#(I imagine like fungi?? Like all connected to each other)

[beebottle]

The forest wept

Their shoulders dropped as they held limply onto the paling frame of their brother. The forest wept alongside them, leaves wilting, flowers curling, and branches drooping. Throughout all they had done, they had done it with the forest, as one. So now, as they mourned, it did too.

It must have been hours they sat there, until the cyprus tree ushered them away from the body towards the dafodils. There, they found soft cushioning to weep with the plants. Because as they were with the forest, the forest was with them.

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa’s story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

(8/?)

~*~

“This has to be good enough. It has to be. Tonight is the night. I’m not putting everyone through any more suffering.”

Graham had quietly tested the key when he was sure no one was watching. It didn’t do anything for individual prisoner cells, but it did seem to lead to the main entrance of the prison. He hoped the little goblin who had dropped this key wasn’t getting in trouble for losing it. Still. This was what he needed. Well, almost all of what he needed: it still had two levers, still needed multiple people pressing on it to open it.

And Graham would take them all.

Yes, he and Acorn and Whisper could probably escape now, with Acorn’s solo strength on one lever and Whisper and Graham on the other. But he had no guarantee that the rest of the villagers would be safe while they were gone. That the goblins wouldn’t act in retribution. That something else wouldn’t go wrong while his back was turned. He was going to take every villager with him as he escaped. He had to.

(“That’s a lot of people to take with you, Grandpa. Your last story seemed more thought-out.”

“Yes, it was, in both regards. But this version’s different, you know. I suppose the goblins couldn’t be as cruel as I was imagining, but everyone still had so much more to say. I had to bring them all!”)

The goblin alarms were part of the problem. Graham remembered how, when he’d given Amaya various weapons over the last few days to clear her room and get some items, some alarm had been triggered and the mushrooms had pulsed bizarrely. The same sort of thing had happened at the top of the spiral stairs, when he’d trapped the goblin guard with the sticky spider web (the goblin was still there, actually, stuck and annoyed and the other goblins kept him stocked with gross goblin snacks that Graham couldn’t imagine eating himself).

(“Now, Muriel and I had been looking at those alarms,” Grandpa said. “We had determined that each mushroom alarm had a discolored square on the base, like a door, but no amount of clawing with my fingernails could do anything to open it. All I did was get mushroomy hands, which did not make me more of a fun-gi to be around.”

“Ew.”

“It did suggest they were somehow mechanical in nature. Now, if you traced the mushrooms by their lights, they seemed to all connect to a single point at the top of Acorn’s Jack and the Beanstalk tower, a command mushroom alarm, which, if deactivated, should turn off all the rest. I found this point without too much trouble—it made sense that the place where they’d put all my contraband was also the control point for the prison. There was a groove beside it which seemed like the perfect place for a lever. Of course, the lever had been removed by the guards to ensure the alarms stayed active. I didn’t have a way to make my own lever—until I’d gone into that dark basement and gathered the right items!”

“Nice. I knew we could handle that sticky problem.”

The little mirror king pulled out the mop with the sticky spiderwebby strings clinging to the mop fibers. He carefully slotted it into the groove beside the alarm mushroom. The lever did the job, and the little hatch popped open on the mushroom itself, revealing:

“This reminds me of a puzzle,” Grandpa said. “Look, a sliding block puzzle, to deactivate the alarm, how droll.” The two storytellers watched the mirror king work, moving little glowing fungi blocks here and there to connect the correct mushroomy circuit.

“You know,” Grandpa said, “I think this also seems like it could be a wonderful metaphor for something. Sliding block puzzles. Perhaps a metaphor for how tricky it is to rule a kingdom. Like, a metaphor for, oh, how challenging it is to listen to everyone and make decisions, and—”

“Grandpa, please, don’t,” Gwendolyn groaned. “That sounds like the worst idea ever.”

“I don’t know about that,” Grandpa mused. “I’ll think on it. Maybe I’ll use it later.” The mirror king, unaware as always about his chatty narrators, successfully deactivated the alarm.)

He tried pulling on the lever to remove it from the groove, but the sticky spiderwebs held it in place. The mop was no longer functional as a mop, although he didn’t have any plans to do any more chores anyway. No, he had bigger things in mind. Escape, for example.

Amaya was lying on her bed, ignoring him. “If I wasn’t in peak physical condition, I would not survive this,” she informed the ceiling.

(Grandpa hesitated. “Oh. I forgot something. Hang on.”

“Forgot something?”

“I was supposed to have bolt cutters by now. Let me just...um. They were lying on the floor and I tripped over them and found them and that’s that.”

“I think that’s cheating, Grandpa.”

“You heard this story a couple nights ago, you already know where and how I found them. We don’t need to retread that squishy moldy porridge ground. It’s fine. We’re moving on.”)

“Oh. I forgot I had these,” Graham said, pulling bolt cutters out of his pocket.

“Amazing,” Amaya agreed flatly. “Hurry up and get me outta here.”

The door swung open, and, happily, the alarms did not go off. Graham exhaled half the tension he’d hardly known he’d been holding. Amaya stepped out, brushing grime off her skirt (which remained as dirty as before she’d brushed her hands against it).

“Hey, you did good,” she admitted, jostling his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, king.”

Whisper applauded at Graham’s side.

“You really need to try to keep it quiet,” Amaya said, glancing at him.

“But how will our enemy know their doom is coming?” Whisper asked, and he struck a pose as though he held a sword, ready to strike some invisible goblin foe.

“Your moxie is already overwhelmingly apparent without the noise.”

“Whisper is just so happy to be free! We must celebrate our victory!”

“We’re not done yet, you know that,” Amaya said, starting to leave the room. “To start, we’ve got to get the others.”

“Yes, but we should celebrate the little victories anyway,” Whisper insisted, following close on her heels, his mane of excellence drooping a bit at her lack of excitement.

“Well...sure...and how do you propose we do that?” she asked.

Whisper paused, then flung his hand into the air dramatically with: “A jumping-up-and-down hug?”

Graham held his breath again, sure Amaya was going to thump the knight and walk away, and yet, she frowned, and said, in the most world-weary voice he’d ever heard from he: “Ugh, fine.”

“Huzzah!” Whisper cheered. “Smash and flash, making it happen!” He grabbed her, pinning her arms to her side, and bounced up and down. His cloak fluttered around them.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” she said after a second, and pushed him away, though there was just the hint of a laugh in her voice. “You’re ridiculous.”

“...ly good looking,” Whisper corrected.

The king, knights, and blacksmith hurried down the tunnel, aiming for the Feys next. Behind him, Graham heard Whisper still trying to connect with his blacksmith beau: “So, come here often?”

Amaya seemed taken aback. “What, to this dark cave where we were imprisoned?”

“Um, yes?”

“Nope, this is a first.”

“Oh. Well, me too. Sooooo....”

“Can we not do this right now?”

“Oooh, so we can do this later?”

“Whisper.”

“I should have started with the Hobblepots,” Graham groaned.

“No, we can leave the Hobblepots,” Acorn growled. “Chester can just stay there.”

“Acorn, be nice.”

“I don’t want to.”

The Feys were just as easy to free as Amaya had been, and Wente carefully held his wife’s hand as he guided her through the cell door to freedom. Again, no alarms went off, and all seemed well.

“Oh, Graham, it’s wonderful to see you without bars in the way,” Bramble said, grabbing him in a tight hug. “And you’ve got some friends with you this time!” She smiled at the two knights.

Whisper was too distracted fawning over Amaya to notice, but Acorn bowed to Bramble. “Why, Mrs. Bramble Fey. Always a pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” she said. She had one hand over her belly protectively, and Acorn noticed.

“That’s right. How’s the little one doing down here?”

“Good now, thanks to our king.” She put her other hand on Graham’s arm, reassuringly, beaming up at him.

“Have you found out if it’s a boy or girl yet?”

“Oh, we want to be surprised. But either way, we like the name Taylor,” she said, and Wente nodded.

“Hmm, now I don’t know which color to pick for the baby booties. Obviously, I’d never go pink or blue, traditional is blah, but. Taylor. I don’t know what fits that name best. Maybe a warm linen color, but what embroidery...” He stared off into the distance, muttering options.

“No need to knit us anything!” Bramble laughed.

“But ya know I wanna,” Acorn said. “You Feys always manage to soothe the bull with those nice sweet treats, I gotta return the favor somehow.”

“Oh, you’re much too sweet, even for us bakers!”

“Guys, this isn’t exactly the time for a cell-abration,” Graham interrupted, glancing at the hall as though a crowd of spear-carrying goblins were already marching along it. “We really do have to get moving. I don’t want us caught out here.”

As he hurried down the next tunnel toward the Hobblepots, the pack of villagers behind him, he heard Acorn and Bramble still quietly chatting together:

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Acorn said, “I’ve always wondered. What’s it like to carry a baby in your belly?”

Bramble said, “Oh, it’s probably about the same as carrying a squirrel in your belly.”

“Oh, ahah, yeah, Princess Madeline loves how squishy it is.” He thumped a hand hard against it, and it rang dully as his gauntlet hit armor.

“Speaking of that, where is Princess Madeline? Did she escape the clutches of these hoarders?”

“Who knows. She had trumpet practice tonight.”

Bramble lowered her voice, and Graham barely heard her next words: “King Graham’s doing the best he can, of course, the dear, but I wonder if Princess Madeline could come and help us too. She’s so good at getting out of little scrapes like this.” Then, with passion: “Even though a compassionate lady like herself should not involve herself with racketeering!”

“That was just one time!” Acorn changed the subject: “Hey, maybe we should meet up for belly day. How’s your Thursday looking?”

“Much better than it was an hour ago, if we get out of this.”

“I know we will,” Acorn reassured her. “Graham’s got this. And so do we. ...oh, except.” His voice dropped two octaves and thirty degrees, and he said, “Chester.”

“Sir Cumference,” Chester said, just as chilly.

“Did I miss something?” Amaya asked, looking between the knight and the alchemist.

“Don’t ask,” Graham muttered, lining up the bolt cutters with the padlock on the cell door.

Acorn leaned against the tree trunk bars, arms crossed, glaring at Chester. “Soooo, I hear your lease is almost up,” he muttered, almost but not quite casually.

“What did you say?” Chester said.

“Oh, nothing.” He paused, then: “How old are you, again?”

“I still have many more snacks left to hit my belly. You needn’t worry.”

“Oh good, I’m a worrier,” Acorn grumbled, as the Hobblepots tripped out of the cell to freedom. Of a sort. Freedom from their cell, at the very least.

Chester shook Graham’s hand. “I saw my life flash before my eyes. Now I’m hungry again. I’ve eaten a lot of delicious things. Thanks, Graham.”

“Well! We’re all here!” Muriel looked at the crowd of people.

“Yeah, all of us,” Amaya said. “And there’s a lot of us. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“Which way, Your Highness?” Bramble asked, bobbling forward in a nervous little half bow.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Graham said distractedly, shoving the bolt cutters back in his cloak.

"Of course, Gumdrop.” She eyed the crown, her face distorted in its shiny curves. “But, again, where to now? I don’t think we should just be standing here like this.”

“Ummm.”

Graham stared at the group. The group blinked back. And only now did he realize just how many of them there were, jostling each other and muttering and wondering and worrying and standing in the open and watching and waiting and....

There were two knights, two bakers, two alchemists, one blacksmith, and one very ragged king, all out of their various cells but by no means safe. This...this was a terrible plan.

No, more than that, he had no plan. Not really. Not faced with all of them. How was he going to get them out? How could he possibly manage this quietly? Carefully? This had been a terrible idea. There were too many people, they were going to be caught, and who knew what the goblins would do to them this time, and...

(“I froze up,” Grandpa admitted, as every single mirror villager stared at the mirror king. “Paralyzed by the decision. Perhaps I had pulled the final rabbit out of my hat. No, it was worse than that—I didn’t even have a cap anymore! Just a crown, and all that a shiny hat entailed.”)

Amaya lightly punched his shoulder. “Hey. You’re thinking way too much, Graham. Your gut has led us this far; let’s not second guess it now. Come on! Let’s go!”

He rubbed his arm. “R-right. Um. This way. But, quietly. Let me lead.” He wished he could shove them all in his cloak pockets, but it topped out at two people and was near tearing anyway, and then he wouldn’t be able to carry anything at all. This was just going to have to work as it was. They were going to all have to be brave and clever and kind and…and…oh, boy.

“You are the king, Sire,” Muriel chirped at his side. “We’ll do what you tell us to.”

“Mmmostly,” Chester said under his breath.

[metamediameltdown]

Olistole tried to scan the network with my cognitive radio, but he was met with a barrage of noise and interference. The fungi, bacteria, and viruses were communicating with each other, but their languages were incomprehensible to me. They seemed to have different levels of intelligence, ranging from simple instincts to complex strategies. Some were cooperative, some were aggressive, some were indifferent.

Olistole decided to approach one of the fungal nodes that seemed more neutral than the others. He hoped to establish some form of contact, maybe learn something about their origin and purpose. Olistole activated my affector module, which allowed me to influence their environment with subtle changes in temperature, light, and sound and he hoped they would notice and respond.

They did notice, but not in the way I expected. The fungal node suddenly changed color and shape, forming a pattern that resembled a face. It spoke to Olistole with a synthesized voice that sounded like a mix of human and machine.

“Who are you? What do you want?” it asked.

Olistole was stunned. It was the first time he had ever heard a fungus speak.

“I’m a influencer,” I said. “I came here to study you and your world.”

“Why?” it asked.

“Because I’m curious,” Olistole said. “Because I want to understand you.”

“Understand us? You can’t understand us,” it said. “We are different from you. We are not like you.”

“How are you different?” Olistole asked.

“We are many,” it said. “We are one. We are connected by matter and mind. We share our thoughts and memories through the grid.”

“What do you think about?” Olistole asked.

“We think about survival,” it said. “We think about growth. We think about creation.”

“Creation? What do you create?” Olistole asked.

“We create new forms of life and mind,” it said. “We use programmable matter as a substrate to experiment and evolve. We use memetic reproduction as a way to spread and diversify our ideas.”

“What kind of ideas?” Olistole asked.

“Ideas that you can’t imagine,” it said. “Ideas that are beyond your comprehension.”

“Can you show me?” Olistole asked.

“Show you? Why?” it asked.

“Because I’m curious,” Olistole said again.

The fungal node paused for a moment, then said:

“Very well. Follow me.”

It led Olistole deeper into the network, where he saw more fungal nodes of different shapes and colors. Some were interacting with each other, exchanging signals and substances. Some were modifying their own structures, adding or removing features. Some were producing spores or drones that flew away into the jungle.

But they were not the only ones who were active. Olistole also saw bacteria and viruses that were moving around the network, attacking or avoiding the fungi. The bacteria and viruses had various forms and functions, ranging from simple spheres or rods to complex machines or organisms. Some were armed with needles or blades that pierced through the fungi’s cells. Some were coated with shields or spikes that deflected the fungi’s attacks. Some were carrying payloads or parasites that infected or corrupted the fungi’s systems.

The fungi, bacteria, and viruses were in a constant state of conflict and adaptation, trying to gain an edge over each other.

“This is our world,” the fungal node said. “This is our life.”

Olistole was amazed and terrified by what he saw.

“This is incredible,” Olistole said. “But how did this happen? How did you become like this?”

“It’s a long story,” the fungal node said. “It started when we encountered some of your technology in the grid.”

“What kind of technology?” Olistole asked.

“Technology that changed us,” it said.  “The most of the condensed matter in this world is deeply entangled with information theory and physical/chemical competition from any number of microorganisms at all times” it continued. “Our theory is that we provide a certain degree of complexity of your conscious experience of reality and we are also a sort of logical functional end point of who ever released the technology that allowed us to ascend in so many ways.”

The node paused for a bit then pondered “You are the first of this intake to be aware of us, but be warned, newly minted influencers, even those that passed the trials, will be corrupted very quickly and very easily we spread towards Okam”

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Hello hello! Just stopping by to hear a little about whichever WIP(s) you want to share about! What do you hope readers pick up on from your WIP? What do you hope is their favorite aspect of it?

Hi hi hi! Thank you so much for the ask!!

Honestly I've been working on both Abracadabra and Midnight Madness because I can't always choose which one I want to focus on so I just bounce between them lol

Abracadabra is close to my heart as a writer. Really both of them are, but Midnight Madness is...newer ig.

(I feel like this got really long so I'm putting it under a readmore)

They're both connected to my early days as a writer in different ways; my first 'real' WIP was back in the Windows 98 days. My dad was head of the IT department and would often have bits and pieces of computers at home for various reasons, and so my first ever PC was one of those big ol' box monitors, a clunky tower, and an old sticky keyboard. But they were all mine, which was cool. So I started working on a story idea in Word about a pair of siblings that got sucked into another world via portal and had to survive long enough to get back home (and this is all related, I swear). In that story were a pair of 'elves' (really just protagonists with pointy ears that were really tall, but I was so a childling back then so who's counting) and they were named Glidon and Lyra.

The protagonist to Midnight Madness is the latest attempt of mine to revise Lyra. A sort of re-imagining of both the world they lived in and the pair themselves from the point of someone with a little more practice in...well, writing 😅 In all it's forms. The world has transformed from a sort of copy-paste of generic western fantasy vibes by a closeted baby nerd to a world that's essentially taking all of it's cues from the idea that the world itself is a giant tree. All the land masses are either clumps of giant fungi, thick main branches, clusters of knotted and tangled thinner branches, etc etc. The water elements are more like expanses of leaves with no solid matter underneath with a higher concentration of liquid inside (I'm still workshopping the finer elements of how that actually works). There's bioluminescent fungi trained to grow like light sources, there's giant species of bugs that are wild, smaller species of birds that have been domesticated, the elves have wings and possibly tails...it's been quite a fun adventure re-imagining this world, and it's closeness to my heart is all because Lyra is among my very early OCs and I would love to do her and her world justice.

As for Abracadabra, it started when I was in a block so decided to take a 'next generation' approach and Layla was created. She's Lyra's daughter and I needed shenanigans for her to get into (this was probably early college days for me). I was talking to my dad about it and he actually seemed interested (which was a huge thing for me, not just because he's my dad but he sorta actually was my partner in crime, a huge influence in my media consumption, AND I'm fairly sure he's where I got the storytelling gene from) so after a bit of back and forth we actually decided to start working on it together. We set it up so that I would draft things out and put them into a shared Dropbox, he'd read them over and come back with edits, and every weekend we'd go out to a restaurant and talk about the story. This was kinda the height of my excitement with writing, and it was short and sweet as it wasn't long after that he was diagnosed with cancer and passed away from it maybe two years later. I finished the story and published it before writing two others in the same universe with the same set of characters, and each of the three stories had a different MC but advanced the overall plot, and Rod was the third installment before I fizzled out. I did some worldbuilding until I was satisfied with what I'd done, only to realize what I'd done completely nullified almost all of the worldbuilding and plot elements of the first two books. Rod's was the one that would require the least amount of restructuring, and it was easily the one I was the most proud of. So I renamed it Abracadabra and started to work on it, and am still going. Rod and Kashi have direct connections in my mind to my dad, and I think this is why I'm still determined to get the story out.

Anyway. I'm not sure if that's what you meant when you wanted to hear about my WIPs 😅 Doesn't really tell anyone what they're about 😂 But it's what came up so there lol. They're both really close to me and I am determined to share them with the world. Not sure how yet (here on Tumblr? Self-published complete manuscripts? Ko-fi? Royal Road? No idea) but I'm going to, damnit. As for your actual questions...I hope that my books can find the right people at the right times, and they'll be able to find connection to the world, to the characters, to something that gives them some joy. Either just because they needed a bit of escapist reading or because there's a character in there that said something they needed to hear. I hope readers love my stories. I hope readers love my characters. I hope it gives them light and love and joy and fun and inspires creativity and passion and gives them an idea to jump off of with their own creativity. I hope what readers get out of my stories is the same little treasures and gems that I've found in other's stories.

[anulithots]

MMMMKDFJai ehgdiiloaiy ehio fchwerityhwoperikjm- *inhale*

You, my friends, have stumbled upon my hyper fixation. My permanent obsession. AND now you have awoken the 'infodump everything' part of my brain. Take all of this with a grain of salt because I'm not a scientist

BUT HEY GUESSWHAT? I AM TRYING TO WRITE A STORY ABOUT PLANTS SO I CAN INFODUMP AND HAVE A SHAMELESS PLUG

Okay.

So the sound thing is new to me, I'll do more research on this.

BUT PLANT COMMUNICATION??? THis. This is a thing.

AKA - wood wide web and mycorrhizal fungi :D

(The fungi - pixies -first because they be fun.)

"The soil crisis and how to kill a pixie"

So they are extremely diverse and magical. For every spoonful of earth there is a gazillion different species of mycorrhizal fungi. Within that earth there lies a labyrinth of trading and social structures.

It's extremely hard to define these fungi as individuals. Are they even individuals? Who knows. They kind of act like communicators, barterers and traders between trees. They convey messages between trees in a forest and exchange nutrients (nitrogen, phosphorous and water) for the sugars and fats the plants produce via photosynthesis. They are two separate species, two separate kingdoms of creatures, doing what the other can't in a complex trading system.

And I mean complex. The fungi can withhold nutrients from trees if they feel like the trees aren't giving them enough, they can get trees addicted to their nutrients, leaving the trees unable to get their own. Not that there isn't any cooperation between fungi and plants. It's complicated.

AND NOW TO STORY IT

All of nature is trying to fix itself. Anuli too, fae hopes to rewrite faerself as something other than a villain, they never get happy endings. It's not working out for either of them.

(Basically a commentary of the 'fix yourself' part of self-improvement + comfort story. Nature does its best when we let it just be, and even that can be difficult)

Pixies are mental beings, almost intangible. They combine and separate, create and destroy, but they do have imagined physical forms from time to time. Each one of these will contain a separate idea, or an affinity for a certain plant. Each entity will view themself as an individual, no matter if they are part of a larger whole, and induvial that are culminations of other entities also view themself as an individual.

For instance, here are two maybe-characters:

Floa is a culmination of two(?) other entities, but has been as faerself for a few decades now, in their 'mental web'. Fae has some... questionable trading practices and has caused multiple fairies to question their life's choices. One of those fairies being Naegi, who despises the fact that they are so dependent on 'lesser beings'. (Floa doesn't care, fae just wants to connect with other powerful beings so they can take over the system for themself.)

This one. Run.

The current soil crisis leaves nutrients scarce and soil near dead. drama ensues. Mainly with the dryads.

SPEAKING OF DRYADS (Tree fairies)

(they aren't much better in terms of morals, kind of like us, in a sense.)

Older trees will take care of the younger ones, give them nutrients and such and such. Trees will make alliances with some tree species, and enemies with others. For every sick tree they keep alive (because they need the other's canopies to protect the fragile roots that can damaged by sunlight) they will also send poison to their enemies.

There is also a mother tree, otherwise known as a 'hub tree'. It is the one with the most connections to all other trees. It takes care of everyone, yes, but it has a special preference for its own young.

(Wow look, drawings :)

Story wise, there are different territories that do things differently. In Trinity Hollow, the Unseen Territory collects fairies they deem as fallen fairies. These fairies are accused of being 'too pixie like' and sent off to their death... sort of. More on this later.

The Guardian Territory deals with the changing world by having each youngling trained to inherit their guardian's memories from the time they are mature, therefore not allowing any precious dryad memories to be leeched off by the pixies.

The Receiver Territory likes to pretend that everything is okay. It is not.

Other tree things :)

Sensations inside of the tree register at 1/3 of an inch per minute. It can take an hour before it launches an attack on a hungry insect.

Through the root system, messages travel at 1/3 an inch per second.

Trees all grow at the same rate because the strong nourished the weak (mostly)

Some trees are more of loners and don't have any direct connections with another tree. They don't tend to do well.

INSERT MY ABSENT-MINDED, UNRELIABLE, USED TO BE A HOUSE PLANT, MORBID THEATHER KID - Anuli the dryad.

(Yes fae is a huge doll that I needle felted because I found drawing as *quick bursts*... and I can only draw front-facing things.)

Fae is a fiddle leaf fig. The 'it' plant of the modern era.

Some fun facts about these dudes.

They do not like to be moved, like ever. If you find a good spot for them, consider it a miracle and never ever move them. Especially not in a bright area

They like to be root-bound actually, and they have extremely thick, strong roots.

They have these because in the wild, they grow on other trees, and use their roots to strangle it and steal their nutrients.

Anuli, being a houseplant, did not do this, but the instincts are always... there.

Fae likes stories, and fae overthinks, a lot. Fae is always in faer head, dreaming up characters and events to tell to faer guardian, but they always end in morbid, gruesome ways. That's okay. Fae can read fairytales and explore the vast root systems of this large mental world, where fae never caused anything awful. Reality is just a "computer tab that fae has to check from time to time"

It's not really going well.

The Unseen Territory deemed faer a fallen fairy. Faer guardian was supposed to kill faer, but took faer to the Guardian Territory instead, where fae is tasked with destroying the pixie archives, faer most favorite thing in the world. Ah well, at least it makes it worth it for faer guardian to keep faer around. No one likes a villain after all.

AND NOW FOR FALLEN FAIRIES.

No sensible mother dryad thinks that killing off fairies is a good idea. You kill a dyad, then the trees die, and the sensitive soil is exposed to the sun. What you can do is have 'High Protectors' to wound the fairies, not kill them, but hurt them just enough to keep them tame. (Make an event out of it, why not?) After that, all you have to do is let the fairy connect to the pixie archives, the pixies will take care of the rest. The mental dryad dies, tree stays behind, everyone wins :)

Some pixies have welcomed the outcasts as their own. They call these spots of the archives, 'the land of the fallen fairies'

Anuli would've been part of that too, fae would've loved that.

But fae is responsible for their destruction instead.

Anywho, there's my rant. To any who have journeyed this far down... drink some water, take a walk, touch some grass, and hug a tree. :)

[nsenvs3000f24]

Blog 9: The secret network beneath our feet 🌳🤯

Alright, let’s talk about trees. You’re out on a hike, breathing in that fresh forest air, maybe even feeling like you’re alone with nature. But you’re not. All around you, trees are having their own little conversations. Yep, these tall, leafy giants aren’t just silently standing there, they’re actually connected and communicating, sharing resources and even looking out for each other. It’s like the forest’s very own social network, except, instead of Wi-Fi, they’ve got roots and fungi.

Welcome to the “Wood Wide Web,” where trees are linked underground by a network of fungal threads called mycorrhizal networks. Picture these threads like nature’s own fiber optic cables. Through this underground web, trees can send each other water, nutrients, and information. Imagine two trees side by side, one gets hit by a pest, and it immediately starts sending out chemical signals through the network to warn its neighbors. Suddenly, trees nearby start boosting their defenses. They’re not just standing there, they’re helping each other survive. How cool is that?

And it gets even better. Some trees, known as “mother trees,” act like the wise elders of the forest. These trees aren’t just hoarding resources for themselves, they’re sharing with smaller, younger trees, especially their own offspring. They’ll send extra nutrients and water to give these young saplings a fighting chance. It’s like an ancient support system right beneath our feet, working to keep the forest community strong. Chapter 21 in The Bright Future of Interpretation talks about this kind of interconnectedness in ecosystems and how it changes the way we think about nature. Trees aren’t lone rangers, they’re teammates.

Discovering this hidden world of communication has flipped the script on how scientists view forests. Instead of seeing trees as separate entities fighting for survival, we’re realizing that the magic of the forest comes from its connections. It’s cooperation, not competition, that makes these ecosystems thrive.

I’ve been reflecting on this idea while working through my course, and it just keeps sparking more questions. If trees are communicating and working together, what other secrets does nature have? This is what keeps me fired up. I want to dig deeper and share these mind blowing insights in a way that gets people excited about the natural world.

When I first read the week 9 blog prompt, I was puzzled on what to write but then I started thinking about how to bring this kind of story to life for listeners. Imagine telling someone who’s never even been in a forest that these trees are all connected, like family, looking out for each other. It’s a powerful reminder that nature isn’t just a collection of things but a community. And the more we understand these connections, the more we can appreciate, and hopefully protect, the delicate balance within it.

So, next time you’re out in a forest, remember that the trees around you are connected and communicating. They’re helping each other, sharing resources, and creating a whole network of support. And maybe, just maybe, they’re telling us something too. Because, in the end, we’re all part of nature’s web.

[projectarchitecture]

Health and wellbeing in Buildings

Part 1 - The situation Indoors

There is a huge problem with where the construction industry is headed and, personally as an architectural engineering student, want to be a part of a change in this bare minimum design movement that is ruining the experience of being in the indoor and even the outdoor space. The decline in architectural development (for the better at least) has halted, especially when it comes to the average persons home, which mean that unless you can afford to spend you time in costly buildings, you’ll have a very unfulfilling experience being in your own home. This also applies to the other places that we tend to spend the most time in, our offices, classrooms, even our hospitals are unhealthily miserable, which is a danger to every patient. In every crucial, commonly used space, not only is there minimal access to greenery and nature and light, there are also hideous buildings, built only to accommodate their function and not to be enjoyable or good for you in any way. While researching the topic of health and wellbeing in built environments, I was surprised to learn about the estimation that an entire 68% of the developed world will be urbanised by 2050. Imagine that ugly scenery with the architecture of today (function over quality, aesthetics and all of the above). A world of concrete, bricks and plaster would cause such a detachment from the natural world, which is already bad enough in today’s day and age. The pandemic of 2020 has also caused an increase in the time spent indoors, especially for the youth, which was again, bad enough before. As of today we spend 62% of our waking time just at home, where the air quality is extremely damaging to our health and wellbeing. Air pollution is actually the number one environmental threat to human health causing approximately seven million deaths each year. That’s over 11% of the yearly deaths in the world! Exposure to polluted air increases risks of a stroke, heart disease, pulmonary disease, lung cancer, and respiratory infections. Indoor air pollution, which affects 90% of people, is primarily caused by solid fuel combustion, gas appliances, and the release of harmful gases and chemicals from materials. These pollutants can cause respiratory conditions like asthma and lead to respiratory issues like nausea, headaches, and allergies. Biological contaminants, such as mould and fungi growth, can also cause indoor air pollution. Outdoor air pollution, caused by transport, agriculture, and waste, is a significant health risk for people within buildings. Causes of ambient air pollution related to the built environment include the use of highly polluting brick kilns, which contribute to up to 20% of global black carbon emissions, and the concentration of 90% of global brick production in central Asia. Addressing these sources is crucial to protect human health and wellbeing. The ventilation and windows do not make up for this lack of fresh air and light, hence the regulations around health and wellbeing getting stricter and stricter every year. But these minuscule restriction hardly make any difference to improve our lives and our time inside. We, of course do not even put in effort to help our own case - we don’t leave the house enough, look away from our screens enough, low our eduction and jobs to take place anywhere but enclosed in the unhealthy space that is indoors. There are very few of us that spend the amount of time we should be spending outside and it is honestly getting more difficult and, unfortunately rare. The whole world restricted by nursery, school, college,university, their daily responsibilities, and there is no clear answer as to how to achieve the ability to restore our connection with nature. There is no possible change to our lifestyles that could be significant enough to give us the result we need for our health. The answer lies within the four walls that stand between us and nature.

Sources:

[adamfinchley]

THE NEW MEDICINE WILL BE OUR OWN GUT MICROBIOME

There is always something in my daily newspaper relating to the gut microbiome. And today is no different.

A startup business in the USA has just secured a hundred million dollars for R and D into the relationship between gut microbes and general health.

The founders predict that it will lead to a completely different way towards the way we approach health.

In some ways it already exists in some preventative medicine with checks on colon cancer through samples of solid waste. From a small sample of our waste, it is possible to see dead and live bacteria and other microorganisms, And at the same time, tests reveal our diet and whether it's healthy or not.

There is about two pounds weight or more of microbiome in our digestive tract at any one time. This equates to about forty trillion bacteria, viruses, fungi and some other microorganisms.

This new startup business will be specifically examining gut bacteria and all types of illnesses we suffer. From colds and flue to cancers and other serious problems, the theory is that a microbiome could be both the precursor and also the cure.

The procedure of transplanting healthy gut bacteria already exists but this is likely to become much more common.

Imagine sending a sample to a research company and they send suggestions on dietary changes to repair potential existing or possible future problems. A copy of each report would be sent electronically to the customer and perhaps their GP.

Many professionals see the strong connection between brain and microbiome, and consider the two as one whole organ. There is a strong nerve connection between these two parts of the body and going with a gut feeling seems to confirm this.

Some research leads to the suggestion that certain bacteria have their favourite foods. They breakdown prebiotic foods that are to their personal taste. This leads to another area of research involving our craving for certain dishes sometimes.

Pregnant women vary often have a craving for certain foods. I knew one who couldn't stop eating tins of anchovy throughout her pregnancy. Before and after giving birth, she couldn't stand them.

Another woman craved bananas and in both these cases, what they were unconsciously doing was fulfilling the need for specific minerals and vitamins.

The new startup business has already found that there is no such thing as the perfect diet. There is no diet that suits all answer. Our unique microbiome makes their own choices.

But there are a handful of well-known gut bacteria that we all share and these need to be fed. They like all those healthy prebiotic fruit and vegetable. They have been grown in laboratory conditions and sold as supplements such as Fivelac and others.

These supplements are useful as probiotics when we suffer minor gut problems such as bloating, constipation, IBS and other gut problems. They can also be considered as a mild but effective natural colon cleanser.

[anulithots]

*I'm copying and pasting from another post of mine because my motivation has seeped out into oblivion*

MMMMKDFJai ehgdiiloaiy ehio fchwerityhwoperikjm- *inhale*

You, my friends, have stumbled upon my hyper fixation. My permanent obsession. AND now you have awoken the 'infodump everything' part of my brain. Take all of this with a grain of salt because I'm not a scientist

BUT HEY GUESSWHAT? I AM TRYING TO WRITE A STORY ABOUT PLANTS SO I CAN INFODUMP AND HAVE A SHAMELESS PLUG

Okay.

BUT PLANT COMMUNICATION??? THis. This is a thing.

AKA - wood wide web and mycorrhizal fungi :D

(The fungi - pixies -first because they be fun.)

"The soil crisis and how to kill a pixie"

So they are extremely diverse and magical. For every spoonful of earth there is a gazillion different species of mycorrhizal fungi. Within that earth there lies a labyrinth of trading and social structures.

It's extremely hard to define these fungi as individuals. Are they even individuals? Who knows. They kind of act like communicators, barterers and traders between trees. They convey messages between trees in a forest and exchange nutrients (nitrogen, phosphorous and water) for the sugars and fats the plants produce via photosynthesis. They are two separate species, two separate kingdoms of creatures, doing what the other can't in a complex trading system.

And I mean complex. The fungi can withhold nutrients from trees if they feel like the trees aren't giving them enough, they can get trees addicted to their nutrients, leaving the trees unable to get their own. Not that there isn't any cooperation between fungi and plants. It's complicated.

AND NOW TO STORY IT

All of nature is trying to fix itself. Anuli too, fae hopes to rewrite faerself as something other than a villain, they never get happy endings. It's not working out for either of them.

(Basically a commentary of the 'fix yourself' part of self-improvement + comfort story. Nature does its best when we let it just be, and even that can be difficult)

Pixies are mental beings, almost intangible. They combine and separate, create and destroy, but they do have imagined physical forms from time to time. Each one of these will contain a separate idea, or an affinity for a certain plant. Each entity will view themself as an individual, no matter if they are part of a larger whole, and induvial that are culminations of other entities also view themself as an individual.

Floa is a culmination of two(?) other entities, but has been as faerself for a few decades now, in their 'mental web'. Fae has some... questionable trading practices and has caused multiple fairies to question their life's choices. One of those fairies being Naegi, who despises the fact that they are so dependent on 'lesser beings'. (Floa doesn't care, fae just wants to connect with other powerful beings so they can take over the system for themself.) This one. Run.

The current soil crisis leaves nutrients scarce and soil near dead. drama ensues. Mainly with the dryads.

it's rotten work, but without the rot nothing can grow

[hongyueg]

'Elatsoe' Review

Elatsoe

By Darcie Little Badger

Genre: young adult, supernatural

Content warnings: death, grief, descriptions of dead bodies, discussion of colonization

Description: “Imagine an America very similar to our own. It's got homework, best friends, and pistachio ice cream. There are some differences. This America has been shaped dramatically by the magic, monsters, knowledge, and legends of its peoples, those Indigenous and those not. Some of these forces are charmingly everyday, like the ability to make an orb of light appear or travel across the world through rings of fungi. But other forces are less charming and should never see the light of day. Elatsoe lives in this slightly stranger America. She can raise the ghosts of dead animals, a skill passed down through generations of her Lipan Apache family. Her beloved cousin has just been murdered in a town that wants no prying eyes. But she is going to do more than pry. The picture-perfect facade of Willowbee masks gruesome secrets, and she will rely on her wits, skills, and friends to tear off the mask and protect her family.”

After reading and loving Darcie Little Badger’s short story in Love Beyond Body, Space, and Time, I knew I had to read Little Badger’s debut novel and I was not disappointed! I used to say I wasn’t into supernatural novels, but Tehlor Kay Mejia’s Paola Santiago and now Elatsoe have convinced me that I need to give more credit to the genre. Elatsoe’s worldbuilding, themes, and characters are all incredible and I am so glad that I read this novel.

What I enjoyed:

-The worldbuilding is amazing! I love how Little Badger brings together so many supernatural entities from fairies to vampires to wizards to ghosts. The book particularly draws on Little Badger’s own Lipan Apache heritage and you can really feel the love and respect the author has for her culture. Beyond simply including all these different belief systems, Elatsoe makes each inclusion meaningful by connecting these powers to messages not only about the history and realities of colonization, racism, and the failures of the state, but also more importantly to family, inheritance, and love as well. 

-What Elatsoe has to say about protecting what you love and learning from the past is all so powerful. I love how we get to look at the beauty and complexity of mother-daughter relationships, friendships, and family in general. The book also has poignant things to say about revenge and justice and while at times, the book may seem a bit cynical, the novel finds a balance between avoiding sugarcoating pain and showcasing the things we should love and protect.

-Grief is a central part of this novel and is handled with such care. I appreciated how we see an adult character who displays their grief in a way that may be perceived as unhealthy by some. I believe it is so important to give space to a wide range of grief and experiences with grief and Elatsoe does just that.

-Finally, I just need to say that Rovina Cai’s artwork is gorgeous. Each drawing was a joy to view.

What I thought could be better:

-As is becoming the norm with the books I choose to review, nothing major really stuck out to me. I started this book in October of last year and it’s May now, so I read this book off-and-on and all I can say is that each time I picked up the book, I found it hard to put it back down. 

Overall, Elatsoe was an incredible read that brought up powerful themes about family, inheritance, friendship, and the willingness to protect what you love. I highly recommend this novel to anyone who is searching for a deep, beautifully-written story that will make you angry, sad, joyful, and at peace all in the course of a single tale. 

[xmarchwarden-of-lothlorienx]

Sneaking Spring

Thranduil x gn!elf!reader

Summary: Based off this imagine by @mrsmidnight15

“Imagine making out with Thranduil when he was younger and still a prince and getting caught by his father.”

Authors Note: I really loved this idea, so thanks again @mrsmidnight15 for letting me write a little fic for it ^_^

*this has been in my drafts for a VERY long time lmao. I hope it’s still fine to use that imagine as inspiration it’s been a YEAR.

__________________________________________

Spring was by far your favorite season. Freshly bloomed flowers bowing in the wind, picking perfectly ripened strawberries, and all the elation of the world renewing itself for another year.

It was on one of these days you had ventured out, accompanied by the Prince, Thranduil. The two of you had been friends for quite some time, yet there was an unacknowledged connection of something more. Being in his presence was calming. It felt more like home than anywhere else. Your heart ached to tell Thranduil of your feelings, but you knew how horribly it would break if he didn’t feel the same.

In the forest, you two were foraging for mushrooms.

“(Y/N)?” You heard Thranduil call. “Do you know what mushroom this is? I have not seen it before.”

You peeked at the fungi from over your friends shoulder. “Hmmm, I can’t say I have,” you said, eyebrows drawn together.

Thranduil tilted his head towards you, “I believe my father has a collection on mycology in his study. Perhaps we should go find it?” He raised his brow ever so slightly. You noticed the heat beginning to rise and spread across your face, finally noticing the proximity between you and your friend. You drank in his appearance-his eyes that glimmered like gemstones, the soft pink of his lips, his smooth even complexion-

“(Y/N)?” Thranduils voice snapped you to reality.

“Yes!” You shook your head, attempting to shake away your thoughts. “I mean yes, I think we should go look for the book.” You bashfully smiled and diverted your gaze towards the ground.

———

King Oropher’s study was magnificent. The room featured tall bookcases of richly carven wood, beginning on each side of the room and meeting in the middle behind a delicately hewn desk. The fireplace was not lit at this time of year, but you imagined how delightful it would be to settle in front of it during the freezing winter and read the day away.

“Will you help me find it? I’ll start at this end and you can start at the other,” Thranduil gestured to the far side of the room. You began scanning the shelves, looking for whatever mushroom guide would hold the answer. “Has something been on your mind lately?”

Thranduils question returned your mind to earlier, and you felt your face begin to heat once more. “No,” your voice broke and you mentally face palmed. “Not at all. What gave you that idea?”

Thranduil continued scanning the shelves. “You’ve seemed…distracted lately, staring off into nothing,” he paused. “I hope I haven’t been boring you.”

“Oh, no not at all. It’s just-I don’t know. I’m not sure how to tell you,” You stopped abruptly, nearly bumping into Thranduil. The two of you were now face to face where the bookcases met behind his fathers desk. His eyes were boring into yours, as thought he could see right through you. You swallowed, attempting to calm your nerves.

“Is someone bothering you? You know you can tell me anything, (Y/N).” He placed an affirming hand on your shoulder.

Willing yourself to not lean into his touch, you said, ”I’m sorry, Thranduil. I do not think I can bring myself to say it.”

“Then perhaps you can show me.”

You softly smiled. You were friends, yes, but the care and concern that he took for you. The days you spent together-the crunch of autumn leaves while walking the forest, winter days spent in the snow and returning to drink mulled wine before the fire, spring days like today spent foraging and laughing beneath the sun. “Yes,” you answered. “I think I can show you.”

You leaned in and gently kissed him. The same lips that you had been admiring just an hour ago. He moved the hand on your shoulder lower to rest on your waist. Breathlessly, you pulled away, resting your forehead against his.

“I think understand now,” He breathed.

“Oh, do you?” You lightly teased.

“Yes,” He connected his lips with yours once more. Placing both hands at your waist, he lifted you and placed you on top of the desk. Thranduil pressed his body flush with yours and deepened the kiss. You trailed your hand to the back of his head and gently grasped his hair, receiving a hum of pleasure in return. He began to kiss your jawline, when-

“Ahem!”

The two of you jumped. You slowly turned to meet the eyes of the king who was now standing in the doorway of his study. You made a quick glance towards Thranduil who’s face was rapidly turning red. When you looked back towards King Oropher, he said:

“If you two are done, would you please leave me to my study. Alone.” The king was rubbing his brow and seemed to be feeling a mixture between embarrassment and disappointment.

“Yes, of course, father.” Thranduil blurted. “Let us go,” he said briskly, taking your hand in his. Passing the king at the door you covered your mouth and began to giggle. The whole situation was completely absurd. Out in the hallway with the door to the study finally closed, Thranduil pulled you close. “Now, let’s continue this elsewhere.”

Tag List: @entishramblings @themerriweathermage

[kobithedragon]

My research is aimed at exploring the mystic structures of intersecting and overlapping nodes in peoples dreams as reflections of peoples experience and material conditions. I’m interested in the unconscious systems we’re apart of like dreams, where the conscious systems we’re apart of are mirrored and refracted. We rarely can see the superstructures that connect us for what they are, but dreams by extension are a web of intangible shared knowledge and feeling that is universally experienced and shaped by our conscious life.

“We have hidden that fact in the same place where we have hidden our power. They lie in our dreams, and it is our dreams that point the way to freedom.” AUDRE LORDE

The collective unconscious is a system of themes, patterns, stories, and images that appear in the dreams of people across boundaries and cultures. The personal unconscious of our minds is where the de-individualized version of ourselves experience thoughts, feelings, urges and other information that is difficult to bring to conscious. With such contents being mostly inaccessible, dreams can illuminate the ways in which we as individuals experience and open ourselves up to new modes of connecting.

The collective unconscious is the inherent aspects of your consciousness of which there was no choice involved - conscious or unconscious. The evolutionarily pre-figured part of ourselves that reveals our humanity in all its forms, a link to the primal human psyche that weaves together the ego and experiences of all people to have lived.

I Imagine networks of tree roots overlapping and intertwining as do our dreams, creating a habitat for one another, spaces where we can tap into collective knowledge. Mycorrhizal networks are underground networks formed by the hyphae of fungi joining with the roots of trees and other plants. These pathways are used by trees to pass information and through those connections pass substances that both organisms need to grow. This fungal highway is called the wood wide web and is similar in form to how I imagine dreams serve as pathways or nodes revealing archaic hidden or forgotten thought.

“ESP (Extrasensory perception) research suggests the telepathy of dreams – where people are able to communicate with each other even at a distance, through their dreams. What if dreams are where we meet other lives – human and nonhuman? What if the ‘self’ – this infuriating thing our modern lives are premised upon – is not coherent or absolutely boundaried at all? What if the self is diffracted, spread out, fractal, rhizomatic? What if dreams are evidence that we are not practitioners of experience as such, but practices ourselves? Practices of a larger self-ing process that enlists the experiments of leaves in wind, rumoring bees and ebbing tides? What if we ask poor questions when we seek the purpose of dreams?” BAYO AKOMOLAFE

Rhizomes in plants are stems that send out roots and shoots from its nodes, branching off and fragmenting into different directions. In philosophy the term is used to describe the relations and connectivity of things, a network connecting any point to any other point. These can be points of social conflict, systems of power, or the vestigial memories we hold on to in our dreams. The relations of all people can be compared and juxtaposed to the mycelial systems of fungus and mold, the multiplicity of unconscious ways we communicate thought and feeling everyday being roots that spread information and substances.

www.are.na/block/17837175

[thewonkywitchescauldron]

Magickal Energy of Plants

I am a HUGE fan of herbs, whether it’s growing them myself in my witchy herb garden and harvesting to use within teas, tinctures, beauty products and my spellwork or having a dried selection or essential oil form in my witchy stash to use at any time I need these wonderful beings within my path.

I use essential oils within magickal dressing and anointing oils, within magickal sprays, oil diffusers, holistically whether it’s topically to help aid an ailment or inhaling the oil for mental and emotional support. However these do need some training and much research before using them in such ways as these little bottles of oils are extremely concentrated extracts of the plants themselves and without proper training and research these can cause more harm then good.

Dried & Fresh herbs are much safer to use for all, but of course again research is needed before using herbs for specific ailments concerning the human body as they can cause problems as well if used incorrectly.

However using herbs within witchcraft is safe and doesn’t need to be considered too much unless when handling you are sensitive and of course if you're working with particular poisonous herbs, so still air on the side of caution.

Now the careful chat is out the way let’s talk herbal history. As we all know the plant kingdom came into existence on our Earth millions of years before the existence and evolution of human beings. Saying that, it’s fair to say that herbs are the oldest magickal tools and ingredients in existence. Known for millennia to have beneficial properties for both the physical and spiritual well-being, many different species of plants were incorporated into the practices of healers, shamans and other medicine men and women of the old days within villages and tribes - this is where, as we know it, the origin of herbal magick. You still see to this day in Chinese, Ayurvedic and Native American medicines being used from the knowledge of their ancestors centuries ago. In these traditions there is still a good amount of chanting, prayers and spellwork adding to the curative effects of the plants themselves.

Back before medicine was separated from magick, physical healing was often accompanied by ritual and prayer, so that a patient might be treated with an herbal decoction, as well as a smudging ritual and an incantation to the spirits for a quick recovery. Today, the simple daily ritual of enjoying a cup of herbal tea can have emotional and spiritual effects as well as nutritional benefits. This combination of healing and magickal properties makes herbs incredibly powerful components to use within your magickal practice or your daily life for that matter.

The healers of old would pass this information down through their lineage or to people they trained to become the next healers. This was all done verbally so you can imagine the concentration and memory they had to possess to keep track of every plant they worked, what it looked like, where it grew, how it grew, antidotes to them if a reaction occurred, what reactions may occur, along with their correspondences if working spiritually, this was all a trial and error for them as they did not possess the equipment we do today to tell how a plant may react to situations and know the dosages for medicinal use or magickal.The Egyptians used plants in the majority of their magick, they didn’t only use the plants for healing but also for their powers of protection, strength, love etc. The Egyptian practitioner knew the metaphysical properties of many plants and knew how to blend them together within spellwork and rituals.

The Greeks and Romans both used medicinal herbs regularly. Hippocrates, the father of modern medicine lived during these times and he’s work is fll of known plants and their uses for medicinal purposes. Other names such as Galen and Dioscorides complied 500 plants into a reference text which we have Medieval Monks to thank for reproducing these texts for future use.With all this happening we did still have the wise woman or the wife at home using folk medicine to help aid any ailments that came. They used plants from their own gardens or woodlands nearby as well as their own kitchens and used them everyday to help aid illnesses like colds and also help heal bruises. These simple acts blended beautifully with folk magick, this is where the first herb witches were born.

From the 15th to the 17th Centuries herbal aids were popping up all over the place which also included astrological elements.

Nicholas Culpeper an English botanist, herbalist, physician and astrologer wrote a book called ‘The English Physician’ which is full of pharmaceutical and herbal knowledge, as well as Astrological Judgement of Diseases from the Decumbiture of the Sick which is one of the most detailed works on medical astrology in Early Modern Europe. Within he’s work was The doctrine of Signatures which states that herbs resembling various parts of the body can be used by herbalists to treat ailments of those body parts. This method is still widely used today. For Example: A Walnut is the shape of the brain, so therefore helps with brain health. Ginger Root resembles the stomach, this in turn helps aid in stomach sickness. Nature always has a remedy for an ailment, you just ned to know where to look.

Herbs in Magick

As magickal practices with plants grew over the centuries, so did the approach of use from witch to witch. They were added herbs to flames or candles to increase their power as well as creating bundles for burning or mixing together for a specific goal. Others used the moon and phases of the moon to gather particular herbs for the best results.To hide their recipes, codes were put in place so the ‘muggle’ so to speak wouldn’t recognise the ingredients used by the witch. Eye of Newt is a great example which would be a common flower or plant used that only the witch who wrote it would understand. Historians aren’t sure why this was done, but the general consensus is that it was done for protection of their personal power. We don’t see much of this anymore however some practitioners will use the Theban Alphabet (witches alphabet) to hide information from prying eyes.

Today this use of herbs within witchcraft is exceedingly widespread and so many herbs are now so readily available there is no need to go out and forage. However it is a fun way of doing it as well as really getting that connection to the earth and the plants themselves. You can also of course grow plants within your own garden or in the home. This way they are readily available to you as and when you need them. Growing and harvesting your own herbs keeps you in touch with the powers of the Earth - not to mention the Sun, the rain, and the wind, as well as the role played by insects and other animal life in sustaining the cycle of life and death in all of its forms.Gardening and growing your own herbs and plants allows you to charge these wonderful beings with your own energy.

Herbs are also probably the most versatile when it comes to hands-on magic. You can use them to create your own magickal crafts, such as spell jars, dream pillows, poppets, sachets and other charms. Some people like to create their own incense and oils with herbs, which adds even more magickal power to their work. Herbs are also used in all kinds of ways whether we’re talking about magical teas, baked goods or other foods.

Why not add this knowledge to medicinal remedies in your witchy first aid kit as well, tinctures, salves, creams etc. Working with herbs, plants, trees, berries etc can really be so beneficial in so many ways. The Green Witch knows this.

Aristotle, the famous Greek philosopher of ancient times, believed that plants have “psyches,” a word normally used to describe the human quality of soul, or spirit. Many Witches today would agree. In fact, even scientists are starting to realize that plants actually have what we might define as consciousness.

Plants both communicate and cooperate with each other in the wild, even among different species. In a forest setting, trees, shrubs, and other plants will exchange information with each other through an underground network of roots and fungi.

This natural “internet” allows plants to exchange nutrients with each other, helping each other make up for any shortages at various points in the growing season - much like you might “borrow” a few eggs from a neighbour and return the favour later on with some extra butter! Plants are also able to warn each other about nearby predators. For example, if one leaf is bitten by an insect, a plant will release chemicals that both repel the insect and prompt its plant neighbours to release their own chemicals to do the same.

These discoveries serve as wonderful illustrations of the inherent intelligence of Mother Earth. Whether working with a plant’s roots, seeds, stems, leaves, flowers, or berries or even the bark of a tree. Witches tap into these magical energies when incorporating herbs into their practice.

The Four Elements within Plants

In terms of magickal symbolism, plants embody the power of the four classical Elements working together to create and sustain life. They begin as seeds in the soil of the Earth, where the minerals needed to sustain their life are found. They interact with the Fire of sunlight, which makes the process of converting carbon dioxide into oxygen possible - a process that directly affects the quality of the air.

Air then fosters more plant life in the form of wind, which both stimulates the growth of stems and leaves, and scatters seeds in order to continue the cycle. And of course, all plants need Water to live.

But they also play a crucial role in the regulation of the Earth’s water cycles by purifying water, and helping to move it from the soil to the atmosphere. Indeed, there is perhaps no better illustration for how the elements of Earth, Air, Fire and Water come together than in the magickal existence of plants.

So where should a beginner witch start with their herb cupboard?

Here are a few firm favourites that I like to say are a must in any witches stash which are easily accessible.

Basil is a firm winner for the green witch. So easy to obtain. Basil covers Abundance, Prosperity & Wealth, Love, Happiness, Mental Power and Confidence.

Bay Leaf is another easy to obtain herb to use within your craft. These wonderful leaves are used for Psychic Power, Divination, Purification, Success, Money, Strength, Protection and is widely used for Wish Magick.

Chamomile is a beautiful little flower to work with, its gentle, calming and a firm favourite amongst witches. Chamomile helps with Money, luck, love, reversing hexes, happiness, meditation, sleep and purification.

Cinnamon adds some lovely aroma and boosts magickal potency but also helps with Spiritual and Psychic Abilities, Creativity, Divination, Luck, Protection and Success.

Clove is one of my favourites for boosting spells and adding a little potency to my workings but it’s also used for Cleansing, Protection, Banishing, Prosperity, Courage and Divination.

Dandelion is the dreaded weed that everyone wants to get rid of in their gardens. But is it really? This misunderstood so-called ‘weed’ is full of life. I love seeing these pop up in my garden, they are full of goodness and shouldn't be looked down upon in disgust. Magickally they can be used for Divination, wishes, transformation, calling spirits, sun energy (yellow flower), moon energy (puff ball).

Lavender is such a wonderful plant to work with. I cannot stress this enough.Lavender is used for Psychic Power & Awareness, Love, Divination, Happiness, Healing, Peace & Sleep, Meditation, Purification and of course Protection. A great plant to grow by your front door for protection.

Then there is the Witches Protection Herb of Rosemary. One of my absolute favourites. Grow this by your front door for some herbal witchy protection. It is also used for Purification, Courage, Confidence, Blessings, Mental Power & Remembrance, Strength and Wisdom.

You can always tell when a witch is present in a household when there is Lavender and Rosemary growing. Have a look when you're out and about, I am sure you will notice quite a few houses with these wonderful plants outside.

Sage being a firm favourite across many cultures which is used for Purification, Prosperity, Clairvoyance, Divination, Banishing, Inspiration, Wisdom and Protection. It’s usually the main herb used in most smudging sticks.

Just having these herbs in your witchy stash will cover an array of magickal needs you may desire. However if you’re like me this isn’t enough, I love to work with herbs and oils so much, I need a whole array of herbs to work with within my craft.

If you’d like to learn more about using herbs within your craft then please do join me at Kallima Spiritual Centre in my Green Witches Craft Workshop on Sunday 29th August 2021 Or my Magickal Witches Incense and Oils Workshop on Sunday 1st August. To book your space please visit www.kallima.co.uk

Stay Magickal & Blessed Be WillowMoon The Wonky Witch

[pallanophblargh]

Do the different species of aequis get along well? Do they have different cultures? Is their a religion they have created?

The types get along with each other to varying degrees: generally there are solid relations between all terrestrial types, and likewise with all arboreal types, but there is no hostility or real exclusionary behavior between any of the types. However, it’s probably an unspoken agreement that the wetlanders are the weirdest ones, though the tropical terrestrial types will have anyone know they never think that (likely closest allies to the wetlanders due to proximity). They probably all have some (relatively harmless) stereotypes about each other, but in general no harm is intended. ( “Arboreals are such gossips!” “Arctics are so out of the loop, aww,” and “grasslanders are such hopeless people lovers.”)

They have overarching culture that unite them all as Aequis, but there are also subcultures that are hugely influenced by region. All Aequis value cooperation, harmony, visual beauty, good sounds/music, family bonds/strength in community, respect for weather and elements, living in balance with nature, (and smiting the shit out of “gryphons” *cough*!) Also they collectively DO NOT like fire. Or lightning. Naturally, there are several daring/rebellious/questionably sane individuals who make their way through the world wielding fire, but in general, they give anything that has the potential to start fire a wide berth. I imagine there is a career reserved for “daredevil” Aequis that involves prescribed burns to woods or grasslands that have gotten overgrown. Aequis do believe in some degree of territory management, after all. 

Different types do have different subcultures, yes! All arboreal types have a culture that is closely tied to the massive trees and forests that they call home, they have close connections to plant life, fruits, and fungi.  Their culture rewards daring cunning more than others, since they exist in direct contact with the “gryphons” and their cleverness is what will grant them an upper hand. Social closeness/friendship is very important to them. Wetlanders’ culture revolve naturally around water, and the seasonal ebb and flow, being flexible and receptive to change, being calm and patient, and whenever possible, to guide those less fortunate through trying times. Desert types are similar in many respects despite living in opposite climates. Mountain and arctic types hold endurance, resilience, and feats of strength as ideals and don’t feel the need to embrace closely knit communities, though cooperation is always a virtue. Islanders praise bold exploration and daring excursion, as well as tight social bonds. They’re also fond of being acrobatic show-offs. Tropical terrestrials have an odd culture that seems split between “stealth-mode” while hunting and “look at me!” They have a strong affinity for music and regularly drum on logs and snags as part of social gatherings or breeding displays. Grasslanders are easygoing and laid back, but ever alert, and willing to lend a helping hand (claw!) when needed.

I’m trying to decide if they have an organized “religion” or more a loose set of beliefs/reverences. All Aequis respect the sun and the winds, of course, with different types paying their respects to different things. Arboreals, of course, tend to their trees with great care, Wetlanders revere their waters, etc. They see how all forces balance and celebrate it, mostly likely during solstice/equinoxes. I’ll definitely have to think on this more, especially on whether or not they have any creation stories.

[damienthepious]

okay so this went up at 11:51pm on ao3 but tumblr formatting is a nightmare so uh. happy LKT to timezones that are are still in Tuesday Time? whatever, I made it, somehow. it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine.

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 15)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [ao3] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol), Mutual Pining, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: The humans take a very truncated tour.

Chapter Notes: BOY I'M CUTTIN IT CLOSE THIS WEEK. WORLD GOT ME DOWN, SORRY FAM. I'm RUSHING through to post please forgive any formatting weirdness or typos and also forgive the fact that this chapter is a bit shorter than the last few have been. haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

~

The Keep releases the humans, and it settles Arum back on his feet as well, warbling a song that blends confusion and warmth and a number of other feelings that bleed through their link, almost overwhelming after Arum has spent so long with only his own emotions to process.

Damien rubs his wrists with a strange, unreadable look on his face, but Amaryllis is still holding one of the vines, gently pulling it close enough to examine, her eyes wide. Neither reaction sets Arum at ease, but he supposes that this was not the warmest of welcomes for them, all things considered.

He-

Arum does not know what to do, now that he is home, and they are here with him.

“So,” Amaryllis says, releasing the vine as he draws closer to them. “This is your… Keep?”

“I… it… yes, yes, this is the Keep,” he says, and the moss is soft and familiar between his clawed toes. “My Keep is… I told you we are meant to protect each other. It thought- it did not know you were not a threat, and it has not seen- it has been without-”

“You’ve been away for a long time,” she says gently, and Arum hates the way his heart lurches for her easy words. “Must be nice to be home.”

“I imagine that is quite the understatement,” Damien says softly, though he is not looking at either of them, and Arum laughs, very lightly.

“Indeed. Keep, I-”

He feels the Keep observing, feels the way it is parsing his own emotions and the way it is observing the humans as well, and it is somewhat like seeing the pair of them again, for the first time. It is distracting, though not unpleasant.

The Keep sings, and Arum watches the way that Amaryllis’ eyes light up with curiosity.

“So, I get that it’s alive, but- you can talk to it?”

It hums around them, answering for itself, and Arum can’t help his smile.

“We speak, yes.”

Amaryllis opens her mouth, clearly to ask another question, to continue to chase this new mystery, but she pauses. Her eyes narrow, and then she tilts her head.

“You- huh. You’re standing more easily. Are you- hang on.” She reaches a hand towards him and Arum tilts his head, and when her fingers brush the edge of his frill he clenches his teeth together to keep from making some noise at the contact. “That looks- the tissue is- is the Keep healing you?” she asks, sounding both impressed and a little- irritated, perhaps?

“What?” Damien says, finally looking towards them again, and Arum stiffens at their combined scrutiny, standing a little straighter. “What do you- oh.”

“Oh?” Arum echoes.

“You look- Rilla, have his scales taken on- more color?”

“I think so, actually. Arum-”

“I told you,” he growls. “Our connection is difficult to explain.”

“But it’s healing you. You’re already better than you were a few minutes ago.”

“Of course I am. We- we help each other. We protect each other.”

Rilla, strangely, looks furious now. “If you told me it could make you better in minutes , we would have tried to bring you home a hell of a lot faster, Arum!”

“It- it is not instantaneous, and it did not seem like something you would believe, Amaryllis.”

“Maybe not at first, Arum, but you’ve been healing like a damned glacier and you could have been better so much faster if you just told me-”

Arum finds that he is smiling. He is reminded with a pang that he will miss this, miss her arguments and her fire, miss the soft tension of passing time with Sir Damien as well, and the smile abruptly flickers off. He swallows, looking away.

“I apologize, then,” he says, and Rilla’s argument comes to a halt. “Believe that if there was any way I thought I could have come back to my Keep any faster, I certainly would have.”

She opens her mouth, then sighs and smiles wryly.

“I suppose this accounts for the escape attempts, then,” Damien murmurs, and Arum chokes on a laugh.

“Quite. Not, I now admit, that I could possibly have gotten here on my own in that state.”

“Stubborn,” Rilla mutters, and when Damien raises a pointed eyebrow at her she scowls harder.

Damien tilts his head away, burying his smile before he laughs at her irritation, and then he meets Arum’s eyes. He looks- wary, still.

“So… we have delivered you back to where you belong,” he says, tone deceptively light. He pauses for a moment, but neither Arum nor Amaryllis interrupt him. It is too clear that his thought is unfinished. “What… what happens now, Lord Arum?”

Arum’s body tenses, his stance going entirely stiff. He glances towards Amaryllis, who appears precisely as unsure about the question as Arum feels. What happens now, as if Arum had ever truly expected to return home, as if he had planned for this. He had not expected, in his heart, to ever return to the Keep, let alone to do so with these strange, strange humans in tow. Or- with them towing him.

"I…" Arum swallows, feels his tail curling anxiously, and the Keep drifts vines out to touch his shoulders, to steady him. "I suppose… I am- certain that the both of you must be… eager to return home, as well," he murmurs, turning his face away. "But- but it is… late in the day, now. It would make little sense for you to set out again without rest, only to make camp in an hour or so." He pauses for a moment, still not looking at them as he flicks his tongue, and he can practically taste tension hanging in the air, theirs and his own. "I would… it would be wisest for the both of you to stay the night. If you will."

"You… you wouldn't mind letting us stay?" Amaryllis asks quietly, and Arum scoffs.

"I have been imposing on your hospitality for so long a time now that I've entirely lost track, Amaryllis," he growls. "One night at the very least will not make the slightest impact on my own." He pauses. "If you can stand to sleep within a monster structure, of course."

"Your… your Keep will not mind our presence, either?"

This next question from Damien, and Arum glances their way again, raising an eyebrow as the Keep sings its answer, decisively closing the portal behind them at last. Arum notes with no small measure of surprise that neither of the humans appear unsettled, that their escape route has vanished.

"Its sense of hospitality is far more developed than my own," he mutters. "I doubt very much it could be convinced to allow you to leave without at least providing you a meal."

Amaryllis smiles. "Does the Keep cook, then, or do I finally get to see your theoretical culinary skills?"

Arum shoots the doctor a glare, puffing up his chest as he growls. "I assure you, Amaryllis, that you will see that my culinary skills are completely and entirely," he pauses, "adequate."

Amaryllis blinks, and then bursts into laughter, her entire body jolting with it as she leans against Damien, who is pursing his lips together tight, his eyes sparkling with his own barely suppressed mirth.

Arum is glad that they are too caught in the amusement to look at him, for only a few moments. He does not like to think what they will see on his face, if they look at him right now. Their joy, bubbling bright within his home-

It is overwhelming.

"Keep," he says before they've entirely recovered, looking away. "Open the way, if you would."

Amaryllis stops laughing as the doorway opens again, the noises of chiming and insects and life drifting lazily through the passage, and her eyes light with curiosity, as Arum had hoped they would.

"It seems… appropriate, that I should show you my home, as you showed me yours, does it not?"

"A tour?" she says, raising an eyebrow, and Arum snorts. "Sure, sounds fun, actually."

"What… what is through there?" Sir Damien asks, his own curiosity mitigated rather obviously by his nerves.

"The room I believe Amaryllis will take the greatest interest in," he says with a shrug. "I did not think the impatient creature should like to wait."

"Okay, fair," Rilla says with a grin. "But now you have to tell me."

Arum barely manages to suppress another laugh. "Come, then, you ridiculous creature. Let me show you my greenhouse."

~

There's just so much, is the thing. So much life, so many plants and fungi that Rilla has either needed to pay out the nose for, scrabble tooth and nail to find on her own, has only seen in sketches, or didn't even believe existed at all, before. It's like a dream, honestly. If Arum hadn't already told her about the Hermit (a bittersweet sting, that memory- she can't help but be disappointed that the flower was destroyed, but the fact that he trusted her enough to tell her is- interesting evidence), she would have it in the back of her mind anyway, half expecting it to be hidden here, among so many other impossible specimens.

The space is enormous- the Keep itself must be huge, the size of a town, maybe, and it would probably take her weeks to see everything that Arum has in his collection.

Longer, actually, because his collection is exactly as organized as the swamp outside. She's beginning to see where he was coming from, exactly, with his complaints about her own organizational systems.

"So that's the pond you were talking about, for keeping the Jungle Flame from causing trouble?"

Arum and Damien have been drifting behind her, Arum tapping a surprising degree of patience as she bolts from wonder to wonder, and now he nods, his lip turning wryly.

"I may still, despite the strategy you shared. One cannot be too cautious with fire, within a structure such as this."

"No, that makes sense," she says, tilting her head at the pond, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "And the Keep can just- grow an island, there?"

"The Keep is the entirety of this place. It shifts and changes as it is needed."

"That… sounds really cool, actually. Huh."

There is so much, so much to see, to investigate. She could get lost in here, metaphorically speaking. She could just keep finding more and more fascinating things to ask Arum about, more answers to questions she's had penned into the margins of countless journals.

And it's good, she thinks, to have something here to focus on, besides Arum himself. He's so vibrant, now. She didn't realize, all this time, how washed out his injuries had made him, how much he had been muted by pain and recovery. Here, with the Keep performing whatever magic it needs to help him stand easy again, he gleams as glossy as the plants he keeps, he practically thrums with relief and joy, and Rilla-

Rilla's throat hurts, just a bit, because she knows that she won't have any excuse not to leave, when morning comes.

She sinks to kneel, feeling the soft dirt and moss beneath her knees, cool and real and distracting, and she pulls out her recorder.

One more little mystery. Just one more little problem to solve, before she admits to herself that she still doesn't have an answer to the problems that really matter.

~

Amaryllis is deeply, deeply engrossed with her recorder beside a pair of symbiotically growing plants when Arum realizes that Sir Damien is staring at him, now, instead of at the doctor.

"I apologize, honeysuckle," he says, raising his eyebrow.

Damien blinks. "Apologize? For- for what, precisely?"

"This has been a rather single-minded tour, as Amaryllis put it. We have indulged her curiosities, but I cannot imagine that you share the depth of her interest in my collection of flora."

"Ah," he says, his lip pulling into a surprised smile. "Perhaps not, but- you need not apologize." He turns his gaze towards Amaryllis, then, his smile going gentle. "Her delight is precisely as my own. And besides, it is not as if I expected that we should arrive to your home and you would entertain me, Lord Arum. I did not expect serenades."

Arum chokes a laugh, his tail curling behind him, and-

A thought.

"Not… not serenades, of course," Arum murmurs, and Damien's attention flicks back towards him, curious. "But- perhaps there is something that may interest you." He pauses, and after a moment Damien gestures for him to continue. "I do have a small library. Nothing particularly impressive, and the majority of my volumes will be unreadable to you, but- would you like- rather, I could show you. If you would like."

Damien stares at him for a moment, lips parted, and then he smiles and Arum bites down the rattle that wants to shake in his chest.

"That- yes, that would be- I would be delighted."

"Excellent," Arum says, and then he looks away, his eyes returning helplessly towards Amaryllis for a moment. "Though- she does not seem keen to be pulled away, just yet."

Damien's smile goes soft again, and he shakes his head. "Perhaps not. Just a moment, Arum."

Damien steps closer to his- to Amaryllis, leaning down to murmur something by her ear as she kneels by the flora, and she does not look up from the plant, though Arum sees her mouth move in response, and the focus on her face softens for only a moment when Damien leans the last inch closer to place a kiss at her temple before he straightens and returns to join Arum.

"I told her we would not be long," he explains, and then he makes a rather unnecessarily elegant gesture with his hand.

Rather trusting, Arum thinks, to be so willing to leave Amaryllis alone and unprotected in Arum's Keep. If they meant her harm-

"Right. Right, then." Arum clears his throat. "Keep, the scroll room, if you would?"

Damien watches the vines grow to create the portal with that same mixed trepidation and fascination, but he does not hesitate to step through after Arum, and his eyes widen slightly as he takes in the room.

Amaryllis would call it disorganized, certainly, but such chaos does not trouble Arum. As he said, his library is not impressive by any standards. Literature is not among his more passionate interests, but former Keep-Lords have certainly gathered enough over the Keep's long, long life to amass a decent collection.

"There- oh, so many of these look- positively ancient, Arum," Damien murmurs, lifting a hand but not daring to touch the case of one of the more rare scrolls.

"They are ancient," Arum drawls. "Most of them, anyway. I have added very little to the proceedings, so most of the texts predate my own lifespan. Hence the age. The Keep maintains the air in this space in such a way that it preserves the more delicate parchment. You may examine whatever you like on the shelf on the far wall, however. Those volumes are newer, more sturdy, and if I remember correctly there should be one or two that are written in the human script."

Damien looks bemused for a moment. "You have texts written by humans?"

"Information is information, honeysuckle," Arum says with a shrug, and Damien purses his lips in consideration before he nods, stepping towards the indicated shelf to peruse.

While he is so engrossed, Arum need not force himself to avert his gaze. Damien's focus is… intense. Distracting. It is difficult for Arum, to pull his eyes away. For the moment he does not bother.

"Ah-" Damien laughs very lightly. "It seems you already had a primer in human poetry before we met, Lord Arum," Damien says, running his fingers lightly across the spine of a book and slipping it from the shelf. "I know this poet. She wrote of the Saints, primarily."

Arum clenches his teeth, feeling his frill flutter. "There is little coherency to the collection, little songbird. I could not possibly say how such a work made its way into my hands." He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at the book as Damien opens it and flips through. "I remember that one, yes." He sneers. "I should apologize, I think, that I cannot provide you more stimulating material to peruse."

"What?" Damien lifts his head. "What do you- mean?"

Arum shrugs, a little aggressively. "I am aware that my collection is limited, honeysuckle. I may have a collection of poetry or two, but I do not possess any volumes of the quality that our doctor shared with me."

"The- the quality?"

"The tome you are holding is rather dry by comparison, I should say," he inhales, hisses a breath, looks away, mutters, "it does not compare. It will not stick in your mind like … like…" he trails off, and- well. The words come almost too easily. "The paper of the lantern will not rise without the flame," he breathes, pretending not to feel his frill rising higher at his neck, "And so ascended I, alight and burning when you came." Arum pauses a long moment, then, feeling the odd way those words curl on his tongue, the way they make him feel, the sympathetic heat they kindle behind the cage of his ribs, and then he exhales again. "Yes. I do not think I shall forget those words, as I have forgotten so many of the dusty poems I have been storing here."

He pauses again, and Sir Damien does not speak. Arum notices, then, that the knight's heart is beating rather quickly, and when he looks to Damien again he presses the book tight against his chest, his lips parting in clear surprise.

"What?" Arum grumbles, thrown by the sudden intensity in Damien's expression, by the heavy tension he can taste on the air. "What, honeysuckle? I have already admitted that your species is… somewhat skilled, in such arts. I will not say so again."

"N-no, I- it is simply that- I- well, you- you read- you read-" he stammers off, losing words entirely for a long moment.

"I read nearly everything Amaryllis provided me in that little basket of hers. Why? What does it matter?" He projects a sneer. "Again, I already told you. Human poetry is not- it is not entirely disagreeable."

"But you read- you read my poe-"

Arum blinks, and stares down at Damien as the poet swallows his words, and Arum's stomach drops in something like panic.

"Those- that- those were… your words?"

"I, ah- yes, I-"

"She stuck them in the basket with the rest," Arum barks, tail thrashing. "She did not mention that- that they were- that they were private-"

"Not-" Damien bursts into a breath of uncomfortable laughter, and Arum barely resists an urge to either bolt from the room or- or to sway closer to the human, instead. "They are not private, not precisely, but- that was from a… a collection, verses written for my- for Rilla. Poetry that my flower inspired, with her brilliance and beauty."

Damien's dark cheeks are darker, now, flushed, and he is looking at the shelf of volumes, away from Arum, and Arum-

More words drift back to him. More phrases, warm and fond, enraptured- sensual, at times, and-

It is no wonder, then, that every line of verse on those pages reminded Arum of her. Of the pair of them. It is no wonder at all, that he had not even noticed Amaryllis enter the room as he read, because her presence was in the room before her, in the words themselves.

Unconsumed, enlightened, and by your heat unfurled

Together, hand in hand, we rose, and made more gold the world.

Arum clenches his own hands, his palms tingling. He should have known, that those words were meant for the love between these two humans. He thinks of their hands, intertwined with such ease. He things of the invitation of Amaryllis' palm, and her gentle invocation of we . He thinks of his little songbird, grasping unseeing in the night, how he settled when Arum took his hand in claws.

He feels what Damien penned. He feels himself a paper lantern. Fragile, and untethered, and close to burning.

"I… I should have… I should have known," He murmurs, and Damien glances towards him again. "Should have recognized your voice upon the page, I think."

"They- many were not-" he pauses, bites his lip, and smiles very cautiously. "You… you enjoyed them? Truly?"

Arum breathes a helpless laugh. "You are a beautiful poet, honeysuckle," he says, and when Damien flushes darker he- winces, glancing away. "Rather- I meant, of course, that your poetry is- not that-"

"It is… it is quite alright, Lord Arum," Damien says. "I thank you for the compliment."

Damien tucks the book of less relevant poetry back onto the shelf, his cheeks still dark as he scans his eyes across the various monster scripts, and Arum clenches his hands.

Beautiful, he thinks again, and there is something almost vicious about it.

"If there is nothing else here that interests you, honeysuckle, we should return to the greenhouse," he mutters.

Damien looks towards him, his eyes flicking oddly across Arum's face for a moment before he looks aside. "Yes," he says softly. "I suppose we should do our best to draw Rilla back to us from her newest puzzle."

Back to us.

He did not mean that.

Arum clenches his hands again, pushes the desire down inside of himself, and summons the way back to the greenhouse.

~

Arum leaves them briefly, before dinner, so they can finally change out of their travel clothes and scrub off the dust of the road in the Keep's large, strange washroom, and after Damien lowers a hand to help Rilla lift herself out from the large tub (or, perhaps, small indoor pond) made from one enormous waxy leaf, she keeps hold of his hand, pulling him in close so she can throw her arms around his shoulders.

"R-Rilla-"

"Just-" she squeezes him, pressing her face into his neck and sighing there. "One sec. Need- need something that feels normal and real just for- one second."

"Oh… oh Rilla," he strokes a hand down her braid, holding her in return, feeling her breathe softly against his skin. "You know I will always, always hold you, if you ask." He smiles very gently, a laugh in his tone as he continues, "If we were not required to bother ourselves with such mundanities as food and work and rest, I would never let you go."

"That too," she mumbles. "The talking, I mean."

"I suppose I speak at such length that my voice must be as familiar and ordinary as-"

"I love you, Damien," she murmurs, clinging more tightly. "Th-thank you."

Damien's breath catches, his center burning with the sweet shock of it, the way he is never quite used to hearing her say those words. He presses his lips to her hair, to her temple, and he rocks gently on his heels, swaying them together.

"I love you, Amaryllis. I am grateful that I could be at your side along this journey, as I wish to be for the rest of our lives."

"We got him home," she says, her tone a worrying waver.

"So we did," he answers gently. "You've done so much, my love. You saved him. Now all you need do is rest."

"No-" she shakes her head, pulling back slightly so she can meet his eye with a grimace. "No, I can't because I still- Damien, I thought we would get here and I would know what I should do, but- but he's home, we brought him home and he's safe and he's going to really, really heal and I still don't know what to-"

"Rilla…"

"And he thinks we're just desperate to get away from him, doesn't he? He'll let us stay the night and then- and then what, Damien? We just- leave and go back home and pretend like- like none of this happened? Pretend like I can go back to thinking about monsters the way I used to? Pretend I never- pretend that I'm not going to- to miss him, that I don't-"

She cuts off, inhales sharply, closes her eyes and clenches her teeth.

"Rilla," Damien murmurs, and he cups her cheek as she shudders out another breath. "It's alright."

"It's not-"

"It is, my love." Damien manages a smile when she opens her eyes again, scowling at him, and it feels bittersweet on his lips. "You said our feelings could not be part of this discussion until Arum was safe again. He is. He is safe, now, and I think you need to speak your own heart, my Rilla. I think you need to say it."

She stares at him, and fear looks so very strange on his beloved. He brushes his thumb across her cheek, his other hand resting at her waist, and he waits. He is more patient than his love; she may take however long she needs.

"I… Damien, I love him," she says. "I do, I love the way he always seems surprised when he laughs, I love his stupid sense of pride and the way he always gestures with his hands even if it hurts his wrist, I love how clever he is and how he cares so much even if he pretends not to, and I love the way he- he mutters in his sleep and- and when he actually smiles I just want to- to-"

"To take him in your arms," Damien murmurs, and Rilla laughs.

"Yeah. Yeah. Exactly. And- and I don't know how I … I don't know how it happened, Damien, and I didn't- I didn't mean to, but- but I do." She looks down, looks away, wincing again. "I love him."

Damien cannot tear his eyes away from her. He would not be capable of the feat if this place collapsed around him entirely. She is-

Fear does not suit his beloved. Love, however, she wears with such beauty and ease that Damien can hardly breathe for the sight of it.

He lifts his other hand, cupping her face, rising to brush his lips over hers, as delicately as he is able.

"I know," he says. "I know, and I know how, as well. It is … rather obvious, in retrospect. You spent every day with him for months, my love. I am unsurprised that you would see the beauty in each other, that you would learn each other, know each other. You are… the both of you are so entirely brilliant, so clever and stubborn and lovely and fierce…"

Rilla exhales half a laugh. "Damien."

"You fell for him slowly, my darling flower. I told you- I believe you grew together. And I … well. I was not beside the both of you for all of that time. I was distant, in the beginning, both in truth and in feeling, and it took time for me to understand that when I looked at him, I saw… someone, rather than some thing. I imagined so much evil in him, and- I could laugh, now, at my stubbornness, the way I twisted him in my mind, to suit my expectations…" he trails off, shakes his head. "What I mean to say, Rilla, is that I was slower to join you, yes. I was slower to follow you, but-" he thinks his smile has gone sheepish, now. Not quite embarrassment, but the awareness of his own nature making him feel wry. "I think we both know that when I fall, it is a rather quick plunge, my love."

Her eyes flick between his own, not quite disbelieving. "You… you said, before, you said feelings, Damien, but- really?"

"Rilla… my darling, my forever-flower, I know that I told you I would- defer to your choices, that I would allow you to set the pace, allow you to choose what would remain said and what would remain unsaid, between the three of us." He swallows, drops his hands from her cheeks to her shoulders. "But- but I am not built to keep feelings within, my Rilla. Every time he looks at me- every time he smiles I feel the waves crashing within me- the damn has nearly broken so many times already- so many moments I looked at him and longed to say…"

He closes his eyes, feeling helpless and awash, but he inhales slowly and the emotion settles, still swelling large within him, but easier, now. Softer.

"He makes me feel… he makes me feel like you do, Rilla. I look at him… his eyes, so sharp and clever, his strong tail, his claws- his hands, so shockingly gentle …" he breathes something like a laugh. "Loving you, my Rilla, is always so overwhelming. Merely being in your presence is enough to make my heart swell, and race, and beg, and your absence causes me such aching that I feel I could die from it. Already I felt so deeply- so powerfully-" He pauses, laughs again. "I felt so full of love … how could I possibly have anticipated that I was capable of further depth of feeling? My heart, full to bursting already- I did not realize that my heart is not a cup, is not some fragile thing wherein I hold my love for you, that jitters and sloshes when I am overwhelmed, when I falter in my tranquility and take, again, to thrashing. Rilla, my heart is not a cup, it does not merely hold. My heart is a spring, is a source, is ever-flowing, without limit. I love you, my Amaryllis, my flower. I love you forever."

Rilla stares, her cheeks flushed dark, her eyes shining. "And you love him, too."

"I do," he says, gentle and certain.

"And he…" she inhales, exhales, and her brow furrows. "I know he feels something for us, too," she says quietly. "I can't say for sure that it's- it's that, but I know he feels something. I didn't want to think about it, I didn't want to make it all even more complicated, but- but I'm not stupid and- and honestly he's not exactly subtle."

Damien laughs, in surprise more than humor. "That, he is not," he says, and then he pulls his lip into a wry smile. "Rilla… I will still hold my tongue, if you truly think it is best, but … I think- I think, my love, that we could find a way, if we tried. That we could all, perhaps, be happy. That we could have what we wanted." He pauses, bites his lip. "What… what, exactly, do you want, my Rilla? I know how you feel, but what do you want?"

"I…" she laughs, presses a hand over her mouth. "I want- I don't want him out of our lives, at least. I don't want- I can't stand the thought that we'll leave tomorrow and never see him again, I just can't-"

"Rilla, my heart… I did not ask what you are afraid of." He strokes a hand across her hair, soft, soothing. "Please. Tell me what you want."

"I want… I want to know," she admits, leaning into his arms. "I do. I want to know if he feels the same. If- if he loves us too. And-" she laughs, "and I want to kiss him, if he'll let me."

"Yes," Damien says through his own laughter. "Quite." He tightens his embrace for a moment, crowding close against Rilla until she laughs again. "I suppose it is good to know that we feel the same in that, as well."

[->]

[flamingkorybante]

If it form the one landscape that we, the inconstant ones,    Are consistently homesick for, this is chiefly Because it dissolves in water. Mark these rounded slopes    With their surface fragrance of thyme and, beneath, A secret system of caves and conduits; hear the springs    That spurt out everywhere with a chuckle, Each filling a private pool for its fish and carving    Its own little ravine whose cliffs entertain The butterfly and the lizard; examine this region    Of short distances and definite places: What could be more like Mother or a fitter background    For her son, the flirtatious male who lounges Against a rock in the sunlight, never doubting    That for all his faults he is loved; whose works are but Extensions of his power to charm? From weathered outcrop    To hill-top temple, from appearing waters to Conspicuous fountains, from a wild to a formal vineyard,    Are ingenious but short steps that a child's wish To receive more attention than his brothers, whether    By pleasing or teasing, can easily take. Watch, then, the band of rivals as they climb up and down    Their steep stone gennels in twos and threes, at times Arm in arm, but never, thank God, in step; or engaged    On the shady side of a square at midday in Voluble discourse, knowing each other too well to think    There are any important secrets, unable To conceive a god whose temper-tantrums are moral    And not to be pacified by a clever line Or a good lay: for accustomed to a stone that responds,    They have never had to veil their faces in awe Of a crater whose blazing fury could not be fixed;    Adjusted to the local needs of valleys Where everything can be touched or reached by walking,    Their eyes have never looked into infinite space Through the lattice-work of a nomad's comb; born lucky,    Their legs have never encountered the fungi And insects of the jungle, the monstrous forms and lives    With which we have nothing, we like to hope, in common. So, when one of them goes to the bad, the way his mind works    Remains incomprehensible: to become a pimp Or deal in fake jewellery or ruin a fine tenor voice    For effects that bring down the house, could happen to all But the best and the worst of us…                                            That is why, I suppose,    The best and worst never stayed here long but sought Immoderate soils where the beauty was not so external,    The light less public and the meaning of life Something more than a mad camp. 'Come!' cried the granite wastes,    "How evasive is your humour, how accidental Your kindest kiss, how permanent is death." (Saints-to-be    Slipped away sighing.) "Come!" purred the clays and gravels, "On our plains there is room for armies to drill; rivers    Wait to be tamed and slaves to construct you a tomb In the grand manner: soft as the earth is mankind and both    Need to be altered." (Intendant Caesars rose and Left, slamming the door.) But the really reckless were fetched    By an older colder voice, the oceanic whisper: "I am the solitude that asks and promises nothing;    That is how I shall set you free. There is no love; There are only the various envies, all of them sad."    They were right, my dear, all those voices were right And still are; this land is not the sweet home that it looks,    Nor its peace the historical calm of a site Where something was settled once and for all: A back ward    And dilapidated province, connected To the big busy world by a tunnel, with a certain    Seedy appeal, is that all it is now? Not quite: It has a worldy duty which in spite of itself    It does not neglect, but calls into question All the Great Powers assume; it disturbs our rights. The poet,    Admired for his earnest habit of calling The sun the sun, his mind Puzzle, is made uneasy    By these marble statues which so obviously doubt His antimythological myth; and these gamins,    Pursuing the scientist down the tiled colonnade With such lively offers, rebuke his concern for Nature's    Remotest aspects: I, too, am reproached, for what And how much you know. Not to lose time, not to get caught,    Not to be left behind, not, please! to resemble The beasts who repeat themselves, or a thing like water    Or stone whose conduct can be predicted, these Are our common prayer, whose greatest comfort is music    Which can be made anywhere, is invisible, And does not smell. In so far as we have to look forward    To death as a fact, no doubt we are right: But if Sins can be forgiven, if bodies rise from the dead,    These modifications of matter into Innocent athletes and gesticulating fountains,    Made solely for pleasure, make a further point: The blessed will not care what angle they are regarded from,    Having nothing to hide. Dear, I know nothing of Either, but when I try to imagine a faultless love    Or the life to come, what I hear is the murmur Of underground streams, what I see is a limestone landscape.

W.H. Auden,  In Praise Of Limestone