#dandelion plumes

[jefkphotography]

Dandelion plumes.

Photography.

[synthsays]

Spoilers for RDR2 below!!!:

I was visiting Kieran's grave the other day and there were light blue flowers not far away and they reminded me a lot of him it was crazy so I decided to make a list of flowers that remind me of all the rdr2 characters

Kieran Duffy: Tweedia/Forget-me-not

Lenny Summers: Lantana

Hosea Mathews: Dasiy

Arthur Morgan: Poppy

Javier Escuella: Rose

Dutch Van Der Linde: Red hibiscus from Tahiti

Molly O' Shea: Honey Suckle

Sean McGuire: Dandelion

Susan Grimshaw: Red Tiger Lily

Sadie Adler: Sunflower

Charles Smith: Plume Thistle

Reverend Swanson: Queen Anne's Lace

Josiah Trelawney: Bleeding Heart

Jack Marston: Lilly of the Valley

John Marston: Violet

Karen Jones: Lily

Abigail Marston: Columbine

Mary-Beth Gaskill: Daffodil

Tilly Jackson: Lavender

Simon Pearson: Sea Thrift

Bill Williamson: Yarrow

Uncle: Cardinal Flower

Micah Bell: no flower only rat

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 25

Prompt: Alone

Words: 1200~

TW: Unkind Mental Dialogue, Hamfisted Flower Metaphors (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

I've no idea what else to tag this as, but if you've any ideas please let me know

Enjoy!

Soap had been informed that he was being granted a freeday. That Friday would be entirely his, to do with as he pleased. If what pleased him was within regulations, of course. He’s been dreading it from the very moment he was first told and while he was stuck-still fearing it, it came.

He’d gone to bed Thursday night with one last bit of traitorous hope still crying ‘maybe this time will be different’ from a dandelion clock in his soul’s weedful garden, and had awoken this morning to find hope’s stem bare. His garden grown wild with windflowers, plume thistle, hairbells, and nettles once more. 

Staring up at the ceiling tiles of his bunk, Soap tried to convince himself to get up, to sit up at the very least, to make that first step towards facing the day, but found himself unmoving. Laying there with a dull sense of despair as he fails and fails again. Purposelessness slackens his limbs, feels sunk into his very bones, unaccountability a leaden weight that anchors him where he is. 

Alone, with nothing to do, no one counting on him, and not a soul to be disappointed by his inaction, he finds himself unable to unstick himself from his rut. 

Just as he'd known would happen. 

His phone dings and he finds it in his hand within the next moment, without any conscious decision to pick it up off the floor from where it stays just under the edge of his cot while he’s sleeping. It’s Ghost, he’s texted over one singular question mark.

Checking the clock, Soap realizes with impotent urgency that breakfast time had blown past while he’d been busy festering in his bed. He doesn’t know how to respond, he has no explanation, no excuse, he hadn’t turned off his reminders, he’d heard his phone buzzing with the silent alarms he’d long ago set to help keep him on track. It had just felt so unimportant to him at the time.

What had been the point of going to breakfast when he had nothing to do after breakfast, what would he be eating for, why should he fuel a body that was going to be languishing in inutility all day. It was pointless, so he hadn’t. Hadn’t even bothered to stop the alarm, just letting it vibrate itself out. 

But he’d worried Ghost, or else he’d confused him enough by not appearing for breakfast that his L.T had felt obligated to seek an explanation. Soap mustered himself and sent back three thumbs-ups. One would be too abrupt, two was too eager, but three felt inoffensively joking enough to be worth sending. 

Another question marked dinged onto his screen within the same minute of Soap responding. He stared, puzzled. What could Ghost be asking about now? After scrolling back up to check if he’d missed a question Ghost had sent or something, Soap could have smacked himself, and did let his phone drop despairingly onto his chest. He’d forgotten that he never sends Ghost emojis on their own, he only does that with his siblings. With Ghost he barely ever uses them, and when he does it's mostly as tone indicators for difficult to parse statements. Soap liked actually talking to Ghost too much to ever be so taciturn as to just use emojis, normally that is.

“Sorry LT. Didnt feel up to bkfst” He types out and forces himself to send, after watching precious minutes keep ticking by while he agonized over it.

“Whats wrong” Ghost's response pops in, then “Sick?” in a separate text immediately after.

Soap knows he’s really worried Ghost now, if the man is skipping apostrophes and sending stacked texts. He's devastatingly tempted to agree, to say he’s sick, instead of just a useless layabout. 

“Johnny?” Ghost’s concern bleeds from the screen as Soap’s fingers hover over the keyboard and with a grimace he punches in his response.

“No. Just didnt feel up to it”

Knowing that Ghost knew of his sudden onset of redundancy was a horrible sick feeling that sloshed about his gut, but Soap also knew that lying to him would have felt worse. 

A simple “Okay” from Ghost and Soap lets his phone drop again, hanging his hand off the bed to abandon the device back onto the floor. 

Losing himself to the ceiling tiles and the yawning pit that's echoing all his many failures back to him from the depths of his heart, Soap wallows. If rot and decay weren’t progression his garden would be wilting and blackening. Instead it follows his lead and stagnates. Unmoving as still-water and twice as toxic. Time is meaningless to him on a normal day, but now he torments himself with guesses at how long he’s spent just laying there, doing absolutely nothing.

It can’t have been more than five minutes, but what did he know, full hours could have run by him now and he’d be none the wiser to it. 

A rap at his door pulls him from that spiral and he stumbles off his cot to open it. Ghost is stood there, a banana in hand. Carried with the same reverence he gives mission objectives. 

“L.T?” Soap steps out of the way and lets Ghost stalk into his bunk, flushing when Ghost’s scan of the room lingers on his cot with its freshly disturbed sheets.

“Brought you this,” Ghost presses the fruit into Soap’s hands,

“Uh, ‘hanks, Ghostie. Ye didnae-”

“An’ this,” Ghost wields a bottle of Lucozade now, and Soap hasn’t a singular clue where in fuck he could have pulled it from. 

An incredulous snerck of laughter jolts free of Soap’s chest. He folds over, bracing his hands on his knees and staring hard at the floor as he tried to suppress his giggles. A glance over at Ghost ruins him, the energy drink was being pointed at him with intent, Ghost’s serious eyes staring Soap down from just above. Gales of semi-hysterical laughter pour free of him and Soap collapses to the floor as his knees give out. Dropping onto his back, he presses the back of his hands to his eyes, careful not to blind himself with the banana he’s still holding. He can feel his garden blooming under the sun Ghost’s brought in with him, running over with ivy, snowdrops, primroses, and wild arum. 

“Where awn god’s green earth,” He giggles out, dropping his hands to look up at Ghost with a humored smile, “Were ye keepin’ tha’?” 

“Need to know info, Johnny,” Ghost rebuffs him, “You don’t have that kind of clearance.” 

More incredulous giggles wrack through the Sergeant and he rocks himself a little on the floor as he tries to rein himself in. Joyous tears leaking from the corners of his squeezed shut eyes. 

“It’s blue flavour,” Ghost advertises, waggling the bottle at him.

“Well iffin it’s blue,” Soap jokes, his voice bouncing with the remnants of his laughing fit. He leans up, taking Ghost’s extended hand to lever back to his feet, then sits himself back onto his cot and accepts the drink that is a truly lurid shade of blue, as promised. 

Soap pats at the open spot beside him and rides out the subsequent tremor when Ghost plunks himself down with no aplomb. 

“‘hanks, Si.” Johnny mumbles as he starts peeling his Ghost allocated banana, keeping the Lucozade pinned securely between his knees, so he wouldn’t lose it somehow. 

“All good, Johnny.” Ghost assures, watching him spend his full concentration on opening the banana with the least amount of stringy bits left behind. The unspoken warmth that Ghost carried in his soul for this man, finally banking from the blaze it’d been stoked into by Johnny’s uncharacteristic morning. 

Whatever Johnny was going though, Ghost was determined to not let him face it alone.

Thank You For Reading!

Yep, Scots call dandelion puffballs 'clocks', apparently.

Here's the flower meanings, I've a book of them that I took these from, if looking them up tell you something different ┐(•_•)┌

Windflowers - Forsaken Plume Thistle - Misanthropy Hairbells - Grief/death Nettles - Cruelty Primrose - Eternal love/I cannot be without you/Obsessive love Ivy - Happy Love/Affection/Fidelity/Marriage Wild Arum - Ardor/Zeal Snowdrop - Consolation/Hope/Hope in sorrow

All of these should grow wild in Scotland or Britain, if my bit of surface level research didn't steer me wrong.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[sunnyy-sunsh1ne]

About Seelies, their Palaces in the Dark Sea & how they're Probably Related to Andrius (TL;DR)

Their palaces are in the Dark Sea, where The Seven have no jurisdiction. They brought wisdom to mankind, & probably so to other entities like the Andrius, "the Wolf the North".

Their palaces are in the Dark Sea, & Enkanomiya is also exactly there, but there was no Seelie civilization there; there were just humans from the Unified Civilization as far as we know. It's quite interesting that the Seelie courts are eroded by the time all around Teyvat, but in Enkanomiya they aren't.

For a while, I used to think that the ruins that are around all Teyvat's surface, were the architecture of the Seelies, but this isn't the case at all bc according to the book "A Drunkard's Tale" the Seelie palaces are in the Dark Sea.

And now that we're talking about the Dark Sea and the "A Drunkard's Tale", there's smth pretty interesting I'd like to mention about...Columbina.

In "A Drunkard's Tale" Vol. 3 we learn the tale about a lone wolf, that once wandered in the a "cruel" wasteland; a place that seems to be far beyond the dominion of Celestia, with the remains of fallen gods and others that escaped there after the archon war, (ex. Orobashi).

According to the tale, once the lone wolf passed by a palace where he heard music. Within there, he found a "fair maiden" using an instrument, with a skin "ashen white" & playing a "long-forgotten and mournful melody".

"The chirping of insects on a long-gone autumn night is the chorus of exiles, singing mankind's most ancient song as they live out their plight..." she sang.

"Stripped of all that the body once held close and the soul once held dear, song and memories are all that now remain of yesteryear."

"The last singers, the first Seelie, they played their final tune in the halls of angels."

The Seelies in the area approached the pale white maiden to listen to her music. The wolf asked about the song to the maiden, and the maiden replied "A song of the Seelie".

"Long, long ago, we wrote this song for the human savages. Yet now, we sing it to mourn our own fate."

This maiden was clearly a Seelie who seems to still maintain her human form, & we're told that Andrius received his powers from an ancient god...could this god be the Seelie from the tale? he has a very icy windy ghostly anemo form, just like Seelies.

The twitter user named @nanbeidou7 also talked about this before me.

Here's a link to a thread she did about the topic.

Link:

I'd like to also talk about a possible mention of a Seelie (maybe even Columbina, asuming that she's a Seelie), in the artifact set "Adventurer" in the "Plume of Death", there's a mention of an adventurer meeting a "girl so beautiful" that even her appearance felt surreal.

And do you all know what else did the girl had? that's right! a cluster of feathers!! the similarities are too coincidental tbh...but who knows! anyone in Teyvat could be incredibly beautiful girl with a cluster of feathers, right?... right??

Sources:

[fotos-art]

COLOSSAL

Art Craft Photography

Embroidered Patches Redefine Vintage Postcards and Photographs by Fiber Artist Han Cao

JULY 24, 2020. GRACE EBERT

“Nice hair.” All images © Han Cao

Through densely laid cross-stitches and whorls of thread, Han Cao revitalizes discarded photographs and postcards. Similar to the artist’s previous projects, her latest series New Nostalgia strikes a balance between the original subjects and the fiber-based additions. Sometimes covering faces with sparse dandelion puffs or confetti-like burst, Cao redefines the vintage pieces and explores how narratives linger as she stitches plumes of train steam that trail beyond the initial photograph’s edges.

Based in Palm Springs, the artist shares glimpses into her process on Instagram, and if you’re in Philadelphia, check out her embroidered pieces that are on view through August 22 at Paradigm Gallery. Cao also sells some of her mixed-media works in her shop.

Left: “Golden Conjurer.” Right: “Wallflower-Yellow Pansy”

“Mt Rainier”

“Runaway train”

“Runaway train”

“Generations”

Left: “A steady dissolution.” Right: “Sisters”

“Plume”

“Sister, sister”

#BIRDS #EMBROIDERY #FOUND PHOTOGRAPHS #HAN CAO #LANDSCAPES #TRAINS

COLOSSAL

[seedclan]

Year 1 - Moon 3 - Greenleaf

Howlpaw's tail was held high as he followed after his clanmates through the grotto and to the beautiful flower field. He craned his neck, wide green eyes looking for a particular spotted tom. As he caught sight of his target, Howlpaw quickened his pace, falling in line beside his fellow apprentice.

"Softpaw! Hey, you didn't introduce me to the other apprentices at the last Gathering. Can I tail you when you go to say hi?" he asked earnestly.

Softpaw's ear twitched, the older apprentice looking incredulously at Howlpaw. "When I say hi? Howlpaw, I don't say hi. The Gathering is a formality, but there's no point making friends with cats you may have to fight."

"That's not what Kestrelstar said," Howlpaw argued, frowning as he flicked his gaze ahead. "Well fine, if you're going to be like that. I'll just introduce myself without your help."

A mrow of laughter caught Howlpaw off guard, Softpaw not even attempting to muffle his snickering as he rolled his eyes. "Ok Howlpaw. I'll see you at Dandelion Memorial. Good luck." Softpaw trotted ahead after Goldeniris and Honeyeagle, his tail tip flicking to hit Howlpaw's nose.

The gray apprentice jumped, swatting at the air where the tail once was, before huffing. As his fur began to lie flat, he gave himself a few quick licks before eyeing the gathered cats. He eventually noticed a smaller, younger looking tom. He was white and spotted with pale brown patches, standing alone.

Maybe he's nervous to meet other apprentices, just like me!

With a steady breath, Howlpaw trotted over with his head raised high, flicking his tail in greeting. "Hello there! I'm Howlpaw of SeedClan. Are you..." He paused only a moment, scenting the air. "...a SorrelClan apprentice?"

"I am." The tom's smile was small. He dipped his head in greeting to Howlpaw. "My name is Bumblepaw. I've been training for 4 moons now under Cranefang. You train under Kestrelstar, don't you?"

Howlpaw's eyes widened. "Wow, you know a lot!"

Bumblepaw purred with a small laugh. "Word gets around, especially when a leader trains an apprentice."

Pride swelled within him, Howlpaw unable to keep from flattening his ears with a show of embarrassment. He opened his mouth to speak further, but was interrupted by a flash of gray nudging her way between them, a bright smile on her face.

"Hi there! Socializing today, huh? Ooh, I'm glad there's a SeedClan cat willing to chat. That Softpaw is always telling me to bug off." She laughed loud enough to make Howlpaw duck his head, wary of others around them who glanced over with somewhat annoyed glances.

The dark gray tabby waved her plume-like tail. "I'm Rainpaw - CoyoteClan apprentice. I see you've met Bumblepaw. Got any scoop for me before the Gathering starts?"

Blinking at her in shock, Howlpaw stuttered. "I don't think uh- I mean I think that's Kestrelstar's job, not mine. That is uh..." He glanced away. While he was glad they were friendly, he hadn't exactly expected this.

"Rainpaw, quiet down," Bumblepaw whispered calmly. He nodded ahead to the Leaders, who stood proud as a hushed silence fell over the group. Howlpaw too straightened up, turning to pay attention.

The Gathering was starting.

Ryestar stepped forward, setting a Petunia down before his paws. "CoyoteClan is steadily recovering from the flood. Plummoon has taken up his deputy duties, but unfortunately we ran into a nasty fox that managed to mangle his leg. Lakeburn says he will make a full recovery." Murmurs of well wishes were exchanged, a few glances being cast towards Rainpaw, causing Howlpaw to glance at her as well.

Ryestar continued. "Rainpaw bravely finished chasing the fox off, and helped her mentor back to camp. I would like to acknowledge her tonight and thank her for protecting our new deputy."

Wow! Howlpaw gazed at Rainpaw with admiration. He couldn't imagine chasing off a fox and taking care of Kestrelstar like that. And her mentor was a deputy! Rainpaw was pretty amazing!

The she-cat noticed his look, puffing out her chest with a smile of delight. "You should've seen the way it yipped when it turned tail and ran. It won't mess with CoyoteClan again, that's for sure!"

As Ryestar stepped back, Whisperstar went next, the CherryClan leader dropping her pinkish colored flower to the ground. "For this Gathering, I bring Gladiolus. It represents strength and growth, which I believe CherryClan has been experiencing. We will not let hardships keep us down." Her voice sounded more powerful, making the raspy tone that betrayed her age. "CherryClan welcomes a new apprentice. Icepaw has been apprenticed to my deputy, Quiverwatcher, and we believe he will continue to uphold CherryClan's values."

Icepaw?

There was a new apprentice in CherryClan? That meant he was just a moon younger than Howlpaw! He'd have to say hi and congratulate him before they left.

"Icepaw! Icepaw! Icepaw!" the gathering cheered, Howlpaw raising his voice as he craned his neck and looked around for the apprentice.

He finally spotted him. A spiky white tom stood fierce and proud, a smile not even cracking his features. Howlpaw could see why he was named Icepaw. His eyes were like sunlit ice, and his cold exterior and white pelt made him fit for the chills of leafbare.

"We also have a new member of our clan. Apricotfeather has moved to the nursery with kits, but we have learned her mate is an outsider. As the code is to protect kits, we have taken him in to strengthen our ranks, as will the kits when they are born."

Chivestar's lips curled back in a snarl, and Ryestar even seemed surprised. "You took in an outsider, even after Bushclaw's death?" he asked warily.

"Churro has already proven his innocence," hissed Whisperstar, not explaining herself further. "Apricotfeather has suffered enough this past moon." Her fur bristled, before she stiffened and straightened herself. "And unfortunately, so have we. The truth is that twolegs came into our territory... and they managed to capture Tadpolefern. He was taken."

Everyone gasped, fur bristling as panic seemed to rise from the crowd.

"T-Taken?" a white SorrelClan she-cat timidly cried out

"Does CherryClan not protect their own?!" snarled Quillbeak.

"Silence!" Whisperstar cried, lashing her tail as her silver eyes betrayed the pain she felt. "CherryClan is feeling great shame. We loved Tadpolefern, and we have sent countless patrols out in search of Twolegs. But alas it hasn't led to any success..." She trailed off, sighing. "CherryClan is rebuilding, but with what is sounding like a large litter, we will be stronger than ever," she insisted, admittedly rather defensive.

"I also have a warning to my fellow clan cats." Whisperstar's voice was stern and serious. "As you may have noticed, our medicine cat Maplefern has been absent two Gatherings now. I'm informing you all now that she has been exiled from CherryClan."

Howlpaw's ears flattened as shocked whispers flooded the clearing. His pelt felt hot, knowing well where Maplefern was. He lowered his head, yet kept his eyes looking at Whisperstar as she continued to speak.

"As is the code of Healers, they must not take mates, nor carry kits, as it impedes upon their relationship with StarClan. When we learned she had been seeing a loner, she lost her rights to our support."

Kestrelstar eyed the white she-cat, frowning. Her demeanor did not go unnoticed, as Whisperstar glared back. "Do you have something to say, Kestrelstar?"

"Only if you're finished," Kestrelstar replied coolly, voice muffled by the large yellow flower she carried.

Whisperstar huffed and stepped back, eyeing the SeedClan leader with her silver eyes as they traded places. Kestrelstar set her offering down, raising her tail as she gazed upon the gathered cats.

"I have brought a Sunflower because SeedClan has unwavering faith, and are looking towards the light that is the sun. This past moon has brought change, but we are strong and certain in our actions." She took a soft breath, puffing out her chest as she spoke. "The truth is that SeedClan has taken in Maplefern."

"You what?!" Whisperstar bared her fangs, silver eyes blazing with fury. "Does SeedClan spat in the face of StarClan's word?"

"I should be asking CherryClan that," Kestrelstar hissed back without hesitation. "Does CherryClan leave kits to die and fend for themselves?"

Whisperstar sat upright in shock. "Kits? What do you mean?"

"Maplefern had kits with her. They appeared to be almost 2 moons old. She most certainly had to have been pregnant when you cast her out." Kestrelstar's amber eyes hardened. "Maplefern may have broken the healer code, but she is still a queen, and the code says to never neglect the innocent."

CherryClan cats spoke up, eyes wide with horror.

"We didn't know!" Icepaw declared, catching Howlpaw's attention. He was surprised a new apprentice would speak out so loudly. But the white tom stood tall, not even flinching as the other cats gazed at him. "CherryClan would never harm innocent kits!"

Kestrelstar waved her tail for silence. "We have been taking care of Maplefern and her kits. While it is Maplefern's decision, we believe the kits will grow into fine warriors of SeedClan, unless CherryClan wants to change their mind?"

A hushed silence fell through the air. A look of shame was plastered on Whisperstar's face. She lowered her head before shaking it. "We will start no conflict over the kits. I admit the wrong I have done to Maplefern." Her voice hardened as she met Kestrelstar's gaze though. "However, she is not welcomed back in CherryClan. While she should've been taken care of as a mother, she has chosen to flee rather than use the code that would've saved her. CherryClan wants no part of her, nor her kits after her banishment."

"I want to apologize too," Ryestar spoke up. The elderly tom would stand as she looked to Kestrelstar. "Maplefern came to CoyoteClan asking for herbs, but we did not give them to her. Her kits were no where in sight when she came, and she didn't speak of them to us. Had we known, we would've provided her the care she needed."

Kestrelstar appeared unimpressed, glaring at both of them. "She was injured. Did you not know that either?"

To her surprise, Ryestar shook his head. "She smelled like garlic actually when she came. She looked to be in fine condition, and merely left when we explained we didn't have herbs to spare. We weren't even aware of her banishment at that point in time."

Howlpaw tilted his head in confusion. Why would Maplefern not tell those around her the full story? She could've gotten help so easily it sounded like, and yet she hid her kits and what happened. It was like Softpaw had caught her or something.

Kestrelstar dipped her head, accepting Ryestar's answer, albeit with a still displeased expression. With a soft sigh, she continued to speak. "Softpaw completed his Border Trial, bringing him closer to becoming a warrior of our clan. This is where he found Maplefern, escorting her back to camp without conflict. With her came her three kits - Slatekit, Bluekit, and Hollowkit."

The gathered cats seemed restless, surprised still with all they had heard so far. However, as Chivestar stood up for his turn, his uncharacteristically hostile expression caused near everyone to hush up. As he set down the Forget-Me-Not, everyone seemed to stiffen.

"SorrelClan is in mourning. While our apprentice Bumblepaw completed his Training Trial, we bring unfortunate news of the death of our sole Healer, Fireleopard."

Most seemed to murmur condolences. The tom was rather old after all, but with no apprentice to follow in his pawsteps, what would SorrelClan do?

Chivestar continued. "We are not without a Healer though. Icywish has stepped forward, volunteering to become a Healer after Fireleopard's passing. She has already begun receiving additional training from Lakeburn of CoyoteClan, however Icywish has impressed us with her knowledge of healing and herbs she already knew."

Kestrelstar spoke up. "Chivestar, know if Icywish needs any further training, Fallendapple is very able."

"I'm afraid I'll have to pass, but thank you, Kestrelstar." Chivestar's voice was short and curt. Howlpaw noticed the way Kestrelstar's pelt prickled in surprise, before she dipped her head with a nod.

"But while Fireleopard was old, it was not StarClan who came for him," he declared, green eyes looking to Whisperstar. "We found Fireleopard on the CherryClan border. Do you care to explain yourself, Whisperstar?"

It was one surprise after the other, the cats bristling in shock as they begun to turn on each other. Bumblepaw remained calm as he sat with the other apprentices, but his green eyes shifted to look over at Icepaw, who was lashing his tail in fury.

"Are you accusing CherryClan of killing a Healer?!" Whisperstar spat.

"Well you're willing to cast out kits. What other rules of the code are you breaking?" Chivestar snarled back, lashing his tail as he approached the CherryClan leader.

"Chivestar!" "Whisperstar!"

Kestrelstar pushed herself against Chivestar, nudging him back with a growl. Ryestar's form towered over Whisperstar, pleading for the she-cat to not launch herself at the SorrelClan leader.

Whisperstar huffed. "I'm sorry for your loss. You have my condolences, really. But CherryClan had no part of it. Though perhaps if SorrelClan cats are such fox-hearts, they deserve to lose a life to even the score."

"Why you-!" Chivestar raised his haunches, but Kestrelstar blocked him, giving him a pleading gaze. The gray tom seemed to stare at her, before flattening his ears and looking to his clan.

"SorrelClan, we're leaving!" he called, trudging ahead and smacking his tail against Kestrelstar as he left. The SeedClan leader flinched, amber eyes wide.

Howlpaw shifted uncomfortably. He and Rainpaw both glanced over at Bumblepaw, who stood up without a word.

"Yeah, turn tail and run back to your camp!"

Looking up with a shocked gaze, Howlpaw saw the spiky white form of Icepaw pushing his way through the crowd. He bared his fangs, snarling at Bumblepaw, who was far bigger than the new apprentice. "Your leader is a liar. Fight me here and now and we'll settle this!"

Bumblepaw's expression barely shifted. It was only now that Howlpaw noticed his smile didn't reach his eyes, and that his green gaze was cold and lifeless.

"I wouldn't waste my time on a scrap of fur like you," he murmured, voice velvety smooth. He dipped his head to Howlpaw and Rainpaw, before turning to leave.

Rainpaw look stunned, mouth agape in a grin. Despite the terror sweeping through Howlpaw, Rainpaw seemed to be relishing in this animosity.

Maybe because it's not her clan...

Icepaw snarled, glancing at Howlpaw and Rainpaw before puffing himself up to look bigger. Even when he did though, he was easily the smallest still.

"Ah um, hi!" Howlpaw greeted, offering a nervous but friendly smile. Icepaw looked ready to claw his fur off, but Howlpaw wasn't sure what else to do. The white tom would glare before turning around and sauntering off, lashing his tail in annoyance.

Rainpaw craned her neck to watch him go, before snickering. "Wow, now that was a dramatic gathering. Phew, I'll have a lot to tell Plummoon about."

"Are you not scared? Or feeling um... bad for everyone?" Howlpaw asked, astonished at first before trailing off into a more meek and nervous tone.

"Well it doesn't affect my clan," she spoke simply. Rainpaw flicked her ear before nudging Howlpaw with a smile. "Yours just grazed some trouble though. Congrats on your new Healer and kit combo though. And hey, let's chat more next time." The dark gray tabby would perk up as a ginger she cat raised her tail to follow. "I gotta go, but see ya around, Howlpaw."

And just like that, he was alone. He saw the rest of his clan leaving, Kestrelstar at the helm. Her eyes looked troubled, trained ahead as her tail lashed with irritation. Howlpaw felt a knot within his stomach, tightening with every pawstep. He gulped, uncertainty clear in his dark colored gaze.

Maybe Softpaw was right...

[smile-files]

SeriousHall Signup: fuzzy house, it/its/?, by mr. nice guy

...

folks didn't often bother the fuzzy house. it sat quiet and placid on the rounded peak of a hill, its four little feet nestled into the warm, soft grass, hidden from view beneath its body. the curtains behind its window eyes were shut: it seemed as if the house was sleeping. plumes of smoke billowed out of the chimney, white and fluffy like the clouds in the still blue sky.

yet, suddenly, all was not still. while the fuzzy house was deep in dreamland, loudly snoring, someone had stuck something into its open mailslot mouth. spit! sputter! the house, startled, opened its curtains and spat out what looked to be a white envelope adorned with a red stamp.

the house yawned a big wide yawn and stood up, stretching out its four little feet and leaving a large, squarish indent in the grass below (without realizing, it had smashed a few flowers too). it knelt down towards the envelope, a curious expression in its shining window panes, and extended a front paw; a single, tiny claw unsheathed, the fuzzy house delicately sliced through the top edge of the paper. excited, it shook out a letter from within, which it proceeded to unfold and eagerly look over:

good morning, sir and/or ma'am! you will be pleased to hear that we, board members of serious hall, have opened up job applications -- and we think you are fit for the position. but first, we have a few questions for you:

what is your name?

what are your pronouns?

who is your god?

how was your dream?

how would you describe yourself in 1 word or less?

why do you think you're fit for the position?

are you serious about this job?

do you like bugs?

please fill in your answers to these above questions, and mail this page back to us in a timely manner. we will get back to you shortly on the results of your application. thank you so much for your time, and we appreciate your cooperation with our demands.

sincerely, the board of serious hall

after processing this strange letter, the fuzzy house shook around and spat a pencil out of its mouth, with which it began to write its answers:

what is your name? the fuzzy house :)

what are your pronouns? i do not know :)

who is your god? someone named mr. nice guy i think :)

how was your dream? i dreamed of eating dandelions :) they were yummy :)

how would you describe yourself in 1 word or less? warm :)

why do you think you're fit for the position? i do not know what the position is :) i hope i am good anyway :)

are you serious about this job? i can be serious about lots of things sometimes :)

do you like bugs? i am full of them :)

the fuzzy house ate the pencil once again, refolded the letter, and sealed it back up in the envelope. now, normally it makes no sense to put a letter someone sent you back into its original envelope and send it whence it came -- the house, having little experience with writing or receiving letters, did not recognize what would commonly be a quite silly thing to do -- but sense was not relevant now, as the same enigmatic stranger who delivered the letter in the first place quickly swooped in and scooped it up, disappearing down the hill without so much as a goodbye, presumably to return the answer to "serious hall". curious, the house leaned forward to catch a look, but in vain.

no matter; the fuzzy house was vaguely intrigued by the whole incident, but frankly didn't pay much mind -- it had a morning nap to get back to, after all. so soon its curtains drooped, and it settled its large body back down into the sun-warmed carpet of grass which always cradled it so gently. sweet dreams, sweet house…

[toadstoolgardens]

Foraging for Goldenrod (Solidago)

Goldenrod or Solidago blooms in late summer/early fall across much of North America. It's beautiful golden flowers reflect the golden sun of late summer. Goldenrod is edible and medicinal and can be used as a natural dye!!

Identifying Goldenrod

Goldenrod is a member of the Asteraceae or sunflower family and likes open sunny areas like meadows, fields, and forest openings. The stems are tall and stiff with tiny golden-yellow flowers in a dense, pyramid-shaped, pluming cluster. It's a prolific perennial and can grow 0.5-2m tall.

The leaves vary slightly depending on the species of goldenrod, but they're long, narrow, and taper to a point. The edges can be smooth or slightly toothed, or slightly hairy on the underside depending on species.

Goldenrod in my area likes to grow alongside New England Aster. They make such a beautiful combination of purple and yellow and can aid in identification. If you see one you just might see the other!

Look-Alikes

Goldenrod can sometimes be mistaken for Senecio species like ragwort (left) and groundsel (right). Some Senecio species contain TOXIC pyrrolizidine alkaloids that can cause liver damage. As always please be 100% certain of your identification before harvesting!! That said, senecio's flowers are generally much larger and much fewer than goldenrod's many tiny flowers. They also tend to bloom earlier in the season than goldenrod.

Harvesting Goldenrod

All of the above-ground parts of goldenrod are edible! Harvest by snipping the top of the stems, leaves, and flower heads with scissors (about the top 1/3rd of the plant). The earlier in the blooming season the better! The later blooms tend to be more bitter and can fluff up like dandelions if you want to dry them.

If you're worried about seasonal allergies you should be safe with goldenrod! Goldenrod is insect pollinated so it doesn't need to release pollen into the air.

Whatever you do DO NOT pull up entire goldenrod plants!!! Goldenrod is a massively important plant for hundreds of pollinators including bees, butterflies, beetles, and wasps. Harvest sustainably, no pulling up by the roots, and only snip the tops you'll use!!

You can use goldenrod fresh or dry it by hanging it upside down for about a week (spread it out for adequate airflow!) or in your kitchen oven by spreading in a single layer on baking sheets and baking 4-5 hours at 170F/76C. Store dried goldenrod in an airtight container.

Goldenrod Uses & Benefits

Goldenrod as an herbal remedy is highly anti-inflammatory, great for the kidneys (prevents and flushes kidney stones, helps relieve minor bladder infections), helpful for minor respiratory issues like seasonal allergies and colds, and helps heal minor wounds and swelling when used externally. It's also edible raw or cooked! The leaves can be cooked like spinach or used in lots of tasty fall recipes like this goldenrod cornbread?!? I need it.

Safety Note: Goldenrod has been traditionally used as medicine and is regarded as very safe. That said, goldenrod taken internally has a diuretic effect. If you have any problems with the urinary system or take a diuretic already, PLEASE ask a medical professional before using. Don't use herbal medicines to treat serious health issues or in fragile populations like babies or the elderly without consulting a doctor. I AM NOT A DOCTOR I JUST LIKE PLANTS.

To use your goldenrod medicinally you can make it into tea, tincture, or infused oil. You can also make a goldenrod salve to apply externally!

Goldenrod Tea:

Add 2tbsp of fresh flowers OR 1tbsp of dried flowers to 8oz hot water.

Cover and steep 15-20 minutes before straining.

This tea can be slightly bitter with a sort of anise/licorice flavor. It's great sweetened with a little honey!

Goldenrod Tincture:

Fill a small jar 1/3 - 3/4 full with chopped fresh goldenrod flowers OR 1/4 - 1/2 full with dried goldenrod flowers.

Fill jar with high-proof (40-60%) alcohol like vodka or brandy.

Cap, label, and store out of direct sunlight at least 4-6 weeks. Strain before using.

Your tincture should be good for a year or more. Take a few drops mixed with a spoonful of honey or water. Can be taken up to 3-5 times daily or as needed.

Goldenrod Infused Oil:

Fill a jar 1/4 - 1/2 full with dried goldenrod flowers.

Pour an oil (sunflower, sweet almond, or olive are good options) over the flowers until the jar is full.

Infuse one of 3 ways:

Slow Way - cap jar and place in a dark, cool spot like a cabinet for 4-6 weeks. Strain.

Solar Way - instead of capping the jar cover it with a piece of cheesecloth or scrap of old t-shirt. Set your jar in a sunny window for a few days up to a few weeks. The sun's heat infuses your oil faster! Strain.

Speedy Way - don't cap your jar and set it uncovered in a saucepan containing a few inches of water. Heat on low for 2-3 hours, watching it carefully!! Strain.

Goldenrod Salve: if you made infused oil you can easily make it into a salve!

Add 3.5oz (100g) of your infused oil and 0.5oz (14g) beeswax to a small jar.

Place the jar into a saucepan containing a few inches of water. Heat over medium low until the beeswax melts.

Let cool and apply to minor wounds, sores, swelling, aches & pains.

You can also make a gorgeous yellow or green natural fabric dye from goldenrod!

Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4

[sedehaven]

Dogma

the cracked egg sunrise bloody in the east, the fluffy golden heads of dandelions dotting the

green spaces in spring, summer storms screaming across bruised skies, the thrum of cicadas after,

in autumn time, the rattle of acorns on the tin roof and the flare of ruby leaves across the plume of the

sugar maple, winter comes brown and muddy to the land without snow, we curl into each other, believing

(without question)

that tomorrow, the moon will sink like stone in dark water, and the sun will rise in rose and garnet, sending sparrows

out to preach

[jefkphotography]

Dandelion plumes.

Black and white photo.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

✧ ━━ 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐀 @tealbeats

"I want to personally thank you for accepting my invitation to tea this afternoon, Ezreal, I am well aware of how busy your schedule can be."

Robin’s voice was warm as he grinned from across the room, the door open in preparation for his arrival. The assistant lounged comfortably on one of the two plush couches in his stylish high rise office ( perfectly placed on the eighth floor ) , both elegantly facing a beautifully carved wooden coffee table that served as the centerpiece of the space. The table was adorned with a steaming tea set, delicate porcelain cups waiting to be filled, alongside a deck of cards and a vintage ashtray that looked as though it had been plucked right out of a glamorous 1950s Hollywood film. A few plants here and there. With a gentle gesture, Robin beckoned Ezreal to join him with green, inviting eyes ━ "So, we have a business deal coming up with another production company soon," he continued, his tone sweet while delicate hands lifted the pot to pour the steaming water. The moment the water met the leaves, it brought forth the soothing aroma of bergamot; a citrusy sweetness that mingled with the earthy undertones of the black tea. Plumes of steam mingled with soft strains of piano music, "and I'm to conduct interviews for the various members of Heartsteel to see if any of you fit the 'young handsome talent' position we'll inevitably need. You can imagine my enthusiam at such a task."

As he rose from his relaxed position, the warmth of the room began to shift, it didn't change too much however, his eyes crinkling at the sight of Ezreal settling across from him. He poured a delicate cup for his guest, "There you are, please do tell me if you need cream or sugar, I find it can be somewhat bitter for unexperienced palettes. Should we have more meetings, I'll fetch something a bit less intense." Robin lifted his cup to his mouth with a pleased sigh, peeking over the amber liquid to his guest before he lowered it slightly. His index finger tapped the rim of his glass twice, "Miss Evelynn has told me much about you," he began, "Rising back up the charts must be a very exhilarating feeling for you; I imagine you're quite proud of all that you've gained in these recent times. Congratulations." A chuckle left him, floating daintily through the air like dandelion fluffs, and he placed his tea cup down with a quiet clink.

"But ... before we begin with the interview, there is something I was hoping to discuss with you," he sighed wearily with a shake of his head as he leaned back; fingers moving to the tuft of fluffy hair beside his left ear. "You see, you have put me in quite an awkward position, Ezreal." He continued, his tone now tinged with a hint of exasperation. "Ahh, I've grown quite fond of you in our time working together, but you've reaped quite a bit of trouble for yourself by sneaking and poking around where you don't belong." He paused, a playful smile gracing his lips as he tilted his head slightly. Then, quickly to follow in a croon, that grin unmoving, "Oh my, my apologies, I realize that may be a sensitive topic regarding your personal history."

The door slammed shut with a resounding thud, the deadbolt sliding into place with a sharp click. Instantly, the atmosphere shifted; the air around him felt thicker, colder, as if an unseen chill had seeped in alongside the newest member of their meeting. Just then, a hand emerged from the shadows, gliding over the back of the couch where Ezreal sat. The newcomer had appeared with nought even a whisper, as though he had had simply manifested from the ether. The voice that broke the stillness was unnervingly familiar, whatever last memories the pop prince had of his late father seemed to fuel the tone and timbre of the newcomer, “Our deepest sympathies for your loss, Mr. Lightfeather." Crimson eyes glinted like embers from beneath a shadowed brow, their gaze fixed downwards as he loomed beside Ezreal. The stark contrast of his silhouette against the flickering light rendered his features nearly indistinguishable, but just as quickly as he had appeared, he turned away, deliberately shifting the focus to Robin while settling in a chair that faced away and only let Ezreal look into slicked black locks.

"Mm, Abel, what a pleasant surprise. I was relaying the situation to our friend before you oh so rudely interrupted." A softer, genuine expression crossed his face at the new visitor's huff of amusement, but all too soon the smile he wore faded with his dry words, and was now replaced by a measured calmness. Robin straightened, his long, wintry lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones as he regarded Ezreal with a wearisome glance. His kindness looked … forced.

"Thanks to you, I have to worry about text messages, calls, recorded lines, addresses ━ it's quite a bit of stress. And now all of the hard work I've done over the course of four years could be destroyed by a mere whim you may have ━ maybe to tell your Uncle. No doubt with how close you both are." Slowly, though, Robin's stare darkened into a cold husk of its former self, as though all of the warmth and kindness within it had died and rotted away under the worm's tooth. " ... I know what it was you saw on August 6th," he declared, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, "Surely you don't think I'm the type of man who would be satisfied with the destruction of my work. I'm sure we're likeminded in that regard, aren't we? It would be a shame to lose it all over something silly."

A bubbling and bright expression lit his face anew as he cut in swiftly, interrupting Ezreal before he could even hope to muster a defense, lifting a slender hand between them, "Oh, it must seem like I'm waiting to hear some sort of excuse or apology," he began, a teasing lilt in his voice, "I'm sorry for giving you the wrong idea." While he spoke Robin's gaze flickered towards Abel, whose raven-black hair framed a face carved from shadows. His supposed partner, with an air of 'this is just another Tuesday', lit a cigarette; the flame dancing briefly before yielding to a thin wisp of smoke that curled and twisted, slowly ascending until fading into the florescent light above the trio. It was steady … the man didn't even appear to be breathing. Robin's eyes slowly rolled within his sockets to focus on Ezreal again, a hollow, almost penetrating stare that seemed to peer straight through him. Robin took another sip of his tea, humming before offering him a forgiving ━ no, a merciful, grin:

“As I said, I've grown fond of you in our time working together so far, so I wanted to catch you before you made any mistakes that you may regret later, I would like to at least be able to properly interview you for that new up and coming production. As such, with the difficulties you've caused me, it would only be appropriate for you to lend me your cooperation on the matter and save me the trouble of giving you the motivation to do so.” His hand touched his chest in a show of earnestness, the sincerity of which could not be read, and a sweet smile stretched across his lips — one that did not reach his eyes. Poor poor thing. The corners of his brows curled upwards in dubious concern,

"I do hope I've been clear enough in my words, and that we understand eachother?"

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Hemorraging Aether

Summary: Nerissa never wanted to be anything more than what she was. Just a girl with no goals and no intention of forming any. But she has been given remarkable powers regardless. Powers that have enamored her so fully that she can't imagine going back to an ordinary life. And so she consumes quintessence, becomes quintessence.

She was normal back then. 

She was quiet. 

Mostly she kept to herself. 

The evening is quiet, charming, tranquil. Most of them are in her little corner of the world. Usually they close in watercolor shades of orange, yellow, and pink. Back then, when she was just a little girl, she had a bedroom that gave her a view of the Aegean Sea. She had always liked watching the boats pull into Katapola’s port, liked imagining from where they had come and where they would go next. Her father liked to ruffle her barely tamed curls and mutter, “Rissy you tell quite a good story.” 

And then one day he had gone out to sea on a ship called ‘Glaucus’ and never came back. It isn’t that he hadn’t wanted to come back. In fact, she imagines that he was desperate to do so. 

She had written a lot of stories about a lot of ships. Where they had gone, where they will go, what the crew looks like and how they interact with each other…

She knows where the Glaucus was heading, her father had told her. But she does not know where it had gone to. The rescue crew couldn’t figure it out either. And so she had written a story and then another and another after that. The endings were tragic.

Her mother simply couldn’t take it. 

Now she has a meadow facing bedroom, somewhere in America, with billowing magenta curtains and a plush bay window cushion. Beneath which was a shelf full of books and an arrangement of art supplies that her aunt had gifted her to lift her spirits. 

Mostly the brushes and pencils had go untouched in favor of the music sheets and her flute. She likes to play with the window open and the breeze in her hair. Something about the wind sweeping up the notes and carrying them down the hillside, through plumes of dandelion seeds is enchanting. On these days she can imagine dancing in the clouds with mother and father. On these days she is able to imagine touching the skies, can picture herself in worlds distant and parallel. If only she could know that she will get to those places in due time. 

 .oOo.

Yan Lin smells like home, Cassidy thinks. Like smoke and her family’s restaurant and Cassidy couldn’t imagine her smelling any other way. She wouldn’t be Yan Lin if she didn’t smell like takeout—it is her pride and joy. And she is a master with a kitchen knife, a real culinary genius with her own sense of style and it is absolutely radical, as far out as fashion gets. She loves her peace sign necklaces and flower crowns. Her bell-bottom jeans and her very daring crop tops. Her hair beads and bright colors. 

Cassidy is a fan of vivid colors herself. Vivid colors and shimmery fabrics, anything that can catch the disco lights. They’re a good team, she and Yan Lin. Just two space cadets with heads full of dreams and hearts full of love. 

Yan Lin dreams of running away, being free like the wind. Going to a place where conflicts can’t reach and, perhaps, don’t exist at all. Cassidy dreams of success, of becoming one of those pop girls singing through a spinning vinyl. She doesn’t just want to listen to cassettes, she wants her voice on them. Wants her voice playing through speakers at the discos. 

This, she decides, will be her year. She will no longer be a closet disco queen, but the real deal. A fab, funky gal who won’t be forgotten. 

“I think that we should just cut out and leave right now.” Yan Lin suggests. 

“Oh come on, you don’t even want to give high school a try?”

“Not at all.” Yan Lin replies. “There are better things to do. We can fight for the New Right, the environment. We can continue what our parents were fighting for when we were in grade school.”

“They were in college, Yan Lin. We’re fresh outta’ middle school. What are we going to do to save the world?”

“Well nothing if we trap ourselves in that joint.”  She sighs. “We barely made it out of middle school. We were dorks then…”

“Exactly!” Cassidy delcaress. “That’s just us, a putz and a spaz.” She throws her arm over Yan Lin’s shoulder. “We survived middle school, and we’ll survive high school  together.”

And then they’ll change the world. Somehow, they will. She just knows it. 

.oOo.

“Check out these threads, Kadma!” Halinor exclaims. The girl is practically vibrating with excitement. She has been planning her outfit for weeks now. And she has settled on a wide-sleeved mini-dress with a soft floral print. Oranges and golds have always gone nicely with her hair. But today she picks something soft pink and brown to match those fuchsia gogo boots that her mom used to wear. Gold hoop earrings and small, round-framed sunglasses—rose-tinted to complete the look. “Out of sight, right!?”

“Who are you trying to impress?” Kadma asks. “The new girl?” 

Halinor crinkles her nose. “What? No! I’m not trying to impress anyone…” She pauses to apply her lip gloss. “But if I were trying to impress someone it would be Charlie.” 

“Buckthorn?”

Halinor flops down onto her bed and swoons. “The one and only.”

Kadma rolls her eyes. “He’s so generic though.”

“Maybe I like generic.” Halinor replies. 

“I’d feel better if you were trying to impress the new girl.”

“Yeah that…we’re all going to be new girls. Hello, freshmen, remember.” 

Kadma shrugs. “Okay but, I heard that one of our classmates is from Albania or Malta, or Greece or something.”

“And you moved here from India three summers ago, what’s your point?”

“Just that it’ll be nice to not be known as the new girl, you dig? I’ve been here for three years and I’m still that new girl from a ‘strange’ foreign country. I get tired of hearing it. The only reason they stopped making fun of my accent is because…” 

“Your dad’s a famous astronomer?”

“Because I talk to you and no one wants to mess with Halinor.” 

Halinor cringes. “That was middle school, Kadma. This is high school that we’re talking about. They have their own popular girls who are probably…I don’t know…”

“Well I’m just glad that I won’t be the new girl anymore.” She picks up a large crystal necklace. “How does this look?”

“Groovy, Kadma.” Halinor smiles. “Just slammin’.” She leaps off of the bed. “You know, that’s what I like about you, Kadma. You know how to rock the hippie look.”

Hopefully it’ll be enough to take them through high school and beyond. Halinor has never been good at with thinking in the long term, anything beyond high school seems so fantastical. Unreachable. 

.oOo.

Back then, when she was still a girl standing on a Katapola dock, Nerissa hadn’t really any wishes for change, no higher goals, nor a need to move on. Frankly she had been content to remain stagnant, to keep her spot by the window and her view of the Aegean Sea until the day that she would die. 

She still doesn’t long for something grandness. Truth be told, the pressures of grandness and extravagance are daunting. Enough is almost more than enough, is almost too much.

She picks up her flute. 

She brings it to her lips. 

But there is nothing that she’d like to play. 

Sometimes—most of the time these days, she stares blankly at the rolling fields wondering what Katapola looks like now, what kind of ships tether to its docks. She props her chin in her hands and imagines the Glaucus. Dreams of it sailing gently towards New York City. Mostly because that seems more likely than the ship pulling up to Rhode Island of all places. She dreams of her father stepping onto the pier. She thinks of anything but her first day of high school. American high school. 

And now that the day has arrived, she regrets having put no thought into it at all. She could have at least thought of what to wear. Something that won’t have her spending lunch alone for the rest of the year. Bell bottoms, fringe, and bright colors are in, at least that’s what the magazines say, the ones that talk about disco and boho-chic. 

But Nerissa is more for earthy tones and high-waisted pants, hair beads and mood rings.

And she isn’t sure that she is even reading the right magazines. 

She bites the inside of her cheek, just how different can’t American fashion be? She plucks a pair of high-waisted pants from a hanger, the ones that happen to be bell bottoms too. She holds them against her waist and frowns. Maybe she should go for the boho-chic look; she isn’t certain that she wants to have a run in with the hippie crowd, her aunt has made it quite clear that that lot is troublesome. “It’s all those drugs and all of that ‘free-loving’, if you know what I mean.” Nerissa had nodded yes but, truthfully she only had a faint idea or two. “And that music! Oh, it’s God-awful. Isn’t it, dear?” Nerissa had nodded her agreement to that as well, despite never hearing a single ‘hippie’ song. Her aunt likes swing music and old patriotic wartime tunes.  

And what does she like? 

Sometimes she doesn’t know. 

She used to want to be a sailor like her father. She also, at one point, wanted to be in a soap commercial. Perhaps she simply doesn’t have any dreams. No ambitions at all. And maybe that is why her aunt isn’t so fond of her these days. 

More than anything, Nerissa just wants to get by. She wants to pass through life so quietly that she eludes its cruelties. Yes, Nerissa decides, that is what she wants…

Nothing at all. 

Simplicity.

To be entirely unremarkable. 

And so she dresses herself in those earth tones, those high waisted pants, and the most unremarkable, perhaps unflattering, linen blouse that she can pair with them. The blouse that reminds her the most of home in its threadwork and pattern. She grabs her flute and her over the shoulder bag, and the lunch that she had prepared the night before–a sandwich with raspberry and peach jam, a bag of grapes, and a danish ring or two—and she makes her way to the door. 

The sun is shining but it is cloudy and the clouds are peculiar. There is something electric in them, perhaps the making of the storm. The way that they are haloed, prismatic with pastel rainbow outlines. The birds are lively this morning and she can smell sea-salt in the air, carried miles upon miles inland from the coast. Nerissa calls a goodbye to her aunt and uncle and closes the gate behind her.   

She wishes that they would drive her instead of leaving her to bike for several miles, on roads and sidewalks she is far less than familiar with. She spares one last glance back at the gate, it has come open again but she doesn’t go back to shut it. And so it flaps in a breeze that is steadily intensifying. There is a hum, a soft vibration that seems to set the world off-kilter. It is something that she can’t quite place, etched into the insides of petals and hidden within the rustling of the canopy. A soft song that she finds herself humming along with or playing on her flute when she gets home. 

She supposes that she has always felt it, ever since she was little. Ever since she had taken a fall from father’s boat and caught a glimpse of something else. Something higher. Something strange and incomprehensible that sometimes resurfaces in flashes in the dreamscape. Something that  she only understands for the duration of the dream.

Dreams. 

She would like to stay there. To create a world of her own.

Where nothing hurts and everything is soft.

She pedals harder. Faster. But she can’t outpace that subtle frequency. That dull charge in the air. That feeling that something is amiss. She rounds the corner. Suddenly, immersing herself in the clamor and chaos of high school seems much more pleasant. Much more in line with her desire to remain lackluster and unassuming. 

Sometimes the world hums and vibrates.

Sometimes the world talks to her.

She can’t quite make out what it wants to tell her. 

What it wants to show her.

The wind whips through her hair as she pedals over puddles, wheels distort a reflection that is already in a way distorted. By the time it settles, her wings are gone.

Nerissa is good at ignoring signs that she does not want to see. 

[kassil]

is it legal to keep an insect as a pet in this Vault

A wasp big enough to comfortably occupy your palm, which hails from a region that's slowly sinking over the years as the detritus below it decomposes; the material ejects in greasy ash-plumes, which this species of wasp gathers for building their nests. In the wild, the nests hang from immense spiky dandelion-like plants; in your home, it sealed an electric light inside, and that was how you learned the species feeds on electricity, as the power draw from that socket nearly doubled. Still, it also hunts pests, and will perch on your shoulder and use its wings to hum along to music you're listening to, doing an odd little dance as it does so.

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Intelligent life

Some planets are built for intelligent life. Asteroids sculpted into warrens of caves; barren hunks of rock, terraformed or xenoformed and fashioned into some new sort of home. Even space stations, welcoming travellers to their titanium shores, may grow so large that they form fresh worlds in their own right, the perfect fit for their ingenious creators.

More commonly, they develop new intelligent life of their own: dominant species emerging from within a stable habitat, organically learning to improve their lot, finding ways to bend the rules of nature. They come writhing out of the ocean, clambering down from the trees, and crawling out of ignorance with their tools and words and memories, on the path to claim their birthplace as their throne.

Still more planets do not see intelligent life at all, passing their entire lifespan in that blessed silence, that blissful ignorance - although as such, any species they do possess are unaware of quite how fortunate they are.

But there are some - a rare, ill-fated few - which simply have it thrust upon them.

The Sierra 470 hadn't been meant to ferry pioneers through space. It was only a small gondola under a solar sail, suitable for brief trips between greater craft, with barely enough room for its current occupants. But it had been built as the lifeboat for the ship which had.

That mighty vessel, the SKG Ultramarine, had been en route to a neighbouring galaxy when it was grounded on an iceberg of asteroid debris, its hull ruptured beyond repair. Amongst that backdrop of catastrophe, these escape pods had been cast like dandelion seeds upon the solar winds.

Guntan-B3 was an ocean planet, a few bald islands in a frozen sea, and not the most welcoming to terrestrial life. Still, the crew of the Sierra met it with the gratitude of a drowning man clutching a proffered hand, without pausing to check if it belonged to friend or foe. Like beggars, refugees were seldom afforded the luxury of choice.

Their capsule arrived as a stray bullet, hurtling through the emptiness of space, and punctured the planet's atmosphere as much by chance as by design. For the tightly huddled masses inside, it was a welcome break from the terror of the abyss. They cannonballed into the lilac surf, sending a plume of water soaring overhead and giving rise to ripples which led waves to crash on distant shores... and then set about following them.

Their lifeboat had washed up onto a desert island, in a sense, although Guntan-B3 had few true islands to offer them. The Sierra 470 was not meant for life at sea, and the survivors had to repurpose it into a raft: broken girders turned to oars, the solar sail cut loose, and new sails stitched from the robes of those who'd fallen in the crash.

They cannibalised the ship's technology, air conditioning systems becoming a rudimentary motor, and it wasn't long before they thought about doing the same to each other. Day followed day, and their stores began to look as bare as the horizon, a hazy smudge between the ashen sky and purple sea. No doves appeared to save them from the flood, and lead them to their Mouth Ararat.

But then the peolops did.

They were roughly seal-like in appearance, rotund yet sleek, or simply adapted to a life in the sea. The crew named them for the sounds they made, a sort of bubbling greeting as they looked up to the makeshift deck. They were curious, friendly, unafraid - and why would they be? They had no natural predators, and had hitherto been alone above the waves, where they only came to breed in places where their young could also feel secure.

Intentionally or not, they led the Sierra 470 to one such site, a rocky atoll that barely rose above the surf. It was a snug fit for one corner of the spacecraft's hull, and they nestled into their new home, a place where they could stretch their legs and wade into the periwinkle shallows. They washed, and laughed, and thanked the peolops for their aid as they swam in circles around them.

But joy soon faded as their other needs returned. The pioneers were cold, and hungry, and desperate. It was nice to have friends, but all of the friendliness in the world couldn't furnish them with the other things they lacked. They had no need for companionship, on a lifeboat already crammed to the gills. They had a need for furs, and fire, and food. The peolops had a thick hide, and oily blubber, and plentiful flesh.

In future generations, the descendants of those settlors would tell each other stories of a world imbued with magic, of friendly animals that lived side-by-side, a world that could never exist. But there was no magic in their world. The pioneers had proven that. They scoured the oceans, tracked down every peolop on the planet, stripped them each down to their cartilage, and didn't find an ounce of magic in their hearts.

They had discovered a new life for themselves, utilising the remains of their technology to exert dominion, confusing their intelligence for wisdom. It was an oil lamp that cast a shadow over the rest of the planet. In the absence of the peolops to control their numbers, their prey species began to proliferate, and devoured the white coral which in turn gave them sustenance. Within a century of the Sierra 470's arrival, Guntam-B3 had become every bit as dead as the pioneers had first feared.

Again, adrift not in a flood but in a drought, a desert of their own design, they prayed for a dove to come and guide them on. Again, those prayers were answered: an intact spacecraft, making a controlled descent into the atmosphere in search of future colonies, discovered their atoll, the rusted, water-damaged homes, the apparent savages who huddled in the shallows underneath.

Once the language barrier was breached, they extended an invitation for the descendants to join them on their ship, and the survivors welcomed them with gratitude, sharing smiles of relief as they escorted them aboard. They were intrigued by this alien species, who seemed more advanced than they were now, and perhaps more than they'd ever been. Corralled into some sort of holding pen, they were curious, friendly, unafraid - and why would they be? They had grown up with dominion here.

Like the peolops, they had never known to fear a predator before.

[parleboo]

Witnessed Today:

Sweet chili bbq Doritos???

Work killed the Casper-sized dandelion (I am not tall, but the seed plume was the size of a grapefruit)

Visibly improved air quality

[fangirleaconmigo]

Didn't Geralt straight up meet the elven god?

Hi Anon,

So this is in response to my post on Geralt and humanism.

Geralt, Yen, and Dandelion all state that they don't believe in the gods at some point or another (well for Dandelion, the narrator states it. The line goes "Ye Gods," cried Dandelion, who didn't believe in any.)

Yet Geralt and Yen both meet super powered beings that other people worship.

The difference, I think, between them and someone like Nenneke or Milva who believe in 'the gods' as an entity and would call upon them, is that Geralt does not believe that these entities have the kind of power that is attributed to them.

They do not order the universe. They do not decide what events occur. They do not give you a destiny. They are not with you in spirit. They are not omniscient, omnipresent, or omnipowerful. There is no point in praying to them.

To him, as a human, your life is up to you. Your challenges, your accomplishments, your choices, you make them. You are on your own, along with whatever other humans have decided to stand at your side.

He witnesses chaos, and does feel wonder at it. In A Shard of Ice, he is fascinated by Yen's 'creational' magic when she makes a kestrel. But chaos is just that. Chaos. Like nature. it can be molded to some form or function or another by whoever is powerful enough to eke a plume of it from the elements. Like building a fire in the fireplace.

But it doesn't have an order, a will, or a plan.

That's basically how I read it. And whether meeting any of these super powered beings changes how they see things by the end of the series, I didn't notice that. But if anyone else has anything to add, I'd be happy to read it. I'm always glad to nerd out about it.