#greens of firesteel

[firesteel-eden]

New chapter of Kissed by Fire ~ Kissed by Steel is up!

This one is an Alicent chapter and I admit it was a bit hard to write because I wanted to subtly hint at some morals and ideas branded in Alicent' head by the environment and time she lived in. Also, this have to seem real, and plausible and I am overall very satisfied with it, because it shows that despite what some may have feared, no Sansa is not Mary Sue, that is not at all her arc even in canon, but she is someone who's forced to butt heads with others and at times even bow down her head to reach her goal.

Sometimes, just as we do, Sansa might feel overwhelmed by feeling of helplessness when she feels like things are slipping through her fingers, but she still acts in the best interests of those she cares for.

So anyway, long story short... go read the chapter! Here, and as always hit me with what you think of it!

As always sending all my love ~G.

[reginarubie]

New Firesteel chapter is up!

… no, that could wait. He had to ensure House Arryn perpetued loyalty and lady Frey armies had to join their allies to ensure that the odds were still even, hoping that she would not fear too much for her son’s safety now that the Crossing was in the Greens hands.

From chapter 25 of KBFKBSII

[crimsoncold]

I have already written on length about what I like so much about Aemondsa as a pairing (i.e. the many intriguing parallels between sansa and aemond and the fascinating dynamic that can be explored between them in fanfic) so I won't ramble about that here... just know I have an unapolegetic love for many crack ships/rarepairs including Aemondsa and feel particularly inspired to make fanart when there isn't a ton of appreciation on or art work out there for the pairing (so expect more aemondsa and other sansa rarepairs artwork in the future)!

I owe my discovery of this crack ship to fanfic authors and while I still can't quite decide which aemondsa set up I like more (Sansa sent back in time to the dance of dragons or Aemond being sent forward into game of thrones era westeros) this artwork was inspired by the latter concept (hence me making both a version with the traditional Sansa Stark appearance as well as an Alayne Stone version)

Now here have a list of the Reverse Firesteel fanfics (i.e. aemondsa time travel fics where Aemond is sent forward in time) that inspired this artwork ... highly recommend them if you are a fan of either character... they are all so wonderfully plot heavy while still getting to work as incredible character studies for aemond and sansa (which is really my favorite type of story format).

witchcraft in your lips by @aemondsa

“The past is already written. The ink is dry.”

Aemond Targaryen died in the Battle of Gods Eye, history proclaimed thus.

However, when Aemond Targaryen inexplicably drew breath once more, hundred-and-seventy years had passed since the dragons danced.

He has no dragon, no army, no family, and no throne. Only a bastard girl by the name of Alayne Stone and a dragondream to guide him.

The Great History of the Kings of the Iron throne — The Dragon and the Wolf by @reginarubie

Take heed, you bear in mind the piety you owe unto your country and unto your countrymen, whose slaughter by the treachery of thy blood oath be your disgrace everlasting. Unless you press hardily forward to defend them.

Prince of black and prince of green met across the skies, but only death can pay for life.

Lions and Wolves were dancing a dance he had known before, in glory and clay and steel crowned. The Young Wolf, they said, has fished from the waters a dragonprince of old.

Of the daughter of Winterfell they said she had killed him with a spell, changed into a wolf, grew batlike wings and flew away.

”The Iron throne shall be mine,“ claimed the dragonprince ”and House Stark shall stand behind me and mine“

”My hand for the North,“ said the brave princess and the dragonprince took her hand for his.

At last, she that is oppressed shall prevail, and resist the cruelty of them that came from without. The islands of the ocean shall be subdued onto his power, and the forest of goal shall he possess. The house of the lion shall dread the fierceness of his prowess, and doubtful shall be their end.

— from History of the Kings of the Iron throne by Archimaester Arkibald.

Sing the Sun in Flight by rummy_cat

A fallen prince is found on the shore of the God's Eye lake just as the region's new overlord arrives at the nearby cursed castle with his natural daughter. Together, the three will scheme to restore a dead house and seek vengeance against those that should be, but it will be a long and perilous journey to gain the friends necessary to achieve their goals, while questioning if those they've considered friends from the start can truly be trusted.

The Lady Wolf and her Dragon Knight (Aemondsa fanart) by @crimsoncold

Give your heart and soul to charity, 'Cause the rest of you, The best of you, Honey, belongs to me

Ain't it a gentle sound, the rollin' in the graves? Ain't it like thunder under earth, the sound it makes? ...

If I was born as a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you, Held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies

Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?Ain't it the life you, you're lighting of the blaze? Ain't you my baby?

Hozier, NFWMB

Alternate Alayne Stone Version

[ru-titley-knives]

Exoskeleton Kirinite starlight armor in use as a keychain / EDC item or with neck carry lanyard  or tungsten carbide fire-steel striker added .

 Available now , please note production version will feature two eyelet holes .

Custom knives , sheaths and gear from rtknives@hotmail.com

[shadoedseptmbr]

winter prompts

this one was for candles and it ties back to the story distractions and alternatives. Aedan Shepard has been toting around an old style sniper rifle since just after she joined the Alliance. It’s the only thing she owns that isn’t Alliance or Cerberus (or Kasumi) issued and it was sort of her good luck charm.  She’s been known to tuck small tokens in the case along with it.

Candles  

o-o-o-o-o

Now that she’d hauled it out of the harsh light of Alchera, the gun case was definitely worse for wear.

It took a prybar borrowed from the shuttle bay to split the edges that had melted, a combo of liquid nitrogen and aerosolized graphite and oil to crack the fused latches.  

She wasn’t expecting much when she’d finally coaxed the lid open but it was a miracle to have found it at all, tucked safely in the hull of the MAKO.

But there it was, the old style sniper rifle she’d won from that jarhead on Luna, a lifetime ago.  The engraving of mountains on the stock just visible through the fine haze of rust.

  She wrinkled her nose as she drew her finger across the rough surface, starting to pit in places.  It was going to take hours to get it back in shape.  No time for it just now.  Aedan started to slide her fingers under the forestock only to have the velvet covering of the molded casing crumble under the faint pressure.  

 There was a black wool roll under the remnants of the velvet.  Frowning, Aedan tugged it out.  She didn’t recall leaving her tool kit…

Oh.  She could feel the tell tale slender objects. Nothing else felt like that.  How on …

Tugging the latch and hook closure open, she revealed 8 pale green candles, slightly misshapen, none of them longer than her pinkie finger and barely a half centimeter wide.  The tips burned down to almost the wax. One still had a crumble of chocolate frosting on the end. 

Ash’s candles.  Aedan had filched them from the shipping box when they’d cleaned out her locker.  Never had quite known *why.* Just...seemed like the thing to do.  Her family would never have missed them.

You know why, Skipper.

“Well, maybe.”  

“Commander?”  

“Nothin’ EDI, just talking to myself. Never mind.  Uh...wait.  Um. Do you know what day it is?” She shook her head as EDI rolled off the galactic date. “Uh, no.  On Earth, Northern Hemisphere, West of Greenwich?  What’s the day...month.  Whatever.”

“It is Sunday, November 30th.”

Oh. Okay.  “Thanks EDI.  Uh.  Hey, what are the protocols for, uh, burning materials aboard ship?”

“Is this an emergency, I have not detected…”

“No, no.  Just.  Wondering if I lit a match would anyone care.”

“I can…” Aedan can almost hear the AI’s processors grind, trashing another Cerberus protocol.  “I can circumvent the safety protocol for a short time, Shepard.  

She fiddled with the roll of candles and then tugged one free. 

Waiting was what Advent was about.  Waiting, preparing.  She remembered that much. 

“Do it.”   

In her thigh pack, there was a firesteel, part of an emergency kit Anderson...they’d always told her to carry.  Just in case.  It had saved her life once during N training and she’d replaced it as soon as she thought about it, coming back.  

A flick of the metal tongue against the stone and she had one of the tiny candles flickering in her cupped hand.

She sat down on the bed, still sheltering the fragile flame in one hand as she scootched back..  It dripped quickly and someone smarter would’ve probably stuck it to a plate or something.  All she had was a data pad. 

Probably shouldn’t use that.

It didn’t really hurt, though- little drips down her fingers.  A little sting was all.  She leaned back on one elbow and lifted the feeble light up to reflect off the view port, to dance with all the stars streaking by.  

She remembered the prayer.  She’d been able to recite it the second time she’d heard it. She had the saints memorized by the time she was six, since the nuns gave sweets to anyone who could name more than four.  

And tiny pictures.  And bookmarks.  She’d memorized a lot.  

She couldn’t feel less like praying to a saint.

“Hey, Ash. I don’t know if you can hear me.  I know you’d laugh but I don’t know. Seems right.

Things are gonna get grim if I screw this up. I’ve done everything I can think of.  I...can you believe that I’ve got a geth on board?  Tali freaked.  You’d have freaked.  Flashlight heads, right? But he’s a damned good shot, you know?

We’re making the jump in the morning.  I ...think I stopped them invading a week ago but I’ve still got to make this jump tonight.  

No one’s ever come back.  

I’ve...told everyone to tell me if they want off, we can drop them off at Omega before we hit the relay.  But they’re all staying.  I should go and eat with them. I ...it’s a lot.  But they’ve got the crew.  We have to go.

Kaidan sent me a letter awhile back.  I...haven’t opened it, yet.  Hey...if we don’t.  Even if we do...but if we don’t come back...look after him, okay?  I’m gonna assume if I don’t come back I’m just gonna end up wherever it was I was before.  But ...you.  You look out for…” Fuck, ow.”

The flame had eaten through the wax like ryncol through stomach lining.  It singed the tips of her fingers before she could shake it out.  

She chuckled at herself, smiling at the smudge of soot as she rubbed it away. If they could just make it through the Relay.  If they could do that...then whatever on the other side was just another fight.

Hope. Hope was the other thing. Waiting, preparing.  And hope in the growing darkness.  She remembered that much.  And maybe that was all anyone could ask for.  A little flicker of hope as the stars streamed by.

[ellocentipede]

Arcana Wildcraft Winter Classics

Warm your bones and celebrate the season with Arcana Wildcraft’s winter collection. The collection includes old classics and new blends that are sure to delight with delicious gourmands, snuggly ambers and resins, and the most perfect vanilla mint!

Sneachta

Scent descripion: Gaelic for snow, the word sneachta is also slang for another powdery white substance. Dry tobacco, sweet Irish honey, white musk, our Smoked Vanilla, and the unmistakable whiff of wayward impulses.

Sneachta smells cold and warm and snuggly all at once! It also smells a bit rugged and dangerous. When first applied, Sneachta is a sparkly, resinous (like a fine white amber) musk blend on my skin. It quickly mellows into a honey-sweet and chewy tobacco in a haze of musk that smells like a combination of bright, diaphanous white musk and gritty, smoky black musk. It’s a stunning tobacco musk!

Nog AF

Scent description: Eggnog, Arcana's beloved Yellow Cake accord, rum, fresh milk, nutmeg, and a drizzle of toasty caramel.

Nog AF on my skin is rum-soaked yellow cake spiked with freshly-grated nutmeg. It smells like a cup of liberally soused and spiced eggnog with perfect yellow cake drizzled in golden, sticky-sweet (but not cloying!) caramel. It’s delicious, and a must-try for lovers of cake and eggnog!

Snug

Scent description: The scent of staying in to watch the snow fall: dark honey amber, marshmallow, and the glow of beeswax candles.

Snug’s scent perfectly matches it’s name. It’s incredibly snuggly and cuddly--like a cozy blanket. On my skin I smell hazy golden, glowing beeswax candles sweetened with a touch of smooth amber honey and fluffy marshmallows. Snug is like a cloud of comfort--all of the notes are softened at the edges like the diffused glow of candlelight. I also smell a hint of cleanness--like a soft, clean blanket. This is a beautiful scent that will get a lot of wear. 

Star Light

Scent description: Sugar cookies infused with Mexican vanilla and sprinkled with tiny hints of peach, fig, and raisin.

Star Light smells like fruit-infused sugar cookies sprinkled with gleaming rock sugar crystals! It’s for sure a gourmand blend, but it’s not overly sweet. The fruit element smells more like fruit-flavored liqueur to my nose, as opposed to fresh or dried fruit. With wear the fruit element becomes less prominent, and I’m left with the perfect sugar cookie that’s neither too sweet nor too buttery. This one is lovely and is sure to be a crowd pleaser.

Tinderbox

Scent description: The essence of a baroque case filled with tempered firesteel, flint, and linen charcloth: resinous black amber, woodsmoke, sweet mallow root, frankincense, cubeb, and sandalwood.  

Tinderbox is a dark and deep smoky woods and resin blend. I get lots of charred, dry, fragrant sandalwood. This doesn’t change much for me on drydown--it remains a very dark, charred sandalwood blend. 

Winter Mirth

Scent description: The scent of favorite scarves, gleeful snow days, and a lighthearted whirl of holiday parties: green coconut, baked pumpkin, nutmeg, red patchouli and brightest lemongrass.

Freshly applied, Winter Mirth is a blast of bright, happy, tart, herbal lemongrass! It’s ultra-soothing and immediately lifted my spirits when I smelled it. It fairly quickly becomes less dominant and allows some of the warm, baked pumpkin and nutmeg to shine through. The combination of bright lemongrass and warm bakery notes is an interesting marriage that works surprisingly well. They magically balance one another out, and the result is a scent that is both cheerful, bright, warm, and comforting. It’s neither herbal nor gourmand and smells utterly natural. A lovely and unexpected blend!

Winternights

Scent description:  The ancient pagan Norse revels of Winternights and Walpurgis once marked the beginning and ending of a long and frozen winter season. Feast, give thanks, ward off Frost Giants, or just frolic with this mirthful Northern mix of three vanillas, frosty peppermint, a dab of white musk, and a hint of ripe young berries encased in ice.

Winternights is one of my very favorite blends, and I wear it year-round. It’s an ultra-smooth mint blend, similar to the gorgeous sweet mint used in the Glittering blends and in the Candy Cane blends. It’s kissed with a silky, perfect vanilla and elevated with a crystal clear white musk. There’s just the barest hint of a soft purple berry in the background. The magic of this scent is that it actually smells cold--it’s cooling in the warmer months, and perfectly seasonal in the cooler months.

Arcana Wildcraft’s beautiful scents may be perused and purchased at https://arcanawildcraft.com/

[maddiethefashionista]

@reginarubie

has a fantastic aemondsa story that has great team green dynamics where they actually love each other. It has politics that the show just ignores in favor of lifting up their girlboss rhaenyra stu. Go give it a read if you like @fadingstudentbananacookie it actually feels like a war instead of everybody vs aemond and Aegon.

Bring back the tag for

“I recognise that the show has made a decision. But given that it’s a stupid-ass decision, I’ve elected to ignore it.”

Can someone atp write a fix-it fanfic for Team Green, pls?? I’m begging you?? Like, I don’t fucking care if Rhaenyra or Aegon II wins at the end of your story, but actually make the Greens worthy opponents that are loyal to each other and an Alicent who doesn’t think about sucking Rhaneyra’s dick 24/7.

Make Alicent ambitious, sympathetic, loving to her children, dysfunctional, greedy, hateful to those who treated her unfairly, witty, cunning, spiteful, remorseful, who loves her grandchildren and sons and even Otto (because wtf does she care more about her rapist than her father who is trying to help save her children's lives???), who believes she deserves power because she did her duty, and is capable of silencing a room full of the most powerful men in the continent because she can. You can show her intelligence that Rhaenyra and Viserys do not see, but the rest of the small council does. You can show her inferiority complex (vs Rhaenyra's superiority complex) seeping in when she is surrounded by powerful people despite having a brilliant mind. Because—why would intelligence in a broodmare matter when you're in the same room full of Targaryen dragon-riders or a bunch of powerful, rich men?

Not everything about her arch has to revolve around her ex-bsf/lover. Show her relationship with her father, her children, her pedophilic husband, her grandchildren, her brothers, her sworn shield—HERSELF without any of it going back to Rhaenyra. Show how Otto and Viserys molded her into what she is. Show her sacrifices! Be willing to show her trauma, and not just connect it to "how better her life had been with Rhaenyra" type of shit! Show her fears without sugarcoating them by making Rhaenyra a more grey character who isn't afraid to do awful things! Show how Alicent hides her ambition in the name of Westerosi custom, but finds herself reluctantly acknowledging and then fully accepting it by the end of the Dance, without having to humiliate the fuck out of her!

Most people say they don’t want Alicent’s arch to revolve around her children and motherhood only, although it’s such an integral part of her characterization—and I somewhat agree with that! Yet, those same people do a complete 360 and want her to just simp and envy Rhaenyra. You can do both without making her look like a stuck-up!

AND YES, HER FAMILY IS IMPORTANT TO HER EVEN IN THE END. She does not need to think only about Rhaenyra on her deathbed. She is ALLOWED to mourn her dead children and father while grieving her childhood friend/love interest.

This woman literally has main character energy, and I dare say, more than the main character herself. Go read the book, I’m begging you 😭 Use the books and HOTD season 1 as inspiration.

[fanfoolishness]

no words for heaven or for earth (4/?)

Hawke was left in the Fade, but Varric thinks, or hopes, that she’s still alive. And he has some surprising evidence. Read here at AO3.

Part 1: Where’s Hawke? |  Part 2: because you aren’t here | Part 3: the lonely ruined tower

Part 4: what’s real, anyway? 3000+ words.

Varric sat in his tent, set up in a sheltered area of the ramparts of Griffon Wing Keep.  Here the daytime sun was not quite so fierce, and the night winds were broken by the sand-worn stone.  The dawn would be coming soon, but despite trying, he could not fall asleep again.

Just one more dream, he thought, and then cracked a smile in the dim predawn.  What a fucking weird thing for a dwarf to think.

He sat up, groaning, and fumbled for the small thieves’ lantern he’d kept at the front of the tent.  He rummaged in the half-dark for his firesteel and lit the lantern, its small glow enough to illuminate his tent.  Bianca lay at the ready at the front of the tent; jumbled to the side were his clothes and armor.  Closest to him lay Hawke’s things.

He didn’t know who had packed up her belongings from their camp near Adamant and carried them to the Keep; didn’t know who had bundled them neatly in his tent after setting it up for him.  He didn’t remember very much after he fell out of the Fade and Hawke didn’t.  

He suspected it might have been Cole.  Possibly it was Cullen.  A matter of Fereldan respect for the fallen, maybe.  His stomach clenched.

Varric reached out to touch her pack; soft supple leather and travel-stained cloth, its top slipping open to reveal a rogue’s delight.  Spare daggers, a kit of poisons, raw wire and steel for traps.  And folded beside them a red scarf trimmed in gold thread, its weave warm enough for Skyhold.  

The scarf.  He remembered giving it to her a few winters back, after Kirkwall had a rare snow.  He’d been the cold one -- she enjoyed the snow, as it reminded her of Lothering -- but he’d seen the scarf in a stall in Hightown and thought she might use it.  Really, that was all he’d meant by it.  

She’d thanked him and given him a strange look.  She only wore it a handful of times in Kirkwall; it just didn’t get cold enough.  

In those few short weeks they had in Skyhold, she wore it every day.  

He took the scarf in his hands, raised it to his face, took a long breath.  It smelled like the soap she used, cinnamon and peppery spindleweed.  It smelled like her.

Varric waited for the Inquisitor, kicking his feet idly against the stone ledge on which he sat.  The desert sun was fierce even this early in the morning, and he wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Varric,” said Namira, sitting down beside him.  Her voice was careful.  Controlled.  She’d probably practiced this conversation.  She was awfully tenderhearted for some of the shit she’d seen, he knew that much.  Her question to him was simple.  “How are you?”

They hadn’t yet had a chance to speak since Adamant.  Well, that wasn’t exactly true.  She’d tried and he’d pushed her away every time.  He blamed her and he didn’t, and both truths were too difficult to face.  But he needed her help.  

Varric shrugged.  “I could lie,” he offered.  “Might make us both feel better.  I hear that I’m very good at it.”

She put a hand on his shoulder, then looked hard at him, her eyes watering. The control was gone, collapsed in an instant.  “It’s my fault,” she said quietly.  “She -- she said she should stay behind to fight the Nightmare.  It was blocking our path to the rift.  She said Corypheus was her responsibility, that Alistair should rebuild the Wardens.”

Varric closed his eyes.  Damn but if he couldn’t imagine her saying it.  He could hear her voice, steeled, determined.  Ready to do the Right Thing.  Again.

Why had he called for her?  Why had he brought her here?  She’d already given so much, so damn much, for a world that would never afford her the same courtesy.  The Nightmare’s voice thundered in his head.  Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you.

“Nah.  It’s my fault.  I should never have dragged her here.”  He let out a shuddering breath and opened his eyes, looking anywhere but at Namira.

“But I’m the one who told her yes,” she said.  She pulled her hand off his shoulder, gazing into the sunsoaked morning.  “Do you want to know what she said?”

“Yes.”  Then he thought about it.  “No.”  Another shuddering breath.  “Yes.”

“She said, ‘say goodbye to Varric for me.’”

It was hard to breathe.  He tried.  He knew it was something he had to do.  He closed his eyes again, worked at it, tried to bring the desert air through his nose and mouth into his lungs, tried to remember how to make his heart beat.  It sort of worked.  “Fuck, Doodles.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said miserably.

He scrubbed at his face with a gloved hand.  The leather came away dotted with moisture.  Sweat?  Tears?  Hard to tell.  He gritted his teeth.  “Have you talked to Solas?”

“Not yet,” said Namira.  She searched his face.  She had circles under her eyes.  Inquisitor wasn’t a role he would have pushed on anyone.  But if he’d just told them where Hawke was in the beginning, maybe she’d be Inquisitor now, maybe she wouldn’t be in the Fade --

He shoved the thought aside, banishing it with a strong wave of denial.  Thinking like that was bound to fuck you up.  He couldn’t afford to do that right now.

“Well,” he huffed, his voice cracking, “I think Hawke’s alive.  And before you tell me it’s impossible, you know what else is impossible?  A dwarf having dreams.”  He pointed at himself with his thumb straight out, fingers loosely curled.  “Solas confirmed it.  Apparently I am now a Fade-touched dwarf.  So.  That’s exciting.”

Namira stared at him, her mouth slightly falling open.  “You’ve been dreaming?”

“It’s weird as shit, but I’ve been walking in the Fade,” said Varric.  “Where we -- where we lost her.  And I think she’s still there.”  He felt almost brave, laying it out for her.  “I’ve already got Solas looking for her when he takes his twenty winks, but he doesn’t know her -- I don’t think he’ll find her, not like maybe I could.  I’ve sent out letters on the fastest birds to our friends in Kirkwall; maybe they can help guide her, protect her.  But if we do find her, she’s still going to need a way out.”  He eyed Namira’s left hand, the sizzling green light faint under the bleaching sun.  “If there’s a chance… any kind of chance at all… will you help us?”

Namira reached out, laid her hands on his arms, and leaned forward.  “Yes,” she said fiercely, and he remembered how to breathe again.

The discussion raged for hours.  Namira insisted on bringing in the other mages, and they sequestered themselves in one of the Keep’s back rooms, the stone walls not enough to cool the stifling air.

The mages fought amongst themselves.  Varric sat at the end of the table, letting them talk; the only thing he fought back was a yawn after hours of deliberation.  He wavered in his seat, holding back his exhaustion.

“It simply shouldn’t be possible,” said Solas.  “A mortal left alive in the Fade -- it defies explanation.”

“There are two precedents,” said Vivienne.  “The Tevinter magisters of old --”

“And me,” said Namira.  “I do still seem to be alive.”

“Three precedents,” corrected Dorian.  “After all, Solas, Varric, the Warden and myself all walked in the Fade without perishing.”

“Hawke was brought in the same way we were, so the Fade itself may not be fatal to her.  If she doesn’t attempt to get to the Black City --”

“She wouldn’t,” said Varric, rubbing his eyes.  This was the sixth time they’d had this conversation, or so it felt like.  “Her dad was a mage, her sister too.  She knows the risks.”

“I would not have thought she could survive the Nightmare,” said Solas.  “But perhaps it was more weakened by the Divine’s spirit than we believed.”  

“What Varric describes is an unusual level of clarity in a dream, even for a mage,” said Dorian.  “The clues he has seen… it could be her.”

“Let us assume that it is her, and not a scion of the Nightmare, or a similar spirit,” said Solas.  “I walked Adamant in the Fade for hours last night, and found no whispers of a demon holding that remnant of the Fade.  The spirits are quiet.  Perhaps it is because there is a mortal among them.”

“That’s rather a large assumption to make, my dear,” said Vivienne.  “But I do acknowledge we tread here in lands uncharted.”  

Namira ran a hand across her lips thoughtfully.  “There was water in the Fade.  She could survive for weeks without food, if need be,” she said.  “Supposing she needs it there, that is.  Do any of you recall feeling hungry?  Thirsty?  Any physical needs?  Who knows how time moves there?”

“What’s real, anyway?” Varric murmured, but they ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

“I am not certain of the nature of time in the physical Fade,” said Solas, looking disquieted.

“I asked Cullen,” said Namira.  “They thought we were gone for less than an hour.  But I thought we were there for longer, nearly a full day.”

“Even if time is flexible within the Fade --”

Varric yawned.  Mages.  They always had something to say.  He supposed he couldn’t exactly fault them that.  This was some pretty weird magical shit, after all.  He rested his chin in his hand, blinking slowly.  The light was so dim in here, just a few small candles and an oil lamp at the other end of the table.

“Do you recall sensing any temporal distortion?” Vivienne asked Dorian.  “After all, you do have additional training in time magic.”

“Things did move differently there,” began Dorian.  But Varric’s eyes fell closed.  He’d have to catch up with what Dorian was saying later.

Hawke peered warily out of the tower window, watching for any signs of movement below. The rocks shifted as they always did here, but she saw no signs of spiders, shades, or demons scurrying on the stairs. Good.

The lack of demons had been surprising at first, but she had plenty of time to think about it, didn’t she? The Nightmare had been such an all-consuming force in this part of the Fade, according to the elf Solas, and when it crumpled, or vanished, or retreated, it must have left a vacuum behind.

She had been less troubled by creatures than she would have expected.  Still, though, once she found the Tower of Ishal, she had gratefully taken it as a place to shelter.  The longer she stayed, the more constant it became, as if it was trying to change itself to suit her.  Amell banners fluttered at the walls, a tiny memory of home.

She thought back to Dad’s lessons, mostly for Bethany, but she had often listened in as well.  Memories shape the Fade just as surely as our hands shape the world this side of the Veil.  In the great places, where history has been changed or many lives have been taken, the Fade forms itself in response to the memories left behind.  But maybe her memories shaped it, too.

She hadn’t seen many creatures, but she had seen many wisps, hints of people dreaming who stalked the stairs of the tower.  One of them had reminded her of Warden Alistair, but she couldn’t say why; just something about the way it hummed to itself as it passed, oblivious to her presence.  It made her feel less lonely, for a moment.

It also reminded her to continue to keep her wits about her.  She wasn’t sure what traps would do to creatures of spirit, but she figured it wouldn’t hurt to find out.  It gave her something to focus on, anyway, besides that storm of howling terror waiting for her in the back of her mind.  You are lost, lost forever, no one will ever see you again, you’re going to die here --  It was quite the unpleasant litany.  

So she tried to ignore it.  She pooled all of her trap supplies from the pouches on her belt, bits of metal and flint, wire and string, and she worked.  

Her efforts reminded her of Kirkwall.  She’d been decent with dueling and daggers when she arrived, years of practicing behind the barn sparring with Carver an aid.  He’d had so much strength she’d put her energy into evading, dodging, ducking.  But she’d been hopeless at some of the other aspects of roguery when she came to Kirkwall.  It had been Varric and Isabela who had taught her, somewhat patiently, but mostly with an enormous degree of teasing, how to be truly clever.

She fought back tears, thinking of Varric’s sturdy hands on hers.  She remembered being impressed by how nimble his wide fingers were, showing her how to jigger a lock or how to thread a tripwire just right.  She’d been surprised by how sure his touch was.  He could be unexpectedly serious when he was concentrating.

“You fool,” she said into the empty, echoing Fade.  “You rather liked him from the start, didn’t you?  What would Mum say about an Amell and a dwarf?”  She laughed, finishing up her trap, and turned to head back through the door into the tower room.  

Only it wasn’t the tower any longer; it was their home in Lothering.  And she was not alone.

Mum was pale and wan before her, her eyes as dull as they had been in that terrible foundry.  Hawke scrabbled for her daggers, suddenly gasping for air.  “No,” she said weakly.  “Mum.  Please.  Don’t make me look at you, not like this.  I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Mum said, her voice soft but strained.  She reached out, her hand jerky, twitching. “I forgive you, Min, sweet girl.  It wasn’t your fault.”

Hawke’s hands shook on the hilts of her daggers.  “Just stop,” she begged.  But she missed her mother, too, wished she could take her hand, meet her in an embrace. Leandra had been such a beautiful woman.  Her flat, scarred eyes blinked in her ruined face, one after the other.

“Please don’t worry, my love.  I’m with your father again.  And Carver.”  They appeared behind her, their faces ghostly pale, their eyes hollow.  “We miss you and your sister.  Please, my Min.  Come with us.”

“We miss you,” echoed her father.

“I miss you,” said Carver.  “Honest, sister.  Even I miss you.”  He hitched a grin on his face, where it looked wrong, somehow; too wide, the teeth too even.  But she stared at them, fighting back false hope.  It was so hard.  

If she tilted her head, if she squinted, they didn’t look so pale; didn’t look so strange.  The color came back to Carver’s face.  Mum’s eyes looked clear.  Dad smiled, crows’ feet creasing at the corners of his eyes.

They didn’t look strange at all.  They just looked like her family.

“I’ve missed you all so much.”  They smiled, and she stepped closer.

He was back in Kirkwall.  He’d missed the shithole more than he’d let on, though if he was honest, he suspected a discerning listener just maybe might have picked up on it over the past few months.  He suddenly remembered all the times in the Inquisition he’d constantly mentioned Hawke and their friends, their adventures in the Hanged Man, stories from around the city, and he had to laugh.  It was obvious now.  

He’d been fucking homesick.  For Kirkwall!

Sure, it was good to be back, even if Lowtown was surprisingly empty this time of night.  Was it night, or was it a strange, shifting twilight?  The rebuilding was proceeding differently from how he had remembered.  He didn’t remember doorways opening from the second floor of some of the houses, for example, or windows set in the cobblestone ground.  He shrugged.  Maybe this would withstand an explosion a little better.

Streets soaked in blood, beggars with their throats ripped out, the roar of the abomination shattering the windows, a red sun, a fell sun --

No.  No, that wasn’t all Kirkwall was.  He tried to remember better times.  Happier times.  It’s a shithole, but it’s our shithole!  He tried to forget the backs of Hawke and Anders, leaving the city; tried to forget the smell of smoke, the hum of the lyrium shimmering from what had once been the Knight-Commander.

He shook his head, mouth narrowing in a hard line, and kept walking until he saw something better than old, dark memories.  The Hanged Man.  

Varric squinted up at the wooden man hanging from the roof; it looked different.  Smaller.  Sleeker.  It hadn’t been painted in gold and red before, either.

His hands curled into fists.  “Min?” he called hoarsely.  The wooden figure shimmered, then disappeared.  “Right,” he said.  “Okay, that seems normal.”

He shoved open the door and stepped inside.  The chairs were stacked on all the tables except one.  Hawke sat at the table, studying a mug of ale.

“Varric,” she said warmly.  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

He pulled up the chair beside her, put his hand on hers.  “Min.  Do you know how good it is to see you?” he asked.  “I -- I’ve missed you.”

She grinned, winking at him, leaning into his touch.  “But I’ve been here the whole time.  Where have you been, you foolish dwarf?  It’s not like you to leave Kirkwall behind.”

Varric looked at her, feeling a little confused.  Hadn’t she been the one who left?  Or -- no, maybe he had it backwards.  It was hard to say.  He busied himself with watching two pints of ale appear, disappear, reappear on the table.  

He was here for something.  He tried to remember.  His next book was due, wasn’t it?  Damn publishers on his back.  With his free hand he tried to reach into his pocket for his pen and journal.  Something about them seemed important.  

“Something distracting you, love?” she asked, her expression sunny.  “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Of course,” said Varric.  “But I was supposed to do something.”

Hawke nodded, suddenly serious.  “I see.  You’ll do what you must, I suppose.”

Varric pulled out the journal and pen, and hesitantly pulled his hand away from hers.  “I’ll just be a moment,” he explained.  He gazed at the blank paper and set the pen to it.  But the words wouldn’t come.  “I don’t understand,” he said.  He closed his eyes, tried to remember.  The memory hit him like a blast.  

“I’ve with the Inquisition.  Corypheus -- he’s back.  I’m doing the noble thing and trying to stop the bastard.”  He gasped, remembering.  “We have to get you out of here!”

Her smile faded.  “I can’t leave, Varric.”  Her mouth quirked to one side, her lip trembling.  

He tried to write something; he wasn’t sure what.  He ripped the paper out of the book and let it float away, setting down his pen and turning to her.  He took her hands in his.  They were softer than he remembered, without the callouses he’d grown used to.

“Why can’t you leave?”

But she just stared into her drink, letting go of his hands.  Tears shone in her eyes. “You were too late,” she whispered.

[forthegothicheroine]

Caitlin R. Kiernan- a short story guide

Creepy, grotesque, and Romantic with a capital R, Caitlin R. Kiernan is probably my favorite modern “goth” writer.  She has a hell of a lot of novels and short stories under her belt, but I’ve read more of the latter than the former.  As such, here is a guide to my favorite of her stories, and where you can find them in print and online; this list will probably get updated as I continue to read more collections.

General warning: Kiernan is super into gore, trauma and weird monster sex.  The stories I’ve picked are mostly pretty mild for her, but consider this a “turn back now sign” for the squeamish.

Pickman’s Other Model (found in Black Wings of Cthulhu and Confessions of a Five Chambered Heart)

A continuation of the Lovecraft story Pickman’s Model, bringing his ghouls and cults into the early days of silent film and its ensuing scandals.  The horrors of Lovecraft (and of early experimental film) entrap outsiders and insiders alike.

The Prayer of Ninety Cats (found in The Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror 2014, Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea, and online)

This story is about Elizabeth Bathory and witchcraft and cannibalism, but mostly it’s about the experience of watching horror movies.  Don’t go into this expecting a standard narrative; read it for the creepy images and poetic mood, and enjoy the feeling of having discovered a new, surreal Hammer Horror film to watch.

Werewolf Smile (found in Dear Sweet Filthy World)

I hesitate to say this story is a “commentary” on art, but it’s certainly a very creepy look at it.  An artist weaves the murder of Elizabeth Short, the Beast of Gevaudan and the story of Little Red Riding Hood into a pornographic exhibit even as the stress destroys the life of his muse (and of her lover.)  Portions of this went into my favorite Kiernan novel, The Drowning Girl.

Rappucini’s Dragon (found in Confessions of a Five Chambered Heart)

Again touching on the classics of gothic literature, Kiernan tells the story of a young man’s revenge on the pair of libertines who murdered his twin.  Once you’ve finished the story, you’ll realize the title gave it away all along.

The Ammonite Violin (found in The Ammonite Violin and Others)

@lowereastnowhere commented that this story feels like the best of Hannibal, and indeed, its villain shares a rather similar goal to one of that show’s killers of the week.  The difference is that this story cares about the souls of his victims, and shows us just why he feels his crimes bring such beauty, until both aspects combine in the climax.

Charcloth, Firesteel and Flint (found in Dear Sweet Filthy World)

This is a bit of modern mythology- there’s no explanation, even to the characters themselves, just a typical (horrific) night in the life of the goddess of arson.  It’s one of the many stories Kiernan has where her characters reflect on where they fall into a folkloric tradition, and it works the best here.

La Peau Verte (found in To Charles Fort With Love and online)

An artist agrees to model as the Green Fairy of absinthe legend, but she has her own history with the fair folk to contend with.  I loved getting to see the classic absinthe poster girl viewed through the eye of folklore, mixing inexplicable childhood hauntings with pretentious goth parties serving what was then still a not-technically-legal drink

Andromeda Among the Stones (found in To Charles Fort with Love, The Book of Cthulhu, The Mammoth Book of New Terror, Embrace the Mutation, and The Best of Caitlin R. Kiernan Vol. 1)

This is technically the conclusion of “the Dandridge cycle”, but you don’t have to have read any of the other stories; Kiernan herself says they’re just footnotes to this one.  Each member of a family who worship- or rather, try to contain- a Lovecraftian god must contend with the burden of prophecy, be that prophecy accurate or inaccurate.  And in full belief that only she can prevent the end of the world, the daughter must offer herself up to be a cosmic guardian of the deep.

The Steam Dancer (found in The Ape’s Wife and Other Stories)

In this uncharacteristically gentle work, a girl in the old west who lost several limbs to infection gets a few mechanical prosthetics. It’s the rare and valuable steampunk story which makes real narrative and poetic use of steam technology. Hell, it’s not a bad jumping off point for newcomers to steampunk, in addition to Kieran.

The Ape’s Wife (found in The Ape’s Wife and Other Stories)

After encountering King Kong, Ann Darrow sees an ocean of possible futures. Some are horrific, some are quietly tragic. None are safe. But what is the best option for her to rejoin the world, and what world does she want to rejoin? She’s been given the blessing- or perhaps the curse- of seeing and choosing, now how will she use it?

A Season of Broken Dolls (found in A is for Alien, Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea, and online)

In the near future, galleries of extreme body modification have become high art so long as they follow two rules: the exhibits provide their consent, and are heavily dosed with morphine.  Dragged to one exhibit after another by her fetishist girlfriend, our protagonist tries to unravel the cult/art movement’s origins and escape the haunting nightmare images her lover taunts her with.

The Melusine (found in Confessions of a Five Chambered Heart, Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea, and online)

This is steampunk used for beautiful, melancholy effect.  A lonely, skeptical woman visits a carnival and has a beguiling conversation with something that may or may not be a mermaid.  Does she want to believe, or would that only open her up to hurt?

The Mermaid of the Concrete Ocean (found in Mermaids and Other Mysteries of the Deep and Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea)

More mermaids, and another story that would become part of the novel The Drowning Girl.  There may or may not be anything overtly supernatural going on in this interview with an artist’s muse reflecting on a painter’s mermaid obsession, but it’s haunting nonetheless.

[reginarubie]

Look at how beautiful this piece is! 😍😍😍😍😍

Also I can totally see Aemond sweeping Needle off her feet giving her what she had always wished for. Long strolls in the gardens, watching the stars together 😍😍😍😍😍😍 and the two of them just plotting the demise of everyone planning to hurt their family whilst looking iconic!

Thank you for this amazing piece! @ginger-danica-snapps I feel so blessed by the love this story keeps receiving and how many beautiful works are being made for this couple, also inspired by my story! 😊😊😊🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

@reginarubie

I seriously can't get this story out of my head. It's just so delicious. When HOTD first hit, the very first fic search I did was to see if we had any Stark centric time travel to the Dance or Green's to the future.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42831120/chapters/107597763

[reginarubie]

I guess that's how an extremely good fic overdose feels like. After reading three chapters in a row I can't keep calm! I mean, that's the level of intrigue D&D could never keep. Such a rollercoaster 💥

If I had to wait to know how this proposal situation ends, I'd literally be no less desperate than Aemond. Thankfully, I found out our girl is safe very soon. Symon, I don't know you but don't be interested in Sansa? There's already to much tension, ahhh. Lord and Lady Vance are amazing, I already love them and I really hope they are just playing their parts in a play Sansa wrote, while staying on the greens side!

Of course, Aemond, she knew. SHE DESIGNED IT. I get it — the Prince is offended, especially after they agreed to work together. But as soon as he chills, he may understand what was her plan about and appreciate this brilliant mind! You're gonna get the smartest wife, Aemond, don't worry. And with time, I don't doubt it, you'll kick Daemon's ass. Some things demand more effort and preparation. Sansa already fooled both Daemon and Rhae and now they think they have the upper hand. Isn't this the best outcome for now? MOREOVER NOW NED IS NOT A LOWBORN AND SHE'S PROTECTED BY THE THIRD PARTY. The girl is a genius.

Though I can help but feel Jonsa tent vibes during the Firesteel fight scene. It was all 🔥🔥🔥 and oh gods, our girl is going full Jon Snow, since she doesn't want to explain anything and asks Aemond to unconditionally trust her. And Aemond basically mirrors s8 Sansa, which I find very meaningful 👀

It was nice meeting Sara and the vision got me screaming! THE DAGGER? OMG? I'm thrilled and excited and puzzled and... Broome has visions too?? Am I mistaken? This keeps getting better and better, and I can get enough 🥺

Ciao Anne!,

This is the way to start the new year! And yes, I know you left it in my ask box before 2023 if I recall correctly, still… 🤩🤩🤩 thank you for so many compliments!

Lord and lady Vance have their reasons to help Sansa, but boy will she gain their love 😉 also, Symon… dear Symon… you’re gonna be a nice lad, aren’t you?

You put it in the right light, Aemond has his reasons as does Sansa. Sansa’s plan is not without flaws or weak points, and Aemond just wants to help — Season8 Jon and Sansa reversal indeed — I think Aemond point was not much what Sansa’s plan was but that he wasn’t included in a plot that could potentially endanger her without him being none the wiser so unable to help when they agreed to work together.

He’s not questioning Sansa’ intelligence, or the cleverness of her plan. He is questioning the matter of trust between them which is prominent in their relationship due the many lies and unsaid between them.

Don’t worry you’ll get more soon, I promise! As soon as I work around reading your firesteel fic I’ll put my mind to finish the next chapter which, a word of warning, will be pretty long and we’ll see many characters and people and plots at the same time because I need to speed the process before actually starting the Dance — so Viserys sleep well for your days are numbered — and also the first sidestory will be up with next chapter as well…so be ready for that too!

Also with some more Targaryen children content.

Also yes, Sara-the-dagger-the-vision and ser Broome. I put so many hints in last chapter I almost lost count and keep foreshadowing how the entire series will end so 😂😂😂 … yeah keep your eyes open, because you’ll get much more of all of that!

A small excerpt of next chapter (just because we all need to fall in love with Daeron— that is my agenda)

“I do not need to be minded” she hissed between clattering teeth. I am the lady of Winterfell and I am home, I do not need to be minded! “No one said you did,” and for the first time Daeron did remind her of Aemond “but we want to keep you safe anyway”

As always thank you for dropping by! Sending all my love ~G.

[gearskin]

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[sunredtech-blog]

#glow in the dark#luminous green handle#fire starter#firesteel#waterproof match#fire striker#fire lighter#ferrocerium rod#flintstone https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/Sunred-Military-Hunting-Camping-Luminous-Black_62030789372.html?spm=a2700.icbuShop.82.2.7006578949HJCA

[rpmaniac]

I’ve kinda thrown all rules of actual heraldry out the window, using charges/supporters and tinctures mainly based on their Minecraft skins (or Rimmy Tim in the case of Jeremy) and references to various Let’s Plays. A sea theme for Fiona could work though. 100% giving her nude mermaid supporters.

Gavin’s current design. Green like his Minecraft skin, with a bow, a firesteel and flame, suns (solar queen), a crown (king gavin) and white birds of prey (bird noices, also a play on his name which translates as “white hawk”)

Remaking my AH heraldry project and not sure what symbols to use for Fiona and Ify. Got any ideas? Thinking possibly a moon or star (nova) for Fiona to match Gavin’s sun. Maybe a fleur-de-lys as a nod to her French origin.

👁️👄👁️

yoooooo, i was looking at heraldry stuff for my minecraft art not too long ago! i’d love to help!

okay so, a star for fiona is perfect bc of “nova“, And the sun is a star, which adds another similarity to gavin. i think you got that part covered.

i usually choose symbols by looking up family crests, and looking at the meanings for each one. this is the crest for nova:

i can’t get rid of the copyright v_v

every color and symbol has a general meaning. in fiona’s case, the symbols on her crest are scallops and a knight helmet!

for ify, stuff for him was much harder to find, since his last name is fairly uncommon. bc of that, i looked up meanings for his full first name!

so for him, maybe you can use something like a barbell for his physical strength, or a pen or drama mask for his creativity and acting. hope this helps!

[rusticrevivals]

Regular Readers may remember the story of the “Lucy” of Lucy’s Gulch, the admirable mid-wife who climbed a mountain path straight up into New Denmark every time a woman needed help with her birthing time.  Nonetheless, as explained previously, Lucy was considered the ‘2nd wife’ of her sister’s husband.  Each of the two sisters had their own house within 20 ft of each other, and the husband/brother-in-law travelled back and forth between the two, having had children by both women.  Pictures and story here:

https://bluebellmountainblog.wordpress.com/2016/03/26/fact-or-folk-lore-lucys-gulch

I got that out in the first paragraph, right away, because I don’t want anyone thinking I am now being ‘kept’ by my own sister’s husband.  Boyd did, however, invite me to tea in some of the many ‘shacks’ he’s built himself out of reclaimed materials, and as he is as adamantly eco-friendly as we are trying to be here (though Newfoundland is MUCH more ahead of the game in the recycling/reusing/ and making less of a carbon footprint than New Brunswick!) I thought it important to feature Boyd and his work/thoughts/ideas in this particular posting.

Mom/Joy and I spent the last week in St. John’s, Newfoundland. For those of you not familiar with our Maritime provinces, my sister has lived out there ‘on the Rock’, for about 25 years, while Richard’s BROTHER and mother live three hours away in Saint John (no ‘s’ on the end is the only difference when pronouncing).  They’ve been there for about 20 years, and are one of the reasons we moved to THIS province.  We went to St. John’s for a superlative concert put on by the Atlantic Boychoir, in which my nephew sings, and they were joined by the Grammy-and-Emmy-award-winning King’s Singers, from Cambridge, England.  On top of which my eleven-year-old nephew Sydney also played a ‘cello solo during this concert in the 2500-capacity, 160-year-old cathedral. So it was well worth burning up the air-miles and two days of travel time (even though they are so close geographically, it takes LONGER to get there from here, than from Toronto!) to hear the boy bring the house down at the end of his astonishingly professional with his choir.

This entire blog, however, is primarily supposed to be about trying to live self-sufficiently off the land, and about other rural goings-on in a community still clinging to the traditions of old. So I’m not about to expound further upon the particular virtues of that most-amazing event, but will simply get on with how I ‘shacked up with my brother-in-law’.

First of all, my brother-in-law Harold Boyd, is not what you’d expect from an accountant of many years, nor a staunch supporter of environmental issues.  He IS possibly, what some might expect of a native Newfoundlander, with the exception that he and my sister were the first to own an electric car (Toyota Prius) on the island.  Here he is about to drive it silently into the night:

Boyd has previously been mentioned in this blog when he and Richard spent some time this summer here at Blue Belldon, fending off bees as they moved the compost containers closer to the garden.  Having a family farm on the other side of the island (8 hours drive) but being happily ensconced in suburbanville in St. John’s has not deterred dear brother-in-law from setting up his back-yard like a scene from BBC’s The Good Life (also previously mentioned – and worth watching for anyone dreaming of that ‘off-the-grid’ life, but having no land to speak of:

First of all, Boyd and Jennifer have taken down the stereotypical suburban fencing that one finds surrounding most homes in ‘The Burbs’, and encourage all the neighbourhood children and pets to make a walking path, much like one would find in England and Europe.  Behind their house is a ‘green space’, which then leads to various community buildings (school, hall, churches, etc).  Boyd is adamant that Sydney walk to school most days even through deep snow, and tries by example to instigate others to do the same, thus taking a little journey through their farm-like back-yard and into the green space, which certainly cuts off at least 10 minutes of what it would be to walk via the roadways, not to mention opening up an entire ‘nature walk’ along the way.

For Boyd feeds the birds:

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Above, Boyd putting out two different suet blocks in his yard, one being ‘high energy’ to attract the bigger birds.  He climbs a ladder to put one of these up, to detract cats (esp. his own) from climbing.  And here he is filling all his bird-feeders with seed – he even puts perches out for the little beasts – ‘so they can queue up and wait their turn’!

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Boyd has built all the sheds, greenhouses, and raised gardens thus far in their yard, and has plans to continue expanding the garden portion (as well as tending garden in the summer months out on the ‘west coast’ of the island near Cartyville, where his mother still resides).

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Above, Boyd even has a burn pile, like we do here on the farm, although admittedly he can’t burn in the city limits.  See also, the fence he’s removed so that the green space behind it is open to everyone from the front.

Next, we go into Boyd’s favourite ‘shack’.  This is his self-made observatory (for the birds as well as the nature-enjoying neighbours).  Of course, ALL Boyd’s shacks are made from recycled/reclaimed materials.  The windows that make up most of this one were partly garnered from being found at the end of someone’s drive, and partly by patio doors for which his brother no longer had a use:

In this ‘observatory’, Boyd can enjoy the peace of his own mini-farm, watch the birds he is feeding and enjoy a cup of tea with the Kelly Kettle my sister bought for him, which he’s set up on an unused stainless steel garbage can. It doesn’t heat the room, but it DOES keep one busy and warms the hands whilst doing so.  And of course, Boyd does have plans for a larger stove in this shack’s future.

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Boyd also enjoyed putting out these large “Christmas lights” so that he could stand in the house and enjoy looking at them all season, knowing they are being run  by the solar panel he has on top of his sheds.  (When solar panels are no longer quite so expensive, he and Jennifer hope to run their Prius completely from the sun’s rays – we should ALL be looking to doing this, and thus neither electric vehicles NOR solar panels should be so ridiculously inflated in price… but don’t get me started on that right now!)

Boyd then pulls out his ‘survival kit’ (a pouch of dryer lint, shredded paper and an assortment of wood bits for small kindling).  He also proudly shows me a Lee Valley Swedish Firesteel which is impervious to all weather conditions and offers long-lasting sparks to start any fire:

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So, after crumpling in the bits of paper and lint into the bottom of the Kelly Kettle, and after having moved the ‘stovepipe’, he fills the kettle with water (which surrounds the inner heating section) and then keeps feeding the stove constantly, now with twigs from his burn pile in the back corner, a heap of which he is letting dry in a corner of the shed.

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And after only about 7 minutes – voila!  He pours us each a cup of lovely hot tea!

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Next, we wait to see what neighbourhood children and wildlife will begin to discover the joys of Boyd’s Ebullient Acres. To help the process along a little, Boyd pulls out his bird-caller:

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and we are ready with a full chart of Maritime birds posted on the shack’s wall.

It’s not very moments before one tree is full of juncos and a large flicker is tapping away at the suet block:

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Without the snow on the roof, Boyd even can enjoy looking out through the ceiling, as he’s added a long window above for bird or moon/star-gazing:

Although he didn’t set it up this winter, Boyd has experimented with hydroponic growing systems, which Richard hopes to do soon as well (right now we just have some lettuce growing in earth in the seed tables in the basement – set up for this was detailed here: https://bluebellmountainblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/21/blue-belldon-basement-grow-op/  and had the 2nd-largest reading of any of my blog postings, so there must be an interest for inside growing techniques during long winter months!)

For more on Boyd’s type of hydroponics using PVC, see this:

https://ca.video.search.yahoo.com/yhs/search;_ylt=A0LEVrg4CmpajOYA1swXFwx.?p=hydroponics+with+pvc&fr=yhs-iba-1&fr2=piv-web&hspart=iba&hsimp=yhs-1&type=mchm_6047_CHW_CA#id=3&vid=5e2a6d8bf41fafd6b1722e877280d031&action=view

Boyd has this sitting in his shed, so it made me curious to investigate more:

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While I enjoyed watching the birds with Boyd, using camera, binoculars and my distance specs,  my vision was frequently impaired by the Coke-bottle eyeglasses my nephew caused me to wear several times – once when we were playing ‘spy’ and deciphering codes, and another time when I threatened to dress up as crazy “Eco-Aunt” and go to his aikido classes if he didn’t behave.   Eco-Aunt doesn’t waste water on hair-washing or bathing, applies makeup only using natural products, and wears only natural hair ornaments (feathers and wooden clothespins, etc). Once he saw me like this, Sydney decided to behave extraordinarily well, but I am thinking of offering Eco-Aunt as a main character to all marches for environmental issues. What do you think – is she memorable?

Shacking Up with Brother-in-Law Regular Readers may remember the story of the "Lucy" of Lucy's Gulch, the admirable mid-wife who climbed a mountain path straight up into New Denmark every time a woman needed help with her birthing time.