#faraway land of some faraway place of which he will have no true attachments

[vastiitas]

ik that he mentions he'd like to be buried with his gun, but i also think he wld like to be buried in his decimated dust-to-dust hometown in the timelines where he hasn't retired n made a home-

[aliparo]

He wasn’t usually like this.

Frantic, scattered, distracted — no, Kamisato Ayato wasn’t usually like this at all. Even Ayaka could catch on to that.

“Are you alright?” she inquires, eyes concerned and figure poised to assist her brother as he needs, whenever he may ask for it.

Ayato gazes into the vast sea a second longer then sighs. “I’m fine,” he tells her, “Don’t worry.”

“You’ve had that frown on your face for some time now,” she says, worry still evident, “Is this beach not to your liking? Has something upset you?”

“It’s…” he begins, then he sees a flash of a smile in his head, “nothing.”

Ayaka didn’t press him further, reclining back into her chair, but he could still feel her concern in waves. He sighs again. He wasn’t usually like this.

It was out of character for him to be so caught up one thing and not take action to solve his worries or frustrations. It was even more out of character that he was stressed by a person, rather than a situation.

It was most foreign, above all, that he was so… emotionally attached to the matter at hand.

You.

Your smile, hidden behind a hand or directed at the person you were talking to; your smile, sometimes suppressed, sometimes free (and how often you had smiled in both ways for him).

Your eyes, expressive and telling — they would widen in surprise or when you were about to laugh; they would narrow when you were getting annoyed, or when you were drowsy; they would sparkle when you were happy, and they would flood with worry and alarm depending on what situation arises.

Your voice (always pleasing to hear), your head (often shifting into an adorable tilt), your arms (sometimes wrapping around him, for various reasons), your back (rarely ever being turned back on him out of something negative) — you in your entirety.

Gone.

But Ayato could still see you in the sea, which had probably carried your boat all the way to some faraway land, far away from him; he could still see you in his mind, and you haunt him like never before.

He was too slow to catch on, too busy to sort out his personal matters, too inexperienced to know of his true feelings. He had always liked your presence — always showing up at the Kamisato Estate as you help Thoma carry extra materials, always eating at some food stall in Inazuma City as Ayato walks from one business meeting to another, always offering to accompany him so he wouldn’t feel so out of place in bustling environments… he had always enjoyed being in your presence, but he was too late to realize the extent of it.

It was only upon reading your letter, detailing your travel plans out of Inazuma for at least a year now that the Sakoku Decree has been lifted, that he felt uncomfortably unhappy with some acquaintance leaving him. The next moment, he found himself staring at the sea from the docks of Ritou, too many words left unsaid and too many feelings that finally couldn’t be left unattended.

Stay, but that may seem too demanding. I wanted to spend more time with you, and it soon led to I’ll miss you and… I like you, which was just as abrupt for him as it would have been for you.

I like you, he kept replaying in his mind, the only clear thing amidst everything that was going on inside of him. It was more than just the tolerating ‘like,’ but he could not yet discern whether it was a like of a greater romantic value. It was overwhelming, that’s for sure, and he wanted to be with you as he figured it out.

He likes you, because you make him happy, and he looks forward to the times you pop up throughout his day. He likes you, because… he can’t describe all else he feels about you; you pull him in every time, and he willingly (and with a smile) lets you. This is how he ‘likes’ you.

And having all that realized too late and left unvoiced, combined with how he has no idea how to at least let you know — he feels as if you were still pulling him, tugging at his heartstrings from somewhere in the world that he doesn’t know, and it leaves him unfocused, distracted, out of character.

He wasn’t usually like this — helpless and unable to take action.

But, at this point, what else can he do other than stare at the sea and long for you?

[musicallisto]

without fail tag

THE “WITHOUT FAIL” TAG — List five things that you, WITHOUT FAIL, weave into or explore in your stories, whether it be specific themes or tropes, character archetypes, allusions to other literary works, what have you! It really can be anything that you consistently include in your narratives for whatever reason. Then invite others to share theirs by tagging them!

I was tagged by @deadlymodern - thank you so much for tagging me, this tag is amazing and I loved reading your answers! I can tell you have a very thorough approach to your writing & themes, it’s so cool!

(tagging people at the bottom of the post if you want to skip)

1. flowers, skies & words

grouping them together since they're all related to a wider, general literary device: symbols and allegories in my stories. Without fail, I’ll always use flower symbolism to evoke certain themes, places, characters... withered petals for death, blossoms for youth, you name it, it’s probably been in one of my stories. just consider my main WIP’s title, The Grave of Roses (Le Tombeau des Roses). It’s a little basic, and has been used time and time before in literature, but I still love it.

Other elements that often make it into my stories as symbols are planes (because I love aviation obviously, but also as a symbol of breaking free, independence, of man’s domination on mortality, what with having tamed the skies, but also his frail condition and how everything hangs on a thread). Also, the sky is pretty.

And lastly, words, stories, novels always have their place in my stories, and more often than not one of my characters is a writer, or someone who uses words and stories as some kind of comfort, outlet, or a driving force.

At its [the tombstone] foot, below the name, red roses piled up, enough of them to cover ten graves. A single vermilion bud, a wind-swept poppy, clashed with the rest of the bouquet, and Samuel knew that it was William's children who had placed it there. Only they knew that he didn't even like roses anymore, and that he would come to lay poppies on his father's memorial every time he returned to London...

The tomb was both smaller and prettier than Samuel imagined, less opulent than England would have wanted to give its precious child. The morning sun, like a caress, illuminated the epitaph, a Latin verse that Samuel had known in the past. “Bury me southward,” he heard William say so clearly that he almost turned around, "so that I can look at England and France in the same breath." His name, however, was drenched in full light, facing east, and inexplicably this saddened Samuel.

“And there it is... it's pretty, don't you think? I don't know if he would have liked it... You probably know it better than I do...”

“And why do you care about that, huh? You don't even believe in God.” “He's a writer. He believes in symbols.” “He believes in vanity, alright.”

“I think he would have liked it anyway,” he nodded in agreement, his eyes glued to the lonely poppy. (Translation)

2. parental roughnesses

this was bound to come, because I feel like we were all pretty fucked up at some point in our lives from our upbringing. I didn’t go for straight up “parental issues” because I don’t deal with like, abusive or absent parents or anything, just complicated relationships between parents and their children, but who still love each other. Oftentimes it has to do with one of the children idealizing the heck out of their parent and slowly realizing that they make mistakes and are not a hero at all, and/or unmeetable expectations and parental pressure. but it’s not like I’m projecting or anything lol

“You never knew Father, William,” Grace stopped him immediately [...]. “Don't you dare pretend you know what it's like.”

“Growing up without a father is not necessarily better than losing him in childhood! Everyone here has suffered from his disappearance, Grace. You have no idea how much I miss him, despite never meeting him. But that's all in the past now. And there's no reason for there to be another war.”

“Of course there is!” she retorted ferociously, despite the tears spilling from her eyes. “Of course there is, and they're going to send you there like Father, and you'll want to play hero like Father, and then you'll get shot down like a dog! Where's it going to be this time, huh? Above Luxembourg, just like him, or maybe somewhere in your beloved France?” (Translation)

3. patriotism

One way or another, all my stories always deal with patriotism, nationalism, pride in one’s country and more broadly speaking one’s relationship to it. It questions what it means to belong to a country, to share one culture, one language; does it justify acting in the benefit of one’s country, and where do you draw the line before you intentionnally harm others’; what even is a country, a nationality, and it what sense do you belong to one, and what do you owe it, if you even owe it anything? Is it wrong or right to feel love and attachment to your place of origin? And what does it mean to fight for your country, for its values, for its people? & other things of the like. It probably stems from my own experience as a binational person; growing up, I was always asked stuff like “but who do you root for in a football game” “but are you like really French or not?” “if Spain and France got into a war what would you do?”, and this all lead me to question “am I more French or am I more Spanish - which one am I, and which one would others perceive me to be - do I need to pick a side? And how can I express my affection to these places that raised me both differently, without undermining the other - or others? can I still be proud of my heritage given the horrors my countries have committed in the past?”. I still haven’t found a definitive answer, so my writing is just me throwing trails out to the world and hoping I’ll figure it out someday. that’s why my stories often have a war setting; firstly I just love historical fiction, and secondly it’s the perfect backdrop for all these questions to unfold.

William laughed at the idea - he, a true Frenchman! It was a very silly thought. He may have loved what he had seen of Charlotte's country, but England was not to be ashamed of any other land, for it was the only one he would love until his last breath. (Translation.)

4. just a hint of supernatural

I love me a good ghost story, and I’m a fan of everything spooky, but what’s subtly spooky, and not the gory, in-your-face horror. This particular theme may have increased since I saw The Haunting of Hill House which completely OBLITERATED ME with how it uses the house and its ghosts to tell a story of family and trauma and memories... but I’ve loved ghost stories forever. Another piece that truly resonated with me was One Hundred Years of Solitude (Cien años de soledad) by Gabriel García Márquez. It was my first dive into the world of magical realism and I didn’t make it out of there the same person I was when I entered. This one is not necessarily included in every piece without fail, because some are just too anchored in reality, but if it’s not a straight-up spirit or an otherworldly creature, I’ll always find a way to include an aspect of superstition, a myth, a legend, a tale from faraway that is neither proved nor disproved throughout the story. It truly adds to the atmosphere of the world, even in a very realistic and gritty setting, I believe.

I hear murmurs of legends among the soldiers. [...] One of those stories caught my attention, I must admit... It is not very special, nothing more than a children's tale, but I thought it was beautiful enough to please your Romantic soul. Some pilots speak of a cemetery, somewhere in the countryside north of London, which has something mystical about it, lost in the flowers that sway as far as the eye can see, in the calm rhythm of the wind, wrapped in the heady scent of eternal spring, and where the bravest warriors would go to rest forever, tired of their exploits and the continual explosions. No one knows exactly where it is or what to do to be buried there, but this beautiful image simply floats like a dream in the minds of many and, I confess, in mine as well since I first heard about it.

It is said that there only flowers dare to disturb the heroes in their sleep... This fragment of silence is called the Grave of the Roses.

So if I were to leave you, if you were to hear that I am gone...

With a bit of luck, that is where you will find me.

5. love

this one is broader and less obvious than you might think. Of course, I’ll always, always implement an element of romance to my story (and more often than not it’s angsty with star-crossed lovers or insurmountable obstacles or forbidden romances and whatnot), but there’s more to it. I don’t think I have ever written a story that is entirely grim and bleak, simply because I do not believe the world is built like that. I’ve said time and time again that love is my favorite thing in the world, and I believe it is the force that drives us all forward and connects us all together; love is, to me, the truest power of humanity, and its inherent purpose. And love covers all subjects and all types of relationships, but my absolute favorite ways to explore and show love in my stories is through long-lasting, rock-solid friendships (because friendships are often overlooked both in fiction and real life), and just a grandiose love letter to humanity as a whole. I’m an optimist, and many people who have suffered more than I have would deem me naive for thinking this - and I cannot blame them -, but as Anne Frank put it more bravely than I ever could, “despite everything, I still think humans are good at heart”. My stories are always born out of love and made for love. For the love of humanity and kindness and literature and love of myself, too, because sometimes I just like rereading the words and thinking, “wow, I’ve made it this far. look at me go.” In a word, yes, I would say that is what it boils down to; my work, but also what I hope my entire life and being will be. An ode to love.

“He admired you and truly loved you, you know. You were a good leader, I'm sure, and a good friend, above all.”

He thought she was going to put her hand on his shoulder, and prepared to bend to avoid it, but instead she came to rest on the polished marble of the tomb, which was already beginning to erode at the corners. The soft light bathed her hand, and Samuel's on the other corner, still resting above William's surname, the only thing he had been proud of from beginning to end.

“And I loved him too. I loved them all. If you only knew...”

well, I got carried away, as I always do when talking about my writing, but it made me miss it so much. I haven’t worked on any of my projects since literally October and I’m feeling the void rn. anyway, thank you again for enabling me to ramble about what I love most, Thais! and I’m tagging @softeninglooks, @lxncelot, @myriadimagines​, @swanimagines & @randomfandomimagine + plus any writer who wants to talk about their marvelous work <3

[gregtroyan]

Radiant Epoch: Chapter 2 - Lyra

 All the truly enjoyable things in the world came in two kinds.  One kind had only a finite lifespan. With things of this kind, there was a moment one could look back on when they first clearly understood that it contained a whole new world of delights just waiting to be explored.

 But with that realization came the silent promise that, if one devoted enough time to it, sooner or later, there would be nothing left of it to explore.  And finally, the day would come when it no longer felt like an enjoyable thing at all; and without really thinking much of it, a person would simply cease to pursue it. Ten years ago, Lyra would have unhesitatingly cited her dolls and their imagined adventures as one of the more enjoyable things she knew of.  The rather impressive doll collection she boasted as a child was just one of many ways in which her life had been enriched by her family’s vocation as retail merchants, which made novel items imported from far-flung regions of the Hafen Empire and beyond a common sight in her house.

 The Lyra of today could not recall when playing with dolls had stopped being an enjoyable for her, but she knew it had been many years since she’d felt the urge to do it, and that, at some point, she began to find it more enjoyable by far to see a little girl’s face light up when told that one of Lyra’s childhood toys was hers to keep forever. Incidentally, indulging this more recently discovered pleasure had ultimately whittled her once-prized assemblage down to a single member: a very unusual artifact of the now badly endangered traditional culture of the Anhelos Archipelago, which had managed to stay on as one of her possessions after losing its value as a plaything by becoming instead an evocative symbol of yet another of her enjoyable things, that being a growing earnestness to learn as much as possible about the world she lived in (an interest of hers which no doubt had its roots in her father’s habit of providing his young daughter not only with unique toys, but also with tales of the faraway lands from which they came).

 Things of the second kind were a bit more mysterious to Lyra.  They had no clear origin, and the way they felt never seemed to change.  It was as though people had just been designed to love certain things. Seeing the world slowly flood with light before a sunrise.  The feeling of cool air early in the morning.  The melodic chirping of the birds who lived in the mountains surrounding Paach as they took to the skies in anticipation of the sunrise.  How clear the sound of running water was at the canal while most of her neighbors still slept, or the way the soil in her family’s garden smelled after she watered it.

 Lyra had no idea why any of these things which embellished her mornings made her happy, or how she could feel so certain they always would. Perhaps giving toys to children was another pleasure which, once discovered, would never fade.  She had seen no evidence in her seventeen years that adults ever got tired of doing that no matter how old they grew.

 Such were the thoughts drifting aimlessly through Lyra’s mind this morning as she lay motionless in her bed, not quite sure she had really woken up just yet, or whether a minute or an hour had passed since possibility of getting out of her bed had first occurred to her.

 As the first calls of the birds she had just been thinking of reached her ears, she snapped her eyes open and finally acquiesced to wakefulness, rolling out of bed and making for the chemise she had placed on her dresser last night all in one motion.  After donning the garment, she felt around for another item she knew to be on her dresser, and soon found it: a small cylinder, with a tiny hole bored into one of its bases.  She placed her finger into the hole for a moment.  A faint humming could be heard coming from the object, and then suddenly her room was bathed in a soft red light.

 Talises were by now a rare sight in most parts of the Hafen Empire.  Most kinds had been banned, recalled, and destroyed within a year of the technology’s debut, after the horrific effects they had on the body became tragically apparent.  All that was now left of the promise of a vastly improved world which had been fleetingly attached to these items when Lyra was a little girl were a few trinkets offering mild convenience such as the one she now held, which had been allowed to remain in legal circulation because they supposedly used too little magic to cause any harm.

 Most people remained extremely wary of them regardless.  In Paach, only a handful of eccentrics owned even a single talis.  Lyra’s family owned several, and she had recently started keeping this one in her bedroom as an aid to her morning routine, since at this time of year, it was almost always still dark out when she first woke up.  To date, she had felt no ill effect from using it.  Her father had even said that “everyone” in the city of Hafen still used talises for lighting at night, and he had brought most of the ones they owned back after one of his annual trips to the capital.

 The thought had crossed Lyra’s mind before that, given her father’s obsessions with the latest things to come from Hafen, she and her family probably would have been among the first to die of magic sickness in Paach if their business had been as active as it was now when talises had first been available.

 Lyra set her talis back down on the dresser, and, with the help of its light, stepped in front of her mirror and reluctantly began putting on the rest of the outfit she had laid out the night before: a long white skirt adorned with colorful foliate embroidery, and a very billowy coat cinched to the wearer’s body by drawstrings.  Her father had procured these for her just a few weeks ago during his most recent stay in Hafen, and had presented them to her with the utmost assurance that they were highly fashionable among young women in Hafen these days.

 There was probably no human girl in Paach who owned as much “fashionable” clothing as Lyra.  There were probably also few who would have cared to less.  By now, her parents had to have known that Lyra was not one to be impressed by whatever strangers living hundreds of miles away found fashionable, but every time they presented something like this to her, they talked on and on about it as though this was the one that would finally make their daughter understand.

Admittedly, Lyra had been slightly more interested in gifts of ornate clothing when she was younger, but as she grew older, she realized that in a town like Paach, “being fashionable” just meant sticking out everywhere you went, stirring up jealousy in the other girls and even some married women in her fairly well-to-do neighborhood, and getting nasty glares from cordillans or any human to whom Hafen culture was still anathema (which, in Paach, was a lot of humans).

 Around the same time she had wised up about wearing high-quality imported clothing about town, she also realized that these clothes had always been more for her parents than for her anyway.  What better way to showcase their shop’s access to the finest merchandise coming in from Hafen than by displaying it on the person of their lovely daughter?  That, and her father liked to be surrounded by anything that might let him imagine he was but a temporarily displaced member of the Hafen bourgeoisie, and not a man born and raised in Paach as he actually was.

 Lyra let out a sigh as she finished tying off the cords on her coat.  She would be minding the store alone in the morning as her parents attended to some business elsewhere in town, so she had no choice but to assume her role of living advertisement today, at least until they returned.  She was already looking forward to stripping these off later in the day and changing into the simple but pretty blue kirtle Tyce had bought for her a few days ago.

 “Tyce….” Lyra muttered softly as she turned away from the mirror.

 A month ago, that had been just a name to her.  The name of one of her best friends in this world, sure, but saying it aloud had really felt no different than saying anybody else’s name.  Now, it had become a charm that could make her feel just a little bit happy every time she said it.  It seemed like the kind of charm that should wear off after a few uses, but somehow it never did.

Tyce and Lyra had begun dating just a little under a month ago, following an unintentionally romantic evening under the stars.  Looking back on it, Lyra was still unable to explain how she’d acted that night. Truthfully, she had felt strange even before Tyce had arrived, like the night was just uncontrollably different, but not for any reason she could pin down.  And then out-of-the-ordinary things started happening one after the other. Tyce showed up on time.  Geneon did not show up at all, leaving the two of them alone.  A perfectly normal and innocent chat somehow immediately brought out her long un-confided dread of a seemingly unavoidable future playing out a scripted life in Paach.

By the time they’d set off for the cave, Lyra had been awash with far more conflicting emotions than she’d been prepared to grapple with on what was supposed to have been nothing more than yet another carefree and relaxing time with her friends.  She had been angry at herself for letting herself get so vulnerable for no real reason, angry at Tyce for his ineptitude at handling her vulnerability, angry at herself for being unreasonably angry with Tyce, upset that her tried and true mental routines for reigning in her anxiousness around other people were for the first time she could remember simply not working, and desperately searching for a way to shove all of it aside and just have a fun night — all while her worries about the future seemed far more crushingly valid after having finally been heard by someone else.

 But she had also been deeply appreciative, to her own surprise, of Tyce’s unyielding efforts to comfort her in spite of his ineptitude.  And when he had hugged her by the waterfall, she had suddenly become irrepressibly cognizant of the fact that she was alone in a beautiful place with someone who had actually grown to be quite an attractive man, who she trusted, and who cared about her deeply.  It was like there was been some other Lyra who’d been taking a nap in the back of her mind for years who had been well aware all along of what that meant, and that simple touch had finally woken her up; after Tyce’s words at the cave, she was ready to take the reins, and somehow knew exactly what to do next.

It had been the sort of rash and inexplicable action that Lyra had always believed generally led to no good, but so far, she wasn’t complaining about the results.  In fact, just about everything since then when it came to Tyce felt totally new and inexplicable to her. It had become clear to her very quickly that the lexicon she’d been given for understanding it all fell far short of the task.  Words like “love”, “passion”, “heartache”, or “lust” seemed hopelessly clumsy in practice for navigating romance.  It was like people had just given up on coming up with new names for anything once they got to this part of life.

 As Lyra headed downstairs, she laughed as remembered what she’d been thinking about in bed a few minutes ago, and wondered which of the two kinds love was.  If she thought about it, it had to be closer to the second kind, but overall, her theory of the good things in life now felt like a much less profound epiphany than it had when she was half asleep.

 Shelving the whole idea for some other morning’s idle contemplation, she turned her mind to her plans for the day.  Her parents would be out during the morning, and she would be minding the store in their absence.  After they got back, it was off to her date with Tyce. Troupe Astral had come to Paach, and Tyce was taking her to see their performance.  Year by year, Paach was become more open and integrated into the cultural life of the Hafen Empire, but as far as Lyra knew, getting to see a show like this was a first for the people of the town.  She was excited for it, and the fact that they showed up so soon after she and Tyce had begun dating somehow made it feel like the whole thing had been specially timed just for them.  Lyra had no doubt that this was a day she would remember for the rest of her life.  It was hard to believe that after her date, she had something even more important to do.

 Before meeting up with Tyce, she was going to see Geneon.

The one and only problem in Tyce and Lyras’ new relationship was what to do about Geneon.  A month ago, Geneon and Tyce had more or less shared the same place in Lyra’s heart.  The trio had been best friends for long time now, and tended to spend as much of their downtime together as possible.  In fact, as far as Lyra was concerned, the two of them were at this point her only friends, or at least her only real ones.  Now, though, all of that was in danger of becoming a thing of the past.

 It wasn’t just that Tyce and Lyras’ relationship had changed.  Of course they were going to want to spend more time with only each other’s company.  That probably would have been a bad enough strain on their friendships with Geneon, but it was something that could have been gotten through with time.  From what Lyra had seen of other people’s relationships, the whirlwind of mutual infatuation in which she and Tyce had found themselves helplessly caught these past weeks was probably not destined to remain so overpowering forever.

 No, the real problem was the huge fight they’d had when Tyce and Lyra had finally worked up the courage to tell him about “them”.  It had been the kind of fight where nobody involved was sure whether they were ever speaking again afterward.

 Lyra mostly blamed herself for what had happened.  First, they should have told him right away rather than waiting so long.  Although in fairness, it wasn’t like they were keeping it a secret from him specifically.  Tyce’s mother was the only person who heard before Geneon, and that was only because Tyce had just blurted out the truth like it was no big deal when his mom asked how his night went the morning after their first kiss.  For her part, that night had left Lyra’s mind spinning.  It was only after seeing Tyce again and talking about it all that she finally came to the conclusion, “This person is now my boyfriend,” and the change was so dramatic and hard to believe that she felt like she needed time before telling Geneon, let alone her own parents.

 That said, she had only wanted that time to come to terms with her own feelings.  As soon as “being in love with Tyce” felt safely like her new normal, she was ready to announce it to the world.  She had rehearsed any number of ways the conversation might go with her parents, and was fully prepared to withstand any resistance to her relationship they might put up.

 But somehow, she’d given no real thought to how the talk with Geneon would go.  Partly that was because, unlike the talk with her parents, Tyce would be there, too, and it wasn’t like she could just write him a script and tell him to stick to it.  Not like they should need some plan of action just to talk to their best friend anyway.  What was there to do but explain things and assure Geneon he meant no less to them now than he had before?

Suffice to say it had not gone well.  If she was being honest, Lyra had noticed long ago that Geneon probably had feelings of his own for her.  It was something toward which she had always feigned obliviousness.  He’d never confessed his love for her, after all. How could he?  A cordillan orphan, and a human daughter of what passed for high society in their town?  It was tragically unfair, but that wasn’t going to be an easy life to make work.  Besides, in all those years since she’d first started to wonder if he felt that way, “love” for Lyra had always been something for the future — ideally with a mature, intelligent, and well-organized man from somewhere other than Paach who she was sure to fatefully encounter through her family’s business one of these day.  For as long as that had remained true, it was easy to just not think about love at all.

Lyra’s big mistake that day had been assuming, without even noticing she was assuming it, that, because Geneon had not acted on his feelings for her, that meant they weren’t every bit as powerful and turbulent as what she and Tyce now felt for each other. She had frankly expected him to accept the situation, be at least a little happy for them, and soon put to rest whatever feelings he might have had for her before she started dating Tyce.  Put simply, she was so wrapped up in her feelings for Tyce that she hadn’t even considered that she would need to take how Geneon felt seriously at all.

 It would be the easiest thing in the world to leave things as they were.  No one else in Tyce and Lyras’ lives had ever been particularly happy about their longstanding friendship with a cordillan, and it would come as a relief to them if Geneon was out of the picture for good. The one exception to this was Tyce’s mother, Ellen.  As a widow who ran her own smithy and casually treated cordillans like humans without finding it unusual, she had long been regarded as an oddball (albeit, owing to the necessity of her labor and her seemingly boundless generosity toward others, a well-liked one).

 As for Tyce himself, he was being irritatingly stubborn about the whole thing.  It was clear he was still angry with Geneon, and every time he came up in conversation, Tyce would hear nothing of going to see him together, and would just say that Geneon would come around when he was ready.  But Lyra knew that might never happen.  People had been begrudgingly tolerant of their relationship with Geneon when they were children, but they were getting less so with each passing year.  It wasn’t like Geneon didn’t face criticism for getting friendly with humans, either, and given his unenviable lot in life, people not liking the way he did things wasn’t just something he could brush off and go about his business the way Lyra and Tyce did. All of the pressures in their lives were for their friendship to dissolve, and their feelings for each other were the only thing standing against them.  It just wasn’t a fight Geneon could be expected to make on his own.

The most frightening moment for Lyra had come last night as she was coming home after finalizing her plans for today with Tyce.  She was buzzing with excitement in anticipation of their next date, and at some point, the situation with Geneon had crossed her mind.  It had only been for an instant, but the thought had popped up loud and clear, Things change.  We’re going to be full-fledged adults soon, and then there’ll be no time for playing around outside of town anyway. Maybe it’s fine this way.

 After expressing reflexive disgust at that thought and stamping it right back down, Lyra suddenly realized that maybe this was how most of the adults she knew became so self-absorbed and unconcerned about others. She vowed then and there that she would never become the kind of person who could just say, “It’s sad, but that’s life,” about a dear friend she’d grown up with just because she’d found some happiness for herself.  She would go confront Geneon the very next minute she had the chance to, and today, she was going to have about three hours free between her parents’ return from their errands and her meetup with Tyce.  Lyra was determined to save their friendship and wasn't going to give up on him.

[springsfordays]

Le Princess Isabella

Hello, Hello!! So I wrote an au fic and my very first one for Phineas and Ferb. I’ve had this idea for an au for a while so I finally wrote the first couple of chapters.

I’m posting the first chapter here and let me say it’s very boring dnndndjdkn. But I wanted to post it anyways. For future chapters I’ll probably just link it. Here’s the synopsis:

In a faraway place laid the noble land of the Tri-City State Empire where in the capitol of the nation, Danville, the castle of the royals resides. Among the rulers is the heir to the throne, Princess Isabella Garcia-Shapiro ward of King Monogram, wishes to escape her life of strict rules and the pressures of royalty for adventures beyond the horizon of her castle. What the princess does not know is that the journey she craves would come a lot sooner then she expects and in the worst way possible.

Read on AO3 if you want though! Hope you enjoy!!

_______________________________

In a distant land far away from the rest of the world in the oceans laid an Island called Danvillious. There the kingdom known as the Tri-City State Empire was thriving. The inhabitants lived a peaceful way of life with seemingly no worries of a threat to their daily lifestyles. Those who lived in land, or the low country, were farmers, weavers, town folk who took care of the vast rivers and waterfalls that flowed through valleys. The people who lived along the costs were fishermen, sailors who surfed the large waves that were as crystal clear as the sky was blue. Then there were those who lived in the cities. They were mechanics, inventors, scholars and..

"A bunch of snobs! Ptooe" a young boy spat onto the ground scowling at the passer bys that walked around him. He very much despised the city folk for their "high way of life" and despised them even more since the only way they get to have that high life is because he does all the dirty work for them.

"ugh, Buford just because you come from the low country doesn't mean everything said about city life is true." A younger boy walking beside Buford pushed up his glasses as his brows furrowed in annoyance. Buford grunted holding up a pointed finger at the other boy "I could'a told you that much 'Jeet. It's always said that the city is the prettiest place to be but all I've seen is grime, garbage, and a lot of fake perfume. Plus how would you know anything? Oh wait! Maybe you would seeing how you're some high and mighty academy student!" Baljeet rolled his eyes "I'm a professor's apprentice Buford but you're a cleaner. Garbage is your whole lively hood."

As the two boys walked they came upon a small brick building right between two large apartment complexes. A sign hung loosely from the top to above the door reading "Flynn-Fletcher Antiques and Mechanics". Buford spoke in a low voice as he opened the door for the both of them, "I didn't always have to rely on garbage y'know. I helped farm the ingredients used to make the food the people here throw away without finishing."

Baljeet turned to him "I get that you miss the country side but you are here now. Try to make the best of it. Like, I bet you weren't able to go flying in a custom plane made by the Flynn-Fletcher boys on your farm right?" He smiled pointing towards the back of the shop. Buford shrugged "Yeah I guess. You and the other two are alright I guess."

With that the two walked through the- in Buford's words- creepy shop full of knickknacks and old relics from over time on the Island. Srnnnnk. At the counter a teenage girl had her feet over the register and the newspaper over her face snoring deeply. The boys walked up and stared at her for a moment. Baljeet whispered in disgust after a particularly deep snore, "Eek she sounds like a broken radiator." Buford sighed a wistfully "Yeah.. A broken radiator with pretty ginger hair.."

"What?"

"Uhh I mean.. Uh"

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.

Buford smashed the bell placed on the counter repeatedly startling awake the sleeping teenager sending her knocking back over. "Gah! What the hell??" She said moving her head back and forth. Baljeet cleared his throat getting her attention. "Oh it's you two. What do you want?" She said rubbing her eyes irritably. "Hello Candace we were looking for Phineas and Ferb, do you know where they are?"

BOOM!! PRSSH!! CRASH!!

Candace put her head in her hand, "UGH Where do you think they are? Being annoying as usual." Baljeet and Buford glanced at one another then back at Candace. "Aren't you going to try and 'bust' them for making so racket?" Baljeet asked in confusion. "Why bother? Mom and Dad are visiting the capital today on a 'special antique assignment'. No point" The boys shrugged and entered the back of the shop where the Flynn-Fletcher boys, Phineas and Ferb, worked welding a metal sheet onto whatever contraption they were working on now. The two covered in oil stains and dirt all over their blue overalls looked up from where they were working over to their two friends.

Phineas lifted his mask smiling widely, "Hey fellas! You're just on time! Come look what we've added to the wings." He walked towards the other side of the custom small plane to point out the paint job. On the wings the paint a fiery shape along the edges in bright red and orange colors. "Oooooo" the other two boys said seeing the paint. "Right? It was Ferb's idea he thought it needed a more badass look to it." Ferb walked over joining the huddle around the wings. "Well Ferb always has an eye for that sort of thing." Baljeet stated running a hand over the design. Ferb held up a pair of finger guns at him clicking his mouth.

"Yup. Now all we need is to finish the welding which should be done soon. Y'all could wait right over there so the sparks don't get you." Phineas said pulling his mask back over and beginning to weld again along with Ferb. Buford and Baljeet went to the corner of the room where a pile of old magazines, Newspapers and torn books were, Baljeet picked a book and began to read. Buford not one liking to read scrummaged through the papers. "I want to look at the funnies!" He continued shuffling until a single photo fell out gliding to the floor. Huh? Buford leaned over picking up and turning over the picture. On it he saw an adorably beautiful young girl no older than him staring somewhat thoughtfully back at him. The girl was dressed in all white, in huge contrast to her features, and sported gold and red medals and large white coat hung loosely on her shoulders.

"What the? Who is this?" Buford showed the picture to Baljeet. He corrected his glasses analyzing the picture. "Oh! That's Princess Isabella!" Buford's eyes went wide, "Wait! That's THE Princess Isabella?! Ward of the King?!" Baljeet nodded "Yup! That's her, I forget that not many pictures of her actually exist so most people don't even know what she looks like." Baljeet grabbed the photo scanning it some more with a curious look, "Which begs the question how a rarity such as this is in these newspaper clippings. Hey Phineas! Ferb! How'd you guys get this??" He shouted over the welding noises gaining their attention. "Huh? Oh! That picture! Be careful with it!" Phineas dashed over yanking the picture from Baljeet's hand. "Whoof! Possessive much?" Phineas blushed "Sorry It's just it’s the only picture we have of her." He said twiddling his fingers. Ferb walked over "Our folks got it from their last trip to the capital." Phineas continued for him "Yeah Mom and Dad sold the photographer a clock and when dad saw the pictures he knew he had to buy it. Y'know since she apparently isn't allowed outside the castle walls."

"Wow you're dad scored big time! I bet you could sell it for a ton of money!" Buford said excitedly. Phineas furrowed his eyebrows holding the picture away from everyone. "It's not for sale Buf!" Buford held his hands up "Damn okay! What's your attachment to this thing anyway?" Phineas face nearly went as red as his hair. "Well, I just like looking at it that's all. I don't want give it away." Baljeet giggled, "I don't blame you! She's very pretty."

Phineas sighed holding the picture up and staring longingly at the girl on it. "Yeah. What’s not pretty about her?" He moved around the room with the picture in hand, "That long luscious raven black hair. The olive toned skin. Those large deep brown eyes and that cute smile she has.. Besides the things I've invented she's the only girl I've ever loved." Phineas ran a hand over the photo. Buford groaned in disgust, "Oh my God, you're in love with a picture?? What is wrong with you man. I bet she ain't all hugs and kisses in real life. She's royalty, she's probably a brat!"

Phineas stared at Buford with narrowed eyes "Well you don't know that do you? Leave me to my crush on this photo alright?" Ferb and Baljeet looked at one another and covered their laughs. Buford rolled his eyes "Yeah, yeah. Whatever can we get this bad boy into the sky now and leave the princess talk here?" The other boys nodded in agreement and all went to start rolling the plane out to of the back of the shop. Phineas lingered behind staring at the picture once more. The girl's eyes somehow burned through the stilled image. He smiled Simply beautiful aren't you? He carefully folded the photo and stuffed it securely into his front overall pocket and ran up to join the others.

[whirlybirdwhat]

Sea of Monsters - Chapter 13

Happy Halloween! I made it with an hour to spare!

Usopp has some unique ancestry and he may not be brave or bold or daring - but he won’t let that stop him from following in his mother’s footsteps.

(Because like his father he can see, and like his mother he can protect.)

-

Read the entire series on Ao3 for better quality and authors notes! Gen, creepy, featuring all of the Straw Hats, multi-chapter story.

“The East Blue has a different nickname to those in the Grand Line, and those who hail it as home have a few… unique traits.”

---

Sight - Usopp (and Zoro)

His mother was a Tengu and his father a Feathered Seer, so Usopp sees a lot of things, more than most actually. His mother told him his father could as well (that was his nature) but Usopp doubts the man could have ever seen the world this brightly, seen this golden path fading in and out of existence every moment.

(If he had been able to see it, why did he leave? Couldn’t he see the life draining drop by drop along fevered cheeks from his wife? Couldn’t he see the way her feathers, black, glossy, and beautiful, wilted more with every day that went past?

Or had he been able to see it and instead of his family chose to chase the beautiful sight of the horizon, which danced with every step and promised a thousand worlds to explore?)

(Usopp sees the horizon and fears (knows) he will one day leave to conquer those thousand unending sunny days)

Usopp sees a lot, you see. The world to him is like a painting painted over a thousand other paintings – but he’s able to see each one as he scratches at the layers like one would at peeling wood with his sight. He sees the past and future and present, sees the paths of each person if he chooses to, and knows how the world will end and begin.

(But yet – there is still so much he doesn’t see, shrouded in shadow and dark thoughts. He sees more than others but not all – the limits to his powers are as blurred as they come.)

(Paths are always missing around Luffy – there are only ever two, twisting around each other in a dizzying dance and Usopp is content to follow the one his captain chooses (or doesn’t, in most cases.))

Usopp loves it – loves when his eyes grow hazy and he sees distant warriors of lands of other existences, fighting giants and snakes and gold fish the size of his island, loves when he sees a king with an aim straight and true, from an island far away, loves when he can tell Kaya, his friends, his crew all of these things.

(He loves it when he sees images of his mother, the stories of her life that she will never tell him – Yasopp did not fall in love with the woman lying weak (dead) in bed (though he does still love her); he fell in love with a warrior, a trickster, a woman with a thousand silver tongues and a rage against the world that traps her.

She was once the guardian of this isle – the reason she never followed her husband to sea.)

The point is – he sees a lot, and it’s probably from his father, the one thing left behind by the man. It aids him in his talents – he sees the other realms, other planes, and tells stories from them, he sees how they shift and adjusts his shots accordingly, he sees the future so he lies to save it – and he is glad for it.

However, Just because he can see through all the planes of existence, doesn’t mean he can walk through them to find a directionless swordsman who can walk through all of them by his own ability to get lost so badly that he jumps through realms.

He hates Zoro Duty.

“ZORO!” Usopp calls, irritated beyond belief, “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!”

Of course – there is no answer.

He expected nothing less, even if his voice echoes through a thousand different planes.  His crewmate is as stubborn as they come (with their Captain being the only one who could possibly beat him) and he tends to not listen to directions or respond when they are given.

(Hence, the need for someone to be on Zoro Duty, making sure the swordsman doesn’t get too lost. )

Usopp is beginning to wonder if Zoro even knows how directions work – because to the swordsman, north is up, as in up to the sky, and sometimes to the next plane.

(Usopp’s never actually been in these other existences – but occasionally he’ll ask Zoro what it’s like.

It’s one of the few times where Zoro actually attempts to describe something well. Of course, it’s not much - The air felt weird or It felt like I was falling or even The chocolate smell was everywhere what the hell - but it’s enough that he tries.

(But he does have to wonder if Zoro actually recognizes that he’s in a different realm.  He doesn’t seem to think he gets lost at any rate))

He remembers the first time Zoro got lost in front of Usopp.

(A moment there, the next gone, terrifying in a single instant)

Zoro had reappeared after taking a single step, five paces away, turning to Usopp saying

Where were you? and It’s been five hours.

It’s completely bizarre, how time seems to flow around him. He’s like Luffy in a way. So stubborn and headstrong not even silly things like fate and destiny and the laws of physics and time can tie him down.

Which is why, again Usopp hates Zoro Duty.

(Because there’s always a chance he’s going to find Zoro bleeding out after a long search, or find a horrific monster attacking him with Zoro just smirking, or Zoro aged a hundred years, or Zoro starting anotherinternational conflict or even worse – Zoro actually drunk.)

There’s a snap to his left, and a low curse, said in familiar tones (with an even odder tone of three voice speaking at once, only audible to Usopp and few others (those who know a demon’s true presence)) which means finally!

Zoro!

“Zoro!” Usopp repeats aloud, rushing through the greenery.

Finally! He thinks elatedly, before his foot steps on something wet and burning.

(Blood? Boiling blood?)

He steps back, ready to give a comical wail (he’s suffered far worse) when he notices exactly what is in front of.

Oh sswweeet chhhild?

The voice is soft and slithering, as one would expect from the mass of darkness standing in front of their bleeding swordsman.  It shifts and swirls with an unnatural ease, like bones sticking out of skin and being crunched underfoot.

It doesn’t belong – even if he didn’t have Sight he could have seen it - and the way reality bends around the thing strikes shivers up his spine.

(Usopp’s reminded of Thriller Bark, in that moment, watching the gigantean shadows of the fog fade in out of existence as if they were never there at all – so very, very wrong.)

And Zoro’s getting ready to fight the thing.

(There’s something unnatural in his eyes, something unknowing and lost in a way Zoro isn’t typically. Like he’s remembering something, being lured to something, something monstrous from his past like a temptation he never had the chance to take before.)

“STOP!” Usopp shouts, suddenly terrified and full of rage all at once in a beautiful cacophony of emotions.

Because this thing – this thing, this horrible beast from elsewhere, has taken advantage of his nakama, of Zoro, of how he doesn’t know how to differ between planes like Usopp does, how he doesn’t see the paths the world takes (only one – the path to the top (World’s Greatest Swordsman)), and he will get lost and hurt and No.

Usopp will not allow that to happen.

“Zoro! Stop!” He tries again, and this time the swordsman looks away from the beast, from the haunting vision between realms.

“Usopp?” The green haired swordsman mumbles around his sword, wild eyes searching for an explanation.

In the moment of distraction, the being lunges – teeth snarling and rabid – but Usopp is ready.

(His mother was a Tengu, and his father was a Feathered Seer – this means that he sees more than most, and that his feathers will be as ink on paper, telling, dark, and true. It also means that Usopp was born to guide, to protect.

Maybe he’s too cowardly to be as great as his mother was at protecting (a warrior dressed in red with a terrible beast in front of her, slayed with tricks and weapons and the words of a Protector – his mother-) but he can do it, when the need arises)

He was surprised to learn that certain salts (depths of the ocean thrust into the light, the kind from deep waters sunned upon rocks)  burned outside of the East Blue, like fire burning through his bones, the Veil smoking away by its presence. Thriller Bark had taught him much, and especially how to use this to his advantage.

When the salt from his Burning Salt Star hits the beast in the sliver of space attaching it to the world beyond, (a world that only Usopp can see) there is a wicked glow as it gives off an unholy wail...

And the beast burns.

Zoro looks mad as Usopp drags him away, but there is a light in his eyes that Usopp doesn’t like, that makes Zoro’s aura (the fatal oppressing force felt at Ennies Lobby that near consumed their swordsman – the move to that extent was banned by their captain but Zoro still likes to stretch his limbs and scare their enemies with Its essence) grow and darken around him, give faint images of deathless gods about him that Usopp did not like.

“Zoro.” He says, trying to reign their swordsman back in. “This realm – whatever you saw isn’t here.” He can’t say it isn’t real, that whatever Zoro saw in the beast doesn’t exist because Usopp can see a thousand words and Zoro can step through them, meaning it could be real.

“Yeah… yeah…” Zoro says, voice uncharacteristically small and distant. “Not here.”

“Not here,” Usopp agrees.

(He doesn’t know what kind of creature Zoro is, doesn’t know what tethers keep him with Usoppp and Luffy and the rest of the crew, doesn’t know what aura, dark and horrendous, finds its place in his friend’s bosom, but hell if he won’t make sure Zoro stays here.)

It’s quiet on the way back to the ship, but Usopp keeps a tight lock on Zoro’s shirt.

His teeth are sharp and his feathers ruffled, and Zoro’s eyes are still faraway, but he’s mostly sure whatever was dragging Zoro to there is gone now.  He’s not taking chances.

Its tripled, like it comes from three different sources, when Zoro speaks again, but when Usopp looks back there is only sincerity in his voice.

“Thanks Usopp.” – And finally, their swordsman isn’t lost in his head anymore.

(Usopp can see that as clear as he can see a million other worlds – and his friend’s path to the top of thisworld.)

[goldendichotomy]

                                                  -) A START (-

SKINSHIP - bonding through the intimacy of touch, especially of closeness between parent and child.

If parenting is a partnership, then that of yours was a dichotomy.  That word that would come to mean plenty flew over the head of a small youth, a creature toddling after a mother with bright laughter and callused hands or a father with soft eyes and a gentle line for a mouth.  Every argument was a closed door affair, with voices pitched, late hours, music playing like serenity from record players attached to room to room speakers until they were drowned out into a white noise.  You grow used to the sounds without connecting them, realizing that Sinatra meant money or Bach referred to the cold edge of parenting disagreements.  

You grow older.  Bit by bit, and you learn.  Cooking, the beginnings of art, the raising of your voice in song from callused hands.  Theories and thought and the open palms you offer other children, the tired broken ones big kids leave behind, from a soft line of a mouth.  You learn.  You learn so much, you learn to hold the world in your hands and to create more beautiful things.  From her, you learn a twisting open heart that makes you dream of faraway places, of people and things.  You learn to dance, and to put color on your mouth and eyes that make you smile until your face aches.  

He tuts.  He snaps his teeth.  You learn soft fabric rubbing over your face, hands bringing your body to stillness.  Instead come tight suits and solemn features, all of which don’t fit the shape of you until, one day, they do.  Only sometimes itching when the right song plays.  When she paints her mouth bright, glistening red, and your stomach aches so painfully you think it might burst.  

ALEATORY - relying on chance or an uncontrolled element in the details of life or in the creation of art.

So much of your veins are poison when she tells you.  Years past and gone, both your minds trapped between something small and something massive even with your bodies already grown and gone.  You play the game on phone calls, claim duty and brightness in classes that you flip away from whenever you have the chance.  Fill yourself with clear liquids and small things that come in baggies at the proper celebrations.  It’s here you fell in love, you think; fell in with the beautiful creature that kissed pills from your mouth and undressed you with a tenderness you didn’t recognize as anything but tragic with your broken mind.  

It becomes a game of sorts.  She folds paper into beautiful flowers, leaves them on your preferred seat in lecture halls to open and read the ink guts hidden within.  So you write her letters responses in backgrounds of paintings displayed on college walls.  On evenings -- or mornings and afternoons too tedious for the life you choose -- the two of you collide.  She tastes like success, like a future underneath all the chalky substances and strawberry alcohol.  Her fingers feel like silk.  Every breath against your chest makes you want to live for it, consume her until your lungs can mimic that pattern for every future day.

But that is something.  This is something else.  You see what this is by the plastic in her hands, the tremble in those fingers no matter how steady her voice is.  She says keep, says don’t want, says career and future and you’re so fucking proud of her that you want to be sick.  Or you’re sick over something else.  A thing you don’t want to put words on, you don’t know that you can.  Saying it is realizing it, is truing it.  Is how you shudder when she says adoption, starts to speak of papers.  

You think, I am useless.  I am fool sailors on Odysseus’ boat that did not plug their ears and thought something good would come of it, lost to the story for their choice.  Picking at your nail beds until blood blossoms, you think, I am in love.  I want, I want, I want more than I want to know those old tastes or feel her lungs, I want.

Aloud, you breathe in and rattling sound.  Take her hands in your own, slender to large.  Cradle them like sacred items.  I don’t have anything, you say, I don’t have a future.  But I want it.  Not to force you into anything, vanish if you so desire.  But I want it, even if I don’t know how to keep it safe.

You’ll have to, she says solemnly.  Takes her hands from yours to cradle your cheeks.  Mouth to mouth.  To forehead.  To tip of nose, before drawing back.  You’ll change your mind.

And you, wild and foolish to a fault, hear only the first part.  Call it a light switch flickering, a coin landing on the other side, wind turning over leaves.  You take to classes like religions left behind.  Skirt old familiar buildings full of music and bodies at night, an illness you cannot fill your body with and survive for much longer.  You adjust.  Not change, there is something pure about that word, something selfish about what you are doing that doesn’t match it.  Even if those phone calls back some states away become more sincere now, it is selfish, and you sink into it deeper for finding pride in that.  

Except.  

After graduation.  Long past family meals and farewells, with the cap left behind and gown lost somewhere on the way, she finds you.  Swollen to the touch with the beating of a drum beneath her skin that mesmerizes you, charmer to snake.  She invites you with her.  Solidarity in sobriety, laughter leaving her as she takes you to one of your old haunts.  Hip to hip, arm to arm as you judge the others around you who are lost to sins both your bodies have only recently abandoned.  Imagining futures and failures.  Successes and joys for anyone that pauses long enough for you both to create their story.  

She parts, for a moment.

Is it not funny, how much can happen in a moment?  

A beautiful body can crowd your space, the kind you’d like to paint if you had canvas and easel before you, making paints with the make up of attendees or the liquors scattered around.  He smiles like you’ve been friends for generations.  Offers a drink.  Laughs brighter when you decline.  There are words in your ears that make up for the alcohol.  Fingers on your wrist, and your skin is scalding apart.  Fingers on your waist, and your heart is a jack rabbit caught in a trap.  You sway.  Laugh nervously, laugh until you can pretend you’re not shaking, you’re not following him, that you aren't eager and wild and falling onto a bed you’ve never felt before with a body unfamiliar in so many ways framing your own against the mattress.  

You come apart there.  Dead and broken pieces left behind in sheets tangled and tossed to the side.  Someone else emerges into the morning light, fingers loosely locked into those of a stranger who’s name you choose not to learn, who you will never hold hands with or kiss again after a final one over coffee and bagels.  

Only a few more days pass before the final change, the last knot in the noose of who you were before is formed.  She is small and delicate, she is everything beautiful about her mother and pieces you don’t recognize as hers, know cannot be yours in their purity.  Every cry shakes the hospital room.  Could be the sound that made Mount Vesuvius erupt and swallow Pompeii in ashes.  And you love her, you love her more than life, more than yourself, more than the selfishness that cleaned you up as quickly as anything.  You love her more than art and the people who raised you.  

Her name is Philomene, her last name is yours, and her mother is resplendent with sweat on her cheeks and blood between her legs still being bathed away by nurses.  

There is nothing to do but kiss her.  Even if it feels different than it did before -- or if the feeling is just one you did not recognize until now -- you kiss her, for thanking her for this life in your arms cannot be done through words.  Instead, you say, I love you.

And she, to all the things unsaid -- Your life will be very difficult.  I love you too.

MUTTERSEELENALLEIN - utterly alone, as of refugees from their home country; alone in the desert.

Into the phone that feels like glass against your ear, sharp and slicing with every shifting motion and cheap word you have to spill, you speak.  Croak, maman, I think we need to come home.  I can’t do this by myself anymore, I want-- and laugh like the next words weren’t deadly, like they wouldn’t leave your darling alone on the streets if they came true, cold and wailing as she stumbled on unsteady legs.  Nothing’s okay, maman, please.  Please help me come back.

For a moment, there is silence.  

No.  There is breathing, and a rhythm beneath it.  Faint music that you must be hallucinating, the sweet notes of Bach as though you were already home.  Avoiding one more of their arguments to the rise and fall of a piano.  Bach, for parental arguments.  You flex stiff fingers on the black plastic clutched by your white knuckles and wait.  Pretend you cannot hear those murmurs, for you do not dare try to translate them.  The minutes creep.  Strangers on the street come and go, not even a look to the man and little one crowding into a phone booth.

Then, a more present breathing, a hitching that you catch before it instinctively strikes into your own.  Inhale.  Hitch.  Pause.  Exhale.  Too light for anyone but your mother.  Alec, she says, wavering in the lilt of her voice you’ve grown familiar with from a time you cannot hope to remember.  Yet here you are, reaching for it.  Struggling to breathe as you lean your head against the dirty glass of the stall around you.  

Alec, again, a shattering prayer around you both.  We love you very much, but.  You see, you’ve... these are your choices.  And we can’t support them.  So I don’t think you should come back home to us.

You take little time in setting the phone back into place.  Staring down at your hands, ten thousand things that could have been spoken explode into your mind like a cacophony.  The only person that will be with me when I slit my throats is a little girl, not a man.  Brittle.  Who is the ‘we,’ maman?  Did he teach me to take care of the others on the sides of streets?  Brutalized.  But I’ll change, I promise, please there is nothing else for me here, please maman I--

But what leaves you is this: a savage sound, an animal one, a fist that hits the glass and then hits it again, and again, and mimics until cracks from the pressure and slices at your knuckles.  No.  Until she weeps, the sound too much, her ears fragile and her eyes filling with water that spills just like that from your own.  Sinking besides her, you pull her into your chest and let her bury her face there.  Pretend blood does not stick to the loose strands of hair from her braid that kiss your fingers.  

I’m sorry, you say, though a little thing like her cannot understand for what.

[sanantonioswebdesign]

25 Web Professional Web Design Tips

When the web emerged over twenty five years agone, the primary websites were corresponding to a charming land of unicorns and casinos, resplendent with scrolling marquee text, flashing lights and bright sparkles. It felt sort of a visit to the Red light-weight district anytime a user connected to the brave new web World via electronic equipment at the blistering speed of 14k. corporations didn’t understand what a good business plus an efficient net style might be. Instead they structured their sites to function big “About Us” pages as the simplest way to ask recognition for his or her ancient brands.

In the last twenty five years the web has modified considerably, and client behavior has modified even additional. Websites currently dominates the approach we tend to communicate, the approach we tend to look, and therefore the the} approach we tend to create selections each on-line and also within the face-to-face world. The canonised regarding United States websites area unit gone, replaced by mobile and secure business sites that function powerful lead generation tools for anyone with a business-to-business or business-to-consumer product or service or data resource to sell.

To commemorate twenty five years of the net, I’ve invited Gabe Shaoolian, founder and chief operating officer of net style and on-line selling firm Blue Fountain Media, to supply twenty five tips for current best follow in creating your web site the most effective it will be as a vehicle for capturing additional leads and conducting a higher business, as follows:

1.     The five Second Rule

Remember that you simply} have just 5 seconds to elucidate your worth proposition to users once they enter to your web site. the rear button is that the most generally used command on the net. If you don’t answer a user’s wants promptly, he or she's going to click “back” and exit your web site. confirm your web site options compelling copy that attracts readers in and provides them reasons to remain.

2. correct electronic communication

The most vital side of a web site is its electronic communication. the foremost effective sites feature clear, concise, bit text electronic communication in no over a couple of words. don't place long paragraphs on your homepage. Your homepage could be a entry into your web site. Use short electronic communication that gets to the purpose.

Deadly Cyclones area unit On the increase And global climate change Is guilty 3. decision to Action

Look at any made ecommerce or service supplier web site and you'll notice they embrace a CTA, or a “Call To Action.” the foremost common calls to action area unit “Request a Quote,” “Buy Now,” and “Work With United States.” the most effective CTAs clarify what you're providing as against forcing individuals to work it out on their own. Calls to action ought to be within the prime masthead space and body of a web site (above the “fold” that needs the viewer to scroll). If your page is long enough, having another CTA on the lowest of your page is useful still.

4. Building Trust

Building trust is important if you're merchandising product or services on-line. Zappos became made by providing free shipping and a good come policy. By investing the positive experiences of their audience through client testimonials, Zappos was ready to build whole loyalty and grow their business. Similarly, different sites highlight their guarantees and have certifications or a signal potential customers will use to contact a true person if any problems occur. These options will create the distinction between somebody striking the dire back button and creating a sale.

5. Keep it contemporary

Content remains king. You don’t need guests to your web site to examine out-of-date content and assume your business isn’t active on-line, that might have an effect on your bottom line. Your web site is your company’s face to the planet. confirm your web site shows that your company is up up to now on business trends and is actively engaged by often making new content.

6. Incorporating Social Media

Social media is one in every of the most effective ways that to make loyalty and establish a whole voice. create it straightforward for your audience to share your content by desegregation social media into your net style. this easy step provides a good chance to make whole advocates UN agency can attract new customers and facilitate your web site to drive additional sales for your business.

7. Don’t Make Me Think

User expertise is that the key to any smart net style. individuals ought to be ready to navigate throughout your {site|website|web web site} while not endeavour dead ends that cause them to navigate faraway from your site. Your website’s layout ought to simple so users will simply move from page to page.

8. Web 2.0 – It’s regarding the User's wants, Not regarding You

In the time period of the web, heaps of business websites targeting themselves. They visited nice lengths to point out what they did and why they were a good company. whereas this hasn’t precisely modified, currently the internet’s best sites area unit way more centered on what a business will do for a user. Concentrating on what you'll do for the user rather than what you would like the user to understand regarding you'll facilitate your web site to become a simpler sales tool.

9. Video

Today’s web is accessible to users at blistering speeds on the far side the wildest dreams of the net of twenty five years agone. one in every of the most effective ways that to require advantage of this new speed is to place multimedia system and videos to figure for your business. Video permits customers to examine what your business is regarding in a very extremely relatable approach that builds stronger bonds than copy alone.

10. Don’t Reinvent The Wheel

While it will be tempting to make your web site from scratch together with your own CMS, it's higher to use existing open supply platforms. WordPress, Drupal, Joomla, and Magento (for ecommerce) area unit nice alternatives that area unit comparatively painless to line up and might enable all the practicality you would like. These CMS choices go along with the adscititious bonuses of plug-ins that may modify your on-line selling efforts and support any problems you would possibly encounter.

11. Don’t Fall Behind – Your Competitors can Beat You

While planning to the #1 position for a good organic keyword or increase a vast and engaged social media following will cause you to desire your business is on prime of the planet, it’s vital to not get anxious. one in every of the most effective ways that to fall behind to your competitors is holding your illustrious rankings or followers attend your head as a signal your work is complete. invariably stay prime of your on-line presence and unendingly work to make sure your web site is as optimized for business as attainable whereas keeping track of what your competitors do still.

12. Security

This may appear obvious to some, however {website|web web site} security is one in every of the foremost vital elements of a well-designed site. ne'er store knowledge on your web site which will compromise your business or the privacy of your customers like social insurance numbers, mastercard numbers, and private addresses.

13. begin with SEO in Mind

When you area unit at first coming up with a web site, create your web site as optimized as attainable for programme improvement (SEO) issues. observe of the terms you would like to rank for and use them within the applicable title tags, URL chains, H1 tags, and H2 tags to assist your web site rank additional extremely on search result pages and to assist your web site generate non-branded organic traffic that results in new sales.

14. Avoid Long Page Forms

When making page forms like request a quote forms or checkout pages, it's vital to avoid long page forms. many of us don’t take the time to scroll below the “fold” to examine extra content. If your checkout or CTA button is gift solely at the lowest of a prolonged type, you’re shooting yourself within the foot. several guests can navigate faraway from the page in frustration or before they’ve had the prospect to totally think about your provide and act.

15. Don’t MAKE ME SQUINT

One of Shaoolian’s biggest peeves could be a web site that needs you to squint to examine the copy. there's no reason to publish web site copy in a very little font. If a web site isn’t straightforward to browse, there’s no reason for your audience to stay around for the extra effort.

16. Be A business Leader

Being AN business leader isn't any longer almost about holding a good position at a well-respected business. These days, the term implies that you're actively sharing your sensible expertise with others. whether or not it’s on your web site or via a social media platform like LinkedIn, sharing your sensible recommendation and data with others shows that you simply and your business grasp what you’re talking regarding. This thought leadership could be a good way to make whole recognition and sales.

17. It’s now not always about the Desktop

When the web was in its infancy, there was just one alternative for users UN agency were attempting to attach. it had been desktop or bust if you wished to expertise the web. That’s now not the case, with users accessing the web on desktops, tablets and mobile devices and seventeen.4% of worldwide web site traffic originating from mobile devices as of the tip of last year. Keep mobile development in mind as you develop your web site, Shaoolian says, so all of your customers are able to do best interaction together with your web site from no matter device they use.

18. do not Target everybody

When building a web site, it's vital to recollect UN agency your audience is. whereas building for everybody in a shot to urge huge traffic will be tempting, bear in mind that shaping a audience and coming up with therewith target in mind can cause additional conversions and a higher conversion rate for your company.

19. Monitor web site Performance

Keeping tabs on however your web site is doing is extraordinarily vital, notably once you’re attempting to search out ways that to upgrade your web site. Knowing precisely wherever your web site is falling short is that the solely thanks to create the proper changes that may create your audience happier and inspire them to convert to customers at the best attainable rate. Monitor keyword rankings, conversion rate, and bounce rate as you intend your website’s future style.

20. It’s web content, Not Websites That Rank

When you area unit building out your web site, it will be straightforward to forget this easy SEO reality. At the tip of the day, your domain isn't reaching to rank on a groundwork engine result page — it’s your individual pages that may. To avoid cannibalizing your business’ programme results, take the time to make out every page of your web site to form it each informative and visually gorgeous. for instance, if you've got a landing page for a service that you simply provide and need it to rank for that specific service keyword, confirm that landing page is substantial enough to draw in incoming links and ranking to scale back the chance of attracting links to solely your homepage instead.

21. Your web site could be a element of selling

Your web site is that the primary purpose of contact for our digital selling efforts. Ultimately, everything you are doing on-line that isn’t supposed for whole recognition alone are driving traffic to your web site in a shot to urge individuals to complete a predefined goal. confirm you provide your web site the time and care it wants from a style perspective to be as effective as attainable. this may guarantee your digital selling efforts pay the most important attainable dividends for your business.

22. smart Websites Grow Businesses

It’s straightforward to forget the aim of your web site once you’re building it out. the most effective websites don’t essentially have to be compelled to be the foremost visually appealing. the most effective sites area unit effective in generating conversions and in serving to your business to come up with additional leads on-line.

23. Flash Websites area unit Dead

There was a time not farewell agone that the foremost visually gorgeous websites were created with Flash. however that’s now not the case. Flash websites keep a business from attracting the growing base of shoppers on iOS mobile devices that don’t support Flash, and that they manufacture a slow and unresponsive user style that frustrates customers and prices your business sales.

24. Respect Text distinction

One issue that hasn’t modified a lot of within the last twenty five years is that the importance of text distinction. whereas it's true that the first web was overladen with flashing banners, what several businesses did get right within the time period was effective distinction. Black text on a white background was and still is that the only thanks to gift text. the proper distinction will create the distinction between users clicking wherever you would like them to travel or navigating faraway from your web site altogether.

25. the long run needs Full Integration With wearable school

Looking to the long run, optimizing your net style for wearable devices pays dividends for your business. Gadgets like Google Glass and stone area unit early indications that the long run of the web lies in wearable school. If you would like to urge sooner than the curve, take the time to make certain your {website|web web site} is totally integrated currently to provide early adopters as full AN expertise as attainable once they visit your site.

[radiantepoch]

Radiant Epoch: Chapter 2 - Lyra

 All the truly enjoyable things in the world came in two kinds.  One kind had only a finite lifespan. With things of this kind, there was a moment one could look back on when they first clearly understood that it contained a whole new world of delights just waiting to be explored.

 But with that realization came the silent promise that, if one devoted enough time to it, sooner or later, there would be nothing left of it to explore.  And finally, the day would come when it no longer felt like an enjoyable thing at all; and without really thinking much of it, a person would simply cease to pursue it. Ten years ago, Lyra would have unhesitatingly cited her dolls and their imagined adventures as one of the more enjoyable things she knew of.  The rather impressive doll collection she boasted as a child was just one of many ways in which her life had been enriched by her family’s vocation as retail merchants, which made novel items imported from far-flung regions of the Hafen Empire and beyond a common sight in her house.

 The Lyra of today could not recall when playing with dolls had stopped being enjoyable for her, but she knew it had been many years since she’d felt the urge to do it, and that, at some point, she began to find it more enjoyable by far to see a little girl’s face light up when told that one of Lyra’s childhood toys was hers to keep forever. Incidentally, indulging this more recently discovered pleasure had ultimately whittled her once-prized assemblage down to a single member: a very unusual artifact of the now badly endangered traditional culture of the Anhelos Archipelago, which had managed to stay on as one of her possessions after losing its value as a plaything by becoming instead an evocative symbol of yet another of her enjoyable things, that being a growing earnestness to learn as much as possible about the world she lived in (an interest of hers which no doubt had its roots in her father’s habit of providing his young daughter not only with unique toys, but also with tales of the faraway lands from which they came).

 Things of the second kind were a bit more mysterious to Lyra.  They had no clear origin, and the way they felt never seemed to change.  It was as though people had just been designed to love certain things. Seeing the world slowly flood with light before a sunrise.  The feeling of cool air early in the morning.  The melodic chirping of the birds who lived in the mountains surrounding Paach as they took to the skies in anticipation of the sunrise.  How clear the sound of running water was at the canal while most of her neighbors still slept, or the way the soil in her family’s garden smelled after she watered it.

 Lyra had no idea why any of these things which embellished her mornings made her happy, or how she could feel so certain they always would. Perhaps giving toys to children was another pleasure which, once discovered, would never fade.  She had seen no evidence in her seventeen years that adults ever got tired of doing that no matter how old they grew.

 Such were the thoughts drifting aimlessly through Lyra’s mind this morning as she lay motionless in her bed, not quite sure she had really woken up just yet, or whether a minute or an hour had passed since possibility of getting out of her bed had first occurred to her.

 As the first calls of the birds she had just been thinking of reached her ears, she snapped her eyes open and finally acquiesced to wakefulness, rolling out of bed and making for the chemise she had placed on her dresser last night all in one motion.  After donning the garment, she felt around for another item she knew to be on her dresser, and soon found it: a small cylinder, with a tiny hole bored into one of its bases.  She placed her finger into the hole for a moment.  A faint humming could be heard coming from the object, and then suddenly her room was bathed in a soft red light.

 Talises were by now a rare sight in most parts of the Hafen Empire.  Most kinds had been banned, recalled, and destroyed within a year of the technology’s debut, after the horrific effects they had on the body became tragically apparent.  All that was now left of the promise of a vastly improved world which had been fleetingly attached to these items when Lyra was a little girl were a few trinkets offering mild convenience such as the one she now held, which had been allowed to remain in legal circulation because they supposedly used too little magic to cause any harm.

 Most people remained extremely wary of them regardless.  In Paach, only a handful of eccentrics owned even a single talis.  Lyra’s family owned several, and she had recently started keeping this one in her bedroom as an aid to her morning routine, since at this time of year, it was almost always still dark out when she first woke up.  To date, she had felt no ill effect from using it.  Her father had even said that “everyone” in the city of Hafen still used talises for lighting at night, and he had brought most of the ones they owned back after one of his annual trips to the capital.

 The thought had crossed Lyra’s mind before that, given her father’s obsessions with the latest things to come from Hafen, she and her family probably would have been among the first to die of magic sickness in Paach if their business had been as active as it was now when talises had first been available.

 Lyra set her talis back down on the dresser, and, with the help of its light, stepped in front of her mirror and reluctantly began putting on the rest of the outfit she had laid out the night before: a long white skirt adorned with colorful foliate embroidery, and a very billowy coat cinched to the wearer’s body by drawstrings.  Her father had procured these for her just a few weeks ago during his most recent stay in Hafen, and had presented them to her with the utmost assurance that they were highly fashionable among young women in Hafen these days.

 There was probably no human girl in Paach who owned as much “fashionable” clothing as Lyra.  There were probably also few who would have cared less.  By now, her parents had to have known that Lyra was not one to be impressed by whatever strangers living hundreds of miles away found fashionable, but every time they presented something like this to her, they talked on and on about it as though this was the one that would finally make their daughter understand.

   Admittedly, Lyra had been slightly more interested in gifts of ornate clothing when she was younger, but as she grew older, she realized that in a town like Paach, “being fashionable” just meant sticking out everywhere you went, stirring up jealousy in the other girls and even some married women in her fairly well-to-do neighborhood, and getting nasty glares from cordillans or any human to whom Hafen culture was still anathema (which, in Paach, was a lot of humans).

 Around the same time she had wised up about wearing high-quality imported clothing about town, she also realized that these clothes had always been more for her parents than for her anyway.  What better way to showcase their shop’s access to the finest merchandise coming in from Hafen than by displaying it on the person of their lovely daughter?  That, and her father liked to be surrounded by anything that might let him imagine he was but a temporarily displaced member of the Hafen bourgeoisie, and not a man born and raised in Paach as he actually was.

 Lyra let out a sigh as she finished tying off the cords on her coat.  She would be minding the store alone in the morning as her parents attended to some business elsewhere in town, so she had no choice but to assume her role of living advertisement today, at least until they returned.  She was already looking forward to stripping these off later in the day and changing into the simple but pretty blue kirtle Tyce had bought for her a few days ago.

 “Tyce….” Lyra muttered softly as she turned away from the mirror.

 A month ago, that had been just a name to her.  The name of one of her best friends in this world, sure, but saying it aloud had really felt no different than saying anybody else’s name.  Now, it had become a charm that could make her feel just a little bit happy every time she said it.  It seemed like the kind of charm that should wear off after a few uses, but somehow it never did.

  Tyce and Lyra had begun dating just a little under a month ago, following an unintentionally romantic evening under the stars.  Looking back on it, Lyra was still unable to explain how she’d acted that night. Truthfully, she had felt strange even before Tyce had arrived, like the night was just uncontrollably different, but not for any reason she could pin down.  And then out-of-the-ordinary things started happening one after the other. Tyce showed up on time.  Geneon did not show up at all, leaving the two of them alone.  A perfectly normal and innocent chat somehow immediately brought out her long un-confided dread of a seemingly unavoidable future playing out a scripted life in Paach.

   By the time they’d set off for the cave, Lyra had been awash with far more conflicting emotions than she’d been prepared to grapple with on what was supposed to have been nothing more than yet another carefree and relaxing time with her friends.  She had been angry at herself for letting herself get so vulnerable for no real reason, angry at Tyce for his ineptitude at handling her vulnerability, angry at herself for being unreasonably angry with Tyce, upset that her tried and true mental routines for reigning in her anxiousness around other people were for the first time she could remember simply not working, and desperately searching for a way to shove all of it aside and just have a fun night — all while her worries about the future seemed far more crushingly valid after having finally been heard by someone else.

 But she had also been deeply appreciative, to her own surprise, of Tyce’s unyielding efforts to comfort her in spite of his ineptitude.  And when he had hugged her by the waterfall, she had suddenly become irrepressibly cognizant of the fact that she was alone in a beautiful place with someone who had actually grown to be quite an attractive man, who she trusted, and who cared about her deeply.  It was like there was been some other Lyra who’d been taking a nap in the back of her mind for years who had been well aware all along of what that meant, and that simple touch had finally woken her up; after Tyce’s words at the cave, she was ready to take the reins, and somehow knew exactly what to do next.

   It had been the sort of rash and inexplicable action that Lyra had always believed generally led to no good, but so far, she wasn’t complaining about the results.  In fact, just about everything since then when it came to Tyce felt totally new and inexplicable to her. It had become clear to her very quickly that the lexicon she’d been given for understanding it all fell far short of the task.  Words like “love”, “passion”, “heartache”, or “lust” seemed hopelessly clumsy in practice for navigating romance.  It was like people had just given up on coming up with new names for anything once they got to this part of life.

 As Lyra headed downstairs, she laughed as remembered what she’d been thinking about in bed a few minutes ago, and wondered which of the two kinds love was.  If she thought about it, it had to be closer to the second kind, but overall, her theory of the good things in life now felt like a much less profound epiphany than it had when she was half asleep.

 Shelving the whole idea for some other morning’s idle contemplation, she turned her mind to her plans for the day.  Her parents would be out during the morning, and she would be minding the store in their absence.  After they got back, it was off to her date with Tyce. Troupe Astral had come to Paach, and Tyce was taking her to see their performance.  Year by year, Paach was become more open and integrated into the cultural life of the Hafen Empire, but as far as Lyra knew, getting to see a show like this was a first for the people of the town.  She was excited for it, and the fact that they showed up so soon after she and Tyce had begun dating somehow made it feel like the whole thing had been specially timed just for them.  Lyra had no doubt that this was a day she would remember for the rest of her life.  It was hard to believe that before her date, she had something even more important to do.

 Before meeting up with Tyce, she was going to see Geneon.

  The one and only problem in Tyce and Lyras’ new relationship was what to do about Geneon.  A month ago, Geneon and Tyce had more or less shared the same place in Lyra’s heart.  The trio had been best friends for long time now, and tended to spend as much of their downtime together as possible.  In fact, as far as Lyra was concerned, the two of them were at this point her only friends, or at least her only real ones.  Now, though, all of that was in danger of becoming a thing of the past.

 It wasn’t just that Tyce and Lyras’ relationship had changed.  Of course they were going to want to spend more time with only each other’s company.  That probably would have been a bad enough strain on their friendships with Geneon, but it was something that could have been gotten through with time.  From what Lyra had seen of other people’s relationships, the whirlwind of mutual infatuation in which she and Tyce had found themselves helplessly caught these past weeks was probably not destined to remain so overpowering forever.

 No, the real problem was the huge fight they’d had when Tyce and Lyra had finally worked up the courage to tell him about “them”.  It had been the kind of fight where nobody involved was sure whether they were ever speaking again afterward.

 Lyra mostly blamed herself for what had happened.  First, they should have told him right away rather than waiting so long.  Although in fairness, it wasn’t like they were keeping it a secret from him specifically.  Tyce’s mother was the only person who heard before Geneon, and that was only because Tyce had just blurted out the truth like it was no big deal when his mom asked how his night went the morning after their first kiss.  For her part, that night had left Lyra’s mind spinning.  It was only after seeing Tyce again and talking about it all that she finally came to the conclusion, “This person is now my boyfriend,” and the change was so dramatic and hard to believe that she felt like she needed time before telling Geneon, let alone her own parents.

 That said, she had only wanted that time to come to terms with her own feelings.  As soon as “being in love with Tyce” felt safely like her new normal, she was ready to announce it to the world.  She had rehearsed any number of ways the conversation might go with her parents, and was fully prepared to withstand any resistance to her relationship they might put up.

 But somehow, she’d given no real thought to how the talk with Geneon would go.  Partly that was because, unlike the talk with her parents, Tyce would be there, too, and it wasn’t like she could just write him a script and tell him to stick to it.  Not like they should need some plan of action just to talk to their best friend anyway.  What was there to do but explain things and assure Geneon he meant no less to them now than he had before?

   Suffice to say it had not gone well.  If she was being honest, Lyra had noticed long ago that Geneon probably had feelings of his own for her.  It was something toward which she had always feigned obliviousness.  He’d never confessed his love for her, after all. How could he?  A cordillan orphan, and a human daughter of what passed for high society in their town?  It was tragically unfair, but that wasn’t going to be an easy life to make work.  Besides, in all those years since she’d first started to wonder if he felt that way, “love” for Lyra had always been something for the future — ideally with a mature, intelligent, and well-organized man from somewhere other than Paach who she was sure to fatefully encounter through her family’s business one of these day.  For as long as that had remained true, it was easy to just not think about love at all.

   Lyra’s big mistake that day had been assuming, without even noticing she was assuming it, that, because Geneon had not acted on his feelings for her, that meant they weren’t every bit as powerful and turbulent as what she and Tyce now felt for each other. She had frankly expected him to accept the situation, be at least a little happy for them, and soon put to rest whatever feelings he might have had for her before she started dating Tyce.  Put simply, she was so wrapped up in her feelings for Tyce that she hadn’t even considered that she would need to take how Geneon felt seriously at all.

 It would be the easiest thing in the world to leave things as they were.  No one else in Tyce and Lyras’ lives had ever been particularly happy about their longstanding friendship with a cordillan, and it would come as a relief to them if Geneon was out of the picture for good. The one exception to this was Tyce’s mother, Ellen.  As a widow who ran her own smithy and casually treated cordillans like humans without finding it unusual, she had long been regarded as an oddball (albeit, owing to the necessity of her labor and her seemingly boundless generosity toward others, a well-liked one).

 As for Tyce himself, he was being irritatingly stubborn about the whole thing.  It was clear he was still angry with Geneon, and every time he came up in conversation, Tyce would hear nothing of going to see him together, and would just say that Geneon would come around when he was ready.  But Lyra knew that might never happen.  People had been begrudgingly tolerant of their relationship with Geneon when they were children, but they were getting less so with each passing year.  It wasn’t like Geneon didn’t face criticism for getting friendly with humans, either, and given his unenviable lot in life, people not liking the way he did things wasn’t just something he could brush off and go about his business the way Lyra and Tyce did. All of the pressures in their lives were for their friendship to dissolve, and their feelings for each other were the only thing standing against them.  It just wasn’t a fight Geneon could be expected to make on his own.

  The most frightening moment for Lyra had come last night as she was coming home after finalizing her plans for today with Tyce.  She was buzzing with excitement in anticipation of their next date, and at some point, the situation with Geneon had crossed her mind.  It had only been for an instant, but the thought had popped up loud and clear, Things change.  We’re going to be full-fledged adults soon, and then there’ll be no time for playing around outside of town anyway. Maybe it’s fine this way.

 After expressing reflexive disgust at that thought and stamping it right back down, Lyra suddenly realized that maybe this was how most of the adults she knew became so self-absorbed and unconcerned about others. She vowed then and there that she would never become the kind of person who could just say, “It’s sad, but that’s life,” about a dear friend she’d grown up with just because she’d found some happiness for herself.  She would go confront Geneon the very next minute she had the chance to, and today, she was going to have about three hours free between her parents’ return from their errands and her meetup with Tyce.  Lyra was determined to save their friendship and wasn't going to give up on him.

[waywardsparrownz]

Aukland... Again

  Lets be honest, I missed Paihia. A lot. The allure of further adventure was strong. The draw of the familiar & comfortable even stronger. Once again I found myself stopping over in Auckland out of necessity rather than desire. This time I would be there for a solid 2 weeks before setting out into the wild in earnest. Thanking Whangarei for the adventures & good coffee with a short nod over shoulder on the way out, writer & Wayward Sparrow set out for that faraway bus stop. This trek stood out from the last one in that entering Whangarei just ahead of the cyclone we’d almost drowned. This time we nearly baked alive in the intense heat. New Zealand once again flexing her muscles as a land of extremes.

  Plopping down with great relief in the welcome shade of friendly willow I snagged yet another cup of cold coffee from a little cafe attached to the nearby iSite. Leaving my backpack unattended for brief coffee runs didn’t bother me too much: it was too heavy to steal. Even if someone were bound & determined on nabbing it they wouldn’t be getting very far. The image of someone trying to run with that cumbersome load on their back was positively laughable. The bus wouldn’t be by for a good hour yet (supposing it was on time at all). So I took the opportunity to empty both my packs, spreading their contents across the lawn in an orderly fashion, condensing, reorganizing, & once again - dispensing with anything I could afford parting with. A fussy sort of backpacker’s OCD I’ve never quite been able to shake. Weight is all that matters! When you’ve got to carry all your worldly possessions on your back, suddenly lots of stuff rapidly loses it’s importance. “How much do I really need this?” becomes your favorite question ;).  

  Half-an-hour & maybe 6 ounces lighter, I pulled out a notebook given to me for Christmas by a good friend in back in Paihia. The inscription reading: For the interesting things you hear people say along the way. A little note reminiscent of a midnight conversation over delicious fresh-baked banana bread. I was already filling the book with some funny random things I’d heard & jotted down a few more out of context snippets of overheard conversation while waiting for the bus.

  Pulling into Auckland late that evening (the bus had been half-an-hour behind schedule), Finchly & I wearily dragged our overstuffed bags into Nomads hostel & up five flights  of stairs to our new room. Then we dragged ourselves up 4 more floors up to the rooftop kitchen. The elevator seemed to be out of commission. We’d be here for 10 nights. Which, judging by those stairs was going to be about 9 nights too many. I found out later the elevator did “work,” It just took about 5 minutes to get you from ground level to the roof (it also made suspicious creaking noises).

  Not that I knew this at the time, but Nomads hostels are known for having for glossy brochures, & less than glossy accommodation situations. Without going into too much detail: anyone who’s been traveling for a reasonable length of time knows the chain hostels Base & Nomads are one’s choice of last resort. Put it this way: most of the hostel horror stories  you’ve heard are true, & I experienced/survived most of them over the next week-and-a-half. However I was blissfully unaware of my grimly looming fate at the time, & went about  making dinner in a mostly empty rooftop kitchen looking over the Auckland skyline. Salad with sautéed shrooms, garlic, & courgettes on top. Rather fancy as far as traditional backpacker fare goes, but it reminded me of the group meals in Paihia. Man I missed that place. Beautiful as my new view was it wasn’t making up for friends left behind. Why had I ever left? I’d felt so at home there. So happy. Surrounded by wonderful people who I was starting to miss dearly. Mentioned as much to Finchly, who responded with an  unsympathetic shrug; saying I’d feel fine in a few days between mouthfuls of lettuce. The road suited my sparrow buddy well & he wasn’t taking any glances back. “Would it kill you to pretend you care for 2 seconds?” I grumbled back at him, “I put up with all your grousing after your ex-girlfriend turned you down… Again.”

  “That was totally different… & much more serious.” Said Finchly “I opened my heart to that beautiful demon, and she threw it away! I’ll never find anyone like her again. You on the other hand can just go back to Paihia if you’re gonna be so dead set on feelin’ sorry for yourself.” He caught the eye of a group of lady backpacker sparrows at the end of this impassioned soliloquy & winked at one of them.

  “What happened to Mr. tears & heartbreak huh?” I chided him crossly.

  “Whaaat…? She’s cute.” He grinned shamelessly

  “Stupid cheeky sparrow! Get out of here!” I shooed him off the countertop chuckling a little in spite of my annoyance, & stuffed my headphones in. Taylor Swift’s always there when you need her. “Delicate” would be my soundtrack on repeat for the next few days. Something about that song suits itself well to lonely people on skyline rooftops. Several days later I took those headphones out and ran headlong into the adventures of a certain Gina Deval.

[umbrahighpriestofgiratina]

Rude Awakening Chapter 4

In which dragons and bunnies.

Chapter 4: A Matter Of Time

It had been about a couple weeks now, and the multiversal visitors were starting to get along with and get to know the multitude of Shepherds, all settling in. One of the Shepherds, though, was not so settled. Virion was attempting to move stealthily through the barracks, and failing, considering he quickly literally bumped into a ginger-haired young man in a black cloak and headband, causing the latter to nearly choke on the lollipop he was sucking on. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" "Ah! Sorry, Gaius - Do you happen to know where Libra is?" "I've got no clue where Padre is, I was looking for Bubbles! Why don't you ask The Invisible Man?" Virion blinked. "Why are you looking for Robin and why did you specify Kellam?" "I'm right here?" said Kellam, suddenly beside him. Virion gave a high-pitched yelp as he jumped into Gaius' arms. "How do you do that?" Kellam shrugged. "It just kind of happens. But Libra's on the loft, praying. You probably shouldn't disturb him too quickly." "Duly noted!" Virion would have leapt out of Gaius' arms right there if Gaius didn't drop him first. He picked himself up and dusted himself off before dashing over to the loft and finding Libra sitting there, indeed praying. Virion stood there a while fidgeting and nervously sweating before Libra finally spoke normally without moving a bit. "...You can talk to me now, Virion." Virion wiped his brow, adjusted his ruff, and gulped. "It's about those Cincinnatians." "What about them? They've been much more well-behaved since they first got here, especially when they help with the cooking." Virion shook his head. "It's not about how they are now they've been here a while, it's about how they got here at all! You're a priest, a spiritual man... Haven't you noticed anything metaphysically strangeabout them?" Libra paused before finally standing up and turning around to face Virion. "Yes, actually, I have... Subdued, well-hidden, but it's still detectable by someone of my cloth." "Aha!" said Virion. "Fantastique, further evidence!" Libra raised an eyebrow. "Evidence?" "It all started when Howard referred to me as Kalosian. Now, I could believe that people as bizarre as him and his companions were from some esotetic faraway land, but when he mistook me for being from another, I grew suspicious. So I looked through every geographical book I could, even" - he shuddered - "sneaking into Miriel's personal library! And there was no mention of a Kalos or a Cincinnati anywhere!" Libra put a hand to his chin. "That is direly suspicious..." "And what's more, all the strange spells they seem capable of - Valentia's manipulation of water and space, Quentin's seeming bending of time in lapine form, Howard's mix of dimensional and dark magic, and that one time Bartimaeus did a "trick" to turn into a muscular strongman but was stuck that way for three days - they seem out of this world!" Virion put his own hand to his chin. "And given the existence of a certain Outrealm Gate they may very well be!" "So," said Libra dryly, "I assume you want my help figuring out what's really up with these 'Cincinnatians.'" Virion grinned. "Oui! Precisely!" Libra raised an eyebrow. "Why me though?" "Because you're one of the few men I find att-" Virion gave a hacking cough before regaining his composure. "-Attentive enough to the divine and spiritual for this task, of course! With their strange powers, these 'Cincinnatians' could be spirits or even deities from another world! That's your department, is it not?" Libra paused, then nodded. "True... If they were beings of great metaphysical power from another world intruding on ours it could cause a stir amidst the gods..." "Alright then!" said Virion. "Let's figure out what's really going on!" He headed off. Libra hesitated, then followed. --------- Dialga was off away from the barracks, trying to get some peace and quiet in a small wooded area with sunlight dappling through the trees onto moss and fallen leaves. However, the sharp Taguel ears of his current form made the "quiet" part a fair bit harder, being able to hear every crack of a branch and every rustle of a leaf and every breath of all creatures in a very large vicinity. "Hello, Panne," he said without turning around. Panne stopped behind him, twitching her nose. "I suppose you want something?" said Dialga. "In a sense," Panne said back. She started circling him. "Your time with the Sheperds has proven to me you are no threat. But I still doubt you are truly one of my own kind. Who are you, really?" "A visitor," said Dialga. "From another time, another place." "I still hear the voice of someone bending the truth. But I've said that enough. Can you hear something for me?" Dialga shifted slightly. "Tell what?" Panne looked through the treetops up to the sky. "The old Taguel gods; I wonder if you could hear them. There were those of my kind that could hear them in days long past, but they are gone now. Can you hear them now?" Dialga turned his ears, and more metaphysical senses, up to the sky. He heard and felt something, but nothing coherent enough for him to make out. "...Only whispers." Panne sighed. "They may be gone or leaving now; there's nothing left of my race but me. And... You, possibly, Quentin." Dialga was silent as Panne looked off in another direction. "I... Honestly kind of envy the man-spawn and those scaly Manaketes for still having theirs to pray to; they've got one mutual one they particularly revere, especially in Ylisse..." Dialga perked one of his ears. "Which would that be?" Panne glanced back at at him and raised an eyebrow. "I do not know why you would be interested, but they call her Naga the Divine Dragon." "A dragon goddess?" said Dialga. "How curious." Panne turned her head east as Dialga turned to face her. "She answers the prayers of the Manaketes, at least. And she's said to appear before those worthy of her to the east of here at Mount Prism." She glanced at Dialga and looked away, shaking her head. "But I don't see any reason for you to take interest in the likes of her..." She slowly walked off the way she came. Dialga waited until she could hear her no longer, then turned his ears and divine senses to Mount Prism, expecting to hear nothing more than whispers again. He was startled to hear and sense something much louder. "...You don't know how wrong you are, Panne." He shifted to his lapine form and ran to Mount Prism. ------ Atop Mount Prism, Dialga perked his ears and sniffed around a forested area with ruins of what appeared to be some sort of shrine scattered around a large waterfall at the center of a peak. "There's really not much here... Could this truly be the home of a go-" "A... Visitor?" a booming, yet feminine, voice rang out. "I never get visitors." The waterfall parted, and a woman, tall with flowing green hair and pointed ears, stepped forth from it. Dialga immediately tilted his currently rabbit-like head at her outfit - the bottom half was a long, billowing skirt accompanied by a similar scarf, but the top was something so scanty the being before him was showing most of her skin. "Isn't that a little risque by human standards? I mean, it's not as bad as what those slavers stuffed that Nowi girl into, but still, you have to worry about how you present yourself to mortals! And aren't you cold, given how high the altitude is?" The woman stared in surprise before shaking her head and chuckling. "I'd never thought I'd get critique of my fashion sense from a Taguel of all beings. Especially given they're critically endangered." She furrowed her brow at Dialga. "Though... Given what I sense emanating off of you, and your strange coloration... You're no true Taguel, are you?" Dialga sighed. "Very well. It's hard enough keeping it hidden from Panne, and I came to find you because I was seeking a being like my true self..." At this the Adamant Orb attached to his waist glowed, and the woman stared in shock and awe as his form glowed and stretched into its more natural shape. Dialga stretched his limbs to get readjusted, then turned to face the stunned woman. "They call me Dialga. You are Naga, correct?" The woman stared in shock a bit longer before shaking her head and nodding "Yes, I am Naga, the one called the Divine Dragon. But my question back is... What in this world are you?" Dialga huffed. "That's the clincher; I am not of this world. I am another world's god of time come here for a visit. It has mostly proved relaxing so far. But I was hoping to see what at least one of the local pantheon was like." Naga smiled, and gave a respectful bow. "It is an honor then, Dialga." She sighed and shook her head. "But I am no god. I am no creator. I possess not the powers of making or unmaking." Dialga gave her a quizzical look. "You're not? The Manaketes and the Yilliseans seem to hold you in high enough regard. And you have given the Yilliseans your blessing, have you not?" "What divinity I have is as a protector and guardian," said Naga. "I can indirectly aid but take no direct action." She looked out over the landscape. "It has been this way for millennia... I have taken many forms over all that time... I have not always been a woman... I have not always been a dragon, even..." She sighed. "But memories of those fleeting times... They are not truly mine..." Dialga gave her a look again. "How so?" Naga looked at him almost solemnly. "I am not the first Naga... There have been others before me... The role and memories are passed down from one incarnation to the next. It is a burden, but one I must bear to help both human and Manakete." Dialga shifted uncomfortably. "If it helps, there are those of status like mine back home who must go through similar tribulations..." "Which gets me back to my first question," said Naga, giving Dialga a stern look. "What are you, other than a dragon god of time from another world?" Dialga paused, then sighed. "To put it at its most basic level, I am a Pokemon." Naga blinked. "A... Pokemon?" "They are the creatures of my world, coming in a wide variety of shapes and sizes and elemental attributes. They range from mere sapient versions of the 'animals' of your world to beings of divine power like myself. I may be a deity, but I am still a Pokemon all the same, and one classified by others of my world as being elementally affiliated with Dragon and Steel, affiliations I share with countless other lesser Pokemon." Naga paused, then stepped forward, extending a hand. "May I?" Dialga raised an eyebrow. "May I what?" "Touch you." Dialga cringed. "I'm hoping not... in a bad place that's no good. Especially since you'll be out of luck there in this form." Upon realizing what he was saying Naga cringed herself. "Oh g-goodness, no! I just... Argh, I just wanted to touch your scales to test something, but if that makes you uncomfortable I can-" Dialga sighed in relief. "If that's it that's totally fine, thank you." Naga sighed in relief herself as she closed her eyes and extended her hand to stroke Dialga's scales as he stood perfectly still. Eventually, she smiled. "You're right... Your scales are much like a Manaketete's, but have the texture and hardness of the finest plate armor..." She stepped back, opened her eyes, and looked up at him. "What are the other 'Pokemon' of your world like?" Dialga shifted uncomfortably again. "Well, there's my siblings, and our companion, but they're more like me. Let me try to show you something more mundane, hold on..." He turned around and shuffled about in a place Naga couldn't see and turned back to her with a strange clamshell-like object in his mouth that he placed down in front of her, then moved over to seat himself next to her as he opened up the device with his mind, causing a panel on the upper half to glow to life as Dialga pressed buttons on the bottom half telekinetically. "This will take just a second, hold on..." Naga watched in fascination as the panel showed a icon-laden picture of Dialga and two similar dragons posing for an awkward groupshot, then a blank white space filled with oddly shaped brown boxes. She noticed Dialga move a small, arrow-like icon to a brown box with the words "cute cat pokemon videos" on the bottom and selected it to reveal a large amount of pictures with strange boxed bars across the top and bottom. Dialga selected one with the words "littenandfamily.avi" attached to the bottom. Immediately the screen was taken up by a vision of a small, red-and-black catlike creature pawing at the front of the panel. "Oh!" said Naga. "It's adorable! What sort of cat is that creature?" Dialga turned to her and smiled. "A Litten." "Lit-ten?" "You'll see what I mean in a bit." A human girl scooped the Litten up in a hug. Naga blinked in surprise. "There are humans in your world?" "Plenty. They live and work together with the Pokemon." The Litten struggled and mewled in the girl's grip before letting out an annoyed "Lit!" and spitting a flaming furball out into the grass before them, causing the girl to drop it in surprise. Naga gasped and chuckled. "I suppose Litten are affiliated with fire?" Dialga nodded. "Yep, they're Fire-types." The Litten's fiery hairball was patted out by a larger creature resembling a cross between a Litten and a bobcat, which the Litten batted at playfully. Naga gasped again. "Is that an adult Litten?" Dialga shook his head. "Not quite. Pokemon can transform into more powerful Pokemon as part of their life cycle. Litten transforms into Torracat there when the time is right..." The Litten and Torracat are scooped up by a third, bipedal creature resembling a cross between the previous two and a tiger, who started licking them affectionately. "...And then into Incineroar." The vision stopped, and Dialga dissipated it with the same icon he used to open it. Naga looked back up toward him. "Your world seems amazing already! Do all Pokemon transform like that Litten do?" Dialga chuckled. "It depends; Pokemon of stature like mine typically don't do anything quite like that. We're powerful enough as is." He thought a bit, then gave a frown. "Speaking of which... Others and yourself refer to you as a dragon, and yet you have kept this pointy-eared human form this whole time! Is this simply your latest incarnation, or what?" Naga frowned deeply. "Not quite... You are my first true visitor in a long while, so I suppose I shall show you..." She pulled a stone out of her dress and rubbed it, chanting. She was enveloped in energy that to Dialga resembled a more floral Mega Evolution cocoon before emerging as a massive, golden dragon that gave a mighty roar and spread its mighty, leaf-like wings to show their full splendor and display their owner's glittering golden scales. It was Dialga's turn to stare in awe. Naga looked at him, smiling, for a while before her eyes flashed red and she snarled before recovering. "Ugh..." She quickly reverted back to her more humanlike form and groaned again, clutching her head. "Are you alright?" said Dialga. "Yes, I am... It's just..." She gave him a solemn look. "The dragons of this world, including the Manakete, have a curse placed upon us... Where we eventually succumb to madness that robs us of our sapience as our lives go on..." She shook her head sadly. "It's already too late for the wyverns... Even the mighty Starfall clan have been reduced to feral scavengers and thieves... We Manaketes have only survived by assuming human form most of our lives... And part of why I must change vessels every few millennia..." Dialga listened intently, then shook his head sadly himself. "I could not imagine if such a curse was placed upon the mortal Dragon-types of my world..." He hurriedly stowed his laptop away, then turned to leave. "I shouldn't have brought you to do such a thing so risky to yourself... If you need rest after that, I shall take my leave now..." "Dialga, wait!" said Naga. Dialga stopped. "What is it?" Naga hesitated before continuing. "During your trip... Could you come back and visit me from time to time? Teach me more of your world?" Dialga paused, then glanced back and smiled. "...I most certainly will." His Adamant Orb glowed, and he shifted back to his more lapine Taguel form as he bounded off. -------- Panne tried to remain completely silent as Dialga bounded past her. This explained so much, and yet she still had so many questions. She had managed to hear Dialga heading off toward Mount Prism and followed, and had discovered he was a bizarre being called a "Pokemon" from another world, and one of enough divine power to be on speaking terms with Naga herself. Question was, what was such a being doing in their world? She bounded off to the barracks herself, making sure to approach from a far different direction than Dialga. She could not forgive him for masquerading as her species, but there was too much risk exposing him outright, especially given his companions were likely of the same magnitude of power as he, and she still didn't know of their motivations. Thinking further, she realized that Libra would be a good initial aid for this given his knowledge of the divine... ...And was also of the sort not to recruit particularly numbskulled man-spawn to their cause. ***

[phidiaspickle]

So I thought I’d post Sam and Cait’s too if anyone’s interested.   Sam - Taurus/Monkey Cait - Libra/Goat

Taurus - ARDOR LANGUOR DETERMINA TION PREJUDICE INDUSTRY INTRACTABILITY P A TIENCE GLUTTONY LOGIC COMPLACENCY SENSUALITY JEALOUSY

Monkey - IMPROVISATION CUNNING STABILITY SELF-INVOLVEMENT WIT OPPORTUNISM DECEIT RUSE LOQUACITY LEADERSHIP SILLINESS ZEAL

“I have” Earth, Venus, Fixed

“I plan” Positive Metal, Yin

Here is one Monkey whose ruse and trickery are satisfied to remain in the wings for a lifetime. Taurus settles the busy, agile Monkey character. This is a fortuitous combination of signs.

Taurus/Monkeys are stable. Their equilibrium sticks out all over them. Capable of emotional highs and lows like everybody else, the Taurus/Monkey sets himself apart by dealing with trauma better than most. Beset by loss or tragedy, this creature remains buoyant through it all. Of course he will be aggrieved by the death of someone near. Naturally, he will pine for the lost loved one. Certainly, the Taurus/Monkey is able to sob along with the best of us. But he will also be among the first to rise from a wet pillow, place his feet squarely on the floor and decide to design better days for himself.

I am not describing, however, the jack-in-the-box resilience or the Rooster, who never gets too involved in the first place and therefore digs himself out faster. Taurus/Monkey is, after all, Taurean. He feels things profoundly and is devoted to his emotional attachments. But Taurus/Monkeys are sensible. They know instinctively when to give in. They are not afraid to surrender and start over when no alternative presents itself. Taurus/Monkeys are savvy.

Monkeys born in Taurus will be realistic people. They are not given to vapid dreaming or empty longings for things or experiences they can never have.

Taurus/Monkeys are temperate, take their methodical time about accomplishing tasks and don’t settle for slapdash results. Others to whom the Taurus/Monkey has promised favor, a ride to the PTA meeting or a loan, can count on this subject never to let them down. Taurus/Monkeys will either categorically say, “No, I can’t,” or “Yes I’d be glad to,” with a smile. And if, for some reason beyond his control, a Taurus/Monkey cannot come across with the goods, he will simply and in due time call or write or holler to apologize.

The equilibrium of people born under this marriage of signs is their single most important virtue. When you feel all right about yourself vis-à-vis the world, nothing actually can stand in the way of your happiness. Taurus/Monkeys rarely doubt themselves. Oh, they may have private moments of panic. But you’ll never see a Taurus/Monkey dragging himself along whimpering about how miserable he feels inside. Instead, he will take pains to exhibit his best side, to inspire confidence in others and rarely, if ever, to place blame for his own shortcomings on colleagues or cohorts.

The Taurus/Monkey knows his own strength. Therefore, if a noisy Leo/Dragon or pushy Aries/Ox wants the limelight, Taurus/Monkey doesn’t mind sitting behind the curtain feeding the boss his lines. Taurus/Monkey leadership abilities are obvious. But he doesn’t need to sit on the throne to be happy using them.

Taurean Monkeys are kind, too. They go out of their way to lend a hand, cheer up a sick friend, or jolly up a grump. But with this, despite their basic generosity of spirit, Taurus/Monkeys personify independence. They need no company for activities such as going to movies or concerts, traveling, eating, dancing, and so on. It’s not that Taurus/Monkeys do not adore company. But so at one are they with their own rhythms, they don’t require a second opinion or even a sounding board in order to know what they enjoy in life. So if you need a Taurus/Monkey, you can call on him for help. But when you don’t write SOS in the sky or jiggle the Taurus/Monkey’s chain, he may just be off by himself on a bike hike around Eastern Europe.

It seems we can find no failing in this monster of stability. Yet, people do complain about Taurus/Monkeys. What they say is that Monkeys born Taurean possess such a hearty measure of self-confidence and pep that by comparison, others may feel like just so many slouches. And it’s true. The Taurus/Monkey only offends by reflection. His character is so sterling, his integrity so dear, that others feel small next to him

Taurus/Monkeys are modest too. So we cannot even accuse them of bravado. They’re bright and funny, good listeners and dexterous in the extreme. Taurus/Monkeys are devoted and uncomplicated. But don’t ever try to corner one. You won’t be able to fence him in. Don’t expect him to hang around and mope if rejected or disobliged. This character is all of a piece. Therein lies his unbeatable force.

Love

Faithfulness, as we all know, is relative. Everyone has a slightly different point of view and interpretation of what it means to be constant in love. To a Taurus/Monkey, faithfulness in relationships is directly connected to loyalty, friendship and dedication. This person is certainly adept at loving others. Yet, he will never get involved in any long-term love affair or marriage that threatens to compromise his autonomy. For Taurus/Monkeys, mutual respect and freedom are synonymous with love.

I have never known a Taurus/Monkey whose passion for another human being crippled him. To a Monkey born in Taurus, incapacity is death. If he feels a weakness approaching his knees and can practically hear the butterflies flapping about his stomach, the Taurus/Monkey will be gone in a wink, pleasantly and preferably without harsh words. The Taurus/Monkey is likely to want a longstanding life commitment in love. But the concessions incumbent upon such a commitment may daunt him. The prospect of long dull evenings around the glowing hearth will discourage the Taurus/Monkey from early marriage. And by time he gets around to accepting a love alliance that is sure to cramp his style, the Taurus/Monkey may consider himself too old and set in his ways to actually implement it.

There is something of the eternal child in his character. He’s charming but he is also elusive. Taurus/Monkey is a footloose soul who frequently imagines himself in settled loving care. But very often he ends up like Peter Pan left behind by Wendy and the Boys to fend for himself in Never-Never Land.

Compatibilities

Normally you should be compatible with Cancer, Virgo, Capricorn and Pisces/Dragons. Dragons and Monkeys respect each other a lot. You also get along with Rats of the Cancer, Virgo and Capricorn persuasions. I’d advise you to look into the possibility of a lifetime Pisces/Rat, too. They are sweet and strong-minded at the same time. I cannot see why you are not allowed a Scorpio/Tiger, but the odds are astrologically against longevity in such relationships. Scorpio/Snakes and Aquarius/Dragons are also forbidden territory. Forget Leo/Ox, Tiger and Horse people. They are too egocentric for you.

Home and Family

Taurus/Monkeys (if they ever get around to it) make excellent parents. They are serious and caring. Also, they have a childlike quality themselves and so are amusing and playful with their kids. And of course they always provide. As siblings, aunts and uncles and cousins, Taureans born in Monkey years are dy- na – mite! The element of liberal movement implied in such nonpassionate relationships appeals to the Taurus/Monkey. He’ll bring his nephew the most extraordinary toys and take his favorite cousins on trips to faraway places. He’ll gladly offer his participation in family projects or build a new swimming pool for his little sister Sara’s suburban ranch house.

In order to develop a healthy Taurus/Monkey child, parents must try to allow him freedom to evolve in his own private space. Taurus/Monkey children may go off on their own too often to please a clinging parent. They will definitely leave any suffocating family atmosphere at the earliest possible moment. To ensure this person’s happiness as an adult, he must always be given choices and never be forced to struggle against excessive authority. And no matter what you do as the parents of this bubbly, capable achiever, he will soon be off into the world to seek his fortune.

Profession

Taurus/Monkeys like to spend money. They therefore usually know how to earn it. As I have already said, these people are industrious and willing to pitch in and help out in almost all situations. These traits do not hinder the Taurus/Monkey’s progress in career pursuits.

Taurus/Monkeys are affable, too. They enjoy meeting new people, exchanging ideas with them and learning new methods of doing things. Sales and public relations are suitable jobs for Taurus/Monkeys, as are positions in journalism or medicine. Most important, of course, is that the career choice allow for mobility. The Taurus/Monkey may, for example make a terrific photographer. But if he is obliged to sit in a dinky office somewhere taking pictures of babies with topknots in a cold white studio, all his talent will drain out before he gets a chance to apply himself. He hates to be confined. But put this energetic photographer on location in the thickest fray of the fashion or advertising world and hear that shutter click gaily away.

Uppermost in orienting a person born in Taurus/Monkey is the acquisition of a sound liberal education. The idle Taurus/Monkey mind is never a happy one. There are few fields in which he will not excel and he is especially drawn to those that excite his curiosity. Once he has a bit of knowledge on a subject that interests him, the Taurus/Monkey can study on his own, research and assimilate for a long time without further tutelage.

Some good careers for Taurus/Monkeys are: Roving reporter, artist, traveling salesperson, actor, producer.

Famous Taurus/Monkeys: J.M. Barrie, Leonardo da Vinci, Harry Truman, Sugar Ray Leonard, Jill Clayburgh, Pope John Paul II, Anouk Aimée, Christine Bravo, Christine Ockrent, Elvire Popesco, Michel Audiard, Pia Zadora.

 Here’s Cait's --------------------------------------------------------------------

Libra ~ JUSTICE AESTHETICS MISTRUST GENTILITY EQUILIBRIUM IDEALISM QUARRELSOMENESS MANIPULATION PROCRASTINATION SELF-INDULGENCE INDECISION TALKATIVENESS

Goat - INVENTION LACK OF FORESIGHT PERSEVERANCE WHIMSY GOOD MANNERS IMPRACTICALITY PARASITISM SENSITIVITY TARDINESS PESSIMISM TASTE WORRY

“I balance”    Air, Venus, Cardinal

“I depend”    Negative Fire, Yang

Ostensibly a dependent lover of beauty and equilibrium, this person claims to need a peaceful environment, but we know better. Librans born in Goat years are testy and quarrelsome people. They love an argument, a good old heated discussion, a challenge. The Libra/Goat requires the regard of his peers. He likes to be looked at, contemplated, taken seriously and admired. To this end, the Libra/Goat will do almost anything—once.

With Libra and Goat under the same roof, people born in this sign will be doubly attracted to elegance and finesse. They truly prefer to furnish their lives with ornate classics and line their walls with books than to spend time and money on trendy wardrobes or spiffy automobiles. These characters can be social climbers. As such, they prefer to climb culturally rather than merely be included in the annals of society, party-giving or going. Libra/Goats are a bit light-headed. But they are not superficial.

There is great creativity in the Libra/Goat nature. This person, provided the ambience is secure and safe, can invent and imagine all manner of craft and artisanry. I would not say this subject is a gifted artist in the Picasso sense. But there is, inside the Libra/Goat head, a kaleidoscopic imagination. The Libra/Goat leaps from idea to idea with a special rapid grace all his own. He understands the labyrinthine. He comprehends complexity, and is superbly talented at all sorts of communication.

One of the Goat/Libra’s handicaps is his unwillingness to believe in self. I say unwillingness rather than inability because the phenomenon is more a refusal than a lack. “I can’t. Who cares? Who wants to listen to little old me? It’s not really important. Never mind.” That’s the kind of talk you hear from non-directed Librans born in Goat years.

You see, Librans born in Goat years are extremely sensitive. In their youth they are often drawn to strong, stable types whose very presence seems to promise to shore up their courage. Then, after a while, when the weirdo Libra/Goat sees just what a high price he must pay to be “normal” and “stable,” when he grasps the useless, boring sameness of a life without creation or experiment, he bolts. But this bolting seems to Libra/Goat a terribly cowardly act. He is disappointed in normalcy. But he blames his disappointment on his own unwillingness to “go straight.” This, once again, makeshim lose confidence in himself. As he never had masses of self-belief in the first place, this makes him less effective, and a vicious circle effect sets in.

Libra/Goats are excessive. They are vulnerable to addiction. They are ambitious and fashion-conscious. They are inventive and talented in all sorts of glamour-related pursuits. The trouble with Libra/Goats, besides their intermittent lack of self- assurance, is that they tend to disperse their energies in too many flittings about. They are easily distracted. They must learn to settle on one idea and push it through to its logical conclusion. And they must seek the wisdom of those more thoughtful and sagacious than they. It is by heeding good advice and not flying off the handle till the wood is all chopped that Librans born in Goat years will succeed.

Love

Romance is one area in which the Libra/Goat feels comfortable and capable. This person is gifted for sentimental rapport. He or she will revel in the trappings of love: the candlelight dinners and the trips to tropical islands, the banter and, of course, the sex. Libra/Goats are very pretty people, sort of frail looking and fey. They always dress to suit their looks and have a finely developed nose for style. They will depend entirely on their relationships with their mates. Living alone is out of the question. These people thrive on tenderness and offer top drawer companionship to a mate.

If you love a Libra/Goat, you must first win his or her favors through clever and aesthetic courtship methods. Your Libra born Goat is fatally attractive. You will not be the only one seeking his or her affections. Be unusual. The Libra/Goat cleaves to the arcane and is fascinated by the strange. Ordinary workaday people only attract the Libra/Goat in his very first blush of youthful naiveté.

Compatibilities

You have a propensity for cohabitation with Cat people. You’ll want to choose from Cats born in Gemini, Leo, Sagittarius and Aquarius. There are plenty of Horse subjects out there for your pleasure, too. Try sticking to Gemini, Sagittarius or Aquarius/Horses. They have the necessary earning power to keep you in style. Leo and Aquarius/Pigs also enjoy high standards of living. Aries, Cancer and Capricorn/Dogs are out of the running, as are Cancer and Capricorn/Oxen.

Home and Family

The Libra/Goat is not terribly concerned with decoration. He will be happiest in a messy, intellectual sort of decor with deep worn velvet or leather armchairs and generous working surfaces. He’s not overly conscious of how his or her interior strikes others. He wants it to be comfortable first and beautiful later. Libra/Goats enjoy the haphazardness of the “lived-in” look.

These people make conscientious parents who want the best in culture for their children. Occasionally Libra/Goats seem to be overwhelmed by their children and even a bit bamboozled by them. They don’t like to discipline their kids. But neither can they tolerate being a punching bag for little Johnny or Mary. Often, they allow trouble to build up before stepping in to do something about it. This avant-garde childrearing method leads to its share of yelling.

Libra/Goat kids are too sweet for words. They are loving and enchanting little people whose beauty alone is enough to make you want to squeeze them. My advice? Don’t. Libra/Goat children, like their adult counterparts, are not as fragile as they look. They hate to be treated like dumbbells. These bright people gobble education. The best schools are in order.

Profession

Libra/Goats are not independent people. They must be surrounded by aides-de-camp or buoyed by a well-constructed system in order to achieve their goals. They are talented and innovative. Libra/Goats have natural poise and are mannerly and dress tastefully. They are especially gifted for complex creative work requiring a sense of true invention. Libra/Goats are easily discouraged and can very quickly be overcome by the prospect of having too much on their plates. One dish at a time is the method best suited to the advancement of their artistic natures.

Jobs that best suit Libra/Goats are: freelance illustrator, poet, fashion journalist, scriptwriter, homemaker, graphic artist, musician.

Famous Libra/Goats: Franz Liszt, Pierre Trudeau, John Le Carré, Doris Lessing, Chevy Chase, Barbara Walters, Yo-Yo Ma, Catherine Deneuve, Anita Ekberg, Anthony Newley, Desmond Tutu, Lech Walesa, Julez Roy, Julio Iglesias, Mickey Mantle, Miguel de Cervantes, Pierre Trudeau.

[lawrenceop]

GUADALUPE PILGRIMAGE 2017

Day 2: Homily for 6 January (Solemnity of the Epiphany)

Isa 60:1-6; Ps 72; Eph 3:2-3a. 5-6; Matt 2:1-12

preached in the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Tepeyac, Mexico City.

Wise men from exotic faraway lands are led by a Star to find the One who is our God, meaning the One who alone satisfies the human heart. For Man is made for God and he is restless until he comes to rest in Him. The pilgrimage of life only reaches its destination when we come at last, by God’s grace, to God’s house, when we rest in him.

By God’s Providence, we celebrate the Epiphany here in the Guadalupe Basilica as we begin our Pilgrimage. And it could not be more appropriate. For we find in St Juan Diego and his story a deep resonance with the Magi and the story of the Epiphany. Like them, St Juan Diego came from an exotic faraway land with an appropriately exotic name that I dare not try to pronounce. And like them he was a wise man for he was one of the first Christian converts in this continent, and on 9th December 1531 he was walking round the base of Tepeyac hill on his way to catechism classes, to be instructed in Christian wisdom. But this wise man, Juan Diego, was also led up the hill by the light coming from a star. For he reports that on that morning he heard birdsong and saw a wondrous light coming from the top of Tepeyac, and then he encounters the Blessed Virgin Mary. And Mary, as we know, is often called the “Star of the Sea”; she is the Star of the New Evangelisation. Hence, Juan Diego, like the Magi, is led by Mary, the Star, to Christ. Indeed, once the Guadalupe miracle takes place some nine million Aztecs would be led by Our Lady of Guadalupe to this place and then, like the Magi, they would enter into the house and adore the Lord Jesus Christ. So, even to this day, pilgrims from all over the world can come here and enter into this house, this Shrine, and adore Our Lord in the Eucharist.

But just as God created the Star of Bethlehem which draws the Magi to the baby Jesus, so in the story of Guadalupe, it is Our Lady who calls out tenderly to Juan Diego: “Juanito”, she says. For even before Man seeks God, it is in fact God who precedes us and seeks us out. And God is always gentle, courteous, attracting us to his light and goodness. So we recall – and the Guadalupe story exemplifies this – that evangelisation proceeds not by proselytisation but by attraction. The Aztecs converted because they saw in the stars on Our Lady’s dress and in the inculturated image of Mary, a message of truth and life. So, too, the millions who continue to come to Tepeyac are simply attracted by the beauty of Our Lady of Guadalupe. And almost two thousand years ago, when those Magi came from the east and saw the Virgin and Child, they were moved to kneel and adore, and they “opened their treasures” before him.

What are these treasures? Typically, since St Irenaeus’ interpretation in the 2nd century, we’re told that they’re symbolic of Jesus’ identity: gold for Christ as king; frankincense for his divinity; and myrrh to prefigure his death. And the Magi give him these gifts in recognition of who this baby is. But I want to hazard another interpretation, from the viewpoint of the Magi. In St Matthew’s Gospel Jesus later on says that “where your treasure is, there also is your heart”. So, I want to suggest that the treasures can also symbolise what we bring to God, the treasures held in our hearts. In pagan times past, the Aztecs would pluck out the beating hearts of their victims and offer those hearts to their gods. But the true God gives us his own Sacred Heart, and he never forces us. Rather, we have each come here for our own reasons, as I said yesterday. We have each been called here by God’s grace and his gentle invitation. And here, God invites us to open our treasures, those held within our hearts, before him. What might they represent?

Gold stands for what we value most; our joys and successes. So we bring here our loved ones, our friends and their intentions. We bring our dreams, but also our worries about what we might lose, our health concerns and so on. Juan Diego also offered these to Our Lady of Guadalupe. On the 11th of December 1531, he stayed at home to look after his mortally ill uncle, Juan Bernardino, and when he told her on the 12th, she healed him at once, and restored joy and peace to St Juan Diego.

Frankincense is burnt before a god, and it represents those idols in our lives, those transient goods that we honour above God and his commandments, those created things that are barriers to knowing and loving the true God – this can be something in our culture, our way of thinking, our perspective on the world, or even a person. As a convert Juan Diego had to leave all the false gods behind and, despite being one of a few converts in a hostile society, he climbed Tepeyac hill and went to Our Lady of Guadalupe who told him: “I am the most pure Holy Mary, Mother of the True God for whom we live”. So, we bring here all our sinful attachments and we ask God to purify our hearts and our intentions, for he is the True God for whom we live.

And myrrh? This bitter resin, used to relieve pain or embalm the dead, stands for our sufferings and wounds, our griefs and pains, all the bitter things, the pains which the human hearts endure and harbour. All these we hold, locked up like treasure, in our hearts. Juan Diego carried with him the sufferings and tragedies of the Aztec people who lived in fear of their demonic idols who demanded blood sacrifices, and through Our Lady of Guadalupe, this Continent was liberated. So, too, we bring our sorrows and defeats, our little deaths and those things that kill us in body and spirit – we bring them here and ask God to free us from them.

For almost five centuries people have come here and poured out the treasures of their heart to God through Our Lady of Guadalupe. But we are all just following those first pilgrims to Christ, those wise men who turned to the true God in their need. It’s always risky to give your heart to another. Whether to a spouse or our children, this opening of the heart changes us, and leaves us vulnerable. Giving our heart to God also changes us, but rather than leaving us vulnerable, God comes as the divine Physician to heal us with his love; he transfigures our lives with his Presence. In fact, we enact this exchange at every Mass when we offer to God our lives, symbolized by the bread and wine that we bring up. And the Lord transforms the bread and wine with his grace, so that they become his Body and Blood, his living Presence among us. And he gives himself to us in the Eucharist so that he, the divine Physician, can give us a heart transplant. For in exchange for our wounded heart with its sorrows and fears and sins, he gives us a share in his own Sacred Heart; he gives us his love.

If we allow God’s love to change us, then like the Magi after their encounter with the Lord, we will travel home along a different way. Jesus is the Way for our life’s journey, and at the end of the pilgrimage of life we will return to our true home, which is to rest for ever in the heart of God, united in heaven to the Blessed Trinity. May Our Lady of Guadalupe, God’s own Star of Wonder and Star with royal beauty bright, lead us home by the gentle light of God’s grace.

[spice-spice-baby]

False Papers by Andre Aciman

That, in the end, is how I love the sea. I love it from across the street. I need distance, obstacles between me and what I want. I like bits and pieces of the beach...the way I like the promise of Paris more than Paris itself, a staggered view more than huge vistas. I need all these dilatory measures the way Matisse needed them when he painted in Nice. There are almost no paintings with the word “sea” in the works Matisse did in Nice between 1916 and 1930...most show a room leading to another room, which leads to yet another, until you reach a faraway window. Some of those paintings, however, depict a room that leads directly to French windows opening onto a balcony, in between the balusters of which finally appear what lies-- for me-- at the very core of these paintings: incidental patches of blue, caught almost inadvertently or as an afterthought by the painter, who seems to have merely dabbed a few strokes of paint between each post... his subject was always the sea. But staggered, deferred, delayed, distanced, recessed, almost serving as a vague background hastily sketched around a precisely executed balustrade and allegedly having no other purpose than to add color to what would have been a stifling scene in a room...I want to go to that room because I want to see the place from which Matisse did the one thing every artist is interested in doing with the sea: not to describe it, not even to evoke it, but to invoke it. (p31)

I come to Straus Park to remember Alexandria, albeit an unreal Alexandria, an Alexandria that does not exist, that I’ve invented or learned to cultivate in Rome as in Paris, so that in the end the Paris and the Rome I retrieve here are really the shadow of the shadow of Alexandria, versions of Alexandria, the remanence of Alexandria, infusing Straus Park itself now, reminding me of something that is not just elsewhere but that is perhaps more in me than it ever was out there, that is, after all, perhaps just me, a me that is no less a figment of time than this city is a figment of space. (p49)

On those evenings, as on those moments in life when our hull is cracked and we’re forced to molt everything we’ve got til we’re as naked as a newborn and begin the slow, difficult work of reinventing a new skin with the very little we’ve got left each time, I felt so exposed that.. I found that I could get attached to anything-- a thought, a habit, a song; everything I touched or read or so much as leaned my head against became dearer to me than was the person in that apartment whose lights at night were more beguiling and intractable than a light from a vanished star. (p127)

I may say that I am always, always caught between two points, one of which is always a metaphor of the other. But that’s not quite correct. I am not caught between two points. I am two points caught in the same spot. Correction: I am two points caught in different spots. This may explain why I am always fond of using the image, the figure, of two foci in an ellipse, or of the two banks of a river, or of the many strands in a cat’s cradle that always manage to reproduce generations of patterns with baffling regularity. The figure in all this is always the same: me tussling between two shadow centers. I have tried to give a flavor of this figure in many ways here: by showing that once I’m in Italy, I’d really be in New York; that when I’m in New York, I’m already in Italy... Traffic captures the bizarre nature of the psyche, where the dominant motion is one not so much of ambivalence as of perpetual oscillation. The true site of nostalgia is therefore not a land, or two lands, but the loop and interminable traffic between these two lands. It is the traffic between places, and not the places themselves, that eventually becomes the home, the spiritual home, the capital. Displacement, as an abstract concept, becomes the tangible home. (p139)

This is how I always travel: not so as to experience anything at the time of my tour, but to plot the itinerary of a possible return trip. This, it occurs to me, is also how I live.

An exile is not just someone who has lost his home; he is someone who can't find another, who can't think of another.

I like 4:30. People are just beginning to come out of work, and there's a touch of indecision in the city, as though it's too late to start anything new today and yet still early enough to take a stab at it. Like me, most people are strolling about the streets, taking their time, probably avoiding something they should be doing, caught as everyone is in this interim dreamspace which is neither day nor night.