#i live in a all pine forest and never really got much excited for autumn

[endureandsurvives]

People who live in deciduous tree areas literally have a whole different perception of autumn

[imacrowcawcaw]

@oblvions @shes-outta-sight @lazingonsunday @karrotkate @satans-helper thank you all for the tags 💗💕

A buttload of info about me:

Last thing I read: "Lovers" by @satans-helper 😍😍😍

Favorite Book: The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle

Favorite Movie: Beetlegeuse

Dream Date: Imagine this: a nice, plush couch, covered in down pillows and fluffy blankets. There is a fire in the brick fireplace, the wood smoke combines with the scent of Nag Champa incense and the homemade treats that cover the low table next to the couch. There are brownies, bread rolls, cheeses, bowls of fruit, dipping sauces, cakes, sandwiches - a whole feast of my favorite foods. My partner and I would cuddle up on that couch, listening to my favorite symphonies on the record player in the corner and talking for hours. This isn't really a first date thing, more like an established relationshil date, but god I'd love to just spend an afternoon surrounded with my favorite things and my favorite person.

Do I have a crush?: Not really. There are people I find very very attractive (a friend, Sam Kiszka, Duff Mckagan in his 20s, Lucy Lui) but nobody that I'm actually romantically and sexually into.

Hobbies: Swimming, observing nature, browsing Pinterest, daydreaming, writing, reading, making art, singing, listening to music, love to cook

My favorite time of day: late afternoon, right before the sun sets. I'm usually free to do what I like, the temperature starts to drop, I can watch the sun... it's nice

If I could choose what I looked like, anything, what would it be?: I want tattoos, and more piercings, I'd love to change my hair color again - it's been natural for awhile but I think I want either burgundy or bright blue. WINGS! I kind of want giant, strong fairy wings, and maybe glowing eyes, a forked tongue, and tattoos that move and change (kinda like Maui lol)

Am I romantic?: Yeah, I'd say I am. I love to treat people, friends and significant others, but I'd be especially affectionate and romantic for a partner. I'm constantly buying gifts and things that remind me of them, cooking for them, planning dates and buying tickets for things I know they like, quietly taking care of stuff I know they need to do, cuddling, complimenting... I love to shower my partner in affection 24/7

My favorite kind of weather: Late Autumn, generally. About 55ºF, cloudy but not raining, windy

What do I like to talk about?: Lol I talk a whole lot and I've probably talked about everything at some point. One of my close friends and I particularly love to debate religion, mythology, magic, history, and the intersections of those. We also regularly plan heists and crimes lmao

My turn-ons: Long eyelashes, pouty lips, dirty hands (motor oil, paint, flour, etc), sarcasm, seeing someone get excited about something, compassion, casual physical affection

My turn-offs: Nastiness without a reason, knees (I just think knees look weird idk), Trump supporters, 100% pessimism (I understand being depressed or doubtful or being generally a pessimist, but if you adamantly refuse to see anything in a good light and try to ruin it for others f u c k y o u)

If I got a tattoo, what would it be and where?: ohhh I want tattoos so bad but I'm saving up and I'm not certain about some yet.... but I know that I'm getting a tree of life matching with my mom, I want mushrooms, pine trees, lavender, wildflowers (all for personal reasons). I'd also like to make maybe a charm bracelet of sorts with little charms for my favorite bands, books, movies, and other peices of media. I know that interests change and I might not like something in 30 years, but I see my life in periods of interests and I want to catalogue the things that shaped me

My pets: I have 3 cats - Pumpkin Pie, Lady, and Sweetheart

My dream job: I just want to live a free life doing what I want. I want to grow my own food for the most part, and raise animals, and paint, and write, and play music, and go on random adventures, go antiquing, decorate my home from my travels, learn without expectations - I don't want to exchange a fulfilling life for financial security from some mundane modern job.

My dream place to live: Secluded, in the forests of Oregon (or maybe Pennsylvania idk) on the bottom third of a mountain, on my own little farm

My dream vacation: I just wanna go explore historical landmarks and buildings

My dream house: A beautiful historical house -- like an 1870s American farmhouse, or a craftsman cottage, or a Victorian painted Lady, or maybe a New York brownstone -- filled with antiques and records and books and artifacts that I've collected. I LOVE antiques so much, everything would be of fine craftsmanship, it would be lavish and inviting and packed with interesting items at every turn (I want my house to be a curios shop lol) I also want a big ass kitchen and nice woodwork, I literally get horny over original built ins

My piercings: Sadly, I only have my standard ear piercings right now, but I think I'll get more soon. A nose ring, eye brow bar (yes I know that's so 2000s but I like them), probably 4 more on each ear, navel, nipples

If I had kids, what would I name them?: I love older, interesting names, so - Euphemia, Hartford, Monroe, Malory, Louise (me lol), August, Fredrick

My worst traits: I'm incredibly stubborn; I love talking to people but I'm awkward; lazy and don't care; I'm a bit of a collector/hoarder; I bottle up any anger or sadness I feel so I don't inconvenience others

My best traits: I love to give and help; I try to make people comfortable around me/in my home; I have excellent taste; I appreciate quality, culture, and creativity; I have many interesting interests that I'm eager to share and learn more about; I'm very creative

My worst fear: a painful death - I'm not afraid of dying, even though I'd rather not, I just don't want it to hurt

What do I want to eat right now?: Well, considering that I just ate my first bit of solid food in 3 days and immediately had to run to the bathroom... nothing

My favorite vacation memory: *blushes* my first kiss AND nearly my first time (we went like halfway): making out with this dude, son of my mom's friend, at my family cabin

My favorite city: I really don't know. Timber, OR, let's say

My favorite social media platform: Tumblr or Pinterest (does that count?)

My favorite article of clothing: My leather motorcycle jacket. I can't actually ride a motorcycle (trying to remedy that because *sexy*) but I got it a few years ago and it makes me feel so fucking badass. It's heavy, about 15 pounds of good quality leather, has lots of secret pockets in the lining and some cool looking zippers and studs, but nothing crazy. It's hella warm and comfy, I wear it everyday it's cold enough to

Do I play any sports?: pfft no. I like to swim, and I'm interested in baseball and tennis, but I suck at them and also I just don't like team sports

My favorite meal: What I order when I go to Buffalo Bills - a pesto/feta/mozzarella/Italian sausage/basil/tomato/garlic pizza, with homemade potato chips and chunky blue cheese dressing for dipping. If I had room, I'd finish with Marionberry cheesecake pie from Sherri's (but I am incredibly sick and have no faith in getting better enough so I feel like I'll never be able to eat like this again)

What am I excited for?: The winter holidays! I'm atheist, so Christmas is all about the personal stuff and non religious family traditions for me. I love the decorations, the music, seeing my family, baking, giving and receiving presents, it's all just so fun

What am I not excited for?: Cleaning my room, it really really needs it though. Also just continuing to live like this. I'm not suicidal, I'm just in a lot of pain constantly and I don't know what to do

When was the last time I cried?: an hour or so ago, I'm in loads of pain right now

What is something I hate about the world?: There's too much to choose from

What is something I love about the world?: children and nature

My favorite scents: vanilla, lavender, pine, Nag Champa incense, BBQ meat, pizza with basil, rosemary, my Dad's cologne

Cats or dogs?: kitties 💗

What kind of sleeper am I?: A weird one lol. I can't lay on my stomach for more than 15 minutes without it making me incredibly nauseous for the rest of the day, but it's also my favorite way to sleep cause its comfy somehow... I can't lay on my back without a pillow either, 30 seconds in and the nerves pinch so bad I'm screaming. I snore, and I sleep deep, but it takes a long time to fall asleep and usually only beeping or banging noises wake me up??? Like I said, I sleep weird

How long would I survive in a zombie apocalypse?: I really don't know. I have some skills and the drive to learn to fight, but I am currently, as I'm sure y'all can tell, very sick and I don't think I'd be able to live with so much movement and so little medicine

Am I trusting?: Generally, I probably trust too much but I'm not gonna stop

What fictional characters do I identify with?: there are many I like but none I identify with

My most common labels: Mom friend, butch, that weird fat chick (doesn't bother me tho), the well behaved daughter, old soul

My life's anthem: I really am not sure if this is a good anthem song but I love it so so much... Take Me In Your Arms (Rock Me A Little While) by Kim Weston - you see where I get my love of long titles lol

Problems I'm dealing with: my health and whatever painful sickness is wrecking me, figuring out what to do with my life, saving money, getting my anxiety under control, getting the house to actually heat up because I'm cold as fuck

How can someone win me over?: let me express my interests and feelings, show kindness, be funny

What is something people don't know about me?: Idk

Not tagging anyone, this took over an hour

[mister-honeynuts]

Prompt: Spring / Autumn / Winter Pairing(s): Gwen/David Word Count: 2,440 Summary: Day Four for @gwenvidweek in which they get married the same way they do everything which is to say, untraditionally and without an ounce of grandeur.

David is not ashamed to say that their entire relationship is untraditional to its core.

He’s not clear whether that’s a product of both of them being very much not straight or if it’s just the way their personalities meld but the truth is, David’s happiest with Gwen as they are and he wouldn’t trade it for all the cliche Hollywood romances in the world.

Max had joked, back in the beginning when he’d discovered the shift in their relationship and been around enough to witness how they worked together, that Gwen was his boyfriend. Needless to say, David had taken it as an opportunity to discuss the effects of toxic gender roles which had left Max grumpy but overall noticeably more comfortable in the apartment.

The way he and Gwen operate works for them. For the family they’re making out of an equally untraditional little boy. In all things, they’re equal and so it really comes to no surprise to him or Gwen that neither of them actually proposes.

For as much as Gwen fantasizes about over the top romance, their path to marriage is a simple one. They discuss it. Plans for the future until one day becomes one day soon and casually tossed out suggestions become cemented decisions.

Then suddenly, they have a date and that’s that.

David’s out of school now and it’s letting them live more comfortably but the reality is that they don’t have fantasy dream wedding money. That’s fine. They’ve always been crafty.

There’s no question of where. It’s obvious. The only place truly befitting of their special day is Camp Campbell. And well, it doesn’t hurt that they now technically own the camp. Saves a whole lot of money for other things like feeding the growing number of people in their lives worth sharing this with.

Gwen is immediately insistent that she doesn’t want a wedding dress. Thousands of dollars on some massive, easily stained dress she’ll never have a reason to wear again extends beyond luxury and into stupidity. According to Gwen herself, of course.

David thinks she’ll look beautiful in anything.

Instead, she finds a cocktail dress with a skirt that spills layers of a translucent fabric. It’s a horrible khaki color that reminds David of the jumpers girls in his elementary school were forced into wearing but they’re nothing if not a family of problem solvers.

Gwen spends an afternoon teaching Max how to mix fabric dye in a plastic rope tub they bought to hold drinks for the Summer Social out on the balcony. They take turns prodding at the fabric with a yardstick miraculously fished from the kitchen island until the dress is a beautiful dark forest green.

Involving Max in the process has been important to both of them since the beginning. The wedding is a celebration of their relationship but it’s a celebration of their family too and that extends to Max’s presence in it.

Which is why when Max snidely congratulates Gwen on her now being the owner of a random green dress, Gwen shoves him into the couch and then agrees that it’s missing something that makes it special.

David digs around the sterilite tower he keeps their arts and craft supplies in until he comes across some gold thread Gwen had bought this past summer when Preston decided the costumes for his play were not sufficiently gaudy. He hand sews little golden pine trees around the hem of the skirt in what Gwen claims is overkill but she smiles soft and pretty as she traces the shapes afterwards.

There will never come a day that Gwen’s smile doesn’t fill him with butterflies.

Neither Max nor David own a proper suit. It’s never been a need and clearly the very idea of it offends Max to his core because the thought of having to spend an afternoon in one sends Max into a full-blown meltdown.

“Calm the fuck down. We don’t have the money for suits,” Gwen huffs, placing corn in front of their ridiculous child to husk as this delightful exchange took place in the middle of making dinner. “And you’d look stupid in one anyways.”

She’s teasing and so he doesn’t call her out on it. They’re both aware how cute Max would be in a full suit. But it’s true that they don’t have the money and regardless, it’s entirely not their style.

The comfort of everyone involved is far more important than what tradition dictates.

Gwen finds them nice button ups in an almost exact match to her dress while hiding from her mother’s insane quest to find her shoes that match her dress but don’t make her taller than David. Like either of them have ever cared about that.

David’s got some cheap, generic black ties from back when he was interviewing with schools. He cuts and hems one down so Max won’t look like he’s playing dress up in his dad’s business attire and then, for the heck of it, he sews matching golden pines into the ties.

Max makes a face when he’s shown their matching accessory but accepts the tie without a snide comment which he takes as the ultimate admission of love.

The day before the big day, Gwen’s mom comes by to steal Max and neither one will tell them what they’re up to. Gwen’s mom just winks when he asks and leads Max away with a hand on the shoulder that the boy seems unbothered by.

David watches them go with unease, sighing when Gwen presses a kiss to his shoulder and smacks him on the hip.

“It’s fine,” she says, moving to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for this too early weekend morning. “Max is fine with Mom. And she seems to not even realize that he’s the devil so.”

David knows this but it’s not often that Max is away for the day outside of school when David is gone too. Now that he’s not working odd hours, it just doesn’t feel right to not have Max somewhere underfoot in the apartment.

“Mom probably thinks we’re going to have sex,” Gwen mentions offhandedly later in the afternoon when David’s managed to get nothing done but worry.

“Why would she think that?” he asks, blinking when Gwen responds with a small laugh and a cocked eyebrow. “Oh.”

“So dumb. Don’t know why I’m marrying you,” she says full of fondness and pushes him back onto the bed.

Gwen’s mom brings their kid back not a second past five and Max still won’t say what they did, burying his face into David’s leg when David pulls him in for a hug. Gwen asks if they at least had fun and Max shrugs off the question, running off to the bathroom to wash up for dinner.

Max is quiet through dinner and doesn’t complain when David enforces a bedtime even though it’s the weekend.

The next morning, they wake up early and David muses that it doesn’t feel any different than any other day which is to say, he feels lucky and loved.

It takes longer than they plan to get Max out of bed despite how early they all turned in the night before. He seems more withdrawn than usual and David worries that Max has convinced himself of something completely untrue.

The concept isn’t foreign for their family.

Moreover, he’s still half asleep when he comes stumbling out of his room, Mr. Honeynuts tucked under his arm. A less than promising sign. Mr. Honeynuts only leaves Max’s room for camp and when he’s upset about something.

David draws him a bath, worrying his lip with his teeth as Max does not voice his usual pre-bath complaints that he’s not a baby. Crumbling one of Gwen’s less flowery bath bombs into the water, he leaves Max to sleepily soak until breakfast.

“You’re worrying too much,” Gwen tells him, plating up the pancakes she’d been making while David was handling Max. “Max doesn’t handle change well. You know that.”

“But this is a good change,” David argues, looking back at the bathroom door. He loves Gwen. He’s excited that they’re going to be married and he’ll be able to tell people about his wife but…

“Him coming here was a good change too and that still sucked ass for two months. He’s gonna be twelve, David. All major changes are scary, even for Lord Satan himself,” she dismisses.

Max appears a minute later, wrapped tight in a towel and dripping water onto the floor.

“Morning, bud. You with us finally?” David asks.

“David, you asshole. I smell like cinnamon and pine cones,” Max grumbles.

“Then you’ll fit right in at the wedding.” Gwen says, lightly pushing him towards his bedroom. “Go get dressed and you can have this fucked up pancake that’s suppose to look like a bear.” Max scowls and stares up at her with purpose.

“David does it so much better,” he whispers spitefully.

“I’m gonna tell him you think so,” he hears her whisper back, laughing when Max makes a mad dash to escape to his room.

It’s a long drive to Camp Campbell and they’re not even close to the first people there despite living closer than anyone else. Max wastes no time popping out of the car and running to join Nikki and Neil where they’re climbing a tree outside the counselor cabin.

“You look beautiful, honey,” Gwen’s father compliments, helping her out of the car. David beams.

She really, really does. He hadn’t seen the dress on Gwen, their own version of not seeing the bride until the wedding or, well, wedding day at least. She looks maybe not so much like a bride but definitely something out of David’s dreams.

Gwen’s mother tuts at her choice of shoes. Both of them had chosen to go the way of cleaning up their boots for camp, for money and for ease of walking around camp. It was, they decided, much easier to find Max a nice pair of boots than to look for suitable dress shoes for the three of them.

David thinks they both actually look quite nice, their button ups contrasting against new dark denim disappearing into sturdy boots. Maybe not the fanciest but they certainly look like they belong among the dirt paths and towering woods.

Gwen shoots David an easily read look as her mom repositions herself for the hundredth time, heels sinking into the dirt.

Max comes back with Nikki and Neil trailing behind him. He tugs on the sleeve of Gwen’s mom’s blouse and she smiles, patting Max on the head like he swears he hates but he doesn’t voice that fact now.

“Okay,” she agrees though to what, David doesn’t know because no one has said a word. “Max wants to show you what we did yesterday.”

She leads them over to the tents set up for food later in the evening and a table in the middle which sits the prettiest cake David has ever seen. The bottom tier is a vibrant sky blue with a lush icing pine forest circling the bottom. The tiers gradate up into pinks, and oranges, and finally a dark blue with glimmering speckled stars.

David feels emotion well up in his chest, more so when Gwen tugs Max back against her and he allows it, wrapping a hand around one of her arms.

“Max came up with the design,” Gwen’s mom explains. “I never would have considered something like this for a wedding cake but, well, he insisted this is what you’d want.”

“It’s perfect,” David agrees, voice wavering with emotion.

“Gross,” Max grumbles, averting his eyes. “It’s just a cake, David.” The adults all laugh, much to his obvious displeasure and Gwen releases him to make his escape as the rest of their return campers all arrive at the same time.

The ceremony arrives before they know it and it’s perfect in the way that it’s not.

David had ideally wanted a summer wedding but Gwen had vetoed the idea immediately. They were, she pointed out, obviously going to be working and the last thing she wanted was to be married one day and cleaning paint off the Mess Hall walls the next while Nurf tried to glue Space Kid to the ceiling by his helmet.

Now, he’s thrilled they waited. Beyond the reality that planning a wedding during camp just wasn’t feasible, their backdrop is a plethora of beautiful trees in shades of red and orange and golden brown scattered between the pines.

Leaves fall as they say their vows and David sputters when one manages to fall into his mouth. Their guests all burst into laughter, draining him of his nerves. This, like everything else, is a moment uniquely them shared with their closest friends and family.

Max is practically clinging to him instead of standing in his spot right next to David and he rests a reassuring hand on the boys back as he and Gwen are instructed to kiss. He hears Max make a soft noise of disgust and laughs, tugging the boy between them while he makes a show of fighting and clawing his way out of the hug.

“Mom offered to take Max while we’re on our honeymoon,” Gwen mentions when everyone disperses to eat. David offers her a confused glance.

“We’re taking him with us?” he reminds her. They’d planned that from the very beginning. Family vacations were still a little out of their reach. It seemed infinitely unfair for the first one to be without Max, honeymoon or not.

“I know. I told her as much. Wouldn’t be much of a vacation without our little monster. She told me that wasn’t the point of a honeymoon. But it’s the point of our honeymoon, right?” she continues, soothing his worry that Gwen had had a change of heart about the whole thing.

He’s not sure what he would do if he was made to choose between Gwen and Max. Not sure why the rest of the world seems hellbent on making him do so when they were all happy in the compromise that made up their makeshift family.

“I sure do love you, Gwen,” he tells her like it’s brand new information. It feels that way sometimes. Like every day, he discovers love for her like it’s the first time. Bright and overwhelming and good.

She shoots him an amused smile, linking their fingers together.

“Yeah, you’re pretty alright yourself, David,” she teases and she doesn’t echo the words back but David still hears them loud and clear.

That’s their tradition.

[mraesop-stories]

About Love

AT lunch next day there were very nice pies, crayfish, and mutton cutlets; and while we were eating, Nikanor, the cook, came up to ask what the visitors would like for dinner. He was a man of medium height, with a puffy face and little eyes; he was close-shaven, and it looked as though his moustaches had not been shaved, but had been pulled out by the roots. Alehin told us that the beautiful Pelagea was in love with this cook. As he drank and was of a violent character, she did not want to marry him, but was willing to live with him without. He was very devout, and his religious convictions would not allow him to "live in sin"; he insisted on her marrying him, and would consent to nothing else, and when he was drunk he used to abuse her and even beat her. Whenever he got drunk she used to hide upstairs and sob, and on such occasions Alehin and the servants stayed in the house to be ready to defend her in case of necessity.

We began talking about love.

"How love is born," said Alehin, "why Pelagea does not love somebody more like herself in her spiritual and external qualities, and why she fell in love with Nikanor, that ugly snout -- we all call him 'The Snout' -- how far questions of personal happiness are of consequence in love -- all that is known; one can take what view one likes of it. So far only one incontestable truth has been uttered about love: 'This is a great mystery.' Everything else that has been written or said about love is not a conclusion, but only a statement of questions which have remained unanswered. The explanation which would seem to fit one case does not apply in a dozen others, and the very best thing, to my mind, would be to explain every case individually without attempting to generalize. We ought, as the doctors say, to individualize each case."

"Perfectly true," Burkin assented.

"We Russians of the educated class have a partiality for these questions that remain unanswered. Love is usually poeticized, decorated with roses, nightingales; we Russians decorate our loves with these momentous questions, and select the most uninteresting of them, too. In Moscow, when I was a student, I had a friend who shared my life, a charming lady, and every time I took her in my arms she was thinking what I would allow her a month for housekeeping and what was the price of beef a pound. In the same way, when we are in love we are never tired of asking ourselves questions: whether it is honourable or dishonourable, sensible or stupid, what this love is leading up to, and so on. Whether it is a good thing or not I don't know, but that it is in the way, unsatisfactory, and irritating, I do know."

It looked as though he wanted to tell some story. People who lead a solitary existence always have something in their hearts which they are eager to talk about. In town bachelors visit the baths and the restaurants on purpose to talk, and sometimes tell the most interesting things to bath attendants and waiters; in the country, as a rule, they unbosom themselves to their guests. Now from the window we could see a grey sky, trees drenched in the rain; in such weather we could go nowhere, and there was nothing for us to do but to tell stories and to listen.

"I have lived at Sofino and been farming for a long time," Alehin began, "ever since I left the University. I am an idle gentleman by education, a studious person by disposition; but there was a big debt owing on the estate when I came here, and as my father was in debt partly because he had spent so much on my education, I resolved not to go away, but to work till I paid off the debt. I made up my mind to this and set to work, not, I must confess, without some repugnance. The land here does not yield much, and if one is not to farm at a loss one must employ serf labour or hired labourers, which is almost the same thing, or put it on a peasant footing -- that is, work the fields oneself and with one's family. There is no middle path. But in those days I did not go into such subtleties. I did not leave a clod of earth unturned; I gathered together all the peasants, men and women, from the neighbouring villages; the work went on at a tremendous pace. I myself ploughed and sowed and reaped, and was bored doing it, and frowned with disgust, like a village cat driven by hunger to eat cucumbers in the kitchen-garden. My body ached, and I slept as I walked. At first it seemed to me that I could easily reconcile this life of toil with my cultured habits; to do so, I thought, all that is necessary is to maintain a certain external order in life. I established myself upstairs here in the best rooms, and ordered them to bring me there coffee and liquor after lunch and dinner, and when I went to bed I read every night the Yyesnik Evropi. But one day our priest, Father Ivan, came and drank up all my liquor at one sitting; and the Yyesnik Evropi went to the priest's daughters; as in the summer, especially at the haymaking, I did not succeed in getting to my bed at all, and slept in the sledge in the barn, or somewhere in the forester's lodge, what chance was there of reading? Little by little I moved downstairs, began dining in the servants' kitchen, and of my former luxury nothing is left but the servants who were in my father's service, and whom it would be painful to turn away.

"In the first years I was elected here an honourary justice of the peace. I used to have to go to the town and take part in the sessions of the congress and of the circuit court, and this was a pleasant change for me. When you live here for two or three months without a break, especially in the winter, you begin at last to pine for a black coat. And in the circuit court there were frock-coats, and uniforms, and dress-coats, too, all lawyers, men who have received a general education; I had some one to talk to. After sleeping in the sledge and dining in the kitchen, to sit in an arm-chair in clean linen, in thin boots, with a chain on one's waistcoat, is such luxury!

"I received a warm welcome in the town. I made friends eagerly. And of all my acquaintanceships the most intimate and, to tell the truth, the most agreeable to me was my acquaintance with Luganovitch, the vice-president of the circuit court. You both know him: a most charming personality. It all happened just after a celebrated case of incendiarism; the preliminary investigation lasted two days; we were exhausted. Luganovitch looked at me and said:

" 'Look here, come round to dinner with me.'

"This was unexpected, as I knew Luganovitch very little, only officially, and I had never been to his house. I only just went to my hotel room to change and went off to dinner. And here it was my lot to meet Anna Alexyevna, Luganovitch's wife. At that time she was still very young, not more than twenty-two, and her first baby had been born just six months before. It is all a thing of the past; and now I should find it difficult to define what there was so exceptional in her, what it was in her attracted me so much; at the time, at dinner, it was all perfectly clear to me. I saw a lovely young, good, intelligent, fascinating woman, such as I had never met before; and I felt her at once some one close and already familiar, as though that face, those cordial, intelligent eyes, I had seen somewhere in my childhood, in the album which lay on my mother's chest of drawers.

"Four Jews were charged with being incendiaries, were regarded as a gang of robbers, and, to my mind, quite groundlessly. At dinner I was very much excited, I was uncomfortable, and I don't know what I said, but Anna Alexyevna kept shaking her head and saying to her husband:

" 'Dmitry, how is this?'

"Luganovitch is a good-natured man, one of those simple-hearted people who firmly maintain the opinion that once a man is charged before a court he is guilty, and to express doubt of the correctness of a sentence cannot be done except in legal form on paper, and not at dinner and in private conversation.

" 'You and I did not set fire to the place,' he said softly, 'and you see we are not condemned, and not in prison.'

"And both husband and wife tried to make me eat and drink as much as possible. From some trifling details, from the way they made the coffee together, for instance, and from the way they understood each other at half a word, I could gather that they lived in harmony and comfort, and that they were glad of a visitor. After dinner they played a duet on the piano; then it got dark, and I went home. That was at the beginning of spring.

"After that I spent the whole summer at Sofino without a break, and I had no time to think of the town, either, but the memory of the graceful fair-haired woman remained in my mind all those days; I did not think of her, but it was as though her light shadow were lying on my heart.

"In the late autumn there was a theatrical performance for some charitable object in the town. I went into the governor's box (I was invited to go there in the interval); I looked, and there was Anna Alexyevna sitting beside the governor's wife; and again the same irresistible, thrilling impression of beauty and sweet, caressing eyes, and again the same feeling of nearness. We sat side by side, then went to the foyer.

" 'You've grown thinner,' she said; 'have you been ill?'

" 'Yes, I've had rheumatism in my shoulder, and in rainy weather I can't sleep.'

" 'You look dispirited. In the spring, when you came to dinner, you were younger, more confident. You were full of eagerness, and talked a great deal then; you were very interesting, and I really must confess I was a little carried away by you. For some reason you often came back to my memory during the summer, and when I was getting ready for the theatre today I thought I should see you.'

"And she laughed.

" 'But you look dispirited today,' she repeated; 'it makes you seem older.'

"The next day I lunched at the Luganovitchs'. After lunch they drove out to their summer villa, in order to make arrangements there for the winter, and I went with them. I returned with them to the town, and at midnight drank tea with them in quiet domestic surroundings, while the fire glowed, and the young mother kept going to see if her baby girl was asleep. And after that, every time I went to town I never failed to visit the Luganovitchs. They grew used to me, and I grew used to them. As a rule I went in unannounced, as though I were one of the family.

" 'Who is there?' I would hear from a faraway room, in the drawling voice that seemed to me so lovely.

" 'It is Pavel Konstantinovitch,' answered the maid or the nurse.

"Anna Alexyevna would come out to me with an anxious face, and would ask every time:

" 'Why is it so long since you have been? Has anything happened?'

"Her eyes, the elegant refined hand she gave me, her indoor dress, the way she did her hair, her voice, her step, always produced the same impression on me of something new and extraordinary in my life, and very important. We talked together for hours, were silent, thinking each our own thoughts, or she played for hours to me on the piano. If there were no one at home I stayed and waited, talked to the nurse, played with the child, or lay on the sofa in the study and read; and when Anna Alexyevna came back I met her in the hall, took all her parcels from her, and for some reason I carried those parcels every time with as much love, with as much solemnity, as a boy.

"There is a proverb that if a peasant woman has no troubles she will buy a pig. The Luganovitchs had no troubles, so they made friends with me. If I did not come to the town I must be ill or something must have happened to me, and both of them were extremely anxious. They were worried that I, an educated man with a knowledge of languages, should, instead of devoting myself to science or literary work, live in the country, rush round like a squirrel in a rage, work hard with never a penny to show for it. They fancied that I was unhappy, and that I only talked, laughed, and ate to conceal my sufferings, and even at cheerful moments when I felt happy I was aware of their searching eyes fixed upon me. They were particularly touching when I really was depressed, when I was being worried by some creditor or had not money enough to pay interest on the proper day. The two of them, husband and wife, would whisper together at the window; then he would come to me and say with a grave face:

" 'If you really are in need of money at the moment, Pavel Konstantinovitch, my wife and I beg you not to hesitate to borrow from us.'

"And he would blush to his ears with emotion. And it would happen that, after whispering in the same way at the window, he would come up to me, with red ears, and say:

" 'My wife and I earnestly beg you to accept this present.'

"And he would give me studs, a cigar-case, or a lamp, and I would send them game, butter, and flowers from the country. They both, by the way, had considerable means of their own. In early days I often borrowed money, and was not very particular about it -- borrowed wherever I could -- but nothing in the world would have induced me to borrow from the Luganovitchs. But why talk of it?

"I was unhappy. At home, in the fields, in the barn, I thought of her; I tried to understand the mystery of a beautiful, intelligent young woman's marrying some one so uninteresting, almost an old man (her husband was over forty), and having children by him; to understand the mystery of this uninteresting, good, simple-hearted man, who argued with such wearisome good sense, at balls and evening parties kept near the more solid people, looking listless and superfluous, with a submissive, uninterested expression, as though he had been brought there for sale, who yet believed in his right to be happy, to have children by her; and I kept trying to understand why she had met him first and not me, and why such a terrible mistake in our lives need have happened.

"And when I went to the town I saw every time from her eyes that she was expecting me, and she would confess to me herself that she had had a peculiar feeling all that day and had guessed that I should come. We talked a long time, and were silent, yet we did not confess our love to each other, but timidly and jealously concealed it. We were afraid of everything that might reveal our secret to ourselves. I loved her tenderly, deeply, but I reflected and kept asking myself what our love could lead to if we had not the strength to fight against it. It seemed to be incredible that my gentle, sad love could all at once coarsely break up the even tenor of the life of her husband, her children, and all the household in which I was so loved and trusted. Would it be honourable? She would go away with me, but where? Where could I take her? It would have been a different matter if I had had a beautiful, interesting life -- if, for instance, I had been struggling for the emancipation of my country, or had been a celebrated man of science, an artist or a painter; but as it was it would mean taking her from one everyday humdrum life to another as humdrum or perhaps more so. And how long would our happiness last? What would happen to her in case I was ill, in case I died, or if we simply grew cold to one another?

"And she apparently reasoned in the same way. She thought of her husband, her children, and of her mother, who loved the husband like a son. If she abandoned herself to her feelings she would have to lie, or else to tell the truth, and in her position either would have been equally terrible and inconvenient. And she was tormented by the question whether her love would bring me happiness -- would she not complicate my life, which, as it was, was hard enough and full of all sorts of trouble? She fancied she was not young enough for me, that she was not industrious nor energetic enough to begin a new life, and she often talked to her husband of the importance of my marrying a girl of intelligence and merit who would be a capable housewife and a help to me -- and she would immediately add that it would be difficult to find such a girl in the whole town.

"Meanwhile the years were passing. Anna Alexyevna already had two children. When I arrived at the Luganovitchs' the servants smiled cordially, the children shouted that Uncle Pavel Konstantinovitch had come, and hung on my neck; every one was overjoyed. They did not understand what was passing in my soul, and thought that I, too, was happy. Every one looked on me as a noble being. And grown-ups and children alike felt that a noble being was walking about their rooms, and that gave a peculiar charm to their manner towards me, as though in my presence their life, too, was purer and more beautiful. Anna Alexyevna and I used to go to the theatre together, always walking there; we used to sit side by side in the stalls, our shoulders touching. I would take the opera-glass from her hands without a word, and feel at that minute that she was near me, that she was mine, that we could not live without each other; but by some strange misunderstanding, when we came out of the theatre we always said good-bye and parted as though we were strangers. Goodness knows what people were saying about us in the town already, but there was not a word of truth in it all!

"In the latter years Anna Alexyevna took to going away for frequent visits to her mother or to her sister; she began to suffer from low spirits, she began to recognize that her life was spoilt and unsatisfied, and at times she did not care to see her husband nor her children. She was already being treated for neurasthenia.

"We were silent and still silent, and in the presence of outsiders she displayed a strange irritation in regard to me; whatever I talked about, she disagreed with me, and if I had an argument she sided with my opponent. If I dropped anything, she would say coldly:

" 'I congratulate you.'

"If I forgot to take the opera-glass when we were going to the theatre, she would say afterwards:

" 'I knew you would forget it.'

"Luckily or unluckily, there is nothing in our lives that does not end sooner or later. The time of parting came, as Luganovitch was appointed president in one of the western provinces. They had to sell their furniture, their horses, their summer villa. When they drove out to the villa, and afterwards looked back as they were going away, to look for the last time at the garden, at the green roof, every one was sad, and I realized that I had to say goodbye not only to the villa. It was arranged that at the end of August we should see Anna Alexyevna off to the Crimea, where the doctors were sending her, and that a little later Luganovitch and the children would set off for the western province.

"We were a great crowd to see Anna Alexyevna off. When she had said good-bye to her husband and her children and there was only a minute left before the third bell, I ran into her compartment to put a basket, which she had almost forgotten, on the rack, and I had to say good-bye. When our eyes met in the compartment our spiritual fortitude deserted us both; I took her in my arms, she pressed her face to my breast, and tears flowed from her eyes. Kissing her face, her shoulders, her hands wet with tears -- oh, how unhappy we were! -- I confessed my love for her, and with a burning pain in my heart I realized how unnecessary, how petty, and how deceptive all that had hindered us from loving was. I understood that when you love you must either, in your reasonings about that love, start from what is highest, from what is more important than happiness or unhappiness, sin or virtue in their accepted meaning, or you must not reason at all.

"I kissed her for the last time, pressed her hand, and parted for ever. The train had already started. I went into the next compartment -- it was empty -- and until I reached the next station I sat there crying. Then I walked home to Sofino. . . ."

While Alehin was telling his story, the rain left off and the sun came out. Burkin and Ivan Ivanovitch went out on the balcony, from which there was a beautiful view over the garden and the mill-pond, which was shining now in the sunshine like a mirror. They admired it, and at the same time they were sorry that this man with the kind, clever eyes, who had told them this story with such genuine feeling, should be rushing round and round this huge estate like a squirrel on a wheel instead of devoting himself to science or something else which would have made his life more pleasant; and they thought what a sorrowful face Anna Alexyevna must have had when he said good-bye to her in the railway-carriage and kissed her face and shoulders. Both of them had met her in the town, and Burkin knew her and thought her beautiful.

[sufferthesea]

Whomped by a Willow

Chapter 1 of Leather and Lace 

Words: 3.197  Pairings/Warnings/Rating: Remus x OC, Sirius x OC / Some violence, bodily harm, blood / Teen  Summary:  A chance encounter has a few friends indebted to the Marauders and it's the worst possible thing that could happen to them. Or the best. It's hard to tell when you're being bossed around by incredibly attractive Gryffindors. As time passes, the girls grow fond of the Marauders - but they each have their own secrets and their own demons. Can they get over their insecurities and fears in order to embrace what life at Hogwarts has to offer them? AO3 | FFN 

“Unbelievable,” Goldie whispered as she pushed a handful of curls out of her face to study the map. “Did you get us lost?”

“Me?” Catlin, the oldest of the lot, gasped in defense, “You're the one leading us.”

“Yeah, with a map you made,” she shot back.

“Shut up, both of you!” Evelyn, the redhead, spoke up, annoyed, “We're gonna get caught.”

“I can't get caught,” said Goldie, not the least bit of panic in her voice. “I have too much stuff to do. I have to take photos at the Quidditch game this weekend.”

“Yeah and she,” Evelyn jerked her thumb back at the second girl, “is a potential prefect. This will go on her record – if they keep records in this place.”

“Wait,” said Catlin, “I think I hear someone coming – hide!”

All three took off separately, heading for the shadows of the castle, finding refuge under bushes or against the corners of stone pillars. Waiting with bated breath, they listened closely. They could hear soft murmuring and footsteps, but couldn't see anything yet. Peeking out from their hiding spots, they squinted into the courtyard lit up by the half moon overhead. The footsteps and the conversation were getting louder, but they still couldn't see anyone. Perhaps whoever it was, was above them – walking along the open air corridors the three girls had just used.

Finally the footsteps stopped, but the talking didn't. They could make out what was being said as the voice carried on the still night.

“Be careful, James – you're stepping on my Padfeet.”

“Oh, shut up, Sirius,” came the reply. “I am not. It's Peter.”

“I'm not! Ow – you've just elbowed me in the eye!”

“There's not enough room under here. James, you should really do something about this.”

“Do what? I'm not a seamstress. Besides, what's it matter? We're out anyways.”

All three girls watched in amazement as suddenly – out of thin air – a group of boys appeared. The one in the middle folded what looked like a blanket over his arm and adjusted his glasses.

“Right,” he said, “now that we've got that all sorted … where's Remus?”

“Old Moony is probably waiting for us,” said the boy with shoulder-length black hair. “It's not a full moon yet so he won't be in the Shrieking Shack.”

“This is what happens when we sneak out separately,” the glasses-wearing boy sighed.

Catlin, the potential prefect who felt she was going to pass out from holding her breath, sat up a little straighter against the castle wall. The Shrieking Shack? That's exactly where her group was going. She glanced around to find her friends; even though she couldn't see them, she knew they were thinking the same thing. What were these boys doing, going out to the Shrieking Shack? Or, rather, not going there? It sounded like they made a habit of it, but only around the full moon. Were the ghosts extra active around then?

Silently, they watched as the three boys headed off into the distance to look for their missing friend. The girls slowly came out of hiding, meeting together in the shadow of the ancient castle.

“Evelyn,” whispered Catlin, “who do you think they were?”

“Other students,” she replied.

“Oh, jeez, thanks. Where do you think they're going?”

“It sounded like they were looking for someone,” said Goldie, finally fishing a bobby pin out of her pocket and pinning her curls back. “Their friend, maybe?”

“Did you hear what they said?” Catlin kept her voice low but she felt excitement bubble up inside.

“Yeah,” nodded Evelyn. “They said something about the Shrieking Shack.”

“Are they going to be there too, then?” Goldie asked.

“No,” said Catlin. “They said whoever they were looking for wouldn't be there.”

“So where are they going?” Goldie watched the boys disappear into the dark forest.

“I don't know,” Catlin sighed, “but I think we should get going. If we wait around here, we're gonna get caught.”

“We've already gotten outside,” Goldie replied, grinning. “We'll be fine.” She held up the carefully drawn, but incomplete, map in front of her face, stepping out into the light to see it better.

“Can't we just use Lumos?” Evelyn held up her wand.

“Once we're farther away,” Goldie said, tracing a line along the map with her index finger. “Are we here? Do we pass the West Tower? Wait … which tower is this?”

“There are so many towers,” Evelyn grumbled. “You just need four, if that.”

“I'll enchant it so it lights up itself,” Catlin said. “Then we won't need to use our wands. We don't need to go all the way to the West Tower, but we can use it as a reference point.”

“You should enchant it so it shows where we are,” Evelyn suggested, looking over at the map, pointing. “Are we there? Isn't that this corridor here?”

“No,” Goldie said, already knowing Evelyn was horrid with directions and maps. “Look around and see if you can find a landmark -”

“Here, we're here,” Catlin interrupted, poking her finger to a spot on the map. “That tree,” she indicated to a smudge on the paper, “is there.” Pointing to a large tree ahead of them, she said, “I know where we are. I made the map. I've triple checked it. Besides I remember that tree because it looks like it's waving and I thought it was friendly – so I put it on the map.”

All three looked over at the tree and indeed, it had a twisting branch that curved upwards and spreading twigs that looked like nimble fingers. They trembled in the autumn breeze, giving off the impression of hand gently waving salutations at the group.

“Everything looks different at night,” Evelyn noted, “but at least you have your tree. He does look friendly. Have you given him a name?”

“Not yet. I couldn't think of a tree pun.”

“Ashley. Elmer. Mister Birch.”

“Okay,” Goldie said, “then that means we need to go that way to get to the Shrieking Shack.”

“Let's go then,” Evelyn said eagerly. “We're wasting time and I'm out of tree puns.”

They headed off in what they assumed to be the correct direction, keeping close together and casting hurried glances to keep watch. Once they were into the trees and the moonlight was obscured by the overhead branches, they each took out their wands.

“Lumos,” they said in unison and soon they were surrounded in blue-white light that pushed shadows into hiding under the long branches of pine trees. Huddled over the map, they figured out which way to go.

“I think we head in that direction,” Catlin said. “This is harder than I thought.”

“Did you bring anything to amend the map?” Goldie asked.

Catlin rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a jar of black ink and a quill. “I guess this will do. I brought pencils over the summer but someone snatched them. Back to using quills.”

“I don't hear anything, do you?” Evelyn lifted her wand higher, away from the group. “Isn't there supposed to be, you know, shrieking?”

Goldie folded the map. “Maybe the ghosts are sleeping,” she teased. “I guess we'll find out once we get there.”

The girls marched through the trees and down sloping hills. Their wands lit the way, blue lights bobbing around in the dark.

“I don't think I've been this far from the castle,” Evelyn admitted. “I mean, aside from field trips to Hogsmeade.”

“Are you sure there's an entrance to the Shrieking Shack here?” Goldie waved her arm around, shining light all around. “Not that I don't trust you, but it's all … field! And trees.”

“Yes, I'm pretty sure,” Catlin said. “I overheard Dumbledore mention it to Madam Pomfrey. I'm pretty certain it's by a tree ...”

“Did they happen to mention what kind of tree?” Goldie looked around. It was beginning to seem a bit hopeless. They only had so much time before they had to sneak back inside and get to bed.

“No – but … It'd have to be big enough to hide it, right?”

“We're surrounded by pine trees,” Goldie observed, pointing with her wand and sending light upwards. “All of them are big enough to hide anything.”

“What's an entrance to the Shrieking Shack doing on Hogwarts property anyway?” Evelyn used her wand's light to inspect a tree that had lost most of its lower branches. “I mean, the Shack is all the way in Hogsmeade, isn't it? What's it got to do with Hogwarts?”

“I don't know,” Goldie murmured as she checked out another tree, circling around it to check for a secret door. “But there are ghosts in the castle, so maybe there were some really bad ghosts that were haunting the school so they forced them to move? You know, for students' safety?”

“According to the villagers, the ghosts are really violent.” Catlin shuddered involuntarily, but she couldn't tell if it was from the idea of vengeful ghosts or the breeze running through the trees. “People say they can hear them screaming and tearing apart the inside of the Shack.”

Evelyn frowned as she bent over to pull pine needles out of her shoes. “Can ghosts do that? Tear things up, I mean? I guess if they're corporeal – but they're not, you know, living. All the ghosts at Hogwarts just float around and go through walls. I've never seen them actually interact with anything. Hmm … maybe that's why they moved them to the Shrieking Shack. Not just because they're violent, but because they could actually hurt someone. Ooh, that's scary!”

“Well,” Goldie huffed, crossing her arms, “they've certainly done a fantastic job of hiding this supposed entrance. There are hundreds of trees on this property, and we can't check them all tonight. And there's no way we can mark the ones we've already checked! This is going to take ages.”

“That – wait! Did you hear that?” Evelyn turned around, holding out her wand. “I – I heard something. Do you think a teacher found us?”

“No way,” Goldie stammered, turning to face where Evelyn was looking. “We were so careful! Maybe it's a squirrel.”

“It sounded bigger than a squirrel,” Evelyn whispered. “Like, teacher-sized or something.”

A noise to the right grabbed their attention and they spun towards it, three wands raised in defense. Light poured over the creature that had made the noise – a huge stag, standing just a few meters away, staring at them. Pine needles and leaves crunched under its hooves as it took a step forward, its huge black eyes shining eerily in the light.

Gasping in surprise, they hurriedly shuffled backwards, wide-eyed.

“That's the biggest deer I've ever seen,” Goldie said.

“It's going to stomp us to death,” Catlin concluded. “Or stab us with its antlers. That's not how I want to die. I mean – I haven't given it much thought, but I just decided that's not the way I wanna go.”

“You're the one who wants to be a magizoologist,” Goldie said, nudging Evelyn in the side. “Can't you … speak to it or something?”

“Deers aren't magical creatures. Besides – I'm not a deer whisperer!”

“Can't you do something? It's – it's looking at us. You're always reading that Wonderful Beasts book, aren't you?” Goldie gripped her wand tighter. “What do we do? Stun it?”

“It's Fantastic Beasts, and you can't use a spell on an animal,” Evelyn said quickly. “Maybe if we turn off our lights it'll go away …” Slowly, hesitantly, she lowered her wand. “Nox.” A third of the light disappeared.

“Nox,” Goldie echoed and her wand went out. Now only Catlin's light remained. She felt frightened either way. Having the light meant that this massive deer could see them – but it was some comfort  knowing they wouldn't stumble around blindly. Plus not having any light would leave them in the dark with the beast still close to them. Could deers see in the dark? Just as she was about to put out the light, they heard something move behind them. Turning on their heels, Catlin's wand illuminated a huge black dog, standing even close than the deer was. Fearless, it stepped closer and bared its teeth. Out of some combination of fear and stupidity, the girls started screaming.

“Nox!” Catlin shouted, leaving them in nothing but the light of a half moon. Suddenly all logical spells and responses left them and they took off running. They were nearly blind as their eyes adjusted to the dark.

“Is it following?” Catlin shouted, clutching her wand.

“Keep running!” Goldie sprinted forward, nearly dropping the map as she ducked between two trees.

Evelyn said nothing, conserving her breath for running away and not useless commentary. They broke through the trees and came out into a clearing.

Catlin glanced over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. She could barely see anything, but she was convinced she heard footsteps – or rather, pawsteps – running after them. She turned back around and saw too late that she was in a collision course with a massive tree. She ran straight into it with a solid thunk and her legs folded instantly, her head slamming against the cold earth when she collapsed. Groaning, she blinked her eyes open to look at the branches above. She gingerly touched her nose and felt blood running down her lip.

“Catlin!” Evelyn shouted, changing course and running for her friend. Hearing the commotion, Goldie also diverted from her path.

The huge black dog jumped in front of Evelyn, baring its teeth again and growling. She stumbled back, feeling her heart leap to her throat. Any way she tried to run, the dog was there, its fur bristling up on the back of its neck. When she got too close, it made like it was going to bite her and its jaw snapped shut with a startling sound.

Goldie got a few feet closer before the deer galloped in her way, looming over her and pawing at the ground with its large hooves. She skidded to a halt, holding out her wand.

“I'll hex you!” she shouted. “I don't care if you're a deer!”

When she tried to get around, the deer lowered its head so the girl was faced with long, branched antlers.

Catlin slowly sat up, rubbing at the immense headache that throbbed throughout her entire skull. She watched the branches above her slowly start to twist and swing. At first she thought it was double vision from an oncoming concussion, but she blinked away stray tears and saw that the branches were actually moving. She watched as they swiveled and wrenched down, cutting through the air.

“Oh my gosh,” Goldie realized, watching as the clubbed branches tried to take out whatever had disturbed the trunk. “It's a Whomping Willow.” She tried to run around the deer but it kept throwing its head towards her, threatening to impale her with any number of the sharp ends of its antlers. Frustrated, she just shouted over the noise of the groaning tree. “Cat! You have to get out of there!”

Catlin fell back to avoid the tangled vines above and flipped onto her stomach. She tried to army crawl away but she was pushed back by the branches punching through the air. She wasn't nearly fast enough to run out of harm's way before another branch could swoop down and strike her, and there was nothing else she could do. Throwing her hands over her head, she nestled into the grass, hoping someone would get her out of there.

She felt something brush against her arm and looked over. A large rat scurried past and Catlin shrieked, throwing herself back from it. The rat scrambled under the roots and disappeared. The tangled edge of a branch rushed past Catlin, knocking her over and leaving several long stripes across her face. She went to grab her face, but screamed and let go when her fingers knocked against the bridge of her nose. Kneeling over, she let the blood drip down into the grass. It didn't help much and she started to feel lightheaded. She could still hear her friends screaming at her to get away from the tree. Groggily, she tried to stand up but, to her dismay, she was buffeted by another branch that caught her arms and legs and she spiraled down hard, landing on her back. For a moment all sound ceased and everything went black. When she regained her vision, she was staring up at the sky.

Catlin barely noticed that the branches suddenly stopped moving above her, the tree seemingly frozen. All she noticed was that the shaggy black dog had a hold of her coat by the shoulder and was dragging her across the field. She flailed uselessly, too scared to actually fight off the animal. Once they were a safe distance from the tree, the dog let her go. Goldie finally managed to run past the deer while Evelyn ran up to the girl lying sprawled on the ground.

Goldie stuck out her wand and shouted, “Everte Statum!” A burst of orange light shot out of her wand and the dog flew backwards, tumbling along the ground. They took the opportunity to grab Catlin and haul her to her feet, dragging her towards the castle.

Catlin planted her feet down and helped to move along, and soon they were able to jog up the hills, through the trees, and to the castle. Out of breath, they fell onto the stone steps, collecting their thoughts.

“That was the worse idea we've ever had,” Evelyn gasped.

“It was terrifying,” Goldie agreed. “Why are those animals so big?”

“I don't know. Magic?” Catlin wiped blood on her dress. “Too bad that tree wasn't as friendly as that one,” she motioned to the curved tree that continued to wave at them in the night breeze.

“Maybe it was,” Evelyn said, “and it just got angry because you face planted into it instead of shaking its hand – er, branch.”

“I think I may've broken my nose.” Catlin reached into her jacket to grab a tissue. Her eyes widened and she searched through all her pockets, patting them down.

“What is it?” Goldie watched as Catlin frantically searched the area around her.

“My wand!”

“What about it?”

“I can't find it!”

“Where would it be?”

“I don't know! I -” Catlin looked over to the distance, the direction they had just come from. “Oh no.”

“Wait, seriously?” Evelyn stood beside her. “You dropped it? Back there? Well you're never getting it back.”

“What am I supposed to say? A dog ate my wand?” She winced and touched her forehead.

“Maybe we can get it tomorrow,” Goldie offered. “Let's get inside. Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?”

“No … I think I'll be okay. If I feel bad tomorrow then I'll see her.”

“Come on.” Goldie led the two girls inside, cautiously guiding them through the dark corridors, avoiding any teachers doing their rounds.

Far away by the Whomping Willow, the large rat found a wand lying in the grass and picked it up in its teeth, scuttling along after the black dog and impossibly large stag.

[nyflowerguy]

Interview with Ruth Davis of All for Love

I’m delighted today to feature an interview with London based florist, Ruth Davis of All for Love.

Could you tell us what prompted you to become a florist?

It was my childhood dream to become a florist. Growing up in the beautiful Lake District, I’ve always loved nature and its always just been there. I remember, as a child, coming back from dog walks with pocketfuls of conkers or pine cones I had collected along the way, or sticky handfuls of daffodils or colourful autumn leaves that I had picked. I would get home and make a messy collage with my loot, stick them all to my bedroom walls, or give them to my Mum in an egg cup.

For as long as I remember, I have been ‘creating’ things and forever have a thousand, often ridiculous, creative ideas in my head of pieces that one day, I would love to make. I paint portraits in oils, and sculpt people in clay, as well as throw my own ceramics – vases, mugs, and bowls on the pottery wheel.

Flowers presented themselves as the most magical medium to create art with. Their transience and temperance makes them special to work with and it’s also a very niche industry that is commercially viable as a profession too. Often, so many artistic pursuits have to remain a hobby, but floristry allows me to bring my love of drawing, sketching, ceramics, sculpture and design neatly into one beautiful craft.

Could you tell us how your floristry career has progressed?

I left school and went to Edinburgh University and actually have a Masters in English Literature…not that I use it very much now! I always joke that “I can write a very good email!” As soon as I finished my finals, I moved to London and started working for free as a florist’s assistant, conditioning and sweeping up leaves, which I loved! I also worked as a hotel receptionist at the time to cover London living costs, taking courses and working in the shop at the same time. It was exhausting but then all stages of my floristry journey have been full of lots of hard work…I think that’s the nature of the industry. I used to deliberately request the morning shift at the hotel, so I could watch the florists come in each morning and change the hotel contract flowers. I was fascinated and always took so many photos and watched them with awe. I still have the photos somewhere…

I quickly fell in love with Wedding and Event Floristry and was delighted when I was appointed as an Events Manager at a leading London florist. I definitely learnt so much in that role and my eyes were opened to using flowers in a totally different way, with endless possibilities, each one bigger and more beautiful than the next. I remember the freelancers would laugh at me taking so many photos of each job as it went out, and I would always say that each new job was “my favourite” and “the most beautiful thing I had ever seen”. The freelancers I met there have become some of my lifelong best friends and I love the positive, creative network there is in the London floristry scene.

The dream was always to have my own floristry business one day and in 2014, aged 25, and slightly earlier than I expected, I took the big step and launched ‘All for Love’, which was definitely the most terrifying thing I have ever done! Looking back, I don’t think I would have the courage to do so now. When I think just how scary the beginning really was, I wonder how on earth I ever did it!

When did you start your business and where are you based?

I started the company on March 22nd 2014! It all began in a B&Q car park, working out of the back of my van and using the flat trolleys as a workbench at 4am before the store opened. In the early days, I worked from anywhere I could… my kitchen tabletop when flatmates were out, my friend’s back garden, laybys, pavements, even my bedroom! Funding premises in London is so tricky when you start up with nothing and it was an expense we couldn’t afford at the beginning, despite being kind of essential! Eventually, I took on a small unit and within a year had taken over three. This January, we moved into our first, fit for purpose large studio/warehouse, which is an absolute dream. And for the first time our creativity is not restricted or limited by space, which is a great feeling!

What kind of floristry services do you offer?

All for Love specialises in styling premium events and product launches for both corporate and private clients, which includes a wide portfolio of global beauty brands including Clive Christian, Neom, Louboutin Beauty, L’Occitane, Eau Thermale Avène, The Sanctuary, Elizabeth Arden, Unilever, Benefit, Nars, Simple, Shiseido, Gillette and Revlon, to name a few. We’ve almost become the go-to florist for beauty brands, which is super exciting. This work is always very creative as there are huge Design, Marketing and PR teams involved in bringing a new product to market and it’s down to us on the day to bring all their plans and designs to life, often in the most ‘instagrammable’ way possible! 

This year, we are also honoured to be the exclusive floristry partner of Hearst Live, dressing all events for Red, Elle, Esquire, Cosmo & Harper’s Bazaar magazines. Earlier this year, we were crowned the ‘UK’s Best Wedding Florist’ in the UK Wedding Awards – something that’s still hard to believe! We’re also proud to be the in-house, contracted florist at now three , five star luxury hotels in the city – The Hilton Bankside , The LaLit London and Conrad St. James Hotels. We enjoy being creative in these spaces on a daily basis and see them both as a fab opportunity to showcase our work to the public. 

We’re also proud to be listed as the preferred floristry suppliers at the super cool Landing 42, the beautiful English Heritage site, Chiswick House, and most recently being appointed to the wonderful Royal Museums Greenwich Group. Again, an achievement that’s hard to believe. I always thought this sort of thing would remain a pipe dream…but it’s all happening! I was thrilled to work with Links of London on their Chelsea in Bloom 2016 window last year and coming Runners Up in The People’s Champion Award was a great achievement for our young company.

This year we had the honour of working with Cadogan Estates creating the show pieces for Chelsea in Bloom’s Floral Safari theme, bringing life-size animals such as an elephant, lions, rhino and zebras to the streets of Chelsea – it was a great achievement. It’s been a real pleasure working with so many like-minded clients, suppliers and venues over the past three years and I thank each and every one of them for their constant trust in me and their support and encouragement for All for Love. 

Where do you get inspiration for your floral designs?

I would say almost all of my inspiration comes directly from nature itself. Nature’s beauty is so accomplished. It is the absolute best source of inspiration for creating installations – no matter how big or small. If you stay true to the twists and turns, dips, curves and groupings of nature, your designs will never be too far wrong to the eye. It’s a case of replicating its patterns and its beauty and bringing a man-made piece to life with the same energy it would have if it had grown itself naturally. Growing up in the Lake District National Park, I have always been exposed to the beauty of the outdoors – mountains, forests, beaches, fells, fields, meadows, caves, gardens – absorbing every element that surrounded me and bringing it to London in my floristry designs. For example, if I’m designing a wedding arch, I want it to look like it has grown out of the church walls and has been there for years, not piped on artificially. This rule goes for everything we make I would say.

How would you describe your style?

I would say my style is romantic, relaxed and always seasonal. Always full, lush and emulating nature. We try to always make sure our flowers are the talk of an event. We’re dedicated to creating an atmosphere with them that goes way beyond just placing arrangements on a table. We set the mood of the party and transform the feel of the place with our designs.

What are your plans for the remainder of 2017?

I’m really excited about the remainder of 2017 and the wonderful opportunities in the pipeline, which are I’m afraid are top secret at the moment. In line with our 3rd birthday, we have had a little brand refresh and gone gold – a great way to celebrate and take the brand forward. I did our first logo on Word with no budget. So we thought it might be time to treat ourselves to a little face lift and we’re loving our new look. 

We’re also in the process of launching a new, charitable arm to the business called ‘Loved Again’, more details of which we can share with everyone soon. It’s something we’re all very excited about. Our first event for this was for the London Marathon, working with the Royal Charity, Heads Together. Our charity is all about aiding Mental Health sufferers so this is the perfect, inaugural partnership! 

This year, I now have full-time employees with me, which again is hard to believe! Together with my fantastic team and wonderful existing client, venue and supplier relationships I plan to continue to grow the business, expanding our portfolio and creating more breathtakingly beautiful flowers.

We’ve been very fortunate to have a number of international weddings this summer in Sardinia and Portugal, so planning for weddings abroad for our 2018 brides will definitely be a highlight!

What is your favourite flower?

Our company’s name, ‘All for Love’ comes from my favourite flower, the super large-headed, most beautiful, bright pink rose…and the sentiment seemed fitting for a florist too! It also sums up why I got into floristry and why I continue to do it!

Thank you so much to Ruth and her colleague Tamara for all their help in compiling this interview. If you’d like to see more of Ruth’s stunning floral creations, head to the All for Love website. And social media wise, you can find Ruth on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.

(Images : Heledd Roberts – 1, 2-6, 11  | Amy O’Boyle, Wookie Photography – 7-10, 12-21, 24-25,  | M J Photography – 22-23)

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[readbookywooks]

THE HERMIT OF THE SOUTHERN MARCH

AFTER they had ridden for several hours down the valley, it widened out and they could see what was ahead of them. The river which they had been following here joined a broader river, wide and turbulent, which flowed from their left to their right, towards the east. Beyond this new river a delightful country rose gently in low hills, ridge beyond ridge, to the Northern Mountains themselves. To the right there were rocky pinnacles, one or two of them with snow clinging to the ledges. To the left, pine-clad slopes, frowning cliffs, narrow gorges, and blue peaks stretched away as far as the eye could reach. He could no longer make out Mount Pire. Straight ahead the mountain range sank to a wooded saddle which of course must be the pass from Archenland into Narnia. "Broo-hoo-hoo, the North, the green North!" neighed Bree: and certainly the lower hills looked greener and fresher than anything that Aravis and Shasta, with their southern-bred eyes, had ever imagined. Spirits rose as they clattered down to the water's-meet of the two rivers. The eastern-flowing river, which was pouring from the higher mountains at the western end of the range, was far too swift and too broken with rapids for them to think of swimming it; but after some casting about, up and down the bank, they found a place shallow enough to wade. The roar and clatter of water, the great swirl against the horses' fetlocks, the cool, stirring air and the darting dragon-flies, filled Shasta with a strange excitement. "Friends, we are in Archenland!" said Bree proudly as he splashed and churned his way out on the Northern bank. "I think that river we've just crossed is called the Winding Arrow." "I hope we're in time," murmured Hwin. Then they began going up, slowly and zigzagging a good deal, for the hills were steep. It was all open park-like country with no roads or houses in sight. Scattered trees, never thick enough to be a forest, were everywhere. Shasta, who had lived all his life in an almost tree-less grassland, had never seen so many or so many kinds. If you had been there you would probably have known (he didn't) that he was seeing oaks, beeches, silver birches, rowans, and sweet chestnuts. Rabbits scurried away in every direction as they advanced, and presently they saw a whole herd of fallow deer making off among the trees. "Isn't it simply glorious!" said Aravis. At the first ridge Shasta turned in the saddle and looked back. There was no sign of Tashbaan; the desert, unbroken except by the narrow green crack which they had travelled down, spread to the horizon. "Hullo!" he said suddenly. "What's that!" "What's what?" said Bree, turning round. Hwin and Aravis did the same. "That," said Shasta, pointing. "It looks like smoke. Is it a fire?" "Sand-storm, I should say," said Bree. "Not much wind to raise it," said Aravis. "Oh!" exclaimed Hwin. "Look! There are things flashing in it. Look! They're helmets - and armour. And it's moving: moving this way." "By Tash!" said Aravis. "It's the army. It's Rabadash." "Oh course it is," said Hwin. "Just what I was afraid of. Quick! We must get to Anvard before it." And without another word she whisked round and began galloping North. Bree tossed his head and did the same. "Come on, Bree, come on," yelled Aravis over her shoulder. The race was very gruelling for the Horses. As they topped each ridge they found another valley and another ridge beyond it; and though they knew they were going in more or less the right direction, no one knew how far it was to Anvard. From the top of the second ridge Shasta looked back again. Instead of a dust-cloud well out in the desert he now saw a black, moving mass, rather like ants, on the far bank of the Winding Arrow. They were doubtless looking for a ford. "They're on the river!" he yelled wildly. "Quick! Quick!" shouted Aravis. "We might as well not have come at all if we don't reach Anvard in time. Gallop, Bree, gallop. Remember you're a war-horse." It was all Shasta could do to prevent himself from shouting out similar instructions; but he thought, "The poor chap's doing all he can already," and held his tongue. And certainly both Horses were doing, if not all they could, all they thought they could; which is not quite the same thing. Bree had caught up with Hwin and they thundered side by side over the turf. It didn't look as if Hwin could possibly keep it up much longer. At that moment everyone's feelings were completely altered by a sound from behind. It was not the sound they had been expecting to hear - the noise of hoofs and jingling armour, mixed, perhaps, with Calormene battle-cries. Yet Shasta knew it at once. It was the same snarling roar he had heard that moonlit night when they first met Aravis and Hwin. Bree knew it too. His eyes gleamed red and his ears lay flat back on his skull. And Bree now discovered that he had not really been going as fast - not quite as fast - as he could. Shasta felt the change at once. Now they were really going all out. In a few seconds they were well ahead of Hwin. "It's not fair," thought Shasta. "I did think we'd be safe from lions here!" He looked over his shoulder. Everything was only too clear. A huge tawny creature, its body low to the ground, like a cat streaking across the lawn to a tree when a strange dog has got into the garden, was behind them. And it was nearer every second and half second. He looked forward again and saw something which he did not take in, or even think about. Their way was barred by a smooth green wall about ten feet high. In the middle of that wall there was a gate, open. In the middle of the gateway stood a tall man dressed, down to his bare feet, in a robe coloured like autumn leaves, leaning on a straight staff. His beard fell almost to his knees. Shasta saw all this in a glance and looked back again. The lion had almost got Hwin now. It was making snaps at her hind legs, and there was no hope now in her foamflecked, wide-eyed face. "Stop," bellowed Shasta in Bree's ear. "Must go back. Must help!" Bree always said afterwards that he never heard, or never understood this; and as he was in general a very truthful horse we must accept his word. Shasta slipped his feet out of the stirrups, slid both his legs over the left side, hesitated for one hideous hundredth of a second, and jumped. It hurt horribly and nearly winded him; but before he knew how it hurt him he was staggering back to help Aravis. He had never done anything like this in his life before and hardly knew why he was doing it now. One of the most terrible noises in the world, a horse's scream, broke from Hwin's lips. Aravis was stooping low over Hwin's neck and seemed to be trying to draw her sword. And now all three - Aravis, Hwin, and the lion were almost on top of Shasta. Before they reached him the lion rose on its hind legs, larger than you would have believed a lion could be, and jabbed at Aravis with its right paw. Shasta could see all the terrible claws extended. Aravis screamed and reeled in the saddle. The lion was tearing her shoulders. Shasta, half mad with horror, managed to lurch towards the brute. He had no weapon, not even a stick or a stone. He shouted out, idiotically, at the lion as one would at a dog. "Go home! Go home!" For a fraction of a second he was staring right into its wideopened, raging mouth. Then, to his utter astonishment, the lion, still on its hind legs, checked itself suddenly, turned head over heels, picked itself up, and rushed away. Shasta did not for a moment suppose it had gone for good. He turned and raced for the gate in the green wall which, now for the first time, he remembered seeing. Hwin, stumbling and nearly fainting, was just entering the gate: Aravis still kept her seat but her back was covered with blood. "Come in, my daughter, come in," the robed and bearded man was saying, and then "Come in, my son" as Shasta panted up to him. He heard the gate closed behind him; and the bearded stranger was already helping Aravis off her horse. They were in a wide and perfectly circular enclosure, protected by a high wall of green turf. A pool of perfectly still water, so full that the water was almost exactly level with the ground, lay before him. At one end of the pool, completely overshadowing it with its branches, there grew the hugest and most beautiful tree that Shasta had ever seen. Beyond the pool was a little low house of stone roofed with deep and ancient thatch. There was a sound of bleating and over at the far side of the enclosure there were some goats. The level ground was completely covered with the finest grass. "Are - are - are you," panted Shasta. "Are you King Lune of Archenland?" The old man shook his head. "No," he replied in a quiet voice, "I am the Hermit of the Southern March. And now, my son, waste no time on questions, but obey. This damsel is wounded. Your horses are spent. Rabadash is at this moment finding a ford over the Winding Arrow. If you run now, without a moment's rest, you will still be in time to warn King Lune." Shasta's heart fainted at these words for he felt he had no strength left. And he writhed inside at what seemed the cruelty and unfairness of the demand. He had not yet learned that if you do one good deed your reward usually is to be set to do another and harder and better one. But all he said out loud was: "Where is the King?" The Hermit turned and pointed with his staff. "Look," he said. "There is another gate, right opposite to the one you entered by. Open it and go straight ahead: always straight ahead, over level or steep, over smooth or rough, over dry or wet. I know by my art that you will find King Lune straight ahead. But run, run: always run." Shasta nodded his head, ran to the northern gate and disappeared beyond it. Then the Hermit took Aravis, whom he had all this time been supporting with his left arm, and half led, half carried her into the house. After a long time he came out again. "Now, cousins," he said to the Horses. "It is your turn." Without waiting for an answer - and indeed they were too exhausted to speak - he took the bridles and saddles off both of them. Then he rubbed them both down, so well that a groom in a King's stable could not have done it better. "There, cousins," he said, "dismiss it all from your minds and be comforted. Here is water and there is grass. You shall have a hot mash when I have milked my other cousins, the goats." "Sir," said Hwin, finding her voice at last, "will the Tarkheena live? Has the lion killed her?" "I who know many present things by my art," replied the Hermit with a smile, "have yet little knowledge of things future. Therefore I do not know whether any man or woman or beast in the whole world will be alive when the sun sets tonight. But be of good hope. The damsel is likely to live as long as any of her age." When Aravis came to herself she found that she was lying on her face on a low bed of extraordinary softness in a cool, bare room with walls of undressed stone. She couldn't understand why she had been laid on her face; but when she tried to turn and felt the hot, burning pains all over her back, she remembered, and realized why. She couldn't understand what delightfully springy stuff the bed was made of, because it was made of heather (which is the best bedding) and heather was a thing she had never seen or heard of. The door opened and the Hermit entered, carrying a large wooden bowl in his hand. After carefully setting this down, he came to the bedside, and asked: "How do you find yourself, my daughter?" "My back is very sore, father," said Aravis, "but there is nothing else wrong with me." He knelt beside her, laid his hand on her forehead, and felt her pulse. "There is no fever," he said. "You will do well. Indeed there is no reason why you should not get up tomorrow. But now, drink this." He fetched the wooden bowl and held it to her lips. Aravis couldn't help making a face when she tasted it, for goats' milk is rather a shock when you are not used to it. But she was very thirsty and managed to drink it all and felt better when she had finished. "Now, my daughter, you may sleep when you wish," said the Hermit. "For your wounds are washed and dressed and though they smart they are no more serious than if they had been the cuts of a whip. It must have been a very strange lion; for instead-of catching you out of the saddle and getting his teeth into you, he has only drawn his claws across your back. Ten scratches: sore, but not deep or dangerous." "I say!" said Aravis. "I have had luck." "Daughter," said the Hermit, "I have now lived a hundred and nine winters in this world and have never yet met any such thing as Luck. Them is something about all this that I do not understand: but if ever we need to know it, you may be sure that we shall." "And what about Rabadash and his two hundred horse?" asked Aravis. "They will not pass this way, I think," said the Hermit. "They must have found a ford by now well to the east of us. From there they will try to ride straight to Anvard." "Poor Shasta!" said Aravis. "Has he far to go? Will he get there first?" "There is good hope of it," said the old man. Aravis lay down again (on her side this time) and said, "Have I been asleep for a long time? It seems to be getting dark." The Hermit was looking out of the only window, which faced north. "This is not the darkness of night," he said presently. "The clouds are falling down from Stormness Head. Our foul weather always comes from there in these parts. There will be thick fog tonight." Next day, except for her sore back, Aravis felt so well that after breakfast (which was porridge and cream) the Hermit said she could get up. And of course she at once went out to speak to the Horses. The weather had changed and the whole of that green enclosure was filled, like a great green cup, with sunlight. It was a very peaceful place, lonely and quiet. Hwin at once trotted across to Aravis and gave her a horse-kiss. "But where's Bree?" said Aravis when each had asked after the other's health and sleep. "Over there," said Hwin, pointing with her nose to the far side of the circle. "And I wish you'd come and talk to him. There's something wrong, I can't get a word out of him." They strolled across and found Bree lying with his face towards the wall, and though he must have heard them coming, he never turned his head or spoke a word. "Good morning, Bree," said Aravis. "How are you this morning?" Bree muttered something that no one could hear. "The Hermit says that Shasta probably got to King Lune in time," continued Aravis, "so it looks as if all our troubles are over. Narnia, at last, Bree!" "I shall never see Narnia," said Bree in a low voice. "Aren't you well, Bree dear?" said Aravis. Bree turned round at last, his face mournful as only a horse's can be. "I shall go back to Calormen," he said. "What?" said Aravis. "Back to slavery!" "Yes," said Bree. "Slavery is all I'm fit for. How can I ever show my face among the free Horses of Narnia? - I who left a mare and a girl and a boy to be eaten by lions while I galloped all I could to save my own wretched skin!" "We all ran as hard as we could," said Hwin. "Shasta didn't!" snorted Bree. "At least he ran in the right direction: ran back. And that is what shames me most of all. I, who called myself a war-horse and boasted of a hundred fights, to be beaten by a little human boy - a child, a mere foal, who had never held a sword nor had any good nurture or example in his life!" "I know," said Aravis. "I felt just the same. Shasta was marvellous. I'm just as bad as you, Bree. I've been snubbing him and looking down on him ever since you met us and now he turns out to be the best of us all. But I think it would be better to stay and say we're sorry than to go back to Calormen." "It's all very well for you," said Bree. "You haven't disgraced yourself. But I've lost everything." "My good Horse," said the Hermit, who had approached them unnoticed because his bare feet made so little noise on that sweet, dewy grass. "My good Horse, you've lost nothing but your self-conceit. No, no, cousin. Don't put back your ears and shake your mane at me. If you are really so humbled as you sounded a minute ago, you must learn to listen to sense. You're not quite the great Horse you had come to think, from living among poor dumb horses. Of course you were braver and cleverer than them. You could hardly help being that. It doesn't follow that you'll be anyone very special in Narnia. But as long as you know you're nobody special, you'll be a very decent sort of Horse, on the whole, and taking one thing with another. And now, if you and my other four-footed cousin will come round to the kitchen door we'll see about the other half of that mash."