#Juska

[zheniakirsikkalove]

❤ HIM - band from Finland. 1999 ❤

photo 1: Ville Valo, Mikko "Mige" Paananen, Juska Salminen, Mikko "Linde" Lindström, Gas lipstick / Mika Karppinen

source

[punkowa-i-postrzelona]

love wins <3

[vivaladunn]

deep shadows and brilliant highlights gf and greatest love songs vol. 666 bf

[mossflower-trails]

The Best Lessons Are Taught With Blood

An unfinished Taggerung piece exploring the time Tagg spent with the Juska Clan and his relationships with them. In this scene, Tagg and Sawney discuss an opportunity for him to prove his mettle.

Rating: T

Words: 1186

Fourteen seasons on, and the Taggerung had yet to take a life.

Of course he had killed before, if all the clams and fish hauled back to their shoreline camp was proof of such proficiency. But it wasn't - not in the eyes of a Juska, at least. Though it proved one's self reliance, it did nothing to prove one's power. Hunting food would never be enough to prevent his adoptive father's growing pressure.

It appeared more frequently between them in the past few weeks. It would linger on the edges of silent lulls in the evening, those times when he and Sawney were sat around their own small fire apart from the rest of the clan, when Grissoul had nodded off still upright with her chin tucked into her scarves, leaving them alone. It would settle in thick discomfort, when the laughter and chatter between father and son trickled away, and when its wake had left prickly self-consciousness skittering across Tagg's neck. Sawney would stretch and sigh and pick food from his fangs, then, as though starting a casual new conversation, the topic would rear its ugly head. It always started with the same signs, and usually, Tagg could dodge out of its way. He would parry a distraction into his father's mind, then the cursed thing would fall to the wayside as some other priority took its place.

On this night, however, while the moon hung low and half-lidded in the night sky, Sawney again stretched and sighed and picked food from his fangs.

"Vallug's seen two Juska'tar fishers in the northern tidepools again today, did I tell y'already?" the stoat said.

"Oh? Don't believe y'have," Tagg replied. He too took the opportunity to stretch and sigh, only to lay back and stare at the moon instead of his father's gaze.

"Aye, awful impolite of 'em, I'd say! Sure got me thinking, should teach 'em some manners about being neighborly, don'tcha think?"

"Juska'tar aren't anything to fret over. We show up with somethin' sharp, pull a scary face, and they'll tuck their tail between their legs. Worked wonders last time."

"Gaw, sure did! Barely had to lift a paw! That's the problem, though. Since we only done that, the sneaky bastards are back at it again. It's 'cos they think we'll keep lettin' 'em off easy. See, they're testin' what they can get away with." Sawney leaned forward from where he sat on a driftwood log and roused the fire's embers with a stick. "Can't let beasts think we're all bark an' no bite, else they start gettin' uppity. D'ye get my meaning, Tagg?"

Tagg wrinkled his snout up towards the moon. His knife found itself twirling mindlessly between fidgety claws. Grissoul remained sound asleep a short distance away, though Tagg sometimes wondered if she was silently eavesdropping.

"Yea, yea, I get what you're saying, da. So we'll send 'em back bloodied and bruised for it this time. We can nick their nets too, they owe us payment for whatever fish they snatched, huh?" The otter feigned amusement. When he turned to look at Sawney though, his father's crinkled eyes peered discerningly through him.

"Heh, a fine idea for certain…but I think we should teach them a lesson that'll really stick," the stoat goaded. "An' don't I always say, the best lessons are taught with blood?"

Tagg's chuckle faded awkwardly as Sawney's brown eyes glinted in the firelight. Taking up the stick again, he fussed with the embers once more.

"Now, c'mere to me, I've an idea that'll lift yer spirits," he snickered. "Tomorrow, hide and wait for our trespassers at the pools afore sun-up…then, when they go out onto the rocks, nab one an' take 'em for a dip in the sea! Juska'tar rats can't swim worth shite, they'll drown fast an' easy. And all the while, their buddy gets to watch helplessly from the shore!" At this, Sawney barked out a rough laugh. "That'll teach 'em, guaranteed! Heheh! Oh, oh, bring the corpse back to me afterwards, I'll show y'how to chop the head and stick it on a pike. Real nice decor to spruce the place up, eh? Call it future poaching deterrent!"

Those keen eyes searched Tagg for a reaction. The otter gave his very best dark sneer.

"Heheh…aye, sounds like a good plan, that'll show 'em!" Even vague agreement felt strange and stilted as it left Tagg's tongue. Sawney on the other hand sighed with audible relief.

"G'wan, g'wan, that's the spirit! I'm glad to hear yer onboard!" His grin was wide and his eyes bright. "So, then it's settled, that's what we'll do."

Tagg didn't respond. He only listened to the distant crash of waves with knots in his guts over what he had just agreed to. The two fell silent again, each mulling their respective thoughts. Their small fire finally smoldered and snuffed itself without Sawney's insistent prodding. It was getting late after all. Even Juska still up chatting or cleaning blades around the main fire had started to tuck in for the night.

After a while, Sawney stood, grumbling a curse at his popping joints. He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders and ambled towards his tent.

"I know I been a nag lately, Tagg, but ye'll see," the stoat said quietly as he passed. "Once ye make yer first real kill tomorrow, nobeast will dare think low of ye. Trust me! No need to look so glum." He leaned to tweak his son's ears affectionately, and Tagg swatted him away in mock annoyance.

"Buzzy old fly," the otter laughed. This time the sound came effortlessly.

"Pah! Old, he says. This old fly can still bite ye to hell, watch it," Sawney huffed lazily. "Get some rest so ye can get the jump on them poachers bright 'n early."

"Yea, yea."

"G'night, Tagg."

"G'night, da."

Sawney disappeared into his tent, leaving Tagg alone with the moon and his thoughts.

Bristling anxiety began to find its home inside the otter's chest. He could understand that behind Sawney's recent pressure, there was surely only a father trying to encourage his son. The stoat wanted to see Tagg fit in, and of course Tagg wanted that too. Wandering Juskan eyes and hidden sneers were always stray reminders that he didn't.

Above that, he wanted to make his father proud. The stoat was the only family he knew, one who had done so much for him. Tagg couldn't remember his early days as a pup, but Grissoul had once told him the story of how his father took him in. He had quickly gathered that it was scandalous for the Juska chief. That inspired gratitude within him, but just beneath laid a growing layer of guilt for the debt. To pay it, surely one murderous task shouldn't be too heavy a burden. And maybe once Tagg crested that hill, he would look back and realize it wasn't so scary.

Those reassurances did little to dash away his worries, though. Throughout the night, they instead swelled with the sound of waves crashing over his dreams.

[thesearenotphotographs]

Chances With Wolves, Fatboi Sharif, and EDAN at Union Pool

Full gallery link here

On Tuesday, January 16, 2024, Union Pool’s free concert series continued with DJ sets by Chances With Wolves (Justin Cox & Kenan Juska) and EDAN (Disk Jokk) plus a live set from New Jersey rapper Fatboi Sharif. The free, 21+ shows are presented by Brooklyn Brewery which had free items available (such as cigarette lighters, patches, stickers, and keychains) along with $5 pints of Brooklyn Lager.

The free concert series continues next week with Chanel Beads, Melody English, and LST, and the lineup for the four Tuesdays in February to be announced soon.

[jade-curtiss]

Ok c la derniere 😑

[fistsoflightndarkness]

Vincas Juska, A Lithuanian book smuggler that transport language books into Lithuania proper circa late 1800s.

[prowl-autism-extraordinaire]

anyway tagg shouldve been allowed to keep the name he was raised with and its not because the juska were just so nice to him, its because thats his goddamn name and his identity was forcibly stripped away by the redwallers and it fucjing should not have been. the core of the book is tagg escaping people who try to define him and trying to find Himself. and its completely undermined by the ending because he ends up with people who define him. k thanx baiiii

[mothnem]

I blame @mole-supremacy for this.

Deyna sat alone. Hidden in a corner. Wearing a name that doesn't seem to fit and a face he doesn't recognize. He couldn't let the others think he MISSED being a juska. He couldn't! But to wake up so different.... they didn't even ask him. Ask is he wanted the tattoos gone, ask if he wanted his birthmark gone, ask if he wanted to keep the name Tagg. They just decided for him. So caught up in his thoughts, he failed to see Mhera walk up to him, and sit down beside him.

"What's wrong?"

Her voice cut through his brain fog and he tried to force a smile.

"Nothing at all! It's fine! Juat getting used to Redwall!"

But Mhera was wise beyond her years. More so than most of the Abbey.

"You are not. Something is wrong."

Reaching over, she gently turned his formerly marked pawpad.

"They shouldn't have covered it."

And hearing that from somebeast else, made Deyna start crying.

"They didn't ask. Why didn't they ask?"

Patting her much bigger brother's back Mhera tried to comfort him.

"I don't know. I really don't know."

After a good sob, Denya pushed himself back.

"Sorry, I'm trying but...."

"But not even your name feels like yours. Everyone expects you to come back and be Deyna. As if you were never Tagg."

His silence told her she hit the nail on the head. She took his other paw into her hand alongside the one she already had.

"I can't give you back your birthmark. Or your tattoos. I don't know how to do that. But I can do this. I know about my baby brother Deyna, could you tell me about my younger brother Tagg?"

Tagg smiled, a genuine one for the first time since he got there.

"Well, despite being in a Juska Clan, I was cared for very well....."

[tc-doherty]

Book One | Chapter Five

Index | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @bloodlessheirbyjacques @magefaery @did-i-do-this-write @marrowwife @rainbow-snow-writes @muddshadow @outpost51 @full-on-sam @bluberimufim @unclear-contributions @talesfromtheunknowable @guessillcallitart @flowerprose

(Ask to be added or removed)

Patrice's impassive attitude vanished as soon as they arrived at the edge of the estate.

Overnight the grounds had changed. Colorful tents had sprouted across the ground like wildflowers, stretching from where they stood all the way back into the meadows, only stopped by the tree line. The space between the tents was full of knights, squires, and horses; of busking bards, of peddlers attempting to sell their wares, of nobles hurrying to speak to knights before the tournament began. The air was full of noise from every direction, the music, conversation, and sounds of armor and horses merging into a wall almost as solid as the castle itself. Faced with all this, Patrice could only gape.

Maria smirked. "I told you it's an important festival, and even commoners get to come! A lot of craftspeople come too, hoping to catch the eye of a noble patron."

"What sort of things do they sell, these craftspeople?" Patrice asked, glancing around her. She could scarcely keep her eye on one thing, there was so much to look at.

"Oh, a bit of everything," said Maria. "We ought to come down here later and buy fabric to make you some dresses of your own. Come this way." Maria chattered on as they made their way down the makeshift streets.

Patrice stared at the tents, which sold every kind of good imaginable and many which she could not have imagined. There were blacksmiths, which made sense for the horses, but also goldsmiths and silversmiths selling jewelry. There were cloth makers and dressmakers, potters and painters, glass workers and leather workers, and things Patrice couldn't even name in her borrowed human tongue.

Children and animals ran around the feet of the adults, weaving through the crowd like fish swimming through seaweed. Everywhere people yelled, trying to be heard over their neighbors.

"How does anyone ever find their way around this mess?" Patrice asked as they skirted a gaggle of shoppers and walked past a corral of destriers being readied for the matches. She could barely distinguish herself through the muddle of half understood conversations all around her.

"Knights are at the back, arranged by where they're from," Maria explained. "Naturally the vendors will be in the front because they want as many people to see them as possible, but after that you'll come to the local knights, the wanderers, and finally the foreign knights at the end."

"So we must walk through all of this?"

Maria nodded. "I heard from one of the duchess' ladies in waiting that the Serzek knights are farther away than any of the others and the duchess isn't happy about it. She started a row but it didn't accomplish anything."

“Serzek?”

“Oh, Lady Patrice...” Maria shook her head.

"Dragons are simply dragons," Patrice said. "We do not make things so complicated."

Maria pulled her aside to let a squire with an arm full of painted lances run past. "We're in Runeria. Dame Felicity is from Serze, which borders us to the Northeast. Both countries share a border with Juska."

It was Patrice's turn to shake her head as they marched back into the flow of traffic. "What does Juska have to do with Felisjyta? And this duchess?"

"Everything!" Maria punctuated the importance of the statement by throwing her hands in the air. "They've been acting up on our border, just minor skirmishes but that could easily change. Lord Vincent, second in line for the throne, is engaged to Duchess Rosalie – her Runerian name of course – who is sixth in line for the Serzek throne."

"So Felisjyta came here with the duchess?"

"Yes, along with about fourteen other knights. They've been here about a year. There will be a wedding and alliance, just in case."

Patrice sighed. "Dragons don't have rulers, or borders."

"There's more humans in this city than there are dragons altogether," Maria said with a laugh. "Of course it's easier for you." She patted Patrice on the shoulder. "Oh, I think this is it."

Patrice had no trouble picking out the difference as soon as they crossed over into the camp. The knights here talked and joked in their own language, unless they had to speak to a Runerian. If draconian words tasted of smoke and fire, and Runerian words felt like cotton in her mouth, then Serzek words surely burst across her tongue like ripe cranberries – each one distinct, sharp, and just a little bitter. Patrice had gotten a hint of it with the few words Felisjyta had spoken before, but now it washed over her completely, and the experience was just as overwhelming as it had been the first time hearing Runerian. She wasn’t sure this language was any better than the former.

Maria did not give her time to find her footing with the new language. She took Patrice's hand, and pulled her through the camp until they reached a small tent decorated with green and blue stripes.

Felisjyta stood outside the tent crooning to the dapple mare. As they approached the mare snorted and tossed her head. Felisjyta glanced up with a scowl on her face, though it changed to a grin when she saw who her visitors were. "Hello Patya. I didn't think you'd come."

Patrice stopped where she was. "Patya? I have only begun to accept Patrice."

"My apologies." Felisjyta gave a small bow.

Patrice couldn't tell whether it was meant to be mocking or not, so she ignored it. "May I approach? I have no wish to frighten your horse."

"Don't worry," said Felisjyta, slapping the mare on the shoulder. "Our mountain horses aren't as finicky as these high-strung Runerian beasts. Just give her this." The knight reached into an apron wrapped around her waist and tossed a chunk of carrot to Patrice.

Patrice caught it easily, but did not move forward. "Prey animals rarely like me," she warned.

"Just hold your hand out like this with the carrot." Felisjyta held her hand out palm up, completely flat, for demonstration.

Patrice did so and took a step forward. The mare rolled her eyes and flicked her ears, but did not move. Patrice stopped again.

"It's all right," Felisjyta repeated.

Patrice wasn't sure if the knight was speaking to her or the horse, but she took another few steps, stopping just close enough for the mare to reach the treat in her hand.

The mare considered for a moment, and the two of them stood there studying one another. Then greed got the better part of her caution and she stretched her neck as far as it would go to snatch up the offering. Her whispery lips tickled Patrice's hand as she took a snack. She only waited a moment before bumping her nose into Patrice's hand, looking for more.

"She's too greedy to resist a snack, no matter who offers it."

"She's so soft!" Patrice said, patting the horse's nose gently. Felisjyta bobbed her head in agreement, a small smile on her face. "But if the other knights are riding destriers, will she be able to keep up?"

Felisjyta laughed and Maria, who had been standing by awkwardly as the two women conversed in Serzek, jumped. "No one breeds better horses than us," Felisjyta said, and gave the mare an affectionate pat on the rump. "You don't have to worry about my little Vasya here. But you didn't brave the crowds to talk to me about horseflesh."

"I came to give you this," Patrice said. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, white with red lace sewn around the edges. A few small crumbles of stone came with it – the tiny dragon was vanishing already.

Felisjyta raised her eyebrows but took the cloth. "What's this supposed to be?"

Patrice gave a sigh. "Maria said that the knights joust under a lady's favor and if I did not find someone to bestow it on, someone undesirable might try to claim it." She shrugged and continued to pet Vasya's nose. "I would give it to you before any other."

"I would be honored to take it," Felisjyta said with another small bow, "even though I am aware I'm the only knight you actually know." She slipped the folded handkerchief into a pocket on her apron. "But you should go if you want a decent seat, and I only have an hour to finish getting ready." She winked and turned back to her horse.

Patrice looked at Maria and switched back to Runerian – perhaps it was less pleasant after all, but still easier for her to speak due to practice. "I think I will need your help to get to the arena now."

"It's this way," Maria said, pointing back through the crowd. Then, after they rejoined the masses, she spoke again. "I didn't know that you spoke Serzek."

"Dragons understand all spoken word," Patrice said with a dignity that belied how chaotic that understanding really was. Nothing her mother had told her had prepared her for the reality of it – suddenly finding hundreds of words in her mind, only loosely connected to any real meaning or anything she already knew. But perhaps it was easier for true dragons, perhaps that was just one more aspect that her heritage made more difficult for her.

Maria did not need to know about that confusion. She seemed suitably impressed just by the bare facts. "You dragons really are incredible, huh?" She asked cheerfully, before

turning her attention to finding an easy path to the arena.

"Indeed," Patrice said, with the same dignity as before. But Maria, focused on practical matters, was no longer listening.

Maria waited just long enough to make sure that Patrice was seated comfortably before vanishing as if she had never been.

The stands were small sets of padded wooden seats which gave a raised view of the arena. Each set was covered with a cloth awning, so the seats were nearly as brightly, chaotically colorful as the tents. They ringed the arena completely, several feet back from the sand. In between the seats and the sand, common people were standing, ready to watch. A wooden fence stood at the edge of the arena to keep the spectators from spilling out onto the sand.

Already they were beginning to settle in, both in the stands and on the grounds below. Now Patrice could more readily tell the difference between the nobles and the common folk. The common women wore kirtles even as she did, and kept their hair in simple styles – braids or queues under their veils. The noble women wore the more complicated dresses that Patrice had refused, dresses with tight, heavily embroidered bodices and wide sleeves nearly as long as their skirts. Their hair was pinned and sewn into complicated styles and heavily decorated. Common men wore short tunics and knee-length trews over their hosen, though they did not tuck in their tunics as Felisjyta did. The noblemen wore longer tunics, but no trews, except for the knights. Noblemen and women alike covered their faces with paints and powders to make sure they stood out.

A heavyset woman dressed in white and gold sat down directly to Patrice’s right as she was contemplating these differences.

The stranger spoke. "What an unusual sight."

Patrice looked at her, then to the crowd, and finally the arena. She saw nothing that a human would consider unusual.

"I meant your dress," the other woman said, not deterred by Patrice's lack of response. "Hardly fashionable, but I suppose young things like you can prance around in anything they please."

A man and his friend sat down to Patrice's left, cutting off her escape route. She was beginning to regret telling Maria that she could leave. She sighed. "The other clothing is too complicated for my taste." Her words were polite, but cold.

The woman did not seem to mind this either. She pulled a fan out of her pocket and snapped it open. "Fashionable women follow the queen's example," she said. "To truly be a lady of the court, you must never be late in appreciating what the others appreciate. Though I suppose not everyone would be interested in such things. Fashionable or otherwise, you could stand to fill out your dress a bit better. As they say, a well bred woman is a well fed woman."

Patrice narrowed her eyes at this insult to her appearance. "Who are you?" She asked, without bothering to try and hide her annoyance.

The woman let out a little titter of laughter as she fanned herself. "The day is already quite warm enough without you growing so heated. You will never survive here at this rate."

Patrice gave up and turned back to the arena. However the woman only let things lie for a few moments before interrupting her thoughts again.

"I'm Countess Elizabet, my dear. And you, I know, are Lady Patrice Drake. Forgive me, I could not resist an urge to tweak your tail, as it were."

"Wise humans know better than to do so," Patrice said. "Foolish ones rarely get a chance to learn." She did not look up while she spoke. She was watching the two knights below, who were just now taking their places at either end of the sand.

Their horses were both destriers, one blue roan and the other a shining gold bay. The mounts wore barding, perfectly shined, and caparisons in their knight's colors: the blue roan in navy and silver, the bay in green and white. The knights wore gambesons in the same colors and the armor they wore over it was highly ornamented with paint and metal foils – much fancier and less practical than the armor knights had worn to fight her mother.

She did wonder why they appeared to be bare headed, as in all her experience knights had always worn helmets. She could see that one of them had more common red gold hair tied into a small tail, but the other one had much darker brown coloration. Not as dark as her, but he still stood out.

Elizabet did not rise to Patrice’s implied threat. “I suppose a dragon wouldn’t have attended any jousts before? Dreadful sport, but it’s one of the only times that handsome young knights pay attention to old women like me.”

Patrice did not respond.

"I look forward to it each year," said the countess. "I can't turn down going to the feast with a young man on my arm. I suppose you are fetching enough even given your race, I imagine that you had several knights after you, hm?"

"I gave my favor to Dame Felisjyta."

Elizabet tittered again and fanned herself. "Well, I suppose no one would expect a dragon to understand the rules under which civilized folk live. I'd be more than willing to teach you, my dear. After this season is over you simply must come stay with me in the country."

"The season?" Patrice asked. She had heard that several times, but no one had explained to her what it meant. Elizabet did not explain it either.

Trumpets blared and all the gathered nobles stood. Patrice followed their example, and their gaze. The royal family had arrived, and were taking their seats in a much fancier stand at the closer end of the arena.

Patrice hadn't seen the royal family before – her arrival at court had been handled by a steward, and she hadn't yet attended any of the court dinners. The queen and king-consort were both on the portly side. The heirs, five in all, took strongly after their parents – tall, broad, pale, and blonde.

The duchess stood out from them all in stature and in fashion. Patrice didn't know which of the two royal sons was to be the duchess' mate, but even the younger of the two stood taller than she did, causing her to look less like a person and more like an elaborately decked doll. While the duchess did wear a court gown, she bypassed the more typical necklaces for strand upon strand of white and blue beads – so many that her neck was hardly visible. Her copper hair hung down in a loose braid, and she wore a ribbon around her head hung with strands of glimmering gems which sparkled whenever she moved. As no one else wore anything similar, Patrice assumed this was some sort of Serzek fashion. It seemed hardly more practical to her than anything else humans did.

Trumpets blared again as the royal family sat, and the nobles followed suit, eyes now riveted on the field. The creak of leather and clink of metal signaled that the knights had mounted. Now, as the knights put on first cowl, then maile, then helm, did Patrice realize why they had not worn them before. It was merely another method to try to avoid the heat.

The roan and bay destriers trotted out into the sand. They were impressive specimens – large, well fed, and groomed until they shone. They could kill a human easily, but stood as docile as lambs under their rider's control. From that, Patrice could tell that these two were among the best of the best, even if their being selected out of hundreds had not.

A small man clothed in white and scarlet livery stood up at the opposite end of the field from the royal box. His voice did not match his size, and Patrice could hear it as clear as if he stood right next to her.

"Sir Rothert of Sonern, fighting with the favor of her royal highness, Princess Emilia." He gestured to the knight closest to Patrice, the dark one riding the blue roan. The knight gave a half bow in his saddle and the crowd erupted into cheers.

"Sir Johan of Berker, fighting with the favor of Marquess Helle Rook." Here he gestured to the blonde knight on the gold bay, who also bowed. The cheer for this knight was just as intense.

The little man dropped his hand, and the knights moved to take their places on either end of the barrier in the middle of the arena.

The crowd held its breath.

"Start!" He said.

Both knights spurred their horses. The destriers threw themselves into a gallop. Sand flew and seats vibrated slightly from the force of hooves pounding against the ground. Both knights lowered lances painted in their own colors.

As they reached the middle of the arena the lances made contact.

Johan's lance hit right on the center of Rothert's shield, and shattered in a spray of wood chips and paint. Rothert's lance hit toward the top of Johan's shield, then slid up to land a ringing hit on the other knight’s helm. Both men teetered slightly, but kept their seats and reigned their horses back around. The big beasts pranced and shook their heads, and the knights took a short respite while squires fetched them new lances and cleaned the field.

"What are they attempting to do?" Patrice asked.

The countess sighed. "Ideally they want to unhorse their opponent. Barring that, the one with the most broken lances will win," she said. "A joust can also end in a duel by sword, which these two will probably do. They love the theatrics more than the jousting."

"I see," said Patrice just as the knights took to the field again. Now she understood the metal breastplates. Gambeson, maile and leather would protect from most slashes and stabs, but probably wouldn't hold up against this kind of foolishness.

This time both lances broke, and Johan came dangerously close to losing his seat.

On the third pass, only Rothert's lance broke. Both knights dismounted, and enthusiastic cheers rose from the crowd.

Countess Elizabet sighed again. "These jousts used to be serious wargames, but the rules have changed in recent years. Every season they become more dramatic and less realistic. Duels didn't used to be part of it all." She fanned herself with more force, punctuating each phrase with a swish of silk. "If both dismount, that's a duel. A tie will lead either to a duel or a fourth pass, it's up to the knights."

“Mhm,” Patrice responded, watching the duel. The jousting had not been overly exciting, but there was something in watching two humans fight one another afoot. She had seen fighting before, but only when knights were fighting her mother and that hardly compared to this at all. Her mother, she thought, certainly would've enjoyed this. She leaned forward to get a better view.

"They're far too dramatic," Elizabet said as the duel dragged on past the five minute mark. "I seem to recall that they’ve been in trouble before for rigging up their fights a certain way. Only together, mind. Against other knights they aren't nearly so...excitable."

"So they do it on purpose?" Patrice asked. She was still watching the strange sport – so like the way dragons danced and play fought in the air and so completely different at the same time. The movements were different, but no less graceful. The ring of steel on steel was different than claw on scale, but just as musical. There was a rhythm to the fight that tugged at her heart and made her blood dance.

Elizabet’s reply pulled her out of her hypnotic fascination. "To the shame of their families, I'm sure," she said. "That's why they’reat the beginning now, so only one gets a chance to compete. Last time it was Rothert, so he will let Johan win." She fanned herself idly for a while before speaking again. "As I recall Johan is engaged now, but even if he does get married to that backwoods country lord, I'm sure that he'll always show up in time for this. I don't know why the royal family let's them get away with it."

Patrice tuned the countess out as she continued to witter on about the personal lives of people that she neither knew nor cared about. She only wanted to watch the fighting, but even as Elizabet was speaking the duel drew to a close. It went as the countess had predicted it would.

Johan disarmed Rothert with a flourish that Patrice was certain had been much more dramatic than necessary. The spectators cheered the two knights as they bowed to each other and the royal family. The two men collected their materials and left the field to the next combatants.

Index | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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[lily-learns-finnish]

Kuulua

A few a different meanings for this verb:

1 - Kuulua = to belong, to be a part of

"Se kuuluu asiaan." = That's just part of it. (Literally: It belongs to the thing)

"Kenelle tuo kirja kuuluu?" = To whom does the book belong?

2 - Kuulua = to be heard (DO NOT CONFUSE WITH KUULLA)

"Ei kuulunut linnun laulua" = The bird's song was not heard.

3 - Kuulua = to be heard (of) - metaphorical meaning

"Hän pohti, miksi lasta ei kuulunut." = He wondered why there was no sign of a child.

[To explain further the article title was: "Ensin lasta ei kuulunut, sitten toive adoptiosta kariutui – nyt Juska Salminen, 45, on tuore isä" = "At first there was no sign of a child, then hope of adoption fell apart - now Juska Salminen, 45, is a new dad" ... so the phrase "ei kuulunut lasta" is meaning that even though they were trying for a baby, they didn't "hear" of one - i.e. there was no signs a baby was coming]

"Hänestä ei ole kuulunut mitään." - Nothing has been heard about him. [Or perhaps more natural in English: We/I haven't heard anything from him.]

4 - Mitä kuuluu? = How are you?

5 - Se ei kuulu sinulle. = It is none of your business.

...

DO NOT CONFUSE WITH THE VERB KUULLA (TO HEAR): Kuulla = to hear

"En kuullut herätyskelloa aamulla." = I didn't hear my alarm clock in the morning.

[vivaladunn]

i don’t need spotify to tell me HIM was my top artist this year the 100+ hours i’ve spent listening to them says enough

[writers-against-gun-violence]

Gunfight by Ryan Busse - A former firearms executive pulls back the curtain on America's multibillion-dollar gun industry.

As an avid hunter, outdoorsman, and conservationist–all things that the firearms industry was built on–Ryan Busse chased a childhood dream and built a successful career selling millions of firearms for one of America’s most popular gun companies. But blinded by the promise of massive profits, the gun industry abandoned its self-imposed decency in favor of hardline conservatism and internal policing, sowing irreparable division in our politics and society. That drove Busse to do something few other gun executives have done: he's ending his 30-year career in the industry to show us how and why we got here.   Gunfight is an insider’s call-out of a wild, secretive, and critically important industry. It shows us how America's gun industry shifted from prioritizing safety and ethics to one that is addicted to fear, conspiracy, intolerance, and secrecy. It recounts Busse's personal transformation and shows how authoritarianism spreads in the guise of freedom, how voicing one's conscience becomes an act of treason in a culture that demands sameness and loyalty. Gunfight offers a valuable perspective as the nation struggles to choose between armed violence or healing.

There are many other anti-gun books on the market. Penguin Random House partners with Everytown for Gun Safety to help send a powerful message to end gun violence and they actively promote the National Gun Violence Awareness Day Reading List. The list includes The Violence Inside Us by Chris Murphy, Carry by Toni Jensen, Stop Teaching Our Kids To Kill by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman and Gloria Degaetano, Stay True by Hua Hsu, Guns Don’t Kill People, People Kill People, by Dennis A. Henigan, The Anatomy of Violence by Adrian Raine, Stand Your Ground by Caroline Light and Fist Stick Knife Gun by Geoffrey Canada.

In addition, there have been many novels that send powerful anti-gun messages. Some of the more recent anti-gun novels include Big Guns by Steve Israel, Only Child by Rhiannon Navin, Fierce Kingdom by Gin Phillips, Gun Love by Jennifer Clement, If We Had Known by Elise Juska, Luckiest Girl Alive by Jessica Knoll, The Ones Who Got Away by Roni Loren, Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds and This Is Where It Ends by Marieke Nijkamp.

Each one of these books helps to carry the message that something has to be done about gun violence in America and I encourage everyone who reads this blog to also read these books.

[mossflower-trails]

There's no one following this blog yet, but I have thoughts to liveblog about The Taggerung, so I'm gonna do that. I'm not finished rereading it all yet but I'm getting there.

I loved this book as a kid! I understand potential reasons why some choices were made in the narrative. BUUUUT I'm still gonna critique it and analyze it. I want to try and do so in a way that's still in-line with Kid's Book Reading Level though.

So regarding a theme of Healthy and Unhealthy Family Interactions

Firstly, oh boy, I want an entire section which shows Tagg's relationship with Sawny and how the former managed to come out of it still Pure Of Heart.

Because either:

Life in the Juska Clan wasn't that bad, meaning vermin can be Normal

Or life in the Juska Clan was Very Bad, which is canon but really could use the added detail of: Tagg comes out of this with some Issues

Hell, in the latter, it could give him stuff to bond further with Nimbalo. The message doesn't even have to go that deep into it: "Hey kids, sometimes people you regard as family will hurt you, but you'll find other loving people if you keep being true to yourself."

This also comes up in Tagg going all white savior on meeting the pygmy shrews who Just Don't Know Any Better than to sacrifice a creature to the eel. It was implied that, somehow, the shrews got the idea that their food won't come back unless they do this evil act, but it was framed as their own silliness, ie They Don't Know Any Better. Instead, the eel maybe could have been shown manipulating and threatening them. Showing us this can point us towards an altered message of: "Hey kids, sometimes people you love (the shrews) are bad to you (the chieftain's daughter) because they're also being abused (the eel), but it doesnt give them the right to do bad."

We could have multiple examples to emphasize similar but different family issues along Tagg's journey (the watervoles, Madd, the elderly flatlands shrew, etc).

Once again I love these books and this isn't a bashing post - they formed a great part of my childhood and I'm grateful to their existence tbh. This is more a thought exercise in how it could have been and how I personally would have liked it. I'm enjoying my revisit and it's giving me a lot to think about! (Also, the audiobooks are very well-acted)

Feel free to share your thoughts as well if you see this 🦦

[0rdinarythoughts]

جوسکا نامی ایک سنڈروم ہے جو دماغ کی طرف سے کی جانے والی ایک جعلی گفتگو ہے جو آپ کو اپنے ذہن کے اندر روزانہ کی بنیاد پر فرضی منظرنامے، لوگوں اور حالات کو ایجاد کرتی ہے تاکہ آپ کی تنہائی کے احساس کو پورا کیا جا سکے۔

There is a syndrome called Juska which is a fake conversation made by the mind that makes you invent fake scenarios, people and situations inside your mind on a daily basis to compensate for your feeling of loneliness.

[blogreves]

02 Aug 2024 : four géant avec nono, soirée dark embrouille

Avec nono, intérieur d un genre de four géant comme un tipi, feu avec genre de serpette à maintenir allumée en am retournant. Pour maintenir flammes. Traditions

Puis soirée. En haut.

Un peu dark alcool rebs etc juska chanson dun film (lappellent scray movie) l français mordent main middle compare agitation pogo , jeunes. Dans agitation par terre mec blouson footbal americain bleu un peu rough avec petite meuf. Elle a une bague qui fait toute sa main le long des doigts, c carré et ça fait mal . (Çar le mec appuyait dessus) etc

Tt le monde va se coucher. Moi aussi. Éteint enceinte. Me couche

Réveil