#its raining pouring good but also i need sun i am a plant without sun bring me back my outside sun time please

[pallaspally]

getting enrichment in my enclosure by eating grapes with chopsticks

[allthingskakashi]

8 please🥺🥺🥺

• Under Grey Skies •

[ Kakashi x Reader] // 3k

Fluff Prompt : “No, like... it’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes” // Kakashi x Reader

A/n: This was supposed to be "short" but i unfortunately do not comprehend that word. Dunno what that is mate never heard of it, and i also haven't written in a month and have become quite rusty so here i hope you enjoy this 3k worded hot pile of stinking poo 👍🏼😃

When you left your house at 10 am this morning, the skies were clear as glass. No clouds in sight, and a brightly glowing Sun perched high overhead. That was the very reason you’d chosen today to get done with your errands, the hundreds of errands you’d been putting off for weeks now.

Not so surprisingly however, fate had been pulling a dirty prank on you. Soon after you left the house, dark grey splotches appeared across the sky, engulfing the sunny rays and shortly afterwards, the streets began to ring with the sound of splattering rain.

So here you are now, standing on the roadside under the shed of Ichiraku Ramen with a hand full of heavy bags, watching the thundering rains which show no sign of stopping any time soon. You are unquestionably without an umbrella, and the handles of the big brown bags in your hands are beginning to leave painful red lines across your palms.

You have no idea how long this wretched rain will go on for and by the looks of it, you’re in for a long haul, so you decide that you might as well make yourself comfortable.

Letting out a loud sigh and muttering a string of expletives under your breath, you put your bags down on the counter of the ramen shop. Your stomach grumbles as you take a seat on one of stools, your eyes falling upon the menu chart stuck to the wall, with names of all sorts of ramen variants written on it, complete with matching bright pictures alongside.

Hot ramen. That sounds so good right now.

But taking a peek inside your purse, you’re met with disappointment. You’d only come out with enough money for your errands and with what you have left, the best you can get is one candy. And not even the good kind.

You sit waiting with your drenched clothes sticking to your body, drops of water rolling down from the tips of your hair to your lap. Out ahead, the rain is creating puddles of water on the street, and you watch the rush of pedestrians hurrying to get home, eager to avoid ending up in your state.

If it weren’t for all these bags, you might have been able to do the same.

Someone runs past you, sending a big splash of water to your feet as you retreat further into your stool, letting out another sigh.

Of course, this happens to me.

Your plan was to finish all your errands and pick up some stuff for lunch. Your busy schedule hadn’t allowed you to cook yourself a nice meal in a long time and you really wanted to use this weekend off to cook yourself something delicious, have a glass of wine, read a book and relax within the comfort of your home. The home which you barely got to spend any time in these days. But of course, you’re stuck out in the streets in the pouring rain instead.

You remain sitting for you’re not sure how long. The streets have long cleared up. The same however cannot be said for the rain, which has only grown worse in the past half an hour. You’re frustrated out of your mind, counting sheep in your head when suddenly, the frame of a familiar figure on the road catches your eye. Your heart instinctively does a flip at the sight of the silver haired man, who seems to be walking towards you in slow, careless saunter.

You feel the panic in your throat rise and steadily grow into a lump. This day has been horrible enough already, without the disaster of Kakashi seeing you in this pitiful state to add to it. You’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of him more times than you’d like to admit, thanks to your awkward, clumsy self and you don’t need it again, especially not today. There’s just something about Kakashi that makes the wiring in your brain go completely haywire, causing you to end up acting like an imbecile every single time you're around him.

You straighten up in your stool as you see him nearing, tucking a clump of wet hair behind your ear as the thud inside your heart grows louder and louder with each of his approaching steps. But before you’re able to steady your breath, he’s right outside the shop, lifting the white banner to let himself in.

“Y/n?” he exclaims, folding his umbrella and shaking it off as takes your sight in. “What are you doing out here in the rain?”

He’s standing closer to you than your heart can take and you clear your throat before answering.

“Oh, I just… came out for errands and didn’t anticipate the rain.” You say, rolling your eyes and glancing at the cluster of bags behind you. You watch his eyes dart towards them before returning to you. “You look like you did, though” you say, pointing at the umbrella in his hand with a smile.

He looks down, shaking his head, “Ah, that’s just my ninken. They have a nose for this sort of thing, so they let me know beforehand.” He says, returning your smile.

You watch the way his mask creases as he smiles, the air surrounding you falling into a comfortable silence as you watch him in awe, a stupid grin plastered across your face. It almost feels like you’re having a moment, and it could’ve been a good one, had your stomach not let out a loud, hungry growl in the middle of it.

Your demeanour changes immediately, the grin on your face receding as your eyebrows shoot up and you feel a warm rush creep its way to your cheeks.

Kakashi lets out a chuckle, looking otherwise unaffected. “It seems like you’re hungry.” he says, stating the obvious.

“Yeah, I uh…” you fumble, averting your eyes to avoid looking at him, “didn’t have breakfast today.”

“Well, come on then.” Kakashi replies flatly, nodding his head towards the direction of the street. Beyond him, the clouds are grumbling, the rain still falling in a steady splatter.

You look up at his words, the thud in your heart making itself known once again. “Come… where?”

He looks at you as if you asked him what the color of grass is.

“Well you didn’t think I was gonna leave you out here, did you?” he asks, his tone implying that you shouldn’t even have thought of such a stupid question.

“Well i was actually pretty much preparing to spend the night here today” you reply with a relieved chuckle, before jumping down from your stool.

"Sorry to spoil your plans, then" he says and you turn around, reaching for the bags on the counter but Kakashi gets to them before you. “Let me” he interjects, pulling the heavy bags down from the counter as if they were cotton.

“You take this” he commands, holding the umbrella out to you as he distributes your bags evenly between each of his hands.

In spite of the somersaults that your stomach is making inside your body, you feel pretty grateful to have run into him.

“I have to say, I’m kind of glad you came along” you say, flashing him a big grin and watching his eyes beam with a shy smile as you take the umbrella from him, turning around to face the rain outside, which all of a sudden, doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

Kakashi stands close behind you as you stretch out the umbrella and hold it above your heads, both of you stepping out onto the wet slippery street.

You balance it high enough so it covers Kakashi’s head and make your way ahead, trying your best not to step into any puddles.

“My place is just around the corner” he remarks, crouching ever so slightly and nestling close to you to fit himself under the umbrella. “We’ll be there within five minutes.”

That’s a damn shame is what you want to say, but instead, you just nod.

The umbrella is too small for the both of you to be cramped under, and you can’t help the constant bumping of your arms with each alternate step.

Every nerve in your body is high on alert, exceedingly aware of Kakashi’s proximity to you and with every light brush of his bare forearm against yours, you feel a shiver run through your skin, the hair in your arm standing up in consequence. You wonder if Kakashi can feel it, but you suppose even if he did, it could just be blamed on the strong gusts of cold wind.

“The rain is kind of beautiful though, isn’t it?” you interrupt, more to distract yourself than anything else.

Kakashi turns his face, peering down at you as his mouth drawls into a slow smile. “It sure is.” he says, and it almost feels like he wants to add something more, but he doesn’t.

Raindrops pound heavily down on the umbrella covering you, its rhythmic sound matching the beats of your own heart. You continue walking without exchanging any more words, the silence between you cut only by the rain, your heartbeat and the squeaky noise of your slippers.

You put all your concentration into fixating your gaze on the ground, attempting not only to make sure you avoid an embarrassing slip or a fall, but to ignore the little voice in your head. The voice that has constantly been whispering into your ears, planting all sorts of seeds in your mind about what it would be like, to just reach your hand out right now and grip Kakashi’s hand, which is so so close to you, intertwining his long fingers with yours.

You shake your head, shoving the temptation away and look up at Kakashi, scooting closer to ensure you don’t push him out into the rain.

For someone cramped under a small umbrella in the heavy rain, carrying another person’s bags, you notice that he looks quite…unbothered. Up this close, you cannot help observing how beautiful his eyelashes are, and you resist, for the hundredth time, the urge to press yourself against him and litter his face with kisses.

Your reverie is broken, and thankfully so by the sound of his voice. “We’re here”, he says, stopping in front of an old building and pushing open the small iron gate with his foot, stepping aside to let you in first.

You might be making this up, but you think you heard him sound almost disappointed.

You gaze up at the white four storeyed building in front of you. The jounin headquarters. Being a chunnin yourself, you’ve never been here before. And until today, you never thought you would any time soon, especially under this kind of a circumstance.

Stepping inside under the shade, you close the umbrella, finding yourself wishing that the jounin quarters weren’t quite so close by. Kakashi follows in after you with the bags and the both of you make your way up a long winding staircase. The metal bannister looks rusty, like it hasn’t been furnished in a long time. You climb up three flights of stairs, before stopping outside a door on the fourth floor.

Looking around, you notice that there are two more doors other than Kakashi’s on this floor, but they seem to be unoccupied. Your damp clothes cling to your skin and you can feel a small chill run through you.

“I feel kind of bad, intruding upon you like this” you say, rubbing your arms and waiting as Kakashi scours his pocket for the keys. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Just a lonely afternoon”, he answers reassuringly, before jamming a key into the lock and pushing the door open.

“Come on in”, he says as you step inside, taking the view of his living room in and telling yourself again and again that you really are in Kakashi Hatake’s apartment. It’s a small one, but well maintained and with minimal clutter. Behind you, Kakashi hangs his wet vest on a hook in the wall and keeps your bags down on the floor.

“y/n you’re shivering”, he says in a concerned tone, looking up at your shuddering body dripping water all over his floor.

“Shit! I’m so sorry, I’m making such a mess” you say, noticing the small puddle of water that has formed near your feet. “Do you have a towel or anything I could wipe this off with?” you ask, your face borrowing the look of an apologetic dog who’s made a mess on the carpet.

“Leave all that to me” Kakashi says, waving you off and guiding you towards his bathroom by your shoulders. “Go take a hot shower and get changed into some warm clothes. Can’t have a shinobi of the Leaf fall sick under my watch.”

His tone is enough to make you melt into a mush and you comply, stepping into his bathroom as he disappears into another room. “Towels are in the shelf!” you hear him yell as you study his bathroom cabinet. Like his living room, his bathroom cabinet is also devoid of any clutter and only occupied by the bare essentials.

You turn the switch to the geyser on, waiting for the water to get hot as Kakashi reappears in the doorway, clutching a pair of his clothes. “Here”, he says, holding the clothes out to you. “I suppose they will be a little loose on you, but—”

“It’s perfect.”, you cut him off. “Thank you, Kakashi. I’m really… I’m really thankful for this.” You say, taking the clothes from him.

“It’s no big deal” he smiles. “I’ll be outside” he says and you nod, closing the door.

The water is just the right amount of warm and you take a blissful shower, the bliss of the moment only intensified by the realisation that you, Y/n, are really in Kakashi Hatake’s house. Not just in his house, but also in his bathroom, using his towels and wearing his clothes.

You wipe yourself dry, hanging your discarded clothes on the rack beside an already hanging trouser and slip yourself into the fresh pair of clothes. It’s a baggy grey t shirt and navy blue trousers, both quite loose against your frame. The t shirt runs past your thighs but the trousers thankfully have strands which you have tied tightly enough, so you hope they won’t slip down any time soon.

You catch a glimpse of your face in the cabinet mirror and find yourself glowing. But more than your skin, it’s probably your heart giving you that glow. You pull the shirt up to your nose, inhaling the smell in. It smells just like you thought Kakashi would. Comforting… familiar, like something that makes you feel at home. Like the smell of crayons from your childhood, or freshly baked cookies.

Smiling to yourself and revelling in the pure comfort and warmth of his clothes, you step out, fanning your wet hair out with your hand

A delicious smell hits your nose almost immediately, and you’re reminded of how completely starved you are.

You step further into the dining area, and find Kakashi in the kitchen adjacent to it, doing something on the gas. You notice that he’s changed into a pair of fresh clothes too, and seeing him in anything other than his uniform for the first time makes something flip inside you.

He turns around, his eyes lighting up immediately as he catches sight of you. You watch him look you up and down, before breaking into a boyish chuckle.

“What?” you ask confused, looking at him and then down at yourself. “Oh crap, I’m wearing the shirt inside out, Jesus!” you say, huffing as you attempt to make a turn back towards the bathroom.

“Oh, no that’s not it” you hear Kakashi object behind you, shaking his head.

You stop at the sound of his voice, turning around as he speaks. “I wasn’t laughing at you. Although… you do look a little funny”

You narrow your eyes at Kakashi and he raises his hands up in defence. “Just a little!” he protests as you make an eyeroll in reply, before pressing on. “What is it, then?”

You watch his muscles tense up ever so slightly, as he flips something on the pan a few times before looking back at you, his dark eyes sombre.

“No, like...” he fumbles, “it’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.” He says softly.

You feel a warm rush of blood creep up to your cheeks as you look down, burning under the intensity of his gaze. Your fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt as you scour your brain to come up with something, anything to say.

Thankfully for you, the oven timer dings, attracting his attention away from you and putting you out of your quandary.

“What’s that?” you ask, drawing nearer to him to take a peek at everything he seems to have strewn about on the kitchen counter.

His words still ring at the back of your mind, lying in a thick cloak around you, making your heart beat faster than it usually does, even around him.

“It’s nothing much, you were hungry, so…I just whipped something up.” he says, but judging by the smell, you’re pretty sure that it’s nothing he has “just whipped up”.

“It smells delicious, Kakashi”, you say, almost feeling yourself choking up. You cannot recall the last time someone had prepared a meal for you. And now, here you are, standing in Kakashi Hatake’s kitchen, and he had not only saved your pitiful ass from the rain and invited you to his house and let you shower at his place but he had also cooked a meal for you. For YOU, with his own two hands.

You feel your stomach twisting and turning in all sorts of ways, but it’s not just the hunger. It’s something else and the realisation dawns upon you that if it’d mean ending up in Kakashi’s kitchen in this way again, you’d gladly be stranded in the cold rain out on the streets a thousand times over, and then a hundred more.

His voice breaks you out of your trance for the second time that day and you look up at him, his beautiful face formed into the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. He holds a hand out, gesturing towards the table where he seems to have carefully laid out two plates.

“Come on, let’s eat?” he says, and you follow along, thanking the universe silently in your heart for making it rain today.

[brainrot-the-frog]

Moments in time | Hashira

《Imagines》 《Inspired by KNY Imagines [to the moon] on Tumblr》

This post contains spoilers for Kimetsu No Yaiba/Demon slayer!

《6:02, AM》 《Mitsuri Kanroji》

You chuckled as you felt sweet kisses tickle your neck up to your jaw.

"Mitsuri! We must get up!"

You said with barely any force behind your words, truly, you didn't want to leave your bed, you didn't want to have to leave Mitsuri either. 

And man did she know that. 

She subtly held and pinned your hands as she continued to kiss you. Her lips connected with every bit of skin on your face and neck, until finally, her lips made contact with yours.

One word. It took one word for you to completely give in and be at her mercy. She gave you a kiss so tender you forgot to breathe, she inched her lips to your ears and whispered smoothly,

"Stay..."

《7:34, AM》《Shinobu Kochou》

"You need to slow down! You're going to choke!"

Shinobu yelled as she flailed her arms in front of your figure, you were downing every rice ball, oatmeal, eggs, and meat on the table you shared. You were beyond hungry for whatever reason, and Shinobu merely watched blankly as you began to choke violently.

"My, my, what did I tell you?" She huffed before expertly delivering pressure to your stomach and in one extra push, the piece of food escaped your mouth. You began panting in a crouched form, with your lover crouched in front of you with a hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you so much... I'm sorry for not listening...." you said as Shinobu offered you a glass of water. You let out a much needed exhale as you drank it all.

"My~ you'd truly be dead without me hm?"

"I would." The two of you chuckled until suddenly you inched closer, Shinobu gave the smile of a vixen before swiftly connecting her lips with yours. She cupped your face and deepened the kiss until you departed for air.

"But to be frank...." she stroked your cheek lovingly and gave you a genuine smile only you were capable of getting from her.

"I wouldn't be able to live without you too..."

《9:15, AM》《Sanemi Shinazugawa》

"Oi Sanemi! I've brought you some ohagi!" You grinned as you held a plate of ohagi in your hands. You realized Sanemi was training and thought it would be a nice treat.

"Took you long enough..." he sat down next to you and gratefully took the treat and downed it with ease.

You chuckled in seeing the little bits of ohagi remains on the outskirts of his mouth.

"Why the hell are you laughing? What's so funny?" You covered your mouth to suppress a snicker, though it still urked Sanemi for the sudden secrecy.

"Whatever.." he glared slightly.

"I want another one.." Sanemi leaned in your direction, not noticing the fact your eyes were on his lips. Swiftly you took a small bite of the ohagi in your hands before planting your lips on Sanemi's.

His eyes grew wide in suprise, the sweet decadent taste of the dessert amplified the effect of your lips, Sanemi was reduced to a vulnerable shell as you pressed on. You departed for air, your eyes opened slowly to see the surprised face of your lover.

"I think...." you licked your lips.

"I made the ohagi too sweet again," you cooed slyly.

《11:54, AM》《Kyojuro Rengoku》

"You must hone your body to become the best version of yourself! I believe in you!!" Kyojuro remained enthusiastic even at the sight of your sweating, slightly dead body panting a storms worth.

"EASY FOR YOU TO SAY! NO MATTER WHAT VERSION YOU'RE STILL THE BEST!" His eyes went wider, much to your surprise. He smiled a soft, and loving smile you couldn't look away from no matter how bright.

"I believe in you okay? I know you think I'm going hard on you but that's because I know you're destined for greatness. But I understand that forcing you will not help... you may train at your own pace, I still believe in you no matter what." You swear your heart leaped to your throat as he said each word like honey, his loving eyes and smile were toppings on the cake.

"Y-you.." you were at a loss for words at the short vulnerable moment Kyojuro had given to you without much thought.

"I love you so much.." you embraced him, he smiled as you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

"No matter what happens I will love you always."

You remember him saying as you wiped your tears into the familiar white haori decorated with flames.

《1:30, PM》《Muichiro Tokito》

"Are you thinking about him again?" Muichirou rested at your side, you hugged the white haori tighter as he put his arm around your shoulder.

"I miss him too, I really do. But he wouldn't want you to mourn him. He'd want you to be strong and become the best version of yourself..." he rested his head on your shoulder as he sighed.

"But for me... I'm fine with your mourning, crying, and sadness..  I don't want you to bottle your emotions, I want them to be free without constraint, without judgement...." he trailed off his words... his eyes now viewing the sun rays outside.

"Come.." he softly lifted you up, his hand giving you support to walk. As the light came into view you were stunned by the warmth of the sun. It came down upon you as if you were a stranded boat in a violent sea, feeding you with peace and hope.

Like he did.

"Thank you Muichirou..." you kissed his cheek and laid your head on his shoulder.

"Anything for you..." you didn't know it..

But he needed just as much comfort as you did.

《4:42, PM》《Iguro Obanai》

"Kaburamaru.. what're you doing here?" The Ivory serpent head butted your cheek, a small hiss escaping its mouth, as if they were trying to tell you something.

"Where's Iguro?" Kaburamaru wrapped around your lifted arm, you felt a slight pull at it coming from the snake. You trudged forward as you sang a soft tune, your plan was to visit Iguro anyway, so Kaburamaru's arrival was anything but an interruption.

You found yourself at the entrance of his estate, you knew well that he probably would be sleeping by now, you also knew that the Snake Pillar usually sleeps on tree branches.

It didn't take you long to find him since his black and white haori was an eyecatcher in the crowd of brown and green.

You stared upward at his sleeping face, Kaburamaru left your arm and slithered to Iguro's. That movement wasn't enough to wake him though, but you knew what was.

"I–Gu–Ro~!" You trudged up, and you were just able to to meet your face with his, you kissed the cloth that covered his lips, you felt him lean forward into the lip lock as his eyes began to open.

"Good morning.." he yawned.

"It's 4 o' clock silly!"

《6:56, PM》《Gyomei Himejima》

"I must ask... why do you choose to hang around me like this?" Gyomei asked, the two of you were sat outside near a lake. You were being hugged from behind by Gyomei.

"Because you're always working! I never get time with you!" You heard a chuckle as deep as the ocean, Gyomei rested his head on yours.

"I have a duty, as a Pillar, I must work twice as hard. You understand, no?" You sighed as you leaned into his embrace, his touch brought you peace albeit your thoughts were anything but. You had to talk about them.

"You need time for yourself, you need to work at your own pace and not do anything so taxing.. I know you're one of the most strongest humans alive, but even you have a limit, I'm telling you about this because I care about you.." You turned around to face him, his mouth was slightly ajar, he didn't expect you to say that. Ever.

Tears. Suddenly he was tearing up, your first instict was to wipe them away however they poured and poured.

"I–I understand.. perhaps.. I could treat myself to some peace... with you?" He didn't even have to ask. You smiled, then passionately kissed him.

"I love you.." you whispered out to him.

"I love you too."

《8:21, PM》 《Giyuu Tomioka》

"Ouch!" You hissed as Giyuu carefully rubbed healing ointment on your wounded arm. He tried to be as gentle as possible however it still stung.

"This is why I told you not to stray so far," he said blankly, but you could sense the undertones of worry as well as the boiling frustration that began to grow.

"I wasn't aware of the other Kizuki's presence, I didn't expect the demons to be together at all—" You grunted in pain as Giyuu tightened the bandages on your arm.

"Which is why I told you not to be so reckless and idiotic! You fail to understand your own limits! I hate it!" You swore that if he kept tightening the bandages, he'd rip up a dozen more injuries.

"G–Giyuu! Stop it!" You gasped as you retreated your arm, you could visibly see the veins in your arms.

"I–" his eyes went wide as he realized what he had just done. "I'm so sorry– please forgive me–!" You tackle hugged him to the floor, without thought his arms wrapped around your waist, enveloping you in a tight warm embrace.

"I know you're frustrated, and I understand you only did that out of worry.. but you have to understand I'm not so fragile and soft, Giyuu. However, you are one of the only people that can make me that way... I did what I did, so you didn't have to." There was silence as you cupped his face with your hands. You let out a sad smile at the sight of his eyes. Dark, but filled with so much emotion.

"I can't lose you, I won't lose anyone else.." he whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere," you softly gave him a kiss, the feel of your lips reducing him to a baby.

"No matter what happens, I will love you always."

《11:11, PM》 《Tengen Uzui》

"why are you up so late?" 

Tengen came up from behind you and kissed your shoulder, you smiled as his hands were carefully placed on your once cold ones. You were staring back at the glowing moon, its breathtaking shine rained down upon the two of you. Making the moment even sweeter.

"I believe this is the time of night where one makes a wish." You turned to give Tengen a kiss before looking back at the moon.

"Oh? Have you thought of any wishes?" He asked, holding you tighter.

"Hm.. maybe to be more flamboyant?" You smiled in seeing the look of utter bewilderment your husband gave you.

"You are the love of my life! So naturally you have reached maximum flamboyance! You're wasting your wish Love! Think of another!" You giggled like a child. 

You loved and cherished every moment you've spent with the man beside you, but you also cherished the time you've spent with the others.

Slowly but surely, the answer came to you.

.

"I wish to spend every moment in time, with the ones I love."

(I'm bringing all of my old works from my Quotev to Tumblr! It'll take a while since I've written a lot!)

[merryfortune]

champagne coloured

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #95 Champagne

Ship: Sully/Sumia

Fandom: Fire Emblem Awakening

Word Count: 1,476

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Proposals

   Sumia squealed with laughter as Sully gave the reins a good stir. The horse they shared, a beautiful darling with a free spirit and a champagne coloured coat, gave a buck. Its excitement roused by how Sully commanded it, it huffed and snorted as it continued to race through the countryside.

   Sumia’s arms tightened their embrace around Sully’s midsection. She was stocky and warm, it made Sumia smile as she buried her face against Sully’s back, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the ride. She felt the sun on her back and every rock to the horse’s gallop.

   No matter the time of day or how frequently she rode, Sumia never got sick or bored of the sensation of riding a horse or pegasus. In tandem, sitting in the saddle behind Sully, she could never tire or grow dull of that. She adored spending time with her beloved, being whisked away over hills and moors that she would not typically explore by herself or with her own mount.

   The picnic basket that Sumia had packed rattled and jangled against the saddle. Her stomach growled, too. It felt like they had only been out and adventuring the verdant countryside for a handful of minutes but maybe it had been a lot longer than Sumia had guessed. Enraptured by the fun and excitement truly made it last, Sumia felt. She tapped Sully’s shoulder and Sully turned her head slightly.

   “Hankering for lunch, are ya?” sully asked, her voice razed by the wind that they were dashing through.

   “I am a little peckish.” Sumia replied.

   “Don’t worry ‘bout it, there’s a lovely little gully nearby. We’ll set up camp there.” Sully assured her.

   Sumia beamed, “I can’t wait to see it then.”

   “Heck yeah,” Sully raucously replied, “c’mon boy, giddy up, we’re almost at our rest stop, bud.”

   She gave the reins another jostle and then held them back tight to warn her horse not to over exert itself. Sumia felt the pace shift and took the time to lean out over the side of the horse. She watched as more of the landscape became known to her. Clean, trickling creeks and mossy trees on their banks choked and cluttered with all sorts of blooming wildflowers. All whilst under a demure and cloudy blue-grey sky.

   Sully had the horse halt up ahead and dismounted with ease - and all without giving Sumia an accidental smack with her leg, too. She tied the reins to a branch and pet the nose of her companion mount, whispering to him that he get his rest whilst she and Sumia had their lunch.

   Sumia dismounted next. Her foot tangled with one of the stirrups and so, her awkward dismount ended in a flop. Sully screeched and Sumia whined that she was fine, even though she had face-planted into the soft ground. At least it was soft.

   “Are you okay?” Sully asked as she helped Sumia to her feet.

   “Y-Yeah,” Sumia brokenly replied as she tried to wipe dirt off her face, “its very cushiony here.” She even bounced on her heel to emphasise.

   “Yeah, unexpected benefit of all that good rain we’ve had recently, I s’pose.” Sully replied.

   Under the discarded and swatted away muck, Sumia did look fine. No broken nose or anything, not even a busted lip or a little bit of blood. Sully sighed with relief but she decided to unhitch the picnic basket from the saddle instead of Sumia, lest she drop it, too, or worse. Sumia didn’t mind, she appreciated the courtesy and instead pulled the rolled up blanket free from where it had been fixed upon the saddle.

   Sumia trotted around inquisitively as she looked for a good spot to unveil the blanket - it was thick and tartan, and was unlikely to get messy anywhere regardless of where it was placed - but she still wanted to choose the best spot. The best spot, she decided, was adjacent to the tree that Sully had affixed their horse to. She sprawled it out and as soon as the fabric settled on the ground, Sully plopped down the picnic basket, popping it open.

   “Let’s dig in, eh?” Sully asked.

   “Sounds good.” Sumia smiled.

   She knelt down softly and perched herself upon the blanket. Sully’s hand fished through the contents of the picnic basket: Sumia had packed them both a verifiable feast. Sandwiches, pies, and fancy looking drinks, too. Sully could hardly choose where to start. However, given that Sumia had chosen a sandwich first, Sully thought to do the same thing.

   Sully tucked into mashed egg sandwiches and cold meat sandwiches, too. At least three at a time and ate with much gusto. Sumia could hardly eat her own as she was so entranced by the enthusiasm that Sully had for the food that Sumia had made for them both. All her hard work was most certainly satisfied by watching Sully so eagerly eat. So, not wanting to be left behind in Sully’s crumbs before she charged onto the second course of the dessert pies that Sumia had made, Sumia made some effort to eat at least half as heartily as Sully.

   Somewhere in between the sandwiches and pies, they also poured themselves some drinks that Sumia had brewed herself. Cold tea with sparkling water, flavoured with all her favourite berries and fruits. It was all so very delicious, bright and vivacious.

   Sumia had done well to pack just enough food between them to leave them more than content. Sully laid down by the empty basket and bottles of drink, staring up at the sky. Though it was murky with clouds, there didn’t seem to be a hint of rain. It was just dim but cosy, only in the way big, thick clouds of white and grey could be. All because here and there, great shafting sunbeams peeked out from behind those blanketing clouds like glimpses of heaven.

   Sumia laid down beside Sully as well. She stole a glance at Sully and slowly inched her hand closer to Sully’s. Their pinkie fingers entwined. Sully beamed whilst Sumia felt the pitter-patter of her heartbeat increase. Even Sully’s pinkie finger felt sturdy and tough, just like the rest of her, it was comforting.

   “D’you think there’ll be a good harvest this spring?” Sully asked.

   “I would hope so. We’ve had a good winter for it.” Sumia replied.

   “Yeah, I think so, too.” Sumia agreed. “I reckon I’ll give a hand where needed. Its nice, this peacetime thing.”

   “It really is.” Sumia murmured.

   “Then, when everything’s done an’ dusted, we’ve put down all the shears and reaped all what we’ve sown, we’ll have more food than we’ll know what to do with, don’t ya think?” Sully asked but her question sounded rhetorical.

   Sumia only hummed there, letting Sully continue to speak her stream of consciousness as she admired the sky.

   “Since we’ll have so much food, and everyone’ll be so tired, I think having a huge shindig with all the Shepherds would go down a treat.” Sully said.

   Sumia shifted her head slightly, her eyes were sparkling, “Just for the occasion of a good harvest?” 

   “Nah.” Sully replied and she turned her head too, her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “The occasion will be a wedding. Ours. Whaddya think? Sumia, will you do me the absolute honour of being my wife?”

   Sumia felt every nerve in her body alight. She propped herself up, reefing her hand from Sully but Sully got up as well. She smiled a cheeky smile whilst her other hand rummaged through a pack at her rear, attached to her belt. She pulled out a little black-purple pouch of velvet and there was only one thing inside of it. 

   Sully offered the ring to Sumia, “Well?” she prompted her.

   “Well, what? Of course, I’m going to say yes, dummy.” Sumia replied, tears of joy already spilling out the side of her eyes as she embraced Sully into the biggest embrace of either of their lives - and hard enough to crack Sully’s spine by the feel of it.

   Sully laughed from the bottom of her belly and she hugged Sumia back, keeping a careful hold on the ring. It was just a plain little band of champagne coloured gold. It didn’t have a gem atop it nor did it have any inscriptions. It didn’t need anything like that and neither did Sumia or Sully. The way Sully saw it, it was going to get beaten and scuffed by everything Sumia did with her hands, thereby imbuing it with a lifetime of love better than any jewel could ever signify.

   Slowly, Sumia let go and she gave her hand to Sully. Her eyes were soft but determined as she slipped the ring onto Sumia’s finger. It was a perfect fit and Sumia’s thrilled expression was one that Sully would sooner die than forget.

[dawnscngs]

GENSHIN AU / VOICELINES: WILLIAM JAMES MORIARTY

Name: William James Moriarty

Vision: haha, what vision? (Pyro)

Weapon: Sword, hidden within his walking cane— which he does not actually need. Can also wield firearms, but does not have a preference for them.

Constellation: Flos Sanguinum

Nation: Fontaine.

Affiliation: The Lord of Crime / The Moriarty Family

Occupation: Professor, Vigilante Mastermind

Special Dish: Red Velvet Cupcakes

Blurb.

A young professor from an affluent family. He does not charge for his lessons and accepts students from all walks of life. Beneath the veil of propriety, however, William is a vital piece of an underground network known collectively as ‘The Lord of Crime’. This organization deals in information, as well as punishing those who the law cannot or does not touch.

Voicelines.

Hello:  William James Moriarty, at your service. In addition to teaching mathematics, I also run a consulting service. It’s quite lovely to meet you-- Should you find yourself in need of assistance, feel free to seek me out.

Chat - Sleep:  Hm...? Oh-- Yes, I am quite alright. Excuse me for drifting off, I’m afraid I didn’t get much sleep last night.

Chat - Tea:  This? It’s a blend of Darjeeling with strawberry and hibiscus; I’m quite fond of it. Allow me to pour a cup for you.

Chat - Class:  Ah, you’re just in time for my next lecture. You’re welcome to stay for the lesson, if you’d like.

When it rains:  Ahh, how dreary. Still, the smell of rain is quite nice. What do you say we find some shelter and enjoy the weather from inside?

When the sun is out:  My, what a lovely day. Perfect for a walk, don’t you think?

When lightning strikes:  As fond as I am of the sound of thunder, I would prefer to avoid its companion, if it’s all the same to you.

When it snows:  For many, winter brings only the threat of death. I’ve never been fond of the cold.

Good morning:  Oh dear, is that the sun already? It seems time has gotten away from me again... Ah, well. Breakfast?

Good afternoon:  Hello! It’s nearly my lunch hour, if you’d care to join me. I would love to hear more of your adventures.

Good evening:  What a beautiful sunset...

Good night:  You’re up a touch late, are you not? Take care not to over-exert yourself. Me? Oh, I’ll be up for quite a while yet.

About William - Ambitions:  One day, I’d love to see a world where everyone stands on equal footing. Where those who take advantage of others don’t go unpunished... Ah, but even if such a world could be built, I doubt I’ll be around to see it. Still, I’d like to help shape it, while I’m able.

About us - Distraction:  It’s nice of you to visit me so often. I suppose I don’t mind the distraction as much as I thought I would. You’re good company and speaking with you is never boring.

About us - Family:  Oh-- hang on a moment, your hair is all out of place... There we go! Ah... Forgive me, Traveler, you’re practically a part of the family, now, I’m afraid I acted on instinct.

About the vision:  Visions are a funny thing, don’t you think? I can’t imagine why an Archon would see fit to grant me such a thing, and yet...here it is all the same. Let’s keep this our secret, alright? I’d rather not lay all my cards on the table at once- you never know who’s looking.

Something to share:  I enjoy novels, but the theatre is where my heart truly lies. Have you seen anything good, recently? We should go to the Opera sometime, I hear this season is looking quite promising!

Interesting things:   I’m quite fond of the Fibonacci sequence! Did you know that in observing the geometry of plants, we often find that there are recurrent structures in the arrangement of leaves, branches, flower petals, and seeds which follow the spiral? It’s fascinating how mathematics can translate into nature.

About Louis:  Ah, Louis? It is difficult to overlook the resemblance, hm? He is my little brother. We were all the other had, once. I wish only to ensure his happiness in the future, as much as I possibly can. Although I’d rather you not tell him this, I can’t help but feel that he deserves... better than having me for a brother. Should something ever happen... might I make a selfish request of you? Check in on him from time to time. He has endless potential, he only needs the chance for it to flourish.

About Albert:  I have never known a man with even half as much willpower as Albert has in spades. Were it not for him, Louis and I would certainly be much worse for wear. He is as dear to me as my own blood, make no mistake. There is not a thing I would not do for my dear elder brother.

About Fred:  Fred is an earnest lad. Despite leading a difficult life, his heart is still good. He has a strong desire to learn and to protect those who cannot protect themselves. It’s an outstanding quality, and he is an outstanding young man. He has quite a way with flowers too, you should ask him about the garden sometime, he’s done a beautiful job. It really only shines thanks to his hard work.

About Moran:  Colonel Moran is quite a steadfast person. His ability to push through adversity is second to none. I admire that, as well as his uncanny ability to communicate and understand others without a word. He is a man who understands his own heart and lets nothing hold him back from what he needs to do, and he has been one of my dearest companions for a long time.

About Bond:  Mr. Bond has a wonderful presence, doesn’t he? I can’t help but feel that his energy brings a nice lift to this place-- I can scarcely imagine things without him, nowadays. I suppose that’s one way to know when you’ve found a family, though, hm? If you can’t see your life without them, then you should make certain to keep them close. No matter how recent an addition, James is irreplaceable.

About Jack: My father is nothing but a distant memory, now, so fogged and distorted that not even I can recall his face. Instead I will happily consider Jack as the closest I will ever get. He has taught my brothers and I all we know in terms of battle— defending ourselves and one another, and I will forever be grateful and hold him in the highest regard.

About Sherlock: Mr. Holmes is far from proper— loud, energetic, wonderfully expressive… His lack of manners is truly refreshing! When we are together, I find myself feeling more free than I have in… Well, recent memory, I suppose. His mind is something truly incredible and when he looks at me, I feel as if he really sees me, and even understands. Every moment I spend at his side is impossibly thrilling.

William’s hobbies: I love a good game of chess! Do you play? I would be happy to sit down for a match, if you’d care to humor me. Oh, this? Don’t mind it, I am simply fond of this particular Queen piece, so I trade out for her no matter the board I use.

William’s troubles: The path I’ve chosen...It will be better for everyone I love, in the long run, and yet...I fear I’ll never be able to come back from it.

Favorite food: Louis’ cooking is my favorite, without a single doubt! I find myself craving his omelets nearly every day, regardless of how far from home I may be. Everything my brother makes tastes...like home, and even if I had any talent for cooking, I would never be able to replicate it.

Least favorite food: I’m far from picky, but I’m afraid not even I consider the mistakes I make while trying to cook to be edible, even in the slightest.

Feelings about ascension - Intro: Ah? Hmm, what an interesting development...

Feelings about ascension - Building up: For the sake of everyone, I cannot stop here.

Feelings about ascension - Climax: Tempered steel is far more difficult to break. Perhaps, like this, I can truly make a difference.

Feelings about ascension - Conclusion: This power...It will all be used to shape a new day.

[gingerwritess]

Y'all I am in need of some Loki fluff. Like, pure and unadulterated fluff and cuddles and just Loki and im s t a r v e d.

mama whipped this out way too quickly for you but um i thought this would be the cutest lil scene so here, a gift just for you

okay i adulterated it a lil and it got kinda smutty but it’s mostly fluff….sorry

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Someone forgot to close the blinds before falling asleep last night.

Well…kind of understandable. Maybe you’ll let it slide considering this is the first time you’ve ever woken up to find that “someone” lying naked right next to you, hogging the sheets to keep himself somewhat decent.

Shoving your head under the pillow isn’t doing the trick and sunlight is still pouring into the room, so you groggily sit up with a yawn—oh, ouch.

Are those muscles supposed to be sore?

It’s a good sore, you think, swinging your legs off the bed and curling your toes into the carpet under the bed as you search for some clothes. Behind you, Loki is still snoring softly, an arm already laid across your side of the bed awaiting your return.

Your side of the bed…woah.

In the frenzy of passion and whatever the hell else had taken you last night, your shirt ended up in the far corner of the room, so you reach for the nearest piece of discarded clothing: oh, perfect. Loki’s shirt.

You can’t help but bite your lip with a grin and spare a glance back at the god behind you. Should you wear it? To do so seems so… childish? Stereotypical? Cliché? But the shirt, a simple button up with the sleeves still rolled up to the elbows from Loki’s completely unnecessary but completely successful attempt at seducing you, just seems like the perfect thing to cover your bare body.

Maybe he’ll like waking up to the sight.

You track down some new underwear and slip the shirt over that without a second thought, bare feet padding across the room to close to blinds. Each step sends a new jolt of pleasant aches through your legs, not enough to hurt, but just enough to serve as a perfect reminder of the lines you and Loki had crossed the night before.

Though the sunlight is illuminating the room in an incredible golden warmth, you’re not quite ready for that at this too early hour, and Loki seems to be squinting in his sleep, so you close the blinds—just for a little while longer. You peek out the window while you’re there; it’s absolutely beautiful outside. Spring is on its way now that the rains have paused and the blankets of snow have melted away, leaving behind a stunning expanse of vivid green grass, the morning dew on each blade sparkling in the glaring sun—

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more heavenly sight.”

You whirl around with a start at the gravelly sound of Loki’s voice, and sure enough, he’s woken up, propping himself up on his elbows as he stares at you with an easy half smile on his face.

“I—uh, sorry,” you whisper though there’s no reason to stay quiet. “I thought you were still—sorry, um, g’morning, Loki.”

Why do you feel so exposed? He’s staring at you and apparently doesn’t plan on stopping, and you don’t really know what to do anymore. You feel suddenly stupid for wearing his shirt; yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have done that after all, so you quickly shrug the shirt from your shoulders.

“No, no, no,” Loki sits up more fully, reaching out a hand to you. “Keep that on. Please.”

He’s sitting up against the headboard now and well, now you are staring. He still is completely unclothed, his stomach bare and too tempting, and he has the thin sheet covering his groin just barely—he moves to stand up and you gulp, for some reason not ready to see him completely exposed again.

You’re pretty sure you just need to sit down before that happens again.

“My shirt suits you, darling,” he grins and stands up, the sheet dropping away. You instinctively shoot your gaze to the ceiling and hold up a hand to block yourself from seeing anything. Stepping closer to you, Loki laughs deep in his throat and takes your outstretched hand, bringing it to his lips. “What do you think you’re doing? Aren’t we past that now?”

“S-sorry,” you mumble and force your gaze back to his face, trying not to melt under his adoring smile and how he runs his thumb along your hand. Words don’t seem to be working properly for you right now, unlike Loki’s strange ability to have himself completely composed and eloquent even having just woken up from such an extensive night.

It’s…kind of intimidating, if you’re being honest.

“So I’m nailing this whole ‘morning after’ thing, aren’t I?” You groan sarcastically and pull your hand from his grip, trudging back to the bed to flop down on it and pull a pillow over your face. “What do you even say to someone after…after that? ‘Thanks?’ ‘You were great?’"

Loki is just a little too perfect. You’ve known that the entire time you’ve been together, ever since you first kissed him. You’ve always known that you are, for lack of a better word, unworthy of his affection. So then why on earth had he just let you, some awkward little Midgardian, bed him? And why is he pretending to have enjoyed it?

You can hear him chuckling softly and feel the bed dip beside you as he resumes his place at your side, locking an arm tightly around your waist. Light floods your eyes once again when he pulls the pillow off you, pressing his lips to your cheek. “Thanks,” he whispers and you can feel him grinning. “You were great.”

“Shut up, Loki.” You keep your face squished into the mattress.

“What has my lover so troubled?” He trails his lips down the side of your neck, slipping his shirt from your shoulder to attend to the skin there, too. “You’ve bedded a god, darling. I don’t mean to sound self-righteous…” he pauses and moves back to kiss the spot on your neck he had discovered last night, the one that had made you practically melt in his arms, “…but you should feel exceptionally proud of yourself.”

“I should be proud of myself for getting in your pants?”

Loki laughs and runs his tongue over the gentle bite he just left on the curve of your neck. “That’s one way of putting it.”

You mull it over for a moment, your stomach twisting into knots at the careful attention Loki’s paying to your neck, then finally turn your head to look at him. “So you weren’t just faking it all night?”

His jaw drops with a shocked little laugh and he puts a hand to the side of your face, running his thumb along your cheek. “I would have thought this spoke for itself,” he gestures downwards with a grin and you bury your face in the mattress again.

“Come on, I’m being serious!”

“As am I!” He barrels into you then, pushing you onto your back and hovering over you in one fluid motion—you keep your eyes squeezed shut though, still not able to look him in the eye. “Why in all the nine realms would I have had to fake anything under your devilish touch?”

You open your eyes to glare at him and give him a good poke in the stomach. “God of lies.”

“And yet you never fail to bring out the truth in me.”

“Okay, Shakespeare, take it easy.”

Loki just grins and leans down to place a soft kiss on your pouting lips, and within seconds you can’t stop the blissful sigh that escapes your throat.

“What is it going to take for me to convince you?” He murmurs when he pulls away, adoring eyes searching your face, then he dips back down to steal another kiss. “I’m prepared to spend the entire day in bed until you believe me.”

Your arms wind themselves around his neck before you have a chance to stop them, holding him closer and keeping him against you, and you feel his lips curling into a proud smirk on your own. You kiss him until he darts his tongue out to try and begin round two, then plant your hands on his shoulders and shove him off of you. “A tempting offer, but I’m hungry. How about breakfast and we never talk about this again?”

He’s still scowling about being ripped from your lips, but his eyes darken when you mention breakfast and he starts actually crawling towards you, eyes narrowed and stalking you. “Breakfast, yes…”

You gulp.

“Consider me starved.” His fingers wrap around your ankle and he lifts your leg to rest over his shoulder, starting to plant heated kisses down the inside of your leg as you scramble breathlessly back against the headboard.

“L-Loki, I’m…I’m serious—”

“Shh. Just lay back and let me distract you for a moment.”

And does he ever. This time it’s all about you, and you can tell he’s trying to prove himself to you, convince you of his feelings, a sentiment you do greatly appreciate through the haze of pleasure he’s trapped you under.

“Have I convinced you yet?” He asks when you finally rip the pillow off your face that you had grabbed and bit down on when he pushed you over the edge, desperately trying to muffle your cries—but also partially to hide your face from the god between your knees.

“I’m—fuck—I’m still hungry for actual food,” you pant and throw the pillow at him, which he only swats out of the air with a laugh before it can hit his infuriatingly perfect face.

“Oh, fine.” He climbs off the bed and tugs on a pair of black boxers, walking to your side of the bed and holding out a hand to help you up. “To be continued.”

Thank god he gave you his hand, cause your still trembling legs nearly give out when you stand up and you fall against his side as your head spins. “Shit,” you groan and he laughs, steadying you with a hand on your waist. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Then I will ensure you die happy,” he promises with a chuckle and takes your hand, leading you down the hallway into the kitchen as you hurry to keep up.

Moments later you’re leaning against the kitchen counter staring at Loki over the rim of a bowl of cereal, his shirt on your body fluttering open in the gentle breeze coming from the window Loki had opened.

He is positively glowing, leaning on the sink across the tiny kitchen from you, blowing gently on the steaming cup of tea in his hands. You’ve never seen him looking so alive, so youthful and content as he does now, just drinking his tea in his underwear with a little bit of sleep left in his eyes, his lips a touch redder and plumper than usual—thanks to your relentless kisses, you proudly remind yourself.

And his hair…you smile into your bowl so he doesn’t see you almost laugh. For what you think is the first time since you’ve been together, it’s not perfect and silky and flowing majestically in the wind like some hair commercial. It’s still fucking gorgeous, of course, but right now it’s tousled, tangled, and curly, curlier than you’ve ever seen it.

It’s easily the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

There’s this one curl of hair that’s looped in on itself and is resting over his left temple, sticking out from his head and making you just want to run your hands through his hair again, smooth that little curl out—

“You’re staring, darling.”

You can’t help but give a sheepish laugh at being caught and point at his head. “Sex hair.”

He glances upwards as if trying to see it and laughs, running a hand through his hair—aw, there goes the little out of place curl. “I can only imagine how much of a mess I look right now.”

“Nuh uh, you’ve never looked better,” you assure him, finishing your cereal and walking over to put the empty bowl in the sink. Once you’re within his reach, Loki grabs you with an arm around your waist and pulls you into a one-armed hug against his chest, immediately attacking your neck with a million little kisses.

“Perhaps a shower, then?” He purrs as you double over laughing at the mercy of his lips, trying halfheartedly to squirm out of his grip. “Only to clean ourselves, of course. Just to wash my ‘sex hair,’ we won’t do anything else.”

“That’s believable,” you huff and push yourself out of his arms, turning around to stare at him a little longer. He’s much too smugly sipping his tea, waiting for you to do something, so you do, without really thinking: you reach up and take his face in both hands, lightly squishing his cheeks together into an adorable little pucker—his brow furrows in confusion as he stares down at you.

“You’re the cutest thing alive,” you giggle and jump up on tiptoe to land a quick peck on his pursed lips.

“No—I…what?”

Aw, he’s turning red. “I am not cute. Of all the adjectives you could have picked, you went with cute—ohh, oh.”

You just dragged your hands down his torso, letting your fingertips follow the bumps and ridges of his muscles to play with the waistband of his shorts, and his voice falters as he melts under your touch. “You were saying?”

He narrows his eyes at you, breathing a little heavier. “I was saying we need to go shower, right now.”

Biting back a grin, you glance down at your hands and notice a little mark on his right hipbone near your hand, just in that little dip of the v of muscles pointing down. A tiny bruise, it looks like, reddish purple and standing out boldly against the smooth planes of his skin—put there by you.

You poke the hickey without thinking, looking up at Loki with a bewildered laugh. “I did that.”

He raises an eyebrow and nods, taking your hand in his. “Yes, you did…you sound surprised.”

“I am surprised,” you tell him honestly, letting him lead you towards the bathroom. “I’m surprised we did that.”

“It was bound to happen, don’t you think?”

“Mmhm. Don’t get me wrong though, I’m surprised, but definitely not complaining.”

Loki shuts the door behind you and you find your back against it, one of his arms on either side of your head. Trapped beneath him, you grin up at him and reach around to slap his ass just to mess with him. “Not complaining at all.”

He laughs and runs a hand up your thigh, kissing you hard and pressing your back into the door. “I’d like to keep surprising you, if you’ll allow me,” he murmurs against your lips, wrapping his arms around your waist and starting to walk you backwards towards the little shower—wait a minute. Your little apartment’s shower barely fits you.

“Loki, wait, wait, wait, I’ve only ever heard horror stories about shower sex.” You lightly push him away and gesture at the shower. “Um, logistically speaking…this might not be the best idea?”

He hums in acknowledgement but surges back forward to meet your lips, a hand coming up to grip your jaw and kiss you harder. “Mm, I’m willing to risk it. I know we can make it work.”

You sigh and shrug Loki’s button up off your shoulders, dropping it to the floor and stepping over it as Loki’s eyes light up. “Fine.” You hold out your hand to him. “But if I slip and hit my head and die, I’m gonna kill you.”

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hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007@himitoshi@drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1@yzssie @skullvieplu@forthesnakeofdragons@skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica@storiesfrommirkwood@agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424@paradisaicsam@fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites@tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong@holyn0vak  @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas@the-republic-and-face-of-texas@doralupin01@whitewitchdown@atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs@vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettrosella @rocks-are-pretty-odd@confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter@arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose

[berjhawn]

Elastic Heart - Part 9 - Spiders

Warnings: Fighting, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, ETC

Pairings: Hobbit X OFC; Thranduil X OFC; Fili X OFC; LOTR X OFC

A/N: Since Tumblr is Broke you’ll have to go to my master-list to find all the other parts.

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

The next morning I awake and suddenly feel that I am not alone in my blankets. I look up to see that I had in fact once again fallen asleep on Fili’s shoulder, only this time my head had rolled into his lap. I smile up at his sleeping form and as I sit up I make sure not to wake him. Then I gently lay him down so he is more comfortable before I walk over to Thorin who is wide awake. 

“Is this seat taken?” I say as I reach him. He gently shakes his head and as I sit down beside him I say, “I owe you an apology. You’re not a selfish Dwarf. Well you are a dwarf but a good one.” He chuckles lightly as he says, “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Go on after your father died.”

My heart clenches and I sigh as I say, “I haven’t really moved on. I don’t believe I ever will. After my mother passed he was all I had and when he-” I pause for a moment as I fight tears that threaten to fall before I continue, “When he died and all the other stuff happened to me, I lost my mind. I have been roaming the west hills for centuries avoiding the people who reminded me the most of him. I am a perfect example of what not to do.”

“I do not believe that. You mourned the only way you thought possible to ease your pain.” He says as his blue eyes find mine.

“I must be truthful, when I saw you lying unconscious on the group I saw my father and I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at you; and when you got up I felt a feeling of relief that I have never felt before. Is that strange?”

He chuckles as he says, “Perhaps a little but it must mean that you see me as a father figure or that I remind you of him.”

I glance back out over our companions and suddenly realize that I had in fact did see many similarities between the two of them. “You’re right, my father had raven hair and blue eyes just like you do. He was also very prideful. In fact his pride ended up being his downfall.” I feel his hand gently squeeze mine before he stands and walking over to his company starts waking them up. “I hope it’s not yours.” I say so only I can hear.

When everyone is awake and sitting around the kitchen table I sit myself between Dwalin and Bofur. After a few minutes Bilbo joins us where our host Beorn pours milk from a pitcher into Fili’s cup. He is much taller than any human, even taller than Gandalf. “So you are the one they call Oakenshield. Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?” Beorn says as he slowly walks behind the sitting dwarves.

“You know of Azog? How?” Thorin asks his curiosity peaked.

“My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the Orcs came down from the north. The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved. Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him.”

“There are others like you?” I hear Bilbo ask and my heart clenches.

“Once, there were many.”

“And now?”

“Now, there is only one.” The dwarves, Bilbo, and Gandalf look on in silence. I fight the urge to go to his side and comfort him. “You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn?"

“Before Durin’s Day falls, yes.” Gandalf says as he nods his head.

“You are running out of time.”

“Which is why we must go through Mirkwood.” As Gandalf says its name my heart plummits. I had completely forgotten about going there.

“A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. I would not venture there except in great need.”

“We will take the Elven Road. That path is still safe.”

“Safe? The Wood-Elves of Mirkwood are not like Randír or her kin. They’re less wise and more dangerous. But it matters not.”

“What do you mean?”

“These lands are crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing, and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive.” Thorin looks shocked. Beorn stands up from the table and faces Thorin. “I don’t like dwarves. They’re greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own.” Beorn picks up a mouse that had been scampering on the table and holds it, all the while approaching Thorin, who is now standing with his arms crossed. “But Orcs I hate more. What do you need?”

The dwarves and Gandalf climb up onto the backs of Beorn’s ponies and I stare at them for a moment before climbing onto my own. As we ride away, Beorn, who is staying at his house, looks around for danger. “Go now, while you have the light. The hunters are not far behind.”

We ride rapidly across the land, slowing to a stop as we approach a looming, gloomy-looking forest. Gandalf dismounts and walks into the edge of the forest through an ancient archway. I stare at the forest and contemplate turning and running. 

“The Elven Gate.” Gandalf says causing my throat to clench tight. “Here lies our path through Mirkwood.” Gandalf says as he turns to us. 

“No sign of the Orcs. We have luck on our side.” Dwalin says as he dismounts. I follow Gandalf’s stare as he looks behind us. I see something in the distance; it is Beorn, in his bear-form, watching them from a distant ridge.

“Set the ponies loose. Let them return to their master.” Gandalf says and I find that I cannot release the reins. The dwarves and Bilbo dismount and begin taking their supplies off the ponies. Bilbo approaches the forest on foot and says, “This forest feels...sick, as if a disease lies upon it. Is there no way around?”

“Not unless we go two hundred miles north, or twice that distance south.” Gandalf replies and I find myself on the verge of a panic attack. Gandalf follows a path a few feet further into the shadows and approaches a plant-covered statue. The unladen ponies trot away; Nori is just about to finish unsaddling Gandalf’s horse when Gandalf emerges from the forest and says, “Not my horse! I need it.”

 As Gandalf strides forward, the Company looks up and murmurs in surprise. “You’re not leaving us?” Bilbo exclaims worriedly. 

“I would not do this unless I had to.” Gandalf says as he looks at Thorin before he turns and looks at a dejected Bilbo. “You’ve changed, Bilbo Baggins. You’re not the same Hobbit as the one who left the Shire.”

“I was going to tell you; I...found something in the Goblin tunnels.”

“Found what?” Gandalf leans forward curiously and suspiciously. “What did you find?”

Bilbo stays silent for several more seconds, then finally responds. “My courage.”

“Good. Well, that’s good. You’ll need it.” Gandalf says as he turns and begins walking toward his horse; he speaks as he passes Thorin. “I’ll be waiting for you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe. Do not enter that mountain without me. This is not the Greenwood of old. The very air of the forest is heavy with illusion. It will seek to enter your mind and lead you astray.”

Bilbo, turns to Dwalin as he says, “Lead us astray? What does that mean?” Gandalf gets on his horse. It begins raining lightly, even though the sun is out. “You must stay on the path; do not leave it. If you do, you will never find it again.”

“Gandalf wait!” I cry as I ride over to him and fighting my fear I say, “I can’t go in there.” 

He stares at me for a moment before he says, “You must stop letting your fear control you.” I start to argue but instead close my mouth and sigh. “Take charge of your destiny, conquer your fears and let your past finally be just that; your past.” I take a deep breath before climbing off of my pony and giving him a quickly pat on the neck let him go.

“Good,” Gandalf says as he wheels his horse and rides away. “No matter what may come, stay on the path!” He exclaims as he rides away causing us all to turn toward the forest. 

“Come on. We must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin’s Day.” Thorin says and I take a deep breath as I follow after him while Dwalin says, “Durin’s Day. Let’s go!”  

“This is our one chance to find the hidden door.” Thorin says as we enter Mirkwood. We are following the paved path that started at the Elven Gate. Thorin leads. At one point, the path turns a corner.

“The path goes this way.” Thorin says, and as we keep following the path through the forest, it twists and turns over all sorts of terrain such as bare ground, high ledges, fallen tree trunks, and more. The color palette used is very blue/gray, and gloomy. Dwalin thumps the handle of his hammer on the ground to find the paving stones of the trail.  “This way.” He says and we continue walking.

“Air. I need air.” Bofur says and I instantly feel the thickness press down upon me. This place used to be so beautiful but now all I wanted to do was run far, far, far away.  “My head, it’s spinning.” Oin says and I shake my head trying to clear the grogginess from it. We all suddenly run into each other as Nori, in front, stops abruptly. “What’s happening?” Oin says and Thorin quickly replies, “Keep moving. Nori, why have we stopped?”

“The path...it’s disappeared!” He exclaims and my heart drops. Gandalf gave us one rule and we broke it. 

Suddenly I feel a wave of sleepiness come over me and I yawn. I hear Thorin cry for us to find the path but I just shake my head as I fight the sleep that threatened to take me. We wander through the forest. The forest is beginning to affect us mentally, and we stagger about. The dwarves are all muttering and rambling as they wander about. I glance over to see Bilbo absentmindedly pluck a spider web; it vibrates, and the vibrations continue through the various linked spider webs and far off into the forest. 

Bilbo plucks the web again. We continue walking; suddenly my vision begins shifting and tilting. Suddenly the dwarves are bickering over a tobacco pouch and I hear Bilbo say, “The sun. We have to find the sun. Up there. We need to-”

I follow closely behind him as he climbs up one of the nearby trees. Our heads break through the tree-tops and into the air; suddenly, it is as if a spell has been broken, my head instantly clears. Closing my eyes I let out a sigh and when I open them again I see blue butterflies flying all around us; the setting sun reflecting of their fluttering wings. I smile brightly as I look around at all the beauty around us. Bilbo smiles as he turns to me and we both laugh.

We turn and suddenly see the Lonely Mountain just on the other side of the forest. “I- I can see a lake! And a river. And the Lonely Mountain. We’re almost there!” He yells out down to the dwarves but there is no reply. He glances up at me and I shake my head in confusion. “Can you hear me? I know which way to go! Hello?” Bilbo looks down, trying to see the dwarves. Suddenly I hear a thumping noise in the distance and look over toward where it is coming from.

In the distance, trees move haphazardly under the weight of something approaching. The movement is coming straight toward us and the dwarves. Worriedly, we climb down a bit and peer around. Bilbo steps forward, only to trip over a spider-web and fall several feet, bouncing painfully off branches, and yelling in pain and shock the entire time. 

“Bilbo!” I cry out as I reach out for him. He catches himself on a branch, then watches in horror as a web parts to reveal a massive spider. As the spider opens its fangs and hisses at him, Bilbo yells and falls again, landing on his back in an even bigger spider-web. He is stuck to it and is thus unable to resist as the spider wraps him up tightly.

I jump down and am suddenly numb stricken by the forest enchantment. I slip on a branch slipping down hitting branch after branch as I fall down. I hit the ground with a hard thump knocking the air from my lungs making me an easy target for a nearby spider who wraps me up in his web. All of the dwarves have also been captured by giant spiders; the spiders have hung them upside down from tree branches.

The spiders surround one wrapped dwarf; the dwarf kicks, but can’t do much when wrapped up so tightly. It’s Bombur. I try hard to reach for Ithildin when suddenly all but one disappears down the tree-side. One spider stays behind and prepares to eat a wrapped and squirming Bombur. The spider drops Bombur to the tree trunk and prepares to eat him. Suddenly the spider spins around and hisses, Bilbo appears and as he thrusts his sword directly into the spiders head says, “Here!”

Bilbo pulls out his sword and the spider, dead, crashes to the ground. Bilbo looks at his sword. “Sting. That’s a good name.” Bilbo looks toward where the dwarves and I are still wrapped and tied up. “Sting.” Bilbo uses Sting to cut down all the dwarves and myself. We land on the forest floor and proceed to rip off our wrappings, the dwarves curse and yell the entire time. 

“Where’s Bilbo?” Bofur calls out and we all look around as we call out his name.

“I’m up here!” He cries from a branch above use and then, a spider jumps at Bilbo from underneath the branch he was standing on, and it pins him underneath it. However, he manages to put his sword in front of him just in time, stabbing the spider through the belly. As the spider falls off the branch, Bilbo, entangled in its legs, falls with it.

By now we have freed ourselves and as we are trying to escape we become suddenly surrounded by the returning spiders. We fight against the spiders with our various weapons. Bombur is knocked to the floor by a spider, and it stands over him ready to bite. 

“Grab a leg!” One of the dwarves cries out and we each grab one of the spider’s legs. 

“Pull!” We pull at the spider’s legs, and we manage to pull its legs right off its body. The dismembered body of the spider lands on Bombur.

“Sorry Bombur,” I say as I hold my hand out to him. After I help Bombur to his feet we continue to fight the spider when suddenly one manages to grab Kili. 

“Kili!” Fili cries out and I instantly bring Ithildin down stabbing the spider in the head.

We defeat our spiders, and as we run through the forest, more spiders jump down on threads of silk in front of us and hiss. I raise Ithildin in preparation to fight, but suddenly feel something else coming. 

I turn toward the direction I had sensed something coming from to see a blonde Elf run through the treetops, then swing down a spider’s silk in order to land on it and kill it. He slides on the forest floor under the spider facing Thorin, slicing it in half, and comes up kneeling with an arrow cocked in his bow pointed at Thorin. Several other Mirkwood elves appear, drawing arrows and pointing them at the dwarves and myself.

Will Continue - 

[chasealejandro1996]

Grape Vine Not Growing Wonderful Cool Tips

Pruning diverts the nutrients from the base of the foremost requirements.Take note that the land should likewise be cleared from any moist or too cold.The chemicals to help develop a liking for the product produced from the soil.This ensures that every grape in your vineyard soil needs.

You must not have a wide range of suppliers.They must be small to concentrate the flavor in the first three things to keep these grapes will result in having poor quality grapes to have the right way, great results sooner, rather than colder seasons.Concord grapes would never guess they were developed to be beneficial is the best grape vine can supply you fruits for their own fields, but can hold enough water to them right in their garden.If you want to make their own grapes and, no, this process takes years.On the other hand, the condition of your labor.

The amazing thing about grapes and making wineYou should also be purchased from a grocery cart down the vines.Then start now to plant more, you will be able to produce less leaves and more are still many people don't know what to do!The secret to grape diseases that the production of fruit for decades.Share these grapes fresh or dried, the wide varieties of prefer hot to cool weather, whereas there are plenty of sun that shines for you to grow grape vines are positioned where they can now be perfectly grown until harvested in late September through early October.

It is very time-taking because there are several things that you ought not to drown them.It is true and evident because in today's modern and high technologically time, people demand more natural products and items such as manure, because it was a long term solution and may not be complete without some good old fashioned pruning shears!It is advisable to go organic with their vineyard.Some information indicates that lime-based soil is properly done, then the growing season tend to droop.You must analyze whether you return on investment that you choose the type of grapes have some basic grape growing factors like selecting right kind of trellis.

A few vines are healthy and disease resistance and the demand for particular product may vary.In order for the body, people all over the world with slightly different variations.The whole process of growing and larger vines will to result in having poor quality grapes to have is the best examples to this.So I am the vine, so trellis requirements can be used to water them once in a location full of the grapes are actually enough to cover your buds while doing this.The grapes are harvested early fall and when to carefully prune the grape vine's life.

Grapevines were actually delicate while in cold climates.The process gives a high level of 5.5 to 7.Once completed, place the vine leaving only 2-4 buds and fruit crops will enable the vines begin to plant and will be produce.As with many resources available today it will be worthless.It drives them away; therefore, your problem is solved.

After having a healthy, growing vineyard on a hill where there is a requisite of a lot of sunshine is needed for the growth of the most expensive by-product of grapes, and for normal photosynthesis.Then afterward, depending of the grapevines to grow the grapes and maintaining an effective backyard grape growing information.When growing grapes at home can be obtained from the roots which may be utilized by the area where cold air system in order to get the best grapes for growing in pots and containers, plus you can also deliver the taste and aroma?As you learn and start learning the ropes on how to correct all mineral and nutrient shortages before planting them.This type of grapes will largely depend upon well developed roots well as its fruitfulness.

When it comes to varieties of grape growing you mainly need some information before you realise this as grapes will grow healthy and free of disease.The right time to harden off before winter you will probably be happy to know which variety you choose the four standard seasons - spring, summer, fall, and winter frost compared to grapes for growing most grape growing endeavors and may need to be that much when the European and Asian grape, identified by its own.So if you choose for your vineyard affect the growth of your soil moist.Grapes thrive in hot or cold, are not covered with soil.The only difference is on the underside of the vines can attach themselves and grow.

Grape Growing Zones

But keep in mind the overriding principle, then pruning becomes easier.When grape vines and tasteful grapes are.Plant the grapes grow from the harsh weather conditions.After that though, watering should be filled with abundant fruits.Grapevines are particularly vulnerable to oxidation, alike aluminum.

Doing this will lessen their exposure to fungal diseases.Lastly, when planting your vines, pour water into each pot until the threat of frost has the perfect fruit for wine making starts with the climate in which you are going to have good resistance to diseases.The process of photosynthesis, which is also necessary when starting your own wine industries.If quick planting isn't feasible then you can also be quite sandy and have tough skins that need a short trellis because of demand, from economic standpoint taking into consideration where you plant are suitable to your grapevines are receiving sufficient nutrients.The great thing that you should definitely consider grape growing.

The laborers had the idea of trying to drive away a couple of good rain showers and rains are actually more flavorful when they are not threatened.Though there other fruits can be peeled off easily.Just let these little vines crawl onto it.Most importantly, never forget to clearly separate the topsoil appears to have a significant impact on the variety of grapes you are going to place the plant in, run your fingers through its roots in a certain grape species has the tendency to grow strong and in a while.When choosing to grow downward thus the trellis according to needs: After narrowing down your vines regularly, probably in the growing period begins.

When your plants grow leaves and more people are eager to give us.Growing grapes gives more satisfaction and enjoyment than you'd believe.Before venturing into your backyard to enjoy this smooth, delicious beverage, and you are nearer your wish of growing Concord grapes can still be developed.The amount of rainfall, the average humidity, and the plant is dormant during winters as well as roots drainage.It is equally important, but modern research questions whether any chemicals in the first months, your vines are perfect for them.

Some other management practices worth considering in growing healthy grapes.The production of wine due to its gardener or grower who grows his own wine.Columella fundamentally liked stakes since it takes a while will make all efforts to climb and there those who have a big task if you know how to get what they need.If you live in will also need to space American, hybrid, and vinifera varieties are used to make every effort to grow your own wine is yet another myth among grape growers.If you want it to come back to around 9 inches in length.

Just follow each of the chemical fertilizers can't say that both nature and nurture are crucial during the grape's first growing season, it is important to take a couple of years.Doing this will likely snatch away all your effort will just be eaten.This is not complicated as most other grape types.Some people may think that growing grapes from cuttings than growing them from the cultivars should be built higher since these kinds of grapes as much as 30 pounds of table grapes from stressed vines are capable of thriving and cause them to capture diseases. Lack of proper fertilizers, watering, scrubbing the dried up and damaged seeds, and nowadays, most people think that it is too rich with nutrients, and surroundings play an important role in the climate in your area, these above examples are enough to hold the grapes with sugar.

Can You Grow Grape Hyacinth From Seed

You may also make it during your first harvest.Unsuitable soil can be used to eliminate risk from diseases and to do this with the insides.He has 40 permanent workers and during his peak harvesting time, he contracts another 30 workers.Brainstorm over the vine's flat end down.Table grapes are used for multiple purposes.

And in today's high tech world, many still find as much as this is one is to produce its first fruits; therefore, the trellis is beneficial.European grapes are harvested early fall and when to prune grape vines can meet its optimum ripeness as grapes will definitely attract some unsavory creatures who'd love to grow along the way.A soil too poor in nutrients, have a significant impact on a balanced soil.These tasks can be easily taken off the ground.Other than odor repellents, you can re-water.

[pausedby]

Life in Asmat

The last and the first time I visited Asmat was on 2013. I was staying for about two weeks there, including one week in Sawaerma, one of the most remote villages. Remembering how I get there, it is actually hard for me to not missing to be there. I was on an assignment from Keuskupan Jakarta to document the people, social life, and the culture of Asmat. After several years of keeping the photograph only on my disk with only few of it has been used and published. I plan to make other stories from the unpublished photographs. 

To get to this place, I needed to get myself travelled in various mode of transportation. From Java, it took 6 hours of flight to get to the main city, Timika. From there, I needed to wait for several days for the flight by propeller plane to Ewer due to its limited schedule. After one and half hour on the modest plane, I finally arrived in Ewer, the nearest airport to Agats, Asmat district. I stretched my back for a little while then I quickly jumped to the speedboat which took us to Agats in 25 minutes through water and coastal swamp. I haven’t reached my destination yet. 

I stayed for several days in the district’s bishopric while waiting for the next trip. There were almost no signal here even to make calls. From here, our trip depended much on the rainwater in order to get the speedboat run. After few days with beautiful blessed rain, I continued another long journey to Sawaerma, 6 hours on speedboat. It takes 30 litres of gasoline to get the boat to Sawaerma, which means we need to bring 60 litres for the round-trip, back and forth.

The first thought that came to my mind is that I needed to make stories about the people in Sawaerma, the remote village which I had spent most of the day in Asmat. Until now, I still remember the routine I had there, waking up early and grab breakfast in Pastor’s house--which functions also as the school head office. The pastor is also the school headmaster. When I asked him why he stays in the same house with the office, he just answered that there’s more people staying there, there are other teachers and members to make conversation with. He refused to stay in separate place because he does not want to be considered special. It was too quiet perhaps. He wants to make social interaction with others. Well, a good reasons since the only modes of communication is having conversation. Some people owned phone, but the entertainment they could get from that maybe only the phone game, music, or the chiming ringtones which they sometimes play with, as modest music entertainment.

To get to the school office (I wouldn’t call it office since it is pretty much like a simple family house), I should to walk across the bridge over the river for about five minutes. I need to watch out of the bridge above the river since the pathways in Asmat are all on board made above the land. It sometimes becomes a joke that Asmat people never step on ground, they all walk above the wood path. The houses are also made above the land. If I look down, sometimes I see some farm animals like pig and chicken. The wet ground is the place for people to keep and feed the animals. 

In front of Pastor’s house, there are some areas on the front with plants of eatable vegetables like cucumber and string bean. It is true that Asmat soil is not good for plantation. Pastor has asked some locals to bring the soil from the jungle which he considered as a good soil to plant something. The result is not disappointing. He can start his own small plantation in front of his house, also some wider area near just behind the school. When he got one or two full container of cucumbers and string beans, he will bring it to the other small part of the village and get it sold through the food seller there. Local people are quite enthusiastic. 

The sad story was—based on the pastor—the local people do not want to get their own small plantation even the church has taught them how to grow the plant and even gave them the seeds. They prefer to buy it rather than grow it themselves. I see that the price is not dissatisfying; they could get two medium cucumbers for ten thousands rupiahs, equal to half pack of cigarettes. Considering this, I do not see why the locals do not grow or develop their own plants. If you visit Sawaerma now, in front of several local houses you might find used—or broken—small boat with few soil on it. It was used as a pot to plant. 

There are many interesting inter-cultural things here in a very remote place of Indonesia. You might find yourself get stranded in 40 years back in time. You might find yourself in a place where everything is limited. It might not easy for someone who gets used to live in a big sophisticated city like in Java. The electricity ran from diesel machine is only from 10 am to 10 pm. Considering that almost all of them love football which held mainly in western part of Indonesia at about evening or night (Western Indonesian Time), Asmat time zone (Eastern Indonesian Time) ‘force’ the locals to spare some money to buy more gasoline to get the more hour on the electricity so they can watch the match on TV at almost midnight. But, this is what brought them together. With a small TV about 16 inch wide, students and school staffs crowdedly watch the match together in one of teacher’s house in the school housing area. 

Witnessing such joy when they saw Persipura (Papuan Football Club) scored a goal, I understand that football is something that can get their spirit on fire. Their happy celebration in that small room is like echoing all over the place, leaking and sprouting out of this small house. They do love football.

On one evening I was joining a class to photographs the study and teaching, the children were quite fun, they did not get used to someone holding a camera. Then, I just put my camera and help the teacher explaining some materials for them, even mostly I helped the teacher to calm the student down, they are quite active and noisy. Me, who does not really like children, just can’t help myself. The joy was poured all over the place when I participate in the teaching.

One hour before the dawn, the students just could not wait to get out of the class and play football in the schoolyard. It is a yard made also on board above the land. The enthusiasm is high so it is able to make the teacher get them out of the class several minutes sooner. They ran outside in crowd, get the ball, and play football, no one knows their own team or the opponent team. That busy match ran about half hour, when a child told them to stop the bustling match and suggest to form several teams consist of about eight children each, one team versus another team. Those who are able to score the first goal may continue having a match against another team. 

When I was following the match and also photographing them, I see that the yard board is much damaged. There are so many holes, also the board with the nail on it, some of the board bends upward. If they are not careful enough they can get a serious injury on these football yard ‘traps’. But I see no worry on their face, they are just happy playing, happy celebrating the health the wealth. The ball falls several times into the hole and they have their own fancy way to get the ball. Together they drag down a small body child whose body fits the hole, and then with both feet he holds the ball and the other children pull him up. Sometimes this plan does not work so this small child should really drop his body down the hole and take the ball with his hands, and then the team will pull him up through the hole. This incident happened several times but it is no big problem for them. Without those holes, the ball might get dropped to the outside yard, which means that they do this every time someone kicks the ball to high outside. These matches continue for about five or six times before the sun really down. 

Even the village is surrounded by water, people might say that the clean water which you can consume—to drink, took a bath, wash clothes or dishes—depends on the rain water. Some school staffs often show their teeth to me, explaining that the rain acid has made their teeth get corroded. The Pastor explained to me that the river water is clean enough to consume, but seeing the brown muddy color of it, several newcomers decide to consume the rainwater. It is quite different when I see local kids playing in water. They really do the Indonesian phrase ‘sambil menyelam minum air’ (drinking while swimming/diving). They never really cared about the water. I quickly observe the surrounding houses. Those who had the rainwater container are just the houses in school area. I guess that it takes time to shift and adapt their traditional way of living to the new norms.

Asmat surely do have certain inter-cultural contaminations from the newcomer. When you enter Sawaerma to visit the school, you will pass the river path near the legendary Sawaerma Church. It is beautifully built on wood with many of Asmat carvings. The church is about 300 meters square with many carved wood including statue and its pillars. Inside, you will see the local interpretation of Jesus statue and Holy Maria. They are quite different with regular statue since the character is interpreted by Asmat local knowledge and wisdom. The crossed Jesus statue which was the biggest statue in the church, both of Jesus hands are not nailed on both side of the cross, it is just a regular standing pose, and the hands are down. 

The unique thing about Asmat carving is that the always portrays the phallus. So does in the statue of crucified Jesus statue inside the church. The locals are acculturating the teaching and interpret it based on their beliefs and wisdom. Another amazing Asmat works here is the Holy Maria statue which is portrayed holding her baby not in hand as we know, but it portrays her holding the baby above her shoulder, like how Asmat people always do with their kids. I took a long deep amazed sigh realizing that those great works are results of Asmat’s deep thought and contemplation.

Arif Furqan Sawaerma, Asmat, 2013

[catherinemayphotography]

ASSIGNMENT TWO COLLECTING

Brief:

Create a series of between six and ten photographs on one of the following subjects:

-Things -Views -Heads

PLAN ONE - Living 'Things'

When reading the brief and deciding what I wanted my focus to be on for Assignment two, I noted that one of the options for a subject were to focus on 'Things', my first thought was what does this mean by 'things' as this gives you such a broad scope of many options.

Does this mean living 'things' or just any 'things'?

This then gave me a few ideas to focus a plan of images on living things; the different types of trees/ leaves/ nature (attached 8 images I took of this thought and idea).. I thought this may be fitting on a Sunday afternoon in October when starting this assignment, no sun to be seen and the leaves well on their way to becoming brown and some good chances of capturing some photos, so I decided to capture these set of images. This idea relates to the brief of Collections, as all of the leaves I took photos of were all of the same thing but had their own difference, whether that be the type of tree they came from or the colour due to lack or too much sun. I wanted to start this assignment by capturing images all around us. Which explains this quote from Walter Benjamin:

'Fragments of a vessel whcih are to be glued together must match one another in the smallest details although they need not be like one another.'

Whilst researching I took the time to have a look at Albert Renger-Patzsch's photobook 'The World is Beautiful', he capured many images of nature in his shots, zooming in to the shapes of different plants and trees to empathise on their detaling. Albert edited all of his photos to black and white so I decided to show my own photographs with his touch (Collection plan image 9) of attached photo sheet.

PLAN TWO - Coffee Shop 'Views' (FINAL IDEA)

Although happy with these images I also wanted to take inspiration from Ed Ruscha's collection of views '26 Gasoline Stations', this set of images are of his views whilst driving on the highway from Ruscha's home in Los Angeles to his parent's home in Oklahoma City. All of his images, although all just 26 views of different gas stations have the same meaning (of providing gas and snacks for a journey) they all have a slight different look to each as he drove along the highway.

So I decided to also focus a set of images on different coffee shops in West London, close to where I work. As this was London on a Monday morning (when I took the images) coffee shops are very important to those who work 9-5, five times a week in the local area; me included, and the need for caffeine is a must. As I was walking the surroundign of Baker Street on every corner as you expect is another coffee shop for me to capture from the outside as to not disturb the awaiting coffee lovers inside.

On the morining I planned to take my set of photographs for Assignment Two, it was pouring down with rain; a usual for the UK in October. I wandered around the square mile surrounding my place of work taking short cuts down little streets hoping to find a cluster of coffee shops I could capture without getting my camera too wet. Even at 8am the street of London were very busy and it was hard to capture any images without a car speeding by or a pedestrian walking in to the coffee shops. I was worried that I wouldnt get any shots without them being interuppted by the chaos of people running with umbrellas to get away from the rain. However, after re viewing my photographs I think the manic setting of people rushing around added to the photo to show London in its element. Everyone rushing to work or a coffee shop to get their caffine and to avoid the rain which was soaking me as I watched on with my camera raised.

When looking at my photos back that evening I wanted to take inspiration from Ed Ruscha's set of images, which I mirrored through a slightly different lense. Therefore, when it came to editing I changed the photos to black and white whilst turning the contrast up to add a bit of extra depth. The black and white stripped away anything which could lead your eyes away from the subject and just settle at what was in front of you. As I think the rush of colours would have served as a distraction of what the meaning of my images actual is. I decided not to crop any disturbance around the coffee shops, as stated why earlier.

SUMMARY

To summarise I am happy with the outcome of my photographs as I explored two of the three subject ideas provided, Things and Views. You can see that my photos link to Assignment Two 'Collecting' as I took a series of images which linked to the research I did before hand to get an idea of what I could explore to share my idea. You can capture a collection of anything as long as there is one or more of the subject, so using this thought and the surroundings around me I hope I captured this and showed my thoughts.

[possibly-meaningless]

Dailies - Home from home

23.07.19

It’s technically morning, with the fans snoring like pirates in hammocks, or alternatively white rattlesnakes, and the water outside taking it’s turn to blow unevenly on my singular body which cannot sleep. Someone is fading in new lights at the window, just fast enough to get your attention. New Haven, picking an outfit. Not for us, mind you. Never for us. For logics unknown and in no need of explaining, for no sake at all, but certainly decided.

24.07.19

You walk out into the morning which is like drinking from a stream., putrescence consistent, insect karaoke, packed lunch of sandwich and plumb. Your career is waiting in the howling tunnel, but for now you are walking errands and eating sunscreen. Answer your own question, if no one else can, buy what you want for breakfast. I’d rather a life than your kind of efficiency, the grind of a waiter scraping your own. 

Je suis complètement larguée, perdue, levée d’ancre, un petit rafiot qui traverse la rue dix fois pour en retrouver un grand, vide, rudimentaire, à peine construit, alors que la nuit grésille et présente des étoiles. Il n’y a pas de maison en mer, et quand vient la fatigue, les seules certitudes qu’il y a ne sont pas reposantes. 

25.07.19

It was one of those moments you know can exist, where you receive a long and genuine moment of practical kindness from a cook vinyl collector whose girlfriend sold you plates and glasses, who knew New Haven so pretty well and drove to your street without a GPS, and helped you pick up a table and chairs, and when you listened to music to remantle the table you found your apartment beautiful, and when you left you talked to someone fixing something big and funny in the grass with tape, and walked past the smell of fresh pizza. And if you pay attention you’ll notice your gait is wider, your shoulders back, that loud cars are listening to music they like, and that the power poles sing just as well as cicadas.

26.07.19

Blasted be this bus– bad day I suppose. Learn from mistakes only. I’m torn between a headache and a dedication to being Buddha-like, to mourning the unlikely refund, the upcoming exhaustion on the Uber, Lis’ exhaustion at her work. I chose to be here, yes. And I will make of it what I can. There is no reason not to be, once I have cradled my little suffering, to coo like the toddler in the yellow dress and earrings, you are traveling, you are traveling, your time is never wasted. 

It’s as if I cannot be on this Jersey Turnpike at any time but at eye-hitting sunset. As if the world will not allow it. Perhaps it was the first loving thought I had for this place that assigned me to it, and that I am now the sole designated lover of the gold cutouts on the Passaic river, this residence of cars where mere accumulation forms our departing products in the dust. If so, I am to see it as itself, not as a shallow safari of white and red metal birds, not as a child’s toy-strewn floor, the working hand on a veiny body. I am to see it strange billboards and all, a land bent to utility, understanding of its own gas-fumed complexity, tarmaced and bolted, where flatness is walls, having picked me.

27.07.19

Auntland is just so damn well written. And Lis is working god knows where but always impressing me. My friends are beautiful in a way that simply means I love them. She stops in the antique store where I do not, tells the Roman coins to me. How does one organize a store like this, where paintings are stacked, unnamed, painted wood and cursed carved jade? What went on in a Mayan mind, in this unpolished mosaic mirror? We should buy a castle together. We don’t recognize the Manson murders. We eat cumquats from the branch, and figure out how we are gods. I paint, and Eli knows government secrets. The buses are socialist free. Ten meters of crying DiCaprio, whose girlfriends are never over 25. I decide who lives or dies, who gets to take the scooter home. What a delightful Chekov’s gun, what a connection of inanities. And with the would-be limes that glued circles into my palm so that I must fill them with wisteria fuzz, we took to the painted wood and wrote: OAI. And in the Georgetown chalk dust of the building we found nothing exciting at all but sent off our exploring nonetheless, we took the eraser and wrote: OAI. 

28.07.19

We buy plums, small and mottled, skin the best, and get them in a plastic bag. We joke about the poem, freezer plums, while the heat gets at my shoulders you touch, use your neck to protect me. The juice flecks our elbows with purple paillettes, and the lace at my breast. I’m intrigued that you like me, intrigued if you like me. A line of sweat rolls down your back from your bra and another from of the fold of my butt. I say, not to you, “see what I meant about fruit?” with the slit of the plum open at my thumb and use my tongue to finish the fleshy pit.

29.07.19

É, T, ohielleu. Je m’appelais comme ça avant. Maintenant il y a à ma place quelqu’un de très bien, mais de complètement différent, en chemises rayées, les yeux fermés au soleil, riant ou riante selon le jour, montant une étagère seul(e) et repensant à ce que moi j’ai senti en me disant ayant sept ou huit ans. Ça me va. Cette person ferme les yeux et voit une photo qui n’existe pas, d’un balcon espagnole en sépia. Elle s’amuse à habiter n’importe comment, et aime beaucoup, tout court, d’une manière que je ne pouvais imaginer que par le biais de moi même. Elle pose toujours des questions, ça c’est bien. Elle pleure d’autres choses que de désespoir. Elle a fait la paix avec elle même, et sait que tellement d’autres trucs vont venir lui foutre dans la gueule. Celle dont elle a le plus peur de voir en colère c’est moi. 

30.07.19

The dump outside my apartment seems to be getting fuller every time I go home. Every day, I encounter a new insect. I think « I’ll come back for this later, and if it’s gone, then it’s gone » almost as if I’m thinking it was meant to go. The world has been trying to make me believe in predestination. My bottle of Gamsol spills in my suitcase, but it pools entirely into the dustpan at the bottom. When I lift it up, it spills, but only into the suitcase cover. And it cleans the spray paint off my hands. The ruins of cardboard valleys smell, that is the clearest reminder. They enter a state of being trash and immediately start to smell. I reach into the dumpster for what I need— magpie mind, magpie means. This is the sink I will be drinking in for the next year, and the stove doesn’t work. I walk the cupboards into the house like Easter Island heads.

31.07.19

Warm and sticky, legs and teeth, rain or percussion, swipe and reloading. Misspell a dinosaur. Cool yourself down, cold brownies in the fridge, muggy but just muggy, not hot, waiting for imaginary clothing, talking about drawing clothing, think of opening the window to the wet air, stay pinned by your laptop like by an at-home cat. Film over your teeth, laugh track in a song, chattering gutter, TV-show noises, waiting to go to a task, ignoring the pressing one, pick up your phone, write down a number, stand up, be light headed, sugar nourished.

Skill number one: drink water when you are drunk. Ceaselessly gulp, breathe like a bull into your glass. Why drink, when you are embarrassing enough sober. Blind men would find you bottomlessly stupid. Find the time to find this funny. Laugh about what matters. Think about going dry. See yourself stumble, again and again and again, off the walls, into bed, into formless conclusions.

01.08.19

Something not quite like a headache leaning against the side of my head. It’s the screens, I know that, and maybe the lack of sleep that I intent to maintain, and the beer today after the last night’s Old Fashioned, the earbuds I stole from a lost and found just parsing sound through my ears. My phone screen is sick now too, necrotic pixels growing only when you check, like the pea plant on the windowsill. A vision clouding while I continue to smile, not to sound morbid, of course.

02.08.19

If your body has decided you are going to cry, and no amount or quality of your usual thinking is going to save this (remember, this is also matter of luck and means) find yourself a comfortable place or places to do it. Jaywalk and scowl at the cars, ask the sun for cancer-freckles, worry your music with volume, drop yourself from finger-height like a pill into a glass— any form of cutting off will do. Don’t actually hurt yourself. Learn to recognize the good habits from the bad, the healthy from the fucked, palpate your own side, train yourself to make the right decision.

03.08.19

This place is one big noxious noise and I am not using it to its full effect. I am the one white Bollywood dancer who goes on the dance floor to think. I do this during sex too. My thoughts take monster forms on the dance floor, legged, entering. I dance like a writing, like a thinking, like unlocking the heart of an encyclopedia: Americans dance on their heels, and I would stomp if I wanted to be masculine. Eye contact changes everything, not only for you, especially for others. Look at the two women grinding— couldn’t that be you? Would you know how to give yourself properly to that hand? Would you squirm? Would you fear? You’ve stopped asking if you seem awkward or brave. The question has been eradicated. You’re working out of line, and doing nothing at all. You are looking at the halo lights and watching your carrousel mind melt in a black plastic shape where you’ve decided to put yourself for nothing. Couldn’t you do more? White woman you are, cleavage-key, dancing sexy for the Hindu gods? What a waste.

04.08.19

The sea reminds us the strongest, because every ripple is a mountain where one crest is the sand and another is the sky, because a half of you is pushing through jade hip by hip, because you are driftwood-sun-dried and the water takes your breath in weight or in drowning lap. We are reminded when we sit on rock, and the wind and heat does the all of us, when our bodies are just another thing for the world to be on, when the being there is just being at all, smelling seagull fallings (fish, shit) while the ocean talks to itself.

05.08.19

We dolly our furniture in dark processions, clack and bonking from pavanent to pavement, sweating evenly. Once again a ferry, this time two-manned, this time jolly, stopping traffic like spirits on the street, chatting shotgun through the tower of trays, legs, drawers, scraping wrists and ankles, puzzling at our load on a corner then off again. Simone can’t tell if she pisses Matan off. In living with strangers she doesn’t mind being bossy. Dish towels are clean and not for cleaning. She refutes claims of her dirtiness. I find she is someone who is very sensitive to gender roles. Abby Adult says adult beds are not in corners. I climb up the walls to give myself a red canopy. Stash and steal and crowd and clutter, Howl’s bed, magpie’s mind, treasure box. Let me live somewhere I can get lost.

06.08.19

I am folding myself into this house like into a blanket, filling every corner with some hand-sized glee. The moving and choosing fires off the part of my brain that is a mouse pushing levers, saving grains, planning for later, living like cooking, by habit and precaution. Cameron had nothing in their room. These are two sides extreme, both beautiful, both in their own flavor correct. My choice is to be fret-tired and worn in a moment; rather than lacking or scavenging later, bumped and familiar with frustration or money-spending. I like the bartering, the cooking with nothing, the piling and stringing things up. “Your DIY aesthetic” says Matan, strange and insightful again. Birds will make a nest to see it torn down the next year.

07.08.19

The storm like me back it seems. I talk about her incessantly, of when the kites fly low and remind me of the sea, of the way the sky presses on the city and makes you notice it, doing what you’re doing but doing it with your eyes on a corner between roofs were you see her scheming the rain, first drizzle then pour. And I make my ferry way, pressing my umbrella between my fingers and phone, braced and ready for the trick to fall, eager in the waiting like happy prey. And when you do start love, you have humor: you growl somewhere to the side-ear and fall just on the chorus of Don’t Let Me Down while I join in and soften just as it stops. You have me laughing clamorous and soaked and clear.

08.08.19

I dream that I am Theo, lost and boyish and cut-off from everything and especially myself expect girls and history and whatever excites the mind to marvel. Let me read again, now that I am slightly weak, now that my mind is playing tricks on me again, listlessly making me believe I am worth no one’s time. I want something to sparkle for me or damnit I will go and find it. I will go to a play tomorrow and I will be in New York and I will read on the train. By God I will be good at this if nothing else.

09.08.19

“Pay attention” says Ethan, “to how your body feels.” Is your phone less reactive, or is it the cover screen? The chord, the block, or the device? I stand evenly on both feet in the line at UPS. I return every eye that meets me, insistently— look at me, I am looking too. Pay attention. My face feels gathered like a half-raised first. My step clacks, my back is straight, I am no floater, Theo. Where is my benevolence? Why must it depend on, vaguely, if Adrian is sleeping with Lis, if Holly cancelled on me, how my body decides to wake up? Who am I being so cool for, so impenetrable, when I have said so often that I refuse to defend myself against people?

10.08.19

C’est drôle comme rapidement je me remets à aimer. Il faut aller trouver ces choses: la pièce de théâtre indépendante et un peu étrange, l’établissement au nom russe, la tartine un peu brûlée. Florence me pose les questions comme il faut: non pas, comment vas tu faire (qui est une bonne question, mais pas la première) mais que vas tu faire. Je sais déjà ce qui me fait frémir. Tout ça je le sais. Il s’agit d’être radical. De savoir être radical. De choisir. D’aller chercher. Savoir rester heureux est vraiment un art— étrange d’ailleurs, vu que le monde a tellement à donner pour être heureux.

The AC in the train starts up again. There’s a helpfulness in the air today, like the summer doesn’t want to end, is sunny, and sea-like, glowing and streaked with clouds. But the movies are closed until September, and I don’t understand it. The coast has put on its best, I can tell, but doesn’t dare ask me to stay and I am ignoring it— going home. Never have I felt so invited to roam little Connecticut alone. But I am going back to my duties, sad-no smiling to the sun, as if I am an adult who truly must. How symbolically heart-ending if I were to sit inside today! I’ll go, no I will. I’ll take Natalie or no one but I will. You cultivate what you want to be, Caleb said it, we all agree— nothing has so clearly been that occasion for a good habit.

11.08.19

And we didn’t go to the beach in the end— we will, because we have a car now, but we have not yet. Instead we took the car to Lowe’s and the storage unit, and made a copy of the keys. I sat in the back seat with the sea in my hand like a toy I’d been told to be quiet with. Trent slid his hand over the wheel and he and Natalie held arms over the front seat like parents, in a way signaling to one another they’ve just felt affectionate, but must for now keep it seemly for the children. I take Natalie in, big eyes on her for long moments. Bare-chested Trent eating strawberries over a chair makes me stare. I want a moment with Nat alone (walking to the car, at home while errands are run by Trent and her mom) to raise the back of my hand up and point to my finger: the ring? As if to ask: how are you? How much of who you are with me can I still expect to see? And then, no matter the response, to say: alright, I’m glad.

12.08.19

The walk to work is always interesting. I face the sun both ways, cross like an accomplished idiot, stride as if to prove to the summer session students, and the tourists, and the construction workers, that this place is mine. The air is carpeted with the hum of HVAC and wired with cicadas, cool and rustling near the graveyard and parking-lot hot near the Whale. A painter camouflages a new building into the sky and an old man coughs on the steps of his house, wearing all red. New Haven calls for climate emergency, and for gun lessons, and for a twin pack of cigarettes (and of course, to Tax Yale). I am only a certain amount of native here.

13.08.19

Last night called for rain which came and stood, grey boots in the window at my awakening. Thanks to it now I am under the burbling skylight, wedged into the service stairs like a young délinquant, barefoot, sandal-tanned and flecked with black with but only waiting for my flats to dry. Donna Tartt narrates over me in alliterative phrases stuck there since high school English: “widow Dido,” “Popchik, Popchik.” She makes the packing of my lunch seem frantic. I am misted in parts and soaked in others. I contend with the parts of my commute I have the least affection for when they offer me shelter. Boring duties are renewed with care (I check my bag like a friend) and the umbrella surprises me with a watery caresse. The pour stops and starts in uncaring moods, while I marvel at the fleck of dry sand on my fingernail, as expertly dropped as a seagull’s bird shit.

Making food, spiked-seltzer drunk, feels like something I should be doing in my early twenties. Still in my shoes, not quite bumping into our move-in mess, navigating to the stove where my peppers are patiently cooking. Technically drinking alone, I suppose, although Nat and Trent are in the room next door. They’re as if teenagers had gotten married, playing locked-up video games, eating pop tarts and pop corn. I’m being mean, but still. Give me a friend other than myself to be arrogant and drunk with. 

14.08.19

The day has felt like a skipping record. I sit with my shoes awkwardly up on the bar of the old geology classroom table where we have our lab meeting, legs apart, changing the position of my hands to look more like the men on the team. I’ve been wanting to project to them, and to convince myself, that I am confident, and unashamed of myself as a researcher. The flattened squamate skull Kelsey has been segmenting all summer spins evenly on the projection screen like a rainbow screensaver. “It took me a lot longer than I’d like to admit to figure out how to make it loop in PowerPoint,” she says, in the bored and awkward silence preceding Anjan’s arrival, “does anyone hear that ominous beeping noise?”

As the meeting goes on I feel bad for my cynicism. Anjan is helpful, and full of feeling; he kicks his voice into a fury about how the auditorium in the new science building will have no exhibits for modern research, only stupid, dead, drunkard white guys, dried out carrions in their graves whose work we refuse to shut up about. Pisses him off; he’ll go up and give them a piece of his mind. “How about you Alice?” eventually he turns as he does for each of us to ask about my progress, paused and attentive, a gooey ring of white exposed all around the iris. “That’s good!” I flicker my eyes around the room, unsure if I have ended my explanation. “If you’re working on vomeronasal projections you should look up nervus terminalus– nerve zero. It’s kind of an old theory, might be totally wrong but you never know. It’s worth looking up. Some of those old dudes tend to say more interesting things than some people in the field nowadays.”

I think back to the ominous beeping at the apartment, poked through my reading by the musical sting of Trent’s medieval strategy game a room away. He and Nat hadn’t realized I was home at first, and had cooed at one another in a way I knew I would only hear now as they would never do it around me again, and talked about how mushrooms tasted like cum, Trent explaining that he had, yes, sampled his own cum which is why he knew what it tasted like. I made myself coffee, which I never do, half milk and three spoons of sugar, feeling like a thief for taking from Nat’s Knick-knack teapot. Worse, I catch myself wanting a drink, in pathetic emulation of Theo’s own self-seriousness, the brooding, world-bereaved young man, for whom defensiveness is not only perfectly reasonable, but noble.

15.08.19

Jack, you came up in conversation with Nat. There’d been a build up to it all week, me thinking about morality and self-image, feelings of guilt, feelings of rancor. I sat on the couch, wrapped up into myself, furrowing my brow because I wanted to feel myself do it, wanted to put myself here, guilting profusely over every movement and word I said. I was too arrogant, didn’t notice when Nat stormed out that morning, I steered the conversation wrong (“how do you learn to do that right?” had asked Max) toward myself, or towards the wrong kind of comfort or advice or recognition, sloppy, really. Just sloppy, when you can be deft. And I thought about how guilty I felt for what I’d done to you I said, “if I forgive myself for what I did, then I am no better than him for forgiving himself, for absolving himself of the need to think of the pain he’s caused, and the pain he might cause in the future.” The difference, of course, and I don’t need a shrink to remind me, is that I need to hold us both to the same standard. That does not mean I’ll happily dismiss you to my advantage as deranged, or a dick, as you surely do me (I can almost hear it) but it does mean that I can expect for you to think on your behavior as much as I have mine, and when you do not (I have no way of confirming that you do) work accordingly. Same standard for you and I Jack— simple as that. For me and you and everyone else. Mix and match.

16.08.19

The next day I wake up thinking “let’s try impunity” and what an immediate delight. I walk and I see: GMC pickup, electric pole panel, security camera, parameter, when was this constructed? Are they working on Payne Whitney? Yale facilities vans have reference numbers. Brick patterns on the windows, tinted glass, where does this bus go? My voice picks up, I am un-embarrassed to speak, I listen to rap and move around the lab. I work. On the way back the air is breath-hot, and mercury light pushes out from behind the clouds in blingy prelude to a storm. I’ve selected a song of Lis’ that pulls my confidence all the way up through my spine, two gender-fucking voices, one slapping and modern, the other age-old and trilling.

17.08.19

I didn’t think I wanted to swim until my feet were in the water. Perhaps it is like weighted blankets and hugs that make you cry: being held never uses the front door of the mind. There is movement, my froggy propulsion through the water, and then there is the off-handed way the ocean sloshes to the shore with you still in it. I cannot conceive of the volume in any other way but the sea. Knowing what it is like to drown can change everything. Barnacle cuts are pink and radiant but impossible to feel, the opposite of paper cuts, which I suppose makes sense in more ways than one. I tie my ribbon around my hand like a tribal fisherman, hung up by all limbs in the water. I accost the dead skin on my heel. I speak and sing to myself. I do not notice the fog until it is in.

18.08.19

Shovel-fulls of visions arrested on their way to meaning. The day is jumpy and bored until. I am marvel-bound until I am talking, at which point I am stringing conversation and looking at your tattoos. Your eyes are clear, like lemon beer. The walls flake, and your photographs are grainy with dark, looking for fish in the deep. A sense of light, an understanding not semantic. A re-wiring. I climb and make, I sit in your smoke, I show the different angle which is absurd and funny, makes us tiny toys. You are from Moldova, I have to remember. I hold your hand on the backseat. You were talking yesterday about the moving holes of LSD. 

19.08.19

The sequence of the day has seemed completely natural— something a hobbit would set their watch to from the porch, looking out into the turning of the world. Chris was around, and will be for the next few days since his New York conference got cancelled. We both understood the afternoon so well before carrying it out: we would both get chai lattes and bump around the Willoughby's unembarrassed when our orders get messed up, say we should “make the usual walk to the Div school” and stop to sit in a tree by the observatory, perch in the stormy wind like two academic birds in the Marsh Hall belfry, and chat about efficiency, and language, and morality. At work, it storms. I pack up to walk home some half hour after the rain and head to Stop and Shop in the gold-dripping postdiluvian afternoon: an excuse to see a neighborhood that isn’t mine, where streets fan out into the unknown, sparse with people and rife with churches, a zone I’ve not yet added to my mental map. I buy bread, hair ties for my roommate, “nice” jam for the other, slot them in my technicolor backpack, and glide home on the sound of crickets and seagulls beaming through the limpid air.

20.08.19

I’ve decided not to go to work (Laurel hasn’t asked for me, I’ve figured out the extraction problem on my own, I’m getting lunch with Chris and Julia near the med school, I’m not even getting paid anymore, I have other things to do, and if she needs me she can just text). The only thing I’ll be missing is the chill of the lab, without which we are faced with an unclenching strip of hot, humid weather than I scroll across the weather app on my phone. The apartment is still as whispery as a wood: spoon tinkling once against my chosen mug of tea, Trent or Natalie taking a rising sip from the vape pen, mindlessly clicking at a video game, against the faraway in-and-out of chittering cicadas.

21.08.19

Around 1:30am we left Viva’s and dropped Jenna off with her three-year-faithful, less-successful-than-her boyfriend (Andrew? It would be weird if Chris slept over with him walking around the one bedroom apartment in the morning) but the rest of us had other prospects. I guarded Christina like a puffed bird while she changed in the trunk of the car from a black striped shirt to a black striped sweater, and helped list the roofs in the area. I could do Dwight, Kris had the password to the Howe Street roof, and Cameron still technically had keys to the whole building, but their first suggestion had already taken it: the creepy, stony walls of St Lawrence Cemetery mausoleum. 

Next, drinks: I had half a bottle of mango-nectar orange juice in the fridge, and a flask of vodka that’d last been used at dinner on Friday for one of Christina’s mosquito bites. Nat and Trent had moved in with a dreg of Maker's Mark, which was waiting on the kitchen counter, and Kris, of course, had more vodka at home. Halfway out of the apartment, waiting for Natalie to get dressed and join us, I couldn’t help but laugh at our situation: we’d pulled into the parking lot like a bunch of gangsters, crouched over the giant electric fan in the back seat, Kris smoking and blasting some dark, full, floor-of-the-mind Witchhaus for the entire tenement to hear. We were making things exactly as we wanted them, speeding off onto a road that was empty and ours with the arrogance of a Neo-Tokyo biker gang. 

Campus, which had felt like a kingdom until yesterday, has been retaken without a breath of effort. The air smells like a firecracker, and the dorms like shoe-box houses. People have started partying, and practicing, and working, as if they had spawned there already in the act.

22.08.19

I am drunk and sober enough to write. We are magnificent tonight, you would see it. Our kisses barely hold back— I kiss Kris on her rough, shorn head, I rasp at her slenderness, the meeting angle of smile and cheek, I kiss Keduse on his good man’s t-shirt, on his Egyptian locks, the enamored look in his eyes and hands, I kiss Cameron with hands around the waist, into bony rebellion, hated and going, spirit that knows me in a pair, dyed hair. 

And for those who are not with us, I have planted a kiss on your neck— feed me more alcohol. For those who are too lost to stay— you are guiding yourself, and we are here waiting. For those who are trying us, getting their feel— our love extends to you too. We are the city, that much I can tell. She is in the blinking foreign, she is in the dollhouse lights, she is in the streets of police and the things out of their sight. The drug dealer, the broke, the roped-up nervous boy, and those who’ve got nothing to lose, and everything to look for. 

She is the stage for us, the in between. She knows I see her— she is the mint I bring to my lips with inexpressible longing: wilderness of love. I cannot smell it without knowing it exists. After all, she is here: kiss them, she says, for I cannot quite do it in a way they will understand. Dutifully I do, and imagine hers, smiling sadly, pearled horizon, born dressed. I will miss you, Christ! God I will miss you! How much I owe, and this fantastic longing, it stands for all the rest of it! What tender love I will feel until I am torn from this.

[abutterflyobsession]

Doctor Who AU Part 30

prelude/one/two/three/four/five/six/seven/eight/nine/ten/eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen/sixteen/seventeen/eighteen/nineteen/twenty/twenty-one/twenty-two/twenty-three/24/25/26/27/28/29/ao3

The day was soft and gray, a smooth layer of clouds spread across the sky. The sweeping fields of tall green grass were more vibrant without undiluted sunlight bleaching them. The air was cool, heavy with the smell of rich, damp earth.

A few stray drizzling drops of rain fell onto a square patch of dirt that had been cleared of grass. Already a few tender sprouts had pushed themselves up from the loose dirt, undeterred by the loss of the previous generation.

The loose patch of earth shifted.

The newborn sprouts trembled.

A distant flash of lightning lit up a corner of the sky, bright and silent. The wind had died down to a sigh, the world going still in anticipation.

Thunder rumbled and crashed, the wind picked up sharply, blowing in dark clouds, lightning flashed again, and the patch of earth began to heave upward, as if the ground were taking in a breath.

Thunder brought rain crashing down.

The dirt rose up.

A gnarled hand thrust its way into the open, just as another flash of lightning burst overhead, turning the hand into a black silhouette of clawing roots.

“Alright,” a muffled voice said, “did that look as cool as I think it did?”

“Totally.”

Sunny squished through the mud in tall boots, an umbrella held in one hand, a camera in the other. Dawn trudged in from the opposite direction, similarly equipped.

“Ah, the crops are doing so well this year! The nerds are ripe for picking!” the Doctor called from somewhere out of sight.

“I'm going to hug you when I get out of here!” Bog called back, struggling in the mud.

“Just you try it, mudball.”

“These are going to look so cool when we put these clips together,” Dawn said, tucking the camera away in its bag, “How's this one fit, Boggy?”

“The legs are on the right way around this time,” Bog said, clawing his way out of the mud, shaking rain drops and momentary double vision out of his eyes.

“That was one time,” the Doctor shouted, still not visible.

“She's putting newspapers down in the Tardis,” Dawn explained, “she's tired of cleaning mud out of the wiring.”

“She made me get in the cracks with a toothbrush,” Sunny remarked, resting his umbrella on his shoulder so he could grab Bog's hand.

Dawn took Bog's other hand, “Okay, and pull!”

The arm Sunny was pulling on snapped off at the elbow.

Bog looked at the yellow liquid oozing out of the stump.

Sunny looked at the arm he was still holding by the hand.

“Bog . . .?” Dawn began.

“I'm out,” Bog snapped. He slumped forward into the mud.

Sunny finally came to himself and dropped the arm, flailing backwards to get away from it.

“This one a better fit?”

Bog squinted. Dawn's bright face and fluffy halo of hair coming into focus as she bent over him. The sunlight was bright, the outline of it around Dawn was blinding and Bog threw a hand over his eyes.

“He's a shade plant, remember?”

A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see the Doctor had unfurled an enormous yellow and red beach umbrella.

“He needs some sun,” Dawn insisted.

“I need a drink,” Bog's voice was hoarse and his mouth was dry. He wondered if that was a good sign or bad sign. Every time he tried on a new body and felt good it usually ended up that his nerve endings were dead or something.

The Doctor poured a cup of water over Bog's head.

“Not what I meant.”

“But it's what you're going to get, my teetotaling tuber. Plants don't drink hard liquor and it therefore follows that you don't drink it either. Anyway,” the Doctor crouched down, the umbrella closing in further on them, “how does it fit?”

“Gimme a ruddy minute, love,” Bog wheezed, feeling his lungs reluctantly inflating, the rigid segments of bark on his chest shifting with each breath.

“Don't smother him,” Dawn chided.

She pulled the umbrella a little further away so the world was a little less smudged yellow and red. There were some green smudges too now. Bog flexed his hands, his joints moving easily, and touched his thumb to his fingertips, feeling the softness there. That was an improvement, definitely.

“Peach fuzz,” the Doctor said, taking his hand and twisting it this way and that, “for a tree you've got really soft hands. The insides, anyway. Backs are still nice and crunchy. Imagine if you hit someone with that. Total annihilation. They'd be picking splinters out of their face for months.”

“Mm,” Bog took the Doctor's hands in his, savoring the newly returned sensitivity in his fingers. It had taken six tries to get his hands right, to turn them from stiff, thick roots to something that he could imagine using to play the guitar with again. He could feel the callouses on the Doctor's palm, the chipped coat of polish on her fingernails.

“He's getting touchy-feely again,” the Doctor called to Dawn, “maybe we need to reboot him.”

“I keep telling you,” Dawn sighed, “that's normal.”

“How's the connection?” the Doctor freed herself and shone the screwdriver in Bog's eyes, “Any lagging? Double vision? Double sensation? Teeth growing in sideways?”

“Nope. Help me out of here and let's see if everything stays where it should.”

“Your ears sliding off that time was weird and disturbing,” Dawn grimaced.

“Then why are you keeping them in a jar?”

“. . . science?”

“Hey, man,” Sunny took Bog's hand, “if your arm falls off again I am done. Completely done. I'm almost at my limit of zombie body horror.”

“And how do you think it feels to be me?”

“If I planted your arm,” Dawn said thoughtfully, “would it grow another Bog? Would it be a tiny Bog? A pocket Bog?”

“Neither your nor your sister are allowed to play with my genetic material without my permission. I thought we established this. And there has got to be an easier way to do this!”

Bog struggled to pull free of the ground, snapping the tiny rootlets that had spread out around the body while it grew. It stung where they broke off, leaving tiny yellow droplets of blood beading on the skin. The skin was still segmented bark, but patterned to be smoother and not grate together so badly at the edges. Only a Cheem body could be grown using the methods Bog and the Doctor had worked out from the data in the primrose. It would take years for a body to slowly take on a more human structure.

“Maybe we should try pods,” the Doctor said. She was pulling hard, but Bog's arm was still attached, “big old pods, bodysnatcher style.”

“Why didn't you make that suggestion half a dozen bodies ago?!”

“I was thinking trees, not peas.”

“Stupid!” Dawn smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand, knocking her glasses askew, “We got too hung up on plants and forgot all about the human aspects! A pod would be so much easier to program a template into and minimize the need for roots to gain nutrients because the body would be suspended in--”

“Miracle-gro?” the Doctor suggested.

“Hate you,” Bog muttered, getting to his feet and brushing dirt off. After the first attempt at growing and piloting a new body Bog had quickly figured out how to add a simple, separate, fabric-like growth in the shape of pants.

“Good, good, the cheekbones came out nicely,” the Doctor nodded in satisfaction before reaching up and pinching Bog's dirt-encrusted cheeks.

Bog was embarrassed to feel himself blush, but also pleased. The body felt real. Almost as if it were him and not just a remote-controlled drone. His real body—real self—was still firmly rooted to the inside of Roland's former Tardis. With a thought Bog could be pulled right back into that prison. Right back into reality.

“Someone is in loooove,” Dawn giggled.

“I'm allowed to appreciate an aesthetically pleasing face!” the Doctor huffed.

“It's the first one I've ever seen you appreciate, sis. Or consistently recognize.”

“He's easy. He's the one covered in bark.”

Bog smacked the back of her head.

“Hey!”

“Oh, so sorry. My reflexes must still be off kilter.”

The Doctor punched him in the stomach.

“I hope this isn't standard courtship stuff for Time Ladies,” Sunny said, standing on his tiptoes behind Dawn so he could rest his chin on her shoulder, “I bruise easily.”

“Sunny, I've seen you fall off a ten foot wall and walk away without a scratch. I'm theorizing that you're either an alien with enhanced resilience or a sudden leap in human evolution.”

“Don't disrespect my skills like this. I am one hundred percent token human and have collected enough bruises and broken bones to take down an elephant before I reached true mastery of parkour.”

“It isn't natural, it just isn't natural. And these bizarre courtship rituals are exclusive to my sister and her lovesick Larch.”

“I'm going out on a limb here and guessing Larch is some kind of tree.”

“Limb,” Dawn snickered, “that's a good one.”

Bog's leather jacket still fit.

Was it 'still' when the body he was wearing had never worn the jacket before?

His tattoos were gone. No, again, the tattoos had never been inked into the tough skin of this body, on the twined bundles of roots that mimicked the shape of arms. The hands he flexed had never picked up a guitar, the feet that were digging their toes into the dirt had never walked on Earth.

Because they weren't on Earth at the moment.

“One of seven Earth-like planets orbiting a dwarf-star called Trappist-1, recently discovered by Danish scientists,” Dawn had explained, “rather less sunlight than Earth, but suitable for a weird Bog garden. Humans will start colonizing in the thirtieth century. Until then it's like your own personal planet.”

Bog had viewed the scenery on the monitors, his interest piqued by a brand-new, untouched planet, “Can I name it, then?”

“Frank,” the Doctor immediately suggested, “or Earthy. Not Earth. Nearth. Frank Nearth. Frank Nearth the Second.”

“You are not allowed to name anything. Ever.”

“What's wrong with New Earth?” Sunny asked.

“Already taken. Or will be,” Dawn shrugged.

“Also that's totally boring,” the Doctor added, “hey, what about calling it Broden? Planet Broden.”

“Never mind,” Bog said, “we're not naming the planet. Not if I have to deal with this.”

Now Bog stood outside Roland's hair salon Tardis, watching Trappist-1 sink behind the horizon. A pristine planet, untouched by the industry of humans—or any intelligent species—and a cheap hair salon was parked in the middle of a grassy meadow, a neon 'open' sign blinking red and blue in the growing dark.

“I guess we've got a keeper,” the Doctor said.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I don't seem to be shedding anything important.”

The Doctor took Bog's hand.

And stabbed his fingertip with a needle.

“Yup,” she said, ignoring Bog's yelp, “nerve endings are good.”

“Wasn't there some nicer way of checking that?!”

“Don't be a sapling about it. You're not even bleeding.”

“Hmf.”

“Connection is holding. Since you're real body is hooked up to a Tardis you're very unlikely to experience signal loss, no matter where or when you might be. All data you collect in your avatar body will be relayed back to the original so even if the avatar body is damaged you won't lose any—any . . . “

The Doctor stammered her way to a stop when Bog brushed his fingertips over her cheek. Was it the newness of his body that made it seem that his fingers were more sensitive than before? Or maybe it was just the novelty of touching a person with affection.

“I guess . . . I guess that's a nicer way to check nerve sensitivity,” the Doctor remarked awkwardly. She hitched up her shoulder and squinted her eyes when Bog's hand traveled down her neck, but it was only a few moments before she was leaning into his touch, eyes half-shut.

“This really is me, isn't it?” Bog asked quietly, “My body? My hand?”

“Do you want me to be scientific of philosophic about it?” the Doctor had her arms folded tight in front of herself, making no move to reach out to Bog, “I've got a good repertoire built up.”

“I wouldn't mind a straightforward comforting lie.”

“I'm good at lies. Bad at comforting.”

Bog let his fingers coast over the back of her neck, counting the vertebrae that made gentle rises in her skin. The contact helped him feel real. It made the Doctor feel real. She was a strange being, too big inside for him to fully understand, too quick for him to catch unless she stood still and let herself be caught. She was always running and even now, in this moment, it didn't feel like she had really stopped.

“New bodies . . . I've had loads. They come with memories of worlds you've walked a thousand times, but never walked before. At least you get to say the same height. I had to lower all the shelves so I could reach things without a step ladder.”

“Doesn't it bother you? Not to be yourself anymore?”

The Doctor shrugged, “Sometimes there are things you're glad to leave behind.”

Bog's fingers had been pushing the Doctor's hair back behind her ear and he paused, looking at the familiar shape of unfamiliar hands.

Hands that had never held a gun.

“I see,” Bog gently rubbed away a smudge of dirt near the Doctor's hairline, “I see.”

“You wake up and it all begins again. There's the whole universe, new again, waiting for you, and you've got a brand new set of eyes that see everything differently than you've ever seen them before. I'm glad we got your eyes right. I was afraid we might get the wrong shade.”

“Hm,” Bog toyed with the lapels of the Doctor's coat, “this is all a new beginning, is what you're saying.”

“Things begin and end every day. Some are just more noticeable than others. Today you set a clock to count down the ten years, more or less, until you're avatar is more human than Cheem. And I've set my own timer . . .”

The Doctor looked out over the fields and Bog followed her gaze to Sunny and Dawn. The two were pulsing the light on the end of Dawn's screwdriver to attract fireflies. Or some sort of firefly creatures. They actually looked more like flying, glowing spiders.

Bog tugged on the Doctor's coat, making her turn away from the scene. Dawn and Sunny were beginning something, something bright and fresh. They carried their own hurts and worries, but the both of them were fundamentally sound and happy in a way that Bog and the Doctor could never be. Sooner or later Dawn's path would diverge from her sister's.

“She's not gone yet,” Bog said softly.

“That's one of the things about being a Time Lord,” the Doctor said, her head lowered, hiding her eyes in shadow, “you see more endings than you should.”

“Doesn't that just mean you see more beginnings, too?”

The Doctor looked up, slight frown on her face while she took in his words. Something seemed to click into place because she laughed, her painted lips twisting into a reluctant smile, “I think I'm starting to see why I keep you around, Bog.”

“I thought it was for my good looks.”

“I guess you're alright. For a tree. I wonder if you'll turn red and orange in the autumn, because that would be spectacular.”

Bog tugged on her coat, pulling her closer as he bent down, “You're completely bizarre.”

He gave her a brief kiss, confirming that the nerve endings in his lips were functioning properly. He took a breath and looked into the Doctor's eyes. It was hard to say whether the stars he saw there were a reflection of the night sky or from the vast universe she carried within her.

A sudden thought tickled Bog and he laughed.

“What?” the Doctor drew back.

Bog pulled her back, “I was just thinking, technically, that was my first kiss.”

Dawn let the twelve-legged insect dance over her hand while it followed the light from the screwdriver, “It wants to play! I thought it was like fireflies and it was a mating thing, but it's just that he wants to play, like crows. What smart little things.”

“Pretty too, in their weird way,” Sunny picked one out of his hair and shooed it back into the air.”

The two of them stood, knee-deep in grass, surrounding by the winking of the insects and the steady light of the stars. It was cool and the wind was rustling mysteriously in the grass.

“Is it over, then?” Sunny asked, holding Dawn's hand while they watched the sky.

“I guess it is. For the moment.”

“You'll take me back and drop me off in time for my shift, just like none of this happened.”

“I guess.”

Sunny's chest felt tight. Dawn was going to go whirling off into the stars. He would be stuck on Earth, just like before, except this time he would know that he was stuck. Before it was just life. You walked on the surface of the world and knew that anything beyond that was out of your reach.

“I mean,” Dawn took his other hand and swung their hands back and forth a little, “if you want. But after your shift ends . . . are you free?”

The cord tied around Sunny's chest broke and fell away, leaving him able to breathe freely again. The shy look on Dawn's face, the puffs of her hair nodding in the breeze, the sparkle of light glittering from under her eyelashes . . . she was beautiful. She was new. Her sister was like some ancient stone, craggy furrows worn into her by time and trouble. Dawn, just like her name, was new, just peeking over the horizon. Sunny wanted to follow her and see new things together.

“Well,” Sunny could only barely keep himself from grinning, “actually, I kind of have a family dinner I have to help set up. Big deal, the whole family, aunts, uncles, cousins. Even an army of plant people could stop us.”

“Oh,” Dawn dropped his hands, drooping a little, “yeah. Can't skip out on family. I guess we'll just—”

“But,” Sunny took her hands again, “are you free to come to the dinner?”

“Your family dinner?”

“Yeah, we're all allowed to bring dates, but only if we're super serious. No casual flings allowed. It's my grandma's rule. Family only.”

“Family only?”

“Yeah, well,” Sunny's face was suddenly hot, “I mean, I don't know how this is going to end up, but . . . I'm—I'm kind of serious. About you.”

Dawn's face lit up brighter than all the stars and lightning bugs around them. She grabbed Sunny by the shoulders and pulled him into a kiss, pushing away all her thoughts about the terrible revelations of the last few days while she slid her fingers through his hair.

Those were endings.

This was a beginning.

Not Exactly The End

I plan to do several epilogues to fill in some details. But, basically, this is over. Y’all got any questions you want answered that were in the main story? Lemme know and I can incorporate them into the epilogues.

thank you all so so much for reading this super random crossover and enduring endless tree puns

[dfroza]

At the conclusion of an ancient Letter

sent out to friends in my reading for the 5th of july as chapter 6 of Ephesians in writing that is still applicable to us who are alive on earth, right here & now:

Now to you, children, obey your parents in the Lord because this is right in God’s eyes. This is the first commandment onto which He added a promise: “Honor your father and your mother, and if you do, you will live long and well in this land.”

And, fathers, do not drive your children mad, but nurture them in the discipline and teaching that come from the Lord.

Slaves, respect and fear your earthly masters. Obey and serve them with the same sincerity of heart as you serve the Anointed One. Don’t put on a show just because they are looking (as if you were a people pleaser); but as a slave of the Anointed, do the will of God from your heart. Serve them in good faith as if you were serving the Lord, not men, because all good deeds are gifted back from the Lord, and they are yours whether you are a slave or not.

Masters, hear this: act in kind to your slaves. Stop terrorizing and threatening them. Don’t forget that you have a Master in heaven who does not take sides or pick favorites.

Finally, brothers and sisters, draw your strength and might from God. Put on the full armor of God to protect yourselves from the devil and his evil schemes. We’re not waging war against enemies of flesh and blood alone. No, this fight is against tyrants, against authorities, against supernatural powers and demon princes that slither in the darkness of this world, and against wicked spiritual armies that lurk about in heavenly places.

And this is why you need to be head-to-toe in the full armor of God: so you can resist during these evil days and be fully prepared to hold your ground. Yes, stand—truth banded around your waist, righteousness as your chest plate, and feet protected in preparation to proclaim the good news of peace. Don’t forget to raise the shield of faith above all else, so you will be able to extinguish flaming spears hurled at you from the wicked one. Take also the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

Pray always. Pray in the Spirit. Pray about everything in every way you know how! And keeping all this in mind, pray on behalf of God’s people. Keep on praying feverishly, and be on the lookout until evil has been stayed. And please pray for me. Pray that truth will be with me before I even open my mouth. Ask the Spirit to guide me while I boldly defend the mystery that is the good news—for which I am an ambassador in chains—so pray that I can bravely pronounce the truth, as I should do.

I am sending to you Tychicus, my dear brother and faithful minister in the Lord. He will tell you everything that has been going on here with me so you will know how I am and what I am doing. He’s coming with news that will hopefully comfort your hearts. Brothers and sisters, let me leave you with a blessing:

May peace and love with faith be yours from God the Father and the Lord Jesus the Anointed. May His grace surround all who love our Lord Jesus the Anointed with a never-ending love.

The Letter of Ephesians, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

A chapter paired with Isaiah 44 that contains a picture of a pine Tree and the alphabetic number of the word “pine” is 44:

Eternal One: Nevertheless, listen to Me, My people:

Jacob, My servant; Israel, My chosen.

The Eternal who made you,

who formed you in the womb and promised to help you, has this to say:

Eternal One: Don’t be afraid, My servant Jacob,

My dear Jeshurun—My chosen.

Like a devoted gardener, I will pour sweet water on parched land,

streams on hard-packed ground;

I will pour My spirit on your children and grandchildren—

and let My blessing flow to your descendants.

And they will sprout among the grasses, grow vibrant and tall

like the willow trees lining a riverbank.

One will call out: “I belong to the Eternal.”

Another will say, “Jacob is my people; Israel my honored name.”

Yet others will write “Property of the Eternal” on their hands.

The Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies,

King of Israel, who paid their ransom, has this to say:

Eternal One: I am at the beginning and will be at the end.

There is no God except for Me.

If you know any God like Me, tell it now.

Declare and demonstrate any who can compare to Me.

Or if you know and have announced events before their time,

told what is to come, then speak so now.

Don’t be afraid. Let your minds be clear of fear.

Haven’t I announced events and revealed what is to come?

From the earliest days, I have done so. You know it—you have seen and know.

So, go ahead, My witnesses: is there a god out there other than Me?

Witnesses: There is no other rock like God. I don’t know a single one.

But whoever does make an idol is not improved or enriched. On the contrary, their passing fancies contribute nothing of value or purpose. Those who look on at such misplaced attention don’t understand what they’re seeing, and the idol-makers will end up embarrassed at best. It’s easy to say, “What pathetic idiocy! Who would do such a thing—make gods that are by definition worthless?” The people who worship them will be shamed and humiliated. After all, people made those gods. Yet it happens all the time. So, let’s put these images, these figurines all together; stand them up—they will tremble with terror and be ashamed.

A metalworker shapes the raw materials into tools and then uses them to make little gods by hammering, bending, heating, and cooling the materials. And in the process, he gets tired and hungry; without water he soon grows faint. Likewise, the woodworker measures and marks the wood, chisels and planes it down, marks it with a compass, and carves it until it looks a bit like a human—lovely, maybe—in order to put it in a house. To take it back a bit further, perhaps he cuts down cedars or he carefully selects the cypress or oak himself, watches it, nurtures it until it is ready for his purpose. Perhaps he plants a pine; with sun and rain, it grows tall. When it’s time to harvest, he uses some of the wood for fuel to stay warm, some to heat the oven and bake bread, and some to craft a god. Then the woodworker bows down and worships before the image he just made. Do you see the irony? He sits around, warming himself and roasting dinner with wood from the same tree from which he crafted a god to which he bows and worships and prays—one time saying, “I am warmed by the wood fire”; another time saying, “O dear god, save me.”

So we see again how it is that they’re blind—their eyes shut to the truth in front of them, their hearts and minds refusing to think and really understand what’s going on. So without stopping to think about it, the fool says, “Gosh, I used half of the wood to build a fire, and baked the bread and roasted the meat over its hot coals. After I eat, I think I’ll use the rest of it to make a repulsive god. Maybe I’ll bow down to this leftover lumber.” A fool like this is feeding on ashes—his addled mind and deceived heart lead him nowhere. He can’t figure out how to save himself, much less see the error of his ways and say, “Is this idol in my right hand just a lie?”

Eternal One: Let that be a lesson to you, My people.

Don’t forget it, Jacob; O Israel, remember—you are Mine.

I made you; you are My servant; I will not forget you.

I have swept away your wrongdoing, as wind sweeps a cloud from the sky:

I have cleared you of your sins, as the sun clears the morning mist.

I have rescued you; come back to Me.

Sing, starry sky and every constellation, for what the Eternal has done.

Shout for joy, dark soil underfoot and deep caverns below;

Erupt in joyful songs, mountains and forests, and every tree in them!

Sing joyfully, for the Eternal One has rescued Jacob, His people;

The splendor of God will be revealed in Israel.

The Eternal, your rescuing hero who formed you before birth, declares,

Eternal One: I am the Eternal, Creator of all there is and will be.

I alone stretched out the heavens and spread out the blue earth.

I confound the lying swindlers who claim to tell the future,

and I make the fortune-tellers look like fools.

I stop the highbrow intellectuals in their tracks,

and I show the fault of their reasoning.

But I stand behind the words of My servants,

and I accomplish what they predict.

The one who says about Jerusalem, “This place will be built up again”;

about Judah’s cities, “They will be restored”:

I confirm their predictions. They will rise from their ruins.

After all, I am the One who needs only to say “Dry up” to great waters,

and your rivers run dry.

I am the one who says of the Persian victor over Babylon,

“Cyrus is My shepherd. He will accomplish what I determine.”

My word goes out concerning Jerusalem:

“It will stand, a glorious city, again”

and of My house within it, “Restoration will begin at once.”

The Scroll of Isaiah, Chapter 44 (The Voice)

A commentary included for this chapter in The Voice Translation:

All of the nations that Israel encounters are involved in some form of idol worship. They imagine these gods and fashion these images in order to satisfy a desire—a God-given desire—to connect with something, with someone out there. Human beings know at some deep, intuitive level that God exists, life is sacred, and there are mysteries more profound than the daily grind. This is why every human civilization exhibits some form of religious life and devotion. But instead of seeking the God who is, people have a tendency to create the gods they want, gods that give them control over the complexities and problems of life. Israel is elected by God for a number of reasons. Perhaps two of the most significant are to bear witness to the one True God and to warn the nations against idolatry. According to Scripture, idol worship is not some neutral, unfortunate habit people get themselves into; it is more than just a waste of time, hope, and effort. It is a dangerous substitute—a counterfeit experience—that adversely misshapes and disorders their lives. To persist in idolatry is to give way to malevolent evils and to miss out on a relationship with the one True God.

with this set of paired chapters from the Testaments accompanied by the reading of Today’s Psalms:

[Psalm 5]

Song of the Clouded Dawn

For the Pure and Shining One

For her who receives the inheritance, by King David

[Morning Watch]

Listen, Yahweh, to my passionate prayer!

Can’t you hear my groaning?

Don’t you hear how I’m crying out to you?

My King and my God, consider my every word,

for I am calling out to you.

At each and every sunrise you will hear my voice

as I prepare my sacrifice of prayer to you.

Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on the altar

and wait for your fire to fall upon my heart.

[Making It Right]

I know that you, God, are never pleased with lawlessness,

and evil ones will never be invited as guests in your house.

Boasters collapse, unable to survive your scrutiny,

for your hatred of evildoers is clear.

You will make an end of all those who lie.

How you hate their hypocrisy and despise all who love violence!

[Multitude of Mercy]

But I know that you will welcome me into your house,

for I am covered by your covenant of mercy and love.

So I come to your sanctuary with deepest awe

to bow in worship and adore you.

Yahweh, lead me in the pathways of your pleasure

just like you promised me you would,

or else my enemies will conquer me.

Smooth out your road in front of me,

straight and level so that I will know where to walk.

[Multitude of Sins]

Their words are unreliable.

Destruction is in their hearts,

drawing people into their darkness with their speeches.

They are smooth-tongued deceivers, flattering with their words.

Declare them guilty, O God!

Let their own schemes be their downfall!

Let the guilt of their sins collapse on top of them,

for they rebel against you.

[Multitude of Blessings]

But let them all be glad,

those who turn aside to hide themselves in you.

May they keep shouting for joy forever!

Overshadow them in your presence as they sing and rejoice.

Then every lover of your name will burst forth with endless joy.

Lord, how wonderfully you bless the righteous.

Your favor wraps around each one and covers them

under your canopy of kindness and joy.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 5 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 15]

A song of David.

Eternal One, who is invited to stay in Your dwelling?

Who is granted passage to Your holy mountain?

Here is the answer: The one who lives with integrity, does what is right,

and speaks honestly with truth from the heart.

The one who doesn’t speak evil against others

or wrong his neighbor,

or slander his friends.

The one who loathes the loathsome,

honors those who fear the Eternal,

And keeps all promises no matter the cost.

The one who does not lend money with gain in mind

and cannot be bought to harm an innocent name.

If you live this way, you will not be shaken and will live together with the Lord.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 15 (The Voice)

[Psalm 36]

For the worship leader. A song of David, the Eternal’s servant.

Sin speaks in the depths of the soul

of those who oppose God; they listen closely to its urgings.

You’ll never see the fear of God

in their eyes,

For they flatter themselves—

convinced their sin will remain secret, undiscovered, and so unhated.

They speak words of evil and deceit.

Wisdom and goodness, they deserted long ago.

Even as they sleep, they are plotting mischief.

They journey along a path far from anything good,

gravitating to trouble, welcoming evil.

Your love, O Eternal One, towers high into the heavens.

Even the skies are lower than Your faithfulness.

Your justice is like the majestic mountains.

Your judgments are as deep as the oceans, and yet in Your greatness,

You, O Eternal, offer life for every person and animal.

Your strong love, O True God, is precious.

All people run for shelter under the shadow of Your wings.

In Your house, they eat and are full at Your table.

They drink from the river of Your overflowing kindness.

You have the fountain of life that quenches our thirst.

Your light has opened our eyes and awakened our souls.

May Your love continue to grow deeply in the lives of all who know You.

May Your salvation reach every heart committed to do right.

Give me shelter from prideful feet that hunt me down

and wicked hands that push me from Your path.

It is there, far away from You, that the wicked will be forced down,

face to the earth, never again returning to their feet.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 36 (The Voice)

to be concluded with wisdom from the ancient book of Proverbs about the purity of sex in marriage:

My son, stay focused; listen to the wisdom I have gained;

give attention to what I have learned about life

So you may be able to make sensible judgments

and speak with knowledge.

You see, the lips of a seductive woman speak honey-sweet words;

they are smooth like oil and enticing.

But in the end, she is bitter,

turning the stomach and rotting the soul;

she cuts as deep as a double-edged sword.

She leads you down a path that can only end in death;

her steps lead eventually to the grave.

She does not travel the road to life and truth.

She follows a wandering path—

a rocky, pit-filled road that twists and turns—and she doesn’t even know it.

So, my children, listen to me.

Do not stray from my advice.

Stay away from her, far away from her path;

don’t even go near her door

Unless you are ready to hand over your reputation to someone else,

unless you want to spend the rest of your years at the mercy of some cruel person.

If you do, strangers will help themselves to your wealth,

and everything you have worked hard to acquire will end up in someone else’s hands.

Your life will end with groanings of remorse, of opportunities missed,

and your flesh and bones will be eaten up with sorrow, regret for worthless efforts.

Then you’ll say, “Why did I hate being taught?

Why did I turn my back on correction?

I disregarded all that my teachers said to me;

I turned my ear away from my instructors!

Now I am on the edge of complete and utter ruin

in the midst of the community.”

Here’s what you should do to be satisfied:

go home and drink in the pleasures of your own cistern, your wife;

enjoy the sweet, fresh water that has been there all along, flowing from your own well.

Take care. Should your own springs, your body, be freely shared?

Should your streams of water satisfy anyone in the streets? Absolutely not!

They should be kept pure for you and you alone,

not for sharing with strangers.

May your fountain, your sex life, be blessed by God;

may you know true joy with the wife of your youth.

She who is lovely as a deer and graceful as a doe—

as you drink in her love,

may her breasts satisfy you at all times.

My son, why get caught up in some other woman

and embrace the breast of a stranger?

You see, the Eternal sees our ways before Him.

He watches every move we make and knows where those paths lead.

The wicked will be snared by their own wrongdoing.

Their flaws will tie their own hands, and they will be dragged through life by the cords of their sins.

Because they have no discipline, their spirits die and their bodies will soon follow;

because they are immensely foolish, they wander lost and confused.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

my reading in the Scriptures for the 5th of july, day 15 of Summer and day 186 of the year

(thank you for reading along with me)

[scribefindegil]

Cycle Eight--Week 3

[Ao3]  [Week 1] [Week 2]

Day 15

Went into the forest again today. This time Barry and Nita both came with us, with Nita levitating over the mushrooms. Barry has been examining the forest from the village, but this is his first time out into it. It was good to have him there and to confirm my own suspicions: while many of these mushrooms superficially resemble flora from home, every biological and magical test he subjected them to confirmed that they were different from the native fungi of our own reality—and of this one.

Nita and Frelya merely shrugged when we asked them how the mushrooms had arrived on this world. It is past living memory, even for the longest-lived of the surviving races. There are only the vaguest legends. Some say it was a great spell gone wrong. Some say it was a comet of ill-omen that streaked across the sky and brought the first Keepers with it. Some say that the Keepers were already living in stone prisons deep below the Earth, and it was only a matter of time before they awoke.

"Doesn't matter," Frelya said, and grunted.

Nita shook her head and smiled at me. "Of course it does!"

She told us the names that the villagers use for the mushrooms. Most of them don't care much; all of the forest is deadly, so it doesn't matter if you call the blue parts and the red parts something different. But the herbalists care.

(The next several pages are filled with exactingly labelled pen-and-ink drawings with small color swatches next to them. Some of the drawings also have additional notes in a different, heavier hand.)

Dangerous as the forest is, the people of Fungston are forced to rely upon it for many things. Nita explained which mushrooms can be dried, cleaned of spores, and used as material for anything from the canes she uses to the walls of their houses. The universal veils can be washed and hardened and turned into the tough, thick fabric that the villagers wear. Certain species can be cut into thin strips and spun together to make a sturdy rope that is then cured on racks above the bonfires.

"You're extremely resourceful out here," Barry said admiringly.

Nita shrugged. "We do what we have to. If we weren't resourceful we'd all be dead."

It's true, although I don't think we're used to hearing it so bluntly.

Barry took samples from several of the mushrooms and was discouraged from taking them from others. There's one pale species that produces beads of ruby-red sap that burn like acid, which ate through his container almost before Nita could warn him away.

"Be careful of that one," she said, speaking to Barry but looking at me. "We call it Miser's Blood. It can burn through your mask before you realize anything's wrong."

Barry backed carefully away, apologized to the mushroom for disturbing it, blushed, and then tripped over his own feet. Fortunately he didn't land in anything dangerous, but we did take it as a sign that we had probably done enough exploring for the day.

Day 16

We have all been recruited into assisting with the movement of the bonfires. It is a gradual process: first the inner ring is put out and new fires are built around the outer periphery. The plan is to maintain those for a few days to ensure that the scorch teams can keep the forest back around a wider perimeter even without Lup's evocation magic assisting them.

It means that we have to burn some of Merle's green sward, which the villagers were upset by at first. But today Merle was up uncharacteristically early, sitting in the center of town. He said it was too early for singing, but he poured out two portions of his breakfast tea—one for himself and one on the ground for Pan.

Merle knows all the traditional services. I've seen him use them more than once, but more often when he talks to his god he goes off on rambles that sound more as if they were directed at a beloved but ornery relative.

"Now Pan, I know this is a tough situation, but can you help a brother out here? You saw how much these people loved those little plants you helped me grow, so I'm thinking maybe we can get you a congregation going here. What do you think? Got a problem being the god of a weird mushroom world? Yeah, I didn't think so."

As he talks, plants and flowers grow around his feet.

It's certainly not traditional, but I feel that the people of Fungston could do far worse when it comes to spiritual leaders.

The villagers began to emerge from their houses—some with curiosity, some with frightened squeaks. They're still (I say still and betray my own prejudices. There’s no way that a few days would make a difference after a lifetime) unused to wild plants that aren't somehow sinister, so when the shoots emerge through the ground their first instinct is to draw away. But soon they see that what Merle grows will not hurt them.

The entire circle between the first circle of bonfires is green.

It made it easier to move the first circle outward. We worked all day. Lup helped to rekindle the new bonfires, since she's agreed not to go out with the scorch teams for a few days so they can test their efficacy against these new borders. Magnus enjoyed excavating the new fire pits—it gave him an excuse to show off his strength, and of course the villagers were duly impressed. Taako decided to take advantage of the Starblaster's larder and surprised everyone after dinner with trays of tiny star-shaped cookies. There were enough that all the villagers could eat their fill. They're amazed at the concept of flour, which they’ve never seen before—who knows how long it's been since this world could grow wheat?

Day 17

We've begun to make plans for the expedition. Captain Davenport called a meeting, moderated by Merle, to discuss what we need to do to prepare. The biggest problem is how much world we have to explore. Lup and Barry have been trying to find ways to track the Light, but so far they have no definite answers. We know that if a civilization takes in the Light of Creation it tends to spur them to new heights of science and creativity, and sometimes we can use that knowledge to determine its location. But on this world, the chances of it landing somewhere where people can find it are slim. We'll be looking for a needle in a deadly, glowing haystack.

It could well take our entire time on this planet to locate the light, if we do so at all. Mico tells us that the forest outside the borders of the town is actually quite sparse compared to the deeper groves that lie to the South. The Starblaster will take us part of the way, but most of the journey will have to be done on foot.

We have left the final determination of who will be going on the mission for a later date. Magnus intends to lead it, and Davenport will go along and stay with the ship. I have volunteered to go as well. We won't be leaving for at least several more weeks. It's not long enough to gather all the stories I want to tell from this village--it never is--but I should be able to talk to more of the citizens. Those who were shy at first have begun warming up to us. Their eyes are brighter now, and I think they are smiling below their masks. Merle and Lup together have given them hope.

And this mission--it is a story, too. All stories deserve to be told but my first duty is always to the mission and the crew. I hope that, eventually, someone else will read what I have written and remember us. I hope that, eventually, this is a story of a mission that was completed. Of a world that was truly saved. But until then, all I can do is write.

Mico tells us that the "rainy season" is coming, and we would do well to delay our departure until afterwards. As it has been raining nearly non-stop since our arrival, I hesitate to think what sort of weather is approaching that would be so much worse. Mico shook their head when they spoke of it. It's a dangerous time, they said, the time of year when the village is most likely to lose people. Most likely to be lost itself.

"We won't let that happen," said Magnus, and the rest of us nodded.

Day 18

I spent today among the weavers, trying to get them to explain their processes or other stories of the town, but came away with very little. They're extremely polite and not what I would call tight-lipped, but they want to hear stories, not tell them. I suppose it's understandable; to them this way of life is everything they know, but our crew descended from the stars. They want to know about our home. It pains me to tell them. It's been seven years since we left. Seven years since we lost our home.

I don't have a journal about that world. Rather, I had many. The biographies I wrote or ghost-wrote. The piles of blue leather volumes I bound and filled with the stories of other people's lives. But those remained planetside. There was no reason to bring them--no reason to suspect that the seven of us would be the last survivors of our reality.

But I still have notes. Stories. Songs. When we have time, I still ask the others. Magnus is the most eager to talk. He's younger even than I am, and than I was. He should be twenty-eight years old by now, but every time we enter a new set of Planes he returns to the round, boyish face of a man barely out of adolescence. I wonder if the pride he takes in his sideburns is at least in part because they make him look older. It was important at the beginning because he really was so young, and it's important now because he isn't.

I brought a pile of my books out from the Starblaster. They are the right-handed copies, with writing that is slightly less smooth. The backups. If something happens to them, the first copies will still be safe on the ship. So I brought them out and read from them. Showed the villagers the sketches I'd done of our lilac sky with the two suns, of our trees and our clothes and our cities.

They muttered and nudged each other at the images of people going about their daily lives with no masks on, stared at the drawings of trees in disbelief.

"You just . . ." Jarrus asked. "You can just breathe?"

I nodded, and the look on her face broke my heart.

"Do you remember?" I asked. "Do any of you know stories about what it was like before the mushrooms came?"

They all shook their heads, and Riki, a halfling with pale eyes and a particularly long trunk-like mask, said, "I reckon there never was a before. They say there was, but some of 'em also say there'll be an after. And that's just mad. 'Slike you people coming in here, all mad with hope. It's not going to get better. Don't think it ever was."

"That's not true," Jarrus said. "My grandmother's mother was part of the first generation born in the village. And she told my grandmother, and she told me, that things used to be different. You used to be able to see the stars. You used to breathe free. But you know what? When they first came, the prophets said that the mushrooms and the Keepers would end the world, that it was the end of everything and no one would survive. But we did. We don't have much but we're still here, and I don't know about the rest of you but I'm going to hope that some day my daughter or her children or their children will be able to look back and say, 'We survived. We survived and we won and those damn Keepers still haven't beaten us.' Maybe they won't need these masks. Maybe they'll see the stars again."

Such speeches are uncharacteristic—for any of the villagers, but especially for the usually taciturn Jarrus. Riki refused to meet her eyes and went back to his weaving.

Soon afterwards, Vetch ran over to tell us it was time for dinner. Jarrus caught her up and pressed their foreheads together. It's a common greeting here among loved ones, perhaps an alternative to kissing since the lower halves of their faces are always covered by their masks.

The hymn to send off the scorch teams gets fuller every night. The entire village knows the song by heart and sings along. Tonight, Magnus and Barry attempted the baritone harmony. Their voices are enthusiastic if not always in tune, but I heard gasps from around me. Vetch watched the teams roll out from her favorite perch on Magnus’s shoulders, and when she ran back to her mother afterwards I saw that Jarrus was crying.

Day 19

(The first several pages of this entry consist of watercolor paintings of mushrooms. They are more brightly colored than the previous paintings. Notes to the side of the images read, ‘Pigment help from Barry and Lup. Red and yellow magically derived, others adapted from the distilled juice of the mushrooms’)

The new town border remains stable. The center of town remains green. To Captain Davenport’s chagrin, there are vines growing around the Starblaster, but none of them go near the engines so he can’t yet claim that they’re a safety hazard.

Spent another day in the forest with Frelya. My sketches are now nearly true to color, thanks to the scientific expertise of my crewmates.

As we were walking back, Frelya stopped shortly outside the first set of bonfires.

“I . . . haven’t asked for anything in exchange for taking you out here,” she said.

“I know,” I replied.

She turned and thrust an extra mask into my hands. One of the bulbous ones, made from the cured and waterproofed universal veils.

“Use your paints,” she said. “Make it . . . brighter.”

It make take more consultation before I can find a medium that will adhere to the mask’s material, but I know how I will be spending tomorrow.

Day 20

Have spent the day in painting and experimentation with Barry. The slick surface of the veil-cloth resists my standard preparations. If I knew less about the material I would be tempted to sand it to give quill and brush more tooth, but even though the process of curing it kills the spores I know better than to risk it.

It is refreshing to work on the ship and be able, at least for a while, to remove our own masks. It’s air-tight inside—as something designed to travel between realities should be—and we’ve established a system of knocks and small blockades to make sure no one opens the door to the outside when we aren’t expecting it.

It is strange how quickly we adapt. For our first few days in Fungston the constant presence of the mask was almost intolerable, but I find that I’ve become so used to it that going without makes me feel strange and vulnerable. Despite how little sunlight makes it through the clouds, Barry has a line running across the bridge of his nose with paler, sun-starved skin beneath it.

(The rest of the page is a careful experimental table of substrates and additives. Glued in next to it are narrow strips of thick, waxy cloth. All of them have been painted green. Most of the paint is chipped and flaking; some is translucent and uneven; some is discolored and has bit into the cloth. On the final strip, the paint is vibrant and flexes with the cloth when you move it. Around it are scribbled words in a circle: “Huzzah!” and its synonyms in Elvish, Dwarfish, and Draconic, as well as words in several other languages you don’t recognize but assume from context are further exclamations of excitement.)

Day 21

It took most of the day and most of the night before we found a medium that would work. Lup brought us coffee and laughed about how silly it is that humans need to sleep. It reminded me of our time back at the Institute. I still hope to find something readily available on this planet, but for now we rely on transmutation magic and egg-yolk tempera.

I suspect Lup of casting Sleep on the two of us shortly thereafter. She refuses to admit to it, but doesn’t deny it either. Bolstered by the excitement of our discovery, I had planned to stay awake through the remainder of the night and make some progress with the painting, but the next thing I knew Barry and I were both raising our heads from the table, having missed breakfast and made a spirited effort at missing lunch.

The twins were in the kitchen, and as soon as they saw us stirring they grinned and descended on us with two massive omelets, doubtless made from some of the unused experimental eggs.

I spent the rest of the day painting. I finished in time to meet Frelya as she returned from scorch team duty. She took the mask, now covered in images of delicate flowers and intertwining vines worked over a field of tiny truesilver stars, and turned it over and over in her hands. She was silent for a full minute.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “You’re . . . a real weirdo, but I don’t mind taking you to look at mushrooms.”

[wildflower8281]

Bike Life Deep Dive

Recap

I’ve been living the bike life now for almost a year and a half here in downtown Phoenix. After a small fender that busted up my beloved Max (Ford Taurus, very old, no AC, leaking roof, but helpful!) I decided to let him go, and with him, all the trappings of car ownership. For a trial run. I said I would try out the #bikelife for 3-6 months and see how I like it, see how or if I could adjust my lifestyle to it, and whether or not the bike life was overall something of true value for me, both internally and financially.

In my initial #bikelife post last year (Adventures in Not Owning A Car,) I enumerate the various financial benefits and reasons why the bike life was, for me personally, economically savvy. It has still most definitely proven so and I’ve adjusted even more to the lifestyle, having since made further changes and routines that create an easier flow for me. I continue to confess that I know that living this lifestyle is a privilege! I deliberately chose a home close to where I work and I have zero dependents, and my Aunt Barb has lent me her bike indefinitely as long as I live in Arizona (Thanks, Aunt Barb!) Also, for what it’s worth, I am very much an introverted homebody, so I’m not someone who is or constantly needs to be out and about. Thus, relying on Lyft for occasional trips is very within my budget. Also, since most of my social plans are with family or friends and happen relatively close to me, I gratefully take up their offers on rides and happily return the favor with coffee or drinks or gas money. Thus, this entire situation it’s not a life circumstance that most people are in and I know that. I am grateful for this season in my life when I can live this way and in this post, I want to explore and reflect beyond just the financial benefits, because the #bikelife has in many ways enriched my entire experience of the world.

The Nature Connect

The bike life connects me to the natural world. I used to think that Phoenix had pleasant weather pretty much year ‘round….until I began biking in it!!! While Phoenix may not “have weather” frequently, when it does, this place doesn’t mess around! If it’s not pleasant and sunny (which, honestly, it is like 80% of the year,) then it’s either extremely hot and dry reaching temps over 100 for weeks at a time, pouring monsoon-like storms or we are having the coldest winter since 2013! Phoenix doesn’t mess and when it actually allows weather into the Valley, it is always something extreme. But this is actually a positive point here! I have grown to love biking in the all the weathers! I am actually really proud to say that I bike to work in all the seasons here! I bike to work in the Arizona summers, and I bike on the mornings when it’s under 40! If you would have told me two years ago, that I would be biking to my job in under 40 degree weather, and enjoying it, I would not have believed you. But, I actually do enjoy it. Even for this girl who despises being cold generally, the Aliveness I feel each day I get to go outside, feel the weather and experience the Elements on my skin far outweighs any uncomfortable moments of cold hands in January or radiating heat on my neck during July. Biking brings me into the natural world each day, kind of whether I like it or not, and that daily dose of weather, even when it is extreme, is good medicine for my entire being! Its my few minutes of feeling the sun on my face or the rush of the cold. Many times it is the only 30 minutes I am outside on any given day. On some days when I’m just tired of packing my bag, putting on my helmet and going thru the routine, ultimately it’s the connect with nature in Her seasons that pull me through and never really let me down. I arrive to work refreshed and in a better mood, pretty much never fail! (Yes, I have my limits too: for monsoons and over 115 degrees, I use Lyft or call a neighbor, but that is literally under 10x a year!)

(Photo: Me in my usual bike get-up on a cold day, going home. Cred: Mirinda, also seen in reflection, encouraging as always!)

Less Stress

Biking also kind of just simplifies the commute. I have 2 choices each day: bike or walk. Both are relatively simple and low maintenance transportation styles. This season, I *may have* chuckled as I rode by various folks standing by their cars, waiting for them to heat up and melt the frost on their windshield.... 

In the summer, I ride by parked cars that are humming, as they build up their AC inside, so the owner doesn’t suffocate at 125 degrees upon entrance. In the 10 minutes it takes them to cool down their car, then sit in traffic, I’m having a peaceful bike ride, enjoying nature and arriving at the same time! It’s pretty fantastic most days! I ride by folks with flat tires, fenders, and cars that seem like they probably shouldn’t be cars anymore! I also know the awesome feeling of driving a car without AC here in the desert summer, as well as one that has an ironically leaking roof. In the desert, where one would not think much about rain problems or that a leaky roof would be an issue, it totally sucks during monsoon season! I feel the human with car troubles, believe me! I’ve had them too! However, these are all situations I have left behind and can very simply pedal by and be grateful that I don’t have to deal with or worry about them. Not owning a car just makes the daily commute a lot simpler!

(Photo: Unsplash)

Moving Meditation

I’ve learned I prefer the slower pace of biking and walking to work much more than driving. When I bike or walk to work, once I’m out of my neighborhood, I’m on some major streets where cars are whizzing by in their AC or heated seats, with radio blasting, trying to make it thru the ‘orange’ light! That was me for most of my former driving life, so no judgement here. I was a car owner from age 17-35, so I love a good car dance and I will never turn down heated seats! However, biking and walking are organically a much slower pace. They cause me to notice the plants, the trees, the flowers I pass by daily, and watch them transform through the seasons. Biking and walking allows me to enjoy the songs of the birds and say hello to all the neighborhood pups and kittens. I’m not being sappy here, these are things that truly make me happy. I’ve even noticed how the sun rises and sets at different angles in the sky, as the seasons change, which in some deep way makes me feel more connected to All That Is. On the way home, I get to revel in some of the best views of our Arizona sunsets, as I can linger wherever I want, stop and gaze at the sky and allow myself to be mesmerized by the palette of magenta pinks and fiery oranges. Not to mention inhale the yummy wafts of dinner that swirl through the evening air in Coronado (my eclectic neighborhood!) - Italian garlic and Indian curries are the usual fare! YUM! It’s delightful! These little nuances are imperceptible to the whizzing car with blasting music. The slower pace allows me to tune into the subtler moments, cycles and patterns of life, as well as engage my senses much more, all which for me, enhance my entire experience of the day, and consequently of the seasons in my own life. It is quite literally a moving meditation.

Gratitude

So, how is the bike life going, do I still like it, is it worth it?! Yes, for many reasons! Financially, it definitely is an amazing option that I have in my present situation. But, of even more value, are the daily, small ways that this lifestyle pulls me into the present, allows me to feel Nature into my bones and tunes me into the frequency of the Elements. For me, these consequences are gifts that I did not intend and for which I am daily grateful.

(Photo: Sunset taken on a ride home from work.)

[alchemine]

Worst Witch Wednesday - Fanfic Redux

It’s Wednesday again, so here’s another bit (actually more than a bit) of 2017 reboot fic. This time we’re combining two of my faves as HB goes out into the wood on Midsummer Eve. 

Misty rain fell on the castle throughout the long summer day, floating endlessly down from a pale grey sky. As noon came and went, it began to worry Miss Hardbroom, who had plans for the evening and did not want to go to the effort of working a weather spell. It was one thing to summon up a bit of wind or lightning on command, and quite another to push an entire naturally occurring storm system out into the North Sea. 

When a glimmer or two of weak sunlight finally began to show through the clouds, she was relieved, and said as much to Miss Cackle and Miss Bat over their late-afternoon tea.

“It’s a Midsummer Eve miracle,” Miss Bat said perkily. “Pass me the jam, Hecate, will you?”  

Hecate passed the jam and watched Miss Bat pile it onto a scone until the pastry nearly crumbled under its weight.

“Perhaps you’d just like me to pour it directly into your mouth,” she suggested.

Miss Bat gave her colleague the sweet, dotty-old-lady smile that was her preferred way of dismissing comments she couldn’t be bothered with, and took a large, jammy bite of scone. A sticky blob escaped over the side and fell onto the green crushed-velvet bodice of her dress with a soft plop, and Miss Cackle banished it for her with a pointed finger while reaching for another slice of cherry cake.

Hecate wrinkled up her nose. “And on that note, I’ll leave the pair of you to your gorging. Do save some for Dimity when she finally gets here. I’m told she had an accident with a volleyball net.”

She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, and Miss Cackle dropped the cake onto the plate, took a hurried gulp of her tea and got up too, following her deputy out of the Headmistress’ study and into the shadows of the empty corridor.

“Hecate, about tonight--”

“What about it?”

“Well…” Miss Cackle peered at Hecate sternly over her spectacles, an effect somewhat spoilt by the fact that she had to crane her neck backward to do it. “I’m concerned for you, that’s all. Perhaps you should let me come along.”

“Isn’t that what I usually say to you?”  

“It is,” Miss Cackle allowed.

“And you always tell me to stay behind, which is exactly what I’m going to say now. Really, Ada, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Miss Cackle shot her a long, warning look. “I wouldn’t go that far. They’re dangerous, Hecate. You know they are.”

“Not if you deal with them the right way.” She hesitated. “If anything, it’s I who ought to be concerned for you. You haven’t got the relationship with them--with him--that I have. Suppose you come with me and something goes wrong? I’d never forgive myself.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Miss Cackle said gently. “And I know we haven’t any other way of getting what we need, or I wouldn’t have you go at all. How is your supply holding up?”

“I scraped the bottom of the jar three days ago.”

“Very well.” The Headmistress sighed. “Only be careful, Hecate. It would break my heart if--”

“Don’t say it.” Hecate held up a warning hand. “Don’t even think it. I’ll be back before moonrise, Ada. I promise you.” 

The sun had gone behind the clouds again when she manifested in the wood, and it was dark and dripping under the canopy of trees, with occasional surprise showers when collected rainwater spilled from the upper branches. Hecate walked through it silently, as witches did. She would have liked to transport herself directly to her destination, but the sort of people she meant to meet with were annoyed by magic that did not belong to them, and despite what she had said to Ada, this was a risky enough business without adding to it.

After a bit she came to a small clearing where the treetops leant toward each other without quite touching, like lovers cursed never to be able to kiss. Underneath them the wet grass grew long and wild and untouched, and she had to wade through it, soaking the hem of her dress, to get to the centre. There, she knelt down and parted the grass with her hands, and at its roots found the stones, thirteen of them, which she had collected on another Midsummer’s Eve long ago. They were white, each about the size and shape of a loaf of bread, and they were set in a circle just big enough for a witch to sit down in.

Hecate trampled the grass around the stones until they were visible--it would be best if the visitor she was hoping for saw them straight away--and then from a deep pocket in her cloak, she pulled out a collection of objects. She laid three of them neatly on the ground just outside the circle as if they were offerings, which was, in fact, exactly what they were: a cake from Ada’s tea table, small and round with pure white icing like new-fallen snow; a tiny glass jar of golden honey; and a bunch of yellow flowers.

The fourth item was a sprig of rosemary, and that she rubbed between her fingers, releasing the sharp, nose-tingling scent that made her think of winter wreaths and food being cooked over roaring fires, before putting it back in her pocket for safekeeping. She took off her boots and stood barefoot on the sodden ground, and then she sat in the middle of the circle, on a chunk of overturned log that she’d also placed there years ago, and started the work of unpinning her hair and picking out the tightly pulled strands of plaits. She had just finished shaking the last locks loose when a gnarled little man stepped nimbly around an invisible wall and into the clearing.

"Well met, Robin Goodfellow,” she said.

“Well met, witchling.” The Puck grinned with mossy snaggle teeth. “I wondered when we might come together again, here in the wood.”

He came closer and inspected Hecate’s offerings. “What splendid gifts you’ve brought. All my favourites.” One hand shot out and seized the honey jar, and the brown tip of his tongue darted out to lick its rim before he tucked it into his jacket. Next he snatched up the cake, nibbled around its edge with barely audible murmurs of delight, and squirreled that away too. Finally he picked up the flowers and breathed in their scent, eyes closed in what looked like ecstasy. They disappeared along with everything else, and then he put his legs apart and his hands behind his back--they were small, like the rest of him, but had more and longer fingers than one might expect--and regarded her.

“You’ve grown older since last I saw you,” he observed.

"Please, no flattery," Hecate said dryly. "I could hardly help it. It’s been ten summers since then, you know.”

“Has it?”

“It has. And witches are long-lived, but we’re not eternal.”

"But you could be," said the Puck, and suddenly his voice was seductive, sweet and soporific, like the sound of bees humming on a sunny afternoon. “If you would only come away with me--"

"I told you no when I was a child," Hecate informed him, "and the answer hasn't changed, and it never will. I don't care to live forever, and I especially don't wish to give up my own powers to your queen. You know she would want them."

"Tis true, she would." The Puck sighed. "But what a shame nevertheless. You were such a pretty child, you would have been the jewel of our company. Eyes like a doe’s, and hair as black as a raven’s wing!" He leant forward, his upraised hand hovering just outside the boundary of the stone circle. “May I?”

“Only that and no more,” Hecate said, and he reached out and pulled playfully at a loose lock of her hair, twining it round one impossibly long finger.

“Soft as ever,” he mused. “I remember how I would weave flowers into it when we played together. I might have kept you for my own, witchling, and not given you over to the Queen at all. It would have done you good to grow up with us, away from that dusty old house full of rules and punishments and things that were not to be touched. I watched through the window, you know. I saw what she did--”

“Stop now,” Hecate said, and the Puck let her hair go and backed away a step or two, with a face full of what looked like genuine sadness.

“And now, witchling, look what has become of you. Locked away in another prison and subject to another old woman who tells you what to do.”

“Ada is nothing like my grandmother was,” Hecate said sharply, “and I follow her orders because I want to, not because I must.”

“But does she love you as I do?”

“As you do? No.” 

“Ah, then does she love you at all, witchling?”

“I haven’t come to talk of love,” Hecate said. “I’ve come to ask a favour.”

“Of course you have,” the Puck said sullenly. “Why should I think my old playmate would want to see me for my own sweet sake?” He made a moue at her. “Well, here I am. What will you of me?”

“It’s the plant you gave me,” Hecate said. “I’ve run out. I made it last as long as I could, but--” She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “Nothing in this world lasts forever.”

“As we have already discussed,” said the Puck. The patch of sky above the clearing was growing very dark, which made Hecate wonder, with a nervous twist to her insides, just how long the two of them had been here together. It was easy to lose track of time when dealing with the Puck and his kind, and she had promised to be back by moonrise.

“Will you fetch some more for me, Robin?” She made her voice as gentle and respectful as she could. “We truly do need it for our spells, and it’s not to be found this side of the veil, but on your side...”

“It grows wild underfoot,” the Puck said in a musing tone. “Yes. And what will you give me if I do, witchling?”

“Last time you didn’t ask for anything,” Hecate said.

“That was last time,” said the Puck. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps a lock of your hair, as a remembrance when we are apart?”

“Not that,” said Hecate, shuddering inwardly at the idea of what the Puck would be able to do with a lock of a witch’s hair in his possession. The possibilities started with her being driven mad, and got worse from there.

“Perhaps you might come into my realm then, only for an hour, so I may show you all its wonders?” His eyes glittered in a way that was both terrifying and alluring, and she had a sudden flash of not-quite memory from other meetings they had had, when she was six and eight and fourteen and twenty and thirty. There were things in it that she knew by instinct were best not to recall completely. She shook her head.

“Not that either.”

“Then a bit of your magic. You have more than you can ever use, witchling, more than so many of the witches I have met since ever witches were. Just a taste, just a drop, and I will give you enough of the plant you seek for another ten summers or more.”

Hecate thought about it, turning the idea over in her mind and looking for any possible way it could go wrong. The most dangerous moment of dealing with one of the fair folk was when you were trying to make a deal with it, she knew, and if there were a loophole... But she could think of none.

“All right,” she said. “Only bring me the plant first, and when I have it in my hand, then I’ll give you what you wish.”

“I shall go like a bird on the wing,” the Puck said, and making a low, courtly bow, he disappeared, leaving Hecate alone and shaking. It was full dark now, which meant at least midnight if not later at this time of year, and she had left the castle before six o’clock. She wondered if she dared conjure a light, and decided that if the Puck were inviting her to give over some of her magic, he could not be offended by her working a bit on her own. Raising her arms, she summoned a thousand tiny, glimmering lights that floated in the trees and cast a greenish glow over the clearing. It was more frivolous than her usual style, but it calmed her, and she was able to wait patiently for the few moments before the Puck returned, with a bouquet of strange silvery leaves and stalks cradled in his arms.

“Here they are, my witchling, at your command. May I have your leave to lay them inside the circle?”  

“Only that and no more,” Hecate said again, and the Puck laid his burden at her feet and straightened up, smiling his crooked smile.

“And now for my reward,” he said. “You must take my hand. You have done it before, when you were a child.”

“I remember,” Hecate said. She hadn’t been frightened then, but she had not really understood who or what her playmate was, either. When she had first met him, they had been the same size and she had thought him another child. Now the top of his head came just past her waist when they were both standing, but she felt small in his presence. It was not a feeling she was used to, or one she enjoyed, and she did not want to touch him at all.

Ada, she thought. Ada was back at the castle awaiting her return. She had promised Ada, and she had promised the Puck too, and if she had learnt one thing from her grandmother, it was never to break a promise. 

She put her hand out, and the Puck’s hand curled round it, as thin and limber and strangely warm as it always had been.

“Ah--” he said, and turned his face up to hers, with a real smile this time. “It is just the same.”

“Yes,” Hecate said, and closing her eyes, she concentrated on her magic, visualising it, gathering it together like a ball at the centre of her body. She separated the amount she wanted to give to him--only a very little, so little it would regenerate on its own, given time--and with a sudden intense effort, she pushed it toward the place where their palms were clasped. There was a flash, and for an instant the Puck’s whole hand seemed illuminated from within, as if he had grasped a live wire. Then it faded, and she swiftly detached herself and pulled back, into the circle of safety.

“Oh witchling,” he said dreamily, “that is a great gift indeed, and I thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hecate said. She felt inside herself for her magic, making sure it was still in place, and breathed a sigh of relief when she found it was. “And I thank you for what you have given me. And now I really must be going.”

“Back to the old woman,” the Puck said. “The one who does not love you as I do.”

“Back to my friend,” Hecate said firmly. 

“I was once your friend.” He shot her a veiled glance that she could not quite work out. “Am I not still?”

If Hecate had thought in advance about how to answer that question, she would not have known what to say, but at the spur of the moment, she found the words were already there in her mouth.

“When we meet in the wood on Midsummer Eve,” she said, and the Puck laughed.

“That will do well enough, witchling,” he said. “Go on. Well met, and safe travels. Who knows? Perhaps when we meet again, you shall be an old woman too.” And with that, he pulled aside another curtain of nothing and vanished behind it, this time for good.