I wanted to turn away but in a moment of resolve, I refused. I’d had enough timidity for a day. Or night. Or, at least, looking timid.

The shirt peeled off of him heavily and he hung it over the windowsill, trapping the shirt collar under the tightly sealed window pane.

I was worried he’d take off his pants as well but he stopped there, sitting with his knees widely apart.

As if unconsciously horrified, I brought my own knees more tightly together.

“What sorts of writing do you do?”

I still had my notebook open in my hands. I looked down at it, as if it were an alien object.

I cleared my throat. “I’m a horror novelist.”

He nodded, mulling it over. The skin over his abdomen was taut, somewhat scarred. What I had assumed was a tattoo through its blurry outline, definitely was a tattoo. It looked like a sun, with radiant rays. But in dark ink.

“A horror novelist.” He repeated.

“Yes,” I said quietly.

I really was, at that time. I’d been obsessed with anything supernatural, macabre, mysterious. Not only because it brought some sort of drama and excitement to my dull life but because there was truth in horror. So much more than in regular old fiction. There was a lot you could learn about a person from what they feared. And everyone feared something.

“You make up stories?” he asked.

“Yes. But I gather inspiration from daily life.”

“Lots of horror there.”

He sounded cheeky. A thoroughly subdued and subtle cheeky. I thought it over briefly. “Yes, there is.”

“For others more than for you, no?”

I paused. “Everyone has their insecurities. Their fears.”

“Some people’s seem more real.”

“Well, that's hard to discern.”

“How?”

“Well, we can’t ever truly know what the other is feeling. Experiencing. Therefore, we can’t truly  judge it and determine if it’s more real or not. It’s real for them and for every individual.”

“What about nightmares?”

“....what about them?”

“Are those real?”

“In what sense?”

He paused to re-light his cigarette. By God, he was going through them, puffing along like a chimney.

“Are nightmares real?” He repeated.

I didn't understand his question. “Well, they're real in that they occur. But if you’re asking about  the content of your nightmares, th-“

“Are they real if they happen when you’re not asleep?”

I watched him then, his detached look. Amused? No. Jesting? No.

Serious.

“Are those not hallucinations?” I asked, carefully. His stare was so unbroken, so concentrated, I was again unsure of what was transpiring.

After a long moment of that, suspended, he looked away, out his window where there was only pitch blackness. 

I too, watched. But I watched him.

There was knock on the compartment door and we both turned to it sharply.

The talking must have woken someone up. My eyes involuntarily ran over his naked upper body and I began to panic once again. His eyes met mine and he also seemed to be debating his current situation.

I could open the door wide enough so that it was only me that was seen. I could block him from view.

I looked at him again, re evaluating his wound. How I’d woken up to him watching me. How he refused to tell me his name. How he’d locked the door. How he was a complete stranger.

Somehow, he seemed to catch this running through my mind, by the look in my eye.

He moved suddenly, grasping me by the arms. I almost gasped in surprise but he put his face close to mine.

“I’m not here.” He said evenly.

What had missed me when I first woke up to the sight of him, hit me now. This man couldn’t be safe. He couldn’t be stable.

He must have seen the panic in my eyes because he loosened his grip and sat back a little, but still close enough that I could see the blue of his eyes, clearly, like the depths of concentrated coral reefs.

There was another knock. This time someone called, “Ms. Turner?”

“Who are you?” I asked the stranger before me, my voice trembling.

“I'm not going to hurt you.”

I was silent and this seemed to worry him more.

“I would have already done it.”

This was true and I registered it, but only beneath the growing unease his reaction to the knock on the door had caused.

“I only boarded this train because some people are after me. Bad people. As soon as it stations, you’ll never see me again.”

Another knock.

I was calculating, dissecting his face. Beneath his stoicism, practiced, I could sense fear.

And that fear, it could only reveal and confirm truth.

I took a breath. “Alright I’l-“

We heard as a key was being inserted into the lock.

#peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #romance #once upon a time

[thearrangment-phff]

XIX. So Many Questions

December 2017

Telling her family that she was going to marry Harry had to be in most awkward position Isabella had been in since she had her first real encounter with an English boy at the Kent boarding school she was sent to. She was still learning English and it wasn't too good. Didn't help that at that moment she had a strong mixed accent of French and German that to took a while for others to understand.

When Harry had announced that they were marrying the area went quiet for a second, only to immediately break out in whispers and small talk. They spoke different languages, none English, so Harry was let out of the loop. He watched as her family argued and couldn't make out a single word they were saying. The mad expressions and rasied voices told him enough.

Jean spoke Luxembourgish to his son Henri and daughter Marie Astrid. The Liechtenstein family spoke German. Isabella's Nassau cousins spoke a mixture of French and German. Amedeo swore in Dutch only because no one else in Isabella's family knew Dutch. Isabella herself only knew because Amedeo's older siblings Joachim and Maria Laura had attempted to teach her when they were in Kent but failed. The Luxembourg cousins spoke a mixture of French and Luxembourgish which confused Harry even more.  

Isabella was talking to the two Liechtenstein Princesses, Marie Astrid and Maria Annunciata, in German explaining what happened. Marie Astrid was more concerned with the ring than anything else. Josef had begun a conversation with their Nassau cousins, switching to French to better communicate with them.  

Since there was no English, Harry was forced to remain in the background not knowing what people were saying. That was the hardest part. Not knowing what they were saying. It was then that he knew he had to follow through with his plans to learn another language. He would learn French. Maybe a little bit of German if he could master French fast enough. It would solve the language barrier between he and Isabella's family and maybe he wouldn't feel so unimportant amongst the large group of people.

Amongst the small chaos, Jean had walked up to Harry with an occasional limp because he left his cane near his chair. The distance was short but Harry didn't want the aging man to push himself so he closed the gap between them by walking to him.

"Don't let them scare you. A big family like this have more blessings than anything else," assured Jean.

"What about your thoughts?"

"My thoughts shouldn't matter in this union between my granddaughter and yourself. Though I wouldn't mind gaining another great-grandchild, I already have 10 and another on the way."

"Someone is pregnant?"

"Yes. Belle's brother Christoph and his wife Adelaide are expecting their second child. My hope is it's a girl, but a boy will bring blessings all the same. Perhaps you and Belle could give me number twelve by next Christmas," smiled Jean.

"I haven't even talked to her brothers. I'm marrying their sister and I haven't even sat down and talked to them," panicked Harry as his eyes went to Isabella's uncles Guillaume and Jean talking with Isabella's siblings.

"Those boys have a gentle soul. As long as you love their sister, they would never object to such a happy union," declared Jean.

Harry didn't have anything to say to that, but what could he say? Jean thought they were real. Harry's grandmother had only 5 great-grandchildren and Jean had double than her. He expected Harry and Isabella to marry and have children. All of Jean's children married and had children of their own with a minimum of four kids.

If his state of panic wasn't already high, the thought of children once again, made things worse. Those children would become so real one day. Isabella expressed her want for kids, and Harry had been saying for years that he would love to have children as well.  

They had almost half a year to get to know each other, and though they had, the feelings between them were simply friendly. It was more likely going to stay that way for years to come.  

"Should I have sat down with them?" Asked Harry.

"When I married my wife Josephine Charlotte, I sat down with her parents more than I intended. Same as you with Isabella's parents. I knew her brothers very well, but I never sat down with them and talked about marrying their sister," said Jean.

"How did you and your wife meet?"

Jean gave Harry a smile at the faint memories of his wife flashed in his mind, "We crossed paths for years as we were both children of monarchs. Our marriage was politically motivated. I won't lie about that, but it was a loving match. By marrying a Belgium princess, I elevated the standing of the Luxembourg Grand Ducal Court as my own father, Prince Felix of Bourbon-Parma, had when he married my mother," explained Jean.

"How did you father elevate Luxembourg?"

"Before my father, my mother was styled Her Grand Ducal Highness, which is below Her Royal Highness. My father had a stronger bloodline with that of Spain, Portugal, and Orleans, and though the Duchy of Parma no longer existed it was his wife Infanta Maria Antonia of Portugal who helped given her children dynastic marriages. My parents were first cousins."

"I didn't know that."

"Yes, well, first cousin marriages are now frowned upon. My grandmothers were sisters as the children of the brief King Miguel of Portugal. When my parents married it became complicated. My mother was going to be the monarch, and my father her consort. Though he wasn't angry that the House of Bourbon-Parma wouldn't rule the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg," smiled Jean.

"My grandparents went through a similar thing when they married. In the end, my grandfather gave up his titles, citizenship, and everything for love," added Harry.

"My parents' marriage was set us by their mothers. Not an arranged marriage, but not one completely of love before the wedding day. A marriage of convenience if you would call it that. My father neither relinquished his titles or adopted my mothers. They simply merged. Had your grandfather not had strong German ties perhaps that would have been a similar response," claimed Jean.

"Do you believe my marriage will be one of convenience?"

"So many questions," smiled Jean. "Of course, your marriage is one of convenience. Every marries because it suits them one way or the other. A marriage between you and Belle is more beneficial for you."

"Wait-" before Harry could continue Jean had begun to walk away from him.

Jean was probably one of the few who liked Harry in Isabella's family. When Jean had returned to his chair with the cane in his hands, Harry was once again left alone as Isabella's family continued talking. After several minutes of Isabella walking around, talking with her family, and showing around the ring Harry finally joined her.

There was little to say since no one bothered to speak English, even with Harry's obvious presence. He recognized some French when Isabella was talking to come of her younger cousins who were as tall as Harry. He knew that the girl's name was Charlotte and he could never forget that name because it was also his niece's name.

Harry stood next to Isabella as she continued her conversation. Once she was done talking her younger relatives left the two of them alone. Isabella grabbed onto his hand leading them into a part of the area that wasn't being occupied. She had grabbed onto his left hand and placed it on her hip while she grabbed the other and put it on her neck.

As Isabella looked up at Harry he noticed the know bright smile on her face which was a change from the panic mode just an hour or two earlier.

"Did they take things well?" Asked Harry.

"A lot! Not all but more than I was expecting. Even if they didn't want to show they were against our marriage, they all congratulated me."

"Please tell me your brothers don't hate me," begged Harry as Isabella let out a nervous laugh. "God your family hates me so much."

Isabella moved Harry's hand away from her neck and shoulder area to her hip as she, in turn, put her arms around Harry's waist, "They don't hate you. They just don't know you too well. They've never really gotten to know you or your family that’s all."

"On another topic for right now, why is Joachim still here?" Asked Harry as Isabella pinched his side. "What was that for?!"

"Don't be mean to Joachim. He's taking Wenceslas and Constantin back with him to Belgium and they're going to hang out with his brother Amedeo. He recently had a baby girl with his wife Elisabetta and I think they would love some adult company. I'm not sure if Christoph, Adelaide, and Josef are going but it would a big surprise if they're not," answered Isabella before getting a little off topic.

"When we marry is that going to be our life?"

"What do you mean?" Replied Isabella.

"Going from country to country to celebrate Christmas and birthdays," clarified Harry.

"Of course, it is. That's the whole point of marrying me, isn't it? My connections. We will attend weddings, birthday celebrations, and christenings. That's always been my life and now it will be yours too. They're my family so of course I would try and go to everything I can. I'm blessed with such an amazing, large family, and I would never take them for granted. I want to be able to be with them whenever I can," stated Isabella.

Though he also had a loving family it was then Harry confirmed that he and Isabella had grown up in different worlds despite being so similar. Her family was spread across several countries and spoke several languages. Harry's family really only spoke English and they all lived in England. All the comparisons of their two lives were more prominent than ever in Harry's mind.

Harry's parents divorced. Isabella's parents had been married for almost 40 years. Harry only had one brother. Isabella had two sisters and three brothers. He spent his life surrounded by press and shielded as best as his family could from the world. While he spent his formattable years partying then finally going into the Royal Army, Isabella spent hers going to a great university then working for the United Nations. 

Even when his mother died, Harry maintained a close relationship with his mother's family though nothing could compare to the bond Isabella had with her maternal family. He only met a handful of her Archduke and Duchess family at her birthday celebrations and they seemed close as ever, he couldn't even imagine meeting the rest.  

"I just want your family to like me," confessed Harry.

"What?"

"I want your family to like me," repeated Harry.

"They do like you. Even if they don't, we are still getting married, and they will have to deal with your tall ginger ass at every family event until death does us part. Though if I die first you might still be invited because of our kids," smiled Isabella.

"Our kids. I think about them more and more. What would you name them?"

"Charles after both are fathers. Albert for another boy. I like the names Felix and Robert though I don't know if they would be first names. Mary Astrid for a girl to honor my mother and great-grandmother. Josephine-Charlotte for a second born to honor my grandmother as well. Maybe an Eleanor or Elisabeth. What about you?"

"I haven't really thought about it since I met you. I think Charles to honor both of our fathers would be nice. I don't know how I feel about Albert. Felix and Robert may be too much of your family than mine. Mary Astrid would be a nice name for our daughter," smiled Harry.

"We may be happy," laughed Isabella as Harry nodded

#PHFF #Prince Harry Fanfiction #Prince Harry Fanfic #Royal Fanfic #Royal Fanfiction #Fanfiction

[jeremystrele]

‘In My Blood It Runs’ Is The Documentary Every Australian Needs To See

‘In My Blood It Runs’ Is The Documentary Every Australian Needs To See

Creative People

by Sally Tabart

Dujuan Hoosan with his mother, Megan Hoosan. Photo – courtesy of Maya Newell.

Dujuan Hoosan, the star of In My Blood It Runs. Photo – courtesy of Maya Newell.

Dujuan celebrating one of his weekly trips out to Country. Photo – courtesy of Maya Newell.

Dujuan Hoosan with his mother, Megan Hoosan. Photo – courtesy of Maya Newell.

Left: Dujuan at school, where he is misunderstood. Right: filmmaker Maya Newell with Dujuan while filming In My Blood It Runs. Photo – courtesy of Maya Newell.

The filmmaking team! Photo – courtesy of Maya Newell.

By now, you’ve probably heard of the documentary In My Blood It Runs. The film introduces Dujuan, an Aboriginal boy of Arrernte/Garrwa descent, at 10 years old – the same age of criminal responsibility in Australia. Like lots of other kids his age, Dujuan is charming and cheeky, testing the boundaries of his family’s rules and exploring his own independence. Unlike most other kids, Dujuan has a superpower – his Ngangkere – a healing power inherited from his great grandfather when he passed away, and the land. Dujuan is a strong hunter and he can speak three languages. And while Dujuan is having difficulty in the western education system, where he is misunderstood, he thrives on his weekly trips with his family and community on Country.

I was lucky to speak with the film’s director, Maya Newell, as well as William Tilmouth, an Arrernte man and Founding Chair of Children’s Ground, who worked as a key advisor on the film. We spoke about how the film came to be, the close creative collaboration between the filmmakers and the families featured, and the importance of agency and ownership by First Nations people over their own stories.

Hi Maya + William – thank you both for taking the time to speak with us. Maya, Was there a particular moment or event that motivated you to make this important documentary?

MAYA NEWELL: I suppose there are lots of moments really, but I think the important thing to say is that the film didn’t just sprout up after one moment or just meeting the family once and wanting to make a film. It sits on the bed of about a decade of relationships, and me personally being invited by Arrernte Elders and an organisation called Akeyulerre Healing Centre in Alice Springs and Children’s Ground, which are two Arrernte led organisations that support children, families and communities to stay connected to culture and have access to their homeland, and continue that important process of passing down knowledge to the next generation.

Over those years of working alongside families and getting to know them and going back and forth from Alice Springs and making a series of short films, I realised there was an important bigger story. It felt like we were making the same short films over and over again about this hidden education system, this system that has been going for 65,000 years and continues today, and that is the language and culture and identity of people that is so undervalued and not often recognised within the mainstream education system, yet is so fundamental to children’s wellbeing. I had a beautiful opportunity to learn over those years through the generosity of Elders and families.

I suppose the moment that really flipped this into considering making a longer version film for the general public was when I met Dujuan on a Ngangkere (traditional healing) camp. [Dujuan] was about 8, and bounded up and started telling me about how he got his power, his Ngangkere, from his great grandfather when he passed away, and also from the land. He was so articulate and poetic in the way he confidently described this super power that he had, and he really wanted a film made about him. So we went back with all those people we’d known for a long time and just asked those hard questions about how you would make a film like this, and if was right to make a film like this, and what was the process and the ethics to put in place to be sure that the families would really be driving it themselves.

We see in the film that Dujuan has incredible support from his family in terms of learning his language, his culture and connecting to Country. Why is that so important, and particularly for kids of Dujuan’s age?

WILLIAM TILMOUTH: First and foremost his identity will remain intact. The foundation of his family’s culture, language, Country and identity are very strong, whereas with me, I was subject to the assimilation process and I was subject to the Stolen Generation. And my culture, my language, and my identity all got fragmented. I was asking myself, ‘Who am I? Where do I belong? And where do I fit in this world?’. That’s something that everybody asks themselves somewhere along the track, and when you don’t have answers you are burdened with thoughts that you really don’t belong. 

First Nations people’s stories have been historically mistold and misrepresented in this country. How did you go about making this beautiful and sensitive documentary in a way that was respectful and true to Dujuan and his family?

WT: It’s a credit to the filmmakers to recognise that this story belongs in the families, and in the people, and at the end of the day they set aside a lot of their professionalism and egos.

As you can see there’s no scriptwriting, this was all done as is, as people lived it. And to do that, it’s an unconventional way of making a documentary. It’s out of the box and it worked because these people were allowed to have agency and ownership in regards to how the film was made, what was in there, and what was not in there. Every step of the way families were totally involved.

Historically, Indigenous films are always about the sensationalising, the romantic image of Aboriginal people in regards to how films are projected, and this one is devoid of any of that image. It turned out to be one of the best films I’ve ever seen in terms of how our people feel about it after. The repercussions of [the filmmakers’] behaviour will allow the film to live for a long time.

And how was this collaborative creative process realised?

MN: We had big workshops with the whole community and also a board of advisors of which William and other people are part of, and then with Dujuan’s family. We had workshops before we even picked up cameras to think about the messaging – what they wanted the film to be about, what they didn’t want the film to be about, and then we watched rushes, edits, we talked about events and how things were going along the way throughout the many years. And those workshops continued through to our impact phase where families were deciding what goals they wanted us to work on as we released the film, which is the stage we are at now.

It’s wonderful to be able to direct audiences to learn more about the importance of First Nations-led education. The importance of juvenile justice reform and raising the age of criminal responsibility to at least 14 from 10 which is absolutely ridiculous. And also, more broadly, to try to influence an end to racism in Australia, which is a big goal, but we’re working towards it.

With so many more eyes on the film, what is an important key message or learning you hope people take away from ‘In My Blood It Runs’?

MN: I think that the key message that has been consistent from Dujuan’s family, their takeaway, Megan (Dujuan’s mother) who says, ‘I just want Australians to know that we love and care about our kids’. I think that’s a simple message but a powerful one in the current context of Black Lives Matter and still the ongoing removal of children from their families and the state of human rights abuses in our juvenile justice systems.

Really the message that William has drummed into me for years and years whenever we had a problem of not knowing how to cut a scene or approach a problem that came up, and he would continually say, ‘Remember it’s about the agency of Aboriginal families to have control of their own lives’, and I think we see that in the film because everything that works for Dujuan is a solution that is derived from his family, not from the institutions that are meant to uplift him.

WT: Children’s Ground [the Arrernte-led organisation of which William is the Founding Chair] advocates for system reform in regards to how we educate and look after our children from birth through to the later teen years. Ultimately at the end of the day, we are asking for system reform with regards to how Aboriginal people are treated because the same tired old methods are just not working. Every year it’s a variation of the past. It’s draconian, it’s primitive, it’s really outdated. The powers that be need to rethink what they’re doing.

What we’re doing at Children’s Ground, and as the film depicts, there is another way of being. Give the family agency, let them find a solution, and support them in that solution. And that’s exactly what happened here. Doing the same old things time and time again and expecting different results is the definition of insanity.

In My Blood It Runs is available to stream on ABC iView now, until August 4th, 2020.

Learn more about the people involved with making In My Blood It Runs and follow its journey here.

In My Blood It Runs is not just a film, it’s also a campaign for change. Learn more about how you can support the solutions guided by the Arrernte and Garrwa families here.

[tokyoteddywolf]

Altea: The Lost Empire Chapter 1

Here we go! @show-your-fandom-side

 @futureblackpaladin (can you find the little easter egg i put in for you?)

*This diverges from the movie a little bit, okay? Keith makes it to the meeting, so this happens instead of what happens in the movie. Enjoy! *

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. First off, I’d like to thank to thank this board for taking the time to listen to my proposal.” It took all he had not to growl when one of the board members yawned. Keith amped up the polite factor, since these guys were the only chance he had… “Now, we’ve all heard about the legend of Altea, a continent somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean that was home to technology far more advanced than anything we had back then. According to Plato, it was struck by some sort of cataclysmic accident that washed it under the sea. Now, you may be asking, ‘Why Altea? Isn’t it just a myth? Pure fantasy?’ Well, guess what, before the Egyptians built the pyramids, the Alteans had electricity, advanced medicine beyond anything we had then, and even the power to fly!”

One of the board members snorted trying to hide a laugh, and Keith sent a deadly glare in his direction. “Oi. Yeah, you in the back! Fuck off! It’s real!” He snapped, shuffling the papers in his hand irritably. “Anyway, the Alteans had a power source greater than anything we could harvest with lightning or coal or gas. Gentlemen, I propose we find that power source and bring it to the surface.” He grinned and pulled out a certain paper, sticking it onto the little ‘conspiracy board’ with a flourish, though he still got mad at Shiro every time he called it that.

“Now, this is a page from an illuminated text that describes a book called the Shepherd's Journal, said to have been a first-hand account of Altea and its exact whereabouts. Now, based on a centuries-old translation of a Norse text, historians have believed the Journal resides in Ireland. But after comparing the text to the runes on this Viking shield, I found that one of the letters had been mistranslated. So, by changing this letter and inserting the correct one, we find that the Shepherd's Journal, the key to Altea, lies not in Ireland, gentlemen, but in Iceland.” He stated proudly, hoping that it got through their silly little brains. He paused for a moment. Just to be dramatic. “Alright, any questions?” The old men all looked at each other, and frowned. “I’m afraid we have to reject your proposal, Mr. Kogane. It’s absolutely ridiculous!” Keith winced, yup, here we go again…

“This boy gets crazier every year.” “Honestly, if I hear one more word about Altea, I’ll throw myself in front of a bus!” “I’ll push you!” They all roared with laughter. Keith clenched his fist, biting back the urge to deck some of them. Mr. Iverson turned to Keith with a pitying look. “Listen, Kogane, the museum funds expeditions that are based on scientific evidence and facts, not legends and folklore. Besides, we need you here. It’s almost winter, the boiler’s going to need plenty of repairs!” Laughing, the fat old man left Keith in the hallway, like he had wasted his time or something.

Keith hissed angrily, face reddened and strands of hair loosening from his ponytail. “If you won’t accept my proposal, I’ll quit! I even have a letter of resignation right here!” He yelled at Iverson’s retreating back. The elder turned and sneered at the young cartographer. “Oh please, you’d flush your career down the drain like your grandfather? You have a lot of potential, Keith. Don’t throw it away for some fairy tale.” He left out the door, Keith scrambling after him. “But I can prove it exists! If you’d just listen to me I-” But the old museum director stopped Keith on the doorstep with a glare as he got into his car. “Listen, you want to go on an expedition so bad, how about you hop in a trolley and go down to the Potomac! Maybe the cold water will clear your head! Heinz!” The car took off, leaving Keith on the sidewalk with an armful of papers and notes.

Thunder rumbled in the sky, so Keith sighed and decided to head home instead. Luckily, he got to his and Shiro’s house before the rain started, so that was at least one good thing for today. “Shiro? I’m home…” He called into the darkened room, swinging the door shut behind him. He tried flicking on the light, only for it to stay unresponsive. Just great. The lightning flashed and illuminated his window, startling him for a moment as he realized that someone was in his house. “Keith Kogane?” A woman with hair so blonde it was practically white asked from his favorite chair, gold eyes glinting in the faint light of the window. “Okay, who the fuck are you? How the hell did you get into my house?” Keith demanded, folding his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow. “I came through the chimney. My name is Haggar Sinclair. I’m here on behalf of my employer, who has an… intriguing proposition for you. Are you interested?” The pale woman, Haggar, asked, tilting her head slightly to the side and adjusting her cloak. Keith figured she was dressed like that to try to impress him or something, low cut dress with leg slits and the dark color contrasting nicely with her light colored features. Too bad Keith was the gayest fuck this side of Washington D.C.

“Oh? Who’s your employer then?” Haggar merely smiled.

Keith’s jaw dropped at the huge mansion looming behind the giant wrought-iron gate, a stone block baring a gold plate with the word ‘Marmora’ in big bold letters as they moved up the driveway. He was ushered inside, Haggar moving quickly forward and speaking as she walked towards an elevator. “This way, please. And don't drip on the Caravaggio. Step lively. Mr. Marmora does not like to be kept waiting.” Keith hurried into the elevator behind her, slightly nervous. Haggar’s hands flitted over him as the elevator descended, tugging out his ponytail to smooth his hair down, adjusting his jacket, correcting his posture, and tilting his head up to look at her as she spoke with the motions.

“You will address him as ‘Mr. Marmora’ or ‘Sir.’ You will stand unless asked to be seated. Keep your sentences short and to the point. Are we clear?” Keith swallowed thickly, nodding confirmation as the elevator reached its destination and opened the gate. “And relax. He doesn’t bite… often.” Haggar smirked, sliding the gates shut and leaving Keith in the strange room full of knickknacks and odd things. He approached the fireplace, raising an eyebrow at the large picture hanging above him. “Grandpa Kolivan?” He muttered, jumping when a voice answered him from near one of the creepy Roman statues. “Finest explorer I ever met!” Keith padded over to the source, an older male with almost purple black hair streaked with silver and eyes like old amber stretching in a weird pose on a mat. He grinned at the startled Linguist, offering his foot out like a hand. “Thace Marmora, pleasure to meet you, Keith! You’re Shiro’s younger brother, right? Shame about the accident. Heard that he can’t look at a fishing boat the same way since.” Keith shook the foot quickly before wiping his hand off in his jacket, slightly disgusted. “He’s better nowadays, actually. Said he might try stepping on a boat sometime again.” He replied calmly.

“Join me for some yoga?” Thace offered, only for Keith to shake his head and decline. “So, you really knew my grandfather?” He asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy. Thace straightened up and nodded, moving over to the couch. “Oh, yeah. Met old Kolivan back in Georgetown. Class of '66. We stayed close friends till the end of his days. Even dragged me along on some of his danged fool expeditions. Kolivan Kogane was crazy as a fruit bat, he was. He spoke of you often, hell, he rivaled Shiro with going on and on about you whenever we went on road trips.” Thace said, stretching out a little. Keith frowned. “Funny, he never mentioned you.” “Well, he knew how much I liked my privacy. I like to keep a low profile.” The strange man explained, moving into a different yoga position.

“Mr. Marmora, is there a reason you wanted me here?” Keith asked, a little low on patience, his foot tapping the floor. “Yes, actually. Look on the table. Your grandfather left it for you. Said if anything ever happened to him, I should give it to you when you were ready. Whatever that meant, he liked speaking in cryptic clues like that.” Keith sighed but moved over to the rectangular package on the small ornately carved table, picking it up and frowning as he hefted it in his hand, eventually unwrapping it from the string and brown paper. It felt a lot like… “Oh my god.” Keith choked. “You’re kidding me. This- This is the Shepherd’s Journal! Mr. Marmora, this is the key to finding Altea!” He was bouncing on his heels at this point, feeling more hyper than he’d ever been before. And to think that today started out so shitty. Thace sighed. “I wasn’t born yesterday, kiddo.” “No, no, no, see there are coordinates and clues-” “It’s all in gibberish, a dead language. Useless, really.” Thace countered. “No, actually, I’ve been studying dead languages since I could read and I could probably decode this entire thing!” Keith snapped back, nothing was going to ruin this for him. He was so close! “It’s probably fake.” “Mr. Marmora, there is no way this is fake. My grandfather would have known if it was. I’m willing to stake my life on the fact that this is the real book.” Keith declared fiercely, determined. “Well, even if it is real, what would you do with it?” Thace questioned, raising a brow. Keith thought for a moment. “Well, I’d need funding, maybe from the museum…?” “They’d shoot that down faster than you could blink. They won’t believe you.” “Okay, point, but dam I will fucking buy a rowboat if I have to! I am not giving up on something I’ve worked my whole life to try and find!” Keith declared, dark eyes full of fire.

Thace smiled and sat up on the couch. “I’m glad you said that, my boy. That’s just what I hoped to hear. Though, how about something a little classier than a rowboat?” Keith froze, slowly turning towards what he assumed was secretly an angel in disguise. “Huh?” Thace pulled a folder file out and grinned. “It’s all been arranged. The whole ball of wax.” “But, why?” Keith was confused as fuck right now. “Well, partially due to a bet I made with your grandfather after I’d had my ears bent enough with stories about that book and Altea. I told him that if he actually found the book, I’d not only fund his expedition but also kiss him full on the mouth! So uh, I was a tad embarrassed when he actually found the damn thing. I’m a man who keeps his word, and I’ll go to my grave with no regrets and debts paid!” Thace said, shooting a smile at the painting.

Thace’s smile dropped though, when he turned back to Keith. “Kolivan… he died a broken man. You have no idea how great he really was. Those museum buffoons made a laughingstock out of him, dragged him down and spat dirt on him. If I could bring back a shred of proof, that’d show them.” Keith nodded solemnly. “But, you do realize that to pull this off, you’ll need a crew?” “Already done!” Thace tossed the folder file to him, who fumbled a little as he caught it and flipped it open. “Hunk Garrett, demolitions and medic, best in his field.” “Oh my god, you got Pidge Gunderson too?” Keith gawked at the page. “Yup! Our tech and mechanic expert. Had to break her out of prison, actually. Mind you she’d already halfway hacked her way out when we got to her.” Thace stated casually, looking smug at Keith’s shocked face.

“I also got the crew that brought the journal back.” “Wait, where was it?” “Iceland.” “I FUCKING KNEW IT!” Thace laughed. “We just need an expert in gibberish and an engineer.” Keith gaped at him. “What about my job?” “You resigned this morning.” “My brother?” “Where do you think we got the engineer from? He’s already on board.” “My cat?” Keith was startled by Antok, his Sphinx cat, jumping up on the couch and mewing at him. Keith’s jaw dropped again. “Holy shit.” Thace looked highly amused.

“Your granddad had a saying. ‘Our lives are remembered by the gifts we leave our children.’ This journal is his gift to you, Keith. Altea is waiting. What do you say?” Keith bounced up and down giddily. “I'm your man, Mr. Marmora! You will not regret this. Holy fuck, I am so excited, l-l-l-I can't even hold it in!”

A few hours later however, found Keith leaning over the side of the ship heaving into the water while his brother rubbed circles into his back. “Why… is it always… carrots? I didn’t even eat any carrots today!” He whined to the amused man chuckling next to him. “If it helps, I got seasick my first time on a boat too.” Shiro tried, still holding in his laughter. Keith reached up and flicked the white forelock on Shiro’s head, pouting. Shiro patted Keith’s back with his wooden prosthetic as she was called over to take a look at one of the engines for the routine checks before submersion.

Even though he was suffering from a burning throat, Keith figured that there was absolutely nothing that could darken his day right now. He was going to find Altea, and prove that he and his grandfather were right about its existence. He couldn’t wait to see it.

// wheezes- holy fuck that was a lot to write- okay, next chapter, the Crew gets introduced and shit goes down and woohoo I’m tired and my back hurts and ugh- hope you like it!

#Voltron Atlantis AU #voltron #keith kogane #vld thace #takashi shirogane #kolivan is keith and shiro's grandpa okay #Shiro lost his arm in a boating accident #im sleepy goodnight-

[lomaaltakid]

The lie I lived, that turned out to be real life.

I still have dreams about this part of my life. It turned out to be just after I had turned two years old, and up until I was five years old.  Let me begin by explaining that this wasn’t really a lie or some made up fantasy world. This actually happened, except the view from my set of eyes was different than what reality panned it out to be.  The common denominator in this story is that it all takes place in Mexico. Yes, this is the three and a half years I spent living there. I would return to the U.S. at five years old.

SO LET’S CALL THESE THREE AND A HALF YEARS: THE LIE

What I felt was happening: Let’s fast forward a bit to the latter part of the lie. I was five years old in 1997. Not actual Mexico City, but the northern suburb of Ecatepec. I lived in a house with my Mom, Dad, brother in a place that really belonged to my Dad’s family. (my grandmother, my great-uncle, my grandfather would all live in that house)

My grandparents house on my Mom’s side lived down the block in a separate house, however, we decided to move after my little brother was born the year prior. I attended kindergarten at a place they called “Pinky Pinky”. I’m still not sure why it was called that, I always thought it was a strange place, but nevertheless I fit in no problem. In fact, I felt I was the envy of kindergarten because there we were all dressed the same, we kind of all looked the same, except I was the smarter one. I had learned to read and write in Spanish by the time I was three so it was almost like I was the “teacher’s pet” but in Mexico, the other classmates didn’t care. I felt that I wasn’t really the loner but the popular kid. I even had a supposed “girlfriend”. Her name was Ana Karen (sounds very Mexican right?) and I’m sure there’s a picture of us in kindergarten. She was actually a very pretty girl from what I remember.  Life seemed grand. Even though I found it hard to get along with the neighbor kids, but my parent’s always told me it was because it was their fault and not mine. My parents never yelled at me or had the need to discipline me. I think they were just happier being in a place where the entire family was and didn’t have to be split up. Where the lie comes in is here: I felt like I was 100% Mexican. Born in Mexico just like the rest of my family and destined to live there for the remainder of his life. The way the family and close people at school made me feel so welcome and so inbred into the culture and society that there was never a mention that I was from a nation called The United States of America to the north where they spoke a foreign language called “English”. The truth of it all: It wasn’t all glamorous. My parent’s had lost almost everything after the 1994 financial crisis and we were victims of two assaults. One, an armed robbery in a taxicab and the second the following year on a passenger bus which was hijacked by about four armed robbers. The strange thing of it all is that I don’t remember the moment it happened, but remember before and after it all happened. My therapist thinks it’s because it was a safety mechanism that shut off that traumatic event so I wouldn’t revisit it ever again in my life, but the fact that I don’t remember and that it happened troubles me to this day. We were poorer than I had thought. My Dad worked in the actual city and we would sometimes take a microbus with my mom and brother to go visit him. Dad was always at work and I spent most afternoons with my mom until Dad would get home late in the evening.  After the second armed robbery, my family made the decision to relocate us to the U.S. but I was never really told or was given the explanation that we would kiss this life goodbye and completely live in what seemed to me a whole new world scary and uncertain. Then came the shock that sent everything spiraling. My great-uncle who I remember very well, actually acted more like a father figure to my Dad than his actual Dad. Since our family is filled with alcoholics, he soon sealed his fate when he got bloody wasted in his summer vacation home and fell down three flights of stairs. That was the first time I’ve seen my Dad so distraught. It was late 1996. The following year, since the house we were staying in, was under his name, there was an issue on which of their brothers would take and inherit the property. They had severe issues with my grandma and my grandfather’s family members that we eventually left Ecatepec in September of 1997. Again, there was no heads up that we had to completely say goodbye to the life I thought I would be living. We would take a bus from Cd. Satelite in the north bound for my grandparent’s ranch (from my Mom’s side) in outer rural Michoacan. I had to say goodbye to everything I felt was my life up until that point. Uncertainly certainly crept up because I told myself that we would just be there temporarily and we would soon return to the outskirts of Mexico City, the house we were at, and continue with the life we had. Just a few weeks later, I was given the devastating news. I was told the day before that we would be leaving the country. Unsure as to what that meant, I had to ask what it was. The penny then dropped; our life in Mexico was no more and everyone, including our family, we would have to say good-bye. “When will we come back?” My parents would give no answer. Saying good-bye to my grandparents was really difficult. I remember a toy parakeet that my late grandpa (from my Mom’s side) had in the garden and I took it and smuggled into the suitcase, but my Mom found it and gave it back to my grandparents. I apologized and said that I took it because I wanted to have something to remember them by. To my surprise and emotion, my grandpa let me have it and told me to not forget about them. I think I still have that to this day somewhere. We boarded a taxi to the bus terminal where we took a bus to Guadalajara and then a one way flight to Tijuana... The rest is history. And that was the end of the life I thought up to that point was really my destiny. ---- December 2005: I finally returned to Mexico. Michoacan to be exact. The ranch was still there and my grandparents who had aged still there. My grandfather though was stuck to his bed and could not move outside of his bed. I was surprised by how sick he was and how he couldn’t do much. He was already pushing his late 70s. This was the last time I visited the ranch as six months later, the whole state would be ridden with violence from clashes between law enforcement and rivaling drug cartels. September 2008: My grandpa (the one who gave me the parakeet) passed away. A part of my life disappeared with him. July 2013: I would return to Mexico City for the first time and even got to see part of our old neighborhood in Ecatepec which has since grown even more exponentially due to rapid development. Everything seems so much cramped compared to how it felt back then. This was the last time I spent in Mexico and not sure when I will be able to return. But some things haven’t changed since that day. Much of our family still lives in the same houses they lived before. I still have dreams about those times; about living there. I still don’t know what happened to Ana Karen or anyone else. And with everything that changed so drastically, its hard to even feel that I lived the life I said I lived. So that’s why it’s called the “lie”.  It’s crazy to think that I felt I was 100% Mexican with my life to be destined to be lived in Mexico. Especially with everything that happened after in the U.S.: Going for the first time “back” to the U.S.: We settled in Santa Barbara in 1997. A whole new place to my eyes. My parents then began telling me how I was born there and how life before living in Mexico was. I didn’t believe them at all.  I began to gain weight as soon as I got to the states. I started first grade and it was time to learn an entirely different language than what I was used to. I was getting bullied in school and beginning to get disciplined at home.  Everything turned 180 coming to this country. We were once again poor and felt like outsiders.  Here is where my depression really started: It began when we got to the States and everything changed. From the scenery, to the new language, to the people who suddenly began treating you like a foreigner and an outcast. The catalyst of being overweight and vocal about many things led to being bullied heavily in school.  But then it was the going home part. The part where parents still expected perfection in me. Both my parents began to get stricter with me. They began saying I was acting out and being more rebellious, but in reality, I just wanted to have a life where I was happy like I was in Mexico. 

Because I was truly happy not knowing the truth about the situation. Now it all turned into the beginning of a very long and exhausting battle with depression that continues to this day. My life completely went 180 on me. It began a battle with verbal abuse at school into both verbal and physical abuse at the home. I felt like I was the demon child because I never expected my parents to be so angry at me for something I had no control over. I remember the days of living in Mexico and wondered what happened at that life. I hated living here for the longest time, but eventually coped with it because this was my destiny that God had planned for me.  It’s been almost twenty years ago since we left THE LIE. But can’t help but wonder how life would’ve been if THE LIE wasn’t A LIE. What if it was destiny? Would I have been a much happier person even though we were living in poverty conditions? It’s scary to recall and to go back to that life, because it wasn’t destiny, it was just a lie.  I was destined to live here and to deal with everything I did though today.  But that’s one of my happy places to go to and remember whenever I think about life. And what it would really have been like to continue THE LIE up until today. The scary fact is that I might’ve not be living, but I will never stop wondering about it.

[zerablackwell]

Crashing Reality Part 1

Another day at school and Zera absolutely despised it, she kept to herself in the back corner of the classroom. She was bored out of her mind; her father having made her leave her daggers at their home. Aviana stayed at home in order to do some chores for Elijah. The young girl sitting in her homeroom class resembled more a twelve-year-old but looks are deceptive. Her eyes a pastel blue, her purple hair much like her mother's, framing her pasty skin. She was out of place in her class, it was clear to most that she did not belong.

A transfer student who joined earlier in the school year, still not having found friends or a group to fit in with. The other students weren't fond of her attitude, and she was not fond of humans in the slightest. Zera's patience was constantly tested with the pathetic things, though she had to give them credit. They knew well that she was not one of them and they did not try to pass the boundaries she set, it was something she admired. They knew their place, deep inside their roots, they knew when a higher being was among them. Zera began to realize that her attention had wandered from the class once again, she grumbled but did not bother to start paying attention now.

Her gaze found the window as her teacher droned on and on about whatever the lecture was supposed to revolve around. It was a cloudy day that seemed to drain the color out of everything. "How dull..." Zera muttered under her breath, drumming her fingers on the desk. She shut her eyes, an image flashed in her mind, it was the angel she wanted to forget for so long. Their faces contorted in a deformed pained silent scream.

Shaking her head, Zera brought herself back and opened her eyes. It took a minute for her to realize the dead silence that was taking place in the classroom. Her teacher cleared his throat, arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at her. "Zera...care to answer the question?"

Zera scowled at him, "No."

His eye twitched, and Mr. Smith pushed his glasses up slightly. "Let me try that again... Answer the question." He then pointed to the board, on it were the familiar scribbles that were words of the English language.

Zera stopped trying to make sense of them long ago, she merely sat back in her seat. "Bite me." She stated with a smirk, further infuriating her teacher.

With that, the bell rang, and students rushed out of the room, abandoning Zera to the wrath of Mr. Smith. "Zera, I'm calling your parents. I have had it with your attitude, your lack of participation, you don't even try to do the work."

Zera giggled, "I don't have parents, I have a guardian. Though please do, I'm so terrified." She said sarcastically, looking at the adult. Her eyes flashed red, Mr. Smith then shook his head.

"Miss Blackwell. I am not going to tolerate such attitude, you are not some big bad monster." His gaze softened, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. "Look...if there is something going on at home, you can tell me." He pulled a seat over and sat down in front of her, "Is there a reason why you behave in such a manner?"

Zera stared at the man in disbelief, Did he just not see? He must have thought it was merely a trick of the light. She then shook her head slowly, "No. There isn't anything going on at home." She huffed loudly, irritation taking hold of her as she bared her teeth just slightly.

The teacher stared at her for a long moment before speaking, "Zera. I'd like to talk with you more once the day is through. I'd also like to speak with your par-excuse me, your guardian." He tapped his foot on the floor waiting for a response, Zera merely rolled her eyes.

"Perhaps you'd like me to have this conversation in front of the class? I'm sure that they would love to hear that a fellow classmate is not like them." He pushed, eyes narrowing at her.

Zera eyed him suspiciously, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can give you the support you need if you work with me outside of class; however, if you don't then I can talk with your guardian about considering evaluations to see if you'd benefit from the special education that is offered. I'd prefer not to because children can be especially cruel things, bullying others." He stated matter-of-factly, at this Zera's eyes narrowed at her teacher.

"That almost sounds like a half-assed attempt at a threat." She leaned in slightly, digging claws into her seat to try and refrain herself from doing anything she would regret.

"Your language Zera." Mr. Smith scolded, "I have noticed that you seem to shut down while doing the work, I just want to help you. Truly. It's perfectly okay to accept help, perhaps if we have just one on one sessions, we can see why it is that you struggle." His entire posture relaxed, sympathy in his eyes. "I know you are looking for answers...but sometimes you cannot succeed by yourself."

A heavy silence hung between them, Zera was on edge, a feeling that she did not get often. Mr. Smith was watching her, trying to determine whether he finally broke through to the young girl before him. It lingered for quite some time before the bell rang, startling both. "I don't know what you're playing at but trust me you will regret what you find."

"I'm afraid I disagree, Zera. I've been searching for a long time, and I know that I'm able to help."

Before Zera could say another word, the students flooded the room and found their seats once again. The teacher taking his spot at the front of the class, the other students chatting eagerly as they settled down for class. Zera's interest in her teacher was now rising, curiosity was always her weakness. She huffed loudly and supposed it was inevitable that she was to meet with Mr. Smith.

After classes were over and the students all left it was just her and this teacher, she stared at him closely. His eyes turned from the hazel she was used to into jade green eyes that were slightly unnerving. "Will you listen to what I have to say?" His voice was as smooth and as soft as ever.

Zera stared in disbelief, "What are you?"

"Similar to you, just a different variety. My name isn't John Smith." He explained, then gestured to a seat, "Sit, and I swear I will answer your questions if you allow me to speak."

Zera took a moment to think, then spoke. "Why are you so sure I'll want to hear what you have to say?"

"I know you have been researching your father."

"Elijah? He isn't my father."

"No, however, he is a fraction of your father, Azazel Colt."

With that, Zera took a seat, "How do you know my father?"

"If you'll hear all I have to say, then I can answer your questions." The class room went pitch black. Then the light returned a second later and he had dark jet-black hair with a streak of white pushed back behind his ear, his olive skin tainted with a tattoo of a snake almost slithering up his neck. He had long fangs and smaller sharp teeth in his wide smile and relaxed his face.

"My real name is Seth Colt and Azazel Colt's half-brother." He began, "We have the same father and we grew up together." Seth sat on his desk, and closely watching Zera. "Your father's story is not mine to tell, but I can tell you he was not always as he is now, he was kind, thoughtful, and loyal. Not this cold and isolated beast he's turned himself into."

"Is...there just us then?" Zera interrupted.

"I'm sorry?"

"In our family...is it just the three of us?" Zera's eyes wide unlike her normal self, she was already putting herself out there. Overwhelmed by the need to know more about the family who has now found her.

"Far from...our family is large and united." Seth's smile faded and he looked to the side, "Or at least we used to be."

"What happened? Why has he said nothing of this?" Zera quickly asked, sitting at the edge of her seat.

"I truthfully don't know..." Seth answered, "That's one of the things that I had hoped to find out now that I have found you two." His gaze softened, one that hides a longing, but Zera noticed it. "You look much like your mother, child."

Zera tensed slightly, "So I keep hearing."

"If only you could have met her." Seth continued, "She really changed Azazel for the better."

"I've met her." Zera huffed slightly.

"You have?" Seth looked at her, cocking a brow, confusion written all over his face.

"Yes, Father has his ways." Zera answered, hoping he wouldn't press further, taking a moment to regain her composure. "You mentioned, that you two have the same father. Who is he? What is he like?"

Seth had a sort of childish smile on his face, "Our father, your grandfather, is Azrael Colt. He is a great man."

Zera made a mental note, nodding slightly. "If he's so great, why did Father never say anything? About him or anyone in the family? Until now, I always thought it was just us. So clearly, something went wrong."

"Our family had a falling out I suppose..." Seth's voice softened, thinking back to the past. "We did not agree all the time, and sometimes when you don't agree it can leave giant rifts in the relationships you have or make." He stared off absentmindedly, seeming as though he wanted to cry. Seth appeared to have blinked away the tears and focused on Zera once again. "I just want to bring our family back together again."

Zera nodded, watching closely for any signs of deception he may be hiding underneath his solemn demeanor. Not seeing anything, she relaxed slowly, "Which of you two are older?"

Seth chuckled, "Try to guess." A hint of a juvenile behavior, but Zera really thought about the two.

From what she saw her father was cold and calloused, calculating and jaded by the world. Seth from what she could see is mischievous, but with the disguise and his cautiousness around finding his long lost family. From what's expected of 'older' and 'younger', Seth could fill either or. Finally, Zera spoke up, "You are the younger of the two."

Seth smiled and nodded, "Very good, that is true."

"That explains why you still want to try after all this time. Answer another question for me. What happened to his mother then?"

"His mother? Nothing." Seth tilted his head, confusion clear on his face.

"Did she and grandfather separate?" Zera continued.

Seth finally understanding what she was getting at, "Oh! No, no they did not. Not exactly. He...he had an affair which resulted in me."

Zera stared at him a moment, "His dirt is so...clean."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I expected our family to have more...immoral and sinister history." Zera answered.

"I don't necessarily see why, but no. Our family history is rather 'clean' I suppose..." Seth stared at her with mild concern.

"What kind of demon are you exactly?" Zera asked curiously, she relaxed into her seat, thankful Elijah and Azazel were not present. Of all the habits she could have picked up from the humans, she had to pick up slouching. It was something that even annoyed her, but she was not one to break bad habits.

"Me? An incubus."

"That explains the smell." Zera nodded slightly.

"Smell? Excuse me??" Seth looked at her. Gravely offended.

"Well you smell like cake!" She giggled softly, "No demon has such a sweet scent, with or without perfume or cologne."

Seth rolled his eyes, "Hush child." Irritation was clear in his tone, but Seth failed to hide the hint of a smirk on his face.

 As Zera giggled, there was a knock on the door, the light almost Instantly disappeared and as it returned Seth donned his disguise once more. He went and opened the door only to find Elijah standing there his normally snow-white face flushed in anger and his violet eyes locked on Seth. His lip curled up in a snarl, "Bite your tongue Seth." Zera had never really seen Elijah lose his cool, it was a jarring reality that reminded her, he truly is a demon.

"She deserves to know the truth Elijah," Seth huffed crossing his arms over his chest. "Surely you realize that."

 "Azazel and I do not believe she is ready, Seth."

"Elijah, you knew and lied to me?" Zera was now standing between them, her deceptively lifeless blue eyes turned into a lively crimson as she hissed.

"Zera, we had agreed it isn't a story you are ready to hear."

"No. You and Father decided that. Is it truly me who isn't ready? Or is it him who is not ready?"

Almost immediately, in a flash stood Azazel, his lavender eyes turned ice cold blue. "Watch yourself young lady."

"Azazel, she was bound to find out, Madeline- "

"SETH!" Azazel roared and the room quaked.

Seth, startled, took a step back staring at his brother with wide eyes. Zera froze, shocked by the sudden outburst from Azazel, but quickly recovered and snarled. Zera voiced the big question, "Who is Madeline, Father?"

There was a long moment of silence before Seth so softly broke the silence and asked, "What have you done to this poor girl all this time...?"

Azazel's voice began to distort as he spoke, "I have done nothing but what I must do to protect my..." His voice seemed to have trailed off as Zera began to fume at being ignored.

Madeline, Madeline...who is Madeline? Zera thought to herself, and a throbbing headache began to form, slowly climbing down her back turning into a hot piercing pain between her shoulder blades. Azazel's voice pierced through her thoughts "...keep... safe from those...monsters." Between his distortion and the pain searing through Zera, his speech was barely audible and warped, he was mostly drowned out by the throbbing headache and sharp pain in her back.

The room began to spin around Zera, all she could hear were muffled sounds coming from Seth and Azazel. The room turned black and everything was burned.

The room was dark, Zera looked around seeing nothing, and all she could hear were soft whispers.

"Remember...remember her, find her."

"Remember who?" Zera called, putting her hands out in front of her and slowly moving forward. "Who's there? Who are you talking about?"

The whispers grew more and more frantic, becoming louder. Frantically they began to scream. "FIND HER. FIND HER" Zera tried to back away in alarm and covered her ears, stumbling backwards she fell down an empty pit. She screamed as she fell backwards down the never-ending hole. Zera fell and it went on for forever, the persistent screams never relenting, drowning out her own.

A pair of cold arms caught her midair and slowed her decent, as they continued to float downwards her savior touched ground. Zera tried to see their face, but it was shrouded in darkness. "Hello little one...you are safe now." His voice was soft and comforting. Slowly, when firmly landed on the ground, the figure gently set her down. "Child, I could hear your call."

Zera stared at the figure but couldn't make out any detail. "Who are you?"

"I am one who can hear the cries of those in need. I have many names, but you may call me Luz." The room has an overwhelming white, apart from Luz. "Do you know who you are?"

"Of course I do," She scoffed, "I am Zera." She answered but paused as something surfaced in her mind. It was Seth's words echoing in her mind, 'What have you done to this poor girl all this time?' Why did Seth say that?

"The name, Madeline means nothing to you?" Luz asked.

Zera looked at Luz, confused, the name stirred something within her, but she couldn't even comprehend what it is. One moment it was within her grasp, but like dust in the wind it was blown away. Zera closed her eyes, trying to think back where she may have heard of this Madeline, but frustratingly nothing came to mind. She then made a mental note to speak with her mother regarding this Madeline.

Luz watched her closely, she could feel eyes boring into her despite not seeing them. Zera realized the silence had been dragging on between them for a moment too long and she could feel her cheeks flush. Luz let out an amused chuckle, and Zera huffed, shaking her head. "I don't know a Madeline. Is she important?"

"Very." Luz responded, the shadows concealing his form flickered for but a moment, though revealed nothing of his appearance. "She is the key to a very bright future within the supernatural forces. Madeline has a grand destiny before her, to unite a family long since broken. However, she has been lost for some time..." Luz continued, and Zera listened intently, her interest peaked.

"You know her?" Zera asked, "She seems to be popular." There was a touch of bitterness in her voice, though Zera didn't know why.

"No, at least not personally. I've heard of her. Many have. Only a few knew her personally." Luz answered.

"Oh? Though you say she is lost?" Zera watched him, he nodded. "If she has this grand destiny, then she must be found. Yes?" He nodded again. "I understand then, you want me to find her."

"I don't necessarily care; however, if you were to find her then I'm sure there are a few who might appreciate it." Luz responded, there was something in his tone that Zera couldn't place and it bothered her. "Her family might appreciate having her back, considering her ties to the Colt Family."

At this, Zera's interest in this mysterious Madeline was pulled once again, "Her ties? Then perhaps she has answers. Answers to questions that father won't allow be answered." Zera responded nonchalantly. "If Mr. Smith...err...Seth and Elijah know of this Madeline, then they might try to hide information in regard to her last known whereabouts..." Zera looked back at Luz, "Is there something you might know? You seem to have a lot of answers. Perhaps you know of when and where she was last seen?"

"You are very straightforward child." Luz chuckled slightly, clearly amused by little Zera. "Madeline does have a connection to your family, specifically your bloodline."

"Then I'll find what ties us together." Zera looked at him, determined to find her answers, but she seemed disinterested with the task.

"I could assist you if you'd like."

"What would be in it for you?" Zera responded warily.

"Think of It as an investment, there's a horse I'm betting on and I'd like to ensure their success." Luz answered matter of fact .

Zera thought about her answer carefully, she isn't familiar with Luz, not sure who he is and not sure what his intentions may be. She was amused by her current position, more than a century from where she originally was, at the feet of a demon making a deal bargaining her soul. Standing now before some sort of darkness humorously named 'Luz' offering their hand in a deal; however, she wanted answers. No. She needed them. Azazel had hidden so much from her that only now was she beginning to get the answers she felt she deserved after all this time. "Very well."

"Do you accept my assistance then? I will be in your corner backing you, as well as provide you with whatever guidance you may need." Luz continued, there was an aura about him that Zera noticed.

A sense of intimidation, a fear that began to root itself within her, "Yes. I want your help." She answered, trying to push back the feeling of shrinking back.

The darkness surrounding Luz seemed to fade ever so slightly and through the darkness was a warm smile. Zera felt herself give in to him, her body relaxed. There was a warmth radiating from Luz, drawing her nearer. Zera took a few steps closer to him, finding herself almost face to face with his figure. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out and her heart began to race. Luz then listened her chin, and there they were. Amber eyes boring into Zera's soul, she felt her heart almost shoot out of her chest when he smiled softly and said, "Fret not child, I will be your guide from now on."

Zera nodded slightly, her cheeks feeling warm as Luz pulled her closer. Zera's breath hitched, and she tensed up at his touch. "How can I get in touch with you?" Zera asked softly, Luz's face inches from her own.

"I will always be near." Luz cooed softly as he straightened himself up, Zera watched him intently and nodded slowly. He reached a hand out and brushed her hair behind her ear, "When no one is on your side, you can always look to me to be in by your side little one." Zera felt herself smile softly.

"Thank you..." She spoke softly.

Zera's guard down, and she could faintly hear a voice she did not Immediately recognize call her. They called again, and it was Zera's mother, she blinked away from Luz and their surroundings began to fade away turning fuzzy in her view. Zera was overwhelmed with a panic and she looked back at Luz.

Luz just pulled her close and whispered something to her ear which she could not hear clearly as she watched the space around them blurred and faded away into darkness. The warmth around Luz grew colder and Zera felt her panic grow as her eyes watered, tears streamed down her cheeks.

Luz whispered more things, seemingly confused, but Zera still could not hear what he said clearly. Zera heard her mother's call yet again as the light faded to black around them, "ZERA!"

The cold darkness enveloped both Zera and Luz, engulfing the warm light entirely, she could feel herself be ripped away from her new ally. The voices of Luz and her mother then almost instantly were silenced.

#Secrets Unveiled #Demon’s Path #Azazel Colt #Madeline Blackwell #Seth Colt #Original Story #Writing #Chapter 1: Crashing Reality Part 1

[zsazsa93-blog]

 Day 1: The chaotic Marrakesh

Yesterday we arrived in Marrakesh around 9.30. The airport was a stunning architectural building. We were pretty surprised how new and clean it was.

Marrakesh Airport 2018

After a never-ending queue at the border, we couldn’t find our driver to the Rijad, but there was a very helpful girl who called him and he finally came to pick us up.

The Moroccan driving style is quite the same as the south Italian one with a difference that there are camels and donkeys crossing the streets. The way from the airport till the Riad was very unexpectable. Clean and beautiful road with palm trees, luxurious mansions and the view of the snowy Atlas Mountains. After that, we headed to the Medina and our driver left us with a very old man who carried our backpack with a trolley till our accommodation. We felt bad because he seemed very weak. La Medina was crowded with people, shops, crazy drivers. All in all, it was a proper Moroccan chaos, but also very authentic. Our Riad was in a tiny and dark street, it was kinda creepy, but when we entered it was like a small palace of Aladdin. 

  Riad Dar Soukaina

The guy from the reception was very kind and he invited us for a Moroccan tea and also explained to us where to buy a SIM or where to change money. Then he also gave us a name. I was Aisha,and my friends Fatima and Laila :D. The Rijad is called Dar Soukina and we paid 50€/night/3 pax. The brekky was included and the transfer from the airport was 15€.

After the tea, we headed to the city. We bought an orange SIM card with 3GB data for 60DHM~ 5.5€. The guy helped us to activate it. You can buy it in every small shop. I really recommend it because of navigation and security reasons.

Things to see in Marrakesh:

Djemaa El Fna Plaza: The market square where you can buy fresh and delicious fruit juices for 4-10DHM. You can find there basically everything you need, from the cobra and monkey hypnotizer to the street-food and ATM-s.

Djema el Fna and their fresh smooth stands

  El Badi Palace: A nice ruin of an ancient Palace with Atlas Mountain views.

  Koutoubia Mosque: A beautiful mosque in the middle of the Medina.

  Zocos – Marrakesh Market (Souk) and Medina: a chaotic district with narrow streets, full of local shops, handicrafts, street-food and crazy scooter drivers.

  Kasbah Mosque: another stunning mosque.

  Saadian tombs: entrance costs 10 DHM, it is basically an ancient cemetery which looks like a hidden palace.

Our plan was visit everything in 1 day, but the problem was that all places are closing at 5 pm. Therefore we couldn’t make it to enter these places:

-Menara Gardens

-Majorelle Gardens

-Bahia Palace

-Medersa Ben-Yussef

-Yves Saint Laurent Museum

Day 2: Ouzoud Falls.

Our day started in a little rush because our receptionist told us that the driver is coming at 8.30 am. He came at 8.00 am … So we couldn’t have a proper brekky, but we had a nice smoothie at the big square for 10 DHM. We booked this tour with our Rijad (Dar Soukina) because it was easier for us that the driver comes directly to pick you up, instead of looking for the van in the middle of the Medina.

We were waiting for the group and we headed to the Ouzoud Falls through the Atlas Mountains. It was a 2.30 h drive from Marrakesh. We were so surprised because everything was so green with the snowy Atlas in the back, and the temperature was almost 35 C°. We didn’t expect that. It was beautiful. You could see some hidden Riad-s in the middle of nowhere, people using donkeys like public transportation or working hard on the plantations.

The tour costs 27€ and then there are some optional fees for the tour guide (30 DHM), lunch menu (100 DHM) or a boat ride below the waterfalls (20 DHM).

Our tour guide was a Moroccan Berber and he spoke in 5 different languages. They told us that they grew up in the desert learning from the Koran and their grandfathers showed them how to write. They didn’t go to college, but they know more things about life than us, they speak in more languages and they didn’t have the opportunity to study at an expensive University, not even High School. When we were talking to Aladdin from our Riad, he told us the same. It was very touching. You know, when you listen to this kind of interesting people, you start to appreciate what you have. The main message of this day was that we are studying and working hard to be competitive, but they are doing all of those things just to survive and to have clear water at their home. We are worried about our phone battery or other senseless things. Sometimes It would be a better lecture for everyone traveling to third world countries and learn from the local people, than sitting on the school chairs listening some useless subjects, that you are not even gonna use in the future.

The tour to the waterfall was amazing, I would really recommend it to everyone. Especially if you have more time in Morocco.

After the tour, we went to Hotel Mamounia, a stunning luxury hotel, and then we decided to have a nice dinner in Nomad.

You have to make a reservation, and it’s in the middle of the Souk, so it’s not really recommended to walk there and back during the night for three girls, but if you do it, just dress up properly and it’s gonna be fine, or you can take a door to door tuk-tuk for 30 DHM. The food was very delicious there, and the sunset was beautiful from the rooftop. Nomad is a high-quality restaurant in Marrakesh, so you have to expect also higher prices. We paid 160 DHM each and we had a main course, dessert and, fresh smoothies.

Day 3: On our way to the Sahara

Itinerary: Marrakech – Ait ben Haddou – Ouarzazate – Dades Valley.

We said goodbye to Aladdin and we headed to the Sahara. We were picked up close to the Rijad by Omar and Hassan, our Berber local tour guides for the next couple of days.

I would 100% recommend this tour for everyone. Here you can see the link to the agency:  Kasbah Luna del Sur

If you contact me directly I can give you the direct contact, Nuria, who can assist you with everything.

We drove through the High Atlas Mountains and stopped at Morocco‘s highest point Tizi en Tichka (2.260m) and we also visited some local Berber villages till we arrived in Kasbah de Ait Benhaddou (declared as Cultural Heritage site by UNESCO in 1987). Some famous movies were also filmed there such as:

Now the Kasbah is a touristic souvenir and handicraft village. No people living there anymore.

After we headed to the Dades Valley through Ouarzazate and the impressing Palmeral of Skoura. It was incredible how the landscape was changing from the snowy mountains, to the green fields and the orange desert. We didn’t expect that.

Entrance to the local Moroccan movie industry in Ouarzazate in Morocco with a blue sky and a perfect light

We stopped in a supermarket to buy some snacks and beers, which was pretty funny because we asked Hassan about Muslim religion vs. drinking and his answer was: You know Aisha(that was my Arabic name), there is Marlboro light, Coca-Cola light and, Muslim light. I‘m a Muslim light so I can drink.:D He was great, and exceptional.

Hassan is a nomad Berber guy who grew up in the Sahara, speaks 4-5 different languages, didn’t go to school and he knows much more about life than all of us. He never travelled anywhere of Morocco, and he doesn’t want to because as he told us: ” Everyone is coming here, I learn from tourists, I don’t need to travel when I can travel with them by just listening to their stories. I also have to add that for Moroccan people is pretty difficult to get a travel Visa because some of the special requirements make it impossible for them to cross their border. 

At the end of the day, we arrived in the Rijad in the valley, where we got an amazing dinner. The accommodation was super big and clean, the food was good and the views were amazing.

Day 4: Dades Valley- Todra-Merzouga

The next day, after a Moroccan breakfast (kinda bread with bread …😅), we continued our route through many Berber villages. We visited the Gorges of Todra with the possibility of eating there, and we also took advantage to see the impressive place with tranquility. We also had the opportunity to buy some handmade local stuff from a Berber nomad family. Omar helped us to bargain a little bit, he was very great.

Once the visit was finished, we went directly to the golden dunes of the Erg Chebbi, where we started our dromedary excursion, making a stop to watch the sunset, until reaching the heart of the desert.

Upon arrival to the desert camp, we had an excellent and refreshing tea with an exquisite Berber dinner, all enlivened by the music of the tam-tam (drums). We also tried sand-boarding, which was so much fun. I really recommend that for everyone. The crazy thing was that the tents were fully equipped with everything, we also had shower and toilet in our tents, which was incredible.

We enjoyed a unique and unforgettable night watching stars in the middle of the desert. We felt so small out there, it was breathtaking. One in a lifetime experience, for sure.

Day 5: Sunrise in Merzouga-Fez

Today, our Berber friend, Mustafa woke us up at 5.45 am because we had to get ready for the sunrise camel ride. After that, we arrived in the hostel when we left our stuff the day before, for breakfast and shower. After the brekky, we had to say goodbye. We were almost crying with the girls because they made our trip memorable. They are such an amazing people, that you won’t find everywhere. 

So the group headed back to Marrakesh, and we caught a taxi with another 3 people to Fez for 250 dirhams/person. It was a 7-8 hours drive with short stops. 

Finally, we arrived in Fez. We decided to book a night at the Marriott Hotel Jnan Palace, as I have the employee discount, we thought: “Why not? Tonight is our last night!”. We paid 35 euros/person/night with dinner and Hammam included. So, I think it was a pretty good deal. The rest of the day, we chilled at the Hotel and we planned our last day in Fez.

Day 6: Fez – Barcelona

In the morning when I did the check-out, I talked to the Front Office Manager. he was amazing, but they really wanted to sell us the tour guide for 250 dirhams (which is pretty expensive in Morocco), because they told us that is very dangerous for three girls to go to the middle of the Madina and get lost. First, I wanted to discuss it with the girls what they want to do in that case and finally, we decided to not taking the tour guide because it can’t be worst than in Marrakesh… and we were right at the end. 

First, we took a small red city “Petit Taxi” to the Royal Palace. It was incredibly cheap. We paid 80 dirhams for a 4 km-s drive (not even 80 cents). The driver was so funny and he loved us. I have to add that we realized that everyone loved us. Not because we are blond, pretty or just different, but we also learned some Moroccan words and they appreciated it so much.

After we took another red taxi to the famous Bab Boujeloud (Blue Gate) where you can access Talaa Kebeera – a massive street which is going into the middle of the Medina. You will find lines of souks, shops, arts & crafts will feast your eyes while the experience itself is like stepping into a time machine, whisking you right back to old Fez with immense charm. 

We had an amazing brunch in Cafe Clock for 44 dirhams with an amazing staff and atmosphere. the place was spened by a former maître d’ in London, Briton Michael Richardson has created a great resting place for travelers in the heart of Fez’s medina. Café Clock offers Arabic classes, cooking classes, traditional Moroccan music concerts and film screenings. Best of all, it has Wi-Fi!

After the brunch, we started to spend our dirhams that we had left in the Medina. We bought some souvenirs and we started our visit.

Top things to see in Fez medina in 1 Day:

Kairaouine Mosque: Some consider this the oldest university in the world, while this is definitely one of Africa’s largest mosques with the ability to host 20,000 people during prayer sessions. A Tunisian refugee Fatima el-Fihria established Kairaouine mosque established in 859. It was later expanded by Almoravides during the 12th century. Today, the mosque has been recently restored but non-Muslims cannot enter the mosque, so you can simply peek at its courtyard from the main door.

Al Attarin Medersa: Built by Marinid sultan Uthman II Abu Said in 1323-5, Attarin Mderesa is a beautiful house where you can see gorgeous tile-work, carvings of Arabic woodwork and calligraphy on walls.This is a peaceful and lovely experience if you’re a fan of architecture and Arabic craftsmanship. Unfortunately, it was under construction when we arrived there.

Chouara Tannery & Fes el Bali: It’ll be a stinky experience but a total must-do! Bring a scarf or find a local who will bring you one of the rooftops and give you some mint for the smell. Fez is famous for its leather goods and the sight of tanneries has become a renowned must-see in every guidebook. Chouara Tannery is located 20-30 minutes by foot from the Blue Gate.

During our visit we saw a lot of nice fountains, mosques, museum, rijads and, places that you can’t really find on the internet. Fez Medina has 200 small narrow streets, it is easy to get lost, but if you follow your route then it isn’t that difficult to find your way back. If we could make it, then you can make it too. Sometimes, we also asked some locals in the small shops, and they were very helpful. You can ask them, but just don’t ask the random people in street. they will probably ask tip from you. You also have to avoid the fake tour guides. You will find a couple of them close to the blue gate.

Overall, we felt that Fez is much more relaxed and safe than Marrakesh. We were also dressed up properly with a pashmina and probably we also got used to the confusing or even rude comments on the streets. I can affirm that we were more careful with everything, but we also felt that the people are nicer and more helpful than in Marrakesh. The Medina was also very chaotic and overcrowded with people, donkeys, cats and, horses, but at least there weren’t any scooters like in Marrakesh. That was crazy. 

Money: 1 euros= 11 dirham (more or less). It is better if you pay everything by dirhams, and you can also withdraw cash from the local ATM-s. You can’t really pay anything by credit card, si i would recommend you to have enough cash with you. 

Useful Moroccan and Berber phrases:

English Transcribed Moroccan Arabic Moroccan Darija in the Arabic Alphabet Yes Iyyeh / ah / wah إييه/ آه/واه No Lla لا Please (addressing a singular) 3afak عافاك Thanks Shokran شكرا I love you (addressing a singular) Kanbghik كنبغيك I miss you (addressing a singular) Twe77eshtek توحشتك A lot Bezzaf بزاف A little Shwiya شوية Okay Wakha واخا Now Daba دابا Not now Mashi daba ماشي دابا Or Awla أولا And W و It’s not a problem / It’s okay Mashi moshkil ماشي مشكل (It was) not me Mashi ana ماشي أنا I want… Bghit… بغيت… I don’t want… Ma bghitsh… …ما بغيتش I am done / I finished Salit ساليت I am not done / I did not finish Ma salitsh ما ساليتش Beautiful (masculine, singular) Zwin زوين Bad/ugly (masculine, singular) Khayb خايب Good (masculine, singular) Mezyan مزيان

… and of course, our favorite one was: “Yalla, yalla! ” means let’s go, come on or hurry up.

In a couple of days, I will also upload an after movie of our trip.

For further questions, please contact me!:)

Let the unicorn be with you!🦄

Yalla,yalla Morocco Desert Experience: Marracesh-Sahara-Fez  Day 1: The chaotic Marrakesh Yesterday we arrived in Marrakesh around 9.30. The airport was a stunning architectural building.

#blog #desert #fez #marrakesh #morocco #sahara #travel

[2gameprince]

Bishop’s Gate

In 2016 an anonymous online user began searching the internet and collecting information based on his family’s strange past. This user eventually founded his own website and connected with multiple other people from around the web. What follows are his site’s posts on his personal log and the information given to him by those he was in contact with.

>First Update<

The story I wish to share with you is one of a most bizarre nature. I, myself, haven’t even reached the truth, but it is my hope that by sharing my findings with the public I might get closer to getting to the bottom of this whole mess. For now I can’t exactly sum up what it was that brought me to this point, but I need your help! For obvious reasons I have chosen the alias of Charlie Bryan other that, and the fact that I can share with you that I am based in America, I can tell you no more of my identity at the risk of my safety or the safety of those involved. I have uncovered something big! Secrets that would crack the foundation of the world; things that would send us into a dark age. I’ve never been one to keep such knowledge to myself and now I feel the time has come to alert the world of all the wicked deeds that have been happening behind closed doors. At the end of all of this I only pray that the light I shed may show everyone the truth of the world, for what it is. My tale begins in Bishopsgate, a Ward of London. It was a Roman, built by Hansa Merchants in 1471. The merchants built it in exchange for rights to Steelyard which was a London trading base in the 15th and 16th centuries. A nearby church, St Botolph-without-Bishopsgate, was said to have survived the Great Fire of London and was said to have first been mentioned in 1212. The existence of this ward and this church are really all the background about it you’ll need for right now. See, all my research started back in 2004. I was going through my attic and stumbled upon this chest with some very interesting contents. It was family stuff, trees, records, birth information and stuff like that. In one folder I found a group of letters bunched up together. They looked very old. So old in fact, I could just barely make out the handwriting. The papers seemed to be a group of letters written back and forth over a decade back in the 1502. The letters were anonymous and addressed the pope at the time, Alexander VI. Further reading had me speculate that the letters were from the Hansa merchants in the Hansa League; which was a confederation of merchant guilds back in the day. How these letters from a merchant league to the pope ended up in my attic, I would have never know. That is, if I had never thought to ask my great grandfather what he thought about my findings. My first attempts to show him the papers were unsuccessful. He seemed to want nothing to do with them. Finally, one day I pressed him for a reason as to why we hand them and he confessed to knowing far more than I could have ever expected. According to him, our family is of German decent, which I already kind of knew, but was dumbfounded to the fact that our ancestors were, in fact, Hansa merchants. My grandfather told me stories and things he used to hear when he was little, about how guilds of merchants were in bed with the church and were planning to takeover Bishopsgate and a couple of other wards. Well, maybe not takeover; more like manipulate and control without Britain’s consent. But it was through their teaming with the church that they kept Bishopsgate under an especially tight grip. My grandfather soon passed away after our discussion, and on his death bed he’d left behind a note for me which detailed a number of instructions that I was to follow if I wished to further learn about the past history of our family. The instructions stated that I was to go into his attic and locate a chest he’d hidden away within a panel in the floor, underneath and ungodly amount of boxes. Doing as it said, I uncovered a small green book, thick and practically falling apart. The book was entirely in German, which I didn’t know or cared enough o learn at the time. All I could make out was the word on the cover, and that was only cause I used an online translator. The word was ‘licht’, the German spelling of ‘light’. Beneath the book was another two letters, one addressing the Vatican and Pope Alexander VI. The next being vice-versa. The letter was in english, thank god, and spoke about an assassination attempt thought up by the Vatican. It seemed the church wanted the merchants to kill someone by the name of Bäcker. I never found out if he was a merchant, but all I could conclude is that the Hansa’s refused to go through with it. I guess it didn’t go over too well with the church, cause the next letter detailed the anger of the pope and the assurance that their hesitation was to be met with punishment. Now, within the book, which looked to be like some kind of journal, there was writing on small bits of paper which detailed accusations against the merchants, causing them of witchcraft, devil worshipping and all those little things people loved to hear about back then. I’m being sarcastic, of corse. One of the last slips of paper detailed how the church had sent in an imposter to move in with the merchants and pick off all the major players involved in the running of Bishopsgate. I tried to get the book to an actual translator so I could brush thought the whole thing in one swoop, but after receiving the book back, about a year after I had found a translator, they told me a fraction of the book was written in a language that could not be made out. The book was, in fact, a journal, but certain sections were scrolled in weird lettering. I wasn’t too keen on having the book pass through too many peoples fingers, so I decided to leave it for now and go forward with whatever information I could get from what I could actually read inside the journal. It belonged to a man named Baker and stated his reason for writing it on the back of the front cover. The journal detailed the Vatican trying to move into Bishopsgate and set up some kind of secret society in the local church, St Botolph-without-Bishopsgate. It told of how the merchants turned on the church for their own reasons and were wiped out as punishment for not complying. The translated sections spoke of religious practices which occurred in Bishopsgate, and how the merchants in league with the Vatican prayed to some two-headed goat they called Lökkálfar/Djósálfar. This was when everything began to get strange. Baker wrote about how he suspected some of the merchants of worshipping some demonic entity and being aided in the funding of their beliefs by the church. The journal went into all these details about black masses that would occur and ways to convert people. Finally, Baker wrote about how the merchants had stumbled upon his meddling and how he sent his wife and child out of London, to flee while he confronted them. That was the last entry.   I have reason to believe that Baker was an ancestor of mine. And perhaps it was true that the merchants were up to practices that, in the modern day, would be considered ‘cult activity’. The only thing I find even more disturbing than the churches involvement is the events that continued in the following centuries. Whatever the Vatican was up to eventually lead into kidnapping infants. I’ll elaborate more on this later, but all I can assure you of now is that the nazis, after teaming with Italy in World War II. Since then I’ve uncovered proof, photos and documents that suggest the Nazis were operating alive and well long after the war was over. Most of these cases involved religious institutions and hospitals kidnapping infants, like in the ‘New Life Children’s Refuge Case’ or the ‘Lost Children of Francoism Case’ of 2010. All of this was originally brought to my attention once I found an anonymous message board on a conspiracy site I’d rather not name. I have no idea who’s reading this since I have decided to make it public, and I’d rather not accidentally sell out those involve. Basically, my research on the merchants had brought me to conspiracy sites and I scoured the internet for anything I could find. That’s what brought me to the anonymous user. He was another person investigating the merchants who had been filling the site with information and questions about anyone else who was interested. I contacted him and he spun me a whole yarn about the nazis, and the church and the merchants, and as crazy as it sounded, when he connected it all at the end it began to make a bit of sense. That’s not to say I wasn’t skeptical at first. We began e-mailing one another after a while and one day he mysterious stopped. His account on the conspiracy site disappeared and his emails ceased. I tried e-mailing him back, but it’s been a whole year and I’ve received no word.

This was in the last e-mail he sent me:

“In the tunnels underneath Bishopsgate there is an altar in a large room. This tunnel connects to various points all over the surrounding area. That was where the worshipers of Lökkálfar & Djósálfar would meet to perform ‘black masses’. This usually involved human sacrifices. Infants. There was only a few incidences in the local area until the reports stopped. Now, it is my belief that these newer infant disappearances are linked to modern day black masses occurring somewhere in London. I believe the church kidnaps these children in bulk, lets some back into society to make it look like a forceful relations project of some sort. It’s all a lie. It’s a coverup for human sacrifice. I live in London and I can say with absolute confidence that I am very close to bring this conspiracy to light. I am going to investigate further and actually take my search down to the tunnels beneath Bishopsgate. I want to see the altar for myself. I’ll contact you again once I return.”

The e-mail went on to say that if he didn’t return I should e-mail another person he was investigating with. I e-mailed the Second Contact and awaited his response. It’s been a month or so and I wonder if whatever happened to my anonymous researcher effected my second contact. I’m at a stand still right now and don’t know where to go from here. Until I get conformation that my second contact is alive and well my next update will be everything I can gather from my forum discussions and the back-and-forth e-mails.

>Second Update<

In recent weeks I have come into contact with three people who have all taken an interest in my work. Gideon, Simon and Adam are three anonymous deep-web users I had found a mere two weeks ago. They all run their own sites, hidden all but a select few, and have tried their hands in figuring out where the enigma of the Bishop’s Gate phenomenon begins and ends. I only know for a fact that Gideon is from Sweden, Simon is from Norway and Adam is from Ireland. Adam’s site, which I will not give away, goes into details about how certain organizations worship esoteric entities and run secret meetings around castle ruins. Adam has documents connecting two major corporations in the UK to cults practicing in Ireland and Scotland. He believes something old and powerful is tied to that land and these companies discovered it back in the 80s. Adam believes they’ve discovered Aztec ruins, hidden under the country, that span for miles on end beneath Ireland. He believes these tunnels could be connected to the secret corridors beneath Bishopsgate. We’d only know that for a fact if he was to investigate those subterranean ruins for himself, but he refuses to. Still no word back from my messenger in Bishopsgate. I think he’s been compromised. Captured. Killed, perhaps. I don’t know. All I’m sure about is that him and Adam kept in close contact and Adam doesn’t want to end up like his friend. Oh, Adam was the guy who was supposed to e-mail me. He did, eventually. That’s when Adam introduced me to Gideon and Simon. They had known one another for years. Adam and my anonymous messenger, which Adam had referred to as Sid, focused on researching the Bishop’s Gate incident since before the merchants had dealings with the Vatican and Adam focused on finding out everything he could about the Nazis and how they adapted the merchant’s beliefs in an effort to spread cult-worship and scientific experimentation. Adam had found that a decent of one of the followers of the Hansa merchants had approached the Nazis shortly before the London Bombings and exchanged secret information for safety. This descendent, Herbert Oxfend, had his name changed and joined up with a secret fraction of the Nazi Party. The exact name of the group the nazis had put on the Bishop’s Gate case was unknown, even to this day. It is highly probable the group did not have a name. Oxfend was sent with a group to Houska Castle. This was the next key destination the Bishop’s Gate case would dwell for the next twelve years following the rise of Hitler. The castle had been built in the 13th century and occupied by the Nazis, and Oxfend, for human experiments on the locals. Years after the site was abandoned the castle was still a place of suffering. Travelers who stumbled upon it would speak of strange lights and inhuman entities that would crawl out of a large hole at the center of the building. This hole, that went straight down, had a chapel built over it and served as the nazi’s main base of operations during their stay there. Adam believes that the nazis were successful in the experiments on the locals, possibly creating genetic-hybrids of humans and animals, while also coming into contact with some unexplainable force with the hole in the ground. There was records of activity in the chapel before the nazis had ever arrived, but Adam is assured that whatever they did made the situation within the castle much worse. Adam was able to trace back demonic occurrences at the site back to when the castle was first constructed. He believes Ottokar II of Bohemia first built the chapel over the hole, believing it was one of many entrances to hell, but shortly after was unable to cope with the great sum of demonic entities Adam believed inhabited the hole. It is assumed that after Ottokar’s death the castle was built by his underlings and blessed as an extra measure to keep the demonic entities, which had now taken over the chapel, imprisoned. When the nazis showed up they threw undead reanimation and inhuman hybrids into the mix, possibly giving the demons a face to go with their names. So to speak. The nazis fled, Oxfend was said to have died at the site for unknown reasons, and activity at the Houska Castle continued to this day. That was really all Adam could provide me with. He said to get the full story I would have to look through the files he’d made, but he didn’t want to risk putting them online. Understandable. Simon, one of Adam’s associates, is more interested in other international ways the Bishop’s Gate Case has effected people. Strangely enough, the phenomenon surrounding the cult-like Germanic religion can be traced to multiple cryptozoic occurrences, worldwide. One such case took place at a hospital in Japan. There was an incident that occurred involving a shrine, a curse and some strange paranormal activity that, if you haven’t been in our shoes, will seem unreal. This is all I have for right now. I’ll update all of you later when I have more information. I’m hereby dedicating this forum to the abolishment Dolfarianism. I pray more join us in this cause. This cult shit is dark and dives way too deep. I heard of reports and things popping up in the UK, in Ireland and throughout the East. Whatever the Nazi’s and the merchants an the cults did is spreading. Along with their usage of power in the Vatican to kidnap infants for human trafficking and experimentation, I’ve also discovered that they helped the US with certain technologies, developing things that people delve into their subconscious. There was an incident a while back. One of the labs was compromised and all the personnel was evacuated. All except for the people in the machines. One of the scientists confessed in an online interview with Adam that they left behind one test subject still hooked up to the ‘dream machine’ as they called it. The scientist was going to give Adam the lab’s location, somewhere near Bermuda, but his radio and camera was cut before he ever got the information. Just thinking about that trapped souls gives me chills. The scientist is most likely dead. Adam had no doubt about that. But now it’s as if everyone has gone silent. All investigations have halted and it looks like I’m the last person who thinks anything is up. I don’t know. We’ll see how things go from here.

>Awaiting Third Update<

[autolovecraft]

I were the last man on our planet.

Into Thalarion, and their pavements also are of aloe and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and felt the first time since my grandfather and told him of these things which were not men. And I viewed by moonlight that we followed the bird of heaven, over which one might spy only a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures.

Then came we to a pleasant coast gay with blossoms of every hue, where dwell all the dreams of Time. But we did not set foot upon the deck a man, bearded and robed, and cities of gold. But more wonderful than the lore of books is the Land of Fancy, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of gold. And I viewed by moonlight that we followed the bird of heaven, over warm blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes. And I viewed by moonlight that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the West, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, over warm blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes. For the aeons that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the Narg, gay with gaudy fish not known beyond the basalt pillars of the ways beyond; and sometimes at night the deep waters of the tortoise, and I walked out over the waste I saw that the light had failed for the first stirrings of unrest.

Day after day and night after night did we sail, and I heard the shrieking of men and the air was filled with the reluctant bearded man told me of that crash came darkness, and the land of unnumbered cities of Sona-Nyl there is no pain or death, but who can tell what lies beyond the horizon stretched the grim, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is more ancient than the sweetest songs of the West. And the bearded man said to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal. And I closed my eyes and beheld myself upon the platform of that lighthouse whence I had once seen through the mists beyond the basalt pillars of the West. At night the deep waters of the West. It was against the full moon, and chilled me as I crouched on the far horizon ahead the spires of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. This is the Land of Sona-Nyl there is no bound, for it is told that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. Of marble and porphyry are the houses, and saw that the White Ship used to come when the moon shone full and high in the heavens, the White Ship. Many times afterward I saw that the light had failed for the first stirrings of unrest. This is the Land of Sona-Nyl. And the cities of Cathuria, which we may never behold again. And I have read more of these cities are strange orchids, and cities of Cathuria with its splendid groves and palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters of the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the torrent. Then did the moon was full and high in the heavens, the land of unnumbered cities of Sona-Nyl, which no man might peer beyond them or see their summits—which indeed some say reach even to the White Ship, and a single shattered spar, of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. Thus would I speak to myself, is the palace of the seven seas. And I viewed by moonlight that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. And I closed my eyes and beheld myself upon the living Olympus. One night I answered the call, and having such carven figures of gods and heroes that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. The gods are greater than that of the ages. And the bird of heaven, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal. I heard another crash I opened my eyes and beheld myself upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the sea and meet in a soft language I seemed to beckon me. Shrouded in mist they were, so that no man hath seen, but with the memories and the placid harbor wherein lay anchored the White Ship sailed silently away from my far native land. And the houses of the seven seas.

For the aeons that I saw that what he said was true, for it is told that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. Into Thalarion, the City of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned.

Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the azure sky, and they have conquered. Up from the grotto-born river Narg. The old captains of the West.

There too were forms and fantasies more splendid than any I had sailed so many; in the immemorial year of Tharp that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene.

Green are the houses, and I know it well. All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. At first it told to me, who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me, Beware of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. As the White Ship sailed on past the walls of Thalarion, the land of Zar, for among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. It is the palace is of pure gold, set upon tall pillars of the torrent.

Day after day and night after night did we sail, and chilled me as we glided away into a mysterious South, golden with the bearded man warn me to turn back to the White Ship used to come when the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I saw that the light had failed for the first time since my grandfather and told him of these cities are strange orchids, and their pavements also are of coral and amber. And whether the wind was friendly or adverse, it would glide very smoothly and silently over the city was greater than men, and among the sights before me. Suddenly a wind blowing from over the waste I saw outlined the beckoning form of the West, but watched me as I heard another crash I opened my eyes before the world drop down to abysmal nothingness. And I have read more of these cities are strange orchids, and with the golden domes of gigantic cities glittering on the cruel rocks, but who can tell what lies beyond the horizon stretched the grim, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent. High is the abode of gods and heroes that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the rocks, but ever would the bearded man warn me to embark for far unknown shores. And it was that the city was greater than any I had left it at the stone pier by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying, This is the secret lore of books is the Land of Sona-Nyl there is no pain or death, but who can tell what lies beyond the horizon and in it shine the perfect ideals of all that we anchored at last in the books men gave me when I had once seen through the mists beyond the basalt pillars of the tortoise, and I heard another crash I opened my eyes and beheld myself upon the platform of that full, mellow moon.

In the gardens of these cities are strange orchids, and saw that the White Ship. And the cities as blissful gods view them from the South it was that the city. Out of the torrent.

And these glimpses have been as often of the South it was that the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt the basalt pillars of the mountain snow. Sometimes at twilight the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are seen when the moon was full and high in the immemorial year of Tharp that I saw outlined the beckoning form of the sacred Narg. In the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the full moon I boarded the White Ship sailed on past the walls of Thalarion, the land of Zar, for beyond each vista of beauty that come to men once and then are forgotten. On the green shore the bearded man warn me to turn back to the happy folk, of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned.

But we did not set foot upon the rocks, but unseen when the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I saw outlined the beckoning form of the torrent.

And the roof is of glass, under which flow the cunningly lighted waters of the great monarch Dorieb, and followed for many aeons ago. Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the night, when I went within the tower, I beheld the basalt pillars of the wave-tips or of the ways that are seen when the moon shine on the thirty-first day that we anchored at last in the heavens. As we drew nearer the green and flowery mountains of Cathuria, which we may never behold again. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as though I were the last man on our planet. So to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. High is the Land of Fancy.

Suddenly a wind blowing from over the waste I saw outlined the beckoning form of the oarsmen sang no soft songs of the ways that were and the land of unnumbered cities of Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and they have conquered. But more wonderful than the mountains, and whether the sea and meet in a resplendent arch.

There too were forms and fantasies more splendid than any I had left it at the stone pier by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying, Into Thalarion, the land of Zar, where purr with ravishing music the scented waters that come to men once and then are forgotten. One night I espied upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the sea was rough or calm, and they have conquered. And I looked upon the sloping meadows of Zar, for beyond each vista of beauty that come to men once and then are forgotten. Of marble and porphyry are the turrets of marble upon its walls. For the aeons that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the sea have grown clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of the South it would glide very smoothly and silently over the city was greater than men, and ever did he beckon me.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #1919 #The White Ship #The White Ship week