#if it’s not a birch tree please correct me

[dazedandconfuzzlled98]

Hampstead Heath, London

[babysfirstpentagram]

Runes

Greetings and Salutations!

Here is a post on the Elder Runes, and a quick break down of them. Please be warned that runes are very tricky as they will rarely give  you a set answer on what you’re looking for. There is a lot of reading between the lines when it comes to runes and what they mean. 

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Dagaz: ᛞ

Rep: The Dawn

Meaning: Awakenig, Completion, Hope

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Othala: ᛟ

Rep: Inheritance

Meaning: Ancestry, Value, Possessions

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Inguz: ᛜ

Rep: The Seed

Meaning: Goals, Change, Common Sense

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Laguz: ᛚ

Rep: Water

Meaning: Flow, Intuition, Dreams, Change

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Mannaz: ᛗ

Rep: Humanity

Meaning: Help, Society, Frienship

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Ehwaz: ᛖ

Rep: The Horse

Meaning: Trasportation, trust, progress, travel

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Berkana: ᛒ

Birch Tree

Femininity, Birth, Healing

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Tiwaz: ᛏ

the god, Tyr, rune

Masculinity, Battle, Logic

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Sowilo: ᛊ

The Sun: 

Health, honor, victory, cleansing

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Algiz: ᛉ

The Elk

Protection, defense, effort

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Perthro: ᛈ

Dice Cup

Chance, fate, destiney

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Eihwaz: ᛇ

Yew Tree

Balance, Enlightenment, Death, Coming to terms

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Jera: ᛃ

The Year

Harvest, Changes, Cycles

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Isa: ᛁ

Ice

Clarity, Challenges, Waiting

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Nauthiz: ᚾ

Need

Conflict, Restriction, Endurance

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Hagalaz: ᚺ

Hail

Nature, wrath, hardships to overcome

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Wunjo: ᚹ

Joy

Comfort, rewards, winning

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Gebo: ᚷ

Gift

Balance, Partnerships, Generosity

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Kennaz: ᚲ

Torch

Vision, clarity, improving yourself

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Raidho: ᚱ

Wagon

Travel, decisions

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Ansuz: ᚨ

Estuary

Communication, Understanding

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Thurisaz: ᚦ

The Thorn

Reaction, conflict

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Uruz: ᚢ

The Bull

Strength, Courage, Freedom

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Fehu: ᚠ

Livestock

Wealth, abundance

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

In the future, I may make a post about the newer runes, however, since runes are so hard, it’s very hard to find information on them that is accurate. I made this post by cross referensing blogs and scholar papers, so not everything here may be correct, but i’m pretty sure most of it is accurate as possible. I also know it’s hard to read the runes, so if anyone needs to see them clearly, just inbox me and I’ll make flashcards and post them for you guys. 

As always, ily (/p) and i hope you are having a good day. dont forget to drink water and eat a snack if you can! 

[maevefinnartist]

not of all the ogham letters are trees (just most)

so I see this a lot and I wanna make a quick PSA that might turn into a giant post because I don’t like telling people they’re wrong without providing the correct info BUT

not all of the ogham letters correspond with trees and I’m not sure who bungled that up but I see a lot of wiccans making this misconception so I’d like to clear it up. *most* of them are trees or tree-related, but some of them are metals or random objects so here’s a list.

I’m also going to add a Bríatharogam (kenning or meaning) for each. There are 3 different sets of Bríatharogaim (Morainn mac Moin, Mac ind Oc, & Con Culainn) for each fid (letter). The first two are found in the Ogam Tract and the Auraicept na n-Eces, but Con Culainn came much later. I personally tend to stick with the Morainn mac. If a particular letter really speaks to you I highly recommend looking at the other sets of Bríatharogaim because the meanings/kennings vary immensely. or you don’t have to use them at all because ngl they are confusing as hell. it’s up to you. 

Aicme Beithe:

 ᚁ Beith (Birch) “féochos foltchain” (withered foot with fine hair)

ᚂ Luis (Flame or Herb) “lí sula” (luster of the eye)

ᚃ Fern (Alder) “airenach fían” (vanguard of warriors) 

ᚄ Saille (Willow) “lí ambi” (pallor of a lifeless one)

ᚅ Nuin (Forked Branch) “costud síde” (establishing peace)

Aicme hÚatha:

ᚆ  Úath (Terror) “condál cúan” (an assembly of hounds)

ᚇ Dair (Oak) “ardam dosae” (highest tree)

ᚈ Tinne (Iron Stick) “trian roith” (1/3 parts of a wheel)

ᚉ Coll (Hazel) “caíniu fedaib” (fairest tree)

ᚊ Cert (Rag or Bush) “digu fethail” (tatters of clothing)*

Aicme Muine:

ᚋ Muin (Ruse or Love) “tressam fedmae” (strongest exertion)’

ᚌ Gort (Field) “misliu feraib” (sweet grass)

ᚍ nGétal (Slaying) “lúth lego” (sustenance of leeches)

ᚎ Straif (Sulphur) “tressam rúamnai” (strongest reddening [like a dye]

ᚏ Ruis (Red) “tindem rucci” (intense blushing)

Aicme Ailme:

ᚐ Alim (Pine) “ardam iachta” (loudest groan)

ᚑ Onn (Ash [Tree]) “congnaid ech” (wounder of horses)

ᚒ Úr (Earth [Dirt]) “úraib adbail” (dwelling in the cold)

ᚓ Edad (Aspen) “ergnaid fedo” (discerning tree)

ᚔ Idad (Yew) “sinem fedo” (oldest tree)

*for this one I used the Con Culainn because the Morainn Mac doesnt have a clear translation and it’s more applicable than the Mac ind Oc

native Irish folks please feel free to correct me if I’ve gotten anything wrong, I know I left off the forfeda, I'll probably go back and add it later

more information about Auraicept na n-Eces and the Ogam Tract/Book of Oghams/Lebor na Ogaim: https://codecs.vanhamel.nl/Calder_1917

https://archive.org/details/auraicept00calduoft

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Lebor_Ogaim

https://codecs.vanhamel.nl/In_lebor_ogaim

https://www.isos.dias.ie/libraries/RIA/RIA_MS_23_P_12/english/index.html?

[ruby-whistler]

yes, i’m writing third life fanfiction because i can

grian and scar have become my second favorite dynamic duo right after the memento mori boys and no i do not take constructive criticism <3

even if you don’t watch the series reading this would be appreciated!

all of this is platonic, including platonic hand holding - no real warnings, just bonding and emotional comfort :]

Grian walked up the stairs of the sandcastle, dragging step after step with shoulders hunched in exhaustion.

Despite the slight frustration at its size now, he’d taken a liking to the building. It had taken him days to make, not even counting the effort it took to collect all of the sand and wood. It looked beautiful standing on top of Monopoly Mountain, he had to admit, and the way the hastily crafted sandstone glittered in the light made it somewhat of a lighthouse in the desert, reflecting the moon’s rays at night when the outside was most dangerous.

He reached the top of one of the towers, and his tired expression melted into somewhat satisfaction upon seeing a pink sunset fall over golden trees, his friend’s brown hair softly blowing in the wind.

“Hey, Scar,” he said, hoping not to startle the other.

His legs were hanging over the railings leisurely, the close distance to a deadly drop causing an uneasy feeling to settle in Grian’s stomach; Scar slowly turned his head and gave him a smile.

“Hey there.” He shifted, staying seated on the carved birch. His eyes were glazed over, and his smile slightly slipped off his face into a more neutral expression as he turned his head back around to stare at the horizon.

The silence was nice, Grian thought. That day had been a lot, and adrenaline drenches you of energy quickly. Redstone was caught in the loose threads of his sweater, and there was sand in his iron boots. Running through the desert and struggling to get past their own defenses was like smears in his mind, stained with an echoing explosion and panicked shouts.

“Anything on your mind?” he asked after a while, setting himself down besides Scar.

“I... Grian, are you ever... scared of me, now that I’m a red name?” his eyes drifted over to his friend, heels banging on the walls below them, with no concern of dirtying them - and really, why should he care?

It wasn’t like they would last long. Who focuses on gunpowder in their hair when they’re standing next to a killer, bound by invisible chains?

Grian should stop concentrating so much on the details. It might cost him a lot, someday.

“I mean I don’t... I didn’t want to kill people before. I just wanted to have a monopoly, to- control the economy through an elaborate scheme. I thought it would give us better chances at survival.”

Grian opted to ignore the plural in the last sentence, and hummed in agreement. “And now?”

Scar’s clothing rustled, head tilted forwards with his palms laid bare on his knees. “I don’t know,” he responded, looking into them like he was expecting red, “it’s like I have a drive.”

A moment passed as the two looked ahead in thought, no rushing on their minds now that the day was over. The world moves slower when the battlefield is empty.

“Well, I guess... I’m still gonna be there, aren’t I?” Grian responded, arms heavy and leaning back on his hands.

The promise remained unbroken for now, and so did assurance he would be there for Scar, no matter if he himself wanted it or not.

Well, what was it really that Grian wanted? He didn’t know anymore.

He had simply wanted to scare everyone, just wanted to have fun, once, and it landed him here, in a game of survival, with a reluctant murderer whose time was running short. Life doesn’t listen to what you want, and sometimes that is the only constant.

“Tell me, Grian, do you get a... thrill, from taking a life?” Scar lifted up his head, prompting eye contact. “You didn’t have to propose the trap idea, we wouldn’t have taken three lives today.”

Grian looked back down, conflicting feelings stirring in his stomach. “Well...” he started slowly, a smile creeping into his eyes, “Smajor did call me a chaos incarnate.”

Something of relief, of amusement, of straight up baffled laughter coming out of him, so hard he thought his lungs would deflate - standing on top of the hill, looking down upon the crater of his own creation, destruction caused by the victims’ mistakes and sheer luck.

He didn’t think before that he’d call three people losing a life lucky.

“Well, maybe I’m rubbing off on you?” Scar interrupted his train of thought.

“Uh-huh, sure. More like the other way around,” Grian retorted, nudging Scar’s shoulder with a chuckle. “You’re more of a danger to yourself than to anyone else.”

Scar snorted, rubbing his shoulder with his other hand. “Yeah, says the one who took my first life on accident.”

“I mean, that only further proves my point, now doesn’t it?” Grian ignored the stinging feeling of guilt at the mention of his mistakes, pushing it back with a bittersweet smirk.

“Guess you’re right about that one. I still have a few people on my hitlist, though, and they better be ready for me to be a danger to them. Us, I mean,” Scar corrected.

It felt nice, though Grian didn’t know whether to admit it to himself or not. Maybe it would’ve been easier to choose who to be aligned with, but so far, it hasn’t been the worst to be here.

“Just keep in mind I’m not killing anyone, and I’m not getting killed to save you from being an idiot,” he commented.

“Me? Be an idiot? Never!”

Scar’s wide smirk sparked something like quiet determination. The blueprints for a small creeper farm lay folded in Grian’s pockets. The day might’ve been over for most of the server, but there was still work to be done. A couple more nights awake couldn’t hurt, he told himself through heavy eyelids and bruised hands weighing him down, sleep could wait.

“I’m going to get some water from the river. G’night, Scar,” he lied, pushing himself up to stand.

“Can you answer a question, and please be honest with me - would you still be friends with me if it wasn’t for the life debt?”

Grian stopped in his tracks, turning back to his liege to look him in the eyes, an intangible expression on his face.

“Is that an order?”

The light was dissipating from the sky, and scattered torches below them seemed to be getting brighter. The night approaching made the small castle seem safe; a beacon of peace, for now at least. Fingers rhythmically tapped on the balcony as Grian shifted, eyes fixed on Scar’s line of sight.

“I don’t think so.”

There was an air of uncertainty to the words, much like anything spoken that day. New developments always sparked doubts. It was strange, to pretend anything was evident.

“I don’t think I would be here with you if it wasn’t for the life debt, no,” Grian said, and he knew it was the truth, but it felt like a decision to admit it.

There was no bitterness or disappointment on Scar’s face. Perhaps something in between.

Grian shuffled closer to his friend, now sitting comfortably - or as much as the gritty sandstone allowed him to - and put a hand on his.

“But I... am happy this is how things ended up, I think.”

“I think so too,” Scar replied with a brightness in his voice.

[minnesotadruids]

Northern Roots Grove (NRG) Analysis

Year founded: 2015

Location Founded: Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA

Origins, inspirations, or parent org: Inspiration - ADF, OBOD, RDNA, Wicca, & others.

Founders: Laurie Froberg & Cindy Miller

Official Symbols: Elaborate emblem consisting of a maple, oak, and birch tree with three rays of Awen shining down, with silhouettes of a crow in flight, a fox and two deer on the ground, the group name over the roots of the trees, all wreathed in Celtic knotwork and viny roots. There are six small circles around the perimeter of the emblem with the following symbols inside: OBOD’s version of Awen, oak leaf & acorn, RDNA Druid Sigil, single spiral, Thor’s Hammer, and triskele.

Theological compatibility: Polytheism (hard and soft), pantheism & panentheism, animism, heathenism, eclectic paganism, liberal monotheism, spiritual humanism, buddhism, agnosticism, social justice, and others.

Founder prior involvements: ADF, OBOD.

Active, Hiatus, or Defunct, & Rebootability: Continuously active.

Centrally organized: Yes

Governing body: [Unnamed]

Study Program or Mentorship: Crowd-sourced mutual learning environment.

Member degrees, ranks, or levels of achievement: Birch, Maple, & Oak for tenure and contributions.

Membership fees and recurrence: Free. Donations welcome to offset cost of events with transparency in accounting.

Estimated membership: 24

Estimated number of Groves or study groups: 2

Current grand poobah & title: Laurie Froberg & Cindy Miller, Cofounders.

Cult danger (A. B. C. D. E. F. version 2.7) estimated rating: NULL

Alleged cult criteria: NULL

If anything needs to be rectified, please contact me with proof for correction.

Return to Druid Order List

[skvaderarts]

Saudade 1. Lessons Learned

Hey everyone! Sorry for the note instead of a chapter today. I have some good news though despite everything. I, unfortunately, have to push back the new story Hiraeth until New Years Day due to personal reasons, but I do have something for you to read today. Saudade, the side story series to my Soliloquy Trilogy (wow it's cool to be able to say that!) is releasing its first chapter today, so go check that out instead! I think you'll like what I whipped up for you to enjoy :D

Again, sorry for the delay, but between the holidays and some other things that came up, I just had to push it back another two weeks. Please forgive me!

Chapter One: Lessons Learned

Notes below!

-~-

Several decades ago…

In the twenty long centuries or more that he’d spend carrying out his rather eventful day to day life in the human world, the Dark Knight Sparda had undertaken many different kinds of challenges. He’s sat on the royal courts of kings and queens, and traveled to enumerable locations in an effort to seal away the darkness that he’d once contributed towards creating in his time serving the Prince of Darkness himself. In doing those tasks, he’d experienced a great many things, especially when it came to matters of war and destruction, many of which he’d fought singlehandedly, but nothing had prepared him for the seemingly innocuous task of keeping up with his two young sons, the both of which seemed literally hellbent of causing as much destruction and chaos as they possibly could. In many senses, they were the very anthesis of their father. 

Calm, collected, and generally at ease, Sparda was still entirely unsure as to how the union between his lovely wife and himself could result in tiny creatures with such a strong predilection towards destruction. For the most part, Vergil was the exception to this rule. He spent the majority of his time quietly reading and shadowing his father around the house, only getting into notable trouble when Dante was involved to some degree. It wasn’t so much that the younger of the two was troublesome perse, it was that he didn’t tend to take no for an answer when it was presented to him, and he took any limitations set before him as a personal challenge. There was rambunctious, and then there was the wholehearted deep-seated hatred that their youngest son seemed to feel towards any and all rules and limitations.

And that was why Sparda had concocted a different sort of education method.

Like clockwork, the two children appeared before him, answering his summonses as he’d expected them to when he’d called them only a moment before. While their mother had no idea where they were at the moment, he could sense their presence on a more mynute level, an ability that came in handy on a regular basis. They stumbled their way into the room in a manner that spoke volumes. He was certain that they had been in the middle of something unsavory until he’d redirected their attention, and he couldn’t escape the feeling that he very well might find out what that thing was sooner rather than later.

“It has come to your mother’s attention that there is an insect nest of some kind in a tree in the back garden.” Sparda turned to glance in the direction of the back garden, knowing exactly which tree she was referring to and completely aware of the fact that both of his sons were actively trying to figure out which one he was referring to.” I’ve been asked to dissuade you in regards to meddling with it as it may cause you temporary harm.”

The two young children glanced between one another before nodding in conformation, more than capable of comprehending the concept of being stung by an unfriendly insect. They knew what pain was, and at least one of them had no desire to actively seek it out. While they both healed exceptionally quickly, that didn’t change the fact that they were still able to feel pain.

“Okay father, I won’t,” Vergil said with a slight shoulder shrug, opting instead to wander off and browse the bookcase in search of something less hazardous to do. If he was going to put himself in harm’s way, it was going to be with sword lessons or something similar, not by doing something as stupid as picking a fight with a stinging insect.

Dante peered around his father, curiosity overriding what should have been an obvious warning bell. I mean, they couldn’t kill him, right? What was the harm in it? They were just a couple of little bugs.” That makes sense. But can I still look at them? I don’t think they mind, right?”

Expecting something akin to that response from at least one of his offspring, he repressed the urge to chuckle slightly, shaking his head slowly.” I can’t say that I’ve ever asked them as much myself. But I’d advise against attempting to do so.”

The youngest member of the family looked disappointed by his father’s answer, but sighed and ran off, slowing to something akin to a jog when he considered what his mother or father would say if they caught him doing so. Sparda watched him go before casually resuming the book that he’d been reading prior to their conversation, taking a few sips of his tea as he resumed his more or less relaxed state. Vergil joined him, sitting on the floor nearest to him in a quiet attempt to spend meaningful time with his normally frantically busy father. The Dark Knight appreciated the gesture and was going to say as much, but before long the young white-haired child leaped up and scampered over to the window, his attention clearly fixed on something. Before Sparda could move to see what his oldest son was so interested in, Eva entered the room, a calm look of concern on her face.

“Darling, have you seen Dante? He’s been practically begging me to bake some sweets with him the last few days and we were supposed to do so a short while ago but now, for the life of me, I can’t seem to locate him.” Although her calm demeanor hid it very well, she was clearly concerned as to what had become of their youngest child. Dante had no perception of time, but he very rarely missed out on sugary treats. It was very unlike him.” Do you have any idea where he may have wandered off to?”

Sparda never got the opportunity to respond. Instead, Vergil did so for him, pointing out of the window behind him as he faced both of his parents, a slightly nervous look on his face. He already knew where this was going, and he was glad that this time he wasn’t on the receiving end of what he knew would be his mother’s displeasure, possibly even his father’s depending on how he decided to react to this situation. “Umm… I found Dante?”

As if on cue, a piercing cry followed by a branch snap and a notable impact with the ground could be heard from a short distance away, revealing Dante’s whereabouts to both of his slightly baffled parents. Eva folded her arms and gave Sparda a stern look as the white-haired devil Knight exhaled in obvious displeasure. Neither of them needed to inquire as to where their young son was or what had just happened.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, dear, but didn’t I ask you to take care of that nest sometime today?” Eva said, clearly unamused as to what had just happened. While she’d witnessed their abilities first hand, that didn’t make her any less concerned when it came to their wellbeing.

He nodded somewhat hesitantly.” That you did. And I warned them both to be warry of it, not even a half-hour ago, but as you can see…” He leaned over to see where Dante had gone just in time to see the child in question come running into the house yelping in discomfort as the results of his misadventures became clear for everyone to see.”... that didn’t exactly go as planned.”

Neither of them could hear very well as Dante babbled incoherently, completely taken aback by how unpleasant the combined sensation of being both attacked by hornets, and then falling out of a tall birch tree could be. He’d probably broken something, and that wasn’t taking into account his pride. Eva gave him a look somewhere between displeasure and concern as she tried to comprehend what on earth the distressed child was trying to communicate to them both.

With a look of almost stupefied disbelief, Sparda glanced over at Dante, somewhat sympathetic to his youngest child’s obvious suffering, but also unable to grasp how he’d managed to locate and enrage the unagreeable insects in such a timely manner. “Dante, this is why I advised against trying to befriend creatures that possessed singers and venom,” Sparda said sternly, earning him a much more extreme reaction than he’d considered reasonable. 

The overwhelmed child burst into hysterical crying, none of which he doubted was ingenuine. That didn’t mean that he fully understood the reaction, however. He gave Dante a pat on the head, standing. “I suppose that I should go and take care of the nest then. Best to be overly cautious on this specific location.”

Eva shook her head, releasing Dante from her comforting grasp and sighed as she smoothed the wrinkles out of her long dress.” Oh no, dear. I’ll take care of this. You see to it that Dante is taken care of.”

With that, she gave the youngest of her twin sons a kiss on the cheek before heading down the hallway and up the stairs, a fierce look of determination on her normally calm face. The three of them watched her go, utterly bewildered. Not a single one of them understood what she intended to do to the hapless insects, but they knew two things. There weren’t going to try and stop her, and they were fortunate indeed that they didn’t have the misfortune of being on the receiving end of her plans.

It was an occasion they would never forget. Especially the hornets.

-~-

Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this little side story! I’d love to hear your suggestions for future ones. I plan to do these from time to time as a little bit of filler for the main stories. Sorry about the delay. Hopefully, this can fill the void between now and Hiraeth’s release. I have another chapter coming out on Christmas. Family stuff came up! I’ll see you all again on New Years Day! Enjoy the holidays!

[owlhart]

Somewhere Only We Know

It takes them almost four days to find Triss' body on the battlefield, hair matted with blood. Burns cover her chest and back, charred skin peeling and flaking into blotches of red and pink and black. The nauseating smell of burnt flesh still hangs in the air but it seemed as if Triss had enough magic to heal any major injuries before she had passed out, hidden away in the corner of the archway before the gate.

The field medics stabilise her the best that they can before Keira teleports the both of them back to the royal infirmary in Vizimir.

But that had been a fortnight ago and though Triss' body had recovered with the aid of magic, albeit with scarring on her chest, she had not woken up yet. It is not long before Philippa appears at the Royal Palace of Vizimir and Keira all but drags her to the royal infirmary without so much as a 'hello'. "Help me," the blonde half demands, half pleads, anxiety and helplessness rolling off of her in waves. "She won't wake up. There's nothing wrong with her physically and this isn't a medically induced coma, but she just won't wake up. She doesn't respond to any stimulus, she doesn't react to anything and oh gods, help her, Philippa. I don't know what to do." Philippa stares down at Triss' prone form. Dressed in a simple gown, she simply lay there, her chestnut curls spread out on the pillow like a halo, a serene expression on her face - there is no pain, only painful memories etched onto her chest in the form of scars. Philippa sits beside her and takes her hand. She sends a pulse of magic through Triss' body and the magic rebounds back full circle. Her eyebrows knit together in thought. Gingerly, she sends a continuous stream of magic into Triss' body this time, slowly probing until she hits a barrier. "What is it?" Keira asks at the serious expression on Philippa's face.

"You are correct in that physically she is fine, aside from the scarring. But there is a magical barrier around her mind - an automatic defence mechanism triggered by immense stress and trauma. It’s rare but not unheard of.”

“Alright, then how do we snap her out of it?” Philippa stills and Keira sucks in a breath at the look on her face, wringing her hands frantically. “Oh gods, what do we do? I mean, Tissaia’s still recovering from dimeritium poisoning and Yennefer’s in no shape to help. What...what about Sheala? Or...or Francesca! She must know something!”

“Keira," Philippa grabs her by the arm. “Pull yourself together and then make yourself useful and go to the library to do some research on this. I need to think.”

“Research?”

“Keira, focus please. I’m not asking you to find a cure for the Catriona plague, so stop panicking and go do as I say.”

Keira moves to rush out of the room and Philippa catches her by the shoulder.

“Look at me. Look at me, Keira.” She holds her gaze. “Take a deep breathe. Focus. Yes?”

Keira inhales deeply. 

“Alright, now go.”

The younger sorceress nods and leaves swiftly. Philippa watches her disappear out the door before she herself lets out a deep sigh, the thundering of her heartbeat in her ears the only thing betraying her true feelings.

She takes a minute to compose herself, compartmentalising her emotions with practiced ease. Then, she takes Triss’ hand in her own, her other hand sweeping back the hair from her face and placing it over Triss’ forehead. The magic surges through her fingertips and she tries to channel it into Triss but the barrier holds fast, and it starts to push back against the intrusion, almost as if rejecting her. Philippa eases off, afraid that forcing her way through would cause more harm.

She tries for hours but to no avail and when she has exhausted her magic, she turns to Sheala.

“I’m sorry, Philippa, but it will take me at least a week to get to Temeria. My megascope isn’t functioning at its full capacity at the moment and I cannot teleport there.”

Philippa grimaces at the other woman’s fuzzy image as the megascope flickered violently.

“Do you have any idea how to wake her up?”

“I don’t, at least not until I’ve examined Triss.”

Philippa feels a knot form in her throat and she gives Sheala a nod of thanks. Sheala disconnects and Philippa tries but fails to contact Francesca and Ida. With a heavy heart, she helps Keira with her research, pouring over every single book, scroll and parchment she can get her hands on. They carry on for days and when Philippa is too exhausted to continue, she drags herself to Triss’ side.

She looks so peaceful lying there and Philippa sinks to her knees at her bedside. She is tired, she is drained, and her heart aches so terribly.

“Triss,” she whispers, swallowing hard, “if you can hear me, I need you to fight. I need you to be stronger and braver than you were at Sodden. I need you to be fearless.” She looks up at the ceiling, blinking quickly. “For the both of us. Triss, please.”

So tell me when you're gonna let me in. I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin.

Her hands are shaking as she stands up wearily. The weight in her chest swells as she places a kiss on Triss’ forehead and she closes her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent - it is warm and comforting and nostalgic and her heart sinks. She places her hands on Triss’ temples and touches foreheads. The world dissolves around her suddenly and she finds herself standing in the middle of a forest. It is dark and grey and the thick damp mist surrounds her. She can’t see past a few feet in front of her and she stills, trying to get a bearing of her current whereabouts. The sounds fade and all she can hear is the thudding of her heartbeat and her shallow breathing echoing in her head. 

She takes a step forward and the mist retreats slightly. She takes another step, and another and another and something pricks at the back of her mind.

The feeling is different but she knows this place. 

She cannot place it but it calls to her, stronger with each step she takes.

Is this the place we used to love? Is this the place that I've been dreaming of? Her boots crunch against the dry bed of leaves blanketing the ground and the sound of rushing water grows louder. Her fingers brush against the smooth bark of the white birch trees thoughtfully.

She knows this place.

The world reveals more of itself as she wanders towards the source of the rushing water until she finds herself with one foot in the river. She remembers this place.

Time slows down, the blood pulsing in his ears so loudly that it roars and rages and she drops down on one knee, one hand pressed to the side of her head. Gasping, Philippa blinks away the tears.

It is the small secluded grove beside the river, tucked away in a dense part of the forest - it is Triss’ favourite spot in Maribor and she had taken Philippa there when Philippa had last visited Temeria; it is the place where Triss had told Philippa she loved her for the first time, where Triss had kissed her so tenderly, so lovingly; it is the place where Philippa had broken Triss’ heart. 

But this is an illusion, a bastardisation of its real counterpart in all its faded colours and suffocating eerieness, and Philippa wants to scream.

A murmur floats to her with the wind and her head snaps up. She sees the figure standing in the river near the shore on the other side and she doesn’t need to see the chestnut curls or cornflower blue eyes or that gentle, tender smile to know who it is.

She would recognise Triss in a thousand worlds, in a thousand lifetimes.

“Triss!”

There is something beckoning her, calling her, and Philippa fights against its hypnotic draw. Triss has almost crossed the river, but something tells Philippa she cannot allow her to reach the other side.

Philippa wades deeper into the river and she can see visions reflected on the surface of the water - she sees Triss conjuring vines to block the Nilfgaardian’s advances; she sees the flames engulf her; she sees the tears and the blood and the agony - and Triss needs only one more step to reach the opposite bank.

A desperate fury ignites in her chest and she surges forward against the water current.

“Triss!”

Triss turns around at her scream, eyes wide. 

Philippa stops in the middle of the river. There is something blocking her and she can go no further. And so, she extends a hand, palm upwards. 

And if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know?

Philippa fights to keep her voice steady.

“Do you remember what you told me before we went off to Sodden?”

Pain flashes across Triss’ eyes at the mention of Sodden but she nods wordlessly. “You told me that you would come back to me, safe and sound.” Her voice is thick with emotion but Philippa presses on. “The battle is over, Triss. And now, I need you to keep your promise. I need you to come back to me.” She is vaguely aware of the wetness on her cheeks. “Please. Come back to me.” This could be the end of everything, so why don't we go somewhere only we know?

Triss stares at her before taking a shaky step towards Philippa. She is crying too but she reaches out and takes her outstretched hand so gently that Philippa thinks it is all just a dream.

The world burns away the grey and monochrome colours. The mist dissipates instantly and blue and green and brown and gold sears back into their vision. There is warm sunlight and a cool breeze and the murky waters have cleared into a beautiful turquoise but Philippa does not see or feel any of it.

There is only Triss.

And Triss smiles through her tears, a hand reaching up to caress Philippa’s cheek. 

“Always.”

Philippa gasps and they wake in the palace once again. They stay unmoving for a while before a relieved smile finally tugs at Philippa’s lips.

“Welcome back.”

[penaltybox14]

Decofiremen: A visit from the state

Oh shit the state man cometh.  @zeitheist @darknight-brightstar @squad51goals @its-skadi

The state comes, as Eddy prophesied and Lufty Parker promised, as the sun weakens on its long turn around the year and the autumn becomes brittle and hard underfoot.  The state comes in a rattling autocar, black and busted at the edges, their eyes aloof and their jaws firm.

Young Cleary is at breakfast with the lads, sandwiched between Antoine's wide shoulders and Ellis' long arms, scuffing the floorboards, not yet, not quite tall enough to plant his feet firmly.  He is downing hot oats and tea, sullying both with buckets of local honey, interrupting Jules Menlo's stories about hunting in the Adirondacks with a hundred questions.  He is bright-cheeked and laughing. 

He laughs more often now, as he moves among the lads.  Eddy took in one of the long wool coats for him, as the mornings grow crisper and the nights creep more quickly upon the big yard.  When he wears it at morning lineup, it falls below his knees and hides his fingers like the wings of a bird.

Josiah watches him, kindly, from the officers' table.  

Until Eddy comes to tap him.

The man from the state wears spectacles that shine like flints before his pale eyes, and his tweed jacket is too narrow in the shoulders and too wide at the hips, and he has a mustache that lurks lazily above his tobacco-stained teeth.  Josiah meets him at the gate, and feels the burning shame of his curiosity as it languishes over him, over his scars, over the blasphemy of a brace that props his body.  He burns, he does.

Look beyond them, he thinks.  Look beyond the flame, part the smoke with your brother's name.  

"So seldom we get visitors, my man, to what do we owe the pleasure?"  

The state man fiddles with his buttons.  He has a neat, oiled leather briefcase and holds it like a policeman holds a baton.  "I'm with the Division of Mental Hygiene.  I've had report you are harboring a county ward without order."

Josiah stands in the stoic embrace of the gate, as if he has a hose laded on his shoulder.  Lufty Parker just beyond his line of sight shuffles in the grit and the leaves, settles his weight into the gravel.  Josiah is as loathe to let the state man across his threshold.  Would be as gross a judgement as to throw a match on a puddle of kerodiesel and smoke a cigarette beside a can of rags.  The arch wind rattles up the branches of the trees.  The lads will be at inspection now.  He can hear Monroe calling up the lines.  

"Why don't we's come to my office, my man, we'll get this business straight."

He deserves a medal from Silky's God of peace and light, he thinks, for his courtesy.  

But let the devil hang the state man, if he tries to pass a stride ahead.  

In the office, Josiah dares not slouch at his desk.  Lufty Parker fills up the corner with a scowl and a simmering beneath the surface - Josiah feels him, a slapped cheek, a scolding from a captain, a scalding from a bursting pipe.  But Josiah dares not lean, dares not pitch: no matter how the pain bucks inside his leg, no matter how it bites.  At a distance, he feels young Cleary, on a measured, thoughtful walk with Eddy at the edge of the grounds.  Davey is a lively thing, a sprite, a spirit in the woodlands.  Eddy pulls deep as a river's oxbow bend.  

"Now my son," Josiah says, tapping his fingers - grateful to have scrubbed his nails this morning, grateful for his sleeves to cover the greater of his scars - on the blotter.  "What's this about no order?"

The state man removes an authoritative stack of paperwork from his briefcase.  "David Martin Cleary.  You removed him from the County Asylum in Little River, at the end of August.  Is this minor still residing here?"

"He is indeed."

"The Cleary boy was remanded to the County on diagnosis of idiopathic igneosis after an event of arson.  Did you know that?"

"Was no legal charge, but I was knowing why the county had him."

"No, correct, there was no legal charge, or we would not be speaking, Mr Birch."

"Captain, if you please."

The state man's gaze is long and as leary as the snap of a floorboard a half-step ahead in the dark.  "Captain Birch, to the point, this is a training school for firefighters, and to be admitted to training a candidate must be no less than sixteen, a fact I am sure you, and your staff, are quite aware of."

"That's right.  Sixteen to be trained."

"So you see, Captain Birch, we do have a problem here, as our records show David Cleary only turned fourteen in this year."

"No problem to me, my man."

"If you would explain, Captain.  I have appointments to keep, and the sooner the Cleary boy is in my custody the sooner we can all get on."

Lufty sits up hard, and Josiah feels it as if his hips have been struck, as if the two and a half is live under his arm and thrashing. 

"Well, my man, we're not training young Cleary.  I have been quite clear on that point, if you thinks I don't know better.  If you check your stipulations and your memorandums, my son, you'll see for clear: any body who can claim your idiopathic igneosis - " how the term is bitter on his teeth, " - may seek counsel from City Fire.  We ain't training the boy, only keeping him from hurting himself or any other - as we've done for years."

He thinks he might pray, to Silky's God of grace and redemption, for his face not to betray a single spark of fear.  Let him not sweat under the state man's gaze, as he had, in bewilderment, when Kidder Parson took him by the elbow and led him out of an Ithaca courtroom.  Lufty can surely feel his heart pounding.  Fate willing, Davey, jumping into leaf piles under Eddy's watchful laughter, can't. 

"I'll let you read it out now, if you don't believe me.  If you got the time, of course, with your appointments."

Let the fire be a hearth and not a devil.  Let it warm without a scar.  Let the letter of the law be held and the spirit trued, for it's only half a bluff.  To train, it's sixteen.  But just to train. 

Josiah knows he is testing the word of law on the the little fellow's back.  But let the luck work, just once. 

The state man, at last, clears his throat, shuffles his papers back in order, and puts them into his briefcase.  "Captain Birch - "

"If I've ruffled the County's feathers, tell them I apologize, so long as they thank me for taking the little fellow off their frightened little hands."

Lufty coughs softly. 

"Captain Birch - please excuse me.  I will - review the matter, and return a decision ... at a later date."

"That you will, I'm sure."

Lufty's deep voice drawls across the room, "Will you need an escort back out, sir, or can you find your ways alright on your own?"

The state man is already standing, already turning for the door.  "I will see myself out, gentlemen."

When he goes, Josiah all but collapses into his desk.  Relief spills through him and out of him like water from a burst pipe, filling up the channels and canyons of the cobbles, soaking the hooves of horses, all but cascading the county and flooding the state.  He trembles, some, as he did after his first run, his heart pounding.  He shivers, as he did the day of the factory fire, when the sear swept up on him.  Lufty claps him hard on the shoulder.  "Hell of a run, Captain.  Hell of a ride."

"You had my back, Lufty."

"You had your own back, and the little fella's."

When they finally make their way back down to the big yard, it's half-morning bell, and Antoine's team is doing ladder runs, while Ellis calls orders to lads carrying racks of hose blindfolded through a course.  Jules Menlo is quick and light.  Betram Cochrane sings to himself, elbows-deep in a kerodiesel's pump works while Lieutenant Jackson asks the assembled lads to recite the engine parts and make song requests of Bertram.

Davey Cleary comes running up to them, bright-eyed in the brisk snap of the day.  "Capper!" His coat blusters about his knees, and his hands pop briefly out from his sleeves like the curious seals in the city harbor.  "Hi, Lufty.  Eddy was showing me how to treat the garden so it's ready in the spring.  We mulched up the leaves and rolled out the canvas on the rows."

"That's strong work, Davey.  Some strong work."

"Can I plant radishes in the spring?"

"What's Eddy say?"

"I says," Eddy mutters, coming up the path, "I says he can plant 'em if he eats 'em."

Josiah laughs, a great bird bursting from his lungs in the strident blue of the day.   "It's after half-morning bell, Capper."

"Yeah, is so."

"You said last night we'd talk over my geography."

Josiah had forgotten, in the tense standoff with the state man.  "I did say so."

  "Geography?" Lufty chuckles.  "Is that what he calls showing you maps of the city and teaching you where the boxes are?"

Davey shifts nervously under Lufty's senior gaze, his broad face like a lion's and his smoke-raw voice.  He is a slender chime among a tower host of bells, his newness, his rawness, bright to Josiah's sear.  Time will temper him, like all lads do.  But his eyes, Josiah hopes, will still be earnest. 

"It's a lovely day, young Cleary," Josiah says.  "What's say you we go and see what Lieutenant Jackson is up to with the kerodiesels, instead."  He cannot think of streets and rivers just now.  He feels as if he has hit the net dead on from a second-storey window, he feels as if he has ducked a locomotive so quick he feels the sting of its sparks and the cackle of its steaming wheels.  Like he's been knocked out of the way with a strong-arm and a shout from the sear. 

Davey's shy face, his earnest face, his soft young jaw that will grow sharper, his shoulders that will widen, his legs that will outgrow his trousers.

"Can I drive one?"

"No, Davey."

A pause, soft against the stark priesthood of the bare trees.  "Will I ever drive one?"

"Yes, Davey."

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 33

“Mmmm,” Ansgar’s moan echoed in the chamber of his throat, long and languid – a canticle of desire, of gratitude, of relief. He couldn’t help himself. He pushed off the car’s bonnet and whirled, grasping her head between his two large hands. He curled his fingers like claws into her hair, and he consumed her, lips and mind and body and soul, like the hell-beast he was.

Birdsong and wind made music in the air around him. The late afternoon sun waned off in the western distance, and the breeze carried the pastoral scents of fresh cut grass and linnea.

But Ansgar Martinsson knew none of it.

He knew nothing but the woman. Nothing but Joline. Nothing but the wet heat of her lips, the slide of her tongue, the rose perfumed scent-flavor of her, the delicious give and take and push and pull of her body against his, the way she bent like a reed in his arms, molding herself to him, the way her arms caged him, blocked out all sound from his ears, the way her fingers clutched like those of a drowning sailor’s in his hair.

The way she moaned when he touched her skin, the way she cried out and sang hymns of praise into his mouth when he worshipped her, when he gave her his offering, when he sang his own Laus et Jubilato to her.

And there, in all of creation, in the outdoors, in the seclusion of the deserted, heavy grove of summer trees, he made love to her.

He lifted her, tucking his arms beneath her back and her knees, and he carried her to her place, the spot she’d pointed out–  the shadowy glen between a massive oak and a thatch of reedy, white birch. The spot was clean, green and without stones or patches of dirt. Just a blanket of thick, manicured grass, and he laid her gently upon it.

He laid her upon it, and he gazed down at her, his eyes nearly in tears from the heat, from the pressure of desire within them. She returned his stare, her own eyes glossy and glassy and heady, her mouth slack and loose, her dark hair fanned out like a halo around her head.

His body lowered to hers, covered her, hid her from the eyes of Heaven and the rest of the world. He brushed his fingers with a delicate, reverent touch over her forehead, her closed eyelids, down her nose, over her lips, and he lingered there. Lingered at her lips, tracing the reddening, maddening line of them once, twice, three times before replacing his fingers with his mouth - open and hungry and needy.

Tongue and fingers explored her simultaneously, one from above, one from beneath, and Ansgar gasped in her mouth. Gasped with the surprise, with the knowledge, with the sensation of a significant lack of fabric beneath her skirt.

He gasped and she chuckled, smirking beneath his lips.

“You absolute fiend,” Ansgar growled, caressing his nose over her cheek. “You seductress. You’ve been without your knickers like this all day, haven’t you.”

“Look what you could have missed out on, big man,” she teased, wrapping her arms up and over his head. “Remember this for the next time.”

“Oh,” Ansgar huffed. “I will always remember this, believe me, darling. Always.”

And with that, he pushed her skirt up, up, up over her hips, exposing her manicured sex to him. “Christ, you’re wanton,” he whispered. “Look at you, lying there with your legs spread, your blouse askew, your hair a mess, on the grass.”

“On a hillside. In Uppsala,” she grinned. “What’s the difference?”

“Someone may see us,” Ansgar sang. “See you all… naked. Exposed… like you are.”

She ran fingers up her thigh, toying with the crest of hair at the apex between her legs. “You mean, someone may see me do this?” She plunged two fingers in between, curling them into her own sex. She let her head fall back, her eyes rolling up as she brought her wet fingertips out to swirl at the top of her desire.

Ansgar groaned as she pumped herself more and more. His eyes remained fixated upon her theft, her invasion of his territory, her self-stolen-ministrations. His jaw was slack and heavy, eyes narrowed and intent, breaths coming heavier… and heavier… and heavier. His cock twitched, pounding its heartbeat against his cotton shorts like a strait-jacketed madman in a padded cell.

Shorts which he, with quick yet fumbling fingers opened and shoved down his legs. With a possessive growl, he lurched forward, grabbing roughly at her sinful fingers. “No! That’s mine! You don’t touch that,” he gnarled. “Mine.”

She laughed. “Then come get it.”

He threw her hand to the side and with a swift arch of his body, he shoved his hips deep – and he entered her. “Aaaaah… fuuuuuuck.” He entered her and he reveled in the heat and the throbbing pressure and softness around his flesh. He let forth with a violent, eye-clenching, teeth-baring roar and held himself there, panting, his full length slid into her. He threw his head back, muscles arched like a strung bow. His arms were taut, straining, and locked, and his legs quivered beneath him.

“Mmmmmm….” she hummed, her hands snaking around to clutch at his bared bottom. “Yes. That’s… yes!”

“Ah, God! Joline!” he grit through clenched teeth. He hissed, and slowly pulled himself back, rolling his hips on a steamed breath like the piston of a steady engine, each long stroke accompanied by a feral moan.

“Ansgar,” she said breathily, crawling her hands up his body, pressing against his chest, covering his heart, willing it to beat its rhythms for her. “Ansgar, look at me. Please.”

And he did. He looked down, opened his eyes, and glared wide-eyed, fully intent upon her. “Joline. God help me, I –” he began, the ability to speak all but stolen from him. “I… I… am… I am… Oh, Christ!”

Joline. God help me but I am… falling in love with you.

Joline asked, implored, begged for him to look at her, and what she saw when he did, what she felt in his wide, nearly black and rounded eyes tore her apart. Ruined her. Destroyed her. The first time they were in bed together she’d asked for him to do just that, and he’d made good on it. She hadn’t meant for it in this way, nor had he intended in this way. But what she saw, what she felt, tender, affectionate, consideration and generously passionate intimacy… and hers!

Rosie had been wrong. It was personal, this attraction between Ansgar and Joline, but her affections for him had grown beyond tolerance, beyond that of a professional co-worker, beyond that of her shallow sexual attraction to him, beyond that of her appreciation of his willingness to help her in her time of need, beyond that of their sexual compatibility. She didn’t like him; that wasn’t strong enough. The emotion, the weakness, the phantom ache that kept creeping back wasn’t like. It was far deeper, something wholly personal and entirely hers.

In all her protestations and denials and barriers, she’d fallen for him. She’d fought but she’d lost long before their eyes locked as they made love in her favorite place, the plush carpet of green lawn beside a pond in Uppsala. She didn’t care if someone else saw them, her only concern was pleasing him, pleasuring him, loving him.

Joline would think about the consequences later, whether she was only a rebound, or a bit of fun while he healed, or a good lay for a few nights until he moved on.

Her hands curled under his arms and splayed over his shoulders, pressing him down into her. She needed him closer, more immediate, more intimate. He spread himself out over the top of her, her body sandwiched between his massive weight and the soil of their motherland. He cupped the sides of her head like a pillow. The only movement came from their hips, that primitive, carnal dance of lovers. She rocked her hips and tipped her sex to accept his languid strokes into her. His undulating center pressed into her core in time with his accelerating pulse.

“Ans…gar…I…I…” Her speech broken by the placement of his cock into her. Her brain simply couldn’t form the words she wanted to say, those words to express what she felt. Then being with him, in this way, wasn’t about her. Not only about her. “Yessss…yesss…ah…God…”

Rapture dug into her before Joline was prepared for it to come and claim her. Her body betrayed her and she surrendered to the pleasure she experienced with him. It was unlike anything she felt before, physically or emotionally. She cried out her ecstasy, her entire body seizing and releasing. Her arms and legs clenched around him as the source of her euphoric crisis and in her need to share it with him.

Ansgar saw the clench of her sex around him on her face before he felt it. Her beautiful face had gone slack and a veil of… of… something undefinable cleared from her eyes in that insanely gorgeous moment. He, like her, felt the betrayal in his body… the icy heat in his lower back, the maddening clutch in his balls, and the raging pressure in his cock to give Joline what she wanted. And give it, he did with a final grunt and violent press forward. He growled into the cushion of her breasts, mewling like the defeated lion cat he was. She purred possessively underneath him, stroking his spine, her claws withdrawn from the high.

“Minx,” he mumbled into the folds of her skin and the cotton material of her blouse that had stayed on in their need and urgency to be together. “Vixen.”

Airiy, she laughed, her body too sexed and mushed to commit to it. “How many more can you come up with?”

He paused, his mind wiped almost entirely clear of anything but the calm in his body, that syrupy numbing buzz. “Mine.”

Her fingers on his back moved into his hair and combed through his mussed up curls. “Entirely.” More than you’ll ever know, Ansgar Martinsson. More than you’ll ever know.

Gingerly he lifted his head to gaze down into her eyes. “You planned that, having your wicked way with me.”

“Hoped,” she corrected. “Hoped, and left ample opportunity. Who knew it would take you that long to touch me like that? You got close a number of times on the drive here.”

“I was distracted, by your bare legs, your mouth-watering cleavage, and your sucking me off in the carpark.”

One side of her mouth quirked up into a silly lopsided grin. “All foreplay, Casanova. All for you to get your fingers on me and notice that I’d gone without knickers - for you.”

“Temptress… Jezebel… my siren.” He uttered between fluttering kisses across her lips.

She giggled. “You’ve found your words again. I think that means that our journey to Uppsala was a successful one.”

Ansgar gently withdrew from her body and dropped upon the grass beside her, moving into a seated position. He offered a hand to help her sit up too. As he tucked himself back into his shorts and tugged his shirt back into place, he broached the subject, “Are you okay, Joline?”

She combed her fingers through her hair, straightening the strands, and pulling a piece of summer fluff from it. Ansgar too pulled a few blades of grass from her mane. “About this? What… fucking in the grass?” Her heart skipped a beat and shriveled for having said it. What they’d done had been so much more than that, but brave face. She assumed she’d passed the point of no return alone. She couldn’t impose on him; she offered her body, he couldn’t know that she’d given him more than that.

“I was referring to today, as a whole. Are you okay? Aside from our row, your brother and the unfortunate rumor mill, are you all right? You… your…“ he searched for the best description without hurting her. "You were distracted by… something…”

"You noticed that, did you?” She sighed as he helped her to her feet. She shimmied her skirt down to an acceptable level, and straightened her blouse, wondering if she had any grass stains on her back. “A brush with my sister-in-law is all. She can be… a bit much. She’s so dedicated to her family, and it works for her, and it’s great.“ She glanced off in the distance to a golfer lining up and wiggling to the eleventh hole. "She has trouble defining anyone else, any female who doesn’t devote herself to a husband and kids. I always feel like I’ve committed ultimate sin in divorcing. That was a right choice for me, but she can’t understand that.” Frustratingly, she shook her head. “I feel like a failure in her eyes for the choices I’ve made.”

[vannahfanfics]

May I please request a RokuNami fanfic where Roxas comforts Naminé after the events of KH3? I really love your writings, and I’ve been craving for some good RokuNami content for a while, so I’d take a chance and make this request. I know you’re busy with other stuff, so please don’t worry about how long it’ll take for you to finish it. 🥰

Thank you very much for your patience! ^u^ I hope this is to your liking. I’m not sure if you other other requests in queue right now, but if so, I’m going through them as fast as I can so stay tuned~

Existence

The emerald leaves quivered in the rolling breeze, filling the earthy air of the woods with the sound of their rattling rush. The gentle cacophony complimented the resonant birdsong echoing overhead. It was punctuated with the drumming of a woodpecker boring his nest into one of the sturdy oaks of the little forest. A pair of squirrels rummaged among the fallen acorns, stuffing them into their cheeks pouches until they bulged profusely. The rest they buried in a little pocket of soil, likely to be forgotten and give birth to an oak sapling in the coming summer. Naminé's blue eyes watched the small rodents closely, while her hand skated across the paper, penciling a rendition of the brown squirrels to life. 

The rustling of her pencil case startled them into the trees. They clawed up the trunk to vanish among the green leaves and peer down at Naminé with beady black eyes. Naminé chuckled at their skittishness and retrieved her green colored pencil to add more details to the grass, ferns, and trees in her drawing. Once she finished, she brushed away the eraser bits and pencil chunks and admired her handiwork. She had captured the little wood in everlasting purity, down to the pair of squirrels prancing about for their meal. 

The squirrels' tails twitched as a twig snapped, piercing the tranquil atmosphere like an arrow. Naminé peered around the girthy trunk of the tree amongst whose roots she lounged to sweep her gaze around the small wood. At first, she could see only mulberry bushes and thickets surrounding the dirt path, until a sprout of blonde hair appeared around the edge of a skinny birch. 

"Naminé?" Roxas called, cupping his hand to his mouth. His voice carried through the empty air to breach the corners of the forest. 

"Here!" she answered with a little wave. Roxas’ ocean-blue eyes landed upon her, and his lips curled upward into a small smile. Naminé immediately dropped hers to the ground as the clawed hand of guilt twisted her heart. He really shouldn't be smiling at me… she thought sadly. I'm mainly the reason he suffered so much and even… had to disappear. She reclined back against the sturdy oak, anxiety bubbling in her belly as his crunching footsteps grew ever closer. 

"Naminé?" His voice was soft and troubled. Naminé did not deserve his concern. Flushing with shame, she played with the corner of her notebook, thumbing the stack of pages. Her mouth twitched as Roxas squatted down beside her to inspect her latest creation. "You've gotten better," he remarked. She dared to peer through her peripheral vision at him and found him warmly admiring the artistry. "It almost seems like I'm looking at a photograph." This time, the exaggerated compliment made her blush. 

"It's not that good." 

"I certainly couldn't make something like this," he insisted with a loose gesture over the page. Despite herself, Naminé smiled. It was always nice to receive compliments on one's work. Yet… she thought uncomfortably as the doubt crept back into her mind. He shouldn't be so nice to me. He can't have forgotten what I did. "What's that funny look on your face for?" he asked and plopped down in the grass beside her. Naminé's cheeks brightened, and she resumed fiddling with her drawing notebook. 

"I-I thought you were with Hayner and the others playing Struggle?" she said, hoping the conversation would shift without much resistance. Roxas sneered and drew his knee up so he could lay his arm over it. 

"I was, but Hayner's a sore loser. I demolished him three sets in a row, so he decided to give up." Roxas' brazen confidence made her giggle a little. She could very much imagine competitive Hayner flinging the foam Struggle wand after suffering such a humiliating defeat. Roxas smiled brightly at her little chuckles. "Anyway, Olette suggested I come check on you. You've been out here a while."

"I suppose I just got side-tracked. There are a lot of good things to draw out here." Roxas raised an eyebrow and gestured at her drawing pad. She flushed fiercely, feeling somewhat self-conscious, but would not deny the boy his perusing pleasure. He slid the book from her lap and began to flip through her most recent drawings. A curious bluebird peeked up at them, seemingly disgruntled that its meal of an earthworm had been interrupted by watchful eyes. A cluster of slimy brown mushrooms crowned by three white-winged moths bunched among the roots of a tree. A mottled thrush struck a snail’s shell against a rugged round rock, hoping to crack it so it could feast on the gooey creature inside. A patch of dandelions swayed in the gentle breeze; a few of its delicate seeds floated on the wind to a new home.

“Wow,” he breathed in admiration. Roxas’ eyes absorbed every minute detail of the colored pages like he was attempting to glean some hidden meaning within the pencil wax. Naminé flushed and fidgeted beside him. She had never really let anyone pore over her drawings like this before; she wasn’t used to such a high level of praise. And on top of that, coming from Roxas… I am undeserving. “Naminé, these are really gre- Hey, why are crying?” he gasped, dropping the drawing pad.

Naminé had even realized that tears had sprung to the corners of her eyes. Looking away in embarrassment, she wiped them away with the knuckles of her index fingers. “Naminé? What’s wrong?” His tone of voice was just so kind, so pleading. Would he forgive her if she apologized? The weight of her sins was suffocating on her chest, making it feel like her lungs were gripped in a steel vise. Whimpering pitifully, she just inched away from him, hugging her knees to her body. Subconsciously, Naminé thought that if she squeezed herself tight enough, she would blot right out of existence- just like she had doomed him to be all that time ago. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Roxas raise a hand, hesitant to touch her.

“… I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” Roxas’ fingertips brushed lightly over her elbow, sending electric sparks jumping through her nerves. Naminé twiddled her thumbs nervously and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “… Is it me?” he asked suddenly. Naminé’s cheeks burned apple-red, ashamed that her actions would lead him to question himself. Hastily, she shook her head, making her platinum-blonde hair bounce around her shoulders.

“No! It’s me!” she corrected loudly. When she realized she had all but admitted the source of her anxiety, she flushed darker and fisted the soft fabric of her white dress. There was nothing for it now; she had to confess. “It’s me,” she repeated in a small voice. “I just can’t understand why you’re being nice to me.”

He blinked slowly.

“Um… Well, I don’t understand why you think I shouldn’t be nice to you.”

“Because it’s my fault!” she shouted, finally forcing herself to look him in the eyes. Roxas’ oceanic irises were swimming with confusion, which only served to frustrate her more. “It’s my fault you had to disappear.”

“Oh. That.” His tone was flat and unfeeling. He shifted, pressing his back against the trunk of the tree and parting his legs slightly to begin plucking up the grass blades between his thighs. He wound the thin green shoots between his fingers until he tore them asunder, making the tiny fibers snap one after another. He fiddled with the grass a long time, and soon a pile of destroyed grass blades piled up between them. She watched him anxiously, barely breathing, but had not the courage to probe his mind. “It certainly wasn’t how I wanted to end my summer vacation, even if it was entirely fictional,” he said with a wry, pained smile. Naminé’s fragile heart cracked, and a wave of sickening nausea rolled over her, making her press her arms around her belly. I knew it… He hates me… she thought with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“But I don’t blame you.” She gasped and looked at him incredulously to see him genuinely smiling. “You were a Nobody too, once. The fact that we shouldn’t really have existed in the first place was something we both had to come to terms with.” Naminé squirmed beside him. He wasn’t wrong.

Roxas frowned and tossed one of the shredded grass blades into the air, watching as the breeze caught it to carry it over to the squirrels, which had resumed their hunting among the acorns. His mouth twitched into a smirk. “Sure, you rewrote Sora’s memories, and they ended up bleeding into me, but it’s not like you knew that would happen. Regardless of anything you or I could have done, the result would’ve been the same,” he shrugged and rolled his head to look at her reassuringly. She leaned forward with a broken look.  

“I did everything I could. Riku and DiZ thought we were just Nobodies, but…” she clasped her hands over her heart and grimaced miserably. “I wished more than anything that you and I wouldn’t have to return to Sora and Kairi.”

“And I knew that,” Roxas smiled and turned his head upwards to peer at the patches of sunlight filtering in through the leaves. He picked up a small leaf that had been ripped from the branches by an animal or a fierce gust of wind and tossed it up. It spun slowly as it floated back down to land on his lap. He repeated the action, smiling wanly. “Deep down, I knew that, so I never blamed you.” He tossed the leaves aside and rested his hands behind his head, in a very Sora-like gesture, but it carried the air of confidence that was so inherently Roxas. “Besides, thanks to Sora being hopelessly stubborn, we’re all here now, right?” he smirked and gave her an amused side-eye. “So, don’t cry anymore. He wouldn’t like it if you did, and for the record, neither do I.” A pink haze drifted up to her cheeks, and she resumed fiddling with the hem of her dress. She wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

So, she settled for something simple.

“Thank you, Roxas.”

He smiled kindly at her and crossed his legs, leaving one hand behind his head while the other held out her drawing book to her. Naminé took it with a grateful smile and flipped it open to a blank page.

“What’re you going to draw now?”

“The two of us.” His smile widened, and he settled more comfortably against the robust trunk of the tree before drifting his eyes shut. Naminé didn’t necessarily need him to serve as a model, but she was grateful for his company, nonetheless. Using a light gray pencil, she sketched out the frame before she plucked a honey-gold one from within the confines of her pouch. She held it up to the light, admiring the way the sun made its golden hue shine all the brighter. It seemed like the pencil contained the sun’s rays itself in solid form.

“I don’t suppose you have a name for your drawing yet?” he asked her with a smirk, cracking an eye open to peer at her through blond lashes. Naminé smiled and set the golden pencil to the paper, sketching out his fluffy hair.

“I think I’ll call it Sunshine.” He blinked, then looked up at his curling bangs. He snorted in laughter and pinched a few of the thick strands between his thumb and forefinger, twisting them around.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He scooched closer to her, slipping an arm around her shoulders rather than crushing it up against her side. Naminé didn’t mind, but his closeness and rapt attention brought a flush to her cheeks anyway. He was like sunshine, bathing her in his warmth as she slowly brought the pair of them to life on the page- seated under a sprawling oak tree, tucked within its roots, smiling and laughing together. It was the future she had imagined for them all those many moons ago, when their lives were forfeit, and they simply begged for existence. Smiling happily, she leaned her head against his shoulder, and in turn, he pressed his cheek into the top of her head with a little nuzzle that tickled her scalp.

“Roxas?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad things turned out this way.”

“Me too, Naminé.”

Grinning, she continued to breathe life into the page, capturing the absolute reality of the two of them side-by-side in the quaint little wood. She took extra care to paint the smiles on their faces, capturing forever the joy the two of them were so plainly feeling.

Thank you for always being there for me. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork

[adhd-worlds]

Anglo-Saxon Futhorc

The Anglo-Saxon Futhorc wasn’t commonly used to be written down but dates between the 5th (500′s) to the 11th century (1000′s), during the time of the Elder Futhark. It’s believed that the Anglo-Saxons created more runes for the different phonetics in Old English, resulting in 33 runes, while other places such as Iceland had condensed it into to 18 runes (Younger Futhark). Not much is known about Anglo-Saxon Runes as they weren’t commonly used so it’s hard to say how they were used for magic. However, the first 24 runes are borrowed from Elder Futhark so they can be used if you so wish.

Below are the list of runes and their meanings. If you find an issue with the information provided, please inbox me with the correction. Don’t reblog/comment with the correction, I won’t see it and therefore I won’t update it with the correction. Thank you.

ᚠ - Feoh - Cattle - f: Cattle. Material possessions. A time to share. Working hard to produce great wealth. Generosity and riches.

ᚢ - Ur - Aurochs u: Ox. Strength. Energy. Proving your abilities. Adventure and enterprise.

ᚦ - Th - Thorn - þ: Frost Giants. Thor’s protective power. Balancing dangerous opposites. Chaos. Harmful obsessions. Gain at a cost. Impending disruption alongside a balancing force. Discipline. Knowledge. Make careful and thoughtful decisions to look after your well-being.

ᚩ - Ós - Mouth/God - o: From Ansuz, the ancestral god, Odin. Communication. A revealing message or insight. The power of words and naming. Good news and tidings are received from a friend. Justice. Truth

ᚱ - Rad - Journey - r: Thor’s chariot. Travel. Change. A journey undertaken. An emotional and physical rite of passage.

ᚳ - Cen - Torch - c: Wisdom. Creativity. Fiery passion and romance. Carnal knowledge.

ᚷ - Gyfu - Gift - g: A very good omen. A new love. The reception of gifts. Marriage. Freedom.

ᚹ - Wynn - Joy - w: Happiness and fulfilment. Success at the end of a long journey.

ᚻ - Hæg - Hail - h: Hail. Loss. Destruction. A disruption to plans. Drastic change. Life lessons. An unavoidable but temporary setback

ᚾ - Nyd - Need - n: Need and responsibility. Pragmatism and practically. Poverty. Hardship. Events will progress at their own rate. Developments cannot be forced. Change will happen naturally.

ᛁ - Ice - i: Patience. Reflection. Freezing lake. Hibernation for the winter. Putting projects on hold. Resting.

ᛄ - Jara - Year - j: Yearly harvest. Effort with rewards. Predictable change. The cycle of life. Hard work through the season. Wealth and riches at the end.

ᛇ - Eoah - Yew Tree -  ɨ: The tree of life defeating all else. Honesty and reliability. Trustworthiness. Driving force. Rising sap. Green energy.

ᛈ - Peorð - The Game - p: A secret. The fickleness of fate. Rebirth. Feminine mysteries and fertility. Magic. Best not to know the answer to your question. A danger sign. Act wisely and succeed.

ᛉ - Eolh - Elk Sedge - x: Protection. Support. A friend who will protect or assist.

ᛋ - Sigel - Sun - s: Health. Energy and competition. Growth. Success. Power. Rewards, luck and new life.

ᛏ - Tir - Creator - t: The creator. Strength. Warrior. Duty. Victory and courage. Strength and fortitude will overcome a difficult situation.

ᛒ - Beorc - Birch Tree - b: Fertility. New Beginnings. Birth. Spring and new life. A fresh start. A positive change.

ᛖ - Eoh - Horses - e: Travel and movement. Swiftness. Migration to new grounds. Power. Teamwork. An ideal partnership.

ᛗ - Mann - Man - m: Self, family, Relationships. Sharing problems with friends and family. Caring and helping through troubles. Kindness.

ᛚ - Lagu - Water - l: Emotions. Revelation. Counsel. Changing of moods. Romance and companionship. The fickleness of and unpredictability of nature.

ᛝ - Ing - Fertility - ŋ: New birth. Fruitfulness. Male fertility. Sex. Balance. Productivity. Positive change. The end of a barren period. The arrival of success and contentment.

ᛟ - Éðel - Home -  œ: The home and family duties. Fairness. Inheritance. Legacy. Using power wisely. Help and be helped in return.

ᛞ -  Dæg - day - d: New beginnings and positive changes. Awakenings and awareness. Happiness and success. Light and energy. The start of new projects. Looking forward.

The five runes are unique to the Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Frisian systems.

ᚪ - Ác - Oak Tree - a: From Ansuz, the ancestral god Odin. Strength. Sturdiness. Intellectual. Deep roots. The great power of strong, continuous growth.

ᚫ -  Æsc - Ash Tree - æ: From Ansuz, the ancestral god, Odin. Growing tall. Strength with flexibility. Aiming high. Growth of the soul. Feeding the spiritual nature. Poetry. Arts. Guardian of children. Protection. Healing.

ᚣ - Yr - Yew Bow - y: Mastery. Combination of all skill and knowledge. The tool of a knight. Arrow to target. Lost things found. Fruits of labour. Transformation . Turning point.

ᛡ - Ior - Eel - io: Eel. Serpent. An amphibious river fish that lives in water and eats on land. Dual nature. Living between two worlds. Duplicity. Hardships.

ᛠ - Ear - Earth - ea: Earth. Grave. Life and Death. The unavoidable end to all things. Decay. Leave the past behind. Time to look forward to the future.

The following four runes are not present in more southerly saxon realms in England or the Anglo-Frisian/continental variants of the rune row. They can loosely correspond with the four elements of Wicca and the four suits of the Tarot.

ᛢ - Cweorð - Fire-Twirl/Sword - kw: Flame. Destruction and transformation. Liberation of the spirit through fire. Ritual cleansing. The sacredness of the hearth and home. Phoenix rising from the ashes.

ᛤᛣ - Calc - Cup/Chalice - k: The natural ending or conclusion of a process. Death. Offerings. Honouring the gods. Femininity. Intuition. Spiritual insight. Magic

ᛥ - Stan - Stone - st: Stone. An obstruction. A blocked path. The link between the spiritual and the earthly. Breaking down walls. Obstructing and turning back opposition.

ᚸ - Gar - Spear (Odin’s Spear Gungnir) - ḡ: Odin’s spear, Gungnir. The centre point. Always hitting the target. Reliable success. Great power and skill. Mastery and balance. The hunt. Battle and victory

[crispy-crowley]

Ketubah (Aziraphale/Crowley)

Aziraphale grabbed the mug by its porcelain wings. In the next second, it nearly went falling towards the ground. Above the desk, there, by the window, hung a lively and ornately drawn Ketubah. The only problem with that was… well. He didn't really remember getting married.

Thanks to the lovely @theirdarkreturning for the prompt! Hope you enjoy :D

After things went sideways and the Ineffable Plan overtook the Great Plan, things were supposed to go back to normal. They went back to exactly how Adam had viewed them before. No horsemen, no Gabriel, and no antichrist involved.

Some things were different, admittedly, and Crowley was pretty sure he was the first person to notice.

He was sitting in the back seat of Mr. Young’s car, five minutes past the “end” of the world, after he’d begrudgingly agreed to give him and Aziraphale a ride back away from the air base. There was a faint buzz of the car as he looked out the window towards the darkening fields around them.

“My. To think what would have happened if the young boy really had been Warlock,” Aziraphale said. Crowley took a sharp intake of breath at that. Well. That certainly was a thought. He pulled his hand up, going to grab the bridge of his nose, when his reflection in the car mirror caught his eye.

His eyes. Specifically his eyes. They were blinking, his usually snake-shaped golden eyes, and yet the pupils were more… round. More human-like. They had the same color irises, and the pupils were still kind of slits, in a way, but rounder than they were meant to be. His head tilted in the reflection. Well. That's awful strange, isn't it?

Some things, like the Bentley and the Bookshop, were a Godsend. Their own little slices of home were returned to where they were meant to be. Some things, though, weren't quite so black and white.

The people killed by the Kraken were still dead, but the government was trying to cover that up as a “mass illusion.” Probably cell phones, insisted the Prime Minister. Aziraphale had been certain she had to be having a laugh at that, but then again. Who could tell these days. Heaven and Hell weren't quite as clear cut as they used to be.

It was Crowley who had suggested the body-swap idea to bring back some more normality, and frankly, Aziraphale couldn't be happier that he did. The whole matter was rather stressful, but that didn't mean it didn't spruce up the day a little. He was very proud of his performance, actually. He did do a mean Crowley impression. In fact, there was no one he knew better.

So, finally, things were going to be okay. He could return to the bookshop, left alone by angels and demons alike, just him and Crowley. Finally. As it was always written.

Aziraphale shut the door behind him, leaving the streets of Soho and the Bentley behind. A few weeks had passed already, and he and Crowley had just gone for some truly scrumptious pastries in Greece. He rather missed Greece sometimes. True, Rome was where he made his home most of the time during that era, but the ancient Greeks? They were quite a people.

There was a certain smell the bookshop possessed. Aziraphale took a moment, letting it wash over him as he walked past the doorway. He couldn't help but smile at his new books Adam had made appear. Prophecy books were always his favorite. It was rather sweet of him, really, to think of him like that. Perhaps it was an oversight, but Aziraphale saw it as a thank you of sorts. A way of saying he was valued.

He gently removed his coat, placing it on the back of his chair. Oh, dear, he'd left his cocoa out again. He really should learn to clean up after himself. After all, it had been over 200 years since he'd been living here, and it was about time he began to act like it! He grabbed the mug by its porcelain wings. In the next second, it nearly went falling towards the ground.

Above the desk, there, by the window, hung a lively and ornately drawn ketubah. The only problem with that was… well. He didn't really remember getting married.

It is of note that Adam Young was indeed raised Jewish. His father, of course, with a surname like Young, was a Jewish man. His mother was not, and that technically made him goyishe, or legally “not Jewish.” That said, he grew up in the Temple in Tadfield, and he was raised like any other Jewish boy in the town. Wensleydale in particular would get confused, sometimes, when he spoke about things like a mezuzah, or Hanukkah, or specifically the Ketubah. Adam didn't mind explaining. He thought it was kind of cool, in a way.

His mom and dad had theirs proudly displayed in the kitchen. It's a handwritten document, all the way from Israel, stating the true and faithful nature of his parents’ marriage. As far as eleven-year-old Adam was concerned, every married couple had one.

This, coupled with the fact that he was entirely certain that Crowley and Aziraphale were his godfathers, lead to a fairly simple conclusion: They, of course, were married, and as such had a ketubah in their living room.

Truth be told, it was a lovely ketubah. Adam’s imagination must really be something. Not that surprising, considering he was the antichrist and all. But really, it was something beautiful. A large black oak tree stood on one side, a silver-white birch on the other. They intertwined together, the Hebrew text on either side. There were ruby red leaves on both trees.

And underneath, in his very own handwriting, Aziraphale recognized his own signature.

On top of that? He recognized Crowley’s.

His phone was in his hand before he even had taken off his shoes. It rang once, twice, before Crowley picked up. “Miss me already, angel?”

“Not… quite. You, erm, may want to see this.” With that, he hung up, eyes still lingering on the wall. If Hell found out about this-- if Heaven found out about this-- there was no way the bodyswap trick would work twice. They were doomed.

So they wouldn't find out, then.

Crowley opened the door to find Aziraphale pacing in the front of the bookstore, several books on religious lore scattered around his feet. He was holding one open in his hands as he walked, nervously scanning over the words.

“My, angel. What's got your panties all in a twist?” Crowley asked. Truly, the little store looked like a construction zone.

Aziraphale’s head jerked up. “Crowley. You are a Sheyd, correct?”

“Well, I suppose. I mean, most people use the blanket term demon for all of us at some point, but I am one of the sh--”

“But you are experienced in Judaism, yes?” Crowley narrowed his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Right. Good. Right and good. Now, um, how does one cancel a ketubah?”

Crowley paused. His confused expression grew to rather incredulous. “I'm sorry, cancel a ketubah? It’s not an Amazon order, dear, you can’t just—“

Aziraphale shut the book in his hands with a sigh. Well, if he couldn’t tell Crowley, he couldn’t tell anyone. That person could read him quite like a book, if he had ever read.

“I, um. Funny story, really, we, heh. You know about the whole apocalypse?”

“Yeees?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. Of course he knew about the bloody apocalypse. It had only been last week, for Satan’s sake.

“Well, as Adam arranged things, it seems he sort of, hm, bridged a gap of logic? I suppose? And he… well, he sort of--”

“Spit it out, angel.”

“Crowley, we’re married.”

Wait. Married. Married? Oh, come on, Adam. Crowley had at least wanted to break a glass and throw a party at his wedding. Then again, considering who his and Aziraphale’s in-laws were, it was probably best they didn't.

A courthouse wedding suited him anyways. He always wanted to run off and do something wild and rebellious, but now, during their “lay low” period, probably wasn't the best time.

“Well, I suppose it is a long time coming,” Crowley said with a shrug. “I mean, I would've assumed it would happened ages ago.”

“You what? Crowley, we are not in a-- in a relationship of any sorts! That's preposterous!”

“Is it though?” Crowley asked, giving Aziraphale a moment to think. Well. There was no one else he could really trust or relate to, and the humans lived such tiny lives, and Crowley was his best friend, and he had been madly in love with him since the early 1940s. So… wow. Maybe he did have a point.

“Well what will we tell Heaven and Hell? Surely they would disapprove.”

“Oh, angel, please tell me you don't care what they think. They’ve revealed their true colors, who cares if we reveal ours?”

Aziraphale looked slowly around the mess the room had turned into. His glance meandered up to Crowley with a sigh. “Say. How's about we get drunk?”

A smile cracked over Crowley’s face. “Oh, my dear, I thought you'd never ask.”

Two hours had passed, and they had made their way over to Crowley’s home in attempts to find more alcohol. Of course, being a demon of sorts, he was loaded with the stuff. Amber scotch bottles sat empty around them, and knowing the situation, it was a minor miracle they weren't numbering in the double digits.

“And don't get me started on Gabriel. He's such a shvantz… a schmuck. A putz. A…” Aziraphale trailed off, a giggle falling into his voice. “A penis .”

“Wow. You sure showed him, huh? Is that the best insult you've got?” Crowley asked. He casually threw a leg on the table, taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Yes, I rather think it is,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “At this rate, I could be a proper demon, even!”

“Sure you could, Zira,” Crowley remarked. “Y’know, I'm fairly certain two demons can't get married, so then we'd be in even more of a ruddy mess. Can you believe the Duke of Hell trying to fill out paperwork on that one? I think Hastur would gouge my eyes out.” Aziraphale nodded solemnly, his smile slipping just a little. Crowley, who was convinced he knew everything about the angel, noticed straight away.

“You alright, dearest?”

Aziraphale shrugged, his eyes set rather steadily on his glass of scotch. “‘M fine.”

“Ah-ah, angels can't lie darling. Tell me what's the matter.”

Aziraphale momentarily met his gaze before his eyes sunk down again to the drink at hand. “I just wish we could have done this differently.”

Crowley paused, lowering his foot off the table. Oh, shit. This was going to be serious, wasn't it?

“You know, the whole marriage thing. It's supposed to be special, isn't it? A ceremony, a bouquet, a lovely gown. Seven circles, a father walking a betrothed down the aisle. Not just… I don't know, my best friend and me framing a marriage certificate. I wanted to--!” Aziraphale trailed off. He set his glass down with a start. “I wanted to kiss you, Crowley! On my own terms! I wanted to be the one to confess to you, and I wanted a lovely little honeymoon down in New York, and maybe a nice little stop in Vienna. I wanted things to play out slowly, nicely, not… so fast. Why is everything so fast ?”  Aziraphale’s voice was cracking now, his gaze steadily on his drink. He didn't think he could say any of this looking Crowley in the eye. He thought he just might break.

Crowley slowly reached for his sunglasses, pulling them down off of his nose. He put his other hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, giving a small smile. “Hey. Hey, there. It's alright, I promise you.” Aziraphale looked up slowly, their eyes finally meeting.

“Your eyes. They're… they're human,” he muttered, looking at the round pupils, the amber irises.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley continued, glossing over the comment. “You and me. We have an eternity to figure this out. We don't have to take it my speed, doll. I'd slow down time for you.” Aziraphale nodded, his fear all but melting out of him.

“You know,” Crowley said, “you're the bravest, the most interesting person I've ever met.”

All of a sudden, Aziraphale couldn't take it anymore. He leaned forward, firmly pressing Crowley’s lips to his. Crowley floundered for just a second, surprise and astonishment taking over. But then he pressed back, eyelashes fluttering closed and heart leaping in his chest.

They'd take things slow. One step at a time, always, until they're both as happy and content as any married couple.

And maybe one day, Crowley would dawn a long black dress and watch as Aziraphale walked down the aisle in a suit of white. Maybe he'd circle his husband seven times, before a glass is broken and they're both hoisted up on chairs among friends. Well, they'd need friends first for that, but maybe. Only the future would tell. And ever since Anathema burned the new ones, no prophecy could predict what would happen next.

But as Crowley leaned forward to kiss Aziraphale again, his strange and ineffable husband, nothing that far ahead mattered. What mattered was this very second.

Crowley was done moving too fast. For Aziraphale, he'd slow down time.

@litttlebrave @madhbh

[eledritch]

Prompt: Sheith, meeting of the two tree creatures (desert willow and birch art AU u reblogged)

bless you anon. i love that concept sm...especially since desert willows are native to my home state/desert! they’re pretty & tough trees, very keith. & white birches fit shiro so very well, too.

CHECK OUT THIS ART by the amazing @nevenne-creates, it’s so original and lovely :’)

(this is SFW. they are wholesome trees.)

Follower Milestone Prompt #2: shiro & keith are trees

read it on ao3

Beside his oasis, the world is still and serene, the hot summer wind ruffling through his leaves and limbs like a familiar caress. The monsoons have been generous this year, and Keith is in full bloom, dark pink flowers crowning his head and continuing just below his pointed ears. His thick, dark bark was made to withstand this heat; though many willows are frail things dependent on the water, Keith is an exception, a desert willow. He is not even a true willow, though his slender, spear-shaped leaves are good imitators.

He’s distracted by a soft whir of wings beside his ear, and turns his head slightly to see the ruby-throated hummingbird sipping from his blooms. Hello, he says, though of course only other tree spirits can hear him. The hummingbird hovers for a few moments in front of his face, cocking its emerald head at Keith’s amused violet eyes, then darts away as quickly as it had come.

He follows its path across the desert, and pauses, squinting into the distance through the rippling heat waves and tall saguaros. There’s something out there that wasn’t there before; Keith is sure of it. It moves again, and he starts forward, sending ripples through the oasis’s dark water. There, a hint of white and gold. Keith frowns. Hello? he calls, but it’s too far away to hear him, if it’s even able to do so.

Cautiously, Keith gathers up some water with his roots, avoiding the spadefoot tadpoles swimming nearby, and begins his slow trek towards the bright smudge amidst the sagebrush and red dust. He’s faster than most trees, but one must still be careful in the desert. A rattlesnake winds past him through the warm rocks, hissing in soft warning. Keith gives it a wide berth, and at length passes by one of his closest neighbors, a young palo verde named Pidge.

She peeks at him through her tiny oval leaves and pollen-laden yellow flowers, hazel eyes curious. Her pale green bark glows with health; Keith lets her drink from his oasis when the rains don’t come.

What’s out there? Keith asks her, pointing with a smooth brown finger.

She shakes her head, prompting a shower of pollen that makes Keith sneeze. Her expression is frightened. Strange spirits, she whispers. Not trees. Shadows. Left him here last night. I hid.

Him? Keith questions, glancing again towards the unmoving heap of white and gold.

Pidge nods. Be careful, she warns. Tried to call out to him earlier; he pushed me out of his mind. He is scared. So scared. He is not from here.

Then he will die in this sun, Keith says. Stay here. I will help him.

She nods, hiding again amidst her thorny branches.

Keith continues onwards, warding off a hopeful swarm of bees along the way, though he’s flattered by their interest. He pauses once he is close, crouching behind a large boulder and peeking around the side to assess the situation.

Keith freezes at the sight before him – the strange tree spirit is crumpled in the dirt, his skin pale as moonlight, but torn away in places, revealing darker bark beneath. His leaves are a magnificent gold, like the first hint of sunlight over the horizon at dawn, but they must have been cut away in places, for they grow only sparsely at the top of his head and in a small fall over his brow. His ears droop, and his dark golden eyes are half-lidded and hazy. The bark over the bridge of his nose has been torn away in a thick stripe of scar tissue, so deep it cuts into his sapwood.

But most shocking of all is that one of his arms has been chopped clean off, the wound coated with drying silvery sap – it must have been recently inflicted. Keith’s branches rustle uneasily. What cruel being would do this to a tree spirit? Especially to one as lovely as this?

Keith has never seen a tree spirit like this one before, and he is wary of hidden thorns or poisons, so he steps out of his hiding place warily, hands extended in a gesture of goodwill. The stranger flinches away when their gazes meet, trying to lift himself up on his remaining arm and trembling with the effort, his clawed hand scrabbling uselessly in the dirt, tearing more of his fragile white outer bark away.

Stop! Keith exclaims in alarm, starting forward. You’ll hurt yourself!

The stranger stares at him dully, chest heaving, legs and roots tucked close to his body in a way that only makes him appear more vulnerable. He feels the stranger trying to shut Keith out of his head, but Keith nudges back, gentle yet firm. The stranger’s golden head bows in surrender, shoulders hunching and body curling back down to the earth. A single word echoes through Keith’s head: Please.

Keith kneels down in front of the stranger. It is alright, he soothes, letting his soft leaves brush against the ruined bark. I am here to help.

Golden eyes meet his gaze hesitantly. Help? The stranger’s voice shakes badly, like he has forgotten how to use it.

Keith nods. It is too hot for you out here, he explains. You need water, and shade.

The stranger lowers his head, silent again, but does not protest when Keith heaves him upright, trunk straining at the effort. The stranger may look delicate, but he must be an old tree, for he is solid and heavy, and would not have survived so long in the desert sun if he were a weak sapling.

Keith falters when the stranger’s head slumps into his shoulder, rustling against his leaves and crushing a few flowers. In the desert, tree spirits are far more solitary; Keith is hardly ever so close to another of his kind. This spirit must be from a forest, he concludes, a place where tree spirits live together in tight-knit families. Keith shoves his foolish pang of longing aside, and wraps his arm around the stranger’s trunk, guiding him back to the oasis.

He staggers forward as Keith guides him, shriveled roots dragging uselessly along the ground behind him. His thin, papery bark rustles and crumples off where Keith’s rougher bark brushes against it, but it doesn’t appear to harm the stranger. Or perhaps he is just so hurt already that he is numb to the additional pain. Keith frowns, and presses onward with newfound determination.

Halfway to Pidge, the stranger crumples forwards, and Keith has to employ all his branches to catch him, guiding him gently down before he can break any more limbs off. Easy, Keith cautions, kneeling beside him with a hand on his uninjured shoulder. It isn’t far.

Who are you? the stranger rasps, his tone pleading.

My name is Keith; I am a desert willow, Keith tells him. Who are you?

His brow furrows. Shiro, he whispers. White birch.

Ah, Keith says. He thinks he’s heard of those trees before, but they live far, far away from the desert. You are from the highlands? Shiro nods, his eyelids drooping, and Keith leans closer in concern. Here, he adds, and lifts a root heavy with stored water to Shiro’s dry lips.

The birch opens his eyes, confusion shifting to shock as he sees the precious droplets offered to him. How…?

Drink, Keith says. There is more, do not worry. You need it more than I.

So Shiro drinks, his own roots lifting to catch the moisture his tongue cannot. He is not meant to store water for many months on end like Keith can, but his leaves perk up at once, and his eyes are clearer than before when they open again. Thank you, he says, and goes easily when Keith helps him up again.

Shiro blinks curiously at Pidge as they pass, and the palo verde gives them a shy wave before retreating inwards again. Shiro wilts. I scare her, he mumbles. I think she tried to call to me, before...but I shoved her away.

Shh, Keith says, leading him on past a towering saguaro, which the birch stares at with unadulterated awe. You have been through much. She understands.

Are these trees? Shiro asks, still gaping at the saguaros. The tall cacti are blooming, too, but during the heat of the day most their flowers are tightly shut. A few brave blooms remain, as bright white and gold as Shiro.

No, Keith says. They do not speak to us, not with words. Feelings, sometimes. They tell us when the rains are near.

Oh, Shiro breathes, and looks down. They must be very old.

Yes, Keith says. It can take a century before they grow a single arm.

The saguaro Shiro was admiring has six arms, and the birch blanches, eyes huge. I...see.

They continue on, and Keith can feel Shiro’s eyes on him. How old are you, willow?

Keith frowns. You would think me young, but my kind do not live long.

Shiro frowns back. My kind do not live long, either. Try me.

It has been fifty years, Keith sighs, at last count.

And how long do desert willows live?

Fifty years, Keith says dryly. Usually.

Shiro stumbles. Keith helps him back up. So young, Shiro whispers.

This is a harsh place to live, Keith says. I am lucky to have my oasis. It may keep me alive for fifty years more.

How does anyone survive here? Shiro asks, and Keith bristles. It is just – so barren. And vast. And lonely...I was sure I would die.

Whoever left you here thought the same, Keith says, and Shiro stiffens, and is quiet again.

They pass under the slender shadow of a saguaro with two arms, and Shiro says, I am seventy, at last count. About halfway through life, also. But I could be older...I feel older. There are gaps in my memory.

Why did they hurt you? Keith asks.

Shiro only shakes his head.

Keith’s oasis comes into view and the birch sighs in relief. Is it real? he whispers. Not just a desert mirage? He eyes Keith. Are you a desert mirage?

Willow, Keith corrects with a snort, leading him to the muddy bank. And, no. Both me and my oasis are quite real. Lucky for you.

Very lucky, Shiro whispers, falling to his knees before the shallow water. Still, he pauses, looking to Keith for permission. May I?

Keith sits down beside him, amused and more than a little endeared. Be my guest.

Shiro’s roots burrow contentedly into the mud, searching out the fresh water, and Shiro bows his head as its strength flows through him. Keith stands over him while he does, extending his branches and leaves to provide the birch with as much shade as he can, and Shiro looks up with wide eyes.

Keith jolts in surprise at the flush on the birch’s cheeks, and a pink flower falls from Keith’s head to land squarely on the birch’s nose. Shiro looks at it, cross-eyed, then plucks it from his face and studies the trumpet-shaped blossom. Pretty, he says, and Keith flushes, too. Thanks for the shade, Shiro adds, and tucks Keith’s flower behind his ear.

Keith stares at him helplessly. You are a very strange tree, he says.

So are you, Shiro chuckles. Keith wants to make him laugh more. But a kind one, too.

Keith clears his throat. Is the water to your liking?

Yes, it’s perfect, Shiro says. He leans forward. Oh! There are little...fish in here.

Tadpoles, Keith corrects. A few fish, too. Trout come when the rains connect my oasis to the creek. And then, because he feels the need to defend his desert, he adds, This place may seem barren to outsiders, but it is full of life. Many creatures come to my oasis. Javelinas, with sharp tusks and pink snouts, and coyotes, with fur the color of sand, and bighorn sheep, with great curved horns, and tortoises, with their domed shells, and bobcats, with bright eyes and dark spots, and quail, with their soft calls and feathers, and ringtails, with their striped tails and spectacled eyes, and mountain lions, who drink beside me in the early hours of the morning, and sleep in my shade without fear.

Shiro stares up at him with wonder.

Keith, embarrassed, turns away. I apologize, he says. I do not meet new trees often. You must meet many, in your forest.

Shiro settles into a more comfortable sitting position. Birches grow together, in stands of hundreds, he says. There were many like me, yes. But none like you.

Oh, Keith says. He doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

I know very little about the desert, Shiro says earnestly. The water has invigorated him, and Keith can see his wounded stump scabbing over with fresh black bark. But I have heard the sunsets are beautiful.

They are, Keith says, and sits down shyly beside him, taking care to keep his shade cast over Shiro’s pale form. Would...would you like to watch the sunset with me?

I would, Shiro says. May I rest here with you, until then?

Keith leans into him in reply, their leaves mingling, and Shiro sighs as he drifts off.

The oasis is quiet as they wait in stillness, the cool oasis staving off the heat of late afternoon. By the time the scattered clouds begin to stain pink, Shiro’s bark is healed and his eyes are warm, reflecting the sun. It’s beginning, he whispers in excitement.

Yes, Keith says. Shiro’s branches are entwined with his own, and he never wants to let go.

The sky darkens and streaks through with orange and red and pink and faded blue, the rays of sunshine blinding them for a moment before it kisses the ridged line of the distant mountains, painting the world in rich golden tones. Keith has seen thousands of sunsets, but he has never seen Shiro see a sunset, so he watches him instead.

The birch appears to glow in the dying light, his lips parted and eyes wide. It’s beautiful, he says wistfully. We could barely see the sky in the forest. Not like this. There’s...so much.

Wait until you see the stars, Keith murmurs.

Shiro smiles shyly at him. May I stay to see the dawn, too?

As many dawns as you’d like, Keith promises.

Shiro sighs, and Keith’s lashes flutter when a golden leaf brushes against his cheek. As long as I get to see them with you, Shiro whispers, and reaches out, laying his hand gently over Keith’s.

Their fingers clasp, silver-white and red-brown, and the sun sinks slowly below the horizon.

[minnesotadruids]

Henge of Keltria (HoK) Analysis

Year founded: 1986-1988

Location Founded: Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA

Origins, inspirations, or parent org: Schism of ADF. Inspirations - Irish Celtic pantheon and rituals based on Irish mythological cycles. Private or indoor rituals were preferred over ADF’s public ritual requirement. HoK was opposed to ADF’s embrace of any & all Pan-Indo-European pagan pantheons and wished they could have just picked one pantheon. HoK also had grievances toward the way ADF operated organizationally.

Founders: Tony Taylor

Official Symbols: “Keltrian Sigil” (RDNA Druid Sigil with three rays of Awen at the center)

Theological compatibility: Irish polytheism (hard and soft), animism, ancestor veneration, organized religion.

Founder prior involvements: ADF

Active, Hiatus, or Defunct, & Rebootability: Nonprofit status ended and  is organizationally defunct. Individual remaining Groves are currently Active. It would be possible to start a new Keltrian Grove on condition that you are first initiated into an existing Grove.

Centrally organized: Formerly yes, now surviving Groves are fully autonomous.

Governing body: Council of Elders

Study Program or Mentorship: Individual Groves may offer the Keltrian study program.

Member degrees, ranks, or levels of achievement: HoK has a rank system of five Circles copied from ADF - First Circle, Second Circle, Third Circle, Fourth Circle, and Fifth Circle. They were described as being concentric rings of a tree, though you entered them from the outer circles and worked inward. This may have changed as there are also ranks called Ring of Birch, Ring of Yew, and Ring of Oak. “Paths” are also available: Bardic Path, Seer Path, and Druid Path.

Membership fees and recurrence: Membership dues were $15 to $35 based on income. Dues were due annually. Now that central organization is defunct there may be no fees unless individual Groves ask for them to offset operating costs.

Estimated membership: 566 (circa 2017).

Estimated number of Groves or study groups: 8

Current grand poobah & title: N/A, Archdruid.

Cult danger (A. B. C. D. E. F. version 2.7) estimated rating: NULL

Alleged cult criteria: NULL

If anything needs to be rectified, please contact me with proof for correction.

Return to Druid Order List

[loadma432]

Cordless Grass Strimmer

Cordless Grass Trimmer Reviews

Bosch Cordless Grass Strimmer

Cordless Grass Trimmer/edger

Swift Garden cordless battery electric powered garden tools. Including a full range of interchangeable 40v tools which include mowers, chainsaw, grass & weed trimmer, leaf & debris blower, hedge trimmer, polesaw & log reach hedge trimmer. Additional to this are a.

Cordless Strimmers Cut the Cord with Our Range of Cordless Strimmers. Here at The Green Reaper, we’ve got a great range of eco-friendly cordless battery-powered grass trimmers for you to choose from, which give the user the freedom to trim overgrown areas in the garden without being restricted by a power cord.

Cordless Grass trimmers Cordless grass trimmers are perfect for trimming areas not close to a power outlet. They can be powered in several ways, but do not rely on a power cord to work, so are a versatile choice for your garden.

© Provided by gardening etc. Bosch UniversalGrassCut 18–26 cordless close up of spool

The Bosch UniversalGrassCut 18–26 cordless grass trimmer features telescopic height adjustment and an ergonomic V-shaped handle. Lightweight and with an automatic feed for the spool line, it’s been designed to make trimming lawns, borders and edges, effortless.

Having pretty much left our split-level garden to its own devices since October, the top two lawns were becoming rather unruly. With no clear edges they were certainly in need of trimming before we could attempt to attack them with the lawn mower. Our bottom lawn (the largest of the three), is maintained by a robotic lawn mower, which is great, but doesn’t mow closely around the borders, bottom fence line or steps. Therefore, this provided another challenge for the UniversalGrassCut.

See how it did prepping my garden for summer, and find out whether it deserves a place on the list of the best strimmers.

Bosch UniversalGrassCut 18–26 cordless grass trimmer specifications:

Power type: 18V 2.5Ah Li-ion battery

Battery life: 40 mins

Charging time: 1 hour

Best for: trimming and edging

Cutting width: 26cm

Weight: 2.7kg

Noise Level: A-rated

Getting started

We moved into our house a year ago, and it’s the first house we’ve owned that has had a lawn. Therefore, apart from watching my dad get angry, every time his old corded strimmer hit a rock, I have had no experience with strimmers and the Bosch UniversalGrassCut was the first one I’ve ever used.

Firstly, I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I unpacked the box and found only one instruction manual. Almost all the recent appliances I have purchased come with at least four or five manuals, so it was nice to see everything condensed into one A5 booklet.

After reading through the safety instructions and noting that eye and ear protection should be worn, plus kids and pets should be kept at a good distance, I moved on to setting up the machine. As well as written instructions, there are labelled diagrams relating to each stage of setup in the back of booklet, which proved to be useful.

I quickly skimmed over the assembly instructions and read that the battery needed to be charged, which I did so promptly. I’d have listed this as the first step (rather than after assembling the strimmer), so anyone following the instructions step by step could save a bit of time. All I had to do to assemble the strimmer was mount the protection guard, secure it with a screwdriver, fold out the handle, adjust the telescopic working position, mount the wheel and fit the spool of cutting cable.

This was fairly straightforward until it came to fitting the spool, as this is not listed as an initial step in the assembly instructions. It talks about operation, before it mentions mounting the spool and even then, it’s written as if there is already a spool in place.

This was the only step I struggled with and had to double check with my partner that I was doing everything right. He agreed that this was confusing, and we couldn’t work out whether we needed to pull any line out of the spool or assemble anything. After looking through the pictures again, we found that the spool was all ready to go as it came and all we needed to do was click it into place. Setup took 20 minutes, but it would have been a lot quicker without the spool issues.

What is the Bosch UniversalGrassCut strimmer like to use?

Once the battery is charged, it’s easy to slot it in and you’re ready to go. It has a safety lock button which requires pressing, before then pressing the on/off switch, which is a trigger on the bike-like handles. You keep the trigger pressed to operate the strimmer.

Lawn trimming

The UniversalGrassCut has three different cutting positions and there is a foot pedal to switch between each. This is slightly flimsy and it’s not completely clear which position the strimmer is in without moving it through all three positions, to be sure.

For lawn trimming, the strimmer must be set at the highest position (a 48-degree angle) and once set, it’s as easy as moving the strimmer from left to right. The wheel ensures that you do not get too close to any walls, trees or anything that protrudes out of your lawn (bird tables, washing lines etc). The wheel was useful in our garden as we have walls splitting the three levels, so I could use the wheel to guide the strimmer along the wall-edge and the strimmer did a great job of trimming the grass, right up to the wall.

The grass trimmer has been designed to be ergonomically comfortable and to be used with a natural, upright posture. I found this to be true and trimmed the lawns with comfort and ease. However, my partner is 6ft 4in and he found that the telescopic handle did not come up high enough and felt he stooped over when using it. This is something taller gardeners might want to bear in mind.

The strimmer did a good job of trimming the lawn and easily cut through large clumps of grass, weeds and dead plants.

Edging

To create nice, clean edges for the lawn, the foot pedal needs to be pressed so the strimmer sits at a 36-degree angle. This is the hardest position to achieve and you need to ensure it clicks into place right in the middle.

The instructions are a tad confusing here and it took a bit of trial and error to get the desired effect. It says to 'guide the trimmer along the edge of the lawn' and 'by using the wheel you avoid contact with solid surfaces'. You also have to flip the handle 180 degrees and turn the strimmer clockwise to get the correct working position, so the wheel has contact with the ground as you roll it along the edge. I found that you needed to work out how far away from the edge the wheel needed to be to cut a straight line where you wanted it. In our lawn, the grass has made its way into the paving in some areas, so I could cut a line through the clumps of grass to show where the edge of the lawn should be. We will have to remove the grass outside that perimeter by hand.

Once you have the hang of it, it did quite an effective job and worked well around the top of the walls, edges of the steps and where the lawn meets the patio.

Check out our selection of lawn edging ideas for those awkward lawn-meets-patio areas

Cutting in awkward places

The final cutting position is for trimming around trees, plants and hard-to-reach places, such as under benches. For us, this feature came in useful for cutting around the fence posts at the bottom of our garden and a silver birch. The foot pedal sets the strimmer at 24 degrees and the wheel acts as a plant protector, shielding plants, whilst still achieving a close trim.

Noise

As noted in the instructions, ear protection is advised. With a large, open garden, I found that the Bosch UniversalGrassCut was no noisier than a lawn mower. I would be mindful of using it when I know my neighbours are relaxing, or for long periods of time.

Ease of use

Overall, for me, once I had set the strimmer up and worked out what to do with the spool, the strimmer was very easy to use and I was impressed that I managed to trim almost the whole garden in one go, which took about 40 minutes. I recharged the battery fully and then completed the edging which took a further 10 minutes and there was plenty of battery left. Bosch claims that the battery is powerful enough to allow the strimmer to trim the edges of eight tennis courts in one charge. I think you would have to be well practiced at using the machine for this to be true!

A bonus for anyone who owns any other cordless Bosch appliances, is the 18V battery is part of their 'power for all alliance', which means the battery is interchangeable between tools, whether this be drills, mowers or vacuums. We unfortunately do not own any of these, but I would consider purchasing other Bosch appliances with this battery system, especially as I am impressed with how well the UniversalGrassCut works.

Additional features

The plant protector wheel is a great feature that not all strimmers have. Although this was my first time trimming the lawn and borders, no plants were harmed unintentionally. It makes edging easier too and I imagine using a strimmer without a wheel guide would cause more wear on the spool line.

The IntelliFeed system for the line is also hugely beneficial, as it automatically rolls off the line as necessary, retaining the cutting diameter. This means that you don’t have to keep stopping to manually adjust the spool, which is both safer and more efficient.

How does it rate online?

The majority of reviews for the UniversalGrassCut are positive, with many praising how lightweight and easy to use the appliance is. Many also commend the battery length and how well it copes with trimming a variety of plants, from long grass to nettles.

Some reviewers also own other Bosch products with the battery share option and were pleased with how well the strimmer works alongside their other Bosch tools.

The only negative remarks echo those of my partner in that the telescopic handle simply does not go long enough and some say the model feels a bit cheap and ‘plasticky’, to which I would disagree. If the model was made of other materials, it would be a lot heavier and more difficult to use.

The average ratings are between four and five stars, making it rate well against similar models which are a similar price. I would highly recommend the Bosch UniversalGrassCut 18–26 cordless grass trimmer.

About this review and our reviewer

This cordless grass trimmer was tested by reluctant gardener Bethan Davis, a PR and events officer who lives in the Midlands. She has just had her second child and with two kids under the age of five, a pristine garden isn't always easy to maintain.

She put the strimmer through its paces in a medium-large garden with lots of borders to contend with and an awkward fence adjoining a field. The garden also has several levels and lots of walls, so a strimmer is needed for lots of areas a mower can't reach.

Which? has reviewed ten new grass trimmers, including eight cordless models from top brands including Bosch, Black & Decker, Gtech and Stihl. Some were excellent and won us over with their mix of power and precision, while others left us underwhelmed.

Cordless grass trimmers have some fundamental advantages over corded electric and petrol models. There’s no danger of cutting through an electrical cord and you won’t have to drag the cord behind you or find an extension cord to get to the end of the garden. Compared to petrol models they are a breeze to start, lighter, less noisy and vibrate less.

Find out which we thought were the best of the bunch by looking at our grass trimmer Best Buys.

Cordless Grass Trimmer Reviews

Value for money cordless strimmers

You will have to pay a bit more for a cordless grass trimmer. Our cheapest general-purpose cordless grass trimmerfor use around the garden is £77, compared to around £50 for our cheapest Best Buy corded electric grass trimmer. The most expensive heavy-duty cordless grass trimmer, designed to make short work of long grass and weeds, costs £345 compared to around £150 for a similar petrol model. To find out how much you should spend on a grass trimmerthat’s right for you, read our guide to buying the best grass trimmer.

The real expense comes in buying a new battery. All the cordless grass trimmers we tested lasted just 15 minutes before the battery ran down in our demanding tests. So you might find you need a second battery to finish all your trimming jobs in one go, as some of the batteries take over four hours to recharge. The most expensive battery from the models were tested is £110, while even cheap models have batteries that cost in excess of £40.

Be careful when looking for a bargain as some cordless garden tools are sold without a battery and charger. If you already own a DIY or garden tool from your chosen grass trimmer brand, you may be able to use the battery and charger that came with that tool. Otherwise, you will have to add the cost of both the battery and the charger, making that ‘bargain’ a lot more expensive. Find out more in our guide to cordless grass trimmers.

Bosch Cordless Grass Strimmer

Cordless grass trimmers tested

We tested these grass trimmers:

Cordless Grass Trimmer/edger

We also tested these corded electric models:

[dragon-fics]

S&H: Ch. 11 First Date

chapter summary: Molten and Zion go on a date.

Notes, Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15, Ch. 16, Ch. 17, Ch. 18, Ch. 19, Ch. 20, Ch. 21, Ch. 22, Ch. 23, Ch. 24, Ch. 25, Ch. 26, Ch. 27

Molten stood in front of a full length bedroom mirror, fixing the navy tie around the collar of his crisp white shirt. He ran his hand down the smooth side of the tie. He looked at the mirror, staring back at his human self. He couldn’t help but feel ridiculous with the tie around his neck: he’d known Zion almost a week, they’d had sex with Molten as top twice, and it was only now they were going on a first date?!

Despite this, he also couldn’t help but want to overdo it because of Zion’s high status, along with the fact that he knew his future father-in-law was in the same building as him at the current time.

He muttered a hmph as he tried to think of an alternative outfit, scanning the empty room around him. According to Mona and Kate, this room would have been the one he woke up in, had Zion not had him moved into his room. It was smaller than Zion’s, with a double bed, dresser and an en-suite shower room.

He pushed aside some of his fringe, hoping to bring the outfit together... that didn’t work either. He rolled his shoulders and heard a knock on the door.

“Yeah,” he called, hoping it was someone to say that the castle was burning and that the date was called off.

Instead, his sire, Flame, walked through the door. “How’s it goin’?” He asked, kind of curious.

Molten ran his thumb on the underside of the tie and sighed. “Do you think I’m overdoing it?” He said, turning towards his sire.

Flame shifted to his own human form, with tightly cut hair, polished dark horns, tanned skin and an artificial-looking amber eye colour. He walked closer to his son, his stride smooth and slow.

“Honestly?” He started, “Yes,” he reached for Molten’s collar. “You don’t need that,” he said, loosening the knot in the tie.

Molten let out a quick burst of air, snorting on his sire’s hands. He muttered something under his breath.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Flame said, undoing the tie and taking it off. He threw it on the bed beside him. He then took a step back, looking at the rest of the outfit. “You know it’s a first date right? Not your wedding.” He said, looking at the navy suit trousers Molten wore. “Where did you even get them?” He looked back at the tie and then back at the shirt. “Where did you get any of this stuff?”

Molten sighed. “Staying in this castle has its perks, alright.” Flame raised a brow. “Same day delivery,” he explained, “and somehow they have dragon sizes.”

Flame shook his head and sighed. “Keep the shirt, but change into jeans or something,” Flame said and began his way out the door.

Molten let an embarrassed smile form on his face. “Thanks.”

He changed quickly, changing into navy chinos and white Converse. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbow. At least with this outfit, it would suit both his forms. He left the top two buttons open on his shirt, keeping up the casual look. As he was about to leave the bedroom, he grabbed a navy jacket, just in case, seeing as the temperature at this latitude was cold at night, especially during summer, as it was now.

He made his way quickly downstairs, putting the jacket on near the end. As his shoe hit the tiled floor at the end, he heard a bedroom door from the floor above, close. He fixed his jacket with a quick tug and faced the stairs. He saw movement from above and focused on it. Soon later he heard footsteps on the wooden stairs coming down from that floor. He slipped his phone out of his pocket. 19:30, just like they had planned that morning.

He shifted his stance as the footsteps came closer. The figure turned the corner on the stairs, facing Molten, turning the figure into Zion. He was dressed in a black buttoned t-shirt and dark jeans. He continued his way down the stairs. Finally, his shoes touched a white tile at the end of the stairs.

He looked at Molten and let out a sigh. “I knew I dressed too casual,” he said, his ears down showing disappointment.

Molten chuckled. “It’s fine,” he said, taking a step closer to Zion. “Shall we go, my prince?” Molten said, tilting his head towards the door.

Zion nodded and came closer. “Let’s,” he took Molten by the hand and pecked him on the lips. Molten led them out of the hall and into the chilling air of the evening. It surprised him to find his silver Audi at the end of the concrete steps in front of them.

“How?—” he asked, looking to Zion.

Zion smiled. “Teleportation is a great power,” he said.

Molten smiled and shook his head. “Of course,” he joked. They started down the steps, Zion’s hand still in Molten’s. They parted at the end of them, Molten went for the driver’s seat while Zion went for the passenger side. Once they were settled in their seats—and Molten had put on his shades—Molten drove off, the sound of loose gravel under the three filling the silence as he drove down the long driveway, down to the silver gates, guarded constantly by two guards, who were anthropomorphic pegasi, ponies or unicorns. The sound of the crunching gravel was muted as Molten drove onto the tarmac road that was lined on both sides by tall oak trees.

*-*-*-*

“Do your worst,” Zion said. They were playing twenty questions as he sat across from Molten, and the small LED fairy lights dangling above them gave the white tablecloth a warm amber glow. He dug his sundae spoon into the raspberry ripple ice-cream of the Smarties sundae sat in between the two. It was their shared-dessert after Molten’s curry and Zion’s pasta. Zion had given Molten a glamour that would hide his horns from equine view.

“What’s your surname?” Molten asked as Zion scooped the ice-cream into his mouth.

“Surnames.” Zion corrected. “My full name is Zion Lindsay Baird Zirnen.” He said, picking a Smartie from the whipped cream that was left on the sundae—though very little was left, and Molten still insisted on keeping it until last.

Molten tilted his head. “How posh.” He said, mocking a posh English accent. Zion snorted at the accent and went for another spoonful of the cold dessert.

Zion thought to himself for a moment. “Why do you wear shades while performing?”

Molten smiled. “Did Mona ask you to ask me that?” He asked, brushing aside some of his bangs.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Zion shrugged, smiling as he got in another spoonful.

Molten shook his head. “I have this awkward eye condition. My eyes are sensitive to light and I find my blue fire pretty bright, especially in the dark. I also just wear them so not many know my true self.(I)” he explained, scraping his spoon around the glass sundae bowl, getting the last of the cream and Smarties and swallowed it down.

The two sat and talked for several more minutes. Discussing different topics: the contrast of royal life to middle class life; their favourite or more memorable childhood memories; and different facts about Roania and Wyrmia.

“So Shovania is a state,” Zion said, putting one forefinger on the other, “a city,” he unfurled his middle finger, “and a town?” He finished unfurling his ring finger.

“Yeah, pretty much. The town is a few miles from the edge of the city. I grew up in the town, but now I live more inward.” Molten explained. He saw a waitress pass behind Zion. He waved slightly to get her attention. She moved closer to the couple. “Can we have the bill, please?” He asked. The waitress nodded and moved off.

“So do we split it, or what?” Zion asked.

“I’ve got it,” Molten said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

The waitress walked back to them. She had dark fur and a set of dark wings on her back; she had white hair and her eyes were hazel. “Your bill has been paid, sir” she said, a bright smile on her face.

“By who?” Zion looked to Molten and Molten looked to Zion.

“By Mr Arryn Lindsay,” she said. Then she took up the sundae glass bowl and the plate beneath it.

After she walked away Zion looked to Molten. “That’s a surprise,” Zion said, thinking why his sire would have done such a thing.

Molten drained the last of his Pinot Noir from his wineglass. “Yeah, but it must be a good sign, right? I mean, he wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t happy with our relationship,” Molten said, twisting the glass in between his thumb and forefinger. “And he seems to have a persona.”

Zion nodded in agreement and smiled—though he still couldn’t figure out why his sire paid the bill, and how he even did it—and finished his own glass of wine. “Ready?” He asked. Molten nodded and stood up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. They made their way out of the restaurant—they had to duck under the fairy lights every so often to get out of the restaurant.

Finally, they arrived in the cold air of the late evening. It was a little past 9:30 and sun had yet to fully set. They stood outside the restaurant for a moment, taking in the drop in temperature.

“I want to take you somewhere,” Zion said, putting his hand in Molten’s.

“Lead the way,” he said. Zion walked north, his hand still in Molten’s. Molten was wary of anyone seeing through his glamour and was worried about what would happen after. But it seemed to hold and kept his horns hidden.

Zion led Molten to an enormous park, with a pond, a stream and a path was a loop. The inner part of the park was grass or flowerbeds, while the outer area was all trees of birch and ash. Right in the middle there was a small humpback bridge with a pond on either side of it. Zion brought Molten onto the path, his hand still in his. He brought Molten down the path, their footsteps accompanying them all the way. He led Molten into the forest around the park. They walked in between trees for what felt like several minutes until they came near an arch made of willow branches and covered in ivy growing wildly around the arch and trees nearby. Beyond the arch was a rose bed, an abandoned fountain, and a small bench.

Molten looked around, feeling blessed to be in this place. After walking through the arch, Zion split from Molten and moved into the centre of the clearing. He shifted to his anthropomorphic unicorn form. He stood there for a moment and called upon his magic. His horn glowed gold and a bunch of small orbs floated in front of him off the ground. The words then expanded into one large cocoon and two smaller ones of gold light. These then became a rolled-up blanket and four pillows grouped in two. They all fell by Zion’s feet. Molten made his way over.

“Teleportation?” He asked, curious.

“Yep,” Zion replied as he unrolled the blanket, a gold ring was at the base of his horn and his finger made a circling motion, unfurling the blanket. When the blanket was almost done, Zion turned to Molten and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him into a deep kiss which Molten melted right into. Zion leaned back, hanging onto Molten for a moment before ending the kiss and standing back up. Molten opened his eyes slowly and smiled.

Zion smiled back at him and hesitantly pulled his hand. “Do you wanna stargaze?” He asked.

Molten smiled and nodded.

They sat on the blanket for a moment, looking at the roses ahead, for no apparent reason. A soft breeze blew and Zion rubbed his arms. Molten put his jacket on his shoulders, Zion looked to him.

“You looked cold,” he said honestly.

Zion smiled and leaned on Molten’s shoulder and let out a happy sigh. “Ready for me to show off?”