#dry flower arrangements near me

[floralswholesale]

Using Australian Native Dry Flowers in Your Floral Arrangement

Almost all Australian native dry flowers are beautiful, but there are some that are really special. These include Acacia Pycnantha, Anigozanthus flavidus, and Banksia.

Acacia Pycnantha

Known as the golden wattle, Acacia pycnantha is a native of Victoria. It grows up to eight metres tall and produces large puffy golden-yellow flower blossoms in late winter. The flowers are pollinated by honeyeaters and thornbills.

The Golden Wattle is a member of the legume family, the Acacia genus. The leaves are palm-like, with dark green foliage.

The bark of the Golden Wattle has been cultivated for tannins, and is also used for honey production in humid regions. The flowers are bright yellow and are packed into globular clusters.

The flower heads are arranged in showy sprays of six to twenty heads. The golden wattle is most commonly found near Sydney in central New South Wales, but is also found farther inland near Kalgoorlie.

When the wattle is young, the tree produces yellow flower balls. It is an Australian native shrub that flowers from June to October.

It is often naturalised along roadsides and in woodlands. It grows from three to eight metres tall. It has smooth, dark brown bark. It also grows in fynbos shrublands.

Anigozanthus flavidus

Known as the evergreen kangaroo paw, Anigozanthos flavidus is a native Australian plant. This clumping plant can grow up to 1 metre wide and has strap-like leaves. It grows in sandy and drained soils. It also does well in clay soils. It grows well in pots and borders and makes a lovely cut flower.

Anigozanthos flavidus can be grown from seed. It can also be started from cuttings. It is a hardy native plant that grows well in many climatic zones. In the right conditions, germination can occur in just 21 days. It can grow to about two metres tall.

Anigozanthos flavidus has a wide range of colouration and can be very attractive. The flowers have a tubular shape and are generally yellow-green in colour. The flowers have thick red or green hairs on them that can be a problem if they come into contact with skin or eyes.

The flowers have a distinctive kangaroo paw look and are often used as cut flowers. The flowering season runs from November to February. The flowers are produced in clusters on stems that are a little shorter than the leaves.

Actinotus helianthi

Known as the Flannel Flower, the Actinotus helianthi is an Australian native dry flower that grows in southern New South Wales and Queensland. The flower is usually found growing in sandy soils or coastal heaths.

This plant is a popular choice for cut flower arrangements. The small creamy-white flowers are surrounded by velvety bracts. The flowers last for several weeks in a vase. They are also popular for garden settings and courtyards.

This plant is hardy and can tolerate a variety of conditions. However, it is not suitable for colder areas. It thrives in a variety of soil conditions, including sandy and rocky soils. Actinotus helianthi is also tolerant of mild frost once it has been established.

Actinotus helianthi is a small shrub that can reach a height of 0.5 to 1.5 meters. It can also be grown as a potted plant. Actinotus helianthi can be planted in sunny, exposed sites. The leaves are deeply lobed and crinkled, and the foliage reduces moisture loss in dry conditions.

Banksia

Using Australian native dry flowers in your floral arrangement is a fun and functional way to pay tribute to our country's unique flora. Australian native flowers are also a nice way to add texture and colour to your floral creation. They are easy to maintain and will last for months to come.

The best way to keep your dried flowers fresh is to use a glycerin solution. This is a simple process of mixing glycerin with water to create a solution. Place the flowers in the solution and leave them for up to three weeks. If you notice tiny beads on the leaves, take them out and re-pot them.

For the most part, drying your Australian native flowers will not harm them. In fact, some natives can stand the heat. For example, the everlasting strawflower is a great choice. The flower produces non-stop blooms in summer and tolerates most soil types.

The best place to dry your Australian native flower is in a dark, dry area of your home. You can also hang them in the bathroom or your bedroom.

[thechaoticdruid]

[Firsts] (1/2)

Pairing: Astarion x Named F!Tav

Plot: Astarion's been acting way too flirty lately. Seriously it was starting to weird Winnie out. She knew the man flirted with pretty much everyone in the group, but lately since she'd given him a taste of her blood it seemed much more targeted at her and very aggressive. Could he actually be attracted to her? Pfft! No way!

Content/Warnings: Sexual themes, sexual humor, light smut, no actual sex yet, making out, dry humping, groping, violence, blood, death, Winnie has very low self esteem, Astarion being a perv, Virgin MC, Astarion bullies Gale, Gale has one sided crush on MC, oblivious MC, Astarion being Astarion, body issues.

Second part: [2/2]

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Things had kinda been weird for Winnie ever since she'd discovered one of her companions was a vampire. Astarion had always been rather flirtatious with the members of their merry band of weirdos, but now it was different. Ever since he'd gotten a taste of her blood his flirtations seem much more targeted towards her. 

Winnie would most often brush them aside. It didn't mean anything after all. Either Astarion was just a naturally flirty person or he wanted to butter her up so she'd be more likely to let him have more of her blood. The female druid was certain these flirtations weren't anything serious. 

Men like Astarion did not pursue women like Winnie. The human female wasn't exactly sure anyone would ever pursue her, but it definitely wouldn't be someone as breathtakingly beautiful as the pale elf. 

Winnie glanced around the blighted village before pushing through the door of an old abandoned house as she began to remember something one of the elder druids in her circle said when she was a child. “She's nothing but a weed amongst the flowers.” The old bitch had said.  Winnie rolled her eyes with a sigh as the others scouted the area.

“This looks like a suitable place to make camp.” Gale stated, looking around.

“It'll serve.” Lae'zel added and dropped her pack on the ground near an old fireplace. 

“It'll be nice to at least have a roof over our heads for once.” Shadowheart chimed in as she walked over and glanced over an arrangement of books that littered one of the walls. 

“Pft, if you can even call it that! This hovel is practically crumbling!” Astarion exclaimed.

“If you'd prefer to sleep elsewhere, be my guest.” Winnie replied before setting her own things down.

Wyll looked over the fireplace and checked around the house for any fire wood, but unfortunately there didn't appear to be any in sight. 

“We might want to go find some wood to build a fire before nightfall.” He suggested.

“I can do that.” Winnie stood up, “I'll see if there's anything else we can scavenge nearby.” 

“I'll go with you. It would only be the gentlemanly thing to do, accompanying a lady.” Gale piped up.

“Yeah sure, come if you want.” Winnie shrugged before turning and leaving the ruined house.

Gale followed after her before the two were also accompanied by Astarion.

“I’m coming too.” He said, sauntering up behind Winnie. 

“I'm surprised Astarion. I didn't think manual labor was your forte, nor yours either Gale.” The druid female hummed.

“Well I'm not about to let you go and do all the work alone!” The wizard added.

“And I never said I was going to help, watch Gale fail miserably to impress you perhaps, but I am certainly not going to risk damaging these nails for firewood.” Astarion sassed looking over his pointed vampire spawn claws with a pout.

Winnie rolled her eyes, ”good gods, might as well have let me go alone.” The druid female muttered, walking off ahead of the two men. Her eyes scanned the blighted village. The place was crawling with goblins and even though they let the party pass through on the count of them being ‘True Souls’ Winnie wasn't very convinced that they would be friendly enough to offer her group supplies. 

Her and the boys continued to search about, Astarion seeming all too pleased to give Gale a hard time today. Eventually after passing a large gate and strolling towards the edge of the ruined village the three adventures came across a shed.

Winnie stepped towards it, immediately coming to a halt as she began to hear low grunts and moans coming from the other side of the door.

“Oh dear….” Gale exclaimed, a look of horror adorning his bearded face.

“Do I even want to know…?” Winnie turned pale with disgust.

“I do! Sounds absolutely disgusting heh heh heh..”Astarion chuckled with a mischievous glint in his crimson red eyes. 

“You want to take a peek be my guest, but don't expect me to rush in after you.” Winnie rolled her eyes looking back at Astarion. 

“And here I thought you'd be interested in joining the fun, darling.” Astarion gave Winnie a wink before swinging the door open, a giddy shit eating grin spreading across the pale elf's face. 

“Oh gods….” Winnie gasped as she and Gale looked forward seeing a bugbear and a lady ogre in the ahem doggy style position. The two humans' faces were filled with horror and disgust while Astarion still had that same stupid grin on his face.

“WHAT THE HELLS ARE YOU DOING!?” The bugbear screamed as he pulled away from his lover. 

“Uh…. I'm very sorry! W-We were just leaving!” Winnie said nervously, face turning red in embarrassment.

“You two make a lovely couple by the way!” Gale said, trying to deflect any tension, but the two lovers did not seem to appreciate the compliment.

“Kinky.” Astarion clicked his tongue with a smirk. 

“MOMENT RUINED! I SMASH YOU!” The ogre suddenly pulled out a huge club and slammed it down right in Winnie's direction. Luckily the druid was able to leap back just in the nick of time. 

The bugbear began to charge in her direction only to receive an arrow to his shoulder, swiftly shot by Astarion who’d quickly climbed atop some nearby crates.  Winnie quickly unsheathed her scimitars from her back, rushing the bugbear and slashing him across the chest.  The she-ogre growled and took another swing at Winnie, prompting Gale to cast magic missile hitting both the ogre and bugbear. 

The bugbear let out a loud scream of pain before dropping down onto the ground.

“NO GRUKKOH!!!” The ogre shouted, tears welling up in her eyes before she glared at Gale with pure hate and rage. “YOU WILL DIE!!!!” 

Quickly before she can move to smite Gale with her club Astarion is quick to notch an arrow and fire it, hitting the ogre right in the left eye. Gale hits her with a bolt of lightning before Winnie makes a dash to run behind her. She then turns and uses her druidic magic to summon a vine from her hand and lasso the ogre’s leg, yanking on it hard. The beastly female tumbled back letting out a cry as she fell to the ground. 

Winnie then took the opportunity to leap up on top of her and slam her scimitars right down into the ogre’s chest, piercing her heart. Blood splattered upon the druid as she pulled her blades out of the she-beast’s chest, getting on her face and shoulders. She panted and hopped down off the large corpse. Astarion's ears turned a bit pink as he glanced over at the blood drenched female.  Honestly he had to admit…..That was kind of hot…

“A pity we had to put an end to the two lovers.” Gale spoke up.

“Better them than me.” Winnie said wiping a bit of blood off her face.

“Darling, hold on a moment. Allow me to help.” Astarion said, quickly rushing over to where the human female stood. Her strange fushia colored eyes looked back at him with curiosity. The vampire ran his thumb over her cheek, collecting a bit of blood before all too eagerly sucking it off his digit. His thumb pulled out of his mouth with a wet pop. “That was a very….enticing display you know?~” He purred seductively in her ear just quiet enough for Gale not to hear. 

“Uh…Thanks…” Winnie looked off to the side checks turning bright red. 

“Ahem! Well shouldn't we return to work? The sun’s nearly gone and we have yet to find some firewood!” Gale piped up, trying to change the subject before stepping in between the rogue and druid.

“Actually darling, I think our dear druid should probably take a rest. She did most of the fighting after all.” Astarion put his hand on Gale’s shoulder.  “And offering to get the firewood for her would definitely be the gentlemanly thing to do.” 

“You're not going to offer to help me are you?” Gale rose an eyebrow.

“Oh gods no! My dear wizard, you can't expect me to leave this sweet little thing all by herself?” Astarion said before moving piece of Winnie’s messy brown locks out of her face.

“I'm perfectly fine guys….I can actually just go get the wood by myself….” Winnie said feeling Astarion's hungry eyes leering at her. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Why was he being so aggressive with his flirting today?

Winnie wasn't exactly too worn out, but at the same time she really didn't feel like feeding this overgrown mosquito tonight. Partially because she had been getting devoured by actual mosquitoes left and right since they’d wondering the wilderness. 

“I'm not sure if it's wise to leave a lamb alone with a wolf.” Gale gave Astarion a suspicious glare. 

“Hey! If anyone’s a wolf it's me!” Winnie pouted and crossed her arms. She was rather offended Gale didn't seem to acknowledge her most used wildshape.

“A wolf and a panther then.” Gale said.

“How dare you! I would never lay a finger on our darling leader!” Astarion crossed his arms.

“Okay, I think we've wasted enough time already.” Winnie said before wild-shaping into a black bear and wandering off to collect the wood herself.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~• 

Later that evening after Winnie had brought back the firewood she shifted back into her human form and hid herself away from the others, making herself comfortable in what was left of the ruined house’s bedroom.  She glanced up at the mirror beside her, studying her face. Dark circles colored underneath her eyes, left by sleepless nights. Messy brown locks that never behaved no matter what she did.  A scarred lip from her first real battle. And her body oh how she despised it. It was far too plump for her tastes.

"Nothing but a weed amongst the flowers."

“Why would anyone ever fall in love with you? You're disgusting!”

“Just as fat as a deep rothé and twice as ugly!”

“She's definitely gonna die alone.”

Winnie’s brows knitted together before she stood up and slammed the mirror into the wall, shattering it into a million tiny pieces. She breathed in and out, taking a moment to process what she had just done. The young druid honestly had no idea what had come over her. Why were these tormentful thoughts all coming back now?

Surely there were better things to be thinking about!? The disgusting parasite in her brain for one! She needed to get it together, or risk turning into something much more grotesque.

Winnie needed to get some air. She left the house through the back entrance and stepped off into the nearby forest, breathing in and out slowly. She closed her eyes and just took a moment to listen to all the soothing sounds of nature. Frogs croaking, crickets chirping, an owl hooting above the trees and footsteps…

Wait, footsteps!?

Winnie quickly turned around, her hand reaching into her pack for a blade when she noticed a familiar pair of red eyes looking back at her.

“I was hoping I'd finally be able to get you alone.~” 

“Astarion? Look, I'm really not in the mood to give you blood tonight. Maybe tomorrow?” Winnie sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Oh, I'm not here for that darling. I'm here for you.” Astarion approached, eyes looking her up and down as his perfect pretty lips formed a painfully fake looking smile.

“You need my help with something?” Winnie tilted her head in confusion.

“In a manner of speaking. I've grown rather attached to you if I'm honest.” Astarion placed a hand on his hip.

“Ah, well that's sweet of you to say. I'm really glad to have made some friends on this journey.” Winnie said with a smile. 

“Oh my sweet. I'm not talking about friendship. I'm talking about desire.~” Astarion leaned a bit closer. His breath hit Winnie’s face as he slightly towered over the short female.

“I…. Don't follow….” Winnie said awkwardly. Astarion blinked and then proceeded to pinch the bride of his nose.

“Oh for gods sake. SEX. Darling, I'm talking about sex.” Astarion said with annoyance, crossing his arms. Winnie’s face turned bright red as he finally spelled it out.  It finally explained why he seemed so aggressive with his flirting lately. But at the same time Winnie just couldn't believe Astarion was actually making a pass at her. Her of all people!

“You're joking, right?” Winnie chuckled nervously.

“Why would I be?” Astarion gave her a confused look.

“Wouldn't you rather spend a night with one of the others? Lae'zel or Shadowheart? Or maybe even Wyll?” Winnie asked.

“Ha! Please. As if I'd waste my time with one of them! I have standards, dear.” Astarion said sassily.

“I'm just…You have seen me right?” Winnie said, looking away shyly. Astarion couldn't help but frown for a moment. Winnie seemed very....well insecure. It was clear she didn't seem to believe he could in any way find her attractive. He was however quick to resume his flirty persona.

“Indeed, I have and I find you to be rather delectable looking.~” 

“Yeah, yeah stop messing with me, okay. It's not funny.” Winnie rolled her eyes and turned to leave. Astarion internally panicked. Fuck. He couldn't let her leave. It would completely ruin his plans! 

“I'm not! I crave you!” Astarion quickly grabbed hold of her and pinned her to a tree. Winnie let out a grunt before looking up and blushing darkly.

“I want to feel you squirm under me.~” He said huskily. Winnie was at a complete loss for words. What the hells was she even supposed to fucking say to that!? Her heart was pounding so fast and she honestly felt like if he said one more word she'd faint right there. “And I know you want me too.~ I've seen how you look at me. How your heart races when I'm near. And don't think I haven't noticed the little lustful glances you give my backside you naughty thing!~”

“I-I-I…OKAY YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT!” Winnie said, and pushed against him, making him back up.  She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take before she suddenly melted into a puddle. Winnie was not used to this kind of attention at all. “Sorry I just…I'm not used to this…” Winnie said, a bit embarrassed, “feel like I'm going to explode…Heheh…”

“Cute.” Astarion smirked at Winnie’s nervousness.

“I've never been with anyone if I'm honest….Hells I’ve never even been kissed.” Winnie looked down, honestly feeling rather ashamed.

Oh gods, why did you say that!? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! 

Astarion then gently took her hand, “I would be happy to teach you.” He said before planting a soft kiss on her hand. Winnie took a deep breath, nervousness filled her belly. She looked into his eyes and nodded, “okay.” 

Astarion cupped her cheek, his crimson red eyes staring into her pink ones as he rubbed a cold thumb over her cheek.  Winnie closed her eyes and puckered her lips, slowly anticipating for him to make the next move.  She felt his breath hit her face before his soft lips met her own. At first it was sweet and innocent, nothing but a chaste little peck. But then he pushed her back up against the tree and pressed his body against hers. Winnie gasped feeling Astarion grind himself against her, allowing him to snake his tongue into her mouth deeping their kiss. His free hand reached down to cup one of her ass cheeks, giving it a firm squeeze through her pants. 

“Mmmm!” Winnie moaned into his mouth, her arms slowly finding their way around his neck as she squirmed. She could feel a hard growing bulge prod her core as he pushed his hips against her own. His tongue swirled around her own, exploring and dominating her mouth, but eventually she was forced to pull back for air.  A string of saliva connected their mouths as they pulled back. Winnie panted, staring back at the vampire who was seductively licking his lips. One of his hands was still groping her ass. 

“A-Ah!~” The brunette haired druid let out a whimper as the elf pressed his clothed cock into her. 

“You make such adorable sounds, darling.” He purred before planting another kiss on her lips. Winnie quickly returned it before Astarion began to move down her jaw, trailing kisses lower. 

His tongue lapped over her neck before he quickly began to suck on the delicate skin eagerly.

He kept one hand on her ass while the other reached up to undo her the buttons of her shirt.

Winnie bit her lip as she felt the cool air hit her breasts, her nipples hardening quick.  

Astarion smirked, his eyes hungrily eyeing her well endowed assets. Who knew she could fit something so big under her shirt? If he'd known they were this large he'd have bedded her sooner. Astarion licked his lips before leaning in to plant a kiss on top of one of her breasts. Unfortunately before his mouth could make contact with her skin he ended up being rudely interrupted. 

“There you two are-” Gale's voice trailed off, his face turned bright red.

“Is everything okay….Oh….” Wyll’s eyes widened as he peaked out from behind Gale.

“What is it? Did something happen!? Oh well that's interesting…” Shadowheart said, appearing behind Wyll. 

“Chk! As expected. It was only a matter of time.” Lae'zel seemed completely unfazed as she stood beside Shadowheart.

“Ooh Winnie! Get it!” Karlach cheered, jumping out from behind the others, tail wagging with excitement.

“Do you fucking mind!?” Astarion hissed and pulled back, glaring at the others as Winnie quickly turned away and buttoned up her shirt.  This was so fucking embarrassing! Her pink eyes quickly scanned the area for a hole to crawl inside.

“And here I was worried you were planning on eating our dear friend. Although I suppose I'm technically not wrong….” Gale hummed.

To be continued………

Note From TheChaoticDruid: Just gonna say, the last part was inspired by an infamous Dragon Age Inquisition scene. XD And I was going to try to fit both parts into one, but it just got so long that I decided to cut it in half.

[hamsterclaw]

Lonely - a Vows prequel

Yoongi finds a weakness he plans to exploit to the fullest. Another prequel to the events of Vows. Read the rest here.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2.6k

Genre: Arranged marriage AU, smut

Warnings: Sex, swearing, bereavement

Yoongi buries his face in your pillow when he’d rather bury it in your neck and breathe in the scent of your skin. 

Your hand leaves his back, and you turn on your side, away from him. 

Yoongi lifts his head to check on you. 

‘You ok?’ he asks.

You don’t even turn to look at him. 

‘I’m fine.’ 

Yoongi’s got his own cum drying on his cock, he knows he needs to get up, clean himself off, but he doesn’t want to go just yet. 

‘You can stay if you want,’ you say, still facing away from him. 

‘I should get cleaned up,’ Yoongi says. 

Too late he realises it sounds like he doesn’t want to stay, when that wasn’t what he’d meant. 

‘Suit yourself,’ you reply. Your voice is flat. 

‘Aren’t you going to even look at me?’ Yoongi asks. It comes out too sharp, he realises as soon as the words leave his lips. 

You turn over to face him. 

‘What’s your problem, Yoongi?’ you ask, your tone frosty. 

Yoongi’s sitting up, but you’re not done yet. 

‘Did you want cuddles too?’ 

There’s so much venom in your voice Yoongi’s taken aback. 

You’re still not done. 

‘I hate flowers,’ you say, wrathful. 

You’re referring to the bouquet of lilies Yoongi sent you a few days ago, he doesn’t even know what possessed him to send them apart from that he’d had a realisation he’s never given you flowers before. 

In that moment Yoongi vows to send you flowers every day, just to piss you off. 

It’s petty and ridiculous, but then, so is he, when it comes to you.

***

There’s a commotion in the hallway, Yoongi can hear your voice. 

A moment later the door to his study slams open, and you’re standing in his doorway. 

‘Husband,’ you say, in the tone one might use to say, ‘cockroach’, ‘was I not clear when I told you that I hate flowers?’ 

Yoongi keeps his expression carefully blank. 

‘You hate flowers?’ he asks, innocently. 

You’re glaring at him so hard Yoongi can feel the heat of your gaze from where you’re standing. 

‘I told you that after we fucked last week,’ you assert. ‘And funnily enough, you’ve sent me flowers every day since.’

You round his desk and get right up in his face. 

‘Stop. Sending. Me. Flowers.’

The words come out staccato, and at the end of your sentence you poke him in the chest.

Yoongi looks down at your hand, surprised.

The words come out before he knows he’s spoken. 

‘No.’ 

The look on your face almost makes him laugh.

Your eyebrows are raised so high they’re practically in your hairline, your lips in an ‘o’. 

‘What did you say?’ you ask.

‘I said ‘no’,’ Yoongi replies. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to get done.’

You let out a strangled cry and stomp out of his office. 

You kick childishly at his house slippers on the way and nearly trip yourself up.

Yoongi’s half-risen from his seat, arm out like he could catch you from here.

You rally and stomp out, slamming the door behind you.

Yoongi rubs a hand over his chest, thinking of how you poked him. 

He decides he likes you when you’re angry.

***

Yoongi looks, bemused, at the huge tents sitting right in the middle of the front lawn of the house, the crowd of people milling around.

They hadn’t been there when he left for work this morning.

He approaches the front of the tents, and is greeted by a bespectacled woman with pink streaks in her hair. 

‘Good evening, are you here to support the event?’ she asks, pleasantly.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. 

‘You’re using my front lawn as the venue, so yes, you could say that,’ he says, mildly.

Her expression brightens. ‘Ah, you must be Mr Min! Your wife said you were a staunch supporter of our work. Please, have a seat, the dinner’s about to start!’

Yoongi allows himself to be led to a table near the front. To his surprise, Seokjin’s waiting at the table. 

‘What’s going on, Min?’ Seokjin asks. ‘Y/N said you wanted me to come over tonight.’

Yoongi snorts. ‘And you believed her?’

Seokjin, to his credit, looks shamefaced at being so easily hoodwinked. 

‘She has an innocent face,’ Seokjin says. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘Please tell me you know what’s going on.’

Seokjin passes him a leaflet. ‘I believe we’re raising money for a domestic violence charity.’

‘At least it’s a worthy cause.’ Yoongi looks around the tent, searching for your familiar head.

‘Where is my beloved wife?’ he asks Seokjin.

Seokjin nods, sagely. ‘It’s safer when you have a visual on her,’ he agrees. He tilts his head. ‘Incoming, three o clock.’

Yoongi turns, and as always, the sight of you makes his heart race and his blood pressure spike.

You’re accompanied by a gorgeous man with intense eyes and floppy hair.

‘Hi, Yoongi,’ you say cheerfully. Yoongi notices how you carefully stay out of arm’s reach. ‘This is Taehyung, he’s agreed to sing for us tonight.’

Yoongi very much dislikes how close you and Taehyung are standing. 

‘Pleasure to meet you,’ he says, shaking Taehyung’s hand, squeezing a little harder than necessary.

‘It’s a pleasure to be here,’ Taehyung replies, his voice a smooth baritone that makes Yoongi feel like dropping his own voice a register to match. 

‘Yuna will take you to get set up. Thanks again, Tae,’ you say. 

Tae?

Yoongi realises he’s grinding his teeth and makes a conscious effort to loosen his jaw. 

Seokjin’s grinning at him like a traitorous devil. ‘Is that the Kim Taehyung? I’ve heard great things about his music.’

‘We went to school together,’ you say. ‘He’s always been talented.’

‘How long have you been planning this fundraiser?’ Yoongi asks. 

A waiter materialises with a tray of champagne. Yoongi takes a glass, handing it to you automatically. 

You gulp it down so quickly you have time to grab another glass before the waiter leaves.

‘Just the last week,’ you say, shrugging. There’s a gleam in your eye. ‘It was all the flowers that gave me the idea, actually. I’ve been donating them to a women’s shelter and it struck me that I could do more than giving flowers.’

You fix Yoongi with a look he can’t quite decipher. ‘I was glad the lilies were going to people who would get enjoyment out of them.’

‘Do you dislike all flowers, or just lilies?’ Seokjin asks. 

You give Yoongi a sideways look. ‘Ah, let’s sit, they’re about to serve dinner.’

After dinner, Taehyung takes the small stage. As much as Yoongi hates to admit it, the man has a beautiful voice, and incredible charisma. 

The summer night is warm, balmy, and there’s a gorgeous glow to your skin in the fairy lights strung along the tent.

The smoke of Taehyung’s voice in the romantic ballad he’s singing is the perfect backdrop to what turned out to be an enjoyable evening. 

Yoongi leans back against his seat, arm propped on your seat. He can see the way you’re looking at the people swaying to the music on the makeshift dancefloor. 

‘Would you like to dance?’ he asks.

Your eyes light up. 

‘Yes,’ you reply.

Yoongi feels that familiar pulse of affection for you, the reason he thinks that maybe you and he have a chance of making this arranged marriage work. 

He holds out his hand, and you stare at it for a moment before putting your hand in his.

Yoongi doesn’t think of himself as much of a dancer, but it’s easy enough to pull you close.

You lean against his chest, and Yoongi thinks to himself that he really couldn’t ask for anything more than this. 

Then your arms slide around his waist, and you turn your head slightly into him. Your lips press against his chest for an instant. 

In this moment Yoongi thinks that he would forgive you anything.

‘I donated on our behalf, in my mother’s name, I hope that’s ok,’ you tell him.

Yoongi nods. ‘Of course that’s ok. It’s our money.’

‘I was going to ask —‘ you stop. 

Yoongi waits. 

‘It’s the anniversary of her death tomorrow. Will you come with me to visit her?’

Yoongi’s saddened that you’re asking like he might say no. 

‘Of course,’ he says, gently. ‘I’m honoured that you want me to go with you.’

You’re not looking at him, staring at his shoulder. ‘Thanks, Yoongi.’

Yoongi feels an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest. ‘You don’t have to worry about asking me for things,’ he tells you.

You look up at him, worry in your eyes. 

‘I hid all your left shoes,’ you tell him.

‘I thought it was you,’ Yoongi says, mildly. ‘Luckily I have spare shoes at the office.’

‘I’ll bring them back tonight.’

‘Nah,’ Yoongi replies. ‘You’re sleeping with me tonight.’

The smile you give him is mischievous.

‘Ok,’ you say, nonchalant.

***

Yoongi’s lips have kissed every inch of you, he thinks. 

His hands have learned the shape of you and he hopes that you’ve learned the feel of his touch. 

Yoongi plans on reminding you what he feels like every chance he gets.

His cock throbs inside you. You’re pinned underneath him, making little movements of your hips, sending tendrils of pleasure through him, making his balls tighten until they ache.

Your hands are fluttering along his back like you can’t decide where you want to touch most. 

‘Please Yoongi,’ you plead. Tears are pooled at the corners of your eyes, the skin of your face and chest burning against his.

Yoongi tightens his grip on your wrist. ‘A little more, baby,’ he coaxes. ‘I promise it’ll feel good.’

He pulls out an inch, two, and enters you again, filling you to the brim, relishing your desperate moan.

He can feel your thighs trembling, his hips between them as he takes his time working you up. 

Your eyes fall closed, and Yoongi squeezes your wrist. 

‘Hey. Look at me when I’m fucking you.’

‘It’s too much,’ you cry, ‘I can’t hold it, I’m gonna —-‘

Yoongi can already feel you pulsing around him, tightening around his cock for the second time. 

He doesn’t know if you’re aware how you wrap your whole body around him when you come, your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck, your lips pressed to his. 

He doesn’t know if you’re aware how it drives him crazy, the way you surrender to him completely, trust him to take care of you in this way. 

Yoongi slows his movements, holds himself still within you until you come back down.

Your grip on him loosens. 

‘You’re still hard,’ you murmur. ‘Still so hard.’

You’re slipping onto your knees on the floor in front of him, hand around his cock. 

‘Where do you want to cum, Yoongi?’ you ask, quiet, pliant in a way you never are outside the bedroom. 

You kiss the head of his cock, hand wrapping around him, stroking in the way you’ve learned he likes.

You moan as you lick up his cock. Your spare hand reaches to touch his balls, tugging just enough that Yoongi groans.

He’s aware he hasn’t answered your question.

‘I want to cum inside you,’ he says.

Your eyes darken. ‘Here?’ you ask, and you’re climbing up over him to sit in his lap. 

‘Why do you want to cum inside, Yoongi?’ you ask, voice silken. ‘Wanna fill me up? Wanna put your baby in me?’

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi swears, hands gripping your hips as you ride him. ‘Why does that sound so hot?’

‘I want it,’ you moan, hips working, one hand behind you, balancing so he can watch the way you writhe on his cock. ‘I want your cum, give it to me, Yoongi.’

The pleasure’s building so fast Yoongi just has time to grunt a warning before he’s spilling, cock buried deep inside you. You’re so tight around his cock Yoongi can barely move. 

‘Good girl,’ he praises, voice raspy. ‘Take it all, baby.’

He pulls out, and you moan as he squeezes your hip. ‘Don’t waste it,’ he says. ‘I’m going to the bathroom and when I come back I’m gonna check if you’ve been a good girl and kept it all inside, ok?’

You’re looking at him. ‘Gonna try,’ you say, so serious Yoongi’s both amused and somewhat aroused.

When he gets back you’re still in the same position he left you in.

Yoongi taps your warm thigh. ‘Let me see.’

He watches a trickle of white slide down between your legs and tsks. ‘You said you were going to be a good girl and keep it all, baby.’

You look at him, petulant. ‘It was too much,’ you protest. 

Yoongi can’t believe his ears. ‘Don’t be a brat,’ he says, sternly. ‘Say sorry and I’ll give you more.’

Your lips clamp shut and your eyes flash.

Yoongi reaches between your legs, strokes a thumb over your clit, making your hips dance.

You never do say you’re sorry, but Yoongi gives you more of his cum anyway.

***

Yoongi’s sitting next to you in the back of the car, a bouquet of lilies between you, one of the dozens he’s had sent to you over the last week.

You turn away from the window you’ve been staring out of for the last half hour. 

‘My father will meet us there,’ you tell him.

Yoongi nods. 

Your hand rests on the bouquet, and Yoongi has a sudden urge to put his hand over yours. 

Instead he strokes his thumb over the faint mark he made gripping your wrist yesterday. 

‘Sorry about this,’ he says.

You glance at it like you’ve forgotten it. ‘Oh it’s fine.’ Your lips curve. ‘I enjoyed it.’

Yoongi glances out the window. ‘We’re here.’

Your father is smartly dressed like every other time Yoongi’s seen him. 

Like you, he’s holding a bouquet of lilies. 

He mistakes Yoongi’s expression for one of curiosity. ‘Lilies were her favourite,’ he says.

Yoongi looks at you, stricken.

You’re not looking at him.

The grave of your mother is simple, unostentatious, apart from the bunches of lilies placed in front of it. 

You place your own flowers down, gentle. 

Yoongi bows his head respectfully. He’ll wait with you as long as you need him to.

***

This time, when you’re back in the car and put your hand on the seat between you, Yoongi covers it with his own.

‘I’m sorry,’ he tells you. ‘I didn’t know.’

The look you give him goes a long way towards assuaging the guilt he feels.

‘I didn’t think you did,’ you say, brisk.

‘If you’d said —‘ Yoongi breaks off and starts again.

‘I like making you angry,’ he tells you, honestly, ‘but I would never hurt you on purpose, not like this.’

‘I could have just told you all those lilies were making me sad,’ you reply. ‘Instead of yelling at you, hiding your shoes,’ you pause, wincing slightly, ‘and donating your tickets to that basketball game next week to charity.’

Yoongi blinks. ‘How’d you even know—-‘ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. ‘Seokjin.’

‘Not sure why he still trusts me,’ you say, shrugging.

‘He won’t for much longer,’ Yoongi muses. ‘He doesn’t like bratty behaviour.’

‘Not like you do?’ you ask, feigning innocence.

Yoongi laughs before he can stop himself. 

You look at him for a moment, expression unreadable. ‘I don’t want to hurt you either, Yoongi.’

You turn to look out the window again.

It’s only when the car pulls into your driveway that Yoongi realises he’s held your hand all the way home. 

©hamsterclaw 2022

[luc3]

Black Elderberry. [French Folks Traditions]

In the 19th century, the peasants of France still attributed magical properties to the Elderberry, and its wood was sometimes used to make sorcerer's staffs and divinatory wands.

In the legend, Judas, after having betrayed Christ, would have gone to hang himself from an Elderberry branch. Thus, it is said in Vienne, that the person who breaks an elderberry branch in the garden of his neighbors will betray this one in the year, even without wanting it and without knowing it.

It should also be noted that in certain regions, Elderberry served as a panacea : everything was good in Elderberry for healing, in the past. But that following the curse linked to Judas, its powers had been supposedly removed.

Protective Magic :

Côtes d'Armor : Elderberries are planted near houses to ward off evil spells and snakes. It is also used to protect livestock (diseases and evil spells) by placing a branch in the cows' litter.

Yonne : Pick up a branch of Elderberry on the passage of the Corpus-Christi procession and then place it in an apple tree, it'll protect it against caterpillars. (?!)

Lower Brittany, Côtes d'Armor : You should never hit a cow with an Elderberry branch, it will make it sick, or cause its milk to dry up. Same thing for pigs. Moreover, if you burn Elderberry wood, you risk preventing the hens from laying eggs.

Magical Medicine:

Côte d'Armor : It is said that the Dlderberry is a "doctor", because the fairies took refuge in the flowers to flee the world when it became too mean. (a special one for my dear @lailoken )

Vienne, Vaucluse : the patient who touches an Elderberry will get better in the next few days, and to cure fevers you have to slip his name and date of birth into a previously hollowed-out elderberry tree.

The feast of Saint John is (of course) favorable to the Elderberry, whose virtues it multiplies.

In the Gospel of the Cattails it is said that warts are cured by rubbing it with an Elder leaf on the eve of Saint John, a leaf which is then buried. As the leaf rots, the wart dries out.

In Upper Brittany, Elderflowers collected on Saint John's Day are used to make an herbal tea to treat sick eyes.

Witchcraft :

Jura : We know the story of a sorcerer who introduced a little excrement from the person or animal he wanted to bewitch into a hollowed-out elderberry stick. He then fixed this stick in running water while reciting a prayer. The victim had stomach aches as long as the water agitated the stick.

In addition, Collin de Plancy in his Dictionnaire Infernal reports that : "when one has received some curse from a sorcerer whom one does not know, one hangs one's habit from one ankle and strikes on it with an elderberry stick; all the blows will fall on the back of the guilty sorcerer, who will be forced to come, in all haste, to remove the spell."

I learned SO MUCH HERE (snakes / little neighbors / sick eyes) while I came confident and persuaded to find other things in these quotes... Thus I'll continue to thank and pay tribute by posting the work of J. Fournier on the subject. (Once translated.)

Pic 1 @incroyables-plantes ; pic 2-3 @lherbier-d-elsa

Quotes arranged by me from the Dictionnaire de la France Mystérieuse by MC Delmas.

Also @graveyarddirt, I know you have some and you'll like it Sis' <3

[passivenovember]

He’s drowning on dry land, barefoot on his bedroom floor. 

Panic crowds his lungs like saltwater, knowing flaps half-mast overhead, the lazy, bored eye of some ancient, smug, terrible God. 

A breath too late, Steve’s choked down to the very root of himself. His insides seize and squeeze into each other, organs shuddering to a stop and puckering as if tasting something sour for the first time.

Billy takes a deep breath and says, “I think,” like it’s all he’s been able to do for months. He hasn’t slept. Ate. Billy scrubs at his nose and tries again. “I think. There’s something wrong with me,” he says. 

Steve, in an instant, boils down to his baser instincts. He’s a caveman discovering fire.

Words might as well be alphabet soup spilled and doughy across the floor. Billy’s articulation falls flat as canned letters Steve imagines crouching to reach on the carpet, fake tomato paste under his fingernails as he works to arrange consonants and vowels into something that makes sense.

All he knows is the animal. 

The strawberry flush on Billy’s cheeks, his eyes downcast so the shadow of his lashes reaches like spider legs yearning to catch whatever else aims to fall from his lips.

The smell of him. 

Steve could wrap himself in it. Thick, woodsy. The coppery tinge of sweat beneath it all--

Fear.

Billy’s afraid and Steve’s brain latches onto the fact. Turns it over in his hands, fingertips tracing the sanded edge of something that used to be sharp enough to draw blood. They’ve done this enough times that everything is smooth, now. Formless. Even panic.

Steve swallows. Tries to ask what he means. 

What’s wrong. 

Wrong, like tugging on a pair of pants that used to fit. Wrong, like an incorrect namesake. Wrong, like Steve sitting near someone else, anyone who’s not Billy--

“I just,” Billy says, and Steve wishes he wouldn’t keep pausing like that. It’s wrong, too.

Like pain.

Like shadow monsters and flowers with teeth. Like the two of them, standing on opposite sides of a door, each speaking panicked over the other. 

“I just feel--”

“I could call Owens,” Steve says. It falls from his mouth like old pudding. Splats on the ground between them. 

Billy’s eyes are big. Blue and round, like the globe covered in an endless sea. Like polished marbles. He blinks, says, “I don’t--”

“--I don’t want to lose you--”

“--that’s not what I meant--”

“--why did you say it like that, then?” Steve leans forward, burning. In the pinpoint of his stomach, smoldering, with confusion. Hurt. “Why would you lead with that if you didn’t mean--”

“All that stuff is over,” Billy says. 

Doesn’t sound like he believes it. 

Still, he inflates himself to Steve’s height and holds his ground. Licks his lips. “I’m sorry I scared you.” Billy’s eyes search Steve’s face, losing some of their frantic edge. Billy blinks, his breath warm and sweet in the air between them. “What’d you mean when you said that?”

“Said what?”

“Y’know,” Billy says bluntly, “You said you can’t. Lose me, what did you mean when you said--”

“I meant that,” Steve snaps, feeling his words roll like loose marbles over the carpet. “I meant it. I always mean it.”

Billy and Steve. They’re smooth, these days. Nameless and shapeless as God, but just as strong. And true.

Steve expects that to be enough. 

Wants it to be enough, but then--

“You don’t even know why I’m scared,” Billy snips, and it lights a fire in Steve’s belly.

“You didn’t say you were scared,” Steve tells him, “Said you felt wrong.”

“Something is wrong.”

“Well,” Steve says dryly, “I can’t read your mind. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Billy stares at him for a minute and then frowns. “I thought you could read my mind.”

“I can’t.”

“I can read yours,” Billy tells him.

Steve stretches his legs, neck cracking loudly. “Okay, then you know what I meant when I said I can’t lose you.”

Billy sits up taller than the Empire State Building, like a-ha! Like, “You didn’t say that before. You said you don’t want to lose me, not that you can’t--”

Steve wants to grab fistfuls of his own hair and pluck it out, “You’re the one who said your thing first. We were sitting here and then you said that thing and you said it out of nowhere, all ominous. Like you were standing in shadow, and I was outside, playing in the sprinklers, or something--”

“You didn’t let me finish, Harrington.”

“I feel like you’re trying to spin me in circles,” Steve says, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “You want me to admit something.”

“I’m just pointing out the flaw in your language--”

“Okay, this. This valedictorian bullshit? It’s not gonna work.”

Billy breaks out into a warm, golden smile, and Steve thinks he’s awful. Irritatingly awful douchebag fucker, and just. The best thing that ever happened.

Billy clears his throat, says, “I think something’s wrong with me because I’ve never wanted to stick my name on someone before, you know?”

Steve nods, not knowing. 

Billy looks at him. Through him and at him again when Billy’s sock foot nudges him playfully. “We were sitting here, though.”

“What does that mean?”

“Who the fuck cares what it means,” Billy says lightly, “I was sitting here with you, just now, and you sniffed and I could hear all the snot in your face, like, rattle up into your brain and I thought I wanna tack my name on him. Like, write my initials on a fruit sticker and put it on your nose.”

Steve starts drowning again. He’s pushed off dry land, flailing toward a rushing river, drowning or preparing to drown.

“And that’s,” He says, mouth dry enough to suck up the ocean, ‘That’s bad?”

“Not bad,” Billy determines. “Wrong.”

And maybe Steve was lying, before, about not being able to read Billy’s mind. Because he gets it, what it means, and doesn’t have to have it spelled out for him. 

It’s only wrong if Billy’s standing out there alone. 

If the waves are crashing around him. 

If Steve’s not wrapped in a life vest, dragging another on a rope behind him as he swims easily through the surf to get to Billy and take him to dry land. 

“When I said I don’t want to lose you. Before, when I said don’t, I really meant can’t.”

Billy blinks at him, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve admits, and it’s easy. Easier still to take Billy’s hand and say, “I stuck my name on you forever ago, I just. Always thought you were mine.”

They’ve never talked about it, so Billy says, “I get that,” Fingers squeezing Steve tight, “That’s how I feel, too.”

[rockethorse]

The second household for the Foundations for Families Challenge, Rain Montenegro. I chose Foundation 4 for her; my idea was something like, "old Australian council housing that was sold off to Grandma Montenegro, which was inherited by Rain, who decided to just do whatever with it instead of tearing it down because she'd never be able to afford to own property otherwise". It's inspired by a few houses I've lived near, especially the "whimsical" art displayed on the fence.

Key points: Furniture should be cheap but colourful, with a bias for green and minimal purple. The interior inspiration was a cross between "maximalist" Instagram home deco influencers with the wildest beef you've ever heard of, mixed with the nice but overbearing older hippie lady at the farmer's market. Everything about this house makes me feel like she needs a roommate, but maybe she just has serial couch surfers.

My least favourite room of the house (bedroom - just couldn't make it come together) and my most favourite (the bathroom!)

Rain's requested studio. I imagine it was originally just a smaller bedroom, nothing special or fancy. Maybe this was where Rain slept as a kid when she visited her grandma :)

It was hard not landscaping things the way I normally would and keeping things looking a bit scraggly/dry but still "on purpose". There's a small produce garden 'round the corner there, and a flower arranging station by the front, because she seems like the type to collect hobbies.

Floorplan on the foundation. I kinda like how this challenge forced/encouraged me to make use of bigger outdoor landings. My favourite part (after the bathroom) is the little kitchenette.

[plasmasimagination]

Hihihi omg I just stumbled upon your blog and you seem sooo so sweet jabsjabsj ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა Nervous to ask but I was wondering if I could by any chance get a Genshin matchup ?? <3 I was going to ask for a Danganronpa matchup as well but I wasn't sure if that was too many or if I should request that in a different ask or something ... ໒꒰ྀི´• ˕ •` ꒱ྀིა

Oki-doki ! My name is Schneider - or Chara !! I don't mind either :3

I am transmasc, I use he/him prns, and I prefer more masc or gn terms ^^ No fem terms please !! I am uncomfy with that ><

I have no preference in terms of gender, I love everyone equally ^_< ★

Please no Zhongli, Ayato, Al Haitham, Haiji, or Toko !! I'm very sorry if this makes things complicated </3

Umm I'm a Scorpio !! I can't add the rest of the signs because I have no idea how to find that information ໒꒰ྀི 𖦹 ˕ × ꒱ྀིა‎ ‎ ‎ so sorry !!

I am an intj I think ^_^

I'm 170 cm // 5'7 !!

I'm a tad fucked up ^^ I have szpd, dpdr, autism, aspd, and I'm hypersexual !! In also anemic :3 I'm the whole package fr !

I'm Russian , Italian , and French :3 most fluent in Russian as I grew up in a primarily Russian speaking household... In Russia, but I'm also fluent in Italian <3 (surprisingly, when speaking irl, I suck at speaking English)

I'm a human icebox , I'm never not cold -_- I'm also never not sleepy!! I'm a very sleepy guy

I LOVE sweet things :333 I dislike sour, bitter, or dry things, and I prefer not to drink or eat anything hot ! It depends on what it is though ^^ (I also love angel food cake!!)

Overbearing fashion enthusiast ^_^ I collect SO many fashion magazines, I made my closet into a storage room for all of them ໒꒰ྀི >ヮ<꒱ྀི১

Personality ; I'm generally a very thoughtful person I think, I always try to take other's into consideration when doing or saying something!! Due to autism, I have a hard time being expressive through facial expressions and tone of voice, so I usually have an either bored or tired look on my face that sometimes scares people off </3 My voice is monotone so it often comes off as me being disinterested or irritated... I'm not !! (Usually) I love helping people and taking care of people !! It makes me feel like I'm actually needed somewhere // by someone :3 Another important thing, I never speak unless spoken to- even to family members and close friends !! So if you don't speak to me first, we'll likely never speak at all ໒꒰ྀི´• ˕ •` ꒱ྀིა

Appearance ; I have dark blue hair with black roots !! It's thick and fluffy near the top, but thins out and curls more near the tips ^^ One side goes right below the shoulder, and the other sits right on the shoulder !! Very uneven, I tried to cut it myself when highly intoxicated and fucked it up </3 I have brown eyes, one is slightly paler than the other because of an eye injury !! I have super bad depth perception because of it, and often end up bumping into things or tripping without realising something was right in front of me -_- I'm almost always wearing my Ushanka when outside because I have a strange emotional attachment to it and get anxious when I don't have it when I go out !

Hobbies ; Writing, making dollhouses, taking care of animals, fashion, flower arranging, collecting animal bones (THAT I FOUND IN THE WILD!! I would never EVER harm an animal :( I just think anatomy is very fascinating!)

According to my friends, I seem very intimidating when you first meet me, but I'm actually very kind once we talk <3 (some of them said my spirit animal is a rat , I'm taking that as a compliment because I think rats are silly ^^)

------------------------------------

I hope this is good !!! I'm so so sorry if I did anything wrong or if I overshared, I have a bad habit of doing that ໒꒰ྀི´• ˕ •` ꒱ྀིა Have an amaaaaaaaaaaaazing day or night :3 Ly <3

AY AY captain sweetheart!! Here comes a fresh request out of the depths of the sea!

A/n - jokes aside I've actually been eyeing this request in my inbox for a while but had to finish some previous ones up and I finally got to do it phewww!! ALSO A MAN IN THE INBOX??? THATS A SECOND GUY I HAD IN HERE!! Men are very rare on my account so I'm super excited to see that my writing reached such a wide audience, love you all girls guys and non binary pals out there MWAAAH ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

(also ofcourse not, you can't overshare on my account (∩˃ω˂∩))

Anyways into your request!

.

.

.

VENTI

This was honestly such a hard decision

I didn't know if I should give you someone to match your vibe, or to go for someone to be opposite

I decided to go with venti since I think you two would be a cute couple

Extrovert loud boyfriend X introverted sweet boyfriend

I like to think that venti, though loud and annoying at times, would be very caring and sweet towards you

And by that I mean that he's very considerate and thoughtful, which he may not seem at first glance

You guys do have similar hobbies, a poet and a writer, isn't that a nice combination?

By that theme, venti would write A LOT poems about you

He finds your personality way too fascinating and charming not to, how could he resist?!

He also enjoys doing anything with you really, he won't miss a single chance to spend time with you, even if you're not even doing anything he'll just simply enjoy your presence in the silence then.

SHUICHI

Different from venti, shuichi is more introverted and quiet

Though it may be a big difference in personality between those two, I still do believe that shuichi is very lovable and loving and a good match to a lot of people

And as for why I picked him for you

Shuichi would somewhat be a nice partner, he's caring and loving after all, and I like to think that a guy like you deserves all the love in the world

And shuichi can provide you with a lot of love, he might not be very physical about his love, but he is verbal, he will tell you from time to time that hes proud of you, that he enjoys your company, that he loves you.

Another of his love languages is acts of service, so do not be surprised if he brings over some sweets to you from time to time

Also I matched you up with him because shuichi is a good listener, and would absolutely adore hearing about your hobbies, and just generally if youre ranting he will gladly listen

A thing he loves about you specifically, is the way you're always thoughtful of others and try to include them, it always brings a smile to his face

Honestly shuichi is just a perfect cutiepie, and I think he would match and compliment your personality very nicely

ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

[ninevehsage]

I think I'm losing my interest of trying to invent new ideas for photographing. There are zillions of photographs in this world and millions of photographers whom all are trying to capture something special and/ or beautiful. So many photographs online... so many brilliant, extraordinary, beautiful, interesting, alright, nice, plain, boring and ugly photographs. What the hell can I give what hasn't already been given?

Mainly I think that I'm having an artistic crisis again, because nothing I do pleases me and I feel tired and uninspired. I scroll the social medias and think, why am I even bothering to think? I just want to go to bed and sleep. All my energy goes to work at the Ecomarket. It's only 3 days a week, 5 hours a day, Yet on workdays (after I come home) I am too tired to even think and I need 2 days to cover from those 3 work days. Then it is the weekend and well... Saturday goes by fast and on Sunday I'll start to get ready for the work again so I'll rest. I have no idea how I'll ever manage 5 days for work...?

So... I built an altar for Lughnasadh (Lammas) and took some photographs of it, but I feel like I'm just repeating some pattern that doesn't interest even myself anymore. Even though my setting is always different, the place is the same and I'm bored. This time I was too tired to even bake a Lughnasadh bread. I managed to make a flower arrangement from dry flowers and few fresh peony leaves last night, but that was it.

I feel like going to sleep or just watch the Moomins or video clips of X-factory/talent etc. or some stand-up comedy or crazy animals. If only I could just unplug myself for a while. And the work at the Ecomarket is great, I don't complain about that at all! It is just consuming as well. I don't know about this art stuff... once again I'm thinking that maybe I should just give up trying to create something... *sighhhhhhh*

~N~

Ps. I noticed that I've lost my interest on music too... I tried to search some new music, but everything just annoyes me. My ears cannot take any noise anymore. Last Saturday there were some motorcycle/ mooed rally/ event near our neighbourhood and they were burning rubber or driving some circles with their motorbikes/ mopeds and the noise was sooooo horribly loud. It started before the midnight and ended around 02:00 or so. I as well as some others complained about that noise on a facebook group page and then they came to make more noise on Sunday night, pretty much the same time than on Saturday. So... you probably can guess that I was tired and pissed in the Monday morning when I had to get up and go to work. Maybe that's why I cannot even listen music at this point...

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Coyote

Coyote is a girl with yellow hair. She sits on a bench near the edge of town, the only non-resident, the only non-naked person, the only animal.

She has been here for weeks. She has learned about all the people in town, who don't call each other names and have names of their own, who don't go shopping or watch movies and work in the fields. She has seen the way they treat each other. There is something wrong here, in her town. There is a sickness, an emptiness. Coyote wants to find it and put it to bed. (And when she finds it, she will tell everyone in town, and no one will ever go to the fields again.)

Coyote is the girl who doesn't speak. She spends most of the day in silence. She stares at the sun. She stares at the empty sky. She stares down at her hands, which are long and graceful, and the color of yellow leaves, with her fingernails painted white.

One evening, she sees a man walking through town. He is not naked. He has a shirt and a pair of pants and shoes. The only person in town who does not live in a house made of stone, or in a cage, or in a field of flowers.

This is unusual. The man looks kind of out of place here. He is not just walking down the street, head down. He is walking along the sidewalks with one hand at his waist, gesturing with his head. "Howdy!" he says, when he sees her. His voice is not deep. Coyote does not know his name.

Coyote asks him where he lives. She is polite, but not friendly. She does not make eye contact with him when she asks this. He asks her where she's from. She asks if he's ever been outside town. He smiles. "Howdy!" he says. "Nope. Only in and outta that field." He laughs. "Gotta wait till I make it into the world. But I like it here, you know?"

This is a very strange thing for him to say. And Coyote doesn't understand why he said it. She sits for a while thinking about it. He walks through the streets, saying, "Howdy." When he sees someone, he says, "Hey! Howdy!" He waves his hand in greeting to the trees. He points at a billboard. He laughs. "Gotta watch them cars sometimes, though. They'll kill ya quick."

She leaves her bench and follows him through town. He walks down a street, into a small alley. He stops. He taps his knuckles on a glass pane. It is the window of a tiny, dusty shop. It contains some tools. The tools are dusty and they are not clean. There are shelves full of small boxes. And on top of the shelves are many tiny little clay and bone and ivory pieces. They are arranged in rows. The little shop has a door behind the glass.

And when he enters this tiny, dusty shop, the small man starts saying strange things. Things to Coyote that make no sense. "Don't you know about me?" he says. He makes a face. "This is my showroom. I can't sell everything in here. I gotta have some space. This is just a showroom. If I could sell everything I have all the time."

He holds up a tiny clay thing with many holes in it. "Here's my little guy," he says. "You've never seen one like him. There are not many like him around. I made him up special." He holds the little man out to her.

Coyote puts her hand to her mouth. She feels dizzy, and thinks this is not right. The small man laughs. "I'm glad to see you like him," he says. "Because you're the first person to ever look at him."

The little man puts the man back on the shelf, and then takes out another object. It is much bigger, about as big as a large turtle shell. It is shiny and golden, and smooth. It has no openings, no details, no design. But Coyote knows that this is his best and favorite. He holds it out to her. "My masterpiece," he says. "Don't touch it. I painted this thing with gold. They don't have paint like that anywhere. I used a special kind of paint that was only ever used on the finest things in the world."

Coyote stares at it, and feels a strange cold feeling, as if the inside of her mouth were dry. It is so beautiful, with no details, no color, no surface. She wants to look at it forever, but she knows that her hands will get filthy touching it. She sees him noticing this.

"Come on," he says. "Pick one, any one. You choose. There's plenty. What'll it be? Come on. Come on."

The small man takes her gently by the hand, and leads her to the shelves. He tells her that each little object is hand-made. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of little pieces on the shelves. Every one of them was hand-made by the man himself. Every one of them was only ever seen by him before. If she wants one, she can have it. "Come on," he says. "They're all here. You want to choose."

She looks at the shelves. She studies the rows of little objects on the shelves. She is very far away from him. She does not like looking at them. There is something wrong about them. She wants to take some from the shelves, but she knows she cannot.

"What'll it be?" the man asks. "This is all mine. All my things. All the best things I have. Come on. Choose."

"Nothing," Coyote says. Her throat hurts from not talking. "I don't need anything."

The man opens his mouth in confusion. Then he laughs. Then he says, "Oh, well. Maybe another time. You're the first in a long time to get a chance to see all these things. That's my reputation around here. I'm a very well-known man here. You must have heard me speak, even if you couldn't know I was talking. You're very well-spoken. How did you know to speak like that?"

Coyote stares down at her hands. She feels as though she is going to cry. "I am a person," she says.

The man smiles. "That's all? That's all I was expecting. I wasn't expecting that. Look at that beautiful face. Don't you know people can be anything?"

Coyote walks back to the bench, and sits there for a long time. She thinks about him walking by, with that strange look of a strange man, talking about having a showroom, talking about his little things. She doesn't understand any of it. But the man is kind to her, and she likes him. Maybe he will come back for her one day. Maybe she could come back for him one day. They are different. They do not know each other's names. But they will.

(And when she finds him, she will tell everyone in town to stop going to the fields, and no one will ever go to the empty town again.)

[grimweaver]

"Flowers for Cousland" ("Meravas" 4x2) FULL IMAGE AT DA

Excerpt from "As You Wish" P2:

          (...) “You are in just about every way a treasure beyond anyone’s deserving,” said Sten. “You have gone to such great lengths for others–not just myself and your other companions, but complete strangers– and yet I don’t recall you ever even hinting at a want for some gain on your end. Your every decision has been guided by wisdom and a true moral compass, instead of an insatiable appetite for power, titles, and material rewards.”

          Aithne was thrilled to tears, and almost didn’t believe she was hearing him say all of this. She clutched the fabric around her chest and tried to work out the intense swelling in her throat with hot, near-dry swallowing.

          “That terrible thing I had done to that family can never be undone," Sten continued. "However, I know that if I perish at any point during this quest–even before I see you to the slaying of the Archdemon– I will die with my honor fully restored. For one cannot achieve a higher honor than that which comes from fighting by your side. And, though I will likely never see the shores of Par Vollen again, I will always feel at home in Ferelden if you will keep me by your side and… allow me to serve you in any way you wish. You are more than just the Warden that I vowed to serve. You complete the part of me I used to believe was lost forever. You haven’t just given me purpose… you are my purpose. You are my strength… and my soul. It is my duty and my want to ensure all of your needs are met... all of them. Do you understand what I am trying to say to you?”

          “Y-yes... I think so. B... but I'm--what'cha-call-it-- bas. I'm not qunari. I didn't think that you would... feel that way, or could lawfully... render yourself up like that to someone such as myself."

          "You are basalit-an, a non-qunari worthy of honor," Sten corrected. There was a brief pause, but only to draw in a long breath. “I have gone to the Qun countless times to make sense of feelings inspired by your beauty– what is within and what is on the surface– and know what to do with them. At first, it was my belief that the Qun called for restraint… but now I know that the Qun demands that I– with the unbearable want I am not supposed to nurture– profess my will to submit myself completely to you-- the only one in this country proven to have immeasurable worth."

          "Maker-still-my-heart!" Aithne cried into her hands. "Saying that I'm overjoyed is an understatement! I’ve been wanting to tell you something along those lines…I… I’ve tried to think of how– dreaming many nights of ways– to tell you…”

          “I believe you expressed yourself quite well last night,” Sten said with the faintest, almost unnoticeable smirk. "It was all I needed to hear to eliminate even a shred of doubt that this is a wise choice. It was what I had longed for you say for almost as long as I have known you– but the Qun teaches that we're to never embrace words spoken from the inebriated as truth."

          “You mean that wasn’t a dream? I really said all of those things, and–??” As if she wasn’t shaky and feverish enough, embarrassment had increased it all by a tenfold. “I said a lot that I shouldn’t have– about the Joining, anyway. There are no regrets about being honest with you about how I felt, but the way I behaved… I am so sorry for any discomfort or humiliation it might have caused you–”

          “I am not demanding an apology from you. I want only an answer to this question– this time from a mind that is clear of distorting influences, so that nothing stands in the way anymore...” Sten removed one of the hair ties from his braided locks and used it to bind the floral arrangement together, then brought them up to the level of Aithne’s eyes, gesturing for her to take them, and asked her "What is your wish, Kadan?"

          Aithne drew in a shivery, tear-dampened breath as her smile widened. The many words that came to mind hung in her throat, arid and lumpy. It felt as though every breath she drew in was pulling fire into her chest, and her entire body hummed with a tingling warmth. She labored to steady her breathing, and fought the urge to jump up into his arms and kiss him right then and there, fearing it would be too much and too soon for him. Instead, she–in a slow and sensuous way– clutched Sten’s arm with her left hand, while she bent her head down to breathe in the fragrance of the flowers. Sten’s facial expression hardly changed, but hot waves of gratefulness and pleasure roared through every part of his body, this time with a power that stole away half of the strength in his legs. Aithne, feeling the echoes in his arm of his whole body trembling, smiled with the satisfaction of having this affect on him. “We’ll first get started on those bandages, because that cannot be ignored for anything,” Aithne purred, as she took the bouquet from Sten’s hand. “Then… when that is finished… I will answer that question. ”

          “As you wish,” Sten replied, widening his grin. Without uttering another word that might hinder what was set in motion, he picked up the lantern with the hand of his free arm and followed Aithne’s lead into her tent.

[magnificenteggsfarmpeanut]

Nun’s Secret Flowers

A lamp casts a soft yellow glow, the kitchen appears dimly lit with the night drawing near. Rhaenyra, having just completed her kitchen cleaning, lowers her top, allowing the cool air to touch her skin. She takes a damp cloth and gently cleanses her chest and underarms. Afterwards, she applies the juice from a halved lemon to her breasts, enjoying its refreshing fragrance and cleansing properties. Having witnessed Rhaenyra's growth into the admirable woman she is now, Alicent doesn’t feel uncomfortable being present as she performs her post-cleaning routine. Leaning over the sink, she splashes water onto her ample breasts and wipes her hands beneath her armpits.

"Do you have a moment?"

"Always, what can I do for you?"

Rhaenyra looks at her  with tired eyes on her beautiful face. She works from morning to night, in service to God, in service to others. She's loved for her work ethic and heart. And Alivent loves her as a guardian angel I've never had, but always wanted.

"It's come to my attention that the student Laena has been engaging in salacious activities. I'd like you to speak with her."

"What did she do?"

"She was planning to sell her innocence to a man. Or men. A student informed me of this transgressive behavior after others were caught doing it."

"Where is she now?"

"Sitting in the hallway. She's been crying for the last few minutes after I confronted her."

"Bring her to me."

"Yes, right away."

In the dimly lit kitchen, Rhaenyra takes a dry towel and gently wipes her breasts and armpits. Afterwards, she dresses in her elegant black gown, donning a white headpiece and veil. Since it's late at night, she foregoes wearing anything else beneath her formal attire.

Alicent proceeds to the hallway and summons Laena, a 22-year-old woman, who stands with her head down, wiping away tears. As Alicent calls her, Laena bravely follows, though her pouty lips and adorable facial features reveal her vulnerability. Despite her slumped shoulders, she tries to maintain composure. Upon reaching the kitchen, Rhaenyra is seated by the table, and Alicent arranges for Laena to sit across from her. Two lamps illuminate their faces, as Alicent closes the door, ensuring privacy, and takes a seat at a distance.

"Tell me what you've been doing," Rhaenyra says.

Her voice is warm, non-judgemental. This approach works best when dealing with delinquent students. That's why Alicent brought Laena to this woman.

"I agreed to do something stupid. I'm very sorry. All I ask is that my parents never find out. Punish me if you must, but don't tell my mother and father."

"You'll have to explain further if you want atonement."

"A man offered to buy my chastity," Laena says.

"Who was it?"

"A business man in the city. Other girls did the same with other rich men."

"Did you agree to the terms?"

Laena nods. "I agreed, but I was extremely hesitant. It never happened. I swear it didn't happen. I can prove it if you wish to look below."

"It didn't happen because you were caught."

"Please, I'm sorry. I'm very sorry."

"Laena, if you needed the money, you could have come to us for a part-time job. There's plenty that needs to be done around here. You know this."

"It wasn't about money."

Rhaenyra quickly grasps the situation and sits in thoughtful silence while Laena hangs her head in shame once more. While others might resort to harsh punishment or immediate expulsion, Rhaenyra's approach is different, and Alicent patiently observes, curious to see how she will handle the situation.

"Your body language reveals that you're a virgin with no sexual experience. That's a good thing. But we must also understand that sex is part of life. I won't tell you what to do with your body. If you want to sell it, then sell it. But I'm asking that you consider other alternatives."

Laena lifts her head. "So I'm not in trouble?"

"I will never punish a young woman for natural desires."

"Thank you. I will do anything you say."

"Do you practice self-care when you're alone?"

Laena's eyes widens. "That's against the teachings of this institution."

"At your age, the rules are more flexible. I'll ask you again. Do you practice self-care when you're alone?"

"Sometimes. I hate that I love it. I try to avoid these things."

"I understand your conflict."

"This is the hardest part of my life. I always wonder why God punishes me with these feelings. That's why I was so close to sinning with the business man. Because I needed a release. I kept asking myself if doing that would make the pain go away."

"You're asking yourself the wrong questions," Rhaenyra says.

"What should I be asking myself?"

Rhaenyra holds the girl's hand. "What have you done for your labia today? Did you pamper her? Feed her curiosities? Do you accept your labia for all that she is? Do you whisper kind things to her? If your labia is happy, then you are at peace."

This shocks Laena to the core and she gasps so hard that she's forced to breathe deeply. "How can you say these things? You of all people."

“I've lived a complicated life. More than you could ever understand. Would you like to hear about it?"

"Yes. I've always thought highly of you."

"I have the same affection for you. That's why I'll tell you a secret, but only if you swear to God that it stays between us."

"Yes, I swear to God that it's our secret."

The night stretches on, Alicent is surprised by Rhaenyra's decision to share her secret with Laena. In response to the unfolding situation, Alicent rises from her seat and starts preparing tea for everyone. With time passing, Alicent senses that by the end of the night, this encounter with Rhaenyra will mark a significant turning point for Laena's personal growth and understanding of herself.

In Rhaenyra's youth, her mother was a woman of the world, and that's how she was raised. Her mother nurtured her with love and kindness, but as Rhaenyra became a teenager, it became evident that her mother was a deceitful woman. Her mother's beauty and charm were her tools to navigate any situation, and these cunning instincts were what enabled them to survive.

As Rhaenyra transitioned into young adulthood, they moved to King's Landing, long before the war. Their life improved, and her mother managed to integrate into high society. They resided in a pleasant home near the ocean. Officially, her mother didn't hold a job; her beauty alone seemed to suffice, and it proved enough for their needs.

Rhaenyra soon discovered that her mother used her physical allure to progress in life. Once, she caught a glimpse of her mother returning late from a party. Her mother was engaging in an intimate moment with a local political figure, accompanied by a bottle of wine. Unable to hear their whispered conversation, Rhaenyra observed through the keyhole as her mother undressed and knelt before the man.

In Rhaenyra's household, the unspoken understanding between her and her mother persisted. She knew her mother was aware of her eavesdropping on conversations. Despite this, there was no shame attached to her mother's dealings; it was simply business. As more visitors frequented their home, her mother's income increased, allowing her to acquire finer clothing and more exquisite jewelry. Rhaenyra didn't feel ashamed of her mother's actions, nor did she take pride in them; it was merely the way the world operated, and they found contentment in their circumstances.

However, as the years passed, reality dealt a harsh blow, leaving Rhaenyra all alone. In an instant, her once perfect life was turned upside down, and she felt adrift and lost. Night after night, tears streamed down her face for over a week. And just as the weight of reality settled upon her, the burden of bills added to her distress. Fortunately, her mother had stashed a significant sum of money in the closet, providing a financial lifeline that would last for several months.

The men who held affection for Rhaenyra's mother offered their support and care, extending the same to Rhaenyra. She seriously contemplated their proposals, but her naivety made her hesitant. Through experience, she soon learned that their idea of "taking care" meant exploiting her and reducing her to servitude. Although she considered their offers, Rhaenyra ultimately decided that preserving her freedom was of utmost importance. Like her mother in her younger days, she yearned to explore the world and embrace new experiences.

Thus, Rhaenyra embarked on a journey, utilizing her mother's financial resources to travel from place to place. As the money began to dwindle, she employed the same strategies she had observed from her mother. Utilizing her beauty and youth, she skillfully maneuvered her way into high society. She invested in luxurious attire and honed her abilities to charm and manipulate men with her quick wit and radiant smile.

Once Rhaenyra had established the right connections, she followed in her mother's footsteps, engaging in transactions that involved lying on her back for a fee or dropping to her knees for an even higher price. With her exceptional beauty surpassing her mother's, she accumulated wealth beyond her wildest imagination. Yet, despite her riches, Rhaenyra's desire for more was insatiable. In her ventures to different towns and societies, she sought out the wealthiest men, captivating them in her allure and eventually pilfering from them, albeit not excessively. Some she convinced to invest in non-existent businesses, diverting the funds directly into her pockets. Over the years, these pursuits amassed a small fortune for her.

However, Rhaenyra gradually became aware of the dangers her lifestyle posed. She constantly felt the need to watch her back, wondering if someone would attempt to end her life with a dagger. In her own reflections, she admitted that such an end might have been deserved. Nevertheless, her survivor's instinct prevailed, and she adeptly altered her identity and appearance to stay one step ahead of danger.

One morning, while savoring her breakfast at a local cafe, Rhaenyra conceived her boldest scheme yet. Observing a group of nuns collecting donations, she grew weary of her current path and decided to adopt a new guise, donning a veil. With her captivating face concealed beneath the delicate fabric, she realized she could amass substantial donations. And for the right price, she would be willing to perform even more intimate services, aware of the considerable sum her beauty in the veil could command.

Having devoted weeks to studying the prayers, hymns, and intricacies of the religious community, Rhaenyra assumed the veil and robe to collect money during the day, while returning home at night. Although her financial needs were met without resorting to her previous means, the desire for intimate encounters persisted, and she continued engaging in such liaisons without charging a fee. Her body seemed to have an insatiable sexual appetite, making her crave new lovers constantly.

In her audacious plan, Rhaenyra ventured to a new city and uncovered a covenant that dealt with substantial sums of gold. Tempted by greed, she sought to join their ranks and gradually pilfer small amounts of gold over time, escaping before her actions were detected, leaving her rich and ready to move on to the next location. With valuable information about the covenant's guards and gold storage, her scheme appeared foolproof. However, her life of sin would eventually teach her that perfection is elusive.

After residing with the covenant for several months, Rhaenyra prepared to set her plan in motion. But just before her grand heist, Sister Alicent, an older and perceptive nun, confronted her in her room. With eyes that seemed to see into her very soul and a commanding voice like thunder, Sister Alicent saw through Rhaenyra's facade, exposing her lies. Despite her anger and attempts to deny the truth, Rhaenyra knew resistance was futile.

Having never faced capture before, Rhaenyra found herself growing extremely defensive. Her perplexity grew, as she hadn't even taken any gold yet. Initially assuming that one of the men had betrayed her plans, she soon realized that Sister Alicent had been studying her closely since her arrival and could discern her intentions with uncanny accuracy.

As the conversation unfolded, it became evident that Sister Alicent had no intention of judging or condemning her. Instead, the nun showed a willingness to lend a compassionate ear and understand Rhaenyra's story. Gazing into Sister Alicent's eyes, Rhaenyra discovered a depth of sincerity she had never seen before, prompting her to confess everything – her entire life, moral failures, sins, and the audacious plan to steal the gold.

In a vulnerable moment, Rhaenyra wept into Sister Alicent's arms, her tears staining the nun's black dress. This encounter forced her to confront her relationship with God and her morality in a way she had never done before, making her realize the depths of her brokenness.

Sister Alicent gently explained that a life of deception was the wrong path to follow, especially considering the love Rhaenyra had to offer the world. The nun directed her to turn her life around and dedicate herself to a higher purpose, emphasizing that the road to redemption would not be easy. It required humility and a willingness to change. Sister Alicent questioned whether Rhaenyra had the strength to leave her past behind and embrace a new life of service and faith, as continuing on her current path would only lead to destruction.

The challenge lay in Rhaenyra's reluctance to part ways with her current life. She openly admitted that her world revolved around opulent dresses, extravagant parties, and indulging in libertine relationships. When she mentioned the significance of sex in her life, Sister Alicent's eyes conveyed a peculiar understanding, as if she, too, had experienced the weight of its importance.

Sister Alicent's words left a profound impact on Rhaenyra's memory. She spoke gently to her, saying, "Rhaenyra, everything you desire lies between your legs, and you can find fulfillment with just your own hand. You must be attentive and intuitive to its needs. Nurture your intimate self, sate its natural curiosity with your mind, and speak sweet poetry to it. Remember that when your inner self is content, you will find peace."

Rhaenyra found herself astonished that a woman of Sister Alicent's stature could speak so candidly, yet she felt an intense curiosity to learn more about her secrets. It was evident why many sought her spiritual guidance, for she exuded a commanding presence unlike any other woman Rhaenyra had encountered. Sister Alicent's demeanor resembled that of a resolute military general, cloaked in the attire of a nun. Her words were carefully measured and delivered only when necessary.

With an unwavering expression, Sister Alicent aimed to alleviate Rhaenyra's confusion, instructing her to lie back. Complying, Rhaenyra reclined on her bed, and Sister Alicent's no-nonsense approach gave the impression of a clinical examination. Steadily, she raised the hem of Rhaenyra's robe, revealing her womanhood, and gazed intently at it.

It crossed her mind that she was some perverted woman looking for an excuse to see what she had. Or maybe even touch her. A woman's body can only be repressed for so long and she figured Sister Alicent was a tortured soul who missed the erotic touch of another human being. Usually she hears these stories about men in the robe, but it made sense that women had the same torment.

The moment she touched her, she knew her assumption was wrong. Her hands rubbed across her thighs and hips with a sense of purpose. She could feel that she wasn't doing this for her pleasure, but for Rhaenyra. She was teaching her something she’d never learned in her adult life, which was how to listen to her body's needs. Rather than going for instant gratification, she was truly listening. She was feeling her skin and flesh and sensing what her cunt wanted.

She prodded her knees like a teacher disciplining a student, but what she wanted was Rhaenyra legs spread, so she spread them. Her face remained stoic and unmoved, even as she looked deep inside her womanhood. Men in that situation would be overtaken with primal lust, with wide eyes and a mouth that hangs open, before thrusting inside of her. Not her. Her face remained composed and analytic.

Bending down, she looked closer, then pressed her ear against Rhaenyra’s labia. She wanted to listen. Then she brought her mouth to her labia, mere inches away. She whispered into her vagina.

"Talk to me, sweet darling. What do you crave at this moment? The stroke of your lips? A kiss, perhaps? Fingers to go inside? Talk to me. Ah, that's it. You say you've never been serviced by a woman? Say no more. I know exactly what to do in this situation. I know exactly what you want. I can sense your needs, my darling."

No one ever 'talked' to her vagina before and her started thinking she was this crazy ginger lady, but her touch reminded her of who she was dealing with. Her hands pressed around her crotch like a massage, kneading up and down. When she touched her sex, it was like magic. She'd clearly done that before with other women and it was like second nature. No hesitation. No fear. Sister Alicent listened to her body and needs.

Spreading her hole and looking deeper, she was reading her like a book. One that was in a different language that no one could ever understand, not even Rhaenyra at times. She had the power to decipher her sexuality. It started with her finger going inside, probing, studying what made her tick and where the pleasure spots were. Her other hand pressed down on her hip to prevent her from moving. The finger probed deeper until her body reacted and she found what she was looking for. Her finger made different patterns, different stroking techniques with different amounts of pressure.

"You feel this, right here, where I'm touching. That's your magic spot. You try it. Do it exactly as I'm doing it. Remember this spot and how to get there."

Sister Alicent pulled her finger away and Rhaenyra saw that it was drenched with pleasure. Then she put her finger inside herself and did the same technique in the same spot. At that age, Rhaenyra was well-versed in the art of masturbation, but something about it felt different. How could a woman of God teach a whore new tricks? Somehow she managed and Rhaenyra followed her instructions. That was the first time letting someone watch her play with herself.

"Tell me, how does that feel?"

"Magnificent, actually."

"Keep going. You'll know when to stop."

Sister Alicent did the last thing she expected her to do. Her tongue stroked across her sex, up and down, inside and out. Rhaenyra’s finger was still inside hitting the magic spot and her mouth took her to the stars. When her tongue circled her clitoris, the orgasm took her to heaven.

"Keep this in your memory. In moments of desperation, remember this. Us playing together. It will help you relieve your tension and whatever doubts you have in life. Imagine my finger inside you. Imagine my tongue, if you must. These memories will serve you as a source of guidance. Use this, instead of looking for sin. Keep the sins away."

That was her introduction to a new life. She left her in the room and she awoke a different woman. More than anything, I was curious about how someone as rigid as Sister Alicent could give her a sensation she never experienced before. Rhaenyra was determined to learn her secrets and stealing from the covenant fell further and further from her mind.

Rhaenyra lived a monastic lifestyle with the women. She prayed with them, ate with them, everything. In the back of her mind she always thought about Sister Alicent and her tongue. She never sought her. Rhaenyra sought her. Privately meeting in moments of silence, usually in between prayers or later at night. She was always very busy and private time was fleeting. Her words were always brief.

"Have you been playing with your flower? Do you let it blossom in your hand? You don't need me, trust your instincts. Listen to what your flower has to say."

But Rhaenyra did need Sister Alicent, though she never actually begged her. Rhaenyra never begged anyone in her life and didn't intend to start.  A product of her mother, proud, fierce and independent. She was, however, suggestive with this woman using her eyes and the tone of her voice. She was keen enough to know how desperate she was.

Every once in a while, if I'd earned the privilege, she'd come to Rhaenyra's room when everyone slept and teach her new tricks. She learned things about the human body that would surprise most doctors. The cum was sensational. The mess was spectacular. When her tongue performed magic, it was heaven.

In between orgasms they lay naked in her bed, head resting on her shoulder as if she were a mother figure, and she'd speak about God and morality. Rhaenyra confessed more about her sinful lifestyle and all the things that she’d become ashamed of. She never judged her. Instead, she listened with an open heart while stroking her hair or breast. Her finger circling her nipple was the best.

At her guidance she wrote letters to the men she had swindled, apologizing and asking for forgiveness. Rhaenyra even mailed back their cash and gold until she had nothing left to her name. She never revealed her current location, just that she was living a new life in service of God.

In between letters and reimbursing what Rhaenyra could, Sister Alicent would watch her. Bearing her soul in these letters meant being naked in front of her, confessing her sins and admitting that she was a sinner. After each letter she rewarded her with her tongue. What Rhaenyra still finds unusual is that Sister Alicent never wanted anything in return. She never asked her to eat her out, never asked for her tongue or fingers, though Rhaenyra would have gladly returned the favor. She did offer on several occasions, even to this day. Her face never showed sexual desire toward her. It was a true act of being selfless. True devotion to God.

Material things didn't matter anymore. The expensive dresses, the parties, the lavish lifestyle of glamor. None of it meant anything. Rhaenyra wanted to be selfless like her and be a true servant. What her body needed, she could provide for herself. Rhaenyra did things in the bath or her bedroom which made her blush. If Rhaenyra was in a deviant mood and her body was crying for extra attention, she still turned to Sister Alicent for her tongue and spiritual guidance.

“Now you understand me. My deepest and darkest secrets are yours to ponder. I'm telling you this in hopes that you have a better understanding. And I want you to know that your body is a sacred temple. Sex is a part of life, that's true, but there are ways to handle your natural curiosities.” Rhaenyra finished her story.

The story is over, Ali keeps her  gaze on Laena, wondering how she's handling this turn of events. We have always represented purity in her eyes. That's the way it should be. Now they represent something else, something perhaps more human.

"Speak to me."

Laena sits upright. "I listened to every word, but it's difficult to process this information while you're wearing a robe and veil."

"Sometimes a dress can carry sophisticated messages that subtly describe a woman's perspective on sexuality."

"And you feel that way about what you're wearing?"

"I do," Rhaenyra says. "That's not the case for everyone, but it's true with me. My robe represents my relationship with God along with my relationship with my own body, including my sexuality. Does this make sense?"

"Yes, it does."

"How does that make you feel?"

"You might not want to know."

"Tell me."

Laena purses her lips. "You have experience and I have none, but in a way, I feel like I understand you. I understand the needs you have, because I have them as well."

"As you'll come to learn, every woman has the same needs, but to varying degrees."

"Really?"

"This is the reason why women need erotic conversations with a confidant. These things aren't taught in books or schools. This kind of knowledge is passed down through word of mouth, in private, to protect the reputations of those involved."

"And me? Where do I fit in?"

Rhaenyra's eyes travel up and down the young student. "Your sexual appetite appears higher than most. Being young and naive can be a dangerous thing. If you're interested -- only if you're interested -- then I can guide you in these matters."

"Will I be judged?"

"By whom?"

"God or you."

"We have this fallacy in society that religion must be separate from sex. That is wrong. Spirituality and belief are about the full humanness of who we are. And so, sexuality and spirituality co-exist, except in the minds of those who wish to control our bodies."

Laena takes a moment to ponder these important words. The tears in her eyes had dried a long time ago. Now she's thinking, facing perhaps the most important decision she's ever made in her young life. Alicent has been in Laena's position before. She knows how she feels. Ali knows how her cunt must be thumping.

"If you're willing to teach me, then I would be interested in learning."

The girl hangs her head down after making the request. She needs to work on her confidence, but she suspects these issues will be resolved soon enough.

"Have you ever engaged in tongue pleasures before?" Rhaenyra asks.

"Never. Nothing beyond a simple kiss on the mouth."

"With a male or female?"

"Male."

"Without an oral fixation, sex is very dull. A woman should be proud of her oral obsession. It will also maintain your chastity, while satisfying your carnal desires. Come here. Stand in front of me."

Laena stands and walks to her in slow and hesitant movements. Her head still hangs down, she's looking at the floor, her hands are clasped in the front.

"Yes?" the girl asks.

"Open my top. It should be easy. I'm wearing nothing underneath."

The girl's eyes go wide. Soon she'll be seeing something sacred. And Ali is sure she's surprised to learn that there's nothing beneath Rhaenyra's dress.

Her hands go to work, opening the top of the black dress to reveal voluptuous breasts that protrude forward with light brown nipples. Alicent wonders if she can smell the lemon juice that had been used to clean them earlier.

"Yes?"

"What do you think? Suck them. They've already been washed."

Laena hesitates, then kneels and brings her mouth forward. Alicent is sure she's terrified of doing this to a holy woman, and in front of her, but the girl has desires which need to be met. She takes a nipple into her mouth and Alicent can hear the sloppy sucking sounds. Greedy girl. Alicent was the same way when she was that age.

This goes on for a while and she sucks and grabs both breasts. Her mouth takes equal turns on each nipple. While observing them together, Alicent slips her hand below and touches herself, putting her finger inside. This goes on for a while and Alicent almost cums.

"That's quite enough. Now I want you to lay on the table. I'm going to give you a gift, then in the days to come I will explain how you can give yourself pleasure."

"Are you going to..."

"Yes, I'm going to kiss you down there."

This scares Laena to the core, but in a good way. Alicent is sure she never expected to receive such a thing since becoming a student here. Never in her wildest dream.

Laena sits on the table, being mindful to keep her dress down. Even in the midst of her first time receiving pleasure of this magnitude, her respectful nature is still that. Alicent likes that about her. It's a great sign and she'll make an excellent apprentice.

The girl's face winces as Rhaenyra tosses the bottom of her dress upward and pulls the white garments away to reveal the treasure. From where Alicent issitting, she can only see the light brown color of Laena's curly pubic hair. Rhaenyra looks, inspects, plays with the labia and spreads it open, then brings her lips and tongue forward to proceed with this act of pleasure.

Laena's body jerks and clenches and she gasps out loud, as if this were a spiritual possession. She's never felt this before, nor will she feel this again with anyone else, because Rhaenyra has full lips and a wealth of experience. Rhaenyra's mouth has godly powers behind it. The poor girl cries. Her first experience is trial by fire.

While the feast is happening, Alicent walks to them and sits beside the table to provide care for Laena during this critical time of need. These are the formative years of her sexuality and Alicent wants to make sure she's handling this correctly. She holds her hand and she squeezes hers in return. These feelings may be too much for a virgin to handle, but Alicent defer judgment to Rhaenyra on these matters.

Oh, how the girl's face looks. She stares at the ceiling, her eyes are watching God and her faith is stronger than ever. If feelings like this exist in the world, then surely it's a sign of what exists in the universe. She squeezes her hand. She squeezes her hand tighter. Her eyes stay focused on the ceiling, that long stare with a vision of God at the other end.

When she finally cums she clenches her eyes shut and grits her teeth. Tears stream from her clenched eyes and the tears roll back to her ears and hair. Her grip on my hand is even tighter. Alicent listens to the wet noises that Rhaenyra is making with Laena's entrance. That sucking and slurping and sounds of wetness. Better than any church choir.

She rests on the table, breathing heavily. Her hand goes limp. Alicent goes to the kitchen sink for a bowl of water and two clean clothes. Alicent place the bowl on the table and Rhaenyra appreciates that she wets a cloth and cleans her mouth. Her lips are glistening with flavor.

"You could have gone easier on her. That was a virgin's first time."

Rhaenyra gulps and swallows. "A girl must learn. You were also hard on me."

"That's because you were a bad girl."

Alicent dips the other cloth into the bowl of water and wipes the mound and labia of Laena's private area. It's her first time seeing it and the sight is perfect. The hair around the vagina is wet from saliva and trickles of orgasm still leak from the pink hole. That tight little hole. Her labia shines with saliva. The clitoris is swollen. The saliva and fluids are wiped clean and she's ready for bed. Alicent puts the soiled cloth in the bowl and strokes her hair, waking her.

"You need to get to bed. There's a busy schedule tomorrow."

She nods, feeling ashamed that Alicent witnessed her private moment of rapture. Then Alicent help Laena to her feet and smooths her dress so that she looks refreshed. Rhaenyra gives her a goodnight kiss on the lips. The girl kisses back. With their arms locked together, Alicent helps Laena up the stairs and toward the bathroom. She feels that her knees are still weak from the orgasm, which is the reason Alicent is holding her. She leans on her. Alicent knows the effects of an intense orgasm can be overwhelming for a young virgin.

Alicent closes the door to the bathroom when we get inside, and when Laena sits on the toilet, Alicent tucks her hair behind her ears. How beautiful she looks. So pure.

"This is our secret, okay? No one else can know."

"Yes, this is our secret, Sister Alicent, thank you so much."

"Good girl. You've always been a good girl."

"I've never cum like that in my life," she says. "Never thought it was possible."

"The body given to you by God is full of impossible wonders. Once you know the secrets, then your powers are endless. Now relieve yourself, you should already be in bed."

Alicent kisses Laena on the forehead as she starts to pee. Alicent looks between her legs. The stream is laced with her cum and she quivers. The sound of her pee splashing in the water is loud. She sits there until every drop is gone. Alicent looks into her eyes, the girl is emotionally exhausted and still processing this experience. When she finishes, Alicent uses tissue to wipe between her legs. She's able to stand with her strength returning. She washes her hands and looks at herself in the mirror, then she turns to her,, managing to smile for the first time tonight. Alicent smiles back. She is someone who rarely smiles at students, but she's earned it.

Alicent walks with her to the bedroom and tuck her into bed, making her promise to be a good girl, to respect her body and respect God, and she thanks Alicent for the lessons. Alicent rubs her breasts and then kisses her lips. She kisses her back.

DONE

please check my pinned post and retweet it. I don’t like property to be honest lmao. Please help pay for a girls school or share.

[legendsofmyriad]

Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 25: The Determined Soldier

Chapter 24 | Chapter 26

Arc One Masterlist

-- -- -- -- --

For a night that had been marked by the fiercest glass storm Eternity had had in some years, the morning came on nimble feet, white sun smothering the city and insects chirruping in the flower boxes. Patches of puddles and damp dust were the only remnants left as the warmth slowly erased any evidence of the elemental chaos. 

“Bet the cleanup crews will have a mighty job on their hands,” Cas commented, sipping the last of her tea and rinsing the mug in the sink. “Don’t think there’s been a storm that powerful in a fair while.” 

“Must’ve missed it,” Rhena shrugged. She shovelled another spoonful of cereal into her mouth and blinked at Cas’s lifted eyebrow. “What?”

“How you didn’t hear two hundred tons of glass smashing down on the barrier in the space of a few hours and a thunderstorm to boot, I will never know.”

“Slept through worse.” 

At the faint pad of bare feet joining them, Cas retrieved a set of cutlery from the drawer. “Good morning, Alek. Did you sleep well?” 

“Once the storm died down,” he responded. “Are they usually like that?” 

“We haven’t had one that bad in years and hopefully won’t again for some time,” Cas said. “Oh, here.” She handed him an empty bowl and encouraged him to take a seat at the table, trays arranged neatly in the centre and overflowing with pastries and bread rolls of varying varieties. “Grab whatever you want.”

“Your phone thing rung a few times,” Rhena told him, motioning to the countertop where Alek’s tablet lay beside the chopping boards. As though it heard her, it vibrated and trilled against the scratched worktop. “And there it goes again.” 

“Sorry,” Alek said as he scooped it up off the side. “I’ll take this in the other room.” 

Juggling a bowl of seeded slices and pastry rolls in one hand and his tablet in the other, he hurried into the sitting room, nudging the door closed with his hip and answering the call with a jabbed swipe. 

“Where have you been?” Professor Spark demanded. The signal peaked and dropped and his usually level voice crackled within the struggling transmission until it established a clear connection. 

“Sleeping,” the student replied, sinking into the heap of cushions on the armchair. “Not all of us have the luxury of a three hundred year nap.”

“This is not time for jokes. There has been a breakthrough with our research which may bring us closer to waking The Core.” 

Alek carefully balanced the tablet on his legs and savoured the aroma of the buttery pastry as he tugged at the gooey, cheese-covered morsel and popped it into his mouth. An assortment of garlic and spices accompanied the bite, mingling on his tastebuds in a delectable waltz. 

“Alek?” 

“I’m still here.” He set the distracting bowl aside and wiped his fingers clean of the flaky specks. “What do you need me to do, professor?” 

“I require a vial of untainted temporal essence from metal bugs known as laycrawlers. They sleep beneath the sands of Eternity, but I can provide you the locations of a few hives close by.”

“Is it easy to get, or does it need something specific?” 

“Use a tearing spell to extract the essence, but please be precise. A complex enchantment holds those frightful creatures in a deep slumber. If they wake, the stars above only know what havoc they could unleash.”

“Frightful creatures?” Alek blurted. “I thought you said they were bugs.”

“Oh, they are, but they… well, let us just say they more than make up for their size.”

A restless prickle crept up Alek’s spine and his tongue went dry. Flickers of his ordeal with the last cave creature flashed within his vision, but he blinked it away. The professor wouldn’t assign him the task unless it was crucial to the preservation of Myriad. 

“As long as you withdraw the temporal essence slowly, you should be perfectly fine,” Bartholomew promised. “Watch for any spikes in the resting spell and take your time. No other critters dwell near laycrawler hives, so you should not be disturbed.” 

Alek cleared the sticky knot from his throat. “Slow and steady,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. 

“Precisely. Contact me as soon as you have it.” 

“Received and understood.” After reaffirming the dangers of the plan and exchanging a brief farewell, Alek snatched the tablet and his breakfast and traipsed back to the kitchen. Two sets of eyes found him, silent questions weighing on his shoulders. 

“Is everything all right?” Cas asked, soap suds covering her hands as she scoured at a piled array of oily pots. 

“Professor Spark needs me to find something for him in the caves below Eternity,” Alek said. “It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

With the slightest whiff of an intrepid adventure teasing her nostrils, Rhena’s focus grew sharper, homing in on the charming scent. She spun in her seat and rubbed her greasy fingers on her torn jeans. “I can help. Whatever it is, it’ll be quicker in the car.”

“You have done more than enough,” Alek assured her. 

“I wouldn’t keep her away,” Cas chuckled, removing some of the bare bowls from the table and submerging them in the soapy dishwater. “She’ll only follow you out there.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love my plucky spirit,” Rhena said. 

Cas pretended to ruminate, exaggerating her expressions with a curled lip and a scrunched brow until a bright grin pushed at her cheeks. “Just promise to be careful. Both of you. Last thing we need is you both getting hurt.”

* * *

A citrus scented tendril escaped from the simmering tea pot on the stovetop. Cas ran a cloth over the smudges where the steam had painted the windowpanes white and patted on the glass. From the flower boxes outside, a cluster of feathered scavengers scattered into the sky with a flutter and a screech. 

“The florist on the corner said that soil should stop the birds from stealing the seeds,” Cas huffed, “but they’re still trying to get at them.” She wandered back over to the table as Rhena finished laying out the map of Azuris and the surrounding lands, pen poised to plan their route. 

“Professor Spark advised I head for Ridgebolt Hollow,” Alek said, re-reading the list of instructions. 

“That would be here,” the racer murmured as she circled the cavern. “There’s a blister lake right by it, so we won’t be able to take the car too close, but there are some spots where it should be safe.” Muttering to herself, she meticulously charted looping tracks and noted risky zones. The outline of roads became a chaotic canvas of symbols and scrawled warnings, forming a trail that extended all the way to the capital. 

Cas scratched at a patch of dry skin on her arm and cradled her elbow. “Would it not make more sense to go around that pass?” she suggested, nail tapping the canyon in question. “Azuris authorities have reported multiple bandit strikes hijacking vehicles and taking hostages.” 

“Ah. That’s true.” A series of contemplative hums warbled behind Rhena’s pursed lips and she scribbled out a length of road. “We also have scorch spots near there, so we may have to bypass that completely and head to the steeper dunes. It’ll take longer to reach the hollow, but we should still get there and back before nightfall.”

“I’d avoid the north-east trail too. They’re swarming with Sand Tails this time of year.”

With a thoughtful mutter, Rhena marked off the right sector of the map and tapped the capped end of the pen to her chin. The perils that lingered beyond the city barrier eliminated multiple convenient options, narrowing them down until only one route out of the capital remained. “Okay, we’ll head out the western gate and take the road down here…” She traced a fluid line along curved courses, and wound it slowly towards Ridgebolt. “If we get into any trouble at the pass, we can travel north for a bit, so we have a backup track for this stretch. That should lead us straight to the caves in the east. There is every possibility we could encounter a few bumps during the dune tract, but if we’re quick, we should avoid the worst of it.”

“That will also save you some time if you have to go round the valley,” Cas pointed out. 

They discussed other potential routes and Alek understood only odd pieces of the conversation, but he opted to hold his curiosity and let them plan without interruption. His hosts would safeguard him from the most treacherous parts of Eternity; that much he was certain of.

“I’ll make a list of supplies,” Cas said, tearing a loose piece of paper from her notepad and selecting a pen from the pile. 

“I have my magic too,” Alek offered. “It should provide some form of defence.”

“Even against dust worms?” Rhena asked.

“What’s a dust worm?” 

Rhena’s eyes transformed into a foreboding storm, and every shred of cheerfulness in her disappeared. “Dust worms are terrifying beasts that linger beneath the sand. Monstrous creatures, bigger than cities, spines down their backs that spit out toxins and so many layers of teeth you can’t see them all unless you’re inside its mouth. They’re so quick that by the time you’ve thought to run, it’s already got you.” Just as the horrifying image began to unfold, a prod to her arm cut it short, and she rubbed at the poked spot with a grumble. 

“Quit scaring him,” Cas reprimanded. “He has had enough frights.”

“The worms don’t actually exist,” Rhena assured Alek, the mischievous glint returning. “They’re only tales to stop folk from venturing out without proper knowledge of how to cross the terrain.” 

“A cautionary tale some of us take far too much pleasure in telling,” Cas remarked, her glance at her partner laced with a subtle scolding. 

“Can you imagine if they were real, though? Admit it, a beast of the scale would be pretty cool.”

“Yeah, in the seconds before it started destroying cities and killing people.” Cas snatched her jacket from the hook and her keys from the bowl. “If you’ve finished terrifying the poor lad, I’ll get the supplies. Shouldn’t be too long. Don’t you go telling him more horror stories.” 

“I won’t,” Rhena promised, holding her hands up in an apologetic surrender. 

Cas directed a pleading look at her before she departed, and as the side door closed with a soft click, the whirring hum of the ventilation filled the otherwise quiet kitchen. 

“Since the gateways opened, she has refused to talk about stuff like that,” Rhena explained. Alek’s eyes bore into her, full of concern, but she ignored the restrained questions and busied herself with clearing away the map. “People began talking about creatures coming through and terrifying things, and I’ve tried telling her it’s not going to happen again but… this is how it all started last time.”

“Last time?” Alek asked. 

“Azuris came under attack from a creature out in the sands about eight years back. Not a dust worm, but it was big enough to break our shields. We managed to subdue it and get it far from the city, but our former leader was so shaken he introduced laws that allowed the guards to bring down anything that moved in the dunes. Only he made a mistake. He ended up killing a family who were travelling home, ordering his soldiers to shoot into the dust cloud, thinking it was another monster. None of them survived.”

Alek’s breath escaped his lips in a solemn exhale. He stood frozen, captivated and waiting for Rhena to proceed with her unfortunate recollection. 

“Their loved ones were devastated, speaking out about how they’d called in their position and confirmed their licence to the gate towers, so there was no reason to fire at them,” she continued. “It was a horrid mess, nobody got any straightforward answers, and our leader coldly declared that some will die for a greater cause. Later on, we found out that he had been illegally hunting and killed the first creature’s entire clutch. It followed him back here and attacked. He tried to cover it up by claiming all sorts of superstitious nonsense was involved. For some, it was enough of an explanation and they believed him, taking matters to rather nasty extremes.”

“Was that what caused the rebellion?” 

Halting in clearing up the table, Rhena pressed her palms into the scraped wood and nodded, jaw tensing and throat bobbing with a hard swallow. “Those that rejected his lies got angry, and that anger spread, didn’t contain itself to Azuris. By the end, it generated such chaos. Eternity has always prided itself on its hospitality and its kindness, and all it took to break that was a single person.” 

Alek slumped against the countertop, the heaviness of her story weighing down on his soul. That hopelessness was a familiar friend, and he knew the consequences of a corrupt authority better than most his age. One word, a tiny thought, and…

He coughed and straightened up, uncrossing his arms. That time was over, for both Solgarde and Eternity, and hope would prosper anew. “When dark clouds descend, breathe in your strength to blow them away,” Alek said, repeating the words of a Sunbreak captain he had once had the privilege to meet during class. “When darkness falls, we must be a beacon. The sun will always rise again.”

He turned his gaze towards his host, his youthful eyes brimming with faith.

Rhena sensed the warmth of hope radiating from him, as if he carried an unshakable belief that dark times do not remain forever. That good would undoubtedly prevail. “The sun will always rise,” she affirmed, with a smile that mirrored his own calming optimism. “I’m sorry if I scared you with the dust worm stuff.”

“It’s all right,” Alek assured her. “You were only teasing.”

“Could your magic take down a monster?” she asked. 

“Depends on the monster. Not all of them are massive, snarling beasts. Some look like you and me.”

“From what you’ve told me, we both know enough about those kinds of monsters,” Rhena sighed, returning the cap to the pen and planting it on top of the compact map. She headed for the door and motioned for him to join her outside on the sheltered driveway. “Didn’t think you were in for a comfy afternoon, did you? Get moving. You can help me with the car.”

* * *

With each passing hour, a delicate crispness permeated the city with the promise of a cool evening and a temperate night. Having endured multiple nights of unbearable heat, Alek eagerly awaited a more comfortable and refreshing sleep. Just one slumber without being jarred awake by the stifling hot weather or the haunting images of the cave creature that hounded his dreams. 

As he walked, the paper bag in his arms rustled and bumped. With a steady grip, the contents settled. He and Rhena had almost completed the car repairs before they had encountered a fault, and unable to locate the missing item in the storeroom, they ventured into town to pick it up. Not that he minded. His keen host entertained him with a plethora of amusing fables and responded to all his budding questions while they wandered. 

“There used to be a guy who ran that bakery,” she told him with a whimsical grin as they passed the storefront in question. “My mum took me in there every weekend, and he always gave me an extra cookie and a pork roll for my dad. Fed a lot of us during weather spikes too when power went out and people lost all the food in their refrigeration units.” 

“I don’t think I’ve been there yet,” Alek said, gazing up at the sapphire and gold logo on the flag. 

“Then once this business of yours is done, I’ll take you there. You have got to try the rolled peach pastries. Oh, and the cones. They’re delicious. It’s like wafer with pieces in it, coated in melted chocolate.” 

The sugary treats sounded so tempting he was, for a brief second, willing to abandon their task just to glimpse the baked goods. While Solgarde’s feasts and banquets were renowned for their culinary accomplishments, the sweet delicacies of Eternity surpassed anything he had ever tasted. He wanted to absorb everything and bring back a treasure trove of delectable delights to his friends as they exchanged tales of their daring exploits.  

The thought of Esther and Oscar spiked in his chest. Although he found much to enjoy in the home of glass, his own home sung to him across the miles, waiting for him to return. One day soon, he told the lamenting melody. I promise. 

They navigated the sharp corners and long, dusty stretches of road, and made it to the outskirts. Exiting the last shop on their list, Alek stared at the wreckage of the vector arena on the other side of the street. Some of the shops had suffered minor damage, but remained in good enough condition to continue serving their customers. 

“Rhena,” he said, motioning with his elbow to the tumbled stadium as the racer stuffed a tightly wound coil into the paper bag under her arm, “do you mind if I look inside? I’ll only be a few minutes.” 

“Sure. I’ll join you.”

Alek hesitated, not wanting to make her uneasy or provoke any painful memories given her previous experience. But she smiled as though the question didn’t need to be asked, assuring him with a sunshine glow that she was okay. 

The entrance was littered with debris, but the tunnel stood firm, supporting the archway above. Wilting flowers sunk into the chalky passage and created a decaying path into the arena. More browning petals and snapped stems accompanied the burned out candles and stone offerings. Police tape fluttered, severed and useless against the flood of worshippers who had since abandoned the site, their prayers unanswered and their patience spent. 

Tablet in hand, Alek glided it along the pulsating column of light that cut through the centre of the track. The fluctuations had decreased, and the charts displayed a consistent trajectory. Although the readings forecast no more gateway-induced quakes for Eternity, The Core remained dormant, and without a guardian, catastrophe still loomed.

“Everything looking good?” Rhena asked, craning to get a peek at his tablet.

“Seems to be,” Alek answered. He collated the data and sent it to the lab, anxiously hoping that Bartholomew would be able to confirm the status of the gateway soon. 

Startled by his guide’s unexpected closeness, he registered her sincere smile and the flicker of doubt in her eyes. “We can leave now. I understand being here is uncomfortable for you.”

“It’s not that,” she said, bristled hints of concern crawling up her throat. “Whenever I’m close to that light, I can hear… something. Sometimes it sounds like words, and other times it’s different.”

“I can’t hear anything,” Alek replied. He strained his ears, hoping to catch whatever Rhena was listening to, but all he discovered was a mechanical churn and an intermittent magic-infused hiss. “Might be the mechanisms or the wind. It is fairly breezy round here.”

Rhena knew he was only trying to calm her mind, to find a logical explanation, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of someone else’s presence, whispering to her through the gateway. Muttering, like a distant conversation in which she could pick up voices but nothing discernible.  

“Come on,” Alek said kindly, hoisting the paper bags once more. “Let’s get these parts back. The car won’t fix itself.”

“Too right,” Rhena chuckled. She allowed him to lead her out, but not before she stole a brief look at the pervading ray of light on the odd chance she would detect what it was so eager to tell her. 

-- -- -- -- --

If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider reblogging. Reblogging helps to get work out there and seen.

[genjishimemeda]

been going through my WIPs and i'm gonna post a couple old old old ones that i really need to finish. this one was meant as a gift for someone but i think they went on to block me (lol)? idk. it was like almost ten years ago.

it's cloudgeal with the theme of gardening

Of all the areas in the Shinra building, Cloud likes the courtyard most.

Few even realize it's there, attached to the cafeteria like some awkward, bulbous tumor that everyone passes by, probably curious about, but doesn't bother to explore. It's weird and it's honestly rather ugly, obvious sod laid down over a metal floor with weak, meager sunlight filtered through glass, supported by flickering sun lamps, its only sources of light. The grass itself on the sod is just a pitiful excuse for grass, yellow and brown for the most part. They said nothing grows in Midgar, and it's probably true.

Except, and Cloud notices this, there's one corner of the courtyard where the lamp doesn't flicker, the grass is a little less brown-and-yellow, and there's obvious signs of work.

He's drawn to the courtyard in the first place because, being a mountain-dweller, nature's in his blood. He didn't have to (and didn't want to) ask about its existence; it just sort of happened that he took the wrong door out of the cafeteria when he wasn't paying attention and wound up looking at a small patch of greenery wondering how he got there. For a brief moment, it had reminded him of when the snow finally melted and the grass hadn't yet grown back after a winter in Nibelheim; returning there, he smiles as he notices the grass is just a little bit greener than before.

And over in the corner, there's a little row of pots.

As he nears, he counts maybe six of them, sitting in neatly arranged rows. The soil's still moist and the lamps are fixed on them, but not directly. He makes a noise of curiosity, kneeling down and examining them. Nothing on them says who put them there, or even what species of seed was planted in them. Just nondescript clay pots, sitting and waiting.

A little confused, he leaves for the day.

Some time a few weeks later, he pops back in just to have his lunch in relative quiet, and the pots are still there. It's a little warmer, and he notices the thermostat is set to almost 27°—going to sit by the pots, he notices one has a tiny shoot sticking up from the center. It's not quite like the green, fleshy stem of a flower, but like a thin, bladed leaf. The soil is damp again, as if they've been recently tended to, and the watering can is, in fact, still there.

Cloud picks it up and examines it. Again, like the pots, it's nondescript to the point of blandness. He places it back down, gently, and just looks at the tiny shoot with masked wonder.

By the next time he has a chance to return, early one morning before breakfast is even ready, all the pots are bearing several little shoots, but this time, the soil is dry. He realizes the time of day and, glancing at the schedule that seemed to have mystically appeared on the wall, the plants have yet to be watered. Curious, he looks to the can, and gingerly lifts it to see if there's any water in it.

Barely…

Shrugging to himself, he goes to the spigot on the wall and starts filling it. The water is cloudy, obviously not filtered tap. He's not sure if it's the best choice, but it's all there is—maybe the plants need the extra minerals? Hoping he's not destroying anything, he sprinkles water over all of them, kneeling before them and ensuring they've each had an equal amount.

To himself, or maybe to the plants, he mutters, "That should be okay…"

He sits there a while longer, checking each one over. The original one has a few more leaves, and they're a nice, vibrant shade of green. Not too dark, not too pale. He can't be sure, but he thinks they're bromeliads. He'd only seen a few in his lifetime, as they were more well-suited to warmer climates than Nibelheim (and possibly even Midgar), but he knew what they looked like in a vague sense.

He looks at the schedule again and notices "drain the cups" written in small writing beneath the watering notes. When he glances at the pots again, he notices the bottoms slip out. Removing each one, he pours the excess water onto the grass… probably how it got so green in the first place. He continues to pour out the water as it drips down, and eventually they all stop leaking.

With caution, he picks up the permanent marker by the schedule and checks off the watering.

* * *

From then on, he checks up on the plants daily. When he gets there before their caretaker does, he completes the tasks himself. That is, up until one day he comes in and there's a note attached to the schedule.

I'd certainly like to know who's been tending to the plants, the note says. Succinct and clearly written, though the handwriting is quite obviously masculine.

Cloud pops open the marker and scrawls his name and rank onto the paper.

They exchange words in notes over the next few weeks, and the plants have become handsome bunches of leaves. Cloud is gently stroking the leaves as he waters them this morning, reading over the last note written.

It's not the first time I've planted bromeliads here, but they always die before they flower. I'd like to have this batch actually bloom this year.

When Cloud leaves, he decides to do a bit of research.

As far as he reads, bromeliads are mostly tropical, though can survive a drought if needed. Some need lots of sunlight, some shrivel up under too much. They're not supposed to soak, thus the draining, and their flowers come naturally. Cloud wonders if they're perhaps exercising a little too much care, rather than too little.

We should meet, he writes on his next note, the book from the library tucked under his arm. What's your schedule?

Unfortunately, the next note leaves him disappointed. My schedule is so spontaneous I couldn't give you a set time.

* * *

Cloud's next eating lunch with some of his squadmates, barely listening as he's thinking about the note and eyes fixed on the courtyard door. He's hoping he'll see someone go in and figure out who tends to the plants, who's been writing back and forth with him… and who shares his love of nature in this gods-forsaken city.

"Y'know that Second, uh… Zack's his name, yeah?" one of the guys says.

"Mm?"

"Heard him in the hall earlier whinin' that the guy who trains him showed up late or somethin'."

"And we care, why?"

"He bitches like a damn dog in heat, man. It was grating as hell."

Cloud just tunes out the conversation and wanders over to the courtyard door. It's not like he cares what they had to say about some SOLDIER he doesn't even know. He goes for the door, though freezes when he notices someone's in there.

Surreptitiously, he glances through the fog of the door and barely makes out a large black shape amongst the silver walls and greenery. Backing away, he tries to find a place to look inconspicuous, and waits. This is the moment he's been waiting for, swapping those notes like they were little kids or something. He tries not to stare at the door, and waits.

He hardly notices when a SOLDIER Second with hair rivaling his own comes marching through the cafeteria and opens the door.

"Angeal, what the heck?" the Second half-whines. "We were supposed to train like twenty minutes ago."

"I'm sorry, Zack," came the voice from inside, and Cloud cranes his neck a little. "I had… business to attend to."

"More important than me?"

A deep chuckle. "Just a little."

The black-haired young man just sighed. "I'll see ya in the VR room, then." He then muttered something under his breath about 'Genesis' and 'bugs.' Cloud doesn't know what to make of that, but he has a name!

Angeal… Where does he know that name? As he's mulling it over, he misses the man pass entirely, only shaking out of it when he doesn't hear any shuffling anymore.

Armed with half of the identity of the man he was looking for, he scampers off to see if he can actually nail down just where he heard that name.

* * *

A SOLDIER.

Not only that, a SOLDIER First.

Angeal Hewley.

Cloud's mouth goes dry as he reads the SOLDIER roster again, and doesn't find another instance of the name. He can't believe he's been corresponding with one of the triumvirate of SOLDIER Firsts (and subtly thanks the gods it isn't Sephiroth, he'd die of a heart attack even at such a tender young age). He'd never be able to approach him, even if they planned the meeting, and dear gods he was alone and he was shaking like a leaf.

When he returns to his room, he looks to the library book sitting on his bunk looking, for all a book could be, so forlorn. He flops down on the bed and opens it up, looking at the card inside and reading through the names.

Sure enough, multiple times, Angeal's name. Going back several years, at that.

He closes it slowly, then rolls over and looks at the bunk above his. He kicks his one leg, not fully on the bed, and tries to think.

After several hours of tossing, turning, trying to nap, and grinding his palms onto his eyes, he makes his decision.

He may be shy, but gods-dammit, Cloud knows he's not a pussy.

[poem-today]

A poem by Andrew Johnston

THE SUNFLOWER

for Stuart Johnston, 1931–2004

One young bloom in a vase or jar, breath- takingly yellow. And her hands, in the morning light, the way they arrange and rearrange. Death brings lilies, but someone has sent a sunflower: this is our penance, staring at the sun, its blind eye, its ragged halo. The day, in the end, took to its bed before the day was over, taking thee with it. Soon this flower, too, will be dead, its summer of wondering done about the sun, petal by petal: loved me;

didn’t know how; did, unsayably so. It leaves me as he left us, in the dark. From one breath to the next, he’d deflect a question: in his the- ology, I, me, mine were just not done. Because he saw eye to eye with death we can stare at the sunflower all day but his heavenly father’s garden was further than we were prepared to go—its bed of blood-red roses, its promises, its premises, the way everything had been arranged; ‘dead’ a manner of speaking, under the sun. We counted ourselves lucky, hour by hour,

and by the minutes of the sunflower (he doesn’t, he does, he doesn’t know me), each in his or her own way worshipping the sun and coming to other arrangements with death— that it is the end, in the abstract. And then one day someone calls, and you take a deep, deep breath. Sister nor’wester, southerly brother— into the mind of the man we guess our way, blind and deaf, senseless, because he is dead. From the end of the earth I will cry unto thee, as daughters and sons have always done, for words unsaid. The riverbed

was dry and I was thirsty. By your bed, near the end, we could count our blessings: each day, for one thing, and though it was winter, the sun. A sisterly sixth sense, when death began to bloom, flew me from the end of the earth. In a week you were dead but we shadowed one another through the brittle days before you went away. You talked and talked, as you’d always done, of all but you, till you were out of breath. I would have liked to hear—despite your fear of the-

atre (so foolish was I, and ignorant, before thee)— about your mother, for instance, who took to bed when tempers rose; and how the sun had burned a dead- ly thirst into your father’s breath; but the hard facts I craved, my mother knew, were the same stones, day after day, that you buried in death- ly silence, so that in this inscrutable way you could build—for you, for her, for six including me— a house, a plain, safe house, with a sunflower in the garden. ‘That which is done

is that which shall be done’ is all very well in the- ory, but what if the sun were black, and the book dead wrong, and the interval under death demanded a father as unlike his father as day and night? A breath of wind reaches me from the rose-bed; in its vase or jar the sunflower nods politely. Halfway

across the Channel, halfway between waking and sleeping, my mind undone, I had, as luck would have it, something of an inkling. The day had been long; as I lay in the boat’s narrow bed a wave of black joy lifted me and left in me knowledge so dark it shone. I held my breath. Fear fell away, of death, and other fears; the end, in the end, was the darkest jewel. I was dead tired, and fatigue’s mysterious flower spoke perhaps in tongues. But that black sun still shines—a talisman, obsidian, a bright antithe- sis. Its darkness made light of death

at most, however, for me; the death of someone else is something else. Your way led over the border; I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, but wherever I am, my place in the sun you prepared. His earthly power spent, your god, to us, is dead, but it was your belief that gave us breath, the life we take for granted every day. What sense of your sense will I take with me? How much of your world will we hand on? Just before the end, on the wall beside your bed, Peter pinned Leonardo’s St. Anne. Her

smile, wry, reminds me of you, and her hand-on-hip benevolence. Wherever death leads, we can meet here. The power of light in van Eyck and Vermeer. The breath of Wallace Stevens, overhearing his way to work. Every Henry James you read in bed, destiny and destiny like night and day. The valedictory music of ‘The Dead’. Thou hast set our iniquities before thee but when all—or almost all—is said and done sometimes it seemed you believed no less than me that when we die we go into the sun.

There is nothing new under the sun but much of it is mystery: this my mother knows. Her psychological eye revised your the- ological line. They’d converge, anyway, at the library—your rain-cloud, your seed-bed. You read and read and read. And saved your breath not to write yourself, but to make each day bloom and turn. The astonishing flower, head full of edible seeds, bows down dead: this is the credible sense of its death, that here, where its turning is done other journeys begin. It seems to me you believed what you believed, but it strikes me, too, that the seeds you sowed, in the mind’s sun, mattered most. (Sometimes they grew a bed of nails: you were often ‘sick to death’ of fads and feuds, the way they shut out the sun.) Flower of wonder, flower of might: if I see thee on the other side, when I am dead, I’ll know there is an other side. Till then, while we have breath, our burgeoning work is not done: what we have been given is a rich, difficult day

that could go on without us, nevertheless, all day, whistling a cryptic tune. It comes to me in the conservatory, where we catch a little sun: I didn’t know you well, and then you went away but in the day of my trouble I will call upon thee because you were a man to get things done. In its vase or jar, the young sunflower I imagine has served its purpose. Beneath its bed, all along, the river was flowing—deep, where death knows more than we. Sylvia dons her gardening gloves to gather the dead roses. Man cannot utter it, but under his breath:

‘Remember me, my loves, when I am dead.’ Rest on memory’s sea-bed: we will swim down to thee. And in our own blue day, we will gaze at death the way this one young bloom would gaze at the sun. In the garden of the living, my mother stops for breath. Thou thy worldly task hast done. And seeds rain from the sunflower.

Andrew Johnston

Andrew Johnston comments on his poem:  “The Sunflower ” is woven from many strands. In 1991 I read John Ashbery’s book-length poem “Flow Chart” and was struck by the double sestina embedded in it (pp. 186-193), which borrows its end-words (among them, “sunflower”) from a poem by Swinburne. In January 1997, newly arrived in the depths of a London winter, I was bowled over by an exhibition of Anselm Kiefer’s sunflower paintings. When my father died in 2004, my brother Peter suggested two passages from the King James Bible for the funeral service; their language stayed with me. I spent November 2005 at a writer’s residence in the north of France. On a trip back to Paris one weekend, I had a revelation in the train: I could use the double-sestina structure, and even Ashbery’s (and Swinburne’s) end-words, plus bits of the King James psalms and Kiefer’s sunflower image, to write the poem I needed to write about my father (there are echoes of many other sources in there, too). I went back to the Villa Mont-Noir and wrote “The Sunflower”.

Image: The Orders of the Night (Die Orden der Nacht), 1996, Photograph: Seattle Art Museum /Anselm Kiefer

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