#nordic flora

[iamlisteningto]

Varg²™'s Nordic Flora, Pt. 6: Outlaw Music

[charmed-n-zesty]

[unessasi]

sweet dreams and quiet lullabies

[folksaga-if]

S K O G S R Å ; MC ORIGIN

[ KEEPER OF THE FOREST | ++ DEC / WIS / PHYS ]

background elements taken from Nordic folk legends of the Skogsrå (Sweden) and the Hulder (Norway).

In the heart of the woods, between moss and pine and root, the hunter's unknowing prey lies in wait. How many lives, he wonders, have been stolen by the beast within these trees? Too many to count. There are those who would claim that the creature is merely the keeper of Hallormsstaðaskógur, that it only hunts those who would threaten its home, but the empty shells of men who have returned from its grasp — and the empty spaces left by those who have not returned at all — hint at something far darker.

None have been able to describe what it was that they endured in the forest, what it was that they saw. All that is known of the beast is what small details can be assembled from the fragmented words of those it spared:

It is quick.

It is clever.

It is deadly.

-

In the blackest depths of the forest lurks the SKOGSRÅ, a creature as cunning as it is merciless to those it perceives as a threat. The steadfast guardian of the woods will often appear at the tree line to offer travelers guidance through their home; many of these travelers will not be seen again.

The Skogsrå shares a deep connection with flora and fauna, and has a natural predilection toward the occult. Their back, resembling a hollow tree trunk, is the easiest way to discern one from a human, but they may also bear a cow's tail or eyes that reflect light in darkness.

WARNING: prolonged indoor confinement, artificial lighting, and lack of fresh air may cause the Skogsrå to become rabid. At-risk humans are reminded to follow a simple rule: lock yourself in, and lock the monster out.

[medievildead]

Headcanons about Vanir practices and culture (God of War)

Simply because I like exploring cultural differences in fantasy universes. Also, I can do whatever I want and make shit up.

(CW; some of these have to do with sexual culture, pregnancy, childbirth. The Vanir gods were fertility and pleasure gods in nordic mythology after all, usually depicted with huge erections. So be warned)

-The Vanir are incredibly brotherly to one another, not just their actual siblings. While they do refer to their actual brothers and sisters as such, they also refer to their friends and neighbours as brothers and sisters, their elders as fathers and mothers and etcetera. This is also what started the absurd rumors in Asgard that the Vanir were incestuous, they completely misunderstood the terminology and assumed that, when Vanir would refer to their spouses with familial terms like "sister" and "brother", it was literal.

-Vanir are not completely humanoid, and often times have more mammalian/naturistic (can't think of the word for it) behaviours, that basically translates to adapting to the seasons. Body hair grows thicker for colder seasons and they trim their hair for the warmer seasons, their eyesight adapts to the weather, etcetera.

-ALL Vanir have an animal form, not just Hildisvini and Freya. Freyr can turn into a buck, but he scarcely does this (his own choice). Because of this, the Aesir see Vanir as less than human often times. Rumours about them pollute asgard. They spread propaganda amongst one another about the vanir still being cannibals, and call them untamed creatures, believing the animal forms are their "true forms" and the human appearance is merely a facade.

-Vanir believe its inhumane to waste any part of nature when natures life is taken. If a tree is cut down every branch will be used, every leaf will be gardened and every strip of bark will become paper or fuel. A harvest must always be replanted or recycled. If an animal is killed for meat it is never wasted, the bones are ground or carved, the meat is cooked, the skin is turned to pelt, and the organs are used aswell. If a flower is plucked, the earth must be thanked. They are one with their surroundings, always.

-Vanir are beings associated with peace, fertility, witchcraft, harvest, and wisdom. The realm itself is very magical and consisting of blooming flora and magic fauna, similar to life found in Midgard but much larger and whimsical due to the enchantment of the earth there.

-Vanir practice most commonly Seiðr magic, a magic that is connected with flora and can amplify the potency of root growth, poisons and toxins, regeneration (healing living things), so on and so forth. Anything that can be naturally produced by living things. Seiðr magic is frowned upon and considered disgraceful by Asgardians. Outside of the Vanir, it's mostly only practiced by beings that use dark arts.

-Vanir culture was considered very odd to the rest of the realms, due to yltheir familial culture was different, marriage rituals were different, and birth/death rituals were very different. Even death rituals were a massive celebration of life. Most other realms viewed the Vanir with confusion because of how peace-loving they were.

-A looooong time ago, the Vanir did cannibalistic rituals. Not out of hunger, it was a willing sacrifice to nature and rebirth thing. They no longer practice this in any regard what-so-ever, but it is one of the many stereotypes that other realms bring up to make the vanir seem primitive and barbaric.

-Back when cannibalism was practiced, Vanir bodies were never left to take up space. If a Vanir was ready to die (they usually didn't die like humans died in these rituals, they just decided when their time was up, and wanted the cycle of life to continue) they would sacrifice themself, and a very non-grotesque tradition would play out. They'd be killed cleanly, harvested, eaten in the most clean way possible, and all remains would be fed to the land (think like fertilizer, but magic energy) and they'd in turn be reborn as nature. But all their actual good cuts of meat would be genuinley eaten by the other vanir, filling them with energy and etc, and their bones and hair would be used for tools, crafting, and practicing magic.

- Like I said previously, this is a very old, no-longer-practiced ritual by the Vanir. But it's still known about and its why the Aesir see them as wild animals. HOWEVER. Freyr returned to cannibalism because he had no choice but to. The aesir captured, if they had to get rid of the body, Freyr would take it and work on picking the bones clean on his own time. He was tired, hungry and exhausted, and after the genocide of his people, no more Mr. Nice Guy from Freyr. He can go a little insane. As a treat.

-Vanir could withstand cannibalism unlike humans or Aesir, they could stand it moreso than jotunn even. They wouldnt suffer any negative side effects from it.

-As mentioned before, Vanir have the ability or have a form that is or resembles an animal (Freyas falcon, Hildisvini's boar, etc) and this is another remnant of magic and witchcraft that they utilize.

- Because of the natural fertility magic of the land, pollen from Vanaheim flora is a key ingredient to the most effective tonics, tinctures, philters, elixirs, and fertilizers. It's also used in herbal blends to assist animals with mating.

-Vanir sperm is incredibly fertile, both in the literal and magical sense. This refers to both the Vanir people and the native animals to Vanaheim. So not just pollen from Vanaheim but sperm from Vanahiem (person OR animal) can genuinley be used a key ingredient to fertilizers and aphrodisiacs.

-As beings of both fertility *and* pleasure sex was something done for both fun as well as for procreation, both were seen as seperate activities.

-Sex for fun was a spectacle in its own right! Though expectantly done privately, it was often times done in gatherings, much like bonobos do, as an act of peace and love, and orgies could last for days. Vanir friends and couples would often meet each other for the first time at seasonal pleasure gatherings.

-Vanir procreation was a seperate celebration altogether. Yearly during the beginning of spring, they refer to this time as ástartímabil (lover season) and declare it the optimal time to procreate, as they believe this is the time of year when fertility blessings are blooming from the land. They seek the the land blessed by the spirits and opt to have sex in bountiful areas of the forest, often times surrounded by others at shrines who give blessings of good harvest while the couple has sex. Its not seen as an act of voyeurism at all either, just watching something beautiful, like a tree being planted.

-Vanir pregnancy cycles are much shorter than humans, only lasting around six months as opposed to the average human maternity cycle of nine months. As most vanir mothers become impregnated at the time of spring, the celebrations of birth are held most comminly around the time of autumn and the harvest months.

-All Vanir births are cherished and celebrated as natures blessing, and births can often attract crowds of others wanting to observe and give good heart (think Bambi's birth, and the crowd it drew). Birth is seen as such a gracious part of nature and the beginning of life is such a celebration. The Vanir are as "hippie" as it gets, and they truly are a people of love.

-It's very, very, very uncommon for Vanir to give birth to twins. Because the maternity period is so short, it's rare for the body to be able to maintain such. If a family wanted two children, a mother would simply become pregnant a year after the first birth to have a second child in time. That's also why Freyr and Freya were seen as the most important gifts to the realm, Vanir twins hadn't really been witnessed before.

[looking-at-the-deiwos]

Dhég̑hōm Mā́tēr

Or as I write it, Dhéghom Máter, also Dʰéǵʰōm Méh₂tēr. Her name means "Mother Earth"

She was also called Pḷtáwī or Pl̥th₂éwih₂, meaning "the Broad One", and dʰengwo, meaning "Dark" (dark-skinned?)

Dhéghom is Mother Earth. Associated with plants, nature, fertility, motherhood, cooking and agriculture. She also had a cthonic aspect, being considered both the mother of all life and the place where all living returned to with death. As an ever present mother, oaths were sometimes made by her.

She is sometimes seen as a partner of Dyéus, or of Perkwúnos (or both ;)). Both these sources consider the idea of her being both the mother and consort of Perkwúnos

Offerings

Taken from here

Stones

Symbols of deep waters, earth and grain

Depictions or imagery related to pregnancy

Grains

Green ribbons

Depictions or imagery related to breasts

Depictions or imagery of sows

Devotional acts

Gardening!

Wearing green or brown

Cooking

Educate yourself on local flora and fauna

Eat fruit and vegetables

Learn new recipes involving either vegetables or grains

Make bread

Honor the cycles of nature (seasons, etc)

Picking flowers

Drink natural teas

Ground yourself in nature

Associations

Stones

Vegetation

Fruit

Agriculture

Pregnancy

Motherhood

Landscapes

Sows

Green and brown

the feast of Mabon

November

Monday

Descendants in later pantheons

Cthonia (Greek)

Demeter (Greek)

Semele (Greek)

Plataia (Greek)

Gaia (Greek)

Terra/Tellus Mater (Roman)

Ceres (Roman)

Jörd (Nordic)

Prithvi Mata (Vedic)

Finally, here's her wikipedia article

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

[Starship Icarus] V

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4

Summary: space hysteria, fashion shows, tragic backstories, self-administered manual pleasure, and two idiots in love. It’s a shitshow and you’re cordially invited <3

WC: ~7.8k

*

She was true to her word. When she said she didn’t want to think about this mess they were in, she stopped picking at the wound. Whether it ever closed up and when it might begin to heal was impossible to know, but to look at her, at either of them, you would not think these were two hopelessly doomed people waiting out the spilling stardust as it cruelly poured out of their overturned hourglass.

They had developed routines, learned each other’s rhythms. She liked hot early morning showers and she timed them with his morning cigarette. They had breakfast together as her hair dried and dripped on the table between them, sneaking forks and fingers across to the other one’s plate and grinning as the popped their loot into their mouths.

Mills preferred weigh training while she did yoga. Mercifully, and frustratingly, she tended to do this in the nature room, surrounded by flora transplanted from Earth, under a small man-made waterfall, while he sweated and grunted under a crushingly heavy bar, trying and failing not to imagine her body in all sorts of provocative poses.

They both appreciated alone time and spent it in various ways – reading, tinkering, decompressing.  At night, they either took turns messing with Clyde, making a competition out of getting him to glitch or bug out. Or they retired to one of their cabins and tentatively reached out in the dark, trying to divine and understand the other through a series of innocuous activities.

*

Mills was a livewire. Two years without true human contact left him horrifically sensitized to every little thing she did – from the flutter of her eyes, to the sound of her small gasps, or the inherently attractive, feminine way she went about performing the smallest tasks. Not to mention touch.

Every casual, accidental brush of her hand across any part of his body short circuited him. He caught himself more than once flinching away from her when he realized they walked in step and were about to walk through a door, narrow enough that they would have to squeeze together, or when he felt the presence and heat of her body, leaning over his shoulder as he sat and tinkered with some junk, eyes glued with fascination to his hands, deft and coated with slick, black oil.

To preserve some semblance of sanity, Mills tended to choose safe activities, ones that kept some measure of distance between them.

One evening after dinner, they played cards.

She sat on the plain white, nondescript coffee table in his small cabin. Hygge, she explained the style when he called it mass produced junk - the lazy, safe Nordic style people who were too afraid to make a real choice liked to use in decorating. Inoffensive to the point of barely existing. Anodyne enough to sedate the viewer, much like its denizens.

His smile grew wider to the point of bursting off his face as she rained disdain on the many ways in which people expressed cowardice in their daily lives and choices.

She sat on it demonstratively as she took the deck and shuffled, wiggling her ass across its face as if to insult the object. Mills bit down on the comment that he now found himself desiring some offense from her. Her legs folded under her as he sat on his prison cot of a bed, they played Crazy 8s for what felt like hours. When she won, she bounced up and down in place on her ass and threw her head back in laughter. Mills watched with amazement whenever she did something new, something he hadn’t seen before.

She was good about it when she caught him staring. All seven or eight times that night. He assumed she chalked it up to him being so isolated and starved for company for so long - and there was an element of that - but he knew it wouldn’t be long before she figured out he was looking at her not just because she was there, but because she was the only thing he wanted to see. That was under the generous and somewhat naïve presumption she didn’t know already.

*

As if to savor him and unravel him slowly, she did interviews with him piecemeal and sporadically. A few questions here, a debate here and there over his reluctance to completely throw Homestead under the bus, but Mills had a distinct feeling she wanted to go slowly and draw out their acquaintance and the discovery of him as a person over the many years ahead of them.

*

They talked about Homestead’s takeover of his old company and how he ended up joining Homestead II.

“Another in the string of terrible decisions,” he made a funny grimace and rubbed his eyes, to banish the memories brought on by looking back on that time.

“Oh?” she tried retain a professional mien and avoid laughing as the recordings she was making may one day be part of a searing indictment of Homestead’s shady practices.

“Yup. I should have known by then not to try my luck, awful as it’s always been.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh, yes. If I bought a cemetery, people would stop dying.”

She cracked then and shook her head. Mills watched the recoding spike high and erratic as it picked up her silvery laughter.

“I think Clyde would beg to differ—”

“He routinely does,” Mills interrupted and rolled his eyes. She rested her chin in her hand and just watched him and listened, caring less and less about keeping the interview formal.

“So terrible luck aside, what made you do it?”

Mills skipped over a few key details he was not yet willing to divulge and offered some well-documented tidbits about Homestead’s meteoric rise to become a space exploration giant.

“Originally, I was slated to be part of the crew. When that went to shit,” he paused and made a circling motion with his fingers, indicating a roll of film rewinding. “Let me give you a cleaner version of that. When that went awry,” he said with a serious affectation and she bit on her lips to keep her smile in, “I could either be some flyboy, jetting tourists from one place to another, or settle for being a glorified mechanic on board the Icarus.” He didn’t need to say how much the irony of not having crew access on the Icarus was plaguing him, since under different circumstances, he easily could have been the captain on board.

“Do you think you can fix any of this?” she asked right as he was pondering the same thing. It was skirting dangerously close to opening that wound he hoped would scab over.

“I could fix your garbage disposal or the old dodge sitting in your uncle’s yard for a solid few decades, but this ship…” he shrugged. “I got nothing but time to keep trying,” he infused his tone with reassurance. “I’ll try for you,” he added and felt his pulse start to gallop, expecting her reaction.

She smiled fondly and did nothing to accept or rebuff that thing he wasn’t quite saying yet.

It was early to belabor the point. Mills had spent months looking at her, listening to her words over and over, like his life depended on it. He was convinced that, at several points, it did. He was ready to go down on one knee as soon as she climbed out of her pod and she still had everything to learn about him.

*

Julian took to showing you the things he discovered about the ship in his wanderings. He was particularly amusing as a curator and guide to the most interesting and unusual cabins on board. You passed the time roasting people’s décor and choice of environment, until you realized there was a whole unexplored cache of fodder to make fun of – their wardrobes.

As Julian perused the trinkets lined along the shelves of a particularly gaudy cabin, you slipped into the wardrobe and snooped around. By that time, you had shed any sort of guilt about invading people’s privacy. You’d never live to meet them anyway.

The unhelpful thought was hastily shoved aside and you refused to allow your mood to dampen. Rather, you picked up and examined some outrageous pieces that hung before you, to make sure you weren’t imagining them.

What use might this person have for... a mink coat? Thigh-high boots that looked shellacked? A wide-brimmed floppy hat in a hideous shade of purple?

“Ever raided any of these closets?” you called out and popped your head to look at Julian, finding his broad back facing you.

He turned slowly, with impeccable comedic timing, and quirked a brow. “What are you suggesting?”

“Fashion show. Fall/Winter 2100, or whatever year it currently is.”

He pondered, giving you an exaggerated pensive expression. “We oughtta keep up with the times,” he conceded with a comical shrug.

“Especially the middle–aged amongst us.”

Julian let out a wounded sound and clutched over his heart at the comment.

“Ticky ticker?” you questioned the gesture, wrestling to keep a shit-eating grin off your face.

“No, I think it‘s a knife in my back, trying to poke out through my chest,” he responded haughtily and turned his face away from you.

You giggled and assumed your fashionista persona again. “Describe your personal style to me.”

“Sophisticated,” Julian narrowed his eyes and hollowed out his cheeks like an arrogant model.

“No.”

“Elevated,” he went on, heedless of your words.

“Stop,” you rolled your eyes.

“Full of panache and finesse,” he over-enunciated the words and struck a pose to illustrate his point.

“Yeah, not at all,” you muttered to yourself and faced the closet again.

“Casual/athletic,” he started, finally sounding serious.

“Okay, there we go.”

“Hold on,” he held up a finger to shush you, “athletic, but with a business-chic slant that’s very postmodern and avant-garde,” he tossed the word salad around with gusto.

“Yeah?” you crossed your arms and listened, wondering when he’ll tire of being a smartass. Smart money said it would be a while.

“Yeah, I can rock my ‘fits at the gym and at the Oval Office.”

“The Oval Office? You’re the president now?”

“I’m the de facto president of this ship, miss ma’am. And you better start showing me some respect.”

“Is that so?”

Julian took a step closer, crowding you against the closet and stopping just short of pushing his chest all the way into you. You felt your expression grow stupid, gaping like a fish as your knees informed you they were about to buckle and it was every man for himself. Julian drank in your reaction for a long, tense moment before releasing a valve and breaking into a grin.

“You?” he asked, checking you out from head to toe, ostensibly taking in your outfit.

“Cheap nasty low down trailer park burger slut.”

“That checks out,” he agreed a bit too eagerly and you smacked his shoulder.

“Oh, my god, I would kill for a burger,” you whined and felt your mouth salivate.

“Same,” Julian groaned in agreement and took a step back, relinquishing your personal space back to you.

You cleared your throat and gave silent thanks that female bodies showed arousal less conspicuously than male ones as you registered how much Julian’s proximity affected you. “Before my tummy starts singing us a mournful burger tune, why don’t you put together some - what did you call them, ‘fits? - and let’s meet up at the Grand Concourse in an hour. For the unveiling of the collection.”

“Be there or be square,” he pointed a finger gun at you and disappeared to find the best and worst things he could, vaguely, fit into.

*

Clyde pumped music into the cavernous halls of the Grand Concourse. It was a bass-heavy, bombastic tune with vaguely sexual moans and an indecipherable chorus – the sort that often accompanied edgy fashion shows where models walked around on horse hoof shoes, wearing trash bags and steampunk helmets.  You sat cross-legged in a chair at the end of the improvised runway and waited on pins and needles.

Finally, Julian emerged and strutted down the corridor in long strides. His face was impassive and his gaze stared off contemptuously into some middle distance. Had you not known better, you might have assumed he had done this kind of modeling before.

His outfit consisted of camo pants and, horrifically, a camo shirt. Both in slightly different hues, with swirling patterns and splotches that looked awfully mismatched stacked one on top of the other. He tied it all together with combat boots, which you recognized as his own pair.

“I give you,” he announced, coming to a stop and spinning to offer you a cheeky look at the back, “the army surplus store outfit.”

You were valiantly holding in both laughter and disgust, but your eyes betrayed you, watering as you did your best to keep your quivering lips from splitting into a grin.

“I can only presume the owner of this delectable outfit intended the two pieces of couture to be worn together.”

“Naturally,” you nodded with an air of wisdom.

“Only thing is,” he cringed and bit his lip, “it’s a little off on the sizing,” he admitted and twisted around to show off what he meant. “Could be smaller,” he said and flexed his powerful thighs, the ripples going up until they reached the flat plains of his ass. The tight pants barely rode up over his hips and exposed a delicious iliac crest, the V of sculpted flesh that disappeared into the unintendedly low-rise pants, so tight and small that a coin slot threatened to peek out in the back.

“Stop,” you put up a scandalized hand in the air to cover the sight.

“Oh, we’re just getting started. This was a little amuse-bouche to whet your appetite,” he dashed back towards the large fountain that decorated the Grand Concourse, shooting up a perpetual sheet of water that he used as a blurry changing screen. You heard the rustling of clothing as he changed and spied his tall frame, broad and pallid in his nakedness as he shamelessly stripped and redressed. If he meant to titillate you, that was such a cheap, juvenile way to do it. And it was working exactly to plan.

*

When he emerged next, Julian was in a black tank top and leather jacket, with a douchey bedazzled pair of sunglasses and a thick, iced out chain around his neck that supported a dinner plate-sized pendant. He walked in deliberate slow motion, taking off his glasses in a mock-seductive way and shook out his long hair like in a shampoo commercial.

“Let me guess – this outfit says all the world’s preeminent douchebags gathered together for a Mortal Kombat-style tournament, and you emerged victorious?”

“Where do you think I got the medal?” he tapped the large adornment that hung on the chain, right on his breastbone and winked with an accompanying mouth click.

Deliberately, taking his time, he shucked off the jacket, flexing every bit of his hulking, rippling anatomy, from the broad expanse of his chest that made the gaudy medallion twitch, to his bulging biceps and lean, defined triceps. The jacket slid down his long, sinewy forearms and he caught it in one hand, giving it an elegant spin and tossed it at you like a stripper.

You made no attempt to catch it and it fell over your head and shoulders like a blanket over a cage. “Ju-li-an-uh!” you scolded, tacking an extra, whiny syllable to the end of his name and you could feel him grin, as he always did when you said his name like that.

By the time you peeled the discarded garment off, he was halfway up his runway again, walking away in the same slow motion as he came in. He did the famous model midway turn, sending a suitably douchey air kiss flying towards you before running a hand through his lustrous hair, and completing the turn.

*

If his last ridiculous outfit inadvertently made you hot and bothered, the PTA dad getup he came out in next took care of that awkward predicament. In khakis, a pastel polo and, mother of god, her majesty the fanny pack hugging around his hips, he was the picture of a frumpy suburban dad who had simply given up. With his hair parted hideously down the middle and tucked behind his prominent ears, you could scarcely believe it was the same person as the smokeshow from a few minutes ago.

“Hm,” you frowned and inspected him as he gave you a view from every angle.

“What?” he planted his hands on his hips and tapped one mock-irritated foot on the ground.

“Nothing, it’s just… The juxtaposition of your boulder thighs bunching up the fabric in the legs, but then it’s all loose in the caboose.”

“Yeah, I never boasted much of an ass,” he conceded without any fight.

“I like it,” you assured. “It’s mysterious.”

Julian knew a trap when he saw one, but he was too tickled not to step into it. “Mysterious?” he echoed and let you drive your blow home.

“Yeah, like - where did it go? What is it doing right now? Did it find some other backside to form a symbiotic relationship with?”

He shook his head confidently. “I think it actually burned up during launch, and it’s highly insensitive of you to bring up.” You engaged in a staredown with him, trying to keep a straight face, but laughter bubbled up inside you and you doubled over with it.

“Anyway, you keep distracting me, we’re gonna be late for the parent-teacher conference,” he chided.

“We?” you managed to choke out, stomach cramping with too much laughter.

“Yes, we,” he pointed to one of the roombas milling around. “Typical of you to forget all about little Buzz.”

“I’m sorry, Buzz,” you said contritely.

“And I will not have it,” he straightened to his full height and adjusted the fanny pack snootily. “Come on, son, let’s go,” he ordered the roomba and the little critter zoomed after him.

*

Over time, the recording sessions became a document of you falling in love, slowly and gently, like flecks of stardust suspended in zero gravity. Most days, you were fairly sure Julian was feeling the same. He drank you in with his eyes whenever you were together, especially when he thought you didn’t realize. And you worked hard not to realize, to give him those small pleasures. The fact remained, though, that you were in an unprecedented situation – brought together by total accident and effectively doomed to each other. One couldn’t help but wonder how much of your attraction and blossoming friendship was a coping mechanism. No one could blame you for it, really, one way or the other.

Still, you had a cache of nagging, burning questions and you kept chomping at the bit to fire off a few. Most urgently, the fiancée he once hinted at briefly. Was she in one of the pods, slumbering peacefully and dreaming of reuniting with him many years and many more miles on? Or was she back on Earth, unable to give it all up for him, by now wrinkled and gray, looking up at the sky where his trail had long evaporated?

“You, uh,” you tried for a casual tone, but couldn’t meet his eyes, “mentioned, I think, a fiancée or something. Once. Before.” Well, that was the least casual thing you’d ever said. Talking about the sacrifice of leaving Earth behind to go on an exploratory mission seemed like the best segue you were going to get, so you had to go for it.

Julian was quiet. He nodded once, patient and knowing. Perhaps he wanted you to squirm a little – after all, men tend to get fewer opportunities to enjoy this kind of attention and pursuit. Or he had real trouble talking about her.

“Did she…come with you?” your voice was perceptibly shrunken, growing more timid and unsure with every word. When he understood just how much it was costing you to broach the topic, he was quick to respond.

“No. No,” he shook his head to punctuate and put you out of your misery. Then he took in a deeper breath and started. “We were together…for years,” he frowned like he was recalling a hazy memory from a life lived long ago. “And I fell profoundly out of love with her over time.”

You hoped you kept your face trained from glowing with triumph as you nodded sympathetically.

“Then she got sick. Very…seriously so.” He was being extremely tactful and you knew he had to be reading you like a book. You wouldn’t want to gloat over someone’s misfortune like that even if you were undeniably pleased that Julian was not taken. “The treatment she required was so arduous,” he shook his head, exhausted all over again just from remembering. You wanted to slap yourself for even asking. No wonder he had been so taciturn about it in the past. “And it was insanely expensive. I, uh… felt so guilty over the fact I was about to end things before it all happened, and…over the fact I resented her so much for getting sick in the first place and trapping me somewhere I didn’t want to be,” he hung his head and closed his eyes as he spoke. You were amazed he was man enough to admit something like that to you. “So I eventually accepted I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left her alone to deal with it, and changed my focus. It was around the time the company was getting taken over. I was so absorbed in hospital appointments and bills and so out of it from lack of sleep, I missed all the warning signs at work that it was all going to hell. To cut a long, grueling story short - in the end, I lost her and every chance to do what I had dreamed of my whole life in one fell swoop. At least that’s how it felt at the time,” he gave a weary shrug and attempted a smile. It only made his cheek twitch and then it dissolved.

He could have paused for an entire year, you still wouldn’t have found any words to say.

“Told you I had the worst luck. Even spreads to those around me,” he rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking tired and decades older.

“I’m so sorry, Julian,” you finally breathed some feeble words out.

“It was a while ago,” he assured, “we all knew it was coming.”

Mortification made seconds feel like centuries. There was nothing to say, but you still felt like you ought to comfort him somehow. With your jaw set in determination, you decided to make an overture. Hand sliding over the table between you, you reached out for him and he turned his hand over, palm up to receive your touch. You touched the tips of his fingers gently with yours, and moved over his palm, smooth and tough all at once, like the choicest leather. Your fingers traced the ridges of his palm and you rested your hand in his, enjoying the warmth you shared in that quiet, intimate moment. Then you slid further up, snaking your fingers to his wrist, feeling his pulse point throb under your skin and gripped his wrist like you were locking your hands together to pull the other one up over a ledge. He wrapped his large, thick hand around your wrist, eclipsing it, and squeezed.

Gradually, the mood changed and you felt the ghosts of his past dissipate around you. He became his usual devilish self again and you felt his grip around your wrist slacken, but grow more tender as he stroked his thumb over the thin, sensitive skin of your forearm.

“What about you?” he asked quietly and the low volume masked some of the tremulous quality of his voice.

It was easy to answer. “I’ve never had anyone I was considering spending the rest of my life with,” you shrugged. “It was always too abstract of an idea for me, too daunting to make one choice with no take-backsies, so I never really seriously considered it.”

Julian rested his face in his hand and looked at you with a mix of adoration and puzzlement, the way people stare in awe and disbelief at stunning works of art in museums. Unfortunately, you were both too clever to woo peaceably, as the Bard once wrote. Nothing that was left unsaid escaped either of your attention and you could read it clearly in the other’s eyes.

“Until now,” you put the unspoken into words. Leave too much of this tension crackling in the air and you could lose your mind from it. Better to acknowledge the obvious since no escape from it was possible anyway. “Now it’s you, whether you like it or not,” you kicked the ball into his court and forced him to respond.

“I think I like it way too much,” he drawled lazily out and stilled his caressing fingers, making you even more starkly aware of your skin touching.

*

Mills retired early after dinner. She had apologized again for bringing up his onetime fiancée, still worried she had upset him and that was the reason he was seeking some solitude. He reassured her it was fine and he just needed some shuteye. Not a lie in itself – Mills hadn’t been sleeping too well the last couple of weeks. But it had more to do with the things that were tormenting him currently rather than the things he left in the past.

He tossed and turned for hours nearly every night, replaying the events of the day that included her, analyzing conversations and chastising himself for not being quippier or more gallant or clever. If he wasn’t working himself up into an owlishly-awake, anxious frenzy, then he drifted off into fitful bursts of sleep, in which she either murdered him in inventive ways as revenge for what he had done, or he had her under him for a few blissful, fulfilling moments until he jerked awake to find himself bucking and grinding against his mattress.

He smoothed his hands down his long face and sighed, feeling his skin burn and chafe, too small for the desire it was straining to hold in. Siding his hands and roving down his body, he found the waistband of his pajamas and he groped inside, exhausted in advance by the repetitive actions he was forced to take daily and nightly.

Mills hissed lowly as he gripped himself at the base, feeling an insistent knot buried just under the spot where he palmed himself, coiling and tugging, making him grow impossibly harder.

He was punishingly erect, stiff as a board even though he was a cool 40. When he was younger, his older friends had started relying on various pharmaceutical aides to satisfy the jailbait little kittens who had a thing for gnarled pilots even before they hit that milestone. And here he was, tucking throbbing erections into the waistband of his underwear and hoping they were inconspicuous and taking cold showers to achieve the opposite effect. Technically, he was over 70, he rolled his eyes as he remembered, stroking one languid pump all the way up and down, making his thighs shudder in anticipation - so it was even more impressive.

The skin of his straining shaft was silky soft, ridged with veins, and an unforgivable, stubborn hardness inside stretched him to a painful length and thickness, demanding release. With a stifled moan, he licked his full lips and shut his eyes tighter, letting images wash over him.

He always started slowly, perusing his own fantasies like a smorgasbord, clicking his tongs in anticipation, picking out favorite reels and dropping them on his plate.

That she walks into his cabin, quiet and as needy as him, stopping in his doorway as the door slides shut behind her with a muted shuffle across the floor. Her hips sway as she bunches up a satin nightgown into her hands, pulling it higher and higher over her thighs as she approaches him. Without preamble or their usual politeness, she straddles him possessively and grabs two demanding fistfuls of his hair at the base of his skull. He feels the heat of her when she sits on him and she clamps her open mouth over his, hot and sweet, and breathes hard into their hungry kiss.

His hands slip up her body – she’s not going anywhere once he has her – and he brushes her thighs as they hug around him only to wrap his powerful arms around her waist and crush her closer. Her eyes go wide with alarm when she feels how strong he can so effortlessly be, and then she melts into him, kissing him even more fervently when she feels how much he wants her.

She slips her underwear to the side, and they’re both clumsy with eagerness as they line themselves up, panting and moaning even before he’s inside. When she sinks down on him, it’s gradual, but she has no intention of taking it slowly. His heart stops for a moment like it does when he jumps into freezing water. Then he can breathe again and he shudders in his whole body as he feels her rhythm rocking through him as she rides him.

He grips her hips and tosses his head back, feeling the fullness of her body between his hands. She bites on the long curved column of his neck as she undulates up and down, slicking him up and clenching wildly. As her orgasm builds, she grips his back for support, and her soft tits rest against his chest. All he can feel in the world is her, soft and hot and delicious, and none of the tragedies that weave around and through them matter in that moment.

He pumps himself, hard and ruthless, arm cramping with the effort, as he imagines her come undone for him. It’s over too fast because he wants it too much and he falls back onto his bed in a boneless, heaving heap.

Mills’ ear rang like a shot was fired right by his head. He was exhausted, on the cusp of giving himself carpal tunnel, but he was pretty sure he would be able to sleep tonight and function for at least a few hours before the red fog came over him again.

*

He was right. He did manage to fall asleep. He knew he did, and that it was a deep bout of restful sleep because the goddamn fucking groans of metal, sounding like ancient monsters from the pits of hell, made him start awake.

Mills groaned and kicked the blanket off his body, begrudgingly awake. Through his irritation, though, he recognized the noise he was hearing heralded no good news.

He padded barefoot down the vacant corridors, snapping his head in odd directions when he heard particularly ominous creaks. The moans of bending, vibrating metal echoed from the deep bowels and far flung wings of the ship, reverberating and crying mournfully by the time they reached Icarus’ heart. Cutting through the wailing symphony were sharp whipcracks and the pounding of thick sheets of metal comprising Icarus’ exoskeleton, beating like a metallic heart and sending shockwaves through the entire ship.

“Establishing new shield alignment to celestial body Amun-2257B,” a holo device announced, eerily calm in the cacophony of screeching metal and infernal groans. Mills felt the ground vibrate under him, nearly making him lose his footing as the floor jumped back and forth under his feet. He half-expected for the whole ship to snap in two like the Titanic, with sheets of metal shrieking as they peeled and flew off into the freezing, silent void of the cosmos.

The holo repeated its message and Mills regained his balance. If they bothered to give it a semblance of a name, it was a major body. Judging by the allusion to the sun god, this was a star they were passing, likely far more massive and powerful than their own tiny Sun. And Icarus seemed to have strayed right into the radius of its heat and radiation with poorly adjusted protective shields. Mills felt a chill as he considered what damage the ship could sustain from mere seconds of exposure, let alone minutes or hours. It was worrying that the correct parameters were not set well in advance given how carefully their route was planned. Before he had time to consider more in depth how such a catastrophic oversight could have happened, Mills heard his name.

*

“Julian,” she whimpered in the drowning sounds of the maelstrom exploding around them.

He wished she would call out louder so he could run in the direction of her voice, but as he bellowed out her name, powerful and reassuring, he spied her emerging from the corridor that led towards her cabin.

Another rumble shook the ship and it sent her staggering backwards. She fell back against the wall and let herself slide down it, relieved now that she had seen him, striding purposely, furiously towards her. As he approached, she extended her arms towards him in a childlike gesture, and he grabbed her roughly, pulling her up and into his embrace. She was shaking like a leaf as he held her. The spaghetti strap top she slept in left much of her skin exposed, and he felt it smooth and warm under his hands, where he held her close, and on his cheek, where he rested it on her shoulder, breathing in the feminine scent of her skin and hair.

Gradually, the rumbles and moans abated, and the ship seemed to twist and snap itself into the proper configuration, leaving a few echoes reverberating in odd intervals and a few residual aftershocks shuddering softly under their feet. Mills peeled the protective layer of his body away from hers, revealing her eyes to be trained on him, wide and teary, asking for some explanation.

“A little rattling and groaning is to be expected now and again,” he croaked in a voice still gravelly from sleep. “The temperatures here, the environment, the pressure  - it’s so unlike Earth. This was just metal contracting and expanding. Taking a few breaths,” he winked reassuringly. But this is a lot, he knew. He just hoped she didn’t. No need for both of them to get stress ulcers.

*

You were still counting your breaths and trying to accept the fact that the hideous, Lovecraftian roars of galactic demons that ripped you out of sleep and practically shook you of bed could be explained with a simple reaction to heat and cold and pressure. Rationally, you accepted it to be true, but your heart still raced like a frightened rabbit’s inside your chest.

“Everything will be alright,” Julian promised in a low, gentle voice. “Breathe,” he commanded softly, splaying a hand on your chest, “breathe right into this spot.”

From your breastbone to your throat, you felt his massive paw of a hand that stretched hot and tender across your heart and warmed a soothing spot into which to focus your breaths. It started to work almost instantaneously, allowing your chest to grow less constricted, admitting more air and deeper breaths. You closed both your hands over his when you felt steady and thanked him for calming you.

“You’re not gonna fall asleep easily after this?” he asked with a jocular sort of tone

“Not fucking likely,” you suddenly remembered yourself and crossed your arms self-consciously over your chest, hidden behind only a thin tank top.

“Would you let me show you something?” Julian extended a hand and waited unobtrusively for you to decide whether you wanted to take it.

*

“Welcome to the observation deck,” the holo greeted as you entered a large room that resembled an empty gallery. A long viewing pane ran alongside its edge and there were rails to hold onto close to the glass, as well as seats a bit further in back.

The room was bathed in a muted orange light as screens and multiple filters protected the inhabitants of the observation deck from the intense glare of the star the Icarus was passing. You felt a crackling energy inside the room that made all the small hairs on your body stand.

Julian kept one hand on the small of your back, sensing your unease, and pressed a spot in the wall. A compartment opened dutifully and he pulled out two sets of protective goggles. They resembled shooting glasses in design and were made to protect the eyes of the wearer from various types of radiation and damage that could be caused if they chose to view some of the bodies and phenomena along the way.

“Amun-2257B is in view and will remain visible for three minutes and fourteen seconds,” the holo announced. “Safe aperture is 1% to 7%. Please be advised that setting the aperture higher and allowing more brightness into the viewing room will result in irreversible damage to you retinas.”

Julian offered a set of goggles to you questioningly, having already donned his. You took yours with a dose of trepidation.

“Icarus, set aperture to 4%,” he commanded and slid his hand to your waist, giving your side a supportive squeeze.

As the screen before you came to life and started to admit light from the outside, you checked your goggles were securely on your face and felt Julian gently nudge you towards the railing. You frowned, thinking that it was an unnecessary feature for a room designed purely for people to essentially gaze out of a window.

“1%,” the holo informed.

With a loose grip, you placed your hands on the railing and Julian came up behind you, securing his chest behind yours and grabbing the railing firmly with his massive hands.

More light came pouring in and you squinted, as the color changed from orange to a yellow, then golden, seeming to grow hotter by the instant and approach a white hue.

“2%,” you heard the holo again, but it sounded more distant somehow.

More light poured in, and more, until it seemed impossible for the room to get any brighter. The intensity of it seemed to blow you back and you found yourself pushing into Julian’s broad, immovable chest. The punishing, devouring light seemed to go through you, stabbing pathways between the atoms in your body to rush through, disintegrating you in the process.

“3%,” the voice said after what seemed like an eternity, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. You felt your hands ache from how hard you were gripping the railing now and you tried to scream, but no sound appeared to come out.

Watering, and seemingly burning up, your eyes adjusted the smallest bit and you spied the outline of the infernal star in front of you. Gaseous explosions danced in a foggy miasma around it, giving it the appearance of a watery haze, like air trembling above a hot flame.  Black mushroom clouds bloomed and died on its face, and fiery whips cracked in its halo as the star mercilessly burned in its seemingly eternal flame.

“4%,” at last you heard the words you had come to dread, expecting that you would scatter like so much dust once the full aperture hit. Instead, the light made you feel incorporeal. As if the flames split your body open and let your soul out, you felt a euphoric freedom, an intoxicating oneness with the unknowable universe around you. Without blinking, you held the star in your eyes and felt something that didn’t have a name vibrate in a place inside you that was too vast to conceptualize.

It felt like a lifetime later, but you gradually returned to your body, feeling not yourself first, but Julian’s warmth where you rested against him. His arms closed around you and you saw the viewing window disappear from you and the room spin. You realized he was carrying you to one of the seats. You were already sitting down and he was holding you by the wrists to keep you from tipping backwards before bodily sensation started to return and you registered the hardness of the chair under you and his skin touching yours.

Then you felt your eyes stinging and the familiar feeling of salt crusted on your cheeks, drying out the skin underneath. Your mouth was stretched in a delirious smile and you realized you were feeling just about every emotion heretofore known to you, and a plethora of new ones.

As light drained from the room, you felt the contrast of darkness to the light. While light slashed through you and tore apart, one spec at a time, darkness held you softly, like a black cloud, shrouding you safely in its gentle cloak and it soothed.

*

She shook again, more aggressively than before, but this time, Mills wasn’t too concerned about it. The first time he saw a star, it was much farther away than this one and he came to sprawled on his back, feeling as deranged as he imagined Moses must have after having a fun little chat with a burning bush.

He held her hands gently, patient as if with a child. Her eyes were wild with that same indescribable revelation that he had felt before and he relished seeing her luminous body absorb it.

She suddenly focused her eyes on his, half-lidded with a desire to do anything but sleep.

A tingle at the base of his spine warned he was about to break out into a sweat. His cock again twitched to life and it brought irritation more than anything; if he kept it up, he would flay the skin right off of it.

Ju-li-an-uh, he heard her inner monologue, just fucking kiss me already. There may be many ways to interpret a lot of different things in life, but not that. She was fixing him with a stare like a ravenous lioness does to a hobbling zebra.

He feigned obliviousness and tested to see if she was stable enough to sit up on her own, Mills would never accuse himself of being overly gentlemanly. In any other circumstance, he would not let the fact that they had been through a distressing situation stop him from stealing a kiss. In fact, the vigorous, affirming sessions of fucking that occasionally followed such events were among some of his favorite experiences. Nor would he shy away from pouncing on her when she was touched by some gesture of his or an experience, like seeing a star up close. Penguins didn’t go combing miles of beach for the perfect pebble just to then turn around and let the female consider if she liked him for his personality or for the shiny, smooth pebble he waddled over to her.

What made him turn away was the guilty knowledge that some day, probably a very distant one, she would know the terrible truth. And he knew a mind as incisive as hers would go through every key moment and event of their lives together, and examine with a newfound harshness how he chose to behave while she was in the dark. He decided, long ago, that he would give her no further reasons to hate him for any transgression, no matter how small. So he tore himself away, stood and offered to get her a glass of water.

She visibly deflated when he pulled away, though she still appeared to feel as electrified as before.

He returned promptly, walking there and back with a brisk pace, and offered her a tall glass of water from the bar. She didn’t look up to his eyes, or even his face as she took it, and slowly drained half of it. Mills narrowed his eyes as he sensed her pull away, and he was quite sure she was feeling embarrassed.

She got up and walked around him in a purposely long arch, staying out of the intimate zone where they could extend their arms and touch,

You fucking idiot, he cursed at himself. She was an irresistible blend of proud and sensitive, and his apparent hesitation or lack of interest sent her retreating from him in a furious hurry. There was no convenient way to explain himself without explaining everything, and his teeth gnashed in frustration.

“You should finish that,” he tossed casually over his shoulder before she could leave. “These viewings leave you really dehydrated. I’ll take the glass back with me,” he turned and extended a hand expectantly.

She only briefly glanced up at him and started to approach with affected reluctance. Mills waited until she had drunk enough to tip the bottom of the glass up. “And I’d like to take you out on a real date tomorrow night,” he added matter-of-factly.

He heard the gurgle of water as it stuck in her throat and she coughed, lurching forward, sending water splashing back into the glass, mostly, save for what came out of her nose.

Mills took the one and then one more step left between them to close the distance and took the glass out of her hand, landing a few vigorous pats on her back, just on the other side of gentle. “Is that a yes, then?” he asked through his grin and she glared, still clearing her throat and catching her breath. An elbow he narrowly missed sinking into his side told him all he needed to know.

She gave a melodious girlish giggle and attempted another playful smack, this time with her small fist on his shoulder. He let her land that one, but then caught her by the arm and held her tightly to him, just fast enough that she couldn’t squirm away and close enough to let her feel some of his large body, taut with desire for her, impose on her. Better to give her a small preview of what to expect the following evening than to take her completely by surprise the first time he towers over her, looming and starving for her. “Now straight to bed with you,” he commanded in a flat, husky voice, “we have a long day and a long night ahead of us.” Mills’ face remained inscrutable while his hand came whizzing in an arch to land a smack on her ass, right on the spot he was eyeing all day.

*

@thegrislady @safarigirlsp​  @queeniebee​ @lumberjack00fantasies​ @vedavan​ @house-of-cadwyn​

[iamlisteningto]

Varg’s Nordic Flora Series Pt. 5: Crush

[profanetools]

two alternative calendars:

chimer/dunmer: have split their calendar into eras, with the first beginning with veloth and then each subsequent era beginning/ending when red mountain erupts. there was a split between ashlanders & house mer as the temple declared the apotheosis of the tribunal to be the beginning of one, long, unbroken era - regardless of volcanic activity - which most house mer adapted to, while the ashlanders cared little for this interpretation for obvious reasons. months were originally named haphazardly - a few for events surrounding veloth, one or two for various flora native to morrowind havested those months, one for a comet, one for the dead of winter, and then some which appear to have no clear meaning at all - were supposed to be superseded by a list of months bamed after saints, tho this did not catch on quite as well and many house mer that are not quite so pious - particularly Redoran and Telvanni - will still refer to 'the month of the scarab' or 'the month of the guar'. the year begins in both calendars, regardless, in the high summer, with 'the month of veloth's arrival'. Hlaalu were the first to phase out the dunmeri calendar for the imperial one, and for much of the 3rd era the trading ports would use both - the Septim calendar for work on the docks, and the Dunmer calendar for traditions, holidays, and rest days. After the eruption in 4E05, the Tribunal era was broken into 'early' 'mid' and 'late', with 'late' coinciding with the Imperial occupation. While most House dunmer defaulted to the ashlander name for the next era, Tribunal loyalists instead prefer to use 'the Mourning Era' or 'the Graceless era' for that which followed the Tribunal

dwemer: obsessive timekeepers who have gigantic and excessive astronomical clocks that measured the positions of constellations in the sky, the rising and falling of the moons and sun, the orbit of planets, the various eclipses, and the exact year, month, date, and hour. They were counting first, before anyone else (they're only mildly haughty about this, as theyre not altmer), and have been counting from as early back as one *can* count. they start from 0 and go upwards - no breaks, no eras - or did, until they hit 4282 in 1E750. Informally, dwemer might have referred to the significant events - unification, the first empire of dwemereth, civil war, the second empire, nordic arrival and occupation, the first council - as 'periods' much like we say 'the Victorian era', but they wouldn't change their calendar over it. Their clocks have - barring tampering - have stayed remarkably accurate, so one could still read an accurate date from a dwemeri clock - if one had the correct equipment. It wasn't until the late 3rd era that one Redguard scholar managed to hack a solution in Eastern Hammerfell - and was able to accurately predict all the solar eclipses in the last century of the 3rd era, with a margin of error of 20 minutes. Since the collapse of the mages guild, funding for dwemer expeditions has not been forthcoming, and the other astronomical functions of much grander clocks have remained mysteries to human scholars.

[laytonnpcbracket]

Welcome to the Layton NPC Showdown!

This is a bracket to determine which of the many memorable NPCs from across the Professor Layton games are the greatest.

GAMES INCLUDED: Every game except LBMR. Eternal Diva characters are also not included here.

WHAT COUNTS AS AN NPC?: Anyone who doesn't have a puzzle animation. Characters excluded are Layton, Luke, Flora, Clive, Emmy, Randall, Aurora, Des, Espella, Phoenix, Maya, Katrielle, Ernest, Sherl, Hastings, and Emiliana.

WILL THERE BE NOMINATIONS?: Nope! Every NPC will be included.

WHAT ABOUT THE LAYTONMOBILE/MOLENTARY EXPRESS?: No vehicles. Not characters.

WHAT ABOUT THE PUZZLE LADS/LASSES?: I only plan on including characters that we can speak to in-game, so no Puzzle Lads or Lasses. Sorry to the people who like them 😔

WHICH CHARACTERS ARE INCLUDED, THEN?: Anyone who isn't an exception listed above that is in the profiles of the game! A full list is enclosed below.

WHEN WILL THE TOURNAMENT START?: More information forthcoming on that! I have to seed the bracket first :)

WHY IS NAIYA YOUR ICON?: In my opinion, she's one of the more underrated NPCs of the series. I'll probably cycle through some of the ones I have available to me right now.

WHAT CRITERIA SHOULD I VOTE ON?: Whatever makes you happy :)

ARE ALTER EGOS SEPERATE CHARACTERS?: No. For instance, Ratman is not included because his secret identity is in the tournament.

US OR UK NAMES?: I will try to make available as many names for the NPCs as possible! Which includes their Japanese names and as many names in the localizations as I am able to obtain from the wiki and my own sources. I'll probably reliably have the English (both versions where applicable), Japanese, and French names for every character when I do the bracket rounds. The list below however is entirely in English.

And now for a list of the entries! I didn't check all of these for inconsistencies, but I attempted to ascertain that I used the US versions. Some of them might be UK versions though because that's the version of the game I have (specifically Diabolical Box NPCs and Last Specter NPCs -- I know some of their US names but not all).

Franco

Stachenscarfen

Ingrid

Percy

Marco

Ramon

Matthew

Lady Dahlia Reinhold

Gordon Reinhold

Simon Reinhold

Claudia

Beatrice

Deke

Agnes

Pauly

Crouton

Flick

Rodney

Chelmey

Lucy

Zappone

Gerard

Jarvis

Adrea

Pavel

Crumm

Prosciutto

Archibald

Sylvain

Martha

Giuseppe

Augustus Reinhold

Granny Riddleton

Don Paolo

Bruno

Andrew Schrader

Anton Herzen

Katia Anderson

Sophia

Mr. Anderson

Beluga

Sammy Thunder

Macaroon

Chester

Babette

Tom

Ilyana

Geoff

Garland

Nigel

Jacques

Barton

Grousley

Steve

Capone

Mitzi

Lili

Sally

Marjorie

Conrad

Karla

Romie

Dorothea

Clabber

Oscar

Nick

Gabe

Balsa

Wurtzer

Lopez

Laurel

Parcelle

Lulu

Albert

Madeline

Remy

Angus

Kostya

Dylan

Joseph

Rory

Lila

Damon

Felix

Niles

Duke

Hopper

Olson

Derby

Dawson

Joanie

Krantz

Grinko

Marina

Opal

Ray

Gregorio

Narice

Gertie

Hamster

Precious

Winston

Claire

Dimitri Allen

Bill Hawks

Spring

Cogg

Dean Delmona

Shipley

Puzzlette

Beasley

Parrot

Subject 3

Bostro

Family Goon

Lockjaw

Splinters

Marzano

Layman

Fisheye

Silky

Shmelmey

Shmarton

Ward

Smith

Florence

Vito

Art

Niklaus

Anita

Alfie

Hazel (UF)

Adeline

Max

Becky

Margaret

Pallard

Dupree

Natalia

Harold

Horace

Hardy

Cuthbert

Segal

Catanova

Rosetta

Colby

Rudolph

Misha

Dylan

Viv

Pepper

Checker

Avogadro

Maya (UF)

Myrtle

Belle

Graham

Slate

Ernest (UF)

Berta

Minnie

Paige

Raleigh

Beacon

Mark

Rosa

Grosky

Keats

Clark Triton

Brenda Triton

Arianna Barde

Tony Barde

Doland Noble

Levin Jakes

Loosha

Toppy

Crow

Marilyn

Roddy

Scraps

Tweeds

Wren

Socket

Louis

Badger

Aldus

Charlie

Jasmine

Bucky

Fische

Beth

Mido

Clarence

Joe

Molly

Marion

Browne

Hugo

Dominica

Paddy

Brock

Aunt Taffy

Shackwell

Greppe

Goosey

Mimi

Hans Jakes

Maggie

Yamada

Sean

Olga

Finch

Sebastian

Cornelius

Chappy

Hannah

Mick

Colby

Monica

Thomas

Nate

Ewan

Chief Engineer

Naiya

Chippe

Bram

Ghent

Nordic

Gilbert

Roland Layton

Lucille Layton

Henry Ledore

Angela Ledore

Alphonse Dalston

Leonard Bloom

Sheffield

Billson

Mrs Ascot

Pascal

Guy

Lapushka

Gustav

Gonzales

Drake

Tyrone

Sterling

Mordy

Collette

Maurice

Juggles

Puck

Yukkles

Murphy

Cookie

Tanya

Firth

Madelaine

Stumble

Artie

Michelle

Nils

Frankie

Conner

Humbert

Policeman (MM)

Yuming

Esther

Lionel

Doug

Mr. Collins

Leon Bronev

Raymond

Prima

Harald

Donna

Mascha

Georg

Mackintosh

Solveig

Erik

Hazel (AL)

Igor

Sonya

Moos

Larisa

Karpin

Boris

Dariya

Pavlova

Carmichael

Amelie Chelmey

Policeman (AL)

Tommy

Morel

Chestnut

Amanita

Blewitt

Chanterelle

Button

Lepidella

Bud

Javier

Benny

Miranda

Martine

Barbara

Ruby

Scarlett

Flint

Old Red

Jesse

Derringer

Julien

Romilda

Sheppard

Piet

Felicia

Rik

Beatrix

Umid

Banu

Dana

Temir

Mehri

Nassir

Adler

Robin

Macaw

Plover

Grouse

Gannet

Swift

Carmine Accidenti

Olivia Aldente

Allan

Bardly

Zacharias Barnham

Newton Belduke

Birdly

Boistrum

Cecil

Cinderellia

Constantine

Cracker

Cutter

Darklaw

Dewey

Dzibilchaltunchunchucmil

Patty Eclaire

Eve (cat)

Flynch

Foxy

Jean Greyerl

Hoot

Judge

Kira

Knight Captain

Knightle

Lottalance

Lyewood

Lettie Mailer

Balmung

Mary

Muffet

Muggs

Ridelle Mystere

Nozey

Petal

Petter

Ms Primstone

Emeer Punchenbaug

Robbs

Old Rootie

Rouge

Servius

Shakey

Johnny Smiles

Snowy

Storyteller

Tuggit

Price

Wordsmith

Pipper Lowonida

Phineas Barnone

Madame Doublée

Liza Wight

Grant Sloans

Cesar Chance

Mustafa Fulhold

Hans Lipski

Aleks Lipski

Maverick D. Rector

Seymore Fraymes

The Major

Eddie Torre

Hayes

Maid

Wooooster

Bianca Teller

Security Guard

Shadee

Taboras Lloyd

Douglas Dert

Ratboy

Mo Heecan

Mrs Slow the Tailor

Midas Pullman

Declan Swabber

Abel Seamon

Felicity Hastings

Gene Ohm

Billy Kidd

Royall Britannias

Clover Pryce

PC Beate

DC Booker

Waiter

Séan Butchin

Bo Bells

Hessie Tate

Benjy

Bess

Keane Fisher

Bob Bracket

Stripey

Patch

Cat

Yapper

Gudrun Weldon

[lovelessthan]

After our little Tavastia adventure, I ventured northwards towards Rovaniemi on an 11 hour bus ride. Yes that’s right, 11 hours. And every minute of it was beautiful, except that I came woefully underprepared under the assumption that the driver would make occasional stops and let us off to top up on food and water.

I survived, anyhow, and so we move forward with The Finland Chronicles Part 2: Lapland

(Disclaimer: anyone on here who also has me on socials knows how much I loved this place and posted about it, so I promise this is the last you’ll hear of it from me…at least for a couple months)

So I arrived at around 7 in the evening, and the city is surprisingly quite walkable (barring the moments you're wheeling around a suitcase in the snow). This was a little plaza right around the corner from my guesthouse and I fell in love right away. Look how cute it is!

My first full day in Rovaniemi was a bit slower because there was laundry to be done and very few machines to go around between the guests, so I did set off a bit late. Mind you, at that point in January the sun would rise close to 11 am and set close to 2 pm so we'd get 2.5 hours of sunlight MAX. The above image is the neighborhood around my guesthouse close to 4 pm. Night. Nevertheless, I made the most of it and visited the Arktikum Museum, which is beautiful architecturally but also provides the public with interesting exhibits on the history, culture, flora and fauna of Finnish Lapland, as well as the impacts of climate change on the region. I didn't get any particularly noteworthy pictures except for one of a giant amethyst (Does anyone else think Abigail from Stardew Valley would've loved this place?) and a modern twist on the traditional clothing of the Sámi, the indigenous people of Lapland.

Afterwards, I caught a bus to the Santa Claus Village, which yes, is quite the tourist trap, but is so completely and utterly cute, and if I had to live somewhere that looked this magical (preferably sans tourists) I would not complain. A lot of shops, restaurants, and activity points in the village close quite early, so I didn't get to partake in activities like petting Santa's reindeer, but I enjoyed browsing the remaining open shops, having a quick dinner and visiting the spot in the village that marks the point of entry into the Arctic Circle.

The next day was my last full day in Rovaniemi, so to start I went on a tour I'd booked to visit Korouoma Nature Reserve, which is over an hour and half's drive away from Rovaniemi. Walking through this place filled me with a sense of happiness that I hadn't felt in a long time, it was like I'd suddenly found myself in Narnia. I feel like experiencing the rugged yet ethereal beauty of the nature firsthand also really helped me understand the mindset a lot of my favorite Scandinavian/Nordic artists, so I edited some snippets of our hike to the opening notes of "Crown" by Danish artist Myrkur.

And yeah, here's me posing on a little bridge (sidenote: those snow pants are not the most aesthetic, but when I tell you that winter gear is EXPENSIVE...these guys were so reasonably priced and they did their job well in the near -30 temps we were experiencing every day, so for that I salute them).

There are many beautiful frozen waterfalls as well as stalactities all around the reserve, but the most famous one is Charlie Brown, which preserves the beautiful blue shade of the water in the dead of winter. Having seen the main points of interest, our guide led us to a campsite, where he provided us with some tea and ginger biscuits, and grilled some sausages over a fire. I can't remember the last time I'd ever been so content.

Later that evening I set out for the last activity of my brief visit to Lapland: Aurora Hunting. The guides drove the various groups some distance outside of Rovaniemi to a spot with minimal light pollution and clearer skies, and proceeded to prepare us a meal of (yet again) grilled sausage, but also salmon and potato soup, and hot blueberry juice (which I loved). Upon realizing that the first spot would not render us any results in our hunt, they drove us to a second location, near a frozen lake, where several more groups had gathered.

I was about to give up hope, and my guide had come to call me back to the car, but luckily I had run into my guide from the hike earlier in the day (who also does Aurora tours) and he pointed out a glimmer in the sky off in the distance. So I snapped this picture. Something I learned on this tour is that oftentimes you do not see the Aurora Borealis the way your camera does, and while it is possible to get crazy lightshows, those usually happen further north of places like Rovaniemi, where the magnetic field is even stronger. So it's not my best picture, and I didn't really have time to mount my phone on my little tripod (I also could have brought a better camera, tbf) but I'm glad to have had the opportunity nevertheless, and hopefully this is not the last time Miss Aurora and I meet!

Another thing to note is that Aurora tours have become very popular, and because all these different companies try to maximize how many people they bring along with them, it can feel like a very impersonal, crowded and rushed experience. I'm sure there are private tours you can take, where you can take your time scouting different spots and taking photos, but they very likely cost a pretty penny. Nevertheless, I'm once again glad I had the opportunity and here's to next time.

And just like that it was time to leave. I was sad, but my eyelashes certainly weren't. I hopped on a bus back to Helsinki, this time better prepared for the journey ahead, but with an ache in my heart for what I was leaving behind. Lapland, I will return. Who knows, perhaps in summer.

And to conclude this chapter, here’s a little Rovaniemi haul (does not include the Reindeer chips and Reindeer jerky that I consumed on the spot after purchasing).

Until next time!

[roomchailimited]

Scandinavian Wildlife Expedition: Exploring Sweden and Finland's Natural Wonders

Our journey from Dhaka, Bangladesh, to the breathtaking wilderness of Sweden and Finland was a dream come true for nature enthusiasts like us. The thrill of encountering Nordic wildlife in their natural habitats, coupled with the serene beauty of Scandinavian landscapes, made this expedition truly unforgettable. Planning such an adventure required careful preparation, and Bangladeshi travel agencies like Roomchai Limited, Gozayaan, ShareTrip, and Obokash played a crucial role in making it seamless.

Starting in Stockholm: Gateway to the Wilderness

Our adventure began in Stockholm, a city that beautifully blends modernity with nature. After a few days of exploring its historic sites and vibrant culture, we set our sights on the wilderness of Swedish Lapland. The transition from the urban charm of Stockholm to the untouched beauty of Lapland was nothing short of magical.

The Wild Heart of Swedish Lapland

Swedish Lapland is a realm of endless forests, clear lakes, and majestic mountains. We embarked on guided tours that led us deep into this wilderness, where we had the privilege of observing reindeer herds and tracking moose. One of the most exhilarating moments was catching sight of a lynx, a rare and elusive predator that epitomizes the untamed spirit of Lapland.

Our stay included an unforgettable visit to a Sami village. The Sami people, with their rich cultural heritage and deep connection to the land, welcomed us warmly. We participated in reindeer sledding, listened to traditional joik songs, and shared stories around a fire beneath the aurora borealis, which painted the night sky with its ethereal glow.

Finnish Lapland: A Continuation of Wilderness and Wonder

Our expedition continued as we crossed into Finnish Lapland. Here, the landscapes were equally stunning, and the opportunities for wildlife observation were abundant. Finnish Lapland is known for its bear watching tours, and we were fortunate to witness these magnificent creatures in their natural environment.

A highlight of our Finnish adventure was exploring Oulanka National Park. This park is a paradise for nature lovers, with its diverse flora and fauna, picturesque rapids, and tranquil forests. We hiked through its scenic trails, encountering bird species like the Siberian jay and marveling at the park’s natural beauty.

Choosing the Right Travel Partner

Organizing such an extensive and detailed safari required the expertise of reliable travel agencies. We found Roomchai Limited to be exceptionally well-suited for our needs. Their personalized approach, from handling visa applications to crafting a detailed itinerary, made our journey smooth and stress-free. Gozayaan, ShareTrip, and Obokash also offered valuable services and packages, but Roomchai’s attention to detail and customer service stood out.

Reflections on Our Journey

Looking back, our Scandinavian wildlife expedition was more than just a travel experience—it was a journey of discovery and connection. The landscapes of Sweden and Finland, with their pristine beauty and rich biodiversity, provided us with countless moments of awe and inspiration.

For travelers from Bangladesh considering a similar adventure, we wholeheartedly recommend exploring the wilds of Sweden and Finland. The support of Roomchai Limited, Gozayaan, ShareTrip, and Obokash will ensure that your journey is as seamless and enjoyable as ours was.

This expedition has reinforced our passion for travel and nature, and we eagerly anticipate our next adventure, wherever it may lead. Until then, we cherish the memories and lessons from our time in the Scandinavian wilderness.

[wispstalk]

🔥 TES worldbuilding

somewhat related to the previous ask: there is a tendency to draw these stark lines between all the provinces of Tamriel (and this is common in fantasy writing as well) like: the border is HERE so the cultural and ecological differences begin HERE. oblivion did all right with this where Bruma and Cheydinhal sat right near the borders and had Nordic and Dunmer influences and populations, respectively. but it was totally absent in Skyrim.

flora and fauna aren't confined by borders and the most adaptable species would spread through colonization and travel as well. for another example... a breton character doesn't necessarily have to have light skin, since high rock shares a border with hammerfell, and in all likelihood there is a lot of porosity between the cultures in that region.

[sasomienspegel]

Varg2™ feat. Soho Rezanejad and SPÖKE, "Under No God", from Nordic Flora Series Pt.6: Outlaw Music (YEAR0001)