#the desire to escape is real today folks

[vikings-til-valhalla]

When I was in kindergarten, my music teacher showed the class the famous movie "The Sound of Music". It took several classes to finish it, but I didn't remember anything about it except for one scene where Maria stood on a hill singing that line, "The hills are alive with the sound of music." Everything else became a total blank.

Today, I rewatched it with my mother for the first time in almost 20 years. And all I can say is this:

1. I'm damn surprised a teacher was allowed to show this to kindergarteners.

2. I'm damn mad at myself for not remembering the literal entire point of the movie, which is love and loyalty through love, whether for better or worse.

The horrors of Nazi Germany, and escaping them, it makes me think of what my family had to go through to escape themselves. That's right. I had several family members who, back in the 1940s, fled Germany to avoid being forced into Naziism. They made it onto a boat, and went to Canada, but that's as far as I was ever told. My grandma, old as she was, couldn't remember much more, so she hadn't told any of her kids beyond this.

But it makes me think. My grandma, too, was part of a convent of nuns. She also fell in love and left, married, and had 5 children, although they'd lived in America at the time and continued to do so until this day. Just like Maria fell in love with Georg despite being a nun, and together, as a family, they all fled. Because they loved each other, and they prevailed for the sake of love. It was horrifying, their escape. Traumatic, and full of fear. Fear that, to me, was real. Because somewhere, in the past, my family experienced it firsthand themselves, and were too horrified to tell anyone the whole story.

I remember in 5th grade, a kid in my class had either a grandfather or an uncle (I forget which) who'd escaped a concentration camp. That relative published a book on the experience, came into class, and read it aloud to us, or at least part of it. And... it was just as terrifying to me as when I'd met former slaves who came to my class years beforehand to talk about their experiences as well. It was the 2000s. And yet, these people lived, had stories to tell, experiences to share, and I'm damn lucky I had the opportunity to meet them, hear them out, and learn about history at such a young age specifically from those who'd experienced it themselves.

For years as a kid, I knew Nazis were awful. I felt horrible about being a huge part German growing up because of this. But when I learned my family's story, or what little of it that I know, I started to take pride. Pride in the fact that they actively went against oppression, and gave life to a legacy that continues today where, even though I'm just one person long descended from them, I have experienced all kinds of oppression myself, and met people whose experiences are parallel but distant from my own, and we've stuck together for our lives to fight oppression ourselves.

I've met folks from all walks of life. I've seen everyone who's gone through everything imaginable. I've gone through a lot of stuff myself, things I can barely speak of because they're horrifying to me. And it's because of this that I choose to do whatever it takes to help anyone and everyone find safety, happiness, and freedom.

My distant relatives did the same, and created a family with the hopes that they'd live better lives someday, as everyone who becomes a parent hopes. And thus, I fight for a future of the same desire: make it better for everyone. When you leave, make sure things are better than when you arrived.

Fuck Nazis. Fuck oppression. Fuck supremacy.

Fight for freedom. And, on that note, free Palestine. For the love of everything, free them. This is a more than a massacre, it's a genocide. I've been through massacres myself. This is far worse than that.

Keep taking action, keep protesting, keep fighting, keep flooding politicians with messages, keep donating to Palestinian organizations, keep hearing the voices of Palestinians because they're here and they will tell you what must be done to help them. Do not stop. Ever. The future depends on everyone together fighting for the safety and freedom of one another.

From the river to the sea. Free Palestine.

#mun is a Viking #free palestine #history

[go-go-devil]

18 and 19 for the OC ask game. I really liked seeing the contrast of personalities when all your OC's answered in the last ask, so I wanted to ask for all of them if it's ok ^^

18. What is your greatest victory?

Albedo: "We have earned many platinum victories in our centuries, both before and after reaching sagehood, yet none can come close to the monumental feat of creating our Moon, and all of the moon beings within it. No sculptures can compare to the pulchritudinous magnitude of moving, thinking organisms; all crafted with the gentle touch of our gloves. This alone proves that we are two halves of a God on the cusp of ascension!"

Umbra: "What other sages can say that they have created life itself? Not one being, that's what! Even if our protege has been... confused in his pursuits, we worry not. Our creations are perfect in every way. They'll always come around in the end."

Leiurus: "I've spent my whole life searching for great victories of any kind. Yet today, in the Tomb...

"My body and will had been beaten to a pulp down there. The skeletons of giants pursuing me endlessly, thwacking me around like a worn rag doll! I'd escaped the dreadful dead in this deep watery cavern, filled with the weakling guards of skeletal babes and poor Pinwheel's wretched copies. Nothing I couldn't easily dispatch!

"As I trudged up the cold stone path, kicking every last bone out of my way… I saw it before my very eyes. Gravelord Nito’s chambers. I should have ran back to the bonfire. Should’ve refilled my dwindling estus and thought of a strategy for this one, but I didn’t. I plunged straight in.

"The Lord of the Dead was slow, but ruthless. His skeletons sliced me good, and those terrible black magic waves his ancient body emitted filled me with relentless thoughts of ending it all right then and there. It’s funny, now that I give it some thought. I’d been dancing with death for a good chunk of my mortal life; sometimes giving, sometimes begging for it meself. But when staring down Nito’s dozens of eyeless sockets, I felt in that moment a great desire for life I hadn’t felt for a long time!

"There was no use in hollowing for me! I needed to keep at it to save the land of this undead curse! To help a friend find his sun! To see my terrible brother once again! To prove I’m not wasting this life I’ve got, for m'late Aunt Tabby’s sake… That’s right, I was the reaper of Death himself! I killed him with me own scythe and strength! You hear that, Lords?! The rest of you cowardly lot are no match for me! Ehehehehahahahahahahahaha!"

Hashbrown Supreme: "I was at a record convention once. I only had $10 on me, but I really wanted to buy In The Land of Grey and Pink, which the seller wanted $15 for. I asked her politely if she'd pay 10 for the record, and she said yes, so I got the record I wanted! It was an amazing moment in my life, lemme tell ya."

19. What was your biggest mistake?

Hashbrown Supreme: "Oh man... I still hate thinking about this one.....

"When I was lodging with some nice folks one time, one of them spilled some water on their laundry and got their boxer shorts all wet. This groovy Dark Side of the Moon styled boxers, which they said was their favorite pair! So later I was left alone and came up with an idea to help them out. There was a lamp in their office, and lamp's light bulbs are hot. So I thought if I put the shorts on top of the lamp, it'll warm 'em up before they got back so they could wear them again real soon!

"What actually happened was that the boxers caught on fire after a few minutes. I didn't know what to do so I threw it outside and then some garbage bags caught on fire. It was a mess. Man, I didn't have the courage to confess what I did, I just feigned ignorance when they thought the clothes went missing. Such a terrible thing to do to such a beautiful pair of boxers! How could I ever forgive myself?

"That one just beats out the second biggest mistake of my life, that being causing a time paradox, but thankfully that one got fixed so it's a-okay!"

Leiurus: "My biggest mistake will always be thinkin' I was ever cut out to be a good sorcerer. Aunt Tabby, my true mum, she really did believe my halfway mediocre abilities in magic could get me into the Vinheim Dragon School. I doubt they would've even accepted her despite her skills. I can hardly recall how she even scrounged up the gold to get me in, or especially how I was able to impress them during my entry test, but I shouldn't have left her for that awful school. Their sorcery was far out of my league, and she needed me more than they did. I could've been there when she hollowed, maybe I could've... maybe...

"Why you askin' me this, eh? What's your problem?! Quit making me spill me soul out before I cut ya to ribbons, you honey-nosed wretch!"

Umbra: "Our biggest mistake? Why, there are none."

Albedo: "We do not make mistakes."

#asks #my ocs #leiurus #the sages of sculptures #hashbrown supreme #I was waiting for someone to ask me these questions #these were really fun to write!

[anethara]

I went to the mall today and I parked in the Macy's lot because it's easy and not so crowded. also I am a sucker for a little stroll through a department store before I do my real shopping. anyway, this particular entrance is dominated by a guest welcome center/checkout situation: impulse buys, velvet ropes for the lines, you know the drill. and of course, there are two enormous flat-screens behind the counter for big brother/promotional reasons. and guys. the very. first. ad that I see, greeting me in 1080p 4k HD, was for some kitchen appliances. they were beautiful: very retro, that kind of charming mid-century design, all chrome and pastel. clean curves in opposition to the current zeitgeist of sharp angles and box shapes.

h o w e v e r.

the brand name of these appliances left...something to be desired. in fact, I didn't even believe that I was actually seeing what I was seeing. I thought, "damn bitch, my eyes ain't what they used to be and that's on me." but. just out of curiosity. I took a detour three floors up to the homegoods section. and I found the fucking toaster. and uh, well:

I was trying desperately not to be fucking howling in the middle of a Macy's at 4:30 pm on a Monday. I am a grown man. surely I can control myself. except for how I was muttering to myself, out loud, on the escalator back down, "who let that past marketing? how did that escape?" because surely, I thought, surely even I am not so chronically disconnected from what the average person's base of knowledge is that the concept of smegma is obscure, actually, right? right?

well. I looked it up! the company has been around for three quarters of a century! they are not new! not even close. so that's the first excuse. the next, and perhaps more valid one, is that it is an Italian company. 'smeg' it turns out, is an acronym: Smalterie Metallurgiche Emiliane Guastalla ("Emilian Metallurgical Enamelling Works Guastalla"). can't fault them for a language barrier, although this does have the distinct feeling of being more like a language particle collider.

i'm gonna be real, folks. idk how to wrap this one up. all I can say is that if you ever see me in a Macy's, genuinely contemplating ponying up $200 for a toaster with 'SMEG' emblazoned across it, just lure me out back with a Wetzel's pretzel and shoot me.

#original recipe #story time #story time with emery

[starmakermachine]

The Immortal Star: David Bowie

By Kitty Quinn, Co-written by Milan Lazovski, Photographed by Milan Lazovski, Makeup by Kitty Quinn, Styled by Milan Lazovski & Kitty Quinn, Model: Vanessa Yousif

It’s a bird, it’s a plane— it’s a starman! While there were several icons that came out of the glam rock era, none were quite as influential and striking as David Bowie. From his distinct eyes to his stylistic shape-shifting, Bowie hit the world like a musical meteorite. Dancing onto the scene with his first hit “Space Oddity”, Bowie’s career got its official start after an unsuccessful run in folk music. Though Bowie is most well known as a musician, it could be argued that his biggest impact can be seen in the way the world now views gender identity and sexuality. With personas like Ziggy Stardust, Bowie was seen wearing makeup, heels, and tight lurex, which had never been seen before within mainstream culture. 

Throughout his career, Bowie never shied from using shock and flair to grab the attention of audiences, even coming out on several different occasions. Perhaps the most shocking instance was during 1972, when he came out as gay to Melody Maker magazine. However, even then wasn’t his first time diverging from the norm. As young as 17 years old, Bowie was seen as the spokesperson for “Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Long-Haired Men”, which argued against the idea that men with long hair were feminine. With these examples alone it can be seen that Bowie was never one to follow the status quo, thus inspiring generations to come. 

Although Bowie never intended to be the face of global change, his desire for personal expression and an enhanced way of performing unknowingly sparked a revolution. In fact, he admitted that his personas were a form of escape in a 1983 interview with Musician, “I didn't really have the nerve to sing my songs on stage and nobody else was doing them. I decided to do them in disguise so that I didn't have to actually go through the humiliation of going on stage and being myself”. However, with colors so vibrant and a star burning so bright— the world was forced to pay attention. Whether they were ready for the change or not, the shock and awe around Bowie made him inescapable. By 1972, with the release of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, Bowie became the shot heard around the world. The alter ego he created, Ziggy Stardust, an extraterrestrial hailing from a planet unlike earth, was unchained to the gender expectations that humans have created. By referring to this character as an alien, Bowie was able to detach from himself and feel true liberation exploring his identity as both a person and artist. By creating this alter ego, Bowie didn’t have to take responsibility for his onstage exploration. It could be argued that his onstage persona and the real David Bowie fused— an unapologetic enigma.

Bowie was not the first artist to chip away at the seemingly unmoved gender norms of the 20th century. It can be noted that musicians like Little Richard and Elvis Presley aided in this deconstruction with subtle acts of rebellion— wearing eyeliner, flashy clothes and even sporting the color pink. Though these instances may seem tame by today’s standards, they provided the stepping stones that Bowie would later use to trail-blaze a movement. What set Bowie apart from other artists of the time was the sheer extravagance and worldwide popularity that he commanded. It’s not that he was the only one doing this, but it’s the fact that he was able to achieve commercial success and longevity without compromising his artistic vision. That being said, it’s important to note that this type of acclaim would not have been possible without the privileges of being a part of a dominating social class. Nevertheless, Bowie’s impact is undeniable and can be seen as a cornerstone for a shift in the perception of gender.

The current social climate allows for men to be more comfortable in their masculinity and explore their femininity, even earning high praise and being commended for their bravery. Small actions such as painting their nails or wearing feminine clothing are seen as remarkable acts of “ending toxic masculinity”. While these actions do diverge from the norm and can be considered small triumphs for those who aim to deconstruct the current gender binary, it’s important to recognize those who pioneered the redefining of gender norms like David Bowie. Today’s top performing artists such as Harry Styles, Lady Gaga, and even Janelle Monàe, have all taken inspiration from the legend. Bowie may not be in the current sphere of conversation but his significance in the music, art, and fashion world is unlike any other. Before solely crediting current figures within pop culture for breaking down gender barriers, it’s imperative to look into the past and acknowledge that Bowie and other historical figures have done it first. 

#david bowie #bowie #starman #ziggystardust #1970s #mickjagger #little richard #elvis #photography #fashion #detroit #makeup #editorial #glamrock #rollingstones #iggypop #velvetgoldmine #andywarhol #music #spaceoddity #rockstar #glamour

[buriedsecretspodcast]

Ghost hunting as nostalgia

What could be more nostalgic than ghost hunting? You’re going through old, ruined places and looking for either the shades of the past, nature spirits, or some other lost and ineffable thing.

At one point, interest in the paranormal was driven by a desire to talk to the dead.¹ But is that still true today? As I watch the conversation about the paranormal unfold around me, I can’t help feeling that nostalgia is a major reason why many people are interested in the paranormal. I certainly recognize that nostalgia in myself. (And this question is certainly a fixation of mine; I talked about it in yesterday’s post too, and have a lot more to say on the subject, so stay tuned for that.)

What if, as we dive into the paranormal, we are looking for ourselves? Our childhoods? Or (as I wrote about last time) just something in the real world that we can connect to? What does it mean when the most real-feeling thing you can think of is as insubstantial as a ghost or an urban legend?

Millennial nostalgia

Millennials like me are said to be a particularly nostalgic generation. I happen to think that every generation has fond feelings for certain aspects of the past, but I will concede that most millennials I know — including me — are extremely nostalgic. You can blame it on a lot of things: we’re bombarded by bad news, made anxious by the constant threat of impending environmental collapse, and are becoming increasingly immiserated in general — you get the picture. There are a lot of upsetting things in daily life that anyone might want to escape from.

It’s nice think of a time when things were easier — or at least a time that you can look back at and imagine that things were easier. Our idea of the past is designed by our present selves, filtered through all the time that has elapsed since then, and shaped into something a little bit more palatable and beautiful than those bygone days actually were.

So when we’re looking for ghosts, what are we really looking for? What do we hope to find? Are we hunting the ghosts of other people or the ghosts of ourselves?

Looking for ghosts can be fun. There is this sense of childlike wonder, a concession that there is something that exists beyond the mundane world. There is also the treat of getting together with friends and doing something that is not mediated by screens and doesn’t involve consuming media products manufactured by corporate conglomerates.

Our ideas about the paranormal might be shaped by horror movies and paranormal investigation TV shows, which tend to be serious and gritty. But there’s an element of delight, optimism, and creativity inherent in the idea of looking for unseen things, digging into history, and analyzing the things you experience in the physical (or at least . . . non-digital) world.

Also, many people my age (and younger) grew up on paranormal TV. So there’s a nostalgia there, as well. While investigating, some folks may be, consciously or not, acting out or reinventing something that they once watched on television, and making it their own and tailoring it to their specific neck of the woods.

Liminality and change

In his book, The Trickster and the Paranormal, George P. Hansen wrote about how the paranormal bubbles up during liminal times — moments of transition and change. He writes about our discomfort with the liminal:

The middle area goes by several labels: liminality, interstitiality, transitional space, betwixt and between, anti-structure. These are dangerous positions, situations, and statuses. They break down categories, classifications, and boundaries. Violation of the boundaries was taboo and brought the wrath of the gods. There was a price to be paid.

And later he talks about ghosts’ liminal nature:

Ghosts are liminal (interstitial) creatures. They exist in the netherworld between life and death, and they challenge the idea that there is a clear separation of the two. The dread evoked by such beings can be profoundly disturbing.

When confronted with liminal times, we want to be comforted. Nostalgia can’t quite make us feel better, not completely, but it’s a balm, at least. From an article in Psychology Today:

Engaging in nostalgia is an emotional regulation strategy. Studies have found that we reach for it when we are experiencing negative affect, and especially loneliness (Wildschut et al., 2016), social exclusion (Seehusen et al., 2013), and feelings of meaninglessness (Routledge, Wildschut, Sedikides, Juhl, & Arndt, 2012). In those occasions, reminiscing not only helps us feel more connected but also bolsters our own sense of self-regard through social bonds. In a way, nostalgia allows us to place ourselves back in a supportive social context in which we feel connected and important.

Given all of that, it makes sense that paranormal weirdness bubbles up alongside a desire for nostalgia, since they’re both so closely linked to liminality, uncertainty, and change.

You can’t catch ghosts or return to the past

So often, people try to photograph or quantify ghosts and are disappointed. Despite what the Ghostbusters led us to believe, there isn’t a straightforward way to use a gadget to capture and control ghosts. They evade our perception more often than not.

But that doesn’t stop us from pursuing them. We think that if we keep looking, we’ll find our answer. Isn’t that also what we do when we try to recapture our pasts through nostalgia? We’re looking for something lost and gone that we can never recapture, but even the search is comforting in its way.

¹ To be clear, I know that some people are still motivated to investigate the paranormal because of loved ones who’ve died. But I wonder whether that has become a much smaller motivator.

#paranormal #paranormalinvestigator #ghost hunting #cryptidcore #cryptidacademia #digital drawing #digital illustration #polaroid

[deliastrachan64]

Why Was Airsoft Invented: The Surprising Origin Story

Ever questioned why airsoft was invented? Well, let’s take a step again in time and discover the origins of this thrilling and adrenaline-pumping sport. The inception of airsoft will be traced back to Japan in the early 1970s, with its initial purpose being a singular form of leisure while adhering to the country’s strict gun management legal guidelines. You could be stunned to study that airsoft guns were initially designed for goal shooting, recreating the expertise of utilizing real firearms with out the dangers or authorized restrictions. In consequence, these replicas gained popularity in Japan and other nations, permitting folks to enjoy the thrill of shooting without extreme consequences. As airsoft evolved, its potential as a aggressive sport grew to become evident. Soon, lovers from all over the world were collaborating in organized skirmishes, tactical simulations, and army-fashion video games. Today, you possibly can credit the creation of airsoft to a mix of cultural norms, legal components, and the desire for a enjoyable and engaging capturing expert

Airsoft weapons resemble their pure counterparts, offering a exact dealing with and firing experience. You may enjoy airsoft as a recreational exercise for bonding with buddies, family, and coworkers. It promotes teamwork, communication, and ways, fostering participant camaraderie and belief. Airsoft caters to different talent ranges and preferences with varied situations and game modes. Airsoft has grow to be a preferred competitive sport, the place groups or individuals face one another in tournaments and leagues. Like traditional sports activities, it encourages discipline and sportsmanship whereas testing your bodily health, psychological fortitude, and strategic considering. Rankings, awards, and sponsorships incentivize casual gamers and skilled athletes to strive for achievement. Military Simulation (MilSim): MilSim events concentrate on replicating actual-life military operations with extra complex guidelines and objectives. Speedsoft: A fast-paced and aggressive sport fashion, emphasizing quick choice-making and reflexes, typically in close-quarter environments. Skirmishes: Casual, open-play classes allow for drop-in members and a more relaxed atmosphere. In the airsoft world, you'll be able to admire the dedication and creativity that went into its invent

There has never been a greater time to try out what it has to offer, particularly if you're keen on a slower and more tactical approach than the numerous online shooters on the market. Adam Jensen's story continues beyond Human Revolution and into 2029, a time frame the place people who have been mechanically augmented are now handled as outcasts in society. The constant dispute as we try and unravel the mysteries of the campaign are joined by the weather that made this iteration of the series so intriguing in trendy hardware: the potential for tackling every encounter your personal method, either going full throttle and using abilities to become a human shield, or sneaking previous enemies using air vents and securing escape routes. The world is yours to discover, and Adam Jensen, as much as it is a character on his personal, is only formed by your decisions. You understand what you are getting with a Far Cry sport: a lovely world to explore, large outposts to topple, reactive artificial intelligence to push your reactions and accuracy, and a few of the most effective sounding firearms in the video recreation industry to do it with.

Pros: Inexpensive, dependable, and low upkeep. Cons: A slower fee of hearth and requires handbook cocking earlier than each shot. Gas-powered airsoft guns use Green Gas or CO₂ cartridges to propel the BBs. Like spring-powered guns, these guns store potential energy, launched whenever you pull the set off, pushing the piston forward and propelling the BB out of the barrel. Gas-powered guns provide a more practical taking pictures expertise, because the gas blowback simulates firearm recoil. Pros: Realistic blowback impact, increased charge of hearth, and faster reloads. Cons: Temperature delicate and requires regular maintenance. Automatic Electric Guns (AEGs) are the preferred sort of airsoft gun. Powered by rechargeable batteries, these electric guns use a motor and gear system to compress the inner spring and release the power wanted to propel the BBs. Able to semi-automatic and absolutely-computerized firing modes, AEGs offer both versatility in play and ease of use. Pros: High fee of fire, adjustable firing modes, and constant performance. Cons: Requires battery charging and maintenance and may have limited ra

[ralfreinhardt4-blog]

Pile Retreats: Remain at the Best Lodges for Walking and Mountaineering

In the marvelous area of Scotland , located amidst beautiful landscapes, you'll find a few of the best lodges that provide unforgettable experiences for travelers seeking a unique and memorable stay. From the durable Highlands to the tranquil lochs and picturesque coastal parts, Scotland boasts a varied array of lodges that appeal to numerous preferences and interests.

When it comes to picking the best lodges in scotland , it's important to think about facets such as for example spot, amenities, and ambiance. Whether you're buying lavish retreat, a inviting countryside escape, or an adventure-filled retreat, Scotland has anything to offer for everyone.

For folks who crave luxury and indulgence, Scotland finest lodges provide opulent hotels, delightful eating experiences, and world-class amenities. Envision getting out of bed to exceptional opinions of mist-covered mountains or serene lochs, and enjoying personalized services that focus on your every need.

If you want an even more rustic and real knowledge, standard lodges in Scotland countryside offer comfortable hotels with a touch of old-world charm. These lodges usually function rustic rooms, crackling fireplaces, and warm hospitality that can make you feel right at home.

For character lovers, lodges situated in Scotland wilderness give an opportunity to immerse your self in the stunning organic surroundings. Whether it's hiking through rich woods, discovering solid pile paths, or fishing in perfect rivers, these lodges give you a perfect bottom for outdoor adventures.

Scotland coastal regions also present a few of the best lodges that provide stunning sea views and quick access to sandy beaches. Imagine taking peaceful guides across the shore, listening to the sound of piling dunes, and enjoying fresh seafood delicacies in wonderful coastal villages.

History lovers and tradition fanatics may find delight in lodges situated near Scotland historical websites and castles. Imagine remaining in a lodge set within the lands of a centuries-old adventure, surrounded by wealthy history and intriguing experiences of the past.

For anyone seeking wellness and pleasure, lodges with bobbleheadwater features present invigorating treatments and serene settings that permit you to unwind and recharge. Enjoy in calming rubs, stimulating yoga periods, and rejuvenating bobbleheadwater treatments amidst the tranquil Scottish landscapes.

Whichever type of lodge you select, a very important factor is particular – you'll be submerged in Scotland organic splendor, rich record, and warm hospitality. Each lodge has a unique distinctive attraction and character, giving a way to create valued thoughts that may last a lifetime.

So, whether you're planning for a romantic escape, a household holiday, or an adventure-filled journey, Scotland  best lodges are prepared to delightful you with start arms. Experience the splendor of Scotland areas, the warmth of its persons, and the ease of its extraordinary lodges as you set about a trip of finding and relaxation.

Making use of their flawless company, wonderful places, and wonderful activities, the best lodges in Scotland are waiting to turn your desires into reality. Guide your remain today and allow Scotland miraculous occur before your eyes.

[nightmareculture]

The Seedy History of “Three Studies on Human Desire” - Part 2

If you haven't had a chance to check out the first part of this series, check it out to get an introduction to transient poety Thomas Fuchs and his mysterious piece Three Studies on Human Desire.

The Mystery of Bourghaine Street

In the first part of this series, we introduced a poetic triptych authored by the elusive Thomas Fuchs. In this chapter, we will begin to dig into the mysteries unleashed by these poems that have tormented historians of Depression era New York City since these poems first became discovered in 1962.

The most pervasive thread to tug at among the many frayed fibers dangling from this minature epic is the question of the very existence of the Bourghaine Street district, animated with visions of vice and debauchery by the author. There is, at least, evidence that this destination was not a complete fabrication of Fuchs. Other journals and manuscripts had mentioned such a place, albeit with a panoply of variations, some of which are clearly inconsistent. Nonetheless, there were reasons, during the beginning of scholarship around this work, to take seriously the prospect that this was a real place.

At the same time, a cursory look at the New York City subway map, today or during any part of its well-recorded history, reveals no stop on the A train, or any train for that mattered, adorning the name Bourghaine Street. There are two stops today named Bergen Street suggesting that one of these was known as, or misrepresented as, Bourghaine Street. It is possible that the mythic oasis of iniquity was around either of these stops during the 1920's and 1930's, long since abandoned, or something along these lines (no pun intended).

With this in mind, one can only really look at the evidence available and form a scholarly inference about this legendary place.

The Fourth Poem

Although the triptych, true to its form, only contained three poems, a fourth was found later in the 1970's, through a series of amusing accidents, which appears to have been written by Fuchs during the same period. It's possible, and debated, that the author may have been some other writer of the time, caught up in the same culture of alcohol and transience that marked Fuchs existence, spent very frequently indulging in the Bowery, but either way it gives one cause to doubt that Bourghaine Street was more than a metaphor of the streets; a fantasy rendered in the depths of depression depravity.

Below is the fourth poem in full, thanks again to CUNY's archives:

In the Bowery, where the down and out reside, Where desperation is a constant tide, Where life is cheap and vices abound, A dream of escape can often be found.

A rumor spreads of a subway stop, Where one can indulge until they drop, Bourghaine Street, where vices reign, And men are caught in the throws of pain.

The A train rattles down the line, Passing by stops of a mundane kind, But with each station, the promise grows, Of a grotesque land where anything goes.

The train pulls into Bourghaine Street, And the scent of sin is oh so sweet, The neon signs light up the night, Guiding the transient to their delight.

Opium dens and gambling halls, Bootleg booze in the backroom stalls, Prostitution and speculation, All are catered to without hesitation.

The transient is led by provenance's hand, To this promised land of sin so grand, Ascending to the grotesque sublime, As all around him men lose track of time.

But as the night wears on and the sun begins to rise, The dream fades away, the promise dies, ? For Bourghaine Street was never real, Just an opium-fueled fantasy to feel.

And so the transient returns to the Bowery, Back to the reality of his misery, Wondering if Bourghaine Street was ever there, Or just a figment of his opium-stained air.

On one hand, it is tempting to take this as a clear verification that Bourghaine Street was naught but a work of imaginative fiction; a refuge for the down-and-out; a place sung about in folk songs and of hung-over day dreams. But one could argue that it is also possible that the dream-like qualities of Bourghaine Street leave its visitors doubting its existence the day after, awakening on the streets somewhere in strange, with brandy on their breath and their memories in shambles. It's possible that the unreality of this place was part of its very reality, and thus we cannot be so quick to dispell (as some scholars did), the possibility that this was a real living, breathing space worthy of deeper interrogation.

The Frederick Letter

If in reading this account, you have begun to take sides on this enticing mystery, the next twist in the historical plot will be particularly thrilling. In 1979, an astonishing discovery served to bring more clarity to the question of the existence of Bourghaine Street. A letter from a priest, known only as Frederick was written to a companion known only as Smythe. Who these people were remains a cold case, and might forever be, but notwithstanding, whoever Frederick was, he seems to have given a convincing account of having visited Bourghaine Street, an experience that apparently shook him to his core.

Here is the Frederick Letter in full

Dear Smythe,

Today, I found myself lost in the subway system of Brooklyn. Despite being a man of God, I cannot say that I was not at least a little curious about the notorious Bourghaine Street, which I had heard so much about from the sinners of my parish. And so, as fate would have it, I accidentally got off at Bourghaine Street.

The scene that met my eyes was one of utter horror and disgust. Everywhere I looked, there were men and women indulging in every vice imaginable. There were gambling dens, opium dens, bootleg liquor establishments, and even brothels. The air was thick with the scent of depravity and sin.

As a priest, I could not help but view the scene with the keen eye of an anthropologist. It was fascinating to observe the depravity of human nature in such an unabashed and unfiltered form. But as I watched, a sickening feeling began to grow in my stomach.

I realized with terror that the spectacle of debauchery was arousing me. I felt my body respond to the sights and sounds of Bourghaine Street in a way that was entirely inappropriate for a man of God. I was filled with guilt and confusion about my own feelings, wondering how it was possible for such darkness to arouse me.

As I stumbled back to the subway station, I could not help but reflect on the warning that this experience offered. Places like Bourghaine Street are not merely a curiosity; they are a gateway to the darkest parts of our souls. They are the embodiment of temptation and sin, and they have the power to corrupt even the most virtuous among us.

I would suggest that at the very least, the subway stop be renamed to Bergen Street. It is a name that is more dignified and respectable, and it may serve as a reminder of the dangers that lurk in the shadows of our world.

Frederick

Detractors of the theory that Bourghaine Street was a real place have disputed the authenticity of this letter, even going so far as to accuse their opponents of having committed forgery. In some respects, it seems all too convenient that this letter popped up so soon after the tides had shifted in the small academic circle that had devoted serious interest into this kind of thing. But it is hard to not take this account seriously since it is indisputable that this was not written by Fuchs, nor was it in line with all of the poetry and other artful renderings of Bourghaine Street. It would be an uncharacteristically Modernist move for someone within the circles of alcoholic transients frequenting the Bowery to have embarked on such an eliptical project.

Finally, the ultimate paragraph of the letter seems to confirm in some weird way the suspicion that Bourghaine Street was (or at least is now) Bergen Street. It is unclear why Frederick would have made this recommendation. Perhaps, the nearby street was always Bergen Street, the name of the staition was somehow misspelled on the signs, and Frederick beleved it should be restored to its rightful name; especially given the reputation Bourghaine had amassed by then.

For now, I will leave things here, knowing that the next post thicken the plot a bit more.

[ibuystl814]

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[darlingpetao3]

House of W (Multiple!Wells x Reader, Chapter 9)

Rating: T

Summary: After having to deal with the deaths of an infinite number of Harrison Wells in the Multiverse, you, a magic-wielding meta, have a breakdown and unwittingly create a happy, fictitious sitcom life with some of your favourite men. In a world of comedy and cameos, can Team Flash and an out-of-town magician break through your powers to save you? And what if you don’t want to be saved...?

A/N: Well folks, it’s the final chapter... I’m not sure it’s actually all that great, but here it is and I hope it’s well received, nonetheless! Thanks for coming on this crazy ride with me <3

Tag List: @fandomdancer​ @bluesclues-1234​ @crissymadlock @firstofficer-tilly​ @disneyoncerlover815​ @marvel-lady10 @thecaptainsgingersnap​ @noctvrnalmoth​ @alexxlynn @dontbedumb3​ @heyl0lwhatsup @ryou-cosmos​ @arianalilyblack​ @sonnensplitter​ @imagine-yourself-happy​ @stuckysdaughter​ @wintersire @i-dont-care-lol​ @booksandfandomsarelife1 @marvelhastakenovermybeing​ @marisughh​

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 | CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 8

Eobard Thawne clutches his fist down beside him, surely feeling the surge of Speed Force energy running through his entire body once more. He looks like he’s just taken a hit of the most addictive drug—eyes flashing a dangerous crimson, his whole being vibrating at the speed of sound before everyone’s eyes.

The Reverse Flash turns to Libby and Belle—who both remain frozen in place out of sheer shock after realizing that this man isn’t who he claimed to be—and gives them one of his iconic shit-eating grins.

“Thank you, girls,” he says smugly. “I couldn’t have achieved any of this without you. The next time I have your real uncle under my boot, I’ll think of you wonderful girls.”

“What have we done…?” Belle whispers rhetorically to her sister. A speechless Liberty only shakes her head in reply.

Eobard locks eyes with Barry, who stands in the doorway to the kitchen. The villain smirks before he bolts off, running upward along the diminishing forcefield wall and out through one the holes forming in it. Barry watches on as he decides to let his adversary go. He’s learned by now it’s never the last time he’ll see Eobard Thawne. That bastard always seems to find a way back into everyone’s lives. He’s like a cockroach that won’t stay dead.

Yes… Barry will come face to face with the Reverse Flash again. He may not know when, but when he does, he’ll be ready.

Because right now, you need him.

Your world is falling apart.

Again.

The forcefield continues to fall slowly from above. Your time is limited. You know that in mere minutes, everything will disappear, including the people you love. 

“Mom, we’re so, so sorry,” Belle tells you desperately. “We thought he was just teaching us how to perfect our powers. It felt like a game!”

“My dear, sweet girls,” you look them straight in the eyes as you explain to them, “I assure you both, it’s not your fault. Okay? You had no idea who he really was or what he was capable of. It’s not your fault, do you understand me?” They nod through their tears. “You two may have grown up incredibly fast, far too fast for my liking, in fact, but I am so thrilled that you were- are mine. You will always be my little girls. No matter what.”

“Thank you for being our mom,” Liberty says to you in all seriousness.

“No one is cooler or stronger than you,” Belle adds with a smile very reminiscent of her fathers’. If these two aren’t careful, you’re going to completely lose it in front of them.

Off in the distance, you spot Barry watching this heartfelt scene play out. You wave him over to meet his nieces, so he can see what you’ve created for yourself up close and personal. Libby and Belle should meet their real uncle, a true hero, before they’re…

Barry places a hand each on the girls’ shoulders. See, Barry? They’re real. And I’ll lose them too. Do you feel my pain now? This is what I live through all the time.

Barry’s eyes begin to glisten until the tiny bulbs of tears hold still, unwilling to fall just yet.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you both,” he tells them. “You’re both such bright stars.” They give bittersweet smiles up at him in silence. You don’t think they fully understand what will come to pass in mere minutes, but you do. You can feel it in your bones.

Barry steps back from your family unit so that you all can have one more last moment together. You take this final opportunity to bring your girls in close for a tight hug, letting a sob escape you despite trying to keep it together for your family. You wave a hand over to your husbands as if to gesture for them to get in on this family group hug, and quickly. They do so promptly, all four of them enveloping you, Liberty, and Belle as if to form a loving hug shield.

“I love you,” you make sure to say these three precious words, making eye contact to each and every one of those you have magicked into being here with you today… before they disintegrate before your very eyes.

And soon enough, you can’t even feel them anymore. The forcefield has vanished within the Lab’s basement, along with the Wells and the twins.

You cry. You shake and your body wracks with the sort of sobs that hurt your throat. Barry makes sure he holds you tightly. Caitlin approaches carefully and ends up holding your hand. Then it’s Cisco who puts his own hand on your shoulder as everyone else in the room looks on at your despair.

***

After some much-needed rest in the Medbay, you awake to a spookily quiet Labs. You’re not sure of the time (or day, even), but regardless, you figure it’s best to head home. Goodness knows it’s probably still in shambles. That’ll need to be fixed.

You heave a sigh as you leave the Cortex.

“Come on, you can sigh louder than that.”

You turn around to find the unexpected voice belonging to Zatanna. You imagine she must have had to recoup as well from the amount of magic she would have used to break through to your world.

“Oh, hey,” you say tiredly. “I take it you’re on your way, then?”

“Yeah, I have a show in Coast City in two days, so I better head off.”

“Listen, I’m really sorry to have brought you into all this madness.”

“No, please. If anything, I should thank you as well as offer my condolences... Your magic is something I've never seen before. Honestly, I’m still intrigued by it.” Zatanna hesitates. “Would it be weird if I gave you my contact information? I don’t come across many others with true magic. I’d love to keep in touch. Maybe we could learn from each other?”

“Yes, of course,” you agree. “I think that’s a great idea.” She hands you her card—a glittery black business card with her name and number.

“So, hey,” she says, “You going to be okay?”

You take a few seconds to think her question over.

“I think, in time, I could be,” you answer truthfully.

“I know it may not be much,” Zatanna says, “but one of my powers involves granting wishes. Before I go, is there anything I can do for you? You’ve been through so much. I’ve seen it. And everybody has something they're hoping for. Something they wish they could change…” She pauses, waiting for your answer, but also seems distracted. You wonder what kind of life this woman has led. What has she done in her past that she regrets or wishes for from the bottom of her heart?

“I only wish for Harrison Wells to be in my life,” you answer honestly. Is that so much to ask for? It seems to be that way.

“Is that what your heart most desires?”

You sigh. “More than anything.”

There’s another pause.

“You know, sometimes you’ll find that our wishes come true on their own, even without magic,” the magician points out ominously.

“That’s code for “I just can’t make that wish come true,” isn’t it?” you joke, somewhat.

“The people that we love—they’re only gone when we stop carrying them with us. How you choose to carry Harrison Wells is up to you.”

You let that sink in and press a hand to your heart. He will always be here with you. Right here. You’ll make sure of it.

“I wish you all the luck and magic in the world, (Y/N),” Zatanna says kindly. “It was nice to meet you.”

You nod in thanks, unsure of how to respond to that. With her aged, thick book under her arm, Zatanna Zatara walks down the S.T.A.R. Labs corridor, but you swear her body vanishes before she rounds the corner…

Despite all the trouble you’ve put her through—everyone, really—with all of this, you can still take comfort in the act of making a new friend.

As you walk through the empty hallways of the Labs, you make it to where the elevator lies. You go to press the button to summon the machine when a ding sounds before your finger even touches the button. The doors slide open, and the face that greets you shocks you to your very core.

“Hello, there,” he says.

In fact, you are so stunned that you take a step back, but in doing so, you stumble and begin to topple over. Luckily, a certain someone’s quick arms catch you in time.

The face you know all too well, Harrison Wells, that is, glows with a calm happiness as he looks down at you in his arms. Behind immaculate see-through frames, his pretty blues eyes twinkle like the stars. He smiles like he knows you. You stare up in disbelief, in relief, and in love.

“Hello… Harrison.”

#reader insert #harrison wells x reader #harrison wells imagine #harrison wells fanfiction #harry wells x reader #harry wells imagine #nash wells x reader #nash wells imagine #hr wells x reader #hr wells imagine #sherloque wells x reader #sherloque wells imagine #eowells imagine #eowells x reader #the flash imagine #the flash fanfiction

[moonbaby26]

Title: The Village

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation of previous chapter. Loki returns again, this time manipulating you into becoming involved with infighting between mortals. Yet with some goals of his own fulfilled in the end results. Guest appearance in this chapter by the god Eros.

Warnings: *Smut near the end of the chapter* Beginning and end of smut is marked in red within the chapter for those who wish to skip it.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys , @loveableasshole , @insanitybyanothername

My Masterlist

——————————

It was a little over three weeks later before anything else had happened. But you’d tried very hard to remain reasonable with your daydreaming in the time between. Because Loki owed you nothing after all.

It would have been far easier to write off your experience with him as just brief acts of lust that any two beings could experience. Yet, you’d found yourself thinking just as much about those quiet hours sitting beside him with a book in your hand as you did that very physical night in the cave together. The parts were equal in your mind. You desired to have both again, because all of it was him.

The real surprise was still there though when word finally reached you that he’d again returned to the ocean’s edge. You could not take a moment for granted. And you wouldn’t, even as each time he came you found your excitement only grew. That warmth that rose through you at just the sound of his name only came quicker and lasted longer every time.

Yet today had also been the first where he hadn’t called from that southern beach where you’d met all the times previous. This fourth meeting actually came in the north. From the lands you would have more associated with the legends of his family to begin with.

Even though the bifrost could open wherever he asked it to you supposed, your curiosity still swelled predictably as you stepped out of the icy waters onto these more foreign black sands. It was rocky, and the sky only grey above as you first saw him standing there near the water’s edge.

And you did stare, seeing his normal black and green leather now replaced with golden armor and a flowing emerald cape. He was in full adornment this time, including that horned helmet you’d only seen in artists’ renderings from the books you’d studied before.

It suited him well, though making a stark contrast between the two of you you were sure as you only stood before him barefoot and dripping wet in one of your usual dresses.

“Are you off to battle?” You asked in genuine question, still taking that view in.

He just smirked though, seeming to be staring at you as well. “Don’t you ever get cold running around so uncovered like that?”

“I feel the cold, yes. But it doesn’t harm me.” You answered simply, though still looking at him expectantly as he’d ignored your own question.

He just turned after another moment though, beginning to walk back up the bank. “I’m only here on an errand for Father. Normally this foolishness would be something I’d decline. But with Odin and brother both off battling in Alfheim, it left Father no choice but to send his second option of course.”

You were already walking as well then, following him without even being asked. He made it all sound so uninteresting though. And if he didn’t even want to be here, then why would he have called you as well then?

A path cut between the cliff face that edged the shoreline, and before you could ask anything further, you were surprised to see a large mortal village coming into view further up the path. You stopped immediately, hesitating at the sight.

But he noticed as you did so, only looking back at you tauntingly as he paused as well. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now?”

What was he planning to do? You tried to keep your contact with mortals limited save for whatever your own father asked you to do, as directly interfering in the wrong ways could sometimes lead to serious consequences. You honestly shirked the attention, often not even letting them lay eyes on you unless you were under the guise of something else.

“Are you planning to make yourself known to them?” You asked a bit incredulously.

“Well of course. How else should they know who to thank when we’re done here?” He answered as if it was only the most obvious thing in the world before he just continued ahead without you.

His stride was so confident. Not a trace of feeling out of place at all even as you couldn’t bear it any longer, transforming yourself into an osprey just to fly nervously along up above him before you could be seen.

Yet he didn’t seem surprised, only a slight smugness in his expression as he glanced up at you briefly in your new form.

That was before the mortal soldiers erupted out at the edge of the settlement anyway. Their yelling brought Loki’s attention back to the path, and you circled in the sky, trying to interpret the words.

Their tone was so much gruffer and faster, harder for you to translate in realtime.

But Loki’s elegant, almost indifferent tone of response you understood far better as he only answered back in that same Nordic tongue.

“Unleash those arrows upon me, beasts, and you’ll find them quite wasted. Are you really so inept as to not recognize your own savior now standing before you?”

With that, he extended out his arms in a grandiose gesture of self importance. Yet the movement proved to be more than just empty posing as you then saw all their arrows fall to the ground as writhing snakes.

The illusion was extremely convincing, even these burly men startling in surprise at the sight.

“Sorcery!” One of them called, though rightly looking no more trusting at the revelation.

“What clan do ye hail from? State your purpose here, sorcerer!” Another said.

Even from this distance, you could see the brief look of exasperation as Loki rolled his eyes. “Has my brother really been away from Midgard so long that you now fail to recognize the house of Odin at all? Such disrespect.”

It was only the mention of Odin’s name that brought an all new nervousness to the men’s body language.

And that edge of newfound fear clearly pleased Loki. “Oh, now things are finally coming together! But seeing is believing, isn’t it boys?”

In an instant then, there was not just one of him, but multiple as replicant images of Loki suddenly surrounded the men. His voice echoing as it came from each, “Odin the Allfather has answered your prayers, I, Loki, god of Asgard shall spare your clan and this village from your enemy’s approach.” His cold smirk returned. “But I require your full allegiance in return of course.”

The fear was really evident in their faces then, but in your own mind you doubted the duplicate images were anything tangible. They likely couldn’t harm the men, only the real Loki could. But the trickery was sufficient as in your surprise, you saw the men fall to their knees one after the other.

And the most genuine grin you’d ever seen on Loki’s face spread instantly at that. He actually chuckled, an honest, happy sound as the men’s heads also bowed.

“Forgive us, Loki, god of mischief.” The oldest looking of the men spoke humbly then. “No one here has laid eyes on a god of Asgard in our lifetimes. We only know the legends our ancestors have taught us, of your victories at Odin’s side across the nine realms. Our loyalty does still lay with you, son of Odin.”

“Finally, a wise man speaks.” Loki answered, still pleased before continuing. “You must be the clan chief. Listen to your elders, boys. And remember it was only Loki who came here today. Not Odin, not Thor. Me. That should be noted in your carvings from now on. Those little hammers embellished on your shields gave you no help today. Mjolnir hears not your pleas.”

And still circling above in your bird of prey form, it was only then that you did notice those emblems on their shields as well. It was clear no details escaped Loki.

“Thor forgets you, too occupied in the happenings of the other realms, but I, merciful as I am do not.”

You may have sighed at that, if you’d been physically capable anyway. He was clearly enjoying this now. But out the corner of your vision, something else caught your eyes as you turned sharply back into the wind.

Sails. Large white sails approaching over the ocean’s horizon. You suddenly remembered Loki’s comment then about sparing this place from their enemy’s approach. But now your nervousness only returned full force as you swooped back down towards him.

Did he really plan to interfere in a coming battle here? Maybe he had permission to do so, but you absolutely did not!

You chirped sharply, but realized quickly he could not understand you in this form. Not like the nymphs could. He seemed amused though at your evident agitation as he offered his forearm. You landed awkwardly on his arm, talons closing around the armor there as you spread your wings to maintain your balance.

He leaned his face in slightly though, speaking only to you in your native Greek. “Was it that many boats then? They’re only marauders. I’m sure your father won’t mind if you kill a few. All you’d need say is that these Norse folk had shown you hospitality, and then these other fools attacked. What else were you to do? And regardless, I’ve already promised our protection to them.”

Our? Your eyes stared holes into him at that. You had promised nothing. This was beyond ridiculous. Yet even in your annoyance, you knew deep down that there were still rules of etiquette that had been bred into you. Ones that couldn’t be ignored when it came to dealings with other gods. If he told them he would do something, while expecting your help to make it happen, and then you let him fail...it could only make them lose further faith in all your kind.

Which even Zeus himself would have admitted that lack of respect as a worsening problem with every successive mortal generation. They believed less and less.

“If you let their boats reach the shore, they’ll happily kill every last man and child on this soil. Only the younger women would live, albeit would they really wish to once they’re sold off like livestock?” Loki added, almost chipper even in those dark words.

You gave the side of his helmet a good, harsh peck, making him turn his face away in reflex before you finally took flight again.

God of mischief indeed. What were you really getting yourself into if you only kept showing him that you were here for whatever use he saw fit?

Though you had somewhat told him that hadn’t you? Back on the beach that day. That whatever kind of relationship he desired with you, you would address the needs as you came to them. You’d more meant in the sense of possibly becoming closer than friends of course. More like that night in the cave. But this...what in Gaia’s name was this?

You pumped your wings hard, then flying back over the sea as you neared the boats and quickly counted them. How many would you have to destroy in order to break their morale?

The quicker you could get this done though, the better. Any kind of prolonged battle may only attract more onlookers, increasing the chances of you having to explain these uncomfortable motivations with your father soon.

Tucking your wings in, you dove suddenly, the only difference between you and a real osprey being that as soon you hit the water, you didn’t surface again. You regained the form of a woman once more, sinking beneath the boats even as you raised your arms towards them.

It took real concentration, especially when your emotions were still all over the place. But the previously calm seas did eventually start to churn. As you clenched your fists, the whirlpools began to tighten around first one, then two, then three of the longships

That should be well enough you thought to yourself. Even from below you could hear the wood snapping as the hulls began to give. Once the boats listed past the point of no return, the masts began to snap as well, the large canvas that was the sails crashing down to the water below and billowing out.

The sunlight cut through the fabric, making the strangest shadows as you swam back from under it. You noted that these men were fairly capable swimmers as well as the fallen began to make their own ways back to the surface.

You left their survival to chance, not trying to pull them any further down, but not helping them either as they swam for rescue towards the remaining boats.

The nymphs that had followed you to this shore also kept things hands off, merely watching in a mix of awe and confusion from beneath the water. But you didn’t have time to explain, only nodding your acknowledgement towards them. They would have to wait.

But you weren’t sure what you were really going to tell them either as you only changed back into the osprey then, breaking the surface before you flapped hard enough to leave the water entirely. You simply glided back towards shore once you caught the wind again.

Loki now stood expectantly on the beach, far more men than you had seen earlier gathered behind him. Dumbstruck expressions graced all the mortals faces as that prince of Asgard only offered you his arm once more.

You landed on his forearm again, making sure to fluff your wet feathers hard enough to throw some seawater on him. Just because you’d done what he’d wanted didn’t mean your frustration was at all over. Conversations would definitely be had.

But he only smiled even as that bit of cold water ran back down his neck and beneath his armor, further annoying you before he whispered then. “Quite a performance. But don’t act as if I won’t be rewarding you later. The day is still young.”

Yet you could only ponder the meaning behind such words, as you were then the one who had to endure several more hours of the village’s praises for Loki instead.

When the marauders had indeed retreated, fading back from sight, all the mortals had come out to rejoice. The ones who had witnessed it all firsthand, recounted the events with excitement again and again to all those others who came to listen.

You’d ended up in their mead hall, candles burning in the dim structure as it filled with the smell of cooked meat and the raucous noise of the townspeople. Men, women, and even the children all filled the hall in celebration.

Loki of course sat at the head of the long feast table as the guest of honor, quite comfortable you thought in their most ornate chair as you only perched on one of its armrest beside him. In the candlelight, the shadows danced around the edges of his face and helmet.

Even in this bird form, you thought he caught you staring at him a few times though. But what else did you have to do? You couldn’t speak, and you still didn’t want to reveal your true self to these strangers. You kept hoping he’d have his fill of the attention at some point, where you’d finally be able to leave again.

But that was wishful thinking surely. Though you did put your attention back to the mortals as the clan chief had made his way to the both of you.

He bowed respectfully, “Prince Loki, I wished to inform you that I have spoken to our carpenters and they believe the building you requested could be finished within two months time.”

Your confusion may have even translated through your body language then as your head tilted and your feathers ruffled. The what?

But Loki didn’t add any elaboration to the subject, only seeming pleased. “Good.” He said simply.

And before you could show any further displeasure at being left in the dark, you saw that mortal leader then looking at you specifically with curiosity.

“If it is not too much a question, prince...” He started, yet treading carefully. “I have heard the stories of the Allfather and his ravens Huginn and Muninn. But I did not know you too possessed a bird, and of such ability. What is its name? It’s quite beautiful.”

His words were unexpected, but the greater surprise was the feel of Loki’s fingers then down your neck and back, physically petting you as if you really were just some adored companion.

You startled, chirping as you turned your head to nip his hand in reflex.

Loki only grinned once more though, moving his fingers out of your reach just as quickly. “Oh, she’s quite proud. Which she should be. Father’s birds are only spies. This bird you see here is...” Loki gave you a sly look, as if teasing that he would reveal you in that very moment. But he didn’t, just glancing back to the man instead. “I call her Kærr.”

Who? You stared. So he was just making up names for you now? And you didn’t even recognize the word as you racked your brain to try and remember a meaning for it in the Norse words you’d read.

But you couldn’t. It could mean fool for all you knew. Little fool who just followed Loki, letting themselves be used in all the dumbest ways.

——————————

At last, the festivities had finally begun to wane and Loki had stood. The mortals all praising him once more as he’d made some speech about needing to return to Asgard, but now being a protector of this town as long as they kept their loyalty to him.

You were truthfully tired by now. Not so much physically, but mentally from the run of emotions you’d had to deal with in silence over the last several hours.

It was fully nighttime when he’d finally walked out of view from the village, now deep in some dark forest, probably heading towards wherever he planned to reopen the bifrost.

When you were confident that no mortals had followed though, you at last landed on the forest floor in front of him, changing back into your true form of a woman.

“Start talking. Now.” You breathed. The anger you’d wanted to express earlier though just sounded like exasperation. But you had so many questions.

He paused, the bits of moonlight that broke through the tree canopy, now glinting white off his armor as he grinned.

“You do have patience, goddess. But I didn’t ask you to trap yourself in the form of a bird all day, let’s remember that firstly.” And he only walked closer to you at that, seemingly all too confident that you wouldn’t attack him just in spite now. “Secondly, I did this for the both of us.”

“For us?” You asked incredulously.

“Well you were too shy to take proper credit of course, which again, not my fault. But I told them this town was under our protection-”

“And you’ll just go back to Asgard and leave me to deal with it! If a god goes back on their word, you know how that makes us all look. I didn’t ask to adopt a village today!”

Yet he was unbothered even as your voice rose. “You’ll do wonderfully. Don’t pretend you don’t have a weakness for these creatures. I’ve seen how you pity them. Consider them your new pets, my gift to you.”

But you scoffed, still so disbelieving. “You’re mad. And really, did Odin even send you here? Or was that more fantasy as well?”

Yet the more flustered you got, the more amused he started to look. “Well, the village leader’s great, great, great something or other ancestor actually was a friend of my Father’s. They fought side by side once. But no, Father doesn’t know I’m here. He’s in Alfheim, as I said.”

But Loki knew it’d give you more inclination to go along with things surely if Odin’s name was attached. Didn’t he? “And the marauders?” You asked as your questions only continued.

He just smirked. “That probably would have happened on its own eventually. There’s a lot of bad blood there apparently. But I’m not as patient as you. That did need a little goading.”

You sighed. “Which you provided I’m sure. Did you pass word to them that this village was preparing to attack them?”

“Oh, something like that.”

“Okay, but why? They say you like chaos, but I haven’t seen you do anything yet that wasn’t for a reason.”

“I already told you. This is for us.” He only reiterated.

“And I still don’t believe it. What building was that man talking about making? A shrine to you? A temple?”

“A house.” He corrected.

“A...what?” You stared.

“Well, not what I’d consider a real one. It had to be quite small unfortunately, or else it’d take them a year or more to build. But nearby, up on this hill actually is where it will be. I told them we’d need a place to stay when in the mortal realm. And if they kept it well maintained, our protection would continue.”

You were finally silent for a few moments then, thoughts spinning furiously. Madness was right. Did he really...did he really plan all this for just this reason? “So, is that why you did all this?” You asked at last.

“I’d prefer not to just meet in wet, muddy caves for the foreseeable future if it’s all the same to you.” He answered with a little air of haughtiness returning.

But you weren’t ready to trust yet. Not where it really counted. “And should I be flattered? Or is there a ‘house’ like this in every realm for you?”

For those words though, even in the moonlight you could see a greedier look come into his eyes as he tilted his head, examining you once more. “Hmm. That’s new. But as fetching as jealousy is on you...you’re wrong. My only other bed would be in Asgard. And I don’t waste my time trying to fill it.”

Jealous? Is that what he thought? You opened your mouth as if to retort, but realized anything you could think to say in defense would only make him sound more correct.

“This is ridiculous.” Was all you finally said. Not knowing how to really express anything further.

“And what else would you really have done so important today if I hadn’t come?” He smirked, reaching a hand out.

He held your chin lightly then, making you realize how close he’d really moved to you in the time you’d been talking.

“You already forgot what I promised didn’t you?” He asked more quietly then.

Your look in return said that you clearly had before he just continued.

“Your reward.” He spoke, before leaning in to kiss you.

You tensed, but didn’t pull away. Such arrogance you still managed to think though, him acting as if his touch alone would erase every negative feeling and upset of the day.

But life was now more complicated than you’d ever known before. Even if this didn’t make everything alright and forgiven...you didn’t want him to stop either as you eventually returned the kiss, leaning further into him. After his hand let go of your face, you felt his arms slide around your waist next, pulling you to him tightly.

It wasn’t as fully desperate, as hungry as that night in the cave. But there was still a clear need there, tasting him all over again as he kissed you again and again.

“I have to return to Asgard.” He breathed eventually though, yet looking at you with body language that didn’t at all match his words as he hadn’t loosened his grip at all. “But speak up, goddess. Would it be more insult just to leave, or to only be quick this time in taking something we both want?”

“Are you, are you asking me...” You were trying to catch up with his thought process. It was late in the night, and he’d already been gone from his kingdom all day. He may be lying still, but it was very possible he had already overstayed whatever time he’d intended to be here. Especially if Odin and Thor really were in another realm right now. Loki’s absence would only be that more evident to his people. So he was about to leave, but he wanted to know if you wanted him to...jump to the finish before he left you?

“Why is it so hard for you to say?” He pushed, moving his hips against you slightly to further his intention.

“I will not be your whore, Loki. That much must be understood.” You replied. Not angrily, but still serious enough to show your sincerity in that statement as you found your voice again.

Yet he just laughed, a genuine one at that. “Just when I think you can’t surprise me any further...you go and say something so foolish.”

But he’d already grabbed your wrist before you could slap him, then continuing. “Calm your temper. I only laugh because you keep assuming so much. If there’s a whore here tonight, it would only be me of course.”

The resulting confusion in your eyes only seemed to encourage him too as he smiled again. “I know it’s not just fucking you want. And there will be more time later to explore that. But gods, woman, I left an empty throne sitting there in Asgard today just for a chance at this. How else could that not make me a whore tonight?”

You really didn’t know at this point, if all his words were only meant to manipulate you further, or if he was actually being truthful right now.

“You make my head hurt.” You grumbled at last, just running your hand down the armor on his chest until it reached his waist.

“You make my...well, I think you can assume what part of me hurts right now.” He just smirked at your resulting expression, his hands starting to bunch up your dress a little. “What? Too crude? I could change into a woman just as easily you know, if you rather something a little different.”

“I thought you said you wanted to make this quick.” You retorted. As in your mind, working up a woman to full arousal would be far more time consuming if your own body was any indication. While men were up and ready at a moment’s notice weren’t they?

“You imply that I can’t have you trembling just as fast then?” He said, seeming to accept the challenge when you didn’t stop him from further raising your dress.

* SMUT STARTS HERE

*

*

You’d only expected to feel one of his hands back between your legs next. So when he abruptly dropped to his knees in front of you instead, you were truly shocked.

You felt his hands on your bare waist, keeping your dress bunched up and out of the way as he glanced back up at you briefly, a wicked look in those blue eyes. How someone could look so predatory, even while on their own knees, you did not know.

All you could do was gasp as you felt his mouth meet your opening roughly, sucking you before his tongue quickly flicked out, so much like a snake against the sensitive flesh.

It was so surreal really, the cool metal of the horned helmet also brushing and scraping against your skin as its master moved obscenely in his attempts to unravel you.

Reflexively, your hips also tried to squirm away from his pressing mouth, so sensitive to the roughness as he went back to sucking what was already becoming swollen. But he’d allow none of it. He only gripped you harder, fingers digging into your soft bottom to keep you against him.

He was going to win. How this had even become a contest, you were not sure. But pride or not, your legs were already feeling like jelly. He would win.

“Loki,” You pleaded, nothing to really brace yourself against as your own knees started to bend.

But he didn’t stop, no. He only pressed even faster at your desperation, tongue flicking and probing over and over, mouth sucking for what felt like ages. But you knew it really couldn’t have been that long at all. Embarrassingly short even before you shuddered harshly, the orgasm cutting through you.

Even in those little aftershocks though, you could feel his teeth as he smiled against you. But he didn’t let go of you, helping you stay upright even as he stood back up himself. “Was that fast enough for you?” He taunted lowly, lips still clearly wet in the moonlight from you before he moved you almost gently backward.

Your back found a large tree trunk behind you, the bark gladly smooth as it helped further support you while he pushed your dress back upward again.

Your eyes met again as you felt him abruptly slide into you at that. He was still fully dressed, but at some point as he’d stood, he’d opened just his pants, that hard flesh now fully sheathing back inside of you before he began to thrust.

It was steady this time, slower, but still forceful as he watched your expression every time he reached that deepest point.

“Do you think you could get used to this?” He asked, breath still a bit labored, likely just from his own arousal.

You knew your own heartbeat was still pounding in your ears, so you could only imagine that his was now doing much the same as you kissed him again.

The taste was strange, still the remnants from you of course, but you didn’t mind it.

“I could.” You did answer though when you pulled back slightly again.

But you didn’t know how this would really work. Would you just keep meeting here now whenever he wanted to see you? The mortals would make some sort of cabin? Room? What have you, for you to stay in? Is this really what he wanted? Wouldn’t he only grow bored of the novelty eventually?

Either that, or one of your families may end up intervening. This couldn’t be kept just to the two of you indefinitely. Heimdall already knew of you of course.

There were still so many questions.

Yet he only seemed focused on the here and now as he finally shuddered against you as well and you felt that tell tale wetness of his cum overflowing slightly down your thigh.

His hands ran up under your dress still, not seeming to want to let go even as he continued to watch you as his own orgasm dissipated.

“...It may be a while before I can return. The mess in Alfheim I don’t see as being resolved soon.” He spoke after a few more moments, breaking the silence.

And he did slide back out of you then, covering himself back within his pants once more after his hands finally let go of you to let your dress also fall back down around your legs.

*

*

*SMUT OVER

He continued though, not leaving your side just yet. “Father’s already been gone over a week now, brother too. Technically putting the kingdom in my care for now. I used the excuse of those marauders attacking this village with old connections to Father as a reason to come check on Midgard today. I don’t quite think Mother believed my motives either. The two of you would likely get along well in your odd combination of suspicion yet fondness for me you know.”

Fondness he said. That was some kind of word for it. But you weren’t sure it was the right one. “If you’ve never had much interest in my world before, then yes, I’m sure anyone would be doubtful.” Of course he’d never spoken of his mother to you. Maybe eventually you could learn more. But not tonight as you realized time was finally up.

As he pulled away, his hand only brushed yours gently, that green cape moving behind him as he walked away. “Goodnight, goddess.”

There was a clearing in the distance, evidently carved earlier from the bifrost as he stepped into the opening and called up to Heimdall.

It was only at that moment though that you remembered one more thing. You yelled out to him suddenly, so he would still hear you at this distance. “Wait, what does Kærr mean!?”

But even from this far you could still see his smug smile spreading before the light of the bifrost overtook him and he was gone.

“Dammit.” You said to no one. This would cause you a whole new trip to the library on Olympus you were sure. All for one simple word.

——————————

It wasn’t until days later that you did make it back to Olympus though. You’d had to apologize to a couple of the nymphs, asking them to keep an eye on that town for you. Your apparent new charity project that Loki had left you with.

Now in the library you’d been pouring over the few more detailed Norse language texts you could find. It’d been much easier the last time you’d been here, when you’d just been trying to learn the gist of Asgard’s history and the very basics of their language. Trying to find the definition of one specific word however proved far more tedious.

But you did finally come across it.

Kærr: Dear, of great value or excellence, precious, beloved-

And you couldn’t read any further, a strange emotion flaring as you’d exclaimed, “Oh, bullshit!” instantly closing the book back shut, then sitting there a moment as this new information settled over you.

He had to be kidding. Just a flippant joke to him surely. And yet, why did it bother you so much? You really had expected the name to have some sort of negative definition, some kind of taunt or insult that he’d be able to laugh about later whenever it’d finally dawned on you.

But this was far worse. It was cruel if he didn’t mean it. Yet...somehow maybe even crueler if he did. Because what were you supposed to do with this knowledge? What could you do?

“Hello, stranger.” A soft voice called as you heard footsteps approaching though.

You looked up in time to see a bit too beautiful god pull out a chair across from you, just sitting at your library table as well then with a friendly smile.

“Hi, Eros,” you said reflexively, still sounding a bit not yourself. He was just your cousin after all, well cousin once removed anyway.

But when he didn’t say anything immediately back, just giving you a sort of sympathetic look instead, the real threat of his presence hit you at once like a lead weight as your eyes widened a little.

“No...no, no, no.” You said quickly, lowering your voice as you leaned in towards the god, not knowing what other ears may be listening. “Eros, I literally just met him. Four times total!” You counted out four fingers from your hand, waving them in front of him for emphasis.

He tilted his head. Yet only answering gently, “Cousin, I sensed you as soon as you arrived here. Are you okay?”

You sighed, but knew you could trust him to keep this revelation to himself. It was part of his job frankly. “It wouldn’t matter would it? I mean, I know you haven’t met him. But he’s not going to feel the same. I’d think at most it would be some kind of possessive thing. He is...well, he’s very self important. Honesty is also not a preference of his.”

But to this Eros just smiled. “No one is perfect, especially among our kind. I can tell you with full certainty though that the biggest lie ever told is when someone claims to not desire love. I’ve seen the hearts of the cruelest dictators all the way to the homeless peasant in the street. They all beg me for it deep down. Even if they can’t always admit it to themselves.”

You rested your elbows on the table, just looking down again. “But that doesn’t mean he’d want it from me necessarily.”

“Love is never a given. It wouldn’t be so valuable otherwise. But you can’t lose hope too soon just because you’re new at something. You need to see it through. That’s the only way to ever find out.”

You looked back up at him wryly, knowing it would be foolish not to accept a little relationship advice from the god of love himself. But as he’d said there was no guarantee this would end up working either. “So if everything goes horribly wrong, I can just blame you, right?”

He shrugged, a bit of a wise ass himself to be true. “Might as well. Everyone else does.”

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki x oc #loki x original female character #loki x original character #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki odinson #loki odison x reader #loki lafeyson #loki layfeyson x reader

[besanii]

For the anon thing, I started following Shattered Mirrors before I even had a Tumblr. I just kept the masterpost open and refreshed on a daily basis. I still keep it open in one of my tabs and check it periodically to make sure I didn't miss anything accidentally. I love pretty much all of your writing, but Shattered Mirrors has a special place in my heart.

Hi nonny! Thank you for your kind words :)))  Have some more SM!!

Shattered Mirrors 70

[directly precedes #26]

In the end, it is Nie Mingjue who lands the killing blow, taking off Wen Ruohan’s head with a swing of his mighty sabre. Lan Wangji watches it happen from only metres away, fending off the Qishan soldiers charging their way up the grand staircase towards the Nightless City stronghold and their king. He doesn’t register it at first, not until he looks down to see the head of Qishan’s monarch at his feet, dark eyes staring lifelessly up at him, mouth still twisted in a snarl.

It is strange, he thinks numbly as weapons clatter to the ground around him, that the once-fearsome ruler of Qishan who had been the cause of decades of grief for Gusu and its allies is now reduced to little more than a bloodied corpse separated from its head.

“You alright, Er-dianxia?” Nie Mingjue asks gruffly, shaking off the worst of the blood from his blade with a flick of his wrist before wiping it on the corpse of a Qishan soldier. “Not much to look at, is he? Still, I’d say it’s an improvement.”

“Wangji congratulates Qinghe-wang on his victory,” Lan Wangji says, bowing to Nie Mingjue as he approaches. “Wangji has heard many stories of Qinghe-wang’s prowess in battle. It is an honour to be able to witness it in person.”

Nie Mingjue waves him off with a snort. “Gusu-er-dianxia is too generous with his words. It is I who must thank Gusu for the chance to take this dog’s head from his body.”

With Wen Ruohan and both his sons dead, the Sunshot War is officially declared over, and all fighting ceases on the front lines as soon as the news spreads. The majority of the surviving troops gradually begin the journey home, but some remain behind, tasked with overseeing the dismantling of war camps, processing prisoners of war, as well as rebuilding the villages and towns affected by the fighting.

Lan Wangji is immediately recalled to Gusu on Lan Xichen’s orders. Despite his desire to help, he knows he cannot defy Imperial orders again, so he has Lan Guoyan stay behind in his place, packs his bags and sets off for the capital. Everywhere they pass on their way back to Caiyi bears the marks of war—villages burnt, orphans and widows on the streets, injured soldiers in makeshift hospitals, once-fruitful and lush fields scorched and blackened beyond recognition. It will take many years of careful management to set things right again; in the meantime, the best they can do is to clean up wherever they can and provide the support and supplies their people desperately need.

He rides for the palace as soon as they enter the city.

Ordinarily, customs dictate that returning officials and soldiers must bathe and make themselves presentable before appearing before the Emperor as a sign of respect, but Lan Wangji knows it will make no difference now whether he carries the dust and grime of the road on him or not. He dismounts hastily at the gates to the Imperial Palace, where Eunuch Yang is already waiting.

“This servant greets Er-dianxia,” he says with a low bow. Lan Wangji nods.

“Yang-zongguan.” He hands off the reins of his horse to one of the soldiers who had followed him here. “I am here to see my brother.”

“Yes, Er-dianxia,” Eunuch Yang says, holding out an arm in the direction of the main hall. “Taizi-dianxia has tasked this servant with bringing Er-dianxia to the Great Hall immediately upon his arrival.”

The Great Hall.

Lan Wangji takes a deep, calming breath.

“Then I must trouble Yang-zongguan,” he says with a curt nod.

It is almost midday by now, which means the court’s morning session should have ended a while ago—but when they arrive at the Great Hall and Lan Wangji’s presence is announced, the entire court turns their heads to look at him. Lan Xichen stands below the throne, one arm tucked behind his back and a calm, neutral expression on his face as Lan Wangji strides down the aisle dividing the civil officials from the military. Not a sound escapes their lips, but he feels their eyes on him, their censure and disapproval burning into the dirt-stained cape trailing behind him.

He sinks to his knees before the dais, and touches his forehead and hands to the floor.

“Greetings Taizi-dianxia,” he says, voice loud and clear in the hall despite the words being directed to the floor. “I ask forgiveness for not having time to make myself presentable to Taizi-dianxia before coming here today.”

Lan Xichen inclines his head in acknowledgment, but his expression does not soften.

“Huangdi is welcome back to court,” he says. “You are to be commended for your part in the war, and in the execution of the tyrant Wen Ruohan. For this, Huangshang has bestowed upon you the title Hanguang-wang. You are granted Hanguang Manor as your permanent residence, effective immediately.”

Lan Wangji exhales. The message is clear—as a prince who has come of age, Lan Wangji is no longer permitted to live within the Imperial Palace; instead, he is granted a title and a residence in the city, and is only permitted to visit the palace on official business, or when summoned. His brother, as the Crown Prince, had moved out of the Inner Palace and into the Eastern Palace when he too had come of age. Lan Wangji keeps his head lowered to the ground.

“Er-chen thanks Huangshang for his generosity,” he says. After a pause, he continues. “There is one further issue for which I must ask Huangshang and Taizi-dianxia for their forgiveness.”

A tense, pregnant pause follows. This, Lan Wangji knows, is the real reason why the court has been kept back long after the morning session has ended, the reason why he has not been permitted to rise to his feet.

“What offence has been committed that Hanguang-wang must ask for forgiveness?” Lan Xichen asks, keeping his voice carefully devoid of any tell-tale inflection.

“Replying to Taizi-dianxia,” Lan Wangji says. “While stationed at the camp in Jiangling, a messenger arrived from Yunmeng seeking aid. Even knowing there were many things suspect about both message and messenger, I abandoned my post to travel to Yunmeng without first seeking permission.”

Murmurs break out amongst the officials at his declaration. As a soldier, abandoning your post during war is an act of desertion, punishable by death. For Lan Wangji to have committed such an offence, as the commander of the Jiangling front and a member of the Imperial Family, even if he escapes execution, punishment is inevitable. All eyes shift towards Lan Xichen, still as a statue above them, looking down impassively on his younger brother prostrate before him.

“That is indeed a grave offence,” he says. “An offence punishable by death. Do you acknowledge this?”

“Yes, Taizi-dianxia.” He ignores the collective intake of breath around him. “I accept whatever punishment Huangshang and Taizi-dianxia see fit.”

“Taizi-dianxia!” A voice rings out in the hall and there’s a flurry of activity as the ranks of the military officials part to allow one of their own to kneel behind Lan Wangji in the aisle. “Hanguang-wang has indeed committed a grave offence, but this lowly official dares beg Taizi-dianxia to take into account the many great deeds Hanguang-wang has accomplished in the war against Qishan, and spare him from execution!”

And then, as though his words had broken a dam, the officials in the hall—both civil and military alike—fall to their knees and prostrate themselves before Lan Xichen.

“We beg Taizi-dianxia show mercy!”

Lan Wangji raises his head enough to meet Lan Xichen’s eyes briefly, before lowering his gaze again. “Taizi-dianxia, wrongdoings must be punished. If the Son of Heaven breaks the law, he is just as guilty as the common folk. What example would I set the people of Gusu if I shirk the consequences of my actions?”

Through all of this, Lan Xichen remains quietly listening and observing each of them in turn. He holds up a hand for silence; a hush falls over the court as they await his ruling.

“You have all made valid points,” he says, nodding his head slowly as he considers their arguments. His face gives nothing away. “Such a grave offence cannot be overlooked, of course, and due punishment must be dealt. However—” He raises his voice when it looks like the officials may protest, “—what Lin-jiangjun says is not without merit. Without Hanguang-wang’s efforts, victory against Qishan would not have been possible. With this in mind, Hanguang-wang shall be sentenced to thirty-three strikes with the disciplinary whip.”

Lan Wangji sinks to the floor, an odd calm falling over him. A public whipping is one of the lighter punishments for the crime of desertion, but a harsh one nonetheless. No one watching would think he had gotten off lightly because of his status as an Imperial Prince, especially not when it must be endured publicly. He thinks of the message still tucked away inside his robes, of the length of red ribbon resting over his heart, of the massacre left behind in Lotus Pier, and knows in his heart that he would do it all again.

“Wangji gives thanks to Huangshang and Taizi-dianxia for their benevolence.”

--

Notes:

Huangdi (皇弟) - Imperial Younger Brother, opposite of Huangxiong (皇兄)

Er-chen (儿臣) - Son and Subject, used by princes to refer to themselves when talking to the Emperor - in this case, LWJ is thanking his father in absentia (because LXC is representing the Emperor as Regent, thus his decisions are considered on behalf of the Emperor).

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#hey nonny nonny #asks #mdzs #wangxian #shattered mirrors fic #shattered mirrors au #王爷机 X 花魁羡 #my writing #prince!lwj #courtesan!wwx #lan wangji #wei wuxian #lan xichen #wei ying arc

[nomanwalksalone]

NEWNESS AND DEARNESS

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

150 years ago, Alexandre Dumas introduced two minor characters to dinner at the Count of Monte Cristo’s, dressing them perfectly for the occasion in brand-new clothes from the finest real-life tailors and outfitters, and then immediately set their fellow dinner guests to criticizing them.  “These Italians are well named and badly dressed,” quips one. His friend suggests he is too demanding: “Those clothes are well cut and quite new,” eliciting the coup de grâce, “That’s just what’s wrong with them. That gentleman appears to be well dressed for the first time in his life.”

Newness, that supposed bogeyman of classic clothing! Legends pile up, no doubt almost as fictional as Dumas’ novel. The old saw about English aristocrats forcing their butlers to break in said aristocrats’ new custom shoes (rather harsh, this, considering servants were no doubt on their feet much more often than their masters and could have used a comfortable pair of shoes that weren’t made to fit someone else).  Fred Astaire throwing his new Anderson & Sheppard suits at the wall to get the “stiff, square newness” out of them.  Yet another nabob, whose name escapes me, taking a bath in his new custom suits to exorcise that same parvenu newness. What commitment it must take to put on a suit and wear it in the bath! That can’t be very comfortable. One wonders if he also put on a shirt and tie as well. And socks? Only a hippie would wear a suit barefoot, after all. Did he wear shoes, too, or was his butler bathing in those?

What a flex! By criticizing someone for wearing clothes that show their newness, Dumas’ fictional critics and the legends of the stories are suggesting that it’s not enough to have the means and desire to afford beautiful clothing.  (Not enough for what? For entrée into whatever society these folks hope to join or stay part of.) Instead, you have to have what can’t be bought: time, time for the clothes to have worn in and aged. And implicit in that suggestion of time are multiple other requirements: not just that you had to have money and clothes for a long time, but that you had to have the training – through upbringing or otherwise – to wear your clothes right, to have the right clothes for every occasion so that you were not wearing your hard-earned new suit of clothes every day. You also had to have the army of valets, tailors and menders who would scrupulously clean, press and repair that suit of clothes over the years, because perhaps worse than newness would be dirtiness and unkemptness.

And those clothes, tailored jackets, trousers, and a “black satin stock, fresh from the maker’s hands,” were, are, complicated to maintain.  Some valet no doubt had to put a crease back in Astaire’s newly wallbanged suits, and some other servant, cursing under his or her breath, must have had to carefully air dry, reshape and gently iron the suit that was bathed in. And then mop up. Clothes lose their newness quickly without the support of that army of labor.  A labor of skilled hands, cheaply paid. It takes time and attention to spot clean and press a suit well, and a considerable amount of dexterity to invisibly mend frays and holes.  Today, the number of professional reweavers, the only people who really know how to do that work, can be counted on the fingers of a single hand in most countries. And if you get your suits brushed and pressed (not dry-cleaned, which all iGents know can reduce the life of a suit if done too often) after each wearing, or do so yourself, you’re a better man than I.

Labor costs a lot more nowadays, which is good for most of us except for snobs who have to iron their own shirts.  After all, almost all laundries will press shirts in a button-cracking appliance called a mangle or mangler (and yes, there have been at least two horror movies about such a machine coming to life and, well, mangling people).

So today newness really is just a bogeyman, an old but unfounded scary story. Unpacking my suit during a business trip reminds me that newness and all the stiffness and other mythical monsters associated with it will disappear very quickly today. Unlike travelers of Astaire’s, let alone Dumas’, generation, we don’t travel with wardrobe trunks for our garments to hang in, or with servants.  I almost always never check luggage, in order to get through airports quickly (among other reasons). Long ago I mastered the tailor-blessed method of packing a jacket for quick travel (inside out, tucking one shoulder under the other, and folding), but my suit still came out of the case looking like Alex from A Clockwork Orange, rather than Astaire or Gene Kelly, had been doing a dance on it. I shrugged and hung it up in the closet. At least it had good bones, and over a night got to a place of more or less presentable character, but certainly not newness. Hopefully Dumas’ Château-Renaud and Debray wouldn’t mind. These old clothes are still dear.

#rjman #reginaldjeromedemans #features

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Crane Team: Sons of Amaterasu

The Family Sends Their Regards

“Crow, I need you to pick up some folks for work.”

The hiring process had gone without a single hitch. No doubt that Yoko Uesugi had the backing of Nanami Sakurai so very little ‘vetting’ was actually done of the candidates. Crow trusted Yoko too but at least give them an interview outside a bar.

“I drove you once and now I’m a professional driver?”

“You promised to help me, this is for the cause!” 

“Ugh… fine.”

“Thanks. A few of them are still nervous about… going out. Thanks for understanding.”

He got the address of a single spot outside a diner where he was supposed to pick up members of the Clan. This Clan formerly known as Devil and now was just going to be awkwardly absorbed into the Hydra to form what was simply known as the Japan Branch of Cassell College.

Crow leaned against the car, smoking. Were all the Cassell branches this fractious? He wondered to himself, blowing out a plume of smoke. No, likely not. Unless the men running those branches were just as corrupt as Tachibana. Part of him understood Ms. Sakurai’s desire to seal the documents surrounding the horrors under Genji Industries and Tachibana’s plan to turn Erii into a dragon. Half the Hydra members wouldn’t believe it. The other half might even agree with it.

His phone buzzed again. “I gave them the all clear.” Yoko texted. “They’re coming.”

Three people he recognized as the men from the bar emerged from the diner. They were all wearing suits and ties but they still looked like a bunch of rough rascals as they glared at him. Kiko reminded him a bit of Yasha, the way his eyes scanned him with a cocky smile. Ryuusei gave a cheery wave and invited himself into the front passenger side. “Thank you so much for the pick up!” The man had his hair back into a dark ponytail. When he pulled the handle, the door was still locked. “Uh…”

“Listen… There are still people out there who don’t agree with this whole arrangement. Yoko’s doing her best but she can’t do it alone. You’re not getting in my car unless I have your word that you’re not going to let her down.”

Ryuusei’s eyes widened slightly. “I would never! Yoko is my one true love. The guiding star of my life!”

Crow turned slowly to him with a disbelieving curl of his lips. 

“I’ll do my best!” Young Hayato bowed deeply.

Crow nodded approvingly. “Hayato sits in front. The other two in the back.”

“Are you her boyfriend?” Ryuusei barked, stepping away from the door for a happily smiling Hayato.

“Yoko is a married woman, unless you believe that your Dragon Lord is dead. His body was never recovered at the Red Well with the others. Pursue her at your own risk.” Crow unlocked the doors.

Crow kept his eyes forward as he led his group of misfits from the elevators on the legal department floor of Genji Heavy Industries. Among Hydra, there was a belief that Devils gave off a certain smell. The way certain Hydra looked at the men with him in disgust, Crow could imagine that perhaps that was true. A new area where they would work was sectioned off. Even though they were in the same building and worked for the same company, the Hydra were reluctant to have them by their sides. But at least the area was well outfitted with phones and PCs and comfortable chairs. Most had already arrived on the phones.

“Wow they even have her name on our cubicles…” Hayato breathed.

“Yoko will be here in a minute to explain. I’m going to go smoke…” Crow turned on his heel.

“Don’t go too far.”

Ryuusei had been about to open his computer when Yoko’s voice reached his ears. He spun to face her. She was resplendent in a black long sleeved jacket, short skirt and black heels. She was smiling as though greatly moved by something. Heavy gold chains hung from her neck.

All the members of the Devil Clan stood up in a silent salute and then bowed humbly. Crow remembered the old man Tamayuki’s words. Whether or not she accepted the title, Yoko was the Chief of the Devil Clan.

Had anyone told him that within a few months, Devil clan members would be working on the dime of Hydra in their headquarters, he would have marked them as a lunatic. Had he known that this was going to be the end of things… how different would he have acted towards them? The faces of Devil Clan members flashed in his mind and he forced his mind away from that useless sense of regret. None of what happened back then was anyone’s fault and yet Devil and Hydra were both at fault. True justice was likely impossible. The only solution was to move forward and leave the old ways behind.

“Thank you… for coming here today.” Yoko said in clear and fluent Japanese. “This is a new beginning for the Japan Branch. Things will not go smoothly or evenly. But when those disruptions come, roll with them, like the waves of the tide and stay the course. The goal is reunification. Please… do not forget that. No matter what.”

The Devil Clan members let out a shout of “Hai!”

“Ganbatte.” Yoko bowed and they all bowed again.

She turned on her heel and stepped out of the office. Crow followed her out. “Crow there’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s very important. I know you’re… probably busy.” 

“I’m not.” Crow said. 

“Then follow me.”

Crow followed her through winding corridors and up abandoned staircases to an unknown area of Genji. “Thank you for picking up those guys today.”

“Nothin’ to it.”

“You can say that… but it's important. I hope you can continue to help out.”

“You want me to hang around them to get close to them. I get it. You said it before. Hydra and Devil Clan in the same room.”

She nodded to herself. “Yes. The separate seating arrangements were not my idea. But they won’t be able to hole the new employees up in their separate area for very long. My hope is that the Devil Clan members themselves will try to mingle. I can’t convert everyone on either side. I just have to trust their hearts.”

“Trust their hearts… huh?” Crow said.

“Someone once said that the strongest thing about Gen Chisei was not his dragonblood but his heart. At first I didn’t believe it.” She glanced down the stairs at him.

“Understandable. Those were your boyfriend’s chains.” Crow said, nodding to the bright gold chains.

“You were there.” She said quietly.

“I heard everything. I’m … truly sorry.”

“Thank you…”

“What made you change your mind about the Young Chief?” Crow asked.

“I didn’t change of my own will. As far as I was concerned, Chisei was a monster. But it was because someone I cared about loved him. And I couldn’t hate him if he loved him so much.” 

Crow blinked in confusion for a moment but continued to follow her.

Eventually, they reached the converted vault apartment where she lived. “Come on in. It’s alright. We have to meet here because this is the only place I can talk freely.” 

Erii peered out of her room and waved at Crow before disappearing back inside. 

“It’s about a boy. The one at the orphanage. I had him taken out from there and placed under the protection of Cassell members.”

She led him to her own bedroom and shut the door. Crow looked around. The space was small. The furniture was simple wood. The bed was plain construction with plain sheets. The only accessory was a small sailor moon doll striking her signature pose on the dresser.

She pulled a tablet from the wall charger. “Please listen to this.”

She pulled up a file and pressed play.

A young boy’s shaky, barely audible voice came from the speaker. “They broke down the door and started shooting. I went to hide in the safe room right away. But my friend ran out of the room.”

“They just started shooting? No warnings? Nothing?”

“No.” 

“What about your friend?”

“He ran back into the wall.”

“What do you mean into the wall?”

He… had his back to the wall. He put his hands up like this…”

“And…?”

“They shot him a lot.”

“Did you see what they looked like?”

“No… they had their faces covered. Just one had a tattoo. The one with the sun.”

Crow sighed as the recording finished. “Look. That time was crazy…”

“Crow. Don’t. Don’t excuse it. That boy wasn’t even a Devil. He was a Hydra child.”

“There were people who died who weren’t even Hybrids! It was crazy! We didn’t have control of the gangs. They just followed orders.”

“Were those orders to murder a whole family without remorse and gun down a child in a house?” She snapped. “If Chisei were here would he have approved of this?”

“These things happened. He never did anything about it.”

She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. “If we don’t… do something about these people. This is not going to work. You can’t expect reunification to happen with the Devil Clan making all the sacrifices to clean up the mess. And these people are part of the mess.”

She pulled out another folder. “This is the witness testimony I’ve gathered so far. None of these people want to be named as witnesses. They’re that scared. This boy is the only live witness I have to these murders who’s willing to talk and he’s too scared to use his real name. And he’s in hiding. All of them who survived just said these men had sun tattoos. They all kept their faces covered. Every time, it was the same. Everyone was killed regardless of what they said or did. The survivors either hid or they played dead. No one escaped. Those who ran were hunted, caught and killed. They wanted no witnesses to hide their atrocities! I need your help, Crow. I need names.”

“No one is going to prosecute these guys. They’re harder asses than Chisei ever was. Even to each other. They’ll get off and come after you.” Crow’s eyes were serious behind his lenses.

“You know who they are.” She leaned forward.

“Yeah. I do. And I can tell you that they’re nuts. Zealots. A separate faction within the executive board. They were focused on the extermination of the Devils. They believed in a pure White King bloodline that did not produce Devils. Only Emperors. That’s why they called themselves Sons of Amaterasu, because they wanted to have an Emperor Bloodline.”

“They’re going to cause trouble. It’s better to nip it in the bud now.” She put the documents away.

“I’ll see what I can do behind the scenes.” Crow said. “Let me try first.”

That night a gathering took place in a historic mansion outside of the city. It was once a Castle stronghold of a village that had long since lost its identity but none of its grandeur. There was no way to get to the mansion. One had to know where it was and turn down a poorly lit path through dense forest to arrive at a padlocked gate. But intruders never make it to the gate.

Everyone arrived armed with swords from the Sengoku Era. This clan of Hybrid were once noble Samurai beholden to a single Daimyo. But after that era faded away, they split into separate families. But they were always beholden to the cause. No Devil Child would survive in their household. They didn’t care to keep them in prisons. They simply killed them as soon as they were identified. The parents of such children were either run off their land, killed, or sterilized. As a result, the appearance of Devils among these families was one of the lowest rates in all of Hydra. Anyone who had born to them a son or daughter that was a Devil had their bloodline abruptly ended.

This is what Crow meant when he said that they were as harsh with each other as they were to Devils.

They sat across from each other on pillows, their ancestral blades placed politely in front of them. They kept their faces masked even amongst each other, their glowing tattoos their own identifier.

“It appears we are all that is left.”

The seven of them sat in a circle, their feet covered under a heated table. “Is there any possibility of continuing the bloodline at this rate?”

“The good women kept frozen embryos and eggs and the good men kept their sperm well banked in case of this catastrophe.  It will take a generation, but I believe recovery is possible. Also, the widows are still available. It’s our men who are scarce.” Said another.

“What threatens us now isn’t genetics. It’s the current atmosphere of Hydra. Even now, those Devils have infiltrated right in the middle of Genji. It won’t be long until Hydra is completely corrupted. The Emperor line will be impossible.” A man at the head of the table spoke in a soft voice. “The population of Devils will explode.”

A gloomy silence was around the table. “With Nanami Sakurai at the head… we have no hope.”

“What are you planning? You don't intend to take violent action? Her installment was sanctioned by Amaterasu no mikoto…”

“He was not a true emperor.” The man at the head of the table said. He waved his hand and three women came with documents in their hands, heads bowed. They were Geisha, their faces painted a ghostly white and they delivered the documents and disappeared like phantoms. The men at the table opened the folders and gasped as they read. “Is this true? There was a second Gen brother? And he was a Devil?”

“He was the ultimate Devil. The Dragon Lord, Ruri Kazama.”

“Where did you get this information?! Some of this is dated 20 years ago!” 

“It’s too accurate to be falsified. The man who has delivered me this documentation is here now. You just can’t see him. Chisei Gen was a creation in a lab, along with his Devil Brother. Tachibana was aware of this and so was the King General of the Devil Clan. Hydra was never going to produce a pure hybrid line. Tachibana was actively harboring and creating Devils.”

“Why is this source helping you?”

The man at the head of the table smiled viciously. “I’ll let him speak for himself.”

Sure enough, the empty space behind him was suddenly occupied by a European looking man in a prim suit. He was carrying a large silver case that looked like it would be too heavy for an ordinary person to lift.

“We are willing to pay handsomely for the elimination of both Yoko and Erii Uesugi. It will for 4 million to retain your services and 14 million if the targets are eliminated and the skeletons of both delivered. You will be well armed to also create as much havoc as you wish. Once the task is completed, you will be sent to protective custody to hide out for a while until things die down.”

One of the men looked the man up and down. “Why would we hide out?”

“Killing Yoko Uesugi will attract the ire of the Gattuso heir. Once the job is done you must leave immediately.”

A sudden chill fell over the table.

“If it means the Salvation of the White King descendants from being corrupted by Devil blood, then the sacrifice will be worth it.” said he man at the head of the table.

“What do you get out of the deal? Why do you want two Devil women dead?”

“That information is classified.” The man set down the case, typed a code in a keypad and stood back. The metal case opened and deformed into a rack of alchemical weapons! “This is the finest weaponry in Dragonslaying. No dragon can withstand this collection. Make good use of it. I’m also entrusting you with these.”

He held out two pieces of dark wood blocks which the man at the head of the table took.

“With these you will disable Erii Uesugi. She will be the easiest to kill. Your leader has been trained in their use.”

#Dragon Raja

[josy57]

Philosophy 101

You asked me why I wanted to attend your class. Again. To sit in the back row, silent and watchful The proverbial fly on the wall Only half-welcomed and sourly out of place

I said it was interesting, full of things that could be transferred Transferred yes, but not to what I was implying I have no professional use for my careful observation I am feeding a more private need So, having no plans to lie I added what you must have taken as mere flattery That it was also for my pleasure -The ever-fleeting pleasure of nostalgia Always a receding wave- You nodded, but I don't think you fully understood And I of course couldn't fully explain I loved your class, with all my heart, with all my aching brain As a child, I used to writhe and wrestle with my sheets With my thoughts too I couldn't sleep, so I debated the great questions As though I was the first to ever think of them Why do we use the words we do? Why do certain sounds signify, While others are only noise? Who are we to decide, to categorize, to dissect? And why are we even here? For how long? And since we do die, why does it matter? Does anything matter? And why all those questions? Can one ever reach certainty? Or is this world only quicksand and moving goalposts?

This place, this room, This air filled with your booming voice, your constant pacing That's where I found, not answers, but echoes to all my questioning Where I knew it was not insane to wonder Where I could voice it Argue, point, prod Feel for the nodes and knots of human experience Do all that and hear someone who cared too, Who would engage with those concepts, each wide as a precipice And so thorny it stung on all sides

I found some piece of myself here, I put it together And it's been useful ever since But I've also left something behind Something like youth, or innocence Some years when I was afforded the luxury Of sitting and listening to you for nine hours a week Just pouring knowledge and effort on us all Whether or not we deserved it I hope I did. I tried very hard to I was only one of the many mayflies You nurse for a while and let go, year after year, Usually never to hear from again But I never wanted you to feel I was a waste of your time A disappointment What it is like, looking at me now? Am I not less than what you had wished for? Or are you proud? Comforted that one of your frail paper boats Made it back to your shore Not across to some new territory But safely back on dryland Not wrecked nor wayward, at least from the outside

Perhaps that's what I miss That someone would look at me with pride That someone would talk to me about all those things So deeply important to me So seemingly weightless in our modern lives You spoke and you listened, you valued what I had to say That made a difference in my life More than I could ever express Because that's not a thing people do, right? Not even in philosophy We speak of love and attachment and identity But one must never say “I”

 Today the subject was truth and knowledge And while you promised to soon tackle desire I scanned the backs of all those bored faces Do they not know, do they not feel, How vital it all is? Beyond the formal exercise, the pages of clumsy essays, How burning those questions are? "Am I what I am aware of being?" "Does awareness impede or lead to happiness?" "Can any person ever be fully known?"

He alone loved this place as I do Felt its soul settle into his bones Like the dampness seeping from the walls And he too, I know, wondered, questioned, struggled Ached for more than surface can offer Him. That’s another thing you don’t know about me Another thing that even in philosophy, you can’t quite discuss Though it permeated all the pages of my old copybooks Darker and messier than a spilled inkpot Especially at certain points When Plato spoke of humans cut in halves Lost and searching When Stendhal said that desire strews all things with salt crystals I, for one, have certainly jeweled my late adolescence Candied it in a melancholy glaze

Still, my memory is not so short that I have forgotten The thousand little hells, the many small agonies of this age But I do envy it I remember when the world still had a sharp edge When it hurt in earnest, instead of pressing dully, as it does now Piling stones upon stones on my chest Back then, I had hope my life would begin soon There was still time Now I only wonder: Is it really all that comes of potential, of effort -Of all those words grown-ups lecture you with-? I played their games and reaped meager rewards A ticket for another trip round the revolving door This time looking through a thick pane of glass Lingering on the threshold of two phases Both of which I am ill-equipped for

I’ve always had an uneasy concept of chronology My internal clock spinning like a broken compass First too stern, too mature for my years And then, suddenly, unripe and lagging Then and now. It all bleeds into one here. So it is safe, this in-between, this hour out of the hourglass A gasp of air, a break in the slow drowning The constant march towards the void For that’s what it comes down to The passing of time and our human perception of it An enigma that no numbers game can settle

Nowadays, I don’t just peek over my shoulders anymore I walk through this gilded cage holding the keys of the castle I open and close doors, I stand on the wrong side of the dais Of what once was my kingdom Not one I ruled but one I belonged in I was more than a trespasser then I existed in a certain time and place This 'dasein" escapes me now As it escaped me in childhood Then too, I watched the world through a tainted window I was never fully real but for those two years or so That’s why I have no good answer: I came here today in a vain attempt Even in those halls, in this class I can't recapture it I only glance at your present students With the sourness of heartburn like a fist under my ribs

I can't help but look at them haughtily, thinking: "This is not what we were At least not him and I" I bite my tongue, not wanting to say what I feel That ours was a golden age One they could never reproduce, never fully understand Because, of course, it's false, it's myopic This bright mist has settled on my eyes The same milky film that blurs old folks' sight "Back in my days..." As if those days were ever ours You see, Kant was right about one thing, None of us lives in the real world Like tiny planets, prideful little gods We view the whole of existence as revolving around us Dimming as we lose light Dying once we die The truth is 'our' world survives our passing We visit it only as ghosts.

#writerscreed #inkstay #poetryportal #poeticstories #poetryriot #writtenconsiderations #starlight #eloquencenet #brokensoulsreborn #savage-words #smittenbypoetry #poetselixir #poetryclub13 #twcpoetry #spilled ink #poem #poetry #art #Josy57 #13cupsofteareblog #imperialreblogs #inspireamuse #24hoursopen #writingthestorm #recognizingthevoiceless #philosophy