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nebulize-my-mind · 10 months

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Blackbird

Summary: There's always time for a ghost story on Samhain. But this one's more about birds. (AKA Blackbird doesn't know who this small child belongs to and has only known him for an hour, but they would absolutely send the birds to peck out the eyes of his enemies if necessary.)

Word Count: 1.6K (1,659)

Original Work: Urban Legend/Fantasy, Cryptids (kind of)

Relationships: Gen (no pairings)

I'll put the link to AO3 below if you prefer that format, or you can just read on under the cut. Everything's the same, even the A/Ns. Thanks!

Blackbird - Asey_the_Ghost - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

A/N: Hello, have my late-night sudden-inspiration original work oneshot. Might change the title later, who knows.

Blackbird

“Hi!” They looked up sharply, surprised, as a small boy sat next to them on the cold bench in the square, the one left uncovered except for the last autumn leaves that clung to a few trees. Though the sun was no longer very high in the sky that day. “I’m Dexter, but everyone calls me Dex. I’m a cowboy for Halloween!” It took them a second to even think of responding, the raven on their other side staring as well.

“I suppose I can see that… it’s an excellent costume.”

“Thanks!” he beamed. “I like yours too.” The corner of their mouth curved upwards, and they hid a little laugh with one hand.

“Why thank you.” The raven clacked its beak. “Yes – Mister Dexter, I do believe there’s a saying about strangers?”

“Nah, Pasha told me about you! So, you’re Pasha’s friend,” he stated decisively.

They blinked. “Oh, Pasha?”

“Yep!”

“And what did Pasha say about me? All good things, I’d hope,” they ventured, locking eyes with the corvid by their thigh.

“Pasha said you like birds!” He scooted to the edge of the bench and peered around them. “Like that one!”

“True, I love ravens,” they said, not turning from the bird perched on the stone next to them. The white, draping cuff of their shirt fell away from their hand as they reached up to stroke its head ever so gently. “I could never choose a favorite, oh no. I love the crows and the grackles and the ani. All of them. I simply love ravens as well.”

Dex adjusted the cowboy hat on his head, the band a little too wide, as the bag of candy by his side swung with his legs, too short to touch the ground. “Is that why your Halloween mask has a birdie beak?” Pale grey eyes darted to him, wide behind the black mask that left the white skin of their lower face exposed.

“My Hallo—ah.” A finger ran along the length of the long, artful beak that was covered in the same woven texture as the rest of the covering. “Yes, child, I suppose you’re right. It is no Medico della Peste, Pantalone, or Zanni; but I do share a beak with my friends right now.” The raven had hopped onto their lap when they uncrossed black-clad legs and preened at the attention.

“You have bird friends?”

“Of course! We are quite good friends, I believe.” The boy leaned closer, tilting his head more like a puppy than a bird. They smiled down at him softly. “Would you like for me to introduce you?”

“Yeah!”

“Well then,” they nodded, then smoothly spun to a stand with a flourish, the raven now wrapping its talons around the circumference of the forearm that was positioned loftily above their head. “Mister Dexter, allow me to present the Raven – trickster, creator, omen. Companion of kings, gods, and magic, it who holds blue in black.” The bird croaked quietly, spreading its wings briefly before fluffing proudly as it was lowered before the speaker. “Raven, this is Mister Dexter.”

The little cowboy held out his hand as his father had taught him to do when greeting new people. “You can call me Dex!” The creature lowered its head and jerkily tap-tapped the outstretched fingertips, cocking one pitch eye to meet brown ones. “Cool…”

“You know, there were two very famous ravens up north once – far, far past Milano, Paris, and even Belgique. Their names are Huginn and Muninn.” Their voice carried, lilting, through the lantern-lit park in the dusky evening, the slight clamor of children rustling through pillowcases and wrappers at the doors of the brownstones fading into the background. The raven flapped to their shoulder, ruffling the feathery black hair as the story sparked in both black and grey eyes. “They are Thought and Memory, these Ravens, and they accompanied a certain king of gods, Odin, a god of many things. They sat at his sides and captured the god-king’s ear, as they can fly over the entire world in a day and have much to tell of it.”

“The whole world?” Dex murmured hesitantly, almost afraid for the words to interrupt. But the storyteller simply smiled, and the songlike hum and silken rustle took them in warmly.

“Yes, hatchling. For Odin only had one eye, the other traded for wisdom unknown, and Huginn and Muninn more than made up for anything it missed. And though the god-king worried for his advisors on their flights, the Ravens never fail to return.” The one on their shoulder gave an almost offended toc-toc-toc at the mere concept and they settled it with careful fingers running through the iridescent feathers, neither minding the returning tocs. “Yes, yes… the Ravens see all and so the god saw all, they his eyes and mind. They see life and they see death, Huginn to the hanged and Muninn to the slain [1]. The Thoughts and Memories of the dead are theirs.” They blinked, perhaps for the first time in a while, and noticed the boy’s puzzled brow. “Ah, never mind the last bit, hatchling. A story fit for Samhain, but do not worry, the Ravens have much more to see of your life.”

He scrunched his nose when they tapped it lightly, giggling. “So, they were Moo-nin and Hu-Hu—”

“Huginn, yes.”

“So, does this one have a name?” A short finger pointed towards the corvid still on their shoulder and with a strand from the fluffed mass of hair in its beak sheepishly. They turned to it, mindful of their mask’s own beak, and the two eyed each other. A moment passed before they turned back.

“Quite gentlemanly of you, Mister Dexter, but I don’t believe you can pronounce it.”

He huffed as much as his small lungs would allow, bringing a hand up to his chin in deep thought. They waited patiently, ignoring with amusement the way the raven decided their hair was a lovely place to nestle. “Well, I can say a lot of names! Momma says I’m a big boy. But I can give the birdie a nickname! Like Dex!” he nodded surely. “It’s short for Dexter.”

“That’s a lovely idea,” they chuckled. “What were you thinking?”

“Hmm… Jamie!”

“I think that’s perfect, what do you think, friend?” The raven whistled cheerfully, tugging at another bit of hair. “Ah – yes, yes, you are pleased. Jamie is very happy with the nickname, thank you Mister Dexter.”

“You can call me Dex,” he declared, “like I said.”

The corners of their eyes crinkled with the smile as they replied, “And you can call me Blackbird, Mister Dex. However, I think it’s time for you to be getting home with the other children. As pretty as the stars are, they are hard to see with all these lanterns and it’s late for little hatchlings.”

“It’s not bedtime, Momma said I could trick-or-treat with the other kids because it’s Halloween! And look at all my candy!”

“A bountiful harvest!” they chuckled when Dex opened the top of his bag and thrust it almost into their mask-beak. “But see, here come the parents to pick everyone up.” Wide brown eyes looked up and sure enough, there were the fathers and mothers and guardians stepping into the square or leaning out the window. The calls of names rushed back in to fill the night air, covering the rustling of feathers, and clacking of beaks. A woman in a long skirt and a straw hat covering dark blonde hair that matched Dex’s strode near the edge of the bustle, just beginning to scan the crowd of kids.

The boy sprung to his feet. “Oh, I see Momma! She’s a cowboy too!”

“Well, you better fly along then,” they said as one hand came up to situate the cowboy hat back out of his face, the other running through their hair to return it to some semblance of order and causing Jamie the raven to vacate back to the bench. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mister Dex.”

“You’re cool too!” Dex yelled, already running off. “Happy Halloween!” The boy turned over his shoulder to wave at the figure sitting between the trees, moonlight glinting off the eyes and feathers of an entire unkindness of ravens that covered more branches than the few bare leaves did. They raised a hand in a small wave back from the shadowed bench.

“Blessed Samhain and clear skies to you! Give Pasha my regards!”

They watched fondly as he flailed through the gathered people to get to his mother, almost hitting a number of children with the bag. She swept her son into a hug, eyes catching the gathered birds with slight bewilderment at the number and sliding right over them.

“You had a good time trick-or-treating, Dex?”

“Yeah! I saw Pasha’s friend!”

“Pasha’s friend?” she questioned.

“Yep, Blackbird!”

“Oh, did they have a bird costume?”

“Mhm! Over there!” But by the time the boy had turned back around, they were gone as a gusty fall gale rushed through the street and blew his hat into his face on its string – covering the swirling departure of all but a few of the ravens.

“Oh, they must’ve left already sweetheart. How about we get home too, that wind’s chilly!”

Dex nodded, sleep beginning to wind through the small boy’s mind as the excitement of the holiday ended, and he let his mother carry him the few blocks to their building with a smooth gait. The following morning, he would wake up and find a raven – Jamie, he was certain – leaving a shiny piece of still-wrapped candy on his bedroom windowsill, then share it with an amused Pasha as the babysitter listened to the whole rambled story.

And Blackbird sat perched on the fire escape rail outside the living room, surrounded by ravens and crows and yes, even little blackbirds. Quite content to ignore Pasha’s bewildered double-take.

[End]

A/N:

The Norse mythology in this story is not meant to be 100% perfectly accurate, I took a little bit of artistic liberty, though I did my best to still respect it. All information came from my personal knowledge or from Wikipedia pages on the common raven, Huginn and Muninn, and Odin. I also used a line that Wikipedia cites from the Third Grammatical Treatise, “Huginn to the hanged and Muninn to the slain,” which is marked with the [1]. It just sounded better than anything I wrote!

The translation of Belgium is from Google Translate, and the names of Italian masquerade masks from a site called Vivo Masks. It was very brief, surface-level research.

Blackbird, Dexter, Dexter’s mother, and Pasha are all original characters and any resemblances to anything is coincidental and unintentional. This was just a fun little writing thing I decided to do on a whim, written between 11 PM and 3 AM because I’m insane.

I do love Blackbird though, they’re a brainworm that’s been around for a long time. And they’re an absolute disaster of an urban-legend-cryptid-person-thing. Like normally they don’t talk to anyone except the birds because they’re an anxious mess, but they have a soft spot for kids and are surprisingly good with them. Also, Pasha keeps tracking them down because Pasha is this world’s “normal human way too involved with the weird part of the city” and has taken it upon himself to try and manage everything by making sure the “normal humans” and “urban-legend-cryptid-things” don’t hurt each other. And since Pasha is Dexter’s babysitter and panics every time Dexter wants a story, he tells the kid watered-down versions of urban legends he encounters. Yeah… Pasha’s kind of a disaster too

To close off, a little bit from my brain that didn’t really fit into the story:

Pasha, squinting suspiciously: So… what’d you do last night? Y’know, Halloween? Blackbird, not looking at him: Nothing. Pasha, disbelieving: Nothing? Blackbird, sweating: Not a thing, I must depart, goodbye! *flies off with the birds* Pasha: Hey – wait! Blackbird! Get your cryptid ass back here!

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firstprince-ao3feed · 4 months

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Balls to the Wall

Balls to the Wall https://ift.tt/eGnkWyE by inexplicablymine “He looks kind of like a cross between a sickly Victorian orphan and the personification of the bubonic plague. I feel like I should be walking in with a Medico Della Peste plague mask and a stick,” Alex says into the phone while wearing his version of a hazmat suit (last week's sweats that need to be laundered expeditiously). He looks out into the carnage of his sleeping bedridden roommate in dismay. So maybe he doesn't need to rob a bank, but robbing a Starbucks for Henry’s happiness might be in order. He rips off the rubber gloves and grabs his shoes. “Fuck it, we ball.” Or Alex is willing to go to great lengths in order to make Henry happy, great lengths indeed. Words: 5294, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 3 of 12 Fic's of Giftmas Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Percy "Pez" Okonjo, Original Characters Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Sickfic, Heist, Robbery, but not really, Starbucks, Medicine Ball Tea, IT IS THE ELIXIR OF LIFE, at least according to Henry, Good Friend Percy "Pez" Okonjo, Wingman Percy "Pez" Okonjo, Getting Together, Getting Arrested, not in that order, Roommates, Alex Goes On An Adventure, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Love Confessions, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Crack, Attempt at Humor, your honor the author tried their best via AO3 works tagged 'Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor' https://ift.tt/36TamOp December 26, 2023 at 08:39PM

#IFTTT #ao3feed #red white and royal blue #rwrb #firstprince #inexplicablymine

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progettostrega · 7 months

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#witchcraft #art #strega #witch #progetto strega #medico della peste #plague doctor #witches #prepared noises instruments #music #noise #prepared bass guitar

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diceriadelluntore · 1 year

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Epidemie

Si dice spesso che un grande romanzo è quello che racchiude in sé, oltre sue le storie, un Tempo che il suo autore ha voluto fermare nelle sue pagine. Questa è ovviamente una delle possibili soluzioni alla domanda su cosa sia un grande romanzo, ma se vogliamo tenerla per buona, questo che ho appena finito di leggere è un grandissimo romanzo. Orhan Pamuk, premio Nobel per la letteratura nel 2006, torna con un libro che si rifà negli intenti ai romanzi storici dell’Ottocento, quelli di Tolstoj, di Manzoni, di Stendhal: Le Notti Della Peste (Einaudi) Lo è nella struttura, nell’incedere, nella costruzione della trama. Ma è allo stesso tempo tempo una grandiosa allegoria dei nostri tempi, soprattutto di un epocale biennio appena passato.

Tutta la storia è incentrata nei circa 240 giorni che sconvolsero l’isola di Mingher, tra aprile e ottobre del 1901: isola fittizia, è situata sulla rotta che da Alessandria d’Egitto porta a Smirne, non lontano da Creta. Perla dell’Impero Ottomano, in quei tempi sull’orlo della dissoluzione, è famosa per l’acqua di rose, la bellezza dei paesaggi e per la pacifica e centenaria convivenza tra i romei, ovvero le diverse popolazioni orientali di tutte le regioni dell'antico Impero bizantino che utilizzavano il greco come lingua franca nei servizi liturgici, per i commerci e gli affari, i musulmani e le altre minoranze. Ma dall’Asia sono arrivati, su una nave proveniente da Honk Kong, dei ratti portatori di peste. Ai primi segnali, su una nave che trasportava anche una principessa nipote del Sultano, Pakize, con suo marito medico, il dottor Nuri, scende il Dottor Bonkowski, il massimo esperto di malattie infettive dell’Impero, con il suo fido assistente, Dottor Ilias, tutte e due inviati dal Sultano. La prima cosa che trova Bonkowski è la reticenza delle autorità che non credono ci sia la peste, infatti tutto sembra scorrere come sempre: arrivano le navi dagli altri porti, le strade brulicano di commerci, i minareti e i campanili chiamano alla preghiera. Ma basta una settimana a Bonkowski per confermare, scientificamente, che è in atto un’epidemia di peste. Subito la voce percorre le strade, sono già in atto le prime azioni di contenimento e di quarantena, quando il Dottor Bonkowski viene trovato senza vita. Pochi giorni dopo stessa sorte toccherà al Dottor Ilias, avvelenato durante un pranzo. Il Sultano ordina al Dottor Nuri di indagare sulle morti dei due medici. In un drammatico crescendo di eventi, la peste dilaga, acutizzando e frantumando quell’equilibrio che aveva regnato, magari fittiziamente, sull’isola: ogni decisione ha troppe implicazioni politiche, religiose, di diplomazia internazionale (l’isola è contesa dalle grandi potenze europee che fiutano la malattia dell’Impero intero), dove si intrecciano vecchi dissapori, nazionalismo, paura della scienza, obblighi tradizionali. L’isola ne verrà totalmente sconvolta, in modi talmente travolgenti che la Storia verrà totalmente cambiata, facendo anche di chi era lì per altri motivi radice storica e comunitaria indelebile, pedina indiretta di una nuova speranza.

Questo è un libro monumentale, per l’idea mondo che contiene: le analogie, le sensazioni che trasmette nelle sue oltre 600 pagine, sono un motivo per ricordare ciò che tutta l’umanità ha appena passato, non si sa nemmeno ancora se definitivamente. È un affresco che brulica di personaggi, di strade e monumenti inventati, di personaggi storici e di religioni, tradizioni, profumini e cibi esotici, e che indaga a fondo e in maniera esemplare alcuni dei problemi dei nostri giorni: il legame tra paura e potere, tra particolare e generale, tra fede e ragione, tra pratica e scienza, tra passato, presente e futuro.

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lamilanomagazine · 8 months

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Verona: il premio San Rocco 2023 all'Associazione "La nostra casa" ODV centro di accoglienza fondato da Don Bruno Pozzetti

Verona: il premio San Rocco 2023 all'Associazione "La nostra casa" ODV centro di accoglienza fondato da Don Bruno Pozzetti. Alla chiesa di San Rocco a Quinzano la consegna del premio che si ispira al Santo che ha dedicato l'intera vita ad assistere e guarire gli ammalati di peste. L'Associazione "La Nostra Casa" è stata fondata nel 1981 a Peschiera del Garda da don Bruno Pozzetti insieme a un gruppo di volontari e svolge attività a favore delle persone in stato di disagio sociale e nel settore della disabilità. Un riconoscimento a chi dedica gratuitamente il proprio tempo alla cura, all'assistenza dei malati ed è sempre pronto a rispondere alle richieste di aiuto in caso di bisogno. È stato consegnato oggi all'associazione "La nostra casa" odv Centro di accoglienza fondato da Don Bruno Pozzetti, il Premio San Rocco, giunto alla sua 52^ edizione. La cerimonia si è tenuta questa mattina alla chiesa San Rocco a Quinzano, nell'ambito della tradizionale Festa di San Rocco, alla presenza del sindaco Damiano Tommasi, del Vescovo di Verona Monsignor Domenico Pompili e del parroco di Quinzano Don Pierpaolo Battistoli. Il Premio San Rocco viene assegnato ad una persona o associazione che, come recita lo statuto, "si è distinta nel soccorrere in ogni forma e con ogni mezzo i malati e quanti soffrono nel corpo e nello spirito per cause di mali fisici o dedichi gratuitamente la propria opera in favore dei sofferenti, anche nella ricerca medico-scientifica". Rocco di Montpellier, francese di nascita con origini lombarde, visse nel XIV secolo e fu devoto a San Francesco d'Assisi, a cui si ispirò lasciando i suoi beni per intraprendere un cammino fino a Roma come semplice pellegrino. Un viaggio attraverso un'Italia flagellata da guerre e dalla peste, durante il quale guarì miracolosamente tanti ammalati. A lui si ispira il premio, che vuole riconoscere la preziosa attività delle associazioni che operano nel nostro territorio, sempre in prima linea e pronte a tendere la mano verso chi ne ha bisogno, come ad esempio quando purtroppo la storia si è ripetuta anche nei giorni nostri con la pandemia del Covid. La cerimonia di oggi dunque è stata sì un momento emozionante e coinvolgente, ma anche di profonda riflessione sul ruolo di ogni singola persona e sul ruolo della comunità, per sottolineare ancora una volta quanto sia importante aiutare il prossimo e quanto sia inestimabile il mettere a disposizione di chi cerca aiuto il proprio tempo. "La nostra casa" odv Centro di accoglienza. Fondata da Don Bruno Pozzetti nel 1981, è un'associazione di volontariato che opera a favore delle persone in stato di disagio sociale e prevalentemente nel settore della disabilità. Ai rappresentati intervenuti oggi sono state consegnate una medaglia d'oro e una pergamena. Per informazioni sull'attività dell'associazione https://www.lanostracasaodv.it/ Il Comitato San Rocco. Svolge attività di valorizzazione del luogo, del Santuario e delle tradizioni, tramite iniziative culturali folcloristiche e religiose con particolare attenzione al mantenimento e al recupero del patrimonio artistico e storico.... #notizie #news #breakingnews #cronaca #politica #eventi #sport #moda Read the full article

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