#and it was a source of great anxiety for his grandmother. she had a son and male cousins and nephews

[outeremissary]

!! (a surprise for you :))

A surprise indeed, haha. As usual, this was how I discovered I had posted something. This was uhh. Not my most prepared night for it.

Hmm... I guess this will just be random rambling, and I don't have any nice, new art for this, so it's going to all be old art that's mostly not colored (lot of it is years old and I hadn't uhhh figured out the color thing). Anyway, Caina Lilindel, the ghost who haunts this blog and I am geased to have as my pfp forever.

First the meta notes: Caina was a grugach (mechanically wood elf- the UA for grugach hadn't been released yet) rogue inquisitive I played in a Curse of Strahd game that ran from 2017 to 2020. He was loosely based on a side character from an abandoned project I worked on periodically during my first year of university (which was then loosely inspired by something in VtM, but that's not important), and I made him as a quick, edgy character who I wouldn't mind dying because the DM was very adamant that the first area was a meat grinder and we might TPK. He survived though, and I was left to play my joke concept straight. And then I got really into that. Really, really into that.

Caina was a secretive exile who had been wandering the world alone for almost three decades at the start of the game. He was sharp-tongued and abrasive, never willing to help anyone for free. He hated risk but easily plunged into recklessness at the behest of emotions he made only the barest efforts to keep in check. He was always pushing away those who might befriend him, and every time someone responded to his vulnerability with kindness he recoiled as if they could burn him- or as if he would burn them. He hated being touched but yearned for intimacy. He killed without a second thought but argued passionately against dealing out further death. He was an absolutely wretched liar on the occasion he tried, and in moments of peace he was an excellent cook and unfailingly kind to children. His primary hobbies were card games and reading unimaginably trashy novels- he was the only member of the party who recognized van Richten, and that was because he was a longtime fan of a horribly prolific series of pulp thrillers based on van Richten's adventures. He had a way of following those he respected or cared about as if starstruck- he never knew what to do with his feelings. And despite his own tendency to break his word or bail on things he could never recover from anything he felt was betrayal. I always loved the combination of vulnerability and prickliness.

(backstory summary that got ahead of me ahead. and this. isn't even everything.)

Caina was born in a small semi-nomadic community in a hilly land and lived his early life without ever straying from his home. Life moved slowly and quietly there, the circular turning of seasons the only visible mark of the gentle passage of time in a community of near immortals. He was one of very few children and the spacing between the youths of the community was easily such that a child could be the only in their age group all their young life until reaching the more even ground of adulthood. But Caina was fortunate. There was another child his age in his home: a boy born the very same year as him, timing so close that the two were often called twins. That boy was Avél, Caina's best friend, constant companion, and the first person to lose his life at Caina's hands.

Caina was a quiet, diligent child who always went along with everything his more outgoing friend wanted to do. From a young age they shared the same dreams of adventure and tale-worthy glory far from home- although Caina would never be able to say if heroic legends had always set his heart racing or if this dream too was simply following Avél. He was known as a sweet child, one constantly fretted over and sheltered by his mother, who feared for a son who had been born sickly, and his grandmother (the family matriarch), who was intent on raising an eldest son who would be useful to his family. He would have duties when he aged, his grandmother knew: to his parents, to his grandparents, to his cousins, and if the Most Revered was good, to a sister who could pass down the name of the family to another generation. It wasn't for eldest sons or only sons to stuff their heads full of fairy tales and stray.

In contrast to quiet Caina, Avél was a troublemaker and a free spirit. He was never one to be confined by a rule if he could challenge it, and as a second son with no sister who would one day rely on him to keep the house for her, Avél's life had a certain openness to it. His tricks and disappearances were met with gentle scolding but never with restriction. He could imagine any future ahead of him, could dream of danger and distant lands, of anything in the world he desired. Anything he wished for might be his. And what he wished for was to be taken under the wing of the gruff old huntress Siyir. Siyir had been further afield than any of the others who wore the title of ranger. She had gone well beyond simply charting the movements of the community or passing messages between the pockets of the grugach people or brokering trade deals. Siyir had slain a griffin. She had descended into human lands, had seen mountains that spat fire and waters that spanned the horizon. She was Avél's vision: a legend who had stepped through campfire flames to stand in the mundane material world. And of course, this meant that Caina worshiped her too.

So the stage of life was set. Two boys, near opposites in every way, but each the other's closest confidante and the mirror of his own experiences- or perhaps less a mirror than a shadow and the bright thing that cast it. Avél pulled Caina out of his shell and into new experiences. He supplied dreams enough for two and invented adventures to match. There was an awe that Avél inspired in Caina. He wanted to nurture passion that could match his friend's to more truly inhabit their shared dreams. He wanted skills to match Avél's natural athleticism and way with words. It gave him a hunger to keep up, to learn, to know, to show that he too was equal. But nothing he did ever seemed to bring the two of them even. His boldness crumpled under caution, his hesitance and appeals to the wisdom of elders earning him affectionate teasing as a stick in the mud. He could never run as fast or far as Avél or climb as high or win tussles between them without tricks that brought out whines of "no fair! do it right!" The skills Caina learned alone bored Avél. Cooking was dull and far beneath a legend, Avél insisted. Wayfinding was useful but too much work- Caina was the smart one, so he could take care of it, couldn't he? And the runes of a seldom used writing system (taught to Caina by the community's shaman) were entertaining only for an afternoon or two- he laughed when Caina asked later if he'd been practicing them, and Caina's ears burned with shame for finding them so fascinating in the first place.

With age came a sharper sense of the distance between them. Avél was the golden child of the community, Caina his keeper. When Avél broke his arm falling out of a tree on a forbidden excursion it was worth a day's scolding that quickly melted into doting and repetition of the grand tale of his adventure for months, while Caina was reprimanded for allowing Avél to hurt himself and then quickly forgotten as more than a timid accessory to Avél. Siyir took interest in Avél, but Caina quickly realized had little in him: she hardly acknowledged Caina when she spoke to the two of them together, and she had a way of only offering things when Caina wasn't around. And Avél, for his part, hardly seemed to protest surprise hunting trips at dawn or archery advice when Caina was unavailable. He always shared what he learned afterwards, but no matter how many times Caina asked for Avél to bring him along the next time there was always an excuse when that next time came around. Suspicion set in that his friend was hoarding time with the huntress to himself. And when the changes of puberty began Avél grew taller and filled out better. His features emerged from teen acne as defined and handsome, new edges to his face only making the soft twinkle in his eyes seem brighter and the creases of his smile kinder. Caina stayed spindly and awkward. It was painfully clear that strength would never come to him naturally, and without it a slight edge of grace didn't feel like much. He began to distance himself from Avél to have time to hone skills his friend had and he felt he lacked. But it was never enough to do more than keep up. Just to keep up, and hope desperately that Avél's aimless talent would one day lose to training.

And then Caina's mother gave birth to a daughter, and Caina was too old to miss the meaning of the event. The first brother's duty was to his sister- to be a part of her household more constant than a partner, for those were fluid and often changed over the long turning of the decades, and more vigorous than a mother, who would one day be claimed by the years. To share in her generation and her legacy. Caina would go from a childhood sidekick to Avél to a supporting character in the tale of Cailo. There would be no breath for his own story, his own adventures. Like that he added Avél's freedom to the endless list of envies.

Yet Avél, in his careless optimistic way, never acknowledged the change. They still had the same dreams, the same loves, the same life. Even as Avél spent more time with Siyir as Caina helped care for his baby sister Avél danced around it. Any time the future was questioned Avél suddenly had a new story that needed telling immediately or somewhere to go or something that needed doing. And sometimes he simply laughed and pushed it away.

In the midst of this stormy sea of adolescence, Siyir decided to take an apprentice.

The decision wasn't an announcement, but a challenge. The ranger let it be known to all of the youths that she would take on whichever best passed a series of tests she set. Worth, she said, was the only way to decide who was fit to carry a legacy like hers. And that worth superseded all else: she would take her chosen apprentice and no other, and it was known without ever being said that likewise nothing could take her chosen from her.

Worth.

Worth.

Caina knew all her skills secondhand, but had practiced them to the best perfection he could imagine. He knew the one who would ultimately be the only true competitor inside and out. Siyir had never seen him, but he could make her. He would show her that he was worthy.

He matched Avél in every test. He could shoot, he could hunt, he could track, he could pitch a camp of his own. He was still Avél's superior when it came to navigation, even if his friend had improved. The few other challengers quickly proved half-hearted and dropped out. It was only Caina and Avél, just like it had always been.

The night before Siyir's last test, Caina returned home late. He had gone out to gather herbs for the shaman, Galen, and been sidetracked by the urge to practice one last thing. When he passed by Siyir's dwelling, he caught the sound of a familiar voice that gave him pause: his grandmother was in Siyir's home.

He crept closer, and the conversation became clearer. His grandmother was asking what she was meant to do if Caina won the contest. Who would be there for Cailo? Was their family simply to dwindle, plagued by foolish wanderlust and misfortune? Caina could hear in his mind Siyir's counterargument: that many daughters grew up alone, that Cailo didn't want for cousins who could help her, that their father was still with them and far from old. That one son was an acceptable concession for a woman who had once shot a griffin from the sky. That maybe Cailo didn't want her legacy either.

But Siyir said none of those things.

"Avél is my apprentice." It wasn't her usual brusque tone. It was a reassurance, a gentle correction. "I just couldn't let it get to the boy's fool head by letting him have that without a little fight."

Every semblance of hope evaporated. He hardly remembered the rest of the night- only the listless dreams that tore at him whenever he tried to rest. He was trapped in a haze.

He was still in that haze when he rose before dawn and found Avél.

They walked out and away from the early spring camp, Avél chattering all the way and glancing over here and there at Caina with something that sometimes looked like relief and other times looked like guilt. Caina was quiet for the most part. He smiled and nodded and urged Avél on. Once or twice he laughed. It was so easy to slip into familiar patterns while following familiar paths. By the time they reached the cliff over the falls, the light made it clear that despite the lingering morning mist dawn was well behind them.

Many years before, a lone long-branched pine growing at the edge of the falls had fallen. The reason was unknown- no one had been around to see it go- but now it lingered in death as persistently as it had in life, laying its lattice of branches out across the open air to form a precarious bridge from one side of the gorge to the other. Mist from the falls left it permanently slick, and between the spring rains and the snowmelt still trickling down the surging falls had crept in precariously close.

When they were younger, they had often talked about crossing it. Avél had take a few steps out, falls plunging down on one side and open air on the other, and Caina managed a half step before begging Avél to come back. "Next time I'll do it," Avél always laughed.

"What do you say- for old time's sake?"

To hear the proposal come from Caina stopped Avél dead. His laughter wasn't the familiar bell of joy. It cracked at the edges- nerves, perhaps, or surprise.

"As if I could say no."

And Avél stepped forward, hesitating a moment at the edge. His eyes flicked to Caina and his mouth hardened into a thin smile. He took his first step onto the trunk. A few steps later, Caina followed.

Looking back, Caina was never sure what he had wanted from that morning. It was like a dream, the roaring falls eating the sound of the world around them and the mists swallowing everything outside that tiny expanse and the figure of his friend.

Somewhere near the center, Avél stopped. He turned and shouted something. Caina read the words on his lips: Let's go back.

Avél was moving his feet, trying to reposition to walk back, when the dreadful inevitable happened. In the blink of an eye he had gone from upright to clinging to one of the branches jutting out from the edge of the trunk below. There was no thought when Caina rushed forward recklessly, bracing himself against one of the more solid branches as he grabbed a slick hand just in time as his beloved friend's support cracked and fell away, useless. Avel dangled at Caina's mercy, clinging with both hands onto Caina's arm as he struggled to find a foothold to pull himself up.

In this moment of nightmare, lucidity returned.

Caina would never be able to say why he brought his friend to the falls. He didn't know why he challenged him at their stupidest, most dangerous childhood game. He didn't know why he followed so close, never allowing Avél the space to turn around. All coincidence. All error. None of it conscious. None of it him.

But he could never forget the moment he chose to let go.

If Avél screamed, Caina never heard. The falls swallowed the sound greedily. In the constant roar of white noise, it seemed like Avél was as silent as a shadow, and when he disappeared into the mist below he became every bit as transient.

There were searches, of course. There was weeping. And finally there was blame. Caina hadn't planned the crime, and only began to hide it too late. Put before the gods in all of Galen's power, he cracked. He had believed like a fool that he had hated Avél. Now as its target he understood what true hate was. Yet for all that, there wasn't heart in a community that couldn't remember ever having an execution to kill another so soon after their loss. No one could remember the curse ever being used either, but Galen knew it all the same.

It was with nothing but the clothes on his back and a new fear of death that Caina left the home he had been cast out of. The brand of defilement burned on his hand, the angry red scar weeks from true healing. Cast out from his home, from all kin, from the sight of the gods themselves, who had sealed his exile with the cursed brand. The legend he had made for himself was one of misery. And beyond its edge, only wandering without rest- always running from the guilt carved into skin and soul.

[silverwhiteraven]

Wings of Broken White - Ch. 1

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 2 ]

[ Author’s Note: Decided to get a head-start on MariChat May this year~! It’s a Chat Blanc and Wing AU, I hope you enjoy <3 ]

[ Summary:  Wings are commonplace in the world, but, some people who have them, also lose them. So how did this miraculous duo get theirs back? ]

Gabriel watched over his young sleeping son, contemplating his decision as the melancholic rain tapped against the outside of the windows.

He could feel the sorrow, heartbreak, and confusion radiating from Adrien even as he slept, each one causing him to curl up tight and his face scrunch in pain. The beautiful wings on his back, black with each feather tipped in white like a starling's and still riddled with fluffy down-feathers, twitching with tension and anxiety. The recent news of his Mother’s disappearance had all these emotions still raw and un-soothed, something no seven year old child should ever have to endure.

Those horrible feelings, rather than deterring Gabriel, only strengthened his resolve.

The Graham de Vanily wedding band slid easily off of Gabriel’s finger, and as he clutched it in his hand, he called out for the first time in a long while, “Nooroo.. Wings Rise.”

His suit was colored in gentle lavender and soft silver details. It still looked as beautiful as the day Emilie said it made him look like a prince and inspired the name, Monarch.

The wedding band was carefully slipped onto Adrien’s finger, too big for his still young hands. But his hand clenched as it was put in place, like he had just been given a drowner’s lifeline.

Monarch then went to the window and crashed it open, summoning a little white butterfly from outside to land in his open palm. Covering it, he silently commanded for his magic to imbue into the little creature. When it was revealed once more, it’s colors now reflected his own silver and lavender. He then reapproached his son’s bedside.

It felt off, using a Blessing, imbued with positive emotions, on someone who wasn’t feeling any of the necessary feelings, only dark ones. But Monarch dismissed the concern in favor of his goal.

Gently, he set the Blessing onto the ring on Adrien’s finger and it disappeared into it.

He could feel the conflict between the good emotions inside the Blessing and the bad ones festering inside of Adrien. But the good seemed to win out as suddenly the boy was relaxing into his sheets, and his body was cocooned in glowing lavender ribbons.

When the lavender light dispersed, there was someone a little different left in Adrien’s place. This boy had hair white as snow, and when his eyes slightly fluttered and then closed again, Monarch saw glacial blue instead of spring green. Another glance revealed that the beautiful dark wings of Adrien were nowhere to be seen, not even a feather left behind.

“White Rose,” Monarch whispered, the flicker of a lavender butterfly outline hovering before his Champion’s face. “You have a desire to see your Mother again, and make your Father happy like he once was. No one should suffer because of something that was meant for good but had been broken and only caused pain. So I give you the power to save those who have been harmed by that broken item, and restore what is meant to be.”

A beat of silence and another fluttering of blue eyes, but White Rose did not stir.

The outline flickered again, and then it was gone like a popped fuse.

Monarch, confused, tried to establish the connection when he felt it fizzle out. But he received nothing. Worried, he reached out to the Blessing directly and tried to pull at it. It didn’t budge, instead, it seemed to fight back. Pain split through Monarch’s head and he gasped, stumbling back.

He had lost connection and control to his own Blessing and Champion.

Monarch realized now why he shouldn't have mixed his magic with the darker emotions that were not meant to be touched by the light of a Blessing. He was uncertain he would be able to retrieve the Blessing at all now, not without breaking the ring he held dearly.

So instead, he gently opened White Rose’s hand and pulled the Graham de Vanily ring from his finger.

“Wings Fall, Nooroo.” As soon as Gabriel was back to himself, he slid the ring back onto his own finger. “I will keep this safe for you, Adrien, until you are ready.” He turned to walk away before pausing, glancing back with sympathy and regret.

“Please be okay. I can’t lose you, too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Marinette was born with small fluffy wings on her back. Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng were wing-less, so it was reasonable that they were taken by surprise when their child inherited genes they themselves had not.

Tom liked to call her their little croissant because her soft fledgling wings held the golden-browned color of baked bread. Sabine told him it wouldn't stick, and they had no clue what color her mature feathers would take on. And Marinette’s mother was correct.

As their daughter grew, so too did her wings. The soft baked gold greyed and the soft down was slowly covered by sleek feathers. Soon enough her wingspan became larger, almost outdoing her own height from wingtip to wingtip.

It wasn’t until she was eight, when her wings were finally mature enough for flight, that Tom and Sabine were able to say for certain where her wings had come from in the family tree.

“She’s going to have the wingspan of a Common Crane like your mother,” Sabine chuckled as she watched little Marinette squeak as she fumbled to catch a stack of trays she knocked off a shelf with her wings.

“Yes, she is a marvelous little Crane, isn’t she?” Tom chuckled. “She already has that beautiful grey ombre of a Demoiselle like your great-Grandmother.”

“You're right! She even has those lovely and decoratively long tertiary feathers, too.”

“I thought only boy birds had fancy feathers,” Tom teased his wife.

She elbowed him gently and laughed. “You already know it’s disproved that humans don’t follow the same patterns as birds, Tom, we never have. Anyone can find beauty in another’s feathers.”

“Or lack of,” he adds on, kissing his wife atop her head and causing her to nod and laugh.

Marinette continued to grow, wings and all. When she was nine, she found a new passion in knitting, crochet, embroidery, and sewing. She had loved to draw since she was a toddler, but these new crafts allowed her to bring her imagination to life.

At ten, she purchased her first magazine. The cover featured a white haired and wingless boy her own age, the article titled: `For the FIRST TIME EVER, the public eye meets the MUSE and SON of Gabriel Agreste!’

Tom and Sabine got a good laugh out of the fact that she completely ignored the boy and the article, “She hasn’t hit a boy-crazy faze, thank goodness,” and instead only looked at the fashion and design related pages.

Unfortunately, they also would later witnessed Marinette begin to go through some social rough patches as well, and she vented it through her creations. Something she had meant to show off turned into a source of bullying on her very first day of secondary school, collège, when she was eleven. Marinette had been researching and learning fashion’s history around wings. She learned that higher beauty standards from the upper social classes meant that some people would often bind their wings as a way to keep their postures straight and elegant. She also learned there were ways to hide one’s wings below their clothing, techniques differing from wing-type to wing-type and body-type to body-type.

So during the summer break after her last day of primary school, preparing herself for her first days of secondary school, Marinette set out to make a wing-binder for herself. She succeeded in making two different types in her multiple attempts.

The first one she made was a simple netting, a style and technique that had been around for thousands of years. The netting was intended to slide underneath and between the feathers to rest perfectly out of sight. It’s use ranged from simple posture enhancement, to flight prevention in those who might injure themselves if they tried to fly when they were not ready.

The second type she made was actually more of a corset style, as it would wrap around the torso as well, not just the wings themselves. This style was one intended for hiding wings completely from sight, with the assistance of the proper style of clothing to layer over it. She had made two of this type, one each for two different ways to hide the wings.

The first was basic and classic, her wings meant to be held tight against her back with the ends of her wingtips made to drop down to the back of her legs. This one was best suited to be paired with tight shirts, loose pants, and an over-shirt, shawl, or jacket.

The second was more lax but harder to keep in position for long amounts of time. Her wings were to be spread, dipping under her arms and either over her chest or under her bust, whichever was more comfortable and-or suited the binding’s cut. This style was best paired with a dress or a loose shirt and skirt.

Marinette wanted to wear one of the wing-corsets, hoping to see a few of her friends from primary school and surprise them with her new ability to change her appearance. Sabine and Tom supported her in her excitement. Wanting her to have a comfortable day, they suggested she use the style that wraps her wings around her, especially since it looked like it might rain, and her wings would keep her warm.

When she returned home for lunch, she seemed tired and a little wet from the weather, but happy. Marinette explained that the Mayor’s daughter herself attended Collège Françoise Dupont with her, and was excited to get to know her. She had also seen Nino, Alix, and Kim, but none of her other old friends. The three that were there had been surprised, though, so she was overjoyed to have gotten their reactions and awe. She even asked them to keep her wings a secret so she could surprise the rest of the class with them later.

When Marinette went back to school for the rest of the day, the Dupain-Cheng couple were happy for their daughter. But neither one knew the news of the Mayor’s child would turn out to be bad luck for their precious daughter and her beautiful wings.

[axwalker]

Meet my MC: Alexis O’Brien

Thank you for the ask @mskaneko  .  This was so fun!! I got a little carried away...  🙈

Thank you for the tag @debramcg1106​ ❤️

Alexis’s life changes deeply in every AU so I used my canon Alexis to answer these questions. 

1. Name (+ bonus why did you choose that name?)

Alexis O'Brien.  I've always liked the names 'Jade' and 'Alexis.' The last name was a momentary inspiration because I love Ireland.

2.    Faceclaim

The beautiful Valerie Dominguez (aka my on-line girlfriend)

3.    Nicknames

O’Brien / Lexie/ Lex/ Blossom.  

4.    Birthday

April 30th (I headcanon that she's 23 when the Social Season starts.)

5.    Height

She's 1,70 cm (5'57")

6.    Eye color

             Brown

7. Hair color

           Light brown

8.    Love interest (why did she choose this person?)

Drake Walker is the love of her life. Alexis felt deeply attracted to Drake since she met him. Something about the deep voice, the chocolate eyes, and his strong arms. When they started to spend time together, she realized how much they had in common. Their connection quickly became a solid friendship as they confided in each other while drinking whiskey together after every event of the social season. Alexis fell for Drake's sarcastic sense of humor, flirty banter, and intelligence. But her favorite thing about him is his fierce protectiveness and how he tries to act tough and brooding around everyone except for her. Now that they're married, they form an exceptional, unbreakable team.

9.    Best friend

Olivia Nevrakis and Maxwell Beaumont.

10. Personality traits

Alexis is a free-spirit. She's idealistic and passionate about her beliefs. She's very kind and generous, but once her trust is lost is very difficult to get it back. She's adventurous, loves to travel, and has surprised Drake more than once with last-minute weekends and trips. She's very competitive, she and Drake play all the time. She loves books and writing; ancient libraries are her happy place. She's very disorganized and unpunctual. Her head is on the clouds, and she always forgets her keys, or where she parked her car. Her emotions are powerful, she feels everything very intensely.

She's fiercely protective of Drake and her children and would kill for them if necessary.

11. Family background

She's half Mexican, half Irish American.

Her parents, Elena Ortiz and George O'Brien, met in High School. After a five-month relationship, Elena got pregnant. As they both came from an extremely religious background, they got married.

George turned out to be an abusive, rigid, sexist husband. They wasted 10 awful years together, but one morning George left Elena for his assistant and never came back. He has a son with his new wife and rarely sees Alexis. She tried to have a relationship with him until she realized the kind of man her father is.

Alexis grew up happily with her mom and widow grandmother. They had a small Mexican Fonda in Brooklyn.  When Alexis turned 18, her mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died only six months later. Her grandmother passed away two years later from an aneurism.

She has a deep-rooted abandonment issue.

12. Hometown

Brooklyn, NY.

13. Education

She has a degree in English Literature. She sold her family's small restaurant and got a job as a waitress to be able to afford a small college in NY. When she met the guys, she was working three different jobs so she could save money to study a master's degree in Literary Translation.

14. What languages does she know?

Alexis is bilingual in English/Spanish and speaks good French. Her French teacher in high school was a sort of mentor for her. She loves languages, so now that she lives in Cordonia, she's trying to learn Greek too. Drake is a great teacher 😉

15. Occupation

Before flying to Cordonia, Alexis gave private Spanish lessons to kids, worked as a waitress at the dive bar where she met Drake, and, on the weekends, she worked as a bartender at an Irish Pub.

In Cordonia, she was the Duchess of Valtoria for a while, but after two hellish years, she and Drake left the 'noble' life. With Drake's support, she went back to school in Cordonia and got her master's degree. For the moment, she works as a Literary Translator, but eventually, she will become a writer.

16. Dream job

Her dream is to write children's books. Her absolute personal hero is J.K. Rowling.

17. Hidden talent

Dancing. Alexis doesn't hide it, though. Dance is her passion, especially Latin music.

She has a superhuman resistance to alcohol. Irish genes.

18. Her strengths

She's hardworking.

She’s determined. 

She's empathic.

She can make friends easily.

19. Her weaknesses

She's very disorganized.

She's stubborn and doesn't forgive easily.

She's highly emotional, which can be a source of anxiety and stress.

20. Pet peeves

People who are rude to waiters or any other person in the service industry. She can't stand it under any circumstance.

People who cut lines.

21. Guilty pleasure

Mexican soap operas. Alexis used to watch them with her mom and grandma, and now she's addicted. Sometimes, she convinces Drake to watch one with her; he needs to practice his Spanish anyway.

22. Ideal outfit

In the summer, she loves wearing short, flowy dresses with leather, flat sandals.

In the winter, cozy jumpers, skinny jeans, and low black boots.

23. Favorite season

Fall. The colors, the soft sun rays, the crispy atmosphere, the smells. Everything about it.

24. Favorite vacation spot

Ireland, her grandfather’s country. He used to tell her a lot of stories about it when she was a child, when she finally went she absolutely loved it. 

25. Celebrity crush

Michael Fassbender

26. Who is her inspiration

Her mom. Elena was a single mother, but she never felt sorry for herself. She worked hard at her restaurant all day, then studied at night to get her college degree on-line. She loved life and was protective and generous. Alexis has never really got over her death.

27. Whats is the craziest thing she has ever done?

She took a plane with two strangers to a country she had never heard of before.

28. Describe her dream date

A late-night picnic under the stars with a good bottle of whiskey, some cheeses, and Drake. In a very secluded, private place.

29. What's more important for her in a relationship: physical attraction or emotional connection?

Both. The physical attraction is what first drew her to Drake. They're profoundly attracted to each other, and that sort of electrical, physical connection is very difficult to find. After years together, they still can't keep their hands off each other, and it has always been helpful when they're going through a rough patch.

The emotional connection is what makes them happy and crazy in love. They trust each other, make each other laugh, and they're best friends. What they share is unique, and they're aware of it.

30. Three things she would take to a desert island

Things, not people? Ok:

Her first copy of 'One Hundred Years of Solitude.' A gift from her mom.

Her illustrated collection of Harry Potter's books, a gift from Drake.

Her family album with her children's pictures and gifts (cards, letters and drawings.)

31. What is one thing she could never forgive?

Cheating. Never. But she has nothing to worry about 

32. What gets her out of bed in the morning?

Sex with Drake, one of her children crying, strong, black coffee.

33. What does she use more often: her intuition or logical reasoning?

100% intuition

34. Would she rather be alone doing something she enjoy, or doing something she does't like with her best friends?

Difficult question. She loves reading and writing, which are 'alone' activities. But she'll do something she hates for her friends if they really want to.

35. What's her biggest regret?

Accepting the Duchy of Valtoria and making her child the heir. She got out of it, but there were terrible years.

Bonus: three random facts about your MC

She was arrested once while she was in a protest for Women's Rights

She LOVES to eat. Passionately. 

She loves big dogs. They have one Labrador and one Golden retriever.

[jbuffyangel]

Exhausted: This Is Us 3x05 Review (Toby)

This Is Us focuses on the Pearsons’ significant others in “Toby.” It’s an extremely packed episode, which probably means they need to focus on the supporting characters more frequently. There is a connective thread with Toby, Beth and Miguel, beyond just being married to Pearsons, finally being explored, which I am excited about. They each carry their spouses to the point of exhaustion.

Let’s dig in...

Toby and Kate

Chris Sullivan carries this episode on those big, broad shoulders and gives us a side of Toby we haven’t seen. At his core, Toby is caretaker and in that way reminds me of my husband who is also just as amazing.  But there are times I want to ask Toby, “Aren’t you exhausted? I am a glass half full, rainbows and unicorns type person, but even I cannot compete with Toby’s energy, positivity and enthusiasm. Toby is always on. He’s almost superhuman in that way.

Well, it turns out Toby is not superhuman and yes, he is exhausted. We see flashbacks of Baby Toby, who is the very definition of the cutest, and we learn Toby’s sadness has always been part of him. In fact, he’s very similar to his mother. Is depression genetic? If yes, then I didn’t know that. 

Anywho, Toby’s mother is overwhelmed with a new baby and fighting constantly with his jerk of a father.

“There’s so much of her in you it scares me.”

THAT IS NOT SOMETHING YOU SAY TO YOUR CHILD! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Unfortunately, Toby’s father does not view depression as a medical ailment and simply advises his son to get his “mopey” attitude under control because it won’t play well as an adult. What a prize this guy is.

Toby used his wonderful sense of humor to cheer up his depressed Mom as a child. Ugh my heart. As for Toby’s mother, just speaking from experience, sometimes you really just need “one damn day.” You’re doing great, sweetie.

Toby’s last live in girlfriend wasn’t able to handle his moods and she left him, which sent Toby spiraling deeper in his depression. Eventually, he started seeing a therapist, started taking meds and then he met Kate.

I would classify Kate the same as me – high maintenance. This works well with someone who gravitates more towards the caretaker role. But the focus needs to shift time to time, so your partner doesn’t feel short changed.

Toby spends a great deal of time cheering Kate up, cheering Kate on, and being her “rock” as she earnestly put it. However, Toby’s need to be Kate’s hero has led him down a disastrous plan of going off his meds. The sadness is coming back and Toby doesn’t know what to do other than pretend it’s not happening.

However, once Kate announces she’s pregnant (YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FINALLY SOME GOOD NEWS FOR THESE TWO), Toby’s rock wall of positivity and joy goes tumbling down. He sobs into wife’s arms. 

Letting go and succumbing to the depression isn’t weakness. It’s strength. Sometimes you need to drown before you can swim.  Sometimes you need to go deep into the hole before you can figure your way out.

It’s also a hugely important moment in Kate and Toby’s marriage. I always say marriage is not 50/50. Sometimes it’s 90/10 or 40/60. What you and your partner need day to day and year to year shifts. 

I think it’s fair to say though Toby has been carrying his share of emotional burdens. Toby can’t be sad because Kate is. Toby can’t worry because it’ll make Kate worry more. Toby can’t be angry because Kate is lashing out from pain and grief, so he just has to take it. It goes on and on and on, which is why I wanted to ask Toby, “Aren’t you exhausted?”

This isn’t Kate’s fault either. We can only know what our partner shares with us. Toby kept Kate out. He wanted to be the rock and she needed a rock. It was a mutually beneficial relationship until it wasn’t. That’s marriage. You have to grow and evolve with your partner.

Now it’s about what Toby needs. Toby needs to know he doesn’t have to be in control all the time. He needs to know Kate isn’t going to leave him when the sadness comes. Toby needs to let Kate all the way in. It’s her turn to be the rock.

Randall and Beth

I love you Randall. You are a deeply good human being. You are a blessing to all the lives you touch, but sometimes my friend, you leap before you look.

Randall and Beth are preparing for his first campaign event and my first thought was...

Beth just lost her job. Maybe this isn’t the best time to be piling on. Are they independently wealthy? That house is huge and it must come with a serious mortgage. Do they not have bills to pay? Everyone seems very calm about the whole no income situation. I would not be this calm. Then again, maybe Randall listens to Suze Orman and has 12 months of savings.

Side bar: Every time my husband and I saved whatever monthly sum Suze Orman said we needed she would then add another three months. For example, we’d save 3 months and she’d say save 6 months. We’d save 6 and she’d say 9. And so on. It made my husband very cranky and now I’m not allowed to watch Suze Orman because he says she turns me into a crazy person. End side bar.

Unfortunately, Randall just dives right in and tells the people who came for free barbecue all the ways they are wrong about their current council man. He has a bit of a faceoff with the restaurant owner who explains the current councilman saved his business years ago. People don’t owe him loyalty. They owe him their lives.

Yeesh. Yeah, probably should have put some quiet feelers out there Randall. Maybe a poll Jed Bartlet style. I don’t know what this means for Randall’s future as city councilman, but he’s not off to a great start.

What I really want to talk about is BETH. My queen is not doing great. She is putting up a good show of confidence in front of Randall about interviewing for new jobs and fielding six figure offers. 

Source: livelovecaliforniadreams

However, she broke down crying in an interview. She’s not expecting a call back and Beth is right.

What’s sad is Beth doesn’t feel like she can share this with Randall. She constantly has to be on like Toby. Beth is so busy nurturing Randall’s dreams and easing his anxiety there’s very left over for her – both in the relationship and within herself.

Of course she broke down in an interview! Beth honey you were fired from the business you helped build. Grab some booze and take a week off girl. You need it.

But Beth can’t do that. She has to support her family. If she’s worried then it means Randall will worry more. And on and on and on it goes.

Miguel and Rebecca

Poor Miguel. I think he’s been given a bad rap. He’s trying to so hard to be there for the kids and Rebecca, but he’s not trying to take Jack’s place. That’s impossible. He’s simply trying to keep his promise to Jack. 

Source: @livelovecaliforniadreams

There are people who are such a force in our life that it's difficult to imagine them ever dying. It's impossible in fact.

It’s an exhaustive effort from Miguel. Literally. He carries a piano upstairs and spends the better part of the day fixing Rebecca’s refrigerator. Then he gives a pep talk to Randall (which is not well well received) and lets drunk Kevin crash at his place. This was just one day. I’m sure it makes Miguel feel for Rebecca on a whole other level.

I understand the kid’s reservations to Miguel. Their guard is up. They are protective of their father and the hole his passing has put in the family. But I’m fond of Miguel for the same reason the Pearson children are guarded around him - he is not biological and he reminds me of my grandmother. 

My mother’s mom died when she was 19. Her father (my grandpa) eventually remarried. My mother liked her step mother and even grew to love her, but the day my sister was born my father had a tough conversation with my mom. He said, “I know this is going to be hard to hear, but Jeanne will be the only grandmother our children will ever know. So, I think you need to think seriously about the kids calling her Grandma.” My father’s mother was also gone by this time. 

My mom said it was hard to hear, but she knew her step mother would be an amazing grandmother. And she was. My Grandma Jeanne wasn’t my biological grandmother, but she was the only one I had and she was truly wonderful. I like to think she was a gift my Grandma Noella and Grandma Sara sent to us.

So, when I look at Miguel I think what a gift he is to the Pearson family. And it’s what Jack thought as well. It’s why he asked Miguel to look after his family.

Kevin and Zoe

This is a safe space. I am going to raise my stupid white person hand and say I too did not know what the pillowcase was for. So, thank you Kevin Pearson. Your ignorance illuminated my ignorance and I learned something! 

The scenes between Kevin and Don Robinson, Jack’s army buddy, are truly wonderful. 

Source: livelovecaliforniadreams

There’s so much pride in Robinson’s voice as he reveals the truth to Kevin. Jack hid this piece of his life for a good reason, but there is so much to be proud of as well. It’s really a defining moment in the series, where Kevin realizes how much of a hero his father was and how little he really knows about his time in Vietnam.

I was kind of scratching my head when Robinson said Jack never wrote him back. Does that sound like Jack Pearson thing to do? I shrugged it off though and just chalked it up to Jack trying to leave the war behind like Don said. But then, he finds Kevin and gives him the letters. Robinson had to measure the promises he made to Jack versus the wishes of his son. Not an easy decision, but I think he made the right one. Those letters are going to be illuminating.

Source:  wondersprince

As for the photograph and the woman with the necklace, the same necklace Kevin wears with his father’s dog tags, I’m not sure what it means. Obviously, this person is incredibly important to Jack or else he wouldn’t have kept the necklace for all these years. Could it have been romantic? Sure. If it was does it mean Rebecca wasn’t Jack’s true love? No, not at all.

Keep in mind Vietnam was pre-Rebecca. Jack was pretty clear when he met Rebecca he knew immediately she was “The one.” However, we love many  people in our life. It’s okay to carry pieces of them with you, which is what I think Jack has done. He kept a piece of this woman with him, just like he kept a piece of Don Robinson with him when he place his hands on his children's’ faces and said, “Breathe.”

Stray Thoughts

I think Randall’s dual culture upbringing is strength. He is a black man who was raised in white culture. I think it gives him unique perspective and he belongs in both worlds. It’s not an either or. Maybe this makes me naive but it’s what I think.

Holy crap is this how in vitro really works? It’s so friggin expensive and the success rate is so low! Wow. Sending snuggles to everyone who has every struggled with infertility. You are not alone.

Randall unbuttoning his shirt is all the reason I need to vote for him. Done deal.

Randall: All his lemonade froze Beth.

Beth: Yeah but he was stupid baby.

I love everything about them. I ship it like Fed Ex.

Three hours to get ready Kate? Just as an FYI - that’s all over when you have a baby. You’ll be lucky to get a shower.

Nobody had fun at prom? Man, can teen Pearsons catch a break at some point?

A+ on the prom dresses. Absolutely what I wore in high school. We were slaves to fashion in the late nineties. ;)

I’m super confused. So, Randall’s date wouldn’t go to prom with him because her dad is a racist asshole? How does that work? You are in the dress. The hair is done. Randall Pearson is looking gorgeous in a tux and has a corsage ready to go. You tell dad to go to hell and get in the damn limo kid. Where is her mother in all of this??? What is wrong with people????

Kate’s impression of Adele is dead on.

Rebecca is such an amazing mom. Kate doesn’t give her nearly enough credit.

[ggukau]

little red riding hood au

note: i based this off a really shitty 2011 movie, so hopefully this au isn’t too bad. this is a fairly short au.

everyone in the village of daggerhorn knows not to enter the forest that looms past the tall wooden gates; for that is where danger lies, and that is where the Wolf preys.

every year daggerhorn men parade into the village with a wolf’s head on a stake, confident that they had finally vanquished the beast that has been plaguing their town. the parents begin to let their children back into the woods to do the household chores. however soon enough a child always goes missing, and turns up again savaged and lying in the town square.

this deadly pattern has repeated itself for a hundred years, leading people to believe the Wolf is no ordinary wolf. some even believe it’s the result of a curse on their village, while some believe it’s a line of murderers terrorizing the village for generations.

no one is sure what exactly is creating this bloodshed because those who do know are staining the powdery snow in the town square red.  

“jimin!” taehyung, the pastor’s son, came barreling down the cobblestone street, almost knocking a groggy jimin off his feet.

despite only having woken up ten minutes ago, jimin had already been on his way to the blacksmith to place a trade order for something every fifteen year-old boy received upon their coming of age: his very first weapon.

“what is it tae?” jimin questioned, slightly annoyed.

“they did it! the men are back, and they’ve slain the Wolf!” tae exclaimed. taehyung’s father was a part of the group of men who took on the Wolf Hunt annually, so taehyung always took great pride in their triumphant return. jimin wasn’t sure if tae knew, but jimin could always see the muscles in taehyung’s face relax each time his father returned with the group of men.

jimin had always been skeptical of these Hunts. each year they brought back the severed head and body of another wolf, yet the problem remained. the village would hold a gigantic feast where the main course was the roasted body of the wolf the men had killed, but just a few months later another child would go missing under the light of the moon.

jimin had lost a brother and a few friends to the Wolf while he was still very young, so all these unfruitful festivities just made him more frustrated.

jimin made a sound of disappointment. “it’s probably just another grey wolf.”

“no, this one’s red,” said taehyung, failing expertly at trying to hide the offense in his voice.

“wow, ‘cause thats such an improvement,” jimin stated, rolling his eyes and resuming his journey to the blacksmith.

“if you’re so confident, then go find the Wolf yourself!” taehyung, hurt, yelled at jimin’s retreating figure.

jimin found the blacksmith’s cabin in just ten minutes time. it was conveniently located around the town square, where everyone in the village could access it with ease.

outside the cabin was hoseok, jimin’s friend and the blacksmith’s son. hoseok was his father’s apprentice and would take over the job as soon as he turned eighteen, making him a very popular fellow. hoseok’s personality helped him shine in the community as well: he was always smiling and positive. his laugh rang throughout the town like a bell of hope. hoseok was tall and lean, and his fluffy chestnut hair complimented his pretty face. the rare and hereditary amber hue of his eyes helped attract many suitors as well. most were female, but there were rumors that hoseok had captured the heart of a few boys in the village as well.

jimin was one of them.

“jimin, sweetie, it’s safe again to go into the woods, so i need you to check on grandma, alright? she’s lonely, and to be frank, we need to be sure she’s still alive. grandma may be too stubborn to live with in daggerhorn with us, but we’re still responsible for her.” jimin’s mother was gathering essentials and fresh goods she had woken up early to bake that morning and putting them in a woven basket.

after every Hunt it was jimin’s duty to deliver a survival basket to his grandmother and make sure she was still alive. for some odd reason that jimin wasn’t quite too sure of, jimin’s grandmother had insisted on living in the woods that surrounded daggerhorn. he had no clue why she would want to live in the very heart of the Wolf’s territory instead of the village, or maybe jimin did understand. maybe he too would rather live among the Wolf than to hide away from it in the village only to still be terrorized by its nonexistent presence. maybe he’d rather face the beast than continue to be afraid of it.

jimin grabbed the basket by its woven handle, and he was halfway out the door before his mom approached him again, but this time with a red cloak in her hands. “don’t forget your riding hood, darling.” she kissed his forehead after wrapping it around his shoulders and fixing the clasp at the base of the hood. giving him a reassuring smile she said, “be safe.”

jimin said goodbye to his parents and climbed atop the horse tied outside their residence. his horse trotted to the immense gate separating jimin from the woods, separating jimin from the Wolf that he was sure was still very much alive.

the gate was opened by the guards stationed before it, and jimin came to face the home of his enemy. he looked at the wall of trees looming over him. jimin rehearsed a small prayer in his mind before setting off along the path of flattened greenery through the towering wood.

he was now two hours into his trek, and jimin had dismounted his horse to drink from the river that ran beside the path to his grandmother’s house. he made his hands into a cup and dipped them in the stream before quickly bringing his hands and the water to his mouth.

jimin repeated this action until his insides felt cooler; his body on the outside was still being heated by the spring evening sun.

snap

jimin’s head whipped around to spot the source of the sound, but his eyes saw nothing but his horse and the trees. anxiety and fear was building inside of him. his muscles grew tense, preparing him to flee. he reached for the weapon he had just traded for, his newly-made dagger, and pulled it out of his pocket. jimin’s senses were on high alert, so he was able to catch the faintest brown haze in the corner of his eye.

jimin spun around and came face to face with a giant wolf his height with chestnut-colored fur and brilliant amber eyes. jimin tried, but the hand holding his dagger just wouldn’t react. dread filled every part of jimin’s body. he was certain that this was the Wolf. he was certain that he’d be the first child to go missing this year. he was certain that he’d be mauled here and now, and that his parents would find their last child in the town square. jimin was certain that his parents would have to bury his bloody, mangled body next to his brother’s grave.

but then jimin could hear hoseok’s voice in his head, only with a slight growl accompanying it. “hello, jimin. off to see your grandmother?”

the Wolf wasn’t moving, and its eyes weren’t wavering from jimin’s chocolate orbs. again hoseok’s voice resounded in jimin’s head, “by the looks of that basket on your horse and your little red riding hood, i’d guess i’m right.”

part of jimin thought he was a fool for what he was about to do, another part of him knew he was spot on…

“hoseok?”

…and the last part of jimin knew he’d have to race home before the sun set because even if hoseok was the Wolf, he wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter jimin as soon as the moon rose.

[pussymagicuniverse]

A Journey in Winter – Walking with Ceridwen and The Cailleach

Crone energy lead me along my magical path before I knew I was walking the path in the first place.

For me, on the surface, this turning to crones seems to be in line with the idea we try to bring what we lack – but need – into our lives from outside sources. Recently I’ve realised how as a child I stayed childlike well into my teens, and even now people mistake me for someone much younger than I am. But all I ever wanted was to grow older and know things. It’s the opposite of Peter Pan and his Lost Boys, and more difficult to achieve (I am nowhere near the all-seeing hag energy I’d love to embody, but I could quite easily be a lost boy if that was my thing). But after a recent trip to Scotland, where I felt one powerful goddess join another from the minute I walked out my front door, I’m starting to believe it’s not impossible.

There are other reasons other than some spiritual anaemia to explain why the universe expressed as older, colder, and darker appeals to me. I know it’s also because my role model as a little witch was my great-grandmother, who died long before I was born, but lived on in the things her son, my nature-respecting grandfather, taught me. It’s because I spent much of my childhood in the company of another set of great-grandparents; they were not witches, but funny and sharp, they both carried the lessons of a life spent working – and at times drinking – hard and shared them with me. And I know deep down I just wanted a mentor – a bit like the endless and immortal Mrs Which, Mrs Whatsit, and Mrs Who from A Wrinkle in Time – who is all-knowing and would guide me in the way I wasn’t being guided in my everyday life. Maybe it’s even because of how much I watched The Golden Girls when I was a child – those retired ladies really knew how to live, right?

Aging, darkness, night, death, and winter have been considered negatives in many places over many historical eras. Some of those things still unsettle people, I know. But for me, the dark is what it is – the complement of light, which itself balances dark. Dark and light are neutral settings – badness can come into our lives with the sun just as easily as it can with the moon. And the dark has a different and equally useful purpose – if light is active and lends itself to movement, the dark is calm, it’s where incubation takes place (of life, or of ideas and contemplations). Aging frightens people because it takes us closer to the inevitable end of our lives. Death frightens us because it’s difficult to know, to understand; it is unpredictable. Winter encompasses and represents all of the above. But all I can see is how much knowledge and experience the years give us, how much time for contemplation and learning there has been once we reach that end.

Even so, sometimes the old-old gods also make mistakes, but the best part about that is how they tell us that’s ok, too. They have the wisdom to see sometimes it doesn’t really matter. My longest working spiritual relationship with a crone goddess is with Ceridwen, forged when I was seventeen, and still going strong. She is the Welsh sorceress famous for her Cauldron of Inspiration; accidental mother of the great bard Taliesin – because she created the potion for her own son, but the plan wasn’t as fool-proof as she’d have liked it to be. The three drops it took to give someone endless insight landed on the thumb of her serving boy, Gwion Bach, instead of being lovingly administered to her ugly son Morfran (or Afagddu). After a chase where Ceridwen and Gwion Bach shapeshifted as a series of animals, the boy ends up in the enchantress’s tummy, to transform into Taliesin. This worked out fine, of course, because the result was the Welsh bardic tradition. And Ceridwen is recognised as a goddess these days – she’s a witch’s witch, the dark moon guardian of poets, creators, and seekers, giving us space for our ideas to grow in the absence of bright overpowering light. She’s given me flashes of insight, strength to stay on the path, never letting me down when I’ve needed her most.

Very recently, after several months of another energy edging in, Ceridwen was joined in these efforts to help a little human writer find their way. I knew it was coming, and at last it fell into place. As I walked down the hill from my house to Sheffield station on a cold pre-dawn in early January, here was another crone. Depicted most often as a blue-skinned old woman, or a giantess, this goddess is rooted more firmly in the earth and the practical by way of her ties to wildlife and winter, and her rock-formation myths, dropping stones from her apron across these islands, from Scotland to Wales to England to Ireland and back to Scotland again. And if there was ever a right time to feel the Cailleach’s presence, it’s in the freezing short days and long nights of winter, when you’re about to hop on a train headed four hours north.

Another truth buried in this contemplation of sagacity (occurring, no doubt, because I’ll be 40 soon) was excavated by the Cailleach: I’ve always valued a no-nonsense approach to most problems, while knowing I’m an intuitive, emotional, airy fairy creature most of the time – the growth for me has been in combining them. The hero in my story when I’m overly stressed is someone who will tell me, hey, it’s alright, you’re upset, but come on now – get back up. Being realistic and sensible can come across as gruff, yes, but it is not the same as being unkind – in fact, it’s a great kindness. There are times when I must be this person for myself, rarer still when I’ve been that person for others (I’m more likely to be the woe-catching ear and the tear-stained shoulder), and there have been times when friends and strangers have been the ones to help me. And there are these occasions when the stern hand reaching down to me is from a more unseen place.

Edinburgh is a city of history and hills, populated by a grand mix of locals and transplants and tourists, and people like me: ‘visitors’ as my friend (an Edinburgh native) described me – someone who lives in the UK, but wandered further north to do research for one of my poetry collections. Many of the Cailleach’s Scottish myths are based in wild, far northern landscapes, but through the steep inclines and the nip in the air she made her presence known in this more lowland, metropolitan place. I had to walk everywhere I needed to go – not a problem if you don’t have a condition that affects all the joints in your legs, more of a problem if you do (spoilers: I do). My anxiety was high because I was traveling alone. There were moments when it would have been easier to give up and stay in my hotel room with a pile of books, but something wouldn’t let me even consider it.

Pure stubbornness and dedication to my work, I suppose – work I continue to pursue under Ceridwen’s watchful eye, Ceridwen who allows me to curl up in her cauldron when things get overwhelming, waiting things out and re-emerging energised. But in Edinburgh there was another force of nature saying: ‘no, she will not stop yet – she will do what she came to do’. Her blue hands at my back, a lift up – the hard-faced but well-meant instruction. I was in the Cailleach’s territory during her season, she’d called me in before I arrived and once I was there, things would be done her way – I managed to push through the anxiety; I swallowed medicine for the pain, rested well when the journey was finished. And when I left, she made sure I carried something of her with me.

Born in Southern Ohio, but settled in the UK since 1999, Kate is a writer, witch, editor and mother of five. She is the author of several poetry pamphlets, and the founding editor of four web journals and a micropress.

Her witchcraft is a blend of her great-grandmother's Appalachian ways and the Anglo-Celtic craft of the country she now calls home – though she incorporates tarot, astrology, and her ancestors, plus music, film, books, and many other things into her practice. Her spiritual life is best described as queer Christopagan with emphasis on the feminine and the natural world. She believes magic is everywhere.

Find Kate on twitter and IG - @mskateybelle - and at her website.

[uncontrollablyme]

This time last week I was crying, pretty much uncontrollably, but with my heart fuller than it has felt in some time.  I am talking today, about Faith, the belief in something more extraordinary than just what is tangible to us here in this life.  Let me cut right to the chase though, before some of you are quick to judge…. I am not defined by religion, nor do I affiliate with one.  I will tell you also, loud and clear, that my Faith is so deeply rooted in who I am, that there was a time it was the only thing that kept me going.  I refer to it as my Faith with a capital F, because any other name for It, bounds me to that version of religion. I believe, “religions divides, Faith unites”.

You see I was raised Catholic, and while I am not here to be negative towards anyone’s beliefs, being raised a way is wholly different than seeking, understanding and accepting our own way.  I was required, obliged if you will, to maintain the catholic adherence that was set forth generations before me.  My grandmother, God rest her soul, even had Holy water in her nursing home room, she didn’t even go to her own bathroom without God’s blessing! It was however, not a fit for me.  I don’t need to go in to reasons why, here, but simply enough, I did not “connect” with in those walls. The book seemed to limiting to me (very unpopular opinion at the time). And the more it was required of me, the more I resisted.  Typically Defiant, also a delicious Bourbon… squirrel!

Okay, back to my story…. The first time I actually was moved, when I deeply, truly felt my Faith, was on a walk in the woods.  Nature has a way with me, cutting right through the chaos of my mind, straight to the Heart of my soul.  I felt every hair stand on end as the breeze came, and that little voice that had always seemed to “guide me”, you know the one, was louder than ever.  Now stay with me here, this was not some booming voice through the trees kinda moment.  It was simply that warmth, that definition of who I was, that peace, a fullness in my chest, a certainty that I was going to be okay.  That I was not ever alone.  That I was loved beyond earthly measure.  The kind of voice that tells you to try again tomorrow, or that this thing is right for you, or that thing is not.  The part of you related to intuition and gut feelings.  That is not something actually in your stomach telling you what to do… it is where your Heart, of your soul, really exists.

I stopped in my tracks and tried to feel every second of it, not realizing how much I would need to call on that connection with my Faith in the coming years.

As you may have read in previous posts (thank you) and will have more opportunities to in future writings, I have survived through some stuff… stuff that no one should have to survive.  Now this is not about comparison, there will always be people who have it worse, or better.  That does not direct the fact that somethings can still just be really. fucking. awful.  There were days when I was pregnant in a troubled situation, begging for guidance.  Days, years later, where I didn’t think I could muster the strength after a night of terror and chaos, just to get up and put my little boy on the school bus. Days, I was alone and scared in a room full of people.  But I did, I found the strength, and I will tell you that it came only from one source; my Faith.  That same Faith I drew on to leave a troubled marriage, to be a better mother than I thought I could, to escape in a one day move from the abusive house, to see me through 12 deaths in a one year period, is the same Faith that compels me to share, to be a light for others, to be as open and honest as I can.  And Lordy on those days when this child tries my ever lovin patience, yep… my Faith is there too.

So there I was a few weeks ago, scrolling along on Facebook, and I see a friends post about her church.  Now normally, given my history with “church”, I apply my “just keep scrolling” jingle, but this one called to me.  Days later, unable to shake it, I reached out to her, and wouldn’t you know it, Faith was stepping in here.  She was ecstatic to spread her Faith, and unbeknownst to me, I was being called to hear a message that I so desperately needed.  We made a plan to meet for the service, and I was excited.  Like in anticipation, like my Soul knew what was coming excited.  Little side bar here about how the whole universe conspires for you, when you need it to… it did.  I ended up chatting with another girlfriend the day before, and she too goes to this same gathering.  More excitement, coupled with the flood of, maybe I won’ts, overcome by some more excitement.  So morning of we walk in and my attitude is “what’s the worst that could happen?” then I hear the music… lyrics, words, the beautiful voices.  I am liking this…. My gal pal leans over disappointed that there usual pastor isn’t there… again I think, what’s the worst, then that little voice surges, “he has a message for you”…. I am at full attention.

His message you ask…. well I am glad you did… a message from Paul (also my little brother, who owns a large percentage of my heart’s first name, more on him soon)… “you are not meant to suffer these burdens in life alone, cast all of your doubts and anxieties on Him”  skeeeerp – I am sorry, did you just look right at me and use the word anxiety… to me, today, this morning… to me?! Open flood gates.  My heart was flung wide open as I knew I was being reminded of that voice in the woods, my Faith saying you do not have to go this alone, your anxieties, these Earthly troubles are not for you to bear alone.  Tears.  The anxiety I deal with daily, tears, the weight of being a single mother, tears, sole provider for my growing boy, tears, work, life, love, deaths, fears, gripping sadness, insecurities, things I have endured, lifted.  TEARS.  My Faith shouldering my burdens, right there in that moment, I was free, and safe, and loved, certainly. More tears.  Heart full.

To top off the day, I left and wanted to reach out to my brother immediately.  He is a noble man, a fantastic father and husband, a believer in God, and is doing good work to reach people where he knows he can help.  We have a relationship that has weathered the storms, and made us better humans, closer because of it.  I admire him immensely.  He happened to be writing for his youth group at that very moment, and as I began to divulge my morning experience, we found ourselves both in tears, and in complete awe. He happened to be writing on a topic about relationships at the very moment I wanted to share so much with him, how grateful I was… for our relationship.  Clarity, it was bigger than us.  We are all connected.

It is always there, in moments of joy, and moments of anxiety.  Whether its a walk in the woods, or a great laugh with friends, or a heart to heart with my boy, and countless other daily reminders.  My Faith is in me, the Heart of my soul. Today I am reflecting on last Sunday, rejoicing in my Faith, because I was instructed to last week.  To place my rejoicing in my Faith, rather than Chipotle coupons, or if my blog gets read, or if my son is getting good grades, etc. because then I can always rejoice, in the certainty.

I hope however you find your Faith, or if you have yet to, that it brings you peace and LOVE POPS! Sending you love, light and laughs.

Throwing up my peace sign,

T

        Faith, with a capital F This time last week I was crying, pretty much uncontrollably, but with my heart fuller than it has felt in some time.