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dreamlandreader · 7 months

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Teddy Bear’s Picnic

When Feyre and Rhysand are called into an emergency meeting, it is left to Elain to look after baby Nyx. But, when the Night Court heir won't stop crying Elain may have to ask for help from an unexpected source.

Masterlist

Pairing: Elain x Lucien Content Warnings: N/A Word Count: 2936 Words

I'm very excited to share my first ever Elucien fic for day one of @sjmromanceweek (even if it is a couple of days late ... oops)🌸 I got this idea from the prompt 'First Date' and knew immediately I wanted to write about the (unofficial) first date of Elain and Lucien. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it 💗

The warm interior of the River House stood unusually still. Tiny specs of dust danced in the sunlight streaming through the windows, undisturbed by the house's vacant halls. The ordinarily bustling hub of the inner circle had emptied abruptly an hour prior after an unexpected and hastily written letter caused panic, and left the occupants with no choice but to leave the sanctuary of their home.

The stark silence that lingered over the property, however, had not befallen the gardens, where a flustered Elain Archeron was teetering on the brink of tears as she rocked her bawling nephew back and forth, fat tears rolling down his pudgy cheeks.

“Shh, come now sweet, there’s no need to cry,” Elain whispered to the babe, who paid no attention to her words and let out another piercing scream.

Nyx had begun to sob the second his mother winnowed away and had barely stopped to take a breath in the hour that had passed. Feyre had been incredibly concerned about leaving her son, who had been clinging to his mother more and more in the month since he had started teething. Had Tarquin’s letter not been scrawled so urgently, then Feyre would not have second-guessed staying home with her little boy, but the request had asked for both the High Lord and Lady, and his plea was too desperate to ignore.

“Please stop crying Nyxie. Mama will be home soon,” Elain whispered, bouncing the baby gently in her arms again like she had seen Feyre do so many times before to calm him instantly. Much to Elain’s dismay, the poor babe continued to cry, his tiny whimpers enough to crack even the most icy of hearts.

As the only family member not working within the inner circle, Elain had become the designated babysitter for her tiny nephew, a role which she was thrilled to take on. She had been offered a place within the inner circle, harnessing her seer powers and working with Azriel on intel, but she had gracefully declined. Whilst she appreciated the offer, Elain had never desired a life filled with politics and action. Feyre and Nesta had always been the firey ones, destined for big things, but Elain had always wished for a gentle, quiet life. So she was thrilled when her sisters supported her in opening a flower shop in the lively market at the heart of Velaris.

The shop had brought her such joy whilst she was still trying to heal from the trauma of the last few years, and it had even allowed her to explore Prythian. Rhysand had been able to put her in contact with florists from various courts who, after some enthusiastic correspondence, had invited her to see the beauty of their courts for herself. So far, Elain had visited the bright sunflower fields of the Day Court, witnessed the blooming of the cherry blossoms in the Dawn Court and spent hours roaming the endlessly stunning gardens of the Spring Court.

Nyx let out another heartbreaking cry, and a guttural sob escaped Elain as she sat on her knees in the grass and cried alongside her nephew.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to do,” Elain sniffled. She had tried everything; bouncing, singing, dancing, tickling, reading, swaddling, cuddling, but nothing would work. She felt like a failure.

When Nyx was born, the three Archeron sisters had agreed that no matter what, the tiny babe would never experience an ounce of the pain they felt through their childhood. They had long since begun to stitch the wounds of their past and had many a tearful conversation to clear the air about the toxic years they spent trapped within the four walls of their dilapidated home. Despite this, Elain still carried a kernel of guilt for allowing herself to be shielded and ignorant from the worries of her younger sister for so long. She was determined she would no longer be the one her sisters had to hide their fears or anxieties from, she wanted to be there for them and her nephew. Which was why Elain had taken her inability to comfort poor Nyx so personally.

Just as Elain was considering calling on Madja and asking if there was a rare fae illness going around that caused non-stop crying, she heard the door to the garden creek open and determined footsteps leading down the garden path.

“Feyre!” She exclaimed, standing quickly as she twisted to face her sister, but it was not Feyre who stared back at her, but Lucien Vanserra - her mate.

“A-are you okay? I came to see Feyre, but the house was empty, and then I heard crying. When I saw you on the floor, I- I thought something must have happened,” he stumbled, concern contorting his face.

Elain felt a twinge of guilt at Lucien’s evident nerves. She hated that he thought he had to justify visiting his friend because of her discomfort in their bond. Still, she couldn’t swallow the anxious butterflies that floated up from her stomach and clogged her throat whenever he was around. Elain had thought about approaching Lucien now that she was feeling more settled in her fae life, to see if there was anything there, and so that they could both move on if there wasn’t. However, something stopped her every time.

Elaine’s nerves were abruptly overshadowed when Nyx let out another piercing scream.

“He won’t stop. I’ve tried everything, but I can’t calm him down. I’m the worst Aunty ever,” Elain bawled, thrusting the babe towards Lucien, who gently took Nyx from her arms, hardening his face to avoid giving away the fact that the brush of her hand against his had ignited his skin.

“Elain, you are not the worst Aunty. You are the most dedicated Aunt I’ve ever met. You should hear Feyre and Rhys singing your praises every time they get a spare five minutes for a coffee because you’ve taken Nyx for the afternoon,” Lucien said, shouting slightly over the squawking child.

“Maybe you just need to try a different tactic? When I was a child and I wouldn’t settle, my mother would try to surprise me with something outside of my daily routine, and the curiosity of it would make me forget whatever had upset me,”

“I- I don’t really know. He just wants Feyre. I wouldn’t even know what to try,” Elain sniffled.

Lucien looked out at the beautiful gardens and was struck with an idea. The organised floral designs close to the River House gave way to patches of wildflowers and rolling hills surrounded by cosy meadows and orchards. It was the perfect setting for his plan.

“I have an idea. Take Nyx inside for a few minutes, and when I’m ready, I’ll call you out,” he said, placing the babe back into Elain’s arms.

“What? But-”

“I need you to trust me, okay?” Lucien’s eyes were so sincere, even if it did feel like his gaze was burrowing into Elain’s soul.

“Okay,” she whispered before turning on her heel and returning to the house.

Ten minutes later, and breathless from running back and forth into the River House, Lucien called Elain out to the garden.

A pale blue gingham blanket had been carefully strewn across the floor, surrounded by a sweeping carpet of cornflowers. Plush cushions skirted the border of the blanket, and a row of Nyx’s most loved teddy bears sat in a line, staring at the buttered scones, chocolate-covered strawberries and an ornate tea set.

“What is this?” Elain questioned, still bouncing a mewling Nyx.

“A teddy bear’s picnic,” Lucien announced proudly, opening his arms wide, a lopsided grin gracing his lovely face.

Elain cautiously walked towards the edge of the blanket, popping Nyx next to his toys before gracefully sitting beside him.

Like a miracle had washed over the scene, Nyx’s cries faltered as he crawled towards the nearest bear. A minute later, he had fallen completely silent as he stuffed the poor bear’s paw in his mouth and began to chew.

“It worked,” Elain whispered, wide-eyed, a grin taking over her delicate face as she looked up in awe at Lucien.

“You aren’t joining us?”

“Oh, I thought now he’s settled that you may want some peace and quiet,” Lucien suggested nervously, the awkwardness seeping back into the air around them now that the babe had been calmed.

For a moment, Lucien and Elain merely stared into each other’s eyes, neither one brave enough to break the silence that had settled, until Lucien bowed and suggested it was time for him to take his leave, turning back towards the house. He had taken only two steps before Elain’s voice rang out behind him.

“Stay. Please,” His heart was beating so hard that he wouldn’t be shocked if it had burst out of his chest and fallen before the woman it so clearly belonged to. In the time since their bond had been revealed, Elain had never once asked to spend time with him or shown any interest in his presence. He thought he may be sick from the anticipation, hope clenching in his stomach.

Sitting down next to Elain, he ran his sweaty palms down his breeches and searched desperately for something to say to ease the tension.

“I’m presuming the tea was not for the six-month-old,” Elain said, beating Lucien to it.

“No,” he laughed. “I thought, given how upset you were, that you deserved something nice too,”

“That’s very kind, Lucien, thank you,” She blushed, looking over at Nyx, who was happily babbling away to himself.

Lucien took the opportunity to drink Elain in. She was all soft lines and gentle curves, radiating such warmth and sunlight that the mere thought of her embrace gave Lucien goosebumps.

“Would you like some?” Elain asked, breaking Lucien’s reverie by pouring herself a cup of lavender and chamomile tea.

“Please,” he replied, clearing his throat, the look she gave him making his mouth instantly dry.

Elain was having much the same trouble. Her breath hitched as she watched Lucien pick up a strawberry, his lips wrapping around the fruit and his tongue cleaning his mouth of the lingering juices, sending a flash of heat between her legs. She had never taken the time to truly admire him before. And that was what it meant to look at Lucien, to admire. He was beautiful, and Elain was suddenly struck by how strange it was that Feyre, knowing this male for years, had not made him the sole focus of every painting she had created to date.

“I think Feyre and Rhys will want you to live here if they find out you can work your magic like this,” Elain said, looking pointedly away from Lucien and towards the little boy, now fast asleep.

“Oh no, it was nothing,” Lucien retorted, waving his hand as though his help was no big deal. “He probably tired himself out with all that crying, and the sight of his bears managed to calm him down for long enough that he fell asleep,”

“Either way, I’m incredibly grateful,” Elain tapered off, filling the silence with a sip from her tea. She had to say it now. It was the perfect opportunity. She just needed to get it out before this moment passed.

“So -,” Lucien started, interrupted almost immediately.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Elain blurted out, eyes wide in almost as much shock as the male before her.

“Oh?”

“About the- about the bond,”

Lucien’s heart dropped as he steeled himself, preparing for the blow, for the decision he had known was coming for a long time.

“When you first revealed the bond to me, I wasn’t in a good place,” Lucien met Elain’s eyes and took in the sorrow that filled them.

“Nesta and I had just been turned into the creatures we’d feared our entire lives. I was in a new body, a new land. Feyre had been taken away from us again and put into another dangerous situation. I’d lost everything I’d ever known. The future I saw for myself had been ripped away one minute, and then I’m being told fate, or the Mother, or whoever has decided on a new future for me. One with a male who I did not know,”

“I’m sorry. I should have handled the situation far more delicately than I did,” Lucien sighed, rubbing his calloused hand over his face before continuing.

“For such a long time, I thought it impossible I would ever find a mate, and the shock I had at that moment meant it slipped from my mouth before I could think. I regretted immediately revealing it the way I did. I was paralysed by fear that I had let it slip with an evil bastard like Hybern in the room,” he shakes his head, despair taking over his eyes. “I guess I just lost my head, and once it was out, I couldn’t take it back.

Elain slowly nodded, taking in what Lucien had so vulnerably revealed, and reached over to gently clasp his hand.

“After everything that happened, I lost myself entirely. I know I hurt you by refusing to meet with you, by ignoring your existence. Things were bad, and I was in a dark hole I couldn’t find my way out of,”

“I understand Elain, you’ve no need to explain yourself,”

“No, I do,” She said, taking a deep breath.

“I’m at a point now where things are looking up again. I finally feel that I’ve found my place here. I feel my family is happier than- well than we’ve ever been actually, and for the first time, I actually know who I am and what I want,”

Here it was. Lucien closed his eyes, begging his resolve to stay intact until he was alone, where he could mourn what might have been in privacy.

“I know I would like to give this a chance,”

“What?” Lucien’s eyes flew open, taking in Elain for any sign that this was a cruel joke, but she looked back at him with such soft sincerity that he was utterly lost for words.

“I’m not promising anything. I don’t want either of us tied to one another just because of a bond. If anything comes from this, I want it to be because we both want it,”

Lucien nods, still in shock.

“But, I would like to get to know you, Lucien. Not just the stories my sister tells me or the small glimpses I’ve had at family dinners where we are surrounded by people, but to really get to know you in our own time. Because I have seen my sisters and how happy their mates have made them, and I am ready to let some of that light into my life, too. If you are willing, of course?”

“Yes!” He radiated. “Yes, I would love that,”

“So, maybe we can start with a date?” Elain suggested, a rosy blush colouring her cheeks.

“Yes. That would be perfect,”

“Good,” She smiled. “Although with this lovely set-up, this does sort of feel like an unofficial first date,”

“Oh no,” Lucien beams, “Our first date will be much more spectacular than a picnic in your sister’s back garden, don’t you worry,”

"I can't wait", Elain laughed, and the joy in her voice made Lucien's heart ache with delight.

After half an hour of tentative conversations and shy smiles, Elain decided it was time to put Nyx to bed.

"You take him in. I'll clean this up," Lucien offered as Elain scooped the sleepy baby into her arms and walked towards the house.

By the time Elain made it to the stairs, Feyre and Rhysand were trailing through the front door, exhaustion lining their faces. The High Lord walked right up to Elain and, thanking her, took his son into his arms, a quiet calm washing over his body as he walked slowly up the stairs to Nyx's room.

Feyre, smiling at the sweet scene, hung up her coat and let out a sigh.

"Thank Gods, it was a false alarm. Tarquin got some false information about Beron-"

Feyre stops, raising her brow as she looks at her sister's face.

"Why do you look like that?" Feyre asked, a suspicious glint in her eye.

"Like what?"

"All glowy and happy,"

Elain rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm not allowed to look happy now?"

"Of course you are! But something weird is going on. I can sense it,"

Elain opened her mouth, ready to retort, when Lucien walked through the door, a bright smile taking over his face.

"Oh, hey Feyre," he said, stopping in his tracks, looking like a deer in headlights. "I was just here to return that book Rhys lent me. I left it on the kitchen counter!"

Lucien looked shifty as hell, and Feyre could only laugh and look pointedly at her sister.

“Well, I best be going. Later Feyre. Goodbye, Elain,” Lucien blurted quickly, dipping his head and swiftly taking his leave.

“What in the Mother’s name was that!” Feyre burst out the second Lucien had disappeared behind the front door.

“Nothing,” Elain replied, walking towards the living room, desperate to escape her sister’s questions.

“Elain Archeron, don’t you dare lie to me in my own home,” Feyre joked, chasing after her.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll call for Nesta,” Feyre sang.

Elain glared daggers at her little sister before sighing, resigning herself to the interrogation she knew she was about to receive.

“Urgh, fine, just call her. I’ll tell you everything. But grab a bottle of wine before we start!”

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain x lucien #elain acheron #lucien vanserra #elucien #sjmromanceweek2024

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sunshinesmebdy · 8 months

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Venus Enters Capricorn and the Business World Gets Serious

Mark your calendars, entrepreneurs and financiers! From January 23 to February 16, the planet of love, beauty, and money, Venus, sets up shop in the austere halls of Capricorn. Get ready for a shift in business and financial energies, as practicality, ambition, and long-term goals take center stage

Venus in Capricorn: A Match Made in the Boardroom

Think power suits, meticulous spreadsheets, and strategic partnerships. While Capricorn's Venus might not be the life of the party, it's certainly the mastermind behind a thriving empire. Here's what to expect:

Forget the Fad, Embrace Forever: Building with Brick, not Bling, during Venus in Capricorn

Venus, the planet of love and beauty, takes a pragmatic turn in the austere halls of Capricorn. Forget fleeting trends and flash-in-the-pan ventures – this transit is all about value, stability, and building something that endures. Here's how to ditch the disposable and embrace the durable:

Shifting Sands to Sturdy Ground:

Long-term vision over passing whims: Instead of chasing the latest fad, invest in projects with legs. Think timeless designs, sustainable practices, and products built to last.

Quality over quantity: Ditch the "buy 10, get 1 free" mentality. Opt for well-made, ethically sourced items that stand the test of time and add true value to your life or business.

Brick by brick: Forget get-rich-quick schemes. Focus on building your wealth gradually, through smart investments, consistent effort, and responsible financial planning.

Partnerships with Purpose:

Strength in numbers: Seek alliances that add strategic value, complementary skills, and long-term stability. This isn't a one-night stand, but a marriage of minds and resources.

Mutual respect and shared goals: Align yourself with partners who share your vision for the future and are committed to building something sustainable together.

Win-win collaboration: Forget cutthroat competition. Seek partnerships where everyone benefits, creating a foundation for mutual growth and prosperity.

Investing in the Enduring:

Slow and steady wins the race: Forget the thrill of risky ventures. Choose long-term investments in established businesses, sustainable energy, or real estate that offer secure returns.

Nurturing what matters: Invest in your own skills, knowledge, and expertise. Education, training, and personal development are invaluable assets that yield lasting rewards.

Future-proof your finances: Build a budget that prioritizes financial security, debt reduction, and saving for the long haul. Think retirement plans, emergency funds, and responsible credit management.

Venus in Capricorn isn't about denying yourself, it's about shifting your focus from fleeting pleasures to lasting satisfaction. It's about building a life, a business, and relationships that stand the test of time, brick by well-placed brick. So, forget the fads, embrace the foundations, and watch your world – and your wealth – truly blossom.

Bonus Tip: During this transit, consider incorporating timeless classics, heritage pieces, and durable materials into your work or personal life. Think heirloom furniture, quality craftsmanship, and experiences that create lasting memories.

From Lone Wolf to Power Pack: Forging Strategic Alliances under Venus in Capricorn

Forget the lone wolf mentality – during Venus in Capricorn, collaboration becomes your superpower. Here's how to navigate this transit and turn strategic alliances into your secret weapon for business and personal success:

Strength in Numbers:

Synergy over solo: Identify partners whose skills, resources, and expertise complement yours, creating a force greater than the sum of its parts. Think marketing gurus teaming with tech wizards, or seasoned veterans pairing with innovative upstarts.

Market mastery: Seek alliances that open doors to new markets, expand your customer base, and strengthen your brand reach. Think global partnerships, cross-industry collaborations, or joint ventures that tap into untapped territories.

Sharing the load: Partnerships can help you tackle ambitious projects, share operational costs, and leverage diverse perspectives to overcome challenges. Think resource pooling, joint marketing campaigns, or co-developed products.

Beyond Handshakes:

Shared vision, not just shared profits: Align yourself with partners who not only bring practical value but also share your long-term vision, values, and commitment to ethical practices. Building trust and mutual respect is key.

Clear communication, ironclad agreements: Open and honest communication is vital to avoid misunderstandings and ensure everyone is on the same page. Negotiate fair terms, define roles and responsibilities, and create a win-win partnership agreement.

Mutual growth, not exploitation: Remember, a true partnership is a two-way street. Invest in your partner's success as you expect them to invest in yours. Celebrate shared victories and support each other during challenges.

Examples in Action:

A small eco-friendly clothing brand partners with a large online retailer to reach a wider audience and scale its sustainable production.

A team of experienced consultants collaborates with a team of young, tech-savvy developers to offer cutting-edge solutions to their clients.

Two local businesses in the same neighborhood join forces to host joint events, cross-promote their services, and attract new customers.

Remember, under Venus in Capricorn, strategic alliances are not short-term fixes but long-term investments in your future. Choose your partners wisely, nurture the relationships, and watch your combined forces elevate your business to new heights. By embracing collaboration, you not only achieve shared success but also build a network of valuable connections that can weather any storm.

Bonus Tip: During this transit, actively seek out networking opportunities, attend industry events, and connect with individuals or organizations whose expertise and vision align with yours. You never know where your next power partnership might blossom!

So, step out of your comfort zone, open your arms to collaboration, and watch the magic unfold as you build a thriving empire, not just brick by brick, but hand in hand.

Channel Your Inner Chess Master: Sharpening Your Negotiation Prowess in Venus in Capricorn

Venus, the goddess of love and beauty, might seem an unlikely warrior in the boardroom, but during her sojourn in Capricorn, her charm takes on a strategic edge. Forget impulsive deals and flowery persuasion; this transit is all about mastering the art of negotiation with shrewd calculations and unwavering determination. Ready to transform into a deal-closing powerhouse? Here's your playbook:

Know Your Worth, Inside and Out:

Research and preparation are key: Before entering any negotiation, gather all relevant data, market trends, and competitor analysis. Know your bottom line, your strengths, and the value you bring to the table.

Confidence is your armor: Don't underestimate yourself. Be clear about your goals and objectives, and project an aura of self-assurance and professionalism. A confident negotiator commands respect and commands better deals.

Listen with a hawk's ear: Pay close attention to your counterpart's needs, concerns, and priorities. Active listening allows you to identify leverage points and craft proposals that meet everyone's objectives.

Strategic Maneuvers on the Bargaining Table:

Think long-term: Focus on building mutually beneficial partnerships rather than short-term wins. Think strategic concessions that open doors to future collaborations or long-term contracts.

Patience is a virtue: Don't rush into the first offer. Be prepared to walk away if the deal doesn't align with your goals. This creates an air of power and strengthens your leverage.

The carrot and the stick, masterfully wielded: Combine firmness on key points with creative problem-solving and willingness to find common ground. Offer sweeteners or concessions on less crucial aspects to secure the bigger win.

Mastering the Art of Persuasion:

Facts are your ammunition: Back up your claims with data, reports, and evidence. A logical, data-driven approach resonates with the Capricorn Venus.

Speak with clarity and precision: Avoid emotional appeals or empty promises. Stick to concise, well-supported arguments that leave no room for misinterpretation.

Body language speaks volumes: Maintain eye contact, project confidence through your posture, and avoid fidgeting. Nonverbal cues can build trust and strengthen your negotiating position.

Bonus Tip: Practice your negotiation skills! Role-play scenarios with colleagues, mentors, or even yourself in the mirror. The more comfortable you are in the art of the deal, the easier it will be to secure those all-important victories.

Remember, under Venus in Capricorn, negotiation is not a battle but a chess game. Think strategically, play calculated moves, and always keep your ultimate goals in mind. By channeling your inner chess master, you can transform negotiations from stressful encounters into opportunities for mutual growth and solidify your reputation as a shrewd and successful deal-maker.

So, step into the negotiation arena with confidence, wield your skills like a seasoned strategist, and watch as you secure those winning deals that propel your business, finances, and even personal relationships to new heights.

Beyond Bling: Redefining Luxury in the Era of Venus in Capricorn

Forget fleeting trends and ostentatious displays – Venus, the planet of love and beauty, takes on a decidedly sophisticated and sustainable aura during her sojourn in Capricorn. Indulgence gets a serious upgrade, shifting from empty extravagance to lasting investments, meaningful experiences, and timeless treasures. Here's how to navigate this transit and discover a richer, more fulfilling form of luxury:

From Flash to Substance:

Heirlooms over trinkets: Invest in quality pieces built to last, crafted with ethical practices, and designed to become treasured family heirlooms. Think handcrafted furniture, well-made clothing, or art passed down through generations.

Experiences that resonate: Prioritize adventures and journeys that leave a lasting mark on your soul, not just your Instagram feed. Think learning a new skill, volunteering your time, or immersing yourself in a different culture.

Sustainable indulgence: Pamper yourself with products and services that reflect your values, like organic spa treatments, ethically sourced clothing, or supporting local artisans. Conscious indulgence feels better and lasts longer.

Investing in Your World:

Knowledge is the ultimate luxury: Invest in personal and professional development. Master a new skill, pursue further education, or attend insightful workshops that enrich your mind and expand your horizons.

Building a legacy, not an empire: Think beyond accumulating material possessions. Focus on creating a life filled with meaningful relationships, strong support networks, and positive contributions to your community.

Time, the most precious treasure: Prioritize experiences that create lasting memories and strengthen bonds. Spend quality time with loved ones, explore hidden corners of the world, or simply savor the quiet moments of life.

Beyond the Material:

Curate, don't accumulate: Surround yourself with objects that hold personal meaning, evoke inspiration, and bring you joy. Let go of clutter and embrace minimalism, creating a space that reflects your values and enhances your well-being.

Master the art of slow living: Appreciate the finer things in life, savor each moment, and resist the urge to rush through experiences. Slow living allows you to fully immerse yourself in the present and truly embrace the luxury of time.

Gratitude is the golden thread: Cultivate an attitude of gratitude for all the blessings in your life, big and small. Appreciation enhances the value of your experiences and helps you find joy in the ordinary.

Remember, under Venus in Capricorn, luxury is not about flaunting or chasing fleeting trends. It's about investing in things that bring lasting value, creating experiences that nourish your soul, and nurturing a life filled with substance and meaning. By cultivating this mindful approach to indulgence, you'll discover a richer, more fulfilling form of luxury that transcends the material and leaves a lasting legacy of joy and fulfillment.

Bonus Tip: During this transit, consider decluttering your life and donating possessions you no longer need. Clearing space for the truly meaningful makes room for experiences and treasures that enrich your life in ways that last.

So, embrace the shift towards meaningful indulgence, invest in experiences that resonate, and surround yourself with things that bring lasting joy. As Venus shines in Capricorn, discover a whole new level of luxury, one that nourishes your soul, enriches your world, and leaves a trail of timeless beauty in its wake.

Beyond Butterflies: Building Enduring Love under Venus in Capricorn

Forget whirlwind romances and impulsive declarations – Venus, the planet of love and beauty, takes on a practical, future-oriented guise during her stay in Capricorn. While sparks might fly and hearts might flutter, romantic pursuits are guided by long-term vision, shared goals, and a commitment to building something that endures. Here's how to navigate this transit and find love that stands the test of time:

Beyond the Initial Sparks:

Slow burn over fireworks: Don't rush into grand pronouncements or hasty commitments. Instead, take your time, get to know each other on a deeper level, and let feelings develop organically.

Shared values, not just shared smiles: Look for partners who align with your core values, life goals, and aspirations. Compatibility goes beyond surface compatibility; seek someone who shares your vision for the future.

Building trust brick by brick: Actions speak louder than words. Demonstrate consistency, reliability, and unwavering support. Trust, like strong foundations, takes time and effort to build.

Love with Substance:

Partners in ambition: Seek someone who inspires you to be your best self and supports your professional and personal aspirations. Think power couples who build empires together, not sidekicks holding handbags.

Mutual respect and admiration: Appreciate each other's strengths, talents, and individual journeys. A successful partnership is not about competition but about celebrating each other's successes.

Open communication, built on honesty: Maintain clear and honest communication, even when challenging conversations arise. Trustworthy communication builds a foundation for navigating life's inevitable ups and downs together.

Beyond the Honeymoon Phase:

Commitment built on shared dreams: True commitment comes from a shared vision for the future, not just temporary infatuation. Discuss long-term goals, create shared plans, and build a life together brick by well-placed brick.

Weathering storms as a team: Life throws curveballs. Look for a partner who stands by you, offers unwavering support, and celebrates your victories just as readily as they comfort you in times of adversity.

Nurturing the flame, not just fanning it: Long-term love requires effort. Continuously invest in your relationship, prioritize quality time, and keep the romance alive with thoughtful gestures and shared experiences.

Bonus Tip: During this transit, focus on personal growth and building a fulfilling life for yourself. When you radiate stability, self-sufficiency, and clear goals, you attract partners who seek the same qualities in a relationship.

Remember, under Venus in Capricorn, love is not a whirlwind adventure but a deliberate journey shared with a compatible partner. This is a time to prioritize long-term compatibility, build a foundation of trust and shared goals, and nurture a love that grows stronger with each passing season. By embracing this mindful approach to romance, you can create a relationship that weathers life's storms, fuels your ambitions, and ultimately, becomes a source of enduring joy and fulfillment.

So, open your heart to connection, seek meaningful connections, and invest in building a love that stands the test of time. Remember, true love stories are not written overnight, but crafted with care, nurtured with commitment, and built to last under the watchful eye of Venus in Capricorn.

Building the Future, Brick by Green Brick: Favorable Investments under Venus in Capricorn

Venus, the planet of love and beauty, might seem an unlikely financial advisor, but during her sojourn in Capricorn, she sheds her glittery gown for a sensible power suit. This transit is all about prudent, long-term investments that not only yield solid returns but also align with your values and contribute to a sustainable future. Let's delve into the exciting world of profitable ventures under Venus in Capricorn:

Planting Seeds for Future Harvest:

Solid foundations over fleeting fads: Ditch risky ventures and speculative schemes. Prioritize established businesses with proven track records, strong financials, and long-term growth potential. Think blue-chip companies, reputable investment funds, or well-maintained rental properties.

Bricks and mortar with a modern twist: Real estate can be a lucrative investment during this transit, but consider eco-friendly options or properties with future-proof upgrades. Think energy-efficient buildings, sustainable communities, or land with potential for renewable energy development.

Green is the new gold: Sustainable ventures are not just good for the planet, they're also smart financial decisions. Invest in clean technology, renewable energy initiatives, or socially responsible companies that prioritize ethical practices and environmental impact.

Planting with Precision:

Do your research, due diligence is your friend: Venus in Capricorn demands thorough research and careful analysis before any investment. Understand the market, evaluate risks and potential returns, and consult with financial advisors if needed.

Patience is a virtue: Don't expect overnight riches. Successful long-term investments require patience, discipline, and a willingness to ride out market fluctuations. Remember, slow and steady wins the race.

Diversification is your shield: Don't put all your eggs in one basket. Spread your investments across different sectors, asset classes, and geographical locations to minimize risk and maximize potential returns.

Beyond the Bottom Line:

Invest in your passions: While financial growth is important, aligning your investments with your values can bring additional satisfaction. Support companies that resonate with your ethical beliefs, environmental concerns, or social causes you champion.

Community-building through investments: Consider investing in local businesses, community projects, or social enterprises that uplift your neighborhood and create a sustainable future for all. Your financial success can be a catalyst for positive change.

Sustainable prosperity for generations to come: Think beyond your own immediate needs. Choose investments that contribute to a healthier planet, fairer society, and brighter future for future generations. Leave a legacy of responsible wealth and lasting impact.

Bonus Tip: During this transit, consider seeking financial advice from professionals who specialize in sustainable and ethical investments. They can help you align your financial goals with your values and make informed decisions that benefit both your wallet and the world.

Remember, under Venus in Capricorn, smart investments are not just about securing your financial future, they're about building a legacy of prosperity, sustainability, and positive impact. By planting your seeds wisely, nurturing them with patience, and choosing ventures that resonate with your values, you can reap the rewards of a truly fulfilling financial journey. So, channel your inner financial architect, invest in the future you envision, and watch your portfolio blossom into a garden of abundance and purpose.

From Burden to Freedom: Conquering Debt under Venus in Capricorn

Venus, the goddess of love and beauty, might seem an unlikely debt collector, but during her sojourn in Capricorn, she dons a practical helmet and picks up a financial spreadsheet. This transit is all about taking control of your finances, tackling debt with determination, and building a foundation of financial security for a brighter future. Let's dive into the world of debt reduction under the watchful eye of Venus in Capricorn:

Facing the Numbers with Courage:

Acknowledge the elephant in the room: Don't shy away from confronting your debt. Face the numbers head-on, understand your current financial situation, and create a clear picture of the mountain you need to climb.

Prioritize ruthless efficiency: Not all debts are created equal. Focus on tackling high-interest loans first, where even small payments can make a significant dent. Develop a repayment strategy that takes advantage of compounding interest and minimizes overall costs.

Renegotiate with strength and strategy: Don't be afraid to renegotiate loan terms for better rates or repayment schedules. Arm yourself with market research and negotiation skills, and approach your creditors with confidence and clarity.

Budgeting: Your Weapon of Choice:

Track every penny: Implement a detailed budget that tracks your income and expenses meticulously. Every latte and Netflix subscription matters when you're battling debt.

Slash the non-essentials: Identify areas where you can cut back on spending. Be ruthless! Are you subscribed to services you never use? Can you cook more meals at home? Every small sacrifice adds up.

Embrace delayed gratification: Learn to live within your means, even if it means saying no to some immediate desires. Prioritize debt reduction over instant gratification, knowing that financial freedom awaits on the other side.

Building a Wall of Financial Security:

Automate your progress: Set up automatic bill payments and debt repayments to avoid missed payments and late fees. Discipline your finances, make saving and debt reduction a seamless part of your routine.

Celebrate milestones, not just the finish line: Acknowledge your progress along the way. Every debt paid off is a victory. Reward yourself for small milestones, keeping yourself motivated and reminding yourself of the amazing journey you're on.

Invest in your future self: As you free yourself from debt, start building an emergency fund and invest in your long-term financial goals. Remember, financial security is not just about eliminating debt, it's about building a stable and prosperous future.

Bonus Tip: During this transit, consider seeking financial counseling or debt management services if needed. Professional guidance can help you create a personalized debt repayment plan, negotiate with creditors, and stay on track towards financial freedom.

Remember, under Venus in Capricorn, tackling debt is not a punishment, it's an act of self-love and empowerment. By facing your challenges with courage, implementing smart strategies, and celebrating your progress along the way, you can transform your financial landscape from a burden to a source of pride and security. So, pick up your financial sword, embrace the discipline of Venus in Capricorn, and conquer the mountain of debt with determination and a vision for a brighter future.

Every Penny a Stepping Stone: Mastering Strategic Spending under Venus in Capricorn

Forget frivolous splurges and fleeting trends – Venus, the planet of love and beauty, undergoes a financial metamorphosis during her stay in Capricorn. Every purchase becomes an investment, a deliberate step towards building a life of quality, value, and long-term satisfaction. Let's navigate this transit and transform your spending habits into a ladder towards personal and financial fulfillment:

From Impulse to Intention:

Mindset shift: Every purchase carries weight. Ask yourself, "Is this an investment in my well-being, my goals, or my future?" Prioritize items that contribute to your personal growth, professional aspirations, or long-term needs.

Banish the impulse buy: Resist the siren call of instant gratification. Give yourself time to consider purchases, compare options, and avoid emotional or peer-pressure-driven decisions.

Needs trump wants: Differentiate between essential needs and fleeting desires. Invest in well-made, durable items that serve a purpose and stand the test of time. Think quality tools, timeless classics, or experiences that enrich your life in lasting ways.

Quality over Quantity:

Buy less, choose better: Embrace minimalism and focus on acquiring fewer, high-quality items that reflect your values and aesthetic. Invest in craftsmanship, ethical sourcing, and sustainable materials that elevate your life without overloading it.

Experience over extravagance: Prioritize experiences that create lasting memories and personal growth over fleeting material possessions. Invest in learning new skills, traveling to new places, or fostering meaningful connections.

Support values with your wallet: Align your spending with your ethical and environmental values. Choose sustainable brands, support local businesses, and invest in products that reflect your commitment to a better future.

Building Financial Muscles:

Budgeting is your roadmap: Create and stick to a realistic budget that tracks your income and expenses meticulously. Allocate funds efficiently, prioritize your needs, and leave little room for impulsive spending.

Embrace delayed gratification: Learn to wait and plan for what you desire. Saving for larger purchases builds discipline, allows you to gather information, and prevents the pitfalls of rushed decisions.

Track, analyze, and adapt: Monitor your spending patterns, identify areas for improvement, and adjust your budget as needed. Be flexible and learn from your financial journey, constantly working towards smarter spending habits.

Bonus Tip: During this transit, consider implementing a "cooling off period" before making significant purchases. Take time to research, compare options, and sleep on it before committing. This simple delay can save you from impulsive decisions and ensure your investments align with your long-term goals.

Remember, under Venus in Capricorn, strategic spending is not about deprivation, it's about conscious choices. Every purchase becomes a building block towards a life you love, a life filled with well-being, financial security, and experiences that resonate with your values. By channeling your inner financial architect, investing in quality and purpose, and avoiding the fleeting allure of instant gratification, you can transform your spending habits into a ladder that leads you to a truly fulfilling and prosperous future.

So, embrace the wisdom of Venus in Capricorn, make every penny a stepping stone, and watch your life rise higher, brick by well-chosen brick, towards a future filled with beauty, value, and lasting satisfaction.

Tips for Navigating Venus in Capricorn:

Develop a Clear Vision: Define your business goals, financial aspirations, and ideal partnerships with laser precision.

Build Sustainable Strategies: Focus on long-term growth, implement robust financial plans, and invest in lasting resources.

Network with Authority: Connect with established figures, industry leaders, and potential partners who share your ambitious vision.

Invest in Quality and Expertise: Don't cut corners on resources or personnel. Surround yourself with skilled professionals and premium solutions.

Expressing Love: Show your appreciation through practical gestures, commitment, and long-term planning. Building a secure future together speaks volumes.

So, embrace the seriousness, hone your business acumen, and leverage the stability of Venus in Capricorn. This is your chance to build a sustainable empire, secure financial prosperity, and forge partnerships that stand the test of time.

#venus in capricorn #capricorn venus #astrology notes #astrology updates #astrology facts #astro notes #astrology #astro girlies #astro posts #astrology community #astrology observations #astropost #astro observations #astro community #business astrology #business horoscopes

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skala · 1 year

Text

It's nothing, at first. And then it's a drawing so simple it might as well be nothing still: a ring, a set of lines delineating limbs; a stick figure like any other rendered crudely upon its canvas.

It is everything and nothing, before its purpose is defined.

---

"This is pointless."

Alan turned at the sound of a stylus clattering across his desk, in time to see a head of curly brown locks slump forward to rest beside the keyboard. "Something the matter, kiddo?"

The desk chair's current occupant let out a beleaguered huff as Alan padded over from the bed to take in her latest piece. The animation program had become a cityscape framing a bustling town square, replete with market stalls and cherry blossom trees that cast dappled shade over the crowds of stick figures populating the scene. "Naomi, this is good. Really good."

And getting really late, a glance at the corner of the monitor (and the orange stick figure sound asleep upon the taskbar) revealed. Hoping Kaori was still preoccupied with the younger sibling down the hall, he shot his daughter a conspiratorial grin.

"Tell you what, how about I let you sneak in another half-hour of computer time? I could help you color in the background, if—"

"I don't care about the background."

Alan blinked. "You sure? Cause I'm starting to think you're a better artist than I am. Look at you, using two-point perspective and everything," he motioned with both hands, tracing a pair of imaginary lines across the canvas. "I don't remember teaching you that."

Naomi blushed in spite of herself, intimations of pride playing at the corners of her lips, though her expression remained uncharacteristically sour. "Orange helped out, a little."

"You make a good team. When you're not busy plotting to lock me out so you can play minecraft all day, that is."

She didn't laugh. With a gentle sigh he hoped sounded commiserating, Alan crouched down to her eye level and tapped one finger against her knee. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

By way of explanation, Naomi retrieved the stylus, shoved the drawing pad closer, and sketched a stick figure in the middle of her canvas. She stared at it for a moment before collapsing back in the chair, folding her arms across her chest as she glowered at the monitor above her.

"Why don't mine ever come to life?"

"Wha—is that what this is all about?" Alan failed to suppress a snort, and Naomi's glower deepened. "You think I don't deal with enough chaos from the five of them already?"

"…I wanted to be like you," she said in a small voice.

Ah.

Alan rose to settle himself at the foot of the bed, unsure how to proceed. "For what it's worth, kiddo, you're a skilled animator already. Living animations, though…"

He hummed to himself. "They're rare. At least as far as I can tell. Like, some of the best animators I've ever met think I'm making them up."

"So you're saying it's pointless."

"No! That's not—I'm just saying it'll happen when you least expect it."

"But there has to be some secret to it!"

Heaving herself up onto the bed to fall face-first into the blankets, arms splayed to either side, her next words came out low and muffled. "I've tried giving them different names, I've tried animating them, nothing works."

(Eyeing the pc, Alan wondered where she'd picked up such a flair for the dramatic.)

"I probably animated hundreds of different stick figures when I was a kid," he shrugged, reaching out to tousle her hair. "It wasn't until I was 18 that one started moving around on its own."

"Yeah, I know. The Chosen One."

"Oh… before him, actually."

Naomi rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow, meeting his gaze with big, inquisitive eyes that told him she'd thought she knew all the stick figures her dad had ever brought to life. "Who was first?"

The dad in question ducked his head at that.

"Tell me."

"I dunno. It isn't exactly a nice story."

"Tell me."

He nearly snorted again at the suddenly adamant tone that had replaced her earlier despondence. After a brief internal debate between the part of him ready to insist on bedtime, and the part of him knowing that in doing so he'd only stoke her curiosity, he acquiesced.

"Alright. But this isn't something I want you sharing with your brother quite yet, ok?"

Naomi perked up, then nodded curtly, as if to demonstrate her resolve to keep secret whatever her father was about to confide in her. Alan repositioned himself to sit at her side.

"It started the same way it always did: with me procrastinating on schoolwork. And with a stick figure scribbled in the corner of a blank project file."

Nothing, at first. A circle and a set of lines. It exists as the simplest representation of man, symbolic of both the least and greatest among them.

"I didn't really have any ideas for it, though."

It exists as an arrow held taut in its bowstring, equally nascent and inert.

Almost a decade later, he still remembered how wrung dry he'd felt that day, overwhelmed by even the simplest of tasks and yet too stubborn to let himself rest. "My brain was, like, this tired, angry mush—angry at my summer school, at my teachers; at my friends getting better grades than me. At myself."

It exists as kindling.

"Angry at everything and everyone."

It is nothing, and everything—

"So I named it victim."

—until its purpose is defined.

Alan's gaze dropped to his hands. "I just… wanted a punching bag, I guess."

Then all the innumerable possibilities and countless states of existence collapse into one, and it moves.

Naomi had gathered up the blanket to her chest. "What'd you do to it?"

He responded with a wry shrug. "Chased it around a bit. Tied it up. I was mostly just curious how it would react to me, at first." A strange softness like threads of regret wove their way into his tone as he pictured the defiant figure, brandishing brush and eraser with all the futile determination of a gladiator seeking victory from a match rigged against it. "It held its own, though, better than what you might expect given what I named it."

It moves, runs, climbs, creates; the certainty of its death not bearing on its mind any more than the suddenness of its life. There is only survival, and the anger that compels it.

"But then it managed to open its own library, and began cloning itself… and I couldn't fight all its copies at once. So I shut down the program."

Until it is denied movement, and is undone.

"…Oh."

Alan grasped sheepishly at the back of his neck. "I told you it wasn't a very nice story."

Its form is undone, reverted to the blank canvas preceding its existence. What remains of its code, severed from source, is left to decay and be slowly overwritten; spread thin into the understructure of machine.

Of victim, there is nothing else.

"I used to tell myself that I wasn't to blame for what I did to it, back then, cause I didn't realize it was alive—as in, I didn't know it could feel the way you and I feel. But the truth is…" Alan forced himself to meet Naomi's precocious scrutiny. She was his daughter and as close a friend to the sticks as he was; he wouldn't downplay his actions in her company. And she was old enough to judge the shamefulness of those actions for herself.

"The truth is, it wouldn't have made any difference if I had known. Teenage me wouldn't have cared. I was immature and needed an outlet. I wanted it to be alive so that I could hurt—and kill it."

It exists in fragments that do not remember.

"Sure says something about who I was back then, huh."

Something pretty disgusting, he might have added, but he waited to hear it from Naomi. He wouldn't have faulted her if she had ran from the room and refused to speak to him the rest of the night.

Instead she turned towards the window, leaned against the headboard with her knees pulled to her chin as she stared out at the sky. No stars were visible through the glass, yet her eyes and cheeks reflected the silvery glint of an almost-full moon.

Existing in fragments,

"You didn't save the file?"

it lies beyond repair.

"Nope. Like I said—I was immature."

And yet it is not alone.

"…But I wish I had."

It is dark—not as in the absence of light, but as in the absence of everything.

And yet it is not alone.

Some greater idea of itself had existed. The enormity of its potential clings to the divides, the moments of hesitation before its creation and deletion, and does not accept it.

It cannot cry out. How could it pull the broken strands of its fate into one plaintive cry that, if somehow seen, would earn it no greater mercy than complete annihilation?

No. It will not beg for a second death.

But it hears the word that imbued its life, spoken as its name, as if its meaning were not so important as that it referred to itself.

As if, in its remembered life, it could have defined itself.

Naomi had gone quiet. But when she turned back towards him he was surprised to see her offer him a tentative smile. He gratefully returned it.

"Maybe I could've set it free, somehow. I don't think it would've liked living on my computer all that much." Nodding towards the monitor, he caught sight of a haggard-looking orange stick waving at them impatiently from the canvas. "Or maybe I could've drawn it a world like that for it to call home, huh?"

"Mhm."

In a lower voice, he added: "It really is some nice composition. I've got professional artists on my team who could learn a thing from you."

Naomi was smiling in earnest now, letting him wrap one arm around her shoulders as she pulled herself into the hug. "I think Orange wants us to sleep."

"That he does."

With another arm beneath her knees, Alan swung her from the bed to deposit her in a gangly heap at his desk. "Hey, don't forget to save your work."

"…yeah yeah you don't have to remind me every time."

It was only after Naomi had dimmed the monitor, waved goodnight to Orange and made her way across the room that she turned back to Alan, lingering in the doorframe with an expression he couldn't quite read in the low light.

"Dad?"

"Mm?"

"…Does Orange know? About Victim?"

Alan clasped his hands behind his head, sighing to himself. "I guess I should tell him sometime, shouldn't I." If he could ever figure out how to bring it up. "You've given me a lot to think about tonight, kiddo, you know that?"

Naomi grinned. "Night, dad."

It is remembered.

"Night Naomi. Love you."

It exists, as a memory dreaming of itself.

In its dreams, the stick figure raises one hand, and draws a circle.

#ava #animator vs animation #alan becker #ava fanfic

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aalinaaaaaa · 3 months

Text

Day 2 — Before the Blue Embers

As part of @rheas-chaos-motivation 's writing challenge!

Word count: 1,326

Synopsis: What Miriyia, Markus and all the ordinary denizens of the city of Waydeirie believe to be just an ordinary celebration of the princess' birthday, turns out to be anything but.

—

They say it is good luck to leave a gift on a birthday.

The windowsill is a prime position for it, a vessel of exchange between a resident and gift giver. From here, romances wilt and blossom, alliances forged over handmade trinkets.

On the night of a royal birthday, local legend says that the royal in question will exchange a gift on one of the windowsills, and potentially change that person’s life forever.

How does one know that a royal has gifted them? People have their assumptions.

Miriyia ventured out for strawberries. Her sister once said a handsome noble told her that they were Princess Estyia’s favourite fruit.

Validity of the claim aside, she thought it befitting to make strawberry tartlets.

The market sellers perched themselves around the Circle of Resilke, the part of Waydeirie that thrived the most. Flowers poured out from boxes and baskets, with vivid ivy overtaking the walls of the city hall, where people gathered to convene and also to dance their lives away.

The seven-spired castle behind it all never failed to catch Miriyia’s attention. It towered over the rest of the city, visible from almost any part.

She wondered what the royals did behind those walls.

“Do you mind holding this for me, love?” A young lad sprinted past her, shoving a glowing, pink thing into her hands. It sizzled and pulsated, getting softer by the second.

“What? No.” She threw it into the fountain, where it burst into pink smoke and magical sparks, turning the water a light pink.

She coughed as she walked away, her nostrils clogged with the scent of all things sweet.

Two other men dashed in the direction of the mystery lad, their path obscured by the pastel smoke bomb.

Miriyia approached one of the sellers, a lady with white flowers in her coiled hair. The green mid-sleeved dress she had blended well with the gentle brown hues of her skin, the one stand-out piece the blue phoenix pendant around her neck.

“Are you alright, dear?” The seller wrapped her branch-like digits around Miriyia’s. “I saw the human shove a smoke spell onto you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, my hands are okay, I think.” Miriyia opened her satchel, ensuring the jam jar was still there. “What was going on with him?”

“I don’t know.” The seller shrugged, opening her hands. “He seemed to be altercating with two others, mentioned something about a weapon.”

“A weapon? Of what sorts? What is he going to do with it?”

“I’m not the one for those kind of details. My trade is fruits and honey, that’s what I know. What can I get for you, miss Kaivje?”

“Can I get these, please?” She pointed to the pot of strawberries, handing the seller the jar of blackberry jam in return.

She unbound the lid for a moment, smiling upon inspection of it. “Ah, this is a fine jam. Did you make this?”

Miriyia nodded, a sudden chill going down her spine. The men seemed to have left…

“Well, is there anything else for you, dear?”

“I’m happy for the moment, bye now.”

Rather than take a browse at the other sellers like she usually did, Miriyia turned straight home, with thoughts of tartlets and pastel bombs on her mind.

—

The sun set in record time, casting the kitchen under the dim glow of sunset.

Miriyia beamed at her creations, a plate full of tartlets with one cast aside near the window.

“Are you ready, yet?” Her lover, Markus, strode in, leaning against the doorway in respondent attire.

She looked to her market dress, covered in white powder with a few red splatters.

Splendid for the evening ball, sure. “What do you think? I have my tartlets done.”

“I see that.” He bridged the gap between them, his hazel-green eye directed towards the plate. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He gave her a cheeky peck on the lips before taking a tartlet, his taste buds singing with each bite. “Miriyia, you are gifted. Are you sure these aren’t spelled?”

“Only to make you love me more.” She kissed him on the cheek before heading upstairs, assuring him she’d only be a few minutes.

More than a few minutes later, she descended the stairs, now fit for a fine evening of revelry.

—

Before she left, Miriyia placed the gift tartlet on the outside windowsill, not knowing what time the princess would show up, if at all.

As the pair walked towards the hall, she noted all the other windowsills adorned in gifts, from jams and breads to statuettes, glassware and jewellery. By night’s end at least one of these things would get exchanged.

For now, the pair joined their fellows in heading to the city hall, hoping only for an excellent ball.

Within the walls of Waydeirie Castle, the official celebration of Estyia Verlova’s birthday unfolded, the castle lit up with light and colour.

—

“I’m going to get a drink, do you want one?” Miriyia asked.

She strode over to the nearest drink maker, ordering a fine glass of lemon, lime, and white wine infused with ice fish blood. At the first taste, she thought the smell resembled ashes and rotten flesh.

Befitting for a fish-blood cocktail, she supposed. She sipped again.

Somewhere in the crowd, her beloved waited for her, dancing amongst the tangle of limbs in the meantime. Her mind pondered going back to him, ignoring the strange tang of ash and bleeding the night away.

No amount of loud music nor alcohol could drown out her instincts, shouting and screaming at her to turn around and go to the entrance.

Chances were of someone letting their fire magic get out of control. Perhaps a stupid prank, or just nothing but her alcohol-tinged senses getting the better of her.

She emerged at the entrance, her eyes drawn straight towards Waydeirie Castle.

Flames rose from the centre of it, burning a hole near the central spire.

A number of others watched in horror, their gazes transfixed on the fire unfolding before their eyes.

Glass shattered, with an enormous plume of blue flames snaking up around the central spire. The flames culminated in the form of a blue phoenix, spreading its fiery wings wide before splitting into blue embers.

“Fate save us.” She said, out of habit.

Some people started screaming, others shouting, and a few crying.

Miriyia found herself wont to do all three. The books, scribes and Recordkeepers warned of this.

No one, however, spoke of Fate’s impending appearance in her lifetime.

Blue, flickering sparks floated through the sky, interspersed with red embers and ash.

Miriyia took a spot beside another reveller, holding her while she cried. Tears formed in her own eyes, clouding her sight.

When her lover brought her into his sturdy arms, the tears streaked down her face.

He stumbled in place, keeping her in his hold. She noted the messiness of his steps, the shock written all over his face.

“Did you see the phoenix?”

“The what?”

Miriyia swallowed a lump in her throat. “Fate’s back. She sent her flames out of the castle.”

“That- That can’t be.” Her feet found purchase on solid ground, though with reluctance.

“Surely you just had too much, right?”

She shook her head. “Look at all these people. Do you think it’s all intoxication? Look at the smoke and ashes up there, look at the castle.”

His demeanour shifted, calming, his eyes wide in horror.

“Now look at me.” He looked down. “I would give my life and the tartlet for this to be a dream. We all would. This is what they talk about in the myths, the legends, the ceremonies. Our world is ever closer to unending ruin, and I just want to go home.”

She dropped into the crook of his shoulder. “Please, just take me home.”

So he did.

When Miriyia woke up the next morning, she found two things beside her.

Markus, and the princess’ tartlet.

—

Taglist (General + Flamebearer, ask/comment/message me if you'd like to be added or subtracted) : @mundanemoongirl @scarletteflamerald @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @ceph-the-ghost-writer @feathers-little-nest @outpost51 @mattresses-and-macaroni @limitlesswritingvoid @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thelaughingstag @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @bigboicol-theflamingcol @original-writing

#writing #writeblr #fantasy #rhea's writing challenge #writing challenge #flamebearer

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wispstalk · 1 year

Text

in bloom - for @tes-summer-fest day 6

this post on ayleid food got something cooking in my brain about brewing rebellions and crumbling empires. CW - parasites, mentions of slavery. ~550 words

The swordfish is hauled in by fettered hands. Real shackles would only hinder the work, so Ayleid law is written in flesh. The alchemical symbol for iron is branded into skin or tattooed. Every laborer marked thus feels a phantom weight around their wrists, and they speak of it amongst themselves in sign language, passing it from hand to hand. So the swordfish also moves through history’s only empire: from caravel to harbor, from dock to market, to a cart bound for the kitchens in the Cavern of the High Wood.

There, an ambitious donai in the queen's service craves a spectacle for his table. What could be more impressive than this swift hunter, this solitary lord of the sea? Imagine how the donai's guests will flutter and gasp when it is presented to be ground between their molars. Picture its conquest in reverse: the stain of defeat darkening the waters somewhere between here and Sumerset, the fish's dying thrash, the flight of the harpoon, the power of its sleek body in breach.

(As the handcart jostles on the bridge to Garlas Malatar, the swordfish just looks limp. Ludicrous. The wobbling of its bill does not, however, render the point any less sharp.)

In the kitchens, it moves through yet another procession of hands. A glass knife shaves raw flesh. Transparent sheets are folded— carefully, for any rips would bring disgrace— into the shapes of pear blossoms. Each petal is brushed with a horseradish and raspberry glaze. A fresh fennel bud crowns the center, dusted with pollen. On an iced silver platter, eight eights of these perfect fish flowers are nestled together. When these gauzy confections are lifted to the mouth, they cast pale pink shadows in the welkynd glow, and the guests of the donai coo in delight.

Somewhere between sea and table, someone certainly noticed that the fish was riddled with worms. They are plucked from rings of muscle and tossed aside to writhe on the butcher's block, where they spell out their schemes in pale calligraphy.

The cooks know their work. Swordfish are known for this but their flesh is safe when cooked; parasites yield to fire like anything else does. The donai, however, only cares to extract every available advantage. If there is a fresh catch to be had, he requires tartare. His tastes are not for lowly buro to question.

Eggs are small enough to escape the most refined attentions. Tonight they pass through a dozen gullets. They will hatch and burrow into dark crevices and this proclamation will echo through the innards of history's first and only empire: You stole our idea! We were the ones to write your laws!

The little conquest will bloom in rashes across maps of skin. Its generations will pour forth in cramping stomachs and tunnel their fortifications into swollen limbs. During tortured night-sweats and dreams of slithering chains, it will howl its victories through the mouths of its hosts. Someday it will demand too much of the bodies it has seized and decay will creep into these dim, calcifying halls. And who's to say what happens then?

The donai does not know the answer because the question has never occurred to him. He cranes his neck, drums his fingers on the long marble table, impatient for the next course.

#have a feeling this one is an outlier among otherwise lovely prompts. it's a little gross #tesfest23 #ayleid #1e #ray writes

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enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog · 1 year

Text

-The Best of Intentions~

Chapter 11

Dis found her brother in the courtyard, sitting on the bench underneath the blossoming apple tree that their grandmother planted shortly after her and Thror had married. He was lost in his own thoughts, as he fidgeted with something small in his hands.

She approached silently, observing him. He looked pained, fighting some internal war with himself.

"It pains me to see you this way, especially after seeing how you two danced together. I haven't seen you smile or laugh this much since before Smaug, when our parents and Frerin were still alive." Her voice was gentle yet firm, breaking him from his trance.

He glanced up at her as she approached, but quickly looked away, unable to respond. It was just too painful to let it fully resurface.

She sat next to him, her shoulder touching his. "When I met Vili in that market, I knew he was my One. He knew as well, the moment he looked into my eyes, He was charming, over the moon he had found me. I wasn't so sure; I was afraid of such a momentous commitment. So, I ran. And I avoided him for months, until I couldn't bear to be apart from him any longer. It felt like my very soul was being ripped in two."

Thorin looked over at her in surprise. "I had no idea. I just thought you guys met and that was that."

Dis laughed softly, her smile was bittersweet as her eyes momentarily focused on that past time. "No. And now looking back I'm angry with myself for wasting that precious time. For fighting something that I should have just embraced. We are mortal Thorin, we don't have the luxury of forever. We must grab on tightly to our happiness and enjoy it until the very last."

Thorin shook his head, looking away from her and looking out into the night, feeling that long seeded guilt stab at him that always accompanied a memory of Vili. "I'm not as strong as you Dis." He spoke softly. If she hadn't been studying his face, she wouldn't have been able to hear him. "I saw what losing Vili did to you, the pain you went through. I also remember what it did to Adad, losing Amad the way he did. I couldn't survive that. I would beg for death."

Dis put her arm around her brother's shoulders. "I can see how it would look like that from the outside, but I can tell you that I wouldn't trade one second with him despite all that pain. I'd rather treasure the love and memories I have of him than to have never loved him at all. And I know that if Adad were here, he would tell you the same thing."

"Mistlynn*

She needed air. The feasting hall had grown hot and thick, and she had found herself becoming lightheaded. The emotional whiplash she had received throughout the evening hadn't helped either. She found herself on the top of an intricately carved stone staircase that led down into a beautiful courtyard. The moon was shining brightly in the sky, making the water spewing from the fountains sparkle. There was a cloud of light pink blossoms floating above a thick gnarled trunk. At its base she saw Thorin and Dis. She was hugging her brother, their heads dipped towards each other in a private conversation.

She flushed, angry with herself for imposing on such a private moment. She turned abruptly to leave, but in her haste the many layers of her dress twisted about her ankles. She was already unstable wearing the new heeled slippers, with an undignified yelp, she found herself falling and rolling down the steps, landing in a heap of silk and tulle.

She lay there, gasping as she stared up at the night sky, not quite believing the fact she just fell down the flight of stairs, in front of Thorin and Dis no less, "There is no possible way that just happened." She whispered to herself as the gravity of it started to sink in.

She turned slightly, hoping that they had not noticed but instead found that she had landed right next to the bench, both Thorin and Dis looking directly at her with a mix of concern and amusement on their faces. "This…is not…happening." She whined as she grabbed the top layer of her skirt and slowly pulled it up to cover her burning face.

Dis chuckled and patted her brother on his knee. "And on that note, I'll leave you to it." She stood up, brushing out her skirt and walking gracefully away. "I shall see you tomorrow for tea Mistlynn." She called over her shoulder as she made her way back to the feasting hall, the sounds of the gathering still echoing out into the night.

Her face remained hidden from Thorin as she continued to lay there unmoving. She heard him chuckle. "Are you alright? Do you need assistance in getting up?"

"No, I am right where I intended to be. Stargazing and all that implies."

"Through the skirt of your dress? I've never seen one stargaze in such a manner."

"You should try it sometime."

"I'm not one for dresses so I will take your word for it." Thorin slowly pulled the fabric from Mistlynn's tight clutches, chuckling to himself silently, "Mistlynn let me help you up, I promise the bench is much better for stargazing."

"No please, I already feel like dying, just leave me here. I will melt into the earth much easier this way."

Thorin laughed uproariously, his eyes twinkling with mirth with her unhindered honesty. It was just as refreshing as her very presence was.

"Laughing at me will not improve this situation or cause me to join you on the bench any sooner." Came her petulant retort, her voice wavering with ill-concealed embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I truly don't mean to laugh. Will you please join me? If you don't, I will be forced to join you on the ground."

Mistlynn let out a huff but didn't move, she didn't know how at this point. Tulle was so entwined around her feet she knew it would be impossible to unravel on her own.

"Alright then I guess I am joining you!" Thorin let out a grunt as he rose from the bench and then, much to her surprise, he laid on the ground with his head next to hers, clasping his hands over his stomach "I'm not sure the view is much better from the ground, but I do say it is cooler down here after the heat from the feasting hall."

"My feet are tangled and my arse hurts, I can't get up." She finally confessed after a brief silence; her voice contrite.

"I know." Was his simple responsible. She felt some of her wall's crumble as they lay there next to each other, listening to each other's breaths and their heartbeats harmonize as one.

"Would you like help?" The low timbre of his voice washed over her, drawing her in like a moth to an irresistible flame.

"Yes…if it is not too much trouble?" She whispered, trying to disguise the fact she was near tears.

"I am known to be quite agreeable…when one is not screaming at me, that is." His lips twisted up into a playful smirk. It felt good, to allow this side of him to reveal itself after lying dormant for so long.

Mistlynn let out a truly genuine laugh, her embarrassment slowly washing away and being replaced with the intense attraction that pushed her to gravitate towards him. She liked this side of him, and she was hungry for more. "A girl does not like being chased, she may like being pursued but chased is completely unwarranted."

"What do you call it when she leaps off a 12 story balcony slicing through a banner, running through the halls wreaking havoc and holding dwarves at knife point? Just a typical midweek day for you?"

"I apologized for that, I'll have you know! I had just been attacked by a band of Orcs, creatures I've not once encountered, and was in a strange place if you remember correctly. I feel a little grace should be given to that situation." She sniffed delicately, desperately wanting that tense day of their meeting to be a distant memory.

"Well, I guess I could be persuaded if I was given the proper motivation." His voice deepened as he baited her further, truly enjoying their easy flowing banter.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not very good at being a female. Dresses and heels are death traps. My table manners are atrocious. And I never say the right thing! What makes you think I know how to properly motivate anyone?"

He turned his head to look at her, his gaze softening. He reached his hand over and touched hers gently before threading his fingers through hers. Her hand fit perfectly into his, and he felt another missing piece of his soul slide into place. She turned to face him, her eyes wide both in surprise and nervousness.

"I have the distinct feeling you can do whatever you put your mind to." He breathed, his words earnest.

Before she could come up with a response he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up. He placed her hand he held over his shoulder before scooping her up effortlessly. She gasped at the sensation, looking up at his face as he gently cradled her in his arms. A fuzzy memory of him holding her the same way the night he had rescued her, his enticing eyes boring into hers. She had felt it, even then, this gut-wrenching pull to him.

He sat her down tenderly on the bench, leaving his hand on the curve of her low back as he helped straighten out the voluminous skirt of her dress. She sighed in relief once her legs were free and kicked the infernal shoes off for good measure.

Her heart was once again racing at his proximity, his hand burning her skin as it rested on her. She looked up at him, to see that he hadn't taken his eyes off her. Azure again crashing with jade.

"You asked me earlier what was happening." His voice was thick with heady emotion, making her tremble against his touch. She nodded, unable to find her voice.

"I've been trying to fight this." He rumbled, holding her gaze captive. "But now I just find myself falling into you with all that I am. You are who I've been waiting for my entire life." His other hand came up to cup her jaw, making her eyes flutter as she leaned in closer to him.

"Are you saying that you think I am your One?" She breathed, still unable to look away from him, so lost in the endless sea that were his eyes.

"You are my One. I knew the moment I first looked into your eyes; I was just too stubborn to accept it. " There was no doubt in his strong voice. His thumb traced her cheekbone, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"We were told that having a 'One' was a thing lost and buried with our ancestors." She swallowed thickly. A flash of panic crossed his eyes, fearing this was a rejection. That was not what she wanted; not what she was trying to convey. She brought her hand up and ran her fingers into his well-groomed beard. "All I know is that you are the only one to have ever set my soul on fire. I cannot fathom living a life without you in it. That's why I've stayed. I can't bring myself to leave you."

"M'eudail." He breathed, a small smile played across his lips as he nuzzled her nose with his while pulling her head closer, his hand moving to the back of her head, finally sinking his fingers into her silky curls. He kissed her gently at first, a sharp contrast to their first kiss before he slid his tongue along her bottom lip, as if seeking permission.

She obliged eagerly, one hand grasping his hair tightly while using the other to move onto his lap, anchoring herself firmly to his chest. "Damned dress." She growled into his mouth as she struggled to sit fully on his lap, the layered skirt was preventing her from getting the closeness she had been craving since their first kiss.

Thorin's chest rumbled with a chuckle as she tried to squirm closer to him. "I am quite partial to this dress." His voice was husky as he peppered kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

Her eyes rolled back as she hummed, enjoying the chills he sent through her body with just his lips. "It allows me to pay certain parts of your body special attention."

She never realized how sensitive her breasts could be until he started to lavish attention upon them. She gasped, a jolt of fire shooting to that deep place between her thighs, his hand grasping her breast through her dress. Her chest heaved as he licked and nipped back up her neck.

Her grip tightened in his hair, making him growl and lunge for her lips. His blood was boiling with lust. He knew he had to slow it down, they had a lot to talk about, no matter how badly he craved her. He brought his hands up to cup her face, and slowed down their kiss, softening it.

"Even though this pains me…" he whispered against her lips, "We should probably discuss some things before we get too ahead of ourselves."

Mistlynn breathed deeply through her nose in resignation as she rested her forehead against his. She was on her knees, since her dress wouldn't let her sit fully in his lap, making it to where he had to look up at her. Not that either was complaining. His hands slid down to her lower back, his thumb teasing the dimples at the base of her spine where the curve of her butt was evident.

"I suppose your right." She sighed, "Even though I do prefer kissing you over talking. I feel like we would agree more if we did nothing but kiss."

"So much progress made, then you say things like that." He cocked his eyebrow, his stern tone not reaching his laughing eyes. "What should we do about that?"

She started to massage her fingers across the back the of head and neck, making him groan and rest his head against her chest. "Minx." He grumbled while tightening his arms around her middle, pulling her closer against him. "You don't play fair."

"Never said I did." She giggled. He could only imagine the cat like grin that shaped her mouth.

"I'm going to have my hands full with you, I can already tell." He mumbled into her chest, before playfully nipping the top of her breast, making her squeak in mock indignation.

"Two can play at that game." He grinned at the sound of her laugh, his hands quickly grabbing her butt and squeezing, making her arch up into him in surprise before laughing and smacking him playfully on the shoulder. If he was fortunate enough to spend the rest of his days making her laugh, like he was now, he would never want for anything.

He reached one hand into his pocket, pulling out the small item he had been fidgeting with earlier when Dis had found him. He held it up, so that Mistlynn could see. Her eyes widened when she recognized what it was. He smiled, relieved that she knew the significance of this hair bead.

"This was my mother's." His voice was soft. "My father crafted it for her when they announced their betrothal. It is mithril and sapphire with the runes of my house, of the line of Durin."

Mistlynn swallowed thickly, tears gathering in her eyes.

"I am almost 200 years old, and I have done nothing but fight my way through life. And now that I have found you, I know that all that fighting was meant to lead me to you." He paused and wiped away a tear that escaped and slid down her cheek. "Will you do me the honor of letting me braid this in your hair? So that the world can see that it has always been you that was meant to be my Queen?"

She laughed breathlessly before leaning down and kissing him passionately. "Only if you wear one of mine." She whispered in-between kisses. She abruptly pulled back, biting her bottom lip nervously. "It isn't made of anything special." She stammered. "It's made of ivory and mother of pearl. They were made for my mother by my father when they were betrothed as well."

Thorin kissed her gently. "I would be honored to wear it, and I will treasure it above all other jewelry I own."

#erebor #hobbit thorin oakenshield #hobbit thorin oakenshield x oc fanfiction #thorin and company #thorin durin #thorin fanfiction #thorin oakenshield #hobbit fanfic #dis durin #king thorin #alternate universe #the hobbit

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hapan-in-exile · 1 year

Text

Volume 2 - Post #5: Doctor Stranger

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem Reader

Total word count: 2.2K (of 21K total in Volume 2)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

______________________________________________

V. The shimmering midnight carpet ripples faintly with every upward step, as though it truly could be water. Most of the other guests climb the stairs in pairs or small groups, but you do your best to exude the same entitled arrogance—shoulders back, head high—to ascend alone in solitary grandeur.

Music pours through gaps in the curtained galleries as you walk down a long hallway lined with verdant garlands of blossoming flowers. The crystal walls of the palace create a luster that amplifies each glimmering flicker of candlelight from the glass chandeliers above. And then, just as you reach the mezzanine, a servant appears from behind one of the sumptuous curtains to bar your path.

“Madame,” the cybernetic bows, its pneumatic joints gently whistling.

You tense, worried that somehow your disguise and stolen invitation aren’t enough, and you’ve already been discovered as an impostor.

The servant’s brows crinkle. “Your invitation, Madame, is to the officer’s ball. I will escort you.”

There’s a voice in the back of your head urging you to run for it. Except that Mando’s right, you can’t run in these shoes so instead, you nod curtly, “Very well.”

The cyborg holds aside the curtain, beckoning you to step forward. You remind yourself that Nito is currently sliced into the security network. He would warn you against walking straight into a trap. Probably.

You follow them down another hallway towards one of the palace’s ornately domed towers. When you spot the next flight of stairs ahead, you almost break down in hysterics. If you make it to the top, only to be thrown into some holding cell, you will absolutely lose your shit.

Your knuckles turn white from gripping the banister so tightly. After dragging yourself up to the top–knees aching, calves burning—you want nothing more than to celebrate with a well-deserved drink. And as though you conjured her from thin air, another servant appears to hand you a flute of sparkling liquid. A cluster of these robed attendants waits nearby to push open a set of intricately carved double doors and welcome you inside.

The vivid glamor of the palace paled in comparison to the world within the ballroom. It was a hall of vaulting glass and shimmering tapestries. Everywhere you look, you see is the wealth of this place in gilded platters, winking jewels, and pristinely folded collars. The entire city had been invited to commemorate Berchest’s victory, but this was the real party tonight. This is where you would find your target.

Only the tracking fob remained inert.

But, hey, there’s several lofted balconies and an extensive terrace garden to explore. Plenty of ground to cover.

“How close do you think I’ll need to be?” You ask discreetly, raising your glass to your lips.

Mando’s modulated voice sounds through the speaker in your ear. “Even the best shields on the market won’t work under a meter.”

You choke, sending your drink up both nostrils. “That close?”

“Stay focused,” the Mandalorian urges. “You’ve got…ninety-seven minutes.”

Since you simply cannot climb another step in these shoes, you decide to meander about the ballroom’s main floor, its polished crystal lost beneath boots and twirling skirts. The hall was a wash of blue velvet with all the officers in their dress uniforms, every shade of the spectrum represented by a different branch, division, or unit in attendance.

That, at least, should make your job easier. There’s no holo-puck and no physical description of the target to go on. But most of the guests here tonight are Berchest military, and your guy’s a civilian. Simple process of elimination.

Then you spot—there, in the corner—you catch sight of the most beautiful, decadent-looking pastries stuffed with custard, and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, everywhere. The dessert table was as good a place as any to begin your search.

Nito gasps in your ear. “Can you grab me some of those bon-bon things?”

“This dress doesn’t exactly have pockets, buddy.”

Mando may have teased you about approaching everything like a military exercise, but given the amount of ground you have to cover it was probably wise to do a systematic sweep. Start at the edges and work your way inward.

Armed with a beverage and a cream horn, you briskly weave your way through the crowd, looking for all the world like a woman who had lost their date in the buffet line. There’s a few startled, awkward moments, but you brush them aside with a polite, “Thought you were someone else.”

After circling the ballroom—several times—unsuccessfully, you steel yourself to tackle the balconies above.

Still no luck with the tracking fob. Maybe Ubaa Dir’s intel was bad and your target never made it to Berchest? Perhaps he was smart and avoided crowds? Or he just hated balls…there could be a million reasons why he would skip the gala tonight. Hell, he could have simply come down with a case of food poisoning.

Caught up in dazed absentmindedness—you turn around and bump into a stranger standing behind you, spilling his drink down the front of his cravat.

“I’m so sorry!” Instinctively, you reach out to catch the falling glass in his hands. The lace gloves help to dull the power of your touch, but you sense something…interesting from him.

“That’s quite all right.” He mumbles through an embarrassed smile, brushing the amber liquid from his expertly tailored tunic. Fortunately, it’s a dark charcoal color that hides the stain—his pants, knee-high boots, and heavy cloak were all the same. None of it screamed wealth or rank, yet it was certainly expensive. It complimented his garnet skin and bright green eyes.

You don’t immediately recognize his species—no distinguishing horns, hooves, or lekku. There was no hair on his face, not even eyebrows, but he did have long translucent lashes that softened the angular lines of his face.

“It's a room full of treasures,” he adds kindly. “Easy to get distracted.”

You’d paused in one of the galleries leading from the ballroom to the outside terrace. Display cases containing decorative objects for both art and war filled the room. It was lit not by the enchanting candelabras and chandeliers that adorned the rest of the palace but by an immense crystalline structure suspended overhead.

He follows your gaze upward. “I noticed you’ve been sneaking glances at it.”

A Miraluka sneaking glances? Erenada, Thuli, you have got to be more vigilant.

“I can feel it,” you say, remembering your disguise. “It’s like an extra sense, emanating.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“You mean apart from a treaty violation?”

He laughs with such surprise it’s clear he was out of practice. “Quite. Though I can’t imagine confiscating it would be a priority for the New Republic.”

“Perhaps not,” you concede. “It’s just strange to see it used as a decoration when it could power this entire city.”

His green eyes widen with admiration. “And here I was hoping to entertain you with random tidbits of gemology.”

You arch a brow at him. “Do you meet many people who find gemology that entertaining?”

“No,” he chuckles, delighted to have his lack of social graces thrown in his face. “I can’t remember the last time I attended one of these…I wish I could say I was simply out of practice, but truth be told, I might have spent the entire night in silence if you hadn’t bumped into me.”

“Well, then, you’re most welcome.” The smile spreading across your lips is genuine. His self-effacing charm was rather disarming.

“You must tell me how you know so much about the Hapan rainbow stones. It's such an insular culture—”

“Would you like to join me out on the terrace?” You ask the stranger brightly.

“Why…uh…yes.” He stammers, a little dumbfounded.

“Do you really have time for this?” Nito’s scolds in your ear.

“I am…Ozan. Ozan Sango.”

“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Ozan.” Threading your hand under his arm, you steer him towards the open doors. “Thank you for the company. I haven’t explored the terrace gardens yet, and you seem to know your way around.”

You hope this pronouncement satisfies Nito… and dispels any confusion about why you’re suddenly in the market for an escort.

“Of course. There's a beautiful collection of zeilla flowers in bloom. I would be happy to show you.”

The complete absence of innuendo in his voice is refreshing. In the hour since you started scouring the ballroom, you’ve already been groped several dozen times.

“What’s your connection to the Nine Houses, Ozan, that compels you to attend balls when you’d be more comfortable at home?”

“Ah,” he laughs sheepishly. “I’m afraid I'm at the mercy of my patrons.”

“You’re an artist?”

“A scientist.”

“Oh! What do you study?”

Hadn’t Ubaa Dir said something about the target being a doctor… or engineer?

“At the moment? Fuel sources, mostly.” Ozan says thoughtfully. “With the Empire gone, Berchest doesn’t enjoy the same access to coaxium supplies she once did. But necessity is the catalyst of invention, as they say. We’re learning to do more with less.”

“And now you have the raw wealth of the entire system under your control.” Yeesh! When did your cynicism become so irrepressible? “I apologize for my rudeness, Ozan. It seems I’m the one out of practice.”

“Not at all,” he says politely. “You’re right. The fall of the Empire created a power vacuum in our part of the galaxy. And the Houses seized their opportunity to fill it. That is the way.”

“Hmmm,” you grin. “You sound like someone else I know.”

It’s clear from the look on Ozan’s face that he accepted the remark as a compliment. Maybe your feelings for the Mandalorian were obvious to everyone, except Mando.

The zeillas are indeed lovely, as well as the hedge maze. But despite passing literally hundreds of guests along your little expedition, the tracking fob did not so much as blink.

“Do you play?” Ozan asks, looking curiously at a crowded table nearby. “It is for charity, after all. Shall we get some chips?”

“Sorry, but I think I’ll need to—”

“She didn’t put on that dress expecting to spend her own money.”

Your head snaps around at the sound of that voice. “Zemika?!”

“Is it weird to say I almost didn’t recognize you with hair?” Zemika, your old flame from what felt like a lifetime ago, wraps her elegantly tapered fingers around your shoulders before turning her dazzling smile onto Ozan. “She used to shave it all off. But that dress! I knew who it was immediately. You look fantastic.” Two swift kisses land on each of your cheeks.

Should you be surprised? If there was anyone perpetually on the lookout for a rich keeper…

“Sorry, I have to steal her away,” Zemika purrs. “But trust me when I say you do not want to go in against this one. She will take your last coin.”

“Ladies.” Ozan nods goodbye, looking defeated. You open your mouth to say—what, exactly? See you soon? Odds are you’ll never see him again.

“I see you still have the strangest tastes, Dahra.” She nudges your hip conspiratorially as though all the time, distance, and heartache between you had evaporated.

“Maybe your tastes are just conventional.”

“My little sex pistol, how I missed you! And don’t pretend you’re immune to a handsome face. Do you remember that gorgeous Kiffar who worked at Ingtar’s casino? What was his name?”

“Zemika, I really—” She was an old flame, yes, but the kind who still smoldered and would consume everything in her path.

“And we used to meet up for drinks on level four just to ogle at him from the bar! Ahhhhh…then one night, you sashay through the front door with him.”

“Sobek,” you mumble, knowing full well she could care less. “His name was—is? Sobek.”

“What a night that was! I still can’t believe you shared him. Though if I recall, you were the one who got to ride his face so—”

“Zemika!” You almost shout. “It’s been—what—over a year since I’ve seen you? Are you still with that prince or on to someone new?”

“He’s a duke. And, um, yes!” Her eyes swell with incredulity. “Darling, this is his family’s party. How did you even get in here? Are you someone’s date?”

“You know me. This was the place to be tonight, so here I am.”

“More likely you heard there’d be a card table. And who could turn you away in that dress?” You let her pull you into a twirl, the hem of your gown slinking around your ankles as the beads swept across the crystal floor. “Well, let me extend you an official invitation. Your only obligation is to shield me from all of these vultures and snobs.”

“I can’t stay long.” You check the time. “Maybe an hour. My transport leaves tonight.”

"You have exactly fifty seven minutes," Mando says sternly into your earbud.

“What? No! You’re staying with me. We have to catch up.”

“I can’t just change up my plans like that, Zemika.”

“And why not?” She huffs. “You just got here. Don't you miss me?”

“Of course, I do,” you sigh. “That’s why I asked you to stay.”

“You also said you wouldn’t hold a grudge if I left…so, here’s your opportunity to keep your promise.

“Zemika, I—”

“Please! The galaxy has brought us together. Are you really going to desert me? I need a break from these people.”

“You're complaining about being a kept woman? I thought you’d revel in playing little Miss Duchess.”

“Mistress. And yes, most of my time is spent in pampered luxury. But nights like these are so tedious. His family and these House bureaucrats just shuffle him around meeting people and I have to hover in the background in case he needs a quick fuck in closet to let off some steam.”

“Ew!”

“I know. It’s very demoralizing. Which is why you should be nice to me!”

“Zemika, are you capable of a relationship that’s not based in manipulation?”

“Stop pretending like you can say ‘no’ to me, Dahra.”

“Why does she keep calling you Dahra?” Nito wonders aloud in your ear-piece. It’s not exactly an opportune moment to explain to him that you would not, in a million years, trust Zemika Koga with your real identity.

“Fine,” you say. This could actually prove to be useful. “Take me on a tour. Tell me about all the main characters and their bullshit. I’m sure there’s secret lounges and inner sanctums everywhere.”

That instinct did turn out to be true. There were many hideaways, and Zemika knew them all. It was hard to question her directly about politics without raising suspicion. Hence, a constant refrain about palace intrigue—who was new to court, who was rising up the ranks—helped to mask your true intentions. It was all stomach turning, but at least Zemika was efficient.

“And that’s when she—”

The music suddenly dies down, and a tinkling chime echoes throughout the ballroom. You peer over the railing to see that a group of very important looking elders has gathered directly in the center of the hall below. Nine of them, one for each house, standing there, dressed in gold, looking unbearably elegant.

“Ugh,” Zemika moans, her mood souring. “Speeches.”

One of the patriarchs, golden robes embroidered with his house sigil, lifts his head to project into the amassing crowd. “Tonight we give thanks…”

What proceeds is a very long list of nobles, titans of industry, and decorated soldiers.

“Your hair is so glorious!” Zemika says in a very audible whisper while tugging on your braid, causing several people nearby to sneer judgmentally. “Why did you ever cut it off?”

Because Tigran had insisted that it made you far too conspicuous. You could have changed the color, sure, but he thought the shaved head gave you a more … 'ambiguous' look species-wise that suited someone living their life on the run. Plus, there was less chance of collecting your biometric data. Oddly enough, it was Zemika leaving that finally made you feel sufficiently reckless to grow it back.

“At the root of prosperity is order—crops rot in unharvested fields without order,” the patriarch snaps. “That is what we have restored to this quadrant of the galaxy.”

He then enumerates the many innovations made possible through the Nine Houses’ consolidated leadership. “We have saved the most talented minds in our system from withering in obscurity…” which prompts another long list of prestigious designers, scientists, and engineers.

“Wait!” Nito roars in your ear. “Wasn’t that—”

“I heard it too,” Mando says over the comline.

Oh, you most definitely recognized that name!

Just like the nobles and soldiers, each honoree was singled out with the expectation that they graciously accepted the adoration of a grateful audience. Your eyes dart around the room to see who would nod and bow in response to the name of your target.

When no one does, your heart plummets. How much thought and energy had you put into planning this job? And how many times had you touched yourself and imagined the Mandalorian confessing that you were the most brilliant and capable woman he’d ever met?

All thwarted because this motherfucker could not get his ass dressed and out of bed.

Tossing your head backwards in frustration, you spot Ozan in your peripheral vision. The other guests around him were applauding, their hands pointed towards him–he’d clearly been called out in the list of names.

That’s funny, you hadn't heard the patriarch mention an Ozan Sango.

Ozan tucks his chin down immediately, surreptitiously waving away the applause. But, this was much more than just an introvert demuring under the spotlight. He was scared. Panicked.

“It’s him,” you say, grinning like an idiot. Fake name. Shaved head. Vague professional credentials. Who did that remind you of? “This is the guy I’ve been looking for all night…”

“Are you sure?” Mando asks in your ear.

The tracking fob hadn’t made a peep the entire time you spent glued to his side, but you’ve never been more certain of anything in your fucking life.

“Yes.”

“What did you say?” Zemika asks, looking at you as though you’d lost your mind.

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand.” Hmmmm, now you are very interested in seeing ‘Dr. Ozan Sango’ again. “Unconventional tastes, right?”

“Then let’s get a better look,” Zemika winks.

She was an excellent ally to have in this moment. Everyone clearly recognized her as the Duke’s mistress. The officers bow their heads, and though some may have cast her disgusted looks, they all step aside to make way.

“Do you know him? The man I was talking to before…”

“Not socially,” Zemika says, heading towards the front of the crowd. “I know Raife’s father brought him here from some backwater moon. Obviously, he’s done quite well for himself…oh, there’s Raife!”

She stares into the throng of courtiers when the Duke turns, catching sight of you both. It was hard to look away from him. He had been and still is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Not just handsome—beautiful. His skin glowed, and his eyes sparkled like gemstones framed by thick dark lashes. His mouth was a work of art, too, all sensual lines and softness begging to be kissed.

“That’s right. I forgot he's rich and gorgeous.”

“Isn’t he? There’s a bit of a chip on his shoulder about being the baby of the family, but his father is giving him credit for this mining project.”

“What mining—ugh, are you preening? Does this mean your services are needed?”

While sauntering on his way toward you, the Duke is intercepted by none other than a harried looking Ozan Sango. He leans in to whisper furiously in Raife’s ear. The Duke rolls his eyes but grudgingly nods in agreement. Amid this anxious exchange, Ozan looks up and locks eyes with you, recognizing in your steadfast gaze that he is fucked.

The Duke waves over a few soldiers who take position on either side of the ‘Doctor’ to usher him out of the ballroom and into the night. His eyes dart nervously around the room, but he can't avoid catching your unwavering stare each time he checks to see if you're still watching him.

“He’s on the move.” You hear Mando’s voice in your ear. “Time to go. Nito will pack up here and meet you back at the Crest.”

And that was it.

The Mandalorian would get to work tracking Ozan. Your part of the mission—job—was over. The thrill of adrenaline would pass. You should probably make some excuses and catch a lift back to the city. Mando didn’t exactly need your help for this next part. The hunt to follow.

Zemika turns to look at you, all the coyness fading from her eyes. She was utterly earnest. And desperate. “I would be willing to share him. Raife, you know. Repay the favor?”

If only she could see the scorn in your eyes from behind this vizor. “That's what you've had in mind since the minute you walked up to me, isn’t it?”

“That I wanted to spend the night with you?” She shrugs playfully—that mask of enticement slipping right back on. “That’s what everyone's thinking when they see you in that dress. Come on! This would be really good for me. I can show him he doesn’t have to hide other women from me…and oh, come on. I thought you missed me?”

What if Mando couldn’t find the target? Without the tracking fob…

If the Duke knew where his guards were taking Ozan, this could be your best chance to catch him. With only a few remaining footsteps to close the distance between you, it’s time to make a decision.

“Well, I’m not fucking you in a closet.”

“Sweetheart, you remember Dahra?”

Those full, supple lips spread into a wolfish grin. “Oh yes, your old…roommate?”

Your heart stops for a beat hearing his voice. It’s immediately recognizable to you: If you’re going to act like a slut, I’ll fuck you like one.

“She was just asking me for a tour," Zemika smiles brightly. "You must see the view from his private library. It’s breathtaking. Faces the cove.”

“Thuli,” Nito shouts into your ear. “I’m packed up. Time to go!”

It’s universally understood that you should never let emotions, like spite or jealousy, cloud your judgment when the stakes are this high. But looking into the smug face of this dirty cheater is when the job —and a personal vendetta—all perfectly align for you.

“I have a little time before my transport leaves," you smile serenely, pinching the tips of your fingers to slide off your gloves. "I’d love a tour.”

************************

Read the next post: Post #6: Back in the Saddle

Back to Volume 2 - All posts

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando smut #sexy mando #sexymando #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #mandalorian smut #mando fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #star wars smut #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader

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louisupdates · 1 year

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A lucky collector will be able to purchase one of Louis’ white label vinyls through auction to benefit the Brit Trust. [Article]

The White Label Auction in Aid of The BRIT Trust – the world’s only known auction of “white label” test pressings – takes place next week on Tuesday, 6th June 2023. This year it will have more than 200 lots of highly collectible ‘white-label’ test pressings – the most offered in the four editions of the auction to date since it began in 2019.

The online/on-site auction is once again being hosted by music memorabilia and vinyl records specialists Omega Auctions from their Newton-Le-Willows (Greater Manchester) base. The full catalogue can be accessed here.

Fans and collectors can bid from a huge selection of white label test pressings that rarely come to market, with some even signed by the artists such as The Cure, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, New Order, and Wilko Johnson.

The UK’s record labels led by Universal Music UK, who founded the event with the BPI, along with BMG, Domino Recordings, Cherry Red, Sony Music Entertainment UK, Warner Records and others, each year join forces to curate a broad selection of white label auction lots to raise funds for the vital work of music industry charity The BRIT Trust – which promotes education and wellbeing through music and the creative arts to support causes that include the BRIT School and Nordoff and Robbins.

In January the BPI reported that vinyl albums had recorded a 15th year of consecutive growth in the UK, with over 5.5m LPs purchased in 2022. This rising demand for vinyl has in turn resulted in a growing archive of white label test pressings – so called because there is no sleeve artwork at this early stage – which record labels produce ahead of the full release of an album to ensure its audio quality. With only a handful produced, these first-off-the-press copies are snapped up by collectors on the rare occasions they become available, as evidenced by the huge interest in the three White Labels Auctions to date, which between them have raised around £100,000.

White label test pressings by the following artists:

Arcade Fire / Beth Gibbons, Portishead / Black Grape / Blind Faith / Blossoms / Brian Eno / Bryan Ferry / Budgie / Buzzcocks / Calvin Harris & Dua Lipa / Calvin Harris, Katy Perry & Pharrell Williams / Calvin Harris & Sam Smith / Camel / Caravan / Celeste / The Charlatans / Chemical Brothers / Christy Moore / Corinne Bailey-Rae / Cream / The Cure / Daryl Hall & John Oates / Deep Purple / Derek and The Dominoes / Dexy’s Midnight Runners / Diana Ross / Dio / Dirty Pretty Things / Donovan / Doves / Duffy / Dusty Springfield / Ed Sheeran / Emeli Sandé / Eric Carmen / Eric Clapton / The Ethiopians / Eurythmics / The Fall / Fairport Convention / Frankie Goes To Hollywood / ightened Rabbit / Gary Moore / Gaz Coombes / Genesis / George Ezra / Graham Parker / Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five / Gregory Isaacs / Helloween / Inspiral Carpets / Iggy Pop / J Hus / Jacob Collier / Jake Bugg / The Jam / Jamie T / Joe Cocker / John Martyn / John Martyn & Beverley Martyn / John Mayall / Joni Mitchell / Julian Cope / Justin Hayward and John Lodge / Karl Hyde / Kate Nash / Katie J Pearson / Kelis / Kid Creole / Kings of Convenience / Koffee / The LA’s / Laura Marling / Level 42 / Led Zeppelin / Lindisfarne / Linton Kwesi-Johnson / Louis Tomlinson / Ludovico Einaudi / The Lumineers / McAlmont & Butler / Madness / Manic Street Preachers / Marianne Faithfull / Mark Ronson & Miley Cyrus / Mark Knopfler / Meat Loaf / Melt Yourself Down / The Members / The Mighty Diamonds / Mike and The Mechanics / Mike Oldfield / MJ Cole Moby / Monty Python / The Moody Blues / Motorhead / Mott The Hoople / Nathaniel Rateliff / Nazareth / Neneh Cherry / New Order / Nicholas Briteli / Noah and The Whale / Nothing But Thieves / Nova Twins / Orchestra Manouevres in the Dark / Pale Fountains / Paloma Faith / Paul Weller/ Penguin Café Orchestra / Pete Townshend / Pete Townshend and Ronnie Lane/ PiL / Pulp / Quincy Jones / Rag ‘n’ Bone Man / Rainbow / Rhys Lewis / Richard & Linda Thompson / Rick Wakeman / Rizzle Kicks / Robbie Williams / Robyn / Roger Waters / Ronnie James / Rory Gallagher / The Ruts / Sam Cooke / Sandie Shaw / Sandie Shaw & The Smiths / Sandy Denny / Scissor Sisters / The Scorpions / Scott Walker / Selecta’s Choice Series / Sex Pistols / Shed Seven / The Silvertones / Simple Minds / The Skatalites / Sparks / The Slits / Soul II Soul / The Specials / The Spice Girls / Squeeze / Status Quo / Stereophonics / Steve Winwood / The Stone Roses / Supertramp / T-Rex / Tame Impala / Tangerine Dream / Teardrop Explodes / Tears For Fears / The Teskey Brothers / Therapy? / Thin Lizzy / Tom Speight / Travis / UB40 / The Undertones / Underworld / UNKLE / The Vaccines / The Vamps / Van Morrison / Various: Blue Note / Various Folk / Various Dance - John Morales and others / Various – Little Big Lies / Various – NOW Yearbooks 1980 - 1985 / Various – The Wanderer / Various – Soul / Various – Sound of the Suburbs / The Verve / The Wedding Present / The Who / Wilko Johnson / You Me At Six

See here for full Omega Auctions catalogue list of featured titles.

#brit trust #white label vinyl auction #louis tomlinson #1.6.2023

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handeaux · 1 year

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Without Booze Or Ballyhoo, The Fall Festival Thrilled Cincinnati A Century Ago

Way back in 1976, Cincinnati’s Downtown Council announced a brand-new event. With less than a month’s notice, the Council decreed that Oktoberfest would occupy Fountain Square and Government Square for a weekend that October. The Enquirer editorialized support for the idea but noted that the proposal was “overdue.” Northern Kentucky, the Germania Society, and Kings Island had all entered the gemütlichkeit market years earlier. Today, of course, we know that Zinzinnati now hosts America’s largest Oktoberfest with attendance surpassing 700,000 revelers annually.

Hardly mentioned at the time, in fact, not mentioned at all, is that Oktoberfest filled a gap in the Queen City calendar that was once occupied by a major annual celebration known as the Fall Festival. Long ago, when Cincinnati was still warily warming up to its Teutonic inhabitants, autumn was capped each year by the city’s largest extravaganza, the annual Fall Festival, which filled Washington Park for a couple of weeks at the end of September and beginning of October.

Cincinnati’s Fall Festival grew out of a tradition of autumnal celebrations. The Saengerbund, one of the choral organizations that helped create the May Festival, sponsored a Fall Festival as early as the 1870s and annual events to benefit the Catholic and Protestant orphanages emerged about the same time, but these were all confined to a single day or single evening. The Ohio Mechanics Institute sponsored a number of very successful industrial expositions from the 1870s through the 1890s to highlight the city’s manufacturing prowess.

Community spirit really ramped up in 1900 when the Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce got involved. In January of that year, the Chamber announced plans for a fall festival and exposition of several weeks duration. The word “exposition” maintained a link to the previous industrial showcases, but the emphasis was on festival and festivities. Every year from 1900 to 1906, grander and more spectacular carnivals blossomed at Washington Park and Music Hall, drawing visitors numbering in the hundreds of thousands. The financial panic of 1907 placed those celebrations on hold until 1910 when a brief revival of the old industrial galas, the Ohio Valley Exposition, entertained the region for most of September and featured the premier of a specially commissioned opera, “Paoletta,” by Pietro Floridia.

One hundred years ago, Cincinnati again endeavored to revive the autumn celebrations of the past by staging an elaborate Fall Festival, again centered on Music Hall and encompassing the old City Hospital grounds across Central Parkway and the entirety of Washington Park. According to the Cincinnati Enquirer [6 January 1923], a major emphasis for the revitalized festival would be electricity:

“Superb electrical illuminations and ornamentation of the jewel and flood light types will be among the features of the display. Washington Park will be devoted in great part to this electrical display and multicolored beams will be thrown into the heavens at that point.”

The Cincinnati Post [27 August 1923] echoed this theme in its coverage of the first day of the Fall Festival:

“The children who visit the electrical display in Electric Hall will be fortunate. Electricity has just begun to make great strides in everything. The fact that these boys and girls will be able to see how electrical appliances are manufactured, how to operate them and to keep them in working order, will be of great benefit.”

At the center of the exposition was a $50,000 “Tower of Jewels” erected in Washington Park, bathed in colored floodlights throughout the evening hours and surrounded by miles of tinted party lights in celebration of the electrical age.

There was one huge component missing from the 1923 Fall Festival – beer. This was the dawn of Prohibition and the newspapers were full of breathless reports of raids on scofflaw saloons, including a Cincinnati establishment that had converted one of its gas fixtures into a moonshine dispensing spigot. Previous Cincinnati fall festivals trumpeted their selection of fine local brews, served up in booths decorated to look like British pubs or German Bierhäuser. Also absent were any of the unsavory sideshows associated with prior festivals:

“There will be no ballyhoo or carnival shows or other objectionable features of a festival, according to W.C. Culkins, who is Secretary of the organization.”

Despite Mr. Culkins’ assurances, the Law and Order Committee of the Cincinnati Federation of Churches announced that they would lodge official complaints against any sort of entertainments on Sundays during the two-week run of the Fall Festival because, well, this was Cincinnati and of course someone had to object if anyone was having fun.

The 1923 Fall Festival kicked off inauspiciously when a major storm blew through the city on opening day, with hail “the size of walnuts” reported. Nasty weather plagued the two-week run of the exposition. In spite of the almost daily rain showers, the crowds were good-sized and appreciative, even folks who were deaf and blind. Samuel Dean, of 1228 Vine Street, was, in fact, both sightless and hearing impaired, but reportedly enjoyed the exhibits described to him by his wife tapping details onto the palm of his hand.

Crowds thrilled to high-wire and trapeze acts at the hippodrome built on the vacant lot left by the demolition of the old City Hospital across Central Parkway from Music Hall. The formal garden planted by nurseryman William Natorp got a lot of traffic, as did the electrical train system set up by the Southern Railway to illustrate the 3,000 miles of track served by that system. The Cincinnati and Suburban Telephone Company presented a series of “playlets,” starring actual operators demonstrating how to make telephone calls. Concerts by local singers and musicians including Helen Kessing, Helen Nugent, Richard Pavey and Herbert O. Schatz filled the Music Hall auditorium and the Hippodrome theater.

The Cincinnati Post, while dutifully promoting the Fall Festival along with all the other Cincinnati daily newspapers, managed to deflect most of its coverage to its own entrant in the new Miss America competition. The Post selected Olga Emrick, age 22, of 913 Vine Street, as Miss Cincinnati. Miss Emrick spent most of her time before traveling to Atlantic City at the Fall Festival, giving the Post the opportunity to promote her and the exposition in the same articles. (Miss Emrick lost to Mary Katherine Campbell, the only Miss America to win the title twice.)

With no beer or booze for sale, there were no arrests for public drunkenness, but the pickpockets were out in force. A special detail of plain-clothes detectives led by Cincinnati’s celebrity sleuth Cal Crim escorted a dozen or so to the hoosegow almost every day.

When the Fall Festival ended, attendance topped 300,000 and included the governors of Ohio, West Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee. Plans were announced for a repeat of the Fall Festival at some future date, which never arrived, with or without ballyhoo.

#cincinnati fall festival #cincinnati exposition

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formeryelpers · 4 months

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Wahib’s Mediterranean Express, 264 S Mission Dr, San Gabriel, CA 91776

Wahib’s is a stall inside Blossom Market Hall. I think it’s Lebanese; the colors of the logo are the same as Lebanon’s flag. There is no mention of “halal” on the menu. Choose from appetizers, plates (kebobs, salmon, gyros, falafel, vegan), wraps, fries, soups, salads, and desserts (baklava). Order at the counter and you’ll get a buzzer.

The plates come with rice, salad, grilled vegetables, pita bread, and hummus. Prices are about average or slightly lower than average. The portion seemed a bit smaller (not as much rice given).

Chicken kebob plate ($15.99): one boneless, skinless chicken kebob over basmati rice, grilled roma tomato and pepper, simple green salad, hummus, garlic paste, and one thin pita cut into quarters. The chicken pieces were bigger than usual – very tasty marinade. The rice was very flavorful. The pita was fresh and soft. The mixed green salad had cucumber, tomato, and a light vinaigrette. The hummus was thicker than usual, a little sour, but very good. The garlic paste was strong!

Vegan plate ($13.99): hummus, fried cauliflower, grape leaves (2 dolmas), 2 falafel, garden salad, 1 thin pita, pickles. Mr. Froyo liked it a lot, but he was also very hungry. He liked how the hummus was thick and also had good things to say about the dolmas.

The kebobs are cooked to order, so expect to wait 15 minutes or so. Easy parking. The food hall has ample seating.

4 out of 5 stars

By Lolia S.

#Wahib's Mediterranean #Lebanese food #Lebanese restaurant #Blossom Market Hall #San Gabriel #kabobs #gyros #falafel

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eyssant · 6 months

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Exploring London: Where Seasons, Weather, and Culture Collide in Harmony

London, the pulsating heart of the United Kingdom, is a city where the interplay between seasons, weather, and culture creates a dynamic tapestry of experiences. From the vibrant colors of spring to the festive cheer of winter, each season brings its own unique blend of weather patterns and cultural festivities, making London a city like no other.

Spring: A Blossoming of Culture and Renewal

As winter relinquishes its grip, London awakens to the gentle embrace of spring. The city's parks burst into life as cherry blossoms bloom, and daffodils carpet the landscape with hues of yellow and gold. The crispness of the air gradually gives way to milder temperatures, beckoning Londoners outdoors to embrace the season of renewal.

Spring in London is a time of cultural awakening, marked by a plethora of events and festivals that celebrate the city's creative spirit. From the iconic Chelsea Flower Show, where botanical wonders take center stage, to the Feast of St. George, which honors England's patron saint with music, dance, and traditional fare, the city comes alive with a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds.

Summer: A Symphony of Sunshine and Festivities

As summer unfolds, London basks in a symphony of sunshine and warmth. The city's parks become veritable playgrounds as residents and visitors alike soak up the rays on grassy lawns or enjoy leisurely picnics beneath the shade of ancient trees. Outdoor markets buzz with activity, offering everything from fresh produce to artisanal crafts.

Summer in London is synonymous with cultural festivities that showcase the city's vibrant diversity. The Notting Hill Carnival explodes onto the streets with pulsating rhythms, colorful costumes, and mouthwatering Caribbean cuisine, celebrating the rich tapestry of London's multicultural heritage. Meanwhile, the Proms at the Royal Albert Hall provide music enthusiasts with world-class performances against the backdrop of a summer sunset.

Autumn: A Harvest of Cultural Delights

As summer fades into memory, London embraces the golden hues of autumn with open arms. Leaves turn to fiery shades of red and gold, creating a breathtaking backdrop for leisurely strolls through the city's parks. The crispness of the air is tempered by the warmth of cozy pubs, where crackling fires and hearty fare await.

Autumn in London is a time of reflection and celebration, marked by festivals that pay homage to the season's bounty. The Thames Festival illuminates the river with dazzling light displays and fireworks, while the London Film Festival showcases the latest cinematic offerings from around the world. Halloween adds a touch of spooky fun to the season, with haunted tours and costume parties adding an extra thrill to the autumn nights.

Winter: A Wonderland of Lights and Festivities

As winter descends upon the city, London transforms into a glittering wonderland of lights and festivities. Christmas markets spring up in squares and parks, offering mulled wine, roasted chestnuts, and handmade gifts beneath twinkling fairy lights. Ice skating rinks beckon with the promise of frosty delights against the backdrop of historic landmarks.

Winter in London is a time of tradition and togetherness, with cultural events that bring communities together in celebration. The switching on of the Oxford Street Christmas lights heralds the beginning of the holiday season, while the Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park offers a dazzling array of rides, attractions, and festive entertainment for all ages. New Year's Eve sees the city erupt into a cacophony of fireworks and revelry as Londoners bid farewell to the old year and welcome in the new.

Preparing for London Weather

For those planning a visit to London, it's wise to come prepared for all eventualities. Layers are key, as temperatures can fluctuate throughout the day. A sturdy umbrella is a must-have accessory, offering protection against sudden showers. Comfortable walking shoes are essential for exploring London's streets, parks, and attractions, regardless of the weather. Track London's weather using some weather tracking website or application.

Above all, it's important to adopt a flexible mindset and embrace the ever-changing moods of London's weather. After all, it's these quirks and charms that make London truly unique and unforgettable.

Conclusion: A City of Endless Discovery

In London, the convergence of seasons, weather, and culture creates a tapestry of experiences that captivates the senses and stirs the soul. Whether it's strolling through blooming gardens in springtime or skating beneath the stars in winter, the city offers a cultural journey like no other—a celebration of life, diversity, and the ever-changing rhythms of the seasons. So, whatever the time of year, there's always something new to discover and experience in the vibrant metropolis that is London.

#london #london city #weather

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itsalwayswellattheworldsend · 8 months

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Book 2 Chapter 12 - Richard Talketh With Ralph Concerning the Well at the World's End. Concerning Swevenham

Text Audio

Synopsis:

Ralph and Richard discuss what's wrong with Ralph, and the two come up with a plan.

Summary:

“In the land and the thorp where I was born and bred there was talk now and again of a thing to be sought, which should cure sorrow, and make life blossom in the old, and uphold life in the young." "Yea," said Ralph, looking up from his tears, "and what was that? and why hast thou never told me thereof before?" "Nay," said Richard, "and why should I tell it to the merry lad I knew in Upmeads? but now thou art a man, and hast seen the face of sorrow, it is meet that thou shouldest hear of THE WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."

The next morning, Blaise went about his business, visiting the men of the Port at the Guildhall.[1] he asked Ralph to come with him, but he would not, and so Ralph stayed in the hall of the inn and sat thinking sadly while people came and went, but he heard nothing about the Well at the World’s End. He passed the next two days like this, except that Richard was among those who came to the hall and he talked to Ralph at times. That is to say, he spoke and Ralph acted somewhat like he was listening.

Now, as it was said before, Richard was old and wise and he loved Ralph greatly, likely more than he loved Lord Blaise, his proper master, for he had no mind for business or anything about it. So he stayed with Ralph and saw that he was sad and weary-hearted, so on the sixth day of their time at Whitwall,[2] when all the merchants were gone about their business and it was just him and Ralph in the hall, he said to Ralph: “This is not a prison, my lord.”

“So?” said Ralph.[3]

“If you doubt it,” said Richard, “let’s go to the door and see if they have turned the key or shut the bolt on us.”

Ralph smiled faintly and stood up, saying: “I will go with you if you want, but I think I will be a dull companion for you today.”

“Would you have been a better one yesterday, lord? Or the day before?”

“No,” said Ralph.

“Will you be a better one tomorrow?”

Ralph shook his head.

“Oh,” said Richard, “but you will be, or you may call me a fool.”

“You are kind, Richard,” said Ralph, “and I will come with you and do what you ask, but I must tell you that my heart is sick.

“Yes,” said Richard, “and you do not have to tell me that, dear youngling; anyone passing by can see that. But come on, let’s go.”

So they went into the street and Richard brought Ralph to the market and showed him Blaise’s booth (for he was doing quite well), but Ralph would not go near in case his brother wanted to drag him into a conversation. They went to the Guildhall which was both large and beautiful, and smelled like new-carved oak (for it was not yet painted), which reminded Ralph of his childhood when he would hang around the porter’s new house at Upmeads while it was being built.[4] Then they went to the Great Church and heard a Mass at the altar of St Nicholas, Ralph’s saint. It was a very pretty church, and also somewhat new, since Whitwall’s rise to prominence was so recent, and its altars were better than any Ralph had seen at Higham on the Way.

But when they came out of the church, Ralph looked at Richard with a blank and tired face, as if asking “What next?” And in truth he looked so tragic that Richhard, despite his concern for him, could hardly hold back his laughter.

But he said: “Well, foster son (for you are pretty much that to me), since this fair city does not please you, let’s go further out.”

So he led him out of the marketplace and brought him to the east gate of the town, which was called Petergate Bar,[5] and they went out and into the meadows under the walls, stopping at a little bridge over one of the streams—for it was a land of many waters. There, they sat down in a secluded spot, and Richard spoke to Ralph.

“Lord Ralph, it would be a shame if the sons of Upmeads made little or nothing of themselves. Now, as for my own master, Blaise, he has the makings of a noble merchant, but not of a noble knight; though he says that when he is rich he will abandon merchantry—though I’m sure he won’t. As for the others, lord Gregory is no better—and maybe worse—except that he will never be rich, having no self control, while lord Hugh is is likely to be killed in some meaningly squabble, unless he turns back to Upmeads quickly.”

“Yes, yes,” said Ralph, “What about it? I didn’t come here to listen to you badmouth my relatives.”

But Richard continued: “As for you, lord Ralph, I expended something from you, but now I’m not so sure. Your heart seems to be dead within you, and you must tend to it or else the body will die, too.”

“All right,” said Ralph.

Richard continued: “I am old now, but I was once young, and I saw and survived many things before I came to Upmeads. I am old, and I cannot feel certain hopes and pains that young men can, but I bought knowledge of them with experience, and I have not forgotten. By this, I guess that your dreariness is about a woman. Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Ralph.

“Now then, tell me about it, and your heart will lighten a bit.”

“I will not tell you,” said Ralph. “Or rather, to speak truly, I cannot.”

“Yes,” said Richard, “and though it would be easier now for me to tell you all the griefs of my life than it would be for you to listen to them, I do believe you. But maybe it would be easier for you to tell me something you want.”

“I want to die.” And he began to cry then.

But Richard said to him, smiling kindly: “That road is open to you on any day of the week. Why have you not taken it already?”

Ralph did not answer.

“Is it because you hope you will want something? If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day, or the next?”

Still Ralph said nothing, but he cried.

“Maybe I can help you hope, though you may think my words are crazy. In the land and town where I was born and raised, there was talk now and then about something to be sought, which would cure sorrow, make life blossom in the old, and uphold life in the young.”

“Yes?” said Ralph, looking up from his tears, “And what was that? And why have you never told me about it before?”

“What reason did I have to tell that happy young boy I knew in Upmeads? But now you are a man and have seen the face of sorrow, it is proper for you to hear about THE WELL AT THE WORLD’S END.”

Ralph jumped to his feet as Richard spoke, and he cried out eagerly: “Old friend, where were you born and raised?”

Richard laughed and said: “See that? There is still some distance between you and death! But turn around and look straight over the meadows past that willow and tell me what you see.”

“I see the plains spread out and a river running through it, with little hills past the water and the blue mountains beyond them. There is still snow on the mountaintops, though it is early July.”

“Yes,” said Richhard; “And do you see on that first little hill past the river, where a great grey tower rises above all the houses near it?”

“Yes,” said Ralph. “I see the tower and the houses, though they are small.”

“That is so,” continued Richard. “That tower is the Church of Swevenham, which is in honor of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus;[6] and the houses are the houses of a little town. What does that have to do with me? Well, I was born and raised in Swevenham, and indeed it was I who brought lord Blaise here to Whitwall, saying that it was a good place for merchants and because I wanted to see the little town and its great grey tower once more. Really, I didn’t lie—your brother is happy here, piling up coins upon coins. You really should go see his booth, fair lord; it is a pretty sight.”

But Ralph was pacing back and forth and he turned to Richard and said: “That’s all very good, but what about the Well at the World’s End?”

“I was going to tell you something that may or may not be worth noting: when I lived in Swevenham and was only eighteen years old—and now I’m sixty eight—two young men and one young woman from our town set out to see that Well. They knew a lot of lore about it, which they had learned from an old man, a relative of one of them. I never met this old man because he lived way off in the mountains, and these men were five years older than I was, so I was still a child when they grew up, and I didn’t pay attention to these sorts of things, just playing games and (and most of all) playing war and battle. God knows I’ve had all I can stomach of it since those days! However, I remember them setting out. They had a pack mule with them to carry supplies for the wilderness, but they went on foot, crowned with flowers and with pipes and drums heralding their departure, and many people came to see them off. By St Christopher! I can see it all as if it were yesterday. I was sad about the young lady’s leaving because although I was a boy, I had loved her, and she had let me kiss and fool around with her, though not for long.[7] Now, I remember that they had asked our priest, Sir Cyprian, to bless their departure, but he declined, for he believed that such a quest came from the inspiration of the devils, and was a memory of ancient, heathen practices.[8] As for me, I didn’t really pay attention, except that I was saddened that my white-bosomed, sweet-breathed friend was leaving.”

“What happened to them?” asked Ralph, “Did they come back?”

“I don’t know; I was tired of Swevenham after that and so I strapped on a sword and put a spear on my shoulder and went to the Castle of the Waste March,[9] sixty miles from Swevenham, and the Baron took me in and I joined his forces. There’s almost as little to be gained in my telling you about those deeds as there was in my doing them. But until now, I had never seen the grey tower of Swevenham again.”

“I should head for Swevenham right away,” said Ralph. “Will you come with me? It only looks like it’s four miles from here.”

Richard stayed quiet and furrowed his brow as he thought about this, and Ralph waited until he responded: “Foster-son, as I’ll call you, you know how it is with men from upcountry: that they’re most likely to tell a story if they’re not badgered about it. I think it would be best if I went to Swevenham alone, and better yet if I go on your behalf rather than for myself. Now, tomorrow is Saturday,[10] which is the market day in Whitwall, and I’m still young enough that some of my old friends should be alive and about in Swevenham: and if that’s the case, there will be at least one in the market tomorrow, and I will be there to find him. Then I’ll go back to Swevenham as a well-loved guest, and while I am there and talking about my doings and asking others about theirs, I’ll find out if there’s any new of the Well at the World’s End. How does that sound?”

“Yes,” Ralph said, “but how long will that be?”

“I will come back quickly if I find nothing, but if there’s anything to learn, I’ll stick around; so be patient.”

“And what should I do now?”

“Pass the time,” said Richard. “And to start, let’s go back and see your brother’s booth in the marketplace: it’s the bottom floor of a nice house which he is looking to buy, and he will marry a wife and settle in Whitwall, if things keep going this way. They have already given him freedom within the city and a brother of the Traveling Knights, for he is not only a charismatic man, but also he now no longer hides that he is of the family of Upmeads.”[11]

Notes:

[1] May refer to a port on the river where ships dock, but (as we’ve had no mention of boats anywhere the river seems to be pretty shallow at places), it’s more likely people who deal with merchants entering the town to register their goods and collect import taxes.

[2] Six days! That’s the biggest time-skip so far, but we still have all days accounted for as of yet.

[3] I should have made this note way earlier, but I wanted to say something about dialog tags. The style of dialog tags has changed a lot over the years and tends to be much more varied in terminology, though less varied in position. Morris places them before, during, or after a character’s speech, while we mostly put them in the middle (“Thanks,” said Ralph, “but no thanks.”) or at the end of speech (“I’m sad,” said Ralph.), but in this I often encounter dialog tags at the beginning (Ralph said: “I miss my horse.”), which aren’t used as much in modern writing, and tend to give a different feel to things. I often (but not always) restructure things. Also of note: modern writing tends to use a lot more descriptive speech words (“whined,” “shouted,” “mumbled”) but this story uses fewer, different words. Morris primarily uses “spake,” “quoth,” and “said” (all of which mean basically the same thing). I edit dialog tags to make them sound more natural to modern readers, but do not change verbiage to add emphasis or emotion. “Cried” is also used some, which I tend to translate as “shouted” (to avoid confusion with the other meaning of “to cry”). Basically, if I get repetitive on the dialog tag verbs, it’s modern and archaic styles not matching up and me not having enough neutral speech words to use.

[4] The “porter” is referred to as the “water-reeve,” and “porter” is my best guess. A “reeve” is an official in charge of something, Upmeads has a river, I assume the water-reeve is in charge of it somehow. Also, the verb used to describe Ralph’s loitering is “hang about,” which I updated slightly but is still funny and modern-sounding to me.

[5] Some googling turns up that “Petergate” is a street name in York (and elsewhere, probably), and “Bar” is a word for “gate” in place names (in England).

[6] “Yonder tower is of the Church of Swevenham, which is under the invocation of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus.” “Under the invocation” is a bit murky, and I haven’t been able to find a specifically defined reference to a church being “under the invocation” of someone or something, so I took a swing at it. As for the Seven Sleepers, there’s a story in Catholic mythology about seven young people who fled Ephesus (in modern-day Turkey) to avoid Roman persecution of Christians (like 200AD, I think?). Anyway, they went into a cave and slept, waking up some centuries later (number of sleepers and years slept varies). Not much else to say. Oh, the story also appears in the Quran.

[7] “I was sorry of the departure of the damsel; for though I was a boy I had loved her, and she had suffered me to kiss her and toy with her; but it was soon over.” I guess my one comment is that he stated that the two young men were five years older than he was, but did not mention the young woman’s age. In any case, although he refers to himself as a “boy” here, if you reread his speech, he was 18 when this all happened (not 13 with them at 18, which was my first, confused interpretation). Anyway, way to go, Richard, making out with an older girl.

[8] More intriguing views of the Church. Priests (and monks) seem to have a poor opinion of the Well at the World’s End, despite the story’s clear religious leanings. It’s an interesting internal conflict, one that I’ve pointed out before and will continue to point out going forward.

[9] A cool name for a castle. To explain the name a bit: “waste” refers to wilderness areas, especially those lacking in natural supplies, and “march” refers to a border territory. Basically, the castle is on the edge of a wasteland, and is known for its position there.

[10] And we have a day of the week! It’s Friday, July 11th, which gives me a list of possible years this takes place. Well, sort of. This is the medieval period, so it uses the Julian calendar… I’m a pretty big nerd, but calendars aren’t my strong suit. Also turns out there are a lot of years in the medieval period where July 11th was a Friday. I intend to put together a calendar timeline, but not tonight because I’m tired.

[11] A few notes: Richard talks differently from other characters? He has a tendency to use extended metaphors (example: he talks about going and finding out how things are in Swevenham as a farmer checking on the condition of a field), which I excluded because I’m tired and didn’t want to re-write in an understandable way. Maybe I’ll go back and change that later. He also says of Blaise that “they have already bidden to the freedom of the city, and to a brother of the Faring-Knights.” The first part means that the city officials trust Blaise and he’s been given clearance to do business and such in Whitwall (he’s a foreigner, so he would have originally been subject to restrictions and might have been barred from owning property). As for the second part… Uh, I’m not sure. My guess is the “Fairing-Knights” is a group of knights in the city that accompany merchants for protection, and he’s been assigned one of them to help him do business.

[Map] My initial reckoning was that Swevenham was east of Whitwall, due to the flow of things following the river so far, Ralph and Richard went out the east gate, and also because it’s described as having mountains beyond it (we will find mountains east of Whitwall soon), but on re-reading, I believe it might actually be to the north, since it’s described as being across the water from Whitwall, though which water that is is not specified (and there are a lot of streams in the area). Assuming it’s the Swelling Flood, Swevenham is probably north of Whitwall. I also placed the Castle of the Waste March to the north (about even with Wulstead), but we’re not given any indication of direction for it (north puts it closer to Upmeads though, which would help Richard end up there). I know I said I was going to revise the map, let’s just pretend I did (actually I think I’m going to wait until we hit the mountains and then revise this whole first section).

Map:

#the well at the world's end #william morris #the well - book 2 chapter 13

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dream-meister-translations · 11 months

Text

100 SLEEPING PRINCES & THE KINGDOM OF DREAMS

EDMOND CHARACTER CARD #2

━

Edmond's brown eyes were swimming with uncertainty.

EDMOND : Emma, promise me something. You mustn't go to the market alone anymore.

EMMA : O-Okay. I promise.

Perhaps I should have asked questions before I agreed, but hearing his stern and serious voice I did so on instinct. I had never heard him talk in such a manner.

EDMOND : Good. Now that that's settled, we can return to our plans.

In an instant he went from somber and anxious back to his typical smiling self.

EDMOND : If you ever need to go back to the market, I will escort you. Now, the tea.

With a wave of his hand, the servant had swiftly moved across the room to pull out a chair for me.

EMMA : Thank you.

EDMOND : Here, have a taste. This is the finest tea in the land. It was prepared especially for you. And it will go splendidly with the cookies you brought today.

The smile he flashed me was soft and gentle. It warmed my heart every time I saw it. Turning his attention to the tea, he poured a cup, placing it on the table in front of me.

EDMOND : Here. Please do enjoy.

EMMA : Thank you so much. It smells wonderful!

The two of us drank tea and chatted until the sun set.

EDMOND : Did you know that apart from Dajeelberg, there are other countries known for their tea? Each country excels in producing its own unique type.

EDMOND : However, it must be said, that the tea from our country is undoubtedly the best.

Though, it was said in a half-joking manner, I could tell he was very proud of the tea from Dajeelberg. We continued to chat for a couple more hours, losing track of time.

At that moment...

MINISTER : Pardon me, Your Highness, about the matter from before...

A robust man approached us.

EDMOND : Minister...As you can see, I am in the middle of a conversation. Can it not wait?

MINISTER : I apologize...We can discuss it later tonight.

The minister's gaze drifted to the table where the white flower was still resting. His brow furrowed at the sight of it.

MINISTER : Huh? What's this flower doing here?

EDMOND : ......

MINISTER : Prince Edmond, you must refrain from venturing into the impoverished area of the city.

(The impoverished area...?)

EDMOND : I know, Minister. It's not a big deal. You may take your leave.

The minister lowered his head in shame and exited the banquet hall.

EMMA : May I ask...What's going on...?

EDMOND : Well, that's...

With a soft sigh, his smile fell once more and he silently lowered his head. A dark shadow fell across his handsome features, and then...

EDMOND : This country has a poverty-stricken district. The boy who gave you that flower is likely from that district. Because that particular type of flower only blossoms there.

(That boy is from the poverty-stricken district...)

EDMOND : It wasn't always this way. Initially, the district was constructed as a new residential area.

EMMA : I see...

EDMOND : The country turned a blind eye on it as it slowly fell into poverty. They did nothing to help the starving and homeless people there. They said, serious redevelopment would require a significant budget and it wasn't worth it.

EDMOND : I have been utterly useless in helping those people.

The pained expression on Edmond's face made me feel uneasy. I could tell that he was hurting for those people, as I was for that young boy.

EMMA : Is there something you want to do to help them?

EDMOND : Well...I...

(Edmond...?)

His head fell into his hands. He was hiding his face from me and fighting back tears. I felt that I pushed further he would break. So instead, I reached out to gently grab his hand.

EDMOND : ...I'm sorry. Can we not discuss such heavy topics?

Edmond managed a forced smile.

EMMA : .........

EDMOND : C'mon, don't give me that serious look!

He gave a squeeze of my hand and his smile stretched.

EDMOND : Aren't you enjoying the tea party?

EMMA : Yes. It's wonderful.

In response to his forced smile, I conjured one of my own.

Then...

Edmond blushed slightly.

EDMOND : As long as you're happy, then I'm happy. Since you came all this way to visit, I want you to enjoy it to the fullest.

Edmond continued to be attentive to me the rest of the evening. But... "I have been utterly useless." The pained expression he had when he said those words weighed heavy on my heart.

#Otome #yume100 #yume100 translations #夢王国と眠れる100人の王子様 #夢100 #100 sleeping princes and the kingdom of dreams #Edmond

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angstics · 1 year

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transcript of sufjan steven's writing at the back of the michigan vinyl (transcribed by u/cynicalis):

Welcome to Michigan! The waterways and waterfalls! Soo locks, state parks and Walloon Lake. The apple farms and cherry blossoms and two striking peninsulas bordering four Great Lakes! The sandy shore-lines, the spring-fed rivers, the Mackinac Bridge! Blissfest! Henry Ford! Tulip Time! Motown music! Bring a set of clubs, try your swing at Harbour Point. Wear the tan pants with pockets on the hips. Carry the things in them that matter most: the paper matchbook from Petoskey, your sister's postcards from Marquette, a turkey feather, a rabbit's foot. Sip lemonade and listen for the biplanes overhead making figure eights in the sky. Carry a canoe around St. Mary's Rapid, like the Ojibway. Overhead, sixteen geese cast their shadow V over the straits of Mackinac. There is the smell of leaves burning, wood stoves, cigar smoke and compost.

The people are generous, warm, outgoing, helpful, industrious, always willing to lend a hand. They give clear directions to the interstate. Have you been to Frankenmuth? Christmas in July? The Renaissance Festival? The Renaissance Center? Have you harvested baby's breath in abandoned lots? Have you been on a three-wheeler, a snowmobile, a ferry to Beaver Island? There are rainbow trout and catfish, beaver dams, curious raccoons, and mourning doves moaning overhead, balanced on power lines.

Follow 1-75 downstate to Detroit. Listen for the lonely echo in Tiger Stadium, traffic on Grand River Avenue, the empty aisles of Hudson's, long abandoned. Look around and spend the day in mourning. Oh Detroit, you complicated old man, nearly dead, with your shoulders arched over the river, polluted and gray, the threads of your shirt worn down with disease and car exhaust. You have grown thin with industry, car factories, riots, raids, transportation nightmares. You have eaten Coney dogs with relish and onion. You have built magnificent buildings only to burn them. Your children's children have squandered their dowry. They strut on the streets. They throw trash in the trees and hang their laundry on ropes fit for hanging.

Oh Detroit, what have you done to man, his wife and kids, his cousins, his music, his hairstyles, his shoes with white tips, his pleated pants, his elbow slung out the car window, his basketball courts, his officers downtown, his nightclubs, his shirtsleeve tucked over a pack of cigarettes, his imagination, his industry, his sense of humor, his home? Oh Detroit, what have you done to city hall, the public trains, the workers' union, the Eastern Market, Boblo Island, the Ambassador Bridge? Where have you put your riches, where have you hid your treasure? Your concrete over-passes, your avenues as wide as rivers, your suburbs bloated with brick homes and strip malls and discount liquor stores and resale shops. When you are dead and gone, who will care for your children's children. They have run wild with the bastard boys around the streets, reckless car rides downtown, rigorous dancing, drug taking, knife-stabbing, pillow-stuffing, tail wagging restlessness. They have been drunk with this for years. They have been out of their minds. They have been left with nothing.

Even still, here and now, there is a renaissance of hope. The streets will take up horns and play free jazz, the buses will clang their bells in time, the buildings once burned out will be home to the homeless. Living rooms will be filled with furniture. Broken families will reconcile. Women will be honored with lilac wreaths. Men will begin to lower their voices. Children will fill playgrounds and parks with the sounds of their playing.

Who can call us father, or who can call us son? If we have regarded ourselves abandoned by whatever thing (a person, a lover, a parent, a false prophet, ourselves), then we have lost touch with the great family, ourselves, all of us together, in this great place called Michigan. Who is your neighbor? He is your brother. Who is that stranger? She is your mother. The man downstairs hammering on the wall, the woman blow-drying her hair in the bathroom-these people are your family. Have you lost your mother to death? Have you lost your father to disease, to war, alcohol, drugs, a car accident? Nothing can replace them. They have been made known completely in death, to whatever supernatural landscape (who can say for sure?). Until then, it is our hard task to welcome the widows, the children, the orphans, the fatherless into our family. What little effort it takes -- a friendly nod at the stranger on the street, giving change to the man who asks, saying hello or goodbye, opening doors, keeping our mouths shut. In the small things, the day-to-day gestures, the normal business of the day, we do the great work of the kingdom, which is to welcome each unlikely individual into the fold, one person at a time.

We do these things, not because we are Michiganders, but because we have been called to participate in the world’s creation from the very beginning. Making music. Baking cakes. Sewing curtains. These things mean something greater: that we have been known from the very start. Our eye color, our hairline, our jawline, the shape of our big toe, the tone of our voice. These things have been designed from the very beginning. What kind of music we listen to. The sort of skirt that looks good. The baseball cap, the tennis shoe, the orange bandana. We have been made to find these things for ourselves and take them in as ours, like adopted children: habits, hobbies, idiosyncrasies, gestures, moods, tastes, tendencies, worries. They have been put in us for good measure.

Perhaps we don’t like what we see: our hips, our loss of hair, our shoe size, our dimples, our knuckles too big, our eating habits, our disposition. We have disclosed these things in secret, likes and dislikes, behind doors with locks, our lonely rooms, our messy desks, our empty hearts, our sudden bursts of energy, our sudden bouts of depression. Don’t worry. Put away your mirrors and your beauty magazines and your books on tape. There is someone right here who knows you more than you do, who is making room on the couch, who is fixing a meal, who is putting on your favorite record, who is listening intently to what you have to say, who is standing there with you, face to face, hand to hand, eye to eye, mouth to mouth. There is no space left uncovered. This is where you belong.

#sufjannn <3 #music #writing #scraps

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