#something about the landscape in classic is so special

[shriika]

keep me in a cool dry place

[forthelostones]

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ➺ 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 #4

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. everyone wow thank you so much for the love on for your eyes only! it means so much. here’s something a little different, hope you enjoy. any requests don’t hesitate to drop ‘em, xx jstar.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. hypotheticals by lake street drive ♫

https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/

I didn’t bother looking at my watch during our session and somehow I noticed the sun was nearly gone. A fist tightened in my stomach when I realized how long she had been in my presence without me being aware of the fact. I can’t remember a time when my social battery grew instead of depleting. 

Technically, I should be tired since I stayed up filtering through applications and cleaning my entire place simultaneously. But it was something about her that energized me. Even motivated me and made me excited about this project. She gave me a sense of agency, which I haven't felt in the last decade.

“You built these bookshelves, didn't you?” She snorted in disbelief as we traveled to the living room before her departure. 

“I did,” I said, in the kitchen as I fetched myself a beer, feeling proud at the recognition. 

I followed her manicured finger trace at the edge of the panels. She twisted her head sideways to read the dusty titles on the shelf. Even though I only saw her back, I knew her mouth was open in astonishment at my first edition copies of classic books, something I’ve been cultivating for twenty years. I bring the tinted bottle to my lips and stand with my free hand on my chin. 

She tucked her index into an original print of The Well of Loneliness. She looked over her shoulder quickly to check if I was watching her, which I was. I quickly diverted my gaze towards the floor and sipped. “I’ve had that book for a while,” I say. 

“Is it okay if I…” 

Her voice became silent, almost a whisper as if she’d be in trouble if she muttered a word about the novel. 

“Of course. Please.” 

I gesture towards the couch and she pulls the untouched book from the shelf as if it were delicate china and sits on my worn sofa. I bit the corner of my mouth as I saw her sit right where I lay my head and I took a seat on the farthest end away from her. She crossed her legs and brought the grey-shaded book onto her lap. The pages were stale and yellow-ish, almost crumbling under her careful touch. She followed the inside of the spine with her thumb, straightening the first page and a shiver traveled down my spine to my toes. 

“From the library of Abigail Anderson.” Her voice drops an octave, loose and saturated in a sexy chuckle. I wanted her to repeat my name just like that until her voice was hoarse.

I knew my cheeks grew bright red and I had the inclination to press the bottle to my face to cool my embarrassment. The embosser was a gift from an ex-girlfriend and she took the liberty of pressing it into every book I owned, even my most valuable ones. 

“You like that?” I smile, concealing my trembling lip with the neck of the bottle and thumb. 

“I wish I had one but my books aren’t special enough.” 

“What do you like to read?” 

“Same stuff you do.” 

That stuff is novels that exclusively includes women.

Her eyes linger with a glint that can only be described as fervor like she never met someone who read lesbian fiction. I didn’t break eye contact like I had been for the last three hours. I took another sip to hold back a large, toothy grin. Her phone vibrated with another ricochet of text messages, which she continuously ignored. But soon she broke our quiet pact by reading the messages and excusing herself to the next room. Her voice has a quiver in it although hushed. 

“Ellie. I’m sorry I just—okay. Okay. I know I am sorry. It just… Of course, I love you are you—alright. I’ll see you soon.” 

She comes back into the living room without moving back to her original spot. Her face was thick with an emotion I knew all too well. Dread. Maybe she needed an excuse to stay longer and I felt okay with that.

“I don’t know if you’re hungry or anything—” / “I’m gonna go—”. 

The jumble of words flusters us both and her grip tightens around her phone. The sight makes me think she could snap it in half right there. Ellie, her girlfriend, definitely gave her a stern talking to. The little cat-like girl I met on the street couldn't have made her feel so small. She brushes a stray hair from her face that wasn’t there. Instead of confidence, I saw her shrink down twice in size. 

“Oh, yea of course,” I rub my hot neck.

Her eyes dart towards the copy of The Well of Loneliness. 

“You can borrow it if you want to.” 

Instead of traveling around the couch, she let her body swipe past me as I rose from the couch. Our clothes mingled in a private dance just before she slipped on her shoes and fiddled with the door. With the book pressed to her chest, she turned to me, a mere two feet away, and thanked me. A silence fell between us. It wasn't awkward, but comfortable. I felt comfortable.

“Anytime, I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

What I wanted to come out as a statement became a question and I resented myself for it. I wanted her to know that I was going to see her.

“Hopefully. ‘Night Ms. Anderson.” 

“Drive safe, sweetheart.” 

A soft I will left her solemn lips and I watched the twinkle of her headlights illuminate my body. I raise my hand to wave her off but she turns her head before I can. I quickly tucked it away in my back pocket. My throat hardened seeing her car drive away.

As I closed the door, the lingering silence of the house struck me strongly. The missing book from the shelf made me feel hollow in a way. I was glad that she took it but I wish... I don't know. I finish my last sip of beer and toss the bottle out. I walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower.

The water offered me a clarity the cool breeze outside could not. I was relishing in a former life that I wish I had done differently. Craving someone who truly understood me and appreciated who I was. I never got that. My heart pumped with anxiety-ridden blood. Painful memories that I shoved away threatened to —

My hands are on the sparkling tiles, spread with 2 inches in between. I press my eyes shut and try to understand where I stand. It feels like the calm beads of water transformed into pebbles. Hitting my skin with an angry vengeance I could not place. The steam inhibits me from getting a deep inhale. I can't move. I open my eyes and soften my knees. I find the strength to reach for the knob and draw my body onto the floor. My knees come to my chest and I count until the water turns cold.

I opened the windows in my bedroom and listened to the chirping of cicadas. I close my eyes and walk backward onto the perfectly made bed. Instantly, my back melted. Why was I denying myself this? I lay with my feet dangling and was disrupted from the lingering sleep by my phone in the living room.

7:30 PM: What have you gotten me into Ms. Anderson?

She sat with the book in her lap, the only blankets around being a plum-colored top sheet. Her legs held the book and a small light illuminated the first page. Her thumb held the right page and her index and middle in the crease. I could imagine how she rubbed them against the paper like earlier. I stared at the photo and fell deeper into the elements of it.

7:35 PM: 400 pages is nothing, You'll do fine.

A bubble appears and vanishes.

7:36 PM: It's actually 448 pages, thank you very much.

7:37 PM: My apologies. 48 extra pages won't kill you.

7:38 PM: You don't know that...

7:40 PM: I think I do.

7:41 PM: Well, we can discuss what you think you know tomorrow...

My fingers twitched to reply but it was clear that she desired to be left alone. I couldn't determine why these casual conversations left my face aching, but they did. I reflected on how long it's been since I went on a date. The number enters my mind and burns slowly like a forest fire. The sides of my head throb as I slip under the blankets.

to be continued...

[nameless-ken]

Silent Confessions, Loud Masks - Billy Hargrove x Reader Series

(Please reblog!!!) Happy reading! Comment below to be added to taglist.

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: bullying, fight scene, cursing, the usual angst and fluff

Introduction | Chapter one | Chapter two

Masterlist

(song for this chapter <3)

The neon lights of the state fair illuminate the warm August night. You and Robin weave through the crowd, laughing and chatting as you take in the sights and sounds. Cotton candy vendors, Ferris wheels, and carnival games fill the air with excitement.

“This is my favorite time.The end of summer. The amazing smell of funnel cakes in the air.” You sniff the air, stomach grumbling. 

“Oh, you know we're getting some of those. But first, let's check out the petting zoo!” Robin shouts, excitement dripping from her voice. 

As you make your way through the fairgrounds, Robin spots Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan by a photo booth. You approach the group, exchanging greetings and catching up. Jonathan and your eyes meet. You used to see him around school, a familiar camera always hanging around his neck but not much anymore since he graduated last year. 

“Hey, Y/N right?” Jonathan introduces, holding his hand out to you. 

“Yeah, nice to officially meet you Jonathan.” The warmth of his touch lingers in yours for a moment longer than necessary. You never noticed how cute and shy he was until now. 

“Nice camera.” You compliment, pointing to the camera resting against his chest. 

“Thanks. Are you into photography too?” He asks you, leaning against the photo booth that Robin, Steve and Nancy are in, arguing over what expressions to do. 

“Yeah, it's a hobby of mine. I love capturing moments.” 

“That's cool. What kind of camera do you use?”

“Oh, I have a Canon AE-1. It's my pride and joy. What about you?” Jonathan's eyes light up at the mention of the camera.

“No way, I have the same one! It's such a classic. There's just something special about shooting with film, you know?”

“Absolutely! The whole process of developing the film and seeing the prints come to life—it's magical.” You enjoy sharing a moment of understanding, how easily the conversation flows effortlessly.

“So, do you have a favorite subject to photograph?” He asks and you take a pause, surveying the crowded fairgrounds, deciding your answer. 

“Hmm, I love capturing candid moments of people, especially when they're lost in the moment and unaware of the camera. What about you?”

“I think I'm drawn to landscapes. There's something serene about capturing the beauty of nature. It's like freezing a moment in time.”

“It sounds like we have a lot in common when it comes to photography.” 

“Um, speaking of photography, there's this local art show happening on Saturday. I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?” You’re a little shocked at his forwardness and the invitation but smile in appreciation. “I mean, if you aren’t busy. I just thought you’d probably enjoy it and-”

“I’d love to!” You give his arm a squeeze in reassurance. Jonathan's shy smile widens at your enthusiastic response, a wave of relief washing over him.

“Great! It's at this small gallery downtown. I heard they have some amazing photography exhibits.”

“That sounds so cool. I’ve never been to one.” 

As the camera flashes inside the photo booth, capturing moments of laughter and silly poses, Robin, Steve, and Nancy emerge with wide smiles plastered on their faces.

“How many shots did that take to get one perfect pose?” Robin sighs and Steve chuckles, playfully nudging Robin as they join you and Jonathan.

“Hey, it's quality over quantity, Robin. Besides, we had to make sure we nailed the perfect expressions.”

“I don't know about perfect, but I'd say we definitely nailed the "awkwardly adorable" look.”  Nancy laughs along, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

As you all share a lighthearted moment, the atmosphere shifts abruptly as Billy and his group of lunatics make their presence known.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here. The freak show. Shouldn’t you guys be getting back to the circus?” Tommy, an old friend of Steve’s and Billy’s new sidekick blurts out with a laugh, nudging Billy in the side. 

You look at Billy, watching his body language and assessing what he’s going to do next after he “promised” you to be better. 

“Leave us alone. We don't want any trouble.” Jonathan surprisingly steps up first. But Billy and his friends show no signs of backing down, reveling in their torment.

“Aw, did I hurt little Jonathan's feelings? Maybe he should go cry to his mommy and freak of a brother.” Tommy responds tauntingly. 

Carol joins in, her laughter ringing out like a bell. “Or better yet, maybe he can take some pictures of his tears. I'm sure they'd make great art.”

Steve steps forward, his expression hardens with determination. “That's enough Tommy.”

You look over at Billy again to find his eyes already on you, looking down at your hand. You didn’t realize you grabbed onto Jonathan’s arm when he spoke up and haven’t let go since. You see Billy’s eyes narrow and jaw clench. 

Without warning, Billy shoves Steve, his jealousy boiling over into violence. Steve staggers back, caught off guard by the sudden attack.

Steve squares off against Billy, his muscles tense as he braces for the next move. Billy charges forward with a fierce yell, his fist aims straight for Steve's jaw.

Steve reacts quickly, dodging Billy's blow and retaliating with a powerful punch of his own. The impact sends Billy staggering backward, but he quickly regains his footing, his expression twisted with fury as a loud cackle escapes his mouth. 

In the midst of the chaos, you rush forward, attempting to intervene and pull Billy away from Steve. But Billy, blinded by his internal jealousy, lashes out wildly, narrowly missing you as he swings his fists in Steve’s direction again.

Nancy and Robin work together to pull Steve away. Steve's frustration mounts, his eyes burning with determination as he tries to break free and confront Billy once more.

“Billy, stop it! This is ridiculous.” You push at his chest as your friends take Steve away as Tommy and Carol run when you notice security getting closer. “Let’s go before you get us in real trouble.” 

Billy grabs your hand, leading the way to his car. “So now you don’t care if people see you with me? What was the problem back there? That was so uncalled for!” You exclaim, dragging your feet behind him as you make it to the empty field that’s been transformed into a parking lot. 

Billy drops your hand once you make it to his blue muscle car, lighting a cigarette and taking big puffs, blowing the smoke at thes sky. "How long have you and Jonathan been a thing?"

"What?" You stare at him in disbelief, crossing your arms in defense. "He's just a friend."

Billy scoffs, shaking his head, signature smirk gracing his roughed up face. "You're naive if you think he just wants to be your friend."

Your brow furrows as you struggle to comprehend Billy's accusations. "What are you talking about? Jonathan and I are just friends. Even if we weren’t, how is any of that your business?"

Billy's eyes narrow as he steps closer, his voice laced with jealousy. 

“Because... because I care about you, okay?” You take a step back from him, the intensity of his words catching you off guard. You know Billy enough to understand how he’s probably never said those words out loud to someone before. 

“Just forget it.” Billy runs a hand through his hair and opens his door, getting into his car and roars the engine.

“Billy-” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, backing up quickly and speeds off, leaving you taken back by his admission. 

You stand in front of your mirror, fidgeting nervously with the hem of your dress. Robin flits around your room, pulling out various outfits and accessories.

“Okay, how about this one? It's cute and a little flirty, and perfect for a date at the art show.”

“It’s not a date, Robin.” You pout at yourself in the mirror, thoughts elsewhere as you try to shake off the lingering memories of Billy.

“Oh come on, the way you two were geeking out about cameras and shit. He’s so into you.” You force a laugh, but inside, your heart feels heavy with uncertainty. The moment of Billy's jealousy lingers, casting a shadow over your excitement for your evening with Jonathan.

‘Yeah, well, we're just friends. That's all.” Robin studies you for a moment, her expression filled with concern.

“Are you sure about that? Because it seems like there's something more there.” Robin asks softly, sitting on the edge of your bed with a pointed look. 

You shrug, trying to dismiss Robin's observation. “It doesn't matter anyway. Let's just focus on finding the perfect outfit, okay?”

Robin nods, sensing your reluctance to delve deeper into the topic. With a determined smile, she resumes her search for the ideal ensemble, hoping to lift your spirits and set the stage for an amazing night, regardless of what may or may not be brewing between you and Jonathan.

Jonathan's car pulls up outside your house, and you emerge, nervousness fluttering in your chest. Jonathan steps out of the car, a warm smile on his face as he approaches you.

“Hey, Y/N. You look amazing.” He opens the door for you.

You blush, grateful for his compliment as you climb into the passenger seat. “Thanks, Jonathan. You look nice too.”

As Jonathan starts the car and pulls away from the curb. You’re thankful for the conversation that comes easily between you as he drives towards the local art show, nerves slowly disappearing.

You both wander through the art gallery, admiring the various exhibits on display, pausing in front of a striking black-and-white photograph, lost in silent contemplation.

“This one is beautiful. The way the photographer captured the light... It's mesmerizing.”

“Yeah, I love how photography has the power to evoke such strong emotions. It's like a window into someone else's world.”

The silence between you feels nice, the shared appreciation for the art binding you together in a moment of quiet reflection. It’s refreshing to spend time with someone who shares the same interests. As you continue to explore the gallery, each new exhibit sparks conversation and sparks a deeper connection between you and Jonathan, solidifying this new bond formed through your shared love of photography.

As you both exit the art gallery, the crisp evening air greets you with the gentle hum of the bustling streets. You and Jonathan walk a block away to the local diner, one of your favorite spots in this sleepy town. 

As you and Jonathan walk inside, your eyes inadvertently drift to a corner booth where Billy and his friends are seated. You quickly avert your gaze, hoping to avoid any unnecessary confrontation. You both settle into a booth, hoping for once, Billy and his friends leave you alone. 

However, the air in the diner grows tense as Billy and his friends become increasingly boisterous, their voices rising above the ambient chatter. Your jaw clenches as you overhear some of their rude remarks, directed not just at you but also at Jonathan. You start to feel a surge of anger and frustration, but you try to maintain your composure for Jonathan's sake.

Jonathan notices the change in atmosphere and offers you a reassuring smile, silently urging you to ignore Billy and his friends. The tension in the air remains palpable, casting a shadow over the otherwise pleasant evening.

Jonathan tries to lighten up the mood and tells you the story of when Will got a lego stuck up his nose. You lean back in your seat, laughter bubbling up in response.

Billy's irritation mounts. He can't stand the way you look so carefree and happy in Jonathan's presence. With a determined stride, Billy stands up and walks over to your table, his smirk laced with malice as he takes a seat beside you, ignoring Jonathan's attempts to diffuse the situation.

"Billy, what are you doing?" Your voice is tinged with annoyance as you shoot him a warning glare, but Billy brushes off your protest with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Just thought I'd join in on the fun," Billy retorts, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jonathan tries to intervene, his voice calm but firm as he urges Billy to leave you alone, but Billy refuses to listen. The tension in the air thickens as your anger reaches its boiling point.

"Billy, enough!" your voice cuts through the diner as you confront him head-on. "You always have to ruin everything, don't you? Can't you see that you're not wanted here?"

Billy's smirk falters, realizing how much he’s affecting you in the moment and stands up from the booth. “Fine but don't come crying to me when this little thing of yours falls apart.”

Your jaw clenches at his hurtful words, patience wearing thin as you rise from your seat, Jonathan following suit.

“We're leaving.” You respond icily, glaring at Billy and grabbing Jonthan’s hand, pulling him out of the diner and into the cool night air.

“Are you okay?” Jonathan wonders as you walk to his car. 

You nod, slight tears prickling at your eyes due to the frustration you feel with Billy. It’s becoming overwhelming the way he picks and chooses when he’s nice to you. 

“Yeah, I'll be fine. Let's just get out of here.”

As you settle into the car, the tension begins to dissipate, replaced by a sense of relief as Jonathan starts the engine and pulls away. The soft hum of the car fills the silence as you drive through the quiet streets, each of you lost in your own thoughts over the ruined evening.

“Thanks Jonathan. I’m sorry for how the evening ended but I had a nice time.” You give him a graceful smile as he drives up to your house. 

“Thanks for coming with me. We should do this again sometime, you know, without the rude interruptions.” 

“Definitely.” you laugh lightly, opening the door and stepping out of the car. “Thanks again.” 

“Goodnight Y/N.” Jonathan says softly as you wave goodbye and watch him drive away into the night.

"Goodnight, Jonathan," you murmur to yourself, feeling a sense of gratitude for his understanding and support amidst the chaos that is Billy Hargrove. With a sigh, you turn and head inside your house, hoping that the next time you and Jonathan spend time together, it will be free from any unwanted intrusions.

Your heart sinks to the floor immediately as you walk into school on Monday morning, spotting Billy at your locker. He’s never willingly appeared anywhere you are, especially at school where everyone watches his every movement. You are still upset about the way he treated you and your friends this weekend, it almost makes you sick thinking about it again. 

Without a second thought, you quickly turn, hoping to avoid any confrontation. But as you walk away, you can feel Billy's eyes burning into your back, and sure enough, you hear his footsteps quicken as he strides after you.

“Y/N, wait!” He catches some students' attention as he calls after you across the hallway. 

Your steps falter momentarily, but you quickly regain your composure and continue walking, determined to put as much distance between you and him as possible. But Billy is persistent, stepping in front of you and blocking your path.

“Y/N, please can we talk?” Your patience is already wearing thin as you push back.

“We have nothing to talk about, Billy. If this is about our book project, it can wait until after school.”

Billy refuses to back down, he grabs a hold of your wrist, pulling you through the hallways behind him. His grip tightening as he crosses the gym and pushes open the heavy doors leading to the small alleyway beside the gym. 

“Billy, let go of me! You’re hurting me.” You cry and Billy immediately lets go. 

“I’m sorry.” Billy spits out frantically, softly grazing your wrist with his thumb. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

All you can hear is your heart pounding in your chest as Billy pulls out a cigarette, the smell of smoke filling the air as he lights it, his actions speaking louder than words. You watch him silently, waiting for him to explain himself, but he remains silent, his eyes clouded with a mixture of regret and need.

“Billy, what do you want?”

He doesn't answer, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You take a step back feeling the cold brick beneath you, a surge of frustration and confusion welling up inside you.

“Why did you have to do what you did on Saturday? And to Steve? I was having a great time, and you just had to step in for no reason.”

Billy's expression softens slightly at your words. “Did you mean it when you said I ruin everything?”

Your brow furrows in confusion, your memory flashing back to the heat of the moment inside the diner. “... I don't remember saying that…” Billy interrupts you, his voice tinged with bitterness as he stomps out his cigarette with his boot.

“Well, maybe you should, because it's true. That's what my dad has been telling me since I was a kid—that I ruin everything. And maybe he's right.”

The pain in his voice makes your heart break all over again for him. You didn’t realize how hurtful that can be to someone in his position. Your frustration slowly melts away as you realize the depth of his inner turmoil. You reach out tentatively, hand hovering in the space between them.

“Billy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.” He scoffs at your apology, eyes flashing with self-loathing.

“You don't get it, do you? You don't understand what it's like to feel like you're constantly screwing everything up. And maybe I am jealous, okay? Maybe I'm jealous because I'm afraid of losing you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his confession, your own emotions swirling as you struggle to process his words. You reach out to him, hand brushing against his arm in a gesture of comfort.

“Billy, you don't have to be afraid. I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be here for you.” He meets your gaze. “But it’s not an excuse for acting like an asshole. You said you’d try to be better and then you go and beat up Steve. When will things change?” 

“Fuck, I know, Y/N. And I'm sorry for what happened with Steve. I messed up.” You can see the pain etched into his features, the weight of his struggles bearing down on him like a heavy burden. He leans one arm beside your head against the brick, face closer than normal. 

“I understand what you’re dealing with, Billy. But you can't keep hurting people because you're hurting too. You have to find a way to deal with your anger and your pain without taking it out on others.” Billy's shoulders slump, his expression weary as he runs his other hand through his hair, breath fanning out in your face, hints of mint and tobacco filling your nose. 

“I know, Y/N. I'm trying, I really am. But sometimes it feels like I'm drowning, and you…you make everything feel lighter.” He whispers, eyes closing and softly bumps his forehead against yours. 

“Come over after school. I’m giving you one more chance, Billy.” You give him another opportunity to show you he’s willing to try and be different, not just say it but do it. 

“I promise I won’t screw this up again.” Billy’s eyes meet yours intensely. 

“4 pm. Don’t be late. I have work later tonight.” You command and he steps back to put distance between you. You find yourself missing the warmth his body radiates. 

“See you then, little mouse.” Billy offers you a small, almost shy smile before turning to leave, his footsteps echoing against the pavement as he disappears around the corner. 

As Billy disappears from view, you can't help but cling to a sense of hope that your words have resonated with him, sparking a genuine desire to change. Despite the weight of his past actions, you can't shake the empathy you feel for him and the turmoil he endures every day. You're determined to be a beacon of light in his darkness, to show him the beauty and gentleness that life has to offer when given a chance. You know it won't be easy, but you're committed to walking alongside him on his journey toward healing and redemption.

As the clock struck the agreed-upon time, there was a knock at your front door. Opening the door, you welcome Billy in with a smile.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Billy steps inside, glancing around the modest entryway of your small two-bedroom house. You motion for him to follow as you lead the way into the living room.

"Come on in. I'll give you the grand tour," You say with a hint of amusement, knowing there wasn't much to show.

He follows you through the living room, which doubled as your dad's makeshift office space, cluttered with paperwork stacked high in a worn-out armchair. Billy’s eyes scan the room before following you down the narrow hallway to your room, which serves as a sanctuary of sorts amidst the messiness of our humble home. Pushing open the door, you usher him inside.

"Welcome to my domain," You declare proudly, gesturing around the small space.

Your room was certainly a reflection of your eclectic tastes and passions. Photographs adorned the walls, capturing moments from your life that held special significance. Stacks of vinyl records and cassette tapes sat beside an old record player. Film rolls were scattered across your desk, waiting to be developed into cherished memories. Cameras of varying sizes and ages rested on shelves, each one a tool for capturing the beauty of the world around.

Books lined the shelves, their worn spines bearing the marks of countless readings. Yarn and crochet hooks lay strewn about, evidence of your latest creative endeavors.

You can’t help but watch as Billy takes it all in, his eyes widening with curiosity and appreciation. There was a warmth in his gaze, a recognition of something familiar in the midst of the unfamiliar.

"You've got quite the setup here," he remarks, his voice full of genuine admiration.

You smile, feeling a sense of pride in sharing a special piece of yourself with him. In that moment, you realize that despite the modesty of your surroundings, there was beauty and richness to be found in the things that mattered most to you. And you couldn’t help but admit that Billy has become one of those things. 

"Thanks," You respond, settling onto your bed with a sense of contentment and Billy joins you. 

As you delve into the next chapter of the book report, the quietness of your room envelopes you both like a cozy blanket. Billy pauses for a moment, looking around with a contemplative expression.

"You must enjoy the quiet," he observes.

"Yeah, I do. It’s nice to be able to bask in peace."

Billy's gaze lingers on your for a moment before he speaks again. "But it must get lonely, being here all by yourself most of the time."

"Yeah, it can," you admit quietly, meeting his gaze. "That's why I like books so much. They give me comfort and escape, you know? It's like I can lose myself in the words on the pages and forget about everything else for a while."

Billy nods understandingly, "I get that," he says softly and retreats suddenly from your bed, his eyes drawn to a box of photographs sitting on your desk. Curiosity piqued, he begins rifling through them, his fingers delicately handling each image as if afraid to disturb the memories captured within.

You watch him from the bed, pen pausing mid-sentence. The photographs were a glimpse into your past, a collection of moments frozen in time that told the story of your family's journey. Among them were pictures of a woman who bore a striking resemblance to you, along with snapshots of your dad, sister, and you growing up.

"That's my mom," You break the silence that has settled in the air.

Billy looks up from the photographs, his expression softening with understanding. "She looks... she looks a lot like you.”

"Yeah, she did. I got my love for photography from her," A bittersweet smile playing at the corners of your lips. "She used to take me and my sister on all sorts of adventures, capturing moments with her camera."

There was a heaviness in your words, a weight of sorrow carried by the memories of a mother lost too soon. You could see a flicker of recognition in Billy's eyes, a shared understanding of the pain of losing a parent.

"I don't have many photos from my childhood," Billy confesses quietly, his mind drifting to the lone picture of his mother that he kept tucked away in his wallet. "Just one of my mom. She left when I was ten."

You felt a pang of empathy for him, a deep ache for the loss he had endured. "I'm sorry," You murmur. 

Billy's eyes meet yours, a silent understanding passing between you. In that moment, you were not just two teenagers working on a book report and figuring out what this truly was between you—you were kindred spirits bound together by the shared experience of loss and loneliness.

"It gets hard sometimes, doesn't it?" Billy asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, feeling the weight of his words resonate within. "Yeah, it does," The vulnerability of your shared pain forging a bond between you that feels both fragile and unbreakable.

And as you sat there, two souls united by grief and longing, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected connection that had blossomed amidst the quiet solitude of your room. In each other's company, the burden of loneliness felt a little lighter, replaced by the warmth of companionship.

"You're so polite with your sadness," he tells you, his voice gentle yet piercing. "It's like you don't want to ruin anything for anyone else."

His words struck a chord within you, stirring feelings of guilt and self-awareness that you had long tried to suppress. It was true—you had spent so much time trying to hide your pain, to shield others from the weight of your sorrow, that you had forgotten how to truly acknowledge it yourself.

"I don't feel the need to bother other people with my problems," You reply quietly. It was a defense mechanism, a way of protecting yourself from the vulnerability of opening up to others. But in doing so, you had inadvertently closed yourself off from the possibility of genuine connection and understanding.

Billy regards you with a mixture of empathy and concern, his eyes searching yours for any sign of need. In that moment, you felt a flicker of something stirring within—a longing for connection, a yearning to be seen and understood for who you truly are.

"You don't have to carry it all on your own, you know," His words are a gentle reminder of the strength that could be found in vulnerability. "Sometimes, it helps to share the burden with someone else." Billy sits back down beside you, thighs touching but you need more. You graze for his hand, softly running your fingers against the top of his hand and slowly turning it over. You trace his calloused palm, feeling him go tense, trying his hardest to not clench his fist together. You finally thread your fingers through his, squeezing a few times. You look up at him, his gaze locked on your hands, bound together and resting on his thigh. 

“You don’t have to carry everything on your own either, Billy.” Your whisper, and he repeats your words over and over in his head. 

And as you sit there, two souls united by grief and longing, you believe you both can find the courage to confront your pain and begin the journey toward healing together.

Taglist: @msbillyhargrove @uselessbutinteresting @milestellergfs @periwinkle-quill @ghostcastaway @iletmytittiestitty-russ @missingbillyhargrove @lotionlamp @billys-pretty-babe @isimpfortoomanypeople @rosey96

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!kusuriuri with chise!reader headcanons

Warnings: obsessive behavior, violence, and blood.

There may also be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

Hey guys, welcome to the second part in this mini-series, featuring the beloved Medicine Seller of the classic anime horror series, Mononoke, and the character!reader who is Chise Hatori from the fantastic world of The Ancient Magus Bride.

I know it took a little longer to upload it and I do apologize for the wait! You may or many have not heard on my other blog, @an-idyllic-novelist, but I am trying a new writing method: writing the entire draft by hand, before proofreading and editing. I know the process does take a bit longer than just typing it straight away on my laptop, but so far it’s working for me and ensures that my mental health doesn’t take a big hit from doing all nighters 😅

Special shout-out to @enryegotrip and @deathmetalunicorn1 for reading the draft and helping me figure out some scenes that just weren’t working :) with that being said, sit back, relax, and let’s get started!

PART ONE

PART THREE

PART TWO: A FOX’S OBSERVATION

Kusuriuri woke up the following morning in his human form, much to his delight and befuddlement. His bridal candidate insisted that he take the spare guest room for the night instead of the couch, and he was quite glad he took it; being in this strange new world, alone with no idea how to contact his patron left him feeling…a little unsettled. The last thing he wanted to do was to burden the mage and her household, even if Inari-sama had sent him to be with her, and seeing that smirk on Ruth’s face. 

He was quite a cheeky fellow, and very protective of [First Name]. 

Shaking his head, Kusuriuri rose from the bed and pulled its feathery cream-colored sheets upwards, followed by the matching duvet and arranging the burgundy pillows. He glanced around the room; the walls were a light beige, with landscape paintings hanging above the headboard. On the right side, where he had been sleeping, was a cherrywood nightstand with a lamp sitting on top of it. At the front of the bed was a leather ottoman, and next to it was his medicine box. The mage offered to put it on top of the ottoman, but Kusuriuri insisted otherwise because he had a feeling something like this would happen: the medicine box would expand or shrink in accordance to its owners’ size, and he was a little worried about breaking furniture in his host’s home.

He then left the room, closing the door behind and turned left, walking down the hallway and through the living room, carefully maneuvering around the furniture and other knick-knacks. The smell of yeast rising and eggs frying in a pan led him to the dining area. The mage stood over the stovetop, moving the pan in her hand up and down for a moment before straightening out over the bright-red iron coil. From the smell alone, it was sweet and had flour. 

Ruth, who was already sitting down with a  turquoise ceramic cup held gingerly in his hands, glanced up at him groggily and nodded towards him. Kusuriuri returned the gesture and took a seat next to him.

“Sleep well?” The familiar asked. 

“Yes. You seem quite exhausted yourself. Is everything all right?” 

Ruth took a languid sip of whatever he’s drinking before he sighed in content and looked at him. “I’m fine, just [First Name] stayed up too late working on another project again. We’re bound together, so whatever she feels, I feel it too. I’m surprised she even got up this morning to cook with Silky.” Kusuriuri raised his brow as he repeated the name. Ruth shrugged, jabbing a thumb back towards the kitchen. “You’ll see her soon.” 

And just like that, the door in the kitchen leading outside creaked open. Stepping inside with a wicker basket in her gloved hands was a tall, ethereal woman dressed in a flowing, dark green dress. Her silvery-blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, loose strands hanging by her ears and pink flowers pinned on either side. Her red eyes darted towards the dining room, pausing to stare at him for a moment before she glided to the mage’s side, handing her a few herbs from the basket. [First Name] smiled, thanking her. She quickly chopped them on an adjacent cutting board before scrapping them inside the pan with a knife. 

The woman, Silky, nodded before she quickly darted to the other side, pulling out a pan from the oven and setting it down to rest on the countertop. Kusuriuri blinked, glancing at Ruth. “A neighbor?” He asked.

“Yup. A brownie faerie, simplest explanation is that she can be found around the house and enjoys doing domestic work. The only thing I’d advise you to do to not is touch the dish of cream on the mantelpiece. That’s her payment. Faeries require payment for whatever tasks they accomplish, whether it’s magic to be used to help others, or of her own volition. Am I clear?” Ruth’s voice hardened slightly. 

Kusuriuri nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” 

A few moments later, [First Name] and Silky brought out plates stacked with sliced grilled tomatoes, sausage, mushrooms, beans, toast, and fried eggs. The mage smiled at him. 

“Mornin’. I’m so sorry I didn’t greet you earlier, I ended up getting carried away with cooking and I had too many things going on at once.” She said, placing one of the plates in front of him. Kusuriuri shook his head. “It’s all right. I was having an…enlightening conversation with Ruth here about Silky.” [First Name] blinked.

“Ah. He told you about her?” She asked, seemingly not minding as Silky gently pushed her towards the head of the table by the shoulders. Kusuriuri watched with interest as the brownie flicked her gloved wrist and the chair pulled back on its own, guiding the mage to sit and place a plate in front of her. 

Kusuriuri nodded. “She did. You’re quite fortunate to have her…with your busy schedule.” He said carefully. Silky did not react. She just blinked at him, and then she went into the kitchen. He heard pots and pans clattering, followed by the sound of running water. 

“I’m…not exactly as busy as you make me out to be. But don’t feel pressured to eat everything, though, please. Eat as much as you’d like. We also have coffee and tea.” [First Name] frowned before clicking her tongue. “I knew I forgot something. I’m sorry, one moment I’ll get it ready -” That was when Silky poked her head through the doorway, frowning and motioned the mage to stay put.  I will get the tea for our guest, so please sit and eat. That was the non-verbal message the brownie faerie was giving, and [First Name] didn’t hesitate to start digging in. 

Now knowing he didn’t have to force himself to get sick out of politeness, Kusuriuri proceeded to start eating his own plate. He’d gotten lucky to know how to use a knife and fork when a kind-hearted waitress at a local cafe took time to teach him…though he knew the only reason she had bothered was because he is good-looking. 

Once they all had their fill, Ruth helped [First Name] clear off the plates. Kusuriuri offered to do the dishes. They were both surprised at his offer, though Silky was not going to let him get away with it that easily. He was only allowed to help with drying them before he was shooed off, all of them. 

Since [First Name] had gotten most of her work done last night, she had some free-time until later this afternoon. Today, she needed to go to the big city and visit a few people, restock on some supplies, maybe a bite to eat at a restaurant. Ruth would travel in his animal form, conceal himself inside the mage’s shadow. Kusuriuri had no idea if he could do the same, but he was not too keen on taking that risk if it meant he’ll forever be trapped as a fox. 

Instead of taking the bus or a train, the three of them used a telephone booth sitting on the edge of the village. The owner was a tiny teal lizard with a lazy grin and wearing a hat. [First Name] greeted him politely, and asked for two tickets, to and from the city. The tickets were printed from the bottom of the phone, and he held them up to her with his tongue. She bowed his head to him and replied in a language  Kusuriuri didn’t recognize. The booth suddenly jolted, moving from left to right and left again as the scenery outside swirled in a miasma of different colors. 

Then all of a sudden, the phone booth stopped moving, and they were no longer in a rural area but the heart of a metropolis. Kusuriuri would have been more awestruck at the usage of such magic if he didn’t feel like the world was spinning around him. [First Name] guided him to a bench and sat by his side until he was ready to stand. He apologized for seemingly wasting her time, but she waved her hand. 

“Don’t worry about it. From everyone’s perspective, I am just sitting down for a while. If there was anyone who could see you, then their mouths would be hanging open. Angela might look at you, but that’s the extent of her surprise at seeing a unique neighbor like yourself, probably. She’s been around for a long time.”

“Angela?”

“She’s a technician of sorts. She specializes in crystals and other magical tools. We’ll be going to her first before the other places.” [First Name] said. “Wanna get something sweet? There’s a bakery close by, might help with your nausea.”

Kusuriuri nodded. He didn’t get to have sweets often, mostly because they were either already stale from being out in the sun all day, or they were too expensive for what little money he had at the time. But the ones [First Name] purchased for him were simply incredible. He was a little hesitant in trying a blueberry scone and some other unfamiliar ones…but the risk was worth it in the end. 

He followed her through the streets packed with pedestrians and vendors, expertly weaving past the tourists as they boarded a white bus.  Angela’s shop was a brick building tucked between larger ones, with a vintage sign over the door that welcomed customers, and mentioned there were crystals and incense sold here. The scent of sage wafted through the air, the shelves lined with the aforementioned wares, books, and miniature statues of Buddha and other gods. Angela was nearing forty, at least in appearance, and dressed more like a tea shop owner than someone who specialized in magic: an apron draped over black pants and a white tank top, auburn hair pulled back in a braid, green eyes smiling lazily as she greeted them with a wave of her hand. Hovering next to her was a tiny water spirit, another familiar. 

Angela was pleasant, getting straight to business once she gave him a glance and shrugged. She wanted to ask questions, but she respected [First Name]’s time. They exchanged some words, walking over to the glass counter where a wide variety of crystals were laid out on a red silk cloth. [First Name] examined each of them carefully as Angela explained their uses and how they could help the mage with her research and help regulate the amount of magic in her body without putting too much strain on it. 

Kusuriuri watched [First Name] look over each of them carefully before she selected three of them. Angelas included a few sticks of incense and asked her to come back again soon with her new friend. 

From there, they went to two more places, the office of a university professor being the last stop of the day. Kusuriuri had heard of the Imperial University in Tokyo, and that only certain individuals could study there, but not a place where both men and women learn about magic. [First Name] had been a student here years ago, excelling in Herbology and Magical Creatures. One  research paper had helped the latter department expand on their knowledge on understanding the neighbors. The professor wanted her to sub for his afternoon Magical Creatures classes while he went on maternity leave with his wife. 

[First Name] politely refused. 

She did not have a teaching license nor was qualified to handle rambunctious students, even if they were in their final year at the university. She might get along with the neighbors, but they do not listen to anyone as if they were pets. They were faeries; to earn their respect, the students must respect them in turn and not piss them off. Or did he need a reminder of what happened when she was in his class? 

Her response was enough to silence the man. [First Name] stood from the chair and looked the professor straight in the eye as she apologized to him. It is a shame that she cannot do it, however, she does know someone who would be interested in this opportunity: Clarice Wordsworth. She and [First Name] attended the same year, but Clarice decided to further her education at another institute. Last she had heard, Clarice needed another internship to finish her degree. The professor nodded, muttering softly under his breath that a Sleigh Beggy teaching his classes would actually bring more students to attend. 

Whether she pretended to not hear him or simply didn’t, [First Name] bid him good-bye and practically sprinted out of the door. Kusuriuri was torn between amusement and curiosity as he trailed behind the mage, down the hall and through the university’s doors. 

The skies bled into an reddish-orange hue as they approached the telephone booth with the supplies, signaling that their day in the city was over. Ruth was happy because they could finally go home and enjoy Silky’s cooking. [First Name] hummed in agreement as they were teleported back into the village, and walked the rest of the way back to the house. 

As more days blended into weeks, Kusuriuri discovered that his bridal candidate was quite a contradiction. 

She was kind, loving, and sociable with people she knew very well, though cold and businesslike around people she regarded as an acquaintance like the professor. She worried about Silky doing too much around the house or Ruth being spotted near the forest, yet they in turn were concerned that she stayed up too late working in the study, pouring over her notes and creating tonics for the villagers who were sick. 

 Humans were like that though, yet she was still able to keep his interest for this long. Recently, at Silky’s insistence, [First Name] began taking small walks around the village after dinner. He and Ruth joined her to make sure she didn’t try to sneak back into the house through the kitchen. Thirty minutes of tranquil silence or small talk, and then they would return home. 

No, not home. His temporary quarters. Kusuriuri silently scolded himself. There were still things he did not know about her, and he had not issued his test to her. It was still too soon. 

What he did not realize, however, was that he would come to fall so deeply in love with the mage and the cozy life she led here, he nearly regretted taking her away from here to the temple lined with fox statues…though if he hadn’t…. he would not even have a bride. 

Taglist:

@saltyfruitbat

@westsidedrives

@himurakenshin25

@themoonisrising

@nastysparrow

@littlemintsister

@sketchlove

@i-am-the-pirate-queen

@praisethesuuun

@simpgoddess3000

@mitra555

[highwayorgantrade]

Baptized By Fire (I)

Pairing: Ghost x (F)Reader

Request: Nope :)

Story Summary: Reader loses themselves to the mission - Ghost brings them back.

Chapter Summary: On your first specialized mission with Ghost and Soap, you were praying for everything to go right. Whether the idea was a sick joke or naivety, you did what you had to do to survive. Unfortunately, all actions have consequences.

Word Count: 2.8k

Song/Playlist:

Author's Note: Reader's callsign is Corpse! I got the idea for this fic by some ad I saw with these really cool titanium fangs, so I saw that and I was like yo lemme steal that rq so yeah I imagine reader having those but I don't really think it's necessary to the story! This is gonna be my first multi-chapter thing so I hope I can get everyone hooked bc LORRRDDDD the amount of stuff I have planned for this!

"When did intel say this guy was going to show up?" Soap grunted next to you, his rough voice teetering on the edge of being whiny. You knew the answer, everyone did. Three hours ago, a truck loaded with international weapons smugglers should have pulled outside of the house that you were sheltered in. The town had seen its last inhabitant months ago, right when this group began using it as a trading post. You were supposed to be in exfil by... Now, actually.

Ghost had parked himself in a barely-lit corner of the room, leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed. You wondered, every so often, if he was actually asleep, but when he ran through the motions of checking his gun, you were reminded of exactly who he was. Ghost would never fall asleep on a mission, no matter how late it was running.

"I'm going up to the second floor." You finally sighed. "Gonna see if I can scope anything out." You used to opportunity to stretch your legs - you had stayed crouched for so long, and the cold simply was not helping. And the longer you were in the presence of Ghost, the more your mind ran wild, and the overwhelming desire to impress him got worse and worse as time went on. Soap said nothing, and Ghost simply nodded at you.

Well, good enough.

The stairs were old, and it felt like they were screaming your presence when they creaked under your footsteps. As you walked past, the memories that this house once held were clear at every footstep. Picture frames of the family, forgotten behind, had dust collecting on the frames, and various pieces of artwork littered the walls, varying from classic Kahlo to children's messy fingerpainting. You pushed the door to each room open, trying to buy time by yourself. Each room was more or less the same - dresser, bed, window. Maybe a tapestry here and there.

You kneeled in front of a large, busted out window at the end of the hall, pulling binoculars out of your bag, and settling in. You held the binoculars up and sighed. Still the same landscape you've been staring at for the past three hours. The same faded market signs, dead outdoor plants and... Different SUV. You don't remember that being there, parked in an alleyway between two businesses. The windows were tinted dark, almost completely blacked out, so the hope of seeing anything inside was dashed.

The low, hushed voices of Soap and Ghost downstairs met your ears. You should tell them about the car. See something, say something, right? Part of you slightly resented the connection they had, but they've been working together for years. Countless missions and days together. These were your early days in Task Force 141, and this was your third mission with them. First mission using a specialized group like this, which is exactly why is was extra important that you didn't fuck up.

An uneasy feeling locked in your chest, and you stood, electing to rejoin the two of them. You shouldn't be alone, especially if a fight was about to break out.

"Contact!" Ghost's rough voice cut through the quiet, and almost as if on cue, a pair of gloved hands wrapped around your mouth and torso, setting off every single danger alarm your body had. Your vision darkened from the panic, and your desperate attempt to free yourself was going mostly unnoticed. The small point of pressure in your back told you that the barrel of a gun was pressed into your spine.

"Stop fucking fighting. They're not coming for you." A low, vaguely Eastern European voice growled into your ear before pulling you back into a random room. It was familiar, one of the parent's rooms, you'd assumed.

How did they get in? How the fuck did they get in without you noticing?

The window. The busted out windows in every room of the house. They came around the back entrance, and Ghost and Soap are about to be ambushed. Your eyes widened at the realization, and the man in front you smiled. Your target. This was him. Along with three other men, your outlook did not look good.

Panic clawed its way into your throat, but nonetheless, you made an effort to keep your face as stoic as possible. Your target leaned against the now-shut door of the room, and the sound of gunshots was echoing throughout the house.

"You are the one they call Corpse?" He looked you up and down, and gestured to one of his men. "Take her gun. And the knife. Scream, and I'll kill you and your friends." They followed his direction immediately, and the hand that was once around your mouth was removed. "Do you understand the situation you're in?" He was speaking to you like you were a child, and anger licked at your chest. Yes, obviously you understood the situation. You were trapped, with no chance of fighting, no weapons, and no way to communicate. You felt like a cornered dog, surrounded by people you know would kill you in a heartbeat.

You simply nodded, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek so hard, the metallic taste of blood was leaking into your throat.

Your target walked around the room, almost casually, and he smiled at the floor.

"There is a way for you to walk out of this alive, you know." He stopped, his back to the window. "Your force is rather... Mysterious. You come with us, and answer my questions. Any question I have, willingly. You'll be answering either way. The only question is how I'll be able to get you there." He smiled at you, like you two were having a pleasant conversation about world affairs.

The memory of Ghost's voice echoed in your head. "Don't let anyone take you to a second location. No matter what they are promising, they will kill you."

They will kill you. They want to kill you. They will hurt you. They will hurt Ghost and Soap, and who knows who else. You felt like a cornered animal, and all you could hear were gunshots and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You spoke for the first time in a while, and your own voice was unrecognizable to you.

"Fine."

And with that, your vision went black.

"See any more?" Soap's ragged breathing cut through his words, and Ghost's eyes were still trained on the street. Enemy bodies littered the world outside, and his vision was still adjusting to the world outside the scope of his rifle.

"No movement." Ghost finally put his weapon down, slightly grateful that the mission was over so they could all finally go back to base.

"Would've been easier with some fuckin' help." Soap grumbled, and cast a glance up at the stairs where he last saw your retreating back. Ghost didn't take a second thought about you going to scope out the landscape, he knew you were nervous around him, and in his chest, he felt a pang of regret. He could've been nicer to you, talked to you a little bit more, but he simply had no idea how to navigate his feelings around you. You simply showed up to base one day, and that was that for him. At first, he thought you were... Slightly aggravating. How easily you became friends with the Task Force, the sunshine that radiated out of you... He figured that you must not have seen that much war if you were still that damn happy.

It was difficult for Ghost to accept that he was wrong about your skills. At the firing range, in hand to hand combat, in everything, you were just ever-so-slightly better than him, and he tried to let some of his feelings known through the small things, like allowing you to enter a room before him, or simply sitting next to you during debriefings.

A resounding thud pulled him out of his thoughts, and immediately, his head whipped toward the direction, his heart sinking in his chest.

"Corpse, status!" Soap shouted, and his command was only met with silence. Before Ghost could think, he was on his feet and creeping up the stairs silently, his weapon at the ready. Soap followed closely behind, knowing that if Ghost was doing this, it was for damn good reason. A noise echoed through the house, and out onto the street, and both men stopped dead in their tracks. A scream, so guttural, animalistic, and angry pierced the air, and it chilled Ghost to the bone. He had heard a lot of noises during war, but none he heard were like this.

Of all the doors in that hallway, only one was closed, and Ghost nodded toward it. Soap and him stood on opposite sides of the door, and Ghost's heartbeat was racing as he thought about what could be on the other side of this door. You could be injured, dead, or worst of all, gone altogether. The door creaked open, and the sight that lay in front of them caused Soap and Ghost to freeze.

You were standing over four dead bodies, carnage spread around the room. Your uniform was covered in blood, and your hands and face had the same fate. Blood dripped from your chin, and your teeth were bared, a low noise emitting from your mouth as your chest rose and fell rapidly. The one fact they couldn't ignore: Every single body in that room had their throats shredded into oblivion.

"Corpse?" Soap spoke softly, the horror in his voice being poorly masked, but Ghost couldn't take his eyes off you. You were shaking, and the usual light that was in your eyes was gone, replaced by brutality and viciousness. Ghost handed his gun to Soap, wanting it clear out of the way if you decided to attack him as well. He stepped forward, the bottom of his boots leaving bloody footprints on the way to you. His grip on your chin forced you to look at him.

"Corpse, snap to. Come back, soldier."

"Corpse, snap to. Come back, soldier." Ghost's voice was the only clear thing in your mind, and you felt like you had just woken up from a very long nap. Your mind was hazy, and you focused on Ghost's eyes searching yours for any hint of remaining humanity. The last thing you remember: The target advancing toward you with a knife. That was it.

"Ghost, I- The target-" Your voice shook, and you finally took note of your surroundings. The target in question was long dead, sat against his wall, and his neck- "Oh, my God." As soon as your eyes set on the carnage in the room, Ghost wrapped his hand around your arm and began pulling you.

"No, don't look. Don't look." His hand came around your eyes, so the only think you could see was a slight hint of the blood-stained floor. Soap said nothing as Ghost led you out of the room, down the stairs, and into the freezing air. When you were outside, Ghost unclipped your helmet, and Soap rounded the corner.

"What the fuck was that massacre, Corpse?"

You wracked your brain for a good explanation, a hint of any memory that would allow you to explain something that you simply cannot remember, and you came up dead empty.

"I- I don't know, I can't remember." Your voice was small, almost lost to the wind blowing through the town. You had never seen Soap upset, and his response certainly wasn't helping your confusion.

"You don't know?" He looked at you incredulously. "You don't know how you... You tore open their throats?"

"No! I don't know! I can't remember!" You wished you could lie to him. You wished you could remember any minor detail of what happened, but after the target came at you, the only thing you remember is Ghost bringing you back.

The bright headlights of a familiar van approached, and you jumped at the sudden brightness.

"Soap, that's exfil. Get in the car and tell them to wait." Ghost's low tone was commanding, and Soap could only sigh and place himself in the passenger seat, undoubtedly already coming up with a mission report.

"Corpse, focus on me." Your eyes left the van, and Ghost had placed himself directly in front of you, so there was nowhere to look but in his eyes. "Do you or do you not remember what happened?" The intensity at which he spoke made you want to cry, the fear of disappointing him feeling real.

"No, I- I don't remember anything. All I can remember is him coming at me with a knife, and the other three guys, they said they would hurt you and Soap, and they wanted to take me somewhere else, but you told me to never go to a second location, and I just... I don't know."

"Hush, love, I believe ya. Did they hurt you?" His hand moved to grasp your bicep, and you looked down at the ground.

"No, I don't think so. I'm not sure."

Ghost sighed, and looked back at the vehicle.

"Right, then. We'll get ya checked out, just in case, okay? Come on." He began walking, but stopped when he realized you weren't following him.

"Ghost, did I-" You took a shaky breath, your question stuck in your throat. "Did I fuck up? Am I going to be kicked out?" Ghost stared at you, your question hanging in the air, until he took a step toward you.

"Corpse, you killed our target. And then some. You won't be kicked out for completing a mission. Price might tell you have to see some kind of psychiatrist or therapist, but that's it. That's all, I promise. Now, you're going to get in the van, we're going to go back to base, and you're gonna shower. Get to."

There was no arguing with Ghost, you knew that. You knew he was right, but that still didn't stop the little fire of annoyance lighting in your chest, and it was made worse that you didn't know what you were annoyed more by - The fact that he was so confident about the hypothetical outcome, or the thought of having to re-explain the situation to your Captain. You sighed as you wrenched open the back door of the car, the copper scent of your actions filling the enclosed space.

The ride back to base was quiet, the radio occasionally tuning in to a random station, speaking in a language you had no hope of understanding. The sun had begun to rise on the horizon, an orange glow cast on the landscape, and you sighed at the sun hitting your face, the feeling unmatched after being submerged in darkness for what felt like forever.

A few hours had passed, and Soap's snoring in the front seat was almost peaceful. You hadn't dared sneak a look at your Lieutenant - you weren't sure what curdled your heart more, the thought of him staring at you in disgust or disappointment, or worse, not at all. When the car passed through the security checkpoint for the base you called home, you couldn't seem to focus on one problem or thought at a time. Finally, the car stopped, and the growling engine cut off. Ghost gave Soap a rough shove to his shoulder, startling the man awake.

"Soap. Go." Ghost's voice seemed almost impossibly rougher after staying silent for hours. Soap cast you a remorseful look before exiting the vehicle, along with the driver. Anxiety held its place in the base of your throat, the scent of blood suddenly was drowning you, and your hands shook as you began to fidget with the seatbelt latch. "Corpse. Captain wants to speak with you."

Ha. You're fired. You're so fired. Your one passion, the one thing you know you were born to do-. "You're not in trouble. He just wants to know what happened." Ghost sighed, and pressed his thumb into the latch, releasing your seatbelt. "Damn it, soldier, fuckin' look at me when I talk to you." His voice immediately took on a harsher infliction, and you stared up at him, reminded of what exactly your relationship is to him - he is a Lieutenant, you are a Sergeant. Nothing more. "Obviously..." Ghost's eyes looked you up and down. "Get showered first." Your voice was barely above a whisper when you spoke.

"Yes, sir." When your boots made contact with the ground, it felt like the weight of... Everything collapsed on your shoulders. The sun felt too bright, your gear heavy and sticky, and Ghost's eyes boring holes into the back of your head all combined into the worst storm possible. You shook your head, your own eyes trained on the ground in front of you as you walked to your barracks. Just keep it together until you're alone. All you have to do is make it to your room. That's all. Don't fall apart until you're there.

Do not fall apart until you're there.

[mrsdesade]

golden frames and watercolor (headcanons of a museum date with Loki)

Timeline: after Thor Ragnarok

TW: no one

Pairing: Loki x female!y/n

Note: I always thought about Loki being fascinated by human art and poetry, so what is going to happen If you decide to bring him to a museum date? Let's see 🎨

he's so curious when you tell him that you've organised something special just for the two of us for the day

but he was offended when you revealed him that you paid for his ticket, he still has difficult to accept gifts event from you (but inside he's melting and he's so grateful)

when Loki leads you through the museum, his hidden malice is evident in the way he points out subtle details in the artworks

when you both pause in front of a surrealist painting, he offers an unconventional interpretation that leaves you both laughing

"My dear, look, the art of deception. These paintings tell stories, just like you and I."

"Hopefully, our story has a happier ending than some of these artworks."

always hold your hand as you navigate through the art-filled halls

when you find a hidden corner in the museum, Loki conjures a small illusion, and make the painting looks animated just for seeing your eyes shining in admiration

with his enchantments he deactivated the alarm and let you touch the canvas so you can feel the ancient texture

you can catch him looking silently at some little painting, realizing that even the God of Mischief can be captivated by simple beauty

"Loki, I never thought I'd see you admire a watercolor."

"Watercolor has a delicate beauty, much like... vulnerability. Don't tell anyone I said that."

he's mesmerized by all the golden frames full of baroques details, at the point he wants to buy some for himself

"Would you like me to buy one of these my dear?"

"LOKI THIS IS AN ORIGINAL FRAGONARD."

he might challenges you to a friendly competition of finding the most beautiful canvas (of course he's going to support only his opinion)

he definitely wraps his long coat around your shoulders as you both explore a section of the museum with a chill in the air

sometimes he whispering you how beautiful you are, just to making you smile and adding a bit of sweetness

"These paintings capture the essence of mortals and their fleeting emotions."

"Is that a hint of sentiment I detect, Loki?"

"Sentiment? No, just an observation. Though, I must admit, the company does add a certain warmth to the experience."

as you explore a contemporary art exhibit, Loki playfully mimics some of the avant-garde poses of the sculptures, making you laugh

spotting an interactive exhibit, Loki challenges you to a friendly game of art-related trivia, showcasing his extensive knowledge with a mischievous grin

when you both stumble upon a live art performance, Loki, appreciating the theatrics, subtly incorporates some magical effects to enhance the experience

If the museum has a VR art installation, and you insist on trying it together he's going to make fun of you because he thought it's something just for children, but then he's going to try it just for you

"I can do thousands times better with my magic, how could you enjoy such a simple thing? It's like a little TV too close to your eyes."

in a quiet moment he create with magic two sketchbooks and pencils, inviting you to sketching together, each capturing your unique perspectives on the exhibits

you come across a mirror exhibit, and Loki can't resist making a few illusions within the mirrors, creating a mesmerizing dance of reflections

"Loki, do you have a favorite piece so far?"

"Much like love, art is a complex emotion. But that landscape over there has a certain charm."

as the day comes to a close, Loki surprises you with a classic red rose and something bought at the art shop just for you, it's his way to thank you for the date together

the funny thing is that you bought something for him as well (probably a book of poetry) so it's a funny moment of you two exchanging gifts outside the museum

"But...you know dear, mixed with silence, there was a certain chaos inside this building."

"Are you referring to the art exhibition or our relationship?

"Perhaps both. Chaos keeps things interesting."

the results is that from that day, he started to bringing you to all most famous museums on Earth

That's it! 💚 As an artist this post came out straight from my heart, hope you enjoyed as much I did while I was writing it~

[denimbex1986]

'*****

No sonic screwdriver. No TARDIS. No city-razing destruction, nor stupefyingly cute alien critters. As Doctor Who episodes go, ‘Wild Blue Yonder’ couldn’t be more different from the show’s blockbuster comeback, ‘The Star Beast’, if it tried. Last week’s adventure was Who at the peak of its silly, sugar-rush sci-fi powers: a spectacular kick-off to the show’s 60th anniversary celebrations, precision-tooled to dazzle newbies (Whobies?) and dyed-in-the-wool Whovians alike. This week’s, however — essentially a two-hander — is an insular Gothic chamber piece that goes toe-to-toe with Alien in the spaceship-as-haunted-house stakes. Invoking everything from NuWho favourites ‘Midnight’ and ‘Listen’ to sci-fi horror classics Event Horizon and The Thing, Russell T Davies strips everything back here to remind viewers at home that there ain’t no bottle episode like a Doctor Who bottle episode.

Arriving under a shroud of sworn secrecy (even press didn’t see this one until it aired), speculation had been rife about exactly what ‘Wild Blue Yonder’ would be. Rumours of a multi-Doctor story — Peter Capaldi, Matt Smith, Jodie Whittaker: you name ’em and someone had an in-depth Twitter/X thread red-stringing together a theory — abounded. But while technically this is a multi-Doctor story (and a multi-Donna one at that), it’s not one in the way anybody would have expected. And honestly, amid a landscape of disposable cameos and inconsequential fan-service, that the secrecy is in aid of storytelling rather than stunt casting is a blessed relief.

A comical cold open sees the Doctor (David Tennant) and a newly memory-restored Donna (Catherine Tate) flung back to England, circa 1666. There, the duo catalyse Sir Isaac Newton’s (It’s A Sin’s Nathaniel Curtis) discovery of ‘mavity’ (a communicational mishap) and the Doctor’s discovery of bisexuality (“He was hot, wasn’t he?”). But a classic ‘Doctor-meets-historical-figure-and-hijinks-ensue’ caper this is not. And before long, the Doctor and Donna find themselves stranded aboard a seemingly abandoned spaceship harbouring a threat so terrifying that even the TARDIS has done a runner.

The eerie, empty (save for glacially slow Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy-homaging Chekhov’s robot Jimbo), seemingly endless spacecraft corridors and wheezing hydraulic pistons of ‘Wild Blue Yonder’ represent a stark counterpoint to the crashy, bangy, flashy Meepiness of ‘The Star Beast’. A sublime combination of pneumatic practical effects, soundstages, and nifty CGI made possible by that sweet new Disney dollar, the distinctly Nostromo-esque sense of isolation about the ship aptly evokes the abyss of the episode’s edge-of-the-universe setting. It’s a spatial oddity that serves the plot and augments the tone of the piece perfectly, centralising our focus on the Doctor, Donna, and their unique bond as the uncanny threat they face is slowly revealed. That threat? Why themselves, of course. Sort of.

Revealed in a properly creepy sequence that starts with the slow-dawning realisation that something isn’t quite right and climaxes with an injection of out-and-out Cronenbergian body horror, the ‘Not-Things’ are Weeping Angel-level nightmare fuel. Cosmic shapeshifters bent on universal destruction, the demonic doppelgängers — brought to life with palpable, dead-eyed menace by a multi-roling Tennant and Tate — are able to mimic the Doctor and Donna’s form, manner, and even memories.

This set-up leads to a succession of intricately written “I know I’m me but how do I know you’re you?”-type exchanges — including one particularly fiendish bait-and-switch — that really allow Tate and Tennant to flex their acting chops, underlining their inimitable chemistry in the process. It’s also an opportunity for Davies to really hammer home that this is the Fourteenth Doctor, not the Tenth — and Donna Temple-Noble with a family waiting for her at home, not Donna from Chiswick gadding about with a two-hearted spaceman.

One particular exchange, in which canon-reshaping events of the Chris Chibnall era of the show come to the fore, allows Tennant to really click through the gears as he embodies elements of the Doctors who’ve been and gone since last time around: Smith’s wistful longing, Capaldi’s bone-deep grief, Whittaker’s emotional vulnerability. In about 30 seconds, several years of head-spinning exposition is simply, beautifully reframed. The Doctor doesn't really know who they are anymore, running from reckoning with the weight of all that they’ve seen and done, hoping against hope for somebody else out there to understand — if even just for a little while. No matter whether you’re a hardcore Whovian or don’t so much as carry a provisional TARDIS licence, if you’re looking for a distillation of the show’s essential nature, you’d struggle to find one better than this.

‘Wild Blue Yonder’ is a brutally simple, slickly executed high concept that we’ve seen iterative versions of before in OG Tennant/Tate-era fan favourites ‘Midnight’ and ‘Waters Of Mars’. But, especially when considered in the context of Who’s recent turbulent history, its use here — in a conversation-heavy hour of TV that digs deep into the past 15 years of the show both on and off screen — feels utterly singular. Giving folks the Doctor, with their plucky companion and techno-babble and eccentric wardrobe is easy, Davies seems to be saying: anyone can do it. But without genuine emotion — without heart — all you’ve really got is a pale imitation of something truly great, iconography and nothing more. Lucky for us, then, that by the time the credits roll there can be no doubt. This bold new Whoniverse is the real deal, and nothing is wrong… nothing in the whole wide world. *Sniffle*.

Taut, tense, and frequently terrifying, this spaceship-in-a-bottle episode isn’t just an instant Who classic — it’s one of 2023’s finest hours of TV to boot.'

[pearl-tarotist]

12TH HOUSE STELLIUM BRUSHSTROKES

﹌﹌﹌After feeling extremely tired without apparent reason and after blaming it on my 12th house stellium, I have decided to post a bit about what these placements truly feel like. (My placements are Mercury, Jupiter, Juno, Saturn, North Node...have in mind these will be the most affected aspects).

༊*·˚ What does it mean to have a 12th house Stellium? (In classical astrology) ༊*·˚

It's the House of the Unconscious. Full of Mistery.

The 12th house is associated to hidden enemies and to sorrow, to the unseen realm.... It's also refered as the spiritual house, in more deep, to past lifes and karmic debts. I feel as it is refered to everything you can not see.

╰┈➤How does it feel to have a 12th house Stellium?

In a summary it feels as if you were a really tired twenty-something victorian girl, with a recent broken-heart, who was receipted by a doctor to stay with distant relatives next to the sea to calm your nerves. (Hint: you never do travel next to the sea to calm your nerves). ( I think this condition was called "nervous breakdowns" in the victorian era).

Never opening to anyone, being scared of they using it against you.

Getting so tired after so little action. so tired...😭

Wanting to be alone 24/7.

Feeling frustrated for not being able to show yourself even if you want to after meeting with someone. Feeling as if people did not see the best you have to offer.

No romantic life. (Exclusive to venus 12th house?)

Painting, reading, writing... art being anchored into our soul since we are young.

Brain fog, cloudy mind. Always thinking about what could be and how amazing it would be, but not having energy to do it.

An extreme need to close your eyes and rest your head on a table.

While growing up, feeling as if there was more to what you were seeing. "Is this all? Is this how grown-ups live?"

Having a great intuition to discover people lies or feeling when someone is hiding something from you.

Listening to music late at night alone: earphones in your ears, lights off, calm music. It's a nice feeling. (Extra points if it's something as Lana del Rey, the 1975 or Cigarettes after Sex).

Feeling invisible to a lot of people. People never realizing when you're gone but they realizing when you come. "Oh, you are a ninja".

People cutting you off while speaking, even your own friends that you love and appreciate, they don't even realize.

Being soft-spoken may also have something to do with it.

Having to deal with a lot of family issues since you were young (health problems, inheritances fights...).

Some people may not even appreciate what you do for them, as if they did not notice.

Sadly, I think that having this unseen realm energy makes you a bit invisible.

There are lot of good things too:

An extreme connection to art and in the way it fulfills you. Being able to understand books and characters in extreme detail.

Feeling as if you were special, as if you were part of something bigger than the rest of the world can not see.

Enjoying little things as landscapes, flowers, little touches...I kinda feel as a cat but just when the sun is hitting them.

Just as romantic characters (Jane Eyre, Lucy Snowe... also, the man in the Wanderer above the Sea of Fog painting). Having a strong aura of independence and love for your own values.

I think it's good that we will just become a girlfriend, wife, a good daughter...If the person we unite to is worthy of us and of our values.

Learning to see pain as way of growth.

Knowing there's always something more, something bigger you can not actually point to.

I used to repeat the word "Karma" a lot when I was young (12-14), not even knowing about astrology.

I think I have the karma of my past lives or family, but my own karma has always been good. (As in people that hurt me, people that get hurt).

As the third photo, you feel as if you were kissing the dark... after getting used to it, it's like a long-time friend. It kinda makes you feel as if you were the light it feeds off. (It could also be due to my cancer sun and rising, ngl)

I don't think I would change it .

“I believe in some blending of hope and sunshine sweetening the worst lots. I believe that this life is not all; neither the beginning nor the end. I believe while I tremble; I trust while I weep.”. ― Charlotte Bronte, Villette.

“But solitude is sadness.''"Yes; it is sadness. Life, however, has worse than that. Deeper than melancholy lies heart-break.” -Charlotte Brontë, Villette

¡! DISCLAIMER: These are all my experiences and vibes from the 12th house stellium, feel free to comment and discuss all you want under this post.

[welcomingdisaster]

Appearance and quirks/hobbies headcanons for Maedhros? (His appearance is so fanonized, so I'm curious...)

Thank you for the ask!! I have to admit my appearance HCs for him are inspired in large part by the art I've seen in fandom! (This is variably true for my appearance HCs. I've got a few I will one day fight fandom about /lh).

Tallest of his brothers and immediate family, obviously, but shorter than Turgon and Thingol. You mostly think he's impressively tall because he's standing next to six other tall guys and he's the tallest of them all.

Handsome/beautiful/etc but also not notably the fairest of his brothers (that's Celegorm!). I think his mother-name is more about his build (very athletic, practical, lean muscle) than his facial features.

Pale grey eyes.

Very deliberate way of moving/holding himself. You would expect him to bump into things because he's, generally, very large, but he does not.

I think the majority of his post-Thangorodrim scars are not from torture/blade/etc but from smashing against the rock wall when he hung, and out of boredom/desperation/etc clawing at his own skin, especially around his right arm. Slightly crooked nose where he smashed against the cliff face and broken it before.

To add on to that: shoulders unevenly set post-Thangorodrim. One is notably higher than the other, giving him a weirdly lopsided look.

I have a lot of Noldor nail-painting hcs & I think Maedhros tends to go for a very classic red/pink/purple nail color when he paints his.

Not a ton of piercings. Has his usual ear piercings and wore a nose ring in Valinor, but doesn't bother with jewelry beyond maybe a few rings and a chain or two in Beleriand.

I usually HC him wearing a prosthetic only for special occasions. He cannot stand to have something strapped to him that way for long. I do think he is very practical about using the stump of his right arm, and uses it very fluidly.

Excellent poker face. Delivers both serious news and jokes in the same flat tone of voice. Genuinely hard to tell if he's fucking with you.

He's one of those guys that has a various hobbies he's pretty invested in without having a strong Thing. He reads, he hunts, he likes to go on walks. He gambles and plays games. He keeps hounds and is fairly invested in their well-being. In his youth he was a semi-okay painter (mostly landscapes) but he stopped doing it during the exile never picked that back up again.

If he's speaking to someone and thinks they're not listening, he'll start saying something ridiculous and/or insulting in the exact same tone of voice to see if they notice. This is mostly a habit he's gained from talking to Maglor, who is fairly distractible when he's bored.

Tendency to think through every action before he takes it, very pronounced. He does not start packing until he knows everything he needs. He does not write letters until he is sure what he will put to paper. Sometimes it is very easily to predict where he is going to go because he maps out his exact path with his eyes.

His bed is a big pile of heavy furs draped over with a few blankets over top. He's a very big guy but there's such a wild misshapen blanket situation going that it's genuinely hard to tell if he's in bed or not if you don't see his head.

A few streaks of white in his hair after his captivity. For a while he dyes his hair, which doesn't end up matching the color due to the dyes he has access to (so the streaks will usually look either bright yellow or red, not copper). Gives up on this towards the end of his life.

[runwayrunway]

No. 24 - Icelandair's Special Liveries

Congratulations to Icelandair's Hekla Aurora livery for being my first multi-request. And for a special livery, no less!

So, as a quick supplement to my main Icelandair post, I'm going to discuss the airline's three special liveries (excluding those which are crossovers with other brands). They've even been kind enough to provide a page for each, describing their various inspirations and how they relate to Icelandic identity.

Þingvellir

I'm starting with Þingvellir. Painted on a Boeing 757-300 registered TF-ISX, this livery was released in 2018 to celebrate 100 years of Icelandic independence and also something involving football, which in a very classic moment are treated as being equivalent in weight. I think Iceland may have won at the football? If you are aware of the context of the football, please don't tell me. I don't care about football.

Her colors are drawn from the Icelandic flag. It's really incredible how many flags out there manage to be red, white, and blue. It's honestly a kindness on Icelandair's part to not have those colors dominate their livery to begin with because it's incredibly saturated with flag carriers. (Red, white, and green are another similarly done-to-death scheme.)

Although I think the actual cross-shape of the flag could have been used to some decent effect, I have no real problem with where we ended up. I think this is recognizable as the Icelandic flag and visually pleasing. The first time I saw this I thought it was a heritage livery, because I didn't know off the top of my head what Icelandair's old liveries actually looked like. I think if they'd done this back in the day they would have been the talk of the tarmac.

Looking at it from the right angle, though, I can't deny that when you add in the glossy modern look of the Icelandair logo and the yellow nacelles it does sort of look like a football jersey somehow. Unsure if this is intentional, but all in all I just think this looks nice and I genuinely think if you did something about the yellow this would be a better standard livery for Icelandair than most airlines have. It's quite unique, as far as what's flying today.

Grade: C+

A few notes to close out: first, 'Þingvellir' is the name of the aircraft. Icelandair names all their planes after features of Icelandic nature, and Þingvellir is a national park known for being the site of parliamentary sessions. 'Þ' is pronounced roughly like 'th' in English.

Second, you may notice a distinct...how do I put this? Longness about her. This is because

('normal girl' here means 'narrow-body airliner'). image by @lobstersinmyhouse.

and I really like that.

Vatnajökull

Vatnajökull is a slightly less long but still delightful normal girl, a Boeing 757-200 with the registration TF-FIR. Icelandair bills her as the world's first flying glacier. I don't think there was much of a risk of anyone else getting that record, but she...sure is!

Vatnajökull is a fairly self-explanatory livery. It's an incredibly detailed glacier scene, representative of the very landmass for which the airplane is named. From Icelandair's website:

Even if you have lived in Iceland your whole life, the wonders of Vatnajökull never cease to amaze and enthrall. The largest glacier in Europe tumbles down the highest mountain ridge in Iceland, creating tremendous icefalls just above the southeast part of Route 1. The ice giant covers 8% of Iceland and is up to 1000 meters (3280 feet) thick. That equals 30 meters of ice evenly spread over all of Iceland – but we are in fact quite happy to keep it where it is. The Icelandic climate can be challenging enough without adding dozens of meters of ice on top of us.

It's actually somewhat difficult to find much more to say about her. This is just a very pretty glacial landscape drawn onto an airplane, and I think it looks very very nice.

This paint job is undeniably both pretty and impressive. I do sort of wish the tail and engines had been integrated as well, but what we got is more than alright.

Vatnajökull also features a glacier-themed interior, including glacier-themed headrests and drinks carts and, of course, some lovely blue mood lighting. The whole package makes me want to go potholing in a glacier very badly. They've definitely put a lot of effort into making the world's first flying glacier, and they've succeeded in that.

Grade: B

Hekla Aurora

It was very hard to choose pictures of this plane to include in this post. Hekla Aurora is stunning. She looks dramatically different depending on the lighting, but no matter which angle she's seen from she looks gorgeous and vivid.

Hekla Aurora is named for the active volcano Hekla and the aurora borealis, two noteworthy features of Iceland's unique natural environment. Obviously, though, she leans a bit towards the latter part of the name. The plane even comes with special interior mood lighting like Vatnajökull.

This looks so nice. It's even more striking than the simple blue Vatnajökull has. I want to fall asleep on this plane more than anything else in the world.

This plane is basically Icelandair's flagship. I swear this is one of the best-known planes flying right now. And she deserves every bit of it. This is a uniquely beautiful paint job and I am severely envious of anyone who has ever been able to fly on her.

I do, again, wish more had been done with the engines and the tail, but it's really hard to say anything about Hekla Aurora because this is just as much of an art piece as it is an airplane livery.

I have it as an active goal of mine to see her in person, even if from a distance, while she's still in service.

Grade: A

Unfortunately, this request was timely in the worst possible way. On the 7th of July, Icelandair announced their intention to acquire between 13 and 25 Airbus A321XLR airplanes. This is an interesting move from an airline which has up until now exclusively operated Boeing aircraft, but Boeing's refusal to actually build a 757 successor is a separate conversation. What's important to note is that Icelandair's special 757s are getting on in years. Hekla Aurora is nearly 30 years old. While far from derelict, that's definitely around the point most major airlines will begin to retire their planes. The confirmation of Icelandair's intentions to acquire a replacement model just makes it even clearer.

There is time to talk about what Icelandair will do going forward, what new special liveries they'll make. It's clear that all their existing ones are born from an appreciation for Iceland, and I'm sure they won't stop just because their planes are going to look a little different ten years from now. But It feels like an important time to voice my appreciation for TF-FIU, who has been bringing the northern lights everywhere Icelandair flies for nearly 10 years, even as those years finally begin to wind down.

[elleinmotion]

So, not asking for spoilers but what are Otto’s thoughts on Alyssa Royce? He was clearly delighted by her insulting Daemon at the dinner.

well hellooooo Chess darling!!!

I'd imagine, given time and space, Otto and Alyssa could have an estimable relationship insofar as one can have with a scheming, Machiavellian coded grandfather-in-law.

For now, she's largely a piece on the cyvasse board that he's positioning and maneuvering around - sound familiar much with another Otto interpersonal relationship we see with a lady in his sphere of influence?

Sure, he's made concessions for Alyssa and the Royces through those legal channels when Jeyne and him were dithering back and forth over the marriage contracts.

But I think where Alyssa has actually pinged off his radar as someone that isn't just a silly, frippery girl is when Aemond threw his unholy fit over 'GET ME THAT ROYCE GIRL' and it largely did not track on Otto's radar.

Then, the real seal on the deal of her inching up a titch in Otto Hightower's esteem was when she very boldly showed moxie (or stupidity, you be the judge) in the face of Daemon's insults with an insult of her own that genuinely seems to have gotten under his nemesis's skin.

Something that wins her points outside of the political landscape, and this goes for Alicent and Otto both: her care and favor towards Helaena and her children. I think Otto is the classic 'I fucked up as a parent and you'll have to put thumbscrews to me to admit as much but by god I do love my granddaughter and great-grandkids' with his own very special brand of what passes as love and care. Anyone who is genuine about their care and safety gets a gold star.

What will really win her more brownie points with the grandpops is the amount of money and dedication she shows to the Green cause, which is yet to be seen until we get further down the road as to which way loyalties lie for Alyssa when put to the test...

[vynssweater]

An Evening Dance

_

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“ 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 . . “

♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

⌣ ‿ ‿ ‿ ‿ ‿ ‿ ⌣

┆ ┆ ┆ ┆⋆

┆ ┆ ┆જ ✾

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

┆彡

__

It had been a long week of nonstop work. You were busy at the law firm with cases, with both the special ones and the regular ones mixed in. Your boyfriend, Vyn, was also busy at his mental health research center all week. You were both exhausted. It was now a Friday night with you staying at his home. You were in his room after changing into some pajamas in the bathroom, which was now occupied by him doing the same. His bedroom’s green walls were familiar as well as all the landscape paintings decorating it. Walking to his shelves decorated with a variety of books, you stand to the shelf next to his phonograph that was filled with old vinyl records he’s steadily collected.

Your fingers delicately flipped through each one, noticing many of them were classical music instrumentals or some albums from the 70s. It wasn’t all that surprising to you considering many things of Vyn’s had an antique and elegant aura to it. It was a very unique taste in a place like Stellis.

You only look away from the collection when you hear the bathroom door open and see your boyfriend come out of it dressed in his night attire. He looked ready for bed, but he noticed what you were looking at and smiled. “Did any peak your interest?” He asked while walking over to where you were.

“I don’t recognize a lot of these.. They’re older than we are.” You giggled, earning one from him in return as he nodded and pulled out one of the records. He soon spoke up. “We both had a long week of work, so how about we unwind a little?” He suggested while slipping the record from its cover.

You tilted your head in curiosity as Vyn delicately placed the large black disk on the phonograph, raising the arm and allowing the needle to rest in the grooves that played the music when spun. Soon the soft melodies of an orchestra filled the room, fitting its atmosphere perfectly. He turned to you afterward and offered a hand toward you with a soft smile. “Would you give me the honor of sharing a dance?”

Your face blossomed with warmth as he took your hand and pulled you close. Your hands stayed connected while his other went to your waist and your other free hand rested on his bicep. In slow movements, you moved in a circle between the white piano and the phonograph. It really did feel like you were at a ball with him. You were lost in his starry gold eyes as it continued.

Vyn was quite good at this, despite you not sure when he would be able to learn to dance this way. You were a bit clumsy, but he held you. He didn’t mind your trip ups and mishaps, just smiling in soft amusement instead. You don’t know how long you danced or how long that side of the record was. Time seemed to slow for you both to find a moment to enjoy each other’s company. The music faded more as all your focus stayed on him and his gorgeous features. You only remembered reality when the needle found the end of the disk and played a soft static in response.

Vyn gently placed a kiss on your lips, slowly releasing you now that it was done. “Thank you for the dance, my love.” He smiled affectionately before he retrieved the record and delicately placed it back in its cover. You walked up behind him, hugging him and feeling his pajamas slowly with your face buried into his back.

“Can you show me another one tomorrow night?”

“I can show you as many as your heart desires to hear with me.”

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

One of my favorite things about Vyn is the fact he collects vinyl records, cause I do it. I just imagine a huge shelf full of them in his room. I’m so jealous-

I had to write SOMETHING about it. I need it to exist somewhere. I just really liked the thought of dancing in pajamas to a record. After this I’m about to go put one of mine on cause I just really liked this little scene in my head- hope you enjoyed it too!

ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ

[undercityrezident]

Poes as Foes in TotK

Something that would’ve been a cool addition to the Depths in TotK would’ve been malicious Poes as a tough enemy or roaming boss in the same way as Froxes. The Depths seem like the perfect environment for them. I don’t mind the idea of collecting Poe souls for the bargainer statues, but I remember how I became excited when I consulted that first statue in Lookout Landing and heard about their existence in the game, only to be disappointed when I found out they were just a collectible.

Poes are a classic enemy in Zelda games, and given some of the cool adaptations we’ve seen of old enemies in BotW and TotK, I feel like we could’ve seen a great take on this ghastly foe.

I could easily see tough Poes yielding greater amounts of Poe souls for us to collect, or even special souls that we could take for rare prizes or upgrades at the bargainer statues.

On top of that, there’s a general lack of enemy and landscape feature variety in the Depths that I think Poes could’ve helped add to. We had the Gerudo Underground Cemetary filled with Gibdos, so why not other places of burial or even underground battlefields that Poes have chosen as their haunts.

And just like angler fish in the darkest parts of the ocean, imagine a swaying light in the pitch black of the Depths waving back and forth, luring you in, only for you to be at the mercy of a Poe once its trap is sprung. It phases in and out of existence, taunting and hitting you from odd angles with spectral flames and smacks of a lantern.

Once you’ve defeated it and claimed its soul, a hidden grave pulls back to reveal a reward: some prized possession it once clung to in life along with the countless souls it collected over the ages from its ruse.

[arlechinav-blog]

The Cult of the Winds

An adaptive or reconstructive overview from a Hellenic Polytheist perspective.

The Cult of the Winds: An Overview

There are a lot of variations to the Cult of the Winds, and I may be the only person who refers to them collectively as the Cult of the Winds so keep that in mind before you try to google this stuff. I will mark commonly used keyword terms in bold italics so you can better identify which terms are more likely to yield search results. I have my own jargon so it can get a little confusing. Usually people refer to each individual cult by its proper name, if it has one that marks it as something distinct from another. Zar & Gnawa are examples of living Cult of the Winds traditions while the ancient cults of the Kouretes & Koryvantes were also a part of that family tree in the past.  For example, the Zar cult has a few different named variations like: Zar-Hadra, Zar-Bori, Zar-Tumbra. But the vast majority of variations to Zar do not have special terms demarcating them as variations. They are all perfectly equal and valid. The named spirits and their personalities change from region to region and there are some color variations used to represent the courts, and threads (spirit songs) used to call the spirits can also be different from place to place. 

All variations in the wider scope of the Cult of the Winds form what I like to call the spectrum of normal. There is never just one right way to do something. Regional variations are all perfectly valid and help complete the picture of what this cult is all about and what it was designed to do. Having multiple variations of this cult to compare provides stable ground for establishing patterns. 

Background Information

Before I get too far ahead of myself, a little background on what the Cult of the Winds is and what the general associated classical Hellenic micro-pantheon is…

The Cult of the Winds spun out of the likely Bronze Age or even Neolithic ecstatic cave-based practices of a goddess that I usually refer to as the Mountain Mother. She has a lot of names and regional variations but the ones you would probably be most familiar with are Kybele, Ida, Rhea, or Magna Mater.

A while back I created this little image to show the relationships and divisions between the 5 major ecstatic cults of the classical Hellenic world–as they appear to my eyes. The Cult of the Mountain Mother is the starting point for both the Cult of the Winds & the Cult of Divine Madness. And there is a very good reason for that. Both have features and ideological technologies that came directly from her cult practices. Features like using cymbals and clackers to control spirits. It is from the Cult of the Mountain Mother that we get the idea that spirits can be controlled by ringing metal against metal. This is still a major underlying principle in many ecstatic and even shape shifting traditions today and it is the reason that Christian churches ring bells and at least partially forms the underlying belief that fey or other types of nature spirits are repelled by cold iron.

In the Bronze Age, the spirit weapon of choice for her cult would have been either clay or Bronze, depending on exactly where and when we are talking about. With the Bronze Age Collapse came some very serious changes to the spiritual landscape of the pre-Hellenic world. The Mountain Mother had always had sons and daughters. One of those sons was an Eagle god who ruled over the sky and specifically the Winds. With the rise of iron technology, and the spiritual properties associated with iron, that god rose to prominence above the others. This would one day be Zeus.

The Storm God's father was a lightning god, associated with snakes in iconography. Snakes being code for so-so-so many spiritual concepts but in this context, largely the patterns that lightning and static make. That serpentine electrical arc. Eagle Storm God Son overthrew Storm God Snake-Dragon Dad and took his place in both sacred legend and in life. This granted him a very specific spiritual authority over pretty much everything--at least in the minds of his sorcerer priests. Ringing metal against metal was the method for establishing that spiritual dominance. Instead of using a sistrum or hand cymbals to do it, his early cult made the adaptation of using what we would recognize as gongs or shields.

This is where the cults of the Kouretes of Crete and the Koryvantes of Samothrace, Phrygia, and Euboea come into the story. The very early micro-pantheon of the god that would one day be popularly known as Zeus, was largely sky based. He ruled over the Winds as his own domain first and then eventually his priests used the same techniques to extend that influence and control over the other gods. The only deity he never really outranked, as far as these early cults were concerned, was that of his mother, the Mountain Mother.

The early Kouretes and Koryvantes practiced what would eventually come to be seen as sorcery and are pretty much the fathers of many, many later magical traditions. They were metallurgists, blacksmiths, who closely guarded the recipes and techniques used to smelt iron and various other metals and create alloys. At first these secrets were kept in the family, which allowed this to be an extremely exclusive closed practice. Eventually the technology did spread around and when they no longer had the monopoly on it, their practices lost some prestige.

They were an ecstatic cult that compelled Wind spirits but they also provided spiritual services to the public to diagnose which god was cheesed-off at a human being whenever someone felt spiritually tormented. They beat shields together to create a rhythm and danced wildly with swords and knives. Often taking injuries--a feature pulled directly from the practices of the Cult of the Mountain Mother. They chanted hymns to the gods in a special order of strict hierarchy, the same as they would have done for the Winds. Everything was about strict hierarchy with this cult. Everything in order, while the entranced dancers themselves whirled around in chaotic patterns.

By the classical Hellenic period, this wild cult had largely died down but was still held in very high esteem--same with the cult of the Mountain Mother. The ecstatic techniques and ideological technologies that it planted in the population also splintered off in different directions, working their way into the many cults of Dionysos. These cults of Dionysos existed from at least the Bronze Age onward so, to be clear, it was not the cult itself that came later but some of the adapted ecstatic practices that were brought in. The Cult of Dionysos shares a lot of features with the Cult of the Winds, including musical diagnosis and wild dancing to relieve spiritual torment, the use of cymbals--though some branches of Dionysos’ cult used metal while others used wooden clackers. Just an honorable mention for the Cult of Divine Madness before getting back to the Cult of the Winds.

Winds are demons. And I am not talking like the general daimon that could refer to nearly any kind of spirit. I mean a very specific type of bodiless spirit that is generally not the most helpful thing to humanity, yet they absolutely love to mess with humans. Like can't get enough. The idea is that since Winds have no bodies of their own, they like to inhabit the bodies of mortals that they take a liking to--usually someone that they think could give them the experiences and physical sensations that they crave. These mortals are referred to as Brides.

Bride is a genderless term. The closest word I could compare it to in modern English would probably be "bottom." Another code word that was fairly popular for this relationship in the classical Hellenic period would be translated as "horse." Horse is still used today in that same context in various languages where the Cult of the Winds can be found. So, when you go on Theoi in a minute and start looking up the Wind Kings and you see them mentioning horses, they're being very clever and whoever did the translating maybe did not understand that this was a code word for something. Double and even triple meanings to various terms were pretty popular in the classical Hellenic period. The stinkers.

When covertly speaking about the Winds, because talking about them directly is kind of seen as bad luck or an invitation for them to visit, they are usually described as being "above" and their mortal Bride as being "under" them. Which is why horse works so well. And you can see how this cult has influenced so many other spirit traditions in and adjacent to the Med by really exploring this concept. You see these key words used in spirit threads a lot. References to going underground, to diving down below, to being under water, to falling from somewhere. The act of trance itself is described this way, same with hypnosis and anesthesia. You are being "put under."

Not everybody who trances is automatically a Bride. A Bride is someone who has been through a ceremony that formalizes the relationship between mortal and possessing spirit. Those who are taken by a spirit are said to have been bitten, pricked, or pinched. The Bite is the vector of possession. It is how we go from happily lil mortal doodle-dooing through life to BAM!--married to a Wind (or to Dionysos. Similar concept but different cult).

In the Cult of the Winds, this relationship is largely not considered sexual or even romantic in any way. Winds just want to play with human bodies and have adventures while pretending to be human. A lot of them are not super smart and they don't fake being human very well. (You didn't hear that from me.) It would be cute if it wasn't also sometimes very dangerous. A Wind cannot be other than they are. Their nature is a set thing, it never changes. They may not be mean-spirited but they just do not comprehend the limitations of a human body. So the spirit-marriage ceremony is a way of keeping the wind from destroying their Bride. In between the Bite and the marriage ceremony there is a period of drama referred to as spirit sickness or possession illness. This represents the time frame when the possession has been introduced but there are not yet any restraints placed on the Wind so the mortal host's body suffers.

Possession illness is not just any ol’ thing. It is not a disability or a neurodivergence. It is a very specific thing and it is tightly regulated to prevent people who need medical and mental health care from being misdiagnosed. The very first thing a spirit master is going to ask when someone comes to them with their symptoms is, "Have you been to the doctor? Have you been to several?"

There is a chain of operations here. This cult is all about hierarchy and doctors are always at the top tier. A potential Bride should do everything in their power to get licensed medical help first. Then licensed psychological help. If both of those fail to yield a solution, the next step is to go to your official religious authority and see if they can help. Spiritwork is always a last resort. It is a lifelong commitment and a very big deal. Doing this also helps to provide proof of state through a process of elimination. If nobody else can figure out a solution to your ailment, then it improves the likelihood that the cause is a Wind.

No spirit master of any repute is ever going to sit down with a person, listen to their story, and tell them, "Yes, you have a spirit and this is their name!" That curdles my blood just thinking about it. That violates the heart of how these rituals function. Even the Kouretes & Koryvantes would never say such a thing right off the cuff. The afflicted must go through the diagnostic musical ritual. The afflicted is expected to lie completely still in a catatonic state until they hear the music of their possessing Wind (it is the same in Tarantella, which is a part of the greater cult of Dionysos, btw).

The living traditions surrounding the Cult of the Winds tend to be a little more old fashioned and stodgy than their Dionysian cousin traditions. They have their spirit threads (chants) and each one is tied to a named spirit. Tarantella is more of a musical free-for-all. There are no spirit names, just an ever-growing repertoire of spirit songs. Any new song that enters the Tarantella repertoire is fair game. So, there is so much more music to learn for Tarantella than for any of the Cults of the Winds.

If you are a lead musician for a variation of either tradition, you are in for a lengthy period of study. Say a prayer for your poor hands and voice. I'm kidding. It is actually a lot of fun to learn. Not everything serious in life is serious all the time. Well, I think it is fun. If you give it a shot and you feel your body fighting against it, it may be a sign to try a different role. It takes a whole team of people to effectively pull off these rituals. This is definitely not solo trance time…

Onward to the Winds!

Time to introduce these guys. As I have already said, the Winds have a strict hierarchy. The cardinal directions (N, S, E, W) are considered the royals or kings of their respective directions. Just about every language has their own names for these beings. The kings do not take Brides very often and are sometimes barely involved in the rituals directly. This image here also provides 4 more names for the Winds who rule the directions in between (NE, NW, SE, SW). These are also nobles but they rank underneath the 4 kings.

Some traditions include nobles and some don't. Some have just the 4 kings. Some have 4 kings and 4 nobles. Some have 4 kings and 8 nobles. Something you may notice pretty quickly is the symbol that emerges from them. The compass. This compass will change design depending on which version of the cult we are looking at. It will have either 4, 8, or 12 spokes to the wheel. Later nautical traditions got really carried away with naming the Winds and you can find maps with all kinds of names. Way more than 12. All are valid but not all are part of a known ecstatic Cult of the Winds. But if you were to reconstruct something like this on your own, whatever traditional names you would want to put in there should be within the spectrum of normal. At least from my perspective. Each cardinal direction is associated with a greater court and a color. This is where it starts to get tricky. Different traditions use different colors. 

Speaking of confusion, the Winds who take Brides should not be thought of as directions. The directions are what rule, govern, and inspire them. The directions are their Lords--who they have to listen to and obey. Winds don't listen to just anyone. They only listen to their direct superior in the hierarchy. So, when you are reading a sacred legend about a Wind and the author describes them listening attentively and doing what they are told, whoever gave them an order is higher ranking than they are. (In classical Hellenic texts this is usually Iris and the author is displaying her rank in the spiritual hierarchy by describing how the 4 kings respond to her.)  

Instead of directions–which are the nobles–think of the average Winds as a collection of passions taken to an extreme. Each cardinal direction has their own type of extreme passion. It is a bit more nuanced than what I am presenting here but this is a good starting guide for building some understanding.

For the North it is Fear. 

For the East it is Distraction. 

For the South it is Obsession. 

For the West it is Lust.

There can be any number of Winds in each court. They do not have to be evenly matched with each other. Since they do not represent directions and instead represent extreme passions, there can be quite a lot of them. In more modern traditions like Zar and Gnawa, Winds are born, live, and die just like people do. I don't know if that was the case in antiquity. Basically if it is a passion that exists and someone created a name for it, there is probably a corresponding Wind. 

As I stated in the very beginning of this, Winds are just largely incompatible with human bodies. So, when I'm describing the worst of what they are and what they do, understand that this is what they would be like in their natural state before a Bridal ceremony. This is how they make their Brides sick and it is why these ceremonies exist to begin with. The ecstatic rituals are designed to bring harmony and peace to all involved. Once a potential Bride has gone through the Bridal ceremony, their Wind will be at peace within them. Each will have rules to follow in life to keep the other safe and content.

These rituals come from a time before Christianity took hold anywhere. And some aspects of Christianity evolved as a direct response to them. When early Christian writers talk about people trafficking with demons, this is at least a good chunk of what they are talking about. They viewed the propitiation of these types of spirits as evil and wrong and they presented an alternative to spending your life in a spirit marriage. That alternative was and still is exorcism. 

THE WINDS/ ANEMOI/ AETAI

The Winds are the living spirits of the wind itself. They represent pure thought, ideas, and whisperings of the mind as much as they represent the directions, gusts, and seasons they are tied to. The Winds are assembled into a strict hierarchy of Courts with each Court ruled by a King of that direction. The Four Wind Kings are the sons and subjects of Eos (Dawn) and Astraios/Aeolus (Prophecy/Astrology). Beneath them are the High Nobles and under those are the Low Nobles. 

The Kings: Boreas= North, Notos= South, Apeliotes= East, Zephyrus= West

High Nobles: Kaikas= North East, Eurus= South East, Skiron= North West, Lips= South West

Low Nobles: Meses=NNE, Euronotus= SSE, Libonotus= SSW, Thrasias= NNW

In each of the cardinal directions there are varying named and unnamed lesser winds who constitute the Court of that direction. Winds are closely associated with horses. Horses are often code for gods and spirits who take Brides (possess mortals). 

Each tier in the hierarchy of the Winds must answer to the tier above it. The Wind Kings themselves will answer to their parents, Eos & Astraios, as well as Iris on behalf of Hera, Zeus, & Zeus’ Mother (Rhea, Ida, Kybele–traditional names vary). In this they are compelled by the crashing of metal against metal, such as used in ritual music composed of metal bells, cymbals, sistrum, and shields.   

BOREAS is the King of the Northern Winds. As the North Wind, Boreas is associated with the Winter season and chill, icy winds that blow down from the Thracian mountains. Boreas is also associated with knowledge, fear, contemplation, leadership, and authority. 

OFFERINGS AND ASSOCIATIONS

Symbols: Conch shell. 

Colors: Purple or White. 

Animals: Horses. Winged Horses. 

Plants/Herbs: Root vegetables, purple winter flowers. 

Food/Drink: Mountain tea (Τσάι του βουνού). 

Offerings: Frankincense/ Livani. 

NOTUS is the King of the Southern Winds. As the South Wind, Notus is associated with the Autumn drenching rain and cruel storms that blow towards the Aegean from Ethiopia. Notus is associated with darkness, obsessions, deeply rooted passions and is closely tied to the traditions of Rhea/ Ida/ Kybele. 

OFFERINGS AND ASSOCIATIONS

Symbols: Knives, metal spade. 

Colors: Black or Dark Brown

Animals: Horses. Winged Horses.

Plants/Herbs: Rosemary, dark colored flowers, fragrant herbs.  

Food/Drink: Blood or wine. 

Offerings: Frankincense/ Livani

APELIOTES is the King of the Eastern Winds. Sometimes the name Eurus is used. The name of this Wind King is not as firmly fixed as the others because the Eastern Wind was added later. Originally there were only 3 Kings and the East was ruled by the Dawn or the Sun. As such, the Eastern Wind King is still associated with fire, warmth, and the plenty of the summer months. Apeliotes is also associated with mischief, distractions, pranks, daydreams, and leisure time. 

OFFERINGS AND ASSOCIATIONS

Symbols: Cornucopia. 

Colors: Orange-Red. 

Animals: Horses. 

Plants/Herbs: Harvest fruits and grains. 

Food/Drink: Spicy foods, hot drinks, beer, cider. 

Offerings: Frankincense/ Livani. 

ZEPHYRUS is the King of the Western Winds. As the West Wind, Zephyrus is associated with the thaw of spring, youth, love, and the first flowers of the season. Zephyrus is also associated with love, lust, jealousy, romance, music, and pleasant things. 

OFFERINGS AND ASSOCIATIONS

Symbols: Spring Flowers. 

Colors: Warm Blues. 

Animals: Horses, scorpions.  

Plants/Herbs: Crocus, Hyacinth, Daffodils, and other spring flowers. 

Food/Drink: Sweet beverages, occasionally alcohol. 

Offerings: Frankincense/ Livani. 

*Winds are an integral part of spirit possession traditions of the pan-Mediterranean. Associated with disquieting passions that cannot be ignored. Surviving traditional practices relating to the Winds involve complex rituals of musical propitiation and spirit marriage wherein the Winds and their Courts take mortal Brides. 

Arlechina Special Notes:

The offerings and associations provided are just for the Wind Kings. The High and Low Nobles were not included in this write up because so much of the material available on them comes from living traditions and those really vary a lot from region to region, as we went over a bit previously. Some traditions include them and some do not. Offerings, associations, and names were also not provided for the spirits of each Court for similar reasons. Those will be similar to the Kings of their respective Courts BUT not identical. Each spirit has something very particular that they like and that literally can vary from Spirit House to Spirit House. 

A Spirit House is an individual group of humans who gather together to perform musical rituals of propitiation for the Winds and their Brides. For example, if we were to get together and go through these rituals, our individual group would be a Spirit House and we would have our own variations on these traditions for spirit names, threads (spirit chants), offerings, and associations based on how the spirits interact with their Brides in our specific house. Variation is normal but it does follow a spectrum of things that make sense and form unity with other Spirit Houses. This is why, even in antiquity, there would be many different names for the individual lesser Winds as spirits from place to place.

General Info on Spirit Possession

For those who are not familiar with what spirit possession traditions look like or how they function, it is a pretty consistent thing all over the world so there is a method/ series of techniques to doing it well. These same techniques are found in all of the Mystery Religions of the wider ancient Mediterranean as well as living traditions of that same region today. This makes it easier to understand the methods because there is consistency and continuity involved.

Firstly, these rituals are musical. There is a thread (spirit song) for every spirit that compels them to rise up in their mortal Bride and dance/ move. They go from dormant to suddenly very active when they hear their thread. Through their dancing they will portray who they are and what they desire. The Bride will wear the colors of their Wind groom (still a term linked to horses), and partake of the offerings the spirit has requested. So, while their music plays, they will eat and drink, use the tools associated with their Wind, and move in such a way as that Wind is known to move.

Spirit possession is not considered rare at all. It is in fact quite contagious and all gods and spirits who take Brides can and will take many at once. This includes the Cults of the Winds as well as the Cults of Dionysos and any other that follows this sort of format. Multiple spirits may even claim the same mortal Bride. Every single spirit marriage requires a separate contract/ agreement made between the Bride & the Wind. So, if you have three separate Winds over your head, you are going to have a very busy night during the course of the ritual.

These rituals are usually done at night in the living traditions that I am familiar with. And I seem to recall it was a complaint raised by detractors of spirit possession traditions in antiquity because, at least in a few hoity-toity minds, proper people don't get up to wild dancing shenanigans under cover of darkness. If it is truly good, then it should be done in the daylight! Eff that. The night time is the right time. 

This means that participants stay awake all night doing this. If you are a musician, gods help your poor hands and voice. This is partly why the living traditions are most active in the summer months--shorter nights! There is a practical reason for everything. It is also meant as a sort of catharsis--to journey into the darkness, confront spirits, and emerge in the dawn whole, healed, changed. This concept is reinforced in the classical Hellenic Cult of the Winds with Eos (Dawn) as their mother who compels them to step back and surrender their mortal Brides to their own lives, until the time comes to dance all night again. We dance under the stars of Astraios until the Dawn brings spiritual clarity and unity.

[ruki--mukami]

Headcanons

For an artist s/o? (Drawing,,music)

Ruki Mukami w/ Artist S/O Headcanons

🎨 From the grace note of a pen flickering across the surface of the canvas to the sight of strokes forming into a cohesive composition, Ruki relishes in the tranquility accompanied with art whether it’s traditional in a sketchbook or digital on the glowing monitor of a tablet. As he reads, he still concentrates immaculately so long as you do not speak as you draw.

🎶 As for those who compose music, while he may not relax as much compared to the art medium, your ability to write songs and harmonize it into a euphonious melody never ceases to astound the Vampire. Given his limited music knowledge, he can only read some notes but cannot replicate it onto a real instrument the way you do time and time again.

🎨 Since his livestock, and thus his beloved, should revolve their world around him, Ruki sometimes requests you to illustrate him as accurately as you can. The final product that captured his likeness so flawlessly has the Vampire’s steel-blue hues widened in shock, unable to avert his gaze from the canvas knowing you took the time and effort to draw a masterpiece exclusively for his eyes.

🎶 Likewise with music, he occasionally asks you to play a piece for him. Lashes fluttered shut, book abandoned on his lap, and a half-smile playing at his lips, the eldest Mukami slightly leans his head back as he relishes in the pleasant sounds of music made for his ears only. In fact, he grows so fond and accustomed to it that he can even read to the more gentle tunes, using it to sharpen his focus on the literature in hand as his eyes dart from one page to the next in fluent succession.

🎨 Based on your choices and preferences in value, shape, and color, Ruki questions everything. He wants to know why you selected the palette you did, often pondering if the cool colors and sharp edges are indicative of an underlying melancholy or just about any other emotion warranting his concern. Arms lightly draped around you as you work, he watches in silence before asking about how each element works in unison. If he’s especially impressed with your work, he would even frame it and hang it alongside the other abstract paintings in his bedroom.

🎶 However, as for the music composition, if it’s too loud for his liking or more on the modern side rather than classical, he may scold you to quiet down until he can tolerate the myriad of sounds. Watching you explore various instruments or even incorporate your own vocals reminds him of his brother, Kou, in a good way. Ruki likens your creative, ambitious spirit to that of the idol’s success. Not in selling albums or conquering the charts, but rather in your ability to make all who hear your music smile—himself included.

🎨 When the weather outside gives way to cloudless skies, azalea pink sunsets, and verdant frondescence fluttering about in the calm zephyrs, Ruki allows you to accompany him on a walk to sit somewhere that grants you a special view of the entire picturesque landscape. For several hours, the two of you stay there until you’re finished drawing as he uses this time to complete the novel he’s been meaning to get to the end of. Whether you chose to capture the abundant view before you or draw something stemming from imagination, the Vampire is simply elated he could help unlock the inner creativity within by escaping on this unprecedented tryst.

🎶 As much as Ruki roots for the success of your music, he also not-so secretly delights in the fact that you perform your songs for him when no one else is there to listen. More often than not, he serves as your private audience, supplying you with more detailed than anticipated feedback on how intricately layered the instruments sounded to how an underlying beat and rhythm united the entire song.

🎨 One caveat to consider with drawing is that the Vampire will reprimand you for not gaining some new, fresh perspective every now and then in hopes that moments of reprieve away from the pencil, the illustration, and everything an artist would need—from lifting your gaze of the sheer, blank whiteness in your hands. Artists tend to get so engrossed into their work the same way avid readers do books, yet even so Ruki knows when enough is enough. If you continue to draw when he specifically ordered you not to, then prepare to be put to sleep by a sudden loss of blood due to his fangs puncturing your skin, and wake up to a canvas covered in red splatters from how he ravished you into spending time with him for once instead.

“Your composition isn’t going anywhere, Livestock. Surely you can leave it alone for the rest of the night so that I can make a beautiful canvas of you instead as I listen to the music that is your pained voices and desperate bellows with each bite engraved deep into your flesh.”

[ronsenthal]

Heyo ma chère amie 💚 I was interested, what are some things you love about your country and culture?~

hey baaaby!! such an interesting question!!! okay so let's do it

Brazilian portuguese is such a beautiful language, so poetic and intricate, like we have some words that cannot be fully translated such as saudade, cafuné, xodó, dengo and it's so hard to learn it but I wish everybody could understand it, we have so many great writers and some had their works translated I highly recomend Machado de Assis, Jorge Amado, Clarice Lispector, Carlos Drummond de Andrade and Cecília Meireles

MUSIC because I feel like I didn't fully appreciated brazilian music while growing up but we have Classical music, Samba, MPB, Tropicália, Bossa Nova, Pagode and even Rock 'n' Roll! of course having such a beautiful language helps I fully believe we have one of the greatest musicians, singers and songs in the whole world I tried to come up with a list of my fav but it's HUGE so I'll leave a playlist with my favs here

I absolutely LOVE how diverse is our culture, some academics tried to explain it, tried to map it but I don't believe there is a way to fully explain how beautiful, creative and even after so many pain how special brazilians are, our country is trully HUGE so in every direction you look there is this own culture and way of life, accents, foods, folklore, it's truly special even through there should be more respect between the regions. I wish we could and we should treat better our native people, our laws aren't protecting their lives so let alone their heritage!!!

FOOD!!!! because as a good taurus I love food and we are fortunate to have one of the world's greatest cuisines, we have feijoada, rabanada, baião de dois, coxinha, brigadeiro, pão de queijo, churrasco, barreado, I could really spend the whole day talking about good food

Natural beauties!!!! listen if there is entities looking out for us then they really love Brazil, sometimes I can't even believe my own eyes when I see birds, wild animals, our landscapes, islands, forests, rivers, waterfalls, plants, trees and flowers, there is something really special about this country and it's beyond my poor habilities to put it into words

In summary I'm not afraid to say that we are special, in the face of so much pain and adversity we found a way to turn it around, to make something beautiful