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lunar-serpentinite · 6 months

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AU where the Potters are actually South Asian and their earliest ancestor, Linfred of Stitchcombe, was actually an immigrant from what is now known as Tamil Nadu. He came from a family of potioneers and healers who were known for their relationship with snakes and their ability to understand the language of serpents (known within Europe as Parseltongue) but their variant of Parseltongue was believed to be a blessing from their patron deity Aravan.

The Descendants of Nandhini

The Descendants of Nandhini, more commonly known as the Descendants of Aditya by outsiders, refer to a family of Tamil wix who occupy a heavily warded and hidden territory within part of the Western Ghats in Tamil Nadu, India. They are traditionally healers and agriculturists who work closely with snakes of both Magical and mundane origins. Their affinity and bond with snakes lead them to develop the Magical ability to speak and understand the language of serpents.

They are named after the first member of the family who mastered the language of serpents, Nandhini. Nandhini was a Tamil witch who lived at the height of the Chola Empire, specifically during the mid-900s. Nandhini was her parents’ third child and only daughter. When Nandhini began to display perfect fluency in the language of serpents, it was viewed as a sign of favour from their patron Aravan and Nandhini was then announced as the family’s next head. However, she was to disguise herself as a man and go by the name Aditya as well as take on a wife for the rest of her life.

From Nandhini, new traditions were developed. One tradition was the secretive way of succession for the title of family head. While the family head remained a male in official records and to anyone who asked. But in reality, a woman held the actual title of family head. The hereditary Magic and Relics of the family was bestowed upon the eldest daughter of the main line, which she would then pass down to her eldest daughter when the daughter came of age. This is one of the family’s best kept secrets and is still kept close and hushed up to this day.

Another tradition was keeping long-living Magical serpents as familiars and protectors of the family and carriers of hereditary knowledge. These serpents were regarded around the same level as the family’s elders and the family often spoke with them for advice or knowledge.

The descendants of Nandhini, like the other Magical families of Tamil Nadu at the time, lived in harmony with their mundane neighbours. Mundanes were aware of and lived with Magic despite being unable to wield it themselves. This carried on until the start of British colonization in India. The Magical families of Tamil Nadu escaped colonization by a breath’s width by using Magic to completely hide themselves from the rest of the world. The descendants of Nandhini in particular worked with their snakes to “camouflage” their biggest family compound within the Western Ghats, with the snakes themselves acting as the living “boundaries” of their territory who also act as natural deterrents for anyone who comes too close.

The Magical families remained isolated from the outside world for the entirety of the British’s colonization of India and even lasted a couple of decades after. However, they have managed to reestablish connection with the other Magical families as the years passed by. During their time of isolation, the caste system was slowly dissolved and forgotten and many Magical Tamil families abandoned their castes and titles in favour of simply calling themselves the descendants of their oldest recorded ancestor. In the present time, Magical Tamil Nadu are large joint family groups scattered geographically but are well-connected by an intricate communication system set up by their ancestors. They are still mostly disconnected from the rest of the Magical World but not as much as it was during the colonial era.

The descendants of Nandhini in the present time mostly use the language of serpents, Tamil, and Sanskrit as their main languages. However, their members also show fluency in Middle Tamil and Classical Sanskrit. The latest generation of the descendants are currently learning present-day English.

BRITISH BRANCH — THE POTTERS

During the 1200s right as the Chola Empire began to decline, a group of the descendants of Nandhini led by someone now known as Linfred of Stitchcombe found their way to the British Isles. Though considered “eccentric” by his British neighbours, Linfred was nonetheless well-liked due to his helpfulness and affable nature. He and his family were known for their excellent healing remedies and strange plants, but they were warned by their ancestral snakes and the local snakes to hide their affinity for snakes and their knowledge of the language of serpents for their own safety.

This branch eventually adopted the surname of Potter by demand of the British Ministry of Magic, though there wasn’t any significant reason behind the choice of surnames. Though they are Potter on paper, they still proudly refer to themselves as descendants of Nandhini and would often use Nandhini as another surname in addition to Potter. They kept in contact with the main branch throughout the centuries until the main branch seceded during the British colonial period.

Despite their positive reputation in the British Magical community and their position of being essentially Purebloods, the Potters preferred to marry within their South Asian community. The other British Pureblood families attempted to marry into the Potter family for generations especially after the Potters rose to the top of their respective industries, but they remain unsuccessful to this day. It is because of this refusal to marry into the British Pureblood society that the Potters were exempted from the Sacred 28, not that they cared anyways.

The Potters amassed wealth, prestige, and influence through their revolutionary contributions and breakthroughs for British healing magic and potions. Eventually, they also started to build up a business in Magical pottery and ceramics. The potions they sell are often packaged in custom ceramic bottles made by their own company. Their business partners are exclusively businesses owned and run by South Asians and South Asian immigrants and have recently begun to open their connections to other BIPOC-owned businesses as well. As of the present day, the Potters are one of the leading names in both the potioneering and Magical pottery/ceramics industry.

The Potters usually send their children to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where they would usually be Sorted into either Slytherin or Gryffindor. However since they have reestablished their connection with their main branch in Tamil Nadu, the recent generations have been considering sending their children to their ancestral home for schooling instead.

During the mid-18th century, the Potters began to republicize their affinity and connection with snakes and their usage of the language of serpents as a way of preserving their connection to their family back in their motherland and as a silent protest against the growing negative perception of snakes and serpent-speakers in the United Kingdom. It was noted by Magical linguists that the language of serpents that the Potters knew were far different than what Europe had called “parseltongue”. This variant of “parseltongue” became known as Potters’ parseltongue amongst the European populace, though the family themselves have never used the term themselves.

Despite having lived away from their main branch for centuries, the Potters still maintain almost all of the family traditions. The family is patriarchal on paper but matriarchal in practice. Their family manor in Gloucestershire had an entire green space for the ancestral snakes that they have brought from Tamil Nadu and their other snakes that they have adopted and bred. They continue to revere their patron deity Aravan, whose image decorates sacred spaces within the Potter family estate.

In the latest generation, the Potter family is closely connected with the other Magical South Asian families within the United Kingdom and the rest of Europe. They also have close ties with the Black family who claims ancestry from ancient Egypt and Persia. The current heads of the Potter family, James and Lily, have both married Regulus Arcturus Black who is the second son of Orion and Walburga Black. James also considers Sirius Orion Black his best friend and the couple have appointed Sirius as the godfather of their eldest child Hariharan "Harry" James Potter.

#harry potter #desi harry potter #desi james potter #harry potter au #the black family #jegulily #your faves are now bipoc im not sorry #everything is approved by my south asian mom friend btw #theres more where this came from #my stuff : nandhini's legacy au

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glittering-moonlillie · 1 year

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Tightrope (Damian Wayne x LOA! Reader)

Warnings: Heavy mentions of abuse, a few curse words. I made this more hurt comfort rather than angst, I'm sorry :<

Summary: Ever since the both of you were younger, you taught Damian the importance of hope and - even if it took years - he was more than happy to help you believe in it again.

Word Count: 4085

Hope; it was the essence that life was built upon, the attribute that humans cling to in times of despair and grief. It was the shining light at the end of the dark tunnel, the soldier who - with gritted teeth - flipped off the dictator of life and continued to fight, bloodied, bruised and all.

All you ever did was hope: hoped for a brighter future, hoped for control, hoped to explore and create rather than neglect and diminish. Whether it was in the middle of training, while you were sleeping, or studying, hope was the hidden deity you worshiped with every fiber of your little body.

As you grew older, it was apparent that you were not born in the correct body. Your mother was a top assassin in an organization called The League of Assassins. She was taught to be a ruthless killer in order to serve the League’s higher purpose - to achieve balance in the world and create environmental harmony through slaughtering most of humanity. Instead of crafting, she helped to steal the lives of thousands, ripping them away from the world with precision.

It was a responsibility of your mothers to be “the fang that protected the head,” which now meant it was your responsibility as well. From an early age, you were shaped to be a weapon. Your mother’s hands carefully molded your clay body, her expert hands knowing what ridges to smooth and what areas to sharpen.

But the clay was too stubborn, too hard for her to mold perfectly, and resulted in a dull clump that was useless. One could imagine the disappointment of your mother, who served to be Talia’s right hand woman. When you were born, everyone expected you to have the same instinctual skill as your mother - the ability to contort into the shadows like a lethal chameleon with the ease of a slithering cobra, not to be some mindless dreamer.

You were useless in combat compared to your mother; the grip on your weapon would always waver and your feet would sway at the thought of killing someone. You always ended up being one of the first spotted in the League’s version of Hide and Seek and subsequently faced harsh punishment. Logically, you weren’t the most competent war strategist either. Sure, you weren’t an idiot, but planning a tactical win against a horde of ninja’s was not your forte.

And you would never be able to calculate the trajectory you would need to throw a shuriken in order for it to slice someone’s neck.

A people pleaser at heart, you certainly tried your best to be who your mother wished you to be. Despite your heart wanting to hurdle itself away into the night sky so it could be at peace with the stars, it was trapped in this monstrous clay construction, doomed to kill - doomed to serve.

Wake up.

Train.

Eat.

Train.

Meditate.

Study.

Train.

Eat.

Shower.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Life was a broken record, repeating its meaningless tune to an empty audience. So you hoped. You eagerly wished for some sort of reprieve, searched for a meaning more than destruction with frantic hands and wild eyes until you struck gold. Soon, your hope bloomed into a boy.

Damian was the son of Talia Al Ghul, with a soft face and forest green eyes, the raven black hair atop his head swooping to the right. He shouldered the weight of his family, his legacy and it showed. His confidence was as lustrous as an emerald. By the age of nine, he could easily take down every single member of the league (with the exception of his family) and had the tactical brilliance of Sun Tzu.

Damian was not known for his kindness, no one in the League was. You were all raised to be merciless killers, mercy would only display weakness and get yourself killed. Damian seemed to detest everyone in the League, so it puzzled you as to why someone like him decided to show you kindness.

Due to your inept nature, most leaguers often mocked you for your incompetence in battle. Their insults were displayed on your body like intricate cave paintings. Damian was the only exception, the radiant diamond that made you feel like the luckiest person. You weren’t sure if it was out of pity or sympathy, but he quickly became your one and only friend.

His touch was delicate, as if he were grasping at the stem of a dandelion in order to preserve a wish. Words fell out of his mouth like an uplifting melody. Damian made it his personal mission to train you himself, if not to serve the League, than to at least protect yourself properly. You made it your mission to instill the same hope that burned through your bloodstream.

Training sessions that were filled with monochrome decay suddenly overflowed with special secrets and inside jokes between you and Damian - stories shared, wishes whispered, and dreams dreamt in the massive room that instantaneously felt too cramped. It felt like stealing bits and pieces of your childhoods back, simultaneously feeling enough yet not enough at all.

The first genuine smile Damian gave you felt like you were just given the keys to a whole kingdom. There was something so uniquely special about it, as if you just discovered the end of a rainbow. He had a couple of missing teeth that you assumed would grow back in a few months, eyes crinkling for what seemed to be the first time ever.

You expressed to him your desire to leave behind the legacy of your mother, to become a leaf swept up by the wind instead of being the bark that stubbornly grew its roots in one spot since at least the leaf would experience more of life than the tree ever will, even if it becomes brittle rust within a few days.

More than anything, you wished to be swept away by the wind, the tide, anything would do really.

He confided that he, deep down, wished to spend his days painting and growing a menagerie of rescued animals instead of living in the shadow of his mother and grandfather. But unlike you, he was also committed to proving himself and making a difference. He was the very best of the best, and his talent would be wasted if he were just a measly painter.

Just as he trained you to fight properly, you encouraged him to pursue what he wanted, even if it went against everything else he was taught.

After a few years of growing with each other, blossoms of a strong admiration and affection began to develop. Despite knowing loving him would face scorn, it was hope that made you believe you had a chance.

“I promise you, when I am in charge, you will be able to leave this place anytime you please.” He said to you, giving you that wicked smirk he always did when he was awfully proud of himself.

Damian covertly fashioned a simple promise band that day. It was made of softened branches, braided with the delicacy of hair. Tangled between the braids were small baby’s-breath, winking at you as the sun illuminated their features. He slipped it on your ring finger, as if it was a proposal, as if the two of you had a choice all along.

The ring used to be a sign of innocent childhood romance, the physical embodiment of your hope. You used to clutch it tightly, wearing it with pride wherever you went, not knowing that life was sneaking up behind you to violently snatch it away with its bony hands and cold grasp.

Now it just hung loosely around your neck, tucked underneath your clothes and hidden from the sunlight. You had walked the fine line between hope and delusion and it was only when Damian left that you realized you had been worshiping gods who would never hear your pleas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gotham city twinkled under the guidance of the waxing moon, and for a moment, it almost looked beautiful. But it was a city where crime never slept, where screams echoed and smog filled the air. It was a constant reminder of why Damian will keep fighting, even if his body aches, even if he is beaten down time and time again.

His purpose was to protect and save people, and he would do so even if it killed him. He was so eager to succeed, to strive and be better that it sometimes blinded him. But it was better than facing failure; it tasted of rotten fruit and bitter mugmort and he was not jumping at the chance to taste it again. Letting someone die was worse than making the choice to kill someone.

Perched on one of the gargoyles, the stone withering from the constant downpours, Damian allowed himself to be consumed by the thought of you. You never belonged somewhere like the League of Assassins, and Damian used to find it amusing. A group of highly skilled killers and one girl who only longed to be a professional dreamer, to soar the skies instead of being trapped in a steel cage - a girl that reminded him that there was more to life than just fulfilling a legacy. The last time he talked to you was almost a decade ago. He recalls the exact way your smile disappeared, the way the sunlight in your eyes was swept away by dark, foggy clouds.

Remembers how he swore to come back for you, only to be told you were killed right before he came back. Heartbreak consumed him then and it only worsened with time. Despite lashing out on everyone, Damian knew deep down it was his fault.

That is why he fights.

But tonight, Gotham was mostly quiet. Damian’s shoulders fell as he let the rain wash over him, letting the tension melt away. The night was growing old and since there was nothing amiss, he decided it best to retire for the night.

Making sure not to misstep, Damian got up and lifted himself onto the rooftop of the industrial building, gripping the grappling hook and preparing to swing himself to safety.

The hook latched into the darkened building, allowing Damian to swing across. Tainted air filled his lungs, settling into his body with a delicate sting, wind whipping angrily through his hair. It was the closest Damian ever felt to flying, to touching the same blue canvas you wished to be a part of.

A loud snap ripped through the air, and before Damian could react, he was rolling on the floor and bumping into a putrid dumpster. Damian grimaced. The pavement sweated with grime, making it more of an inconvenience for him to jump back up and assess the damage done.

The cord of the grappling hook had split in two but the cut seemed too precise with the frayed ends sticking up equally, meaning that the rope did not just snap; it must have been cut with something sharp enough to slice through enhanced nylon.

Damian dropped the rope and slinked back into the corner, his eyes squinting through the dark. He watched the shadows cautiously and slowed his breath to a faint whisper; the grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles turned a pale white.

There was a faint scurrying to his right, almost like a rat or another small rodent but the weight of each step did not match. The light steps progressively got louder, allowing Damian to step into the correct fighting stance.

He caught the small shuriken between his fingers as it whirled towards his face “Tt, whoever you are, you are absolutely terrible at sneaking up on people.” He tossed the weapon to the grimy floor. “Reveal yourself.”

A person languidly stepped out from the darkness - a walking shadow - with the only light reflected being from the glint of a palm sized weapon, most likely a dagger. Judging from the person’s curves and movement, he assumed they were a woman. If this was his mother’s doing, this would have been the first time she sent a woman after him.

“Who are you?” He inquired, voice coarse and echoing across the walls of the alleyway. Instead of an answer, he was met with the sudden charge from the inexperienced assassin who’s blade barely grazed his cheek. Damian grabbed the woman’s forearm and twisted it, using his other arm to keep them at a safer distance as she tried to swing the dagger (incorrectly) at him like a magical wand.

The woman grunted in pain, letting the dagger drop to the floor with a deafening clank. Letting her forearm go, Damian lightly kicked the person to the floor, pushing a fraction of his weight onto the solar plexus. He glared down, his eyes scanning the slick, black material and immediately recognized it as the one he was forced to wear when he was younger.

So his mother did send this person after him.

“P-please…” It was a hushed mumble mixed together with the person’s frantic breaths. His eyes scanned again and he noticed the way the woman’s eyes were thin and constricted, examining him as he was her. The terrified look on her face seemed familiar, like something from a hazy dream or an old scrapbook. For a split second, Damian thought the person looked awfully similar to you, only for the thought to be immediately swept away as soon as it appeared. It couldn’t be you, you died.

“Who are you?” He asked again, lightening the pressure of his foot. “Why did my mother send you after me?”

She continued to thrash around and murmur incoherent words, causing Damian to grumble. “If you aren’t going to answer me, I may as well dispose of-”

Before he could finish the empty threat, the hair of the woman, which shifted out of the shawl covering most of the face, leaked out like a tube of acrylic oil. The shade…it was similar to yours as well…

His heart began to leap in the air, long-forgotten hope pumping from his heart to his brain. He completely shifted his weight off of the woman and slowly leaned down.

Of course, this could have been chalked up to wishful thinking and mindless absurdity. But he, deep down, wanted to believe, to hope.

“I won’t hurt you…” He said softly, reaching out to the shawl. He tugged at it to reveal a mess of hair the color of his wishes, prayers, and dreams combined.

A few tears ran down the cheeks of the stranger, the fabric of the mask covering their mouth absorbing the liquid almost immediately. “D-don’t…shouldn’t…shouldn’t know who I am…”

“Why not?”

“I-I…you…” She paused, averting her eyes up to his once more. “Your mother wants you back in the League.” She finished, her gentler voice turning rigid and empty like a robot.

“I’ve told her once that I do not wish to be part of her League. I’m not sure how many times I need to make this explicitly clear to her.”

“No!” She suddenly pounced on Damian, voice quivering as she pressed another shuriken to his neck. “You can’t do that! Please, Damian. You don’t understand, t-the League needs you, I-I….I need to take you home o-or…or else…”

Damian felt his soul tear itself from his body, felt as if every single wound he tried desperately to cover was unearthed and drenched in lemon juice and salt. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to break out into laughter or crumble into tears.

Dangling between the two was an old and battered ring, decayed with age. Everything began to click together. The hair was the same beautiful shade, the voice was almost the exact melody, even the combat reflected the same clumsy style.

It was you.

Your eyes wandered down, widening once they saw that the ring escaped the confines of your shirt. You hastily ripped it out of Damian’s view, quickly dropping the artillery and scrambling off of him, your chest heaving.

“Y/n…” He hesitantly reached for the warmth of your hand, not wanting to let you slip through his fingers again. It was a miracle, a shooting star in the palm of his hand, twinkling with the fiery hope of a phoenix feather. He already lost you once, broke his promise, and he will never let that happen again.

“You left me…you left me there to die…” You nudged his hand away, refusing to turn towards him.

“I would never leave you there to die! I came back for you a few months later once I convinced my father and I was told you died on a mission! They said your mother did not want to revive you because you were useless!” He argued.

Damian reached for you again, desperately, the need to see you smile for him, because of him overrunning every sense of logic he normally abided by. Your shoulders were tensed as the rest of your body trembled, managing to break Damian’s frigged heart even more.

“I looked for you everywhere. I almost killed every single person in that fucking building when they said you were murdered, as if it did not matter.” He said in a broken mutter. Damian let his arms wrap around your neck loosely, resting his chin delicately on your head. “I’m sorry, Y/n…I…I failed you.”

You placed your jittery hands on top of his and clutched them just as you did when you were both younger. The sleeves of the assassin attire fell down to your elbows, exposing branches of lighter skin, twisting and curling like cruel birthmarks. “What happened to you?”

Damian couldn’t help but trace the scars with his index finger, counting how many he noticed. Blood trickled down his lip as he tried not to let rage cloud his judgment.

“When you left…m-my mother…she…” As tears slipped down your cheeks, Damian couldn’t contain the urge to gently kiss them away the same way he did the day he left. “Training became more intense…I was sent on more missions and…and every time I failed…”

Your voice trailed off, replaced with painful cries. “I-If I don’t bring you back…if you don’t rejoin the League again she might actually kill me…”

Damian watched as you erratically took off the first layer of clothing, revealing a plethora of scars along your arms and neck, down to your clavicle.Whatever restraint Damian clung onto vanished as easily as a swift slice; a bomb ticking down to its demise would have been more nimble.

“They won’t be getting away with this.” Damian got up, dusting off the filth on his pants, a plan formulating in his mind. He could call up Jason who would definitely not mind killing off some Leaguers who stepped out of line. He will call his father as well and they’ll discuss negotiations for your release. You could be safe with him, with his family. He would be able to grant you your every wish and desire, exactly how he promised.

You tugged on his sleeve. “Damian…I can’t…I have to take you home. Please, I already know I can’t fight you.”

“I am not going anywhere, Y/n, and neither are you. I told you I would free you from the League when I was nine, and I plan to keep that promise.” He managed a soft smile, hoping that it would ease away the creases on your countenance, to paint over your frown and replace it with moonbeams and sunlight. He wanted to restore the hopeful blaze in your eyes.

Your frown only deepened. “Damian, you don’t understand, I can’t. I can’t run, I can’t escape.”

You shook your head, attempting to wipe away the tears in vain. “The happy ending that I wished for, it was stolen from me, Damian, and I will never get it back. I was wrong to hope.”

“If you believed that, then you wouldn’t be wearing the ring I gave you. Y/n, you were the one who told me that I wasn’t tied to my heritage! That I could be whoever I wanted to be and do whatever I wanted to do even if it went against my family's wishes.” He fought back. “I won’t allow someone to throw your life away, Y/n. You have a choice. I can protect you.”

Palming your cheek, Damian pulled you into an embrace. The thought of you going back to someone who would only torture you, kill you, hurt him more than he would ever be able to admit.

“They’d come after me, Dami. They will hunt me down and off me the moment I let my guard down. I would never be truly free, there would be no point.” You lightly pushed him away from you again, hands resting on his chest. For a moment, he wondered if you could feel the drumming of his heartbeat, the way it raced faster than his mind could keep up with.

“And you don’t think I can protect you?” He replied, voice softening as he urged his legs to step an inch closer, and then another inch. “I would never let anyone hurt you, not ever again.”

Your eyes met with his own, and Damian hoped that the small glimmer he saw meant he was getting through the years of brainwashing, tugging at the strand of hope he knew you had left in you. Your lips parted slightly only to close a few seconds later. With your shoulders slumped, nose bright red, and cheeks gleaming with tears, you slumped into his arms and began to fully weep.

It caught Damian off guard to see the intense emotion but it did not make him uncomfortable like it usually did; no, instead he felt a pang of sympathy coiling in his stomach, growing into vines and clawing up his throat and daring him to speak.

“I’m so scared.” You whimpered, clutching onto his cape as if he were as fair weathered as a butterfly. “I-I…I…”

“I know. It’s alright.” He said. “I’m here.”

Damian made a mental note to thank Dick for teaching him how to comfort others. He pulled you out of the disgusting alleyway and out into the quiet street. Getting you somewhere safe was his first priority and there was no safer space than Wayne Manor.

“Where are we going?”

“My family home. My father will be there and so will some of my siblings. It is absolutely the safest place in Gotham for you.”

The cold air seemed more bearable when the comfort of your hand rested in his. The stirrings of a former childhood crush resurfaced the more he looked at you. Despite that though, he knew it would not be fair to push his feelings onto you. If he did, Damian would be no better than the people who controlled you your entire life.

“I thought you would have forgotten me by now.” You turned towards him, the edges of your mouth twisting into the first smile he had seen from you in years.

“Forgetting you would be like forgetting how to paint.” He remarked.

A feeling of calmness wrapped itself around the two of you like a snug quilt. Damian could sense that you were still nervous if the constant swerving of your head at any sudden noise was anything to go by, but every time he made sure to pull you closer to show he was not going anywhere.

By the time that the both of you reached the Manor, your breath managed to settle into a slower rhythm. Damian watched as your lips formed into an O as you stared up at the daunting Victorian-esque building.

“I’ve always wanted to visit a castle…” You mumbled under your breath, tipping your head curiously the same way you did when you sneakily read the banned fairytales your mother was avidly against.

Damian chuckled at the response. “And I always said I would take you to one.”

As he guided you through the Manor, the smile on your face began to appear more vividly. His family was surprised, but once he explained the situation, they eagerly welcomed you with open arms. Damian made sure to have Alfred fetch you some nicer clothes for resting while he held you in his arms.

Ever since the both of you were younger, you taught Damian the importance of hope and - even if it took years - he was more than happy to help you believe in it again.

Did I reread this again before publishing? NOPE

But did I figure out the read more thingy? HELL YES

I consider this a win lol

#Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne x Reader #Damian Al Ghul #League of Assassins #Damian Wayne x Y/n #DC #Comics #Angst #Hurt/Comfort #Romance #I support healthy relationships #Damian Wayne is a little yandere in this I think oops #Batman #Talia Al Ghul #Requested #Anon requests

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miss-hyoko · 1 year

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Our Love Is True

Character(s): Malleus

Summary: You're about to die and Malleus wasn't ready to let you go

Tag(s) and warning(s): GN!Reader, angst, romantic, reader is Yuu, established relationship, death, and 1.9k words

Note: This fic was inspired by Habibie & Ainun, a famous romance movie in my country. Their OST is the one I translated for the later part of this fic. If you're interested, you can hear the song here (Official MV) or here (English Translation)

P.S: I translated this in the middle of the night when my brain wasn't quite right. If you found something wrong, please let me know 👉👈

Since the beginning of your relationship, Malleus already knew he wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of his life with you.

For he a fae and you a human; one is a creature destined to live a long life, while the other is just a mere mortal with a short life span.

Malleus was well aware of this fact, more than anyone else. Even so, he still wants to be with you, his most beloved person.

If he can’t spend the rest of his life with you, then at least let him accompany you until the end of your life.

***

Many people think that Malleus’ feelings for you are nothing but a temporary attraction and that the relationship between you two won’t last long. So, they patiently await the news about your breakup with the crown prince of Briar Valley.

Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, and months turn to years. Time goes by so fast, yet there is still no breakup news from you and Malleus.

Instead, they got news about your marriage with Malleus; and how you both worked together to lead the Briar Valley.

Even though your appearance has changed drastically with the passage of time, the relationship between you and Malleus still continues in harmony. He doesn’t seem to mind about the changes your body is going through; often seen gently kissing your wrinkled face when appearing together in public.

At this point, almost everyone believes that Malleus really loves you and is serious about his relationship with you.

All of that is further proven true when one day, you fall seriously ill.

Doctors and healers throughout the Twisted Wonderland were called to check upon you. Unfortunately, they couldn’t do much because your body is already weak from aging. It’s only a matter of time before you breathe your last breath.

They told Malleus that he needed to prepare himself for the worst-case scenario. But he doesn’t want to; he’s still not ready to lose you.

Frantically, he tried to find a way to extend your life. From reading through all the ancient records in the palace library to even sending some of his knights out to find a way to save you, he had tried it all. Alas, no matter how hard he searched, he found nothing to help you.

Devastated, Malleus dejectedly accepts the fact that you will soon leave him forever.

And ever since that, except for some rare occasions where his presence is absolutely required, Malleus stopped appearing in public, wanting nothing more than to be by your side in the remaining time of your life.

***

Today, unlike usual, you slept very soundly and woke up feeling refreshed. It was the most comfortable sleep you’ve ever had since you got bedridden a year ago due to your illness worsening. Your old body feels full of energy, just like when you were young. But instead of feeling happy, all you can feel is just melancholy.

Today is the day, huh?

Suddenly, there was a rhythmic knock on your door.

“Are you awake, sweetheart?” Malleus entered your room carrying a bowl of warm porridge.

“Good morning, Hornton.”

A subtle smile you gave to him when your eyes met with his. You can no longer see clearly because your eyesight is getting worse; still, you can faintly see the sorrow hidden behind those emerald-green eyes of his that you love the most.

Ah, so he already knows…

Placing the porridge on the bedside table, Malleus walked over to the window and drew back the curtains, showing you the morning sky of Briar Valley.

“Such a great weather we have for today,” he commented in a barely audible voice, trying to sound calm in your presence.

From your position, you can see how the morning sun hits Malleus’ handsome face while a gentle breeze slowly blows his dark hair strands. No matter how many decades have passed, he still looks the same as the first time you met him near Ramshackle Dorm; breathtakingly handsome.

“Today’s breakfast is your favorite porridge, sweetheart. Here, let me help you.”

Taking the porridge earlier, Malleus took a spoonful of its contents and blew on it briefly before bringing it down to your mouth.

You stared alternately between the spoon and Malleus’ face for a few moments. He, The Mighty Fae King who was feared and respected by many, now humbles himself to serve your daily needs; doing the menial work that should be done by the servants.

Your heart suddenly hurts. Whether out of joy or sadness, you also don’t know.

“I don’t want to eat…” you say rather weakly.

Malleus didn’t insist. He just smiled and put the porridge back on the table. “Then at least have a little drink, alright?”

“Hornton… Can we go for a walk in the garden?” you asked suddenly, making Malleus, who was about to pour you some water, instantly stop moving.

He didn’t answer right away. You can hear how he tries to control his irregular breathing.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He answered in a weak voice after a moment of silence; a wistful smile formed on his face when he turned to look at you.

“Let’s go to the garden.”

***

With one arm under your legs and the other supporting your back, Malleus holds you close while walking around the palace garden. His steps were calm and collected as usual, but the grim expression on his face gave away his true feelings.

“Don’t be so tense, Hornton.”

Hearing your weak voice, Malleus reflexively shifted his gaze to you, who was lying comfortably in his arms.

From this close distance, Malleus can see how time has changed you. Your face is now full of wrinkles, your hair’s original color has been completely replaced with white strands, and most of your hair has fallen out, leaving a few bald spots on your head.

To others, you are probably just another ugly old person. But in Malleus’ eyes, you’re still the same beautiful human who managed to steal his heart decades ago.

“You will make other people run scared if you make a face like that,” you said, smiling weakly.

Malleus is aware that you were trying to cheer him up, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile the way you wanted him to. Not when he knows he will soon lose you, the only bright light in his dark life.

“I do not care about other people. I only care about you alone,” he whispered hoarsely.

As if you had expected him to say that, you just laughed lightly without making any further comment.

Hearing you laugh heartily, Malleus’s gaze unconsciously softened a bit. No matter how often he heard it, he didn’t think he would ever get tired of hearing your laugh.

If only he could hear your laughter for all eternity, how great would it be?

“That big tree in the middle of the garden, I want to see it. Can you take me there?”

“With pleasure, sweetheart.”

Trying to divert his attention from the fact that you will die soon, Malleus gently kissed your forehead and carried you to where you wanted.

Arriving in the middle of the palace garden, Malleus immediately sat in the shade of the tree while placing you in his lap.

“Hehehe, I always like it whenever you hug me close like this, Hornton.” Chuckling softly, you snuggled deeper into your husband’s arms. “Hug me tighter, please?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything…”

As he hugged you tighter, Malleus’ shoulders started to tremble, realizing that your death was approaching nearer and nearer, all while he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Unaware of his reaction, you continued to ramble with unfocused eyes.

“Are you always this warm, Mal?”

No, it’s your body that’s getting colder…

“Ah, but this temperature is perfect. I like it….”

“Is that so?” Malleus gently stroked your wrinkled cheek with great tenderness.

“Then, could you stay a little longer?”

As if you didn’t hear his question, you just smiled a little and brought your face closer to his hand resting on your cheek.

You didn’t answer him, but Malleus already knows the answer.

You can’t stay any longer.

Malleus’ vision began to blur, and he could feel tears starting to well up in the corners of his eyes.

With the way he looked down at you who was lying in his arms, the tears involuntary rolled down his cheeks before finally falling on your face.

“Don’t cry, Hornton.”

Your voice now sounds hoarser than before, and Malleus can feel his tears flowing even more. With great difficulty, you move your frail hands to cup his face, trying to wipe the tears away from his cheeks.

But before you could touch his face, Malleus grabbed your hand first. His green eyes stare intently at yours.

For a few seconds, the two of you just stared at each other in silence. Until finally, you broke the silence with a request.

“That song... can you sing it for me?”

Malleus’ body involuntarily stiffened at your request. He knows which song you mean. It’s a song you taught him not long after you two just got married. The one you always sing to him whenever he feels afraid of losing you someday to death.

That song is something special for both of you.

Malleus’ grip on you tightened, and he slowly lowered his head to press his forehead against yours; silently sobbing with ragged breaths.

As long as it’s something you want, Malleus will definitely grant it, no matter how hard or unreasonable it is.

“When the heart

twisting and disturbing the mind.

Repeating memories,

when love meets love.”

Malleus’s voice quivered ever so slightly as he started to sing.

But you didn’t notice it; continue to lay comfortably in Malleus’ embrace with eyes closed to enjoy your husband’s melodious voice. Past memories start playing like a broken record inside your head; your first meeting with him, your date together, the time he proposed to you, all up to your grand wedding.

“My soul is screaming,

emphasizing that I love you.

Thank you, All-loving (God),

for uniting us.”

Ah, you remember this part. The upcoming lyrics are your favourite part since it describes your relationship with Malleus perfectly. Thus, whenever you sing that part, you always sing it full of emotions; hoping you can convey your feelings for Malleus.

“When I’m no longer by your side-”

“I will wait for you in eternity…”

Malleus was stunned into silence by your sudden intervention. After a while, he continued to sing with lips lifted into a small smile.

“Our love painting the history

Staging stories full of joy

So that any human being would know

Our love is true….”

Ah… Even now, you can still make him fall in love with you all over again.

“A colorful valley

Shaping, curving, hugging us

Two souls that melt into one

In the sanctity of love…”

Nearing the end of the song, Malleus felt your hand that he had been holding suddenly become weak.

Slowly, he moves his face away from you; gazing at your peaceful face that has entered the eternal slumber.

Like a leaking dam, all the emotions he had struggled to hold back since earlier immediately overflowed.

His tears fell uncontrollably without any sign of stopping, his chest heaved up and down, his breath suffocated, and something invisible was gnawing his heart.

Malleus could feel it.

Something inside him also disappeared along with your last breath.

“Our love painting the history

Staging stories full of joy

So that any human being would know

Our love is true….”

Nevertheless, his mouth continues to sing your song.

For all he wants is his voice to be the one to send you off to eternity.

***

I never left,

Always in your heart.

You’re never far away,

Always in my heart.

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst imagines #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #rendang #🍴_comp

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 8 months

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Unlocking the Power of the Perfect Witch Character Name for Your Fiction Novel

Introduction

As an author, there are few decisions as important and impactful as choosing the right name for your characters. When it comes to crafting a witch character for your fiction novel, finding the perfect name holds even greater significance. A well-chosen witch character name has the ability to intrigue readers, capture the essence of your character, and contribute to the overall atmosphere and world-building of your story. In this blog post, I'll help you explore the art of naming a witch character and provide you with valuable insights to ensure your witch character's name enchants your readers.

1. Reflect the Magic

When naming your witch character, harness the power of language to reflect the inherent mystique and enchantment associated with witches. Consider incorporating elements that evoke magic, such as using words related to spells, potions, or mystical creatures. By doing so, you can make your witch character's name an integral part of their identity, amplifying their connection to the supernatural world.

2. Embrace Historical and Cultural References

Witchcraft has a rich historical background in various cultures worldwide. Delve into folklore, mythology, or historical records to discover names with strong ties to witchcraft. For instance, names like Morgana, Circe, or Baba Yaga immediately conjure images of powerful and captivating witches. Drawing from these references adds depth and authenticity to your character's name and enhances the overall believability of your story.

3. Individuality and Distinctiveness

Just like any other character in your novel, your witch character deserves a name that sets them apart. Aim for a name that is unique, memorable, and distinctive. Consider experimenting with unconventional spellings, combinations of sounds, or unexpected name origins. A witch character with a name that stands out from the crowd will leave a lasting impression on your readers, making them more invested in their journey.

4. Honor Personality Traits

Your witch character's name should embody their personality and tap into the essence of who they are. Think about the characteristics you want to assign to your witch character—Are they mysterious, wise, mischievous, or powerful? Choose a name that aligns with these attributes. For example, a witch with a strong and commanding presence might be named Hecate, while a mischievous and playful witch could be called Puck.

5. Consider Phonetics and Flow

When readers encounter a character's name, it should roll off their tongues effortlessly. Consider the phonetics and flow of your witch character's name to ensure it is pleasant to read and pronounce. Avoid names that are overly complicated or excessively long, as they may detract from the overall reading experience. Opting for names with harmonious sounds can create a magical resonance that captivates your audience.

6. Symbolism and Hidden Meanings

Delve into symbolism and hidden meanings to give extra depth to your witch character's name. Look up old languages, symbolic associations, or even numerology to add an additional layer of intrigue. Incorporating these subtleties can breathe life into your character and provide an added sense of discovery for your readers.

Conclusion

Naming your witch character in a fiction novel is an art form that demands careful consideration and thought. By following the suggestions outlined above, you can ensure that your witch character's name elevates your storytelling experience, captivates your readers, and brings your magical world to life. Remember, the perfect witch character name holds the power to bewitch your readers and transport them to a realm of mystery and wonder. Embrace this opportunity to create an unforgettable character who will resonate with readers long after they put your book down. Happy naming!

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pareidoliaonthemove · 8 months

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Birds of a Feather

Notes:

I couldn’t come up with anything for FishTank week in time, but my brain finally offered this up for the “Fish out of Water” prompt.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

As far as the Tracy Brothers were concerned Public Relations was an unavoidable evil; one that had them lined up in its sights twice over. Both Tracy Industries and International Rescue had their ‘extracurricular’ demands, and required much public goodwill to run successfully.

That was why all five brothers were all crammed uncomfortably on a sofa and ‘extra guest’ armchairs in an ‘intimate’ recording studio, with the latest ‘celebrity’ to have been granted their own talk show. The PR people had sworn blind that this was the right place to be to “renew brand awareness”, and “maximise impact”.

After five minutes dealing with their ‘host’, all of the brothers were mentally reviewing the PR department’s employment contracts. The woman was a walking advertisement for cut price cosmetic surgery, with an IQ lower than her waist measurement, and her demeanour was as artificial as her cleavage, and once her attempts at flirting with Scott had been gently rebuffed, her attitude had turned downright nasty.

She smiled hugely, flashing her blindingly white, and completely artificial – the newest fashion craze – teeth at her guests. “And, according to a viewer poll, the most appropriate collective noun for a group of Tracys’ is a “flock”!

They all stared at her blankly, completely unsure what to do with this pointless information.

She continued, laughingly, “Of course, that does leave Gordon the Aquanaut … high and dry!”

Somewhere from the sound booth, a laugh track played.

Gordon stared at her flatly. “No.”

The smile froze on her face. Evidently, she had never been contradicted before. “No?”

John snorted disdainfully: “Ever heard of penguins?”

It was much later in the day, their PR duties on the mainland completed, and a seemingly endless flight in Thunderbird Two, before Gordon was able to wash off the dust of the day in the pool.

His luxuriated in the water, feeling his entire body working in harmony as he sliced up and down the pool, revelling in the feeling of purpose and strength. Muscle memory long conditioned for this, he didn’t need to think, so he didn’t. He just was.

Freedom indeed.

He was so absorbed in his watery cocoon; he didn’t realise he had company until his hand prematurely slapped bare legs instead of cold tile wall.

Shocked, Gordon spluttered upright, his momentum nearly slamming him headfirst into the legs. Shaking the chlorine out of his eyes he followed the legs up into blue denim, then red flannel, and finally Virgil’s face.

“Virg! Man, What the hell!?”

His older brother’s shoulders were drawn up to his ears. “Sorry, Gords. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to check you were okay. You’ve been here a long time.”

Gordon frowned. “It’s the pool, Virgil. I’m always in here. I practically live in here. Why are you suddenly so concerned about it?

Virgil’s eyes slid to the horizon; Gordon followed his gaze.

Oh.

The sun was three-quarters hidden beneath the sea, and falling fast.

Gordon shrugged, “Time flies when you’re having fun?” he offered.

Virgil looked at him. Serious, and oh, so sad. “You don’t only come here for fun, Gordon.”

Gordon stared up at him, clinging to the pool wall.

Virgil gestured to the water. “You don’t normally swim laps like you’re trying to break the sound barrier for fun, Gordon. You only do that when you’re upset, these days.”

Gordon blinked. Was he upset? No, definitely not. “Virg, it was a long day, and – while the PR is essential – it’s not my idea of fun. And those chairs are always so uncomfortable. I was washing off the ick, and having a nice stretch. That’s all. I promise.”

Virgil stared, evaluating his words. “Okay, Gords. Sorry. I was just worried that woman had upset you, is all.”

Gordon frowned. “You mean that ditzy ‘celebrity’ interviewer with her ‘high and dry’ comment?”

Virgil nodded.

“Well, I wasn’t best impressed, but I think we sorted her out, good and proper. Unless she broadcasts a teeny-tiny interview that won’t fill the segment between the newest must-have lip-gloss and the station ident, she’s gonna have to broadcast a looonng conservation propaganda piece about penguins and the Antarctic, and look like an absolute idiot. Either way, Team Tracy wins.”

Virgil nodded again. “Yeah, between you and John, you handled it well. But the thing is …” he rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly “… comments like what she made, they creep up on you, you know? I was just worried …” He trailed off, before taking a deep breath. “You’re one of us, you know, right? Blood and bone, forever and always?”

Gordon stared, non-plussed. That phrase, said that way … it rang a distant bell in his mind.

“Well, yeah,” he managed, awkwardly. “Bit hard to miss that.”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. I guess it is.” He stood. “Sorry, Gords. I didn’t mean to bother you. But,” he glanced at his watch, “John is cooking tonight, so you might want to clean up for dinner soon.”

He turned to go.

Gordon launched himself out of the pool, grabbing his towel, and scurrying to plant himself in front of his brother. “What you said, about it creeping up on you, that’s the voice of experience talking, isn’t it?”

Virgil sighed explosively. “It was a long time ago, Gords. I’m just glad it didn’t get you; you know?”

It was Gordon’s turn to frown. “Spill.”

“Gords …”

“Nuh-uh. You don’t get to drop that on me, and run away. It was bad enough that you’re still reacting to it. Spill. Or I call in the big guns on your ass.”

Virgil’s shoulders dropped, defeated. “Fine. You know I had a hard time ‘deciding’? The whole ‘what are you doing to do with the rest of your life’ thing, yeah?”

Gordon nodded. He hadn’t been particularly engaged in what was happening with his family at that time, his whole focus had been on the pool and swimming, but the cloud of angst and anxiety Virgil had generated had permeated even Gordon’s narrowly focused little world.

Virgil stood taller. “I decided on engineering. I had worked it all out, it was the best thing for me to do. I could still do my art and music, but through engineering …” his hands gestured, futilely trying to shape the air in front of him to emphasis his point “… engineering could let me build, bigger, better … safer.”

Gordon swallowed. The emotion in his brother’s voice on that one word. Gordon knew who he was trying to save.

Mom. With Virgil, it always came back to Mom.

Virgil slumped again. “Then one of my art teachers, someone who I had looked up to, admired, he – well, he didn’t take it too well.” Virgil smiled, sadly. “I think he had been dreaming of all the kudos he could garner, having been my teacher. Looking back at it now.”

“What. Did. He. Do?” Gordon ground out, angry.

Virgil laughed. “You sounded so much like Scott, just then. It’s a long time ago, Fish. Let it go.” He sighed. “I’m sure you can imagine. He accused me of selling out. Turning my back on mom’s legacy, kowtowing to Father’s wishes for the money … He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand me.

“At first, I ignored it, bitter grapes, all that, but over time …”

“You started to wonder if he was right.”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. Denver was hard. It was the first time I’d been away from everyone. The course work was intense, I hadn’t exactly chosen an easy workload there. There was the usual ‘rich boy’ garbage. And …”

“… And the climate?” Kansas was cold, and it snowed, but global warming had made that a rare event. Denver, however …

“Yeah. The climate definitely didn’t help.”

Gordon stared at his brother. Other than the climate issue, he hadn’t been aware of any of this at the time. It had been more years than Gordon liked to think of since Virgil had graduated, and for the weight of the sadness his big brother still carried, he wondered exactly how hard it had all been for Virgil.

“What happened?” Voice soft and calm. Non-judgemental.

Virgil shrugged, his eyes tracing the horizon. “Details don’t matter. Dad got wind of what was going on. Scott swears he broke every airspeed record, John swears he broke physics, getting out to Denver. Next thing I know, half the college is running for cover, and I’m being all but carried back to Dad’s plane. Plane’s barely landed before Dad’s tearing strips off of my old teacher, and Grandma’s force feeding me cookies.”

“And?”

Virgil shrugged. “And we talked.” He smiled, faintly. “Dad may have been slow on the uptake at times, but once he realised there was a problem, he was a pretty good therapist.” A lopsided grin and one shoulder shrug. “Mostly.”

Gordon stared again, a penny dropping. “Blood and bone. Forever and always.”

Virgil nodded.

Gordon’s gaze dropped, watching as his fingers traced patterns on the fibres of his towel. “I’m guessing …” he cleared his throat, awkwardly, “… this is a recurring problem, yeah?”

A sigh. “There are days. Shitty, shitty days. Days when things don’t go right. Days when no matter what you do, you can’t do enough.” Virgil’s large hand landed on Gordon’s shoulder and squeezed. Gordon looked up. “There will be a day. A shitty, shitty day. When things go wrong. When everything is just too much. When that bastard little voice in your head speaks up, and it will sound like that stupid woman.” Virgil swallowed. “When that day comes, Gords, remember that you are one of us: Blood and bone. Forever and always.”

Gordon surged forwards, lunging upwards as best he could and latching onto Virgil in as strong a hug as he could manage. It only took a second’s hesitation for Virgil to respond, taking his weight and crushing the air out of his little brother’s lungs.

Gordon buried his face in Virgil’s neck, smelling the reassuring mixture of scents – deodorant, engine oil, paint, the artificial lemon of furniture polish, and that faint ozone smell that meant he had been welding – that defined Virgil.

“Hey, Virg?” Gordon spoke softly into his brother’s neck. “For when that day comes … make me a penguin in IR uniform?”

Virgil pulled back to stare at him. “What?”

Gordon grinned. “I want a penguin in an IR uniform. Thunderbird 4. How is dealer’s choice. Paint him. Sculpt him. Whatever. Because there have been days like that. When I’ve felt like the fish out of water, when I’ve felt I haven’t belonged. What happened today? What John said? I’d never thought of that. Not once. Ever.” Gordon wiggled and slipped back down to stand on his own two feet. He smirked. “Some marine biologist, huh? So yeah. I want a reminder. Birds fly; but some fly underwater.”

Virgil stared for a long moment, before a shout from the house snapped him out of his thoughts. They both started walking back inside. Virgil eyed him, curiously. “So, I guess that you agree that the proper collective noun for a group of Tracys is a flock, huh?”

Gordon grinned. “Yep.” He popped the ‘p’ sound, bouncing on his feet as he did so. “Ooh. We need to work out what everyone else’s bird species is!” He took off up the stairs, as Virgil groaned behind him.

Gordon had the bit in his teeth, and no one was going to get any peace until they had all been assigned a bird totem.

Dinner was going to be hell. But they would all suffer through it.

Birds of a feather, indeed.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #fanfiction #fanfic #gordon tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy

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notafraidofredyellowandblue · 6 months

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OOR 2009 - Nr 10 - Rammstein interview

Rammstein

Six voices, no harmony

The moment OOR returns from Berlin it drops be in the mailbox: the video clip for Pussy, the first single from Rammstein's sixth studio album Liebe Ist Für Alle Da. It's a kind of, well, wie sage ich das jetzt... Please see for yourself and make your own judgement. Guitarist Richard Kruspe had already warned us the day before: "Bigger, better, more extreme" is still the motto of Germany's biggest metal band. A motto that Rammstein has condemned itself to over the past fifteen years, Kruspe admits when we speak to him about the most difficult record the band ever had to make. OOR visited the guitarist in Berlin and flew with red sympath... sorry, ears back.

by Willem Bemboom

Durch Berlin fliesst immer noch die Spree... The old Berlin song comes up when OOR reports to the German headquarters of record company Universal. Inside a typical modern multimedia office, with Moke's Shorland in the listening post, on the banks of the Spree, you are in the middle of the history of the twentieth century. Twenty years ago, this was one of the most scarred places in torn Berlin: directly to the right of the office, the Oberbaumbrücke spans the river. Nowadays the U-bahn runs back and forth over the picturesque building, but in GDR times the bridge formed one of the borders between east (Friedrichshain) and west (Kreuzberg), meaning that only western pedestrians were allowed to pass. Along the road behind the bridgehead begins the East Side Gallery, an elongated preserved part of the Berlin Wall, where artists have enjoyed themselves. The old Ostbahnhof, gateway to Warsaw and Moscow, is now hidden from view from here by the brand new O2 World sports complex. And although Berlin started a great catch-up race immediately after the fall of the wall, the horizon is still dotted with cranes that plant futuristic-looking new things in the cityscape.

A cityscape that Richard Kruspe, guitarist of Rammstein, hardly recognizes. The riff-slinging flamethrower from the stage welcomes us with the friendliest smile and a diet coke in an office on the sixth floor. Previous interviews with Rammstein always meant the presence of an interpreter, but Kruspe, who lives in New York, has no problem with English as the main language. He uses a lightning-quick, thick American/German accent, which is almost eerily correct in terms of intonation. Only the slightly too long rolling 'r' in his pronunciation betrays a different native language. "I moved to New York in 2000 and I no longer recognize the Berlin of that time. It has suddenly become very hip to live, for artists from all over the world. Life is very cheap here, especially compared to other European cities. If you are a starting artist you have to work at least three jobs elsewhere to pay the rent, and then you no longer have time for your music or paintings. Berlin is perfect for such people and also acts as a magnet to others. I now see a much more vibrant, creative Berlin than I am used to."

And the difference with the GDR period?

"Well, the wall has now disappeared in every respect. When I walk through my old neighborhood, I see a mix, there are no longer places where only people from the east or west live. I actually think that's quite a shame, it had something typical. But Berlin will always keep changing and that is a very good thing. You hear all kinds of different types of German and languages from all over the world. A sign that the city is alive. When I first moved here, that was not the case. Berlin was cold, colourless, generic. I knew I had to go here to start a career and meet people who wanted the same thing as me, but I didn't like it here. It was difficult to survive, not obvious in any case. If there were people with the same ideas, they acted very elitist. As an outsider you were not just accepted into a group. In a sense, Berlin is still hard. When I came here with my ex-wife, she did not like it And neither does my girlfriend at the moment; I showed her some places from the past yesterday and she accidentally walked on the bike path. Then someone got off his bike and hit her in the head. This way I know the city again, I thought to myself. Welcome to Berlin, baby! But the city looks beautiful, especially the old east. The architecture and new city planning make it an open whole. Not so typically German anymore, more a mix of different cities and eras."

Growing up in the Eastern Bloc is something we in the Netherlands can hardly imagine.

"I thought the GDR was fine until I was about twelve. When you're young, you don't know any better and you don't care. Now you know how the system worked, then you felt protected. safe and if I compare it to the reality of 2009, it was: now you have a credit crisis, people going hungry, problems in education, drugs among the youth. This is a different world, much more extreme. We had a very simple and straightforward upbringing - what you don't see doesn't exist. As you get older, your curiosity also grows. You want to go somewhere and you can't, because there is a wall. Only when I was about thirteen or fourteen, I became aware of the wall. And of the other sides of the regime, because the more curious you were, the more you got into trouble. Daily life in the Eastern Bloc was simply not meant for the curious. I started making music, primarily to impress the girls, but gradually I understood that it was also one of the few ways to push your boundaries a little. I always managed to stay within the lines, and then maintain a sense of freedom, no, individuality."

How were you able to push your boundaries within the GDR?

"By moving from the north of Germany to East Berlin. I did that purely because of the music. I wanted to start a band and that wasn't possible at home, simply because there weren't enough good musicians who wanted the same. It was quite difficult, because you were expected to have a full-time job and could only do something with music outside working hours. Or you had to study it, but that was of course not the kind of music I wanted to make. Slowly but surely I started to get some blemish on my political background and I decided that I no longer fit into society in Schwerin. Living with music, it had to be in Berlin. Better than at home, but it was not easy at all."

Why did you decide to escape the Eastern Bloc?

"Nothing musical, I accidentally got into a disturbance, a matter of wrong place, wrong time. I ended up in prison, where I was interrogated and investigated. After three days I was released again, completely beaten up. From that point, you will never be out of the picture of the authorities again. I had the feeling that I could no longer even breathe freely, that I was being watched everywhere. I had to leave, so I fled to the west. That was impossible in Berlin, The chances were better in the Czech Republic 1). The border was not so much open, but more flexible. Via some detours I ended up in West Berlin, where it was easier to start a band. After the fall of the wall, Rammstein was also founded there."

And when Berlin and the band were on the rise, you fled to New York?

"You can look at it that way. I have escaped twice in my life, once from east to west and once from Berlin to New York. The latter was quite spontaneous and non-musical, it was about my private life. That has since blossomed into full bloom, which I would never have achieved on that scale in Berlin. From Rammstein I have always been the one who takes the most risks. In 2000 I wanted my life - now I achieved everything i fought for previously - to give a new impuls. There had to be more than just making music and I am still discovering that in New York."

Moving to New York is an adventure even for someone from Boston or Philadelphia.

"Right! I learned a lot from it, of course not after making every rookie mistake. It is indeed a big challenge, but I am a survivor. I come from the Eastern Bloc, I know that life is hard and a lot of you can take. Moreover, I come from the north of the country, where people are on their feet. A rough man in a rough city, that fits. It's a kind of overarching life lesson. I understand New York now, I can use the city to my advantage. Thanks to Rammstein I have the financial security to do this, I am a privileged person. I have a studio at home, I can make music whenever I want. I can go back to Berlin if I need to, and even more important: leave Berlin again if necessary. It is important for me to be able to distance myself from Rammstein. It is such intense work, sometimes you have to be able to forget it. When I moved, I was so caught up in the band that I no longer dared to hand anything over, I could hardly handle it anymore. A world without Rammstein seemed unthinkable, but now I have a universe all my own. A godsend! That distance has been essential, especially for this record."

Was it a difficult recording process?

"That's the understatement of the century, haha! It took two years and if I didn't have New York, I would have gone completely crazy. The level of bullshit often reached such great heights... It was ridiculous. We already had huge arguments about the smallest things and non issues, let alone about the really important matters. Everything had to be decided per meeting, per conference. Sometimes I was completely overwhelmed. Thanks to New York, I gained some perspective on the whole thing. Once back In Berlin I had some positive energy again. If someone was really insisting on a certain point of view, I would say: do it, at least you'll stop talking about it. In this way, many compromises were made just to end the whining."

Let's start at the beginning: you released Rosenrot in 2005, which was not followed by a major tour.

"That record wasn't really planned. We had six completed songs left after Reise Reise, plus a handful of advanced ideas. Throwing it away would be a shame, so after careful consideration it was decided to sculpt a whole album out of it. And that was it. I was eager to start my own project, Emigrate, and the others needed a holiday. That's why we left the Rosenrot story at that and consciously opted for a time-out instead of a tour."

Rumors were buzzing then; if Rammstein didn't even tour anymore after an album, something had to be wrong.

"The thing was, we had never not toured before. In this case it was more important to save the band through that break. After fifteen years I have learned that it takes more effort to maintain the group than to to create a new piece of music. If you work too much, it will cost you at some point. In that respect, I don't envy those American bands that have to do three hundred shows a year. You just can't keep that up for years. They blow themselves up. We got the first warning during the Mutter tour; our keyboard player couldn't handle it anymore and left for a while. He was done with it. At first we didn't understand it, we just wanted to keep going and going. Until we took a closer look at what we were doing. There had to be a construction that would allow us to spare ourselves. If someone can't handle it anymore, you have to stop for a while. Otherwise, at some point you would have a three-man Rammstein. And that is no longer a band. "

After that break, one day you ended up in the same room again. What happened?

"That was after about two years. On the surface everything seemed pleasant, but everyone had other plans. I didn't want to go straight into the studio, but first go on tour to get the band on the same page as quickly as possible. Moreover, with Rosenrot and Emigrate [Emigrate's 2007 debut] I only saw studios and no audience. However, it was decided to make a record first. I still think that was a big mistake, but hey, it was an honest choice."

How did you get started musically?

"That was quite cool, the first two months. We rented a house in the north and rehearsed in a small room, the size of a broom cupboard. Schneider had a small electronic drum kit and we did not play with our large cabinets but on very small speakers. That is a completely different physical aspect of playing, it was much harder, faster and heavier than we were used to. A lot of ideas came out, which we all recorded and at that moment I still liked it. However, things went wrong when we were transferring those ideas, riffs, melodies and rhythms to the computer to go through it. I thought: keep playing guys, it's going well! But no, the democratic group process was started. And that's when the trouble really started. "

Can you give a concrete example of that misery?

"Some members behaved as if nothing was wrong. Problems were simply ignored, like we were in Pink Floyd. You know, making music in Rammstein has never been easy. As a band we have always been more concerned with discussing than making music In the past there was sometimes a fight, to the death - almost literally. Unpleasant, but the problem was solved. Now we are all a bit older and less aggressive. The devil now lies in the attitude and the words. Rammstein is a convergence of egos that can make things very painful and difficult for each other. We have become a bunch of old whiners, haha!"

Were there things you did agree on?

"That this was a nightmare! For me personally, I think for everyone."

It's a miracle there's a record at all?

"As far as I'm concerned, yes. At many times I thought we wouldn't make it. We were all on the verge of quitting at some point. Not everyone recognized it, but you could see it in the look in our eyes: this it was, done, over. Everything has an end, maybe this is our time. Only no one wanted to be the first. No one wanted to take the responsibility for disbanding Rammstein. Or worse: I was afraid that the band would continue if I quit. This record was made on that energy, call it stubborn, or fearful, or pigheaded."

How did that work practically?

"When the six of us could no longer be in one room, we split the group up to continue working in small groups. In shifts, so to speak. Just to find solutions to finish the record. A regular album is made constructively, grows from ideas and creativity. This was the other way around; everything that was on tape was a problem. And everything that was missing was also a problem. Normally you tick off a track and say: great, another song added. Now it was It was a burden lifted off you every time, and on to the next bottleneck. Man, we were often stuck! Completely. At the end of the ride I didn't care about the music anymore, I was purely determined to get that thing done and get rid of it.”

Um, you know you're here to promote the record?

"Certainly, haha! I'm currently letting a lot of people tell me how good it is. I don't really care for it at all at the moment. Per song, per break or sound, I only hear the endless discussions that were attached to it. I can't look at the songs objectively, but that can still change. If you like the record, I'm happy for you. But myself? I don't know."

In this light: is the title Liebe Ist Für Alle Da another wry example of Rammstein humor?

"Not necessarily. We look for the most extreme forms of love in the lyrics. There is a song called Frühling in Paris, and on the other hand you have the single Pussy. One is romantic, the other explicit, but it amounts to the same thing."

Are there any tour plans this time?

"We've made it a point for ourselves that everything we do has to be bigger, better and more extreme than what we've done. Rammstein is a huge machine and even we can't stop it. Sometimes you wish you were in a band like Pearl Jam , where everything revolves around the music and the feeling and the spontaneity. However: I play in Rammstein. The only way to keep going is to make everything grow bigger. Bigger, better, more extreme. Buckle up, everyone."

Is the atmosphere on tour better than in the studio?

"Yes, certainly. That's a good thing. In fact, now that this delivery is over, the mood in the group is fine, at times even great. We are rehearsing, things are going well, there are still a lot of discussion points, but we are a step further, there is progress. That feeling is good for every musician. Look, we don't hate each other, it's just almost impossible to work with each other. Every decision is a battle. And perhaps that is precisely what after all those years still makes us so strong. Apparently we float on pain and drama and frustration and unrest. If you look back at the past you see that many important musical achievements were built on those things, so maybe it just has to be that way."

Do you secretly still love each other?

"Very much even. And above all, very secretly..."

Rammstein live: December 6 Gelredome Arnhem, December 10 Sportpaleis Merksem Antwerp

1) In other interviews Richard mentions having fled via Hungary, this one he mentions Czechoslovakia

List of other Rammstein OOR interviews

#rammstein #rammstein OOR interviews #richard kruspe

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tempkiriri · 20 days

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Tiger & Bunny Week (Day 1)

Technically I'm late but uhhhhhhhhhhhhh

April 2: Favorite Character, Episode, Movie, and/or Song

Most people seem to be doing them all, but I'll be skipping movie since there's only 2 of them.

Favourite Character:

MY CRINGEFAIL SON IVAN!!!! I relate to him immensely, even his dynamic with Edward I'd say I can somewhat relate to with someone in my life. It's uncanny. He tries his best to be outgoing but anxiety and self esteem issues sure are fucking bitches, so he can only really do it behind a mask. Even in S2 whilst his whole outlook may have taken a bit of a rollback, that's honestly realistic, not everyone can just keep marching and continuously improving themselves, there are setbacks and holes you can fall into at times. I wish we knew more about his personal life beyond his backstory of getting bullied as a child + what vague stuff we have of his hero academy days, a lot of heroes suffer from this, however. His passion for his hobbies is also just like me. He's cringe but he is free, just like many of us wish to be. Runner up is Keith I love the Autistic dog man

Favourite Episode:

I gotta go with Sky's The Limit. The title is a very OH GEE WHOS FOCUS EPISODE IS THIS kind but genuinely it doesn't prepare you for the content. There's a wholeass lore drop, an intense fight scene with a robot, and of course Keith being Keith. It also puts into focus just how much pressure heroes are put under when it comes to the rankings, and second place apparently not being enough for Poseidon Line is a very corporate reality. It's go big or go home. The ending is also like OH MY GOD IM CRYING???? Like, we know Cis isn't very capable of behaving like a human, but Keith doesn't realise she's not human at all, he treats her as any other person and falls harder than an anvil for her despite their short time in contact. It makes me think that Cis had a potential to be something, someone more than she was initially made for. And these two are a bit of a guilty pleasure ship that me and like 2 other people in the west side seem to ship and yes I will be taking those "Keith is still lowkey in love with her even in S2 era" crumbs thank you-

Favourite Song:

Oh shit this is where it gets tricky. I have so many, so I'll split it into categories:

OP: Earth Diver ED: Pilot Character Song: GHHHAAAAAA DONT MAKE ME CHOOOOOSE Other supplementary Song: Orion Wo Nazoru Hero Cover

I can't really put to words for Earth Diver, but I really like how it starts and kinda soothes you into the song before it really kicks. The lyrics are also very passionately sung.

I really like the calmer tone of Pilot and even though the explicitness of the shippyness isn't as heavy as Aida, the subtlety honestly fits them more. The credits themselves are also just beautiful; the visual aspect of them hits immensely hard in ep 14 especially since you saw what could happen to their suits in the fight the episode prior, and they're both no longer in their prime. Closing it out as they stare at the sunset makes me emotional and Proud Fiesta I love you but goddamn why did you return for Episode 25 that was a fucking mood killer I stg.

I love a lot of the character songs, with the ones from Best Of Hero very enjoyable romps, especially Mikirezakura and Thanks and Thanks Again, the energy these two songs have makes you wanna coreograph something. Some other highlights are POWER OF JUSTICE and Aaa Hero Suit. (Also Hidden Heroism actually kinda sucks it tries to be Mikirezakura 2 and thus loses out on an identity of its own which is very disappointing).

I love the harmony of the heroes cover of Orion, I can really picture them all in recording booths singing next to each other...who's the cheering guy, though? I've listened to this cover so many times and the line the cheering guy seemingly sings just sounds like Hirata's Kotetsu, I don't get it. I get wanting to balance the lyrics between groups and characters evenly but that was an awkward way to do it.

#tiger and bunny #tiger & bunny #tnbw

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bear-de-lune · 7 months

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I am a musician.

Today was the first time I really felt like a musician, for a long time.

Yes I am doing a music degree in university. Yes I am a performance major. No I have not touched a piano in these past 3 years for my degree.

I have been working on piano with my private teacher the entire time though. I wish I could show my peers my piano skills, but there are no opportunities for classical piano in any of the courses offered.

In university context I feel like an imposter. I know the theory, I am learning, I can analyse music. But I have never officially performed piano for my peers. That’s upsetting.

But today I was practicing all my repertoire for my 6th grade exam next month, and it just hit me how skilled I am, how far I have come, how much I have accomplished. I was sitting at my piano officially feeling like a musician. It’s not the words of me saying it to someone, I was proving it to myself.

I am a musician.

They may be able to show off in their bands and at gigs and university assessments. They may be able to play drums amazingly, shred on the guitar and bass, record and produce record worthy music, sing harmonies like it’s no big deal.

They can do the “cool” stuff, and I will leave that to them. I know I am also a musician, just hidden in my own quiet way. But when I am loud, when I sit at the piano, I am not a small, shy, girl anymore.

I am a musician.

#university #student #music #musician #classical piano #pianoplayer #piano #piano music #classical music

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angelicsaggie · 4 months

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Kwanzaa Ujima 2023

This Kwanzaa we will focus on empowering yourself, reconnecting with your community, and learning survival skills from your ancestors. Do not allow the word “ancestor” to scare you. This society forces you to learn traditions and ancestors that are not yours like Santa, Birthdays, Tooth fairy, Halloween, 4th of July, historical figures and so forth, if you can do that then why get scared of your own?

Are you a Negative Nancy towards your own community? Stop sounding like a broken record by repeating purposeful negative connotations like, 'black people cannot stick together" and "Hip Hop is dead." Have you even done research or is your only source of information based on mainstream media? This country has a virus called Haterade and it has been affecting melanated communities since the beginning of time. Just because a smile is present does not make someone your aly. This is why I mentioned in Kujichagulia that we must strengthen our skills and realign with nature in order to see the glitches and viruses in our community. Stop blaming and punishing each other like how they taught you to during slavery. Anyhow, these things are not dead or impossible to reunite. There are many wonderful Black activists, speakers, musicians, actors, presidents, and so forth.

Ujima, Theme of the Day

For Ujima, I have gathered a few people that represent collective work and responsibility in our community. These people also symbolize the green candle that reignites us with life and hope.

Rizza Islam is a wonderful speaker who blows your mind with accurate information regarding history, current/future issues, and solutions to this country and the black community.

Tariq Nasheed has documenties and Hidden Colors is one of them. It is about the real and untold history of people of color around the globe (amazon). He also has a podcast, books and a Hidden History Mueseum in Los Angeles, California.

Professor Kaba Hiawatha Kamene is the bestselling author of Honoring Professor William Leo Hansberry (1894-1965): An Intellectual Libation For The Architect Of America's African Studies Department and recognized as an internationally acclaimed, Pan African Historian. (aalbc.com). Kaba Hiawatha has been a Pan African, African-Centered educator, consultant, administrator, staff developer and curriculum writer for over 40 years (nomoresuitsllc.com)

Queen Afua's teachings are grounded in ancient Egyptian temple teachings and focus on the power of meditation, affirmations, and rituals. Through these practices, she teaches individuals how to love and rejoice in their bodies, spiritualize their words and actions, and create harmonious spaces in which to live and work (queenafua.com)

—

Kwanzaa Kujichagulia 2023

Kwanzaa Introduction 2023-24

Kwanzaa 2020-2022

Black & African Excellence Master List

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divinctions · 15 days

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✿ ━━━━ peek into luna's phone .

¿ es esa cosa cosida a tu mano ? their mother would say. a stereotypical child of the internet, luna's phone was like a lifeline. a direct contact to those they cherished most, a storage bin for her most fond memories, a tool used in the creation of her art when muse struck her at the most random of times. it's no secret they're addicted. there's always multiple tabs shared in her browser, multiple apps opened and closed, messages they need to go through, and pictures to cypher through. she is attached, but they don't think that's necessarily a bad thing.

detailed description on what's in luna's phone below ! ( @valpoinspo )

1. Luna's Camera Roll: (imgs described left to right)

img1: the most recent picture of her and drew. luna always makes sure to get a picture of the two of them together whenever they're together so they can look back on it later and long for him again.

img2: a collection of her newest tarantula obsession, a greenbottle blue tarantula. she's tweaking for one so bad but cant find a handler she trusts to ship it to chile.

img3: funny little moment she caught of esme and nymph. whatever esme was spitting, nymph had enough.

img4: it's actually a video of drew holding nymph while looking up conflict resolution techniques because he doesn't want to have beef with nymph but he feels like nymph has been with him ( and she does, sorry ): you took her cuddle partner away drew ). luna can be heard giggling the entire video.

img5: a photo of nymph wearing his new necklace ( a pentagram pendant ).

img6: a silly little selfie. they take. so many. of those. like christ alive. so many.

img7: though partly hidden, it is a picture of a bonfire luna was invited to after a day of interviewing locals in a smaller commune on the outskirts of casablanca. they got to sit around and she listened to so many different retellings of the same legend passed from different generations. they were so geeked they didn't even care how unsafe that probably was (especially considering she doesn't drive and had to find their own way back to valparaiso). they will be doing it again though, the stories were too good.

img8: an in memoriam photo for their late son granite. they featured the venom rings they made with his venom and also how his molt came out before they framed it.

img9: they were annoying esme with their camera one day. took a lot of up close photos and laughed about it the whole time.

img10: an audio file and gibberish harmonies and a few lyrics they're looking to work with.

img11 (picture on the side): they had a few tarantulas die really young and couldn't make a molt out of it so they had them go through taxidermy and put in a jar so she could add it to their offrenda.

most common photo tags: amor, spideys, familia, nymph, chile, and audio

2. Luna's Socials (boxes described left to right)

box1: contains lunas most searched images when you look up their name. the first being them on the set of scream with tajin and a lime ( their hyperfixation snack at the time ) and it soon became a running gag behind the scenes that if luna was quiet it's because she was off somewhere downing a lime with tajin on it. the second photo is an image from their last pop up show; the image was taken by a fan and set all of them into a thirst frenzy after they posted it on their story. and the last one is another fan taken photo, but kinda blurry and cut off, of her and drew embracing. they're unable to see who shes hugging and they only know its luna because of the tattoos. fans are still speculating today. box2: if luna is doing anything, it's not being done in silence. she can't stand their own thoughts, so if she's not listening to music they have on the snarled youtube channel and listens to their retellings of urban legends. they would like to make a channel similar to theirs with drew where they record the stories and he does the drawings for them (yknow, when he can draw again xoxo). box3: got their spotify is insane but their playlists are even crazier. the type of person to make a playlist for every occasion and she does utilize folders. mainly for their own personal music but still.

liked songs: 9.1k, honestly if one note hit her right on a good day it got a like.

i want to sleep in his chest cavity: 535 songs. her drew playlist (obviously), the most sickeningly sweet but demented playlist you'll listen to. yes, the songs they write for him also end up here.

lamenting can be sexy: 434 songs. her second most added to playlist. they can't help it, they're a mournful bitch. they lament over everything and have a playlist perfect for it.

i'm my father's child: 1990 songs. a playlist they share with their father. it's mainly traditional/tejano music but definitely just purely all latine genres of music new and old school and he made the photo luna at one of their folklorico shows during dio de los muertos.

3. Luna's Text Messages:

Luna's most recent text was with their dad about what he and their mother should send drew for his birthday. Luna recently sent them a list (in january) of things drew (who he currently calls andres) likes and has started hounding them for the present because his birthday is a month a way!! they have plans!! and the poor man was very confused.

" you know I love you but I don't feel right about this " " explain? " " are you sure this is what you want us to send for drew's birthday? it's cheap" "legos not eggos!!"

4. Drew's Photo Album: (images described from left to right)

Luna is a very sentimental person, keeps everything, takes lots of pictures, wants to remember every good feeling. They usually just let their camera roll be a mess of their experiences and reminisce at random, but drew of course got his own album.

img1: (what luna considers) their first official date. he'd gotten in line to meet them at a horror con and luna recognized him afterward, running up to talk to him and he invited them to get a slushie with him so she could snap a picture of the picture he drew of them that they'd signed. while drew was busy cleaning up the mesh of a slushy he made luna snapped a quick picture of their drinks side by side before offering to help. she gave him their number that night, but he never used it.

img2: the matching set of spider venom rings luna made for them after their first official date.

img3: the media room back in their brownstone in new york. it was where drew and luna spent most of their time. luna wants to get another one built for the place luna and esme have here because they miss it.

img4: a quote from a book luna was reading early on in their relationship when everything reminded them of him (still does). the quote reading

"you fell in love with me?" "i did" he says.

img5: last september luna "accidentally" sent drew a video discussing the reasoning behind sending a loved one yellow flowers september 21st-23rd in mexico (because it meant you wanted to be with them forever) and soon had their place flooded with yellow flowers of all sorts. the yellow roses barely fit in the hallway which is what was pictured there.

img6: luna unable to be without him, would follow him around everywhere, even the comic bookstore where drew would go to show them one of his favorite comics and end up sitting on the floor rereading while they played with his hair.

img7: when drive in first came out, drew dropped that photo to promote and luna immediately screenshotted it and saved it to commemorate.

img8: a literal day later she also took a photo with the hat, promoted his graphic novel on her account and never gave the hat back. they still own it.

img9: their goth picnic date where luna planned and tricked drew into coming to so she could grovel and beg him to take them back, to let them start over.

img10: actual footage of image on facetime with their mom while telling her that drew asked them to be his ghoulfriend. lots of squealing and screaming.

img11: for valentines day, drew flooded their own with black roses and luna picked the biggest bouquet they could find and took it to school, los fantasmas, any and everywhere they could before their date with drew.

img12: it was a lot of roses they didn't want to go to waste so the ones that were pressed, or hung on the walls, luna broken down and made rosaries and rosary jewelry out of them.

img13: more images of luna being unable to not touch him in some capacity even if they're just sitting somewhere, they have to have his hand in theirs.

#GOD THIS TOOK ME ALL DAY HOLY SHIT #anyway #tee and hees #⸻ luna dominguez herrera : creation .#long post tw #spider tw #insect tw #eye contact tw

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eatmangoesnekkid · 1 year

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The Everyday Practice of Abundance Consciousness

What was I thinking? Who was I trying to be? It’s unlike me at this stage of my life to think more than I am being. I’m no longer interesting in trying to grind it out during the wee hours of the morning. I'm taking a break from the few tasks I have left on my books for 7-10 days. I have sacred things I do to protect my body from absorbing too many EMFs, and what's also true, is that when you are a deep feeler/ highly sensitive, you receive deeper wisdom than most (which is a divine and precious gift that helps people like me to serve in the world) but you also deeply receive waves of stressful energy far more easily than most ...even with the metrics of protection surrounding you.

There is no separation or difference. If you have the gift of heart, intuition, and deeper sight, you have to manage not living in the shadows of those gifts. We weren’t physiologically designed to sit behind these computers, staring into them for days/weeks at a time which is what I have been doing. When your awareness expands, you are no longer numb to what’s happening with your body which stops you from repeating the same patterns that will deepen your body’s pain and suffering overtime. When I’m on my computer or phone too many days in a row, I can actually feel the waves draining my vitality, re-configuring my cells, and shifting the quality of my life.

Our eyes---the windows to our soul-- need to peak at trees, dirt, and sunlight undistractedly. I’m grateful that I curated a life where I can turn off my phone and computer, put them away in the back of my closet for a few days, and dust off my record player and finally read “Of Water and the Spirit.”

How we sense “time” is always a reflection of the consciousness we are living in. And there are only two types of consciousness: Fear/Scarcity/Lack or Love/Abundance/Vitality. When we release ourselves from expectations, we curate more abundant space for joy, and become free...eventually. I started shifting my energy imprint away from the consciousness of fear/scarcity/lack and into abundance consciousness around 12-15 years ago (I lost track of the exact time) despite not having any evidence of abundance in my life as I was working 50 hours per week and in a toxic relationship. In the beginning of shifting between paradigms and consciousness, there can be a lot of grave tension, release, pain, resistance, loneliness, and disruption, until finally homeostasis settles (may takes months or years). Abundance consciousness also gets us back into our bodies in real ways and allows us to genuinely love ourselves as we are, beyond every materialistic system. If we can hold the candle lit towards abundance consciousness, then the universe has no choice but to organize life around us in such a way that matches our new imprint/emanation like an algorithm...eventually. It takes time though and patience. And we have to be soft and strong enough not to give up on it or the new version of ourselves.

The Ingenious Divine Feminine Medicine Path

Let’s climb in a little deeper and get more grounded into this teaching. What I have to say now is NOT for everyone, only for those with spiritual resonance. My work is all about educating on how to reclaim the highest transmutation frequencies and greatest integrity that will “heal” or restore our individual selves and bring more collective harmony on this planet. When we are not living in abundance, flooded in resources as part of our divine natural birthright, there is a part of our unconscious mind (our shadow) that likes not living in the abundance and is in love with scarcity and lack because it feels familiar and safe. We don’t *consciously* love it, of course, but we do unconsciously LOVE the drama, karma, and lack of ease--all those internal chemicals, feels, and sensations. We have to learn to love what’s happening, not just in our light but in our darkest most hidden, sometimes filthiest or dank aspects. We love being broke, not have enough “time,” feeling not enough, feeling ugly, having people be jealous of us, attracting narcissistic people... because a part of us is narcissistic or at least attracted to being victimized, etc. A portal opens when we stop outsourcing our experiences (and the raw energy coiled within them that we need) onto someone else such as “oh, but he was a narcissistic so I...” or “my boss did this so I didn’t...” or “they made me...” Being courageous and seeing how you love and find comfort in specific exhaustive frequencies year after year, whether it is karmic or a conditioned pattern, allows you to access the dark energy within these experiences, the benevolent creative energy or “yin/feminine energy” , that gives you greater access to your full potential, the raw energy beyond the stories. Accessing this raw energy releases the resistance and stuckness and brings more flow and momentum towards your soul’s true path. This is all sexual energy. This is how we begin to love and adore the truth of what the feminine really is.

Much of the work has to do with “sexual healing,” because this is usually where the energy is stuck or kinked up that is shrinking our life force also known as prana also known as potential. Sexual healing happens when you begin to have full access to your life force energy. Coming into full integrity with your energy body will make you feel more alive, abundant, and connected to spirit. In order to attract the kind of relationship you long for, you have to be the kind of person you desire to meet. To be ready for the most amazing relationship, you have to go into dark “wombed” energy and clear out what is inhibiting full access to your life force energy.

Returning to the Original Template: A Keeper of Infinite Possibilities

Our souls are equipped for these times but we do have to be intentional in our unlearning to override the body’s signals so that we can come back to what we we born for and share the gifts we have been entrusted with. I intentionally created my life from the wisdom and medicine I gained through my decolonial sexual healing practices, like learning to connect to the divine through undulating my hips as prayer in wild, uncultivated, ‘off-the-beaten-path’ nature. Everyone needs sexual healing due to the limits and trauma that have been inflicted upon over many timelines, not from a place of victimization, but from the archetype of the alchemist so that we can retrieve back our freedom of time, energy, and resources.

No one escapes the impact of a sexually wounded society that shrouds us in limits around time, resources, and possibility. The messaging handed down to us by our parents, by religions, and by advertising, porn, celebrities, music, etc lives active in our root posterier chain- our backs, spine, hips, glutes, knees, pelvis, and bellies. As part of the female lineage, we naturally carry around so much of what’s happening in the collective within. All the cultural, inherited, and religious sexual shame and guilt make home out of our bodies. Most of us are not fully aware of the impact that these collective residences have on our health, relationships, capacity to receive money, and other forms of abundance like “time-freedom.” We are supposed to care, go inside ourselves like mothers delivering our own babies, and birth real solutions that do not look like us constantly absorbing and never pulling the roots.

Because nowhere in the Western world are we taught that our sexual energy is sacred, regenerates our bodies, and is connected to every part of our lives and the earth. Or that our sexual energy isn’t just about sex. It is our flow of life force. It is our heartbeat. And it is absolutely necessary to have access to our sexual energy beyond the shame and wounding if we desire to truly live. Instead we respond to our sexual energy through hurts and trauma by shutting ourselves down in order to feel safe. And these unconscious ways stay with us and effect us in every way. All the sneaking around, embarrassment, hiding, and performing around bodies and sex, commodifying our sex mainly for the male gaze, and shame around being a sexual being actually shuts down our potential in the external world, including freedom from Gregorian time and the ability to regenerate our bodies.. Amplifying your sexual energy grows your prana/life force which means that how to increase your prana has to become a part of your wellness practice. Purifying your sexual energy is a big part of it. Without this sexual healing, we have no roots or wings. No earth, no heaven.

Life gets to be incredibly easy and truthful for us all. We do not have force or push through like machinery. I wish you a life of abundance, where you do not have to hustle and be in constant out-put mode, and can take as many breaks as needed to water yourself (your actual cells) so that you continue to pour from your overflow and have a healthy immune system and pain-free periods as a result. Female physiology is so tender and needs abundance: rest, nature, quiet, touch, belly laughs, and breaks, basic human needs that my heart won’t allow me to ignore or bypass. When you live aligned with the consciousness of abundance, it goes against your nature and principles to force, shallow breathe, or live desperately. Abundance consciousness gives us plethora of options to choose from which includes the ability to: 1. take our time and 2. take care of our cells. The Melody of Love is so delicious though ...that my ego wanted to push right on through like it was the end of the month when I worked as a Tax Accountant Maniac, but my heart and body whispered for me to stop. I listened. I sincerely wish for lives where we can all listen to the soft whispers that never have to become screams in order to get our attention. One loveliness xx

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yoga-onion · 1 year

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Legends and myths about trees

Celtic beliefs in trees (4)

Myths and folklore of the 'Forest People’ – Druids, the Elders, Sage of Storytellers

Discovered by a Roman invasion of Great Britain over 2000 years ago, the Celts had no political centre and no leader to rule the whole land, yet they could recognise certain commonalities in their religious life.

The veneration of the dead combined with the belief in the existence of life after death formed the basis of spiritual life.

The Celts lived in harmony with the natural world, believing that spirits were hidden behind all creation and that there was something to be learned in everything that existed in nature.

Dense forests were common in Britain at the time. Every tree was precious: trees that provided shelter, trees that gave energy, trees that provided food, trees that were the source of medicines. Their daily lives depended on the natural world and trees were deeply respected as they provided all kinds of blessings. The Celts had amassed an immense knowledge of the connection between the natural world and human beings.

Specially trained elders, commonly called druids, both men and women, committed the tribe's history and numerous knowledge to memory and passed it on to the next generation in the form of poetry. As poets in their own right and wizards, they were most respected by the tribespeople. At the time, poetry was considered to be the most highly valued of all creative arts, and at the same time feared. To become a poet, one had to undergo a long and hard discipline, which took at least 12 years to complete and 20 years.

The wisdom that the druids acquired at the end of their long and arduous training was based on symbolism and associations that held the key to unlocking its mysteries. However, due to their oral tradition, the lack of written records and over 2000 years of religious oppression, very little clues to the Druids' view of nature have survived.

[Image below: Celtic goddess of healing and herbs Airmid]

木にまつわる伝説・神話

ケルト人の樹木の信仰 (4)

「森の民」の神話と伝承〜ドルイド・長老、語り部の聖者

2000年以上前にグレートブリテン島に侵入したローマ人によって発見されたケルト人は、政治的中心地がなく、全土を支配する指導者も存在しなかったが、信仰生活にはある種の共通性を認めることができた。

祖先崇拝と死後の世界の生が存在するという確信が結びついて、精神生活の基盤をなしていた。

ケルト人は自然の世界と調和して暮らし、すべての創造物の背後には霊が隠れていると信じ、自然界に存在するすべてには学ぶべきなにかがあると信じていた。当時の英国では鬱蒼とした森が広がっていた。避難場所を提供する木、エネルギーを与える木、食べ物を供する木、薬の元になる木、どの木も大切な存在であった。彼らの日々の暮らしは自然界に依存しており、樹木はありとあらゆる恵みを与えてくれるので深く尊敬されていた。ケルト人は自然界と人間の関係について計り知れない知識を蓄えていた。

特別な修行を積んだ長老たちは、一般的にドルイドと呼ばれ、男性も女性も、部族の歴史と数々の知識を記憶にとどめ、それを詩のかたちにして、次の世代に伝承していた。詩人であり、魔術師である彼らは、部族の人々から最も尊敬されていた。詩人になるには長い年月をかけて困難な修行を積まなければならず、最低でも12年かかり、20年を要した。

ドルイドが長く困難な修行の果てに身につけた知恵は象徴と連想にその謎を解き明かす鍵があった。しかし、口承で伝えられていたため、文字で残された記録をもたず、2000年以上にわたって宗教的迫害を受けてきたせいもあり、ドルイドの自然観をうかがう手がかりはほとんど残されていない。

#trees #legend #mythology #celts #celtic belief #spiritual life #forest people #tree legend #tree myth #ancestor veneration #druid #great britain #poetry #poem #poet #wisdom #philosophy #nature #art

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freddieraimbow74 · 23 days

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31 March 1974 - Queen’s first headlining gig at London’s historic Rainbow Theatre. This concert will forever remain an epic moment in the band’s incredible, five-decade-long rich history!

The show was properly recorded and was later proposed to be the band's first live album, but ultimately shelved. It was eventually released officially in 2014.

Queen quickly sold-out the 3000-seat Rainbow (which cost just £1.20 per ticket) marked a turning point in the young band’s career – and secured Queen as one of the era’s most exciting new acts.

Freddie is seen in an elegant new white outfit at the beginning of the show, created by designer Zandra Rhodes. Rhodes explained in 2013, "I hadn't designed any menswear before then, but I realised he'd need a flamboyant look. It was a very exotic time for me, I remember Queen gave me tickets to their show in London shortly after I’d made the first pieces for them. You could imagine that white top onstage and it was just absolutely amazing. It’s always wonderful when someone puts on your clothes and just feels lovely.”

Rhodes also said, “Freddie was a hidden revolutionary in the fact that he dressed exotically and wore make-up. I think he was probably one of the founders of the androgynous movement in fashion.... The thing that’s so fabulous, is that Freddie in my white pleated top went on to become one of the iconic images of him. It’s incredible to be part of that history!”

“We’d done our support tour and then promoter Mel Bush came to us – he was a pretty top promoter at the time – and he said ‘I think you guys can headline the next tour’, and we were surprised,” recalls Brian May in the mini-doc.

“I remember thinking ‘Wow, that’s very quick,’ because normally you would support a few acts and build a following, and then you would go on your headline tour. But he said ‘No, I feel you can do it, you can sell out all these places’ and he gave us a big list – Newcastle City Hall, Manchester’s Free Trade Hall or whatever, you know all the sort of classic gigs that rock bands do, and he said ‘you can fill all these and at the end, we’re going to do the Rainbow.’”

The adoring fans who turned up for this iconic performance could have predicted that Queen would go on to become arguably the world's best and most successful rock group, although many more may have suspected it after this stunning show.

Here is a review by Rosemary Horide, a major force behind Queen's early popularity:

"What a night! It was a finale of the big Queen tour throughout the whole country. It was the conclusive evening for their reputation. Their lift was meteorical. So many people had challenged if Queen had the authority to play in such a prestigious place as the Rainbow. Freddie appeared in his new specially eccentric white "eagle's" costume, bouncing and miming with even bigger ecstasy than ever and sang even better than any time before. One couldn't believe it's the first time of Queen appearing themselves in such an important place. After a while they got used to taking advantage of the big stage. After two encores they left the stage during a big applause of the audience."

This phenomenal performance showcases Queen at their loudest, Rawest and heaviest. Roger Taylor is downright frenetic at times, his fills rolling like boulders. John Deacon is predominately a fingerstyle player With his solid and inspirational playing that helped them all to shine. And of course Brian May’s musicianship is precise and masterly, and the harmonious, melodic chemistry between himself and Freddie is undeniable. There’s no one quite like Freddie as his voice was electrifying and soothing like fine silk. A must watch concert for everyone.

In a 1975 interview Roger Taylor explained their choice of attire: "It provides a good contrast, I think, on stage. We like most of the actual colour, apart from the extremes of black and white, to come from the lights on stage" (in a mid-80s interview John Deacon reminisced about how Freddie and Brian dominated the songwriting in the early days but that Roger was very involved "on behalf of the overall image of the band and how to actually be a successful rock band").

After the show, a teenaged Simon Townshend, younger brother of The Who's Pete Townshend, told Freddie Mercury backstage that Queen were "much better than my brother's band." Freddie was thrilled with the compliment, even coming from a 13 year old. Interestingly enough, in a 2005 Uncut interview, Brian May declared his belief that The Who were the better of the two bands.

Many years later, Brian May reflected on playing the Rainbow: "We had a dim, distant vision of what Madison Square Garden might be like in America, but really no idea of what it was." He added, "After that, everything was a bonus. Everything was something which I had never even dreamed about."

The next time Queen would perform at The Rainbow was in November during their ‘Sheer Heart Attack’ tour and due to popular demand, a second sold-out night was added.

#freddie mercury #queen band #brian may #roger taylor #jhon deacon #musique #music #queen #original character #j’adore

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