#tiber trail

[a-d-ad]

“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?” ...

[eviesqueezie]

pony turns the corner, making immediate eye contact with darry who’s sat on the couch with his head in his hands.

when he hears pony he stands up, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“pone, sit down.” this was weird. darry- darry wasn’t supposed to be home for ages. pony had just got back from track- so it should have been hours until he eventually got home. and he was biting his lip, eyes a little bleary- those uncommon but obvious telltale signs that something was wrong.

he complies, sliding onto the couch where darry was just sat. darry sits down opposite, on the old recliner were their pa would sit every night.

it was a weird sight.

“dar? whats-“ he starts, leaning forward slightly.

darry interjects, running a hand through his hair in a nervous tic he’d picked up from their father years and years ago.

“pony..” his voice trails off as he takes a deep breath, preparing for the correctly estimated onslaught of outrage and hurt that would be reciprocated from the message. “pone, baby-“

ponyboy’s breath picks up, bordering on hyperventilation.

“curly, he-“ the words hit like a punch to pony’s gut, a confused glance being thrown at darry with eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared.

“he in the cooler? reformatory?”

darry gulps.

“no, no honey. curly- he died. i’m so sorry, pony.”

if the past words were a punch to the gut, these were a stab to the heart. a switchblade tearing across his valves and veins. drawing blood and smearing it across the walls.

darry grabs the stack of letters that’s sat on the coffee table, pony’s name written in scrawled handwriting on the front of each. he passes them to pony, sighing.

“tim- tim found these, in curly’s room.”

pony’s breath hitches, and he throws the letters at the wall.

“he’s not- he’s not dead, dar! don’t- don’t lie, please don’t fucking lie to me right now-“

darry shakes his head, moving to sit next to him.

“he’s gone, pony. please don’t do this to yourself-“

“how?”

darry tilts his head, confusion etched across his face. hidden in his frown lines, marked in his eyebrows and scribbled into the bruise on his chin. pony should probably ask him about that, shouldn’t he?

pony continues, glaring straight ahead.

“how did he- yknow.”

darry runs a hand down his face.

“stabbed, with a switchblade. tim thinks he was on tiber territory-“

“oh god.” pony murmurs. “oh god, dar.”

“i know, i know baby.” he wraps his arms around pony in an attempt to of comfort.

ponyboy begins to sob, looking everywhere but the crumpled letters on the floor, everywhere except darry’s teary eyed face. his hands were warm as he held him, pony’s were probably the opposite. cold and clammy, unfortunate and lost.

“i killed him, didn’t i?” pony cries out, hands gripping the back of darry’s work shirt.

darry pulls him in tighter.

“no, no. pony you didn’t do-“

“i’m cursed dar, look at me. everyone- everyone just. dies”

darry can’t think of good enough response, so he lets the silence fill the room up with thick smoke that curls around their bodies, intertwined in the hope that it will help him squeeze pony a little tighter.

[the-gay-rat]

Riordan-verse Prophecies

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

You shall go west, and face the god who has turned, You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned, You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend, And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.

You shall sail the iron ship with warriors of bone, You shall find what you seek and make it your own, But despair for your life entombed within stone, And fail without friends, to fly home alone

  Five shall go west to the goddess in chains, One shall be lost in the land without rain, The bane of Olympus shows the trail, Campers and Hunters combined prevail, The Titan’s curse must one withstand, And one shall perish by parent’s hand. 

You shall delve in the darkness of the endless maze, The dead, the traitor, and the lost one raise. You shall rise or fall by the ghost king's hand, The child of Athena's final stand. Destroy with a hero's final breath, And lose a love to worse than death.

A half-blood of the eldest gods shall reach sixteen against all odds and see the world in endless sleep, The hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap, a single choice will end his days, Olympus to preserve or raise.

The heroes of Olympus 

seven heroes shall answer the call to storm or fire the world must fall an oath to keep with final breath as foes bear arms to the doors of death

Child of lightning beware the earth the giants revenge the seven shall birth forge and dove shall break the cage and death unleashed through Heras rage 

 to the north beyond the gods lies the legions crown falling from the ice the son of Neptune shall drown

wisdoms daughter walks alone the mark of Athena burns through Rome twins snuff out the angels breath who holds the key to endless death the giants bane stands gold and pale won through the pain from a woven jail 

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard 

Wrongly chosen, Wrongly slain, A hero Valhalla cannot contain. Nine days hence the sun must go east, Ere sword of summer unbinds the beast. 

The Trials of Apollo

Caves of blue. 

…Westward, burning.

Pages turning.

…Indiana.

Happiness approaches.

There was once a god named Apollo, Who plunged in a cave blue and hollow, Upon a three seater, the bronze fire-eater, Was forced death and madness to swallow 

The words that memory wrought are set to fire, Ere new moon rises o’er the devils mount, Till bodies fill the Tibet beyond count.

Yet southward must the sun now trace its course, Through the mazes dark to land of scorching death, to find the master of the swift white horse and wrest from the crossword speaker’s breath.

To westward must the lester go; Demeter’s daughter finds her ancient roots. The Cloven guide alone the way does he know, To walk the path in Thine own enemies boots

When three are known and Tiber reached alive, tis only then Apollo starts to jive 

Bronze upon gold

East meets west

Legions are redeemed 

Light the depths 

One against many

Never spirit defeat 

Ancient words spoken 

Shaking old foundations 

Destroy the tyrant 

Aid the winged 

Under golden hills

Great stallion’s foal 

Turn red tides 

Harken the trumpets

Enter strangers home 

Regain lost glory

Apollo faces death in Tarquin’s tomb unless the doorway to the soundless god is opened by (Bellona’s Daughter)

A wildcat near the spinning lights. The tomb of Tarquin with horses bright. 

To open doors two-fifty-four 

O son of Zeus the final challenge face, The tow’r of Nero two alone ascend, dislodge the beast that hast usurped thy place, The son of Hades, cavern runner’s friend, Must show the secret way unto the throne. On Nero’s own your lives now depend. A dare reveals the path that was unknown, And bears destruction; Lion, snake-entwined or else the princeps never be o’erthrown 

Apollos flesh and blood shall soon be mine, Alone he must descend into the dark, The sibyl never again to see his sign, Lest wrestle with me till se his final spark, The god dissolves, leaving not a mark 

Apollo must fall, but Apollo must rise again 

The Sun and the Star

Go forth and find the one who calls out your name, who suffers and despairs for refusing to remain; there leave some of equal value behind, or your body and soul no one will ever find.

(correct me if i got any wrong)

[maniculum]

An Excerpt from the Aberdeen Bestiary

I've started preparing the bestiaryposting, and have encountered one entry that doesn't really fit into what we're doing. Not only is it one of the longest entries, but instead of "let me tell you about this animal", it's taking more of a "we all already know about this animal, so I'm going to share some stories about specific ones" approach. But out of a sense of completionism, I can't just not post it, so here you go.

Dog

The Latin name for the dog, canis, seems to have a Greek origin. For in Greek it is called cenos, although some think that it is called after the musical sound, canor, of its barking, because when it howls, it is also said to sing, canere. No creature is more intelligent than the dog, for dogs have more understanding than other animals; they alone recognise their names and love their masters.

There are many kinds of dogs: some track down the wild beasts of the forests to catch them; others by their vigilance guard flocks of sheep from the attacks of wolves; others as watch-dogs in the home guard the property of their masters lest it be stolen by thieves at night and sacrifice their lives for their master; they willingly go after game with their master; they guard his body even when he is dead and do not leave it. Finally, their nature is that they cannot exist without man.

Also of the nature of dogs

We read that dogs have such great love for their masters, as when King Garamentes was caught by his enemies and taken into captivity, two hundred dogs went in formation through enemy lines and led him back from exile, fighting off those who resisted them. When Jason [Licio] was killed, his dog rejected food and died of starvation. The dog of King Lysimachus threw itself in the flame when its master's funeral pyre was lit and was consumed by fire along with him. When Apius and Junius Pictinius were consuls, a dog that could not be driven away from its master, who had been condemned, accompanied him to prison; when, soon afterwards, he was executed, it followed him, howling. When the people of Rome, out of pity, caused it to be fed, it carried the food to its dead master's mouth. Finally, when its master's corpse was thrown into the Tiber, the dog swam to it and tried to keep it from sinking.

When a dog picks up the track of a hare or a deer and comes to a place where the trail divides or to a junction splitting into several directions, it goes to the beginning of each path and silently reasons with itself, as if by syllogism, on the basis of its keen sense of smell. 'Either the animal went off in this direction,' it says,'or that, or certainly it took this turning.’

Again on the nature of dogs

Often, also, when a murder has been committed, dogs have produced clear evidence of the guilt of the accused, with the result that their unspoken testimony is for the most part believed. They say that at Antioch, in a distant quarter of the city at dusk, a man was murdered, who had his dog with him on a lead. A soldier had been the perpetrator of the deed, with robbery as his motive. Undercover of the growing darkness, he fled elsewhere. The corpse lay unburied; the crowd of onlookers was large; the dog stayed at its master's side, howling over his sad fate. It happened that the man who had committed the crime, acting confidently in order to convince people of his innocence - such is the cunning way in which men think- joined the circle of onlookers and, feigning grief, approached the corpse. Then the dog, briefly abandoning its doleful lament, took up the arms of vengeance, seized the man and held him, and, softly singing a pitiful song, as in the epilogue of a tragedy, moved everyone to tears; and the fact that the dog held that man alone, of the many that were there, and did not let him go, lent weight to its case. In the end, the murderer was at a loss because the evidence in the case was so plain; he could not clear himself by objecting that he was the victim of anyone's hate, enmity, envy or spite, and he could no longer rebut the charge. Because it was very difficult for him, he suffered punishment, because he could offer no defence.

A dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it. A dog's way of life is said to be wholly temperate. A puppy's tongue is generally a cure for internal injuries. It is characteristic of a dog that it returns to its vomit and eats it again. If a dog swims across a river carrying a piece of meat or anything of that sort in its mouth, and sees its shadow, it opens its mouth and in hastening to seize the other piece of meat, it loses the one it was carrying.

In some ways preachers are like dogs: by their admonitions and righteous ways they are always driving off the ambushes laid by the Devil, lest he seize and carry off God's treasure - Christian souls. As the dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it, the wounds of sinners, laid bare in confession, are cleansed by the correction of the priest. As the dog's tongue heals man's internal wounds, the secrets of his heart are often purified by the deeds and discourse of the Church's teachers. As the dog is said to be temperate in its ways, the man who is set over others diligently studies wisdom and must avoid drunkenness and gluttony in every way, for Sodom perished in a surfeit of food. Indeed, there is no quicker way for the Devil, his enemy, to take possession of man than through his greedy gullet. The dog returning to its vomit signifies those who, after making their confession, heedlessly return to wrongdoing. The dog leaving its meat behind in the river, out of desire for its shadow, signifies foolish men who often forsake what is theirs by right out of desire for some unknown object; with the result that, while they are unable to obtain the object of their desire, they needlessly lose what they have given up.

Some dogs are called licisici, wolf-hounds, because they are born of wolves and dogs, when by chance these mate. In India bitches are tethered at night in the forests to breed with wild tigers, by whom they are mounted, producing very fierce dogs, so strong that with their grip they can pull down lions.

[adolin]

Okay this is weirdly specific and obvs if the answer requires doxing yourself don't answer but hjdkfg fave places to go running at? I started going on more walks and it's so fun to explore the local space!!

no worries! I'm very alright with telling people I live in Rome, a city of 3 million people. you can all have that for free etc. (actually, I'm very braggy about it. borderline obnoxious, ngl. Think the Italy equivalent of a New Yorker)

Also!!! I LOVE THIS QUESTION SO MUCH. It made me go through Strava history and dig some running pic I took.

the appia antica route!

if you (generic you) are ever in Rome, there's a lovely green area along the old Appia way that's great for running but also for picnics. My favourite local road race (coming up next month!!) is partly along that route and it's SO beautiful. It's one of those places that make you feel you're genuinely grateful you have a body to move around in and experience the wind and the sun and the mosquitoes in your teeth and the achy calves from doing a few km on cobblestones. It's a very large green area (Appia Antica / Parco degli Acquedotti / Parco di Tor Fiscale / Parco della Caffarella) and there are so many fun trails and paths.

Lungotevere / centro storico swag

Sometimes u (me) gotta flex and be like "oh, look, I live in Rome" and just plot your long run so that you end up by the Vatican or whatever. There's a route along the Tiber river that's technically a bike lane but it's large enough to run safely, and it's really fun for Sunday runs / whenever you have a bit of time to actually get there.

There are other really great running spots in central Rome like any of the parks (Villa Borghese, Villa Ada etc. and EYE don't really do it often but it's very nice)

Here's a pic! Not mine

Country roads take me home etc — Castelli Romani

Hilly towns just outside the city that have veeery fun trails and countryside views! You have to actually get there so it's a bit involved, and then once you're there you're like "why the fuck did I think running up a hill was a good idea?" but if you DO like running up hills, it's fun. I like going in the summer for longer runs and I don't bring any snacks just absolutely gorge myself on blackberries from the bushes.

My beloved neighbourhood run.

I love walking out of the door and just going for it! It's very entertaining as far as "neighbourhood routes" go. It's a decently safe area, I can stay well clear of cars, there's a car park I can do sprints in (and, occasionally, will see people fucking in cars, as one does) and some green. I wish it had a bit more elevation, but there's a stretch of road that's decently hilly so I can't complain + there are some VERY interesting characters and sights. Alas, it's within sniffing distance of a bakery AND a steakhouse, so there isn't a time of the day I can run at without getting hungry along the way, but I don't mind — I have been known to plot a route so that I finish right in front of a bakery for breakfast.

no landmark photos for obvious reasons but here are some cute birdies I saw running a few weeks ago

Holiday run!

One thing I really love to do on holiday is go run around a new city / any place I've never been in, and exploring new places while I'm at it. Some of my most beloved holiday memories are of running early in the morning in new places. Sometimes it backfires horribly and you end up on a muddy path at six thirty AM with water in your shoes and frantically trying to match your phone GPS with that of the route you downloaded yesterday, but it's usually worth it. These are a few photos I had on my phone — the beach is somewhere along lake Garda, and it's been years and I still remember that run with a lot of fondness. Also, another time I got lost in the middle of nowhere in Tuscany and ended up chatting with an incredibly MILFy American tourist who was also out running and that too is a fond memory... anyway. Holiday runs my beloved

[ormir]

Location: Tiber Bay When: Present day, shortly before leaving for Astoria &&: @xdeimosx

Climbing into bed with the same nation he’d warred with was a desperate measure, but with the lines along Aventia crumbling and the darkspawn inching closer with every moment, there was no time nor pride to spare. If his summons were enough to pull the prince away from an ego-fueled death on the front lines, that alone would make the journey worthwhile. Ormir needed only to deal with tightening up their arguments, charting possible means of escape (if things were to go as bad as he imagined they could), and seeing that they were well-stocked for the journey. Sleep was tertiary to the preparations such a voyage demanded.

The shipyard proved an assault on every sense. Shouts of direction and haggling from the fishmongers were muddied by the constant bray of gulls circling overhead. As the film of morning fog burnt away, bodies jostled through it, clearly just dumped out by the taverns. One nearly clipped the shoulder of the noble as he passed. The stench of fish and decaying algae clogged the air, baking off of the sea. Breathing through the mouth would only saturate the palette with the taste. A great ship waited at the end of the dock, primed for voyage. The wooden board creaked under Ormir’s feet as he boarded the ship, toting a leather case beneath one arm. He’d not been willing to gamble its contents on any errand boy who reported directly to Arethusa. Better to handle such delicate matters personally.

Satisfied, Ormir disembarked empty-handed, and cut away from the central clamor of the dockyard. It would be prudent to cut through the merchant alley, clear the briny smell in his nostrils and make it back to the tower before mid-day. Instead, the Iskaran decided to walk a while longer along the waterfront, hearing the gulls bark and allowing his mind to wear down the same lapping trails of thought. It was a small indulgence. Sighting a familiar crop of hair by the water triggered a flutter of intrigue. Ormir didn’t believe much in serendipity, but few meetings stuck with him the way Deimos’ attitudes had. They had marked him, challenged him. The noble sometimes caught himself wondering what the other would do, in his place.

“I didn’t take you for a fisherman.” Ormir announced as he approached, keeping a handful of paces between himself and the man at the water’s edge.

[dogtiber]

Yesterday and today are big rest days for us after Tiber gave us a big scare. He yanked the leash out of both my hands on our evening walk on Wednesday from excitement seeing another dog on and spooked at the sound of the it and his water bottle hitting the ground, and just took off. He’s ok now—he ran straight home, thank god, but all of us were so terrified, especially since it’s a high traffic area. I’m so thankful he made it home safely.

Partner had a silly end of the experience—panicked phone call from me, bolted down the stairs to go out and help look for him, only to be greeted by Tiber at our front door looking up at him, with a Good Samaritan who saw him running with his leash trailing and was about to go looking for an owner. All the local pedestrians were really nice and helped with shouting and pointing out the direction he was headed as I was running after him. So glad everyone was so kind and tried their best to look out for him.

I pushed myself past my physical limit running after him, which of course I would do again, but my body is Upset with me now. It is recovery time. Lots of naps and snuggling Tiber extra hard.

We definitely need to work on strengthening his recall more going forward, and we’re looking into adding some redundancies into his leash set up. Our hands-free leash attachment arrived in the mail, so now at least he can be attached to my body as well in case he yanks out of my hands again.

[lifechanyuan]

The Purer the More Stable　

Xuefeng

Jan 26, 2019

(Translated by Qinyou and Edited by Musa)

Let’s first look at a natural phenomenon. According to a report by the British “Daily Mail” on January 22, 2019, in the attic of a resident named Roderick Cooper in Alaska, there are two bottles of water in the freezing weather of minus 22 degrees Celsius, which are still in liquid state (video shows).

It is scientifically explained that this is the phenomenon of “supercooling”, which means that when a liquid is very pure without impurities, the freezing speed will become very slow, and the liquid will continue to remain in the liquid state, without ice crystals, and will not freeze into solid, even it is 22 degrees Celsius below zero or colder.

Let’s look at another phenomenon. What do we see when babies and children are with wolf, insect, tiger, leopard and other wild and domestic animals? What we see is that wild animals do not harm babies and children. No matter how wild dogs are, when they are with babies and children, they become docile, even “affectionate” when they are with babies and children. They not only do not harm babies and children, but also take care of them. Dogs are like this, horses, cattle, sheep are like this, even wild wolves are like this.

According to the legend of the city of Rome, when the 15th king of Numitor was reigning, his brother Amulius usurped the throne. For fear of revenge from his brother’s descendants, Amulius killed his nephew and forced his niece Sylvia to be a priestess who was not allowed to marry. In this way, his brother would have no offspring, and Amulius thought that there would be no crisis in his regime. But his niece Silvia secretly fell in love with the god of war Mars and quietly gave birth to twins. When Amulius learned the news, he ordered the execution of his niece and asked the slave to throw the twins into the Tiber. The river washed the twins to the shore, and their cries led to a female wolf who was drinking water by the river. Instead of harming the twins, she lovingly licked them dry and brought them back to her cave and feed them with her own milk.

In 1920, in a small town called Midnapol in the northeast of Kolkata, India, people found two “human-like monsters” walking on all fours trailing behind three big wolves. The two “human-like monsters” turned out to be two naked girls. It was later confirmed that the two girls were raised by wolves since childhood.

By the 1950s, it has been discovered scientifically that 30 children were raised by beasts, 5 by bears, 1 by leopards, 14 by wolves, as well as by monkeys and sheep.

Let’s look at another phenomenon. There are many kinds of gemstones in nature. No matter what kind of gemstones, their value and price are related to their purity. The higher the purity, the higher the value and the price. This also applies to people, the purer and more beautiful they are, the more likable they are. The more complex they are, the more they will be hated by others.

To sum up, we can come to the conclusion that the purer a thing is, the less susceptible it is to external factors, just like the rare gas helium, neon, argon, krypton, xenon, and radon in the periodic table chemical elements. Similarly, the purer a thing is, the higher its stability is. It can also be concluded that the higher the purity of things, the easier for it to get the love of the environment, that is the care and cherishment of the environment.

Hence, we can understand why Jesus Christ said that if we want to enter the kingdom of the Greatest Creator, we must become a child, and we can also understand why Lao Tzu taught us that we must “return to the state of infancy” if we want to unite with the Tao. Because only by returning to the state of infancy, becoming a child, can you be qualified to enter the kingdom of heaven.

Let’s extend this principle. If you want to enter heaven, the key is to become pure. Only pure things can show their nature. Nature is Buddha, nature is celestial. Showing nature is equivalent to becoming celestial and Buddha. Celestial and Buddha will definitely enter heaven. Babies and children are very pure, and what they expose are completely nature. So even a ferocious wolf will not hurt them but will love them. Therefore, whether one can enter heaven or not has nothing to do with learning, knowledge and wisdom, how many classic books you have learned; it has nothing to do with religion, how many good deeds you have done, how much truth you have understood and spread; it has nothing to do with kowtowing, burning incense or making pilgrimage. The key is whether a LIFE is pure.

In this way, the content of self-cultivation and self-refinement is very simple. What we need to do is to let ourselves become pure, “return to the state of infancy”.

So, we know that the more complicated people are, the farther away they are from heaven.

“The purer, the more stable”, is it a “universal” law?

Let’s analyze it. Most people will have friends. At the beginning, the friendship is very pure, so they can maintain a friendly relationship. But gradually, the friendly relationship cannot be maintained, why? The reason is that the friendship is becoming more and more impure. If interests are added to friendship, the friendship will become complicated and impure, so it can no longer be maintained. Many people set up companies and business. At the beginning, the company developed smoothly, but as time passed, the company began to decline and close. What is the reason? The reason is that the company has become impure. Some companies began to marry politics, some companies began to get involved in the real estate business, some companies began to get involved in the stock market, some industrial companies became interested in the cultural field, and some companies that only provided food began to engage in business of restaurants, breeding and planting. Although they are consistent with the content of providing food, their scope of business is different after all, so they will eventually decline. Let’s look at the social fields. Romania, Yugoslavia, the Soviet Union, Venezuela, Vietnam, and China, all are socialism. The result is they all have almost collapsed. China’s socialism is also on the verge of collapse. The reason is that none of them is pure. Socialism is socialism, if you mix it with the market, family and party interest, and corruption, it will surely collapse. Prue socialism is definitely superior to capitalism, but if you make the socialism rather impure, how can it be better than capitalism? Collapse is inevitable, because it violates the rule of “the purer, the more stable”.

“Flies always find the cracked eggs”, why? Because if there is no crack on the egg, it can keep relatively pure, so flies won’t bite it. Once there is crack on the egg, the egg cannot keep pure, flies will certainly come to bite.

In the process of founding Lifechanyuan, I found out that people with more complex thoughts are more likely to be disturbed by external factors and gradually leave, while those with simpler thoughts are more likely to remain. This fact also proves the rule that “the purer the more stable”.

Thus, we can get another conclusion, for a person, the more knowledgeable, the more complex the thinking, the greater the ability, the more mindful and smarter, the more experienced, the more deeply involved in society, the more flexible, the more he is unreliable, because he or she violates the rule of “the purer, the more stable”. He might vow to you today, and part ways with you tomorrow.

Thus we can get one more conclusion that the more complex one is, the most silly and stupid the person is in the world.

　

[rcdiostcrs]

sheamus barron carpenter

triggers: child abandonment (mentioned throughout)

thirty-one years old. / mortal. / brenton thwaites fc.

sheamus is the first son of thompson & danielle carpenter. he was adopted at five after he had been fostered for a year.

doesn’t remember anything from before his adoption & honestly prefers it that way. he thinks it would suck having memories of before.

had a name change upon adoption, taking on a new middle & last name. barron was given to him as a hereditary middle name (having been danielle’s father’s name) & carpenter from being adopted into the carpenter family.

doesn’t really do nicknames. he doesn’t like them for himself, but is willing to use one for another if they ask / introduce themselves that way.

for example, if you were to go “hey. i’m peggy,” sheamus isn’t going to call you margaret.

at nine years old, he gained a brother (asph).

upon first gaining a brother, sheamus hated him. he feared that his parents would love a biological child more (esp. his mother). the fears were quickly proven untrue. he was still loved just as much, even if he had less attention on him because babies need so much time & effort.

by the time he was ten, he knew that asph came from an affair, was a demigod, & was the result of a prophecy. this was another factor in his brother-hate. however, he didn’t know what the prophecy was or why it had to happen. he didn’t know that his brother was going to be left at the wolf house.

he slowly started to warm up to his younger brother, but still remained distant. sheamus didn’t want to punish his younger brother for something that wasn’t his fault.

as the pair grew closer, sheamus started giving asph more of his clothes. he knew that wearing sheamus’s clothes would protect asph by smothering the demigod scent in that of a mortal.

through the years, he tried his best to be a good older brother.

he taught asph how to stand up for himself, even offering to teach him how to throw a punch when sheamus was fifteen.

when he was sixteen, he came home from school to find asph gone. his parents were on the couch, danielle sobbing. his brother had been left at the wolf house. they would never see each other again.

he became cold after that. he just had to go & get attached, didn’t he? now he had a brother-sized hole in his heart.

he withdrew into himself, not even bothering to put on a fake smile. he wasn’t fine & everyone else got to know.

moved to california just after graduation, at eighteen, trying to find his brother’s trail after two years of only having search alerts to go off of.

he had found the plane ticket evidence. since he knew of asph’s bio dad & roman mythos, it wasn’t hard to make the connection.

he eventually found asph at a hospital, but he wasn’t allowed in since he didn’t have valid proof of familial relations. it has been six years since he started his search & this, despite being a miss, left him with new hope.

after this miss, he set out to find where he would being going next. sheamus figured that with his brother being a roman demigod, he might be going to the wolf house.

as a mortal, he needed to find a roman demigod to lead the way. he’d never find it or get in without another.

he found a demigod willing to help. how did he do it? cafe ads. flyers on telephone poles.

“seeking roman mythos expert, demigod preferred, to lead mortal to wherever it is roman demigods go. compensation will be provided. contact sheamus at (202)-555-1234.”

after hearing his situation, the demigod (named kira) decided to help, stating that the best course of action would be to wait at new rome for his brother. there was no way to know where in lupa’s training the kid would be.

when sheamus was twenty-three, the brothers were finally reunited as asph crossed the little tiber.

sheamus still didn’t get a whole lot of time with his brother since asph was put into the legion’s service immediately.

“why is a fourteen year old joining the military?” -sheamus

& no one in new rome bothered to answer him.

yeah... probably best you don’t bring up any of new rome’s weirdness to him. sheamus will take the opportunity to talk your ear off about it & complain while doing so.

despite him constantly pointing out how new rome & camp jupiter could be improved (starting w/ the names bc seriously y’all??), sheamus is decently respected around the city. he’s one of the few family members to try & find the abandoned.

kind of an older brother to younger demigods. especially the unclaimed.

since he struck out on his own so young, he took to dealing cards at casinos to make ends meet. turns out, he was quite good at it, so he’s since been hired full time.

this wasn’t his only job. he was also a barista, prep cook, dish washer, & even a pro cuddle buddy. it was just the job that stuck.

[snowberry-crostata]

Headcanon time! I saw a post about Jungle Cyrodiil and it reminded me that I have Opinions about the change from Jungle Cyrodiil to Temperate Farmland Cyrodiil. I’ve seen a lot of different explanations for the switch, mostly on Reddit, and there’s a lot of intriguing reasoning that people come up with, but one thing that I haven’t seen before is discussion about temperate rainforests (somebody out there has probably written about this, I just haven’t seen it).

The word “jungle” has a few different meanings; it can refer to thick, impenetrable brush in the lower layers of a dense forest, and it’s also often used synonymously with “rainforest.” The Pocket Guide to the Empire, 1st Edition, uses it in both ways. It specifically refers to “equatorial rainforest” in Cyrodiil which doesn’t make sense at all since, to my knowledge, the equator of Nirn has not been mapped (and even this assumes that Nirn is, in fact, a sphere). If we move on from that problematic word and focus just on the rainforest aspect, some interesting possibilities open up.

Most people associate rainforests with tropical rainforests, which are the most abundant type of rainforest on Earth. However, temperate rainforests also exist! One of the largest and best-known temperate rainforest is the Pacific temperate rainforest region found along the west coast of the US and Canada. Here, temperatures stay relatively mild year-round, with high rainfall during the wet season and heavy fog during the dry season providing plenty of moisture to the environment. As an aside, it’s worth noting that temperate rainforests occur most often, but not exclusively, in coastal areas sandwiched between oceans and mountains. The Heartland of Cyrodiil doesn’t match this profile, but then again the relationship between geography and weather in Tamriel has always been loose at best.

Anyway, I could see how someone could look at something like this and have the word “jungle” come to mind:

(Photo by Wikipedia user wseigmund, showing the Hoh River Trail in Washington)

So if this area was jungle to begin with, how would the Cyrodiilic heartland go from lush rainforest to temperate cropland? Was it magic? The reality-altering effect of the towers? The god-like influence of Tiber Septim? CHIM?

Well, why not just… people?

People can strip forests, log trees, and clear farmland without any need for magic. Hell, it’s happening right now on a massive scale in the Amazon Rainforest:

(Photo by Alexander Gerst)

I realize that saying “well it doesn’t have to be magic” about a fantasy land in a fantasy series where magical, world-altering events happen on a semi-frequent basis isn’t particularly satisfying to a lot of people, but I’m a simple woman and I like explanations that are at least somewhat scientifically plausible, dammit. Tens, hundreds, or thousands of years of purposeful cultivation can radically alter a landscape without any need for a magical reset button. Opportunistic flowering plants, grasses, and deciduous second growth would have moved in (or be purposely planted) when the old growth was cleared. And if Cyrodiil was home to temperate, rather than tropical, rainforest to begin with, that helps clear up the issue of massive, localized climate change to a large extent.

Anyway, one of the things I like about TES (and about TES as historiography) is that everyone has different (and sometimes wildly different!) interpretations of the world and the lore, and this is mine. Temperate rainforests for life!

[vuldak-juneau]

There was an inlet that formed into a stream that bisected some of the city streets of Eterna fed by the waters of the Tiber Bay. On the days that Juneau’s time was not spoken for running errands for the innkeeper, clandestinely meeting with Casimir to discuss her potential future with the thieves' guild, or swapping brief residencies between Jamie’s couch and the inn, she liked to split off from all others and brave the forests and peaks to the north and south of the city. But on the days when her personal time was scarce, she would settle for the stream. Of course, she couldn’t touch the water lest it burn her, but it seemed that walking alongside its winding course wasn’t a nicety that she was the sole appreciator of. There was a dirt path, not a planned or maintained one, that twined alongside the water's edge, born of frequent footfalls disturbing the vegetation and, over time, creating a sort of pathway. It reminded her of a deer trail. 

Juneau was a little surprised to see Goose and his companion Etienne along this route, though it wasn’t an unpleasant surprise. Juneau moved forward a bit to close half the distance between herself and the young man and his direwolf. A dark brow arched at the wolf’s chuffing sound, and she made her best approximation of the noise back to him, although she was quite sure if she had simply said hello Goose would have understood and the greeting would suffice. “There are a lot of agates in the riverbed,” she responded conversationally, though her hands were notably free of any of them and she carried no satchel with her to collect them. She could probably endure the burning sting of plucking one or two fine specimens from below the water’s surface, but she knew Alder would question her if she returned home with damaged hands. Besides, she didn’t know how those burns healed–was the healing quick and complete like many other injuries, or would mottled, stiff skin linger and ruin the best tools she had? But Etienne’s hands… Those were a different story. “I can teach you have to find them.”

Person: @vuldak-juneau Location: Thee Streets of Eterna They're on their way back from seeing Eridani when Goose seems to pause, sniff the air and tilt his head and Etienne follows the direwolf's line of sight and he can't help but grin. "Find any rocks?" It's so good to see a familiar face coming up the street their direction. The blonde is herself and yet Etienne thinks there's this weird shininess to everyone in Eterna. She is still Juneau, just perhaps a little less feral than he'd seen her in the woods. He's not entirely sure he doesn't still like the two of them that way to begin with, wilder and in the woods. He pauses a few feet from her and Goose gives a slight chuff of acknowledgement. She's someone the direwolf seems almost indifferent to, which has him more than a little curious. Normally, he's got pretty strong feelings about just about everyone.

[jofie-does-things]

A Florin For Your Thoughts? [Sneak Peek]

Summary: Ezio Auditore is quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. He could have any woman he wanted. And there was no way he reciprocated the feelings that you have for him. All the gifts he gives you are strictly platonic. Right? Right?!

Pairing: Ezio Auditore x Oblivious!Reader (AC: Brotherhood)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: Been on an Ezio Auditore high and there’s no end in sight. I figured that I owed y’all an update of some sort since I’ve been away for a few months. I got sick twice and got injured at work, which is always fun. Other than that, enjoy! Happy Halloween!

“A florin for your thoughts, Signorina?” A voice calls from behind you as you survey the fruit stands, a teasing lilt to it. The cadence and familiarity of it sends your eyes rolling, turning to the speaker with a smile on your face.

“Buon giorno, Messer Auditore!” Ezio emerges from the busy current of shoppers, looking as regal and elegant as ever. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of watching the graceful way in which he maneuvers around the hustle and bustle of the street. It’s one of the many things you’ve found appealing about the Master Assassin. He sweeps into a bow, hand across his chest and, when he straightens once more, you can see the mirth dancing in those beautiful eyes of his.

“It is wonderful to see you again, Ezio. I’m glad you’re back home safe.” You smile up at him, drinking in the sight of the man before you. He truly has been gone for far too long. “I’ve missed you.”

“It is wonderful to see you as well. Although I fail to see how you could ever spend any time missing me when Machiavelli is keeping you busy.” He gestures, smirking, at the sacks leaning against your legs and the satchel draped across your shoulder. An eyebrow raised as if to ask for an explanation.

At the mention of the groceries you’ve struggled with so far today, the ache in your shoulders return, only dulled slightly by Ezio’s distracting presence in your vicinity. You shift the hot strap of leather to a more comfortable position on your shoulder in self-consciousness, laughing awkwardly.

“Yes, Machiavelli is quite the organized man.”

“One might say tyrannical in his methods.”

The comment is said with a blank expression, but earns a light swat on the shoulder nonetheless, and his face cracks into a grin. Ezio rubs the place he was hit with mock pain molding onto his face and into his voice.

“I would have to tell Machiavelli about the wounding of his dearest friend at the hands of you, Signorina.” Ezio swoons dramatically as you bend to pick up the sacks of food, “I will have no choice, but to retire to the Tiber Island post and spend the rest of my days bothering you.”

You tried to ignore the implication of Ezio spending the rest of his life with you, but your heart couldn’t help skipping a beat at his act. Instead, you opt for a safer interaction that wouldn’t expose your true feelings: rolling your eyes.

With a huff and a smile, you swing the weight of one of the sacks his way. He catches it easily with his “injured” arm. The effort taken to pull it out of your grasp is slim to none.

“It seems you have been miraculously cured, Signore.” You sigh dramatically, wiping an invisible tear from your eye, putting in as much gusto as he did, “I guess you’ll have to find another activity to fill your time that doesn’t include tattling on me to the notorious Machiavelli.”

Having retrieved the other sack from the ground, you turn to start heading down the next isle of stalls. Truth is, the grain stand that holds the last few items on Machiavelli’s list is in the other direction, but between him requesting that you run errands for the hideout and sheltering the many members of the cause, you’ve hardly had any time for yourself.

If Machiavelli had a problem with his groceries being late, then he could make the next run for all you cared.

You could hear Ezio chuckle as he trails after you down the aisle.

He catches up to you at a stall that showcases jewelry for hairpieces, all of which are too expensive for you to afford. You may have the money for the groceries at the hideout, but that was money collected for the cause; it would be wrong for you to use it to add to your personal wardrobe. So, you let out a small sigh, brushing your hand lovingly over a simple gold circlet lined with tiny white gems and, equally as bright, metal leaves.

The simple yet ornate design of it is the stuff of dreams.

You continue to inspect the jewelry displayed at the stand, even as Ezio plants himself next to you. It’d be a lie to say that having the Master Assassin watch you survey the gems over your shoulder didn’t stress you out, but it was your grocery trip. If Ezio got bored, he could simply walk away.

It wasn’t until a few more moments pass that Ezio leans across your field of vision to grasp the circlet you were eyeing the whole time. He turns to the vendor, a declaration of wanting to purchase it passing his lips as he gingerly hands it, and the florins, to him.

“I wasn’t aware that you were interested in women’s accessories, Ezio.” You say in surprise, glancing between him and the vendor, who is wrapping the circlet up in cloth. “Although, I don’t think that style of circlet would really suit you.”

Your remark gains a raised eyebrow as he turns his attention— smirking as usual— to you. Clearly, you’ve garnered his amused attention.

“Oh?” He murmurs lowly, the conspiratorial curve of his lips, and the way he leans toward you has your breath catching. “And what piece do you think suits me, if I may ask.”

It takes you a moment too long to break his gaze and turn to the stand.

Embarrassing.

You resume your examination of the accessories. The heat of Ezio’s interested gaze boring holes in the side of your head causes a bead of sweat to roll down your neck. Until you finally find it.

It’s quite possibly the gaudiest hairpiece that you’ve ever seen.

You gesture towards the maroon headband— the cheap color of the fabric is almost drowned out by the bright yellow beading adorning the lopsided cut of it— with a triumphant smile on your face.

“That one, il mio amico.” A giggle pushes past your lips at Ezio’s momentarily offended expression. “It’s perfect for one so dramatic and extravagant as yourself. It’s sure to draw the eye of many a fair lady.” You earn an eye roll at that.

“Very funny, mia cara,” He huffs out a small laugh, turning to gather the wrapped circlet from the vendor as he starts off down the aisle of stalls once more, “but if you must know— it is a gift.”

Your interest is piqued.

“Oh? Who for? Bartolomeo?”

You barely dodge the sack of vegetables he swings your way.

“No. It is a gift—“ he pauses, a nervousness overtakes his demeanor that is rare for a man such as him before he continues, “for a woman that I admire. And hope to grow closer to.”

Your grip on the sack in your hand falters. It takes your upper body down with it. The force of it steals the breath from your lungs. Well, that and the news that Ezio has just delivered.

It feels like a swift kick to the gut.

Noticing your struggle, Ezio helps you right yourself with a gentle grip on your elbow. He slips the packaged circlet into his robes then bends to hoist the other sack into his arms.

You move to frantically apologize.

“Sorry. I can’t properly carry these bags with my sore arms. I’m being worked to the bone.” You let out a forced chuckle at your statement to recover from your shock. Finally, you manage an even tone as you think of something to say: “It’s a beautiful circlet, Ezio. I’m sure she’ll absolutely love it; whomever this lucky lady is.”

Every word is forced past the lump in your throat as you croak out the compliment.

“Grazie mille. I truly hope she does.” You don’t miss the sparkle in his eyes as he says it. Your heart clenches.

Now you feel horrible because not only has he now taken over holding your heavy groceries, but you can’t even give him sincere reassurance when he’s so clearly nervous about his gift.

You are a horrible person.

—

It’s not until the sun is shining brightly in the early afternoon sky that you and Ezio make it back to Tiber Island. Ezio sets the bags of produce on the table in the kitchens of the hideout. The reminder sends another little pang of guilt coursing through you.

That was one of the things you loved about the Master Assassin. He was thoughtful of those around him. Taking their needs into consideration, before moving to be the first to help. It was part of what made him such a great leader. It also helped that he was quite easy on the eyes too.

“Thank you for the help, Ezio. You didn’t have to lug all those groceries up here with me.” You turned from slinging your satchel on the countertop of the island to face him, wiping the perspiration from your forehead and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It was no problem, mia cara. I would hate to see a beautiful woman such as yourself struggle with such burdens.” He gives you a cheeky grin while rolling out the strain in his shoulders. Unfortunately, the fact that he was handsome meant that he also knew how to wield it like a deadly weapon. The thought brought a heat to your cheeks as you coughed and turned away from him. Hopefully he hasn’t seen it.

In a desperate attempt to steer your mind away from him calling you beautiful (seriously, he can be too flirtatious sometimes), and to keep him from invading your space with his stupidly handsome smug expression, you turn him around and start physically pushing him out the door.

“Yes. Yes. I have too many burdens to deal with, especially when you are responsible for the majority of them.” You tease; the man can take the small jab at his ego. A laugh is heard from the man in front of you and it sends a rumble through the planes of his back muscles, underneath your palms. Is there any part of him that isn’t built?

He needs to leave before your little crush becomes obvious to him and the whole of Tiber Island.

Your path to the door is brought to a halt with the abrupt spin of Ezio in front of you and before you know it, your momentum— and the loss of the solid mass in front of you— sends you falling into his chest.

This is bad.

You stiffen, clearing your throat and straightening up, with the help of Ezio’s hands on your arms.

“Before I go, I have something for you.” He says, making sure you’re steady before brushing past you to the pile of groceries again. Your brow furrows in confusion as you watch him pluck something from one of the sacks before turning to you with a lazy grin on his face. It sets your nerves alight.

He saunters over to you, his movements as practiced and graceful as a cat’s and he stops in front of you once more. The lazy grin has dimmed down into a simple upturn of the lips, which brings your gaze to the small scar that you’ve seen so many times that you’re sure you could picture it in your sleep if you needed to.

A warm touch to your hand, as Ezio gently grasps it, draws your eyes down between the two of you. To a single red rose that’s being placed in your palm. Then Ezio curls his fingers around yours to ensure your grip around the flower.

The breath leaves your lungs. You’re frozen. You’ve forgotten how to breathe. And you’re gaping down at the rose like a fish out of water because you’ve forgotten how to breathe!

“For you, mia cara.” He whispers, the distance between you two seems to shrink as he speaks, “A small token of my appreciation, for all that you do.” His hold on your hand is steady, almost intimate, as a slight squeeze to your knuckles serves to completely sever the connection between your brain and your mouth.

It’s not until a few moments later that you notice Ezio has fallen silent and has made no move to leave. He’s expecting a response from you, but you’ve been too busy gaping to realize.

Oh no.

Say something.

Anything!

“Oh, um,” you start, clearing your throat to buy you precious seconds to recover your composure and think of a response, “Thank you, Ezio. That’s very thoughtful of you.” You step out of his hold, trying not to slip up and say something that will get you in trouble. “I’ll put it in some water as soon as possible.”

You can’t help but notice the near imperceptible downward tilt of his lips and slight deflation of his posture before it’s all gone in the blink of an eye. A wide grin is pasted across his face as he cards his hand through his hair before you can even think to question it.

“Of course. If you’re in need of any more assistance in the future, don’t hesitate to ask.” Ezio places a hand across his chest as he dips into a quick bow. Then, he turns on his heel, and is out the door without another word. You turn back to the kitchen with a sigh, stepping forward to begin putting everything away.

It was very sweet of Ezio to give you a rose. He can be so thoughtful. Always taking the time to let others know that they’re appreciated.

So then why did he look upset when you thanked him?

You shook your head, ridding your mind of the thought that maybe, maybe, there was something more to it than he let on.

No. He was just being his friendly, charming self. It’s how he is with everyone. And you’re no exception. There’s no reason to give too much thought to his compliments, or gift, when it’s all just platonic gestures. Besides, he said so himself that he already had a woman he’d wanted to pursue. It’s better if you accepted the rose for what it was: a token of gratitude between friends.

[colgatebluemintygel]

hello i just wanted to say that i love your writing LIKE IM OBSESSED

I don't know if you're still doing the wip snippet thing but if you do( and if you haven't already posted it) I WOULD LOVE TO SEE STH FROM on another ocean

If you have posted it already and i missed it IM REALLY SORRY <3333

HELLO SWEET ANON <3333

this is so so so lovely! you're so so so lovely!

I AM AND I CERTAINLY CAN <3 here's a lil snippet from chapter 6 just for YOU:

———

Sirius drapes himself across his chair as he smokes, leaning back and arranging himself into a relaxed pose—one that he's carefully curated over the years to accentuate the cut of his jaw and the pale length of his throat.

Now, all he needs is Remus’s attention.

Under the table, Sirius nudges Remus’s foot with the toe of his shoe. “Sorry,” he murmurs in a smoky exhale.

Remus turns to him then, his attention successfully diverted from the hoards of people congregating in front of the glittering Tiber river. His eyes widen, ever so slightly, as he takes in Sirius.

Then, he tilts his head and frowns. “Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?” Sirius asks. He drops his voice to a lower register, all velvety and smooth, and blinks up at Remus through his eyelashes.

Remus blinks back, and for a second, Sirius lets his imagination take over.

Remus bites his lip and looks away. “Being so beautiful." Remus looks overcome, and Sirius watches in awe as Remus's cheeks bloom with blush; perfect, pink roses.

Sirius smirks as he trails his foot up Remus’s leg. “You tell me,” he purrs.

Remus's blush deepens and he chews his lip, his gaze flicking between Sirius's lips and eyes. Sirius can't help himself, and he reaches out for Remus, pulling him into his lap so that he can finally, finally—

“Your neck,” Remus says, cutting through Sirius’s daydream. “Is it sore? You look stiff. I have some Panadol in my suitcase, I think.”

———

HEHEHEHEHE

also here's another lil rough snippet from the (semi...) distant FUTURE just to make that *slow burn* a little more bearable! mwah!

———

“Why?” Remus whines, kissing and nipping at Sirius’s jaw.

“I want—" Sirius's voice breaks off into a choked-off moan. "Moony..."

Remus laughs softly, the puffs of hot air tickling the sensitive skin of Sirius's neck. "Yes?"

In an act of restraint that he'd never have thought possible of himself, Sirius drags himself away from Remus and his hungry mouth. He meets Remus's gaze and feels his breath catch in his throat. Remus's eyes are dark; so dark that there's only the slightest suggestion of amber around the perimeter of his iris. Heat curls in Sirius's stomach.

"I want to see the castle,” Sirius says. His cheeks feel warm.

Remus stares at him, rubbing his red, bitten bottom lip with his thumb. The heat in Remus's eyes is so intense and pointed that it makes Sirius feel lightheaded, and he's about to say fuck it and lean in again when Remus steps back.

“... Fine,” Remus says, running long, slender fingers through his curls. Then, he smiles, his eyes glinting with mischief. “As long as I get to go down on you when we get back.”

Sirius is hit by a wave of arousal so dizzying and intense that he has to lean against the door to avoid falling over. “Deal,” he says weakly.

[morihaus]

Betrayal

Waves splash against the rocky shores of Betony as a small ship rows into port. The docks of Whitefort town are quiet in the dying light of the evening, busied only by sailors and dockworkers as they fix ships to the moorings and ferry cargo about, hurrying to get their work over with so they might retire for the night. There are few people, and of them, the lone passenger of the sailboat blends into the crowd, steel boots stepping onto the dock, cowl held close around her head.

She keeps her head down, not attracting any attention as she takes a circuitous path around the shipyard, pausing only to spare a glance over her shoulder every now and then. It's not her first time here, and she knows where she is going- the grand Imperial ship affixed to the far dock lies foreboding in the corner of her vision- but even miles from the mainland of High Rock or Hammerfell, she feels eyes all over her, grasping hands reaching out for her. She's walking into a pair of them right now.

It's with this note of fatalism that she climbs aboard the Imperial galley, its captain waits for her at a table on the deck, seated warmly in her fine Skyrim furs. Lady Brisienna Magnessen smiles cordially, cheeks rosy, but not bothered by the winter chill as her visitor is, letting her fair hair curl down her shoulders without hat or hood.

"Agent Delarda," She greets her with a refined tone, coarse Nordic tongue dipped in honey, smoothed and shaped to suit the needs of an inter-provincial operative. "Please, take a seat. Let's conclude this as quickly as possible."

Against her better judgement, the agent sits down. Her amber eyes, sitting in dark circles, peer out at the Nord from under her hood. "They know." She says flatly, her voice quiet and weak for the first words she's spoken in days. "Gothryd, Eadwyre, Athoriki, Gortwog-" She slings her pack down one shoulder and reaches inside, producing several written correspondences. She sets them on the table in front of her, unsealed, slightly crumpled. She looks down at them now, rather than Brisienna. "Even Mannimarco, and the Underking. They know, and they want it. They're making offers now. I'm not sure how long they'll wait for me to make up my mind."

Brisienna takes a letter into her deft hands, unfurling it and scanning it over.

Arduirel- code name Delarda- lets her hands lie limp on the table, numb with cold and nerves.

After a minute or so, the Lady speaks up. "They're making quite the hefty offers for it."

"You believe them?" Arduirel says.

Brisienna looks half-insulted. "No," She shakes her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if any or all of them were lying. All that gold, those artifacts, nothing but bait."

"Should I assume the Emperor was lying as well?" She says curtly, still not meeting her eye.

Brisienna purses her lips some, but reaches over into her own pack, producing a small jewelry box. She places it on the table, turning it to her fellow agent. "The Warlock's Ring, as promised. Feel free to check. I wouldn't lie to you."

Arduirel's ears burn under her hood at that. Still, she reaches forward, unlatching the tiny chest and taking a peek at the ring inside. Gold-banded, covered in ancient runes, inlaid with a dazzling red gemstone. She closes it, satisfied with its authenticity, more or less. She looks back up at Lady Magnessen, who peers expectantly at the elf.

"The Emperor has been planning this reward for some time, Delarda. Your efforts, both here and in years previous, are greatly appreciated." For a moment Arduirel looks and only sees a mouthpiece, a puppet; she wonders whether Uriel said any such thing, whether these words were really his, or mere lip service from the Nord woman. She's sick to her stomach either way, not helped by the gentle rocking of the boat in the harbor.

"...I'm curious. What would the other rulers have done with... the Totem." She asks, quite aware of the fact she's expected to be taking it out by now. She doesn't want to touch it, to let it be seen by anyone. Her whole body feels wired, jittery, as though the other agent were about to make a desperate lunge for her pack.

It doesn't come to pass, though, Lady Magnessen remains seated, glancing down once again at the letters on the table. "Nothing good." She shuffles them around, laying one on top of the other, leafing through the names on the pages and thinking on what she knows of the Illiac's politics. "No doubt Daggerfall, Wayrest, and Sentinel would use the Numidium in their petty war games. Perhaps they would even realize the extent of its capabilities- they could undermine the whole of the Empire with this power." Arduirel feels a chill as she speaks. She wonders what Brisienna knows about Numidium. How much does the Emperor know about Numidium? The Nord frowns as she continues to speculate. "Orsinium would no doubt crush its age-old enemies, claim all of Wrothgar for the Orcs, maybe beyond. I cannot begin to wonder at what nefarious end the King of Worms has in mind... he claims he wants godhood?"

Arduirel gives a shallow nod.

Brisienna shakes her head. "By the Nine, what a travesty that would be..."

"Could that even work?"

"If what we are led to believe about big Numidium is true, it very well could. It could be as easy as it plucking him from this world and placing him high up in the heavens." There's an attempted humor to what she says, but Arduirel can only fight to keep up a veneer of composure.

"Is that what Tiber Septim did?" She blurts out.

Brisienna gives her a judgemental stare. "Is that... what? What are you talking about, Delarda?"

Arduirel clenches her fist, grinding her teeth together for a moment. "I just mean-" She looks out into the horizon, the now black sky meeting the edge of the water. "He became a Divine. He also used the Numidium. Is that related? Is Mannimarco trying to do what he did?"

Without looking, she feels the icy stare of her superior. She lets out a sigh. "Tiber Septim didn't become Talos through some... automaton. He was always Talos-" She trails off, shaking her head. "We can discuss theology when you're back in Cyrodiil, Delarda. You have the Totem, don't you?"

"Yes." She quickly replies.

"Where is it?"

Arduirel looks back at her. Brisienna's face is creased with irritation- she knows a diversion tactic when she sees it, she's starting to wise up to what's going on here.

"What is the Emperor going to do with it?" Arduirel asks.

Brisienna pauses. Arduirel stares and picks her apart with her eyes, trying to figure out what she knows. "That's none of your concern, agent." She replies with a blunt, forceful tone. "Just know that he's the only one who can be trusted with it. These petty kings will rip each other- and the Empire- apart in their bickering, and those undead sorcerers will only do the same. This thing belongs in the hands of an Emperor, a Septim, not some pack of quarreling insubordinates."

Her words hang in the air, burning against Arduirel's ears like the cold night air. Her hands begin to shiver. "The last Septim who got his hands on it..." She furrows her brow, glaring from under her hood at the Nord. "The Underking, he's Zurin Arctus, Tiber Septim's battlemage. He claims to have made the thing- that the Mantella is his heart, and that Septim used the thing to conquer all of Tamriel, to destroy all his opponents, to replace all royals with those who would swear loyalty to him." Brisienna tries to get a word in, but Arduirel plows on ahead. "And when he disagreed with this use of the Numidium, Septim fought with him, and both he and his creation were destroyed." She produces another letter from her person, one she hadn't intended on sharing. "This says that the Blades have been gathering parts of the Numidium for centuries- what is the meaning of this??? To what end does it serve???"

Brisienna leans in with a dour expression. "You take the word of a rotting, undead wizard over mine? Over the word of the Emperor?"

Arduirel stands up with a start, frost crackles in her palm as she glares down at the Nord, who reaches for her blade. "What is he planning!? Why reassemble it?! Why use it now??"

"Delarda, stand down!" Brisienna barks out the order with her sword leveled in the elf's direction. "Think for a second! If you don't relinquish the Totem, you'll be branded as a traitor to the Empire of Tamriel- you'll have one more agency hunting you down, is that what you want!?"

"I am NOT giving you the Totem! I won't let this happen again!" Before Brisienna can even question her, Arduirel shoots an ice spike into her chest. She staggers back as it pierces a rib, she wheels back her sword-arm before another spike finds its way into the hinge of her elbow, icing the joint over and sinking deep into her tissue. She cries out in pain before Arduirel charges into her, bashing her off the side of the ship with a forceful elbow to her collar.

The Nord falls into the icy water, right arm stiff and inflexible, lungs pierced by a spike through her ribs. She cries out at Arduirel- "YOU CANNOT DO THIS!" But a torrent of frost is already firing down at her, freezing the water she's fighting against, encasing her in a thick sheet of ice. Her body temperature drops rapidly, she trembles and struggles as her muscles grow stiff and weak.

The small block of ice containing her body floats out into sea. The Agent absconds with the Warlock's Ring and the Totem, forcing her way through the confused crowd and boarding someone else's ship, pushing it out to sea with the force of her magic, arrows from the guards loosing in her wake as they piece together that she had something to do with this.

It doesn't matter. The Emperor will not get the Totem. As soon as she's out of sight from the isle, she makes course for the east, for Hammerfell, as a traitor to the Empire. Her true colors are finally revealed. It's exhilarating. It's sickening. It's the only way to avoid another Summurset.

[skarsgard-daydreams]

La Scapigliata

Part VII

{ one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen }

Description: Deep in the heart of Tuscany, Eric met a lady with disheveled hair.

Warnings: some blood, 18+, sexual content

Mixed in with the heady wine that Magdalena had been drinking all night was a substance even more potent. Before her head hit the pillow, she felt as though she had entered a waking dream. The rosy blush of dawn seemed to resonate a low hum as it bled through her curtains, and she thought she could hear Eric’s voice whispering in the still morning air.

“Sweet dreams,” she heard him say.

She sank into the languid embrace of sleep the way a boat dips under the waves before it is borne up by its own buoyancy. Soon she was floating on the river Tiber, surrounded by fern leaves and chains of purple aster and pink camellia flowers. The current swept her away into a valley where the waters stilled and willows dipped their long boughs into the drink, causing the flowers to gather on the edges of the shore where a tall figure waded up to his boots.

Magdalena stretched out her hand toward him and Eric bent down, catching her wrist as she floated by. Sunlight rippled on the water and glinted off the rings on Eric’s long fingers. He fished her out of the river and they both fell onto the florid shore, tumbling into each other’s arms with a wave of laughter. She traced her fingers over the golden flowers embroidered on his doublet and realized they were still adorned in their wedding finery. Her heart beat against the cage of her chest as her new husband framed her face with both hands.

“You are mine at last,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. He pulled the pearl netting away from her hair, letting her dark locks cascade over her shoulders. Magdalena’s breath caught in her throat. Birds were singing in the morning light, and she wasn’t sure how far down the river she had floated before he found her. Eric pushed her slashed sleeve from her shoulder and dipped his head low to kiss her bare skin.

“Are we alone?” she asked.

"Of course," he assured her, loosening the laces of her dress with his nimble fingers. Soon he was tugging her skirts from her hips and freeing her from her corset until all that remained was the silk chemise that clung to her naked body.

Eric reached for the hem of the thin garment, but Magdalena caught his hand, eliciting a low growl of frustrated desire from his lips. She looked up at him through hooded eyes, trailing her hands over his chest, still covered in dark velvet. There could be no shame in their nakedness now that they were man and wife. She unhooked the golden fasteners that held his doublet closed, lowering her gaze as she moved her hands down his chest. Eric sat back on his elbows and watched her undress him, a small grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

When she had pulled the linen shirt off over his head, he wrapped his hands around her waist and captured her mouth with his own, kissing her with a desire that scorched them both. Magdalena melted into his kiss as he peeled away her chemise, leaving her completely bare, laying on a bed of flowers beneath him. It felt like the most natural thing in the world when his hands skimmed over her skin, following the flowing lines of her body to the places that had never been seen by a man.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as Eric explored her flesh. He sucked on her rounded breasts until her nipples pebbled beneath his warm tongue, drawing a breathy gasp from her lips. Maybe she was enjoying this too much. A flush of red spread over her face and Magdalena pressed her lips together, determined not to make such a sound again.

The scent of jasmine and blood orange hung in the warm summer air. She trailed her hands over Eric’s bronzed shoulders, enjoying the taut sensation of his muscles beneath her fingers. His golden locks fell into his face and brushed against her skin as he moved down her body, trailing sweet kisses that left her trembling in a secret place deep in her belly.

Eric’s lips connected with her bare thigh, and Magdalena sank her teeth into her lower lip to prevent a whimper from escaping her throat. A coppery taste filled her mouth and she realized she had drawn blood. In a moment, Eric hovered over her face again, his hands planted firmly on either side of her head. His hair clung to his forehead and his eyes were blown with lust as he studied her expression.

“Don’t be shy, amore mia,” Eric said. He kissed her bloodied lips and weaved his hands into her hair. “I want to hear you sing.”

@scxrsgxrd @grandpa-sweaters @stevesharrlngtons @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @hausofobsession @bskarsgardlove92 @ateliefloresdaprimavera

[justforbooks]

Edwin Eugene Aldrin Jr., commonly known as Buzz Aldrin, was born on January 20, 1930. He is an American former astronaut, engineer and fighter pilot. Aldrin made three spacewalks as pilot of the 1966 Gemini 12 mission, and as the lunar module pilot on the 1969 Apollo 11 mission, he and mission commander Neil Armstrong were the first two humans to land on the Moon.

Born in Glen Ridge, New Jersey, Aldrin graduated third in the class of 1951 from the United States Military Academy at West Point, with a degree in mechanical engineering. He was commissioned into the United States Air Force, and served as a jet fighter pilot during the Korean War. He flew 66 combat missions and shot down two MiG-15 aircraft.

After earning a Sc.D. degree in astronautics from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Aldrin was selected as a member of NASA's Astronaut Group 3, making him the first astronaut with a doctoral degree. His doctoral thesis was Line-of-Sight Guidance Techniques for Manned Orbital Rendezvous, earning him the nickname "Dr. Rendezvous" from fellow astronauts. His first space flight was in 1966 on Gemini 12 during which he spent over five hours on extravehicular activity. Three years later, Aldrin set foot on the Moon at 03:15:16 on July 21, 1969 (UTC), nineteen minutes after Armstrong first touched the surface, while command module pilot Michael Collins remained in lunar orbit. A Presbyterian elder, Aldrin became the first person to hold a religious ceremony on the Moon when he privately took communion.

Upon leaving NASA in 1971, Aldrin became Commandant of the U.S. Air Force Test Pilot School. He retired from the Air Force in 1972, after 21 years of service. His autobiographies Return to Earth (1973), and Magnificent Desolation (2009), recount his struggles with clinical depression and alcoholism in the years after leaving NASA. He continued to advocate for space exploration, particularly a human mission to Mars, and developed the Aldrin cycler, a special spacecraft trajectory that makes travel to Mars more efficient in regard to time and propellant. He has been accorded numerous honors, including the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1969.

Bibliography

Aldrin, Edwin E. Jr. 1970. "Footsteps on the Moon". Edison Electric Institute Bulletin. Vol. 38, No. 7, pp. 266–272.

Armstrong, Neil; Michael Collins; Edwin E. Aldrin; Gene Farmer; and Dora Jane Hamblin. 1970. First on the Moon: A Voyage with Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, Edwin E. Aldrin Jr. Boston: Little, Brown.

Aldrin, Buzz and Wayne Warga. 1973. Return to Earth. New York: Random House.

Aldrin, Buzz and Malcolm McConnell. 1989. Men from Earth. New York: Bantam Books.

Aldrin, Buzz and John Barnes. 1996. Encounter with Tiber. London: Hodder & Stoughton.

Aldrin, Buzz and John Barnes. 2000. The Return. New York: Forge.

Aldrin, Buzz and Wendell Minor. 2005. Reaching for the Moon. New York: Harper Collins Publishers.

Aldrin, Buzz and Ken Abraham. 2009. Magnificent Desolation: The Long Journey Home from the Moon. New York: Harmony Books.

Aldrin, Buzz and Wendell Minor. 2009. Look to the Stars. Camberwell, Vic.: Puffin Books.

Aldrin, Buzz and Leonard David. 2013. Mission to Mars: My Vision for Space Exploration. Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Books.

Aldrin, Buzz and Marianne Dyson. 2015. Welcome to Mars: Making a Home on the Red Planet. Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Children's Books.

Aldrin, Buzz and Ken Abraham. 2016. No Dream Is Too High: Life Lessons From a Man Who Walked on the Moon. Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Books.

Aldrin was awarded the Air Force Distinguished Service Medal (DSM) in 1969 for his role as lunar module pilot on Apollo 11. He was awarded an oak leaf cluster in 1972 in lieu of a second DSM for his role in both the Korean War and in the space program, and the Legion of Merit for his role in the Gemini and Apollo programs. During a 1966 ceremony marking the end of the Gemini program, Aldrin was awarded the NASA Exceptional Service Medal by President Johnson at LBJ Ranch. He was awarded the NASA Distinguished Service Medal in 1970 for the Apollo 11 mission. Aldrin was one of ten Gemini astronauts inducted into the International Space Hall of Fame in 1982. He was also inducted into the U.S. Astronaut Hall of Fame in 1993, the National Aviation Hall of Fame in 2000, and the New Jersey Hall of Fame in 2008.

The Toy Story character Buzz Lightyear was named in honor of Buzz Aldrin.

In 1999, while celebrating the 30th anniversary of the lunar landing, Vice-President Al Gore, who was also the vice-chancellor of the Smithsonian Institution's Board of Regents, presented the Apollo 11 crew with the Smithsonian Institution's Langley Gold Medal for aviation. After the ceremony, the crew went to the White House and presented President Bill Clinton with an encased Moon rock. The Apollo 11 crew was awarded the New Frontier Congressional Gold Medal in the Capitol Rotunda in 2011. During the ceremony, NASA administrator Charles Bolden said, "Those of us who have had the privilege to fly in space followed the trail they forged."

The Apollo 11 crew were awarded the Collier Trophy in 1969. The National Aeronautic Association president awarded a duplicate trophy to Collins and Aldrin at a ceremony. The crew was awarded the 1969 General Thomas D. White USAF Space Trophy. The National Space Club named the crew the winners of the 1970 Dr. Robert H. Goddard Memorial Trophy, awarded annually for the greatest achievement in spaceflight. They received the international Harmon Trophy for aviators in 1970, conferred to them by Vice-President Spiro Agnew in 1971. Agnew also presented them the Hubbard Medal of the National Geographic Society in 1970. He told them, "You've won a place alongside Christopher Columbus in American history". In 1970, the Apollo 11 team were co-winners of the Iven C. Kincheloe award from the Society of Experimental Test Pilots along with Darryl Greenamyer who broke the world speed record for piston engine airplanes. For contributions to the television industry, they were honored with round plaques on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

In 2001, President George W. Bush appointed Aldrin to the Commission on the Future of the United States Aerospace Industry. Aldrin received the 2003 Humanitarian Award from Variety, the Children's Charity, which, according to the organization, "is given to an individual who has shown unusual understanding, empathy, and devotion to mankind." In 2006, the Space Foundation awarded him its highest honor, the General James E. Hill Lifetime Space Achievement Award.

Aldrin received honorary degrees from six colleges and universities, and was named as the Chancellor of the International Space University in 2015. He was a member of the National Space Society's Board of Governors, and has served as the organization's chairman. In 2016, his hometown middle school in Montclair, New Jersey, was renamed Buzz Aldrin Middle School. The Aldrin crater on the Moon near the Apollo 11 landing site and Asteroid 6470 Aldrin are named in his honor.

In 2019, Buzz was awarded the Starmus Festival's Stephen Hawking Medal for Science Communication for Lifetime Achievement.

* Photo Above: Aldrin walks on the surface of the Moon during Apollo 11. Photograph by Neil Armstrong, who can be seen reflected in Aldrin's visor.

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