#he can play with random children in the woods AND try to drown the whole city full of ppl with children

[irascible-iridescent]

I fucking hate people try to make Childe (from genshin) into some misunderstood hero. Do you really think that if character likes kids it means he is a good person? Let him be a unhinged villain. He literally joined fatui bc he likes to kill. This is why he is interesting, stop making him into some kind of saint that got into harbingers by mistake, bc he is soooo nice.

[maievdenoir]

Hi! This is my first story here 🙌🏽 sorry for all the mistakes, but I’m not native speaker. This is actually my first short story written in English.

I made a writing challenge for myself and this is the first of the stories written for it. Random generator picks me character, place and prompt and I will try to write around 1k words for it. Wish me luck 🍀

For this one the character is Pero Tovar, the place is woods and prompt si “I was not doing you a favour. I was only loving you.”

Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Warnings: just little bit of angst and soft Pero, mention of sex worker

••••••

It started with cuddling around the fire. After the group split up, you and Pero had to wander alone for several weeks. The fire didn't provide enough heat and your teeth were chattering. He couldn't sleep and so he covered you with his arms.

One night you decided to touch him. He didn't say anything. He just enjoyed your presence. He thought it was just that you hadn't been with anyone in a long time. He hasn't been with anyone for a long time either. He didn't think that such a skilled archer and at the same time a gorgeous woman could be interested in him. All women were always terrified by his noticeable scar. He looked even more brutal than he was.

He didn't want to admit your affection always warmed him deep inside. His heart had been broken too many times, he had been rejected by so many women. However, his heart always missed a beat when you made him breakfast. He always got up first in the morning and fed the horses so you could sleep longer.

You didn't say much, neither of you was that type, but you exchanged shy smiles and touches.

When the whole group met again weeks later, you ran into William's arms. He was one of your dearest friends. He held you tight, and you talked. You've known each other since childhood. He noticed a change in your behaviour. When he asked if the Spaniard was the reason for your cheerful mood, you just smiled and he just knew. Pero was cutting wood. He tried to ventilate his anger on it. Of course, you ran into William's arms - he was the prince on the white horse you probably imagined, not the rude Spanish grobian that Pero thought he was. It hurt him to see you with him. He had no right to be jealous, but he couldn't help himself.

And so, when one of the whores who was travelling with the group offered him her warmth, he did not refuse. He followed her into the woods. But when she kissed him, all he thought about was you. He wanted to leave her, but as soon as he opened his eyes he found that you had seen it. Your eyes were full of tears, and your face was red. How could he ?!

You ran away, but Pero followed you. Was it possible that you really liked him? He knew he loved you with all his heart, but he was afraid of your rejection. You were far from camp when he caught you.

"Go away!" You shouted.

"It's not how you think!" He said, slowly approaching you. He had to explain it to you if there was a chance you felt the same way.

"You kissed that prostitute! I saw it with my own eyes! After all those weeks together, you replace me with a prostitute!" You shouted. You didn't want to sound desperate, but you felt that way. Your eyes were full of tears that you could barely see.

"I didn't think that there was something more between us!" He said, bowing his head. "I thought you were just doing me a favour..."

“I was not doing you a favour, you idiot! I was only loving you... "

Pero remained frozen in place. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He wanted to hold you in his arms and kiss you, but he couldn't. He had no right to do it.

"Go away! I do not want to see you anymore!" You shouted as you might, and he obeyed.

He couldn't sleep all night. He couldn't get your crying eyes out of his mind. He was tormented by the memory. He loved you with all his heart. He do not knows how to fix this, but he knew he desired you to be the mother of his children. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to see you carried his child under your heart.

And so at night, far from the camp, he made a great fire. He pulled out his tools and began manufacturing. He did not own any expensive metals, but he could process the iron so that it shone beautifully. He had never worked on anything so important, so he was very careful and precise. When it began to dawn, he held a tiny shiny iron ring in his hands. He hid it in a small leather pocket and put it near his heart. It belonged there.

As the group went, he hypnotized your back. You felt his gaze on your back, but you didn't want to turn around.

The whole group stayed in the inn. But you wanted to watch the moon. And he took the opportunity. You wanted to flick him off, but he was urged to speak.

"Listen to me. Please…" He shouted to drown out your screams.

Resignedly, you sat down on a wooden bench.

"I never believed that the words you said yesterday would ever be given to me. I could not imagine how such a perfect creature could love a man like me. I don't have much, just a few coins, but I want you to be my wife.” He knelt on both knees in front of you and put a simple ring in your hands. "If what you said yesterday is still true, marry me! I swear I just kissed her to forget you. I was so jealous that you talked and hugged William. I couldn't do more. I was still wanting you to be there. I want you to be the mother of my children. I'm old enough to stop being mercenary. I want to build you a house and raise our children in it.” He was desperate. He didn't want to be without you. No woman was like you. "Say something!" He said quietly, placing his head regretfully on your knees.

After a long moment, you stroked his hair. You loved how delicate they were.

"Get up, you donkey!" You ordered with a smile on your lips. Your eyes were still full of tears, but they were tears of joy. You took the ring from him and put it on your finger. It fit perfectly. Pero was always playing with your fingers when you were asleep. He kissed them and blows to them to keep you warm so he knew the exact size of your fingers. He tried to remember every part of your body night after night that he spends with you. He used to think that it will end up soon and the memories will be the only thing that he will have after you will left him for your precious prince.

But now, when he realised you want to spend life with him, he takes you to his arms and swore he will never let you go, Never leave you and he will always love you. He is going to give you everything. He loved you more than his life.

As I said at the beginning- this is my first attempt so all critics is welcomed 🙌🏽 feel free to leave me a comment - if you had idea of some place or prompt I can add to poll - leave it at comment section ♥️

Love you all xoxo

✨Your Maiev ✨

[willow-lane]

I saw [WILLOW LANE] at a coffee shop in [BROOKLYN] today. I forgot how much [SHE] looks like [MADELYN CLINE]. They are a [TWENTY-THREE] year old [WAITRESS] who’s been in NYC for [A YEAR] now. Every time we run into each other, they are always [SPONTANEOUS AND FREE SPIRITED] but I’ve heard people say they can also be [NON-COMMITTAL AND SELF-INDULGENT]. [OUT OF THE BLUE BY KATIE PRUITT] reminds me of them every time it comes on the radio. / @villagestart​

Hello everyone! I’m Ella and I’m super excited to be part of this roleplay and introduce Willow to all of you, she’s a new muse but she’s based on an old muse of mine so I think I have her figured out or mostly lol. I’d love to plot with all of you, so please like this or hmu. If you want my discord, I’d be happy to give it to you, just ask :D

basics

NAME: ava willow lane

NICKNAME: will, lolo, pillow

GENDER: cis female

PLACE OF BIRTH: burlington, vermont

DATE OF BIRTH: september 28, 1997

AGE: twenty-three

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual

OCCUPATION: waitress

NEIGHBORHOOD: brooklyn

background

Burlington was a dream within a dream, the station next to heaven. A town in love with itself and whose residents gloated about the wooded land, creased by hills, and threaded by streams. 

The Lanes were living the typical American dream: the big house with the white picket fence, a large backyard and two perfect children. It was dreamlike.

Their kids could count themselves lucky and Willow Lane certainly did for most of her life. As the youngest daughter of a successful surgeon and a renowned psychotherapist who taught at the University of Vermont, she was taught that receiving an education was the only way to get ahead in life.

Her parents made sure to set their kids to success and while most of the kids from her street were out there playing, she was holed up in her room, reading the stacks of encyclopedia books her parents bought me for her birthday. 

As a young child, Willow was filled with a sense of wonder, and encouraged by her curious personality she wanted to learn everything.

By the time she was in the sixth grade, she was smarter than most of the kids in her class, still her parents reminded her every day that she must outrank them all. Her parents took pride in her achievements. They were quick to boast about it in public, but they remained strict in private. Anything less than gold didn’t deserve a place on the wall.

Her afternoons were always full. Whether it was ballet class, french lessons, piano lessons or soccer practice. She had no time for herself.

Then high school started and by then she was overworked. Tired of chasing perfection and only being met with a “try harder”. 

TW: DRUGS, ADDICTION, VOMIT MENTION, PANIC ATTACK: While she was still number one at her school, it was taking everything in her to keep it that way. Her parents didn’t know about those panic attacks she suffered at night or how she threw up before any competition. To them, she was handling well and she was very good at pretending but she also had a little secret. In her sophomore year, she was introduced to Adderall and she was quickly hooked. END OF TW

When she got accepted into a prestigious university, her parents didn’t hesitate to brag about how their kid would attend an Ivy League but Willow was mortified. 

Back in Burlington, she was the biggest fish in the sea but at Princeton there were students who were better and shone brighter than her. 

Maybe it was because she was suddenly cast into a whole new world that was so different from the one she grew up in. Maybe it was because she had harbored a bit of resentment towards her parents for her wasted youth. Whatever it was, by the end of her freshman year, university had swallowed her up. 

TW ALCOHOL, DRUGS, DEPRESSION She got into a bad crowd, drank herself into oblivion, partied harder than anyone, and developed a penchant for bad boys who were much older than her. All this while trying to maintain a perfect GPA. Thanks to her magic pill, she was able to function and not feel guilty about not being as perfect as her parents wanted her to be. After all, she was only trying to recover the freedom that they took from her. 

But this coping mechanism only turned to worse. The more she tried to drown her feelings in alcohol, the harder it came to bite her in the ass. It was clear as water: Willow Lane, picture perfect daughter, was depressed and had been for a while, and now it had caught up to her. 

She was fighting a battle she was slowly losing. Willow was in a constant state of helplessness, staring into the void, and completely unable to pull herself out of it. If it hadn’t been for the upbringing she had, she would have been completely fine with self-destruct. END OF TW

The summer after her freshman year, she came back home and decided to have a talk with her parents. Her parents sat across the table, and they were not celebrating the end of a successful first semester, instead, they were fuming with betrayal. 

Willow told them that she had dropped most of her classes and she explained to them how she was exhausted beyond repair. They were displeased, so disappointed that looking at them was painful. For the first time in their life, their perfect daughter had failed them.

By the end of the evening, her father was livid. Threatened her that if she didn’t take more classes and got excellent grades he would stop paying her tuition. That’s when it hit her. To her parents, she was nothing but an object, an accomplishment to brag about to her friends. That was not love, that was selfish and a wake up call.

She packed up her stuff that evening, went back to Princeton and emptied her dorm as well as she dropped out completely. 

Freedom at last. With only a few bucks in her account, she bought a random bus ticket that took her to Montreal, Canada where she stayed for a couple of weeks, while working as a waitress before she moved to a new location. For the past three years, Willow has been living off a backpack. 

She moved to New York a year ago, but she comes and goes. Whenever she gets bored or too attached to someone she escapes. 

She’s been clean for three years when it comes to Adderall, although she still drinks but only socially.

personality

Despite her strict upbringing, Willow is a free-spirit! She’s always looking for a new adventure and she wants to live her life to the fullest, she doesn’t care about rules or schedules. She lives a pretty hedonistic lifestyle, always chasing a high in life and sometimes that makes her take some reckless decisions. A naturally loving person, Willow is always there to lend a shoulder to cry on or offer to wipe off your tears, however, she does struggle with connections. If she feels a deep connection with someone she runs away as she believes that being attached to someone will tie her up to one place and as we know, Willow lives a pretty nomad life. She keeps coming back to New York because she loves the vibe but when she gets bored or overwhelmed she leaves without warning. As loving as she is, she can also be ruthless and cold, especially when feeling vulnerable. She has a sharp tongue and it’s not afraid to hurt some feelings if that means shattering the pristine image some people have of her.

headcanons

She has a rib cage tattoo that reads “Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.” It’s a quote from Sylvia Plath.

Speaks French fluently and sometimes she likes to pretend she’s a lost French tourist just for fun.

Volunteers at the animal shelter. Because she doesn’t have a set home, she can’t have a pet but she loves animals.

Never has enough battery on her phone and sometimes she sings in the subway to earn some coins because she tends to forget her wallet.

Really good friends with the homeless woman who lives down her street, she brings her food from the restaurant.

Keeps many scrapbooks from the places she’s been.

Sometimes she goes to music stores and plays the piano, one of the few activities she enjoyed as a child.

Loves reading and whenever she’s not getting in trouble or working, she’s at the library.

Wears too many rings, so don’t try to mug her.

connections

Older brother: Willow has an older brother who followed her parents’ plan. He graduated college and now has a very important job. Willow hasn’t spoken to him in three years, even if he’s tried to contact her. She just doesn’t want any ties to her old life, including her family.

“Best Friend”: I put it between quotations because she doesn’t stay in one place long enough to actually form long lasting friendships but this person is the closest to that. She adores them and actually sends them a postcard when she leaves.

Partner in crime: As stated, Willow is pretty reckless and she does a lot of stupid shit but she’s always seeking for someone to be her partner in crime and just go crazy with them.

Co-workers/Clients: She works as a waitress at a restaurant (if your character has a restaurant let me know, bc idk where she would work). 

Neighbor: She lives in a small apartment in Brooklyn with two other roommates, it’s not ideal but it’s what she has.

College friends/hook ups: Oh during her college year, she was a party girl and she made a lot of “friends” (She attended Princeton btw) and also hooked up with a lot of people (f/m/nb), most of them were older than her.

Flirtationship: She is a natural flirt and she doesn’t even try to hide it.

Unrequited: Maybe your character has a crush on her (and depending on chemistry maybe she does as well but since she moves often she tries to ignore it). It’s angsty, it’s fun, give it to me. (f/m/nb)

Hook ups: Y’all know the drill

Bad tinder date: Willow thought it would be fun to go on a tinder date and she proposed some crazy scheme and they both had to spend the night in a jail cell.

Roommates: She lives in Brooklyn with two more roommates.

[cecilspeaks]

169 - The Whittler

Let us go then, you and I When the evening is spread out Against the sky And pick up some Dell Taco for dinner. Welcome to Night Vale.

Beyond our town, past the Sand Wastes, in the Scrublands, sits the old general store. An oaken cabin style A-frame with boxed windows and a covered patio. On the porch there sits a swinging bench and upon that bench sits an elderly man, his face crumpled like a discarded letter, his eyes like tire tracks hidden beneath the shady brim of a straw cowboy hat. The old man holds a block of Elmwood the size of a potato in his right hand, and in his left, a carving jack. He whittles away at the knot of food, shaving off small corners, making detailed lines and indentations. The wood is all his world. And this world is quiet in his lap, on his bench, on his patio, before his general store amid the Scrublands past the Sand Wastes, which curl about Night Vale like the gentle but calloused hands of a father holding a newborn. As the old man whittles, he whistles sad songs with no words. But all those who hear the notes know they are bout loss. That they are about loneliness. But no one hears those notes. Not yet. No one sees the old whittler, nor his general store far out in an uninhabited stretch of desert. Not yet. If they did, they would wonder how an old general store, which was not there yesterday, was suddenly here today, a shop that by all accounts had weathered decades of abusive heat, wind, and isolation. They would hear his sad song, and the universal language of wistful sorrow would hide from them their understanding of time.

Let’s have a look now at sports. This Saturday night, the Night Vale High School Scorpions basketball team begins the district tournament. The Scorpions, having finished the season 18-2, earned the number 1 seat this year, but face some tough competition in their bracket. In the first round, they must battle another basketball team. This is logical, because most basketball tournaments feature other basketball teams. But the other basketball team is considered weaker than the Night Vale Scorpions, because a series of accumulated numbers indicates this is so. Should the Scorpions make it out of the first round and into the semi-finals, they would likely battle the number 4 seed, Nature. A tougher matchup to be sure, as Nature is unpredictable and ubiquitous. Nature’s style of play is best described as capricious and random, sometimes showcasing an array of flashy skills like sunny days, crystalline lakes, and otters. But Nature is a lockdown defensive force with effective momentum stoppers like lightning, quicksand, and poison ivy.

And in the finals, the favorites to compete for the title are Night Vale High School versus themselves, perhaps the toughest battle of them all, as each player must confront their harmful secrets, painful pasts, and darkest nightmares. Themselves are able to match the pace and power of Night Vale’s offensive and defensive sets, and we expect an excellent game. Good luck, Scorpions!  

Most days the Scrublands are absent of humans, unapproachable and hostile. Today is not most days, as a line of Night Vale citizens has formed outside of the general store to see the old whittler and his wood menagerie. Parents ask for photos of their children with his work, and he only whistles and nods nearly imperceptibly. It could almost be interpreted as a slight twitch of the neck, rather than an affirming nod, but interpretations grow liberal when want is high.

Fathers and mothers snap pictures on their phones of children accepting gifts of wood figurines from the old man. The kids stare into the thin black ellipses that pass for his eyes, searching for the charming smile of elderly approval. But instead, seeing every single constellation of the night sky inside slits as thin as thistles and as black as tar. The historic expansion of the universe cannot be fully understood in words or even human thought, but it can be comprehended in the eyes of the tanned, wrinkled stranger.

The old whittler does not charge a penny for any of his work. He does not smile nor accept the many thank-yous coaxed out of the young ones by their manner-minded handlers. Nor does he accept requests. Children have many mascots, heroes, and cartoons that they love to possess via keepsake totems, and they repeatedly ask the old man for whittled representations of their favorite things, like Pokemon characters or one of Pixar’s anthropomorphic cars, or even Ted Allen, host of Food Network’s long running cooking competition “Chopped”. But the old whittler only carves what he carves. And he carves tiny horses, little cowboys, old-timey wagons, armadillos, tigers, tractors, almost anything you can think of. He finishes his sculpture of a koala bear and hands it to Amber Akinyi, who looks at her husband Wilson Levy, who is holding their sobbing, screaming 16-month-old baby Flora. The couple smiles together, never knowing that this balsa koala is everything they could have ever wanted beyond a loving family. Wilson begins to cry at the simple beauty of this craft. Amber begins to cry at the feeling of being understood, and young Flora stops crying as she fawns over the 6-inch tall antipodean marsupial, cartoonishly gnawing on a eucalyptus leaf.

The whittler also carves people. Small human figures, yes, like firefighters and ballerinas and clowns, but also actual people. Harrison Kip told the old man he wished to be happier in his own skin, and the old whittler grabbed Harrison’s cheeks and brought Harrison’s round, soft face before his own crinkled countenance, and Harrison screamed. He screamed in fear of what the old man was about to do. He also screamed in joyous anticipation, and the two screams were discordant like adjacent keys pressed simultaneously on a church organ. The old whittler pressed his knife against Harrison’s chin and began to pull the blade back, using the force of his thumb and the trunk of his forefinger. He repeated throughout Harrison’s assenting and defiant shouts, and after a few moments, Harrison stopped yelling and stood. His jaw squarer, his nose thinner and longer, his shoulders broader. And Harrison smiled.

Soon, the whittler began carving houses, roads, and city buildings. They were larger than the koala, much larger, for they were full-sized renditions of these things. He sliced and sawed away at block after block of red oak, hackberry and peachwood, forming new arteries of city travel, whole blocks of residences, and even cultural landmarks and venues. And the town of Night Vale, in a single late morning, began to expand into the distant and uninhabitable Scrublands of our desert.

Let’s have a look now at horoscopes. Gemini. Bury yourself in your work today, Gemini. Pile that garbage high and rest your weary head beneath its odorous, but comforting weight. Cancer. No more Mr. Nice Guy, Cancer. Today you are Mrs. Disinterested Lady. Get out there and be uninvolved in everything. Leo. You’re the talk of the town, Leo. Word after word is about you, and it is juicy! Like a rare steak, like a blood orange. Juicy like 2008 coutoure. Whew! You should hear what they’re saying. Virgo. You are not what you seem to be, Virgo. You seem to be a blackberry shrub, overreaching and prickly. But really you are a human, squishy and small. Continue to be the thorny fruit-bearing bush, though. Libra. You seek balance, Libra, but you are as lopsided as wealth disparity graph in an economist’s classroom. Share your worth, distribute your value fairly and compassionately, Libra, for the villagers are sharpening their tools. Scorpio. Hey Steve, love you pal! 

Sagittarius. Your (-) [0:10:42] in relationships is going to be your downfall, Sagittarius. You’re an obsidian monolith, towering over everyone, absorbing all light, except the faint reflection of those who want to know what glows inside your stony façade. You don’t have to be a diamond, Sagittarius, or even quartz. Just try for salt lick, OK? I think you can achieve that. 

Capricorn. Oh the games you play, Capricorn, you wicked little sea goat! You naughty caprine ocean dweller with your horns and scales, vexing us with your riddles and labyrinthian logic! The stars offer no advice for you, Capricorn, only envious praise. Aquarius. Put your money where your mouth is, but wash that money first, Aquarius. It’s been in so many other people’s mouths, ever since we added Jolly Ranchers as legal currency. Pisces. You’re swimming upstream, Pisces. Figuratively speaking, of course. I mean you are a human who does not need to actually swim upstream for food or a mate. Get out of the metaphorical stream and avoid the damage you’re going to do to your body and soul. Except for you, Tim. You’re a woodchuck, who is literally swimming upstream. I don’t like you, Tim, because you are eating my tulips. You can drown. Aries. Fake it til you pretend to make it, Aries. Taurus. Don’t hide your feelings, Taurus! Frame them! Display them ostentatiously on the wall. Mount them on plinths behind velvet robed (-) [0:12:33]. Curate an exhibit of your feelings, Taurus. Charge admission.

And now the news. The Night Vale City Council deliberated today on whether the old whittler in front of the old general store in the Scrublands was friend or foe to our town. Those voices arguing in favor of the old man celebrated the huge municipal expansion he was creating so quickly onto undeveloped land. 

“This new infrastructure would have taken us dozens of years and millions of dollars to deploy, and he has accomplished it all in half day!” these voices said in unison. “Plus,” they added, “he whittled a little army man for my kid, a bracelet for my wife, and a sweater for our cat. It’s everything we ever wanted!”

The dissenting voices, and they were few, could only argue that he failed to acquire proper permits for any of this construction, let alone an outdoor vendor’s license which is mandatory even for giveaways. Excepting restaurant samples, marketing promotions, and military dispersion of chemtrails. The many-voiced, uni-bodied creature that is the City Council, huffed in nearly unanimous support for this old man. His sad whistling, his prolific whittling, and his beneficence to our city. “Did you see?” said there of the voices, “that inside the general store there’s everything you could ever need. Cans, boxes, shelves, counters! Walls. It’s amazing. Everything is craved from a single block of wood, and it’s all connected! No glue or bolts or rivets anywhere.” “He’s a deft hand,” concurred four other voices. “How does he even find single blocks of wood that huge?” wondered a solo voice aloud. “Whatever!” the entire City Council roared in unison. “That old man is a superb whittler!”

And now financial news. [hysterical laughter Ha ha hahahaha hahaha every-everything’s fine! It’s just dandy! Uh, thank you for asking.

And now back to our top story. Out in the Scrublands, an entire wooden suburb has grown from the withered hands and sharp knife of the old whittler, who has for the first time today, moved from the porch of his general store. He stands now upon a stage, a round platform on the center of a great amphitheater, which he personally carved deep into the cracked, red rock of the desert floor. The people of Night Vale gather and sit on wood plank rows, which curve in a semi-circle around the old man on the stage. Each person in attendance holds in their hands a whittled object given to them as they entered the audience space. The items are all different, esoteric, and unique, each item and unexpected gift of the whittler. Each item the very thing they have always wanted, even if it was never what they thought they wanted. They hold gently their presents, protecting them with their very lives. The whittler, with his straw hat still shading his keyhole eyes and riverbend mouth, stands before the people of Night Vale who sit in an arena of his own making, each cradling a beloved statuette of his own making. The old man reaches out and takes the hand of his bride. She, of course, is of his own making as well. She is craved of weeping cedar. Her veil, though entirely wood, is somehow translucent, and her sorrowful eyes are faintly visible behind the intricate work of the whittler’s blade. The old man whistles once again, and the crowd whistles along with him. They know the song now. It lives in them like longing, like blood. Like a soul. They know every word of the wordless (-) [0:16:51], and the notes of loneliness spread across the Scrublands to the mountains’ edge and echo back in the key of hope, with a lilt of contentment and satisfaction. They will only be happy when he is happy and he is, indeed, happy. As the whittler clutches the hand of his newly carved betrothed, the clouds part, revealing the happiest thing of all: The weather.

[“Embroidery Stars” by Carrie Elkin http://carrieelkin.com/]

Into the Scrublands I went, myself already as happy as I could ever be for I was with my own true love, my husband. I journeyed to see the whittler for myself, as an effort of journalism, a chronicler of interesting events. I wanted for nothing. My happiness cannot be improved. Or so I believed.

When I arrived, the whittler more than 100 feet a way, and through a mass of thousands, greeted me with a nod so unobtrusive, I believed it to be a trick of the eye. But from the distance, I could see the whole of the universe in those dark eyes under dark shadow, behind the final violet of sunset. I knew he meant me.

Carlos and I stepped to the podium, and the old man opened his palm to reveal an original carving just for me. I had hoped it was a Nintendo Switch, but it was a [sea plane] [0:23:05]. Carlos, like a child on Santa’s lap, cooed and asked the old man for a superconductive supercollider. And the old whittler, his burlap cheeks heavy with gravity and history, reached into the breast pocket of his (-) shirt and handed Carlos a tiny wooden rose. Carlos hugged his rose to his chest, and I my (sea plane). The whittler took the hand again off his bride and gazed upon her, her veiled eyes met by his boundless stare. They stood like that for more than an hour, not speaking. The only sounds were the cicadas chirping and the crowd whistling.

But the tune faded, and soon only the cicadas cut through the silence of a still desert twilight. And one of us, Larry Leroy, stood and walked on to the stage. He touched the old man’s shoulder. The old man did not turn. He did not speak. He collapsed into black ash. Then his bride, then the seats beneath us, it all gave way to crumbling nothing. Then the buildings and roads and even the general store turned into ash. Finally, every one of our object dissipated, like Eurydice almost free from Hades. A gentle cool breeze arrived to sweep our hope away.

We returned home, wordless, with occasional whistles of the whittler’s tune, once again in a sad and lonesome key. Our cherished gifts, we told ourselves, were nothing more than baubles, ephemera, however blessed or magical. They were mere things, not love, not family, not true love, they were objects, toys. Props. Distractions. They were everything we have ever wanted, because we could hold them, see them, touch them. We can no longer do that, but we can remember what it was like. The rough of the wood against the soft of our hand.

Stay tuned next for our new game show: “Name all the nouns!”

And as always, good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Give a man and a fish and he’ll wonder what your deal is. Teach a man to fish and he’ll ask you once again to please leave him alone.

[welanabananaworld]

A Quiet Place - When silence  becomes survival

Imagine a world in which every single sound means death.

Here is the kind of post-apocalyptic world depicted by John Krasinski (The Office) in his first movie as a director, A Quiet Place.

2020, the world has been invaded by hostile and sightless creatures with hypersensitive hearing that kill anything that makes noise. What is left of the world are deserted and desolate towns. The streets are empty, the shops are abandoned. Not a living soul in sight. Only the brave dare to venture there in search of food, medicines or basic items. The Abbott family is one of them. Forced to communicate in Sign Language, Lee, his wife Evelyn and their three children, Regan, Marcus and Beau, try their best to survive by banning any noise that would give their position away. But how can you silence a child whose age rhymes with sensorial exploration? In the opening scene, four-year-old Beau finds a space shuttle toy on a shelf in the supermarket. He tries to grab it and almost drops it by accident, but his father catches it up just in time. Lee takes it away from his son because it is a battery-operated toy which is likely to generate noise. As a loving sister, Regan returns it to her brother without the batteries. Unnoticed, Beau grabs them and meets his family outside. On their way home, they suddenly hear an electronic sound…

In this film, everything is a challenge to silence : childhood, puberty, family life, relationships, parenting. All of these spheres and their dynamics are undermined by silence in return, thus threatening the family balance and making life itself an act of survival. One wrong move and you are sure to be dead. However, the story is not just about survival. The family does not only endure the adverse circumstances but also fights back, hence Evelyn’s unexpected pregnancy one year after Beau’s death. Life goes on after all. This pregnancy helps keep them sane and, in turn, Lee and Evelyn provide the same sense of normalcy to their children by building them a home in the countryside "protected" by ingenious devices meant to drown out noise. Though a victory over despair, Evelyn’s pregnancy still represents an actual danger for the whole family as one can imagine.

Childhood is a challenge to silence because being a child is noisy. A child bursts with life and always wants to play. A child is unpredictable, reckless and is not aware of the risks around him. The opening scene shows full well the difficulty to control a child’s actions. Later on, Regan and Marcus get excited when playing a board game and spill an oil lamp which sets fire to the floor. This is one of the first major noises one can hear and which threaten the whole family. This scene shows that despite all their efforts, the slightest lack of inattention is sufficient to ruin everything they have built so far, thus revealing how fragile their self-imposed discipline is.

Puberty, family life and parenting also challenge silence because they all imply direct communication. Throughout the film, Regan tries to impose herself as a grown-up person, but her father seems to keep pushing her away. Lee also struggles with Marcus. He wishes to harden his son who is always frightened and doesn’t know how to deal with his fears. Without communication, misunderstandings emerge and can disturb family relationships. Without words, it is a difficult task to guide and channel young people’s emotions. Regan's disability (deaf mute) precisely personifies the damage of a lack of communication within the family circle.

As for Evelyn’s pregnancy, it is a shock. Who would think about giving birth to a child in this post-apocalyptic world where death is ever-present? What about the labour itself? Everyone knows that a woman can’t help screaming when delivering a baby and that a new-born comes to life with a cry. This universal fact gives a new perspective regarding life. Life is anything but silence and shouldn’t be otherwise. The paradoxical situation encountered by the family is visually symbolised by the baby’s cot. Made of wood, the cot does also include a kind of wooden “cover” meant to be on top. The baby would be inside with an oxygen mask on him and the cot would then be closed with the cover. Designed to reduce the baby’s cries, this cover makes the cot oddly resembles a coffin. When referring to the soon-to-be-born baby, the ideas of life and death are inseparable. Having a baby means hope for the future but also can bring death to the whole family if not careful. This way of proceeding is another proof of the Abbotts’ ability to adapt and come up with ingenious devices to protect themselves.

The silent childbirth scene is the most frightening scene of the film. Chased by one of the creatures who heard a noise (Evelyn stepped on a nail), Evelyn is about to give birth after her waters broke and seeks refuge in the bathtub after sounding the alarm. The tension is unbearable. Evelyn is all by herself in the house and she can’t scream despite the pain that overwhelms her. The creature is getting closer until Marcus triggers the fireworks upon his father’s request. The sounds of the fireworks allow Evelyn to scream at last. The narrative tension, based on anticipation, uncertainty and investment, grows slowly to a crescendo that grabs the spectators’ guts to the point of getting him exhausted at the outcome, proving the director’s ability to master suspense devices.

In this film, the narrative role of the non-existing voice is to dehumanize the characters. By losing their voice, by being forced to hide and tiptoe, the family members are reduced to fearful animals lurking in the shadows or to ghostly figures who wander in this world of deafening silence.

Not everyone agrees with this state of submissiveness. In a particularly disturbing scene, Lee runs into a confused old man who just lost his wife. Determined to end his suffering, the old man looks right in Lee’s eyes and starts shouting, waiting for one of the creatures to come and kill him. This desperate gesture may appear as a surrender, but it can also be read as an act of bravery. The old man wants to decide for himself. The only thing still in his possession is the control over his own death. The process of getting back his humanity and sense of free will passes through the voice, through an ultimate scream.

The other meaning of this scene is to give a clue about what might be the outcome for one of the characters. This seemingly random encounter has more to offer than a pure moment of tension. As a mirror scene, it acts as a prediction, as a bad omen. Indeed, an ultimate scream is all Lee possesses and can figure out to save his children from sure death. Trapped in the car, Regan and Marcus are being mercilessly attacked by one of the creatures. The only solution is to create a diversion. In a highly moving moment, Lee looks right in his children’s eyes and says “I love you” in Sign Language as an ultimate gesture of fatherly love before screaming at the top of his lungs.

While the forced silence, also used as a metaphor for the unspoken resentments, may have created conflicts within the family circle, the voice, for its part, solves everything and clears up any misunderstandings. By sacrificing himself, Lee proved his love to his children who doubted it for a moment. Regan felt guilty for her brother’s death and thought that her father held her responsible for it. As for Marcus, he thought his father didn’t like him because he was not tough and brave enough. They both realise how much their father loved them. This is a film not only about survival but also about communication. By expressing their voice, in any form, they become a family again in which communication is the driving force behind the family unit.

Regan, the eldest child, turns out to be the key element for destroying the creatures. Deaf and dumb from birth, Regan is the only family member used to live in complete silence. Everything around her is nothing but silence. Paradoxically, her disability is a burden because she is unable to evaluate the noise she is making with her body, that is why she is not allowed to go down the wooden stairs to the basement. Throughout the film, her father keeps trying to arrange a hearing device to make her hear again but each time it is a failure… or at least it is what he believes. Whenever a creature gets close to Regan, her implant starts emitting an awful piercingly-loud high-frequency sound which hurts her and the creature as well. Both Regan and the creature’s heads seem to be about to explode from pain.

At the end of the film, Regan places the implant on a nearby microphone in order to magnify the sound and disorient the creature who is invading the basement in which the whole family seeks refuge. While suffering, the creature exposes the flesh beneath its armoured head, giving a chance to Evelyn to explode its head with a shotgun. Now the Abbott family knows where the weakness lies, nothing can stop them.

In this film, sound reveals itself as both a threat and a solution to the problem the family is facing, thus making sound a full-fledged character in itself. As John Krasinski puts it, “we knew that sound would not only be the main character, but the character. It’s actually the thing that frames the entire movie together.”

A Quiet Place contrasts with traditional thriller horror films as it uses minimal sounds and dialogues to build tension, thus forcing the audience to keep quiet as well and identify with the characters by only hearing normal everyday environmental sounds.

[applegelstore]

Orchestra AU thoughts in three charming parts

A few people voiced their interest, so I figured I could explain what’s actually behind the orchestra AU idea, since this one isn’t exactly a crossover with some other franchise, and therefore you can’t guess any context from what you know about the other part of the crossover :,D Feel free to skip, it’s just text, but if you wanna talk orchestra AU with me, please go ahead! Warning, way too long post ahead (why did I spend an entire afternoon on this?):

PART 1 (basics)

The AU as such is the one where nothing hurts and everything is musical jokes (or musical sex jokes in Zaveid’s case) and shameless geeking. And it’s actually supposed to be a cross-Tales thing. With Rollo probably following Ludger wherever he goes like a dog, and nobody ever minds. And Phi probably following Velvet around, and nobody minds that, either.

So far I’ve deduced the ensemble from official material as follows:

Jr. Conductor: Cress

Jr. Jr. Conductor: Phi (in training, probably. THEN AGAIN CRESS SHOULD STILL BE IN TRAINING, TOO, HE’S 17, LIKE 90% OF ALL JRPG PROTAGONISTS EVER)

Solo Soprano: Tear, Lailah (not official, but try to fight me on these ladies)

Solo Bass: Zaveid (come on, he’s bass)

Solo Piano: Mikleo (this isn’t official either, but you can try to pry the “Mikleo plays piano” headcanon from my cold, dead hands)

Violin: Mint, Ludger, Sorey


Viola: Alisha (I guess it’s supposed to be another violin, BUT IT LOOKS SO BIG)

Cello: Velvet

Double bass: Richard

Flute: Milla, Mikleo

Clarinet: Rose (and probably abusing it to stab people)

Trumpet: Jude, Elize, Dezel

Trombone: Eleanor

Percussion: Rokurou, Luke, Edna

As you can see, we don’t have a FULL orchestra yet, but we also have a fuckton of games left.

PART 2
 (what most of you are here for. The Sormik spinoff)

…Everything was plot- and painless, until my unhelpful brain decided that we need some Sormik spinoff, some sort of plot, and also some fantasy/dark fairytale shit because I always fall for that. Also there’s the thing that we never learn in the game who the heck Mikleo’s father is, so there was room to fill with AU material. So, some of you may know that I’m a huuuuuge Seventh Wonder fan. If you didn’t, now you know. Seventh Wonder are super duper fucking amazing, and Tommy Karevik is a god. …Ah pretty ripped hipster teddybear god. Okay, back to topic. So there’s this song, King of Whitewater, which is about a water spirit luring in children (…and their relatives) with beautiful violin melodies. From this general theme, my unhelpful brain deduced the following, dark fairytale-ish concept:

When she’s still young and naive, Muse meets the very lonely water spirit. Eventually, she feels pity for him and falls in love with him. But sooner or later she misses a normal human’s life in a normal human town, and when he doesn’t let her get away and turns violent, she runs away, highly pregnant. She refuses to tell anyone who’s the father; the only one he trusts is Michael, who agrees to help her raise the child, too. They hope everything will be well. Yeah, you all know who that child is. Anyway, the water spirit is pretty heartbroken, and that makes him even more violent, and also feel betrayed for that yet unborn child. And from that day on, starts luring in little children who never see the light of day again.

Muse doesn’t know about this. And leads a normal life, believing she escaped.

All is fine until someday during a scouting trip in the woods between Camlann and Elysia, little Sorey and Mikleo get lost in the woods and accidentally find a mysterious (TM) lake. It’s surrounded by mist so thick they can hardly see anything, but all the time, soothing, beautiful violin music plays. Because that’s how the spirit lures in children. Because he wants his child back.

To which little Sorey of course violently disagrees, but it’s not like two little children had much of a chance to escape, so Mikleo talks the spirit into a compromise: stealing children isn’t okay, no matter the circumstances. At least wait til I’m of age. And please stop killing other children in the meantime. The spirit agrees and lets them go. Sorey is of course a crying mess. Somehow through his tears and apologies he manages to promise Mikleo that the spirit won’t get him. And Mikleo trusts him. Problem is that the spirit isn’t exactly stupid either, so he enchants the children so they forget everything that happened instead of like, running for help. Oh, except the song (which is the violin solo in King of Whitewater btw). They never forget the song. They just forget how and where they learned it, and ever since that scout trip it’s their personal thing that they often play for fun, believing it to be some kind of nursery rhyme. And nobody ever suspects a thing.

Everything is perfect. Everything is beautiful. They grow up to be smart kids and with wonderful grades in school. They become marvelous musicians. They meet wonderful friends in high school. Of course they eventually start dating.

But then Mikleo’s 18th birthday draws near and for a couple of weeks, things get weird. He gets nightmares in which he drowns or gets lost in the mist, nightmares in which Sorey dies or simply gets missing, nightmares that he can’t make sense of. He hears the song all the time in his head, failing to remember where he’d learned it. The morning after his 18th birthday party, he wakes up in Sorey’s arms and everything ought to be great and perfect, but somehow it isn’t. He asks Sorey whether he remembers the song they learned as kids. Or how they learned it. What’s it called, even. He doesn’t know, but he remembers the song and plays it for Mikleo. And suddenly, bit by bit, Mikleo remembers. So does Sorey, but much slower.

Sorey leaves for college and Muse and Michael are already gone for work, but Mikleo stays in bed because he’s tired. Sorey has a bad feeling about this (TM) but leaves him be. Mistake. When he gets back home, Mikleo is nowhere to be found.

AND HERE’S THE PROBLEM. I’m stuck here. I have not the slightest idea how to fix this and stop Mikleo from getting lost in a lake in the woods for the rest of his life. Sure, okay, Muse and Sorey violently disagree, BUT WHAT ARE THEY SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT IT. Violent violin battles are some of the less ridiculous “solutions” that have come to my mind so far.

If anybody knows how to give this thing a happy ending that doesn’t involve any deus ex machina moves from any end, I’d be grateful.

The worst thing about this is that experience tells me that I’d have zero trouble to actually leave Mikleo lost in the forest for the rest of his life if this was one of my original stories. Most of them are made of pain and suffering, seasoned with cute animals and super-natural shit for balance.

PART 3 (random Sormik related tidbits)

-Camlann is a tiny, mountaineous town which they love very dearly -they have to travel quite a bit each morning for high school and college (the former where they meet the rest of the squad) and later on to study some music or history related, they still visit their families often because they like it so much -I kinda want Selene to retain her maiden’s name and make it Shepherd for the sole purpose that Zaveid can then continue calling Sorey Sheps -also I came up with this bit about their living situation -shortly before Sorey and Mikleo start dating, they borrow the keys to a concert rehearsal room at some point, so they can practice their grand piano/violin duet a bit (Mikleo only has a piano at home, not a grand piano). It’s gonna be part of a huge concert thing, so it’s only one part of the show with an entire orchestra and occasionally other solos or duets -a hurricane cuts off all public transport for the evening and the entire night, and it’s also goddamn dangerous not to have a roof over your head for the time being -so they’re trapped in the rehearsal room until morning when the storm has subsided and public transport is also working again -once they’re too tired to actually practice once the evening gets late (like. very late. more like middle of the night/morning), they abide their time watching the storm through the rehearsal room’s hugeass windows -at some point, sleepy hormone rushes favor the confession and kissing bit -they have fond memories of thunderstorms afterwards -when she eventually hears about the thing, Rose is hollering with laughter because she probably had bets going that it would take them getting locked up in a room to finally confess and make out after years of mutual oblivious pining. She wasn’t entirely wrong, and probably made lots of bucks with her bet -anyway, when they finally perform their duet weeks later, the entire audience agrees that their duet was one of the evening’s highlights, and Sorey probably spends all evening smiling like an idiot and happily holding Mikleo’s hand -considering that the whole thing could be shamelessly crossover-y, I might get flutist!Milla giving flutist!Mikleo kindly big sister advise feelings (no, not relationship advise, because she’s the worst at that. Hey, not everything has to be Sormik-related) -not sure whether she’s still a vessel for Maxwell, but if lake spirits are a thing, why shouldn’t Maxwell be a thing -fun fact: I hate suits.

[psychotherapyconsultants]

7 Ways to Take Action Against Your Biggest Challenges

These could be very good times. We might look back from the future and tell stories about how people of all ages, and race, and belief systems gathered to create new ways of living in a sustainable way on this planet. That against all of the odds, they changed systems, and programs, and reversed what looked like a one way road to destructing the planet.

That could be our story, if we have the courage to stand in that possibility. If there is anything we know, hope, desire, wanting… are dangerous emotions. Because they require risking that you might not get what you want.

Last December I was sitting in a café in Paris trying to digest the final moments of the signing of the UN Climate Talks treaty. I was attending with a team of policy wonks from the global south, assisting them with their communication strategy. In the final moments of the signing of the treaty, the U.S. slid a word into the legal document that released them from responsibility to the treaty. The woman next to me, who lived in the global south, whose hometown was being threatened by a hurricane as we watched this, began to weep. Climate change was not a concept to her. It was in her front yard.

A couple hours later, we were trying to find a reason to celebrate, if not just that we were in each others’ company. One of the women I was working with turned to me and said, “I’m sorry Leah, we should have told you we’re always on the losing team.”

Nothing rang true for me in that statement. Losing would have meant not putting in the effort to make sure that the world had access to the information and context to understand what was happening and what was a stake. Losing would have meant not showing up. What happened that day was just one part of a larger story that wasn’t finished.

So the question remains, what do we do when facing what appears to be insurmountable challenges of our time?

Remember This: You Matter.

I didn’t say you are important. I said…You Matter. What you believe, speak to, and take action on influences the world around you. When you play into believing the lies that you can’t change the world around you, that the problems are too big, there are too many issues to solve, that the world is out to get you, and that you don’t matter, that is when you become victims to other peoples’ form of manifestation.

Focus your attention on what you can influence.

Listen: Madly. Deeply. Honestly.

Listen for what is calling to you, and focus on it. This will bring you the energy you need. We will all be different spokes in the wheel at one point or another, so listen for where you are called to use your influence. If you hear water, it might be Standing Rock calling. Or it might be the watershed in your hometown calling for your attention. You may run for local city council, or you may teach children. Same same. As long as you are listening for what is calling, we’re winning. Working on what you are passionate about will in turn feed you and fill your life with like minded people.

Identify one or two issues that you will dedicate yourself to.

Go On a Media Diet.

Be specific about what news sources you rely upon. Find and follow a few good writers who are dedicated to covering the issues you care about. Treat your news intake like a well-managed stock portfolio, and create good balance. Pay attention to what people of opposing views are reading so you can understand their point of view. Don’t let yourself become a pawn to clickbait, and educate yourself about how news is created (it’s an entertainment industry across the board. Let’s not forget that the horror movies sector is a prosperous business). Commit to reminding yourself that that the news feed is not the whole story, and create a balanced meal of information and inspiration.

Take control of the external forces that influence your perspective of the world.

Make Beauty Everywhere You Go.

Creating beauty during an era of fear is a form of a resistance. It is claiming your relationship to the creative force and connection to the divine. Walk in beauty. Create beauty. Give random acts of beauty. You will nourish us, yourself, and you will feed the planet in ways we may never truly understand.

Find delightful ways to make the world an extraordinary place to live.

Nourish Yourself and Party for the Planet.

Feed your friends. Nourish your neighbors. Have extras for strangers. Make music, dance and celebrate and honor the people, places and things that you love. Some of the best parties I have ever been a part of were with people using their life force energy to protect the planet. So dance yourself alive, sing yourself awake, and feed the fabric of existence through the celebration of life.

Nourish the spirits by celebrating what it is to be human.

Kill the Martyr.

You are not going to save the world. (Sorry for bursting that bubble.) There are so many people on the planet who are activated in the name of transformation, you don’t need to take it all on by yourself. We don’t need your martyrdom. Or your exhaustion. Or your overwhelm. We need the wisdom you receive when you walk with the woods. We need to feel the calming sensation you hold after being held by something larger than yourself when you come from the ocean. We need your juice. And yes, we need your blood, sweat and tears. Every day. Work with others who are also holding what needs to get done.

To run a marathon, you must be well nourished.

Change the Story.

How can you change the narrative from fear of what you don’t want to happen, to what you do want to happen? Writer, astrologer and activist Carolyn Casey tells a story about a journalist who changed the story of the outcome of being held hostage when he changed the script. After watching his fellow prison mate be murdered, knowing he was at risk of also being murdered, he started thanking the prison guards for protecting him. He repeated it over and over, thanking them for protecting him from the dangers outside. They started acting differently toward him. They started telling him how they were protecting him, and he was eventually released. How can you change the story in the most unexpected of ways?

Write the script for the reality you want to live in.

***

When rivers hit constricted areas, rapids are formed. Large rapids can be frightening. As you approach, you know the dangers: you could flip, lose everything in your boat, or even drown. But you have to focus on your goal: to find the sweet spot in the center of the rapids, because once there you will be working with the power of the river, rather than against it, and the flow of the river will carry you through to calm waters. The art in rafting is not about how hard you paddle, rather, it is about how well you can read the water, and how skilled you are at positioning yourself to ride the sweet spot…so you can enjoy the ride.

This post courtesy of Spirituality & Health.

from World of Psychology https://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2017/03/09/7-ways-to-take-action-against-your-biggest-challenges/