#lost in the valley of the real instruments

[mymshouse]

An Extra Sip of Mead

A Snufmin fic, chapter 1

Summary: Spring has sprung in Moominvalley, and with it comes a special event; a wedding! Preparations and revelry are completely halted, however, when Snufkin's father, the Joxter, returns to make peace with his mistakes, and his son. Hurt becomes healing as the Joxter is determined to get back into Snufkin's good graces, in any way he possibly can. The real question is, would Snufkin even want his father involved in his long-awaited wedding to Moomin? He fears that he may have opened a can of worms that he'll be unable to get out of...

Back Home, Wherever Home Is

Spring. The pleasing pastels coming to life all around, leftover snow collapsing from the newly budded leaves, and a jaunt played on an old harmonica. Certainly, that raspy metal tune did more to herald the season than anything else in Moominvalley. It stirred the inhabitants to life as it approached. Through the forest, through the fields, and halfway across the babbling brook, whereupon it would come to a halt on the wooden bridge and serenade one member of the valley in particular.

Though everyone allowed the harmonica to pamper them as they arose from hibernation, they knew for whom the tune was truly written.

Blue, bleary eyes fluttered open in the lilting sunlight hovering from the bedroom window. The white fluff inhabiting the bed lifted himself to a sitting position, stretching every muscle from his snout to his tail. He yawned and rubbed his still sleepy eyes. Then, he listened. Ah… there it was. The muffled notes on that harmonica playing just for him. A soft smile and a flick of the tail, the troll was trotting to the window and pushing it open. He could now clearly hear – and see – the source he had been dreaming about all winter.

Snufkin. He perched in his usual spot on the bridge, settled comfortably on the railing. Even from Moominhouse, it was clear that the mumrik had a newfound energy that he didn’t carry with him most years. That, the troll thought to himself with a playful wiggle of the snout, was because that spring was not just any spring. He grabbed a knitted olive sweater from the back of his desk chair and a satchel, being careful not to swing it around too harshly. Its contents were positively sacred.

The mumrik contentedly played his yearly tune until he could hear the pattering of his companion’s paws drawing near. He opened one eye halfway, feeling the corners of his lips tugging into a smile. Snufkin lowered his harmonica and hopped down from the bridge railing. He pocketed his instrument just in time to be greeted with a warm, delighted embrace, which he gladly returned.

“Hullo, Moomin.” Snufkin mused, his smooth voice muffled by the troll’s thick fur. Upon hearing his name, Moomin’s tail wagged.

“Hiya Snufkin!” Moomin nuzzled the mumrik, paws gripping his smock to keep him close. That first hug after a long, lonely winter was something too special to let go of in an instant. Thankfully, Snufkin didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, he was overjoyed. His arms tightened a smidge, resting over Moomin’s shoulders and getting lost in his soft white scruff. Perhaps they both needed a trim, but in that moment, neither lad cared much. They had bigger plans that day. At last, the two parted, keeping close to one another. Moomin nudged his snout forward and pressed it to Snufkin’s lips. The mumrik chuckled. He returned the gesture by softly tilting the troll’s head to the side so he could pepper kisses across his cheek. They beamed, bright blue eyes losing themselves in burned bark.

Snufkin broke the silence first. “Are you ready to head out?”

Moomin nodded. “Goodness, Snufkin,” he intertwined his paw with Snufkin’s hand, and practically dragged him forward. “I’ve been ready since the day you left!”

Fair enough, Snufkin thought as he allowed his beloved Moomintroll to lead the way to their secret spot.

The two had much to be excited about. The prior autumn, on Snufkin’s last day in Moominvalley, the mumrik had asked Moomin to meet him on the bridge before his departure. Moomin of course agreed and joined his companion without hesitation. Snufkin, however, seemed quite tense. His thin little mumrik tail flicked to and fro out of rhythm. He pulled at the brim of his hat as he was oft to do when he desired a hiding place. Moomin saw right through this, as always.

“Snufkin, whatever could the matter be?”

Snufkin shifted at his dearest companion’s question. Their proximity, the gentle breeze between them, and the feelings of anxiety burning between his shoulder blades. He took a deep, shaky breath before responding.

“We’ve known each other for ages now, haven’t we?”

Moomin tilted his head. “Yes. And the years have been so kind to us.”

“I agree.” Snufkin gulped. “I wanted to thank you, Moomin. I know that who I am… who I am is not the easiest to adjust to. Every winter that I depart and have to watch your heart break over and over leaves quite a burn on me as well, you know.”

“Is that so? Do you really mean that?” Moomin’s brows furrowed. In the back of his mind, he was all aflutter hearing Snufkin confess something like that. He knew the type of person Snufkin was. Mysterious, curious, restless. Kept satisfied by moving ever forward, nose to the treetops and boots crunching the earth underfoot. He always felt honored that this vagabond devoted so much of his year to staying tethered in Moominvalley. He never questioned it, though it certainly surprised him to know that Snufkin did feel some sort of regret when he had to leave.

Snufkin took a step back. Moomin reacted naturally by holding up a hand to draw the mumrik closer, until he spoke up again.

“Indeed, I do. That’s why…” Snufkin dug around in his pocket until he found what it was he was looking for, making a soft ‘ah’ as he did. Shaky hands unveiled something small and shimmering. A silver ring, dyed hues of purple and orange in the setting autumn sun. He knelt down and cupped Moomin’s paw. “That’s why I feel I need to remedy some of this heartache in any way I can. I will never be able to fully settle, but please, Moomin, let me be a part of you when I’ve gone away. I want this to hold us together even when you’re asleep in the dead of winter and I’m far, far away, in the South or beyond.”

Moomin’s fur puffed up and he felt his body shudder. Was this happening? Really and truly? “Snufkin… am I understanding you? You want to wed?”

At Moomin pointing things out so bluntly, Snufkin found his whole face exploding with bright red color and heat. It had taken him months to build up the courage to do this, and in an instant, his beloved knocked all of the confidence from him and sent him spiraling. His dark brown eyes darted everywhere but Moomin. He didn’t want him to see how much this had rattled him, but thankfully Moomin was not a foolish troll. He slid down into Snufkin and embraced him gently. He could feel the mumrik tense, then soften in his paws.

“I should think that is a fantastic idea. Yes.” Moomin squeezed Snufkin, urging him to return his hug as he accepted the mumrik’s proposal. “Yes, I would love to. More than anything!”

Despite the fact that the cards had been in his favor that year, and goodness, they had been for many years, Snufkin positively crumbled upon hearing his childhood friend, the one he trusted over anyone else, his first and only love, say yes to marrying him. He let himself burst into tears and wrap himself entirely around Moomin, his Moomin. The two laughed and snuggled, and danced together under the falling leaves. They shared a bashful kiss in the late evening before Moomin sent Snufkin off, waving to him with his left paw so his new betrothed could see the ring in its place. The mumrik practically skipped away that night.

“Moomin? Darling, we’re here.”

Moomin was dragged from his reverie by Snufkin cupping his cheeks with his hands. He was smiling ever so softly at him, adoration melting from those deep brown eyes. He kissed Moomin’s snout before gesturing to the field around them. It was such a perfect day. The flowers were almost all fully bloomed, and their sweet perfume drifted over the two lovers. The clouds above cast plump shadows down here and there. Moomin and Snufkin made their way to one of the many apple trees scattered about the clearing, and joined hands once they were under the shade of it. Sunbeams escaping through the leaves made Snufkin’s eyes dance with brilliant gold, and as Moomin gazed at him, he became overwhelmingly bashful. One could see the powdery pink blush even under all that fur.

“We haven’t seen each other since that day… what did we come up here for, exactly?” Moomin attempted to distract himself by gripping at the bottom of his sweater, tracing the cable-knit fabric. Snufkin chuckled. Though it had been his idea to have a day together as soon as he returned to the valley, he hadn’t exactly kept the best track of what it was that he wanted to achieve. Aside from exploration and enjoying his winter travels, his mind had gotten caught up in the merriment of wedding planning. Much as it made the mumrik flush to think about, his love for Moomin and the union they had agreed to create occupied his mind and captured his full attention. Heavens forbid Moomin ever found out how many times Snufkin tripped over things in his path or burned himself starting a campfire because he had gotten distracted that winter… no, he could still keep his fascinating, enigmatic façade up for his own comfort.

“I thought that, before a formal wedding,” Snufkin began. He cleared his throat and squeezed one of Moomin’s paws. “If you would want a formal wedding, that is… we could-“

“We should exchange rings now!”

Moomin suddenly interrupted, a habit he knew bothered Snufkin greatly. The mumrik merely snorted in amusement.

“Exchange, you say?” Snufkin marveled at the ring that was already resting quite comfortably on Moomin’s finger. “And here I thought I had done something grandiose when I proposed.”

“You did! You absolutely did! I just didn’t want to be the only one wearing a ring here.” The troll rifled through his satchel, then motioned for Snufkin to close his eyes. Snufkin sighed in delight and did as instructed. He could feel the cool sensation of a ring being slid onto his finger. Admittedly, he never thought that Moomin would return his gesture. His beloved knew his opinion on material possessions, but perhaps it only made sense for Snufkin to be the one wearing a ring after all. He was the adventurer, the wanderer. Having something on his person visible to show that he was a married man would be sensible.

“Okay Snufkin, you can look now.”

The mumrik lowered his gaze to his left hand. He gasped at the sight of it.

“Mu-Moomintroll! Where on earth did you… an… an emerald?!” Snufkin almost tore the ring off to get a better look from each and every angle, but he refused his urges out of politeness towards Moomin. His lower lip quivered, as he watched the sunlight bounce off of the polished emerald embedded in its gold band. The gem was cut like a diamond; masterfully, as if it was collected from a specialist. The Hemulen, perhaps? “Oh, Moomin… are you truly sure you’d like to give this to me?”

Moomin nodded gleefully. “Of course! To be honest, I thought about my own ring for quite some time before I settled down for hibernation. Thingumy and Bob were awake at the time as well, and they suggested an emerald for you.”

Snufkin couldn’t stop staring at his new ring. An emerald. When the pair had investigated the Queen’s Emerald in their youth, the mumrik buckled down that winter and stopped by as many libraries as he could in search of information on precious gems. Emeralds, as it was said, encourage the reception and gift of true and unconditional love. Remembering those nights spent reading by candlelight, feeling his cheeks dust over thinking about unconditional love as a concept, and his childhood crush on his dearest friend… never did he think that he would be here now. Engaged to said best friend. He couldn’t contain his joy. Tears pricking the sides of his eyes, he lifted Moomin’s snout and kissed him on the lips. Wholly, softly, with his heart. Moomin made a hum in his throat as he jolted in surprise. The troll didn’t know if he would ever get used to this side of Snufkin. But now that the dam had opened, Snufkin couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He was in love. Desperately. Being completely and utterly free after years of yearning.

Without realizing it, Snufkin had knocked poor Moomin back into the flowers with the ferocity of his affections. The mumrik blushed. He rested on Moomin’s soft tummy, legs on either side of him. The troll gazed in astonishment up at his fiancé. His mumrik features were so subtle, one could completely overlook them unless they were close like this. The slight narrowness of his pupils, the way his ears came to a rounded point hidden under his messy auburn hair. His sun kissed skin painted with freckles. This view belonged to Moomin now, and Moomin alone.

“I love you, Snufkin.”

Snufkin beamed. His smile was wide enough to show his tiny, sharp fangs. “I love you too, Moomin.”

~~~

Later in the evening, after returning Moomin home, Snufkin once again found his usual camping spot and set up his tent. Being on the road for so long, he wanted to take extra time to do his laundry and care for his personal needs. He would leave breaking the big news of their engagement to Moomin. The mumrik was quite exhausted after such a harsh season, and sleep was calling to him.

Snufkin made himself comfortable on the riverbank. He leaned over a bucket and washboard that Moominmamma had graciously lent him, scrubbing the dirt from a particularly stubborn pair of trousers. The mumrik was grateful for the slight chill in the air; without it, he imagined that he would be sweating a fair bit as he toiled away. While he hated baths, he found cleaning his clothes to be rather therapeutic. Washing away the physical remnants of the winter, the caked-on mud, the musky scents, the pine bristles. It brought about a feeling of renewal as much as the changing of the seasons themselves. The evening was nearly perfect.

Clothes freshly wrung and hung to dry in the tree above Snufkin’s tent, fire kindled, fish acquired for a nice supper. Snufkin completed his mental checklist and cozied into a quilt while he pulled the crispy flesh from his trout. Moomin had offered dinner to his dear mumrik, but Snufkin didn’t wish to be a bother in that moment. Besides, having everyone in Moominvalley jumping him and congratulating the pair on their engagement was not something he was prepared to deal with his first night back. He would feel more prepared in the morning, when he expected all the wedding planning would start.

“Ah, a wedding.” Snufkin mumbled, his mouth still full of fish. “Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would be planning a wedding.”

“Neither did I, my kit. But here you are.”

The sudden voice made Snufkin leap from his blanket with a screech. He swiftly drew his pocket knife and flicked out the blade, holding it up in the direction of the voice. His breaths were jagged, but he called out with his chest puffed. “Do not ruin this day for either of us, stranger. Come out!”

The figure that came forth from the shadows slunk as a cat would. Its dress was familiar. Pointed red hat adorned with freshly picked wildflowers. A tattered green jacket with an equally as used yellow scarf tucked into its lapels. Striped trousers cuffed over brown combat boots. The most familiar thing of all was that face. The face of a mumrik.

“Now Snufkin… is that any way to talk to your Joxterpappa?” The Joxter smirked in the way only a mumrik could, his fangs peeking through his lips and his nose wiggling. This unwelcome interruption from his father drew a frustrated sigh out of Snufkin.

“Hoy then, Joxter.” Snufkin plopped his knife into his pack, turning his tail to the other mumrik as he returned to his cozy spot by the fire. “Why have you come to Moominvalley?”

Joxter joined his child, sprawling out on the ground far too close for Snufkin’s comfort. To be frank, having his estranged father anywhere near him at all was too close. The elder mumrik purred. He seemed to be chasing the stars appearing in the deep blue sky with his bright feline eyes, not completely hearing Snufkin’s question. Or at least, not responding right away.

“A little birdie informed me that my son was getting married soon. And seeing as I did not hear that from you, I came to speak with you myself.”

“You haven’t seen me since I was five years old.” Snufkin gnashed at each word spoken. He refused to look at the Joxter, though he knew those piercing blue eyes were boring holes into him. “You have this sudden interest in me and my affairs when the only thing you and Mymble did before you cast me out was create me? You call yourselves my parents. It has become painful to think that I ever had any.”

“Snufkin… you really detest me so?” The Joxter’s voice was dejected, barely a whisper. He turned over to his belly and propped himself up on his elbows. “I was not aware of how much damage we had done-“

“Not aware?!” Snufkin shouted and threw his skewer down. This outburst nearly made the Joxter flinch, but fortunately the elder mumrik was used to a house full of screaming children. After all, his beloved wife had thirty-four of them. Still, he steadied himself as his only son accosted him. He could swear that in the flickering embers of the campfire, Snufkin was… crying? Now that made the Joxter’s brows raise. He could practically see Snufkin as a wee toddler in front of him, bouncing up and hissing to be held by his father. The image was crushed as soon as it appeared when Snufkin continued. “Joxter. You threw me away. You threw your CHILD away. You and Mymble both. I didn’t even know you were my parents until Moominpappa read us his memoirs years ago. To show up here, now, during the happiest season of my life…”

The tears bubbling in the young mumrik’s eyes poured over. He stopped in that instant, quickly covering his face with his hands. How ashamed he felt. All of these things had been bottled up perfectly for years. Seeing his father in the flesh, not just in pictures and storybooks, made a cocktail of putrid emotions gurgle in his stomach. Though most of his mind craved an argument, or even just a fit of screaming, there was a small part of him that felt joy. The child within Snufkin who had known the Joxter, looked up to him as a crafty and intelligent mumrik, watched with incredulous eyes at his father. Taking him in. Forcing Snufkin to take his image in. The Joxter had aged gracefully. No wrinkles had appeared on his features as of yet, his being still encompassing the wild mumrik he was long before he had even met Mymble. Still looking as young as Snufkin was now.

“Why should I consider letting you in?” Snufkin whimpered. It was all he could manage. The Joxter sighed and brought himself close to his son, though not initiating any physical contact. With Snufkin feeling so strongly, he wouldn’t attempt anything rash.

“Child, you deserve to know why. Why your father did the things he did.” The two mumriks allowed their eyes to meet. Snufkin’s frown was deep, enraged, but the Joxter continued. “I will never claim to be a good father. Hard as I tried with all of my children, blood or no. You are… unquestionably, my son. And for the life you live, perhaps you are not inclined to believe me, but it destroyed our hearts to give it to you. I will show you. And you will understand.”

The Joxter finally moved past Snufkin, placing a paw on his son’s shoulder. “Let me speak with Moominpappa. We will show you, together. Please. Allow me your time.”

Snufkin grit his teeth. Those tugging emotions again. Wishing his father would bring him into a hug, then wishing for the opportunity to shove him away. “Joxter… if you’re going to act, act before the wedding. You have three days.”

This seemed to satisfy the Joxter. He stole a chance to lightly tousle his son’s already messy hair, then disappeared into the shadows.

Snufkin stood completely still. His campfire had died down to a small pile of glowing embers, leaving the mumrik bathed in the dark, cold night. He was unsure of what exactly the next few days would bring, and now that his father was involved, he went numb. How he wanted to see Moomin, to curl up in his lap and be soothed to sleep by his beloved’s paws in his hair, wash away the feeling of the Joxter’s. Snufkin mediated with himself, deciding that swallowing his pride and asking Moomin to stay the night felt far less agonizing than losing sleep over his father.

And so, Snufkin made for Moominhouse.

Thank you for reading! This is chapter 1 of a 3 chapter fic. You can follow along here, or on Archive and Fanfiction! 🌱

#moomin #snufmin #snufkin #moomin fanfiction #hurt/comfort #fanfic

[auckie]

Isn’t it crazy how ai helps us see images of hell before we die. But it’s different than people creating cgi or painted images, only slightly bc it’s so good at capturing an air of casual nonchalantness, completely nonplussed expressions of half baked half naked people going about their business as their limbs melt and get ripped apart by dogs. Like it’s not as good as human art, no, but there’s this je ne sais quoi quality that begets the same indifference that I think a demon who’s going to possess or kill you might have? It’s like, that magic touch of terror I get in movies about the demonic or supernatural/paranormal— the creature is probably intelligent, but you just don’t know because it’s not communicating in any meaningful way with you. Either it’s beyond your understanding, fueled by blind instinct or rage or lust in a way you will never comprehend or maybe some other drive that’s behind your reasoning, or it simply chooses not to acknowledge you with anything. Maybe you can’t decipher it or if you or maybe it just doesn’t give a shit bc why would the hunter call out ‘haha fuck you’ to the bunny before shooting and even if he did! the bunny wouldn’t understand. The rabbit knowing of our intricate lives outside of the chase really ruins the animalistic fear. It now knows it will die for a purpose— to be eaten and skinned maybe, made into something soft. It knows that the machine used to kill it took years of refining and precision planning, from blunt instruments of war to flashy tools of entertainment. From rocks and flint to fire and wheels. Maybe it would be willing to die, either in awe of us or such disillusionment of its own short, meek existence.

I’ve lost the plot a bit but that lack of fear is in a lot of horror media, for me, and every now and again I find a sweet spot in literature or art or media where it’s there! but, it’s become more and more rare.

I still have that sense of like. Eugh. Eeaaughwaoh. Hooooo! In some of the ai art I’ve seen. A lot of the videos. It’s similar to the ones I find funny, bc we know horror and humor are so intricately linked. The beer commercial one is priceless for a similar reason; the belligerent lapping and obtuse crowd, the fire growing and the repetitive mirage of music. but I’m not impressed by any of this. I’m aggravated and a bit, not afraid in a singularity kind of way. More like afraid that we have found a way to remove the human ‘known’ from the creation of images— bc ofc it’s making its content *from* our produce, be it real documentation or art, but it’s removing the sense of familiarity from the regurgitation process. It’s like putting water into a filter and out comes the same clear liquid that’s incapable of quenching your thirst, somehow. And it’s a nebulous thing, like if you corrected the unfixed gaze and number of fingers or blurred and amorphous backgrounds, I feel like you’d still feel this sense of loss. Some of the near pitch perfect anime AI pics I’ve seen have it (or lack thereof), but I can’t be sure if it’s just me recognizing the dominant style, yknow how it’s a bit too softly shaded and the line quality? I could be biased but…I dunno man! I can usually tell! And that’s the unsettling part I think, that we figured out how to scrub a sense of self and individuality from something sooo inherently personal, which is like THE epicenter of uncanny valley. To the point that you just know the same way you might feel someone looking at you.

I’m not trying to get all woowoo about computers. I definitely am not one of the people who thinks ai is gonna develop free will and overthrow us. I think that’s a very reactionary and reductive conversation about the actual impact it will have on real people (workforces, artists, the moral questions of like…yknow, the fucked up shit ppl are already feeding into these things) but I think automizing processes always begs the question of ‘what are we losing in doing this?’ Grandma’s homemade jam vs smuckers sugar syrup? What is that ‘homemade quality’ and what things are supposed to be ‘homemade’? Mommy homamos sweater knitted from your cats shed hair vs a sweater made of tissue paper that costs $49.99 from Zara that will last one year, tops. How palatable is the opposite? How much humanity can you remove before it becomes repugnant? Could an ai have shit all these words out? Would it have been a good read? Was this even a good read? There’s an answer, and it’s somewhere between whatever is most cheap, and most marketable.

#sorry I saw the coronation images and was like damn dude I wonder like #what ppl who’ve painted hell would think of these #don’t get wrong I like them #a LOT #I just think it’s incheresting

[dangerously-human]

Tagged by @saxifrage-wreath to share my top 7 Spotify on-repeat songs. I'm sure it will surprise absolutely no one to learn these are all off my Lockwood & Co playlist:

Won't Give Up - Colony House (hi this song makes me SOB on a daily basis; it fits really really well for both Lucy and Lockwood trying to outrun their trauma; "I've got the devil on my back trying to take home from me" is, as I've said before, a very post-THB line for Lucy; "I see Jesus out in front, he's reaching back for the lonely, reaching back 'cause he loves me, I take his hand because she loved me" is a Lockwood line for sure - interpret "she" as Jessica or Lucy or both - the whole thing is just devastating yet also hopeful, which is so the L&C vibe, is it not?)

Ghost in the Valley (have also mentioned this before, gives me Emotions™ about Lockwood seeing his parents' ghosts by the apple tree)

Haunted - The Band CAMINO (Black Winter angst, used to title Living with the Ghost of You)

Best is yet to Come - Judah & the Lion (also makes me cry! In a Lockwood & Co context and also like real life. Perfectly captures the found family of Portland Row, people who've been hurt so badly and spent their lives believing they were broken or made wrong and then find belonging and purpose and so much hope and resilience together)

Last Wish - Till Death (perfect instrumental-only writing/focus music that captures The Vibe especially well for haunted angst; was on heavy rotation for Living With the Ghost of You as well as the TCS chapter of Not Even a Doorknob Between You)

Twenty Something - Nightly (mostly was used for the drunk and moping angst factor for LWtGoY)

Follow Me Down - Colony House (oh look, more from LWtGoY, including "Must have lost myself last night" as a chapter title. The begging to be seen and helped up is Lockwood all over, and then that line toward the end, "I'd rather have life to give than only my life to live" is, uh. Very alarmingly Lockwood and his warped concept of sacrifice)

Tagging @loubuttons, @contagiousgrace (partly because I guiltily acknowledge you tagged me in something like this ages ago and it got lost in my drafts somewhere, so I'm counting this as my attempt at a response), @womaninwinter, and @cakeyouareoh, with no pressure whatsoever!

#personal

[adalz]

Lacrymosa - part 5

pairing: Zeke x Reader ー Priest!Zeke x Angel!Reader (mention of Angel!Levi x Angel!Reader)

chapter warnings: /!\ very angsty/violent chapter / a lot of violence and blood, use of gun, mention of wounds, witchhunt, minor/ major character death (i'm so sorry) / sacrilege tw, you know the drill.

world count: 7.3k

a/n: Hi! I started writing this chapter forever ago. I had to work back and forth on it. most of it was written in one fell swoop. Kind of long getting in, but once you're n it. You’re in it. So much chaos.  

<< prev. part | series m.list | next part >> (soon)

In the distance, far, so far away. A memory. 

Like an echo lost in a mountain gorge, twirling above the valley.

Throbbing with life, it was so volatile it stuck to your skin, carried by an exhilarating feeling of momentum.

A memory wafted by the frosty winter wind, and your great wings glided on the updrafts of the sky.

There were landscapes, thousands of them, gone in a blink of an eye as the wind flew through your body like a vital force, eyelids heavy, face slapped by the sky. And suddenly, in the distance, tearing the pale horizon, the shape of a mountain. There, underneath your body, miles and miles of plains went by with the seconds. 

The secret whispers of the wind were loud in your ears, the tugging of the tense muscles of your wings hard and sharp. They were outstretched, strong - striking the air. And so, like an unexpected change of balance, your body stretched, reaching higher, towards the snowy peaks - beyond the rocks and the stone paths once used by Mankind.

It was such a strange memory, indistinct, lost in time. Something was odd - leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. The feeling of a captive bird, finally freeing itself from its golden cage, discovering the vast reality of a too voracious sky.

On your skin, thousands of sea spray stained your face, carried by the wind. There, there, beyond those stone walls, the scent of salt, the smell of the coast beaten by the winds and the tide - the ocean.

In this memory's rush, beyond the mist of the mountains, it finally appeared. There was the ocean, the ricochets of the infinite stretches of water. The softest sapphire reflections. The senseless call of the waves, heady. 

Your muscles finally relaxed in your back, and your body gave in to gravity.

I could have fallen in the middle of the ocean and my body would have slowly sunk to the bottomless abyss.

The adrenaline of the fall, controlled and delightful, made your heartbeat hard in your chest. As your body was about to slide into the water, your wings flared open - almost sliding on the opaline surface.

Fingers dived into the icy water, barely skimming the lace of foam on its surface, but the hard speed scraped them across the waves. Consumed by this unrealistic, almost painful coldness, you quickly withdrew your hand. And then with a dull, powerful wingbeat, shattering the air and the waters all around you, you plunged back towards the sky.

Sovereign of heavens, lost in their immensity, brushing the captive snowflakes in the clouds charged with electricity - it was an insatiable memory, tugging at your heart.

But something was wrong. Like an out of tune instrument in a delicate orchestra. 

Because this could never have happened.

You should have known this land. You should have remembered it.

That thrilling memory, buried deep inside you. As beautiful as it was - it all sounded wrong.

Invented.

Fabricated. 

Because never before had you dived into the blue Surface's sky. 

Because as far as you could remember, there had always been nothing but horrible memories, attached to nothing but fear. 

Because all you could really remember was the oceans infused with the color of blood. Mountains spat fire, and the curse of the Goddess had fallen upon Her creation. 

Because you had no real memory of that life you once lived, and only that senseless and uncontrollable fear had haunted you, for eternity, on the ground of Paradis. Held so close to the Goddess, She alone had let those fears grow within you. Only She had known the skies of the Surface of yesteryear.

Because the Goddess had taken everything from all of you, at the cost of wings too big to ever fly.

Those wings in your back were the very mark of a peace you had never known. Because your first memories were painful with nothing but death and destruction.

Because you, the children of Ymir, were then blessed with wings so large and so powerful that no mortal weapon could ever touch you. 

Yet, all it took to make you fall was an arrow.

There, deep within your flesh, stealing the air from your lungs. Offering you back to these lands. 

Far from the vast horizon and the ocean spray, you had learned to fly in a cage.

Prisoner of a tortured sleep, of marble halls too white, you had never known the blue sky and the seas with their silver reflections. Never had you known anything but destruction, death, and the deafening sound of eternity. You were a mere child, endowed with sacred powers. And nothing but the shades of death on Her lands had survived in your mind.

All of a sudden, in this too pristine memory, the sky was upside down. The taste of a blood too old flooded in your mouth. Its once scarlet color, dried and blackened by the intense light of the sun, blinded the whole world around you.

Nothing had prepared you to fall. No one ever taught you how to fly.

An eternity spent wandering around the ground of Paradis, and you waited for it to be over. You thought, there was a purpose. That it mattered. You thought there was sense.

How come no one ever told you?

That death and destruction were to be endless. And that their perpetrator was of sacred blood.

That Levi was an angel of death.

Senseless world. Nothing but fear, crawling, instilling inside your veins. Alone in this infinite sky, endlessly falling

And slowly, everything started to distort. This lie slowly evaporated. You blinked. The world was dark.

Thousands of voices fell silent in the night.

Your eyes fluttered open.

A breath 

and reality slowly returned. 

The beating of your own heart came to settle on the regular rhythm of rain hitting against the window. You could hear water drip against the half-opened window

Sweat was sliding down your neck, your body still sore from sleep.

You woke up, and it was dark in the room. 

You woke up with the feeling that your body was heavy, arms dead. Your wings tighter than ever against you. Suffocating.

The touch of a hand came. There, resting against your chest. Five cool fingers, as if measuring the crazy rhythm of your heart. Your pillow collapsed a little as you turned your face in his direction.

His head was resting against his arm, you could barely make out his features. Barely, the line of his neck. The curve of his chest. The delicate lines of his stomach and of his hips. Only, in the darkness of the night, the reflection of his eyes was on you.

This blue so familiar, full of sleep, was observing you.

He made a movement, and the sheets slightly slid off your naked bodies. His fingers gently came up to your forehead in a delicate caress. 

He murmured something, but the meaning of his words was lost in the low tone of his voice. Against your burning forehead, cool lips came to place a gentle kiss.

Oddly, knowing that he was awake at the same time as you, in the middle of the night, was appeasing. For he kept finding you, no matter where you were, and every single time, you were reborn under his fingers.

Then, you let your body slide in the sheets, thirsty for his cool touch. Dying to drown in his embrace. His arms tightly closed around you. 

Your nose against his skin, already overwhelmed by his touch, you thought about everything you had taken away from him. Everything he had given up. How you had turned his world upside down. This selfishness, which made you want his arms and his mind only to you. Him, already devoted to the Goddess. Him and his words and his outdated beliefs. Him and his faded world. Him and his gentle words.

Where She had abandoned you, he had given you everything. And you would burn forever in the flames of the Surface for refusing to love him.

It was so dark, and your world was in his arms. Safe. He had found you.

-

You woke up and the room was blood red. The sun was rising. Your wings spread behind you, feathers caressing your skin and your arm around Zeke, pulling him tight. You couldn't remember ever being so warm. Yet, there, on the tip of your fingers, you could have sworn you still felt the coldness of the sea.

-

You woke up and the room was bathed in yellow. His breath was steady and even. In his hair, the sun's rays were dancing. Beyond the window, beyond the rain clouds, the morning had blossomed. 

In a loud whisper, your body suddenly remembered the kisses of the night before, the frantic dance of love on your hips. There was a forbidden taste in your mouth. A bitter taste of success.

Gently, you extirpated your body out of his arms, carefully slipping towards the edge of the bed. Immobile in the silence, you sat there a long moment.

Shaking away the sleep, you bent your back while stretching and your wings opened painlessly.

Painlessly, you thought. Strong and steady. 

You grabbed the holed shirt that had been discarded on the floor, and walked out of the room, trying not to think about it. Of this silent promise of having to leave, eventually. 

As you went down the stairs, you let your wings slightly flutter, your body so light by the force of the air lifted by the working muscles. As if walking on water, your feet met the cold kitchen floor in an instant.

The muscles of your thighs suddenly woke up, warmed up by a soft pain, alive with a song that words did not come back to you, drowsy in a heady desire. 

In silence, you started making tea in the old kitchen. Soon, the sound of water ricocheted in the kettle, and you tried not to let your thoughts wander as you absent-mindedly looked outside the small paned window. From there, you could see the wrought-iron gate, a few trees in the woods and the path going downhill. The birds were already chirping in the forest.

From the cupboard, you grabbed one of the cylindrical metal boxes, on which was written in large calligraphic letters “Reeves Trading Company”. A sweet smell wafted up to you as you opened it. It was aroma of dried leaves, with the scent of fruit and vanilla. You brought the box to your nose, taking a breath in its stunted and dry flowers, once so brightly colored, and the green of the leaves were now dark and sad. In these dried flowers of winter colors, there were buds. With a spoon, you dipped into the tea leaves, taking only a small amount, and putting it in the teapot.

Warm hands slid over your stomach. 

“Aren’t you cold?” said his sleepy voice. 

Against your skin, ten fingers were now burning, his skin so warm, and you sighed with ease. From the wood-burning stove, the kettle whistled. 

In turn, you let your hands explore his forearms. He started nibbling your shoulder. Tenderly - the base of your neck, and then the nape. You felt his teeth slightly sink into your skin.

"Didn't mean to wake you up," you chuckled as you turned in his arm to face him. 

The moment your eyes met, he unleashed the most devastating smile.

He was beautiful, his flaxen hair tousled from the night, eyes shining with that confidence he would always wear so well. His chest was bare, and his arms all around you. 

The thought that he would regret what happened the night before had crossed your mind at some point, but he didn't seem to feel remotely guilty. 

"I made some tea," you said again, staring into the blue of his eyes. Behind his glasses, they were heavy-lidded, still puffy from the lack of sleep. They were sharp, focused. Wrinkled from a smile, taking the shape of pure delight on his face. Every look, every caress of the pad of his fingers, on the edge to make you lose your mind all over again.

"Thank you, angel," and his eyes went down to your lips.

His arms tightened against you, and in a sighing breath, he whispered, "You're so cold…"

“I’m fine…” you said, and it was nothing but a whisper. His eyes went back to your face. 

“Are you sure?”

Reaching out to his face, your hands cupped his cheeks. He let himself go, his face slightly huddling against your palms. 

“Yes,” you whispered. “I’m fine.”

His lashes were long behind his glasses, eyes closed, savoring this moment. His eyes remained closed as he took a deep breath in. 

Yet, he said nothing. 

"Let's drink this tea before it gets cold," you finally said, and his eyes opened. He nodded.

And the tea was poured. It abundantly flowed in the old, chipped cups, letting out its sweet and fruity aroma, while the steam drew delicate arabesques into the air. 

Ephemeral vapor, so fragile - and you remembered thinking;

"I wish I had lived this life."

Forever, in this old isolated house. Dancing in his arms while the rain was drenching the outside world. Having his hands skim over you as your body trembled with pain and pleasure, for eternity. Having him.

You remembered saying to yourself;

"Long may it last."

As long as life would allow you to. 

“I hope that time will let me keep him a little longer.”

How you would have liked to stay with him, to dress his wounds. Those that you could not see, which nevertheless, there, under his skin, still burned him with a great ardor. Those that, so deeply, had killed him, slowly. How you would have loved to watch him grow old and grow old with him. And perhaps your skin, under the influence of the curse of the Surface, would have wrinkled with the rhythm of years passing by, entangling the minutes and the hours with this love so tender that consumed you. As if the opportunity to die with him offered a new perspective to your life. A meaning, eventually.

Silently, in this very moment, you made a decision. Because that was your choice to make. It was the path you chose. Beyond the expectation and the duties imposed on you, a long time ago. Far from the waiting and the eternity. It was your choice. Entirely yours.

You would have loved, loved it. So much.

But the tea was poured, for the last time.

There was so much of it that it spilled out of the cups, dripping onto the floor. 

Zeke burned his tongue as he took the first sip. 

The hot liquid overflowed a little more. The cup slipped from his hands.

And then there, those last moments of innocence, they could have been frozen in eternity. And the cup, as if suspended mid-air, was about to hit the cold ground. 

What was heard instead was a shrill scream in the distance.

It lasted a split second. Zeke's face snapped; his head already turned towards the scream. Slipping through your fingers. The light in his eyes, suddenly dull.

He tore himself away from you. 

And the cup shattered on the floor.

You barely had the time to recognize Colt's voice that, Zeke was already running through the door. And before your legs could even begin to run after him, another sound ripped the air. 

Something you’d never heard before. Nothing like thunder. Louder. Closer - a deafening sound. Dry. Deadly. 

It resounded, with indescribable violence. Shattering all balance in this world. Your whole body jolted, hands tights against your ears, in an unconscious protective movement

Then came silence. A few seconds of it. Enough to breathe again.

And in its horrible hissing, you finally heard a burst of voices - Colt's again. He was calling Zeke.  He sounded terrorized. He was probably crying - out of breath.

A voice echoed. 

A hoarse voice, falsely delicate. 

You heard Zeke say, 'Get inside, son’ and the sound of footsteps in the gravel outside. But the voice said to stay still. The footsteps stopped immediately.

It said, "Don't move."

It said, "Or I'll shoot you."

And you were there, standing still in the kitchen, unable to move, feet wet from the burning water on the floor. You let your body take a step towards the window.

Behind the small panes, someone was standing in the garden. They were tall, far too tall. Menacing, with their arm stretched out. Behind them, other figures in the distance. They were not moving either, immobile. Among them, torches were burning. 

Horror struck you at the sight of all these people - walking on this haven of peace. Those who were never supposed to see you, those who had once spilled the blood of the Goddess in Her own halls.

But through the opaque panes, you could only see her. The dark blond hair running alongside her face. It was the darkness of her clothes that drew your attention to the shiny object in her hand. 

Witnessing the horror unfolding before your eyes, you realized the origin of the detonation. 

In your mouth, the terrible taste of the arrow that had pierced your throat. The memories of the pain, the blood. So much blood. Only this time you imagined the wound to be deadlier, a pain that matched the horrible smell of gunpowder and fire that overwhelmed your senses. 

Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, the worst things went through your mind. Colt and the blood beating feverishly in his body. The life in his fragile body. Was he hurt? Had she used the weapon on him, in his back, as he ran, calling for Zeke with all his lungs? Was he alive? 

Violently boiling in your veins, all you could see, all you could imagine was blood. You straightened up abruptly. The woman's face suddenly turned towards the window. Towards you. 

Before you could make a move, Zeke's voice echoed again from outside. 

"Put the gun down. If you want to talk, talk to me."

"I've been trying to talk to you for weeks, Father," the woman said. "Only you're not listening." 

"Put the gun down, Yelena."

Her face turned back to Zeke's voice.

"Goddess, no! Have no fear, Father Zeke! I could never use it against you!"

"I don't care if you want to use it or not. Drop the damn gun. Now."

"Father, it's all for you that-..."

Then, you heard Colt’s voice - he was alive, thank the Goddess, he was alive - 

"Father-"

"Get your ass inside, Colt. Right now."

Her voice, again; 

“The boy doesn't move.”

“Let him get inside the house.”

“No.”

“He’s just a boy.” 

“I’m afraid you’re wrong."

“How am I wrong? He’s fucking seventeen!”

"He's not what you think he is."

“Who is he then? Just talk to me, for Ymir’s sake!”

No words were spoken, for a moment. Only silence, a question left unresolved.

Yet there was no hint of doubt in her voice as she eventually spoke.

Your heart fell into your chest. 

"He is a servant of Evil."

He was not. He was not.

This violence - the lies, the weapons. It couldn't be true, it wasn’t true. It wasn’t a nightmare.

And all you heard was Zeke. It was him. You were sure of it. It was him - but his voice had lost all gentleness. All the sweet inflections were gone. All you heard in the timber of his voice was pure anger.

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“I know Father. I know. But it’s all right now, we’re here for you. I came for you. I’ll deliver you.”

“Let’s do that then. Fucking deliver me.” It was no plea. It was him. “Just let him get inside the house first.”

"What for? So he can warn the Tempter?"

The Tempter

So they knew there was someone in this house. They came to kill you. They were going to.

“If he gets inside the house, it shall burn with the two of them inside.”

Her face turned again, slowly, towards the opaque window. It was dark inside the house. She couldn't see you. 

“What are you-...”

"You don't have to lie anymore, Father. I know what's going on. I know everything. All my doubts are now gone. I knew. I knew almost immediately. That something was off. Oh, Father, I am your most fervent servant, you know that. How could I not see that you disappeared as soon as your sacred duties in town were accomplished? How could I not have seen that you were bothered, lost in your thoughts during your sermons, each week shorter and shorter. You know how dearly I love you, Father Zeke. I love you. I would never tolerate anything happening to you. So I watched you, to understand what was going on. To help you. I followed you."

"You followed me."

"Most nights. When everything was dark, except for the lights inside the house. That’s when I’d see it the most clearly. It was just its shadows at first, and I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me. I thought it was just you, or the kids, always under your feet. But there was something else, I was sure of it. And I saw it, as clearly as I’m seeing you right now. A thing. Shapeless and deformed. There was something that followed you inside that house. Passing you by, never making you jump. It was as if I was the only one seeing it. I tried to tell you. I tried to warn you. But you never listened. You were always busy. Rushing. Lost in your thoughts. You were not yourself, I could see it, that there was something in your mind. Something coaxing you.”

Through gritted teeth, she added: "And you were never listening to me. So I decided to see for myself. I came here yesterday morning."

“Yesterday morning,” Zeke repeated. 

Yesterday morning. As you had left the house at the first light of day. Zeke was still asleep in the chair in his office. Colt, in the armchair by the extinguished fire.

"There's no one in this house, Yelena."

"There was no one there, indeed. But something was off. There was a presence. As if there used to be someone. I could tell by the size of the embers left in the fireplace. By the way blankets had been thrown on all the chairs, by the number of dishes in the sink. By the clothes left on the floor. By their deformed and torn shape. So I started searching. I knew that something had been there. I just had to find it.

I prayed to the Goddess all those nights. For Her to let me know the truth. To let me understand. And it came to me - standing to reason: the only place where a demon could hide, away from our eyes. Where it could grow and regenerate, feeding on our faith and our devotion. Some places we used to worship. Somewhere remote. Somewhere only you know.

I thought I remembered the way to the Old Chapel. But the clearing is much deeper in the forest than I remembered. The paths once used by our fathers are all gone now, devoured by roots and creepers. The trees are so high, blocking out the daylight and it was so dark, so cold. What monster wouldn't make a den out of this.

And finally, after what felt like hours in the mist, right before my eyes - it appeared. I couldn’t believe it when I first saw it. That it was real. That I was right!

Wandering around the clearing like a lost bird. That was it - the thing that defiled your house. With its deformed shape. Trying in vain to look human. And I remembered thinking ‘What an outrage to the Goddess’. A terrible thing that we, sinners, should never have to see - withered wings, a being perhaps once divine creature, that is no longer one now that it has been repudiated from the floors of Paradis. 

"That's n-"

"Father, things happen for a reason. Its presence here is none other than a punishment. This thing is not a wounded bird. It is a punishment. A test for you. And for me. And I did not feel fear. Well, the truth is, on the contrary, I was relieved. That I was right all along. That I had found the solution. And I knew that I had to make things right. Back to how they were. I had to fix it. When I saw it, at the Chapel Father, I knew I had to kill it. For you. 

And so today, we are bringing the fire to you. We’ve come to save you, Father. To purge this house of the evil that has nestled in it.

It’s all happening faster that I intended to; Grice was spying on us as we were talking about how to… take care of this. He ran away before I could stop him. And he ran exactly where I expected him to. Back to the darkness. Like a rogue dog to its master. But don't worry - we will burn it all down. We will purge this place from the darkness. And I am going to fix this. 

Starting with this.”

Her silhouette abruptly changes position. Arm still outstretched. Turning around toward the window. Fire shot out of her hand. 

It was even louder this time, firing in your eyes. The air shattered, a deafening sound. The glass of the window exploded into a thousand pieces before your face.

You barely had time to bend down.

You didn't scream. You couldn't make a noise.

When your eyes flew open, someone was rushing inside the house. You knew it was Colt, but you wouldn’t have recognized him. His usual gentle face was now covered with terror. 

Outside, the world was screaming. 

You watched as he ran towards you, as if slowed down by time. As if gravity had changed. His eyes wide with dread, cheeks red and wet from the tears rolling across his face. His feet crushed the broken glass in the water. He was running towards you, for what seemed hours.

A hand stretched out in front of him, to come and get you, and outside, there was death. There was the fire of the torches and the murderous weapons. 

Outside, Zeke. Alone.

He grabbed your arm. And time went back on.

He screamed something, and abruptly pulled you from the floor. Before you could stand up, your knees scraped against the sharp pieces of glasses. You pushed on your legs, and started to run. 

Colt spoke, yelled something, but words died within the chaos. The only thing anchoring you in the reality of the moment was the cold skin of his hand in yours. There was another one. Another detonation, tearing the uproar of the world, but you already had crossed the room and its large fireplace, jostling the two mismatched armchairs. Colt kicked the small backdoor, onto the backyard.

And Zeke was alone. Outside in this hell. 

Out of reach.

In a vain hope, you looked back.

But all you saw was the darkness of her eyes, fixed on you. That silhouette of her, too slender, her legs too big. Behind you, already. There, a few meters away, in that room, pervaded by her deadly aura, by the death in her eyes. Staining those safe floors, thriving on fear, and her eyes, without any light. Fixed, transfixed aiming at one thing. You.

There was no turning back. There was no choice to be made. There never was.

Colt was tightly holding your hand.

Colt shouted ‘run’

And so you ran.

There had been no destination when you had first run through those woods. You had run for your life, or yet you had thought so. Feet thumping hard against the soil of the Surface, a bandage too tight around your throat, breath taken, voice lost. You had fallen and ran again, away, away from the wrong enemy. This time, if they were to catch you, they were going to kill you.

So you ran. As fast as you could.

Colt was holding your hand, and you were holding his. Behind you, people were shouting. Behind you, there was fire.

And the ground was beating hard with each footstep, with each breath, the world on the verge of rumbling right into the chaos, and somewhere, Zeke was all alone. 

Zeke was all alone facing those people. People that he knew, people that he saw every day, people that trusted his words, just like you did. 

Was it your curse, to watch everything go up in fire? Turning into ashes?

Death and destruction, all because of you.

What if I had fallen in the middle of the ocean and my body had sunk slowly to the bottomless abyss.

“Don’t stop!”

Colt’s arm was stretched, pulling you as he kept on running. 

Colt. Sweetest child. Colt and his timid smiles, and his stories and his blushing cheeks. Colt and his secrets, and his little brother he was so proud of. Colt and his training, and the light in his eyes whenever he was looking at Zeke. Colt and the warmth of his hands, and the sharp truth of his words. And his life had been made into a living hell, poor mortal eyes seeing things he should have never seen. 

He had gone through those woods as well. Running. Calling for Zeke after walking in his house, the floor covered in your blood. His once innocent childhood, stolen away.

He had run for Zeke, scared that something had happened, probably thinking of the fragility of his own life. This time, he was running for you. And he kept on pulling you, even when you stumbled. He never let go of your hand. 

Finally, the edge of the forest appeared from the dense foliage of the woods. Soon, you would reach the clearing, where the two of you would be exposed - easy to aim at and to take down. With nowhere to hide. Soon. 

And then what?

Followed almost immediately by yours, Colt’s feet were the first ones to beat the tall grass of the clearing. Here was the great blinding light of the sky, the cold sun of autumn warming up the skins. And at its heart, proudly standing for millennia, was the Temple. Its foundations still holding the walls steady, its colonnades filled with stone. The songs and the prayers that once resounded there, long forgotten by the Goddess.

You imagined that this was Colt’s plan, to run there, hide inside the Temple, and wait. But the truth was, he was just a boy hoping for a miracle. Because you knew that no one would ever come. You knew it had been forgotten for too long. You understood that you were running straight into a deathtrap.

And with each footstep, you were being more and more defenseless. With each footstep, you were turning into an easier prey. With each footstep, you were condemning yourselves. 

There was nothing but the beating in your ears. Nothing but the footsteps, the same rhythm, and the same race, again and again and again.

In your back, unstrapped wings were fluttering in the wind. If you would have been sure that you once really knew how to fly, you would have opened them wide. You would have let the autumn wind rush into them and set off. But no one ever taught you how to fly.

If you ever had a semblance of power, if there had been anything you could have done, you would have buried the world right there, under your feet. You would have soared up towards the sky, Colt within your arms, flying away from them, and from their decrepit beliefs. You would have done it. You would have opened the earth, and plunged the forest behind you into the Underworld.

A detonation ripped the morning light. Birds flew away from the trees.

The smell of sulfur, the smell of war all around you. 

You knew she was there, behind you, feet in rhyme with yours. She must have been aiming at you, trying to take you down with a shot...

But you were almost there, so close to discern the cracks in the walls. So close that your feet were already crushing the shattered stained glass in the grass. Colt slowed down. His hand slowly loosened.

You glanced back towards him. 

His cheeks were wet, his mouth so pale. 

"Co-..."

His hand slipped from yours.

And he fell to the ground.

You flung yourself on him. Quickly, grabbing him under his shoulders, trying to lift him up. But his body was heavy, too heavy, drained of energy.

"Run..." he said. And his skin was too pale, too pale. 

"No, no, no Colt, I'm not-"

"You’re almost there...”

His voice was too weak. His body, too heavy.

That was when you saw her. On the edge of the woods. She had stopped to take a shot, her stance still. 

“I won’t-...”

“I’ll catch up with you later. Please, just go.”

And in the distance the sound of footsteps. She was on the move again, running towards you. And it was as if the earth was shaking with each of her steps. 

"Now, you go," he said.

He lifted one of his hands, to remove yours from his body and your hands were so warm against him. Sticky.

Palms towards your face. The morbid colors of life.

Stained. Stained, stained, stained, stained. 

Stained with his blood. Stained, this infernal place. Always stained with blood.

You may have screamed. In the quiet of what had been done, you may have screamed. But no words formed on your lips, no sound, except a jerky growl. Except for the anguish, growing, tearing everything in you. 

Colt on the ground. His eyes were so fatigued. 

He may have been talking. He may have been crying.

But already, all around his body, his life, flowing onto the clearing ground.

You said something, again, you said something. You heard someone promise him, you heard yourself swear. That everything would be okay. That you would fix it. As if there was anything to fix in this world. What was there to fix when everything was already broken. When nothing made sense anymore. When you would have to erase everything to start over.

And it wasn't just a nightmare. That body, these tears. It was Colt, bleeding to death. It was life slipping away from him, unfairly. 

He who had so much to say, so much to do. He who had so much life and love.

Alone, in the clearing, while footsteps were getting closer. 

She was almost there. In your back, your wings jostled in the wind.

"I’m begging you. Run."

“I’m not leaving you here. Colt, I’m not leaving you here.”

But your voice came out punctuated by violent shaking. Your face twiste; your vision blurred.

Not by himself. Not like this. 

"Don't look back," he whispered, "do it-..."

Nearby, voices rose from behind the trees. Her steps became slower, spacing out.

"... -For me."

Standing before you, the woman. And Colt’s head fell heavily onto your lap.

Her pitch black eyes were on you. Emotionless face. With both of her hands, arms lowered, she was holding the gun. 

She was looking at the two of you. From him, to you.

Colt, then you.

The lifeless body, and then you. 

On her face, a shadow passed.

She immediately aimed at you, regaining her composure. Her body was tense. Yet, she didn’t shoot. 

“So this is you,” she said, slowly..

Colt was heavy against you, and everything you touched was sticky and warm, while her hands were immaculate against the bright gun. And you were ready. Ready for the fire. You were ready for her to shoot, whenever she wanted to. 

“I understand better now,” she said.

Unconsciously, your fingers skimmed back and forth against the coldest skin, the roundness of a cheek, ever so carefully. Not to break him. Not to disturb the peace. The tips of your fingers were frozen. 

“The Evil One really knows how to create temptation,” she said under her breath. She smiled at her own words. She smiled at you, she smiled at the body in your arms. 

Something was gradually building inside of you. You felt it, something dark. It grew within you at the exact moment she had started to smile. 

Over the treetops, a thick black smoke was rising into the yellow morning, like a dark column rushing to the sky. You could almost see flames licking the horizon. It could only be one thing. And with the smoke going up and up in the sky, the memories of the house. The books and creaking floors. The tea and the music. All of it, gone forever. Fragments of life and lives themselves - reaching for the sky.

So this was your curse. To watch everything go up in fire, turning the world into ashes. At this very moment, you came at peace with it. If they wanted to set everything on fire, you shall let it burn, them within the licks of fire.

Whenever she would move, you were going to kill her.

“I will kill you,” you whispered. 

Yet the words reverberated in the clearing, your voice, loud and clear as never before. As if this place had always been yours and the trees were yelling the words you said, all the way back to the ocean. It took no effort to say it. It was recited like a prayer in the night, like a promise. It was delivered with a power, kept silent for too long.

And under the weight of the words, you felt your wings flutter wide behind your back. You felt every single muscle in your body flare up with a deadly fire. With power, ignited at last.

With the tips of your fingers, you carefully closed Colt's eyes. His soft, gentle eyes. Their warm brown color, gone. And when your fingers left his cold skin, they were burning feverishly. They were burning so hot, that the blood on your hands started to emanate oddly.

You looked up at her, and finally, you saw it. What you should have seen from the start. What they should all have felt when they first looked upon you. What you ought to inspire them.

Sheer terror.

This, right here. This was right. This was how it was supposed to be. Always. For Mankind was supposed to crawl and beg forgiveness for its wretched existence. They ought to be horrified and miserable. You were going to make her regret ever being born, only allowing her to beg all the skies and souls for you to end her fast.

Without a glance at the lifeless body on your lap, you laid it back on the ground. Without a shudder, you stood up. And as you did, your wings began to flutter in your back. Fast and hard - the movement smooth, a new strength waking up inside your body.  

In your back, you could feel the muscles pulling painfully, straining against you from the force of the beaten air. Like a drop of rain naturally sliding with gravity towards the ground, your body elevated slowly, up towards the sky, feet hovering above the ground. 

And what happened next was the most delightful thing - her face distorted with fright, the grin that was there a moment ago, long faded. It was exhilarating; the fear, but most of all, the realization. 

She stepped back in panic, her hair flying out of her face under the effect of the powerful air movements, and then back again, brandishing her weapon hopelessly. Her legs buckled - she fell backwards, dropping it somewhere on the ground. And all around you, once pristine feathers were fluttering into the wind.

You heard a distant scream, from the edge of the forest. It snatched your attention away from her. All you could think about was the dark fate unfolding before you, the ill thoughts flooding all senses. And yet, at the sound of his voice, that thing that had been building within you, snapped a little. Zeke was running fast, he was calling your name. His body was covered in blood and bruises, his face distorted by anguish, gentleness and trust lost forever. 

But behind him, suddenly emerging from the woods as well, dozens of people, torches and fire in their hands started to march on the clearing. And yet you knew that he was not running for his life. He was running for yours. Always for yours.

But there was nothing to be done. There was no other possible outcome. All of them were doomed. Nothing could ever fix chaos. As it was bound to happen, the best you could offer was to flow along with it. There was no hope. 

You watched as Zeke ran through the clearing, and you hated every second of it. You hated to see him run, towards a future made of destruction and death. You hated that he was still hopeful, despite the blood on his face, and the smoke in his lungs. You hated that he was still hoping to save your life. That he was hoping there still was life to save. You watched him run until his eyes fell upon the body lying under your feet. You watched him stumble and fall to the ground. Your heart clenched in your chest when you saw the look on his face - the shadows, the distress. His eyes going back and forth from the body laying at your feet, to you. His glasses were long gone, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. You watched as he stood up, and started running again.

There was no outcome. There was never a choice to make. There was nothing to fix. And you were going to-...

Something shone from underneath you. A glimpse, the reflection of the sun.

A deafening detonation. 

All you felt was the deathly pain. Everything pulled out of place, vibration in your bones, your face getting torn apart. The echo of a bullet ringing inside of you. Only the taste of sulfur and blood in your mouth.

You didn’t feel the moment your balance broke. You didn’t feel your body abruptly flinching in recoil, nor when your back hit the hard floor. 

Only the raw feeling of exposed life, a Child of Ymir brought to their knees by Mankind’s weapons. The loss. Defeated, at long last.

Everything was red. Sensations gone, moving was agony. Silence was ringing hard, the world swaying. The smell of fire, the taste of metal. Body not responding. Muscles atrophied. 

Eyes opened. The left one remained in the dark. And your face was devouring itself from the pain.

And it hurt, hurt so bad - it was worse than anything before. It was worse than the fall, worse than the arrow. 

Each breath was death ignited on your face. And from there, all you could see was the sky turning black, the dark column of smoke elevating, already so high, hiding away the sun. You couldn’t hear a thing, only the ringing in your ears and chaos in your mind.

The world went dark. 

Silent, at peace - finally.

The sound of the wind through the branches. A few notes played on a piano. You thought 

This is it.

A sound. A sound that was not the sound of gunfire. That was not a scream of despair. A sound that had nothing horrifying. A familiar voice. It was your name.

Someone was calling your name. 

Only no one in these lands could have imitated its distinctive sound. Not in this way. There were only a few people who called you like that. Only one voice calling you with this intonation.

A familiar language that you had once dreamed of hearing on these lands. A voice that had resounded thousands of times on opaline surfaces and in too pristine halls. Now it echoed beyond the treetops, throughout the entire sky. It was calling you. That voice, so warm, so far away. Silver gleams already shining everywhere.

join the >> taglist !

tagging🍂: @blondeboyfriend @babieweeb @chavvanies @zekefreak @fifics @jayscorner @sunshinedragonofthwest @jeonghaos @Sarashitposts @Princessebyakugan

#lacrymosa 🍂 #zeke x reader #zeke #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke jaeger x you #zeke jaeger x y/n #zeke aot #zeke snk #aot zeke #snk zeke #zeke x you #zeke x y/n #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager x y/n #zeke yeager x you #zeke yaeger #aot x reader #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #attack on titan x reader #ada's doing snk stuff

[ikeasupremacy]

i am real! (about me)

⋆ about me! ⋆ my name is mayra! she/her pg13 (cursing). my posts can be found under #mayra lore :) signs are pointing towards neurodivergent i’m bilingual! hindi and english

⋆ more mayra lore ⋆ - i have a crippling, debilitating, home-wrecking addiction to spotify (my favourite ask, ever) - i'm honoured to have contributed to @wellgoslowly's grocery store incident lore. i love you so dearly linnie<3

JONATHAN STROUD KNOWS THE GSI LORE JONATHAN STROUD KNOWS THE GSI LORE JONATHAN STROUD KNOWS THE GSI LORE JONATHAN STROUD KNOWS THE GSI LORE

⋆ oops! ⋆ i (almost always) emotionally invest myself into hcs, so if you ever want to discuss anything im interested in, i can guarantee i had more to say than i actually did LOL. my dms and asks are wide open, and i'd love new mutuals! i'm not as active on tumblr as i once was, but i'm definitely still on here!

⋆ current status! ⋆ getting my gcse mocks back... uh...

⋆ hyperfixations ⋆ ☾ lockwood and co, dramione, taylor swift, riordanverse, stardew valley, genshin impact, gilmore girls ☾ music i love taylor swift, nirvana, drake, kendrick lamar, conan gray, lorde, olivia rodrigo, kanye west ☾ i liked these once... (hyperfixations lost to time) the mortal instruments, his dark materials, attack on titan, tokyo ghoul, demon slayer, komi cant communicate, saiki k, modern family, artemis fowl, how i met your mother, marvel, new girl, suits

thanks so much<3

#ok thank you #bye #this was a Post #mayra lore :)

[subliminalbo]

One Shot #3: The Watcher

Around the time her father died, Jacqueline couldn't escape the feeling that she was being watched. When she awoke in the morning she could feel those invisible eyes beating down upon her. It was a feeling so real to her soul that she would wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. Something had gotten in, she was certain, and it refused to leave. But Jacqueline had searched her condo a dozen times and she never found anything out of place.

"You let go of the housekeeper?" her therapist asked during one session.

"Of course," Jacqueline replied. "I thought she may have set up a camera or..."

"Do you have any idea why someone would do that, Jacqueline?"

"I represent many people at my firm. People with secrets."

Jacqueline's therapist was concerned, but not convinced of any grand conspiracy to spy on one of Silicon Valley's premier corporate lawyers. Espionage was common in her line of work, certainly, but rarely did it involve bugging a lawyer's condo.

"You lost your father recently," her therapist noted.

"Yes," Jacqueline replied.

"And you haven't been feeling yourself?"

It was easy to wave away Jacqueline's feelings as simple grief. Even she had tried to do that at first. With the first wave of Jacqueline's paranoia had also come an intense loss of interest in any of her old passions. The things that had once kept Jacqueline motivated had evaporated over the course of a single night. She'd begone forwarding calls at work to her secretary, operating most days on autopilot. She skipped out on her weekly reunions with her old Beta Phi Alpha girls in favor of Friday nights in bed. And the dream she'd once had of running her law firm was a distant priority. Her therapist pointed to her father's death as the mist likely reason. It was the easiest to accept, but in her heart Jacqueline knew that it had begun with the watcher.

What scared Jacqueline most of all about the watcher was that it wasn't entirely unwelcome. Uneasy, certainly, but there was something about its presence that comforted her. Jacqueline would unconsciously leave her door unlocked in invitation, and when she couldn't sense its studious eyes upon her, she even felt a little sad. The watcher was, in some way, the one constant left in her life. The only thing that she could count on to return to her.

"Fuck..." Jacqueline whispered alone in her bed as her hand slid under the elastic of her panties. While the vibrator penetrated her pussy, she imagined that it was more than a cheap sex toy. It was an instrument of the watcher's power, pulling her under its sway, into its thrall.

"Mark me..." she begged. "Fucking...take me...own me! Fuck me!" Jacqueline's body shook in devotion to her Master.

The slick vibrator discarded absently in the sheets, Jacqueline knew in the silence of the night that she belonged to the watcher.

"Wonderful show, Jacqueline."

Jacqueline sat up with a start, though she wasn't surprised to find the dark stranger standing at the open window.

"I knew it..." she said, still catching her breath. "I knew you were real."

The stranger was tall, and despite his handsomely dark features, his skin was as pale as death. As he floated toward her bed he said, "I marked you several years ago, Jacqueline. A rare breed."

The man placed a cold hand beneath Jacqueline's chin. She looked up into his glowing orange eyes and she knew that she had seen these eyes before. Somewhere, sometime, she'd lost herself in those eyes. The world had faded away around her and she pledged her soul to this dark, handsome, and terrifying stranger.

"A perfect match for my beloved," the stranger said. "But your ties to this world were yet too strong. I do not take my beloved by force. She must surrender to me on her own accord. I offer only the push."

Jacqueline's glassy eyes shined in a moment of understanding. Her thoughtless brow began to twist in confusion as she said, "You killed my father?"

"He sacrificed himself for our future."

"I have nothing left," Jacqueline whispered. "Nothing to tie me to this world."

"And no reason not to serve me," the stranger smiled. He sat down on the bed next to Jacqueline, resting his hand now on her cheek.

It was true that Jacqueline had loved her father, but in that moment she loved this stranger more. She opened the lace of her nightgown in invitation. "Mark me!" she cried as he sank his fangs into her breast.

#mind control #controlled #hypnotized #brainwashed #series: one shots #hypnokink #hypno story

[kabutone]

questions for the project sekai devs

Can they use it for storage?

- One of the N25 stories (I think?? i dont remember) shows they can bring objects into the sekai (they brought hot water and cup noodles for miku to try) so if you put something in the sekai, teleported out of it, went somewhere else and teleported back in, could you retrieve the object?? that would be cool as fuck and rly helpful for moving around big musical equipment. Imagine not needing a van for amps and instruments you just spawn it from your phone

What does it look like when they come and go?

- I know there’s that sparkle effect that covers the entire screen but they’re not looking at each other through a screen so are they just ?? fading away in little rainbow pieces?? Is that what it looks like going IN the sekai too?? imagine going around the corner at school and seeing some girl pixelate into nothing. wtf

How long does sekai last? When they are 40 years old are they still gonna have the sekai?? What if their feelings that initially created the sekai change and go away??

What do they do there all day?

- Like the vocaloids, specifically N25 miku does she just sit there?? Also what if she just wandered off into nothingness. Into the void. would the N25 members just spawn near her??

-i know in wonderland sekai they do plays and stuff but like is that ALL day?? and it’s always sunset in school sekai, so do they never sleep? stage sekai is a seemingly never ending space of stages which honestly seems a little scary

Can other people go? I think it was in the wonderlands x showtime story that they all ambushed rui and took him to the sekai, but he’s part of the group so he was meant to be there. can you take someone that wasn’t meant to be there?? could they take like, idk toya to the wonderland sekai??

What if they change phones? It’s a song on your phone right, so would it just magically appear on the new phone the way it did on the old phone?? Would it delete itself off of the old phone or is some poor apple employee going to get sucked into the sekai on accident

Are there bathrooms? Especially in the empty sekai. Mafuyu spent a lot of time there so like. did she have to leave the sekai to go to the bathroom

Is there a boundary? I think N25 and MMJ tested this in their sekai and found out that no, there seemingly is no boundary. so if you get lost there and the vocaloids can’t find you are you just gonna starve and die.

What if they are on the toilet what then. The vocaloids like to pop out of their phones as little holograms at random times but what if miku comes to visit you and you are on the toilet. what do you do. it’s like getting a facetime call but you can’t decline it, it just WILL pick up

Where does meiko get stuff for her coffee shop?? Does she charge real money?? What do they do with it? Is that the only store there?? Are the other buildings in the street sekai just empty?? that’s so scary

Are they alone?? stage sekai has people but the others don’t. Wonderland sekai audience is always empty. Also WHO ?? ARE THOSE PEOPLE??? if you went into the crowd in stage sekai are they real people?? i feel like they would be uncanny valley level of almost human but not.

Are sekai only made for people that know miku?? only made for music related purposes?? Does Ken have a sekai?? I feel like he’s such an influential musician he’s more than qualified to have one

#project sekai #i have so many questions #prsk #puroseka

[reveriedreamworld]

｡☆✼★━ Alora ''Lady Hope''━★✼☆｡

''Ambulare iuxta eam sanctus est''

｡☆✼★━ ABOUT ━★✼☆｡

Lady Alora Mara of Latibule is the main character of The Miniature Garden

The Goddess Of Hope with unmatched kindness, boundless love and compassion for all living beings, Alora is the reminder of the eternal power of hope to light the way through even the darkest of times. She is a beacon of light and love in a world that often feels lost and uncertain, offering comfort, guidance, and solace to all who seek her blessings, all while trying to find the keys for Porta De Paradisi.

Real Name

Alora Spes

Nicknames

Alora, Our Lady Alora, Lady Hope, Radiant Star, Hope's Child, Beacon of Hope, Celestial Dreamer, Guardian of Light, Starry-eyed Savior, Hope's Herald, Sunshine, Alora of Latibule, The girl as bright as day, Child of light, The Ruler of the blue valley, Blondie, Sunshine, Sunny, A Ray of Sunshine, The Baby, Kiddo, Aps (by Kanoz ) The Breaker of all rules, The Gods Most Hated Child

Likes

Life, bringing hope to people, walking around Latibule, sleeping, playing with Delicate, reading, drinking tea, desrets, sweets, pearls, Painting, Adventure, Sheep, Art, Cows, Dolls , Making up songs and stories, Freedom, Summer, Swing sets, Toys, Musical instruments, Tulips, Cookie dough, Music, Daydreaming, Physical affection,, Making new friends, Flowers, Being spoiled, Magic, Drama, Her freckles, Kanoz’s cooking, Chores, Helping others, Playing games, Dollhouses, Playfighting with Kanoz, Having tea parties, Picnics, Talking, Mushrooms, Heart lockets, History, playing pranks on her people

Dislikes

Being cold, Having nightmares, loud noises, Killing or hurting people, Confinement, Being bored or tired, Clocks, Selfishness, Sleeping, People breaking promises, Eilot, Anyone disrespecting her, Bright lights, Forgetting things, Staying still

Origin

The Miniature Garden, Season one (Star Shaped Tears), Episode one, ‘’Take my hand, the change of fate’’

Gender

Female

Age

8 years old (3,000 years old in lore)

Place of origin

The Blue Valley, Latibule

Status

Alive

Occupation

Goddess Of Hope and Death, Creator Of Latibule

Theme flower

‘’Lady Hope’s Tears’’ (Lily Of The Valley)

Theme Colors

Pink, Blue

Birthday

May 1

Hobby

Walking around Latibule, playing games, sword fighting

Family

Amita (’Mother’; Creator)

Friends

Kanoz (Father figure), everyone in Latibule, Mei, Connie, Viridis, Nimue

Enemies

The Envoy, Eilot (Abusers)

｡☆✼★━ Personality━★✼☆｡

Alora is a very bubbly, hopeful, outgoing, and empathetic deity who loves flittering around and bringing hope and good cheer to the denizens of Latibule and welcoming any new faces. She is incredibly friendly and hospitable, viewing all of Latibule’s inhabitants as her family and is always looking to brighten someone's day. She is a complete and total ‘Disney princess’, singing bombastically about her dreams and wants in the universe all while being flocked to by animals. In stark contrast to her disciple, Alora is far from regal and much more down-to-earth, dedicating most of her time to befriending anyone she can and creating a bond of friendship between herself and the people of Latibule. She is the one friend who will always stand beside you and never give up on you for any reason. She is generally very trusting of others due to living in a paradise her whole life, but will have to learn not to trust anyone she comes across on her journey.

Despite being the youngest goddess, Alora is evidently very intelligent; as the greeter of the Gate, she knows much of the ins and outs of the kingdom, giving her people advice on how to adapt in Latibule and which places they would enjoy going to. Despite her intelligence, Alora has a distinctly childlike, hopeful intonation and manner of speaking.

Alora embodies a personality that is both gentle and radiant, imbued with a sense of innocence, warmth, and boundless compassion. As the embodiment of hope, she radiates an aura of tranquility and serenity that brings comfort and solace to all who come into her presence.

She is known for her unwavering optimism and faith in the inherent goodness of humanity, seeing the beauty and potential in every soul she encounters. She possesses a childlike innocence and wonder, viewing the world with wide-eyed curiosity and delight, and finding joy in the simplest of pleasures.

Despite her divine status, Alora is approachable and accessible to all, treating every individual with kindness, respect, and empathy. She listens with an open heart to the hopes, fears, and dreams of her worshippers, offering guidance, encouragement, and unconditional love in return.

At the same time, Alora possesses a quiet strength and resilience that belies her youthful appearance, standing as a beacon of hope and courage in times of adversity and uncertainty. She is a source of inspiration and guidance for her worshippers, guiding them through life's challenges with grace, wisdom, and unwavering faith.

｡☆✼★━ Appearance━★✼☆｡

Alora is a short, eight year old girl with a petite body, giving her the look of a fairy. She has thick fluffy blonde hair cropped just above her shoulders, light blue eyes, and light skin. When she uses her magic or key, the tip of her front hair locks fades to white. She wears a soft pink cardigan with white embellishments and star shapes in the hem over a plain white dress, white lace gloves, knee socks, and simple pink ballet shoes. In her night outfit, she wears a lacey silk pink shirt with a silk ribbon and frilly white shorts and white legwarmers. While traveling, she wears a soft pink witch hat with white linings, a white blouse with buttons, a red ruffled dress with girdles, white knee-high socks along with 3 small pink bows on the sides, white gloves, and Mary Jane shoes with also small gold flower with four petals attached, the Ribbons and stars decorations are embellished throughout. She also wears a large leather bag. Her accessories are a light pink star hairpin, and a gold tiara covered in pink and white flowers that levitates above her head as though it was a halo.

｡☆✼★━ Lore━★✼☆｡

Some time after the Serenity War, Adita, the Goddess of Stars, found herself consumed by despair when darkness threatened to engulf the world and destroy her beloved humans. As tears of sorrow fell from Adita's eyes, they mingled with the essence of hope itself, giving rise to a luminous being of ethereal beauty and boundless potential. Thus, Alora was born, the physical manifestation of the ideal of hope, born from the tears of a grieving goddess. Adita, knowing that she couldn’t look after the manifestation of hope, casted Alora down to Earth. Upon witnessing the birth of Alora, a group of intrepid adventurers, drawn by the divine presence of the newborn goddess, pledged themselves to her service. They founded a village in her honor, a sanctuary where all who sought refuge from the trials of the world could find solace and protection under her watchful gaze. Alora, in her infinite wisdom and compassion, nurtured the village and its inhabitants with tender care, weaving a tapestry of love and unity that bound them together as a community. She was both revered and beloved by her worshippers, who looked to her as a beacon of light in a world shrouded in darkness, protecting her like one would their younger sister. Yet, despite the peace and prosperity of the village, Alora could not shake the feeling of restlessness that stirred within her soul. Sensing a greater purpose calling her beyond the boundaries of the village, though the ‘guide’ Of The Envoy, she embarked on a journey across the kingdoms, accompanied by Kanoz, whose own quest for redemption had led him to her side.

｡☆✼★━ Triva━★✼☆｡

Alora’s name means ‘Little Dreamer’’ Or ‘’God’s Light’’

Alora has a fondness for sleep and dreams. She is said to visit worshippers in their dreams, offering guidance, comfort, and inspiration as they sleep.

Alora has been known to play gentle pranks and tricks on worshippers who take themselves too seriously. These playful antics serve as reminders of the importance of laughter, joy, and spontaneity in life.

Butterflies are often associated with Alora, symbolizing the hope and inspiration that she brings to the world.

She enjoys anything sweet, chocolate being her favroite

She enjoys taking walks though Latibule at night

#Alora Mara #my ocs #oc #my writing

[thecelestiallegacies]

Chapter: The Valley of Flowers & Negligent Princes Part 1: A Lighthouse by the Bayou Vulcan was thoughtfully going through the pages of the book Darian, the hermit he met back in Granite Falls, had given him. 'The Legends of the Sun Gods' was clearly a well read book. Many others had thumbed through its pages long before it reached Vulcan's careful hands and it seemed to have multiple authors that pieced in their reports and experiences of the gods.

The Legends of the Sun Gods' entry about Dior, the Eternal Mischief of Willow Creek: A benevolent Goddess who watches over Willow Creek and ensures the fertility of its lands. Her places of worship are also places of music and celebration, where her patrons gather to pay homage. She represents fiery passion and inspiration. Her followers have been performers, inventors, merchants and farmers, a notoriously clever goddess, she encourages artistry, the protection of the natural beauty of the bayou and the celebration of the culture in Willow Creek.

As he scanned through the disorganized pages, a slip of paper fell from the book like the last leaf on a dying tree.

The page looked worn, but less so than the pages of the book itself. He picked it up and unfolded it carefully as if it might just fall apart in his hands.

A letter... from his mother, who knew more about what was going on than she was able to express while she was alive. The scratched words crawled across the page and he stepped out to the balcony. His lip shook. This couldn't be real.

"To whom it will concern... My name is Marisol Nebula and I have been compelled by the gods to write this for who is destined to find it again.

I'm plagued with visions, a pull somewhere distant that I can't recall going. A life that couldn't possibly have existed, yet feels so vivid. The Lumen Gods, strange and unforgiving, in their own realm of flowers and light.

Willow Creek, Dior. She's waiting. She lives in the Sylvan Glade.

A song of storms by the lighthouse... the lighthouse by the bayou.. Start talking to trees, she loves nature. Learn the magic instruments, she loves music. A song of storms by the lighthouse... the lighthouse by the bayou..

In the center of the mushroom circle.

Drink of the Pink

Get the treefish, summon the goddess!!

Appease her with beauty and ask for her wisdom."

Marisol Nebula

Vulcan felt weak, a lighthouse by the bayou, these were clearly the ramblings of a woman who had lost her mind... Right?

#sims story #sims #the sims #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 #my sims #simmer #nebulalegacy #simblr #planetarylegacymercurygen

[speaking-at-the-theater]

otgw

watching over the garden wal!!! obviously spoilers so like, watch out for that. this is gonna be a long one as i plan to do the whole series at once so we go on until the picture limit breaks and then we start another post

—

the intro has such vibes. the best part about it being a miniseries is that it doesnt worry about like. spoilers. it can just tell you “this is the short of it, now lemme tell you the long of it.”

–

the chorus that starts playing when wirt is like “where are we”??? haunting. where can i find it?

–

whoever wrote this knows exactly how to write kids i love it

—

“welcome to the unknown boys, you’re mor elost than you realize” indeed

—

greg- greg no- bad idea. dont go towards the forest.

-

what is up with that turtle???

—

“it is your burden to bear” thank you mr woodsman

-

ep 2

—

the drawings in the wood in the intro. what’s up with that

–

“the good woman of the woods”....i dont believe that. that’s sus.

—

that festival seems so interesting??? –

what do you mean the fucking pumpkin *talks*

–

love that “patient is the night” song

-

oo that was…a plot twist

…..

that “you’ll join us someday” is…….something

—

the fuck. is up. with the leaf.

—----

ep 3-

“see, no willpower whatsoever” ms beatrice. what. 

i mean its true though

–

aww, that school concert was such a clever idea! and that small twist. when you hear greg say “let’s steal the instruments” you think he’s still thinking about giving them back to the school for fun. but then the concert is revealed and you see “oh, greg isnt as stupid as he seems”, it’s cute.

–

ep 4

songs of the dark lantern??? sounds interesting

–

that highwayman animation is so???? idk. it’s weird. thy were bordering the uncanny valley for this one and i think it was on purpose

–

the fuck. is up. with those trees. i want answers.

–

haha. the beast is fucking terryfying i’ll be seeing it in my nightmares now.

–

ep 5

this illustration is so good tho??

—

this guys just having an entire existential crisis mood

–

beatrice used to be human? that’s interesting

–

what is up with these fainting ladies and mr-s? –

two pennies for the ferry…like two coins for the charon?

......

also love how the twist here wasnt that there were supernatural shenanigans but that there werent supernatural shenanigans

–

the fish?????? what have the coins got to do with anything??? hmm????

–

ep 5

that frog song is really nice

–

beatrice is sus.

-

also, i love how wirt is slowly warming up to greg??

–

aaand yep. adelaide is bad. fairytale back. has anyone written a fairytale re-telling of otgw? it has the themes…

—

oh….poor bea

andd just like that the character development is gone.

–

chapter 7

also just noticed the eps are labeled chapters! like books! –

oh dear….the woodsman is….wow.

“ we should talk”

we’re never seeing the woodsman again i think.

–

auntie whispers is so fucking creepy??? is there a single adult with a house that is also not entiwned with any dark magic?? not a single one??

–

huh. so it was lorna alla long huh…..yk what they say about appearances

—

did whispers never think to say “begone evil spirit” or????

also. if whispers isnt lorna’s real aunt, but they still consider eachothr family…..how did they meet?

it must have been a sad story, though.

–

“there is only the forest and there is only surrender”

….

i want a story for the beast. even if it’s just “it sprouted from the ground one day”. i need mor eof it.

oh well, fics must exist. if not, i’ll make one.

–

ep 8

—

aand wirt lost hope. 

bye.

–

this episode is…sooo weird

–

it’s snowing?? already?? wasnt it autumns just a few episodes ago???

—

….at least now i know where the edelwood trees come from.

—

what did gregory wish for tho???

—

.....

—

9 ep….were going at the speed of light huh?

—”into the unknown”....they do say be careful what you wish for, no?

-

oh….oh wirt’s…teenagery. which means Really Fucking Mean.

—

10

:((((

oh…sio the beast is setting tasks for wirt, fairytale style, so he’ll give up, huh?

…..

-

the beast’s eyes are the same as the dog’s after it ate the turtle…..maybe it’s some sign of corruption? or evil??

–

“take on the task of lantern bearer” how bout no.

–

WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THE BEAST WHATS IT MADE OF WHAT THE FUCK

it looks like wood but???? holy shit??? trypophobiaed wood. 

if the beast is made of wood and it eats the sap (oil) from trees is it a tree vampire????

–

HOLY SHIT HE DID IT

–

….

lovely ending is lovely

this show met all my expectations, and surpassed them, too!

#otgw #otgw spoilers #ig?

[ailtrahq]

The U.S. economy has been facing turbulent times lately, with the U.S. personal consumption expenditure (PCE) inflation index rising by a significant 3.5% over the past 12 months. Even when excluding the volatile food and energy sectors, it's evident that the efforts made by the U.S. Federal Reserve to curb inflation have fallen short of their 2% target rate.U.S. Treasuries have lost a staggering $1.5 trillion in value, primarily due to these rate hikes. This has led investors to question whether Bitcoin (BTC) and risk-on assets, including the stock market, will succumb to heightened interest rates and a monetary policy aimed at cooling economic growth. Theoretical losses of U.S. Treasury holders, USD. Source: @JoeConsortiAs the U.S. Treasury keeps flooding the market with debt, there's a real risk that rates could climb even higher, exacerbating the losses to fixed-income investors. An additional $8 trillion in government debt is expected to mature in the next 12 months, further contributing to financial instability.As Daniel Porto, the head of Deaglo London, pointed out in remarks to Reuters:"(The Fed) is going to play a game where inflation is going to lead, but the real question is can we sustain this course without doing a lot of damage?" Porto's comments resonate with a growing concern in financial circles—a fear that the central bank might tighten its policies to the point where it causes severe disruptions in the financial system.High interest rates eventually have devastating consequencesOne of the primary drivers behind the recent turmoil in financial markets is the rise in interest rates. As rates increase, the prices of existing bonds fall, a phenomenon known as interest rate risk or duration. This risk isn't limited to specific groups; it affects countries, banks, companies, individuals and anyone holding fixed-income instruments.The Dow Jones Industrial Index has experienced a 6.6% drop in September alone. Additionally, the yield on the U.S. 10-year bonds climbed to 4.7% on Sept. 28, marking its highest level since August 2007. This surge in yields demonstrates that investors are becoming increasingly hesitant to take the risk of holding long-term bonds, even those issued by the government itself.Banks, which typically borrow short-term instruments and lend for the long-term, are especially vulnerable in this environment. They rely on deposits and often hold Treasuries as reserve assets. When Treasuries lose value, banks may find themselves short of the necessary funds to meet withdrawal requests. This compels them to sell U.S. Treasuries and other assets, pushing them dangerously close to insolvency and requiring rescue by institutions like the FDIC or larger banks. The collapse of Silicon Valley Bank (SVB), First Republic Bank, and Signature Bank serves as a warning of the financial system instability.Federal Reserve shadow intervention could near exhaustion While emergency mechanisms such as the Federal Reserve's BTFP emergency loan program can provide some relief by allowing banks to post impaired Treasuries as collateral, these measures do not make the losses magically disappear. Banks are increasingly offloading their holdings to private credit and hedge funds, flooding these sectors with rate-sensitive assets. This trend is poised to worsen if the debt ceiling is increased to avoid a government shutdown, further raising yields and amplifying losses in the fixed-income markets.As long as interest rates remain high, the risk of financial instability grows, prompting the Federal Reserve to support the financial system using emergency credit lines. That is highly beneficial for scarce assets like Bitcoin, given the increasing inflation and the worsening profile of the Federal Reserve's balance sheet as measured by the $1.5 trillion paper losses in U.S Treasuries.Timing this event is almost impossible, let alone what would happen if larger banks consolidate the financial system or if the Federal Reserve effectively guarantees liquidity for troubled financial institutions.

Still, there’s hardly a scenario where one would be pessimistic with Bitcoin under those circumstances. This article is for general information purposes and is not intended to be and should not be taken as legal or investment advice. The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed here are the author’s alone and do not necessarily reflect or represent the views and opinions of Cointelegraph.

[thatndginger]

Happy WBW! What role does music play in your world? Does it keep history and legends alive? What genres are popular? What situations do people sing or listen in? Are there concerts and stars or is it more localized? How has it changed over time?

First off, I apologize profusely for how late this is! I felt like this question deserved more effort than I’ve been able to really put into things lately ^.^||

That being said, I’m answering this for War Witch - since Shapeshifter’s music scene is almost exactly like our real world one - so buckle up!

In terms of sound, Aeterre [War Witch’s planet] is somewhere near our Romantic Period of music. It’s all acoustic - electronic instruments have yet to be invented - but highly varied in style depending on the region. Take Korin. In the main hubs, the typically ‘Koric’ cities and population centers along the coast, there’s a focus on modern music and keeping up with modern trends. ‘Good’ art - and by extension music - lays emphasis on emotion and a glorification of the past and magic at the current time.  Popular musicians tend to eschew traditional ideas of structure and convention when creating music, creating elaborate pieces that evoke intense emotion and imagery. Attending operas and concerts is a pastime enjoyed by both the upper classes and the growing middle class. Some of the most popular operas tell the tales of heroes from the Unshattered Age, when magic still lived in everything and “things were better”. A lot of these operas have fairly… loose interpretations of events. It’s primarily a form of enjoyment.

But for the lower classes, music tends to be a little ‘dated’. The poor aren’t able to easily access modern composers and musical trends, so their music tends to be from an earlier time, and simpler in scale. There are no grand orchestras in the poorer parts of Koric cities, after all. In these parts, music is usually found at festivals and dance halls, large celebrations or special events. An important addition: protest songs have always been important for the lower classes, and there is a well documented history of protest music especially in relation to the organized labor movements and industrial workers. 

If you move away from the coastal civilization centers, into the farmlands and areas that haven’t always been under Koric rule, music becomes much more ‘folksy’, but also much broader in variety due to a wide array of cultural backgrounds. Music tends to be more ‘useful’ for lack of a better term in these rural areas. It passes on knowledge, preserves history. Depending on the region, some songs may only be sung at certain times of year, during certain festivals. There are work songs, rhythmic melodies meant to keep workers moving in time with each other. Music is still entertaining, yes, but it feels much more like something that binds a community together in these rural areas.

In the Tirallfain Valley, music has a very unique sound. Because of the region’s geography - straddling the border of Korin and the Suaythen Empire - the music there has hints of both traditional Koric and Suaya sounds. But, because of the region’s general isolation, the music generally sounds unique from either. Most famous songs tend to tell the tales from the Unshattered Age - battles won and lost, heroes and villains, great witches and gods - or detail natural events and seasonal changes. In more 'modern' songs, there is a distinctive thread of 'fuck the Koric' that isn't always subtle, as many in the Tiraillfain valley resent Korin's colonization both during and after the Unshattered Age.

#worldbuilding wednesday #WIP: War Witch #i am not sorry for the length lol #music is really important to my writing process #and it's importance has infected my wips lol

[sinceileftyoublog]

Selwyn Birchwood Interview: Blues Sorcery

BY JORDAN MAINZER

“Blues musicians are exorcists,” Selwyn Birchwood told me over the phone last month. In some ways, Birchwood is a traditional blues artist like the magicians he refers to. The Tampa guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter, who cut his teeth playing with Sonny Rhodes and has opened for Buddy Guy and Robert Cray, wields a dusty voice and expressive guitar style, traversing the worlds of Chicago blues and Southern soul, subjects from heartbreak to swamp folklore. In other ways, though, he’s uniquely modern. For one, unlike blues stars then and now, Birchwood doesn’t play covers, standards, or traditional tunes. He also doesn’t write original songs that border on self-parody because they try so hard to sound like standards; instead, his pieces are biographical, centered in the places they were created and aim to illustrate, skirting notions of rockist purity to use contemporary recording techniques. And thankfully, his songs still do rock, whether emphasizing Birchwood’s lap steel, longtime baritone saxophonist Regi Oliver’s horns, or the rhythm section’s deftly controlled tempos.

Exorcist, Birchwood’s latest album out tomorrow via Alligator Records, is Birchwood’s most assured release yet. “I’ve always felt like I’ve been trying to find my own sound, and with this album, I’m confident [I have],” Birchwood said. “The music is imaginative, with real emotion and relatability.” From the soulful and sharp opener “Done Cryin’” to the album’s upbeat closing instrumental “Show Tune”, Birchwood takes us on a journey through not only the weird creeks and absurd depths of his home state, but the peaks and valleys of his mind. Of course, “FLorida Man”, given today’s political climate, is a hilarious standout. Beginning with studio recordings of real news headlines to come out of the Sunshine State, Birchwood leads the band through a horrified, yet strangely affectionate tour of the place “where rebel flags meet Mickey Mouse”. (“People outside of Florida think we are crazy. People inside of FLorida KNOW we’re crazy!” Birchwood has said about the track.) And the mighty “Swim At Your Own Risk” features field recordings from “a woodsy area by my house,” Birchwood said. “I put it all together on my laptop. COVID put me headfirst into [editing].”

Sure, Birchwood’s enraptured-but-doomed relationship songs, from the “love gone terrifying” title track to the blistering, 6-minute “love gone wrong” jam “Horns Below Her Halo”, are phenomenal. But the true centerpieces come when Birchwood has time to reflect. “Plenty More To Be Grateful For” is a refreshing slice of perspective, 7 minutes of pure blues, while “Underdog” is a bit of psychedelic autobiography. And piano jaunt “ILa-View” perfectly combines Birchwood’s contemplations with knowing smirks, his similes for his affection akin to vices rather than romantic expressions. “I’ve heard so many songs that say, 'I love you,’ so if I say, 'I love you like the church loves money,' you believe me now,” Birchwood said, displaying the same sense of humor that’s obvious on record.

Birchwood’s last record, Living in a Burning House, made #1 on the Billboard Blues Chart, and he admitted he’d like to see Exorcist “hit some of the same numbers.” More importantly, though, he’s always looking to experiment. For instance, he played bass on a few songs on Exorcist, his first time doing so on a recorded album. In general, he recognizes that any record is momentary. “The finished albums are a snapshot,” he said. “I’m always moving, always growing.” One thing, though, will never change: Birchwood will continue to wield his voice and his axe, whether expelling the evil spirits of lost love and rabid demons, or even just sitting back and appreciating how far he’s come.

#interviews #selwyn birchwood #alligator #regi oliver #exorcist #buddy guy #robert cray #alligator records #mickey mouse #sunshine state #living in a burning house #billboard blues chart #sonny rhodes

[subliminalbointext]

One Shot #3: The Watcher

Around the time her father died, Jacqueline couldn’t escape the feeling that she was being watched. When she awoke in the morning she could feel those invisible eyes beating down upon her. It was a feeling so real to her soul that she would wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. Something had gotten in, she was certain, and it refused to leave. But Jacqueline had searched her condo a dozen times and she never found anything out of place.

“You let go of the housekeeper?” her therapist asked during one session.

“Of course,” Jacqueline replied. “I thought she may have set up a camera or…”

“Do you have any idea why someone would do that, Jacqueline?”

“I represent many people at my firm. People with secrets.”

Jacqueline’s therapist was concerned, but not convinced of any grand conspiracy to spy on one of Silicon Valley’s premier corporate lawyers. Espionage was common in her line of work, certainly, but rarely did it involve bugging a lawyer’s condo.

“You lost your father recently,” her therapist noted.

“Yes,” Jacqueline replied.

“And you haven’t been feeling yourself?”

It was easy to wave away Jacqueline’s feelings as simple grief. Even she had tried to do that at first. With the first wave of Jacqueline’s paranoia had also come an intense loss of interest in any of her old passions. The things that had once kept Jacqueline motivated had evaporated over the course of a single night. She’d begone forwarding calls at work to her secretary, operating most days on autopilot. She skipped out on her weekly reunions with her old Beta Phi Alpha girls in favor of Friday nights in bed. And the dream she’d once had of running her law firm was a distant priority. Her therapist pointed to her father’s death as the mist likely reason. It was the easiest to accept, but in her heart Jacqueline knew that it had begun with the watcher.

What scared Jacqueline most of all about the watcher was that it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Uneasy, certainly, but there was something about its presence that comforted her. Jacqueline would unconsciously leave her door unlocked in invitation, and when she couldn’t sense its studious eyes upon her, she even felt a little sad. The watcher was, in some way, the one constant left in her life. The only thing that she could count on to return to her.

“Fuck…” Jacqueline whispered alone in her bed as her hand slid under the elastic of her panties. While the vibrator penetrated her pussy, she imagined that it was more than a cheap sex toy. It was an instrument of the watcher’s power, pulling her under its sway, into its thrall.

“Mark me…” she begged. “Fucking…take me…own me! Fuck me!” Jacqueline’s body shook in devotion to her Master.

The slick vibrator discarded absently in the sheets, Jacqueline knew in the silence of the night that she belonged to the watcher.

“Wonderful show, Jacqueline.”

Jacqueline sat up with a start, though she wasn’t surprised to find the dark stranger standing at the open window.

“I knew it…” she said, still catching her breath. “I knew you were real.”

The stranger was tall, and despite his handsomely dark features, his skin was as pale as death. As he floated toward her bed he said, “I marked you several years ago, Jacqueline. A rare breed.”

The man placed a cold hand beneath Jacqueline’s chin. She looked up into his glowing orange eyes and she knew that she had seen these eyes before. Somewhere, sometime, she’d lost herself in those eyes. The world had faded away around her and she pledged her soul to this dark, handsome, and terrifying stranger.

“A perfect match for my beloved,” the stranger said. “But your ties to this world were yet too strong. I do not take my beloved by force. She must surrender to me on her own accord. I offer only the push.”

Jacqueline’s glassy eyes shined in a moment of understanding. Her thoughtless brow began to twist in confusion as she said, “You killed my father?”

“He sacrificed himself for our future.”

“I have nothing left,” Jacqueline whispered. “Nothing to tie me to this world.”

“And no reason not to serve me,” the stranger smiled. He sat down on the bed next to Jacqueline, resting his hand now on her cheek.

It was true that Jacqueline had loved her father, but in that moment she loved this stranger more. She opened the lace of her nightgown in invitation. “Mark me!” she cried as he sank his fangs into her breast.

[thebourisbox]

Giant array of low-cost telescopes could speed hunt for radio bursts, massive black holes

See on Scoop.it - Design, Science and Technology

When the immense Arecibo radio telescope in Puerto Rico collapsed in 2020, it left gaping holes in astronomy. Now, a team from the California Institute of Technology (Caltech) hopes to address some of the gaps with a very different instrument: a tightly packed array of relatively inexpensive radio dishes that aims to quickly image radio sources across wide swaths of the sky. A nearly completed prototype array in California that the team calls a “radio camera” is already locating dozens of the distant, enigmatic eruptions called fast radio bursts (FRBs). Next year, the team hopes to begin construction on a much larger array with 2000 dishes that, together, will match the size of Arecibo.

  Maura McLaughlin of West Virginia University is a leader of NANOGrav (the North American Nanohertz Observatory for Gravitational Waves), an effort to search for gravitational waves from supermassive black holes that relied on Arecibo for half its data. She says they took “a big sensitivity hit” when it was lost. “We really need a new telescope with a similar collecting area,” she says, and Caltech’s planned Deep Synoptic Array (DSA) fits that bill. “It will be a game changer.”

  To gain sensitivity, radio astronomers can build big dishes like Arecibo or arrays of smaller dishes. But in most such arrays, the dishes are widely spaced, which sharpens their resolution but creates “a data deluge problem,” says Caltech’s Gregg Hallinan, DSA principal investigator (PI). Producing an image from a scattered array is like looking through a fragmented mirror, he says, and recreating the information from the missing parts is a complex nonlinear process known as deconvolution that can take weeks—or even years.

  Many astronomers just want to regularly survey the sky for new objects or monitor sources for subtle changes without a heavy processing burden. Caltech’s solution, Hallinan says, is to “fill the mirror up” by packing low-cost dishes together. That makes deconvolution easier and should enable DSA to construct images in real time. The team has nearly finished assembling its prototype, the DSA-110, a T-shaped array of 95 dishes spaced 1 meter apart at Caltech’s Owens Valley Radio Observatory in California plus another 15 “outriggers” spread out more than a kilometer distant. To keep construction costs to $4 million, the instrument uses commercially available 4.6-meter dishes, homemade amplifiers, and wave-channeling feeds fashioned out of cake tins. Most radio telescopes require expensive cryogenic cooling to reduce amplifier noise, but Caltech’s engineers have squeezed similar performance out of room-temperature circuits. Co-PI Vikram Ravi admits they perform less well in the summer heat.

  With a wide field of view, DSA-110 is good at detecting FRBs, intense blasts of radio waves lasting only milliseconds, coming from all over the sky. Several thousand have been detected, but little more than a dozen have been traced to their home galaxies, which might hold clues to what is powering the bursts. DSA-110 aims to localize many more. If a burst is detected, data from the outrigger dishes allow the telescope to zoom in and pin the FRB to its galaxy.

Read the full article at: www.science.org

[byima]

California Dreaming pt 3

Shout out to Tim Cook, the most boring commencement speaker like, ever. You’ve inspired PJO fanfiction. I am sharing this in smaller portions because I’m incapable of working on large text documents. Part 4 coming soon. Read full story on AO3

3 weeks later:

“…it is an honor to welcome you all to New Rome University's 125th commencement ceremony…”

Annabeth inhaled, steeling herself, taking it all in, then she exhaled in a loud breath. The morning was too bright, her brow pinched as she squinted at her surroundings, and the five-story arena they’re all crowded into seemed to gleam more than usual. It was enough to make her head ache. 

She was in a Coliseum for gods’ sake. Because of course the arena in New Rome was modeled after the famous structure. The Greek in her wanted to wince at the on-the-nose mimicry. The architect in her was impressed by the modern adaptation and the homage to classic details. She had already committed to being on her best behavior, but the whole morning was shaping up to be a bit much. Nonetheless, neutral expression was her goal, as the Chancellor gave his welcoming speech.

“You all join thousands of scholars, authors, scientists, leaders, innovators, and thinkers in a centuries old tradition…”

It’s just… it wasn’t supposed to be this hot in the bay. But the sun was strong today, so much so that Annabeth found herself wishing she'd had Sally’s foresight and donned a wide brimmed hat like the ones her boyfriend’s mom and sister were sporting. Instead she sat in the cement stands using two programs as a visor, every now and then checking the status of the red flush blooming on Paul’s forehead and cheeks. And the beads of moisture, gathering incrementally at his temples.

“This is a landmark moment, the culmination of a lifetime of hard work and dedication…”

They’d arrived at the stadium early too, because Sally wanted good seats. The procession of graduates didn’t emerge for another hour and a half after they had settled in the stands. Her friends were spread throughout; Grover, Charles, Silena, Rachel and other Greeks that had made it sitting in a section to her left, Hazel, Nico, Piper, and Jason somewhere high up, to her right.

It was fine. They were here for Percy. And Frank. To celebrate.

That's what she told herself as she unstuck her dress from her sweaty thighs.

“And to all of our graduates, I encourage you to look into the stands. Find your family, your friends, your loved ones. The people that encouraged you, supported you, who danced and shouted and cried with you. Today we celebrate them, too…”

He owes me something real good, she thought to herself, for putting up with all the pomp and circumstance that’s coming with his graduation from this school. Mind on all the ways Percy was gonna make it up to her, she fanned herself with a program and settled back for the celebratory display.

It wasn't all punishing rays and sticky thighs though; the ceremony was touching in moments, electrifying in others. Touching when the procession of graduating students had poured onto the field; several students had broken formation to meet family members hanging at the edge of the stands for a brief embrace. Percy had searched them out in the crowd, spotted them, then blown dramatic kisses in their direction, finishing off with a two-handed "rock on" salute. Electrifying when the announcer prompted each cohort to give a battle cry. That sound, all the voices of graduates bellowing their affiliation, whether they had fought in the legion or had family that fought, accompanied by the reverberating tones of the Roman cornu, struck a note, something she felt in her chest even when the echo had subsided.

But the waiting, and the speakers, some engaging, others that should have never been passed the mic, had Annabeth digging her phone out of her crossbody bag so she and Estelle could occupy themselves.

And then, the final straw; the main speaker took the stage, a big Silicon Valley tech guy and a Vulcan legacy, and, gods above, Annabeth couldn't take it. She fell asleep, the drowsy heat was her blanket, hands folded in her lap and chin tucked into her chest.

After what felt like half a second of shut eye, Annabeth was jarred awake by loud, metallic clangs. Slightly startled, she looked behind her to see a girl, probably in her teens, apologizing as she picked up the water bottle she had dropped. Rubbing her nose tiredly, Annabeth looked to her right, there was Sally, leaning against Paul with her hand on his thigh, as they listened to the speech like the smug, functional adults they were.

Then she looked down, just as Estelle's gaze popped up, green eyes finding her gray ones under the brim of her hat, momentarily pausing her digital fruit popping to gleefully announce, "I saw you sleeping!"

"Yeah," Annabeth cleared her throat. She picked her hair up off of her clammy neck, shook it out, and set it back down. "Can I see my phone?" She searched for Percy's cap covered head as she asked. Bingo. Just as she thought. 

Estelle’s answering “of course” was very polite, but she was reluctant to hand the device over, peering up at Annabeth's face as if to double check if she was serious about her request. Annabeth retrieved the device, clicked out of the game and opened up her messaging app. glancing at the field every other second, then started typing.

A: Percy.

A: Percy.

A: Peeeeerrrrcccyyy.

A: Perseus Jackson.

A: Hey

A: Hi

A: What’s up?

A: Hello?

A: Buenos días.

She watched him jolt, shoulders shifting as he fumbled around for his vibrating phone. A couple seconds later...

P: You woke me up

A: I know. I could see your head drooping. I’m trying to save your neighbor from a drool stain on his gown.

P: Har har, nice one haven’t heard that before not.

P: Are you telling me you’ve managed to stay awake for this whole speech?

She took a moment to respond, she could lord this over him, falling asleep at his own graduation ceremony, but honesty is the best policy or whatever, and it’s actually hilarious how absolutely, horrifically, indubitably  boring  the selected speaker is.

A: No. I was knocked. The girl behind me dropped her hydroflask and woke me up.

P: This feels illegal.

P: I thought I was done sitting through lectures.

A: You’re almost there. You got this.

P: No. I’m not gonna survive this. 

A: Very dramatic.

P: Tell my family I love them.

A:  😒

P: And I’ll miss them.

P: We had a great run .

A:  😒😒😒😒😒

P: Maybe you could send a hot pic? 

P: One final act of kindness? 🥺

P: Make-a-wish style?

A: That’s your dying request?

P: Yup. 

P: Boobies maybe?

P: A pic I haven’t seen before?

She scrolled through her camera roll.

P: I was joking.

P: Sort of. Not really.

P: Please don’t do anything reckless.

She sent him a picture.

P: Holy shit.

P: I’m awake.

P: Have I told you I love you today?

Annabeth laughed, pushing her hair behind her ear before she brought her screen up to type her response.

"Sweetheart, I’d like to assume that you aren’t the reason Percy is openly texting during his commencement ceremony."

Annabeth’s head jerked up and to the side as she hastily locked her phone.

There wasn't a single adult that Annabeth adored as much as she did Sally Jackson-Blofis, but also maybe feared a little bit? It was the mother of her boyfriend (future mother-in-law?) thing. Sally loved her like one of her very own, but on the topics of misdemeanors, misbehavior and all the other ways she could be corrupting Sally's beloved firstborn child, Annabeth lost every bit of her nerve. Blame it on childhood trauma, and her desperation to avoid giving her loved ones a reason not to love her. She'll probably have children of her own and still be looking for Sally's approval.

Annabeth winced in Sally's direction. "Sorry."

Sally didn't appear to be truly bothered as she looked out into the field, "At least he's not sleeping anymore."

P: Why is he yelling now?

P: Does he think yelling will make this any easier to bear?!?!?!

P: Praise Olympus he's finishing I think.

P: So you're ignoring?

P: You woke me up, just to leave me hanging?

P: Cold hearted 😔

P: I won’t forget this

P: mark my words

P: you’ll rue this day

A: We've been busted.

A: Stop texting. Focus on commencing.

P: Busted how?

P: By who?

A: Your mom does not approve

P: Tell her I'd be passed out on the field if you hadn't texted me.

A: No. 

A: You tell her.

The bubble appeared, indicating that he was replying, then it vanished.

Annabeth got a notification of a group text, the group consisting of herself, Percy and Sally.

P: Mom I'd be passed out on the field if Annabeth hadn't texted me.

S: Get off of your phone now 😡

By the grace of the gods, the speaker finally wrapped up his monotonous ramblings. All that was left was the handing out of diplomas and the final address.

The rest of the ceremony passed in an energetic blur. There was a familial spirit in the stadium; people shouting and whistling and blowing horns and instruments to announce on no uncertain terms, 'yes, that's my loved one, I'm proud of them.' She felt it around her, in her. It made her holler for Frank, and whistle for Tobe and Simon, the other graduating seniors that lived in that little New Rome apartment that had been a second home to her. It made her stand up and jump with Sally when Percy's name was called. It made her scream louder and more joyously than she could recall ever screaming in her life.

And then it was done, and everybody was screaming again but also moving.

She turned to see Paul lifting Estelle onto his back as people seemingly began shifting around them at once, more or less in the same direction.

"The parking lot situation is going to be a nightmare," said Paul, worriedly observing the churning crowds.

"No, I can't imagine this small town gets this many people more than once a year." Sally picked up stray programs and their bag of snacks. "If we hurry, we can get out of the parking lot before there's too much of a bottle neck."

They were on the move.

"Can I use the restroom?" This was from Estelle.

Paul and Sally exchanged a look. "Oh sweetie. Is it bad? Do you have to go right now?"

"No, only a little."

"Do you think you can hold it?"

Estelle nodded confidently, one arm tightened around Paul’s neck while the other adjusted the lopsided hat on her head.

"Okay. That's what's gonna have to happen, because I doubt the bathroom lines are going to be bearable." Sally increased her pace, leading them out of the stands. "We just need to grab Percy, we'll meet everyone at the restaurant, Estelle can use the restroom there, and... yeah." She looked back to see everyone's expressions. "Does that sound like a plan?"

Annabeth gave her own confident nod. “I’ll go find him,” she said. 

The group split, Paul, Sally and Estelle making a break for the parking lot, and Annabeth doubling back towards one of the field entries/exits, hunting down Percy's tall form in the outpouring of students shrouded in purple.

Annabeth spotted him, doing one of those handshake hugs with someone she didn’t know, nodding and laughing as they were carried with the flood exiting the tunnels.

She hadn’t even meant to, but she found herself practically running towards him, weaving through a sea of purple figures until she was right there in front of him, throwing her arms around his neck as he picked her up to wrap her in a bear of an embrace. 

“Oh man,” he was chuckling at her enthusiastic display. “I knew you’d find me irresistible with a bachelor's degree.”

Laughter bubbled from her when he started spinning with her in his arms, and she wrapped her legs around his hips to avoid hitting someone nearby with a flying limb.

He stumbled to a stop and, faces close, they both started speaking at the same time.

“Well I’m glad that’s over with-”

“I’m so proud of you-”

There was a steady thump of drums and harmonic cries of horns and pipes in the background: a celebratory soundtrack. Percy’s cap got dislodged when Annabeth sunk her hand into the hair at the back of his head to hold him in place and plant an enthusiastic kiss on his mouth.

He pulled back slightly after a moment thusly engaged. “You’re gonna make everyone jealous," he breathed with a smile. "Or at least uncomfortable.”

“Who cares?” She brought their faces back together and stroked her mouth over his. He responded immediately, parting her lips with his own and sliding his tongue into her mouth because honestly it was go big or go home and he’d decided that, today, he was entitled to a bit of a display. She had been snacking on oranges throughout the ceremony, not that he knew that until now, when he tasted the tangy story of it in the corners and surfaces of her mouth. He hiked her higher up with his hand on her thigh, her sandal clattered to the cement, and the loss of her shoe was enough to bring them back to reality.

They pulled apart, breathing loud and grinning like mad. Annabeth nodded to her shoe on the ground. Percy shrugged. She stuck her tongue out at him and he darted forward to lick the tip of her nose. There was that invisible string, connecting them, and they were grinning again, they couldn’t look away, they couldn’t help themselves.

She unwrapped one leg from his hips and reached for her shoe with her toes, finally finding the displaced sandal when she broke their connection and dragged her attention from his face to search the floor around them. Once she was properly shoe’d, he lowered her to the cement, adjusting her dress to fall smoothly at her thighs.

"Where’s everyone?" He trailed his hands down her arms and took her hands in his.

"Trying to get out of the parking lot before it becomes unbearable.” She fixed his cap back into place. They were jostled by a passing trio, and Annabeth got immediately shoulder checked by another hustling grad. “Come on," she tugged him forward. "I’m supposed to take you in that direction."

"Lead the way."

They set off, falling into step with each other, his arm wrapped around her waist and hers wrapped around his.

"Jackson! Annabeth!" They saw Frank, Hazel and Nico making a determined beeline in their direction.

The two groups fought their way to each other.

“I’m proud of you Percy,” Hazel fit herself to Percy’s open side for a brief hug. All of them were getting jostled, it seemed forward was the way to move.

“I guess they let anyone graduate these days.”

“Nico!”

Annabeth and Frank embraced.

“Hey guys,” Annabeth reluctantly pulled away from Frank. “Look, we've gotta hurry. Sally and them are pulling out of the parking lot.” She and Percy shared a nod. “And we shouldn’t keep them waiting. But we’ll see you at the restaurant!”

“At the place in Berkeley?”

“Yup! And congrats Frank! See ya there!” She called as they hurried off.

They moved away from the stadium now and headed into one of the main parking lots.

“You see them?” Percy asked.

“No… yes! There they are. White Toyota.”

“Yeah, I see ‘em.”

They jogged across the lot and jaywalked to reach the spot where Paul had pulled over.

Estelle was the first to comment as soon as the door popped open. “I saw you on the grass!” 

“I saw you in the stands,” Percy shot back as he and Annabeth slid into the rental vehicle.

“Congrats Percy. This is a big moment.” From Paul.

Sally was quiet, just looking at him through the rear view mirror with full eyes and a small smile.

“Aw Ma-” This only seemed to escalate things, Sally tearing for real as the car started moving.

“I am so–” she paused, gathering herself. “So proud of you sweetheart. That's all.” 

“Thanks,” he leaned forward and kissed her cheek over the back of her seat. “But also please don’t make a big deal about it. This celebration is for you too.”

She made a face like she was really attempting the no-tears thing and touched his hand where it rested on her seat. 

“You’ve grown up so much-”

“Aww ma please-”

“No Percy, stop,” she moved his hand from where it was inching to cover her mouth. “Don’t you put that grimy hand on my mouth- Let me say this.”

He leaned his forehead against the back of her seat.

“All of us know how hard you have worked. I’m not just talking about grades. Both of you.” Annabeth, who had just been watching their exchange, sat up straighter when she was addressed. “You two and all your friends have worked through and survived more than most of the world population will ever survive in their lifetimes and you’re barely above drinking age!” She located some restaurant napkins in the glove compartment before refocusing on Percy, who looked apprehensive at best. 

Cars in front of them honked as drivers struggled with the roundabouts and they weren’t so far from the stadium that they couldn’t hear the faint sound of a voice on the loudspeaker.

“You’re my son-” 

“I'm your daughter!” Estelle chirped from her booster seat, tired of being ignored.

“Yes you are, baby. My rockstar princess.” Sally smiled at the girl.

“You,” she said with emphasis, attention back on Percy, she was not going to let him off the hook, “what feels like just a second ago, were the little boy who asked for blue candy from the shop and tried so hard to carry the weight of the world on his little shoulders.”

Percy turned his head, still pressed to the back of the seat in front of him, and made an exasperated face at Annabeth who made a tight lipped, ‘don't be rude’ expression right back.

“And even though,” all of them rocked as Paul hit a speed bump with a little too much force, “even though you’ve grown a lot bigger and stronger since then, I still see you carrying so much burden and it hurts my heart, it always will.” He shifted up at this, resting his chin on the shoulder of her seat while his hand sought hers out to grab onto.

“But you just did a really big thing for yourself. For  you  .” She tightened her hand around his for emphasis. “And I know you say you did it for me or Annabeth or Estelle, but I know you did this for you. And  that , you choosing yourself, makes me so damn proud.” 

“Ma…”

“My little boy. You are so extraordinary.” She squeezed his hand again. “But you’re also my little boy.”

She looked past Percy to Annabeth. “Thank you for keeping him out of trouble. For taking care of him.”

At this point, Annabeth was emotional too, hugging herself as she blinked away tears. “We take care of each other.”

“I know. He’s a caseload though. You don’t have to lie, I had him for 18 years.”

“I love you Ma. You didn’t have to say all of that.” 

“I know, I just,” she waved a dismissive hand in the air, trying to compose herself. “Big day! Big weekend.” Her hand lowered to impatiently swipe the tears off of her cheek.

Estelle, who had been watching with wide eyes, felt it was time again to intervene. “Don’t cry. It's okay,” her little hand patted Annabeth’s right arm, comforting her in the best way she could. She looked at her mom. “Don't cry mommy. It's okay.”

Paul cleared his throat. “These are good tears Stelle-belle. Happy tears.”

“Okay,” she sat back in her seat, hands under her thighs, only half believing her dad.

Percy turned to his sister and tickled her sides. “You better believe I’m happy. No more school? And I get to come back to New York?” She screeched and pushed his hands away.

“You’re gonna come back with us?” 

He tugged on one of her long, brown curls. “Well, I’m not flying back with you guys. But in about a month, Annabeth and I are moving back to New York.”

“You’re gonna have your room back?”

“No, we’re gonna have our own place.”

“You’ll see us all the time,” Annabeth added.

Estelle gave Percy a long look.

“So are you getting married?”

Paul started chuckling. Annabeth opened her mouth but no noise came out. 

Percy, the smug, sweet bastard, cut his eyes over to his girlfriend and grinned, “Yeah, eventually.”

“My teacher is moving to Texas with his girlfriend and they’re getting married.”

“Well Annabeth and I are gonna live in sin for a bit–”

“Percy! If you don’t… ” Sally, who was giving Paul directions, paused to scold him.

“What’s that?” Estelle sensed a forbidden topic in the air and was on its trail like a bloodhound.

“That means we’re gonna get a dog,” Annabeth succinctly ended the conversation. The look she sent Percy’s way now said, ‘you can shut up.”

#mypjofic #percy jackon and the olympians #percy and annabeth #percabeth #pjo