#and Freya’s performance captivated me

[dancingwiththefae]

Actually Ciri was the shining star of the season for me and Freya was amazing in portraying her. Battling with who she is and who she wants to be. Coming into her own. But she’s still a teenager. She’s brash and lashes out. But more than anything she wants her family. She wants to feel safe. I felt for her I want to protect her and I love her. She was just incredible excuse me I’m just having a moment.

[mapsofnonexistentplaces]

question for you... top cc divorces?

GOD where do i begin. i think there’s more like divorce than actual maintained relationships throughout the whole thing LOL might as well run through all of them

the fucking. one that’s ruled my mind and heart for the past few months nonstop has been isel and olzhas specifically because their whole dynamic revolves around how much these two care about each other even in spite of like. the loose conceit of a breakup haunting them. they both have this thing about, despite mutually deciding on separation, making exceptions for one another in terms of aiding and even being outright affectionate with one another… they’re still being very tightknit whilst also refusing to let other people pry into these ‘transgressive’ acts that contradict the broadcasted external image of their relationship. they’ve got a very private kind of love between them and their whole divorce is basically just a charade built off a misunderstanding but it’s still this constraining force that just. guilts the both of them out of genuineness. it’s fucked up. it’s my favorite thing in the world. i’m glad everyone else just finds the whole ordeal gormless and i’m glad people like freya and dalisay exist to make fun of these guys for being soooo unbearably facetious

beatrix and marjolaine are also complicated…. with them it’s less a thing of them like. tugging at my heartstrings and more just being like the most twisted fascinating puzzle of codependency LOL. like the two of them met each other whilst they were very young and they were both kind of just like. superficially enthralled with one another. very artistically pretentious pair of wayward fiction writer/famous opera singer which like. slowly lost its spark over the years and like two decades later they’re basically both just tugging on one another. utterly refusing to break things off despite then both obviously only being captivated by the past veneer of their old young love. with beatrix in particular it’s fun because he’s got like. this whole complex about seeming well-put together and accomplished and classy and whatever and he’s basically holding onto marjolaine as a status symbol like “hah look at me i’m an accomplished woman who is MARRIED” and he basically views outright divorce as like. admitting to making a mistake in choosing to marry marjolaine. and him admitting to a mistake would basically like kill him so eh. in the dull relationship he must stay. like something i adore about the whole situation is that beatrix basically DID divorce him and quickly walked back on that for aforementioned prideful reasons which is like. yeah. he’s a bit of a disaster it’s fine. similarly i’m fond of the way marjolaine latches on to beatrix for a similar reason of like. “i already started this marriage and ever since my life’s gone down the drain (especially socially) so i need to keep this flame alive if nothing else” whilst also. only really being half-hearted in her interest of beatrix as an individual. they’re both just very devoted to. not really one another. but the period of time that their inversion represents.

cas and lanuola are like a complete nightmare to explain i’ll do it separately if anyone wants it but like MANNNN they’ve got a mixture of things that kick my ass which is like. a) born arose from very heavy performance-based careers and both never really had profound connections with other people nor managed to really effectively evade the public eye. got to do the latter on the train quite plainly and also got attached to one another quite quickly due to shared experiences. they’re both each other’s “first person to really understand me”. b) they both died trying to protect each other it’s all in vain and it fucked!!!! they turn into weird abstract ghosts and you think it’d be fine BUT c) divorce happens due to a convoluted domino fall of events basically boiling down to “cas is extremely bent on revenge for her early death and exerts it on someone completely unrelated by sending them vague scary visions meant to warn the living of the person who killed her and lanuola finds this completely uncouth and breaks things off for moral purposes. however cas is also conflicted about her actions and is incapable of admitting it. lanuola also misses cas but maintains his morality steadfastly. ahhhhhhhh!” to harken to an old sketch made by my good friend stanley:

there’s like some smaller divorces that don’t quite matter that much. like faris and volkan. latter of whom is literally an absolute speck of dust of a character he literally just exists to be faris’ ex boyfriend who barely even comes up. this dude’s job is to simply get a divorce. it’s not even that dramatic they just cut things off because faris wants to leave for the scary train that’s rumoured to probably just kill people once they get on there and it’s like. amicable enough. faris hardly ever gives him much thought afterward LOL

mazin’s divorce also like vaguely matters but it’s another more metaphorical thing. dude literally just disappears without a word to his wife because he’s just THAT ravenous to leave for the train and sabotage it from within. only ever brings her up to get pity from other people and was never really that attentive to her or anything. he sure is a really lovely guy

the brief rendezvous between olzhas and faris is also funny to me just because these guys have been like. good friends for years and like the first thing olzhas does upon breaking up with isel is go AW SHIT i feel useless and bad on my own are there any other beautiful bears on this train that i can tie myself to. and so e kind of just jumps into a relationship with eir old bestie only for faris to like. no more than a week later. go “yeah i do care for you and i want to see you get better but also i am Not isel and using me as a rebound is bad both for you AND me” and olzhas is kind of just like. “Shit yeah. sorry. let’s go break chairs over each others heads.” and they do. they’re still friends and this whole incident basically means nothing to either of them nowadays but it humors me. the woes of the gay italian man….

[fearsmagazine]

KINGDOM OF THE PLANET OF THE APES - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures

SYNOPSIS: Several generations after Caesar's rule, apes became the dominant species, living in harmony while humans are forced into the shadows. A new tyrant, Proximus Caesar, established his empire near a military bunker he seeks to breach and make the technology his own. Noa, a young ape, embarks on a perilous journey when Proximus Caesar's scouts destroy his village while searching for a human. Noa's quest to reunite with his tribe and bring them home leads him to question everything he knew about the past and make decisions that will reshape the future of both apes and humans.

REVIEW: Under the helm of director Wes Ball and the creative guidance of screenwriter Josh Friedman, a new chapter in the "Planet of the Apes" saga unfolds, transporting audiences back to the familiar world. This captivating tale builds upon the events of "War for the Planet of the Apes," setting the stage for a captivating narrative that takes place several generations later.

The film begins by tying up loose ends from 2017's "War for the Planet of the Apes." It establishes how Caesar's legacy will shape the new saga, paying homage to the films of the 60s and 70s. The narrative merges the classic hero's journey with the "Planet of the Apes" universe. Consequences for the hero's actions are strictly enforced within this framework. Rather than providing a backstory through dialogue, the film cleverly uses visuals to convey necessary information. The film's logic is meticulously crafted and thrillingly executed, revealing that Noa's tribe raises eagles. This unexpected element is employed for its implications later in the story. The narrative revolves around contrasting characters. I found Raka, an orangutan who might be the last of a priestly order dedicated to preserving, though flawed, Caesar's original message, to be a particularly interesting character. The film establishes context and raises questions about the events leading to Proximus Caesar's rise. A human character, played by William H. Macy, reads to Proximus and appears to be an engineer. While intriguing, this character felt underdeveloped and lacking depth, resembling a Shakespearean jester who meets a predictable demise.

The narrative concludes Noa's tale, but it also poses questions that hint at potential story arcs for future films. Multiple storylines remain unresolved and will likely be explored in subsequent installments of the film series.

The narrative pays homage to the entire "Planet of the Apes" universe by adeptly utilizing dialogue, visuals, and musical score. There are several remarkable moments that I'll refrain from spoiling here. Unlike the iconic moment at the end of the original film, the filmmakers subtly incorporate familiar landmarks into the backgrounds, evoking a sense of location, the passage of time, and a touch of surprise as nature has reclaimed the landscape. One particular scene, in which several elements seamlessly converge, embodies the universe in a way that truly gave me goosebumps.

The production values in the film are closely tied to the current advancements in technology. Compared to the 2017 film, the motion and facial capture techniques have improved significantly, allowing for more nuanced and expressive performances from the actors. Additionally, the environments in the film are a hybrid of physical and CGI elements, creating breathtaking and photorealistic visuals. While I appreciated the production design overall, there was an aspect that I found questionable: the saddles on the horses appeared to be technologically more advanced than what would be expected of Noa's tribe or the other apes in the story.

The film "KINGDOM OF THE PLANET OF THE APES" showcases a stellar ensemble cast. Owen Teague's portrayal of Noa captures a troubled innocence, torn between his commitment to the apes and the conflicting revelations he encounters outside his village. Freya Allan's performance as Mae surpasses anything seen in her previous roles, such as "The Witcher" series or "Gunpowder Milkshake." Allan brings a complex and surprising depth to the character. Peter Macon's creation of Raka is a standout, presenting a simple, kind, and naturally humorous cleric whose expressive moments leave a lasting impact. Kevin Durand, a seasoned actor, delivers a larger-than-life performance as Proximus Caesar, a character that is menacing, calculating, and captivating. While William H. Macy's performance is solid, but it feels underutilized compared to roles like Raka. It serves more as a functional character within the narrative rather than a fully developed role like the one Raka presents to Noa.

In the realm of the "Planet of the Apes" universe, KINGDOM OF THE PLANET OF THE APES introduces a captivating epic tale. Approximately 50 years after the novel and film, the story deftly weaves contemporary and logical elements as it hints at a potential new film series. Unlike earlier installments, there are no atomic bombs, mutants, or time travel (at least not yet). Instead, the film skillfully incorporates elements from the entire "Apes" universe to deliver an emotionally resonant and satisfying cinematic experience for fans. The visuals are breathtaking, the action is pulse-pounding, and the performances are stellar. With the artisans from WETA, the same team behind the "Lord of the Rings" films, crafting this universe, it is no wonder that the result is a dazzling spectacle. Here's hoping the next installment will be equally impressive!

CAST: Owen Teague, Freya Allan, Kevin Durand, Peter Macon, William H. Macy CREW: Director/Producer - Wes Ball; Screenplay - Josh Friedman; Based on the Characters Created by - Rick Jaffa & Amanda Silver; Based on the Novel “Planet of the Apes” by - Pierre Boulle; Producers - Joe Hartwick Jr., Rick Jaffa, Jason Reed, and Amanda Silver; Cinematographer - Gyula Pados; Score - John Paesano; Editors - Dirk Westervelt & Dan Zimmerman; Production Designer - Daniel T. Dorrance; Costume Designer - Mayes C. Rubeo; Special Effects - Weta Workshop; Special Effects Designer - Andrew Wallis; Visual Effects - Halon Entertainment LLC & Weta FX. OFFICIAL: www.20thcenturystudios.com/movies/kingdom-of-the-planet-of-the-apes FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/ApesMovies TWITTER: twitter.com/ApesMovies TRAILER: https://youtu.be/Kdr5oedn7q8?si=6x3e0-Tfbq77B9e2 RELEASE DATE: In theaters May 19th, 2024.

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[countrymusiclover]

53 - Dahlia's Offer

Part 54

Gemini Runaway

Tag list ask to be added @dragonixfrye @secretdreamlandmentality

Rubbing my eyes I saw the sun streaming down on me. Sitting upright I glanced around seeing that we were in an old village type area. Klaus groaned, running a hand down his face glaring at the woman with dark hair. “Get out of my head.”

“I'm not in your head, Klaus, Raelyn.” She explains when we both got to our feet. “You're in mine, and seeing as you lie daggered by your own beloved brother, you have no choice but to listen. I have a proposition for you. Come along.”

Klaus rolled his eyes at her. “Spare me the agonizing boredom and explain what it is you want. I've no use for demented dreamscapes.”

“Niklaus, listen.” She spat where we turned our heads in the direction of the village seeing a girl that looked like a younger Dahlia.

“The vikings came while you were in the garden. I'm scared, Dahlia.” There was another women with blonde hair wearing a yellow dress that must be Esther.

She grabbed her and they hid behind one of the wagons. “

Don't be. I'll protect us, Esther, but come what may, we must remain together always and forever. Promise?”

“Promise.” Esther nodded before they were taken by some Vikings.

The three of us walked until we were inside a small hut type building. “Charming.” Klaus scoffed standing beside me.

“This dismal hovel is where I endured the terrors of viking captivity for years.” Dahlia began explaining while the young her was thrown on the floor and was forced to work. “I performed the dark magic they demanded so that Esther would be free of their violent abuse. While she was out in the sun gathering herbs, I toiled in the gray of this room, but I never resented her. We'd made a promise.”

“Is this your feeble attempt to garner sympathy?” I scoffed toward her, throwing up my arms.

Klaus added on growling towards her. “To what end? No ancient plight will ever justify your intention to enslave my daughters.”

“Oh, Niklaus, our plights are the same.” She responded back.

“Dahlia, stop. I no longer wish to practice magic.” Young Esther said once entering the hut

Her sister couldn’t believe her. “Magic has kept us alive.”

“And Mikael will protect me now, sister. We plan to marry, have a family.” Esther explains hopefully.

Dahlia shook her head towards the young girl. “I am your family. I'm your sister. We promised each other.”

“You'll always be my sister, Dahlia, but I wish for children of my own, and... I love him.” Esther left the hut before I turned to face the older witch.

We had switched to another part of the woods outside a small hut in the middle of nowhere. “People are frightened of that which they do not understand. They will only hate you.” Dahlia talked with a young girl.

“I hate this place! I want to see more than the same trees, the same hills, a face that isn't yours.” A younger Freya I can only assume shouts at her. She then was losing control until they started singing together.

Dahlia glanced in our direction. “Firstborn witches in this bloodline possess devastating power.”

“You're saying this is what's to come for Hope, Alina and Missy.” Klaus walked forward while my eyes watched the young girls huddling together.

Dahlia intertwined her hands together. “Hope, Alina and Missy will suffer far more than Freya. Hope's magic will be tainted with your vampire blood as well as the aggressive wolf temperament. Without the proper tutelage that only I can provide, hope's power will grow unchecked.”

“Oh and it’s just so convenient that you seemed to be the one to help them. In case you have forgotten I am a witch of the Gemini coven. In fact I am the leader so I can handle their powers.” Stomping up to her clutching my hands into fists at my sides.

She stepped towards me. “She will lash out at everyone, including you. She'll devastate the city that you love, and then her terror will spread far beyond. I, too, am a firstborn, so I was the only one to help save Freya from herself, just as I'm the only one who can save your daughter.”

“That still doesn’t mean that I can’t teach them. My mother taught my brother and I just fine on her own. So let us out of your head so that I can deal with you!” Raising my voice at her I wished that I had my magic but as long as we were in her head it wouldn’t work.

Dahlia responded simply walking away. “You've seen it, Klaus, Raelyn. You need me.”

Klaus and I had no choice but to follow after where he took. my hand in his, not trusting the woman in front of us. She was trying to take our daughters from us. “In my experience, an offer from a malevolent witch always comes with a catch. What's yours?”

“There is no catch except for this one. Clearly it is possible that you and Niklaus can bear more children. So why don’t you do that? I am doing what I can to help your children.” She explains glancing between the two of us. “You’re first born daughters will need more guidance than even Freya considering that the other two’s magic I cannot truly feel.”

Scowling at her I squeezed Nik’s hand tightly in mine. “They’re siphoning witches. And they can kick your ass. I was able to take on his mother’s dark magic and a lot of other sources. Now that I’m a heretic I can beat your ass far worse than you imagine!”

“You see, dear aunt. Raelyn and I are very powerful beings. So while you think you can sway us. I assure you that you won’t succeed.” Nik told her sternly.

Dahlia turned her head towards Freya making one last move. “The world already is afraid of your children are they not. The children of the original hybrid and the heretic of the Gemini coven. Raelyn I heard what you are, that you were an outcast yourself. And that you couldn’t control your powers. I am the only one who can help them.”

“We can protect our children ourselves just fine. Now let us out of here.” Snapping at her she waved her hand smacking Nik and I both in the face knocking us out on our backs. “In the end, the truth is, you will have made the right choice for her…..you will see I am helping them.”

Shooting my eyes open I gasped sharply shooting upright where I frantically looked around seeing a hole in my chest that was healing now. “Nik!!!”

“Rae!!” He gasped wrapping his hands around the dagger handle. He began to pull it out slowly then he rose to his feet getting out of the coffin. He swung his legs over the side holding the blade in his right hand. “We need to deal with Elijah…”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[brigitttt]

People You'd Like to Know Better

I was tagged by @lttrsfrmlnrrgby! thanks for thinkin of me <3

Last Song: Delighted to say the last song I listened to was "Thank You For the Venom" by MCR; I only recently got into their music because I had a Hilary Duff and weird-prog-music-my-dad-showed-me childhood instead of the angsty anger tunes all my friends had. On the same playlist I listened to while make dinner last night are Nirvana, Bikini Kill, The Rasmus, Hole, Garbage -- all the classics.

Currently Watching: Silo: I know everyone is loving Rebecca Ferguson in this and I am too, but I am also greatly enjoying Common's performance, and have ever since his Hell on Wheels days. Season finale soon!!! I'm on the edge of my seat!!

Stranger Things, but with german dubbing and subtitles: vague inclination to rewatch the show, but also wanted to practice listening to german. Two birds one show situation: can watch something in the language I'm trying to get better at but also already know what's happening in the plot! Everyone's voice actors seem just slightly more high-pitched than the original cast and that's A-OK

Also keeping up with new Strange New Worlds, everything on Dropout (Dungeons and Drag Queens tonight!!), and the weekly MerediddyS youtube video.

Currently Reading: A Marvellous Light, by Freya Marske: on my to-read list ever since I knew one of my fave captive prince fic authors was writing original fiction! I'm really enjoying it, except when I am reading on the bus and things get steamy. I love the POV switches, and the oxbridge-ness of the main characters. Delighted to learn there is a wlw sequel!

As the Women Lay Dreaming, by Donald S. Murray: got recommended to me by a friend and sounded just enough like all that literature of the norwegian occupation that I eagerly accepted her thirdhand copy. One of those interpersonal and journal-perspective novels set in the Hebrides at various intervals around the 1918 Iolaire disaster. The writing style is so visceral and evocative, it's truly like reading a movie or something, in the best way possible.

Current Obsession: Riverdale. Was gonna put this under 'Currently Watching' but I'm self-aware enough to know I'm becoming obsessed. I'd seen the first season and a bit before dropping it years ago, but I've recently been at the mercy of my flatmate's secondhand descriptions of all the insanity that show contains, and have finally given in. I'm only on season 2, but it's already got me in its terrible, awful grip. There are some lines in this show that will haunt me forever.

Thanks again lttrs! I will tag @goddammitjim @elwenyere and @damiaanos <3 let me know what y'all up to

[lis-likes-fics]

A Witch's Luck | Chapter 18

"If you're stalling," Victoria began.

Y/N shook her head. It was almost time for them to go. Tomorrow, the newborns would be facing the Cullens. "I'm not. Putting the spell in progress takes a while. It will be done in...maybe four hours?" She told her.

Victoria growled, "You have three. Get it done."

"I can't do three, Victoria," she tried.

"You can and you will or you'll be missing an arm," she warned.

Y/N sighed and closed her eyes to get to the spell. She peered up at the crow cleaning his feathers next to her. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

She focused on putting the ingredients together. The crow went last. She'd be working for an hour and a half with the ingredients. The spoken spell part took forever because she would need to talk with the ancestors for permission to complete spell. It was going to take longer without her familiar.

When everything was put together carefully, she sighed and turned to the crow. She held her hands out, "Come here."

The crow hopped into her hands and cawed quietly. Y/N wiped at her tear and told it, "I'm sorry."

The crow tilted its head and she closed her eyes, snapping its neck quickly. A broken cry came from her as she did it. She let out a shaky breath and got rid of her tears. She couldn't have them for the next part of the spell.

She cut into a small part of the crow and dripped it into the bowl, making sure the get the right amount of blood in the bowl.

"Y/N?"

That wasn't Jasper's voice.

Y/N perked up a little and went through the link, "Freya?"

The fox replied, "Are you performing the spell?"

"I am," Y/N said.

The familiar didn't answer. A moment later, she was standing in front of Y/N, though it was just an illusion, it was all she needed.

Y/N smiled at her familiar, "Freya." She had to be quiet, she couldn't risk Victoria hearing her.

Freya sat down and smiled a fox smile, "Channel my magic."

Y/N smiled and thanked her. She took in a breath, then blew it out slowly. She did this a few times to build up a suitable breath pattern.

She closed her eyes and started chanting the spell, pulling the magic from her memory before she finally started saying it on impulse. Magic flashed behind her eyelids and she was overtaken by it.

She opened her eyes again, now standing in a dark area with five witches and three warlocks around her.

The head of the ancestral witches spoke, "Mother Y/N Y/L/N, member of the French Quarter Coven and leader of the Forks Coven."

Technically, they were right about the 'mother' part - and that's without Althea in mind. When you become the head of a coven, it doesn't matter your age, you are automatically the mother or father of the coven and it becomes part of your title.

So Y/N was Mother Y/N.

She nodded, "Grandmothers, Grandfathers." It was respect and manners that said the ancestors would be named 'Grandmother' and 'Grandfather' if they are passed on and leaders in their life.

They nodded to them and one of the warlocks asked, "Why have you come to see us?"

Y/N took in a breath and spoke, "I have been taken captive by the vampire Victoria. I've been in captivity for...a few weeks now. My mate and coven killed hers because she was threatening us. As her revenge, she tortured me and wants me to perform a necromancy spell to bring her mate from the dead."

"You mean to perform a necromancy spell for the enemy?"

"Have you lost your mind, young witch?"

"That will not happen!"

Y/N spoke quickly, "I don't mean to go through with her plan. I said she wants me to, not that I would."

"So you came to us hoping we would take care of it?" The head with asked.

Y/N shook her head, "No, Grandmother. I came to ask permission to complete the spell to destroy her. I mean to kill Victoria."

"You could do that with a snap of your fingers. Why come to us?" A warlock asked.

"Because my magic is running low. I'm having to channel my familiar, the vixen Freya, to perform the spell. I can't use as much power as I would like to and I need to be able to stall so she doesn't know I'm lying to her. I could end up dead and my coven can't handle that right now," Y/N spoke.

The witches exchanged a glance, trying to figure out what to do.

Y/N moved to her knees, kneeling in front of them, "I come to ask permission to complete my spell. We kill her and her newborn army-"

"Newborn army?"

"Yes, she and her false mate have created an army to destroy my coven. If we kill the army, it leaves just her and we've faced her before, it's difficult. She hold the gift of self-preservation. My coven will be destroying their army tomorrow, I need to take care of her. With this spell, I can do that."

Y/N inhaled and grabbed her arm. Freya appeared next to her, "Victoria is back."

Y/N hadn't realized how long they'd been in here. Time passes differently with the ancestors. "Please, I need it now, or she'll kill me and my family. I have a daughter, I can leave her."

The witches sighed and joined hands. They gave her the permission she needed as they changed the spell. Y/N was forced back out of her head and back to the room where Victoria had her fingers digging in her arm.

Y/N screamed but fought through the pain, finishing the spell. A bright flashed pushed Victoria away and the spell was bound to a small object. It looked like an ornament, it was plan in design but it had the color of bloody red.

Y/N caught her breath, glancing at the familiar visible to only her in a silent thank you. Freya reluctantly nodded and disappeared.

Y/N looked at the ornament and picked it up, "Break this over the snow tomorrow when you're ready. It will release the spell and James will live again."

Victoria snatched the ornament and a smile came to her lips. She glanced at Y/N and left quickly, reveling in her victory as she stared at the ornament.

Y/N looked at her arm and flicked her wrist, stopping the bleeding so she didn't pass out. She leaned her head against the wall and allowed herself a few minutes of rest before cleaning up.

-

Later on that day, Jasper visited to make sure Y/N was alright. He heard word from Freya that she performed the spell.

"Y/N? Y/N, are you there?" He called, searching for the link. He would be heading out to the Rendezvous spot with his family soon. He needed to check on her first.

He'd have a better grasp on her at the point, though. It was close to where she was being held.

"Jasper, are you okay?" She asked, her voice relieved and happy to hear him.

He sighed, "Y/N. Yeah, I'm okay. Are you? Are you hurt?"

She let out a breathy, humorless laugh, "Define hurt."

He bowed his head and sat down against a tree, "We'll come for you tomorrow. You'll be safe at home again."

Y/N nodded, "Just...be careful."

He nodded as well, taking in a breath, "You, too. We'll be there soon. Don't worry."

"I love you, Jasper," she told him gently.

"I love you, too, darlin'," he replied. Y/N hesitated before stopping the link.

She was hurt. Victoria had decided to punish her a little for taking so long to do the spell. But she was a little more merciful since she did have the spell.

Y/N was sitting here with busted up legs and arms, she had claw marks and a broken arm - though she was pretty sure it was shattered. She wasn't allowed to heal it, or she'd be worse off.

It hurt to move, so she just sat there.

Sometimes being a witch sucked. Being thrown around, tortured, hunted, and slaughtered.

Just a witch's luck.

It did have it good parts, though.

There was the magic, the family, the friends. Being a witch wasn't all bad, it was sad some witches didn't even get to live the life. Whether it was being killed or not able to perform magic at all through fear of being killed, some witches didn't live the life.

Being a witch was hard. It was painful, sorrowful, regretful. It was filled with distrust, hate, and fear.

But it had it's love and friendship - and hope. That was something they needed, it was something she had.

Hope was frail, but it was hard to break. Y/N knew that and she would need it.

-

Victoria kicked her leg, waking Y/N up quickly. She winced at the pain in her body, she was sore and bleeding again.

"Come on, time to go," Victoria said, making her stand as she roughly pulling her to her feet. Y/N winced and whimpered at the pain.

Victoria walked out of the room, making Y/N follow her. She ordered the newborns not to attack her.

She made her use a spell so she'd be able to travel with them. They were going by water.

The trip was long, restless, and painful. The snow had come and it was cold now, too. She was in immense pain and the newborns were dying to sink their teeth in her.

After a few hours, they arrived. Y/N was in pain from the trip, but that didn't stop Victoria. She dropped her off somewhere and sternly told her to stay.

It's not like she would be moving, she didn't know if she could anymore.

Victoria and the newborns left her, close enough for the newborns to know if she tried to escape, but still having her hidden away from the others.

The Cullens and witches, with the exception of Edward, Bella, and Charlie, stand ready in the field for the army. They listened silently, Alice watching her vision closely.

After a moment, the whole newborn army blitzed out of the woods and into the field. They could see the frenzy in their eyes along with their rabid thirst as they followed the scent of Bella's blood. But the scent trail ended there. The newborns looked around, confused.

Suddenly something bolted from the trees with lightning speed and tackled a newborn. The other newborns spun to find a lethal-looking Jasper in a crouch beside his victim's body.

They rushed at Jasper but three of them go down, tackled by Esme, Rosalie, Carlisle, Emmett and Alice. Out of nowhere lunged Sam in his wolf form, flanked by two wolves. They tore a newborn to pieces and four other wolves dove into the fray.

A couple newborns came up behind an unsuspecting wolf, meaning to pull a sneak attack.

They were interrupted as their heads were sliced from their bodies with a blade made with water. The wolf turned around to see Eileen, standing there with a slight pant.

The wolf nodded to her and she nodded back, getting back into the fight.

[imagine-loki]

Of Numbers and Strange Friendships

TITLE: Of Numbers and Strange Friendships CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 27/? AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki being friends with Peter Parker RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: None so far.  Also on AO3 here

Loki returned to the bathroom to find Peter anxiously pacing while he waited for the god.  Loki chuckled at the sight and let his illusion fade so he was back to his normal form.  “You owe me a favor.  And you will be studying the material properly this evening and every evening until you know it properly,” he told Peter firmly.  He bailed Peter out to keep him from failing since if he failed, Aunt May wouldn’t let him keep working at his fake internship if he failed any of his classes.

Loki also had to admit that Peter had won him over with his interpretation of the teacher’s “only an act of god” can save you.  She hadn’t specified which god Peter was allowed to call upon.  He’d chosen to call upon Loki.  

“Thank you so much, Loki!” Peter exclaimed and hugged Loki around the neck.  “I swear, I’ll never let it happen again.  I swear, I swear,” he said in his loud puppy-like enthusiastic way.  

“You better not,” Loki told him firmly. “I will not cheat for you again,” he told the teen firmly. Loki had standards.  He only helped this time because Peter had goaded him with that ‘act of god’ line and he really didn’t want to lose Peter’s friendship if he lost the internship.  And he was really, really, going to make the teen earn the help he’d just gotten by making him study the material ten times as hard.  Or more.  The god would make sure that Peter didn’t think asking him to cheat would ever be the easy way out.

Poor Peter was in for a world of hurt and didn’t seem to realize it yet.

Loki was about to teleport home when Peter took his hand.  “Not yet, Loki!” he begged.  “Come to another class with me? Please???” he begged with a heartbreaking pout.

Loki rolled his eyes.  “Now why in the name of the Nine would I do that?” he asked.  He disliked this place and wanted to get out of this dingy high school. Especially the dingy bathroom of the school. 

“Because you get to show off?” Peter suggested.  Loki glared so Peter hurried on.  “We’re doing a section on mythology in my history class. The teacher said we can get extra credit for bringing in a myth to share with the class,” he explained a bit sheepishly.  He hadn’t been planning on asking, but if Loki was already here…

Loki gave Peter a considering look.  “You have gotten too good at using wording to your advantage,” he told his friend proudly.  “Very well, though this is two favors you owe me,” he warned.  Making deals with the Loki could be akin to making deals with the devil, though Peter didn’t think Loki would do anything to actually hurt him. 

“Fine, two favors,” Peter agreed.  He was too trusting of Loki, but Loki wouldn’t actually hurt him.  If he tried to do something out of line, Peter could always get Thor to intervene.  He doubted it would come to that.  Loki sighed and looked extremely put-upon, but let his casual clothes shimmer to his armor, including golden horned helmet.  If he was going to show off, he was going to do it properly.  “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Peter told him and led him from the bathroom to his next class.  

The crowd parted for Loki in armor. His very presence caused the students to get out of his way.  His armor made them scurry faster.  That he had summoned a replica of his staff to carry as he walked made them stay out of his way quietly.  His well-practiced murder strut had them all staring in awe at the god being led by Peter Parker of all people.  How did that nerd get so lucky as to be friends with such powerful people?

Peter led him into one of the classrooms.  “Ms. King, I’ve brought my extra credit project,” Peter announced while the rest of the students just stared.  And stared.  And stared.  Most of them had seen Loki on the camping trip, but that was casual Loki, friendly, patient, teaching. This Loki? This was combat Loki.  This was the god, the prince of Asgard.  This was the man worthy of their respect and a hint of fear.  He could smite them where they all sat and not bat an eyelash.  

He looked intimidating as hell in his full armor and battle regalia. 

Especially holding the staff when the battle of New York wasn’t that far behind them.  “E-extra credit?” the teacher stammered, while Loki watched on, his court mask in place and completely unreadable.  He had a feeling the young teacher was enamored with him and fought back a smirk. 

“You said if we brought a myth to share with the class that you’d give us extra credit,” Peter reminded her patiently.  “I brought a literal myth, Loki prince of Asgard, god of mischief, chaos, lies, and stories,” he told her brightly, looking so proud of himself.  “He agreed to come share a story from Asgard for us,” 

“V-very well then.  Excellent work, Peter,” the teacher stammered.  

Loki stood in front of the class and vanished his staff.  He was in his element with a captive attentive audience.  But what story to tell them?  Should he tell them of the creation of the world?  The battle of Jotunheim?  One of thousands of adventures he and Thor had growing up?The truth behind the battle of New York? 

Which story?

He decided on one of himself and Thor.  One that had made it into the myths, but was very true.  “This is a story of myself and Thor from many centuries ago,” he started the tale in front of the enraptured students and teacher.  “One morning, the entire palace woke to Thor roaring from his bedchamber.  He stormed all the way to the throne room to confront the Allfather in a rage.  Quite literally mind, as it rained in the palace as he walked as if a tiny stormcloud followed him, Mother was not pleased,” he added with a smirk. “We all arrived in the throne room to find out why he was in such a temper. His anger was understandable, of course, when he explained that his beloved hammer had gone missing.  No one had thought it possible, as only the worthy are capable of lifting Mjolnir.  However, someone had stolen the hammer from Thor’s bedside table in the dead of night, leaving only a ransom note in their wake,” 

“What did they ask for?” a small voice from the crowd asked when Loki paused.

“Who stole it?” someone else asked.  

Loki appreciated his audience goading him on. 

Loki chuckled.  “They asked for Freya’s hand in marriage.  Freya is the goddess of beauty and was always sought to be wed.  We also recognized the language in the note as belonging to the giants.  Thor stomped to Freya and demanded she give herself to the giants, that she marry their leader so he would get his hammer back,” he laughed again at the memory. “Needless to say that did not work, as she slapped him senseless.  He deserved it, the oaf.  So we had to come up with another way to get Mjolnir back, since we could not allow the giants to continue to have a weapon so powerful in their possession.  For whoever was worthy to lift the hammer would also have the power of Thor while they wielded it.  

We came up with a plan that we would disguise Thor as Freya and sneak into the giant’s territory to trick them into giving Mjolnir back during the wedding as they promised. I went along with him, disguised as his handmaid,” his form shimmered to Lady Loki to emphasize how he’d managed this and shifted back a moment later.  “We made it all the way to the giants without issue.  They were wary of Thor, of course, since he hadn’t bothered to allow me to use my magic to make him female and was in a flimsy disguise, but they bought my lies and the wedding began.  My idiot brother almost gave us away multiple times during the wedding feast, since the moron decided to eat the entire feast, which included and entire ox, seven salmon, and at least three trays of pastries.  He also drank three entire casks of wine,” he gestured to indicate how big a cask was and the kids looks impressed.  It was quite a lot of wine.  More than any woman, even an Asgardian one, would be able to drink on her own. 

“Again, we were saved by my silver tongue and lies.  Finally, the giants, being even more stupid than my idiot brother, performed part of the traditional wedding ceremony wherein Mjolnir, or a replica therin, is placed on the bride’s lap in a prayer to Thor for fertility. The moronic giants placed the actual Mjolnir in Thor’s lap.  At which time he ripped off his dress and proceeded to smite all of the giants and anything in his sight.  He swung the stupid hammer the entire way home, seemingly unconcerned that he had nearly killed me as well in his uncontrolled attack,” 

The entire room applauded his story, amused at the thought of Thor in a dress and surprised that the tale was real.  Loki told other stories from his childhood, most of them embarrassing stories about Thor.

He also very, very firmly shot down the possibility that he had ever had sex with a horse, much less had given birth to an eight legged horse.  Despite that Odin did, in fact, ride Sleipnir.

Frost actually formed around his feet, spreading out around him as the temperature dropped in the room, creeping up the walls in his anger at the question and the insinuation.  Peter jumped up from his seat, concerned.  “Mr. Loki?  Why don’t you tell them about the herd of bilgesnipe Mr. Thor led into the throne room?” he asked, trying to draw Loki’s attention away from his anger at the question to the possibility of making fun of Thor.  

Loki relaxed and gave Peter a nod of his head.  He’d never let Peter suffer and reigned in his temper if only for Peter’s sake. The ice vanished as he began the next story, enjoying telling of Thor embarrassing himself.  

And everyone gained a newly rekindled appreciation of Peter’s magical ability to control his blood brother’s temper.  

[clotpolesonly]

I was tagged by @book-dragon-13!!!

Rules: answer 30 questions and tag 20 people (Idk if I’ll actually tag 20 people)

Nickname(s): i somehow ended up known almost exclusively as Jess irl and i’m not sure when that happened, also JJ (for very select few cuz i hate it), and i will now answer to Clot XD

Gender: ciswoman

⭐️ sign: leo

Time: 1:35pm

Birthday: july 23

Favorite bands: i’m currently obsessed with Halestorm, and always obsessed with Pentatonix lol

Favorite solo artists: idk i tend to like individual songs more than individual singers

Song stuck in my head: Push It To The Limit by fucking Corbin Bleu from that stupid disney channel movie about double dutch lmao

Last movie: Incredibles 2 i think

Last series: almost finished watching Dance Moms lol rip

Why I created this blog: to engage with Merlin fans

What I post/reblog: lots of Teen Wolf, Merlin, A:TLA, and Capri, also ace and aro stuff, some politics/social issues occasionally, plenty of shitposts and cute animals, idk whatever strikes my fancy tbh

Other blogs: i’m part of @teenwolflegacy and i ran @laurahale-appreciation last year (and intend to do so again soon), but nothing else that i actively use/participate in

Why I chose this URL: because i love those dumb idiots and always will

Follow: 484

Followers: 4026

Lucky number: not a clue lol

Instruments: enough guitar to accompany myself in a serviceable manner, a few decent piano songs, and a few scales and simple songs on like 8 other instruments but nothing really functional lmao

What am I wearing rn: skinny jeans and a way too big button-up tied up in the front

Dream job: i just wanna be a professional choir member or backup singer lol

Last book: i haven’t read actual books in a long time lmao, last ones were the Captive Prince trilogy which i read twice through back to back in like a week

Languages: i am a monolingual peasant

Pets: i’ve got a pet rat named Freya uwu

Bad habit: i have so many lmao don’t ask me to list them i suck yo

Injuries: i have a bruise on my shoulder atm cuz i’m impatient and take turns too quickly and thereby rammed into the corner of my cubicle at work??

Last googled: “placiosexual definition”

Odd food compilation that I enjoy: OH in elementary school i would take gushers and squeeze all the gusher juice out onto one singular tostito chip and eat it

Drawing or writing: writing by far

Favorite subject in school: music yo, catch me in 3 chorus classes in a row plus extracurricular performance groups

Tagging: @fanfictionfridge, @lunarhoseok, @thatonceandfutureprat

[moonichor-blog]

TAGGED: @kintsuggi  TAGGING: listen. 

LAYER ONE: THE OUTSIDE.

NAME.           LUNAFREYA NOX FLEURET ( luna / the moon. roman moon goddess and equivalent to selene. freya / ‘the lady’  another form of freyja, the norse goddess associated with fertility, war, death, seidr - a sort of shamanic magic - gold, love & sex.  nox / latin for night. fleuret / a sword, or foil - which also is a synonym for to prevent ironically )  EYE COLOUR.        sky blue / cyan. ( if you take it in a very microscopic analytical way: the shade of blue that the sky resembles is basically only created by sunlit molecules in the atmosphere. luna is in a very bizarre way a materialized dream of selene’s ‘day-dreaming’ / existing in a mirroring effect opposing her actual self. though we know beyond the blue, there is obscurity and darkness only waiting to be discovered but so majestically hidden, you can only wait till night-time to unveil it, if you can stay for that long. )  HAIR STYLE/COLOUR.        golden hair . ( given freyja is associated with the color gold & seidr, in which luna’s healing magic reminds strongly of such, in prowess, and color...  her hair color might be manipulated by the genetical anchor that this magic has already bitten itself into  ) long locks, mostly styled and pinned up, with sideswap braids fixated across her crown. she certainly needs hair maidens to style her hair each morn  HEIGHT.       167cm ( 5 feet 6 inches ) . CLOTHING STYLE.        extraordinary, elegant, expensive dresses. casual clothing is worn too with elegance. such as blouses and skirts. clean, and oft lily-white.  rarely does she wear black or blue, but would do so occasionally. BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE.        her back. ( dont @ me rn, i have an explanation ) its strong and well toned. its the middle ground between fine and firm. stiffened and always straightened when she stands or sits. its a fragment of her strictness and strength in how she carries herself.  these shoulder blades,  whenever exposed, show those of a saint who does not fear to openly present her best feature indeed.  

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

YOUR FEARS.       actions being in vain. sacrifices done for naught. oh the emotional exposure.    YOUR GUILTY PLEASURE.        writing a journal / diary. a place to express herself between pages and ink, as a rather cheap replacement for someone to talk to. often in form of poetry or not-so-pleasantly looking drawings does she pour thoughts and sentiments and allows herself to let go of all these harbored things in her mind.  YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE.       being objectified. being seen as trophy or treasure. despite her being used to ‘be’ the holy grail that grants miraculous healing --- she is greatly peeved to be seen as only this. however, she can separate professional duty as oracle and her personal disdain, and her compassion comes with a price.    YOUR AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE.         verse dependent. in most cases to fulfill her purpose, no matter how hard the work may be. / with the exception for one particular verse in which she aims to break free from god-given captivity. 

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

YOUR FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP .          there is a specific blankness.  WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT MOST .       knowing about things she will not be able to reach for, nor would she accomplish certain things, given her confined limitations. rationally she is not a fan of day dreaming and far too devoted to her duties and the prophecy.  WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED .         everything. too much. wondering if she did enough. wondering if her knowledge will be enough for the next day, and if not, how much would she need to learn? how long would it take to get back to the sky and how long would it take to carry this body that has her skin but feels not as her right type of skin. how much longer must she endure only to lay into bed the next day and ask the same questions. / most likely, leading back to her objectification pet peeve, and how A CERTAIN SOMEONE does exactly the opposite and it’s tearing her apart and draws her away to think about something else than what she devoted herself to. YOU THINK YOUR BEST QUALITY IS .         to fake a smile. to fake stability. to emotionally detach herself and if she doesn’t, knowing how to stay.  

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES.          single . TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED.       respected . ( some inner desire of her says to be loved, but it’s greatly overshadowed by her rational wish to be respected, to be treated right, which sometimes you cannot receive with love. sometimes you face disrespect, or are not treated the way you expect, even when you are loved, and she is aware of that.  ) BEAUTY OR BRAINS.       brains . DOGS OR CATS.         both. whilst the moon has a certain relationship to canine-animals ( example, wolves howling to the moon ) freyja has a fondness to cats.

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU…

LIE.       yes . BELIEVE IN YOURSELF .        barely , though, forcefully.  BELIEVE IN LOVE.         as a rarity . WANT SOMEONE.         hah.

LAYER SIX: EVER BEEN…

BEEN ON STAGE.       yes, mostly speeches / preaches / gospel.  and eventually the ceremony of the ascension as oracle required a public first healing performance  DONE DRUGS.       no, not for addiction purposes. rather medication, if any.  CHANGED WHO YOU WERE TO FIT IN.         yes & no, afford to blend in with the casual masses she cannot in her grander role as public figure. she is in fact very much residing in utter distance from where she could fit in, therefore she did not change who she was, willingly. /  she only attempted to ‘fit in’ on her getaway from the empire, and during travels across Eos, only to not out-stand too much and get caught on the long run. less extravagant clothing and hairstyles was all she did for that. old habits die hard though, such as extremely formal speech and her posture. 

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

FAVORITE COLOR.          white / silver and black. FAVORITE ANIMAL.         she appreciates any animal FAVORITE MOVIE.           she is more into books than anything. though she would enjoy drama & thrillers FAVORITE GAME.            chess certainly. 

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

DAY YOUR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE.       tuesday, 4th of september. HOW OLD WILL YOU BE.        25 years as mortal ( which is a lie, she doesn’t even reach 25, she dies being 24 )   /    4.5+ billion years and onward as selene AGE YOU LOST YOUR VIRGINITY.         N / A DOES AGE MATTER.        depends on the case. you can be the oldest being, and still be foolish and unwise. intercourse-wise, the age of consent is still something of importance.  

LAYER NINE: IN A PERSON

BEST PERSONALITY .        ‘contrasting’  /  ability to reflect her own madness /  humorous enough to make her genuinely laugh  /   give the feeling of safety & openness  BEST EYE COLOR .        any BEST HAIR COLOR .        any BEST THING TO DO WITH A PARTNER .         existing   /  feeling  /  closeness  /  honesty  ( very simple and base things but as humane as they are, its something she is not very practiced with )

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I LOVE.        balance  /   chaos I FEEL.         light   /  heavy  /  chained  /  caged I HIDE.         nothing   /    everything  I MISS.         my body I WISH.        for release. 

[chapitre7]

Between the Lips

Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo [달의 연인-보보경심 려] fanfiction

Wang So/Hae Soo

Modern/War AU

Rated M

Inspired by “Eyes On Me” by Faye Wong

Soundtrack: IU’s 입술 사이 / Between the Lips (50cm)

You can barely hear the clicking of her heels against the floor amongst the chatter of the night. She takes her place behind the microphone stand, her skin shivering with the anticipation of the spotlight. She closes her eyes as the band settles around her, and only opens them once the flash lightens up her eyelids, once the sound fills her ears and her pores, once it’s her cue to start. Her glossy lips part in song and she cannot see, the stage lights are too much; she performs with practiced grace in a brightness that is darkness.

She sings, her notes permeating the cloud of suffocating cigarette smoke, her eyes desperate for solace, darting in ways, through the faces of the audience. She swings her hips in accordance, in sync, both her hands holding the microphone, cradling it, clasped almost in prayer but not, holding it in dear adoration and singing words she had written herself. Her voice follows the crescendo, the swirl of her dress, and every corner of the bar is filled with her, with her presence, with her color and glimmer. The audience claps and cheers and whistles and she smiles her scripted smile.

The entrance song is meant to enthrall, to captivate, to make them rise. Her hand moves up and down the microphone stand, her hips descending, teasing, her dress pooling at her feet, before she stands tall again, looking down at them from her stage, from her pedestal. At that moment she’s Venus, she’s more, she’s Freya, she’s the gap that shows her leg, she’s the beauty mark on her cheek and dominating, narrowed eyes. Her short wig, black velvet and shiny silk, touches her shoulders like the hands of the men that watch her, and in the pause between lyrics she leans her head back in silent contemplation, in glorious temptation, and she feels the strands tickle the skin of her neck and the wolves who want to ravish her. It’s only the first role in her ritual to the moon. The music fades away and she closes her eyes again, her body already walking away, having memorized the routine, the steps, the night. She takes off her wig backstage, and when she emerges with a new melody, she’s a different woman, she’s dark-brown hair that falls down her back, she’s a high-collared, knee-long dress that doesn’t shimmer, she’s the somberness of the after-party, she’s the call to arms of the morning. She sings no more of the smell of cinnamon in dark alleys, luring beast-like men to their profound desires; she sings of longing, of memory, of arms that embrace, that envelop, and her eyes are no longer blinded, no longer lost.

They finally lock eyes for the first time that night. During her opening act, he would sneak glances that she could barely catch, his ears would glow red, yes, she had noticed, even against the overwhelming, yellow glare. But when the veil of temptation was thrown away, her hands and her being making her way through it, parting it like a curtain with the ferocity of her feelings, she could look straight at him. In the room full of soldiers and tension, she saw him, the drink swirling in his glass to the vibrations she gave off, his mouth moving, echoing her as she sang, whispered secrets across space, lips that kissed from a distance. She doesn’t pretend the mic is her lover anymore, her lover is on her tongue, her lover is under her skin, her lover is at the tip of her fingers as she moves her hand forward, reaching for someone that isn’t there. He watches, he sings along. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t be there. On that night, he’s hers, and she sings of him. She sings of someone who is like her, she sings of a far-off place, an unknown future. She mourns the present. Her eyes are downcast and round and sincere. The men no longer whistle, they just listen, they sway. She’s a woman of the war, just like them.

She never takes her eyes off him. She sings of him and she sings for him and she’s afraid that the lights in her eyes are blinding him, too.

He’s awkward laughs that go unnoticed by his peers, by his comrades. He’s embarrassment and loneliness and slow, blinking eyes in her direction. She had watched him from her stage, from the backstage, from the bar. She watches him from every corner of the establishment every time he comes by, every time she has the chance, ever since she noticed him for the first time. From where she stands, she always feels at the center of a storm that could sweep her away if she’s not careful, she’s surrounded by tongues that touch lips, hands that move against thighs in poorly feigned restraint. If she’s caught, nothing would be left of her, no consciousness, no strength, no dignity. She’s a fine porcelain doll dancing in the middle of a maelstrom, a siren luring men to the dark waters of desire, never to be caught. She’s prey and she’s predator. She always walks away by the end of the night.

His eyes are kind.

She writes her lyrics in a dusted room in the attic, she polishes her shoes herself. She learned to sing in key as the owner of the bar sat by the piano, a strict woman who would cut her off and yell, “Again!” Again and again and again until she got it right. Every establishment, every inn, every meal is owned, prepared, and taken care of by a woman. Soon, all that would be left would be women and children, the old and the disabled. They would form a family until the world regained its sanity and the men were welcomed back into their homes and the roles that men set for themselves. Until then, there were women. Working and organizing and leading. Singing courage into the soldiers’ hearts. She writes lyrics in the attic, speaks of the parents she had lost in the war, speaks of the calm in a kind man’s arms, no breath caught in her throat after a nightmare.

He’s the drizzle that falls against the roof, the night wind brushing against her hot cheeks dusted with rouge when she opens her window. She had noticed him one day, by complete accident, her gaze moving from man to man as she sang, stopping on him with the word “love” on her lips. Her eyes lingered on his and her mouth moved to the lyrics, her lips pouting in pronunciation, and he accompanied her. He didn’t seem to undress her mentally, she could spot the process from miles away, but still she felt bare, naked, undone under his gaze, under the melody rocking between them. He leaned back with poise, the uniform perfectly matching the black of his hair, the silver glimmer in his eyes. She chose him as her muse, as the object of her art, of her lyrical affections, and every night since then, she searches for him in the crowd, and she sings for him. She wants to know his name before winter comes. She dreams of his breath against her ear and she longs to know his voice as well as she knows his mannerisms, the downcast look when his comrades ignore him, the resigned lopsided smile when he’s ignored. He always comes with the same men but she feels she’s his true companion, his confidante, all the way from the center of the room to his corner of the world. All the months of his training, all the bruises on his face, all the weight on his shoulders — she was his witness, his friend, his protector, singing odes in his name. In her mind, she calls him Warrior and Beloved. Some nights, he’s just Black — covering her like a blanket, eyes shining like stars. She writes for him, weaves him the novel of her heart.

When she sends him the note, she’s nervous like a little girl on her first night. She isn’t, not a little girl. She had made choices, she had lived. She’s still young, no wrinkles on the corners of her eyes or mouth, but still there are scars on the outside, on the inside. Who didn’t have scars, who didn’t have a story to tell? She wrote for him on a napkin and she called him to her attic, to her tower. It’s pristine clean that night, the only night it had ever been so neat, so welcoming. Waiting. Waiting.

Tomorrow, it will be war. Tomorrow, he will be gone. What tomorrow would there be? What future, what purpose?

His knocking is hesitating, nervous. She takes a deep breath and steels herself. Her heels — her evening heels, her persona’s heels — sound like knocking on the wooden floor, mirroring him, as he always does her. She resonates confidence to him, her back is poised straight, her smile is a rose, open and fragrant and colorful. His eyes take in everything, every detail, every object she owns, her notebooks, her mementos of the past. She guides him to a small table at the center of the room and offers him a drink, which he takes. He’s visibly shaking. She’s shaking on the inside, under the surface.

“What’s your name?” She asks, she’s a master actress, he doesn’t even know she’s been dying to know it for months, for years, for centuries.

“W... Wang So,” he says, he swallows, he smiles. She swirls her glass like he’s known to do, like she knows he does, and she sips her drink ever so slightly, to ease the fire of longing inside of her, lest she bursts.

“Are you scared, Wang So?”

It’s not what he expects, she can see the surprise in the way he looks everywhere but at her.

“I am,” she admits, her arms wrapping around her middle, shielding her, keeping her upright. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it.”

“How many have you lost?”

He’s leaning forward, he’s leaning towards her. She unravels herself, uncrosses her arms and legs, her hands lying between them with the palms up. She’s surrender, she’s survival. She’s young, no wrinkles in her, her hair still long and bountiful and capturing the light of the candles.

“Everyone,” she says, and he’s the only one who can hear, for the first time in a long time, she has someone to listen to her, her voice doesn’t have to bounce off the walls, she doesn’t need to go hoarse to be heard. She thinks he might take her hand, he might sweep her off her feet, but his fingers lie centimeters away from her, they twitch, they take hold of themselves. She looks up and he has the sad smile and the silver eyes and a tint of something else, maybe the flicker of the candle, maybe the reflection of her longing, she can’t pinpoint. He’s a shadow behind the thin walls that trap her, he’s a glimmer at the edge of abyss. She calls it hope.

“It’ll be okay,” he says, and she believes him.

“Will you...”

She’s foolish and needy, she touches his hand with both of hers. He’s warm and she’s so cold.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Ms. Go.”

He’s flushed and she’s shaking her head.

“It’s not my profession, Wang So. I’m a singer and an entertainer, I’m an actress, make believe, but I’m a woman.”

She bends down and takes off her shoes before she walks to his side, before she stands in front of him and takes his face in her hands. If he stands, he’ll be several centimeters taller than her, but he sits there, blinks up at her, reveres her, his hands holding her wrists, ready to push her back or pull her into him.

“Will you call me Hae Soo and stay with me? Will you convince me it’ll be okay?”

She’s placing so much on his shoulders, she can’t help it, she thinks he can take it, she feels he can hold her up for so long, for as long as she wants to. She draws his face close, cradles him, she whispers against his ear, “Won’t you accept me? Haven’t you heard me all this time?”

It’s dead silent that night, when he hoists her up by the waist and her legs wrap around him, when he kisses her. The soldiers lie awake in their beds in fear, the citizens lie awake in anxiety, and Wang So takes her to her bed and kisses her sweetly, steals the words off her tongue, holds her so close they might melt into each other, they might become one and break the laws of physics, the laws of the universe, escape their wretched present, fade away like a song. They don’t. He touches every inch of her skin and lets her burn, she falls into the waters that she owned, she’s a drowning mermaid, head thrown back and hair pooling against the pillow, his mouth on her, his fingers tracing her hips. She flips them over and he lets her, she stands taller than him on her knees, kissing down on him, biting him and marking him, a Valkyrie choosing his soul, urging him forward, she’s falling into him, he’s taken hold of her back like she’s a musical instrument and they move together. It’s better than she had imagined, his voice is deeper, he’s firmer, meeting her on her ends, whispering her name against her ear, a promise, his promise. They barely make a sound, they respect the night, every cry of pleasure swallowed by the other, the hours passing too fast in a blur, she can’t see him with the sweat and tears in her eyes and he wipes them away, he’s always so close she can remember him with her touch, tracing every beautifully crafted line of his complexion with her fingertips.

Hae Soo, known as Go Ha Jin to every other person, writes a new song that night. She writes it on his skin, in half-bliss and half-awake, before he catches her hand to adorn a kiss upon her knuckles.

“Will you remember me?” He asks and it should be impossible that he looks at his more vulnerable then, after she had accommodated him in her, in body and in heart, in memory and in flesh, her lips red and swollen by his making.

“I’ll wait for you,” she promises. It’s a lie she wants to believe.

“You shouldn’t....”

She scoots closer and her nose touches his chest, his fingers untangling the knots at the ends of her hair. She had dreamed of comfort, of arms keeping her close, but it’s her arms that circle him, her leg that sneaks between his, her voice that whispers,

“I’ll be here for you.”

He’s not there when she wakes up and she could almost believe she dreamed it all if she didn’t still feel him on her, more vivid and messy than any dream. They all leave on that day and she lies to herself that it had all been okay, that it would all be okay in the end, so that she doesn’t have to admit her weaknesses and flaws and desires and broken promises.

Hae Soo works and she lives, day after day. Her pen is still for many months, unable to do justice to the poetry he carved on her. She dreams of kindness and his smiles, and he has a name now, Wang So, calling out her name, Soo, against her mouth, singing her songs to her until she falls asleep and wakes up to an empty bed. As time passes, he grows to be more than just a fantasy in her, he lives in her as the man whose spirit she peeked at from the darkness of the bar, he lives as a fragile fragment of her own past, the insecure girl who had to find a way to live after everyone abandoned her. Her voice grows sadder, madam Oh tells her. She thinks she might have matured in the time she spent missing him, wanting to get to know him, wanting to live more than just one night with someone who looks at her like she’s important, like she’s one of a kind, like she matters in this messed up world.

She takes care of children and she takes care of the sick and she cooks and cleans and lives. Until the day she would step upon the stage again, and she would sing with sincerity, from the bottom of the ocean. She would sing so she could breathe. She would breathe again.

They win. They win and she wears her silk, her jewelry, her lipstick, her hair up with a beautiful flower adornment, the stockings making her legs shimmer. She sings to victory, to tomorrow and to hope, and she sings to him.

She catches him, as she always did. A glimpse of black out the corner of her eyes and they face each other from across the room. Her lips move to the lyrics she composed for him, oh darling, her chest arching in song, in his direction, as it did that night, to his touch. He watches her, only one eye visible, the other hidden behind black cloth, but his smile is there, he can’t sing along, he doesn’t know this song yet, but he knows the words between the lines, the way she sways, her hands dancing in the air, beckoning him, calling for his name.

After Go Ha Jin is done and Hae Soo is in her room, she hears a knock. She lets him in. They’re both young but they had lived more than anyone should live, there’s loss in them, it draws them closer, it draws them close, to each other’s arms. She touches his cheek and the eye hidden from view.

“I survived,” he says, and she hears I almost died. “Hae Soo,” he says, and she wishes she had told him, a long time ago, just how much she liked him for the heart that he gave her every time he looked at her, touched her, smiled at her. Seeing through her disguises, through her masks, through the show she put up, all the way to the woman underneath, who so desperately wanted to be loved. She’s not worth it. She would have to be, because she wants him to know, she wants him to feel it, too.

“Tell me about you, Wang So,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck, inviting him for a dance. “Tell me all about you.”

The night is long and they talk until it dies, until morning comes. There would be one more night, and a morning after that.

And a morning after that.

And a morning...

From the top, Hae Soo.

[gigsoupmusic]

In conversation with Freya Beer

With her blend of powerful poetic lyricism, dynamic music and striking vocals, it is no wonder that Freya Beer is creating a real buzz on the alternative music scene. The young songstress has been praised by BBC Music Introducing and BBC Radio 6 Music who made her excellent 2019 single ‘Dear Sweet Rosie’ their track of the week. Freya has also supported renowned artists such as Brix & the Extricated, Kristeen Young (who is also known for her collaborations with David Bowie, Morrisey and The Damned), and none other than iconic punk poet John Cooper Clarke. After already achieving so much even before the release of a debut album, it is exciting to see what else we can expect from this captivating artist. I was able to speak to Freya on the phone and began the interview with a surreal yet unavoidable question about life in lockdown and the opportunity to be creative in spite of such unprecedented circumstances: “With this whole situation nobody knows what’s going on and nobody knows when it’s going to end but you take it day by day. If one day I feel like writing something then I will but on some days if I don’t feel in the mood to write then I’m not going to force myself. However, I definitely feel like having all this time helps my creative juices because I can discover music, read books, gain more knowledge and also record more demos and experiment with different sounds.” Not to dwell on these challenging times, we move on to talk about the impressive endeavor of creating a record label. In 2019 Freya Beer launched Sisterhood Records from which she released her powerful single ‘Dear Sweet Rosie’. “It was suggested through my management which I didn’t even think of to do. Before I released my first two singles ‘Bike Boy’ and ‘Six Months’ under Freya Beer but now that I’m releasing new music under a name it just looks more established.” Freya is a big fan of the legendary bard of Salford, John Cooper Clarke, and explains how she discovered him through her “love of poetry and punk music from the 1970s and through looking into different decades of music as well as the poetry side of things.” She also supported John Cooper Clarke in December 2019 and explains that this incredible opportunity “was through doing an interview with him for my dissertation, it was a very surreal experience to support someone you look up to and of course, lyrics are my main thing.” The influence of poetry and literature is inherent in Freya’s music and often delicately intertwined in her lyrics. For example, ‘Dear Sweet Rosie’ dazzled with words constructed from Allen Ginsberg’s ‘An Asphodel’ and Anna Sewell’s classic novel Black Beauty. It was such literary references which complimented the heavy riffs and strong percussion. In contrast to the punch of ‘Dear Sweet Rosie’, Beer’s most recent track ‘Arms Open Wide’ is stunning in its ethereal and multifaceted instrumentation. She explains that “with this new single, writing wise it was more about the sound whereas with Rosie the reading of literature helped to build my story for the song. With ‘Arms OpenWide’ it was more about the music such as the tubular bells because overall I wanted it to be quite ceremonial and so the lyrics sort of just came along. I usually feel with writing music it's always lyrics first but with this song it was different because with my past singles the instrumentation is just me, guitar and drums, whereas for ‘Arms Open Wide’ I’ve got bells I’ve got reverb going on in the background, guitar, and I’ve got a lead guitar as well.” Freya is also influenced by art and visuals which are demonstrated in her music videos. She explains the setting and idea behind the enchanting accompanying video for ‘Arms Open Wide’: “It was a safe house which I never knew you could hire which was really cool. Visually for that video I was leaning more towards photographers -there is a photographer called Francesca Woodman and her visuals are very bleak looking but they also have that abandoned house vibe that is quite ethereal. There is definitely Pre-Raphaelite influence with the flowers and the candles I love to incorporate that because that’s my main niche, that’s what I love.” For ‘Dear Sweet Rosie’ Freya collaborated with Andy Hargreaves from I Am Kloot who provided the prodigious drumming for the track. “That was really unexpected and was through Phil , I recorded that in Manchester last year. We were just looking at session drummers and it was only by luck that Andy was available to drum and I just thought that was mad, like Andy from I am Kloot! But his drumming made the track what it is. It’s that big sound and he really helped accomplish and compliment what I was doing.” After receiving a positive reception from ‘Dear Sweet Rosie’ and from the release of her other excellent singles, the prospect of Freya Beer releasing a debut album in the near future is eagerly anticipated. “I’m currently working on my next single so maybe at the end of the year an album would be out because I have all this material which I would love to record but I feel like not every song is a single. I already have artwork ideas and visuals… there’s going to be a cat, but bringing it back to this current situation I don’t know how that will pan out, so maybe at the start of next year. It’s exciting though because this time last year I never thought I would be where I am at the moment.” Talking future plans and the increasingly challenging notion of returning to normality, Freya also states how she would love to perform at festivals: “I think the atmosphere of a festival I would love to be part of because it’s where people discover new music, whereas with gigs you pay the ticket and you know the band before. Festivals are also a great atmosphere creatively.” Finally, I ask Freya what music she has been listening to recently: “ I’ve been listening to an artistcalled Jesse Jo Stark, she’s an American artist. Her visuals and her sound are amazing, she recently did a cover of John Prine’s ‘Angel from Montgomery’ and I think it’s so beautiful. I’ve been listening to a lot of older music like Brian Wilson from The Beach Boys just because it has that Californian sound. I’ve also been listening to Michael Kiwanuka’s new album, his visuals are very 70s and I love that look. Those three are the main artists at the moment but I try to discover new music every day, I have the time.” As with many musicians, Freya has had to reschedule shows and before you will be able to see her owning the stage at a festival, live dates are currently set for October 1st in Brighton and October 22nd in London. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5zaq0Jh3WE Read the full article