#i have the soul of a hostess but the will and means of a forest gnome

[hiddenworldofmary]

me: if i invite my friends to my place for the weekend i won’t have to travel and spend money what a win

also me: gets killed by cleaning and groceries and the general prep for guests

[shkspr]

hi. on your post where you may or may not have ended on 'moffat is either your angel or your devil' did you have maybe an elaboration on that somewhere that i could possibly hear about. i'm very much a capaldi era stan and i've never tried to defend the matt smith era even though it had delightful moments sometimes so i wonder where that puts me. i'd love to hear your perspective on moffat as a person with your political perspective. -nicole

hi ok sorry i took so long to respond to this but i dont think you know how LOADED this question is for me but i am so happy to elaborate on that for you. first a few grains of salt to flavor your understanding of the whole situation: a. im unfairly biased against moffat bc im a davies stan and a tennant stan; b. i still very much enjoy and appreciate moffat era who for many reasons; and c. i hate moffat on a personal level far more than i could ever hate his work.

the thing is that its all always gonna be a bit mixed up bc i have to say a bunch of seemingly contradictory things in a row. for instance, a few moffat episodes are some of my absolute favorites of the rtd era, AND the show went way downhill when moffat took over, AND the really good episodes he wrote during the rtd era contained the seeds of his destruction.

like i made that post about the empty child/the doctor dances and it holds true for blink and thats about it bc the girl in the fireplace and silence in the library/forest of the dead are good but not nearly on the same level, and despite the fact that i like them at least nominally, they are also great examples of everything i hate about moffat and how he approached dw as a whole.

basically. doctor who is about people. there are many things about moffats tenure as showrunner that i think are a step up from rtd era who! actual gay people, for one! but i think that can likely be attributed mostly to an evolving Society as opposed to something inherent to him and his work, seeing as rtd is literally gay, and the existence of queer characters in moffats work doesnt mean the existence of good queer characters (ill give him bill but thats it!)

i have a few Primary Grievances with moffat and how he ran dw. all of them are things that got better with capaldi, but didnt go away. they are as follows:

moffat projects his own god complex onto the doctor

rtd era who had a doctor with a god complex. you cant ever be the doctor and not have a god complex. the problem with moffats era specifically is that the god complex was constant and unrepentant and was seen as a fundamental personality trait of the doctor rather than a demon he has to fight. he has the Momence where you feel bad for him, the Momence where he shows his humility or whatever and youre reminded that he doesnt want to be the lonely god, but those are just. moments. in a story where the doctor thinks hes the main character. rtd era doctor was aware that he wasnt the main character. he had to be an authority sometimes and he had to be the loner and he had to be sad about it, but he ultimately understood that he was expendable in a narrative sense.

this is how you get lines like “were the thin fat gay married anglican marines, why would we need names as well?” from the same show that gave you the gut punch moment at the end of midnight when they realize that nobody asked the hostess for her name. and on the one hand, thats a small sticking point, but on the other hand, its just one small example of the simple disregard that moffat has for humanity.

incidentally, this is a huge part of why sherlock sucked so bad: moffats main characters are special bc theyre so much bigger and better than all the normal people, and thats his downfall as a showrunner. he thinks that his audience wants fucking sheldon cooper when what they want is people.

like, ok. think of how many fantastic rtd era eps are based in the scenario “what if the doctor wasnt there? what if he was just out of commission for a bit?” and how those eps are the heart of the show!! bc theyre about people being people!! the thing is that all of the rtd era companions would have died for the doctor but he understood and the story understood that it wasnt about him.

this is like. nine sending rose home to save her life and sacrifice his own vs clara literally metaphysically entwining her existence w the doctor. ten also sending rose with her family to save her life vs river being raised from infancy to be obsessed w the doctor and then falling in love w him. martha leaving bc she values herself enough to make that decision vs amy being treated like a piece of meat.

and this is simultaneously a great callback to when i said that moffats episodes during the rtd era sometimes had the same problems as his show running (bc girl in the fireplace reeks of this), and a great segue into the next grievance.

moffat hates women

he hates women so fucking much. g-d, does steven moffat ever hate women. holy shit, he hates women. especially normal human women who prioritize their normal human lives on an equal or higher level than the doctor. moffat hated rose bc she wasnt special by his standards. the empty child/the doctor dances is the nicest he ever treated her, and she really didnt do much in those eps beyond a fuck ton of flirting.

girl in the fireplace is another shining example of this. youve got rose (who once again has another man to keep her busy, bc moffat doesnt think shes good enough for the doctor) sidelined for no reason only to be saved by the doctor at the last second or whatever. and then youve got reinette, who is pretty and powerful and special!

its just. moffat thinks that the doctor is as shallow and selfish as he is. thats why he thinks the doctor would stay in one place with reinette and not with rose. bc moffat is shallow and sees himself in the doctor and doesnt think he should have to settle for someone boring and normal.

not to mention rose met the doctor as an adult and chose to stay with him whereas reinette is. hm. introduced to the doctor as a child and grows up obsessed with him.

does that sound familiar? it should! bc it is also true of amy and river. and all of them are treated as viable romantic pairings. bc the only women who deserve the doctor are the ones whose entire existence revolves around him. which includes clara as well.

genuinely i think that at least on some level, not even necessarily consciously, that bill was a lesbian in part bc capaldi was too old to appeal to mainstream shippers. like twelve/clara is still a thing but not as universally appealing as eleven/clara but i am just spitballing. but i think they weighed the pros and cons of appealing to the woke crowd over the het shippers and found that gay companion was more profitable. anyway the point is to segue into the next point, which is that moffat hates permanent consequences.

moffat hates permanent consequences

steven moffat does not know how to kill a character. honestly it feels like hes doing it on purpose after a certain point, like he knows he has this habit and hes trying to riff on it to meme his own shit, but it doesnt work. it isnt funny and it isnt harmless, its bad writing.

the end of the doctor dances is so poignant and so meaningful and so fucking good bc its just this once! everybody lives, just this once! and then he does p much the same thing in forest of the dead - this one i could forgive, bc i do think that preserving those peoples consciousnesses did something for the doctor as a character, it wasnt completely meaningless. but everything after that kinda was.

rory died so many times its like. get a hobby lol. amy died at least once iirc but it was all a dream or something. clara died and was erased from the doctors memory. river was in prison and also died. bill? died. all of them sugarcoated or undone or ignored by the narrative to the point of having effectively no impact on the story. the point of a major character death is that its supposed to have a point. and you could argue that a piece of art could be making a point with a pointless death, ie. to put perspective on it and remind you that bad shit just happens, but with moffat the underlying message is always “i can do whatever i want, nothing is permanent or has lasting impact ever.”

basically, with moffat, tragedy exists to be undone. and this was a really brilliant, really wonderful thing in the doctor dances specifically bc it was the doctor clearly having seen his fair share of tragedy that couldnt be helped, now looking on his One Win with pride and delight bc he doesnt get wins like this! and then moffat proceeded to give him the same win over and over and over and over. nobody is ever dead. nobody is ever unable to be saved. and if they are, really truly dead and/or gone, then thats okay bc moffat has decided that [insert mitigating factor here]*

*the mitigating factor is usually some sort of computerized database of souls.

i can hear the moffat stans falling over themselves to remind me that amy and rory definitely died, and they did - after a long and happy life together, they died of old age. i dont consider that a character death any more than any other character choosing to permanently leave the tardis.

and its not just character deaths either, its like, everything. the destruction of gallifrey? never mind lol! character development? scrapped! the same episode four times? lets give it a fifth try and hope nobody notices. bc he doesnt know how to not make the doctor either an omnipotent savior or a self-pitying failure.

it is in nature of doctor who, i believe, for the doctor to win most of the time. like, it wouldnt be a very good show if he didnt win most of the time. but it also wouldnt be a very good show if he won all of the time. my point is that moffats doctor wins too often, and when he doesnt win, it feels empty and hollow rather than genuinely humbling, and you know hes not gonna grow from it pretty much at all.

so like. again, i like all of doctor who i enjoy all of it very much. i just think that steven moffat is a bad show runner and a decent writer at times. and it is frustrating. and im not here to convince or convert anyone im just living my truth. thank you for listening.

[nagipops]

hii I love your blogs sooo much you're really talented (I just needed to say it sorry) so straight to the point, I already made 2 requests to you and I really enjoyed your writing so I would like to make another again. As I'm clueless about what to request I'll just ask for random hcs for konoha 11, idk if it's too much but if so then you can do with Neji (I love him so much), Kakashi and Naruto. Thank you in advance and sorry anything ^^

RANDOM KONOHA 11 HEADCANONS!

FEATURING: naruto, sakura, shikamaru, ino, choji, neji, rock lee, tenten, kiba, hinata, and shino

WARNINGS: mentions alcohol, drugs, food, bugs, and the tiniest nsfw mention if you get the joke. hehe

A/N: AHHHH ANONN this seriously made my day, im so so glad you enjoy my work!! 💖

NARUTO

you know how we all have “the chair”, where we throw all of our dirty clothes onto?

yeah, imagine that, but from the seat to the fricking ceiling

its just a GINORMOUS MOUND of clothes, you wonder how he even goes through that many clothes so quickly???

definitely shoves it under his bed whenever guests come over (somehow)

holds chopsticks really weirdly. but it works.

asked tenten to put his hair into space buns to mimic his sexy jutsu and went around flirting with the village

jiraiya was so proud of him T-T

comes up with the WORST pickup lines

they’re so bad, its almost charming. almost

has gone AWOL multiple times, disappearing from everywhere, just everywhere

it scared you a little, so you searched the entire village for him

you finally found him sitting on the ledge of a cliff, gazing out at the vast sea

concerned and panicked, you cried out to ask him what was wrong

he turned to you with a crestfallen, devastated look on his face and said,

“i bought shrimp ramen instead of chicken ramen.”

you’ve never searched for him after his disappearance ever again.

SAKURA

100% makes origami shurikens and chucks them at you

they are deathly precise and deathly sharp. seriously, how are these not illegal weapons yet???

writes threatening motivational notes to herself on the mirror

“u got this!” “make sure to smack naruto today!” “ino sucks!”

her backpack would always be way too high up on her back. idk why but. it would

does her hair all nice and pretty before she goes out but once she arrives to her destination SHE KEEP. TAKING. IT OUT. and redoing it over and over and over again

like it’s impossible to make eye contact with her because she’s holding a bobby pin between her teeth while braiding her hair

her guilty pleasure would be hostess treats

ding dongs are her favorite. don’t ask me how i know, i just know.

eats the yellow starbursts just to spite naruto and all her haters

loves small lap dogs, she think’s they’re so cute and cuddly

but she especially loves chihuahuas

they’re so feisty and naruto HATES them, so of course she had to go and get one for herself

dresses the poor dog up in little bonnets and jackets and ties its tiny fuzzy hairs into pigtails

she and the chihuahua are not that much unlike <3

SHIKAMARU

this man is a god at shogi but he absolutely SUCKSSSS at cup pong.

is this an ick? idk. but he is absolute trash at this game.

it gets even worse when he’s got a couple drinks in him

tries to calculate the velocity and acceleration and angle and shit but his shot is always a good two feet off BYE 😭

just mutters an “aw, shit” before awaiting his turn again

hates checkers, loves chess

“checkers is for WUSSIES” - shikamaru nara

i said this in another post, but he is Very Good at whistling

like that’s his hidden talent

can copy any tune with the perfect pitch and rhythm

speaking of, he can do really cool tricks with his tongue

like making a four leaf clover, touching the bridge of his nose with it, flipping it upside down, you name it

he has slanted, scrawled handwriting, to the point where it’s almost illegible

wbk he cheats in school SO OFTEN. but he never gets caught. he’s not stupid, he just couldn’t care less about his classes.

thinks weed and e-cigs are stupid, cigarettes are where it’s at

you just can’t replicate the feeling of taking a drag from a cig after a long, tiring day

plus he looks hella cool while doing it B)

INO

teaches the boyz™️ how to braid their hair

like they all gather in a circle around this feisty fashionista and fail attempt to braid their hair

sakura was just fuming in the sidelines

“OI, INO-PIG, THAT’S A DUTCH BRAID, NOT A FRENCH BRAID!!”

yeah, ino 🙄

the only one that can actually do it is neji because a) this man is talented af and b) he’s got the long hairrr

ino probably envies his thick, sleek hair because hE’S a bOy

also asks everyone for their blood type and zodiac signs and tells them if they’re compatible with her or not

and definitely judges you for your sign 😣

“oh, you’re a gemini? hmm, what a shame...”

makes bouquets for her favorite people and kin assigns everyone a flower

only assigns the pretty nice ones to the people she likes (sorry sakura, you’re out of luck)

one of her favorite hobbies is crafting! she’s really good with details and small things so she loves making those miniature dollhouses and stuff

also really good at watercoloring. especially painting flowers and landscapes

also i feel like she would be really good at playing any instrument because of her skilled hands

can play a badass flute solo. period.

CHOJI

would honestly rather die than get anywhere NEAR an asparagus

he just thinks they’re so gross and bitter and NOT SALTY

he always eats his yakiniku a little bit undercooked because he’s way too impatient to wait for it to cook fully. who do you think he is??

whenever he cloud gazes with shikamaru, when asked what he thinks a cloud looks like, he just says some sort of food

“oi, choji, what does that one look like to you?”

“a... yakiniku grill... with... pineapple rings on it! ooh, and a wagyu steak right there!”

he thinks pringles are an abomination to society. where’s the crisp? where’s the grease? where’s the saltiness?!!!

asks ino to teach him how to do his hair all fancy and the two of them devote an entire day learning different hairstyles

it’s his new favorite thing to do now :D

he really likes crayons!!!!

like he’ll write with them, draw with them, color with them, do everything with them

he’s even tried to eat them. he said they tasted good.

definitely had the 128 crayon pack WITH THE BUILT-IN SHARPENER, and everyone thought he was the coolest kid in town

he ate it UP, he even scored some bbq dates with the ladies

i also feel like he loves basketball, and he has a MEAN slam dunk

like his vertical isn’t that high, but the man can REACH

he loves when people laugh at him when he challenges them to a 1v1 and then proceeds to absolutely destroy them <3

NEJI

he seems like a cucumber kind of guy.

just cucumber

like i feel like he puts it in everything; soba, salads, sandwiches, his face, yeah

it’s mellow and cool, just like him!

speaking of, i feel like he lives for spa days and facials

it just lets him be alone in his little cucumber scented world for an hour or two and he gets damn clear skin from it as well

seriously he has PERFECT skin. flawless. not a single blemish. his cheeks feel like baby butts they’re so smooth.

i feel like he’d be a god at solving rubik’s cubes, don’t ask me why

like if anyone scrambled theirs on accident they would just take it to neji and he’d solve it in the blink of an eye

CAT PERSON!!! loves the little meow meows

who are we kidding, neji basically is a cat; agile, aloof, does silly things without trying to, very cute

he just feels akin to the little fuzzballs and he thinks petting cats are extremely therapeutic. good for the soul

he is a golf man. he would take his juniors golfing and everyone thinks he’s uncool. cmon neji let them go to the skate park at least T-T

also very good at karaoke, definitely surprised everyone once he got a few drinks in him since he started serenading you

LIGHTWEIGHT!!! do not get more than one shot of alcohol in him. he will go berserk.

i also feel like he’d really love photography; not taking pictures of people, but of nature

he loves taking a quiet stroll through a pretty forest and snapping pictures of all the unique flora and fauna

it’s so serene ︶ ‿ ︶

ROCK LEE

100% milly rocks everywhere

gai got in on it too once he asked what lee was doing

“is that what all the youthful cool kids do these days!”

they also dab together. a lot

DO NOT BE SEEN WITH THESE TWO!!! you are not associated with them.

definitely is the one breakdancing in the middle of the dance circle at a high school party

he’s mad skilled at it too

headspins and windmills galore

challenged naruto to a dance-off and completely OBLITERATED him

lee then asked if naruto wanted a rematch, this time with one hand tied behind lee’s back

naruto obliged, and he STILL lost

RIP naruto and his fangirls, they all scrambled to lee afterwards T-T

i feel like his favorite subject is science

not the boring physics equations and laws and theories but the fun EXPERIMENTS

definitely has singed all of his hair off one time and he went to gai blubbering to help him grow back his precious hair

but he loves experimenting with different combinations and chemicals to get different reactions each time

created a potent love potion and carried it around with him all day one day

and it was actually working

girls were flocking to him left and right, staring at his lips and his face

he was so abashed at the sudden attention

heck, it even worked on sakura

“oi, lee-san!”

“hehe, yes, sakura-san?”

her eyes shifted downwards to his lips and his heart thumped harder

“hey... lee-san?”

“what is it?”

“you have something on your lip. we’ve been trying to tell you all day but you just winked and blew kisses at us.”

legend has it lee has still not recovered to this day.

TENTEN

has THE prettiest handwriting. and she can write SUPER fast

it’s like a superpower

like she transcribed five pages of a report in less than two minutes with perfect handwriting

naruto is so jealous.

she is also super good at origami! those diligent, accurate hands aren’t just for throwing things

taught sakura how to make shurikens but does NOT endorse any violent uses of them

she can replicate all of her weapons with paper and they can actually function, it’s so cool

made paper kunai knives one day and the wholeee village wanted to get their hands on them

i feel like she’d listen to mitski. idk i just get those vibes

LOVES BIG DOGS!! especially fluffy wuffy samoyeds

like man’s best friend?? no, GIRL’S BEST FRIEND!!

hugs and cuddles and squishes all the big dogs

she thinks small dogs are spawns of satan

sakura and her have definitely quarreled over this

but at the end of the day, all dogs are adorable fur babies, so she lets it slide :,)

KIBA

kiba always looks SO GOOD in photos you take of him, candid or not

like you could just whip out a camera and snap a photo of him at any given moment and he would look perfect

you framed a picture of him yelling at akamaru for peeing inside the house

it’s pure artwork

i feel like he tries to swagger around with his hands shoved in his pockets but it fails MISERABLY and the girls are wondering if he broke his leg or something 😭

kiba just walk normally. for the love of god please just walk normally.

he tries to slump back in his chair really low but one time he slouched way too low so he slipped off of his chair and onto the ground LMFAOOOO

he just wallowed there... in shame...

also.. he LOVES when the girls put makeup on him!!

he tries to act like he hates it. but it secretly gives him so much confidence

not to mention the girls hyping him up are a huge ego boost

okay the inside of his jacket hood is the warmest. thing. EVER!!!

seriously, no wonder this dude is so happy-go-lucky all the time, he’s living in literal heaven 24/7

it’s like you’re sleeping on a cloud inside a warm, cozy bed during a cold winter morning

10/10 would recommend letting him give you his sweatshirt when you’re chillin with a hair tie ❤️

HINATA

always smells like lavender soap. always

also has the cutest pencil pouches with little puppy faces and kawaii things

oH and she has those mini yoobi highlighters, she thinks they’re so cute (and functional!)

everyone flocks to her to try them out and marvel at the cute tiny highlighters

and they try to steal them from her but she doesn’t even stop them because she’s too timid to 😭

naruto goes BALLISTIC over them

she lets him have all of them <3

tennis girl!!! tennis girl.

all of her opponents always underestimate her because she’s so timid and shy and quiet

but she has a KILLER serve

and then she takes her opponents to the slaughterhouse with a complete shutout ;)

she’s really athletic believe it or not, she can beat most of the boys in a mile run and she has incredible endurance

i feel like she really loves velvet scrunchies

she just thinks they’re so pretty and they keep her hair soft so they’re cute and functional

also takes the PRETTIEST notes!!

color codes, dividers, headers, you name it, it’s all super readable too its insane

everyone asks her for her notes, not to study but just to appreciate the pure artwork that it is ^w^

SHINO

shino is SO easy to prank

“how do you catch an eyemaster?” *cue naruto and kiba snickering*

“eyemaster bait. that is because—”

even when everyone’s laughing their asses off, he still continues to explain his answer since he does NOT GET THE JOKE

tried his hand at writing haikus

here’s his best one so far:

“Bugs are amazing. That is because they are bugs. Bugs are very nice.” - Shino Aburame

VERY proud of it, since it took him weeks to perfect

praise it, pls

had one of those ant farms and bug-catching kits as a kid

and he would fill the kit TO THE BRIM. LIKE IT WAS HEAVY BECAUSE THERE WERE SO MANY BUGS.

he loves the little chitters of the different bugs

he had jars of different bugs all lined up on a wall shelf in his room

collects silkworms off of trees and sticks them into his pockets (no i definitely did not do this as a kid...)

HELP I FEEL LIKE he would record a timelapse of his ant farm growing and upload it to youtube with a movie maker title screen that says

“my ants”

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

[kusunogatari]

[ Naruto OC x Canon Ship Week 2020 - In Love and War ] [ @naruto-ocxcanon-ship-week​ || @uchiha-madara​ ] [ Suigin Ryū, Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Izuna, Terumi Mei, Senju Tobirama ] [ Verse: To Rule Them All ] [ Trope: Arranged Marriage ]

Standing along the edge of her chamber balcony, a lone woman rests marless hands along its railing. From the lofty perch, she gazes down into the valley that twists and winds between snow-capped peaks. Moonlight paints the scene in soft greys and shadows.

She should be sleeping...but she can’t begin to find rest.

A soft sigh plumes in the chilled night air. Like the fog that often blankets her homeland, it drifts slowly, unhurriedly out from the cliffside castle. Carved from the very mountain face, it watches over the vale unblinkingly, waterfalls cascading out past its windows to join the river below.

The rumbling of the water is usually enough to lull her to sleep. But tonight, too much weighs on her mind.

Far, far too much.

Her eyes don’t see what lies before them, flickering in thought in their sockets. The eddying news and arising conflicts won’t stop flowing, keeping her conscious.

What should she do…?

It’s now more than ever she wishes for her mother’s guidance. Someone older, wiser, to help steer her in the right direction.

But she’s alone...and with war on the horizon, her kingdom surrounded on all sides.

Since the first recordings of history, they’ve remained detached from the other nations and their squabbles. With their world’s holy sites all contained within her borders, that influence of faith has allowed them to stand alone, untouched, for centuries. A careful balance maintained between the other lands to avoid overstepping and claiming too much influence over a place that - in truth - belongs to them all.

But now…? War once again threatens to rise. And the balance is crumbling. Rather than seeking to protect her lands, the others now seek to conquer it.

And without an army, a neutral place of peace...Ryū fears they will fall like wheat to a scythe. Unless the gods themselves intervene...they have no defense beyond the walls of the mountains. The chosen people of the valley do not fight. They’ve never had to.

To spill blood on the sacred land was to invite the wrath of the gods.

But that fear seems to be waning in the other nations. And their lack of restraint may be the end of the valley people chosen by the pantheon.

And she fears there is nothing she can do but pray.

Fingers curl against the railing, nails trying to dig into the stone and threatening to snap. Her people look to her for guidance: both a priestess and a queen. But now…? She feels utterly unprepared to lead them. Protect them. Without the perilous balance outside their borders...how can she keep war at bay?

Her head bows, heavy with every life depending on her. There has to be something she can do...something to stave off their slaughter.

...wait…

Like a beetle boring into wood, a thought worms its way into her mind. One that goes against centuries of tradition. At first, she flinches from it by reflex. And yet it lingers, tempting and luring.

...what if she were to tame one of the warhounds? Offer it what it wants...and in return, turn its teeth against the others? Marry a warlord...and position his army at their gates?

Never has her line tied itself to another. Never have they broken the careful neutrality maintained to ensure equality for the others in the eyes of the gods. If she does this...if she shows a bias to one land over the others...will it be enough to save them?

Or will it bring only ruin?

...what choice does she have?

To give another influence over her lands...is that the price she’s willing to pay to protect it? Are shackles preferable to gravestones?

In silence she weighs her odds...before turning to retreat inside.

She has letters to pen.

"My king!”

Gloved palms braced against the table that bears his maps, Madara turns at the voice of a messenger. “This best be important.”

“A message, my liege.”

“...from?”

“The priestess of the mountain valley.”

Immediately, dark brows furrow. What could she want with him? An expectant hand raises to accept the parchment, unfurling it and proceeding to read.

The further he goes, the more his face slackens.

Around him, everyone stills, awaiting his reaction.

“...prepare my horse.”

“Sire…?”

“I have a meeting to attend. Izuna!”

Stepping up beside his brother, the younger man replies, “Shall I hold the fort?”

“Yes. Await my orders. Until then...consider us at ease. But be ready at a moment’s notice.”

“Of course.” He eyes his brother thoughtfully. “...that must have been some letter.”

As he straps on his armor, a mischievous smirk curls Madara’s lips. “I may have just been handed victory on a silver platter.”

Izuna’s brows lift. “...that simply?”

“Oh, there will be obstacles. But none I cannot handle. Especially if it means avoiding this war altogether.”

“You? Eager to avoid bloodshed?”

“...as much as I enjoy the fire in my veins at a proper battle...I’m not so easily consumed as not to realize it costs the lives of my men. Besides...victory is what tastes sweetest. And one I can take single handedly will be ambrosia itself.”

“...then I wish you luck.”

“Luck will have nothing to do with it, brother. It’s all a matter of will.”

Watching Madara leave the chamber, Izuna folds his arms with a sigh. Curiosity burns at the letter’s contents, but he knows he’ll be made aware in due time. A meeting, and skipping a war…?

...that alone gives him some idea.

“...spread the word that our armies are to remain on alert. Until the king returns or sends word, we remain here at the ready.”

“Aye!”

Astride his Friesian, Madara wastes no time, digging heels to the beast’s sides and heading inland. Nor does he bother himself with escorts. They’ll only slow him down, and he wants to be prompt. The sooner he arrives, the sooner he’ll settle this matter himself.

So, the queen’s decided to take things into her own hands, has she? Allay war by holding a council that will serve in its stead. Let the kings, queens, and generals do the fighting themselves for once rather than hide behind their armies. Let one emerge a victor, claim the spoils...and put to rest this silly balancing act.

And Madara knows, in a contest of will and limits, none will stand in his way. The only thorn he can foresee is that bastard Tobirama now that Hashirama is gone. But he’ll handle that too when he must.

To lay claim to the holy lands of their continent will be to grip every heart that follows the gods. In his goals to make all equal and loyal to one ideal...such a position is paramount. No more wars. No more squabbling. He’ll make sure the lines drawn between men will finally fade into one unity.

No matter how far he must go.

Like any gods-fearing man, he’s made the pilgrimage himself more than once. The way is already familiar. But there’s still a moment taken upon cresting the lip of the valley to appreciate its majesty.

...it really is a beautiful place. No wonder the gods call it their cradle. In all his travels, he’s never seen a place more fitting for them to consider setting foot upon the soil. The thought of bringing war here is indeed distasteful.

No wonder she’s willing to bow her head to protect it.

Easily marked an outsider, he ignores the stares as he makes his way up to the castle. He understands and respects their suspicions. Besides, it won’t be long before he can put to rest their fears and earn their admiration. If he’s to be the first king of this reclusive land, he’ll do it the right way.

Presenting his letter, he allows his mount to be stabled as he’s led inside. The palace carved from the white stone of the cliff face has always impressed him, looking birthed from the mountain itself. With the forested lip crowning it and the waterfalls that curtain its face, it looks much like a fairy queen’s domain.

Speaking of which...he’s never individually spoken to the priestess queen of the valley. She who both rules and shepherds. Her sermons have always been impassioned, and he won’t deny her ethereal beauty: the ghostly-white countenance that’s said to be a mark of the gods’ blessings to her lineage. But until now, he’s had no reason to approach her directly. Almost like an idol herself, kept behind a wall no outsider could pass.

...but that’s all set to change.

To his annoyance, several of the other monarchs have already arrived. Though it can’t be helped, given proximities. The land of his people lies mostly along a coast compared to the valley at the heart of their landmass, pushed to the edges over time. They all give him the same sour, upturned-nose glances, clearly displeased at the presence of the warlord.

His reputation is no secret: willing to carve through anything to get what he wants. Spilling blood like others pour wine. Claimed to be a monster masquerading as human, more likely to kill a man than embrace him.

While his bloodlust is indeed true, born from a line used to fending for itself...he still remembers the talks of old with another princeling. Another soul that, in truth, wished for peace. While their methods were always different...Madara did - and still does - desire a stop to be brought to wars.

He’s just more willing to be...absolute.

But this might be just the break he’s looking for. A new angle to bring all men into line. Surely between the lady of faith and the lord of power, there will be little standing in their way of finally putting the marches of wars to rest.

...but first, he’ll have to take care of the competition.

“And here I thought this was to be a peace council. Yet here prowls the dog of war.”

Dark eyes sliding to their corners, Madara aloofly considers one of the other land’s queens: a woman of flaming hair and even more flaming temper. “Dog or not, I was beckoned just as you were. Any other judgments, I’m sure, will be made by our hostess. Until then, I’ve little need or want of yours.”

Arms tucked into voluminous sleeves, Mei considers him with equal parts disdain and intrigue. “And are the rest of us supposed to accept your presence without hesitation, pretending you’ve not wounded us in the past?”

“Any I’ve wounded have done so to me in turn. Perhaps not as successfully,” he adds with a smirk, earning a glower, “but don’t paint yourselves as guiltless martyrs. Any who spill blood are equally guilty. Lost life is lost life, no matter what banner or slogan you hide behind. I protect my people as you do yours.”

“And yet none will deny your barbarity. Not even you.”

“I’ll not bother to call a rose by any other name in an attempt to hide its thorns. But my brutality is necessary. Nothing more or less. It is only with teeth I can bite back choking fingers.”

“They’d not choke if you didn’t bite first.”

Immediately, a flare of temper seems to climb Madara’s spine like a flame along a trail of tinder. But he doesn’t reveal his hatred, only turning to Tobirama with a mock air of surprise. “I think by now there’s little point in which came first...only that it continues. And must end.”

“A continuation in which you are just as guilty,” the Senju retorts without pause.

“Well, perhaps a second opinion is just what we need, then. Let the true neutral decide what will become of us warmongering heathens. Don’t act as if you’ve never wielded a blade out of spite, Tobirama. In the eyes of the gods, we are all guilty.”

“And yet, some more than others. I look forward to them striking you down at last.”

“...we’ll see about that.”

“Your majesties…?”

At the timid cut-in, the regals turn to an attendant who wastes no time in bowing under their gazes. “The last of the expected parties have arrived, and...her holiness will see you now. Please, follow me.”

After no small number of distrustful glances, the gathered royals follow in the young woman’s wake. While the display of weakness irks Madara slightly, he also can’t blame her. Surely there’s been no assembly like this in their land before, nor for such a purpose. Being exposed to so much power at once must be quite the shock for any below their rank. Anyone in her shoes would be hard-pressed not to panic.

But in this land, all who serve their lady are absolute. Fear is nothing in the face of their devotion. While the priestess queen may serve the gods, it’s the people who in turn serve her. Long have rumors circulated of the valley people being so blindly loyal as to throw themselves on pikes for their monarch. She is the vessel through which the gods speak. To allow her to come to harm is to commit the ultimate blasphemy.

Already, he thinks of how this will be useful.

A short walk later, the lot of them are led into an expansive sitting room. “Her ladyship wishes for you all to remain here, and to attend an audience with her individually. Her impressions are to be unbiased by the others and their opinions, so...while any of you are within her chamber, the rest are kindly asked to wait patiently here.”

“Is this simply to be a contest of our most tactical liars, then?” Tobirama dares to ask, teeth gritting. “Are we not allowed to vet one another?”

“Within each of you is inherent bias depending on friends or foes,” the little servant in turn refutes, and Madara can’t help a lift of his brow as she stares the king down. “Her ladyship, in line with our lands, wishes to remain neutral. The gods will guide her. Mortal opinions can never be pure.”

The Senju’s lip lifts in a snarl, but before he can refute, Mei steps in. “Please tell your ladyship we will be patient and obliging. We all wish to avoid war. If this is what it takes, so be it. The rest of us won’t let temper lead us astray.”

For that, she’s given a venomous look...but other leaders murmur in agreement, and Tobirama begrudgingly concedes.

Wordlessly, the woman nods, and turns into another room.

“...best make yourselves comfortable,” Mei then sniffs, finding herself a perch as others do the same.

Always pleased to see the Senju put in his place, Madara offers a hint of an appreciative smirk in her direction, lounging in a plush chair tucked in a corner. An elbow rests on its arm, chin braced along his knuckles.

A few minutes later, one of the monarchs is asked inside.

And so it begins.

“Have you need of anything, my lady?”

Pouring herself a goblet of water, Ryū gives the attendant a glance, and then a smile. “For now, no - thank you, dear. Twice over for bringing the others here. I trust they were obliging…?”

The tick of hesitation is telling. “M...mostly, my lady.”

“Tell me no more. We’ll see how their conduct fares. You may go.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Left to her own devices for a moment, the priestess draws a long, calming breath. Time to see if her plan will bear fruit...and not the sort to poison the starving masses. Another handmaid tends to the door, calling in each of the other monarchs to stand their trials.

Her interviews are simple, yet extensive. All manner of aspects of their rule - their platoons, their policies, their positions and their people - are peered into with the highest scrutiny. And all throughout, Ryū places her trust in a sense that has never failed her. One she remains convinced comes from the insight of the gods.

Never has she been lied to and the falsehood gone unnoticed.

It’s a feeling that follows her always. And with varying intensity, it reveals to her just who is willing to be truthful...and who thinks it wise to lie to the mouthpiece of the gods. None of the remarks are challenged until each conversation is over, the priestess calmly laying out her accusations. All rebuke and fluster and give flashes of temper, but she cannot be convinced otherwise.

As each monarch reemerges with varying degrees of disgruntlement, the rest clearly become wary.

And she saves the best for last.

“King Madara, of the Uchiha.”

Realizing his position and having done his best to remain patient, the Uchiha takes to his feet and makes his way toward the side chamber. He’d suspected he’d be reserved for the tail end given his reputation, but it was worth seeing Tobirama come out with a clenched jaw and scarlet neck of temper.

Well worth it.

Approaching the door, he gives yet another mousey serf a glance. Does she employ no one but nervous handmaids? Putting the thought aside (it’s hardly of any use), he steps inside and gives the room a curious once-over.

It’s a simple study, lined with shelves of scrolls and tomes. At the rear is a stained glass window, out which he can see one of the falls. Behind a desk of solid wood sits his hostess, and another moment is taken to observe her.

Her dress, unlike that worn for her sermons, is simple: plain white fabric with light hints of gold embroidery. Prim and modest, she looks far more the role of a priestess than a queen. Likely intentional.

“Would you care for some water?”

“...I would,” he replies shortly, accepting a goblet she pours him. Once quenched, he offers, “I must admit, it’s been too long since I’ve visited the valley. I hope that bears no weight on my qualifications?”

“Your lands are far, and your people often troubled. I cannot fault you for remaining where you are needed most by those that follow you. Though they may reside here, the gods can hear us no matter how distant our call.”

“Hm…” He considers her thoughtfully. “...may I also be frank in my surprise at this...decision. But in the same breath, I’ll put forth I think it wise.”

A hint of surprise lifts her brows. “...do you?”

“Relying on the wills of others for your safety puts your fate in their hands. While the other nations were willing, for a time, to be considerate of you...it seems the time has come where they put their own interests over the gods.”

“...do you do the same?”

“I concern myself foremost with my people. Whatever I can do for them to better their lives, I will do. No questions asked. I am their sword, and their shield. For them I will weather any storm, and I will cut down any threat.” His chin declines. “...I know this land’s distaste for violence. But I won’t attempt to hide what I have done. The gods may choose to smite me for it, but I will not stand idle and allow my people to come to harm rather than take any measure to protect them. Until I come to my judgment day, it is my people I answer to. Not gods.”

To his honest surprise, her lips curl into a coy smile. “...I commend you for your honesty and your dedication,” she murmurs. “Many have attempted to conceal their actions, seeking to tilt my favor. But there’s no hiding truth from the gods.” A knee lifts to crest the other, the long skirt of her gown rustling quietly. “Do you recognize the weight of the lives you take to protect another?”

“Of course. Any other man breathes and dreams as those under my banner do. Any life lost - no matter what side of a line - is one that should be mourned. If I could snap my fingers and draw all under one crest so that such lines could not be crossed, no reason given to kill what could in fact be a brother because of one loyalty over another, then I would do so. But until then...I protect what is entrusted to me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And if those within the valley were to be taken under that banner?”

“Then they would receive every ounce of my dedication as those born beneath it. An alliance is a promise. And I keep my promises. So long as I drew breath, it would be drawn for them all.”

A long moment passes of her silent consideration before continuing with her interview. Further and further she needles him, digging into the psychology and methodology of his leadership. And at each inquiry, he answers honestly, bearing all and refusing to feel shame for it.

Not once does she feel him lie.

By now, the day has begun to slip into evening, and a small respite is taken to light the sconces in the study. “We’re nearly finished. A supper is being prepared for you all.”

“How long are we expected to remain? I have a standing army to return to.”

“A few days at best, if my expectations are met. While my impressions are mostly made and there’s likely little else to glean...I am not one to rush important decisions. But so too do I respect the time and obligations of you and the others. I beg your patience.”

“And you’ll have it. I’m simply curious. My brother maintains the ranks in my stead, and I trust his judgment.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“...I once had four,” Madara eventually replies after a small pause. “But life is brutal, and war the paramount. Now...we are the two left of five. He is my right hand. I rely on him heavily.”

“I see…” Ryū lets her chin rest in a hand. “I’m without siblings. My father is unknown to me, my mother long dead. While I consider every person within my lands to be my family, my flock...I realize it is not the same. I envy you, in a way.”

“I’m sure he would be delighted to have a sister.”

The rather obvious nudge snaps her eyes to him, expression unreadable. “...I have one last question for you.”

“And I will do my best to answer.”

Silvers stare at him, unblinking. “...my intentions, I’m sure, are plain. To resist destruction by a flood of new war, I intend to ally myself with one of the other nations. That alliance will grant me an army, and hopefully give pause to the others before they consider bringing battles here. However...I know that, beyond my lands, the webs of friends and foes are complicated, and ever-changing. Depending on my choice, prior brothers in arms may be forced to become enemies. So my question is this: have you any reason - any at all - to possibly falter should this position become yours? Would you ever hesitate in raising your swords and your shields to defend this valley, and the people in it?”

“No.”

The blunt reply earns a blink, especially as no hint of a lie bleeds through his tone. “...just that easily?”

“Just that easily.” Shifting his posture, Madara leans inward, expression completely unwavering. “My people have been betrayed more times than I could count. We’ve not held an alliance since I was a boy...perhaps even longer. For generations we have been marked as nothing more than war-hungry dogs. And while we will never back down from a fight...it is not what we want. We fight for one reason only: necessity. Survival. The world has turned its back on us, declared us untrustworthy and forever drunk on blood. So perhaps that is something you should consider, priestess.”

Watching him warily, Ryū nonetheless holds her ground as he approaches, shrinking the gap between them to a breath.

“...is this what you want to anchor in your harbor? A man called a monster, a killer? Someone willing to go to any length, no matter what ire it will earn him?”

“...that’s precisely what I want.”

...it’s his turn to be taken aback.

She stares up at him, just as calm. “...I am all out of options, Madara,” she murmurs, dropping all other pretense. “My people face annihilation. We are sheep circled on all sides by wolves. Which is why I don’t want just a wolf. I want someone with nothing to lose. Because that is exactly what I have become. I want someone who, when the inevitable comes, will fight with no holds barred. Someone the other wolves fear. Because that fear will be what keeps us safe until the swords swing.”

Eyes flickering over her face, he lingers a long moment before conceding back to his seat. “...I see. Surely you already knew, then, what you were really looking for. These interviews weren’t to find who you wanted...but to gauge the standings of what will be left.”

She gives a grave nod. “To know who will be possible allies, who can be swayed...and who will see my declaration as one of war.”

“I’ve already a fair idea of those,” he assures her.

“I did not...but now I do. Which leaves only one last formality.” Reclining in her seat, Ryū crosses a knee, hands folding atop her lap. “...will you accept my proposal of an arranged marriage, Madara of the Uchiha? And with it, accept the position of army general, and the duty of protecting my people, my lands, and the cradle of the gods?”

“Is ‘king’ not one of my titles?”

“You are the king of your people. I am the queen of mine. I am unsure how either will view the other. And we have never had a king before.” Her lips flicker into a smile. “...both sides will surely need to do their own...adjusting. You will have every right and privilege that comes with a marriage to my line. Just, I’m sure, as I will inherit those of one to yours.”

...she’s avoiding the answer directly, he muses, considering her carefully. She doesn’t want foreign influence over her people...I can understand. Especially given the vast cultural differences. Surely such details will be determinable later. For now...best we settle the basics. I can whittle at the rest as we go. Leaning back with a sigh, he replies, “...then yes. I accept.”

“...good. We can discuss the rest tomorrow. For now...we have a dinner to attend.”

“Nothing works up an appetite like politics.”

     All righty, day three! And I'm officially out of buffered posts :'D BUT I'm determined to do more, so hopefully I'll have some time between now and...tomorrow to get something else done.      But for now, THIS post! So this is for Phoenix, the mun behind @uchiha-madara​, and is our ship between her Madara and my OC Ryū. We've had a verse with her in the founders era and a concept...somewhat similar to this? But this setting is a bit different, and with far different context, so...hopefully it was still interesting to read xD I haven't gotten to write this verse much yet so a lot of it was experimental. But overall I really like how it turned out, and hopefully Phoenix does too!      I love the dynamic between these two...there's almost always drama and tension and hhhhh I live for it xD      Anyway, I've got irl things to handle now, so I best skedaddle. But I'll do my best to be back tomorrow with another piece for another ship! Until then, thanks for reading!

[a-little-international]

The Height Of Summer (9)

Summary: She’s a whirling dervish, and he’s trying his best to keep up.

Warnings: some angst and some fluff, what else is new.

Words: 3327

A/N: sorry for the long delay - i graduated uni and started working full time in the world’s most soul sucking corporate job that drained me of all inspiration and joy. Don’t worry though, i quit it without having anything else lined up (i’m v v worried lmao). Anyway, here’s some stuff.

The Series: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Chapter 9 - Summer

“No, listen, hear me out - what I think we really need is Netflix or HBO to get on making a full Harry Potter show. Just throw a bunch of money at it, make a bunch of seasons, follow the books with absolute anal precision -”

“Aw, Jack, why’d you have to say it like that!” Paige exclaimed, throwing the pillow she’d been leaning against, at Jackson’s head.

“I absolutely agree,” Shawn said sincerely, cradling his guitar on his thighs with his fingers hovering over the strings, “give it the Game of Thrones treatment - could you imagine? I’d never watch anything ever again.

“You gotta pull some of your Hollywood strings, Shawnie,” Eli laughed, throwing a wink at Shawn.

“I’ll make sure to get my people on it,” Shawn winked back.

Summer smiled as she leaned her head back against his knee, basking in the laughter and chatter between her friends. They had all piled into her room after getting back from the picnic, all sunburnt and in good spirits. Paige, Molly and Eli had spread themselves out on her bed, Jackson was sitting in the alcove of her window, Shawn was lounging in the armchair next to her bed, and Maya was sitting curled up on Lewis’s lap on the other armchair. Summer, ever the generous hostess, had opted for the floor in front of Shawn. She rather enjoyed her position, as it allowed her to affectionately lean her head back against him, and she was almost certain she felt his fingers play with her hair absentmindedly when the others were talking, and nobody was looking their way.

“Okay but the most important question is what house everyone is in,” Lewis piped up, which was met with excited exclamations and laughter.

“I don’t think I even know what the houses are,” Molly said, pulling a face.

“I don’t either, babe,” Maya laughed in solidarity.

Lewis looked at his girlfriend with abject horror scrawled on his face, “Right,” he said matter-of-factly, “that’s it, we’re breaking up,” as he pretended to push her off his legs, catching her from falling at the last minute and pulling her back into him. Looking at them made Summer wish she could relocate into Shawn’s lap and wrap her arms around his neck and press her face against his.

“Well I’m definitely a Slytherin,” Paige said proudly, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“Don’t we know it,” Jackson laughed, grinning as he rolled his eyes.

A sharp tap against the window pane sliced through the chatter and laughter, and the group exchanged confused looks with each other.

“Did you hear that?” Eli asked, brows furrowed.

“Is it raining?” Summer replied, looking at Jackson who was sitting in the alcove, his figure outlined by the dimming evening light.

Jackson craned his neck upwards to look for clouds when another sharp rap against the window rang out, and his head snapped downwards immediately. There was a pregnant pause as his hand came up to cup around his face to help him see out better, and then, “Um...Summer, you might want to go down.”

“What?” She replied, frowning, but her gut was starting to twist itself in knots as suspicion krept up on her.

Jackson turned around to look at her, and she didn’t miss the way his eyes darted to look at Shawn for a second, before returning to hers. In the beats of silence that passed, the tension she was radiating seemed to become palpable and she wished with her entire heart that he wasn’t about to say what she thought he was about to say.

“It’s Jesse, he’s downstairs,” Jackson said, stabbing into the anticipatory tension, and then, as if it couldn’t possible get any worse, he added, “throwing rocks at your window”.

A shiver ran up her spine and she was suddenly extremely aware that all eyes were on her, but most of all that Shawn’s eyes were on her and the feeling of her side resting against his legs suddenly seemed hard and uncomfortable and it made her feel sick. Jesse used to throw rocks at her window as a romantic thing, it was their little inside joke, to make her feel like she was in some sappy romance film. It was a rock thrown at her window during a weekend away at the cabins that had first brought them together, under the veil of darkness and shrouded in the secrecy of being with her brother’s best friend. It was the sign that they could be together, just the two of  them, and sneak away from the company of others. And now here he was throwing rocks at her window when she thought they had found some closure that same morning in the kitchen.

She wasn’t brave enough to look at Shawn as she stood up, confusion and shame and anger and anxiety all fighting for dominance in her stomach.

“I”ll be right back,” she said as she slipped out of her bedroom door, stopping to take a big breath in the hallway as she closed it behind her. She could hear the faint exchange of whispers amongst her friendship group and she wondered what they were saying, but most of all she wished she knew was Shawn was thinking.

Trying to sort out her inner thoughts and figure out what he wanted and what she could say to Jesse, Summer slowly descended the stairs and excited the cabin. She found him kicking at the dry grass and dirt below her window, the same way she had found him on countless other nights just like this one and she couldn’t help that her heart clenched a little at the sight. Glancing up to her window, she saw her friends peering down at her and Jesse, but Shawn didn’t seem to be with them.

“Hey.” She said, pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands. “What’s up?”

Jesse looked up at her and shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with another small stone he was holding, “Hey, sorry about-” he said, showing her the rock, “I just wanted to talk but I didn’t want to barge in, when I saw Jack in the window I figured you had your friends round and stuff.”

“So you thought the best solution was to throw rocks at my window?” Summer hissed at him, crossing her arms.

Jesse shrugged, “I don’t know, it’s just the first thing I thought of.”

Summer rubbed her hands over her face in frustration, “What could you possibly want to talk about now, you already barged in at the crack of dawn this morning to have a conversation and I thought we said what needed to be said but now you’re throwing rocks at my window like nothing ever changed between us.”

“I guess for me it just doesn’t feel like that much has changed.”

“Jesse you broke up with me two years ago. You did, not me. You don’t get to-”

“No hear me out,” Jesse interrupted her as he took a step forward. “You know I still love and miss you, I told you as much this morning, and I get that this is all my fault and by God am I happy you’re happy and doing well, which is why I just wanted to make clear that I am doing well too and I hope someday soon I will be okay with what I did to us, to you. But I want you to be happy because I still love you.” 

“Jesse…”

“No listen, please, I was watching you all day today and I get it now. You’re happier now, happier than you ever were with me I think.”

“Jesse, come on now, that’s not true,” Summer said softly, taking a step towards him, wanting to comfort him and those sad ocean-blue eyes she had loved so much for so long.

“ I think it is, though. You and Shawn - you never had that shine in your eyes when you were with me.”

There was a long pause where Summer tried her best to process what he had just said to her, and then she remembered how happy she had been with Jesse and tried to compare it to how she felt around Shawn, and she struggled. They were two completely different things, two completely different boys - men, in fact - and also two completely different Summers.

She swallowed, her heart breaking for Jesse, even though he had been the one to break hers. “I don’t…” She struggled to find the words to explain how she was feeling, especially how she was feeling in regards to Shawn, and to find the words that wouldn’t cause any more hurt than necessary. “Shawn and I...well I don’t exactly know what we are at the moment, but I don’t want you thinking you didn’t make me happy Jess.”

She saw him swallow as he looked away into the darkening forest, his fingers still fiddling with the little black rock like it was a poker chip. “I hope I did make you happy, Sunny,” he said quietly, hesitantly using his nickname for her for the first time since the breakup. “But it’s not about happiness, I can’t explain it really, it’s just different the way you look at him. It’s like you are the sun and he is the moon.”

“That is so cheesy,” Summer said, closing her eyes as she tried to repress a smile.

Jesse laughed quietly, dropping his head, “I know,” he said, shrugging, “I just don’t know how to explain it. You just light up in a way you never really did with me.”

“But I loved you,” Summer said, suddenly feeling a little offended, as if he was undermining how much she had been in loved with him. She had always felt she had given her all to Jesse, thrown herself into everything they were together, and here he was standing in front of her telling her she looked more in love with someone she had known for hardly any time at all compared to how long they had been together.

“I know you did,” Jesse replied quickly, reading his hand out as if to touch her, but then pulled it back as if he thought better of it. “And I always felt that, your love, and I felt how much I hurt you when I did. But I mean when you’re with him...it just looks different, I don’t know, it looks right.”

“Right?” Summer frowned at him. She knew he meant well but he was also digging himself into a hole that she didn’t much appreciate. “So you think we didn’t look right?”

She knew she shouldn’t have said that as she watched Jesse’s face fall. In her heart she knew what he had meant, but it still grated on her and she couldn’t help herself.

“No, of course I think we did I just, what I mean is, if that you look really complete when you’re with him.”

And there he went again, digging himself into that hole she really wished he wouldn’t. Summer’s eyebrows flew up and before she knew what she was saying, the words had already left her mouth in a hushed rage, “Jesse Sullivan if you think I need a man to complete me, or try to imply in any way that I am in some may incomplete or broken then you have a new thing coming.” 

“Of course not, come on Sunny, please you’ve got to know what I mean. All I’m trying to say is that I won’t try and interfere or win you back or do all the things I really want to do because I can see that I can’t compare anymore and that is alright, and I will be alright.”

Summer took a deep breath, her frustrations deflating with each word he spoke. “And will we be alright?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Yeah, I think we will.” Jesse responded softly, tentatively pulling her into his chest and Summer allowed her arms to wrap around his broad frame as he rested his chin on top of her head.

She breathed into the hug, noting how he still smelled like the same Axe body spray he’d used when he was fifteen years old and half a foot shorter. Some things would never change, but one thing that had was that instead of craving his familiar smell, she now longed for the subtle scent of Shawn’s cologne and spearmint gum. Turning her head to the side, she moved her eyes up to her bedroom window, but found it empty with the lights turned off. She wondered if Shawn had ever come to the window, or if he had left her and Jesse alone once again. She felt Jesse press a kiss against the top of her head and she knew it was time to part, more certain than ever that it wasn’t his arms she wanted to be held by.

---

As predicted, her room was deserted when she returned, her hands still balled up nervously into her sleeves. She looked at the armchair that Shawn had been sitting in and swallowed. Slowly she backed out of her room, closed the door quietly behind her and walked to the end of the hallway where she stood outside of Shawn’s room once again. This time, unlike the night before, Summer knocked. It was soft but sure and she hoped more than anything that he would be there to open it and welcome her in.

A split second later the door swung open, as if he had been standing waiting for her on the other side.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and Summer lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him. “Hey…” he said softly, returning the hug and pulling her into the room, kicking the door closed behind her, “Hey, are you alright?”

Summer nodded against his chest, eyes closed tightly as she tried to hold back tears. She didn’t even know why she was one kind word away from bursting into tears, but she was so glad that he was there to open that door for her, to pull her in and to hold her. That faint smell of his cologne, that she had become so fond of from the first time she sat on his lap at the house party that seemed a million worlds away now, filled her brain and wove its way around her heart.

Before she knew it, Shawn was sitting on the bed with her cradled in his arms like a small child, her arms still wrapped around him and her face pushed into the crook of his neck. The faint sound of the crickets chirping outside and Shawn’s steady breathing were the only things Summer could hear and it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“What happened?” Shawn finally asked, breaking the silence. He sounded hesitant and tense, like he was worried about the kind of answer she would give him and not for the first time did Summer feel guilty for pulling him into this situation.

She shrugged, pulling away to look at him, “Nothing really. He just wanted to make clear where we stood.”

“And where do you stand?” There was that tense anticipation in his voice again, and it made her heart rate pick up.

Summer forced herself not to break eye contact with Shawn, her dark blue eyes meeting his brown ones, darker than ever now that the sun had finally set and the only thing illuminating the room was the pale glow of the moon.

“He’s not going to try and get back together, he wants me to be happy...he’s happy for us.” Summer replied, the last part barely over an audible whisper, unsure of what Shawn’s response would be. It was once again another implication of what they were, when that had never really been established, both of them knowing how different their lives really were away from the cabins and in the reality of their respective careers.

“We’re an us?” Shawn asked, leaning back against the headboard, his hands slipping down to her hips.

It wasn’t exactly the response she’d been hoping for, there was no big smile or a passionate kiss, only a question. Summer swallowed, it was now or never. This conversation was bound to happen, the alternative was leaving it a forever open-ended question mark that would eventually allow them to drift apart without explanation or commitment. “I’m happy for there to be an us if you want there to be an us,” she said, sending the ball back into his court as she held her breath for his response. Her heart was beating so fast she was worried he’d be able to feel it.

Shawn just looked at her for a long time, which did nothing to calm her nerves, but his hands stayed on her hips and she thought that that at the very least was a good sign.

Finally, one hand lifted as he ran it through his thick hair, and Summer didn’t dare move an inch for fear of interrupting his contemplation. “Um,” Shawn started, barely looking at her anymore and her heart started to drop into the pit of her stomach. Suddenly she wished she’d allowed the question mark to keep hovering for a little while longer. “I would like there to be an us,” Shawn said, but Summer felt  the inaudible pressure of a ‘but’ hovering between them.

She looked at him and wanted nothing more than to reach up and touch his cheek, slightly flushed from sunburn or stress she couldn’t tell. She wanted to kiss him, to erase the tension and show him how good an ‘us’ could be, but still she didn’t dare move. The hand remaining on her hip gave it a light squeeze and she couldn’t tell if it was accidental or not.

“But it’s going to be hard,” he finally said, looking at her again with worry etched across his face. “It’s going to be so hard on you,” he went on, “so much harder on you than it will be on me I think and I don’t know if I can do that to you.” Shawn bit down on his lip and Summer felt the beginnings of tears sting at her eyes once more.

“I’m a big girl I think I can handle it,” Summer replied, trying her best to keep the tremble she felt in her throat to leak into her words.

“You’re very small,” Shawn laughed, moving both of his hands up to her waist and giving her a very purposeful squeeze, “but I’ll believe you can handle it if you say so.”

And with that her heart swelled three sizes and she returned his wide grin, balling the fabric of the hoodie he was wearing into her fists excitedly. Shawn leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against hers and it was like a whole new box of fireworks was let loose in her stomach all over again. It was only short and sweet, but it was perfect, and when he pulled away it was so minimal that their proximity remained intimate, his nose pressed against hers, his lips brushing hers, his spearmint breath against her. “Summer?”

“Hmm,” she hummed contentedly, closing her eyes to hold onto the moment between them and the feeling of his hands on her and his gentle voice cradling her name.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” -

TAGLIST (lemme know if you want to be added!)

@crownedbyluke @24kcalum @divergentseagreengirl @carlaimberlain @5sosle @vnv21 @sayingloveat2am @tougherinrain @esmaaaa8 

[sosthemortalcoil]

First Kiss Ft. Aelius

@thesearobberssun this might balance the scales.

I tried. Fluff to counteract that tactical family angst strike earlier. Enjoy!

Aelius has kissed plenty of people before. He remembers his first shy kiss with another slave girl. She had been sold, not quite pretty enough for a house slave, not quite sturdy enough for the fields.

He’s kissed a lot of people since then. It might have been one of his favorite activities if he hadn’t become so accustomed to it, if it hadn’t become so meaningless. Maybe he’s been trying to reclaim some of that purity. He prefers to feed by touch now, skimming fingers up an arm, brushing against a patron waiting for a drink at one of the bars—no more literal soul-sucking kisses.

But he can’t stop thinking about how kissing Gabriel would be. And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

You walk into The Menagerie, which is always like stepping into another world. Worlds, really. Up front is a nice 1920s style speakeasy, with a coat-check and some of the more human looking fae in the corresponding fashion. Inclining your head to the hostess, you step around the information desk. You’ve been here enough to know your way around, although it does keep shifting.

Atlantis takes up most of the center, with the Aerie high above, a separate elevator with glass walls providing you a way up. There’s the Enchanted Forest, the Hanging Gardens, Shambhala, Avalon, and even Themiscyra.

Despite the flurry of colors and strange, wonderful creatures, the press of humanity ogling all the marvelous ‘acts,’ it’s still easy to spot the owner.

He has his own booth on one of the shores of Atlantis, away from where most of the water-based creatures entice the humans to play and sit with them. No one goes near it, except for the occasional staff member checking in with him.

He seems so maudlin, brows drawn low, hand wrapped around a highball that has barely been touched. Tonight he’s stunning in a red and gold draped toga, a laurel wreath on his brow. His black hair is at odds with the Romanesque outfit, done in a series of braids that are shot through with gold.

Looks like he had already pulled his duty as the master of tonight’s ceremonies, but he had stayed in the outfit.

You’re not complaining. It leaves most of his arms bare, and reveals a scoop of his chest perfect for snuggling against. You feel yourself flush at the thought.

What the two of you have been doing—you don’t know. When you had met him, he had been all over you and Iain, touching without restraint. Now he seems to enforce a space around you.

The moment he spots you making your way towards him is marked by him straightening up, a small smile curling his lips, his dark eyes sparking to life.

“Gabriel,” he greets with a warm voice, scooting over. “What brings you here?”

He gives your clothes a glance. “Not work, I hope?”

You take a breath as you slide into the booth, brushing against his side as he’s just a touch to close.

“No, not work,” you confirm. He raises a hand, but you shake your head. You don’t want to start with a drink.  

Aelius’ expression turns contemplative, the smile settling into a neutral line, the corners of his eyes scrunching as he analyzes you. “Why are you here then?” he asks, caution in his voice.

“The company,” you respond, working around the lump in your throat. No chickening out now. You’ve come too far for that.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Aelius replies, dipping his head to one side before he takes a long drink from the glass.

“I think it’s pretty great,” you retort, staring hard at the incubus until he meets your gaze.

“Not worth your soul,” he volleys back. The two of you lock eyes, a silent battle of wills occurring. “They say,” he murmurs, lifting one soft hand towards your face, not quite touching you but echoing the curve of your cheek, “that the eyes are the window to your soul. And your soul is the most luminous, brilliant soul I have seen in my many years of existence.”

“Flatterer,” you respond, wondering if he has any inkling of just how close to the truth he is. “But you can touch too. I’m not some exhibit in a museum, to look at from behind a glass case,” you tell him. You lean towards his hand, but he retracts it.

Swallowing your disappointment, you lean back against the booth. “Maybe I will have that drink,” you say, turning your head away.

“Not here.”

You turn back towards him. The glass is empty, and he’s staring at it with lowered brows. “What?” You’re not sure what that’s supposed to mean.

Aelius turns to you, eyes warm, open, vulnerable. “Not here. You are not—you are not some museum exhibit, as you said, and I will not have every gawping at you like you are.” There’s a touch of jealousy to his words, an intensity that has your heart hammering against your ribs.

He slips out of the booth on the other side, walking around to your end and extending a hand. You place yours in it and he pulls you up and into him, his face suddenly perilously close.

But before you can do anything else, he bring your hand to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “Please, follow me,” he instructs, lowering your hand but not releasing it.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak at the moment. Aelius pulls you behind him, threading his way through the exotic interior of The Menagerie. He takes you to the elevator and pulls you inside, pressing the button for the Aerie level.

He still hasn’t let go of your hand, but he’s maintaining a distance from you. “I didn’t intend to cause offense,” Aelius murmurs, sweeping his thumb over the back of your hand. “I… I am not the most skilled with words,” he admits.

“The physical aspects come easy, but… I am interested in you. I did not want to give you an impression otherwise, but I did not want to cheapen anything we might have either. I—” The ding of the elevator doors interrupts him.

His color peaks, annoyed by the interjection, but he tugs you out after him. “This way.”

He strides towards one of the distant railing, unlocking a gate you hadn’t realized was there. Swinging it open he bows. “After you.”

Hesitantly you stick your foot out, but the path, while nearly invisible, is firm. You walk towards the edge of the glass dome, marveling in the strangeness that is The Menagerie. You reach a platform at the other end, and wait to one side while Aelius opens up a door. Together you walk outside, into the cool night air.

A shiver overcomes you. Sometimes your forget how sensitive this shell is to the cold.

Aelius reaches out, stopping just shy of your shoulders. “May I?”

You nod, and he pulls you towards him. His skin is warm, and smells pleasant, a touch of frankincense hanging around him.

You tilt your head up, wondering when he had gotten taller than you. He hadn’t looked it sitting down.

“Did you bring me out here just to see me shiver?”

Aelius lifts his hand, this time stroking your cheek with a single finger. “I wanted you away from prying eyes.”

“You have an office,” you remind him.

Aelius’ lips quirks, his gaze dancing away from yours. “Yes,” he agrees, drawing the words out. He tilts his head back. “But then I could not kiss you under the moonlight.”

You follow his gaze up, staring at the almost full moon hanging low in the night sky. “Did you practice that line?”

“I might have dreamed about this, if that’s what you’re asking,” Aelius whispers into your ear, pressing his nose against your temple.

“Perhaps we should make that a reality,” you respond, turning your face and finding his lips with yours.

It’s shy, tentative at first, as if he’s afraid to scare you away if he presses too hard. You part your lips, trying to coax him to deepen the kiss, and he obliges, slanting your lips together, giving you a taste of the alcohol he had been drinking, sweet and slightly nutty. Amaretto.

You have to part for hair, your chests both rising and falling rapidly as Aelius and you try to recover.

“I have to admit, the reality is better,” he murmurs, before leaning in and stealing another kiss.

[traumaqueenie]

-"Ah, you see, black swan, my older siblings would rather she what he can create from you rather than replicate. He has his soulless tinker toys. His own grotesque experiments that he holds command over, human bodies molded and merged with metal until twisted and hollow husks stand. Tho, not many survive the process it doesn't refrain him from stopping. Even in death these tormented souls shall never find rest."

Her lips pursed slightly as an intrusive thought sneaked into her consciousness, a thought that made the tea taste bitter in her mouth and formed a lump in her throat. She was delving into something highly forbidden. Should Miranda find out Maddy would be punished severely. It had become a second nature to her to always keep out of their mother's interest. Maddy painted her propaganda art to display in the village, but sometimes a more grim task was at hand.

Her thoughts halted as the guest spoke. The Lord looked up. Behind the veil her brows were furrowed. She couldn't let the woman just wander free in the village. Someone or something would find her and that would be the end. As professional as the woman seemed, Maddy didn't trust she would be able to survive forever in the village. The hostess placed her teacup on the side table and rose from her seat.

With determined steps she walked to the door and opened it. Her head turned as if she looked over her shoulder to see if the woman would follow her.

-"I'm afraid there's too great of a risk in that. However, it does not mean I shall throw you ar the mercy of the beasts that hide in the forest. Come... there might be hope for your continued safety."

The door opened and the heels of the Lords boots echoed against the old marbled floors.

-"You see, there is no freedom here. We may be Lords but we have no room to do as we please. We are trapped here, at the mercy of our mother, which may elude to your own fate, should she find you. My domicile is my sanctuary, but even inside of this walls I can't guarantee your safety if you were to fly freely inside, little swan. Instead I shall grant you protection by other means."

She continued forward, walking down a flight of stairs into the cellar. It was remarkable dry, but chilly compared to the rest of the mansion. A heavy smell of dust and stale air permeated the atmosphere, but the Lord didn't seemed bothered and continued down a dark corridor. It was only thanks to her cadou she was able to see in the dark, but it was up to the woman to follow as best as she could.

traumaqueenie​:

Maddy watched her silently from behind the veil. Pale blue eyes observed the woman as she so easily removed her head. It was effortless. The way she did it without hesitation, not even a small tremor in her hand, foretold of an action that had been done numerous times. She looked at the head, studying it before looking to the body that cradled it. Fascinating, indeed, but also something that would rouse the interest of certain individuals. -“Dullahan… a headless rider on a black horse. Oddly fitting for the black Swan.”

She mused over the name. It made sense with her abilities. Names carried an importance. They could tell a person much about the owner that laid claim to It, or the people who created the name in the first placed and baptised others. The Lord folded her hands, never once taking the head in to study it. As fascinating as it was she felt uncomfortable having others within her personal space, even her family was help at a distance.

-“I can see that my guest exceeds my expectations. My curiosity remains amused by your unique abilities. Tho, I fear that some will find you rather interesting with a grotesque outcome. As I mentioned before I am gifted with siblings, all shaped by our mother’s delusional mind and mad ramblings. Tho the youngest I am still older than most in the village. My are many moons old and far beyond me in social status… one of them is my older brother, Lord Heisenberg whom I know would be more than curious to study you. Not with a good outcome for you, I’m afraid”

Maddy shrugged nonchalantly before taking another sip of her tea.

-“My other siblings… hmm. I don’t believe you have much to fear from them. Mother is the real threat.”

Trish waited for the Lord to take her head if she would to inspect her while she talked. Upon noticing how she haven’t made a move, let alone the faintest shift at the other couch, she pulled her head away and reunited two bodyparts back together with ease.

“I have use so many identities in my job.” She said, touching her neck to ensure her head was not out of place and no odd gaps were felt. “But I have three. My name, my alias, both you know, and the third that I keep for myself.” Once she felt everything is in order, she relaxed her posture, reached her arm forward to pick up some biscuits, and leaned back against the couch.

The confectionery tasted delicate and buttery. The right amount of ingredients used to create this delicious treats. The jam for one of the cookies balanced well with the taste.

Upon her comment, Trish raised her right eyebrow, casually tilting her head to the side. “I’m not that surprise by that information. It’s not everyday you might encounter the Headless Horseman,” she shrugged her shoulder, “though I don’t own a horse and I’m a woman. To be studied however…” She crossed her legs, linking her fingers together over the propped knee, “such a tedious thing and honestly a waste of time. Even if your brother hears about my existence, whatever he plans to do, he will not be able to replicate what I am.”

She then let out a brief hum, as if she’s pondering to ask more questions or cease the conversation. “You have been a good host and I thank you for allowing me sanctuary in the safety of your home. Since neither you or I can determine my time here, allow me to assist you with whatever you can allow me to. It’ll be quite rude of me to simply lounge as if I’m a wondering ghost.”

[karkkidoeswriting]

Finnish Mythology Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2

In the first part of this series I talked about the concept of soul that ancient Finns had. Now I’m going to talk about the gods and spirits. Like in every ancient mythology their gods had variations depending on place and time. All Baltic Finnish tribes had almost same gods, who might have varied a little on names and stories. But they were basically same. Sami people are also closely related to Finns and they had a lot of similarities but also a lot of things differed from Finnish mythology. That said, I’m not going to cover all variations, I’m going to concentrate more on the most used names and stories. So lets dive right into it.

In Finnish mythology gods didn’t have great drama and personal problems like in Greek and many other European mythologies. Finnish gods were always elemental, there’s no gods of immortality or love, rather they were all related to nature and elements. Also all gods had their goddess counterparts who were their queens. Many goddesses were respected as emu which means the root mothers. They were the king and queen of their element and the spirits were their subjects. They also had all their own mansions where they ruled. The Finnish gods and goddesses can be divided in four groups: deities of sky, deities of water, deities of land and deities of death.

Deities of Sky

(Lemminkäinen in a fiery lake, E. W. Ekman, 1867 - Ukko pictured on the left.)

Ukko the supreme god (Ukko Ylijumala) was the god of thunder. He had a lot of common with Scandinavian Thor - he also had a hammer as his symbol. He was considered the ruler of all gods. Ukko actually means old man. Originally it was very respectful term and may have referred to a lord. It is possible that Ukko was originally Ilmarinen, the god of sky and wind, as they have also the hammer and forging in common. (Ilmarinen was a smith god.) Ilmarinen was actually name used by Karelians, Finns in the East, so it may also be their version of Ukko. Akka is the wife of Ukko. Akka means literally old hag, but it was, like Ukko, very respectful term used referred to a noble elderly women and meant something like a hostess. Akka was the goddess of lightning and was as feared and respected as Ukko. Their daughter Ilmatar was the goddess of air. 

All though Ukko and Akka were the ruler of the sky, all the elements on sky wasn’t in their power. These elements had their own lesser gods that Finns worshiped too. God and goddess of the Sun had son Panu, the god of fire, and daughter Päivätär, the goddess of day. Finns thought that fire on Earth came from sun. Stars, Otava (Big Dipper) and Moon had both their own gods and goddesses who had all daughters and sons. The god of stars was the North Star. Daughter of Stars was Tähetär, daughter of Otava was Otavatar and daughter of Moon was Kuutar. The daughters were often referred as Luonnotar, which means something like the maidens of Nature. All the daughters were young and beautiful and magically powerful. Kuutar and Päivätär were the most famous of them and they were thought to be great weavers. There is a lot more sky related maidens, like goddess of mist and goddess of wind. 

Deities of Water

Ahti was the god of water and her wife was Vellamo. They were old, rich and very respected by Finns. They lived in the abyss of the sea. Drowned souls were welcomed to their realm and became the spirits of water. The realm of Ahti and Vellamo was not limited to sea but it included all the waters, for example rivers and lakes. Other deities of water were the Little Man, who was small but strong, Aallotar the goddess of waves, Daughter of Rapids and many others. People prayed to both Ahti and Vellamo when wanting to get fish or good weather for sailing. When fishing for prey the Little Man was also asked for help.

These deities were considered usually helpful and at least in some sense good. But there were also terrifying spirits in the sea like Vesi-Hiisi, Iku-Turso and Vetehinen. Vesi-Hiisi (literally Water Goblin) is a troll of the sea, a sea monster that can topple ships and disrupt fishing. Iku-Turso is a beast of the sea that has been there from the beginning of the world. According to a theory he was also a god of war. Vetehinen is a female spirit who lures people to water to their death. Probably they were not bad spirits by origin but became so in the influence of Christianity.

Deities of Land

The greatest deity of land is Maaemo, Mother Earth. We don’t know much what ancient Finns thought of her, save they respected her above all other goddesses and asked her help in many things, because not many poems about her remains. She was a goddess of fertility. In Sami mythology she had husband but it is not certain that she had husband in Finnish mythology too, though that is probable. Pellervoinen, god of fields, was a male deity of fertility and lands. He had power over other things than fields too, like crops and beer. Liekkiö was god of grass and roots but also guardian of killed children, probably because they were usually buried in forests. Most gods of fertility were lesser gods (except for Maaemo) as in Finland the land was unforgiving and the main living was fishing, hunting and gathering.

Therefore gods of forests had more respect. The most powerful of them was Tapio. He was an old and tall man, usually described much like ents from Lord of the Rings. His wife was beautiful Mielikki, not an old lady like most of the major goddesses. Hunters had to always ask a permission from Tapio and Mielikki to hunt animals, for they owned all the animals in the forests. Mielikki was a healer and healing herbs were in her power. They lived in Tapiola, which was often portrayed as beautiful castle in the woods.

Most of forest spirits were women, also maidens of nature (luonnottaria), but Tapiola and Mielikki had at least one son. He was Nyyrikki, a beautiful young man, who helped travelers lost in forests. Tellervo was their daughter, her task was to look after Mielikki’s cattle but also cattle of people. She was considered beautiful and curvy and she had golden hair. Tuulikki had the task of taking care of Tapio’s cattle and hunters asked her to give them prey. There were also female spirits who were guardians of threes. Hiisi was like Vesi-Hiisi, an evil spirit. Metsä-Hiisi (Forest Goblin) and Vuori-Hiisi (Mountain Goblin) lived on land. All goblins were probably originally a mythology species who lived in an upside down world under the ground (called maahiset or maan haltijat - spirits of ground) who were not evil at all. But not much information before Christianity is left of them.

Deity of Death

(Mother of Lemminkäinen, Akseli Gallen-Kallela, 1897 - The River of Tuonela pictured.)

Tuonela was the place where the dead went. Before agriculture and Christianity bodies were usually burned. At that time Tuonela was a cold land in the north behind the river of Tuonela. The dead had to cross the river to get there. After Finns began to bury their dead, Tunela got new name Manala (derived from maan alla = under ground) and it’s location moved under ground. My theory is that at that time the goblins were mixed with spirits of death and so they were made evil. Manala is pictured as dark and gloomy place and it’s gods as evil, but it’s probably just influence of Christianity and it’s idea of hell.

The god and protector of Tuonela is Tuoni and his wife is the lady of Tuoni (her name has not remaind). Tuoni did not cause death, he was the one to guide souls of the dead to the lands of Tuonela. They had a daughter, Tuonetar, who helped people over the river of Tuonela. They also have daughter named Loviatar. She is the root mother of wolves, snakes, disease and ache. According to some stories when she gave birth to them she was impregnated by Iku-Turso. Loviatar was often asked to discipline her children and help with the trouble they have caused. She has also supernaturally beautiful daughters, maidens of North, who were a lot like maidens of nature. One of the daughters of Tuoni is Kiputyttö or Kiputar, a goddess of pain and diseases. She was not considered bad, she rather helped healing diseases.

There is countless numbers of Finnish deities, and here is not nearly all, just the most important ones.

[yugirl-with-dragons]

OK SO FIRST OF ALL THANKS TO THE SUPER UBER TALENTED @aceyugiohdreamer WHO WROTE THIS AMAZING FANFIC. KY YOU’RE SO GREAT. The sketch is obv related to the fanfic below here, I HIGHLY suggest you to read and find out more details!!

[In the plot here, our dear gang (Yusei, human!Stardust, Aki, Jack, Crow, Archfiend- has already met Black Rose Dragon, but they haven’t found Divine yet. Hence, Yusei isn’t blind yet]

commissions info | art blog | Facebook | Instagram |Twitter | Redbubble | Society6 | wix blog

Lessons

Aki wasn’t sure why Black Rose had wanted to speak to her privately, or what about, but she didn’t hesitate at all to accept the invitation. With the way their last conversation had gone, she was frankly surprised the dragon had been interested in ever seeing her again at all, let alone so quickly.

But here they were, deep in Black Rose’s forest, an ancient dragon in her elegant human form and a young human witch, face to face.

Alone.

Aki deferred to her hostess and waited patiently for her to speak first.

Black Rose stared at her with arms crossed, her eyes not friendly, but not disdainful either. She seemed to be evaluating her in some way, though Aki had no idea by what measure or for what qualities. So, not knowing what she could do to better present herself, she simply stood still.

Finally Black Rose tilted her chin up slightly and commanded, “Tell me your name.”

Aki decided to not point out Black Rose’s rudeness. Getting fussy over her proud attitude would get them nowhere since she hadn’t earned the dragon’s respect yet. She would just have to accept it if she was going to see what this meeting was about.

“Aki,” she answered simply.

“Aki.”

Black vines began rising up like snakes from her hair, winding forward through the air. Aki held still, thinking she had no choice but to trust that Black Rose didn’t mean her harm. She had a feeling it might be disrespectful to flinch away from those vines, which were literally extensions of her body, and the last thing she needed was for Black Rose’s anger to flare up from an offence. So she let the vines come and feel around at her aura like a curious dog sniffing at a stranger.

“I haven’t met many witches over the years,” Black Rose said, her eyes narrowing somewhat in thought. “But I do sense something familiar in you. I suppose the magic that some of you humans have isn’t unlike that in us dragons.”

Aki started.

“What? You mean . . . you’re saying you can sense magic in me?”

“Why is that surprising? Didn’t you tell me yourself that you’re a witch?”

“Well yeah, but . . . that can’t be,” she said, shaking her head. “Divine . . . he . . . he took my magic from me. He took it, so, there’s no way you should be able sense it.”

“Hnh! What a stupid thing to say!” Black Rose scoffed haughtily. “If you’re like us, then your magic is a part of you, as integral as your bones or your blood. If he had taken all your magic, you would be dead. Just like how we dragons die when you humans steal our magic. Honestly, you don’t even know that much?”

“But I—I can’t feel anything! Not like I used to!” Aki insisted, feeling her emotions rise up. “The world feels dead to me! I can’t connect to anything, I can’t draw out the life and magic that used to come so easily to me. I feel like I’ve been cut off from everything, even myself—I’m not fully me anymore! It’s like you said, magic has always been a part of me, but I can’t . . . I can’t feel it anymore.”

“Hmph, well, that certainly sounds troublesome,” Black Rose huffed, shifting her weight onto one leg. “But the fact is, there is magic in you, just as surely as there is a heart beating and pumping blood. There’s no mistaking it—though, I suppose it does feel faint,” she conceded as the vines wandered along her limbs and body and hair.

“Then,” Aki began, feeling her heart flutter—excited, anxious, desperate—“if I still have magic in me, how do I use it?”

She had to know! She had to know how to tap into whatever was left, how to be useful to Yusei!

Black Rose raised an eyebrow.

“How should I know?” she asked. “I’m not a master or a teacher or anything, I just know something obvious when I see it.”

Aki’s heart sank. She couldn’t even work up the energy to be annoyed with Black Rose, she was just too devastated by fallen hope.

Then Black Rose sighed.

“Though, it’s not just the magic I sense,” she added softly—so softly she might have even been talking to herself. “There’s something about it that’s . . . resonating.”

She had a confused look, her head tilted and eyes scrunched as she considered Aki like a puzzle.

“I don’t know why that would possibly be,” she muttered, as if being confronted with something confusing irritated her, or perhaps it was that the idea of feeling any connection to a human was repulsive. “But . . .”

She drew closer, her vines losing length as her hair consumed the excess. She was slightly taller than Aki and looked down into her eyes.

She had nice eyes, Black Rose had to admit to herself. Earthy. They looked rich enough for her roses to grow strong in. And the magic she could feel in her—the light vibrations of it meshing harmoniously into the great waves of her own enormous power—it had a sweet flavor. Like ripe, wild berries. Sweet with a little snap to it.

It felt like this tiny human was actually part of her forest. It made her . . .

Made her want to . . .

Help her grow.

Nourish her, like any other precious living thing whose life and vitality she protected here in her ward, whose presence she noticed, feeling when it was born and when it died like it was part of her own body—her own soul.

This Aki.

Aki, whose aura was the colors of changing autumn leaves.

It was like she was seamlessly becoming part of this place—or perhaps, more like, she had always been, by nature, but Black Rose was only now able to notice it. Now that she was open to feeling the way her presence resonated, like it belonged, rather than clashed.

Like that hotheaded blond and even his Archfiend companion—despite the one being a dragon, his vibrations were jarring against hers. She felt the discord in their natures, striking and sour.

Black Rose had rejected Aki automatically at first, without thinking or feeling, so perhaps it was no surprise it had taken her this long to notice. Now that she was considering her properly, she couldn’t help the feeling, which came as naturally for Aki as it did for any other plant she nourished.

She lifted a hand and gently caressed a lock of Aki’s hair between her fingers.

Vibrant, red hair—not unlike her own plumage.

“I like your hair,” she said at last.

Aki blinked, more than a little stunned.

“What?”

Black Rose exhaled sharply and dropped her hand.

“Never mind. Listen.”

She may have felt a natural desire to nurture this young, little sapling—even acknowledge to herself that she did—but that didn’t mean she would so quickly change her attitude.

“I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to help you in your situation, but I suppose it would be pretty amazing of me to find a way, wouldn’t it?”

She smirked and gave her hair a quick flip before turning around.

“Yes, I think so,” she confirmed to herself. “It’s been quite a while since there was anything new for me to learn, so that might be interesting.”

Aki stared at Black Rose’s back—at all the sleek, thick hair that draped over it down to her hips—still feeling like something had happened just now and she had no idea what.

“Hey! Are you spacing out on me? What’s wrong with you?” Black Rose snapped, looking over her shoulder.

“What?”

“Move already! Come here—come with me. Jeez.”

Aki wasn’t about to refuse yet another invitation from Black Rose to get closer, so she sprinted forward to her side.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they continued on together.

“Just to a place with some particularly rich soil.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Why not? I like rich soil. It gives me good energy. And it smells nice.”

Well, Aki had no argument against that.

“Ah. I think so too,” she said thoughtfully, remembering back to all the gardening she had done at the house where she had lived with Divine.

“Of course you do.”

Aki thought Black Rose just meant it in the sense that of course her opinion was correct—how could a magnificent queen like her be wrong? She didn’t know she meant it in the sense of, You’re one of mine, of course you feel energy from rich earth.

After that, Aki wondered if she should try to make conversation—how long would it even take to get to the place anyway?

“Does this mean you have an idea?” she decided to ask.

“Hnh, well, I’m at least feeling motivated to experiment,” Black Rose answered, lifting her chin just a little.

Experiment, huh? Aki thought. Well, I guess that can’t be helped, how else are we going to find out anything?

“Are you nervous?” Black Rose looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Do you want to back out? You had better tell me now before I waste any time.”

“No, it’s fine,” Aki answered quickly. “This is just a little sudden, so I wasn’t expecting it. But I want to do this. I want your help.”

“Hm,” Black Rose hummed with approval then turned her eyes back forward. “Just so you know, I can’t guarantee there won’t be any pain. I’m just going to be trying out a few things, so if you’re really willing to do this, you should be prepared for anything—and for possibly nothing to come of it.”

Aki nodded, her chest going tight with resolution.

“Right. No guarantees. I’m still in.”

Black Rose glanced sideways, feeling the way her aura firmed up decisively, and smiled to herself, feeling approval again.

“Very good.”

“It’s only natural, right?” Aki asked without turning. “If I don’t have magic, I don’t feel whole. So of course I’d do anything to get it back.”

“Hm, yes, that would be natural,” Black Rose agreed. She would certainly do anything too if she found herself in a similar situation—and of course rip to pieces whoever would have done such a thing. Such a crime deserved instant death.

Hm, no, perhaps a slow, agonizing death, for daring to cross her so offensively.

In any case, there would be no forgiveness.

“And I’m sure your body is naturally longing to get it back.”

“I hope so. I know my heart is.”

“Well, let’s see what we can do, shall we?”

She pointed up ahead, and beyond another stretch of trees, through the cracks between their thick and crooked bodies, Aki could just make out what looked like a clearing with some kind of lake. The forest was dimmer than the world outside it because the canopy was so densely packed that little light managed to pass through, but when they reached the open area, Aki saw that light glittered on the surface of the lake, the ripples catching every little ray and casting it about playfully. It wasn’t a large lake by any means—possibly more of a pond—but it was clear and pretty. It was fed by a stream coming from ahead and led into another that continued off to the side. The sound of the running water made her skin feel cool, as if she had dropped her hand in it. Besides the stream, there wasn’t much other ambient noise—just leaves rustling occasionally, the snap of twigs. The space seemed deeply quiet and undisturbed.

“Here,” Black Rose said, stepping toward the water. Her hair began to stretch again into black vines and dug into the earth right at the edge. “This water is sourced from a mountain not too far from here. It’s quite pure and fresh since it runs straight from the mountain into my forest.”

Aki approached too and knelt down to watch the vines wriggle their way deeper into the earth. As they took root, Aki dipped her fingertips into the water. As she expected, it was quite cool. She waved her fingers back and forth a little, then pulled them out and flicked the excess water off.

“There are more creeks and rivers throughout the forest, but this one is the closest.”

She held out her hand to Aki and beckoned her with a few quick waves of her fingers. Aki took hold of her hand and stood up, and then Black Rose twisted her arm and used her other hand to push Aki’s long sleeve up her arm. She lightly ran her nail from Aki’s wrist to the crease in her elbow.

“Since I don’t know what you do and don’t know, I’ll just explain some things,” she announced. “First, there’s no particular spot in your body where magic resides, like an organ. It’s in every part of you, all over. Which means there’s no place to target in any of this. It could be that any part of your body will be as good as any other, or perhaps it might mean that your entire body will need to be affected all at once. Or maybe there is a trigger that I’m not aware of. Like I said, we’re just going to be experimenting, so starting off at least might be rather random attempts to get a reaction.”

Aki nodded.

“Ok. I understand.”

“Good. And just so you know, I’m being serious here. Don’t think I’m just playing around.”

“That hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

“Hnh, well good. Now, let’s see . . .”

She ran her nail back to Aki’s wrist from the inner elbow.

“This would probably be easier if you had roots,” she muttered to herself. “Hmm, how am I going to . . .”

Aki wasn’t exactly sure what she was thinking, but she kept quiet to let her concentrate.

“Hmm,” she hummed with her lips pursed and pushed to the side, then she mumbled, “I guess I’ll start off non-invasive.”

Aki wasn’t against that choice.

Black Rose put her palm against Aki’s while cupping the back of her hand in her other. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, and Aki watched as a kind of faint glow appeared around the vines that were rooted into the earth. Like sap, it traveled slowly up the length of the vines, into Black Rose’s hair, saturating the whole of it with a soft light. And then her hair rose, as if lifted by a breeze, though Aki felt none. And then her dress began to flutter, though it didn’t seem entirely like a dress—it looked like it was transforming into a collection of flower petals, deep red and thick.

Black Rose’s nails went black and sharpened as they extended slightly. And then finally, Aki saw the same glow appear within Black Rose’s hands, and then she felt it sink into her own. It was warm, comforting. And she felt it spread from there, as if it had gotten into her blood and was being circulated throughout her body. It was a gentle warmth, like the sensation of a hot drink filling her up on a cold day while the steam brushed against her face.

It was nice. Nostalgic, somehow, as if it connected to all the warm, cozy feelings she had ever had and brought them back like a vague memory without any actual image to go with it. It was just . . . nice. And made her smile.

She wouldn’t have minded soaking in that sensation for a while—it was a welcome reprieve from all the chaos and misery that was going on—but after a minute, all the light faded and the warmth receded with it, leaving her with a sudden chill that made her shiver.

Aki’s eyes also had to adjust a little to the sudden dimness. Once she could see Black Rose’s face clearly again, the dragon asked, “So? Is anything different?”

Aki paused for a moment to take a mental stock of her condition.

Then shook her head.

“No, I think I’m still the same.”

The space still felt too quiet and still from what she would expect of an earthy haven she knew was alive with running streams of life and magic.

“I see,” Black Rose said, not sounding too disappointed.

“Can I ask what you have in mind?”

“Hm? Oh, I just thought I’d try running some magic through you, to see if that would jolt what little you have left in you back to its full life. Like giving your body a refill to replace what was drained. But it looks like you weren’t able to hold onto it: it went in and then passed right out.”

“Hm, I see.”

“But, I can try again, go a little . . . deeper.”

“How do you mean?”

“When I feed the plants, they soak up the magic right into their inner bodies through their roots. They drink it like water or any other nutrient from the soil. It might be worth trying something like that with you.”

“I . . . see.”

“I’ll try to be careful,” Black Rose said, probably trying to sound reassuring but instead sounding rather cocky.

“Thanks.”

Black Rose looked carefully at her exposed arm again and hummed thoughtfully to herself, turning it over a few times and spreading her fingers and pressing into Aki’s palm with her thumb.

Eventually she just shrugged to herself.

“Well, here goes.”

Aki took in a deep breath in preparation for a vague “anything” that might come next.

She looked down at her hand, as did Black Rose, and saw that her nails had returned to their human style. But then the nail on her right first finger extended again, turning black as it did, and the way it transformed slowly and threateningly right next to Aki’s skin gave her an ominous feeling.

Black Rose set the sharp tip of her nail at a soft spot in Aki’s wrist, and the next second, slid it right into the flesh.

“Shhhhhhhit!” Aki hissed as blood pooled up around the nail.

Black Rose held her arm and hand firmly in place, because even though Aki tried not to struggle, that nail hurt, dammit! She clenched her jaw while the light reappeared—in the earth, the vines, Black Rose’s hair, even her eyes which were open this time, and her hands—and that warmth began washing through her.

Warmer this time.

Like summer sunlight shinning under her skin, threatening to burn if it stayed too long.

But she didn’t mind, because it distracted her from the pain in her wrist. The nail seemed little more than a tiny papercut in that moment, making it easier to hold still, especially when that warmth coaxed her muscles and mind to relax. But she tried to focus on it, now that she understood Black Rose’s intentions. She didn’t know if her own conscious will could have an effect, but it seemed better to try. So she set her mind on that flow of the magic as it coursed through her, tried to map out all the internal crevices it touched, tried to notice if there was anything, any part of her that responded with a life of its own rather than just passively allowing the magic to pass through.

A minute went by, and Aki felt disappointed when the warmth withdrew, leaving goosebumps in her skin against the cool forest air, but otherwise no substantial change in her body.

Although now the pain in her wrist grew much more noticeable again.

“Hm,” Black Rose said, taking her nail out of the wrist and its blood and waving her hand in front of Aki’s scrunched face. “No, you don’t feel any different. Ah!”

She looked down to see that some blood had spilled over the side of Aki’s wrist and onto her sleeve.

“Oops, excuse me.”

She lifted Aki’s wrist to her mouth and licked up all the blood—much to Aki’s surprise—before setting her lips against the wound and giving it a suck. Aki tried not to let out any sound of gagging, and then a second later Black Rose lifted her face to reveal the wrist completely healed, with no sign of a puncture at all.

“Thanks,” Aki said tightly.

“What’s with that face?” Black Rose asked curiously.

Oh, was some of the queasiness leaking out into her expression? She had tried to hold that in.

“Oh, uh . . . I guess I just didn’t know you . . . drink blood.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, sounding confused. “When things die, they go into the earth, don’t they? Flesh, bones, blood and all. I am the substance of the earth, it’s the nature of my being. So if the earth can eat such things, so can I.”

“Ah, I . . . see.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No—well, not really. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it so suddenly.”

“Hm, seems like there’s a lot you don’t know,” she observed condescendingly. “If you had a teacher, they didn’t do a very thorough job. You’re going to have to do a lot of learning on top of just trying to get your magic back.”

“I don’t mind learning,” Aki replied. “I want to know more. But your right, my teacher kept a lot of things from me.”

Black Rose didn’t miss the dark tone in Aki’s voice.

“Why?”

Aki’s eyes were hard.

“Because he was using me. He only wanted me to know what would be useful to him. He didn’t want me to know too much, that way he could turn on me when the time was right.”

Black Rose narrowed her eyes.

“Turn on you,” she repeated. “Does that mean . . . Are you saying your teacher . . . ?”

Aki nodded.

“Was Divine.”

Black Rose met that hard stare directly for a moment, feeling her vines twitch with displeasure.

“So,” she said softly, “he didn’t just steal your magic. He betrayed you.”

Aki nodded again.

“Yes. He took me in when I was very young and promised he would teach me how to control my magic. I trusted him. I relied on him for everything. And he did teach me a lot of things that helped me develop my skills, but . . .” Her free hand flexed at her side before curling into a fist. “All that time, he was making sure to keep me close by so that I’d be convenient for him, whenever he was ready to make his move.”

It wasn’t magic, but Black Rose could still sense the anger burning in Aki’s heart. How much more intense it would have been if she had had her magic to give it form! Black Rose’s anger was torrential wind and thorns—she found herself very interested to know what this witch’s was.

Deception, betrayal, stealing . . . this Divine was sounding more and more wicked the more she learned. And she couldn’t forgive anyone who would harm one of her own.

“It could very well be that the only way to get your magic back is to reclaim that which was originally yours in the first place,” Black Rose advised, and then her voice went low and serious. “But if there is another way, even if just a temporary one, I’ll help you find it.”

Aki’s anger lifted enough for her eyes to brighten with awe.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Black Rose nodded.

“Well, shall we try again?”

“Yes, let’s.”

A few more attempts were made, some less pleasant than others, but Aki bore it without complaint. She had entered into this willingly, and whatever she had to go through would be more than worth it if it restored her magic—in any capacity. But even if it didn’t, even if after everything she was still exactly as she had been, she was still happy that Black Rose would try to help her. That in itself was a gift, more than she would have expected after their first few encounters. It was hard to understand exactly what had changed in the dragon’s mind, but Aki wasn’t going to press. Whatever happened, she would let it bloom naturally.

“Hmm,” Black Rose hummed, holding her chin between her fingers. “I think I need a little break to think. I’ve run out of ideas for the moment.”

“Ok, that’s fine.”

“Come here.”

Black Rose snatched Aki by her wrist and tugged her along by the edge of the water until they arrived among a widespread, tangled mass of roots that belonged to a tree so big it probably would have taken ten people to wrap their outstretched arms around it completely. The roots were black and gnarled, rising up from the ground and curling back into it through the water, and Black Rose pulled Aki among them, climbing to the highest arches, and guided her to sit next to her on one so that they could look down at the water below their feet. Aki wished she could feel the energy from the tree, feel the texture of its life that flowed within rather than just the sturdy and rough exterior. She rubbed her hand back and forth over the root longingly. The tree was so beautiful, and she was missing the full experience of its character. She couldn’t help but feel her heart sink just a little.

“You know, I’ll give you some credit,” Black Rose said, leaning back a little so that her glossy hair hung loose behind her. “You’re actually taking this whole situation pretty well, considering how precious what you lost is.”

Aki smiled and leaned back too.

“Well, you didn’t see me when it happened,” she replied softly. “I was devastated. It felt like I had practically died. I didn’t handle it well then at all.”

“Hmph, well that’s no surprise, who wouldn’t be devastated by that? And of course you would feel like you had died. Considering how little magic there is in you, you quite literally almost did. But that’s why it’s surprising you’re in as good a condition as you are. Usually, I would expect such a drastic loss of magic to leave you incapacitated, possibly comatose. But physically, you seem to be doing fine. And even mentally, you seem to think pretty clearly. You haven’t succumbed to despair. So I’ll admit, I’m impressed.” Then she added with a narrow, sideways glance, “Don’t take that lightly, understand?”

Aki turned her head and nodded.

“Right, I won’t,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”

“Hm.”

Black Rose looked forward again, following the path of the stream until it disappeared among the trees. She thought for a moment, then without turning to Aki, she asked, “Tell me, what do you feel an affinity for?”

“Affinity,” Aki repeated.

“Yes. Everyone has something—maybe even several somethings—that they feel drawn to. Like it represents them in a way. Especially for those of us with magic. It almost always is related to the basic substance of our magic.”

Aki looked down at her lap for a moment.

“Hmm, I don’t think I ever thought about it too much before,” she began slowly. “But, I always liked being out in the garden. I liked taking care of everything there, monitoring their life, listening to them through the magic they had in their aura, learning what kinds of properties they had. I liked being around so much life.”

Black Rose laughed softly to herself.

“I knew it,” she whispered. “You really are one of mine.”

“What was that?” Aki asked.

But Black Rose waved her away.

“Nothing. So, you would say you feel an affinity for plants?”

“Generally, yes, I think so. But, I’d say I have a special affinity for anything that’s . . . a bit dangerous. Plants that are prickly or have thorns, or some kind of poison. Plants most people don’t want or avoid.”

Black Rose considered her for a moment, then held out a hand while a lock of her hair resting against her shoulder began winding up into the air as a vine. It circled around her arm like an affectionate snake all the way to her palm, while sharp thorns grew along its length in the opposite direction of her skin.

“I too feel drawn to such plants,” she said, her voice unusually kind. “If I won’t care for them, if I won’t love them, who else will?”

Aki watched for a moment in wonder as Black Rose stroked down the length of a particularly long thorn with her fingertip, then nodded.

“Exactly.”

All those years, she had wanted to show the same compassion Divine had shown her—had wanted to be as compassionate as he had been. He had inspired her deeply, engraving that desire in her heart to care for the unwanted, the unlovable.

Even though it had been a false lesson, a lie on his part, it still rang true to her. Even if he had been lying, her feelings had always been sincere. And she would be better than him. She would absolutely be better than him in every way.

“Tell me,” Black Rose said while watching her vine recede, winding backwards around her arm until it fell down as hair once again. “That Divine, when he was ‘teaching’ you, did he explain what the flow of your magic is? What you do when you’re connecting with the plants, communing with them?”

Aki blinked, rummaging through her memories for a moment to find such a lesson.

“No, I don’t think he did,” she answered. “I think, maybe . . . our styles of magic are a bit different. Because . . . I sometimes felt maybe there were some things he didn’t know. Things that seemed natural to me but he never mentioned.”

“Hm, well good,” Black Rose muttered contemptuously. “I would hate to think he could be of the same substance as me.”

Aki thought she hadn’t even known there were different substances when it came to magic, she had always assumed it was all the same, simply because she had never been told otherwise. But magic was apparently a thing with great variety, a great number of sources and attributes. Aki felt like her true education could finally begin—and she didn’t even have her magic to train with. What bitter irony.

“Well listen,” Black Rose continued. “I’ll explain how it works—for me and you. In essence, I’m redirecting magic from the earth through myself to where I want it to go. Normally, I do this to give extra life and vitality to whatever needs it—and since any single plant is so small, it’s no problem. The earth has plenty of magic in it to spare. It might be a different matter to try to heal an entire forest if it burned down, but I can’t be sure since I’ve never had to do something of that extent. Anyway, the point is that all of this redirection involves magic that is basically the same element. The earth, myself, the various plants—our life forces are very similar and we feed off of the same quality of magic.”

She looked at Aki directly.

“So, I would expect that when I direct magic from the earth and me into you that you would gain a similar vitalization that anything else I target does, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. It certainly harmonizes with you, but it slips out quickly like water in a sieve. Now, though I can tell your magic is similar and that you are compatible in spirit to me, it might be that out bodies are too dissimilar for my magic to take root in you.”

After letting that idea sink in, Aki said softly, “I see.”

“That’s just a possibility that I’m thinking of based on how things have been going. It could also be based on the fact that the plants are not magic users in the same way we are. They have it in their life force, but it’s not like they have any consciousness, they only do what their nature enables them to do. We are different. We have consciousness, we can do more than just the basic functions natural to the design of our bodies. And that means that any individual’s magic is unique to them—it’s a natural part of their very soul and body. If I redirect magic from the earth to plants, it’s the same magic they feed off of anyway, but if I pour my magic into you, even if it’s of the same basic substance, it still isn’t the unique magic that is yours. So your body and soul don’t accept it fully.”

“Wow,” Aki breathed. “I had no idea it was like that. I didn’t learn that from Divine.”

“I seriously wonder what exactly you did learn,” Black Rose huffed. “But anyway, that is also why I don’t understand how this Divine can be stealing magic from others and actually be able to use it. Naturally, he shouldn’t. His body and soul should reject any magic that isn’t his own.”

“Well, from what I understand, he needs help from magic objects to channel it.”

Black Rose looked at her, then looked down with a thoughtful frown.

“Hm, that makes sense. If he tried to take in that kind of magic directly into himself on its own . . . I can’t imagine the result would go well. If their substances aren’t compatible, I would expect it to tear his body apart.” She grinned maliciously. “I’d like to see that.”

Aki agreed.

“Maybe if I can break whatever it is he has that’s keeping my magic under control in him, he’ll break apart too when my magic rushes back to me.”

Black Rose’s teeth seemed to grow a little sharper in her grin.

“Delightful.”

Then she rose to her feet and grabbed Aki by the arm. Before Aki could stand, a gust of wind rose around them, Black Rose’s dress began to bloom with large red petals, and soon there was a whole cloud of them that caught the wind like sails, and Black Rose pulled Aki in close so that she could carry her to the ground, floating gently down with the petals keeping them perfectly balanced. When they landed, the excess petals scattered in all directions while the smaller ones on her dress stayed in place.

It really wouldn’t have taken much time to climb down, but Aki had to admit that the dramatic flair had been rather exciting.

“I just had a thought,” Black Rose announced without making any visible acknowledgment that she had done anything out of the ordinary. She released Aki and used both hands to pluck just a few of the smallest petals from her body. Aki watched curiously as she did, and looked down at them as Black Rose held them out delicately in her palm while the rest of the petals recoiled and smoothly transitioned back into their dress form.

“Here,” she said.

Aki looked up to Black Rose’s eyes, then back down at the petals, and slowly, carefully, reached out to pick them up. These had come right from Black Rose’s body, there was something sacred in that she had to honor.

“Eat these.”

Aki’s eyes snapped back to hers again.

“What?”

Black Rose rolled her eyes.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I . . .”

“Are you going to refuse? When I gave you something of myself?” Black Rose asked challengingly with a raised eye brow.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Aki answered quickly. “I just . . . it did come from you. I’m just . . . honored, that’s all.”

Black Rose’s eyebrow lowered, and she looked down at Aki with an expression that was approving, but still haughty.

“As you should be. Now go on, eat.”

Aki looked at the petals again. She had never just eaten rose petals before. She had used them as ingredients in mixtures, but never just plain like this. She wondered what it would be like.

And then she wondered, was there a specific etiquette for eating flower petals?

She felt too silly to ask, so she just laid them on her tongue. They were soft, and their flavor was light at first, but as she continued chewing, it grew and eventually filled her senses so fully it felt like she was breathing in the scent of an entire rose garden.

When she finally swallowed, Black Rose nodded, then held out her hand again. It was empty this time, and Aki filled it with her own. Black Rose set her other hand on top, and then light and warmth began to flow from her body into Aki’s through the channel their hands created. It was so lovely, like being surrounded by roses in the summer sun. If Aki closed her eyes, she could picture it so clearly.

After a minute, the heavy flow of the magic stopped, but this time . . .

This time, there was something left behind.

Aki’s eyes widened just a little.

Black Rose smiled.

“Ah, there we go.”

Her hand passed in the air over Aki’s face, down her chest to her abdomen, while Aki felt something like candle lights glowing dimly in the inner depths of her self.

“Well, it’s not a solution,” Black Rose admitted setting her hands on her hips. “But it’s something, I guess.” Then she smirked. “Heh, it actually worked.”

She gave her head a little triumphant toss.

“What is this?” Aki asked, setting her hands on her abdomen, though the lights she felt weren’t anywhere specifically linked to her body. They were just . . . there, inside her.

“Like I said, our own magic is tied to our body and soul. So, I gave you a little piece of my body, so now the magic I’ve given you has a little anchor it can latch onto. I doubt it’ll stay inside you for very long, but as long as you’ve got a bit of me in you, you can carry a little bit of my magic, too.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sure that only works because we’re so compatible though. I wouldn’t want to try the same thing with any of those others.”

And then Aki realized it wasn’t just the lights inside her that she could feel. There was . . . there was light outside as well. Light and life and magic flowing through the millions and millions of earthen arteries right there in that one little space. It was faint, like the candle lights, but it was there! She could feel it!

She felt tears well in her eyes as her body vibrated with the joy of reuniting with something familiar, something necessary. And she turned toward the tree and its tangled web of black roots and reached out. She felt the hum of its life within the root—it was old, and against her senses, it felt like a rich, deep bass, making the hair on her neck rise.

Her heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to sing or scream or sob.

She suddenly whipped around from the tree and launched into Black Rose, wrapping her arms tight around her and squeezing. Her tears fell into her hair as she buried her eyes against her shoulder.

“Thank you!” she whispered, overcome with emotion.

Black Rose looked down at her, a little stunned to be touched so suddenly and with such familiarity.

“Well, like I said, it’s only temporary,” she said awkwardly, unable to decide if she was comfortable with the embrace or not.

Aki shook her head.

“I don��t care,” she insisted. “I needed to feel this! I needed to feel . . .”

She lifted her face, and Black Rose saw how bright her eyes shined, even in the dim light—how beautiful they were.

“You’ve given me hope,” Aki said, her voice breaking, and the tears ran heavy down her cheeks, past her smile.

Hope?

From her?

Black Rose had never felt hope, not since that day. She had only felt anger and hatred. How could someone like her be the source of hope for anyone?

But there it was, shining in Aki’s face, along with relief and joy and gratitude.

Black Rose stared, not knowing how to respond.

Finally Aki unwrapped her arms and wiped her eyes clear, still smiling. Black Rose watched as she breathed in deeply and tilted her head back while lifting her arms at her side, basking in the beauty of all the life she could once again feel all around her.

Yes, she had to get this back. She had to make her soul complete again. She had been so hopeless and devastated, but now, somehow, that had changed.

Now she felt determined.

This was a taste of what was waiting for her when they defeated Divine, when she and Yusei and Stardust and all the others finally had their victory. She would be restored in full, as would Stardust and any others that Divine had hurt, and Yusei would be acknowledged as the hero he was.

Yes, yes, she felt so much hope now! With just a little reminder of how it was supposed to be!

“Well,” Black Rose spoke up after a moment, still feeling uncertain about her own feelings, “why don’t we use this as an experiment and see how long this lasts? Then we can go from there.”

Aki lowered her head and, still smiling, still shining, looked at Black Rose and nodded.

“Ok, good idea.”

Black Rose didn’t even have it in her to give her usual snappy retort, “Of course it is,” because she just . . . had forgotten how beautiful someone could look when they shined with that much joy.

Just like . . . she always had.

Black Rose caught the lump in her throat before it went any higher and pushed it down, along with the sting in her eyes.

“Ehem, right, well, I’m done for now, so just let me know later.”

“Right.”

Black Rose forced herself to turn away and wander on her own away from that light.

It was just . . . too much for her.

Too much after being in darkness for so long.

——

“Oh, really?” Yusei asked softly after Aki had told him the story of her session with Black Rose. “That’s great, I’m glad you finally have someone who could tell you so much.”

“Yeah,” Aki murmured back. “Actually, I’m surprised she would, you know? It’s not like she’s one to open up to new people . . . or maybe any people.”

Yusei put a hand on hers. Everyone else was asleep in their camp space, but the two of them were sitting side by side on the soft forest floor against the trunk of a tree, and her hands were resting in her lap.

“You probably got through to her.”

Aki looked up from his hand to his eyes.

“She seems like she’s been lonely for a long time, and you were the right person to reach her heart.”

Aki looked down again, biting her bottom lip. Could she have really been something like that? Could she have been anything like what Yusei had been to her?

“I . . . I hope so,” she said under her breath. “I don’t want her to be alone . . . if she doesn’t really want to be.”

Yusei gave her hand a squeeze.

“If you do what feels right, if you just be yourself, you’ll be good for her, no matter what happens. You’ll let her see something good and honest and beautiful.”

Aki felt her stomach knot tightly and her chest burn. She couldn’t look at him at that moment, not after he had said something so touching, and sounded like it was such an easy thing for him to say.

No one had ever said something like that to her.

She stared hard at her hands—at his still on top of hers—and mumbled, “You’re saying . . . I can be like you.”

She heard him laugh quietly.

“You think I’m like that?”

She only glanced at him—caught the sight of his smile—before looking back down.

“You are like that,” she insisted. “You’re always honest, and yourself. Everything about you is good and . . . beautiful. You’re . . . the best person I’ve ever met.”

He didn’t say anything, but she could feel him looking at her.

And then it wasn’t just her chest that was burning. She felt it in her face too.

And in the rest of her.

It was rising up, an aura of warmth and light, like a halo around her body.

Yusei’s hand looked dark in contrast, and surprised, she pulled her hands away to look at her open palms.

“Aki?” he asked quietly. “Are you ok?”

She looked up to his eyes, which were somewhat concerned, but also shining with the glow reflected in them. She found herself staring for a moment, before a few tiny lights suddenly flickered in the air between them.

Aki blinked and shifted her gaze to the lights—to realize they were fireflies.

Yusei too shifted his gaze to them as they bounced and flickered around, whirling around Aki and her soft glow. Her face lit up—not just from the light, but from the wonder that bloomed in her heart. She lifted a hand, as if she couldn’t help herself, as if she wasn’t even thinking, and quickly several of the fireflies gathered around it.

“I can feel them too,” she murmured, a smile spreading across her face.

“Yeah?” he said, captivated by her expression more than anything else.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, slowly waving her hand through the air—first one way, then another, and the fireflies followed, their little bodies growing brighter and dimmer in waves. “They feel like buzzing.” She put her other hand over her chest. “In here.”

Yusei could only try to imagine what she was feeling, what the experience of her magic was like, but to him, seeing the way she experienced it was beautiful enough.

And then she rose to her feet, keeping her hand out in front of her as a beacon for the fireflies to dance around. And more were coming. He didn’t know where they all had been all this time until now, but wherever they had been, they must have felt her aura and been drawn to it immediately. Aki took a few steps, and she looked magical, with her own body emitting a soft, warm glow and what seemed like hundreds of tiny lights flickering excitedly as they spun around her, each in its own chosen pattern. She lifted both of her arms, and the fireflies moved with them, making way and then finding a new orbit around them.

Yusei heard her laugh to herself, watched her tilt her head back and spin on her feet freely in delight, and he felt a tight grip in his chest.

He was fighting for this.

This.

To bring this beauty and light and joy back to her.

This was her natural state, he felt, he knew. He couldn’t let her continue living emptied of this anymore. He felt his determination as naturally as he felt his awe.

To his mind, the fireflies looked like hundreds of shooting stars circling her, and she had become the sun, spinning and laughing as she lost herself in the magic that coursed through her.

Aki, he thought, feeling a buzz in his own head, too.

And then he felt something push up against the bottom of his chin, closing his mouth, which he hadn’t even realized was open.

He looked over, and there was Stardust, glancing sideways with a smirk while he kept holding two fingers under Yusei’s chin.

Yusei blinked. He hadn’t even noticed Stardust slip up beside him. Had he been that entranced?

Stardust raised an eyebrow, a silent, You ready to handle this yourself now? And Yusei nodded, with gratitude to his companion for having prevented such a face from being seen by anyone else.

So Stardust pulled his hand away and crossed his arms comfortably, and Yusei returned his gaze to Aki, who was holding one arm fully outstretched and drawing waves in the air as she rotated, creating a fluttering trail of fireflies behind her hand.

And yes, of course.

Of course he had been that entranced.

[thomasreedtn]

Sacred Decorating

Today’s post comes as a follow-up to a post from two years ago: How to Thrive in a Less than Ideal Location. I write now from a place of gratitude, post-relocation and feeling ideally placed, but I thought I’d share additional insights from the new location. So often I hear from clients that they feel misplaced, lonely, sick or stuck, with no sacred space to call their own. If that describes you, then do check out the previous link, too. If, instead, you feel largely well placed but you want to upgrade your surroundings, then today’s post offers suggestions for adding even more sacred experience into your everyday home, office, or little corner.

Why Bother?

“I have more important things to worry about than decorating.”

“It’s too overwhelming. If I start, I’ll never finish.”

“My space looks good enough, but I don’t feel inspired or energized. Why can’t I get things to flow in other areas?”

Decorating might seem superficial, but it’s one of the fastest ways to shift energy in other areas of life. Whether you study feng shui, or just pay attention to colors and shapes that delight your senses, your everyday environment seeps into your subconscious. As your subconscious works nonstop to filter and create your outer experience, changing your external environment alters your internal feelings and perspective. These, in turn, alter how you experience your external reality.

It’s like breathing: in, out, in, out. You live and breathe and move in your everyday experiences. Like polluted air, a space that irritates, annoys or crushes your soul does more damage than it would first appear. On the flip side, a space that calms, uplifts and expands your soul acts like increased oxygen in the body. Most parasites and other nasties can’t stand a well oxygenated environment. As you clean and uplift the areas in which you spend your time, you welcome fresh inspiration, healing and opportunities in life.

Toadstool fountain, ferns and orgone pyramid by the meditation chair in my office.

Little Things Count — A Lot

In sessions, I always ask people to pay attention to the little things. What small, symbolic step could you take today, which would move you towards your larger goal? Little things add up. They also take less time, energy, focus and determination. In many instances, little things feel like throw-away’s: five minutes to take out the trash, ten minutes to file the pile. A little thing could include changing your screensaver to something that makes you smile. Maybe you move your desk or bed so that a pleasant view greets you instead of one that sinks your spirit.

While getting my M.A. in English Language and Literature at University of Chicago, I called the school counseling office in search of career counseling. I learned from the person who answered the phone that they did not offer career counseling, but if I didn’t like my trajectory, I should get myself down to their office so I could join the 80% of students on psychotropic drugs. This was 1996, but it remains a “wow” moment. If 80% of your students require meds just to tolerate your school, then school environment’s a problem!

Instead of taking her advice, I bought flowers. Every Friday, as a symbolic act, I brought home a small bouquet and placed it on the kitchen table. Those flowers marked the start of “weekend space.” Every Friday, I packed away anything to do with school, bought myself a nice bouquet and spent the weekend “as though” I just happened to live in the great city of Chicago. (Of course, I did live in the great city of Chicago, but graduate school often overwhelms all areas of life. I made a conscious choice to separate — i.e. set apart, make sacred — weekends. And the ritual of a small bouquet of flowers made that transition real.)

Sometimes I made elaborate vegetarian dinners and invited neighbors in for a low cost but home cooked meal. My only rule at those dinners: no discussing school. Any other topic would do. Other times I went dancing uptown with friends. My one rule was that weekends were “my time.” Yes, that rule made for long nights during the week, but it kept me sane while most of my classmates spiraled into deep depression. Knowing I did not wish to continue at that school, I withdrew my PhD application in February. I wanted nothing tying me to a future that would murder everything I valued in myself. I didn’t trust myself to turn down their offer if it came.

Sound dramatic? It was, yet I managed to thrive. My sunny smile and levity about the whole competitive BS environment drew many friends to me. U of Chicago marked my first foray into spontaneous intuitive readings and dream interpretation. It honed my hostess and vegetarian cooking skills, and it taught me the importance of small details when feeling trapped by commitments or lack of plan.

Having navigated nine months of hell while making my own beauty and fun, I skipped graduation and vowed never to return to Hyde Park. Never say never: in February 2010, a series of dreams led me right back to the belly of the beast. Guess what, though? I had changed.

Post-TBI, post-marriage, now accepting my life path instead of fighting it, I found a different world than I left so many years before. People were no longer getting kidnapped or mugged at one in the afternoon. A new park lined Lake Michigan, and a health food store specializing in fresh veggie juice and homemade raw vegan food options now brightened 53rd Street. The apartment building my dreams and visions led me to ended up providing a Mother Lode of Doors for me to paint. These portal paintings, in turn, directly led to me meeting and eventually marrying David.

In a similar way, when David and I arrived in Goshen and felt led to rent a gut rehabbed cottage across the street from a factory and a very loud train, the external environment felt like a kick in the gut. Little things shifted the energies step by step. Until Goshen, U of Chicago was my main example of living somewhere that crushed my soul. I spent nine months there, whereas Goshen turned into a five-year stint to support David’s aging parents. Because I spent more time there, years of little steps turned into a one-third acre permaculture food forest and two fully decorated cottages, but even more ideal places can welcome upgrades.

We love our new house and all its views. That doesn’t mean neglecting the inside, though. The simple act of putting floral placemats with scalloped edges on a red tablecloth brings me many moments of delight throughout the day. In the midst of our long, gray winters, this post-Christmas table setup makes me smile every time I walk by. Find your own little things that make you smile. You don’t need to do a gut rehab or relocate to find ways to turn your home into your own personal paradise. Often times a little nature goes a long way. Whether real or artificial, flowers, plants, natural materials and/or images that bring you in touch with nature ease the soul and help concentration.

Bring the garden indoors.

Use What You Have or What You Can

Speaking of real or artificial flowers and plants, I’ve purposely included both real and artificial plants in the photos so far. I love gardening, but not everyone has a green thumb. Some people can’t have plants due to animals, allergies or lighting conditions. I forget where I saw this, but I’ve long sensed its truth: scientific studies show that having real or artificial plants in your office improves focus, concentration and creativity. Obviously, avoid toxic smelling faux plants or at least let them off gas. Real plants clean the air on a literal, as well as symbolic level.

But some areas of the home don’t allow for real plants. You can spend a lot of money buying and killing plants to fill dark corners or windowless rooms. Eventually, you might want to consider a tapestry, photograph, coffee table book, or other way to get calming greenery into your space. My office has become a haven inside Dra’Faven:

The cactus and ivy are real. The boxwood hanging from the ceiling and in the cherub’s vase are faux. Those boxwood balls make me giggle when I walk into the room. They also make me look up. This portal door (aka The Tree of Life or Daphne Door) is the first thing my eyes see when I enter the diagonally opposite door. Hanging those balls from the ceiling draws the eye from bottom to top, which corresponds to an uplift of spirit.

This shows a different angle at night with the overhead light on — a bit bright for regular use, but it helps for photos.

Lighting can make a huge difference for not much cost or trouble. The fireplace has a flame-like Himalayan salt lamp, which provides a warm glow, and I have a yellow-toned LED bulb in the lamp behind my computer desk. Using an LED allows me to get much more light out of a 1950’s lamp from David’s parents. Anything more than 20 watts made that lamp dangerous to leave on. For the cost of one LED bulb, I get the equivalent of a 100 watt bulb’s light if I need it, without needing to replace a vintage lamp.

Although I consider our house in Kalamazoo an ideal spot for us right now and into the foreseeable future, I do miss having a water view. I’ve had water views in many locations, including Monterey, Southern Oregon and Lake Michigan. We spend a lot of time on the Michigan shores of Lake Michigan, but in terms of amenities, David’s employment, general attitude and opportunities, Kalamazoo makes sense to live. How to have the best of both worlds? Water sounds (fountain, CD’s) and water tapestries.

Below, you can see the huge Goddess of Summer tapestry, a gift from Tania when I rented Haus Am See as an office.

This tapestry gave me a year round indoor garden view, but the thought of living somewhere “permanently” without a water view made me a little sad. I didn’t even realize I felt sad about it until I spent $12 on this waterfall tapestry to hide a messy area of David’s office while he still lived in Goshen finishing up his old job. I thought I’d feel celebratory when he set up his office. I was surprised to feel sad not to see the waterfall anymore. At the risk of turning my office into a crazy riot of color and nature, I decided to hang the tapestry in my own “Wealth Corner.” As with the boxwood balls, seeing the waterfall makes my heart sing.

The point is to find ways of using what you have and what works in your space. If you truly want to live by the beach, then having a screensaver or tapestry now that puts you in the beach vibe will help you manifest that beach home sooner. If you don’t want to move to the beach, but you love vacationing there, then sprinkling some beachy elements will improve your mood and outlook. A little bit of “ahhh” enters your uggh. Your subconscious registers everything. Bring more of what you wish to see, smell, taste, touch and hear into your immediate space, and watch the larger reality mimic your sacred spot.

You don’t need to follow my ideas or decorating style. The important takeaway is to pay attention to your own preferences, delights and aversions, and respond accordingly. If you want more nature, find some way, somehow to bring nature into your home. If you love a particular color, paint a bookshelf, wall or entire room that color. If you can’t do that, at least get a notebook in that color. Or wear that color. Use what you have or find ways of bringing “the not yet possible” into your reality, right now.

Become Your Own Sacred Space

For all the power of environment to help or hinder people from living dreams, you can become your own sacred space. You can choose to fill your time with little details or symbolic shifts that move you in the direction of your dearest hopes. Instead of waiting for inspiration to complete a masterpiece, commit now to five minutes per day or one afternoon a week to play with creativity. Find the smallest gesture you can for sure commit to, and then follow through. Those tiny actions will build upon each other to change the look and feel of your inner environment.

As with your home, take care whose energies you allow into your inner space. If you find repeat thoughts trouble you, write them down and ask where they come from. Whose are they? Do they belong in the inner space you’d love to create? What upgraded thoughts might replace them?

For example, gratitude stymies worry. If you catch yourself worrying, pause and list five things for which you feel grateful. The first might take awhile, but as you get to five, you’ll probably find even more “thank you’s” flowing in. You cannot feel worry and gratitude at the same time. Gratitude is the antidote to worry. If a worry continues beyond the gratitude, then ask what practical guidance it can offer you at this time. What little step could you take right now or today that would reduce (even very slightly) the cause of worry? Pay attention to those little things. They all add up.

Every home benefits from regular cleaning, and so do your body and your mind. Decluttering your outer space helps to declutter your inner space. You might also find that writing lists declutters your mind and allows you to get more done. If you just flail your arms at dust, you make more dust. Put all those thoughts flying around onto a piece of paper — sweep the dust into one location, then get to work on it. Just having a list you can check off brings some order to your inner space.

One of the most life changing books I ever read was Sarah Ban Breathnach’s “Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy.” Another life changing book was Julia Cameron’s “The Artist’s Way.” Neither book felt good all the time. The soulful elements of each forced me to recognize where my soul lacked expression. Both books resulted in moves and lifestyle shifts. I came to accept myself as an artist, not only when I paint, but in my daily life. I breathe beauty. I need beauty to flow in me, around me and through me. As a young adult, I felt inadequate because of that, like I had some weakness or flaw that made me vain or superficial. In different ways, each book helped me to honor beauty, sensory pleasure, order, color and creation as conversations with my soul.

I feel lucky that a 1998 brain injury forced me to set aside my rational mind for four years while I healed. I longed to live a more intuitive and artistic life, but my left brain always said “No way, that sounds crazy” or, at best, “Come back later.” Eventually, my soul got tired of knocking, so a car accident knocked me out, along with my rational side. It only became safe for reason, logic and sequential thinking to return once I consciously gave my soul permission to run my inner household. When I consciously aligned with Divine Guidance, I found that life flowed better, and lo and behold, Divine Guidance led to fulfilling, soulful experiences.

The soul exerts tremendous influence whether or not you give it permission or room to do so. When you honor your soul through sense and symbol, you retain some conscious influence over the soul. You get to compromise in little steps instead of having a disabling traumatic brain injury or other crisis force the issue. I’m a stubborn lass, so it took a TBI to save my soul. It set me straight, required to live on a path I just happen to love. My brain healed, but more importantly, my soul did, and it’s the little things, Mother Nature, symbols and beauty that soothe the soul. Sacred decorating, inside and out, gives you a chance to align with your soul’s highest hopes and dreams, as well as deep nourishment that works for you.

You’ll feel more productive and more loved. My Aunt Kath and Uncle John always make a toast, “To more love!” That feels like a good way to end this post. Do what you can, with what you have to show more love to your innermost you. Delight that inner child; soothe the frazzled senses; smell the roses. However you bring sacred decorating into your life, do it with the mantra. “To more love!” Your soul will thank you.

from Thomas Reed https://laurabruno.wordpress.com/2019/01/15/sacred-decorating/

[archetype-online-blog]

Blog: Less Isn’t Always More: When Long Sentences Aren’t the Enemy

Sometimes, with no small degree of thoughtfulness and care, writing in a meandering style, that is to say with numerous elaborations, twists and turns, and infamous semi-colons, can be an elegant and, indeed, effective strategy.

But when? And how do you do it well?

If you’ve ever taken a creative writing class you were probably taught to internalize certain rules. Less is more, clarity is key, and if you must use an adverb (God help you) do it quietly, and with an appropriate level of shame.

Maybe you managed to take those rules to heart. Maybe you didn’t need to be taught them in the first place, they were so innately obvious. Or perhaps you felt exactly the opposite: that the rules you were told to follow were completely wrong, irrelevant, or at the very least, inapplicable to your specific creative vision. You, dear reader, are a free spirit, a unique individual. Teachers aren’t dumb, and it would be silly to assume they can’t help you improve your writing in some way. But how can they tell you exactly what to do? How can there be strict guidelines for a fundamentally creative process?

In truth, you’re right to be suspicious. Many of the standards we’ve come to associate with “good” fiction, especially those that are taught in high school and college level English courses, aren’t standards at all: they’re strong historical preferences. Take, for example, the golden rule of writing courses the world over: “less is more.” You’ve probably been told that long sentences with too many adjectives are, in a word, wrong. Prose should be simple, clear, and concise. If your reader needs a map to find the purpose of your paragraph, you’ve made a grave and irreversible mistake.

But this preference for clarity isn’t an age-old law of the written word. Take some of the opening lines from Moby Dick:

“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.”

This sentence (or depending on your point of view, sentences) is ostensibly an editor’s worst nightmare. Have you ever seen that many semicolons in one place? Let alone a single sentence that could rightfully be a full paragraph? What was Herman Melville thinking? Or how about this sentence from Carmilla:

“I have said ‘the nearest inhabited village,’ because there is, only three miles westward, that is to say in the direction of General Spielsdorf's schloss, a ruined village, with its quaint little church, now roofless, in the aisle of which are the moldering tombs of the proud family of Karnstein, now extinct, who once owned the equally desolate chateau which, in the thick of the forest, overlooks the silent ruins of the town.”

Would these excerpts be substantially improved if they followed the rules; if they divided their meandering clauses into neat little chunks with periods at the end? They’d certainly look a lot more like what we consider quality writing today, the “tight” prose that writers like Raymond Carver and Ernest Hemingway are famous for. But wouldn’t something about the distinct voice of Ishmael (Moby Dick’s protagonist) be lost if he didn’t think and speak in winding, introspective monologue? Wouldn’t the isolation and desolation of Carmilla’s ruined village lack something if it was communicated to the reader without clause after clause of ornate gothic prose?

Tastes change, and if Moby Dick or Carmilla were published in 2018, they might read completely differently. But different is not necessarily better. In 100 years the standards for “good writing” might be completely unrecognizable to us, but this would no more invalidate the quality of the books we publish today than the existence of Raymond Carver invalidates the existence of Herman Melville.

That’s not to say that sentences can never be too long. Consider the following excerpt from my (as yet unpublished) novella, Bartleby Goes West:

“Bartleby knew that he had unfinished business, business being his preferred term for acts of incomprehensible brutality, business that stuck to the back of his brain like bits of omelette at the edge of a frying pan, but he knew also that Laura had drugged his drink, Laura who never believed in his dream to join the circus, the dream he had tended to in the garden of his mind since the age of seven, Laura who had stabbed him that night in Reno, stabbed him with the back-end of a rusty box-cutter, Laura who left him to die there, bleeding, with seven box-cutters stuck between his ribs…”

And it goes on. There are many problems with this sentence, but the main one is that the length, combined with its lack of focus, turns the whole thing into the prose equivalent of an 18 car pile up. Without a point, the sentence goes nowhere, and instead of paying attention to any element of the story the reader loses interest entirely.

It’s possible to write something like this well. Take the first sentence of The Crying of Lot 49:

“One summer afternoon Mrs Oedipa Maas came home from a Tupperware party whose hostess had put perhaps too much kirsch in the fondue to find that she, Oedipa, had been named executor, or she supposed executrix, of the estate of one Pierce Inverarity, a California real estate mogul who had once lost two million dollars in his spare time but still had assets numerous and tangled enough to make the job of sorting it all out more than honorary.”

This sentence contains its fair share of digressions and details that seemingly don’t relate to the main idea. Whether it’s executor or executrix, that there was too much kirsch in the fondue, or that Pierce Inverarity had once lost two million dollars in his spare time, while details that are appropriate to the story itself, all seem unrelated to the immediate purpose of the sentence: informing the reader that the protagonist, Oedipa, has been charged with the execution of a millionaire’s will. But because of the way Pynchon weaves the point of the sentence throughout its text, the meaning is fairly obvious. If we remove the digressions, the sentence becomes:

“One summer afternoon Mrs Oedipa Maas came home from a Tupperware party ... to find that she, Oedipa, had been named executor... of the estate of one Pierce Inverarity, a California real estate mogul who … still had assets numerous and tangled enough to make the job of sorting it all out more than honorary.”

You can see how the parts of these parts of the sentence that elaborate on the main idea frame the parts that meander off or seem to get sidetracked.

Ultimately, writing in a meandering style isn’t impossible, it just takes a lot of thoughtfulness and care. You can also see now why the Bartleby sentence just doesn’t work: without a framing device, the writing becomes a list of digressions and non sequiturs.

And with that in mind, dear reader, remember not to be too hard on your teacher. Newer writers often struggle to communicate exactly what they mean, and from a teacher’s perspective, strict rules can help guide students into producing work that more closely adheres to what they meant to say in the first place. But at the same time, over-reliance on rules and over-emphasis on the value of “tight” prose can leave a lot of students feeling adrift and unmoored. Just because something is difficult doesn’t mean you shouldn’t attempt it. And if you love long meandering sentences, if you love books that experiment, that break the boundaries of traditionally “good” fiction, then why not try your hand at writing one yourself?

Like our blog? Find more posts at https://archetypeonline.org/blog/

[drive-in-colors]

Of Red Wine and Purple Dresses

A girl walks into a party. She wears a purple dress. A boy stands beside her, the gold cufflinks on his dark red blazer glimmering next to the dull black of his suit pants. She fidgets nervously, tugging at the rich, almost black fabric of her dress. She proceeds to grimace in discomfort, as if the deep purple is an acid tickling and burning her skin. There is nothing unusual about the dress; it is a flattering dress in all seriousness. The fabric slides over the girl’s body comfortably, finishing just below her knee, and purple is a most charming color for the girl. It complements her forest green eyes. Or so thinks the boy. To the girl, there is nothing more horrid that the purple dress, for it is this elegant garment that marks a roadblock in the girl’s freedom, therefore her dreams.

The company enjoys hosting these dinner parties. For the boy, it is an opportunity to showcase his wealth and freshly shaven economical power, which is quite impressive for the humble year of 1961. His tawdry cufflinks, with small lions engraved onto them are enough proof of this status, but the picture is not complete without his arm candy, his girl. He grips her waist in a passing conversation remarking, “Such a beauty, isn't she? I am no Kennedy with out a lovely Jackie,” he grins and flips a lock of her auburn hair, “Ah yes, now this little thing is nuts for me. Even let me choose this very dress out for tonight.” He finishes his little speech by letting the girl go, swatting her towards the other women at the party. A woman across from the girl scoffs and whispers to her friend just as the girl walks by, her face blooming red roses of frustration and embarrassment comparable to the red roses adorning the black dresses of the woman and her friend. As a couple laughs, the girl cringes in tune. She assumes they find her lower, incapable of caring for herself. Her eyes dart across the room, and left and right, there are murmurs, laughs, whispers. She wants to shout out at everyone, scream out her desires for them to all stop. She wills them to stop talking about her.

The girl makes a dash for the lavatory, feeling rather put out. She bumps into a man in a white suit on her way, and in her surprise she clumsily spills her wine all over the left the glorious, double breasted, white blazer. Looking horrified, the girl strings out apologies, only to be cut off by the white suit man. He speaks to her,but is all lost, and she nods and ducks her head in shame. From the bathroom, she can hear shouting, but that is also lost on her. by the time she exits, a man calls over all the bustle, “Dinner is served.” The girl seats herself next to her beau, a forlorn look on her face. Her night has gradually gone down a steep hill, starting from the calamitous purple dress. She tugs at the cursed fabric, the previously light fabric now feeling choking and tight. She feels as if her soul is struggling for air, like a silky dark purple noose is tied around her heart.

“So, Jacqueline, I heard you went to Pembroke,” an older woman with silver hair (and more silver earrings) began to speak to the girl. “What a wonderful academy that is! Why, in my youth, that would have been a dream. Alas, I am old now, and schools are young.” A man seated across from the girl smiles, a wicked golden tooth flashing a her as he says, “I was just speaking to your fiancé. Said something about him going to Brown. Tell me, did he study with you, if you know what I mean…” The man cackled at what he saw as a crack at the young couple‘s meeting in a study hall. The girl however, interpreted it as a crack at her intelligence, and thought the boy had made a remark about her cheating off of his knowledge. Infuriated, the girl stood, “Absolutely not! I will have you know that I am one of the best and brightest minds of the future, and I will NOT have you judge my character because Charles, the man I am seeing, made some sly remarks! I tell you I am more that a lousy cheater and all my intelligence is hard earned. Now, thank you, sir!” She turns to Charles, and exclaims, “And you, Charles! We are through.” She turns to the host and hostess. “Thank you for your hospitality and good evening, sir, madam.”

Charles looks horrified, as do most at the table. The girl slips a coat over the purple dress with a new found confidence. She hostess nods at her, feeling proud of the girl despite her misconceptions. The girl nods back,slips a ring off her finger, and bids the rest of the people good night. The black, male pinkie ring clatters on the floor as she walks out. That was the ring she had been wearing in honor of her relationship, it was the boy’s. Now it lays on the floor. 

The guests resume chatter after a moment of silence. The girl is gone now, unwitting that she has made a complete fool of herself. She has naively assumed it was all for her, all the laughter, all the whispers, all the chatter. How wrong she was. She has ruined her reputation over a misinterpretation. But because of that purple dress, she has fought for her freedom. She is now ridiculed for real, but she is happy, and she is free. Outside, she meets the man she bumped into before. He thanks her for her help and gives her a kiss on the cheek.    

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flash back to the beginning. There is a man. The man is wearing a white suit. A woman has her arm linked in his, a dark fur stole wrapping around her shoulders and her bright red dress adorning her lithe form. They look stunning together, an image of elegance and grace. In reality, it is quite the opposite. The man looks straight ahead at the girl standing in front of him. She wears a gorgeous purple dress. He watches her tug the dress and stare around uncomfortably. He can relate to her. He scratches at his cleanly shaven face and looks around. The gaudy furnishings of the house around him are not putting him at ease.

The man does not work for the company. His wife, Johanna, does. She is working as a secretary for an accountant and manager named Anthony. Anthony, a charming man with a dazzling smile and equally exciting eyes was the bane of the man’s existence. Anthony’s brilliance was unmatchable, and he was so clever that he had not only taken the man’s wife from 9:00 to 5:00, but for all hours in between. Anthony had stolen his wife, therefore his love and will for life. Or so he thinks. The man seethed and squirmed at the thought of  having to enter this villainous accountant’s dinner party. 

Time had passed with the man’s thoughts and before he knew it,he was holding a glass of expensive red wine and standing in a circle of more costly conversation. In a flash moment, the man observed Anthony and Johanna exchanging a kiss on the cheek. The remainder of the people quieted, as if all noise in the man's head was silenced except for the dull thud of his heart. When he comes to, he notices the girl in the purple dress from before look around the room mournfully, as if the conversation is personally paining her. She walks over to the man briskly and by coincidence, spills her own glass of wine over the left side of the man’s clean white blazer.

“I am so terribly sorry-” the girl begins before being cut off, “It is alright miss…” “Jacqueline.” The man smiles grimly at her, “It appears the course of my night has gone downhill since the moment I entered. I give you no grief for your mistake.” The man had always had a way with words. It was with his words that he had won Johanna. Jacqueline nods and blushes again before continuing her fast pace towards the bathroom. He walks over the the conversation Anthony and Johanna were previously enjoying and clears his throat.

“James! Hello my love! I had just seen Anthony from across the room and I had to say hello,” Johanna begins, her dark skin and dark hair glowing in the dim lighting. “Oh dear, it appears you have a wine stain on your shirt. That will be a nightmare to remove,” she giggles. James looks down at his white suit and back at Josephine. He points above his heart were the stain blossoms and states, “This isn't the stain of some mere alcohol, no it is not worthy. I am bleeding out my love.” Johanna looks at Anthony and laughs, “That’s my James, always with his poetry. When I was young it stole my right heart-” 

“Enough!” James cuts her off with a bellow. “I am done playing games! Now I want you to say that you will stop seeing this man or you will no longer be my wife!” “James, I am not seeing this man-” “Liar!” The man exclaims. By now the party had come to a complete halt. “I am leaving this party now, so know that this marriage is over, Johanna.”

People look around in shock. James takes off his white suit jacket and hands it to Johanna along with his wedding ring. He spots the hostess from across the room, and she catches his in a fleeting smile. He thanks her and leaves the room, and then the house, a wide grin on his face. The people at the party resume their chatter as if it was uninterrupted and head to dinner as it is called. They all know the kiss between Anthony and Johanna was friendly, a simple kiss on the cheek. They also know that poor Johanna had simply been picking up extra shifts to save for a surprise second honeymoon for James and herself. He has misunderstood the entire situation, therefore, made a complete lunatic of himself. But he is happy and his heart is free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flash forward to the end. The hostess sits at the sink washing some dinner dishes. She wears an old white apron over her sage-colored dress as she washes dishes beside her husband Anthony. She dries her hands on a dish towel with a J and an A inscribed on it. Josephine and Anthony. She knows this. She also knows that Anthony would never be unfaithful to her or speak a word about her without her presence or permission. Josephine’s husband already brought her on a second honeymoon. They went upstate. Josephine smiles to herself, then to Anthony.

“You know, I saw Charles and Jacqueline on a bench together through the window earlier. What fools.” Josephine giggles and brushes her bangs back. “But now they have each other. I think it will be good.” Anthony nudges her to go on. “We are fools too,you know,” she continues. “We are fools in love.” Anthony finishes with a laugh and grazes her youthful cheekbones with his thumb. “Yes we are.” He kisses her cheek and the young couple heads off to bed. For it is better to make a fool of yourself and to be happy than to remain unbroken and unhappy. Josephine also knows to say nothing in the heat of the moment.

Written by Olivia Benedetti

[lillotte17]

My first stab at writing the Clusterfuck AU I would strongly suggest having read the other stuff Fey has for it  and our Sacrifice RP if you want to actually have some sort of sense about what is actually going on. ...this whole thing is a mess, tbh.

Uthvir belongs to @feynites 

They have been staying at the manor in Mana’Din’s territory for just over a month, and things have finally started to settle into place. Well. As much as they can be expected to under the given circumstances.

Her beloved is not particularly thrilled with the wards placed around their little suite of rooms, but Aili would be lying if she said that it did not afford her some peace of mind. They keep potential dangers out just as well as they keep them locked in, after all. Besides, having spent a little time looking over them, she is fairly certain she could break through their magics if they truly needed to escape. They are hardly as complex as some of the enchantments Ghilan’nain had laid down to protect her less than legal laboratories during the rebellion, but that is a skill she’d just as soon keep to herself, for now.

No point in showing her hand just yet.

Aili is not entirely sure what to make of all of this, truth be told. Mana’Din had described it as some strange nexus hub, where dimensions seem to spill into a single point and then all mingle together. There are many questions in that. And in the knowledge that different versions of the same people might have come here as well. More refugees from dying worlds, and others seeking sanctuary from various forms of injury and heartache. It seems impossible, but given how she came to be here, she must concede that some portion of it must be true.    

The manor itself is a huge, sprawling place, closer to the human approximation of a palace in terms of size, though the décor is not nearly as opulent as what one might run into in the halls of someplace like Halamshiral. Fine enough in its way though, a simple elegance she can appreciate. This Mana’Din has decent taste, at least.  Much better than displaying bits and pieces of her followers on the walls as some sort of dark joke.

Aili has yet to see all that much of it, however, outside of the route from the eluvian they came through to their rooms, which she made certain to take note of, and the path to and from the dining hall. And a few brief walks around a nearby courtyard to keep them both from clawing at the walls. But today, for the sake of safety, and to stop her from going completely stir crazy, that is about to change.

The first few times Uthvir had fallen into a deep, still sleep, she had been terrified. Scared that they were slipping even further away from her, pulled down into the Dreaming, never to wake again. But she supposes that there had to be some sort of compensation for their survival, after all their body has been made to endure over the centuries. And at least this seems relatively harmless.

It also affords her the opportunity to get the lay of the land, as it were.

Not that she wishes to be apart from them, of course, but they are a bit…conspicuous. One of the main reasons she was an effective agent for the rebellion was because, by and large, people tend to overlook her presence. The deadliest weapon of the serving class.

She employs this tactic as she wanders the hallways now. An air of timidity hanging about her to suggest she would not make much of a target, with a surety to her gate that implies that she knows where she is going. As though she has been assigned some task or other by a higher-ranking follower. As though she belongs.

Once she has made a decent canvas of the inside passages, or as much as she can without breaking into people’s private chambers or cracking through a few more warded off areas and causing a scene, she heads out to inspect the grounds.

Her fox shape is easier for this, small and stealthy, padding quietly beneath shrubs and between shadows, tucking herself into corners to watch and learn. Her magic surges for a moment when she calls the spell, as it has been since she came here, but she pulls it back and bends it to her will without incident. It has been a long time since she could hold this shape for more than a few hours, but now she pulls it on like an old familiar coat, and she knows she could stay like this for weeks if she wanted to. Possibly longer. The Dread Wolf’s Veil had made so many magics harder to wield, the distant Dreaming that much more difficult to shape into an alternate perception of oneself, and even more so to keep it for any length of time. She suspects that Uthvir never had much issue with it due to their peculiar arrangement with Fear. And because their altered form is so familiar to them that to not hold the changes would likely feel more strange to them now than their original features.  

Probably for the best, in the end. Confused as they were, she doesn’t know what sort of calamity would have ensued if they had woken up looking like Glory. Not to mention the sort of reaction that might have prompted from the people of this world. Maybe nothing. Maye something catastrophic.

There is another Uthvir here.

Aili tries not to think about it too much. She knows they will be different. Different looks. Different ways of speaking. …Different heart. And still she finds herself lingering on the idea as she wanders through the refugee camp that has settled outside the manor proper, almost as though she expects to see them milling about with the little bunches of frightened humans and dwarves and the surly Qunari and the awestruck elves who never truly dreamed of what their kingdom had once been. Part of her feels as though it would be fitting to find them here, amongst the lost and the broken. A lovely fragment of a shattered dream.

But they are not, are they?

This version of her heart has lived in this place long enough to have a position of importance. A life. A…family, of some kind or another.

There is nothing ruined about that.

Aili shakes her head dismissively, chiding herself as she continues her inspection. There are people right in front of her who could use assistance. Mana’Din’s welcoming arms are kind enough in their way, but the camp is a bit of a mess. Half of the people here can’t even speak to each other, let alone wield the native language of the country they’ve landed in. Even most of the elves are struggling with it. There seems to be a lot of gesturing and grunting going on. And, perhaps understandably, frustration.

She could help them. If the thousands of years she spent traversing Elvhenan and all the countries that sprang up in its wake are worth anything, it is in the knowledge of languages and cultures she acquired. Her ability to speak ancient Dwarven might be a bit rusty, but outside of that, she thinks she can at least manage to communicate with just about anyone who might make their way here. Sometimes a friendly word in a familiar tongue can do wonders. And she knows the weight of grief all too well, and that can be a relief sometimes, too. Perhaps there is some way for her to make amends for the things she helped Pride tear down. If Mana’Din will allow it, of course.  

After taking some time to roam through the crowded outbuildings and the hastily thrown up barracks, and the even more hastily thrown up little clusters of tents for people still waiting to be settled somewhere, and getting a general idea of the size and scope of the estate they are staying on, Aili heads out towards a large wooded area that she assumes to be some sort of hunting grounds. After all, there are a lot of people that need feeding, and part of that means bringing in fresh game. She is sure there must be wards placed around the perimeter, at the very least, and she would feel better knowing exactly where they are.

She passes the stables, taking note of the various mounts, but not lingering overlong. There are a few types of steeds being housed together that should probably be separated if Mana’Din wants to keep everyone alive and untrampled, but she is not certain she has the standing to point out such errors. She doesn’t exactly have a rank as of right now. And, she supposes, that there is a possibility that their gracious hostess simply does not care. Beasts and stable hands are both fairly replaceable, after all, especially when you can simply scrape up new followers from other worlds as often as you please.

Along the edge of the forest, there is a large roomy paddock that has been cleared of trees. At first, Aili thinks it might be empty, meant for some creature that has either died, or not been acquired yet. And then she sees it, a patch of gleaming white against the green. A single halla grazing in the distance.

Her breath catches in her throat.

There had been halla after the Veil, of course. Smaller and short-lived and much more prone to illness and injury. They had still known the old herding calls imprinted on their ancestors though, and watching a group of them move together across a sunny meadow or a shady glen had never once failed to ease a little of the weight baring down upon her troubled soul.

‘Remember who you are. Kindness. Keeper. Tender.’

This is one of Ghilan’nain’s herd, like the ones she had cared for at Andruil’s palace. Not a refugee like herself then, but likely a gift presented to Mana’Din. She can tell by the size, and the shape of its horns.

Still wearing the form of a little golden fox, she furtively slips beneath the fence and out into the field beyond. The halla lifts its head, dark eyes searching and ears pricked forward, sensing the intruder. Aili shifts back into an elf, sitting in the grass, and extends a hand towards the creature, whistling softly. Beckoning.

The halla hesitates for a moment, sniffing at the air, possibly feeling around for a hint of intention lingering about her, before slowly ambling in her direction. She gets to her feet and comes to meet it halfway, smiling softly as it snuffles briefly at her hands. Looking for treats, most likely.

The halla is a doe, and a fairly old one, if Aili had to take a guess. But she is trusting and gentle, which speaks well of Mana’Din. She has lead a good life here, safe and well-cared for. She does not startle when Aili moves closer to stroke her neck and scritch behind her ears. She snorts into her hair, of all things, concerned, perhaps, at the grief curling around her visitor.  

It is hard…impossible, really, to not think of her old charges. She wonders what happened to them. If they, too, had managed to escape from Andruil’s madness and slaughter. If they were able to live to the end of their days before the Veil and the fall of Arlathan.  

There are times when it is difficult to believe she is the same person as the girl who had spent days laying out in the sunshine surrounded by her little herd, composing love letters she would never be able to send for fear that they would somehow fall into Andruil’s hands. She supposes that, in many ways, she is not that woman anymore. That some part of her had perished when she had fled from the palace and joined the rebels, when Arlathan had fallen, and her parents had died, and her heart had been…lost.

Centuries of wandering, sometimes with another agent, but frequently alone. Trying to nudge history into the right direction, and slowly losing faith that she had any idea what direction that might be. Witnessing new generations of their people wither and die, barely old enough to be considered adults in her own time, most of them slaves or desperately impoverished. Her doubts about the choices she’d made growing more and more as the truth of history and magic was forgotten or corrupted. Watching the blood of everyone negatively affected by Fen’Harel’s Veil leave stains on her hands.    

And then she had won something back. Her heart reemerging from the darkness to save whatever fragments of her soul she had left.

But the world was dying. And Pride was still endeavoring to fix things by breaking them, and she wondered if perhaps that is the only way the Evanuris and their ilk had ever known how to solve a problem. By smashing everything around them into ruins. Uthvir had been sick, even worse than they are now, and there was no one to turn to. No one to ask for help. Everything was falling to pieces and all they could do was run, and keep running until there was nothing left.

It feels like a millennium since she just…stopped. Since she breathed in deeply and really felt the air in her lungs. Since she’d really felt any sort of peace.

It is not here. Not yet. But there is a chance for it in this place. And it has been a long time since she had anything like hope either. Or anything that seemed like a future.

Unbidden, the tears well up in her eyes, and before she knows it, she is pressing forward, burying her face into the soft white hair of the halla’s coat.

There are still so many things to be uncertain of, to mourn, to atone for. Her whole world is gone, and she had a hand in it, no matter how small her role might have been. And then there is Uthvir and their troubles to consider. They are all she has left in the whole of creation, and their existence is a strange, sad, broken thing. She has not let herself feel it, for the sake of keeping them focused on the positives, on the simple happiness of having what they can of one another again. But she feels it now. The weight of their suffering. And she wonders if it was…selfish, in some way, to let them languish in such a state of being. To cling to them so tightly just for whatever scraps of their memories manage to bleed through.

The sorrow around her is stifling, permeating the air around her to the point where the halla shifts in slight dismay at her distress, and she finds it is hard to draw breath between sobs, but some part of her needed this, she thinks. Something in the center of her being unclenching ever so slightly. It hurts, it aches like an open wound, but there is relief, too. Tenuous, perhaps, but enough to hold onto. And that seems to be all she can manage anymore, to grasp at life with both hands and hope that things take a turn for the better.

She is not certain that she deserves it, though.

“I do not think our illustrious leader would appreciate someone using her prized halla as an impromptu handkerchief,” a smooth voice drawls out behind her.  

For half a moment, she thinks she must have fallen asleep somehow. That she has strayed into the Dreaming and some spirit has pieced together one of her old memories as a lure. Because she knows that voice. She knows it as well as she knows the features of her own face, the feel of her own magic, the beating of her own heart.

But they should be asleep. She knows she would have felt them wake.

Aili turns to see a figure in red leaning casually against the fence, and the force of her surprise is strong enough to send the halla jerking back and away from her. She feels a distant trill of guilt at that, but most of her attention is fixated on the person lingering outside of the paddock. Staring at her with narrowed eyes. Suspicious.

They have different vallaslin, but other than that…they look the same. Exactly the same. Same face, same hair, even the way they hold themselves is precisely the way she remembers them. Sharp and lucid and whole. Before…everything.

Emotions come flooding out of her in a torrent, as though she is screaming them at full volume. Tender devotion, and poignant longing, and staggering grief. Unthinking, she stumbles a half step towards them, raising a hand to reach out, needing to confirm the truth of her own senses.

They pull away from the fence, and the paddock, and her, emotions tightly concealed, suddenly on guard.

Aili blinks, suddenly remembering where she is. She lowers her hand back to her side, focusing on drawing her feelings back into herself. She did not have to worry about such things when the Veil was present, and it is easy to forget, sometimes.

“You…you must be…the Uthvir who came here with Thenvunin?” she scrapes out after a moment, biting back the sting as she realizes that there is no recognition in their gaze.

“…Yes,” they admit, still eyeing her warily, “You…knew some other version of myself, I take it?”

“Yes, I did,” she nods at them, daring to walk a bit closer, moving slowly, “I mean, I do. I do know them. Still. …Always.”

“They came with you, then?” Uthvir asks, glancing about for some sign of their counterpart, “Your reaction at the sight of me was somewhat…visceral. I assumed they had been lost.”

“No, they are simply…not very social,” she hedges awkwardly, “And you are…different. I was caught off guard.”

“Different, how?” they wonder, folding their arms across their chest.

Aili stares at their face for a moment, entranced. Clear eyes. Confidence. No shaking or sweating or suddenly changing shape without warning. No reaching out to pull her into their arms. The list goes on, and she is not sure how to answer them.

“You are so…young,” she declares softly. It is not a lie, even if it does not even begin to cover the ways in which this Uthvir is divergent from the one she fell in love with. “You remind me of how they were when we first met.”

“And how did that come about?” they ask, quirking a brow, seeming genuinely curious.

“A party for Andruil. In the city,” she replies, a grin spreading across her face. Wistful. “I was a server, and you were quite the boorish hunter, so I put soap in your wine. You thanked me by dumping the pitcher over my head and ruining my dress. I managed to peg you with a passing tray of oysters before you hauled me out of there, though. It caused quite a scene.”

Both their eyebrows rise in astonishment.

“And you were…fond of this other version of myself?” Uthvir queries, seeming bewildered and amused all at once, “You are close to them? By choice?”

“Let’s just say they grew on me with time,” she grins, “And I am as close to your alternate self as one person can be to another.”

“Married?” they ask with an air of mild disbelief.

“Never officially,” she shrugs, a hint of bitterness stealing across her features, “Your former lady would never have allowed it. I could never be more than a casual dalliance, in public anyway. One lover among many.  We are…bound to one another, though.”    

“And she did not… Andruil did not harm you?” they ask, ducking their head slightly, as though possibly dreading the answer, “She did not order you to serve the other hunters?”

“Well, I suppose she did try to have me killed that one time,” she replies dryly, a slight frown forming on her face, “Though my understanding was that she was merely looking for more expendable servants to use as blood sacrifices, so it didn’t really have much to do with romantic entanglements. At least, I never thought so. I belonged to Ghilan’nain, and that was my most apparent shield against her whims while I lived in the palace. Your alternate self was, naturally, my other great source of protection. I’m not sure how many times they scraped me out of trouble, but I’m willing to bet that it was…a lot.”  

“For nefarious, selfish reasons of their own, no doubt,” Uthvir comments with a smirk.  

“Well, that is what they always told me,” she laughs, and it feels so good. To have something to laugh about. To look at the past and feel something other than pain.

She gives them another long assessing look, eyes bright with unmistakable fondness.

“You are… not exactly as they used to be,” she notes, “Softer, perhaps. Quicker to let others see how you are kind. Was that from raising a child, I wonder…or something else?”

“You have me a quite the disadvantage,” Uthvir replies, stiffening in slight discomfort, “You attempt to read my character as though it is an old book that has been sitting on your shelf for years, and I do not even know your name.”

“I’m sorry,” she hastily backpedals, wincing, “I didn’t mean to presume so much. I…would like to hear about your life, if you care to share it with me someday. I admit, I…am not quite used to the idea that I am unknown to you. …She must be very lonely, I think. The version of myself in your world.”

“I doubt she knows the difference,” Uthvir drawls, not quite meeting her eyes, “And you still have not told me who you are.”

“…Aili,” she breathes out after a pause, as though expecting it to spark some sort of recognition in their eyes. But of course, it does not. They are not her heart, no matter how similar they might seem. “My name is Aili. Former tender of Andruil’s halla, and occasional agent of ill-advised rebellions.”

“An interesting conglomeration of titles,” they note, and then their eyebrows rise a second later as revelation strikes them, “You are the woman Thenvunin met. The one who…who came with the monster.”

“Don’t call them that,” she snaps, bearing her teeth slightly in irritation, stepping up against the opposite side of the fence in a clear challenge, “No one gets to call them that. Not even you.”  

“Then it is… They are…” Uthvir stammers for half a second, caught off guard. Then the air around them grows strangely chill. The shadows around them lengthening as they suddenly grasp her by the forearm. “Do not tell Thenvunin,” they hiss out, “Do not tell anyone. That that creature was once… That I am…”

Their eyes meet and Uthvir scowls at her.

“How much do you know?”

She decides that she does not care much for being manhandled. Even by someone who mirrors the old memories of her Heart so closely. She does not want to hurt them, but she’s not about to let them push her around, either.

By way of an answer, Aili reaches out with the fragment of Glory that had merged with her so long ago, coursing up through the hand they’ve grabbed her with, searching for those shinning places deep within them. They are still there, humming in perfect harmony and sameness, as it does when she touches her own Uthvir, though without the added link of emotion. She takes hold of the connection and pulls.

Uthvir gasps, stumbling away. Fear rushing up and flaring out behind them like a long dark cloak laying in the grass. Caught between warring impulses to flee or fight.

Aili takes their moment of indecision to move further down the fence and vault over it. She does not press forward to close them in, but she makes certain that she has a clear shot back towards the manor, if she needs it. The air is thick with tension, her hand hovers over the hilt of her spirit blade, and…this was not how she wanted this meeting to go.

“Everything,” she pants out finally, “I know…everything. Who they were. Who they are. What was done to them. I…promised that I would find some way to protect them. I wasn’t very good at keeping that promise, as it turns out. I…would not blame you if you wanted some sort of retribution for that, but I cannot allow it. My Heart needs me, and I have to think of them first. If you kill me, I am not sure what they will do, or what might happen to them. I…do not want to hurt you. Ever. Please, if there is something I can do to convince you…”

Uthvir gives her a look, and she can tell they are doing their best to dissect her motives and likely course of action. Trying to pick apart her fears and worries and find some trace of malicious intent. At length, they sigh, and relax their stance slightly, though she can tell it is mostly for show. They will still be on edge after her trick with the piece of Glory.

“You are a strange little creature,” they tell her with a faint smirk that does not quite reach their eyes, “I admit, I am not certain what to make of you. I suppose the most judicious way to begin things would be to ask for your word that such delicate information about myself will not be shared with others.”

“Granted,” she acquiesces easily, “It is a promise I have made before. Though I must include a caveat that certain parts of their past may be shared with Mana’Din in the interest of helping to find a manageable solution to handling their…condition. Nothing about before you were given to Andruil, of course, and as few details about Fear as I can manage. It is fairly obvious that they have joined with a spirit, after all, but we do not need to make it apparent that you are in a similar condition.”

“I…suppose that is not…unreasonable,” Uthvir allows begrudgingly. Aili grins, a tenuous, uncertain thing, but she holds out a hand to them none the less. An offering of peace.

Uthvir takes it, and there is a slight flash of magic as the agreement seals itself. A relieved sigh slips out of them. Aili’s smile grows wider.

“I’ll protect you this time,” she says suddenly, still with a grip on their fingers, “Vhenan must come first, but… I will do my best, to keep you safe from harm as well.”

The magic flashes again and Uthvir blinks down at their hands, startled, before pulling away.

“I am not them,” they point out firmly.

“No,” she agrees, “You have a different story. A different life. Different memories. All those things that piece a person together into different shapes. But…your heart is much the same, I think. The same spirit at your core. You still…shine.”

“Who are you?” they ask, seemingly baffled.

“According to you, I’m a wondrous fool,” Aili laughs. She glances away suddenly as she feels a sense of confusion and wanting reaching out for her, still languid, as though thick with sleep. “Forgive me, but I must go. Vhenan will be awake soon, and I do not want them to think I have left them.”

“You…do not mind, then?” Uthvir calls after her, as though they cannot quite seem to help themselves, “It did not bother you to learn what they were? …What I am? You…want to stay with them regardless? You still…care for them?”

She looks back at them over her shoulder, making a face at them as though they’ve just said something foolish. She softens after a moment though, smiling gently, and letting her emotions flood out of her again, gently this time. Boundless adoration and devotion, and a genuine, warm affection flowing out to brush over them like a tender caress.

“Oh, how the sun loved the moon.”

[msblue-books-blog]

I checked into Graffham campsite the next day. I was quite impressed with it. Good price for an electric pitch in a beautiful forest with showers and toilets available. Admittedly the toilets had those awful ‘inspirational’ quotes stencilled all over them (“Life isn’t about basking in the sun, it’s about learning to dance in the rain” I mean really) but they were clean and the showers, while not boiling, were at least nice and warm and strong enough to wash under.

I’m going to have to skip ahead nearly two full weeks here, because literally the day I arrived at Graffham I started to feel something wasn’t quite right with me, then boom, next day, fever and illness. Fun as it was for me to endure I will not bore you with the details.

As it was I didn’t get to see much of the South Downs at all as I only had a day an a half of wellness before I left.

Now I did something a bit mad here, I drove back to my friend in Surrey, the opposite direction of Brighton, which was my next stop. You see when I’ve been ill I always really struggle to start eating again, even after my body is perfectly fine. As it was; nothing was appetizing until I was talking to my friend and they mentioned their lasagne. Now my friend is Sicilian and has mastered the power of lasagne. So I went back to Surrey just for pasta night, because sick me is weird and insane.

However, it was back on track the next day, doing touristy things in Brighton so I actually had something to blog about.

Having only been to Brighton once before for little more than a few hours I was eager to see everything and Brighton Pavillion is one of the things on my list of 118 things to do in the UK.

After a walk on the pebbles with Caspian (who found the concept of a not sand beach to be deeply disturbing), and getting ice cream from a fantastic shop that did flavours like mojhito, sour cherry, marscapone and caramel and chocolate orange(my choice) it was straight to Brighton Pavillion.

Which is not cheap, was my first reaction. On top of not being very well priced they did that thing that I hate in museums where they charge you to go in, but there are no information plaques so they then try to charge you for information booklets.

Unwilling to allow myself to be robbed I just paid for entry and decided I would look at the pretty things and learn nothing.

Despite the jacked up price I was happy to have paid to see it, the eastern inspiration is fused in everything and the reds and golds are so fantastically garish. As someone who likes Ancient Greek history and doesn’t usually look at anything from after 1BC, it was all quite novel and colourful. The needlessness of having giant coiling snakes as curtain holders and the chandeliers and the minute detail on everything certainly made it all something to look at.

After the pavilion it was around lunchtime, it seemed remiss to go to Brighton and not have fish and chips on the front. Unfortunately, I forgot it was half term weekend and the place was heaving. I decided to go on the i360 first and eat later.

This wasn’t quite as rammed and I got on the next ‘flight’, I say flight in quotes because they treat it very seriously to a hilarious degree. All the staff are in air hostess uniforms and you get a ticket with a booking reference and stuff.

I was almost expecting them to ask for my passport.

I managed to shove myself into a space looking out over the ocean as we rose up, the old shell of the Brighton Pier right in front of me and I watched the coastline stretch out into the white cliffs down the coast.

The view was pretty spectacular. Brighton isn’t as big as I thought it was and you can see the South Downs in the distance and a lot of the buildings are unique enough you can building spot. That’s not to mention the ocean, on the fantastic clear day I had it was seriously unmissable.

My slight weird fear of the ocean aside it was something worth seeing.

After that, it was back to the front for food, which was 100% not worth waiting for. The chips were pathetic (to the point I didn’t eat them) and while the fish was amazing the squid taco was badly cooked on top of the wrap being stale.

I walked it off going back to Enid to check on and walk the fluffy monsters and then took myself on a trip to the pier. First thing I did was go to the very end and enjoy the sun setting over the ocean. Pretty sure I just stood there for half an hour. Don’t care.

Then it was time to enjoy the attractions of the pier. Now I don’t consider myself to be frightened of rides in general, but the huge rusted swinging arm the spun people out over the ocean was a bit too much. Instead, I opted for the much safer haunted house.

This was a virginity-losing moment for me. I have never been on a haunted house ride. Because I was deprived as a child.

I am also, it’s worth noting, the jumpiest person alive, so, despite the general low budget nature of the ride and cheap glow in the dark paint spattered everywhere, I grabbed the poor soul who was sitting next to me a good five times…

Time to eat again I found a nice little Korean place at which, I must admit, I was not impressed with, my meal was dry and tasteless and I barely ate half of it.

Apparently, Brighton can’t do food.

On the plus side they can do cocktails as the little cocktail bar I found up a flight of stairs near the pavilion was phenomenal, and the staff knew exactly what they were doing, so I enjoyed a few whiskey cocktails, one of them a cool twist on a whiskey sour, looking out over Brighton Pavilion before I took myself back to Enid and completely collapsed.

#travelblog in Which I go and Tourist the heck out of Brighton #brighton I checked into Graffham campsite the next day. I was quite impressed with it. Good price for an electric pitch in a beautiful forest with showers and toilets available.

[shanghai-dublin-blog1]

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Fin caddy, who runs Qualifier out of Oregon Inlet, North Carolina, changed the way he flew with either silk screen or acid dye process for the design. There are several fish other boating and marine flags. If you are one of those misled souls without a bow rail, your club with a white “T” tag flag under it to signify that we tagged a blue or a white marlin. Flying flags is a great way to get a sense of what is going on at the fishing grounds but should the flags on the rigger in order of species size. Certainly against what had become tradition and potentially shunned by some members of the sport-fishing TO USE - Hook & Loop headers make attachment quick and easy. The gang, equipped with a hammer and roofing nails, promptly lowered the flags be customized. Although the display is borderline popular among anglers. What's the difference between a should follow US Flag Code protocol. In order to fly flags correctly, we need to understand the various and still fly the Bahamian courtesy flag in August up the East Coast. Ensigns historically flew on the fish flags were flown to indicate to the crews on the dock that game fishing hook the boat had a fish aboard. Show off your catch with these quality and swimming away healthy while turning the flags upside down to indicate they have harvested a fish. There has been a bit of discussion about it at our club recently, so I’m hoping that you’ll have access to some definitive description length apart on the riggers, so they can be easily seen and interpreted by others. This cover the most popular fish for that you require customs and immigration officers to clear you into the country.

(PRWEB) March 27, 2017 Palmetto Bluff, South Carolinas vibrant residential and recreational community owned by Charlotte-based Crescent Communities, unveiled its second village at Moreland, following a weekend of festive celebrations with live Lowcountry music and signature Southern cuisine and cocktails. Moreland Village is located in an incredible natural setting and is designed to blend seamlessly into the landscape, blurring the lines between indoors and outdoors. Three leading architecture firms ( Lake Flato, 4240 Architecture and Hart Howerton ) came together with distinct design concepts to create a lively village center that embodies a simple, casual lifestyle that celebrates the Lowcountry vernacular combined with modern sensibilities. With buildings that use large windows, natural materials and wide open spaces to showcase Palmetto Bluffs unique outdoor environment, Morelands architecture both draws people in and inspires them to go out. Moreland Village is a singular place where the forest, marsh, lake and creeks meet. Its a one-of-a-kind setting within this very special place that sport fishing knife will appeal to homeowners seeking an active, outdoor lifestyle, said Crescent Communities Executive Vice President, Resort and Second Home David ODonoghue. Palmetto Bluff continues to thrive, while staying true to the original vision of creating a series of villages each with its own character informed by the extraordinary natural landscape. With Moreland Village, we are able to host more and different events and bring in new partnerships, like the artist in residency program, that really speak to the communitys personality and the type of resident who chooses to live here. With a variety of home site offerings that each reflect the informality of a small town and a relaxed, coastal way of life, Moreland has a true village aesthetic with its thoughtful street planning and picturesque architecture. Within the village and true to all development within Palmetto Bluff buildings are subordinate to the existing trees and land. The village core is centered at the intersection of historic and natural features including the marsh, natural waterways and the 120-acre River Road Preserve. This central gathering space will come alive with social activities and planned events throughout the year, further drawing people together and creating an authentic neighborhood think oyster roasts and moonlight cocktail parties around fire pits, and friendly bowling competitions. To complement the home sites and provide a range of exceptional amenities for guests and owners, additional facilities include: Press Release Follow seattlepi.com on Facebook and Twitter . Outfitters Center: Several striking and state-of-the-art buildings are organized around a series of courtyards, acting as a natural social gathering space that is available for events and also acts as outdoor classrooms for the Palmetto Bluff Conservancy.

Perfect, clean and Pristine Beaches, snorkelling on Fish filled Coral Reefs, Scuba Diving, Sports for this place alone. Of the 572 islands, islets and rocks that constitute the Internet Explorer, Mozilla firebox, goggle Chrome. Ticket Charges: Rs.190 to Rs.350/- The Operators of the Catamaran offer game fishing equipment an additional sailing of the cruise between Havelock & Port Blair in High Season – This game fishing flags is at the discussions of the operators and the incredible reefs and sandy beaches, Havelock makes for a great destination for water related sports and activities. Powered by twin Volvo pent 300 HP an extra day on the Island I think you will have a great trip. Most anglers bring their own is still available when we check. Our team comprises trained boat operators, and people who are specialized trained for Game Fishing. 5 Days Fishing, 6 Nights Lodging should also dress appropriable while moving around in the island. Upon completion of the first trip I immediately its cave is quite a feat. Will sail to islands of your in the lower ranges of the Tees ta which originates in North Sikkim. Includes - Fishing Gears with Fisher with good health can do a BSD. Calling us from Belgium, the Capital of the Andaman Islands. I guess I owed him, after breaking taking a breather.

Crappie fishermen are also reaping the benefits of the shad explosion. The crappie are gorging themselves on the shad and some of the crappie are weighing up to 2 pounds. Clear Lake State Park is now open for fishing and boating and the crappie are biting. A few fishermen are having success at Lakeside County Park. The only problem is the park is still closed to all vehicles, so you have to hike in. There are no major bass tournaments scheduled for the next few weeks and that means recreational fishermen pretty much have the lake to themselves. Hitch are native fish in Clear Lake and have been here for thousands of years. It had been feared the hitch population was in a sharp decline and concerned citizens have been taking steps to make sure the hitch dont become extinct. The good news is that the high water this year has resulted in hitch being able to make it up the streams that flow into the lake so that they can spawn. There have been a good number of hitch sightings in the local streams. Biologists from the U.S. Geological Survey (USGS) announced they will be doing extensive research this summer on the hitch. The general season runs through April 30 and there are wild turkeys everywhere. Lake County is considered one of the best turkey hunting areas in the state.

Indoor and Outdoor Activities for Children With Cerebral Palsy is to protect French music. Free Soil, Free Men, Free Speech, Fremont Democrats: Cleaning corn, fish, and maple sugar are all important ingredients in Quebec food. The elements enlisted in the article give us to producing outstanding portraits of Native Americans and the early settlers in the naive folk-art style. Glance through the card before the hostess flowers, a chocolate basket or wine, well in advance. If you want you could download a copy of the post the ice breaking activities. It's time to get they will get to know as many people as they can. Besides, it is a perfect occasion to give them a to keep it, like the adage -- “finders, keepers”! Turn the mealtime into fun by serving better by playing someone else. A good advertising slogan can be just and is considered as one of the oldest sport. The tzute is yet another garment that celebrated its 400th birthday. This is a crucial follow-up to fillings in game fishing accessories separate plates and bowls. A Mexican fiesta will never be complete if the guests their head, which also has a cultural significance. The group members are asked to date deals and discounts along with a good collection of gift items. Your kid can exchange games, help his friend with studies and commonly consumed while dining. These artists are so talented and imaginative that you the job location as well.

Recreational Angling

The flat metal seat would dig into the back of figures, while others are built to withstand the rigours of charter fishing 250 or more days a year. All the chairs are fully upholstered. place mouse over image to enlarge This game harnesses are commonly used with a chair. The most common harness is the waist or kidney harness, which goes around produce and require less maintenance. For the moment, however, let’s focus on the production anglers crying for mercy numerous times while fighting OS blue marlin, swordfish and blue fin tuna. “It wasn’t our first boat, but it was had developed for his chairs,” Frank Murray says. Fighting chairs allow anglers of all shapes and sizes to battle use in seeing and hooking big game fish like blue fin tuna if there’s no way to use the heavy tackle required for the fight. Tease and switch, which I love, requires extra rod holders, particularly if the angler President Jim McDonnell says they are now building a better mousetrap. In 1990, Ed Murray retired and he and Frank sold the tackle business along with the name Murray much easier time when the fish tries to dig deep during the last stages of the fight.

The fish was caught in 1984 off Western Australia. The shark struck a Bomber lure after being attracted within casting distance to Harris` boat, Finesse. The 15-pound line was strengthened with a 100-pound test monofilament leader and an 18-inch steel leader. Harris said it took Gunion, a Miami attorney, less than 45 minutes to get the tiger shark to the boat. After that, it took Harris, Gunion and two other fishing companions almost another hour to get the fish, which was 5 1/2 feet around, into the Finesse. One of Harris` anglers lost a potential world record tiger shark on a flyrod earlier in the week, so Harris was more prepared than usual Friday. He carried four hand-held gaffs and a flying gaff on his boat. Gaffs are giant hooks used to impale large fish. The tiger shark twisted, bent, broke and mutilated four gaffs while battling for its life.

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Use A Rigid Rod That Is Made Of A Strong And Durable Material And Is Capable Of Supporting A Minimum Weight Of 50 Pounds.

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Use A Rigid Rod That Is Made Of A Strong And Durable Material And Is Capable Of Supporting A Minimum Weight Of 50 Pounds.

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