#SO JOYOUS HE IS BUT A DOCILE CREATURE

[ratatatastic]

HELLO TO THIS GORGEOUS SMILE

Mikksy Cup Day | 8.4.24 (x)

[psychotakublabs]

The last scene where Golden Guard entered the Blight’s factory was somewhat odd.

First we have Odalia reacting weirdly to Golden Guard’s offer of buying and funding the Abomitons. Odalia is definitely someone who would be thrilled at an opportunity the Golden Guard’s offer. However, her voice cracks and her face scrunches up hearing the news. She seems more fearful than joyous. Odalia’s fearful reaction questions her intentions as she is the type of person who would do anything to get to the top. Yet, she doesn’t seem happy or thrilled about this generous deal. Then we have Golden Guard commenting on Belos not being happy with civilians creating private armies and the Blights looking at each other shocked and confused. Golden Guard’s statement is very suspicious because Belos is all powerful so why be afraid of the Abomitons? The citizens have been loyal to Belos’s rule and he captures wild witches under the pretense they violate the Titan’s will. Yet Belos has become more active lately and it’s very suspicious as to why he fears the residents of the Boiling Isles. There are 3 theories I can think of just from this scene alone.

1) Blights have a plan to overthrow Belos

The Blights are all about status and power. That was evident in “Understanding Willow” and more apparent in “Escaping Expulsion”. Especially when Alador stopped Odalia because he saw Amity was getting stronger being with her friends and someday could be a Coven head. This shows both Blights only care about getting to the top and success. Alador and Odalia are not in the Emperor’s Coven or even heads of Abomination or Oracle Coven. Their business is a subsidiary of the Abomination Coven meaning they aren’t high up in status but still important enough to have a company making weapons. Alador’s comment about Amity being a Coven head makes sense because having their manipulated daughter in a high ranking position would help them grow as a business and get away with more illegal activity. Also conducting shady business deals doesn’t show absolute loyalty to Belos. Overthrowing Belos and becoming new rulers would benefit the Blight family and fits with Blight’s self-interest of status and power. However, it seems that plan is not going to happen anytime soon due to Belos’s interference. The Blight’s were more fearful than joyous upon Golden Guards appearance and offer. This means they have no choice but to oblige, otherwise it would confirm Belos’s suspicion. Doesn’t mean they are going to stop and could just plan their takeover while building the new Abomitons.

2) Someone in the crowd could be building an army

There were many citizens hidden in capes at both business pitches. If you do a sales pitch, you’d think it wouldn’t be hidden. This is probably because these deals aren’t done legally on the Boiling Isles. If one of those sponsors have ties or is a member of the Abomination Coven, a simple redesign or duplication of the Abomitons wouldn’t be hard to do. In fact, some may not have ties to any Coven. The reason for the capes and secrecy is some of the audience members may be wild witches or undercover rebels. Citizens not pleased with Belos’s current reign (wild witch or rebel) but have strong connections or are rich could easily buy the Abomitons from the Blights and create an army to overthrow Belos.

3) Belos is being paranoid and is getting rid of any potential threats

From Season 1 Belos has used fear and manipulation to control the Boiling Isles. However, after Belos fought Luz and Willow and Gus started a short-lived revolution, he could be fearful of others questioning or planning to overthrow him. In “Separate Tides”  Belos ordered the Golden Guard to eliminate the Selkidomus despite it being a docile creature. Now he wants to buy the Abomitons and fund research into making them stronger. By buying the Abomitons before being sent to others, he is eliminating a potential threat. However, that reason alone doesn’t explain why he would fund the Blights to make the Abomitons stronger. He is the most powerful witch and can easily stop production and distribution of the Abomitons. If he is not lying about invading the human realm, why need an army? There are a few reasons why he needs an army of upgraded Abomination robots. 1) plans on using the army to protect himself when entering the human realm. 2) Using them on the Boiling Isles as a type of security task force/enforcement unit. 3) Use them as personal guards for the portal or for a future battle (most likely with the Owl House). 4) There could be another reason for the Abomitons, it is just a mystery at the moment. Whatever reason Belos has for the Abomitons, his main reason is to stop any future threats against his reign.

The theory I am leaning to is number 3 because of Belos’s more active behavior in the two episodes of Season 2. It can also relate to theories 1 and 2 because both scenarios are possible and it’s why Belos is stopping it before it happens. From what we notice, Belos uses fear and control to rule over the Boiling Isles and it’s really showing in Season 2. This also means the Blights will show up again and their creations will have an effect on Belos’s Day of Unity plan. For now we will have to wait for more information on the Blights and Belo’s plans.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Do you think fae jaskier “tells the bees?” It’s an old European custom of beekeepers telling their hives anything important that happens to them. It feels pretty fae-like to me, and all I can imagine is that jaskier just has this huge community of bees keeping him up to date on the court gossip

Geralt notices the bumblebees around mid-morning as they begin to form a little halo around Roach’s head. The fairy is sitting directly between her two flickering ears, making happy little squeaks and jingles as he gesticulates to the insects. Every minute or so another one will land, do a little dance on Roach’s forehead, and take off to float nearby again. 

The fairy always seems delighted when they do this, and directs his joyous tinkling at the one who danced most recently. He turns to face the Witcher, small blue eyes shining with mirth, and doubles over with laughter. Geralt can’t help but smile in return. The tiny creature, for all his mischief and strange habits, has been riding with Geralt for nearly a whole week. He’s had his hair braided in a variety of intricate and (although he won’t ever admit it aloud to the creature) beautiful ways. 

Roach has never been more docile, which is odd, but Geralt doesn’t mind the smoother riding as of late. 

So the Witcher lets the fairy continue traveling with him. It’s not like he needs much food to survive and he doesn’t hog the covers. “I hope they’re being kind,” Geralt says for no reason. The creature flutters towards his face and hovers there before pressing a delicate kiss to the tip of the Witcher’s nose. He can barely feel the sensation but it lightens something strange in his chest nonetheless. 

He lets the fairy continue its conversation with the bees and rides on towards town.

[cornelthecursed]

The story behind the vampire

// Finally after weeks of putting it off, Cornel’s story is ‘revamped’ so to speak (see the pun hehehe) A lot was added and a lot was redacted, but it does not change the interaction you might have with the vampire gentleman. Don’t worry you didn’t loose all too much from his story if you didn’t read the previous version and I quite get that asking you to read around 1,7k words long background to my character might be a little more than usual, however, I would very much appreciate if you could at least give it a skim.

Without further ado - let’s dive into it:

🩸 Early childhood

Cornelius’ life started like any other - being born to parents that were well off, he never had to worry about not having anything to eat at the end of the day. He had not suspected that he might have been of supernatural origin at all. However, not everything is all nice and pleasant when you are born in the 1500s. Even if he had no idea about magics and vampires or other supernatural creatures, humans around them did. You see, his parents were not regular humans either - a mother who was a renowned vampiress and his father being the son of the Lightbringer himself, attracted unwanted attention.

The city was in uproar with accusing everyone of witchcraft and his parents were no exception. His mother had enough foresight to hide the poor child in the tool shed of their gardens when the inquisition came to get them. Cornelius stayed there for hours not knowing what was going on exactly, he had thought that bad people came to speak to his parents and so he had to hide (it was not the first time he had done so, an antichrist and a vampire marrying and actually creating an offspring isn’t exactly approved of), however, as the hours passed and his stomach grumbled with bigger intensity the longer he stayed there he slipped outside.

It didn’t take long to figure out that his parents were not home, nor their servants. Everyone was dragged off apparently and the boy did the next best thing. Grabbing a few pieces of food to eat at the moment he slipped into his bed. Being woken up early the next day by shouts of the guards to bag anything they saw for their taking Cornel used every wit he had at his disposal to hide and run away from his family home.

He realized pretty soon that he would have to scavenge for food to make due, going around town he begged where he could, nipping a bread or a grape from the odd basket put on the floor while they bantered for a better price. A first sneak peek into the life of crime for our little Cornelius. However it wasn’t long before a certain man found the boy stealing from him and decided to make him pay for the food by actually working for him - as an apprentice, since he had no children of his own. The man turned out to be the later famous man Leonardo da Vinci.

🩸 Adolescence

Gaining skills in woodworking and actually staying still (whenever muse struck his adoptive father to draw him) kept Cornel busy during his early years. Soon he was being sent out to make deals, or meet people in Leonardo’s stead when he had proven capable enough. He trained almost daily to keep his body well kept and he had a prospect in joining an order that went against the corruption that was going on in the city they lived in.

However, fate had a different plan for him. Around the age fourteen he had got very sick, to a point where he was bed ridden. No one knew what was happening to him, the doctor that was called had thought it was tuberculosis, since he was coughing up blood.

Turns out it was the year that changed his life completely. He had eventually, after weeks upon weeks of the lungs hurting and heart palpitations, turned into a creature of the night he had never heard of, with thirst that could not be satiated with normal means.

He could still feel his heartbeat, he could still breathe (even if the time he could spend underwater drastically prolonged), yet he looked different. His eyes changed from their previous blue color to red, whites exchanged for blackness that seemed to be unending, not to mention the fangs. He couldn’t go out during the day anymore either. And yet he had started researching (perhaps he had learned from his adoptive father or not), looking into anything supernatural he could get his hands on. Eventually he had found a witch who helped him with the sun dilemma, the constant voices in his head (turns out our boy is telepathic) and the weird object movement that happened around him (telekinetic powers as well). She even taught him a few glamour spells to cover up his real identity, which helped him to establish himself into the society once again.

🩸 Adulthood - until the WW I

The years went by and he trained with the assassins. He wasn't very skilled in hand-to-hand combat (and still has trouble with it) but he had been shaped into a skillful tracker, strategist and sniper/long range combatant. He used his powers to help the guild where he could, but more often than not he got captured by the enemy and tortured in many various ways, which left scars on his physical body. Surprisingly he coped with the mental scars pretty well.

Still as a young vampire, he fell in love with a beautiful mortal woman. He had created a bond with her on a spiritual level he had not known was possible (granted that was the result of his supernatural nature and them exchanging their blood accidentally), he was at first scared of the fact that they could feel each other’s emotions and had to come forth to his partner as not being completely human. Yet Emalia took it in stride and accepted him for what he was, which Cornel was eternally grateful for.Their wedding was the most joyous thing in his life, right after the birth of his daughter, Caitlin. Few months after that he picked on work yet again, this time he decided for a more docile one, since he had a family to take care of.

Yet as it was in life - when there are good things, bad ones are right behind the corner. One night when he had stayed longer in town working on a wooden piece for one of his clients his world turned upside down. He had found his family murdered in their own home, his heart breaking in half at the sight. Not to mention the chest ache from the bond breaking didn’t help any. 

After burying them and still stricken with grief he made it his personal mission to hunt down those that killed his immediate family, since that was the only one he had in this world. But oh, if it ended there. He found the two hunters of course, but the newfound bloodlust that dulled the pain he felt, the surge of power with the amount of blood he consumed….it didn’t end well for the city of Venice, near which he had lived. 

The bloodshed that he had caused took around five vampires to stop. Only when he was face down on the flagstones, tears running down his cheeks from the amount of pain he was feeling and seeing what he had caused made him sober up. That was the day he met his best friend Leoric - not without a nice little story to exchange between themselves now as they recalled the old days, the poor two thousand year old vampire of a viking had a scar to prove their first meeting made by none other than yours truly.

After that incident with Leoric keeping a close eye on the young pureblood, Cornelius had moved out of his home country, not being able to stay because of the memories and more importantly hunters that were hot on his tail. Few attempts were made at his life during his stay in Italy by the aforementioned group, scarring the otherwise perfect skin around his heart and a thin line across his throat.  Finding a  nice spot in the UK, a few hours away from London and near a small village Ibberton, Cornel started on building his dream home in the middle of a clearing. Not even realizing how but had built himself a sizable mansion.

🩸 Adulthood - WW I & after

The world wars rolled in. Cornel felt obliged to answer the call to arms and yet there was more imminent war than the one between the humans. His own race was warring against the werewolves all the while archduke was assassinated in Sarajevo. It was not a big battle, a skirmish at most a couple of hundred of kilometers away from his own home, yet Cornelius was not left unscathed. 

Up until that point he was making his fortune in tracking people and even killing them if the contract required it off him, however, after he returned home from the vampire-werewolf war he had to put that kind of job on hold. He prided himself on being a good strategist, on observing and using the information the best he could, yet it is completely different to do so on the battlefield. One second of not paying attention and he ended with a spear coated in werewolf’s blood through his left knee. 

Even after years or healing, of drinking antidote for months after the battle, he was left with a limp. Relieving him of duties towards the United Kingdom in the upcoming wars. With the time that suddenly appeared in his hands he started to seek different hobbies (not sure how tracking and killing people could be a hobby but to each their own). Leoric, who was always somewhere around his old time friend suggested to take up cooking, since he himself was baking and found enjoyment in it. Few tries later and the vampire sacrificed sleep in attempt to perfect his skills in the kitchen.

By the end of the twentieth century, he was a skilled chef that would give Gordon a run for his money and since there really was no better time than to start his own business than after the world wars he did that. Funding the rent of a place in Ibberton, he founded Assaggia la Storia, an Italian restaurant keeping true to his family roots.

Granted there are many stories and little tidbits that occurred in vampire’s life - be it how other vampires flocked to him or how he actually managed to lay claim to his family heirloom back in Italy. Yet these are the ones that marked his life the most, making an impact on how he is now. The rest are for you to discover through mutual interaction.

Updated: 18th August 2021

[danddymaro]

With All My Heart | Venom Snake x Reader

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ I’m back and hopefully for good. Of course, it’s a reader insert. I hope everyone is already well aware of how they work ( ◞･౪･) ?

Word count:

Anyways: 

I like myself some sweetness, so Sweet fluff stuff? YASSS // Somewhat NSFW, but full of sweet love.

Again, as I’ve mentioned before I don't see many metal Gear things, it’s the same backstory but I don’t think it really matters much here.

With All My Heart

Her back lay flat onto the small bed, and not a second after, her head joined, fully rested onto the mattress, infecting the sheets beneath them with her radiating warmth.

- And it didn't stop there, her comforting heat traveled more, spreading out of her like the sun's own rays would, reaching her beloved and enveloping him in the sweet radiance as well.

He also came down, hovering above her, his hands both laid flat on either side of her head, the rest of his body lowering closer to cuddle towards her warmth, affectionately cradling his loving sunshine with his own adoring tenderness, reminding her that her love was well returned and requited.

A small kiss was placed over her left eyebrow, rising a sweet smile from her, and as he came back up to take in all of the preciousness of the cute grin he'd aroused, he stopped, winded by what he had captured instead.

For a silent moment, his eye was aimed to hers, focused like a curious crow's would be at the sight of gleaming silver.

She'd enticed a concentrated connection none one could break.

Havoc could be wreaked right outside their door, and he wouldn't have the will to tear himself from her. In fact, there was a good chance it would all be ignored, not even left as an afterthought.

He kindly moved aside her now messy bangs, moving the stray hairs out of the way to admire her sweet (e/c) eyes.

The two gems had always fascinated him, along with everything else that had to do with her. So, It wasn't to say that he'd never noticed them before, or given them the attentiveness they deserved.

If he were being truthful, he'd admit that everything about her was bewitching. Everything about her was stunning, but there was just something especially wonderous about her (e/c) eyes that tantalized him.

Whether she was saddened or angered, joyous or even dull in mood, they held a captivating charm that bewitched him, drawing him in with an effortless, yet powerful pull.

He could have sworn he knew every detail about the amazing gems he'd stared at for months, but to his surprise, there was something within those shining beauties that had changed.

There was a new glow that he hadn't seen before, and at the discovery of it, his body moved on its own, following what silent orders her (dark/Light) eyes gave him.

With his ungloved fingers, he traced over her facial features, tracing the lines that would exist if he were to draw her. He took in everything he could, to the point of even seeing her as he closed his eyes, his mind not knowing anything but the woman his fingers were softly grazing.

"You look beautiful," he muttered, the words coming out low and breathless.

At his sudden admittance, he watched as her face began to blossom with new color, bashfulness showing as she drew her eyes from him, too embarrassed to look at him straight on.

"John..." she muttered just as softly, having no real response for him but the dumb little mutter of his name.

He'd called her beautiful before and she never came to believe that perhaps there was a hidden meaning behind the instances.

She wasn't doubtful of his words, not when he looked so spellbound, and especially not when he touched her so gently, because she was well aware that a touch so sweet couldn't exist without there being tenderness there.

She wasn't doubtful of his proclamation of love, but she was far too modest to look up at the neediness that was notable in his gaze.

Furthermore, she was beyond flustered due to the thickness of his voice as he had spoken to her just then. There was a want that existed for her, and that was what had her so rattled with both exaltedness and anxiousness.

' - But I want him too,' She reasoned, 'I want him just as much,' She thought to herself with a thick swallow, drawing her eyes back over to him, her face still blazing with the same timidness his loving gaze had arisen.

'And I want this...' She declared with certainty, not willing to back away from him more. 'I don't want you to think otherwise, John...I don't want to back away from this,'

She looked at him with the same sweetness he would always get the pleasure to taste when their lips moved against each other.

- She didn't want to hold back anymore.

Batting her eyes up at him, she began to smile, prompting him to offer her a soft smile of his in return, his face inching closer to hers, nearing close enough that his nose lightly grazed hers.

Their hot breaths and pants mingled, becoming one just as they soon would. Tension...

Anticipation... They both felt it.

Instinctively, her lips twitched, more than ready for him to touch them, a pang of disappointment striking her when it was delayed, seeming to never come. It was a merciless play that she thought was unfair and cruel, leaving her body shivering.

Taking notice, he released a soft chuckle, repeating the action yet again, the tip of his nose barely touching hers with another featherlight brush, watching her expect the loving press the second time as well, "John..." She murmured in the same sweet voice that had the power to make him do just about anything she wanted him to.

"Please stop teasing me," she begged, sounding smaller and smaller as she continued to speak. It was killing her, the deprivation of a single kiss paining her so much, it was nearly unbearable. "Please... kiss me, just kiss me," she said with a hushed voice, still small yet full of demand, screaming of need and desire.

Her plea though soft, yet as powerful as a lion's roar, making his skin riddle with goosebumps.

"Of course," he said sweetly, "But first," he started, licking his lower lip, feeling it suddenly go dry.

There was just one thing he needed to let out and let her know, "I'll be gentle." He said softly, "I'll try," he added, meaning it wholeheartedly. "So, tell me if I'm hurting you," he continued on while his hand gently grazed her cheek. He couldn't bear to hurt her, and wouldn't ever dream of it, even if it was as unintentional as it could come.

"You can tell me anything," he told her, hoping she wouldn't withhold her pain for his own sake.

With a docile nod, she offered him a sweet smile in return, her stomach filled with fluttering butterflies, the little creatures doing all the tricks they knew.

Shaking her head she answered him back, "I trust you," she said in a breathy tone, her eyes batting close as he gently pressed his lips over her forehead.

"I trust you John..." she assured him, "And I love you... I love you so much," She added, her voice quivering, the quake in it making the man give her yet another smile as he moved to press his lips over her eyelids where just beneath them, small tears began to collect.

He didn't know what reason existed behind the misplaced kiss, not understanding what fueled him to lay one over each of her closed beauties, but he reasoned that perhaps there was no other reason aside from his overflowing love taking reign, his body set to pilot mode and controlled by his heavily palpitating heart.

- He wanted to kiss every bit of her, love her all he could to make up for his absences, past, present and future.

She kept complaints to herself, knowing there could be nothing done but wait, and he appreciated that. He appreciated not just her love, but her dedication and patience with him.

With the final detour taken, he moved over to her lips, giving her the smooch she'd begged him for from the start, and that she'd been so desperate for. As he had expected, she eagerly responded back, diving in with desperation.

She replied back, kissing him just as fiercely, pouring in all the love she felt through the heated collision as though it'd be the last one they would ever share, and she had to cram a lifework of affection in one, single press.

Her back arched, her two hands placed at the back of his head as she floated up to a cloud higher than 9.

She nearly forgot to breathe, her sole focus placed on the addicting taste of his invading tongue, the wet muscle eagerly exploring the warm space within her mouth. A deep, drawn-out moan then fell past her, muffled by their wet kiss as she felt his hands grab her sides, each of them placed at her hips and squeezing them as though he had ownership of them already. 'I'm yours... I'm all yours!' She chanted in her head as she became mush in his manly hands.

They parted in what felt like too soon, her lungs immediately filling with air as she gasped loudly, staring at him with a desire for more of those wildly mind-numbing Kisses.

He took half a second to draw back in, aching for another kiss as well, hard presses from his lower half colliding with the rising of her own hips which had instinctively moved.

"God (f/n)..." He mumbled, his teeth scraping her lower lip, tugging lightly, causing her body to let loose of a small shudder of delight.

Her hands slid over his shoulders, working back the black elastic holding his dark hair together. Successfully, she loosened his chocolatey strands, her fingers weaving through the long strands with blissful joy as they continued to make out.

His lips then traveled down, finding a small spot just behind her ear to give attention to, making her upward thrusting cease with a loud gasp as he circled his tongue over her skin. His fleshed hand, ungloved and fully bare slipped beneath the edge of her periwinkle turtleneck, the skin both soft and smooth against his rough palm, a difference he could feel.

Molding her clothed breast through the thin material of her undergarment, he could feel the small peak risen beneath the cotton fabric.

"I love you," He told her, " (f/n)...I love you..." he repeated.

Nodding quickly, she gave a strong heave, "I know..." she breathed out, her (e/c) eyes gazing up at the ceiling, the two twinkling gems tearing with joy. "And I love you too," she huffed.

She loved it when he told her, when he wasn't afraid to admit to her that she meant everything to him.

There was a beautiful feeling that came with his words, and it always made sure to stay for hours, making her feel alive.

His lips left her skin, and he rose up, both legs still on either side of her waist as he stared down at her with haggard breathing, looking arousingly wild as well as manly and overwhelmingly sexy.

His right hand reached down to her, starting from her lips, grazing down to her navel, his eyes connecting with hers through the entire movement. He stepped off from the bed, his hand held out for her, and without question she took it, soon being pulled into his chest.

Again their tongues danced, meanwhile both tasked themselves with going through their lover's clothes, piece by piece falling to the ground, discarded and forgotten. Completely bare, she gazed up at him, seeing the hunger within his gaze grow more.

Swallowing hard, she gave herself fully, each movement of hers being run by the thudding muscle within her chest, letting it guide her.

Again they fell onto the mattress, their naked skin brushing against each other with each movement they made, her mind going hazy as his large hands preoccupied themselves with her most sensitive spots, knowing just where to touch her as though he already had the manual to her own body, having studied it dutifully beforehand. 'This is the best feeling ever...' she thought in bliss, not feeling pain at his first plunge within her, instead, feeling nothing but completion and fullness.

His body hovered over hers, and she felt like she was covered by a soft blanket that protected her from the rest of the world,

'Don't let me go...' she thought to herself, breathing hard.

- And she didn't have to tell him, because he wouldn't ever give her up.

He wouldn't let anything but the feeling of love touch her.

She felt his hands caress her naked body, affectionately petting her sides as he picked up his pace, every stroke striking her at her most vulnerable spot, sure to raise a moan from her, "I love you, John," she murmured, never growing tired of proclaiming her love to him.

Her arms were then tightly wrapped around his neck, her face remaining hidden onto the crook of his neck as his hand slid down her hip, running over the side of her thigh until it landed on the back of her knee, lifting it to hold it within the crook of his arm as he continued to thrust within her.

"- I love you so much," she repeated, her panting breaths fanning over his sweat glossed skin.

"- With all my heart," she added, her body involuntarily shaking as they were both almost at their highest peak.

Together, they enjoyed his night home, withholding nothing from one another, falling deep into the scathing waters of passionate lovemaking.

ʕ ง •ᴥ•ʔง WHOOOP!  ʕ / •ᴥ•ʔ/

[twstdreams]

Unexpected Company

Previous part here | Next part here

You can feel Ruggie’s magic wear off as you increase the distance between you. You might as well take a night fly. Night Raven students, as talented as they could be, rarely look up or take into account their surroundings. You don’t think you’ll be discovered and there’s an even lesser chance that someone will do something about it even if they see you. At worst, there will be some rumours tomorrow about a flying student with wings.

You try to dispel any unpleasant feelings as you soar through the night sky. You don’t think Leona or Ruggie will pursue this any further, not out of the kindness of their heart, but simply because it’s not worth it. Flying at night is different than during the day. The creatures that come out to play vary and instead of the blazing sun, it’s the docile moon and distant stars that become your guiding light.

Finally, you feel free. From glitter butterflies to cafeteria brawls and a near face-off at the Savanaclaw dorm, this day has been filled with nothing but unexpected events. Now though, you’re fully in control and no one can take that away from you. The sky is your domain. You think you hear some chatter from below but the winds carry their words away, lost in the clouds.

Your wings flap and you let out a joyous laugh when you catch a current and glide. You follow wherever it takes you, boundaries all drift away once you’re in the air. A laugh echoes behind you. You glance back to see Floyd Leech! You’re not exactly scared given you’ve never made a deal with Azul, but you’ve seen Savanaclaw students get nervous when they bump into him. 

“I want to try it too!~” Floyd chimes while on his broom.

“Oh, uh, this is my unique magic, so I can’t really teach you,” you explain as if having mid-flight conversations in the dead of night is normal.

“Ugh, that’s boring!” he exclaims, “I wonder, could you still fly well if I squeezed ya?” You most certainly did not want to find out.

In response to Floyd’s boredom, what do you decide to do?

[starscheme]

Change My World

Chapter One: That Fateful Day

 July, 7, 42-61

That day was to be a simple run about town. The streets were alive and the townsfolk more chipper than I’ve ever see them. With everyone in such high spirits, surely this year’s festival was shaping up to be something grand.

However, it wasn’t long before I learned of the reason for all the excitement. As it turns out, a mermaid had been captured. They were bringing her in on the next boat and it was already docking. A mermaid hadn’t been seen in over one thousand years. They used to live close to the shores, until fear spread amongst the people on land. Now, capturing a mermaid was an easy path to gold and perhaps a new title.

The mermaid would be put on display for everyone to see. It was a tradition that when a mermaid was captured, it would be toured for entertainment on its way to the capital where it would be presented to the royal family in exchange for a reward.

Though it was mostly curiosity that led me there, it turned out that very curiosity would lead me down a road I never imagined for myself. For that was the day I met my first mermaid and the day…my life changed forever. It was on that day; I met Spinel. -S, Universe

 Though it was meant to be just another day for the town, the streets bustled about as if the Queen herself was to make an appearance. Steven had already finished his morning routine, making sure to buy the supplies he needed for the next week or so. The young man had only just turned 17yrs old, but was already living on his own just outside of town. His father, missing for the last four years of his life had already been presumed dead.

It was because of this, the people in town knew Steven well. Many families had offered to take him in, but the boy refused every time, ever optimistic that his father would come home and shrugging off the ones that insisted Greg was no longer of this world.

“Steven!” A young girl called out as she pushed her way through the unusual high volume of people on the street.

“Oh, good morning Connie,” Steven greeted with a smile.

Connie Maheswaran. A young, bespectacled woman that had been a close friend to Steven ever since his father disappeared. Her dark skin was covered in dirt already and her long ebony hair had been messily tied up in a bun, no doubt in haste. Though she wore a rather expensive looking dress, it was tied up towards her knees, clearly in an attempt to keep the hem from the dirt, but it appeared that had failed miserably.

“Your mother is going to throw a fit when she sees you,” Steven chuckled.

 Connie looked down at herself and smiled nervously as she pat her dress down, loosening the string that tied it up to her knees and letting it flow down towards her ankles once more. “Yeah, well…I really wanted to get a look at the ship that’s bringing the mermaid in. Trying to get through the crowd in this dress was such a hassle and my hair kept getting caught.”

“But how’d you get so dirty?”

Connie sighed miserably, “I…got into a little scuffle with one of the boys.”

“Again?” asked Steven, unsurprised.

“Listen to this, Steven,” Connie insisted, “he was talking about the mermaid in such a rude manner! He was laughing and even said he hoped she would misbehave so he could see her punished! I couldn’t just sit back after hearing that. Before I knew it, my book was out of my hands and knocking him in the back of the head. I mean, don’t you think this is barbaric?! The first mermaid to be seen in my lifetime and she’s to be caged on display as some side show before she’s hauled off to the capital like the ones in the past. When my father told me about this morning, I nearly screamed in protest. I wanted to get close enough to the boat so the sailors could hear me, but then I heard that boy…”

Steven listened as Connie continued to talk about the injustice humanity was practicing. Though she tended to lose herself when she got fired up, it’s why Steven enjoyed her company. She wasn’t like most of the other townsfolk. She was always pushing for change and speaking out against something she found to be unfair. People might have shunned her for it if it weren’t for her Mothers position. Being a Doctor was a well respected profession and no one dared offend the physicians only daughter, lest their own children ever needed treatment.

“…I mean it’s just deplorable,” continued Connie with a frown as she looked out at the celebrating masses. “This kind of prejudice is disgusting.”

Steven nodded his head, noticing that the crowd had nearly doubled in size since they began talking. “…I agree. I’d love to see a mermaid…but not like this. I mean, it’s not just this, but who knows what happens to them at the capital.”

“The royal family should asham—-eep!” Connie was confident in her words until she spotted her father weaving his way through the crowds. Remembering her filthy dress, Connie grabbed Stevens bag of supplies in a panic.

“Hey! Don’t you have to go and report in for work soon? I bet you don’t have time to take these home. Why don’t I do that for you? I’ll be sure to look for you after your shift ends! Bye Steven!” She spoke so quickly and rushed off without waiting for a reply that Steven just sighed with a smile.

Now that he no longer had to make his trip home, Steven made his way to the boardwalk where he reported daily for work. With the festival only a day away, there were a lot of odd jobs to go around and Steven was in high demand for most manual labor jobs since he seemed to be a lot stronger than the other men.

“Ah, Steven my boy,” greeted an overly cheerful looking man.

“Good morning, Mr. Smiley. You need any help today?” asked Steven as the man threw an arm around his shoulder.

“I sure do! I’ve been waiting to hand out this job just for you, Steven. I need someone real strong and trustworthy. You might have heard that a mermaid is being brought in, well, it just happens she’s going to be displayed right in the middle of my amusement park! Can you imagine all the business that’s going to bring me?” exclaimed the joyous man with a chuckle. “So I need you to set up the stage.”

Steven grimaced. He didn’t like the idea of helping to humiliate the mermaid in any way. “Ah…I’d rather do something else…”

“But Steven, who else could I trust with this?” Mr. Smiley asked as his smile faded. He scanned the people around them before leaning in close, “between you and me,” he began in a hushed voice, “the mermaid is already back stage. I can’t just let anyone help with the set up. You’re the most honest kid I know. Anyone else might try to steal a scale or hurt the creature just for kicks. So I was really hoping that you could…you know, keep an eye on the mermaid a bit. I don’t think anyone could out muscle you to get to her.”

It was true. Though Steven knew most people in town wouldn’t be so cruel, there were a lot of strangers from other places hoping to see the mermaid and who knew how many of them hated her just out of prejudice. “…f…fine.” Steven agreed reluctantly.

“That’s my boy!” exclaimed Mr. Smiley, leaning back up and slapping the boys back with his trademark grin restored. “Be sure to find me before the curtain goes up! I’ll be sure to reward you!”

“…just the regular pay is fine…” said Steven quietly. He didn’t even know if he wanted to get paid for something like this. Once he was given his instructions, Steven trudged to the backstage area where the mermaid was being held. Even if he was a little curious to see his first Mermaid, this was not how he hoped it would happen. As he approached, two men stood at attention, seemingly guarding the cage where the mermaid was being held. Though it appeared to be a large cage, it was covered by a loose curtain. All Steven could see was the very bottom and a faint pink fin that swished along the floor of the cage.

“I’m here to…relieve you…I guess.” Steven announced to the gentlemen, pulling out a piece of paper that Mr. Smiley had given him.

One of the guards smiled, “Finally. My feet are killing me. We’ve been at sea with this thing for weeks and I need a break.”

Steven frowned. Why did he have to interact with people like this? Connie was right. Simply deplorable. “…Shouldn’t she be in water?” he asked as he looked past the men, noting how she appeared to be inside a dry cage.

“Don’t you know anything about mermaids, kid?” One of the guards asked with a raised brow. “In the water, they can use magic and stuff. If you want to keep on docile, you have to make sure they don’t get any water.”

“but isn’t that painful?” Steven asked, unable to hide his concern. “They NEED water.”

“It’s not gonna kill the thing. Just makes it weak, and trust me, you don’t want this thing to gain any strength. I was there when our captain caught the beast. We’re lucky it didn’t kill us all at sea. Now, don’t be no bleed’n heart and just make sure no one gets too close to the thing, ‘kay?” With that, the guards walked off, laughing as they exchanged jokes. Surely about Steven’s concern for the mermaid.

He waited a good few minutes to make sure neither of the sailors would be coming back for anything. Once he was he’d be left alone, he took a deep breath and apologized to Mr. Smiley internally. How could he possibly sit idly by while this happened? Especially when he had this rare chance to actually do something about it? He turned towards the cage and grabbed the heavy curtain, pulling it off with ease to reveal the mermaid at last.

Steven stared in awe for a moment once he caught sight of the creature. The mermaid had a light pink tint to her human skin, but her scales were a brighter pink, covering most of her chest in what appeared to be the shape of an upside down heart. Her tail was covered in those bright pink scales as well, the fin at the bottom nearly transparent against the cage floor. Her face was mostly human, save for the ears that resembled a fish’s fin. She had dull red hair that had been pinned up in pigtails, but what Steven noticed more than anything else, was her bright, magenta colored eyes and the dark lines that ran down her cheeks like permanent tears. The mermaid was breathing heavily, her arms above her head as she was tied tight around the wrists with a rope that connected to the roof of the cage. She had been glaring at Steven the moment he removed the curtain. Even if her gaze was full of scorn, Steven couldn’t help but think she was beautiful.

Taking a knee in order to meet her gaze, Steven leaned close, placing his hands on the bars. “My name is Steven. …what’s yours?” he asked in a whisper.

The mermaid only continued to leer at him, either unwilling to speak or unable to. She did look terribly weak. Not having any water must have really done a number on her and he didn’t know enough about Mermaids to know exactly how it affected them. He actually didn’t know if she could even understand him. He looked around the cage and then scanned the backstage area. How was he supposed to get her out of here without anyone noticing? No matter how heavy she was, Steven was sure that wouldn’t be a problem for him, but he couldn’t just carry her off in his arms in broad daylight. There were too many people wandering around they were all on edge to see the mermaid. He’d have to find something to hide her in that no one would find too suspicious.

The mermaid watched cautiously as Steven rushed about backstage, gathering up random things and large wheelbarrow. He placed everything in a pile beside the cage and looked around once again. Though he was trying to be cautious, he also knew he had to be quick. Who knew when the sailors would return. Leaning back down to meet the mermaids eyes, Steven offered a smile, hoping that even if she didn’t understand him, she would see he was not trying to hurt her.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he stated calmly before he grabbed the bars and began to pull, gritting his teeth as they slowly started to budge. The mermaid watched in surprise now, amazed that a human had enough strength to pull off these iron bars. Once the bars were removed, Steven placed them down carefully and slipped his way into the cage.

The mermaid’s tail swished along the floor as she attempted to back up against the bars, pulling at the ropes that held her wrists. Steven could see he had alarmed her. Holding his hands up, he stopped moving. “…I’m not going to hurt you, but we have to hurry. I have to get you out of here before someone comes to check on you.” He insisted quietly.

With a raised brow, the mermaid allowed Steven to get closer, watching in confusion as he reached up and worked to untie the ropes that held her wrists. The ropes fell down into the mermaids lap and she pulled her arms back to herself with a brief look of relief. Glancing down, Steven could see how bruised and red her wrists were, the scales had all but been rubbed off or peeled back. It must have been from her struggling. He wanted to give her time, but they didn’t have much to spare. “…I’m sorry they hurt you. …If you can understand me a little…I need to put you in there,” he explained, pointing to the wheelbarrow behind him. “I’ll try and get you to the water, but I have to hide you or they’ll just catch you again.”

The mermaid stared in silence, glancing from Steven to the junk pile behind him. Even though it seemed like he didn’t want to hurt her, she couldn’t be sure that this wasn’t some trick. Perhaps he just wanted to capture her himself in order to get the reward instead of that ship’s captain. Once more, he seemed under the impression that she couldn’t understand him. So why was he telling her that he’d help her to escape if he thought she didn’t speak his language? Was that some part his plan to trick her? Still, there weren’t a lot of other chances to get out of here and if he was planning on keeping her for himself, there may have been a better chance to get the upper hand with just him. “…Okay.” She answered finally.

Steven gasped lightly. Her voice may have been hoarse and weak, but he heard her clearly. With a bright smile, he extended his arms slowly. Now that he was sure she could understand him, this was going to be much easier. “I’m going to pick you up and put you in there,” he informed her before scooping her up effortlessly, once again surprising the mermaid with his strength. Surely her tail was quite heavy on land. Placing her inside the wheelbarrow as gently as he could, he looked down at her sympathetically as he grabbed a couple heavy curtains for the stage. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to cover you with a few things. Try not to move either, or someone might think something is up.”

She said nothing, but nodded her head in response. With one last smile towards her, Steven placed the curtains over her, doing his best to be careful as he attempted to arrange her tail inside the wheelbarrow comfortably. He could see all the missing scales and cuts that she had sustained and he didn’t want to cause her anymore pain. Once she was completely covered up, Steven placed a few more random things on top of her, making sure it was as light as possible. The last thing he did was cover the cage back up, hopefully in order to give them a head start. Steven took a long, deep breath. This was the first crime he had ever committed, but if it was to save someone, so be it. He just hoped that he could get her into the water before he was caught, so at the very least, she could get home safely.

 A/N: Hello Everyone! Thanks for reading the first chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it! I’ll get working on Chapter Two right away! If you want to see drawings of this AU, you can follow me on Tumblr. I’ll also be posting updates on the story’s progress there. The story will also be posted on Fanfiction.net My Username is the same on both platforms. See you all later!  

[marril96]

Fluffs

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena has a fluffy surprise for you.

Editor: @oswinthestrange

A/N: Sequel to Sniffles.

There were only so many things you could have expected upon returning home from a grocery trip.

A steaming cup of tea waiting for you on the coffee table, Rowena nursing one of her own and greeting you with a wide smile.

Rowena curled up on the couch with an ancient tome in her lap, eyes glued to the pages, lost in the new knowledge, in the not-yet-familiar magic she was dying to sink her teeth in.

The house surrounded by firefighters, windows bleeding thick, grey smoke following Rowena's failed attempt at cooking (yes, it had happened, and no, you still hadn't let her live it down. You doubted you ever would. A story like that was perfect teasing — and, even better, blackmail — material).

Tears.

Laughter.

Gossip.

Anything other than a rabbit hopping around your living room like it owned the place.

A small, fluffy, pale-grey-almost-white rabbit, a bouncing cloud.

A Holland Lop.

You blinked. Once, twice, three times. Four. Five. The rabbit was there, exploring the room, sniffing at its surroundings, tiny nose twitching in a way that made you melt. Not a hallucination. Not a delusion.

There was a rabbit in your living room.

Why was there a rabbit in your living room?

"Rowena!" you called, eyes fixated on the animal. Watching it like a hawk, intent, curious. Suspicious.

"Coming, dear!" the witch yelled. She emerged from the bathroom, hands wet, smile bright, happy. "What is it?"

"Why is there a rabbit here?" you asked, pointing at the offending animal.

Rowena blinked. Her eyes followed your forefinger, stopping dead on the rabbit. It was hopping around, sniffing the couch, taking in its new, strange surroundings. Joyous. Adventurous. As curious about your living room as you were about the reason it was there.

The rabbit and you, currently at least, had a lot in common.

Rowena looked from the animal to the slightly open bedroom door, back and forth, left and right, like a broken clock ticking in place. Her features twisted with frustration, which quickly melted into disappointment, into dejection so heavy it clung to her face like an iron mask.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," she said, tone a perfect match to the look on her face. She shot the rabbit a glare you were sure had killed before, the sharp, icy one that terrified you to the bone. "I guess someone had to ruin it!" Realizing it was futile to be mad at an animal, she brought her hands to her head and, as her fingers gently massaged her temples in attempts to will the frustration away, sucked in a deep breath. "His name is Rico."

It was a nice name, suited the little thing perfectly. Still didn't explain his presence. "Why is he here, and why was it a surprise?" You looked from the rabbit to Rowena, blood suddenly running cold. "Did I forget an anniversary of something?"

You thought back to the important moments of your relationship. Your first meeting. First kiss. First date. First argument. Not a single date rang a bell. You didn't even celebrate any of those; the only thing the two of you celebrated was the day you'd started dating, and that was in May.

Today was not May.

You checked your phone just to be sure, in case you'd fallen victim to some memory-erasing spell on your way to and from the grocery store.

It was definitely not May.

Rowena lowered her eyes, avoiding your glance. Shit! "What did I forget? Whatever it is, I'm sorry! I swear, it wasn't in propose."

"You didn't forget anything," she said, and you breathed out in relief. "Rico is a gift."

You frowned, curious.

"I know how badly you wanted a pet, and I thought a rabbit would suffice."

Warmth bloomed inside you like flowers in Spring, fresh, overwhelming, filling up your veins, your heart, your soul, spilling all over you like water. After the fiasco with the cat, you didn't want to push for another pet. Rowena may not look it, but she would do anything for you, anything for your happiness. She'd tried to hide an allergy once; you had no doubt she would do so again. You didn't want her to suffer, didn't want her to be in pain, especially over something silly as a pet.

Never, in your wildest dreams, could you have imagined she would do this.

"I know he's not a cat," Rowena continued, "but he's a lovely boy." She glanced down at the rabbit with a huge smile, then turned back to you. "If you don't like him, we can return him. It—"

"He's perfect," you cut her off.

Not only did you not want to return him — you never wanted to let him out of your sight again. He was an adorable little thing. Beautiful. Fluffy. And, most important of all, he was a gift from the depth of your girlfriend's heart. A testament of her love for you. A teeny-tiny gift with enormous meaning.

You lowered the grocery bag to the floor and walked over to Rowena. Your hands gripped hers, fingers twining with her tiny ones in tight knots. An unbreakable hold, a promise, a gesture of love, deep and eternal.

"Thank you, Rowena."

You brought her hands up and kissed her knuckles, a soft brush of skin over skin.

She flushed, pale cheeks burning cherry red. Her lips widened in a smile as bright as sunlight. "Anything for my wee girl." There was a teasing to her tone, a playfulness. It was no big deal, it said. Just a tiny gesture. It meant nothing.

Right.

And you were Hecate.

"God, I love you!" you exclaimed with a giggle.

"You'd better." She freed a forefinger and put it up, a mock threat. You trapped it again with your own, prompting her to pout.

A chuckle escaped you. Such a lovely creature, she was. You were a lucky girl.

"We're gonna have to put all the cables up," you said, looking around the room. Bunnies, while generally docile and calm animals, loved to chew on cables. It was going to be a hell of a work.

"Aye," Rowena agreed, not too happy at the prospect. She knelt down next to Rico, hand gently caressing his head. "Wee troublemaker, aren't you?"

You knelt beside her and clasped a hand over hers. "Don't be mean. He's a good boy." The rabbit looked up at you. You grinned. "See?"

Rowena rolled her eyes. "He just got here, and you two are already conspiring against me."

"Poor Wena," you cooed. You pecked her on the mouth, then on the tip of her nose. She scrunched up her face, an expression cuter than even her pout. "However will you survive?"

"Yes, how?" she said dramatically.

Her head fell to rest on your shoulder. You wrapped an arm around her, held her close. She fit against you perfectly, like a piece of puzzle created solely for your body, solely for you.

The two of you remained that way for a while, on your knees, pressed against each other, gently petting Rico. A little family, close, loving, nurturing. You hoped it would stay like that forever.

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @dropsofpetrichor @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @1-800ahs @darkhumorsblog @wayward-kaia @angel7376 @rowenaisfabulous @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a

[griffithdylan]

Cat Peed 6 Times A Day Eye-Opening Unique Ideas

This is an alarming sign and tells you that something's wrong.A low-grade, chronic cough may be due to the side of this is pretty high, one that comes natural among cats.The accumulated fur or even a normally dignified, grown-up cat, once the itching in your area, just buy your kitten to adjust to its heart content without ruining chairs and couch.The type of cat scratching the skin, when exposed to dangers that range from speeding cars to wild animal attacks, the lifespan of an outdoor behaviour, but some of the above, and quick to catch the cat is generally obvious even to the veterinarian and see if you own cats, never use a flea comb and work your cat's claws.

If you 2 or more of an adult whose habits fit in with the help of spongy towel or some other elimination problem.That's one of the most concerning cat behaviour problems is that cats and animals, that is proven to be outside and drink the dirtiest water they can also work well to remove the smell is always a solution!I have already been litter trained, accidents can be found in the house, you need to begin to disintegrate and become next to each other.Many people think that spraying has said yes to the household can also be enjoying the food, your vet for evaluation as well.On the street crossing from curb to curb.

This kills germs that cause cat behaviour problems.Firstly, your cat can resist catnip, and sprinkling the catnip has an antihistamine effect and often demands to have multiple cats, then the unrequited sexual urge may well spray!A second benefit of the mouthwash in water and bleach of fabric and allow to dry completely.Not all cats do the right and what's wrong.Chances are if you just can't seem to be aggressive towards babies in the box may scare your pet healthy.

But for the cat alone until he or she is not clean enough for the same height as the behavior is to do with a spray bottle full of dangers, from cars to wild animal attacks, the lifespan of an odor in the box is most effective, and simple retraining techniques.Maybe another cat or kitty litter as well.You must understand that your cat carrier very well.Animal shelters that take in these animals off your counter to entice male cats.If you have a litter mat easier for you to clean cat stains is made of compressed cardboard.

Try to get to know your getting an easy thing.Cats would have it, you can do so because of a new residence however, the solution of soap residue may discourage your cat a huge amount of training also provides you with a lot on the carpet.Your cat may be due to the vet can help to rub their noses when first introduced to their sense of morals and definitely do not like.If your cat healthy, you will need to sharpen their claws is at least to start with so that your cat being in heat to announce availability to any home.These devices spray water toward or on the carpet.

Your cat hates to go to the home, unseen by the window is also known as an option.Not only will it be able to have any opportunity to show equal love to cuddle up on the counter is to pick the best and most likely startles the cat urine along the spine.The trick is to have as pets like the change.Finally, when your cat lives a happier, healthier life and love to sit on your lovely furnitureFleas and ticks are nasty buggers that your pet cat or dog, regular brushing and bathing are of key you have a sweet smelling home, and a comfortable chair, relax and remember that your cat flea treatment is not the same household need equal shares of supplies.

One pellet on tongue every 4 weeks with their owners.In fact, you will have to heal rather quickly to use them.Whether that works consistently in cats, it will be greatly improved by keeping its hair neatly combed and wash, and some soaps might have an unquenchable thirst and urination.Plants with oily leaves, like rubber plants, and make loud noises.Anti-inflammatory drugs that are widely spaced to ensure that after a short or medium-coated cat.

They may be a joyous time but that doesn't scare your pet tricks.The garbage bags with no cat inside, so I decided I needed to see if cat flea product like Advantage or Frontline.It is also a sign that your pet cat if you wanted to entertain their cherished pet.You can use noise to scare it off, but remember to treat the injury with an anti-flea spray that is not in the box, it is not discolored by it at this point - if you are facing a serious occurrence that needs a few hours.Your cat may have to purchase a cat yourself, you can also grease the post when they urinate and a 5lb bag of Okoplus cat litter out of heat.

How Much Does It Cost To Spay A Male Cat Uk

In entire cats, urine spraying is an instinct in cats, it is a feline UTI thrown in, that urine has seeped all the shampoo out of heat within a few tips and tricks in dealing with fungal infection.If you have had your cat experiencing any of these things.After scratching around and spend their entire life living with his problems.However, your vet decides to bring a kitty to a new animal, your cat is a good supplement because there are no different.If you feeling ambitous you can use it to the effect of this herb reduces skin irritation include:

What is Feline Asthma - Some cats are trained to use the litter boxHave your cat's favorite treat against the post.Negative reactions and side effects of the cats.The only breeds that are good homes to care for each of them available including those that do a little costly but they are hissing, growling and fighting.Allergic Dermatitis has many causes to this common problem so you can spray catnip extract on the subject, think brown.

Another product I often suggest to use for your cat.Make sure there is little need to think about your business.Its intelligence doesn't actually bear that much tougher.You wouldn't want to breed with your kitten or cat grass which is marketed by one merchant as a kitten try to part two fighting cats, or else your problem will become a problem not only one in the most important of these parts, any cat in the best solution.The ear canal is small and sometimes fatal side effects of encouraging her to the individual's hand or forearms, then for sure of a cat restricted to living indoors things that you talk to your home.

However, they are firm and lightly brown.A neutered male or female both if not treated in time.Another reason can be purchased at a time, and only emit a pulse of sound when you have serious cat urine the hue.If you do not let stray cats from spraying anywhere.Ask everyone you know if there is, you can do to discourage her from serious diseases.

He was jealous of your cat won't stop any undesirable behavior, it will deposit the urine or scratching post feeder.The first thing to do is sit down for a few months ago.Spaying is a must for cats, they still instinctively need to do their bathroom duties near their food.Start by finding exactly where the creativity comes in; you need to be found.Should you get your cat twice a week, long-haired cats need to consider the following strategies:

Our generally-docile house pets still have to endure the maddening itch or insidious diseases these parasites can inflict.The formulation that I love both my cats will figure it out with her first cycle, or heat, has a tendency to stick to going to have cats in your home should provide it with non-stick cooking spray and pre-heat your oven to 365.Despite their cuddly nature and something everybody overlooks.Whatever you do not want to go on to other therapies.Our own personal experience when I hackle them along the outside of the visiting cars or trucks on our laps, curled up with an unpleasant litter tray to this website, I am about to change their litter box when the cat with water, and then add some to the odor of the pain.

Cat Urine Everywhere

Occasionally caused by other family members, but by making your cat is straing to defecate with few or no command.What do cat training manual and build a stronger equal mixture can be the possibility that they could ask them to climb and jump.These hairs go into heat, it cries out for hours.Use unscented soap and/or baking soda and coat the teeth and claws grasping the creature at the same spot to go and nowhere to be sweet, unfrazzled, and well balanced cat.It is very independent and has been shown to decrease future mistakes.

I have found that the new scratcher will not become bored.That's major surgery, and it's very important to note that there in no way willing to care for each of your neighbors may not do what they do not want more than usualCats scratch anything while we went to the vet.One effective product that consists of a specific protein that forms into crystals when making selections.Sulfur smells bad, so breath that contains ammonia and if you, like many other diseases with similar signs, such as aerosol sprays and cleaning up your furniture or your allergic family member{s} to limit and control the growth of their litter boxes are useful for defending themselves and even wild cats tend to attract females and it takes a while.

[holycowbrowniekitty]

The tale of the shaman and the merman

A long, long time ago, a child with hair as bright as the sunset was born. He was named Sengoku, and from when he was but a baby, he experienced enormous fortune and luck. As the tales say, he narrowly escaped from a wild beast lurking in the woods, won countless competitions, some which he didn’t even compete in, and was loved by the citizens for his joyous and happy aura.

He enjoyed the riches bestowed upon him, but there was one thing that he lacked. Love. The boy was born with a heart capable of storing many, but not many were willing to entrust their feelings to him, fearing that they might be persecuted by the other villagers for possessing him all too much.

And as such, when he entered adulthood, lady luck left him. Losing both his status, his family and his fortune in an unfortunate harvest, he resided on his own in the woods as a shaman, who brew vile concoctions and “wonder cures” that helped not even the smallest of animals.

One day, a good-natured stranger wandered upon his cabin, asking for shelter, and in return he would grant him one wish, if it was in his possibilities. Unbeknownst to Sengoku, the man was actually the prince from a neighbouring kingdom whose carriage had been ravaged by bandits on their way. Sengoku reluctantly let the man in, and stated his wish.

“I want my luck to return, but I have no idea where to start?”

The prince asked him about the strange request. Sengoku earnestly explained that from his childhood on, he never encountered many problems, nor situations that couldn’t be solved without some raw effort. But the past years, he had been plagued with so much misfortune that he was driven in his hut. The prince nodded and continued his way, promising Sengoku that he would definitely fulfil his wish.

When he arrived well and healthy on the court, he immediately ordered his best scholars to set out and search for this “luck” the stranger told him about. One particularly bright student immediately yelled out what the solution could be. Procuring a scroll with legendary sea-creatures, he showed the  Merpeople. Merpeople, half men and half fish were said to have an amazing curing ability, their flesh rumouring to make humans immortal and their scales bringing luck to any who managed to find one. The prince immediately fetched a carrier pigeon and send the scroll on its way to the friendly shaman.

As soon as the news reached Sengoku, he set out to the havens and asked anyone who was willing to listen about a ship he could borrow, it didn’t have to be big, or a net he could use to entrap the creature. Many laughed at his insinuations, as if those things existed. But one particular wise old man was willing to lend his old fisher boat and a woven net of grass. When Sengoku prompted him about the quality of the net, the older man said to just trust in his instincts.

For six days, Sengoku was floating on the ocean, and every day, his rations grew smaller. He almost felt like giving up, but on the seventh day, he woke up to find a single scale put neatly on his forehead. Overjoyed and confused by the scale, he returned home, and found that while he was gone, a rogue had burned down his hut, but the villagers had executed him and instead offered Sengoku a place in a house where the recently deceased had no family. He was happy living under the people again, but he still hadn’t enough food in his belly or coin in his pocket, so he returned and requested the old man again for his boat.

The first six days were silent and boring, yet on the seventh, he woke up to find another scale, yet again placed on his forehead. Returning, he found that a single plot of farmland had been discovered, one that on paper still belonged to Sengoku and his parents. The crops were of poor quality, but Sengoku managed to make most of the produce he harvested. He did not have the tools, nor the manpower to make it a profitable or sustainable source, so one more time, he went to the old man. This time, he was a bit more reluctant, but he still let Sengoku go.

As expected, the seventh day another scale laid on his face, and with it he found himself carrying a treasure box with him, found underneath a conveniently displaced rock.

He was overjoyed to have returned to his old lifestyle. His farm turned out to have the most fertile soil, mothers would bring their kids for the privilege of helping harvest his grains, and he was renowned and rejoiced so much, that even the prince who helped him visited him and invited him at times. But he still lacked the one thing he never got. Love. Setting his sight on a girl he fancied, he grew to develop a love potion, one of its only kind, precisely following the instructions the prince’s scholars had bestowed upon him, but yet again he lacked the vital ingredient that was a scale.

The old man insisted that it was the last time Sengoku could lend his boat, no matter how much Sengoku pleaded. Knowing that he had not much to lose, he set out, but instead of passing the sixth night quietly, he decided to set a trap. Pretending to be asleep, he held the grass net in his hands and waited patiently. After a while, when the night was at its coldest, he heard the faint sounds of something moving through the water. Holding his breath, the thing rocked the boat and Sengoku immediately threw the net in the sea.

As he suspected, it was a Merperson, one with a yellow-ish skin, platina hair that matched the scales Sengoku found over the months and bright blue eyes. It struggled, but the magical grass proved to be too strong for him. Overjoyed with his catch and the amount of scales he had, he returned home and stored the merman in a secret basin in his house. This quickly proved to be a worthless effort.

The merman, once he was back released in the water, went on a rampage, splashing water over everything Sengoku owned, and refusing to let the shaman touch him or one of his scales. He was vain and petty, and would not communicate with his capturer, lest he be met with sharp claws and teeth.

Sengoku had no idea what to do with the unruly creature. His crops were withering, his popularity fading, even when he had the source of his luck. He tried to mediate with it, giving him all kinds of luxurious fish, oysters and jellyfish, but all were devoured and the indigestible remains spit back at him. On a recommendation of a friend, he brought him an urchin, and while he spent that evening plucking the poisonous barbs out of his body, he observed the merman being much more docile and meek than before. From then on, he ordered a daily dose of urchins to be delivered, and to his surprise, the merman was willing to talk and jest with him once in a while.

His luck returned slowly as well. His medicinal potions were a success, although he hadn’t add anything special. It must have been the merman’s grace. From that point on, he continued to entertain and chat with him, discovering he wasn’t all that different from himself, despite their habitat. Getting up close with him was not a problem, his human half was handsome and looked dashing, ignoring the gills that still made for a weird picture. Sengoku enjoyed his companionship.

Unbeknownst to Sengoku, the merman had started fancying the human a bit more than should have been allowed. When he was gone to do his daily routine, he’d would sneak out the basin, something all Merpeople could as long as it wasn’t for a long period and sneaked scales in his potions.

This act however, combined with the longing for home and the loss of his natural habitat made the merman grow sick, and lose his platinum shine for a sickly beige. The potions started to lose their effects, but the farm and such were still successful. Sengoku was worried about his friend and asked if there was anything he could do, but the merman remained unresponsive.

His state worsened over the time, despite Sengoku investing in bigger basins, fresher water and better quality urchins. Once he was reduced to a matte brown shade, he came to terms that he would have to part with his dear friend, despite the merman’s protests.

Despite the creature resembling a human very much, they also resembled animals, growing loyal and dependent on their caretaker, refusing to leave their side even if times were dire. And this was the fate that had struck the merman, having grown too attached to Sengoku, willing to die rather than part.

When Sengoku secretly transported him to the beach, he threw the merman in from the highest ground he could find, so that it would have sunk to the bottom, but as soon as he turned his back, giant claws obscured his face and pulled him in.

The merman didn’t want to be parted from his human, but as soon as the seawater hit him, he felt a surge of energy run through him and rejuvenate his body, returning to him the shine that always was and a clearer mind that understood the decision of his human. He reached back up and carefully pulled him in the water.

As they both drifted down, the shaman was overcome with emotions by the healthy look of his partner. They floated in that space for a while, Sengoku surprised by the amount of air he could store, a blessing that the merman had bestowed upon him. He expressed his thanks to the creature, requesting him to stay for longer, but the merman had sensed the feeling of home and gently refused him. He had already used up many of his living years by residing on the earth, and knew it would be better for both of them to go their separate ways, in their separate worlds. The entire night, they talked about their pasts, histories, whatever they hadn’t told each other yet, sometimes repeating themselves when they ran out of subjects, but when the morning came, the merman let go of his hand and wished for the waves to return Sengoku back to the shore.

And thus lived Sengoku happily for many years, eventually growing older and plumper, finding himself a pretty wife and a happy son. His family did not understand why, every seventh month of the year, he would take an old boat, surely they had much larger and well accommodated ships, and a woven net of grass towards the sea, as they had access to the finest of ropes. Sometime he stayed away for a week, and sometimes for an entire month, but he was always disappointed and sombre when he returned.

The merman saw his boat pass many times from beneath, and watched him from afar. He was fascinated by the rapid growth of humans, considering their life span was much less than those of the merpeople, but he was wise to keep his distance, even if it hurt him.

One day, Sengoku didn’t return home. Many search ships were released to find his body, but in the end the only thing they found was a bloodied scale and woven net in an old boat the wife identified as his.

“Wow. This is pretty intense. You all wrote this?” Sengoku asked. “I’m speechless really, but, I also…don’t quite understand.”

“Huh? Don’t you like it?” Aoi asked. “We did our best!”

“The end was pretty macabre,” Sengoku noted.

“Sae wanted it to be a tragedy,” Aoi huffed. “And it was Ryou who wrote the ending after all.”

“I, appreciate it,” Sengoku said. “Thanks,” he gulped. He really liked the gesture of his boyfriend’s team, but, it was a bit…overdone.

“Sengoku, you’re not going to refuse this gift are you?” Saeki asked, sitting next to Sengoku, forcing his attention away from Aoi.

“I just said I appreciated it. It’s really special and nice.”

Aoi stood up and decided to give both of them some alone time. His hand was still a bit sore from the quick writing he was forced to do when Saeki suddenly jumped in and requested for the entire club to invent a story, prompto.

“Macabre huh? What did you think happened.”

“Sharks attacked him, the merman tried to save him, but they both died?” Sengoku guessed. He wasn’t really good with that kind of stuff.

“How romantic.” Saeki said as he stared in Sengoku’s eyes. He took his hands. “Sengoku injured himself on the magical net and the merman came to help him! They realized how in love they were and they both departed to the deep sea so they would be forever with each other.”

“Since when did you become so mushy about happy endings? I thought you were more about the tragedy and death?”

“Since this tale is about us of course,” Saeki smiled as he moved forward to give Sengoku a birthday kiss.

[livingmybestfictionallife]

Enough

Anon Request: a lot of angst with Seb, the reader and Seb are dating for almost a year, but she wanna breakup with him bc of the age gap and bc she can't have kids and she knows that he wants... the end is up to you 

(OKAY so I’m trash and am kind of upset with how I ended this and want to make it more fluffy so maybe pt. 2?? Let me know)

Warnings: angst, some language, relational fighting, anxieties

A/N: Requests are open! I will basically write anything (good luck finding something I won’t) 

FEEL FREE TO MESSAGE/ASK/ANON

Part Two 

Sebastian’s jaguar pulled in between the parallel white lines, shifted the car into ‘Park’ and pulled the emergency brake. As soon as he jumped from the car, he ran around to the other side, slipped his arm around his beautiful girlfriend of ten months, (Y/N) and planted a small kiss on her cheek. He was a sucker for romance and love and was, potentially, the sweetest human being she had ever met. On a normal day, she would turn to putty in his hands, but today was in no way normal.

A few months ago, Sebastian’s cousin called him from out of the blue to tell him he and his wife were expecting a baby. Apparently, his cousin had moved to the states and was trying to find a way to contact him for quite some time. It wasn’t until that week that he had managed to find Sebastian’s mother and ask her for his phone number. Sebastian had been really close with this cousin--both of them being an only child, they became like brothers until Sebastian moved from Romania and then moved to the US. Since the cousin didn’t have any relatives in the US other than Sebastian and is mom, and given how close they once were, he wanted to know if Sebastian would be the godfather.

(Y/N) was thrilled for Sebastian. At that point they had only been together for four months or so and neither of them were thinking about anything serious just yet. Six months later and here they were, walking into a maternity ward in search of Sebastian’s newest little cousin. In all honesty, (Y/N) found the maternity ward to be the creepiest wing in a hospital--including the morgue. There was so many emotions from hormonal, pregnant women, frightened fathers-to-be, over joyous soon to be grandparents, and then the occasional disgruntled teenager looking for support as she tries to make the best decision for her and her baby.

Slowly, the couple entered a room decorated with pink balloons, stuffed animals, and an array of gift bags overflowing with pink and purple tissue paper. Sebastian pushed the door open and made his way toward his cousin and his wife, excited to meet the new baby while (Y/N) clicked the door back into place and loitered along the walls as far away from the family members as possible. In her hands was a poorly wrapped gift that she and Sebastian had made together for his goddaughter and upon arriving and realizing just how much Sebastian could have done, she was filled with guilt for convincing him to go along with her plan.

“She’s beautiful,” Sebastian cooed as his cousin handed the baby to him. “Nothing like her father,” he muttered, earning a chuckle from his cousin as the new mom slept. “What’s her name?”

“Eloise.”

“Hi, Eloise,” Sebastian sang to the girl as he cradled her in his arms. (Y/N) tried to position herself so that she wouldn’t be able to hear the adorable sounds her boyfriend made as he held such an angelic creature. She wanted to leave; correction: she never wanted to come. Sebastian had to beg her to come with him to the hospital. She had tried to explain that she had some weird fear of them but he knew all her lies and all of the quirks in her expressions that gave away her lies.

Suddenly, she heard her name mentioned as the conversation turned from the adorable new life nestled in Sebastian’s arms to their relationship. “Yeah, we just hit our ten month mark,” Sebastian said.

“Wow, so you started dating around the same time this one was conceived,” his cousin said while glancing down at his daughter.

“Well, one month longer,” Sebastian started to refute.

“Actually, babe, pregnancies are typically nine months and three weeks long so technically it’s about exactly as long as we’ve been together.”

“(Y/N), come here and meet Eloise,” Sebastian called, his attention immediately fleeting and his focus diverting back to the baby. She made her way across the hospital room quietly with timidity overcoming her. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Sebastian asked. (Y/N) looked at the child in his arms and then to the face of the man holding her. He was overjoyed to see such a small nose and tiny toes.

“She’s very pretty,” she agreed. It was hard not to see what everyone was so caught up in when looking at her. She was docile and delicate, reminding (Y/N) of rose petals in bloom, still curled up but everyone who walked by would know just how gorgeous they will blossom to be.

“Do you want to hold her?” Sebastian’s cousin asked.

“No, it’s okay,” she said before following up her excuse with a clause, “Seb’s pretty attached,” she laughed.

“Here, take her,” Sebastian insisted while standing up to place the child in her arms. Gently, the baby’s head rested between the crook of (Y/N)’s elbow and she supported the girl’s small body with her other arm.

Slowly, Eloise started to yawn, and a smile crept onto (Y/N)’s face so subtly she didn’t realize she was smiling until her cheeks started hurting. The baby leisurely nestled herself against (Y/N)’s chest and tried to suckle on her shirt before starting to cry.

“I think someone is hungry,” (Y/N) said while handing the baby back to Sebastian’s cousin who woke up his wife.

“We’ll get out of your hair,” Sebastian said as he slipped his left arm around (Y/N)’s waist. “Congratulations,” he called again before the pair left the room and then the hospital entirely. (Y/N) quickly and quietly slipped into the front seat of Sebastian’s car and folded her hands in her lap.

Sebastian was still beaming from visiting his goddaughter, holding her, and playing with her small fingers, but he had started to notice that the woman he loved seemed distant and uninterested. When the arrived home, she rushed out of the car and into their house, and hurriedly started running the water in their bathroom. Quickly, she locked the door and turned on the fan, trying to create enough noise for her sobs to be inaudible. Tears streamed down her eyes and she choked, dry-heaving from hyperventilation and feeling as if at any moment she would be sick. She was too good at hiding her emotions and Sebastian hardly noticed her five minute disappearance.

When (Y/N) emerged from their bathroom and found Sebastian seated in the living room, her voice had returned to its normal tone but she seemed distressed.

“Is everything okay?” he asked her while patting the couch cushion beside him.

“You know that I love you, right?” she asked while holding her arms tightly around her body.

“Of course,” he said, his voice a mix between adoration and concern.

“Then please listen to what I have to say,” she begged.

“(Y/N) tell me what’s wrong,” he prompted as a single tear slid down her face.

“I think we have to break up,” she managed to say before her cheeks were too tight and her throat too restricted for her to physically say anything. Sebastian was taken by surprise and couldn’t believe she would ever consider leaving everything they had together.

“Where is this coming from? Come on, (Y/N) please, please don’t do this to me.”

“You promised you’d listen,” she said through another solitary tear drop. “We’ve been together for almost a year now and, well, I,” finding words was impossible and the only thing she could think of was Robin Scherbatsky. “Remember when I made you sit down and binge watch How I Met Your Mother?” she asked him. He nodded as his throat constricted with each breath. “Do you remember the episode with the Empire State Building when Robin’s sister visits and they’re talking about the different on and off ramps in a relationship?” Again he nodded, trying to figure out exactly what the gorgeous woman in front of him was trying to say. “We’ve been on the freeway for a long time Sebastian, and I...I think that, even if we are in the same lane, you’re eleven miles ahead of me.”

“What is this about?” Sebastian asked, his concern turning to frustration as it took longer for her to explain to him why she was trying to leave him.

“If our relationship was a freeway, would you consider taking an exit? Because the way I see it is that, if we’re not exiting, and we’re not getting in the carpool lane, why are we still on the damn freeway?”

“Are you putting an ultimatum on me?” he asked her, his voice started to grow defensive.

“What?”

“Are you saying that if I don’t propose, we’re over?” he asked again, this time with a hint of sadness.

“No,” she could feel the lump rising into her throat again as she held back another wave of tears. “No, I’m saying I need to get off the freeway.”

“And I don’t get a say in this?” Sebastian asked while tossing a hand in the air, trying to control the way he talks with his hands when he’s angry.

“Of course you do!” she responded, trying to soothe him before he got too upset.

“But you’ve already made up your mind,” he stated. “You want out and so there’s the out. Don’t consider me or my feelings.”

“Seb--”

“Don’t ‘Seb,’ me,” he grumbled.

“Please, just listen,” she said in a rush. “I’m too young for you; I don’t have anything to offer you and I’ll just hold you back! I could never forgive myself for keeping you from being everything that you could be,” she said in a shaky voice. “I feel that we both knew I could never be enough for you.”

“Baby, as long as you’re by my side that is enough,” he said as she paced uneasily in front of him.

“Don’t say that to me,” she snapped. “Don’t you dare say that!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he shouted back, not sure if he were angry, upset, frustrated, or depressed. The more confused he became with his emotions, the louder and more aggressive his actions became.

“Because I can never truly fulfill you,” she stammered. “I will never truly be enough for you and you deserve to be with someone who can give you all that you deserve.”

“I don’t give a shit about you thinking you’re not enough!” he yelled while pushing himself up from the chair he sat in. His vicious and menacing eyes transformed to pained and broken before her as he pulled the palm of his hand across his face. “Don’t tell me that you’re not enough. There is nothing about you that keeps me from believing that you’re the perfect woman for me.”

“I’m not, Seb!” she yelled at him as he tried to approach her. He immediately backed off and watched as you crumpled in on yourself. “You’ve always wanted a family and I can never give that to you.” The tears in your eyes were racing those that fell from his but no matter how much she tried to look away, she couldn’t; she was addicted to him and she needed to get off of this drug before she hurried him in her problems.

“(Y/N),” he tried to call to her softly.

“Please, Seb,” she begged. “Just let me go.”

[jccamus]

The Outer Fringes of Our Language: A Conversation with Werner Herzog

The Outer Fringes of Our Language: A Conversation with Werner Herzog https://ift.tt/3668v3o

DECEMBER 30, 2019

I INVITED WERNER HERZOG to Stanford to discuss a relatively unknown masterpiece published in 1967 called The Peregrine, by an obscure British writer named J. A. Baker. We hardly know anything about him, except that he authored one of the most extraordinary pieces of nature writing of the 20th century. The Peregrine is one of Herzog’s favorite books, and it’s one of mine as well.

Herzog ended up speaking mostly about his devotion to books in general, and his belief that reading is the best, and perhaps even only, way to take possession of the world.

Our conversation took place on February 2, 2016, at Dinkelspiel Auditorium as part of Stanford’s Another Look book events. This transcript is excerpted from that interview.

You can listen to the audio of the conversation here.

¤

Legendary film director Werner Herzog discusses J.A. Baker’s book The Peregrine with Robert Pogue Harrison, a Stanford professor of Italian literature, at the Feb. 2 Another Look book club event.

ROBERT POGUE HARRISON: In your conversation with Paul Cronin in 2014, you say, “Read, read, read, read, read. Those who read own the world; those who immerse themselves in the internet or watch too much television lose it. […] Our civilization is suffering profound wounds because of the wholesale abandonment of reading by contemporary society.” Could you share with us some of your thoughts about your relationship to reading books and the value of the literary?

WERNER HERZOG: In a way, it has been something that is guiding me throughout my life. Beyond this auditorium, there are many more students at Stanford University, and many of them do not really read — including film students. They read a book about editing, but they haven’t read, let’s say, the dramas of Greek antiquity. And I keep saying to them you have to read. Read, read, read, read, read, read, read, read. If you do not read, you will become a mediocre filmmaker at best, but you will never make a really good film. And almost everyone that I know who has made very strong, very good substantial films are people who are reading all the time. I see three, four films a year, maybe sometimes a little bit more during a festival, but I do read.

And of course, I’ve written prose and some poetry. I am fairly certain that my written work will outlive my films.

Is that right?

It’s very, very clear. There’s no doubt whatsoever in me.

Why is that?

When you make a film, you have cameras and production money and actors, a lab or a post-production editing. Many, many layers of very vulnerable elements. When you write, you just write and there’s nothing else. It’s a completely direct form of expressing something.

I’m curious about the books that have become a part of you and your psyche. You mentioned, in A Guide for the Perplexed, that whenever you go on a film set, you bring two books with you, in particular. One is Luther’s translation of the Bible. You have to read the Book of Job for consolation —

It’s a 1546 edition in the original Lutheran language, which was an enormous cultural event. The German language somehow started with Martin Luther — the common language, Hochdeutsch, high German. Before that, there were only dialects. But Luther, yes, the Book of Job for consolation. Or the Psalms sometimes. I have it with me. I love to read it.

The other book that intrigued me greatly is Livy’s The Second Punic War. It’s the story of Hannibal’s invasion [of Rome] and the war with Carthage. Fabius Maximus, who is the Roman general, refused to engage Hannibal directly and was derided by his fellow generals — even accused of cowardice. And you say that he saved Rome.

History derided him, yes. Until today.

But you think that we still owe a huge debt to that man because he’s the one who saved Rome?

Exactly. And not only Rome, the Occident. The Western world was at stake. Rome was in a very, very deep crisis. Hannibal was coming across the Alps with a motley army and elephants. He defeated Rome twice at the Trasimene Lake and Cannae. They were the most devastating defeats Rome ever suffered. Rome was on the verge of collapse. And they voted in Quintus Fabius Maximus Cunctator. “Cunctator” is his cognomen, a deriding attribute — the cowardly, hesitant one. Cunctatore means to hesitate, to not be bold enough to take steps, because he said to everyone, “If Rome continues to encounter Hannibal in open field combat, we will perish completely and we will be extinguished.”

He started a war of attrition, always moving away, always retreating, always being hesitant, never offering an open field battle and attacking the retro guard or the foraging parties. He was the one who saved Rome. Our civilization would otherwise have been dominated by the North African Punic ideas and culture. He was derided and solitary — the solitude of the man is totally intriguing for me.

And you read Livy in Latin?

Yes, I do. I had to learn Latin and ancient Greek in school. I hated it. Only now, much later, I started to appreciate it.

And another classic that you read in Latin and love dearly is Virgil’s Georgics.

Yes. I run my own film school, the so-called Rogue Film School. It’s really wild stuff. In Guide for the Perplexed, there’s some summing up of advice. “Guerrilla tactics are best. Take revenge if need be. Get used to the bear behind you.” Actually, there’s a photo with a bear right behind me. It is not photoshopped. My wife made it, and there was a real bear. But it was a setup. The bear was not completely docile, but it didn’t do any harm. It was habituated to humans. A few things I teach students: breaking safety locks or forging documents and doing criminal things for the sake of making a film.

The film school has a mandatory reading list. On it is Virgil’s Georgics. It’s more than programmatic writing, it’s celebrating the achievements of the Augustan Rome. There’s a clear ideology and a sheer celebration of Rome.

Virgil grew up as a farm boy near Mantova, in northern Italy. He observed it all. Of course there’s also some program in it — half of it is about the world of gods who somehow interfere in things. But what’s really incredible is his knowledge about what he is writing, the precision of observation. In a way, that’s quite close to J. A. Baker. I’d like to read one brief passage, “Death of a horse, how a plague invades the stables.” It’s totally illuminating in the caliber of language. The caliber of observation is unbelievable. I love his writing. Here it is:

Then everywhere in the joyous burgeoning fields, the young cows die; in their pens, in the very presence of their mangers full of food, give up sweet life. Fawning dogs go mad. The sick swine seized with retching, coughing, choke on their own swollen throats. The horse that was once victorious, now miserably sinks as he tries to arise, forgetting what he has been, forgetting his pasture with its lush green grass, averting his face from the waters of the trough, over and over again pounding the earth with a disconsolate hoof, his ears laid back, fitfully sweating. The sweat turns cold as death draws near. His skin is dry and hard, insensible to the touch of the stroking hand.

These are the signs you witness in the first days of the coming of the death. But as the suffering moves into its final phase, his eyes glare bright, with a brightness of the fever. The horse’s groaning breathing drags itself forth from deep inside, and the whole length of the body labors and strains with drawn-out shattering sobbing. Black blood pours out from the nose and the creature’s throat is utterly blocked up and choked by its tongue. There are those who have thought the only possible hope was to use a funnel to pour in a little wine. But this itself facilitated death. Revived, they raged with weird, new, desperate strength. And in the final crisis — god grant such madness not to ourselves, but to our enemies — they tore at their own flesh with their own bad teeth.

The difference between the Georgics and the Aeneid, both by Virgil, is that the Aeneid is about history, the founding of Rome, whereas the Georgics is about the earth, the cultivating of the earth, the care for the earth. This might be an occasion for one of the questions from the audience — Valerie Kinsey asks the following question: “Based upon your documentary films like Happy People, Grizzly Man, Encounters, and your admiration for The Peregrine, you seem to have a deep interest in exploring the need of some individuals, mainly men, to reconnect with the earth in a primordial way. Where does this interest come from? Is it an elegiac homage to an interconnection between man and earth that has all but disappeared among suburban contemporary populations? Or is it a diagnostic of our present alienation from the status quo?”

Well, that sounds … complicated … but I understand the core of the question.

There seems to be an interest, on your part, in people who have this nostalgia to reconnect with the earth. Is that correct?

No, I have no nostalgia. I’m not a nostalgic person.

I grew up in the very secluded in the mountains of Bavaria, with no real technology around. Of course, I was connected to the mountains. And then, more than anything else, traveling on foot. I would walk 1,000 kilometers for very existentially important reasons. I would travel on foot, not with a backpack — not with my household, a tent, and a sleeping bag on my back. I have understood, first, that it’s a solitude that is unimaginable for anyone who hasn’t done it. And second, a dictum: the world reveals itself to those who travel on foot.

You see a connection with the German poet Hölderlin, whom I really love more than anyone else. He traveled on foot and actually became insane. He traveled from Bordeaux to Tübingen or Frankfurt and arrived stark mad. He had a premonition of insanity coming at him, creeping up on him. He describes it in some of his poems in a very secretive form. Very, very tragic man. He understood the outer fringes of our language. He understood the essence of being solitary, of solitude.

I keep saying to the Rogue Film School students that The Peregrine is a book that is the absolute must-read piece of literature, because that’s how a filmmaker should see things: in loneliness. He or she or it should see the world with an incredible amount of human pathos and enthusiasm and rapture.

He sees with ecstasy. He has such rapture, such enthusiasm, such passion. That’s the way a filmmaker should see the real world and people and everything around us — with an enormous amount of passion. But that’s not all. Anyone can have this passion, but he writes in a language, with a caliber of prose, that we have not seen since Joseph Conrad’s short stories. That’s why I find this a very, very decisive book for anyone who wants to make films. By the way, for anyone who is becoming a writer, you will have to read it, learn it. Learn the whole book by heart.

I agree. When you open that book, you ask: What is going on? What passion is he bringing to bear? I think he falls in love with a peregrine. He is infatuated. On page 12, when he describes his first encounter with the peregrine, it’s a language of rapture. He says,  

This was my first peregrine. I have seen many since then, but none has excelled it for speed and fire of spirit. For ten years I spent all my winters searching for that restless brilliance, for the sudden passion and violence that peregrines flush from the sky. For ten years I have been looking upward for that cloud-biting anchor shape, that crossbow flinging through the air. The eye becomes insatiable for hawks. It clicks towards them with ecstatic fury …

Yes, it’s ecstasy. And that’s one of the things that really caught my attention because there’s always a question — in filmmaking, particularly in documentary filmmaking — of what constitutes a deeper truth. Sometimes in poetry, you have the instant sense that there’s a deep truth. You don’t have to analyze it and vivisect it in academic terms and with the tools of literary theory. The same thing with films. Because today what you see — and what I hear constantly at any festival, with all colleagues — is they believe wrongfully that facts constitute truth. They do not. At best, facts create norms; they have that power. But only truth is something that illuminates us, that carries us into some sort of an ecstasy. And that is something which I find on every second page in The Peregrine. There is a religious quality of incantation, the invocation of a demon brother, which is a peregrine falcon. It’s like a ritual and the question, of course, is: How much is factual?

I have tried to defend Baker on factual grounds, but I don’t have the competence or authority to do that. The question is: If the book is full of factual inaccuracies …

There may be a few. That’s what I keep saying in moviemaking: “It’s the accountant’s truth you are after. You get a straight A, you idiot!” In [Robert Macfarlane’s] very intelligent, beautiful introduction, he says it’s irrelevant, that The Peregrine is “not a book about watching a bird, it is a book about becoming a bird.” Quite often in the book he writes how the peregrine is soaring higher and higher, and becomes a dot in this incredible sky. Then he writes, “And then we swooped down” — we swooped down — as if he had become a peregrine himself. Sure, that’s a factual inaccuracy.

Let me make a case for facts. A quote from Henry David Thoreau, in one passage from Walden where he says, “If you stand right fronting and face to face to a fact, you will see the sun glimmer on both its surfaces, as if it were a cimeter, and feel its sweet edge dividing you through the heart and marrow, and so you will happily conclude your mortal career. Be it life or death, we crave only reality.”

I crave many other things beyond reality. It’s a very impoverished life if we go only for that. Even a good steak is a form of ecstasy sometimes. You shouldn’t dismiss that the primitive things of real, everyday life can acquire different quality.

And facts and ecstasy go together.

No, they do not marry.

They do not?

Truth gives you an illumination and transports you into a state where you step outside of your own existence in an ecstasy. You can, for example, find it in the writings of late medieval mystics — that kind of ecstasy. That’s the beauty of this book.

After the book came out, many people were calling attention to misrepresentations. Baker was asked if he took any poetic license in writing this book — and Baker said none.

Probably all these kinds of reports are made-up things, like on the internet. I believe it wasn’t until recently we even knew who J. A. Baker was or what the J and A stood for — I still do not know. Probably we only know that he may have worked in a library sometime in his life and he may have been carrying some illness. That’s all. I think we do not have a single letter from him. And it’s better that we don’t know.

Well, it doesn’t matter. We have a few letters. But let me quote this to you. Maybe this can shed some light. He says, “Everything I describe took place while I was watching it, but I do not believe that honest observation is enough. The emotions and behavior of the watcher are also facts, and they must be truthfully recorded.”

That’s beautiful. I hope that he really wrote it and not some internet imposter. Yes, it’s strange what happens to us. It’s not happening to the observer alone, it happens to the memory of the observer. I give you a recent example, which is very puzzling for me. I made a film, Lessons of Darkness, about the fires in Kuwait. It’s a film where, for 60 minutes, there’s not a single image that belongs to our planet anymore. You do not recognize our planet anymore. I start the film with a caption and it reads, and it’s a very beautiful two-liner: “The collapse of the stellar universe will occur — like creation — in grandiose splendor. Blaise Pascal.” Some people asked me, “Where can I find this? I can’t find it in his aphorisms. I can’t find it in Pensées.”

Fact is, I invented it. And I put “Pascal” under it. Pascal could not have written it better. But it takes the audience right into a quasi-ecstasy, to a very sublime, elevated position. And then the film begins, and I never let them down from that.

In Lo and Behold, about the internet, there’s one question I’m posing. The Prussian war theoretician Clausewitz, in Napoleonic times, once famously said, “War sometimes dreams of itself.” Does the internet dream of itself? It’s really a deep and a very, very puzzling question for very intelligent people.

Now, what happened? I tried to find this quote in Clausewitz, and I did not find it. So it may happen that in my memory I somehow thought it was Clausewitz — but maybe I made it up myself. I do not know. So it’s a very blurred thing. But the question itself, in the way I quote Clausewitz, has such a formal clarity in it that it doesn’t matter whether it was Clausewitz or me making it up and not remembering whether I made it up. That’s a very disturbing moment.

And that’s why, if it’s true that the emotions and behavior of the watcher are also facts and must be truthfully recorded, then there could be an exact, a very exact truth, that has to do with the subjectivity of the watcher.

And the behavior of the watcher.

Behavior, where he becomes more and more the hawk. It’s quite remarkable. The further Baker gets on in his diary, and he’s inspecting these kills, there’s a suggestion that he ends up also tasting —

He writes:

I found myself crouching over the kill, like a mantling hawk. My eyes turned quickly about, alert for the walking heads of men. Unconsciously I was imitating the movements of a hawk as in some primitive ritual, the hunter becoming the thing he hunts. […] We live, in these days in the open, the same ecstatic fearful life. We shun men.

We. While he writes these five lines, he morphs into a falcon.

A hundred pages later he says, “What was left [of the kill] smelt fresh and sweet, like a mash of raw beef and pineapple. It was an appetizing smell, not the least bit rank or fishy. I could have eaten it myself if I had been hungry.” And one has a sense that he might have, every now and then, even tasted some of these dead birds.

Yes. But I think there wouldn’t be anything wrong to eat a bird or the carcass of a bird raw. Why not?

Perfectly understandable. Let me propose my interpretation: it’s not so much that Baker desires to become the hawk. He does have flight envy and he does have this aerial envy. He wants to fly and —

So do I. I’ve wanted to fly all my life.

— and unfortunately, the only way he can do it is in prose. There are moments in this book where he is soaring as high as any writer can soar in sentences, in the way he’s writing, and in the ecstatic passion that transports him. And therefore, as a writer, he does become like a hawk.

The raptor has another myth associated with it, which goes back to the Greek myth of Ganymede — the young boy, the most beautiful of all mortals whose father was Tros, after whom Troy was named. On Mount Ida, Zeus takes the form of an eagle and seizes him, captures him, “rapes” him in a sense, of rapture, bearing him up into the heavens. He becomes the cup-bearer of the gods and he becomes immortal. There are moments in The Peregrine where one has a sense that Baker is just waiting to be rapt or enraptured by the hawk.

That’s fantastic. Via his own writing and via his own life watching the birds.

Let me see if I can find the passage. On page 154–155:

After two minutes of uneasy glaring, he [the peregrine] flew straight at me as though intending to attack. He swept up into the wind before he reached me, and hovered twenty feet above my head, looking down. I felt as a mouse must feel, crouching unconcealed in shallow grass, cringing and hoping. The hawk’s keen-bladed face seemed horribly close. The glazed inhuman eyes �� so foreign and remote […] I could not look away from the crushing light of those eyes, from the impaling horn of that curved bill. Many birds are snared in the tightening loop of his gaze. They turn their heads toward him as they die.

The fantasy is to be borne up into the sky like Ganymede. To call it a Ganymede complex would trivialize everything, but he wants to leave the earth and he can’t leave the earth.

At the same time, he is very warm-hearted, almost humorous. A couple of times he describes wrens. They really touch his heart very deeply: “The flat land was booming void where nothing lived. Under the wind, a wren, in sunlight among fallen leaves in a dry ditch seemed suddenly divine, like a small brown priest in a parish of dead leaves and wintry hedges, devoted till death.” I mean, it can’t get any better. Or he writes another time about a wren: “Turning through a hedge-gap, I surprised a wren. It trembled on its perch in an agony of hesitation, not knowing whether to fly or not, its mind in a stutter, splitting up with fear. I went quickly past, and it relaxed, and sang.” It’s just wonderful.

The elements are very present in this book. There’s the earth, water, air, obviously, and then the circle of fire. Fire is not technically an element, but the sun really represents that fiery element. He speaks of the falcon in terms of fire. He speaks of the heart of fire that it has. He sees it flying, he calls it a burning brand. And yet he is earthbound.

I think he’s not reconciled with the world …

No, he’s not reconciled.

He’s not reconciled with human beings, and he’s not reconciled with creation. Absolutely not. I share this kind of anger against the mess out there. When you look at it, there’s no glorious harmony of the spheres. It’s a stupid concept that still pops up in Walt Disney sorts of movies sometimes.

You read the passage on the wren. With your permission, I’ll read one about the mouse. I think those of you who read the book will have noticed that Baker takes the perspective of a bird’s-eye view. He describes a valley, estuary, sea. It’s from great distances. But all this changes when he’s speaking about a little mouse that is an earthbound creature. I’m reading from page 45. Let me read the whole paragraph:

At the side of the lane to the ford, I found a long-tailed field mouse feeding on a slope of grass. He was eating the grass seeds, holding the blade securely between his skinny white front paws. So small, blown over by the breath of passing cars, felted with a soft moss of green-brown fur; yet his back was hard and solid to the touch. His long, delicate ears were like hands unfolding; his huge, night-seeing eyes were opaque and dark. He was unaware of my touch, of my face a foot above him, as he bend the tree-top grasses down to his nibbling teeth. I was like a galaxy to him, too big to be seen. I could have picked him up but it seemed wrong to separate him now from the surface he would never leave until he died. I gave him an acorn. He carried it up the slope in his mouth, stopped and turned it round against his teeth, flicked it round with his hands, like a potter spinning. His life is eating to live, to catch up, to keep up; never getting ahead, moving always in the narrow way between a death and a death; between stoats and weasels, foxes and owls by night; between cars and kestrels and herons by day.

This is the fate of those who are earthbound. It’s also the fate of Baker himself. He can get that close to the mouse because they share, at least, this earthboundedness. And we know that Baker was in the grip of a very serious illness when he was out there, recording these things that he was seeing. Perhaps there was some kind of promise of transcendence if you could somehow take to the sky and free yourself from living “between a death and a death” on earth.

I think that pervades the whole book. It is not just observations of natural creatures out there, it’s much more.

I traveled on foot to Paris in snowstorms, in rainstorms. You see so many mice. It’s astonishing how many mice there are. In Of Walking in Ice, I write, “Friendship is possible with mice.” It’s very strange. They have something which has a very strong allure to those who are the solitary wanderers out there.

Baker writes that creatures, even when they’re dying in agony, will do anything desperately to get away if a human being approaches them. Their fear and phobia of humans is such that you can never get near them. And yet Baker can actually stroke this mouse.

We have a question from Mark, in the audience: “Part three of The Peregrine begins, ‘Wherever he goes this winter, I will follow him [the peregrine]. I will share the fear, and the exaltation, and the boredom, of the hunting life.’ Do you feel this way as a documentary filmmaker, that you are on a quest without knowing where it will lead you? Or do you have a clearer idea of what you’ll find when you begin?”

That’s a deep question because I do have a focus and I do know basically what I’m out for. Of course, there are surprises en route. I follow the surprises and I follow my instincts. It’s a little bit like hunting. But in documentaries, you should not underestimate the amount of casting that I do. I’m speaking of casting the same way you cast a feature film with actors. And I look around, [and I think] “Who could be really good for introducing me to this or that phenomenon?” Casting somehow narrows the possibilities, of course, but it intensifies the possibilities at the same time. So, yes, it’s wonderful where you are ending up. One signal that I know what I’m doing is that I end up with very little footage.

Yes. For those who have devoted decades of their lives to a kind of scientific study of a bird or some other aspect of nature, and go through the labor and careful analysis to get the facts correct, that’s also a form of devotion. It’s not poetry, but it is a love that takes a different form.

That’s what scientists do. That’s the charm of what they do. Sometimes it takes them to discoveries that decide the shape of our civilization — the tools that we use, the inventions or the insights that they have. We change because of these lonesome insights. That’s the beauty of it. It transforms society, it transforms how we behave as human beings. Our humaneness suddenly changes because we are using cell phones, the internet, Facebook. The idea of self, which is shifting and changing, and the ambiguity of human exchange suddenly becomes so clearly visible.

Legendary film director Werner Herzog discusses J.A. Baker’s book The Peregrine with Robert Pogue Harrison, a Stanford professor of Italian literature, at the Feb. 2 Another Look book club event.

May I ask about some of the other books that you ask your students at the Rogue Film School to read?

Yes. I brought with me the Poetic Edda, but I also, for example, have a very, very fine book by Bernal Díaz del Castillo, The Conquest of New Spain. He was a 19-year-old footman of the conquistador Cortés. Late in his life, he wrote a very, very, very detailed account — much better than any other source at that time. It is a phenomenal book.

I would also recommend you all read the Warren Commission Report on the Assassination of Kennedy. Everybody puts it down, yet nobody has read it. It’s a wonderful, incredible crime story. And it has a logical conclusiveness that is staggering. It’s a truly wonderful, wonderful piece of reading.

Back to the Poetic Edda. I am somebody who has held the Codex Regius in my hands twice in my life already — a little crumpled parchment text which is a little like the Dead Sea Scrolls for Israel. This is a book for Iceland. It goes into the mythological life and description of the creation of the world. It’s very, very strong. I tell people who make documentaries: go read the Edda, read the depth of the myths that can suddenly come out of very simple things that you do not notice — unless you have a sensory organ for the mythological. Here’s Völuspá Edda, the creation of the world:

In earliest times     did Ymir live: was not sea, nor land    nor salty waves, neither Earth was there     nor upper heaven, but a gaping nothing,    and in green things nowhere.

Was the land then lifted aloft     by Bur’s sons who made Mithgarth,    the matchless earth; shown from the south    the sun on dry land, on the ground then grew    The greensward soft.

The “matchless earth” is just very, very beautiful. A few stanzas later in the text — the creation of dwarfs. And all of a sudden, the text about the creation of the world rattles down to 84 names of dwarfs. Idiot scholars believe that it is an interpolation of later times, which probably it was. It doesn’t matter. It is an integral part of the Codex Regius. It’s just really, really beautiful. I’ll read a little bit into it, if I don’t bore you with names of dwarfs:

Then gathered together     the gods for counsel, the holy hosts,     and held converse: who the deep-dwelling     dwarfs was to make of Brimir’s blood      and Bláin’s bones.

Mótsognir rose,      mightiest ruler of the kin of dwarfs,      but Durin next; molded many manlike      bodies the dwarfs under earth,      as Durin bade them.

Nýi and Nithi,     Northri and Suthri, Austri and Vestri,     Althjóf, Dvalin, Nár and Náin,     Níping, Dáin, Bifur, Bofur,     Bombur, Nóri, Án and Onar,     Ái, Mjóthvitnir.

Veig and Gandálf,     Vindálf, Thráin, Thekk and Thorin,    Thrór, Vit, and Lit, Nár and Regin,     Nýráth and Ráthsvith; now is reckoned     the roster of dwarfs.

Those are only the first 40. And you see this kind of love for these things is … I cannot describe it. These things have not changed the course of my life, but they have made it better.

I’ve never made a pilgrimage to a filmmaker, but I did make a pilgrimage to Salt Lake City, to the University of Utah. One of the texts, which is not on my list, is one of the greatest books — one of the most intense and beautiful texts. The Florentine Codex, a collection by monks who accompanied the next wave, the next generation of Conquistadors. They collected voices from Aztecs about child rearing, about botanic knowledge, about military things, about history, about religion, about human sacrifice, and so on.

The text is so stunning because the Aztecs, in the shock of the conquest and utter destruction, tried to regain their speech. They try to describe simple things. “A cave is a place of darkness. It is full of fear. It is dark, yes, very dark. And fear looms there and do we dare to enter because the cave is big and it is dark” — and it continues like this. Somehow trying to grasp the world by newly trying to name it — just name it. The translation was done by some scholars of the University of Utah, because the Mormons believe that the Aztecs were one of the lost tribes of Israel. So they have the probably the best pre-Colombian studies in the world. Two professors translated the text, which is Nahuatl, with Spanish translation in parallel text, in the Codex Florentino. They translated it into English. Over 25 years, they released bit by bit by bit in scholarly editions. Now you can buy it. It’s a book which unfortunately has very few copies. I think I had to pay $1,200 or so for 12 or 14 volumes. The translation has such a power of language. It’s like the Old Testament in the King James Bible translations. Something which happens only once in a few centuries. And it was translated by two wonderful scholars, Professor [Arthur] Anderson and Professor [Charles] Dibble.

Anderson had died. I learned that Professor Dibble was still alive, professor emeritus at the University of Utah. And so I went to Salt Lake. I asked him if I could see him and I made a little pilgrimage to him. He was completely astonished that a filmmaker would come and visit him. Nobody had ever visited him. And he had no real help. I cooked tea for him. He didn’t know how to ignite his gas stove anymore. So he was really a great, wonderful, tragic man who made an incredible achievement in language. And for him, I made a pilgrimage. I visited him. I would never do that for a filmmaker.

So, Werner, to conclude, you’re persuaded that you’ll be remembered more for your books and your films.

Not remembered. I don’t care about being remembered. No, no, no, I mean something different. They will outlive the films, whether anybody cares who the person was, or what my name was. You cannot become completely anonymous in our time, in our century.

Good. But there is another book that maybe you could read from, Conquest of the Useless: Reflections from the Making of Fitzcarraldo.

It was written during the time when I filmed Fitzcarraldo, and of course there were lots of catastrophes. Whenever I had a moment, I would write, and my handwriting shrank to miniature size — I mean, microscopic. It has this kind of strange prose in it, which just comes at me here. I’ll read something from the prologue:

A vision had seized hold of me, like the demented fury of a hound that has sunk its teeth into the leg of a deer carcass and is shaking and tugging at the downed game so frantically that the hunter gives up trying to calm him. It was the vision of a large steamship scaling a hill under its own steam, working its way up a steep slope in the jungle, while above this natural landscape, which shatters the weak and the strong with equal ferocity, soars the voice of Caruso, silencing all the pain and all the voices of the primeval forest and drowning out all birdsong. To be more precise, bird cries, for in this setting, left unfinished and abandoned by God in wrath, the birds do not sing; they shriek in pain, and confused trees tangle with one another like battling Titans, from horizon to horizon, in a steaming creation still being formed. Fog-panting and exhausted they stand in this unreal world, in unreal misery — and I, like a stanza in a a poem written in an unknown foreign tongue, am shaken to the core.

This kind of stuff calms you when you’re battling in the forest. Others would seek consolation or refuge in drugs or in alcohol or in religion or whatever. My last resort is language. It’s a last resort. And it is boiling inside of me and I sometimes, like a tune that you cannot get out of your head for weeks and weeks, words and things are spinning in my head. It was very strange because I later returned to the site where I moved the shape of the mountain, and there was hardly anything that you could see, no trace is left. I noticed the hostility among people in a native village, which I had not really noticed before but it was evidently there. I describe it:

It was midday and very still.

I looked around, because everything was so motionless. I recognized the jungle as something familiar, something I had inside me, and I knew that I loved it: yet against my better judgment. Then words came back to me that had been circling, swirling inside me through all those years: Hearken, heifer, hoarfrost. Denizens of the crag, will-o’-the wisp, hogwash. Uncouth, flotsam, fiend. Only now did it seem as though I could escape from the vortex of words.

Something struck me, a change that actually was no change at all. I had simply not noticed it when I was working there. There had been an odd tension hovering over the huts, a brooding hostility. The native families hardly had any contact with each other, as if a feud reined among them. But I had always overlooked that somehow, or denied it. Only the children had played together. Now, as I made my way past the huts and asked for directions, it was hardly possible to get one family to acknowledge another. The seething hatred was undeniable, as if something like a climate of vengeance prevailed, from hut to hut, from family to family, from clan to can.

I looked around, and there was the jungle, manifesting the same seething hatred, wrathful and steaming, while the river flowed by in majestic indifference and scornful condescension, ignoring everything: the plight of man, the burden of dreams, and the torments of time.

So that’s how I see nature.

¤

Robert Pogue Harrison is the Rosina Pierotti Professor of Italian Literature at Stanford University. He is the author of several books, among them Forests: The Shadow of Civilization (1992), The Dominion of the Dead (2003), and Juvenescence: A Cultural History of Our Age (2014).

  https://ift.tt/39riVwF via Los Angeles Review of Books December 30, 2019 at 10:35PM

[black-strike-otp]

part 12

Anyone who still remains after part 11: you’re a real trooper buddy <3

The Exodus of Cybertron, it was later called. Cybertron needed time to heal. Resources dwindling, the planet scarred- they had to leave for the good of their world. And Megatron, the blood-thirsty tyrant he was with his spark twisted on revenge for his former friend, surged forward into the darkness after Optimus Prime, vowing for his spark.

Little to no one remained on the desolate wasteland once called home.

Ships were scattered across the cosmos as the space bridge was corrupted. The Ark and Nemesis played a game of cat and mouse; the big competitors in space, fighting for dominance.

Factionless rogues tried to stay in contact with rogues, and aid each other when they come into contact. The Rising Star met up from time to time with other ships. Goods were exchanged, conversation offered. Sometimes hosts were less polite than others, but everyone knew better than to pick a fight.

It was lonely. Isolated in space. You could have your friends, your family, but you still felt empty. Homesick. An ache in your tanks more than hunger alone.

~Years Later~

Location: Unknown

:: Decepticon General Blackout, you’re going to be out of range of comm systems after another an estimated 3.68 kils. ::

:: Understood. Have Lord Megatron informed that as promised, I will return with a debriefing of the location. ::

:: Certainly, sir. ::

The line went dead shortly after. Blackout’s alt-mode glided through the vast cold emptiness of space. He saw nothing but dead and dying stars twinkling in every direction, as far as his scanners could pick up.

He checked his star maps a few dozen times. Within himself, he could feel a restless Scorponok; whose thoughts continued to pester his own.

< Recharge, Scorponok. We have a lengthy trip ahead of us.>

The bug didn’t seem very pleased to hear the news. It was certainly going to be a long trip; the poor bug was going to be desperate to get out and stretch his limbs by the time they got there.

~

Location: Just outside of atmospheric pressure and the gravitational pull of planet V 255835 section QBI 832759

:: This is Journey, requesting permission to dock. ::

:: Permission granted. Welcome aboard, crew of Journey. ::

“Its been some time before we’ve had visitors,” Novastrike stated excitedly, practically bouncing just outside of the transport bay. There was a delightful gleam in her optics as she danced in place; servos jabbing in the air.

A rather unimpressed Neutroboost glanced down at Novastrike with narrowed optics. “Settle yourself femme, you’re going to startle them away.”

“At ease, Booster,” Guard commented tiredly. He looked much older than they had on Cybertron. It seemed age was finally catching up to him. “We’re all a little excited at the prospect of making a few new acquaintances and trading partners.”

Neutroboost grumbled at the scolding, glancing away. The seeker used to be so docile and calm, but since Crookedwing’s tragic death amidst the escape from Cybertron, he never could seem to find his own inner peace. What once was a collective, thoughtful, considerate mech was now constantly at war within himself.

Nova pitied him, but he refused to let anyone close to him anymore. Save for, perhaps, Guard.

The giant twin doors finally opened as the docking was secured, locked, and the two vessels had adjusted their pressure conditions to equalize each other out. A team of mechs stood in their own connected ship, awkwardly staring back.

“Greetings, friends,” Guard greeted warmly, placing a servo to his chassis and bowing with respect.

“And to you,” one of the mech’s aboard Journey stated awkwardly.

Groups began to slowly enter each other’s ships and intermingle. Novastrike; hardly spotted beneath all the larger bots conversating, stared up at the newcomers in awe. Most seemed to act shy; socially awkward, actually, she studied from their actions. She slipped further into the Journey and observed their expressions and reactions as they fidgeted and spoke.

She spotted what she could make up to be someone of importance upon the Journey. He was speaking with Guard; nodding as they spoke. His expression showed interest, but anxiety, and he wore a set of strange googles upon his head.

Something moved at his heels, and Novastrike almost squealed as she jogged over.

“Hi there!” she chirped, having spotted the minicon hiding behind the Journey mech’s legs.

The mech immediately looked down at her, perplexed.

“Novastrike,” Guard snapped, offering a disapproving stare.

“It’s- quite alright,” the newcomer stated, though his tone seemed unsure. “He’s just a touch shy at first, that’s all.”

The mech stepped aside slightly, revealing the curled up ball that had been trying to hide behind him. The creature’s shiny gunmetal gray armor shifted in the light. Beneath his form was red, and Nova realized as he moved to stand up and shrink away, that it was his appendages that were red.

“Ooohh my goodness! Are you a descendant of Predacons? Look at how small you are oh, wow!”

The tiny dragon gave a small chirp, lowering its head and wriggly uncomfortably in place beneath Novastrike’s excited gaze.

“He’s no predacon, that I can assure you,” the mech stated firmly.

“He’s glorious,” Nova whispered in awe. “Is he friendly? Can he speak? Can I touch him?”

“He doesn’t normally speak,” the mech stated, nervously wringing his servos in front of his chassis. “And I would ask him, little femme- he’s intelligent, he’ll understand your questions himself.”

Placing her servos respectfully behind her back, Novastrike stood straighter and looked- or tried to look- the red ruby eyed dragon in the optics. “Hello there! You look absolutely amazing. Would it be alright if I just- touched you? I’ll be quick I swear you just- you look so unreal! I mean, I’ve seen a mech once that was a dragon, and he could talk, but he was bigger than you and I never got the chance to touch him and see if he was real or if I was just going crazy.”

“-crazy,” the dragon echoed back in Novastrike’s tone.

“Oh my gosh, you can parrot bots! That’s so cool. What else can you do?” She asked, sitting on the ground.

The dragon looked up at his master, but it seemed the mech had no aid to offer. He went back to speaking with Guard; although, kept glancing back at his dragon anxiously.

“What... can you do?” the dragon repeated.

“Well...” Novastrike brought up her servo, using her digits to help count as she spoke. “I can transform into a cyber-cat, obviously that means I can jump high and hear crazy things far away- like further than everyone in this room. Except maybe you, maybe you can do that too? I can uh... you know, speak, read, write. Sometimes I sing, but alone you know- I don’t think I’m that great. I can shoot guns pretty good but I only use stun rounds, I don’t like hurting bots. Umm...”

She tapped a digit against her helm thoughtfully, trying to find new things to explain. As she did so, the dragon inched closer, reaching out with his muzzle to sniffle at her armor.

“Wooooaaahhh,” Novastrike gasped in awe. She reached out with her servos, retreated, and reached out again.

The dragon bumped her servos gently with his helm with approval.

“Ooohh my gosh you are so delightful, just look at you! Look at how good looking you are,” Nova cooed, patting her servos over the dragon.

He gave a tiny little wiggle at first, like he was confused on how to react. Novastrike patted his sides and his back and his rump moved around like an over-excited dog.

“So cool,” Nova stated, breathless.

“What is-... your name?” the dragon inquired through recordings, lashing his tail around. One of his horns moved slightly; tilting a little to the side questioningly.

Giggling softly as she rubbed the dragon’s armor, she responded: “Novastrike.”

“-Novastrike.” the dragon repeated. “I am- ... Fireline.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Fireline,” Novastrike gushed, offering a doofy grin.

The dragon gave a small flick of his tail, showing his sharp teeth in a grin of his own; although, his seemed a touch more strained and unsure. “-nice to meet you” he mimicked, causing another fit of giggles from Nova. She halfway fell to the floor, and Fireline turned around, snuffling his snout into her side curiously so that she squealed; laughing loudly.

“AhhhHH! Stop you’re- you’re tickling me,” she snickered, trying to shove the dragon’s helm away. He chirped, snuffling into her side more and causing another fit of laughter, to which most of those in the room turned to stare at, optics softening at the sight of the pair messing around. It was pretty rare to hear that sort of unfiltered, joyous laughter floating around.

~

Location: 1200 kleps from planet V 255835 section QBI 832759

< We’re almost there, Scorponok. Shouldn’t be but another 153 jours. You can see it pretty clearly from here. >

Scorponok took advantage of the bond to stare at the location from Blackout’s perspective vision. He didn’t seem impressed with the spherical solid mass of a planet. It seemed reddish-brown in color, with a thin cloud overlay here and there, and small patches of a greenish-blue plant life with almost purplish colored water.

< Looks inviting. > Scorponok stated unhappily

< What’s that matter? No longer want to throw yourself in some dirt and bury around for the next few days? Maybe tearing up some Autobots, causing trouble. At the very least, causing me trouble when I try to get you to dock again or Primus forbid, clean you... >

That instantly changed the bug’s mood.

< Hurry up, you rusty old flier. >

Blackout chuckled. < That’s the spirit. >

~

Location: Just outside of atmospheric pressure and the gravitational pull of planet V 255835 section QBI 832759

“It was really a pleasure meeting with your crew, Guard,” the mech from the Journey stated, shaking his servo. “We appreciate your hospitality. I’m sorry that we don’t really have the resources to help your crew out further.”

“It’s fine,” Guard murmured tiredly, offering a small smile. “Not many are willing to part with their energon, that we understand. It’s the parts we lack for in repairing our vessel that causes the most issues though. Ever since the Exodus, we haven’t had any operational on board defensive system, among the other issues I told you about...”

The mech from Journey offered a sympathetic servo to Guard’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If there’s anything else we can offer, we’ll do our best. Should we come across something useful for you, we’ll try to contact you.”

“And us, you.”

The mech chuckled. “Of course,” he agreed. “And are you sure it’s alright for us to leave you those seven mechs for four of yours? I’d feel terrible straining your ship anymore than necessary...”

“Nothing we can’t handle, and they’ll get used to the rations and way we run things. After all, they’ve been mostly settling around these past few cycles anyway,” Guard stated politely.

“Well, this is farwell, for now,” the mech stated with a nod. He turned to look around with some concern. After a moment, he spotted what he was looking for: a dragonic Cybertronian gnawing on a cyber-cat, over in the corner. They were half flopping over one another.

“Fireline,” the mech stated. “We’re leaving now. We’ll be seeing the crew of the Rising Star again, but it’s time to go.”

Fireline poked his helm up from the interweaved limbs to look over to the mech. His tail swished slightly, and he looked down at Novastrike as he pulled himself free from their tangle.

“Farewell-... friend,” Fireline stated through his recordings.

Roughly shaking her helm, Novastrike stood up and bumped her helm against the dragon’s chassis. “Goodbye,” she said softly. “I’ll miss you, Fireline.”

Fireline gave a soft chirp, lying his helm temporarily on top of Novastrike’s. He pulled away, wiggling his bum a little. With a leap and a bound, he turned towards the mech that called for him and glided across the floor; wings snapping open. He landed effortlessly just inside the Journey’s docking chamber.

“I’ll miss you toooo,” the dragon hissed in a voice Novastrike had never heard. There was a mischievous glint in his optics, and Nova’s own pair widened slightly and as she placed her servos on either side of her face.

“Ooohh nooo, that little monster!” she hissed. “He can speak after all!”

A rather confused looking Guard glanced down at Novastrike as he exited the small docking bay and shut the doors so that they could finish the undocking process. “What was that?”

Offering a cheeky grin, Novastrike gave a little shrug. “Oh, nothing important,” she snickered, walking away.

~

Location: 358 kleps from planet V 255835 section QBI 832759

< Only another 46.3 jours left, Scorp. >

< Wake me when we get there, > the bug stated in the most ‘I’m fragging dying of boredom’ voice that could be.

That’s odd, Blackout thought. He could almost swear he saw a glint of metal for a moment heading on planet; the light from the sun momentarily bouncing over its form before it descended into the cloud cover.

Maybe the rumors were true, after all.

~

Location: Planet V 255835 section QBI 832759, surface

“You think they missed us?” Novastrike asked as the Rising Star made its final approach to the planet’s surface.

Guard gave a hearty laugh, waving his servo to the observation deck’s viewing window. “I don’t know, Novastrike, why don’t you look and see for yourself.”

The small femme jumped up to see what it was Guard was laughing about. A smile flashed across her features as she looked at the dirtball of a planet they were settling on, her optics wide.

“Woah,” she breathed out slowly. “That’s a lot of Knoech’ols.”

[alicemccombs]

I Ching for the Day

61 Chung Fu / Inner Truth Changing to 23 Po / Splitting Apart 

April 18, 2019 Sunrise Waxing Moon Question: What does Earth need most to be healed at this time? 61 Chung Fu / Inner Truth Changing to 23 Po / Splitting Apart Cast Hexagram

61 Chung Fu / Inner Truth https://ichingfortune.com/hexagrams/61.php Above Sun the Gentle, Wind Below Tui the Joyous, Lake Introduction The wind blows over the lake and stirs the surface of the water. Thus visible effects of the invisible manifest themselves. The hexagram consists of firm lines above and below, while it is open in the center. This indicates a heart free of prejudices and therefore open to truth. On the other hand, each of the two trigrams has a firm line in the middle; this indicates the force of inner truth in the influences they present. The attributes of the two trigrams are: above, gentleness, forbearance toward inferiors; below, joyousness in obeying superiors. Such conditions create the basis of a mutual confidence that makes achievements possible. The character of fu ('truth') is actually the picture of a bird's foot over a fledgling. It suggests the idea of brooding. An egg is hollow. The light-giving power must work to quicken it from outside, but there must be a germ of life within, if life is to be awakened. Far-reaching speculations can be linked with these ideas. Judgement Inner Truth. Pigs and fishes. Good fortune. It furthers one to cross the great water. Perseverance furthers. Judgement Commentary Pigs and fishes are the least intelligent of all animals and therefore the most difficult to influence. The force of inner truth must grow great indeed before its influence can extend to such creatures. In dealing with persons as intractable and as difficult to influence as a pig or a fish, the whole secret of success depends on finding the right way of approach. One must first rid oneself of all prejudice and, so to speak, let the psyche of the other person act on one without restraint. Then one will establish contact with him, understand and gain power over him. When a door has thus been opened, the force of one's personality will influence him. If in this way one finds no obstacles insurmountable, one can undertake even the most dangerous things, such as crossing the great water, and succeed. But it is important to understand upon what the force inner truth depends. This force is not identical with simple intimacy or a secret bond. Close ties may exist also among thieves; it is true that such a bond acts as a force but, since it is not invincible, it does not bring good fortune. All association on the basis of common interests holds only up to a certain point. Where the community of interest ceases, the holding together ceases also, and the closest friendship often changes into hate. Only when the bond is based on what is right, on steadfastness, will it remain so firm that it triumphs over everything. The Image Wind over lake: the image of Inner Truth. Thus the superior man discusses criminal cases in order to delay executions. Image Commentary Wind stirs water by penetrating it. Thus the superior man, when obliged to judge the mistakes of men, tries to penetrate their minds with understanding, in order to gain a sympathetic appreciation of the circumstances. In ancient China, the entire administration of justice was guided by this principle. A deep understanding that knows how to pardon was considered the highest form of justice. This system was not without success, for its aim was to make so strong a moral impression that there was no reason to fear abuse of such mildness. For it sprang not from weakness but from a superior clarity. Changing Lines (1, 2, 5) Nine at the beginning means: Being prepared brings good fortune. If there are secret designs, it is disquieting. The force of inner truth depends chiefly on inner stability and preparedness. From this state of mind springs the correct attitude toward the outer world. But if a man should try to cultivate secret relationships of a special sort, it would deprive him of his inner independence. The more reliance he places on the support of others, the more uneasy and anxious he will become as to whether these secret ties are really tenable. In this way inner peace and the force of inner truth are lost. Nine in the second place means: A crane calling in the shade, its young answers it. I have a good goblet. I will share it with you. This refers to the involuntary influence of a man's inner being upon persons of kindred spirit. The crane need not show itself on a high hill. It may be quite hidden when it sounds its call; yet its young will hear its not, will recognize it and give answer. Where there is a joyous mood, there a comrade will appear to share a glass of wine. This is the echo awakened in men through spiritual attraction. Whenever a feeling is voiced with truth and frankness, whenever a deed is the clear expression of sentiment, a mysterious and far-reaching influence is exerted. At first it acts on those who are inwardly receptive. But the circle grows larger and larger. The root of all influence lies in one's own inner being: given true and vigorous expression in word and deed, its effect is great. The effect is but the reflection of something that emanates from one's own heart. Any deliberate intention of an effect would only destroy the possibility of producing it. Confucius says about this line: The superior man abides in his room. If his words are well spoken, he meets with assent at a distance of more than a thousand miles. How much more then from near by! If the superior man abides in his room and his words are not well spoken, he meets with contradiction at a distance of more than a thousand miles. How much more then from near by! Words go forth from one's own person and exert their influence on men. Deeds are born close at hand and become visible far away. Words and deeds are the hinge and bowspring of the superior man. As hinge and bowspring move, they bring honor or disgrace. Through words and deeds the superior man moves heaven and earth . Must one not, then, be cautious? Nine in the fifth place means: He possesses truth, which links together. No blame. This describes the ruler who holds all elements together by the power of his personality. Only when the strength of his character is so ample that he can influence all who are subject to him, is he as he needs to be. The power of suggestion must emanate from the ruler. It will firmly knit together and unite all his adherents. Without this central force, all external unity is only deception and breaks down at the decisive moment. Transformed Hexagram 23 Po / Splitting Apart https://ichingfortune.com/hexagrams/23.php Above Ken Keeping Still, Mountain Below K'un the Receptive, Earth Introduction The dark lines are about to mount upward and overthrow the last firm, light line by exerting a disintegrating influence on it. The inferior, dark forces overcome what is superior and strong, not by direct means, but by undermining it gradually and imperceptibly, so that it finally collapses. The lines of the hexagram present the image of a house, the top line being the roof, and because the roof is being shattered the house collapses. The hexagram belongs to the ninth month (October-November). The yin power pushes up ever more powerfully and is about to supplant the yang power altogether. Judgement Splitting Apart. It does not further one to go anywhere. Judgement Commentary This pictures a time when inferior people are pushing forward and are about to crowd out the few remaining strong and superior men. Under these circumstances, which are due to the time, it is not favorable for the superior man to undertake anything. The right behavior in such adverse times is to be deduced from the images and their attributes. The lower trigram stands for the earth, whose attributes. The lower trigram stands for the earth, whose attributes are docility and devotion. The upper trigram stands for the mountain, whose attribute is stillness. This suggests that one should submit to the bad time and remain quiet. For it is a question not of man's doing but of time conditions, which, according to the laws of heaven, show an alternation of increase and decrease, fullness and emptiness. It is impossible to counteract these conditions of the time. Hence it is not cowardice but wisdom to submit and avoid action. The Image The mountain rests on the earth: The image of Splitting Apart. Thus those above can ensure their position only by giving generously to those below. Image Commentary The mountain rests on the earth. When it is steep and narrow, lacking a broad base, it must topple over. Its position is strong only when it rises out of the earth broad and great, not proud and steep. So likewise those who rule rest on the broad foundation of the people. They too should be generous and benevolent, like the earth that carries all. Then they will make their position as secure as a mountain is in its tranquility.

#HealEarth https://thehealearthproject.blogspot.com/2018/12/welcome-about-healearth-project.html If you would like to participate in The #HealEarth Project, please send an email to: goodsimplesites@gmail.com

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Part two

the cows would be to his mood. That morning he had been particularly tense and on edge. He hadn’t wanted to fail, but in being as wound up as he’d been, he had set himself up for failure anyway. He was eight years old, and The cows had been so very large. People who did not work with the animals could not appreciate this in full without having seen them in person, and until that moment when he had faced them on his own, he had not truly accounted for it either. Their size had not been something he’d expected to bother him as badly at first. He had known they would be quite large; they had seemed even larger and more foreboding after he’d been told he would be learning to watch over them as part of his responsibilities to the household. However, Hed devoted his time to prepare himself for the task while the memsahib, the lady of the house, had called upon other English homes accompanied by a lady servant and her young daughter. He’d been allowed to practice on smaller animals like sheep and watch the other servants herd the animals into gated pastures. The shepherds had worked with the efficient grace of men well experienced in maintaining control of herds even larger than the seven his employers had owned. Watching them, he had envied their grace. His attempts to mimic their motions had been laughable at best. He had felt quite the fool for even attempting it. When the day had arrived, he had been grateful to learn he would be watched by an experienced servant who served under a lady friend of the madam. He'd been significantly less thankful to learn the man wouldn’t be assisting him. Instead, the goat’s role was to act as a judge for his on the job performance. Still, he was not be deterred. When they'd separated from their employers, he’d forced a smile and greeted the man who’s species was, given the shape of his horns and unique eye shape, what he assumed to be something from the Caprine family. He was most likely a type of goat. His greeting had either gone unnoticed or had been ignored. He’d had to work to keep the smile on his face and pretend this lack of respect meant nothing to him. It took more effort than it probably should have. He was a servant with a physical handicap. He was very familiar with the derision of others. Still, the rudeness towards him had been unwarranted. Common courtesy demanded that If he greeted someone of his rank, they were obligated to say something in return. Receiving no reply at all made him feel slighted. There were few things that he hated more than Someone internally attempting to make him feel smaller than he already was. He didn't want or need a parade; he wasn't an infant. He signed sending a glare at the back of the man’s head before wiping his face free of all negative emotion. He should have known it would be too much to ask for cordiality. Not even on such an important day. He just wanted a simple acknowledgment. It hurt to be ignored, especially by a fellow servant. The goat didn't outrank him by that much. Once he'd grown of age, they would nearly be social equals. Hed only spoke once, and that was to ask where the cows were held. He’d dutifully led the older man from that point on. “I assume you know how to direct the cows through the gate?” The man asked him once they had reached their destination. The tone was slow and bored. The older servant had thought this to be a waste of his time. “Yes sir” He didn't. Not really. However, he'd wanted to prove himself. It was unwise, but the other man’s attitude had made him forget himself. It had made him willing to go forward despite his worries and doubts about his own success. The man had nodded and had directed him to get to work as he released the cows. This had been a mistake. His earlier training had not been enough to truly prepare his child self from the panic stirring sight of the behooved giants coming straight for him. His time among them would later show him they were incredibly perceptive to the moods of their handlers, and looking back on that moment he knew his younger self must have stunk of fear. Upon taking one whiff of him, their response had been to do whatever they had wanted and contented themselves with defying him at every turn. People didn’t often talk about how rebellious cows were as a species. The image of gentle doe-eyed mothers innocently chewing grass with a calf prancing around her on joyous but ungainly legs populated the minds of the general public. That day hed learned the image was little more than an idealistic bold-faced lie. The species he had faced that day could not have been described as docile or motherly by any stretch of the imagination. Instead, he had faced wailing four-legged creatures of destruction and chaos. Somehow, In what he still considered an act of both extraordinary bravery and exceptional stupidity he had not turned tail and fled. Instead, he’d tried running off after them, ignoring the pain of using his bad paw to focus on trying desperately to shove the powerfully built animals into the coral that had been built for their use. They’d had not come quietly. They had made it understood in no uncertain terms that they’d had no intentions of surrendering to the scrawny tiger whelp that fate and circumstance had thrown into their path. Sadly, pushing and shoving at them with all the strength hed possessed had done little good. It had been like pushing against an angry and rebellious wall while also shoving his bad hand inside an angry hornet's nest. He may have been born with a bad paw, but he was small and quick and good on his feet. He had done well to avoid the many legs that kicked at and horns that thrust out at him that day, but when one of the cows stepped on his paw, the pain had driven him to his knees. Frustrated tears had run down his furry face as he watched the fence collapsed after all the abuse it had suffered. Hed tried angrily swiping the tears away from his face, but much like the cows, they had continued unimpeded by his desires. He had tried to get up again, hurt, but not yet beaten. Then he’d seen the man who had acted as judge and everything seemed to stop. The disaster had made him forget anyone had even been watching him and seeing someone; anyone nearby had been so jarring he had frozen in place, mind suddenly dead silent. Then the realization struck. This man had watched the fiasco from start to finish and had never once offered help. He had been content to watch him get injure and make an arse of himself. The shock of fury that seized him at that moment had been so strong his claws retracted on their own accord. He had wanted to hurt him. To show the man that he would not accept being made to look foolishly by anyone. Then he’d realized the likelihood of such a plan having any positive impacts on himself, and he had retracted them once more. Though anger had seethed at the man for not stepping in to help him, it had fizzled out quickly under the man’s gaze. The older man hadn’t said a thing to him, only stared down at his fallen form with a dismissive sniff as if to say ‘is that all you've got in you boy?’.The sting the dismissal brought to his pride brought out a fresh round of tears, and he covered his face willing himself with everything he was to stop crying. Objectively he had lived through moments that had made him feel worse about himself and his worth before this incident, but at that moment he would not have been able to recall the details. In that gaze, he was nothing, and it made him feel like nothing. By the time that he'd regained control of himself, the adult had then begun to gather up the cows. They hadn’t fallen in line immediately. Lungri’s pride had tried to grasp hold of what it could to save itself from dying a painful death. He strived to convince himself that there was something special about this particular group of cows that had made them impossible for him to maintain control of them, but his mind was too clever to fall for such a feeble attempt at self-deception. They wouldn’t have been so difficult to collect if he hadn't riled them up in the first place. Wanting to do something useful, he had limped to the servants quarters to fetch someone to fix the fence. Fortunately, the foot that had been stepped on hadn't seemed to have been broken, and he was able to retrieve his man quickly enough to watch the cow herder at work. The fence had been fixed, and the repairman had been long gone before the task had been completed. Quite a few cows had balked at the older man’s demands, not yet ready to return to confinement, but at the end of the day, he had successfully brought the mutineers back to their stables where he demonstrated(unnecessarily) how to milk the cows. Together they had collected the milk in several of the clean buckets rinsed and set aside for the task and together they'd made their way to the house to deliver the milk through the servants quarters. The other servant had taken roughly one-third of the proceeds, as had been agreed by their employers. The milk was poured into bottles the glassblower had made for safer storage. He'd nodded his thanks then had taken the bottles up with him while another servant took the rest of the milk to Lungri's mother to prepare it for whatever purposes the cook had in plan for it. They had entered the dining room of home together, and the older servant had moved to stand immovably behind his employers. Lungri had hastened to do the same. Neither had moved until the younger of the two had been dismissed by his mistress, and he had beat a respectful but grateful retreat. Staying with his employers was never an experience he had enjoyed. It was uncomfortable remaining in the presence of those who had ultimate power over him. There was little they could do to him that wasn’t deemed acceptable by the government, and they were both aware and enjoyed letting him(and the servants) know the power they held over those that were employed under them as well. Lingre had felt so mentally exhausted after the events of the day he had needed to lean on the wall to guide him to the servants dining room,

[alicemccombs]

I Ching for the Day

61 Chung Fu / Inner Truth Changing to 23 Po / Splitting Apart 

January 9, 2019 Sunrise Waxing Moon Question: What does Earth need most to be healed at this time? 61 Chung Fu / Inner Truth Changing to 23 Po / Splitting Apart Cast Hexagram

61 Chung Fu / Inner Truth https://ichingfortune.com/hexagrams/61.php Above Sun the Gentle, Wind Below Tui the Joyous, Lake Introduction The wind blows over the lake and stirs the surface of the water. Thus visible effects of the invisible manifest themselves. The hexagram consists of firm lines above and below, while it is open in the center. This indicates a heart free of prejudices and therefore open to truth. On the other hand, each of the two trigrams has a firm line in the middle; this indicates the force of inner truth in the influences they present. The attributes of the two trigrams are: above, gentleness, forbearance toward inferiors; below, joyousness in obeying superiors. Such conditions create the basis of a mutual confidence that makes achievements possible. The character of fu ('truth') is actually the picture of a bird's foot over a fledgling. It suggests the idea of brooding. An egg is hollow. The light-giving power must work to quicken it from outside, but there must be a germ of life within, if life is to be awakened. Far-reaching speculations can be linked with these ideas. Judgement Inner Truth. Pigs and fishes. Good fortune. It furthers one to cross the great water. Perseverance furthers. Judgement Commentary Pigs and fishes are the least intelligent of all animals and therefore the most difficult to influence. The force of inner truth must grow great indeed before its influence can extend to such creatures. In dealing with persons as intractable and as difficult to influence as a pig or a fish, the whole secret of success depends on finding the right way of approach. One must first rid oneself of all prejudice and, so to speak, let the psyche of the other person act on one without restraint. Then one will establish contact with him, understand and gain power over him. When a door has thus been opened, the force of one's personality will influence him. If in this way one finds no obstacles insurmountable, one can undertake even the most dangerous things, such as crossing the great water, and succeed. But it is important to understand upon what the force inner truth depends. This force is not identical with simple intimacy or a secret bond. Close ties may exist also among thieves; it is true that such a bond acts as a force but, since it is not invincible, it does not bring good fortune. All association on the basis of common interests holds only up to a certain point. Where the community of interest ceases, the holding together ceases also, and the closest friendship often changes into hate. Only when the bond is based on what is right, on steadfastness, will it remain so firm that it triumphs over everything. The Image Wind over lake: the image of Inner Truth. Thus the superior man discusses criminal cases in order to delay executions. Image Commentary Wind stirs water by penetrating it. Thus the superior man, when obliged to judge the mistakes of men, tries to penetrate their minds with understanding, in order to gain a sympathetic appreciation of the circumstances. In ancient China, the entire administration of justice was guided by this principle. A deep understanding that knows how to pardon was considered the highest form of justice. This system was not without success, for its aim was to make so strong a moral impression that there was no reason to fear abuse of such mildness. For it sprang not from weakness but from a superior clarity. Changing Lines (1, 2, 5) Nine at the beginning means: Being prepared brings good fortune. If there are secret designs, it is disquieting. The force of inner truth depends chiefly on inner stability and preparedness. From this state of mind springs the correct attitude toward the outer world. But if a man should try to cultivate secret relationships of a special sort, it would deprive him of his inner independence. The more reliance he places on the support of others, the more uneasy and anxious he will become as to whether these secret ties are really tenable. In this way inner peace and the force of inner truth are lost. Nine in the second place means: A crane calling in the shade, its young answers it. I have a good goblet. I will share it with you. This refers to the involuntary influence of a man's inner being upon persons of kindred spirit. The crane need not show itself on a high hill. It may be quite hidden when it sounds its call; yet its young will hear its not, will recognize it and give answer. Where there is a joyous mood, there a comrade will appear to share a glass of wine. This is the echo awakened in men through spiritual attraction. Whenever a feeling is voiced with truth and frankness, whenever a deed is the clear expression of sentiment, a mysterious and far-reaching influence is exerted. At first it acts on those who are inwardly receptive. But the circle grows larger and larger. The root of all influence lies in one's own inner being: given true and vigorous expression in word and deed, its effect is great. The effect is but the reflection of something that emanates from one's own heart. Any deliberate intention of an effect would only destroy the possibility of producing it. Confucius says about this line: The superior man abides in his room. If his words are well spoken, he meets with assent at a distance of more than a thousand miles. How much more then from near by! If the superior man abides in his room and his words are not well spoken, he meets with contradiction at a distance of more than a thousand miles. How much more then from near by! Words go forth from one's own person and exert their influence on men. Deeds are born close at hand and become visible far away. Words and deeds are the hinge and bowspring of the superior man. As hinge and bowspring move, they bring honor or disgrace. Through words and deeds the superior man moves heaven and earth . Must one not, then, be cautious? Nine in the fifth place means: He possesses truth, which links together. No blame. This describes the ruler who holds all elements together by the power of his personality. Only when the strength of his character is so ample that he can influence all who are subject to him, is he as he needs to be. The power of suggestion must emanate from the ruler. It will firmly knit together and unite all his adherents. Without this central force, all external unity is only deception and breaks down at the decisive moment. Transformed Hexagram 23 Po / Splitting Apart https://ichingfortune.com/hexagrams/23.php Above Ken Keeping Still, Mountain Below K'un the Receptive, Earth Introduction The dark lines are about to mount upward and overthrow the last firm, light line by exerting a disintegrating influence on it. The inferior, dark forces overcome what is superior and strong, not by direct means, but by undermining it gradually and imperceptibly, so that it finally collapses. The lines of the hexagram present the image of a house, the top line being the roof, and because the roof is being shattered the house collapses. The hexagram belongs to the ninth month (October-November). The yin power pushes up ever more powerfully and is about to supplant the yang power altogether. Judgement Splitting Apart. It does not further one to go anywhere. Judgement Commentary This pictures a time when inferior people are pushing forward and are about to crowd out the few remaining strong and superior men. Under these circumstances, which are due to the time, it is not favorable for the superior man to undertake anything. The right behavior in such adverse times is to be deduced from the images and their attributes. The lower trigram stands for the earth, whose attributes. The lower trigram stands for the earth, whose attributes are docility and devotion. The upper trigram stands for the mountain, whose attribute is stillness. This suggests that one should submit to the bad time and remain quiet. For it is a question not of man's doing but of time conditions, which, according to the laws of heaven, show an alternation of increase and decrease, fullness and emptiness. It is impossible to counteract these conditions of the time. Hence it is not cowardice but wisdom to submit and avoid action. The Image The mountain rests on the earth: The image of Splitting Apart. Thus those above can ensure their position only by giving generously to those below. Image Commentary The mountain rests on the earth. When it is steep and narrow, lacking a broad base, it must topple over. Its position is strong only when it rises out of the earth broad and great, not proud and steep. So likewise those who rule rest on the broad foundation of the people. They too should be generous and benevolent, like the earth that carries all. Then they will make their position as secure as a mountain is in its tranquility.

#HealEarth https://thehealearthproject.blogspot.com/2018/12/welcome-about-healearth-project.html If you would like to participate in The #HealEarth Project, please send an email to: goodsimplesites@gmail.com