#baltic furs

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 8, Number 12

Blood Incantation (but not Blood/Incantation)

Dusted closes out 2022 with blood and incantation.

Specifically, this Dust features two separate recordings with identical band names, one a split release by a pair of metal bands, one named Blood, the other Incantation, the other also metal but more atmospheric whose name is Blood Incantation.  It’s a lot of blood. A lot of incantation.

But never fear if your tastes are less sanguinary. We’ve also got experimental klezmer, power pop, sound art, new weird traditionalism, synth pop, deep house, death metal and jazz both free and more traditional. This edition’s contributors include Bryon Hayes, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Ian Mathers, Patrick Masterson and Jim Marks.

Baltic Furs — Contemporary Ruin (Round Bale Recordings)

Contemporary Ruin by Baltic Furs

For its final release of 2022, the Minnesota-based Round Bale Recordings label offers a cassette from someone in its inner circle. Baltic Furs is the alter ego of Matt Irwin, a graphic designer whose optical artistry enswathes some of the label’s output. Irwin is a drummer-cum-synthesist whose aural hue leans toward the inky black end of the spectrum. On Contemporary Ruin, both Irwin’s percussionist origins and his tendency toward the inchoate are on display. Dreamlike, dimly lit images attempt to bring themselves into focus as warped, bell-shaped tones emanate from unholy objects. Irwin is signalling the coming of an impending disaster: it could be the end of the world or a demon emerging from its resting place. He’s happy to let the listener decide their fate. The latter half of the cassette begets emergent strains of melody that seem to brighten as the music runs its course. The tenderness is nascent and without form, but it’s also indicative that Contemporary Ruin is the first page in the next chapter of Irwin’s engaging narrative.

Bryon Hayes

 Black Ox Orkestar — Everything Returns (Constellation)

Everything Returns by Black Ox Orkestar

Even when it dances, klezmer has a melancholic air. It commemorates, after all, a Jewish-East European culture that flourished despite centuries of persecution until ending, abruptly, in the Holocaust. True, Jewish emigres brought this rollicking but wistful concoction of clarinet and fiddle, elegy and celebration, with them in the diaspora. It reached, even, the experimental precincts of Montreal, where members of Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Thee Silver Mt. Zion formed Black Ox Orkestar in the early aughts, then left it fallow for a decade and a half. Everything Returns is their lovely (and timely) return, a pensive exploration of cross-cultural discourse that melds Jewish, gypsy, Arab and European traditions in bittersweet rumination. This is music made of shadows and sighs, but ready, nonetheless, for the fight. It’s opening salvo, “Tish Nign,” layers wordless vocals over piano, then gathers its strength in martial cadences of bass clarinet. “Skotshne” sparkles with cimbalom, a dulcimer-like instrument with a ghostly echo; it skitters over a skeletal foundation of drums and acoustic bass. But it’s “Viderkol” that stops you short, a dusky lament hedged in by the low hum of clarinet, a run of piano. Even sung in English, it has a foreign, historical aura, as the principals remember the lost with the gentlest, least bitter sort of sadness. “There’s something in us that could make us whole,” they sing, and maybe they mean music and remembering.

Jennifer Kelly

 Blood/Incantation — Split 7” (Hell’s Headbangers)

Not Blood Incantation, but Blood and Incantation (see what they did there?) collaborate on this divertingly atavistic split record. Blood Incantation seems to provide the newest front opened in the Hipster Metal Wars — and to be honest, this reviewer can’t really fault the offended (“ambient death metal?”). If anyone might have any sort of right to defend the traditional boundaries of the kingdom of Metal ov Death, the dudes in Blood might be able to claim it. The German band has been making records since 1986, and the two new tracks on this split record are still the same old moldy stuff, a grinding, guttural assault on good taste. Incantation is by contrast the fresher face, having only started releasing music 1990—but the band certainly has the bigger name. Their tune, “Quantum Firmament,” is also the more engaging side of the split. Whether you find this record to be more than a sort of scenester-snarky, vinyl-mediated pun may depend on the degree of your interest in Incantation’s music; if you dig the band, “Quantum Firmament” is worth hearing.

Jonathan Shaw 

 Blood Incantation — Timewave Zero (Century Media)

Denver death metal psychonauts Blood Incantation have never concealed their love of ambient, cosmische, new age synths, et al. They also were clear even before putting out their second record Hidden History of the Human Race that their third would be their own entry into those fields. A 40-minute, two-track EP, Timewave Zero has (based on comments) clearly come as an unpleasant surprise to a grouchy, vocal minority of their existing fanbase. but those more into avowed influence Klaus Schulze than blastbeats, death metal growls and intense riffs will find that Blood Incantation know what they’re doing. This isn’t just the quartet noodling around with some neat synth sounds; there’s pacing, sculpting and evidence of a compositional eye on both halves of the EP. Timewave Zero, then, is admirable on multiple fronts, both as a totally solid record and as evidence of a band determined to follow its muse even in the face of requests to keep making more of the same.

Ian Mathers 

 Dazy — OUTOFBODY (Lame-O)

OUTOFBODY by Dazy

Power pop is harder than it looks. It balances on a knife edge between crusty fuzz and open-hearted tunefulness, and it’s easily tipped towards noise or daffiness. But James Goodson, out of Richmond, gets the blend just about right, a bit to the sweet side of Teenage Fan Club, a bit more muscular than the Raspberries. Indeed, the buzzy, frictive “On My Way” sounds like the Dirtbombs crossed with James, which is to say gloriously clangorous but with its earnest heart showing. “Motionless Parade” swoons and jangles in the vein of True West and the Rain Parade, while “Choose Your Ramone” hilariously amps it up, with a blistering, squalling guitar solo that is neither Joey nor Johnny. Goodson may never be a big star (or a Big Star), but it’s fun watching him try.

Jennifer Kelly

 Bruno Duplant — Nox (Unfathomless)

nox by Bruno Duplant

Art reckons with life on Nox, which is one of the nine full-length recordings that the ultra-productive French sound artist has realized in 2022. The artist’s statement references observations, both recent and antique, of certain bad navigational habits of humans, to wit, they closely circle things that will scorch them. At least moths, who aren’t noted for their brain mass, have an excuse… But even if you aren’t acquainted with the musician’s intent, you’re likely to grasp this immersive, 40-minute-long piece’s intimations of decay. Gathered and generated sounds creak, crackle, and bob around the listener like the chunks of debris that swirled around your surfboard that one time you fell asleep on the beach at low tide and woke up in the middle of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.

Bill Meyer

 Kelman Duran — “Loko” (self-released)

Kelman Duran is a low-key LA-based Dominican producer who’s made his name on art school dancehall and reggaeton edits, notably 2017’s excellent 1804 Kids. But “Loko” is another animal, blisteringly zooted deep house filth all taut and suspended in that leery-eyed fork in the road where the head says no and makes the good decision but the heart speaks louder, beats yes, makes an ellipsis for you to fill in. Adriana Roslin’s epileptic video (in which she appears, by the way) is the perfect accompaniment, exuding the self-assured swagger of a fashion school grad-turned-social media manager by day and club rat queen by night; you’ll see what I mean when you watch. It’s unclear if this is a brief diversion from his usual speed or a turn toward a more permanent 4/4 producing mode, but either way, Duran has left one of the best dance tracks of 2022 rather late in the going. How late? Consider: At the time I write this, Dust is scheduled to go live in about two hours; “Loko” has been up for less than 24. But we weren’t going to miss out. You shouldn’t, either.

Patrick Masterson

 Family Ravine — Jumpthefox (Round Bale Recordings)

Jumpthefox by Family Ravine

With his Family Ravine project, Kevin Cahill navigates a similar path to that of Henry Flynt, welding his avant-garde sensibility to traditional musical styles. Jumpthefox follows hot on the heels of Away & Instinct, and both records document Cahill’s polyglot approach to music making. The musician has created an Interzone-like fusion of American, British and European folk forms, which he has processed through his tireless creative instinct. Cahill builds a fluid-like loam from loops and fragments, which he layers repeatedly into a strange topography. Working primarily with stringed instruments and melodica, Cahill materializes his songs in a spectrum of shades, from shimmering and bright to muted and foreboding. It must be magical to hear his songs being crafted in real time, but we’ll have to settle for experiencing the finished product. This writer is certainly not complaining.

Bryon Hayes

  Hot Chip — Freakout/Release (Domino)

Consistent quality is a great asset for a band and a thrill for fans, but it can have the opposite of a silver lining for us music writers. Freakout/Release is another topnotch set of emotionally mature, sometimes melancholy synthpop bangers from the now sort-of-venerable Hot Chip (their eighth!). It’s not as if they’re not trying new things, heck here you actually hear a couple of guest vocalists (Lou Hayter on “Hard to Be Funky” and a blistering Cadence Weapon on “The Evil That Men Do”) and the title track is more rough-and-tumble than the Chip usually gets. “Down” rides a Universal Togetherness Band sample to dancefloor glory, while tracks like the hopeful “Broken” and the gossamer “Not Alone” show their more emotive strengths. It’s another great record in a career full of them, and if it’s hard to know what more to say, it feels unfair to them to leave it at that.

Ian Mathers

 Keefe Jackson / Jim Baker /Julian Kirschner — Routines (Kettlehole)

Routines by Keefe Jackson / Jim Baker / Julian Kirshner

Routines? I don’t know. On the one hand, the title might acknowledge that the three musicians on the album can, either together or separately, be counted upon to be heard in some small space that hosts Chicagoan improvisers, on a pretty routine basis. But the music itself is far from routine, unless you want to take a step back and acknowledge that each musician habitually figures out apposite responses to any given situation. Jim Baker can be relied upon to completely change any sound environment with a pivot of his seat, since that will determine whether one is going to hear his restlessly assertive voice on the piano and or the ozone-scorching sizzles he obtains from his ARP 2600. Keefe Jackson can likewise be counted upon to be equally engaged playing either sopranino or tenor saxophone, but lightning disruption he launches from the first differs profoundly from the mercurial forcefulness he summons on the second. Kirshner can also be expected to keep things moving without lapsing into cliché. But the trio keeps enough variables in play that you’ll never know quite how the music is going to get from start to end.

Bill Meyer

 Philip Jeck — Resistenza (Touch)

Resistenza by Philip Jeck

Touch has never been about staying in the past, so it makes sense that the firm would experiment with new formats. Resistenza is a digital-only recording issued on what would have been the 70th birthday of the late Philip Jeck, whose passing was just one of those that has made 2022 an especially rough slog. It’s simultaneously a bit sad and quite poetic that the first (and hopefully not last) posthumous release by an artist whose work was all about the stubborn physicality of vinyl would be a non-physical edition. It comprises two live recordings, both made in 2017-18. The more recent is “Live in Torino,” a fittingly ephemeral sequence of sounds snatched from old records and manipulated into ghostly scraps that spin and bob like the luminous traces left by deep sea fishes. “The Longest Wave,” which was recorded in Jeck’s home town of Liverpool, is quite the opposite. Jeck is joined by Jonathan Raisin, whose piano trills augment Jeck’s already lush flow. The best moments come when the turntablist breaks out some sub-aquatic bass figures that ballast Raisin’s delay-dampened drizzle of notes.

Bill Meyer 

 Niko Karlsson — Its Own Phantom (Feeding Tube)

Its Own Phantom by Niko Karlsson

Look out the window of your Finnish country cabin in the winter and your view is likely to be reduced to a few essentials. Grey sky, green trees, white snow — that’s about it. Its Own Phantom is an apt soundtrack for an afternoon spent gazing upon such a vista. None of its tracks are in a hurry, and each sweep of hand across strings (mostly guitar, sometimes banjo or sitar) unleashes a stream of melodious sound that’ll draw your mind into an imaginary space situated somewhere beyond the farthest visible fir. The term “acid folk” implies a potentially psychedelic experience generated by not entirely voltage dependent means. Let’s call this tape snowshoe folk; it may not induce hallucinatory states, but it has its own way of elevating the listener beyond the cold ground.

Bill Meyer

Eva Klesse Quartett — Songs Against Loneliness (Enja)

Songs against loneliness by Eva Klesse Quartett

Holiday season got you feeling isolated? Eva Klesse is here to help you feel better with Songs Against Loneliness. This new set of jazz originals by her quartet (joined occasionally by guitarist Wolfgang Muthspiel) is soothing but not sleepy. Klesse, a drummer, composed five of the 13 tracks here, and the other members of the group, Evgeny Ring on sax, Marc Muellbauer on double bass and Philip Frischkorn on piano, contributed the rest of the compositions.

In practice, apart from the titles of the tracks (“Glory Glory Misfits,” “Der Eremit,” and so on), there is nothing ponderous (or overly perky) about the melodies and arrangements on display here. The quartet’s decade of playing and recording together (apart from Muellbauer, who replaces Robert Lucaciu this time around) is evident in its cohesiveness. Muthspiel and Klesse have worked together before, and his contributions here are fully integrated into the quartet’s sound, beginning with the poignant chords that open the title track “Minor Is What I Feel.” That track and some of the others seem carefully composed, while others, such as “Past, Tense,” are more improvisation. This cut builds slowly from a solo by Muellbauer to the full quartet. Klesse’s rattling percussion keeping things together without ever quite settling on a rhythm.

So take heart if you’re feeling left out and let these well-crafted tunes serve as your soundtrack for the journey back from loneliness. And if you’re already in the holiday spirit, Songs Against Loneliness will help keep you feeling warm and fuzzy.

Jim Marks

 Mdou Moctar — Niger EP Vol. 2 (Matador)

Niger EP Vol. 2 by Mdou Moctar

This is the second in a series to collect early cassette tape recordings of the Niger-ian guitar phenomenon as he and his band travelled, often by bus, to informal gigs: weddings, rehearsals, house parties. The vibe is not much different from Moctar’s studio recordings, pacing torrid runs of guitar with homespun handclaps and hand drums. The difference comes in the ambient sounds. A motorcycle zooms away at the end of “Iblis Amghar,” birds chirp and people go on with the ordinary activities in their lives, even with such incendiary music going on around them. And, indeed, it is fire, this music, balancing locomotive percussion and hypnogogic trance, as on driving, dreaming “Ibitilan” or the searing blues of “Asditke Akal.” “Chimoumounim” sounds as if it comes in from a great distance, its groove approaching, then taking up a central place in our ears and hearts. Moctar’s grooves sound great in the studio, but maybe even better here in their natural space.

Jennifer Kelly

 Mister Water Wet— Top Natural Drum (Soda Gong)

Top Natural Drum by Mister Water Wet

Top Natural Drum is Kansas City producer Iggy Romeu’s third album as Mister Water Wet. It’s also his first to arrive via a label other than West Mineral Ltd., the imprint founded by his buddy Brian Leeds, who most know as Huerco S. Although they’re connected, Romeu and Leeds have taken divergent paths. Romeu’s first two MWW outings were colorful and strange in comparison to Leeds’ grainy, monochromatic fog banks. He brews up his ambient tinctures with hints of jazz, hip hop and elements sourced from his Puerto Rican roots. Romeu is also careful to add subtle bits of the arcane to his concoctions, revealing himself to be a master crate digger. With Top Natural Drum, he drops the ambient veil to show off some rhythmic chops. The result is a series of head nodding beat-scapes sure to please those who spent the 1990s with their ears glued to the turntablism scene.  

Bryon Hayes

 The Modern Folk Trio Band — Always Be Recording (Island House)

IH-002 Always Be Recording by modern folk trio band

The Modern Folk Trio Band is actually a quintet, formed around J. Moss’s languid, liquid guitar, but including Austin Richards, Zach Barbery, Remi Lew and Trevor Schorey trading off on additional guitars, bass, drums and synthesizers. This cassette includes three tracks, two lengthy and one succinct, but all three fluid and luminous. “Diet Coke Extra Ice” winds placidly through slow, chugging lyricism, its lead guitar high and clear and full of light. “Slide Solo,” the short one, is just what its name implies, an interlude of intriguingly bent and haunted sounds, tinged by blues but not exactly boxed into it. And “Hot Jam,” the final cut, is not as viscerally physical as its title suggests, but rather a glistening, nodding, extended drone, grounded by the thud of drums but reaching always for an ethereal other-ness. Throughout, a loose improvisatory air presides. If you’re always recording, sometimes you get something good.

Jennifer Kelly

 Woody Sullender — Music from Four Movements & Other Favorites (Woody Sullender)

Music from 'Four Movements' & Other Favorites by Woody Sullender

What’s the difference between listening and performing listening? If you have the time and credit, you could take up the matter while you pursue an MFA. Or you could go to www.fourmovements.woodysullender.com and download Four Movements, a video game space that “consists of several navigable environments where the virtual participant can perform listening” and live the difference. It is the work of an artist and musician who has studied under Maryanne Amacher and previously performed banjo music under the guise, Uncle Woody Sullender, and it provides the sort of disparate yet cohesive sound experience one might expect from a person whose creative map contains such aesthetic/methodological coordinates. Cantering banjo in just intonation coexists with techno beats, a Robert Hood cover sounds like a streamlined remembrance of Conlon Nancarrow’s player piano music, and moments arise when you might wonder if this guy’s spent some salon time with Horse Lords.

Bill Meyer

 Tchornobog/Abyssal — Split LP (Lupus Lounge)

Tchornobog / Abyssal by Tchornobog

You get two epically scaled tracks of death metal-adjacent mayhem on this split LP. More bang for your buck? More yuck, for sure. Markov Soroka’s utterly whacko project Tchornobog is given the A side, and his 25-minute song “The Vomiting Choir” pummels and roils, blackened on its edges but still very much belly-down in layers of rancid muck (see that title…). There aren’t many opportunities to lift your face out of the sodden slurry and grab a breath — which is sort of impressive for a song so long, and by its halfway point, pretty oppressive, too. So, you may be grossed out by the bubbling, gurgling noises that become audible around the 11-minute mark, but at least the mix is a little less clogged up with clangor and crunch. Abyssal’s contribution, titled “Antechamber of the Wakeless Mind,” is only a minute shorter, but the song seems by contrast rather mannered, alternating slowly suppurating death-doom with long spells of churning, dissonant riffage that always feel consciously composed. The split is not a pleasant experience so much as it is an interesting experiment in differing modes of metal excess.

Jonathan Shaw 

 temp. — Taking notes (American Dreams)

Taking Notes by temp.

temp.’s Erica Mei Gamble is a producer, DJ and video archivist based in Chicago—and one half of the experimental electronic duo Dungeon Mother, but her Taking notes represents a significant step forward for the artist. It gathers music previously posted on Soundcloud into a chilly, cerebral and surprisingly cohesive statement; that is, it sounds very much like an album. It starts in wordless abstraction, the cut “Air” lofting translucent tones of synthesizer onto a pristine background. They pulse and flare like northern lights, unearthly also visceral. “Yah” finds the ghost in the machine as a human cry punctures glistening electric pulses; the cut is clean and a little spooky, like a quieter Shackleton. But it's “What’s Beyond,” performed with Gamble’s Dungeon Mother collaborator Sarah Leitten, that fully realizes the juncture between unreal, ominous sonics and fragile human consciousness. Leitten chants poetry against a seething mesh of synth tones, her words encompassing both natural and super-natural imagery (For example: “I’ll dance with the stars above/and I hold the moon in my hands/and I drink the sun with my eyes/and I am the darkness/I am the abyss.”) Later, with Emme Williams in “Trying to Climb,” Gamble stakes out a minimalist corner of the disco floor, with beats that glitch and blot and corrode and a half-remembered recorder melody tootling in the background.

Jennifer Kelly

  Wild Pink — ILYSM (Royal Mountain)

ILYSM by Wild Pink

John Ross got the idea for his song, “Hold My Hand” while lying on an operating table, waiting for the anesthetic to knock him out before surgery. Ross, who is the main creative force behind Wild Pink, found out he had cancer mid-way through recording this fourth full-length. His uncertainties around this diagnosis, combined with his dogged insistence to finish anyway, define this album, whose bright, soft indie pop textures wrap around some very dark textures. Consider, for instance, “Hell Is Cold,” with its thumping rhythms, its half-focused glitch textures, its shimmering layers of piano. Ross sings just above a whisper, here and elsewhere, in a confiding tone that tickles the hairs inside your ear. Yet while the sonically, the song bounds and wafts, its message doesn’t. “I know I’ll be free when I die,” sings Ross, and the song ends abruptly like a life snuffed out. Likewise, the title track, aims at the kind of soccer stadium anthemic-ness that sends beach balls bobbling out over festival crowds. “I love you so much,” Ross intones over surging synths and pounding drums. Still, despite its ebullience, the cut has a vertiginous feel, as if the bottom is dropping out. Like many people facing difficulties, Ross reached out to friends for aid. The album has striking cameos from Julien Baker (“Hold My Hand”) and a multigenerational brace of guitarists, J. Mascis (who rips a sidewinder “See You Better Now”), Ryley Walker (breezily anthemic in “Simple Glyphs”) and Yasmin Williams (shimmering and gorgeous in “The Grass Widow in the Glass Window”). And yet, for all that, and despite the serious subject matter, the music mostly feels bland and oversaccharine, except for the sludgy, guitar-driven fury of “Sucking on Birdshot” and, at the end, “ICLYM” shuffling out like the Beta Band in shambolic triumph.

Jennifer Kelly

[thesudrianchronicles]

NBA TRAIN FACT 1: According to Steamindex.com, The Furness Railway 115 (N1) Class 4-6-4T's were 13ft 6in high. I mention this because, upon checking with the most trust worthy source on the planet, Wikipedia. The Gresley A1 & A3 Pacific's were 13ft 1in high.

The Baltic's where taller than Gresley's thoroughbreds by 5 inches.

https://www.steamindex.com/locotype/furness.htm - Website link

If i am wrong on this or anyone has any other info on the FR Baltics. Please, correct me & tell me.

Also, not an interesting fact i know, but i thought it was cool.

@mean-scarlet-deceiver Your the Furness Railway expert around here, enlighten me lol

[antikristvs]

Furs suit me 🦡

[meanscarletdeceiver]

s c a l e

(a tom thumb railway in cumberland h/t @angryskarloey)

[pixelmesh-studio]

Die Yak's am Weissenhäuser Strand sind famose Tiere.

[lanabuckybarnes]

Tha gaol agam ort.

This was originally a drabble, now it’s probably a mediocre one shot but the words kept coming and my fingers kept typing.

I just wanted an excuse to boast that I’m Scottish lol. I hope you enjoy. There should be a rough translation with every word or phrase but if I’ve missed any let me know!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Scottish! Female reader

Trigger Warnings: Swearing is all! Unless you count the use of Y/N as one. Also I call Scots a dialect once, please don’t come for me my people.

Word Count: 1.9k (oh my god it’s over 1000 words!!!)

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

When Bucky had first met Y/N, he had no clue what she was saying but the confusing phrases and silly placement of random words she intrigued him. Originally just her speech had him interested but it wouldn’t stay like that.

It was only after 4 months of getting to know her, speaking to her almost everyday, whether she was happy, sad or drunk until Bucky had been confident enough to say he understood what she was saying. Most of the time.

The others though, they hadn’t a clue.

It was winter, the temperature dropping rapidly each day. The crime didn’t stop. Bucky and Y/N had just finished their patrol, thoughourly soaked to the bone from the unrelenting rain.

The doors to the elevator opened on the communial floor, Y/N popping out first with a grumpy Bucky, looking akin to a soggy cat following behind.

“Fuck me it’s baltic out there like” the thick accent boomed across the living area, the others looked at her in confusion. Bucky gazed at their bewildered faces, sighing.

“She said it’s cold”. At the translation they all gave a variation of agreement, they were thankfully Bucky had spent a lot of time around her. They needed a translator, and he needed a girlfriend.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Lover boy. Sam had started calling him around HQ and it stuck, much to Bucky’s bemusement and confusion. He didn’t see the heart eyes he’d gaze at Y/N with, after all. ‘They were just too lazy to learn’, he said to himself, pummeling shot after shot into the thick punching bag.

“Careful lover boy, you’ll knock the stuffing out of it” Sam quipped, entering the gym, his skipping ropes hung loosely over his shoulder.

“Lover boy” Bucky repeated lowly whilst sending a vicious right hook into the leather, he was thinking of Sam’s face. The nickname tasted disgustingly bitter on his tongue, Sam just laughed.

‘Lover boy? What the hell kind of name was Lover boy anyways?’ A deep scowl settling itself onto his features as he thought. He almost didn’t hear the gym door squeak open again.

“Ooft, don’t look in the fridge you’ll turn the milk sour” She giggled at her own joke. ‘Very funny Y/N’ Bucky mused in his head. His scowl worsened, if it was even possible but he failed to repress the small blush at the sound of her chuckles.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Bucky had been stuck on those words all day. The the nickname never failed to leave his head after any one of the group called him it, the foul mood it brought following it as well. The only person Bucky hadn’t chewed the head off of was Y/N. Which the others weren’t particularly surprised about.

Watching a grown man shovel cereal into his mouth was probably the most interesting thing Y/N had ever seen, sorcerers and aliens be damned. The conversation she was having with Nat and Sam fading in and out of her mind in favour of watching Bucky chew violently, throughly slaughtering the wheat O’s.

“What do you think?” Nat asked, a smile playing on her lips. She’d caught her staring at Bucky, again.

“Huh?”

“About love, Sam thinks that everyone has a soulmate but I’m not so sure. What say you?” Nat clarified, leaning forward on her chair.

“Well my granny used to say, ‘What’s fur ye, will no go by ye’ so I suppose that’s my stance” She smiled at Nat who’s jaw had dropped in utter confusion.

“Hey lover boy, translate that” Sam shouted over to Bucky, his icy gaze turned in the direction of the trio. Allowing himself to linger a little too long on Y/N’s soft features.

“Hey!” Clicking his fingers at Bucky, Sam directed his attention back to the conversation.

“She said what’s for you won’t go by you. It means if you are bound to get something you will get it”. His features turned almost deadly “and click your fingers in my face again and you’ll get what’s coming for you”

“Ok, ok. Keep the heid” (calm down) she interjected, her small hand coming up to rest on the metal of Bucky’s shoulder , her soft fingers grazing over the sensitive skin at the edge. Such a simple gesture shouldn’t have caused his heart to flutter in the way it did.

As soon as Y/N had disappeared, Nat following behind, Bucky cornered Sam in the kitchen.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” He questioned. Sam picked up on the threatening tone laced through his voice.

“Calling you what man?” He chuckled back, trying to act innocent but he crumbled, laughing at the tension.

“Lover boy.”

The sound of Bucky’s angry voice saying those words had Sam buckled in two. He laughed hard, his palm slapping against his thigh as he propped himself up with the other.

“You don’t think we haven’t seen those looks, for a grumpy old man you sure do give her the heart eyes” Sam spoke once his fit of giggles subsided.

“Banner ‘hypothosised’ you were falling in love the first time you translated for her. Not a single person in this building knows what she’s saying except you, it’s not friendship that’s making you want to learn”

Bucky’s faced was flushed red, from anger or embarrassment at being caught out? he had no clue. Probably from both.

“Steve is the least laziest man I know and even he couldn’t learn, he tried many times” Sam explained. Bucky remebered the few occasions Steve had grabbed him by the shoulder or wrist, asking what the misspelled phrases or words in his little red book had meant, phrases you’d said to him that flew over his head. Sam was right.

“Steve also had 10$ on you having a crush on her” Sam let slip, tucking in his lips as soon as the words escaped.

“You’re taking bets on me!” He hissed

“Come on man, how could we not. It was Tony’s idea” Sam was trying to save his own ass by pushing others under the bus.

“I cannot believe you” Bucky snapped before turning on his heel, he’d deal with Sam later. Right now he had to relax. His feet moved on their own, seeking out a familiar room.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Her door rattled, its hinges threatening to break if they were shuddered any longer.

“Alright keep your hair on I’m coming” she exclaimed, rushing from the bathroom with a pale green facial mask painted on her face.

“Bucky! w-what are you doing here?” She asked, embarrassment filling her body at the thought of her appearance.

He didn’t say a word, pushing past her and flopping down on her bed in a way a huffy toddler would flop to the floor if they didn’t get their own way.

“Ok then” she mumbled to herself, taking a seat next to his sprawled out body.

“Who shat in your cereal?” A normal thing for her to say, he knew she was only asking what was up. Even if her tone was a little mocking.

“Sam”.

“Oh how did I guess?” Laughing at her own words as she lay back beside Bucky, her head unintentionally resting against his inner arm.

He thought of moving, thought of whipping his arm to his side but the soft hair slightly tickling his flesh was grounding him. Allowing the anger to dissipate from his body.

“You know they keep calling me lover boy” He stated. ‘Lover boy?’ She thought. ‘Why lover boy?’.

“Why lover boy?” She asked, the question mimicking his thoughts from earlier.

“Well that’s what I asked Sam. I didn’t like his answer, not that it was much of an answer” Bucky responded, although Sam had told him bluntly he didn’t feel comfortable enough to repeat it to her.

He turned his head to watch her soft features try to determine the answer of her own question, she hadn’t even noticed his sapphire eyes watching her. With those same heart eyes that Sam had mentioned.

Gazing lovingly into the side of her head. His pupils dilated, watching every twitch of her brows, every time her eyelashes brushed against her cheek as she blinked. Every time her pink tongue peeked out to wet her plush lips.

Oh my god! Sam was right. He hadn’t just learned her dialect because of genuine interest in the meaning, but because of his interest in her.

He pulled his body up suddenly, her head flopping against the bed causing her to squeak in surprise.

“Gonnae no dae that!” (Don’t do that!) She yelped in surprise, the accent coming through thicker than ever but Bucky was far too focused on his own thoughts.

“Bucky?” She sat up as well, leaning forward almost comically to catch a glance of his frustration streaked face.

“Are you alright?” ‘Fuck that accent was distracting’ he thought. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t keep his feelings bottled up, he didn’t want to lose Y/N as a friend but the longer the feelings festered the worse they got felt to keep hidden.

“No. I can’t do this anymore Y/N, I can’t be around you everyday, I can’t watch movies together, I can’t drink with you anymore. I can’t do anything with you anymore. Not until I’ve said what I have to say” Bucky exclaimed. He was sure he sounded angry to her but after all the pent up frustration as a result of having to keep himself from smashing his lips against hers had built up to its boiling point, he was hoping she’d understand.

“What the hell is going on?” She sounded crestfallen, the words breaking her heart. Had she said or done something wrong? Offended him in some way?

“I have spent too much time together with you, as friends. I can’t keep denying my feelings anymore, it’s hurting me physically to hold myself back. I’m borderline insane because I have to contain my thoughts of you” He took a deep breath, looking everywhere but her wide eyes.

“I love you, I have done so for a while. I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same, I mean I’m a horrible person. The things I did as the Winter Soldier to you, to everyone I’m surprised you even consider me a frie-“

He didn’t get the chance to finish his rant before she’d pulled him towards her. Stealing his lips away from his words selfishly.

The realisation of what exactly was going on clicked, he acted quickly, pulling her close. Almost too close to his own large frame. He groaned into her mouth at the feeling of her long nails scratching his scalp lightly.

His tongue poked against her mouth, fighting for dominance against her own when she let him in.

He’d never imagined he’d feel a kiss like this, not ever again but here it was. If he could’ve, he would’ve died of asphyxiation right then and there. She pulled away first, her breath heavy against his swollen mouth and reddened face.

“You’re an eejit” (idiot) She beamed, pecking his lips again.

“Tha gaol agam ort” she whispered, as if anything louder would scare him and his thoughts of her away.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, he knew a lot of phrases but this one had him stumped. She noticed the confusion in his features.

“It means I love you” she explained, tucking a loose strand of his soft brunette hair behind his ear.

“I love you too” he replied, mustering up all the passion he felt for her and squeezing it into those few words. Her eyes widened slightly, a laugh bubbling up from her throat. She tried covering her mouth but he pulled her hand away.

“What? What is it?” He smiled as well. Her giggles setting off bubbling fireworks in his abdomen.

“You have my face mask all over you”

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Ahhh, im actually proud of this. Even if it was a little selfish of me to write one with this topic.

AND it’s over 1000 words which is a big deal considering I can’t seem to stay focused for 2 minutes. I can’t wait to never write something as good as this again lol

I hope you enjoy x

[15-lizards]

ms hannah 15lizards, do you have any headcanons for what the sistermen of the three sisters might wear? they seem so miserable over on their shitty little islands but i feel like they'd have some unique cultural clothing that they're proud of that makes them #notlikeothervalemen

i adore your blog so so much, you are a bright spot on my dash <3333

omg staaaawp im blushing :]

The sistermen are like half baltic half nordic inspired I think. Baltic bc they're so far north and probably share more similarities with the northerners than actual valemen. Nordic bc they're also similar to the iron islands with their isolated nature and hard ways of living which influences their fashion

The apron dress is probably common for ease of movement, along with wide-legged, loose pants for the men for similar reasons while fishing. All made of wool and heavier, scratchy fabrics. Supplemented with furs and skins brought from white harbor or woven shawls. Brooches and metal headbands, either crafted by hand and have cultural significance, or stolen from passing ships. Everyone wears a lot of layers and mainlanders thinks they look kind of messy and have no cohesion which is probably true. Sistermen are probably not having much more fun than their iron island brethren.

[greenofhue]

Fond

another short thorfinn fic!! This takes place in the Baltic Sea Arc, the night after the jomsvikings fight/after they were disbanded, I didn't edit it much so beware of any typos!

Thorfinn lies asleep on the bed. Back facing me; his blonde hair merging with the furs, the cushions filled with golden straw. Firey shadows dancing across him; warm and focused. I can't help but be reminded of the dream I keep having. The wood crackles, tumbling over as it cools. He stirrs. Suddenly I am frozen in place. Yet, his movement is slow and sluggish. Slight relief fills me, as he sleeps- chest rising and falling- I think of his ribs. I think of the bruises.

I promised myself not to dwell. But perhaps it was the combination of fatigue and sight of him that caused my mind to fall back to the thought. The dream. We were both running through some field. I could never remember where, but I knew he was taking me somewhere. I keep running after him. Reaching, but he was so fast, and all I could see was the back of his head slipping away into the field. I could still feel that feeling after I woke; that he was going somewhere that doesn't need me. I couldn't help but feel it now even as he slept. It pulses in my heart, this terrible feeling.

I see that glimmer in his eyes all the time. The ocean, the woodlands; distant, eager atonement. His words are simpler, heavier, engraved with more than he lets on.

It constantly made my head spin; emotions I hadn't even registered that I had about him. Fear, frustration. I worry too much and I say too little. I wonder if it is because I fear it won't matter. The sight of him, full of arrows on his knees. He is chasing after something, something that isn't meant to be. Eventually it will fall through; this belief. I can't help but hope that I'm wrong.

"It's stupid." The words are airy, and yet ripped out of me. Full with the weight of something as they leave mouth. "I keep seeing it- this day. That we all loose you."

Impulsively, regretfully I draw my hand out from the warmth of my own furs. Resting it along his spine. Warm; enveloped. And I am following, counting his steady breaths as if he were something that could vanish at any moment. As if these breaths are numbered.

My words continue, being pulled; drawn out of my chest, "You're becoming careless. Wreckless with your life." I pause brows knit together, mulling over my thoughts before I speak. "I can't loose y-"

The furs shift with a weight pushed into my hand as he leans into my touch. Panicked, I remove myself. Falling deeper into my chair.

I felt a slight sense of loss when my hand left his back. I knew that my touch was just purely out of care, but I couldn't help but want more. As my hand left his skin, I felt a little colder. I watch as he stirrs, drifting; leaning into my dissipating warmth, into my now foregone embrace. Yet for that moment, the sudden fear, and frustration felt so small. The feeling of that was a bit intimidating, but familiar all at once.

I low rumble filled the room as he spoke. His voice was soft, filled with conviction. And I was startled by how much truth was hidden behind his words as he spoke.

"I would never leave you guys."

Dread shoots up my spine. Had he heard everything? No. He would've said something else. The realization sets in. 'you guys' - Not 'you.' I mentally punch myself for being so stupid. So vulnerable. Silence englulfs the room in a thick haze. I'm not sure how to respond. Am I over thinking it? Why would I?

Before I can even spit something out, Thorfinn turns to face me. A pained look on his face as he holds his side where the stitches were.

We are close. Close enough that I could make out his features in the dim lighting. His short unruly hair. Scar carved into the surface of his flushed cold cheeks. A face forged by the sea, hardened by years of war; still as soft as ever as he watches me. Eyes tracing the sight of me, and I'm drifting. Loosing any words that I might've had before. If there was ever a time to say my convictions, then it was right now.

For the first time in years, I can't hold his gaze. And for the first in time in years, my heart is pounding out of my chest. The feeling is familiar. Panicked, and the strong urge to run away; Embarrassment?

"Pfah," I choke back compelling laughter.

"What is it?" He squints, I can feel his stare; worn and heavy. Still, all the more focused as he watches me. My head is pounding now with too many things at once.

"I'm, sorry."

"Sorry?" He echos.

"I didn't realize you were awake." My gaze stays locked to the floor boards. There are twice as many cracks in the wood than usual.

"I'm the one who should be sorry."

Almost impulsively, my gaze finds his again. He stares at me, then at the bed, bashful; perhaps even as embarrassed as I am. Hands loosely clasped on his lap.

"I didn't mean to scare you. Or the others."

I turn my gaze to my hands, picking at the skin. I exhale deeply, consciously realizing how quiet it is that I'm not saying anything. And that I probably should say something. My body sinks deeper into the chair.

"I had a plan, I didn't go in there blind." Thorfinn continues, exhaustion evident as his shoulders fall, rousing from the warmth of the bed.

"Yeah, a bad one that almost cost you your life." I bite back a scoff, watching him rise. The skin on my hand turning red from my little habit.

"I know." he whispers. Leveled with me now as he sits on the edge of the bed, facing the chair I'm seated in. I notice how close our knees are.

He watches the cooling embers through his lashes. "I'm sorry."

"You know how it is. Out here." I sniff, nose runny from the seeping cold. "Those people need you." I purposefully leave out myself. Feeling his gaze on me as a result. I ignore it, wiping the hair from my eyes.

Words drift as the silence stretches out. Almost tangible. Obviously waiting for the things left unsaid; the doors left open. Thorfinn, deep in thought- rarely is he ever not in thought- opens his mouth to say something.

But I'm already standing. Air escaping my lungs. Wood creaking beneath my feet as I'm shifting from one foot to the other. Sheepish in all my ways. Ready to leave. Ready to forget this night, to forget what I feel- what I can't seem to face.

"But do you, need me?" Thorfinn breathes. Quick at the sight of me leaving. His words impulsive, yet so carefully chosen. The crack in his voice betraying him.

The question didn't startle me as I thought it would. I know him. I knew it was coming. He's always been blunt like this. Whether that was a good or bad thing.

Yet, it sets me off. "It's not fair." I turn to him, "What would've happened if you had died?" Despite the fear in my voice, the words are harsher than I intend, they ring in my ears.

"I had no intention of dying back there." He stands in defense. Though part of me doesn't even believe him.

"But you almost did!"

And suddenly it feels like we've already had this argument before. I'm fond of the burden he carries, I wish things were different, but they aren't. And just as soon as the argument starts, it ends.

"I know- I know." His words are heavy. Laced with something distant, something far off as they leave his mouth. And I can recognize it just as well as he can. Guilt.

"That doesn't make it anymore right." I barely whisper, sitting back down. Tension and exhaustion strung in all the way to my bones. The ache in my limbs grow, there's never enough time to rest.

"Then I'll make it right." His gaze turns back to his hands. Drifting over the scars there. I find myself watching too. "I promise."

The words ring, he's going somewhere that doesn't need me. I sigh, worn out. Reasoning with him is like trying to tell a goat to fly. "Then start with trying not to get yourself killed all the time." Hiding the desperation in my voice before I speak again, "Please?"

"I promise." He echos. But I know that words don't mean anything. Not here, not with this.

Yet I still cringe as the words leave my own mouth, trying not to believe them. Not to believe that it would make him stay. It's better not to dwell. It's better not to dwell. It's better not to- "I don't not, need you."

Regretfully, I look up to meet his face. managing to catch the subtle twitch in the corner of his lips. Fleeting, there for just a moment. "Never thought I'd actually hear you say something like that." He pauses, impishly. "To my face at least."

Oh- he did hear me. And when his gaze meets mine, I am painfully reminded of how the warmth from his back felt, seeping into my hand. I avert my gaze to the side.

"I meant what I said." I speak into the cold.

"As did I."

"Yeah, about what? Promises you can't keep?" A dismissive scoff escapes my mouth, digging into the wound a bit more for good measure. Part of me doesn't even realize how well I mask these feelings into defensiveness.

"To you and everyone else." He chuckles, trying to make light of the situation. Which turns into a small fit of coughs as he holds his injured chest.

I take the chance to jab at his side, causing him to bat my hand away in pain. Still coughing and laughing. "Yeah, you deserve that." I grin, a breathy chuckle growing in the air.

"Shu-" More coughs, "Shut up." He manages to wheeze out, still fighting away my hand.

Part of me knows this; familiarity. It's so easy to have my guard down around him. To laugh at each other like children. Yet these flaring feelings surprise me again when he catches my wrist. And perhaps it was even just a flicker of his past self. That old cocky arrogance when his lips upturned into a grin. "What? Not funny?"

"No." I frown, distracted. "I completely love seeing you in pain." I put on a devilish grin. Making an effort to pry my wrist out of his hand. "Forgive me?"

"Always." He exhales from his nose, rolling his eyes. Acting annoyed, but clearly not fooling anyone. He enjoys this too. The familiarity.

Yet I couldn't help but notice the way his thumb naturally traced along my wrist, tracing the curve of my skin in a way that was endearing and almost tender. Holding onto me a little longer than he actually should. He hesitates before dropping my wrist. Eyebrows furrowed and turning his gaze away as if forgetting something important. And once again these feelings resurface a tenfold.

Silence falls upon us again, taking over the room. He watches irresolute; brown eyes heavy against the faltering cracklings of flame. It felt as if we were both still processing everything, and he could tell that I wasn't sure what to say as well. It left me uncertain of what was going on between the two of us. We had both uttered some sort of truth for one another. But It's easier to pretend. It's safer this way. It always has been.

"I'm sorry." I breathe. Finding myself saying that a lot recently.

"For what?"

"About what I said before."

"That doesn't matter." He shrugs.

"Why?"

"Because it's the truth, is it not?"

I watch his hands, how his thumb mindlessly traces the curve of his knuckles. I notice how he does that when he's thinking, trying to frame out his words.

"Do you.." He spaces out the words with hesitance, "Feel some way about me?" He finally whispers. And I notice how his breath is shaky; uneven.

The the same feeling from before returns. Increased heart rate, panicked, the strong urge to run. Yet I don't feel like running this time. Reminding myself to breathe. Instead I feel the urge to turn and face him and-

"Yes. I've grown, fond of you." I don't turn my head. Instead I watch the shadows dancing across my lap. Fond, that word sticks in my mouth like a taste you can't get out.

"Fond." Thorfinn breathes out as if he was anticipating something more. But I know him too well to know that something as simple as that is enough for him. And my mind focuses on the whisper of that one word. Repeating over and over. Fond...Fond...Fond...

"Are you surprised?" I whisper. Trying to swallow down this feeling that I did something wrong. That I shouldn't have said anything at all.

"No." He averts his gaze.

"Why?" I can't stop myself from inquiring more, I should stop.

"Because.." he trails off, "I have many reasons." He replies, voice a soft hush as if thinking about something that was pushed far away and buried. Feelings resurfacing.

I'll end this here. Snapping my thoughts together, I stand from my chair. "I should let you rest." I try not to look at him, it's better not to dwell. "The others want to be out of here by daylight. Who knows what Thorkell might ask of you in the morning."

I'm so stupid, so incredibly stupid. I should have never said that. Never said anything at all. And suddenly all these feelings are rising like ocean tides, I feel it in my throat.

His fingers close around my wrist in a swift motion, the suddenness of it catching me off guard. At first, all I registered was the warmth of his touch against my skin. Hands, scarred and callused. A constant reminder of my doubt. Of my fear.

"Why do you avoid me?" His voice, barely above a whisper, breaking through the silence like wind through a wind chime. "You never say what you really mean.."

I'm not brave enough to meet his gaze, yet I picture it. Eyes like deep caverns of brown, like the woodlands; so familiar over the years, etched into the fabric of my every memory.

"You don't want to know how I feel? You'd rather run?" I can feel the way he's searching all the angles of my face.

"It doesn't matter what you feel, or what I feel." Do not dwell.

"Im not stupid." He whispers. "Why did you say it?" His words convict me. "All this time, why now?"

"I barely even said anything!" My voice is high in my ears, as if I were about to start laughing at the stupidity of the situation.

"But you did." Thorfinns voice is firm, laced with so much belief, so much certainty.

"I don't-" I shake my head, I can't think straight. "You're always like this. Saying things and doing things. Stop confusing me." My voice is strained, tired. "It's not easy."

"It's never been easy!" His voice is soft and desperate for me to just listen.

"And it never will be easy. Not now. Especially not with this." I reason, "There's always going to be something." I trail off, guiltily. The burden hangs heavy. Survival, fear, regret. "We aren't like everyone else, you and I aren't made for this," I shake my head. "All I know is now, and surviving now. There's no time for anything else."

"I know that- these things- but It's what made us the same." He breathes, trying to find his words. "All these years-" I feel his hand reach to cup my neck, thumb along my cheek, his voice faltering with the words,

"I've known you- I know you." His is touch so gentle it's almost ghostly. I don't think we've ever been so close before.

Everything moves so fast that I remain rooted in the stillness of the moment. Slowly faltering, loosing the urge to retreat as he draws nearer. His forehead meets mine, a gentle collision.

"Please- stay." Closer, closer. I can feel the warmth of his breath seeping through all my layers of cloth and furs. Closer, and I can feel his heart racing just as much as mine. Closer still, until there is nothing left.

I could feel the warmth of his skin, the slight tremble of his touch as he hesitates for a fraction of a moment. It was fleeting, almost instinctive as his lips brush against mine. A soft pressing; hardly a kiss. Each movement deliberate yet tentative. His breath, warm and steady, mingling with mine. The warmth from his lips linger long after. As if it etching itself into my skin, and I feel lost when we part; breaths mixing with the dark aroma of burning logs, I look at him. Hand still cupping my face, his hair tickling my forehead. He smells like the woods before rain.

Eyes the color of bison hide, watching. Darting from my lips back to me. Flustered as ever, never would I have expected such a bold act from him. Dusty red tints his face, rushing to the tip of his ears.

And he whispers to me, "I've, grown fond of you as well."

[fruiteggsaladit]

Sudden realisation that Yuki from The Cat Returns and Louise/Luisa from Whisper of the Heart are very visually similar and wondering if there's any deeper connection or if Louise's colourations were borrowed from WotH so as not to introduce a wholly unfamiliar kitty that will be significant not only to the plot, but to the protagonist of the sequel.

Blue eyes, cream or white-coloured fur, pink ears and nose, and a dark pink textile for costume or ribbon.

It could be just that kind of practical reason.

... Buuuut it could also be fun to stipulate that Yuki is perhaps a reincarnation of sorts. TCR could easily be interpreted as being Shizuku's finalised story from WotH, with how Muta and the Baron are used and Shizuku's vision for the Baron acting as a guide and inspiration to a young lady in trouble.

Why not include Louise in that somehow? Shizuku is a very sensitive child and writer, it would not surprise me that she'd be discomforted to give the Baron in her story a happy love story and ending when he as the statue in real life is still living in hope (projected by humans, but still, the projection is a narrative, and Shizuku's story also being a narrative, it feels right to describe the human projection as though it is real, at least in relation to TCR).

A street kitten, dirty and starved, who later helps Haru in return for having saved her early in life. A kitten.

It's quite recently born, compared to the Baron, who was made pre-WWII.

In the manga, its implied that the maker of Baron perished or had to run away from Germany when the world war started. "The story goes back over fifty years. / At the time, I was working for an import-export comapny... I often traveled back and forth between Japan and Europe." [Panel is of Northern Germany, displaying the capital of Berlin, and the North Sea and Baltic Sea.] (next page) "One day, in the corner of a coffee house, I discovered this cat. / I spent the next three days begging the owner to sell it to me. Finally, he gave in. / On one condition... / The cat was to be part of a set. He was working on the cat's companion, / and asked that I hold off selling him until the female cat was created. / I agreed to wait until the cat's companion was sent to me, and returned to Japan with only Sir Cat here. / But in the meantime, the war broke out and the cat's promised companion never arrived. / My company went bankrupt as well. After the war, I was only able to return to Germany once. / Do you see here, on the soles of his shoes?" [Panel is that of the shop owner pointing to the bottom of the Baron's shoes, indeed displaying a name. I can¨t read it on the digital page though; I might need the printed version, but this too would be very small.] "The doll maker inscribed his name. / With that information in hand, I searched high and low for him. But he was nowhere to be found. / And yet... I still have to believe that Sir Cat's sweetheart will someday arrive." (next page, top panel) "But until the day comes, here is where he will stay." In the manga, Shizuku reads up on Germany and WWII as part of her research and a direct result of hearing the story of Baron's creation. The titles include: "The Art and E[xxx] of Germany", "The People of Germany" (second-thickest book in the stack), "the Eurasian Enigma", "Puppets of the World", "The Second World War", "The Dolt Quihote and Conquistadors", "Famous Museums in Europe", "West-Germany" (thickest book in the stack), and "Travels through Europe".

That aside this was greatly to argue my point that if the companion piece (Louise) was destroyed or interrupted and never finished in WWII, then perhaps it could have been seen as a "death". It's one of the theories Shizuku might hold, but would not voice to the shop owner (Nishi Shirou) who values the hope of the story.

And so it might have been a rough concept of hers to have Yuki be a reincarnation of Louise, and perhaps relight her romance with the Baron. She ultimately chooses against that creative decision, but she does keep Louise's colours in Yuki.

Hm, oh! I forgot! In the manga, the Cat Kingdom is the place of dead cats. Muta describes it derisively as a place of ghosts who cannot acknowledge that they are dead, if my memory serves right. It doesn't seem that far-stretched then to interpret Yuki as the departed Louise...

Additional worth of note, is that the romance aspect is still kept, just not with Baron; also, that the engagement/arranged marriage/soulmate "We knew each other before we were made or met" aspect is switched out in favour of an unexpected love separated by class (palace servant and prince). This felt like it was made in mind for Lune though, rather than as a "well there needs to be romance somewhere!", in the sense that by giving him a love interest then it's an easy narrative excuse for him not to desire the marriage (aside from not knowing Haru, Haru being a human, and also Haru is a child). His heart is occupied already!

[xdepthsofwinterx]

Pulled by Fate: In which Dhana is finally reunited with Elithrar (@waterdeephero @pyritea) and Deekin in Cania. {{A couple years after I promised I would write this, Baka comes back swinging with fluffy angst. Hope Dhana is as good as she used to be!}}

-

Frigid cold arched across her skin, burning bone deep. But beyond that, to a point that her very soul ached. Booted feet trudged through the snow, crunching and crimping in the deeper drifts. Cheeks burned red, and even her furs couldn't keep the cold at bay. Days, she guessed, had passed, but it could be an eternity for all she knew.

One thing was for certain. Dhana wasn't in the overworld anymore.

The Reaper had confirmed that. Sucked through to their pocket plane, face first into cool obsidian tiles, Dhana had awoken with a start. Last she knew, a denizen of Mephistopheles had thrust a greatsword through her chest. Panicking, scrambling to het feet, the meticulous monotone of the ethereal presence filled her mind.

"What is your will, sojourner?"

Now she was cast out into the baltic, infernal infested hellscape, awaiting what, she knew not. Crouched down by a measley fire, those berries filling a hole and heat in her belly for a short time. Once vibrant sepia eyes look on vacantly into the space before her.

"Deekin isn't sure, but perhaps Boss might find out?"

Those words rip her heart wide open, until she bleeds salty tears in its wake. Soft pattering, clawed feet, hopping through the snow after their leader. Her tongue feels like cotton in her mouth, her head too full of both painful and familiar memories that she feels like she might faint.

Deekin. Of course, the lovable scaley kobold hopped along beside a taller, willowy cloaked figure, with an equally familiar and graceful gait.

Hunting for recognisable features beneath the tanned, furlined cloak, Dhana spies the gorgeous shock of gingery gold hair, angular features, soft lips. Another painful clench of her heart, and her feet are stumbling after the pair in the snow.

How can she not?! Like a string of fate, her soul and being was bound to those walking only a couple feet ahead. But her throat is clenched shut with unspoken grief and need for them both. Her hand outstretched, all long, slender fingers, tattooed and calloused. Her lips part, eyes filling with tears as she wills this not to be another fever dream.

"E-Eli...thrar-"

Emotion cracks her voice, turning it gravelly as it echoes out in the space between them. The reaction is instant, as if both figures before her are struck with an arrow, the taller of the two freezing in place.

Deekin is the first to turn. And when his beady eyes lock onto Dhana's form, a shrill cry of anguish and disbelief emits the kobold.

"B-Boss?!"

He doesn't wait on ceremony, doesn't care for her apologies or excuses. No, Deekin charges towards the sorceress and latches onto her leg as tightly as he can. From the wetting of her leggings, it is clear the proof reptilian is equally moved.

Instinct has her bending down to him, bundling the little fella in her arms and letting out a mournful sound as she buries her head into his scaley shoulder. She rocks him for a moment, unleashing their shared grief. When at last Dhana pulls back, warpaint smudged, eyes red and nose snuffly, her eyes catch on the sight of leather boots in her periphery.

A quiver of pure, unadulterated joy and happiness washes over her as Elithrar's face comes into full view. Golden eyes are round, tears wavering as he barely holds himself back. Straightening, the blackette barely gets a breath in before the elf is engulfing her in a tight squeeze, mouth uttering words of shaky disbelief.

"D-Dhana...God's be good."

His warmth filled her nostrils; that familiar scent of incense, musky amd slight sweat, it was all so nostalgic. Dhana let herself settle into Elithrar's tight embrace, relishing in his soft caresses to her back.

"I-I n-never thought I would

get the c-chance to see you again," The cleric squeezed her tighter, and sliding up her back as that soft, tanned nose is pressed into her shoulder. Tears trickle silently down her cheeks, pressing herself firmly against his warm form. Heart clenching, arms tightning about him, Dhana manages out words that Elithrar is also trying to communicate.

"Gods I have missed you, so much."

Fingers delve into fabric, desperately seeking more contact, the need to be closer almost all consuming.

But here, in Elithrar's arms is exactly where her heart belongs, with Deekin at their side. Just...just like old times...like it should be...

And this time, Dhana would fight tooth and nail to remain there. Even the Archdevil himself.

[maximumphilosopheranchor]

The Vikings who attacked the Byzantine capital in the summer of 860 were hardly unknown to Photius and his contemporaries. The patriarch called them Rus’, like the members of the Rus’ embassy of 838. He even stated that they were subjects of Byzantium but left it to subsequent generations of scholars to figure out the details. Who were they? The search for an answer has spanned the last two and a half centuries, if not longer. Most scholars today believe that the word “Rus” has Scandinavian roots. Byzantine authors, who wrote in Greek, most probably borrowed it from the Slavs, who in turn borrowed it from the Finns, who used the term “Ruotsi” to denote the Swedes – in Swedish, the word meant “men who row.” And row they did. First across the Baltic Sea into the Gulf of Finland, then on through Lakes Ladoga, Ilmen, and Beloozero to the upper reaches of the Volga – the river that later became an embodiment of Russia and at the time formed an essential part of the Saracen (Muslim) route to the Caspian Sea and the Arab lands.

The Rus’ Vikings, a conglomerate of Norwegian, Swedish, and probably Finnish Norsemen, first came to eastern Europe mainly as traders, not conquerors, as there was little to pillage in the forests of the region. The real treasures lay in the Middle East, beyond the lands through which they needed only the right of passage. But judging by what we know about the Rus’ Vikings, they never thought of trade and war – or, rather, trade and violence – as incompatible. After all, they had to defend themselves en route, since the local tribes did not welcome their presence. And the trade in which they engaged involves coercion, for they dealt not only in forest products – furs and honey – but also in slaves. To obtain them, the Vikings had to establish some kind of control over the local tribes and collect as tribute products that they could ship along the Saracen route. They exchanged these in the Caspian markets for Arab silver dirhams, troves of which subsequent archaeologists have discovered. They punctuate the Viking trade route from Scandinavia to the Caspian Sea.

Serhii Plokhy, The Gates of Europe: A History of Ukraine

[savyir-genesizz-the-wizard]

azya: motion, stillness, road, change (for the oc ask game)

Motion

Despite his recovery after stroke being remarkably good Azya still sometimes has difficulty walking straight which makes other people consider him to be quite clumsy. His hand however move very precisely and his handwriting is very nice - he practiced it a lot during recovery. Another thing he does often is sitting down immediately to not tire himself too much.

His clothes are generally very modest, he feels most comfortable when he's covered - part of the reason is that he wants to avoid people looking at him and in part because Ajidiali is rather cold, with the water similar to the Baltics. The first one is also the reason why his clothes are rather plain, tho they become more patterned when he returns to his music career.

Stillness

He gets quite nervous in crowds and puts his hands near nis collarbone, he sometimes also plays with his necklace. He generally sits very still, unless he can't rest his back - he has some problems with balance so it's tiring to him.

His clothes are generally comfortable - fast fashion haven't really become a thing in Ajidiali so it's standard to have adjustments made when you buy clothes.

He's also actually quite tall, compared to other Ajidialians, so he something tries to hide his height by slouching when he sits but he avoids it when he stands up.

Road

So, this is a bit more complicated. Travel on TIWR Earth is very difficult, compared to our Earth. Year 1002 is not an era of medium sized mammals but rather big predators that still roam around outside the settlements, especially in the seas. Extreme storms and winds also make it difficult to travel.

He does travel to the sea from time to time. The coast is largely rocky but has sandy beaches as well. The sea is cold so he wears sensible jacket and rubber boots.

Change

Azya has basically 3 "looks" he goes through in life.

The first one would be from his pop/disco star era, which I would say was mostly based on Agnetha Fältskog of ABBA. Very oblivious choice, he could do Mamma Mia! at that time, no problem.

With time his sense of style shifted towards more bold look of space theme that his band did for three albums.

After that he had this period when he was recovering from stroke, going to open uni, getting married, getting involved in local politics ect... Not very interesting clothing wise. He developed his "adjusted adult" style at the time but it's also the time he got into cutesy mascot animals and aquired a taste for pink and pastels but kept it secret mostly.

And after the TIWR main plot he partially returns to his disco roots but moves it more towards the Bee Gees' blazer + turtleneck combo. He also gets really into weird patterns and puts some kind of a "mystery" (Kate Bush maybe?) into his stage persona.

Bonus Azya in underwear and additional answers under the cut 🚨

Q: Where did that scar on his left brow came from?

A: He hit his head after a concert when he was 24. Quite unremarkable, really.

Q: How tall is he?

A: 155 cm but humans on TIWR Earth are smaller but proportional. Average Ajidialian is 145-150 cm tall so he stands out quite a lot.

(I fucked up the face from this weird ass angle and didn't care to fix it. Anyway he's a catgirl in real life)

(Also as you can see his hair just continues into his back (well, it's technically fur))

[unhonestlymirror]

Geopolitics can alter not only racial taxonomies but linguistics as well - and for some reason, many linguists don't like to admit it. Maybe because it would mean their diploma isn't the licence to be always right.

For example, many OFFICIAL sources love to write "Balto-Slavic languages". Why? You might say "because they are very close to each other historically speaking" - in this case, why don't we use "Scandinavo-Slavic" then? The path from the Varangians to the Greeks, also Шлях із варягів в греки, also "Greek Way" - was the important trade path: Ruthenian merchants, who traveled from Kyiv to Constantinople in 30-40 days, brought bread, handicrafts, silver in coins, slaves, fur, honey, wax, as well as goods from Scandinavia to Byzantium. Wines, spices, fruits, expensive fabrics, jewelry, and glassware were transported from the south along the Dnipro.

Therefore, it led to formation of Kyivan Rus AND development of Slavic languages. Some russians nowadays genuinely don't believe Olga is a Slavic variant for Helga.

If Scandinavians were economically more powerful, therefore, more influencing - why don't we use Scandinavo-Slavic?

Because the monopolist on Slavic linguistics development for at least several centuries has been... russia. Moscovia, originally. And since Moscovia day and night dreams of getting the lands of Baltics for itself - because it can never get Scandinavia and it realises it pretty much - Moscovia spreads the "Balto-Slavic" narrativ. Despite Baltic and Slavic languages having similarities mostly because of GDL, polonization and russification.

When op said to me, how can it be that hundreds of respectable linguists in America can be wrong - it made me think, "Damn... The level of education there leaves much to be desired." My prof once said, linguists don't have to know the language - and I can't agree with it. Otherwise, how can you be sure you're doing right and not just being a cog in the propaganda machine? I also don't agree that a linguist don't have to know history, politics and economics - for the same reasons.

Why don't American linguists study this topic better? The answer is simple. America, as a state, didn’t care at all that soviet russia erased cities, expropriated cultures, documents, and finds. For example, they say fragments of notes of Priscus of Panium, the one who the first mentioned Ukrainian words, are "tragically unavailable nowadays" - where do you think they are located? Moreover, it was profitable, and it was simpler to establish economic and political ties with one state than with 15 separate independent republics - different duties, different rules for import/export, yk - the headache. This is why American linguists nowadays believe in authority of classification, knowing russian language only or even not knowing any East Slavic language at all. This is why linguists all over the world believe it without any doubts - the same way they believe in "Balto-Slavic languages."

[antikristvs]

Me wearing the goatskin I got in the fair. It was supposed to be an altar cloth, really... But I'm not sure. I tried it, and it was too large. It for certain would look great on a robe though / Su ožio kailiu iš mugės. Turėjo būt altoriaus užtiesalu, bet nežinau... Pabandžiau, ir per didelis. Bet tikrai gerai atrodytų ant apsiausto. 🐐

[icefang100]

Another set of (Warrior) cat designs for Mechanisms characters! This has characters from Once Upon a Time in Space.

In order of left to right in each row, the designs are for: Cinders, Rose Red, General White, the Red Hood, King Cole, and the three little pigs.

All of the drawings started with the same base, then edited for fur lengths, scars, and expressions.

See below the read more for image descriptions and some notes on each design! Be warned, it’s a lot of text.

[Also uploaded to DeviantART]

[Image set ID: A set of eight digitally drawn headshots of cats. The features and edges of each is lined with black, while their markings are lineless. The first five are separate images, while the last three are on the same PNG. /End ID.]

[Image 1 description: A drawing of Cinders as a cat with brown-grey and white fur (best described as granite, storm grey, dawn grey, and light silver). She looks exhausted, and she's frowning. She has a dark dorsal stripe, ear rims, nose bridge, and above eye markings. Her cheeks, inner ears, and above her nose bridge are lighter in color. Overlapping and making all other markings, she also has patchy white markings (vitiligo); these cover most of her face and look somewhat like falling ash. Cinders’s eyes are pastel orange. Her nose is dark brown. Her fur is very long, including the ear tufts (which bend beneath their own weight) and inner ear fur. /End description.]

[Image 2 description: A drawing of Rose Red as a cat with reddish and red-brown fur (best described as old copper, Congo brown, and rose taupe). She looks like she's on the brink of growling. She has complex, sharp dark tabby markings (including cheek and chin stripes, and a dorsal stripe that links to cheek stripes, framing her eyes), a thin nose bridge marking, ear rims, and false eyes on her ears. Her inner ears, along the stripes, and within the false eye patterns are lighter in color. Rose Red’s eyes are glacier blue, and her nose is a dark walnut brown. Her fur is short and spikey. /End description.]

[Image 3 description: A drawing of General White as a cat with black fur (best described as Baltic sea black, ebony clay black, and gunmetal grey). She's snarling. She has complex, smooth dark tabby markings (including cheek stripes and a dorsal stripe that connects to her thin nose bridge marking and under eye markings), ear rims, and false eye markings on her ears. Her inner ears, within the false eye markings, along the stripes, and the center of the dorsal/forehead marking are lighter in color. General White's eyes are glacier blue, and her nose is ship grey. She has extensive damage on the left side of her face, with four notable scars - one spanning from her cheek to the right side of her nose bridge (starting out about an eye-height wide and narrowing to half that), a smaller cut below that one on her cheek, one crossing vertically over the left side of her mouth (in the wake of this scar, she's missing a few teeth: both fangs on the left side and possibly some premolars) as well as her nose (which is discolored where the scar crosses), and finally, about half of her upper left ear is missing. /End description.]

[Image 4 description: A drawing of the Red Hood as a cat with dull reddish fur (best described as rosy finch, reddish grey, and dark rose). She's lightly smiling. She has dark, squared-off and smooth tabby markings (including cheek stripes, ear tips, and a dorsal stripe), as well as mid-ear markings that span down to frame the undersides of her eyes, and a thin nose bridge marking that spans from cheek to cheek but doesn't connect to any cheek stripes. She has lighter colored markings covering her inner ears, under and between her eyes (bowing over her nose bridge), around and between her stripes, and between the mid ear and ear tip markings. The Red Hood’s eyes are a sienna-like orang-brown. Her nose is a dark cork brown. She has relatively long fur, which hangs rather limply from her cheeks. /End description.]

[Image 5 description: A drawing of King Cole as a hairless cat with pink and grey-brown skin (best described as dusty pink and warm grey). He's growling. He has grey covering his ears, forehead, nose (all three connected together), and jaw. King Cole’s eyes are orange-yellow, with an otter brown spot in the right eye. His right pupil is a medium grey color while the left is black. His nose is olive black. King Cole's left ear has a tear on the inner edge, and his teeth are notably both yellowed and blood-stained. /End description.]

[Image 6 description: A drawing of the Three Little Pigs as cats with grey and black fur (best described as charcoal, gunmetal, and dark dust). All three of them have impassive expressions. They all have a dark dorsal stripe, ear tips, hollow under eye markings, and a stipe framing their bottom jaws. They all have lighter colored inner ears, ear rims, jaws, and under eye markings as well. Each has different dark forehead markings - one in five segments with highlights in a lighter color, one broken in four segments with a light-colored downward arrow shape outlined below, and one with a rounded marking split into two lighter-colored halves. Two of the Pigs have dark nose bridge markings, one of which extends to the individual's eyes and leaves a light colored center between them. All three have Persian orange eyes eyes and olive black noses. Each has clipped ears, but in different ways - one has the left ear tip split, the next has the right ear tip split, and the last has both ear tips split. All three have short, uniform fur. /End description.]

Some notes on the designs' details:

Cinders having vitiligo came from the thoughts that, A, vitiligo can look very pretty, and B, it can also look like snow - or ashes from a large fire, which would be left alongside cinders.

As you can probably tell, I had a lot of fun with Rose Red and General White's markings! They came out nicely (in my totally-not-biased opinion), but goddamn would those be a pain to replicate

General White's scars were also very interesting to do - I really wanted them to be prominent, and I think that's been achieved. On a similar note, it took me so long to get the teeth to look right.

The Red Hood is the first design I did in this set - and actually one of the first of any set. As such, the style's a little different from the rest, but I still like how her markings came out, so it'll do.

I wouldn't have normally included the Red Hood since she's a relatively minor character in the album and (most of) the connected fiction (similarly to Narcissus, Freya, or the Lady of the Lake - none of whom got designs), but. [Marge Simpson meme voice] I just think she's neat <3

Making King Cole a sphinx just Felt Right™

I made an alternate version of the Little Pigs' designs with paint in place of their masks (which also served to cover up their unique markings), but I just didn't like the look of it, so those versions didn't make it into this post.

[fairychamber]

Autumn Festivals in Baltic Countries

Autumn Festivals in Baltic Countries

Mardis are a crucial component of Mardipäev in Estonia. Children (and occasionally adults) who rubbed soot in their faces were known as mardis. To resemble the spirits, they dressed in furs and dirty linens. Mardis sang songs and short skits while moving from home to home in small groups. In exchange, they were given treats, meals, and beverages. There was a notion that the more mardis people…