#ardeas original writing

[ardeawritten]

The Blorbos in my head~!

-Seth, from David's Story: Defector from his homeland, his family started a war, he had to kill his brothers in a duel, spent eight years in prison, has an illegal super-power that he hates, and has a demon in his head trying to convince him to join the dark side. (can you tell I designed this guy when I was 14.) ((I still think he's cool.))

-The Jackdaw, from Griffin Girl. Born outside his colony's class system, social outcast his entire childhood, only survivor of his cohort, tames and bonds with an alien 'griffin' by living in its nest with zero human contact for a year, first human to survive alone on the planet, can never reintegrate with his own society or eat human/earth food again. (he's kinda pseudo-Western Outlaw ish, lived too long in the Wilderness and forgot how to Person)

-Kevin/Pegasus, from Pantheon. Caught up in a planetary war, imprisoned as a suspected terrorist, looses all autonomy and subject to medical experimentation, trapped inside an illegal war machine as a living pilot, sent into combat as an unwilling weapon and buries his humanity for years, and is then forgotten in a junkyard before being recommissioned and forced to fight his best friends. (I was clearly under a lot of stress when I created him lol probably grad school)

Apparently I'm nicer to my female characters. Seth's better half is Lady Kheris, a war hero and respected politician who helps him keep his sanity. The Jackdaw has an upper-class wife who uses her class privilege to ensure he always has a home despite his powerful enemies. Kevin's two female friends Hannah & Emily come through the war in much better psychological shape than he does and when he finds them again they're doing spectacular, all things considered!

[culturecalypsosblog]

Circe, in Greek legend, a sorceress, the daughter of Helios, the sun god, and of the ocean nymph Perse. She was able by means of drugs and incantations to change humans into wolves, lions, and swine. The Greek hero Odysseus visited her island, Aeaea, with his companions, whom she changed into swine. But Odysseus, protected by the herb moly (a gift from Hermes), compelled her to restore them to their original shape. He stayed with her for one year before resuming his journey. The story is told by Homer in the Odyssey, Books X and XII. Greco-Roman tradition placed her island near Italy or located her on Mount Circeo. Circe was a goddess of magic, though she was sometimes depicted as a nymph (minor nature god), a witch or an enchantress.

In any case, she was associated with magic. She knew a lot about potions and herbs, and sometimes used this knowledge against her enemies and people who offended her, turning them into wild animals. She also had a wand or staff called the rhabdos which she also used to channel her magic. In fact, this was the earliest mention of a “magical wand or staff” in Western writings; it was referred to in Homer’s epic poem, the Odyssey, when Circe used it to turn Odysseus’s men into beasts.

Circe was the daughter of HELIOS, a TITAN who represented the Sun, and Perse, an ocean nymph. She was one of three thousand of her kind, daughters of TITANS OCEANUS and TETHYS. In another version, Circe was the daughter of HECATE, a goddess of sorcery.

She had two brothers. One was named Aeetes, and he looked after the GOLDEN FLEECE, a fleece that was the property of royalty. It was made from the wool of a golden ram with wings. Her second brother was PERSES.

PASIPHAE was her only sister, and she was the queen of the Greek island, CRETE, and also the wife of King Minos. It was also said that she gave birth to the MINOTAUR, a creature that was half man, half bull, with the head and horns of a cattle and the body of a man.

In some stories, Circe was exiled by her father Helios to live alone on AEAEA, a fictional island, as punishment for killing the prince of COLCHIS, who was her husband at the time.

She later had children with ODYSSEUS, the king of ITHACA from Homer’s writings. Her three sons were Ardeas, Latinus and Telegonus.

Kirke's name is derived from the Greek verb kirkoô meaning "to secure with rings" or "hoop around"--a reference to the binding power of magic.

Kirke's island of Aiaia (Aeaea) was located in the far west, near the earth-encircling River Okeanos (Oceanus). Her brother Aeetes' realm in the far east was similarly named Aia (Aea).

She was able by means of drugs and incantations to change humans into wolves, lions, and swine. The Greek hero Odysseus visited her island, Aeaea, with his companions, whom she changed into swine. But Odysseus, protected by the herb moly (a gift from Hermes), compelled her to restore them to their original shape. He stayed with her for one year before resuming his journey. Despite having no particular love for humankind, Circe famously found herself embroiled with the hero Odysseus after he and his men arrived on her island. She is also responsible for turning the beautiful nymph Scylla into a fearsome sea monster. In the Aeneid by Virgil (70-19 BCE), Aeneas sails right past her island after he had been warned to avoid her by Odysseus' men.

Circe was a fearsome but beautiful goddess, a witch who bewitched men with her voice. She was also talented at working the loom. She had a way with magical drugs and often turned men into beasts for her entertainment or as revenge.

Circe was taken to the island of Aeaea in Helios' chariot (some say as punishment for her husband's death). The island was described as wild with heavy woods. It was inhabited by lions and wolves who had once been men until Circe's magical drugs had taken effect. Classical writers identify the island with Cape Circeium on the western coast of Italy.

In his Odyssey, Homer (c. 750 BCE) describes Circe as a fearsome goddess with a human voice and describes her beautiful hair. Homer also gives her the epithet Polypharmakos ("knowing many drugs or charms"). In Ovid's (43 BCE to 17 CE) Metamorphoses, she is portrayed as seated regally on a throne, dressed in gold. In art, she is often portrayed as a beautiful woman with a cup raised high, a symbol of her magical potions and incantations.

Circe received divine honours in the ancient world and was said to have had a monument dedicated to her on one of the Pharmacussae islands near Salamis. Monte Cicero in Italy is also said to be named after her.

Circe inspired many artists, including Annibale Carracci (1560-1609), Edward Burne-Jones (1833-1898), and John William Waterhouse (1849-1917). She also has multiple operas, spanning from the 1600s to modern times, written about her. In addition, an asteroid discovered in 1855 was named after her.

In modern times, Circe is the name of Wonder Woman's enemy in the DC Comics, where she also has encounters with Batman and Superman. Circe (2018) is also a hugely popular book by author Madeline Miller and is set to be adapted into a TV series. In the book, she is portrayed as a much more sympathetic character than her ancient depictions, and true to changing times, Circe has become a feminist symbol and an example of a powerful woman.

I hope you enjoyed this blog more up soon,

Culture Calypso’s Blog 🏺🏛️🏺

[asphaltvalkyrie]

Threnody

So, I've spent the last two months or soon-and-off writing an origin story for my Sorceror Tav, Ardea. I was going for a bit of a dark fairytale vibe and it could use more work, but its at that "If I look at this thing anymore my eyes are going to permanently cross" stage so I decided to just let 'er rip.

Also on Ao3 because holy shit I DO have one of those, don't I?

In the lower city of Baldur's Gate, tales of familial tragedy are more numerous than the cobblestones on the streets. Families torn apart in one way or another, sometimes quite literally, thanks to a bevy of warring gods, bargaining devils and capricious magic.

One such family began with a young husband and wife.  Both were human and talented artists - the husband highly skilled at carving wood, and the wife at painting. Oftentimes they would work with one another to create things of astonishing beauty.  While they were most famed for their beautiful and lifelike sculptures, everything they created seemed to be beautiful, down the the simplest kitchen tool or child's toy. And so, they were blessed with great success and wealth, with a greatly renowned workshop that they operated out of their home in the lower city.

The perfection of their work often drew covetous and jealous eyes from the city's many other artisans both noble and peasant, but the couple's kindness and humility were enough to cool even the most heated of rivalries. Indeed, it would take nothing short of divine malefaction and infernal machination to harm the prosperous pair.

The architect of their ruin would be the Stormlord Talos, who could destroy in a second anything which nature and mortal kind could build, no matter how ancient or beautiful. One need only look to a grand old tree uprooted by a windstorm or a millennia-old temple felled in a single streak of lightning to see the shadow of His hand at work. Though the artistic endeavors of a single well-meaning pair of mortals could hardly be construed as a threat by most gods, Talos was not most gods.  In fact, the more random and senseless the destruction, and the more beautiful the things destroyed, the greater his pleasure.

And so, Talos sent a mighty storm to ruin the couple - great winds that blew away paintbrushes, heavy rains that ruined paints and rusted saws and chisels, and, worst of all, lightning bolts that tore through sculpted wood and painted canvas with equal ease. The pair was thought to have perished in this storm as well.  However, they were discovered the next day completely unharmed, beneath a pile of the their ruined masterpieces, which had somehow fallen to create a shelter for them, as if the works had sacrificed themselves to save their creators. A true miracle. 

And so, the pair was able to rebuild their home and workshop with alacrity, aided by the hands of their many friends and neighbors. Talos, childishly satisfied with his work, turned to other destructive pursuits. However, the pair could not help but fear that they would once again catch the eye of The Raging One once their works again reached full glorious potential. And their fear only grew when the wife realized that she was with child. 

It was in their hour of greatest worry that one of the devils of Cania came to them in the form of a handsome elf. He offered them a contract stating that no storm born of the heavens would ever harm them, their work, or their family. What he asked in exchange seemed simple enough for them to risk the loss of their souls - all he asked was for them to create a perfect likeness of him in wood and paint in a tenday. Afraid but confident in their abilities, the couple signed the contract... It would not be the first time they had been asked to capture the visage of someone influential and dangerous. But as soon as their blood had dried upon the parchment, the devil laughed and shed his handsome face, revealing his true form; a body only vaguely humanoid. The whole of his being was a nightmare of impossible colors and intangible textures - a landscape as varied and horrid as the hells themselves. Grinning with a beak full of mismatched teeth, he bid the couple adieu, and said that he would return in three days time. And he wanted it perfect, down to every rough scale and curling claw.  Every patch of matted fur and scabrous skin.

Horrified but undaunted, the couple locked themselves in their workshop, and when the devil strutted cockily back once a tenday had passed, he was struck dumb by what he saw. There he was. In perfect likeness. His chaotic form captured in every tiny detail. The husband had rendered his body in exact anatomical perfection with hammer and chisel.  He had somehow coaxed from a block of wood the dry smoothness of scales and the gauzy lightness of feathers and fur.  And beneath, the contours of muscle and sinew. The wife had seen to it that the colors were perfect down to the smallest shade - from the leprous green mottling on his patches of humanoid skin to the oily black sheen of his iridescent horns. Colors dull and muted where they needed to be, and brightly lurid where they needed to be. Mixed and applied with flawless skill.

The devil was furious that the couple had gotten the better of him. But the sculpture was undeniably a perfect replica of him, and devils are creatures of their word.  And so, he placed a spell of protection on the couple's home and workshop and scuttled back to Cania, tails between his many legs, as agreed. But, a word is a flighty and ephemeral thing to stake one's life upon, as words can be twisted into all manner of shapes, for good or ill. 

A short time later, the wife bore their long-awaited child; a daughter.  And though she was strong and healthy, her tiny body bore the unmistakable signs of infernal meddling. Superficially her face resembled her father's, but her skin was the color of a winter sky and her eyes were black pits lit by two sickly yellow sparks. On her head one could clearly see the two swellings that would become horns as she grew, and if there was any further denial of her devilish heritage, one need have only looked at her long, fleshy tail.

A Tiefling. 

Once again horrified but undaunted, the couple vowed to raise the girl as they would any other child, and were true to their word. They named her Threnody, a choice they would later regret, for it seemed to mark her for tragedy just as blatantly as her devilish features.  True to her name, she was a rather unhappy child, prone to bouts of sullen silence punctuated with sudden outbursts of anger.  Though intelligent and observant with a sharp tongue, she was not motivated by the admiration of her peers or the praise of her elders, and thusly school seemed to only bore her. One would have expected her to be teased, given her unusual appearance and spontaneous birth into a human family, but there was something about the girl that made other children keep their distance.  She found few friends, even among other the other Tiefling children of Baldur's Gate. 

This did not seem to bother Threnody, as she preferred to spend her time in the workshop with her parents... Not for their companionship so much as to be in the presence of them as they worked. Even as a toddler, she would watch her parents work for hours, enrapt with the act of artistic creation.  It seemed, in fact, to be the only thing that could make her smile. Watching the marbled patterns that her father could coax from a piece of mahogany, or the sublime shades her mother could mix with the most disparate of colors brought forth the kinds of coos and giggles that a parent lives to hear.  Delighted, her parents did everything they could to encourage the girl, providing her with brushes and paints as well as sculptor's clay, and (when she was old enough,) carving and sewing tools as well.  

Their investments in their daughter's talent was rewarded again and again, as the girl seemed to have a great affinity with all things creative. By the age of 10, she was creating pieces nearly as exquisite as those of her parents, and the wealthiest citizens were offering greater and greater sums for works from the young prodigy. She had inherited from her father a fine grasp of texture, and from her mother, an eye for perfect color.  When she worked, the very air seemed to pulse with potential, and her grim and gray features brightened.  

If she had deigned to accept commissions for painted portraits or custom clothing or heraldic sculptures, she may very well have earned her family a place among the wealthiest patriars in the upper city. However, she followed only her own agenda, balking at the idea of following anyone's visions but her own. Most of her work was inspired by nature, and her favorite subjects were the marsh animals and plants that she often glimpsed on the banks of the Chionthar not far from her home. She rendered them in paint, embroidery, wood and clay with equal skill, often against exquisite backdrops of clouded skies and rivers that seemed to snake off into eternity.

Even without following any sorts of instructions but her own, Threnody's gifts could have made her beloved of anyone and everyone she chose.  However, she remained distant and cold to most anyone, and disliked the company of others while she worked. Though her judgmental gaze and sullen silence were her only weapons, those who braved being in her presence as she worked would sometimes find their flesh breaking out in goosebumps. Even her parents would only approach her long enough to offer a cup of tea or to retrieve a dropped brush or chisel. But that was usually long enough to glimpse an occasional happy smile or joyful gesture, and they took solace in that as one would from seeing a spring sun peek out from among a towering bank of winter clouds. Delighted by their daughter's abilities, if not by her off-putting tendencies, her parents began to describe her gift as something truly magical.  It fell them to entertain her many admirers, and accept their adoration on her behalf. They took great pride in her and her abilities, believing that their prodigious talent (and by extension, Threnody's) had defeated that scheming devil once again - overcoming the curse of the Tiefling child he had sent them through the beauty and power of art.  All the time, the devil had even stayed true to his word.  

Threnody was scarcely a woman grown when she set about producing something truly remarkable.  It would take her several years... And she would work in a manner that was quite unlike herself, patching it together piece by piece instead of as a harmonious whole. Her parents voiced their concerns about her methods, but all it took was a single look from her baleful yellow eyes to silence them. 

Though her work was slapdash and seemingly improvised, every element of it seemed to integrate perfectly. Every dab of paint and thread of fabric she placed seemed to weave itself into the exact state she needed it to be in.  Shades of paint mixed on different days matched perfectly, cut edges of fabric melded together with seamless grace, a chisel never chipped a speck of wood more than it needed to, drying clay never cracked. 

None save Threnody knew what the finished product was supposed to be, and though she often spent hours staring at it, she never spoke of her work on it. Eventually, it began to take shape, becoming some sort of long-limbed and graceful bird.  Her careless crafting process was evident in its construction - when it was finally recognizable as a bird, it was headless, one-winged and balanced on a single leg of impossibly thin wood.  Some parts were painted and varnished while others remained bare wood, hastily bent wire or stiffly starched fabric, or were absent entirely. Even so, it was resplendent as a phoenix in a thousandfold shades of deep blue, cloudy gray and wine red.  

As she worked, the climate around the family home seemed to change. The winters became longer, and the sky howled with wind and rain and thunder seemingly every night. But Threnody's parents only laughed.  They had the word of a devil, written in blood and sworn by the infernal sisters, that no storm would ever harm them or their work. Let Talos throw his tantrums... it must chafe him, they thought, as lightning forked through the sky above their home only to crackle away into nothing as the hells-touched girl wrought masterpieces just out of his reach.  How mad he must be when the wind howled and shook the rafters of their home, unable to even momentarily distract their girl from creating another work of electrifying beauty. She was to have been a curse, but she had proved herself among the greatest of blessings.

With every new detail, the bird became more lovely, as if it were flying in feather by feather from the highest peaks of Celestia. It was posed with an unearthly and impossible grace, with a delicacy that should not have been physically possible to coax from the materials she had used.  Its ungainly construction became invisible beneath the beauty of its many elements. A time came when it appeared finished, but it was missing something... The bird had no eyes, and it was obvious from the messy and unpainted pits in its head that it was intended to have them.

At this point, Threnody stopped her work for a long time, focusing on other projects, which she worked with her usual care and professionalism, employing none of the improvised and haphazard techniques she had been using with the bird. Still, every day she would stare at the nearly finished, nigh-paradisical creature as if weighing something very important in her head.  Her parents could never get an answer from her as to why, and chalked it up to apprehension about somehow botching the last element. After all, every artist worried now and then that a perfect piece could be ruined by something as small as a single careless brushstroke or errant stitch. Meanwhile, the winter storms seemed to grow stronger every year.

Eventually, she began work painting two small, perfectly round seed pods from a scraggly marsh tree outside of their home.  Her parents held their joy in check as they realized that they were to be the bird's eyes. She painted them in cool shades of yellow, dappled like an autumn moon with hints of purple, punctuated at the center by a pit of abyssal black, varnished to a viscous sheen. Even bereft of a skull to hold them, the eyes seemed to follow the viewer, conveying a secret intensity of some unknown emotion.  Her parents hadn't been there when she finally placed the eyes, but they knew that it had been done by the sudden change in the air that made the hairs on their necks stand on end.  Though both busy with chores on opposite sides of their home, the husband and wife nearly crashed into one another as they rushed to the family's workshop.

There Threnody stood before her finished masterwork, hands clasped like a supplicant at a holy idol. A beatific smile spread across her somber features as her closed eyes welled over with abundant tears.  It was so rare to see her smile so brightly, rarer still to see her cry tears of joy, and they treasured the sight. Proudly they interlaced their fingers and embraced, drinking in the sight of their dear daughter happy.  Their grip on one another tightened as Threnody seemed to grow taller, and they realized that her feet were no longer touching the ground. The air snapped and popped around her as she rose, and her tears began to swirl like raindrops about her head.  Her eyes snapped open as she beheled her creation again, looking in its fabricated face as if it were a living thing.  It was then that her parents noticed that the bird's eyes were the same color as their daughter's, and just as alive. Both sets of eyes began to glow as Threnody stretched her hand out, and the bird miraculously came alive, moving its head to rest it in her hand, as if she were a fairytale princess. Hair-thin threads of electricity arced between them.  It was impossible to tell in that moment whether the girl or the newly animated bird were their source, but in a thunderclap of an instant the wind began to howl and the workshop began to shake.  The husband and wife held one another tightly as the sound of crackling lightning and shattering timber filled the air, and a blinding light filled their eyes.

Her mother awakened to thunder ringing in her ears and the smell of burnt timber and singed flesh, with the body of her husband draped across her chest. Cold rain and hot tears stung her face as she cast her eyes on a scene of utter devastation all around.  And in the center of it all was Threnody, outlined against a patch of tempestuous and clouded sky where the wind had torn away the workshop roof.  Her magnificent bird was now nothing more than a smoking heap... but she still smiled.  She smiled.  Even as her dead father, her distraught mother and her ruined masterpiece lay before her.  Lightning arched from her horns and weaved through her hair like the ribbons she had once braided into her hair.  Her mother screamed her name, but the storm swallowed the sound whole. 

The memories of the first time she and her husband had huddled beneath the rubble of their shattered life flooded back to her, and the devil's promise echoed in her mind.  She raised her voice again, this time screaming the words of the devil's contract that had now been violated.

"No storm born of the heavens shall ever harm you, your home, or your family."

As she shouted the final word, a realization hit her like a bolt from the blue. 

Even in his cruelty, the devil had been true to his word. The storm that had ripped apart their little family had come not from the heavens, but from within their own home. A storm channeled from the hells themselves in the form of a cursed daughter. She could only watch in despair as her daughter raised the wind and rain and lightning like a conductor of some hellish orchestra.  And in that moment, the unholy sound of hail beating against the wreckage of her home and the body of her beloved sounded almost like strident laughter. 

The young woman who emerged from this ordeal was no longer a beloved daughter, but an orphan of a storm of her own making. Her artisan's heart still beats within her, but it may be broken beyond repair. And if it cannot create, it will destroy.

[moved-to-void-kissed]

What Can and Cannot Return

In a quiet moment shared while Pavo is healing Ardea’s combat injuries, the two share a nervous exchange about Ardea’s loss of her Celestrian powers in the face of the fact that Pavo still retains hers. (1091 words)

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Here is my piece for the twenty-sixth day of sapphic September - I was originally going to portray the scene as a render using MMD, but the models just were not cooperating nicely, so I spat out this little bit of writing instead. I hope it's still alright, even if it may or may not have been slightly rushed, haha!~

Comments on and reblogs of my work are always okay, and appreciated, but are by no means required! If the link to the document doesn't work properly, then there is also a transcript of it under the readmore.

“..Do you mean it, when you say it does not faze you?”

It was a quiet and peaceful night as the two young women sat next to the flickering campfire. Although the party had been too tired from fighting to travel any further that day, the faint glow of torches - and with them, people - could be seen on the edge of the horizon; they would be able to properly rest in an inn soon, but for the moment, they had to make do in the open air for another night. A short distance away from the pair, a girl with bright teal hair was curled up in sleep with her extravagant dress blanketing her in a thousand colours, while a much taller individual was resting with their back to a tree stump, and even now their spear and knife still lay within easy reach.

The question was not an accusatory one, instead settling quietly into the scene, but it still made the blonde-haired girl look away and out into the darkness for a moment. She was dressed in the textbook attire of a martial artist, with a red and gold top emblazoned with the logo of a dragon over a fitted black shirt and slick slacks. Her hands were wrapped with black fabric, and the kite’s claws they usually carried were tucked away safely in her equipment bag. Her left arm was raised and in the grasp of the other girl, whose short white hair fell over her face slightly as a glow of teal magic emanated from her palms.

“What do you mean by that?” asked the martial artist, whose gaze had now flickered back to her partner.

“I believe you know what I refer to, Ardea.” she replied, still focusing on healing the wound on Ardea’s arm. It was not a serious injury, and even now was healing rapidly thanks to her spells, but it was nevertheless something that required attention. “The fact that we once shared the same abilities, and now, you have lost what you once wielded as second nature.”

“Mmm..” was all that Ardea said in response, glancing over to check that the other two were definitely asleep before continuing. “Well, it’s true that it was difficult to adapt to at the beginning, but.. We’ve come quite far now, haven’t we? So I’ve had time to adjust to the situation.”

This brought a smile to Pavo’s face, but there was still a sense of unease in her expression. “So, it is not true that you are.. jealous of me, or- anything of the sort?”

“What?” At this, Ardea turned around with a start, causing Pavo to lose hold of her arm. “Ah- My apologies!”

“Do not worry - I had already dealt with your injuries.”

“Ah, yes, I realise that now.. Thank you kindly..” Ardea muttered, moving her now woundless arm without difficulty. Then she returned to the matter at hand. “But, Pavo, whatever do you mean?”

The Celestrian looked away at this, and her wings instinctively curled closer to her body in a large sheet of white feathers. “It is just that.. You have lost the ability to use any of the magic of Celestrians, as well as both your wings and your halo, and the boons that they bestow upon you. When we happened across the carriage of the Starflight Express in that forest, it did not even react to your presence at first. Thankfully, the benevolessence we have acquired by you offering our assistance to those in peril has restored that final aspect, but.. not any of your other abilities."

She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, then continued before Ardea could interject.

"As for myself, on the other hand.. Though the long time I have spent upon the Protectorate has weakened my connection to the Observatory, and rendered my presence visible to mortals, all other characteristics that Celestrians bear, I have retained. The story we tell that I am a mortal sage appears satisfactory to explain my powers, at least to our adventuring companions-” - she glanced over at the sleeping pair upon saying this - “-it nevertheless does not change the fact that I wield my powers on a regular basis in combat, as I have always done since my teacher imparted these skills to me, while you have had to take on an entirely unfamiliar vocation in order to maintain appearances. So, at times, I have feared that you having to witness me freely use the selfsame powers you once shared, yet no longer can use, would perhaps be unfair.."

An expression of surprise mixed with confusion clouded Ardea’s face. "Pavo, I- I don't understand.. How long have you felt this way?"

"..It was not a recent fear." she admitted.

"Oh, in the name of the Almighty-“ In one movement, Ardea had shifted her position and launched herself with considerable vigour into the unsuspecting arms of her girlfriend. Pavo’s brief sounds of uncertainly were quickly dulled, and she instinctively clung to Ardea in return.

“Angel, listen to me for a moment, please. That is not at all how I feel, and it never has been, either - if anything, seeing you use your Celestrian abilities is part of what motivates me to find a way to get mine back. Besides, I haven't lost everything - my reflexes and agility are still leagues above those of the mortals, regardless of not having wings anymore. Isn't that right?"

"..Yes, I suppose that is very true."

"And, anyway," she continued, "I still think of myself as a Celestrian, because I am. That's what I have always been, and that will never change, regardless of what happens to me. The same is true for you, too - even after we ascend to the Realm of the Almighty, we will still be Celestrians, no matter what becomes of us. And we will still be together, too, no matter what becomes of us. Does that help?"

"Ah, that.. That does bring some relief, I admit." She turned to face the campfire with a soft and grateful smile. "Thank you, Ardea, my love. I truly appreciate your words.."

"It's never a problem, angel. I'm just sorry I didn't realise you felt that way, so I could help sort things out earlier on."

"Please, do not worry. I apologise for not confiding in you before now." she replied.

"There's no need to worry about that now, Pavo. Come on, let's get some rest."

And as the moon shone overhead, the pair settled comfortably into each other's embrace to rest by the fire.

[laurelsofhighever]

5 Questions

For The Falcon and the Rose.

@allisondraste tagged me to answer five questions (thank you!!) about a chosen fic, and hey, I’m always down to talk about my mammoth WIP. In return, I’ll tag @naiatabris, @out-of-the-embers, @skyholdherbalist, @adorable-and-getting-better and @thejeeperswife - only if you feel like it, of course!

1) What was the idea that started the story?

Falcon started from a ‘what if’ idea about how the events of DA:O might have been different without the threat of the Fifth Blight to take attention away from the Fereldan civil war. I had just finished a Cousland playthrough and was awed by how much of the story is relevant to them specifically, and I loved the idea of Rosslyn and Alistair meeting and falling in love no matter how their lives led up to their meeting. Really, it’s a story I wanted to read, but one I couldn’t find anywhere, so as I started thinking seriously about it, it gained a lot of influences from the codex entries and WoT, and I got deep into the worldbuilding - maybe too deep. At least half the details in the story started as questions about Ferelden’s culture, and as the plot grew, it influenced how the characters behaved.

2) Did you make an outline? Did you stick to it?

I started with a vague shape in my head that took me several weeks to solidify into a proper plot, and some of the bigger twists didn’t appear until I started writing properly. I’ve stuck to the main points of the plot so far, because I always knew where I wanted it to go. The main change is in the length, because since starting I’ve discovered a lot more plot points that need to be added in, or expanded, or given their own focus. At the start, I thought 60 chapters would be the upper limit for how long it would be, but since then I’ve added a word count document that keeps track of things for me, and as of right now, that original estimate has expanded to 75 chapters, which may or may not include the epilogue. Unsurprisingly, the detailed planning/first draft is nowhere near finished yet.

3) What’s the favourite part of your story?

To be honest, the whole thing has been my obsession for almost three years now (and I still have a way to go before it’s finished). So far, the parts I’ve been most looking forward to writing are the milestones between Alistair and Rosslyn, because I’m sentimental trash and I love my OTP. Their first meeting, every scene where they realise they’re falling a little deeper for each other, their fights and reunions, are all great because as the story goes on I can show how their reactions change as they learn and as they get closer, and it’s super rewarding any time I go back to early chapters and see how far they still have left to go.

I should also give a special shoutout to all the worldbuilding I put into writing new codex entries for some of the chapters. I’m not sure if anyone else reads them, but I love the context you get from the codexes in the games, and as far as homages go they are so fun to write.

4) Who is your favourite character and why?

Is it cheating to say Alistair and Rosslyn? They’re certainly the characters I’ve learned the most about since starting out, and their scenes have so much flow, especially when they’re together. Rosslyn has so much drive and such a strong belief in justice, but her upbringing means she can get a bit detached from the reality most people live, so Alistair works well as a foil because of his more grounded nature. On the other hand, he has a tendency to doubt himself, so Rosslyn’s trust and encouragement really help to grow his confidence. Really, they’re my favourites because I love writing a relationship that has so much mutual respect and I project really hard onto both of them.

Apart from them, there are some honourable mentions: Guard-Commander Gideon became a bigger character than I was expecting, his experience makes a great mirror against Rosslyn’s naivete, especially in the beginning, with his dour, no-nonsense approach. Ardea Tabris as the voice of common sense when everyone else is talking in abstracts, excellent for getting the plot back on track and driving scenes forward. Cailan has been fun too, because the only words we get from him are the overly optimistic glory speeches at the beginning of Origins that are meant to rouse the troops, so he’s been a challenge of trying to balance that idealism with someone who has experience and vulnerability.

5) Did anything happen that surprised you as you were writing?

How long it keeps getting.

The biggest surprises have come with characters who were meant to be throwaways who have turned into recurring names with their own arcs, and have even managed to solve plot problems on occasion. I’m also writing about ten chapters ahead of what I’m posting, so it’s interesting to see the relationship in pacing, and seeing exactly how things are going to pay off in the future. 

[sinistrasidera]

New (less culturally appropriative) Ilvermonry House suggestions

So I’m not sure if anyone’s done this yet (they probably have and I don’t feel like scouring the internet to find out), but I thought I might make some suggestions for alternate house names and mascots for the Ilvermorny school in America. As an American, I was really excited to have an American side added to the wizarding world, yet I, like many, was incredibly dissapointed with J.K. Rowling’s insensitivity to Native American culture (and most of the sociopolitical, cultural, racial and historical nuances of this country, but that’s another post). When first announced, I was inclined to reject them and ignore Ilvermorny altogther. But as time went on, I really did begin to like the idea of the school, and I have lots of ideas for American wizard characters and stories set at Ilvermorny that I want to write. I also like what each house represents, because I think it’s a really interesting way to divide them. It’s just, the mascots and names are so.... just no. I don’t want to perpetuate and normalize cultural appropriation, and so I have decided that, for the purpose of my own understanding of Ilvermorny (and in my eventual fanfic) I will be swapping out the creatures and beings from different Native American cultures for literal animals that are native(ish...) to the Massachusetts area. The names are still preliminary, but I think the new mascots capture the spirits of each house. 

So, without further ado, I present my version of the four Ilvermonry Houses: 

Ursares 

Represents a wizard’s body; favors warriors

Mascot: The bear 

At first, I intended the former Wampus house to be represented by the terrifying and fierce grizzly bear, but grizzlies are native to the western part of the continent, and the founders of Ilvermorny would not have encountered them. And so, I decided to go with a black bear, technically, but I’m sure modern members of the house also identify with grizzlies. And polar bears. And possibly pandas, although those aren’t technically bears. “Ursares” is based on the Latin word for bear, Ursa, but made to sound cool and more official. I originally considered making the mascot of this house a Puma, but decided that that was too easy. And also, bears are cute and scary and great. 

So, go Bears! 

Apidae

Represents a wizard’s heart; favors Healers

Mascot: The Bee

This one stumped me for a while, but I eventually decided that the former Pukwudgie house would be best represented by a honey bee. Honey has healing properties, so the Healer connection works there. Also, bees are generally nice and won’t harm you until you try to harm them; at that point, they will put their very lives into the wounds they inflict, which to me captures the idea of the “wizard’s heart”. Though they be but small, they be fierce :) Once again, “Apidae” is taken from the Latin word for bee.

Go bees! 

Magnardea

Represents a wizard’s mind; favors Scholars 

Mascot: The Great Blue Heron

[I wanted a more majestic gif for this, but I couldn’t find one. Oh well]

While I originally was trying to think of some reptile that would capture the spirit of the former Horned Serpent house, I eventually concluded that the North American animal which best captures the aloof, mysterious nature of this house is the Great Blue Heron. If you’ve ever seen one in person, you will understand. They’re just so... majestic. They look like dinosaurs when they fly, and they’re very elusive. They seem like they would be wise. As far as the name goes, “Ardea” is the Latin world for Heron. However, I didn’t want two houses to start with the same letter and I was pretty set on Apidae, and so I added the prefix “Magna” which means great, because it’s the “great” blue heron, and also this house seems the most pretentious :) (this is my house, so I am allowed to say that). This is the name that I’m the least sure of, because it still sounds kind of weird to me, but it’s what I’ve got for now. 

So, go Herons! 

Crotalus

Represents a wizard’s soul; favors Adventurers

Mascot: The Rattlesnake

Once I became sold on the Heron as a mascot, I decided not to go with another bird for the former Thunderbird house. I was drawing a blank, until one of my friends suggested the rattlesnake, and I think it fits. I associate them with the woods and with the desert, which are far out places where one might go adventuring. Also, they’re known for their sound, which is also an association with Thunderbirds, so that sort of works. There’s danger and venom here. “Crotalus” is their Latin genus name, and I think it works as a House name without any modification. 

I do like this mascot, but I would be open to other ideas for this house too. I think I considered wolf, coyote, different kinds of raptors such as hawks or vultures, and maybe an albatross? But again, I wanted four very different animals, and I already have a four-legged mammal and a bird house, and I can’t think of any other reptiles that are native to the Massachusetts area and that capture the spirit of Thunderbird (turtles don’t seem to work). 

So (for now), go Rattlesnakes! 

[wigmund]

From National Wildlife Federation Photo of the Week; February 6, 2017:

Arkansas Wildlife

National Wildlife's 46th annual Photo Contest is now open! Check out some of our favorite photos from past National Wildlife photo contests. Each week we'll celebrate nature and wildlife from a different state. This week we're featuring Arkansas wildlife!

Photo Above: Bird Photographer Stephen Patten photographed this White-eyed Vireo (Vireo griseus) by a roadside along the Little Buffalo River in Parthenon, Arkansas. The Missouri resident used a Canon 7D with a 300mm f/2.8 lens and 1.4x teleconverter. Read National Wildlife's Urban Wildlife Bounty.

Photographer Cara Litberg made this image of a Gray Fox (Urocyon cinereoargenteus) in Hot Springs Village, Arkansas, after "seeing a blur run across the road," she "spotted this beauty watching from the brush." The Illinois resident used a Canon XSi with a 300mm f/4 lens. Read National Wildlife's Starlight Hunter, dazzling images of the nocturnal gray fox.

Tammy Eckerle writes, "I was fishing one early morning on the White River in Cotter, Arkansas, when I spotted a Great Blue Heron (Ardea herodias) waiting patiently in the morning fog." The Missouri resident used a Nikon camera. Read Ranger Rick's Great Blue Herons.

Photographer Eilish Palmer made this image of "Man and Milky Way" in Arkansas's Ozark National Forest using a Canon 7D with an 11-14 f/2.8 ultrawide zoom lens on a tripod.

Jeremy Smith photographed an Eastern Carpenter Bee (Xylocopa virginica) in Florence, Arkansas, using a Canon XSi camera. Read National Wildlife's Being There for Native Bees.

Dari Hughes "shot this photo of a Central Newt (Notophthalmus viridescens louisianensis) in its juvenile stage as it crawled over some moss," in Independence County, Arkansas. The Arkansas resident used a Sony DSC-H2 camera.

Nature photographer Clifton Brown writes, "These wild Purple Coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) have grown in an area of our yard we decided to let grow naturally, and in turn attracted beautiful butterflies like this Pipevine Swallowtail (Battus philenor)." The Arkansas resident used a Canon 450D with a 75-300mm f/5.6 lens. Read National Wildlife's Catering to Butterfly Royalty.

Photographer Melissa Jones photographed "the end of the sunset from Sunset Point in Mount Nebo State Park, Arkansas, featured this beautiful burst of orange and pink." The Arkansas resident used a Nikon D7000 with a 10-24mm lens.

Dari Hughes photographed this portrait of an Eastern Great Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus virginianus) "sitting atop a limestone mound, probably waiting for its next meal to emerge from the many rock crevasses," at an old limestone quarry in central Arkansas. The Arkansas resident used a Sony DSC-H2 camera.

Nature photographer Angela Peace made this image of a Bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis) wildflower "tightly closed because of the cold temperature on an early spring morning." The Arkansas resident used a Nikon D200 with a 105mm micro lens.

Nature photographer Clifton Brown "caught this female Ruby-throated Hummingbird (Archilochus colubris) among the flowers just sitting quietly, which they seldom do, like it was watching over everything. So I call this photo 'Keeper of the Blooms'." The Arkansas resident used a Canon 450d with a 75-300mm f/10 lens. Read National Wildlife's Tips for Photographing Hummingbirds.

Christina Garrett "took this shot of a baby Rocky Mountain Elk (Cervus canadensis nelsoni) grazing passing through Boxley Valley, Arkansas." The Arkansas resident used a Canon Rebel T3i with a 70-200mm f/2.8 lens.

Ashley Davis made this image of canoers stopped to enjoy the scenery along the bluffs of the Buffalo National River in Ponca, Arkansas. The Kansas resident used a Samsung HZ50W camera.

Doug Mitchell writes, "while visiting a local botanical garden in Fayetteville, Arkansas, I cam upon this robber fly perched on the edge of a hibiscus flower. The Arkansas resident used a Canon EOS Rebel T2i with a 55-250mm lens. Read National Wildlife's Creating a Garden Haven for Beneficial Bugs.

Lynda Hood photographed a wet Northern Mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) in her Conway, Arkansas, backyard habitat, playfully captioning her image, "does anyone have a hair dryer?" The Arkansas resident used a Nikon D3100 camera. Read National Wildlife's Listen to the Mockingbird.

Arkansas resident John Humphry made this image of a "pretty stream-side hideaway in the Ozarks on a cold fall morning" using a Canon 5D with a 28-200mm f/5.6 lens on a tripod.

More from the National Wildlife Federation:

About the Arkansas Wildlife Federation

Arkansas Wildlife Federation’s Ellen McNulty: Volunteer of the Year

NWF Blogs about Arkansas Wildlife

Arkansas Wildlife Federation's Facebook Page

Nature's Witnesses: Powerful images of wilderness can inspire conservation.

Nature and Wildlife Photography Tips Center

[innergladiatorstudent]

Why we should stop straight-washing Euryalus and Nisus

Hello everyone! For my first post on this blog I am going to write about a matter that I hold dear: Euryalus and Nisus, the two Trojan warriors whose undertaking can be found in the ninth book of Virgil's Aeneid. I was looking forward to studying this episode in class, but then my teacher came up with a sentence that I really didn't like: «Please do not consider Euryalus and Nisus as a couple, they are just very good friends». If there is one thing I cannot stand, it's when teachers do not tell the class how things really are just because they dislike something about it. By doing so, they are spreading misinformation, and I think that's something that shouldn't happen in schools. Anyway, I don't want to argue about teachers' job (or lack of it), but I want to show you why we really need to stop straight-washing Euryalus and Nisus.

So, first of all, a bit of background

-Trojans and Latins are now alleys. The king Latinus, who had previously promised his daughter to Turnus, prince of Ardea and of the Rutulians, changed his mind and offered Lavinia, such was the girl's name, to Aeneas in marriage. -At this sight, Juno, who happens to be the goddess of marriage and queen of the gods, sends down her agent Alecto, one of the three Furies, the one that never rests, to prevent the Trojans from having their way with king Latinus by marriage and cause their downfall through war. -For doing so, Alecto takes over the body of the queen Amata, whom she persuades to oppose Aeneas' marriage and whips Turnus to go on war against the Trojans. She then causes a skirmish between the local people of  Latium and a Trojan hunting party led by Ascanius, who kills a white deer. [Casus belli, the event that provokes or is used to justify a war] -War has begun. In the ninth book, Aeneas is in Pallanteum, where lives and reign Evander, an old king now Aeneas' alley. Taking advantage of Aeneas' absence, Turnus attacks the Trojan camp. In accordance to Aeneas' strict instructions, the Trojans close the gates and decline battle. [This is topic structure in epic poetry: the situation always gets worse when the hero is far from the battle field. For example, in the Iliad this happens with both Achilles and Odysseus.] -Euryalus and Nisus are two Trojans warriors who are at the gates. Nisus starts thinking about a night foray...

But let's talk about who Euryalus and Nisus are before we actually get to the story. We can get a first glimpse of them in the fifth book, during the funeral games of Anchises, where Virgil refers to their love as amour pius, a love that shows the pietas which is Aeneas' main trait, but the events that involve them are in the ninth book. -Nisus is the son of Hyrtacus -therefore of noble origins- and is described as a formidable warrior, especially with spear and bow and arrow. He had been sent by Ida, the hunters' mountains, to be comrade of Aeneas, given his amazing skills. When going to the Trojan army, Nisus brought his own comrade, Euryalus, whom he holds really dear. -Euryalus is so young he hasn't had his first beard yet. He is described as the most beautiful man in Aeneas' army. He does not have any experience about war but is determined to fight because he wants to achieve the so-called pulchram mortem, which literally means good, beautiful death and refers to a death that occurs while fighting, one that brings honour upon the dead warrior himself.

They are both very loyal towards each other, but for different reasons, plus they show it in different ways. Nisus cares about Euryalus because the younger boy needs to be protected and guided on his path to adulthood; he shows it when he tries to convince Euryalus not to follow him on the night foray to the enemy camp. On the other hand, Euryalus holds Nisus dear because he sees the man as a life model, someone to look up to; he follows him when he's called to be part of Aeneas' men. 

His amour unus est. They were one in love. That's the very first thing that we learn of Euryalus and Nisus as a couple. Virgil here portraits the Greek model of love between two men, with the typical structure of the erastes (literally “the one that loves”, active, in this case Nisus) and the eromenos (passive, in this case Euryalus). In Roman military, homosexual behaviour among fellow soldiers was strictly prohibited because there was a lot of cultural baggage about it. The Romans had peculiars views upon what makes a free citizen free, and in these views political freedom was tightly linked to physical one, and of course a free citizen wasn't object to sexual use, because taking part passively to a sexual encounter would mean lose freedom. A Roman man was, however, free to engage in  same sex relationships with a passive partner (slaves, prostitutes, etc) excluded form the protections of citizenship. In this case, however, Euryalus and Nisus are on the same level. Neither of them is a slave nor a prostitute. They appear exactly as a pair of Greek lovers would've. Among the Greek there was indeed a ancient tradition of idealized homosexuality in military setting -The sacred band of Thebes, Achilles and Patroclus... Virgil, by describing their love as pius, makes it honourable and in line with Roman values. Because they are soldiers, their love can be seen especially when they charge together into battle (and that's the second thing Virgil tells us about them).

Now we are ready to get back to the story. Euryalus and Nisus are sharing their guard duty on the gate, when Nisus starts talking about a night foray to the Rutulians' camp; he says that he cannot be quiet any more, but wants to rush into battle or into some great enterprise, so he starts to make up a plan. Euryalus, just like him, is enthusiastic but when he understands that Nisus does not intend to bring him on the mission, he immediately says that he does not intend to abandon him. “I have here a hearth that despises the light, that would gladly spend life to buy the honour you are striving for”. Nisus replies that he wants Euryalus to live because, if he won't come back from the foray, the young man can give him a proper burial and avenge him. Plus, he doesn't want Euryalus' mother (whose love towards her son was so great that she was the only woman among the Trojans who did not stop in Sicily) to suffer. But Euryalus clears that he's determined to follow the other, so Nisus allows him to take the crucial decision. Before they leave, Euryalus wakes sentries to keep guard when they go to the Council to expose their plan. The Council is a gathering of chosen Trojan warriors. The original plan, Nisus' one, was to take a message to Aeneas, but now the two propose to set an ambush, kill as many enemies as they can and then come back before dawn. Aletes, a very old man “mature in judgement” approves it, and so does Ascanius (Aeneas' son), who promises every kind of rewards, Turnus' horse included. They set out, enter the Rutulian camp and slaughter the soldiers while they sleep. Nisus eventually realizes that day is due to come, so he looks for Euryalus, who puts on armour he had stolen form the dead (medallions, a gold-studded belt and a helmet with gorgeous plumes). This will be their downfall: 300 soldiers, led by Volcens, spot them because the helmet Euryalus is wearing reflects into the moonlight. They immediately start running, trying to escape through a dense forest nearby. Euryalus is slower than Nisus because he's carrying all the loot, which slows him down; so Nisus actually gets further. For a moment, only for a moment, he forgets about Euryalus. For Nisus what matters the most is not the mission but the boy himself, so he heads back. He can hear the enemy, and he has a vision: Euryalus surrounded by the Rutulians with no defence. He asks himself what he can do to help him, so he attacks the enemies. Nisus, indeed, is still in the wood, so when he starts to throw spears upon the Rutulians, they can't understand from where those spears come from. Volcens gets angry and decides to punish Euryalus, whom is his captive. Nisus now, and only now, is described as distraught; the only thing he cares about is saving Euryalus, so he steps out and declare himself as the man who killed all those Rutulians. But Volcens puts Euryalus to the sword. Nisus now starts going mad, the pain is too much and he cannot handle it. All he wants now is to avenge his comrade, so he tries to kill Volcens, but he ends up surrounded by enemies and gets killed shortly after Euryalus dies. The following day, the Rutulians have Euryalus and Nisus' heads on two spikes, showing no mercy and no pietas. The Trojans watch afflicted this lugubrious procession. Euryalus' mother gets to know about her son's death and starts mourning him in the typical way: she pulls her own hair, she hits herself and cries and weeps loudly.

Virgil here wants to offer his audience an occasion to think about war, love and death. He acknowledges the fact that many deaths occurred while Rome was becoming the powerful city it was when he was writing, but he still wants underline the fact that there is no joy when a war is raging on, not even for the winners: Volcens will die as well.

So, although Euryalus and Nisus are kind of a negative example – they neglect the disciplines and show no respect to the gods-, Virgil wants the audience to focus on the fact that their love was the thing they most valued. Virgil indeed was a follower of the Epicurean philosophy, that celebrates close relationships privately, exalting the feeling itself, one that is based on fides, affection and respect.

“No day shall erase you from the memory of time”.

[ardeawritten]

One of my personal favorite ongoing jokes of David's story is that I can skip over showing what they're learning in school (equivalent probably 5th grade math and language) because David and his friends are blatantly cheating their way through by copying the kids around them. David ends up getting yanked from classroom and tutored one-on-one in act 3 for unrelated reasons, but the whole realization of "-and you have learned literally nothing about math" is the "jaywalking" of an "arson, murder and jaywalking" moment.

(carrying illegal weapons and a literal attempt at murder being the other two things in that moment.)

[ardeawritten]

Worldship Amalthea is Evolving in my head. I really want to write this story someday and am glad it has outgrown my initial concept and become something more complicated, but on the other hand it has become something more complicated and now I have to flesh all that out.

It's a locked-room murder mystery where the primary suspect and POV character has to clear his name while staying one step ahead of a relentless detective.

It's a fairy tale about a man who earns the trust of a captive unicorn and out of his love for her, becomes both hunter and hunted to set her free.

It's a scifi story about a colony ship sliding further into disrepair as it passes a point of no return, and the people in that ship realizing their hope for a utopian world is an illusion and a lie.

And it has a massive twist in the 3rd act that either I can pull off or I can't.

Worldship Amalthea is an isolated ark, a colony ship fleeing a dying earth. In deep space Amalthea wakes up in an aging ship and makes contact with her caregivers, the hard-working maintenance coders who ensure her processes operate smoothly despite the persistent decay. Her twenty thousand passengers are in constant rotation through cold sleep and wakeful life, living as best they can on the promise of a new world someday, and they depend on her emerging consciousness for every breath.

Jessie is a doorman, coding the timing of doors that open and close along Amalthea's arms with split-second precision to maintain the illusion of a single stable living space within Amalthea's two rotating halves. His work is delicate, essential and intimately connected to Amalthea's consciousness as she guards and shepherds her residents through their failing ark. And when his entire work team is murdered he's the natural suspect- who else could have entered and fled the secure workspace, deep in Amalthea's processing centers, except a doorman?

But Amalthea trusts her coders and believes her doorman loyal, even as another branch of her process wakes the Wolf, the worldship's half-human half-AI hunter, judge and executioner. The Wolf fixates on Jessie, who is desperately seeking the murderer himself from among the worldship's crowds. But how long can one man stay ahead of a relentless pursuer while trapped inside the worldship's skin?

Jessie knows the solution lies with his dead friends and the secrets they were killed to protect--or to release. Their work taught Amalthea to look outside herself and as she comes to care for and understand what drives Jessie to defy the Wolf, the cold black space around her and the empty starmap ahead seem increasingly hostile to her fragile humans and the entire endeavor of a ship hurtling through trackless space a futile errand destined to end in death. But the Wolf won't rest until Jessie is captured or worse, and Jessie realizes the only escape is out. Out of the illusion of a utopian colony, out of the carefully-curated artificial living spaces, out of the doors only he can open, and out of Amalthea.

Amalthea wasn't always a worldship and only Jessie, as the last living member of his team, can remind her what she truly is and bring them all-murderer and innocent, human and AI-safely home.

[ardeawritten]

Something I'm very committed to in David's story is that his whole psychological journey, in which he's convinced he is being hunted by an assassin who lives in the walls, is very symbolic of him carrying a lot of shame and trauma regarding things he did and experienced in the past. However, there is also an actual assassin living in the walls. All the responsible adults are very right about him needing to face and work through his trauma before he can be free of it. And he's also very right about there being a literal bad guy hiding behind the bookcase.

[ardeawritten]

The Headworld(tm) has layers of villains, ranging from the petty schoolyard bully to the neighboring feuding lords to the militantly isolationist dragon colony next door- and who is a villain when and to whom changes depending on story POV.

But there's one being who is Just Villainous. In keeping with this 'made it up when I was twelve' headworld's theming, this thing is Suspiciously Sauron-like; functionally immortal, ridiculously powerful, expert schemer, patient about their planning and, from an in-world POV, unkillable.

The backstory is it arose out of (and/or caused) the destruction of the previous Pinnacle of Civilization, settled itself nearby and proceeded to conquer left, right and center in a bid to leverage All Life On Earth for its own purposes. From the POV of any other character, the thing is a Monster- unrelatable, unsympathetic, unfeeling. It brings utter destruction and has zero regard for life and liberty of any other living thing. It strips its subjects of autonomy and freedom, bending them to a life of enslavement or outright devouring them to keep itself fed and sated.

The Thing's secret agenda? "I want to go home." What no one in-world knows is that it's a banished creature from another world, and it thinks it's in purgatory. It would be sympathetic, but it also views all life in it's 'prison world' as existing only for its personal benefit- and believes if it fulfills its plan of conquering and subjugating the known world it will be powerful enough to reopen its own prison cell and Go Home.

In human terms, it's a particularly mean-spirited person trapped in a world of mice, believing if it gets all the mice to line up correctly and dance to its tune, it'll be let free.

Since the story is from the Mouse POV, in this case half a dozen human and dragon civilizations attempting to hold it at bay, it's just The Villain.

[ardeawritten]

A story in which the human is the Dragon. Not humans-as-space-orcs, but human in a world where everything is tinier and more delicate than it. Say, a human gets stuck on a planet/realm/whatnot where the other life is smaller and more fragile. Normal human movements can harm that life, a raised human voice can cause it pain. There's no shared language, no common ground, maybe the indigenous residents aren't even bilaterally symmetric. Make them radial floating jellyfish fairies.

Human causes great devastation by virtue of being alive and not understanding what other intelligent life "looks like" in that place.

Locals have a natural defense mechanism and Bite Back (piezoelectric stinging crystal hair or somesuch, not a defense to them, but it does a number on human nerve endings)

Human realizes in a vague way they are making Problems and retreats to remote cave, hoarding familiar and useful supplies.

The locals establish a Perimeter, as they too do not understand the Thing That Destroys.

A Curious Young Local seeks to bridge the gap/gets dared to go in the cave/is offered as a sacrifice etc. and, now that Human has a vague idea that it isn't the only sentient thing around, First Contact Round 2 goes more smoothly.

Communication is a pantomime game of trying to not be threatening while controlling frustration. It never really gets past vague ideas, but with familiarity grows an emotional common ground.

Locals are divided: kill the Human, leave it alone, or continue outreach? Can it be trusted?

Human is conflicted; there is pain outside the Perimeter, but there is also Opportunity. Can it avoid causing harm and trust to not be harmed in return?

Its Companion Local acts as guide, making overtures of friendship to demonstrate trust.

Something Goes Badly. A faction wants to kill the human/there's an external disaster with bad timing/the human twists an ankle and falls over, and there's Chaos. Human is hurt, human is regretful, human is back to Square One and is very confused.

Companion Local follows, and demonstrates they can heal too, not just hurt, as Locals realize human can feel pain too, not just cause destruction.

Locals are Threatened by natural disaster/enemies/strife something, and realize the Big Solid Person inside their perimeter may be worth its keep. Companion asks for help; human agrees. One more time, it will try.

Human Helps! Shared struggle fosters greater understanding. Human will never truly coexist with Locals, but with creative social barriers and safe areas, not all interactions need to end in Disaster.

Companion Local learns human shoulder and head is good for riding on.

[ardeawritten]

...goofed and told my mom about the time I smacked a dude for nearly getting a friend of mine bit by a rattler. She, who has led a charmed life of complete fearlessness and yet somehow has never felt the need to even imagine a physically violent encounter, projects onto me same winsome victorian-feminine 'gentle-womanhood' she values in herself.

There's a small rant about our differing values under the cut, because it's a rant kind of night.

And while yes, my track record for physical retaliation is very very short and confined mostly to pre-20s, how do I explain to this woman that she was the one who raised me to value my own safety and judgement above someone else's ego? (or heck gave me male socialization for everything except cooking-dinner-for-the-men?)

I am not a gentle-woman, I'm a single small-town woman living in lion country. Small-town womanhood means never running from a threat (they can all outrun you) and never turning your back on a predator (unless you're the one who just killed it) and never waiting for someone else to solve the problem (they're on a tractor three fields away and won't be home until dark.) So yes, teenage me smacked a guy much bigger and older than me (across the chest and not hard, a 'back up' signal used with horses, not a face-slap,) because he was aiming to put my friend in the hospital and that was a problem that needed more than words to solve. (Words had been tried and had proven ineffective.)

And I killed the rattlesnake, because he'd injured it and made it angry, and that made it a threat we couldn't afford to ignore.

....treatment for our species of snake runs 40k-100k, with a one to four month recovery time, if you get lucky and don't get a secondary bacterial infection, have an allergic reaction to the venom, or have an allergic reaction to the antivenin. It was about sixteen inches long and had six rattles. There was absolutely no question as to the threat it presented.

(And a part of me is still sitting here going but what if he decides he's angry about that now, what if he drags it up with my boss, could he get me fired for touching him even though it was twelve years ago?)

If it happened again, I'd still smack him.

And then I'd do what I should have done then, and haul his butt to the local authority and have him be the one with the official mark on his official record, not me be the one with the unofficial mark on my social record.

Not me be the one looked down upon by my own mother for being the wrong kind of feminine.

[ardeawritten]

Hiked eight miles, + a couple more for side-tracking, cross-country and I am dead right now.

It was very, very cross-country and there was lots of elevation involved.

Some Notes:

-Long dry bunchgrass is slick like ice and can cut your hands on steep slopes

-Wild rose stems are about two feet tall and function like little natural booby traps that smack your shins full of thorns

-Sometimes rocks just naturally make marble-gravel. I found some today, and while it was neat it was also a little interesting to skid around on while traversing a steep slope

-A dry swamp, when it's spring and supposed to be wet, is a very ominous sign

-A wet swamp, on the other hand, is cause for joy

-A bluebird is the bluest thing you'll ever see. A meadowlark makes the most amazing song. A whirling flock of turkey vultures is a majestic sight. Turkeys, on the other hand, are just ridiculous.

-It's OK to swear at the elk that are carrying their antlers weeks past the usual drop-date

-A clay-soil road will hold the tire tracks of the one vehicle to cross it when when it was wet for months, sometimes even under snow and through till spring if the road froze before the snow fell and the snow evaporated instead of melting

-Sometimes deer and elk make weird antlers that lack the usual branching pattern. Sometimes this looks extra cool and majestic, and sometimes it rightly looks like the product of a cancer or other health problem (which it usually is)

-Trees don't like following rules and staying in their home ranges. Sometimes they sprawl everywhere (juniper,) sometimes they self-limit to tiny little cool wet alcoves and refuse to compete (pine,) and sometimes they get pooped out by a bird or something and say HI THIS IS MY SPOT NOW (fir)

[ardeawritten]

A family friend just passed away recently (old age, peacefully at home, etc. etc.) he was a WWII veteran, who definitely grabbed a buddy and hitched a ride via cargo plane from their base in England to Paris just following the Liberation (in what was a very creative and unsanctioned use of leave.) He told me the whole story once about five years ago while sitting on a back porch eating fresh peaches.

I wish I could remember all of it, because he sure could. He didn’t think it was anything special because he’d been very young at the time and the city was packed with English, French and American soldiers so to him the experience wasn’t unique at all. For him, the greatest and most memorable moment of the war was seeing the joy among civilians when there was finally an end in sight. He also talked about being invited to stay with a Parisian family who spoke no English, and how their generosity might have extended too far (he had to send a nice young lady back to her own room with a polite but firm no; the tragedy is she’d probably not thought there was a choice in the matter, or been given one by previous military occupants).

There’s a stigma surrounding people who seem to like that war a little too much; I think his story will always be my litmus test. And also, I sure hope someone wrote it down. I don’t know if anyone did. I sincerely regret that I didn’t.

Write things down. Write down getting vaccinated, eating takeout in the park, watching the inauguration, choosing which mask goes with your outfit. Put a couple Bernie memes in your insta-book. Print stuff out, put it in hard copy in a box somewhere. There will be a time when the whole world has not lived through 2020, doesn’t understand it and isn’t sure it really happened, and it’s to our stories written now that they’ll turn, if we write them. Otherwise, they’ll fill in their own gaps and create their own narrative of but what if it all didn’t happen like that or but what if the violence is all we should remember or but what if the death toll was really a good thing.

(Another friend just lost a parent, not to old age, and not peacefully; another friend just delivered a baby 5 weeks premature, a second child, and her first isn’t permitted to visit them in the hospital; another friend is balancing a history of vaccine allergies with a high-risk medical status. It’s not all cute masks and mittens, but that doesn’t mean the day’s good shouldn’t be honored in its place alongside the day’s pain.)

Write today what you want known about today in 75 years, or it’ll be written for you by someone who wasn’t here.