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hcdragonwrites · 1 year ago

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Cozy (a @jttw-monkeybusiness Drabble )

So I made another one- this one was inspired by this ask (I suck at Hyperlinks I’m so sorry)

It rolled a bit in my brain and kept begging to be fleshed out, so I decided to give it life ! Enjoy!

Snow

Snow fell in white flurries, chasing away the blossoms and birds that had been sitting in the trees just moments before. The storm was in a full frenzy now, peeling petals from overeager trees who had budded too soon, and throwing the birds from the sky. The wind whipped up the cold powder to spray back in the face of the pilgrims as they continued on their journey. They had left the warm subtropical forest only hours ago, where Sophie had rolled her sleeves up to relieve some of the excess heat. Now however, she was shivering.

None of the group, save for Wukong, was truly equipped for the snow and cold. Pigsys ears were turning purple from the temperature as he tried, and failed, to hide from the worst of it behind Sandy. Sandy silently continued on, carving a path for Sophie (who trailed farther behind) to walk through. The snow was already deep, coming to her knees as they continued to follow the tiny path up the mountain. Black rock jutted upward and outward like broken teeth into the white air. Horse and Monk both were struggling ahead, Yulongs sides shivering in the wet as the snow melted on his fur. Tripitaka called Wukong over, asking him to scout ahead to look for a place they could shelter for the duration of this storm. Sophie could see there heads bent together as Master and pupil discussed. Wukong, for once, didn’t reply with a snort or a quick jab at how Trip should be lucky for him to be his disciple. Instead he had somersaulted off, gone in a flash of fur and tiger stripes, into the air.

“Would be nice if I could just somersault out of here.” Sophie muttered.

A freak blizzard had not been on the list of things Sophie was ready for. She had faced shape-changing demons, women that turned to great tigers to devour Tripitaka, mountain gods throwing stones down into their path and the like. Sophie was prepared for any person or creature - or at least- expecting it. The weather however? She was severely underprepared for. She had the travel clothes she had bought with the coin purse she’d been given. They were meant for light rain and mild heat. Not for a snowstorm. Sophies hair was getting wet and the cold was starting to chill her ears from where it melted.

“It’s so cold…” she muttered. She kept following Sandys footpath, thankful for the giant of a river demon and his slow shuffling walk. If he was walking normally he would have left her far behind in the snow.

Her foot hit a rock and slipped, sending her flailing into a rapidly growing snowbank. “F-f-f-freezing! AH!” Snow had gone down her shirt, sending a chill up her spine. Faster than a wildcat she had hopped from the bank, shaking herself.

“Hate snow hate snow hate snow—“ she chanted her mantra as she slapped off the powder, trying to prevent it from melting and wetting her clothes. Wet clothes would only spell disaster. Sophie could recall all the cold born illnesses from one special National Geographic did on Everest and the extreme exposure the hikers faced there: pneumonia, Trench foot, frostbite, hypothermia, flu, Chilblains, bronchitis —

Her foot slipped again as her mind was listing all the things that could happen. Sophie would have been in the snowbank a second time except something caught her by the midriff and hauled her up.

“Stupid women stay on your feet!” Wukong snarled in her ear, setting her down. Sophie nodded, teeth chattering and nose turning red as the cold began to chap it. “Of all the people here I thought at least you had the common sense to be aware of ice!”

From up ahead came the faint cry and heavy fall as Pigsys fell face first in the snow. Sandy had to quickly turn to hid a chuckle as the drenched demon began wilding swinging his rake around in rage.

“S-s-sorry.” She mumbled, shoving her hands beneath her armpits. “Slipped.”

“What’s wrong with your speech? You sound like a squirrel.” Wukong cocked his head, an eyebrow raised. He rolled his eyes when Sophie didn’t banter back irritated she wasn’t snapping back at him. That agitation grew when he felt something like worry begin to itch his pelt. Of the pilgrims, the two mortals were in his charge of care and were the most delicate. While Wukong could fight off monsters and Demons and wicked minded mortals he could not fight a storm. Well- he could if he really wanted to find the celestial body responsible for its creation. But that would take time- and time was not on his side on this.

Tripitaka had put on a brave face when he had asked the Monkey King to find shelter. That didn’t mean Wukong had not noticed how his Masters hands had turned red at the growing cold, how his body shivered and his nose sniffed. Wukong would have teased, poked and prodded at his master- it was his nature to rile and cause mischief. But when he had seen the half awake expression on the mortal man’s face, Wukong had bit his tongue (with great effort) and had instead nodded.

Seeing Sophie in a similar state made the itch beneath his pelt grow worse as fire ants had begun to bite his skin.

“Damn it.” He cursed beneath his breath. He snatched her arm, avoiding her hand, and started dragging her behind him. “Come on just a bit farther you softie. I found a cave up ahead where we can get out of the worst of it. You mortals are ABSOLUTELY worthless when it comes to weather —“

Sophie was only half listening to Wukongs ranting. She allowed herself to be dragged up the mountain pass, trusting the Monkey King to find a better route than her own dimming senses. The cold was like a blanket she wanted to escape out of. Or escape into? She couldn’t remember clearly. If she closed her eyes… she was so tired. The snow looked inviting, comforting. Like the best downy comforter. Like the fluffiest pillow.

Maybe I just … need to lay … down in the comfort. Just close my eyes for a few minutes.

They had been walking for hours before the storm blew in. Her feet hurt, her hands shook and it was so cold. Cold. She just wanted to sleep.

“SOPHIE LOOK AT ME!” Wukong yanked her and she was rattled enough to open her eyes wider in surprise. Sun Wukong was right in her face, leaning so close she could see every line of his facial markings in detail. His breath came from between his teeth like some dragons as he glared.

“Ye-es?!”

“Stay awake- we're almost there. If you fall asleep while I’m dragging your ass up the mountain I will bite your pretty nose clean off!” The demonic monkey spat, then, half carried, half dragged Sophie the rest of the way. Leaning against his back Sophie sighed. Through the clothing she could feel it- like desert sand warmed by the sun. Delicious heat. Sophie - who wouldn’t in normal circumstances have cuddled so close- practically melted against the warmth. What else could she do? Wukong was dragging her up the mountain- practically carrying her. She could see the bend in the mountain pass- a steep cliff where the road cut itself around and hugged the mountain as a snake would do climbing along a vine. Almost there.

“How come you get to be so warm?” She grumbled, not realizing she had said it aloud. Wukong had heard however, and his face became a storm cloud as his heart took a shuddering beat.

“Maybe grow some fur or ask for the Buddha to make you some furry creature. Bet he would too.” Wukong grumbled back.

Stupid fucking women.

They reached the curve in the mountain where Pigsy and Sandy- mostly Sandy since the pig demon kept complaining about how cold his snout was- were setting up three tents. The tents were simple, the leather treated against wet weather and solid. All pigsy had to do was drive the stakes into the stone which, it seemed, he was failing at.

“It’s so damn cold!” Pigsy snorted angrily stamping his hands together, having missed the spike for the third time. “Blasted Heaven and whoever ordered a storm now of all times! Don’t they know who’s crossing these mountains?”

“Less talking more working.” Sandy angrily chided. He had finished setting up the second tent all on his own. When Pigsy went to open his mouth to make another comment and the usually peaceful Sandy shoved him across the shallow cave to the last tent and the one closest to the entrance.

As Wukong walked past, Pigsy lifted an eyebrow at the strange sight. The Monkey King could see the pig beginning to lift a lip in a smirk only to stop when he noticed Sophie’s shivering.

“What did you do?” Those were the last words Wukong expected to come out of his fellow brothers mouth.

“WHAT DID I DO?!” He bared his teeth, fangs on display. He didn’t have time for Pigsy or for his own feelings to confuse him. He knew Sophie was practically clinging to his back like the newborn monkeys did to their mothers back on Flower Fruit Mountain. He was very aware of it. The last thing he needed was for this thick pink idiot to start shit with him.

“I DIDNT DO SHIT YOU THICK HEADED BOAR.” He spat, continuing past. “THIS IDIOT STARTED FALLING ASLEEP IN THE FUCKING STORM. NOW SHUT UP AND GET THE OTHER TENT SET UP.”

Wukong left Pigsy behind, angrily chattering to himself and feeling embarrassed all the while. He couldn’t let that thick womanizing boar know any of Wukongs feelings. If he did, the damn brute would only press his nose to it and route deeper. The sooner he got Sophie off his back the better. Even though he didn’t entirely want that.

He reached the back corner of the cave, setting Sophie down. She huffed, letting go with some reluctance to his warm back. The Monkey King knelt, leaning in. Sophie’s shivering was less. Good.

“I’ll be back- I have to make sure the pink ham doesn’t fuck up the last tent. Once I’ve tended Yulong and seen to my masters comforts I’ll be back to check on you.”

Sophie pulled her knees to her chest. She was still so cold. She wanted nothing more then to curl up and sleep- to find something warm and hold onto it. She heard Wukong from far off - but she nodded.

“S-S-sure… just gonna fall .. asleep.”

“Don’t fall asleep you idiot.” He snapped.

“Why not?” Sophie groaned. She was tired

“Remember. You are in wet clothes. Wake up just to remember - Think. Use that reading brain of yours.” He flicked her between the eyes. That woke Sophie up enough as the pain cleared her head.

“Ow, what the hell Wukong?!” Sophie felt like she had come out of a daze. Her fingers started rubbing at the pain. It wasn’t terrible but … she felt like a child be scolded. Sophie glared up into the smug monkey face.

“Awake? Good. Now fucking listen before you nod off again.” Wukong smirked just a bit. The itching beneath his fur had eased just enough upon seeing her get mad. He spoke slowly, for her sake but also to press in how much he enjoyed giving her orders- and being right about them. “Your clothes are wet. You can’t sleep in them. Change to new ones. In fact, bundle up as much as you can. I’ll be back to check on you.”

Wukong stood up, then turned back around to flick her on the forehead again.

“Ow! I’m up, I'm up!” Sophie rubbed at the space between her brows.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes yes …” she uncurled herself and stood as well, looking down at the Monkey King. “Get out of wet clothes and get new ones. Bundle up. That really hurt you know.”

“If you are still in wet fucking clothes, I’ll do a lot worse then just smack you between the eyes.” And then he was away, already cussing Pigsy out who had, somehow, managed to rip the tent.

It was a only about twenty minutes later but Sophie had managed not to fall asleep. She had gotten into the tent and had peeled the worst of the wet clothes off. Her poor shoes were the worst for wear- the socks and the soles were soaked. She would have to wear her spare shoes tomorrow and let these ones dry. Sophie had set the wet clothes to the farthest side of the tent. She was now dressed in a pair of gray sweats, a long sleeve and her hoodie of bright orange with clementines decorating the front. She felt much warmer and absolutely exhausted. Her fingers were red where the cold had gotten them, her lips felt chapped from the dry air, and her body just kept shivering.

Sophie had retreated almost completely into the hoodie- only her face was viewable.

The tent flap lifted and Wukong stepped in, a bowl of some sort of wild berries and cold rice in one hand. He took one look at her huddled there on her sleeping mat and snorted.

“You look like some orange orangutan.”

“Hahah very funny. See how you like the cold when you don’t have fur.” She shot back. Wukong offered the bowl to her and she took it, digging into it with gusto.

“How’s Trip?” She asked between bites.

“Alive.” Wukong leaned back, putting his arms beneath his head as he stared up at the tent ceiling. “You two would have frozen if not for me- you were both starting to look pinker than yangmei fruit.”

“Thank you.” Sophie said.

“Mm? What are you thankful for ?”

Oh he was gonna ask her for all of it then? Sophie looked at him. Wukong had propped himself up enough to stare at her, waiting.

“Thank you for the food.” She lifted the now empty bowl- she had been famished - to him. “Thank you for finding a spot to rest. And … thanks for dragging me out of the snow.”

“You almost died I hope you know that.” He smirked, laying back down, eyes closing. She followed suit, too tired to sit up anymore or even bicker back with him.

“Yeah I did …” Sophie yawned. Usually she wouldn’t admit so readily to Wukong just how certain situations had made her dependent upon him. He was always, in some way or other, saving the lot of them. When Tripitaka was snatched up by some Goblins belonging to some chieftain of a nearby mountain, when Pigsy had boasted that they didn’t need Wukong and then (almost immediately) failed to find food when Wukong was sent away. He had stopped the dragon horse from foundering and taken to the care of his hooves and coat many a time. The Monkey King had seen to restoring the missing supplies from Sophie pack when a group of mischievous raccoon spirits had taken it. Wukong had even replaced Sandy’s teakettle when it was smashed in battle (Sophie was pretty sure he had stolen it).

He may act aloof and pompous but deep down, this big old brute cared for them. Even Pigsy.

Sophie felt her eyes grow heavy as Wukong kept talking about how she had stumbled in the snow like some “dumb struck fawn” until he came to help her.

As she relaxed to the sound of his voice rumbling on and on, it almost felt … cozy. Yes Wukong may like to slide the occasional wriggly salamander into her water skin, he may thumb through her things like they were his, he may call her idiot, stupid women, and softie. But. There was no real malice behind his actions.

He was also kind of … warm. She scooted closer, half listening to the Monkey ramble on about the idiocy of mortals and the greatness of beings such as him. He was rambling on about his natural prowess over mortals and how he had mastered the arts of immortality and Tripitaka couldn’t even master warding off a cold. Sophie fell asleep before he could get to the part about her looking like a slack jawed idiot in the snow.

Wukong was only a quarter way through his regaling of the story of how he had saved everyone this day when he felt hands wrap around his chest.

His heart nearly flew into his throat as he stopped dead in his speech. His mouth was open, voice cut off halfway through his speech. Sophie curled into his side, face buried in the crook of his neck and so close to his ear he could feel her breathing against its shell.

Electricity shot threw him, fur standing on end as if he had been in a thunderstorm.

He was suddenly very aware of many things. Of Sophie’s hands that had escaped that ridiculous orange sweatshirt and were now burrowed into his fur. One arm was across his chest. The second one was now, somehow beneath his head and tugging on his shoulder. Sophie’s face rested on his arm and in the curve of his neck, her face rubbing back and forth like a cat. As if … she was enjoying the feel of it.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Sophie moved just a bit, mumbling in his ear and Wukong felt his tail lash like it had just been bit. She didn’t say anything coherent but — the proximity alone—

Fucking Hell and all its Judges.

Sophie was … cuddling him.

She was practically twined around him.

And she smelled fantastic. Her scent always changed- sometimes it held a hint of lemons and the sweetness of grass, other times it floated like rain clouds and smelled of stones. But all of it together had a larger perfume beneath it. It was just her. Yes there were moments when her scent changed just enough that he felt like he was adding new spices onto his favorite dish. The essence of it, however, was just Sophie.

And now that cloud was all around him, filling his nose.

He looked at her, turning his head just a fraction to see.

Big mistake.

She was asleep, passed out completely. She looked so … fragile asleep. The dark circles beneath her eyes spoke of how she hadn’t been sleeping well. Her nose was stupidly pink like a Red Pika in her pale face. The cold must have chapped it. His eyes darted to her lips …

Mistake number two.

Wukong looked away, feeling his face flame. Fuck. Shit. He was stuck in a predicament now. He hadn’t meant to chat away about himself for so long that Sophie would fall asleep. Wukong was at war with himself. On one hand, he needed to get out of here. To leave before Pigsy and the others found out- before Sophie found out.

He couldn’t let anyone be that close to him- couldn’t let anyone be as close as Sophie was right now. It was a liability to his pride, to his reputation—

To his heart. Because if she rejected him it would ruin the friendship they had. And the feeling he had building in his chest- he would crush it in his fist before he let it jeopardize that peace between them.

I have to leave —

Wukong tried to move-

Only to feel Sophie’s fingers tug in his fur and her sleepy voice grumble “m’no don’t go.”

Jade Emperor flay me and boil me alive again.

In all the hundreds of years of living, Wukong had only felt trapped like this but once before. The first time he had lost his wager to the Buddha, having been unable to somersault out of his hand. The second time? He was trapped because he allowed it. He was trapped in a way no one in Heaven could have predicted- or had thought to do. Wukong had been placed in vats to be boiled, had wormed and tricked his way out of every trap and net that had attempted to keep his mischief managed. It had taken Buddha and his wager to finally end Wukongs terrorization of Heaven.

Wukong couldn’t move now. He was tethered here by frail fingers and the steady beat of a mortal's heart.

He could hear her heartbeat, feel it against his side. It was steady, soft. Like the steady roar of Water-Curtain Cave. Like the wind through the trees of the orchards on his mountain.

She was mortal. One day that steady beat would stop as all mortal hearts did.

That set his tail to lashing just a bit.

Hasn't she been afraid of dying? Of growing old? He remembered hearing a conversation late at night- when Tripataka and Sophie had those rare mortal conversations where he was explicitly not allowed to sit in on. He hadn’t known why it was such a secret conversation. So of course, since it wasn’t an order, Wukong had pulled a hair from his tail and made a doppel and floated somewhere nearby but out of sight to eavesdrop. The Monk and Reader had been chatting about death, about Sophie’s future.

Well her fears were unfounded. Doesn’t she know I would take care of her? Sophie shifted a bit closer as a gust of wind slipped beneath the tent flat he had left unsecured. Damn it all. Wukong carefully, o so carefully, shifted himself. He slid his body so he was now lying on his side, setting Sophie’s head beneath his chin. It was all the invitation Sophie needed to cuddle closer and escape from the wind.

“You stupid women.” He angrily whispered into her hair. He wouldn’t let her die. He would just fix that. He would fix a lot of her problems. She just had to tell him. He was Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven. He knew of a hundred different ways to achieve immortality. He could fix them all. Like her problem right now of being cold.

He was too tense to relax fully- too aware- but he grew just a fraction larger. His size now dwarfed Sophie’s a good bit and gave her a bit more to tangle into. And she did. Sophie curled her knees up, shivering slowing. Wukong waited. Watching. When finally the shivering had ceased he allowed just a fraction of tension to slide off of him. This stupid softie is gonna make me soft. The thought didn’t bother him as much as it would have months ago.

Maybe he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight but…

He could make her life Hell in the morning. It was something that she owed him on. His face was screwed furiously into a scowl because all he wanted to do was enjoy this moment but if he did- if he really truly did- he didn’t know if he would be able to stop.

She was most assuredly going to be bombarded tomorrow with the most annoying and snappish teasing and toying a King of Monkeys and tricks could give.

Sophie woke with a start as something cold and wet slapped her in the face. She panicked as any person would.

“GaH! DEMON!” She cried, grabbing at her face and throwing it aside. It was a wet rag.

“Relax.” Wukongs voice laughed at her. “Unless cloth can become possessed and has gained a hunger for red nosed mortal flesh, you're fine.”

He was at the tent flap, grinning ear to ear in a grin that promised problems. Really so early in the morning and he already wants to play games ?

“You could have woken me up in a number of other ways- why did you pick that?” Sophie rubbed at her face, feeling … huh. She didn’t feel as sore as she usually felt. When Sophie woke up there was almost a constant crick of pain in her neck from whatever odd angle she had slept in on the ground.

Maybe I had been so tired my body just finally didn’t care.

He shrugged. “You stink. Next place we stop at you better demand a bath of some sort or other.”

“Thanks….” She grumbled, letting the sarcasm drip off her words. She took the cloth up, rubbing the sleep out of her face and the worst of the dirt off her face and arms. She would kill for a warm bath, one that would wake up her bones and chase the last of the cold from her body. Once clean, she checked her wet clothes, bundling them away in a separate part of her pack to avoid them dampening the rest of her stuff. Then she stepped out of the tent, smelling the fire and the promise of breakfast being made.

Only for her feet to slip right from beneath her as a monkey foot stuck out and caught her ankle.

“WUKONG!”

He laughed, face full of malicious mischief as Sophie gathered herself up to chase after the errant Monkey. To do what, she didn’t know. He was a mystical demonic creature born of stone and she just a mortal women. As the morning light cut into the cave and Tripitaka had to order his disciple to calm down after he once again tripped her and she almost went sprawling into rocks, the pilgrims ate breakfast. They broke down their tents. And they were once again on the road.

None were the wiser of Wukongs happier mood. He hid it beneath a storm of frowns and a game of teasing torture as he became partically insufferable to Sophie. The threat of the hoop tightening spell was the only true damper to his mood when Tripataka heard Sophie scream as snow was dropped down the back of her shirt.

As the sun rose higher and the word was cast in a frosty flash of refracted gold, Wukong made a decision. He would solve Sophie problem of growing old. It was easy. And if Buddha couldn’t send her back…

Well she was a great sport for pestering and heckling. The least he could do as a benevolent King is give the poor women a roof over her head.

Maybe a few dresses down the line...

Girls liked dresses right?

“Hey Reader!” He called.

“What?”

“Dresses or suits ? What did you wear in that fake time long after this one ? Or whatever fake dimension you fell out of. What did you prefer ?”

And thus began the long hour debate that somehow pulled every one of them: Pigsy, Sandy and Tripitaka, into what was a heated discussion on the best attire for the best occasions.

#hcwrites #writing stuff #I DID ANOTHER ONE #thank you little anon for mentioning a cold snuggle scenario #I love when there’s cuddles even if one party doesn’t know or remember and the other is both ecstatic and pissed the fuck off about it #I Hope i wrote them well #the formatting took me longer then I thought #for jttw monkeybuisness #Sophie #Sophie and Wukong #sun wukong x reader #jttw sun wukong #jttw reader #jttw fanfic #I gave Sophie an orange hoodie because she already has a ‘magical’ peach kawaii cup.#make all her things fruit related #just writing the scene where Wukong walks back into the tent and has to pause because Sophie had turned into an orange made me laugh #I Hope i got your boy down Kiri!#thank you again for letting me write for you #this was a welcome break from my 30 page spree #I listened to two songs - the first part was #with Tourner Dans Le Vide #the second part where they are in the tent was with Of Monsters and Men ‘Love’#it helps to have a song hook you into writing because then you can follow the feeling of it and stay focused #I mean- songs are like a tempo to keep pace with.#sun wukong #jttw au #I did look up all the snow born illnesses to be a bit accurate.#also that falling asleep bit in the snow ? yeah that almost happened to me as a kid. it only took ten minutes - be wary of snow and cold #hcfanfics

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unsoundedcomic · 4 months ago

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Whumptober 2024 - 06 - "Not Realising They're Injured"

The Sonorie winter palace was in Alauri Beach, a dreamy subtropical district hugging Cresce's southernmost border. Northern districts feared Alderode and ill-intentioned Sharteshanian encroachment; locals said Alauri Beach's only enemy was the sea. Here the country harvested salt and seafood, chocolate and jewel-hued alien fruit that, after nearly a decade sequestered there, Roger still couldn't identify by name. He'd adjusted to the food, the mosquitos, the heat, the downpours, but loneliness remained a constant bedfellow. Even when his hosts provided alternatives.

Roger didn't spare a glance to the unclothed boy dozing in the fine satin bed behind him. Instead, from a high window of pebbled cerulean glass, he watched the waves lick the white sand shore far below, and thought of Mallory's mouth; of Mallory's dark lips parting to reveal Mallory's shell white incisors; of his bottom teeth rising to lightly close upon Mallory's tongue and stop him grunting as he came in Roger's throat.

Roger liked that thought, smiled, and added it to the letter unwinding from his quill.

He hadn't tasted that mouth in so many years. Sometimes he wondered if he hadn't dreamed their fiery affair. He'd certainly taken to romanticizing it in these ridiculous letters they shared, filling perfumed pages with whole bouquets of florid prose. Prick like a pine trunk. Creamy emissions sprayed across tendinous thighs and round, rosy ass. Ember eyes red and snapping. Roger thought he'd become quite the poet. But poetry by necessity was perhaps not as sweet as the lazy verses he'd written when he was younger, when life was easier, and Mallory was at hand to inspire his pen.

Roger slapped at a mosquito. Black legs and his own blood smeared his palm. His neck stung.

The palace was gorgeous. His personal quarters well suited the Queen's third husband. Its high stucco walls were covered in the softest gauzy drapes, and those drapes were slashed by golden cords pymarically aglow with shifting sun shafts and dancing firefly particles. Even the fine Foi-Hellick estate had not been this lavish, this luxurious with pymaric accoutrements. Fountains of emerald water burbled in each corner. Fragile blue fawns passed between them, sipped, would bow their heads respectfully if Roger met their eye. They were only glamours of course but he'd never seen finer. The peacocks too, and the songbirds. They peeled themselves off the walls every half hour, strutted about, clucked, sang, then replaced themselves in their murals. They smelled like sandalwood and one of the exotic fruits he couldn't name. It was the most beautiful room he'd ever seen, much less lived in.

Yet Roger thought of Mallory's strutting, Mallory's singing, Mallory's smell.

"It's a spear in my heart," he wrote, "That these glamours are more real to me than you may ever be again. If we don't meet soon, I hope the next assassin finds me alone and unguarded. Every day without you is a curse."

Gods, his neck hurt. Roger touched the bite but it wasn't bleeding. Perhaps the mosquito'd had that poxy fever that his servants warned him of sometimes, and now he was infected. Well, he shouldn't write so carelessly of dying, he supposed. The gods loved to ironically strike men down. But that would be poetry too, wouldn't it? He'd die long before Sonorie's people found the efheby.

Wait.

Efheby?

Was Mallory already-

From his bed, the boy muzzily called: "Lord Foi-Hellick?" Roger's thoughts scattered. "Why don't you tell me what I can do for you?"

Roger dropped his pen, gave his head a little shake to further scatter the blood-sucking swarm. "There is… there is naught to be done for me," he answered, "Not here. Not in this country."

"Pretend we are not in this country then. We will be in whatever country my Lord commands."

Roger stood. He turned from the pretty cerulean window, from his view of the southern sea. "Can you speak Tainish?"

Like marketplace produce, the boy in his sheets was beautifully arrayed, one leg bent beneath him, his soft cock sleeping on the cushion of his thigh. He nodded, and when he flashed his teeth in a smile, maybe there were too many teeth. Maybe they were the wrong shape.

"Ssa, maenhilo alata," he answered in the language of Roger's fathers, in the same ancient cadence Mallory used, "It is fine. I will speak any tongue my Lord desires."

#unsounded #whumptober

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pockymun · 1 year ago

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Maps of Galahd by Pockymun

I've been writing fic for FFXV for a few years now. One of the obstacles I've run into again and again was not knowing where the characters were at all. This made it hard to plan logistics like travel time, weather, and climates. So I decided to look at what maps we have from FFXV and create my own for the lesser-traveled regions (which is everywhere except Lucis, and even that map isn't that great).

This task in itself was frustrating because it's impossible to tell where the equator and the tropics are supposed to be. The climates of Lucis and Niflheim only confuse it further. If Lucis is based on America, it's pretty far up from the tropics. Accordo doesn't appear a warm enough climate to be in the tropics, either. (Accordo has a very coastal Mediterranean climate; just a note for the future).

There has been debate regarding where Galahd is in Eos. Most agree that it is the islands located behind Insomnia. It makes the most sense because of reaction to Galahd's invasion in Insomnia's news: Niflheim conquered land in Insomnia's backyard, and were knocking at the door. When Niflheim slowly conquered much of the mainland Lucis, nothing was mentioned regarding a reaction from Insomnia.

Being where it is, Galahd should be a much colder climate than what I have it as. It should be more like Norway or Finland. However, the Kingsglaive anniversary artwork depicted a scene with a lot of South/Southeast Asian influences. The proper places of climates never seemed to matter to the developers of Final Fantasy.

In a rudimentary attempt to map the ocean currents of Eos, I drew a warm ocean current that runs westward on the north side of Galahd. This would cause the islands to have a slightly warmer climate than what it should have considering its placement. Logically, it wouldn't be warm enough to be considered subtropical, but I really wanted there to be a jungle climate in FFXV and I think that's what the developers originally intended as well.

On the southern coasts of Galahd, there is a cool ocean current that runs westward. These waters are much calmer and are ideal spots for large fishing enterprises. The warm ocean current in the north brings storms and a lot of rain; the north side of the islands are much wetter.

The climates I described in the climate map are classifications that can be found on Wikipedia. I tried sticking close to climates found in Southeast Asia, while also giving some more temperate areas as well. While much of the material culture is SE Asian, there are some things, such as the braids Nyx and Lib wear, that seem to stem from ancient Indo-European/Iranic influences. There was a custom among one of these people in which only warriors braided their hair.

For place names, I used fantasynamegenerators.com and selected random South/Southeast Asian town names. There are two straits, the oceans, and the seas that I haven't named yet. The map became very cramped with one names I already put on it.

Some headcanons I came up with while working on this:

Galahd's climate provides some challenges to the transportation infrastructure. There is no major roadway nor any major settlement on the north edge of Lhasgar due to the dense forest and the risk of annual floods. Cities and towns are more firmly established further in the island.

When Lucis still controlled the islands, they attempted to improve the infrastructure by establishing major roads and railways. The climate did not allow much leeway for railway, however. Around the same time, Lucis relaxed its control over Galahd and allowed for autonomy.

The most common forms of transportation are by vehicle, bus, or boat along the waterways.

There are cities and towns. These were there before Lucis took over, although they had looked much more traditional back then. Most of the world believes Galahd to be a couple of islands full of small backwoods villages, but they were as sophisticated as any other culture at the time they were conquered, and modernized with everyone else. While modernizing, Galahd had also managed to stick with their traditional culture.

While the map looks crowded, there is still a lot of open land and wilderness. The rivers and lakes shown are only the major rivers and lakes; there are more, just as there would be for any other regional map. Water and wilderness are defining features of Galahd.

The mountain ranges had once been connected, just like how the Appalachian and the Little Atlas Mountain Ranges.

Feel free to use these maps when writing your own fics or headcanons! I would greatly appreciate being credited. These maps are just my interpretation, and don't stand in for canon material. They are flawed, but I worked with what I had. I made these using Inkarnate.

#final fantasy xv #reference #fantasy map #ffxv #galahd #kingsglaive #worldbuilding

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casbeeminestiel · 2 years ago

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‘til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours

Dean wouldn’t have called himself a faithful man. Over the years, he’s heard himself described as many things- irreverent, stubborn, codependent, righteous, temperamental, broken. But faithful? Nah, never.

Not until he married Cas, anyways.

Twelve years gone and two years on, he finds himself putting the hours into believing in someone and something bigger than he.

It’s not always easy. Of course it isn't. Nothing worth having ever is.

But sometimes, like right now, Dean finds that it is easy.

For example, it’s easy to thread his fingers through Cas’ on the drive across I-10 in Florida, warm skin on warm skin and wedding ring on wedding ring on the bench seat between them in an untangleable knot. He can feel Cas’ pulse, steady and strong where his own thumb caresses his husband’s wrist. Cas shivers and smiles, and Dean…

Dean falls in love for the millionth time.

And again in a diner parking lot a few hours later as he sucks sticky, syrupy kisses down the column of Cas’ throat in Baby’s backseat. Turns out the only thing that can rival how hot it is outside is Dean’s husband.

“Dean,” Cas groans, panting. His hair is a mess from Dean’s hands raking and tugging at the silky strands.

When Dean pulls back to answer, he feels a sharp spike of lust join the warm, sweet affection suffusing throughout his body. Cas is a damn vision in the midday sun streaming through the windows, his tan skin dappled with shadows cast by the thunderheads starting to creep overhead in a drastic vignette. He looks like a painting.

“Hot damn,” Dean rasps, leaning back in to get his lips in the hollow of Cas’ collarbone. He sweeps his thumb behind his ear and smiles to himself as Castiel’s laughter at his eagerness turns into a stuttering gasp.

Soon enough, Cas sheds his leather jacket- a new addition to his wardrobe, one that Dean is a little obsessed with- and Dean’s flannel joins it on the floor of the Impala, followed by their shoes and socks. Jeans and boxers and shirts are pushed out of the way. Hands find hands again as lips search out skin. Dean likes them like this, an ouroboros of DeanandCas.

Outside, the rain has started to fall to the earth in sheets, a true subtropical spring thunderstorm. Inside the car, they’ve lost track of time, lost sense of anything but the act of losing themselves in each other.

Thunder rattles the windows, but Dean doesn’t notice. He’s too busy making the love of his life fall apart in his arms over and over again.

It’s crazy how these things work, he thinks; how his forever home fits so perfectly inside his first home, how Cas’ legs fit around his waist, how he fits inside Cas, how their hands fit together.

How they fit together.

Their lives, their bodies, their souls. ‘Til death do them part, and after.

Afterwards, after they’ve found the energy to dress themselves once more, they lay there for a while longer and listen to the storm outside. Dean can drive in this weather, but truth be told, he’d rather listen to Cas’ heartbeat under his ear where his head is resting on his husband’s chest.

It’s alright. They have time.

Cas is quiet where Dean is curled around him. Far as Dean can tell, it’s a good kind of quiet. He’s proven right when Cas trails lazy fingers in circles over the knobs of Dean’s spine through his shirt. The static sound of rain continues outside as Dean reaches up to grasp Cas’ free hand in his own and kisses each knuckle. He doesn’t have to look at his angel to know he’s smiling.

They both do a whole lot of smiling these days.

“Dean,” murmurs Cas, the first to speak in the sacred hush of their afterglow. Dean tilts his head with no particular urgency to meet a set of eyes that still draw him in after all these years.

“Mmm, what’s up, sunshine?”

“I find that I’m hungry again. Is that normal?”

Cas’ face is scrunched up adorably, brows knit together in genuine befuddlement.

Dean can hardly help himself as he buries his face in the toned chest beneath him, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Dean, it’s- stop laughing at me. It’s a serious question!” Castiel, for all his effort to appear stern, is laughing too. Also, Dean notes that his hand has not stopped stroking over his spine. That should not make him blush after the last hour or so, but god help him, it does.

“Cas,” he says through teary eyes, still wheezing slightly, “I fucking love you.”

“And I, you. Really though, Dean. Why am I hungry?”

Dean can’t resist. He doesn’t have another round in him, but he’ll never pass up a chance to fluster his husband. In a move that was surely more graceful twenty years ago, he raises himself up on his hands where they’re now planted next to Cas’ head and leans down again so Cas can feel it when he breathes the next words into his ear.

“Sweetheart, as much as I fucking love you, I also love fucking you. Tends to make a guy work up an appetite.”

In a contrast with the heat behind his words, he plants a sweet, quick kiss on Castiel’s now burning cheek and retreats to his spot on his chest.

Cas scowls and swats Dean on the shoulder, but Dean feels his heart skip a beat when he throws a wink his way.

In a few hours, they’ll be sitting on a moonlit balcony with a warm seabreeze in their hair and fancy white hotel sheets waiting for them inside.

In a few days, they’ll probably stop at this diner again on the way back. Dean will probably order pancakes because he knows Cas likes them almost as much as he likes stealing them off of his plate. Cas will lick syrup off his fork, and Dean knows they’ll end up in the backseat again because as sure as the rain falls here every afternoon, he just can’t keep his hands off his husband.

In a few weeks, they might be on the road again, or they might be at home. Maybe Claire will visit, or maybe Jack will pop in. Maybe Sam and Eileen can come over for a backyard barbecue. If the sun shines bright over Kansas for a little while longer, maybe Cas can start his garden anew. Dean will watch him from the porch with a cold beer in his hands and fiddle with his ring, knowing Cas is doing the same when he sits back to take in his hard work.

In a few months, in a few years, Dean has no idea where the road is going to take them. They’ll laugh, and they’ll cry. They will fuck and make love and rest their weary bones next to one another. Sometimes they’ll fight, no doubt, but they made vows they intend to keep. For all the words they exchanged at the altar, Dean took one thing away two years ago. It’s the main thing, honestly. The big thing.

Later that night, under those heavenly hotel covers, the faithful man privately renews the vow he made back then as the angel snores away with his head tucked neatly away under Dean’s chin.

Wherever we go next, whatever life throws at us, I’ll have faith in your hand in mine.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

#deancas #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #happy two years deancas #deancas anniversary #supernatural #always floridanaturaling #posting this to ao3 too #duckposting

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thoselethalarts · 8 months ago

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𝓚𝓪𝔃𝓾𝓸 𝓖𝓾𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓻𝓸 - 𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂

(SR) Lab Coats (Part 1): "I Can’t Really Turn Back Now."

(NRC: Botanical Garden – Subtropical Zone)

Kazuo: Okaaay... So out of this list of ingredients I’m supposed to collect something called… “Frogdoss Mushroom Caps”. Kazuo: Let’s see… Frogdoss, frogdoss… what does frogdoss look like, exactly…? That’s not exactly a normal plant name… Kazuo: What do my notes say… “A mushroom named for its large, shiny caps, which grow in such a shape that its body resembles a squatting frog or toad. Usually a shade of green, brown, gold.” Kazuo: “Can often be found sprouting on or near rotting logs or in piles of dead leaves and foliage.” Kazuo: That sounds like it should be obvious, so… where is it…? Kazuo: Maybe under this tree…? It’s kinda damp under here, so maybe… Hey, that looks it right there! Kazuo: Lucky me, I found it right away! I’ll take some field sketches first before I go harvesting any, since they’ll be great for my notes~

(Jade approaches Kazuo from behind)

Jade: Good afternoon, Kazuo.

Kazuo: Oh, hey Jade! Sorry, am I in the way?

Jade: A little. I just need to move past you for a moment. I’m cultivating a specimen here under this tree.

Kazuo: A specimen…? Wait, is the frogdoss under here yours?

Jade: Indeed it is! Jade: Magnificent, isn’t it? It took me quite some time to get it grown to this state. Jade: Frogdoss is notoriously finicky to grow in captivity, so this is quite an achievement for me as a budding mycologist.

Jade: I was able to find some substrate that was perfect to create a starter for its mycelium to take root, and filled this log with it so it had plenty of room to grow. Jade: And now here it is. These large, luscious caps are proof of all my hard work and efforts.

Kazuo: It looks great! You did a really good job. Kazuo: Hey, uh, out of curiosity, do you know if there’s any more of it growing here in the botanical gardens?

Jade: Sadly, no. Most mushrooms grown here in the botanical gardens that I’ve been able to find have grown entirely by accident, and they’re usually removed before they can spread into a healthy cluster. Jade: It’s a shame, really. I’d like to advocate for more mushroom cultivation here in the gardens, but as far as I know the only ones we have are the ones I’ve been growing.

Kazuo: Oh, that’s… that kinda sucks, actually. Kazuo: Uh… This might seem kinda rude to ask, but I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with some of your frogdoss, would you?

Jade: What do you mean?

Kazuo: Well, uh… how do I put this… Kazuo: See, I’m taking this advanced alchemical transmutation class, and we’re doing a group project that requires us to do some field work before our next lab assignment. Kazuo: Each group member is supposed to collect a different kind of ingredient, so we can make potions out of them next week. Kazuo: Our ingredients were silver hogweed, thorny whitefruit, and frogdoss caps. Frogdoss is the one that I picked.

Jade: I see… so you want to harvest some to bring back to your class.

Kazuo: Yeah, exactly!

Jade: Then I’m afraid I must decline.

Kazuo: Eh- Why not? I mean, there’s so much you’ve grown I figured maybe just a little…?

Jade: Perhaps so, but you see it’s more difficult than that. Jade: This is a very sensitive mushroom, and if I were to remove even one of the layers of the caps forming its distinctive shape... Jade: The removal process would likely damage the remaining caps, become infected, and then rot. Jade: I’m actually quite proud of my work in developing this fungus. It took me several months to cultivate, and then several weeks for its caps to grow to such an impressive size. Jade: Parting with such a treasure would be like separating me from my own child… I don’t think I’d very much have the heart to simply give it away on a whim.

Kazuo: O-Oh! No, that’s okay! I totally understand. Kazuo: I wouldn’t wanna ask something of you if it means that much to you… that’d be really mean. Kazuo: Though… I told my group that I’d find that specific ingredient, so I can’t really turn back now, it’d throw the whole plan into disorder… Kazuo: I’ll have to find some other way to get it, but… I don’t even know if it grows in here. What am I gonna do…?

Jade: Hm… what if we made an exchange?

Kazuo: Huh? What kind of exchange?

Jade: Parting with such a magnificent fungus is quite heartbreaking for me… but perhaps I’d be willing to part with at least one of its caps if you’d be willing to find me something worth its weight in exchange.

Kazuo: Oh, sure thing! That makes sense to me. What do you need me to get?

Jade: There’s a site just outside of campus where a very rare mushroom is said to grow, but its growth site is also very difficult to get to. Jade: If you could perhaps help me with collecting some of it, then I’d be more than willing to part with some of my beloved frogdoss caps.

Kazuo: Really?! Sure thing! I’d love to help with that! Tell me about it, what does it look like?

Jade: It’s called a “Velvet-Cap Agaricus”. It’s a small mushroom, with a dark purple cap, and its stalk and gills are a pale blue. Jade: It's a parasitic fungus that grows in very high locations, like the tops of trees and on the sides of cliffs, and it can only grow in areas with very high magical density, like our school campus. Jade: I’ve been trying to locate some for a very long time, but as of now I’ve had no luck at all. Purchasing one is out of the question, too, as they’re very expensive due to being so rare.

Kazuo: Huh… and you’re sure there’s some outside of campus?

Jade: I know there must be, we're one of the few locations with prime growth conditions. It’s simply a matter of locating it and collecting it before somebody else does. Jade: If you manage to locate and harvest some of this precious mushroom, I’ll be happy to relinquish my ownership of my beloved frogdoss to you.

Kazuo: Well, I can’t really turn back now, since there’s not going to be any more here in the botanical gardens… I’ll see what I can do!

Jade: Excellent! It’s a deal then. I’ll be looking forward to seeing the fruits of your hard work, heheheh~ Jade: In the meantime, I should probably move my sprout here as soon as possible. Jade: If what you say about your class is true, then this is no longer a safe place to nurture it. Anyone could come by and steal it away without any care for its well-being.

(Jade picks up the log with the mushroom and walks away)

Kazuo: This definitely won’t be easy if even Jade doesn’t know where this mushroom is yet… but I have a week to figure out where this thing might be. Kazuo: I’m not exactly a mycologist, and I’m not all that good at finding things on hikes, but I’m gonna have to try. My good grade depends on it!

/ To be Continued…

#ツイステッドワンダーランド #Twisted Wonderland #TWST #twst oc #oc #original character #soul writes #personal story #Kazuo Guerrero #カズオ • 戦士

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roosterbox · 1 year ago

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Fic Rec Friday 9/15/23

Title: Getting high on the amber wave

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington's Parents

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Hurt Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Awesome Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Protective Eddie Munson, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, 5 + 1 Things, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Abusive Parents, kinda slow burn, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Pet Names

Summary: Five times Eddie comforts Steve without fully knowing the reason behind it and one time he does.

(sets before season 2 and forwards)

———

Nothing quite like a good old fashioned divergent timeline, eh guys?

One of my greatest weaknesses with Steddie fic is anything pre-season 4. The idea that Steve and Eddie knew each other before season 4, whether they were actually together or not, just warms my heart, you know? It’s so good. And this one is especially nice. Just little scenes, vignettes in Eddie’s life, about his ever evolving relationship with Steve. Each one raises the emotions just a tiny bit more. From slightly concerned indifference in the first part, to a deep and concerned love and adoration in the last. It feels like a natural progression.

Steve is particularly precious in this. It’s nice to see him get the affection and care he deserves for once. That he should have been getting in-universe. That boy has been through A LOT, and all I’d like to see is someone taking care of him. It’s a perfect marriage: Steve deserves to be taken care of, and Eddie likes taking care of Steve. They work so well together.

I’m especially fond of the post-Starcourt scene, just because that’s kind of like a subtrope of a subtrope of Steddie fics I love, if that makes sense. Sort of like,

Main Trope: Pre-S4 Steddie

Sub Trope: Scoops era Steddie

Sub-Sub Trope: Eddie comforts Steve after the mall fire.

The second to last scene, though. Perfection. Chef’s kiss. Absolutely beautiful.

This is a freaking gorgeous story.

———

Next Week: Murder Husbands again! Been a lil while, right? And since I’ve finally finished watching Hannibal, it felt more than a little appropriate. Also, the theme of Canon Divergence continues. In this story, prior to the events of Futamono, Hannibal spends the night with… someone else. And given that it’s a Hannigram fic, who that someone is should be obvious, lol.

See you next time!

#fic rec friday #Steddie #writer: exhiled_spirit #canon divergent au #5 + 1 things #pre season 4 steddie my beloved #eddie is a softie #and so damn smitten #(can’t blame him for that)#(Stevie is a precious precious person)

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tropylium · 1 year ago

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it's a harmless naive one, but the dumbest Near East conflict opinion I've heard is still the perennial one my mother states, for decades now, about every time there's something going on there (or occasionally in various other similar places): "it's such a lovely place, warm and sunny and fruitful, you can grow all sorts of wonderful things there [unlike here in the frozen north], why would they even fight there? why don't the guys who do want to fight go to the desert to duke it out and leave the rest of the people out of it?"

yes mom they're fighting because someone has driven someone else out from their lovely garden, that's kinda the basic issue behind the conflict, about no one enjoys the fighting per se. you would not want to fight to death if someone stole a plot of land from you because the land around here is after all cold and unproductive and desolate in comparison, and also there's millions km² more of it to go around, lots of it public and/or with rich everyman's rights. but the temperate-to-subtropical zone of the world has been densely populated for millennia, and there is not any abundance of unsettled or even publicly held land that could be turned into a lovely garden just by minor effort on a whim

#needs more tags

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threewaysdivided · 2 years ago

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Andrew Garfield, in interview with Alex Pappademas for GQ Magazine, November 2022:

I think it says something that even someone in your position grapples with this stuff: the pressure to constantly be producing, the fear of being left behind. There’s not a level of success that frees you from those questions.

No. It makes me think about – and it’s funny, I’m sorry, but my reference point for everything now, I just go back to my mum not being here. I just go to that and what that means. It means I’m not gonna be here long, and we’re not gonna be here long. That doesn’t provide any answers, but it does feel like it sharpens an arrow of direction, in some mysterious way.

But then, I don’t know – my dad, right now, I think, is just meant to tend his back garden. He’s lost his wife, and I think all he’s meant to do right now, for the most part – it’s going to make me cry – is play with his grandkids, and create this back garden. He’s turned it into, like, a subtropical jungle. He’s got a water feature and a moat. He’s gone crazy, as grief will make you do, but he’s gone toward beauty and nature and self-soothing. And I’m really kind of impressed with him for that. The fact that he’s created something so beaut–

[A pause. Garfield tears up]

Fuck. Fucking hell, man. It’s awful. It hurts – the beauty of it hurts, so much. Knowing he’s created something so beautiful out of the worst loss you could ever, like – [voice breaking] They were together, in love. They were an imperfect couple that stayed together. And for him to be left, now, to deal with what that means – I’m not going to speak for his experience, because that’s not appropriate. But I feel like I can say: I feel like making a garden is plenty. You know what I mean? I don’t think we’re all meant to save the world all the time.

...

Life seems to be a perpetual practice of letting shit go. Letting go of an idea of how a thing should look, or be, or feel. And that one’s a big one...

But, yeah. Life, life, life. Life is in charge. We’ll see. We’ll see what happens. I’m curious.

“I’m in a real period of not-doing,” he says, cheerfully. “The usual aggressive, ambitious, driven heartbeat, rapping at the door has subsided for a while.”

#quote of the day #andrew garfield #the more I hear from Andrew Garfield the more I appreciate how much wisdom he has #the art of not-doing #burnout culture #good things #hopepunk #I exist as I am: that is enough

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scheherazadean · 2 years ago

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I buried the tree sapling my uncle gave me last spring It could not live past its first winter, succumbed to the confines of its planter and recycled soil and the love of a gardener who gave sparingly in water and attention until stems and leaves turned dry and skeletal All that remains now is a husk of its former vitality leaving behind a body as worm-food on my windowsill

II.

The sun is coming out again, days growing longer in spite of April's moody showers I examine every one of my clover's roots, comb for rot and mould with a keen eye I sieve through my surviving relationships, sorting those not yet succumbed to decay from lost causes It's spring again; I send a prayer to the powers that govern growth and renewal After all, the succulent I beheaded last November crawled out of its shallow grave too

III.

The seabirds at my windows argue over who gets the afternoon worm They wake me up in the morning sometimes, before the sun has even woken up with loud goo-goo-goo's like a firstborn's cries They've built a home and nest into my apartment building's facade, between the A/C units and the brickwork All around us, nature and the city come together as one: Snakes hiding in the public park's flowerbeds, boars shopping in the supermarket The streets are not yet reclaimed by vines and barking deer, but maybe it's just a matter of time Fact: there's a thousand brown cows roaming free from the hills to the sea, and twice as many wild dogs and monkeys invasive species brought into the city by well-meaning farmers Maybe we too are invasive species to the local flora and fauna of the subtropical rainforest this land used to be New life grows in the ashes of forefathers, evolves with the passing of eras; life persists, as long as there are nutrients in the soil

This piece was first conceptualised as a series of 3 short poems. It was written to be performed at the OutLoud Hong Kong open-mic night of April 2023, for the theme of ‘Rebirth’. With the Wednesday being Ching Ming Festival followed by Good Friday this week, it seemed topical to pen an ode to death, burial, and new beginnings amidst Hong Kong’s rainy, foggy April weather.

The image used for the cover artwork is by Peter Lam CH @peterlamch on Unsplash.

#poetscommunity #poemblr #spilled ink #new poets society #poets on tumblr #poetsandwriters #writeblr #poetry #scheherazadeanpoetry #{poetry}#{portfolio}

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ourspiritanimalxs · 2 months ago

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What Does A Yellow Hibiscus Flower Symbolize?

The hibiscus flower, with its vibrant colors and intricate petals, holds deep symbolic meanings across different cultures and traditions. Among its many hues, the yellow hibiscus stands out with its unique symbolism. In this article, we will explore the symbolic significance of the yellow hibiscus, examining its meaning in various cultures, its associations with emotions, and its place in the natural world. Whether you're a flower enthusiast, a gardener, or someone interested in the symbolic world of flowers, understanding the meaning behind the yellow hibiscus can deepen your appreciation for this beautiful bloom.

The hibiscus is a genus of flowering plants native to tropical and subtropical regions of the world. It belongs to the Malvaceae family and boasts more than 200 species. Known for its large, colorful blooms, the hibiscus has a reputation for beauty and resilience. The flower is often associated with warmth, passion, and grace, but the specific meaning it holds can vary depending on its color.

The yellow hibiscus is a particularly striking variety, with its bright, sunny color that stands in contrast to the more common red, pink, and white varieties. The vivid yellow of the hibiscus symbolizes positivity, joy, and warmth, making it a popular choice in gardens and bouquets alike.

General Symbolism of the Hibiscus Flower

Before diving into the specific symbolism of the yellow hibiscus, it’s essential to understand the general meanings associated with the hibiscus flower. Across cultures and traditions, hibiscuses are often seen as symbols of:

Beauty and Delicacy: The hibiscus is a strikingly beautiful flower, often representing the delicate beauty of life.

Feminine Energy: The shape of the hibiscus, with its large, open petals, is often linked to femininity, nurturing, and the divine feminine.

Love and Passion: The hibiscus, especially in red, is often associated with intense emotions such as love, passion, and desire. In some cultures, it is given as a symbol of romantic affection.

Mysterious and Spiritual: The hibiscus is also seen as a flower with mystical qualities. In some spiritual contexts, it represents the unfolding of spiritual wisdom and enlightenment.

Now that we have a general understanding of hibiscus symbolism, let's delve deeper into the meaning of the yellow hibiscus.

1. Yellow Hibiscus as a Symbol of Friendship and Joy

One of the most prominent symbols of the yellow hibiscus is friendship. The bright yellow color evokes feelings of happiness, optimism, and companionship. In many cultures, the yellow hibiscus is given as a gift to celebrate friendship, gratitude, and shared moments of joy. The color yellow itself is universally associated with positive emotions such as:

Happiness: Yellow is the color of sunshine, and the yellow hibiscus embodies the warmth and light that come with joyous moments.

Optimism: Much like the rays of the sun breaking through the clouds, the yellow hibiscus symbolizes hope and optimism in difficult times.

Warmth: The vibrant hue of the yellow hibiscus is also symbolic of warmth, both literally and metaphorically. It represents the emotional warmth that one receives from friends and loved ones.

In the language of flowers, known as floriography, the yellow hibiscus is often used to express gratitude and appreciation for someone’s friendship. Giving a yellow hibiscus can be a way of saying, "Thank you for bringing joy and light into my life."

2. Yellow Hibiscus and the Concept of Happiness and Positivity

The color yellow has long been linked to feelings of happiness, positivity, and cheerfulness. When applied to the hibiscus flower, this association is even more pronounced. The yellow hibiscus is seen as a symbol of pure joy, optimism, and the power of a positive outlook.

In the context of relationships, the yellow hibiscus represents the kind of happiness that stems from good times shared together—whether among friends, family, or even romantic partners. It emphasizes joy without expectation, a cheerful and light-hearted form of affection that doesn't carry the weight of intensity or passion.

This symbolism of happiness and positivity is often reflected in tropical and island cultures where the hibiscus is abundant. The flowers are often used in celebrations, festivals, and ceremonies to invoke a spirit of joy and celebration. Whether placed in a home or used as a garland, the yellow hibiscus becomes a beacon of light, both figuratively and literally.

3. The Yellow Hibiscus and New Beginnings

In some cultures, yellow flowers are associated with new beginnings and fresh starts. The yellow hibiscus, with its bright and bold color, serves as a reminder of the possibilities that come with a new chapter in life.

This symbolism makes the yellow hibiscus an ideal gift for someone embarking on a new journey, whether it’s a new job, moving to a new place, or even the start of a new relationship. It represents renewed hope and the excitement of exploring new horizons.

In the context of personal growth, the yellow hibiscus can symbolize the personal transformation that comes with embracing optimism, letting go of negativity, and starting anew with a clear and positive outlook.

4. Yellow Hibiscus in Hawaiian and Tropical Symbolism

The hibiscus flower is native to tropical regions, with particular prominence in Hawaii, where it is a state flower. In Hawaiian culture, the yellow hibiscus carries distinct meanings tied to the traditions and values of the island people. While the red hibiscus represents love, the yellow hibiscus in Hawaii is a symbol of hospitality and friendship.

The lush, tropical environment where the hibiscus thrives reflects the islanders' values of warmth, generosity, and community. In this context, the yellow hibiscus is a symbol of a welcoming spirit, the invitation to come together, and the joy found in shared experiences.

In Hawaiian culture, the yellow hibiscus is also used in leis—flower garlands given to guests as a sign of friendship and goodwill. The giving of a yellow hibiscus lei is a gesture that signifies the joy of welcoming someone into your life or home.

5. Spiritual Meaning of the Yellow Hibiscus

While the yellow hibiscus is primarily seen as a symbol of joy, friendship, and positivity, it can also carry spiritual meanings in different traditions. In Buddhism, yellow flowers often symbolize the Buddha’s wisdom, and in this context, the yellow hibiscus may be seen as a symbol of enlightenment, clarity, and understanding.

In some cultures, yellow flowers, in general, are believed to have protective properties and are thought to ward off negative energy. The yellow hibiscus, with its bright and cheery hue, can therefore be seen as a spiritual talisman—serving to cleanse the space it occupies and bring peace to its surroundings.

6. The Yellow Hibiscus and Symbolism in Other Cultures

Beyond the tropical cultures, the yellow hibiscus is also found in other parts of the world where it holds unique meanings:

In China, flowers are often tied to certain symbolic meanings, with yellow flowers sometimes representing nobility and honor. The yellow hibiscus, in this light, could symbolize the nobility of spirit and the honor of being in harmony with nature.

In Victorian England, where flower symbolism was highly popular, yellow flowers generally represented friendship and new beginnings, reinforcing the ideas of the yellow hibiscus as a symbol of positive relationships and fresh starts.

In the United States, the yellow hibiscus is frequently used in floral arrangements and gardens as a symbol of the joy of the summer season, as well as a representation of the enduring warmth and beauty of life.

Conclusion: Embracing the Yellow Hibiscus

The yellow hibiscus is a beautiful flower that, beyond its striking visual appeal, carries with it a wealth of positive meanings. It represents friendship, joy, optimism, new beginnings, and the warmth of human connection. Whether it's a gift given in celebration of a new chapter or a symbol of light in a time of darkness, the yellow hibiscus serves as a reminder to embrace the brighter side of life and to surround ourselves with positivity.

In many ways, the yellow hibiscus invites us to look at the world through a more optimistic lens, encouraging us to celebrate the simple joys of life, to welcome others with open arms, and to always find the sunshine even when clouds seem to gather. The next time you encounter a yellow hibiscus, remember that it is more than just a flower—it is a symbol of the best qualities of human nature, calling us to nurture friendship, embrace happiness, and begin anew with hope.

#flowers

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jinruihokankeikaku · 3 months ago

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I'm going to go out on a limb and say we'll see 4~6 more TCs before the year's over - maybe 1 on the 31st, 3 or 4 in November, and 1 post-season TS/STS in early December. 2~6 could be named, 1~5 could be hurricanes, and 0~2 could be major hurricanes, bringing the final 2024 tally to something like 19~21 TCs, 17~21 NS, 11~15 hurricanes, and 4(+1)~6(+1) MH (Oscar being the unofficial "+1".)

Overall, this would bring the season to the low end of the pre-season forecasts for # of named storms, and the high end of pre-season forecasts for # of hurricanes and major hurricanes, potentially even tying (though not exceeding) the standing records for the latter two categories. It would also put the season well into the "hyperactive" bracket with regard to Accumulated Cyclone Energy.

My reasoning behind this, as a total amateur, is that between the unusually backloaded season we've seen so far, the impending weak La Niña, and the incoming MJO pulse, we'll see one more burst of activity in early November, and possibly a second, smaller burst as the season comes to an end. It's a bullish forecast, but not terribly out of line with other predictions from various meteorologists and weather agencies. Activity will almost certainly be concentrated in the Caribbean, as is typical for November, with some additional activity possible in the subtropics; the Gulf of Mexico has already begun to cool, and the MDR/Cabo Verde season is effectively over (and in many ways, struggled to start at all).

If I were to give one solid number for each category, I'd say 21/20/13/5(+1). I'll check back in 2025 and see how I did.

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magicandotherstuffienjoy · 5 months ago

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Bats: Fascination, Biology, and Myths

A few days ago, I was casually watching a video by PricklyAlpaca, unaware that it would inspire the creation of this new article. I had a few ideas floating around—ranging from frogs to moths and even unicorns—but it was the bat that ultimately caught my attention thanks to that video.

🦇

It was both captivating to watch and pleasant to listen to in the background, and in the end, it convinced me that bats could make for an intriguing subject for a small article. But what makes bats so special?

credit : unknown (northern ghost bats)

A Biologically Unique Creature

From a biological standpoint, bats stand out due to a few unique characteristics. First and foremost, they are the only mammals capable of active flight—that is, the ability to fly by flapping their wings, unlike gliding mammals such as flying squirrels. Additionally, there are about 1,400 species of bats worldwide, making them one of the most diverse groups of mammals after rodents.

These 1,400 species can be divided into two main groups:

Microchiroptera: These smaller bats use echolocation to navigate and hunt insects, although some also feed on fruit or small animals.

Megachiroptera: These larger fruit-eating bats, like flying foxes, primarily consume fruits and nectar and are mostly found in tropical and subtropical regions.

The Vampire Bat: Myth or Reality?

When it comes to bats, one of the most common associations is their connection to vampirism, largely popularized by works like Dracula by Bram Stoker. But what’s the truth behind this? Out of the 1,400 bat species, only three are hematophagous, meaning they feed on blood.

The most well-known is the common vampire bat (Desmodus rotundus), a small brown bat measuring 7 to 9 centimeters.

The white-winged vampire bat (Diaemus youngi), similar in appearance to the common vampire bat, occasionally feeds on livestock blood.

Lastly, the hairy-legged vampire bat (Diphylla ecaudata), which typically feeds on bird blood, was observed in a 2016 study in Brazil to have started feeding on human blood due to habitat destruction(Wikipedia).

These bats don’t drink blood in the traditional sense. They make a small cut in their prey’s skin, usually at night, and lick the blood that flows from the wound. Their saliva contains an anticoagulant, preventing the blood from clotting.

Giant and Terrifying Bats

While the idea of vampire bats may be frightening, other species are impressive due to their size or unique appearance. For instance, the giant golden-crowned flying fox of the Philippines is the largest bat species, with a wingspan reaching up to 1.7 meters. Despite its imposing size, it’s harmless and exclusively feeds on fruit, sporting a dog-like snout that gives it a rather adorable appearance.

On the other hand, species like the spectral bat, the largest carnivorous bat in Central America, with a wingspan of up to 1 meter, may appear more intimidating. However, they pose no threat to humans.

credit: Pikaole The White Bat of Honduras: A Cotton Ball in the Sky

Among the most endearing species is the white bat of Honduras (Ectophylla alba), a true gem. This tiny bat, with its white fur and bright yellow ears, looks like a cotton ball. In groups, they build tent-like shelters from leaves and live together in these small refuges. Their fragility makes them a vulnerable species, threatened by deforestation and habitat loss.

credit: Taran Fiddler

Camazotz: The Divine Bat in Maya Mythology

Let me take you on a journey into the mythological world of the Maya, where the bat takes on a divine and terrifying form.

In the depths of a sacred cave, dark and silent, the murmur of the dead echoes through the shadows. The bat god, Camazotz, waits patiently. Depicted with a grotesque face and outstretched wings, Camazotz embodies the night, death, and sacrifice. Every night, wandering souls who dare to enter his domain face certain death. He is the guardian of the entrance to Xibalba, the underworld. Camazotz is not just a creature; he is a destructive force, decapitating the heroes who dare challenge his power. The sacred Maya text, the Popol Vuh, recounts his encounter with the hero twins, Hunahpu and Xbalanque. One of the brothers loses his life, decapitated by the bat god during their journey through the underworld. But Camazotz doesn’t only represent death—he is also a symbol of regeneration, a gateway between the worlds of the living and the dead.

Bats and Fortune in China

In contrast to the dark myths of Mesoamerica, bats occupy a positive place in Chinese culture. In China, the word for "bat," fú (蝠), is a homophone for "happiness" or "good fortune." They are often depicted in art and architecture as symbols of longevity and prosperity. In this context, bats are not seen as frightening creatures but rather as bringers of happiness and prosperity to those who encounter them.

Bats and Rabies: A Reality to Consider

Lastly, an important note concerns rabies, a disease that bats can transmit through bites. While transmission to humans is rare, it’s advised never to handle a bat without proper precautions. In the case of a bite, it’s crucial to wash the wound with soap and water and seek medical attention immediately for a rabies prophylaxis(

Animal Diversity Web).

credit : Piper Thibodeau

Conclusion

From fluffy little creatures like the white bat of Honduras to legendary figures like Camazotz, bats are animals that are both fascinating and mysterious. Their roles in mythology, biology, and even public health show that they are much more than the creatures of the night we often imagine. Perhaps the next time you see a bat fly through the twilight sky, you’ll view it not as a threat, but as a creature full of ancient mysteries and untold stories.

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