#Library leaving for new pastures.

[brudberg1]

Wisdom has left

Torn from its orbit the library vessel,untethered.is freeto seek out a worldwere wisdom is prizedmore than the weightof its ink blotted pulp. Free from gravity’s pull,the knowledge has leftin its wakeonly murder & greed,while humanity’s soulseeks new fertile soilunspoiltwhere balance may thrive. The library leaves us behind – ai generated art Today Sanaa hosts dVerse OLN where we can link up…

[copperbadge]

I went to the library this afternoon, intending to get a study room and do some work on the novel, but I got distracted and ended up spending the two hours working on a short story instead.

Georgie has said that Michaelis hired her after she rescued his friend's child from a kidnapping, and it was suggested to me recently that the friend could be Oliver McAllister, Michaelis's old school mate from Pirates of the Riviera. I was skeptical because the timing didn't quite work out, but I couldn't stop thinking about the idea, so I decided to try making it work.

And let me tell you, these messy bitches.

In 2015, Michaelis is deep in his Kingbot 3000 phase so he doesn't have to Have Feelings, and Gregory has coerced him into taking a vacation by threatening a coup. Meanwhile, Olly is fresh from his second divorce, from a woman who just tried to kidnap their child. Georgie is the most together person in the room and she's an unemployed twentysomething who just beat three men unconscious to prevent said kidnapping.

And the most amusing part to me is that because of how I set it up, Michaelis is just trying to be friendly but inadvertently keeps coming across like he's trying to seduce Georgie. Which also makes Georgie joking about trying to marry him for his money in Royals/Ramblers even funnier.

"Ma'am, the police would like to take a statement," Lael said to Georgie.

"I can have Lael find you a lawyer if you want," Michaelis added. She gave him a sardonic look. 

"All right, let's get it over with," she sighed. "There goes my visit to the Musee D'Orsay."

"We'll give you the room. Olly, why don't you go in with your boy, so the police can speak with you if needed. Lael and I will be at the cafe next door when you've finished."

Georgie nodded, but he stopped as he passed her and put a hand on her arm.

"Come see us when you're done," he said quietly, ducking his head so the police at the doorway couldn't see their faces. "And cancel your job interview in London."

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Stay in Paris. You can see the museum this weekend. The palace will cover your lodging and food."

"I...don't want to offend," she said slowly, "but I'm not -- " 

"I'm not flirting with you," he said, realizing belatedly how it might seem to her, and taking his hand from her arm. She looked faintly relieved. "I'm going to spend the time you're giving a statement assembling a job offer for you with my security office. Any young woman who can spot a kidnapping before it happens and soundly beat three grown men should not be leaving Askazer-Shivadlakia to do a job she hates in London. Now, regardless of that, and I say this as a concerned friend, not as king or employer: be honest and helpful with the police, but...economical."

"Just the facts?" she asked. 

"Exactly." He gave her an approving nod and followed Lael out. They were silent in the hallway and lobby, until they stepped out into the street and Lael exhaled.

"That was impressive," he said. "Young lady has a great right hook."

"She's certainly very alert," Michaelis agreed.

"It's been a long time since I've seen someone throw a punch like that."

"Say it and you're fired," Michaelis said good-naturedly. He'd known Lael since the head of security had been a young palace aide during Michaelis's first days as king -- if still years older than the king himself -- and he knew what was coming. 

"Not since our last trip to Galia," Lael said, voice full of relish. "That time a young hothead punched Duke Tomas in the face."

"Utterly fired. I've found your replacement. I'm putting you out to pasture with no pension." 

"You think she'd make a good successor to me?" Lael asked. He was joking but, simultaneously, he was not -- they were both getting older, and Lael was as aware as Michaelis that when a new king was elected in a few years, whoever it was, they would need someone younger, someone who could more easily keep up with them. 

"You tell me," Michaelis said. "You're the expert." 

"Oh, I've been fired, clearly my opinion isn't wanted," Lael said, as they settled into a table at the cafe, Lael with his back to the wall, eyes always scanning behind Michaelis. There had never, at least as far as Michaelis knew, been an attempt on his life, but he'd become used to never getting direct eye contact in public from the man whose job it was, after all, to watch his back. 

"Fine, I withdraw your firing. I suspect purely on her ability to sass me, she is your equal if not your better," he added, as the waitress approached. He ordered coffee and pastries briskly, then turned back to Lael. 

"Well, it's difficult to tell on two minutes' acquaintance," Lael replied, "but actions do speak louder than words." 

"Agreed. Perhaps a contingent offer? She has a law degree; she could likely earn more than we could offer her for a job like yours, but I think she's looking for the right job, not the right pay. Say three months of probation with guaranteed six months of pay to ensure she takes it, and a firm permanent offer at the end if you approve? Conditions non-negotiable but a bit of wiggle room in the salary, I think." 

Lael considered it, then nodded. "I suppose it's paranoia to imagine she might have arranged all this to get into the Palace employ."

"As what, a spy? I love a thriller novel, Lael, but they are fiction," Michaelis replied, amused.

[verysmolnerd]

Being Courted By Arthurian Times!Maxim

This one is a tad bit longer, maybe get a snack while you read this one!

For starters; he's a strong, respected sorcerer known throughout the kingdom he resides in.

Courting a sorcerer is almost as respected as someone in high society. There are rumors of princesses throwing themselves at them to betroth.

Sorcerers are a new thing, however, everyone in your small village find them suspicious. Human beings having magic? Preposterous.

So, to have one visit is quite odd. Regardless, hospitality is open to all that travel through your small corner of the world.

You're out laboring in the fields, anywhere you are needed. You can hear the commotion in town. It's not that something like this happened before, so you lend an ear while the blisters on your hands grow larger.

Sorcerers bring danger wherever they walk, but in turn, they also bring excitement.... Your curiosity gets the better of you.

You and a few others sneak through the meadows to get to the crowd.

You can hear the youths laugh and squeal in excitement as the sorcerer casts magic.

Though it seems as you watch, he has the observation skills of a trusted knight. He spots you the second you got close, though he says nothing. Just eye contact, which is all the more frightening.

You immediately went back where you were, you knew you shouldn't have pried.

That evening, you come to find out that he's staying at the inn nearby. Everyone seems so ecstatic for this sorcerer to be here.

Someone who can wield magic who might as well be a giant amongst everyone else, is welcome. That didn't make sense to you.

However, the world won't stop turning. You'll be back to work tomorrow morning.

And you were, back to work as if nothing had happened. Every single day is the same here after all.

Working, wishing for excitement- all of the crops had just flew from their plants and set themselves into baskets. All the plants you put so much work on now hovered above ground, obscuring you from the outside world.

Some of the plants move aside to reveal the sorcerer from the day before.

"You ran away yesterday. Why is that?"

From afar this man appears scary, but up close he's just flat out alluring. That's even more dangerous.

"I am Maxim Horvath, Merlin's first apprentice. And you are?"

He tells you about his adventures, enticing you of lands far outside your village. The world seems a lot larger than yours here.

He invites you on an adventure, to leave in search of greener pastures.

So, you move into a small place in a larger town where Maxim and his magical kin reside.

He visits you on the daily, giving you advice with living in a more populous environment.

He soon introduces you to the other apprentices, and now you spend most of your nights reading with Maxim in one of the many libraries within Merlin's fortress.

You find that he tries his hardest to get close to you a lot. Even in the crowded streets he still reaches for you, over all the other people.

There were a few nobles that had come and go through this town, always asking for the hand of a strong sorcerer, but it seems like Maxim would always refuse.

Were you jealous? A little, but it was still off putting. Why you? Why did he spare you from your bleak future and is far too patient with you than anyone else?

What really started to turn the tide of your relationship with this man was during a festival, something completely foreign to you. Working day in and day out was what you knew, celebrating hard work, it made no sense.

Regardless, you sit off to the side as people danced and sang merrily to music. It made you realize that you've been missing it on all of this for so long.

Maxim then appears seemingly out of nowhere and invites you to dance. No mater how many times you tell him you can't he insists that you'll learn.

He seems beyond contempt as you sway with him. He even looks more relaxed as well, you vaguely remember the slight edge to him when he wandered into your little corner of nowhere. It feels like that was forever ago.

Maxim then separates you from the celebration and brings you to a secluded area of a forest. A small clearing with a waterfall.

He takes your hands, "May I have the honor of courting you, my dear?" You accept without hesitation.

He has you rest in a conjoint room in the fortress. You sold your small little property and brought your few belongings

However, you've notice some going missing whenever you visit his room. It doesn't take much of an investigation for you to see that Maxim likes to hold onto some little pieces of you. It's not like you're out of his sight either.

It should come to no surprise, but when he falls in love he falls HARD.

He escorts you all around the fortress, loving it when you hold his arm.

You weren't expecting him to hold your hands a lot, you also weren't expecting him to be so flustered when he tried to kiss you.

Big scary man isn't actually scary, he's shy and loves you but could still kill a person™

Dining with you becomes a common theme, same thing with helping him study. Because he finds it easier to learn by relaying the information to another person.

Merlin finds it near impossible to separate him from you, it would've been a lot easier if you could learn magic.

With the rare times that you are alone, it's not for long. He always seems to find you. His duties as a sorcerer pale to his duties as a lover.

There were times where you were reading outside in a field of daisies; your hands were made for hard working, but they seem to appreciate the less you had to do. You shut your book and looked at your hands.

Your hands were quickly taken from view as Maxim pressed his lips on the back of it. He knelt next to you, enjoying a sunny afternoon.

You often comb through his long, curly hair as he rests his head on your legs.

He likes to show off with spells or his skill in swordplay. His poses become more flashy and dynamic as the other sorcerers groan.

He once gave you a blade of grass that changed into a beautiful rose. The magic shenanagains never cease, do they?

You know when he learned a new spell because he'd use it in relation to you. Teleportation? He'd appear right in front of you, trap you in a hug, and teleport in the clearest lake.

Nights were spent in a loving embrace, he refuses to leave you for his own room. He always wants to be with you, in best and in worst times.

He's a man in love, and who are you to deny it from him?

[jazzforthecaptain]

Happy 20th Birthday, Winter Pastures

Today marks the 20th anniversary of the completion of my Yu-Gi-Oh! chaseshipping fic, Winter Pastures. Somewhere in the past, a much younger me pushed the submit button for what she thought was the last time on this story. It was the most adult thing she'd ever written. She was in college, struggling with her own queerness and the pressures of being twenty, shy, and tasting independence for the first time.

In the process of writing it, she stitched in bits of herself and the places she loved. She always does. She always will. The work in progress that she is, is there, limned in words and italics, in the 'this and that and the other thing' patter of her writing. She doesn't have any creative writing classes under her belt yet. She hasn't experienced Annie Proulx, but she's about to. She's been to Amarillo, she knows she feels places but hasn't figured out how to breathe them into her writing.

She doesn't know how to be in a relationship. She doesn't know how to be in love. But she will, oh god, she will. This was what she knew at the time. Even if it wasn't as deep as it could be, the love story she hemmed into every chapter is the backbone of what she'll write in the years to come. If you can scrape off the patina of old habits and the borrowed beliefs, you can see a comfortable, profound love. People who want to be in love so much, they'll navigate the entropy that makes them strangers. People who doubt and break, but never quite leave one another's lives because they fit so well. One without the other might function, but wouldn't work quite right.

She's always been a sucker for a reunion.

There will be more to this story, but I have work to do first. I wish I had the whole thing packaged up to share with you, but I wanted to at least mark this day. There's something self-loving in being able to look back at the writer I was twenty years ago and see the shape of the person I was without too much judgment. I don't remember much about writing this fic, but I remember hours with my Discman plugged into my car stereo, talking plot points with myself on the way to and from college. Evenings hunched over a notebook in my library, drafting in pencil to transcribe later. The ever-present Footloose CD and an mp3 player stuffed with Richard Marx.

I only know about this anniversary because of a kind reader. Someone left a comment on the fic a couple of weeks ago, and in the process touched off a chain of events that reminded me how much I loved writing these two idiots. It's worth repeating - thanks, @lia404. Your kindness and generosity sparked me to feel like writing again, and reintroduced me to the show and the characters at a time in my life when I have new perspectives and new questions. I lived and breathed this world for years, but somehow it feels fresh again.

Like I said, I'm a sucker for a reunion.

[superbat-lmao]

It had been about two months into his stay at the manor before Alfred asked.

In the beginning, Jason hadn’t been talkative or cooperative. Not really.

It took time to finally settle in that he was safe, that he wasn’t sleeping in abandoned buildings and that the quiet of the manor wasn’t hiding anything bad. The silence was new and unsettling and Jason was getting used to it.

The first few days had been spent settling him in with clothes and discussing options for foster care. The first real conversation he had with Alfred was about his diet and if he had allergies.

It was about two weeks before he left his room long enough to find the library. It took three days after finding it to work up the courage to ask Alfred about it.

On the streets, a good offense was a good defense. The manor was suffocating compared to the liveliness of the Alley at night. The clubs and motels teeming with music and people spilling into the road. He had to match that noise, that bravado.

Here, he was just alone.

Alfred told him to borrow what he wanted and make sure to return everything when he was done until they could get him a bookshelf for his room. If he had questions he was welcome to talk to Alfred about what he read since he’d been working through most of the collection himself. Books deserved to be read.

It was one of Alfred’s recommendations that led to the question.

Jason’s question had been about one of the funerals held for a character. He’d never been to one, having run from social services before they collected his Mom.

Alfred had explained it to him. Why the funeral had taken place within a day, the candle, the week of mourning. Jason knew many street kids who lost their parents young, but none of them had done things like this when they died.

It was two months in when Alfred asked if Jason was religious.

Jason didn’t want to tell him about his Mom saying grace at the dinner table before his Dad was jailed the first time. How she had a small rosary from her own Mom that she kept by her bedside table. How she had taught Jason to read the Bible and laughed as he stumbled over the archaic worlds and asked her what they meant.

They hadn’t gone to church often, but Jason had liked one of the sermons, the one about the lord being a shepherd. He liked to think of his Mom in green pastures instead of their cramped bathroom with the chipped tiles.

Jason didn’t feel particularly religious, but he knows his Mom was. That she had wanted to be.

He tells Alfred he doesn’t know. That he isn’t sure what to think of religion. It didn’t save his Mom.

Most religions aren’t about saving people. They encourage you to live a good life and teach you how to remember those you love when they’re gone.

Jason tells him he never did for his Mom what the girl in the book did for her brother. That his Mom told him absolution was for saving people, and that was part of religion, the part of religion he knew, not these sorts of funerals.

That’s because different religions are for different people. How we choose to remind ourselves of those we’ve lost is a comfort to those still living, not the dead.

There is no obligation. All rituals hold the significance we give them.

Absolution is how we forgive ourselves for their loss. That we were not able to save them.

Jason asks Alfred if he can visit his Mom’s grave. Says there’s a ritual he would like to do for her. For himself to remember her.

Jason stood in the grass, a clean grey stone a few feet away from him.

Bruce is somewhere behind him, giving him space but keeping him in a direct line of sight. He had bought the headstone recently. And found where Catherine had been buried. And taken Jason. And offered to buy flowers.

Catherine hadn’t liked flowers much on account of her allergy. Jason had brought her rosary instead. He had learned the prayer for her and wanted to tell her that the lord is her shepherd. But he figured he’d better bring the rosary just in case.

He didn’t leave the rosary at her grave when he was done, but he did bring it back. Everyone he went to visit he would tell her the lord was her shepherd. And Jason would picture a green pasture, unbroken by headstones and stretching far without fences.

He remembers her, but not to be forgiven.

When Jason comes back. Properly back, he finds the rosary where he’d left it, sitting untouched and dustless.

It has been a few years since he had visited his Mom. Since he could do something normal like visit her grave and not abnormal like dig himself out of one.

He’s glad she never had to do that.

He can’t remember what death was like between dying and waking up. But he hopes his Mom is in the green fields. Hopes the shepherd hasn’t let her wander off.

After all, he’d wandered off. Right back into the world and out of the field.

He tells her the lord is her shepherd. Not his.

He tells her he’s sorry for leaving her. Says that next time the lord will be their shepherd.

Next time. When he’s cremated and cast into the wind instead of trapped in the ground.

Spread next to her headstone instead of buried by a false parent.

He takes the rosary with him and promises to come back, to visit her.

He does not ask to be absolved.

[amethysttribble]

And Our Sun’s Just Rising

@feanorianweek Entry 1: Maedhros (+ Celegorm) -  Adjusting/Coping

The House of Feanor is summering in Formenos. Two brothers are more upset about this than the others.

I’m doing ANOTHER theme, this year’s being ‘That Summer in Formenos That They Never Forgot’, but does that mean I have any idea where this is going? No! Did I know where this was going when I wrote this entry? No! Do I know if it’s coherent? No!

But you know what it is? Choke full of headcanons. Maedhros and Celegorm bond over having lives beyond their family and having to leave their lives behind for family.

Maitimo was whistling as he exited out of the servant’s door from the kitchen to the gardens, because he was an adult and he wasn’t sneaking out. He wasn’t, and he didn’t need to be quiet. Anyone could hear him!

These reassurances didn’t make him feel any less awkward as he closed the creaking door to his father’s palace in Formenos behind him.

Oh, Sweet Vana, he felt like he was only sixty years old, an age that was thankfully long, long past him. But being here in the far north with his family took Maitimo back to a time when only his grandfather called him Russandol. To the time when Mother and Father would take them all to Formenos and settle for a couple years, teaching students and rearing children and pretending they didn’t notice their two oldest sneaking out.

As Maitimo meandered through the rows of the estate’s vegetable garden- entirely separate from the fruit grove and the flower pasture, by Yavanna, he always forgot how sprawling nature was out here- he wondered if maybe he should have dragged Macalaure from his chamber to reminisce. But no. His brother had been taken by ‘inspiration’ on the journey north, the ‘stark beauty striking him like lightning’, and he’d been holed up and snappish at interruption since.

Most of Maitimo’s family was settling into Formenos happily for the summer. Little Curufinwe and the Ambarussa were in bed, as befitted still growing elflings, but Mother and Father were up. They were drinking wine in the courtyard garden, and he knew he was welcome to join them. Carnistir, as well, was up and busy, whiling away the darkest hours in the library. He was glad for the solitude, he said.

Like Macalaure, the sparse beauty of Formenos allowed him time and space to work.

But Maitimo was not working. Maitimo was wandering, and the good kind of wandering that widened and deepened the soul. No, rather since arriving in Formenos, he had found himself unable to sleep, or revel, or work, or do any of things that one might occupy the night or even the day with. 

He was bored.

Bored, bored, so terribly bored, and letters from his friends in Tirion- the first batch to arrive- and carefully penning his replies had not relieved him for long. Instead, hearing about what was happening in the city had made him more melancholy. Lord Aicanga had taken a new proposition to the council chamber apparently and Maitimo wanted to sink his teeth into it. Ontame said that the Ivory Hill Literary Society was reading one of Elemmire’s classics- The Boy Who Crossed Cuivienen- and she knew he had thoughts, she was sorry he was missing it, they missed him dearly already. Worst of all, Findekano had just returned to Tirion after a long stay in Tulkas’s abode, and they’d barely been able to spend a month in each other’s company when-

Think of your family, Maitimo tried to scold himself, but that did nothing to chase off the melancholy. He loved him family, and the littlest ones were getting bigger, faster- he’d missed almost all of Carnistir’s youth while setting himself up at court already- but he just… 

Maitimo’s wandering feet drew to a stop and he let out a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. He’d made all the way across the field of tall grass to stand at the base of the ancient oak tree that their mother had built a swing on for them. Lonely and idle and restless, he took a seat on that swing, which was built for children and low to the ground, and it made his press comically high up towards his chest.

“This is stupid,” Maitimo muttered to himself. “I’m stupid.”

“You said it, not me.”

Maitimo shrieked as a head swung down from the leaves above to rest almost nose to nose with him. He flailed backwards out of the swing, and Tyelkormo’s raucous laughed hit the gentle night’s air. His long, silver tresses spilled almost to the ground.

“Turko!” Maitimo snapped from the ground, ass smarting. “What are you doing?”

“Same thing as you, I guess,” Tyelkormo said, torso swaying in the air, hands playing with the swing’s rope, as his knees held him securely to the branch above. “Feeling sorry for myself, making that the tree’s problem.”

Maitimo drew in a deep breath, let his aggravation out on a sigh, and stood up.

“I thought you were setting rabbit traps,” he said, brushing himself off with as much dignity as he could muster.

“I was,” Tyelkormo said, upside down and crossing his arms. “I felt like shit while doing it, so I stopped. Climbed up this tree and still felt like shit, but it seemed a better place to be miserable.”

“Are you miserable?” Maitimo asked, knee-jerk concern welling in his chest.

Tyelkormo very obviously rolled his eyes at him and then swung himself back into the tree, upright. “Just a bit of the nighttime sorries,” he said, and Maitimo could no longer see him, but he could hear the rustling of leaves and wood as Tyelkormo climbed higher. “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure you’ve got more important things on your mind.”

Maitimo really, really didn’t, so he reached up and pulled himself into the oak tree, as well.

Far more carefully than his strong, agile brother, he followed into the bowels of the tree, taking time as he went to run his hands over the bark and thank it. To say sorry for indelicate feet. To ask if there was anything this tree needed? A little bit of pruning, apparently, would be appreciated, and also for the elfings to come play tomorrow. That, Maitimo could arrange.

Whatever was vexing Tyelkormo would be harder to fix, but it was the most interesting problem presented to Maitimo in weeks, and so he was resolved. Unfortunately, whatever this issue was apparently wasn’t too bad, because Tyelkormo did not throw a knife at his head when he reached the highest branch and sat next to him. Instead, it was peaceful as their heads poked out through the leaves to observe the mountains and the valleys, the stars and the river, the distant city and the smattering of houses. 

“Beautiful,” Maitimo breathed out.

Tyelkormo hummed in agreement, drawing one of his knees up to his chest in a move that would make Maitimo very nervous to see, say, Carnistir or Curufinwe do. But this was Tyelkormo. This was his domain.

“I thought you would be nothing but pleased while here,” he said, smiling gently at his little brother. “Why, I remember the last time we summered here, you had some very choice words about me and Macalaure not having as much fun as you deemed we should be. Among other complaints.”

Tyelkormo snorted and said, “I was a brat. I’m surprised you didn’t abandon me in the woods.”

“I thought about it, but you would have been home in a matter of hours and I would have paid for it.”

Tyelkormo didn’t laugh as much as expected. Maitimo frowned, and considered him. He almost seemed to blend together in the light of Telperion, hair and skin and eyes a wash of silver. And yet, despite looking like a beacon in the night, Tyelkormo had snuck out more successfully than any of them. Rarely to drunken parties, though, unlike his brothers. Tyelkormo just wanted to sing with the night animals.

That, unlike the parties, used to drive their parents insane. They all remembered the tales of how little Ezellar Namindion- son of a local Formenos lord- had an accident and had been healing in the Halls of Mandos since. And Tyelkormo bore more than a passing resemblance to Miriel Therinde; Father worried about him a lot.

Which was part of why Tyelkormo had always loved desolate Formenos the most- with its lack of prying eyes- and had been fighting and straining for any slack on the parental leash for years. After he dropped out of the college of biology in Tirion… Maitimo had scarcely seen him at family functions in the decade since. 

Honestly, he’d suspected that this sudden trip to Tyelkormo’s favorite place on Arda had been an attempt to draw him back into the family fold, and he’d thought it had been working- Tyelkormo had been all smiles and laughters and newly acquired tricks of the hunt and the beasts- but perhaps…

“What’s wrong?” Maitimo asked seriously. 

Tyelkormo gave him a sideways look, gnawing on his lip. Then he pointed east.

“The Hunt of Orome is two-hundred and twenty seven miles that way,” he said. “If I took my gear, hopped on a horse, and left right now, I could be there in two, three weeks? Depends on how much I want my ass to hurt and how much I want the horse to hate me. But I could do it. I could go.”

Ah, Maitimo thought, feeling almost embarrassed. 

For a while, he picked at the leaves around him, smoothing his fingers over them. He considered his words. Maitimo’s first instinct was to soothe. To promise Tyelkormo that he would be back Orome and his hunt soon enough, that it was alright to miss them, but they would have fun as a family. But Tyelkormo was a grown and it felt silly and condescending to treat him as a child.

Treating him as an adult, his second instinct was to tell him to just get over it. The Hunt? He was growing melancholy over not being in the wilderness with Orome as opposed to being in the wilderness with his family? It was basically the same thing. Try being cut off from an ever changing court-life to wile away a few years in the sticks. The seasons changed, and animals repopulated the same way every year; buck up.

But that was cruel, and while Tyelkormo was the brother who could draw annoyance and cruelty out to Maitimo like no over- they were just so, so very different, and unlike Macalaure and Carnistir, Turko never backed down from a fight- this wasn’t the time or place. Maitimo had more control over his own emotions than to let how miserable he was influence how he treated his brother. 

His third instinct was to go, “It’s Findekano’s begetting day party tonight.”

He felt silly for saying such a thing as soon as it was out of his mouth, the plaintive whine obvious and obnoxious in his voice. Maitimo felt like he was sneaking out in some way, in his heart, because he was just so angry at being denied something he wanted by his parents, even though he’d agreed to this summer. But he wanted his life back suddenly.

“I’m sorry?” Tyelkormo said eventually, and it was obvious from his voice that he was as naturally unsympathetic to Maitimo’s plight as he was to his. But he was trying. 

“I helped plan it, and I’m not even there,” Maitimo complained. “All my friends are. Talking about what they’re going to be doing this week, this month, this year, and I’m here. And I like it here, I love our family, I just-”

He broke off with a ragged sigh, leaning his head back to look at the belt of stars above. They weren’t even the same stars that Tirion was seeing.

“I’m sorry,” Tyelkormo said again, this time his words sounded more real. “I- I just don’t want to be here, right now. It’s boar season, and I’m best with a spear so Lord Orome promised that I could lead the juniors. Not only that, I can’t even go through my prayers and rituals here without feeling Father’s eyes on me, even when Mother and I do them together. And I could feel, right before I left, how close I was to a breakthrough in reaching the divine Song. I’m going to lose months of progress being here and unable to meditate.”

“I’m sorry,” Maitimo said, and he meant it, even if he didn’t understand most of what Tyelkormo was saying about prayers and the song. He’d never understood the divine types, especially not his willful little brother, but-

Tyelkormo groaned and smashed his head against Maitimo’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to be here!” he cried.

“Neither do I,” Maitimo said. Then, louder, “Neither do I! We’re adults! I don’t want to be here so that we can pretend to be a happy little family.”

“We’re going to be at each other’s throats in two days!” Tyelkormo howled, throwing his head back.

“Father will be bored of us in one!”

“Curvo doesn’t even want to hang out with anyone but Father!”

“The Ambarussa are barely old enough to walk, they’ll be fine!”

“Everyone our age has either left Formenos or gotten married, it’s boring!” “The local council is always in agreement on everything, it’s mind-numbing!”

“I don’t want to be here!”

“Neither do I! A sharp wolf-whistled pierced the air. 

Maitimo and Tyelkormo were distracted from their complaining long enough to look down and see there Mother standing in the grass, a bottle in one hand, two empty glasses in the other.

“Are you two done?” she asked, and not even her scolding tone could disguise the laughter in her voice. “Do you want to keep whining and wake up the children or come drink wine with your father and I?”

Maitimo and Tyelkormo traded a look, and then started to scramble down the tree.

“Mama, I don’t want to be here, I was so close to advancing,” Tyelkormo whined as his feet hit the ground long before Maitimo’s.

He was still climbing down the tree as Mother handed him a glass of wine and said, “I know, baby, but these times together are important. I know this summer is an interruption. I know things will be missed. But your life will be there when you get back, and you’re going to remember these days fondly.”

“Promise?” Maitimo asked with a slight smile as he accepted an already filled glass form his mother.

She gave him a bright smile back.

“I promise, baby.”

Maitimo drank, then threw his arm around her shoulders. She still always looked so big from afar. 

“Very well,” he said. “But am I allowed to complain?”

“I don’t know,” Mother said cheekily, hooking her arm through Tyelkormo’s- who had left the other glass to Mother and was drinking from the bottle- “Am I allowed to complain about letting the series of sea Maia I was working on last summer gather dust until now? Can I complain about Ambarussa going so stir crazy in the city they broke into Arafinwe’s house? Can I complain about how your father has talked about his latest pet project at court so much my ears are about to fall off?”

“You’ve made your point,” Maitmo chuckled, but Tyelkormo said- far more loudly- “You’re allowed to complain, but Dad isn’t. I can’t take it, Mama, I can’t if he says one more word about Lord Orome, Valinor, and the intent of Eru-”

“Father’s two bottles of white in,” Mother said, “he’s as jolly as he’s been in months and liable to only be pleasant. He’s already cried once about how clever you’ve become and how much he’s missed seeing you grow.”

“Really?” Tyelkormo whispered, eyes massive.

Mother pointed towards the courtyard where their father lounged in the distance. Tyelkormo took his cue and bounded forward.

Maitimo laughed and took another sip of his wine. If Father was that drunk, he really would have to catch up.

Mother poked him in the side.

“You could have told us,” she said, reaching up to pluck a leaf from his hair, “if there was something important going on in Tirion. We would have understood if you came later.”

“It’s not that,” he told her softly. After all, if he played that game, he would have never come to Formenos. “It’s that… It’s strange, when family is politics and politics is family to come here and have us act completely divested from it. Our position is unique and important, and it feels like we just… ignore that, when we’re in Formenos. It’s disconcerting.”

“Disconcerting, or a gift?” Mother muttered, but she shook her head. “But I suppose you love both too much. I meant what I said. I know adjusting is hard after being knee deep in that bog that is Tirion, but give it some time. Family in and of itself is important, too. Breathing is important. Remembering why we don’t let the politics divide us.” Maitimo hummed in consideration and looked up at his brother and father. Tyelkormo was practically on top of him, as desperate for approval as ever.

“This is about them, right?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Mother laughed, and wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Oh Maitimo, my sweet Maitimo. Always seeing everyone clearly but yourself. Think about it. And drink more. There are some benefits to vacationing with your parents as adults.”

Maitimo drank deeply of his parent’s prized wine and he had to agree with that.

[incoherentmuses]

more OSHA posting? more OSHA posting! (tagging @controlledchaosetc and @itusebastian, since you seemed interested, lmk if you wanna be untagged!)

so there have been a lot of Good Good Goofs and Bits over the years i’ve been DM-ing these boys. so many. too many, one might argue. but today let me pull one from the early days. an OSHA classic, if you will. a story i like to call:

The Seven Bats Incident

a quick premise, to get you up to speed. this is set during my first ever campaign, which i, in my infinite wisdom, decided to homebrew. a magical cataclysm has split the land of Ormana into ley-line divided sections, an incident called The Shattering. Magic has gone very wild in the years of this cataclysm, such that every spell cast, regardless of caster class, has a chance to ping on a Wild Magic table.

in this dangerous time, the PC’s have worked their way towards the heart of the cataclysm, and find themselves in a place where the wobbly magic has conjured eternal darkness across the land. they also find themselves in a magical college, where the headmistress is trying to deal with two problems: keeping a school of magic safe during a magical cataclysm; and vampires.

the school had a vampire problem. a creature of the night kept feeding on students and they hadn’t been able to figure out who the vampire was. with several suspicious characters around, including a bitchy, somewhat cagey, enchantment teacher, and a dubious necromancy professor, OSHA set to work trying to uncover the vampire in their midst.

now, readers. there was also a library in this school, because of course there was. and that library had a librarian - a sweet little tabaxi lady called Seven Bats. Her daughter was the groundskeeper, whom the PC’s had already befriended, and she was very helpful in letting the PC’s look through her books regarding the main plot they were still tracking down.

with progress on the vampire hunt going slowly, Draghull - at the time still a paladin - decides to perform a very good goof. He’ll cast ‘detect evil’ on Seven Bats the librarian because ‘wouldn’t it be really funny if the character with the bat name was the vampire?’

he casts the spell.

evil is detected.

the evil is undead.

‘Holy shit,’ he says. ‘I didn’t think that would work.’

now, gentle reader, i was frustrated at this point because i, resident dumbass that i am, had not realised that i had given my vampire an Extremely Obvious Vampire Name. I just got it off a generator! i made the npcs for the school and assigned one of them Vampire Chores later!

‘fuck!’ I said

‘fuck!’ Seven Bats said.

the whole school then descended into uproar as the party fought, chased, and finally caught Seven Bats. One failed de-vampire-ing ritual later, she was destroyed and the day was saved!

no-one was happy about it. she’d been turned into a vampire by the Shattering, and her daughter was understandably upset that her new friends just killed her mum. but there were no more vampires in the school, and the headmistress was so pleased she forgave the party their other trespasses (summoning a parasauralophus into the dining hall, the monk getting teleported into the roof and leaving a big hole, etc etc)

eventually OSHA got the Plot Info they needed and moved on to less eternally dark pastures. and my players have never, and will never, let me forget the time i named a secret vampire Seven fucking Bats.

[ezra-ezbezzlement]

I love you

omg eek! i love you too!! we should get married, we'll have two kids, a boy and a girl!! your parents will die of cancer, but ill help you through the trauma! BUT NO! i have to go fight in the trenches of Peru cos its WWIII now and ive come back with only one of my remaining four limbs left (but dont worry its my lucky right arm)! WHATS THIS! i become famous because of my story and we form a band!! spouse and spouse, hand in hand (you have to stay on my right cos i dont have any other limbs for you to hold on to)! NOO HOW COULD YOU!! you cheated on me with my bestfriend from the war! dont worry cos it happens all three of us are poly and we become a polycule but we're still in the band!!

OH NO!! u got cancer! our partner and i crouch at your beathbed! you flatline and we weep. we write songs for you and remember the happy times we had together... our partner starts getting into drugs and alcohol so i make him leave for the bands sake...

AND NOW IM THE STAR OF THE SHOW!! THE SOLO ACT! WAIT, WHAT?! NOOOOO?!!?!!! THEY HATE ME!! I WAS NEVER THE TALENTED ONE!!!

UNNAMED PARTNER!! YOU WENT TO REHAB AND YOUR FINALLY STABLE! WE CAN BE TOGETHER AGAIN!! but that only reminds us of you so we break up again.

that night "insert_name_here" partner and i have the same dream!!... we dream of a book in a dingy old library not far from where you used to live! it has elaborate, intricate, detailed drawings and instructions for... YOUR RESURRECTION! our partner and i quickly meet and find our way to the library. we spend hours there, searching among the ancient shelves and finally we see it.

after reading it we know what must be done! we search everywhere, across the globe.

in the mountains of new south whales we fetch the blood pearl, a sacred ingredient which symbolizes love and sacrifice, in the pastures of anywhere in victoria we come across a newborn lamb! who we kill with knifes made from the very stone of your grave, we drain its blood and use its fleece for warmth! in the frozen wastes of tasmania where we find the skull of the extinct human species, in the deserts of western australia we dig up the first six vertebra of a random snake, we dont go to south australia cos its boring, anyway, in the rainforests of queensland we gather a cane toad, and from deep beneath the surface of uluru we prize upon the a a jar of vegemite!

with the ingredients assembled we go to the roof of the house of parliament and we set the ingredients in a circle. we find a bucket. we then pour our blood in with the lambs', then we ground the vertebra of the random snake in, as we juice the cane toad the mixture turns purple, we then plop the blood pearl in and it turns green, we then light the lambs fleese alight and sprinkle the ashes into the soup, it turns black. then, after taking turns wearing it, we place the skull in too and mixture becomes transparent with rolling crimson smoke billowing from its glassy surface. last but not least we lather your drum set with the vegemite and drop it in. it then suddenly flashes with a golden light and unnamed partner and i are temporarily blinded!! but when our eyes adjust we see you climb out of the bucket and then we celebrate or something!!

we make one final album for the band before we die together in WWIV cos obvi

[literaticat]

Hi Jenn - Two quick ones: 1- It feels criminal to receive your amazing advice …for free. What can we do for you?Joining the Patreon for the LiteratiCast, is a given. What else. Post a review on Apple podcasts? Review your clients’ books? What would be most helpful? 2-If an agent offers rep, I know you can share that news with agents you’ve already queried, but assume it’s too late to send a new query to“your dream” and/or any other agent with the offer info and see if they’re interested, right?

-- As for point one, that's very sweet of you. I'm on a break from the podcast for the moment (but of course if you enjoy it by all means review) -- but really it's ALWAYS appreciated if you want to read and boost my client's books! I update my website often with new releases (and you can scroll back, too) -- go and check them out and see if there are any that catch your fancy. Buy them or request them at your library! If you love them, write a review or talk them up to somebody! YAY BOOKS!

-- As for point two: If you get an offer, it's absolutely expected for you to alert everyone else who you have a query out with (whether they have asked for the full or not). To me, it's a little awkward to then go to NEW agents that you never queried. (We call that "shopping an offer" and it's not my fav.) Why? Well, because you are either giving that person less time than everyone else had, OR, you are stringing the person who offered along and making them wait while you look for "greener pastures."

(If you don't like the offer you got, you can't see yourself working with that agent, whatever -- just say no to them, don't leave them hanging there while you play around trying to hook a bigger fish. If you DO like the offer you got -- uh how many great offers do you NEED exactly?)

If somebody comes to me and says, "I already have an offer, but you're my dream agent, and I really want you to look as well" -- I'd wonder to myself, well if you like me so much why didn't you query me in the first place -- and while I quite likely *would* take a look, I'd also probably bow out, because unless this seems like *completely* up my alley and unmissable, I'm not going to be able to drop everything and read immediately.

(A lot of people KNOW that agents don't like it when people shop an offer, so in recent years there's been a trend where people pretend like they just started querying, and then like, 24 hours later, they say "oops, wow, I have an offer!" -- again, I'd probably just bow out, personally, but hey. No idea who is giving this advice but it's not my fav, either!)

TL; DR -- For sure alert everyone you queried. If you REALLY FEEL STRONGLY that so-and-so REALLY should see this and you are just kicking yourself you didn't query them in the first place -- by all means try! But please just be straightforward, and be prepared for the fact that they might not want to or be able to jump at it.

[durotoswrites]

April Drabble Prompts: Flower bud

6. Flower Bud

It had felt like an eternity since Pete first planted his potatoes. He had carefully done so, double-checking all the instructions he had read from the library and the advice he had gotten from his neighbors who had grown a few things of their own. Sure enough, leaves emerged and unfurled from the soil, reaching out to the sunlight above. As his first crop, Pete anxiously checked on his plots, paranoid over whether or not they were getting enough sun, enough water, the right balance of nutrients in the soil.

After all, if he couldn’t manage to grow anything on this land, how could he possibly revive the farm his kindly grandfather left for him? The idea of living and managing a farm had sounded a little strange at first, but as he reminisced about the lazy summer days, watching the sheep mill around the pasture and watching the corn stalks swaying in the breeze, he found that there was nothing he wanted to do more.

Bring brought a lot of rain. Perhaps too much, he worried. Still, the ground had been parched and so densely packed when he arrived. Pete watched the sprouts nervously, praying that there was actually something more beneath the soil.

It was a bright, dewy morning when Pete had received his answer. Hurrying out to his crop, he looked over the leaves when he noticed something new. Something soft and white…

Buds! Flower Buds! It would be any day that they opened, signaling that the potatoes had arrived. Pete whooped aloud in his excitement.

They really grew!

April 2023 Drabble Prompts

[cataclysmet]

I used to daydream about running away

I was a kid with a stack of library books to my chin every week

I would hide in the closet at night

So as to not wake my sisters

Just reading

Losing myself in other worlds

I read stories about siblings living in a boxcar in the woods

About heroines who had to escape the stranglehold of fathers

In order to fulfill their destiny

I would lay out in the pasture until it was too dark to read

Then I would daydream about adventures I would have

Maybe I’d find an island and an abandoned lighthouse

I’d keep horses, of course

Build my own furniture

Stock my cellars with all sorts of foods

Ward off pirates with a rusty cutlas and pike

The urge to escape only grew with me

Instead of closets at midnight

I would sit in the empty tub

A flashlight held between my teeth

We had moved and I no longer had a pasture to daydream in

Instead I had acres and acres of forest

I would sit on the tallest hill looking out over endless valleys

Wondering when I’d have the courage to leave

I did once in the heat of hurt and anger

(I always burned so hot back then)

It was January and there was two feet of snow on the ground

More coming down

I threw on some boots and my jacket and stormed out

I walked for miles in the fever of my anger

And when that paper fire had finally burned out

I lay in a snowdrift for a few hours

Wishing to escape in a different way

After I failed to perish from exposure

I walked home defeated.

No one noticed I had been gone for many hours.

I left more often after that

Hiking deer trails

Disregarding my own safety

Bear, cougar, rattlesnakes

If they didn’t care

Then I didn’t care if I didn’t come home.

Escaping as an adult is harder

I am chained with responsibility

Bolted down to this place.

And it only magnifies the urge

I’m ready to witness a high profile murder

To be rushed away

Given a new identity

The past me burned out of existence

I’m ready to fly into the sun

To ignite this flesh

To become ashes

Ready for my Phoenix rise.

It has never been about someone saving me

Never about being whisked off my feet

No knights in armor

It’s always been a lonesome daydream

A source of sadness in my youth

When I was still stupid, naïve, and full of hope

But now?

After I’ve lived and loved and lost and hurt?

I welcome the silence as my old friend.

Maybe one day I’ll finally escape

To where?

Nowhere

From what?

Nothing

[kaizarnike]

Year of Luigi 2 - Electric Chair

Short post this month, Donald Duck won the election, trans rights are positioned to fall, with the millions they supported. Arch conservative power is at an all time high, now is a time for heroes.

Better news:

Fauna is leaving for better pastures, no its still sad news sorry. At least Dooby found a good home.

MUSIC OF THE MONTH: MONARCH of MONSTERS by Vylet Pony

Google it. Dark themes, so be warned. I got my fill of the art and sound. Fave trackk? 12 minute long one.

Tidbits: Finally made some dosh gained cash from meddling with Godot. Good thing for Christmaas.

How are you keeping on for the Holidays, do you still rely on the latest bit of media from your favorite artist to tell you that you can keep going? I don't get that way, but my head's a kappa's head that takes water from others media. I have trouble putting old thoughts to rest.

Twas listening to Ceres Fauna play out her last kareokee today and made a banner img for my site. I'll show you.

Neat,

here's a random image dump...

That's enough. Current thoughts: Caves of Qud, Dwarf Fortress, archiving, shadow libraries, Ceres Fauna, Elin, and that's all.

[thequeendomhq]

NAME. Iskra AGE & BIRTH DATE. 29 & November 11th, 2995 AC GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cis Female & She/Her NATIONALITY. Lysaran SPECIES. Faiman FACTION. College of Bards OCCUPATION. Environs & Agricultural Consultant FACE CLAIM. Summer Bishil

biography

( tw: meddlesome mothers )

To grow up without a father in the monied but considerably remote estate was far from commonplace, and for that reason, it may have been the most defining detail of Iskra’s upbringing. Her mother, remarkably headstrong and wayward for the eldest child, managed to find trouble at every opportunity even if all she had at her disposal were rolling meadows and the company of ravens. In her early adulthood, the thrall of some rambling man’s temporary company was too much to deny herself. His presence was fleeting, and so sequestered had life been up until this point it hadn’t even crossed her mind that he may not stay forever. But he did–in a way. In a child named Iskra. 

The backdrop of Iskra’s young life was idyllic, set against a backdrop of green pastures, a great stone manor, and a large family to dote on her. But the circumstances of her birth became and remained something of a joke. Her many aunts, though they loved the child deeply, were not shy about their many jokes and stories about their mother's impulsiveness and lack of foresight. The make-believe stories and conjecture about her father’s possible identity were perhaps the only topics that bested stories of her mother in number. While no one regretted the fact of Iskra’s birth, it served as the basis of many family jokes. Quite the opposite of her mother, Iskra accepted her status in the family as the darling of all but the butt of most jokes all at once. Rather than complaining or following that same path of rebellion her mother had adopted, Iskra found refuge in books. Escapism and dissociation from the jokes of her family and the absence of her father came in the form of chapter books, novels, plays, and poetry. Few things felt as heavy as they were once she cracked the spine on some new tome. 

When Iskra could bear to remove herself from the estate’s sprawling library, she spent her time in the dappled light of the thick, conifer forest that stretched farther than Iskra ever dared wander on her own–at least until she was full grown. She had been reading books that one of her aunts, the only one who had moved on from the ancestral family home, had sent to her. Romantics, she said called them in the letter she sent her niece, and the romantics made Iskra feel that life itself was somewhere far beyond the livestock and fields of the family home. And so she set out–into the thicket of trees, in one direction, as far as her feet would carry her. It took her from the first hint of dawn until the sun hung at the highest point in the sky to traverse the entirety of the forest and what met her on the other side left her certain she had seen the greatest city in all Taravell. When she arrived home, breathless from running the entire way, it was her family who laughed themselves to the point of tears and gasping for breath as they explained she had seen little more than grain silos and farmhand shacks. 

Iskra retreated back into her pages–pages of novels and plays, but also pages of handwritten letters between herself and the one aunt who had dared to leave in hopes of a better, more enriching life, Floria. Though it took near-begging and several years of asking, Iskra was granted permission to travel to Eterna to spend the summer with her aunt Floria acting as a guiding hand and chaperone. With so much to do and see, it was little wonder Iskra returned home with a steamer trunk entirely filled with novels, books of poetry, and empty leather-bound journals in which she began to craft her own stories. For the next four summers, she would stay with her aunt Floria exploring bookstores, museums, and galleries, and immersing herself in as much of the city as she possibly could. It was her second summer in Eterna when she met a young man who seemed to have dreams and ambitions measuring up to her own. While her mornings were spent with Floria and her afternoons were passed writing sprawling narratives, she began to spend every evening with the boy who seemed to have the arts etched into the inside of her veins as she did. Between summers, they exchanged innumerable letters, and when the hot weather returned they became increasingly inseparable. 

With time, it became clear to Iskra’s family that this boy was no fleeting summer lark, and her mother felt a flash of protection that Iska did not squander her freedom as she had. When Iskra returned to the family during her twenty-fifth summer and announced her plan to relocate to Eterna the following summer upon her anticipated acceptance to the Harmonium, her mother immediately set to work determining how to foil that plan. To a certain degree, it felt wrong to betray her daughter’s trust in her, but the best way to ensure Iskra’s protection and safety was to meddle in her affairs; as a mother, she knew best after all. Iskra had not thought to have any sense of suspicion when her mother promised to bring her application materials to the post. They were never sent. And then, several months later, she presented Iskra with a forged rejection letter. Though she knew it was a gamble, Iskra’s mother allowed her daughter to return to Eterna to stay with Floria that summer–this risk paid off as Iskra’s shame surrounding being rejected from the Harmonium while the boy she spent her summers with was accepted compounded with his dwindling time, and as she perceived it interest, for her. The summer season had not even run up by the time Iskra returned home. 

Similar to her mother, Iskra’s world continually shrunk until it encompassed little more than the family estate and the farmlands next door. Her abilities, apparently as provincial and rustic as her upbringing, were put to task at the farm next door successfully managing an invasion of voles by rerouting their burrows and tunnels along with circumventing the catastrophic ruin capable of so many forest vermin. It was a life that held no import, no creativity, and no inspiration. But she felt too beaten down by her rejection and realization she had only been a fleeting pass time to those she’d left behind in Eterna to rail against her fate even a fraction as much as her mother had. Years passed and she traveled the most rural stretches of Avalon growing in her knowledge and ability to track and control wildlife populations to balance habitat and agriculture, As her skills built, so did her resentment, her hopelessness, and her quiet resolve to accept a dull life. She found comfort in her work establishing the symbiosis between habitat and agronomy, in the occasional novel Floria sent her, and the hope that a long life would present some sort of opportunity–any opportunity but this. But her quill sat untouched, her ideas unmined, and her faith in men? Like her father? Like that boy at the Harmonium? Those were left better for the pages of novels and plays where heroes were real and disappointment wasn’t inevitable. 

And so the years passed in this manner until the world shifted off of its axis with the overtaking of the neighboring Iskaran kingdom. There was little Iskra could offer, but she knew hard work and how to make lean provisions last. To her mother’s chagrin, Iskra again packed those dusty old trunks with the intention to leave the light of Avalon and lend her hands to wherever their work was needed most. 

personality

+ Imaginative, Disciplined, Expressive – Resentful, Defeatist, Unmoored

played by paypay. mst. she/her.

[xhalcyxn]

Elias Pierson

Occupation: Mathieson College - Therapist Species: Wizard Age: 42 FC: Hugh Dancy

Amongst the swaying cornfields and the dusty backroads of the Midwest, the Pierson family made their fortune from crops and a patented farming potion invented by an old family relative. Richard and Betsy Pierson ran the day-to-day operations of the family farm while raising their six boys to one day take over the farm and allow them to retire. Betsy could always be found hard at work in the kitchen prepping mason jars for sale or making her famous pies as she looked out lovingly over her boys running amok outside. All except Elias. One of the middle boys, it wasn’t surprising that he had a tendency to be forgotten by his father and brothers but it certainly was aided by the fact that Elias was different. He had no interest in running around in the dirt or bullying the other neighborhood kids. He never quite understood the aggressive behavior of his brothers and father when sports was a topic of conversation. Elias much preferred to sit at the kitchen table with his books or help his mother so her hands ached a little less as the day went on.

As Elias grew older, arguments between himself and his brothers increased. Usually finished off by his father who berated him for not being a real man. Elias would never fight back, would simply sit or stand in silence until whomever was yelling at him for the day decided they were bored or tired. But always there in the background was his mother, a sad smile on her face as she’d walk up to him, tap his nose, and told him one day he’d find his place.

She certainly hadn’t been wrong. Elias found his place in school. While he was quiet and reserved at home, Elias was sarcastic, witty, energetic, and full of light at the one place he felt he was normal. Sure, there was constant bullying for his brothers and their friends, but Elias was at home amongst the books and knowledge being shared by teachers or the library. He found he loved puzzling out complicated scenarios or equations, exploring vast parts of the world in the chapters of the books he read, and following the lives of famous figureheads who used their magic for good. Elias knew there was more in the world out there and as a young boy he’d made a decision that he would do everything he could to leave home.

Every spare moment between chores and homework and during the late hours of the evening in the barn, Elias practiced his magic. It was the one area he considered himself weak as his parents hadn’t thought to put much time into teaching their children more than the basics and his school didn’t have the resources. He’d decided he would become good enough to be accepted into Mathieson College. Even better if he could be noticed by Mathieson College. By the time Elias graduated high school, he had an impressively long list of awards and accolades. While it may not have been a shock to his teachers when an invitation graced Elias from Mathieson College - his family was another matter.

Elias would never forget the night the news broke out. The way his father slammed every door and shouted ridiculous reasonings as to why Elias would never leave the farm. His brothers were included in the tirade, going as far as tearing apart his bedroom and adding fuel to the fire by encouraging their father. Elias knew the truth. He knew that jealousy burned deep in their hearts. Elias would leave them behind, would find greener pastures while they continued to work the farm and he’d grow stronger. Little Elias, stronger than all his brothers. As always, he never once fought back or said a word. Not a single expression to show his true feelings. It was well late into the night when Betsy finally came into Elias’ bedroom as he picked up remnants of his belongings. She didn’t say a single word as she quietly shuffled in a suitcase and began packing his clothes. Elias had stood there, barely breathing as he realized what she was doing. The gift she was giving him. Neither of them said a word as they packed up what little he would take and she shoved money into his pocket. At the front door, she gave him a smile and tapped the tip of his nose as a goodbye. Elias walked himself to the best station and never returned home.

Elias flourished at Mathieson. Surrounded by people similar to himself, he found life-long friends and discovered who he truly was without the pressure of his family. Elias excelled at his classes and found a love for trying to puzzle out the most complex puzzle - the human brain. He genuinely enjoyed helping friends through their problems, diving into research to see how to relieve stress or anger, how to handle emotions. For Elias his answer had always been to shut down. To become a shell. It took him a number of years and therapy to unpack his own issues. As the years passed, Elias had more adventures than he ever thought possible when he’d been younger. He’d loved. He’d lost. Had a number of fun nights but rough mornings. Elias was living. His years at college passed far too quickly even as he attended Mathieson for graduate school as well, finishing out his Masters degree at the one place that truly ever felt like home.

After his final graduation, Elias moved to Seattle and began his own therapy practice. The city life was a different kind of hustle and bustle that took time for him to become accustomed to but he found his way. Despite a busy schedule, he always made time for his friends and explored new hobbies. He had no intention of wasting any moment of his life. So how did Elias end up back at Mathieson a year ago? Unfortunately, being a therapist often required Elias to see and hear the darker parts of life more often than not. Three years ago, Elias lost one of his long-time clients, a young woman who’d suffered far too much in her life. Elias did everything he could, sometimes thought he’d made progress but it never seemed enough. He’d seen some clients come and go over the years due to a variety of reasons, but she was the unexpected tipping point. Why couldn’t he help everyone? Why couldn’t he save those who came to him? What good was knowledge and magic if it couldn’t help people in times such as these?

For two years, Elias saw no clients. He barely communicated to friends. The city had become much too loud and the alcohol much too tempting. Perhaps he should have realized that even he has limits on the burdens he could shoulder, but Elias had been blinded by the desire to help, to do more, to never stop. It took his best friend barging down his door one day and saying enough is enough. Cassidy forced Elias to get dressed and cleaned up. She tossed out any remnants of alcohol and paraded him into her car with no mention as to their destination. Seeing Mathieson had been a breath of fresh air followed by smoke in his lungs. The home where all his hopes and dreams had been built. Cassidy marched him to the head office, wished him good luck in his interview, and left to wait for him in the car. Elias still wholeheartedly believes that it was his history at the college that allowed him to get the job considering how woefully unprepared he’d been. But a week later, Elias began a new chapter at Mathieson College - this time as resident therapist, a counselor for the students.

[ghostbandaids]

you send in a college application, and you receive an email. accepted, it tells you, and you print out three copies for luck.

the black horse still lives in the pasture. it is still silent, but you visit it often. green grass from the other side of the fence held in your flat palm, you apologize for how long you were scared.

the abandoned house with the light that turns on each night is sold by a realtor, and they put a trailer-house out front. the new owners make no attempt to reclaim the rotten wood of the old house, and the light outside manages itself—like clockwork. some things never change.

you aren’t scared of the eyes in the dark anymore, and the sleeping mask is buried in a nightstand drawer. your family buys a better water filter. you donate books to the library. you make new maps for the new roads that appear. you’re a better driver, now, anyway. you sing with the voices of the wind in the eaves. the snow comes and melts and returns again.

there are people like you, and their eyes are not empty. there are people like you, and the world is not always so lonely, and the dark is not always dangerous.

you leave next august.

but you know you’ll visit.

[nancypullen]

Not Bad

Well, I made it to the other side of a most unpleasant procedure. Every person at  the hospital from registration to discharge was incredibly kind and efficient.  I’ve never seen anything run so smoothly and on time.  Bravo, University of Maryland Shore Medical Center at Easton! Yesterday was uncomfortable, can’t really call it painful, and today I feel pretty darn good.  I’m thankful for the tips and tricks that friends who have been through this provided - they worked and helped so much!  My biggest complaint is actually my throat. Apparently they had a hard time intubating me once I was under and that is the only thing really bothering me.  Just feels like a really raw, sore throat and I’m sure it will resolve in a day or two.  I’m eating, peeing, and pooping like a champ.  Too much info? Unfortunately, the stent has to stay in until December 2 (UGH!!) because I could not convince the doctor that I have supernatural healing powers and will be fine in a couple of days. When I complained he looked at me and said, “It’s the right thing to do.”  I kind of had to go with the expert. But he doesn’t know me. But, the worst is over. I enjoyed my mini coma yesterday, and now it’s onward, onward, onward!  It’s just 44 days until we hang our 2023 calendars and I do believe that I am ready to be done with this year.  The highs were high, but the lows were low.  I prefer years of steady, simple contentment.  Nothing outrageous, just a mild mixture of ups and downs. Every year has bumps, and every year has joys, right?  That said, I’m ready for a fresh start.  I won’t lie and say that leaving our home on Olivia Court wasn’t gut-wrenching.  It was.  I put on my brave face and thanked that little house for keeping us safe through every storm, and for holding so many wonderful memories.  That house saved me in so many ways.  This new chapter is exciting, being here to watch our grandgirl grow up is so good for all of us.  The house is lovely, getting better with every change we make. But, oh, I miss my peace.  Our home in TN was quiet. Nothing but bird song and occasionally barking dogs and laughing kids.  Though we now live in a very small, quiet town - where our house sits there is constant road noise from the 404. Constant.  Mickey doesn’t hear it, I hear it all day and all night.  There’s nothing that can be done about it, so I have to get over it.  It is what it is. I’m trying to create a little sanctuary here, which is what my home has to be - and traffic noise is not on the list.  I miss the bird song.  Don’t get me wrong, I wanted out of the south, but I do miss the peacefulness of our place in Mt. Juliet.  That’s been tough for me. Wow, did I ramble off topic or what?  I came here to share an “I’m fine” post (and I am) and ended up whining about noise.  Believe me, I’m grateful for my home, this life, and where we are.  I always think of my Grandma Ethel.  When my sweet, sweet grandpa died it was decided that she couldn’t keep up their little patch alone.  They had created a bit of paradise there - an orchard, a pasture with sheep, a big hen house with lots of chickens roaming around, rose covered arches, giant snowball bushes, huge shade trees, hammocks and tire swings - Weiser was my favorite place on Earth.  From her house we could walk to the rodeo grounds, the public pool, grocery store, the library, and a diner.  I don’t know if it was her choice to leave, or if her sons made the choice for her.  But she was first moved out into the desert of Mountain Home, Idaho - not a pretty place.  She lived next door to one of her sons. She tried so hard to make her spot pretty, even putting out fake flowers where none would grow.  She no longer had animals to tend or fruit trees for canning and making jam. She had so much time on her hands that she’d walk down the road for exercise and count how many telephone poles she’d pass.  She’d say, “I walked twenty-five poles today”.  She was getting her steps in before it was a fad.  Anywayyyyy, she made the move into Boise a couple of years later and that’s where she stayed. She had her own place in an Over 55 community, and though her patch was tiny, she thrived.  She made some good friends, she participated in classes and gatherings at the clubhouse, and that’s where she stayed until she died in her own bed just shy of her 100th birthday.  She remained optimistic and open, and I’m hoping that I have enough Ethel in me to do the same.  My little noise complaint is nothing.  I will bloom where I’m planted, just like she did.  I have to. It is lonely here though. I left behind the best girlfriends, and every woman knows that you need your tribe around you.  We’ve only been here seven months, and I know that’s not a lot of time, especially during a pandemic - so I’m sure it will all work itself out.  Someday I’ll go to lunch with a friend, or at least make a friend.  Right now I have meaningful relationships with the cashiers at the supermarket and the UPS man.  It’s a start. I’m going to blame the soggy, woe-is-me blog post on anesthesia or something like that.  I’m actually in a great mood, feeling so much better than I expected to, and Matt arrives tomorrow afternoon. How great is that?  He’ll talk my ear off, make me laugh, and it can’t hurt to have a doctor in the house, right?  Signing off before I get more kooky.  

Stay safe, stay well, almost time to gobble-gobble!

Nancy