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useless-catalanfacts · 1 year

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I'll go back to a song from 2013 but it's worth it. This is a rap song by the Catalan band At Versaris ft. the American MC Invincible and DJ Waajeed. The song is mostly in Catalan with a last part in English.

The song is titled "No fear" because the rapper talks about fighting back against fear, which is the feeling the used to keep people in place in the capitalist system.

I translated the part in Catalan, but in the original language it's better because the lyrics are very well written to create sound repetitions. Anyway, here's the original lyrics (in red) and translation of the part that was in Catalan (in black), and the part of the song in English I leave it as it is (in purple).

[Chorus:]

[Cap por, cara a cara, tots junts, colze a colze, apreta els punys.

Cap por mira'm als ulls, apunta al cor, un altre juny.

No fear, face to face, all together, side by side, close your fists tight.

No fear, look me in the eyes, aim for the heart, another June [June means a time to fight because of a historical reference in Catalonia's anthem].

No fear: never a phobia ever controlling ya, build a utopia

No fear: when you're courageous the feeling's contagious I'm willing to wage it.

Cap por, avui la claca clar que no s'aplaca. Ataca.

No té cap por, chapeau l'actitud de capo

No fear, today of course the chatter isn't abated. It attacks.

It has no fear, bravo to their mafia boss attitude

No fear: ain't nothing stoppin' this, love is the opposite

We got no fear: world is ours, building power, say it louder]

Calla, domina la por.

Doctrina, morfina, les mans sobre el capó.

Una fina cortina de fum, estímul, resposta, rutina, consum,

governa la fòbia, l'escòria, la pasta i la làbia.

Obre la gàbia, fuck religió, crida cap por i autoorganitza la ràbia.

Quiet, control your fear.

Doctrine, morphine, your hands on the hood [of the car].

A thin layer of smoke, encouragement, response, routine, consumption,

the phobia, the scum, the cash and the glibness is what governs.

Open the cage, fuck religion, shout "no fear" and self-organize the rage.

Controlo el tempo, més viu que mai,

jo estic atent, tu al ciberespai.

Jo rebento i tu caçant el hype,

assaltem els bancs com Bonie & Clyde de la mà.

Ara tenim un pla, volem un plat a taula i un tros de pa.

Prou, no demanem si us plau, som el monstre si la nit cau.

I control the tempo, more alive than ever,

I'm paying attention, you're in the cyberspace.

I blow up and you hunting the hype,

let's rob the banks like Bonie & Clyde holding hands.

Now we have a plan, we want a dish on our table and a load of bread.

Enough, we're not asking "please", we're the monster if the night falls.

Cap por, saps, no? Hem assumit el risc,

no guardem el crit a la boca, hem creuat el límit, idiota.

Sóc prop del precipici intentant no perdre el cap,

com Grandmasterflash i Furious 5, com al principi.

No fear, you know, don't you? We've accepted the risk,

we don't keep the shout in our mouth, we've crossed the limit, idiot.

I'm near the cliff trying not to loose my head,

like Grandmasterflash and Furious 5, like at the beginning.

Malson, Barna en flames, columnes de fum,

ningú no dorm quan cau la nit Diagonal amunt,

és l'u per cent contra el sentiment de tot el conjunt,

una altra esquela i La Vanguardia plora els seus difunts.

Nightmare, Barcelona in flames, smoke columns,

nobody sleeps when the night falls from the Diagonal above [note: the rich neighbourhoods of Barcelona are above the Diagonal avenue]

It's the 1% against the feeling of the whole rest,

another obituary and La Vanguardia cries their deaths. [note: La Vanguardia is a centre-right newspaper]

[Repeat chorus]

La por d'una xavala que s'amaga entre la gent quan sent

un mirada de babosa prepotència.

La por a que s'acabi l'idil·li amb foli i el boli que neix a la infància.

El pànic a la repressió que cala a cada militant

et va minant perquè és quinta essència

de l'estratègia capitalista per excel·lència

The fear of a girl who hides among people when she feels a glance of creepy arrogance.

The fear of the end of the idyll of paper sheet and pen that's born in childhood.

The panic of repression that seeps through every activist

and slowly undermines you 'cause it's the quintessence

of the capitalist strategy par excellence.

La por a la mala imatge, t'esquitxa el rumor?

Mostrar el dit del cor i fer el cor fort,

riu-te del mort i el que el vetlla.

Viuen vides de tedi, tu al podi i ells són morralla.

I no falla: quan calla el pobre el ric no trontolla.

Ens podreu xapar a la trena, però tenim cinc mil homes de palla

The fear of looking bad, does the rumour taint you?

Giving the middle finger and being courageous [literally: giving the heart finger and making the heart strong],

laugh at the dead one and at the one who keeps the vigil.

They live tedious lives, you in the podium and they're rabble

And it doesn't fail: when the poor man is silent, the rich man doesn't tremble.

You might be able to lock us up, but we have 5000 frontmen.

Que el què et pot tombar no és tenir por sinó mostrar-la a un poli.

Jo me la guardo per mi.

Que la cel·la és petita però el somni és immens:

Tombar el capital, per fi.

Teniu fotos dels tatoos, empremptes i el meu adn.

Teniu el TN.

Però jo una germana de mil cares de nom "subalterna" que em guarda l'esquena.

Having fear isn't what can knock you down, it's showing it to a cop.

I keep mine for me.

'Cause the cell is small but the dream is huge:

finally knocking down the capital.

You have photos of the tattoos, fingerprints and my DNA,

you have the TV news

but I have a sister with 1000 faces called "working class" that keeps my back.

A cada burgeset: la por com xarop.

Que solidaritat és set de tot i viure amb poc.

Ric, sents el tic-tac?

La tropa de xusma que et posa en escac.

Ni caritat, ni 0,7, ni paritat.

La massa el què vol és pitet.

Babejant de veure de un banquer entre el poble i la paret com va reculant

amb cap por.

To every little bourgeois: fear as a syrup.

'Cause solidarity is being thirsty for all and living with little.

Rich man, can you hear the tick-tock?

The riffraff troop that puts you in checkmate.

No charity, nor 0.7, nor parity.

What the masses want is a bib

they're drooling seeing a banker between the people and the wall,

how he walks back.

With no fear.

[Repeat chorus]

No fear:

whether you board a flight although you scared of heights

or a kid getting bullied when you go to school but you train up and

you go prepared to fight

you got no fear

now the bully chills to a lower Fahrenheit and they freeze, or they

try to be your friend and appease, then the plane lands in a place

with a warm breeze

No fear

that's what I tell em- only way to deal with an unfree world is to be

so free, your existence is rebellion

and I'm so clear

that fear debilitates and it could seal your fate when they manipulate

but my amygdula's irregular transform the molecular, fear it ain't protecting ya

No fear-

immigrants internationally

no papers so they try to deport ya

but fuck their borders

you gonna still raise your family

we got no fear-

cuz you're queer or trans and they hate you with judgement

be who you are and love who you love and still hold hands and date you in public

We got no fear-

from foreclosing and eviction

if you can't pay the loan gotta reclaim your home

cuz we chose to be brave not frozen as victims

we got no fear-

it's not when fear is absent

it's when you absolutely passionate bout the life that's past it

battle trance shit.

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mech-a-nical · 2 years

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Cold Murder

Composition: Monochrome

Word Count: 1774

Character Focus: Malson Knight | Nu Ivern | Amaya Dagua Ivern

Misunderstandings come deadly

Love came in wings, now sharp in jealousy

╍ Shadows curled themselves above the snow in the ground, licking their way closer to him in familiarity. A familiarity that burned through Nu when he saw the man standing outside the door of his house. Burned, despite the constant cold of the Wintry Court, Nu could feel his anger awaken as he looked at Malson and restrained himself from summoning his sword, especially not with Danien held in his arms.

Remembering his youngest son, he shifts his hold to one arm and twists his body, hoping he could block Danien from Malson’s view. Danien makes no sound as he continues to stare at the winged man. Nu’s movement drags Malson’s attention down to the child in his arms, before his eyes flick back up, and those eyes drive Nu breathless as he is once again faced with those same emotionless eyes that once claimed to not know him despite his pleading. He presses Danien closer to his body, and hopes that Amaya keeps Markus and Marite from view as well.

“...a child, you have a child”.

It’s been so long since he last heard his voice, but there is no warmth from either of them. Nu remembered that tone well, remembering from that day they rounded up the Wintry Members, with Malson leading the militia. He stood in front of Nu like at that moment, face hardened and wings posed for flight at any moment, Nu would not have been surprised if Malson had Wintry ancestry.

Even though it hurt and pulled at Nu to see Malson again, it was years too late. He had a wife, and three children. He had moved on, and if Malson had come years earlier, Nu might have listened, might have reconciled, but not now.

“Leave, Malson. Go back from where you came from.”

Malson narrowed his eyes at him, and it felt as if the shadows had expanded, muting the bright white snow, as if the shadows that had been crawling near him had enveloped Nu completely.

“I tried to save the both of us.”

Malson took a step forward, and Nu felt the urge to take a step back, but remained with his feet planted firmly as he faced up to Malson.

“Saved us? I left the Wintry Court to be saved, and you took that away. Saved us? As Commander, you could have proved my innocence.”

Another step forward, closer to Nu.

“As Commander, they would have taken my position if they claimed conspiracy. As Commander, I could protect you through the Carnage Forest. As Commander, I gave you refuge in the Luminescence Court.”

Malson raised a hand to cup the side of Nu’s neck in an inappropriately intimate gesture that he no longer had a right to do. A sheet of ice was what he touched instead, and when he turned a shocked glance back at Nu, he saw Nu glaring at him as he had made use of his powers to protect his skin.

Malson retracted his hand, and it was a quiet staredown, as Malson shuttered his expression and Nu became increasingly agitated. The tension started to grab at their bodies, and Nu opened his mouth to tell Malson anything that might make him leave, when his heart plummeted at the voice of his wife.

“Is there something wrong?”

Hands took Danien from Nu’s arm, and he turned around slowly, eyes wide in fear as he looked at Amaya. She held Danien, and he could see her looking at him and Malson, then back at him with worry and trepidation. He could see Markus and Marite peeking from behind their mother, and Nu sucked in a breath when he heard rapid movement coming from Malson.

Snapping his head back towards Malson again, he summoned his sword to parry Malson’s own.

“Malson!”

Nu knew that he would not be able to hold his own for long going against a Commander. He needed to keep Malson’s attention on him until his children escaped safely. He knew Amaya would be able to keep them safe, and she might be able to alert the Wintry Militia, but he needed to hold off long enough.

Malson reared back and swung again, and Nu moved to block, but the strength behind the collision left Nu staggering backwards, and as he stabilized himself, Nu threw a glance over his shoulder and saw Amaya ushering the kids to a window she had opened.

Raising his sword, Nu was about to charge when shadows shot through the house and blocked any exits like barbed wire, including the opened window and door, and he could hear the surprised screams. He extended his own free hand to create an ice barrier to separate Malson and himself from his family.

As Malson stepped inside the house, he looked at Nu as if he was stupid, and with a bored expression, extended his wings and flailed them, and as he stopped them mid flail, the end of the wings were pointed towards Amaya, as black feathears shot out, and Nu could see as them slowly morphed to have a shaper tip. Nu could only throw ice attack after ice attack, attempting to slow them down if not break them before they could reach her.

While many of the sharpened feathers were aimed at the ice barrier to break it, one singular feather was sent straight for Amaya’s neck, and as she used a water defence, and moved to duck out of the way, the feather moved faster.

It cut through her neck, her throat, and disintegrated as soon as it escaped from the other side, leaving behind a clean path.

Horrified screams filled the air as Amaya’s body fell to the ground with a thump. Her eyes fluttered, and Nu could feel himself dropping his sword as he ran towards her body. He knelt beside her, picking her up from the floor to cradle her against his chest, running a hand through her hair and down her face. He forgot about Malson at that moment.

He felt a small body throw itself onto his side, and could hear Marite's sobs as she clung to him, burrowing her face on his shirt and her little hands clutching it tightly. Her body trembled, and her hair fell like a black curtain around her head, covering the view of her mother if she were to raise her head back up.

Looking to the side and over Marite's head, Nu could see Markus holding Danien, could see blue eyes stare horrified at the body of his mother but remain quiet with his mouth opened in disbelief. Markus had tucked Danien's face against the crook of his neck to shield the baby from seeing the corpse.

Footsteps approached Nu as he and Markus made eye contact, before Nu's eyes slid to his right, where he met black armour covered legs. He slowly moved his head up, it almost felt mechanical, janky, as if a weight was pressed around his neck, trying to stop him from raising his head. Legs shifted to the stomach, then torso, neck and finally black eyes met Nu's.

Nu lets out a sob, dropping Amaya back to the floor and gathering Marite into his arms. He flicks his wrist slightly and sends shards of glass towards Malson’s face. Shadows wrapped around the shards before they could reach his face, and they broke into a shower of ice dust.

Malson looked at Nu with vitriol as he swung his sword backward, the blade pointing diagonally at Nu’s chest as he brought his arm back, and then forward in a sharp thrust, sinking the blade though Nu’s soft skin and tense muscles. He continued moving his arm forward, making sure the blade passed through his chest, but in his tunnel vision, he forgot where Marite stood.

Her screams broke his focus on Nu, and Malson looked away from the blood dripping from Nu’s wound and mouth to see the girl. Both Nu and Malson saw the blade inserted into her own chest. Her face was white, and her chest rose in rapid bursts as her breathing picked up. Tears were falling down her face, and as Malson stared at her face with wide eyes, he saw the resemblance between father and daughter.

With gritted teeth, he yanked the sword out of both of them. Blood spurted out, and Nu fell to the floor sideways, following the path the sword had taken. He took Marite with him to the floor, and he gathered her into his arms as they slowly bled out into a guaranteed death.

He turned swiftly around when he felt hands pull at his armour, and without seeing, he sunk the blade into the new body. Wide blue eyes stared up at him, both of their mouths falling open as they saw each other. The same face that he had just seen bleeding out stared back at him; although this face was more youthful, younger, childish. Dead.

With a strangled scream, Malson shoves the sword further into the young boy before ripping it out again. Shadows wrapped around the baby that had been in the boy’s arms to prevent it from falling as the boy’s arm dropped and he tilted backwards, eyes blown wide open that stared up at the ceiling, unseeing.

Malson lowered his sword, point to the floor as he stared around himself. Four corpses and an oddly quiet baby. A baby he could not kill, but a baby he had to get rid of nonetheless. It was fortunate he had made sure to keep his night free, as he stepped around the corpse of the boy to walk out the door, the shadows he had used to cage the family in, retreating back to him as he stepped out the door onto the snowy outside.

Sheathing his sword, he held the baby in his arms as he spread his wings and took flight to the sky. It would only be a matter of time before the curse took hold and he would not be able to use his wings anymore, so he had to make the trip quickly. Take the baby to the Tempest Court and then hide away.

The Courts may not be in total alliance, but they would join together to take off his head, and Malson was set to deny them that satisfaction. The Courts would talk once they found the bodies, and with his disappearance they would know it was him, but the knowledge would be the only thing they would have in the end.

“Did you hear? A Wintry family was killed…but they only found the parent's corpses."

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tc-doherty · 2 years

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Find the Word Tag

I was tagged by @asher-orion-writes Once again this is all from one story, Second Chances, but with this set of words… I just had to. Although that means it goes into some… less than pleasant places.

I am tagging @muddshadow because you always seem to be interested in this one! Also @emilyoracle to prove that I am sharing parts of it and you don't need to bully me!

Otherwise, I just did one yesterday so this is an open tag. Your words are: mild, fold, impact, and concentrate.

Touch

Mahesha had never actually met any other shapeshifters. He did not particularly want to meet them now. Especially not with the way they bounded over to him, clearly excited.

He backed away as they came closer, backed away again as they reached out to touch him.

"Izare Harrickson,” he said, before they could even say a word. “Something happened to him, didn’t it?”

The female in the front looked him up and down. “Ah,” she said, “see we all thought he smelled like another shapeshifter, but he always acted like he didn’t know any.” She paused. “You look very human.”

Mahesha did not say anything rude, but it was a great effort. He was already anxious, and his pounding headache was not making things any easier. He did not have the patience to put up with a bunch of needy corv. “I only want to know where Izare is.”

“Gone,” said one of the others.

“Captured,” said a third. “We had bad information and our commander led us into a trap. Izare got captured giving us time to get out.”

The female nodded. “He said that he couldn’t let us get caught, knowing what Kovarians do to shapeshifters.”

Izare had sacrificed himself, for them? For a bunch of…a bunch of beasts? Mahesha closed his eyes. Of course he had. What was more knightly than that? “Do you have any information on where the prison camps are?”

“Kovarians don’t keep prisoners alive long enough to bother. They’re all taken to the commander and…”

He didn’t have to finish. Mahesha got the picture.

Gasp(ing)

Mahesha didn’t know what to say. He was caught, a rat in a trap, pulled between his loyalty to Izare and the domineering hand of the man in charge. He was not used to speaking back, not used to changing the situation. But this was Izare and Izare was going to get hurt and above all, above all, Mahesha never wanted him to know that kind of suffering.

“I did what I thought was right,” he said, slowly. “Izare is wasted here, with people who don’t appreciate him. You’re being cruel. You’re just bullying him.”

Harrick hit him.

The force of the backhand was so hard that Mahesha lost his balance and fell backwards. First into the table, then onto the floor. He wasn’t surprised.

He’d seen it coming. The small movement of Harrick’s shoulder, the intent in his eyes. He’d felt worse, much worse, but that was then and this was now, with a small trickle of silver blood at the corner of his mouth that he needed to hide before Izare saw.

The kick that came after just seemed excessive. It drove the breath out of him and left him gasping on the floor.

“You don’t get to decide what’s right for this house or those in it,” Harrick said. His voice was low and dangerous again. “Break your word again and I’ll break mine.”

Pain

Izare did not like words, or perhaps words didn’t like him. He didn’t say anything about it, but he did not have to. It was one thing for Izare to tell a story, lively and animated, acting it out with body and voice both. It was another thing to watch him in the tiny classroom attached to the temple, to see how he stuttered and struggled until his frustration mounted to a point where he wouldn’t try anymore.

Mahesha didn’t really understand human kindness, but he did understand humans causing pain. This, to him, seemed very much like that. Mrs. Malson turned a blind eye to Izare’s struggling. She pushed him, never relenting, forcing him to reveal his lack of understanding to all the children in the village.

Children were cruel.

Mahesha wasn’t really surprised by that. He knew better than anyone what cruelties humans were capable of. It made sense to him that it would start young, sprouting like a weed and growing stronger with age. He wanted to help, to protect Izare, but he couldn’t talk, couldn’t say a word in Izare’s defense. Their taunts were verbal – cutting remarks and jokes and cruel laughter – and Mahesha thought he couldn’t defend Izare without behind able to speak. Even if he had been able to speak, Mahesha wasn’t sure what he could have done. He had been raised to be submissive to humans, speaking out against them was alien to him. What could he even have said?

Eyes

Izare took a moment to study him. He looked a lot different now that he was dry and dressed in a plain linen tunic like any other child in the area. But even normal clothing didn’t make him look any more like a normal boy. In fact, it only made him look stranger. Izare had never seen hair like his, hair that spilled down the boy’s shoulders in a tangle of black curls that shone bright as honed steel in the light, that almost seemed to shift colors like the evening sky. And his eyes! They were blue, but not the dark blue that Izare was used to seeing in those with Dreisken blood like his. The boy’s eyes were bright, pale blue like deep ice or the sky just after dawn.

“He looks like a prince!” Izare said, hardly realizing the words were out of his mouth until he said them. He grinned. “We can call him Mahesha, after the Dreisken prince who had to wander the world for twelve years. He also fell in a river and-”

“He’s not a pet, Izare,” Sanjae said. There was a weird catch in his voice that Izare had never heard before. He turned around to see Sanjae shake his head. “And the Dreiska are wanderers, they don’t have any princes.”

“There used to be!” Izare stomped one foot on the floor tiles, light blue just like the boy’s eyes. “Mama said the Dreiska had a great empire in the south once with palaces made of gold and rulers so good and beautiful it made the gods cry. You should know.”

#I feel like most snippets I've shared so far have all been from Izare's perspective #It's interesting that these are mostly from Mahesha's #writeblr #TC's Writing #Second Chances

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