#Made of larch

[gruvu]

So Nutcracker season 2023 is upon us, and I wanted to do some different pieces for the inspired tarot card prompts. Not gonna do all of them due to the small cast for my series but I did the main kiddos.

Shoutout to @artsynoova for this years prompts!

[kirisclangen]

Larchpaw

She/her, 8 moons, cis molly

[nerdnag]

I just love how they build up for the introduction of my special boy before we even meet him ✨

[crowithy]

Teefs

Tiny Larch redesign, decided to have some visible teeth along where the lips are scarred

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Flower Remedies

Flower remedies are specially prepared flower essences, containing the healing energy of plants. They are prescribed according to a patient’s emotional disposition, as ascertained by the therapist, doctor, or patients themselves.

THE 38 BACH REMEDIES

agrimony: puts on a cheerful front, hides true feelings, and worries or problems

aspen: feelings of apprehension, dark foreboding, and premonitions

beech: critical, intolerant, picky

centaury: easily comes under the influence of others, weak willed

cerato: unsure, no confidence in own judgement, intuition, and seeks approval from others

cherry plum: phobic, fear of being out of control, and tension

chestnut bud: repeats mistakes, does not learn from experience

chicory: self-centered, possessive, clingy, demanding, self pity

clematis: absent minded, dreamy, apathetic, and lack of connection with reality

crab apple: a ‘‘cleanser’’ for prudishness, self– disgust, feeling unclean

elm: a sense of being temporarily overwhelmed in people who are usually capable and in control

gentian: discouraged, doubting, despondent

gorse: feelings of pessimism, accepting defeat

heather: need for company, talks about self, and concentrates on own problems

holly: jealousy, envy, suspicion, anger, and hatred

honeysuckle: reluctance to enter the present and let the past go

hornbeam: reluctant to face a new day, weary, can’t cope (mental fatigue)

impatiens: impatience, always in a hurry, and resentful of constraints

larch: feelings of inadequacy and apprehension, lack of confidence and will to succeed

mimulus: fearful of specific things, shy, and timid

mustard: beset by ‘‘dark cloud’’ and gloom for no apparent reason

oak: courageous, persevering, naturally strong but temporarily overcome by difficulties

olive: for physical and mental renewal, to overcome exhaustion from problems of long–standing

pine: for self–reproach, always apologizing, assuming guilt

red chestnut: constant worry and concern for others

rock rose: panic, intense alarm, dread, horror

rock water: rigid–minded, self–denial, restriction

scleranthus: indecision, uncertainty, fluctuating moods

star of Bethlehem: consoling, following shock or grief or serious news

sweet chestnut: desolation, despair, bleak outlook

vervain: insistent, fanatical, over–enthusiastic

vine: dominating, overbearing, autocratic, tyrannical

walnut: protects during a period of adjustment or vulnerability

water violet: proud, aloof, reserved, enjoys being alone

white chestnut: preoccupation with worry, unwanted thoughts

wild oat: drifting, lack of direction in life

wild rose: apathy, resignation, no point in life

willow bitter: resentful, dissatisfied, feeling life is unfair

The system consists of 38 remedies, each for a different disposition.

The basic theory is that if the remedy for the correct disposition is chosen, the physical illness resulting from the present emotional state can then be cured.

There is a rescue remedy made up of 5 of the essences—cherry plum, clematis, impatiens, rock star, and star of Bethlehem—that is recommended for the treatment of any kind of physical or emotional shock.

Therapists recommended that rescue remedy be kept on hand to help with all emergencies.

Flower remedies are more homeopathic than herbal in the way they work, effecting energy levels rather than chemical balances.

They have been described as ‘‘liquid energy.’’

The theory is that they encapsulate the flowers’ healing energy, and are said to deal with and overcome negative emotions, and so relieve blockages in the flow of human energy that can cause illness.

Edward Bach was a graduate of University College Hospital (MB, BS, MRCS) in England.

He left his flourishing Harley Street practice in favor of homeopathy, seeking a more natural system of healing than allopathic medicine.

Concluded that healing should be as simple & natural as the development of plants - nourished & given healing properties by earth, air, water, and sun.

Bach believed that he could sense the individual healing properties of flowers by placing his hands over the petals.

His remedies were prepared by floating summer flowers in a bowl of clear stream water exposed to sunlight for three hours.

He developed 38 remedies, one for each of the negative states of mind suffered by human beings, which he classified under seven group headings: fear, uncertainty, insufficient interest in present circumstances, loneliness, over-sensitivity to influences and ideas, despondency or despair, and overcare for the welfare of others.

The Bach remedies can be prescribed for plants, animals, and other living creatures as well as human beings.

Originally, Bach collected the dew from chosen flowers by hand to provide his patients with the required remedy.

This became impractical when his treatment became so popular that production could not keep up with demand.

He then set about finding a way to manufacture the remedies, and found that floating the freshly picked petals on the surface of spring water in a glass bowl and leaving them in strong sunlight for three hours produced the desired effect.

Therapists explain that the water is ‘‘potentized’’ by the essence of the flowers.

The potentized water can then be bottled and sold. For more woody specimens, the procedure is to boil them in a sterilized pan of water for 30 minutes.

These two methods produce ‘‘mother tinctures’’ and the same two methods devised by Bach are still used today.

Flower essences do not contain any artificial chemical substances, except for alcohol preservative.

Bach flower remedies and flower essences have not yet officially won the support of allopathic medicine, despite the fact that more and more medical doctors are referring patients for such treatments on the strength of personal conviction.

However, it is difficult to discount the scores of testimonials.

Some practitioners refer skeptics to the research that has been done regarding the ‘‘auras’’ of living things.

Theoretically, the stronger the aura, the more alive an organism is. Flower essences have very strong auras.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References

[vestaignis]

Мезенская роспись – тип росписи деревянных прялок и утвари (ковшей, коробов, братин и др.) сложившийся к началу 19 века в низовьях реки Мезень. Известность мезенской росписи дало село Палащелье Мезенскоого (Лешуконского) района Архангельской области, поэтому ее называют еще и палащельской. Самая древняя датированная прялка с мезенской росписью относится к 1815 году, хотя изобразительные мотивы подобной росписи встречаются в рукописных книгах 18 в., выполненных в мезенском регионе.

По стилю мезенскую роспись можно отнести к наиболее архаичным видам росписи, дожившим до нашего времени. Рисунки имеют глубокие корни. Найдены наскальные изображения на берегах Белого моря и Онежского озера, которые перекликаются с рисунками Мезенской росписи.

Готовое изделие расписывали по чистому негрунтованному дереву сначала охрой с помощью измочаленной на конце деревянной палочки, потом птичьим пером делали черную обводку и наносили узор. Расписанный предмет покрывали олифой, что предохраняло краску от стирания и придавало изделию золотистый цвет.

Наиболее яркие персонажи Мезенской росписи: – красные кони – условный знак Солнца, его движения по небосводу; – оленихи – небесные роженицы, они дарят жизнь всему живому на Земле; – уточки, гуси, лебеди – души далеких предков, которые вьются вокруг и помогают нам в трудную минуту; – елочки – олицетворение мужской силы; – мифологическое дерево жизни – состоит из ствола, заполненного ромбиками, бесчисленными родами. Корни дерева завиваются в спирали, олицетворяющие подземный мир. Верхушка увенчана солярным знаком – знаком небесного мира.

Роспись выполняется в два цвета: черный – сажа и красный – охра. Когда-то краски приготовляли из красно-коричневой береговой глины и сажи, растертой на смоле лиственницы – "таючей сере", а с конца 19 века вместо глины стали употреблять сурик. Все изображения очень статичны и лишь благодаря многократному повтору возникает ощущение динамики.

В Северодвинске, Архангельске и других местах сейчас широко развернуто производство сувениров в мезенском стиле – подносы, чаши, солонки, декоративные доски, шкатулки и др.

Mezen painting is a type of painting on wooden spinning wheels and utensils (ladles, boxes, bratinas, etc.) that developed by the beginning of the 19th century in the lower reaches of the Mezen River. The village of Palashchelye in the Mezen (Leshukonsky) district of the Arkhangelsk region gave Mezen painting fame, which is why it is also called Palashchel. The oldest dated spinning wheel with Mezen painting dates back to 1815, although pictorial motifs of similar painting are found in 18th century manuscripts made in the Mezen region.

In terms of style, Mezen painting can be attributed to the most archaic types of painting that have survived to this day. The drawings have deep roots. Rock paintings have been found on the shores of the White Sea and Lake Onega, which echo the drawings of Mezen painting.

The finished product was painted on clean, unprimed wood, first with ochre using a wooden stick soaked at the end, then a black outline was made with a bird feather and a pattern was applied. The painted object was covered with drying oil, which protected the paint from being erased and gave the product a golden color.

The most striking characters of Mezen painting:

red horses - a conventional sign of the Sun, its movement across the sky;

female deer - heavenly mothers, they give life to all living things on Earth;

ducks, geese, swans - the souls of distant ancestors, who hover around and help us in difficult times;

fir trees - the personification of male power;

the mythological tree of life - consists of a trunk filled with diamonds, countless genera. The roots of the tree curl into spirals, personifying the underworld. The top is crowned with a solar sign - a sign of the heavenly world.

The painting is done in two colors: black - soot and red - ochre. At one time, paints were made from red-brown coastal clay and soot ground on larch resin - "melting sulfur", and since the end of the 19th century, red lead began to be used instead of clay. All images are very static and only due to multiple repetitions does a sense of dynamics arise.

In Severodvinsk, Arkhangelsk and other places, the production of souvenirs in the Mezen style is now widespread - trays, bowls, salt shakers, decorative boards, boxes, etc.

Источник:/podelunchik.ru/mezenskaya-rospis,/stroyfora.ru/p/post-1727, //iamruss.ru/mezenskaya-painting-on-wood/,cozyhome.ucoz.ru /forum/6-80-1#2977,//patlah.ru/etm/etm-01/podelki/rospis/mezen/ mezen.htm,/www.culture.ru/materials/52919/mezenskaya-rosp.

[pearlywritings]

Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife. PART 3

pairings: Childe, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Wriothesley x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship (married/engaged/mated), secret relationship, immortal reader in Neuvi's part

word count: 6.1k+ words

a/n: part 1 and part 2 can be read here!

Childe

Spurred by the whistles and a whip of a coachman three fine white horses are trotting along the snow-covered road, dragging a big sleigh. Made of the sturdiest wood and painted in red and gold, the construction is effortlessly sliding on ice crust, almost lulling you under all those warm blankets and furs Ajax has thrown over your half-sitting half-lying bodies. You are glad to have this instead of jolting in a carriage (not like it’ll even be able to ride through all this snow), sure to have an aching arse even under the thick sheepskin coat, and instead of whatever machinery your lover could’ve gotten his hands onto due to his position - otherwise it wouldn’t have been so romantic.

Resting your head onto his shoulder you sigh blissfully, puffing out a small cloud of warm air. The fluffy-looking firs, tall pines and naked larches are flashing past in a magical gleam of snow-covered branches; you think you see two grayish squirrels chasing one another on a tree on your left.

“Oh, little minxes. A couple of seconds later and that snow could’ve ended up on our heads.”

You giggle at the young man’s comment, taking your gloved hand out of the sable muff and reaching to adjust the hat with earflaps (which he once again refused to tie under his chin) on his head. Before you can retrieve, a bigger hand clad in mitten wraps around yours and brings it to the chapped pale lips. As if spellbound you watch him press a tender kiss just where your ring finger joins the palm - right where the engagement ring is hidden under the thick material.

Now it’s hard to tell if your cheeks are rosy from cold or the swirling emotions.

“A little bit more and we will be in Morepesok,” he says softly, deep pools of his blue eyes staring back at you adoringly. “I can’t wait to share the news with ma, pa, sisters and brothers…”

You know he’s written them a letter right after you said ‘yes” to him, too excited to wait. So excited in fact, that he couldn’t sit still in expectation for the response, so he solicited an impromptu week-long vacation with the help of Pulcinella, and here you are, on your merry way to his home village.

“I can’t wait for that too,” you smile, leaning up to peck his nose, eliciting the same smile from him. “But I worry a little - will they be happy for us? I mean, that it’s me who you are going to marry?”

“Absolutely!” He nods enthusiastically and you have to readjust his hat again. “They all love you very much, I promise you. And if I am being completely honest, mom and Tonia did keep asking me when I intended to make you my wife during the last couple of times we visited.”

“Wait, really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was already planning a proposal at the time - didn’t want to spoil it by accidentally letting my tongue loose.”

It’s hard to believe that this man is one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers. Childe is surprisingly good at separating his work and off work behavior, turning into a completely normal, maybe just a tiny bit unhinged, young man as soon as his family is involved. You know he’s built this facade to keep them and you away from harm, but you also know it comes from the heart as well.

“Then I can only hope we can bring the female members of your family to the capital soon - I want them to participate in the wedding dress shopping.”

You are immediately gathered into a tight embrace and your laughter is smothered by the fur on his collar. Yes, he is the Eleventh Harbinger, Tartaglia, Tsaritas’s soldier, Childe… But in moments like this he is just Ajax. Your Ajax.

His parents’ house meets you both with the quiet creak of the gates, the barking of two big fluffy malamutes outside, the clink of the horseshoe against the wood on top of the front door, the warmth of a well-heated inside and a bit taller than the last time you saw him Teucer, who runs full speed at his big brother, practically tackling him.

“Big brother is home, big brother is home!”

Ajax joyously laughs, somehow managing to take off his coat and dropping it to the colorful carpet at the front door before hoisting the exclaiming boy into his arms. Kicking off your felt boots to step from the anteroom, you watch with a smile as he squeals when your lover presses his cold cheek to the warm smaller one, squirming in the strong arms. 

Not a minute later more of his siblings appear, closely followed by their mom - freckled, with her ginger with gray hair tied in a thick braid and an apron thrown over her green dress, the woman smiles brightly and, letting her children surround their brother, walks to you with arms spread, ready to embrace you.

“Mother, my clothes might be cold,” you try to warn her, but she doesn’t listen, hugging you anyway.

“As if it can affect me! Oh, I’m so happy to see you, my dear. How was your trip? Are you tired, hungry? I’m almost done with lunch, and in the meantime I can ask my husband to throw in the firewood and heat the bathhouse for you two.

“It’s very kind of you,” you smile, wrapping your arms to give her a hug in return. “But I think we’ll wash up in the evening - I really doubt Ajax’s sibling will let him go in the following couple of hours.”

Before she can say anything, a tall, wide man appears from the other room. His beard and hair are gingerly brown with gray too, thick brows naturally furrowed. By the rosy cheeks, the remnants of snowflakes melting on his hair and the choice of clothing you guess he’s just returned to the house through the back door - probably after chopping wood.

Upon lowering his gaze to you, his facial features smooth out.

“If it isn’t my son and a dear soon-to-be daughter-in-law!” His gruff voice booms across the house, immediately redirecting everyone’s attention to you and making you blush. “I knew Ajax was too impatient and would rather come to visit and bring his fiance along than wait for a response letter.”

As he moves to greet you properly and help with discarding the outer clothes, you notice your gingerhead whispering something to his siblings, to which they giggle and throw glances at you. Catching the gaze of your lover, you lift an eyebrow, as if asking ‘should I be concerned?”. But he only shakes his head with a smile and ushers everyone to the dining room.

However, the curiosity is getting better of you, as throughout the evening you keep catching the glances, watch Tonia whispering something to her mom, and the woman giving Ajax a ‘really?’ kind of look, but with a fond smile, and then his dad slapping his back with a boisterous laugh, saying something along the lines ‘I was the same way with your mom too’.

So you confront him once you are left alone in the room.

“Hey, foxy, what’s going on?”

“Hm?” He lowers the blanket that he’s just tucked inside the duvet cover and reaches for the sheets. “What do you mean, bunny?”

“Whatever you’ve been doing,” you put one of the pillows down and reach out for the other as well as the pillowcase. 

“And what’s that ‘whatever’ I’ve been doing?” You don’t miss the sly smile finding its way onto his face. You huff.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

The man hums, tucking the edges of the sheet between the mattress and the bed.

“Nothing you should worry about. I just asked them all to practice a little.”

“Practice?’ Cocking your head, you throw both pillows onto the bed. “Wait, did you start planning something for the wedding?”

“Not quite. Rather for after it.”

Confused, but intrigued, you step closer when your lover sits down and beckons you, being dragged into his lap a second later. Blue eyes look at you in an unspoken fascination, as he leans forward to place a kiss to the corner of your mouth, prompting you to loosely wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Since we are getting married, I deduced that it would be only right for my family to call you my wife. Thus I asked them to get acquaintanced with the term, so they could start doing it as soon as we are pronounced husband and wife.”

You blink at him once, twice. After the third time you exhale, shaking your head, but the lift of your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by your fiance.

“I should’ve known you’d pull something like this, I am not even surprised, let alone mad. But they could just keep addressing me by my name. Plus your siblings already call me ‘big sister’ and your parents made me an honor of acknowledging me as the ‘daughter’. It won’t change much.”

“But it will!” He pouts and you can’t resist the urge to pinch his cheek. “You will be my wife and I want everyone to help me show it! Does it bother you though?”

Looking into those uncharacteristically begging eyes, you really can’t deny him his little antics. Not like you were going to in the first place.

“No, no, I don’t mind, love. Honestly, it's very sweet how excited you are. Makes me look forward to it.”

“Yeah?” Look at him, smiling like a satisfied cat, who's had too much sour cream for its own good. His embrace tightens on you a little.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes as Ajax enjoys the many kisses you pepper to his face, squeezing his eyes shut, grinning, boyishly eager for more.

“Do you think I should ask the whole village to do the same?”

“Ajax, no.”

Nuevillette

“Mother, do you mind helping me a little? I can’t reach over there…

“I’d be delighted, my dear.”

Neuvillette watches with a fond look as you put the tea cup down and stand up to walk closer to Verenata and assist her with whatever the potion maker needs. Your figure is ethereal, clad in the finest fabrics, flowing with every step and gently dropping as you crouch gracefully to hoist the melusine in your arms. From above the rim of his silver goblet the Hydro Dragon can't tear his eyes from the way one of your many “daughters” wraps an arm around your neck and reaches up, while the corner of your lips, which he can see from his position at the table, is turned upwards.

“Mother is so kind and patient,” Laume says just a step away from Neuvillette’s chair. When the man turns his head to look at her, there is Flo standing too.

“Yes, and she is so beautiful,” the other melusine sighs, clasping her hands together. “And she always brings us such nice and comfortable clothes…”

“Monsieur Neuvillette married a wonderful woman,” a couple more melusines nearby agree and there is a warm and fuzzy feeling takes place in the Judex’s chest.

Marriage… Such a beautiful concept humans came up with to validate the union of two. It begins with the wedding - a day full of happy tears and blissful smiles, shared vows to be together in sickness and in health, sweet claims of love and promises of joyful life ahead. Then this very life begins and for beings like you and your husband it’s a long, but welcome trip.

You’ve been claimed by each other for quite some time before the more ‘mortal appropriate’ ritual, and the melusines - the wonderful creatures Neuvillette once took under his wing - were aware and happy for your relationship. And it was actually their idea to hold a wedding too, once Sigewinne naturally asked how the two of you planned to introduce your bond in civil words to humans.

And it was their initiative to start calling you “mother”. With your actions you quickly became one for them anyway, and the girls actively sought your company when it was possible. Thus, such tea parties at the Merusea Village as today are a common occurrence (besides, you always welcome them because it's a great opportunity to dig your husband out of the pile of responsibilities he tends to bury himself under).

However, lately Neuvillette started noticing that when he heard the word leave the girls’ mouths, a strange feeling began rising in his chest. Even though not quite familiar with the concept of jealousy, the Judex was sure it was not the case - he loved when the melusines called you that. So, he could not really put his finger on why the action caused such an indescribable reaction.

He decided to observe. On his walks throughout the city, the man seeked the sights of parents with children to attentively listen and watch while leisurely passing by or stopping at the shopping booths to linger on the scene. He was quick to note that the interactions were hardly different from the ones between you and the girls - kids would call for their mothers in all the same tones: when happy, when asking for help, when seeking comfort and many other typical occurrences he’d seen a handful of times before.

What really caught Neuvillette’s eye was the way the parents behaved. And soon his focus shifted to the married couples instead. As reserved as the nobles seemed to appear, the ones in love still managed to slip a murmured ‘my dear’, or ‘beloved’ or ‘my sweet [Name]’ in their speech. All the things the Hydro Dragon was all too used to call you too, relishing in the image of your loving smile and joyfully crinkling eyes as you responded in kind.

But it is like a waterfall pours on him when a week later, after that tea party where he once again sunk deep in thought, a keen pointy ear makes out a simple word in the crowd.

"Wife"

Male’s heart flutters. The understanding quickly dawns on him, even more so when his eyes find the couple on the other side of the road, - it was no simple term to introduce the partner to the third party. No, the tenderly spoken word was used by that man to address his lover, to softly draw her attention to him, to remind her he is happy she is holding such a position in his life…

At least that’s what kind of puzzle pieces together in Neuvillette’s head. The couple is long gone, yet he is still standing there, hand resting on the handle of his cane and eyes staring into space.

He starts to remember all the sweet names he called you, each and every one stored in his memory with the heart-warming images of your reactions. There are all kinds of those: my love, my pearl, lizzy (affectionate from ‘lizard’; you used to tell him that dragons are just big lizards and it kinda stuck), kisses-stealer, fairy-tail nymph… The man is surprisingly creative with his words when it comes to you.

Sure, he calls you his mate, quite often too, but to his chagrin it has never occurred to him that he could call you ‘his wife’ too! It’s so simple, so absurdly logical, yet it took him weeks to figure out.

Humans are truly fascinating.

When Neuvillette returns to his office in the Palais Mermonia you are already there, lazing on a sofa with a bunch of papers, in which your husband guesses the script of probably another upcoming play of Furina. And judging by the more than a half pages turned you’ve been waiting for him for a while.

When the door closes and the cane disappears in the myriad of sparkling bubbles, you lift your gaze, and a smile immediately lights up your lovely features.

”Neuvi,” You speak softly, getting on your feet and leaving the script behind, “I hoped we’d depart on the afternoon stroll together. So imagine my disappointment when Sedene told me you had left just ten minutes ago! Oh, I knew I’d be late if Lady Furina had kept me for another minute, yet I still hoped I’d be on time…”

As you are approaching him, the Judex remembers the melusine’s words upon arrival: “Mother waits inside”. This makes all his previous thoughts resurface, and when he meets you half-way and reaches for both your hands to place a kiss to the back of each, Neuvillette has half a mind to try out his new discovery.

“Our Archon enjoys your company a lot, and, knowing you, you are not really mad,” you roll your eyes playfully, tiptoeing to peck the tip of his nose, murmuring a quiet ‘hush, let me be a tiny bit indignant’. “And I’d be honored to keep you company for the evening stroll,” and then, after a little pause of hesitation, he adds, “wife.”

He watches as the previously present smile on your face grows even bigger, but after a couple of seconds starts to fade slowly, eyes squinting a little bit to stare at him in hardly-concealed curiosity.

“What was that?”

“What was what, dear wife?”

“This!” As if to emphasize your words you point your finger to his mouth, and it’s Neuvillette’s lips’ turn to curl in a small smile.

“It’s something I hoped to discuss with you,” his gloved fingertips soothingly brush over your knuckles and soon your hand is clasped into his, as the man leads you both back to the sofa. “You see,” he starts when you sit down, “I am fascinated with the notion hidden behind the word ‘mother’ the melusines like to call you. That’s who you are for them both in reality and in terms. I’ve made some observations, and figured that sometimes humans in marriage also use the…familial terms to address one another. It seemed lovely to me and I wanted to try it out with you. What do you think?”

You hum in thought, replaying in your head the way Neuvillette spoke to you twice. It is hard to explain, but you somehow immediately see the appeal and understand why your lover got hooked on it. Seems lovely indeed. You wonder, what if you…

“Will you tell me more about those observations on our evening stroll, husband? Ooh, it does sound wonderful!”

Mark him stunned, but for a moment Judex grows speechless. The violet depths of his eyes swirl with adoration as you clap your hands gleefully, and he knows, that from now on your everyday routine will never be the same

“With pleasure, wife.”

Pantalone

Dancing snowflakes are slowly descending in their tender waltz and are gleaming like the tiniest of gems in the streetlights’, enveloping the already magical winter capital of the Cryo region in a solemn atmosphere. The white cover of the ground is crunching with every step of a passerby and every wheel rotation of the fancy-looking carriages, while the street is a jumble of fur coats and heavy military overcoats, finally breathing life into the afternoon-quiet city.

It’s a wonderful evening, too marvelous to spend it at home, too enchanting to miss the new ballet at the Bolshoy Theater, the true accumulation of the Tsaritsa’ nation’s nobility and intelligentsia. The wonder of Snezhnayan architecture is both the place to rest and enjoy the purest form of art and home to many gossip circulating in society. Some fresh and just hours old, some ancient and undying, like the topic of the Ninth Harbinger’s lovers.

Lord Pantalone is well-known and often-praised for his contribution to the Snezhnaya’s economy, along with extending the Fatui influence all across the Teyvat. But also he is quite famous for the women he appears in public with. It’s always someone new, it’s never the same one as before. Different shapes, different hair, different style - it is impossible to guess the raven-haired man’s tastes. However everybody knew - the Harbinger never entertained the company of the ladies who made attempts to catch his attention. Those ladies themselves say as much.

The Regrator’s companions never open their mouths, never utter a word - at least not when there are people around. There has never been a single name, never a remembered face - all women wear the mask covering the upper half of it, concealing the identity of yet another lucky choice of the rich man. 

Never the same woman - always the same mask.

This evening does not disappoint the gathered crowd - lifting their gazes, directing attention to the Harbinger’s personal box, they once again see the notorious mask. The long fringe of wine-red hair is coquettishly framing the ever-lasting piece of leather, similarly flaming lips are tugged in a haughty smile - as if the young lady doesn’t realize that once the night is over, she’s going to be discarded like many others before her. The dress according to the latest fashion trends and the beautiful garnet necklace do not surprise the audience anymore - even known for his love for replacements, Lord Pantalone dresses his partners royally.

The man himself has chosen yet another black costume, with a dark burgundy shirt hidden underneath and bird-shaped garnet brooch on the left side of his chest. Multiple beautiful rings catch the light when he lifts his gloved hand to adjust diamond-shaped glasses, before turning his head and addressing something to his tonight’s escort. She boisterously laughs, saying something in response, but even if attendants tried to strain their ears, they wouldn’t hear anything so far away. Even harder it gets when the third ring of the bell echoes across the theater chamber and both the Harbinger and the woman are forgotten, until the performance is over.

So no one sees when the ring-decorated hand reaches for a smaller female one, fingers sliding under the chintz-covered palm, thumb immediately reaching to tug on the hem of the glove, so the thin cool lips could press against the small patch of bared skin. A glimpse of a smile is what Pantalone gets when you glance at him with amusement playing on your lips.

Always the same mask, never the same woman, huh? 

Pride has long slithered into your heart, yet it still lifts its snake-like head every time your act of decisiveness succeeds, happily hissing. Every time it’s a test of your skills, a gamble with the eyes of ones around you, and every time you hit the jackpot, leaving the people guessing, staying the only one in possession of the banker despite the speculations.

As long as Her Majesty Tsaritsa is aware of your existence and the place you occupy next to Pantalone, you are free to do anything you want with his reputation relationship-wise. And he allows it, because should you desire the whole world - he’ll throw it to your feet like the cheapest trinket. One would say it’s because he is prideful too - he knows it’s because he loves his wife.

Loves to the point of entertaining the masquerades she stages whenever the two of you need to appear in public. It plays wonderfully into his possessive nature and desire to keep his precious beautiful wife to himself and helps with the enemies - “changing the ladies” minimizes the chances of putting at risk his one and only. Not like many know of you in the first place.

It’s a win-win arrangement for you as well - there is still an opportunity to cling to his arm, to use his expensive cologne, to play with the rings on his fingers and sneakily make out in a dark corner where no one can see. To be tugged into his lap in the carriage on the way back to his mansion, to have his long fingers undo the strings of the mask, and once the piece of leather falls onto the floor, have the palms slide down the sides of your neck, swiftly fiddling with the heavy necklace, only to let it be, the caress the shoulders, pushing the sleeves down… 

…to leave them at the elbows and grab your arms to push your back into his chest as the warm lips press to the juncture between the neck and the shoulder.

And what if you’ve lost your name in the process of this disguising? Having been an actress a long time ago made you used to it. But isn’t it fun to come up with the new ideas for your next performance? Your husband gifts you way too many dresses and jewelry sets - you must find use to all of them! He now has to simply spend a bit more on the wigs and makeup to fit each combination of fabric and gems.

“Did my wife have a pleasant evening?” The velvet voice of the man behind you caresses the ear and you meet his gaze in the full-size mirror in front of you. Amethyst eyes sparkle in the bedroom light and you smile coquettishly, red lips stretching seductively.

“Did she? How could I know?” You tease, reaching to your back to undo the corset, just to be stopped by his hands, fingers digging into the dozens of strings. “And don’t you know, Mr Harbinger, that it’s very offending for the woman, when the man speaks about another lady in her presence?”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware,” he muses, tugging a bit harsher on the ties and making you gasp, “that my dear wife can be jealous of herself.”

“When you know her poorly. Tsk-tsk, what a bad husband you are.”

Pantalone laughs behind you, shaking his head at your untrue words, and you reach to your head to remove the fiery wig. By the time Pantalone is done with your corset, you are done letting your naturally beautiful locks down, sighing in relief from both the released ribcage and hair roots.

The dress, having lost its vital support on your body, falls to the ground next to the wig and quickly becomes forgotten as you two step away from the mirror.

Your husband is still mostly clothed, having only eased out of his coat and unbuttoned the jacket, so you busy your hands with tugging the black article off and then reaching for the gleaming tiny buttons on the shirt. Your figures bask in the warm light of the room as you continue undressing the man - your eyes concentrated on the expensive fabrics, his - on the lovely expression of your face.

“But if you must know,” Pantalone raises his brow, when you look up at him, a much sincere and tender smile lighting up your visage, “your wife loved the evening very much.”

And that’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear. Fingers tangle in your hair, you harshly inhale, and his lips are on yours. Lipstick is smudging, your fingers accidentally catch the silver chain, and his glasses get slightly askew, but it doesn’t matter. His wife loved another thing he’s done for her. The banker’s day has ended in a great profit.

Wriothesley

Fortress of Meropide is a huge metal labyrinth of floors and corridors, where noise is never-ending even in the late hours of the night. The metal box which is the Duke’s office however, is constructed to mute the annoying sounds or else the one inside would have a very hard time concentrating.

Usually, even the ruckus happening outside and the clanking of the heavy machines underneath can’t sway Wriothesley’s attention if he has his mind set on doing the paperwork, even something as boring as bills. Today, however, the man has caught himself multiple times glancing at the clock he’s hung up a couple of years ago - there is no way to tell the time all the way down underwater, true, but it serves him a greater purpose. It helps him count hours and minutes before you arrive.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are the days when you take a half of the day off to come down to the Fortress to meet up with your husband. You both quickly realized that traveling back and forth together in either of the directions (fortress or home in the city) would be way too inconvenient. So, you improvise by visiting him throughout the week a couple of times and then he comes home to properly spend the weekend, having learnt to delegate his responsibilities to the most trustworthy guards. So far you’ve been extremely pleased with the arrangement, and the Fortress’s crew have learnt your face by heart to not cause you any obstacles in reaching your beloved’s office.

Today, nevertheless, something must’ve gone wrong. Pale blue eyes are practically drilling the minute hand of the previously mentioned clock, watching it moving further and further from the tiny 10-minute bar, which should’ve marked your appearance at the top of his stairs. And he gets it, everything could’ve happened, something as trivial as the queue at the pastry shop that might’ve gotten longer today, but when the delay surpasses the half-hour mark, the warden puts his fountain pen down and follows it by the creak of the chair legs on the metal floor.

As he descends down the stairs - each clunking under the heavy soles of his boots - a fleeting thought of you stopping by at the medical bay first is immediately brushed aside - his office is right on the path of entering the Fortress’s main body, and you love your husband too much to let him sulk in his longing. 

When he pushes the colossal doors open, eyes instantly start searching the area ahead of him. However, nothing unusual is spotted - two guards are standing at the front of his abode, not even flinching at the unpleasant scraping noise the metal makes; a couple of inmates are walking past them, bowing their heads right as they see the appearing the figure of their warden - Wriothesley simply nods and sends them off with a flicker of his hand; then there is Monglane’s desk with its irreplaceable owner. And no trace of his beloved wife.

Closing the doors behind him, Wriothesley comes up to the guards, inquiring if they’ve happened to see you. Getting a negative response, he hums and starts walking forward, to the corridor leading to the elevator, not bothering with asking the very same questions to Monglane.

With every passing minute, especially while waiting for the elevator, the man starts realizing how impatient he is growing, if the tapping of his foot and crossed arms are not an indicator enough. Even with just one day apart, he’s missed you so awfully much, your adoring smile, your soft voice and cute little giggles, that he feels rightfully robbed since you are not yet in his embrace, showering his face with kisses and then whining pretentiously because he’s forgotten to shave once again. Sometimes you swear he is not a big bad wolf, but a mean huge hedgehog.

He almost stomps inside the cabin the second its doors slide open and pushes the button to the reddening of his fingertip. It is a long trip up to the next level, and he admits he’s tugged on his leather straps wrapped around his arms a couple of times, but Archons, how little it all matters, when, exiting the elevator, he finally hears such a familiar voice. Your voice.

Your husband’s legs carry him like they obtained a mind of their own, following the full of amusement lilt he knows can belong only to you, just to come to a halt next to the wooden boxes piled up on the side of the path. 

He can see you, quite clearly, adorned in a cute pair of pants and a shirt, shoulders covered in a crocheted shawl - always ready for the cool air of the Fortress, yet looking so comfy, that Wriothesley can't help but desire to tackle you to the sofa in his office and cuddle this instant. And he would've done just that, if the conversation you've been having didn't catch his attention.

“No, it's wrong again. It's not Britney, it's Brytnneigh.

“But you are saying the same thing!"

"No, it is not B-r-i-t-n-e-y. It's B-r-y-t-n-n-e-i-g-h."

"Slower, please."

In the second voice the warden easily guesses a new guard that has just been employed a couple of days ago. He remembers signing the papers his weekend substitute brought him on Monday. Wriothesley also remembers how the man swore that he’d passed on to the newbie all the information and training he needed to know. But, it appears, he forgot to mention the most important thing…

“Did you make sure to write my name with two N’s?” Your voice is laced with hardly concealed mirth, and, though he can’t see the face of the guard talking to you, your husband is sure the poor young man looks quite miserable.

“Yes, mademoiselle, I did.”

“Wonderful, but it’s ‘madame’, I am a married woman after all. But no worries, I am flattered you think I look so young,” Wriothesley shakes his head with a silent chuckle. He adores you so much, but maybe it really is time to stop your little play of a new inmate, or else he’ll surely have to call for Sigewinne to check on the poor guard.

“And your last name, madame?”

“I am Brytnneigh Deirdrophnea de Troistêtesloup. Do you want me to spell it for you, dear?”

Yes, he really should stop you.

Before you can open your mouth again, you see in your peripheral vision a figure moving. Upon turning your head slightly, you are graced with the sight of your beloved husband, walking towards you with a quirked thick brow, and crossed arms. All you can do is sheepishly smile, waving at him.

“O-oh! Duke Wriothesley, Sir!” The guard behind the registration desk immediately jumps to his feet, squaring his shoulders and saluting at the arrival of his superior.

“At ease, young man,” Wriothesley nods, stepping even closer, practically invading your personal space, icy blue eyes looking at you unblinkingly. “What is going on here?���

“Nothing much, Mr Warden,” your eyes crinkle in the corners, a sight so infectious, that the man’s lips turn into a small smile. “Just a cute old me, ending up in the Fortress for Archon knows what time.”

“M-madame!” The guard exclaims rather loudly, that even your husband turns to look at him. “Even if it's not your first stay here, you shouldn’t be taking liberties with the Duke!”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Wriothesley raises his hand. “She is no longer your headache-”

“Hey!” You elbow his side to the bewilderment of the guard. In his shock he doesn’t even reach for his weapon.

“-I will personally escort this troublemaker inside. And cross out that abominable name out, would you? It’s not her name.”

“It’s not..?” Now Wriothesley really sympathizes with the guy, he looks utterly lost.

“It’s not. But,” a big scarred hand gently cups you under the chin and turns your head more properly towards the guard, “be sure to remember this adorable face very well for the next time. You’ll need that to let her in and out.”

“...out?”

“Yes, indeed. This woman is my wife.”

As the elevator doors slide close and the cabin starts moving down, you turn to Wriothesley and throw your arms around his wide frame, face burying into his chest.

“Are you proud of me for coming up with such a long and difficult name in a single thought?”

“Oh, for sure,” strong arms circle your waist and chapped lips press to the top of your head, “I bet you would be hard-to-catch if you were a criminal. But why did you decide to play such a prank on a poor man?”

“Well… I just wanted to see his face when he found out that I am the wife of the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide himself. Another reason is that there was no guard who knew my face and I doubt he would’ve believed my word. I just got creative with the way of making him summon someone else. You simply got here before anything could happen. Plus, it’s good to keep them on their toes with a job like that. Besides, I did apologize and praise him for his patience.”

At that Wriothesley just sighs and then chuckles, raising one of his hands and threading his fingers through your hair, pressing your head even closer to his chest. He is not even feeling iffy about the lost half an hour of your time together anymore. Because you gave him an opportunity to introduce you as his wife once again.

[aloneandforsakenbyfateandbyman]

The Siberian Ice Maiden, known locally as the Princess of Ukok (Russian: Принце́сса Уко́ка), the Altai Princess (Russian: Алтайская принцесса), Devochka ("Girl") is a mummy of a woman from the 5th century BC, discovered in 1993 in a kurgan belonging to one of the Pazyryk burials, in the Republic of Altai, Russia.

She is famous for her tribal animal-style tattoos, which consist of creatures with horns that evolved into floral shapes. The local Altai people believe her to have supernatural powers and that the Ukok Plateau where she was found is the "second layer of heaven.”

Her head was shaved and she wore a wig and a tall hat, a long silk robe, a red wool skirt, and was 167cm tall. She was most likely a shaman or healer who had taken a vow of celibacy, as her body was used by her tribe in rituals up to three months after her death and she was determined to have inhaled cannabis vapor while alive.

She had been suffering from breast cancer that killed her in about three years, combined with injuries sustained in a fall.

She was buried with food such as horse meat, mutton, yogurt, coriander seeds and a beverage, which her tribe left her to sustain her on her journey to the afterlife. Her coffin was made of a larch wood tree trunk.

[cryptidclaw]

Goldenflower!

Design Notes:

not to many changes to her design, I changed up her colors to be brighter and made her a classic tabby! she also has her mom, Speckletail's big ears and fluffy tail!

Character Bio:

Goldenflower

Molly; she/her

Age as of 1st arc's beginning: 5 cycles; 36 Hyrs

Title meaning: -flower = a soft, sweet and kind hearted cat

Caretaker of Thunder Order

Mentor: Dappledew

Mother: Specklesnap

Fathers: Star Sunfall (biological); Tawnyspots

Siblings: Lionheart

Ex-Mate: Star Tigerclaw

Mate (got together as ghosts): Mapleshade

Kits: Swift; Chestnut (Lynxkit); Brambleflower; Star Tawnyclaw

Adoptive kits (cares for them in the Stars): Petal; Larch; Patch

Grandkits: Flamespirit; Goldenheart; Dawnpelt; Junipersnow; Dandeliondust

Other notable kin: Fogtalon (aunt); Smallear (uncle); Featherwhisker (uncle); Thornclaw (nephew); Brightheart (niece); Cinderspark (niece); Brackenburrow (nephew)

Character Summary:

In Progress (to be added later)

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy awoke on the morning of The Feast of All Hallows… upside down in a spiky, prickly larch tree…

As he slowly regained consciousness, he had some vague recollection of spinning round and round a large, flapping bat in the darkness the night before, but everything after that was merely a muddled misty blur…

And there seemed to be something odd and rather heavy pressing on his chest… Moving his head with difficulty, Algy peeped up at the peculiar orange object. Now he could remember! It was his Tumblr Halloween Boop-o-meter!

Slowly it all began to come back to him. While spinning over the eerie peat bog he had had a lot of fun enjoying many special Halloween posts on tumblr and "booping" friends and strangers – a cute tumblr friendship game he had never played before, and very much enjoyed.

So Algy would like to thank everyone who booped him yesterday, and everyone who made special posts to make the day more enjoyable, and he offers his fluffiest apologies to those he could not boop back because it was too late in the night in the wild west Highlands of Scotland. Please consider yourselves happily booped!

He sends you all a very special Samhain fluffy hug, and hopes that you survived "death's and truth's unlocking time" and have not found yourself upside down in a tree this morning…

At midnight, death's and truth's unlocking time, When far within the spirit's hearing rolls The great soft rumble of the course of things – A bulk of silence in a mask of sound, – When darkness clears our vision that by day Is sun-blind, and the soul's a ravening owl For truth and flitteth here and there about Low-lying woody tracts of time and oft Is minded for to sit upon a bough, Dry-dead and sharp, of some long-stricken tree And muse in that gaunt place, – 'twas then my heart, Deep in the meditative dark, cried out…

[Algy is quoting the first verse of the poem The Crystal by the 19th century American author and musician Sidney Lanier.]

[gruvu]

Twitter sucks so we are gonna do the layer removal here. Enjoy ya’ll

[bogcreacher]

okay clangen fanfic time let’s go babey home run babey lets go!!!!

Chapter 1 - The Messengers

It was night over the valley.

The remnants of daylight pooled around the horizon, where the trees of Dappleclan cut into the thick, blue sky. The low clouds of greenleaf were long gone, leaving the stars stark and glittering. 

Moorheart had almost finished the evening patrol. He’d sent the others home early when they’d complained of sore paws.

It wasn’t their fault. There weren’t enough warriors to go around nowadays. 

He shook out his fur, taking extra care as he picked through the thistle-ridden paths of his clan’s territory. The trees hung low, drumming peacefully as he scraped under their lowest branches. He counted his steps as he went. 

In leaf-fall the undergrowth was always so alive. Somewhere far beyond his sight he could hear the hum of busy insects and the babble of the distant stream - and beyond that, small creatures, feeding and nesting and chattering. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, ignoring the growl of his stomach. 

It was the type of night that felt electric, sending his fur bristling and his whiskers to points. Part of him liked having it all to himself. 

He took a left turn at the next marker, leaping up the body of a larch and letting the ground drop farther and farther below him. It was the type of night for climbing. 

He used to linger in trees as an apprentice, to the point that his mother would joke about her son ‘with his head in the clouds’. 

“You’re more squirrel than cat - bushy-tailed, and fascinated by heights.”

Something about it grounded him. The higher he climbed, the more the noise and the pain and the fear softened, as if muffled by the clouds or the slow, dark crush of nightfall. It was a kind of peacefulness only he seemed to understand. 

Not that anyone else tried to understand. Not that anyone else got it.

It was clearer up here, where the breeze bit his ears to numbness and the earth trembled beneath him. Where the sky was so dark and so large he could look up and feel himself fall.

His fur prickled.

A storm’s brewing.

He was shaken from his musings when he heard movement below, of something picking its way through the undergrowth. 

Dropping to a lower branch he stooped to take a look. A small ways off bushes rustled, parting to reveal a lithe shadow. 

A rabbit?

Moorheart lowered his head as it crept closer. 

No. Larger.

His ears twitched. 

Cats. 

He couldn’t recognise them from afar. And he didn’t like how they came from downwind. 

The camp wasn’t far, though to flee he’d have to reach ground, and he doubted he could drop quietly enough to avoid alerting his new companions. 

He could call for help, but how long would it take for his clanmates to arrive? Certainly long enough for an assailant to scale his larch and sink their teeth into him.

Moorheart tugged his nervous claws from the bark beneath him.

Focus. This is hardly an invasion.

The cats were closer now, and Moorheart could see the way they moved, ears pricked and tails swaying. They walked with sure-footed grace, lightly dodging the brambles and boughs of his clan’s territory- Rainclan, he thought to himself, frowning. 

They were alert, they were cautious, but they weren’t stealthy. 

Moorheart raised his head. 

“Who's there?” 

“Moorheart? Is that you?” a familiar voice called. 

“Milkfur? What is this?”

“We have a message for Volestar.”

“This couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Where’s your patrol?” she called. 

He paused. Milkfur’s ear twitched. He couldn’t read her face from this distance.

“No patrol,” he said. “It’s just me out here.”

“Come down.”

Moorheart did, leaping deftly from bough to bough and only half-stumbling on his landing. Closer now, he saw the faces that made up this delegation: Milkfur, a golden molly with long whiskers and a round face; Crowpelt, a plump young tom with glossy fur; and Brightleg, a cat with cold, grey eyes that made him feel like leafbare was settling on his shoulders.  

Moorheart wasn’t sure why a message would require three seasoned envoys; he felt somewhat like a pinned bird when they settled around him. 

“Out with it, then,” he said, tail flicking. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait ‘til dawn?”

Milkfur exchanged a look with Crowpelt.

“We found a body by the Thunderpath,” she said, quietly. “We… we think it's Rotstar.”

Somewhere far away, a bird whooped. 

“What?”

“We think,” Milkfur repeated. “It’s difficult to tell. We thought we ought to get someone from Dappleclan out to check, just in case.”

“Maybe Volestar?” Crowpelt chimed. “Or Batpounce?”

"Yeah." Moorheart didn't know why, but suddenly his feet felt very heavy. "I’ll... I’ll fetch them.”

“Not tonight,” Brightleg said. “In the morning.”

“Right.” Moorheart met his gaze and shivered. In daylight. 

“We just thought we should warn you, in case an apprentice stumbled upon it or- or something,” Milkfur said, as if sensing the chill in the air. 

“Thank you.” Moorheart dipped his head. “Really.”

“I…” the golden molly shuffled where she sat, eyes fixed on the ground. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Moorheart’s ear flicked. 

“Thank you,” he said, terser. “I’ll send Volestar to the border tomorrow, at Sunhigh.”

Milkfur nodded; out of agreement or courtesy, he couldn’t tell. Then all three cats were gone in the shrubbery, light and quick as they arrived.

Moorheart watched them go, then took an angry tongue over his fur. 

Far be it for a dead cat to get under my skin. I must be mad. 

He turned, pushing thoughts of his former leader and her rotten ways from his mind. He would check the markers along the edges of the grove, wander up the hill to inspect the abandoned setts, then amble back to camp and curl into his warm nest, safe and sound.

This will all blow over soon.

Somewhere far away, thunder growled. 

[talon-dragonbeast]

today i want to talk about my hearthome, the coniferous forest, and how i lived there as a dragon. ill be using the words "memory", "remember", and the past tense a lot as an aid, despite me not having a past life. this is because they are noemata, things that never really happened but which i know to be true and are as important as any past life memory. this gets pretty long, so lets begin already.

i dont know how or when I found my forest. i was not born there, and although i know there mustve been other dragons somewhere, none ever visited my forest. if i had to guess, im pretty sure i was born among other dragons, but left them once i reached adulthood. im a pretty solitary dragon, as ive talked about before on this blog, and i have a pretty strong protective instinct. so once i left my fellow dragons, its no wonder i would choose a territory of my own that i could defend from others. and ive always preferred colder climates, so the coniferous forest was perfect for me.

my forest was not huge, but not too small either. it took several hours to walk from one corner to another, so i spent all my day patrolling it. my den was located right in the center, in a cave with a hidden entrance where i had my nest made of moss and my hoard of found objects and shiny things. the cave was tall but small, not uncomfortably so (i could stretch out comfortably without ever touching the walls), but just enough so that it made me feel cooped up and safe. right outside my den was a river that led to the mountains surrounding the forest, and marked the end of my territory. the mountains were a vantage point from which I could see any approaching enemies, so they greatly aided in my territory's defense.

the weather was not great, but for me it was just perfect. a dense fog in the morning that blocked the first rays of sunshine, the air always humid and heavy on the tongue, so cold it stinged the back of your mouth and made breathing difficult. light rain fell almost constantly from the gray skies, turning to snow in winter and thunderstorm in spring. the ground was always slightly damp, covered with brown pine needles and green moss, the soil underneath so dark it was almost black. the trees were tall and intimidating, all coniferous with a rich mix of pine, larch, spruce and fir, silent guardians much as I was. sometimes, the rain would stop and turn the forest into a nearly dreamlike place, with the sky a blue so intense it hurt the eyes, the sun shining with a strange energy that seemed to cool instead of warm. on those days, the air seemed to stand still, everything becoming so quiet you could almost hear the silence, as if the whole forest was holding its breath.

there were animals in my forest, of course. deer and fish and mice and elk and, most importantly, crows. i held a close relationship with the local murder that was similar to the symbiotic relationship between wolves and crows in the wild. they helped me locate prey, informed me of intruders and accompanied me on my patrols, and in return i gave them part of the kill, protected their nests and helped them with any trouble they might get into (you wouldnt believe the kinds of shenanigans the little buggers would manage to find themselves in!). i was at the top of the food chain, and was in charge of maintaining the balance of the ecosystem. i helped the forest, and the forest helped me.

there isnt really a conclusion to this. today im feeling a bit nostalgic, probably because the weather is getting colder and colder and it reminds me of home. my forest, the home of my heart, to which i can never return. writing this has made me feel a bit better, but the pain is still there. the truth is, i still miss it terribly. i miss my den, how safe it made me feel. i miss the crows, my murder, my only companions. i miss feeling the ground beneath my claws, the crunching of pine needles and the soft cold dirt underneath. i miss the emotion of the hunt, the long naps under the sun, the stargazing of an infinite night sky.

but what i miss the most i think, is the feeling of belonging. of being part of the ecosystem, not detached from but actively participating in it. in this human life, its too easy to forget i am an animal too; humans seem so keen to separate themselves from the natural world that they have forgotten that they are part of it like any other living being. i guess what i really miss is simply being able to leave my mark somewhere. feeling that i am doing something. feeling important, needed. but again, dont we all?

[mousetoe-wc]

I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

[skelevenn]

Repostober 27 - 2015

A small series of "Flower Language" (and leaves) portraits for some gems. I definitely did research (though couldn't tell you the sources anymore) and picked stuff out for all the major characters but only finished these three. Actually I found the notes doc I made, helpfully with reference pictures, so I can tell you what each of these ones are and what they mean! Under the cut.

Amethyst

Clematis (large light purple flowers) - Artifice/Trickery

Larch (pink and berry-looking) - Audacity

Sloe (blue berries) - Difficulty

London Pride (white with pink spots and middle) - Frivolity

Jewelweed (purple heart-shaped flowers) - Impatience

Coriander (background foliage, small ruffled leaves) - Hidden Worth

Peridot

Hollyhock (white, sort of trumpet shaped flowers) - Ambition

Euphorbia (small yellow flowers in clusters of three) - Persistence

Rose, yellow (...I think you know what a rose looks like.) - Jealousy

Clotbur (large three-pointed leaves) - Rudeness

Lapis Lazuli

Mourning Bride (large bunches of tiny white flowers) - "I have lost all"

Anemone (white star shaped flowers with deep blue middle) - Forsaken

Columbine, blue (Small white flower with long periwinkle outer petals) - Desertion

Jacob's Ladder (small purple flowers with long stamens) - "Come down"

Aloe vera (long thin spiked leaves) - Grief

Oak Leaves (wiggly? hopefully recognizable lol) - Bravery

I remember looking at a lot of different sources to get the kinds of meanings I was looking for. Not the usual stuff for bouquets that all mean varying levels of love and friendship and whatnot. So some of these could be kind of made up! You can never trust the internet. But I tried.

[bonefall]

i was bored and wanted to list a bunch of changes you made to canon and see how long it takes for my friends brain to physically explode (/pos i hope), so i made a list! :3

There are horses in hell

Baby Lawyer (Larch Kit)

Cannibal Ashfur (Clear Sky, may he rot in hell)

Brokenstar is in Heaven

Jayfeather undoes death

Leopardstar murderer

Mousebrain, real warriors cat (dishonor mousewhisker)

Manwhore in hell for flirting crimes against catanity* (*cat humanity)

Prager U Berryheart Educator

Honeyfern lives and is amazing (honeysnake my beloved)

Gods are real (the gods)

Cat Moby Dick (The boars)

Tigerheartstar Trans Women

Scourge is A Clan Cat Now

Mr. Patrol Guy, Thornclaw, The Fascist

And lastly, the classic:

Hollyleaf is Fallenleaves the Tyrant God

any other particularly wild changes you think are most liable to convert my friend to the Bonefall Way? :3

You CAN'T just leave out Spottedleaf's little surprise to Tigerstar!! I would also give a shoutout to Ace Attorney Lizardstripe. Lizardwright. Plus Bluestar's whole gay little friendgroup. And also the Star Flower Blood Sacrifice.

I think Finchlight's name translating to "Thistle-Eating Finch Glows Like Fire," which is better understood as "This Cat Kills Fascists," is also worth being on there

I hope your friend's brain is exploded to bits