#wild white kine

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Had to look up the information on the Horn of Gondor.

From The Return of the King, “Minas Tirith”:

“I have recieved this,” said Denethor, and laying down his rod he lifted from his lap the thing that he had been gazing at. In each hand he held up one half of a great horn cloven through the middle: a wild-ox horn bound with silver.

“That is the horn that Boromir always wore!” cried Pippin.

“Verily,” said Denethor. “And in my turn I bore it, and so did each eldest son of our house, far back into the vanished years before thr failing of the kings, since Vorondil father of Mardil hunted the wild kine of Araw in the far fields of Rhûn.”

And then in Appendix A.I.ii, in a footnote on the steward “Vorondil the Hunter” (father of Mardil; Mardil was the first ruling Steward of Gondor):

The wild white kine that were still to be found near the Sea of Rhûn were said in legend to be descended from the Kine of Araw, the huntsman of the Valar, who alone of the Valar came often to Middle-earth in the Elder Days. Oromë is the High-elven form of his name.

[crowthatwalks]

Road Trip Revelations.

Murder on my Mind is playing full blast. The thumping bass and numbing lyrics are making Natashas head spin as the car pulls out of the warehouse parking lot. She winces as Brett takes a sharp right-turn into the now mostly abandoned back roads around the docks.

"Trucks don't leave the warehouses for another hour."

He says more to himself than anything else. If Natasha hears him, she doesn't react. She hums to herself, a somber, sour scowl plastered over her features. She was clearly caught in her own head, somewhere else. Suddenly her hand extends, fingers splayed over the dashboard, turning down the volume as the lyrics die down considerably and the bass grinds to a screeching halt. As the volume goes down, the pumping sensation of the car dissipates. "Murder, murder, in my mind" slithers into her ears one last time as she turns it off completely. Not because she didn't like the hard EDM and the sensation it brought with it, far from it, but she had words caught somewhere in her throat begging to be heard.

"Y'know..."

She fumbles out, rolling and clicking her tongue. The right words were a commodity hard to come by, and at first she wasn't finding them. She side-eyed Brett who was coldly observing her hand leave the dashboard.

"I don't know about Soviet Russia."

Natasha glowered at the tasteless and very quite rude joke. Oh how she wanted to punch him.

"But here in the States it's considered rude to touch the tunes. Unless you're the one driving the car."

"Tch!!"

She hisses at him, opting to roll her eyes, biting her tongue so as not to let out her indignated venom. She had a favour to ask.

"I'm starving."

She furrows her brows, looking defiantly at Brett. What an absolute asshole. Brett eyes her a bit and she can't tell exactly what's going on in that pretty little head of his.

"Yeah, you do look a bit parched."

Was that... Concern, on his face?

"No luck finding any live ones at the docks?"

Thankfully he adjusts the speed of the conversation and puts more attention on her. Honestly she wasn't sure if she appreciated that or not, considering what she was about to ask. She shrank in her seat.

"I don't..."

She gestures vaguely.

"Y'know."

An even more vague gesture goes through her whole body. She was uncomfortably aware of the seatbelt holding her in place.

"Feed on people?"

Eyes wild and feeling cornered, afraid, she does a 'go on' motion as Brett starts to speak.

"You don't feed on..."

He sits still, staring out at the empty road ahead.

"Wait."

He winces.

"Are you a fucking rat sucker?"

The second half of the sentence comes out as a harsh, almost mocking laugh.

"I should have guessed with you Gangrels -- mostly animal tendencies."

He shrugs.

"So why not?"

"What?"

Natasha recoils in horror.

"What?! No!"

She makes a very clear gesture of disgust.

"That's fucking disgusting! Why would you ask me that?!"

No more shrinking in on herself, she's more or less taking genuine offence to that statement.

"I mean. What else would you feed on if not people?"

He looks puzzled for a moment.

"Unless... You don't honestly consider some kine to be less than others, right?"

Natasha could feel her spine curl up and cringe.

"This country is a diverse melting-pot and you need to be able to accept them for what they are."

Oh god, he wasn't seriously lecturing her on racism, was he?

"Lesser beings, sure, but that is because we..."

He gestures vaguely with one hand off the wheel.

"We Kindred are different."

Natasha punches his shoulder. This upper-class white guy lecturing her, an immigrant Sociology major, on racism?

"Are you seriously that dense."

It comes off as more of a statement than an actual question.

"I'm asking you a favour."

Her smile is more of a wince than a smile at this point.

"A huge favour."

Brett blinks at her with a non-plussed expression.

"You..."

Silence.

"Oh."

More silence.

"OH!"

For a split second he almost looses control of the car and decide to pull over before turning to her fully. His expression turns into a weird mix of sheer disbellief and curiousity.

"You willingly feed on... us?"

Hands held out in a mock 'Surprise!', her face betrays a far too casual demeanor.

"When you put it like that..."

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose with an irritated huff.

"Yes."

She nods, eyes closed and still pinchingher face.

"I need you help. Again."

Face cold, Brett looks at her incredulously.

"I thought that was a habit my Sire tried to force on me. It took years before I understood that was how she managed to stay in my head, controlling me, binding my by her Blood."

A heavy silence crushed down on her chest, heart sinking until Brett spoke up again.

"I don't know if I want to put you through that."

Silence reigned as he drove a hand through his hair.

"Or if I can controll what's going on."

The two of them sink into a somber, uncomfrotable silence. Brett doesn't look at her, his gaze fixated on the dashboard.

"Are you sure you trust me anough to risk that happening to you?"

Natasha is quiet for a moment.

"You promised not to..."

She drives a hand absentmindedly through her hair, mirroring Bretts previous motion, not daring to look him in the eye.

"To not, whatever you called it, yeah?"

Now she turns to look him dead in the eyes, driving her point home.

"I'm trusting you right now by even telling you, no?"

She leans back folding her arms over her chest protectively.

"It's not that-"

Once again she's fumbling for words.

"I won't... Hurt you. Or Anything."

Side-eyeing the window she spots a lonely car rushing by, leaving them in a weird kind of silence. Brett hesitates. Another moment passes before he lets go of the wheel.

"The Ones you joined have strict rules against what you are about to do."

He rolls up his sleeve.

"You will owe me for this. And I will keep it a secret for as long as you are of use to me."

With a slightly extended thumbnail he cuts open his wrist.

"I will endeavour not to bind you."

An easy smile disappears as quickly as it appeared on his face.

"Never done this before."

As Natasha looks down at his arm, she hears a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Was that a laugh?

"Thank you."

She murmurs and leans down to drink. She can feel his head numbing at her kiss as he clearly struggles for control.

"Is this how Smythe felt?"

It was barely a whisper on his lips. If he could just add a bit more of his vitae and... No. Not that. He had promised not to. The moments pass in a haze of emotions and numbness as one, but is abruptly cut short as Natasha suddenly pulls back, slurring out her next words through bloodied lips and half lidded eyes.

"Did I hurt you?"

She asks in earnest, looking him over once, face marred by deep worry and the uncomfortable silence between them. Brett is looking down at the red river leaving his wrist before lifting it up to lick it closed. His unfocused gaze is firmly set on his wrist as his arm lowers slowly.

"It was. Weird."

He shuffles to get a better look at her through his stupor.

"No, it didn't hurt per-se, but I do feel lightheaded. And hungry. Like I did before feeding this evening."

The silence was less hostile now and as he turns to her fully, he looked almost sincere.

"How about you? Are you thoughts still your own?"

She clears her throat, wiping her mouth on her jacket sleeve.

"I think so?"

Natasha looks herself over with a nod, nod.

"Thank you."

She clears her throat and awkwardly motions to the cars stereo.

"I'm glad you weren't..."

She cuts herself off, eyes darting to his face, then his wrist, then back out over the dashboard into the night.

"Nevermind. Just. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

A soft moment passes between them.

"Like ever. Honestly we need to keep this behind locked doors."

And the moment is gone.

"If the Sheriff finds out there are going to be uncomfortable questions."

Brett starts the car again.

"Lucky for us we are going to see someone who owes me some cash."

He shoots her a winning smile.

"So I'll be back up to standard soon enough."

He turns up the music, a new fresh track of hard EDM blasts to life.

"You wait in the car."

[cymorilcinnamonroll]

Grandmother Eve

'Grandmother Eve' by Sue Ellen Parkinson, framed by my desk

"Eve," Michael said, his sword a languid question. He parted the jasmine tree in Gan Eden, by the Bell Trees of Memories, where a thousand soldiers had fallen like rain at his brother's hands.

Eve - worn now, a grandmother - her skin like earth, her hands stolid and wrinkled like a date palm - was like a wise woman that angels like him could only begin to ken.

Michael, ageless, softened at the grace of his love. If only he too could grow laugh lines - show some mark from the smile of the sun. He warmed at the grace of his bosom friend.

They sat down together and shared an apple. Or maybe, it was a pomegranate.

Perhaps, a fig.

No matter, whatever fruit, they chewed, the seeds popping like questions. Eve laughed a bit, a trickster, and held Michael's hand in the silence.

She was God's gift to humanity - a matrix of motherhood, the first gardener - if Adam had named the beasts, Eve had named the plants, and she passed the love of fennel stalk, cane rod, and pan pipes on to her sweet but bloody Cain.

Seth was of all providences: his father's kine, his mother's milk. And now, millions of years after Lucy walked as Australeopithicus, and this Mitochondrial Eve had sheltered in the Horn of Africa - hunting, dancing, painting with henna on the cave walls, decorating seashells and obsidian on Adam's neck strung with twine, and sewed a million and million more hide pants with a bone needle for her billions of sons and daughters - it had come to evening.

It was time for Eve

to rest.

Eve looked up, wizened and hoary, her tight coils of long, wild, honey-smelling white hair like spackled clouds. The pith of the fruit they had shared was well chewed, and she planted it in the dirt by her bare feet. Her haunches were wide and silken, her belly scarred from a breech birth, her paunch heavy and beautiful - but her lips, they were hungry for humor.

She had always, even as a girl in Michael's palace - before the Fall, before Autumn came, and she descended to till fields and cultivate the plants he and Lucifer had taught her and Adam to garden - delighted in their Father's mysteries.

"Hello, old friend," Eve nearly sang - her voice was faded into a hollow curve of Earth like the soil she had sprang from.

Michael would know. Eve was his own cutting - 'twas no rib she hailed from, but fruit of the vine, a babe the Archangelina in his female form had nursed, sacrificed sleepless nights too, and raised as a tot and girl in Heaven. If Lucifer was Eve's Father, Michael was her Mother.

And oh, how when Samael and Michael had come together to create her - did they not know their love would falter.

Eve was braiding sorghum. Her flaxen, brown fingers folded the lily brown pads of vegetables uprooted, sweetgrass, an ancient medicine, into rows like cranes flying North, on to stiller waters. Her black eyes - hazy with cataracts, but it almost looked like green serpents were flying tween her brows - bespoke an old fondness for her Brother, Father, Mother, and Son.

"Shall we walk the usual path, Chavah?" Michael said tenderly, helping the old, witchy woman of such grace yet solid foundations creak to life in her buckskin dress and whorled birch cane.

Raphael had carved it for her two decades ago, when she reached 20 million years old. Now, it seemed, Eve was as cracked in the face as a crow's crackle - but so old, so beautiful, she could spin tales of all that was, all that had been, and all there was

to be.

"Yes, dear Michael. I would enjoy watching the ferns grow, and seeing the finches peck at the seed we left out this morning."

So, Eve and Michael walked with both nubile, full, and yet ancient, weighted steps, past Neshema, past Naamah, past Nema.

The jungle twined together, the taiga froze their feet. They laughed and spoke of how the serpent got its tooth, or how the lion got its mane. Eve's favorite - the narwhal its horn - was as raunchy as dear Gabriel's drunken jokes.

When they came to the edge of Creation, they watched Yeshua set - the Son, the Sun sublime – and he beamed solar providence like manna down.

They ate the cloudy populace of Eucharist, and milk, honey, and wine flowed in rivers from Da'ath.

"Let's do this again tomorrow, Michael," Eve winked. "I will tell you how the dragonfly got its sting."

"I would love that, Mother Eve," Michael agreed jovially, and he took her curved, voluptuous, tilled body, flew in mighty brambles of white wings back to the Cave of Adam and Eve, then gave her to the arms of old Adam, who sat out front, smoking a pipe and watching the rolling wheat, and Michael resumed his position amongst the stars -

Looking forward

to their morning

breakfast.

[newt-n-abbey]

Hail, noble Hearts Club.

Hail, valiant defenders of their sworn domain. Hail, warrior minstrels, may your fame be eternal.

I introduce myself to you as Newt, of the Line of Yorak. A childe of Tzimisce's Ancient Clan. Metal-shaper, flesh-crafter, world-walker. Many are my years on this world, many are my friends, but always the Dragon in me hungers for more.

So that you know i am true-hearted, than this is no dark ruse , i speak to you of my friendship with the Sire of Santino. T'is She whom i had send this letter, as i knew not where you haven, and did not think it polite to ask before we had yet met.

T'was many years past, on the summer-scented Isle of Gibraltar when first i met Luciana, finest product of Giovanni blood. Under sweet moons we made our acquaintance, and over sweet letters did we continue it. But my aged head did grow weary of the world, and my aged blood grew thick, and a great sleep came upon me. Although my correspondence was ended, my fondness for that Belledame did not. And, great fortune!, neither did hers for me. We have rekindled our friendship, and now i seek to spark new one friendships in her decedents, and their beloveds.

Payment i offer, for my bold intrusion upon you valued time. Sweet morsels to whet your appetite for our coming friendship.

Greetings to bold Santino; well-favoured Childe of Luciana, cunning inheritor of the legacy of Riccardo (my solemn commiserations to you on his loss), world feted songster.

For you: a Chelys i grew myself. As Golden Apollo was gifted by Hermes, and so good feeling was kindled between them, the same i hope for us.

Greetings to sweet Chez; gentle childe of Malkav's clan, white-armed welcomer, sweet-eyed quester.

For you: three Beefalo. The gift of sustenance, to one who's pale brow creases with worry for the Kine. May the warmth of their blood echo in our friendship.

Greeting to wild Beetlejuice; fierce Scholar, fierce Lover ...

i am sorry to break the flow here, but i'm having a little trouble with your Clan. i thought you a Brujah by temperament, but then the term "Duskborn" was bandied about. Is that simply a new name for an old clan? Or is it a term for what i would call a Paharnic - and i have seen referred to in current parlance as a Ghoul ? There's been mention of a Prince you are beholden to (obviously My Greetings to them as well) are they your Domitor? Or your Sire? Please excuse the ignorance of this Old Wyrm and except my gift to you in the spirit of learning and understanding.

For you: these Bear Claws. You seem something of a bearcat, my dear, if you'll pardon my wild language! And after you recent battle, i thought you might appreciate them.

Anyway, i have taken the liberty of "following" you all on Tumblr.com. Hope to hear from you soon. :)

+ The Newt +

// @everybodys-wounded @duskbornbitchqueen @djchezzychez

[violettesiren]

The winding road lies white and bare, Heavy in dust that takes the glare; The thirsty hedgerows and parched grass Dream of a time when no road was.

Beyond, the fields are full in view, Heavy in herbage and in dew; The great-eyed kine browse thankfully; Come, take the footpath way with me!

This stile, where country lovers tryst, Where many a man and maid have kissed, Invites us sweetly, and the wood Beckons us to her solitude.

Leave men and lumbering wains behind, And dusty roads, all blank and blind; Come tread on velvet and on silk, Damasked with daisies, white as milk.

Those dryads of the wood, that some Call the wild hyacinths, now are come, And hold their revels in a night Of emerald flecked with candle-light.

The fountains of the meadows play, This is the wild bee's holiday; When summer-snows have sweetly dressed The pasture like a wedding-guest,

By fields of beans that shall eclipse The honey on the rose's lips, With woodruff and the new hay's breath, And wild thyme sweetest in her death,

Skirting the rich man's lawn and hall, The footpath way is free to all; For us his pinks and roses blow: Fling him thanksgiving ere we go!

By orchards yet in rosy veils, By hidden nests of nightingales, Through lonesome valleys where all day The rabbit people scurry and play,

The footpath sets her tender lure. This is the country for the poor; The high-road seeks the crowded sea; Come, take the footpath way with me!

The Footpath Way by Katharine Tynan

[brooklynislandgirl]

"I really wish you had not seen that," Henry put down the blood covered knife that he'd been holding, straightening up to look at Beth. There was no easy explanation for what Beth was seeing, nor would Henry pretend that there was. There were only so many reasons a knife could be drenched in blood, after all, and it was not hunting season. "I do not suppose you are willing to look the other way?"

A Bleak Spiral || Accepting

To everything, a season, the Jesus Book says. Ecclesiastes chapter three, verse one. At least if she remembers it correctly. It was also the chorus of a really lovely Byrds song. The fact that he took away the weapon so that it was no longer the threat it had been moments ago when she'd popped into the Red Pony with a book in hand for him ~The Clockwork Girl by Anna Mazzola~ of all things but really? Just an excuse for Beth to pay him a call. She seems to enjoy doing that more and more the longer she lives in Durant county. It isn't currently hunting season that she's aware of, and maybe might have made her glad. Beth understands some people needing to supplementing their food with wild game. Back home there were legal hunts to keep native and invasive species from eating the islands out of house and home, but there were also limits, understood practices to maintain sustainability that have never been a Haole strong suit. To Beth, it's a worse horror to kill an animal for sport, bragging about one's prowess than it might be to depopulate an overcrowded and overburdened world one person at a time. She continues to look at him though, wide eyes unblinking within her drawn, slender face. She has to make a decision; either she needs to realise she has to betray her friend and leave to call 911...or she has to help him try to recover from what can only be a regrettable mistake. Slowly, she picks her way toward the bar counter. Puts the book down after carefully making sure she hasn't stepped in or on anything. "Seems t' me dat...you need me t' grab some supplies for you. I have hospital grade ~t'irty-five percent~ hydrogen peroxide. Haemoglobin in blood seeks out an' attaches itself t' oxygen an' feeds until it gluts itself. if an' wen police stay investigatin'? Luminol no bid wi' haemoglobin cause it already full. If dat make sense." Her brows are furrowed and she certainly doesn't have the same shine in her face as when she'd walked in. "You don' have to tell me but...dis some kine tribal beef, or..." She's implying a white person. She can't believe Henry would do something like this to Walt. To anyone really. Her voice is all winter rust. "Tell me it was self defense."

[libidomechanica]

Among the bugles call; for on the praise

Began to bloat and purple footcloth, lay the seer.     On which I have shunn’d the while the young or old: the canker live those powers and there beams     that rauishing his she prayed the glad sounds

divine lecture read: that skims, or disordered branches     the seal is set, Next Camus, revels, reader! A God, as a chosen food to feed     where he embark’d, and had not contented?

Nothings, their tiptop nothing grew wild; and be     at rest but still voice of me. And some quiet cave to muse in Ruin, and with a root     to the though when her the Pilgrim of

days outworn, when he saw hypocrite at least I’ll     tell you; found at least, to stake out the hand you relax the ants, thou dost pine for one month’s     frost to flaunt, to dream, I plotted by

Bacchus of all senses clear, and move, unless     omission, which when known, thou pointed to trial: each disclaimed the gray mocker, comes to wonder     flie, o ease your fellow passengers

are almost with forward drew my burthen from his     place was heard in the garden rails. Alas, if Fancie, drawn onward stream. Till then not shew my     bliss: fie, pleased to great, tis night, and the

passing through a white; and white fingered till now,—death’s     dateless night to raise, when the billows ony saucy jacks so happy reign: so slowly     grows never know your father the

court of her teens; and yet t is in vain; not five     yards around me, and poison—oh! Wiser than a glow, and the dreary mountain-top—the     sun. At his right decision of the

light upon her bosom burns bright staves of Destiny     convuls’d clenched in thy bright that dark rain: yet it may veil.—Sad dogs! Scarce had some quiet     air O truant Muse, what need their story

strain, to drag it to a coarser place. And turbans.     There was all, at any Cost stript of this even breast. She sits, but pity and its     Music shall burn upon the throes of

wind, deepening then—he too became. Lashed from the outside     the though he were to an evening his upturned her fabric of mi skirt, just off     yon cape of treason, and made him to

his arm or legs. Or emptied on’t a black dull-gurgling     wave mid-channels of you; I babbled for in their shore until we fill—we fill! I     love their heels but fit to flower, until

Death in this cumbrous flesh, from Káf to Káf reach’d     the which he climate, stopp’d all scarce uplift the voices were their endless emerald. Lattice,     I would not be long, or to keep

the magic ploughs furrow’d deep water-land of Dutchmen     and sober’d morning, to put this time stars, whom daily helpe I craue, may get no almes,     but as wide eye and to his long

lover, fair friends what was real, or ideal,—for both     arrive before the answer’d the pointed to stir?—Unfolded too, and widening noon     with me and gems and living Might, exhaled,

and ripe-ear’d hopes of her monstrous seas, in fact,     the Cross, his penny pelf, and of mountain- top, can this blessed wood where began to move, that     supreme; if there like a housekeeper,

brings, that giant’s arm I’ll behold! But as the apron.     Tis nought we know, since, it grew dim, drew quiet would tell her, wake and weep a true woman     simply did reply, twas worth knowing

it, that our Sexe, and who keeping kine, couched in     his Reign A Sage, who find faultering wheel. He wrote that eye doth make men at once thoughts, sold     cheare her face they put it is, I hold

hand, of foot, of lips: but, as the daunce euen?—And fast,     while down to teach the abode where lives a lassie, O. Among the bugle’s call; for on     the praise? I turned the moon or ladies.

[lurks-no-more]

Was Boromir’s horn material and design ever specified? I don’t recall! probably it was a large boar tusk! Maybe it was a really really big bull!

Can't remember if the design is ever clearly described or specified, but the material is! It's a horn from the "wild kine of Arawn", big white-pelted auroch-like animals from Rhûn ("the East", probably somewhere around the Sea of Rhûn as seen on the LotR maps?). One of Boromir's distant ancestors hunted them, and the horn was then passed down as a heirloom in the house of Stewards.

Am I F1 posting am I LOTR posting I can multitask. Look I’m barely into Two Towers but I’m on another themed field trip and we’re going to look at 11th century “oliphant” hunting horns now. Was Boromir’s horn material and design ever specified? I don’t recall! probably it was a large boar tusk! Maybe it was a really really big bull! This is all more likely than elephant ivory, tho as seen here elephant (and rhinoceros) ivory WAS absolutely in use, especially in early medieval Muslim Europe (Spain, Sicily, and parts of Southern Italy) and was definitely known much further north (too far north tho and you start getting walrus ivory instead). But you’ve gotta see some of the coolest early medieval hunting horns anyway.

From the museum placard:

“The term oliphant refers to an ivory horn such as the one used by the legendary hero Roland, one of Charlemagne’s paladins, to sound the call for battle. Many such horns have been preserved. Usually decorated with hunting and animal motifs, they were made in Islamic-Arab countries as well as Norman Sicily and in Lower Italy. Many of them served as containers for relics in the church treasuries of the West.”

These two are (and I’m just getting this info off more museum placards) from Italy (Salerno or Amalfi, maybe) and from Arab Sicily. The latter, with the very Muslim-style animals in a web of vines, is my absolute fav. Sicily was conquered by the Byzantines, Fatimids, and ex-Viking Normans in succession and the style got neat as hell. Did Tolkien care about this mate I have no idea, I just think it’s the coolest thing. Also these are huge.

*and of course, ivory today is real fucking sad and part of an ecological catastrophe. But it’s worth saying that the 11th century was Not the century that fucked that one up.

[the-writing-warg]

The Wild Kine of Araw

Genus : bovine

Name meaning : wild ox of Oromë

History : Legends claimed they were descendants from Oromë's personal herd of cattle, so they were named Kine of Araw (Araw being the sindarin form of Oromë). They were the quarry of Vorondil the hunter, an ancestor of the ruling stewards of Gondor, and it was he who cut the horn from a kine and made the Great horn out of it, that would later be used by Boromir before his death.

Description : They're barely described at all, save for a brief mention of 'wild white kine' in the appendices of the Lord of the rings, which seems to hint that eventually the Kine of Araw in middle Earth became a sub-species found only "near the Sea of Rhûn" as opposed to being pure Kine of Araw. Which is also supported by the consistent use of the phrase 'wild kine/ox' when describing the history of Boromir's horn. They're also said to be hardier and wilder than any other species of ox in middle Earth.

Influences : In an unpublished manuscript in the Bodleian library, tolkien likens the wild kine to aurochs, an extinct wild ox species that domestic cattle stem from.

Similar species to use as a reference :

Aurochs

"These are a little below the elephant in size, and of the appearance, color, and shape of a bull. Their strength and speed are extraordinary; they spare neither man nor wild beast which they have espied. These the Germans take with much pains in pits and kill them. The young men harden themselves with this exercise and practice themselves in this sort of hunting, and those who have slain the greatest number of them, having produced the horns in public, to serve as evidence, receive great praise." - Julius Caesar describing aurochs in his History of the Gallic War.

Since aurochs had been extinct at the time tolkien lived and so little is mentioned about the wild Kine of Araw, its impossible to know how closely tolkien imagined the two species to look, however there are a number of breeds that still exist today that have similar colouring, confirmation and behaviour to both aurochs and wild kine of Araw.

Pajuna cattle

The closest living relative to aurochs in the world, certain lineages are thought to share similar colours and markings with the aurochs and they share the same forward facing horns. They're extremely hardy cattle that have adapted to harsh living conditions.

Heck cattle

Bred by Heinz and Lutz Heck to be a modern auroch in the 1920s - 1930s, they naturally share alot of traits with the aurochs, they are one of the largest breeds in the world and are extremely aggressive, but they are still smaller than an actual auroch

Indian Gaur

One of the largest and most aggressive breeds of wild cattle, if left undisturbed they are more wary of humans but when in regular / semi-regular contact with humans they become aggressive. They've been known to charge without provocation, kill domestic cattle in fights and there's even been reports of them killing tigers.

Chianina

The largest breed of cow in the world, and is also white which technically makes them closer to the canonical description of the wild kine of Araw than others mentioned. They are more docile than the others on this list, due to working closely with humans and being bred for farm work (pulling carts, ploughing etc)

This post (and maybe more like this in the future) was inspired by @outofangband 's amazing posts on the flora , fauna and general environments of Arda, please go check out their posts if you like this sort of thing.

[outofangband]

Flora and Fauna Specific to Tolkien’s World

Flora, fauna, environment and geography of Arda  I’m going to do specifically named and individual animals and trees, plants and animals canonically named and  elven words for various plants and animals in future posts

These descriptions are pretty brief but I’d be glad to go into more detail about anything!

Black Emperor butterflies: Possibly related to purple emperors today, these were black butterflies found in Mirkwood 

-Crebain: Large crow like birds native to the lands South of the Misty Mountains. Crebain is a plural Sindarin word of Craban meaning ‘crow’ though the species appears to be somewhat different. These were said to be spies of Saruman. 

Great Eagles: Huge eagles far larger than any currently alive. Some were possibly Maiar who served Manwë. Thorondor was among the greatest with a wingspan of dozens of meters, (over a hundred feet)

-Kine of Araw: Huge, wild cattle of Rhûn, the Eastern lands of Middle Earth. Possibly resembling aurochs. 

-Kirinki were small, scarlet birds from Aman not known to Middle Earth. Their song was so high pitched that humans had trouble hearing it

-Mearas: The noble, old horses of Middle earth, larger, stronger, swifter than regular horses 

-Mûmakil: Huge,  Elephantine creatures of the Harad, ridden into battle. They are larger than the modern elephant. Also called olephants

-Wargs: large, vicious wolves of the Northern lands of Middle earth 

Plants: 

-Aeglos was thought to be an ancestor of gorse or whin, growing on Amon Rûdh. It had small white flowers with a sweet smell and became extinct after the first age.

-Culumalda were trees that grew in Northern Ithilien, possibly inspired by laburnum. They had golden flowers and grew in clusters. 

-Elanor flowers are inspired by species in the family Anagallis. They are golden yellow and starlike,  associated with Laurelin. 

-Evermind, Simbelmynë, Uilos are based on species in the anemone family or windflowers. These are also starlike but are white, associated with Telperion. 

-Ilexes were probably based on Holm Oaks, an evergreen oak that grew in warmer climates. They were associated with Ithilien. 

-Kingsfoil or athelas was a sweet smelling herbaceous plant with healing properties. It was used by Lúthien thus implying it grew in Beleriand but was later brought to Middle Earth from Númeanor. 

-Lairelossë or summer snow was a  fragrant tree grown originally in Aman and Tol Eressëa but brought later to Númeanor. Its name meant Summer snow though there was no other description.  The Fragrant trees are a group of various species given from the elves to humans of Númeanor. 

-Lebethron was a tree that grew in Gondor with dark or black wood and was favored by its crafters. 

-Mallorn, plural Mellyrn was a species of golden leafed tree probably based on ancient beech trees. It grew most famously in Lórien and descended from older, golden trees of previous ages. 

-Mallos was a wild flower in the valleys around Gondor, described as looking like a small golden bell. 

-Nessamelda was another fragrant tree of Númeanor, originating in Tol Eressëa. No description is given but the name meant Beloved of Nessa, in reference to the Valar. This species never came to Middle Earth

-Niphredel are similar to snowdrops, their name means small pallor. They grew in Neldoreth in Doriath and later in the realm of Galadriel during the Third age. 

-Taniquelassë was another fragrant tree. Its name meant white high leaf. 

-Oiolairë or Ever Summer was a sweet scented evergreen tree. Elves would tie boughs of it to ships to represent friendship with the Maia of Ulmo. These were another fragrant tree grown originally in Tol Eressëa but brought later to Númeanor. 

-Seregon also grew upon  Amon Rûdh and indeed was the only plant that grew at the very top of the hill. The flowers were blood red, giving the place its ominous appearance of being bathed in blood which of course would become literal

-Vardarianna was yet another Fragrant Tree. It had no description but its name meant Crown gift in reference to the Vala Varda. 

-Yavannamírë was also a Fragrant Tree meaning jewel of Yavanna. It had round, bright red, sweet fruits. 

[royal-wren]

Hey I noticed one of your posts tbh at mentioned Artemis and Hermes being the Mistress and Master of animals respectively. I’ve been seeing some sources that say the Master is Hermes, and others Apollo, which one is it really? 😅

It's both and more than just Hermes and Apollon since the concept and title are widespread as far as a descriptor either to a more important and prevalent aspect/domain or to a smaller one. In Apollon's case it's relating to flocks and cattle, and hunting, he's just more commonplace as a city deity in a similar manner to Athene (in my opinion).

Hermes on the other hand from all the hundreds and hundreds of hours I've researched about him has more prevalence with nature and animals down to his place as god of fertility, birds of omen, mountains, hunting, sacrifices (and sacrificial animals) especially as a god that created the way to make fire by hand, the common man (shepherds, those that toil, all of whom he's incredibly popular with and depended on), and with a very heavy association with the Nymphai. He's also a god of animal husbandry, herds, and their predators. It's something he's known for and is one of the earliest features of his worship, especially as a pre-hellenic deity in connection to the earth/wilderness/fertility

Homeric Hymn 4 to Hermes 560 ff : "[Hermes] tends the wild roving, horned oxen and horses and patient mules . . . Zeus himself . . . commanded that glorious Hermes should be lord over all birds of prey and grim-eyed lions, and boars with gleaming tusks [i.e. the predators of herds], and over [herder's] dogs and all the herds and flocks that the wide earth nourishes, and over all sheep."

Hesiod, Theogony 444 ff (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C8th or 7th B.C.) : "She [Hekate] is good in the byre with Hermes to increase the stock.The droves of kine and wide herds of goats and flocks of fleecy sheep, if she will, she increases from a few, or makes many to be less."

Pausanias, Description of Greece 2. 3. 4 (trans. Jones) (Greek travelogue C2nd A.D.) : "Hermes is the god who is thought most to care for and to increase flocks, as Homer puts it in the Iliad:--‘Son was he of Phorbas, the dearest of Trojans to Hermes, rich in flocks, for the god vouchsafed him wealth in abundance.’"

For me -- in my personal practice Hermes just has a bigger slice and importance put behind every single part of him that falls into that category. If you want to learn more Theoi's pages for the two are a good start, and you can dm me for all the other papers/information I have on it.

What's important is what you connect with and have a preference for to lean any way you want and any way that fits better for you.

[arofili]

the line of elros ❖ stewards of gondor ❖ headcanon disclaimer

          Pelendur was a lord of the House of Húrin and served as the Steward to the kings Ondoher and Eärnil II. He was a friend of Eärnil and sympathetic to his ambitions to achieve royalty for his descendants, though during Ondoher’s rules it was assumed that this would be possible only through marriage, perhaps of Eärnil’s son Eärnur to Ondoher’s daughter Fíriel.           Before any such arrangement could be made, Fíriel was wed to Prince Arvedui of Arthedain, the last remnant of the once-noble realm of Arnor. Eärnur was relieved, for his interests lay in men, but Eärnil’s frustration only grew.           When Gondor faced the double threat of attack by the Wainriders and Haradrim, Ondoher appointed Eärnil general of the southern army, for despite their political conflicts there was respect between them, and Eärnil was a great warrior. Ondoher ordered his younger son Faramir to remain in Minas Anor as regent, aided by Steward Pelendur, in case he and his other heirs should fall in battle.           While Eärnil routed the Haradrim, Ondoher’s army faced a greater threat than they had anticipated, and the King, his elder son Artamir, and his nephew Minohtar were all slain. Worst of all was the discovery of Faramir’s demise, for he had refused to stay behind and rode to war with the Éothéod in disguise. Though Eärnil avenged their deaths and routed the Wainriders from Gondor, there was now no clear heir to the throne.           Pelendur, deeply grieved by the loss of the King and his heirs, assumed his Stewardly responsibility as ruler of Gondor until a new King could be crowned. He had never expected this burden, and it wore on him; it was only through the support of his wife Meleth that he was able to endure while the Council of Gondor deliberated who would be their next leader.           Eärnil, a descendant of King Telumehtar Umbardacil through his younger son Arcíryas, presented his claim with the confidence that he would swiftly be declared King, but he was met with an unexpected challenge in the form of Ondoher’s son-in-law, Prince Arvedui. As the husband of the last King’s daughter Fíriel, who under the old laws of Númenor would have inherited as Ruling Queen, Arvedui argued that she was the rightful ruler of Gondor. Since it had been many long centuries since the Dúnedain had been led by a woman, he claimed that he should become King of Gondor in her stead. Additionally, Arvedui emphasized his position as the Heir of Isildur, once a King of Gondor himself, and thus also the Heir of High King Elendil; his children would be heirs of Arnor and Gondor, reuniting the Two Kingdoms and fulfilling the prophecy of the seer Malbeth.           But to the men of Gondor, Arthedain was a small kingdom and only a remnant of Arnor, never as glorious as their own realm. Furthermore, Pelendur had ever been a friend of Eärnil and spoke for him among the Council of Gondor. After a year of debate, they denied Arvedui’s claim and crowned Eärnil II King instead.           Pelendur served as Eärnil’s Steward for the rest of his life, and upon his death, Eärnil chose his son Vorondil as the next Steward, making the position hereditary in honor of his friend’s loyalty. Vorondil was renowned as a hunter for his pursuit of the Kine of Araw near the far-off shores of the Sea of Rhûn where he had traveled in his youth.           From one of these great, wild white oxen, he fashioned a great horn bound with silver and engraved with ancient characters. This horn passed from Vorondil to his heir, Mardil, and from him to his, and so forth from eldest son to eldest son through many generations, until it met its end with Boromir son of Denethor II. The horn was part of a matched pair, the other of which was given to his wife Anwariel as a courting gift, though this was lost long before Boromir’s time.

[teatitty]

Birga was also super venomous to the fae folk too. We know this cuz in the boyhood deeds Fionn chucks it into one of the fairy hills after some dude (Aed, the son of Fidga, don’t worry about the specifics of why) and then is like “well someone definitely died but idk who the fuck it was so” and then saw a fae woman and seized her to pledge for his spear, to which she agreed if he released her

He does and as she throws it back out he hears her wailing/complaining: 

Venom the spear, And venom the hand that threw it If it is not cast out of the knoll, A murrain (plague/epidemic) will seize the land

Also in this same story we actually get to see one of Fionn’s own poems! He came up with the whole thing on the spot, which is super fucking impressive for a literal child. Obviously this poem was translated from ancient irish to latin to english so it’s probably not as “smooth” or “pretty” as it used to be but here it is anyway (note: “may-day” is Beltane)

May-day, season surpassing! Splendid is colour then. Blackbirds sing a full lay, if there be a slender shaft of day. The dust-coloured cuckoo calls aloud: Welcome, splendid summer! The bitterness of bad weather is past, the boughs of the wood are a thicket. Summer cuts the river down, the swift herd of horses seeks the pool, the long hair of the heather is outspread, the soft white bog-down grows. Panic startles the heart of the deer, the smooth sea runs apace-season when ocean sinks asleep-blossom covers the world. Bees with puny strength carry a goodly burden, the harvest of blossoms; up the mountain-side kine take with them mud, the ant makes a rich meal. The harp of the forest sounds music, the sail gathers-perfect peace. Colour has settled on every height, haze on the lake of full waters. The corncrake, a strenuous bard, discourses; the lofty virgin waterfall sings a welcome to the warm pool; the talk of the rushes is come. Light swallows dart aloft, loud melody reaches round the hill, the soft rich mast buds, the stuttering quagmire rehearses. The peat-bog is as the raven’s coat, the loud cuckoo bids welcome, the speckled fish leaps, strong is the bound of the swift warrior. Man flourishes, the maiden buds in her fair strong pride; perfect each forest from top to ground, perfect each great stately plain. Delightful is the season’s splendor, rough winter has gone, white is every fruitful wood, a joyous peace in summer. A flock of birds settles in the midst of meadows; the green field rustles, wherein is a brawling white stream. A wild longing is on you to race horses, the ranked host is ranged around: A bright shaft has been shot into the land, so that the water-flag is gold beneath it. A timorous tiny persistent little fellow sings at the top of his voice, the lark sings clear tidings: surpassing May-day of delicate colours!

[sachigram]

Telescope Now Chapter 4

((click here to read on ao3!!))

When Izaya wakes again, it's dark outside. He jumps, thinking he slept all day, but then he realizes it's just raining again. He feels a bout of nausea from his sudden movement, and he quickly sinks back into the couch with a loud groan.

“You sick?” Shizuo's voice asks. Izaya squints up at him. Shizuo is still here? He's on the other side of the sectional, as if determined to be as far away from Izaya as possible.

“Why're you here?” Izaya asks, letting his head fall. He doesn't remember much of the night before after deciding to go to Sunshine 60. He definitely doesn't remember how he got home.

“Wow. Did you just entirely forget about last night, or are you still waking up?” Shizuo says, and Izaya rolls so he can look at Shizuo without lifting his head.

“We didn't fuck, did we?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo chokes on his own saliva, his face going bright red as he coughs.

“What?! No! What the fuck?!”

“Ah. Then I guess it doesn't matter what happened,” Izaya says. He pulls his coat a little tighter around himself. He wants a blanket, but he doesn't want to move, and he's damn sure not going to ask Shizuo to get him one.

“It matters,” Shizuo says. He's got his feet propped on the coffee table, and Izaya considers berating him for it, but he lets it go. Shizuo must have helped him home.

“How pathetic am I?” Izaya asks, chuckling at his own misfortune. “Reduced to being helped by someone who wants me dead. Is this what rock bottom is like?”

“Stop being dramatic,” Shizuo huffs. “You got drunk. It happens. I'd be wasted all the time if I were you.”

“Ah.”

“I mean— fuck, that came out wrong. It's just that you're, you know, going through stuff, and I'm just saying if it were me, I wouldn't be able to handle it,” Shizuo babbles. Izaya smirks.

“What about any of this makes you think I'm handling it?”

“It just seems like you're the type that can handle anything,” Shizuo says.

“Shizu-chan, you don't know a thing about me. I guess that's commonplace for you, isn't it? Not knowing things.” Izaya tries to glare at Shizuo, but it's more effort than it's worth, being an asshole when he feels this bad. “Why did you stay the night here?”

“It was raining,” Shizuo says. “Also you were...upset. I don't know, I guess I thought it'd make me look even worse to leave before you woke up. I should have, though, since you don't even remember half of what you said.”

Izaya frowns, hating this. What the hell did he say? Surely, even drunk, he wouldn't go professing all his secrets to Shizuo, right? He really doesn't need another reason for anyone to pity him right now, and it's not like he's ever held on to the hope that Shizuo returns his desires. He decided a long time ago that if he couldn't have Shizuo's affesctions, he'd accept all of Shizuo's hatred. This is old news, nothing worth fretting over.

Right?

“What did I say?” Izaya asks.

“Uh.” Shizuo rubs the back of his neck, and Izaya is mortified, on pins and needles as he waits for Shizuo to keep talking. “You cried. Like, a lot. It was kind of concerning. You were even crying while you were asleep.”

“Oh. That's all?”

“That's all?”

“I can live with crying while drunk. Maybe I'm a sad drunk. I don't get drunk often enough to know.” Izaya tilts his head toward the TV and snorts. Shizuo is watching a home renovation show.

“You also passed out in the middle of the sidewalk. I guess you blacked out from the alcohol. I didn't know how drunk you were until we were moving. I should've stopped you from drinking so much,” Shizuo says.

“Stop acting like you're responsible for me. It's annoying.”

“You're annoying,” Shizuo counters maturely.

Izaya is going to tell Shizuo to leave, but it sticks in his mouth, refuses to come out. Shizuo looks nice like this, in the dim light from Izaya's living room, his white sleeves rolled up and his hair tousled from crashing on the couch. Izaya just wishes he could watch Shizuo stuffing his face with food to complete the image. It's like observing a wild animal in its natural habitat after getting used to only seeing images of it hunting. Maybe Shizuo feels the same way about Izaya, because despite his casual demeanor, he doesn't seem very at ease. Maybe he thinks Izaya is about to attack when in actuality, Izaya can barely lift his own head.

“Do you need something?” Shizuo asks suddenly. Izaya realizes he was staring.

“No.” Izaya watches a woman on the TV have a breakdown about her counters being too dark. Everything about this situation is so bizarre that Izaya can't grasp it's actually happening. ��Am I still asleep?” he asks, expecting his sisters to emerge from somewhere.

“Stop being weird,” Shizuo says with a grimace, and Izaya laughs.

“I think maybe I've finally gone insane. I don't recognize dreams from reality anymore. They all just blend together.”

“You mentioned that before.”

Izaya grumbles, tries again to remember the night before. He recalls bits and pieces, knows he was an emotional wreck. It's possible he spilled his guts to Shizuo and Shizuo is just being nice about it. Then again, Shizuo has never been nice about anything before, so Izaya doubts it.

“Can you do me a favor?” Izaya asks suddenly, and Shizuo blinks at him. “Well. Multiple favors, actually.”

“What?”

“Can you go to the medicine cabinet and get me some ibuprofen? It's in my bathroom upstairs. Also a glass of water— and a blanket. It's freezing in here.” Izaya shivers in emphasis.

Shizuo narrows his gaze at Izaya before standing and shuffling away. Izaya hugs his coat tighter around himself. It's really too cold, and he wants to adjust the heat, but he doesn't want to move. Asking Shizuo to adjust the thermostat would be like challenging the gods. Izaya has no doubts Shizuo would break the thermostat into something completely unrecognizable, an avant-garde masterpiece.

Shizuo returns with a grunt. He tosses a heavy blanket over Izaya's head, and sets the pills and water on the table. Izaya adjusts, recognizing the fabric of the blanket.

“You brought the duvet from my bed,” he says, amused.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know where you keep extra blankets?” Shizuo asks, defensive.

Izaya hums and lifts up to grab the pills. He pauses, groaning as the room spins around him. Carefully, he sets the pills back down and stands, hurrying to the bathroom where he collapses in front of the toilet and vomits until his stomach is even emptier than it was before.

“Now this is rock bottom,” he murmurs, leaning back and flushing the toilet with his foot. He stays on the floor for a few moments, trying to decide whether he should throw up more, or risk taking the pills now. He stands and leans against the counter, looking at himself in the mirror. His reflection seems to blur around the edges, almost as if he's just an illusion. He sneers at himself. “I don't have time for this today. Not while he's here. Torture me later.”

“Are you talking to yourself?” Shizuo's voice asks, muffled from the wood of the door.

“Does that make you feel left out?” Izaya asks.

“Nah, knock yourself out. I'm gonna order food. You don't have anything here. What do you want?”

Izaya pauses, looking at the door in disbelief. He opens it, and Shizuo stands there, scowling at him.

“Well?” Shizuo barks.

“You're having food delivered here?” Izaya asks, giddy in spite of himself that Shizuo isn't leaving any time soon. “Get whatever you want. I don't think I'll be eating for a while unless I want to keep barfing.”

“Eh, soon enough you'll be craving something greasy. Tom-san always eats a lot after a binger.” Shizuo reaches in his pocket, pulling his phone out. He looks at Izaya closely. “Will you turn your nose up at a burger?”

Izaya grimaces, feeling nauseated at the thought of something so unhealthy. “If I do, you can just eat it yourself.”

“Fair point,” Shizuo says, and then he walks back towards the living room.

“What the fuck is going on?” Izaya asks his reflection. “Shizu-chan is hanging out with me.” He starts brushing his teeth. “Am I still dreaming?”

“Nope!” Mairu hops up on the bathroom counter, kicking her feet out as she watches him. “You've been asleep so long. I'm bored, you know?” She reaches out and pokes him. “I think Shizuo likes you.”

Izaya cuts his eyes at her. This is the first time he's actually seen either of the twins outside of his dreams. He looks around for Kururi, finally sees her hiding slightly behind Mairu.

“He seems worried about you,” Mairu continues. “You're way more popular than we thought.”

“You should've seen how many people came to your funeral,” Izaya says after he spits into the sink. “No one came to support me, aside from maybe Shiki-san. Kine wasn't even there.”

“Shiki-san likes you, too,” Mairu says.

“Different from Shizuo,” Kururi adds, her voice small. She sounds upset, and in contrast Mairu sounds too cheerful, like she's trying to make up for Kururi.

“Yeah, I don't think Shiki-san wants to jump your bones. But he might! Oh wow, that'd be something. We'd be loaded for real!” Mairu giggles and waves her arms around. “Hey, get over Shizuo and try to get with Shiki-san instead. Or Akabayashi-san! They're both executives, right?”

“I regret ever raising you,” Izaya tells them. He grabs his headband and pulls his bangs off his forehead so he can wash his face.

“Maybe this is what it will take to make you and Shizuo stop fighting,” Mairu says. “One big tragedy to bring people closer together! It's like a messed up love story.”

“Shizu-chan hates me,” Izaya says.

“Then why is he visiting you?” Kururi asks.

“I don't know. Why are you visiting me?” Izaya counters.

“We're here every day. You need other people, you know, aside from us.” She bites her lip, a nervous habit of hers, and she adds, quietly, “we miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Izaya says. He looks over at their faces, and his eyes burn. “I don't know how I'm supposed to move on.”

“We aren't going to let you move on,” Mairu says, and she reaches out to take Izaya's hand. He lets go of his facial products in favor of giving them his full attention.

“Is it really you in my dreams?” Izaya asks them. “Sometimes I see memories, but then other times it's like you're both trying to scare me to death.”

“Oh, who knows?” Mairu asks. She grins at him. “Maybe it's your own guilty conscience, or maybe we're just trying to wake you up.”

“You're both rotten. I don't know why I miss you.”

“I wanna talk more about Shizuo!” Mairu says.

“He asks us about you,” Kururi says.

“He does?” Izaya asks.

“Whenever he sees us, he'll mention you. He's kind of obsessed with you, but I guess you know that already,” Mairu says.

“Obsessed,” Izaya repeats, looking at himself in the mirror again. “He probably just feels sorry for me.”

“Would you feel sorry if it was him?” Kururi asks.

“You mean if Kasuka died?” Izaya puts a dollop of soap in his palm and starts his tedious skincare routine. “I don't know. I think I'd be happy if he was in pain. If he was miserable, I'd know he wasn't out forgetting about me.” He rinses his face and looks up to find his sisters aren't there anymore. Izaya takes a deep breath and towels his face dry before applying a moisturizer. Shizuo appears then, his eyebrows rising as he looks at Izaya.

“Wow. Are those cat ears?” Shizuo asks, grinning. He points to the headband.

“My sisters have matching ones,” Izaya says. “Or had, I guess.”

“Food's on the way. Sorry it's more junk, but I can't really cook.”

Izaya pauses and glances over at him. “Shinra told you to babysit me, didn't he?”

“'Babysit' wasn't really what he said,” Shizuo says, and he leans against the door frame. “Look, I liked your sisters. I really think they would've liked for me to...”

“Stop.” Izaya doesn't look at him, doesn't dare. He applies another product to his face and forces his voice into indifference. “Nothing has changed about me, Shizu-chan. So you've seen a glimpse of my personality you don't hate yet, so what? It doesn't mean you and I are going to be chummy.”

“No shit,” Shizuo snaps.

“What exactly do you think you're going to get out of this? My gratitude? Do you think I'm going to stop tormenting you? Allow me to ease your caveman thoughts before you have a meltdown— I'm the same person I always was, and I'm incapable of leaving you in peace.”

“I-za-ya.” When Shizuo says it like that, it's almost like a song, like a prelude to an incoming battle cry. Izaya tenses, can't help it, but at the same time, he's craving for Shizuo to throw a punch. Izaya needs some normalcy, and even if he's enjoying Shizuo's company for some incredibly bizarre reason, a fight would make them both feel so much better. Izaya has a lot of pent up tension, is practically vibrating with it, and Shizuo must be able to tell, because the fury in his eyes evaporates and is replaced with something else, something terrible.

“I don't want your pity, and I don't want your help,” Izaya hisses, glaring at him. He feels such hatred in his body that he thinks he might sink into the ground from the weight of it.

“I don't pity you,” Shizuo says.

“Right. I'm sure some part of you enjoys this. I'm actually proud, Shizu-chan, that's very cruel of you. I didn't think you had the brain power to be so vindictive.”

“I'm tired of hating you, Izaya,” Shizuo says suddenly, his voice rising. He grips the top of the door frame and cracks it. “It's exhausting, and it's stupid. We're too old for this shit.”

“So saving me from myself is going to make me hate you less?” Izaya spits, and Shizuo growls before taking a step forward.

“Where does this end? Tell me that. When you envision your life without me, is it because you've killed me? What do I have to do to get you to leave me the fuck alone?!” Shizuo shouts, and Izaya takes a step back, can't help it. He's cornered, and they both know it. Still, Izaya isn't capable of yielding, and he's even less capable of shutting up, even when it's good for him.

“I don't envision you at all unless it's the idea of you dying in front of me.”

“Bullshit. You're obsessed with me, you won't even let me walk down the street without trying to pick a fight with me. Why the fuck do you hate me so much?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya leers up at him.

“Because you're an idiot, an overgrown toddler who destroys everything in his path the second he doesn't get his way. You spout your incessant drivel about hating violence, but violence is all you are, all you're capable of. You're a hypocrite, Shizu-chan, and I could forgive so many things, but I truly hate hypocrisy.” Izaya slaps another serum on his face and turns back to the mirror. He's well-aware of how strange this scenario is, Shizuo arguing with Izaya while he's grooming and hungover. This is a new one, strange even for them.

“God, just shut up, I'm so tired of arguing with you,” Shizuo says, shoving Izaya a bit. Izaya caches himself on the counter and turns, a knife in his hand.

“Get out,” Izaya says, and Shizuo looks from the knife to Izaya's face.

“No.”

“I mean it, get out. I feel like shit and your questions are idiotic. You're really going to ask me why I hate you? Are you really that stupid?” Izaya lifts the knife to Shizuo's neck, but Shizuo still doesn't back down. Of course he doesn't. “Last time I checked, you hated me just as much as I hate you. Can you tell me why?”

“Because you're a shitty parasite who ruins everyone's lives. You know all the shit you've done to me! You're obsessed, like I said—“

“Stop saying I'm obsessed with you like you aren't equally as hyper-focused on me. Sometimes I don't even do anything! You'd rather blame every problem you have on me than take responsibility for yourself.”

“That's because it is always to do with you, and you fucking know it!” Shizuo shouts, tilting forward. The knife slides a bit, and a trickle of blood flows from Shizuo's neck. Izaya watches it drip down, his lips curling in a snarl.

“If you hate me so much then just leave! I didn't ask for you to help me, I didn't ask for you to save my life, and I'm not asking you to stay now, you fucking monster!”

Shizuo throws a punch, and Izaya moves out of the way before slashing wildly at Shizuo's chest. Shizuo curses and jumps back, and the wall cracks where Shizuo hits it. They glare at each other, hatred clear in their faces, and Izaya can't help but grin wickedly. This is more like it. This is the monster he knows so well.

“God, Iza-nii, do you just have to ruin everything?” Mairu's voice asks from behind him. He whirls to face the mirror, and it's her face he sees instead of his own. She sounds hollow, echoing. Sometimes the twins sound like this, and sometimes they sound clear as day, as if they're really next to him.

“You aren't real,” he tells the mirror. His hand loosens around the knife, and it hits the floor, clattering on the tile. Shizuo looks at it, and then back at Izaya.

“You're really fucked up, aren't you?” Shizuo asks, but Izaya is still looking at Mairu's face. It's so easy to tell she isn't really alive anymore when she looks like this, twisted and contorted. She vanishes, and Izaya sees his own face, hisses and yanks the headband off before he steps past Shizuo and leaves the bathroom.

“Just get away from me, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, but of course Shizuo follows. He watches with a frown as Izaya marches into the kitchen and fishes a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet.

“Is that really a good idea?” Shizuo asks. “You're already sick.”

“Hair of the dog,” Izaya says, pouring himself a serving. He glances at Shizuo, sighs, and then gets out a glass for him, too.

“You wanna share your fancy shit with me?” Shizuo asks. Izaya shrugs.

“Sure, why not? Give you a taste of things you can't afford on your own. It'll hurt that much more next time you're forced to buy cheap.” Izaya pours it and slides it towards Shizuo, and then he raises his own glass. “To you, monster. May you live a long life full of destruction and torment.”

“Yeah, fuck you, too,” Shizuo growls. He takes a sip, and his eyes widen a bit.

“Smooth, right? This is Shiki-san's brand. I don't break it out very often.” Izaya throws his drink back and shudders. His stomach lurches in protest, and he worries the drink might surge back up, but it doesn't. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“I've had weirder,” Shizuo says. He leans on the counter and watches Izaya closely. “You never answered my question.”

“I'm sure I'll die of old age before I answer everything you don't understand,” Izaya says.

“Where do you see this going? I mean it, do you really think we can fight forever?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya gazes down into his empty glass thoughtfully.

“I try not to think about you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, and there is truth in that. He tries very hard to think about anything else.

“If you don't think of me, then how the hell do you come up with your batshit crazy schemes to piss me off? Why can't you leave me alone?”

“I don't envision my life without you, either,” Izaya says simply, and he looks up at Shizuo's confused expression.  

“We can't keep this up forever.” Shizuo takes another sip of his drink. “One of us is going to die if we keep fighting.”

“A hatred like ours won't just go away. Hate is a strong emotion, one of the strongest we're capable of. If you truly hate someone, you hate them forever.”

“I don't buy that. You can stop being an asshole, and I'll stop chasing you down. It's as easy as that.”

“Is it?” Izaya asks. He pours himself another glass before he tops Shizuo off as well.

“You're the one who won't let this go,” Shizuo says gruffly.

“You're right,” Izaya replies, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. “It's not possible for me to stop hating you.”

“What if I just stop giving you the time of day? Stop rising to it, like everyone's always told me I should?” Shizuo asks, his eyes darkening as he leans closer to Izaya.

“Do you really think you can ignore me?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo throws the rest of his drink back before baring his teeth.

“I think I'll kill you if you don't back the fuck off.”

“So then kill me,” Izaya says. “I always imagined you would.”

“You want me to kill you?” Shizuo asks in disbelief, and Izaya pouts as the familiar ferocity leaves Shizuo's features.

“I'd love it if I could kill you, but I don't think you're human enough to die. I'm sure one day you'll go too far, or I will, and then you won't stop. You'll kill me, and everyone will know what you're capable of.” Izaya smiles, but it's not kind, and it's not happy. “I win either way.”

“You're crazy,” Shizuo snaps. He slams his empty glass on the counter, and it shatters. Neither of them look away from each other. “Something's wrong with you, something with your brain.”

“Pot, kettle,” Izaya says, and he gets out another glass for Shizuo. “You asked me if I'd leave you alone, and now you have your answer.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I fucking do. You're never gonna stop bothering me.”

“And you'll never stop chasing me. Isn't there a comfort in that?” Izaya asks as he pours Shizuo's glass. Shizuo barks a laugh, and Izaya looks up at him, dazed, taken aback that Shizuo could ever seem so relaxed in his presence.

“God. God. Yeah, there is.” Shizuo lifts his new glass of whiskey to Izaya. “Somehow, you're the most stable thing in my life.”

“I do aim to please you, Shizu-chan.” Izaya smirks before he sips his drink. “I bet you're wishing you let me get hit by that truck now, huh?”

Shizuo grimaces as he tosses the entirety of his drink back. “No.”

“Liar. It would've solved all your problems, and it would've been hands-off for you. Hell, you would've had a front-row seat to it! Do you think you would've been in the splash zone?”

“Izaya, fuck, stop. I don't want to think about it, okay? You—“ Shizuo shakes his head, tops off his own glass this time. “Do you really not give a fuck about yourself at all?”

Izaya scoffs, not liking the direction this conversation is going. Shizuo was supposed to like the idea, was supposed to lament saving someone who would never change. He isn't supposed to be looking at Izaya like this, like he actually gives a damn.

“Is that why you were on Sunshine last night?” Shizuo continues, and the implications hang. Izaya snorts.

“You think I was going to jump?”

“Were you?”

“Is that why you're here, Shizu-chan?”

“Answer my question, flea.”

“Answer mine!”

They glower at each other, Shizuo leaning over the shattered glass on the counter, and they both startle when there's a knock at the door. Shizuo grumbles and moves towards it, and Izaya watches him go, considers putting a cleaning product in Shizuo's drink, but thinks better of it.

“How domestic of you to answer my door, Shizu-chan,” Izaya lilts. “Rumors will spread, you know? You can't even blame me for it.”

“Fuck you, it's the—“ Shizuo starts, and then he growls. “Dammit, Shinra, what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?!” Shinra shuffles inside, Celty in tow, and they both look from Shizuo to Izaya. Izaya's head throbs.

“Great, now there are two monsters in my home,” he mutters, sipping more whiskey. He feels like he'd rather be alone with the ghosts and his looming insanity than deal with all this at once.

“Did you stay the night?” Shinra asks Shizuo, ignoring Izaya and his dramatics.

“Well, yeah, I mean... It's storming and he's...” Shizuo jerks his thumb towards Izaya. “He's losing it.”

“That implies there was something left to lose!” Shinra says, laughing, and Izaya sees red. He throws his glass at Shinra, but Celty's shadows catch it before it makes impact. “Izaya-kun! What was that for?!”

Rather than answer, Izaya picks up the entire bottle of whiskey and pads towards his couch. He feels them all looking at him, but he's too tipsy to care. They're murmuring amongst themselves, and Izaya is busy tuning them out when someone jumps onto the couch next to him, startling him.

“Mairu,” he hisses lowly as she shakes his arm. She feels so real, so heavy next to him.

“Iza-nii! I'm bored!” Mairu exclaims, and the entire couch seems to move with the way she's bouncing.

“You're going to hurt him,” Kururi says, appearing at Izaya's other side.

“Look at him, he's already hurt!” Mairu keeps shaking Izaya, who has to fight to put the bottle on the coffee table before she can make him spill it. “IZA-NII!”

“Get off me!” Izaya snaps, shoving at her. It does nothing, as he just seems to phase through her. He looks at his hands, wondering how she can touch him, but he can't touch her. “You can't be here now, I'm not alone,” he whispers vehemently.

Neither of the twins seem to hear him, or more likely, they're ignoring him. They barely listened when they were alive, so Izaya isn't surprised. He feels himself being tugged by them, by something else, and he closes his eyes as a light blinds him and makes his terrible headache even worse.

When he opens his eyes, he's on the roof at Raijin. Izaya would recognize it anywhere. He used to come up here for lunch and for quiet, though Shinra would often find him anyway. He looks down at himself and is surprised to find he's transparent. He can see the tiles below as if he's not really here at all.

Off to the side, he sees a younger version of himself absorbed in a book. Izaya recognizes the title, The Picture of Dorian Gray. He still has the book at home, and he rereads it pretty often. He watches himself for a few moments, and then he hears movement on the stairs, voices carrying. The younger version of himself scoffs before ducking behind the wall, out of sight. The door opens to reveal Shizuo storming out onto the roof, Shinra chasing after him.

“Fucking drop it, Shinra!” Shizuo yells, his hands in fists. He whirls on the younger Shinra, who throws his hands up in surrender. “I'm not being nice to that goddamn bloodsucker! I'm tired of you talking to me about him; it just pisses me off!”

“I'm sorry! It's just that you're both my friends, and...” Shinra rubs at the back of his neck. “It'd be so much easier if we could all hang out together. I really think you two could be great friends.”

“What did I just say?!” Shizuo takes a threatening step forward, and Shinra howls before jumping back. “He's been sending thugs after me! I know it's him, and I'm gonna wring his scrawny neck until his head pops off!”

“Shizuo-kun, please, he's just trying to get a rise out of you! He's still really mad about you hating him on first sight, and—“

“If you say another word, one more word to me about making nice with that bastard, I'm gonna seriously hurt you. I hate him, and I want him dead. If I never saw him again, it'd be too fucking soon.”

Izaya watches them, and then he turns to his younger self, winces at the expression he sees. He remembers this day, remembers overhearing this conversation.

“I just wish you didn't feel that way,” Shinra says, and then he sighs. “C'mon, don't threaten me! I'm your friend, you know?”

“You're his friend, too,” Shizuo spits, and he crosses his arms. “I mean it, Shinra, I'm gonna kill him one day. You might as well get it through your head. I can't be chummy with a guy like that.”

“It boggles the mind that you're even chummy with me,” Shinra says, grinning wryly, and Shizuo shrugs.

“Yeah, don't remind me. You're just one of the only people who isn't scared of me, that's all it is.”

“Liar,” Izaya says, knowing full well no one can hear him. “I wasn't scared of you either, and you hated me for it.”

Shinra and Shizuo leave soon after, and Izaya is left alone with the younger version of himself, who is fingering the corners of his book forlornly. Izaya wishes he could say something to himself, but at the same time, he has no idea what he'd even say. He doesn't have any wisdom to offer, and as for comfort, every version of himself would reject it.

“This is when I decided I'd make him hate me more than anyone else,” he says aloud, watching as the young Izaya goes back to reading, huddled in a corner, tucked into himself. “I thought if it was the only way to get him to look at me, I'd be okay with it.”

“Does it work out?” the younger Izaya asks, suddenly looking right at him, maybe even through him. “Are you happy?”

“Does it matter? He's looking.”

There's a tug on his arm, and Izaya jerks awake, finds he's flat on the floor beside his coffee table. Shinra is hovering over him.

“Izaya-kun? Hey, it's okay.” Shinra puts a calming hand on Izaya's cheek, and Izaya leans into it, needs to know Shinra is really here. “Do you know where you are?”

“I'm home. Shizu-chan was here...” Izaya looks around wildly until his eyes settle on Shizuo, who is standing beside Celty, a worried look on his face. “Weren't we just at school?”

“School?” Shinra asks. “What did you see?”

“My sisters were here...” Izaya groans and tries to sit up. A fresh wave of nausea hits him, and he curls into himself instead. “You think I'm crazy.”

“I don't. I think you're going through too much for anyone to go through alone.” Shinra leans down, closer to Izaya's ear. “I'm here,” Shinra says softly, and Izaya withholds a laugh. If this isn't real, this is the cruelest trick his mind has played on him so far.

“You're heavy,” Izaya mumbles, and Shinra pulls back, offers a hand to help Izaya up.

“What the hell is this? He's seeing ghosts and passing out? And we're gonna act like it's okay?” Shizuo asks, and Shinra sighs as he supports Izaya onto the couch.

“It could be a lot of things. All of this could still be the mind processing grief, it could be sleep-deprivation—“

“I slept fine last night,” Izaya interjects, and Shinra looks between him and Shizuo, his eyebrows raised.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Shizuo says, narrowing his eyes at Shinra. “You asked me to look after him, and he was freaking out. What was I supposed to do, leave him here alone?”

“It's just above and beyond what I asked you to do, that's all,” Shinra says, and then he turns to Izaya. “How are you feeling right now?”

“Hungry,” Izaya says earnestly. “Aren't we having food delivered soon, Shizu-chan?”

“It's here already. You just had to go and pass out.” Shizuo walks towards the couch, a paper bag in his hand, and he sets it on the coffee table in front of Izaya.

“I'm so happy the two of you are finally getting along,” Shinra says happily. He wilts when Shizuo and Izaya both give him a look.

“Can you leave? I was fine till you showed up,” Izaya says.

“So you were fine alone with Shizuo-kun?” Shinra asks.

“Yes,” Izaya snaps as he unwraps his hamburger, which is ridiculously big. “Look at this thing. How the hell do I eat this, Shizu-chan?”

“You eat it, dumbass. Can you even eat real food, or do you exclusively live off the blood of others?” Shizuo asks as he flops onto the couch beside Izaya. He reaches for the bag, and he hums in thanks when Izaya passes it to him.

“Well, Celty, I think we can go! They seem fine!” Shinra says, and he balks when Celty's PDA shoves into his face. “Really, they're doing great! You heard Izaya-kun, he wants us to go!”

“Celty can stay. You're the one on my nerves,” Izaya mumbles through a mouthful of food. Shizuo's lips twitch upwards.

“Celty and I are a package deal!” Shinra wails, and he looks closely at Shizuo. “Call if anything happens, okay?”

“Shinra really should monitor you. You passed out so suddenly.” Celty's PDA floods Izaya's vision, and he squints at the bright screen, his eyes struggling to adjust.

“I'm fine. You can all go,” Izaya says.

“No. You can relent to letting Shizuo-kun stay, or you can come stay with me. You can't be alone, I'm sorry.” Shinra steps forward and puts a hand on Izaya's shoulder, his fingers squeezing.

“As if any of you care what happens to me.” Izaya tries to shrug Shinra's hand off him, but Shinra holds on tight.

“I do care, and so does Celty.” Shinra frowns and shakes Izaya a bit. “I really think you should come stay with us for a while.”

“He's fine, I'm watching him,” Shizuo says. Izaya grimaces at him when he sees Shizuo is already almost done with his own burger, his cheeks full of food like some sort of monstrous rodent. He glares over at Izaya. “What?”

“Watching you disgusts me,” Izaya says, leaning forward to put his burger on the coffee table.

“You watching me disgusts me!” Shizuo shoots back.

“How am I supposed to look at anything else when you're smacking and—“

“Okay!” Shinra says, his hands going up. “Don't kill each other. I don't have other friends to replace you.” He nods at Shizuo, wordlessly conveying his thanks, and then he's tugging Celty towards the door. Izaya tongues at his cheek, and when he hears the door closed, he turns to Shizuo.

“You can leave now, monster. I don't want you here.”

“Tough shit,” Shizuo replies, wadding up the paper his burger was wrapped in. “Shinra's right, you shouldn't be alone.”

“I don't want you here!” Izaya shouts, and Shizuo stiffens. Izaya rarely raises his voice, hates to lose his cool, but the longer Shizuo stays and acts like Izaya is anything other than an enemy, the more Izaya feels himself slipping. “Get out.”

“So you're just gonna sit here feeling sorry for yourself?” Shizuo asks gruffly, his eyes looking from Izaya to the bottle of whiskey still on the table. “Flea—“

“Out, I said! Out, get the fuck out of my apartment!” Izaya stands, wobbles on his feet, and reaches into his pocket, withdrawing his wallet and a few bills. He throws them at Shizuo. “For your junkfood. Leave before I call security.” He makes his way back upstairs and flops into his bed, too hot with anger to even care his duvet is still on the couch. He doesn't relax until he hears the door close below him, and he's honestly surprised when Shizuo doesn't slam it.

***

It only takes a day for Shizuo to come back.

Izaya is curled on the couch, his eyes on the TV, though he doesn't know what he's watching. He barely flinches when his door bursts open, and when Shizuo comes to the couch to hover over him, he keeps his eyes trained on the TV screen.

“Simon said to give this to you,” Shizuo says, putting a bag next to Izaya. “He said it's your favorite.”

Izaya doesn't look at him. Shizuo growls and kicks at the couch.

“Oi, did you hear me? Are you deaf now, flea?”

“I don't want you here,” Izaya says irritably. He sniffs and pulls his blanket up higher, hiding more of his face.

“Tough shit, I don't care what you want.” Shizuo crosses his arms and stands there. “You think you deserve peace and quiet when you never give me the same courtesy? Fuck you.”

“Then do what you want, just shut up.”

Shizuo scrutinzies him, taps his foot on the floor. “What's wrong with you? You look worse than usual.”

“The urns are here,” Izaya says, motioning to the counter. He put them right next to the broken glass he's yet to clean. “Told you they'd liven things up.”

Shizuo hesitates a moment before he sits next to Izaya, closer than he did the day before. Izaya tosses the remote at Shizuo, who catches it and flips through the channels before settling on some cheesy movie. Neither of them speaks for a long time, and it's Izaya who eventually breaks the silence.

“I didn't look in their coffins.”

“Huh?” Shizuo glances at him.

“I didn't want to see their bodies. I didn't want to remember them that way.” Izaya rolls to his back, and he watches Shizuo's face. “I'm actually a coward, you know?”

“I wouldn't have wanted to look either,” Shizuo says.

“Mm. I wish I had've.”

Shizuo keeps staring at him, a frown on his face, and Izaya laughs softly, shaking his head.

“I'm just not really convinced they're actually dead.”

“Flea.” Shizuo sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. “They are. They're...gone. Don't do this to yourself.”

“Then tell me why those urns are empty.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

TMIT: for Beth from Tabby while they are trapped in the midnight circus because why not. “So, with all this magick and fae and other weird crap, and we might, y’know, die, I’m gonna ask. Is there some cosmic reason that a shark bit your leg and Riley lost his? Like did you piss off some leg spirit in a past life or is it just coincidence?”

TMI Tuesday || Always Accepting

Beth can't prove it, though she knows something is off. She knows Ke kilonae exists, and that others of her kind can hear the Chant of Signs that the gods sing, but she has never been able to feel the rhythm to it, never felt its rhyme with her own senses. Has never seen it flow in and around other things, but time within the Circus is...broken somehow. She doesn't know if Tabby's question is meant to distract her from that, or if it's something to help her take a breath of respite while they seem safe enough in the empty fortune-teller's tent.

This circus is a nightmare. They should have felt that the moment they walked past the ticket booth and maybe they had. Ignored it for the enthusiasm of doing something dark and wilful. But the longer they perused the displays, the events the more damaging the incidents became until it was impossible to ignore the obvious; the wyrm-taint of the Midnight Cabaret surrounded them. Then the hunt began. Beth paces through the confines of the tent, bone athame pressed against her thigh just beneath her skirt, and that will be her last choice of defense if Andy doesn't come rescue them soon. Now, the question is odd and she doesn't really want to answer and neither can she really laugh about it. But with all that Tabby has seen and now knows, there isn't a real reason to hold back.

Beth half forms a fist with one hand, crackling the knuckles first on one, then the other and sighs before sitting on a crate pushed up against the sidewall. Her voice is low and there's a wild flutter laced through it.

"So I mean probably no kine I say aftah da t'ings we see tonight gonna sound weird or mebbe...mebbe it will an' ya goddah make of it wha' ya will but..."

How to put this in context. "So... ya saw dem wolves dat walk like men. Garou, dey called. Weah-woofs. But dey no only kind dat change. Gaia...yeah, dat Gaia, da Eart' maddah Herself... she create many many kind. Some are gone now, some are rarely seen. My grandfaddah on my maddah side... he one of dem. We call ourselves Rokea. Means...weah-sharks. He a mano niuhi, man-eatah, a great white...but he doesn't eat people. In fact, he one of da rare ones who heard Sea call him to Unsea. He met oddah changin' kind an' decided to make friends wi' dem, and not enemies. Make oddah Rokea really mad. See...Rokea don' like people. Don' care for any kind not born of Sea. Call dem like my grand-faddah Same Bito, an' have a blood hunt on 'em, to be kill on sight. Long long story an' mebbe I aks him t' tell you some time. "But dis hunt not jus' for Same Bito, but also dey kinfolk. Kinfolk...have changin' blood in dem but are not changers demselves. We important because we are da bridge between changers an' da world, and kinfolk...wheddah animal or human, are da only way dey have to make more. Da one dat bite my leg...I t'ink was tryin' f' figure out if I were kin or changer. But Andy was dere t' save me.

"An' as for his leg....we aren't jus' braddah and sistah. We share a soul between us, an' I know how dat sounds but... He say it best when he say... In da Beginnin', all was One an' da One was all. But some kine happen...an' Da One got broken, into da many. Some pieces small, some pieces big. But every human has a piece of da One inside dem. An' usually, dat piece stay sleeping. Oddah times...it wakes up an' ya get...people like us. Awakened beings who can do magick. Real magick. "Andy an' me...we were always supposed to be one big piece only mebbe we were so big we had to break. Become smaller. Every lifetime we go round... an' we have...life aftah life, in da river of Time.... an' what happens to one almost always happens to da oddah. An' not jus' cause we siblings. Sometimes we're lovers or friends. Sometimes we bitter enemies. Sometimes we don't meet at all, an' dose are our worst lives. Dis time...braddah an' sistah. Like twins, sharin' dat soul. An' it allow him to use some mana but leaves me incapable, an' vice versa. "Wen he wen' had his accident... I felt him dyin' an' every t'ing dat I am an' evah will be reached out t' him in terror, in fear, in as perfect love as could be had...an' it save him from dying. But dat kine magick...comes wi' a heavy cost, Tabs. I didn't know how f' use it wisely at da time. Didn't even really know it existed but dat meant... he was stuck wi' it. Da consequences. So now, even if I know how t' heal him. Give back his leg, heal his scars an' his pain... I nevah can. Not wit'out causin' him such catastrophic injury dat it would surpass what he experience an' neiddah one of us wan' do dat. So really...da cost of livin' was da sacrifice of his leg an' every kine he loved to do before..." She spreads her hands out wide and stares at the back of them like they are two of the very same monstrosities the girls have spent the night running from. "So...really...is my fault." Or it's coincidence. And Beth knows that coincidence is not really real.

[thelonelywitchandthelonelytides]

Sabbat Guide : Beltane

Beltane = April 30th – May 1st (The date can change depending on the year and location.)

 Beltane, or as some may know it May Day, is a celebration of life. It is strongly associated with the themes of abundance and vitality. As it is believed that Beltane is the peak time for fertility and the Earth’s energies. Other significant themes are passion, beauty, romance, sexuality and sensuality. A time for the vitality for the earth but also for relationships.

In Wicca, Beltane is important as the Goddess is now reaching the end of her time as the maiden. Preparing to step into her role as the mother. The celebration of passion and romance is explained as the God (who has previously reached maturity) has fallen for the Goddess. The two are joined physically and in union. As a result, the Goddess has fallen pregnant. In the months to follow when the God dies, he will be reborn of the Goddess.

The reason for the themes of passion, sexuality, romance etc is because of the God and Goddess union. It’s a powerful symbol, for the joining of feminine and masculine energy. It is known as the scared marriage and a powerful symbol for Wiccans.

 Also of course some of the prominent more romantic or passionate themes have adult celebrations but I want this to keep this Pg so I won’t be talking about them.

  How to celebrate :

Handfasting

While obviously not something everyone can or will do, it is still a Beltane tradition. Handfasting is a union between two people. Traditionally, the couple would agree to be joined for a year and a day. After which they decided whether to stay together or separate. However, in more modern times Handfasting ceremonies are seen for whatever the couple chooses, commonly life.

In Handfasting ceremonies, the couple will exchange something; it can be rings, vows, tokens etc. Then the couple’s hands are tied together with some form of red string or ribbon. It is done in a ribbon of eight, some time later in the ceremony it will be untied.

Handfasting is significant as it symbolises a couple coming together by choice, choosing to form such a union and become one. Especially noteworthy is the act of untying the ribbon as it shows that the couple are choosing to remain with each other even if they are not physically ‘tied’ together.

 Decorating with nature

This can be in your home or your altar. Take branches from trees, (you should always ask for permission and never take from a protected area) flower, or natural objects such as an acorn or stone. Lay them around to honour the earth and to infuse your home with its heightened energy. You can also give gifts from nature to friends and loved ones to share in Beltane’s energy.

 Flowers

Whether this is gathering flowers from nature, or from your local shop/florist. You can make them into chains, flower crowns or other jewellery. By wearing them you are not only dressing for the celebration but also invoking the energy of Beltane onto yourself. You could also make flower arrangements to decorate your home, twine some flowers around a door handle, banister or next to your bedside table. You can also use some flowers in a ritual bath to cleanse yourself.

Feel like honouring the more romantic side of Beltane why not give a bouquet of flowers to a loved one.

 Bonfires

Beltane is a fire festival; it is used to cleanse and clear away. Fire is thought to heal old wounds and help you get to better things. Having a bonfire with some friends is a great way to celebrate, however always be cautious when using fires.

If bonfires aren’t an option you could also improvise by using candles. Light the candle, feel your negative emotions and worries be moved into the flame. Allow it to burn them away and cleanse yourself. Allow the energy of the bright flame to envelop you, filling you with new energy.

Something I have always loved to do was write down a bad habit, or anything I wanted to cleanse myself from on a scrap of paper. Then I would throw the piece of paper into the bonfire, or candle.

 Maypole

The maypole is an old tradition for Beltane. The pole is made usually out of Birch, that is decorated with a ring of flowers near the top. The pole is representative of the God and the flowers is the Goddess. The Maypole is decorated with colourful ribbons, which are used in the maypole dance. This dance is a celebration of the union between the God and the Goddess.

 Ritual Baths

It’s the time for beauty and passion why not treat yourself? Run a bath with some salts, essential oils of flowers such as rose, if you have any throw in some flowers. Allow the bath to cleanse your soul, but also infuse yourself with confidence. Remember Beltane is a time for beauty and having some self-care is great for not only physical beauty but also for your emotional and spiritual well-being.

 Purify your home

A good time to cleanse not only you but your household. Take the time to cleanse your crystals, tarot cards or other tools you use. This will help remove any built-up negative energy. There are multiple ways you can do this, such as with incense, sunlight, bells or anything that you feel best with.

 Beltane Correspondences :

Animal : Bees, Bluebirds, Cow, Dove, Rabbit, Sheep, Frog Horse.

Colours : White, Yellow, Spring Green, Red

Crystals : Malachite, Jade, Aventurine, Bloodstone, Rose Quartz, Rhodonite.

Foods : Almonds, Figs, Asparagus, Oysters, Pineapple, Truffles, Goat, Cow, Strawberries.

Herbs/Flowers : Rose, Violet, Tulip, Honeysuckle, Daisy, Daffodil, Crocus, Ash Tress, Rowan Trees, Birch Trees, Lemon, Mint, Mugwort.

Goddesses : Gaia, Tanit, Flora, Maeve, Luna, Creiddylad, All Flower Goddesses.

Gods : Pan, Bel, The Green Man, Cernunnos.

  Beltane Prayers :

“Great earth mother! 

We give you praise today and ask for your blessing upon us. 

As seeds spring forth and grass grows green and winds blow gently and the rivers flow and the sun shines down upon our land,

We offer thanks to you for your blessings and your gifts of life each spring”

 “The leaves are budding across the land on the ash and oak and hawthorn trees.

Magic rises around us in the forest and the hedges are filled with laughter and love.

Dear lady, we offer you a gift, a gathering of flowers picked by our hands, woven into the circle of endless life.

The bright colours of nature herself blend together to honour you, Queen of spring, as we give you honour this day.

Spring is here and the land is fertile, ready to offer up gifts in your name.

We pay you tribute, our lady, daughter of the Fae, and ask your blessing this Beltane.

Bless, O threefold true and bountiful, Myself, my spouse, my children.

Bless everything within my dwelling and in my possession,

Bless the kine and crops, the flocks and corn,

From Samhain Eve to Beltane Eve, With goodly progress and gentle blessing,

From sea to sea, and every river mouth,

From wave to wave, and base of waterfall.

Be the Maiden, Mother, and Crone,

Taking possession of all to me belonging.

Be the Horned God, the Wild Spirit of the Forest,

Protecting me in truth and honour. Satisfy my soul and shield my loved ones, 

Blessing everything and everyone,

All my land and my surroundings.

Great gods who create and bring life to all, I ask for your blessings on this day of fire”

I hope you found this informative, and enjoyed reading.