#Like... I only knew a few things about Nightwish

[symphonic-power-metal-bracket]

BTW, I don't know ANYTHING about any of the upcoming 30 bands (except that Powerwolf is from Germany, that's it 😂). I'm usually someone who just listens to the music, go to a concert maybe, but I don't usually read up on the bands, watch interviews, or follow them or anything, so sometimes I won't even know that a lead singer changed 🙈.

This means that if there is any fun poll material about a band, you guys should let me know!

[corkinavoid]

For @mysterious-messages, to 'Bless the child' by Nightwish

DPxDC Long Time No See

The crow was incredibly persistent. Which, of course, made it ten times more annoying in John's opinion, because he was trying very, very hard not to pay attention to the pitch-black bird with blood red eyes that was perched right outside the window.

Can't he have one single night where no impossibly powerful force of nature interrupts his attempt to drown himself in liquor? Honestly.

The crow knocks on the window again. Three perfectly timed knocks; this bloody bird sure knows how to draw attention, but it also definitely knows Constantine is avoiding it. Which is why it's insisting on making itself a nuisance, no doubt.

To be fair, John is not even entirely sure who's crow is it. Morpheus has a crow at his disposal, but his crow is a bitch. He wouldn't have simply sat on the windowsill and enjoyed annoying Constantine for the sheer spite of it. Death has her crows as well - very thematic, if you ask John - and then there was that one asshole raven that claimed itself belonging to Apollo.

And then, of course, there was-

Actually, maybe he should see what the crow wants. Might be important, after all.

Constantine sighs and puts his whiskey back on the bar before standing up. The world tilts to the side a bit - he might have had a few too many drinks, yeah. But then maybe it's just the side effect of the messenger crow being here, who knows. Constantine would rather put his money on the latter for the sake of his dignity. Not that he has much of that left.

He makes his way to the window, looks at the crow for a long moment, making his last internal debate obvious, and then opens the window.

"The hell do you want?" He asks, but quickly realises it was in vain.

He is not at the bar anymore.

Instead, he is standing in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, fog, and eerie silence. 4/10 on the creepy effect, John has definitely seen this shit done better.

The cloaked figure sitting on the nearest tombstone stays silent, watching him with unblinking, blood red eyes. John sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat for cigarettes. If he ended up out of the bar anyway, he might as well use it for a smoke break.

"I'd rather you not," the cloaked being says, not a demand but a request by the sound of it. Constantine grimaces, but puts the pack back in the pocket. Arguing with this one will get him exactly nowhere.

"What's this all about, then?" He vaguely gestures around himself, at all the death, decay, and other things that start with the letter 'D'. "I never knew you're into this kind of thing. Very Mary Shelley of you," he raises an eyebrow.

The being - the Dead God, the Ghost of Time, Clockwork, Chronos, and any other name he likes calling himself - huffs a deep, low and breathy laugh. Then, he stands up, his feet firmly planted on the ground for once. He looks different to how John is used to seeing him, all sharp edges and monochrome colors, shiny leather oxfords and loose sleeves with tight cuffs.

Honestly, he kind of reminds Constantine of vampires. He really hopes this is not actually some kind of a new kink of his because John so didn't count on that kind of night. Despite what he's said before.

"No," Chronos shakes his head, his appearance shifting from young to middle-aged. Constantine blinks; if there's anything he learned about the Dead God through their various get-togethers, it's that his age usually reflects his level of seriousness.

But he doesn't have time to ask, nor does he get a moment to prepare, when a child, a literal goddamn child no older than ten steps out from behind Clockwork.

It looks like a boy, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie with a NASA logo on it, and- He does look like Clockwork. Same pale skin, same eerie, unblinking eyes, same unearthly air around him.

Only, his eyes are a faint blue, like ice and winter skies. Like Constantine's eyes.

The unholy fuck. And he means it literally.

"Is that-" he starts, his throat suddenly dry, pointing his finger at the boy before he even thinks about it, but the Ghost of Time laughs again, a dirty grin on his lips.

"Yours? No, thank the Ancients," he says, making sure to sound just a tad bit offended even if John can see the mirth on his face. Bloody wanker. Constantine lets out a slow, loud breath through his nose.

"Amen to that," he agrees and looks at the kid again. And, as soon as the initial shock wears off, a sneaking suspicion starts to form in his mind. He narrows his eyes. "I don't want to ask, I really don't, but I'm going to anyway. Why?"

Clockwork's face looks distant for a moment, his features shifting into old.

"A child blessed by time has no home in his own life. A child blessed by death has no place among others," he says, and John hates when they speak in riddles, but he thinks he might be getting this one right. "I am only loved when I'm gone, the moments being held dear in memory. But a child does not deserve that," Clockwork's voice sounds almost sad, and, while John does understand it's supposed to be a metaphor, it doesn't feel like one.

But then, he is the Time itself. Maybe for him it's not really a metaphor.

He looks back to the kid, and catches the boy looking away with a grimace. Seems like they have at least one thing in common - they both hold a great distaste to Cronos' solemn way of talking.

Constantine is so going to regret this, but he knows where the Dead God is leading.

"Yeah, okay," he rubs his face with one hand, and, before he has time to ask or say another word, the whole graveyard is gone, and he is standing back in the bar, the low murmur of nightly crowd and warm light around him. Just like before he opened the window to the blood-eyed crow.

The only difference between then and now is the kid standing by his side, looking at him like John is the stupidest man he'd ever seen. Oh, he is already regretting this.

Constantine drops his hand down and goes back to the bar, where he left his drink.

"Want a beer?" He asks, and the kid rolls his eyes, trailing after him.

"I'm twelve," he deadpans, and, yeah, okay, he's got a point.

Fuck it, he is calling in a favor from Bats. That man has, like, twenty kids, he should have some parenting advice.

~•~•~•~

Yeah, the song really reminded me of Clockwork for some reason. Why am I loved only when I'm gone? is really stricking me as a line written for him because you only cherish the time after it's gone, you smile at your memories and pictures, but you rarely ever pay attention to it in the moment.

Also, I did my best with the Gothic aesthetic there, and here's the additional vibe.

Clockwork, just dropping a random ass kid on his occasional one night stand and vanishing into the night, knowing that John Constantine has a soft spot for kids and won't just fuck off to who knows where: it's for the greater good the better timeline

Danny, left alone with a clearly too drunk to think magician whose soul looks like a jigsaw puzzle: the fuck it's not

[seobnity]

⚉ characters: intak x reader

⚉ wc: 1,1k

⚉ genre: angst, slight romance(?), drama, hurt/no comfort, tragedy

⚉ theme: boyfriend!intak, partner!reader

⚉ warnings: grief, character injury, coma, death briefly mentioned, implied death, heavy topics, hospital setting

Masterlist ┋ sleeping sun <-

⚉ a/n: welcome or welcome back! This is a second part for the story sleeping sun (I think it would be better if you read the previous part first to understand more of the story) that @inaahhhpr3ttyb0i asked for—sadly, I couldn’t tag you properly, I am sorry! I really hope you like this as much as the first part ♡ For this story, once again, I used some of the lyrics from a Nightwish song called While Your Lips Are Still Red (yes, I even named the story after it, again <3). If you can find the lyrics, you are amazing! Also thank you so much for reading, leaving a heart or even reblogging - it means a lot to me! If you see any mistakes, please feel free to kindly correct me ♡

Another day, another visit (more just like a returning back) to the hospital that seemed to get darker with each visit. But that was only in your head because of the many trips you had made to the hospital in the past few months.

Intak was without any change, which was a good thing on one side because he didn’t get worse, and that was great! But, on the other hand, he also didn’t get better. His condition was still the same—just a body lying on a hospital bed, looking even more lifeless as time passed by.

It was now even harder to see him like this, but it never stopped you from coming to pay him a visit. You were basically living in the hospital at this point, going home for just two to three hours at most to take a shower and grab some food your mom made. Apparently, you couldn’t live off premade sandwiches sold in the hospital's buffet—your mom's words. The fear that something might happen while you weren’t with him was very strong, and even leaving his side for those few hours was truly hard.

Of course, your parents didn’t like this. They hated to see their child looking so broken and without the lively spark in their eyes. Still, your father was more understanding than your mother. After the first few months passed, she started having not-so-sneaky talks with you about how a young heart is meant for love, not heartache, and that you should move on. Let him go, grieve a little, but leave this, leave Intak, behind in the past.

Deep down you know that she is just trying to protect you from the pain and doesn’t mean any harm but you couldn’t do such a thing; you weren’t a monster. You argued back every time, saying that you would never leave Intak's side—not until he woke up, and not even then—because you knew he would need all the help, love, and support that only his family, and especially you, could give him. Just the thought of what he would think if he woke up and you weren’t there for him anymore made you sick to your stomach.

"Mom is persuading me to finally send my university application so I could... live my life again." You started to talk to Intak, just like you always did. You usually tried to keep the topic lighthearted, but sometimes there were moments you had to pour your heart out. "But I can't. I just... can't."

If everything was normal and Intak was conscious, he would listen to your words and your problems while holding your hand and patiently waiting for you to vent it all out of your body. When you'd be done, he would first wipe your tears, if there happened to be any, and then kissed your cheek. Then the other, your forehead, the tip of your nose, and lastly, your lips.

After that, he would whisper sweet little words made for silence, meant only for your ears to hear. Not giving you any space to talk back on his words; that's not what they were meant for. But nothing is normal, and Intak is still silently resting on this damned hospital bed, hooked to too many different beeping machines that are still keeping him alive.

You looked up at him to see his face. It had started to change a little—his skin was pale from not being in the sun for so long, and the chubbiness in his cheeks was now gone too because he obviously couldn’t eat proper food. The necessary nutrients given to him by infusion were only enough for the important functions his body needed. But his lips had not lost their color—a small sign that there still might be a hope.

"I can't leave you," you said, your voice slightly above a whisper because of the lump that formed in your throat due to the sadness that consumed you and didn’t seem like it would leave soon. Not until Intak was awake. "I won't leave you." You bit your lip to suppress a sob.

With a small sigh that escaped your lips, you looked up and blinked a few times to try to make the tears go away. While you were doing that, you still held Intak's hand between yours to somehow feel connected to him; it was at least something, even if it wasn’t much.

Oh, how you missed his love. Missed all the moments and memories full of love while the night was still young and hid the withering dawn, his touch sweet and gentle. You missed it all. You missed him.

"I wish I could kiss your lips one more time while they're still red." A few tears escaped your eyes and rolled down your face, so you closed your eyes in a false hope that it would stop them. "Just once more, please." You squeezed his hand in yours in a desperate manner.

You were sitting by his bed, still holding on to his hand like it was your lifeline, for a few more minutes to compose yourself. You didn’t want to end up emotional on every visit; though, you were one step away from another failure.

Once you opened your eyes again, your gaze fell to your hands holding his. You stroked his hand gently with your thumb to show him you were still there with him, and after that, you carefully placed it back on the bed so you wouldn’t disturb him anymore and just let him rest.

As you were about to move your left hand from his, you suddenly felt some kind of pressure. A very light pressure that you almost missed. At first, you thought you had just brushed your hand against something attached to Intak's hand, but when you felt it for the second time, you brushed that thought away because this time, you hadn’t moved your hand—it couldn’t be that.

You waited to see if you could feel it again, but nothing happened anymore, and you finally moved your hand away from his. It was probably all just in your head. But still, there was this one thought that planted a seed in the back of your mind. A thought telling you that maybe, just maybe, it had been Intak.

Even if you wanted to believe it was true, you didn’t let that thought cloud your mind because you knew it would hurt much more if it turned out to be just your imagination. You knew his mother would believe you, but at the same time, you didn’t want to spread this—possibly false—hope. It was enough that you carried it in your own mind, the ghost touch of your lover.

"Was it you, Intak?" you suddenly asked him, moving your gaze from his hand to his face. "I want to think it was, but... it wasn’t, hm?" Fresh tears welled up in your eyes, and you decided you won't talk anymore, even if the only listener was the silence of the hospital room with the machines still beeping.

[mistermalaprop]

"a moment for the poet's play"

[an angsty sky-byte (kinda jetbyte) oneshot buried in my docs that i decided to post. originally written between july-august of 2024.]

[title is a lyric from Sleeping Sun by Nightwish. it's a banger song, go listen to it.]

--

Sky-Byte did not spend that much time on Earth.

Well, not the millions of years that the other Decepticons did, at least. He visited every once in a while, every couple of centuries perhaps. Humans were so finicky.

In their infant cycles, humans would try to kill Sky-Byte if he stood on their lands. It is how he adapted to his shark alt-mode, it kept him off the land and in the sea with the unique aquatic animals of Earth…

Oh… how he adored the ocean. It was the only consistent thing he enjoyed for stellar cycles. It was so different from Cybertron’s metal surface. If Sky-Byte wanted to swim on Cybertron, the most that was offered were solvent baths… even then, Sky-Byte got many glares for trying to swim in solvent. That was the reason Sky-Byte gained his ability to fly.

If Sky-Byte could not swim without judgment, then he would fly!

When humans began to write, Sky-Byte would painstakingly translate every bit of human literature and read it for himself. Most of it was primitive garbage that not even a sparkling could read, some intimate, yet… few caught his optic.

Epics, Sonnets, Limericks, Haikus, Elegies, Ballads, Ekphrases— Poetry. Sky-Byte could never get enough of it.

It was everything that Sky-Byte could ever want. Everything his spark desired… right in that tiny little human word.

Sky-Byte knew little of a Cybertronian equivalent to human poetry, perhaps there was never an equivalent. Cybertronians lacked the distinction for human music, too.

… While the war between Autobots and Decepticons simmered down— with the disappearance of both Optimus Prime and Megatron and no other Cybertronian to take their places— Sky-Byte spent his cycles studying and replicating the human art. If he were not doing that, then he was busy filling his schedule up with duels to fight against his arch-rival, Jetfire.

When he had gained enough confidence to perform his newly found art and attempt to implement it into Cybertronian customs, Sky-Byte found that his fellow Transformers were not willing to listen. He would be sooner booed off a grand stage than be heard. It was discouraging, Sky-Byte would admit… but he never gave up. Much like with his rivalry with Jetfire, Sky-Byte would never give up on such glorious art. The world needed to hear what wonderful creations he could speak! And so, no matter the response he got, Sky-Byte pushed forward in his goal to appreciate the art of poetry.

He would pursue in the name of the art; he would study and write and listen until he could speak a new haiku from the tip of his glossa, until he could improvise a ballad from a single star in the galaxy, until he could craft an elegy that moved even the toughest of sparks to tears, until he could recite epics that spanned the cosmos. Sky-Byte refused to be silenced, his passion burning brighter than the stars themselves. Despite the sneers and scoffs from his fellow Cybertronians, he continued to immerse himself in the human art of poetry, finding solace and purpose in each carefully constructed verse.

He found solace in the rhythmic flow of verses, the power of metaphors, and the beauty of language woven together to create something greater than the sum of its parts.

As he delved deeper into the world of poetry, Sky-Byte discovered that it was not just about words on a page or spoken aloud— it was a connection, a bridge between sparks. His creations began to resonate with those who were willing to listen (which were very few), sparking something within them that transcended the boundaries of their mechanical bodies. Through his poetry, Sky-Byte found a way to express his innermost thoughts and feelings and to share his experiences and dreams with others. He poured his spark into each verse, each line a reflection of his true self. Through his poetry, Sky-Byte and Jetfire were able to stand beside one another and gaze up at the clouds of dust and space particles.

… that was until the war began again. The Autobots and Decepticons were founded once more, and the battle for control of their home Cybertron was refueled once more.

Against his will, Sky-Byte was called upon to battle against the Autobots after years of “peace”. His spark heavy with conflicted emotions, Sky-Byte grudgingly joined the fray, his mind torn between his duty to his faction and his love for poetry. As he clashed with his foes on the battlefield, the echoes of sonnets and ballads still rang in his audio receptors, a bittersweet reminder of the life he had briefly tasted before the war's resurgence.

Each strike he landed and blow he received only fueled the turmoil within him, the desire for peace warring with the necessity of conflict. Jetfire, once his rival in battles of words and swords alike, now stood across from him as an adversary once more, their camaraderie shattered by the divide of factions. Their rivalry became bitter yet comical— a cliché tragedy written at Sky-Byte’s forced servo by the angry tyrant that was his leader, Megatron. On the battlefield, where screams of agony drowned out any semblance of melody, Sky-Byte yearned for the tranquility of the ocean depths, where only the soft hum of water against his hull could be heard. He longed for a moment of respite, a chance to immerse himself in the verses that had once fueled his spark.

… That leads him to tonight. Tonight.

The night his sacred energon spilled to the dust-coated metal below. The night he collapsed and held little strength to stand.

The night his optics dimmed, and his systems faltered, overwhelmed by the weight of his conflicting desires and the harsh reality of war. Sky-Byte lay on the battlefield, surrounded by the remnants of his comrades and enemies, the echoes of their clashes fading into the distance. His once proud frame now seemed small and fragile, a mere shell of the warrior he had once been.

As he struggled to rise, his optics caught a glimpse of something in the dim light of Cybertron's moon.

“Sky-Byte.” He heard his name spoken by a familiar pair of lips as if it were a forbidden word. Sky-Byte turned his weary optics to the tall figure standing by his side… Jetfire.

"Jetfire," Sky-Byte rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. The sight of his former rival filled him with a mix of conflicting emotions – gratitude for the unexpected help, bitterness at the situation that had led them to this moment, and a deep sense of loss for the time when they had stood together as friends rather than soldiers on opposite sides. “You’re here…”

“Yes, of course…” Jetfire knelt beside Sky-Byte, his expression unreadable behind the battle-worn mask. "I never thought I'd see you like this," he said quietly, his optics scanning Sky-Byte's damaged frame, “It does not feel… real.”

Sky-Byte's systems flickered weakly as he tried to muster a response, the weight of defeat pressing down on him like an iron fist. "Nor I," he managed to choke out, his voice strained with pain and exhaustion. The once-mighty warrior felt a sense of vulnerability creeping over him, his usual bravado stripped away by the harsh realities of war.

He locked optics with Jetfire, “You… were supposed to end me, Jetfire… we agreed…” Sky-Byte formed a small grin upon his lips, his derma sharp as usual for his alternative mode, “But… it was instead another… foolish Autobot…”

Jetfire's optics dimmed at the mention of their agreement, a flicker of regret passing through his optics. "I never wanted it to come to this, Sky-Byte," he replied, his voice heavy with sorrow, “It was never meant to end in such a way…”

Sky-Byte's energy levels were dipping dangerously low, the battle damage taking its toll on his systems. Despite the pain coursing through his frame, a spark of determination flickered in his optics. "You were always a worthy adversary, Jetfire," he murmured, each word a struggle to articulate. "Even in our rivalry, there was… respect."

Jetfire nodded solemnly, a sense of camaraderie mingling with the ache of loss. "We may have been on opposing sides, but I never doubted your dedication to your beliefs, Sky-Byte," he said, reaching out his servos and lifting the Decepticon, holding Sky-Byte in his arms as the battle continued all around them. It seemed as though both of their worlds only consisted of each other, at this moment. Two rivals that swore by their sparks to kill one another, now at the bitter end of their goal…

As Jetfire carried Sky-Byte through the chaos of the battlefield, a sense of surreal calm enveloped them. The sounds of clashing metal and blaring alarms faded into the background, replaced by the steady thrum of their sparks resonating in unison. Despite the weight of their conflicting loyalties and the bitter taste of defeat lingering in the air, there was a strange sense of peace settling over them. As they moved through the wreckage-strewn battlefield, Jetfire's grip tightened around Sky-Byte, offering silent support and a fleeting moment of solace amidst the turmoil. The once-bitter rivals found themselves bound together not by duty or allegiance, but by a shared understanding forged in the flame of war.

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, Sky-Byte felt a sense of gratitude towards Jetfire for showing him compassion in his darkest hour. Despite the odds stacked against them and the scars that covered their frames, there was a glimmer of hope flickering in Sky-Byte’s spark that perhaps he would not be alone once his light was sucked back into the well.

After kliks of walking, passing by soldiers amid battle, Jetfire finally found a sheltered alcove amidst the ruins of what was once a bustling city on Cybertron. Gently laying Sky-Byte down, Jetfire knelt beside him, his optics scanning the Decepticon's damaged frame with a mixture of concern and regret.

"You shouldn't have to endure this, not like this," Jetfire murmured, his soft voice barely above a whisper amidst the chaos that surrounded them. "You deserved more than the fate that awaits you…"

Sky-Byte met Jetfire's gaze, a flicker of defiance in his optics despite his weakened state. "Perhaps... but every spark has its ending, and mine seems to be near its concluding act…" he replied, his voice barely audible as he struggled to draw in each ventilated breath. The weight of his injuries bore down on him like an unrelenting force, threatening to extinguish the last embers of his spark. Jetfire's servos hovered over Sky-Byte's as the shark spoke, his digits shaking before he finally bit the bullet and held the other’s servo.

“I do not know what I will do without you, Sky-Byte.”

Sky-Byte's optics softened at Jetfire's words, a rare sense of warmth spreading through his damaged frame. Despite the pain that wracked his systems and the knowledge of his imminent fate, there was a flicker of peace in his spark at the thought that he would not face it alone. "You do not have to think of such, Jetfire," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he squeezed Jetfire's servo weakly in return. "Our paths may have diverged, but our connection runs deeper than allegiance or war. We were once comrades, and at this moment, we are more than enemies. We are bound by fate, standing together."

Jetfire's optics shimmered with unshed coolant as he gazed down at Sky-Byte, his grip tightening ever so slightly in a silent promise. "I will stand by your side until the end, my old friend," he vowed, a bittersweet smile forming on his lips.

“That… is all I ask, old friend.” Sky-Byte nodded, his optics drifting off to the sky above the now dwindling battlefield, lingering on the fractured moons and the stars, “Though, I wish… I could think of.. a good haiku to bid farewell.”

Jetfire remained by Sky-Byte's side as the mech’s spark snuffed out unceremoniously, his optics locked on the still, slowly rusting form of his former rival. A heavy silence settled over the alcove as the sounds of battle continued to echo in the distance. Grief weighed heavily on Jetfire's spark as he processed the loss of a being who had once been both friend and foe. 

The cacophony of battle slowly faded away, replaced by an eerie stillness that enveloped the alcove where the two former rivals had found a moment of respite.

There was nothing to be done, so Jetfire sighed as he held Sky-Byte’s rusty frame just a little closer.

end.

[brittleskyblue]

Hey, I'm back.

So, Skeleta...

Before I get too into this, I want to preface that I am a child of the 80's by proxy. By that I mean my parents would play 80s stuff around me. I mainly grew up with music by Journey, Asia, Night Ranger, Foreigner, Bon Jovi, and Whitesnake. That is where my love for music began (particularly with Journey). So that's part of the reason I ended up liking this as much as I did. Also because I am silly. Any references made are just purely based on vibes.

That said... Skeleta is a fucking 80's fever dream.

Personally, I don't think Skeleta quite tops my favorite Ghost album, which is Prequelle (the album is just very special to me in general). However, for me, it's up there with my second favorite, which is Impera. I do very much love Skeleta for all that it is and oh wow was it a trip. I'll need a second listen to have it sink in some more (especially lyrically), but I loved every minute of it.

In the meantime here are some silly thoughts:

-Peacefields has grown on me since I heard it earlier this week. I was, admittedly unsure about it at first, but when that first chorus hit I was like "oh my void it really is like Separate Ways, I get it now". It is very much like a Journey song, somewhere between "Separate Ways" and "Only The Young" (both from the Frontiers era iirc, and Frontiers is my favorite Journey album). I will also bring up again that it reminds me very much of "Edema Ruh" by Nightwish.

-Lachryma my beloved... The opening still reminds me so much of Quiet Riot's "Twilight Hotel". Still so so good and dripping with 80s goodness. Very cathartic to me personally as well. This one's probably my favorite from the album (followed by, of course, Satanized)

-SATANIZED MY BELOVED!! (yup that's it. that's all you need to know)

-Guding Lights is actually pretty good. It's got some nice sounds that are so very lovely. The emotion in the vocals here too was very good.

-Du Profundis Borealis was not the vibe I was expecting tbh?? But no I mean this in a good way! Very fun. I also think it would make a great instrumental piece on its own.

-Cenotaph I need to give another listen but it was more upbeat than I expected and it was very lovely. I don't have many thoughts here, sorry.

-ngl when Missilla Amore started up my first thought was "oh this is some Def Leopard vibes". Honestly I don't think I was that far off lol. Also, I'm going to put out a crazy thought but hear me out- vaguely, and mostly because of the lyrics, it made me think of Vore, by Sleep Token (sans the screams of course). But anyway oh this song is a headbanger. Horny, toxic love song for the win. (which is an ironic thing for me of all people to say)

-Marks of the Evil One is quite catchy. Love the beat of the chorus. I need to give this one another listen too.

-Umbra. Just. The Synth. THE FUCKING SYNTH AT THE BEGINNING!! Very much reminding me of Twin Tribes. And then the fucking cowbell comes in- oh we Blue Oyster Cult now! (cover of Don't Fear The Reaper when???) Umbra is so so fun, even though this song too is also quite horny (respect for that though). Gonna be dancing in Boston if they play it there in July.

(Edit: after further contemplation, the way the lyrics flow doesn't really work for me, but Umbra is still a fun song)

(Also if you want more kick-ass synth vibes, I highly recommend the album FutureCentury or music from Com Truise)

-I knew going in that Excelsis was the one that was getting everyone. I just want to say whoever was saying going from Umbra to Excelsis was evil was absolutely right. I'm just bopping along here and then in comes Excelsis with a steel chair. And I'm not gonna lie, at some point (I think around the first chorus) I got suddenly struck with emotion out of nowhere and almost started crying. I've had only a few songs do that to me ever, the immediate other two being Atlantic, by Sleep Token, and ISAE, by ISON.

And also, that ending. Like what??? I had to take a moment to process it. And you know what I realized? It hit me the same way hearing the end of the Winter Paralysis series did. (the last track on "Winter's Demise", though I recommend giving the entirety of that part a listen and not just skip to the track I'm referencing). Respite & Life Eternal still remain my favorite closers on an album, but this one certainly makes you feel things.

All in all, just wow. I'd been waiting and dragging myself through work all day in anticipation and it was so worth it. I'm so excited for my cassette of this to get here too because it's gonna go so hard in that format. What an amazing album. I love you, Ghost.

(and now to wait for Even In Arcadia from Sleep Token, which will probably destroy me on sight but that's okay)

Now... I'm gonna go rewatch Streets of Fire because now I'm in the mood for it (it is also a very 80s movie and a fun one at that)

[rokurookajima]

for the character ask game!!

Raava:

19. How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

26. What's something the character has done you can't get over? Be it something funny, bad, good, serious, whatever?

Vaatu:

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

23. Favorite picture of this character?

Wan:

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

27. FREEBIE QUESTION!!

THANK U!! obv u knew who i wanted to talk about lmaooo

read more bc it’s yap city under here

raava !!!’

19. hmmm ok so many things hard to say about characters who got SO little screen time lmaoo. so i mean .. that would be the only thing i could dislike about any relationships she had - they didn’t get enough time. i would obv watch 1000 hours of just .. wan and raava existing, doing anything at all. but still ofc being their relationship to each other for the most development of any then .. that’s beside the point

i wish we got more of her relationships with vaatu and korra. i’d love to have seen more in depth exploration of her dynamic and existence with vaatu before they were separated, and also post-fusion, how his existence still affected her going forward. with korra, i love the few interactions we got to see between them but again i just wish we got MORE!!

25. ok the way i honestly don’t remember my FIRST first impression seeing her, but ofc i was uh. how do you say. deeply obsessed forever from the moment beginnings part 2 ended i knew that was something i was never gonna move on from (could’ve never expected the impact it would have on my literal whole entire life but that’s a whole other story lmaoo).

now? that is my fucking GIRL. my woman. i love her so much. i love the way her character has evolved for me over time (as i said in my OTHER ask answer also for her lol, with the small amount of canon time we got there was just always so much room for us to expand on that and i love all the ways that’s grown and changed and expanded in that time)

26. uhhhhh everything. i’ll never get over anything she’s ever done. she exists and i’m like holy shit are you guys seeing this??

vaatu!!! gay boy…..

5. ok agreeing with you that nightwish is absolutely his vibe. but otherwise not really any particular songs come to mind, but y’know… i should look into that more

18. so ofc.. ofc. again with the lack of screen time striking but 😮‍💨 i think all his relationships in canon are compelling in some way. with raava, there is so much narrative potential there to be unpacked

then ofc i’ve slept on this specific thought way too long, but nightmare as you posed in your tags the other day: considering how he must have felt about wan is SO good. the being that set him free later coming back to be the one that imprisoned him. that’s soooo 🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼

i also think his relationship with unalaq is fascinating but exclusively through the lense that vaatu is the (for lack of better word) innocent one here; he is the victim of unalaq directly, the manipulated one, the one literally backed into a corner with no other way out. that’s juicy as hell

23. can i say my own fucking drawing lmaoo it’s the panel of him alone in the hvac comic…..

wan :’)

3. i’m going to speak my truth. i hate his fucking dumb ass goatee……

i would never draw him without it tho lmaoo it’s too much a staple of his character design it cannot be removed but it doesn’t mean i LIKE IT

(i hate like. most of the facial hair in all of avatar why did the mustache-less beards have such a grip on the character design.. the pointy ones and aang’s weird chinstrap it just all.. it doesn’t work for me IM SORRY)

25. i actually DO remember the very first image i saw of him and what i thought!! the summer before book 2 dropped when they first released some images from it (i think at comic con or something), that was when they announced they were going to address the avatar origin and showed a single imagine of wan (a screen cap from the air nomad village scene lmao yes i know that) and his name and i was like hm … not sure about this.

absolutely no way i expected him to be my specialest boy ever ESPECIALLY all these years later 😭😭😭 and now yes that just. is what he is to me. he’s the specialest boy ever. i love him an unfair amount he’s like a son to me

27. freebie!!! so i’m gonna say first song that comes to mind when i think about him

i have three (3) variations of waava playlists bc i’m insane (and it’s been 11 years come on) so ofc there are many but the number 1 wan specific song to me is king by lauren aquilina and YES i heard it for the first time in 2013 in a beginnings amv lmaoo so it just. from the start was associated with him but also just fits so well imo

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Meet me where the cliff greets the Sea (part 1)

Elendil x reader (moodboard)

Title inspired by a verse of Elan by Nightwish. This fic is dedicated to @lady-of-imladris.

*****

The market was a fascinating place when you were a little girl: so full of things to look at and of people to meet, and exotic goods brought from merchants ailing from far away lands; foods and fabrics you had never seen before, tools and other objects whose use you could not even guess, live animals sold for company or work whose calls blended in the air, whose masters sometimes allowed you to pet them and that every time you begged your mother to buy, even though you knew your house was too small to keep a sheep... or a horse... or a pig. And then smiths and potters and tailors and scribes who had set a stall away from their shops, and the fortune teller who claimed to be able to foresee a man's future from his hand and that you were at the same time eager and too scared to consult, even though she only accepted adults as clients, vendors and buyers haggling over the prices, women arguing over who had seen a precious silk first, so many scents and different languages blending in the air...

You loved it, even when you were too young to have coin of your own to spend, you loved the excitement in the air and to have so many things to see and discover, and when your mother had to go you always asked to accompany her, even though it meant helping her carrying her purchases back home; you liked to play ball with the other children in the city's squares, swimming at the small beach near your home and having an outdoor meal in the woods surrounding the city, but had someone asked about your favourite place in the city, your answer would have been rapid, and confident: the marketplace!

Now things are different; completely, dramatically so, even, and not just because you have coin to spend and are old enough to consult a soothsayer, should you desire, and the reason why your heart is pounding so hard your chest hurts is not joy, or excitement: is fear, a fear so overpowering you have to force yourself to think clearly, and the anguish of being too late, even though you promised a reward to the captain of the ship had he brought you to your destination in two days less than normal.

It cannot be too late. It simply cannot. Not after everything I have done, and everything we had promised each other. This is not the end, it is not, I do not accept it...

It is wishful thinking, nothing more, since the danger the person you are looking for is in is a reality your hopes and prayers cannot change or improve, but even so, you force yourself to remain lucid and vigilant; you have been searching for him for more than six months, your hopes fading like a dream at dawn every time you felt close to your goal, but your determination has been strengthened, rather than abated, the longer and the more desperate your search became. Your every interest, every thought or feeling in your heart, everything you cared about, has disappeared, replaced by a single, fierce desire, a need, in the face of which everything else, including yourself, loses meaning. You have to find him, free him, and bring him back home; and you are ready to kill, and to die, for it.

This is why you barely pay attention to your surroundings as you move among the narrow streets and alleys of the marketplace, in a city you have reached only a few hours ago, the heart of Draiwen, a kingdom Númenor has long been at war with. A few vendors you have just passed catch your attention for a moment, especially the beautiful fabrics a seller is showing a potential client and that would be perfect for a dress you had in mind to have made for your daughter, but you quickly put that thought away, as well as the interest the stall of a goldsmith -you had a pair of earrings exactly like those!- arouses for a moment in your heart, and the brief, instinctual desire to stop to inspect the wares of an animal seller, a bearded man surrounded by a symphony of chirping, barking and bleating. The marketplace of the city has nothing to envy that of Armenelos, and you suspect some goods on sale here have never been seen in Númenor, but your interest does not lie on weapons, earthenware or a new pair of boots; there is only one good you aim to buy, and you are ready to burn the city down to achieve your goal.

Six months after the end of the war, the worst, and least safe, thing you might do is presenting yourself as hailing from the kingdom that has inflicted a crushing defeat on Draiwen's army and naval force; this is why you are doing your utmost to speak without an accent, have exchanged your coin with the local currency, and made sure your clothes do not betray your origins. Even so, you are still anxious, and look discretely around you to make sure no one is paying attention to you, as you walk, easily blending into the multi-colored, ever-shifting crowd.

"You said it was close." you state in the end, turning to the two men who the captain has lent ti you as your bodyguards and porters, and who have silently followed you. They do not know who you are and what you are searching for, and they probably do not care, only aiming to earn a few coins to spend on ale and dices before they need to set sail, but still, you do not trust them, like you do not trust their captain -you paid him for his services, but your kingdoms have been at odds with each other since before the two of you were born, is it so absurd to fear he wishes you harm?- or anyone who might have served in the army that has threatened to invade your home and forced your husband to fight in a war that has taken him away from you "Are you sure you can find this merchant? I feel like we have been walking for hours."

The men simply answer you will reach your destination soon, and so it is; a couple minutes later, as you pass the stall of a fruit vendor who is defending the quality of his persimmons against the protests of an unsatisfied client, a new scent reaches your nose: it is acrid, almost sour, and it needs no words to speak of fear, and desperation, and hopelessness.

It is the scent of slavery.

The merchants of flesh occupy an area of the market just like any other seller, their work stations close to make it easier for potential buyers to compare the various items, without any formal separation from the colleagues who deal in farming tools, bread or candles. The sections reserved to each vendor is delimited by lines drawn on the pavement, club and dagger-armed guards patrolling the area and occasionally striking a slave who seems ready to rebel or even just does not appear appropriately subservient. There are men and women, some barely out of their childhood and others old enough to barely stand; there are also -and the mere sight is so painful you have to divert your eyes- a few children, held in their parents' arms or sitting on the ground. Many carry the signs of the abuse they received; it is easy to see, since most slaves are barely clothed, men and women wearing only a loincloth to allow the new master to inspect their purchase, and a young man is ordered to disrobe to show exactly what the potential buyer, an older woman accompanied by a few giggling friends, is paying for. Some slaves are sold as labourers, to toil in the fields or in a mine; some women are destined to clean and cook for their masters; some, especially the younger ones, might end up sold to a brothel or becoming their masters' bedslaves, and the children born of those unions would be slaves as well, their life and death in the hands of their masters, their bodies someone else's property, their very fëa forced in chains, exploited until life itself became a burden...

The law of Númenor has declared every form of slavery illegal centuries before your birth, and while you were aware the practice still existed elsewhere, it is the first time you see it with your eyes. Suddenly you feel unable to breathe, pity and instinctive fear and a guilt you know you have no reason to feel but that still makes you unable to meet the eyes of any of these poor souls, burning in your heart. If the Valar assist you, you will find your husband and bring him away from here, but what will become of the others, only Eru knows...

Most of the slaves keep a neutral expression, stony, and whether it comes from defiance in the face of a fate some might judge worse than death, or hopelessness due to that same state of things, who can say; the eyes of some of them follow you as you pass, and -the most pitiful thing- a couple smile shyly, as if they were trying to attract your attention and have you buy them. Do they think a woman would be a kinder master? Doubtful, since there are at least a dozen others of your sex examining the slaves, their demeanour as avid and impassible as that of their male counterparts. Or there is something in you that inspires trust, hope, in those who have not an ounce left?

As always when you are sad or upset, your hand moves to touch the necklace you wear, the same you have never taken off ever since you received it. It was your husband who gave it to you, when you first started courting; a single, large and perfect pearl hanging from a simple silver chain. You were still so young back then, and since you were not married yet it would have been improper for him to gift you one of the jewels belonging to his family's fortune, but tradition was not the only reason: he paid the chain with the coin of his wage, and found the pearl himself, swimming near a secluded gulf where according to a fishmonger friend of his, the largest oysters might be found. He knew how little you cared for his family's reputation and wealth, and he wanted to express he would always take care of you, with the very strength of his body if need be, and that just like silver is one of the few metal that are not corroded, nothing would ever tarnish the love the two of you share. In the years that followed you received many precious gifts from your husband, not to mention the ones that formally become yours on the day of your wedding, since your mother-in-law had passed away years before, but nothing is more precious for you than the simple pendant that you wear every day, hidden under your dress of tunic if necessary, as a sign of the commitment you and him shared, and the love nothing, not even the will of the Valar or death itself, can break...

As always, touching the silver chain is enough to make you feel stronger, and more in control of yourself; you avert your eyes from those of the slaves, promising yourself that, if the coin you brought will be enough once you have ransomed your husband, you will buy and then set free as many of them as you can, and keep walking, finally reaching the man -in a broad sense; heartless scum would be a more exact definition- you were looking for.

He is roughly your age, comfortably sitting next to a small tent raised to shield him from the heat, with a scroll in his hands. There are only three slaves in his enclosure, neither of whom look remotely like your husband, and your heart sinks -were you given inexact information, for the umpteenth time since the beginning of your search? Or has he been sold already, which might make it infinitely harder for you to buy him back?- before you realize that, like a potter would keep some of his best vases and jars on a shelf behind the counter, those three probably represent a sample of the merchant's wares, selected for lack of space.

You already hate him, just like you despise every man or woman who earns their living selling their own race, but you force yourself to hide your disgust, and politely greet him.

"Good day to you, mistress. How may I serve you?"

"I am in need of one or two slaves for my farm, to work the fields. Do you have someo... something that might interest me?"

"I am sure I do. If you need laborers, perhaps someone like him would do."

The merchant points to one of the three slaves chained a few steps from him, each of them with a wooden tablet hanging from the neck, which illustrates the price and a few key characteristics. The older man at the centre is the most expensive, since he -apparently- is a physician who served both in peace and in war, particularly capable in assisting during childbirth; then there is a woman, an expert home-maker who appears to be at least five years older than what she is supposed to, maybe to make her more palatable as a bedslave. The third is a man of your sons' age, tall and robust, the wounds on his skin betraying a past as a soldier. Unlike the other two he looks straight at you, eyes vacant but for a flicker of resentment he seems unable to hide and that fills you with shame, even though you know you do not deserve it.

The slave receives a nod from his master, and silently steps forward, as much as the chains around his naked ankles allow him; his wrists are also enchained.

"Well? Is this man what you are looking for, mistress?" the merchant asks, now walking next to you; he is polite and attentive, as it is expected from a vendor in the company of a potential client, and there is nothing unpleasant or... unnatural in him, something that expresses the cruelty and the disdain he must feel - how could he not, given his trade? He is simply a man, a foreigner but beyond this not so different from so many other men you know, not so different from you, and this is maybe the scariest, most terrible thing you have ever had to come to terms with. "He is young, as you see, and docile; you may have someone instruct him and he will learn."

You admit he is the type of slave you are interested in purchasing, but that does not mean you will buy the first man you are shown. "Do you have anyone else like him?" you inquire, turning to face the merchant; you are acting, in a sense, playing a part not unlike the performers who entertain a crowd in a square or in a theatre, and unfortunately this is not something you have ever done before, not even as a young girl who pretended to be a warrior or a wizard as she played with her friends. Moreover, according to your parents, you have always been a terrible liar, and while you doubt the merchant will care about what you intend to do with the slaves, as long as you pay for them, what if he realizes he is important for you, more important than any other person on Arda excluding the children he gave you, and raises the price? What if he asks more than you can afford? The amount of coin you have brought with you is considerable, more than you have ever carried and way more than you feel comfortable having on your person, even though the bag is hidden by your cape, but...

You cannot lose him, especially not because you cannot simply go home and take more gold to give him and reach the requested price. After all, no one will ever be willing to pay for your husband more than you; the deal is in the interest of the merchant as much as in yours. It will be all right, you comfort yourself; you just need to remain lucid, and in a few hours, you will be together once more, and will have left this horrible place behind you.

"I was thinking about an older man, actually." you add, in your most casual tone.

"Older, mistress? But you told me you mean to have him work as a labourer." the merchant expectedly objects. You tell him that the slave you look for is of course healthy and vigorous enough to toil in the fields and take care of other manual tasks, but you have found mature men to be more serviceable, faster in learning and more docile when they receive orders; the only slaves that ever tried to rebel or refused to obey in your house were stubborn youths.

"I see." the merchant answers with a smile; he is probably wondering why a father or a husband have sent a woman to purchase the slaves, but he remains gracious and considerate in his desire to help you "I do believe I have what you need, if you are so kind as to come with me."

You simply nod, and your two bodyguards silently follow you and the merchant as he, having ordered his guards to keep an eye on the slaves while he is away, leads the three of you away from the marketplace.

"Where do you hail from, mistress?" he asks, the casual tone of someone who simply wants to converse as you walk, to pass the time, and maybe this is exactly what he means to do, and maybe not.

You answer mentioning a kingdom Númenor does not have a close relationship with, and famous for its agricultural production: you are supposed to manage a farm, after all.

"Ah, a lovely place! I have been there once, many years ago. Is this your first visit to Draiwen?"

"It is. I am... visiting a friend." you explain, since your purported homeland is ten days ride away and it would make no sense to make such a long journey only to buy a single slave "And my husband asked me to procure one or two new labourers for our farms, since Draiwen's slave market is larger than ours."

"I see. Well, here is my lot. I am sure you will be satisfied."

If you thought until now that the scent of the slaves' fear and desperation was unpleasant, it is nothing compared to the horrible stench that hits you, as violent as a slap in the face, as you near what is essentially the open warehouse of the flesh merchants. The area in front of you is larger than Armenelos' plaza, but even so, it struggles to contain the multitude of slaves waiting to be needed. Here as in the marketplace, each group is separated from the others by wooden fences not unlike those raised to keep the sheeps from wandering; here as in the marketplace, armed men patrol the area of their masters, making sure the slaves do not cause trouble. Here as in the marketplace, men and women of every age, from those who have barely learnt to walk to those who can no longer do it unassisted, wait to be inspected and sold.

The day is warm and sunny, even too warm for a cape had you not decided to wear one anyway to hide the purse with your gold and another object hanging from your belt, but the stench is not simply due to perspiration, dirt, or even urine given that you doubt the masters would allow the slaves to walk away to relieve themselves behind a tree. It is something different, putrid, difficult to describe but so intense and nasty it makes your eyes water... the smell of desperation.

There must be thousands of slaves, but the merchant moves unhesitatingly guiding you and the two men behind you to his post, where a couple of guards have just finished using their clubs on a man.

"What happened?"

"He meant to escape, sir. He had a rock in his hand and was trying to break the chain at his feet."

The poor soul is laying on the ground, almost too weak and pained to moan, bruises already forming on his belly and legs; your heart stops beating for a moment as you catch a glimpse of brown hair and large shoulders, but the slave does not have your husband's prodigious height, nor, you realize when the guards rudely get him back on his feet, his luminous blue eyes. It is not him, you realize, and the relief filling your heart is so intense your knees go weak... which does not mean, on the other hand, that your husband is still unscathed after six months of captivity. What have they done to him, what abuse or torture was he subjected to in order to break his spirit...?

Meanwhile, the merchant is chiding his guards for what they have done to the would-be fugitive... only a few days before the crown prince himself has sent word he would visit the marketplace to choose a few new slaves for his household; the slave is one of the master's finest, literate and a capable warrior, and could be sold for a large sum: in the state he is now, who would buy him? Incidents like those have their use, since the slaves need to be reminded what occurs to those who try to escape, but if they had to pummel one of them, the guards should have chosen one of the least expensive.

"Now, mistress." he adds, turning to you -one instant too slow to notice the horror and the hate on your face; you do not even know the name of this man, and still you would not shed a tear seeing him choke on his own blood- and smiling once more "Allow me to show you my wares."

A brief order is given, and the slaves quickly assemble in a line, shuffling among the clangor of their chains to march in front of you, slowly enough to allow you to examine them, and their master to present you the merits of each: this one was a farmer, so you would not have to teach him the job; another is particularly strong, which makes him suitable for the most strenuous tasks; the next can read and write, which would make him useful should you need a bookkeeper or a clerk...

As expected from a capable merchant, he seems to know all of them by heart, even though there are not less than eighty men slowly being presented to you. Or maybe he is making the whole thing up, you reflect as you pretend to listen and feel as if the world had started working backwards; usually you are the one who slowly strolls among the stalls looking at the various goods on sale, while now it is the items themselves parading in front of you.

A few of the slaves try to attract your attention, showing their muscles or bowing their head in a show of submission; you feel unworthy of being in their presence, but you force yourself to remain as stoic as you can and glance at the men slowly approaching, hoping, begging to see a familiar face...

And finally, when there are only a handful of slaves left and your hopes are reduced to the flame of a candle, it happens.

"Hey, you; keep walking." one of the guards orders one of the slaves, who had suddenly stopped, forcing the ones behind him to do the same; the man obeys, barely noticing what he is doing, because his eyes -those eyes as blue and deep as the Sea, more luminous than the star of Eärendil his ancestor, those eyes that can read your mind and your heart as easily as the best-written scroll in the Hall of Lore, those eyes you have fallen in love with- are firmly fixed on you, just like yours cannot leave his form.

Elendil! Such is the intensity with which your beloved's name explodes in your mind, for a moment you are almost certain you have actually shouted it, revealing you know him and potentially ruining any chance you had to bring him home. Thank Eru you did not, and no one has noticed the brief glance you have shared; you briefly smile at him, hoping to reassure him, and then force yourself to move your eyes to the men being presented before him; finally, when the slave immediately preceding your husband is in front of you "Stop now." you ask, and the man obeys "What can you tell me about this one?"

The merchant, who had grown both concerned and annoyed as he saw you pass over his best slaves without a word, sighs with relief and rushes to exalt the talents of the man, describing his strenght, his obedient spirit, and the many ways you could put him to work in. You pretend to listen, while actually you are still looking at Elendil out of the corner of your eye.

He is alive, strong and healthy enough to walk on his legs, but captivity has not been kind to him, as it almost never is: you can see how tired and weak he appears, even though there is still determination, even defiance, in his eyes and in the head held high despite the orders and the repeated abuse, and there are bruises and wounds, some months old and some fresh, on his chest and arms and face.

Oh, my love; oh, my lord husband! What have they done to you? How dared they? I will kill them, each and everyone of...

"You are welcome to inspect him yourself, mistress, if that pleases you." the merchants offers, unaware that you would gladly stab him in the heart -an extremely small target, no doubt- once for each of the men he is keeping captive. You do not answer, but step forward to examine the man, feigning interest in his musculature and hands and even his teeth, that he obediently shows you. You then pass to look at the slave before him, pretending to consider a double purchase and asking a few questions regarding his age and abilities that the merchant promptly answers... and then finally, almost distractedly, walk to Elendil.

"And about him, what can you tell me?"

"I am not sure he is what you need, mistress; he is still vigorous for his age, but he was a soldier and a mariner in his homeland, he has no experience in farming. You would have to teach him the job."

"Oh, I can teach him what I need him to do, no doubt." you answer, your practical tone hiding a more personal meaning that only the man in front of you can catch. Turning your back to the merchant and his guards, and still aware of how dangerous it is, you touch Elendil's face pretending to examine his face for bruises or defects; your thumb brushes against his lower lip, and you feel him quiver under your touch. "Where do you hail from, man?"

"He..."

"My homeland is in Númenor, mistress." your husband quickly cuts his master off; he speaks with the humbleness befitting a slave, but a brief smile on his lips betrays his understanding of how that last word, pronounced in that tone, makes you feel. Two can play this game, my wife, he is telling you, as usual between you without the need for words. His blue eyes follow your every move, the intensity of his gaze a mixture of shock, relief, and fear. What are you doing here? How did you find me? You should not have come, it is dangerous...

"Númenor. A land of great mariners, is it not?"

"It is, mistress."

"And are you one of them?"

"I am, mistress. If you own a ship or desire to buy one, I am your man."

Those last words are brazen, even dangerous given the situation you are both in, but you cannot help smiling. Of course you are, you wish you could tell him, and you will, as soon as you have fed him, bathed him, and kissed him long enough to leave both of you senseless, you have always been, ever since our eyes met on the harbour that day, even before we knew each other's name, you are my man and I am your woman, and Eru Himself could do nothing to separate us...

"Interesting."

You need to stop, now. The longer you keep talking to him, the longer you even just pay attention to him, the more you risk the merchant realizes you have a particular interest in this man and raises the price above what you can afford. You should have barely looked at him, and proposed to buy him simply because no one else had caught your attention, but you cannot help it. Having Elendil in front of you, wounded but alive and close enough you can touch him and hear his voice, is like a cup of cold water after a week spent wandering in the desert. For six months you have feared for his safety and for his very life, crying until you had no more tears to spill and sleep had eluded you for many nights in a row; you had feared you would never see him again, doomed to spend the rest of your life alone after so many years of joy and bliss by his side...

But the Valar have listened to your prayers, and your husband is here in front of you; you know how easy it is to fail when the success is within sight and one is prone to lower their guard and abandon caution, and the last thing you want is to have Elendil snatched from you a moment before you are finally together.

This is why you step back, and ask the merchant to show you the last slaves, and the sad parade of chained men resumes shuffling in front of you. Elendil has lowered his gaze, and you wonder why, whether he is forcing yourself not to look at you fearing he could betray himself, or if, like you, he is trying to hide his tear-filled eyes.

Once all the slaves are back in line, the men of your escort accompany you as you inspect some of them, as if you were now ready to choose after examining the whole lot. You linger in front of a few of them, hoping to make the merchant forget the particular interest you have shown Elendil, asking about one slave's health and another's talents as a labourer.

"Are you satisfied, mistress?" the merchant asks in the end; the heat is making him pant under his heavy robes, and he has started fanning himself with his hand, but he has remained friendly and helpful, the image of a good vendor willing to serve a client in any way he can, patiently answering your many, specious questions. There is nothing unpleasant about him, you reflect once more, nothing that betrays the cruelty and the ruthlessness you know dwell in his heart; that does not make you hate him any less, but for some reason you wished it were easier...

"I am. I think I have made my choice." you are quick to answer; he is not the only one suffering because of the heat -you even wore a cape!- but that is not the only reason you cannot wait to seal the deal and leave... in sweet company, preferably "Is there somewhere we can discuss privately?"

You force yourself not to turn to glance one last time at your husband, and at the other poor souls you wish you could all free, and let the merchant accompany you back to the marketplace, your guards following you in turn. Elendil is hidden in the back of the small host of slaves, but you could swear you feel his blue eyes on you, following your every movement, begging you not to abandon him...

I am not; I promise. I will buy you, whatever the price, even if I had to sell the clothes on my back, even if I had to sell myself. Resist, my love, soon we will be together again...

Even with the anxiety clutching at your heart, you cannot help sighing with relief when the pleasant shade of the merchant's tent welcomes you, the temperature more bearable now that you are hidden from the sun. The merchant smile as he removes his outer tunic, and you are not surprised to see a dagger hanging from his belt, the blade longer than the one you are hiding.

The space under the tent is in large part empty, except for a crate, a pair of straw chairs and a small round table with a pitcher and a few cups.

"Are you sure you do not want to remove your cape, mistress?"

"Thank you, but no; I am not staying long, I have to set sail tonight. I will take two of your slaves; the one with the scar on his left cheek, and the one you told me you bought last week." you announce, as you accept the cup of water the man is offering you; you have chosen two slaves who had already worked as farmhands, hoping this will make your cover more believable "How much would you ask for them?"

"You have chosen well; and also, two of my best men. A hundred gold pieces each."

He smiles, waiting. You politely smile back, well aware of what it is expected in a place and a moment like this and determined to give him nothing more than what you strictly have to; the mere thought of this man indulging in his vices -or even worse, buying more slaves to resell- with your family's gold fills you with rage. "I will give give you one hundred and fifty for both."

"They are both strong and hale, good workers who will serve you for many years. One hundred and ninety."

"The one with the scar has the signs of the pox; there is no guarantee he is actually as healthy as you claim. One hundred and sixty."

"Eighty. You are good, but it is my last offer."

"Sixty-five. We both know it is more than enough. Or..."

"Or?"

You have drunk the entire content of the cup in a single gulp, so thirsty you were, and yet you still feel parched, as if the anxiety had taken every drop of water in your body. This is the moment, you think; if you do not play your cards well, it will all be for nothing, and Elendil will be lost forever.

"I might give you the two hundreds you requested, if you add a third man to the deal." you offer, hoping to sound less desperate than you feel, and the merchant's smile turns into a grin: the whole bargain is amusing for him, as well as an art he is surely a master of, but that does not mean he intends to favour you.

"A third man?" he repeats, feigning outrage "But mistress, that would mean gifting him to you."

"Two hundred and fifty, then. What about... one of the two twins?"

"They are worthy three hundred pieces each!"

"Well, then, who would you be willing to give me?"

The merchant mentions four different slaves, who obviously you refuse. "Please, mistress, be reasonable; your request simply makes no sense." he protests as he opens his arms in a gesture of impotence "Nothing would delight me more than sell my slaves to you; I am sure you would be pleased. But you understand, surely, that I have to make a profit out of your purchase, not a loss."

You pretend to think about it, walking aimlessly around the tent and feeling your heart beating so hard it hurts. Brave heart. Soon it will all be worth it. "There was a man among your slaves who had experience as a mariner, was there not?" you finally ask, as an afterthought.

"There was; the man from Númenor. But I do not think he is what you are looking for."

"Not as a farmhand, perhaps, but he might prove himself useful to me in other ways. My... brother is a sea captain, and recently he had to dismiss many of his crewmembers because of a reversal of fortune. I might buy the slave for him, and he would not have to pay him."

It is a good story -a reasonable, believable story- even though you had no more than a few seconds to devise it, but still, you are holding your breath while the merchant considers your proposal, and finally...

"You would take a weight out of my hands, mistress, but in confidence, I do not recommend him; in four months since I have brought him, that man has already attempted to escape three times, sent two guards to the healers' tent after they had tried to discipline him, and my men have found out he was inciting the other slaves to riot. Are you sure you want to burden your brother with a man of his temperament?"

"My brother is more than capable to keep his men in line; and at least, I will not have to worry about what to buy for his next name-day." you answer; victory is so close you can almost taste it "So are we in agreement? The captain, and the other two, for twohundred and fifty gold pieces?"

"We are."

You shake hands, and as the merchant retrieves quill, ink and parchment from the chest to write a brief contract, you take your purse from under your cape and start counting the coin to give him, ordering your hands to stop shaking.

"How did you know he was a captain?"

The bag falls from your hands.

"What?"

"I said, how did you know that man is a sea captain? You called him as such, only a minute ago."

You are facing each other by now, the man in front of you still all smiles and solicitude, but every semblance of actual friendliness abandoned. "Well, mistress?"

"You... you told me that. While we were..."

"I told you he was a mariner; to call him captain is a completely different matter, even though I would not be surprised, since the other slaves have quickly come to look at him for leadership, after I acquired him; he is clearly a man used to command. But how could you know? Either you can read minds... or you knew that man beforehand, and you came here expressely to ransom him."

Silence has fallen in the tent, the sounds and voices of the marketplace attenuated, as if reaching you from many miles away, or if you were underwater. You cannot speak, you cannot move, not even to pick up the gold coins scattered on the ground around your feet, you cannot even think, but one thing is certain: you have been discovered. This man knows what game you are playing, which means that you are alone, or at least vastly outnumbered, in a kingdom that in the last century has spent more time at war with yours than not; he could order his men to seize you and make a slave out of you as well, and then what would become of you? You would never see Elendil, and your children, again... or he might let you go, and simply refuse to let you buy your husband, out of spite for a woman of his kingdom's worst enemy.

In your heart, you could not say which hypothesis would hurt you more.

"Who is he, then? For you, I mean, what makes him so important? Have you been sent from his family to ransom him, or from Númenor's own Queen? Is he a nobleman, a person of importance? Or did you come out of your own free will, mistress? I do not believe he is your kin, you look nothing alike. Is he a friend of yours? No... there is somethting more, is there not? He must be your lover; or maybe the two of you are already wed? If so, he is a fortunate man, to be loved so much that his wife undergoes such a long journey to find him... and since there is so little love in Draiwen for the people of the Land of the Star."

Apparently he is the one with the ability to read minds, or maybe your feelings and thoughts are so evident on your face, even someone who does not know you can guess them. You are lost, you think, and worse even, you have lost Elendil, and being owned by the same master does not mean you would not be separated, and your children will lose you as well as him...

Any moment now the merchant will call for his guards and have you brought to the enclosure, or maybe somewhere else, where he keeps his female slaves or those he still needs to train. Still, any attempt you do not make today is one you will regret tomorrow.

"I always thought the sake of business went above and beyond reasons of patriotism." you state, head held high and voice steady "I have no quarrel with Draiwen, or its people; I did not come into this kingdom to hurt anyone, and I will leave as soon as I can."

"I believe you; but why should I let you go? I await for a visit of the crown prince himself, the day after tomorrow; what prevents me from seizing you and hand you over to him, a daughter of his worst enemy arrived on Draiwen in disguise? He would probably reward me handsomely."

"Probably." you repeat "While I could reward you right now; it would be easy, and no one else would need to know. Name your price, I will take a rebellious slave out of your hands, and in twenty minutes you will be free to forget ever meeting us."

The merchant appears to reflect on your offer as you pick the coins up from the ground; he looks at the bag in your hands, as if assessing the exact sum it contains. "Would you pay me three hundred gold pieces for your friend, if I promised to let both of you go?"

"I would."

"Fourhundred?"

"Yes."

"Fivehundred."

It is almost everything you have. "Yes."

"What if I took it, and you, and kept him?"

"Then I would kill you." you simply answer; he does not know you are armed, and in his eyes you must look the most harmless creature, a simple woman, alone -you are not, but you doubt your bodyguards would actually fight to defend you, and even if they did, they would be two against ten- untrained to war or fight; but he must see something in your eyes, the desperation and the awareness that if you lost Elendil you will have nothing left to live for, or to lose, because he does not laugh, but

"What else do you have to give me in exchange for him?" he asks.

"You can have all of it if you want; it is little more than fivehundred gold pieces."

"You are very generous, mistress. But I was not talking about that; coin is not the only valuable thing that can pay a debt, other types of arrangements also exist - now, do not look at me like that, that is not what I mean; you are a very attractive woman, but I like to keep pleasure and business separated."

"Then what do you mean, exactly?" you ask, confused, and worried, a strange foreboding making you fear you will soon regret he did not order you to take your clothes off. There is nothing, literally nothing in the world you would not do to free Elendil, but... "I have nothing else to offer. I am not a person of importance in Númenor, I am wealthy enough to pay an high price for him but I have no influence or power; what else can I give you? Do you want my earrings? My cape? My shoes? My own hair?"

He is still looking at you. "What is that?" he suddenly asks, pointing at your neck... or rather, to the simple silver chain peeking out from under your shirt.

"It... it is a necklace."

"Show me, please."

"It is worth very little; it is little more than a trinket I received when I was a girl..."

"Show me." he orders you, extending his hand; there is still a smile on his face, and steel in his eyes "Please."

The moment of hesitation before taking off the necklace and handing it to him seals your doom, for good and ill. The merchant delicately takes your most precious possession and examines it carefully.

"Ah! Very pretty. The chain is simple silver, but I had never seen such a large pearl." he says "Is it a childhood gift? Or was it your friend who gave it to you?"

"Fivehundred gold pieces for him." you reply; your self restraint is running out and you know "This necklace is worth next to nothing compared to that. Take my coin and let me leave."

"What if I took only what your friend is actually worth, let us say eighty gold pieces, and the necklace instead?"

"Then you would be a very stupid man, taking only one sixth of what you could."

The merchant admits you are not wrong; and renouncing to a large profit on a whim would be foolish. On the other hand, he is wealthy and successful in what he does enough to indulge in some harmless pleasure, and he has sensed the necklace is much more precious for you than its actual price would suggest.

"So what? You expect me to ransom that as well? Are you actually after my money, and in the meantime you are playing with me?"

"I am not. You see..." He hesitates for a moment, as if explaining his reasoning and his motives to you were important, as if he really wanted you to understand "I am a merchant; I care for gold, whoever pays it, whatever the good purchased, does not matter. At the same time, though... Sometimes, when you are in my trade, you learn that the value of some things does not necessarily depend on the coin that might be exchanged for it. I know that I would not earn much from your necklace, even if I sold the pearl and the chain separatedly. On the other hand, I only need to look at you to see it is precious for you, precious enough you wish you could cut the hand that took it from yours. And this is why I want it, even if it means earning a lower price for my slave."

Silence.

"Do you understand what I am saying, mistress?" he asks, clearly convinced this is the case; and you do understand, and while you thought you could not despise this man any more than you already did, you are forced to reconsider.

"If you want it, you have to give me the other two slaves as well." you reply; it may be petty, other than probably hopeless, but you are determined not to let him have the last word.

The merchant bursts out laughing; he seems sincerely amused. "Not even if all the Gods came down to order me to do it, mistress. Not a chance."

"Two slaves of your choice, then; and I will pay a hundred gold pieces for each of them." you insist; those men mean nothing for you, but spending your coin to ransom as many of them as you can seems the most natural choice, as well as one you know your husband will not reproach you for "Those no buyer will ever want; you will make a profit in any case, will you not?"

The merchant is still smiling; there is sincere merriment in his eyes, and complete and utter lack of mercy. "Sparring with you is amusing, mistress; but we had our fun, and now we have to discuss serious matters."

"I am being extremely serious."

"You are also being extremely naive, and blind to the good fortune you are having and that might run out soon. I will sell you the captain for eighty gold pieces and this pretty trinket; I will also have him bathed and clothed, as a personal favour for you... And I will tell no one, not even to one of the many guards who patrol the marketplace, many of which fought in the war against Númenor, who you are. If I can offer you a word of advice, the sooner you leave this tent, and Draiwen, the better it will be for the two of you."

He is still smiling, but appealing to his good heart and his mercy would be as useless as trying to reason with a famished lion. Wordlessly, you take the agreed sum off your bag and leave the coins on the table, next to your necklace; you brush your fingers against the pearl, the one Elendil had spent a whole day searching because none of the many he had found, and that he had gifted to his fishmonger friend, were large enough, and sufficiently beautiful, for his gift you, and you fell ashamed, even though you could have not done otherwise, and sad, as if you were saying farewell to a person you love.

A few minutes later the merchant offers you a slip of parchment with the proof of your purchase, that you will have to keep until you are safe back in Númenor.

"I need to leave as soon as possible; give him clothes, but there is no time for a bath." you state brusquely; you have your husband back, safe and sound, but then why does it not feel like a victory, rather the opposite? "I will be waiting outside."

"As you wish, mistress. It was a pleasure doing business with you." the merchant answers; you avert his eyes, because you know he is still smiling.

You do not answer, but turn and leave the tent, ordering yourself to walk instead of running.

TAGGING @starlady66 and @hippodameia.

[a-silent-symphony]

Nightwish’s Tuomas Holopainen loves this cult 90s metal album and thinks you will too

Nightwish mastermind Tuomas Holopainen hails the overlooked genius of The 3rd And Mortal’s cult 90s classic Tears Laid in Earth

“If you’re a hardcore metal fan, you’ll know about The 3rd And Mortal, but they weren’t widely known within the metal scene – they were on a very small label, and the music was quite underground, with long songs, not very radio friendly.

“But I don't think it’s an exaggeration to say that Nightwish wouldn't exist without them. They were from Norway and were categorised as ‘atmospheric metal’ – they were very doomy, melodic, dark, not at all symphonic, but with a beautiful female voice. I heard them, and thought, ‘I want to do something similar.’

“Tears Laid In Earth was their first album. I was 17 when I first heard a song called Why So Lonely on the radio in Finland. There was a lot of darkness in my life at that point, and I related to that. And the next week I went and bought the CD. It took me to a whole different world – it was so beautiful and so dark. And when you combine those two things, that’s the kind of music I like.

“They only made four albums before splitting up, and none of them really sound like this – they went more experimental and jazzy. But the most incredible thing happened a few years ago. We played a festival in their hometown, and the promoter knew my obsession with them, so he brought the whole original line-up backstage to meet me. They hadn’t seen each other for 12 years. It was emotional for everybody.

“Whenever I listen back to this album, I get the same kick I did back then. Of course there’s a lot of nostalgia there – it takes me back to 1994 and all the stuff I was going through. But it’s also just a great album that everyone should listen to.”

[tree-wizard]

White Night Fantasy

@promiseddifferent @roseprincess1994

My second fic! I got insanely carried away with this one and wrote like 7 pages of Scroldie just laying bed????

Anyways, this takes place right after that implied Prisoner of White Agony Creek scene. So lots of mention of sex but nothing explicit in any way. Lots of introspection and fluff.

I was very intentional with the way I wrote Goldie passages vs Scrooge passages but no one is probably even going to notice.

Title is a Nightwish reference as always. The lyrics of that whole song are perfect.

And oh I made both Scrooge and Goldie Demi .... BEACUSE I CAN HEHEHEH

Goldie starred up into the darkness. She’d gotten a bit carried away in the last hour but now she had to focus on what this had all been for. The nugget. She started to run through different plans but then suddenly stopped. She’d already stolen it. She’d literally had it in her hands last night. Along with the rest of the lockbox with its deed. That was the whole reason why she even let him take her to this isolated barren place. He was knocked out, she had a ride to Dawson, it was more perfect than she could have imagined. But then she saw a curl of her golden hair. The one he’d stare at every night. And she came back. She came back.

Had the sex been for no reason then? She’d always had a reason. Money, future favors, stolen treasure, something. It was always pleasurable once she was in the depth of it but she never had the urge to do it just because. But this time was different. She actually longed for it, without having anything to gain. Except him. She’d longed to have his rough hands move over her body, to have his lips bless her, to feel his breath. She’d never felt like this about anyone before and had no idea sex could be like this.

And in the midst of it all she wasn’t thinking about angles. She wasn’t plotting future moves. All that had matter was being with him. Her defenses had lowered. The defenses she’d gotten so used too, she forgot that they were even there, that she had existed at some point without them. But, oddly, she hadn’t felt exposed. It had felt natural, she felt present and secure. It had just felt right somehow. 

And now he was in her bed with her. Wait, no, she was the one who was in his bed. She passed her hand over the wood. His bed. It just dawned on her that he had slept where she lay every single night before she was here. He broke his back over the same stiff wooden frame, held the same blankets tightly to his shivering huddled body. The heat of the stove would warmly embrace his legs, making him relax his shoulders after a long day of work and convincing him to give into the awaiting rest. What did he think of—those days when he wasn’t too exhausted to think at all as she was sure was the case most nights—before slumber overtook him? His family back in Scotland? All his past travels and endeavors? The fortune he wished to find? Did he face the wall or the open room? Did he squirm in his sleep a lot? What dreams did he have, if any? 

Did his spirit linger all the days she slept here?  He’d always been with her in that case but now he was actually here. They were sharing the bed. In a sense it was theirs. That felt bittersweet for some reason. As if she knew she was lying to herself and she had to forget about such stupid fantasies and grow up. But she pushed the uneasy sense to the back of her mind and tried to focus instead on the warm comfort spreading through her. Their bed.

Scrooge lay in bed waiting to cool off and catch his breath. The rush of the last hour was settling down, leaving his head clear for reflection. The contentment was turning into nervousness as he realized that she was lying only a few inches away.

He had a hard time believing what had just happened. It felt like his whole world had shifted slightly and now everything was slightly off. He presumed that it was actually a pretty normal thing and something that typically happened much earlier than thirty. But it never really crossed his mind at any point in his life. He didn’t care for women, or anyone for that matter, before. He couldn’t understand why other men would go all googly eyed and waste their money on random bar girls. Why would they go crazy at seeing a woman with slightly lifted skirts. He didn’t pay attention to all the dance hall girls in Dawson and that’s probably why he could work besides Goldie whereas any other man would probably be losing their mind the whole time.

But as the days working next to Goldie had passed, he’d felt an unusual twisting warmth take up a home at the bottom of his stomach. He wanted to reach out to Goldie whenever he looked at her lately. He wanted to be near her. Wanted to have that warmth envelope her too. He would heat up when she kissed him and he burned when she went further than that. He didn’t know what was going on with his body. Why was it betraying him, now after thirty years? 

He used to think that if he ignored it, it would go away, but it had only grown, the warmth spreading through his whole body. He used to want to get rid of it but now he didn’t mind that much. He’d felt so much relief and pleasure when they made love. He felt special and he liked to see her enjoyment too. He wanted to be with her. 

It seemed that everything around him stopped when she kissed him. There was only mindless passion. The hard exterior he kept up, especially around her, and all his doubts about himself and her all disappeared. But now that they were done, Scrooge didn't know what was going to happen. Were they just going to wake up tomorrow and go back to their constant bickering, eyes filled with rage? Had it all just been some weird slip up?

Or worse, had it all been a trap? Maybe all that just happened was just a way for her to seem innocent, to make it look like she cared for him, to spin his head so that she’d have time to run away with his gold. He didn’t drink her coffee, her poison, earlier that day so this was plan B. Using her seductive powers to enchant unsuspecting men just long enough to steal their gold was her specialty. She was a siren, ready to drag men that passed her into deep dark waters. He’d already fallen for it once and he’d always curse himself for that. 

Except he didn’t feel too bad about it now for some reason. NO NO! He had been foolish and he couldn’t let it happen again. He wasn’t like all those other men. He couldn’t show any kind of care for her. That would be giving in. She’d know she had him in her grasp. He was smarter than the smarties, tougher than the toughies, sharper than the sharpies. He had to be.

 But he felt his cheeks warming up. Maybe the need to constantly mask his feelings wasn’t just because he needed to keep her from having an advantage over him. Maybe it was easier to pretend that he hated her than to confront the reality: she hadn’t only been able to do the impossible and turn him on, he had truly fallen for her. Find gold, send money to his family, make his fortune. That’s all he planned for, all he had focused on for the last two decades. This was not part of the plan. He couldn’t get distracted when he was finally so close to reaching his goals.

And yet simply going back to the way things were and pretending  that this night never happened seemed impossible. He could just tell her to leave tomorrow morning.

But could he just let her go like that? Make her leave? Never see her again? Remain in this infinite loneliness?

He turned to look at her. With the aid of a moonbeam, he could make out that she lay on her back, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes closed. Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed and she seemed to be thinking about something. She seemed so soft and peaceful like this. He’d seen her face when it was furious, annoyed, exhausted, focused, lustful (an image that sent electric shivers down his spine) but this one seemed the most precious.

He silently whispered her name. Goldie.

He thought about her all the time and wondered what she thought of. What she was feeling? As much as she was truly the Ice Queen of the North, he could tell that she had a tender heart. Maybe so much that it made her swear to keep up her walls, be strong and never vulnerable. Just like him. They really were so alike. She loafed around and complained a lot and barely did any work in the first few days but he’d watched her slowly get more and more focused until she was just as determined as him. She tried to hide it but he’d noticed how excited she got any time she found some nuggets. He smiled to himself. She really understands now how rewarding hard work is. And she definitely could rise up to the challenge, to all his expectations, and seemed eager to prove herself. She was like a hearty gold veil, full of vigor. Head held high. And she was just as beautiful and shone just as bright as one too. He loved to see her proud with herself. To see her wipe her hands at the end of the day, look proudly down at her findings and smirk at him, with a hint of a giggle, claiming to have found more gold than him. Of course he always replied with a cold stare and a disapproving sigh but he actually really loved when she did that. He loved to see her rare giggles and genuine laughs, and when she’d playfully punch him or make faces at him or throw snowballs in his face. He loved it when they would settle down for meals and she’d listen to him retell his adventures with curious soft eyes. And when she’d talk about her own past and her success with her saloon. He loved that wistful look in her eyes. He loved how she’d sit with her face nestled in her hands, around their evening fire, and just attentively look out ahead, taking in the quiet beauty of the valley painted by the glow of the setting sun. The alpenglow on the mountains in the distance. The grandeur and purity of the Yukon wilderness. He just loved having her work and sit beside him, hearing her breath and feeling the whispers of her feathers.

He loved her.

But such affection was foreign to him. Even if he let himself admit it was there, even if he let himself give in to it, he had no idea what to do with it and that scared him. Fighting with her, keeping her at bay was the already well trodden path, the matted snow. But there on his side was fresh new snow where he hadn’t been before and as much as it was beautiful and glistening and tempting he had no idea what lay under it. It could be jagged rocks or feet upon feet of just snow that he would fall through once he took a step into it. 

He had no idea what Goldie even thought about him. She’d kissed him and then she’d hit him and threw the coffee pot and a bunch of plates at him and then she’d made love to him. He didn’t know what to make of that. He could understand why she’d be angry with him. He’d taken her against her will. He’d taken her away from her business and who knew what would happen to the Blackjack now? He’d essentially kidnapped her. She had to stay with a stranger in an unknown land. And he forced her to work every day too. He felt very ashamed of all this now. She had stolen his gold but she hadn’t deserved this. He could understand why she’d want to get away, even if she didn’t take his gold. She’d return to her home, to the business she had made from nothing and that meant everything to her, where she was in control and where her name, her name, mattered.

She’d told him earlier that if she’d wanted to steal his gold again she would have done it long ago. Maybe she cared for him at least a little then. It definitely felt like she did when they did it but that was most likely because it was his first time and he didn’t know better. He felt so special and adored then, like it was only the two of them in the whole world. But she’d probably had countless similar encounters before. He’d taken her away from the saloon, from Dawson, and she hadn’t seen anyone for a whole month. She probably just finally decided that the clueless virgin was her only option right now. And now she’d return to Dawson, to better men. Did he really believe that Glittering Goldie, the Star of the North, the Ice Queen, would actually love someone and if she did it’d be him?

He felt his chest ache from all those thoughts. He desperately wanted to touch her. To feel her warmth and at least pretend that she cared for him. He turned to face her again and froze.

Just do it, you big dope. Reach out to her. You are the Master of the Mississippi, the Buckaroo of the Badlands, the Terror of the Transvaal, the King of the Klondike and you’re scared of this? You’re Scrooge McDuck, for God’s sake!

At that Scrooge slowly extended his hand and moved away a strand of her face and stroked her cheek. Goldie jerked from the sudden contact and then turned to him with a mischievous smirk, and a catty look in her eyes. But he noticed her expression soften and her eyes become full of longing. He was suddenly reminded of when he came home from shoe shining when he was a child in Glasgow and Matilda would run up to him all upset because some mean boy had teased her and all she wanted was to be scooped up and embraced by her big brother. Her eyes would glisten with a prelude of tears but they’d also be brimming with joy at seeing her brother.

Goldie turned to him with her default expression but suddenly felt herself melt. There he was. His nervous innocent face. Less than a dozen inches away. With those curious big brown eyes. The clear pearl blue moonlight, speckled with floating dust angels, trickled over him. She was so close to him and it felt so intimate and peaceful. She could almost see the warm fuzzy tension in the air suspended between them. She felt herself blush. She wanted to lay here and look at this cute miner forever. The night was endless. It was just them in the cabin, in the same bed, under the same blanket, and her past, the outside world, time itself seemed to fade to the background.

She shifted closer to him and nestled her head into the crook of his neck. Scrooge’s eyes widened. He certainly hadn’t expected her to reciprocate his touch. She pulled the sheets closer over them and started to move one of her hands in small circles over his chest feathers. The movements sent a warm stream through him and pulled him out of his stupor. He finally grew accustomed to what was happening and rested a soft kiss at the top of her head. Goldie smiled at that and pulled him closer, Scrooge wrapping an arm over her back. He closed his eyes. She’s in my arms.

Goldie could feel his heart beating fast so she started to coo quietly in hopes of calming him down (and herself- her own heart wasn’t beating much slower). He squeezed her shoulders. Did he really stare at her curl of hair every night? Could he really love her? For something other than her body even. She felt so comfortable laying in his arms. And this was new for her. She didn’t let other men come this close before. They were foolish and mean and repulsive. But she liked being in this duck’s arms. They were strong and gentle. It seemed like he wanted to press her as much as possible to him, to his heart, but didn’t want to crush her. 

She lifted and turned her head and pressed her beak softly against his.

“With all that anger you usually direct my way, I didn’t think you could be this careful, sourdough.”

Scrooge got flustered at the sound of her voice. He shifted his head a little bit to look into her emerald shining eyes. 

“I’m surprised ye aren’t running away with mah gold.”

She frowned at that. He’d probably never really see her for something other than a thief.

“I know you don’t trust me and I understand that, but I don’t want to steal anything from you anymore.”

Goldie felt his sigh waft over her head. “You can go back to Dawson tomorrow then.”

Goldie stayed quiet. She knew that made sense, but she almost felt upset with him for saying that.

“After everything that happened this month?” She heard herself ask, surprising herself. She didn’t fully know why that mattered. Why she felt like she had to push back at his suggestion.

Scrooge blinked a couple times. “Wha...I...I don’t understand.”

Goldie shut her eyes and leaned closer to him, clutching a handful of his feathers.

Scrooge suddenly felt his chest get damp. Alarmed, he shifted to the side and turned to face her. He clasped his hands over the hand that had been holding on to him.

“What’s wrong, Goldie?”

“Why are you such an infuriating warm sourdough?” She asked, slapping his chest.

Scrooge shifted nervously, unsure how to respond. 

She sighed and looked away. “I don’t think I want to head back to Dawson just yet.”

She turned back to him and stared determined into his eyes. 

“Look, I know I stole from you and I know you think I’m a distraction-”

“Goldie, I-”

“Just listen! You’re trying to find your fortune, and support your family back in Scotland and rebuild your ancestral castle, I get that! I know you care about hard work and being tough and making things square, and you think I’m just some lying, stealing, lazy, dance hall girl. But I want to be part of your world, and not just by being the woman who stole your gold.”

Goldie let out her breath and turned away from him, her face all flushed. She couldn’t believe she’d just said all that. WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HER?

Scrooge’s eyes welled up and he reached out and cupped Goldie’s face, turning her towards him.

“Goldie, you...you’re already more to me than that. I’m so sorry I captured you and took you here and made you work really hard every day. I thought you hated me for that. But...but, I think I love you.”

Goldie smiled and shifted closer, wrapping an arm around him. She rested her forehead against his. 

“Me too, Scroogey”.

[oddlovergirl]

Risotto Nero Headcanons

Alrighty then, here we have the Primo Mafioso of La Squadra Esecuzioni, Risotto Nero!

WARNING: There is a mention of a dead loved one. Proceed with caution if you’re still coping with the death of a loved one.

-           Canonically, in the original manga, Risotto was born in 1974 and is 28 years old. When I subtracted the year 2001 (where Vento Aureo took place) with his birth year 1974 on my calculator, I got 27 as an answer. When I then subtract the year with his canon age instead, I got 1973. I’m guessing he turned 28 a few months before Vento Aureo, so I decided to make his birthdate January 17th, basically making him a Capricorn-Aquarius cusp.

-           He was born big at around 5 kg (which translate into 12 pounds) and 70 cm (which is 24 inches). He had to be delivered by caesarian, which ended with his mother’s uterus getting punctured, rendering her infertile (not that she cared; she didn’t want kids anyway).

-           Puberty was a very awkward time for the nine-year-old Risotto, mainly due to the fact he’s becoming rather tall for kids his age, and the fact he’s friendless due to his very withdrawn, painfully shy demeanor doesn’t help. He’ll eventually stop growing to a staggering 6’8 ft. (which I believe to be his manga height, since his height may be nerfed to 6’4 feet/195 cm for the anime and not 185 cm like in the anime booklet) at age fifteen.

-           Risotto loves The Moomins; since Araki mentioned in his JOJOVELLAR commentaries that Metallica’s design is based on human cells, red blood cells, and the Hattifatteners from the Moomins, I decided to roll with the headcanon.

-           He is a complete teetotaler, especially since losing his beloved cousin Budino to a hit-and-run by a drunk driver has definitely left him with a soured view on alcohol.

-           Sometimes, he misses his surviving cousin, aunt, and uncle, but he knew that he has come too far to turn back now, especially since he is no longer the same soft-hearted boy he was but now a cold-blooded killer.

-           His bauble headpiece was crafted by both his aunt and Budino as a Christmas gift when he was ten. As Risotto was packing up his bags before he moved from Sicily to Naples, he accidentally brought his childhood headpiece along. Not wanting to get rid of his cherished belonging (especially one made by Budino), he kept it. He uses Metallica to keep the baubles still as to avoid jingling them.

-           The sclera in his eyes was originally white before using Metallica to turn blood into objects caused his eyes to turn permanently black as a rare Stand-related mutation. You know, if he were still alive today in the late 2010s, he would be thought by any normal human to have used some experimental black sclera dye.

-           In his younger years in Passione, to reference the photo in the manga, he had long hair in a ponytail and black lipstick.

-           When he uses Metallica to turn invisible, he was actually temporarily blinded since his invisibility is blocking the light from entering his eyes. He has to fully rely on his sense of smell, touch, and hearing. When he used turned invisible for the very first time, he tripped on himself.

-           Regarding the fact that the Boss didn’t even know about his Stand power, I can only assume Risotto only told Polpo that his Stand makes him invisible, and the whole “manipulate the iron including in one’s blood” thing is something that only his teammates in La Squadra are aware of.

-           Risotto is Ghiaccio’s mentor, as well as one of the very few La Squadra members capable of instantly calming Ghiaccio down when the latter is in irate mode.

-           While he does look intimidating (and he certainly lives up to that and his reputation as a merciless assassin), I think Risotto is rather socially awkward (not that you would know due to his stone-cold demeanor and professionalism as a competent leader of contract killers) as well as very chaste (aka a total virgin).

-           He prefers listening to melodic death metal, with his favorite band being Nightwish.

[dreamsequencer]

On the Collection of Names

I have loved Criminal Minds for a very long time.

Specifically, I have loved Spencer Reid.

He's not the only thing I like about it. I love mysteries, and serial killers fascinate me, in a morbid sort of way.

Spencer Reid was not like other TV characters. Other TV characters were like other people. Spencer Reid was like me.

When I started watching the show, I didn't really understand. I was 7. Probably too young to be watching Criminal Minds. I didn't know what autism was, or that I had it, or that he probably did too.

All I knew was that he was like me and other TV characters weren't.

At 7 years old, Spencer Reid became a part of who I was. He was the first character I saw on TV who I could truly relate to. I internalized that, and he became a part of me.

I did not know, then, how big a part of me.

I didn't know I was trans. I was 7. Some people know that young. I didn't. I figured it out 6 years later.

I was 13 when I took the name Spencer.

It's the name I go by at school, it's the name I plan to make my own, legally.

I have been Spencer for 5 years.

I am Spencer Matthew, as a matter of fact, because of Daredevil.

Daredevil is my favorite superhero.

Matt Murdock is my favorite lawyer.

Matt Murdock made me realize I want to be a lawyer.

(I want to be a public defender. I feel like I can do some good there.)

The Astonishing came out in 2016.

(If you do the math, you will realize that I came out in 2015. Heh.)

I have loved Dream Theater my whole life. When I was 8 years old, my favorite song was Prophets of War.

When I was 8 years old, I didn't quite realize the significance of that song. Now I do, and I love it even more.

I loved Dream Theater long before I was 8 years old, but until I was 8 years old I never gave much thought to the question of a favorite song.

My favorite song of theirs now is Far From Heaven. And it means a lot to me.

But the song of theirs that means the most to me is As I Am. That's not the same as a favorite, you see. A favorite is about all of it. The music, the lyrics, and the message. This is just about the message.

The message is clear, it is repeated over and over. "Take me as I am."

It is a song about standing up to a world that doesn't want you and saying "fuck you, you're going to take me anyway."

As I Am is a song about being unapologetically yourself. And so in a way it's a song about being queer.

The Astonishing came out in 2016 and I latched onto the main character's brother. The main character's brother who dies.

Sucks for me, I guess.

(It wasn't the first time I latched onto a character who dies, and it wouldn't be the last.)

I latched onto Arhys, and a part of Arhys latched onto me.

I have been Arhys for 4 years.

(I stopped going by the name for a while. Some assholes on the internet convinced me it was cringy. You know what's cringy? Being an asshole on the internet.)

I discovered Ayreon when I was 8. Around the same time that I decided Prophets Of War was my favorite song.

Well, I should say my dad discovered Ayreon. He found out on a Dream Theater forum that James Labrie was the star of an album called The Human Equation, and he bought it.

(My dad buys everything with James Labrie's name on it. In his defense, so do I.)

I was obsessed with it.

It's a comfort album now, because it takes me back to when I was 8 and I couldn't wait to get home from school each day so I could listen to it.

My mom refuses to listen to it now because she heard it so many times back then.

For a long time it was the only Ayreon album I knew.

The Source came out in 2017. It also had James on it, so we bought it. I have a signed copy.

(Not signed by James. Signed by Arjen.)

When The Source came out, I decided to dive headfirst into the world of Ayreon.

Listening to The Final Experiment, I latched onto the main character.

(The main character who dies.)

His name was Ayreon.

A little while later, I decided that my name was Ayreon too.

I have been Ayreon for almost 2 years.

I was 4 years old when I first heard Nightwish. The song was Over the Hills and Far Away.

I was 10 when I learned that the male vocalist who sometimes sang was named Marco.

I was 11 when I learned he was the bassist and that he looked like a Viking, and when I realized just how much I liked his voice. When I decided I wanted to be like him, I wanted to play bass and sing.

(When I was 11 I did not know much about Rush. I did not know about Gaddy Lee who also plays bass and sings.)

I was 12 when I learned that it was also spelled Marko.

I was 14 when I got my bass guitar.

I was 16 when I saw Nightwish in concert. When Tuomas touched my hand, when Emppu gave me a pick, when I got to give a drawing I'd done to Floor.

I was 16 when I stood just a few feet away from them and they really, truly became real to me.

Marko became real to me. And I realized that my far-off goal of being like Marko wasn't so far off or impossible. It hit me in that moment that he was just a person, like me, and I came to admire him even more.

I am 18 and I have decided that I would like to be named Marko. I have decided that I would like to share a name with him because I admire him and because he has inspired me and because he has a lovely voice and because I really love Nightwish.

I have been Marko for less than a week.

(I have been going by Marko for less than a day.)

I am Spencer, and Arhys, and Ayreon, and Marko.

(I am also DJ. That one is a nickname that was given to me by others, not chosen for myself.)

I have 4 names and a nickname. I may end up having more. I may find more musicians I admire or characters who become a part of me, and decide I want to share their name.

A name is something that tells people who you are, and you don't have to be just one thing.

You don't have to be just one thing.

I am Spencer and Arhys and Ayreon and Marko and DJ and I will not trim myself down for anyone.

Take me as I am. All of me.

[skruffie]

There’s gonna come a day when you feel better

You’ll rise up free and easy on that day

Trauma anniversary blogging.

Ten years ago I had the PTSD-causing incident at my friend’s house. Ten years. Sometimes (and I say this knowing it’s a bad habit) I look up my friend’s mom on Facebook and not only has she gone full Qanon but I found out last week they are all moving out of state.

I’ve done therapy, I’ve done EMDR, I’ve let time pass and work what it could on my traumas, done a lot to try to take care of myself, but knowing that they won’t even be in the same time zone anymore has given me a sense of relief that I didn’t know I could get. I won’t have to worry about risking seeing them again. I could go to the resort that they had been working at and have a fancy dinner with Zack without worrying they’d be there. I’ve already let go of the feeling of responsibility and protectiveness that got me into therapy in the first place, but I’m like... fully released.

May 28 2011 was like a domino that had toppled over. I came into that friendship already kind of wounded with my family history and grief, but then meeting [Friend] and seeing she was also kind of wounded, creative, talented--I wanted to be her friend. She had a quiet fury over her own circumstances and rightfully so, and I’ve always had the sense that some seriously awful things happened to her before we met. We’d been friends for about five years before the Thing occurred so by the time it happened I had already borne witness to how horrible her mom and stepdad were. I have everything archived in this blog already.

The stepdad’s abuse against his family escalated, my entire world seemed to collapse, my closest friendships were broken (her’s, and my other best friend/her boyfriend--we finally reconciled a few years ago), and I left that with a lot of trauma. Six straight months of EMDR while running headfirst into another abuse situation where I was a direct target instead of collateral damage. Crawled out of that abuse eventually by finding better friends, life continued ever on...

I feel recovered. There’s some leftover PTSD bits from this experience but they’re barely background noise at this point. This past week I’ve been a bit jumpy because I knew this date was coming up, but I also gave myself this entire week off as a staycation. Went to the zoo with Zack on Monday, got the vaccination on Tuesday, spent Wednesday and Thursday mostly resting, virtual Nightwish concert today... and I am ten years past the trauma finally.

Ten years past staring down that hallway. Past sitting in his kitchen when he circled us. Past being hushed into silence by my friend so her parents wouldn’t be disturbed. Past witnessing and trying to speak out against the emotional abuse. Past the memory of that noise, the memory of me begging my mom to come up with any excuse possible for me to not go to that house, the look on her brother’s face the day he moved out, the constant days of watching her youngest brother isolate himself in his room at any given opportunity, it’s done.

I couldn’t imagine being at this point. Years ago I was despairing over how it felt like it had this chokehold on my life and I worried I would live in fear for the rest of my life, that it would just hang over my head, and it... doesn’t. 

I don’t forgive any of them. I’ve maintained quietly in my head that it’s not fully my trauma to forgive because I wasn’t the actual focus of what happened, but I was still entrenched in this family enough for them to pull the mask off around me. I also don’t think forgiveness is necessary to heal from trauma. It’s a very personal choice, and it’s one that they will never see from me. 

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

LEAVES’ EYES have released their Viking-inspired record “The Last Viking”, which is the second one with Elina Siirala behind the mic. METAL KAOZ had a Skype session with Elina and talked about the making of the album as well as the band’s plans moving forward (and away from this pandemic).

Hi Elina and welcome to METAL KAOZ! How are you? Super! How are you?

It’s great to hear you this excited these days! Let’s start right away; were there any discussions to delay the release of “The Last Viking” due to the no touring situation? Yes, and it had been already delayed. It was supposed to come out in August, and we couldn’t meet that deadline because of the music videos and stuff like that, so it pushed back, but then we didn’t want to push it back any further. And it’s always risky; there were some things that weren’t so nice because of the pandemic but hey, it’s now out and the reviews have been awesome, so we have to be very happy.

Do you actually check the reviews? Yeah, they’ve been posting them a lot, so I have been reading some of them. There’s been some great response for the album. It’s really nice.

Most of the times, metalheads, when the frontman / frontwoman of a band changes, then they have a hard time digesting this change. What were your challenges when you came to a band that has been out there since 2000 almost? For me, it wasn’t really about that; it was actually more about... [interrupting herself] Well, I knew that I had to come there as a completely different kind of singer and also different kind of performer. Liv and I are very different, so I knew that I have to bring my own versions of the existing songs. It’s not gonna sound the same. I also wanted to do the best job I could, so I put all my energy into learning the songs, because I didn’t have much time back then. Then, instantly we did a lot of gigs and we had a huge US tour, so I didn’t have much time to think about it, I guess (laughs). Then, we recorded an EP, so it kind of went on its own haze. These things always bring a lot of emotions in people. Plus, music is always subjective and when you have a singer in a band, like it happened to NIGHTWISH as well and so many other cases, it’s normal, I think. But for me, I’ve always had a very positive feedback from the fans and I was well accepted, so it was very positive for me.

Of course there are emotions involved, but sometimes I like to consider also the artist and the challenges or the pressure you might feel. Speaking of how much time you had when you did the previous album, this time, you must had more time, right? What was your contribution in the making of “The Last Viking”? To be honest, the process was pretty much the same with last time; of course now we know each other even better and the guys also know my voice – we’ve played a lot live and we have all this experience on what works, what we like and what we wanna actually push forward and experiment again a little bit more. This time I was able to use my vocals in many, many ways on this album which was really nice for me. The concept and all the different kind of stories they bring this possibility for a lot of creativity. Again, we went through all the lyrics and the melodies together, so it was the similar process – sometimes, more things needed to be changed, sometimes, a bit less, and it was a very evolving process. It’s a creative process, it’s always great.

Did you have input in the vocal melodies or lyrics? Like saying something like: “hey, change this word or this line that doesn’t go well with me”? With the melodies, not so much – we had to change some stuff for sure – but with the lyrics, some words didn’t sound so good (laughs) so we had to kind of smooth things out a little bit. But it wasn’t so much.

When you have a concept or a story to tell with an album, I imagine it can be challenging, right? Like you said, you have to use specific words to describe certain things, so does this restrict at all your artistic freedom? Alex is responsible for the concept and the lyrics; he did a lot of research and he’s of course very emerged into the whole Viking scene anyways, so he knows a lot about it, he loves the history and stuff like that. But yeah, it’s challenging because you kind of have to bring the whole story into using only a few words and you have to think what sounds good and what makes the text interesting. But I don’t think this is a restricting thing; it’s more like exciting creativity to tell these specific stories, both with text and music.

I imagine that as a singer and in order to put the appropriate emotion to the songs, you need to establish some sort of a connection with the lyrics, so how do you do that when someone else is writing the lyrics? It’s kind of similar as always compared to Opera – because I’ve been doing a lot of Opera and of course also concerts with Classical songs. You know, it’s about the music and the lyrics like you said; you bring the story to life. You have to portray the emotion and the character of the song, so it’s kind of natural as a performer to make that work. Obviously, the songs are very different to each other, so there’s no like one thing you just do. You hear the song - the music helps obviously a lot and then you hear the story behind and you wanna bring that story to people and make it believable.

I may sound naïve, but bear with me; when metalheads hear that a soprano singer, a person who has Classical music education, entering a Metal band, sometimes we question if it’s easier for that performer to sing in a Metal band. I mean, is it easy for you to sing in a Metal band? It’s very different; I’m not actually using my voice in a complete similar way most of the time. Also, I’m singing to a microphone and with a full band, with drums and guitars and everything, so it’s not really the same. In a way, it’s a different kind of vibe and way of expressing myself, I guess. I love performing onstage, I love the power of the music and that roughness that contrasts my voice. So, I love both but it’s not the same. It’s just different.

So, you have to sing in a lower volume because you have the microphone, I guess. Well, the volume isn’t maybe such a factor so much; it’s more about I do some stuff a little bit differently. How I project my voice, let’s say. In an Opera or a Classical song, I’d do it a little bit differently.

I warned you that this may be a naïve question (laughs). Speaking of vocals, for “Black Butterfly” you have Clementine Delauney from VISIONS OF ATLANTIS, so what were you searching for the vocals for this particular song and you thought of bringing Clementine as a guest? We wanted to bring a guest that would have a contrasting, a different voice from mine. We did consider a lot of options but then we ended up with a female voice but specifically someone with kind of different voice to bring a different kind of character to the song and I think, with Clementine, it worked really well. She definitely has a different voice from mine and also she compliments my singing. It brings other elements, a kind of different layer, and our voices actually blend so nicely together. So, it really was everything we were looking for. It was great working with her.

If the situation with the pandemic was different, I’d ask you if LEAVES’ EYES and VISIONS OF ATLANTIS were talking about doing a tour together. But that’s more of a theoretical question right now. We already toured together many times actually and it was always we wanted to do something together and it’d be great to sing this song together live as well. I really hope we will.

I was thinking the US, to be honest. Yeah, ok.

How did all these pandemic restrictions affect the schedule to the album making? Was it challenging to finish the album? We actually started recording right at the moment when the first lockdown happened. While the lockdown was taking place, we were already in the studio. We kind of made the best out of this situation and finished the album in April and then the pandemic definitely affected the music video shootings that we had to postpone. Obviously, some of our release shows weren’t happening so then we had to postpone the release of the album a little bit, but not so much. I mean, it was still going pretty much according to the schedule.

You gave me the right pass on this because you mentioned the music videos and you have released three awesome-looking videos, so when did this filming happen and where? The first video, “Dark Love Empress”, was actually filmed in Switzerland, the second one, “Chain Of The Golden Horn”, was filmed in Poland, and then, the third one, for “War Of Kings”, was finished last minute – we were just able to do it, and it’s in Germany, so we were really lucky that we were able to get all the videos done.

There’s some snow in the third one, although it looks like it was added like an effect, but was it cold at all? It was very cold (laughs) , I was freezing, but it was worth it. I had my personal super jacket holder who always brought me the jacket in between the scenes – it’s just a joke actually. It was really nice that the result came out so well. After that, my face was so cold, I couldn’t even move it (laughs) .

I would imagine that the album’s title track would have made a killer music video, almost like a mini movie considering its 10 minutes long. Are there any plans to release another music video? It was considered that would have been the third single, but then, as you mentioned it’s a little bit of a challenge to make such a long video. But we don’t have another one to release, not at the moment.

What are your plans to further promote the new album without touring? There are some plans, but everything is like up in the air at the moment, so even with touring, concerts and everything, we had plans for next for sure, it’s just that we don’t know how it’s gonna be. So, it’s kind of difficult to say anything to that at the moment.

There are some bands that do streaming events, have you considered that? I think that everything is considered at this point, so I hope we’ll find some way at least to play the songs live, in some form.

The digipak version of the album has a second CD as a bonus with the music without the lyrics, so was there a specific reason why you added that? We already did it with “Sign Of The Dragonhead” – it’s actually common. At least I think it’s quite common to do that, maybe it’s not. Yeah, many bands I think also release instrumental versions of the songs, and it’s just cool, especially in this kind of music because it has so many elements, so when you take the vocals out, you can hear a little bit more layers, all the instruments and the little, tiny details. You can experience the tracks a little bit differently, so I think it’s quite cool. And obviously there is the aspect if people would wanna do some karaoke (laughs) then they could.

(laughs) That would have been a challenge, right? Well, we can handle Alex’s vocals, but yours, I’m not so sure. “The Last Viking” drops the curtain for the story that started with “King Of Kings”; has the band discussed or has Alex revealed the potential concept for the next album? These albums aren’t connected; people tend to ask a lot if they’re like a trilogy with the previous albums, but it’s not. Sure, there are some similar characters and stuff like that, but it’s not really a trilogy. The topic of Norse mythology and Vikings has been part of the band right from the start, so I’m sure it will continue and I’m actually excited to see what comes next. We’ll see.

This question stems from the press release that kind of says that this album concludes the saga and so on, so I guess this is why you’re getting the same question. I think it’s a little bit inaccurate maybe how it was done.

Well, sometimes press releases do that. I have one more question for you; are you still involved in ANGEL NATION? Yeah, for sure. I mean, that’s my band, my baby, so it’s always there and I’ve already written a lot of songs for the third album, demos and everything, but then the pandemic all that stuff happened, so everything is a little bit on hold. I really hope we can find resources and time and will to hopefully finish at some point and release the third album.

I guess, what you’re saying is that there is no set timetable for this, right? Well, no, not at the moment. Many factors are actually affecting that, but I’m having it at the back of my mind all the time. I have some ideas all the time about the band.

And the band is still with Inner Wound Recordings? Yes, we released the previous album with Inner Wound Recordings and for the next one we’ll have to see – we’re open about that. But it was great working with those guys.

Awesome, Elina! Thank you very much for your time. Please stay safe and hopefully we’ll see LEAVES’ EYES on a live setting soon. You too, thank you so much! It was a pleasure talking to you. I hope so too. Take care!

[johannesviii]

Top 10 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 2007

18 to 19 years old. Things were slowly starting to get better and better.

15 honorable mentions, but this is still only a top 10. What an incredible, amazing year for music. My favorite hit song for the entire decade is in there! I think everyone already knows what that is because I am, in fact, extremely predictable.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

Second to third year of my History studies. Met a great guy. So great, in fact, that I married him in 2019 because we’re still living together 13 years later. Got my first summer job but spent my first pay on driving lessons, because, again, I needed to get out of my parents’ appartment and knowing how to drive would be good to find a job. I had a much better access to internet. I still had great grades. Things were getting much better.

I stopped making my personal lists of favorite songs that year, and I had an mp3 player, which really opened a world of possibilities even if you could only put something like 40 songs on it, at best.

I was still reading Rock Mag a lot. As you can see, the biggest controversy at the time was what was emo and what wasn’t.

We were alright.

As far as non-elligible songs go, well there’s I Still Remember by Bloc Party (and the fact I can’t put it on the list is a heartbreak and a half) and basically everything from Year Zero by Nine Inch Nails. Nightwish, Epica and Within Temptation all had pretty good albums too.

Here’s a metric ton of honorable mentions first!

Snow (Red Hot Chili Peppers) - Perfectly pleasant song.

D.A.N.C.E (Justice) - Never understood why this was so popular. Still good.

Love is Gone (David Guetta) - Heyyyy another repetitive dance track, perfect.

Miracle (Cascada), Smack That (Akon), Chasing Cars (Snow Patrol), SexyBack (Justin Timberlake) and Say It Right (Nelly Furtado & Timbaland) - Still elligible songs for that year. Still great songs. Still not making the list.

Butterfly (Superbus) - I didn’t like this band, but I liked that song.

Thanks for the Memories (Fall Out Boy) - Same here basically.

Who Knew (Pink) - Not her best, but not her worst by a mile either.

Walk It Out (Unk) - Stayed in my head for days, I swear. I have no idea what the general opinion about it is nowadays. Maybe that’s a humiliating pick and I genuinely have no idea.

Crank That (Soulja Boy) - I do, however, know that the fact this very nearly made the list IS hilarious.

Alive (Mondotek) - Laugh all you want about the tektonik phenomenon, this is still a banger and a half.

Sound of Freedom (Bob Sinclar & Cutee B) - Not as good as Rock This Party. That’s the only thing I can say against it.

Umbrella (Rihanna) - This is an edit because holy shit I forgot Umbrella. It very nearly made the list too. Sorry.

And now, possibly one of the best top tens yet.

10 - This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race (Fall Out Boy)

US: #32 / FR: #71

Almost everyone got the lyrics wrong. The title is way too long. I really don’t like this band of pretentious idiots; if you’re gonna be pretentious at least write about something more grand and epic than your own navel, and go all out (more on that later). Nobody ever really cared about their supposed feud with Panic! At The Disco. And, to make matters even worse, the singer looked exactly like the terrible ex I had punched in the face the previous year.

This is still a damn good song and it’s on the list instead of any of the honorable mentions.

RIP me.

9 - How To Save A Life (The Fray)

US: #24 / FR: Not on the list

You already know I loved The Fray. This song could have apparently also made the previous list but it’s on this one instead. It was overplayed. I still loved it.

8 - U + Ur Hand (Pink)

US: #29 / FR: Not on the list

In 2002, I bought Pink’s Missundaztood album and as you might remember this was the second album I ever bought in my life, right before the gigantic trainwreck that highschool was.

The fact that about five years (that felt like twelve) later, Pink was on the other side of that trainwreck, back in my earphones, just as energetic and fun as she was before, was nothing short of heartwarming.

7 - Je Suis Un Homme (Zazie)

US: Not on the list / FR: #43

I’m not gonna beat around the bush. This song is terrifying.

Here’s a translation. Yeah, it’s about humanity destroying the Earth and itself in various ways, and it’s preachy, but holy shit, how can something be so bleak, so scary and still so catchy. It’s a mystery.

6 - Double Je (Christophe Willem)

US: Not on the list / FR: #2

When I first heard this song, I genuinely thought that was also Zazie and I was like oh wow, she’s learned to have fun again after that bleak, bleak song.

But no. She only wrote it, and it’s sung by this guy. It’s relatable as hell (”When I grow up it’s gonna be easy, I’ll finally know what I am”, “Who’s fault is it? / I’m something and its opposite / Double me”). The fact that a guy had this kind of voice and that a ton of people loved it (enough for him to win a big talent show and make this the second biggest song of the year!) also did wonders for my dysphoria, by the way.

5 - Ta Meuf (Faf Larage)

US: Not on the list / FR: #19

This is a song applying the most obnoxious rap and hip hop clichés about gangsters (and guys in general) to a woman, and she ends up terrorising all the guys and they’re realising these clichés might, in fact, be really toxic.

It’s a great song about gender roles usually seen in this kind of music and instead of being preachy, it’s hilarious, and well-written (I mean, it’s Faf Larage, it’s a given, but still). Check it out.

4 - Relax Take It Easy (Mika)

US: Not on the list / FR: #12

All hail the new king of pop. He was here to stay and what a breath of fresh air he was. This was very much his year in Europe as soon as the album Life In Cartoon Motion dropped.

My significant other absolutely loved this album and we listened to it wayyyy, way too much, and even with all the radio overplay AND the overplay when we were together, I still can’t get enough of this album.

3 - Love Today (Mika)

US: Not on the list / FR: #39

Here he is again!

If this was any other year this would top the list very easily. What were the US even thinking back then to not let this guy chart. Why isn’t Mika a huge star over there too. What is your problem guys. Do you have something against fun or what.

Anyway, here’s possibly the best comment on the music video:

I mean. You’re not wrong.

2 - What I’ve Done (Linkin Park)

US: #38 / FR: Not on the list

Aaaaaaand they’re back. And they’re once again topping my list. Lord have mercy on me. I loved them so much.

This was the first step into their modern sound, less raw, more U2. A couple of years later, when Lacuna Coil released Shallow Life, I used to joke that Lacuna Coil was trying to sound more and more like Linkin Park, that Linkin Park was trying to sound more and more like U2, and that U2 was trying to sound more and more like boring garbage and. I mean. I wasn’t wrong there.

My absolute favorite part of the song is at 2:24, when the music calms down a bit and the lyrics go “I start again / And whatever pain may come / Today this ends / I’m forgiving what I’ve done” and then the guitar explodes again. So powerful. Love it.

And now you’re probably thinking “so... Linkin Park was back, and with such a top quality song and it’s NOT your #1? After you put a Linkin Park song or a Linkin Park remix at #1 for three years in a row in 2002, 2003 AND 2004? What’s going on, Jo? Are you okay?”

Oh I’m more than okay. Friends and enemies, here comes the absolute best hit song of the entire decade and possibly of my entire life so far.

You probably already know what it is.

1 - Welcome to the Black Parade (My Chemical Romance)

US: #59 / FR: Not on the list (shame on you French charts)

I know I keep complaining about stuff I love not charting, or charting but not high enough to make any year-end list, but... How was this even allowed to chart. Why and how did it end up on the US year-end list when so many more radio-friendly hits I loved couldn’t even scratch the hot 100.

I’m not complaining at all. I’m just baffled.

Play the first note on a piano and I’m already a wreck. Heck, I’m pretty sure everyone from my generation is. It was basically our very own Bohemian Rhapsody. It still is. Where do I even start.

Oh. I know. Look at this page from a 2006 Rock Mag, it’s gold.

Yep, they highlighted The Open Door by Evanescence and praised it, and were like “this is very risky and ambitious and we’re not sure you’re gonna like this” for The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance. Hilarious in hindsight.

A few months later, the same magazine was desesperately using double pages to interview them because everyone adored the album.

So in case you’ve never listened to it (I’m... not even sure why I’m doing this since I’m pretty sure even people who don’t like this type of music have tried to out of sheer curiosity), it’s a concept album about a guy (...possibly. I mean there’s a lot of trans and/or nonbinary hints in the lyrics and did you really NEED to make all of this more relatable? What the hell guys) dying of cancer, remembering all the good and the bad things that happened in his life, and since his fondest memory is seeing a marching band once as a child, death arrives in the form of a marching band. He then settles some scores with his friends and family, says his goodbyes, and... and doesn’t die in the end. He ends up surviving the whole ordeal, and the last song, Famous Last Words, is one the most incredible things I’ve ever heard. It’s so propulsive, uplifting and motivating. “I am not afraid to keep on living / I am not afraid to walk this world alone”. Holy. Shit. Sadly, it’s not elligible.

Welcome to the Black Parade is basically the centerpiece of the album, as you already know or might have guessed, but here’s the thing. It also works out of context because there’s already an entire narrative arc within this one song. It’s larger than life. It’s about death and the meaning of existence. It basically contains all the stages of grief, and the conclusion it reaches is that this guy will be remembered and therefore, he will transcend death. It’s full of rage and passion and triumph. There’s key changes. There’s tempo changes. There’s everything. It’s a rock opera in a single song. I put it on my mp3 player immediately after listening to the album, and it’s still on my mp3 player today. I never, ever removed it. I listened to it countless times and every single time, it feels like rewatching one of my favorite movies.

Best hit song of 2007 by a mile. Best hit song of the decade, hands down, and now that the 2010s are over, I’m pretty confident in saying nothing has topped it so far. I’d say “fight me” if I thought this was a controversial opinion, but it’s not even that controversial.

And that feels damn right.

Next up: Is... is this a list with actual filler? Are you telling us there was ONE mediocre year for music in the 2000s? Sounds fake but okay

[here-be-misfit]

Hey, I've came across Hell's Envoy which is about heavy metal related stories and that's got me thinking about my personal experiences in regards to metal. Got any favourite stories in regards to that? For one from me; when Rammstein first released Pussy, a friend told me there was a very NSFW music video for the song posted onto YouPorn. So what did my teenaged self do? I literally ended up visiting YouPorn for a music video and not porn.

I guess I have, do any kind of story will do? Ah, I do remember when I went to search for that Rammstein video xD

I guess my fave story, it’s kinda two stories, but let’s say it’s one story with two sides. For some time, I had this tendency to get into band after not making to the concert, that happened with Nightwish back in 2009, with Rammstein and Marilyn Manson in 2012, Sabaton in 2015. But then things turned into other side and then it would be that I get into a band after seeing them live, like Iron maiden in 2016, Battle beast in 2019. 

Oh yea, then I have these two pretty similar stories of sad fails. Probably a lot of people know these by now because I think I talked about them few times. Anyway, back in 2018, I was in Krakow to see Maiden again. I knew that one of their guitarists likes to walk around the city and sometimes go and drink some. So the day before the concert I was out in the city, kinda hoping to see him somewhere, only that I was in the wrong end of the city and fucked my chance to meet him.  The other failed meeting happened last year in Berlin. So after Avantasia concert me and my (ex) best friend were going towards the exit but then he decided to go to the toilet and I was like “ok, I’ll wait for you”. I have waited like 10 minutes or so and then I was like “ok, screw this, I’m going out and wait for him there”. The other friend was waiting for us and she presented me two pictures. One was her and Tobi and the other was her and Geoff Tate. And she told me that it all happened like 5 minutes ago or so. Of course I kinda faked my happiness for her but I was near to tears tbh. Yea, I am really unlucky when it comes to meeting favorite musicians lol

[a-silent-symphony]

INTERVIEW – MARKO HIETALA OF NIGHTWISH

Like any band, Nightwish has a story to tell. Full of ups, downs, frustrations, and triumphs, in reality, few can tell a tale quite like these Fins. Coming at a crossroad at the peak of their success, they made a bold decision, yet landed on their feet. Then a few years later they were faced with yet another difficult choice, and still righted the ship. A testament to comradery between the key members of the band, one of the steadying forces through it all has been Marko Hietala.

Joining up just prior to their 2002 Century Child album, Hietala has become a cornerstone in Nightwish not only on the bass, but also as a leading voice. A signature part of the band’s success over the last two decades, Hietala recently sat down to chat about his time with Nightwish, weathering the storm of challenging times, his other projects, plus a whole lot more.

Cryptic Rock – You have been an intricate part of the Nightwish family for nearly two decades now. Before going any further, tell us, what has your time in Nightwish been like?

Marko Hietala – Woah man! It will actually be two decades next year. It’s probably been the biggest, lasting part of my life that there has been. Of course, there is my older band, Tarot, which we started in the late ’80s and still did things in the 2000s. That was a long lasting thing, but as life goes, Nightwish has made my living. There has been ups and downs as well as joys and sorrows.

Cryptic Rock – You have certainly accomplished a lot with Nightwish. When you came on, you became a very big part of the band right off the bat, particularly with your voice. That addition of your voice added a new dynamic to Nightwish’s music. What was it like initially working with the band and utilizing your voice to the music’s advantage?

Marko Hietala – We started from a pretty good common background; the guys are Karelian and I’m Savonian. There was already that kind of country boy attitude with us. Then when we started, rehearsing and swapping ideas for Century Child (2002), it became really comfortable really fast. We just got along.

Of course, when you have humans, you get drama occasionally, and of course we’ve had those times. In the end we have been pretty honest about troubles and being understanding, and if need be, forgiving. We have a great personal chemistry with this bunch.

Cryptic Rock – It shows. The band has faced adversity and overcome it. Let’s look back for a moment. In 2004, Nightwish released the Once album, which launched the band into a new stratosphere of success. However, shortly after that release, the band parted ways with Tarja Turunen. Looking back 15 years after, was that a stressful time?

Marko Hietala – Yes, it was. Everyone was anxious, restless, and troubled all the time already. We had no connection and we decided, just as the band started to get bigger, we needed to take back our voice in the band. That’s why it happened. It was scary, but it was a thing where we were already eating so much of our own spine; in order to survive we had to amputate. We were already feeling bad about so many things, it was something that had to be done.

We survived until the next few years of troubles, and we still got through it. I said this already in the documentary, but I think we showed an exceptional persistence and group spirit through a lot of times. God damn, I cherish it!

Cryptic Rock – That unity is evident. It all just adds more to the story of Nightwish. The band has settled in nicely in recent years with Floor Jansen. A fantastic addition, what has it been like working with her?

Marko Hietala – She’s brilliant! She’s a powerhouse vocalist who wants to perform, sing, and loves doing shows. I’m pleased with how things are now. Of course some people have been complaining that I’m hanging a little bit more in the shadows now that she is there, but I’m not. I’m doing a shitload of vocals and background harmonies; there are just a good bunch of songs and we do them the best way they will sound.

Cryptic Rock – Understandable. It is about what the music calls for. If the music calls for you to be more upfront and center, then you will be.

Marko Hietala – Indeed. It’s not like I don’t have things to do. I have bass playing, which on some nights with hot lighting, is compared to shoveling in its calorie consummation. (Laughs)

Cryptic Rock – (Laughs) Well you have done a great job. Speaking of new music, Nightwish recently released the epic new album Human. :II: Nature. What was it like putting this record together?

Marko Hietala – There are certain ways we have gotten used to doing things. We had a month and a half of summer camp rehearsal sessions and then started recording. Kai (Hahto) went to a different studio to record the drum bottom tracks because our summer camp didn’t have the space with the proper ambiances for that to be recorded. We then put up the amps/vocal mics and we laid down all the other stuff for the album pretty fast and comfortably.

Of course there was this thing that we started to do, which is apparent on the album, where we had some pretty nice harmony vocal sessions. I have spoke about this a few times, but when we did the Decades Tour, we wanted to do something different for the oldies – so we figured with Troy, me, and Floor that we could do a bunch of live harmonies to beef them up. It sounded so nice that we figured that we could do them more on the album. Tuomas (Holopainen) wrote stuff so we could do those harmonies, and we ended up doing quite a lot of them.

A lot of our barbecue sessions at our summer camp there would be an acoustic guitar or battery-operated keyboard; we would try some lines out, figure out ideas and swap them. I would say Troy and I were writing that stuff mostly, but Tuomas and Floor were also always around so we could test things and see how they went. It was nice.

Cryptic Rock – The end result is quite good. It is a very well-balanced collection of heavier and more somber tracks. What can you tell us about the concept behind the album?

Marko Hietala – I guess if you take human nature, and either two words, separate or combined, the theme is a bit loose. All the songs on the album connect to those things – human or nature, or human nature.

Cryptic Rock – Very interesting. Then there is the second disc, which is predominately all instrumental. Were you apart of the second half of the album at all?

Marko Hietala – I didn’t really work on it. When Tuomas was writing it, he did ask the rest of the band if it was okay to have a classical orchestra for the second half of the album. Basically, the only people who worked there was (Troy Donockley) with some piping and Floor with some vocals.

Cryptic Rock – It is a great addition to the first half of Human. :II: Nature. You also released your solo album, Pyre of the Black Heart, earlier this year. What was the process behind that album?

Marko Hietala – It was a long time dream for a guy like me who writes a lot. When Nightwish had a sabbatical, I called a couple of friends of mine to work on the album; there was Tuomas Wäinölä on guitar and Vili Oillila on keyboards, who I have known 10-15 years. I had this idea this album was not going to drop into a straight Heavy Metal box, but that it was going to be more Prog Rock or Hard Rock with Metal in between. They helped me finalize the arrangements.

Tuomas Wäinölä also ended up recording and producing most of the album. It turned out to be an inside project with me and those guys. Then we ended up hiring a drummer who we also knew, Anssi Nykänen. As a result of the making of the album it started to grow into a band. We actually had a little tour in February before everything closed out. It was really great, a lot of people liked it and we had a lot of wide grins in the audience.

We also did a Finnish version of the album. About half and half of the songs were written in Finish or English. I just had to crisscross translating them to get both albums out.

Cryptic Rock – Very cool! It really turned out well. You have offered your talents to many other bands through the years. To name a few, you have worked with Eternal Tears of Sorrow, To/Die/For, Charon, etc. Do you enjoy collaborating with others?

Marko Hietala – Yea. When I was in my twenties I got to be an apprentice recording engineer. That is why I was sitting in the studio and helping people out. I was also doing a lot of studio vocal work; both coaching, arranging, and singing harmonies. It had been an interest of mine, but I do have to say lately I have been putting the brakes down. (Laughs) At some point in time I was doing so much work it started to lose its point. These days, I try to very basically keep it to projects who I am friends with and whose music interests me.

Cryptic Rock – Understandable, you do not want to spread yourself too thin.

Marko Hietala – Yes, but also, interesting things are interesting. A couple of years back, for the first time, I did a Modern Classical thing with Ayreon. There were a lot of words, melodies, keys, tempo, and time signature that was changing all the time. I have to say before the premier I was crapping my pants, but I pulled myself together and it went well.

Cryptic Rock – It sounds like that was an exciting new challenge. Obviously we are in the midst of this worldwide pandemic. It is hard to tell what tomorrow will bring, but is Nightwish going to resume touring when they can?

Marko Hietala – We have had cancellations for the summer festival. We were also supposed to go to China in April. We are trying to move some things to 2021. The Central European tour, it should be sometime next fall, it’s still open. With the summer festivals, it seems like we are watching dominoes fall.

Cryptic Rock – It is unfortunate. Hopefully we can return to some sense of normalcy soon.

Marko Hietala – I agree, but what can you do? It’s a god damn virus, you cannot reason with it. This is the situation. Although, we have the album out and hopefully people are getting to listen to it. Hopefully we get to see each other some time in the future. I love doing shows and I’m really bummed out that we have no shows. It would have been really great to go out there and start doing it together. After all, there are vibes involved when you build up that bubble for people, yourself, and your bandmates. When you do it together, it’s a vibe that you are hooked to… at least I am.

Cryptic Rock – Yes, a lot of people are hooked to those vibes. Last question. If you are a fan of Horror and Sci-Fi films, what are some of your favorites?

Marko Hietala – In Science Fiction, a film that went kind of under the radar was Predestination (2014). It has a brilliant time travel story. Of course everyone knows Interstellar (2014), which was big and great. Europa Report (2013) was also great as well.

Horror is more problematic for me, because I can’t be scared anymore. Netflix’s The Haunting of Hill House was pretty good.